#anyway him killing mostly men could be an extension of this?

[transhetanybodys]

It's funny how Sweeney Todd almost exclusively kills men and it's *not* a feminist thing, it's literally just that men are the ones who see barbers. Of course you could probably get some deeper analysis out of the fact that he mostly kills men, but it's not a feminist thing even though his wife and daughter were horrifically abused by a man and his friend/lover of convenience Mrs. Lovett's husband clearly wasn't great (at least in the movie? I haven't seen the play in a while.) Once I saw a fundraiser for a version of the story where he and Mrs. Lovett are specifically going after male abusers and that could be cool, I hope that got off the ground.

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 4

I finished it!! It will have 8 chapters. I'm excited for you guys to see where this goes! I'm still working on Sweet Home Indiana and will be focusing on that until ITS done. Then we'll be back our regularly schedule WIPs.

We have Eddie's big plan and Steve gets his flirt on.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Steve slipped into the kitchen and there in his mother’s neat handwriting was a note telling him that there were leftovers in the fridge and that they would be home again next Friday.

He sighed and opened the fridge. He immediately closed it when he saw what the leftovers were.

Boiled cabbage with chopped bacon and carrots. It wasn’t bad if it was made correctly, but his mother boiled any flavor and nutrients out of the poor vegetables and then tossed in cooked bacon to hide its sins.

He opened the cupboard and pulled out a small can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and made that. He was craving the sodium. Eddie’s beef was good to get his body to stop shaking, but he had sweat so much he needed to replenish the salt he’d lost.

Once Steve had eaten and drank another glass of water he went to go get a shower and get ready for bed. It was no use trying to get back to his homework now. He had managed to blow up his whole evening by getting lost.

He had no idea how he got to Forest Hills or even why his feet carried him there in the first place. He could feel the weariness seeping into his bones from running for so long.

He undressed and got under the scorching water, letting the heat carry away his pains. His mind ran through all the things that Munson had done for him. The guy had no reason to be nice to him, but he had been more than gracious.

Then it hit him. Munson had called him Stevie, and without thinking Steve had called him Eds.

Eds.

Where the fuck did that come from? They weren’t friends, they could barely be considered acquaintances. Was his brain reaching out to the guy subconsciously? Is that why he ended up at the trailer park? Everyone knew that’s where Munson lived. Who knew how many times the guy had been called trailer trash, but the older teen seemed to rise above the insult.

Steve shook his head, spraying water everywhere. Just because Munson picked up lost sheep, didn’t mean he’d be willing to taken in an injured wolf. Because that’s what he was, reformed or not, Steve would never be a sheep. He would always be a wolf. A predator.

But at least as a wolf he could protect those kids with everything he had. And he would, even if it killed him.

The water had long since turned cold by the time Steve stepped out of the shower. He completed his after shower routine mostly on autopilot as he kept going over his interactions with both Munson men. He didn’t really have good interactions with dads or in this case uncles. But Munson’s uncle Wayne treated him with kindness and he could see where the older boy got it from.

He dressed into his pajamas and slid under the covers. He rolled over on his back and tucked one arm under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

Steve thought back to the apology. One Munson really didn’t have to give but did anyway. He thought about the other jocks that bragged about hurting his hand. He held it up and looked at the fading bruise. It wasn’t as though he was even basketball anymore. Hurting his hand wouldn’t do anything but make it hard to do his homework and all he had to do is show his teachers his hurt hand and he’d get extensions for that. Like he had for his concussion last November.

But then again Tommy H. never had reasons for the people he hurt either. He just liked the power he got seeing the person helpless.

He placed his hand over his heart and let himself drift off the sleep, brown eyes and dark curls haunting his dreams.

****

Eddie had originally bought the red heart for himself like he had told the two juniors. But staring at it now, he had a better plan for it. Because that last wall, that last bastion of defense crumbled to ashes when he realized that despite the fancy car, the big house, and the expensive clothes, Steve Harrington was more like Eddie than he thought possible.

Wayne’s approval of the boy cemented that for him. Because if he could take one look at Steve and decide he was worth saving, then Eddie raring to go full steam ahead for a rescue mission.

Eddie could tell that the hearts were made from simple construction paper, like the kind found just about anywhere. He knew it would be technically cheating to just simply make more instead of buying them, but he had no intention of contributing to a dance he was never going to go to because one, it wasn’t his year; two, the whole gay thing; and three, the one person he would want to go with if the gay thing wouldn’t get him hate crimed, wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Well, all right, that might have changed with the whole rescuing him from wandering alone in the dark thing.

He forgave Eddie about being a dumbass, so maybe there was hope for, at the very least, a vast decrease in hostility. And he was willing to take what he could get.

He decided to wait until tomorrow after school to get the construction paper and hope that the high school hadn’t bought up the town’s supply.

On his way out the next morning, Wayne stopped him.

“You don’t have to tell me, son,” he said gently, “but you got feelings for that boy?”

Eddie froze and turned slowly to face his uncle. “What gave you that idea?”

Wayne chuckled and shook his head fondly. “Boy, when you’d go on rants about the Harrington boy, you’d describe his floppy hair, his hazel eyes and how unfairly good looking the kid was. I didn’t say anything because it did sound like he’d been a bit of an ass. Only after last night I got to thinking and was wondering is all.”

Eddie closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He let out a long shuddering breath, his bottom lip quivering.

“I–I don’t...” he closed his eyes again. This wasn’t Al. He wasn’t going to get beat for admitting it, but still it was so hard to say. So he just nodded.

Wayne came up and wrapped his arms around his nephew. “It’s a hell of a lot tougher batting for the other team, but I trust your judgment. Just promise me that if he shows signs of liking you back, you take the chance to tell him how you feel because...”

“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take,” they said together.

Eddie dropped his bag to the floor and hugged him back. “I know, old man. But I promise if there is a chance, I’ll be brave enough to take it.”

“Get going,” Wayne said, voicing cracking with emotion.

He pulled back and nodded. He reshouldered his backpack and got in his van.

He had a lot to think about and that really wasn’t conducive to paying attention in class or to his friends as they talked about their upcoming D&D session.

Gareth kicked his shin causing him to yelp.

“What the fuck, dude?” Eddie hissed.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Gareth hissed back. “You’ve been going on and on about the mind flayer for weeks and now that it’s literally this weekend, and you’re off in some other realm.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment before his brain came back on. He shook his head to clear it.

“Yeah, sorry, man,” he said around a pretzel. “Weird night last night.”

“What happened?” Jeff asked, tilting his head to the side.

So Eddie told them. “He was like a ghost, guys. If Wayne hadn’t seen him too, I would have thought I was hitting Mary Jane a little too hard, you know?”

“I didn’t realize he was getting bullied,” Brian said, frowning. “I would have thought with Hargrove giving the dude a wide berth, that everyone else would have too.”

“Untouchable,” Jeff agreed. “The fact that jocks are now splintering into factions tells you what kind of control Steve actually had on them.”

Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t know how true this is, but if Harrington wasn’t lying, he’s a real sweetheart, too.”

Then he leaned forward and explained about the pink heart scheme.

“So,” Gareth said, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them, “you’re telling us is that we have been seriously remiss in our duties in collecting lost sheep.”

The older teen sighed and shook his head. “I’d like to collect him, but I’m afraid the wolves might decide to rip him apart before we got him to safety if we tried.”

Jeff winced. He knew what Eddie was talking about. Steve Harrington wasn’t the usual lost sheep. He might be bullied now, but as King, Harrington had run far too long with the wolves to think that they could protect him one hundred percent of the time.

“So what are we going to do?” Brian asked. “Because if we let this slide, we’re throwing our lot in with the bullies and that’s something I refuse to do.”

A grin spread out over Eddie’s face, closed lips and dimples entrenched into his cheeks. “We’re going to make the school think that he’s just as popular as he ever was.”

The other three boys looked at each other in confusion.

“So what have you got?” Gareth asked, his own grin starting to take over his face.

****

Eddie made sure to get to class early so he could see where Steve was going to sit. He tried to tell himself it was about the dude’s hand, but it wasn’t working. He wanted to see if the former Hawkins royalty would chose to sit with his old friends or by him again.

He didn’t have long to wait. Steve walked in not long after he did, just as the bell rang. He didn’t even look at his old desk near the front and beelined it for the chair he had sat in on Friday.

The teacher picked up on the change immediately and wrinkled her nose. “I am to suppose that you are taking up permanent residence in the back with Mr. Munson, Mr. Harrington?”

Steve half shrugged as he began to pull out his things for class. “I got more work done, Mrs. Dixon and I really want to graduate on time.”

Mrs. Dixon nodded. “Agreed and as long as you continue the level of attention from last week, you are permitted to stay there.”

About half way through class while Mrs. Dixon was grading papers, Tommy H. turned around and kicked Steve’s chair. “Suck up,” he hissed.

Steve puckered his lips and wagged his eyebrows. “Why? Do you want to be next?”

Tommy turned back around, his face bright red.

Eddie raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side as he considered everything about that interaction.

A little blossom of hope sprouted in his chest and he fought to keep it down. Steve had insinuated that other people were gay for years, but to Eddie’s highly trained gay ears, that sounded like Steve was offering to suck Tommy H.’s dick and that Tommy didn’t exactly turn him down.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought tapping his lips thoughtfully. More research would have to be done.

He pulled out a different notebook, the one he used for campaign notes and song lyrics.

He wrote girls over one column and boys over the other and began tallying what he knew about the former King of Hawkins.

A shit ton went into the Steve liking girls column, but there was surprisingly more in the liking boys column then he would have thought possible. He looked up to catch Steve smirking at him.

Eddie quickly covered his notebook and stuck his tongue out at Steve.

The other boy shook his head and went back to doing the assignment. Eddie was more careful about what he left out in the open because he didn’t want Steve teased for it nor did he want him to see that Eddie was trying to figure him out.

The bell rang and the notebook was suddenly whisked off his desk.

“Hey!” Eddie cried, looking up to see Steve dancing away with the notebook teasingly. “Stevie!” He grabbed his bag and chased after the other boy. But the other boy was a jock and Eddie was wheezing for breath by the time he caught up with him at his locker.

“Give that back,” he huffed.

Steve gave him a bright smile and handed it back. “I just made a minor addition.”

Eddie frowned as he flipped through the pages but didn’t see anything. Steve took it back and turned to the correct page and leaned close so that only Eddie could hear.

“I trust you’ll keep my secret,” he whispered and then dropped to one knee to start getting into his locker.

Eddie gulped at the sight and turned to the paper to avoid saying something stupid. There in bold capital letters under his girls/guys columns was the word BOTH.

He looked up at Steve who had stood up. Steve winked at him and then walked away, leaving a shocked Eddie behind.

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List:

@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @slv-333 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

@chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

@goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

@vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual

@fullpoetrybread @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @moonshadows-13

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@ravenfrog @dauntlessdiva @thelittleclare @steddieyourself @dam28lh

[azumasoroshi]

happy 12/24-25! i think too often about the “gege hates gojo” jokes because holy shit it is PERSONAL with gege

like yeah he sealed him and killed him but like. every aspect of gojo’s character is just so. gege really said “i’m going to make you the strongest character in the history of ever and you’re going to be cool and attractive and funny and your fans will love you, BUT:

The entire point of your character is that no matter how much power you have, you are helpless to save the people you truly care about

You’re so powerful that the only way you can narratively exist without destroying every enemy in jjk other than Sukuna is to get snatched away, sealed, get your powers taken away, or die (even in the fucking video game you only get a certain number of turns to act before you get yoinked)

You can never escape the system you were born into because your power has become your character

You’ll think you’re changing the system for the better but end up perpetuating the system anyway in allowing children to go on dangerous missions

You cannot supervise said children on dangerous missions because you’re running around Japan like a headless chicken at the whims of the higher ups

You never got the chance to fully grow up because a part of you died when Toji killed you and a part of you died when Suguru left you and what else is there left

Your own desire for power blinded you to your best friend’s depression and it’s one of your greatest regrets yet a part of you still thinks Suguru wasn’t strong enough to keep up which is why you keep saying you want strong allies who can keep up with you and you are just terribly equipped to handle your students’ emotional challenges and insecurities even though you try your best

You will never make any emotional connections as lovely as the one from your youth which you still cry about on the rare occasions you actually sleep

You will only be able to tell Suguru you love him right before you KILL HIM

No matter whether Suguru was your best friend, ex-boyfriend, crush that you never confessed to, or boy you only realized you were in love with after he left you, you will NEVER be able to get over him and an evil brain will use this against you and several people you care about will get fucked over because you cared too much

Even though your students/coworkers sometimes like you the first thing 99% of them think of when they think of you is “The Strongest” and even in your breakup arc Suguru, the one person you wanted to stand by your side and share the title, began to think of you in that way as well and distanced himself from you because of it.

The narrative requires that you be lonely at the top as a direct consequence of your power - even metaphorically, infinity separates you from the rest of the world and your wide range of destruction makes it so allies are a hindrance in battle and you could destroy the people you dare about in seconds (see: thank fuck todo stopped yuuji from stepping into range of purple)

You are going to fight the boy you may or may not have raised from childhood because of the other boy with Sukuna inside him that he asked you to save and you can’t hesitate because the last time you hesitated about someone you cared about you got sealed and people died

You may or may not have died to the strongest curse of all time and are left forever unsatisfied even in death because not only was your culty/cunty best friend not there to cheer you on, but you think Sukuna couldn’t even go all out against you, the strongest sorcerer of your time, despite strength being your whole thing

and as a bonus, you also “died” after cockily saying “Nah I’d win” which will get extensively memed on the internet at your expense”

like not to woobify gojo or anything but oh my god jesus fucking christ gege

he was like “ill make you hot as a treat mostly for myself because i like drawing hot men but you’re going to be so incredibly fucking doomed by the narrative in every possible way”

like he loves drawing shirtless men but he never drew gojo shirtless like gege!! GEGE!!!! what did he DO to deserve this level of narrative ire omfg

[cephalonserotonin]

Koumei & The 5 Fates Update Thoughts

(I've only been playing around with this update for a few hours, so of course my opinions may change in the future)

The new mission type (Shrine Defense) is nice; despite the name, it's more like a mini Interception (though without a timer, which is greatly appreciated as I play solo so Interception is a pain in the ass for me) hybridized with Plague Star (the infested enemies, the tanky final boss, the fact that you'll have to do it enough times to get sick of it, and that Vay Hek is there). The randomized buffs from Koumei offer a nice bit of variation.

The music that plays during the mission is also lovely

When I saw we'd be picking up this mission from Saya, I was happy to see her return to the story and agency a bit, since her introduction in the Saya's Vigil quest sees her operating entirely as a plot device for the two men who are in love with her. Then I saw that, by "talking to Saya," the game actually meant talking to Konzu, and selecting the Saya option. Once again this poor woman is an extension of men. Don't love that!

The fortunetelling minigame is cute, though, and I deeply respect Warframe's commitment to expanding the world with new mechanics and little minigames when they feel like it, AAA-shooter-brain be damned.

Koumei, like Voruna before her, has her special resource (fate pearls in this case) used both to get her blueprints and as an ingredient in them, a mechanic I find annoying and confusing and which I'm displeased to see return. Voruna at least had a chance for parts to drop during her missions, which Koumei doesn't (ironic, that random drops don't come into play when trying to build the warframe themed around randomness...). edit: this isn't true per community response, thank goodness! Per the wiki, you need ~330 pearls to buy the blueprints, and then 330 102 (edit: wiki was wrong yesterday) more as components, for a total of 102-432 pearls to craft, and 14-18 drop per mission...

When I realized this I got so grouchy I left Cetus 😅

I'm not used to the new arsenal UI yet, but it'll happen

As a Caliban Enjoyer, I have mixed but mostly positive feelings on the Caliban rework (much like the Hydroid one before it, as I had hundreds of hours logged on Hydroid even before they made him SP-Viable (TM)):

I actually preferred the old Razor Gyre, wonky and ineffective as it was... hear me out. The new and improved Razor Gyre is almost exactly the same move as Reave: a fast short-range traversal that heals when interacting with enemies. Which is fine (it's a good ability!) but Reave is Revenant's Helminth ability, so I already could put Reave on Caliban if I wanted to. What I can't do, now, is heal by spinning in a silly little circle and ragdolling enemies continuously. I miss that. It was also the most Sentient-enemy-flavoured of Caliban's abilities, which was always fun for me from an RP perspective; something I loved about earlier Warframe content that it seems to be sadly moving away from is the joy of, after seeing an enemy use an ability (or weapon) to kill you, unlocking the ability yourself to use on them with a vengeance.

The 2 Feels the same, but buffed, which is nice, because it's an excellent and underrated CC ability.

The new Summon Caliban Babies utterly slaps, no notes. I love the tactical choice of 3 different baby types to use, and the Summolyst just feels immensely cool in general.

The 4 was a giant fuckoff laser, and is still a giant fuckoff laser. 😎👍

The companion changes are much too large in scope for me to have grasped them enough to form an opinion yet.

I will say, though, all these new mods are going to take a ton of endo to grind, and I would have preferred an endo gift as a sign-in instead of 5 forma (which I probably won't need to use on the new content anyway?).

And most importantly:

Mid-Shrine-Defense I heard an Ostron child yell "I believe in you, Tenno!" and 🥺🥺🥺 the synchronicity of childhood belief, dreams, fate, and the power of stories... I need to lie down

[astronomodome]

Alright I was asked to make a list of all the The Garages songs I associate with life series things so I have done that

A few notes:

Songs are in no particular order (mostly just sorted by album as I was going through listening to them all)

All song titles (in color) are links to the respective songs, so you can listen to them :3

These songs are all worth listening to but my absolute favorites are marked in orange

Let me know what you think! I’ve been waiting so long to talk extensively about this :)))))) <- going to explode

list is below the cut because this got loooong

Astro Astronomodome’s Garages Life Series Playlist:

Eyes in the Dark- *gestures vaguely* how am I gonna live with these eyes in the dark when they’re following me around and they’re following you around 👍 and there’s nowhere you can go that they’re not there 👍

Jaylen Hotdogfingers Settles The Score- limited life winner martyn in thy little wood I am so normal about you <- lie

Godspeed- TIES sending off Skizz… see you space cowboy

Curse of Crows- third life grian-core, you know, when he was green and couldn’t actually kill but he and scar were going around being vaguely threatening. You could maybe use the crows in this as a metaphor for red life scar. Also birds

Relief Pitcher (Leave It On The Field)- Extremely strong vibes but I’m not sure of what. Maybe last life martyn? In the final battle? Idk. Maybe every martyn. I ljke him. (anyway this song changed my brain chemistry permanently so it deserves a place in the list regardless)

rooting for you- I’m delusional, bdubs is a species of plant, and ethubs is wlw. what is a nature wives

we had a season- ok this is THE desert duo song. No song will ever end of double life we’ve-spent-so-much-time-dancing-around-each-other-and-now-we-have-nothing-left-but-each-other desert duo as hard as this song. I have a very detailed AMV in my head of this so you know I’m right. It’s even a duet… ‘we had a season, we had a year/between when I died and when I reappeared’ (there’s almost exactly a year between grian’s last third life episode and scar’s first double life episode. I checked for this reason specifically and it killed me instantly) PLEASE just listen to this one ‘I had my reasons, I had my fears/I had my pride (I still had tears in my eyes as I died)’

dead ringer- just as the previous song is The desert duo song, this is The red king ren song. It slaps and the vibes are perfect. ‘my skin is made of energy, my blood is made of fire/I am what will happen when your best-made plans backfire’

hexed- very much post-3rd life watcher grian. pretty self-explanatory

The Alternate- ‘I’m new but I’ve seen so much/I’m old but I was not there’ do I even need to say it. Gem-as-Cleo and Lizzie-as-Pearl (‘I’ve done this once before’)

gamer grindset- yeah this is The Life Series Joel Song. you can fight me on this but you don’t have to because I know I’m right

a leap of faith- reminds me of scar. nothing in particular it just has similar vibes

haunted- ok now this is a Real watcher grian kind of song. ‘my body is a temple/for the gods of other men/wielded as a weapon by foes I swore I’d never be again’ ok. edgy bird moment

she’s dead and i’m someone else- this one requires some interpretation but I’ve always seen it was team BEST mourning the loss of bdubs. However it could also be applied to almost every ten in the life series that lost a member early lol

Mike Townsend (feels the shadows call)- specifically last life shadow alliance martyn but any martyn in general fits. he’s having a bad time

INCINERATE- just like. Being on your red life in general and the bloodlust and manic energy that brings. 😛 (edit after the finale: OKAY I KNOW THERES SO MANY LIMITED LIFE MARTYN SONGS BUT THIS IS ALSO ONE OF THEM ‘I know how to win this/I don’t need to play your games/I’m just gonna dance now/I’ll show you how to deal with pain’ ‘every day’s getting worse and we’re starting to choke/‘cause the water in the air is getting stuck in our throats’ LIKE COME ON MAN)

Sidelined- limited life skizz you will always be famous ‘am I just another wash-out/am I damned to go out swinging/I can’t hear you from the dugout/is there anyone else singing for me’ I am singing! I am singing for you skizzleman!!!!!!!!!

Firewalker With Me- the song. The myth. The legend. It’s just such a great song and it’s about life series grian’s curse of killing the people he cares most about. Grian is a parker if you think about it <- mentally ill (special note- ‘nobody deserves to be called a curse/but if you’re gonna resist I’m happy to make things worse’ is grian accidentally getting jimmy final-killed first in limited life btw)

We’ve Got History- not to be that guy but desert duo. Ok

New Year, Same Me- martyn.

The Return- the start of a new life series! Seeing old friends again! Missing friends who couldn’t make it (cough cough martyn missing ren in limited life cough cough)! Playing the game! Living and loving despite the horrors!

A Horrible Mistake We Will Make Again And Again- grian grian grian. Grain. The bird boy. Also easily one of my favorite Garages song titles. ‘If I don’t know the limits, how am I gonna break them?/If you think that we’re kidding well then you’re sorely mistaken’

The First Ain’t The Last- canary curse activated! Honestly the entirety of this album is just the average life series lmao ‘and one day you’ll wake up/and from the ashes a phoenix will rise/and she’ll hit like a champ/and burn out bright before your eyes’

The Ballad of Unremarkable Derrick Krueger- another one that definitely has life series vibes (and is just a really good song) but that I just can’t place. I want to say Tango honestly because he always has been somewhat painfully mediocre and has famously always final-deathed in underwhelming and meaningless ways

Rise- this is the Cleo song. Epic. Thank you Cleo :) Joe can be the monitor in this scenario I think he’d be good at it

RIV- does anyone still remember that part of martyn’s last life lore where the mysterious voice was promising that he would get to see jimmy mumbo and impulse again if he followed its instructions? Well……

Hell’s Game- Blaseball is a death game and this song leans into that so naturally it fits pretty well with the life series as a whole. Would make a great AMV

5am Shift- Ok bear with me here. This doesn’t really fit Pearl other than the song title (lol) and maybe you can make some parallels to cleaning lady Pearl but it gives me her vibes. Plus it’s just a whole jazzy banger and one of my favorite songs so it’s going here anyway :)

Nullified- for the end of limited life. pretty self-explanatory ‘wasted all my minutes/trying to stay alive/and look where it got me/I’m just the last one nullified’ honestly worked better before the actual finale because martyn was more manic about it than this song would imply

STRIKEOUT!- life series mumbo my horrible wet cat. this song is a little weird but it suits him I think

The Tug- they never left the desert.

SUN 2- obligatory flower husbands song for all the flower husbands enjoyers out there. Time to go cry I guess

flooding/drowning- big impdubs moment. Or honestly just any of bdubs’s life series exes reminiscing… ‘and you’re angry when the energy rises to meet you/like the life rafts are disrespectful to the sea’ is the most life series bdubs thing I’ve ever heard

REMEMBERTHEM- very good and classic anti-watcher song. If c!martyn was just a little more aware of his situation I think this would fit better (honestly a lot of good garages songs just don’t fit very well because we haven’t quite reached the ‘let’s kill the watchers’ stage of the lore yet lmaooo)

Nothing Happens Every Day- tfw when no life series 🥺 could also be martyn because he loves to kill <3

historic season nine party time speedrun and associated records- mean gills vibes. a nice quiet evening in the coral isles, reminiscing

Mike Townsend Is A Disappointment- I’m so sorry Jimmy but it fits too well

Bonus! Hermitcraft-adjacent songs:

Storm’s Raging- moon big. the long, slow, inevitable end of the world. Bdubs looking up at the sky as it falls on him. the lyrics kick ass as well: ‘there were days when it all seemed never ending/when all you could hear was the forecasts, the fear/and the sound of the cloudline bending’ (and the way it speeds up at the end……. omg)

howling at twin moons- s8 scar. I will not elaborate

alaynabella hollywood- ariana griande <- wait who said that

golden- rentheking arc I love you :3 viva la revolution

Sincerely, The Collateral- hermitcitizen song tbh

Beep or Bleat- despite the EXTREMELY zedaph-coded song title this is actually end-of-season 8 tango moon landing-core. ‘do we possess a soul/does it exceed the speed of light/can it escape black holes/do we still have a chance to fight’

Nut Economy- another rentheking arc song. You can tell when I started watching HC from this can’t you. Well. Royal emeralds I miss you :(

Morning is Coming- HONESTLY if I had the ability to make AMVs this would be top of my list. It’s just so… so much. Escaping moon big at the end of season 8… I know it’s overdone at this point but it’s rotating around in my head all the time. What does it say about me that there are two moon big songs here and they’re both my favorites…

fourteen days is not enough for my screams to reach your ears- another tango lost in space at the end of season 8 song. it messed me up ok

psychoacoustics- I love convex* *DISCLAIMER: 99% of the convex knowledge I have comes from fan interpretation alone. Alternatively I could just be really trying to manifest a zedaph villain arc

oliver mueller (is a hero)- docm77 for several reasons which will become apparent almost immediately

hello world- grumbot I love you :] (putting in a different version so you can tell what the lyrics are without subtitles and I’m sorry because this version of the song is somewhat worse. they just start singing godspeed in the middle of it for some reason and like I’m not complaining I love that song but also why) (here’s the original version)

the entire kansas city breath mints team failed the bar exam- hermitcraft. no elaboration is necessary

[portgasdash]

The Vinsmoke Brothers as Dads/expecting Dads headcanons.

this was inspired mostly by @moonlit-mystery-writer and her three part series of headcanons for other one piece men as dads I HAD to do it for the RBG boys(Plus she was fueling and encouraging me as well don’t lie.). Anyway here we go!

Ichiji

This guy, like his brothers, probably had some thought they were impotent due to their extensive genetic modifications. So when you approached the future king of Germa to announce that he will soon have an heir, shock was definitely written all over his face.

He recovers quickly, hes the future king of course he does, and has that calm mysterious smirk on his face within seconds. “Good to hear. Germa’s future will be secured with this knowledge”

That is for public however, in private he shows the side no one else will see. He is very happy you both will have a child soon and that his suscpicion was proven wrong and he can have a family with you.

He is also extremely terrrified, but won't show it. He is concerned he will be like his father and hurt them in ways that can’t be easily fixed. takes alot to assure him that he won't

You will catch him at night rubbing your stomach, when he thinks you are asleep, and just whispering promises to them about how they will be a better father than his. That he will be there for them and encourage growth rather than perfection.

When you start to show , expect your lap to be his new favorite place to be. He will find any excuse to wrap his arms around your middle and protect that little growing life inside.

When alone he will press his face against your stomach to feel them, and hopefully hear them.(modern aus he definitely got one of those little portable baby heart rate monitors so he can listen).

You will want or need for NOTHING. Whatever it is he will get it, or make someone get it. And only the best care for the mother of his child.

When the day comes for the child to be born he will be a bit in edge. Anything could go wrong, his mother is proof of that. So he's gonna be nervous

Won't stop him being there to see the child entering the world( you are thankful for the inhuman strength and pain threshold during labor as you had him in a death grip). He will make sure he's one of the first faces that baby sees.

He was in awe hearing his child let out their first cry. After so many months they were finally here. It was hard to believe for him.

The moment his child was placed in his arm, it all clicked into place for him. This was HIS child. His family and he may now start to understand love a bit more ( you helped with the romantic aspect of it but this baby brought home the familial kind).

He'd die and kill for this baby.

He'd be happy with any gender but God forbid it was a daughter

He'd immediately become an absolute DEMON to protect her. If you are not on his short list of people allowed to even breathe around her you will die.

He wonders if it's too early to think about convents ( yes you shut that down quick) or if the castle needs to be made more secure.

Other than that he is very active in their care and upbringing. He doesn't want to miss anything. He doesn't want to be absent like his father and only there when it benefits him.

You have caught him just in the nursery, sitting there maybe even doing work while doing so, talking to the baby, or just holding them. It warms your heart.

He suggested the name Angel, boy or girl, because they are the little angel that gave his life a new purpose to work towards.

He's a very involved dad and is encouraging of what his child is learning. Doing his best not to force perfection or failure mindsets on the child. It messed him and his brothers up. He won't let it happen to them.He wants them to learn and grow even if there is mistakes. Learn from them.

After a few years he is definitely going to approach you about another.

"My dear, what are your thoughts about us having another little one to accompany our angel?"

Niji

Same like his brother he thought they were infertile due to the modifications.

When you told him he thought you were messing with him to get out of some 'alone time'.

When you presented the test/ultrasound to him then it started to process for him.

Honestly doesn't know how to think about the situation. He's not upset about it but he isn't doing back flips about it. It happened, this is bound to happen with how much he can't keep his hands off of you.

Once he sees the duress on your face though, after telling him and not getting any kind of reaction, he assured that he wasn't upset and will take time to process for him.

Time it did take. It took months for him to really grasp what was going on. When he finally heard their heartbeats (yes plural that day he learned it was twins) and saw them on the sonogram it sunk in; this was real.

Like Ichiji nothing but the best in food and care for you, especially food. The mother of his children will not be eating trash! Only the best because his kids deserve the best.

Acknowledges he isn't the best or kindest man( look what he's done to Sanji and others). But he promises to do better for their sakes.

He is fiercely protective, won't really tolerate anyone looking at your pregnant self without permission if he had his way. If you both are somewhere together he will place you in his lap and wrap his arms around your middle while glaring at others.

When they are finally born is when it finally fully cements this is real. Seeing their sleeping faces in their cots, blue hair secure under a warm little beanie, made him finally accept.."yep I'm a father now."

He affectionately calls his twins his little blueberries as they inherited his hair color

He,like Ichiji, is a damn demon when it comes to protecting them. If you aren't even on the breathing list to be near them, you will lose the right to breathe.

He regularly changes his voice to entertain them.

He sneaks them sweets when they are older.

Dad and twins become a chaos team once they can walk.

He really wants them to hurry up and grow he wants to show them and teach them so many things.

When they are a bit older he will also approach for more.

"Darling, what do you think of adding a few more blueberries to the bunch?"

Yonji

If it wasn't the genetic modifications he'd probably think he couldn't have kids due to all the physical trauma his body has gone through on missions. Probably left some damage to that department in his mind.

He stared at you bug eyed for a bit when you told him. Mouth hung open to.

Shook it off fast though and immediately started asking if you were sure. That it wasn't a mistake ( at home tests can be wrong at times after all!).

He went with you to the doctor to confirm the test and see the little sea monkey growing inside you, and that moment everything for him changed.

He's actually excited. Have a mini you or him running around soon? Sounds like absolute fun!

He's also terrified as well. He's terrified the child won't like him.

He also knows people are naturally afraid of him for being the biggest and the strongest of his brothers. He is absolutely terrified of the idea of his own child being afraid of him, like Sanji was afraid of him and judge. it would absolutely break his heart he worked so hard to build.

As soon as it's confirmed about your condition he WILL NOT leave you alone. He's going to be acting as a bodyguard of sorts. No one but doctors, and those he deems safe, will be allowed near you.

He's going to be helping with everything including the nursery. He doesn't trust anyone but you two doing it.

That thing where husbands hold up their pregnant partners stomach to ease the pressure? Yeah he does that a lot for you. He feels bad he can't always do it, but walking would be awkward and he has work.

He makes it up by doing it in bed. Places a pillow on his prosthetic arm so it won't jab you, let's you lie on it then immediately puts his hands on your belly to lift it while spooning to help you sleep.

You will be tucked in close to him, wasn't kidding when saying he was protective.

He also likes to rest his head on your stomach and talk to the baby. And he'll talk about anything with them.(his eyes absolutely light up in excitement when they kick back in response).

You have, silently, woken up to him with his face pressed close to your stomach and holding you. Sounding like he was pleading to the baby 'please don't hate me.'

When the baby is born he is absolutely BLOWN away with how tiny they are in his arms. They look so fragile and innocent in his arms.

He is going to protect them. From the evil that infected him. No matter what.

He, when he thought no one was looking ( you were awake but pretended to be asleep to watch them bond), broke down in tears when he made eye contact with his baby and they immediately made grabby hands for him and happy coos. His baby wasn't afraid, they loved him.

Super involved dad. He wants to be there for everything and have the kid with him at all times. It's not an uncommon sight to see him with the baby strapped to him in the castle as he does non dangerous work.

Fun dad. He's always playing with them and making a silly face at them to keep them entertained or doing something weird to make them squeal in delight (that's his favorite noise). He is addicted to his baby's smile.

His brothers are demons when protecting their kids. He's a straight up MONSTER. If you make that baby so much as quiver their lip in duress, or look at them without permission, he's going to make sure that mistake doesn't happen twice.

Active dad in the exercise sense. He'd do his workouts with the baby nearby, but safely away from heavy equipment, to the point they wanna join dad.

Yes he does those little baby exercises to work out the legs for baby too. Get the kid started young for a healthy life!

He also participates in 'baby workouts '. If the baby is on their back kicking their feet, HES on his back kicking his feet. If the baby is wiggling from side to side trying to roll then he's gonna do it too. If the baby is on their stomach lifting themselves up by pushing up on their little arms then yonji is doing it too and if the baby flops he flops too. He will even do his push ups in time with the baby trying to push themselves off the floor.

His kid is an overachiever. They want to crawl and roll as soon as possible to follow dad around, and he LOVES IT. Makes him so proud and he's their biggest cheerleader.

If the kid didn't learn to crawl before walking they were definitely a butt scooter, and he loved that too and always made sure to compliment their kid as they got better at bouncing along on their butt "whoa! Good job on that bounce little buddy! You got some serious air on that one!"

He wants more as soon as you are able and willing. He loves this one so much he's sure he can spread it to more kids.

" what do you say sweetheart? Wanna make a giant green family with me?"

The thought all three of them share: Absolutely, under any circumstances, DO NOT let judge anywhere near their partners or babies. They were fucked up enough thanks to him. They won't let him do the same to their kids. Reiju is fine though and if Sanji WANTS to, he can come around and visit his nieces and nephews.

Woooooo I finally finished these. I hope you all enjoyed these as much as I did making them. Probably going to make a part 2 for more nsfw hcs in regards to this. Again, thank you @moonlit-mystery-writer for feeding my mind on this matter and sharing your hcs and thoughts. It got me through. Now more people can experience vinsmoke love.

Y'all have a good one and see ya next time!

[leviiattacks]

May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If  you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you  stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at  it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.  

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second.  It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful. 

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase. 

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

[wisehq]

Mission Debrief: Chapter Forty-nine

...It smells like a goddamn come-back!

Okay, jokes about my inevitable return aside, can we all agree that Steve Jobs look-alike is creepy as sin? The discord sever has passed their judgement; the dude’s definitely a freak- kudos to Endo for making the first character I outright despise, I guess? Anyway, after missing out on the last chapter I’m ready to go full steam ahead on this week’s update!

It was a short chapter thankfully and definitely back-loaded, but there’s still plenty to talk about as always. I’m making triple sure to save my draft as I go this time and I’ve got alcohol at the ready, so let’s fricken do this!

I’m not going to talk much about the assassins; they are all bad men and they are all up to bad things, and that’s...pretty much all we got lol. Evil Franky is probably the most interesting of the bunch to me, but even he didn’t do much this chapter. They were glossed over mostly, so instead I wanna focus on my favorite panels.

Poor Loid, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m reveling in all his misery- it’s just that at this point in the story even I have to relent and say I feel bad how stuck in the middle of everything he is. Anya’s manipulating him (hilariously) and he just can’t catch a break, and on top of all that he still has to play dad like the good little spy he is. That face of his will forever be a mood, and I resonate wholly with his done-ness (also just pointing out that Anya is adorable as ever- SHE’S SO LITTLE!)

Okay, Zeb and Olka...I’ll captain this dam ship myself if I have to. Honestly, this whole development we got out of them came out of nowhere, but I’m not complaining at all. I could see how someone might ship them in earlier chapters, courtesy of  the old tried and true method of “boy + girl + being in general close proximity = love” that we see all the time, but Zeb coming out and being (mostly) outright with his feelings took my completely by surprise. I wasn’t expecting anything between these two, aside from perhaps a friendship born from being forced to escape with one another. I would have been fine with that, but this takes it to a much more interesting level-

-especially when framed within the context of the war, and it’s after-math. On top of the cute moment we got with Zeb and Olka, we got to learn a bit more about how the world was after the fighting stopped. @tare-chan​​ and I discussed a bit about how criminal organizations such as the mafia have historically offered help in times of hardship, and it’s interesting that this is the route Endo took with things (Shopkeeper’s comments about Olka’s family being an honorable criminal organization certainly make more sense now, at least). We also have confirmation that it’s been roughly a decade since the war ended, something that’s touched on a bit more as McMahon returns to rendezvous with the others.

He’s such an enigmatic character. I want to know more about his past and his relationship with Garden. It’s also very interesting how he frames himself and Yor; they’re soldiers, just like Yuri. Whether it’s for the government or shadow government, they fight and die for the sake of Ostania. He truly believes in his cause, and he wholly expects the same out of Yor.

McMahon is cold and calculated. Yor, meanwhile, is soft and earnest. She is wholly outside her wheelhouse; nothing about this mission is like anything she’s ever done before. Personally, as an outsider looking in, I think she’s doing a fantastic job so far. Not only has she kept multiple assassins at bay while protecting three people, she hasn’t drawn any attention to herself in the process. She’s damn good at what she does, but for McMahon that’s not good enough- or rather, it’s not good enough for the mission. She needs to be perfect. She needs to be cold, calculated, and lethal, just like McMahon. She needs to be ready to die to protect Olka and the baby. She needs to be Thorn Princess...and Yor Forger is in the way of that. McMahon sees that, and he warns her; throw everything away, or it’ll all be taken away. Permanently.

Yor’s not dumb. She’s very self-aware, enough so to re-evaluate herself and her performance as of late. She knows that she’s lost her edge, and it’s all because she’s afraid now. Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of getting found out. Afraid of losing her family. She’s not an emotionless robot anymore, not like the empty-eyed woman we saw her to be in the initial few chapters. Yor has things she wants to protect, things to fight for. In many situations and stories, one would assume that to be a boon- but here it’s not. Her job involves kill or be killed, and worldly ties will only hold you back. It’s a frame of thought that’s kept her among the living all this time...

...but as I said, Yor’s not dumb. She’s thinking, enough to where she’s starting to question why she’s even risking everything in the first place. What’s in it for her? How does her risking her life day in and day out benefit her? She already has everything she could want; people who care for her, and people who she cares for in return. In that sense, being an assassin is- in actuality- a distraction from what she truly desires...but at the same time, she’s too far in. At least at the moment. No amount of fondness she has for her family will get her out of the situation she’s in right now. So then, what to do?

I’ll go ahead and predict that Olka, being wide-awake as she is, will likely give her another pep-talk. She’s no stranger to difficult choices. Likewise, matters of friends and family, and choosing between them an duty, will likely be subjects she knows a thing or two about. At least I hope, anyway. I want more interaction between them, and I also want Yor to come to a deeper understanding of her current state. Deep down she knows what she wants, but she’s forcing herself to comply with everyone else’s whim. Hopefully sometime soon it’ll coming a point where she stops thinking about what others want out of her, and instead focus on what’s best for her- and by extension, the people she cares about.

Here’s hoping we get at least a peak of that next chapter.

In the meantime, though- BONUS!

I’d like to hang this on my wall and title it, “My constant state of mind”

[basicjetsetter]

The Fall of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Heavy Suspense, Language, Adult Themes, Violence, Gambling, Drinking

♢ Word Count: 6.5k

☆ A/N: No joke, this took me about two years to conceptualize. Two freaking years. But I can 100% say it was worth it to write every word. This is by far one of my most creative works and I love that I get to finally share it with you all. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading!

You couldn’t help but notice and admire how pretty the sky appeared when it was tinged in the auroral haze of an autumn morning and backdropped by the twinkling glass panes of New York’s notorious skyscrapers. Though autumn’s end isn’t for a couple of weeks, the lukewarm season allowed Manhattan a preview of winter’s frigid air. The city's constant roar hummed down to a distant lullaby as you walked up the steps and in through the doors of the Metropolitan Detention Center.

It’s an impressively modern building, one you’ve become intimately familiar with in the past couple of years. Everything inside screams order, from the plain white, bleach-scented linoleum floors to the rows upon rows of caged boxes containing a range of one-time offenders, serial criminals, and constant jailbirds. The first time you ever entered the establishment, it struck you just how much the atmosphere felt devoid and depraved, almost as if hope and happiness got stopped, frisked, and turned away at the door. You never liked staying more than necessary.

None of the four guards stationed along the main lobby walls paid you any attention as you marched up to the reception desk. Their inattention didn’t spawn out of contempt but out of fear. They knew who you were here for.

The receptionist, on the other hand, wouldn’t care if the Queen of England herself hop-scotched through the front entrance, bowed, and bestowed him the coveted Royal Crown on a jewel-encrusted platter.

He certainly never took an interest in your frequent visits. The first time you set foot into this building, a bright-eyed attorney anxious to speak with her first client, the oaf of a man merely grunted at your carefully constructed introductions and waved you off like a pesky fly. On a typical day, your exchange of words consisted of him curtly asking you to state your business while he half-listened to your response and stabbed at his keyboard with blunt fingers. Detaching his gaze from the monitor might have required exhaustion of his half-assed energy.

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

Most of your ordinary clients got shipped to this facility and locked up with the rest of the inmates until you picked up their case. Unlike this particular client you planned on springing today, those other men lacked the say-so to determine their cell. None of them came close to his status. They didn’t have the power nor the money to hire a personal attorney, and none of their crimes could ever match those of the calculated, cunning man who controlled all New York's avenues and boulevards.

In the streets, he’s known as Deus. Depending on how close you are in his circle, he's either Parker or Pete. The name in the system is Peter Benjamin Parker. Your fiancé.

| Last Evening  |

“Stop fidgeting with your collar, Peter.”

“This fucking bowtie keeps… shit… it keeps choking me.” He growled out his frustration. “I’m going to fire that damn stylist.”

You threw him an exasperated glare as he ripped off the accessory. “Maybe if you hadn’t told him to pick any old bowtie, you wouldn’t be whining so much.”

“Remind me again why you're forcing me to wear this, anyway?” He paused for effect, placing his hand under his chin like Rodin’s The Thinker, and then snapped his fingers in dramatic realization. “Oh, right! Because Stark is a pretentious asshole, who thinks tuxedos are mandatory at all events thrown in his honor.”

Peter may hate the idea of wearing a formal tuxedo for the whole night, but you were going to enjoy every last minute of him in that attire, mainly because he resembles a model who stepped right off the page of a GQ cover. The low-lighting in this limousine certainly did its best to heighten your mood, highlighting the sharp angles of Peter’s clenched jaw. You’d have to remember to send Pepper a Thank You basket for planning the event as Black Tie.

“Can you at least pretend to get along with Tony tonight?” To see if his jaw could tighten any further, you coyly add, “He is the new Governor of New York, after all.”

Mission accomplished. Peter leaned his head back against the headrest and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, the light that glinted off of his platinum Rolex creating a scattered array of lights against the black leather seats. You pried your eyes off the extension of his neck as he spoke. “Great,” he huffed. “That’s exactly what I need right now. A gloating Stark who’s now legally duty-bound to hound my ass. One more thing to think about.”

As the limo pulled up to a slow halt in front of the Plaza Hotel, you grabbed one of Peter’s hands and held it until his eyes met yours. You gave him a reassuring smile and said, “Everything’s going to be alright, baby.”

The driver opened the door before Peter could speak and held out his gloved hand for you. You’ve been to the Plaza Hotel on many occasions, mostly business, and yet the sight of the château-styled building at night, with its myriad of lit windows and its luxurious lobby never ceased to leave you breathless. The view effectually took your gaze away from Peter’s tux, but not for long. The moment he stepped out of the limo, bathed in the golden light of the building, you felt transfixed all over again.

Peter discreetly tipped the driver and then turned to face you, clearly not as impressed with the Plaza Hotel as you were. He placed his warm hands on the swells of your hips and pulled you in front of him. His eyes appraised you, from your stiletto heels to your tight-fitted, off the shoulder evening dress, traveling up to your chunky Senegalese twists elegantly laid over your shoulder. He let out a low whistle and said, “If looks could kill…”

You straightened his collar and opened up the top button of his gingham dress shirt for both your sakes, then swiftly leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Parker.”

He wolfishly grinned as you quickly detached yourself from his borderline caressing hold. You knew he’d want more than a short kiss, but you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked tonight.

“Behave,” you chided.

“And if I don’t, future Mrs. Parker?” he prodded, a huskiness in his tone that sent a delicious shiver through you. His steps slowly brought him closer and closer to where you stood, and you weren’t sure if you’d have the will power to move away again. One proper kiss wouldn’t hurt…

A disembodied voice groaned in your ear. “Book a room!”

Peter chuckled unabashedly. “Sorry, Ned.” Though he tried to appear unaffected, Peter made an effort to clear his throat and tugged at his collar. “You ready on your end?”

“Yeah. Mic’s clear. Computer’s up and running. I’m all set. Can’t say the same for you two.”

You glance accusingly at Peter, who waggled his eyebrows at you. “We’re ready. Sorry about that. You know how Peter gets when I wear twists.”

Ned verbally shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I still refuse to sit on my couch, by the way, even after washing it four times! You owe me a new couch, dude. For my trauma.”

Peter half-heartedly grinned at the ground and said, “Dude, if we pull this off, I’ll buy you a whole new furniture set.” The one half of his grin faded away, replaced with a grim line of determination and sobriety. “Where’s he at?”

A few clicks rang through your ear-piece, then Ned replied, “Not far. About twenty minutes away, on Queens Boulevard in Elmhurst. Might be a while before he reaches the Plaza, though. There’s a jam on the bridge.”

“Cool, thanks. Keep us updated.” Peter didn’t want you to catch his expression, but you didn’t need to directly see it to realize he’s in business mode, cold and calculated, little to no warmth or playfulness left in his brown eyes.

Copying your move, he took your hand and held it until you both stared at each other. Briefly, with your eyes locked in place, he searched for any sliver of doubt, giving you one last option to ditch and save face while he executes the plan solo. You did not doubt that he and Ned could somehow pull it off without so much as a hiccup. Odds always work in Peter’s favor. For the past three years that you’ve known him, he’s never lost a gamble. Tonight, though, the gamble must include you, a new piece to his complicated game—a variable. If anything were to head south, the last thing Peter would want is to implicate you.

You understood the risks: the potential loss of your career, your squeaky clean record, and possibly your life. You wouldn’t be here, with him of all people, if you didn’t trust the plan. So you didn’t sway, letting your eyes confirm where you stood on the matter. I’m sticking with you. This exchange passed in absolute silence, ending with a small nod and a lingering kiss to your palm.

It’s always surprising to see Peter without a trace of humor or good-nature in his eyes. It took you a while to acclimate to his night and day demeanor and even longer to trust which emotions were real and which served a purpose. As he slides a cocky smile back onto his face, one that graces every part of his features, and holds out his arm for you, you knew. He’s in his element.

The game’s begun.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Not even five seconds into the Terrace Room and your jaw hit the floor. Pepper sure knows how to out-do herself.

The room displayed the same historic French charm as the outside façade, but much more grand, decorated with multiple crystalline chandeliers, large stone semicircular archways, and classical art adorning the ceilings. Somehow, Pepper’s touch of cream-colored table cloths, bouquets of immaculate white peonies, golden napkins, and floating candle holders added the perfect ambiance for Tony’s celebration.

True to his fashion.

The Man of the Hour is currently giving his speech at the head table as the Maître D’ checks your reservation and prompts a server to escort you and Peter to your table. It’s located not too far away from Tony's, near a stone wall and a divider separating the other tables. You weren’t entirely familiar with the three people who were already seated, but they graciously offered quiet nods of welcome. Peter grabbed your chair for you and smoothly pushed you in before taking his seat next to you while you strained to catch the last bits of Tony’s speech.

“… and I can truly say that without you, my amazing colleagues, friends, and organizers present tonight, this win would not have been possible. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And um, yeah. Thank you, all.” Tony lifted his champagne flute into the air with a flourish and a winning grin. Peter rolled his eyes. “Here’s to an awesome four years as New York’s new Governor.”

Everyone stood up to give him a round of applause, Peter’s claps more grudging than encouraging, but you were glad he put in some effort. When he looked your way, you flashed him a loving smile and mouthed Thank you. He rolled his eyes again, playfully this time, and quirked his mouth up in an amused grin.

Live music picked up as soon as Tony took his seat, soft jazz that blended well with the onslaught of muffled chatter and clinks of silverware against glass plates. Servers incrementally brought out the main course of roasted beef filet dressed in tomato tarragon sauce and a side of arugula salad. Peter stifled a chuckle as he heard your stomach growl when a server placed the plate of food in front of you.

As another server leaned in to pour you a glass of wine, you held out a hand and gave him a polite smile. “No, thank you. May I just have some water, please?”

The young man nodded, but Peter piped up before he could head off. “Got anything stronger back there? Bacardi? Whiskey? Rum?”

“We have Vodka, sir,” the server stuttered out.

“Excellent. I’ll take a whole bottle of that,” Peter grinned and pressed a couple of $100 bills into the man’s palm. Peter’s effect on people never got tiring to witness. He and the server appear to be around the same age, somewhere near the 25-year mark, yet Peter's vibe reduced the server to stutters. You’d say the tux assisted with his air of importance, but you’ve seen Peter have that same effect on businessmen while wearing a shirt that read “I lost an electron. Are you positive?” and plaid pajama bottoms.

The server vigorously nodded. “Right away, sir.”

“Don’t drink too much,” you cautioned in a tone low enough for only Peter’s ears. “You know how you get, and I don’t want Tony to have an excuse to place cuffs on you.”

Peter scoffed and mumbled around a bite of salad, “If I looked at him wrong, Tony would cuff me.”

“Now that’s a little presumptuous, ain’t it, Petey?”

You jumped up from your seat and wrapped Tony up in a hug he warmly returned. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you, Governor Stark.”

Tony waved a hand, yet a big smile remained plastered on his face. “Ah, come on. It was bound to happen. Policy is the new name of the game, but I’ll sure miss that courtroom. You missy, on the other hand, deserve all the praise in the world. Best and youngest attorney in the whole state. Mentored by yours truly.” He trailed off, glancing in Peter’s general direction. “Though I question why you waste your talents on the likes of him.”

Now sitting ramrod straight in his chair, Peter slanted his eyes toward yours as you silently pleaded with him to be cordial. Once he brought his eyes back to Tony, he jerked up his chin in recognition. “Stark.”

Tony nodded at Peter. “Baby-faced Criminal.”

“Hey, now!” Pepper swooped in, pulling Tony back a little so she could see you better. “Just look at you! Always a beauty in everything you wear,” she gushed, then put on a stern face for Tony and Peter. “No roughhousing, tonight, boys. I mean it.”

“I was just making a valid critique on my star pupil's decision to become the Personal Attorney to a well-known arms dealer, is all,” Tony defended. He threw up his hands and drew up an innocent expression that might have worked had it not looked so derisive.

Pepper, pursing her lips, nodded sagely. “Right. Okay. So you were being an ass?”

“Pep!” Tony protested incredulously. Peter didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smirk.

You rolled your eyes in defeat. Oil and water can never mix, no matter how hard you try. No, Tony did not take the news of you becoming Peter’s PA well, and he’s made sure to rake you over the coals bout it every time the chance arises. You’ve been Peter’s attorney coming up on two years, and there’s not a sign from either of them that the grudge will ever be let go, not even for your sake, though they do try when threatened.

“I want you two to say something nice to each other and then let the rest of the night go on in peace. Go ahead,” Pepper ordered, indicating for Tony to go first.

Tony took in an excessive amount of air, then puffed it out. “Alright, Parker. Um… I like how you ostensibly don’t know the rules to a Black Tie Event.” He ended with a gesture to Peter’s lack of a bowtie. The poor thing lies in a mangled heap on the floor of the limousine.

Peter ticked up his eyebrow. “I like how the stick up your ass seems to reach new heights every time we speak, Stark.”

Pepper sighed and grabbed Tony’s arm. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get. Come on, you. There are many more guests to greet.” She tugged him along, throwing you an apologetic smile over her slim shoulder as they walked away.

Almost out of earshot, you could hear Tony say, “He calls himself Deus, for Christ's sake!”

They left you two in heated silence. Peter refused to meet your glare, instead choosing to chug down the freshly set out champagne flute filled with Vodka. He immediately flushed as he poured himself another glass full.

“Peter—” you started.

“Don’t say it. I tried, alright?” He slumped against the back of his seat, then shot you a surly frown. “You didn’t even mention our engagement to him. Again.”

You looked down at your untouched food, suddenly not hungry.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Were you ever going to tell him?”

An anchor of guilt plummeted to the pit of your stomach, chasing away the desire to eat anything for the next few hours. Your answer came out sounding whittled and nearly swallowed by the music. “Pepper knows.”

“And that tells me all I need to know,” said Peter, pushing away from the table and taking the bottle of Vodka with him.

You tried to stamp down the rise of startled panic by clearing your throat and evenly asking, “Where are you going?” A high octave managed to slip in on the last word.

“To socialize. Play some cards. Place a few bets. Criminal stuff. You want in?” He didn’t wait for you to answer, moving further and further away as a wave of hot anger replaced your shame. “Oh, my bad. Sorry. I forgot you probably don’t want your mentor seeing you ruin your perfect image with, what was it? The likes of me?”

He swaggered off, not a mere hint of his hurt evident in his show of arrogance.

You gingerly sat back in your seat, careful to ignore the inquiring stares from those who caught most of the argument. Your nails came close to puncturing your palms, and if your jaw clamped any tighter, it would snap. An annoying, persistent inner voice chimed out, He’s right, you know. It was probably Ned.

You understood Peter enough to know that Tony not being clued in on your engagement wounded him. He told everyone in his life about you—told Aunt May the second you finally agreed to go on that first date with him, nearly shouted to all the rooftops in Queens “SHE SAID YES!” when he proposed three months ago. Yet here you are, dragging your heels on telling Tony, one of the most influential people in your life, that you’re marrying the love of your life. He wouldn’t understand. Or, rather, he would, and he’d abhor your decision.

You’re not sure you could ever explain to Tony how Peter is your favorite star in the night sky. A big, glowing ball of light you spend hours upon hours admiring and appreciating. One that just burns brighter than all the rest.

Your engagement ring sparkled at you, winking as you moved it side to side and marveled at the simple yet elegant details of the inlaid sapphires and diamonds. Peter told you he picked it out a week before the proposal, but you knew he carried it around in his pocket for months, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When he asked, you couldn’t say yes fast enough. At that moment, Tony and his aversion to Peter never crossed your mind, but it’s lingered ever since.

Guilt returned as a salve for your anger.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a woman sitting at your table, a slight accent in her voice. She appears to be young, almost too young to be at this function. The glimmer in her eye and the hitch in her smile denoted a wise person. Goddess braids sat on top of her head like a crown, and she’s wearing a simple black dress with pearl studs that nicely accentuates her dark brown skin.

You uncurled your hands and blew out a held-in breath, kindly smiling back. “Something like that.”

She held out a hand. “Shuri Udaku.”

That name came with an inkling of recognition, but you couldn’t quite place it. You shook hands with the young woman, giving her your name. When you momentarily looked at your clasped hands, your eyes dropped down to catch the jewelry on her wrist. They weren’t pearls like her earrings. They were onyx and emblazoned with ivory symbols on each bead: Kimoyo beads, a technological revolution currently sweeping the nation, manufactured only by one woman. The realization hit you hard. “Hold on a second. The Shuri Udaku? Founder of Vibranium Tech, Shuri Udaku?”

“The one and only,” she answered, her smile growing wider.

This confirmation launched you into a field of questions and acknowledgments. It turns out she knows of your work as New York’s youngest attorney, but you know a bit more about her line of work because Peter always voiced his interest in her growing business. On the surface, Vibranium Tech is like any other technology company, issuing out new and improved ways of communication and medical treatment. In the underground, there’s been rumors of her interest in creating weapons—technological weapons unlike any the arms dealing business has seen before.

You didn’t want to bring up that facet of knowledge just yet. The normal conversation worked wonders on you, loosening your tense muscles and clamped jaw, all of them singing sweet relief once your body naturally released the tension.

“So, did I hear Tony correctly when he said your partner is the Deus?”

You winced and found yourself searching the room for a glimpse of your fiancé. He’s commandeered a table in the back of the venue, showing off his black and gold deck of playing cards to a group of interested guests itching to play a hand.

“Yeah, that would be him.”

“That’s so badass,” Shuri mused, leaning in conspiratorially. “Is he like the mob bosses in TV shows and movies? Like does he have henchmen? Bad-temper? High-speed car chases with the police?”

You genuinely laughed. “Not exactly. Henchmen, kind of. Bad temper is rare. And he’d never shut up about having a high-speed car chase with the police. No, he’s a little more lowkey than all that.”

Long ago, back when you were innocent to the life Peter led, you assumed that that’s precisely what it entailed—an exhilarating life of high stakes, exorbitant amounts of money, strong-armed goons, and reckless shoot-outs. That might be the case for a few bosses, but not Peter. He’s too strategic, and the ins-and-outs of his trade are too complicated to pin on just one person.

“Well, I, um…” she stopped, considered her words. You unconsciously drew in closer. “I may have a business offer for him.”

You kept your smile on, but it felt more commercial-like than friendly. “What type of offer?”

Shuri gulped down a generous amount of her red wine, then darted her eyes side to side before speaking lowly. “Would he be interested in high powered weapons?”

You raised your eyebrows but kept up your cool front. “Depends. In exchange for what?”

“Protection.”

A voice in your ear announced, “He’s here.”

You ignored it, focusing on Shuri. “From who?”

Shuri peeked around again to make sure no one paid any attention to your private conversation, but her examination stopped at the entrance. “From him.”

You cautiously slid your eyes to the main entrance, heart hammering a thunderous rhythm in your chest.

Brock Rumlow. Peter's rival and leader of a group named the Scorpions. A peddler/enforcer for the East Coast's largest mob: Hydra. Of course he’d try to pressure Shuri for the weapons.

He didn’t come dressed according to the occasion, opting for his usual tight-fitted black Tee and gray tactical pants. The visible half of his tattoo, a scorpion’s tail curling out from the cuff of his shirt, stood out against his tan skin. Two other men stood behind him, wearing almost identical clothes to Rumlow and sporting the same scorpion tattoo on their right bicep, not exactly hiding that they carried concealed weapons. All the voices in the room hollowed out to stiff silence, and even the band took its cue to halt. Your eyes found Tony in time to see his jaw tick for the briefest moment, and then he slid right back into a restrained version of his good cheer.

“Hey, hey! This is still a party, people,” Tony called out, addressing the guests. “Eat, talk, have a good time.” He signaled to the band to pick up the music, then crossed the room to chat with Rumlow. You’ve never seen him so keyed up.

You touched Shuri’s hand comfortingly, not taking your eyes off Rumlow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She deflated gratefully. “Thank you.”

You nodded, already out of your seat and rushing to the back of the room, stopping short once you arrived at Peter’s table. He’s thoroughly invested in this round of poker, glancing back and forth from his cards to the nervous twitches of the five men and one woman at the table. You recognized four of them: Judge Nicholas Fury, Lieutenant Steve Rogers, Manhattan’s Chief of Police Sam Wilson, and District Attorney Natasha Romanoff. Sweat is perspiring on Steve’s forehead, Sam’s leg can’t stop bouncing up and down, and even Natasha, a woman known for keeping her cool while in the line of fire, is chewing on her lower lip. Fury's not fazed. He just seems tapped out.

From what you can estimate, about six hundred dollars lies in the middle of the table.

Sam and Steve speak at the same time. “I’m out.”

The other men followed suit, muttering their defeat. Fury dropped his cards down on the table facedown.

Peter wickedly grinned, zeroing in on Natasha. “Got any last words?”

Natasha squinted her eyes at his taunt. “Kiss my ass, Parker.” She put her cards down face up, showing her hand, and quirked up an eyebrow that dared him to top that: three Queens and a pair of twos. Full House.

Peter laid down his hand. Four 3’s and an ace. Four of a Kind.

A chorus of fucks circled the group as Peter cleared the table of the crumpled bills. Two new bottles of opened Vodka sit on the table as well, along with seven shot-glasses. Steve’s glass remains untouched, but the others look like they’ve drained two shots each.

“Bucky’s gonna kill me for losing so much money,” Steve muttered, twirling around his wedding band.

Sam sadly shook his head. “Dammit, man. I thought we had him this time, too.” He eyed Peter with suspicion. “What you got, kid? X-Ray vision?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, causing a few curls to escape its sleek style. “Nah, jus’ luck.”

“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping your luck runs out,” said Fury, raising his shot glass and slamming it back.

You inched closer to Peter’s side. He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes are glazed over. You wonder how he’s even capable of sitting up, let alone playing people out of their money.

“Peter,” you whispered, putting your hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t shake you off. “Rumlow’s here.”

The remaining people at the table began to disperse in a collective gripe of loss. Peter didn’t say anything, only jerked his head in acknowledgment.

Your hand itched to slap him back into reality. “Peter, baby, listen. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I should have told Tony about our engagement.” Desperation sapped into your words. “It was stupid and childish not to, and as soon as I get the chance, I’ll tell him. But for the love of God, this is not the time to—”

“Well, well, well! Look who we got here! Deus, in the flesh!” boomed a disturbingly baritone voice. Rumlow, shadowed by his two men, plopped down in one of the empty chairs, sitting right across from Peter. He glanced at Peter first, then languorously landed his gaze on you. “And who’s this pretty lady you got here?”

“My fiancée,” answered Peter monotonously. He said it as if the words synonymously meant: just some chick. A dull kind of ache slashed through your chest as you dropped your hand back down to your side and took two steps away from him.

Rumlow pretended to miss the interaction, appearing to be in deep thought, and then clapped his hands once. “Oh! The attorney. I don’t believe I ever formally introduced myself.” He offered his large hand to you, grinning with his whole teeth on display. “Name’s Brock Rumlow.”

You reluctantly let him take your outstretched hand. His skin is blazing hot, to the point where your hand nearly felt suffocated. He brought it to his lips for a small kiss that twisted your stomach in knots. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rumlow.”

Rumlow winked. “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart. And call me Brock.”

“Fuck do you want, Rumlow?” Peter bit out, picking the cards up off the table and shuffling them.

“Ooh,” tsked Rumlow. He made sure to lay another grin on you just to irk Peter. “Come on, Parker. Can’t a guy just enjoy some company once in a while? It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.” He watched Peter’s movements, the cards haphazardly sliding back and forth from one hand to the next. “Playing cards, huh? You up for a quick game?”

You butt in with a pressed laugh. “Actually, we were just leaving.” Drunk Peter is overly confident. If Rumlow found that out, you knew he’d take Peter for everything he’s worth.

“So soon?” Rumlow glanced down at his watch. “It’s not even ten yet. What’s the rush?”

Peter cut you off. “No rush. I’m staying. You play Draw Poker?”

“ ‘Course I play Draw Poker, but that seems too simple for you, Parker. Don’t you wanna make it hard for me? A little Texas Hold ’em?”

“Draw Poker,” said Peter, splitting the deck against the table and flexing the cards enough to have them rapidly collapse into place. “Take it or leave it.”

A dark, mischievous smile brewed on Rumlow’s face as he watched Peter fumble with the deck and, at some point, entirely losing his grip. You discreetly watched him size up his opponent, dismayed to find that he likes the assessment. Hair is stubbornly falling into Peter’s eyes, eyes that anyone a mile away could point out are bleary and bloodshot. The flush from earlier deepened on his neck and flashed scarlet across his face—an easy target for a skilled player.

“Deal me in.”

The first game played out exactly as you feared it would. Rumlow and Peter agreed on a $100 ante to get the ball rolling, both pulling out a single bill from their pocket and placing it in the middle of the table, then they settled for a pot-limit. Though Peter’s shuffling skills lacked his usual finesse, he expertly dealt each of them a hand of five cards.

You leaned against the back wall with your arms crossed over your chest and watched the game unfold. Rumlow processes his hands at the speed of a bullet, snapping his eyes to his cards once he’s drawn, and immediately discards the ones he doesn’t like when it’s his turn. Other than the minutest crinkle in the corner of his left eye, you couldn’t tell when he felt confident or when he bluffed. He gave nothing away, not even an involuntary scratch to his five o’clock shadow. He was so in the zone he began to partake in the Vodka bottle close to his side of the table, swigging straight from the mouth.

On the other hand, Peter moved as if a millisecond was the equivalent length of ten years, scanning his cards more than several times with pursed lips, looking up at Rumlow, scanning his cards again, once, twice, three times, then reluctantly discarding some. He frequently shoves a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyesight, but the same unruly strands find their way back to impede his vision. He scratches the shell of his ear when he’s about to draw, and Rumlow’s picked up the tell.

Rumlow never even had to do more than call. The confident drunk in Peter always raised.

The pot increased to about $1400 before Peter folded his hand.

As Rumlow collected his winnings, he suggestively lifted his eyebrows at Peter. “Care for round 2?”

Confident drunk Peter never backs down, even when he’s the dumbass who can’t remember that he’s brought fists to a gunfight.

You step back up to the table and put a restrictive hand on Peter’s wrist to keep him from picking up the cards. “Enough, Peter. You’re done. Let’s go home.”

“No, I’m not done,” he said, snatching his arm away from your touch. “Go talk to Tony or somethin’. I’ve got this.”

Rumlow caught your bewildered stare and shrugged his broad shoulders, a gesture that didn’t match his cocky smile. He has Peter right where he wants him, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him because Peter is a willing participant running on alcohol and no critical judgment.

You should have left right then and there, but your feet stayed rooted to the floor. You couldn’t leave Peter like this. Sighing, you pulled up a chair to the table and sat beside Peter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on him,” said Rumlow, putting on a smile too sardonic to be comforting. Too artificial to be genuine.

His lie didn’t surprise you. The hole Peter dug himself did.

The second round went similarly to the first. Flash decisions from Rumlow and molasses-like contemplation from Peter. This time, though, the ante came up to $200. As far as you knew, Peter is only carrying about $2500 in his pockets.

By the time the fourth round started, Peter’s Rolex lies on the table. The ante is up to $1000. Somehow the pot-limit became no-limit.

By the fifth round, Peter made paperless bets. Ante is $10,000. Rumlow knew Peter’s pockets went deep, and he’d keep at it until he struck gold.

Nothing you said stopped him. Peter hadn’t won a single hand. He’s desperate for at least one good hand; he’s got something to prove.

Rumlow kept drinking with each win.

By the seventh round, a crowd is around the table, watching in horrified interest as Peter raises the bet to one million dollars. The most significant amount you’ve ever seen him bet. So far, he’s held this hand for three draws.

Peter’s hair lost all semblance of its previous style, hanging over his forehead in disarray. He’s hunched over in his chair, his jacket’s off, and he’s rolled up his dress shirt’s sleeves to his elbows. His group’s signature tattoo stands out stark against his inner wrist: a roughly sketched spider.

Rumlow, eyes now as bloodshot as Peter’s and face just as flushed under his tan skin, asks, “Think you got something, Parker?”

“Do you?” Peter countered.

“I just might.” Rumlow ran a finger against his bottom lip, then smiled at his hand. “Why don’t you say we make this last Showdown a little more interesting, eh?”

A terrible queasiness wrapped around your gut.

Peter listened intently, his silence Rumlow’s indication to continue.

“$10 million. And the best trading routes. Including foreign connections. I want everything you got.”

You turned to Peter, placing your hand on top of his until he finally looked at you. Your eyes begged him to listen to you for once tonight. “Please don’t do this.”

His reply sounded tortured. “But I can. I have to.”

“Is winning really worth losing everything?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Rumlow chuckled ominously. “Oh, that’s not everything, sweetheart. We both know what’s left.” He gave you a meaningful stare.

Your eyes widened in disgust.

Peter snapped his gaze to Rumlow. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“No, but I want her. Imagine having New York’s best attorney in my arsenal. How many charges has she saved your sorry ass from, Parker? Five? All felonies, right? You lucky son of a bitch.” Rumlow’s smile is sinister. “Not that lucky tonight, huh?”

Peter spoke through gritted teeth. “Back off, Rumlow.”

“To have Deus wrapped around her finger, she must be pretty damn good. Is she, Parker?” goaded Rumlow, ignoring Peter’s warning. “Is she any good?”

Instinct controlled your hands as they seized Peter’s cards before he launched himself over the table and landed an ear-splitting blow to Rumlow’s jaw. Rumlow must’ve known the punch was coming. Still, he hadn’t expected the impact to be that forceful because his eyes blinked in astonishment. The two men behind Rumlow didn’t react fast enough, missing Peter as he stood above Rumlow, grabbed the handgun hidden in the waist of his pants and pressed the muzzle deep into Rumlow’s temple, finger on the trigger.

Rumlow shifted his eyes up to Peter. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Peter’s voice is lethally calm. “Say one more goddamn word about her and you’re dead.”

“Put that gun down, Parker!”

Tony. Shit.

Peter squared his jaw, never taking his eyes off of Rumlow. About six off-duty policemen and the venue’s guards have their weapons trained on Peter.

“I said put the gun down! Now!” Tony had pushed his way through the crowd, Sam and Steve right behind him. You didn’t notice until now how quiet the room became, everyone holding in a collective breath.

“Put it down, son,” Steve gently ordered. He spied Rumlow’s men, their hands tightened on their guns, and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”

Peter didn’t move a muscle. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath.

Sam, holding a pair of cuffs in his hand, tried getting through to him. “It’s over. Drop the gun, kid.”

A slow grin spread across Rumlow’s face.

“Peter,” you spoke softly.

His red-rimmed eyes met yours.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Just put the gun down, okay? Please.”

Two heartbeats passed before his grip on the gun slackened, and he begrudgingly lowered his arm.

Steve and Sam seized on the opportunity. Steve disarmed Peter while Sam restrained Peter’s arms behind his back and tightened the cuffs around his wrists.

Rumlow massaged his injured jaw. “Guess that means I win, Parker.”

Sam yanked Peter back before he could charge at Rumlow. When Peter looked your way, he saw you still held his cards. “I’m still in play.”

“Wait,” you protested. Sam began to guide Peter up to the entrance. “Peter, I can’t—”

He nodded his head furiously, talking over his shoulder as Sam lead him away. “Yes, you can. You know you can, baby. Play the hand.”

You stared helplessly at Peter’s retreating form. It was all on you.

Rumlow watched, unperturbed; his cards still held tight in the hand that wasn’t nursing his jaw.

Slowly, you lowered yourself down into Peter’s chair, sitting directly across from Rumlow’s smirking face. Tony stared at you incredulously. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless. The room’s chatter never recovered, either. All eyes stay glued towards the standoff.

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

[lilsrusso]

[ TEARS ] + REVERSED

[ TEARS ] +REVERSED:  having finally found the sender, the receiver breaks down in tears of relief, fear, and many other emotions as they officially reunite.

it should be nothing out of the ordinary. there shouldn't be anything special about this day. she's keeping guard of the perimeter, gun perched by her hip, a mostly boring job since they don't get a lot of action near their camp.

she sees an undead being crawling towards them. she shoots.

the creature cries in response.

her hand freezes on the freshly pressed trigger, smugness wiped off her features in a second, as she watches the thing -- the man -- continue to struggle his way forward. her job is to gun down zombies, not wounded men fighting their way up to them. this doesn't feel right.

she's scrambling down from her post before she knows anything else, acting faster than any of the other soldiers who are confused and still lingering behind, weapons drawn. they are not moved by the same rush of misplaced familiarity as she is. something doesn't feel right. she moves warily towards the man in the distance, ready to defend herself if need be, and then a few steps in, she recognises him.

she bolts. her feet betray her, anticipating every desperate step, tripping over themselves on her rush to get to him. she calls out his name. skidding to a stop near him, she lifts up snow, exposing the dead grass underneath.

she likes to think kneeling down was a conscious decision to tend to him better, but she knows her knees buckle on their own accord. "gilbert?! gil?" his name comes out like an accusation, like a question, like a whisper. her hands flutter in the air uselessly, scared to touch the ghost in front of her. you're dead, she thinks. you were dead, they killed you, you were dead.

he's still breathing. looking worse for wear, and nearly unrecognisable. he's breathing. he's alive. he's fully fucking alive.

tears spring to her eyes, and she hears herself let out a sob as she hooks arms around him, supporting him and pulling him against her own shaking frame. "i thought you were dead. we thought you were dead. gil, gil--" she couldn't stop crying even if she wanted to. they're not happy tears. they're something more nervous, a mix of relief and dread and fear, a mashup that feels so big inside her chest that it fills up a lump in her throat.

is it fair, to be crying on the shoulder of a dead man walking, when he's the one bleeding out in her arms? not likely. she tries to reel her emotions in. she gasps for air. you were dead, you were dead, they swore to me you were dead.

he's family. an extension of family, her own little class of addendum, people she knows might not regard her with the same intent but she's still willing to keep them close to her heart anyway.

he taught her how to read. he's the one who gave her one of her biggest gifts in this life, maybe her favourite thing in the entire world, the ability to sink into books. she'd always write down words she didn't know, and ask him about them later. for the first few months while he was gone, she collected a shy list of words, dreaming that he'd return and tell her all about their cool meanings. when they said he was dead, she threw it out. and she'd barely managed to read anything else in this past year of mourning him.

she had mourned him. weeped for days, sat in this grief for a year. he was dead. "you were dead, you were dead," she cries in disbelief, pulls back to hold his face in hands, searches for his features as if they could tell her, immediately, the story of how this happened.

he groans in pain.

realisation sinks in, her eyes suddenly wide, her arms working on supporting him again. "i shot you! i-- how--" she says it as if she's cursing it at someone else, filled with horror. the other soldiers are getting to them now, and she lets one of them step in to her place, shouldering gilbert's weight from one side. "get him--," she curses under her breath, lets a hand wipe at her own tears, smears blood on her cheek. "get him to sebastien. he needs help." she follows them closely as they carry him home, feels the ghost of gilbert's heartbeat still on her hands. her next word is a whimper past a trembling bottom lip, "please."

[ibijau]

Counterfeit AU pt5 / On AO3

Lan Xichen, left alone, discovers something about Nie Huaisang

Sitting on a kitchen chair, Lan Xichen listens as Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian try to explain to him who they are. He half wishes he could tell them that he remembers… not everything, not yet (not ever, a part of him hopes) but certainly enough that introductions aren’t quite needed. Words don’t quite make it to his mouth though, his mind still struggling to accept what’s going on. Lan Xichen, until now, always prided himself in being a rational man.

It’s hard to be rational when faced with your brother from another life, whose husband tells you that they have been looking for you for centuries, because apparently they’re immortals.

It’s odd that Lan Xichen accepts that part so easily. Immortals only exist in stories, he would have said just a few hours ago. Now though… well, there’s something not fully human to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, a touch of something more.

“It’s only the second time we find you,” Wei Wuxian says, glancing at his husband. Lan Wangji’s expression is nearly unchanged, but Lan Xichen can tell he is deeply distraught. “Well, the second time we find you where you’re still alive,” Wei Wuxian corrects, making his husband wince slightly. “We were always too late, somehow. Every time we reached you, you’d died already. Even the other time we found you alive barely counts. You were very, very old, and you weren’t quite all there anymore. You didn’t really recognise your actual family, so two strangers from another life… and anyway, you died the night we arrived.”

Lan Wangji flinches, which makes Lan Xichen want to scold Wei Wuxian because surely, after so long alive, he should have learned by now to be a little more considerate to the feelings of others, shouldn’t he? But before he can say anything, Wei Wuxian leans toward his husband and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers in a way that makes Lan Wangji relax.

In another life, Lan Xichen had sometimes taken those gestures of affection as an attack, when he had lost so much himself. He'd known, even then, that it was an irrational reaction. At least now he can watch those two and feel nothing except some relief that things worked out so well for them. 

"Are there more like you?" he asks. 

"Immortals? Not that many," Wei Wuxian admits. "I got to meet Baoshan Sanren, but of our generation only the two of us and Nie-xiong became immortals. Well, and Lan Jingyi became a god, but he's busy and we don't see him a lot. Oh, and Song Lan was around too for a long while of course, but about five centuries ago Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing's souls finally recovered from being fractured, so they all three re-entered the cycle of reincarnation. And then there's a few others from before, though not many from after. We're not sure why, but two or three generations after us, it just stopped happening."

Lan Xichen lets out a sigh. It's not that he particularly expected anything, but he feels disappointed anyway. 

"Xiongzhang might still meet others," Lan Wangji says in what seems intended as a comforting tone. He has improved in expressing himself, or else Lan Xichen remembers this too. "From that first life we all shared. Maybe from following ones, if they impacted your soul enough." 

"Oh," Lan Xichen says. His hands clench over his knees. He wonders if there's anyone he might want to meet again, when he died feeling he had failed everyone, that first time. 

“It will all come back to you here and there,” Wei Wuxian explains. “You might also realise you already know other people from before. I’ve been told it’s a weird feeling, but you get used to it.”

Lan Xichen considers this, and tries to guess who this might concern. For some reason, his little brother comes to mind, but that might be only wishful thinking. Same with his father. Maybe he actually hasn't encountered anyone from his past. No one except, of course… 

“I’ve met Meng Yao,” Lan Xichen says.

The other two men grimace.

“Hopefully you’ll also meet people you like,” Wei Wuxian replies with an embarrassed cough.

Lan Xichen, who likes Meng Yao very much indeed, stares at him blankly. What right does this stranger to pass judgement on his… not boyfriend, not exactly. Not yet. Lan Xichen was still working out the courage to have that conversation, to see if Meng Yao might be amenable to real dates, to kissing, to…

It won’t happen now.

It won’t happen because in another life, Lan Xichen murdered Meng Yao.

He didn’t particularly want to, he vaguely recalls. It had been a last resort, and to be frank Meng Yao had brought it upon himself. Still, the fact remains that Lan Xichen killed one of the men he… well, he might have loved him, back then. It’s hard to say for sure. But it is quite certain that Lan Xichen killed him, and even after several lifetimes, he’s not sure Meng Yao will have forgiven him.

He didn’t use to be a very forgiving man.

"Speaking of the devil, better go check what's going on in that basement before it turns bad," Wei Wuxian mutters, glancing in direction of the kitchen door. "Just because he's never killed Nie-xiong yet doesn't mean he can't do it ever. Hey, Lan-da-ge, do you need a ride back home?" 

The nickname feels like a slap. 

Lan Xichen remembers he could never quite decide whether he liked Wei Wuxian or not, in that first life. 

He's still not sure he does. 

"I have a taxi coming," he announces. "But thanks for the offer. I just wish to have some time to digest all of this." 

Wei Wuxian shrugs, apparently unconcerned, and leaves the kitchen. While he's gone, Lan Wangji politely asks if they might exchange phone numbers. He won't force the acquaintance, he explains, but he'd be grateful if this favour were granted. 

Lan Xichen, weak to little brothers of his in this life as in every others, readily agrees. 

Lan Wangji, so dry and formal in speech, texts with emojis everywhere. Lan Xichen is endeared, and wonders if that is Wei Wuxian's influence at play. 

Maybe he does like Wei Wuxian a little, if he can help his brother express himself more easily. 

After a little while, Lan Xichen hears two pairs of feet on the stairs coming from the basement. Wei Wuxian calls only for Lan Wangji to join them in the entrance, but Lan Xichen springs to his feet, knocking down the chair in his haste. He takes one long step, two, three, and reaches the kitchen door. From there he sees Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang at the door, the former making a joke of some sort, the later trying to put on shoes as fast as he can. They both look up when they notice a presence hovering by the kitchen door.

Nie Huaisang goes pale at the sight of Lan Xichen. His face grows tight, his lips twisting into a grimace that might be disgust, or horror, or something else entirely. Whatever it is, it makes Nie Huaisang jump to his feet and run out of the door, nearly tripping on his half tied shoelaces. Wei Wuxian sighs and shakes his head, but says nothing, even as a car door opens and closes with a slam somewhere outside. 

"Nie Huaisang hasn't changed," Lan Wangji says as he joins them

Wei Wuxian and him exchange a look. To Lan Xichen, it looks like a long conversation without words. After so long together, some things might no longer need to be said. 

"Do you want us to stay until your taxi is here?" Wei Wuxian asks, nodding toward the basement stairs. Toward Meng Yao. "You know, in case…" 

Lan Xichen considers saying yes, then feels ashamed of himself for thinking like this. Whatever happened in another life, and even if it ruins any chance of romance in the present, Lan Xichen cannot imagine this current Meng Yao harming him. 

Perhaps Lan Xichen too hasn't changed, in spite of several lifetimes which should have taught him better. 

He shakes his head. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian look unhappy, but don't insist. They tell him, again, to call them, to get in touch, to allow them in his life if he can, and leave. 

As soon as their car leaves, Meng Yao emerges from the basement and heads out as well. He looks like he cried, or like he might cry later. He doesn't spare Lan Xichen a single glance, but he seems in such a state that he might just not have noticed the other man.

That second car speeds into the distance.

Just like that, Lan Xichen is alone. 

Of course that's hardly new. He spent a few decades alone in this cold house, reflecting on his mistakes. A prison of his own making, with no company but guilt and brushes. Music he'd abandoned after how much it had cost him, but calligraphy, but poetry, but painting… 

He painted a lot, and burned it all every now and then. He was never skill enough to produce anything worth keeping, anyway, unlike… 

Lan Xichen's eyes wander toward those downward stairs. He came here for a reason, he remembers, and while he might have ruined many things, perhaps this at least he can still have. 

When he reaches the basement, Lan Xichen finds the door to Nie Huaisang’s workshop open. A fit of forgetfulness which he takes as an invitation. 

Just as Meng Yao promised, this workshop is filled with paintings in Nie Huaisang’s hand. Some appear to be reproductions of pieces Lan Xichen has seen before… unless they are originals. The notes attached to a few appear doubtful, as if the artist himself cannot remember anymore when he first painted each piece. A few are copies of other artists' work, more carefully hidden and annotated. Those, as far as Lan Xichen can tell when it isn't his subject of predilection, are mostly lost artwork. Judging by the notes, they all belonged to masters whom Nie Huaisang once met in person. 

Most interesting to Lan Xichen are Nie Huaisang’s own lost works, reproduced by his own hand and carefully labelled. The titles are familiar, as are the subjects in some cases thanks to old descriptions. But it is the first time Lan Xichen sees those, and with each one he feels he uncovers another secret of this artist he has so extensively studied.

The brushstrokes here are innovative, showing progress from this earlier work. But there the curves and lines of mountains, a little clumsy if considered alone, announce the brilliance of a future series. And then there are portraits of disciples, views of the Unclean Realm, all rumoured to have existed but lost to collectors centuries ago. Those are the only ones whose notes do not mention when the originals were lost or destroyed, so it might be that Nie Huaisang, missing his long gone home, bought back the shadows of his old life.

Painting by painting, Nie-Huaisang-the-artist unveils himself to Lan Xichen. 

Nie-Huaisang-the-man remains a mystery, until Lan Xichen, having observed and photographed everything else, becomes curious about the desk's two drawers. 

In the top one he finds doodles and notes, post-its about orders, lists of works already in collections. There are also candy wrappers, some ancient coins, a novel in a foreign language with a crumbling bookmark. Nie Huaisang hasn't changed, still messy. It makes Lan Xichen want to laugh and cry, thinking of his uncle who once thought he could correct Nie Huaisang’s bad habits. A fight lost from the start, he realises. 

Finding nothing useful in this drawer, Lan Xichen is about to open the other one when, somewhere far above him, a car's horn announces that his taxi is here at last. It would be rude to make the driver wait, Lan Xichen thinks, and the first draw contained nothing important, so it is unlikely the second will be different. 

It would be wise to leave this place, forget about it, return to his quiet and ordinary life. He'll write his book or he won't, and then move on to something less intimage.

It would be wise and Lan Xichen even takes a step toward the door before changing his mind. He cannot let this last shred of curiosity go unsatisfied. He still carries too many regrets from his previous lives, he cannot accumulate new ones already. 

Lan Xichen opens the other drawer, and gasps.

Unlike the rest of the room where everything is organised and cared for, this drawer is filled with piled up sheets of paper that appear to have been unceremoniously thrown there. On top of the pile is the portrait of a melancholic looking man dressed all in white, wearing an embroidered ribbon on his forehead. On the corner of the page, a scribbled note reads ‘more smile’, as well as a recent date.

Without thinking Lan Xichen grabs the painting to get a better look. As he does so, the next sheet of paper on the pile is revealed: another portrait of the same man, nearly identical, though the note is different. Its date is a year earlier, and it reads ‘too stern’. Lan Xichen grabs that painting too, and the next, browsing through them with increasing franzy.

There are well over a hundred portraits of the same man in that drawer, going back centuries. The styles change depending on their age, reflecting the preference of that era. They all have a date, and most have a comment of sorts as well, usually criticising some element of the portrait that must be corrected to achieve true likeness.

A hundred portraits of Lan Xichen.

Because that is him, he knows, even if no name is mentioned. This is who he was in that first life.

Or at least, it is how Nie Huaisang remembered him. The oldest of those paintings is still dated to nearly five centuries after Lan Xichen’s first death, and there’s a roughness to it, a sentiment of urgency, that makes him think it really is the first of that series, that there were no others before that. Even accounting for style, that first painting looks different from the others, it is unpolished and vague, as if Nie Huaisang had almost forgotten what Lan Xichen looked like. The notes on that first painting are scathing, full of reproach about being too stupid to remember what ‘er-ge’ looked like.

How odd, Lan Xichen thinks.

They never really met again, Nie Huaisang and him. Not after the murder of Jin Guangyao. He remembers assuming that Nie Huaisang would have killed him too if he could have. He remembers how that assumption had hurt, and how it had taken him years of isolation to finally realise that what he had felt for Nie Huaisang, just like what he had felt for Jin Guangyao, had gone beyond the acceptable limits of friendship. A realisation come too late, supposing there could ever have been a right time for the three of them. 

What a fool he'd been, loving those two men who must have despised him for his weaknesses. 

What a fool he must still be, having learned nothing from the past. 

[wanderinginksplot]

Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist 

Case 01408 - 01424: Torrent Company

The most important thing Kix had learned during his time as a medic was to work with steadfast efficiency as quickly as possible. It had helped him gain distinction on the battlefield and save the lives of countless brothers. It was also a great asset when it came to paperwork.

As soon as Kix noticed that the stack of forms he had yet to fill out was shrinking, he worked faster and with more dedication. His left ear itched and his hand began to cramp, but all discomforts were pushed aside for sake of the shining prospect of having no paperwork left to complete. It had been several months since he had seen the surface of his desk...

The idea of being caught up was the same reason that he didn't look up when he heard the footsteps approaching the medbay, not even when he realized that there were far too many of them. It wasn't until the groaning came within earshot that the medic set aside his second-to-last form with a heavy sigh.

Though he didn't exactly hurry, Kix beat the footsteps to the medbay door by a large margin. Impatiently, he threw the doors open and glared at the approaching men - all twenty or so of them.

Shocked into silence, Kix stood back and held one of the doors open to allow his brothers to pass. The grand majority of Torrent Company was trudging inside the medbay, some looking more severely beaten than the others, but all seemed to be injured in some form or another. His first wild thought was that the Resolute had been attacked and he had missed it, but the injuries were wrong. Just from a cursory observation, Kix saw forming bruises, blackened eyes, and split lips. Not an attack and not an explosion. Apparently, he would just have to ask them himself.

When the last man had finally passed into the medbay in shuffling silence, Kix turned to stare at all of them. The question finally burst out of his mouth: "What the kriff happened?"

"Bolo-ball," Rex said darkly, trying to stem the blood seeping from his nose.

"Bolo- Bolo-ball?" Kix asked, making his disbelief plain. "You shabuir did this playing karking bolo-ball?"

There was no answer to that - at least, not aloud. Kix had his answer in the way the men avoided making eye contact with him. He sighed, shaking his head. "I can't do anything about self-inflicted injuries, you all know that."

Sizz glanced up at him carefully, "Technically speaking, Kix, these aren't self-inflicted injuries. None of us did this to ourselves, just to each other."

"That's splitting a Wookiee hair into eight strands, trooper," Kix told him sharply, but the man had a point. Besides, these idiots had somehow managed to do quite a bit of damage. If he sent them out of the medbay without any help, who knew what could happen? He was willing to bet that there was more than one fractured bone and concussions were a strong possibility.

Kix retrieved his scanner and began scanning troopers, mentally recording which injuries required them to stay in the medbay and which men could be patched up and sent back out. "Just wait until the Commander and General hear about this," he muttered.

"The Commander knows," Tup said. "She left after Bet broke his arm."

Kix snorted. "And the General? You're telling me he knew about all of this?"

"He was the referee," Jesse said with a smirk.

"Of course he was." Kix shook his head again. If there was going to be trouble of any kind, General Skywalker had a habit of either making it or being right in the middle of the fray. "You're an ARC. You know better than this."

Jesse shrugged. "Tell Fives that."

Kix sighed again and kept working. Eventually, he managed to send most of the troopers out of the medbay with only bacta tape and pain meds for their minor injuries. To everyone’s shock, Hardcase was one of the troopers who didn't have to stay, though he left with the air of someone who expected to be called back at any moment. The number of troopers who needed more intense treatment was lower, but there were still more than a few who had to stay.

Time passed quickly as the medic worked on concussions, dislocations, broken bones, and major lacerations. In the end, only five troopers had to stay for observation: Ronto, Tup, Fledge, Bet, and Jesse. All of them had managed to be injured worse than their brothers, and needed to be kept under surveillance - if only to make sure they didn't injure themselves further.

Bet - in a bed for his broken arm and extensive bruising of his ribs - shifted uncomfortably. Kix recognized the motions for the guilty conscience indicator that they were and moved silently to the trooper's bedside. Bet glanced up at him once before running a hand over his own stripe-shaven head. "Sorry, Kix."

The other troopers repeated Bet's soft apology and Kix shook his head. "Just heal up quickly, men. We can't afford for so many of you to be out of commission for long."

The younger troopers - Bet, Fledge, and Ronto - took Kix's request to heart, settling back against the thin, medbay-issued pillows and dropping off to sleep in short order. Tup and Jesse stayed awake, softly chatting back and forth about the game.

Kix finished his tasks and circled back to stand between Tup and Jesse's beds. Tup had already kicked his rough medbay blankets away and Jesse had stolen pillows from all of the unoccupied beds to make a thick cushion behind his shoulders and back. After Jesse described a particularly brutal-sounding tackle that sent Tup into shoulder-shaking laughter, Kix frowned and folded his arms over his chest.

"Problem, Kix?" Jesse asked cheekily.

"Why am I never invited to any of these matches?" Well, that certainly wasn't the blistering condemnation of the 501st's collective intelligence that he had meant to give, but the question had come out of Kix's mouth anyway.

Jesse grinned and asked patronizingly, "What would you have done if you were there and saw Bet's arm get broken?"

Kix thought about it for a moment. "I would have stopped the match and taken him for treatment."

"There you go, then," Jesse replied, settling back against his nest of stolen pillows, clearly satisfied by Kix's answer. On Kix's other side, Tup gave a small shrug accompanied by a nod.

The stab of hurt in Kix's chest was a surprise. Not a stab, really. More like a pang. A pinch. Indigestion, probably. What did he care if he was known as a buzzkill? Kix's main goal on the Resolute was to make sure his brothers were healthy, not to be their favorite person.

"Hey, don't get upset, vod," Jesse said, seeming to be under the illusion that he had hurt Kix's feelings. "All of us know you're here if we need anything. We know we can count on you to keep us safe. You're still one of us, you know."

Despite the warmth that spread through his chest at the assurance - karking indigestion - Kix rolled his eyes. "Lucky me," he deadpanned.

"If it makes you feel any better, you can come to the sabaac tournament tomorrow night," Tup offered, waggling his eyebrows. It must have hurt with the newly placed stitches winding up his forehead, but he made it look effortless.

Kix considered it for a long moment. "At least that doesn't sound so violent…"

Jesse gave a laughing sort of grimace. "Well…"

"What?" Kix asked flatly.

"It can be a little violent," Tup sheepishly admitted from the other bed.

Kix stared at him. "Sabaac? The card game?"

"Well, we bet!" Jesse said defensively. "We usually end up throwing a few punches by the end of the night. Mostly just to settle the bets, though."

"You idiots are going to fight with so many of you injured?" Kix burst out, horrified but not shocked. "Forget it, I'm coming along, if just to make sure no one kills anyone."

"Great!" Tup cheered as Jesse grinned widely. Kix fought a smile of his own as he mentally noted that he should bring some bacta tape and pain meds.

The urge to smile soon melted away and Kix sighed, thinking of all the additional forms he had to fill out - one for each man who had required medical treatment. "Rest up, men. You'll need your strength for this game tomorrow night."

"Yeah, especially since Hardcase cheats," Jesse muttered. When Kix shot him a glare, he only smiled wider and snuggled into the pile of pillows. Giving it up as a lost cause, Kix went back to his desk and pulled out a fresh stack of flimsi, mentally saying goodbye to the sight of his desk as he did so.

---

A/N - sorry for the Umbara gif! It was the only one I could find of the 501st that didn’t feature a Jedi.

[luesilust]

What is something embarrassingly vanilla that each of the trash quartet are into? (The truest dirt is in the bland crap you're into when you're a trashy boi, am I right?) ☆

Hahaha what an interesting first ask from a “totally anonymous” anon… ✨ Anyway, I actually really liked this question, but holy hell did it fuck with my brain. I’m used to coming up with all the kinky and/or messed up scenarios and suddenly I’m supposed to do the opposite? My brain is confused. The second problem I encountered was: What is actually vanilla? My brain did not help me on this quest either, as every time I got close to thinking up something clever, my brain goes “SPIT IN THEIR MOUTH!” or something along those lines.

PARISTON

Among the trash quartet Pariston is the one I found the hardest to write this ask for. Mostly because Pariston is an enigma. First of all it’s impossible to know exactly what he does and doesn’t enjoy because everything he does is controlled and calculated. I can see him being into one thing with one partner and something completely different with another. His preferences always switch around.

Sometimes the sex can be very vanilla and tender, usually after he’s been partiularly cruel to you. It’s a way to get you to stay with him despite the abuse.

Pariston’s relation to pleasure is also an interesting aspect. I think that for Pariston sex isn’t the goal that drives his actions, but rather a means to get the reactions he wants from you. This means that if he thinks that a gentle “love making” session is what’s going to make his “game” with you more fun later on, you’re going to get the best vanilla sex in our whole life!

I did, however, think of a few of vanilla things Pariston would absolutely loathe in most circumstances! The number one thing being his partner whispering “I love you” lovingly into his ear, while he’s trying to make you hate him.

ILLUMI

First of all, I think very little will make Illumi embarrassed. That being said there are quite a few things he should be embarrassed about. He’s very motivated to continue the Zoldyck line, so sex would often be more focused on the result than what it feels like there and then. So unless he’s using sex as a way to manipulate or reward you, it would get quite mundane... And isn’t that like the most vanilla thing ever?

Another thing he should be embarrassed for is that he usually doesn’t make you cum very often. He almost never touches your clit, so in the beginning you wonder if he doesn’t know where it is, or that he’s one of those who think women's sexuality is a myth. That however, is not the case, because Illumi probably has extensive training on how to pleasure or sexually torture someone because of his assasin training. The reason for his behaviour is that he usually doesn’t prioritize using his precious time to give you pleasure. It doesn’t make it more likely that you’ll get pregnant, so why waste the time. Orgasms are a reward, not a necessity for his wife.  

If you want to break out of the mundane sex, try to gently kiss his neck. It’s a really sensitive area for him that he associates mainly with killing. Gentle touches are new to Illumi, since his skin is used to getting cut, beaten and abused. The first time you dared ttrying to kiss his neck his body froze in the middle of one of your sessions. The kiss had made his body tingle in a very unfamiliar way. As he didn’t stop you, you continued, and following that was the first time you experienced the more gentle side of your husband. His focus was no longer on just being efficient, but rather on experiencing more of that new tingling sensation of your soft lips against his neck. His hips slowed down into a calmer and more sensual pace than the way his dick had thrust into you in an almost methodical way. As a reward he even brought one of his adept hands down to your clit to make you cum at the same time he did.

I don’t think he’d be embarrassed about liking getting his neck kissed, but I think it will puzzle him at first how much he enjoys it. Not only neck kissing, but touching him softly and stroking his back during sex or foreplay will make it more likely that he’ll feel motived to make the sex into less of a chore.

Outside of sex I think he really likes to get his hair brushed and generally taken care of by his wife. Be careful to be gentle though, as he doesn’t like you pulling his hair, and even doing so by accident will lead to some kind of punishment

.   

HISOKA

Hisoka is another one of the trash men that doesn’t get embarrassed by anything. While Illumi can get puzzled by his enjoyment of some things, Hisoka is down right shameless. Nothing, and I repeat nothing, will make this man feel shameful.

Hisoka also has an unique talent of making any vanilla activity into something straight out of a porn movie. The reason being that his entire body is somewhat of an erogenous zone and that he’s, well, Hisoka, so the moaning will be extreme. Gently lick his neck and he’ll be like: *insert Hisoka’s crazy moaning here*

That being said, I can imagine him as being quite adaptive when it comes to his partner’s sexual preferences. If you’re kinky, he’s all for it, but I can see him enjoying vanilla sex as well from time to time, if that’s what you prefer. I feel like he’s more about his partner’s reactions, rather than exactly what is making those reactions happen. It would of course be situation based, as he sometimes would feel the need to be rough when he’s feeling pent up.

The most vanilla thing I can imagine, that even Hisoka can’t make kinky, is cuddling in bed while watching random reality TV. Hisoka actually enjoys cuddling a lot, so spending all day in bed lazily making out and occasionally having sex is something he’d enjoy. The sex would be soft, either missionary or some kind of spooning position combined with lots of kissing and groping. This could only take place after you’ve somehow managed to deplete his energy a bit, because if he’s feeling pent up or have some kind of project on his mind, he will not have time to spend all day in bed with you.  

Lastly, he’d also enjoy massages and he will, for sure, always expect a “happy finish”.

CHROLLO

Despite being someone who mostly keeps people at a distance, Chrollo sometimes really enjoys sex where he’s embracing you. His favourite position being spooning you from behind, but sometimes plain old missionary will be his pick.

You were quite surprised the first time it happened. Chrollo has such a domineering personality and he’d usually demand complete obedience from you both in and outside the bedroom. It does however happen that you see a different side of him. It would happen late at night after you’ve both gone to bed. I see Chrollo as being a very lightl sleeper because of his upbringing in Meteor City. Said childhood has led to him having trouble relaxing when trying to fall asleep, so maybe the sex makes it easier for him to calm down. He’d hold your sleepy form close to his chest as he finishes inside you, falling asleep with you in his arms (inconsiderate bastard doesn’t think about the fact that you’ll need to get out of bed and clean yourself up after, unless you want cum seeping out of you all night).

Even if he won’t admit to it, it's really obvious that he really enjoys having his ears kissed and caressed. Chrollo is a very perceptive individual so his ears are very sensitive to any type of foreign touch. It’s probably also nice to give his lobes to get a little break from all the abuse from those ginormous earrings he’s wearing...

Chrollo is a also a man of deception and if he needs to play the role of a loving boyfriend to someone other than you to get what he wants, he’ll have no problem doing so. He’ll kiss his target lovingly and have the softest of vanilla sex. He says to himself that it’s all an act, but sometimes I think he’d find himself really enjoying the closeness and intimacy, since he usually puts himself above you when engaging in sexual acts. He’ll tell himself that he’s only enjoying it because he’s too immersed in the scenario he’s playing out with his target. This man is in denial and he’ll keep his soft moments far, far away from the troupe.

TW: Crack

He also really loves to recite gothic love poems that he wrote himself to you during intercourse. He’d hold his poetry book in one hand while he thrusts slowly in and out of you tenderly. It all ends in a crescendo as he reads out the last line as he cums, a single manly tear running down his cheek. (Sorry, I had to join the Drag Chrollo Gang haha).

[trashcankitty12]

Brandon Headcanons:

Everyone, I’d like to introduce Brandon Shapiro.

You may know him as Princess Stella’s boyfriend, or perhaps as Prince Sky’s bodyguard.

However you may know him, you probably have a positive opinion on him, as he’s one of the best guys around.

(All headcanons are for my main verses, the Balance/New Company of Light au and the Left au.)

-Brandon, like Flora, comes from a large family. (A fairly well-to-do family in Eraklyon. Upper middle-class, if you will. Mostly thanks to Mom’s job as one of Queen Samara’s guards and Dad’s job as the head of the stables.)

-(He has so many aunts/uncles/cousins… They literally have a family group chat to keep up with everyone. Once every few years there is an attempt at a family reunion. Many show, a few don’t. But it’s always fun.)

-He has two older siblings and three younger ones. (His eldest sister and his younger twin brothers are adopted. They were some of the displaced kids after the Great War.)

-Eldest sister is part of Eraklyon’s army and is pretty powerful elemental. (Her element of choice is air, but she isn’t above using a little fire power or some powerful stone spells.)

-His older brother (who is really only a year older than him) goes to the Eraklyon Institute and has hopes of becoming a Paladin (which he does become, serving Eraklyon of course.). Brandon really looks up to him.

-The twins are about a year or two younger than Brandon, and one of them has magic. (He’s not the best at drawing his power yet, but he’s getting there.) They also decide to go to the Eraklyon Institute, but for different career paths. The magical one is studying to become a healer/doctor with his magic while his brother wants to learn how to be a beast tamer.

-And then there’s the youngest, Brandon’s younger sister. She’s about five at the beginning of the series, but is currently about to enroll at Alfea. (She wanted to, pardon the pun, spread her wings away from her family.)

-As a middle child, Brandon often played mediator to his siblings whenever their parents weren’t home. He didn’t want anyone to get into trouble for fighting. (Especially the magically charged siblings… That would have been fun to explain.)

-When he was old enough, his dad would take him to the stables with him and show him how to properly take care of the horses and dragons. (Young Brandon thought they were just the coolest things and he was so excited and always felt so grown-up.)

-Which is how he met a young Sky and ended up becoming the prince’s best friend and bodyguard.

-He loved the education opportunities he got by being allowed to follow Sky to his prep school (even if he felt a little guilty about it because of his siblings, even though they encouraged him to follow his pursuits).

-And then when they got to go to Red Fountain, it was like a dream come true. (Granted, Brandon hadn’t wanted to be a military guy, but being a personal guard for Sky had become second-nature… And the fact that a Red Fountain education could get him into other lines of protection work…)

-(Brandon has a naturally protective personality okay? It comes with being an older sibling and growing up in a very family-oriented, we protect each other, household.)

-Of course, before they could go to Red Fountain, Brandon had to attend a few manners and etiquette classes and learn a bit more about the Eraklyon Royal Family’s heritage extensively. (He was going to have to pretend to be Sky after all.)

-He absolutely hated lying to everyone about who he was and he hated trying to pretend to be his best friend. He kept fearing he was going to act like a caricature of a prince instead of actually being princely. Or worse, that someone would end up hurt because of his lies.

-(Which, lo and behold, did happen.)

-(Honestly, Brandon never really likes speaking out against King Erendor, but he feels it was pretty fucking stupid for him to have Brandon and Sky swap places, and then to show up to MASSIVELY PUBLIC EVENT and out them like that. Even if was sort of brought on because of Diapsro.)

-(Which also pisses off Brandon, because Erendor and Samara knew that Diaspro has always been extremely public about her relationship to Sky because she thinks it brings her status. Which… It does… But dammit there were death threats!)

-Anyway, he did eventually make it up to Stella and the others, which was a huge relief.

-(Yes the others were angry with him. And not just the other Winx members either. Timmy had been extremely hurt about the deception, even though he had already pieced it together before the Day of the Royals. He had felt they were friends and that they should have told him sooner so he could have helped. And Riven…? He was still with Darcy at this point and was using the whole ordeal to gloat and honestly… Brandon had almost lost his hard-won cool.)

-Now out of the drama.

-At Red Fountain, Brandon really thrived. He found others like him who just honestly wanted to try and make the Magical Dimension safer for their loved ones. He made friends with those outside of Eraklyon’s (judgmental) high society. And he was allowed to be more himself instead of just Sky’s guard.

-Brandon is straight, but he’s not afraid to admit that there are some very pretty men out there. In fact, he wishes guys would be more accepting of complimenting each other and being there emotionally for one another. Society would be sooooo much better.

-(Then again… He was raised by fairly progressive-for Eraklyon parents and his older sister had actually explained and went over toxic masculinity with him and his brothers. Granted, she did it because she had a friend who got hurt because of this mind set and she wanted her brothers to be aware that she’d kill them if she found out they ever treated a person like that, but still… The lessons stuck.)

-In his squad, he mainly plays as support/rescue/or pilot.

-Besides Timmy and Helia, he really is the best at piloting ships and doesn’t even have to rely on the navigation system. (He’s been to so many realms because of functions Sky and Stella have to go, that he just memorizes the routes.)

-And it helps that he has a photographic memory. Which comes in handy given his current line of work protecting Sky. (And Stella. Radius and Luna have both made it very clear that even though Stella is capable of protecting herself, they still want Brandon do whatever is necessary to make sure she stays safe.)

-(Which he would have done anyway, but hey… Orders are orders.)

-Brandon is great with swords and shields, but his aim with bows and arrows sucks. He’s decent with blasters though.

-Also, dealing with cannons? Not his thing.

-He’s the greatest mechanic either… But he is a pretty good medic. (Thanks to Sky who always had to get into trouble as a kid. Brandon got firsthand experience with fixing injuries well-enough that no one would know the injury ever occurred.)

-Out of the squad, he is also the best at cooking, besides Riven and Helia. He loves cooking and it brings these calming memories of cooking with his dad and younger sister and it just… It’s peaceful. And seeing the looks of joy on everyone’s face after they eat his cooking, icing on the cake.

-Brandon loved off-world (out of Magix) missions/training exercises best. He loves to explore new places. Even if they are in the more dangerous places of the realm.

-Yes, he knows he has a pretty face and decent (okay, pretty attractive body). It’s good genes and a great workout/healthy eating regimen.

-(And even though he doesn’t always, he does flaunt it on occasion. Usually when he and Stella start their ‘who can get asked out more in one outing’ contests. Granted, she usually wins, but he’s had his moments.)

-Yes, he’s secure enough in his relationship with Stella that they can do those sorts of contests without truly getting angry. He knows Stella well-enough to know that if she ever really tired of him, she’d say it. (She tends to be blunt, after all.)

-He also tends to be the one, aside from Helia, to give advice to the others. It’s humbling and ego-stroking a bit to him that they think that highly of him and his advice. But sometimes, he honestly has no idea. (Just because he has Stella doesn’t mean he’s completely aware of how he’s kept Stella… Okay?)

-Brandon loves surfing. He started doing it when his older brother would take him and the other younger siblings off to the beach for a bit, and he just fell in love. He’s nowhere near as good as the Androsian or Tidese surfers, but he’s confident he’s one of the best in Eraklyon.

-(Nabu and Layla totally wipe him out when they all start to surf together. He’s pretty sure they cheat.)

-He also loves levibike racing. Nothing gets his heart pumping quite so fast. (And Stella made him a pretty awesome uniform. It hugs him well, is protective against injuries, and is in a nice blend of Eraklyon and Solarian colors. And the helmet as a little star on it, a Stella signature.)

-Brandon may have a slight addiction to this berry-tea blend that Flora came up with sophomore year. Just a slight one… Okay so maybe it’s a problem. But it just tastes so goooood.

-He loves spicy food, which is fantastic when he goes to Solaria for dinners with Stella’s parents. Solarian food tends to be super spicy.

-Yes, he’s met a few times with Radius and Luna. (The first time, at the same time. And then he’s had separate dinners/holiday things with each of them and Stella. He does his best to impress both.)

-Brandon has been extremely lucky in his life to have not broken many bones. Granted, he’s broke a few and had some serious stitches done a few times, but he’s never had too serious of injuries. (Riven on the otherhand…)

-He has a slight case of tendonitis in his legs. Its due to how much time he’s spent on his feet and the types of exercises he does/the sort of physical activity he gets in too. But he deals with it nicely and does all the PT necessary to keep the flare ups to a minimum.

-Brandon loves romance movies and sci-fi movies. He’s a very complicated man.

-He once tried to grow a bit of a moustache when he first hit puberty, but decided against it after seeing an old picture of his dad with one. (No. Just. No. They do not have the right face for that.)

-He’s able to speak several languages, but it’s mainly just the important phrases. Namely “This is Prince Sky of Eraklyon. Do not touch.”

-Honestly, he doesn’t mind all of the craziness that seems to follow him and his friend, but sometimes he wishes the Magical Dimension would just stay saved. Just for a little while. Please? He’s tired. He’s soooo tired.

-All of these adventures have also given him a bit of perspective and given him a chance to try and figure his own wants out a little better. (Particularly about Sky and Stella.)

-He’s not too sure yet, but if he and Stella ever do get engaged, (which, he has a feeling they will because he loves Stella and he knows that even with her insecurities about marriage, she’ll most likely want to marry him too) he’ll start personally vetting soldiers/guards for Sky. And then he’ll prepare to deep dive into Solaria’s history and laws.

-After all, if he does become the King of Solaria, he wants to be damn-sure he’s a good one. One worthy of Stella and the crown. (And one that his family will be proud of.)

[simplystefanie-rae]

God there’s so much I want to say about the wandavision finale I’m not even sure where to start.

Well I guess first I’ll start with just how SHOCKED I genuinely am that Vision is, for all intents and purposes, alive (unless he destroyed himself, but we didn’t see it and that would be rude AF). He’s not our Vision right now but they left a door wide open for him to come back at any point, and to that I tip a hundred hats to them. I had a bit of a post set aside that I was in the middle of writing up about Vision’s character and how I felt he would be wasted if they killed him off for good now (even if this undermined the theme of the show to a degree), and I never got the chance to finish it before the finale, and fuck I’m glad I didn’t now, since it turns out I didn’t need it lol. 

Hex! Vision mid season started questioning who he was, and as I was thinking he was definitely a goner I thought it was a shame because this arc of the android character questioning their identity and sense of self was what I wanted for Vision from the beginning. This Vision had his closure in that regard, but as he was purely an extension of Wanda it wasn’t really to the true Vision’s characters’ benefit. White Vision’s appearance gave me hope but I still figured Hex! Vision would kill him so Wanda wouldn’t have to do it, but instead they have a philosophical discussion and his memories get unlocked. Now what I’m really hoping for is a long journey (could not even begin to guess what project would give the room for this) of Vision re-discovering his humanity. He has all these memories, but maybe not the emotions to go along with it? I wish they were just a little more clear on that before he just took off and we didn’t see him again.

Which I suppose can lead to the rest of my review/observations. Under a cut because this got long.

I think the episode really could have benefitted from just 20 more minutes to let it all have a chance to breathe. A few more minutes for Wanda and Agatha’s fight, a few more for the Visions, a few more for Wanda’s reaction to nearly getting killed by white Vision, a few more for Monica...like it was all good things, but it needed more. I feel like there WANTED to be more but it was cut for run time, but why such a short run time in the first place? I never complained about the episode length until now.

Mostly I think I just wanted more lore on the Scarlet Witch, and Wanda coming to terms with what that meant. Honestly okay, I say we needed just 20 more minutes, but maybe it could have benefited from another 20 of Agatha giving Wanda her own little walkabout through the history of witches and what it means to be a witch to give Wanda some space to accept that hey, she’s a fucking witch, and now she realizes she has a lot more power than she thought and it’s this huge responsibility she needs to get a handle on. We see her accept this mantle and identity, but not really why. 

I guess Wanda has been struggling to come to terms with her powers for years now, what’s one more thing added on top of that. But that combined with her accepting all the loss in her life, there had to be a neater way to tie the two things together. All the ingredients are THERE they probably just needed to be written by the writer of episode 8. At least I’m assuming it’s a different writer, since 8 was basically perfect and this one not so much. 

I’m assuming we’ll see more of what it means to be the SW in Doctor Strange. I worry a little but how far they’re going to push Wanda into morally grey territory. I think it’s clear at this point her being just a straight up hero is off the table, at least for now. She hurt way too many people, she knows this, and I think is accepting it in a way that, while she’s not going to go out of her way to do bad shit, probably thinks she’s incapable of being a hero so what’s the point in trying. She might be more self serving, if that end credits clip is anything to go by. 

Maybe? Honestly that could go so many ways. She did say to Monica that she wanted to understand her powers, presumably because she doesn’t want to be this being that destroys the whole world, but I would thinking studying from a book called the Darkhold wouldn’t be the way to go. But then again that’s the book that is written about her and she has no other source to go to other than Agatha, who she doesn’t trust with good reasoning, so I guess there was no other option for her. Urgh, what a mess lol. I’ll talk more about Wanda’s potential future in another post though, it’s so much to get into. 

Other observations/thoughts: Monica in general. I’m going back and forth on whether or not she was truly underused or if the smallest glance of her powers was an appropriate tease of better things to come for her. Because while I wanted a cool ass fight scene with her, at the same time I think she deserves her own platform to have this moment of payoff so we can really just enjoy it for HER and not have to also focus on Wanda’s character arc as well. So while I was disappointed we didn’t see a more kickass moment from her, I’m excited for more, and for her to really shine on her own. We got a great introduction to her character and why she’s a hero, I’d like to see the true culmination of this in Captain Marvel 2 or whatever other project she may be in first.

Evan Peters just being Ralph is the funniest fucking thing in the world to me and honestly is what I deserve after so many people just hopping on board this show just to see a character that has very little to do with Wanda to begin with. At the end of the day, this story was about Wanda’s grief, Vision’s identity, and to a much smaller extent Monica’s origin story, not this huge introduction to X-men like everyone kept trying to force it to be, and thank god for that. While the finale didn’t hold up as much as the rest of the show, it was so successful because it was an intimate character study and Marvel needs to realize it can do more of that. Episode 8 was the best of it for a reason. 

I have some more small criticisms, like my confusion over how Wanda’s powers are actually suppose to work (why did Monica’s clothes not change from it’s 70s hex form, is it because the hex was still up, and now that it’s down they changed back? Why are Wanda’s powers regulated to being inside a barrier but then she can just control/change Agatha back into Agnes and presumably keep that going when the hex gets taken down?), is Agnes/Agatha just suppose to continue to live in Westview when all the people there knows she’s not suppose to be there? That’s so dark, to be constantly reminded of this awful thing that happened, but at the same time that just seems like sloppy writing and that the writer didn’t actually think through how that was suppose to work. We don’t know if the residents know who exactly she is, just that she wasn’t there before the hex, so I honestly don’t know what they would make of her. And while Wanda is definitely more morally grey now (Agatha even said this was cruel) I don’t think she would force this constant reminder on the people that she just took the hex down for. I’ll just chalk it up to sloppiness.

I also am conflicted on Agatha in general. On one hand, I wish she had a better motive then wanting more magic for more powers sake, but on the other she’s such an unapologetically bad bitch I have to respect it. I did like the beat of her being scared of Wanda’s power and suggesting that there are things even she fears, though it sure was arrogant of her to think she could handle this power she’s also terrified of. But anyway I’m glad she’s not dead, I want her to be more fleshed out. Maybe some point down the road Wanda says fuck it and releases her so she can teach her. It can be the morally grey witch + evil witch reluctant friendship/tutelage we deserve.

I’ll talk about Vision and Wanda’s scene at the end in other post since that’s gonna be a lot more positive. Lizzie and Paul are so fucking good together, they really sold the emotion of the ending even if I was questioning things. 

Oh also, Marvel, can we PUH-LEASE give Wanda her brown hair back??? The red is killing me. That post credits scene should have had her brown roots showing to give me peace of mind that theyre not gonna keep it like this!!! Also style the curly hair better for Doctor Strange please. Not a fan of the weird waves it had going. 

[kinetic-elaboration]

August 15: 2x03 The Paradise Syndrome

I have seen this episode once before and I remember it being pretty awful... but tbh, I didn’t think it was so bad this time around. Maybe that’s just because my expectations were, like, Spock’s-Brain low. It definitely had issues but there was stuff I liked too!

Hmmm, that’s not the bridge. It appears to be... California?

Wondering what people might be so “blessed by this environment”--what a manly he-man action/adventure guy thing to say, amirite?

How does Spock know the significant markers of all the Native American tribes at a distance, off the top of his head?

(Answer: he doesn’t; all of this information is wrong and also one of those tribes is completely made up lmao.)

Honestly, who’s to say these people aren’t advanced? How do YOU know?

“Just so peaceful... no command decisions.” Oh no, Jim’s feeling Romantic again.

Honestly, imagine this characterization in AOS: overworked starship captain think he wants a break (but is wrong). Beyond made a vague attempt but missed what it is that Kirk finds stressful about command--it’s not that it’s boring, it’s the weight of the responsibility and the inability to find love.

Although funnily enough, even on his Native American Vacation, he still finds himself in a command position. He just can’t be stopped. Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Oh no, the obelisk ate him.

Maybe these people specifically built the obelisk so that they could return to this idyllic ““primitive”“ state, hmm? Maybe they like their lives this way. Maybe they experienced "progress" and then decided that whatever era of their development looked like indigenous American peoples had it right. (This is not correct but it roughly is the plot of Errand of Mercy so I’m not without precedent.)

Spock’s using simple tools to explain his point to Bones lol. “Here, let me dumb it down for you, lesser man of science.”

“Who am I? What are these?” Cpine morning voice: “This must be a dream!”

Kirk looks so confused. The god from the obelisk.

“The engines are showing signs of stress.” Seems to me like SCOTTY’S showing signs of stress.

And yet the music is so whimsical.

Honestly Kirk’s expression here = Denny Crane’s when in a meeting

White man brings CPR, is hailed as god. (I wish I were making this up.)

Damn, Salish has been demoted. How embarrassing for him.

This is a VERY interesting Spock. He does all his calculations, but the he takes all the risks. He’s very certain and single-minded, almost obsessed, not afraid of anything. I think it’s IC but I also think you can see some Kirk influence, perhaps... You can see how Spock has grown in his command abilities since The Galileo Seven.

The wise ones = the aliens.

“He died before he could tell Salish the secret” to opening the Obelisk and stopping the asteroid. That IS unfortunate.

“How does this shirt open?” Lol.

“Your name is Kirok?” “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“I’ve never been this happy and peaceful.” Funny how he looks neither happy nor peaceful. Maybe it’s something like “I’ve never been this happy and peaceful...and I don’t like it.” Or “I’ve never been this happy and peaceful... there must be something wrong.”

“Here there is much time. For everything.” No there isn’t, there’s an asteroid coming.

Kirk’s cottage core fantasy.

Poor Scotty, so stressed out. Maybe he needs some time with the indigenous aliens.

The Joining Day? Lol okay.

Kirk has no chill, at all. “Oh, you want to get married? Tomorrow? Okay!!” Is this how Gary was able to successfully distract with him the blonde lab technician?

The “stardrive.”

“Estimated repair time?” “FOREVER.”

“And you lost Jim.” Cool it Bones, there’s no need to be cruel. Spock’s already in his thinking pose so you know he’s taking this seriously.

Love Spock’s chair. That’s not Starfleet regulation.

“I have found paradise.” Is he high??

Requisite highly choreographed fight scene.

“You’ve barely eaten or slept for weeks.” That’s because he’s worried about Jim. And the giant asteroid. This is a great Spock and McCoy scene though.

I can’t believe this. Spock lies down (barely!) and McCoy just leaves like he actually thinks he’s won, and then Spock immediately gets up again to go back to work.This guy is even easier to fool than Sarek.

You know Spock spent his whole adolescence going "Sure, I'll do the thing" and then just not doing it.

“A strange lodge that moves through the sky...” Well okay.

Okay I’m sorry, is he sensing the enterprise or is he sensing SPOCK? Because most of this dialogue might just imply he’s generically remembering his old life... but he also specifically says that the “flying lodge” was farther away and now it’s closer again, and how he could he know that otherwise?

She’s pregnant? That’s not good lol. AWKWARD.

Also the closest that TOS will ever come to acknowledging people have sex.

Omg he made a lamp. He made a lamp on his first day there. Does this imply that Captain Kirk had an arts and crafts phase?? Like CPR I understand him knowing--I’m sure everyone in Starfleet does. But hand-carving a lamp? That’s a whole other skill.

Various cultures including “certain Vulcan offshoots” use music notes as words omgggggg I love this information PLEASE tell me more.

“The Preservers” is a good concept imo. Nifty sci fi innovation: taking aliens from endangered places and giving them a new place, then setting it up nicely for them.

Stop throwing things guys! It’s not helping!

“I need Nurse Chapel.” Damn right you do.

Spock really doesn’t like that “wife.” He sounds like “Wife?? How dare??”

Then he suggests it’s a hallucination even though there’s a woman right there.

"Naturally, since he did not come from there. He's my man, get your paws off him."

Vulcan mind fusion? What the heck is that? How is it season 3 and they still don’t know what to call it?

“He is an extremely dynamic individual.” Spock was really taken for a ride in that brain.

“The landing party is expendable.” There’s the Captain.

“I have an excellent eye for musical notes.” Brag.

“Just press the right button.”

Looks like Spock was the god they wanted all along.

Okay, that was an uncool ending though. I know they basically had to kill Miramanee as soon as she was pregnant but like, there was also no reason for her to be pregnant??? I would have preferred if (1) Miramanee hadn't been pregnant, (2) Jim got over her as soon as he regained his memory and (3) she lived and they just parted awkwardly.

Also I think it would have been nice if they had ended with the Enterprise explaining to Salish how the obelisk works, and then maybe even a hint that he and Miramanee will get back together. Like, maybe not that, since I’m not a fan of women just being used to, like, make men feel better--though I’m also not a fan of them being fridged because of Inconvenient Baby--but he should have at least gotten his position back and, more importantly, the knowledge he was always entitled to. Also, the very existence of an asteroid deflector, along with the people’s extensive knowledge of what weather signifies Oncoming Asteroid, implies this happens to them with some frequency. So in other words, the threat will return.

Plus Salish never got enough credit for being right, which he was! The whole time!

Oh and also I would have liked some acknowledgement that Jim does like being Captain. If you watch the whole show, you know that he occasionally bemoans the stress and his inability to maintain a romantic relationship, despite his love of long walks on the beach, but that he’s also ambitious, he loves exploration and adventure, he gets bored if left in one place too long, and he believes in the necessity of progress and discovery to keep not just individuals but societies from stagnation. But if you just watched this episode, you’d think he’d never been happy in his entire life, and that returning to command makes him miserable.

Aside from the Native American stuff--which was awkward and rather unnecessary and has aged, as you might imagine, very very poorly--I actually didn’t hate the episode. It had some VERY interesting Spock stuff, which I think is within a reasonable Spock characterization, and some great Spock and Bones moments. Kirk’s story line was surprisingly engaging for him being completely separate from the crew, and the general theme that he sometimes needs, or thinks he desires, a break from command, is definitely in keeping with other episodes. I liked the asteroid as the Big Danger, which was surprisingly dynamic--by which I mean, it did a good job of connecting the very disparate story lines on the Enterprise and on the planet. I also liked the Sci Fi Concept of the week in the Protectors. And it was interesting to see an ep take place over a longer period of time.

None of this is to downplay how awkward the Native American elements are--incredibly fetishistic, and also lazy--like, “I want to show something Simple and Idyllic...I know! Indians!” There was no reason they should look like American Indians. In fact, it makes no sense that they do: the Protectors take peoples from planets that are about to be destroyed and (somehow) discreetly move them somewhere else, but Native American peoples still.... very much exist? And so does Earth as a whole. So obviously these aliens weren’t transplanted from Earth. So why should their culture resemble some awkward mishmash of Native American cultures?

So overall I’d say, the ideas of the episode, the structure, the characterizations (mostly), and the overall ideas were good, but it was just very awkward and unfortunate that it chose the... aesthetic that it did--especially because it was very much an aesthetic choice and not a well-thought-out, culturally sensitive one. Gonna be honest and just chalk that up to it being 1968 though.

Next is And the Children Shall Lead, which I actually think was one of the first TOS eps I ever saw... But I don’t remember it at all.  So we’ll see!