#brass paperweight

[junkologistsgoods]

Vintage Brass Fish Clip Paperweight - Desk decor - Office gift - Fisherman

[littlefleamart]

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[unicornsofebay]

Pair of Solid Brass Unicorns 5" UCGC Taiwan Vintage Mantle Statues Paperweight

[wildbeautifuldamned]

fornasetti Style Brass Roman Man’s foot Sculpture Paperweight ebay c-n-6977

[julianscorpio]

Stay Warm with this Gorgeous Saharan Scene of a Brass Palm and Camel Paperweight. Only at @antiquesandthingsabq at 4710 Central Ave SE, Albuquerque, NM 87108 - Booth 86! #egypt #egyptology #egypteveryday #Egyptian #sahara #saharadesert #saharan #desert #palm #palmtree #camel #camelpose #brass #brassstyle #brassdesign #brassdecor #brassart #paperweight #brasscamel #abq #albuquerque #albuquerquenm #albuquerquenewmexico #abqliving #oneabq #abqlove #abqig #shopabq #shoplocalabq #shopalbuquerque (at Antiques and Things) https://www.instagram.com/p/CniabjDLM9h/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[so-i-did-this-thing]

4am Me: "I've had a long night, I should go to bed."

Brain: "How about we look at more acgas set photos and source set dressing."

Me:

Brain: :) :) :)

---

Yeah, so, anyway.

[latexb0n3z]

Alright yall… this might be the most vulgar fic I’ve written thus far. It’s dirty and weird. Here’s a little snippet. You can read the rest on Ao3 if you like it.

Double Claimed

Wade had no business being here.

He knew it, the brass knew it, and every mutant in the unit sure as hell knew it. But none of that stopped the military from sticking him—plain ol’ human Wade Wilson—in the middle of a mutant special ops squad. “Resource integration,” they called it. A real bright idea to slap someone without claws, fangs, or superhuman anything into the middle of a unit bred for war.

His mouth, though? That was a weapon all its own.

He hadn’t started out in special ops. Hell, he’d barely passed basic training, scraped by with a mixture of charm, luck, and an unsettling knack for violence when the situation called for it. A few successful black ops missions later, someone decided he’d be a good fit for the mutants. Maybe it was his ability to keep his cool when things went south. Maybe it was his penchant for making enemies want to throttle him instead of finishing the job. Or maybe they’d just run out of better options.

Whatever the case, he was here. Here, with six mutants who could crush him in a heartbeat if they decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. And judging by the way Victor Creed looked at him half the time, that wasn’t entirely off the table.

The mission was simple, but simple didn’t mean easy: a long recon op deep in the kind of terrain that turned men feral. Weeks with no end in sight, no backup, and nothing to do but sit in the dirt and wait. No bars, no women, no distractions. Just the squad, their gear, and an ever-mounting tension that seemed to thrum in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Victor was the worst of them all. Not just because he was built like a freight train—towering a full head taller than Wade with arms like tree trunks and a grin that promised nothing good—but because he was bored. And a bored Victor Creed was a dangerous Victor Creed.

Wade wasn’t exactly tiny himself, standing at a respectable six-foot-one and built solid, but next to Victor? He felt like a damn paperweight. The guy looked like he’d been carved out of a mountain, and every movement was slow, deliberate, like he was conserving energy for the moment he decided to break something—or someone.

And Wade, ever the idiot, couldn’t stop poking at him.

The camp was quiet tonight, the fire reduced to glowing embers. Most of the squad had turned in, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts—or so he thought until a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

“Out here all by yourself?” Victor’s voice rumbled through the stillness, a low, lazy drawl that made the hairs on the back of Wade’s neck stand up.

Wade turned to see the man leaning against the flagpole, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“Can’t sleep,” Wade said, shrugging as casually as he could manage. “Figured I’d enjoy the peace and quiet. Didn’t realize it was so popular.”

Victor chuckled, the sound deep and rough. “Peace and quiet, huh? Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” Wade grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Victor pushed off the pole and sauntered closer, his sheer size becoming more apparent with every step. Wade stayed where he was, tilting his head back slightly to meet the man’s gaze.

“You’re a cocky little thing,” Victor said, his tone almost amused. “But I guess you’ve gotta be. No other way a guy like you survives in a squad like this.”

“Yeah, well, charm and good looks go a long way,” Wade shot back.

Victor laughed again, this time louder, and Wade felt his pulse quicken. The sound wasn’t threatening, exactly, but there was something about it—something that made him feel like prey.

“Good looks, huh?” Victor leaned down slightly, his grin widening to show just a hint of fang. “You sure you’re not compensating for something?”

Wade snorted, his bravado kicking in. “Please. I’ve got nothing to compensate for. If anything, I’m probably overqualified for this gig.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk never leaving his face. “Is that so?”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken tension. Wade wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, the weeks of isolation, or just plain stupidity, but he didn’t back down.

“Yeah,” Wade said, his grin sharpening. “And you’re not exactly subtle, are you, big guy? All that muscle, all those claws. I bet you’re just dying for a reason to use them.”

Victor tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. “Careful, Wilson. You don’t want to see what happens when I do.”

Wade’s heart was pounding, but he refused to let it show. “Maybe I do.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled softly in the background, the only sound breaking the silence. Then, Victor straightened, his grin turning wolfish.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, stepping back. “But don’t push your luck, kid.”

“Who’s compensating now?” Wade muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Whatever game Victor was playing, Wade was more than willing to see how far it went.

Victor paused as he stepped away, his broad back cutting a shadow against the dim glow of the fire. For a moment, Wade thought that was it—that whatever tension had coiled between them was just another unresolved standoff in the desert night.

But then Victor glanced over his shoulder, his yellow eyes gleaming with something feral and sharp. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The faint twitch of his lips—half smirk, half snarl—was invitation enough. He was courting him, inviting Wade to do this little primal dance of his.

Wade hesitated, his usual bravado faltering under the weight of that look. It wasn’t just a glance; it was a command. One that promised danger and something Wade couldn’t quite name but found himself craving anyway.

Victor turned and walked into the dark, disappearing further outside camp, behind an outcrop of rocks without another word. Wade let out a slow breath, his pulse already hammering in his chest.

“Yeah, this seems like a smart idea,” he muttered to himself, though his feet were already moving. He knew Victor wouldn’t kill him… whatever it was he had in mind.

The firelight faded behind him as he followed Victor’s path into the shadows, the sounds of the camp falling away until it was just him, the crunch of his boots, and the faint, predatory stillness ahead.

He found Victor leaning casually against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes locked onto Wade.

“You always this obedient?” Victor asked, his voice low and rough.

“Obedient?” Wade snorted, forcing himself to keep it light even as his heart tried to beat its way out of his ribcage. “I am a lot of things, obedient is definitely not one of them. Ironic right?— considering the point of this whole military thing is obedience.”

Victor came closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like a predator stalking its prey. Wade stayed rooted in place, though every instinct screamed at him to move.

“You’ve got a big mouth,” Victor said, closing the distance between them. “Maybe too big for your own good.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” Wade’s voice wavered slightly, and he hated himself for it.

Victor stopped just inches away, towering over Wade like a goddamn mountain. His hand came up, claws glinting faintly in the light, and for a split second, Wade thought he was about to regret every decision that had brought him here.

[fuzzylogic-27]

Look what's arrived! It took me quite a bit of searching to find him.

I wanted a paperweight that was as close as possible to Stedes 'I used the stun move' whale as I could find. Most were either too small or the wrong shape. I saw a couple that looked good but were very expensive (we're talking hundreds) but I finally found this boy!

He's solid brass and the postage was ouch but he's worth it.

He's vintage and has a few dents and imperfections but I kinda like that about him.

And of course I'm going to call him Nigel. 😊

[alizha]

𝑰 𝑭𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝒁𝒆𝒌𝒆 𝒀𝒆𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝟏

Rating: M Word Count: 4,307 Tags: reader has a name but is not described, childhood friends, zeke yeager being an asshole

Summary: After nearly ten years, Zeke Yeager reconnects with you, an Eldian doctor assigned as his psychiatrist. As children, you were out of reach—two years older and the object of a youthful crush. Then, he became a Warrior, and the dynamic shifted. Now, as you navigate the complexities of your new professional relationship, where do you stand? Who holds the power in this tug of war?

next chapter | masterlist | cross posted to ao3

Chapter 1: Zeke

Now

The clinic had seen better days.

Zeke runs a finger along the edge of the leather chair, worn to a muted gray and faintly sticky from polish. At the edge of the desk in front of him sits a brass nameplate reading Dr. Stella Faust , its corners rubbed dull, matching the desk’s simple finish. Behind that, a scattering of papers held in place by a glass paperweight shaped like a globe. A half-finished cup of coffee, rim stained with a reddish-brown shade of lipstick, still releasing thin tendrils of steam from the dark liquid inside.

A modest room by any standard, this office has none of the sterility or gleaming cleanliness of the infirmary at the Warrior training facilities. Instead, the faint smell of antiseptic lingers in the air, mingling with a hint of old wood and what Zeke thinks might be lavender.

Certificates line the walls behind the desk, framed simply in dark wood. He notes them with a mix of curiosity and ambivalence. ‘Psychiatry Residency, Graduate School of Medical Sciences’ , read one—stamped with the requisite seal of approval and signed by an Eldian doctor. Despite the titles, the certifications seem out of place in the drab room, like they were striving to belong to a more prestigious setting.

As his eyes wander, he catches a few personal touches. A fountain pen with an intricately carved handle. A small porcelain vase holding dried lavender springs—ah, that’s where the scent was coming from. A leather-bound notebook cracked open and filled with neat, looping handwriting.

Zeke finds himself staring at the handwriting a little longer than he meant to, tracing the careful lines and loops in his mind. His pulse thrums steadily as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and the clock on the wall ticks louder than it had a right to.

“—Captain Yeager?”

Jogged from his thoughts, he meets the gaze of the woman sitting across the desk from him. You had noticed him staring at your notebook, and you reach out to close the cover.

“Did you hear what I said?” you ask, arching one brow at him expectantly.

He conjures an easy smile. “How have you been, Stella?”

“That’s Dr. Faust , if you please,” you correct, your voice perfectly even. “I worked hard for that title.”

Zeke’s smile barely falters as you tucked the notebook into a drawer and fold your hands neatly on the desk. “Dr. Faust, then. How have you been?”

You ignore the question, opting instead for a clinical tone. “I’m evaluating your mental readiness before your mission to Paradis Island. I don’t really feel any sort of way toward it. I’ll ask again—how have you been sleeping, Captain?”

Affecting a casual posture, Zeke crosses his arms and leaned back. “Well enough.”

Nodding, you reached for your fountain pen and angle your body forward to start scratching notes onto the paper in front of you. Zeke had been prepared to leave it at that, but he's curious. He can’t help it. There's a shared familiarity between the two of you, even if it's buried under layers of protocol now.

“I’m more interested in why you agreed to take my case.”

For the briefest moment, your pen hesitates. Then, it resumes its steady path across the paper. You draw in a slow breath, visibly forcing yourself to relax your shoulders.

“It’s complicated,” you say. With a practiced calm, you tap your pen gently against the evaluation form. “I’ll put you down as ‘having difficulty concentrating’, then.”

Zeke lets out a soft chuckle and folds his hands in his lap. “That’s fair.”

Your eyes narrow slightly. “Let’s stay on topic, Captain. And answer honestly. Have you experienced any difficulty focusing during recent training exercises?”

He glances at the lavender, the gray-purple buds scattered around the vase, lingering there as he considers his response. “No. My focus is steady during training.”

You jot another note. “Any issues concentrating when you’re not on duty? Trouble keeping your thoughts organized?”

“None that affect my performance. I find myself just… thinking through strategy. Keeping mentally prepared.”

You barely glance up, though he can tell you're paying attention to his phrasing. “And how would you describe your motivation for combat readiness? Has it changed at all since receiving your assignment?”

“I’d say my motivation is as strong as it’s ever been. I understand what’s at stake.”

“Good,” you reply crisply. You pause, tapping the pen lightly on your thumb, then look up at him impassively. “What does loyalty to Marley mean to you personally?”

This one makes him pause. Zeke knows the importance of answering carefully. The Marleyan brass had only recently started taking psych evals of their Warriors seriously, but he understands the scrutiny he's under. If you want to keep your life, you would think twice about not reporting everything you found.

Question was, how far could he push you before your reports turned unfavorable? 

“Loyalty is my duty, both as an Eldian and as a Warrior. Whatever is required of me for Marley, I’m meant to see it through.”

You hold his gaze, as if waiting for more. Zeke watches you back and muses silently. Your shared history must have been something the brass overlooked. Surely, someone would’ve flagged it as a conflict of interest if they’d known. Or perhaps, they thought you could remain unbiased—which, for some reason, is worse to imagine.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re staring, Dr. Faust. Didn’t realize your evaluation required so much observation.”

If you're rattled by the hint of a taunt in his tone, you hide it well. You simply set your pen down, eyes not leaving his.

“Funny, you’re staring right back, Captain.”

It's true. Not bothering to hide, Zeke lets his gaze rake down the top half of your form, visible from behind your desk. You’d been eighteen, last he properly saw you—already a woman. And yet, your features seem to fit you even better now, at twenty-seven. You scowl at him now, like you had divined his thoughts.

“Observing,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”

You tilt your head. “So, I’m observing you, then. You’ve changed quite a bit.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Is that a compliment, Doctor?”

“Hardly. This whole…,” you gesture one hand vaguely toward his face, “scruffy look you’ve got going on isn’t quite as charming as I imagine you think it is.”

Zeke brushes his fingers over his beard with a look of mock offense. “I’ll have you know this beard is very well-received. By women lacking your clinical eye.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m sure it’s all the rage. Still, it’s a far cry from the Zeke Yeager I remember—polished, reserved, and almost painfully well-behaved.”

He lets out a short laugh. “Painfully, huh? Guess you didn’t appreciate the golden boy routine?”

“Let’s just say it was predictable.”

“You’d prefer me predictable, then?” Zeke says with a small smirk.

You glance out the window, at the gold-lined puffs of cloud in the sky. “I’d prefer you honest. Predictable or not.”

You’d always been good at implicitly drawing the line between the two of you. You didn’t need words to do it—you could accomplish it with a single look or gesture, even through the easy back-and-forth you've both seemed to have temporarily fallen into. With impressive ease, you pull herself back.

“Right,” you say briskly. “Back on track, Captain.”

Zeke nods once. “By all means, Doctor.”

You flip the page in front of you. “Would you consider it more important to complete a mission objective than to safeguard a fellow Warrior?”

His answer is immediate, cool and direct. “The mission always comes first.”

“And how do you view the possibility of your family being rewarded or… punished based on your actions in the field?”

He takes a moment to let the question hang, and you lift your gaze to his. You know, of course, about his parents. About who informed on them as Eldian Restorationists.

“My family understands the price of honor,” Zeke says at length. “Their reward or punishment will be a reflection of my loyalty to Marley.”

Your face is a careful mask as you look back down to jot down his response. But he can tell you're reading between every line. Good—he wants you to. He wants you to see the carefully constructed answers, the meticulous deference to Marley’s expectations. He's feeding you what the brass wants, exactly as they want it, and you both knew it.

There was a time when your opinions would have made him stumble, back when you seemed worlds more experienced in his young eyes. You had been the untouchable one then. The one with all the knowledge, whose approval he quietly pined for. But now, with the honorary Marleyan title wrapped around his shoulders and the weight of his military status anchoring him, Zeke is the one with the upper hand.

Pressing your lips together briefly, you glance down at your notes. “How would you describe your sense of duty to Marley, beyond the mission itself?”

Zeke leans back, aping a thoughtful expression. “My sense of duty? Well, I’d say it’s unwavering. Marley’s given me everything.”

He smiles, a bit too wide, knowing exactly how hollow his words must sound to you. You jot down his response without reaction.

“And what about maintaining discipline under stress? How do you handle moments when orders seem contradictory or difficult to follow?”

“It’s been so long. Nearly a decade since we talked this much,” Zeke says, casually inspecting his fingertips, flicking his thumb across the surface of one nail. “I had to get all my news secondhand. Didn’t you have a boyfriend back in med school? Some surgeon. What was his name…?”

You give him a dry look. “That’s irrelevant.”

He lets a smile tug at his lips. “So, it didn’t last?”

“Residency was a little too demanding on my time, I’m sure you can imagine,” you say icily. “Now, answer the question, please. How do you handle contradictory or difficult to follow orders?”

“Easy,” he replies. “I follow the chain of command without question. Discipline’s the foundation of a good soldier, isn’t it?”

You straighten, sitting a little taller. Zeke lets his gaze track the movement, the way it makes your chest push out just a bit more. You're wearing something so modest and unassuming, a plain button down with a cardigan over top, but he likes the way the fabric just barely clings to your form.

“Have you given any thought to the consequences of your actions, should you fail?”

Zeke smirks as your gaze snaps up to his. “I don’t plan to fail. But hey, life’s full of surprises, right? So, where’re you living these days, anyway?”

You stare at him, unblinking, waiting for a real answer.

“Fine,” he sighs. “If I were to fail—which, as I said, I don’t plan on—I know what’s at risk. I’m aware of the stakes.”

“Good,” she says, tone softening just slightly as you write. “I’m still living with my parents.”

There it is. Zeke spots his opening, the chink in your armor. All he has to do is needle in.

“And how do you handle frustration with authority? Anger when things don’t go the way you planned?” you ask after clearing your throat.

He shrugs. “Honestly, it’s hard to get frustrated with authority when you know you’re on a timer.” He lets the words hang, just for a moment, then continues, “Eight years, you know? That’s how long I’ve had the Beast. Just five more to go, give or take.”

Your pen pauses mid-note, your face betraying the smallest flicker of something. Regret, Zeke thinks. Or recognition, perhaps, of the cruel arithmetic every Titan shifter faces. Your guard slips even further, and he seizes the opportunity, burrowing his way in.

“Five years,” he repeats, lowering his voice. “You start to see things differently. Priorities shift. Why waste energy on anger?”

The slight narrowing of your eyes betrays your struggle to hide the way his words have affected you. There's a sharp understanding there, as palpable as his own, of what it means to be a Marleyan Warrior. To be cut down in one’s prime for the sake of power he would never truly own.

“Not quite the answer I was looking for,” you say, a slight croak to your voice.

“Oh?” Zeke cocks his head. “What was the prescribed response, then? Or better yet, how would you have answered it, Doctor? Surely you have some insight on coping with mortality.”

“Mortality?” you repeat, realigning your notes. “Is that really how you see it?”

He lets a small smile touch his lips. “Do you see it differently?”

“We’re here to discuss you, Captain. Not me,” you say, though the professional distance between you wavers like a fraying thread ready to snap. “Would you say, then, that loyalty to Marley and your mission transcends personal frustrations and doubts?”

“Loyalty?” Zeke echoes. “Five years from now, I’ll be gone, and someone else’ll be sitting in this chair, taking their turn and getting their brain probed by you, Stella. So, yes, I’ll do what’s needed for Marley, and I won’t waste time on emotions that won’t make a difference.”

You hold his gaze, silence drawing out. And though he keeps his own expression light, he can see your mind wrestling with his words, the small measure of pity in your eyes.

“Anyway,” he continues with a disarming smile, “how’s your mom? She still bake? Used to bring all kinds of things to the clinic, didn’t she?”

You bite your lips together, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before closing your expression like a book. “I think I’ve got everything I need. You’re dismissed, Captain Yeager.”

“Dismissed, huh?” he says, rising to his feet. “So… did I pass?”

You gather your notes and fix him with a resigned look. “Don’t worry. You’ll go to Paradis.”

An uncharacteristic flush blooms at the tops of your cheeks as you glanced away. For a second, Zeke just stands there, lingering by the desk, openly admiring it.

“Noted, Doctor. Must be all those years in medical school that let you see right through me, huh?”

You shoot him a withering look, but the hint of a blush remains. “I don’t think I needed medical school for that. I’d suggest you focus on your assignment, Captain, rather than your charm.”

“Oh, it’s all one and the same,” he says lightly, pivoting toward the door. But he turns back once more in the entryway, hands in his pockets. “See you around, Stella.”

Zeke steps into the hall with a strange sense of satisfaction curling through his chest. There's something thrilling about the dynamic between you now. It's a tug-of-war, not unlike the one the two of you had once, though this one is laced with sharper edges and hidden barbs.

He lets his mind wander, considering the possibilities. If he can engineer just one more chance meeting before he leaves, maybe he’d get to see that blush again. More than that, maybe he’d press you a little harder, see just how far he can push your resolve to stay distant. Because if there's one thing he was sure of, it's that your guard was never as impenetrable as you thought it was.

➴ ➴ ➴

Then

The waiting room is quieter than usual in the early evening, with just a few straggles left. A couple of older men murmur in the corner, and a girl sits alone with her head bent over a table. She's maybe Zeke’s age, or a little older, and he almost doesn’t notice her at first. But as he passes, he catches sight of her spread of books and messy notes.

He pauses on his way, the scent of ink and paper a balm to the sharp antiseptic smell of the clinic. The girl doesn’t look up, too absorbed in whatever she's studying, and he shrugs, slipping the baseball mitt from his left hand to his right as he continues down the hall.

Reaching his grandfather’s office, he knocks and pushes the door open, expecting the usual sight of his grandfather sitting behind the desk. Instead, he's standing, shaking hands with another man who's holding a plate of what looked like plain, ugly cookies.

“Ah, Zeke,” his grandfather says warmly as his gaze slides to the door. “Come in, come in. just finishing up here. Meet Dr. Faust. He’s a colleague of mine.”

The other man turns around, smiling. He has a kind face and wears glasses, larger and more thick-rimmed than the ones Dr. Xaver sports.

“This is my grandson, Zeke.”

Dr. Faust extends a hand, and Zeke shakes it politely. “Pleasure to meet you, Zeke. Your grandfather tells me you’re a Warrior in training.”

Zeke nods. “Yes, sir.”

His grandfather clears his throat with a proud glint in his eye. “Yes, he’s becoming quite the athlete, this one. Usually stays behind to toss around that baseball, don’t you, Zeke?”

Dr. Faust chuckles, and without a moment’s pause, he holds out the plate toward Zeke. “Well, a Warrior candidate could use some sustenance after a long day, couldn’t he? Go on, have one. My wife baked these this morning.”

Zeke accepts a misshapen cookie, eyeing it with mild suspicion. Shortbread is a rare treat in the internment zone, and he can’t remember the last time he’d tasted it. But when he bites into it, he's surprised at the buttery crumble, the hint of sweetness. It's… good.

“Not bad, right?” Dr. Faust says, smiling as he takes one for himself. “My wife is talented. Finds ways to make do even when, well, there’s not a lot to work with.”

“Thank you,” Zeke says, glancing down at the half-eaten piece in his hand, surprised at how much he wants to savor it. “It’s really good.”

Dr. Faust beams. “Glad you think so. If you don’t mind doing me a favor, Zeke, would you take these to my daughter? She’s in the waiting area.”

Zeke nods, a bit distracted as he finishes the cookie. He glances up to see his grandfather giving him an approving look.

“Go on, Zeke. It’ll give me a few minutes to wrap things up here, and we can head home after that.”

Dr. Faust hands him the plate, with the cookies carefully balanced on it. “Her name’s Stella. She’s probably a year or two ahead of you in school.”

With the plate in hand, Zeke makes his way back down the hall toward the waiting area. His stomach twists slightly with a feeling he can’t quite place as the girl—you—in the waiting room comes into view. There's no reason to feel nervous, he tells himself. He speaks to plenty of people older than himself on a regular basis—commanders, trainers, the other candidates. But there's something different about approaching you.

You're still hunched over your books, lost in your notes. For a moment, he hesitates, watching you work. You're so absorbed that you hadn’t even noticed him. Gathering himself, Zeke clears his throat quietly and takes a step closer.

“Uh, Stella?” he ventures.

You look up, eyes bright and curious as they focus on him. “Yeah?”

He extends the plate in his hands toward you a little too stiffly. “Your dad thought you might like a cookie.”

You blink, a hint of surprise passing over your face before you smile softly. “Oh, thanks.”

Reaching out, you hover your hand a moment, apparently deciding. Finally, you select one of the cookies and take a small bite. With your you other hand, she sweep aside your papers and pat the empty spot on the table.

“You can put those down, if you like.”

“O-oh, right.”

Zeke carefully places the plate on the table and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Now, he isn’t sure what to do with his hands. He settles on wringing his baseball mitt as he glances down at your open books and notes, noticing the carefully penned words and diagrams scattered across the pages.

“What’re you studying?”

“Biology. I have a test tomorrow.” You scrutinize him, taking in the distinctive yellow armband on his sleeve. “You’re in the Warrior program. Do they give you much time for schoolwork?”

He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “Not really,” he admits. “They don’t make it easy, balancing academics with training.”

You nod, a thoughtful look in your gaze. “How long have you been in?”

“Since the program started.”

Your eyes widen a touch. They seem to sparkle in the cold light of the waiting room. For some reason, Zeke feels like his breath has been stolen from his lungs.

“You must have been young,” you say.

He stiffens, subtly straightening his posture as if to add to his height. “Not that young.”

Your lips twitch with a faint smile. “Well, you’re still pretty young to be taking on all that responsibility.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” he says, fighting to keep his tone from edging too close to defensiveness. “I’ve got a pretty good shot at passing.”

“You sound confident,” you note. There's no mockery in the way you said it. “I mean, lots of kids signed up, didn’t they? Shot at becoming honorary Marleyans, along with their families? That’s huge.”

Zeke can feel his heartbeat steadying with conviction, the familiar confidence he’d worked so hard to build over the past two years returning. “I’ll pass. I’ll become a Warrior.”

You tilt your head, studying him with that same bemused look. As though he were a puzzle she hadn’t quite figured out yet. “Is that what you want? To be an honorary Marleyan?”

It's a simple question, but it echoes in his head like his skull is nothing but an empty cavern. He hesitates. “Well… it’s an honor to serve our motherland.” He shifts under your gaze. “Why didn’t you sign up?”

You look down, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Vaguely, Zeke registers the color of it, the pleasing way it looks, even in the dim light. His heart flutters.

“I guess I didn’t think about it much,” you say finally. “My parents might have let me, if I asked.”

Something twists painfully in his chest at that. Zeke grips his mitt tighter, the leather cool and worn under his fingers. His parents hadn’t left it up to him. They’d signed him up without any discussion, pushing him toward it with all the intensity they could muster—his mother’s pleading looks and his father’s frantic determination.

“Oh,” is all he can manage for you, this girl who's so far removed from the reality he understands.

“Well, it sounds like you’re handling it well,” you offer kindly. You must have picked up on the change in his expression because your gaze had softened. “I mean, if you’re confident you’ll pass, that says a lot.”

Zeke forces himself to smile, shrugging a little to seem as if he was unaffected. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall draws both your attention. Zeke’s grandfather and Dr. Faust come into view a second later. They're already wearing their jackets and hats, briefcases in hand.

“Stella, ready to go?” Dr. Faust asks with a gentle smile, lifting the plate of remaining cookies on the table.

Papers rustle as you immediately began gathering your things. “Just a second, Dad.”

Zeke watches as you stack your books and notes with practiced efficiency, the flutter kicking up that crisp, woody scent again. You slip your things into a worn leather satchel, the dark ink staining your fingers smudging the straps. Just as you turn to follow your father, you look back over your shoulder, your gaze lingering on Zeke and your eyebrows lifting slightly, like you’d just remembered something.

“What’s your name?”

Caught off guard, his eyes widen briefly. “It’s Zeke. Zeke Yeager.”

“Nice to meet you, Zeke.” You give him a polite nod before falling into step behind your father.

As you walk away, Zeke can’t help but watch the gentle sway of your hair at your back, something warm and strange pulsing in his chest. He's still standing there, lost in thought, when his grandfather claps him softly on the shoulder.

“Well now, Zeke,” he says. “You’re red as a tomato. Did you get along with Dr. Faust’s daughter?”

Zeke immediately feels a fresh wave of heat rise to his face. “Yes. She was nice.”

“I suppose you’re getting to that age,” his grandfather sighs, amusement lifting the corners of his mouth. “The age when you start noticing girls, hm?”

“Girls?” Zeke scoffs, feigning disbelief. “I don’t have time for any of that. Not if I’m going to be a Warrior.”

His grandfather gives a nod, a look of sympathy crossing his expression. “True enough.”

Zeke manages a smile, and they head out the door together. He hadn’t even turned twelve yet, and he already understands the price of glory as one of Marley’s Warriors. After he had decided once and for all that he was going to inherit a Titan, nothing had ever given him pause, not even the consequence on his lifespan.

Yet, as they walk out into the dimly-lit streets of the internment zone, Zeke finds himself drifting. The small rush of feeling he’d experienced while he was with you was like nothing he’d ever felt. There was a naturalness to it, a warmth he wants to capture and keep for himself, even when you aren't around.

He glances down at the mitt in his hand, hoping he’d see you again at the clinic. Maybe next time, he’d have a better idea of how to talk to you, to impress you, even. The thought is strange, almost surreal, given the clear path he’d laid out for himself as a Warrior candidate.

It's foolish, he knows. Unrealistic, even. Still, the memory of your meeting lingers, and for once, he lets himself cling to it.

[hearditinapastlife2019]

hiiii i was tagged by the sweet @surrender2022 to do this! holding your hand as i type this

tagging UMMM all of my lovely mutuals i know so many of you have done this already and i can’t remember who! kiss!

[circeswhore]

“Guten Abend. Can you hear me? Can you see me? Good. Can you tell me your name? What is the year? Wunderbar, the brain appears to be operating in full capacity.

“Well, to brass tacks: My name is Viktoria. I am a researcher dedicated to the isolation, transplantation and reanimation of the brain. You are a brain which has been for the past month dead. Deceased. I have reanimated you. Gern geschehen. I do not require thanks, your sudden death proved to be of great convenience to me.

“To bring us to the point, I had created… an individual by reanimating lifeless matter some years ago, and recently she has requested a… well. A mate made to her specifications. Your reanimated brain is now operating this body. I would like to ask you to be the mate for this creature.

“Yes, I thought you’d notice. My reanimated companion had very… particular tastes she had requested for this mate. I suspect it may take you some time to adjust.

“Nein, nein, of course not, nobody is forcing anyone to do anything. If you choose not to be the mate for my companion, I will simply remove your brain and wait for another viable candidate. This will be entirely to your discretion. I advise you meet my companion and come to your own decisions, however.

“And if you say no, I will put your brain into a jar and use it as a paperweight, so we all get something out of this. Meinst du nicht auch?“

[junkologistsgoods]

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : L E V I A T H A N P A R T F O 4 R

Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), reptilian features during oral sex, intimidation, use of force, mentions of torture, death, rape, and cannibalism, murder, insulting religion, characters going against God…I think that’s it.

“Senator…I’ve got you.” The man responds as he and another cult member stabilizes Forras. You peeled around Jake’s torso and witnessed as the Senator appeared from a few feet away. You observed his pitiful state, in which Jake allowed you to witness as he smirks out a scoff. 

“My oh my….she did a number on you didn’t she? Good thing…better her than him..although, now that he knows everything…to include what you tried to do…you’re not off the hook….he has a bone to pick with you and it’s going to come…real soon.” Jake calmly states out as he shifts around, bringing you forth to fully view the Senator. 

You were somewhat shocked at his appearance,  the side of his face appeared somewhat droopy, his arm and shoulder on the same side was slightly altered as it dipped down from the original structure as displayed on the opposite side. 

With harsh bruises and stitches all on the damaged side, he stands somewhat stabilized with the aid of the two members, glaring at you with a hateful passion. His eyes had the urge to do a myriad of acts against you.

“You….” He spoke, it came out slightly slurred as the side of his lip remained gaped open and unmoving to complete any coherency to his words. 

“See what you have done?” One of the cult members sneers at you as he stabilizes Forras posture. 

“You offended God by conducting great harm to the one who he has chosen to relay his will…his decree. This is why you were chosen to die.” The man continued.

You were piecing everything together as you recalled the events that night he tried to take and do the unspeakable against you. The flashback of grabbing on to the paperweight statue, made of brass, and striking him multiple times on the side of his head, the same side where the damage and lack of mobility was apparent. You must have struck and damaged one of his major nerves. 

It wasn’t your intention to do any specific damage, you were just trying to get away…yet that was irrelevant as the question remained since last night when the group of various members snuck into your apartment while you were out with Sunoo….

“H-how do you all know I was selected?….” You spoke out as you somewhat glared right back at the two regulators, and Forras. 

Jake looks down and wraps an arm around the back of your shoulders. 

“So go ahead and tell her….you afraid she’s going to tell the city and reveal the ugly truth?” Jake scoffs as he eyeballs the three men. 

“We are Gods most trusted viziers…we know of his will and-“ the regulator was cut off by Jakes stern and yet steady tone.

“Let me stop you right there.” he tilts his head back and smiles towards the sky, yet his eyes remained narrowly gazing at the three individuals. 

Remaining still, his eyes grew dangerously narrow as his iris barely remained visible. 

“Let’s have a moment of truth, shall we?” He pauses as he bites down on the metal jewelry that rested on his bottom lip. “First, you don’t know anything about the man above, so knock off that pretentious attitude. Second, she may not know…yet. But we both know the real reason why she was targeted. So with that being said, I fucking dare you to sit there and lie to me again…between all of us, if anyone knows God better... it is me….not you….” 

Slightly pausing, Jake smirks out. 

“But  no one knows him better…than him.” He slightly lowers his tone at the last bit. Upon mentioning ‘him’ he tightens his grip around your waist. 

“Who are you? Who are you men that have been aiding this….witch.” One of the regulators snaps out. 

“Witch huh?…” Jake irks out as he furrows his brows together. 

“Don’t tell me that after all of your evolutionary growth…you’re still so narrow minded…there’s never a reasonable explanation with you people, you just always have to find something…or someone to blame.” He narrowed his eyes once more, “fucking atrocious…it’s no wonder he wanted to kill you all off before your kind even came into existence.” 

Your ears perked as Jake continued. 

“He wanted to burn you all to the ground, watch you squirm as the fangs from the flames sear through your flesh and scorches your bones…it brought nothing but a smile on his wicked face whenever he thought of it. Each and every single day, while we waited for the man and woman to come into creation, he was just itching to torture them….their children….and all others that followed suit, which would have decapitated your kind from existing. Humanity wouldn't have lasted passed ten days since being birthed in the paradise of Eden.” 

He paused as he chuckles deeply, before switching his gaze to a dark and stern one. 

“But the moment he finds a reason that changed his mind…his heart….you people want to go after and kill off that reason. How ironic…you have any idea what would happen to you? What type of demon you’d bring out of him should anything happen to…” turning his face slightly towards you, he tilts his head back as he nudges in your direction, “….the ‘reason’.” 

Your breath hitched.

“Despite you all making up stories and tarnishing his name, elaborating such falsehoods to create some sort of monster out of him…speaking his name to scare your children into obedience, and to keep your people in chains, forcing them to follow false scriptures, he looked past all of that….all because he knew that one day she’d finally come into existence....the only thing that will satisfy his anguish, his pain, the betrayal he felt, and fill the emptiness that hollows him.” 

Jake’s words hit you deep. 

‘Am I really….all that to Helel?’ 

“You non-believer! You speak of the Devil with such high praise yet denounce God as your lord and savior! You should die along with her!” One of them snaps out, as more regulators pull up in a separate vehicle. 

With a look of amusement, Jake crosses his arms. His all black and form fitting attire creates a slick and suave appearance as he glares through each member. 

“Believe me…nothing can kill me or my brothers, especially those ‘angels’ that you claim that are doing ‘Gods work’. Don’t even get me started on that one…” 

Tilting his head low, he pivots his feet and turns to face you. 

“Priiiiiiiinceeeeessssssss….” The harshness of his pronouncement of the ‘s’ sound slithered out…like a snake.

“I’ll always be truthful to you….all of us have been. You know deep down, my brothers and I have not misled you….Heeseung is in love with you…it’s sickening and frightening...it's even deadly.....but it is also pure and righteous in its own nature.” 

Approaching you as his arms remained crossed, you watched with a calm yet inquiring expression on your face as the elegant dressed man before you leans in at the neck, and whispers into your ear…

“Are you ready to accept the truth? Are you willing to accept his love and forever be the main feature of his life…his inspiration….and his soul?” 

You nodded, it was with slight hesitation, yet you accepted it…you had accepted it long before he even asked. 

“Good giiiiiiirlllll….” With the slight tapping of his snake like tongue, he flickers the split end against your ear as he gently kisses your cheek, pulls back and gazed into your eyes. You watched as the small, rounded pupils regained the slit shape…the reptilian features coming out once more.

Turning to face the group of men, which had doubled in quantity as the second vehicle that had pulled up carried additional members to back up the Senator and his original party. 

 But you weren’t worried…nor were you afraid. If anything, they should be afraid….for you knew…the sudden realization hit you the moment you saw Jake’s eyes transition. 

With his arms still crossed, he shifts his gaze over to the Senator.

Whispering, he eyeballs and directs his words to the men at Forras' left…and to his right. 

"Take heed, ol’ mortal being.

For the enemy is within your own, and not at all within me.

Your neighbor kills, your sister lies,

Your kindred friend looks at you with two-toned eyes.

They speak with double tongues, split down the middle.

One speaks fondly, as the other curses your name in a separate riddle.

They preach you through, with lightness on display,

Yet when all is said and done, behind ye back, deadly games will be played.

As you live in bliss, your years without regret,

So shall the be the one, who takes your life with hidden threat.

Take heed, ol’ mortal being, as I, Leviathan, The Prince of Envy, Great Serpent of the Sea, Devourer of Ships, and The Marquis of Snakes,

Will issue you this warning, to either leave or take."

'Leviathan...the master of the Seven Seas....the Prince of Envy....'

P A R T 5 I V E

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii; @vampiregirl215; @nshmrarki; @enhypen14; @iamliacamila; @lisaaannna; @nikstrange; @jaehaki; @luv-enhy-skz33; @silcry @honeysjae; @crackedcameraa; @stinkmonkey ; @baekxo07 @raishaii @yangjungwon33

[juststeveandtonythings]

Rhodey remains in jail despite Jen's best efforts (there's even an Orchis paperweight shown on the judge's desk, so you can guess why things haven't been working out for the good guys). Meanwhile, Tony continues his work against the Sentinels (as Fisk, who wants to be reunited with his wife, oversees him) and thinks tragic thoughts like, "Orchis could afford to make a few mistakes in the battle to come. That's one luxury I've never had. There was always a body count associated with my miscalculations."

Riri comes to pay Tony a visit at his request, but Emma intercepts her, and since neither of them know about the other's deal, they get suspicious of one another and fight, which results in a Sentinel almost catching them. (Emma appears to wield a pair of Hellfire brass knuckles against her.) Fisk manages to hide the truth by claiming it was Mystique, and Tony and Riri get to catch up. He tasks her with fabricating some of his designs with Eitri and pals in space since Earth isn't safe enough, then also hints that he has some plans for some Pym Particles she brought to him.

She leaves, and the subsequent evening, Tony, Emma, the Unity Squad (including Steve), and others share a nice Thanskgiving dinner in the Morlock Tunnels. (Tony is holding a glass of apple cider.) The issue ends with Rhodey, still in jail, being given a Saint Leonard Medal that actually has an engraving of Iron Man on it. What could it be!!

- Invincible Iron Man Vol 5 #12 (2023)

[wildbeautifuldamned]

1950's Carl Auböck Brass Hand Paperweight ebay alarms-3178

[jupiterswasphouse]

10, 15, and 18!

10!: Shockingly enough I used to be most afraid of butterflies when I was younger! (You can blame SpongeBob for that one). Nowadays I can't say I'm afraid of any bugs, but they can still spook me from time to time. I do remember being jumpscared a few times by cicadas and stridulating longhorn beetles-

15!: These brass paperweights! I plan on getting more Bug Merch in the future but this is the main thing I have

[Image ID: A photo of two brass bumblebee paperweights held in my hands /End IDs.]

18!: I'm sure this is obvious from my entire blog but 100% wasps! Especially the most commonly over-hated family of wasps, Vespidae! Really I would die defending most bugs but you bet if I hear wasp hate you're gonna see the Wasp House curator coming in with the steel chair