#but either way its concerning i find stuff like this more concerning than the lack of a trailer to be honest

[sonknuxadow]

ohhh my god i saw more leaks of sonic movie 3 merch just now and the art on the packaging is just those 3 renders of team sonic they made for the second movie along with a screenshot of shadows face from the post credits scene just like they had on that poster at licensing expo how do they not have new art to use for this stuff by now . what is going onnnn

[edenfenixblogs]

Well, tuned into the Drawfee stream...

I promised I'd check it out before determining if I'd ever be able to give Drawfee another chance after this...

Verdict TL;DR: Maybe one day, but not in the foreseeable future, especially not streams. Certainly never through my financial support ever again, unless they are fundraising for a particularly worthy charity (like in the Trans Rigs stream). But luckily, I don't think they give a shit if I watch or not, which is totally fair.

Overall: The Drawfee YouTubers didn't do anything wrong. However, their lack of acknowledgement of any Jewish pain or concerns served to further digital ghettoization and social isolation of diaspora Jews in a way that many (but definitely not all) Jews will probably find painful. Between that and the really bad faith link-sharing from the mods, I'm personally too fragile to imagine engaging with the channel again.

This conclusion is geared toward fellow Jews seeking escapist content or content that doesn't make them feel erased during this time. This is not a prescriptive recommendation for anyone else. It is simply my reasoning, should anyone else be on the fence and need insight.

The Good (There was a lot of it!):

I didn't see any Drawfee folks parroting antisemitic conspiracy theories, which is good. An extremely low bar, but one that many, many people fail to clear.

They kept their tone fun and light and didn't turn anything into a diatribe

They kept their focus on humanitarian aid and an end to violence.

I think they made a few statements generally about keeping chat civil.

They kept chat limited to people who already subscribed to the channel, which was SO smart. It kept bots and bad actors from making the chat hostile.

While they all joked about silly stuff, they never jokes about real issues or the pain of anyone involved in the conflict. This is very important!!!

Chat in general was a very good place to hang out. Most people were just happy to be there and commenting about funny and fun art and it had the (mostly) typical Drawfee vibes, which I miss.

There was nothing performative or disingenuous about the team's intent: They wanted an end to violence. They wanted aid to reach Palestinian refugees. They wanted to encourage voter turnout in upcoming elections, and they wanted people to pressure their representatives to call for a ceasefire. These are all unambiguously good things.

Most importantly: They raised WELL over $100,000 for PCRF, which (despite not being totally perfect) is a very well-rated charity that has no history of its funds falling into Hamas' hands and is geared toward helping children. This matters much more overall than the stream's impact on me personally.

Ultimately, I believe the stream did more good than harm by a large margin.

The Iffy (Neither good nor bad; just things that I noticed):

Basically, none of the actual Drawfee crew did anything antisemitic that I saw. But they had a lot of missed opportunities -- to affirm solidarity and support with Jewish viewership, to acknowledge Jewish pain in any way, to advocate for a peaceful solution that left room for any negotiated peace between Jews in Israel and Palestinians in any capacity (whether that meant as Israel or as a newly formed state of some kind), or to be specific and directed in how they wanted people to approach a ceasefire.

I didn't hear any call to specifically keep the chat free of antisemitism. I tuned in a few minutes late, so maybe I missed it.

No substantial knowledge of the conflict demonstrated. Just that the current situation is unacceptable and should stop. I don't know anyone who disagrees with that (who I consider to be acting in good faith), but no language from the team about how to bring about that end to violence other than demanding a ceasefire.

Mods had a chance to add links to AllMEP charities, A Land for All, and some other Palestinian-Israeli and Arab-Israeli and Muslim-Jewish charities that support either inter-faith healing OR even just solely pro-Palestine charities that have inter-faith or inter-cultural backing. They did not add these to the shared links that I saw. (This would have been fine if they had a rigorous evaluation process and couldn't moderate and evaluate quality at the same time. But based on the links that WERE shared, I severely doubt that was the case)

Someone in the chat was repeatedly giving the very good advice that when writing your representatives to demand a ceasefire, you should demand that the US offer to facilitate a negotiated peace and permanent ceasefire between Israel and Hamas. Again, my feed crashed a couple times, so I may have missed it. But I personally did not see any of the mods or the Drawfee crew acknowledge this or mention Israeli suffering or Hamas violence once.

A least one of the mods should have been assigned fact-checking duty. Not many falsehoods were posted, but some were and community-members had to address them.

As expected there were lots of people posting watermelons, flags, and FtRttS. But, surprisingly, nobody was spamming it. I've written before about why the phrase FtRttS is upsetting to me personally, but I'll probably do a larger breakdown about i in the coming week. I appreciate that in general, people did seem to use it respectfully, in good faith, and without clear aggression toward Jewish people. There was some clear aggression toward Israelis (as in citizens not politicians), in general, but not too much or from too many people.

The Bad and Pretty Ugly (This is why I ultimately have to step away and other Jews might have to as well. At least for awhile):

Honestly, for all the care that people put into this stream, there was a general apathy toward and invisibility of Jewish people suffering in this crisis. Like I said, nobody on the on-screen Drawfee team did anything antisemitic. That was nice. Unfortunately, it didn't really seem like any actual effort was put in to determine what links were worth sharing. It was more of a "the mods like this one so it's allowed" sort of thing. Even cursory research on most of the links shared involved blatant instances of antisemitism, historical revisionism, or that just in general fell apart on any inspection whatsoever.

They could have made a lot of Jews feel seen and heard by mentioning the hostages even once, acknowledging 10/7 even once, acknowledged even once that Israel continues to be bombed from Hamas and Hezbollah daily, acknowledging that this is a war with two sides that both require an end to violence...literally any ONE of those things would have made a difference. But it was all just ignored, which is far too common when dealing with this conflict. This is especially painful for Jews who, like me, have experienced social isolation and digital ghettoization during this time. I think a lot of Jewish viewers will struggle to reconcile how this echoes a lot of the erasure that we all feel in our daily lives and in our digital spaces and in our hybrid digital and in-person communities. (<- Reblog 2 contains the accounts of The Jewish Experience of antisemitic erasure and ghettoization)Like, I do understand the argument that this is about providing humanitarian relief, but I also don't know why so many creators (and this is NOT unique to Drawfee) pretend like Jewish suffering is not relevent to ongoing discussions.

The mods posted links that supported UNRWA and some chatters spoke up in support of the UNRWA without any consequence. (All links here are verified as highly credible with high factual reporting standards via Media Bias/Fact Check and represent analysis from left-leaning, right-leaning, and least-biased sources)

One mod also posted a link to decolonizepalestine(.)com (not including the link because i don't want to support blatant propaganda). I have shared information about this terrible, bad-faith website before but there's so much more to pick apart here that I will reserve an evaluation of it as a source for a whole post of its own, unrelated to Drawfee. This website does cite its sources, but it provides no mechanism for readers to evaluate those sources. They are not hyperlinked and each individual citation must be looked up individually. I don't even have remotely enough time to do that right now. But if any of my bookwormish allies wish to tear apart those sources or the website in general, be my guest. Tagging y'all for visibility, but do not feel like I am actually asking you to do this work. It is simply something to add to the list of bad sources that we'll have to tackle at some point. cc: @comradevo @the-road-betwixt @faggotry-enjoyer @arandomshotinthedark et. al.

The mods also shared arab.org a few times. It is weird to me that they could have recommended AllMEP, which routinely emphasizes interfaith and intercultural and international cooperation and peace, but instead chose this much less evaluate-able source that excludes any efforts to find cooperative peace between Israel and Palestine. I had not heard of Arab.org before this stream and when I started to look into it, I fell into a bit of a rabbit hole:

So, first of all, Arab.org is a charity? organization? network? based in Beirut, Lebanon. I can't find them on Charity Navigator. The homepage didn't have a clear mission statement, so I navigated to the About Us tab. That gave me a little more information.

There, they state that their vision is to, "Empower people & organizations to do good." - Vague, but inoffensive. OK.

They state that they have three objectives:

Raising awareness, which they define as, "Civil society’s active role and through active collaboration." -- Vague but inoffensive.

Raising hope, which they define as, "Enabling the use of technology to innovate ways of contributing to the wellness and welfare of society." -- Vague but inoffensive.

Raising standards, which they define as, "Education, Reporting, Communication to & from civil society in the Arab World." -- Unclear, but inoffensive. Are they trying to raise the standards of these listed items within the Arab world or are they trying to raise international standards to be more inclusive of these listed items that originate from within the Arab world. And how do they define increased standards? Whose standards? IDK. This doesn't tell me anything really, but it also doesn't tell me anything bad, necessarily?

So what about their principles? Well, they list 5:

"Collaboration: Only together as a collective, can we bring about real change and betterment to society." -- OK, fine, but this still tells me nothing.

"Transparency: We conduct our business with a high level of transparency and a simple development model and we publish our impact publicly." -- Great! Excited to explore that!

"Innovation: We use our skills and creativity to make the world a better place. We want to make it possible to both inform and take action to solve the problems we discover." -- Intriguing, but how?

"Inclusion: We champion the inclusion of everyone in society, whether it is part of civic inclusion or charitable inclusion." -- This sounds really promising!!!! I'm excited to learn more!

"Leadership: We believe in taking the lead whenever wherever required by empowering individuals and organizations to influence others towards common goals." -- Gonna be honest, this just sound like vague buzzwords to me, but if they actually accomplish what they set out to do, great.

Luckily, each of these principles was clickable.

Let's start with "Collaboration"!

This takes me to a weirdly vague page with a gif of various men helping each other climb out of frame. The text below it says "We are currently on the look out for the following technology/platforms/businesses relevant to civil society" and then a list of pretty random things, some of which have checkmarks near them. Why is the formatting so strange? Why don't they all have checkmarks? Why is only the indicated section clickable but none of the other things? Where is more info about any of these items?

But fine, lets click that one clickable link about online marketplaces.

It doesn't actually take you to a marketplace but a page where artisans in the Arab world can submit their information. Submit heir information for what? Well, this is what the website says:

We understand how difficult life is for craftsmen & craftswomen to compete with mass-producing giants. We’re here to change all that. We are creating a win-win-win relationship whereby all sides benefit from our new platform “Shop to Help"

The "Shop to Help" is not clickable. I have no further information on what this is.

Fine, there's one more thing to click on this page: a list of Arab.org's partners.

First up: The Arab Institute for Women at Lebanese American University. Clicking on the info there takes me to the AIW:LAU website. Arab.org says the organization used to be called "Institute for Women’s Studies in the Arab World," but I couldn't find anything on Charity navigator for them either. Cursory research on them shows they've been around for 50 years. Fine. I'm not doing an evaluation on them right now (anyone who knows anything about them feel free to comment. I just don't have time) I was just investigating how they partner with Arab.org. I didn't find anything about that aside from a list of AIW's partners, which lists Arab.org amongst them. Clicking the link to Arab.org just takes me back to the homepage. I've learned nothing.

Next: They list Bayt.com, which is a job search site. Clicking that link takes me to the Bayt homepage. I couldn't find that addressed partnerships of any kind was their affiliate links page? But becoming an affiliate helps the affiliate make money, not Bayt. So I'm unsure what's going on or if this is even related.

Third: Building Markets. As far as I can tell, this is a real organization. I also cannot find them on Charity navigator, nor can I find any information about how they partner with Arab.org from their website. They do clearly share their financial information, though, which is great. I neither endorse nor condemn this organization. I'm not investigating them right now.

Fourth: Takreem Foundation. I CAN FIND THEM ON CHARITY NAVIGATOR! But they aren't rated. A search of the Takreem website shows no affiliation with Arab.org or accessible financial information.

Fifth: #GivingTuesday Woohoo! They are on Charity Navigator and have a pretty high rating! However, there's no evidence of a link between them and Arab.org, and the organization claims to have no list of official partners or participating organizations. Odd. Did Arab.org run a #GivingTuesday campaign and highlight #GivingTuesday instead of the organization they were giving to? Idk. And I don't have time to figure it out.

Sixth: CSR Engine. It's just a website with nothing on it except the statement "World’s first business for good solution to assign & align CSR activities seamlessly using AI and blockchain technology," which is the same text available about it from the Arab.org partners page. It does show it's affiliation with Arab.org...by listing Arab.org as a customer and then linking back to the Arab.org homepage. WHAT IS GOING ON.

Finally, and buckle up for this one cuz its a doozy, Greenpeace: I'd actually heard of this one, but I don't really know anything about it. Clicking Greenpeace doesn't even take you to the real Greenpeace MENA site. It just takes you to Arab.org's really weird write up page about Greenpeace. So, instead, I searched for Greenpeace on Charity navigator, where it got a 100% rating. Awesome! I clicked the charity navigator link, which took me to the Greenpeace Fund website. But wait a second. What's their connection to Arab.org? Well, there was no search function on the GreenpeaceFund website. So, I typed Greenpeace into google and uh?????

What?

That was surprising. I clicked the link and...

It showed me a totally different website...

Than the one I was just on...

Mods and the Drawfee crew stopped people from sharing links unless those people were mods. That was a super good choice which I fully support. But why did the mods share THESE links?

Well, I had the websites both open in side-by-side tabs.

That's...odd... So I studied the URLs more closely...

The lighter green G that's less pixelated? THAT ONE is the Greenpeace Fund. That is the one with penguins and a 100% charity navigator score.

The one with the lime green, pixelated G? That's Greenpeace International, a conspiracy/pseudoscience website with low crediblity.

But hey, the Greenpeace International website says there's a MENA-based branch. And, upon closer inspection, the Greenpeace International MENA website is the one that was linked on the Arab.org page. Maybe that one was better?

Clicking it took me to the Greenpeace MENA site...

which gave me another blinking Conspiracy Alert Icon from Media Bias Fact Check.

Just to be safe, I typed Greenpeace MENA into google, and fam... it is not better.

PS: searching ANY Greenpeace website for Arab.org showed no results.

In one last-ditch effort, I checked the Transparency page, where Arab.org claims to be "leading by example" in sharing all their documentation for charitable donations. And y'all it's fucking weird.

Let's stick with Greenpeace cuz they're already open tabs on my computer.

First of all, Arab.org's "leading by example" financial disclosures...

...are literally just the "Thank you for donating" receipts that you get whenever you donate to any cause. It's fucking weird.

And yeah, you read that right. For all of the 4th financial quarter of 2023, Arab.org donated just $109 TO THE ORGANIZATION WHICH THEY CALL A FEATURED PARTNER.

"OK," you say. "Well, there was a fucking lot going on in the fourth quarter of 2023. They were probably more focused on Palestine." Sure, lets check out their donation history to UNRWA (which, btw, is still a not great charity)

In case you don't want to click another link--Spoiler alert, they only donated $380. For the whole quarter.

And before you say, "But Eden! You must have missed it Arab.org is another organization called The Olive Tree (The Olive Tree SAL). That must be where the REAL work takes place!" Look at the mission statement of that one! The call themselves, "A mission-driven social enterprise startup making an impact for the common good.''

No.

The Olive Tree SAL is not on Charity Navigator. It's just another nothingburger website that links back to Arab.org and has no search function or further information.

This is the entirety of the website:

And a weird little LinkedIn logo that takes you to the organization's business page on LinkedIn.

From what I can tell, Arab.org just uses Ad revenue to generate minimal donations for charities and organizations of varying credibility that mostly don't even seem to know that Arab.org is even doing anything related to them. And that are designed to make people who are basically uninformed on the whole topic feel good for clicking on a link.

IDK, color me unimpressed. But I'm frankly a little mad that I spend so much fucking time trying to promote charities and organizations that promote peace between Palestine and Israel with actual detailed financial reports and disclosures that seeing this really makes me upset. Maybe if people actually listened to Jewish people with a lifetime of experience dealing with this conflict and trying to help solve or even Palestinian people on the ground who are affected by all this, they might instead focus their energies on one of the many organizations that are actually doing something to help alleviate suffering, increase empathy, encourage education and interfaith dialogue, learn to use language that is respectful of everyone undergoing and who has survived trauma, or build a peaceful future.

Whatever.

Donate to an AllMEP Charity:

And the craziest thing is that I'm gonna be the one who gets hate for this--even tthough I've been so driven out of most fandom spaces and discourse spaces that I can't even tag Drawfee here, let alone I/P, Palestine, or (G-d-forbid) Israel and get this to reach people who this could actually hep.

Because every time I try to engage, I'm inundated with messages like this:

[slocumjoe]

Can you do a companions react to a sole with poor fine motor skills that is really skilled in battle but can't do stuff like open can tabs or walk in a straight line or has trouble lile tying their shoes?

- Leaf anon 🌱

Cait; Wouldn't think much of it. She was an addict, she's known lots of other addicts, she's known raiders. People who's heads get messed with, either with substance or by getting hit too much. Fighting and shit like grabbing a door handle are different. Her worry is that they'd need their motor skills in a fight, or in a retreat...Cait would gripe about helping them with anything if they ask, but she can respect someone who's useful when it matters.

Codsworth; Would offer a hand whenever they looked like they needed it, but otherwise wouldn't comment or acknowledge it. It would feel very improper. They've got things handled most of the time, and if they aren't in pain, he doesn't need to worry. Would consult wasteland doctors if he felt they were legit, get their opinion, but Codsworth isn't the type to micromanage.

Curie; Worried mama hen. Curie would hover and possibly overstep. She means well, but if you don't want help with something, and don't need it, someone insisting they help is very 🙃🙃🙃. This is the first time I've used emojis in a react, only because I cannot describe the emotion those ones convey. Anyway. Curie would look into motor skills disabilities/in general in hopes of finding a way to remedy their struggles, make things easier. Some people might appreciate it, others would feel really patronized.

Danse; Would send them to Cade every time they returned to the Prydwen, just to check up on things. Obviously can't so that post BB. Danse has probably seen this before as well, but since he'd be traveling with them, he'd see it more and in different ways. Small corridor and they can't walk straight? His power armor is huge and lacks agility. They're bumping into each other. This would be an exercise in spacial awareness for him.

Deacon; one of the more worried ones. They're both spies. They need to be sneaking. You need to be able to move straight, pick locks, quickly type on keyboards. He's pleasantly surprised to see that Sole is still good at what they do, but there's always a little part of him waiting for that Chekov's Gun to go off. Also tends to hover around them, especially in hostile areas.

Gage; Don't let anyone know they have this issue and Gage is fine. Raiders will sniff that kind of thing out and get dollar signs for eyes. Walk straight the best you can, or play it off as a personality eccentricity. Don't say shit, don't go for soda in public. Very confused how they beat the Gaunlet. Very confused how they have such a high kill count. Will only help them out if its time-sensitive.

Hancock; Takes him...so long to notice. Not because he's high, he just fully doesn't realize it. He spends time around alcoholics and chemheads. Like Cait, that's just...normal for him? Hancock will offer help with some things, and still not notice what kind of help he's actually providing. He'll realize out of the blue one day and barge into the room asking if they have problems, just to make sure he's right.

MacCready; As long as he's the sniper, there's no reason to worry. If they start eyeing scopes to add to their guns, he might sweat a little. If they're a pickpocket type, he's just sweating. Pickpocket, sweating bullets. This would turn MacCready off crime, watching them try to sneak whatever from someone's pocket, when just three minutes ago, they had to bite their bag's zipper. Leave the precision stuff to him. Please. Please for the love of god.

Nick; Look at either of his hands. He probably doesn't have such great motor skills there, either, purely because he's just so old and banged up. This is a major source of bonding. Nick is the least likely to have any worry or concern for them; he gets around fine, so can they.

Preston; Second longest to notice. Faster than Hancock, but it still long enough for him to wonder if they were always like that, or if they're injured in some way. His concern comes before combat—they fight just fine, its the getting ready. Flicking their safety off, getting the gun out, reloading. Preston tends to go in front, so they have some time to prepare before they get into the action.

Piper; Like Preston, worries about transitional periods. Downtime, they're fine, firefight, they're fine. But those little moments in between, oooh, does Piper worry. Piper will keep count of how many bullets they use and let them know to reload, switch to something else, etc. Basically tracks all the info around, gets it to them so they have a few extra seconds to think and fiddle with whatever they have to.

X6-88; They are forbidden from heights. They are to remain at least ten feet away from more than a three-foot drop. Area too small? Understood, we're not going there, we're leaving. No, I don't care who asked for what. X6-88 hates heights as is. Someone pirouetteing their way off an edge is not happening. He truly does not care about anything else. Can't open things? Whatever. Bad with precision? Whatever. You can't walk straight, you are not going near ladders, bridges, scaffolding, cliffs, maybe even stairs if he thinks they're too tall.

[scoutisnthome]

sereneverse,,,I have questions but mainly-what is the story? I'm intrigued *imagine me sitting in a business chair lmao*

Hello. Let me inform you. *posts up business presentation style*

Sereneverse is a story (primarily. there is other stuff too.) focusing on a region called the delta and the community of mutants that live there. The delta is the bottom layer of a cyberpunk esc tiered city called Echoana. It's the poorest of the layers and where all of the waste and pollution end up eventually. (Adding a read more because this is gonna be long. Read my scifi boy 🫵)

Most of the Delta belongs to a district called the stacks, tall stacks of ready-made room pods and shipping containers that serve as peoples homes. The people living in the delta, due to economic status and general lack of infrastructure, don't have much any sway on the politics of the upper layers which makes it easy for people like HORIZON industries to move in without them being able to protest (they do anyways. Though more forcefully than civilly). HORIZON industries is a primarily research based company which is often employed to do trial research for Echoana officials, often for weapons, and it's also the company funding the human experiments I mentioned in the other post.

Because of the Delta being incredibly polluted and sometimes just having scrap fall from the sky (among other things (concerning background radiation)) almost all of the residents have either a mutation, are missing at least one limb, or both. Which unfortunately makes them really convenient test subjects for HORIZON especially since they have no feasible way of taking legal action.

Sereneverse in general mainly focuses on the conflict between the inhabitants of the Delta and upper HORIZON authority as HORIZON industries continues to try to move into the delta (at the start of the story they have 2 makeshift lab sites. Both of which are destroyed soon after by Roya Ngo.) and the experiments who escaped HORIZON in the process finding full lives and families they never would've had if they stayed with them.

Sereneverse is named after Serene Violence (it/it's), a escaped human experiment of HORIZON industries, because it was the first OC I made out of the bunch. It's kind of the catalyst for a lot of the plot as immediately upon its escape it starts making targeted break ins on the homes of HORIZON officials, which makes people investigate in a way they wouldn't have otherwise.

If you want me to elaborate more on characters and introduce the cast lmk!!!!! I can show you all the sillies

[bitchin-witchin]

CW in tags too but this post will contain mention of like... cosmic non-con (lack of bodily autonomy), mpreg (he's afab but he's a guy so, mpreg) and fpreg, and miscarriage happening with one underage Anakin. And like... cosmic incest? Anakin force shenanigans. Just tread with caution if any of these things sound upsetting.

about halfway thru under a space themed text divider is some stuff about an alternative timeline with some Tatooine slave culture where Anakin leaves the order and returns to Tatooine to start a revolution. I might post separatly so people dont have to wade thru the weird preg stuff to get to it.

Erm. That one hc where Anakin is something more like a clone of his mom but not totally bc of genetic variation from the forces influence. Or like a stem cell baby. The force didn't really do much for him phenotypically, so they're not total copies but appearance wise... but very similar.

We won't get too much into the nitty gritty bc it's just an excuse to get him pregnant like his mom did bc he got the organs for it from her >:3c

The first time he doesn't even realize it's happened. he's barely a teen, still in the midst of his padawan training. He has been feeling cramps and notices clotted blood, but it's so early that there's been very little symptoms and it doesn't feel or look too different from his normal cycle. he's never been good with tracking it anyway so he just assumes he's menstruating. The force had been feeling different around him but he doesn't recognize it for what it means and has a whole mess of other adolencent concerns he's focused on like his relationships with other padawans and jedi, his temple studies, the genesis of his festering mental illnesses... kdbvhjf.

The second time is, of course, during the passing of his mom and Geonosis (the process of miscarriages happen over a period of time like a few days to a few weeks depending on the situation). chronic stress, dangerous and excessive exercise (like killing a lot of Tuskens), lack of sleep, bad nutrition, it's a whole concoction (yes irl miscarriages are rarely from any of these things but hard to explain the magical baby being misdeveloped when it worked great the first time (birth of Anakin)). This time he DOES know, recognizes the feeling of the force as a new life form, has more obvious symptoms of pregnancy, and he is very scared and confused because he would have been a virgin when the egg was conceived. And when he sees Padme he's all self conscious about how his body might look, is it as obvious to her as much as it is to him? Will she be disappointed or disgusted if they have sex and she doesn't see what she expects? sexual intimacy scary.... if she finds out will she believe the truth of the situation? Or will she think him unfaithful? ;w; much to agonize over

The third time is during the war once its in full swing. Idk a specific timeline. could be really evil and say Rako Hardeen or Ashoka leaving arc. HMMMM. Ashoka leaving would ofc hurt.... Can't keep any of his damn kids. Somehow the "second" time feels worst than the "first". The guilt and anger and hopelessness compounded. Why does the force keep doing this? Is he not loved even by it? Cannot he not be in control of his own body even now? He is supposed to be free.... (why does the force do this indeed. My excuse is that maybe it's a well-intentioned-but-nevertheless-fucked-up-way to guide Anakin onto a different path, except even the force cannot get plans to go right when they revolve around anakin. it is both a most beloved and mourned aspect of its child.)

The next time kids are a potential future, it's Padme! Maybe they did the stem cell baby procedure, maybe it was the force again. maybe they were rubbing off on each other and fingerbanging so the force manipulates Anakin's makeup to make it possible for Padme to be impregnated. lmao. weird magic makes for many possibilities. If the force is responsible Padme would ofc also feel extremely violated. Either way, choice or not, Anakin has too much birth trauma to do it and out of the two of them shes least often in active war zones and such. So Anakin is like, surely nothing bad will happen now. And it looks like the war will end just in time so he can leave the Jedi on a good note and have his wife and kids! Oh no, what are these nightmares? and so goes the rest....

🛸　.　　•. 　🌎　°　.•　🌓　•　　.°•　　•　🚀 ✯. •. . •. 　.　•　★　*　　　　　°　　.　　🛰 　°·　　•. ๏ .• 🪐 .　•　•　° ★　• ☄. ๏ •. . •. . •. . •. • ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇▇▆▅▄▃▂▃▄▆▇▇▆▅▄▇▆▅▄▃▁▂

Alternative timeline perhaps: After Ashoka and after Clovis, Anakin is like no one loves me I hurt everything I touch everyone leaves me in the end time to go die in the desert I was born to. So he goes to Tatooine, gets a speeder, goes out into the dunes, directionless, no supplies, fully intending to never come back. But being who he is, he stumbles upon or falls into an ancient temple that has long forgotten ties to the force (Inspired by the idea of Tatooine being an old af planet and having old af strong relations to the existence of the force (it is where the chosen one was conceived after all)) and goes thru the painful but liberating process of spiritual renewal. He leaves the desert with revived dreams and newfound courage to live on to create a better world and change to be a better person. and!! this time he gets to choose to have his babies when he decides he's ready to try again. but first, he is going to accomplish his dreams freeing the first family he knew, help lead his people to free others, and eradicate slavery from the galaxy. yayyyy. Sometime here he has the twins bc a galaxy-wide slave revolution is a long ass thing. He'd be waiting all that time otherwise. Perhaps once Tatooine's freedom is achieved, then. Here he knows his children will remain free because he has done and will continue to ensure so as long as he lives.

He reluctantly returns to Coruscant as the people of this union of freed planets agree to elect him as a representative. Not as a senator though. The union wants to stay separate from the republic, but is willing to coexist. Anyways, his return allows for Padme and the Jedi (Obi-Wan!!!!) to meet the bebes, now like 4, 5 years old. Padme and Obi-wan only first see him in the senate rotunda tho and wow! what a shock that is. emotionally unrepressed and matured Anakin is crazy to see. Also his clothes FUCK. learned from him wife. Padme has moved on bc like, he LEFT. but it does hurt to see him again. and doing well without her. But they come to an understanding after a big conversation and then Anakin is like "wanna meet my kids?" LOL

Less fluffy and more in line with Anakin's political philosophy shaped by his childhood, he kind of ends up being a warlord. Not out of bad intentions, he wants to bring peace and stability but believes that is best achieved through certain sacrifice. There is no such thing as a bloodless revolution when the oppressor uses fear and violence to keep you oppressed through generations. Also. Dukkra ba dukkra. For those who might not know, the fan language Amatakkan (tatooine slave language) uses the same word for freedom and death. So I like to think by slaughtering slavers he believes he is freeing them from the chains of greed and corruption. He still has his babies and family is his everything. One of his primary motivators as a warlord is the control he gets to protect them. And it would make for a juicy senate meeting. Like yeah. this guy is unapologetically a killer and feels justified in it!! The senate, Padme, Obi-wan, and the Jedi order aren't really reconciling with that. And if the Republic refuses to let their union of planets conduct their own affairs they are ready to protect what is theirs. Dukkra ba dukkra. They will be free.

Just to go wild with this idea, Anakin has figured out Palpatine's identity as a sith lord during his time on Tatooine and spearheading a revolution (probably some key stuff revealed by the force when he ungoes his spiritual renewal and more discovered through his own research following those key reveals). Palpatine invites him to his office bc like, his would-be apprentice is stronger in the force than ever and is now a warlord lol. He needs to get a grip on things again bc this could fuck up his plans more than Anakin leaving did. Palpatine tries to manipulate him into compliancy by bringing up he knows about Anakin's kids but he doesn't realize Anakin figured out Palpatine was trying to groom him before and so no longer holds a scrap of loyalty to him for that. Anakin's love was his only protection from Anakin. And when Palpatine threatens the wellbeing of his kids? His family? That seals the deal. He will end this tyrant's reign too. Of course this doesn't go over well with the Republic and the Jedi order but palpatine's deception and crimes are gradually revealed, so it's... a smidge less bad. but still bad.

Anyways. I think i'll stop here. this post is so long 😭😆

[spandexinspace]

@radioactive-earthshine Gave the birthday boy a protein shake. 🫡

Happy -938 birthday to him!

_______________________________________________

"Here." Ayla trusts one of two identical transparent cups into Querl’s hands. It’s cool to the touch, though less so than how most humans appear to prefer their beverages, and contains a white, viscous liquid with an almost imperceptible pink tint, punctuated by small, dark dots.

"What is this?" Querl asks, eyeing the substance sceptically. He’s not made a habit out of trusting unidentified liquids his teammates hand to him, since many of them have demonstrated an interest in regularly consuming nearly or slightly toxic substances for no justifiable reason. It might not even be consumable at all, for all he knows.

"Protein shake. Contains fancy seeds and stuff, Tenzil says it has benefits." She grins at him and leans back against the railing, turning her back towards the biosphere below as the contents of her own cup lap dangerously high up the container’s walls and threaten to spill over them at any moment..

"Benefits?" Another thing his teammates seem to have their own ideas about. No surprise that Tenzil is the source of this mystery liquid though.

"Oh, you know, some stuff,” she says nonchalantly, her lips still curled into the type of grin that says it’s not.

"Ayla, elaborate." 

"Tenz said he got it from some ancient human records called P-ins that said it's supposed to give you energy." Ayla leans closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sexual energy." 

“Grief,” he says, drawing out the word to empathise his disbelief. "That seems highly unlikely; The replicators are not configured to provide medical grade products. And even if they were there'd be no guarantee it would have the same impact on either of our biologies as it would have had on a human a thousand years ago." Despite himself Querl can feel the tip of his ears and cheeks heat up, undoubtedly turning a treacherous dark green even as he tries his best to remain unbothered.

"Yeah, yeah, science. Can't hurt to try it though, can it?" As Ayla leans back again, as relaxed as ever, Querl studies her expression for a sign of, well, anything. She’s more open than most, but he is quite frankly awful at reading people and she knows that.

"It definitely could. But you don't actually think this will work, do you?"

"Only one way to find out." She takes a big gulp of the drink and then pauses for a moment, as if to savour it, her face a mask of exaggerated contemplation. "But nah, I think Tenz is full of nass on this one. He'd believe any recipe he found in any old record. Helps being able to eat all the weird stuff they used to eat back then, I guess. This ones’s not too bad though, doesn’t even taste like chems." She wipes the back of her hand across her lips.

Querl raises his cup and slowly rotates it, watches as the thick liquid lazily swirls in the cup and the black dots bob up and down in it like miniature buoys. There is a notable lack of a chemical smell to it, replaced instead by a weak, earthy scent not unlike some of the things they ate while stuck in the 20th century. Very unlike the so-called pizza they ate there, but not unlike certain other things they ate. Its appearance still fails to bring him comfort.

"You do know you don't have to bring me food," he says, glancing over at Ayla. Stalling, if only a little.

"I know, but I get worried about you sometimes. Lyle does too, judging by what Salu says he’s told her.”

"And what has he told Salu?" He narrows his eyes, running through the options in his head.

"She didn’t say exactly what he said, just that he gets worried about you sometimes. I think he mentioned something about it while they were on a mission with the squad ‘cause they’d been away for a while?”

“He... does that.” Querl sighs. ”I’ve already explained that he shouldn’t be concerned, I clearly survived just fine before him.”

“Not really how it works, my guy. Look, I don't really know what's up with you and I ain't going to dig if you don't want me to, but you should take care of yourself. You're not helping anyone by not taking care of yourself and we'd all be pissed if you died or something. It was bad enough the last time around." Ayla takes another drink from her cup, her gaze seemingly fixed on something very far away. Or perhaps nothing at all.

"It's fine. I'll be fine."

"Good. Now try the sprocking thing before it becomes even warmer." 

Querl takes a last look at the liquid in the cup, then brings it to his lips and takes a small drink. It’s smooth and still slightly cold, the texture only broken up by the black dots, which somehow manage to be both gelatinous and hard at once and feel oddly large and uncomfortable in his mouth. It’s not too dissimilar to the awful, pungent "milkshakes" Lyle seems to have a thing for, but unlike those it's not heavy with the kind of artificial sweetness that lays itself like a thick coat over one’s tongue and teeth. It's still sweet, but the taste is less pronounced, tinged with a bitter and earthy note. It’s a strange and unfamiliar taste, but not a wholly repulsive one.

"So, what do you think?"

"It's acceptable."

"Uhu, feeling any energy yet?"

"Grief, Ayla." He rolls his eyes and she lets out a bark of laughter, whatever shadow that came over her before now gone. 

"Just checking," she says, before taking yet another sip from her own cup. "It is pretty good actually. A lot of food here tastes so fake, but this could actually have some real nuts in it."

“And here I thought you didn’t know anything about nuts.” Ayla reaches over to swat at his shoulder with the back of her hand, but her touch is light and there’s a clear, contagious bemusement in her expression.

“Oh, and I thought we were being proper today,” she says.

“There is nothing improper about discussing commonly farmed crops. You of all people should know that.”

Ayla snorts. “Nasshead. Nuts aren’t even common crops back home. Most of it’s just grains and even then we sell most of that.”

"Hm, yes, I suppose that’s true. Most food on Colu originates from Winathian grain producers, though as far as I know it’s processed off planet." 

"That weird bread you-all eat?" 

"It's not bread. It's super-processed grain infused with vitamins, proteins and mineral additives. It’s a nutritionally complete food and makes use of as much of the grain as possible, thereby reducing waste and ensuring our survival." 

"Thanks for the lecture. Kinda tastes like nass though." Ayla grimaces in mock disgust.

"Flavour is perhaps not its main benefit.” It, in truth, doesn’t taste like much of anything at all. He’s still not decided if he prefers that to all varied, unexpected and often disgusting tastes of alien food. “It's very efficient though, both to transport and to eat, and you don’t need to eat anything else to fulfil your nutritional needs.”

"I just can't imagine not having other options though. Even when we have bad years back home we usually have some options. Buncha different recipes and conserves. My grandmas all knew probably about a hundred different things to do with mixed grains and not much else."

"Perhaps it's different for other people. My family constellation wasn't ideal for being immersed in our culinary traditions." Querl shrugs half-heartedly. It’s not like he ever would have had a choice even if he had wanted to.

"Nass, sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright." It is. It doesn’t hurt like it did before, in particular not when it’s her saying it. Unlike some her words aren’t laced with ill will and Ayla is, for as boisterous and loud she can be, surprisingly easy to get along with. Surprisingly easy to just be around. 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, continuing to sip at their drinks as they slowly turn room temperatured. It’s strangely filling for a drink, though Querl supposes that has something to do with the – by the name implied – added protein and perhaps the partially soft black things. He makes a mental note to research the matter further later, perhaps even by talking to his worrier of a boyfriend.

The cup is mostly empty by the time he breaks the silence.

"Thank you. For the drink. It’s not as disgusting as it first seemed." Tilting the cup back and forth he watches as the now thinned out liquid and a few stray dots flow along the bottom of it, trying to keep up with its movements.

"Any time. Gotta keep you going so I can keep kicking your ass in training." 

"How altruistic of you. Perhaps you would be better off fighting someone who can match your enthusiasm?”

"And risk losing? Don't think so, beans." Ayla eyes him, her eyebrows knitting together in either a frown or thoughtfulness. “I mean, unless you want to.”

“I don’t. And even if I did, someone would inevitably lecture me about the physical demands of our field of work and demand I train with Val, again.” Querl waves a hand dismissively in her direction, then crosses his arms. “Besides… I do appreciate your company. Even with the absurd nicknames.”

“Aw. Maybe someday I’ll teach you how to make up nicknames too.” She reaches over and ruffles his hair. If he makes an indignant noise in response it’s nothing short of her fault.

[notthestarwar]

@starrrgazingbunny

Lol that's it!!! Obi Wan is always like 'it's a terribly difficult job being married to a man benevolent enough to keep offering up our sofa to whichever of his few million brothers is having a bad week' meanwhile Cody is like 'they wouldn't be on the sofa if you hadn't already given up every bed in the house to whichever poor soul you've stumbled across recently' and they act annoyed but they love each other for it.

Meanwhile Anakin is just a permanent fixture in their apartment by now. He watches all their arguments while eating cereal out the box like 'yeah this definitely isn't about me'.

And that is the exact feel!!! That spiderman meme but its fox and Boba on either side of a backstreet cloning lab (they aren't successfully doing cloning btw the fic goes in to the fact that none of them have the skill of the kamineese. There's just a lot of bodysnatching and attempting cloning going on. There's a comic book vibe to it 😂 lots of incompetent unethical scientists about)

Now it's funny you mention where Quinlan gets his money, as that part is addressed and I have written it! so wonder no more. Here's another snippet, later in the fic, with Cody once again concerned about fox's income (or lack of it) below. Here, Cody has found Fox's pi office (which he's been keeping secret from everyone because, he doesnt like being open with people lol) and tho fox doesn't tell him about Quin, he does think about it and that explains the source of the money

And yeah, if I ever finish it it'll be uploaded to ao3 and I usually post links here so (if I remember- sorry I do have a terrible memory lol) I can totally tag you. I've got multiple fics on the go atm tho and I'm trying to figure out a few rewrites of my older stuff so this one's definitely not on the menu atm. I may well do some more snippets of the bits I've written tho (there's a bit that explains the cloning crime wave and how Fox got involved that I may well put up on here) so if you're interested in the disjointed bits, I'm happy to tag you in those?

"Are you happy?"

Fox shot him a look. What kind of karking question was that?

He didn't say the words aloud but his brother seemed to read them in his face all the same. Cody was good like that.

"That, is the only question I'll ever want answered when it comes to you, Fox."

Fox stays stubbornly silent. Cody didn't seem to notice the poor welcome, settling in all the same.

His brother folds himself in to a chair, graceful as ever. Cody had always had this way of moving, there was a certain flow to his movements. Like molten metal, rolling but weighted all the same. Time in his Jedi's company had only made it worse.

Jedi moved like that because of the Force, its powers helping them stay one step ahead, always. More often than not, Jedi moved like life was a dance, their smooth movements rolling together like a predetermined routine.

His brothers movements belied that same determination, something that only grew more obvious with each day he spent in Kenobi's company. Kenobi moved with a grace fed by his precognition, but Cody moved in this way in spite of the Force's absence. Fox's brother had never needed mystical powers to be sure in his movements, he held within him a well rounded confidence born only of his own competence.

Cody met his eyes in the kind of piercing way that would make him revolt, had it come from someone else. Sitting opposite him, his brother looked directly in to his soul and waited, patiently.

It made Fox want to not say anything, just to prove that he could. He didn't though. He never could leave Cody waiting too long, he just didn't want to.

"I don't do this to be happy. I don't think it's something that ever could bring me that."

He scoffed. "Finding happiness in employment is some natborn shit, it doesn't exist."

He ran his tongue along his teeth. "This is my job because without it, I wouldn't stand a chance of finding that anywhere else in my life. These people need someone like me, to find them. I don't want to rest knowing that someone else is looking, I want to be the one that finds them. "

Cody tilts his head. Fox has potentially, said too much.

The problem with Cody has always been that he sees so much more than you want him to. Fox generally avoids these kind of conversations as admitting anything to his brother, usually results in you leaving that conversation, feeling somewhat skinned. Cody can somehow leave you feeling raw and open to the elements without so much as a word.

He's clearly seen whatever he was looking for as finally, he rights his head, only narrowing his eyes and asserting "That's OK then."

Fox bites back a snappy remark about being glad he's got permission. There would be no damn point. Besides, he hardly wants to give his brother any more to silently pick apart.

After a moments more careful watching, Cody smirks. The moment has broken. They are just brothers again.

"The only part I am a bit uncertain about is your insistence that this is a job. You aren't in employment Fox, whatever you say, you'd need an employer for that to be true and how can it be a job, when you don't accept any money?"

Fox shoots him an irritated look, glad they are finally past the point of talking. Conversation with Cody often feels like exposing delicate, wet organs. You find yourself edging around the kind of feelings and motivations that only live in the darkest depths of a person, those crammed in to the base of a heart, tucked deep within one's liver.

"As a matter of fact I do accept money. I have fees. That's the whole point of being a private investigator. It's a service which ones customers pay for."

Cody grins. Looking behind his shoulder, towards the door. "Sure, says it on the door. 25 an hour, what does that convert to these days? A stiff rate I'm sure. How often do you actually charge it though?"

Fox frowns. "I've done my time being ordered round by natborns. I won't accept money they offer in exchange for chaining me once again. I won't take money so that they can order me to deliver to them someone else for chaining."

Cody gives him another scrutinising look. "You're a good man. I don't think anyone says enough but it's true." You should hear it more. "Declining a paycheck in favour of what is right is an honorable thing."

He lets his words hang there a moment before continuing, "There's no shame in feeding yourself though. Can't help anyone if you can't eat."

Why did it always come back to this.

"That's not a problem. I'm fine." Fox tells him. " Go back to your Jeti. You've done your bit, you are allowed to go back and enjoy your life once again".

Cody hums. "Isn't it though? Because a little bird told me you aren't taking on much of anything paid at the moment." He narrows his eyes. "You send them away. Sometimes you send them away and do the job anyway." He raises an eyebrow. "Surely you can take their money and just tell them the person didn't want to be found?"

"I could. I won't." Fox replies stiffly. "These people think they own you once they pay your bills. I don't do this for them, I do this for the people who need to be found, who need their lives back in their own hands. "

Cody sighs. "I know, but those people can't pay. If you are saving them anyway. Why can't you just take the money under the agreement that its not for delivering their missing person back to them, but in payment of ensuring their safety? Payment for what you're doing anyway."

"I could." Fox agrees. "I do sometimes. But I won't do it if they are only paying me with the idea that I'll help them trap that person once again. The idea of it is an anathema. It doesn't do the missing person justice. It's not fair."

Cody shook his head. "You know what I think? I think you are fucking yourself over in service of an ideology that nobody cares about but you. Have any of these people told you they are annoyed you took daddy's money?"

Fox says nothing.

"Of course they haven't!" Cody continues. "Because they aren't! They're just happy that you found them, no matter who brought the case to your attention. No matter who dropped their money on a service you're clearly happy to provide for free."

He looks frustrated. "Look, you know what, it doesn't matter. All I care about is you having enough to live on. While I've got more than I need, I guess it doesn't matter if you want to work for free, as long as you'll ask me for what you need."

Cody sighed. "At least give me that Fox. When you need money, let me know".

Fox scowls at the wall. He could feel Cody's eyes boring in to him. "OK fine whatever".

He could say it to keep his brother happy. Of course he wouldn't actually ever need to ask because Fox's outgoings were sorted, thanks to Quinlan, not that he'd be telling his brother that.

It went like this; Quin like all Jedi, was given a monthly stipend. Quin unlike the rest of the jedi, did not need that stipend to live off, as he preferred to live off whoevers sofa was nearest to him.

Quin liked to come back to Fox, more often than not. He had been doing so for years.

Quin was not the type to need a home or belongings. He preferred to rob travel money from whatever unsuspecting crime boss had crossed his eyeline than to use Jedi funding.

It didn't matter that he wouldn't use the jedi money, they'd send it to him all the same.

The Jedi liked to provide for their own. Quin liked to know that Fox was eating and so, quite against Fox's will, for the past 13 months, Quin had transferred his monthly stipend, out of his account and in to Fox's. Fox didn't need the money and it wasn't a thing. Him and Quin were not anything.

Quin taking it upon himself to hand his money over to Fox didn't mean anything. It was just a Quinlan'ism, one of many. A thing the man did, quite in spite of any kind of logic.

It wasn't like Fox had been hard up before the arrangement started. He may not take much money for investigating, but he did tend to come in to range of large amounts of money, in the ownership of very undeserving people, during his work.

He used most of it to set up the people he found, in new lives. He used a little to keep him alive.

He hadn't needed to, these past 13 months. Fox's bills went paid, if he worked or not and they would continue to. It left a strange taste in his mouth. A indescribable feeling in his stomach. Fox didn't like to think of it.

[lacklusterhero747]

Building a Fabula World, Part 2a

Originally, my intention had been to put everything we came up with for the questions asking us to add Nations and Historical Events in this post but... then I actually looked at the amount of stuff we came up with. I then promptly decided I'd subdivide it a little bit, just to save mine and everyone else's sanity.

Anyway...

3. Kingdoms and Nations

The book asks the players to create the major kingdoms and nations of the world, marking their borders and discussing their relations. Whether they have strong alliances or strained relationships. How they interact with the world at large. Each person is expected to contribute at least one kingdom, and to consider their customs, beliefs, industry, and denizens. We also decided, though the book did not ask us to, to consider which of the 16+ character classes the game offers across the core rule book and it's playtest materials are most likely to come from a given place.

The Folk - Tentative name, Provided by Damon

An analog for Indigenous people in the real world, for whom magic is a way of life. It is their art and their culture. It's strongest practitioners are its priests and political representatives. They respect the ancient and esoteric nature of the magic forces of the world and aspire daily to live in harmony with the natural world. They are a largely nomadic people, who follow the currents of magic--the pulse of the world tree--through the wild places of the world. They are staunchly opposed to the industrialization of magic, believing that technological advancements are disrupting "the pulse" and some amongst their number are not above committing violence or destroying property to prevent it. They have little to no racial animus, so long as you are willing to follow the old ways, and their traveling bands include a higher than average concentration of Animal featured demi-humans. Their naming conventions are most often a form of Adjective Noun construct like "Active Iron" or "Defiant Roach". The Folk have a higher than average concentration--and are likely the source--of Arcanists (think Final Fantasy Summoners) and Chimerists (Blue Mages).

The Industrial Powerhouse - Name pending, Provided by Kevin

A Nation on the vanguard of technological development. Their fashion, culture, and architectural style is a call back to Victorian England and steampunk nonsense. Their towns, especially their capital, are sprawling rats nests of stone and steel and steam. Their inventors are always more concerned with whether or not they can, and not with whether or not they should. Politically, they are the most at odds with The Folk because they believe that Humanity is meant to be the masters of the world, and that magic and nature should be made to serve them and not vice versa. They push for stability through law and order, and attempt to keep the population in line by providing a lack of scarcity of food, entertainment, and luxury goods, even as they push their citizens to work harder and longer in conditions that are not always safe. The nation's ultimate goal is to find a way to lock the natural cycle of magic in the world into a static state that is both predictable and controllable. The Industrial Powerhouse is a possible source for characters of the Tinkerer (Your Edgar of Final Fantasy 6 type) or Pilot classes.

I'll leave it with those two for now, but already we can see my players picking up the pieces of the small handful facts we decided on in the first two steps and running with them: one faction exemplifying the ancient and esoteric nature of magic and a oneness with nature, and another a capitalist nightmare state built on the scientific innovations Arcane Distillate. A natural animosity formed as a result of opposing ideals.

Shades of Final Fantasy 6 and 7 are strong here, all the more funny for the fact that most of my players have never played either of these games, and this is only the first two! I've still got SIX more to go!

Still, seems like we're already shaping up to make Capitalism the bad guy.

[ponds-of-ink]

All right, as much as I’d like to be hyped for Ruin, I’m gonna go ahead and post some negative predictions. Think of this as a worst case scenario.

(1) This is a stretch but here it is: Ruin has been canceled and/or postponed to next year. This explains the lack of news.

(2) If we do get Ruin soon, the gameplay’ll be the exact same as SB but with darker atmospheres/no animatronic assistant. No puzzles/cool additions to shake up stuff. No fascinating lore bits. Just absolute rage and desolation.

(3) Speaking of lore, get ready for more questions than answers. Which means no Afton backstory lore like I’ve predicted/theorized.

(4) Vanny will get screen-time, but not much story relevance. Same goes for Burntrap + Blob/Glitchtrap. Main concern will most likely be Gregory hacking the remnants of the animatronics due to being under Glitch’s control for most of the game— Including Freddy.

(5) The “Greg is bait/being controlled by Glitch again” twist will be revealed by the very end of the game, the Ruin Girl becomes SB’s “New Susie” after the twist reveal, and it’s the only way this story ends. No way to save the others. No way to stop the inevitable cycle. No extra story/alternate endings to get if you try to resist Glitchtrap’s orders/get collectibles a la FNAF World.

(6) Glamrock Bonnie’s backstory will remain unexplained. Although I’m personally thinking he was the first to be hijacked by Glitchtrap so Monty had to pull self-defense atm, I’m pretty sure this will be debunked and left open ended otherwise.

(7) Sun&Moon are either not going to be in here or they’ll get very little screentime. Same goes with DJ Music Man.

(8) Somehow, Eleanor gets a game-verse debut. And we will have no way to fight her.

(9) I’ll repeat this again: There will be no way to save Vanny this time. No Princess Quest retries, since the systems will be most likely be burned up in-verse. Same goes with William Afton, if anyone was looking for a miraculous redemption arc with him before he goes down in flames one more time. Either he’s officially Glitchtrap and he’s lost all his humanity, he’s too far gone in some other way, or UCN’s claimed him as its prisoner and Glitchtrap’s just a heartless copy.

(10) If we do get a boss fight with Blob + Burntrap, it’ll be a weird mix of the DJ Music Man fight and the original Burntrap fight. And with no banter/monologuing to lighten the tense and furious mood you’d most likely be in.

(11) Any pre-‘83 lore will not be dropped as well, as Ruin Girl will be too focused/forced to focus on finding Gregory to actually take advantage of her situation and figure out stuff. This means that we will be left in the dark about what happened in FNAF 4 (and before) yet again.

(12) GregBot is confirmed, but is not connected to Crying Child. Or he is, but not in a less lore-complicated way. Thankfully, GGY might’ve debunked this point. Maybe.

There’s plenty more I’m sure I can come up with, but here’s the TL;DR: It’s gonna be lore-lacking/absolutely baffling in the worst way. It’s gonna cause people to ragequit and possibly even leave/never join the fanbase. And we’re gonna see the cycle of Afton’s hysteria all over again, starting with a new “Susie” and “Evan” as a catalyst with no way to stop what’s coming— Maybe even on a much grander scale.

But hopefully none of this goes down. I’m just dragging my expectations to rock bottom just in case.

[re-re-redline]

-General Headcanons: Constantine XI-

>No spoilers for Traum.

Foreword: My first post! The lack of Constantine disturbed me immensely, thus I humbly bring to you this! It’s just assorted miscellania with not much of a clear direction. But regardless, I hope you enjoy.

This guy does not swear in normal conversation or says any words that’re unseemly or indecorous at all. Not even when he’s quoting someone. He’s an emperor after all, he’s got appearances to keep up in the name of his empire. Even if that empire’s long since disintegrated. The only exception to the rule is when shit hits the fan. It’s pretty rare considering his defensive and tactical genius, but hey. Things happen. If you call him out on this, he’ll flush a bit and apologize for his behavior. Though it really won’t change much, honestly. It’s just how he is.

He’s got a kind of aura about him that scares away the hoes normal people. It’s the kind of vibe you get when you encounter the important big shot you’ve only heard about through your coworkers. He enters the building and a person immediately books it from the lobby and starts popping into various rooms saying “He’s here! Everyone, act natural!” and everyone races to get their shit together. It’s that kind of aura that he gives off. The contrast between that and how he portrays himself is starker than blood on snow, dude. The funniest part is that he doesn’t even know that he has this aura in the first place, which means he’s constantly left wondering why everyone’s so stiff around him despite no one knowing who he is (in a normal HGW scenario). It’s hilarious. Poor guy just wants to be normal for once. In Chaldea it’s significantly less noticeable thanks to the amount of eccentrics, literal gods, and fellow emperors. So, in that scenario, you’d probably be just as clueless as him concerning its existence.

If you have a close relationship with Constantine, especially one that has potential to become a romantic relationship, then get ready for your Rider to be on you about your health. Both of his wives died within a year of their marriage because of a sudden illness and three of his siblings died from the plague when he was a kid. There’s no way that he doesn’t have some form of trauma regarding either of those events. The closer you are to his heart, the more paranoid he is about you getting sick. That said, here’s what you can expect:

I. He constantly checks the weather. If you give this man a phone, then he will check the weather for any changes on an hourly basis. He does this so he can be prepared to wardrobe check you if you’re planning on going out. If it’s cold, he’s already putting a jacket on your shoulders. If it’s hot, he’s making sure you’re not wearing too many layers and that you have water on hand. Constantine is a stubborn mule in the clothes of an emperor, so you are going to adjust your outfit according to the weather. No complaining!

II. On the topic of phones, you can bet he’s using it to look up stuff about modern medicine. He’s pretty amazed at how far the world’s come. So many debilitating ailments from his time are either completely extinct, curable, or at least manageable in some regard. But that doesn’t stop him from getting worried anyways. And so, he’ll still be taking stock of your medicine cabinet and asking you if you took your vitamins and such. Don’t even think about trying to dance around telling him or hoping he’ll forget. He doesn’t.

III. God help you if you actually get sick. He already gives you looks when you cough, and trust me, it only gets worse from there. Constantine will not leave you be for any reason. You think you can just walk this cold off? HA! That’s a good one. You are going to be bundled up in your comfiest blankets and you are gonna like it! He will actually go find or purchase a rope to tie you down with if you refuse to comply. He is that serious about it. Yes, he knows he’s being a little bit too over the top concerning your recovery, but it’ll all work out! And hey, if anything, you should take this experience as just another incentive to stay healthy! You have to think positive, my friend.

IV. Alright, but that’s just a cold. What about some real shit like the flu or one hell of a fever?  Obviously, he’s taking care of your needs and giving you your meds. That’s a given. The more interesting part is how Constantine is dealing with this on his end. You see, it’s times like these that makes our emperor’s calm and collected veneer begin to crack. Your hazy headache riddled head might be blurring all of the details, but you can see his smile strain and his hands fidget with his sleeves as he watches over you at your bedside. He isn’t talking as much as he normally does, opting to just… sit there and stare. Had you a clearer mind, you’d notice that his gaze isn’t actually looking at you, but beyond your feeble form. To a time long before you, where the ambience of the ocean’s waves surrounds him and a fishy smell permeates the air. As you phase in and out of consciousness, you feel your hand being gingerly taken. He clasps it in his, struggling to not squeeze the life out of it and cause you more pain. He needs something, anything to hold on to because he feels like he’s slipping back into an all too familiar territory. Right now, he’s done what he needs to. You’ve taken your medicine, he put the cool wet rag on your head, and he made sure that you drank more than enough water. And thus comes the most dreadful part of the process…waiting. He hates that his efforts haven’t gotten you back to shape yet and the more time passes, the more those dreadful thoughts start sounding real. Constantine shakily takes a breath and does exactly what he did the last time he had to wait for someone he cared for to get better. He prays. Your head is swimming, your ears are plugged up and popping every time you swallow, but you can hear bits and pieces of words you can’t quite understand hastily whispered. 

…Your hand feels wet.

V. And finally, some advice. If you are a master lucky enough to have Qin Shi Huang, then you might recall one of their Valentine’s Day gifts being the actual elixir of immortality. What ever you do… Do not let anyone know you have this. Especially not your trusted, kind hearted and reliable Rider. Constantine is paranoid about your health, we know this. He will do whatever is necessary to make sure that you live a very long time, or at the very least that you outlive him. So… if by some margin, some chance that you happen to say… have something that could eliminate the potential of you suddenly falling ill and dying… Well, he’d much rather beg for your forgiveness for the rest of eternity than watch you wither away and die before his eyes. He will find where you put it and he will get you to drink it somehow, whether you know it or not. After all is said and done, you’ll find that Constantine is much lighter on his feet than usual. Since it was the Qin Shi Huang (the one that actually achieved a form of immortality) who gifted the elixir to you, he’s confident that it’ll at least have some effect in keeping you safe. Though, being the realist he is at heart, he still has his doubts. The paranoia has lessened considerably, but hasn’t gone away entirely. Constantine will still give you that look when you cough, he’ll still check the weather and check you before you leave just out of sheer habit. So on and so forth. All in all, it’s best that you don’t tell anyone about the elixir. Otherwise you may find it mysteriously empty one day and that fatal wounds no longer matter. But hey! At least you have Constantine by your side for the indefinite future! I just realized that that last statement makes him sound like a yandere and, while you’re not wrong for thinking that, I feel like Constantine as I view him is just overprotective. Nothing more. A Yandere!Constantine would not have just stopped there, he would’ve gone MUCH further.

Constantine doesn’t listen to music all that much. In fact, he much prefers sitting in silence more than anything. His whole life was mostly a massive cacophony of noise, so he greatly appreciated the few quiet moments he could get. The stuff he does listen to in his off-time either doesn’t have much going on or is closer to ambience more than anything. He’ll vibe with a piano recital and maybe a small ensemble, but you won’t catch him at the orchestra hall. Choirs are also a solid pick too, a nice bit of reminiscence for the times he visited the Hagia Sophia back in his day. The antithesis to his music taste are songs like “Action Winter Journey” by Nero’s Day At Disneyland, “Untouchable” by Golemm, and most certainly “anybody can find love (except you)” by hkmori. Seriously, he hates that stuff. There’s way too much going on, it’s incoherent, and most importantly it’s just way too loud for his liking. You might be able to sell him on specific songs with those vibes, but I bid you good luck on that front. Really, you’re better off with songs like Lilium (Elfen Lied), Majula (Dark Souls 2), Reflets dans ‘leau (Debussy) and 0354 (Koronba). Those are good examples of what he enjoys, so it’s best to hang around in that ballpark. 

P.S. He’ll stomach a live concert provided you have met the following requirements: 1. You and him are really close bond wise, 2. You have next to nobody who can go with you; if you do have someone then you better have a damn good reason as to why they can’t go instead, and 3. you both leave the moment it feels like it’s getting too much for him; no questions and no persuasion as to the contrary. Constantine will be hating every single second he’s there and he’s not hiding it that well, but he will hold out for as long as he can for your sake. Seeing you smile and enjoy yourself is a balm to his soul, and he supposes he kinda owes you some for all the times he’s tortured you in chess and checkers. So...y’know. What’s some loud music and even louder people on all sides anyways? Constantine’s experienced worse both in and out of his lifetime, so surely a few hours of auditory pain is nothing to Byzantium’s last emperor, right? …Right?

Constantine allows you to call him Micheal. He knows his name is kinda long and doesn’t really roll off the tongue that well either (in his mind anyways). Calling him anything along the lines of ‘emperor’ or ‘your majesty’ just makes him feel too stiff, so that’s not really an option in his books. As for how he got the idea for the nickname, he heard from a few servants that you and him had apparently met before, and thus he looked into the CBC records. And boom. That’s where he got Micheal from. Do keep in mind that he’s only letting you, his master, call him by that name. Everyone else has to either call him by his name or his title, no more and no less. His empire may be gone and the guilt from that weighing heavily on his back, but his imperial pride is still there. Practically ingrained into him since birth and that’ll never change.

As we know from his My Room lines, he likes playing chess and shogi but dislikes Mahjong due to how much luck is involved. Therefore, I think I can say with confidence that he enjoys strategy games in general. I also say with the same amount of confidence that he’s quite good if not exceptional at games that involve military strategy. Think Diplomacy. Speaking of which, a game between him, Vlad, Chen Gong, and Nobu is never not entertaining. Seriously. It’s a treat to watch when all four get together and the crowd standing around the table cements that fact perfectly. On another note, he brightens up like a Christmas tree when you walk up to him asking to play a game and he’ll brighten up even more if you ask him to teach you. There’s something just so wholesome to him about showing you the ropes on a game he enjoys, watching you ask questions and slowly grow to become better and better. It really makes his day and it shows via the smile adorning his lips. It’s so gosh darn sweet that it’s giving you tummy ache from looking at him too long. Oh, and one more thing. Due to the fact that you have expressed an interest, no matter how minuscule, in strategy games… You are now going to have to deal with Constantine bringing in wacky shit like 4D chess to your room from time to time solely because he wants to spend more time with you, along with him playing chess or checkers with you quite a bit during your downtime. A keen eyed master will note that he seems to ask you to play with him more than anyone else. Huh…wonder why.

There are rare times when Constantine will call you George. Not as a joke or an endearment, but simply as an accident. He’s quick to pick up on his mistake and will swiftly apologize for it. The whole thing just happens so fast that you’re left wondering if he actually said that and his composure is certainly lending credence to the idea that it didn’t. But, should you question him on it…well, he’ll tell you that George was someone he knew. Oh, by the way. Did you see what happened in the simulator today? I saw that Van Gogh and Hokusai— Yep, Constantine will give you a dry barebones answer and then change the topic from this ‘George’ person to something about his day that he found interesting, anything to keep you from pressing him on the subject. Curious masters may look into Constantine’s life and discover that the ‘George’ he was referring to might be George Sphrantzes: his best friend and retainer. Maybe he misses his old pal and sees him in you sometimes, hence the mistake. Or maybe you just look like a George to him, who knows? Constantine won’t tell you if you ask and you can bet he doesn’t bring it up on his own. So really, it’s anyone’s guess. You just have to sit tight and hope that he’ll be comfortable enough to tell you.

And that’s that! I hope you enjoyed reading and let me know what you think. Poor Constantine’s got nothin’ from what I saw in the tags, so I hope to fill that void in myself. But until then…

—Redline, over and out!

[weepingvoidpenguin]

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU. 

Word Count: 8.3k

   “We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing. 

   You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

   How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

   You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

   “And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

   You blinked, “Wait, what?” 

   Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

   “Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take. 

   “Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

   “Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way. 

   “The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

   “Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

   “No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment. 

   “Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

   “But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

   “All the easier,” 

~

   The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

   “How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

   “She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

   “Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

   “She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

   You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

   “I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

   Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear. 

   “The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

   You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

   An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

   Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same. 

   “And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

   “Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

   You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

   “You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

   “Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

   “This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

   “Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

   “The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

   You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

   “Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

   You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up. 

   “Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

   “Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

   There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

   “Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

   You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

   “Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

   Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,” 

  “Much better,” Wanda agreed.

   You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

   “We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,” 

   “You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck. 

   They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

   “You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

   “More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

   “So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

   “That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

   You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now. 

   You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

   “Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

   “Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

   “Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way. 

   “Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

   “I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

   “Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

   “Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

   “All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

   You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife. 

   On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

   You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

   Fuck.

   “That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

   “And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

   There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

   “Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

   You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

   “What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

   You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

   “Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

   You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms. 

   “You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,” 

   You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

   A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

   “If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,” 

   You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

   He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

   “I’m not hiding myself,”

   “But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

   “And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

   The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

   “Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

   You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

   “Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with. 

   You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

   You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

   “So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

   You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

   “Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

   Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

   “Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

   “What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

   You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

   Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

   “I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

   You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each. 

   “Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

   “If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

   “Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them. 

   Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

   “What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

   Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man. 

   “It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

   “Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

   “Brat?” You snarled.

   Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it. 

   “Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

   You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

   “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in. 

   You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

   “Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

   “Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway. 

   “Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

   “What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

   “I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue. 

   “She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

   Water.

   You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

   “Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

   Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

   Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could. 

   Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

   You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

   “Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

   You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

   Why? Steve asked again.

   Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

   You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise. 

   Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

   “Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

   Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

   “I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

   “I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

   You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

   “You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

   A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

   You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

   Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

   You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him. 

   “What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

   You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

   “And what were you expecting?” 

   Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

   “Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

   You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

   “What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

   He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

   You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

   He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

   “And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

   “Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

   You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

   He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

   “But are you?” 

   “Am I what?” 

   “Enjoying yourself?” 

   Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

   Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

   “Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

   “Thank you,”

   You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

   All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

   “Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

   The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

   “I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

   “Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

   She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound. 

   Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

   You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

   You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

   “She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

   You nodded fervently, “Yup!” 

   Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

   Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

   “Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,” 

   You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

   He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

   Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

   Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

   Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

   Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

   “I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

   “Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

   Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

   “What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

   “You’ve had enough for tonight,”

   “It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

   Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

   “Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

   “No,” he responded curtly. 

   “Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

   “No,”

   Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

   Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

   “’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

   You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

   Oh shit. Your job. The job.

   If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

   You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

   “How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

   Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

   “Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

   Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

   “You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

   “Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

   Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

   You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

   “Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

   “They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

   You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out. 

   You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

   “Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

   “There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

   You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

   You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

   “Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

   Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

   We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

   Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

   Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor. 

   “Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

   “I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

   Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t. 

   “How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

   “I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

   “Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

   Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

   “You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

   A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

   “You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

   Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

   We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

   “So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?” 

   You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

   “You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

   The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

   “We?” 

   He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

   The shuffling started again.

   Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

   “Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

   “Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

   “I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

   Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

   The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

   “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

   You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire. 

   Fight. Move. 

   You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

   “Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

   “Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

   Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

   “Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

   Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

   Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

   Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch. 

   “Wha-”

   “Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

   Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

   “Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

   “We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

   “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” 

   Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to. 

   Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

   After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

   You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

   “Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

   “That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

   You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

   He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

   “You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

   “Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

   You nodded slowly, “I am,”

   Then a few more seconds.

   Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

   “Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

   “More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

   You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,” 

   He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

   You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

   Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

   You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

   “Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

   “You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

   You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

   “Not to my face,”

   “Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours. 

   “It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

   “I see your hands are exposed,”

   He looked down as though he weren’t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

   You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

   Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

   You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

   “Stunning,” 

   “Smart?”

   “Genius,”

   “Good at her job?”

   “Amongst the best,”

   “Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

   Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

[tchallasbabymama]

Instinct

Hello, fellow whores. You asked for it and I hope I delivered. I present to you: T’Challa in heat❤️‍🔥! This one had me blushing, y’all.

The next request I work on will either be sugar daddy silver fox T’Challa or Star-Lord T’Challa. I know I just threw the latter in the lineup, but apparently, people are seriously feeling the lack of Star-Lord T content here and I want to do what I can to help fill the void.

Check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and, as always, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood! Enjoy😘

Word count: 4,903

CW: SMUT, infidelity

Instinct [instiNG(k)t] noun: an innate, typically fixed pattern of behavior in animals in response to certain stimuli.

For centuries, the descendants of the great Bashenga retained their hold on the Wakandan throne. Challenge Day after Challenge Day, they beat their opponents and were rewarded by Bast allowing them to ingest the heart-shaped herb. The herb imbued them with a panther’s strength, speed, and instincts, effectively turning each of them from an ordinary man into the Black Panther. Now, strength and speed are pretty self-explanatory, but what exactly were their instincts?

When T’Challa was crowned king and ingested the heart-shaped herb, he visited the ancestral plane and reconnected with his baba. Their reunion was one full of tears, but most importantly, T’Chaka took the time to impart his wisdom to his son. T’Challa spent hours talking to his baba about life, what to expect as king, and, most importantly, what to expect as the Black Panther.

T’Chaka had warned him about what was to come, but until it happened to him months later, T’Challa was in denial. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

Wrong. When T’Challa woke up one sunny Wednesday morning, he felt strange. He felt feverish but not sick. Like most days, his morning wood stood at attention, tenting the crisp white sheets that laid across his lower half. He looked at the clock and saw that he had plenty of time to take care of himself, so he rolled to his side and reached for the tub of shea butter in his nightstand. T’Challa bit his lip as he rubbed his hands together to melt it down, but when he reached down to stroke his length, he nearly bit clean through it. He was much more sensitive than usual, and he wondered why...then it hit him. He jumped up and grabbed his kimoyo beads with his slippery hands, and he frantically opened his calendar.

“Twelve weeks,” T’Challa groaned as he counted backward to the night he became the Black Panther (the second time.) “Fuckkkk.”

He was in heat, and it was only going to get worse. T’Challa wracked his brain for ideas on what to do to fix his problem, but all he could hear was T’Chaka’s words echoing through his head.

“You should find a partner sooner rather than later. The instinct will take over you, and it will become unbearable if you do not have anyone to aid you.”

T’Challa had been so busy trying to rebuild the kingdom that his cousin damn near broke that he had forgotten to look for someone. Sure, there was Nakia, but she had moved to Oakland and their relationship quickly fizzled out. Then, there was that one Dora Milaje after he regained the throne, but that was a one-night thing and she went back to her wife the next morning. He needed to find someone, but who?

As the king’s mind wandered through his options, sweat beads began to form on his chiseled body. He knew he’d be no good today, so T’Challa typed up a message to his family and staff that he would be taking the day off. With that taken care of, all he needed to do was figure out how to get through this heat in one piece. T’Challa looked down at his dick again. It was swollen with need, and he watched as droplets of precum escaped from his tip. He couldn’t take it anymore and decided to bear through the sensitivity. Carefully, as though he might hurt himself, he reached his hand down and grabbed it in his hand. The whimper he let out was foreign to his ears, but it was all he could do when he felt the intense wave of arousal wash over him. He gritted his teeth as he began to slowly move his hand up and down his shaft. It seemed that everywhere his hand went, it left a deep burning sensation in its wake, but he just couldn’t stop. He rutted into his hand, and as soon as his thumb swiped over his reddened tip, he came undone quicker than he ever had before. His body jerked as the milky white substance spilled over his hand, and it seemed that he had plenty to give. However, instead of leaving him sated, all that did was arouse him more.

T’Challa had made a mess all over himself and decided to take a shower, but every touch of his hand, or even the water, drove him up the walls. He needed some pussy, fast. He exited the shower and allowed his body to air dry as he moisturized his mahogany skin. Minutes passed before he noticed that he was still massaging himself, too caught up in the sensation to notice the passage of time. His dick was rock hard again, and he groaned in frustration as he attempted to stuff it into silk lounge pants. He called for his breakfast to be brought to him and spent the day in his quarters, alternating between desperately jacking off and going through his contacts to find the right person. It had been so long since he had opened that figurative little black book that all of his usuals were taken, and unfortunately for him, they were hellbent on remaining faithful for some reason. As the day went on, his hunger grew in intensity, and it got to the point where neither his hand nor his sex toys could cut it anymore. He felt lost, he felt horny beyond belief, and he felt...famished.

T’Challa looked at the time again and realized that he hadn’t eaten in hours. He placed another order from the kitchen and waited impatiently for it to arrive. It wasn’t that he couldn’t wait for the food to be brought up; he was impatient because every moment that passed without him touching himself brought him more pain. He didn’t need the poor kitchen staff walking in on him feverishly pleasuring himself, so he just sat there and attempted to focus his mind elsewhere. Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Room service,” a melodic voice called out, and T’Challa smiled to himself at his friend’s playful tone. It was Xoliswa. He hadn’t seen her in almost a week, and he was sure she was out of town, yet here she was bringing him his dinner. Xoliswa started working in the kitchen at the palace seven years ago, and they grew close over the years. He was even in her wedding.

T’Challa unlocked the door with his beads, and she came right on in with the cart full of more food than he usually ordered.

“Somebody’s hungry today,” she joked. Just as T’Challa was about to respond with some smartass remark, an aroma hit him square in the face. It definitely wasn’t coming from the heaping portions of doro wot and rum cake he ordered. It was sickly sweet and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, as well as something else.

The king began to salivate. “New perfume?”

“No, just the usual,” Xoliswa sighed. “Why?”

“No reason. You just smell different today is all,” he gulped to keep from drooling at her smooth, brown legs that were always on display. His eyes traveled up to the curve of her hips and the thickness of her waist before grazing over her delicious-looking chest and landing on her plump lips. Of course, he had noticed her looks before, and they would playfully banter and flirt back and forth from time to time, but this was the first time he was really seeing her beauty. Not only could he see it, but he could smell her from across the room, and his body was reacting in ways he couldn’t control. His dick sprung up and immediately started to harden as he watched her ass bounce in her flowy shorts when she pushed the cart out to the balcony. She had gone too far away, and he felt the intense need to be closer to her, so he bolted up and made his way outside with her.

“Here, let me help you.” T’Challa quickly picked up the heavy tray before she could and placed it on the table before taking his usual seat.

“I thought you didn’t feel good today,” she crossed her arms over her chest, unintentionally pushing her ample breasts even closer together. His body burned at the sight, and he visualized his lips wrapped around her undoubtedly perky nipples. He needed her body on his, but he knew he shouldn’t. Xoliswa was a friend, a confidant, a married woman...

“I don’t,” T’Challa cleared his throat and tried to focus his mind on anything but her. It wasn’t working, though. “But, uh, it’s not what you think. I just needed a day, that’s all.”

“Want to talk about it?” Xoliswa asked as she leaned against the balcony. He was acting strange, and it concerned her. “You know I’m here for you if you need me.”

“Don’t say that,” he chuckled darkly as something flared inside him.

“Why not?” she tilted her head to the side and uncrossed her arms. He would’ve sighed in relief, but she just made it worse by stepping closer to him. Xoliswa placed her hands on his shoulders the way she always did and began kneading his bare flesh. Little did he know, he wasn’t the only one fighting back their arousal. Xoliswa had a small crush on T’Challa since the moment she laid eyes on his muscular frame. Had she not been in a relationship the entire time she’d known him, she would’ve dropped down on her knees and given him the business by now. However, Xoliswa loved her husband and wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing...except for the occasional nights where she closes her eyes and all she can see is him. All she can feel is the king.

T’Challa let out a low groan as her hands worked out his stress, and as usual, the sound made Xoliswa flood the panties that had gotten wedged between her fat pussy lips. The scent of her arousal traveled straight to his nostrils, and his pupils blew wide. He jumped up and crossed the balcony in just a few quick strides, needing to get away from her before he truly lost himself to his lust.

“Seriously, what’s up with you today?!”

“N-nothing, you just...you smell so good, and- Xo, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Xoliswa narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with him...but then her eyes fell to the large dickprint in his silk pants. She had seen him in those and similar pants several times before, and although they always left little to the imagination, she had never seen him in his full Bast-given glory. But this time? This time she could almost make out every vein through the soft fabric, which made her pussy spasm with need and release more wetness.

T’Challa could see that Xoliswa was staring right at his dick, and he knew she liked what she saw by the whiff of sweet honey that wafted his way. A low rumbling started in his chest like an engine revving as the burning need in his loins intensified.

Xoliswa spoke barely above a whisper, stunned but in awe of the man before her, “Why are you-”

“My heat,” he sighed.

“Your what?”

“My heat!” T’Challa snarled, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Any other time, he would assume he had scared her, but he knew better now. He could hear her heartbeat, he could smell her dripping pussy, and he could see her hardened nipples and the way her luscious thighs rubbed together in a feeble attempt to quell the throbbing between her legs.

“W-what’s that?”

T’Challa gestured for her to take a seat, and she lowered herself into the chair across from his, squirming in her pooled fluids. Her obedience just made him harder, if that was at all possible. He gingerly sat down across from her and just stared for a moment, her breathing getting shallower with each inhale.

“One of my newly acquired panther instincts requires me to, uh, mate every three months.”

“So...you basically ovulate four times a year,” Xoliswa joked in an attempt to break the tension, but he began to growl at her again, causing them both to shudder at the other’s arousal.

“It’s more than being a little horny and fertile, Xo. I have to- no, I need to find a release, or I’ll go crazy. My whole body is on fire, and masturbating just makes it worse. I’ve been in here all day-”

“You’ve been in here jacking off all day?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not helping?”

“Not at all.”

“Have you tried-”

“Yes. Whatever it is, I’ve tried it. Trust me.”

Silence descended upon the pair as they both stared at each other, stuck in a lustful feedback loop, chests heaving and mouths watering. Xoliswa was the first to break, so she stood and headed for the door. She had to get out of there, the atmosphere was too thick, and she couldn’t think straight with him staring at her like a piece of meat. She couldn't stand to look at him any longer or she might do something she’d regret later, but when he grabbed her wrist and looked up at her with those pitch-black eyes, she knew she was in trouble.

“Xoliswa, please,” he begged. He knew he had no business asking that of her, but he was desperate, and she just looked so damn delicious.

She bit her lip as her eyes traveled back down to his bulge that had started leaking through the fabric of his pants.

“Shit…”

“You like what you see?” his voice was lower than she’d ever heard. It seemed like everything he did turned her on more and more. T’Challa took a deep inhale so he could know for sure, and his head swarmed with the smell of her. “Yeah, you like it. I can smell that sweet pussy; it’s dripping for me, Xo.”

He had never spoken to her like that before, and every word lured her further into his trap. She had a brief moment of clarity and pulled her wrist from his grasp, taking a step back.

“T-T’Challa, I’m married-”

“Tell your body that, then,” he grumbled as he stood and stalked closer to her. She backed up with every step he took until she was wedged between his body and the doorframe. His arms went up on either side of her, and he leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath tickle her lips. “Tell me right now: do you want me?”

Her eyes darted around, desperate to look at anything but the coal irises that would surely draw her in. “I-I-”

“Say it, Xo. I want you so fucking bad,” T’Challa growled with his face buried in her neck, imprinting her scent deep in his brain. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but take a little bite. As soon as his teeth made contact with her skin, she let out a light moan and set his body into overdrive. He pressed his hips into her, and the heat of her skin made him whimper. The noise shocked her, and she realized just how much he needed her...as if the ten inches of clothed steel pressing into her stomach wasn’t enough of a sign.

Xoliswa had secretly wanted this for a long time. In her dreams, he’d fuck her good and deep and leave her a sobbing, leaking mess. Truthfully, if he had ever come onto her before this, she probably would have caved then, too, but she thought he was too gentlemanly to do so and pushed the dirty fantasy to the back of her mind. Boy, was she wrong. Right now, T’Challa couldn’t give a shit about chivalry and certainly didn’t care about her husband. Right now, all he wanted- no, all he needed was her body.

She pulled his curls to remove him from her neck, and he growled again at the titillating pain and the loss of contact.

“You want me?” she whispered, her lips mere centimeters from his.

“Mmm, more than anything.”

Xoliswa’s hand traveled down his body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. T’Challa’s lip found its way between his teeth again as he struggled to maintain composure, but it all flew out the window when he felt her hand wrap around his throbbing length.

“Fuck! Xo, stop playing and-”

“You need me?” she teased as she pulled his pants down over his hips and let them pool at his feet. She wrapped both of her hands around his girth and stroked him softly. He was so sensitive that he jerked away from her hand, but she grabbed him and pulled him back in. Xoliswa had dreamed of this day, so why not make her dream come true?

Suddenly, T’Challa’s self-control went out of the window as he thrust into her hands and wrapped one of his much larger hands around her throat. She stared back at him with lust clouding her eyes as he met her lips for a hungry kiss. The taste of her on his tongue drove him wild, and she felt his dick begin to twitch. She picked up her pace and gripped him a little tighter, making him stick his tongue further down her throat. She melted into him. The firm grip he had on her made her knees weak, and just as they began to buckle, he pulled his lips from hers and said the three magic words he had uttered so many times in her dreams.

“On your knees.”

Xoliswa fell to the ground and looked up at him with her mouth opened wide for him to use. And use it, he did. T’Challa was surprised she could take all of him without any training, but he guessed her husband might have been around his size.

Her husband. He had a married woman on her knees, slobbering up and down his shaft. He had Xoliswa on her knees…

Just the thought of how wrong this was turned him on even more, and as if the same thought had occurred to her, Xoliswa started sucking harder. The spit foaming in the corners of her mouth and running down her chin soaked her chest, and the king longed to see more. He reached down and ripped her shirt down the middle, freeing her breasts from the confines of modern clothing. T’Challa grinned when he saw that not only was she not wearing a bra, but her nipples stood erect like two Hershey’s kisses ready for him to devour. Just the way he liked.

Xoliswa didn’t care that he had ruined her shirt; all she cared about was making her king cum. She wanted to taste him and swallow everything he had to give, so she grew impatient and turned it up a notch, fondling his balls in her hands as she sucked on him. Her tongue swirled around his tip, and he gripped her locs in his fist to hold her down on him as he exploded into her mouth. Splashes of him coated her throat, and she swallowed every last drop he gifted to her. She blinked up at him with those innocent-looking eyes as she sucked him like a straw, milking him for all he’s worth. Normally, he would get overstimulated at this point, but that seemed impossible. Xoliswa gave him the best head he’s had in a long time, but it still wasn’t enough to sate him.

T’Challa pulled her head off him, and the bridge of spit that connected them was a sight to see. He reached down and lifted her to her feet, kissing her once more to taste his saltiness on her tongue.

“You still...want...this pussy?” Xoliswa asked between kisses.

“Mmmmhmmm,” he grunted as he pushed up on her again.

Xoliswa pushed him away, and he looked at her like she had betrayed him. His face relaxed when he noticed the feral look in her eyes and the way her pheromones filled the air.

“Take what you need.”

T’Challa saw red, and the next thing he knew, he was buried deep inside her as he pounded her into the mattress. The arch in her back deepened as he fucked her rougher than her husband could have ever dreamed of. Xoliswa struggled to see as she reached for the sheets to hold onto, but he wouldn’t let her. T’Challa pinned her hands behind her back and continued to plow into her as she screamed.

“Fuck, yes! Just like that, baby! Ooooh, T’Challa-”

“You like that?”

“Yes!”

“Then take it. Fucking take it!” he roared as he released inside her, but neither was ready to stop. Xoliswa loved how his cum felt dripping out of her, making her pussy even wetter than it already was. Keeping it juicy for him to do whatever he needed to do to her body.

“This tight fucking pussy, Xo,” he groaned as he slowed down and grinded into her, stirring her insides. His heavy hand came down on her ass, and she let out the most adorable squeak. He smiled and did it again and again, her pussy tightening around him with every strike until she couldn’t take it anymore. Xoliswa’s body convulsed as she came all over the king’s dick.

“T’Challaaaa!” she wailed, and he stopped to massage her cheeks.

“Too much?”

She looked back at him and smiled mischievously with a glint in her eye. “No, my king.”

“I’m your king?” he teased while rubbing her clit, making her hips circle on his dick as he stood still and let her work.

“Yessss,” she whined.

“Then cum for your king one more time. I have another load for you,” he whispered in her ear with his teeth firmly gripping the lobe. His fingers tickled the underside of her clit, and she bucked her hips. “That’s your spot, huh?”

“Y-yes, my king!”

He alternated between circling her clit and strumming the underside for barely a few moments before her pussy began to grip him again. T’Challa leaned back and watched the way her pussy spasmed on him. He couldn’t hold out and exploded inside her once more.

“Mmmm, baby, I love when you do that.”

“You love when I cum in this pussy?”

“Mmmhm,” her voice grew higher in pitch the more she felt him twitch inside her.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

T’Challa pulled out slowly, and she moaned as his bulbous head dragged across her g-spot. He flipped her over with ease and slid right back into her slippery canal. She loved how full he made her feel, how he stretched her walls and beat the breaks off her pussy. But this? This felt so good.

His hips moved slowly as he stroked deep into her and gazed into her eyes.

“I just need one more, babygirl. One more, and I think I’ll be good, ok?”

“Whatever you need, my king,” Xoliswa whispered against his lips and pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and he chuckled darkly.

“You want me in there deep, don’t you?”

“As deep as you can go, baby.”

“You’re filthy. Does your husband know what a little slut you are?”

Xoliswa released all over him again.

“Oh, you like when I talk about him when I’m in these guts? You like being reminded of how naughty you are, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” Xoliswa nodded with tears threatening to fall from her eyes from how good it felt to have T’Challa inside her.

“Let me ask you something,” he leaned in close to her ear and thrust harder. “Does he fuck you like I do?”

Xoliswa frantically shook her head, “N-no!”

“Then you come to me whenever you need a taste of what a king can do for you.”

“Yes, baby!” she keened as he picked up the pace and dropped his weight on her.

“You know this pussy is mine, now, right? He can use it if you want him to, but this shit belongs to me. You’re fucking mine, Xoliswa.”

“T’Challa-”

“Mmmhm, say my name, babygirl. Tell them who owns this tight little pussy,” he punctuated those last three words with thrusts so deep she swore she could feel it in her ribs. “Who owns you?”

“T’Challaaaa!”

His eyes rolled back in his head at hearing his name fall from her lips. Her voice was shaky and hoarse, but she screamed his name over and over again as his hips pounded into hers, the curve of his dick angling just right to keep her creaming all over him.

“Fuck, baby, here it comes. You ready?”

Xoliswa looked him dead in the eye and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Cum in your pussy, Black Panther.”

He hadn’t expected her to call him that, but it lit something within him, and he came harder than he ever had before. He bit into her neck as he spasmed inside her, pumping her full of his essence. She came from the feeling of him releasing so much and putting it right where it belonged. Their bodies fed off each other, and when one would spasm, it would trigger the other to cum. T’Challa peppered sweet kisses all over Xoliswa’s face and spoke to her in hushed tones, “Thank you, babygirl.”

Xoliswa couldn’t speak; she could only moan incoherently. Minutes passed before their bodies began to tire of the constant state of arousal, and they slowly pulled apart. She whimpered as she felt their fluids escape her and drip slowly down her crack, and he could only watch in awe. He had never produced so much, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of Xoliswa or his heat or a combination of both. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to give it up just yet.

“Call Abdul. Tell him you have to work tonight,” he rasped, making a devilish smile appear on her face. She knew she was in for the night of her life, and just the thought of what was to come had her playing with her overstimulated clit. He swatted her hand away and replaced it with his own. “Call him. Now. Make sure your camera is off.”

T’Challa kissed from her neck down to her chocolate nipples and took a bite, making her yip at the sensation. “Be quiet, or he’ll catch you. You don’t want that, do you?”

“N-no, my king,” she stuttered out as she pressed Abdul’s contact card and called him.

“What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be working? Or are you slacking off with T’Challa again,” he joked, and Xoliswa locked eyes with a smug T’Challa as his tongue swirled around her nipple.

“N-no, I’m at work,” she struggled to speak as T’Challa trailed his tongue down her body and suctioned his lips around her clit. She snapped her legs shut around his head, making him pry them open with a menacing growl.

“What was that?” Abdul asked.

“What was what?” Xoliswa chuckled nervously.

“I thought I heard something. Anyways, what’s up, sweetie?”

“I, uh-” she stopped herself and muted the call for a moment to let out a moan from the pits of her soul as T’Challa showed no mercy on her. His tongue masterfully maneuvered around her clit like he designed it himself, and the three slender fingers curling inside her coaxed another orgasm out of her.

“Take him off mute right fucking now,” T’Challa ordered with a mouth full of pussy.

“Hello? Xo?”

She scrambled to unmute the call and calm her breathing down as the king nibbled on her labia and sped his fingers up inside her.

“I’m here, baby. I-have-to-work-late-so-I’m-staying-at-the-palace-tonight!”

“Wait, slow down. I can barely understand you. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” she giggled as T’Challa nibbled on her inner thighs. “I’m staying here tonight.”

“Oh, no problem. Don’t let T’Challa work you too hard, ok?”

“I won’t!” she squeaked.

“Good. You get back to work, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tell him you love him,” T’Challa whispered against her pussy lips, and Xoliswa couldn’t help but oblige.

“Abdul?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I-I love you.”

“I love you too, Xo. Call me when you get off,” he blew her a kiss through the phone, and she hung up right as T’Challa started chuckling.

“You almost got us caught!” she fussed.

“You liked it. Don’t lie.”

Xoliswa bit her lip to hide her smile, but it didn’t work.

“Maybe a little.”

“Mmmhm. Nasty slut, letting me use you like this. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Xoliswa’s pussy jumped, and T’Challa couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Maybe you should teach me a lesson,” Xoliswa moaned as she ground her hips on his fingers, and his dick hardened right back up. “Or punish me.”

“Fuck, Xo, where have you been all my life?” he groaned and pulled his fingers from her, lining the head of his dick up with her entrance.

“Married...to my husband,” Xoliswa teased. T’Challa’s nostrils flared, and she knew it was on.

She wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @nahimjustfeelingit-writes, @dersha89

[overwatchleaguesigns]

Alright, let's do this. Personal Overwatch 2 review, one week later:

Back in 2016, when OW did a last beta weekend where they sent a bunch of codes to people who signed up for them before release, I finally got to try it for the first time, and I remember playing and jumping around and thinking to myself "this is the most fun I've had with a videogame in my life."

This feeling gradually faded over time and I feel like this is a sentiment that applies to many others. Even before every piece of bullshit news people heard about Activision Blizzard and that tainting the game, people were already done and actively hateful of the game. The sense of wonder and discovery was lost. You become more and more aware of mistakes you and your teammates do. Lack of updates and incentives to play. Anything new that drops feels like it makes the game Less fun with more and more CC and barriers.

I was kinda done. I didn't hate the game like many others, but it wasn't fun, so I just kinda stopped playing.

OW2 does feel like they did everything possible to revert every fuckup that brought up this feeling in terms of gameplay. Remove CC. Remove barriers. Rework things to deal event more damage and do cool things. Remove a tank and a player, less room for error and less unfun mechanics to worry about. Now for the first time in years I feel like something similar to how it was in 2016, when I just get to have fun and do stuff instead of being denied from playing. I get to rush in and start knifing people with Junker Queen like a crazy person and it's fucking great. This is very good.

Everything I have to say about OW2 gameplay and its maps is generally positive. Push is weird and maybe they can find ways to tune it more (maybe spawns getting closer or something?) but I don't hate it. I miss 2CP maps but it's mostly just visually, so maybe they can get reworked into a viable gamemode later, but that's just my personal hope for the future.

All in all, it's fun.

Now off to the main issues.

I have so many concerns about its progression and monetization systems. To say they're not good would be an understatement. It's not just stupidly greedy, but also just stupid in general as there's no incentive to keep playing and that's the main issue here. I have zero interest in anything in the season pass with the exception of maybe the Genji Mythic skin, but even then I'm not a Genji player so whatever. Let's say I want to buy (yet another) Mercy skin, and I either have to bust out 20$ OR grind the game for like... 10 months? Assuming I get every weekly challenge, which I'm most likely not going to do as I am sitting on one uncompleted challenge on reset day, so yeah no. The problem here is that the solution of "well just buy it" doesn't work because people fundamentally can't buy everything. Like, people are broke. People gotta eat. Some players might be like 12 years old and they don't have money. I live in a country with 1º a broken economy and 2º a +75% international purchase tax. Like this level of greed doesn't work here because it's assuming everyone has the ability to buy things, when in reality this is very much not the case, and grinding for 10 months to get One skin is unrealistic because I'm just going to Stop playing your game that is giving me nothing rather than continue playing forever for one goddamn Mercy skin.

This is just badly designed and it's going to fail. No doubts here.

Is the idea for a season pass and a shop inherently bad? Not really, no. Most games offer you free money on the season pass path, meaning that you could theoretically pay 10$ and continue to make that money on each pass forever and get all rewards with just 10$ once. Other games do offer periodic challenges that will just give you free stuff as an incentive to come back and keep playing, and in this case, maybe get coins to buy a skin for your main instead of an arbitrary reward that means nothing to you.

And this takes me to the thing to watch out for and potential fixes: The Halloween event is coming soon in about two weeks, and that's the opportunity to show exactly what a special event will be like in OW2. Let's say that they give you a bunch of temporary challenges that give you coins and you can get up to like 1000 (being generous here) for just playing during this time. This guarantees you being hooked for a while, getting enough currency to get the season pass (which guarantees even further engagement if you do take it), or you can choose to get something for the specific character you like, which for me is another incentive to keep playing because now my character looks cool and pretty and fuck yes let's do this.

There's not even an argument of "well they want to take your money here so of course they do this" because THIS DOESN'T WORK LONG TERM. People are just going to LEAVE and you make NO MONEY if people DON'T PLAY YOUR GAME. And you can be cynical about it and say that this is planned and they'll make it good once they got that initial cash-in on release, and you might be right. But honestly I care about this game, like, Living. Because I was there for Heroes of the Storm, and I know exactly how Blizzard can just fucking give up on a game that they themselves ruined.

Things, as they are right now, are bad. And if they continue this way (which I'm honestly thinking THEY WON'T because it's such a badly designed system it's baffling) the game will just die.

This is a terrible first impression.

PvE

PvE was promised years ago to be the main focus of Overwatch 2. So, where did that go?

Honestly, following the OWL community like I have for years showed me that Overwatch has a weird divide in terms of how people enjoy this franchise. You can almost split fans into two groups; the people who are here for a really fun game, and the people who are here for the characters and the world. And there's no right or wrong way to enjoy the game either, whichever does it for you is completely valid.

The problem starts with OW1 here. It is a mainly PvP competitive game, with just a few PvE modes for fun during certain time windows. But because the way the game is shown and advertised, it makes sense that it would give people the promise of way more content regarding its world and characters than they're given. But this also means that if you do try to branch off into more worldbuilding you will take resources away from the PvP players' content. This is the problem the game immediately faced, where instead of committing to one thing, they tried to sort of do both, and failed at both. There wasn't enough content for either.

Also, OW1 wasn't planned to be maintained as a live-service game. This means that every update, character, map, and fun events we got were more of a bonus rather than planned content in order to keep the game alive. The dev team mainly approached OW1 as a "we're going to take 6 years to develop this banger of a game and then release it and be done with it" which means that there weren't many plans to keep it alive from the get-go. You already bought the game, now begone. This is why we really just got the same events every year with just a couple of fancy new skins and that's it.

OW2 is trying to change that. Going F2P is essentially a promise that they will maintain this game with new content, but now we have to see what that new content is and how fast it comes at us.

So back to the main question, where's the PvE? Okay, here's a better question for you. How do you think the already established PvP playerbase would feel if OW2 comes out and it's exactly the same EXCEPT that now you have co-op story modes and that's it? That would change nothing for them, and I'd say that they are the main audience that continues to play.

The priority here is to finally commit to get new content to keep the PvP players happy. And they know a lot of people care about the lore, but realistically focusing on that first probably wouldn't be the best idea. It makes complete sense that PvP reworks come in first, and I think they did a great job as I said earlier because the game now just feels so much more fun. But PvE is just going to be delayed until whenever they can finish it because PvP is a priority and that's just the reality here.

Also, the game is just not a complete product. There's not enough content to call it a complete product. You can argue so many things were better in OW1 and I would be inclined to agree. If you ask me, the only reason why "Overwatch 2" is a thing is because they needed to push out an announcement out the door to stop people from badmouthing Blizzard. And maybe the call to make OW2 was already made the moment OW1 came out and the big suits saw dollar signs everywhere given how well the game did initially, but I think announcing the game when they did only made things so much worse long-term, because now we're in a weird "Overwatch 1.5" state while they're advertising this as something completely new and different when it's not.

I will say finally giving the PvP players this giant overhaul to make the game much more enjoyable is definitely a good thing and you can even say this was done in good faith by the new team if the alternative was waiting in limbo for an extra year which sounds terrible, but I don't know if this was the right call from every other perspective.

Closing thoughts are, I'm having mixed feelings on the game. I like the game, I have fun with the game, I feel so conflicted regarding everything else besides gameplay, and I'm facepalming at some of the decisions made here and I'm awaiting for them to realize how stupid they are and change them.

We'll see how this game develops. But as of now, I'm just going to play it, have some fun by myself or with a friend, and probably stop in like a week or two as I move onto something else as the game is not doing much to keep me in.

Please let me know how you feel about the game! I'd love to hear from other OW fans too.

Take care, and have fun y'all.

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[adrinoir]

We should talk about Master Fu

I feel like Master Fu isn’t talked about enough, yet there’s a lot of questionable things he did that created issues going on in the show now. So I’m gonna talk about this man.

Disclaimer: I don’t hate Master Fu (no joke, my best friend and I cried during Miracle Queen after he lost his memory). He’s a sweet old man. I can’t hate him lol. I just personally noticed a lot of things he did poorly in his position as a guardian and feel they should be said.

Giving away the miraculous

This man gives the two most powerful miraculous ever to two random teenagers who happen to help him after he falls. But we never fully learn a reason behind why that was his way of finding his new holders.

There’s a line he says to Wayzz about how he’s never been wrong in who he’s given the miraculous to. So, does this imply he’s a bit psychic? It’s strange but I wish I knew more about what he meant by that.

Him meeting with Marinette and Adrien

This in particular is something I’ve never seen talked about. Maybe it has, but if so, it’s not enough.

Master Fu did not even meet up with either of them to help them learn about the lore behind the miraculous and what they should be doing.

It took Marinette finding the Grimmoire at the very end of Season 1 to figure out who Master Fu is. It took Marinette directly telling Master Fu to talk to Cat Noir to get him to meet up with Adrien.

What would’ve happened if the book was never found? Would Marinette and Adrien ever learn who he is?

And why did he continue helping just Marinette for so long and not Adrien? He claimed it would be too risky, but also, they each could’ve just had one-on-one sessions with him instead of both seeing him at the same time. Was it because the Grimmoire belonged to Adrien’s dad? Even if that’s the concern, Master Fu knows Adrien is Cat Noir, not a bad guy. And it would’ve been important to talk to him about why his dad has this book.

He pushed this idea to Marinette too that Cat Noir needs to be kept in the dark. So, it’s partially Master Fu’s fault for making her feel this way, and she probably assumed anyhow that he’d actively talk to Cat Noir about this stuff because it was his job as guardian to do so.

(And, what completely made her lose this trust in talking more to Cat Noir and letting him know the heroes’ identities is Chat Blanc because she has absolutely no real idea as to what actually happened. It’s real sad.)

It seems Master Fu had this bit of favor over Marinette. Between not meeting up with Adrien in the first place and not letting him take any bit of guardianship, there was some lack of faith and/or trust.

(A lot of Adrien salters will say he’s not entitled to be told these things, which is insane because it’s his job to be Cat Noir, and he’s supposed to be Ladybug’s equal. He absolutely has the right to know this information about the lore and identities.)

Stopping the reveal in its tracks

So, I honestly don’t like the whole reasoning behind why Ladybug and Cat Noir can’t reveal their identities to one another. I obviously love the suspense behind this big reveal happening between them, and them having this conflict over having to hide their identities. It’s the main plot point of their dramatic romance story.

However, the writing behind why it’s not happening and why it keeps being pushed back isn’t very good, and I’m definitely not the only person bothered by it.

The whole reason was brought on by none other than Master Fu. There was this wishy washy narrative he created that it’s “too dangerous” to have a reveal or that they can’t do it without their powers being taken away. The second reason doesn’t even make sense…

I agree with the part that yes, it can absolutely be dangerous. But I feel it should’ve been part of Master Fu’s job to teach these two a healthy way to have a reveal with one another. And I feel there’s no excuse of him not trusting that they’ll screw it up - this man entrusted two random teenagers with the most powerful jewels in the entire world.

Then, I feel like trying to tell them he’d take their powers away if it happened was either a scare tactic or a really bad change in plot on the show writers’ part.

Giving away the guardianship

This one still boggles my mind. In a moment of emergency, he gave Ladybug his position.

So, it could be that this was his best thought option for the horrid situation. However, he could’ve also done this because he genuinely didn’t want to be a guardian anymore, and being attacked by Hawk Moth was a way out.

I wanna credit YouTuber Cyrus the Great for this point. (I know a lot of people don’t like his over exaggerated saltiness - sometimes I don’t. But he made many good points in his Master Fu video analysis.) Master Fu told stories about not wanting to be a guardian when he was younger and how he made all these horrid mistakes. But then he gives the guardianship to Ladybug who is also the age he was when he got his position.

Something about that definitely seems off. If he knows it was bad and he couldn’t handle it when he was a teen, why would he put all that responsibility on Marinette? That was really unfair. And I’m not saying that because I don’t think she’s a strong person, I’m saying this because being a guardian is no cake walk, as we all witnessed in season 4.

Bonus: his age

This isn’t a problem relating to him being guardian but why is Master Fu 186 years old? That’s humanly impossible. But it’s never once explained how he reached that age.

I’ve been wanting to know so bad since season 1 why he’s so old lol. They never tell us, but it’s gotta be from some source of magic.

Can someone please write a fanfic on his backstory?

TLDR: I feel Master Fu is a nice man, but I just wish he had been a better guardian. Sorry if this sounds like a salt post. Enjoy life without the chaos, Master Fu.

[nikadoesanart]

Dazai living in a shipping container analysis

I’ll be talking about the “pros” and “cons”, if you can even call them that, of Dazai living in a shipping container near a dumping site. Also I am using what architecture knowledge I do have on the subject of container homes.

This is on the longer side so brace yourself. Also Stormbringer spoiler warning, in case that wasn’t realized yet.

Before I actually start I’ll preface this by saying that I’m a former architecture student but it was with a design focus. I have also previously designed a shipping container home so although I have some knowledge, it does have its limitations.

Also this will be updated when the fan translations get to this part of Stormbringer. Currently, I’m getting the information from chazukekani and popopretty’s summaries and translations, so please check them out too!

As a general reference for what to expect of a shipping container home, the average shipping container is 8 x 20 ft or 8 x 40 ft. As a more visual example, here is a portion of the container house I designed. Note that it’s total length is 30ft because I have two 20ft long containers stacked on top of each other, with a 10ft offset. The space beyond the sliding doors is a balcony and can basically be ignored for the purpose of this analysis. With the pictured dimensions, you can consider it to be insulated from the outside, so as not to sacrifice internal space. Despite this, you can see that it feels fairly cramped even with minimal furniture (a sink, toilet and shower unit in the bathroom and a bed, desk, and wardrobe closet in the master bedroom).

Dazai’s current living arrangement

Now for comparison, let’s first take note of what’s known of Dazai’s living conditions for comparison.

he’s living in an illegal dumping site, and there are toxic substances coming from the ground because of this

“Not even a field mouse would dare to approach it.” (Popopretty)

the area is not on the map and Dazai lives near the center of it (which can easily be one of the worst parts in terms of health and safety)

the container was previously “used to export passenger cars overseas” (popopretty)

his only furniture is a fridge, (exhaust) fan, desk/table, a chair, and a bare light bulb

no one would approach “not just because the place itself was weird. It was because no one could predict how Dazai would react if someone approached his private residence.” (Popopretty)

it’s been a year since he’s joined, yet no one trusts him → he could’ve been living here since before he joined but we don’t know as of yet

he’s sitting in complete darkness, lightbulb off and door shut, until Verlaine opens the door and walks in

Verlaine asks if he’s living here because he’s afraid of property taxes but Dazai claims that he’s afraid of Verlaine. He’s not actually addressing his choice of location because he only corrected Verlaine on what he fears, and gives no actual explanation for why he chose to live here.

The “pros”

Naturally unapproachable location. Even if Dazai being PM Dazai wasn’t a factor in people staying away, the nearby smell alone means no one would normally approach it, much less suspect a Port Mafia executive of all people to be living there. It’s also unmapped territory so even less reason for him to be found. This means enemies and allies alike would have a more difficult time trying to find him (ie. to come for his life) and there’s unlikely to be anyone else around. After all, if even a mouse won’t go there why would a whole person live there?

It costs him nothing. Not that it’d make a difference with what we can assume of his financial wealth. He has money, likely more than Chuuya who lives in a nice apartment in a nice area, yet chooses to live in a shipping container in an illegal dumping site. This is beneficial for Dazai, since there’s no paper trail or record of where he lives, which goes right into my 3rd point.

Ease of abandonment. Considering his whole goal at the time is to off himself without troubling others in the process, it makes sense that he’d want to leave minimal traces behind. No unpaid rent or mortgage, no one on a waiting list to move into a nice place, and no personal belongings or attachments. This winds up being a pro/advantageous when he does leave the PM since there wasn’t a trace to follow him with in the first place. He can simply grab his few things of importance and find a new shipping container or abandoned building outside of the PM’s territory. In fact, he might’ve even been able to stay there or in that general area since no one dares to approach it in the first place.

The “cons”

Or should I say say the dangerous living conditions he’s in. I don’t find them surprising because again, he doesn’t have a long term plan to live at this point. He doesn’t have much reason to care about what happens to himself, as we can deduce from his overall disregard towards being constantly injured and in danger for example. This is also where the architectural stuff comes into play.

Let’s start with the most visible one, lack of insulation. With a shipping container home, you can insulate from the inside and lose about a foot of interior space in each direction (6 in. off each wall) or from the outside and lose the aesthetic of the textured walls. Either way, it costs time and money to do it. We know it’s not insulated from the inside because of the illustration and, in my opinion, it’s very unlikely that Dazai would’ve gotten it insulated from the outside because at the very least, it would make his container stand out among the others nearby. You need to insulate a container home because they get very hot or cold in the summer and winter respectively, as they are made of metal. I’ve heard that at the very least, Japan’s summers are HOT.

This one is a little harder to confirm and will likely be updated as fan translations are released, but a likely hazardous set up for electricity and (hopefully) plumbing. If you don’t have the insulation on the inside but you still have your electrical and plumbing, it can possibly become both a visual mess and a safety hazard. It’s possible that he kept it all in the back portion of his container for example, or maybe he has it taped to the floor or walls somewhere, but that also brings the question of where it’s connected to on the outside. Since he’s on a dumping site, then where’s the electrical going to go at the very least? Sure he can use nearby public facilities but every day? He has a fridge, single lightbulb and a fan but where is the power is connected to? In terms of plumbing, I think it’s equally likely he found a Porta potty nearby or there’s (hopefully) some sort of public or PM owned facility nearby. Really, his hygiene, especially during the PM days when he was (as far as we the audience are aware) likely at his lowest, can easily become its own separate question/discussion for another day. After all, we’re just talking about the condition of his container in this post.

The possible fumes and chemicals left over. The paint on shipping containers is meant to withstand the sea water splashing on to them, so it may contain harsh chemicals. And we know that his container was used previously to ship cars overseas, but that still leaves the possibility for things to have leaked on the inside at this time. We don’t actually know if it’s been used more than once, but seeing as we do have a usage history, I’d say there’s a fair enough chance for it to have been a single use container. Still, chemicals could’ve previously leaked and the paint may be a concern in the long run. It’s also possible that it has begun rusting as well, due to the metal being exposed to the likes of sea water. Also, let’s not forget the toxic substances from the illegal dumping site itself, possibly going into the container over time.

Also as far as we can tell, there seems to be a lack of windows. This means no natural light, aside from opening a whole door. Keep in mind that windows can help with indoor temperature control, not just natural light.

Living in a dump site, especially an illegal one. This one should speak for itself but I’ll list some concerns anyway. Seeing as it’s illegal, we can probably just forget about regulations altogether, much less any possible existing ones being followed. This means that there can be literally anything from hazardous waste material, to dangerous and sharp objects on the ground, to who knows what kind of smells and fumes, etc. In short, not a safe area to live in, for health concern reasons at a minimum.

Again, my knowledge on shipping container homes themselves is limited and I do recommend checking out Belinda Carr’s videos on some of the downsides of them from a professional’s POV.

7 reasons why shipping container homes are a scam

Responding to comments: shipping container scam video

Also, just because Dazai was making presumably LARGE amounts of money obviously doesn’t mean that he has to spend it all or live luxuriously if he doesn’t want to. It’s not that hard to infer why Dazai did choose to live in such conditions and I mainly wanted to draw attention to how these conditions can affect him, with both the advantages and disadvantages.