#crow you better win this

[sombra7567]

BACK ON THE BINGE

K I'm not the biggest fan of sci-fi, dystopian type stories, but we'll see, this could be interesting.

Episode 1: "But this story isn't about me." Me with my one braincell: "It's not?" "It's about you." "It is?"

I automatically distrust and dislike the CEO.

Oh dope, I'm an investigator...

Damn ok, fine, Crow- *checks tags* "Coworkers to lovers" right, not enemies-

I need a himbooo... I'm holding out for a himbo till the end of the niiiiiiiiiiiight

WHO IS EGGYOLK- DOES HE HAVE A BUBBAS?

Oh yeah we going clubbing- neverrrrrrr mind-

I'm grinning so hard at the music playing, I love Hall & Oates, wow...

(Btw I'm listening to this while screaming in the friend chat about Tigress and Po smh)

THANK YOU CROW I'M NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND- yet, i'm sure there's a yet smh... NOT THE POLITICALLY CORRECT COMMENT LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ok we're so in trouble smh, Crow, can you be any more obvious. Or blatant. No sir, I'm not sure he's all the way there, either.

*facepalming* Is this why his last partner died-

Please put down the lighter- oh my gosh-

Episode 2:

I'm with him, please don't arrest me-

... Actually Crow you're not saying enough, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LAST TWO PARTNERS BRO-

I'm gonna take you up on that offer actually-

No Crow, I have a very bad feeling about these missions now

... he doesn't have a license- actually not that shocking now that I think about it

Yeah, water's great! *has not drank a drop all day-*

Ok he's got a point about modern struggles though.

Omg, the soundtrack for this is going to be fire too aughhhhhhhh

*catches myself smiling at the dancing scene* *immediately hitting pause* *jabbing finger at Escaped* NO I'M NOT GONNA FALL FOR HIM, YOUR TRICKS AREN'T GONNA WORK THIS TIME DANG IT.

YES PLEASE I WILL JOIN YOU FOR LUNCH.

No I'm not falling for Crow. It's not gonna happen.

Oh flashback, nice.

We're inadvertently working with the Surge gang aren't we.

No boss I want foodddddddddd...

Boi. What do you know about Acid Rain. I KNEW IT-

If you don't see a body, they ain't dead. And even if you see a body, they're still probably not dead.

Listen, Imma need everyone to STOP TRYING TO BLOW ME UP.

*hears gun cock* Oh we're screwed.

NOT SINGLE COMBATTTTTTTTTTTTT LET'S GO- oh she kinda cute ngl- I TAKE IT BACK, WHY DO I GOTTA DIE IF HE LOSES- HANG ON NO, THIS IS NOT OKAY-

[bitchthefuck1]

"Nikolai could outsmart Kaz" "the Darkling could outsmart Kaz" y'all just hate to see a hot bitch from new jersey winning

[capinejghafa]

sorry im just mad that we won't get to see the ice court heist.

[phoenixcatch7]

Up next, the only model I have of one of my rare fandom OCs. I typically only make one per fandom, so this is mdzs!

This is Crow, a nameless and amnesiac raven. The animal reincarnation of an ancient demonic cultivator puppeting the skeleton of their previous life. Wwx named them upon meeting them when he mistook their species in the dark, and then found it funny enough he kept the name.

It's vanishingly rare these guys get lore, but this one does!

I typically keep to book or anime continuity, and crow is my nod to cql/the untamed. In this, crow is the only known member of a rare and unorthodox species - a yin skeleton.

To 'become' a yin skeleton, a few criteria must be met: a creature of sufficient power and resentment must die an unsettled death and yet refuse to become a resentful spirit. Their corpse must then be left, undisturbed and unburied in whatever state it was left in, in a location of immense resentful energy with full exposure to (the purifying yin of) the moon. After many years, once the flesh has rotted off the bones, the skeleton left will rise once more and mindlessly seek out its soul. Should it encounter the soul in their new body, and the soul accept the undead shell rather than fleeing or destroying it, the bond between mind and body will be forged anew, and the skeleton becomes a second body of the soul, allowing it to cultivate immense amounts of yin energy without damage to the current vessel.

Having no organs, it of course cannot talk or feel pain, though resentment puppets its limbs and allows it to see and hear just as well as any reanimated skeleton - better, even. Though it can carry out orders and operate from a significant distance, a yin skeleton will always be drawn back to its soul, seeking out what it can never again have.

Crow is the reincarnation of whoever created the burial mounds, the losing side. It's been so long since they first reincarnated, gained their yin skeleton, and cultivated to sapience that they no longer recall anything about their human life, including their old gender. Wwx theorises that they could be Xue Chonghai himself, or one of his disciples, but any clues are long since lost to time and they're not really interested in finding out. Nonetheless, they have 'lived' in the burial mounds undisturbed and undiscovered for centuries, learning and experimenting with yin energy with their decreasingly limited intelligence and total lack of resources or modern knowledge.

Wwx encounters them for the first time utilising corpses for a dance ritual to expose the sky above the thick smog. Think a rain dance, but in reverse. Though they're not a fighter (nothing to fight in the burial mounds if you're part of it) or good at using their words (nothing to talk to in the burial mounds period), they nonetheless possess a deep understanding of yin energy/resentment and its interactions with its cultivators that wwx reverse engineers and uses to reach even greater heights. Vaguely endeared and deeply interested in the most unusual thing to happen in the mounds in literal centuries, their raven body often leaves the mounds to scavenge for berries and the like for wwx to eat, because lord knows what he was eating in canon.

When wwx breaks out of the burial mounds, they intermittently visit him, acquiring a veiled hat and covering robes to avoid getting hunted down, pretending mutism and the bird being a talking service animal trained for translation. They could not look any more like a demonic cultivator if they tried, though, so results are mixed. They are often one crow among the many that follow wwx around being ominous and creepy, so it's no surprise he thought they were one too at first!

With a reason and desire to explore and socialise (with like, one person lol), Crow slowly grows to genuinely like wwx and shows initiative by spying for information. This works worryingly well, being just a bird and a super powered undead. When wwx brings the wens to the burial mounds, Crow is introduced to them all and in turn shows them the way to the old sect ruins, where they settle. They bond with wn, unsurprisingly, and are extremely fond of him and the small human who is soon unafraid to approach them. During the first siege of the burial mounds, wwx orders them to hide and guard a-yuan, and they do so, though they struggle to care for him as his fever climbs. When lwj comes and rescues a-yuan, they follow him in secret, often checking in on the pair in between general spying and stalking and trying to clean up the mounds.

When wwx is forcibly brought back to life in a new body, his own skeleton wakes up and tries to find him. Crow takes care of it like an exasperated child minder, keeping it from running out in public or off cliffs in search of him, until they encounter him halfway up dafan mountain. A dark human shape looming in the shadows of the trees just off the path looking straight at him, following the narrative it'd be the first time the audience meets them lol. The very image of Bad News.

Crow leads wwx to a clearing, where there is the outline of a tall, broad figure standing just inside the shade cast by the trees. Red eyes, tumbling and tattered hair, flowing robes. It steps out into the moonlight, and wwx's skeleton is skinless and bare but for the cloak Crow has forced it into. Wwx reaches for the grasping bony hands with zero hesitation, and thus wwx gets his own yin skeleton - the first ever human to do so.

As a demonic hippie, essentially, Crow isn't really a fighter - preferring to cultivate through dance where wwx chooses music - though they aren't afraid to dish the pain. Like any other undead, the skeleton does all the work, fighting unarmed with immense brute strength, speed and endurance. Like wn, basically. When not covered from head to toe to participate in society they typically wear very loose, gaping clothing to allow Crow to climb around on the bones. They typically rest in the exposed ribcage like a birdcage, but when making a point they often climb into the skull to peer from an eye socket (which is why the design has a single red eye. All very goth. I was going to use a normal eye but it looks absolutely HORRIFYING on a skeleton XD).

Crow, being a bird in charge of a skeleton in a pit of death, cares very little for appearances, and their yin skeleton is clothed in repaired and stolen rags from the corpses. The only thing remaining of their past life is a weirdly indestructible cloak/outer robe embroidered with falling red leaves. Shoes are very hard to wear when you don't have any skin or muscles, and it's not like it can get scratches or sore feet anyway, so it's barefoot, only using wraps to give the illusion of shoes. The whole chest was supposed to be exposed so you could see the ribs! But there weren't any chest pieces like that so I had to settle. It does look SUPER cool though. The feathers on their chest are from the bird! It's hard to tell given the dark colours and the blood, but they're the same blue as the wings! The arm guards and wraps are basically just falconry gloves so Crow can land safely and not fall off the bones lol. The moon/yin bleaching has left the bones really white, unlike natural skeletons which are yellow. The bleaching white is for hygiene and aesthetic I think.

Due to the bird cultivating resentment, Crow successfully reached immortality in their flesh and blood body. Perhaps they could have been human by now had they stayed in the reincarnation cycle and led good lives, but they prefer the life they have. If they could speak eloquently enough they could revolutionise the study of yin, but wwx is the only one who really listened. Eventually, perhaps, if they form the undead trio with wn and sl (and a-qing, technically) and one of the two teaches them the modern writing system. Due to all the spying and exploring (breaking and entering) they do, they often struggle to have patience with surprise or denial. Crow may have bitten someone in frustration. Or five.

Luckily, lsh and jl regard them as the creepy but helpful uncle, and enjoy petting the raven as much as it enjoys being pet. The adults who know of them are mostly warily resigned to ominous eyeless staring and a bird randomly sharing personal details of their enemies. It's how they show their love.

Man but I'm SO happy with the design, it came out SO WELL!!

If you've read this far, yay! Tell me what you think ^u^

[crossdressingdeath]

I'm organizing my screenshots for later posting (look forward to that) since I haven't done that in A Hot Minute and going through the Treviso stuff is so funny. Welcome Governor Ivenci, Antiva's number one hypocrite—

[teamdays]

dear diary today I saw wxs set and exploded 20 times

[loveinhawkins]

When Steve picks up the phone, he can hear Eddie laughing before he’s even said a word.

“What?” Steve says through a smile; he’s used to this now, phone calls that happen for no real reason. Robin had gotten him well and truly accustomed to it: months of rambling conversations—with occasional interjections from Mr Buckley, chuckling as he warned Robin that she was gonna trip over the cord.

“I need your help,” Eddie says, amusement still evident in his voice, “it’s to win an argument.”

“Oh, is that all I am to you?” Steve acts like he’s going to hang up, covering the receiver with his hand so it sounds muffled.

“No, no!” Eddie’s laughing again. “Don’t go.”

Steve removes his hand, his smile growing. “All right, jeez. What’s up?”

“Okay, back me up here ‘cause Dustin and Lucas did not believe me. There was—we had an old gym teacher, right? He, like, towered above us, man, had a moustache, like what do you call it when it’s all—”

Steve feels another wave of affection; he knows that Eddie will be unconsciously demonstrating what the moustache looks like, despite the fact that they can’t see each other.

“—uh, bristly, you know what I—?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “Mr Wilson. Didn’t he leave a couple years ago? Super mean for no reason, dude had a stick up his—”

“Yes!” Eddie crows in triumph. “I knew you’d remember, I knew it.”

Steve shakes his head fondly—Eddie’s making it sound far more impressive than it actually is, like he’s just sunk the winning shot or something. Like Eddie has an unshakeable belief in him.

“God, he was the worst. He was the one that was obsessed with cross-country, right—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, yeah,” Eddie says. “It was actually scary. I swear he got some kinda evil kick out of it whenever it rained, like he’d hope we drowned out there or—”

Steve makes a vague hum of agreement; there’s a flash of the familiar in Eddie’s words, the memory of mud and rain against his skin. And…

“Shit, didn’t you…? Did you fall one time, I remember you limping?”

Steve’s recollection of it is fuzzy—like a lot of things were in the winter of ‘84—but as he talks, the more he grows certain; it makes sense of a momentary instinct he’d had in The Upside Down, as the earth shook: seeing Eddie fall out the corner of his eye, and suddenly wanting to check whether he rolled his ankle.

“Uh, yeah.” Eddie chuckles slightly—there’s a thread of embarrassment in the sound. Didn’t think—um, sorta hoped you wouldn’t remember that, honestly.”

“I don’t really,” Steve says, then winces. “That sounds bad. I just meant—”

“No, it’s okay,” Eddie says. Steve can hear how he’s smiling. “Better for my ego this way.” He pauses. “You were really sweet about it at the time.”

He moves on quickly—Steve knows that’s partly just Eddie being himself, how he joyfully leaps from one topic to the next. But he doesn’t think he’s imagining the flicker of something shy, the softness in Eddie’s voice, you were really sweet about it.

Steve makes sure to commit it to memory.

[lexirosewrites]

Omega Steve is enamored with Cringe Fail Alpha Eddie and everyone in his life knows it and doesn't understand why.

He's watching Eddie with heart eyes in their one shared class, sighing longingly as Eddie, bites the skin off around his nails and eats it while he ignores the teacher and plans his campaign. He's ignoring his friends' attempts to draw his attention when Eddie gets up on the table to give his semi-regular lunch table rants, almost slipping when he steps in someone's sandwich.

He is hands down the most popular Omega in the school even after he ditches his old friend and becomes Pack Omega to a bunch of puppies and band nerd Robin Buckley. He gets a stupid amount of courting gifts and never says yes to anybody, even a good amount of Betas have tried for his hand. The only Alpha that's never offered is Eddie Munson, and it makes Steve feel crazy.

And Steve knows he could just go over there and ask Eddie if he would be interested in courting, but he wants to be wood! He knows it's silly to way for the Alpha to make an offer but Steve is a romantic at heart and he wants to be wanted.

When Eddie starts dealing in his second senior year and Steve's first, Steve sees this as his chance to finally get close to Eddie organically and flirt a little to show Eddie he's interested. That he only smokes when someone buys for him is irrelevant. He'll buy every day if it means Eddie finally notices him. Robin says he's being a dingus. Steve insists he's a genius.

And so he goes to meet Eddie in the woods. To the average outsider, Eddie's hair is all frizzed out and he's probably worn the same pair of jeans every day this week and is overall a little bit of a rat. Steve Vision, however, only sees an extremely handsome, rugged Alpha seemingly waiting for him in the woods.

"Ah, King Steve. To what do I owe the honor?" It's probably meant as a dig, but it makes Steve preen a little anyway.

"Heard you were dealing now. Couldn't miss my chance to buy from the infamous Eddie Munson." Steve replies as he sits, leaning his head on his palm so he can look up at him from under his lashes. Laying it on a little thick? Maybe. But the way Eddie blushes is worth the cringy move.

With an in, Steve slowly starts inserting himself into Eddie's life more and more. He buys at least once a week, flirting all the while. Eventually, he asks if Eddie would like to meet his kids.

"They love that game, the dungeons one, and I think it would be fun if they all got to play while you ran the plays or whatever."

"Stevie, Stevie, Stevie. I know you know what it's called, but hell yeah lets do it! I'm dying to test my skills on some fresh players."

And of course, the kids love him. Well, Max is less than impressed and while Erica recognized him as an adequate DM, she is firm in her belief that Steve could do better. She's been insistent for the last year that he should be looking for a "real Fabio type" and Eddie Munson doesn't really fit the bill.

The real win of the night, however, is that Eddie brings so much stuff directly from his house that carries his scent. He still wears his scent patch like they all have to in school, which is disappointing, but his notes and books carry a distinct smokey, wet earth smell that nearly makes Steve swoon. He didn't get to see Eddie's reaction to walking into his house, another disappointment, but he just knows they're compatible.

After that, Steve gets himself an invite to Hellfire to watch. He loves seeing Eddie in his element, smiling along when Eddie crows with victory when someone in the party dies because of their own hubris. He stays and hangs out while Eddie cleans up chatting away about their days.

But for as much as Steve puts out all the right signals, and as much as Eddie seems to be flirting back, he hasn't made even a hit of a movement toward courtship. Steve doesn't want to give up, but he's starting to resign himself to the idea that he's just going to have to ask Eddie out himself.

Then one day while Steve is loitering around after Hellfire, an Omega cheerleader walks through the door asking for Eddie. She'd been sent this way by Chrissy Cunningham for some kind of anxiety medication since her mom wouldn't let her get a prescription. Steve's not thrilled by the interruption and is glaring daggers at the poor girl, but Eddie doesn't notice. No, Eddie is too busy breaking Steve's heart.

Eddie is doing all the same things he's done with Steve. All the things that gave Steve hope that Eddie was interested despite his lack of courting attempts. He's leaning in, teasing, hiding behind his hair at the slightest bit of attention. Apparently, those weren't reactions to Steve. That's just how Eddie reacts to any available Omega who looks his way.

Suddenly mortified, Steve jumps off the table he had been so happily perched on not five minutes ago. He grunts out some half-assed excuse and bolts for the door, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the humiliating tears.

From then on, he avoids Eddie as much as he can. No more weekly buying appointments. No more sitting in on Hellfire nights. He can't avoid him completely with the kids in the mix, but he keeps his distance as much as possible, too embarrassed and heartbroken to reach back out. He doesn't drop, not with Robin being such a stable Alpha figure in his life, but everyone can tell he's in a funk.

Eddie, meanwhile, has been as enamored with Steve as every other Alpha in Hawkins for years but never figured he would ever look his way in a million years.

When the Omega started appearing in his life, it felt a little like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Like he would wake up and it would all be some crazy dream induced by years of unfulfilled pining.

But Steve never disappeared and Eddie never woke up. Eddie still wasn't convinced that Steve would ever entertain the idea of courtship with him, so he simply didn't put himself in a position to be rejected, no matter what the Corroded Coffin boys said about Steve "blatantly and obviously begging you to court him, dude."

So on and on it went. The more time went on the more Eddie's instincts screamed that the Omega was his and the more Eddie forced himself not to think about it until all of a sudden Steve was just...gone.

Not gone gone of course. He sees him in the hallways and every now and then when Steve comes to pick the kids up from group hangouts that used to involve Steve on default. Robin also seems pissed at him which is its own thing, but Eddie would be lying if he said her glare didn't make him nervous.

He doesn't know what happened, but what he does know is that his chest hurts almost permanently now. He misses Steve like crazy and is determined to make them talk about whatever it is he did to make Steve avoid him.

Now if only he could get him alone...

------

Ran out of steam at the end there but in my mind Steve keeps avoiding Eddie with the help of Robin, Max, and Erica while Dustin, El, Will, and Lucas help Eddie. Mike would like for them to never get together, please and thank you.

After a couple of months of successfully avoiding Eddie, Steve decides to take up a beta's offer for a date which makes Eddie more jealous than he ever thought was possible. He's absolutely seething, even if he knows it's irrational to be that mad about an Omega he never had any claim over.

He ends up using the kids to break into Steve's house while he's out on the date to set up a competing date. He's all puffed up and ready to posture against Steve's date when he drops Steve off but instead, Steve walks up the driveway alone, looking defeated.

They argue on the front porch about why Steve has been so absent and eventually, Eddie deflates realizing that he's been hurting Steve with his inability to confront his own feelings.

He shows Steve the date he painstakingly set up for him inside, presenting his first of many courting gifts.

idiot4idiot steddie wins again🥰🥰🥰

[gold-onthe-inside]

greylist

verb (transitive): to hold (someone) in suspicion, without actually excluding him or her from a particular activity

who? spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x tech analyst!reader summary: when your celebratory drink with penelope is disrupted, you end up at a bar with the person you famously cannot get along with even if you were paid... until you do. based on: request by @brownbunnyb: I’m thinking something along lines of me being Penelope’s best friend and coworker and she sees how much me and Spencer bump heads and she sets me up on a blind date and the guy end up being Spencer (she does it on purpose) and we get a little too tipsy and he invites me over to his place and I stay the night and he confess his feelings bc he assumed I was sleeping word count: 3.4k a/n: r is an intelligence analyst for the counterintelligence division, and roommates with penelope, famous for not having any of the pleasance and charm that penelope does (the grumpy to her sunshine) and for not getting along with men, including spencer. i may have gotten carried away with it.

You don't get many off days in counterintelligence, but when you find a chain of coded messages about a military officer in Alaska trying to sell classified documents to the Russians, and manipulate him right into the hands of an undercover operative, you have to celebrate somehow. There aren't many easy wins in your line of work, not like Penelope who comes to your shared apartment with an arrest on her belt almost every week, and when you hear the front door close, Penelope walking in with her heels in hand, you have no doubt that she's on a high from a solved case.

"Hey, so I figured we'd leave in 15," you said, stepping out from the bathroom in a sleek black dress with a cut out by your hips, your walk stuttering at the sight of Kevin in the doorway behind Penelope, who was wincing. "And you forgot," you said, unsurprised, your hands falling from your ear where you had just fixed a gold hoop.

"I'm so sorry," Penelope cried, rushing towards you. "I swear, I swear I had it written somewhere that we were going out, but this reservation opened up at L'Auberge, and you know we've been on the waitlist for months--"

You held up your hand, stopping her. "Go," you said, with patience that seemed to be bottomless when it came to Penelope.

"I swear, I will make it up to you right now," Penelope said and you frowned instantly as she pulled out her phone.

"You don't have to--"

"Ba-bup, nothing out of you," Penelope interrupted, picking up the phone. "You're going to a bar. I don't wanna hear any excuses, you still owe me for Friday. You will be there by 7." She looked to you. "7?"

You shrugged helplessly, glancing at Kevin who just seemed amused by his girlfriend.

"Where are you going?" Penelope repeated the question, then looked at you.

"Crown and Crow," you said, knowing better than to get in Penelope's way, watching her as she repeated it to the phone, then snapped it shut, looking at you with a giddy smile.

"Okay, have fun, don't be mean, and have a cute cocktail on me," Penelope said, kissing your cheek, leaving a smear of lip gloss. "You deserve the win," she said, then promptly disappeared off to the bathroom to change for her own date.

You looked at Kevin. "Home by midnight, no more than three drinks, capiche?" you said, firmly and he held up his hands in surrender to you.

"I couldn't afford it," he said and you nodded, satisfied. You slipped into your classic black pumps, grabbed your purse, keys, and a black coat before stepping out, the door closing before you remember to ask Penelope who your date for the night was.

You're on your first drink when he arrived, almost spitting it out at the sight of Spencer as he searched the bar for Penelope. If you rush into the bathroom, maybe you don't have to deal with him tonight… but then he spots you, and frowns as he raised a hand before walking over. "No Penelope?"

"Date with Kevin," you replied, not hiding your sourness. Don't be mean, my ass. This is her making it up to me?

"Oh," he said, looking confused. "So… why am I here?"

"Evidently, Pen's playing matchmaker tonight," you said, keeping your voice even and he sighed.

"Should've figured," he said quietly, then gestured to the empty seat beside her. "May I?"

"Since you're here," you replied, sipping your rum and coke.

"I take it I'm not who you expected," he said as he flagged the bartender for a soda.

"Given the history of our interactions, no, you're not." You watched his arm fall to the oak bar, his hazel eyes on you, sparkling darkly in the low amber light.

"Disappointed?" he asked and you took a breath in.

"It's not all you," you said, tipping the glass as you take a sip. "Supposed to be celebrating an op, but Penelope bailed."

"Criswell's case?" he asked and you sighed, his question stinging like the back of your throat.

"Criswell's case," you scoffed. "I do all the work and he's the one they credit? I swear to God, you Special Agents--"

"It's hardly my fault that Criswell's name gets put on the report. He was the arresting officer--"

"Only because I led the guy right to him," you argued, looking at Spencer and then you just sighed. "You don't get it. You're not an intelligence analyst."

"No, I do," he insisted. "I know you think we all come home with wins every week, but it's not me, or the BAU, or even the FBI that gets the credit. It's the local police department who can't pull their heads out of the asses, sorry, long enough to realise that all they need is to empathise to catch their killers."

You looked at him, with a mix of surprise and respect, and a little amusement at his apology after saying 'asses', and he ran out of steam at your look. "T-The point is, I get it," he continued. "You probably don't sleep for days, and if you do, it's not enough. You're probably going to suffer from debilitating eye strain in your 70s, and all for some half-wit tactical analyst to get the credit. You're right to be pissed, but getting mad at me isn't gonna get you anywhere."

You wet your stained lips, downing the rest of your glass, and stare at it for a moment. "I've been kind of unfair to you, haven't I?" you asked, looking at him.

Spencer looked at his clear glass, bubbles of soda rising to the surface. "Kind of feels diminutive," he said and you laugh, a brightness in your eyes that wasn't there a minute ago.

"Be grateful I admitted anything at all," you said and he nodded graciously.

"Of course. Thank you for the bare minimum," he said and you huff.

"Look at that, the robot knows sarcasm," you teased and he made an offended noise before watching you snicker. "So, just the soda or are you gonna drink something stronger?"

"Just the soda," he said and you know better than to ask as you order yourself a mojito. "So, how did you do it?" Spencer asked. "How'd you track him down?"

You shrugged, not particularly in a bragging mood. "It wasn't that hard, really. I already had an alert set up for requests for encryption keys, and there was no reason for this military officer in Alaska to request them. He didn't have the clearance or approval from someone who did to have eyes on it. All I did was figure out what he wanted access to and fudge it and put a code in so I could track the user before giving him the encryption key. Then it was just a matter of posing as a buyer for the intel."

"Child's play," Spencer remarked dryly, his lips curling and you shrugged.

"If you can learn sarcasm, I can learn humility," you said, sipping your mojito and it was his turn to laugh quietly.

"It's a new look on you," he said, meeting your gaze, and you're not sure if it's the rum, but there's a moment of tension, and you're half-convinced he's leaning in to kiss you when your phone beeped and it shatters like you've dropped your glass. You fumbled through your purse for your cell, pulling it out to find a text message from Penelope.

Penny: Kevin's staying the night.

How was this night getting worse by the minute?

You: Can't you go to his place?

No reply. It turned out your bottomless patience wasn't so limitless, and Spencer could tell.

"Problem?" he asked, raising his soda to finish it.

"It appears I'm homeless for the night," you replied, downing your entire mojito in one go.

"Hey, hey, slow down," he insisted, pulling the glass away from you, but it was just mint and ice now. "What do you mean?"

You grasped Spencer's shoulder. "See, Data, when two people go out on a date, which is a kind of human mating ritual, one of them offers their habitat to copulate in, never mind the other females who maybe sharing said habitat," you said, mocking and he swatted your hand away, knowing you well enough to know you were just projecting your irritation on to him.

"You could just say that Garcia was taking Kevin home, you don't have to be so--"

"Mean?" you asked hollowly and Spencer pursed his lips.

"Hostile," he replied and you nodded.

"It's fine, I'll just flirt with someone and let them take me to their place," you said, slipping off your seat.

"Hey, no," Spencer said firmly, his hands loosely grasping your arms. "A) you're drunk--"

"I had two drinks--"

"And B) Penelope would kill me if I let you become one of our cases. You can stay with me."

"What? No," you protested. "I'm mean and unfair to you, why would you--"

"Because no matter how much disdain you hold for me, I'm not actually a bad guy," he said patiently. "Can you honestly tell me you trust anyone else in this bar to not take advantage of you?"

You sucked your cheek in and sighed. "No," you said petulantly, and Spencer stood up, holding your coat up for you to help you into it.

He doesn't drive and you share Esther with Penelope who needed it tonight, so you're on the Metro back to his place, Spencer's hand on your waist keeping you standing until there's a place to sit. You realise, rather dully, that if you weren't wearing your coat, his hand would have found the cut-out of your waist, and you wonder what it feels like. "I'm never drinking rum again," you murmured. Clearly, it was poisoning your mind.

"Sure, you won't," he said dryly, standing in front of you and you have to look up at him to see his eyes.

"You're really tall," you said, distastefully. You don't like having to crane your neck just to look at him… not that you like looking at him. It's easier to be mean, you decide, when you can look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, the doctor said there's no cure for it," he replied, clearly mocking.

"I could always lop your knees off," you said helpfully, smiling up at him and he snorted.

"I think they've been through enough." He watched the frown form on your forehead, and, stupid impulse, he moved his hand to smooth it out. "I was shot in the knee a couple years ago," he explained. "Reconstructive surgery."

"Must make kneeling hard," you said without thinking and he tilted his head at you, his hand returning to your waist.

"Was that a joke?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, I'm just--" The train jolted and Spencer grabbed your hips before you could fall, your hands on his arms. "Embarrassing," you finished as he righted you, then guided your hands to the pole. He was warm, smelling like Irish espresso. It must be nice, being his girlfriend, smelling that all the time. What is wrong with me?

The rest of the ride is silent, and then he's guiding you out of the carriage and onto the station closest to his apartment. He tapped both your metro cards, which you don't remember giving to him, before walking out of the subway with his hand on the small of your back, and you're out of quips and clever things to say. You didn't think that was possible, but maybe the train jolted it out of you. Or maybe the rum did. But you're silent all the way to his apartment, and a little curious about how he lives.

He lets you in, letting go of your waist, and you don't see how his hand clenches, too busy taking the apartment in. The wall's a lovely green and he has lamps that remind you of old libraries with the green steel shade, and he has bookshelves everywhere, nothing with a contemporary cover on it. They're all old hardbounds that you're compelled to touch reverently, foreign titles that you're able to decipher. "Of course you have War and Peace in the original Russian," you scoffed, tracing the golden Russian letters while he set your purse down on his coffee table.

"You can read it?" he asked, surprised and you look at him with narrowed eyes.

"How do you think I posed as a Russian buyer of international secrets?" you asked and he held his hands up in surrender.

"My bad," he admitted, trying not to look impressed. But it was the truth, you were impressive. It was impressive enough how skilled you were at coding and creating algorithms, able to take over for Penelope without complaint from anyone but Derek who would get shut down every time he tried to call you baby girl. In a lot of ways, you were like Penelope, always ready with a pop-culture reference and a barb, preferring steel over sexual innuendo. In the early days, he had been sensitive to it, avoiding you when he could, but he'd seen your softer side when Penelope had been shot, how you'd been unafraid to yell at Rossi for pushing the boundaries of interrogation with her. He knew you were kind, really, you just weren't very generous with it.

He filled up a glass of water, walking over to you, doing his best to keep his gaze off your waist as he passed it to you, noticing you perusing the Art of War… in the original Chinese. "Don't tell me… Chinese too?"

"Kind of a prerequisite for counterintelligence," you said, swapping the book for the water, and an uncomfortable expression flashed across your face, shifting in your heels. He was an idiot, he should have noticed it. You were standing for so long in the train. You frowned as he knelt silently, hand grasping your ankle and you lifted your heel so he could take it off. One, then the other. "Thanks," you said quietly, unused to his kindness.

"It's not that hard," he said, standing up, putting your heels by your purse.

"What is?" you asked and he looked back at you.

"Kneeling," he said simply and it's stupid but your heart stops for a second, caught off-guard. "I'm gonna get you something more comfortable to wear. Finish that."

Oh, this was not good. You were not going to catch feelings for a man you've told everyone you know, which is mostly Penelope, and by association Kevin, that you hate. Your phone beeps and you pick it up.

Penny: Talked to Emily, you can stay at hers.

Escape. Emily can pick you up, you get along with Emily just fine, Emily's not a tall brunet with hazel eyes and makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. Emily's safe. You could be safe… or you could be with Spencer.

You: Don't bother, I'm already at Spencer's. You owe me so big.

You simply hope it sounds more casual and unbothered than you feel.

"So, I couldn't find anything that fit-" he started and you flinched as he walked back into the room, holding sweats and a t-shirt, almost dropping your glass, and he looked at you with wide eyes. "Sorry, carpeted floors," he said, assuming that was why you were so startled, and walked over, swapping your empty glass with the clothes. "They'll have to do, I'm afraid."

You nodded. "Bathroom?"

"Inside, on your left," he said, frowning as you rushed away.

You have to roll up the legs of the pants so you can actually walk in them, too afraid to ask for shorts for the fear that he might just hand you a pair of boxers, and then you really would crack, just like that.

You stepped out eventually, finding him setting up the couch with blankets and pillows, and he looked at you, his expression unreadable in the low light. "I know, they're baggy and I look awful."

"No," he said quickly, sitting on the couch. "You don't. Look awful, that is. Even if they are baggy."

"Right," you said, if only to move on to something else. "Um… do you have any cotton balls or something? I have all this make-up--"

"Sure, yeah," he said, moving and almost tripping over the coffee table in his rush to service you.

"--wouldn't want to ruin your pillows," you said to deaf ears, following him with a frown as he retrieves a cosmetic bag from his dresser. "Why do you have that?"

"Uh…" He looked at you with a wincing expression. "Halloween," he said, hoping it would suffice, and it did. You've seen him come into work at the end of every October with props and gimmicks. Emily ended up pawning off a Baba Yaga head to you that still hangs in your cubicle. You've named her Meredith.

"Right," you replied and he handed it to you.

"What, no clever retort?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, I think the cosmetic bag speaks for itself," you said, showing him the pumpkin shaped cartoons on it, and he sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he said dryly and you snickered as you headed to the bathroom.

"Does Morgan know about your clown make-up?" you asked and he lingered in the doorway.

"Please don't," he begged, watching you dab removal cream on the pad and wipe your make-up away. You're teasing and mean, hostile and snappish, but you're not cruel. You've kept secrets for him before, like the magazine cover of him and Lila from 2005 that Emily almost finds if not for you distracting her with a linguistic question, your hand stealthily picking it out of his drawer, and then tossing it to him when she turned her back.

"Depends, do you have clown shoes somewhere in your closet?" you asked, smiling as you ridicule him.

"No, the shoes I rented, the nose I own, the hair I spraypainted," he said and you look at him.

"Seriously?" you asked with a giddy grin. "Please tell me there are pictures."

"What? No!" he retorted, in that high pitch where you know he's lying, "Even if there were, why would I show you?"

"Because you know I can find them anyway," you retorted.

"Not if they're not digital," he snapped back, thinking he's pulled a fast one until he sees your devious grin. "No. Absolutely not."

"You've made a horrible mistake letting me into your home," you said, grinning giddily.

"You're a terrible person," he said, blocking your way bodily. "Sadistic, twisted, horrible--"

"I'm gonna find it," you said, stepping towards him.

"Not if I lock you in here all night," he said, but it was weak, he knew it was. He'd cave the minute he heard your pleading voice, or pretending to vomit. You tilt your head at him.

"Show me the pictures, Spencer," you said and his shoulders sag.

"Alright, come on," he said, resigned, leading you to the bedroom and pulling at a locked drawer in his desk before picking up the album. You plopped onto the bed, curling your feet up underneath you, Spencer sliding into bed beside you with the album on his thighs. "Please don't be mean," he asked, looking at you with a pleading look.

"If I don't have something nice to say, I won't speak," you promised, and he opens it up, knowing it's the best you can offer. You instantly clap a hand over your mouth at the sight of ten year old Spencer dressed like a Russian gymnast. So, he was that extra as a kid too.

"You… dressed like that all night, and you survived?" you asked, looking at him and he shrugged.

"I didn't actually do much trick-or-treating. But my mom would help me make my costume and I'd watch scary movies when she was asleep."

There's a Ghostbuster's costume, a vampire costume, a Frankenstein costume, all creative and handmade, and you watch Spencer age through the photographs, until he's 14 and you're half-asleep on his shoulder.

A fondness warms his chest as he tucked hair behind your ear. He's never seen you unmade like this. You weren't as flamboyant as Penelope (you once said Bowie wasn't as flamboyant as Penelope), usually in greys, browns and blacks, with plain jewellery and simple make-up, and tonight had only gone up in tone by your eyeshadow, grey and silver, with black eyeliner.

But now? You looked vulnerable and pretty, unarmed, and he carefully laid you against the pillow. Maybe he thinks he'll get over it if he says it, or 'manifest' it like Penelope says, and it's not exactly a heavy thing he says, but he whispered it as he stroked your hair back in place.

"I wish you liked me as much as I like you."

[evellynssocbrainrot]

So I have been minorly skimming some stuff on YouTube and TikTok about SOC, and I cannot believe some of the things that people say about Kaz and the Crows.

One point I tend to hear from Six of Crows critiques a lot is "The Crows act older than their supposed age, especially Kaz"

And... Seriously? Did we read the same book? The Crows are constantly making jokes and bickering. Do you think people who are in their 30's or even their late 20's would say shit like "jogs the liver" or "I need a cup of the darkest bitterest coffee or a real punch to the jaw" or "my ghost won't associate with your ghost" or "a hive of bees in your dresser drawer"? THEY WOULDN'T. (Actually, they can, but maybe not every single sentence and not as impulsively) These are things only dramatic teenagers would say. Not to mention the way the Crows handle their traumas is extremely immature and they're awful at communicating. The Crows actually act more like teenagers than 90% of teenagers in YA novels. The only reason why they seem older is because they have skills.

Another point I tend to hear a lot from critiques is "Kaz never faces consequences and he always wins and he's perfect"

What!!???? Just what!!?? In what universe? Once again, did these people read the same book as us?? Kaz is always facing terrible consequences. He is on the edge of losing his own crew every other chapter. His own crew is not afraid to call him out on his shit when he does it. The trauma he has doesn't glorify him, it makes him look pathetic and weak next to the other Crows. Kaz himself is deeply ashamed of it and he's lonely and isolated because of it. He is restricted from hugging his crewmates, he is restricted from kissing Inej and that kills him. He is broken and miserable because of it. But simultaneously, the trauma is his problem to fix. Nobody fixes it for him.

And yes, Kaz is highly intelligent and incredibly skilled and strong, but trust me, he does not always win, and he isn't perfect. If I remember correctly, his first plan for the Ice Court was a failure and they had to improvise from there. But the final plan came at a cost, and that was Nina using parem. Towards the end of the book, Kaz was wrong about predicting that Van Eck actually loved Wylan enough to not kill him, and it cost him everything. The first plan he made to take down Van Eck in the middle of CK was a complete disaster. The crew ended up stuck in the Geldrenner hotel. Kaz was clearly dangling so far off the point of utter insanity that he actually resorted to giving himself up for the crew and only resigned because the other Crows stopped him. And for the final plan of the book, Kaz ended up using every single resource he had left, which once again, subtly implies how desperate he was. He gave up all his assets, he used his old home, he used his original surname, he injured himself a lot in order to recruit more people for the plan. It took him a great deal of time, effort, and thinking to finally put together a plan. AND EVEN THEN, it came at a terrible cost which was the life of one of his Crows.

Even the revenge he took against Pekka wasn't that worth it as Pekka still couldn't remember Jordie's name, Jordie was still dead, and Kaz's trauma and pain didn't get any better than it was before.

Kaz is not at all a perfect guy who always wins. He is deeply flawed, twisted and is always losing something even when he wins a bit. I don't understand how some of these SoC critiques didn't understand this.

[needanaccount2readarcaneposts]

the way s2 whitewashes vander is kind of vile, actually.

young vander's hands were just as bloody as silco's. he did not bring his gauntlets to a peaceful protest. he came to fight. then, at least, he understood that things would never improve if they simply waited around for their oppressors to give them rights and protections out of the goodness of their hearts.

even years later, his reputation precedes him. he runs a protection racket. he keeps his gauntlets hung above his bar as a reminder and a threat; he gets more than one situation to go his way through the not-so-subtle implication of violence.

but, arcane tells us, vander is a Good Man now. he has stopped directing his violence towards his oppressors, and now merely uses the threat of it to keep his own people in line. to make sure that topside is not disturbed.

i've seen people on the Social Medias crow about how vander gets a statue and how half of s2 is devoted to eulogising him, while silco is mourned by exactly 2 people for 5 minutes and then forgotten, and therefore, vander good, silco bad.

and you know what?

silco made the decision to engage in a ruthless gambit, using the only currency available to him: the lives of his own people. he dragged zaun behind him on a cruel climb on an ugly path towards a better destination, and he did not give a single shit about winning hearts and minds or mitigating harm while he did it... and he almost got there. he had an independence treaty for zaun on the table. and nobody in zaun ever knows this. topside keep it to themselves when it turns out to be more convenient to simply gas zaun into submission instead. silco got them the closest they had ever gotten - and the closest they are ever likely to get for the forseeable future - to true independence, and he did it without softness or kindness, and without thanks or glory or acknowledgement, and nobody will ever know. he dies in ignominy. he gets no statue.

vander won hearts and minds. vander was your friendly local gang leader & barman. vander said, "hey, let's all help each other out." vander said, "hey, let's just try to get by. just focus on one another, and not the big picture." vander was ashamed of what he saw as his complicity in the massacre on the day of ash, and decided he did not want to be responsible for something like that again. vander was available and approachable and personable and charismatic, and he used it to convince everyone that it was in their best interests to simply lay down, and stop resisting. vander gets a statue.

arcane says: he was a Good Man.

arcane says: be more like vander.

arcane says: hey. chill out. spend time with your family. try to just focus on getting from one day to the next. don't worry about the system.

stop resisting.

[angelofthenight01]

The witch's secret

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

genre: fluff  ||     warnings: none

Summary: You're best friends with Pietro and Wanda is avoiding you as much as possible.  Little do you know that the reason is that the witch is falling in love with you.

The stale, recycled air of the Avengers training room hits you like a damp rag as you step inside. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the corner of your shirt, already feeling the familiar ache in your muscles. It’s been a long morning, dodging energy blasts and deflecting vibranium projectiles, all courtesy of your best friend, Pietro. He’s leaning against the wall, a smirk playing on his lips as he examines his nails like some haughty prince.

"Took you long enough," he crows, pushing himself off the wall and stretching his arms high above his head. "I was starting to think you’d finally given up on keeping up with my god-like speed."

You roll your eyes, already used to his theatrics. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Quicksilver. Some of us need sleep." You grab your water bottle, taking a long swig. You’ve known Pietro since… well, since forever. You met at one of those weird, half-way houses run by the government when you were kids. You’d bonded over shared experiences and the inability to understand why everyone was so obsessed with being “normal”. You’d been inseparable ever since. And, naturally, that meant you’d gotten to know his twin sister, Wanda, very well too.

She’s… different. A chaotic storm wrapped up in a quiet demeanor. She’s a puzzle you’d gladly spend a lifetime trying to solve. However, lately, solving her has been like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. She’s been avoiding you, and not in a mild, subtle way. This is avoidance of Olympic proportions. If you’re in the kitchen, she’s suddenly urgently needed in the library. If you’re on the training floor, she’s busy meditating on the roof. It’s as if you’ve suddenly become radioactive.

"So," Pietro says, breaking your thoughts. “What’s the workout for today, oh, mighty planner of our pain?”

You shrug, pulling out the tablet and swiping the screen. "I was thinking a bit of hand-to-hand, maybe some sparring. What do you think?"

"As long as it involves me winning spectacularly, I'm in." He flashes that trademark grin, and you can’t help but chuckle.

You spend the next hour getting pummeled by Pietro’s ridiculous speed and impressive strength - but you also get some good hits yourself. You know, he may be fast, but you have been learning from the best. As you’re catching your breath, you hear a door open behind you, and your heart skips a beat, just like it always does.

It's not Wanda. It's Kate Bishop. She's leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a look on her face that spells trouble. You like Kate, she’s funny, quick-witted, and a total bad-ass with a bow and arrow. She's also Wanda's best friend, which is why you’re sure she’s about to deliver some cryptic message or distraction.

"Hey, guys," she says, her tone a little too casual. "Wanda needs my help… with… uh… quantum physics equations."

Pietro raises an eyebrow. "Since when does Wanda dabble in theoretical physics?"

Kate's face is a picture of forced nonchalance. "Since… now? Yeah, she’s on a real quantum kick. Anyway, gotta go, quantum stuff, you know." With that, she’s gone, leaving you and Pietro alone again.

“Quantum physics,” Pietro says, shaking his head and chuckling. “That girl is so awkward. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s trying really hard to avoid you.”

You almost choke on your water. “Avoid me? Why would she avoid me?” you ask, trying to sound casual, as if you hadn’t noticed.

Pietro shrugs. “Beats me. Maybe you smell.” He wrinkles his nose dramatically, making you laugh.

The next few weeks continue in the same vein. Every time you try to talk to Wanda, she vanishes as if she's a figment of your imagination. You find yourself increasingly frustrated, not just because you have no idea what you did to annoy her, but because you really miss her company.

One afternoon, you’re attempting to meditate in the common room, hoping to find some inner peace when you hear footsteps. You open one eye to see Kate Bishop walking towards you, a determined set to her jaw. You see the mischievous glint in her eye, and brace yourself.

"Okay, look," she says, grabbing the cushion next to you and sinking down. "This whole thing has gone on long enough."

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if she’s finally about to let you in on what’s going on.

"Wanda likes you," Kate blurts out, her cheeks turning a shade of pink.

Your eyes widen. "Likes me? Like… as in a friend?" you ask, even if you already know the answer.

Kate groans. "No, as in, she’s completely head-over-heels smitten with you. She’s been losing her mind about it ever since you saved her from that rampaging Ultron drone last year."

Your stomach does a backflip. “Wait, what? But why is she avoiding me?”

Kate sighs. "Because she's Wanda. She’s not good at this whole 'feeling' thing, especially when they're feelings of the lovesick variety. She's terrified you’ll find out, and then laugh at her or reject her, or whatever other dramatic scenario she's conjured up in her head. So, she decided the best course of action is to run away."

You shake your head, a smile playing at the corner of your mouth. "That's... incredibly Wanda." Something warm blooms in your chest, partly from the revelation, partly from the fact that, if Kate is to be believed, your feelings for Wanda are reciprocated.

"So, what now?" you ask.

Kate grins, that mischievous glint back in her eyes. "Now, we set a trap. She has got to face this. And maybe… she could actually go on a date or something? She’s been miserable, poor thing.”

The "trap," as it turns out, involves a suspiciously placed book in the library, a strategically timed fire alarm, and a very confused Pietro. You find yourself facing Wanda by the garden, which, somehow, you’d been guided to under the pretext of a "minor training accident".

She's standing by the rose bushes, her back to you, her shoulders tense.

"Wanda," you say softly, approaching cautiously.

She turns, and her eyes are wide. She’s beautiful. As always. And your heart is about to burst.

"I… I…" she stammers, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

You take a deep breath. "I know," you say.

Her brows furrow. "You know?"

"Yeah, Kate told me. About… everything."

Her cheeks flush a vibrant red. "Oh, no. I'm so sorry. I’m so embarrassing. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just… you're so… I…" She trails off, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You step closer, reaching out and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Wanda," you say, your voice a low hum. "I'm not uncomfortable, I'm… I’m glad. Because… I feel the same way. I’ve been… completely, overwhelmingly, kind of in love with you since forever.”

Her eyes widen further, and a small, hopeful smile flickers across her face. "You… you do?"

You smile, nodding. “I do.”

The silence stretches between you, charged with an energy you both feel. You lean closer, and she does too, and then you’re kissing. Her lips are soft and sweet, and the world disappears around you. It’s perfect, and magical, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

As you pull away for air, you hear a snort behind you. You turn to see Pietro standing nearby, his face a mask of exaggerated disgust.

"Oh, for the love of all that is holy," he groans, putting a hand over his eyes. "I’m going to be sick. My best friend and my sister? It's disturbing, revolting, and completely not acceptable. I need to go drink something and forget I ever saw this.” He is clearly overdoing it, and you end up bursting into laughter, which is soon joined by Wanda's giggle.

You look at her, and your heart flips over again. This is it. This awkward, beautiful mess of a romance. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[kroosluvr]

january 9

ok i have a lot of thoughts. erm. buckle in

im sure everyone agrees that the joker vs sumire fight on jan 9 was so nothing..... so i wanted to raise the stakes. UP THE ANTE.

so to make it more intense life-and-death situation, in my head sumire basically tosses her own life away at joker in a "one of us is gonna die here and honestly? i dont care which way the cards fall"

"either i die here -> sumire doesn't have to live anymore. or, i kill you and i get my true reality (and sumire doesn't have to live anymore.)"

joker notices this immediately, by the wild way she fights all of a sudden. however crow doesn't notice bc i think he sees sumire as inexperienced and just assumes joker will win by default (like he does in canon. nothingburger fight.....)

but joker is too damn cautious, knowing one wrong move might result in her demise or his downfall...

i think here he only deflects with his melee, doesn't even try to summon his personas. crow notices smth is off and then sumire manages to get a deep hit on him w cendrillon+her sword

which activates crow bc. at this point he dgaf abt sumire BUT he doesnt want joker to die.

(ironically, crow's selfish goal to Help Joker helps sumire bc she then realizes that she's being irrational/hurting one of her dear friends (akira).. she didnt really think abt how this choice of the ideal reality would affect him (or goro)

also i always thought crow just walking away frm that fight was kinda lame so. just the idea of akira Faltering... about to let himself get killed.. in a way Giving In to the Wrong Choice of the ideal reality.... yeah that'd piss him off BIG time

(though, if i framed it in the way this comic does, crow walking away at first to let joker handle it is so real. bc hes like i cant be wasting time on this, just let akira handle her and then we can go back to figuring out how to conquer this palace and maruki etc. Sumire is small potatoes rn)

also akira being too compassionate/sensitive abt her emotions to fight her directly bc he can see how shes barely hanging on by a thread.. ough ough ough.....

but also sumire being so angry and desperate that she dgaf if she hurts akira rn. OHHHH OUCHHH OWIE

also this is the scene i showed in the bg of this comic! (sorry twitter link im lazy

"she'd rather die at our hands than her own" implying if she lost here and didnt die, she'd kill herself upon returning to the True reality bc she cant live with "sumire" anymore. okkk.. yeah

"This is the only way. I know you know that too, Joker" -> the only way back to our reality as we know it. we can't afford to be soft if it'll kill us. if this is truly sumire's choice, then we HAVE to fight. we can't back down here.

(and, also, this is the only way to show sumire that we're serious: we won't let her live as kasumi, she has to face herself, she can't run off to some dystopian ideal reality - this is the only way!!!!!)

Dying's easy. we already know sumire would die to become kasumi, to become a better gymnast, to not be sumire anymore. But would she kill for it. Who would she kill for it

[tuiccim]

Pickup Game

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3509

Warnings: Flirt, Fluff, Smut, Oral (f rec)

Summary: An after party game of pickup lines leads to a confession and an even more fun night in bed.

A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.

The after party of just Avengers and close friends was in full swing. Drinks and laughter flowed as you enjoyed each other's company.

“Okay, okay. Your best pick up line! Let’s have ‘em!” Clint yells over the most recent spate of laughter. “Tony, whatcha got?”

Tony smirks before opening his arms wide and declaring, “I am Iron Man.” He grins as everyone heckles him, “What can I say? Works every time!”

“Really?” Pepper raises an eyebrow.

“Used to! Used to work,” Tony backpedals. “Rhodey, save me here, buddy!”

“Okay, okay,” Rhodey laughs as he glances at Natasha who is standing by him and tugs at his sleeve, “Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Boyfriend material.”

"Nice," Natasha scoffs.

"Let's hear yours then!" Rhodey huffs.

"Ever had a White Russian?" Natasha asks, holding up her glass.

"No," Rhodey looks at her suspiciously.

"Want to?" She says seductively. 

Rhodey chuckles, "Smooth. Okay, Clint, what've you got?"

Clint bats his eyes at Sam, standing next to him and says, "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes, big boy?"

Sam laughs while rolling his eyes, "So, what you guys are telling me is that you have no game?"

"Give us your best then, Rocket Man!"

"You know, dating is a numbers game. So, can I have yours?" Sam grins.

"Boooring!" Tony heckles. "Steve, what's your favorite?"

"I've never been good with pickup lines. That was more Bucky's territory," Steve tilts his head towards the dark-haired super soldier. 

"Thanks," Bucky says sarcastically,  "I'm a little out of practice with pickup lines."

"Aw, come on, Buck, give it a shot," you pipe in and then try to hide your embarrassment at having drawn attention to yourself. Even though you hoped he'd test out the line on you. Your attraction to the man was undeniable and you'd harbored a crush since you'd met him. You leaned back against the wall with your hands behind your back and raised your eyebrow in challenge to him. 

Bucky's face betrayed a moment of discomfiture before he straightened his shoulders and stepped over to you. He placed a hand on the wall above you, leaning in with a small smirk, "If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

You could hear some chuckling and comments in the background but it faded as you stared up at Bucky. God, he was fine as hell and you were doing your best to control your erratic heartbeat.

"Sorry, doll, that wasn't very good, huh?"

You don't know where the gall came from but, before you realized what you were doing the words slipped out of your mouth. "Don't worry, Buck, I'm not big on being picked up. I prefer to be pinned down." Your eyebrow raised as you said the words and you smirked, bringing your glass to your lips for a sip. 

Bucky's jaw drops as the room erupts in laughter and cheers. Tony crows, "She wins!" 

Clint laughs heartily as he agrees, "Hands down!"

After a few moments, you reach up and close Bucky's mouth, “And to answer your questions, yes, I would,” you whisper with a wink as you walk away. 

A little while later, the party was winding down and you decided it was time to slip out. Your nerves were getting the better of you. Thoughts ran amuck as to what Bucky thought of you and whether the attraction you felt was reciprocated. He’d been in a conversation with some of the guys since the game ended and you hoped to catch a glimpse, some sign of mutual interest but now you were walking away with your tail between your legs. God, what must he think of you and that brazen comment. 

Hitting the button for the elevator, you berate yourself for thinking you ever stood a chance. Your head snapped up when a deep voice whispered, “You know, you have a beautiful body.”

Grinning, you turn and press yourself against Bucky, “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Bucky smirks at you. Without warning, he stoops and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. 

“Bucky!” You squeal as the elevator doors open. 

He carries you in, hitting the button for his floor with his elbow, “Don’t worry, doll. I know you aren’t big on being picked up but I’ll have you pinned down soon enough.”

You raise your eyebrow at him, “It was just a line, Buck.”

His confidence falters for a second, “Oh, uh-”

“Don’t worry, baby. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you smirk.

“Oh, you’re naughty,” Bucky laughs.

“I prefer ‘playful’.”

“I like playful,” Bucky adjusts you in his arms so that your back is pressed to the elevator wall and your faces are at the same level. 

You use the opportunity to wrap your legs around him and look at him expectantly. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks. 

You’re surprised by the request after the way he’d handled you. It warmed your heart that he would seek your consent and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, “Please.”

The kiss is intense. He presses into you as his lips move over yours. His tongue slips out seeking entry and you oblige him immediately. You separate only when the elevator dings your arrival. He lowers your legs gently and takes your hand. Leading you down the hallway, Bucky says awkwardly, “I, uh, was kind of surprised when you, um, said that tonight.” 

“What? The pickup line?” You tilt your head as you look at him. 

“No, the… thing you whispered afterwards.”

“Really, why?” You thought your feelings for him were fairly obvious. 

“I mean, I’m a mess and you’re so put together. I just,” he shrugs, “kinda thought you were out of my league, ya know.”

“No,” you laugh, “no, I don’t know. I have never thought of myself as put together.  Thanks for that but I’m kind of a mess, too. I think we all are in our own ways.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Bucky smiles as he opens his door and guides you in. 

You suddenly feel awkward as you walk inside the room. The passion displayed in the elevator had mellowed as you walked and talked together into a camaraderie. You were unsure how to get back to it. 

“Would you like a drink?” Bucky asks as he comes up behind you, his lips brushing your neck and his hands caress your hips. You jump a little at the unexpected contact. 

“I think I had enough earlier,” you breathe, heat pooling between your legs. 

“I haven’t had enough, I haven’t had nearly enough. I need another taste,” Bucky says as he turns you around to capture your mouth. You oblige him willingly, snaking your arms around his neck as you arch into him. 

Abandoning any reserve you would normally have, you reach for the buttons on his shirt. He reaches for the zipper of your dress but his hands still. You pull back to look at him curiously. 

“You’re sure?” He asks. 

You smile and pull the tails of his shirt from his pants while saying, “Barnes, if you don’t get me naked and pin me down, I will never forgive you.”

He pulls you against him forcefully, grinning as he pulls down your zipper, “We can’t have that.”

Clothes are discarded quickly as he backs you to the bed. Bucky slides his hands into your panties to grab your ass and you gasp when he picks you up. Laying you on the bed he pulls your panties off. You expect him to follow you down but instead his eyes take a slow path up your body. Propping yourself on your elbows, you resist the urge to cover yourself but tremble as he studies you. He smiles, grabs a discarded t-shirt, and rips the bottom half from it. Your eyebrow raises at the display. 

“And what do you plan to do with that, Sgt. Barnes?”

His smirk as he advances has butterflies dancing in your stomach. He grabs your arms, twists the shirt around your wrists, and hauls them above your head as he pins you to the bed. 

“Happy now?” Bucky rumbles as he kisses your neck. 

“Almost. I’d like these off,” you use your legs to pull at the underwear he still has on, “and an orgasm or two would be nice.” 

Holy shit, you don’t know where this confidence had come from. Maybe because Bucky wanted you. Maybe because of whatever drink that was that Natasha had handed you. Whatever it was, you were enjoying the results. 

“Only one or two?” Bucky teases as he nibbles along your clavicle. “I bet I can do better.”

“Is that so?” You gasp as his tongue plays over your nipple. 

“Mm-hm,” he murmurs before plucking at your other nipple with his lips. He lets go of your hands that are still bound above your head as he slides his tongue down your stomach. Your breathing picks up when he reaches your navel and proceeds to kiss his way down to your mound. Your eyes screw shut to take in every sensation. When he spreads your legs further apart, you feel the contrast of warm skin and cool metal on your thighs. Anticipation builds, making you lick your lips and you can’t help the whimper that slips out when you feel a gentle finger trace your slit. 

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers reverently before his tongue follows the same path as his fingers. His metal arm curls around your leg and he rests his hand on your abdomen, effectively holding you in place as he explores your folds. It was almost unbearable, the way his tongue slid around to touch everywhere but where you needed him most. 

“Bucky, please,” you whimper desperately. 

His chuckle rumbles against your core. His fingers replace his tongue, taking the same lazy path. “Poor baby, am I not giving you what you want?” His finger tip barely grazes your clit and you whine. “Are you feeling needy?” His finger circles your entrance and his tongue gives the softest lick to your clit. Your hips flex, desperate for more friction, making Bucky press his metal hand more firmly against you. “I like seeing you like this.” Another small lick to your clit. “Wet, under me, and so desperate.”

“Bucky, pleeeaase,” you can’t keep the whine out of your voice. You don’t think you’ve ever been quite so turned on and the teasing was making you a writhing mess. 

“Say please again and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“Please!” the word rushes out of you. His fingers and tongue driving you mad. 

His tongue moves slowly, lapping back and forth over your clit while his finger still teases. It’s maddeningly delicious but not enough at the same time. He holds your hips hostage, not allowing you to move. You mewl with each motion of his tongue over you, your body on fire and screaming for just a little more until your mouth opens to plead, “More! Oh, god, I need more!”

Bucky lifts his head, a devilish smirk across his mouth, “Oh, precious, you didn’t say please. We’ll have to start all over again now.” His finger goes back to tracing the slow path over your cunt. 

“What?” You gape at him as he plays with you. 

“You didn’t say please, doll,” Bucky repeats, allowing his lips to brush over your thigh, far too far from where you wanted his lips. 

You felt like crying. You felt like screaming. You felt like ripping off your bindings, flipping him over, and riding his face until you came all over it. Unfortunately, you knew you’d never overpower him and, if you were really honest with yourself, this little game he was playing was hot as fuck. You’d never been treated like this and he had made you a gushing mess. 

“I’m sorry, Bucky. Please, please, I need more,” you whimper at him with doe eyes, hoping for a reprieve. 

“You need more, precious?” Bucky’s finger grazes lightly over your clit. 

“Oh, please!” Your hips try to buck against his hold but he merely chuckles as he holds you in place easily. His finger circles your clit slowly as his tongue takes a meandering path up your thigh.

“Please, baby, please!” You whine as he makes his way back to your apex and are rewarded when his tongue takes the place of his finger. His motions are still slow and deliberate while his finger brushes over your entrance again causing you to clench around nothing. Desperate for more, you start to say the one word you know will earn you some relief, “Plea- OOH!!!-” In the middle of your plea, his finger had entered you and he sucked on your clit suddenly. “Yes, fuck, please, please, please…,” the word became your only mantra as he fucked you with fingers and tongue. Your legs began to shake and then he curled his fingers into that perfect spot, making bright white flash before your eyes and a scream rend from your throat. You came hard, your muscles clenching. Your legs try to close but Bucky’s broad shoulders between them keep you open to him. He laps at you through the aftershocks.  

“Fuck, I could stay here for days,” Bucky groaned. His fingers curled slowly as his tongue made gentle licks.

You gasped and moaned, words and thoughts hard to come by in the haze. “Bucky,” you finally manage to whisper his name as if it was the sweetest endearment. 

“I know. I know, doll. Don’t worry, I’m not done yet,” his mouth nuzzled you as he said the words. Flicks of his tongue came closer together, “I need another one from you, precious. Gotta hear you make those sweet sounds again.” 

“Bucky, oh, fuck. Please, it’s so good,” you gasp the words out, nearly overstimulated and yet still desperate for his touch. 

“You know how hard I am hearing you say that?” Bucky groans against your clit, vibrations coursing through you. His tongue begins moving faster, making swift circles. 

“I… I- fuck. Please,” you stutter, unable to form sentences anymore. Bucky’s fingers curl more firmly into that spongy spot inside and your back tries to arch despite his arm holding you firmly in place. He was moving his tongue as if his sole purpose in life was to make you fly into a million pieces. You were a whimpering mess, unable to form words and so close to the edge again. When he growled against you again, your eyes flew open and you looked down your body at him. His cobalt eyes met yours and the intensity in his gaze was a hit straight to your core. Your muscles began to spasm as you watched him, so focused on your pleasure and aroused by your responses. Your scream is stifled by the overwhelming intensity of the orgasm that rips through you. Your hands flex around the bonds that hold them in place. 

As Bucky kisses his way back up your body, you manage to come back to yourself… mostly. You wanted to touch him, to hold him against you, to run your hands over his body. You attempt to untwist your hands from the scrap of t-shirt but the deceptively loose looking knot doesn’t budge. 

“Bucky, baby, please can you untie me?” You whisper. 

Bucky had paused at your breasts to show them some attention. They were deserving of the most reverent of worship in his mind. His tongue traced your nipple before he spoke, “Why? I’ve got you tied up, pinned down, and perfectly on display for me.”

“I want to touch you, please,” you gasp as he takes your nipple into his mouth to gently suckle. 

“Hmm,” he muses as he makes his way to your other breast, giving it the same loving attention. “If you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Anything,” you sigh, enjoying each motion of his mouth over you. You feel the rumble of his chuckle at your quick response.

“How long?” He asks. 

You slide your leg to brush against his cock, still covered by his boxer briefs before saying cheekily, “I didn’t bring a measuring tape with me but I’d say more than adequate.”

Bucky lets out a small moan at the contact and then chuckles, “Not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, baby?”

“How long did I waste not having you in my bed?” Bucky asks as he brings his face level to yours. 

“You mean, how long have I wanted you or are you asking how long I’ve liked you?”

“Both,” Bucky narrows his eyes but gives you a small smile. 

“If I’m really honest, I’ve always wanted you. You’re kinda hot, ya know?” You smile and bite your lip. 

“And the other?” Bucky asks, flexing his hips into you so that his hard cock nestles between your legs. 

You gasp and arch into him, “About five minutes after meeting you.”

“Seriously, when?” Bucky scoffs gently. 

“You were so sweet and a little self-conscious and I just adored you,” you nudged his nose with yours, encouraging his lips to find yours. He kissed you, long and lovingly, while he released your hands. You both seemed to settle into each other as your hands explored, finally free. The heat began to return, hips flexing into each other, craving the friction, but before things got too carried away, you cradled Bucky’s face in your hands and forced him to look at you. “How long?” You repeat his question. 

“Always,” he whispers passionately before taking your mouth again. 

It was all you needed. You reached for the band of his underwear, wanting nothing left to separate you. You managed to get the offending garment off of him and circle his cock with your hand. He takes a sharp intake of breath and then groans. Definitely more than adequate, you think to yourself. 

“Doll,” Bucky presses his forehead to yours, “I need to be inside you.”

“Oh, precious, you didn’t say please,” you tease him, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick. Your core aches to be filled but you can’t resist the chance to tease him just a bit as he’d done to you earlier. 

Bucky chuckles, “Knew I should have kept you tied up.”

You rub the head of his cock over your clit and whimper loudly in his ear, “I still haven’t heard it.” You pump him in your hand but still won’t let him slip into you despite his attempts to maneuver his hips. 

“Fuuuuck, please!” Buchy growls, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

You waste no time lining him up with your entrance. He presses in a few agonizingly slow inches before grabbing your hands and hauling them above your head. He stares into you as he growls out, “I should pin you down,” he sinks in a little more, “and tease you mercilessly.” His hips slide slowly forward until he’s fully seated inside of you. “But I don’t think either of us would survive it right now.” He slides out a couple of inches before snapping his hips forward, taking your breath away. He sets a slow but driving pace, staring into your eyes as he fucks you. His hands slide down to hold your face and he kisses you fiercely, his thrusts coming a little faster as he does. You wrap your arms around his chest, pulling him to you, sliding one down to grab onto his ass. You encourage every movement, the drag of his cock tipping you closer to the precipice. 

He buries his face in your neck, whispering praises and encouragement, “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, doll.”

“Bucky, fuck, I’m gonna-,” your breath catches as you fall over the edge. Your body sings as you come, trembling and moaning with each wave. 

“You’re so fucking pretty, doll. So fucking pretty,” Bucky grits out as you clench around him. It only takes a few more sloppy thrusts for him to lose himself inside you. His hips flex with each aftershock that hits him. 

Rolling to his side, Bucky pulls you against him. You nuzzle his chest as you both catch your breath. Despite the lethargy settling over both of you, Bucky's hands wander continuously over your skin and you bask in the attention. 

“You'll stay, won't you?” Bucky whispers.

“I don't know,” you say sleepily, “Do you hog the covers?”

Bucky chuckles, “I'm pretty good at sharing.”

“Mmm, then I'll stay,” you yawn and a little giggle escapes you.

“What?” Bucky smiles at your mirth-filled eyes. 

“That's the first time a cheesy pick up line ever worked on me,” you giggle again.

“I'll have to come up with some others. See if I get lucky again,” Bucky laughs as he kisses the top of your head.

“I'd say your chances are pretty good,” you smirk at him, “But maybe next time, I should be the one to pin you down.”

“Only if you say please, doll.”

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[grandline-fics]

All That I Need

DESCRIPTION: When your presence is all they crave

WARNINGS: some suggestive themes, some jealousy in Shanks’ mostly fluff overall

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Zoro, Shanks| Sabo,Sanji

WORD COUNT: 1,413

A/N: Finally starting to feel better so I decided to finish this. Mostly indulgent and I hope you all enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

—————

LUFFY

Long before you and Luffy even got together you knew he was solely motivated by his wants, childishly so. He saw a platter of food meant for everyone? He’d eat it all before anyone else got a chance to grab a fork. Someone tried to tell him he was too weak to beat them? Luffy had the first punch thrown before they could blink. If he wanted something he was vocal about it. It was a simplistic way to be and at least you and the crew always knew how to keep your Captain happy. There was never any guessing, even when he was unconscious.

Of course once again he’d pushed his body to the limit to win a fight and now he was dealing with the consequences. Chopper had tended to his wounds and you approached his now sleeping form with a tired but proud smile. You were used to this but still you couldn’t help but worry about the strain his body was being put through time and time again. “You know once he wakes, he’ll be shouting for meat and jumping around like nothing happened.” Nami muttered like a disapproving mother as she left and you let out a small laugh. 

Now close enough you lightly pushed the hair from his face, smiling to see that the mention of meat had made him grin in his sleep. Your worries all but left you now to see that. As long as he could smile, you would find the strength to do so too. You pulled your hand back and turned to leave the room, letting your significant -but reckless- other rest. Except you stopped when his hand clasped around your wrist. You turned in shock, he was awake already?

Your eyes widened to see that he was still unconscious. You were about to call for Chopper but all that could escape your lips was a gasp of surprise when you were abruptly pulled down onto the bed. Through muscle memory or pure instinct, Luffy lay with his arms around you the perfect balance of protectiveness and possessiveness in his hold. It was like this every night you both slept in your shared quarters. When his head lay against your chest while mumbling your name in in his sleep you smiled warmly, overcome with a sense of belonging and joy to know that you will always be something Luffy needed.

ZORO

Zoro was frustrated; his form was too tense, nothing was landing the way he wanted, the way he needed to. If he was to get stronger, to become the best this wasn’t good enough. If he was in an actual fight and not training he’d be losing. Angrily he swore and let his weights fall loudly onto the floor. Storming out of the Crow’s Nest he sought the one thing he desperately needed to make this frustration and tension go away. Listening intently he heard your familiar laugh sound from the kitchen and dining room. Striding in he saw you listening to Usopp telling a story of the crew’s adventures from the early days before you’d joined. 

Just seeing you help Usopp cleaning up was enough to help his mood but still it wasn’t enough. He needed more, he craved you. Your warmth, your very essence and it was now he realised why he had felt so off. He hadn’t gotten enough of you today. With the watch rotations from the night before, usual morning chores, and then when Robin and Chopper had called you away to help them with their nonsense it had disrupted your usual time together completely. Now that he knew what his issue was, the solution was so simple. Wasting no more time he walked across the room with you in his sights. 

You’d blinked in confusion when Usopp trailed off in the middle of his story and looked behind your shoulder. Slowly you turned and smiled at Zoro, believing he’d only stop his training midway through for food or an equally important emergency. “Hey, is everything okay? Do you need something?” 

“Yeah. You.” Zoro stated firmly when he closed the distance. Before you could react, your boyfriend had his hands secured to your waist and pulled you forward so his lips could find yours, coaxing you into an increasingly hungry, intense kiss. Zoro savoured every moment of it, taking in every second and reclaiming the time he’d lost out on just being with you. As dizzying and as powerful the kiss was you could feel the shift in your lover; as subtle as it was you could tell he had been holding onto something that was making him more tense than normal. If this was what fixed it you weren’t complaining. When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, Zoro let out a huff of relief. 

Now energised and focussed, Zoro threw you over his shoulder allowing himself a smirk when you yelped at the sudden action. Knowing it was pointless to even pretend like you wanted to struggle out of his hold you enjoyed the luxury of Zoro carrying you out of the kitchen and up to the Crows Nest so he could finish his training. Whether you remained on his shoulder or just sitting to the side and watching it didn’t matter to Zoro. As long as he had you in his vicinity, one of his main motivations for getting stronger that was all that mattered.  

SHANKS

“If you think you’re looking cool and brooding over here, I hate to break it to you Captain you look more like you’re sulking.” Beckman laughed from behind his mug of ale. Shank clicked his tongue in annoyance and took a slow sip of his own drink, watching as you talked and laughed with the new recruits of the crew. You’d all decided to stay the night at one of the islands under your protection. The first time for the new recruits to get to terms with how the Red Haired Pirates did things beyond just sailing the seas. It also gave everyone a chance to unwind and enjoy some shore leave. 

It was only natural that the new crew members would gravitate towards you, after all you were the go-between for them. You were the one they asked for help with things to avoid disappointing or angering their intimidating but inspiring Captain. They were still finding their place in the crew with the longer standing members and you’d promised them all it would take time and that they’d all been welcomed onto the crew for a reason. Still they all felt the most comfortable with you so far. Unfortunately your lover and Captain didn’t want to see it that way. He was jealous of them claiming your attention all the time and he missed you even though you hadn’t gone anywhere.   

Shanks’ eyes met yours when you looked over to check on him. He tried to keep his expression level but clearly it wasn’t convincing enough because you swiftly but politely excused yourself from the group you were with and stepped up to where your Captain was sitting. Slowly you turned your head towards Beckman and jerked your head. A silent request for him to leave you both alone. As much as he’d love to stay and watch you expertly handle the Pirate Emperor he knew to give you both some sort of privacy and left. 

With a tired sigh you slid into Shanks’ lap, throwing your legs over his and tucking your head under his chin. Wordlessly you took his mug of ale from his hand and coaxed his arm around your waist. “This is what you wanted right? Me all to yourself.” You asked with a smile before taking a sip of the ale. You knew Shanks better than most, he wouldn’t offer an explanation for his mood unless you started the conversation. His arm tightened around you and he chuckled softly. 

“Can you blame me? Your very presence is utterly intoxicating to me. Why would I want to share my treasure with anyone?” Shanks asked and you rolled your eyes at his words with a small smile. You did want to remind him that he had nothing to be jealous about, everyone knew you were an item but still it was cute to have him still be like this after so many years together. “I mean it you know. I can’t get enough of you, need you more than breathing.”

[jellieland]

"You know," says Jimmy smugly, "I think second is the best spot to die in, actually."

"Really," says Mumbo, exasperated.

"Yes, I don't know what you're so happy about," says Lizzie. "You barely lasted ten minutes more than me."

"Doesn't matter. Not out first, baby!" He crows, triumphant, to the neverending void.

"And you killed me last session!"

"...Yes, I, uh, I'm sorry about that one. Sort of. Mostly," he says, momentarily cowed.

"I can't believe you people," says Lizzie. "They didn't have a funeral for me. I died first, and you got one, and they didn't even have a funeral for me!" She sounds indignant, but a look of genuine hurt crosses her face for a moment.

"I'm going to be honest, Lizzie," says Mumbo awkwardly. "I think they had bigger things to worry about. I- I think Joel was quite sad about it, though. If that helps?"

"I suppose it's better than nothing." She crosses her arms.

"But- wait, hang on. Jimmy?" says Mumbo abruptly. "Did you say you wanted to go out second?"

"No!" Jimmy protests. "I just think if you have to go out, then second is sort of ideal, really, if you think about it!"

"No!" says Mumbo, indignant. "No, surely third is better, actually! And to extend that logic, fourth would be better as well, and fifth, and- well, you get the idea. Anyway, my point is that I did better than both of you!"

"Hey, don't bring me into this!" says Lizzie.

"Anyway, you're wrong," says Jimmy, back to being smug again.

There is a short silence.

"You, uh. You gonna elaborate on that one, buddy?" asks Mumbo.

"Well," says Jimmy. "Obviously going out first is terrible. Would not recommend. I don't know why anyone would do it, honestly, I know I would never-"

"You're going on my list," says Lizzie, cheerfully.

"Wait wait wait, no, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I really am!"

"Hmm." Lizzie narrows her eyes. "Acceptable. For now."

A few moments pass.

"You may continue," she says.

"Right," says Jimmy. "What was I saying?"

"You were being wrong about how the ranking in this game works," offers Mumbo.

"No I wasn't!" says Jimmy. "Just, let me explain. Now, you obviously don't want to go out first, sorry Lizzie, but it's true."

"I will concede that point," says Lizzie. "It wasn't great."

"But—have you seen how they get?"

"How they... get?" Mumbo frowns. "What do you mean?"

"The people who don't die."

"I- now, I don't know if you remember this," says Mumbo, "But third is a new record for me, so I really don't know how you expect me to know that."

"Anyway," interjects Lizzie, "Mumbo and I have only done this once before. I mean, I guess people started losing it a bit once you two died, but it wasn't that much different to how it already had been. Although I wasn't around for that long at that point."

"Yes, but, it-" Jimmy frowns. "I haven't seen much of it either. But there's something- I don't know how to explain what I mean. Maybe you haven't noticed, but there's stuff with Grian, Scott, Pearl."

He stops, sighs. Looks at the ground.

"Martyn's going to be alone, now," he says.

"Well," says Lizzie, a little acerbic. "You don't have to have people die for that to happen, you know."

Jimmy gives her a look that is a combination of sheepishness and genuine regret. "Ah. Yeah. I guess not."

"So you're right," says Lizzie. "I don't know what you mean."

"...I did feel bad," says Jimmy, quietly.

"You... did?" asks Lizzie. "What about?"

Jimmy looks at her, then off to the side. "...When I killed you."

"Oh."

"I really didn't mean to," he says. "I felt bad. It wasn't satisfying. It was just... a person I cared about. Dead. Because of me. Because I acted without thinking, because I wasn't paying attention."

"...Oh." says Lizzie, softly.

"And that was when I knew you would come back," says Jimmy.

Lizzie and Mumbo exchange glances, unsure.

"I'm good with second," says Jimmy. "I think it's the closest you can get to winning, actually."

They stand there, silent, for some time.

"Well," says Mumbo eventually. "I still feel like third is a bit better, though."

"Mumbo!" cries Jimmy.

"Mumbo, come on, we were just having a moment!" says Lizzie.

"Yes well, look, I really need this, guys," says Mumbo, shifting his weight from side to side. "I don't know if you know this, but I've had a really bad day. It was just terrible!"

"I think we've all had pretty bad days, Mumbo!" says Lizzie, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we all died!"

"Yes, I- I had picked up on that, actually."

"I don't know," says Jimmy. "My day was great!"

They keep talking, and bickering, and the emptiness stretches off into the distance.

It's nice, not to have to be there alone.