#dead hell is empty and all the comics are here

[fandom-lover2]

So This Is Christmas

Miko brings Christmas to the base

Word Count - 2395

AN: Merry Christmas!

“Miko, what is that?”

I glanced over lazily to the Groundbridge. Bulkhead and his charge had just stepped through the swirling green marvel of science, and said Cybertronian was, for reasons I was sure we were about to discover, holding a tree.

It was comically small, held by two of his digits like a bushy toothpick. The pine, it appeared to be, still had its roots attached and was losing soil with every step the green titan took.

“A Christmas tree, duh.” Miko answered Jack, like he was an idiot.

To be fair, he often times was. But I also wouldn’t have guessed that either so.

I pulled the lolly pop from my mouth. “Why the hell did you bring it here?”

“Dudes!” Miko exclaimed, spreading her hands out and looking at us like we were the bane of her existence. “It’s Christmas! We have to get into the spirit.”

“Halloween was yesterday.” Raf answered, not looking away from the TV, he and Bumblebee deep into a new video game he got for his birthday.

“And we don’t have anything to decorate it with.” Jack added.

“It’ll be dead by Christmas.” I ended, putting the candy ball back in my mouth.

“You all suck.” Despite that, she still continued up the stairs towards us.

Bulkhead was still holding the tree, looking extremely uncomfortable as he tried to not jostle it too much.

“You can put it down Bulk.” I gestured to a spot in the corner of the base, getting comfortable in my seat again.

“What is wrong with you?” Miko started, marching over to us humans. “It’s gonna be Christmas soon. We gotta get this place ready.”

“For who, Santa?” Jack teased, and Raf snickered. I rolled my eyes at them, looking down at my book again.

“Miko, Raf is flying to Mexico for Christmas, Jack’s mom has the day off and I’m going to Texas. No one is gonna be here to celebrate with-”

I cut myself off, the realization slapping me in the face.

Miko was alone for Christmas. Yes, sure she had her host parents, but they weren’t family. I didn’t even know if they celebrated the holiday. They definitely wouldn’t let her pull a 10 foot tree from Canada and stick it in the living room.

I didn’t know what the Japanese traditions for Christmas were, but I understood the seasonal depression that came with this time of year, especially when you were away from family for it. Even in sunny Nevada, it had nothing to do with the weather bringing down people’s moods.

We were her family. And Primus help us all, we would support her.

Snapping my book shut, I stood up with an unnecessary grunt and placed my half sucked lolly pop back in it’s wrapper. “Alright Meeks, you’re right. It’s gonna be Christmas soon and this place is huge. We gotta get started somewhere.”

I wouldn’t trade anything for the memory of how her eyes lit up.

“Why are you on board?” Jack questioned, side eyeing me as if I’d grown a second head.

“Because I’m not The Grinch.” I shot back, beginning down the stairs behind Miko.

It took about an hour and back-up from Bulkhead but we finally had the tree somewhat standing off to the side of the base, its roots messily sawn off and balancing inside an old empty energon cube, desert sand keeping it lopsidedly upright.

“We’ll have to get some ornaments.” I said, taking a couple steps back to size up the challenge.

“Can I make some?” Miko pleaded.

I shrugged, “Do whatever you want.”

“I don’t think I have enough at my house to cover the whole tree.” Jack chimed in, coming to stand beside us.

“Nice of you to join us after the work is done.” I mumbled to him. “I can bring some from my place to. We don’t decorate anymore.”

“I’m sure I can find some too.” Raf spoke up, having walked with Jack.

The four of us stood, admiring our bare tree when Optimus and Ratchet walked into the main area, both deep in conversation as they read over the data pads in their servos.

“What is that?” Ratchet quired, stopping abruptly.

“Christmas tree.” Raf answered.

“Naked Christmas tree.” Jack added.

“And why is in here?” The medic asked, the disgust dripping from his tone. I could imagine the lecture incoming.

“These humans have no respect, turning this base into a junk yard with all their scrap and human nonsense!”

Had to hand it to Optimus, he did a pretty good job of handling the grumpy bot most days. But once this tree started losing pine needles everywhere, not even he would be able to get Ratchet to chill.

“We’re trying to get into the Christmas spirit.” I supplied.

“What’s Christmas?” Arcee asked, having just emerged from the tunnels as well, having been on inventory duty this morning.

“An old fat guy dressed in red breaks into your house and leaves presents or coal, depending on if you’ve been good or bad.” Jack helpfully explained.

The look of horror on each bot’s face was pure comedy and I was sad I didn’t been filming it.

“And that tree allows him to break in?” Bulkhead questioned.

“Kinda. It tells him we want him to.” Raf pushed his glasses on his nose up again.

“Why would you want him to break in?” We’d finally done it. We had Ratchet questioning our sanity for real.

“Duh! Presents!” Miko smirked at the medic, and I briefly wondered if I’d need to warn her to duck.

I glanced over to Optimus and he was visibly going through a crisis. I guess confessing that we were trying to get someone to break into his super secure base would do that to a team leader.

“We’re just kidding.” I decided to finally intercept. “It’s not real. Those are just stories based on an old legend. Really, we decorate a tree and then exchange gifts. It’s just a time to spend with family and friends, to prepare for winter and bring some joy before the hard months ahead.”

This seemed to relax the bots a bit.

Bumblebee spoke, though I did not understand him.

“Right Bee, it’s just a story. Santa won’t actually break in.” Raf answered the scout.

“Why would you have such a story then?” Ratchet snapped, moving to his work station.

“Human nonsense” was pissing him off again. He should expect this stuff from us by now. Just trying to get through Halloween last week had been a mission. You’d think for his own sanity he’d just accept humans were weird.

“Tradition. Legends. Something to keep the magic alive and keep kids full of wonder and innocence.”

To humans, those notions made sense. To him, it was just a cruel trick of sugarcoating the hard truths because the adults didn’t have the guts to tell it how it was.

“It’s a waste of time.” he grumbled, turning his focus onto his consol.

“We haven’t even begun…”

Jack’s warning had him turning back to us with a raised brow.

------

“Y/n.”

I hummed in reply to Optimus, continuing to look out his passenger side window at the desert night rolling past. Optimus was decided he’d drive me home tonight, rather than me catching a ride with one of the others like usual.

“Are you certain that this… tree will not invite anyone to attempt to enter the base?” The Autobot leader questioned, sounding unsure of himself as he asked this.

I fought the smile, turning in my seat to look at his rearview mirror, which he turned towards me as his way of ‘looking’ at me in this form.

“I promise you Optimus. The tree is just a tradition. Nothing and no one is going to be invited by a lit up tree and try to get in.”

“If you are sure.” The Prime replied.

It was silent for a few more minutes, but I could feel Optimus burning to question me on it.

“Many cultures have different origins of Christmas, how it started, what it means. For the most part nowadays it’s just a holiday where people eat good food with friends and family and exchange gifts as a form of expressing gratitude for the love and support shown during the year. The decorating is just part of the deal, getting everyone in the mood to celebrate.”

I could feel Optimus thinking over what I’d said, making it make sense in his mind as he turned what I’d said into Cybertronian terms and trying to match it to any customs he’d had on his home planet. Apparently he came up empty because he didn’t mention any.

“So, Christmas is a time of leisure?” he questioned finally, summarizing what I’d said.

“Yes. A time to relax and look back at the year passed. One final big holiday to give us a push to make it to the end of year before we begin the new one in January.”

Optimus was quiet for a while, only the steady rumble of his engine and his tires rolling across the road to let me know he was still awake.

“Can you describe more about Christmas?” he finally asked.

Still a data clerk at heart, I smiled.

I began telling Optimus all I knew, what traditions from different cultures I could remember, how my family did the holiday as opposed to other families I’d heard of. I chose to not comment when I noticed Optimus was taking the long long way to my house, wanting me to keep talking as long as possible. I would have stayed up all night talking to him if that’s what he wanted.

Finally, after he’d spent an hour aimlessly driving through town, he pulled to a stop at my house.

“And that’s Christmas.” I ended, taking a deep breath.

Optimus remained quiet for a few moments, then released a deep hum, as if I’d dropped some deep wisdom on him. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry too much about it.” I leaned over and opened his door, preparing to jump down. “It’s still almost two months away.”

“Plenty of time for Miko to cause all kinds of trouble.”

My laughter echoed down the street as my feet hit the side walk. “Goodnight, Optimus.”

“Goodnight, Little One.”

------

“Merry Christmas!” the four of us cheered, all pulling at the same time.

Four snaps, and four Christmas crackers popped open. We all laughed, opening up our obnoxiously colored cardboard cylinders. We put on the tacky crowns, Raf removing his Santa hat and Miko taking off her antler headband. Jack was wearing tacky plastic glasses with little Santa hats on them. I had an elf’s hat on, and took it off in favor of the crown.

We each wore knitted Christmas sweaters, hand made as a gift from Raf’s mom for ‘his good friends’.

All around us, the base looked like Rudolph threw up. Lights, streamers, tinsel and garland. Who knew Agent Fowler was such a Christmas fanatic?

After he found out about the tree, he’d dropped off crates of supplies. It’d taken hours, and I thought at one point Ratchet might actually act on his threats of violence, but in the end the base was nicely illuminated for the holiday.

Our tree was, to my surprise, still alive and now on the catwalks, lit up and with a crudely drawn (curtesy of Miko) Starscream as the tree topper.

Four different households, plus the military contribution, made up the ornaments. It looked good, if you liked complete and utter chaos. But it had been a fun day decorating it. Optimus had even helped hang a ball or two, lifting Miko so she could place her Star(scream).

Now, the last weekend we had together before Raf and I were set to fly Tuesday, we were having a sleepover and having an early Christmas.

We each took a turn to read the bad jokes, trying not to laugh at how bad they were. Then, we moved on to the games that came with them. And then, dinner.

Mrs. Esquivel and Nurse Darby had provided most of the meal, both happy to contribute to our good time. Agent Fowler had stopped by earlier today to play Santa (yes, he wore the red suit and fake beard and everything. Bulkhead almost swung at the poor guy. Apparently, he’d been having nightmares about Santa coming into the base and leaving coal at his berthroom door) and dropped off enough desserts and treats to last us a lifetime.

The meal was accompanied by laughter, and shared stories of previous failed Christmas stories from different families. The bots stood around, some actually paying attention and asking questions, one pretending he wasn’t.

And finally, to the gift exchange. Somehow, all four of us had gotten stuff for the bots, without actually discussing whether or not we would. Most of them were impractical, and useless (why would Ratchet even want an air freshener Miko?) but they nonetheless showed appreciation, and actually seemed to really enjoy the gifts. Optimus in particular seemed pleased with the mythology and holiday traditions book I got him, questioning when we could begin reading it together.

Miko had gotten Bulk a new CD for their favorite band so they could rock out together. Jack got new, better helmet, so he and Arcee could “go faster”, like they didn’t already. Raf got Bee a poster of a video game they both played often.

The gifts us humans got for each other were stupid, nothing of value or anything we could actually use, but it was fun and they became prized possessions.

After hours of screwing around with our new gifts and playing some Christmas games, I made the popcorn while Jack got the lights and we all cuddled under the blankets, settling in for Home Alone with all the bots seated behind us and invested in the movie.

Slowly, one by one, everyone began to drift off or sneak away to their berthrooms. I could feel the pull of sleep and shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable with Jack on my left shoulder and Raf’s head in my lap.

Then, a gentle servo reached over and caressed my forehead. “Sleep, Little One.”

I looked over to my guardian, a dopey grin on my face. “Goodnight Optimus. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”  

[cleromancy]

the post thats like "as a bette enjoyer i understand jason likers just making stuff up but dont you want something good dont you want something that delivers" is so goofy like. yeah i fucking do and i want jason to deliver it

[fairyysoup]

the devil i know

chapter two: look here all you want

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie gets your car back. You're trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

cw: deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, coercion (a bit), sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, depictions of abuse, dark comedy, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie makes sure that the man feels him before he sees him. It may be cruel, but he’s always had a flair for the dramatic– once a Dungeon Master, always a Dungeon Master– and what’s Hell without a little fun and debauchery?

The man smells Eddie’s sickly sweet, smoky aroma first. It’s the first thing anyone notices about him, of course. The shit follows him everywhere, alerting people of his presence like a fucking cat collar with a bell on it. The wind that he conjures always smells at least like a bonfire– at worst, he’s the grand eruption of Mount Vesuvius. He guesses it’s some sort of infernal practical joke (he formed the hellfire club in life, so now he has to remain in it for the rest of time, or some shit. Don’t ask him. He doesn’t know all the answers, just the dumb ones).

Then the man jolts, his eyes flying all around him as he hears Eddie. Or, at least, what Eddie allows him to hear. It begins in whispers, like leviathans in the mists, murmuring and overlapping each other. It rocks slowly toward a crescendo. And then, Eddie’s voice, soft before the man realizes what’s happening to him. 

“Found you.”

There’s a sickening crack, and then the windshield of the car explodes beneath the man’s spine. He barrel rolls to the ground to find Eddie looming over him, staring him down, his eyes dead black and unforgiving.

“Hi, Spencer.” The heel of Eddie’s boot crushes against the man’s chest, holding him down. Eddie’s voice is comically musical, like the crackling of brush just beginning to go up in flames. “Busy tonight, are we?”

The man, Spencer, trembles as he stares up at Eddie. Blood tinges his bottom lip, either from biting it when he hit the windshield, or from coughing up whatever blood exists in his fermented body. 

He gestures at the duffel bag that he’d been holding when Eddie grabbed him, now laying on the ground. “Look, man– I dunno who you are, b-but you can have all the fuckin’ money, it’s right there–”

“I don’t want your fucking money.” Eddie squints at him, trying to gauge Spencer’s thoughts. They’re malicious, yes, but not murderous. He robbed the liquor store down the street, and then he pulled into the motel around the corner to try to check in with the money. He’s dangerous and stupid, but he’s not a killer. Yet.

Eddie didn’t have to read the guy’s mind to know that, though.

“Whose car is this?”

“What?”

“Whose–” Eddie digs his boot harder into the guy’s chest– “Car?”  

“Some fuckin’ small town whore, how should I know?” Now is not the time to play coy. Spencer learns that when Eddie’s foot shoots forward, and the toe of his book connects ungraciously with his chin. Pain rockets through his jaw. “Fuck!”  

“Save it.” Eddie’s temper has grown exponentially with his immortality, he thinks. He wonders sometimes if he’d always been this way, or if Hell has just made him worse. Probably both. “Do you have any idea who you’ve stolen from?”

He’s seen the memory– Spencer, drunk off his ass and running on blind adrenaline from robbing a corner store, stole your car from the parking lot of a diner; the diner where you work. 

You had to walk home in the rain. Eddie’s heart practically aches, watching you come home to an empty apartment, dirty and wet and shivering. He never wants to see it happen to you again as long as you live. He’s promised you that it won’t. 

He also promised they’ll get as good as they gave. And demon or not, Eddie Munson never ever goes back on a promise.

“Hell, I stole from lotsa people,” Spencer chuckles, his head sliding back and forth across the pavement as he rolls his eyes, gargling on the blood in his mouth. “F’yer here to collect, y’can just take the money and go. I ain’t got nothin’ else.”

“Oh, but you do, Spence.” Eddie grins with sharp teeth when he bends down to pick Spencer up by his throat. The flames in his eyes burst to life, roaring red and demonic. A flash of recognition crosses Spencer’s face when he realizes that Eddie is far more than he seems. “See, you stole from my girl. Now you get to suffer.”

Eddie was always intimidating. He made himself appear like that to push people away, until it started to backfire on him, and then it just got worse when he became a demon. It’s a natural instinct for humans to shrink away. He emanates danger, even when he’s not putting on a show– even when his eyes are dark and he isn’t producing fire from his hands. 

That’s one of the things that sealed your fate. You didn’t shrink away from him, even when he tested you. He’s always been a show off, and he’s very egotistical, he won’t lie. He gave you a little taste of his dark side, showed you his hellfire and brimstone, and you called him hot. To his face.

Well, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. Even if he wasn’t already sold on you, there was absolutely no way he was letting you go after that.

Eddie dumps Spencer on the ground. In Spencer’s head, the haunting voices seem to crash back raucously as magma boiling at the lip of a volcano. A chill sweeps through Spencer’s body as it retreats, as he feels the creeping panic rising in him, the ringing in his ears. Then, as soon as it fades, it’s again overthrown by the chorus, the cacophony of behemoth voices. Overlapping each other, humming along with the slow heartbeat of the drums.

It’s the arc toward the end of the death metal album Eddie wanted to write during his lifetime, but never got the chance to. It has to be good for something, even if Spencer is never going to appreciate Eddie’s musical genius. 

Spencer doesn’t need to know that, though.

Spencer lays trembling, his hands clapped tight around his ears. Nothing will stop it, save time– and by then, Spencer will probably be wishing Eddie had just killed him and gotten it over with.

Eddie steps around Spencer’s body, sighing. If Hell has made him cruel, it’s also made him weirdly just. Great power, great responsibility… all that jazz. 

Yeah, the powers are pretty fucking cool, he won’t lie about that. 

The windshield of the car decompresses itself at Eddie’s touch, the glass creaking and groaning as it fits back into proper shape. From there, it glows bright orange and melts back into one solid pane of glass, back in the way that it had been before Spencer’s back played Happy New Year with it.

Eddie sits in the driver’s seat, his fingers nearly denting the steering wheel where he grips it. He just hopes that you don’t freak out when he gets your car back to you.

You freak out.

Granted, you only made the deal with Eddie yesterday, and you had a long day at work. For you, the afternoon had been painfully slow. Maybe it was a good thing that the diner doesn’t have a major rush every single lunch service, but it just means more of the shit work that your newbie manager, Colin, loves to give to you now that he has the authority to. You don’t know if it’s payback for you making him slice bread during his training, but he’s taking it a little bit too seriously. 

You’re technically a waitress, so it’s really not in your fucking job description, but tonight he made you clean the men’s bathroom. 

Did you know how many men will just ejaculate onto the wall of the men’s bathroom in a small town diner? No. But now you do, and the answer is too many.

You had to walk home, as per usual since your car was stolen a little less than a week ago. And then you got to your apartment complex, got to the last place on the last row of buildings, and your fucking car was there, in your parking space. Beautiful and gleaming and with fresh license plates.

You’re freaking out. You absolutely are– you didn’t think it was going to happen this quickly. You figured there must be some kind of wait period. Demons aren’t obligated to make shit happen right away, are they?

(They’re not. But this demon could care less.)

When you get inside, all it takes is a single whiff of smoke to deduce that he’s there. In your apartment. With all the lights turned off. You flick one on and find nothing.

“Eddie?” You say his name out loud for the first time, your voice muddled with awe. The faintest of murmurs, but to him you may as well have screamed it.

The lights flicker, and in a flash he’s standing before you. Across the room, leaning against the door to the bedroom like a vision. His eyes crackle with fire, a coy smirk on his face. “I like the way you say my name. It’s pretty.”

You startle, your body suddenly functioning apart from your mind. Your back hits the front door you’ve just stepped through, mirroring him.

“Whoa whoa whoa– hey! It’s okay.” He holds his hands out toward you, palms up, like you’re a frightened animal. In a way, you are. “We’ve been through this before, princess. You don’t have to worry about me, I’m just your friendly neighborhood demon.” 

Eddie reminds himself to stop rewatching Spider-Man every time he gets a chance.

It has to be fake, you think. You’re exhausted, he couldn’t be here. And yet the room is filled with his fragrance, suffocating and somehow intoxicating. Like you might die from it but you’ll enjoy it all the same. It’s so magnetic that it nearly pulls you to him, taking a hesitant step forward toward the bedroom and then stopping short.

“How– you’re not– how are you here?” You ask him as softly as you can manage. “I thought you could only show up at a crossroads.”

“Not everything is literal, sweetheart.” He thumps his hand against the door behind him, giving you a dazed smile. “Points of entry and departure. Two paths meeting. Crossroads.”

“Huh.”

Eddie takes in the sight of you steadily, calmly, worried that if he moves too suddenly then you might disappear. You’re wearing a black, retro-style waitress’ dress and running shoes– muddy from your walk home. You clutch your house keys to your chest almost instinctively.

That reminds him of the reason that he’s here– not just to check you out, unfortunately. He brandishes your car keys, dangling them from one crooked finger. “Brought you your car.”

“Yeah, I, uh… I noticed.” After a heavy beat, you look away. Your voice is thick with tears– you’re crying. “Sorry. Thank you. I didn’t, um– I didn’t mean to offend–”

“Hey– You didn’t.” Eddie doesn’t know what to do with your tears– he doesn’t want to see you cry, ever, but he’s spent a little too much time causing tears to know how to effectively stop them anymore. He places the keys on the counter nearest him, leading into the kitchen. “I know, it’s not what you’re used to.”

“It’s not,” you agree. “It’s nice.”

Eddie rocks back against the door, pressing into it. The wood creaks under his weight. “Nice,” he echoes. “Haven’t been called that in a while. It’s… nice.”

You snort, and it’s enough to have him grinning all over again. You turn away slightly, and when you turn back you smile at him sheepishly. Trying to suck back the tears that had sprung forth so quickly. “How did you get the car back?”

He squints. He thinks to remind you that he has magic, something that a normal person wouldn’t be able to use– except, he didn’t just poof it into your parking space. He drove it, like a dumbass.

He clicks his tongue. Be cool. “I had a talk with the guy who stole it. He won’t be bothering anyone anymore.”

“Oh my god– you killed him?” 

Not that cool. “No! No, I– I would nev–” you’re a demon– “I would seriously consider the consequences–”

“This is unbelievable.” 

“Hey, I got you the car back. Without killing! Even though it took so so so much impulse control, please clap.” He tilts his head and grins at you. He figures he probably looks insane with his glowing eyes and cheshire cat smile.

You nod and take a calculated step forward. You point at the open wine bottle on your kitchen counter. “I’m getting a drink.”

He shrugs. “You own the place.”

“No, I don’t,” you scoff, approaching him. The scent of smoke grows stronger with each step, until you’re engulfed in it. “I pay rent up the ass because I can’t afford any place else.”

Eddie watches you pour a glass of wine with the interest of a collector looking at a piece of fine art. “What would you prefer?” 

The air hangs thick with implication. What do you want me to do? Eddie holds the edge of the counter with his ringed fingers, watching your brow screw up in contemplation. He wants to reach forward and smooth it over with his thumb, get rid of any worries you might have.

He’s a sorry son of a bitch, is what he is.

“What I want–” you stop, your eyes falling to his hand. You stare at it for a long time. Hard knuckles that you’re sure have drawn blood, clunky rings like weapons. You wonder why he keeps them there indefinitely, why he chooses those accessories, keeps this form. He’s intimidating, dangerous-looking, and yet you feel a weird sort of comfort around him. 

He’s the most dangerous thing in any room, and he’s asking what you want.

You look up into the demon’s smoldering eyes, and take a breath. “What I need is to not take home pocket change, because my shithead manager won’t stop skimming my tips. Y’know I trained the fucker?” Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah. Piece of shit won’t stop giving me crap work just because he can, and I’m– I’m–”

Eddie wordlessly nudges the wine glass towards you with the tip of his finger. You grab it and take a long gulp. 

You sort of stutter and cough, trying to catch your breath when your tears of exhaustion keep wanting to spill. You’re furious. You’re so fucking angry that it’s vibrating in your bones, threatening to wither and crack them under its force. You start breathing in heavy, short bursts of air that don’t do much to calm you down at all.

“I’m barely making enough to cover my rent even with my tips,” you continue. “But now he’s stealing them and I’m having to skip breakfast to save food and I can’t find another job because the people in this town fucking hate me–”

A warm hand settles onto your back, heavy between your shoulder blades. A little bit of the tension in your shoulders melts and releases, but along with it comes the tears you were holding back. You shiver, leaning further into his touch as though it’ll ground you. Your sinuses are sore and your eyes sting as hot tears slide down your cheeks, but you let Eddie hold you up. 

“Want me to kill that guy for you?” Eddie smirks when you cough out a little laugh that sounds more like a hiccup, but he’ll take it. “What? I’m so fucking serious. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you anymore. What kind of a demon daddy would I be if I did?”

“Shut up.” You bat his chest with the back of your hand. He chuckles, and the sound is as warm and soothing as his hand on your back. Your lip wobbles, your brow screwing up as you try to even out your voice, but you just come out sounding like you’ve got something stuck in your throat. “What are you, a genie with three wishes? I tell you my sorrows and you snap your fingers and fix it?”

“You get a lot more than three with me, sweetheart,” Eddie promises. His eyes are unwavering, his hand stroking lightly back and forth between your shoulders in a way that has you hypnotized, leaning towards him. “And it may take more than just snapping my fingers, but yes. I’ll do it for you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re married, baby.” He holds your gaze gently, hoping not to upset you any further. “‘Til death do we part,’ right? We’re a team now. Your needs, my needs. That’s why you signed the contract. That’s why I gave you this.” Eddie’s warm hand ghosts over your wrist, and the mark that bears his name seared into your skin. The mark tingles, itching with recognition at his touch. “Just say the word and it’s yours.”

You’re still crying. Big, glossy tears falling down your cheeks, making him falter. He’s floundering. He doesn’t know how to make them stop, and the more he tries to get you to tell him, the harder they’re falling. You aren’t hyperventilating anymore, thank fuck, but you’re still quietly sobbing, and you’re not telling him what he needs to know.

Eddie tries searching for it. Squints at you, tries reaching into your mind to find what you need– sort of the same way that he saw the memory of you and the fucker who stole your car. All he gets is one repetitive thought, spinning around in the forefront of your mind. 

Hold me. Hold me. Hold me.

“C’mere,” he tells you softly. Eddie reaches forward, turning you slowly by the shoulder until you’re facing him. He watches your face for any kind of disgust– there’s nothing, save the big tears that keep falling. 

He pulls on your shoulder, just barely, and you crumple. You face plant into his chest and take a deep, shuddering breath that rattles in your lungs and tastes like a campfire. Eddie is warm as a space heater and his arms are strong, wrapped around you tightly to keep you from falling. 

Eddie holds you until he feels you stop crying. He thinks. Maybe you’re still crying, but it isn’t shaking your entire body anymore, and he feels like that’s a move in the right direction.

“Just say the word,” he speaks into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. A timid hand comes up to pet the back of your head. He hasn’t held someone like this in ages. “I can try to read your mind, but then I get the wrong idea, and you won’t like what I’ll do. I’m willing to do anything for you, honest. But y’gotta tell me, baby.”

You hesitate, and then you pull back, puckering your lips in a way that distracts him. He fixates on them, tilting his head as he watches the way they move. Remembering how they felt on his own when he kissed you last night. He hasn’t kissed someone in ages, either.

“No killing Colin,” you conclude, knocking him out of his reverie. He groans. “I’m serious! He’s a dick, but I don’t want that on my conscience. Please, Eddie.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Eddie grumbles, pouting and stomping his feet. “But you wouldn’t feel that way if you saw the kind of torture we can whip out in ye olde Hell. Make your skin crawl right the fuck off. Ooh! That’s actually a good idea–”

“Maybe, sometime.” You shake your head. “But not now. Just… get him to quit. Or something. Okay?” 

Your hand presses into Eddie’s chest. It feels like a blast straight into his infernal heart. His eyes fall to it, taking in the willing touch that you give him and letting it define his entire being for a second.

Oh, he’s in trouble. He’s really, really done for.

“Okay, sweetheart. Anything you want.” 

His kiss is a ghost of a touch on your cheek, just barely a whisper of skin on skin. Just enough to make you gasp and nearly turn your head, to lock his lips with yours. You practically fight the urge to do it. Your heartbeat kicks up– not for the reason you think it should, either. You aren’t scared. He doesn’t make you nervous– at least, not in an uncomfortable way. 

You want Eddie to press his lips to yours, and you want him to hold you again. You want him to stay indefinitely. Make a home on your couch and hold you in his lap all night. You think that if you asked him, he might do it. Anything you want, right?

But he pushes away from the kitchen counter, and he’s gone as quickly as he appeared, in a rush of air carrying his scent. With a sigh, you sink back on your heels, finding yourself wishing that his arms were still there around you, to catch you before you fall.

You lift your glass of wine to your lips. The imprint of his name still itches on your wrist.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 28

part 1 | part 27 | bonus stobin scene | ao3

cw: anxiety attack, graphic thoughts of death

Chapter 7

Steve's mom leaves the week before Thanksgiving.

No preamble, no notice, no "so long and thanks for paying rent," just— poof. Gone. Ta-ta, kiddo. Have a great life!

(Or don't!

Who cares?

Not me, that's for sure!)

The worst part is Steve finds out from Ernie of all people. Ma couldn’t even tell him to his face that she’s abandoning him to the gaping maw of this hellish town because she’s a good-for-nothing coward. Some day this place is gonna swallow him whole, splinter the bones and cough up the pellet, and Florence Harrington will be somewhere far, far away, sighing empty condolences over a fresh glass of red. “Just dreadful, isn’t it? Such a pity; what a shame.”

Steve’s hanging towels on the clothes line the day after the party — after the ride to drop off Max and the hangover brunch with Robin; after drowning his headache in Tylenol and finally getting home, only to realize that he can’t shower yet because all the towels are soaking wet — when Ernie looks up from his yardwork and casually ruins his goddamn life.

“You're wastin' your time with that,” he says, propping his weight against a rake and squinting at Steve in the mid-afternoon sun.

“What?” Steve frowns; hangs another towel. It's not like they're going to dry themselves. "Why?"

"Too cold."

"It's not supposed to rain, though, is it?"

"No, but the humidity—"

Screw the humidity. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ernie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He turns his attention back to his yard, dragging the rake over a smattering of damp leaves; obsessed with keeping his little patch of lawn pristine; and Steve reaches into the hamper and sincerely hopes that Ernie’s wrong. He needs a shower, and if the towels don't dry fast enough they get that gross mildew smell to them, and then it gets in Steve's hair, and how is he supposed to flirt with Eddie if he smells like musty lake water?

"Where's your mom off to, anyway?" Ernie asks after a moment. "Saw her leave this morning with two big suitcases,” he explains when Steve throws him a questioning look. “Figured she was off somewhere nice.”

Steve blanches.

Two big suitcases?

He didn’t even notice that she wasn’t here. Feels like a stupid, selfish asshole now, because he’d called ‘ma, I’m home!’ when he got in earlier and had thought nothing of her complete lack of response, the peaceful silence of the house; had welcomed it at the time, even, and what if—

Oh, god, what if she’d died?

What if she’d been lying there dead in her room, and Steve didn’t bother to check because he was too busy thinking about himself and how nice it was not to hear reruns on the TV for once? How long would she have lain there, rotting and bloated, and— and how long would his dad have, if the gunshot hadn’t rung out? How long; how long? Bleeding out on the carpet gurgling fish sounds everything red and Steve can’t breathe—

“Did she—?” he pants. Brings a hand to his throat; tries again. “Did you- see who she left with?”

“Some woman. Relative of yours, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at her. Had a real fancy car, though. Mercedes, think it was.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. Feels his throat close up, his heart pound and his ears ring and the yellow-purple-black start creeping in like vines at the edge of his vision, like demogorgon claws; like death’s shark-toothed grin. Hungry, howling, happy as it takes a bite out of him.

“You alright?” Ernie asks.

Steve grinds his jaw so hard he feels something crack. "Excuse me," he grits out, stomping back into the house.

—

"Fuck!" Steve shouts to his empty house — to the sun-faded paneling, to the weird stain in the orange carpet. Fucking Cecelia; fucking hell.

He cleans the house in a rage, eyes hot with unshed tears, and there's a note on the breakfast table. Crisply folded on plain paper, prim cursive letters, almost comically estranged:

Steven,

Apologies for short notice. Gone to stay with Aunt Cece in Evanston. Call or visit if you like.

— Mom

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving

The words leave papercuts in his throat. Steve rips the note to tiny pieces, can hardly see for the tears swimming in his eyes, but he's not crying over this; he's not. He fucking refuses.

Somewhere along the way, the cleaning turns to blind destruction, demolition of the all the little scraps of life mom left behind: her creepy angel figurines, her vintage Pyrex dishes, an empty bottle of old perfume. Steve hurls them all against the living room wall, delights in the shimmering pile of broken glass at his bare feet. Wants to crawl over it on hands and knees. Wants to burn this place to the ground.

When the sun dips below the trees he goes back out to check the towels. The air is wet, bitterly cold; nips at his hands when the wind blows, and the towels hang heavy on the line, just as damp as before but now the slightest bit stiff with the first creep of frost.

"FUCK!" Steve roars, ripping a towel down off the line. Yanking each one down in turn, throwing them into the dirt, raging, "What! Is! The fucking! Point!"

His tears spill over then, hot and wet as he sinks to his knees with a wounded growl, and he chokes there in the dirt; the cold, wet mud, the patchy grass. Gravel digs into his shins, and sobs wrack his chest, capsize him like plunging waves, and he can't do anything but shake and cry where the whole neighborhood can see. Making a commotion; making a scene, as his mother would say, but his mother's not here. She fucking left. She left him here, and his dad did, too, and Steve is utterly, truly, hopelessly alone.

"Come on, son."

And there’s Wayne Munson, coaxing him up off the ground with a sure, strong grip. Steve makes animal sounds as Wayne lifts him under the arms — ruined hiccups, mangled wails. There's mud in his lungs. Ocean silt; sucking sludge.

His mother's gone.

"Easy now," Wayne shushes; hugs him hard against his side. "You're alright, kid. You're alright."

—

part 29

tag list under separate reblogs, comment if you’re over 21 and want to be added tomorrow

[ktsumu]

A CHILDHOOD BEDROOM tw: allusions to divorce/his family dynamic, holiday comfort for the soul

Ushijima’s bedroom is nothing like the one you share. 

His walls are bare, save for a few frames with pictures that are older than the two of you. There’s a bulletin above his desk that’s naked down to the cork, a few tacks littering it at random.

He has his dresser, a small mirror on the wall hanging above it. The room is nearly devoid of colour aside from beige and navy, but the Christmas lights from the house across the street give it some red and green. Not much, but it’s good enough.

You walk along the perimeter of the room, the floors cold, hands tracing over his desk and chair. He watches you from the doorway, the door closing softly behind him as he does. You hear the same floor creak beneath his feet as he crosses to his bed, the frame sighing under his weight.

A print-out picture of him and a redhead (Satori, he’s mentioned) standing side-by-side in school uniforms is framed on said desk, thumbs up on all four of their combined hands. A team in maroon stands tall beside it, and he’s dead center. A three-person family — father, mother, boy — takes up the space beside that, the frame much more sophisticated than the others. He looks about ten.

The clock on his wall tells the time wrong; it hasn’t been reset since he graduated and moved out at eighteen. It looks like it’s a few hours behind, but it’s really telling you time six years back. 

“Your walls are so bare,” you comment, turning back to look at him where he’s sat. He offers an almost unnoticeable, lopsided smile. “Where are all the medals, huh? I’ve heard big things about Ushiwaka the Great, you know.”

You’re joking, but he answers, “In my drawer.”

(You check; it’s full of them.)

Ushijima watches you hold them, looking at all of the engravings before setting them back, the years stretching further back the deeper that you dig. It’s like your chest is swelling with pride over things he won before you knew him. 

“What is it?” he asks, eyes following you as you cross over to his bed, sitting down to face him. His brows furrow, leaning his back against the headboard that looks so comically small; then his lips tug up at the sight of gold around your neck. His teenage pride rests on your chest.

There is something so invasive about a childhood bedroom, about wearing what once was his entire life as he looks at it — a whole life you didn’t have the chance to watch lays itself out in front of you. This childhood doesn’t exist anymore (maybe it never really did) and yet you see it around you all the same. 

(It is invasive, but it is full of love. An empty room that feels so full.)

“Why doesn’t your mother display your medals in the house?” you ask, tilting your head. “Hell, my mom would’ve lined mine up in the window. And your desk is like a trophy factory.”

 “It’s not practical, I suppose.”

“So they just sit in here?”

Ushijima looks at you like he’s in thought. 

He shrugs. “Mostly,” he says, “my father has a few in California. My player portrait is on his office wall. My mother shows her affection in her own way.”

“Can we take some back home?”

“Why? They’re old.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, shrugging. “I’ll display them around the room for a bit, swap ‘em out when you rack some up this season.”

Ushijima just chuckles shortly, shaking his head as he moves down the bed, laying down flat. His feet hang off the end a bit, and the pillows are the same as they always were. “If you wish. You know I never stop you from anything.”

You hum. “God, does it echo in here?”

“Sometimes. It never used to.”

“When did it start?”

He knows when. “I’m not sure.”

You know, too. “That’s okay. Our room at home doesn’t echo, at least.”

“No, you won’t let it.”

“Never.”

Ushijima reaches out a hand, his left, and he twirls the medal you picked in his hand. You wear it still, and it looks like it gleams. His eyes flicker up to yours. 

“I love you,” you tell him. “You and your empty room.”

He sighs a laugh, one you taught him how to make, and he pulls you into his chest by the ribbon around your neck. He breathes, your head rises and falls with his chest, and the room comes alive; breathing with its maker, welcoming him home the best it can. You certainly help.

Ushijima looks at his bedroom walls, his broken clock; the house is not resetting, his parents’ old bed will always be half full and half made, but he thinks this is enough — coming back with you was enough. Now, when he leaves, he will remember a warm bed and leave to sleep in a warmer one. 

“Love?”

“Mm?”

“When we find a home we like enough to live in,” When. Not if, when. “I’d like to paint the walls with you.”

“Ooh, what colour?”

“Not white — or beige.”

You grin, angling your head up to see him. Ushijima is looking up at his clock, six years behind like he just got home from training camp, his boxes packed for the city.

(He meets you two years later.)

“Pick a swatch, baby. Just no neons.”

“Oh. I was thinking of a traffic cone orange.”

“Ha-ha.”

[melodyglow-blog]

Why i think Dabi / Touya is still alive after chapter 430

#spoilers ahead

Ok first of all,this shit was so ass, i dont even wanna think about how the final chapter looks like it was set in a dark AU ending where nothing changes and rei looks older than ever, still pushing enjis wheelchair for the past 8 years🤮, shoto being a workaholic (and soon being num ONE). Shouldnt he be more focused on his friendships??

Plus, no mention of his siblings that his arc has been working on reconnecting him with. 🤮 So like...Enji won? Shoto will be number one after all wtff..

But id rather think about the fact that touya could still be alive after the timeskip. Here are a few reasons why..

No gravestone shown, no image of a shrine or a burial, hell..no mention of his death AT ALL unlike with toga or shigaraki, erasers friend and midnight...hell, deku even hallucinates shiggy. If touya was truly dead i feel like we wouldve seen a panel of his shrine or ANY indication if his death.

Society and tech have improved so much that quirkless deku can be a hero, so theres no way that touya, with a partial healing ice quirk isnt kept alive.

He was last shown to be 'slowly marching towards death' like BITCH thats literally what being alive is, we are all slowly marching towards death😭

This man is allergic to dying and i do believe that hori left his outcome ambiguous for a reason, if hori wanted to show touya dead he 100% would.

Shoto smiling..like bro would be smiling like that after his oldest brother passed away, like i said, intentionally hori is avoiding any mention of Touya, even natuso is not shown or mentioned, just that shoto has become a workaholic and on his way to being number one...

Plus the panel text is from Deku's pov. So its not todoroki's internal monolouge thats revealed, only his expression and hopefully thats an indicator that his siblings are ok.

Hori has 100% lost the plot lmao, the ending is so convoluted and out of character that theres simply no in universe reason why Touya would be straight up dead. Making shoto mention his father instead of his brothers or sister or MOTHER was certainly a choice🤮🤮🤮.

Old rei pushing enjis wheelchair is sickening and i dont wanna believe that shes still his maid if she has had to mourn touya a second time, its gross and literally a dark au cause wtf.

Since none of shotos siblings were mentioned, this empty space of detail lets us assume that shoto isnt stressing about them. If touya was dead we would see him visiting his shrine, in japanese culture, visiting gravestones and praying to shrines of the dead is symbollic.

I firmly believe that hori either got seriously sick (he said his ears were leaking fluid) or got pressured by his team (he said he cried when his management made him scrap an extra comic page he drew of dabi and sceptic on the past) , i believe that at this point, he didnt have a lot of creative control over his work and wasnt allowed to dedicate more panels to the LOV. HE HAD to prioritise enji and the characters at the top of the poll. When touya came 4th on the final poll, it was too late, his story became enji's story even though hori confessed that he had initially written enji to be killed off in the high end nomu fight.

The story is such a retconned mess, theres no way he wasnt planning shiggy and touya to be SAVED physically, literally touyas last panel is of him crying alone lmaoo.

IN BOTH of Horikoshi's previous serialized series the villains lived and got to reform and atone at the end..

But yeah, my end verdict is that hori intentionally didnt mention touya for the fans to theorise about him living💀

BONUS ~ i saw a post mentioning this, There is also a throwaway panel of the Doctor "curing the uncurable" - which could refer to Touya

[blackkatmagic]

If ur taking Moonknight ships, Marc Spector and Steve Rodgers with mind control!

“Fuck you, that’s a lie,” Marc hisses, pressed as flat as he can get to the wall of the shrine that the Prince of Orphans led them to. The Mandarin was supposed to be here. The Mandarin is not here.

Scarlet Witch is, though, and it seems like she’s having one hell of a bad day.

Sprawled out in his throne, one leg crossed over the other and a dusty glass of something that absolutely isn't wine in his hand, Khonshu chuckles. “I would never lie to my knight,” he lies. “It’s the simplest way to break her control over him, my son. You asked for a cure and I've provided one.”

“Fuck you,” Marc growls, and ignores the look Clint is giving him from the other side of the small shrine. Clint knows Khonshu is real, or he’d better, after their detour into ancient Egypt that one time when the West Coast Avengers were still a thing. “Give me a different cure. A better one.”

Khonshu cocks his head thoughtfully, like that will hide the gleam of wicked mirth that swirls through the galaxies in his empty eye sockets. “That would require a quest seeking my sister-son Heka, my knight, and a remedy brewed by his divine hands. I don’t believe you have that much time at the moment.”

“If you depart your body now of all times,” Valkyrie tells him, low but very definitely dangerous, “I will tell your cab driver friend where you hid all of his false mustaches.”

Marc grimaces, ducking a little more as there's a loud crash, a thud, a groan. The Prince of Orphans lands hard on the stone, and Natasha drops down a few paces from him, breathing hard with a bruise already disappearing across one cheekbone.

With a loud, ringing thud, Steve’s shield embeds itself into the stone of the wall just to the left of the Prince, and heavy footfalls sound.

“Shit,” Marc mutters, and closes his eyes, ignoring the heavy weight of Khonshu’s amused stare. Breathes, steeling himself—

“Moon Knight,” Valkyrie warns, alarm sliding into her tone. “If it is that foolish an idea—”

“All of my ideas are foolish,” Marc tells her. "If he throws me across the room, try to catch me.”

“Moon Knight!” she protests, but Marc ducks away from her grab, vaults the wall, and then stops dead, something thudding in his chest. Steve is staring at him, looking dangerous as hell in the black of his old Nomad costume, even though no other man alive could probably pull off that V-neck. His eyes are red, though, and his expression is icy cold, in a way Steve would never be when standing in front of his own team. Whatever Wanda did to him—

Whatever she did, Khonshu gave Marc the way to fix it. It’s just a really fucking stupid fix.

“Moon Knight,” Steve says, and there's a rough, almost gravelly edge to it that makes Marc feel like a stupid teenager sneaking Captain America comics and fantasizing about them again. Him again. Which is absolutely not an appropriate thought to have when Steve’s currently a brain puppet of the Scarlet Witch during one of her breakdowns over her teenage kids getting pissy at her. Especially not given what Marc is about to try and do.

Steven would be better at this, Marc thinks, mostly resigned to getting punched in the face. Too bad Steven is a squishy human and Cap would turn him into a slinky.

“Hey, Cap,” Marc says, and tries to think of a way to say how about you let me get within grabbing distance without breaking my arms in a way that will go over well. “If Iron Man sees you walking around like that, you're going to give him the vapors.”

Steve’s expression darkens, and he flexes one hand like he’s imagining closing it around Stark’s neck. That’s a pretty standard reaction to Stark, though. It does give Marc cover to take two steps towards Steve, braced to move if things get violent, and he opens his hands, like an offer.

“Think you want a henchman?” he asks, and hears the bursts of indignation that come from four different directions as the team catches his words. Ignoring them, because Natasha is the only one close and conscious enough to be a threat if they decide to dogpile him, marc reaches up, pulling his mask off deliberately, and tells Steve, “Look, I don’t want to stick with these lunch detention nerd rejects if you're going off to do your own thing, Cap. I can be a good little right hand if you want me to.”

There's a pause, more thoughtful than before, and Steve finally turns, gives Marc his full attention rather than keeping one eye on Natasha and the Prince. “You want to be my henchman,” he says, flat, and the red light clinging to him like a second skin flickers, whirls.

“Henchman, goon, pet damsel if that’s more your speed,” Marc says, taking another two steps closer. He’s almost within arm’s reach now, and Steve still hasn’t tried to twist his head off his neck, so that’s promising. Probably. “I look great in a pink feathered negligée.”

Somewhere behind him, Clint gags pointedly, and Marc tries not to scowl, making a mental note to put ink in his coffee as soon as he gets the chance.

“Pink feathers?” Steve asks, and for the first time his tone slips out of cold anger, right into bemusement.

“I can lounge around your secret lair and let you test it out, if you want,” Marc offers, not even bothering to try for charming. Steven could manage that, but—yeah, Steven isn't going to touch this one. Besides, Steve seems blindsided enough by the offer that Marc steps right up to him, reaches out, and presses a hand to his broad chest without losing his head. When he looks up at Steve, halfheartedly trying to make it looking through his lashes like Marlene sometimes used to do to him when she couldn’t tell it wasn’t Steven in front of her, Steve looks down at him, something Marc can't read on his face, but—well. It’s not violent, at least. Marc got worse responses from other guys in the Marines, and given Steve’s from the 40’s, he wasn’t holding out much hope of better.

“So what about it?” he asks, leaning in, and Steve’s hand settles on his waist—

Marc kisses him, hard, no time wasted with finesse. He slams their mouths together, and feels more than hears the dry-bone-rattle of Khonshu’s laughter. Something burns, burns right through him and into Steve, as bright as the moon hanging full and round above them, and Steve jerks. His arm snaps tight around Marc’s back, and Marc braces to get tossed like a frisbee—

Instead, there's a groan, winded, warm. The kiss gentles, and a hand curls over Marc’s cheek, tips his head into an angle that’s a little less awkward. It feels a bit like an electric shock, and Marc twitches, almost jerks away, but…this is actually kind of pleasant. Not just awkward bodies, like sometimes happens, but—well. All those years spent crushing on Captain America probably have something to do with that.

Then, slow, gentle, Steve draws back, the shimmer of red around him gone. His eyes are sky-blue again, bright and familiar, and Marc takes one look at him, catches his breath, and says, “Fuck. Cap?”

Steve blinks, blinks again. Then, all at once, his eyes widen, and he says with deep relief, “Marc. You broke her control?”

“It was the image of the pink feathered negligée,” Marc tells him, flat, and desperately tries to jam his mask back over his head before something in his face gives away the whole I have a crush on the most unattainable man in existence thing. “You’re welcome. Thank Khonshu.”

“If I'm thanking Khonshu, I feel like it probably wasn’t that,” Steve says, and grimaces, putting a hand up to his head. “Ugh. I think I have a migraine.”

“Wanda’ll do that to you,” Clint says, cautiously poking his head above the edge of the low wall. “Moonie, did you really just break the evil witch’s curse with a kiss? Are you a fairy tale princess?”

“No, I'm Sailor Moon. And Wanda’s not evil,” Marc says, rolling his eyes, and drags his mask down a little more securely. “Shut up, bastard.”

Khonshu, still chuckling, tips his glass full of unidentified and unsettlingly-colored liquid at Marc. “You would make an excellent henchman, my knight,” he says, and is gone in the space between seconds.

“Damsel?” Natasha asks judgmentally, raising one red brow.

“Who wouldn’t want an easy retirement?” Marc counters. “If Cap wanted to take over the world, I think he could.”

Natasha weighs that for a moment, then snorts and waves in agreement, leaning down to check the Prince of Orphans.

“Please don’t ever let me take over the world,” Steve says, one hand still pressed over his eyes. “Even for the sake of your retirement.”

“Don’t look at me,” Clint tells him. “I look terrible in pink feathers. And my kiss can't break a curse.”

Marc flips him off, going to grab Steve’s arm and steer him out of the shrine. “Come on,” he says pointedly. “You should probably lie down. The birdbrain can handle getting everyone back to the ship.”

“While you play damsel? Come on, I can rock purple feathers—”

“Not as well as Moon Knight,” Valkyrie says, and between her and Natasha, they heave the Prince up. “Retrieve the good Captain’s shield, Hawkeye.”

Marc very firmly kicks the door closed before he can hear Clint’s protest.

Steve makes a quiet sound of amusement, body heavy where he’s leaning on Marc’s shoulder. “Do we need to have a talk about you offering to be a villain’s henchman?” he asks.

Marc rolls his eyes. “Only yours,” he counters, but instead of getting uncomfortable, the way he expects, Steve shoots him a thoughtful look.

“We should have downtime in Berlin once this mission is over,” he says after a moment. “I know you normally go back to New York, but you should stay. If you meant that kiss.”

Electricity, again. A frisson, sharp through Marc’s nerves, but—it makes breathing a little more difficult than it really should be.

“I could mean it,” he says, and looks away, feeling entirely too self-conscious. It was a bad kiss. Right up until Steve took over. “Assuming I didn’t scare you off.”

“I'm hard to scare,” Steve says gently, and—

Well. There's a fine line between supporting Steve and walking with Steve’s arm over his shoulder. Not that Marc is about to protest.

[desultory-novice]

"The Only Thing I Know"

"...It's still blood shed..."

-

A little sketch for the accidental second (or third?) of the Thematically Noir Songs || Gotye's "The Only Thing I Know"

To me, this is 100% a song about the Summer Trio. Or how they came undone when those bonds were destroyed forever.

-

I love how the music in this song feels very cold, desolate, and wintry, just like Shiver Star. And then, it chooses to end on this oddly dissonant, warm, beach cafe music, which to me just digs the nail in further. Because going to the (non-existent) beach in search of a true summer is something that was always bandied about between them.

But Raquelle dies and Noir dies and Adeleine, poor dear, DOES get to go in Kirby 64, but it is not with the two of them at her side...

-

Lyrics wise, I feel like both Raquelle and Adeleine fit the "girl that I remember, who'll never leave or need to grow" as one is dead and one literally can't grow older anymore. The word "memory" in this case (the only thing I know) feels like a fitting metaphor for the control gear that locked around Noir after Raquelle's death.

(Frankly, all three of them are kind of trapped in this moment/memory, really)

"When the past gives me no comfort And though the future is the cost..."

-The past being times when things were happy, but that memory stings Noir now, because the only thing from the past he'd kept with him was his pain, which the Sword both fed off of and fed him with poisonous whispers that he could cut it all away and be better off. The cost was everyone's future. No one made it out normal.

"The way I'm choosing to remember I'll forever be the man I never was..."

-Noir is literally physically locked into the bloody role of being Zero's blade, enforcer, and executioner: The Swordsman. A role painfully unfitting for the sorrowful and wistful, ever-dreaming, deeply protective, all bark-and-no-bite teenage boy...

"And you, you fade But the memory remains the same"

"And I, I can't change And I think living with your memory Is slowly driving me insane."

-Same as above, really. What he did and the knowledge he cannot take it back is eating away at him and even speeding along the change into Dark Matter.

The last part, the B part following the long instrumental, feels like Adeleine's chance to finally say something about the situation Noir carefully crafted for her by caring about her so much that he...was too afraid to open up to her before things got THIS bad.

-

"You are perfect but you're empty And it gets so lonely in my mind"

"Cause your image in my memory's The only shred of you that's left behind" -He was the perfect big brother, at least, on the surface. Again, he never let her in and now she's left trying to reassemble a truer picture of what her brother was like without him and she's got so little to work from...

"You were real and but then you left me And that's the part I can't accept

So I'll keep on living with your memory Because it's all that I have left..." -As I alluded to in the Haircut From Hell comic, Adeleine has this kind of understated, defrosting horror in the back of her mind that Noir's "gift" to her (his curse) was to die while accidentally trapping her in the memory of a time when he was still alive

-

For the drawing, though it is a loose and hasty sketch, I did try to convey a few things, particularly in the way everyone's hands are being used. Raquelle has both her hands around Noir's shoulders (or neck) as if she's trying to cling to him mid fall. But that positioning echoes the idea that it was her death that locked the collar...

Noir has never needed to use his hands to wield the heavy sword, but here, he metaphorically holds it, taking "responsibility" for this death. But doing so keeps him from otherwise reaching out to her (as he didn't truly snap out of his emotion-dampened blood-haze till it was too late) and it keeps him from reaching out to Adeleine too... 

Though the tails of his scarf appear to try...

For as opposed to the star-crossed pair, tangled in each other's arms in a doomed fashion, Adeleine is but a singular figure forlornly walking away from the scene. She is alone and seems to know it. Her eyes meet no one's. One hand of hers is full with the Brush, but the other is still open. Yet there is no one to take it anymore.....

[morskisir]

Answer to this ask I had to post seperately because I reached the character limit or something.

OHHHH Anon you are not ready. I think about this bastard so much and too deeply.

Before I get into it:

I love how you worded this question- gives a nice atmosphere.

Just to be clear this is all about RED Sniper. I apologise to any BLU Sniper enjoyers for I don't have thoughts about that guy.

I'm not the biggest fan of the comics for many reasons so don't mind me retconning a lot of that.

In the end these are all MY opinions and views of him- if you don't like them that's no problem. It's free real estate.

And FINALLY; my thoughts, under read more:

OKAY, let's start with what even got me to interpret him the way that I do; hell yeah baby, it's Meet the Sniper time.

I've seen MANY people often assume that Sniper is one of the most normal/chill people of the 2fort nine- but the impression I got is that he wants you to think he's normal so desperately despite everything else pointing to how fucking weird he actually is. Simply noticing the stuff he's saying makes it a lot more clear. The very beginning where he goes "Boom, headshot," making light of taking another person's life so swiftly. "Cause at the end of the day; as long as there's two people left on the planet- someone is gonna want someone dead," really positive light you see the world in, Sniper.

Of course you can take this as him being "realistic", and I do agree he's more of a realist than a pessimist or optimist, but "...have a plan to kill everyone you meet," is SO fucked up. Why is his first thought when meeting someone to know how to kill them? This to me is him not being able to properly connect to other people/understand them or actually SEE them as people. Not to mention his smile after delivering that shot in the timelapse of him sniping (AND after stabbing Spy). This cunt enjoys killing. He's not the type to slowly kill someone or torture them- but he is the type to feel satisfaction after planting a bullet in someone; give himself a pat on the back for it- or perhaps find humour in the kill.

The conclusion this brought me to is that he is an unreliable narrator in "Meet the Sniper". (Also the "..be polite," line. Yeah, sure, dude. Your voice lines are very polite.)

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS FUCKING TEETH? The way his teeth look and how much they're shown to the viewer by exaggerating his mouth movements feels like a "this guy is NOT normal" sign. No one in the game has teeth similar to him and his canines are HUGE. Like holy shit, he's an apex predator.

A comment @cheebuss (I know you wanna get tagged) saw once has been a running joke between us- it was basically "He indicates so he's normal," which is fucking hilarious, but I can genuinely refute that point. First of all we see him fucking speeding in the beginning of the video- to be fair we don't know what the speed limit on this road is, BUT:

Cunt drives around with a broken side mirror. That's really unsafe, obviously. A good chunk of that mirror has gone to shit and he does not care to replace it (which feeds into my headcanon of him being stingy/not wanting to spend money because he lived on a farm and they did everything themselves). Speaking of his van; it gave me the impression he likes having everything he needs near him- he doesn't need a grand, expensive space to feel comfortable. (I headcanon that he's actually scared/unnerved by vast, empty spaces/buildings) ALSO I think he's messy and prefers the claustrophobia of his van. I like to believe his childhood room was much the same (to the detriment of his mother)- that's his safe space damn it!!!

And here I can transition into talking about his parents!!! : D Of course, not much was shown to us of Mr. & Mrs. Mundy, but we can still glean some stuff from the video- and partially- the comics.

His father very obviously disapproves of his job, calling him "a crazed gunman", and showing his morals do not align with Sniper's. Sniper calls for his mum during the phone call shown at the very end of the video- looking annoyed and somewhat distressed. It's clear to me that they've had this argument many times and Mrs. Mundy is the mediator in them. I think she disapproves of the job as much as her husband does, but is sick of hearing them argue to that extent. Regardless of this conflict, Sniper loves and cares for his parents- they are his world. He doesn't care for anyone else, most of the shit he does is for their sake and continuing to provide support so they can live a stable life at their farm as they get older. It's one of the nicest things about Sniper.

Although, I do think he struggled to get them to understand him properly. He is a quiet man who doesn't express a lot of his emotions. That will complicate things, especially if he doesn't talk about it- and he doesn't!!! : D

Despite this, I think they were the people he was closest to. Sniper, to me, is a guy who's never had friends and has been lonely as well as isolated his entire life. "Too weird to live, much too rare to die." And this is a VERY long time we're talking about; DECADES. Decades of minimum to no human connection. (Just to note; he is almost 50 to me. The comic writers fucked the timeline up and made him a 20 something year old. The Sin. Do not speak of it to me. It makes him less interesting/compelling I'm not kidding.) He is anxious in social settings, barely speaks up, and prefers to simply back away when he doesn't know how to deal with something. (SUPER DUPER AUTISM + SOCIAL ANXIETY!!!) Does he try to interact with his co-workers? Veeeeery little. He yearns for connection he convinces himself he doesn't need. He trusts no one. He's a mystery to them.

But hey!!! Less distractions from his job!!! (Bad transition) This man is genuinely incredible at what he does- I keep replaying the part where he reloads his rifle. He was not kidding about being efficient (he also kills the entire BLU team in that video??). The lad's got incredible patience, aim, control, and overall understanding of what he's doing. There's something fucked up about him observing the people he's targetting like prey, but let's leave that for when I mention his previous job as a tracker (if I do). I imagine the only thing he excelled at in school (he did go there!! He can write!!!) is maths, as that is very much needed when you're a sniper.

BTW I think he barely passed school; he hated being there, had no interest in school work and his teachers kept pestering him about his social life. Leave him alone, he doesn't need that (he does).

Most of his focus went to his parents' farm where I think he mostly took care of the animals....or went out to hunt them; which is how he learned to shoot out of a rifle in the first place. (His dad taught him.) He's not exactly an animal guy but he's also not not an animal guy.

It's complicated.

ANYWAYS, I've talked enough about one single video. Let's mention his in game voice lines a bit!

There's a LOT of material there but here's the stuff I want to mention:

He talks to himself a lot. He isn't out there with the others- his job is to be perched up somewhere high and shoot from a distance so he doesn't get spotted. He makes so many jokes that only HE's going to find funny, except "You've got a forehead on ya like a coffee table," which is genuinely the funniest thing he's ever said. Boy voices his thoughts and tries to entertain himself when he's alone- I don't judge him for that. He has to sit there for hours in complete focus (he helps himself via a lot of coffee). I DO judge the things he says, however.

He's violent. (WHAT!?) There's plenty of examples but I would like to mention one adressed to his teammates. One of the "Jeers" commands is "Should've saved a bullet for some of you blokes!" which, hey, what the fuck? That's scary. He got so frustrated he threatened his own team with murder. (It's kinda funny) To me this shows he's bad at controlling his outbursts or that he never learned how to deal with them. (Autism moment!!!)

He literally growls.

There's this line addressed to Spy: "What goes around comes around, you snotty little nance." If you're not aware- "nance" is derogatory Australian slang for a prissy, effeminate gay man. I headcanon Sniper as a homosexual man so it tickles me that he's so insecure about this fact. It's sad, absolutely, but I find humour in this horrible man being a homophobic homosexual. Project your insecurities onto a guy who can read people extremely well, why don't you. He won't do anything about it, I promise :) (Lie)

I was doing my best to not mention SniperSpy but CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS LINES AIMED AT SPY AND HOW THEY'RE DIRECT RESPONSES TO THINGS SPY SAYS? (plus the highest number of revenge lines he has directed at someone is Spy)

-> = response to:

"Aww, did I get blood on your suit!?" -> "You got blood on my suit."

"I was never on your side either! Wanker!" -> "I never really was on your side."

"Ah, my God, you've been shot. Did you get a look at the handsome rogue who did it?" -> "I'll see you in hell, you handsome rogue."

BY THE WAY, THAT LAST LINE? SPY ONLY SAYS THAT TO HIS COUNTERPART. WHAT, WERE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? WERE YOU WATCHING HIM ALL DAY? WHY DO YOU REMEMBER SO MANY THINGS HE'S SAID? WHY ARE YOU SO FOCUSED ON HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED? WHY ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH A LITTLE NANCY BOY? HM?

There is so much more I could mention. I think whatever thing he has going on with Spy is super important to him, but I will hold back for your sake as I can talk about this for hours. You have no clue how many parallels there are, etc.

Anyways, he's in Expiration Date! A little bit! He doesn't say anything. <3 I'm proud of him!!! <3

He literally just stands around ominously in the shadows (and finds RED Spy being made fun of very amusing).

"Hehe."

(I just noticed he took his watch off and put it on his vest. This is an autism moment because I, too, hate having something on me that I don't usually have so I need to balance it out by removing something else; if I have it on me. Either way it's sensory suffering.) (Him being super attached to his hat and glasses is also an autism moment. He is no one without them.)

And then he has that one part in The Bread Fight(tm) where he gets confused by Pauling and Scout pushing the bomb.

"Tails gets trolled" looking ass.

I like watching him fall over.

After he falls here, he takes his kukri out which was... attached? situated? It was behind the strap of his arrow carrier. I think that's cool. I also think he wouldn't be doing that during matches because Spy is very much capable of stealing it/putting it away without Sniper noticing, even if it was literally on his back.

Also, I am a firm believer in "Sniper can only do one thing extremely well and has little to no interest in creative stuff," so I disagree with the idea of him being able to play a saxophone. You could say he was made to do that in school, but this guy is a smoker. I do not believe he can do that. You cannot convince me.

I think that's enough! This doesn't even go past the hypothetical tip of the iceberg, but it's a lot of words. This is the very basic stuff you have to know about how I see this cunt.

Thank you for letting me share some of my insanity.

[ineffableigh]

Timeline of Suspicious Events Brain Dump - PART 2

Ran out of characters. See previous post here! [linky]

We resume during Muriel's initial visit to the bookstore. They're having a nice look at a cupperty.

Crowley arrives in a bluster with all his plants - we've only seen him angrily say No about the Bentley and yet he seems to be going along with it anyway. He asks the important question: why not take the train? Why go by car? It's an eight hour drive each way! Train or even plane is WAY FASTER!

Crowley's the one that does the 'humans are weird/a few days' line for some bloody reason. Crowley what are you doin' man lol pick a better lie!

It feels Important that we see so many one on one moments with Nina, but not Maggie. Like we're building Nina as a character, but not really Maggie, y'know?

The show also really wants us to see how uncomfortable Nina is with discussing her love life at all, but everyone in the story just kind of blows past it.

"Dance Macabre" in the Bentley eh? A tone poem about Death calling the dead from their graves to dance for him? Like, I dunno, Gabriel says later in his Tempest line? A piece that quotes Dies Irae?

I love the musical conflict going on in the background once Crowley takes control of the Bentley's Vibes back lol.

Interesting that we have an entire moment to see that Beez is unhappy with the status quo in Hell, and the lack of recognition for all the work they seem to constantly have to do down there. Especially since we hear later they're very 'short staffed'.

Crowley moving seemingly random books from upstairs to downstairs, cosplaying a bookseller (ostensibly). Seems very chill about chatting gravity with Jimbriel, and we get our first Direct Fly Callout. Might be the second, not sure re: 'flyswats' when the archangels visited.

Pub imagery: Jesus raising Lazarus on one side, and the 'butcher' Dalrymple on the other side. Hmmm two sides of Heaven anyone?

It has to involve Aziraphale somehow because the Production Designer had that painting of Jesus done with the tomb opening being exactly like the 'eastern gate' of Eden in s01. Seems like a big effort to go to if not to draw parallels!

I find it interesting that Aziraphale a) seems super excited to hear about the 'Masons' b) there's a lodge next door to the pub, but c) we don't investigate that OR the person Gabriel was with. Y'know, the little shaggy haired demon with a bowler hat covered in flies? Normally would be quite conspicuous, yes? We know that Azi knows what Beez looks like from the end of S01.

Post-minisode we cut DIRECTLY to Aziraphale at the graveyard. What did he do between the pub and then? Did he walk there, drive there? Another huge gap to account for that's just swept under the rug.

Convenient that No Regerts and Friend are there, both being comically intense tough guys openly talking about Grindr lol. Just hanging out in the fog with no phone minutes left like ya do. Very convenient they were there, though I'm not sure what the advantage of that phone call even was. It's so strange a scene across the board that it feels like something is missing.

Back in town, Maggie is chasing Nina to talk about getting stuck in the cafe. I don't know what it is about their talks but to me they feel strange, or at least Maggie's side does. Might just be a by-product of us not seeing Nina 'acting like it's Maggie's fault' but it all feels very out of the blue, y'know? Always when Nina's busy working and can't really escape.

"I'm not your type." "You have no idea." Maggie SHE HAS A PARTNER AND SHE JUST SAID THE PARTNER SUSPECTS CHEATING, NOW IS NOT THE TIME LOL. See what I mean about Weird Vibes though?

Sudden Tempest Prediction from Gabriel. Very weird that he has these moments, either by forcing himself or these triggers. Do you have to be Empty to channel God?

Multitude of Shax Visions - this sequence seems odd to me. We've seen Shax impersonate a human once, yes, but this back to back thing seems unusually competent for her. I do wonder if we're getting a Crowley's Very Stressed Perspective thing going on here. Poor lad sure is stressed.

I was wondering how Shax figured out where Aziraphale was, but I bet she probably just tried to teleport to the Bentley like most demons seem to when Crowley was in it, but probably got punted outside by the Invitation Only magic. Or something.

The interaction with Shax here is really weird, though. It seems purely designed to freak Aziraphale out rather than actually get information. She says now she knows Gabriel is in the bookshop, but nothing about the discussion actually pointed to it any more than she would have known beforehand.

Shax then goes on to tell Beez that Gabriel is in the bookshop. Why she's so confident, I still don't really know, like I said above. All she knows is both the Husbands are being obfuscating dorks, but maybe that's enough.

Also like, Beez, you maybe should have just. Gone to the bookshop? Instead of attacking it? When you know Hell is short staffed? This is a Weird Plot Point too, if Beez just wants Gabriel. Why go straight to war?

As they're bringing Crowley's plants back to the car I hear glass shattering??? What's up with that??

Azi you dingle why are you hiding the Shax visit from Crowley. They really DON'T talk and for no good reason.

Next Instalment: [Linky]

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Finding Peace

Moon Knight, Issue 29: Colloquy (A short). 

Writen by: Steven Grant and Kevin Kowlan. 

Moon Knight has a conversation with his various identities and perhaps finds a little peace. 

(I'm just going to show you the whole thing and type it all up so you don't have to squint).

"Midnight, for once, no crisis threatens the city or world, no danger demands Moon Knight's attention. Tonight, Steen Grant remains at Grant mansion, alone with his thoughts not entirely his own... 

Finally..." 

We open on Grant Mansion. It is quiet. It is still. 

We see Steven alone in a room, sitting by the fireplace and looking thoughtful. 

"Peace. Marlene is off on business for two weeks. Frenchie is on vacation. I sent the servants away for the evening. Finally, I am alone... And though I hesitate to say it, at peace." 

He looks to an empty chair in the dark where Moon Knight's cape and cowl are draped over it. 

"It seems strange, after the past few months, to think of peace and Moon Knight in the same thought." 

"I never knew if it was a curse, this Moon Knight. A curse?" 

Steven picks up the cape and cowl and looks at it. 

"Funny how perceptions change. Now you tell me you're destiny." 

He sits back down and holds up the cowlas if it might speak to him. 

"But what destiny is that old Knight? Old Khonshu?" 

"DEATH!" Marc grabs away the cowl from Steven. 

"You...Marc Spector...The man I was." 

"That's the only destiny I know." Marc in his old fatigues with gun on his hip. 

"Yes, you died or tried to. In the tomb...Before you became Moon Knight--And me." 

Steven faces Marc. An odd way to phrase that. 'tried to'. As if Marc wanted to die. Wanted to be rid of himself. Did he crawl into that tomb specifically to die? 

"NO!" Marc clutches at the cape and cowl and wraps it around himself while screaming. "NOOO!" 

"I made you! I made Moon Knight! Without me, you are nothing!" 

An interesting shot. Steven's fancy drink (bourbon?) in the foreground, only Steven's hand setting the glass down. Class and elegance. Marc in the back with the cape and cowl screaming and faded like a ghost. 

"No. Without us, YOU are nothing!" Steven corrects Marc. 

Marc starts to fade, unsure what to do or say as Steven drinks now in the background.

And faced with this uncertainty, Marc does what Marc does. 

He pulls his gun and points it at Steven. 

"LIAR!" 

"What's all you can do--Isn't it, Spector? Strike out with death like a wounded animal." Jake has entered the picture. 

"Lockley!" Marc is surprised. He's always surprised to see Jake. 

"Another of our identities!" Steven is less surprised but perhaps surprised to see him here in THIS conversation. 

Jake stands there with two children. 

Jake is the man of the people. He stands for the people. He makes friends and he cares about those around him. 

"Recognize these kids, Spector? You saw a lot of youngsters like these when you were fighting your dirty wars." 

Jake plays dirty sometimes. Or perhaps, he's the one that feels all the losses of those that got in the way of Marc's bullets. 

Marc doesn't know how to respond. He's angry and feeling the past. 

He pulls his gun and shoots at Jake and the children. The children fall down dead before them while the bullets have no effect on Jake. 

"That's your answer to everything, isn't it?" Steven watches from his chair behind Marc. 

Marc drops the gun and falls to his knees before the dead children. 

"There's enough blood on my hands. Finish me off. Please!" Marc pleads with Steven. 

Steven picks up the discarded gun. 

But Steven does not shoot Marc. 

"No. Only you kill. You'll have to do it." 

He holds the gun out to Marc. 

Self destructive Marc in pain and angry. Steven knows he can't. Knows he won't. 

He pulls the cape and cowl off Marc and Marc stays crouched down, head in hands and so small now before Steven. 

"Please! I want to get out of this hell!" Marc pleads. 

"Not hell. Purgatory. A place of temporary suffering...A place where you pay for your sins. Where we both pay for your sins--as Moon Knight." **

A door opens behind them. "Oh! I'm sorry Mr. Grant. I was coming in and saw the fire through the window and I thought I'd..." Samuels the butler interrupts. 

"Quite all right, Samuels. I'm just about done here anyway." Steven is alone in an empty room. 

"Think I'll turn in. Could you put this away for me? And don't bother with the other things until tomorrow, okay?" 

He hands Samuels the cape and cowl carefully. 

"As you wish, Sir." 

Samuels pauses. "If I may say so, you seem in excellent spirits these days, sir." 

"These days I'm...Happier. I've still got a long way to go, mind you...But It may not be that long a way after all. At least, I know what I'm doing." 

-END

BOY OH BOY. That a short! Not written by Moench, but still editor approved. What we see here is Steven, Jake, and Marc attempting to have a conversation. Steven is settling in and trying to find peace in the system. Marc has been going through the TROUBLES lately and a lot of trauma has been surfacing for him and even for Moon Knight recently. They’ve had to go back and face their death as well as several missions where Marc had a past. 

This is the first real time that we see all three of them actually talk. Though, Jake’s piece is very brief. Jake has a strong dislike of Marc and since Jake is the one that brings about the children that Marc killed, perhaps it’s understandable. Jake holds the weight of the death. 

Since Jake is the spiritual protector of the system, it isn’t hard to see why. Life is sacred. The loss of a life is the single worst deed. 

They antagonize Marc to draw him out and he responds with violence and pain. Despite this, he begs Steven to end it. He wants to disappear. He thinks that if he gives in to the other two then perhaps he won’t have to feel or do anything anymore. 

But they won’t do it. They know he can’t just disappear. No matter how much they despise him or he hates himself. He’s there. He has to face what he did and they also have to deal with what happened. 

They have to do it ‘as Moon Knight’. Perhaps seen as a sentence by Steven. Do good as Moon Knight and perhaps the deeds of the past will be made up for. 

But in Moench’s Moon Knight, Moon Knight himself is his own person. They’re in a very complicated position. They’re trying to settle down a high trauma system and perhaps they’re doing it the only way that they know how since they don’t know how their system works or have help. Perhaps this is the only way Steven knows how to settle things for now. 

We’ve been starting to hear more and more from Steven in the past few issues and he’s getting more confident and to be more of a caretaker for their system. 

**Ah yes…This… The talk of Purgatory and hell. Again, Moon Knight is a Jewish system. Boy howdy. This is the problem with trying to write these ideas in a heavily Christian viewership. The idea of Marc being trapped in a cycle of his sins, Purgatory, and having to make up for his wrong deeds is difficult to get across without the proper research. While they would understand the reference and implications, Marc, Steven, and Jake would not jump to thinking in these terms. There is no Hell in Jewish religion. You have one life and this is the life you lead to be a good man. 

I’m going to default to someone far more knowledgeable in how to better interpret and phrase this scene. @fdelopera

But overall, this short is a wonderful little shot of the system settling down and a Gate Keeper and caretaker coming into their power to help when Marc has so clearly been struggling. It’s time to take care of the body and time to take care of their soul. Jake is going to step it up a bit and lean into his friends while Steven is going to care for them all around. 

[yfmconfessions2]

If the YFM members were in an apocalypse/Dead Rising/Resident Evil type situation (yes this might be sad and long sorry friends)

I like to think they were having a concert when the outbreak happened. Like Puff in the middle of a song goes “C’MON, GUYS! LETS GO CRAZY!” to the audience only for them to erupt in horrified screams as a literal wave of zombies bust in through the walls like the Kool Aid Man. The YFM van was tragically destroyed in the process (RIP)

Obviously the band said “hell no” and ran the fuck out of there. Puff insisted they set up camp near a hospital because of the amount of “resources”… despite most of the outbreak happening there… and half the med equipment being useless because they don’t know how to use it… and that everything in that hospital could be contaminated

Even though they’ve been friends since at least fourth grade, an apocalypse isn’t exactly good for friendships. Arguments insue over a lot of stuff—food, water, gas for the generator, who goes out to get the food, water and gas, you get it. They still are good friends and they do care for each other, but the stress from the whole apocalypse thing really puts a damper on their mood

Benatar still writes little songs in his notebook that he miraculously saved while they were dipping the fuck out. The whole band still makes music in their spare time; hell, sometimes they can be as loud as they want!

Sometimes a group of survivors come by and trade resources (y’know, with money being completely obsolete and such). DeeJay’s the one who does the negotiating and stuff because Puff Puff causes fights with them half the time and Axel and Benatar are socially illiterate

Axel dies first—like, almost a week after the apocalypse starts—because he decided to Fuck Around And Find Out with the zombies. One of them started approaching him and his dumbass thought he could take it on only for him to get completely devoured like a Ritz cracker

Our favourite martians keep Axel’s Viking hat as a little keepsake and set it up by the campfire. It almost feels like he’s still here

Puff dies second from the virus that caused the outbreak. He consumed or came into contact with a contaminated object/person (most likely a contaminated bandage on an opened wound or something) and because the symptoms didn’t happen the second he got infected he acted all smug about it. It didn’t go well

DeeJay was the one to kill Puff before he could infect him or Benatar. That was a very Not Fun day

DeeJay and Benatar hang on for a while. Now that two people were gone, they don’t have to acquire as much food. Still, it feels so much more empty with Puff and Axel gone

Benatar does little crafts to keep him occupied. He becomes very fond of sewing and drawing in particular

DeeJay managed to find some old comic books while looking for some food. It reminds him of his childhood, and it just so happens to be the only form of entertainment available

Unfortunately, DeeJay dies third during a trade gone wrong. There was a disagreement over the exchange and one of the rival groups cancelled his life subscription in a fit of rage and basically mugged him

Benatar surprisingly lasts the longest of them all. He doesn’t go outside much unless he’s looking for resources, he doesn’t use too much at once and doesn’t really fuck with anyone. He managed to last a few years before the military found him and took him to a bunker

yeah 😐👍

I WAS LITERALLY LIKE "OH THIS IS COOL" UNTIL THEY STARTED DYING AND THEN I WENT "😭😭😭😭"

[balanceoflightanddark]

Poking the Bear

Not too long ago, my good friend @akiizayoi4869 recently made a post detailing a rather...verbose discussion that happened on the TheLastAirbender subreddit. If you haven't seen it before, here's a link detailing to that post in question. To summarize real quickly, it's about a discussion of how the Gaang was acting in self-defense towards Azula during the events of The Search.

...to begin, let's see what a definition of self-defense really is. Trust me, I'm going somewhere with this:

self-defense

n. the use of reasonable force to protect oneself or members of the family from bodily harm from the attack of an aggressor, if the defender has reason to believe he/she/they is/are in danger. Self-defense is a common defense by a person accused of assault, battery or homicide. The force used in self-defense may be sufficient for protection from apparent harm (not just an empty verbal threat) or to halt any danger from attack, but cannot be an excuse to continue the attack or use excessive force. Examples: an unarmed man punches Allen Alibi, who hits the attacker with a baseball bat. That is legitimate self-defense, but Alibi cannot chase after the attacker and shoot him or beat him senseless. If the attacker has a gun or a butcher knife and is verbally threatening, Alibi is probably warranted in shooting him. Basically, appropriate self-defense is judged on all the circumstances. Reasonable force can also be used to protect property from theft or destruction. Self-defense cannot include killing or great bodily harm to defend property, unless personal danger is also involved, as is the case in most burglaries, muggings or vandalism.

-taken from the Legal Dictionary on Law.com as found here.

The key phrase here is "the use of reasonable force to protect oneself or members of the family from bodily harm from the attack of an aggressor". It effectively means that self-defense boils down to defending yourself from a legitimate threat.

Thing is...Azula never actually presents herself as a threat to the Gaang in the comics. Unpleasant to be certain, but she's not to the point she's throwing fire at them or anything. Hell, she even saved Sokka's ungrateful ass from Spirit Vines and fended off the Wolf Spirit. The only time she did act aggressively was when she was in the middle of a breakdown.

And to be more specific, she reacted to this happening:

What did Azula do? Have a psychotic episode where she couldn't even tell right from wrong or even know what was real.

...yeah...

Hell, at worst she accuses them all of conspiring with Ursa to ruin her life...but granted considering they've been treating her like absolute trash from day one, it's kind of easy to make that assumption.

Remember the boomerang scene?

Sokka literally makes a threat, Azula's not too impressed, and shoots him with lightning. Without the intent in injure mind you. And what's the follow up?

Katara assaults her for no damn reason, then Zuko blames Azula for escalating things.

This is not self defense. Especially if Azula's not actually being actively hostile. This is downright harassment. And it's a constant throughout the comic. It's already horrendous enough that Azula is suffering from hallucinations and clearly isn't in her right mind, yet every time they come at her with violence instead of trying to deescalating the situation.

But it's somehow even worse when you consider how fucking stupid the Gaang are acting.

They are doing everything in their power to provoke Azula and inciting her to violence. Who I might add is a fairly skilled firebender who shouldn't be estimated whether she's mentally sound or not. Their actions have cultivated a scenario where violence is inevitable. And they've got nobody but themselves to blame if something happened. Hell, if Azula wasn't mistreated at the asylum and in better fighting condition, one of them would probably end up DEAD.

I'm sorry, but you can't exactly have your heroes not only be cruel, but be this mindmeltingly stupid. It's the equivalent of launching the Hulk into space with a faulty shuttle that could explode and cause serious damage if you push the right buttons. What the hell did you THINK was gonna happen?

[adhd-joe]

Blurting out my thoughts

Iv'e Been Thinking of making a Comic Book called Batman: Smile, I think I got the story and songs I want to put in.

Plot:

Years after the events of my Creepypasta, Bruce (AKA Batman) is now 20 and still is in a Relationship with Selina (Catwoman) and one day he is watching the News and it reports that dead bodies were found in a circus then his radio starts playing and hears his ex friend Jack (later called The Joker) saying muffled that Bruce is the next target. Bruce has a flashback of him as Batman seeing a clown on a rooftop holding balloons. He puts 2 and 2 together thinking Jack escaped. This gives Bruce anxiety so he desides to just rest and watch the news, but the news is interrupted by Edward Nygma (The Riddler) who hacked all Gotham devices while fighting with Jack on all devices, where Jack argues on the Radio (The Song Stayed Gone)

That night Bruce and Selina find out that another Arkham Patent (Harley Quinn) escaped too. Bruce and Selina find Harley in an empty ware house and they fight Harley (The Song Other Friends) But Harley gets away.

The follow Harley and find her at a show at the theater. She is back stage and on the stage is a man wearing a mask, a suit and a top hat, the man sings (The song Insane) and half way through the song the man takes off the mask and is revealed to be Jack, Harley starts shooting people, Batman and Catwoman are to late. But they start fighting (The song Hell is Forever) In the end Jack and Harley are defeated and go back to Arkham.

The story ends with Jack in his cell who say "Do not worry Bruce Old Pal I din't forget about you.....for now stay tuned..........HAHAHA."

THE END

Here are my credits for the Songs

Stayed Gone from Hazbin Hotel

Other Friends from The Steven Universe Movie

Insane by Baasik and Black Gryph0n

Hell is Forever from Hazbin Hotel

There will be lyrics changes to fit in with the story

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Reacting to Contemporary Comics (Without Context) 9/?

I think this ends roughly where AoA ends, but the publication years don't match up so I could be wrong

Spoilers for Asgardians 4-10 and possibly any comics I tend to reference

"What becomes of a soul?" What does that mean, Loki?

I thought y'all were exes?!

I think Planet Terry and Thunderstrike should make-out sloppy style

I want an entire duo arc of Throg and Yondu

It's Him. The Little Lion Man.

WHY IS IT ALWAYS FUCKING EGO??!!

well easy come, easy go with the gays. Not every comic can be written by Ewing, I guess.

He's in a TREE. AGAIN!

I am literally fucking sobbing. What the hell. The last thing he wanted to hear in "life" was his sister calling him Brother? Fuck me up

He's not even the real Loki! And I'm still gonna need approximately 5-7 business days to recover from this page

Well they're going to earth (I think), so maybe they'll run into the real Loki, but I think our boi might be undergoing Confession in the Void right now.

I'm like 90% sure this takes place concurrently with AoA, even though the copyright is a lot later

Heimdall continues to be a force unto himself I see

There's a GOTH BIFROST?! Dude!

The two genders: gay bifrost and goth bifrost

WHY DOES THE BRIDGE KEEP BREAKING?!

Heimdall's putting the fucking bifrost back together like it's a 10,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. Hey, Heimdall, doing the edges first doesn't help with shit. Just put it together however you can.

Dude Annabelle telling Heimdall to shut up is amazing

hell yeah everybody's gay in this comic too! Who wrote this, Ewing?

THORI, GOOD-- wait, no, don't eat Throg, BAD DOG

Is...is it because the boi is ego dead?

Okay I just checked my comic inventory and uhh... War of the Realms Omega is in The God Who Fell to Earth, not AoA. Which makes more sense chronologically, but now I'm confused

SKURGE HAS A GUN. THE PUNISHER HAS COMIC-CANONICALLY INTRODUCED SKURGE TO AN AUTOMATIC WEAPON! I AM LIVING I AM THRIVING

The panel of all the dead frogs when Throg lands in Central Park is devastating. I might cry again.

This comic did not need to go so hard on the mental anguish of a frog spoof of a superhero created as a joke but oh my god I guess I'm crying about the charred remains of dead fictional amphibians today

VALKYRIE'S DEAD???

Valhalla seems kinda empty. I know Naglfar and everything, but there's like nobody here

So I think that's the end of the Asgardians of the Galaxy run. I'll have to check. I mean, they abandoned Throg (essentially), Angela's in a different realm entirely, two are dead, Kid Loki no longer exists. This sure as hell feels like an ending to me.

[misstodorokifreelance]

Birthday Boy (Bakugou x F!Reader)

Gah! I know im super super late to this. Bakugou's birthday was ages ago, but I have become inspired. Perhaps my late night animated Bakudeku comics have finally brought me a wholesome idea. Anyway, here is a one shot, drabble, something or other that popped into my brain. Anyway in this short story you are Y/N Midoriya, the twin sister of our precious Deku after he's suddenly up and disappeared. (Vigilante stuff? Who knows?) With Bakugou feeling his friend's absence, he struggles to comprehend what had become the norm for him, and takes some solace in the presence of his best friend's sister. Tw: Mentions of self harm, mental health stuff, Bakubaby's usual swearing.

It was funny. In a way, Katsuki had been perfectly content not having to deal with Deku on his birthday, but now that this was the first year he'd gone without the usual over the top well wishes, he missed it. He missed Deku. Not that he was dead. Hopefully. But it sure felt different not having him around, not having the usual comforting presence that could stop his darkest thoughts. Katsuki had felt pain before, of all types, but he had never truly thought about inflicting what he felt was truly deserved. After all, what had happened with All Might, that was all his fault, and he knew it. Leaning over the balcony railing off his dorm room, Katsuki didn't try to stop the few tears that dared to leak from his eyes. He didn't even try to wipe them away. It was his fucking birthday. Where was that damn nerd when he needed him the most? The tears flowed a little faster now, and with a growl Bakugou dragged the end of his long sleeve over his face, feeling disgusted with himself for being so weak. Happy Birthday? Fuck off with that shit, he thought, turning away from the sunset outside and glaring back inside his dimly lit room. He'd received a handful of gifts from Kirishima, Ashido and the other Bakusquad members; all trivial tough guy shit that sure he'd use but wasn't anything majorly special. Not like Deku would give him. Deku knew what he liked. All Might figures, dumb movies about monsters and stereotypical happy endings, the odd comic book. That was what Deku gave him, and it was what Katsuki truly treasured. He settled himself to sitting with a lonely soda on his balcony, wondering where Deku was now, when Katsuki's arms were cut and bleeding. When he couldn't rest easy worrying about his friend, or screaming at his demons... "Dammit, nerd. The one year I need you-" he spit, setting the half empty cola harder than necessary on the concrete. A few more tears splashed their way onto the front of his shirt, and Katsuki sighed. He'd need to wash it now, great.

At that moment, there was the quietist of knocks at his door. "Who the fuck-" Katsuki wasn't at all in the mood to deal with anyone, so he ignored the knocking. Only whoever was at the door wasn't going anywhere, and knocked again, a little louder than before. "Kacchan?" he heard a voice call through the door, and he sprung up, immediately wondering if it was Deku. Only it was a gentler voice than his, and there was no stutter in the next few words. "Hey, can I come in?" The hell does she want? Opening the door, Katsuki looked down at you, momentarily forgetting that his face was tear stained, and his shirt marked by the salty drops of betrayed emotion. Your green hair, sleeker than Deku's, was loose over your shoulders, and you wore plain leggings and an All Might shirt which you had planned to sleep in. Katsuki blinked. "Y/N? Thought you'd be home what with damn Deku missing." "I was. This came for you, it's from my brother. He asked me to deliver it, he couldn't stay." "You saw him? Is he-is he okay?" Katsuki said quickly, ushering you into his room and shutting the door with a snap. He'd barely registered the rest of what you had told him, desperate to hear any news. You nodded slowly, holding out a small wrapped box in your hands. "He's....alright. Happy Birthday, by the way, from both me and Izuku." Katsuki took a second to realize you were handing him something, until you placed the box in his shaking hands, feeling how cold they were. He noticed the difference, almost wanting to lean into the warmth of your comparably smaller hands. He felt the scars along the palms and fingers, and as he pulled away, the tip of his index finger brushed over what felt to him like a burn. He'd always thought you were the stronger twin, having not been born quirkless like Deku. You'd inherited a fairly stronger version of your mother's telekinesis, and had never been one to refuse a fight or stand down before. But here you were, quiet and subdued in a way he'd never seen, standing with your hands laced anxiously together while he idled with the box in his hands. Shaking hard enough he had trouble undoing the bow, Katsuki opened the gift, and pulled something out of a tissue paper nest. He stared at the leather cuff, embedded with designs of All Might's signature hair tufts so it looked like a 'V' printed over and over. With the cuff was a small handwritten note, and he read it almost desperately. Kacchan, Happy Birthday. If it was safe for me to be with you at UA I would, so I asked Y/N to deliver this to you. Forgive me, I'll be back when I can. -Deku Katsuki didn't realize that he had stumbled back onto his bed, a sob wracking his frame. The box fell, forgotten to the floor, as he grasped the stylish cuff in his hands. You moved to his side, placing a comforting hand over his shoulders, and Katsuki didn't shrug you off for the first time possibly in your entire life. "I- fuck. If I hadn't gotten kidnapped, All Might would be alive, Deku wouldn't have to run. He'd be here. We'd be celebrating-I-this is all my fault-" He coughed, swallowing back more tears, while you gripped him tightly around his shoulders. "No, he chose this. You did nothing. Stop blaming yourself, and stop hurting over it. Deku wouldn't want that, he wouldn't want you to be hurting yourself cause of something you couldn't ever control. Okay?" Katsuki sniffed hard, and looked sideways at you. God those green eyes were hypnotic in the amber sunset glow. You were right, weren't you? But how did you know what he was- "You're not one to wear long sleeves this often," you murmured. Katsuki grimaced, and he looked deep into your eyes. He could see Deku there, though you had less freckles than him, and your lips were fuller. Still, he was there, in your features, and in the small smile you gave him. "Don't hurt like this," you said, moving your free hand to run up his arm, feeling the bandage he tried to hide under the sleeve. "I- know. I miss him, I