#even though it would have destroyed her not to be

[amarriageoftrueminds]

*Not sure this discussion belongs under this post but...*

Tony doesn't sacrifice anything in CACW... He's a billionaire with zero consequences at the start of the movie, and he is still that at the end of the movie.

gif 1: 'justice for the voiceless'

🤣 Mr Hyperverbal! Tony's whole MO is talking over and more than everyone else; he literally interrupts others advocating for themselves (because they're not capitulating to him) just to tell them to shut up. The only time he doesn't do that is because he can't out emotionally-blackmail a dead son's mother.

And why are all these 'people' voiceless, I wonder? Could it be because they are... mysteriously dead, somehow? I wonder how that happened. Does 'justice' look like somebody being jailed and put out of business, losing his precious money? No...? Funny that!

(I'm sure them being a billionaire has nothing to do with it though!)

Tony would sit in a room with a woman whose entire family and country have been destroyed by his weapons, and mansplain collateral damage to them (which suddenly matters because an American was hurt, right? Fuck them illegal immigrant kids, right?)

(Defining characteristic of the Stark family: take only credit, never blame. If you are personally to blame for something, describe that something as a collective fault; if someone else did something great, steal it and/or take all the credit for yourself!)

And the fact that it was always Steve, Nat, Clint, Wanda, etc. down on the ground at street level helping civilians... well, Tony never noticed that of course. As his own bodyguard said, Tony wouldn't remember someone unless they were a blonde with a big rack... Steve may be a blonde with a big rack, but he's not the right sex! 😂

.

gif 2: Tony claims he stopped making weapons.

'Once I discovered my leopards-eating-peoples-faces company was causing peoples faces to be eaten by leopards, I stopped that!' -- Says Man who still runs a leopards-eating-peoples-faces company and never stopped. 🤦‍♀️

You have to wonder just what Tony thought weapons were for, exactly, if he thought his weapons weren't doing any harm before?

(Which he only suddenly deigned to notice because the person getting their chest blown open was- gasp! -an American!)

He decides his weapons were only bad because they were in the 'wrong hands.' 🙄 Implying that the 'right hands' exist, ie. his own. An American billionaire's hands. But then he criticises Steve for saying the Avengers' hands are the safest hands for world-saving?

(Which is true, in this universe, because the WSC's solution for world-saving was to drop a nuke on Manhattan. The Avengers already tried government oversight and it was Hydra, Ross's Hulk project, AIM, dropping nukes, etc etc. Bad writing alert!

Why the fuck would Tony of all people be in favour of that? He told Congress to go fuck themselves when it came to them controlling the Iron Man suits! Then the Vice POTUS turned out to be AIM, who had Pepper abducted and experimented on -- made into an enhanced person against her will! -- but suddenly Tony trusts governments to handle enhanced people? And he's fine with people talking shit about Bruce?? Since when?! Make it make sense!)

The Iron Man movies, Avengers, Cap and Spiderman movies, all feature brand new weapons Tony designed, built, and gave away... after claiming he wasn't in the weapons making industry any more.

Even IM3, when he temporarily lost his armour, had Tony personally making weapons, and handing a weapon off to a kid -- to use on other kids, at his urging!

This idea that Tony ever gave up being an arms dealer is just part of his own Iron Man mythology he's made up in his head.

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gif 4: Tony has never sacrificed any personal freedoms, nor accepted any limitations on himself.

(Despite sneering at ordinary people who refuse to sacrifice their personal freedoms in favour of authoritarianism. That 'for the greater good' line up there could have come straight out of Project 2025! 🤢)

Tony makes a mockery of Ross and the Accords, despite pushing for them. He never had any intention of doing as he was told, and that's one of his trademarks as a character.

Steve in CACW is anti- corrupt governments (which his films have given him good reason for; Tony's films ought to have given him the same ideology, too... but this is a Disney movie.)

Tony is pro / arguing in favour of handing over control to a potentially corrupt government. Specifically, handing over policing of a minority -- enhanced people -- who aren't like Tony... but he pretends he's in the same boat as them, when he isn't.

He even said government having an agenda is a good thing!

Yeah, how's that working out for you, America?

Subheading of the Accords document: 'The Registration of enhanced people.'

Tony is advocating for the exact same things that ICE and the Trump Administration are doing to immigrants in America right now, because it doesn't and won't ever affect Tony personally. The leopards were never going to be eating his face!

(It reminds me of what Magneto said about mutants working for the US in X-Men: First Class:

"Identification, that's how it starts. And ends with being rounded up, experimented on, eliminated."

Could have come straight out of Steve's mouth!)

The Raft (as Sam correctly clocks) is Guantanamo Bay for Enhanced People, and Tony idiotically argues in favour of that, and is then all shocked pikachu face when that is in fact precisely what they get. (Channelling Trump voters now crying about the conses quencing.)

He's an ignorant sheltered idiot who calls himself a genius but has no idea what life is like for non-billionaires, because he doesn't care to know. (Not surprising given that Musk was the inspo for Tony, as set out by RDJ himself, Jon Favreau, and the guy who wrote IM1).

Steve -- the one who actually goes to the Raft to break the innocents out, unlike Tony! --- is anti-authoritarianism... anti-ICE-for-enhanced-people. And he's been breaking out prisoners of authoritarians since CATFA!

So Tony does not embody what Steve stands for, and never could, because what Steve stands for is Antifa -- Tony embodies what Steve has always stood against.

(And, since never learning a lesson or taking blame for anything is Tony's trademark, he is back to nonsense Hydra monologuing and blaming the Snap on everyone else, in EG. 🤦‍♀️)

Steve isn't throwing away his persona in CACW, he's living up to it.

Being anti-authoritarian and protecting innocents from authoritarian bullies, deploying the 'I can do this all day' battlecry -- suffering personally in order to achieve the right thing -- is exactly what Steve would do even if he never knew Bucky at all.

(That he gets to do one good thing, and save Bucky (another good thing), is just a perk; it's the narrative's way of condoning Steve's moral stance.)

Tony Stark in CA:CW + the values of Captain America

[animatewarriorcats]

Yarrowleaf! She is Daughter to Scorchfur and Snowbird, of their second litter, sister to Beenose and Bluebellkit. Yarrowleaf is a bit of an interesting background character, in the first three books of AVOS her characterization seems to bend to what the plot needs, whether that's being a petulant apprentice, a young but loyal shadowclan warrior, or a defiant member of the kin. She earns her Shadowclan warrior name before the Kin take over, and once they do she appears to be kin loyal to Darktails death. In River of Fire she reappears very pregnant alongside Sleekwhisker to beg sanctuary from Skyclan. Violetpaw remembers her as being one of Darktails closest followers, and Leafstar banishes both she-cats to their connection to the rogue. This event expedites the erosion of the Shadowclan Skyclan alliance, and even though the two she cats are allowed back in to skyclan for Yarrowleaf's kits to be delivered, the offer is only temporary. Ultimately Sleekwhisker betrays Yarrowleaf and steals her kits flaxkit and hopkit in return for Nettle's alliance to kill Rowanstar's as revenge for the sleek's damaged youth because the Shadowclan leader had failed to drive out Darktail before he could destroy shadowclan. In the end, Yarrowleaf is allowed to stay in Shadowclan when Tigerstar returns to revive the clan. She has some minor appearances in the Broken Code arc, most notably as first a supporter of atonement with the comment that "leaders should lead" to Tigerstar during the gathering where the imposter confronts him about dovewing, but later she is even more fiercely a proponent for killing the captured Thunderclan leader, saying that healing his body was '"just helping a dead cat walk around in his fur". In Starless clan so far she has been a minor background character, but notably joins the Shadowclan faction against clan switching which is led by her sister Berryheart.

Her coloration is described as Ginger, but even if Snowbird were a solid ginger under a dominant white masking gene (she's not, see Berryheart and Cloverfoot), Yarrowleaf would have to inherit a non-orange color gene from her father Scorchfur. I decided to make her a silver tabico, with a high level of red prevelance, not unlike these cats:

[ofbatsandballads]

so it’s a day early but have a little Valentine’s Day with Jason drabble except reader is a bit unhinged and very in love with Jason. inspired by me getting split knuckles and thinking “wow this would be so much cooler if I got them from punching someone.” also idc if damian is ooc here bc you can pry good brothers Jay and Dami from my cold, dead hands.

Jason Todd is used to fighting. He knows thrown fists, black eyes, and bloodied hands better than he knows himself. He’s been fighting so long that it’s second nature; sometimes he tires of the fight and sometimes he aches for it. It all depends on the day and his mood. Sometimes busted knuckles are a pain in the ass to clean and sometimes he enjoys the sting of a job well done.

Jason is used to seeing other people fight. It was the one constant in his formative years. He saw Gotham’s worst fight daily when he was a little kid doing his best to survive the city’s unforgiving streets. He saw Gotham’s best fight nightly and fought alongside him as a bright-eyed teenager. He sees his siblings fight routinely, knows how they do it like he knows the back of his hand. Dick is graceful; he floats through the air before he kicks you in the face. Tim is practical; he hits you where it hurts, seeks to destroy. Damian is ruthless; he toes the line between life and death like he was raised on it. He was; they both were.

Jason has not, however, seen you fight. Until tonight that is. Oh, he’s seen you argue before. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth—he loves it, even when it gets you both in trouble. But physically you’ve always been nothing but gentle and calm. He’s the one that intimidates, that scares off anyone who tries to flirt with either of you with his crossed arms and his face that screams “I’ll kill you”. Yet there you are in the middle of the ballroom where he left you, clutching your fist that has just connected with the nose of some CEO’s son. He freezes for a split second in pure shock. Then his brain comes back online and he’s trying to push through the crowd of people to get to you. His brother beats him to it. Dick picks you up around the waist and swiftly hauls you out of the ballroom.

Jason’s torn between running after you and cornering the guy you just punched to finish what you started. He doesn’t get to make that choice because a small but strong arm grabs him and yanks him hard toward the door that you just got dragged out of. He looks down and sees Damian, and something instinctual about this situation makes him follow wherever the kid goes. It wouldn’t be the first time Damian led him away from a fight and it probably won’t be the last.

“What the fuck just happened?” Jason asks his youngest brother as they wind through the mazelike halls of the penthouse.

“Well, akhi, your beloved just assaulted a man in the middle of father’s Valentine’s Day gala,” Damian responds coolly.

“Yeah, I kinda picked that up, saghir. Why did she assault a man in the middle of the gala?” Jason presses.

Damian bristles at the term of endearment. Jason can tell he’s about two seconds away from arguing that he’s not little anymore, Todd. He seems to consider your hitting a man a more pressing matter, though, because he starts to explain what happened. The guy you punched—some dude named Prescott—had decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you. You turned him down quickly and bluntly with a simple “No, I’m here with my boyfriend.” It all went downhill from there.

“He then asked who her boyfriend was, and when she said you, this imbecile asked why a girl such as herself would be with, quote, ‘a charity case like him’,” Damian relays with thinly veiled disgust.

Jason was used to comments like this. It was all he heard during the three years after Bruce adopted him. It used to make him mad or insecure, like maybe Bruce never truly wanted him. Maybe he just wanted to feel like he was doing something good. But then he died and came back. And he hated B for so long. Until he didn’t. Until he realized that maybe he never did, maybe he just wanted proof that his dad loved him and maybe he felt like he didn’t have it. But with time and patience and a lot of pain, he’s now reasonably assured that he’s not just some billionaire’s charity project. If that were the case, then Bruce would’ve stopped trying a long time ago with him. So the spoiled brat’s comment doesn’t really bother him. He knows that didn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother you, but he can’t figure why it would make you angry enough to deck the guy in the middle of a full ballroom.

“That’s it? She punched him for that?” Jason asks doubtfully.

“No. She first told him that he clearly lacked the empathy to even know what the word charity meant. She also made a snide comment about how his gala attire could, however, be seen as a charity case,” Damian chuckles, clearly amused by your silver tongue.

“Well what’d he say that made her hit him?” Jason demands, his anxiety starting to spike.

He had seen it happen, but he’d been mixing you your favorite cocktail and had missed the actual inciting comment. Damian pauses like he doesn’t want to tell him. All it takes is one hard look with those sea green eyes and Damian finds himself caving like he did as child in the League when Jason would catch him hiding from his newest (and soon to be deceased) sparring partner.

“He said that her tastes shouldn’t be counted considering she was with—” and Damian grits his teeth, forest green eyes absolutely seething, “damaged goods.”

Now that’s a different story. Jason doesn’t care what some privileged rich guy thinks of him, but the idea that other people could see what he already knows hurts. Jason knows he’s damaged goods, knows that you deserve far better than him. And apparently so do total strangers. So how long until you finally see it and leave him like you should have a long time ago? How long until the one truly good thing he’s ever had the pleasure of holding in his hands slips through his fingers and leaves him broken again?

“And then she broke his nose.”

Damian’s jubilant laugh shakes him from the angst he finds himself descending into.

“She what?” Jason asks dumbfounded.

“She broke his nose. I was standing right next to her, Todd. I heard it crack. You’ve trained her well,” Damian says proudly.

Jason’s in awe. You broke someone’s nose. For him. And you did it in front of a room full of people on Valentine’s Day. Jason’s sure this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for him. And either your love for him has finally settled into his bones or his new therapist is actually doing some good, because he’s suddenly not so worried about you up and leaving him because he’s damaged. You fucking clocked a guy for pointing it out.

Finally after what feels like far too long, Damian leads him to a bedroom tucked away in the penthouse. And there you sit, giggling away as Dick wraps your hand in an elastic bandage. You must’ve sprained your wrist breaking poor Prescott’s nose. Jason is by your side in an instant.

“Jason, there you are! Did you see what I did? Did you, Jay?” you ask enthusiastically.

“Yeah, I saw. Think you might’ve broken his nose, baby,” he teases.

He takes the bandages from Dick and starts to wrap your wrist himself. He gestures for his brothers to get the hell out and hopefully go clean up the mess that’s waiting down the winding hallways.

“That piece of shit deserved it. I would’ve hit him again too had Dick not dragged me away. Think I would’ve gone for his throat next,” you muse.

Jason wants to think he’s above finding this new violent streak of yours sexy. He’s also self aware enough to realize that he’d be deluding himself if he said it didn’t make him want to kiss you senseless.

“I’m sure he did, doll. That was very sweet of you, defendin’ my honor ‘n all,” Jason praises you.

“That was nothing. Child’s play, really. I would do anything for you, Jason. You’re my whole world.”

You say it with such sincerity, with so much love that Jason swears your eyes gleam with it. It makes his heart jump into his throat, makes his chest ache with the need to love you until the day that he dies. And if that day comes too soon? Well, he’ll drag himself out of the grave and come back home to you no matter what it takes. He’d like to tell you all that, but he thinks it might be a bit much. He settles for kissing you instead and nudging his nose against yours when you finally break apart to breathe.

“And you’re mine. C’mon, honey, let’s go home. Valentine’s Day isn’t over just yet.”

[revelboo]

Would it be ok to request another valentine's one shot (can be spicy or fluff)? I dumped a guy a few weeks ago and I'd love to read more about mechs and valentines day 🫶🫶 Maybe ES/Prime Bumblebee or Jazz? Or any mech that's more into human culture could be cute.

Sure!

Valentines Oneshot

Earthspark Bumblebee x Reader

• “And I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ve got this,” Bumblebee says, smiling to take the sting out of the rejection as he holds up his hands. Besides, he remembers the Malto family’s attempt to help Megatron plan an outing with his human and Robbie’s date. “Um, Dot, please don’t tell Alex.” Because the last thing he needs is her spouse deciding to help him. And the woman just arches her brows at him, shaking her head. Would really love for her to say the words. To make it clear she’s not going to let slip his plans to her husband, but she’s heading into the house leaving him standing there.

• Head lifting at the sound of your car pulling into the driveway, it’s stupid to resent your car. But he still does. Has thought more than once about something destroying it or if it mysteriously gets stolen. He could drive you anywhere you needed to go. Keep you tucked safe inside him instead of in that death trap. Because, really, if that car just disappeared he’d be doing you a favor, right? Spark warming when you park and slide out, you offer him a little smile and he lifts a hand.

• “Someone’s all shiny today,” you tease as you walk over and his smile becomes sheepish. Wait, did he wax his paint just for you? Unsure what that might mean, you self consciously tuck your hair behind an ear as he kneels and offers his hands. Not grabbing you, but giving you the option to let him pick you up. And there’s no hesitation, stepping closer and putting yourself into his care. Those warm servos cradling you as he stands with you and holds you tucked against his chassis then walks out past the barn and into the woods.

• “This okay? Just us?” He asks as you lay a warm palm against him, head tipping back as the sun through the leaves dapples you and you look half unreal. “Anywhere you want to go?” Carrying you to the stream he’d found out in the woods feels so inadequate suddenly. It’d been so pretty when he’d found it, had immediately thought of sharing it with you, but maybe he should have let Dot help him. Give him advice on courting humans. Because he’s sure he’s messing up. Boring you.

• Inhaling as he breaks through the trees, you hear the water before you see it glittering in the sun. And it’s idyllic here, birds singing hidden in the branches. Quiet away from the noise and chaos of the Malto kids even though you adore them. “It’s beautiful out here,” you breathe, patting your hand urgently on him when you see some deer. ‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘Beautiful.’ And you realize when you look up that’s he’s just staring at you. Saying you’re beautiful as everything shifts between you, and you’re warming at the feel of those blue optics watching you. Aware of him in a way you’d never been before.

[motheroffeline]

Infatuation (pt. 1)

18+ minors dni, extremely dark, Aaron Pierre x OC! psychopath! Photographer! black reader Ari, smut, lots of stalking, explicit language, blackmail, dubious consent, omniscient POV, french kissing, oral (f receiving), and masturbation.

Summary: Ari works as a professional photographer for Aaron Pierre and is responsible for most pictures of him that have gone viral. But she finds herself completely fascinated with him to the point of obsession. She began to debate on how to have him completely to herself and then the light bulb came on: fool him with innocence and strike. On the road to darkness with the path already drawn out, Ari knew that the vanta blackness of the night belonged to her own soul.

Taglist: @kaylalb

Why was the world so full of things that were essentially unobtainable? The very essence of what one wanted could lie at their feet but stooping down to get it is where the problem arose. Just as an image said so many words there was really nothing to be said and, in that moment, the world felt silent any who. Malevolence lurked so openly in corners that people walked by and talked to it. Just as one could talk to it, the invisible but present malice could walk into bathrooms and bedrooms to violate privacy. Just as eyes would close and clothes would fall down it would wait with a grin, lopsided eyes trying to instill the image into its brain. Malice and malevolence went hand and hand but interchangeably they destroyed the soul contracts of the forgiving without mercy.

...

"One! Two! Three! Four!" Ari could barely push through the fourth set of crunches before she was completely winded. But, today, was special: this would mark her third year of working for Aaron and Ari wanted to be in tip top shape. She knew that the universe had to put them together because both of their names started with an A. I mean what else could it be? Her muse had walked into her life like a wandering elk in lone woods.

Through Aaron, she had purchased her first home which was considerably modern and had more than what she needed to live on. It was in a less populous part of town as well which gave all the privacy a young woman could need. A phone ringed distantly in the background, distracting Ari away from her thoughts.

Thinking it was Aaron himself; Ari made a mad dash to the phone only to find out that it was Alyssa, a longtime friendship that formed when she was going to school in long island.

"Wake yo ass up, Ari!" Said Alyssa who always spoke as though she was deaf. One of those types of people were always there for their friends through thick and thin; Ari loved the loud woman like a sister and could say that she was the second person in the world in which she truly adored.

"Alyssa, you so fucking loud it's not funny. And, yes, I am going to an event and guess who gonna be there?" Ari liked to mention Aaron at every interval because it meant she had a chance to improve her fantasies of him. At a moment's notice he could worm himself into her mind and even the slightest suggestion of intimacy from him would send her into a fit of lust.

"You mean that sexy, lightskin motherfucka? Shitttt, you lucky to even be that close to him. From all of the videos and stuff I see him of him he looks really shy which is kinda unfortunate because he's fine shyt. I high-key think you'd fuck him even if he was mute, Ari." Alyssa giggled at Ari's defensive words on the other line because she knew of her friend's obsession more than anyone else. Not the extent of her passions but from the root in which they grew -- Alyssa knew only that.

Arousal spread through Ari as she began to visually imagine the cute smile of Aaron and the juxtaposition his eyes provided in the photos she took of him. There was an awareness during the third year of working for him that came about: the utter fascination that turned into grotesque wanting. Hearing his laugh and being an audience to his visage is what turned Kari into a monster: Alyssa nor anyone else could know of her true nature.

Ari had possession of pictures where Aaron was fully naked, she had taken pictures of his social security number and had typed countless emails out just in case he denied her proposal in the coming two or so hours. The way of attainment was so disgusting and muddled with faux innocence that it would stain even the purest image formed of an individual: Ari swiftly hung the phone up on Alyssa. After 8 years of friendship, she had never purposely slammed the phone down in her friend's face, but Ari knew after that in a lot of ways she was not the same person anymore.

Bright colors disturbed her, so she decorated her house in mild and sometimes even dull colors. Additionally, regular masturbation did not do it for her anymore. If she didn't have a vibrator buzzing on her clot, a dildo in her pussy, pictures of Aaron laid out on the bed and porn playing in the background then she would not orgasm.

Ari's phone buzzed on the counter to let her know that the time for the event was closely approaching, and it sent a ravishing feeling through her: he would hate her forever or he would hate her forever and accept the offer. It was his fault to trust a random strange woman that he had met off of a website, it was his fault to conceptualize her as the young apprentice so eager to learn.

A cup of black coffee sat next to Ari as she gulped it down. The shower was running in the bathroom as she let the caffeine dull out the most extreme of her emotions. As she settled, Ari stripped herself naked, letting the soap wash her but never truly washing away anything at all. No matter how clean the skin or flawless the body she had there was an apparent discord lying beneath the clean interior. Deciding that her hair would look better out of her face, Ari braided her curls into five braids. She opted for a bodycon dress that left nothing to the imagination because it would inspire any men's eyes to look even ones like Aaron's....

1 Hour Later....

Ari was standing awkwardly amongst her fellow photographers as though she had walked into the wrong building. Aaron was so busy greeting people that he had not even noticed her arrival which, admittedly, made her a bit angry. But soon after he made his way over to Ari and her eyes wandered to his dick which always seemed to be swinging so heavy in his slacks and in his joggers. Did he even wear underwear?

"Ari, it's so good to see you! I was just telling Brianne, you know her, right? She does some really good editing and I was just thinking that you know how outside and indoor lighting works so you two could be a pretty good team." The adorable look on his face only further pushed the dark agenda in Ari's heart, aboding the beast but with an innocent look Ari spoke to her muse and said, "I think that I'll go solo for a while because I want to try out this new project and I find it rather stimulating. Honestly, I'm scared that people will take my idea and run with it because I don't think no one has done this before."

Aaron's eyebrows scrunched in curiosity and Ari had half the mind to fuck him through the marble floor of the venue right then and there.

"Oh, an upcoming project you say. What exactly does it entail?"

"I know it sounds a bit weird, but I think I should tell you in private because of how innovative it is. Would you mind joining me in the right-wing room for a second?" Ari could only pray that he would bite the bate that she waved in front of his face because if he didn't, she didn't know what she'd do to herself. She had brought the computer that held all of the blackmail pictures, and she was waiting for the currency that he would pay to her: his body.

"No, that actually sounds pretty smart, Ari. I'm pretty busy right now with all of the other guests and the guy that owns the venue keeps calling me about what time we need to get out. Hopefully, his phone has lost battery from calling me, but I doubt it with that dude." The way his British accent would reveal itself had Ari flushed with Arousal.

"See you then?"

"I'll see you then, Ari."

To the dark...

The lights in the right-wing room were cut off leaving an impassive pitch-black room which only had a couch in it. Ari's laptop illuminated the room but never fully lit it giving off a wicked vibe. Perfume wafted off of her neck giving the room a smell of pine, cherry and palo santo which was the absolute balance of masculine and feminine. Aaron walked into the room and Ari instantly lifted her head up with a lecherous smile.

"Hello, Mr. Pierre."

"Huh, what's with the formalities? I wanna hear about that new idea you got... shit sounds pretty interesting. By the way, were the lights off when you came in here? Ugh, I told that asshole to pay the light bill because-" A loud laugh burst from Ari's mouth which interrupted Aaron in the midst of his speech about the possibly dodgy venue owner.

"Aaron, can I be honest?"

"Well, yeah, my momma always told me that honesty was the best policy. So, what is it, Ari? If the plan is a bust, then that's fine because we all make mistakes sooner or later. But, I'll be happy to hear it-"

"Fucking listen." Ari could almost smell the fear and suspicion coming off of Aaron like an expensive cologne, but she had to let the words that she had held in for years come forward through her red stained mouth.

"Ari, what's going on for real? You've never just cussed like that... You one of the calmest people I know." Aaron's voice had a slight tremble to which was indicative of how he'd react when she revealed what she could ruin him with.

"Aaron, I'm going to be very descriptive in how I phrase this: I have pictures of you, so many pictures that they never could be erased without finding more. There are some of you where you are naked, some with you masturbating because I've snuck into your house to get those. I also have your financial information, that I've also got backed up on multiple sources. Your family -- I have some information of theirs as well and did you know what I can do? Besides creating perfect picturesque visuals I can also forge stories like a playwright, I can fuck you over really, really well..." Ari's voice deepened as she elongated the syllables in each word, she spewed to Aaron who was mortified by the passing second. Then, for added effect, she turned the laptop around to show him all of the different photos in which she owned.

"This has to be some type of sick fucking joke, Ari. You that fucking desperate you gotta go ruin my life on some shit?" His voice was trembling with the magnitude of the situation because he had trusted Ari and saw her as a relative because of how reliable and trustworthy she was.

"Aaron, I've wanted your ass for a long time, and you never even knew. That's why I gotta do drastic shit to you. But I'll give you an out to such a horrible end... If you have sex with me, I'll get rid of the information and then you can forget you ever saw me again. But, if I see my name on the news I'll have you dead in about three days because I'm constantly connected to fucked up people like me. So, is it a yes or a no? I need to know an answer right this second so I can notify my people to start digging your grave."

Aaron looked at Ari with a mix of disgust and disappointment with a glare so sour it looked like he could kill her with his bare hands. "Your people? You mean the voices inside your head you crazy bitch! I can't even fucking believe it. I gotta fuck with you because you lonely? So damn bold to sneak into somebody's house and take pictures of them but you can't even ask for sex without threatening somebody." Aaron's voice growled with pure hatred but was low enough to not alert anyone.

"Fuck me or see your life in shambles... Your choice. I know so many women that'll buy your pictures in a heartbeat and then you'll be on Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr-."

"Okay, I get it! What do you want me to do first, Ari? I still can't believe I hired such a crazy slut..." His voice held such contempt that in some way it made Ari feel a little guilty but she swept it under the rug. On the other hand, Aaron grimaced at the arousal that was quickly building in the pit of his stomach.

"Eat my pussy." Ari said with a blunt voice and a blank expression on her face which was a 360 from her passionate threats prior.

"Crazy, you just crazy Ari. What the fuck...." Aaron got on his knees as Ari started to pull off her bodycon dress and panties.

His tongue immediately darted forward and licked her from clit to hole and she let out a low mewl.

"For such an evil bitch you sure do taste like honey." He buries his tongue in her hole, in and out, in and out stroking her g spot.

"Mmmmmm Aaron t-thank you.... F-fuck... I'm sorry..." Ari begins jumping his face as his eyes peer into her trying to decipher who he thought was an angel in human form. His tongue swirls around Ari's soaked clit like a curious tentacle, pushing back the hood and sucking it between his teeth like a hard candy.

"I was even thinking of asking you out one day Ari. I always thought you was cute and shit... Never thought we'd get together like this.... Never thought you'd be a bitch either but here we are..." He speaks against her folds and she moans as the vibrations from his baritone voice rattle her dripping core.

"Goddamn... What about everybody else up in there? You don't think nobody gonna hear us? Oh God, yes, right there..." Ari's voice goes hoarse from pleasure as he grinds his nose against her clit.

"Mmmmmm, when did you ever care about shame? This room is so far down the hall that nobody could hear us. Music playing in the background too so I don't think they'll be too worried. I told them I had some matters to attend to so they won't look for me either. Is that all you need to know Ms. Blackmailer? Your pussy squeezing my tongue...." Ari practically drools at the sound of his voice as he devours her like a Michelin star dessert.

Aaron notices the visual pleasure evident on Ari's face and blows raspberries into her pussy, flicks the hard nub of her clit and gently nibbles on it just to get her to fall apart. In truth, he never expected Ari to be so bold... She was certainly a different person when it came to what she wanted. But, putting his family into it made him feel some type of way about the whole ordeal... Made it seem more dangerous to even be dealing with her but he got on his knees anyways. Who knows what she'll do next?

Ari's hips gyrate as she reaches the peak of her pleasure. "I'm gonna cummmm, ohhhh I'm gonna cum on your long ass tongue... Yes, yes eat me like that.... Mmmm like that- ahhhhh!" Ari let out a scream as she squirted all over Aaron's face, soaking him in her essence.

She quickly drops on her knees and begins kissing him in a sloppy manner completely catching him off guard. There was flight, fight and freeze and he found out which one he was right there in that dark room with Ari. Her tongue hugged his and she stuck most of her tongue down his throat loving the sounds of his gags.

Ari pulls back completely and stares at him for what appears to be minutes on end before finally saying in an utterly dark voice that read a dismal future for Aaron: "Trust me when I say this won't be the last time between the two of us. You're handsome and you're in the palm of my hand. In other words, I can't wait to discover every inch of you."

[ollieofthebeholder]

I actually have a good example of this.

I was in a campaign that had been running for about a year at this point; we were all around level 4-5. Most of us were at least moderately experienced players, so even though it was our GM's first time running, she was doing a very good job of it, and she had an experienced GM in the party who would help her out when necessary.

We were sent to deal with a wizard's tower owned/threatened (I forget which, or if the party actually knew which) by a dragon. Important to note that this dragon had already almost killed us once - the GM specifically did not intend us to fight this dragon, and had given us a brief, fly-by, low-stakes, don't-bother-rolling-initiative encounter with it so we would know it was out of our league and not try. She wanted us to try the stealth option. But, because she knew us as well, she did plant a couple magical items in the top of the tower: a Sphere of Annihilation, which would cause a small localized explosion, and a Rod of Cancellation, which would end any magical effects and abilities.

We (everyone in the party except the centaur, who couldn't climb the ladders inside the tower and was waiting on guard outside) made it to the top floor, opened the chests looking for a way to accomplish whatever it was our mission was (it was almost a decade ago, I genuinely can't remember now), and found the Sphere and the Rod. We were able to correctly identify them, even. We were wary of the Sphere, but we talked together and hatched a plan: My Wizard character would levitate the Sphere and float it out the window in order to detonate it on the rapidly approaching dragon, who had been alerted by us triggering some alarm we'd missed. The Fighter would stand by with the Rod of Cancellation, and if the Sphere of Annihilation came the wrong way, he would hit it with the Rod and cancel the magic. The GM told us I would need three successful control rolls to get it out the window.

My first roll was a four on the die. My second was a nat1. The Sphere rocketed towards us. The Fighter swung at it with the Rod. The Rod connected with the Sphere.

The GM turned the page, froze for a second with wide eyes, and then said very quietly, "...Oh."

What she had failed to notice, and therefore failed to communicate - a thing we probably should have been able to determine from our Identify rolls - was that a Rod of Cancellation interacting with a Sphere of Annihilation would instantly destroy all life in a twenty-foot sphere.

Yeah. TPK. The GM felt horrible.

We'd been planning to convert our characters from 2e to 5e (2e being the system the GM - and most of us at the table - had learned on and were more familiar with, but which we were all getting annoyed by at that point) as soon as this mission was over, so we ended up salvaging the situation by saying the explosion had ripped a hole in the planes and we were transported to another dimension with varying degrees of amnesia, but yeah, it was a whole thing.

"But doesn't having a notion of 'balanced' combat inherently imply that all combat encounters are expected to be fair and winnable" well, no – it implies only that the GM has the ability to know whether a given combat encounter is fair and winnable.

There's a story that's been going around for decades about a Dungeons & Dragons party who encountered a large room full of treasure while exploring a dungeon. Immediately suspicious, they asked their GM a series of detailed questions about the room, but no obvious dangers were identified. Satisfied, they moved into the room – and were immediately set upon and eaten by the dragon that had been sitting atop the pile of treasure the whole time, which the GM hadn't mentioned because the players never specifically asked about the presence of living creatures within the room.

While this is obviously an extreme and ridiculous case, it illustrates an important point: as GM, you're the group's eyes and ears. If you don't describe something, the player characters literally can't see it – that dragon was effectively invisible from their perspective. The trick is that active malice isn't the only way to invisible-dragon your players; a group can also find themselves invisible-dragoned because the GM simply failed to provide sufficient information for the risk in question to be identified. This can happen through neglect, but it can also happen because the GM themself was unaware that the risk was present.

Now, hold on, you might be saying: the GM "plays" the entire world. How is it possible for the GM not to know that a risk is present? Well, that brings us back around to the subject of combat balance.

A game in which "balanced" combat is a meaningful thing to discuss is typically going to be one in which both the players and the GM are actually making strategic, tactical, and/or logistical decisions, rather than merely producing a description of their characters making such decisions. Without a good handle on the interplay of these decisions, it's completely possible for the GM to be wrong about the level of risk the scenario they've constructed entails.

That's actually pretty critical, because even if you don't care about the game being fair and winnable (and that's a perfectly valid stance), your players are still depending on you to be their eyes and ears, and to give them enough information to make good decisions about whether the fight in front of them is one they can win. A game where not every fight is expected to be winnable needs to be a game where the players have the opportunity to walk away.

No matter how objective you try to be, your own sense of the answer to that question is inevitably going to colour how you communicate about it. You being wrong about the level of risk at hand inherently increases the chance that your players will make bad choices. The party eating a TPK because they made a stupid decision is one thing; the party eating a TPK because they made a decision that looked reasonable from their perspective based on your unwitting miscommunication of the level of risk involved is quite another!

Sure, once the dice hit the table I'm probably going to realise that I fucked up, and I can adjust things on the fly to bring the level of risk that's actually present in line with the level of risk I communicated – but that's extra work I don't need with everything else that's on my plate. And that's a best-case scenario; if I'm running the game for a hardcore let-the-dice-fall-where-they-may group (and such groups tend to have a pretty significant overlap with groups that are cool with not every fight being winnable), I may not be able to adjust the fight's parameters on the fly without violating the social contract of the table.

Basically, whenever I see an OSR game with tactically crunchy combat brag about how its author never even thinks about "balance", what that's telling me is that running this game is going to create a whole lot of extra work for me as a GM. This is not a selling point.

[roseeycreates-blog]

Villain!Tenzin AU. Hearing about Lin's breaks him but it's until the Abbott confesses to the acolytes burning her body (they wanted to get rid of the evidence + the air temple a sacred landmark) that those pieces of his old self get destroyed.

Earthbenders are meant to be reunited with their element, everyone knows that. But, apparently, the love of his life wasn't even worthy enough to be buried by the same people who tortured and chased her to her death.

Wahhhh, I love the idea of cremation! Tenzin would 100% flip out!

Though in this AU, I imagine Tenzin storming straight to the Air Temple where Lin was held captive, determined to get the truth. He interrogates the ones actually involved, only to hear them say:

"We did it for the Air Nation." "She was hindering balance by refusing to have children." "We weren’t even sure if she was carrying an airbender or not." "She wasn’t the right woman for you."

Hearing those words sends Tenzin over the edge. The sheer mockery towards Lin and his child. How dare these insolent fools say that? His rage explodes. He unleashes airbending in ways he never thought possible, proving just how deadly the element can be when wielded with pure fury.

By the time his killing spree is over, the temple is silent.

Then, he makes his way to the cliff where they claimed Lin had fallen. He stands there, grief consuming him, and he cries for her. And in that moment, overwhelmed by loss, rage, and raw emotion... That's when he discovered the ability to fly (without the gliders)

ANYWAY, I really appreciate you dropping by my ask box. it’s been a while! Thanks for taking an interest in this AU. You made my day~ :)

[drc00l4tt4]

This took so fucking long oh my god

hcs under the cut <33

He has a ponytail now. Can't explain why I believe he would have one, he just does.

Obviously followed in his fathers footsteps but I feel like he'd be cursed in the way Michael Corleone was (since his existence is a reference to the guy) that he'd eventually destroy everything, though it'd be a slow burn

I don't have much else to say here sorry <//3

I feel like this kid is absolutely batshit insane

He acts like a wild animal, especially when it comes to defending his friends

He has bitten people

Wants to be exactly like his dad (Louie is terrified by this)

Always looks slightly disheveled, as if he just got out of a fight or something

Anger issues (got that from his mother)

Does not understand sarcasm or metaphors (got that from his father)

Absolutely wasn't a planned baby but his parents love him anyway

His parents probably had split custody (Louie having him on weekends specifically)

The designated Louie Jr handler (has probably held the guy back by the collar of his shirt a few times)

Very similar to his father

I imagine he didn't go the mob doctor route that Legs did, but went a similar route, which was mob lawyer

Probably the second most restrained in the group (Michael gets first place with that one)

He was the result of a hook-up Legs had (and regretted after, even though he does love Calves)

His mom was semi-neglectful, so he eventually just stayed at Legs house and went to Louie Jr's mom's if he needed a babysitter

Selective mute, talks through sign language (Michael translates usually)

She takes after her father in a lot of aspects

Absolutely knows how to fight and will punch a bitch if they're being disrespectful

She's probably the scariest of the five actually

She was actually a planned baby, but Johnny and her mother ended up not working out in the end

AuDHD up the ASS

This guy fidgets constantly and cannot stand still, he'll be shifting from leg to leg or pulling at his shirt cuffs

Trusts way too easily because why would someone just lie for no reason, that's weird

Doesn't understand sarcasm or metaphors (he 🤝 Louie Jr)

Probably has one of those fidget rings on his finger

Very easily startled

Everyone thinks he's a dumbass and he knows this

Constantly trying to prove himself and help with anything he can (usually fucks up)

This leans into the Frankie the Squealer is trans hc but for this universe, Frankie actually had Topo before his transition. After he transitioned, he became a single dad and had to raise Topo alone

[potentiality-26]

👉👈

For the love confession prompts:

Public confession for Hartwin?

For these love confession prompts.

Kind of a sideways Hades-and-Persephone AU. What can I say but that the muse wants what it wants?

---

The gods were angry. Angry and scared.

Eggsy might have been a little more sympathetic if he thought any of it was about him. Maybe his mum’s tears, if he was feeling charitable — but he wasn’t. Not today.

Years ago, his mum fell in love with a mortal man, and was cast from the heavens for it. But then Lee died, and Michelle was never the same, and Eggsy was left to flounder, fatherless, in the human world with powers he barely understood. None of the gods had cared about his fate then.

Except one.

Now they were there by the dozen, whispering and trembling, with the All-Father in his gleaming armor at the head of the pack. Chester King — which was what he was calling himself these days — called for silence. “Eggsy,” he said, unable to quite hide the sourness in his expression when he uttered the name. “Your powers are beyond dispute. Your deeds are spoken of across the moral world. You are truly one of us."

Eggsy snorted. As if he cared about being one of them.

Michelle had taken another mortal husband in the near two decades that followed. Dean was a tyrant who liked to test Eggsy’s powers, sending him on quests that would kill a mortal man — and with the life of her young daughter by Dean in the balance, Michelle could never stop him. Eggsy's deeds were spoken of across the world, all right — and as his acclaim and Dean’s bitterness grew he had begun to fear that his stepfather's hatred would destroy him one day.

Sure enough, a fight with a hydra had gone badly, and Eggsy lay bleeding in the middle of nowhere, about to find out if demigods died or not. And then —

Harry was there.

When Eggsy’s father died, the god of the underworld himself came to give them the news. Out of respect, he said. He had crouched down in front of Eggsy as he played on the floor, and swore that if Eggsy ever called for him, he would come. Eggsy had never forgotten — but he had never called either. And when they met again —

Oh, my dear boy, Harry had sighed, kneeling down beside Eggsy in the dirt. That’s not what this is.

And it wasn’t. Harry took him down to the underworld, but not to die. Eggsy was nursed back to full health there, and better besides. He trained with the greatest heroes who had ever lived and moved on to their final reward. And Harry taught him to channel his strength, helped him explore his abilities, learn, grow. For the better part of a year, Eggsy explored Harry's shadowed halls and basked in strange orchards that never knew sunlight, and he'd never been happier.

It was inevitable, really, that someone find out — and when they came to whisper in Chester's ear —

There was pandemonium in the halls of the gods.

On earth, his mum’s dormant powers roared back to life and started a perpetual winter. Chester had her back in the heavens right quick, and made little Daisy a proper demigoddess into the bargain, but it wasn't enough for the others. They were too afraid.

No god but Harry ever spent much time in the underworld. Funny, how frightened of death immortal beings could be. The idea that Harry could bring anyone but mortal spirits down there horrified them all. Suddenly Eggsy wasn’t some upstart no one cared about anymore, no; he was the most promising of the young gods, precious, golden — and now stolen, imprisoned, defiled.

"He has no power over you," Chester declared, even more distaste dripping from his voice. "Not while I'm here. You are free to join us at last."

Eggsy lifted his chin. “I’d rather be with Harry, thanks.”

There were gasps from their audience. No one could imagine it, even though they were here, now, in Harry's throne-room. They wouldn't look up, into the vast darkness above them, lit with a thousand different afterlives, and feel joy. They had no idea what Harry had built here. They didn't know it was beautiful. They didn’t understand that it wouldn’t matter to Eggsy if it wasn’t — no so long as he was here.

When Merlin, the messenger god, had come to warn Harry that Chester knew, word traveled fast among the daemons. Eggsy had almost no time before Harry found him. He took Eggsy's hand and promised he would be all right. He led him to the great hall and sat him down on the throne as if it was Eggsy who was king there. Eggsy had sometimes thought that perhaps, one day, there might be two thrones there. That Harry would want —

The time to talk about it had already passed, so Eggsy simply stayed on the throne until Chester and his entourage arrived in their finery. He remained seated even then, and they were all so puffed up with horror and suspicion that they didn’t even react to the affront.

Meanwhile Harry had drifted to the far corner of the room, his scarred face shrouded in darkness — silent, as he had been since he told Eggsy he would be all right. He would be all right, not both of them. And not together. For Harry would never speak up for himself in this. He could talk with Eggsy for hours upon any subject, but he had been too long in exile to protest when they called him a monster.

"Nonsense," Chester was saying. "For you to remain here — impossible! I am here to help you—"

"I don't want your help. I never asked for it. And I don't want to leave. Anyway — I can’t.”

“You — can't?”

“I've eaten the fruit of the underworld,” Eggsy said firmly. “I can’t leave.”

Harry moved for the first time. Deities cringed away as he passed by, but Harry didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. He dropped to the ground in front of Eggsy for the third time in their lives, kneeling before the throne. He reached up to take Eggsy’s face in both hands and someone actually shrieked. Eggsy could only hope it wasn’t his mum.

"But you always had food from the surface," Harry breathed. "I made sure of it.”

Eggsy nodded rapidly. “Yeah, ‘course,” he said, not altogether sure who he was reassuring. Harry, who looked so stricken? Chester, astonished and red in the face? Or the assorted gods and goddesses around them, whispering that it must have been some trick, some trap?

It wasn't. Harry’s daemons had brought him delicacies from all over the world each day, and if Eggsy had sometimes looked with curiosity at the fruit of those orchards, Harry's warnings were enough that he kept it to himself. At least, until Merlin came.

“Foolish boy,” Chester hissed. “How could you have much such a mistake?”

“It wasn’t a mistake. I did it when I realized you might try to take me away.” And that was his mum’s gasp, but it didn’t matter. His words were for Chester and his eyes were for Harry.

The fruit had tasted as good as Eggsy had thought it might, even consumed in rush. He had wiped the juice from his mouth only moments before Harry found him. His fingers were still sticky, but Harry hadn't appeared to notice.

“Why?” he whispered now, thumbs smoothing over Eggsy’s cheeks.

“’Cos I love you.”

Dozens of gods and goddesses, daemons and demigods, surrounded them, but in that moment it was just him and Harry in every way that mattered. Harry started to pull away in shock and Eggsy lifted his hands to hold Harry’s against his face. Maybe now he would feel the traces of juice, see the faint stain of it on his lips, and understand.

Harry stared, all astonishment and — Eggsy's heart stuttered to see — creeping hope. Eggsy smiled. "I love you," he said again. "I wanna stay with you.”

Harry smiled too then, wide and brilliant — a smile no one but Eggsy had ever seen before. It looked even sweeter than fruit and there was no reason not to taste it, so Eggsy pressed forward and kissed him.

"Cease this at once!” Chester was bellowing now. “You will cease.”

“No,” Harry broke the kiss to say, the lazy confidence Eggsy had known in him before that day back in force at last. “You will.” He waved a hand and Chester and his entourage were banished back to the heavens.

Eggsy laughed delightedly and kissed him again.

A throat cleared.

Eggsy actually looked, this time, enough to notice that everyone wasn’t gone after all. His mum was still there, Daisy on her hip.

She wasn’t happy, Eggsy got that. It would be difficult for her, to only be able to visit him now and then, and in the underworld at that — but the world would thaw in time and so would she. After all, she had sacrificed as much for love, once. Maybe she disapproved now, but she couldn’t change his choice and she wouldn’t make him regret it.

He looked again at Harry, who was faintly flushed, and let his hands drop this time, only to keep hold of one of them.

Fingers laced together, they stood and faced his mother’s wrath.

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Yayyyy!! Welcome about the 1940s train, my friend!! I know how much you share my love of historical fiction/AU. 😘

Here we go -- diving into your lovely amazing comments. 😎

Right off the bat we get the classic and hilarious brother dynamic between the two of them. And of course, Dean being Dean. He just couldn't resist. 🙄 Not to mention the fact that Sam literally gave Dean a list of things to do in NYC other than bother him 😂

Lolll we gotta get into that first, right? I thought the best way to set the scene would be to establish the bro relationship here -- how this version of Sam and Dean are exactly the same...and how they're a bit different. 😬 (exactly on that list! lmfao)

I love this little bit of world-building, because right off the bat you are introducing little things that will divide Sam and Dean. It builds the scene, shapes the characters, and introduces the idea that, yes both men enlisted, but at the same time there are other sides/fronts to the war and those experiences shaped these two men in different ways. I also like that you made them be in different places in the military, because their personalities are so different and it fits that Dean was the one who saw combat and has a little bit of shell-shock, but then you see Sam who is able to keep a stable job and merges well into the hustle and bustle of NYC.

Thank youuuuu I was hoping someone would pick up on all of this. 😭😭 I thought it would be interesting to apply Sam's intelligence literally in Intelligence. It was an interesting and necessary facet of the war. Without the spies and Intelligence efforts on the Allied side, we wouldn't have won the war.

But in this story, it would also provide that contrast with how Sam experienced the war and how Dean did, with him being what we think of when we think of a soldier, coming out of all of this with shell shock and more than a few scars -> something the movies of the '40s tended to gloss over. 🥲

"He'd met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn't seen a lady like you in quite some time." I'm dying with this line. I love it so much. Oh boy... I already feel like this fic is going to destroy me in the best way.

AGAIN - another line I hoped someone would enjoy. 💗 Dean's been messing around with a lot of "girls," but this here's a lady. 😘

Aww Sam 😭 I'm also dying that Dean walked her home, my word, what a man.

Sam's a Good Man, but so is Dean, in a more obvious flirtatious gesture of chivalry guy kind of way. 😅

You don't gotta ask what it's like sweet pea, you're gonna be out there soon enough with a ring on your left hand that actually MEANS SOMETHING to the man who gave it to you (DEAN)!

Ooooh girl, not you already getting red hot with your theories. 😜

Girl please be curious for all of us 🤣 But I will say I like that she still upholds her side of the marriage even though her husband is literally a human trash can filled with Raccoons. As Dean put it earlier, she's a lady.

Oh yeah, gotta have that spark of attraction, noticing those bowlegs!

And yes, that morality and how seriously she takes her vows is something that's still very much at the crux of this story, especially considering the times, where as a whole the nation had more religious and/or traditional values around marriage. Even though, obvious, adultery has been around since the beginning of time lmao. 🫠

Also I love that you made her a nurse and that she and Dean were in the same area, so they're able to connect on that level, and it's not just Dean being flirty. I think that giving the reader that particular background also will help her navigate how to help Dean, if she's seen other soldiers with shell-shock and PTSD.

Aw thank you!! They have some common ground, literally, even if they were in Normandy at different points during the war. And you're right, her being nurse is going to be a key character element going forward, with Dean and Michael.

Oh my sweet goodness she's the best. Did she stutter?! I think not!

Right?! That's def her mic drop moment! loll 🎙️

You know what Mike, if you keep talking you're gonna regret it. Your wife might be a lady, but Dean isn't. And Dean will go full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass while you're asleep for doing the twisted tango with another woman!! 😡🤣

LMFAO not Lorena Bobbitt!!!!! I'm deceasedddd. 💀💀💀

Alex this chapter was amazing! I can see how much research and hard work you put into it my talented friend! I can't wait to see what else is in store for Dean and this reader 🥰

Aww thank you, my lovely Lee. 🥹 Part 2 is about to drop tomorrow, so you'll see very soon!! (Or whenever you get to it lol) 💕

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.    

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut. 

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said. 

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?” 

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap. 

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once. 

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?” 

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said. 

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks. 

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly. 

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.  

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.  

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.  

His brows furrowed. “Do what?” 

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms. 

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.” 

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.” 

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice. 

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff. 

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so. 

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly. 

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” 

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.” 

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner. 

“Excuse me?” 

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.” 

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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[mayasaura]

There's a stanza from Annabel Lee that's been tickling my brainstem for a while, and it feels even more relevant now that we know how John and Alecto are bound together, and that their love was and still is mutual:

But our love it was stronger by far than the love    Of those who were older than we—    Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above    Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

That's the heart of it, isn't it? The source of all of John's power, the reason he's God, it's because his soul is connected to his Annabel Lee's. To end all of this, they'll need to be dissevered.

I'd say that the angels have already tried and failed, and the demons look like they're winding up to take a shot. Odds are that'll go about as well for them as it did for Augustine and Mercy. But there's someone the poem doesn't ask. It doesn't account for Annabel.

I think that may be why it matters so much that that Alecto still loves John, and where the true horror of love comes in. If Alecto's soul is going to be seperated from John's, Alecto has to want it. No one else can do it for her. Annabel Lee has to become the subject, and not the object.

[paperglader]

i just feel like someone should take one for the team and write the fanfic where miss homotron goes to dragonstone on foot, meets her situationship’s new lover, and immediately goes like blind with jealousy and fury (rhaenyra, as always when alicent’s near, looks and behaves like a very confused kicked puppy)

i just need homotron and saphotron to meet, so the real war can begin

[feroluce]

For some weird reason, I've always been fascinated by how wildly different Sampo operates in the Underground vs the Overworld.

Sampo is present in both places and even in official sources, he's not really counted as one side or the other- now that the theory has been confirmed in-game, he's generally just lumped in with the Masked Fools.

But there really is a big difference!

Probably the most obvious and well known instance of Sampo's...business practices *cough burglary and fraud COUGH* in the Overworld is from the Belobog Museum event. In it, you don't find out Sampo is the main culprit until near the end, because Pela has to set up a sting just to catch him in the act. And that sting is necessary all because the initial suspect they arrested, Norbert, had pretty much no idea of his partner's identity. Sampo wouldn't even speak to him face-to-face.

And whereas Sampo is normally very pleasant and friendly with the trailblazer...when he thinks he's talking to Norbert here, he straight up says that they are NOT friends. Like he really shuts that shit DOWN.

There's also an Overworld NPC, Chavez, who heads the "Dark Blue Scam Support Group." And he. Really really really does not like Sampo fjkdasjklfdj

Chavez clearly wants Sampo caught, and has literally no positive feelings about him. So. Why call it the Dark Blue Scam? Why not just out him by name? Chavez obviously doesn't give a single shit about Sampo's dignity or privacy. But he never once refers to him as "Sampo," and even the pamphlets he passes out make no mention of it. No one in the entire support group seems to know how to identify him or how to refer to him except by his hair color. If the trailblazer says his name, Chavez reacts as though he's never heard it before.

(I've seen people say this means Sampo Koski is an alias and not his real name? But Ray pointed this out, and honestly I agree; even the Fools call him Sampo, after all. I think it's just that Chavez never knew Sampo's name in the first place, and given his immense distrust, immediately assumes it's an alias.)

And then there's his characters stories, where he proceeds to pull off a heist in the Overworld while in disguise as Brughel Poisson the entire time. Literally his own stories don't mention Sampo's name even once.

So anyway, all this shows that when he's up in the Overworld working cons, Sampo is incredibly slippery and secretive about his identity. The only people who seem to know him are Pela, Serval, and Gepard. He doesn't get close to anyone else, and is even surprisingly unfriendly. Nobody knows his name. No one knows his face. He has zero qualms about backstabbing or double-crossing, and even plans for it in some cases.

Meanwhile, down in the Underground, I'm pretty sure literally the worst thing we hear of him doing is scalping tickets in front of the Fight Club. Which isn't even illegal in a lot of places (although it's certainly a dick move).

In Hook's companion quest, a vagrant miner steals Fersman's equipment and tries to sell it to Sampo. Even before the trailblazer and Hook jump in and out the vagrant as a thief, Sampo hesitates to buy it because it sounds like stolen goods, which he doesn't want any part of.

Even knowing that a geomarrow detector is rare and incredibly valuable in the mines, Sampo makes no attempt to double-cross Hook or profit off of her loss, and even tells her who to go to to get it fixed.

And my favorite example of Sampo in the Underground is the Survival Wisdom adventure mission. In it, Sampo starts up a business with Peak, another miner. And like. In wild contrast to all the cons he pulls above ground, Sampo is actually super nice and helpful here.

Just the same as with Hook's quest, Sampo talks to Peak face-to-face, with no disguises or barriers. When the trailblazer finds them, they're just in the Great Mine, no secretive meeting places. Peak knows Sampo, is familiar with him, and calls him by name. It's not even a con! There's nothing illegal going on; it really is just a business partnership. Peak is more than happy with their deal, he's even pretty enthusiastic about it, because thanks to Sampo he can now make enough money to get by while also accommodating his chronic fatigue.

The only person Sampo lies to in this whole ordeal is the trailblazer, who he manipulates into getting Peak's mining equipment back from the vagrants that stole it in the first place. And when it's done, he rewards them with a legit treasure map.

So when he's working in the Underground, Sampo is MUCH more upright and lawful. Part of this is probably to do with his "business" model- Sampo only takes advantage of the wealthy, and poverty runs rampant in the Underground. When he charges Peak an extra 30% (the same percentage he charges Norbert as a consultation fee in the museum heists- Sampo seems to go by percentage instead of a flat rate, which means his prices are more fair for lower incomes) for carelessly losing their supply, Peak literally starts counting out pocket change.

Dude's working for pennies and good will down there dknsmdmd

And you can twist this into a Robin Hood thing if you want- Sampo IS technically working to feed orphans and heal the sick. He says himself he's more than happy to make up the shortfall between the greedy and the marginalized- I mean he says it in the shadiest way possible, but I doubt the people benefiting from his work really care that he's a slimeball if it means they can survive another day. Even the two heists he pulls in his character stories are literally just him stealing absurd amounts of food.

Personally though I think it is solely because of Natasha, and Sampo is hilariously well-behaved specifically for her, because she keeps him on a short leash JSKZJMSMSKS

[betweenthescarletmoon]

Op wow yessss these thoughts are amazing. Thank you for helping me empathize with those that didn't like Jayce. It's true that it absolutely must've hit home for people, there's a reason why so many connected with Jinx and Viktor.

I do think the point of s1 wasn't to completely empathize with him, bc we're Told so much instead of Shown about his internal turmoil, his exhaustion from trying to uphold so much unprecedented power, even his underlying mental health issues that led to his obsessiveness and suicidality. The point was to understand his corruption/fall from grace arc. That's why I always say Jayce must be watched twice in s1 to at least begin to understand or even like him. It indeed took me a second watch to realize just how much he Tried, how every mistake came from a position of naive ignorance and the childish wish to magic problems away. His love for his city, tarnished into fear of the Outsiders' attempts to destroy it.

However, s2 seemed to back away from this narrative mentality a little. Yes, he paid for his crimes (I'd say far more than he perhaps deserved, but though he had no idea of the consequences of his actions, everyone would pay for it in the long run). And yes, he fought to make up for his mistakes. But I think his arc was fast-forwarded to the point that it falls apart upon closer inspection.

I will never understand what Truly made him kill Viktor, as much as I don't understand how he went from Feral Kill-mode to Actually I Admire and Forgive You mode. Abandoned political themes aside, Jayce as a character was reduced to practically nothing, aside of Viktor. Shock factor and shipping material, that's all he is in season 2. It's just. Depressing. Where were all these messages on bias, paranoia, vengeance, control, the dangers of technology, etc? He and Caitlyn had such similar themes—is this perhaps why they were separated so much? Why do we have such little of his say about HIS weapons? Why does he not want Jinx to pay for what she's done anymore? If he'd requested Silco to deliver her the Very Day of the bombing???

I have many more gripes but my point stands. Jayce is far too complex of a character to reduce him to pure likability and "does no wrong" mentality, but that's the arcane fandom for you. A fandom that excuses Jinx and Silco's actions, mind you. I also think Jinx was strangely absolved of her actions by the show itself bc of fan reception of her and it makes me Sick. Or perhaps this is just a side effect of the little time they seized in deepening their arcs. (I think a fourth act would've done this story wonders.)

Sorry for taking over this post to be arcane critical but i fully agree with you op. People who see Jayce as Who He Is acknowledge that he is flawed, AND appreciate his character for it. The writers should've trusted their original decisions about this, instead of diminishing him to nothing.

spicy take of the week but i feel like the arcane fandom has really overcorrected with the jayce hate to the point where they've flattened him into someone who does no wrong/ has only done wrong because he's like 'too nice' or 'too good' or whatever. i feel like it really flattens his character and takes away from how much he grew to act like he didn't do some really fucked up shit in season 1

[tys-kitty]

I know we always talk about how Herondales love but once and how fiercely they love (which is true) but can we please acknowledge that a Blackthorn would do anything for love and their loved ones?

[in-tua-deep]

had a funky asgardian dream last night lol

the premise was that loki fucked around and basically an amnesiac version of loki ended up back in time with so many holes in his memory but enough knowledge to be like "odin is my dad"

and odin looked at this kid and was like "aw he looks like hela, this tracks" and, importantly, does not know that loki is a frost giant and just assumes loki is his full blood kid lol

all that to say that loki and thor grow up with big brother!loki who is actually?? a good big brother?

rather than hide hela's existence, older loki makes odin nostalgic and he ends up telling them that hela is their big sister who was "lost to the war" or some bullshit, which most people assume to mean she died in the war, right?

older loki sees like, one picture of her, notes the similarities, and then for some weird reason feels profoundly uncomfortable so he decides not to unpack all that and just avoids mention of her lol. kid thor doesn't really care that much about her bc she's not in their lives so why should he? kid loki LOVES learning about her and actively seeks info about her out, mostly because he thinks a big sister would probably be better than two older brothers (he also is young enough that lost to the war means that he could probably find her, right?)

importantly, kid!Loki grows up very differently in this dream world. instead of being the weird outcast prince, everyone looks at him and is like "awww look he's like his big brother <3." he's also like, 8 so at the moment he is very much the baby of the family

anyway so the main plot of this dream was big Loki (imagine like a 19/20 year old) plus thor (like 12) and Loki (8ish) manage to find where Hela is sealed away. idk where they are or where the king and queen are, it's implied they're not in asgard right now and this was a Very Unplanned Field Trip that is giving older Loki an ulcer. They have to look at little Loki to confirm this weird fucking ceiling portrait is Hela bc the older two are not the Hela Experts in the room

at the same time, older Loki is starting to get some flashes of the future and begins to suspect that he's from the Bad Timeline

through accident, they manage to unseal Hela, who is met with three whole younger siblings - and let me tell you it is a very different welcome when you have a very enthusiastic 8-yr-old sparkling at you and very excited to have found his lost sister and a 12-yr-old who thinks girls kind of have cooties rolling his eyes

so hela makes a split second decision to not tell her baby brothers about the whole "dad sealed me away for being warful" thing (it will be a fun surprise for odin later <3) and also embrace being a big sister (it is now her legal job to pick on older loki and make fun of thor for being the odd one out)

anyway while they're figuring this out, older Loki is continuing to get flashes of the future but is now somehow joined by thor also getting flashes of the future. what they manage to glean makes them suspicious, and hey if they're both getting future visions or whatever then logically baby loki should also be, right??

so they start to like. suspiciously spy on little loki. except idk maybe the universe decided that one loki having knowledge was fine? i don't think older loki actually fully knows about the time travel thing or that he IS little loki tbh

so anyway they're spying on an eight year old who has a strict bedtime of nine o'clock.

meanwhile hela starts getting flashes of the future and is like "wait. do i destroy asgard?? why would i do that? where would my brothers live? ):"

the only other thing i remember is there being a dramatic scene where hela is trying to reject her fate and someone tells her that she cannot escape it, and she's actually getting teary eyed because she's gotten attached to her weird shitty brothers now

then i woke up and was like "huh"