#feathered prison fan

[zegalba]

Rebecca Horn: The Feathered Prison Fan (1978)

[flightofaqrow]

tag refresh, relationships ( ‘+’ is platonic, ‘x’ or ‘ship name’ is romantic/sexual, ‘branwen twins’ is face value lol )

[mollyandaquafina212]

[fantasywater]

Stolas will never be called what he is in canon.

Spoilers: Brief mention of Via storyboard leaks.

Firstly,the same woman who said a main character getting dragged off to a room to get ganged raped was the funniest joke in the show is not about to call another main character in her other show a rapist.

Instead, she gives lip service in a vacuum to what Stolas has done to shut critics up. The Full Moon episode for example is her technically dealing with it so now she can move on. Basically, Stolas to her is off the hook. That's why she wrote him calling himself a monster(with the qualifier IF in front of it), and Blitz got to rant about his hatred. She even let him say everything you put me through, but without going into any detail of course.

However, notice how none of that matters in the very next episode. Stolas supposedly thinks he's a monster, but is weirdly very snarky to Blitz and calls his victim a motherfucker on stage at a hate party for him. Blitz screams everything you put me through(sooo rape) you pompous asshole, but is trying to get sex literally in the cold open, pulls Stolas close in his lap, gets jealous, and looks at him with romantic longing like Stolas is a prize that Blitz should be sad that he has now lost.

Also, notice how she hops so strongly to classism since that's a safe negative topic for Stolas's transgressions. However, that was never the biggest issue with their dynamic. It started in Opps with Blitz suddenly caring, very much so, that Stolas is a prince. Even the majority of his tirade in FullMoon dwelled on that aspect the most instead of the more pressing issue.

She does this with Octavia as well. The lyrics in her song give lip service by saying "I won't forgive you, I won't take it, I will grow without you, you will only know my name", and then she goes no contact. However, let's look at the foreshadowing of why this isn't going to stick.

Complete strangers Octavia and Luna hug like their best friends in Seeing Stars. Octavia and Luna semi-hug and giggle in the pride poster. Plus a rather curious one, which the official Spindlehorse account hurried up and deleted, was a car decal sticker with Blitz, Stolas, IMP, as well as Via, all together and Blitz is saying My Family on the tagline.

Also, Spindlehorse is a business first. Therefore she is not about to have anyone in the show call Stolas by name what he actually is. To do so would tank her show by destroying her most popular character.

There would be a mass exodus because the Stolitz fans wouldn't be able to lie to themselves anymore if anyone in the show point-blank said rape or coercion. So safe lip service is all we will get so that the several money shots in Sinmas can happen plus the marriage foreshadowing in the merch.

However, here's a game to play in debates with the Stolitz fandom.

"Did Blitz have free will or was it coercion?"

-Drop a pic of the chain scene.

-Then the scene of the feathers trying to muffle Blitz as he fights and screams.

-Now put those scenes side by side with the one of Stolas calling himself a monster if Blitz is a prisoner.

-Also for extra fun add the scene of Blitz looking degraded and angry after sex in one of the mirror images from All to You.

Now watch them scatter.

Thoughts?

[collapseintonever]

mcr at project revolution in charlotte, nc. august 8 2007. photos by buttertooth on livejournal. picture commentary under the cut

pic 2:

When MCR first came out onstage, Gerard strutted on like he was all badass with a black bandana on his face. For some reason, he reminded me of an anime cartoon character when he was wearing that. Anyway, the decision to wear the bandana came back to bite him in the ass later because he couldn't get it to untie from his neck when he realized how ridiculously fucking hot it was out there. I didn't realize it was still around his neck but he made a comment about it between songs when he was trying to catch his breath. Haha. Oh well, everything can't always go perfectly, right?

Anyway, since the picture of him (that I tried to take) with the bandana turned out all blurry and awful, here is a picture of Gerard just after he took it off. Might I point out how foxy his hair looks. Hooray for Gerard not looking like a mad scientist when I saw them perform!

Gerard made multiple comments on the heat, but you know what? He sort of deserved being hot since he was out there in his JACKET! It's a wonder he didn't pass out. He did spend a lot of the time lying on the stage or sitting. Early in their set (maybe three or so songs in?) he said something to the effect of (this is NOT a direct quote, just a paraphrase) "I was going to say something later about guys taking their shirts off, but, fuck it, it's too hot. Go ahead and take them off now." Then when they got to "Prison" he said it again about just the guys taking off their shirts and that he didn't care what size you are, you're still attractive. Gotta love Gerard and how he tries to make the fans feel good about themselves. I think he was just trying to charm the guys out of their clothes, though, really. He stressed that only the guys should take their shirts off and swing them around their heads. I think some guy threw his shirt up there and he picked it up and swung it around, but it could've been a rag or something. It was a black cloth of some kind, anyway. And of course, someone threw the obligatory feather boa up there, and Gerard put it on. I swear, Gerard must be crazy because he's in a jacket, singing his lungs out, on a stage with PYRO in the 103-degree heat for fuck's sake and he puts one of those itchy feather boas on.

pic 3 & 4: Unfortunately, these were the only two pics that had Ray in them since he stayed wayyyyy over on his side and I couldn't see him. But his playing and singing was amazing as usual!

pic 5: Right before the pyro came on Gerard said "Shit!" which I took to mean that he knew it was about to happen and he didn't want to feel the heat. I could be wrong, but that's what it seemed like.

pic 6: Towards the end of the concert Gerard said (again just a paraphrase because i didn't get it all, unfortunately!) that he was sweaty and nasty and everyone should "make some noise" because of it. I love MCR and all of the band members, genuinely I do, but if Gerard didn't take a shower after that concert, he is officially a nasty motherfucker. :P

Frank was a little more sensible with his attire, since he was wearing a sleeveless shirt. He flopped down at one point and it just looked like he was hating the heat.

On the second song (which I managed to get video of! Woot Woot!) Frank's guitar string broke (I think that's what inspired his fit of rage) so he smashed up his guitar. Then he picked up the one with the zombie on it and started playing again. The picture above came after he smashed up the first guitar.

pic 7: When he came down to my end of the stage, I could see that Gerard had something written on his neck again. I think it said "Truth" but it could just as well have said "Truce" because I could only see the first three letters. I don't know why it would say "Truce," but it could've (ETA: I read a review somewhere that it did indeed say "Truth". Stil havent seen any pics of it though). I tried to get a picture of his neck, but it came out blurry. Boo! Hiss! If anyone else has proof of what it said, I'd love to see the photo.

pic 8-10: And for those of you out there wondering, there was some mild Frank/Gerard action going on. By the time it happened, I had already used up all my video space and could only take photos. But the good news is that my camera has a photo burst option which lets you take three photos in a row. They're not the best photos ever, but I did get the shots when Frank walked past Gerard and grabbed Gerard's crotch. And I got Gerard's reaction to it. It happened really quickly so it was easy to miss.

pic 11: Oh and about halfway through, Frank put either a shirt over his head (one of the one's that got thrown onstage when Gerard told the guys in the audience to take their shirts off), presumably to mop up the sweat, but maybe he just wanted to be a weirdo. In the first photo it looks like Frank is smelling his armpits but really he's trying to wrap the cloth around his head.

pic 12-14: He played with the cloth over his head for most of the song.

pic 15: Gerard singing and Bob drumming away…

pic 16: Just Gerard…

pic 17-18: Frank taking a sip of water in the dark… …then spitting it on the audience. It didn't land on me. Not to sound horridly grungy or anything, but I kinda wished the water would've landed on me because I would've welcomed anything that would help cool me off at that point.

pic 19: Frank and Matt in the same stance. And yes, Matt, Frank does have a nice ass.

pic 20: Gerard pointing….

pic 21: And now for a little Matt Cortez: Gerard said he's got "arms of steel" and he ain't lyin'…

pic 22: Matt Cortez, being awesome. Gerard even gave a shout out to him and walked by and ruffled his hair…

pic 24: Matt's back…

pic 25: Matt's so cool, you can see through him!

[l0stfoster]

Hi same anon who asked abt paul (i love him so bad) what are the reactions from the others the first time paul (or marcia/cherry for that matter) gets jumped like, real bad .

Paul Anon (that's what I'm dubbing you now get fucked /silly) the beloved OKAY SO! Giving you some deets on their first jumping & how their closest friends (or in Cherry & Paul's case {Marcia's if you're a Marbit fan} how their partners react) Cherry:

- For Cherry (and Marcia) the initial reaction the gang has is absolute anger and fury. The fact that the girls were attacked just for merely being in/around the presence of the gang and or part of the population that holds power is so infuriating. They're girls, so they're not roughed up as bad as greasers usually are on account of general 60's shit, but it's still not great. - Cherry's is arguably worse between her and Marcia's on account of a psychological impact; she's got rope burns around her wrists due to them being tied to stunt her power and her hair was cut practically up to her ears- both to prevent any magic usage and just for raw humiliation. She's also bruised and beaten a good bit; god knows fights are horrendous. I wouldn't be surprised if they ripped her earrings out, as Bev's the one who leads their jumpings. - Ace loses her absolute fucking SHIT. The only thing restraining her from going nuclear and burning down soc territory in her rage is both the risk of prison and to an extent doing something that drastic would get innocent people hurt. That would make her no better than the socs. It sure as hell doesn't stop her from going wild on the ones she can find, probably gets herself a few nights in the slammer for it. - Recovery is rough all over. They get her a neater haircut but she's shaken for obvious reasons, it probably takes a while before she has the guts to walk around her side of the tracks again.

Marcia:

- Marcia's lack of power means that she's less of a target, but if she gets the sight of her, it's a rougher fight. She can't defend herself all too well, but her jumping is more on the physical aspect as they beat her pretty bad too. Lots of bruises and cuts and her earrings are ripped out too. She probably has a better chance of fighting back because she wasn't automatically restrained, but 1v4 (or more) doesn't go well. - The most impactful thing for her that happens during it is that they destroy the feather she was gifted by Two-Bit. That's quite literally one of the most cherished things she owns, as she values how Two's been willing to interact with her after she'd watched his jumping without trying to stop it. Bev burns it beyond salvaging and Marcia's absolutely destroyed. She could handle the beating, can overcome being sore and pained for days, but having the thing that resembled the trust she'd fought so hard to earn back was devastating. - Two was probably THE most pissed off of the entire gang for Marcia's jumping, not only at how she was hurt but the feather being destroyed is such a blow to him as a Harpy. If he weren't afraid of Bev under the risk of having his wings fucked with again, he'd hunt her down and give her a taste of her own medicine. Cherry and Ace are also super pissed, 'cause the girls gotta stick together, but they don't really match the fury that is a pissy harpy; especially since harpies gang together— Two could've easily had every other greaser harpy on his side if he prompted it. - Recover is obviously just as rough, I wouldn't be surprised if Marcia starts rooming with someone on the east side out of fear of returning to the west side; especially since it's fully known now by other socs that she's powerless despite her association.

Paul:

- Paul is, to put it simply, almost beaten into an early grave. Not only did he previously have the most notoriety of the socs— which made him hanging with greasers a complete slap to the face— but he is also cursed. Another really prominent reason behind his humping is pretty simple; he’s gay. Society will look at Cherry and Marcia and the socs will go easier on them because they’re girls, but Paul? Paul’s a man, a guy who turned his back on the high society in favor of these pests. - His jumping Is rough all over. They're taunting him throughout, snarking about his sexuality, poking fun at how he can't even fend them off with his magic because not only is he weak, but he's a cursed who can't even do that right. They fuck him up bad; busted ribs, broken nose, and his arms are likely dislocated from them pulling him around hard to tie his hands together so he couldn't use his magic. He's got cuts and bruises galore. I'd go as far enough to say they probably broke an arm or something. I like to imagine they ripped his letterman jacket away from him because he didn't deserve something their kind wore when he was with those freaks now. Honestly, the only reason they stopped was because they couldn't see he was still breathing from the angle they were at, though they killed him, and booked it 💀. If they hadn't, though, they probably would've gone until he did stop. - The only reason he's found is because his familiar trails back to the house and grabs the attention of whoever’s there to get them to come with her, since Paul’s completely knocked out. It’s most likely Soda who finds him since he is arguably the one she likes most of the gang and she’ll gravitate towards him. He’ll follow easily too, since he likes her. It’s very similar to finding Johnny, practically that all over again - Darry is obviously the most pissed, probably the same level of anger he felt after his brother's jumpings and Two’s own. The same people who used to be on Paul’s side of things turning a switch so fast over what? A bit of magic and the fact that he likes dudes? Anger doesn’t even describe it in a way— the fae are territorial, and as far as he’s aware, Paul’s a part of that. He's out for blood; but Paul won't spill names so he's got no specific target. That sure as hell won't stop him from finding out, though. He's just got to behave enough to keep his brothers in his care. - The rest of the gang is a whole mixed bag. Dally doesn’t like Paul but his general response is “It’s deserved but only if I were the one doing it”, so take that as you will. Pony’s petty like Dally but since Darry cares he helps out with patching him up. The rest come to the conclusion that pretty boy here probably needs some watching eyes so he’s stuck with them for a bit. He does NOT know how to respond to it. Pretty much the idea for them is that only they're allowed to fuck with Paul, not the socs. - Paul probably has the easiest (mental) recovery for a few good reasons. It's certainly not his first fight/jumping, and it's not his first time being hurt that badly. There's a reason he's gravitated toward his mom despite her efforts to shove him away.

[tai-janai]

I know it's not voice shipping, but do you like Stubboversary and Skeptisoner? (the birds of a feather voice x vessel ships)

well im not a fan of the violence of stubborn and adversary, but skeptic and prisoner are actually pretty cute together. sitting in the cabin forever is one of my favorite endings, and skep and pris are both kinda silly kinda autism. but i kind of like both of the pairs as friends better (as i do with most voices and their corresponding vessel)

[violettduchess]

A/N: A day late but better late than never! I thought it might be nice to celebrate the anniversary of my first fic with the suitor who was the subject of it! Comte was my first Ikemen route ever and he holds a special place in my heart 💜

Prompt that won the poll: Pulling suitor by the tie in for a passionate kiss

Comte x f reader

WC: 875

The party in the remote country estate, several kilometers away from Paris itself, is over. It was a night filled with delightful music, warm candlelight, and the soft murmuring of people dressed in their finest clothes, drinking the finest wine and spinning across a dancefloor of the finest Italian marble. Your host, a gracious baron and friend of Comte’s, was warm and welcoming, greeting you with a smile on his mustachioed lips.

And how you seized the night, your skirt billowing like a glittering, golden cloud around your ankles as you turned around the dance floor, the amber jewels at your throat and ears drinking in the warm candlelight. Your partners were admiring, complimentary, and above all respectful because while they enjoyed the time in your radiant company, everyone knew who truly holds your heart.

When you and Comte finally danced together, the night held its breath. The casual possession in the lay of his hand at your waist, the way he held you just a hair’s breadth too close for propriety’s sake, the way your gazes locked with one another and held, a covalent bond, hydrogen and oxygen. The way you moved together, smooth as water, across the floor, grace in motion. And underneath it, the visible crackle of electricity in the slight part of your lips, the hungry gleam in his bright eyes. There was no hiding it. Some party-goers snapped open delicate folded fans, cooling the sudden flush to their cheeks. Some felt the grip of the green-eyed monster's fist, wishing they would be so lucky to have someone look at them that way. 

You bid your farewells, arm in arm, before your carriage pulls up. The driver opens the door with a polite nod, doffing his hat to you both before setting it back down on his snowy white head. Comte climbs in first and then helps you up as you thank the driver. He’s hard of hearing and often just smiles and nods, but there is no one who knows the streets of Paris and the surrounding area better.

The door closes and soon the carriage lurches forward, over the stones of the baron’s long driveway before turning onto the road that will take you the long way back into the city. A small lantern hangs discreetly in the corner of the carriage, swaying back and forth, spinning shadows within the carriage’s plush interior. Comte, sitting across from you, glances down as he carefully removes his gloves. His handsome face is half-lit in soft, yellow light and half in wavering shadow.

“What an evening,” he says as he leans back against the plush maroon cushioning of the carriage’s walls. “I had heard wonderful things about the musicians Baron Gourgaud hired for tonight but they far exceeded any expectations. I must tell Mozart–”

You have other things on your mind. Sliding to the edge of your seat, eyes bright even in the dim lighting, you reach out and take hold of Le Comte’s chocolate-brown silk tie. Your eyes never leaving his, you slowly wind it around your hand, reeling him in, closer and closer.

“Abel….I don’t want to talk about the music.” One light tug and he is breathless, balancing on his own seat’s edge, the light in your eyes sending a shower of hot sparks cascading down his spine. The tie is now your prisoner, held tight in your fist as you smile slowly. “I don’t,” you whisper as quietly as a feather on the night’s breeze, “want….” You pull him even closer, your lips now a heartbeat apart, “...to talk at all.” 

You pull one last time, firmly, and your mouths meet, the sparks flickering in both your veins exploding like fireworks, sending a flood of heat rolling between you. He is a gentleman but you know what lies beneath that controlled beauty, that intelligent gaze. You know what needs to be done to unleash something uncharacteristically reckless, something thrumming with licentious want. Keeping your grip on his tie, your other hand slides up into the tawny locks of his hair, fingers curling into its strands. He is now caught in your grasp, yours to maneuver as you will. You press your body against his, forcing him back onto his seat before settling yourself over him, your voluminous skirt spread out across the cushioned seating like a shimmering, golden blanket. 

His hands press into your back, warm through the silk of your gown, his face tilted up like a man searching for answers from a higher power as he meets your demanding mouth. Right now, in this moment, there is no power higher than his desire for you. No divine call that could ring through his body like yours. You release your grip on his tie and he growls softly, your name now a carnal sound, before tightening his grip on you and burying his face into the curve of your neck. 

Your last coherent thought, as you feel the scrape of his teeth against your skin, the possessive clutch of his strong fingers, the shift of his body as he pulls you even closer, is how very lucky you are that your sweet driver is hard of hearing and the way back to the mansion so very long.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

[narrators-journal]

Kitsunebi

Fuck yeah! I actually like more than the concept or detail for this one! Of course, I’m not ENTIRELY the proudest, but that’s because I am rusty as hell with Soukoku QuQ. But hey! For once, I don’t feel like this is uncharacteristically awful work despite it not being Ryomina lol. And, I hope you enjoy it as well, dude. Sorry it took a bit. Also, forgive me if my info on kitsune/foxes is wrong, I did my best to google and read up on things.

EDIT: Admittedly, this one wasn’t in need of an edit because I disliked how it came out the first time. But, I decided to return to it regardless because I felt it came out a bit too short? I felt like I could still sprinkle in more detail, more focus on emersion, or something. I just felt something was MISSING to fill it out. So! I hope you enjoy the boost these bitches got, and I hope this’ll give my fans some assurance that I’m not devolving in skill or smthn.

Kinktober prompt list: Here

Kinktober masterlist: Here

CW: Teratophilia, since Dazai’s a kitsune here. Creative definitions of Aphrodisiacs (aka heat/rut cycles) but no a/b/o intended. Some vague? Phone sex? Mutual Masturbation can also be read into it, but it’s not explicitly there.

With Thanksgiving, festivals, Christmas, and New Years all in the same season, winter was a season rife with dramatics. On the side of the Mafia, there were deals to make, knock offs to sell, and bonds to keep healthy. For the ADA, there was the Mafia, as well as monsters and other petty criminals to contend with. So, Dazai was sure that Kunikida hated the season with every fiber of his being. Most of all due to the fact that the bandaged brunette went into rut during the season. Granted, Osamu Dazai didn’t have a strong work ethic on the best of his days, but he was sure that his vanishing act still annoyed the Thanksgiving stuffing out of the schedule-addicted man.

Meanwhile, the annoyance he inflicted upon Kunikida was probably the one thing that the manipulative brunette actually enjoyed when his rut came each year. Which, was petty, but in the years like this one, where he was left to his own devices with only toys and the dysfunctional level of need that infected every fiber of his being like a stubborn cancer, it was something to cling to. “That toy helping any, Mackerel?” Chuuya Nakahara asked, his voice distorted by the mostly forgotten cellphone that kept Dazai company amongst the temperamental redhead’s mussed comforter and egyptian cotton sheets. Though, the amusement in his words was still clear, and was still a burr that tangled itself in the brunette’s fluffed-up tail. “Not at all.” He growled out while he humped into the soft silicone of a lubricated pocket pussy. The feather-stuffed pillow that the kitsune kept captive beneath him a bit of support to keep the plastic casing from moving. “I’d prefer if it were you beneath me right now. A toy just doesn’t satisfy my needs as well.” “Bold of you to assume I’d let you top me, motherfucker. Even in your rut.” The martial artist mocked through the phone, emboldened by the distance Mori had put between them when he sent his executive off to sweet talk some important cog of the mafia. “But hey! At least your rut only lasts three days, right? That’s a perk.” He offered, only to get back through barred fangs, “That’s if I was a fucking girl, Chibi! You know damned well how long my ruts are, cunt!” Though, at the same time that the redhead’s sarcastic comfort pissed Dazai off, it also made his cock twitch while it slipped in and out of it’s silicone prison. The simple act of bickering with his mate like a dose of gasoline for the desire in Dazai’s belly. So, no matter how Chuuya’s laughter ate at him, the brunette’s thoughts felt too much like mush for him to formulate a second witty reply.

So, he didn’t bother, and instead buried his face into the cognac-scented pillow that he kept his arms wrapped around while his hips moved as if they had a mind of their own. The unyeilding plastic of the pocket pussy’s a harsh contrast to the lubricated silicone that squeezed him. Which, was equal parts uncomfortable, and weirdly enjoyable enough to make the kitsune’s tail swish and thump against the mattress while he barked and whined. Yet, no matter how much he huffed up Chuuya’s scent from the silken cushion, it offered little to no help against the heat that seemed to carbonate Dazai’s blood.

What did offer a sliver of help, though, was the grip of the sex toy he humped into. As well as, of course, the mafioso’s voice when it managed to seep back into the Kitsune’s lust-addled brain. “Osamu? You still there, or did you finally hang up?” And, while Dazai couldn’t muster up the words to respond due to the lack of oxygen that got through the cognac-scented pillow. Though, that lack of acknowledgement only made the redhead give a small sight before he likely returned to whatever paperwork he had. Nice enough to at least sit on the phone with the kitsune as he humped needily into his pillow.

So, Dazai didn’t linger on the mafioso’s comment. He simply tightened his hold on the cushion and did his best to convince himself that the too-soft item was the muscular, scarred body of his mate. And that the muffled schlick, schlick, schlick of the slimy, silicone toy was really the twitchy, warm walls of his partner. Something that wasn’t insanely hard to do, thanks to the years he had to catalogue each one of Chuuya’s lustful sighs, but proved to be a bit difficult when the plastic case of the fucktoy brushed against his belly. A reminder of the cheap quality of the imitation in his head.

Though, regardless of the interruptions, he was able to work himself up just enough to manage a needy whine of, “Chuuyyyyyaaa…” the moment he lifted his head to gulp down the smoke-tinged air of the bedroom. Though, whether that smoke was from Dazai’s kitsune powers, or simply the scent of his own body being cooked by his Rut, he couldn’t tell. “I’m still here, Mackerel.” The redhead assured, his voice distorted by the phone, yet still a bit of a salve. “I...I think I’m gonna cum. I-I’m right at the edge.” He desperately whimpered. “Really? Aren’t you up to three, though? That’s usually your limit for consecutive orgasms. Plus, I’m sure that toy is getting nasty.” He teased, likely to try and dig into the brunette’s competitive side for some sick sadistic pleasure of his own. Though, the kitsune chose to imagine he was simply fuelling his own masturbation. Though, that didn’t spare the redhead a snarl, even if he only heard it through his phone. “Alright, alright, jeez. You can cum, mackerel, you have my blessing.”

That earned him another horny bark from the mindless brunette before his orgasm finally slammed into him so hard, that the tinge of smoke he’d tasted earlier was undoubtedly now from something in Chuuya’s bedroom. As if that could alleviate the heat that erupted onto the kitsune’s skin the same way that his load seemed to erupt out of the sex toy pinned beneath his body. “Oy! Don’t you dare burn down my fucking house, mackerel! You burn it, you buy it, slut!” Chuuya snapped out, though his words only seemed to roll through Dazai’s head at that point. His furious ranting about the cost of his furniture little more than background noise, even as Dazai waved his fluffed up tail to extinguish the flames before they did more than some light smoke damage. So, the brunette simply smiled and let him scold him so that he could use the sound of his mate’s voice as some form of white noise during his break.

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

(Accidentally deleted my whole ask.... it was so long too.) Have any of the Cubed skeletons met each other inside? How do they feel about seeing their enemies meeting the same fate? Is the Cube too vast to do so, at least, to do so now? What do they feel in regards to everyone's mutations and their own? What are Ink, Blue, and Horror's mutations? How do any of them cope with their new biology? I imagine a skeleton getting a hair or something similar in their eye to be a baffling new experience. They too must suffer with us fleshy ones. (I live with a few cats can you tell.) How did Error manage to wrangle an entire colony of Spider Beasts? How does he cope as someone who is otherwise entirely alone, unlike the others, if he copes at all? As a glitch would the Cube even affect him the same as the rest, if so what is his mutation? Especially considering he already had an untrustworthy body to begin with (all the crashes... the glitching... does he even suffer from glitches anymore?). -(An Error Enjoyer) What is the Cube's ecosystems like? The flora and fauna, the seasons! Are the former restricted to a square or would flora and fauna be able to cross over? Do the seasons affect every square at once? What is it like when the Cube twists and turns? Can you fall off the Cube? Can the initial scientists see within the Cube? Who is Jane? Are there any other notable scientists? Does time pass differently? Do any of the scientists regret their decisions? Knowing they're now responsible for fundamentally changing and- intentionally or not- killing so many? Do they understand how revolting that is? To have so much blood on their hands? (Just that. Blood, not even dust. Lifeless corpses, how many monsters feel violated at just that within itself?) ...Do they even know? How many are even aware of the Cube's true nature? Are there any fighting back? Which of those are rebelling against the metaphorical chopping block over their heads? How many hide away in fear? Are there balances with the Cube Multiverse? How many things have hit the fan in the Gods and Guardians's absence if that is the case? Would they ever be able to get out? (Assuming a long time has since passed.) Would they even want to? To go back to a multiverse that shunned even their protectors, a multiverse that goes to such lengths as to use the Cube in the first place? If they left would they go back to normal? Would they want to? Would they survive a second transformation, or a lack of? That got really long- oh well. I think I got all my previous questions down... Thank you for sharing! Hope you get all the rest you need!

ohhhhohoho :)))))) *turns around slowly on a spinny chair like a supervillian* buckle up this is gonna be a long one :]

There have been meetings. The gang have been on the Cube for years. (or will be on the cube for years. i am unsure the time frame tbh) so it was inevitable to meet other prisoners. The gang would feel somewhat grim satisfaction but also confusion and a mix of other emotions when they meet the stars. They obviously don't belong there. but also it's a grim satisfaction that never really feels all that satisfying. (The cube is quite large. definitely not as big as a planet but it is large. ) Blue gets a beak. he also figures out he is very good at imitation. Blue also has some scales under his eye sockets and his phalanges. Ink tbh i haven't 100% worked out his exact mutation. it is being more difficult than expected. but he will likely have a sort of chameleon ability (color shifting) Horror just gets some very fluffy hands with some massive claws. (what looks like fur is actually feathers)

It is certainly an experience getting used to the mutations. of course no one likes the fact their bodies where so drastically changed without warning. The eyeballs where certainly a new experience to be sure. needless to say they prefer eye lights. Killer is especially irritated by it.

Error was able to be trapped in the Cube much by his own fault surprisingly… He had thought it was another au to destroy but once he entered all his magic was stripped and he got trapped. The rest of the multiverse wasn’t going to free him so… yeah he’s trapped and very angry that he is unable to watch undernovela, or eat chocolate, even his crochet and knitting is harder… but still doable. 

Error’s transformation was one of the more painful. His eyes felt like they were burning for DAYS. The glitches were no longer there but his bones would chip off and regrow rapidly sometimes. He speaks with a stutter but the strange mechanical accents are gone.. He mostly prefers to not talk now. Not that any of the spiders know what he's talking about. He has small holes under his eye sockets and in his wrists that can produce a slightly bioluminescent string (silk?) It can’t really move like it could before, it acts as any other string without the magic that allowed Error to make it move. Also he has four arms. 

The large spider beasts had taken an immediate fascination with Error. The queen of the hive watched him when under the effects of the changes brought by the Cube. It was likely they thought Error was a very strange young spider beast. A very very strange one. 

Out of everyone, Error has probably survived the easiest. It helps when you have a massive colony of spider beasts that seem intent on protecting you. 

a drawing of him with a spider beast named Matrix ^ each square of the cube has it's own separate ecosystem, weather, flora and fauna. they are confined to the square they originate from unless a prisoner takes it out. there isn't any reason to the types of environments next to each other. The squares shift every day at midnight after all. You could step right out of an icy wasteland right into a tropical jungle. seasons don't exist on the cube. Each square exists in the season it was designed for. the only thing that exists across several areas that aren't prisoners are the Corpse eaters. large thinly built wyvern looking things with long hooked beaks and butterfly patterned wings. they also have large white eyes. they act basically like large vultures. cleaning up any dead thing they find. Corpse eaters aren't particularly hostile but it is advised to stay away. when the cube shifts there is a shaking but not too violent. it's only really dangerous if your near the edge of a square because of lose debris and the large gap that appears between the sections. You can't fall of as it seems each section has it's own center of gravity it seems. ( think that's what you call it) it makes going between sections a rather strange feeling. and also you could jump off the edge of the cube and just fall on the side square like it was the ground. which it is now. the environments can be really really crazy. there are also a lot more sections that on your average 3 by 3 rubrics cube type shape. a lot more.

The scientists can view what happens in the cube. it would be foolish not to have some sort of surveillance system. Jane was one of the head scientists who worked on making the cube. She had some personal beef with Nightmare because of one of his attacks on her au. Jane is also one of the scientists who somewhat regrets what she did. Not to the gang yet though (yet). She hates that the stars and other people where being sent though. That wasn't what she wanted. But like her those scientists that showed regret and tried to put and end to it where seen as criminals. they knew too much. and so they where trapped as well if not just dealt with in other ways. the stripping of the magic is devastating for many. Monsters are made of magic. it is a fundamental part of them. taking that is just wrong. Most don't know exactly what the cube is. There are many many theories but most don't know what exactly it is other than a deadly prison of sorts. The uncertainty can make it all the more terrifying. most who fight against it are those in danger themselves. many monsters and humans just try to not draw attention to themselves. they believe if they just aren't a danger, if they just keep to themselves, they will be safe. Some say anyone who ends up there deserves it. they are all criminals after all... right. (the stars being sent was something kept hidden from nearly everyone. though several people have put the pieces together.) Because both sides of the balances have all lost their abilities the balances seem to have just frozen. this isn't exactly good. at least things aren't self destructing but it isn't supposed to be stagnant.

For now the prisoners only hope is for escape. you could never have a comfortable fulfilling life in the cube. The drive to escape in many cases is what keeps them going. even though many have no clue where to even start. They focus on simply surviving. don't think too hard about the future or you might start thinking about how impossible escape sounds or what comes after. Just keep telling yourself you'll get out one day, it will happen if you just keep trying. when they do get out. They would feel lost. they lost their magic. where would they go...

the only person that might not care about escape might be Error. if he does he would probably be taking a massive spider army with him.

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Hostage Situation

Find the fic on Ao3!

“Does anyone have eyes on the target?”

Clint rounds the corner of the abandoned office building, bow at the ready. “I’m catching up to her.”

Phil’s sigh over the comms is so loud he can practically see it. “Barton, you’re meant to be on lookout.”

“I am. I’m looking out for our target.” Clint peers past his arrow down the dark corridor. The path forward is suspiciously empty, even though he swears he saw his quarry take this route. He presses forward, poking his head into the various side rooms. There are no cornered weapons dealers to be found. Yet. “She’s good.”

“Yes, she is, which is why we sent the entire STRIKE team after her.”

“Funny, I’m not seeing any of the STRIKE guys in the right position.”

“You’re the one who’s not in position, Barton.” Phil’s voice is more exasperated than angry. “You know I went on the record saying you could learn to play ball, right?”

“Hey, I can play ball.” Clint finishes his search of the corridor and turns left into an equally empty set of side rooms. Huh. Mills is good. Very few people are able to vanish on him like this. Not to mention that she’s stayed off SHIELD’s radar almost as long as he had managed by now. Every day he’s grateful Phil gave him a shot (ha) to be here, but he’s not particularly keen on letting Mills break his record. “I’m about to catch the target SHIELD has been chasing for months. How’s that for playing ball?”

He’s been with SHIELD for just over a year now, and every single day has been a battle to prove he belongs here. Phil had plucked him out of Sing Sing after Clint had finally managed to put Jacque Duquesne in the ground, offering him a job instead of a life sentence. Clint still doesn’t entirely know why. He does know that he’s not going to blow the first chance someone’s given him at a halfway decent life.

“No,” he’d told Phil when he’d first offered him a position at SHIELD.

Phil gestured at the chains encircling his wrists and ankles. “You’d rather stay in prison forever?”

Clint shrugged, ignoring the way it made the metal constraining him clink. “Three square meals a day and a roof over my head? I’ve had worse.”

“I’m aware. Are you aware you could have better?”

“What you’re offering isn’t better.”

“What do you think I’m offering?”

“A chance to kill a lot more people in exchange for something you’re trying to pass off as freedom. I’m not doing it.”

Phil leaned back in the rigid visitor’s chair, his face unreadable. Clint wasn’t a fan of that. His people skills from a life bouncing around foster homes, the streets and a circus weren’t top-notch, but he’d like to think he’d know by now when someone was playing him. Emphasis on he’d like to. Duquesne had strung him along for far too many years before Clint put an arrow in his heart.

“If you joined SHIELD, you would be expected to kill when necessary,” Phil stated. “But only very specific targets.”

“Still targets.”

“You seem very adverse to killing for a man serving a life sentence for murder.”

“He deserved it.”

“Any regrets?”

Clint let his lips form a cold smile. “None. World’s better off without him.”

“And what if I could offer you not only a way out of this prison, but a chance at taking out more Duquesnes?”

“I’d still tell you no.”

“Explain that to me.”

“Because I don’t want to.”

He had expected Phil to leave after that. Instead, he seemed to have handed the man the exact answer he’d been looking for. “Good,” Phil had said shortly. “We try to avoid hiring the murderous type. I can’t promise you’ll never have to kill again, but I can promise that if you join us, you’ll have a chance to do good.”

Phil had looked him straight in the eye as he finished, “And despite what your rap sheet says, I think you’re the kind of person who wants to do good, Clint Barton.”

If only the rest of SHIELD had decided to believe in him as easily. Getting Mills in his clutches would be the feather in his cap that might finally get the STRIKE team to lay off him. Just because he didn’t go to their stupid academy, they assume he can’t be one of them. Phil’s done what he can to get them to back off, but Clint’s not going to hide behind his coattails forever. Phil gave him a chance. He’s not wasting it. 

There’s a rustle over the comms, as though Phil’s changing locations. His next words are a murmur. “You have nothing to prove, Clint. You became a SHIELD agent the moment you accepted my offer.”

The way Phil seems to read his mind sometimes is downright unsettling. Clint’s spent his life building masks that no one is supposed to see underneath. Then again, maybe no one’s really tried before. “That sentiment isn’t universal.”

“So not everyone has been entirely welcoming, given your past. We’re working on that. But you do have a place at SHIELD as long as you want one. Unless you start doing stupid shit like defying orders.”

“I like to think more in implied orders. Like ‘catch Mills’.”

“Your orders were to be on lookout. You want to prove yourself? Do it by showing Fury you’re a team player.”

“Sorry, Sir. Don’t really see myself as a part of a team anytime—”

He doesn’t hear her until the click of a safety is taken off a gun. Clint freezes, nocked arrow pointed uselessly at a cobweb-infested fax machine.

“Barton.” The worry in Phil’s steady voice wouldn’t be apparent to most people. Maybe that mind-reading thing goes two ways. “Barton, come in.”

“Put the bow down,” a female voice says behind him. “If you try pointing that arrow at me, I’ll shoot you. I’m fast enough to kill you first.”

“I believe you.” Still, Clint doesn’t move. Disobeying orders and bringing in a target single-handedly is hero stuff. Disobeying orders and getting shot for it is just embarrassing.

“Put it down,” Mills repeats slowly. “Last warning.”

“She’s there,” Phil surmises. Definitely worried. It’s almost nice. It’s been a long time since Clint can confidently say anyone has worried about him. “Stay where you are, stay alive. We’re coming to get you.”

Great, and now he’s the damsel in distress. As much as it soothes a long-buried ache knowing that Phil actually cares whether he makes it home or not, that does not extend to actually wanting to be rescued. Knowing it’s a stupid move, and deciding to do it anyway, Clint whips the bow around.

The gunshot is enough to deafen him as pain explodes in his left leg. He keeps his grip on his arrow though, he doesn’t need much to fire it into an enemy this close, it will be a matter of a second to pull it back and release—

Then he gets a good look at Mills for the first time.

Phil is demanding updates in his ear, but Clint’s frozen, unable to focus on anything but the round belly right in his face. There had been months of reconnaissance on Mills, and yet somehow all of SHIELD had failed to report that she was pregnant.

“Really?” The belly shifts and Clint’s view transforms into a gun barrel. There’s blood running down his leg, the wound hot and aching, but he’s still on his feet. Must just be a graze then. Small mercies. “You’d kill me for some minor weapons trading, but as soon as there’s a fetus in the picture you go soft?”

Clint finds his voice. “Minor weapons trading. That’s what you’re going with?” He lifts his eyes to her face. She’s all hard lines, worn down from exhaustion and stress, but still… prettier than her mug shots made her out to be. Not the right kinds of thoughts to be having when there’s still a gun directed at his forehead.

“Bow. Down.” Mills brandishes that gun, even as she makes sure to keep well out of Clint’s range. “Who the hell takes a bow and arrow into a shootout, anyways?”

“Me,” Clint answers, placing the bow and unused arrow on the floor. His quiver follows. “Clint Barton. Hawkeye. Nice to meet you.”

She’s thoroughly unimpressed. “Kick them away.”

Wincing, Clint boots his bow down the corridor. It won’t damage it, the weapon is built for battle, but it had been a gift from Phil for his one-year SHIELD anniversary. Clint’s not a fan of punting it like a soccer ball.

“Gun too,” Mills orders.

That goes with less remorse. The STRIKE team likes to rib him for how little Clint pulls his gun on missions, but their bullets aren’t multipurpose or reusable. There’s been many a shootout where Clint’s the last one with ammo, as long as he’s willing to retrieve the arrows during said shootout. Maybe he should invent one that comes back.

“Now the knives. Both of them.”

And maybe he should focus on the armed woman in front of him.

The blades are thrown away with more hesitation, first the one in his belt and then the one tucked into the compartment in his boot. He’s not the best at hand-to-hand combat and he isn’t given much opportunity to practice as SHIELD’s top sniper, but he can do some serious damage with a knife if the enemy is stupid enough to get close. So far, Mills definitely doesn’t fall into the stupid enemy category.

As soon as he’s disarmed she holds out her hand, snapping her fingers at him when he hesitates. “Comms.”

With a heavy sigh, Clint forks over his earpiece. He is never, ever going to hear the end of this. For all Phil’s words of always having a place at SHIELD, he can’t help but wonder if getting captured because he disobeyed his SO’s direct orders is grounds for dismissal. A streak of fear goes through him at the idea. Most SHIELD agents who get thrown out on their asses sign a ten-mile-long NDA and go and live a boring, middle-class life. Clint knows he hasn’t won enough of Fury’s trust to be offered that option. It’ll be back to Sing Sing, this time for good.

A year ago, the idea of that wouldn’t have bothered Clint so much. He’d picked enough fights when he’d first been arrested that the rest of the prison had learned to leave him alone. The shitty bed and food were still a step up from sleeping on the streets. And he didn’t have to watch over his shoulder every moment in case one of Duquesne’s lackeys decided to take the former crime lord’s place.

But now… he has his own apartment. It’s a shithole in Bed-Stuy, but it’s private and it’s his. For the first time, he’s using his skills to do good. He likes that. He likes that a lot.

And he has Phil. The first person in his entire life who had looked at him and seen something more than a circus brat with a knack for sticking arrows in people. He’s not entirely sure that relationship is going to last if Clint gets himself kicked out of SHIELD after Phil stuck his neck out for him.

Mills shoves the earpiece into place. “Who am I talking to?” She flicks her eyes up and down Clint as she says it, assessing him. “Well, Agent Coulson, how much is your man worth to you?”

Clint would like to believe that answer is at least enough to warrant a negotiation. He also knows he got himself into this and Phil will abide by SHIELD protocol until the end.

Something like surprise crosses Mills’s face. “Really? Didn’t think SHIELD would care.” She raises the gun so it’s pointed right between Clint’s eyes, but some of her attention is on Phil now. He could probably lunge forward and take it without getting shot a second time, wrest it from her hand and take her down. He could still salvage this.

He… doesn’t.

He can’t put a finger on why. He just knows that it’s the same instinct that aims his bow, whispering directions he can never quite explain but will always guide him to the bullseye.

Mills is demanding something about clearing the path and getting her a vehicle. Good luck. Phil might be able to pull enough strings to stop her from shooting Clint point-blank, but they’re not going to let her run. Not after what happened in Miami.

Phil must say as much, because Mills’s eyes narrow. “Fine.”

There’s a scattering of syllables from Phil’s end, too muted for Clint to make out from this far away. 

“No,” Mills snaps. “You can talk to him after you figure out how to get me what I want. If I see a single SHIELD agent in this building, I’ll kill him.” She flourishes the gun, indicating the office closest to them. “Get in.”

“You’re wasting time,” Clint tries. It’s the least he can do. “If you run, I won’t stop you. They’re not going to bargain for me.”

“That guy on your comms sounded like he would. Now get in the damn office and maybe I’ll let you patch up your leg.”

Right. He’s bleeding. Clint allows himself to peek at the injury. It’s hard to see through his pant leg, but he doesn’t think the graze is that deep. Still, blood loss is blood loss, and he needs to get pressure on it sooner rather than later. “Fine. Step into my office.”

He limps his way in, playing it up. He doesn’t really think Mills buys it, but he’ll take whatever advantage he can get until he can disarm her. If he wants to disarm her. That little voice is niggling at him, telling him there’s a better way here. No STRIKE team is invading the building, which means he’s at least important enough that the threat of his death is keeping them temporarily at bay. Emphasis on the temporarily. If there’s a way out of this that doesn’t end in bloodshed, he’s going to have to find it fast.

He props himself against the dusty desk, ripping away the bottom half of his ruined uniform pants to use as makeshift bandages. The wound probably needs stitches, but he doubts Mills is going to go needle-hunting on his request. “You should sit. I feel like I should be offering you my seat on a bus.”

She snorts, unimpressed. “Don’t do the I care about you act.”

“In training we call it the humanise the hostage act. Speaking of, I’m Clint.”

“You said. I don’t care.”

“Can I call you Laura?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m going to. Get used to it.”

Laura jerks the blinds down over the window, even though it would be a hell of a shot for a sniper to make given the angle of the other buildings. The one person who could pull it off is on the wrong side of the glass. It plunges them into semi-darkness, the cracks of sunlight through the closed blinds casting rows on the dust-laden carpet.

A heavy silence falls between them. The striped light casts Laura’s face in golden streaks, her grip on the gun not wavering. Not that that matters. Clint’s not going to take it from her. She’s going to put it down. He doesn’t know why he’s so sure. He just knows that, if he plays this exactly right, he can save a life today instead of ending one.

He likes that idea. Too much, maybe. It’s the kind of thought that gets agents in the field killed. 

It’s also the kind of thought that got Phil on his side.

“I’d hate working an office job,” he remarks, trailing a finger through the dust. “I think I actually have a desk somewhere at HQ. People keep sending paperwork there. Or so I’m told. I don’t do much paperwork.”

“I told you to cut that out.” She glances at the door, as though wondering if she can barricade it without lowering her gun. She seems to decide she can’t, because she goes with another tactic. “Take out your cuffs.” 

He’d seen this coming, but a part of him was still hoping Laura would skip the whole tie up the captive step. He doesn’t take his gaze off her as he pulls a zip tie from his belt and goes to place it around his wrists.

“No,” she stops him. “Tie yourself to the desk. And thread it between your wrists as well as around.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He does as he’s told, distantly wondering if he should be more on edge about the situation. He tells himself it’s because they both know that, if she shoots him, she’s as good as dead. She might be as good as dead anyway. Laura’s good, they wouldn’t have been chasing her for this long if she wasn’t, but there aren’t many people in the world who are able to get past SHIELD’s entire STRIKE team. He doubts she's the exception, pregnant or not. STRIKE do what they’re trained to do, and STRIKE are trained to shoot on sight.

He pulls the zip tie tight with his teeth, locking his wrists around the desk leg. He’s pretty sure he can get out of it—it’s doing so before Laura pulls the trigger that will be the trick. He can’t dodge bullets. Which leaves that talking option.“So, how far along are you? Seven months? Eight?”

She casts him a disparaging look. “Stop pretending to care about me. You don’t. Just like I don’t care if you’re breathing beyond keeping your friends off my back.”

Clint shifts, trying to get comfortable, grimacing when it pulls on his injured leg. “Well, I’m not seeing a TV in here. If you want any form of entertainment while we wait for either your car to show up or the cavalry to ride in, I’m it.”

“And what if I don’t find you entertaining?”

“Give me a chance. Circus audiences loved me.”

She gives him a look as though she’s not sure if he’s joking or crazy. It’s a common response whenever he utters the word circus.

“Please sit,” Clint tries. “I’m not going to try anything. I’m tied up, you have the gun. You’re making my feet ache just looking at you.”

“Stop—”

“Pretending to care, I know.”

She exhales, exhaustion starting to show through the cracks. “You could have just left me alone.”

“That’s not my call.”

Laura scrubs at her forehead. Definitely exhausted. Life on the run will do that to you. Clint’s well aware, and that was without a baby growing inside of him.

“Laura. Sit down. It’s okay.”

For a moment, he’s sure she’s going to snap at him again. Then, slowly, and never taking her eyes off Clint, she sinks to the floor. A sigh of relief leaves her as she sticks her feet out straight, the hand not holding the gun cradling her stomach. It’s kind of…

Don’t call the person holding you hostage cute, Barton, he can basically hear Phil scolding him. Ah futz, Phil. This is his mission too. He’s probably going to get into even more trouble for it going sideways than Clint. Clint will make it up to him later.

“So,” he breaks the silence. “What’s the plan? You have to know that car isn’t coming.”

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“What if I shoot you again?”

“If STRIKE hears a gunshot, they’re coming in. But you know that.”

Sighing, Laura lays the gun aside. It’s still well within her reach, but at least it’s not pointed in his direction anymore. “You want to talk. Fine, we’ll talk.”

“Great. What’s your favorite color?”

She stares at him like he’s an idiot. Which… well, he’s zip-tied to a desk with his bow in a different room. Maybe that’s fair enough. “What?”

“I’m making conversation. Mine’s purple. Your turn to ask a question.”

“Sure. How did you find me?”

“That’s not how the game works.”

“I’m the one with the gun, and I say that’s exactly how it works. How did you find me? I’ve been so careful.”

Clint drops the joking tone. “I wouldn’t count what happened in Miami as careful.”

She glares at him. “You don’t know shit about Miami.”

Clint shrugs as much as he can with his wrists zip-tied. “I know fourteen people died.”

She transfers her gaze back to the door. No one is pounding on it with a battering ram yet. They’ve got time. “Fourteen,” she muses.

“You didn’t know?”

“Not the exact total, no. Honestly, it’s less than I feared.”

“Still fourteen people.”

Her expression hardens. “And as I said—you don’t know shit.”

“Tell me, then.”

Laura shakes her head. “No. I don’t snitch.”

“What if I promise not to tell?”

“Really? You’re the best SHIELD had to send after me?”

He gives her the crooked grin that gets him second dessert in the SHIELD cafeteria. “You haven’t shot me yet. I count that as success.”

“I have shot you.”

He checks his leg. “Hardly. Can’t even tell that’s a bullet wound.” There’s the ghost of an idea there that he tucks away for later. “Okay, so success is you not shooting me twice.” 

“Because I need you, idiot.”

“For now. But if you’re thinking about marching us outside with a gun to my head, you’re just going to get us both shot. Don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to avoid that.”

“What’s the alternative? Turn myself in?”

“\Surely that’s better than getting shot.”

Her hand flutters around her stomach. “I can’t get caught. I can’t.”

A distress leaks through the words that Clint knows all too well. It had been a long internal battle when he’d realized that killing someone as high-profile as Duquesne would propel him right to the top of SHIELD’s Most Wanted List. He’d spent multiple nights unable to sleep as he’d let any hope of a normal life slip away from him. Still, Duquesne had to go. Even if Clint had spent the rest of his life behind bars, it would have been a fair price for ridding the world of that monster.

“You don’t snitch, huh?” Clint tries to ignore the already growing ache in his shoulders, the burn in his thigh. “And is that because you care about someone, or because you’re scared of someone?”

Her expression hardens, but the way her hand tightens over her stomach gives her away.

“The father,” Clint guesses. “So is it the caring or the scaring option?”

Laura’s response is to point the gun in his face. “Shut up, or I’m going to drop you and take my chances sneaking out of here.”

“You have to know those chances are pretty much zero. You’re good enough to know that.”

She huffs. “Not good enough to not end up here in the first place, apparently.” The gun lowers a fraction as she surveys him, the door, the window. Clint’s all too familiar with the sensation of being cornered with no good options. “Damn. You lot are really going to shoot me, aren’t you?”

“Not if you—”

“Don’t say turn myself in. I already told you. I don’t snitch.”

“Because you think you’ll get hurt. We can stop that from happening. You’re not the first SHIELD agent who’s changed sides, you know.”

It’s a misstep. Her face hardens, her expression shuttering. “The only side I’m on is my own.” She pulls out Clint’s comm. “Agent Coulson. Are you listening?” 

Clint tries to keep his face neutral. SHIELD protocol for hostage situations is to keep yourself alive and then stay out of the way if rescue comes. Phil must be trying for a non-lethal route, but he doubts STRIKE is going to prioritize his safety when they get the order to storm the building. 

He doesn’t want to get shot. He doesn’t want to watch a woman and an unborn baby get shot either. And also… something else. That whisper in his ear, telling him to keep talking. To keep trying.

Laura listens for a long time, far longer than she listened to Clint. Phil’s got that knack. He’s been using it on Clint for the better part of the last year, slowly and patiently dismantling his walls to gain his trust. 

“Then get me a vehicle,” Laura says, and Clint’s not imagining the undertone of desperation in her voice. “I just want out.”

I just want out. Clint’s been there. Too many times. He’d spent years trying to get out from under Duquesne’s thumb, until he realized the only way to ever be free of him was to end his life. Duquesne had made him a weapon. Seemed only fair that was the weapon he should die by.

“No. You’re going to get me a vehicle,” Laura insists. “You’ll get your man back and you’ll never hear from me again.”

He knows Phil can’t agree to that. Which means that shootout is looking more and more likely unless Clint can get this talking thing to work. 

Phil speaks for a little longer before there’s a long pause, Laura seeming to consider something. “Fine,” she decides, then pulls the comm out of her ear. “He wants to talk to you. Try anything and I’ll shoot you in the other leg.”

“Noted. But, um…” Clint twists his wrists in the ties. “Gonna need some help.”

She spends a few moments weighing options, before placing the gun on the ground, well on the other side of the office before making her way over to him. Smart. Zip-tied or not, Clint would have found a way to take it.

There’s an odd moment of intimacy as she eases the comms into his ear. Her brown hair swings forward, brushing his cheek, her hands warm against his face. Then she’s gone, backing away across the room to scoop the gun up again.

"My plan to play ball seems to have backfired.”

“I noticed. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Clint swallows back the automatic I’m not. Even a year on, he has to remind himself that Phil asks that question out of concern, not reproach. “A graze to the leg, but nothing else. Don’t send in STRIKE yet.”

Laura is carefully watching every word, her eyes narrowing when he mentions keeping STRIKE at bay.

“I’m trying to hold them off but they want Mills off the streets. ”

More than they want to protect you, is left unsaid. “I got this.”

“Barton—”

“Phil. I got this. Just buy me as much time as you can.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the comms. “Alright,” Phil says finally. “Do what you have to.”

“That’s enough.” Laura replaces the gun well out of reach, honest-to-god waddling across the room to yank the comms piece out of his ear.

“You’re not going to give birth in here, are you?” he asks. “You look like you’re going to pop any second.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m being charming.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” She does immediately sit back down though, wincing as she does so. “And don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t think about what?”

“Using the baby as leverage. Tell me you’ll give him a good home or whatever if I give myself up. As if I’d believe that.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I did my time in foster homes. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” One of his legs is falling asleep, but he doesn’t want to spook Laura further by moving it. “So it’s a him.”

“Maybe.”

“You picked a name yet?”

“As if I’d tell you.”

Screw it, Clint’s not sitting here with dwindling blood circulation. As slowly as possible, he slides the offending leg out in front of him. Laura stiffens anyway, watching his every move. “What? I hate pins and needles.”

“Pins and needles.”

“Yeah, it's what happens when someone ties you to a desk. Hey, why do you think it’s called that? The feeling is more fuzzy than stabby.”

Laura is giving him that you idiot look again. “Are you actually a SHIELD agent?”

“Last time I checked.”

“You don’t act like one.”

“Is that an insult?”

“It’s an observation.”

“I’m new. Kind of.”

“From the circus.” She doesn’t sound like she believes that part.

“There was an extended gap between the circus and SHIELD.”

“Doing what? Birthday parties?”

So, she has a sense of humor. Good to know. “Criminal things.”

She huffs. “Don’t make shit up to relate to me.”

“I’m not. Scout’s honor.”

“You were a Scout?”

“Nope. Can tie really good knots, though.”

She eyes him, cautious. “SHIELD doesn’t hire criminals.”

He gestures at himself the best he can. “Meet the exception to the rule.”

“Why?”

Clint shrugs. “Got lucky. Met the right person.” 

“That guy on the comms. Coulson.” Laura settles against the back wall, contemplating. “How much authority does he have?”

“Not enough to call off the dogs if you march us out there. I already told you that’s not going to end well. But he will hear you out, if you can give us information about who you were working with.”

“I’d be signing my death warrant if I talked.”

“You’re signing your death warrant if you stay in here. Make a deal, Laura. We can protect you.”

“You really can’t.”

“Try us.”

She cups her belly with both hands. “I’m not falling for this act.”

“No act. Just trying to find the best outcome for everyone. My life is on the line too, remember.”

She weighs that. “You want me to trust the people who would let one of their own die?”

“If they think taking you down is going to save a lot of lives, then they have their orders.” Even as he says it, he feels a thread fraying in her story. He risks giving it a hefty tug. “You didn’t work Miami alone, did you?”

It’s so brief that Clint almost misses it. A flicker of emotion somewhere between regret and anger passes over Laura’s face, before it’s lost to the gloom of the abandoned office. “You don’t know anything about me. Stop guessing.”

Clint does exactly the opposite. “The kid’s father. He was involved. Much more than you were.”

“Guessing,” she fires back at him, but the way her hands clench gives her away.

He continues to tug on that thread. “You didn’t answer my caring or scaring question. Either he set you up, or you’re taking the fall to protect him.”

Laura’s fingernails bite deeper into her palms. “Does it matter?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“How you want this day to end.”

She doesn’t look at him. “And if I wanted it to end with me on a farm in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever find me? What would you say then?”

Clint shifts again, trying to renew the blood flow in his wrists this time. “That I know that feeling. I know that feeling extremely well.”

“Yeah?” she challenges him. “So why aren’t you in a farmhouse?”

He decides to tell the truth. “Because SHIELD’s keeping too close an eye on me to pull a runner. And because even if they weren’t, I like being here. I like helping people.”

“SHIELD doesn’t help people.”

“Some of us do.”

She laughs. It’s distractingly pretty. “God, you are such a man. Poor defenseless pregnant woman—she must need a savior.”

There’s something in that line he feels he can use. He prepares to dig. “Trust me, I see you as anything but defenseless.”

“Because I have the gun?”

“Because I’ve read your file. I’ve seen what you’ve done. Including shipping a lot of shoddy weapons through a Miami warehouse that detonated on arrival. The warehouse workers didn’t even know what they were handling.”

She coils tighter with every word. “It was an accident.”

He keeps digging. “I doubt that was much comfort to their families.” 

“Stop trying to play me. I see what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“Making me feel guilty so I surrender. This isn’t amateur hour.”

“No, it’s not.” He drives that shovel down, crossing his fingers that he’s about to hit gold. “And I can’t make you feel guilty. Because you didn’t do it.”

She tries to play it off, but the tightening in the back of her shoulders gives her away. “That’s not what your precious file on me says.”

“Because you made it look like you did it. To protect someone else.” Her eyes pinch. There’s that gold. “So it is scaring. Not caring.”

“Stop. Guessing.”

“Poor defenseless pregnant woman. Those are his words, aren’t they? He thought they’d go easier on you than him. He made you take the fall.”

“Guessing.”

“But I’m right. Aren’t I?”

She sweeps her eyes up and down him as though reappraising. “Maybe you are a real SHIELD agent.”

“So I am right.”

She refuses to confirm it. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going down either way.”

“Not if you give him up. We can protect you.”

“As if I’d trust SHIELD with protecting my child.”

“Better us than no one.” He makes a show of leaning forward in earnest, even though it’s just to get him in a better position to slip the zip-ties if he needs to. He’s daring to hope that he won’t. “Tell us who he is. We’ll get him.”

“No. You won’t.”

“We will. Then at least that baby will have one parent around.”

“He’s not the father.” Laura still isn’t looking at him. “The father’s dead. It was a reminder of what happens when I don’t…” She breaks off, squeezing her eyes shut. “He controls my whole life. Everything. There isn’t a way out.”

“There is,” Clint says softly. “Because someone offered it to me. Because someone decided to look past what the damn SHIELD file said and treated me like a human being. Because someone offered me the chance to do some good with my life.”

He’s so close. He can feel it. And he knows exactly what words he needs to seal the deal. “And I think you’re the kind of person who wants to do good, Laura Mills.”

The sun is sinking outside the office window. His heart is pounding so loud that he’s surprised Laura can’t hear it. Then again, maybe she can. Maybe, for once, he can offer someone a happy ending instead of a grave.

He lets her break the silence first. “Did yours have a stupid villain name as well?”

“You bet. The Swordsman.”

Laura snorts. “Sword versus arrow? Wow.”

“Arrow won.”

She nods, her gaze distant. She hasn’t picked up the gun again. “Mine goes by Kingpin.”

Clint files that away. “We don’t have anyone by that name on SHIELD’s radar.”

“And he’s going to kill me for putting him on it. I can’t escape him.”

“I used to think the same thing. And now he’s gone. Want me to put an arrow in yours, too?”

“Can you?”

Clint considers that. He’d meant what he said when he’d told Phil a year ago that he wanted to be done with killing. And Phil had kept his end of the bargain by only sending Clint after the targets they couldn’t take down any other way.

“If you give me the information to find him, yes,” Clint states, and he means every word. “Give me the comms, Laura. Let me talk to Phil. We can walk out of here, work out how to take down Kingpin. And then get you that farmhouse.”

Even in the dimming sunlight, he spots her lips twitch. “Why do I believe you?”

“Because I’m telling the truth.”

He’s so close to ending this. He can feel it. Part of him can’t believe he’s gotten this far, it’s not like hostage negotiations have a reputation for going well, and he’s not about to flatter himself that it’s all skill on his part. No one can help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Phil had seen that in him. Now, Clint can only hope that he’ll see it again in Laura. He’s so close.

Which is of course when they hear the sound of the building being stormed.

Laura shoves the comms back in her ear, eyes flying wide. “Retreat,” she orders, pushing herself to her feet and grabbing the gun Clint had really hoped they were done with. “I will shoot him if you come in here, don’t you dare—”

The rest of her sentence is drowned out by the stampede of STRIKE boots running towards the door.

Clint doesn’t hesitate. He twists and pulls, ignoring the sharp pain in both wrists as the zip-tie stretches. It doesn’t snap, because when does his luck ever go that way, but it gives him enough room to get free and lunge across the room.

His hand grabs the gun before Laura can fire it. It’s only when it’s in his hands that he registers that she made no move to pull the trigger. 

She stares at him, breathless. “You could get free this whole time?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer. He’s too busy shoving the gun’s magazine into his boot compartment, a split second before the door bursts open. 

“Don’t shoot!” He moves in front of her, heart racing as half a dozen guns focus on him instead. “She surrendered.”

All the STRIKE guys are wearing helmets, but Clint can tell the frontman is Rumlow from that stupid white X he insists on wearing on the front of his vest. And he thinks he has the grounds to mock Clint for the bow thing. “Our orders are to shoot on sight,” Rumlow snaps back. “And then rescue the princess from the tower if there’s time.”

Clint doesn’t move. “Well you were late, so I rescued myself. Don’t shoot the small fish, Rumlow. She’s going to help us get someone much bigger.”

“And that’s obviously a lie to buy herself some time. Now move before I—”

“Stand down, Rumlow. That’s an order.”

Then Clint is treated to the glorious sight of the STRIKE team parting like the Red Sea as Phil Coulson makes his way towards him. “Take Mills into custody,” Phil orders. “Gently.”

Clint doesn’t get to watch Laura be taken away. Phil blocks his line of sight, grabbing his arms and steering him away. “You good?”

“Peachy.”

“I couldn’t hold them off any longer. I’m sorry.”

“I’m the one who went off-book.”

“And I haven’t forgotten about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Will you, now?”

“Yep. Already got an idea and everything.”

Phil surveys the gun Clint’s still holding. “That hers?”

“Admissible evidence,” Clint says, a bit too quickly, ignoring how the magazine is biting into his ankle. He’ll have to find a way to dispose of it when no one’s watching. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Phil reaches out to clap him on the shoulder. It feels solid. It feels like home. “Always.”

Walking into Sing Sing without handcuffs is surreal.

Clint takes the seat across from Laura in the tiny room, gesturing to the chair Laura’s perched on. “Uncomfortable, right? They do that on purpose.”

“No shit.” She shifts, sending the cuffs binding her to the table rattling. “And there I was thinking they would give the pregnant woman a break.”

“Thought we weren’t supposed to use the baby as leverage.”

“You’re not. I can milk it all I want.”

Sense of humor, Clint recalls, and has to fight back a smile. The red light of the camera in the corner refuses to let him forget he’s being watched. He only gets one shot at this. Lucky that he never misses his shots. “Well, I’m hoping things are about to get a lot more comfortable for you.”

Laura considers him, her expression careful. “Kingpin has people everywhere. No doubt in SHIELD as well.”

“Then we’ll find them.”

“Just like that?”

“If he’s as dangerous as you say he is. If he was the real cause behind what happened in Miami.”

That careful expression doesn’t shift. “Of course he was the real cause. I mean, I couldn’t even bear to bring a loaded gun to a hostage situation.” She looks pointedly down at his bandaged leg.

Clint matches her neutral tone. “Of course not. You were never actually going to shoot anyone. You were just desperate and scared.” He shifts his leg a little, feeling the stitches there pull. “Shame I tripped and cut myself chasing you.” 

“Of course.” Her lips twitch, just like they had back in the office building. Clint decides he likes it. “So. I help you with Kingpin. You put me and Cooper in witness protection. That’s the deal?”

“Cooper, huh? Nice name.”

“After his father. Although I guess I’ll have to change it in WITSEC. Kingpin knew that's what I wanted to name him.”

“WITSEC is one deal.” Clint leans forward over the table, exactly as Phil had a year ago. “I have a better one.”

“Farmhouse?”

“That might be on the cards. If you join us. We’re always looking for new talent.”

Laura blinks at him, and then bursts out laughing. It’s still one of the prettiest sounds Clint’s ever heard. “Me. A SHIELD agent.”

“The offer sounded just as ridiculous to me when I got it. Seems to be working out, though.” He slouches back in her chair, taking her in. He already knows he wants to have a conversation with her without a gun or handcuffs involved. Many, many more conversations. “Someone else will run you through the logistics. I just wanted to be the one who told you the news.”

She considers him. “You’re weird as hell, Clint Barton.”

“I know. You’ll get used to it.” The camera light blinks twice, signaling his time is up. “They’re pulling me out of here. Think the offer over?”

“I… might.”

She will. Clint’s suddenly sure of it. It makes him wonder if Phil had known he’d say yes, long before Clint himself had. “You never told me your favorite color.”

“Are you serious?”

“I want to know.”

She looks a step away from turning him down before she says, “Yellow. Like sunflowers.”

“Yellow like sunflowers.” Clint has a ridiculous urge to plant her a field full of them. There will be plenty of room at that farmhouse.

He meets Phil on the outside of the cell. “How did it feel being on the other side?” Phil asks.

“Not bad,” Clint admits. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

“Information on a new crime lord isn’t bad compensation, I’ll admit.”

“I was talking about your newest SHIELD agent.”

Phil glances towards the closed door. “She didn’t say yes yet. Neither did I.”

“And yet you didn’t tell anyone about hearing gunshots over the comms after I told you Mills’s gun wasn’t loaded.”

Phil’s expression remains neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not. Manhunts can be so chaotic.”

“I know. I chased you down for nearly a year. I have some chiropractor bills I should send you, I spent so long bent over your file.” Phil straightens up, his eyes still on Laura. “I have the paperwork ready. If she says yes. If she’s worth all this.”

Clint is only half-listening. His mind is on farmhouses and sunflowers and a beautiful laugh. “Trust me—she’s worth it.”

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Doom Prompt 18: Wraith knitting club

A writing prompt from my Doom discord, basted on the Garnets story. I still see the Wraiths of the Doom world being that kind of wine aunt that comes by, lets you get away with Chaos, but mostly within reason. Teach you how to pick a lock and fill you up with good food before poofing away.

.

18: Hypothetical wraith knitting club where they talk about how feral John is. Pre fall of argent D'nur

“Where did you find him?”

Bastet looked up from patting the aquatic version of her Wintherins that her sister made, using her foremost right paw. “Find who, Sekhmet?”

“That cranky thing in your home nest city.” The other smaller wraith noted from where she was fanning her wings and settling beside her sister at the base of the World Spear.

“Oh, Bi’Jay, the hell born.” Bastet tilted her head, thought about it and then shrugged both her wings, “I have no idea where he came from. I noticed him when my wintherin kept chattering about him. Then he crawled into my nest proper, he stinks of Jakkad, but not as much as he used to.”

“He’s Jakkad born?” A third Wraith demanded in shock, pausing mid air as she fanned her wings, mid motion of about to land and curl up on a nice warm wood platform. “One of His children finally made it out alive from their prison?”

“He’s not Jakkad born, or descended,” Bastet shook her big head, the blind wraith scented the energies around and found where her smaller sister was and flopped a rear wing over Sekhmet. Grinning at the trill of protest. “He was definitely reborn in Jakkad’s wilds though, it shows. But he does not have the dominant features our brother favored for his children.”

“Feral little thing?” Ceres asked after she settled her serpentine self down, wings folding.

“Oh most definitely,” Bastet laughed, her smaller sister climbing up on her back to settle where it was mostly safe. The smaller Wraith was in her roughly humanoid shape, looking around and flicked her tail demandingly until Bastet sighed and shifted to flick her own up tail to hold her sister's.

“Of course you would like a feral thing of His,” A water Wraith noted coming into the area, snorting bubbles. 

“I don't think the boy belongs to our lost brother.” Bastet noted, “Other than he seems to be able to absorb any kind of energy offered to him. He can't understand primordial at all. It's…odd. Something about of his makeup is like our Argenta, reminiscent of… Gaia’s work maybe? Her and some other brats left to seed other planets recently… I think. Right?”

“They did,” Ceres tilted her head, listening to the wraith songs from a distance. And then snorted, “Sounds like they're having a… wonderful time adapting their new children to a chaotic planet.”

“Not everything is easy to alter to a new planet.” Sekhmet noted as she stretched out between her larger sister's forewings. “We were very lucky with the Argenta.”

“Mentioning them,” the youngest wraith there lifted her head out of the water as she was climbed on by the aquatic wintherin. All three sets of her eyes reflecting annoyance, “Have you seen what they're up to?”

“Aren't they playing with our brother's children?” Ceres asked, grooming her feathers, and made an interesting sound at extracting a clinging gargoyle hatching out of her mane, “Vere, did this vome frum?”

Bastet cackled, “Hah! Ceres fell asleep in a cavern I bet! Best to sleep in a nest-city sister!”

“Even if it’s a long nap, the Sentinels take care of you when you sleep.” Sekhmet noted, and then wondered aloud. “I wonder what of our brother’s creations came by, I thought most were killed off or sealed in Jakkad?”

Ceres set the hatching back down in her coils, “I hope its the Gorgons coming back. They had nice voices. And sassy babies.”

“Unfortunately they went extinct outside of Jakkad.” Sekhmet sighed deeply, she liked those creatures too. 

“I think they're called… ur’dac?” the water wraith paused and tried to remember, “They spoke strange, but were almost gathering some Argenta like a class?”

“...Urdak?” Bastet asked, turning her blind gaze to the younger sister. The biggest Wraith present did not look impressed, “Them? The Maykrs? Oh bother, those brats. I hope their ‘father’ keeps them in line.”

“Who are they?” the youngest asked as she rolled her mass in the water, playing with the creatures with her tail. 

“Annoyances! The lot of them… well, I used to like a few of their angles, they were polite at least when Davoth was active.” Bastet snorted and then stretched. “If they are around, though, we should get ready for some headaches. And I need to shed this form.”

“What for?” Sekhmet asked as she held on tight.

“What else? To fight!”

“Are you really going to fight our brother’s children?”

“Yes.”

Ceres looked up and grinned, “I got some energy from a white star before it collapsed. Want some to help you shed Basket?”

“...Yes.”

[kitanaijin]

feathers in the attic | freakebana | part i. | blueberry trainwreck >> blackberry kush

yandere keigo takami x reader, goldfinch. words: 4567. explicit content. 18+ MDNI

He longed for a world where heroes had too much time on their hands.

No one knew better than his wives how he’d rather spend his days.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains neuro spice, chronic pain, non-consensual fingering, degradation, involuntary & forced orgasms, physical abuse, throat fucking, enforced sobriety, and mention of the breeding plot within the harem.

“Would’ve made a hell of a name.”

Lazing over a bed of flannels and plumage, you flip through the well worn pages of the magazine until you’ve found it.

You can still remember when an idol graced the cover. It’s an old issue from 2018 with a midsummer run, scratched to ruin ages ago. The full shoot was left virtually untouched along with the accompanying article. 

She’d posed so pretty, selling her story to perfection. Not that you could fully appreciate what she was promoting.

These types of interviews tended to lose their impact, dated as they were. 

No intimacy. No stakes or connection. No urgency in your step to rush to the nearest theater to support the little girl with a dream.

The farthest you could take yourself was the toilet.

Not quite the Library of Alexandria—but oh, how the loss of context tore you apart.

Within the confines of these four walls, time was a construct at your most lucid… a prison when you were dragged past the depths of your dark and twisty recesses.

The nights he’d sweep your broken body from the floor. Hold you in his crimson embrace and manhandle you to his whims. When all the fight left your lungs so you couldn’t even scream, let alone tell him no.

He stole your name twice over in a swinging pendulum of perception; Goldfinch for times you were his sweet girl… Bluebird when you were less than pliant.

It bruised him to see you scorn his affections, so he called you in kind.

He’d pin you down. Pry you apart. Fuck himself into your cunt and soul, leaving you a mere ragdoll to his desires.

You’d only ever been what he had demanded of you.

He wanted a victim, you could damsel with the best of them. This was a show that would go on with or without your approval.

He’d feed you. Rape you. Dry your tears.

Anything more than that, he can stand to spoil you.

Could’ve been hours before you’d feel him leave your side. Days, even. You’d hardly know the difference—only that his side was barren, cool to the touch as you washed a hand over the sheet… 

Here one minute, gone the next. Pain emanating and all your own.

Without the organic warmth of sunlight on your cheeks, you’d never feel the day break for yourself.

He took everything from you. Your power. Your will. Your life.

The room was set to a constant low light, controlled by the flick of his wrist and a tablet. 

Never natural and never enough, same as every inch of every room of this godforsaken place. A damn menagerie, down to the fucking temp. 

dry heat so you won’t catch cold… fans in the warmer months. 

He kept you maintained. Albeit depleted in your current state, but no one was about to accuse the bastard of neglecting you.

If they ever found his nest, that is.

Would it matter?

                         Would they care?

White knuckles hold the spine as the water bottle at your side loses the last of its tepid edge.

You can’t think about it. Mainlining dopamine where you could manage would have to get you through the worst of it for now.

Vivid colors punch a sigh from your lips, even muted in the dark like this. More than satisfied, you’re relieved. Manic thoughts swirl that someday he might deem the material obscene. He was a jealous man, mercurial by nature. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for him to tatter disagreeable content beyond recognition.

Maybe leaving the article unmolested was a gesture on his part, a bygone offering.

Perhaps he’d just overlooked the whole thing. It could mean nothing.

Fingers graze the gorgeous arrangements until you can match the scent into your mind and memory. Citrus and pome. Florals you haven’t thought to conjure in years. 

Freakebana.

You take your time tracing the header with a wavering touch before devouring the article.

Composition. Purpose. How to style your very own lovely item.

In another life you’d be all over this shit. You and your quirk.

Don’t think about it.

It’s a striking contrast that never fails to overwhelm you…

Sensual. A serenity that follows the warm blush of anthurium piercing the understated pears. Surreal. The next image featured a bit of Queen Anne’s lace and soft peonies over an orange. Vulgar.

The dissonance of rotting fruit and lush botany was breathtaking. The writer was on the fucking money in the best of ways. 

You had some trouble placing the last of the flowers through the hurricane wreaking havoc over your joints and muscles. Breath catching, the aches come roaring back.

You’ve passed the eye of the storm.

Just as well, you’re wrapping on your daily indulgence anyways. Spoil yourself now and you risk the brainrot of whatever envy you’ve got waiting in the wings.

You tuck the magazine under the mattress with a frown.

“Seriously.” Falling back on the mattress, you set the heels of your hands over your eyes. “Like taking a shower and having that perfect comeback all those hours later. So goddamn irritating.”

A voice cuts through the vent, where her wall meets your ceiling. “Never took you for the hero track.”

“Never said I was.”

You hone your focus on the neon numbers at your bedside, blinking away one hour to the next. 

The clock reads five fifteen. He’ll be darkening your doorstep soon enough.

A distant cry tickles your eardrums. You curl in on yourself, tremors washing over you with a groan. The contractions in your belly spread like a wildfire of pain past your thighs and calves. It’s all you can do to pull the sheet over your shoulders and bury yourself deeper.

Five thirty.

You’d thought to ask if she heard anything on her end but Magpie had long grown quiet in the room beside yours. It’s all you can do to force your bloodshot eyes open.

You have to stay awake—you can fall apart when he’s taken to the skies or buried six feet under.

Five fifty… 

Before sleep can take you, a near melodic taps hit your ears; the sweeping fingers of a key code just beyond your reach.

Keigo lets himself inside, his feathers shutting the door faster than you can think to act.

Not that it matters. You couldn’t fight him off if you’d been training from the start of your confinement.

Your eyes remain locked on the time. Jaw tight, you commit to refusing him.

Five fifty one.

He’ll be late if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get face time with every wife. There was a ritual to these things. 

Timing had to be down to an art form otherwise the fastest man would have to be late to the day job. Usually a punishment or two. 

Hate to do this, he’d say. Lies spewed past a tight jaw and a strained cock. 

Rather than present a front of urgency to the fact, he only lets out a long suffering sigh at the sight of you.

You hear his voice before you ever make his face. 

“I know you’re awake.” You tense under his avian gaze. “Was it another bad one?”

He drops the tray of breakfast and meds on a dresser you’ve always found woefully redundant. Then he’s crossing the room, shameless in his liberties over the unclaimed space.

The mattress dips beside you. His body runs flush against your back as an unwelcome touch traces shapes over your belly.

“Finch…” A plea on his lips, a warning to your ears. “I’m sure you don’t want to make a bad time worse. You know the kind of stress I’m under. C’mon, Songbird. You gotta give me something.”

Silence begets silence. He frowns in the darkness, ever waiting on a poised reply from his captive bride.

“Tell you what. You talk to me. You behave, I’ll see what I can do on my end,” he coaxes with his fingers carding through your hair. “We can have family game night. Maybe a movie?”

“So generous,” you rasp.

He hums into a modest shrug, pressing a kiss over your shoulder. “I thought so, at least.”

Smug fuck.

“You still have Starling on the suppressants?”

His wings posture around you reflexively. You have only a second to relish in the chaos before his grip is tightening. He pulls the hair he’s buried himself in. 

“I thought you were gonna be a good girl,” he accuses.

“That was your mistake… You’re the one who wanted me to sing.” Spite bleeds from your lips like a curse. 

“Really now.” He quirks his brow, almost impressed. “You know what, fair play.”

Drawing your head back for a torturous moment too long, he keeps you in those eyes right there with him. Molten and tragic—fixed solely on you. 

You catch your breath in the pillow, heaving into a series of coughs.

He passively regards you as the strewn feathers do his bidding. They haul you from the mattress, raising you up with ease. Remaining on the bed, Keigo knocks both wrists under his neck to lean on. 

Hands above your head, he has you bound and restrained midair. You watch the idle plumage sharpen in your periphery. Only two.

You can’t muster the fucks it would take to panic… Never mind the pleas to get out of this. 

The aches are ever present, blossoming upwards now. It grounds you, pins you to the moment as the feathers keep you locked in place. 

“Here I wanted to have a nice breakfast with all you pretty birds on my day off,” he grouses.

“The pain I’m in is killing me. Day in, day out. You leave me to wither and rot without a thought to my suffering. Not me, not any of us.” You’re absolutely raging beneath his phantom hold. “Fuck your day off.”

The blades move closer. Just a nick in the right place, that’s all it would take to end this nightmare for you. There’s nothing else for him to take.

“As much as I appreciate your blessing, I was already planning on it.”

One slice. And another. A mere whisper of cloth that leaves your breasts exposed.

Both straps of your silken nightdress come undone on his order. They turn the remaining scraps to ribbons until you’re completely nude for him.

Rising from the bed, his wings bristle ever so. 

Keigo takes his time sauntering towards you. Rounding the bed, he pops a grape in his mouth. It only takes one fallen feather trailing behind him to swipe pills from the very same tray.

“Not like either of us have anywhere to be. Why don’t I make you really sing, hm?”

Close as he is, you find yourself flinching. His calloused touch ghosts across your skin, breath fanning in tandem over your cheeks.

“What d’ya suppose I’m gonna find when I get down there.”

“Drop dead,” you curse.

Your head is knocked back into the wall before you even register the slap. A practiced hand slips inside your mouth to silence you, taking his time fucking you with his fingers. Never once does he break stride with the hand that keeps time over your pulse.

Your cheek burns. His fingers gag you as he smothers the sounds of protest at your airway. Emboldened by the sounds at his fingertips, his breath stutters over your cheeks as he ruts desperately against you.

He releases you. Presses on, low as he dares to tread in these little hours.

Down your chest.

Past your stomach.

Quick as a flash, he pulls himself from your mouth leaving a trail of spittle that runs down your chin. The absence leaves you fighting for your life, choking on air one minute and a scream the next. 

Deft fingers bite into your throat. You groan, arching into his touch.

“Tell me why you’re so interested all of a sudden,” he bids. “Couldn’t possibly be out of concern for me…”

You want to tear away from him. Claw his skin, his eyes. Those feathers aren’t granting you any favors—palms bleeding stigmata, their loyalties remain solely with the master who controls them.

You’re in a losing fight with the pain.

You’ll have to ride this out until he kills you or tires from the game. Fuck this and fuck him.

“Star…ling,” you grind out.

A weak swing of your legs is thwarted with ease. 

He loosens his touch some. You hurl your answer at him while there’s a fraction of a chance he’ll leave you alone.

“Lend me her power or up my dose… I don’t care, just give me enough to end it.”

This gives him pause. He hovers over your collarbone. You watch him swallow.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” you sob. “The pain is unbearable and you’re not letting me heal myself. No sunlight. No relief. I can’t sleep unless you put me under and it’s never enough. It was for me, Keigo.”

He sends for a feather to fetch his whims. Rests the heel of his waiting hand against your mons.

“That’s what you’re going with?”

You hang your head. “It’s the truth.”

His lips lock around your aching nipple just as he dips inside you.

He spreads your thighs, appraising your legs with a scrutinizing eye and a wandering touch to match. You’d scream if you thought it would help.

Keigo slots your legs over his shoulders. Sucks a bruise into your thigh, cups your cunt. You jolt into the assault.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases you with his relentless strumming. His middle finger laps your juices, fucking them deeper into you every time.

Thighs shake. Your stomach tenses, bracing for the forced release. 

His wrist twists in quick succession. It’s all you hear. He latches on your clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and your own wetness.

Your breath catches on a wail, riding the orgasm for all it’s worth. The last of your release comes pouring out of you, stuttering the last of the stream all over his face; a shining testament to an evil man who knows just how to give migraine-shattering head.

The hormonal gremlin that haunts your attic almost wants him to fuck you. Best taken as a sign you’re ovulating… better to stay away.

It’s like he can smell the apprehension on your skin. His eyes stare up at you in the dark. Not in awe, rather a cautious advantage.

Ever the predator, he watches and awaits the moves of the prey.

You’re still a writhing mess on his tongue. If you could bury yourself in his hair, you would bear down with a white knuckle grip and a piercing cry to match.

Your arms tingle in the restraints above you. “Keigo… stop.”

He does so. Pulls away from you entirely. 

You slump to the floor. A groan, “Keigo—what the fuck?!”

The scruff on his chin glistens in the low light. He smiles down on you, aglow as an angel. 

Even Lucifer had wings before the fall.

You flinch when his palm reaches your jaw. It takes you by surprise how gentle, how earnest it was. Almost reminds you of the beginning.

Never enough. Not really.

Of course you knew who he was. Hawks was renowned on and off the job; a top hero during business hours and a notorious playboy after dark. He frequented your flower shop when you were earth side.

Still, he never touched you. He didn’t have to when he’d been grooming you from the start. 

You came. He called. Service with a smile, even with eyes locked on the scene of him devouring the deepest parts of you.

He left you to your own devices for the most part. One day you got a little too familiar, too comfortable with the back and forth, letting it slip that you’d been living with chronic pain for years. 

And maybe you shouldn’t have reassured him that your form of management is often self medicated, supplied by your plant quirk… 

But he looked so sad. 

Little did you know the ammunition you’d be giving him. A warrant signed by your own hand for a drawn out death, long and tortuous.

Coming to, you gag around him. 

“Take it,” he demands. “Shut your whore mouth and take it.”

He’s got a fistful of your hair and you can’t get a breath in while you’re warming his cock.

You push on his thighs but he only tightens his grip, pulling you flush against him.

He stutters above you and then slows.

Stays still inside you, caresses the bulge taking purchase down your throat.

One roll of his hips. Then two to follow. He came on your tongue before he could see to the third.

“Don’t you dare swallow yet.” He twists your nipple, further scrutinizing you as he nods towards your quivering lips. “Open up, let me see.”

You do as you’re told. In the dark like this, you don’t have the luxury of foresight. You could never have known that he had you where he wanted; primed with a grape and your cocktail of pills and vitamins.

He takes the grape in his mouth, tracing your pout with his thumb. After a few moments pass when he drops a languid pool of spit over his come. You choke on the intrusion and are afforded no time to recover. He presses two tablets on the pile before making you take it all. 

Palm across your mouth, his thumb caresses your throat. He’s got his fingers censoring you, guiding you.

You swallow with a retch and grimace before taking the rest.

He watches, expectant. Keigo snags a circular style, day of the week pill dispenser from an errant feather. Snaps the lid open and presents you with your haul for the morning.

“Go on,” he urges.

You present your palm to him… It dawns on you both that you were bleeding still.

“Damn it,” he scoffs. Runs off to a trunk in the corner and comes back with first aid. Regards the blood with a rough double take. “Fuck.”

“If it’s really that bad, maybe you should stop doing it. Food for thought.”

He turns your hand over, alcohol wipe in hand. Doesn’t give you any countdown, just starts scrubbing his scene.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Son of a bitch…”

“Do you want the vitamins or not?”

“Are they going to put me in a good mood?”

“Ginger, garlic, and elderberry… mostly immune boosting. Best I can do. You know how I feel about you girls and drugs.”

You watch him, incredulous. “And just what does your little philosophy have to say about forcing sleeping pills on your wives so you don’t have to worry about them keeping up, hmm?”

“Finch, you’ve taken your punishment like a good girl.” He nurses his temple where he’s bound to have a migraine as well. “You can take a day off from being a brat, for once.”

You catch him in the low light. Seems he’s nursing a bruise to match. Onto your own scrutiny, his feathers cut you down before the gripe can draw breath.

His attentions never leave the work. 

You pry your hand away, cradling the wound with a hiss. “It’s aftercare for me to watch you squirm, dickless.”

“Is that so…” Keigo sounds almost bored. He rolls his eyes, turning up the brightness of the room. “Well today it’s gonna be antibiotic ointment and gauze pads because someone decided to waste time with an attitude.”

Keigo dresses the wounds without dictation. You allow him his silence until an intrusive thought has you groaning.

“What is it now?”

You shake your head. “I can’t. It’s really bad.”

“Say your peace, Finch. I’m only one man and I have all of you to get through.”

You reel back with a wince, more hurt now than the slap across the face earlier.

The hand hangs limp in his own, touch matching his ever softening tone. 

“No. That’s not… fuck.” A biting sigh. “I’m sorry. That’s hardly fair… How’m I supposed to call myself the fastest if I can’t even hack time management with my family.”

He returns his attentions to the inflamed palm. Draws you to his lips, all adoration.

“You know you can come to me with anything.”

And now he’s just gaslighting you.

Fingers splay across your neck and jaw… forcing your gaze, forcing your intimacy.

Your eyes well with tears when there’s nowhere to hide. He steals them away with a frown, lingering across the bruises that betray your sleep deprivation.

“Why are you crying?”

You push him with barely any fight left. “Please. Just go.”

As you thrash to get away, he can only fight to hold you closer. The pain spikes in an unforgiving swipe across your abdomen. You whine into his shoulder, shuddering into his arms.

He cradles your head to his chest with a soothing rock. Feathers run down your arms and back, all forgiveness. 

“You know what would help…”

He’s the devil at your shoulder. You are fully aware of what he’s about to say.

“A baby won’t begin to fix this,” you break down. He has to strain to hear, this you know. “…won’t fix me.”

The warmth of his kiss bleeds under your skin. He thrums a gentle rap against your arm, just waiting for you to settle.

He shushes you, flying over his crimson helpers for an assist. A damp cloth. Dragon balm. Some medicinal chaser that tasted more like sewage runoff than remotely helpful.

Keigo carries you back to bed. He lays you down, spreads you out. You wince as he cleans his mess. Mercifully, you can’t see him. But you hear him. Feel him.

You make the sounds of him rustling with the cap. It’s mercifully warm on your abused muscles before the cooling menthol hits.

“Tell me the name.” Your blood runs cold as it registers what he’s asking of you. 

He must’ve gotten to Magpie during their conjugal. Shit.

You swallow when he serves the crumbs anyways. “Little Birdie told me that our beloved Blue had heroic aspirations of her own, once upon a time.”

His touch roves over your legs to start, working the product into the meat of your thighs. He waits for what must feel like ages in his eyes… but it would never be long enough for you.

“C’mon. You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“Expect an answer, you’ll have to stop talking at some point,” you grouse. 

Your breath catches on a strangled wail, meeting no resistance when he flips you.

“Quit your whining,” he snaps. “It’s all I ever hear from you. And fuck me for trying to make this marriage work, right?”

His touch is unrelenting. Prying the tension from the source, spreading his fingers over your lower back.

You try to reach out to him. Make him stop. Bat him away. Fight.

A feather nicks your hand away with the swipe of his whims.

“The name, Blue.” It’s not a grounding request anymore. “You give me the name, this all goes away.”

Starling flashes in mind and memory. If you could sleep, if you could dream—

“Freakebana!”

You curl in on yourself, pushing him with what little strength you have left from this ordeal. With any hope, your pride would be toll enough for him. 

The one thing you had, gone in an instant. Precious and private, thoroughly yours. Now it was known to him. Sullied by his acknowledgement. He could twist your comfort and make it ugly—could do whatever he wanted, really.

Keigo was no stranger to it. This would be the least of his atrocities.

He nods to himself in quiet concert, seemingly mollified for now. Keigo leans beside you and presses a kiss over your bruising cheek. His idle touch traces the thrumming pulse before throwing the baby out with the bath water and simply scent marking your whole arm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your wrist. 

When Keigo rises from the bed, you keep yourself small. He crosses the room to the dresser. Out of the drawer and into his arms came the clothes meant for you.

You must have been a sorry sight if he’s dressing you in his boxer shorts and cotton undershirt over the negligée.

Again, woeful redundance. He’d disposed of your clothes in the first week, imposing a preference for nudity and teddies. What little he keeps on hand for himself, the only times your husband is liable to share are rare moments such as these.

Toe to toe, back to back.

He’s more patient coming back to you.

Two arms in each hole, ever minding your head as he finishes with the well worn v-neck. Right leg and the left until you’re left to your relative comforts.

“Just… I want you to think on it, yeah?”

You furrow your brow. “If this is about the fucking baby—”

On hands and knees, he remains unabashed in his desires. It’s an old tune, one he’s carried for years now.

A baby will cure your pain. A baby will give you purpose. A baby will soothe your broken heart.

Each and every argument has been run into the ground. He doesn’t need another mouth to feed, let alone want one. The others had been thrust into the position, far before their time or consent.

You were one of two holdouts, yes. But as ever, he remains a slave to his instincts. There were fledglings in his care and he craved their unborn siblings. 

“I don’t want to fight,” he sighs. Scrubs a hand across his face like he actually believes it. “I just need you to know there’s an out for you. One that would make me very happy.”

You restrain yourself.

You let him kiss you.

You feel him leave your side.

Only when the door shuts behind him do you give yourself permission to fall apart.

Head pounding, pulse racing, a death rattle crawls from your lips. 

The neon lighting bares down in an obtrusive vermilion that burns your eyes, ever the voyeur to your utter destruction.

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Monday, July 22 - Tuesday, July 23

BUFFY: Thanks for side-kicking. I didn't want to trouble Willow. Figure she's got enough to do. First day back and all. XANDER: Are you kidding? We're doing vent work at the site. Anything's better than breathing freon for eight hours. (beat) So, did she say what this thing is? BUFFY: Some sort of spider demony thingy. She had to go pretty quickly. I think she had to sign up for classes or something. XANDER: Ah, yes, there is little that can distract the Willow when she's on the hunt for the mighty syllabi. BUFFY: I don't know. I guess she was a little more nervous than she was letting on.

~~Buffy Season 7 Episode #127: "Selfless"~~

[Drabbles & Short Fiction]

I Trusted You (Buffy/Giles, E) by The_Crazy_Knight

Awakening the angel of death (Angel, unrated, Bones xover) by Fidelio_cascadilio

La réserve des monstres. (Cordelia, Xander, Willow, T, French) by AngelicaR2

Bedtime Story (Xander/Angel/Spike, M) by witchway

Grilled cheese and kisses (Buffy/Spike, G) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

Number one fan (Buffy/Spike, T) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

He brought flowers (Buffy/Spike, T) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

Cherish the day (Buffy/Spike, T) by Lilacsandorangeblossoms

[Chaptered Fiction]

Prison of Misery Ch. 1/2 (Buffy, unrated, Harry Potter xover) by Buffyworldbuilder

The Call Ch. 4 (Giles, unrated) by pbjellius

Families Ch. 2/15 (Ensemble, unrated) by 19BBY

Shenanigans Ch. 1/5 (Buffy/Spike, T) by flootzavut

The Right Swipe Ch. 1 (Buffy/Giles, E) by DancingAngel0013

Aegis Ch. 11 (Xander, T, multiple xovers) by dogbertcarroll, Narsil

Dead Man's Afterparty Ch. 2 (COMPLETE) (Ensemble, G) by Greensword101

In the Company of Witches and Slayers: Ch. 109 (Willow/Tara, E) by VladimirHarkonnen (TheLightdancer)

Task Mistress, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, E) by HappyWhenItRains

Life with Buffy, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Joan963z

Stygian Nights, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, T) by JamesMFan

East of Nevada, Chapter 5 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Blissymbolics

Stab in the back, Chapter 23 (Buffy/Spike, E) by MelG_2005

The Degradation of Duality [Series Part 2], Chapter 34 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Ragini

Buffy Summers and the Major Case of the Wiggins, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Soulburnt

I’ll Get You, My Pretty!, Chapter 4 (Buffy/Spike, M) by CheekyKitten

A Second Chance- Their Story, Chapter 13 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Loup Noir

Birds of a Feather, Chapter 1 (Buffy/Spike, E) by Maxine Eden

The Watcher, Chapter 20 (Buffy/Spike, E) by In Mortal

Something Borrowed, Chapter 1-3 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Geliot99

Unicorn , Chapter 8-10 (Buffy/Spike, M) by Desicat

Over the Hills and Far Away, Chapter 3 (Buffy/Spike, T) by Rea

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork:Tara () by samof1994

Artwork:F E A R L E S S (Cordelia) by notbraveenoughforpolitics

Artwork:Scoobies () by tubesock86

Custom Figures: Drusilla () by thegothicalice

[Reviews & Recaps]

PODCAST: Bonus Episode - Season 2 Recap by The Sunnydale Diaries

PODCAST: Episode 124: Wrecked by Mythtaken

PODCAST: BTVS 520 - Spiral by Another Buffy Podcast

[Community Announcements]

Tuesday's Prompts are Purple-y by comment-fic

Fanged Four Family Kink Bingo by Runs in the Blood Discord Server

[Fandom Discussions]

Something abt Willow defying the narrative itself to bring Buffy back. by duckwnoeyes

Becoming a puppet in “Smile Time” by lindseymcdonaldseyelashes

Wait, if Sahjhan was hoping Holtz would kill Angel and/or Darla before Connor could be born... by nicnacsnonsense

one of the things that bothers me most about late seasons btvs by greensaplinggrace

Most Shocking Moments of BTVS/AtS by hoponlilmama

SoS: A Darker Giles by Multiple Authors

What are things characters don't get enough credit for? by The Whirlwind

What's your favorite season? by The Whirlwind

Which episode do you prefer and why? by Priceless

Did they bring Angel back too soon? by Stoney

NOTHING hit like Buffy season 2,3 and 5 by Cailly_Brard7

Accents by DanTrueCrimeFan87

Lullaby/Connor’s birth by Circus1701

Mixed Feelings On Season 5 by BigBoss2203

Giles in Band Candy by Omfgjustpickaname

Pangs v Hush: Angel and the vision about Buffy by penderies

What if Buffy was transported to an alternate universe during 'The Gift' by MattanzaMafiaFedora

I appreciate these two more as an adult than I did as a teen. by illegallysmolkate

Evil Willow by thedemonglitch

Why do the writers hurt me so?! by ElephantWorldly5010

Faith Appearances/Comics? by HopingForCynics

Anyone else disappointed by Faith’s arc on Buffy? by ElephantWorldly5010

Once More with Feeling by ElephantWorldly5010

Is the Angel series any good? by DragonfruitHot9889

Buffyverse watch Order by Mat1711

Doyle Appreciation by ElephantWorldly5010

lorne reading fred in 3x03? by nellyxbear

How many schools did Buffy burn down? by MonsterTournament

Would Kate get the same Hate as Justine? by Potter1612

a hot take by brwitch

The Wish questions by Tsole96

I actually totally understand Buffy now by lokeyvigilante

Did anyone else just realize this is Pedro Pascal in S4?! by ElephantWorldly5010

For those of us who walk in worlds the others cannot begin to imagine by Stracharys

Dead Man’s Party Episode by user294859382

Giles by user294859382

Tucker's brother didn't need the trio (part 3 of the trio going solo) by drawandpaintbyfire

the order of episodes in the watchers guide by lilalphabetxboy

Rewatching for the 100th time by ConsiderationEasy967

Angel's greatest acting performances by Cailly_Brard7

Buffy The Vampire Slayer's greatest acting performances by Cailly_Brard7

Looking for a rewatch podcast, any recommendations? by ThisPaige

Which moments best capture how the show manages to balance drama and comedy by InfiniteMehdiLove

Angel was 9th. Agree? Disagree? Fight about it in the comments… by DanTrueCrimeFan87

Totally Underrated Pair. I wish we got to see more of them together. by GoblinQueenForever

I just started watching buffy and OMG okay by Substantial_Tax5577

Dushku emancipation — when and why by mig_mit

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Do you have a favorite Angel villain? by hatcherry

Spike by Mat1711

Does anyone has download links for R2 dvdrips? by Technical-Emu3217

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AtS Season 5 feels like a different show by Ok_Frame_4117

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Join the editor team :)

[simplepotatofarmer]

please share some of your c!dream design ideas!!

okay okay here's some of my very favorite ideas:

-- rabbit dream! specifically a fawn colored flemish giant. i have a rabbit and the thing is, they are strong. they are determined. they can jump really high and are fast and also throw tantrums. plus anyone who has a rabbit knows they are haunted by the horrors (knowing their place on the food chain and struggling against it).

-- hare dream. same as above but with even more horrors! but still, big ears, strong legs. parkour king, you get me?

-- ball head. make him like one of those art pose dolls. he has joints. you slap his head and it goes boing.

-- CHICKEN DREAM. not to be confused with my idea of c!dream literally just being a chicken. i'm talking chicken hybrid. he has a comb (check out chickens with v combs, they'd look like horns!) personally i like the appenzeller spitzhauben because of its personality and appearance. you have to understand that chickens are fierce, they're stubborn and sometimes full of malice and willing to kill and also protective of their flock. (i also have this emotion about 'hope is a thing with feathers' and how the thing remaining in pandora's box was hope and i just really feel like dream should have feathers and i feel like it should be chicken feathers.)

-- axolotl dream. the face looks like the face of his mask.

-- i really love the idea that c!dream is just some sort of creature. he's covered with green fur, the same color as the minecraft skin, except for a white belly and under arms and legs. no one knows where his eyes are. he's so very off-putting.

-- even MORE creature. he’d be like a fucked up green rabbit. put him in a vat of radioactive sludge. give him a long tail and long ears. a cute little bunny nose above a too wide mouth full of teeth. he has claws and a white underbelly. when someone scares him, his fur sticks up. kinda like this but actually just have green fur all over his back.

-- dream but he's literally just a chicken.

-- any dream that has snake like features. or look up yuan-ti because yeah, that's it, especially the purebloods or halfbloods. coloration of a emerald tree boa, i think. or a white ball python morph but with bright green eyes.

ALSO and this is critical, this is the most important thing: give your dream a prosthetic. i'm a fan of giving him a prosthetic leg because i feel like that's definitely something that would've happened in prison. but you gotta give him clear trauma. they used the word maim. cut off some fingers. take an arm or a leg. i'm beggin'!

[archivalofsins]

So, let's talk about this thumbnail and line shall we.

Despite the line alluding to carnival/circus culture. Oh- wait you think I should explain that? You think we should waste time explaining how the term masquerade alludes to that. Well, I do too because no one else seems to have noticed.

Masquerades began around the fifteenth century and would become a staple of the Carnival Season. Many children who grew up on Disney would be familiar with it from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. People who grew up on that would also know that the king of the masquerade in that film or the king for a day is the King of Fools.

On a more recent note fans of The Case Study of Vanitas/ Vanitas No Carte would also be familiar with masquerade imagery. Due to the parade of Charlatan

Along with masquerade balls also known as Bal Masque. Because of-

Memoire 7- Bal Masque: Night of the Sneering Masks

Now carnival and masked performances have been related to multiple nomadic cultures. There is also a stigma around carnivals, circuses, and state fairs that allege individuals that work in those sorts of professions or areas are conman, thieves and tricksters. This comes up again regarding the tarot because this myth just dates back that far. Many people who worked in these areas were accused at times baselessly of being frauds and thieves and were directly under German persecution during the second world war.

Most notably in this case being the Romani people.

Sidenote everyone that has been deeply related to Mahiru's situation have had feathers in their songs this trial. Mirroring her in This Is How To Be In Love With You-

Kazui continues this trend. As it has been implied, he is going to speak on Mahiru's situation in his voice drama as well just as Yuno did.

"I feel bad for her."

However, unlike Yuno who spoke on her and has been connected to Mahiru within the portal timeline heavily since trial two began- Kazui has not been.

It should also be noted that unlike Yuno who is tearing up a pillow and releasing these feathers Kazui's thumbnail more so mirrors Mahiru within the beginning of This Is How To Be In Love With You.

They are both posing in a space where feathers are falling the only difference being Kazui's feathers are white instead of blue. There may be multiple birds to account for all the feathers dropping in Kazui's video proper or it could be a case of us not really knowing where these came from just like in Mahiru's instance.

Bringing more credence to Mahiru's line in I Love You,

"It’s ok for everyone else but not for me."

Something that really doesn't make sense for her to say because she was not the only prisoner voted guilty. Three other prisoners were voted Guilty as well. Making a statement like this could only make sense if she knows everyone else that killed due to love was voted Innocent except her.

In comparison to Futa's line in Backdraft which is far more specific,

"Why are the others INNOCENT? I won’t forgive, won’t forgive."

Also, despite the fact that his highlighted line alludes to masquerades Kazui is noticeably maskless this calls to attention his line in his song trailer,

"I'm probably a phony, through and through."

This connected back to his new highlighted lyric and his correctly fitting suit within the thumbnail seems to call attention to his development over the course of the trials. From his stiff unfitting lies and obvious masks to one that can hardly be told apart from his face.

Appearing as a magician commanding the stage and leading the audience into seeing what he wants them to see while overlooking the things he wishes to hide. Be that through sleight of hand or distractions dressed up as theatrics. This also highlights how Half may not have only displayed how he is a viewer and actor in his life but his wish to not only be able to lie on a set stage but whenever necessary. He wanted to present himself this way not only publicly but in his private life as well.

Something alluded to in his voice drama,

"And even if you recognize me as a murderer- That would be a conclusion that only someone deeply familiar with my circumstances could reach."

A line that could very much allude that someone close to Kazui was either aware or suspicious of him when it came to what transpired. Giving new context to certain written interrogation answers.

Q.13 Who do you want to see right now?

Kazui: They won’t see me anymore.

Amane: My father. I want him to praise me for all my hard work.

He says this person won't see him anymore not that they can't. So, this person isn't dead they are just choosing not to see him for some reason. If this individual was deeply familiar with Kazui's circumstances it would explain Kazui's noticeably anxious behavior during his voice drama as he discusses how Milgram came to the conclusion that he was a murderer as he may be genuinely wondering if someone ratted him out.

This would also explain his interest in who's in charge at Milgram and what it's connected to.

"I don't think someone like you could be looking over all ten of us right now, there must be some sort of organization behind all of this."

Now that he's collected more information despite not really changing much, he seems to have become more comfortable within Milgram as a facility. Similarly, to how he became more relaxed after looking into how the barrier worked.

Well, that's all I've gathered from the thumbnail on my end I'm going back to finishing that other post now.