#former outsider has yet to get any other clothes he has to make due with sleeping in his day clothes rn (<--lore) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tharros-auris-black-asimi · 3 years ago

Text

Warmth

Pairing: Alpha Beefy Bucky x Female Mutant Reader

Summary: Being paired off with Bucky Barnes on a mission was hard enough. Hell, the two of you being a part of Hydra a long time ago was already hard enough. But when the two of you are forced to seek shelter in an Avengers safehouse, it gets even worse.

Because there's only one freaking bed.

Will you survive the night with the grumpy Alpha by your side? Or will you rip your hair out?

Who knows. The nights are unpredictable.

What you do know is, is that Bucky Barnes is too fucking hot for his damn good.

Maybe you just might pull your hair out.

Warnings: Heavy A/B/O dynamics. Mentions of past torture from Hydra for both Bucky and the Reader. This Bucky is sort of a mix between CW!Bucky, (hence the beefy!Bucky), but also TFATWS!Bucky bc I love grumpy old man, sassy Bucky. Some angst/hurt/comfort, because I'm a hoe for angst. No heats/ruts in this lil fic, just good ole rough smut. Some biting and some mild blood too. This sex would be considered unprotected irl, but in the a/b/o verse, I don't think you'd need protection??? Who knows. Italics are for when Bucky and the Reader are talking in Russian. The Reader also has a nightmare, which ties back in with the whole mention of past torture from Hydra. If I missed any other warnings in this, let me know and I'll make sure to add them!

Additional Notes: This was written for @agentofbarnes's writing challenge! Congrats on 7k, Zee! I'm sorry this took so long. I started writing this in July, and let it marinate for far too long. But it's here now. I hope you enjoy!

All writing mistakes in this fic are mine, as usual.

Word Count: 4,602

Hell.

This was absolute pure fucking hell.

As you and the former Winter Soldier, James "Bucky" Barnes himself stared at the front door of one of the safehouses for the Avengers in case of emergencies, you couldn't help make eye contact with him.

Great. This was just great.

No one, not even Clint had told you that it would be snowing in freaking January in rural Ohio, of all places.

Then again, you had faintly remembered doing gymnastics before you had been taken by Hydra with some arrogant Alpha guy named Lance. He had been a real pain in your ass and you remembered you had made him cry once. After you had escaped from Hydra, you had bumped into him again. Funnily enough, he was still just as scared of you as he was all those years ago. Which, you know, was nice.

But what was not nice was the Alpha that was currently looking back at you. James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, Buck, White Panther, Jesus, Bionic Staring Machine- (the last three nicknames, all given to him by the Alpha Sam Wilson himself), scowled at you. His blue eyes even narrowed at you.

You wouldn't call what you and Bucky had a friendship. You two weren't even enemies. Heck, colleagues? Teammates? That was just putting it lightly, the relationship you had with the Alpha. Even when you had been captured and brainwashed into serving Hydra, the two of you had never crossed paths. It had been only after Hydra had fallen, did the two of you actually meet in person. Other than that, nothing. Nada. Nope. No with a capital N.O.

"Come on, let's go." Bucky all but grumbled. Realizing he didn't have the key to get inside, he looked at you. Like you had the key or something.

"James, I don't have the key." Bucky groaned. "Do you have a bobby pin, Omega? Something?" He asked in Russian. You plucked a bobby pin from your hair. A stray piece of hair fell. Putting the flat side in, you managed to unlock the door. You turned to look at him, giving him a toothy grin.

"Learned that from Pit Pocketing for Dummies, 101."

Bucky rolled his eyes at that. You just sniggered as you opened the door, greeted by cool air smacking against your face.

It made you shiver.

Because, unlike Bucky, you did not have any of that good ole supersoldier serum in your veins.

You were a mutant that could control water. Sometimes, you wished that you had the ability to control fire, because then, at least you could be warm in such dire situations such as these.

Taking your shoes off and putting them at the door, you surveyed the place.

It was a small house. Like a cozy little cottage. Probably only had at least two rooms at the max. It certainly gave off that vibe. There was a fireplace in the living room. A fully furnished kitchen, complete with a little wooden table with benches instead of individual chairs near the window.

Your grip on your bag of clothes became tighter as you realized that you needed to take a shower. Your stomach grumbled, alerting Bucky that you were hungry. Your comms had died. The two of you could contact no one until you charged them.

Which meant for at least tonight, or whenever the snowstorm outside stopped, you only had Bucky Barnes for company.

Well. That certainly would be pleasant.

"Go and shower first. I'll make dinner."

***

After your shower, you walked back into the kitchen, your sweet smell that reminded Bucky of deserts that his Ma used to make for him and his younger sisters back in Brooklyn drifted towards his nose. Thanks to the serum, he had already smelled it a mile away.

Cinamon rolls. Apple turnovers. Apple pies. Pumpkin pies. Bucky felt his Alpha rumble at the smell. Even Winter stirred at the familiar scent he loved so much.

When Bucky had gotten the trigger words wiped away from him due to Princess Shuri's genius, the Winter Soldier hadn't gone away from him. Rather, Winter had become a part of Bucky. Winter had been what Bucky became to survive Hydra. Winter was Bucky, only darker. More possessive. The deepest, darkest thing of him that the Wakandan Elders had helped him find again and reconcile with.

It was during times like this, making dinner in the kitchen that reminded him so much of his time back in Wakanda. Taking care of his farm and his pet goats, (that he sadly couldn't bring back with him when coming back to America), that he missed the most. It was domestic, in a way. He could almost feed into the fantasy, the thought that you were his Omega, his Bondmate, and that he was just making dinner for you.

From an outsider's perspective, it might've looked like Bucky didn't like you. That he just tolerated you. Treated you like how he treated everyone else in his life.

But it was the contrary.

He liked you.

He liked you very, very much. Other than Steve, Natalia, and heck, even the winged pigeon- you were one of the only people to truly understand him. You were probably even on the same playing field as Natalia, because you knew what it was like to be controlled by the Russian government. You held him at an arm's length at most, and you never treated him like he was some fragile, broken man. When you treated his wounds, you never fretted like other Omega's. Nor did you dottle. Ask him if he was okay every five seconds. It was disappointing in a way.

Bucky turned his head, just as you hopped yourself onto the counter, away from the conduction stove.

The smell of butter pasta was filling your nose. You watched with rapt attention as Bucky shut off the stove, grabbed the freshly grated cheese, and dumping it in. To hell with calories. Stirring quickly for a few seconds, he stopped. Turning his head to look at you, he gave you a low smirk. His scent of something sandalwood, oceany filling your nose. It made your Omega preen.

"Get some bowls, will ya doll? And forks too." Hopping off of the countertops, he heard a chirping, yet sarcastic reply.

"Yes, Sarge."

He felt his pants tighten at the thought. Hearing you grab all of the stuff, he swallowed.

Not that he would tell you that.

No.

Never.

***

"Oh, you've gotta be fucking with me."

So, as luck would have it. There weren't two bedrooms.

Nope.

There was only one.

Not only that, the entire room was fully furnished. A closet was on the left side of the door, against the wall. There was a window and just a bit to right, in the middle of the room, was a queen-sized bed, all made up with all the fluffiest blankets, comforters, and pillows imaginable.

"And you're sure this is the only room?" Bucky said. "Yeah! It's the only one, James. It's either this or the couch. And I'm not sleeping on the couch. It's too cold. Whoever built this safehouse didn't have any heaters built in either. Fuck, is this how I die? Freezing to death?" Your voice was getting higher with concern.

Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"No, doll. You're not to freeze to death. We're going to share that bed."

You turned your head towards him like he had just grown a second head. "What?" you exclaimed. "No. No, no, no. Noooo. James. Nu-uh. Uh-uh. I'm not going to sleep with you in my tank top and underwear. the least you've seen me in is a pair of short shorts and a tank top."

Bucky inhaled deeply through his nostrils.

Get yourself together Barnes.

Don't throw her over your shoulder.

Don't do that.

"You're a water mutant, doll. You're not a fire mutant. You aren't a supersoldier either. I'm not letting you freeze to death. I'll keep you warm all night. Better yet, don't sleep in your tank top and shorts. Our body heats will do just fine." Bucky snapped at you. You were still trying to collect your thoughts.

And then the realization, the reality of your situation, smacked you right across the face.

Bucky was asking you to sleep naked.

With him.

In the same frigging bed together.

Oh you were going to die. You were going to die and go up to wherever other spirits went to after they died. You weren't really all that religious nor spiritual.

But tonight though?

Yeah. Maybe you believed. Maybe a little.

Just the slightest bit.

"Okay, okay," you grumbled, "I won't wear any clothes. Better yet, I'll even give you a show. That'll even out the odds, James."

***

Warm.

He was just oh so warm.

Your back was flush against his front, feeling skin-on-skin.

You had stopped shivering about an hour ago.

Bucky had scouted the safehouse, to see if there was actually a heater, in case you had missed anything.

Nope.

There were no heaters in the safehouse.

Absolutely none.

Not to mention, all of the blankets weren't as thick. From what Bucky had observed a few hours ago after dinner while you had tackled the task of doing the dishes, was that the safe house had been abandoned for a while. It was either that, or nobody had stocked this place up for a while.

He had chosen the latter.

With his strong arms wrapped around your stomach, he pulled you close. You were asleep. Dead asleep. Bucky felt and saw your body rise up and down as you slept, your breaths all evened out.

It was nice, almost. Outside was quiet. Bucky could hear other than your breathing only the soft wind blowing due to the snowstorm outside.

For a moment, Bucky was lulled into a sense of calm. His mind was clear. His Alpha and Winter were quiet. He didn't have to fret. Or look over his shoulder. Didn't have to second guess himself or his actions anymore.

And then he heard it.

Soft whimpers coming from the sweet-smelling Omega that he was currently holding in his arms. You had begun to squirm, arms thrashing out. Your legs smacked on his knees, trying to desperately claw yourself free from his tightening grip on you.

"... I'll be good... just don't chuck me in the freezer again... please sir... I hate it there... please don't chuck me in the freezer, please..." you were sobbing in your sleep. You started to blubber, continually trying to claw yourself out of Bucky's grip. The metal plates of his Vibrainum arm shifted as his metal fingers tightened around your stomach. Bucky knew not to apply too much pressure on you- you weren't like him, Steve, or Natalia. You didn't have the serum in you.

"Doll? Hey, doll. C'mon, wake up. It's not real." Bucky tried shaking you awake to no avail. You had continued to thrash in his arms.

Sniffling loudly, your Omega was thrashing in her cage, in the confines of your mind. She was whispering, yelling at you to wake up.

"Omega. Wake up."

Bucky didn't mean to use his Tone. But you were being so hysterical, shaking, and crying to the point where it was beginning to worry him. Your sweet scent had begun to twist and turn into something more burnt. Singed. It made his eyes water.

You stopped thrashing in his grip. Your body froze up at his use of his Tone. Your Omega stopped throwing her temper tantrum too. She had paused for a second.

Her Alpha had given her a Command.

So why wouldn't she listen?

Peering from her cage in the confines of your mind, she sighed happily.

Alpha. Alpha cares about us. She whispered in your ear.

Slowly returning to consciousness, you struggled to know where you were for a second.

You had been having a nightmare.

A full-fledged nightmare.

You hadn't had one of those in a while.

"... Where am I?" Your voice was gentle but confused.

You still didn't know if you were still in that godforsaken Hydra facility or not. But you just wanted to make sure.

"Here, doll. You're here with me. We're in Ohio, remember? Sharin' one bed together cause I don't wanna be a bad Alpha and letcha freeze to death." Bucky said.

You couldn't help it. You snuggled into him, hearing a deep rumble coming from his chest. Bucky's Alpha was pleased. Very pleased. Winter was quiet. Which surprised Bucky. The little shit was usually more vocal about his own needs these days.

For a moment, it felt okay. You felt that weird fog lifting. Your brain slowly settling in your current surroundings. Your sweet, filling scent that had twisted and burnt into something smoky and burnt was slowly wearing off.

You were still a little shaken up. You could still hear your screaming echoing in your head. Your voice trembling, and because you didn't know if you were still stuck in the facility, "How long?"

"Not long."

Bucky watched as you lifted your head up, blinking once. And then twice. And then again, just to be sure.

Your body felt like it still wasn't physically here. Your body still felt like it was back in the cryo chamber, stuck in that damn freezer. Bucky watched your chest heave up and down. Taking in deep breaths.

Then you flopped right back into your previous spot, your back facing his front. Bucky pulled you back with his metal arm. You heard the metal plates in his arm readjust and move. You couldn't help it. Your vagina throbbed at the sound. Chewing on your bottom lip, you wiggled a little bit.

A deep rumble had come from Bucky.

The metal-armed Alpha had pushed a little bit of his weight down on you. Making you feel all warm and safe with the sandalwood and salty scent wrapped all around you like a cocoon.

You wiggled up against him again, trying to get comfortable. Your eyes closed.

A deep groan came from Bucky.

Was he asleep?

You stopped moving.

Another groan came from Bucky. His arms were wrapped around you. Not tightly, but still. It was kinda nice in a way. You could feel every muscle on his broad chest against your back.

Maybe Bucky had the right idea to sleep naked after all.

You shifted again. Trying to wiggle out a little out of the embrace.

A deep growl rumbled from Bucky. His grip on you tightened. You squirmed against him again.

Voice gravelly, "Stop moving."

Your eyes flew open.

He was awake.

And you had been-

Letting out a hiss, Bucky pushed his entire weight onto you and grinded his half-hard cock against your ass cheeks. Not even caring about if his entire weight would crush you, because of the serum.

He saw red.

Pure absolute red.

You choked. A needy little whimper filled the room.

Bucky's metal hand traveled down, all the way down to your pussy, his knee pushing your legs apart. You were panting in anticipation, eyes wide as saucers. His metal fingers were shoved deep, all the way to the knuckles. A pitiful whine left your lips. A needy whine too.

When he entered you, a choked sob escaped from your lips. Your hands curled into fists, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the formerly brainwashed assassin let out a growl.

"So sick and tired of you teasin' me," was what the former Winter Soldier growled under his breath, hissing at the way your cunt wrapped around him. Slick was smeared around your inner thighs, and you couldn't help but sob at the feeling of being so full.

Bucky was groaning above you, his hands nearing shaking.

Never had he ever thought he could ever get to do this again.

Because Bucky very much still liked sex. He very much so was a sexual creature. Being inside you gave him flashes of his life before Hydra. It made him remember a much skinner, smaller Steve. A much duller, war-stricken Brooklyn. It made him remember the giggles of Omegas. It made him remember his Ma's cooking growing up. Rebecca's giggles in his ears. Just like the old times.

Not for the first time in his life, he didn't feel trapped.

He felt free.

This was freeing to him.

And when he began to move, position his hips against your back, smacking roughly. Good enough to leave marks in the morning.

Wet, squishing noise echoed noisily every time he bottomed out of you. Every thrust in, filling you, completing you. It sent you gasping and crying out into the pillows. His hands- both metal and flesh, reached under you, to grab ahold of your breasts in a tight grip that only made you sob for more.

"More, more, more, please James, please-"

Something snapped in him.

Broke.

Bucky had never felt this feral before. The last time he felt this feral had been the hours when he first presented.

You whined loudly when he slid out of you, crying out at the empty feeling. Your Omega screeched in alarm.

Why had her Alpha stopped? Why?

Grabbing ahold of your legs, he lifted them up. Before he thrusted back in again, filling you up to the brim. It was deeper than last time, and his cock hit that spongy part. Hit your g-spot so good that you screamed into the pillows.

You were coming. You were coming so fast, that deep coil inside you snapping like a bomb wire being cut that you never got the chance to feel your programs. Your body jolted, spasmed. Your legs lifted off of the bed or at least tried to. Bucky's body weight was still keeping you down. So all you could do was grip the bedsheets when Bucky started to pound into you again, taking all he could.

You couldn't help yourself. You glanced back, just to take a glimpse of him.

James Buchanan Barnes looked downright feral and your pussy clenched around him deeper at the sight. as if she knew.

Every thrust made him go deeper, hitting your cervix every time. It made your second orgasm piggyback off of your first one, sobbing into the pillows. It was only when your second orgasm came, your walls clenching down onto his cock that Bucky's teeth sank into your shoulder, shattering, breaking the skin there. The taste of copper filling his mouth. Bucky let out a grunt as he came. Filling you up with so much of his jizz that he was sure it would drip from you tomorrow morning.

Bucky lifted his mouth from your shoulder.

Pants filled the room as the two of you tried to regain yourselves.

Bucky shifted, moving off of you and lying beside you. His eyes weren't black anymore. They were back to their normal blue. They reminded you of the sea in the morning on a peaceful day.

Your hand came to touch his face. Your hand faltered, trembled though. Because you were nervous.

"It's okay," his voice was deeper, huskier. It made your pussy throb. "You can touch me. It's okay."

Your hands came to touch, cup his jaw. You leaned in, pressing your lips against his. His lips were soft. Your lips moved together, his tongue slipping into your mouth. The kiss became deeper. You hadn't expected it to become deeper. You had been just going for an innocent kiss.

You swore.

Like- you really did.

You didn't expect to be fully making out with James Buchanan Barnes.

But it wasn't like you were complaining though.

Because you weren't.

Bucky was the first one to pull away. He could see how red, bruised your lips looked. He didn't recoil from your gentle touch on his face. He welcomed it. He truly did. Hands holding your hips, he looked at you.

His lips traveled down to your mating gland. He touched over it with his tongue, giving it a broad lick. His teeth sank in, piercing the skin.

Your ears popped. You cried out. His grip on your hips didn't falter.

"Yes, yes, yes," you gasped. Bucky lifted his mouth up from your gland, before sinking his teeth back in and biting again. Making his mark all that deeper.

It was only when he lifted his mouth from your gland, wiped your blood off of him with the blanket did you come at him, sinking your teeth into his gland. It made him grunt, even groan. His flesh hand came to your head, pushing your head down, making you sink your teeth even deeper into his gland.

"Yesss," hissed Bucky, his flesh hand sinking into your hair, gripping it. "Deeper, doll. Go deeper."

Winter and his Alpha completely agreed.

Theirs.

You were theirs.

After what seemed an eternity, you lifted your head up. Wiping your mouth on the blanket, you spoke.

"I missed you. What did you do to get us paired on this mission? I thought I was going with Sam," you said to your Alpha. A smirk stretched over Bucky's lips. "Ah," your Alpha said, still smirking, "I might've put something in his drink to make him vomit his guts out. He got sick."

A noise came from you.

"You gave him food poisoning? James!" You scolded him. Bucky leaned back against the headboard. "Don't worry doll, it'll wear off when we come back to the Compound. Bird Brain won't even know what hit him."

You shook your head in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable, Sasha. Did you teach Natalia that trick, too? Hmm? She and all of your Widow students?"

Bucky was still grinning ear to ear at you when he responded back.

"Well little bird, someone had to teach them. After all, I was their teacher. They all called me Yasha. Speaking of my Widow students..." he trailed off in Russian. You looked at him.

"You've contacted one of the KBG? About that leaked Russian tape with the orange man that is, unfortunately, our President?" He asked you. You nodded. "Yeah, Sasha. Everything's going as planned. Although, I think assassinating the orange man would've been a much better option. We would've gone in there and made it a done deal by now! Fuckin' Steve and his righteous self." You grumbled unhappily.

"Hmm. It would've been great as a date night. Don't you think, doll?" Bucky drawled. You gave a serious nod.

"Although... seeing him freak out on Twitter is much, much better. The tea is better when it's hot." You grinned. Bucky just let out a sigh.

"I'm restricting your phone privileges. And your TV privileges. You need to stop watching those drama channels, Mega."

A noise of deep discomfort came from you.

"Sasha!" you whined, "then what will I do while you're gone on missions?"

"Wait for me to come back?" Bucky suggested. You just sighed. Even shook your head in fondest. You happily snuggled up to your Alpha, your nose rubbing up against your Mate's gland. "I always wait for you to come back, Sasha. I wait and I worry. I love you, James."

A deep rumble came from your Mate.

"I love you too, Little Omega."

Your head peeked up.

"So, can we tell the rest of the team when I leak the tape?" You asked, your eyes glimmering with mischief.

Bucky burst out laughing.

"Yes, yes, yes. We can tell them once you've wreaked havoc, Omega."

"Good." You were nodding seriously, in complete agreement. "It'll be fun. And... also, I forgot to tell you."

The joyful expression on Bucky's face was suddenly replaced with one of worry.

"What? What is it?" He asked gently. "When you were gone for your last mission two months ago... I... I came off of my suppressants. I'm ready, James. I want a family with you."

Shock flickered over Bucky's face. And then he was shoving you back into the bed with a shriek coming from you.

"When's your pre-heat?" He demanded.

You felt it. A cramp. It made you whimper.

"N-Now, James. Now," you stammered. Your Alpha pulled your legs apart roughly before he thrusted back into you, making you gasp.

"Say it," he hissed. "Say you want it. Say you want my knot. Say you want my pups."

"I want it, James." Your voice was a low whisper, even staggering a little bit. "I want your knot. I want your pups. Please. Please, Sasha."

His hands, both metal, and flesh gripped your shoulder tight as that vein of his neck nearly popped. His eyes were black with want. Soon, his Rut would be upon him and he'd breed you. Put his pup in you. You'd carry his pup. He'd have the pack that Winter and his Alpha desperately wanted after all these years.

A whine came from you when he pulled out, only to let out a scream when he thrusted back in. Hitting that part of you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your mouth fell open, but no words came out.

His pace was brutal, not even letting you hold onto him. Your hands were left to grip the bedsheets again. You gripped them so tight that your knuckles turned white and you thought that they were going to pop.

Bucky continued to push, continued to shove his ejaculate deeper and deeper inside of you. A mixture of your slick and his ejaculate smeared all over your thighs and trickled down your legs, and you just didn't know what was happening. Your hindbrain was telling you that this was what was needed. That your designation wanted, nay, demanded this. After all the shit you had gone through, your Omega had found her Alpha and now, now she was determined to have a family. Have the pack she desperately desired.

"Mine."

A harsh thrust made you sob.

"You're mine now. I waited for you for so long. Wanted you for so long. You're mine now. Got my Mark. Got my clothes in your nest. Gonna give you my name. Gonna give you my pups. You're mine. All mine. Say you're mine. Say it!"

You came screaming. Your orgasm making you see white. Bucky continued slamming into you, the wet, squishing noises coming from your pussy becoming louder and louder the more he pushed in. Your teeth sank into his flesh shoulder, shattering and piercing the skin there. You tasted copper in your mouth.

Bucky came with a shout. He shoved you back completely, making you shriek. And then he was leaning in again, sinking his teeth into your gland. Making another deep mark. It made you fall limp into the bed as his knot swelled, locking the two of you in place.

He lifted his head.

Being inside you... knotted inside of you... it was bliss. It was just as good as cockwarming. His cock all nestled deep inside of you whenever you two would sneak off to sleep together.

"Bite me again. Give me your mark, Omega." he panted. Slowly, your head went up, you slowly sat up, before taking in a deep breath and sinking your teeth back into his gland.

Home.

You had brought Bucky home. He held you tight, whispering in your ear how much he loved you and how much of a good Omega you were.

"I love you Omega." His voice was rough.

Lifting your head from his gland. Blood still trickling down the corners of your mouth. You offered him a smile. A genuine one. One that made his stomach all fluttery.

"I love you too, Alpha."

#agencyswritingchallenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #female reader #mutant!reader #abo dynamics #alpha bucky x omega reader

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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years ago

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So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings. So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid. I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71 drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit. So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military. At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard. However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent, but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest 15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

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swiftiesimonriley · 4 years ago

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pta and pb&j’s: first day (single dad! javier peña x f! teacher reader)

summary: single dad javi prepares his twins, Sophia and Lillie for their first day of kindergarten - finding it a little hard to let them go - meets their new teacher - who has some words of advice for him.

warnings: mentions of anxiety/javi's former job, single parenting stress and anxiety

a/n: this is the first part in my series, pta and pb&j’s! i’m so excited for this one, with the reader being a cute, young kindergarten teacher who has a huge crush on mr. peña. i’m not sure how many parts i’m going to do yet, but i know it’ll be a few. let me know if you wanna be tagged in upcoming parts, and as always reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated!!🤎

"Good morning my angels, its time to wake up," Javi whispers, gently shaking the arms of his twin daughters. Their two twin beds sit parallel to one another, separated by a small bedside table with a lamp, the small light illuminating the pink room. The room sits nice and tidy, except for a few stray dolls on the floor near a bin of other toys, but Javi can’t find himself to be mad about the small pile of Barbies.

Sitting gently on the edge of one of the beds, he makes sure to not knock over any of the meticulously organized stuffed animals spread across the fluffy comforter. Looking down, Javi sees in his younger daughter, Lillie’s arms sits the small, gray stuffed bunny rabbit he gave her and her sister the day they were born, the long floppy ears peaking out and hanging over her blankets.

Looking over to the other bed, he sees Sophia, the older of the twins, has the matching white bunny in her arms as well. He lets out a chuckle at his girls - they were heavy sleepers - quite the opposite of himself.

He always thought they’d come running to his room during a storm, but they always managed to make it soundly through the night, and that it was him who could never fall back asleep. He was jealous of them in that way, most nights not being able to sleep due to the racing thoughts in his mind. It was nothing to worry about, just normal things regarding his job here back home and anxiety over other things. Javi sighs at the sight of his baby daughters, hating that he has to wake them up.

"Girls, we can't be late for your first day of kindergarten!" The former DEA agent says softly, breaking out into a smile as his girls begin to open up their eyes, letting out small yawns before jumping up to wrap their small arms around their father, pulling him into a hug.

The stuffed bunnies drop to the side as Javi picks them up in his arms, swinging them around playfully, before placing them down and bringing his fingers to one of their sides, Lillie letting out loud giggles as he tickles her.

A few seconds later Javi drops his arms from Lillie's sides and switches to Sophia, her laughs echoing across the room as Lillie tries to “stop” her dad by lightly pushing at him, her laughter joining her younger sister’s. A moment later Javi jumps up to his feet and makes quick work of making his way over to their closest, picking up the uniform tops and skirts and bringing it over to the ends of both beds. He sets aside their backpacks, which the trio had packed the night before along with their lunches, making sure to place it near the door so they don’t forget it.

Turning back to face his daughters, he kneels down so he can be at eye level with them. “While you get dressed do you wanna pick out what braids you want me to do for you both?” he asks softly, nodding to the small American Girl Doll book on Lillie’s desk that features all different styles of braids and updo’s.

Javi prided himself on working through almost every style within the purple book, practicing on the girls or on one of their dolls when they are asleep or at daycare. Many nights have been spent following youtube tutorials leading up to the first week of school - what can he say, he wants to get this right. He can proudly now say that he has mastered the art of braiding.

Lillie’s voice snaps him back to reality. “Ok dad,” she smiles, moving to grab a jacket from her dresser, “can you pretty please make us pancakes?” Sophia asks, flashing her signature “puppy dog eyes” which make her father weak every time.

At 5 years old, they already have him wrapped around their fingers. He can’t even imagine what it will be like when they get older.

"Of course I can!" Javi laughs, leaning his hand down to playfully ruffle at both of their hairs. "Anything for my princesses.”

Walking out of their room, Javi makes his way down the hallway and the stairs towards the kitchen, quickly looking at the time and making a mental note of when to leave. He doesn’t want to be known as the dad who brought his kids to school late on the first day. He’s heard that some of the moms at this school can be a little gossipy, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.

Once in the kitchen, Javi reaches up into the cabinets and grabs the dry ingredients and a bowl to start up the pancake mixture. Opening up the fridge, he grabs the wet ingredients and some strawberries to serve on the side.

But as he starts his prep work, Javi can't stop the feelings of nervousness from creeping in.

It has nothing to do with the anxiety he still has from his previous job, some nights waking up suddenly when remembering the things he saw, the things he did.

Its not that.

It’s that his baby girls are growing up right before his eyes.

Javi has been on his own with Lillie and Sophia their entire lives, their birth mother exiting the picture shortly after they were born.

Months of preparing for the twin’s arrival, painting the nursery - what color to pick? is pink to overused, what about yellow? It took nearly 4 trips to the local paint store to pick a color. Buying clothes, doing research, going to birthing classes - none of it could prepare him to do this all by himself.

He was scared to be a father, hell, being a single father seemed even scarier, but the minute he held his baby girls in his arms, Javi swore that everything felt right in the world.

The two rested easy in his arms, just hours old and it brought Javi to tears. They were just so tiny and innocent, and at first he struggled a bit - with the person he was in the past - did he deserve to have such sweet angels in his life?

But his girls have showed him that he can have a new start. That he was meant to be a father, a protector. And he was a natural.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he starts mixing the batter before pouring several drops into the pan rested on the stovetop, a faint simmering sound coming from the butter's reaction to the heat. The older man cuts up the strawberries into quarters and starts placing them into two small bowls when he hears the distinct sound of two pairs of shoes clomping down the staircase.

Quickly turning around, Javi is met by the sight of his two giggling daughters running towards him, opening his arms wide to pull them into his embrace as they finally reach them. Holding them close to his chest for a moment, he almost doesn't want to let go. He knows that his girls are growing up and that he can't do anything about it, but he can't even begin to think about them growing up and leaving him without his heart breaking.

Pulling away, he asks the girls about the hairstyles they chose while he flips the pancakes, french braids being chosen as usual. Javi uses the spatula to plate up the panckaes and makes sure both girls get their bowl of strawberries before grabbing one of the many colorful combs around the house and parting Sophie's hair for the braids.

The two girls giggle and talk about how excited they are for their first day as their dad skillfully styles their hair, making sure to use elastics that he knows won't tangle into their hair when they take the braids out.

As the girls finish up their breakfast, Javi finishes off Lillie's braids before brewing up a pot of coffee, knowing he's going to need it to get through the day. He gently directs the girls to go get their things so they can head out, reaching up into one of the cabinets to grab a travel mug.

As the girls scurry away to their room to grab their bags, Javi brings their lunches out of the fridge and takes two nearbye napkins and a pen and quickly scrawls down a little heart on each one before slidding them into each of their pink lunchboxes.

"Lets go Dad!" Sophia chuckles, leading her sister back down the stairs and over to the kicthen, reaching up to grab at the two lunchboxes, "is it time to go?"

Javi feels a smile play at his lips, "Yes honey, its time for us to go," he responds, grabbing his travel mug and walking with his girls out the front door, making sure to turn and lock it before unlocking his car and helping the girls into their carseats.

Once seated in the drivers seat, Javi looks up at his rear view mirror and sees his two baby girls smiling up at him - a sight that he never gets tired of - and pulls out of the driveway.

“Let’s go honey bunnies,” Javi says playfully, the nickname one he’s had for the twins since they were in diapers.

He gets out of his parked car and heads to the backseat, reaching in and unbuckling the girls from their car seats and helping them down to the ground, making sure to hand them their jackets, backpacks and lunchboxes before extending his hands for them to hold onto.

Feeling his daughters grip his fingers, he helps walk them across the parking lot and inside the school, stopping in the main office to sign himself in as a visitor and put on a name tag before walking down the hallway to the kindergarten wing.

The trio passes several brightly colored murals on the walls, Lillie pointing out her favorite animals on the one nearest to them as they make their way further down the hallway, coming to a stop outside of the classroom. Giving the girls’ hands a small squeeze, he tells them it’s time before opening the door.

The first thing Javi notices is how comfortable the classroom feels.

He sees a big comfortable rug in the front of the room near the whiteboard, a few of the twin’s new classmates sitting on it with some books as other kids play at their desks. The room is decorated with neutral colors and has several big cushions spread across the floor, almost like the cushions the girls have in their playroom at home.

Around the room the desks are organized in little groups, each with a label of the student’s names written in delicate cursive, a small water bottle and a snack already placed on the desk.

Javi doesn’t notice the two girls letting go of his hands and running off to find their desks, instead looking at the front of the classroom and seeing the “welcome” message written on the board, welcoming both students and parents to their first day of kindergarten. Javi feels a smile play at his lips at the “classroom mascot” at the front of the room, a small green stuffed chameleon that he would recognize anywhere, pascal, from his daughters’ favorite movie tangled.

The girls were going to love this teacher.

Just as he turns to tell the girls, he bumps into someone behind him.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking!” Javi exclaims, his eyes widening when he realizes he just knocked down the poor woman behind him. Looking down, he sees the you look up at him with a smile, which causes him to raise an eyebrow.

“It’s okay, don’t worry!” he hears you exclaim, watching as you brush the pant legs of your brown corduroy overalls off, “I work with kindergartners so i’m used to things like this.” you laugh, reaching out to take Javi’s extended hand and stand back up.

Javi feels like an idiot, he knocked over his girls’ teacher.

Once in your feet, you introduce yourself to him, your name sounding like honey coming from your lips. Feeling a small bit of butterflies in his stomach, Javi coughs nervously before introducing himself, pointing over to his girls seated over at their desks and telling you they are his babies.

“Aw they are so precious!” You smile, taking a look and seeing them talk to some of their desk mates, “I made sure to sit them together, I know how scary it can be on your first day of school, and I figured sitting them together might put them at ease,” you say softly, a smile pulling at your lips at the sight of your new students.

Javi feels a bit of weight has been taken off of his shoulders - he was worried the girls might even be in separate classrooms - something they had never had before - but he knows he’s lucky to have them stay together. He looks over at his daughters with a smile before turning back to you, the smile on your face contagious.

“Thank you,” he says appreciatively, “I was worried about them - I’m still worried i’m not going to lie,” he laughs nervously, looking down at his feet for a moment as a flush of embarrassment washes over him like a tidal wave.

You tilt your head at him and nod, “It’s normal to be nervous Mr. Peña,” you start, reaching out your hand to rest on his arm as he looks back up at you, chocolate eyes locked on yours, “this is a big step for the three of you. Getting here and dropping them off is the hardest part I promise you, your girls are in good hands.”

Javi nods along with your words, finding your tone and sentiments calming to him, the warm flush of embarrassment across his body beginning to fade away.

“I’m not one of those helicopter parents,” he laughs, “but I worry about them, it’s just me and I’m scared to be away from them.”

Javi doesn’t miss the way your face falls after his small joke, taking in the real information in his statement. You nod gently squeeze his arm before pulling your hand away. “I understand Mr. Peña, I know how hard this is for you. I promise you that i’ll take care of your girls, and if anything happens or if they miss you too much, i’ll give you a call and you can come right back.”

Javi feels like he could cry. What did he do to deserve such a nice teacher.

“Is that okay Mr. Peña?” you ask, your head tilting to the side as a few more students and parents trickle into the classroom.

“Javi, you can call me Javi,” he says, watching as your smile returns.

“Okay Javi, I look forwards to getting to know you better. I’ll see you this afternoon for pick up.” you smile, giving him a nod before walking away to welcome your new students.

Javi watches with a smile as you walk over to the tables where his girls are and bend down to introduce yourself and he hears the way you compliment their braids, to which Lillie points his way and says “daddy did these braids!” Looking up at Javi, you give him a big smile before turning back to the girls and continuing conversation with their desk mates, the butterflies in Javi’s stomach multiplying by the second.

God he was so screwed.

taglist: @salome-c @marydjarin @jasterslegacy @hnt-escape @vonschweetz @darnitdraco @theorganasolo @dinoflower @pedro4ever @rebel-fanfare

#AHHH i hope y’all like it!#pta and pb&j's #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #single dad! javi #single dad! javier peña #javier peña series #my writing #pedro pascal characters x reader #pedro pascal characters #javier peña fanfic #javier peña writing

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itsagrimm · 3 years ago

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Imperial!Tech 3

Summary: Tech's chip activated instead of Crosshairs so Tech is now an imperial commander tasked to serve the Empire at any cost. But is he willing to do so? And are you, dear Y/N as member of the experimental Elite Squad, willing to follow any order your commander Tech gives?

CN: self-harm, talk of death murder and war crimes, stalker behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, power imbalance, overreaching behaviour, structural violence, sexually predatory behaviour and the likes, sensual overload, insomnia, references of drug abuse, depression and mental health issues, trauma

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader, afab

Thanks a lot to @eyecandyeoz for your insight, feedback and thoughts. Check out their lovely blog!

I am sorry it took me so long. next part will be faster. I already started writing it.

And feel free to criticise especially concerning my use of CN and if the reader perspective is inclusive for you.

2800 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Tech collapsed into the chair as soon as Y/N had left the room. He was tired, so tired. He leaned back and put on his glasses. Him taking off his visual aids around Y/N was a degree of trust Tech rarely allowed. He was nearly blind without his glasses and the Kaminoans had considered terminating him for that. Tech was sure Y/N did not even know how much he had surrendered himself to Y/N and their touch. Their oh so soft touch. The memory of it was still fresh on his skin. It raced through is mind which for once was craving to match his body with the need to slow down and take a rest.

But it didn’t.

Y/N was pleasant to be around. Their touch was careful and considered. Only his brothers used to treat him like his. – His brothers, the former clone force 99, had left him behind after they refused to comply with order 66. Due to their divergence the inhibitor chip had not worked while he, Tech, had tried to kill the Jedi. – He had tried to kill a child. – The effect of the inhibitor chip was decreasing. His wound received on Bracca had an 84,743 % chance of damaging the inhibitor chip. But he should investigate further and get the chip out to stop any possible interference with his superior thought process. - Y/N was not aware of the inhibitor chips. He felt the need to tell them. Why? – The Havoc Marauder had not been mentioned on the imperial comm chatter for a while. – Echo was likely to take care of the ship now. – He should get some sustenance. He felt hunger. – Y/N – The Empire expected a degree of loyalty, uniformity, and compliance he was unsure he could deliver for long considering his diverging mind. – what would Hunter do? – the kaminoan proverb “yn’ja tha vaí m°O” was untranslatable into Basic but could be understood in Sit Bisti as “it needs tö be döne för the betterment öf äll”- The Empire was unlikely to grant him the freedom to find his brothers or in fact any freedom. – The canteen might serve Tiingilar tonight – He was a child slave destined to die in approximately 34,6 standard yearly rotations from old age if not sooner. – maybe the canteen will serve uj’alayi too. – Does Y/N speak Mando’an? He should enquire. – Of course, there will be no uj’alayi today. The Kaminoans did not allow sweet foods. – Y/N – How did the atmospheric controls work that ensured breathable air even for the highest floors of coruscanti buildings? - He knew why his brothers left him behind, but why did it feel so painful. – The empire was likely to kill him if he out served his usefulness for them. - He had tried to kill a child. He had killed several children on Onderon. How could he live with that? How could-

Tech forced his thoughts to stop by digging his fingers into his bloody scar.

The sharp pain felt soothing.

“Let’s consider making a list of the most pressing tasks for now.”

He starred at the ceiling.

“The Empire. It is the closest threat to my demise, but it can be my salvation if I am useful. Am I willing and capable to do that?”

His head started spinning again just at the thought of killing another child for the Empire. And yet serving the Empire gave him purpose he wasn’t sure he could muster on his own.

“Where are my brothers? How are they? How do I feel about them?”

Another unpleasant wave of thoughts and feelings washed over Tech before he continued.

“What is with the inhibitor chip inside my head?”

He nodded to himself. That was a rational and containable problem with fixed variables and clear answers. He felt comfortable with that question, pushing aside all the things he might have done due to being under the chips influence.

Only one question was left now.

“Why do I enjoy Y/N presence?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ryloth had a warm and dusty climate during daytime. Y/N felt sweat dripping under the dark armour. The elite squad, including a new ES-03, was ordered to stand close by to Admiral Rampart, the highest imperial officer on Ryloth. And so, they had spent the last rotations following the Admiral around, doing tedious security work and presenting themselves like the Admirals favourite guard dogs to a public very much disliking their military presence. For once, even commander Tech looked annoyed about their not spec-ops appropriate services.

Today they were on the outlook. The Admiral wanted them scanning a large crowd for troublemakers and resistance fighters during a public announcement. Y/N couldn’t blame them. The Twi’lek of Ryloth had spent years fighting for their independence and spilled an ocean of blood on the dusty planet’s surface only to face an Empire now. Half a life ago Y/N would have hated themselves for being a soldier in service of a suppressing ruler. But now it was paid work.

“ES-01?”, Commander Tech brought Y/N back from their thoughts

“I am in position before the crowd.”

“ES-02?”

“Yes sir, I am on the building as you ordered.”

“ES-03?”

“Any nonimperial transmissions are being blocked now.”

“ES-04?”

“The war hawk is ready for take-off in case we need it.”

“Good. Do you register any noteworthy activity?

Y/N gazed through the crowd. They were mostly Twi’lek, waiting to hear from their leaders. All of them were in civilian clothing, none came with visible weapons.

“I can’t spot anything, sir.”

Tech said nothing. But Y/N could hear him type something.

“Analysing previous rebel fighter behaviour and strategies in similar situations they are likely to appear at these coordinates within the crowd today. I am sending you a list for you to especially pay attention to, ONCE.”, he finally said using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Yes sir.”

Y/N looked at their holopad and started checking the coordinates commander Tech had calculated. At entry four they spotted their targets.

“Commander. I have a visual about 40 meters from my position, 10 o’clock. There are two fighters. Twi’lek. One female and one male passing. Shade of blue and orange.”

A moment everyone was silent.

“Confirmed.”, ES-02 stated.

Another moment passed.

“Observe them for now. Stay alert.”, Tech ordered before ending the transmission.

High above the Twi’lek senator started to talk. Y/N could not remember his name and paid little attention to his words. Unlike the Twi’lek.

“They are not happy.”, ES-02 stated flatly.

“Yeah thanks, I would not have noticed without you.”

“Always a pleasure to help out, ONCE.”

ES-02 was right. The crowd was angry. The imperial presence, the empty words of some disaffected politician, the fresh memories of the clone war. It was no surprise that the Twi’lek called out for their resistance leaders to speak.

“We want Syndulla! We want Syndulla!”, the crowd chanted.

A different voice from above started speaking. The crowd calmed down, not entirely happy but at least not a raging mob.

“At least we will not have to gun them down, now.”, ES-02 mumbled with a bitter voice.

“Would you really do that, two?”

“You know what they say, good soldiers follow orders, ONCE. And I intend to be one. Especially when I’m getting paid for it.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Rampart was an asshole. He was a smug little administrator, willing to lie, back-stab and sacrifice whatever needed to achieve his goals. Rampart was the perfect general to handle a loaded situation like the one on Ryloth. And he was no fool.

Y/N hat noticed that he had kept both commander Tech and Howzer, the commanding clone trooper in charge of the regular clone troopers on Ryloth, close. A strategic move. Spec-ops commandos like the elite squad and regular commandos were in constant competition and mistrust to each other. Should one commander not deliver or even consider treason the other would interfere. And Rampart would always end up on the winning side of their clone infighting.

Y/N could here their arguing inside the office.

Commander Tech had ordered for Y/N to wait outside the office for new orders.

More arguing from the office was audible until finally Ramparts voice cut their bickering short.

The door opened and Howzer left. His expression was that of a practised reserved solider hiding his worries.

The door opened again, and commander Tech stepped outside of Ramparts office.

He looked tense.

Instead of a greeting or an order he just started walking. They followed him.

“Clone force 99 is here. But we are kept on a short leash. As always.”, Tech stated, “It is implausible to not use the best tools possible when confronted with a problem. Howzers troopers will not be able to beat them if necessary. Just like they won’t be able or unwilling to beat the Twi’lek should the need arise.”

Since Kamino the commander had started to share more of his thoughts with Y/N. All they had left to do was to listen and ask the right questions.

“Sir, you think Howzer will commit subordination?”

“There is a possibility of him and his men disagreeing with the new imperial leadership and it’s methods. Howzers unit has fought alongside the Twi’leks the past years. Bounds forged in the trenches can be stronger than loyalty to an administrator from Coruscant. But I require further data to assess the likelihood of treason.”

“What about clone force 99?”

“Their abilities and erratic strategies will be a challenge should we … no, should I have to face them.”

“So, we did not get the order to hunt them down?”

“No. Not yet.”

“And yet you already imply them as of importance.”

“It would be a grave strategic mistake to dismiss their presence.”

“So, what is the elite squad going to do about them? What are your orders, sir?”

Tech paused and adjusted his glasses.

“We are going to do nothing.”

“Sir!?”

“Don’t.” There was a warning in his voice. A signal to Y/N not to cross a line, invisible yet perceptible. He was after all a commander and Y/N just a soldier.

“I am sorry. I overstepped. You are in charge.”

He turned, stepped away and looked at Y/N. His eyes scrutinized them like a scientist inspecting a rare specimen of remarkable value.

They shivered.

His gaze was intriguing. It was painful to feel on display like that. And yet it was nearly intimate to be studied by Tech. Unsure if he would finally hit Y/N for their countless discretions or if he just contemplated their objections.

Finally, Tech nodded appeased and continued his walking without any further talk.

“What do you want us to do now, sir?”

Tech stopped.

“What do I want you to do now?”, Tech repeated as if the question had a different meaning to him than it had to Y/N.

He took out his holopad only to put it away again. He cleared his throat.

“I need you to stay alert. The situation is complicated. For now, get some sleep. The chances are below 4,65 % that there will be a significant development within the next two hours. After that I except the elite squad to be combat ready.”

“Yes sir.”

XXXXXXXXX

The Refresher room was empty. Most clones avoided the elite squad, and all the other members of their unit were taking a nap before the night shift which left Y/N to have the large washroom for themselves.

They signed.

Taking a shower and having some alone time to think and feel before finally taking a rest was what they needed.

Y/N started to strip out of the armour.

First, they took of the helmet, then the vambraces and shin guards before getting the shoulder pieces and lifting the heavy breast armour off before finally getting out of the abdomen armour. The black katarn fell to the floor, making loud echoing noises.

Y/N didn’t care. No one was to correct them on their improper handling of equipment here.

And as much as the armour was a useful necessity, it was a heavy burden in more than one way.

Their blacks followed and soon Y/N was standing under the refresher, naked and alone.

The water was hot and painful.

It was a welcome distraction to all the feelings of … well what exactly?

Y/N felt tears running down their face.

No, no, no. It’s just the refresher.

An uptight sob escaped Y/Ns throat. It was all so different from what they imagined. They had entered imperial service for the payment during a desperate time. And ended up witnessing murder after murder, committing murder.

Today they could have become accomplices to killing a crowd of innocent Twi’leks. And Y/N knew that they would have complied with the order to open fire on the civilians if given. How could they not? Surrounded by troopers like them, ordered around by heartless and calculating commanders.

Would Tech give a killing order like this?

Was he that heartless?

He had done so before.

He had killed so many times before their eyes and yet a piece of Y/N refused to see him as a murderer. In fact, they felt shameful about feeling and thinking about Tech – about their commanding officer – at all.

Y/N stopped fighting the tears and cried out loud.

Nobody would know about this.

Nobody would know about their doubt and vulnerability.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As always sleep had been an unwilling friend to visit Tech. With a sigh he gave up and got up from the cot. As always, his mind was racing. He had tried the breathing techniques Crosshair taught him after a particular long stretch of insomnia, but it didn’t work.

And Tech wasn’t in the mood to experiment with the vast collection of sedatives to force his body to sleep right before possibly facing his brothers and definitely meeting admiral Rampart soon.

Work it was then.

His holopad listed only unchallenging administrative tasks.

The new Shuttle was in top shape.

His weapons were cleaned.

Tech had nothing to keep is overthinking brain in check.

Kriff, his life really was miserable. A never-ending effort to bringing his spiralling mind some peace.

A notification came in.

What a blessing.

Tech looked at the holopad again. It was just a reminder to check on his subordinates, to listen in on their private talks and vital signs.

The order from Imperial Command was an uncomfortable task but it was the best he had to do right now. And listing in on some snoring was better than listening to the elite squads talk like last time. At least it felt less overreaching.

He started with ES-04 and workout down from there. Four was in deep slumber, nothing of interest to note. ES-03 was still new and his sleep was restless, a few murmurs about his home planet and family escaped his lips. ES-02 was dreaming. His heartrate was accelerated. Tech turned his observation of, not interested in the rutting sounds of ES-02.

ES-01 was left. ONCE. Y/N. The thought of peeping into their private life was not only uncomfortable, but it also felt violent to strip Y/N of their peace and privacy.

And yet, Y/N was the only one Tech WANTED to know more about. He felt his desire to learn more about Y/N like a physical need, an addicting obsession Tech knew he needed to be careful with not to indulge.

Was their slumber peaceful and sweet?

Did they have dreams about home?

Or did they fight their nightmares in sleep just like they did awake?

He swallowed.

He was just following an order.

He will do nothing more.

He was just a good soldier.

Y/N wasn’t asleep. Their bucket was off and there were no vital signs coming of them. But the acoustic signal was working.

Y/N was somewhere with a lot of echoes and running water.

Tech felt himself blushing and getting hot.

They were in the shower.

It felt so right to listen in on Y/N. Tech felt bad about it.

The thought of water running down their bare and naked body made Techs mind slow like nothing ever before. The pleasure of a calm mind made him groan.

He hesitated. This was not okay. He shouldn’t listen. He shouldn’t imagine a subordinate like that. He hated that he had to. He hated that the Empire gave him order to do so. But more than that he hated himself for following that order so willingly.

He reached for the off button on his holopad.

A sob.

Was that Y/N? Were they crying?

Tech’s mind went from zero into overdrive. He needed to know who or whatever made you feel like crying. He would find out. And he would remove whatever it was from your life.

Part 4

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traincat · 3 years ago

Note

I’ve been trying to piece together a few things from your Twitter and Tumblr posts alike and still can’t make heads or tales of things, so would you mind helping out a FF & spideytorch noob? 1) what is currently happening with Johnny in the comics? (I’ve fallen head over heels for this guy, largely all your doing) 2) when’s the last time he and Peter have interacted, canon wise? (And do you think upcoming interactions are likely?) 3) your thoughts on if they’ll have him come out in the near future? (has that ‘biggest change to the fantastic four’ teaser come to pass yet?) Love all your content, thank you!

I'd say no problem but then I started thinking about this current run again and got a headache. But yes, I can do that to save you from reading it, because it is very largely not good.

So I don't think it's unfair to just flat out say the current Fantastic Four run is not very good, largely due to writer Dan Slott's efforts. Slott was previously on Amazing Spider-Man for 10 years, to mixed opinions, but a large portion of Spider-Man fandom, myself included, blames him near singlehandedly for the decline in quality of Spider-Man books over those ten years. I will say, in the interest of fairness, that Slott as a writer has an incredible fondness for the Spider-Man/Human Torch relationship, and that a lot of the recent teamups and interactions between them have been written or co-written by him. So it's all not all negative here. But in general, I personally find Slott's more recent comics (the last seven-ish years especially) to be badly plotted out, messily characterized disasters that feature characters written with all the emotion of a cardboard cutout. That's me putting it nicely.

To explain this fully, you have to understand the position Fantastic Four comics were in from the years 2015 through 2018, both in the fictional 616 universe and in the real publishing world. Following the 2015 Secret Wars event (great if you want some Johnny angst in the background of your plot), the Fantastic Four were disbanded -- Reed, Sue, and their many biological and found family children were presumed dead but in reality were remaking the multiverse, unable, for a reason that was never clearly defined, to reach home. Ben and Johnny were left on Earth. They had an unspecified falling out, likely due to Reed and Sue's absence, and went their separate ways -- Ben joined the Guardians of the Galaxy and went to space. Johnny was featured on both Inhumans and Avengers books. What's notable about this period is that it's the first time since 1961 that there was no Fantastic Four book being published by Marvel. Now the real world reason behind this is both complicated and extremely petty: Marvel really wanted the Fantastic Four film rights. Marvel denied this explanation at the time, stating that the reason was sales motivated, but it was a thoroughly flimsy excuse and Jonathan Hickman, writer of 2015's Secret Wars and overseer of the current X-Men plot, gave an interview saying the decision was film rights motivated. This decision kept the Fantastic Four books off the shelves for three years, up until the Disney-Fox merger, which secured the X-Men and Fantastic Four rights for Disney's Marvel Studios. Marvel then announced that the Fantastic Four book would be returning. So that's a little bit of background as to the precarious place the Fantastic Four currently occupy in the Marvel universe -- it's worth noting that this year is their 60th anniversary, and Marvel has done very little for it. Compare this to the X-Men, whose film rights Marvel also obtained during the Disney-Fox merger, and whose books are currently dominating the publishing lineup. The Fantastic Four definitely occupy an unpopular position, one Marvel themselves is at least partially responsible for forcing them into.

But to move back into the actual content of the book -- the readjustment period Slott wrote reintroducing the Fantastic Four into the Marvel universe can be described as clumsy, at best. It's never fully explained why Reed, Sue, and the kids couldn't return to Earth, something that was explored in Chip Zdarsky's 2017 Marvel Two-in-One, which featured Ben, Johnny, and Doom on a multiversal roadtrip to try and find their family and which I on the whole recommend, despite it having an awkward ending due to being cut short by Slott's announced Fantastic Four main title.

(Marvel Two-in-One 2017 #4)

Instead, the Fantastic Four return to a Marvel universe a little different than how they left it, with the Baxter Building -- formerly the offices of Parker Industries, the company Doc Ock started in Peter's body during Superior Spider-Man that Peter inherited after his defeat and then lost spectacularly when he trashed his own company to fight nazis (good for him) -- occupied by a different fantastic foursome in a plot that goes nowhere and does nothing. This is somewhat emblematic of the early days of Slott's run -- he introduces ideas that fail to go anywhere, including Johnny's rekindled relationship with his other best friend and former college roommate, Wyatt Wingfoot, who he was seen being very cuddly with in the early issues.

(FF 2018 #1) A small group of Fantastic Four fans have argued for a while that if Marvel was to have Johnny come out, a relationship with Wyatt would feel very natural -- they're already close, with Wyatt being an important Fantastic Four supporting character since the '60s. I have some further analysis here on the conspiracy theory that Johnny and Wyatt were supposed to be in relationship at the beginning of this run but that that plot was, for whatever reason, nixed. I don't know that I entirely believe this theory, for the record -- but I do think the pieces line up remarkably well.

Anyway, that didn't/hasn't yet happened, obviously. Slott instead for the most part put Johnny on the back burner for the beginning of his run, up until the Spyre arc, which I have reason to believe is the main story he pitched that he credits with securing him the Fantastic Four title. The Spyre arc suggests that the Fantastic Four's failed space exploration during which they got their powers wasn't just to beat the commies to the moon, as Lee and Kirby envisioned (simpler days), but to reach a specific planet outside of our galaxy. When the team sets out to conquer this mission, they arrive at the planet, but are quickly captured. The planet, they find out, operates like a soulmate AU -- everyone has a fated person that they are matched to via a gold armband. Reed and Sue are soulmates (and Ben is confined to an underground subterranean with the other monsters, because this is a Fantastic Four comic) while it's discovered! Shocker! That Johnny is actually the soulmate of the one the planet's inhabitants, a winged woman named Sky, with the suggestion that this is both why Johnny's previous relationships have never worked and why he loves space exploration -- he was just trying to get to his Soulmate TM.

(FF 2018 #15) "What's going on here? Where are my clothes?" As you can see, this didn't start off super great, with Johnny being separated from his family, stripped naked, and put in Sky's bed with a soulmate armband slapped on him. Did I mention they're only removable if your soulmate takes it off for you? And that Sky has consistently refused despite Johnny asking her to? Yeah. It's bad. (I think it's important to note Johnny's long history as a victim of assault plays into this narrative, whether or not Slott is personally holding that in mind while writing, which I don't believe he is. cw in the linked post for discussions of sexual assault.) There's an additional issue here in that Slott has a history of problematic writing regarding women of color, featuring characters he's created to act as love interests being oversexualized, infantilized, villainized, or some mix of all three, with two examples of this phenomena being Cindy Moon and Lian Tang, both of whom he introduced in quick succession in Amazing Spider-Man. Slott certainly didn't have to write Sky as manipulative or controlling towards Johnny, but that's what he chose to do, and that factors into the bigger picture of unfortunate themes in his writing.

Sky returns to Earth with the Fantastic Four despite Johnny appearing unenthused about the idea and initially generally reluctant to interact with her. Apparently they went on a few dates after this and kind of made up. I don't know because I stopped reading for about ten issues in there but I feel confident I missed very little. It's hard to talk about the Sky plot without referencing Johnny's previous interactions with a character named Lyja, a Skrull whose relationship to Johnny I have a long breakdown of here. It's doubly hard, because Lyja actually showed back up in Fantastic Four during this plot. Lyja's modus operandi has remained consistent throughout almost all of her appearances, which I guess makes sense, because she literally has no storylines that do not involve her being obsessed with Johnny, and this recent story isn't any different: Lyja shows up, Lyja disguises herself as another woman in Johnny's life to get close to Johnny, Lyja gets caught and claims it was all fine because she did it for love. This time she disguised herself as Sky.

(FF 2018 #32) Not gonna lie, kind of proud of him for this one. That's one of my problems with Slott -- very occasionally, he busts out good moments, only to undermine them with the rest of his narrative.

In the same issue, Alicia Masters, the first woman Lyja impersonated in order to get close to Johnny, uses her supervillain stepfather's radioactive clay to control Lyja's mind and send her back to space, and I do think she utilized girl power when she did this. Johnny, left reeling after Lyja's latest attempts to trick him into a relationship, ends this issue by sleeping with Victorious, Dr. Doom's right hand woman.

I know she pegged him. I know it. This scene was a little controversial in Johnny fandom, because a lot of people viewed it as Johnny cheating on Sky and thought that that action was out of character for Johnny. I'm personally of a little different opinion, which is that regardless of whether or not you view Johnny and Sky in a committed enough relationship that Johnny's tryst would count as infidelity when all Johnny and Sky are bound by are magic plot soulmate bracelets, I think Lyja's involvement changes things significantly when it comes to Johnny's characterization. All of Johnny's "playboy" periods, if we can call them that, coincide directly with Lyja having been in and then left his life again, which I think makes a certain amount of sense -- it's Johnny trying to wrest control back after a situation where he had none. None of this is explicitly canon, I have to note, but sometimes in comics you have to do the work yourself. So I think this is a case of something being accidentally extremely in character that Slott accidentally stumbled into because he had these love triangles in mind, not because he put a lot of thought into it.

Speaking of love triangles! Johnny sleeping with Victorious gets more complicated when Dr. Doom announces his intent to marry Victorious -- not because he has any romantic interest in her (this engagement caused a lot of uproar in Fantastic Four because Victorious had been previously referred to as being like Doom's adopted daughter) but in order to install her as Latverian regent in his absence. I'm not going to lie, I love a political wedding. Victorious, for some reason, thinks Doom will be deeply upset that she slept with some closeted blond twink and the member of the Fantastic Four he views least as an enemy and more as an annoyance. Johnny, who Sky is currently not talking to because she "felt" him sleeping with Victorious through their magic plot soulmate bracelets, also feels nervous about Doom finding out about this, which I guess is slightly more valid. Anyway, for some completely ridiculous reason, Victorious decides the best time to tell Doom about this little indiscretion is when they're standing at the altar, which coincidentally the Fantastic Four are also standing at, because Doom asked Reed to be his best man in a not at all homoerotic little setup involving midnight swordfighting and Reed slipping Doom's emerald ring onto his own finger. Sorry to sidetrack into DoomReed territory here but it's just like. It's just a lot.

(FF 2018 #33) Also, Ben walked the bride down the aisle. :,) Look at his gigantic hand.

Anyway then Doom decides he's going to kill everyone in a completely reasonable and not at all overblown reaction to Johnny and Zora having what was most likely both disappointing for Zora and weepy for Johnny sex. And that brings us up to where Fantastic Four comics left us yesterday -- in answer to your "big change" question, that's most likely coming up in the next issue, so it hasn't come to pass yet.

Having gotten all that out of the way -- the last time Johnny and Peter interacted canon-wise was in the recent Empyre Fallout Fantastic Four, at the end of the Empyre event:

It was cute! Slott does right good interactions between them. This is possibly the Stockholm Syndrome talking. I don't know if more interactions are likely imminent -- the Empyre event was fairly recent. On the other hand, Slott does like writing interactions between them. So I'd give it about a 50/50 shot. I was skimming the letter page in the latest issue and someone wrote in asking if Peter was likely to appear in the pages of Fantastic Four again any time soon, so there is definitely a demand.

As for Johnny coming out -- I don't know. It's not a call I feel comfortable making at this moment, which I guess means I wouldn't bet money on it. I'd like to say yes, especially because I think Slott set up, whether that was his intention or more likely not, several good places in his run where Johnny could have come out. The beginning, when he's implied to be living with Wyatt again and where he and Wyatt are paralleled against Ben and Alicia. Ben's bachelor party, where Johnny laments not finding the right person -- specifically person and not woman -- and where Ben tells him to "be brave, Johnny Storm." And the soulmate planet plot, where I think could have had a very different and much better ending if Johnny had told Sky that she couldn't be his romantic soulmate, because he knows he wants to be with a man. But those are just places that I think would have made good opportunities for a coming out story. Instead, Johnny's been involved (dubiously) with three different women over the space of the last 10 issues, which is more heterosexuality at one time than he's been confronted with in the last 60 years. So my thoughts are still that it's going to happen eventually, but quite possibly not anytime soon.

Hope that helps! And that my incredibly long answer about what's currently going on with Johnny in comics sheds some light on things!

#johnny storm #traincat talks comics #*replies #long post/#wednesday spoilers

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fascination-street-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Steadily Emerging with Grace | La Squadra x Ghost!Reader

He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes, for his eyes have fallen to the bruises upon your skin, and your pretty terry dress that seems a decade out of fashion. It was never a secret to any of the men from La Squadra di Esecuzioni - or rather, to anyone who has lived in Napoli long enough - that a young women fitting your description was murdered within the very confines of these walls.

It is an absurd thought to believe in ghosts - but then again, so are the existence of Stands.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece II for @elxzyy -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Murder, Past Domestic Violence, Religious Imagery, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Masturbation, & Implied Sexual Content

You were born in 1959: the same year that Ethel Merman took to the stage for her last Broadway production in America, and when Miles Davis released his hit album Kind of Blue; you remember the latter fondly, for it reminds you of weekend car rides to the beaches with your parents – it was, after all, your father’s favorite cassette tape.

At age twenty-two, not long after the discovery of the ever-elusive propaganda due of Milano – headed by Licio Gelli –, you were murdered in the not-so comforts of your own home in Vivo Pallonetto Santa Chiara by a troubled lover who had found his consolation in nose candy and cognac.

You faced death with buoyancy. The afterlife will not be so bad, you had thought. But there was no light, no stairway to heaven, and no pearly gates; only inescapable solitude, and utter loneliness. Your former lover faced no vindication, because having family in the court system paid off. To the public, you were the victim of nothing more than an attempted robbery, gone horribly wrong.

And so, you linger on this plain of the earth with little more to do than watching birds through the panes of the window glass during the day and counting the stars at night. The rumors of a woman’s ghost – your ghost – who haunts this gloomy residence has kept it away from the claws of real estate tycoons. It is true that joggers hold their heads down as they pass, and dogs bark at your face through the crackling windows; school children have dared each other to spend the night inside, but never could get past the boarded front door without being shooed away by pesky neighbors or authorities.

Dust collects on pieces of discarded furniture that you had accumulated from thrift stores and porch sales during your brief stint as a renter. The buffet table beside the front door, which you used to use as a makeshift shelf for wine bottles, had belonged to your grandmother, however. And when that door finally opens for the first time in these lost years that you cannot recall, the knob brushes against an emptied bottle for holding flowers and sends it to the ground with a splintering thud.

It startles you, and though your mind races with questions that will only be answered in due time, you vanish from your perch at the window. Cool air rushes through from the opening; you have forgotten what life smelled like. Surely, you had not expected that the first living being to grace you with their presence once more would be a man of such intimidating stature.

Silver hair, red eyes, and black sclera: if not for your contemptuous curiosity, you might think him to be an angel of death. You follow him through the creaking halls and neglected rooms, waiting for the moment when he will stretch his hand to you for the taking and lead you beyond this world.

The thundering tone of his voice might have been a trumpet’s call if it were true. Before the threshold of the room wherein you met your fate, he stops.

“Leave.”

You frown, but surely you ought to do as he says. He is an angel, after all.

You learn from the calendar hanging above Risotto’s desk – as you have discovered to be the silver-haired man’s name – that it is now the nineties. You do not dwell over how long it has been since your death, because it changes nothing. Your home is full of life again, for that it what it has truly become – a home.

With the passing of time, they come and go, these new men who have taken up residence here. You hide in shadows and observe them as if they are a living depiction of a sitcom and you their only audience member. Talks of assassinations, blood splatters on the carpets, and mysterious wounds from the outside world never bother you anymore. You adore each man for his own endearing ways, but what is more, you admire them for what they are.

A family – albeit an unconventional one.

And so, prompted by perhaps your own desire to fulfill your need of stolen domesticity and a sense of belonging again, you spend your days tending to them; without their knowledge, of course, as you have never made your presence known after the day you first found Risotto. From cooking meals when Prosciutto is too tired to do it himself, or folding the clean laundry that otherwise gets tossed over desk chairs – of which Formaggio is the biggest perpetrator; yet, you tend to it all with the same diligence of your own mother. And, oddly enough, you are glad for it.

Alive, you never cared for these things. Now, you suppose, you simply have nothing better to do. You enjoy watching Prosciutto cook, just so that you can commit his skills to memory and memorize his recipes – and the same has been done with the laundry. With each passing day, you learn a new secret about the men of the house. Tonight, you will learn of Risotto’s unprofessed ailment of night terrors.

Surely, it comes as an unfathomable surprise to him when he wakes before the morning sky has; chills curl his dampened spine and root him in place by what must be an invisible bond. He struggles to catch the breaths that do not stay, and the room around him spins so fast that his stomach lurches with pain.

He does not dream of those whom he has killed – he dreams of everything he has done wrong and more. In this moment, Risotto feels as though he has been suspended from a string that holds him in place between the realm of consciousness and not. If his body could listen to his mind, he would carry himself to the shower and begin the day prematurely.

Standing above him, your skirt swaying from the gentle breeze of the box fan in the window, you soak a cotton cloth in a bowl of cold water and hum to yourself a particular little tune from your childhood. You give him this moment of vulnerability, because he needs it as a reminder that he is only human. But that does not mean he must suffer for it alone.

You stop to wring the cloth back into the bowl before draping it over his glistening forehead. His eyes scan your face for an answer that you are not able to give. In his delirium, he decides that you must be an angel who has come to visit him in his sleep – and even now, this is nothing more than a fantasy. And yet, when he bursts into a sudden coughing fit and begs you for a glass of water, you fetch it without hesitation.

The rim of the cup meets his lips, held to them by your own grasp. In this reverie – this hypnotic daze – he can feel everything, including the soft pads of your fingertips as you comb through his hair and nestle him back down against the pillow. He can smell the faintest perfume of flowers, too. You stay with him until his gasping for air becomes the timbre of gentle snores, and his haunting eyes have drifted shut.

And it fills you with the strangest kind of gratification that makes your heart swell like a blossom in spring.

In truth, you ventured into the bathroom with every intention of mopping the vinyl-tiled floor and bleaching the shower while the men are out. Instead, your cleaning supplies lie neglected in the corner, in an unforeseen bout in which you have become distracted. You stand in front of the mirror with a scowl as you trace the permanent bruises on your neck, left behind by your lover’s hands. You ought to be a woman near forty now, perhaps married to some corporate worker from the retail district – or at least, certainly someone other than him, if you decided to marry at all.

Whatever decision you may have made, you just hope that you would have been happy. Because, if you are utterly and truly happy as you are, then what good is a husband or a wife to share it with? With a sigh, you turn away and effectively tear your gaze away from your reflection. That is, until a peculiar silver hand slips past the paneled mirror and curls around your wrist. Without a moment to spare, you are pulled backwards, and into the precipice of the void.

It is Illuso who stands in front of you in this mirrored realm of what appears to be the bathroom but is not quite so. The lights are darker, and air around you is unsettlingly cold; the thing that holds you still is anything but human. Dark red eyes belonging to a peevishly smirking face peer down at you.

“You know, bella,” he says as he tethers a lock of your hair around a finger. Even if he tore it from your scalp, you would not feel same the pain that others might. Though, that does not stop you from cowering at his touch. “You have some nerve, breaking in when the others are gone. I bet you think you’re the sneaky type, hm? Well, if that’s the case, you aren’t very good at this. So, let me ask something, and if I like your answer, I’ll let you go. Did the Boss send you?”

Your breath hitches.

“Or are you just a lost stray from the streets?”

You fumble in the grasp of that which grips your arms. You have overhead the men in conversation of whom you can only assume is their employer – and, based on the inflections of their tones, you know that they harbor unspeakable resentment towards him. In your silence, Illuso huffs and suddenly you are thrown to the floor. The tiles feel sticky underneath your palms.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but nothing comes, for his eyes have fallen to the bruises upon your skin and your pretty terry dress that seems a decade out of fashion. It was never a secret to any of the men from La Squadra di Esecuzioni – or rather, to anyone who has lived in Napoli long enough – that a young woman fitting your description was murdered within the very confines of these walls.

It is an absurd thought to believe in ghosts – but then again, so are the existence of Stands. In a world where the physical manifestation of one’s own soul is possible, how truly ludicrous would it be for the apparition of a human being to linger, post-mortem? It is plenty good a rationalization for Illuso, and so he crouches down and grasps your chin.

You meet his gaze, reluctantly so.

“So then, you’re the one who burnt dinner last night. You owe Melone an apology; here, we all thought he was to blame.”

Of course, you already knew that.

“You’ve been a busy girl, haven’t you? Now, if I’m not mistaken, you were in the middle of something. I won’t keep you any longer.”

He casts you from his mirror. You land on your knees, just before the empty mop bucket. It is not until you stand that you realize Illuso is still in the mirror, smiling so wickedly again as his hands move to work the buttons of his shirt loose before he turns on the showerhead and steps inside.

The bathroom will have to wait to be cleaned. Besides, you think you have just heard the washing machine chime.

Your unfortunate interaction with Illuso has, to say the least, rubbed you entirely the wrong way; it is merely his condescending self, and therefore, his blame. His nasty jab at your cooking abilities has not helped to fuel any incentive to continue helping. The laundry has gotten backed up, and more often than not, Prosciutto orders takeout for the others rather than spending his own precious time preparing a meal, only to be stuck with the mess of dishes.

Among this all, you have returned to the solitude that was once like a dear, albeit unwanted, friend. Today, you are found amongst crates in the basement with a file that you had snatched from Risotto’s office. It makes for a good bit of reading, and surely, there can be no harm in peaking.

As for Ghiaccio, he has practically torn the apartment apart in his reckless rage to find his missing dossier – which, as he recalls perfectly clearly, he had left on his Capo’s desk for light corrections on the misspelling of the target’s name.

If Pesci were here, he might insist that the ghost stole it. It is a thought that makes Ghiaccio scoff because there is no such thing. He was disappointed to find Risotto’s eagerness to believe Illuso’s insistence on the matter. Prosciutto met the accusation with a roll of his eyes; Formaggio, a dismissive flick of his hand and a laugh; and Melone . . . Well, by that point, Ghiaccio had tuned out the ludicrous conversation entirely.

He stares at the basement door as his fists curl tightly to his gloved palms. It is the last place he had thought to look, for he had no reason to. Although now that he finds himself caving to the frustrations of his missing file, he opens the door and plunges into the dark.

You do not hear him approach – too mesmerized by your choice in reading, of course. When the file in the manilla folder is snatched from your grasp, you frown and meet the fuming stare of Ghiaccio. “Are you serious?” he asks, incredulous. “I’ve been looking for this for hours, no thanks to you.”

When he slams the door, shutting you away without a better source of distraction, you sigh. You should have known better. Maybe when he is done with it, you will borrow it back.

But until then, you think you will pretend to take a nap.

Today is a good day, and you feel like cooking again. You scour the refrigerator and pantry for the ingredients needed to prepare Prosciutto’s salted herring and polenta. You add corn meal to the pot of cold water atop the stove. As the water heats, you throw in a pinch of salt and a spoonful of dried rosemary. It is a simple dish, yet the men eat it all the same.

The floorboards behind you creak under Prosciutto’s weight. He lowers the dangling cigarette from his mouth. Ashes trickle towards the ground and to his shoes. He watches, unsure of what to think of it really, as you take a whisk to the pot. His eyes fall to the jar of pickled herring, and perhaps if he felt so inclined to, he might have smiled.

He stubs the cigarette out and drapes his suit jacket over a chair to the kitchen table. Suddenly cognizant to his intrusion, you drop the whisk on the counter, meaning to flee – until he stops you with a firm grip to your shoulder that encourages you to continue.

“I’ve missed your food,” he confesses with unknown sincerity. “But you have a knack for burning the herring. Let me show you how to do it better, eh?”

Sleeves neatly rolled back to his elbows, he cleanses his hands in the sink. He smells like smoke and death; judging by the subtle unraveling of the buns at the back of his head, you suppose that this must have been a difficult hit. Regardless of whatever may be troubling him, Prosciutto rests a skillet atop the next burner and sets a pat of butter inside it for melting.

Still tense, though you feel yourself relax ever so slightly with the easing of your joints, you return to the polenta and pray that it has not scorched in the absence of your touch. “It was one of my grandmother’s recipes,” he confesses as he adds the first filet to the pan. “The brine for the fish, that is. She died before I ever knew her, but she did leave my father her old recipe book. Not that he ever cooked much, mind you. Regardless, I believe this was too plebeian of a dish for his tastes.”

You do not know how to respond – maybe he is waiting for a confession that you have met his grandmother’s soul, or something else along those lines; however, he will only be disappointed by any semblance of an explanation that this is simply not how spirits work.

Instead, you grate a rind of parmesan into the polenta.

Empty bottles of beer and a shooter of vodka lie discarded on the floor, littering the living room with an unkempt mess that would have sent your mother into a spiral, if she were here to see it. The television flashes as the end credits to whatever rom-com Formaggio decided on roll down the screen. Most of the cast-member’s names are unfamiliar to you, apart from the lead, whom you remember as an upcoming starlet from your childhood. You always thought she was a bore.

With a groan, an unconscious Formaggio turns on the couch. A half-empty peroni dangles precariously from his grasp. You take it before it can spill, and as he sleeps, you gather the rest of his mess for disposal. Once you are done, you switch off the television and hoist the man up. He becomes nothing more than deadweight at your side.

You are halfway to his bedroom when he lurches. In a stumble, he catches himself by grabbing the closest thing within his reach: your breast. You shove his hand away, and his green orbs dart around in an ogling state.

“Hey, bella signora,” he says with a heavy slur to his speech, accompanied by a grin. “Sorry about that . . . You have great tits, y’know?”

You blush. Now in his room, Formaggio falls to the unmade bed; the springs recoil and squeal beneath his body. He pulls a wrinkled blanket to his shoulders. You return with two tachipirina and a bottle of water for him to take up in the morning – or whenever he wakes, for that matter. A hearty breakfast will do him good, too. You certainly will not need to pull his arm to convince him otherwise.

You set the medication upon his nightstand, beside a crushed soda can and an overflowing ashtray.

“Grazie, [Y/N].”

To hear your name spoken again after so many years is something that curls into your heart and tugs it so tightly that your fingers tingle. Formaggio gawks up at you through half-lidded eyes. With a heavy sigh, he falls back asleep without much effort.

No matter his intent, it brings a smile to your face.

You hurry down the hallway, clutching a basket of folded laundry betwixt your arm and torso. The warm linens carry the scent of detergent – ocean breeze, the bottle called it. You are not convinced, for it smells nothing like the ocean you once knew; it is far too fruity and clean.

“No! Get away from me, fantasma!”

You stop. There Pesci stands at the edge of the hallway, his green hair still wet from the shower. He stumbles backwards until his spine meets the wall with a forceful thud that rattles the pictures on the walls.

“Fratello! D – Don’t hurt me, please! Fratello, help me!”

You wonder if Prosciutto will come to his rescue – not that Pesci is truly in need of anything of the sort. Alas, the younger man’s words are startling. Taken aback, you contemplate that perhaps your kindness has been rather unnerving to some, and more than others. His eyes glisten, as if he might cry; the laundry basket feels far too heavy in your grasp now.

“Why would I hurt you?” you ask; you no longer recognize the sound of your own voice, for the sounds of your thoughts carry a different ring. “Why would I want to hurt anyone? If I wanted you dead, don’t you think I would’ve already done it by now?”

With an indignant huff, you make your way towards the bathroom to tuck the fresh towels away. The air is clammy and hot, but it does not bother you.

“I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking.”

You set the emptied basket down. “Obviously not,” you tell Pesci.

He rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. You wish he would leave, because the uneasiness of presence is unnerving – sweltering, even. “Wait. You’ve been the one doing my laundry?” he asks shyly.

“Yes.”

“You even separated the colors. I can tell because my whites haven’t been turning dark.” His lips pull into a sheepish grin, and his cheeks turn the color of a summer rose. “Thank you.”

Even when you were alive, you chide that you have always been something of a winsome little fool. Dead, you still have not learned any better. And that is why you find yourself standing in front of Melone, frozen in time, as his lithe fingers curl around the base of his manhood that drips from the head. It was an honest mistake on your part – you had entered to deliver an object of some importance without bothering to knock first.

His eyes are screwed shut; otherwise, he might see you standing here at the foot of his bed, your own belly churning in anticipation that you have not felt since you were one of the living. It is a phenomenon of interest that begs you to climb upon the bed next to him – to feel those soft sheets beneath your own skin – and touch yourself. And so, you do.

Your skirt bunches at your waist as you drag your hand towards your folds, panties discarded and dangling from your ankle. Tentative at first, you bite your lip as you graze your hardened pearl before stroking yourself until you are glistening like him. At the sound of Melone’s poorly muffled moan as he bites the back of his knuckles, you slip inside and hook into the warmth that pulsates between your spread thighs.

You are giddy like the young woman you were the first time you had ever indulged in self-pleasure; it is a wicked, sinful desire – or at least, that is what your mother always told you. You never believed much of her volition because you knew she only ever said it when thoughts of impulsive yearning plagued her own mind.

You fumble through velveteen fabric to find the stiff peaks of your breasts; with a sigh that you forget to hold in, you tweak and pinch your nipple as you slip a second finger within your folds and imagine that it is Melone’s shaft pumping in and out of you, with the tenacity of a gentle lover. You time your thrusts with his own until you are hanging on the edge of your own orgasm.

It is a beautiful feeling that you never thought to be possible again. Fuming with spent sex, you cradle your slick hand to your chest and watch as white ribbons lacquer his stomach like the paint of a picket fence. He turns his head away in his own exhaustion after wiping himself down with a towel that was deliberately left beside the bed.

You lean over his still form to admire the handsome structure of his resting face. His lips look so soft, you think – and you wish only to feel them with your own. It is a daring move, but you brush his lavender hair away from his drenched forehead with every intention of doing just that.

Only, as you have found after your tentative stupor, to end up on your back with your arms pinned to the space beside your head in a giving – albeit firm – hold. He nestles his body against yours until you have no choice but to hike your hips up to meet his. His hair dangles above you and abrades the flushed skin of your cheeks.

“I hope you enjoyed the show, mia civetta,” he coos in a tone that suggests his desires. “Because I know I did.”

His hand cups your wet folds, and you find yourself bucking against the touch that could never compare to your own salacious act. You keen and meet him in a kiss halfway, as his fingers plunge within you and your toes curl into the bedding.

You would not mind staying like this forever.

As the millennium turns into the new century, it becomes an unuttered agreement among the men of

La Squadra

that yours is an appreciated and coveted presence – ghost or not, they cherish you as if you are one of their own. And, in a way, you suppose that you are. You are solace to them amidst their troubles and talks of betrayal to the one who first appointed them under Risotto’s leadership.

You have learned that there are two more members of their team: Sorbet and Gelato. Though, they did not come around often, and your interactions with them were far from illustrious. Alas, you knew that they were dead before the frames of formalin arrived.

The paper shredder runs for days, and the unused fireplace roars with the blazes of tattered documents. Formaggio is the first to leave. With his hands stuffed in the pockets of his striped trousers, he saunters over to you at your perch by the living room window. “Addio, bella,” he says to you with a grin that does not quite reach his eyes.

Illuso is next. “I would tell you, ‘I’ll see you around,’ but we both know that isn’t possible,” he huffs; it is a jab at some sense of humor to alleviate the lingering doubt that he swallows like a pill. “Enjoy your little stay-cation, won’t you?”

Then it is Prosciutto, with Pesci following in tow. The green haired man radiates confidence that the blonde does not reciprocate. “Wish us luck, [Y/N!]” the former admonishes as he reaches to pull you into a hug that is tight enough to let you know that he is truly terrified of what is to come.

He does not let go until his superior demands it. After the younger man has left for the car, Prosciutto reaches into his suit jacket and produces a book. The spine has worn out from use and labor, and its pages are crudely held together by brown rubber bands.

It is his grandmother’s recipe book. You take it and cradle it in your arms as if it is a newborn babe, because you fear that anything less than a delicate grasp with make it fall apart. “Take care of yourself, my friend.”

You nod, and he is gone. You spend the night peering over the stained pages, willing yourself to commit its contents to memory so that one day, you might return the favor. On Melone’s day to leave, he bids you adieu with a suggestive tone and a firm pat to your backend. If he had the time to spare, you might have begged him to stay a bit longer – or at least, enough for just one more round of lovemaking. He placates you with a kiss that leaves you craving his touch, instead.

“There’s a few dossiers left in the office, if you still want to read them so badly,” Ghiaccio begrudgingly tells you before he departs. “I convinced Risotto to let you have them for now. Just burn them when you’re done.”

All that remains is you and Risotto – just as it began. It is the way it should be, in a poetic sense of justice wherein the beginning becomes the end; full circle, as they call it. You are not too sure about that, for you are full of bitterness at the crumbling of your familiarity. You sit beside him on the couch, biting your lip in dreadful anticipation for what is to come next. He stares blankly into the space in front of him, perhaps stuck in his own thoughts so much that he cannot separate them from reality.

Eventually, his calloused palm finds your shoulder, in his means of comfort – to reassure you or himself, you are not sure. Whatever he needs, it is his. “Thank you,” he finally says.

Risotto once thought you to be an angel, though he never believed in anything of the sort. Religion has left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You gave me a purpose,” you confess with a sad simper. “All of you did.”

Just when you think that he might return the gesture, he stands. Despite the traces of uncertainty in their hearts, every man of his team believed that they would return – to the apartment, to Passione, and most importantly, to you.

But he will not dwell on any such idea, because he knows better than to make promises that he cannot keep.

One-by-one, the men trickle home with fresh scars and unspeakable horrors. It is a pretty dream, that the abode where they each possessed the deepest connection to were neither childhood cottages nor the places of their demises – but rather, the place where you exist alone

It irks you to wonder why you ended up here after your death, though you tell yourself that it was just a twist of fate so that you might find them – the ones who needed you the most.

There are no needs for cooking or laundry – the home that once felt scared to you is tense again and filled with brooding silence. When at last Risotto arrives, body littered with seeping bullet wounds and missing a hand, the dam breaks as the men accept their aggrieved failure.

Unbeknownst to you all, it has only been the matter of a few days since they returned to you in haste; you have found that the perception of time for the dead is hazy at best. Soon enough, you find yourself in an empty home again. You are, of course, glad that they have all passed on – that somehow, their deaths have been requited.

The same cannot be said for you. And so, you spend your days on newly neglected furniture and stew, solus – this, you decide, will be your eternity; a lost soul with nothing better to do than to long for that which will never be.

When, months later, the door opens anew, you do not rise; surely you are imagining the blonde boy and the other with an oddly patterned beanie cap who stand under the arch and gape at you like a caged animal in a display. In due time, you will learn of Giorno and Mista’s intentions – for those are their names – of repurposing the townhouse in the name of Passione.

But for now, you greet them like two friends, because the nagging in your old heart tells you to.

| 5160 Words |

#la squadra x reader #la squadra #risotto x reader #prosciutto x reader #melone x reader #formaggio x reader #pesci x reader #ghiaccio x reader

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roadkill01 · 3 years ago

Text

Hange/Levi (platonic) x Male Reader

All you could do was watch as the tongs came closer to your fingers, digging underneath your dirtied fingernail. A shrill scream vibrated across the bloodied stone walls as the nail was ripped from your finger. Tears streamed down your face as you begged for this torture to stop, but it was all done to no avail. You felt the blood drip down and collect at the end of your limp hand. The only sound in the room was heavy pants heard from both parties and the occasionally splash of blood against the hard stone floor. Your torturer huffed, and pushed a hand through his sweaty hair, making it slick back and stick up in odd places.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just speak. I have taken all of your finger and toenails. Your body has been burnt and lacerated. I’m not even sure how you are alive...” you wished for death though. Pleading and begging for this seemingly endless torture to stop. Tears ran down your bloodied cheeks, and your torturer brought a warm hand to your face. He swiped away the tears with the pad of his thumb, smearing the blood up your cheekbone. He moved his hand to hold the stump at the end of your ear. A month ago there was a pretty silver earring attached to it. He didn’t like how it glistened in the candlelight though, so naturally it had to go.

“You were so handsome [Name]. Such a perfect husband. Waiting patiently for me to come to you.” You didn’t understand what had come of the sweet boy you had grown up with. What had changed? Why was he forced to become such a heartless vicious man as this? The slam of a door brought you from your darkening thoughts. He had finally left. You let out cry after cry, mourning the old Eren. And wishing a peaceful death upon the new one. He had to rest. You know so much, and yet you didn’t. For just as life, Eren continued pushing on. It didn’t matter through which obstacle. The love of your life wasn’t initially put in to torture you, originally it was supposed to be Hange and Levi. Eren took it over, as you had heard from him and you’d been moved cells. Your captain and the one who thought of you as a younger brother, neither could apparently bear to do it. Nobody could. You were such a happy influence on them all, it seemed ridiculous that you were accused of being a traitor. You had been in this dreaded cell for a month now. The only person you had seen was Eren. You were the subject of inconceivable rumours when it came out that Reiner and Bertholdt were Titans. You had been close friends with the two, and frequently interacted with Annie. The survey corps couldn’t take anymore risks. You would never blame them for this. You heard clattering come from up the stairs, and wondered if Eren was home already.

What surprised you however was the concerned deep voice that called out. “Hello? Is anyone here? Please call out.” You let out a nervous greeting to the stranger followed by heavy thumping come down the stairs, almost as if someone was jumping down them. You closed your eyes and sighed, the energy immediately dispelling from your body. If you were going to die now, you would accept it graciously. You opened them once more when the owner of these footsteps stifled a gasp. You only grew curious at the sound but didn’t look over yet.

What made you look over, was when the voice called out a loud. “Hange. Your going to want to see this.” You looked over as Levi began to fiddle with the locks on the other side of the bars. You could see how is hands kept slipping and shaking. You took a shaky breath as another set of footsteps (which you guessed were Hanges) made their way downstairs. The second they saw the state you were in they took off their glasses, tears flowed down from their brown uncovered eye. “[Name]? Don’t tell me? No, no, I’m so sorry.” All you could do was watch as the bright optimistic person you’d come to known fell apart at the state you were in, and who could blame them.

You looked half dead anyway, the clothes you once wore hand been dyed a crimson with the sheer amount you had bled. There was darkened ashy skin, where Eren had burnt you, peeling away and revealing the clashing pink of exposed flesh underneath. There were chunks that had been taken out of your body, namely your arms and thighs. The finger and toenails now newly removed seeped more of the dreaded red liquid. There was just so much. A seemingly endless wave of blood. It would never stop crashing upon you and those who stood too close. With a clank the door unlocked. Levi had opted for kicking the door in instead of trying to break the lock. Hange rushed in first, immediately undoing the rough rope pulled taught against your ankles and the chair leg. Levi coming next you, to pull away the loose pieces holding your wrist down to the arm of the chair. As the ropes were pulled away, you felt as though you could finally rest now. You were saved, right? Your limp body fell forward onto Hange as Levi undid the final rope on your left wrist.

They held you up, and carried you like a baby as you clung to them. Your legs wrapped around their waist and your arms around their neck. Hange held your back and pulled you into them as they carried you up the stairs, Levi anxiously picking at his nails next to you and Hange. The pair walked through the upstairs in complete silence, not daring to utter a word. The only sound on that damned floor was the eternal dripping of your blood. As you reached the door to outside, Hange pushed your head into their neck, the sunlight would be a surprise for a man who had not seen light in a month. A small murmur was heard from you as you asked. “Are you two okay? If I die now, I need you to know I never once blamed you.” Tears unwillingly fell from their face once more and even Levi had to stifle a cry at the words.

The commander of the survey corps carrying a limp body was a sight to see, so naturally it dragged the attention of surrounding villagers. Muttering began as they realised the body belonged to you, none other than [Name] [Last Name]. A strong soldier with a future in the military brighter than Queen Historia’s hair. You had always been good to the general public, and as such they had loved you in return. The survey corps knew the amount of influence you held over these villagers, even if you did not. They loved you, because you were kind even after the unrelenting dangers of the outside, you always kept your morals no matter how difficult and helped wherever you could. A small blonde girl ran up to Hange, ignoring the cry’s of the crowd gathered, and gripped the bloodied material of your shirt. She looked up to meet the commanders eyes silently pleading that you weren’t dead. She was one of many people you had helped and as such felt indebted to you. Your joyous face whenever you returned from an expedition out the walls would make her heart soar and you would even bring flowers for some upon occasion. She had a flower now, clutched in her trembling pale hand and she thrusted it into the space between you and Hange, and dropped it. The stem was discoloured and crumped from how tightly the young girl had gripped it. Hange nodded slightly, closing their eyes before speaking loud enough for everyone to hear.

“[Name] [Last Name] is not dead. Not now at least. We will get him into immediate care, and hopefully someone can tend to his injuries, as you can see they are quite severe. Do not worry though, we can keep you updated about his current condition and will tell you immediately if he does,” she began to choke up. “If he does end up dying.” A few in the crowd began to cry and others angrily shout. “Who the hell is responsible for this!” Hange looked down casted and they began to walk away, avoiding the question. If word got out that it was another scout, much less your own partner all hell would break loose and the scouts headquarters would most definitely be compromised. They would deal with Eren all in due time, and by god would he have hell to deal with.

Levi however turned to the man, and feeling nothing but absolute hatred for the former member of his squad spat out a bitter, “Eren Jeager.” Hange could punish him later, as long as justice was brought for his friend. The pair began to speed up as Hange felt your heart beat grow weaker, eventually breaking into a full blown sprint. Levi ran ahead to prepare the doctor, saying it was of the upmost importance. You and Hange eventually reached the doctor with Hange practically flinging themselves through the door and gently laid you on an unused table. The doctor was quick to rush to your side and carefully peeled off the sticky clothing, occasionally using a knife to cut parts away. With your body lying bare, both the doctor and the longest surviving members of the survey corps could fully see the damage Eren had inflicted. Hange let out a choked sob as Levi just stood, anger and disbelief evident on his face. The doctor immediately ushered the pair out the room, and pushing a piece of paper into their hands. “Find these plants, there are drawings in case you need help with identifying them.” He then pointed to the forest a whiles walk away from the doctors house. He slammed the door in their faces and got back to helping patch you up. It seems he wasn’t all talk as he helped stabilise your near death condition.

A knock at the door alerted the doctor of Hange and Levi’s arrival. He yelled at them for come in, not wanting to leave your body alone for any amount of time in case your condition would suddenly drop. The entered and the doctor set to work grinding the specific herbs and plants into a paste which he would apply to your body. Hange’s hand swiped over your newly cleaned face, you looked a lot better now that there wasn’t quite so much blood everywhere. The doctor smeared the newly made green paste on the more severe lacerations and quickly wrapped them in cloth.

“I.. I don’t know if he’ll make it out alive.” The blunt statement filled Hange and Levi’s head. You wouldn’t make it? But you were [Name] [Last Name]? The boy who kept smiling through everything? And yet as your chest rose and fell irregularly both Hange and Levi knew the chances of you living were slim.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“Can I see [Name] today mama? I wanna give him flowers!” The woman looked down at her daughter and ruffled her blonde hair. “Of course honey, be back for lunch though, okay?” The girl nodded, beaming and rushed out her house, sprinting over the mismatched cobbles and up to the woods where you resided. Once she’d reached the forest, the trees split, almost as if guiding everyone who came, directly to [Name]. She ran down the rocky path, the villagers had collectively gathered to make a stone path all the way to [Name] so people can easily come and visit him. She almost tripped and dropped the flowers but a bush caught her, and she steadied herself once more. When she arrived she already saw Hange and Levi sitting by the sandstone headstone. “Ah- Mx Hange and Mr Levi, I didn’t know you were here sorry.” Hange smiled at the girl and beckoned her to come closer.

“That’s quite alright, we were just telling him we’d be back soon, we’ve got a mission coming up soon, and I can’t bring myself to not run every plan through him first.” Levi grimaced at their words, he knew they weren’t taking [Name]’s death particularly well, especially after Eren only really got off with a slap on the wrist. He would come with her, hoping they wouldn’t do anything rash especially after Moblit died. Besides, he too had come to care about the ridiculously happy [hair colour] boy in his squad. The girl came and sat by his gravestone, taking the dying flowers off the grave and putting on her fresh ones. Hange smiled at the action, glad that even if Levi and them were to die, there would at least be someone to take care of his final resting place. “I wish you the best. [Name] [Last Name]”

#aot #attack on titan #male reader #snk #snk levi #hange zöe #hange supremacy #angst?#eren yeager #sad ending #unless you want to die #I probably shouldn’t put spoilers #don’t read the tags unless you want spoilers

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cno-inbminor · 4 years ago

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domus - pt. 3 (final)

a/n: it’s done. oh god it’s done. it’s like 2AM so it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. i also apologize in advance for the slightly rushed ending fas;elifjac you will need to read parts 1 and 2 (linked below) for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~8k

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; mentions of alcohol and getting drunk

pt. 1 | pt. 2

The grey sheets fail to startle you this time around, granted that it’s been about four days since you first arrived. It’s the constriction of cotton around your body that wakes you up on this Tuesday morning, and your brain can’t fathom why your loose pajamas have suddenly become so uncomfortable. But then the threads tickle the skin of your arms, your legs feel the slight scrape of denim, and your toes have trouble wiggling around due to the constraint of…socks.

Why are you wearing socks to sleep?

Much to your body’s protest, you stumble out of Keiji’s comfortable sheets (note to self: ask him where he got them from) and into the reflection of the body-length mirror in his room. Your vision blurs when all the colors of the rainbow come into place, exploding into a million stars as you lose a bit of your balance. Thankfully, your hand finds purchase against the wall and allows you to regain some stability. It only takes a few seconds, overwhelmingly agonizing as they are, before you can properly assess your current state.

Yesterday’s outfit glares back at you, though much more mussed and wrinkled than you last saw it. Similarly, your hair is in a disarray, hands subconsciously trying to take out any tangles while you can. Knowing the state of cleanliness that Keiji keeps his space in, you feel a wave of regret wash over you for having slept in his bed in air-polluted clothes that must have caught who knows how many germs. Immediately, you move to your suitcase to find something to change into, discarding your current outfit into a large plastic bag that acted as your nomadic hamper. As soon as you’re done, you begin to gather up all the layers of Keiji’s bed, fitted sheet and all, and leaving them on top of the mattress in separate piles by how they should be washed. But while you gather the first bundle into your arms, you take a quick look at the clock, slightly flabbergasted that it’s only a little past 6AM.

In your somewhat frantic attempt to atone for your sins against Keiji’s abode, you failed to notice the lack of sun rays peeking from behind the curtains. And much like you’ve done every day since you showed up, you pull the material back and greet the nostalgic view of Tokyo once more.

But serenity doesn’t come to you. In fact, your heart seems to be weighed down by an unknown anchor. Instinctively, your arms come up to hug yourself slightly, knowing that it’s a feeble attempt at best. The weight gradually mixes with a grasp of suffocation and the feeling closes around your throat. Immediately, you seek a source of fresh air, eyes catching a handle on the window that you somehow missed all these days. This means that Keiji has two separate doors to the balcony, including the one in the living room, and you do your best to quickly yet quietly slide the pane open. As soon as there’s enough space for you to slide through, you practically bound out and lean yourself over the rail of the balcony, lungs taking in deep breaths of oxygen.

Below you, the city has already begun to awaken, pedestrians the size of ants seemingly crawling their away down the street. Faint car honks echo through the city, the occasional train horn blaring louder than the rest. These are sights and sounds you find familiar, and somehow, the unease in your chest settles. Everything seems okay again, and you wonder why it crept up on you so suddenly.

The realization creeps through your veins as you drink in the sight of the SkyTree: you’re not quite ready to leave yet. You don’t think you’re ready to hop on a plane back to Sapporo and back to the apartment that you and Tetsuro spent the last few years building together. Every corner, every nook and cranny of that unit was filled with memories upon memories, mostly good and some bad. And even if you want to think back on them, to be able to look at them and recall the moments fondly, you know that Tetsuro’s unfortunate confession would immediately overshadow all of it. They would just leave you in the same pool of broken bitterness that you originally escaped from.

You still haven’t texted him.

He must be worried sick, you think as your feet drag you back inside and grab your device from the nightstand. You check through your notifications as you step out onto the balcony again, and after a few minutes, your thumb hovers over his conversation thread. A stinging pain courses through your system at the nickname you have set for his contact, and you hate it. You hate how fresh it still feels, completely and utterly frustrated at yourself that part of you still hasn’t let go of him. Why couldn’t you be stronger than this?

But despite your distress, you tap on it and hesitate above the keyboard, trying to think of the right words. Only a few come to your mind, and before you can convince yourself to back out (because you owed him at least this much), your thumbs type out two words and hit the send button, immediately locking it afterwards and sliding it into the pocket of your gym shorts. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He wanted a text of confirmation, you give him a text. That’s all you would allow yourself without crumbling again, and you were trying to put all the Band-aids you could on it.

Undoubtedly, Keiji’s presence helps. It’s easy to not think about Tetsuro when you’re around him, busying yourself with either work emails or recipes that you want to try out. The former doesn’t mind being a guinea pig, as he so kindly put it on Sunday. In fact, he handed you a cookbook from his shelf that had some recipes tabbed with sticky notes, pointing out the ones he thought you might enjoy. Surprisingly, they were all very appealing and to your taste, and part of you wonders if it’s just a mild coincidence. So far, you haven’t messed anything up, and Keiji always finishes his portion with slightly veiled enthusiasm. He knew how much you enjoyed cooking and baking for others, evidence presented by the years of instances when you stopped at their house to drop off your newest creations – so whether or not his compliments were genuine, you took it.

What you don’t know is the number of knowing glances throughout middle and high school that Keiji’s mother would give him as he munched on your edible gifts, pretending to seem unfazed though his eyes adopted a slight twinkle as he ate his fair share. If she could see him now, she’d notice the same shine in them.

Part of you itches to see if Tetsuro read your text message, if he will bother responding. The phone burns in your pocket, but you decide against it, letting it scorch against your thigh as you lean against the rail and watch the sky grow brighter. You miss the carefree mornings like these when you aren’t in a rush to leave the apartment. All that’s really on your mind now is what to make for breakfast, mentally running through all the ingredients that Keiji has.

Today seems like a good day for pancakes.

Keiji’s eyes snap open when his phone goes off, mentally groaning when he realized he forgot to turn off the daily alarm he usually sets for going into work. Now that he’s spending a few days at home, there’s been no need to get up so early. He left it on yesterday since they had that early ride on the bullet train, but with all the events that happened last night, he simply forgot.

Keiji sees that his bedroom door remains closed and believes you’re still asleep. But when he stands up to stretch and looks out his balcony windows, he catches a glimpse of your figure through the gap in the curtains. The breeze from the AC slightly causes them to flutter, giving him a better view as he steps around the couch to get a better angle. You look pensive and somewhat defeated, staring out into the open space as the wind from the heights tousles your hair. He wonders if you’ve taken the initiative to let Tetsuro know if you were okay.

At this thought, his eyes are drawn the phone on his coffee table, staring for a few seconds and calculating to see if this is a good idea. Unable to find any issues with it, he steps back to reach for the device. On the off-chance that you did text him, he doubts that you told your boyfriend where you’re staying. Keiji knows that Tetsuro would be worried regardless and perhaps might gain some comfort from knowing that you were staying with a friend. So before he can chicken out, he taps a short text, ignoring the fact that it’s been months since the two had last spoken outside of the group chat Koutaro created for the three of them and Tsukishima.

The lack of an immediate reply indicates that the former Nekoma captain is either still asleep or busy with his residency. Keiji casts one last look at you, noticing that you haven’t moved in the last few minutes. It seems that you’ll be there for a while and lost in your thoughts. There were only a few times in his life when he had witnessed this faraway look of yours, knowing it was better to leave you alone than to try and rip you out of the reverie. Perhaps he’ll take a chance with breakfast today, a small repayment for the onigiri and juice boxes you bought him on the train.

He thinks you might enjoy having some pancakes.

The deafening creak and slide of plastic ripping away from its rubber suction startles you. Much like you did when Keiji first scared you on Saturday morning, you turn to the source of fright with a hand over your pounding heart, staring in disbelief as said man walks out with a tray of food. Though this time, much to your amusement, he looks rather apologetic. The humor quickly morphs into guilt as you notice the two plates of pancakes – just how long had you been standing out here?

In a few steps, you meet him and silently take the tray from his hands, allowing him to close the balcony door. There’s no good place to put it besides the ground, and when Keiji sits next to it – legs stretched out – with his back against the plexiglass, you demurely mimic his movements on the other side of the tray. Without a word, Keiji places his portion onto his lap and grabs his own set of fork and knife. You simply stare at him until he gestures for you to do the same, returning the small smile he gives you. Both of you say your thanks before digging in, and you can’t help but notice how Keiji has drizzled just the right amount of syrup and in the way that you like it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” you apologize after a few bites in. Despite how fluffy and soft they are, the pancakes have a hard time going down your throat. Keiji had also gone through the trouble of making some freshly squeezed orange juice, yet the sip of the beverage doesn’t help much.

“It’s the least I could do after yesterday,” he says softly, and his eyes let you know he really didn’t mind. “Really, you’ve been cooking everything else. I saw a chance and took it.”

“But still—”

“I was more than happy to do it,” Keiji interjects. “It’s my way of saying thanks.”

“…has anyone ever told you that you’re too kind sometimes?” It’s easier to swallow now.

“Bokuto-san has mentioned it a few times,” he replies quickly, staring at you before you both burst out laughing.

From there, conversation flows more smoothly, topics ranging from the MSBY practice session yesterday to what mangas he’s been editing. The pancakes quickly disappear as the sun beams through the clouds, gradually heating up the earth until it was becoming somewhat unbearable in the heat. Keiji sports a light sheen of sweat by the time you two decide it’s wise to go back inside. He takes the tray before you can even think of grabbing it, ushering you to go ahead and shower first while he washes the dishes. As a sign of thanks, you give an affectionate squeeze around his upper arm as you walk past him.

Keiji pretends that his skin isn’t burning from the touch.

Right as he’s placing everything onto the drying rack, his phone rings from the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s not entirely surprised when Kuroo’s name flashes on the screen – after his text, he figured your boyfriend would either message back with lots of question marks or simply call to demand answers. A quick exhale leaves his lungs as he hits the green button and brings the device to his ear.

“Hi Kuroo-san.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s staying with me’?”

Keiji glances in the direction of the bathroom and hears the shower still running. Chances of you eavesdropping or overhearing would be low.

“It’s exactly what I mean. She’s staying with me for the time being.”

“Why you?”

“Honestly, that’s a good question.”

“…wait, so you didn’t know she was coming?”

“She called me when she was at the airport,” Keiji sighs, leaning back against the sink to keep a lookout on the bathroom. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

“You’ve been treating her okay?”

“Of course, what do you take me for?”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Kuroo groans. “I only have about 10 minutes left in my break. How’s she doing?”

“As well as someone can do when their significant other suddenly tells them they’re not in love with them anymore.”

The silence is deafening over the phone. Keiji didn’t really mean to slip up right then and there, but he couldn’t help the simmering anger rising in his stomach.

“…I’m guessing she told you then.”

“Just last night. I asked when she got here, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. We went to see Bokuto-san yesterday.”

“That would explain the weird text I got from him last night. Did it help?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good then,” Kuroo sighs into the speaker, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keiji replies. “Though if you don’t mind me asking…how did it happen?”

“I don’t have a lot of time left so I’ll make it quick. It just – I don’t know, it kinda hit me one morning. I was wondering why I stopped feeling like I needed to get home as soon as possible. Stopped asking for details about her day, or at least nothing more than how it was. I’d forget half the things she was telling me whenever she talked about her job. It was nice coming home to someone after a long shift, but I just…it didn’t feel all that special knowing she was the one waiting for me. I love her like a best friend, just not romantically anymore. She doesn’t deserve to get dragged along because I can’t speak up about my feelings, so I told her. You understand, right?”

Immediately, Keiji wants to say no. No, he doesn’t get it. It’s nearly unfathomable to him that Tetsuro can just slowly stop caring about the things that were important to you. He imagines your figure curled up in bed, anxiously waiting for your boyfriend to come home safely. He imagines you greeting Tetsuro happily, blissfully unaware that the man only kissed your cheek in greeting as a force of habit.

He imagines your face falling little by little as Tetsuro explains himself, your guard failing to mask the anguish you were feeling, and it pains him. Yet his torment at the thought could only be a small fraction of what you experienced – neither was this the time to be heavily biased.

“I don’t have any say in the matter,” Keiji begins and tries to keep his voice as level as possible. “But you know she’s not going to give in to your terms, right?”

“I know it’s not exactly sensible, but I’m trying—”

“Do you really think she’d be happy knowing that?” He nearly hisses into the phone, simply fed up with Kuroo’s stubbornness. “You’ve just told her you don’t love her anymore, insinuating that you’d be happier without her – knowing how much she loves you, do you really think she’d let you force yourself to try for her sake? You know how selfless she is!”

“And I’m trying to give her a chance to be selfish for once – this is on me, and I could at least try! I loved her once, who says I couldn’t love her again? I’ll give her all the time she needs and—"

“If you really cared about her, you would let her go!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Keiji has never wanted to punch someone so bad in his life. “Don’t you understand it’d be nothing but torture for her? Every day, hanging onto some flimsy hope that everything will go back to the way it used to be? There’s a high chance that you’d never feel that way again, so you’re going to let her waste all that time on you? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Tetsuro knows Keiji’s right. He knows, and he loathes it. His own fear of drastic change caused him to spill all those empty promises to you, simply refusing to acknowledge that his own selfish desires were the demons speaking.

“…I’m glad you’re the one she’s staying with. It’s better than being alone in a hotel for a week.”

“You’re digressing.”

“Let her go, huh?”

“Like I said, if you really cared, then yes. Anything she asks of you, go with it. It’s the least you could do.”

“…I gotta go, my break’s up. Thanks, Akaashi.”

Keiji isn’t doing it for him. “Bye, Kuroo-san.”

Beep.

“You cannot leave your room until I let you!”

“(Y/n), what—”

“I need to get groceries and what I’m making is gonna take a really long time, but I’ve been dying to try it and this is the perfect time! I wanna surprise you though.”

“You don’t need to surprise me—”

Keiji’s feet are planted in the entrance of his bedroom door, heels digging into the hardwood as much as they can. After he came out of his shower and grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, you were pushing him towards his room, words spilling from your lips a mile a minute.

“Please?” You nearly pout when Keiji turns to get a good look at your face. “You said you need to work anyways, right? I’d be much less of a bother if I was doing something else.”

“You know I don’t mind you being in the same room,” he says gently, hoping that he never said anything that could’ve insinuated your presence wasn’t welcome wherever he was. “Company is nice.”

“We have tomorrow for that, it’s just this one time. Plus, I’m washing the bed and the sheets are still in the dryer.”

“You didn’t have to do that – hey, what if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“You have to promise not to peek!”

“(Y/n)—”

“Pinky promise, right now!” You demand, sticking out a pinky in between the two of you. Keiji pretends to be annoyed at your antics, but he can’t help but smile as your two pinkies link together and thumbs come up for a stamp.

“What if I need to get something to drink?”

“Just let me know and I’ll bring it to you. And no peeking!”

“As I promised, yes.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease, and Keiji can only watch a little despondently as you disappear out the front door. He isn’t looking forward to the same sight that’ll occur in three days, though that time you’ll be lugging a suitcase behind you and potentially leaving for good.

Instantly, the apartment feels too empty. Everything is too quiet again, reminding him why he has a difficult relationship with working from home. Part of him is so used to the hustle and bustle of the manga company that the silence in an empty home somehow feels wrong. And now that some liveliness has been thrown into the mix, painting his abode with splashes of gentle hues, the void feels even more foreign.

You’ll be back within an hour. He just has to bear with it for that short time frame – there’s a decent pile of work waiting for him anyways.

It might be a good time to start practicing being alone again as well.

With determination, Keiji throws himself into his work, only stopping every couple of hours to lean back into his chair and rub his eyes. His little energy bursts come in various forms: when you first came back and greeted, “I’m home!” through his bedroom door, whenever you come in to refill his cup of water, when you come in with two plates of sandwiches during lunch time, and when you bring him some tea as a change of pace in the afternoon. Every gesture is strongly appreciated, and he wishes he could help you in the kitchen.

(He tries to ignore how domestic everything feels. It’s a sensation he finds himself getting drunk on, the bliss encasing his nerves with a pleasant numbness.)

Keiji broadcasts a bit of his work to you, talking you through his process and the things he looks out for when editing. With you, he doesn’t have to worry about leaking spoilers – in fact, you look more enraptured with his set-up than anything. He enjoys the awe and childlike wonder that cloud your face. It’s a far cry from the ruminative expression from this morning, and Keiji hopes that he’ll never have to see that face again.

Always a man of his word, he stays in his bedroom while you finish making dinner. Based on the smell and distinct sound of something being seared in a hot pan, Keiji gathers there’s meat involved. Earlier, his food processor had been going as well, though he couldn’t exactly place why it sounded like you were beating something against the counter. You might have been butchering something, meaning there was meat involved. But he knows his curiosity will be pleasantly sated and bides his time with mindless YouTube videos.

There’s a quiet knock on his door before it opens, revealing your slightly exhausted frame. Concern washes over him as his eyes frantically assess your current state, flitting around until he spots where your hand seems to be cradling the other. It could only mean one of two possible scenarios, and without a word, he grabs the medicine box from his closet in search of the burn ointment. You begin to try and explain what happened, but before you can even say that you accidentally touched one of racks in the oven with the back of your wrist, you spot the little tube between Keiji’s fingers and fall silent. His eyebrows furrow as he approaches you, standing no more than a couple of centimeters away from you as he finds the burn and begins to apply the balm.

“You should’ve let me help,” he says quietly, regret laced through the words. His lithe fingers hesitate over the mark, hoping that the salve was applied quickly enough to prevent any potential blistering.

“This is nothing,” you try to soothe him. “I was just lost in thought and didn’t realize that my arm was getting a little too close. What matters most is that I still saved the dinner.”

Keiji shakes his head and releases his hold. “That’s not the most important at all. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?”

“You can help me by waiting here for another 15 minutes until I tell you to come out.”

“You know that’s not—”

“Keiji,” you firmly interject. Your hands grasp one of his, clenching around them to let him know it was okay. The small burn was no one’s fault but yours, and there was no need for him to feel guilty. “I’m okay, really. All the hard parts are over now, I just need to let something cool down and set up the table.”

The man before you releases a defeated sigh and you let go of his hand. Instantly, he misses the warmth and subconsciously flexes his hand in some strange attempt to retain the heat running through his fingers. “Call for me if you need any help, okay?”

“Of course.”

Once more, you exit his room and close the door behind you. He takes this time to stand by and stare out his balcony doors, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. A warm, orange glow fills his room as Keiji turns to look at his freshly washed bed, remembering the way you had scuttled in with an armful of linen and batted him away repeatedly from trying to help. He pictures the way you would curl up in sleep, imagining once again just how nice it would be to wake up together with the Tokyo sunrise.

“Dinner’s ready,” your voice calls out from behind him, stealing him away from his daydream. He makes his way around the bed to meet you where you demand him to close his eyes. The skeptical look causes you to laugh as you continue to goad him.

“I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything, promise.”

“If I so much as nudge a table with my big toe, I will kick you out.”

“So dramatic,” you scoff and roll your eyes. “Come on, please?”

Giving in to your requests seems second nature now, he realizes as his eyes slip shut, relying on nothing but the gentle hold you have on his hands and the sound of your voice. You do well in warning him about any possibility he might bump into something and Keiji’s trust in you solidifies – hell, they could be on the outskirts of an exploding volcano and he’d let you drag him around with a blindfold on. He can feel the nervousness rolling off you as you sit him down in his chair, hurriedly taking the seat across from him and adjusting yourself. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Keiji has to blink a few times to refocus his vision and chooses to ignore the way your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip for the plate in front of him. Two slices of beef wellington sit elegantly on the white porcelain, a glass of red wine in the top corner, and a set of a knife and fork on opposite sides. It looks straight out of a cookbook and he loves that you were right – he would be pleasantly surprised, and your hard work would certainly pay off.

But what makes the smile on his face form is the memory of you two discussing different cooking shows on the walk home from school one evening. You had asked him out of the blue if he watched anything cooking-related, and when he had listed some of the channels he watched from time to time, you rattled off a list of things you wanted to try making some day but never could with time constraints. Beef wellington had been one of those items, as well as a croquembouche, Totoro macarons, and others.

“Did you finally get to live out your Great British Bake Off dreams with the puff pastry?” Keiji jokes, lifting his utensils and beginning to cut through the meat. At his question, he realizes you must’ve been pounding out the slab of butter to be used when making puff pastry from scratch.

“That, and try to channel Gordon Ramsay for everything else,” you chuckle and watch him carefully as he chews on his first bite.

“This is really good, holy shit,” he murmurs and relief floods your system. “Are you sure this is your first time making it?”

“Yep!”

“I’m gonna have to get seconds later,” Keiji says, still slightly suspended in disbelief. You’re practically shaking in your seat from how well received the dish is.

“Try to save some room for the dessert wine later.”

“Oh, you bought some?”

“Yeah, they had the brand we like at the supermarket.”

“What’s the occasion?”

You ponder on that for a bit, trying to find the right words for it. What he didn’t know was that you caught the last half of his conversation on the phone with Tetsuro. At first, you felt a flare of anger when you put the pieces together and realized that Keiji had ratted out your location, almost storming out of the bathroom to give him a piece of your mind. But when you heard him defend and stand up for you, you faltered, hand hovering over the doorknob. Once again, he was holding your best interests at heart and risking potentially fraying his friendship with Tetsuro for you. It was exactly the kind of support you needed in that moment.

So you do what you’ve always done to show gratitude when it comes to Keiji: make something edible for him. In middle and high school, you felt that food was the least awkward thing you could give to him if he did something for you, considering that you felt you two weren’t very close. Permanent gifts were a touch too intimate, and you could always hide the fact that you were gifting him something under the pretense of wanting to give it to his mother instead. Any batch of cookies, muffins, palmiers, or pastries were mainly meant for him, saying thanks for walking home with you, driving you home, entertaining you during get-togethers, letting you win in Monopoly for once, and many more. That was something you originally planned to take to your grave since you figured that Keiji would find it weird or disturbing, but now…now seemed okay.

Just not this exact moment.

“To a new beginning,” you decide and lift up your glass, angling it towards him for cheers.

“To a new beginning,” he echoes. Keiji clinks his glass against you and you both take a sip, his eyes glimmering over the rim.

You are very tipsy. Borderline drunk. You honestly can’t remember the last time you got wine drunk, but somehow you just couldn’t stop drinking. If you had to give your best estimate, about 70% of the red wine had been consumed by you. And now that the dessert wine was open, you were nearing 60% of that as well.

Keiji sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, indulging you by letting you watch Ouran High School Host Club through some streaming service on his TV. It had been ages since he last saw anything from it, though he mainly focuses on your how far your inebriation is getting ahead of you. An hour ago, he had placed a cup of water by your side, though there was still half of it left. He wonders if he should be cutting you off soon, but you look too carefree and happy. And from experience, he knows that you could easily walk in a straight line if told to. It was an uncanny ability that you possessed, one that was somewhat showcased when you and Tetsuro showed up at a house party in college he just happened to also attend. Smashed overexaggerated your drunken state at the time, but the glossy look in your eyes now was very similar to that incident all those years ago.

The laugh that erupts from your chest as a result of Haruhi’s deadpan humor is slurred and lasts a little too long to be considered normal. Keiji feels his chest ease up when you reach for the water this time instead of the alcohol and chug it all down. He freezes when you turn towards him with a lazy smile spread across your face, but it turns into a pout when you hand him the now empty mug.

“Keiji-kun,” you mumble. “Please gimme more water?”

“You can’t get it yourself?” He taunts, chuckling when your pout intensifies.

“I don’t wanna acci-acc-accid-accidentally break the mug. You brought it from your parents’, right? I used this one all the time back then.”

“Mmm,” he hums, prying the porcelain from your hands and standing to comply with your request.

Not even a minute passes after he returns when you clumsily shift closer to him. He doesn’t even have to time to internally gasp when you lay down on your back and plop your head onto his thighs, his arms now slightly suspended in the air because he honestly has no idea what to do with them. The best he can come up with is resting one arm on the back of the couch, the other tentatively placed on top of your head. He fights the need to run his fingers through your hair, although knowing it would bring you some comfort as the world begins to blur. It takes everything in him to not look down, but he’s not absorbing anything from the anime. The sounds fall short to the pounding in his ears, and the only time he can remember being this nervous was their last volleyball match during Nationals.

“Thank you, Keiji.”

“Hm? For what?”

“…sticking up for me to Tetsu.”

“…didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” Keiji attempts to digress, pinching the shell of your ear.

“It hurts!” You cry out, overstating the pain you felt. In his defense, he barely put any force behind it. “I just wanted to say thank you, ‘s all.”

“It was nothing, I—”

“You really think we’re friends?”

Keiji frowns. “I said that before, didn’t I? Did you ever think we weren’t?”

“Honestly…no, I didn’t,” you confess. It’ll be a miracle if you remember any of this tomorrow morning. “You always seemed so far away…there were a few times when I thought you maybe hated me, only tolerated me because you’d never hear the end of it from your mom if she ever caught you being mean to me. I mean, if you ever think about it…you never talked about yourself, y’know?”

Keiji pauses the TV, throwing the apartment into complete silence. He only hears your shaky breathing and the AC running.

“Anything I ever heard about you was from your mom because she’d tell my mom, and then my mom would gossip,” you continue, chuckling bitterly at the end. “I knew you, but did I really know you? It felt so weird, walking by you in school and knowing what you were struggling with. But then you’d just smile at me like nothing was wrong and that hurt.”

He’s been staring at the same frame for the last minute or so and feels more and more awful with every word that leaves your lips. Somehow it’s everything he’s wanted to hear for years, but it’s also so bittersweet and tragic. But the more important matter currently at hand is the sound of your sniffles. Oh god, are you crying? Keiji finally has a reason to look at you now, studying how a forearm is strewn across your eyes – but he can see the tear tracks and feel the dampness on his sweatpants as they slide down your face. He attempts to move the limb away but you resist as much as you can, though it doesn’t take much. Keiji reaches over and plucks out a tissue to help clean you up, trying to placate both you and the semblance of a heartbreak.

“I was always worried that you were just – hic – hiding your emotions, bottling them up inside until it’d burst one day. But then I had to – hic -- remind myself that you had other close friends to confide in. With how much you got along with your teammates, I figured they’d keep an eye on you…but I still worried a lot. I hoped that you’d finally open up during our family dinners someday. Instead, it took a break-up and me getting drunk.”

He’s frozen when you lift your hand to his face, the tips of your fingers barely ghosting over his jawline. The anguish in your eyes is palpable; he can’t help but broaden the contact, leaning into your palm until it’s cradling his cheek while maintaining eye contact with you.

“You were okay, right?” You whisper. “You could talk to Koutaro? Or Akinori?”

Keiji’s gaze softens considerably. He analyzes the drooping of your eyelids, how they fight to stay open until you receive a desirable answer from him. It’s incredibly touching how much you wanted to reach out to him during all those years, waiting, wishing, hoping. You were right – he did expose some of his more vulnerable moments to his teammates. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have days where he ached to call you and spill every negative emotion he was feeling.

“I was okay, I promise,” Keiji reassures you, giving in to comb through your hair. “Thank you, (y/n), for caring about me.”

Your arm slowly drops from its hold and curls up against your chest. Even in your drunken state, you feel at peace, like the world has finally been lifted from your shoulders. It’s the answer that you’ve been silently searching for all this time, the unknown stewing and festering in the back of your mind.

“I’m…glad…”

Keiji observes as you fall asleep and your breaths even out. With a heavy sigh, he gathers you into his arms bridal-style, hoping that the jostling doesn’t wake you up. Just like last night, he tucks you into bed, though not without leaving a gentle press of his lips against your temple.

The futon is cold and lonely. He’s really starting to not like it very much.

Wednesday and Thursday fly by so fast that he wonders if he accidentally time-traveled into Friday. Before he knows it, you’re rolling your suitcase out of his bedroom and towards his front door. As you slip on your shoes, your mind rattles off the locations of your important things: phone, wallet, keys, passport, driver’s license, and more. You turn back to look at your gracious host, shooting him your most appreciative smile.

“Thank you for everything this past week, Keiji. You don’t know how much it means to me, and I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“I was happy to have you, and you’ve done more than you needed to in trying to pay me back. Are you sure you don’t need me to drop you off at the airport?”

“I couldn’t impose on you any longer,” you wave off. “An Uber will do just fine.”

“You’ll let me know when you’re there? When you get back to your apartment?”

“Yes, mother,” you poke fun at him, laughing at the way he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll let that one pass for now. Remember, you can call me anytime, okay? About anything, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll remember that. See you around then?”

“See you around. Be safe.”

Neither of you make a move, not until Keiji steps forward to wrap you in a tight embrace. You do your best to return it ounce of ounce, bundling the back of his shirt in your fists. The last seven days have been pivotal to your friendship and you’ll never forget everything he’s done for you. Minutes pass, neither wanting to pull back until you can’t anymore, needing to meet the Uber outside. Keiji doesn’t have the heart to walk you all the way to the main entrance of the apartment complex, and you don’t force him.

Sitting in the airplane back to Sapporo is much less nerve-wracking than you originally predicted. You already have a list in mind of how to clear things out with Tetsuro, what steps you two need to take to make this split as seamless as possible. Various apartment listings had been bookmarked over the last couple of days, units big enough for just one person rather than two. The wound is still somewhat fresh, but scabs have already begun to form. You have Keiji to thank for in this process of healing.

As promised, you update him whenever you can, the final notice sent when you stand outside the door of your and Teturo’s apartment. It’s impossible for the nerves to not strike you now, even more so as you slowly unlock the door. The work shoes to the side of the doorway indicates that he is home, probably passed out in bed after a long shift. You quietly pad around the unit while putting some of your stuff away, though leaving the suitcase in the living room for now. When you step into the bedroom, Tetsuro is curled up on your side of the mattress, breathing deeply and soundly.

Two months ago, you would have peppered his face with kisses, demanding that he give you enough room to cuddle next to him. He would have opened his arms willingly, trapping you effectively in his new cage and you would’ve never thought of wanting to escape from him. So much has changed now, you think as you sit on the edge. You believe your action was subtle, but he stirs from his asleep, addressing the fact that you have returned. There is no screaming or crying, no tears or pleading. Instead, he shifts closer to give you an awkward hug around your waist while still laying on his side. It’s not the kind of hug that says, “Welcome home,” or “I miss you”, though.

It says, “I’m sorry,” and the placement of your hand on his embrace replies, “It’s okay.”

2 years later

Keiji likes this new routine with you.

For the last year and a half, you two schedule a weekly video call to catch up with each other. He likes this because he can watch you pull yourself together, adjust to the new life without Tetsuro. He gets to hear all the work stories that the other stopped bothering to pay attention to, no longer waiting for your next Snapchat or Instagram story update. Keiji’s at the friendship level now where he knows something has happened before you even post the photo. Sometimes you both cook together, finding a recipe that you’ll want to try. Other times you might just want to watch an episode or two of a show that’s caught both of your interests, swearing to each other that you’ll avoid spoilers or watching ahead.

It’s not the kind of relationship he truly wants with you, but it’s close enough and he’d be a fool to not take it.

Last week, you had to miss the video call, saying that your boss dropped a massive project onto your desk. You were going to be pulling overtime, and Keiji reminds you to take the necessary breaks. Texting is sparse and he feels the worry exponentially grow – were you pushing yourself too hard? Were you eating foods other than convenience store bentos and onigiris? Were you getting enough sleep at night?

His phone blares your custom ringtone from his kitchen counter and Keiji practically lunges for it, quickly picking up and holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

What is this feeling of déjà vu? “I was about to start cooking something up just now, why? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was so busy, I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk last week. What about you?”

“I’m good, everything’s normal. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way home. By the way, I bought you a gift. They said it got delivered not a few minutes ago.”

“Really? That’s weird, the front desk usually notifies me as soon as they get it. But you shouldn’t have.”

“Consider it an early birthday present,” he hears and relishes in the warmth your words bring. “Why don’t you go downstairs and check?”

“I guess I can. Stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.”

“What’d you get me?”

“What’s the point in me telling you when you’re about to open it in a few minutes?”

“Well,” Keiji starts and wrenches open the door. “I—”

He stops in his tracks, voice caught in his throat. You stand sheepishly before him, phone still at your ear as you drink in his stunned expression. Keiji doesn’t get taken by surprise very often, and you wish you had a camera for this moment. Koutaro would’ve loved it.

“Hey there,” he hears from you and through the speaker, a slight delay between the two phrases as his mind grasps at the situation.

“Why are you here?” He asks, hanging up and letting you in. Keiji hopes it doesn’t sound as rude as it might’ve come across. Like a gentleman, he takes your jacket and allows you enough space to take off your shoes.

“They’re doing renovations at my new apartment so I can’t really move in yet…I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days?”

Wait, new apartment? “Are you moving back to Tokyo?”

Excitement isn’t enough to describe the pure feeling of joy that runs through his veins when you nod. This is what you must have been so busy dealing with, packing everything up and scheduling a small moving van. All you have is your purse and a large suitcase, meaning that the rest of your belongings must still be en route.

“You can stay for as long as you need to. Take the bed, I can—”

“Actually, I lied. Not about moving to Tokyo,” you quickly defend when he seems to bristle at your words. “There aren’t any renovations and the rest of my stuff is coming tomorrow…but I purposely booked a ticket to get here today. You’re the first person I wanted to see.”

Not your parents, not some of your other friends. Him. You wanted to come and see him first before anyone else. The tone in your confession holds so much weight, a fondness in them that’s too intimate for someone who was just a friend. This was your way of trying to let him know that there was something more going on, but you were afraid that he would reject you. The ball was in his court now, and it was entirely up to him to decide how to proceed.

No one knows you better than him. No one is in tune or in sync with you as much as he is. It’s terrifyingly thrilling, but you want this. You want him.

So he takes one stride forward, cradles your face between his hands, and crashes his lips onto yours with a searing passion that’s been kept under lock and key for far, far too long. It’s perfect, you smile to yourself. But most of all…

It feels like home.

Bonus (a week later):

[Konoha]: hey, kou, is keiji dating anyone????

[Bokuto]: not that I know of??? why???

[Konoha]: apparently he just rsvp’d to my wedding and said he’s bringing a plus one??? i’m so confused, why wouldn’t he tell us??

[Bokuto]: did your fiancée see a name anywhere?

[Konoha]: hang on, she’s checking.

[Konoha]: oh shit.

[Konoha]: OH SHIT.

[Konoha]: HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK

[Bokuto]: WHO IS IT YOU BETTER TELL ME RIGHT NOW

[Konoha]: HE’S BRINGING FUCKING (Y/N) JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[Bokuto]: ABOUT GODDAMN TIME

[Konoha]: YOU OWE ME 5000 YEN, PAY UP

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mxvladdy · 4 years ago

Text

True Form- Mammon

The boys are cute in their devil forms I’ll give them that. But I want something more monstrous lol. Here are some headcannons of mine of what the boyos look like outside of their glamours.

I’m not doing the gang in any particular order, all will be accounted for in due time. Just my favorites come first :p

No, I regret nothing and yes I would still 10000% smooch the monster.

Next up: Asmodeus

Mammon

- Interestingly enough, his human glamour shows none of the wounds he bears from the celestial war. But his true form? It is a testament to his strength and a stark reminder that he is the second strongest of the cardinal sins.

- Mammon takes the shape of a great winged beast. The original number of his wings have been lost to time but old records speak of ever shifting numbers. Should he lose one two would grow in it’s place type deal. All that remains of their splendor are three mismatched ones on his back. Since they are not even he is incapable of flying, but he can still glide for quite some distance and with tremendous speed.

- He resembles a mixture of a crow and Strix. He has four large taloned feet that can carve through rock and slice though even demon flesh with ease. His multitude of eyes are bright and simply mesmerizing. Like the twinkling of stars in the night sky. His eyes are the only physical trait left of him from his time as an angel.

- Old scars pepper his hide under his oily sheen feathers. When he shifts they flash the briefest hints of silver and faded pink. But, the most noticeable wound on him is his beak. The upper mandible is broken, the front half blasted away leaving behind a jagged mess of bone. The magic used against him makes it impossible for him to regrow it. He remembers clearly the blow that marred him. It is one of his recurring nightmares.

- He keeps a den, hidden from the other brothers deep in the Devildom forests where he hoards all his most precious items from over the millennia. Whenever things get too much at home he will come here to lay amongst his treasures and reminisce of simpler times.

Mini fic

Mammon could feel the need brewing deep within him. The gnawing emptiness slowly eroding at his psyche till it was all-encompassing. His brothers possessions calling to him like a sirens song day in and day out. Goldie simply wasn’t going to be enough this time. He needed his cave, his little sanctuary, carved out in secret so many years ago.

He sighs lovingly. Just imagining the feel of currencies from empires long since fallen and priceless treasures offered to him in sacrifice under his talons feet was euphoric. His second skin ripples under his glamour in anticipation. Humming under his breath, Mammon takes the steps to the main door two at a time. In his excitement, he almost collides with the latest item of his attention.

“Oi!” He barks, skidding to a halt in front of you. He makes a grab for your shoulders stopping you before you toppled down the flight of stairs. He can’t help the smile forming on his lips to match yours. His human looks up from the files overflowing in their arms. The emptiness inside rattles its cage. Add them to the horde. His molars crack under the strain of his clenched jaw.

“Oh! Sorry, Mammon! It’s kinda hard to see around all this.” You smile sheepishly, scooting off to the side for him to pass. “Are you well?” You notice his stiff posture, hands clenching, and unclenching over your school uniform. He hadn’t let you go yet.

Unsurprising really, he was one of the clingier brothers. Not that you minded. It was nice sometimes to feel so wanted. Though it was different this time. You could feel the ebb and flow of his magic rippling in the close space. Usually, he had the best control suppressing it in your company. It would have been terrifying if it had been another one of the brothers. Last time one of them ‘lost their cool’ had ended badly for you. “Mammon?”

“What?” He twitches, head jerking to an odd angle. His eyes turn sharp as he looks at you appraisingly. Hungrily. “Oh right, sorry.” The demon releases you. “I’m fine, just need to stretch my legs is all.” He pushes past, for once trying not to give into temptation.

“Can I join? I need a break from all this paperwork. I know I said I’d help Lucifer, but damn.” You laugh placing the stack down on an end table. He chokes on the idea. Yesss~ his inner beast coos in delight. You were making this too easy. He could keep you all to himself, tucked away where no one else could have you. Lucifer would never know.

“I-I don’t want the company.” He grits out, rolling his shoulders in agitation. At himself or you, only the devil would know. “Ain’t a place for little humans.” His response is short and sharp. He could feel his talons growing under his nail beds. Mammon hisses in irritation, he didn’t want to scare you away. Not after everything else you’ve been through.

“Oh…” It hurts him to hear you so dejected like this. Perhaps- you had handled a lot so far. One more thing won’t kill you.

“Look-promise not to tell and you can join.” Mammon turns scratching at his neck. "I don't need my brothers knowing where I go. Our little secret?"

“Our little secret.” You take his hand with a coy grin.

It wasn’t a long walk. It was pleasant your warm hand wrapped in his. The connection quelled some of the avarice brewing inside. He approaches the edge of the cliff with satisfaction. The precipice looks down into the wilds of the Devildom. It was a beautiful sight really. The heavy gloam of eternal twilight cast a purple haze over the treetops. In the distance, the downtown district twinkle. Mammon exhales happily into the breeze. The wind was picking up. Good.

Mammon turns to you taking in your apprehension. You lean over the side, looking down into the abyss. "This isn't much of a walk." You chuckle nervously eyeing the deadly drop. A strong gush upsets your balance. Squeaking, you grip onto his sleeve. Your little human nails dig into the leather of his jacket. Cute.

"Not done yet." He sheds his glasses and coat folding them neatly by the ledge. "It ain't much farther, but it is a ride." He could shred the pants and shirt. Luci owed him a new wardrobe as is. Stretching his arms over his head he grunts. His remaining wings practically vibrate in anticipation. "Promise not to scream?"

"Scream?" Your question is lost in the ruffle of feathers and creak of bone. You gasp back away from the massive beast in front of you. Mammon stood beside you, his body almost blending in with the darkness around you. Dozens of eyes blink owlishly at you, they glimmer like diamonds. They are bright and breathtaking, the depth in them almost sucking you in. He clicks the remnants of his razor-sharp beak expectantly. "Mammon?" You approach, palms outstretched.

He cocks his head to almost disappearing into the night as he closes all his eyes at your touch. He adjusts himself as you pet down his large head. Overly carful of where your hand was to make sure you are not in danger of cutting yourself with his damaged beak. "How many more layers to you brothers are there?" He laughs in relief, cawing loudly as you bury your hands in his feathers. "Ok. So what's the plan?"

Mammon crouches low bumping his shoulder to you. You take the hint and clamber onto his broad back. Shifting awkwardly he squawks as you pull some feathers. “Sorry! Sorry!” He turns and pecks at your hand gently. Pulling at your sleeves, he makes sure you have a good grip at the base of his neck. Feeling you settle he leaps.

Bounding for the ledge, his strong wings flex and catch the wind. He glides on the gust with practiced ease. Years of plummeting and failure made this success all the sweeter with you there as he carries them higher. He could feel your laughter through his body. Your shouts of elation get swallowed by the howling around them. Oh, how he revels in it. He wants more of this.

The flight was quick. Before long he descends, unfurling his legs as he lands. Long talons cut into stone as he grasps the side of the cliff. Effortlessly he slinks up the side. The hard coils of muscle on his back and legs bunch and pull under you body. The sinuous roll of it causes you to grip him tighter lest you fall off. He purrs at the feel of you clinging to him. Perhaps he should keep you here, all to himself. Mammon reaches his destination and allows you to slide off of him to look about.

The mouth of the cave was cast in heavy shadows from surrounding trees. The moon covered by clouds flashing briefs glimpses of deeper in. You follow as the Great Mammon lumbers past you to delve deeper. Jogging after him, you place a hand on his flank trusting him to guild you. What did he have here? This looks nothing like a place Mammon would go to. He chirps and caws trying to talk though it was impossible to understand as he lead you down deeper. His tail swooshing excitedly behind him. It was sweet, his palpable joy rubbing off on you.

As you reach the inner depth of the cave you left go of him to shield your eyes. The sudden light accosting you. The inner cave was huge, eternal sconces lighting as he entered to reflect off of a dazzling array of items. Mammon crows smugly leaving you to gape at the entrance.

The demon crawls into a nest made of gold and bolts of expensive fabrics. Yawning widely, he wiggles himself deeper into the coins. Large crystalline eyes drooping pleasantly at the warmth of his cave. While he dozes you walk around the large treasure trove. You run your hands over no doubt priceless jewels and sets of armor. Clothes and jewelry litter the floor as maps and pieces of art cover most of the walls and ceiling. Their golden frames glowing from the light of the sconces making the space glow richly. He even had some tomes stacked neatly in the corner, each cover embossed with gold and silver. You pick one up intrigued by the design of the cover.

"You sure you were a dragon in a former life? " You ask flipping though a few pages before putting it back. Mammon snorts rolling his eyes. You grin eyeing his bed of treasures. "Can I join you?" It looked rather comfy and he obviously wasn't going to be moving anytime soon. Knowing Mammon there was no way you could leave this place without his help. So might as well get comfortable.

Mammon is silent for a moment before clicking his beak, wings opening to invite you in. You scramble up close grabbing a few stray pillows as you go. Making a mini nest of your own beside him you tuck yourself in.

If a bird could smile he would be beaming at the feel of your body resting against his feathered side. Draping a wing over you he settles in for a nap.

Yes, you would be the perfect final piece to his collection.

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon #monster fic #im not apologizing #obey me fandom #mini fic

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years ago

Note

" Leave! Me! Alone! " (for the prompt thing :3)

*Fully dusts off BATIM Monster AU due to it being the spooky month* You know, I don't think I've pinned down what type of monster Thomas was when I started this...

And I recently realized that I have a strong lack of vampires in this AU.

The GENT Mechanic wasn't a full-on monster hater. He had no interest in joining any monster-hunting group that sniffed him out, he often rolled his eyes at small-town preachers who looked down at them, and he mostly minded his own business when it came to the tricky relationship between humans and monsters.

But he also wasn't anywhere as enthusiastic about the studio as Joey and Allison were. He was a sensible man, he knew that monsters were dangerous and that it was stupid not to only trust them at an arm's length.

He could admit that he admired that his client could go as far as to start an entire animation empire just to ensure that his friend (and many others he had met along the way) would be in a place where they weren't seen as outcasts and wouldn't stop doing what they loved because of their circumstances, but he couldn't help but feel... wary of the majority of the studio's strange inhabitants.

Nobody would blame the human mechanic for avoiding the music department as often as he could, knowing the Music Director and how he viewed humans, it would be like blaming a mouse for avoiding a lion's den.

At the same time, he would get funny looks from others as he never went near the studio without a silver cross, an iron ring, a small bag of mixed herbs that was dubbed 'monster bane' due to it being a mix of various monster-repelling plants, and a bag of salt. Because of this, Thomas was not a popular person in the mostly-monster populated studio, but that didn't matter to him.

This wasn't his circus, it wasn't his monkeys, and once his contract ended, he'd probably never go there again. At least, that's what he would tell himself until the day wearing his cross started to burn himself.

--------

"It's a good thing that Allison found you in this state and threw your... wards away imminently." Dr. Hackenbush sighed as he continued to apply the numbing paste to his still twitching patient's neck. "Due to the secrecy surrounding vampire covens, their reluctance to talk about their various races' weaknesses as they're a monster hunter's favorite prey, and the many different types of vampires in the world, it's actually hard to determine what can and can't kill a recently turned vamp. Especially when one can't remember the circumstances of their change."

Tom was partly focusing on what the doctor was telling him, partly freaking himself out by trying and failing to remember how and why he had turned, and mostly keeping an eye out on the entrance to the infirmary as if he expected something to fly in and finish him off.

"Vampires in general might be notoriously hard to keep down for the count, but the process of the metamorphosis from human to vampire is extremely exhausting on the newly made fledgling." The doctor stated as he moved on to put more of the paste on Tom's other injured areas. "While this wouldn't be lethal to an older vamp, it's still extremely painful to them and considered to be torture among many of their races. In your current state and judging based off of the traits I've seen so far... ...I strongly suspect that the cross would've eventually burnt your head clean off your neck if you had not been found in time."

Thomas absentmindedly put his hand where his cross would normally be and gritted his teeth.

Nobody visited him yet, nobody aside from Allison even approached the door before the doctor shooed her out. He wasn't in the state to receive visitors yet, but he could already feel the parade of smug monsters gawking at him. He could already hear them laughing at the loss of his humanity, he could already picture several of them sticking their noses up at his misery declaring 'serves you right!' at him.

"...Could you open your mouth for me Mr. Conner?"

"Huh?" The mechanic snapped out of his day-nightmare and acknowledged the doctor's request. "Oh yeah, sure."

"Thank goodness, it seems that you've been brought in just at the cusp of changing..." While Tom didn't close his mouth on the doctor, he did look at him funny when he began to paint a different paste in his mouth, specifically, on his gums and teeth. The stuff made his mouth feel strongly like static in a matter of seconds. "Comment all you want, but you'd be thanking me if you knew exactly how much of a bitch it would hurt if you had to go through this without the strongest painkillers mankind could make."

"Well I ned mure af ha stuff if I turn inta a baht manstah?"

The mechanic half sarcastically asked through an extremely numb mouth as soon as the doctor was done putting the paste in there.

"No, unlike a werewolf who will transform based on the position of the moon, a vampire's ability to turn into a bat is normally rooted in the said vampire's willpower and or their mental and emotional state. It will not hurt unless you will it to. But turning into a bat and back again will use up a lot of energy and burn a ton of calories, so I don't recommend it as of right now. For similar reasons, I also wouldn't recommend swimming twenty miles and running a marathon back to back either."

The doctor did a once-over on his patient's treated injuries and checked his vitals before giving him his normal clothes back.

"Alright, it seems that everything's up to order..." The doctor proceeded to write down a list that he handed to Thomas. "Don't eat anything until after you can fully feel your mouth again, otherwise you might accidentally cut out your own tongue. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to either come to me about it or ask around the studio for either werewolf packs or vampire covens. The latter's rarer than the former but werewolves and vampires have been known to get along well due to the pair often engaging in a symbiotic relationship."

"I thawt tat Wahwoles an vamhires hated each other..?"

He was internally grateful that the staticky feeling of his mouth was subsiding just enough for him to be able to talk normally again.

"That's a common misconception that came from World War II I'm afraid; American soldiers who happen to be vampires hate Nazis who happen to be werewolves and vice versa."

Thomas frowned as he stopped to read the list, it was basically a bunch of common vampire dos and don'ts, mostly don'ts; avoid sunlight, religious symbols and texts, mirrors in public areas, etc. He ran his tongue against his top and bottom canine teeth and while his tongue still felt off from the medicine, he could tell that those teeth were longer and sharper.

He knew that with each passing second, he was becoming more and more like one of the studio's many monsters that he was wary of, and he felt gutted because of it.

"...Thanks for everything, doc. I... I'll go ask Joey for some time off to adjust to all of... this."

-------------

Instead of going to Joey, Tom had spent the rest of the day trying to carry on with his daily tasks and work as usual, fixing up the pipes, checking on the Ink machine, mostly just trying to bury the knowledge of his vampirism in work.

Thankfully he was unbothered by the studio's workers, so it mostly worked out fine for him. Until he got to his least favorite part of the studio to work in: The music department.

Part of him was tempted to just make Wally do this, but as a werewolf, Wally would sense that he wasn't wearing silver or wolf's bane anymore and would be curious as to why he wasn't wearing any. He didn't want to lie to him but he also didn't want the Janitor to find out about his ...condition, he wasn't ready for that yet. In fact, he didn't want anyone in the studio's wolf pack to find out about this. He had goosebumps on the outside and inside just thinking about how they'd react.

He knew that they wouldn't be smug about it like how he assumed other monsters would, even worse than that. They'd know that he didn't have a coven as he was only recently turned, so they'd probably welcome him into the pack with open arms, especially if he was one of those vampires that was able to turn into a wolf too. They'd freely and willingly accept them as one of their own, a monster.

He tried to shake those thoughts away and continue to work on pipes that had been bitten into by the godforsaken raven monster. He cursed about Sammy under his breath as he fixed them as usual. He could feel the music director's presence as he did so, but unlike how this normally went, he didn't sense any hostility or hunger coming from the looming shadow of the beast in human's clothing.

Thomas had his back turned away from the normally wrathful monster, he wasn't seeing what the man's expression was. He didn't know if the damned bird was proud of his lost humanity, looking at him like he was now worthy of being an underling of his, or if the musician simply pitied him for god knows why.

But the mere presence of the beast alone was driving him crazy.

"Leave! Me! ALONE!" The vampire mechanic spun around and half-shouted half-hissed at the confused looking music director. "I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT ME, BUT I DON'T NEED YOU TO LOOM OVER MY WORK AND RUB IN WITH YOUR PRESENCE THAT I'M A FUCKING UNDEAD, BLOOD-SUCKING, FANGED FREAK!"

Thomas wasn't sure which reaction he was excepting from the beast, but he felt a mixture of goosebumps and anger as the director stepped forward and looked at him with intrigue.

"...Do you mean a vampire?"

"Yes, of course I do." The mechanic rolled his eyes as he fought back the urge to fight the raven. "What gave it away?"

Sammy smiled at him, not in that hungry 'I want to eat you but know that I can't' kind of smile, but also not a smug 'haha! you're a monster too now!' way. Before today, Thomas wasn't sure that Sammy was physically capable of smiling like that and it both creeped him out and made him angrier about this situation.

"Nothing, you simply told me that yourself."

"...Then why were you starring at me like that?"

The Bird monster shrugged.

"I was just wondering why your presence didn't seem to harm anyone anymore." He stated as he turned to leave Tom to do his work. "I guess I know why now."

#bendy and the ink machine #thomas connor #dr. hackenbush #sammy lawrence #fanfic #batim monster au

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opbackgrounds · 4 years ago

Note

Oooh can you do a post on the tenryubito?

So I feel like this is going to be an unpopular opinion, but I pity the Celestial Dragons.

That isn’t to say that they aren’t all (mostly) abhorrently evil megalomaniacs with an institutionally enforced god complex who treat the torture of human(oids) with the same blasé disregard as a kid pulling the wings off of a fly, but there’s a part of me that just finds them pathetic. The Celesital Dragons are a group of people who have the world as their silver platter, yet are so small-minded and infantile they literally trap themselves in a tiny bubbles because they’re too scared to breathe the same air as the so-called lesser races.

There was a time when I didn’t think much of the Celestial Dragons because I thought that Oda’s exaggerated storytelling had gone one step too far. They were too cartoonishly evil to be believable—nothing but a bunch of mustache-twirling villains too ridiculous to be taken seriously—and though I found Luffy punching one in the face very cathartic I wasn’t terribly invested in the World Nobility as a worldbuilding element.

But if there’s something I’ve realized as I’ve gotten older, it’s that there is a depressingly-large number of cartoonishly evil people who through no merit of their own find themselves wielding enormous amounts of power, and the Celestial Dragons are more realistic than I ever thought possible.

The Dragons are One Piece’s exploration of the idea that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Eight hundred years is a ridiculously long time to be in control of a single territory, let alone an organization as massive as the World Government. To put it in perspective a little, eight hundred years ago was when the Magna Carta was signed. Even real-world dynasties tend to have major fluctuations in power over the course of generations, but It seems that the World Government—and by extension the Celestial Dragons—have for eight centuries kept an iron hold over what they consider theirs.

Which just happens to be everything.

The actual origins of the CD tie into series lore and will probably play a big part in Robin learning about the True History, but I fall in the camp that believes that they originated on the moon because 1) they’re the Celestial Dragons 2) there’s gotta be some significance to Enel’s cover story, and 3) Oda clearly modeled their hairstyles and clothing off of the King and Queen of the Moon from the movie The Adventures of Baron Muchausen

Which, if true, makes them a foreign imperialistic force that used military might and a totalitarian regime that specializes in censorship and terror in order to turn the One Piece world into a giant colony while presenting itself as an egalitarian, unifying coalition where no single ruler is fit to sit on the Empty Throne.

And to think, there are some people who don’t think One Piece is political.

What’s really fascinating is that most of the rank and file Celestial Dragons don’t seem to realize their own history. Their traditional enemy has become a bedtime story used to scare children, and they’re too preoccupied in their petty games and pleasures to even notice that they’re not really the most powerful people in the world. It’s like their freedom to commit atrocities is the world’s worst example of bread and circuses, because as long as their attention is held by the shiny new slave or fixated on bringing in another tribute then they can’t use their immense power to actually do anything, and for the most part they’re too stupid to realize they’re being used.

Granted, I’m doing a lot of guesswork here, but we don’t really know where Im and his giant pointy crown fits into all this, or how aware the average Celestial Dragon is of his existence. Is he a world noble? Are the Elder Stars? I personally don’t think the latter are, but is it possible that there’s an even more secret and exclusive group within one of the most secretive and exclusive groups on the planet? And what in the world does the straw hat locked in a freezer have to do with any of it? Was that the treasure Doflamingo used to blackmail the Celestial Dragons into submission, and if so, who did he parlay with during his negotiations? Because I can’t see idiots like Saint Charlos or Mysogard before his character development giving two shits about any of it. Was it CP0, and if so, how much do they understand about the man who sits on the Empty Throne?

What I’m trying to say here, is that there’s a whole lot we don’t know.

What isn’t guesswork is how little the Celestial Dragons understand about the real world, and this is where I go back to feeling sorry for them. Even the best-intentioned noble we’ve seen so far (Homing) has no idea of what it is to be “human”.

This mansion is just...comfortable. It’s a downgrade. It’s how Homing thinks normal people live, and he thinks he can just plop his family out in the real world and live a quiet, normal life without blowback from a population that has suffered terribly at the Celestial Dragons hands. His ignorance and naivety, while well-intentioned, is staggering.

Because remember, slavery is technically illegal within the World Government. Only criminals and people from nations not affiliated can be taken to auction. What initially seems like a kindness turns out to be sending pigs to the slaughter, because what nation wouldn’t react the way this one did once they found out the truth?

Because what the WG (and by extension the CD) have done is punish nations who don’t kowtow to their power in order to fulfill the demand for slaves. Even the bit about criminals is terrifying when this is a world where for some it’s a crime to even be born, to say nothing about the Celestial Dragon’s refusal to obey their own laws if it means they can get what they want, when they want it.

The whole Homing situation puts a different spin on Doflamingo’s speech during the Marineford War. People who have only known peace can’t understand those who have only known war, and that lack of understanding is what ultimately led to his undoing.

That’s not to say that the Celestial Dragons are incapable of change on an individual level. One Piece is, ultimately, a very optimistic series, so while I was initially surprised that Saint Mysogard returned during the Reverie chapters as a good guy, upon later reflection it made sense with the points Oda was trying to make during the Fishman Island arc—that if different groups can try to understand one another, they can get along.

But it took an extraordinary event in almost being killed by his own former slaves and an extraordinary diplomat in Queen Otohime to change the mind of one (1) Celestial Dragon, and it doesn’t look like Saint Mysogard has been able to bring anyone else around to his point of view in the 10 years since he realized he was, in fact, human. And when feel like you’re due everything because you’re a god, why would you want to lower yourself to the position of a lessor being?

The Celestial Dragons are trained from birth to think of other human(oid) beings as less than animals, where sadism and torture aren’t only encouraged, but celebrated. The system has corrupted to the point where there’s no incentive to change and no oversight to prevent the abuse of power, and with the ability to call the admirals on anyone who pisses them off the average person has no hope of fighting back. It’s difficult to guess how noble the progenitors of the current Celestial Dragons were, but judging by what we know of the Void Century we can guess not very. At the same time, it’s hard to imagine them starting out as the mustache-twirling villains as we see in the current day. The only difference between the Nefertitis and the other kings was one man’s choice to stay with his people. In an alternate universe Vivi could have been a Celestial Dragon.

Now there’s an AU idea.

At the end of the day, the Celestial Dragons play an important role within the One Piece universe, but they are not, by themselves, important to Luffy. He hates their guts and enjoys punching them in the face, but he’s a pirate, not a Revolutionary. The future for One Piece is delightfully opaque, and it’s hard for me to see how the Natural Enemy of God ends up tearing the system to the ground. Will the Straw Hats end up going to space? I don’t know, but there are a lot of people who think it’s at least a possibility.

I personally find them at their most interesting when they’re playing the part of the outside influencer. The Celestial Dragons have only been the direct opponents to the Straw Hats a handful of times, but they’ve played a direct role in the lives of so many other characters—both heroic and villainous—that without them the series could not exist as it currently does.

And that’s the power of good worldbuilding. I don’t need Luffy to face off against Im to be satisfied with the series. In fact, he was brought in so late that I’ll be a little disappointed if he ends up as the final boss fight. I’m okay with the Revolutionary Army storming Mariejois off-screen, because while those are important players and major chess pieces, that’s never been where Luffy’s focus has been. He’s the man who’s going to become the Pirate King, and until the Celestial Dragons somehow get in the way of that dream he’s not going to bother with them. This lack of focus allows the inherent darkness of the Celestial Dragons not to overshadow the more lighthearted, whimsical aspects of the series. They explore certain themes that are important to One Piece, but the story doesn’t dwell in the mire, and I think it’s all the stronger for it. .

#long post #celetial dragons #world building #sarc talks

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looneyllama-archive · 4 years ago

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Fixing Raggedy Ann and Andy: a Musical Adventure

I recently discovered this gem of a film, and I’ve fallen in love with these funky little rag dollies! Raggedy Ann and Andy: a Musical Adventure has stunning animation, incredible music, and charming characters. That said, I can certainly see the flaws in the story, characters, and musical structure of the film, so I’ve written up what I would change to make it stronger.

Under the cut, because this got looooong.

• Theme: this film is actually not far off from having a solid story, if you think of the film being about love and happiness, rather than about the literal adventure. Every character’s goal is to find happiness. The captain thinks that claiming Babette as his bride, as if she’s a pretty trophy to show off, will make him happy. The Greedy follows a similar line of thinking, as he believes finding a sweetheart to add to his collection of sweets will make him happy. Even though both are desiring people, they demonstrate the idea of finding joy in ownership, rather than in interaction. Babette and the Camel are both trying to get home, with the former wanting to go to Paris and the latter wanting to join a camel caravan. They place all of their hopes for happiness on finding a certain place, instead of trying to make the best of where they are. Sir Leonard Looney thinks that joy comes from playing pranks on others and laughing at them. Finally, Raggedy Ann and Andy know that happiness comes from being with your loved ones.

• Characters: to start, notice that I left King Koo Koo off the list of characters discussed in the theme section. This decision is due to the fact that his goal is confusing; he also tries to find joy in the misery of others, but that’s to serve another goal, making himself bigger (which just ends up being disturbing in the film). I say that this character should be scrapped entirely. In terms of theme, Sir Leonard makes him redundant, and in terms of plot, it’s not difficult to write him out (more on that later). The other major character that needs an overhaul is the Captain. I get what they were going for; he’s supposed to be desperately lonely inside his snowglobe—even though he seems to have an entire pirate crew—which is why he kidnaps Babette. At the end of the film, he’s supposed to be redeemed, but he still comes across as acting creepy toward Babette, and he never even apologizes! I would tweak this character. First of all, he should be entirely alone in the snowglobe save for Queasy; this doesn’t justify his actions, mind you, but it at least makes him a little more sympathetic. Most importantly, he needs to come to the realization on his own that what he did was wrong. Instead of having him complain to Queasy in the brig about losing his “prize,” have him admit that he messed up; he can’t cure his loneliness if he treats other people like trophies, rather than showing them respect. The Captain also needs actually apologize for his actions—it’s hardly fair to have Babette apologize for causing trouble, but then for the person who started the whole mess to get off scot-free! Additionally, to lessen the creep factor, I would also have him no longer be “in love” with Babette at the end of the film, but instead show him respecting her as a friend.

• Songs: I love most of the songs in this film, but there certainly are too many—there’s 19 songs on the soundtrack! The first fix is to eliminate all of the Twin Penny jingles. These mini-songs are unnecessary, always bringing the story to a screeching halt and interrupting the flow of dialogue. Also, the Twin Pennies get the first song of the film, which hardly makes sense! That brings us down to 16 songs. The second obvious fix is to get rid of any background songs, or any songs that aren’t actual musical numbers in the film. That scratches “A Miracle” and “the Abduction & Yo-Ho,” which are both played behind dialogue during the kidnapping scene; the latter song doesn’t even end properly! I would also include “Camel’s Mirage” among these songs, and change that to an instrumental version, since the lyrics don’t contribute much impact anyway. 13 songs now. If we apply the change I made under the characters section, the elimination of King Koo Koo, we can get rid of "Hail to Our Glorious King” and "It's Not Easy Being King,” bringing us down to 11 songs. The final fix would be to combine songs whenever there’s two back-to-back. The film already does this anyway, having the final song “Home” transition into a reprise of “Candy Hearts and Paper Flowers,” so it wouldn’t be difficult to do it for a few other songs. The first instance of this is “Rag Dolly” and “Poor Babette.” Since “Poor Babette” is a pretty weak tune anyway, let’s just make Babette’s lament into another verse of “Rag Dolly!” Just switch it to a more dismal sound and change the lyrics—I’m thinking something along these lines: “Oh, I’m just a poor dolly, stranded so far from Paris / such a miserable dolly, trapped in this strange nursery / I feel melancholy, knowing I can’t get away / so this French dolly, scared and alone, has no choice but to stay.” The other two songs I would combine would be “Hooray for Me” and “You’re My Friend.” This one is even easier, since both songs are already call-and-response; just rearrange “Hooray for Me” as follows: “Hooray for me! Hooray for she! / Babette of Paris! She’s captain, see! / What joy, what glee! What joy, what glee! / When our voyage ends / once we’ve crossed the deep blue sea / we’ll reach Paris! We’ll reach Paris!” That makes our final count 9 songs: “I Look, And What Do I See,” “I’m No Girl’s Toy,” “Rag Dolly,” "Candy Hearts and Paper Flowers,” “Blue,” “I Never Get Enough,” “I Love You,” “You’re My Friend,” and “Home/Candy Hearts and Paper Flowers reprise.”

• Setting: now, I love how surreal the settings are, but I’ll readily admit that it doesn’t make much sense. The film says that Ann and Andy just go into the woods, and yet they run into a Taffy Pit and a Looney Kingdom out there! To help with suspension of disbelief, I say that instead of going out the window to chase the Captain, they go into Marcella’s drawings.

• Plot: with all of these changes in place, let’s play out the story! The beginning goes the same until we get to the Captain’s escape. Ann still helps him get out, but instead of him already having a ship and a crew inside the snowglobe, he goes up to one of Marcella’s drawings, a pirate ship on the sea, and orders the crew to jump out and help him kidnap Babette. The pirates then escape into a drawing of a starry sky over a desert sticking out of Marcella’s backpack. Ann and Andy follow them in, and the meet the Camel. He was abandoned in the lost-and-found at the school and ended up climbing into the drawing to look for his caravan. He agrees to help Ann and Andy, but gets distracted by the camels in the sky; the three ride right off the edge of the page and into a different drawing, this one showing candies and sweets galore. The encounter with the Greedy plays out as in the original film, and the trio escapes into another drawing, this one showing a castle. They run into Sir Leonard Looney, who intends to keep them in Looneyland for his own entertainment, but they get him and the other Loonies distracted by throwing pies and escape into the sea drawing. Sir Leonard is the one who calls up Gazooks to pursue them, hoping to get the last laugh. The three use the H.M.S. Koo Koo to get onto the ship and find Babette has become Captain. Crucially, we see the Captain showing remorse for his actions while he’s in the brig. While Babette is tying up Ann, Andy, and the Camel, the Captain spots Gazooks sneaking up on the ship through a porthole; he breaks out of the brig and gets on deck to warn Babette. Babette realizes she’ll have to give up on reaching Paris to keep her new friends safe. She commands her crew to turn the ship around. Gazooks attacks, tickling all of the crew as well as Andy and the Camel. While they’re being shaken around, Andy and the Camel drop joy buzzers and gum balls that got caught up in their clothes/wrinkled knees in the Taffy Pit and the Looney Kingdom. Ann, Babette, and the Captain pick up these items, and use them to load up a cannon and fire at Gazooks. The explosion knocks the toys out of the drawing. The Captain lands on a shelf by his snowglobe, but the Camel goes out the window and lands on the ground. Ann, Andy, and Babette nearly fall as well, but manage to hang onto the curtain. Ann is terrified for Babette, who will shatter if she falls. Just as the three think Babette is going to drop, Marcella comes in. She grabs her silly dolls, scolds them for playing near an open window, and puts them back in their proper places before leaving again. (I’m writing this scene with the original stories in mind; the original Marcella always seemed fairly aware that her dolls were getting into trouble behind her back, and would just scold them and save them as necessary.) The dolls are relieved to be home, and we get the Captain’s apology, and show him respecting Babette as a friend, as well as quite an impressive pirate Captain herself! Meanwhile, the Camel is left outside. He sees the caravan once again, but unlike in the original film, it leads in the opposite direction of the house. He stares at them longingly, but forces himself to turn away, and goes for the playroom window instead. Of course, he’s welcomed into the family, and we get our happy ending at last.

If you made it this far, please let me know what you think of my fixes, and what you would change about the film!

#review #raggedy ann and andy #raggedy Ann and Andy a musical adventure #fix it

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orsuliya · 4 years ago

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Song Huaien is a good boy!

Book spoilers did me dirty. That’s a fact. Ever since I peeked at the last chapters of the novel, I’ve been convinced that Song Huaien was going to go rogue sooner or later. And so I looked upon him as one does upon a ticking bomb, watching him closely for any signs of rot and obvious mwahahahaing.

And that… might have been wrong of me. It’s not like The Rebel Princess ever treated any character’s novel journey as sacrosanct (see: Su Jin’er, Wanru, even Zitan). So what gives? Well, just look at the ever-precious Liu Duanduan. Wouldn’t you want to steel your heart in advance…?

And then the supremely astute @dangermousie came along and made me reconsider what could be done in the scant remaining number of episodes in order to deliver a satisfying ending. I trust The Rebel Princess, so it will be a satisfying ending, 12 cut episodes notwithstanding, and I’m choosing to ignore any contrary opinions! So what could be done? Well, getting rid of Song Huaien’s rebellion and conflict with Xiao Qi seems to be one of the most viable solutions, whether by design or by leaving it on the cutting-room floor. Okay, I’m sold, I thought at once, jumping without thinking as I’m wont to do. But does the drama itself support that?

Why, yes, I believe it does!

What are the actual visible signs of Song Huaien’s potential villainy? There’s the corruption/negligence thing, a pronounced liking for finer things in life and an unrequited love for Awu. That’s it.

The corruption scandal, if it can even be called such, what with Potato suppressing any further investigation attempts, is the biggest strike against Song Huaien. It’s clear that he’s somehow embroiled into unsavoury dealings, but the extent of his guilt is never shown. While I don’t fully believe his story about the birthday gifts being delivered during his absence and accepted without his express permission and/or knowledge, there is also nothing to suggest he’s been explicitly on Xie payroll, secret documents non-withstanding. The record book alone is no proof of guilt – why, the Xie might have simply noted that gifts of certain value had been given and received, not in exchange for a specific service, but rather as a start of a beautiful relationship. You get the drill. I believe if there was a solid proof of Song Huaien doing explicit harm to his own in exchange for Xie money, Xiao Qi’s reaction would have been much harsher.

As it stands, Song Huaien’s guilt is a matter of conjecture. There’s the birthday gift, which Xiao Qi cottons onto really quickly, which confirms that it may have been noted in the Xie secret books. There’s the fact that he may or may not have known about it and may or may not have chosen to keep it. I’d say he did know, if only after the fact, and that he originally meant to keep it. There’s also the damning fact that Song Huaien was the man taking care of logistics from the Ningshuo side. And he did his job really poorly, since multiple deliveries of substandard grain and clothing somehow made it through. But was it out of maliciousness? Was there ever a conscious decision on his part to let things slip? Not necessarily. It looks bad, sure. But let’s not forget that dealing with the capital sharks may be a first for Song Huaien, regardless of his previous experience as a procurement officer. Whatever his experience, it was either at the very end of the supply chain or it was mainly related to supplies coming from the area closest to Ningshuo. The former wouldn’t have prepared him for his present duties. And as for the latter, I think that the Ningshuo province has its own rules and ways, which are in no way comparable to the shark pond that the capital undoubtedly is. What’s more, Huaien really seems to buy into the illustrious capital life; it would not surprise me if he delegated a few things that should not be delegated simply because he was busy taking it all in!

So, intentional crime or crime of negligence? I’d be inclined to vote for negligence. It just fits what we know about Song Huaien up to that point, it fits his current circumstances and it makes Xiao Qi’s reaction quite reasonable.

The second strike against Huaien’s integrity is his love for the finer things in life. But then, is it really such a damning thing? Many of the Ningshuo soldiers must have experienced the same thing upon their arrival into the capital. Here they are, heroes and patriots all, having spent their whole life either on various battlefields or in decidedly non-luxurious circumstances. Why, they must be quite happy if they get enough to eat, which they do only because they have an honest general who cares about them very much. Other armies are not as lucky! And then they are shown all those useless noble scions, some of whom might nominally be officers despite barely knowing how to hold a sword (and even those swords would be ceremonial ones, so mostly useless). I don’t know about you, but I’d be bitter. Some of Xiao Qi’s closest clearly are, although he tends to shut that down very quickly. Also, covetousness is not a crime as long as Song Huaien is not actively taking bribes or jockeying for profit. And there is no proof of that. His manor and his title are both given to him without him ever asking for them. If he appreciates that… well, that is also not a crime and he doesn’t even gloat openly! As it later turns out, he took both as his due, believing that his talents were seen and duly appreciated outside the Ningshuo army.

Sooo… Nothing out of ordinary on that count. And seeing that at one point Song Huaien offers to use his savings to repair the ailing military budget – whether from guilt or from sense of duty – speaks to his advantage.

Now, let’s take a look at his unrequited love for Awu. I mean, is it any wonder he falls for her? I am half in love with her myself, so I totally get it! What matters is what he does with this love. Quite surprisingly, there is no attempt at coming between her and Xiao Qi. Why, Song Huaien actively tries to help their marriage by convincing Awu to return home from the temple. No hesitation there! And while he might realize he’s actually in love very late in the story (by this point it’s obvious to everybody), the realization itself changes very little. He gets very determined to go through with marrying Yuxiu, that’s it. Still no attempts to make a move on Awu. Even that flower he brought back from the Imperial Mausoleum was not an overly romantic gesture – she asked and he did as she asked in order to make her happy, nothing more. There’s also a genuine attempt to get over her. He goes to Yuxiu on their wedding night and despite the initial haziness on the matter, he seems to know quite well she’s not Awu and does his best. Although that bro slap in the morning… Let’s believe he did his best there too, the poor awkward thing. He gives her an actual hug when he comes back from Jiangnan! Progress!

What finally buried the theory that Song Huaien might rebel in order to take Awu away from Xiao Qi was his convo with Wang Su in episode 55. I was so afraid (just as I was afraid on his wedding night) that he might do something stupid. Like asking for Awu’s hand or betraying his romantic intentions towards her. But no. While Song Huaien tells Wang Su that he wants/needs to find Awu, there’s no romantic intent there, only duty towards Xiao Qi’s wife and respect towards a woman who has earned it many times over. If there is anything else, I just can’t see it! Why, during this whole conversation Song Huaien is more broken up about Xiao Qi than about Awu!

Whether Song Huaien manages to get over his love or not, there is no sign he was ever going to do anything about it, not while Xiao Qi lived and perhaps not even now that he’s supposed to be dead. Moreover, he made every possible effort to suppress his emotions out of sheer guilt and feeling of brotherhood towards Xiao Qi. Marrying Yuxiu might have been a bad, bad choice (although I still hope for the best), but it was a choice made for the best of reasons.

So that’s it, right? Well, wrong. Even with all of the above there was still a possibility for him to go the villain route. Except… he actually seems to be redeeming himself in leaps and bounds. Once away from the capital, Song Huaien seems to throw off the capital’s thrall and becomes the best version of himself. Jumping into stormy waters in clear disregard of any danger? Working tirelessly towards a common goal and for the good of the people? That’s pure Ningshuo stock, no moral rot in sight! Now, why would the narrative have him getting back to his old self only to make him regress again?

There’s also no real reason for him to ever go against Xiao Qi. If that was going to happen, I’d have expected at least some signs of bitterness and jealousy to have shown up by now. And yet there’s nothing, at least not towards Xiao Qi. Who, might I add, really does his best to mitigate any potential bitterness in the bud. Just look at the way they resolve the corruption scandal! And I’m not talking about Xiao Qi burning (or not burning?) the incriminating page. What got my attention is what their conversations over the matter boil to. Which is: Listen, brother, I get that you’ve been having some issues, but get your shit together. And please, take care of yourself. I don’t want you to get in trouble, so please remember that there are people watching your every step. No overt accusations, no anger in sight, maybe the slightest bit of sternness, but heavily undercut with roughly expressed care. And it’s the same with their confrontation over Awu. I know what’s going on with you and my wife, but I 100% get it, mate, so take a moment and decide how to proceed from here. Even if Song Huaien was actively seeking a reason to hold a grudge, it would take a truly rotten seed to find one. And a rotten seed Song Huaien is not.

Now, let’s wrap it up by going over Wang Su’s suborning of Song Huaien in episode 55. It’s really something special, as well as the main reason I’m choosing to reject any possibility of SHE/XQ showdown.

Wang Su waylays Song Huaien on his way out of camp. Song Huaien is clearly very emotional at this moment and not really inclined to stop for anybody. Why, I think that he was fully prepared to go through Wang Su if needed. It is also quite probable that his decision to leave for the capital was made on the spot, once he heard about what happened to Xiao Qi, Awu and his comrades. Yet he stops and listens, if only because Wang Su – Awu’s brother and Xiao Qi’s brother-in-law - should be his natural ally in his quest to clear Xiao Qi’s name. As he proclaims to be by announcing his willingness to join Song Huaien on his journey to the capital.

Wang Su (or rather Daddy Wang possessing Wang Su’s body) takes full advantage of Song Huaien’s state. First he breaks out a prop, Awu’s favourite wine. It does not work as well as it could have and I’d say that at this point Song Huaien remains quite astute as to Wang Su’s weird behaviour. His first outburst shows he’s got little patience for games. Awu is your sister and Xiao Qi your brother in law, he reminds Wang Su, who seems very controlled for a man with much more obvious ties to this whole situation than Song Huaien. Wang Su skips around the issue by taking out his ace card, the Empress Dowager’s order. Predictably, it takes Song Huaien off-balance and incites a sense of debt, if not gratitude. An excellent opening from the shapeshifting Daddy Wang! Then Wang Su makes an attempt at aiming Song Huaien at the Empress Dowager… and it doesn’t work. Song Huaien doesn’t care about his own life half as much as he cares about Xiao Qi. Cue a mournful soliloquy! There is no way a man this broken about his brother’s death is going to try to kill said brother in the 13 episodes remaining (less, in fact, since they will not meet until 59 or 60 at the earliest). There would be no build-up! The only way I can see this happening is if Xiao Qi went against Song Huaien first and in a deeply personal way. Which we know he would never, so...

Wang Su makes a brave attempt at corralling Song Huaien’s grief and turning it to anger, for all that he may say that anger will not help anyone; it doesn’t work and self-blame enters the picture. If only I was with him leads to a startling realization: all those honors and the brand new posting were just a ploy. Now, this realization could lead to two different results. Song Huaien could plausibly become bitter towards Xiao Qi – because of whose very existence his own talents weren’t truly recognized and he himself became a pawn. But there’s nothing to suggest that’s true. It’s more likely for Song Huaien to turn his bitterness over his wounded pride towards the Empress Dowager in particular and scheming nobles in general. Which is what I think he does. There is also a possibility of guilt: he bought into this whole noble life fairytale… and this is what partially facilitated him being turned into a pawn. It may be just wishful thinking, but I expect that in the future Song Huaien will be more wary of unexpected meat pies falling from the sky, however tasty they may be.

Just a moment later Wang Su offers him a meat pie. He’s going to help him take revenge! And Song Huaien swallows it whole – at least for now. This is where a truly interesting thing happens. Song Huaien, a general in his own right, a true hero and a man who’s been acting as Wang Su’s equal while in Jiangnan… folds and takes to a subordinate position like a duck to the water. Tell me what to do, he seems to be screaming with his eyes. And when Wang Su starts to use the word we, there’s a palpable sense of relief in Song Huaien’s whole demeanor. What’s more, he’s not reacting to the idea that he still needs to jump through some hoops in order to become a Wang minion. I’m not sure you’re ready to become my ally, lies Wang Su, knowing very well Song Huaien’s is already in his palm. Where’s the ambition? Where’s the slightest sign that this man may be capable of going for the throne for his own sake and against his brother? I don’t see it!

The Wang family is used to needing to pay their allies in hard coin (or titles, or favours), that much is clear, because that’s what Wang Su tries next. The title of a count is too lowly, he says and then dangles a princely one in front of his victim. If Song Huaien was really as hungry for honours and wealth as some of us were expecting him to be, he’d be all over that. But he’s not. He gives it due consideration, but, if anything, this proposition seems to bring him back to reality. There are no free meat pies to be had and he’s just remembered that. But since this is the best – and likely the only – proposition/offer of help he’s going to get, he seals the deal anyway.

There’s still some reluctance, though. Why, Song Huaien needs to rationalize this decision by reminding himself that Wang Su saved his life and that there’s revenge to be taken since he’s alive (as Xiao Qi is not). Not very eager to take part in a coup, is he? And then he actually makes getting justice for Xiao Qi a condition of this alliance! Finding Awu is the second one, but as I’ve already said, there seems to be no romantic intentions there.

And that’s it, the deal is done. So now, can anybody tell me how is this Song Huaien supposed to go against Xiao Qi? He’s more likely to go for a hug once he sees him alive!

There is no reasonable way to leave in Song Huaien’s conflict with Xiao Qi. There’s just no time and no real build-up to that! The only way to have him go rogue is to have a timeskip with Song Huaien doing a 180 in the meantime. And somehow I just can’t see it happening. But I guess we’ll have to see about that!

#SONG HUAIEN IS A GOOD BOY #it's not just because his hair looks nice I swear #I'm not that shallow or am I #the rebel princess #monarch industry #rebel princess meta #this is kinda long

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slickbackdani · 4 years ago

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Batman Movie Villains Ranked from Worst to Best

Recently, a YouTuber I follow by the name of Mr. Rogues released a list of Batman villains ranked from worst to best. I have nothing but the utmost of respect for Mr. Rogues as a content creator, but I took issue with his list because his long-standing biases were often the deciding factor in many of his rankings. So, I decided to do a list of my own.

I’ll be going over every Batman villain to appear in the movies, briefly analyzing their portrayals and ranking them on a scale of 1 to 5. To prevent the list from being too cluttered, I’ll be separating the villains by which movie series they’re part of. Here we go!

Burton/Schumacher Tetralogy

Bane: Perhaps the only villain in this series I’d call “bad.” The calculating tactician of the comics is nowhere to be found here; instead, he’s reduced to a monosyllabic, brain-dead stooge for the other villains. Overall, he does nothing that couldn’t be done by a random henchman. 1/5

Two-Face: A deeply layered villain in the comics, Two-Face sadly gets upstaged by the other major rogue in the movie, but that’s not to say he doesn’t leave an impression. Tommy Lee Jones gives him a manic and mercurial demeanor that, combined with his colorful design, wouldn’t be out of place in the Adam West series. The size and scope of his criminal organization make him a genuine threat, and there’s something darkly fitting about Batman’s former ally being responsible for the creation of Robin. 3/5

Poison Ivy: Mr. Rogues for some reason ranked her as the worst Batman movie villain of all time, and frankly, I don’t see why. Like Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face, Uma Thurman gives this character a delightfully over-the-top demeanor that combines with a colorful, comic-booky ensemble to make for another great “what-if-this-character-appeared-in-the-Adam-West-series” take. She does a good job juggling the differing facets of Ivy’s character: she’s the put-upon cynic, the craven opportunist, the radical eco-terrorist, and the suave seductress all in one package. 3.5/5

The Penguin: Fuck the Razzies. Danny DeVito made this role his own and set the stage for the character for years to come. He’s a bit of a departure, but a welcome one: far from the refined gentleman of crime Burgess Meredith portrayed, this Penguin is an animalistic thug warped by a lifetime of anger and hatred of the society who rejected him due to his deformities. His signature wardrobe, trick umbrellas, and Penguin gimmick are all there, but DeVito sells the role by showing amazing versatility: he can go from a comical and pitiable weirdo to a terrifying sociopath at the drop of a stovepipe hat. 4/5

Mr. Freeze: I honestly can’t say much about this character that my mutual @wonderfulworldofmichaelford hasn’t already. Arnold Schwarzenegger perfectly encapsulates both popular versions of this character: the flamboyant, pun-loving criminal genius from the Adam West series and the Animated Series’ traumatized scientist desperate to cure his loving wife of her terminal illness. Sure, the puns and hammy one-liners are what this version character is known for, but Ahnold definitely knows when to apply the brakes and give a greatly emotional performance as he tries desperately to cure his wife. 4.5/5

Max Shreck: Probably the only time you’ll see a movie-exclusive character on this list, and deservedly so. Corrupt businessmen are dime-a-dozen in Batman stories, and most of them have little personality outside of being greedy scumbags who either get defeated by the hero or betrayed by the other villains. Shreck, however, is different. Not only does he have an eye-catching fashion sense on par with any of Batman’s famous rogues, but Christopher Walken brings his signature manic intensity to the role, creating a character that’s as wicked and sinister as he is cool and stylish. You totally buy that the general public sees him as the good guy. His warm relationship with his son is also a delight to watch. 4.5/5

Catwoman: Michelle Pfeiffer does a lot to really make the character her own. She gets a lot of genuinely badass moments, but underneath all of her coolness lies the undercurrent that she’s a broken, traumatized character lashing out at the people who abused her and took her for granted. Even when she takes these ideals to unreasonable extremes, you never stop feeling like the retribution she brings on her enemies is at least a little warranted. Also, she has amazing romantic chemistry with Batman and her costume is fucking metal. 5/5

The Ridder: It’s Jim Carrey. 5/5

The Joker: This role is perhaps the one that set the standard for future Jokers to follow: Jack Nicholson’s humorous yet unnerving performance signaled to audiences early on that this would not be the goofy trickster of the Silver Age, but a different beast entirely. This Joker is a film noir gangster on crack: a disfigured mob hitman who quickly takes the entire criminal underworld by storm and unleashes his special brand of chaos and destruction across Gotham. He’s an artist, a showman, a charismatic leader, and the man responsible for ruining Bruce Wayne’s life. 5/5

Christopher Nolan Trilogy

Talia al Ghul: You know that recent trend in Disney movies where a side character we thought was harmless and inconsequential turned out to have been the villain all along in a twist with no buildup or foreshadowing with the reveal happening too late in the movie for this character to really do anything cool or impressive before being unceremoniously defeated? That’s Talia. DKR is the weakest of the three Nolan films, and I feel like it would’ve been much better received without this twist villain contrivedly shoehorned in. Also, while I could kinda forgive the trilogy’s whitewashing of other villains like Ra’s al Ghul and Bane due to the talent their actors display, Marion Cotillard doesn’t get a pass because she just doesn’t have the charisma or screen presence needed to pull it off. 1/5

Victor Zsasz: While the idea of redefining Zsasz as an over enthusiastic mob hitman instead of a serial killer is very interesting, it’s ruined by the fact that he barely even appears in the movie and doesn’t really do or say much of anything despite the buildup he gets. 1.5/5

Two-Face: Aaron Eckhart portrays Harvey Dent as a character of tragedy in a slightly different way than other tragic villains in superhero movies: he’s lashing out at a society he feels wronged him, but instead of being a lifelong outcast or put-upon loser, he was a handsome, successful crusader for the common good who lost everything he once held dear all in one fell swoop. You really feel for him even as he does horrible things. If I had to nitpick, though, I am slightly bothered by the fact that he plays some comic book movie cliches straight (i.e. they never call him by his alias and he dies at the end,) but it’s a solid performance overall. 3/5

Scarecrow: I’ll be upfront and admit that I’m more than a little annoyed that certain facets of the character had been changed in the name of “realism” — once again, they never call him by his villain name and he never wears a comic-accurate costume — but other than that, I can’t complain. Cillian Murphy plays the character with a smarmy, eerie charm that really makes his scenes stand out, his willingness to ally himself with other villains suits his character well, and the fact that he appears in three consecutive films with a different evil scheme in each really helps tie the movies together. 3.5/5

Catwoman: Much like other secondary villains in this trilogy, she really doesn’t get a chance to shine compared to the main antagonist — and, once again, it pisses me off a little that they do the whole “never refer to her as Catwoman but vaguely hint at it” thing — but she’s everything a modern Catwoman should be. She’s sly, manipulative, really holds her own in a fight, has great chemistry with Bruce Wayne... it’s all there. It’s also great to see Anne Hathaway break away from her usual type casting to play a role this dynamic. 4/5

Ra’s al Ghul: He’s a character that was in desperate need of mainstream exposure, and by God that’s what he got. Making him Bruce Wayne’s mentor adds a layer of personal tragedy to the climax where our hero has to stop the man who made him who he is from destroying Gotham with his admittedly brilliant plan. Add in a strong, captivating performance from Liam Neeson before we found out he was a racist asshole, and we’ve got one hell of an overarching villain. 4.5/5

The Joker: Everybody’s already discussed this version of the character to hell and back and likely will for years to come, so I’ll keep it very brief. He’s funny, he’s badass, he’s terrifying, he has great dialogue, it sucks that Heath Ledger didn’t live to see his performance reach the audience it got, and he basically makes the entire film. 5/5

Bane: Mr. Rogues actually ranked Bane higher than Joker on his list, and keeping it 100, I actually agree with him here. Finally, after decades of being dumbed down and misrepresented outside of comics, Bane is finally portrayed as the tactical genius from the comics. Tom Hardy plays Bane to perfection, being very believable as the peak of human physical and mental achievement, the man who broke Batman physically and emotionally. His design is iconic, his every line is quotable, his voice is weirdly fitting, and the memes are funny. 5/5

DC Extended Universe

KGBeast: Another point where I agree wholeheartedly with Mr. Rogues. He is absolutely wasted in BVS, being nothing but a generic henchman for Lex Luthor. He doesn’t wear his costume from the comics, he’s never referred to by his alias, he doesn’t have his signature cybernetic enhancements, and he never does or says anything noteworthy. 1/5

The Joker: Ugh. I don’t know what’s worst: the tacky clothes, the stupid tattoos, the weird Richard Nixon impression that passes as his voice, the fact that promotional material hyped him up as a “beautiful tragedy” of a character even though he’s only in the movie for like 10 minutes and barely does anything, Jared Leto’s toxic edgelord behavior on set done with the flimsy pretense of “getting into character,” or the fact that he’s just trying to copy Heath Ledger instead of making the role his own. 1/5

Victor Zsasz: Chris Messina proves undoubtedly that Zsasz CAN work as a secondary villain in a Batman movie. He’s once again a mob assassin who enjoys his job a little too much, but unlike Batman Begins, he really gets time to shine. He’s just as sadistic and depraved as in the comics, but he also has this disarming, casual demeanor about him like he’s just indulging a hobby instead of slicing innocent people’s faces off. His close friendship with his boss Black Mask adds some depth to the character as well. 3/5

Killer Croc: Sadly, he doesn’t get much time in the spotlight, but he’s pretty cool nonetheless. The makeup and prosthetics used to create him look amazing, and Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje’s deep voice and imposing body language make him really stand out as an intimidating presence. He’s often in the background, which fits his role as an outcast by choice and a man of few words, but whenever he does get focus, he has everyone’s attention. It really would be a shame if this character’s only appearance was in a mediocre schlock action movie, but he makes the most of what he has. 3.5/5

Deadshot: Another highlight of what would otherwise be a forgettable film, Deadshot is just as cool and competent as he’s always been in other media, but this portrayal stands out for one simple reason. Will Smith was a very odd choice to play the role, but it worked out for the best here because you get the sense he truly understands the characters. He’s ruthless and pragmatic, but has just as enough charm and depth to make him likable. 4/5

Black Mask: I, like many, was skeptical when I saw early trailers depicting Roman Sionis as a foppish weirdo who doesn’t wear his signature mask, but upon seeing the final movie, I really feel like he has the high ground over other DCEU villains. Ewan McGregor is endlessly captivating in the role, portraying him as a swaggering dandy who is nevertheless dangerous due to his boundless narcissism and explosive temper. Sure, those who deal in absolutes would be put off from the differences with his comic counterpart — who is far more cold and humorless — but from a certain point of view, this flamboyant take on the character isn’t so much a departure as it is an addition to make him stand out while keeping his role the same. Black Mask has always been a middleman between the traditional mobsters of yesteryear and the colorful rogues that plague Gotham today, and this portrayal perfectly encapsulates that. He works in the shadows, but isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty; he flies off the handle and gets reckless at times, but there’s no question that the whole operation was his idea. 5/5

Harley Quinn: Margot Robbie owns this role. She’s unbelievably dazzling as a badass, funny, sexy antihero who deals greatly with tragedy and proves that there’s always been more to her than her initial role as the Joker’s sidekick. Again, not much to say, but she’s almost perfect. 5/5

#dc villains #batman #batman villains #dark knight #dc extended universe #batman movie

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