#i had to cut the boogeyman line

[ritter-roth]

HALLOWEEN (1978) | DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES (2004-2012)

[froggibus]

The Death of Peace of Mind - Stu Macher! Ghostface

Pairing: Stu Macher! Ghostface x f! reader (reader uses female/she/her pronouns + has a pussy), Billy Loomis! Ghostface x f! reader (at the end), Billy Loomis x Stu Macher

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 2k

Summary: after finding out your boyfriend is the masked killer who’s been plaguing Woodsboro, you only have one request—you want him to take out his darkest urges on you

CW: Dark content ahead!!! dubcon, knife play, blood play, bondage (use of handcuffs and blindfolds), Stu cuts reader, bloodloss, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex (yk what im gonna say), creampie, Stu chases you with a knife, exhibitionism/voyeurism, mentions of a threesome, overstimulation, multiple orgasms

incredibly self indulgent fic of my favorite Ghostface & the idea of being railed by him <3 this is a bit darker than what I normally write lol, also very tempted to write about getting railed by both Billy & Stu now

update ish? self indulgent part 2 w both Stu and Billy here

————

The minute the phone rings, the blood rushes to your ears. The entire town of Woodsboro had been warned against answering calls from unknown numbers after what happened to Casey and Steve. You weren’t worried, though. 

Why fear the boogeyman when the boogeyman is the only person who makes you feel safe?

Stu always insisted on never letting you see the darker parts of him, on never sharing the weirder things he was interested in. He wanted to protect you from himself and the fucked up things he wanted to do to you. That all changed this morning when you stopped by his house to make sure he was awake in time for school, and saw the Ghostface mask in his closet. 

You had grabbed it and tossed it at him, forcing him to explain himself. 

The boy had stuttered over his words before he finally confessed: he was the one who had been killing people all around Woodsboro. Even more surprising than that was that he had a partner. Everyone, even the police, had only suspected one person was doing it. 

He mumbled countless apologies, begging you not to leave him and begging you not to tell anybody or else ‘he’ would be mad. In all of his grovelling, though, he never mentioned who his partner was. 

You cut him off. “Is this the dark stuff you didn’t want me to know about?”

He nodded slowly, tips of his ears burning red. 

“Stu, I’m not going to tell anyone,” his head snaps up at your words, eyes lighting up. “But I have one condition.”

“Anything.”

You take a deep breath, biting your lip. “I want you to lose control. Do whatever you want to me, just let go. Don’t worry about whether I like it or not…just, show me those parts of you.”

“Y/n…”

“I mean it, Stu. Please?”

He’s reluctant to give in. He knows he would never hurt you, at least not severely, but the thought of showing you who he really is and what he wants to do makes him shiver. He doesn’t want you to stop looking at him like you do now. 

Still, he gives in. He tells you to go home and relax, and maybe stock up on first aid supplies.

The thought of what he’s going to do to you fills you with excitement. 

And now you’re sitting next to the ringing phone, knowing when you answer it that things will never be the same. 

You press the phone to the side of your face, the cold buttons raising goosebumps on your skin. “Hello?”

“Hello, y/n.” The voice on the other end is deep and raspy, so masculine it has you clenching your thighs together. 

“Who is this?”

Stu can’t help but smirk on the other end of the line. You’re playing the part of the innocent, dumb victim perfectly, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t turn him on. God, the things he wants to do to you. 

“You tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine,” he responds. 

“I don’t think so.”

You lay down on your back on the couch, playing with your hair, with the collar of your shirt, anything to keep you focused on the man talking in your ear. 

“Come on,” he almost growls, “why don’t you tell me your name?”

You can’t help but giggle at the frustration in his voice. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I want to know who I’m looking at.”

You suck in a breath. Smooth, you think. If you were anyone else, if you actually thought there was a chance he would kill you, his words would make you freeze. But tonight, all they did was make you shiver in anticipation. 

You can feel your underwear soaking through with your arousal, your whole body warming. “L-looking at?”

Stu almost laughs at the way you nervously stutter. You sound so cute, so innocent…he really can’t wait to ruin you. He stifles his laughter from inside the closet. 

“You heard me,” he says. “Don’t you want to know where I’m hiding?”

“You’re…you’re inside?” 

A wave of fear washes over you. How had he gotten inside without you noticing? Is this how he had gotten to Casey, too? You hate how much it turns you on to think that he’s been here the whole time. 

“Take a guess, come find me.”

Stu watches through the crack in the door as you stand from the couch with that puzzled look on your face. You spin around, the phone still pressed to your ear. 

“What happens if I find you?”

Stu stays silent for a minute, watching you look around the living room to find him. Just as you get to the closet, your palm resting on the handle, he responds. 

“I get to see what your insides look like.”

He pushes the closet door open and shoves you against the wall. You squeak, letting the phone clatter to the ground. Stu grabs your wrists in one of his hands and pins them above your head. 

His other hand reaches for the knife in his waistband, holding up at eye level so you can see it. Your heart speeds up, your arms shake, your knees threaten to buckle. 

He presses the knife at the centre of your collarbone, just above where your t-shirt begins. You can feel the sharp tip press into your skin, just enough to cause a bead of blood to roll down your chest. 

“The things I’m going to do to you,” he breathes. 

You almost call his name, but you know he’s not your boyfriend right now. You know he needs to let go, and part of that is to let go of himself, too. 

He drags the knife down, cutting into the fabric of your t-shirt. He applies just enough pressure to easily slide the fabric, but not enough to actually hurt you. Still, you can feel the cool metal on your bare skin and it causes you to whimper. 

Stu groans. You’re being so good for him, standing so still and just letting him do what he needs to do. He digs the knife into the soft fabric of your shorts, taking his time in slicing them down the middle. 

Both pieces of fabric fall to the floor, leaving you in just your underwear in front of him. “I-I—” you’re not sure what you’re trying to say, but the words won’t come out regardless. 

“I-I-I,” he mocks, holding the blade against your throat. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.”

You whimper and kick against him, your knee grinding against the bulge in his robe. He drags the knife just above your collarbone. He presses in hard, hard enough to draw blood. 

The warm blood leaks down your chest, dripping down your stomach and your underwear. The slight sting makes you whine even more and rub your thighs together. 

He releases your hands. “Run,” he whispers. 

You don’t waste a second in obeying him. As soon as your feet are on the ground, you’re tearing away from him. You can hear him walking at a leisurely pace behind you, laughing mockingly. Something about him chasing you, cutting you…it’s overwhelming, it makes your head fuzzy with pleasure. 

You run up the stairs, turning away as soon as your feet meet the plush carpet of the landing. You turn around, only to see that he’s gone. You suck in a breath. Where could he have gone?

Arms wrap around your waist, a knife pressed into your side. “Got you.”

You squeal, kicking against him. He’s much stronger than you, though. He pushes you against the wall, using it as leverage to lift you up. 

You wrap your legs around his waist and let him carry you to your bedroom. He tosses you onto the bed, slamming the door behind him. You squirm, your sheets staining with the blood that dripped down your body while you ran. 

You look up at him with those damned eyes, blinking slowly. His robe is stained with your blood, the knife in his hand slick with the red. 

He crawls on top of you, yanking your underwear off and tossing them into the corner of the room. Your pussy is soaked as it is, but your blood has started to run into the juices, and the smell is fucking intoxicating. 

He moves his face between your legs, the white mask looking up at you. You whimper and roll your hips against his face, staining the white with your red. 

He tears off a strip of fabric from his robe and ties it around your eyes. “No looking,” he orders. 

He tilts the mask up just enough so that his mouth and nose are out before licking up the blood from your thighs. You taste just as good as you smell, and it only makes him want more. He flicks his tongue across your opening and you whine, bucking your hips against his face. 

He goes to work licking and sucking at your clit. He’s drunk from the taste of you, and all he wants is more. He presses the knife against your thigh, digging it in hard enough to draw blood. The pain in your thigh mixed with the pleasure in your core has you crying out, forcing you over the edge. 

You finish hard, your slick coating his mouth and nose. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps eating you out like you’re his last meal. 

“P-please,” you whine. 

“Please what?”

“Stretch me out, ruin me, just…please?”

Your breathless begging is so fucking cute that he can’t hold back anymore. He pulls the mask over his face again, laying on top of you. He pulls out a pair of plain metal handcuffs, and gets to work securing them around your wrists. He does it tightly enough that it digs into the skin and makes it impossible to escape, but not tight enough to be painful. 

You struggle against the restraints, unable to see or feel him now. He shuffles against you awkwardly, pulling his cock out of his pants. He’s already rock hard, the tip coated in precum. 

He lines up the head at your entrance and shoves his way inside. He’s so perfectly sized, always stretching you out perfectly. You whine, instinctively going to reach out for him before remembering the restraints on your wrists. 

His thrusts are desperate and needy. All he wants, all he needs, is to bury himself inside of you. To fuck you like he needs to and absolutely ruin you. 

“F-fuck,” you stutter out, forcing your hips against his to meet his thrusts. 

His hands grip your waist tightly, his mouth hovering over your pulse point. He licks up the remaining blood from the cut on your collarbone, and the copper taste on his tongue only drives him to fuck you harder. 

The way you're so wet for him, just from him cutting and fucking you. Hovering above you, fucking you like it's the last time, he's never felt more content. It's like the darkest parts in you pacify the darkest parts in him, and that's all he's ever needed.

You can feel yourself getting close, your muscles contracting with every deep thrust. You feel slightly lightheaded, but you’re not sure if it’s from your last orgasm or the blood loss. 

Stu holds you closer, his body collapsing onto yours as his thrusts get sloppier. You know he won’t last much longer, either. 

You squirm, bucking your hips to try and get him as deep as possible. He hits that sweet spot one more time and you come undone, your muscles spasming around him. Your pussy clenches around his cock and that’s all he needs to spill hot cum deep inside of you. 

Your head rolls back, your body going limp. Stu pulls out, kneeling on top of you. “Think you can go another round?”

“C-can you?” You breathe heavily. 

He reaches his hands around the back of your head to remove the blindfold. It takes a minute for your eyes to focus, fixating on the masked man above you. 

“Not me,” he grabs your jaw in his hand and turns your head to the corner, where a man in an identical costume stands. “Him.”

“Him?”

The masked man steps forwards, slowly pulling the mask from his face. Billy Loomis is smiling at you like the devil, “hello, y/n.”

He pulls the mask back on, coming to rest on the bed next to Stu. Both of the Ghostface killers have their eyes fixated on your bound, writhing form on the bed. 

“I think she can do one more,” Stu says. 

“I think so too. I think she could take both of us.”

“B-both of you?” 

Neither boy acknowledges you, too busy talking as if you’re not laying right in front of them. God, they’re going to be the death of you. 

[blucactus112]

May never come to reality but im planning out a Animatic to AJR's 'Maybe Man' (sue me) and need some help filling in some of the parts.

(Its probably going to be about all the life series in general not specifically Wild life. but feel free to try it fit it all in one series)

!!!long post incoming!!!

General plan so far:

First Half(ish) will be calmly looking at hermits in their peaceful habitats talking about their insecurities.

Finishing the first half when we get to the god part it will be Grian before life series started pleading to watchers and becoming one himself then cutting to him and all the other lifers standing around in a circle (like the start of each series) (much wow)

ONE. TWO. PANDEMONIUM.

murder, just all of the scenes of people dying biggest polt twist, betrayals, and Amount of kills.

Also specifically a close up of grain seeing the server burning in the reflection of his eyes.

ending with another shot of the beginning of a server but we see grains eyes which are weathered and worn out and maybe has some watcher purple

Specific Lines:

Wish I was a stone, so I couldn't feel You'd yell in my face, it'd be no big deal But I'd miss the way we make up and smile Don't want to be stone, I changed my mind

Im thinking scar and Grian Desert Duo? also could be

I wish I had eyes in the back of my head Then I could see the places I've been But then I would know that you're talkin' shit I don't wanna know what my friends think

This im Deff thinking cleo bigb scott and lizzie from the Boogeyman series (i forgor wich one that is)

but open to other ideas

Wish I were my dog out on the lawn I'd be so glad when I hear you come home But if I were my dog, I wouldn't live long I'm sure gonna miss her when she's gone

This is pearl playing with a dog, you cannot fucking make me change my mind

I wish I could act in a show on TV 'Cause then I could practice not bein' me I'll practice my cry, put it into my reel But you won't believe me when I cry for real

im either thinking like Ren or Martyn because of the acting thing or one of the scenes usually portrayed as lots of crying (ie Scott at the end of double life)

I wish that my brain would triple in size I'd nail every joke, I'd win every fight But I'd get too deep with that kind of mind I don't wanna know the point of life

ive been thinking of this as jimmy in general but also i dont want to be mean so other ideas would be great

In some other life I would be rich I'd travel in style, I'd cover the bill But couldn't complain 'bout anything small Nobody'd feel bad for me at all

havent given much thought for ones after this but im thinking Scar on Magic mountain trying to scam everyone?

If I was cocaine or a bottle of Jack I'd get invited to every frat But when you get old and your good days have passed You'll only want me when you're sad

have there been any people that bounce between alliances during one series?

Wish I was a song, your favorite one You'd follow the dance to me at your prom I would be there when your baby is born For two or three minutes, then I'm gone

there was at least one dande floor that was a trap, right??

I wish I was big, as big as my house I'd sleep on the trees, I'd skip every crowd But I wouldn't fit on my therapist's couch God, I could really use him now

probably ep1 of WildLife

I wish I was God, I'd never trip up And if I did, well, so fuckin' what? I could be cruel and break all your stuff Yeah, I'd be loved no matter what

pov grain angst

grain is on super windy mountain top surrounded by watchers crying, pleading to them

But if I was God, it'd get kinda weird 'Cause you would only say what I wanna hear And then you would die, you'd love me to death I never know who the hell I am

grian is surrounded by purple light wings and eyes becoming at least in part, a watcher

I wish I was me, whoever that is I could just be and not give a shit Hey, I'll be whatever makes you a fan 'Cause I don't know who the hell I am

cut to peaceful tranquil plains, all of them jn a circle at beginning of life series laughing joking shaking hands hugging (set em up for emotional damage)

One, two, pandemonium

black, black, PAN DE MONIUM

cut to destruction of server only using reds browns and blacks showing carnage this series has brought (and yes ofc player has died messages will appear in the corner as if in chat)

One, two, pandemonium

im thinking each line will be each of the series in chronological order

Here I go again

One, two, pandemonium

Here I go again

One, two, pandemonium

One, two-

Here I go again

cut to beginning of ?wild life? they all have scars when their final kills have been, some look tired some look determined

if you end up making this animatic if you want to put me in the credits as like 'inspired by' :3 but honestly idc that much. but you HAVE to tell me if you post one bc i will watch the hell out of that

#god i need more tags

[penny00dreadful]

Cat and Mouse - Spy AU - Part 1

AO3

18th April 2015

Steve pulled the trigger, barely even paying attention as the bullet tore through the head of his target. He was just so ready to go home, god this week had been boring.

His target was some bank executive that had started to funnel funds towards various criminal enterprises, helping those criminal families gain more power and Steve had been contracted to weed that rot out, right at the root.

The Hagans, Kline and Johnson families would probably still find ways to rise up in the ranks but it had been kneecapped now, making things more difficult for them.

They’d never climb to the heights of the Creel Syndicate anyway. 

Steve was pretty sure no one could.

Henry Creel, legendary crime lord that he was, had somehow managed to cultivate a culture of fear and respect amongst even the lowest of street drug dealers.

Not to mention the borderline mythical assassin he was rumoured to have at his side. No one knew who they were, no one even knew if they existed. Some claimed the assassin was just some boogeyman story cooked up by Creel to keep his workers in line and Steve wouldn’t put it past him. The guy was creative.

And some things that had been attributed to this assassin were downright impossible so… They were probably made up.

This mythical boogeyman had some kind of title as well but Steve had never really paid much attention to the rumours and the ghosts floating around the underworld he was a part of.

Lies were practically currency to them so he’d have to see it to believe it.

Whoever ended up working on the Creel case was going to have their fucking work cut out for them.

Holstering his weapon, Steve snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves and he knelt beside his dead mark, slowly leaking blood and brains from the hole at the back of his head.

Steve fished around inside the guy’s pockets, locating his wallet. There was a family photo in there, library card, organ donor card, an obscene amount of credit cards and a loyalty card for the strip club across town.

Since when did strip clubs do loyalty cards?

Whatever. Steve located his driver's licence and pulled it out. 

“Hm.” Steve tilted his head, reading the name from the laminated card. “Sorry, Peter. It’s not personal. It’s just business.”

He tucked the licence back into the guy's wallet, returning it to his pocket.

It only took three minutes for Steve to stage the scene, breaking into the guy's gun safe, planting the weapon just next to his hand, like it had flown out of his grip when he pulled the trigger.

He slipped out into the hallway of the high rise apartment building, removing his gloves and stuffing them into his pocket, pushing his hair back from his face and coming to a stop in front of the elevator.

The doors opened and an elderly lady with a yappy dog gave him the suspicious eye, no doubt not recognising him from this floor but as Steve took a step back with his most charming smile and a gentlemanly gesture, motioning her out of the elevator she smiled back and he knew he was in the clear.

He got back down to the lobby and through the front door, onto the streets with no issue, allowing himself to get lost in the crowd. 

He reached up to his ear, flicking a small switch on the back of his ‘hearing aid’, allowing Robin to hear him, rather than just monitor his location and vitals.

“Okay, I’m out. You can stop looping the cameras.”

“Roger that, dingus.” Robin was probably saluting him right now from behind her desk, sounding like she was speaking in his head. 

It had taken a long time for him to get used to it, hearing Robin, but still being able to hear everything around him at the same time.

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Be nicer to me.”

“You say that to me every time, and every time I say no. Job went easy enough?”

“Yeah, practically childsplay.”

Steve kept his eyes open, never quite able to switch the part of his brain off that was waiting for the next hit from around a corner, a knife in the gut or a bullet in the shoulder.

He’d already managed to walk a few blocks, trying to put as much space between himself and his completed job as he could without moving too fast.

The crowd around him was both safety giving and dangerous.

Easy to disappear into but easy for someone to sneak up on him unseen.

Speaking of…

There was a figure shadowing him, had been shadowing him for a few minutes.

It could be nothing.

It could be some guy walking the same route as him.

But it wasn’t.

Every time Steve caught sight of him in his periphery or through the reflection of a store window, the guy had his eyes on him. 

Locked on him, like he couldn’t afford to lose him, but Steve wasn’t worried.

The guy was weedy, probably weighed 140 pounds soaking wet. 

The large leather jacket and the denim vest made him look bulkier than he was and he'd nearly tripped over his own shoelaces twice trying to keep up.

Steve could tell when people were dangerous. It was in the way they held themselves. The way they walked. The way they looked at those around them. How they held their hands at rest.

This guy was none of those things. 

He might dress mean and scary but he was as delicate as a flower petal on the inside, Steve could tell.

So he wasn't exactly worried he was about to be shoved into a black van or choked out. 

At least not this time around.

He was probably just going to be pickpocketed.

He recognised the look on the guy's face. 

Desperate. 

A panicky kind of desperate.

Like if the guy didn’t get some money into his hand immediately, the hounds of hell were gonna be on his ass. Probably break his kneecaps for good measure.

He could just be looking for money for a fix, Steve tried to reason with himself. He certainly had the eye bags, the pale waxy skin, the skinny frame that told that kind of story.

But even from as far away as he was, Steve knew that wasn’t the case. 

Though he couldn’t see him clearly, he could tell his eyes were bright.

Alive and clear and piercing and active.

Not the hazy, cloudy, bloodshot gaze of someone coming down from their high or going through withdrawal.

Steve guessed he was some kind of dealer. 

Street level, considering how he tried to look scary but wasn’t really.

Any higher up than street level and he would have held a certain amount of danger around himself. He would have had to, to survive after all.

So what had made him so desperate and what about Steve had caught his gaze?

Steve glanced down at himself, to his pristine polo, light wash vintage levi’s and spotless sneakers.

Ah. 

Well that would be it. 

Steve looked like he came from money. Especially walking through this part of the city.

And like… the guy’s guess wasn’t wrong.

Steve did come from money. But he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his parents or their money since he was eighteen years old, nine years ago.

Any money Steve had now was his own. Being a spy paid really well, as it turned out.

But the desperation radiating off this guy, even as far back in the crowd as he was, was making him sloppy. A regular civilian would know they were being followed at this stage, never mind Steve Harrington who’d been trained to within an inch of his life for this. 

He could enter a room he’d never been in before and immediately know the most effective route for escape. He could look at a lineup of randomly selected people and know straight away who was the most dangerous in hand to hand combat and who would be most likely to have a weapon on them.

Steve could snap this guy in half over his knee probably without breaking a sweat.

Even still he felt a little bad.

He needed to talk it out. Needed someone to confirm for him he wasn’t going crazy.

"Someone's on my tail, Birdie." Steve muttered, flipping the switch on his hearing aid communicator again.

"Okay,” He could almost picture her nodding. “Gimme a description, I'll see if I can find them."

"No, it’s not an enemy or anything. I don't even think it's something I need to be worried about, honestly. Just some bottom of the totem pole dealer. Nicotine stains on his fingers, cigarette burns on his clothes. And Jesus Christ has he ever even heard of conditioner? And his eyes are huge.”

“Do you think he’s on something?”

“No.” He kept his eyes forward and continued to smoothly weave his way through the crowd. “But he is pale. Gaunt. His denim jacket looks pretty ratty. It’s been repaired multiple times. By hand. And he definitely hasn't eaten in a while. I think he’s probably gonna try to steal my wallet to stop his boss from breaking his legs."

“You don’t think that maybe he’s just hungry?”

Steve shook his head. “No. He looks pretty desperate but not that kind.” He frowned again, almost muttering. “Scared desperate.”

Robin sighed. "Steven."

"What?"

"Don't do it, babe."

"Why shouldn't I help the guy out?” Steve was already pulling his wallet out while ruffling his hair. 

Misdirection. 

“I can part with $20. Stick it in my jacket pocket, loose. Make it just obvious enough and easy to take. What's the big issue?"

"You're a bleeding heart, that's the issue."

"Yeah, well. He clearly needs it more than I do."

"Is he cute?" She asked in a teasing tone, making it clear she thought he wasn’t just a bleeding heart, he was a horny bleeding heart who could be swayed by a pretty face. 

Which…

Didn’t need to be pointed out.

"...No."

"Wow, decorated Special Operative Steven J. Harrington everyone.” He could almost hear her waving her hands around. “Infiltrator, martial combatant and, apparently, a master liar. On his way to recruit another wayward stray."

"Oh, fuck off. Why not spit out my whole government name, that definitely won't put me in danger."

"You're wearing a bone conduction audio transmitting ‘hearing aid’, I'm literally in your head-”

“You’re not in my head, you’re in my cochlea.”

“Which is in your head, dingus. No one can hear me and it's a secure line. You, however, can be overheard so don't sell me down the river."

"Well then, you better be nicer to me."

“Never.”

Something bumped against his elbow and he was suddenly, painfully aware of a body behind him, right up in his space.

He didn’t even think before he lashed out behind him, snatching the figure's wrist in a vice-like grip, spinning the two of them into a nearby alleyway and pinning the stranger against the wall.

“Woah, man.” 

Oh. 

It was just the guy who’d been following him.

He was staring at Steve with wide, deep, brown eyes, shaking his head. 

He looked fucking terrified. 

“I- I don’t want any trouble, I swear.”

Steve took a breath before dropping the guy’s wrist like it had burned him, taking a step back.

The guy's eyes were flicking nervously over Steve’s face, waiting for him to strike probably, before his gaze settled just to the left of Steve’s head.

He was looking at his hearing aid, but Steve pretended not to know that, lifting his hand to his ear in confusion and allowing him to subtly flip the switch off so Robin couldn’t hear anything anymore.

“Try not to fall on his dick.” She muttered at him when she heard the click.

But he could hear her, like always.

Steve rolled his eyes, making sure it was aimed at the guy, acting like his exasperation was because he just noticed the hearing aid.

“Don’t tell me you’re suddenly gonna feel bad because of this?” Steve gestured at it.

The guy shook his head, still plastered up against the wall as though he wanted to melt into it, trying to put even more distance between them.

“Relax, man. I’m not gonna attack you, or whatever.” He crossed his arms over his chest, setting up another barrier between them to try and put the guy at ease.

He didn’t think it was working very well.

The guy in front of him looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. The same height as Steve but built much smaller, slender and delicate looking despite the heavy boots and chains and tattoos Steve could see peeking out under the neck of his shirt and spreading over his hands and fingers.

His hair was a curly nightmare, clearly needing an introduction to some conditioner and probably brushed with a regular hairbrush like a heathen, but aside from that the guy was…

Well, he was gorgeous. 

His mouth was full and plump and parted ever so slightly in fear. His eyes were as huge as Steve thought they were at first glance, deep and brown and warm. His face was slim and soft looking, with laugh lines cutting down on either side of his mouth and a hint of scraggly stubble that was putting Steve in emotional danger.

Steve could probably throw him over his shoulder with ease.

Maybe that wasn’t the most helpful thing to be thinking right now.

“Right, right, yeah.” The guy nodded again. “You’re not gonna attack me. You just dragged me into an alleyway for a friendly chat.”

“And you just stuck your hand in my pocket for completely innocent reasons.”

The guy blinked at him, those big eyes somehow getting bigger before growing mischievous, despite the clear nervousness still radiating off of him.

“You planted it there.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, his eyebrows high on his head.

“You saw that?”

“Was I not supposed to?” He squeaked, like Steve was gonna kill him just for pointing it out. “It was kind of obvious.”

Interesting. Maybe he’d underestimated him.

“It shouldn’t have been.”

“Really?” The guy gave him a playful grimace. “Then I don’t know what to tell you. I saw it from a mile off.”

Steve’s mouth tugged into a reluctant smile and he ducked his head a little to hide it, leaning back against the opposite wall.

“What’s your name?”

“Wh-” The guy paused, shaking his head, bewildered. “What’s happening right now?”

“I’m asking you your name.”

“Yeah, I got that part sweetheart, but why the hell are you doing that?” 

Sweetheart was sneered out but it still got the colour rising up Steve’s neck.

“I don’t know, to help you chill out a little bit or something. Fuck. I’m sorry I dragged you back here, I think I was just going off of… fight or flight or something.”

“Great, great. You be fight, I’ll be flight.”

Steve couldn’t help the light chuckle that came out at that and was taken momentarily off guard by the small smile it brought to the guy's face. 

Pretty. He’s so fucking pretty.

Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the $20 he’d originally stashed, holding it out between his index and middle finger.

The guy eyed it before flicking his gaze back up to Steve. 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting in exchange for that but I’m not that cheap. Even for a face as nice as yours.”

“What?” Steve scrunching his eyebrows in confusion before realisation dawned on him. “Dude. I’m not asking you to blow me for twenty fucking dollars. Christ.”

The guy hummed, but snatched the bill up anyway. Steve could just make out the word inked across his knuckles, mors. The calluses on the tips of his fingers brushed Steve’s skin, telling a story of years playing a string instrument. 

Based on the position and angle, it could have been guitar or bass, but it could have also been cello or violin. 

The look would suggest guitar or bass but classical instrumentalists were always dark horses, never looking like how they’d be expected to look. 

Steve would need to see his other hand to confirm if there was any healed damage on his thumb, indicating years of holding a bow and to see what he had inked over the fingers there.

Not that he was interested.

He was staring at the guy's hand for too long, the tendons standing proud under his skin and Steve only snapped back to himself when the guy tucked the bill away into his back pocket.

“I would say I have more dignity than that but a blowjob is definitely not the worst thing I’ve ever done in an alleyway. But yeah. Not for twenty dollars.”

Steve could feel the blush rise up higher on his neck and if the expression on the guy's face was anything to go by, it was visible now over the collar of his polo.

“You alright there, sweetheart? You seem a little flustered.”

“Steve.” He supplied, clearing his throat and trying to push the redness back down. “My name is Steve.”

The guy hummed again with a grin. “Think I prefer ‘sweetheart’.”

“And you?”

“I’m partial to ‘baby’ myself.”

Steve uncrossed his arms with a shake of his head, unable to hide his smile while putting his hands on his hips. 

“What’s your name,” he asked, before deciding to add on “baby?” At the end, with a tilt to his head, making his hair fall into his eyes and giving the guy, what Robin called, his puppy dog look.

The guy bit down on his bottom lip, the corner of his mouth ticking up and his eyes seeming to turn darker the longer he paused. “Eddie.”

“Eddie suits you.”

“I should hope so.” Eddie shrugged. “It’s the only name I got.”

“Baby suits you too.”

His eyes travelled up and down Steve’s body, leaving fire in their wake.

“Gotta say sweetheart, this is not how I thought this was gonna go when you grabbed me. Thought you were gonna smash my face in.”

Steve frowned. “I wouldn’t do that.” He dragged his eyes over Eddie again. “Wouldn’t be fair. Guess I was just surprised to feel your hand in my pocket.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, Eddie had managed to sneak up on him, which was not something he was used to.

Eddie’s smile dimmed a little and he sighed, pushing himself off the wall and beginning to wander aimlessly.

“Yeah.” He shrugged, lightly punching at the wall, expending energy. “Sometimes there aren’t a lot of options I guess.”

“Listen. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re wrapped up in but there’s always the option to get out of the game.”

Eddie swept his boot back and forth through the grime and dirt on the ground of the alley, leaving a tiny clearing in his wake. “If only that were true.”

“It can be.”

Eddie shrugged again now backing up towards the mouth of the alley. “Sometimes life doesn’t work out that way.”

Just before he got to the edge where he could disappear around the corner and into the crowd, he paused.

He regarded Steve with a tilted head before stepping forward again and taking Steve’s hand in his, raising it to his lips. 

“See you around, sweetheart.” Eddie muttered into his knuckles before pressing his lips down, gentle and soft.

Steve let the blush take over his face this time, playing up the coy angle just a bit too hard but fixed Eddie with a cocky smirk regardless.

“I certainly hope so, baby.”

He was delighted to see a matching blush across Eddie’s face who exited the alley with a wink and then he was gone.

Steve reached up to his ear and switched his hearing aid back on.

“Oh good,” Robin’s voice came through a little bored, “you’re not dead.”

“No, I am actually dead, my ghost has just possessed the instruments monitoring my vitals to make it look like I’m still alive.”

“That’s alright then.” She sighed. “Less paperwork involved for me if they think you’re still alive.”

Steve hummed in agreement, finally leaving the alley with a quick glance up and down the street but Eddie was well and truly gone.

“So what happened with the guy?”

“We talked a little, I gave him some money and told him to get out of whatever game he’s in.”

He was close to his apartment building, he was surprised to find. 

He’d been an auto pilot, paying more attention to Eddie following him than he had been where he was going.

“That’s it? I would have expected better from Slut Harrington.”

“You’d prefer if I told you the guy fed me his dick?” Steve asked, stopping in front of the entrance to his building and using the subtle biometric security to get in. “Or worse, you’d prefer to listen in? Wow-”

Robin’s screech nearly blew the side of his head open. 

He was glad he had made it into the elevator by then because the shockwaves sent him reeling backwards into the metal walls like he’d been punched.

He heard the ding and the whir of metal as he started moving up towards the top floor.

“Jesus tap dancing Christ, Birdie!”

“You deserved it! I remember Steve! I still remember the last and only time I nearly heard you get your dick into-”

“Then don’t get pissy when I tune you out!”

Robin huffed. “I will never get those sounds out of my head.”

“People would pay good money for those sounds.”

“I’m sure they would but I am not one of them.”

Steve didn’t respond, just let out a heavy sigh as he exited the elevator and crossed the short hallway to get to his door. 

He put his key in his lock and his hand on the handle at the same time, waiting just a second for the scan to complete before he heard the multiple locks and bars in the thick door click open allowing him inside. 

If there was one perk to working a life threatening job that regularly got him injured for a non-governmental international agency resulting in almost no personal life, it was that the pay was really good.

Steve had grown up around money, he was used to it. But that money had been stuffy and came with so many strings attached. This money was his money and he got to do what he wanted with it.

And what he wanted didn’t involve soulless art pieces and ugly as fuck chandeliers just because they were in some magazine that his mother read.

Steve’s space was mismatched. He decorated with pieces he liked the look of, regardless of whether it all ‘went together’. He was the only one living here so he wasn’t going to decorate according to anyone else’s standards. He’d been doing enough of that throughout his life already.

His furniture was vintage or artisan in nature, found in tiny little antique shops hidden away in corners or crafted by small business owners who loved what they did.

The front door led directly into an open plan living/dining/kitchen space. The floor to ceiling windows facing the park had been heavily altered. Thick enough to not let any sound or bullets through and made to obscure the view enough that a person would need to be pressed right up against the glass to see in, even though Steve could see out clear as day.

Steve’s apartment was the go-to venue for any kind of game night, the Super Bowl, playoffs, the World Series, they were all hosted here. His TV and sound system were unparalleled. 

He’d made sure of it. 

The couches were solidly framed but Steve wouldn’t have gotten them if they weren’t also the most comfortable ones he could find. One of them had to be reupholstered and none of them matched but he didn’t care.

Lucas always got pride of place in the middle with Steve while the other sports-heads, Robin and surprisingly El, took up the remaining space at either side of them.

Everyone else was happy to sit along the sidelines, mainly there for the food anyway.

Even all the pots and pans in his kitchen were a hodgepodge of whatever he found. Vintage copper and well aged cast iron lined the walls. 

The only things he’d conceded to buying new were the electrics. 

And then there was all the spy shit.

But that was a given. It was mostly functional stuff, hidden safes and compartments to keep documents and hard drives secure. Multiple concealed pockets and nooks containing a variety of small handheld weapons. The odd button here and there to enable or disable the silent alarm.

And the safe room, hidden behind the bath that only Steve knew how to get into or that it was even there. Robin didn’t know. The higher ups at work didn’t know. Hopper didn’t know. 

Maybe that was just a little too much paranoia, even for him, but paranoia had never steered him wrong before.

“Okay Birdie.” Steve flopped down face first onto his couch. “I am officially clocking out. Will I see you this weekend?”

“If this date goes well, hopefully not.”

“Go get her, tiger. I believe in you.”

“I believe in me too.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They said their goodbyes, Steve hoping against hope that Robin and this new girl worked out. 

She deserved something good in her life. 

He tried to distract himself by making dinner, showering and bingeing that TV show she insisted he had to watch (Ineffable Husbands or whatever it was called) but his mind kept wandering back to big brown eyes and soft plush lips.

Steve rapped the remote against his forehead a few times, trying to drive the thoughts away but they wouldn’t go anywhere.

Robin had jokingly suggested that Steve was going to recruit Eddie into the fold and it wouldn’t be the first time, if it ever did happen. 

Honestly, if it helped pull the guy out of whatever situation he’d gotten himself into, why shouldn’t he?

There were probably a thousand reasons to not drag Eddie into Steve’s dangerous world but just the thought of those eyes and that smile being directed at him again would have Steve doing almost anything.

Part 1 AO3

@geekymagicalpotato

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the STWG for their motivation.

This fic is about 70% complete and is currently clocking in at just under 40k so far. I love this story so much, it has taken over my life in the best way.

[violetmuses]

Forsaken - A. Aretas 🖤 ❤️‍🩹

Title: Forsaken - A. Aretas 🖤❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When death haunts South Beach, Armando Aretas isn't the only target lined up for known Detectives Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett.

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @probablyintensemuses @hyper-trash-panda 🏷

======

2020

Early sunlight greeted the Miami Harbor while you joined this roof with Armando Aretas. Brackish yet putrid air then reached your nostrils once more.

“You didn't wake me up.” You turned Armando away from his mounted laptop.

“We gotta go. Keep following the list.” His lips meet your touch this morning, and calloused palms gently smooth your knuckles.

Law enforcement officials pulling from the Miami Police Department had locked down Benito Aretas, Armando's late father.

In return, vengeance flamed through Isabel Aretas, Armando's mother.

An absolute storm would pull justice right back down.

______

Once Captain Howard perished, names dwindled even further.

Detective Mike Lowrey would spark with the crossfire last.

Mike Lowrey and his best friend, partner Marcus Burnett, ran down the neon streets as their own bet, laughing past moments while joyful together.

Cornered between shadows, you watch the scheme play in slow motion when Armando lurks that motorcycle and reveals his gun, shooting twice.

Detective Mike Lowrey stumbled, yet immediately fell back against sidewalk pavement.

When chaos erupts, you nearly smile as Armando revs out of sight.

The boogeyman is gone.

______

Several months later, an unexpected truth nearly struck down freedom.

Detective Mike Lowrey somehow pulled through recovery and survived Armando's wrath, almost bulletproof!

Given no other option, you pull the calvary with Armando and plan to take down Lowrey for good.

If unsuccessful this time around, Isabel would plot so much more than danger.

_______

This large-scale standoff pulled back and forth regarding Isabel Aretas. Extra members of the Miami Police Department interfered this evening.

“Don't shoot!” Armando shouts with slightly accented English. Heated fire and rubble engulfed the Aretas compound in all directions.

Veiling your presence despite bloodshed, Armando refuses to watch you die.

"La mataré!” Isabel vows to kill you while yelling in Spanish.

“No, I love her, mama!” Armando revealed this truth out of nowhere as flames pushed on.

You then freeze, shocked by Armando's confession as your steps nearly buckled. Yet, Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett still avoid your opportunity to faint.

Before everything collapsed, final gunshots pierced when Rita Secada armed herself and defeated Isabel.

At long last, each score landed Aretas directly into the burning flames.

“We gotta go!” Rita called out the AMMO squad over and over again.

“Don't leave her!” Armando shouts back, still terribly injured from this overdue battle.

“We're not leaving her behind, I promise. Let's go!” Mike interjected as fire raged all around and officers sprinted with Armando to escape death.

Miracles saved everyone that night.

******

Fluorescent lighting of the cold building captured various shadows this evening. Detective Mike Lowrey would visit Armando, his biological son.

“How you doing?” Mike fought one instance to smile.

“I've paid my debt. It's a big one.” Aretas sighed while marking the reality of his own dangerous choices.

“An opportunity might help cut down some of that debt. Are you interested?” Mike offered this important chance for Armando to redeem himself.

“Yeah, man.” Aretas nodded with confirmation and mentally counted down his upcoming future.

“One question, though.” Mike noted Armando's relationship with you. “Still looking for her?”

“Where is she?” Armando realizes the moment while his heart beats faster.

“In Miami. She'll join AMMO.” Mike promised your safety as he updated Armando.

Before Aretas could respond, visiting hours ended and Mike stepped out, leaving behind more questions than answers.

Sooner than later, Armando couldn't help worrying in silence.

Would I ever see you again?

[the-somwthing]

I gotta talk to people so bad so I’m just gonna spout something that’s been on my mind for a while

I see a lot of people always describing Joel and Scott’s rivalry as one sided. Like, Joel just hates Scott and Scott doesn’t care? And while I feel like that statement is technically true, it doesn’t really describe the situation very well.

It sort of implies that Scott’s never out to get Joel, and Joel is just coming after Scott for no reason. I won’t deny that Joel does like to come after Scott without provocation sometimes, but like… we are ignoring the fact that 3/5 Joel final deaths have been at Scott’s hand?

In two seasons, those kills were a result of a deliberate hunt to get rid of Joel specifically. In Last Life, I’ll give him a bit of a pass, since Joel did kind of start the fight with a big explosion and had been the “villain” for the entire season, it makes enough sense to try to end him like that.

But in LIMITED LIFE?? As a Joel viewer I am NEVER getting over the feeling of watching his final episode (not negative, just baffling in a way I find pretty fun lol). Scott randomly says “Joel needs to die” and everyone just agrees I guess? And then Joel is being witch hunted. “Oh but it’s because he was getting so many kills! Duh!” Grian had more. Grian LITERALLY got a quad kill (ON SCOTT FOR THAT MATTER) and Scott’s like “JOEL is the problem, the murderous evil of the server”. LIKE HELLO?? They’re literally allies, Scott could’ve said “we need to get rid of the bad boys” but he was COOL with Grian. He was letting Grian LIVE. Like HELLO??? WHAT DID JOEL DO FR 😭 Joel was literally just trying to survive btw, his fighting back was very defensive rather than offensive, and would back off when not being actively attacked. With the exception of trying to get kills cuz he was on less than ten minutes, of course. But Scott had been hunting him before then.

And then I guess I have to mention Secret Life’s Scott-Killing-Joel. I don’t think that final kill was especially targeted on either of their sides, the battle just turned out that way. I could rewatch to see if there’s more to it but for now this is how I see it.

Okay, I’m turning this into a full analysis of their rivalry, idc, I’m literally obsessed with their dynamic. I’m adding a cut here.

ALRIGHT WHERE WAS I. RIGHT. Finished explaining the final deaths, but there’s stuff before that! Let’s take a look at their rivalry 🥰

Let’s go in order, shall we? 3rd Life!! I am obsessed with them in this season ahahahhaga anyways. Joel comes after Scott unprovoked. Simple, this is how everyone sees their rivalry. HOWEVER. Joel is FULLY WILLING to work with him anyways. Maybe you could excuse the dark oak thing as it was early on and they were just trying to take down a monopoly. But in the finale they reconcile and spend much of the session together. They established early on that Joel had been trying to kill Scott, but they’re both perfectly happy to team up instead (which btw they did because they both happened to be allied with Scar).

Then Last Life. Joel does hate Scott in it, but I’m not sure I would say it’s without reason. Joel being boogey in ep2 was majorly important, and he killed Scott. But that wasn’t targeted. He had attempted multiple times to kill other people. Scott was one of the only (and closest) people who didn’t already know he was boogeyman. Then of course Scott tells Pearl they can fight back and has her kill Joel, sending him to red. Perfectly reasonable for all parties imo, and a good enough reason for Joel to target Scott seeing as being red early on had a huge impact on him.

Of course LL is also where Joel says Scott just looked at him funny one day and that’s why he hates him, which is a great line. I do believe he would bother Scott just for the rivalry, but unlike in 3rd Life, Scott had done things to make Joel never consider stopping.

Then Double Life. Erm. Literally nothing, except that I believe the only reason Scott and Pearl were the last pair is because Joel wasn’t there to kill them, since apparently he’s the only one who can make them lose lives. Wild. They were guaranteed to win ever since the lava portal trap. (obviously I’m joking but like how is he the only outside force to kill that pair). I will clarify for analysis sake that Joel’s first kill on them had nothing to do with Scott, and the second kill was to Scott but it was because of the life colors, not really anything about their rivalry. It was technically targeted at Scott specifically but not cuz he hated him, instead because Pearl had a weird “alliance” with the reds.

Then Limited Life!!! What the heeelll was happening lmao. I already talked about the final moment so before that. Erm. I’m blanking out I’m listening to bad romance it’s distracting me. You know what let’s move on I can’t remember what they did, the final death I explained previously is enough data for now.

Secret Life. Oh boy. I’ll say it again, I was secretly hoping for more Scott/Joel dynamic when it started but I doubted it would happen but we got FED!!! I was so excited when I saw the assassin task (as was Joel). Anyways. Throughout the season Joel was doing the whole hating Scott thing, Scott caught onto the bit and played into it somewhat by talking more about how Joel always hates him for no reason. We SHOULD be able to disregard Joel targeting Scott for the assassin task as it was a task, but to be fair after reading it Joel said “oh my gosh is this my dream?” He was super happy to be assigned to assassinate Scott LMAO. That has to count for something.

I feel like the rivalry was fairly obvious, so I need to point out the outlier moments in SL. While Joel goes on about how Scott should die, he happily trades with him and swapped gifted hearts with zero hesitation. In the final session, he and Scott ended up on the same side. I believe Joel may have been slightly annoyed at being on a team with him but accepts it nonetheless. The only reason Scott ends up killing Joel is because their team won, so they had to turn on each other. As previously stated it wasn’t especially targeted, it was a 2v2.

And then if you noticed from me saying 3/5 games, I’m not counting Real Life, but I’ll bring it up here. Scott literally says “since it’s real life we can be friends now since we’re friends in real life” (one of the many reasons I consider RL noncanon tbh, Scott literally mentions in-universe that this season is different so they can act differently, also what is the in-universe explanation for “friends in real life”). Aside from a reminder that Joel doesn’t actually hate Scott irl and this is just fun game rp stuff, this shows that Scott really did catch onto the rivalry bit, and really does just bring it up more. Joel had just arrived when Scott brought it up. Joel agrees to being friends in Real Life. This holds little relevance to my analysis since I don’t view RL as canon but you can keep it in mind.

Now that I’ve laid out their rivalry in a simplified summary, let me ACTUALLY analyze it! What did I mean all the way back at the start of the post when I said “Scott and Joel’s rivalry being one sided is somewhat accurate but I feel it misrepresents their relationship”?

Well, I believe it’s true that (at least up until Secret Life), Scott didn’t care about the rivalry while Joel did. But that doesn’t mean Scott never targeted Joel, as I said he’s witch-hunted him twice. It’s just it was never personal to Scott. I once saw a post(s) I really enjoyed, an analysis on Scott. Saying that he doesn’t actually value being loyal, he values being fair. Then there was the addition that it’s based on what he thinks is fair. I feel like this is 100% true for his thing with Joel. Scott views Joel as a force that has to be stopped, he’s gone too far, he needs to be stopped, it’s only fair for all the suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t stop to think about how killing is the whole point of this game, how other people are doing the same things, how many times he has killed Joel. Joel hasn’t killed Scott permanently before, he has killed him though, but not as much as Scott has killed Joel. To Scott, that doesn’t matter, Scott kills Joel for a reason, for justice, while Joel kills just for the sake of it. Whether or not that idea is true is up to you to interpret for yourself, but to Scott it’s true. Joel is more of a wildfire that needs to be put out than a rival.

Let’s look at Joel’s side of things. He does hate Scott and target him for no reason. The rivalry is one sided, where Joel sees a rival Scott sees some random danger that needs to be dealt with. I can’t tell you why Joel hates Scott. It’s not really the point of my analysis. I’ve seen ppl say it’s because of previous series they’ve had together (they’ve been rivals for ages!) but for my headcanons they don’t remember those, tho very few feelings from their past lives may linger, so perhaps that does explain it. For the sake of my analysis though we won’t be looking deep into why Joel likes to poke at Scott. It’s cuz he looked at him funny one day remember?

So we establish that Joel needlessly attacks Scott. But if you’ll notice from my summaries, he is fully willing to put aside that hatred. It’s conditional (yes it is the default, but still). If Scott treats Joel kindly, Joel will attempt to reciprocate it. Let’s look at this again:

3L: Joel targets Scott, Scott kind of just gives him a disapproving look every time and doesn’t fight back. Joel ends up feeling somewhat guilty, and in the end has no problems teaming up with Scott.

LL: Scott was the main cause of Joel turning red, Joel targets him constantly. Scott ends up permanently killing Joel to put an end to his madness.

DL: erm. Well it’s worth mentioning Joel never specifically targeted Scott for no reason. ALSO WORTH MENTIONING SCOTT BURNED THE RELATION??? This season was a bit of a switch-up. I need to rewatch to see if Scott had any good reason to do that lmao I don’t really remember, I hardly remembered he was responsible.

LimL: Scott deems Joel to be a server menace who needs to die, Joel (who doesn’t really understand why he needs to die) tries negotiating many times but Scott insists. He kills Joel.

SL: Joel gets task to target Scott, is thrilled. He fails miserably, losing people he cares about in the process. Vows to kill Scott, it’s like his main goal now. Still accepts every peace offering from Scott with little to no hesitation, to the point of eventually teaming with him until they’re forced to go against each other and Scott kills Joel again.

So basically you can see, every time Scott does something to wrong Joel, Joel goes hard on the rivalry, while if he doesn’t and offers peace, Joel will lay off. Secret Life was a weird middle ground, where Scott had done things to wrong Joel, however those things weren’t entirely his fault so when he offered peace to Joel, Joel would still accept. A confusing time for Joel I’m sure.

I will say a disclaimer here, I’m not saying Scott shouldn’t ever fight back against Joel. If he’s targeting you for no reason, it’s your decision if you’ll try to befriend him to make him stop or fight back. I support fighting back. I’m just saying that befriending him is a proven method to work, but I don’t think Scott has exactly noticed that and instead just assumes that Joel will stop at nothing to end him.

Another thing I wanted to talk about but forgot what the natural and intuitive transition into it was gonna be. Scott has permakilled Joel 3 times. Joel has permakilled Scott 0 times.

Joel had started the series off picking on Scott for no reason, and has never succeeded. Scott has won this battle three times. At this point, it’s honestly finally somewhat justified for Joel to come after Scott. That guy has specifically targeted and hunted him out of 2 seasons, and took him out of a 3rd as well. Joel has taken Scott out of 0. At this point, I feel like Joel needs that closure, to finally kill Scott, and who knows if he’ll ever get it. If you look at the fandom, even fans are hoping Joel will kill Scott because of this. So imagine how Joel feels! But obviously Scott wouldn’t just let him (okay. Well. Actually. It’s Scott. He kind of lets people do that all the time. But only allies…). Scott will be waiting for Joel to target him once more, and deal with it the way he always does. But who knows if it’ll turn out different?

Which reminds me that I pinpoint SL as the season Scott finally notices this “one sided rivalry”. We all know Scott loves drama, so when he finally noticed Joel had been hating him the whole time, he kept bringing it up. And it wasn’t just for SL only, he brought it up the moment he saw Joel in RL. I don’t count RL as canon but it does prove that Scott hasn’t let go of the rivalry now that he’s finally realized it. I don’t know if there will be a 6th season, but if so I wouldn’t be surprised if Scott brings up the rivalry. Idk if he would make it a big deal, but he would surely at least mention it.

Anyways, if you think I’m done with my little analysis, you’re wrong!!! I’m done with the things I see as pretty factual, but now we’re gonna get into more fanon headcanony type of territory!!!

…but, maybe I’ll make that its own post. Stay tuned and thanks for reading!

[artbyblastweave]

Gideon The Ninth Liveread, Chapter 18

Teacher’s order at the end of the last chapter to bring the bodies up isn’t followed by a jump cut to the parlor scene, as it easily could have been; instead, we get some insight into the logistics of getting two mutilated corpses and an unresponsive cavalier up a narrow ladder. The physical comedy implied by the process of getting Colum up the ladder is good bathos, but the fact that this takes them over an hour seems salient; whatever boogeyman Teacher was afraid of had over an hour in which to attack prone targets. And it didn’t show up for the hours on end that the houses spent attempting necromantic workings. My inclination is that either Teacher is feigning ignorance in order to scupper the investigation, or Teacher is genuinely afraid of something that still lies dormant and is projecting his longstanding anxieties onto the first blank crisis that presents itself.

Corona is very casually cited as one of the Colum liftees, alongside Gideon, which I feel like reading into a little. A quick runthrough of who’s even left reminded me that Corona actually is one of the most physically capable people remaining at Canaan house- Magnus being dead, Colum being in his state, Pro being attached to Dulcinea at the Hip, the teens being pubescent, Babs being mildly eaten…. Corona is, like, one of the taller/stronger people in the assemblage, right? But this gives off the vibe of a task that you’d assume, from her social butterfly persona, that she’d get someone else to do. And she’s doing it in her nightie, as well.  I pegged her and her sister coming down in the skimpy nighties as… not a head game, exactly, but part of their attention to presentation. This is not body-hauling attire. But she switches modes without hesitation, with only one word of textual acknowledgement that she’s the one who knuckled down. She actually spends a good bit of time in this chapter abruptly cutting the bullshit and knuckling down to try and address the situation at hand. I’m starting to like Corona.

The Second House were the ones to run and get Teacher. I’m reiterating my initial read on them; they’re there to keep up with the Joneses, with limited investment in the trial outcome or their own path to ascension through it. The Necro/Cav pair are barely visually delineated from each other, in contrast to basically every other dyad. They are not Of Necromancy, beyond its utility; they are Of The Military. They have limited respect for Teacher’s religious edicts about lines of communication off-world, and while it’s difficult to tell how much stock any of these people put in the theology vs how much they’re going along to get along, it’s telling that they lead the push to undermine the foremost religious authority in deference to military authority.

As an aside, I’m well-versed enough in this series via tumblr osmosis to know that the Emperor is, like, very much all that, and his personal power eclipses and obviates what any other house could hope to bring to the table, so usurpation as a goal is unlikely. Adherence to his religion is less like a matter of doctrine and more like acknowledging the sun’s ongoing contribution to the ecosystem. But inter-house infighting isn’t unheard of; the Eighth has it out for the Ninth, after all. I wonder if we’re witnessing an internal fracture between the military dynasty and the hardline religious elements of the empire; if this attempt by the Second to call things off and bring in reinforcements isn’t JUST a practical plan but is also them finally making the kind of power grab they actually know how to make.

“A Second captain don’t outrank a Third official.” Wait. Is Naberius supposed to have, like, a genteel southern drawl? Also, interesting that this is where Ianthe chooses to intercede on his behalf. “Prince Tern, if you please.” The Third does circle the wagons against outside threats.

Alright, Key ownership rundown. The Sixth has a key, Dulcinea’s gambit using Pro to brute-force check all the doors apparently netted her a key. It turns out that both mine and Harrow’s suspicions were correct; Silas did cue Abigail and Magnus in on the facility, using both the rationale that they aren’t NOT supposed to work together, but also under the rationale that the hated Ninth can’t be allowed to be the only ones with access to the facility. Unfortunate that Harrow does have someone ready and willing to validate her paranoia.

The exchange between Silas and Dulcinea is fascinating. Silas clearly likes Dulcinea; everybody does. When he finds out it was the Seventh Cavalier who put him out, he seemingly takes this in stride, and he’s unwilling to sic Colum on Dulcinea… but he is willing to have Colum duel Pro, which Dulcinea (and Gideon, by extension) gets predictably up in arms about. Dulcinea and Silas run parallel in that they’re both radically reliant on their cavalier to get anything useful done, more so than any other necromancer we’ve seen; Silas requires Colum for soul siphoning and general henchman work, while Dulcinea uses Pro as a caretaker and mobility device. Silas is significantly more, uh, cavalier about imperiling Colum over petty bullshit than Dulcinea is; the charitable read is that Dulcinea’s reliance on Pro gives her a significantly greater appreciation for him. The uncharitable read is that anything happens to Pro, she’s going to be in a pickle; he’s already saved her ass once by putting Silas out, and the crisis has barely started.

Coronabeth puts her foot down; “The Golden Butterfly was gone.” Her rousing speech noticeably gets everybody moving in the direction of productive action- The Second Cav passive-aggressively entertaining Teacher’s theory, Isaac committing to hunting a monster if it exists, with Palamedes putting on the brakes on his enthusiasm with a commitment to a scientific autopsy, an implied deference to Coronabeth’s call for unity, and a (not unreasonable!) entertainment of the possibility there really is a horde of vengeful ghosts in play. He even folds in Harrow and Silas’s dispute by making it clear that collaboration on the murder issue isn’t incompatible with continuing to compete in the lyctor trials. Third House’s hat, so to speak, is that they’re the rulers and governers- but Sixth house were previously mentioned to be the house with policy wonks, and there’s a synergy there! Palamedes knows how to align himself with Corona for maximum productive effect.

Ianthe admits to being in possession of the last key, distressing both Babs (who she took the key from) and Corona, who expected to be privy to this information. Something I find interesting about this is that Ianthe is pretty clearly a Machiavellian operator; if nothing else, she had the key, and kept that fact to herself. But! When it comes down to it, she’s also willing to come clean and put her cards on the table in a crisis situation. She was in the trenches necromancing right along everyone else; there are parallels here be drawn here to her sister’s willingness to drop the butterfly routine in the name of getting the situation under control. On the other hand, it’s also possible that this is a rehearsed ruse; Ianthe, as the obvious evil Twin, publicly taking the fall by positioning herself as the only one from Third House who hypothetically could have had access to the facility at the time of the murders. This is conceivable even if the Third genuinely have nothing to do with it; an implementation of a general strategy they’ve worked out amongst themselves, painting Ianthe as the heel in contrast to the Great Golden Butterfly, establishing the narrative that Coronabeth doesn’t have complete control over what Ianthe does. Campy Wickedness as a cultivated affect, overlaying a subtler, realer scheming nature. “Ianthe is a Vriska,” “Ianthe is Rancid,” all these no-context Ianthe posts have got me going full Charlie Kelly over here. 

The meeting adjourns. Palamedes works off Coronabeth’s cue to lead all interested parties to the freezer, including the Second and Seventh houses. Gideon chalks this up to Seventh Houses broadly morbid tendencies, but it also strikes me as likely that Dulcinea might have applicable medical knowledge as an outgrowth of constantly dealing with her condition, or at a minimum could effectively rubber-duck for Pal while he talks out the implications aloud. Second House I’m assuming are along for the ride because they realize they live in a universe where they have to at least begrudgingly entertain the ghost thing, but they want to be in the room concurrently with any autopsy that might reach “ghost murder” as its conclusion, to make sure there’s no funny business going on.

Pal, conspicuously, stops to have a word with Harrow. Harrow is characteristically concerning; her singlemindedness (on display in full force at the end of the chapter!) is poorly suited to such a radical shift in the circumstances. She’s the least willing to change her focus during the meeting beyond what’s necessary to avoid getting fingered as the murderer, and Pal’s word might very well be words of warning or reprobation that he had the tact not to deliver in front of the peanut gallery.

The scene with Silas starting the process of bringing back Colum is interesting; I think that Silas’s utmost confidence in Colum’s ability to make it back is the first time we see any expression of regard from Silas towards his Cav, and while it’s a strong endorsement of Colum’s capabilities, it’s part and parcel with the extent to which Silas is taking Colum for granted. Earlier I drew parallels between the necro/cav dynamics of the Seventh and Eighth houses, but there’s also a strong parallel between the Eighth and Ninth houses- each with a zealous, thoroughly stick-assed Necromancer , each of whom are paired at the hip with a Cav with a stoic demeanor and a frosty-and-best attitude towards their Necro. This line of thought is causing me to re-evaluate the lens through which Gideon has been assessing Eighth house; no Necro/Cav pairing is remotely Normal About It, but Eighth and Ninth have some parallels in their dysfunction. The key difference being that Silas routinely, habitually makes use of his Cav, and Gideon’s beef with Harrow is at least partly informed by the fact that, up until very recently, Harrow gave her absolutely no opportunity to be of use. Colum represents the path not taken, the grass that’s greener, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Gideon pays so much attention to the Colum situation right before Harrow shows up to drag her off towards another once-longed-for stint as an accomplice. Is Harrow’s attention an improvement in her circumstances, or has she this whole time unwittingly been dodging Colum’s sorry lot?

The sequence with Jeannemary is heartbreaking. They’ve hit the hero-worship beat a couple times now, the idea that she’s looking up to/admiring/(crushing on?) Gideon. It’s interesting that the “Bad Teen,” up till now an irksome background presence, is the one to finally break Gideon’s composure in a semi-public, not-technically-a-live-emergency setting- quietly and quickly enough that the illusion is probably still largely intact, but it’s a significant break! Also significant is Jeannemary’s insight into a suspicious detail nobody else seems to have touched on in the meeting; Abigail specialized in Ghost magic. Jeannemary’s love of Abigail means that her awareness of this fact cashes out as a belief that Abigail should have been able to defeat a ghostly threat regardless of magnitude. But the unstated second truth is that whoever or whatever killed Abigail, simultaneously got rid of the necromancer best suited to the necromantic forensic work everyone else was struggling with in the last chapter. This doesn’t feel like a coincidence. 

Harrow’s barreling forward on the heels of Colum’s return to the land of the living feels like a great for-want-of-a-nail moment, and another example of Harrow’s too-clever-by-half tendencies snipping a thread that she really, really should have followed up on. Jeannemary has an important insight here! If Colum had been seventeen minutes late instead of fifteen, Harrow might have limped into the middle of a very illuminating exchange.

In closing, I’m pretty sure we’re looking at two memes in one here. Harrow’s “I’m sick of these people” bit reads to me like a reference to Dr. Manhattan’s, “I tire of Earth. These people” monologue and the resultant meme panel. “An admirable attempt at comedy in these trying times” reads like a reference to the Egg bit from It’s Always Sunny. Bonus points because the specific Dr. Manhattan line that I believe is being referenced here comes during his myopic dark night of the soul, where he’s conflating his own depression with the true meaning of the universe and letting his heartfelt belief that he already knows everything important blinker him to some important fucking details he hasn’t noticed. Just like how Harrow is overlooking potentially massively important information in her rush to capitalize on her perceived information advantage. Assuming I’m correct that this is a reference and not just random apophenia, this is, like, sliding past the point of mere pop-cultural meme reference into the realm of meaningful literary allusion. Which is a real good way to integrate your meme references! Nothing there just to convey that you’re hip and with it, everything acting as a character beat or a thematic vector. I’m going to go right ahead and adopt a hardline policy of treating every apparent meme reference as an indicator of deliberate thematic depth, and there is absolutely no way that this might potentially cause me to spill over 500 words of ink over something that just turns out to be a vaguely similar sentence construction to another work.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

No because if Chad Stahelski doesn't drop the Impossible Task, I will write it myself and it'll be WickedSaint. I even have ideas, so Chad... gimme, but I'll still write my version bc yes. I need desperate Santino, I just need Santino feeling proud bc John Wick asked HIM for help (crush asked him out, date idea was killing ppl <3). Imagine, Santino was trying to prove himself to his father, who always had higher expectations, and apparently nothing was good enough, but then JOHN WICK THE BOOGEYMAN asked specifically Santino for help. His father must be rolling in his grave but fuck him, Santino was suffering. And the trust between Santino and John, you could see in the movie how much they trusted each other (until that trust got unfortunately broken). So something definitely happened, John doesn't just trust people. Yes, the marker and all that but still there was some level of respect. (And kissing).

I yapped a lot but I wanted to hear your thoughts on the Impossible Task AHAH

Soooooo I learned a little bit about how to write a film treatment (a kind of outline written before the script) and I went ahead and wrote one for The Impossible Task! I tried to make this completely canon-compliant and something that Chad Stahelski could actually make without breaking his franchise (even if he won't T_T). So, it's short and action-packed, and isn't exactly how I'd like to think things happened, but it fits better with the John Wick movies somewhat than what I usually write for wickedsaint. I have a lot of conflicted feelings about it, especially with how it compares Helen and Santino, but I did my best. This was fun to make!!

P.S. it also relies on some of the plot points from @mrssimply's story, because I'm not that good at coming up with what the impossible task was actually all about. I think she wrote that it was about killing all the crime lords in the area at once, and I reused that idea.

♥♥ The Impossible Task ♥♥

Log Line: John Wick asks his former lover to help him one last time in escaping the business, resulting in a nostalgic, heartbreaking postmortem on their doomed love affair.

TW: canon-typical violence, alcohol, homophobia from Santino's father, what could be interpreted as suicidal ideation from Santino but it's not overt

We open on a dreamy sequence, similar to the opening of John Wick Chapter One. It's cutting between a young John Wick in the Tarkovsky Theater, reading The Little Mermaid (the sad, Hans Christian Anderson version), and a young Santino reading the same book. Santino is dressed in all black, and so is John. Eventually we see that Santino is hiding from everyone at his mother's funeral. He is called away from his book to talk to important people. He refuses, but is dragged offscreen anyway. John is also called away, by The Director, who is scolding him that he should be practicing. He quickly hides the book and runs offscreen too. But we see both boys look back towards the places where the two books are hidden.

We cut to some five years before the events of the John Wick movies. We see John raise his head from under bloody bathwater. Helen is bathing him. She begs him to quit his work and come to her world. He agrees, and kisses her. 

Next, we see John coming to Viggo, requesting to leave. He’s “dressed for a resignation.” Viggo thinks, and says that in return, he must kill every other crime lord in the New York tristate area. John protests that it would have to be done all at once, or they would warn each other and flee. Viggo shrugs and says that is the impossible task. 

Realizing he can’t do this alone, John sneaks into the D’Antonio estate in Rome. It’s a reversal of the similar scene from John Wick 2. Gianna sees him and tells him that he shouldn’t be here, and to stay away from her little brother before he gets them both killed. John protests that it would be his own funeral, not Santino’s. Gianna says he knows better, implying how violent Giovanni (Santino's father) is, but Santino walks in at that moment. 

John and Santino talk, with John explaining that he needs someone who the New York crime lords trust to gather them all in one place. It’s tense. We get the sense that Santino dumped John at some point, but we don’t know why. John doesn’t seem to know why either. John says that he remembers what Santino told him, to come back if he ever seriously needed help. Now he does. He wants Santino to gather everyone in one place, which he is trusted enough to do. Santino asks for his oath in blood.

The next thing we see is the two of them exchanging the marker back in New York, with Winston as their witness. The scene is intercut with flashbacks to a sex scene in a Continental hotel room (it’s fairly PG, but there are some very intense kisses and Santino begging and moaning). Santino’s dirty talk includes asking John to swear that he’ll always serve him when he’s needed. John swears, with “the devil” as his witness. Back in the present day, the two of them conclude the marker ceremony and return to their respective hotel rooms alone.

The two of them suit up for the day. It’s a classic “John Wick getting dressed” scene, except that we’re seeing the same thing for Santino as well. In addition to getting suited up, John buys weapons, including bombs, while Santino starts making phone calls inviting everyone to a boat party that will take place on the New York bay that night. We can see that the plan is to place bombs on the boat, and that Santino will not be onboard once the bombs detonate. He will leave via life raft. We also see that Santino can’t persuad everyone - John has two people to kill who declined the invitation. So he won’t be around while the boat party is happening.

While John is planting the bombs on the boat an hour or two later, we see that Helen is watching from a car nearby, with a medical kit in the vehicle. She is tailing John, presumably to protect him. She looks scared but determined. He doesn’t see her. Meanwhile, Santino shows up at the boat. John scolds him for being there - it’s important that it look like Santino had no involvement in the plot and that this is risky. But Santino just jokes around and hovers over John, seemingly wanting to take this last chance to be close to him. He says he is coming with John on the first kill, “for old time’s sake,” and he’s not bringing his bodyguards. John will be his bodyguard for now. There will be plenty of time to get back to the boat, he says. John reluctantly agrees. He looks painfully nostalgic - we can see that he misses Santino on some level. Finally, we see Helen watching them together, but we don’t see her face. Is she jealous, or no?

They attack the first target early in the day, around noon. The target works in a high end fashion design business as a front, and the store is full of wedding dresses (yes, we’re going full camp.) Things get complicated when the target’s guards get involved, chasing them throughout the building. John takes a lot of trouble to ensure that Santino’s suit is not damaged for the party later. There are lots of antics with the wedding dresses - white dresses covered in blood, white heels used as weapons, etc. Santino is getting increasingly manic throughout all of this as he contemplates John getting married to someone else and eventually ends up with a wedding veil over his head somehow, trying to joke about a situation that hurts him deeply. The fight scene ends. They’re both severely wounded but John has managed not to get much blood on Santino.

Helen comes in and reveals herself to give John medical supplies. John is very upset that she’s there, as he says it’s too risky. Santino seems to take this personally - it’s too dangerous for Helen, but it’s fine if he risks himself? Of course, that’s different because he has training with weapons and she doesn’t, but it doesn’t feel that way for him at the moment. Also, he and Helen are in the same room and it’s awkward. It’s clear that Santino feels threatened and insecure but Helen does not. She thanks Santino for helping to set her future husband free. Santino looks miserable and says something snappy. John gets mad at him - no one treats Helen like that. And it was Santino’s choice to give up on their love. Pretty rich of him to be jealous now. Frustrated, Santino leaves to get back to the boat. There’s not much time left. 

John heads to the second target. He doesn’t bother to send Helen away this time - she’s coming no matter what, and it will be better if he can keep an eye on her. They double-team the second fight, which takes place in a butcher shop. Helen stays at a distance but she’s still very helpful. We see the contrast between John and Santino fighting together versus John and Helen fighting together. In both cases, John is protecting the other person and it’s distracting. But in Helen’s case, she seems to be protecting John in return. Instead of egging him on, she tries to minimize collateral damage. She brings an element of innocence to what’s happening and even apologizes to him that he had to do that. To Santino, John’s killing is a beautiful thing, a marriage of their skills as crime lord and assassin. To Helen, it’s butchering, it’s carnage, and she wants to save him. They are both drenched in blood at the end and he kisses her and thanks her for taking him away from all of this. She says she’s sorry his ex still has to be caught in that world. John says regretfully that it’s what he chose. 

Then, John gets a call from Gianna. She says she did something stupid: she told Giovanni that Santino is planning something with him. Giovanni is being rash. He has sent people to kill Santino. John and Helen get back in the car and start rushing to the boat to protect him. 

Santino gets back to the boat. He looks nervous as hell while greeting the other guests. He’s shaking, etc., but he’s doing his best to hide it. He has already started drinking before the other guests arrived. He’s ignoring his messages from John. We see a suspicious looking group of people board the boat just before it can launch. 

John kisses Helen goodbye and leaves her on the shore - he insists she can’t come this time because the whole boat is rigged to blow up and anyway, he’ll be right back. Helen tells him to live for her, and that he can’t die with the old world. He has a new world in front of him. John steals a speedboat and chases the party boat out into the bay.

With the boat out at the center of the bay and detonation coming soon, Santino prepares to board the life raft. But the people sent by Giovanni corner him and prevent him from leaving. (They don't know about the bombs on the boat or exactly what Santino is planning.) It’s interspersed with flashbacks in which we see Santino being beaten by Giovanni after his relationship with John was discovered. This is the first time the audience knows for sure that that’s why he left John.

John climbs up the side of the boat and starts killing, just killing everyone. He ends up killing everyone who would have died to the bomb anyway as he tries to get to Santino. There are boat related fight scene antics (there’s a seafood table and he stabs someone with a crab claw, etc.). Eventually John reaches Santino, but he is so distraught that he refuses to go to the life raft. 

There are only seconds left until detonation. John throws Santino overboard and drags him to shore while the boat explodes. Onshore, Santino breaks down. John tries to cheer him up, referencing The Little Mermaid rescuing the prince, and saying he will always save his prince, even if they’re from different worlds now. Santino says that he wanted to be John’s prince but he’s always been the monster, the sea witch, and whether he grants John access to a better life or not, his own life is damned. He tells John the truth about why he left him - to protect him from Giovanni. John cries with him, mourning their relationship and the way that the High Table tore them apart. He says that the real Impossible Task is to walk away from Santino after knowing all of this. He asks Santino to leave, and find love in the ordinary world. To find his “soul” (another little mermaid reference). He says he wants Santino to have a good life like he has with Helen. Santino says he can’t. He will wait for John to come back to HIS world instead. John walks away with Helen while the sun sets.

[slotumn]

Concept: 3H canon divergence AU where the Almyran invasion at Fódlan's Throat succeeded, and they successfully annexed Leicester as part of Almyra— and a few hundred years later, the Leicester ruling class is thriving under the Almyran system, feeling no need to rejoin the rest of Fódlan.

Why would they? They hold a lot of utility to Almyra; they have Crests, Relics, knowledge that will come in useful for conquering the rest of Fódlan, as well as a significant amount of wealth from trade. So it's very easy for nobles from Leicester to ascend through the ranks in Almyran court, even compared to those from other regions of Almyra.

They might have had to convert to other religions or at least abandon their allegiances to the Seiros faith, but hey, the Leicester nobles were never super faithful in the first place. For the populace that still believes in the Church, they still have the Eastern Church, and it's recognized by Almyra as one of the many faiths in the nation. And the Eastern Church finds that good enough, since they were never that powerful under the Fódlani system either.

This drives the rest of the continent absolutely insane, of course. Leicesterians get called traitors for using their Crests and Relics to "aid infidels," and Almyra is an even bigger boogeyman than they are in canon. The Church calls for crusade/reconquest of Leicester all the damn time, which Faerghus tends to join in on due to their close relations with the Church + thing with fighting another group of "infidel invaders" (Srengis). Adrestia joins in too, despite their tensions with the Central Church— because the Almyrans are suddenly a lot more threatening when they're right over the Airmid River instead of across the Pearl Sea.

But wait, that's not all. Other regions of Almyra aren't happy either, because after Leicester was conquered, the center of power has shifted away from them. They feel like they're being treated worse despite having been there for longer, with these newcomers hogging all the best positions and resources. So much so that some are starting to think it might be better for them to break off and do their own thing.

Now combine all this with the fact the Slithers are still there + Almyra and Fódlan are trying to stroke internal tensions and sabotage one another at every turn, and you get an absolute shitshow. Yes this is the "Leicester is to Almyra what the Balkans were to the Ottoman Empire" AU.

Look I just think it's interesting to consider how the Golden Deer would be doing in an Ottoman-style court; imo Lorenz and Hilda would thrive there, and Marianne would be especially loyal to the Almyran regime because they don't care about the Maurice bloodline being "cursed." The commoner trio could be like the janissaries, especially Ignatz. Lysithea might have more mixed feelings about the Almyran system because being right by the Airmid still makes Ordelia the punching bag whenever shit goes down with Adrestia, but she probably isn't in a position to break off from them fully. Claude is still killing his brother(s) and/or locking them in a cage as part of succession conflicts.

Also I think it would be a neat twist on the themes of VW if the line between "us" and "them" wasn't as clear cut as in canon with isolationist Fódlan. It would also be more in line with, well, real life; if you look at history, a lot of things don't fall neatly into our current day categorizations of "east" and "west."

But mostly I just think putting the Golden Deer in Situations™ is fun and making Leicester the powder keg of both Fódlan and Almyra is the most fun situation of them all.

[kayawolfhorse]

Blood in the Cut | Read on Ao3

— ☾ —

The nightmares are back.

Soft laughter, growing louder as Pearl’s grip on wakefulness slips further, fills her ears all the same as it does her mind with dread. Her body grows heavy, her brain fills with fog. Desperately, she thrashes about, opening her mouth to scream herself awake.

Her limbs refuse to answer her demands, and her voice remains unyieldingly silent. The syrupy lull of sleep has Pearl trapped, and she is defenseless as it pulls her under.

— ☾ —

The little green cottage has snow on it today, frost creeping over every azalea leaf and tuft of moss that makes up the roof, collecting on the spruce beams of the walls. The sky above Pearl is obscured by thick, grey clouds, and her breath comes out in little puffs of steam. She hates to be back here again.

It doesn’t take long for Pearl’s gaze to land on Scott, busy putting the finishing touches on the cobblestone accents that line the roof. The muscles of her jaw twitch, as if she’s about to speak, and Pearl fights against the action. Don’t talk to him, he left you! He doesn’t deserve your companionship, least of all your pleasantries. All that comes out is a friendly greeting.

Scott responds by waving in kind, placing the last few blocks and sliding off the roof, landing in the snowbank piled below. Pearl flinches inwardly, prepared for the bite of cold. She hopes it hurts.

Scott gives his deep blue coat a firm shake to dislodge the settled snow and walks forward all the same.

Don’t come over here, don’t come over here. Scott stops in front of Pearl, sharing the grin Pearl can’t wipe free of her own face. “So, what do you think?”

Pearl wants to say how much she hates it, how much she hates how pretty it is. She hates that Scott has built them such a lovely house and calls Pearl an ally when he wants nothing more than to get rid of her entirely; how this version of herself gets all the love withheld from her.

Pearl hates how much she still yearns for such kindness.

She says none of that. Instead, through that same damn smile, Pearl exclaims, “It’s absolutely beautiful! I’m glad you were able to finish up before the storm hits.”

Scott shrugs, glancing up at the sky. “It wouldn’t matter too much. It’s just a prop, but it looks rather nice, doesn’t it?”

“I meant for your own sake, not the empty house’s!” Pearl shoves lightly at his shoulder, and it’s a terrible, terrible thing how Scott laughs and jostles Pearl back as if they were friends sharing a joke and the mountain of hurt between them didn’t exist.

Pearl’s learned by now that this Scott, and the version of Pearl that goes with him, is very different from what she’s used to.

They decide to head inside before what something Scott calls “the boogeyman” is chosen. Pearl had heard of it, in the previous dreams, but it had never been defined.

“We’ve got to continue the tradition!” Scott says over his shoulder as they descend down into their underground base. Pearl hopes whatever “tradition” he speaks of isn’t bad. Actually, maybe she does. Scott would deserve it.

As they reach the base of the stairs, Pearl lists everything she’s learned about this world so far.

It’s another death game, like Double Life, and Pearl and Scott are allies. Lives are not the same fixed things they are usually; here, they can be traded between players. In the last dream, Scott was yellow, and Pearl gave him a life. That bit was particularly hard to watch.

Pearl isn’t sure who all is in this game, but based on who she saw running around last time, she figures it’s the same group as Double Life. Though, at one point she could’ve sworn she heard Lizzie’s exclamation of surprise. Maybe they’d added new players to spice things up.

Swathes of red pulse around the edges of Pearl’s vision just as they reach the skeleton spawner, and Scott says, “almost time!” Dread coils at Pearl’s core. If she had any control over her body, her palms would be sweating. Is this the boogeyman thing…?

Not long after, the red flashes once more, and Scott pauses in his smelting to turn and stare at Pearl. Pearl’s disconcerted, unsure of what to do, but her head swivels to meet Scott’s eyes as the red pulses again.

They both make nervous oooh’s as the third bit of red comes and fades, and then…

Pearl is met with darkness. Her limbs are leaden, but the space around her is weightless, as if she were floating in the void. Pinwheeling her arms, Pearl tries to find hold on something, anything, but it’s no use. Pearl’s body is still stubbornly asleep, and her mind is thrown into another dream.

— ☾ —

Pearl’s inside the cottage this time, a sword in her hands and an explosion of items scattered at her feet. Joel, inexplicably sporting a long beard and dressed in green robes, thrusts his sword at Pearl, parrying her attacks from where she has him cornered, shouting, “I’m cured! I’m not the boogeyman anymore!”

Clearly, whatever being the boogeyman means doesn’t matter to the Pearl of this game, and it only takes a couple more swings until Joel’s dead, his inventory bursting from where he was standing moments ago. Pearl crouches down to sort through the mess, tossing away junk and gathering Joel’s gear in a neat pile, when Scott breaks through the blocked up door, saying, “Thank you, Pearl!”

“He’s on red now!” Pearl laughs in disbelief, still clutching her sword. The adrenaline buzzes in her ears, and her breaths come fast. This, at least, is familiar. Worry and triumph tug at Pearl’s gut. “Scott?”

“He is, but he also killed me!” Scott tugs on his armor. “I was getting worried, he was being weird.”

“Yeah, he got very forceful,” Pearl agrees. So this is what the boogeyman is, then. A player is chosen after the countdown, then they must kill? It’s an odd mechanic, but if Grian is behind this game as he is Double Life, Pearl wouldn’t put it past him. “And he had the audacity to blame Mumbo!”

“Yeah, Mumbo’s kill had to have been self defense, then.” Scott nods, looking toward the window.

“Oh, for sure.” Glancing back down, Pearl catches a glimpse of something red and black amongst the mess of items. With a gasp, she grabs it and holds it up to Scott. “Look what we have here!”

Scott’s eyes widen. “He was seriously carrying around the enchanter on him?”

“Guess so!” Pearl says, tucking it under her arm. To be honest, she’s not sure what’s so important about the table, but who is she to argue against perfectly good leverage? “There’s no way we’re giving this back.”

“Of course not.”

Soon enough, Joel returns for his stuff, a dangerous red gleam in his eyes. After he’s equipped his armor and tucked his sword into his belt, Joel stops in the doorway. “All I’m gonna say is, make sure you two stick together like glue, because if you’re ever alone with that thing, I’m coming back with my axe.”

“We won’t be keeping it on us, don’t worry. We’re not idiots,” Scott rebuts with a scoff. Joel smirks in return and gives the enchantment table in Pearl’s arms one last pointed stare before whirling on his heel and stalking off. Pearl and Scott both shout their goodbyes and, after waiting until Joel’s out of earshot, turn to each other.

“That was certainly something!” Pearl remarks, and Scott gives an incredulous chuckle in return.

“Yeah. Now the only thing I’m worried about is, obviously Joel was after you, but I died–” Scott starts.

“So now you’re yellow,” Pearl supplies, briefly meeting his eyes.

“That’s my worry.” Scott nods. “How many lives do you have? Because you had six.”

“I have five,” Pearl confirms. The amount isn’t news to her, having learnt it in a previous dream, but it still boggles her mind. It feels wrong to have more than three lives.

“Would you be willing to give me another? Put me to three and you on four?” Scott asks, to Pearl’s dismay. “We’ve got such a monopoly as a duo, if one of us goes out we lose it all.”

Pearl tries to stop the “you’re right, you’re right,” that leaves her mouth. It’s not enough for Scott to ruin Pearl’s life in one game, he wants to take it in another?

“I wouldn’t want people knowing I’m down a life, though,” Pearl points out. “Don’t want to make me a target.”

Scott nods. “I’m thinking if you give it now, before everyone sees me running around as yellow, we can just say that we scammed it out of somebody, and you can tell everyone you’re still on five.”

“Oh, that’s a good plan.” No! Pearl prepares the command, fingers dancing across her communicator. Try as she might, Pearl can’t even tremble her own hand. “Okay, for the alliance, I’m gonna do it.”

“For the alliance!” Scott cheers.

Command finished, Pearl asks, “You ready?”

As if Pearl herself is the life ripped from her body, she is yanked from the dream and plunged into darkness again.

— ☾ —

The void Pearl floats in is stagnant no longer, crackling with white veins of energy that remind her of shooting stars. The trails avoid Pearl, swerving around her form, but when Pearl holds her arm out and brushes her fingers against one, she flinches at the sound of her voice echoing around her, saying, “I have picked the most amazing partner in this season of Last Life, I’m telling you.” She knows who she’s saying it to. Pearl snatches her hand back.

Suddenly desperate for something solid, an escape, Pearl closes a fist around the next bit of light she can reach, and the image of Scott, standing in the underground base, handing Pearl a bucket of a brown axolotl with a goofy smile on his face, burns against the back of Pearl’s eyelids. All Pearl can see is his cruel, taunting smirk as he and Cleo rejected her.

“Why are you showing me this?” Pearl cries out, to no one that can hear her.

The moments turn frantic as Pearl’s despair grows and she reaches out again and again, fingers aching for a hold. Scott and Pearl, curing a zombie villager. Racing through a dark forest, hand in hand, after raiding the red lives’ secret base. Pearl, Scott, and Cleo, in a tower with a moss roof, looking down over the server as Scott says, “don’t worry ladies, I won’t betray you.”

Scott saying goodbye as his yellow eyes turn red, and he leaves Pearl standing atop a cobblestone wall, watching him go.

— ☾ —

At first, Pearl doesn’t register that she's been pulled into another dream. The endless void around her gives way to a midnight sky, the veins of light replaced with twinkling stars. Her vision spins as the Pearl of this game turns wildly about, and with a jolt Pearl realizes she’s flying, coasting just above the treeline below her. Had Pearl somehow managed to get wings? She catches a glimpse of her arm, a familiar red cloak turned transparent.

So that’s that, then. Pearl has died, and is now spectating whatever’s left of the game. It’s been a while since she’s died in a hardcore world, and the floaty feeling is hard to get used to. She doesn’t have time to adjust before her ghostly body moves against her will, eyes fixed on a tiny figure below.

Scott. Scott, with his cyan hair and crown of crystals is covered in blood that matches the red of his eyes. Following the line of his drawn bow, Pearl watches as Ren comes up over the crest of the hill and Scott lets the first arrow fly, sinking into Ren’s shoulder.

“Leave me alone! Go kill Martyn! Why are you coming for me?” Ren shouts as he fights off Scott’s blows, tripping over a dip in the terrain.

“I have to! You killed Pearl!”

Pearl, in both of her forms, freezes in shock. She’d never expect Scott to be fighting for her, least of all crying her name in a final battle. Her heart clenches in the tower of her ribcage. She begs herself to wake up. Her body refuses to move.

The final battle is brutal. Scott lands the final blow on Martyn before turning back to Ren, knocking him back with another arrow. With a sharp cry, Ren stumbles back, and a zombie emerges from the trees to finish him off. One last boom sounds, and Scott is alone in a silent world, surrounded by ghosts.

“Well, I guess there’s only one more thing I have to do,” he says slowly, after a moment of shock.

Whatever Scott has to do, he doesn’t get to, cut off by a searing bolt of lightning that kills him in a flash.

The game is over, and Scott has won.

— ☾ —

Pearl gasps awake to the crack of thunder. Heart pounding, she jolts upright, struggling to keep her ragged breathing in check.

Tower. Pearl is in her tower. A cool summer breeze wafts through the windows, gently rustling the vines that grow off the red ceiling above her, and moonlight casts a silver grow upon the spruce floorboards. At her owner’s distress, Tilly, curled up at the foot of the white duvet, picks her head up to look inquisitively at Pearl, yellow collar jingling with the movement.

“Oh, Tilly.” Pearl leans forward and gathers her beloved wolf in her arms, burying her face in Tilly’s side. Her hands shake where they clutch at Tilly’s fur.

Tilly, for her part, simply curls around Pearl and presses her nose against Pearl’s side. Pearl whimpers and hugs Tilly tighter.

They stay like that until Pearl’s breath steadies, and after one final sigh, Pearl pulls back enough to look out the window. The server below is quiet and still, and the horizon promises a sunrise to come.

Sliding off of her bed, Pearl directs Tilly to sit by the wheat farm, and pulls the blankets from the mattress. She arranges them in a heap on the floor and sits down with her knees pulled up to her chest, patting the space next to her when she’s satisfied with the nest. Tilly trots over and circles the spot, plonking down with a content sigh after a couple spins. Pearl pulls a blanket over her shoulders and casts it over them both, leaning back against the bed frame and watching out the window to her side.

She and Tilly remain sat side by side as the birds start their morning song and the sun creeps into view. Pearl knows Scott’s awake when she takes a slight tick of damage, tingling at her elbow. She smirks as she imagines him accidentally hitting his own against something stupid.

Pearl’s not ready to face him, or anyone, for that matter. Scratching Tilly between the ears, she closes her eyes, savoring the few moments of peace that’ll inevitably be disturbed soon enough.

Visions of a Scott with kinder face than she’s ever seen on him and an outstretched hand that’s never reached for Pearl dances across her eyelids. It’s difficult to reconcile them with the reality of her soulmate, and she finds she doesn’t care about trying to. Pearl pulls Tilly closer and waits for the world to rub the sleep out of its eyes, taking with it the remnants of a heart’s wishful thinking and a nightmare that could never come true.

(Reblogs do more than likes!)

[radnewspaperroom]

Wow, so uh....that new lesson huh?

I have.... thoughts.

Michael is getting a little too...all knowing and omnipresent 👀 I feel like.

Each time, he's spoken to MC without showing himself, and saved them while stuck in the past....but this time he's not...sending them back to their proper time?

Just helping them move?

It's rather strange.

The first time was when Solomon made food and they ate it. They woke up in the past when the boys were angels and we assume it's Michael, speaks to MC in a shinning light, like what happened in 13.

He sends MC back to their time, and tells them the conversations they've had with the boys will stick with them.

But this time...idk seemed different. Maybe it's because of how fresh the war is? But he seemed a lot...more standoffish?

and rather than just, yeeting MC through time and space again--he's just breaking whatever curse is on them so they can move.

Yet he's fully aware of how displaced they are, and that Nightbringer put them there and goes as far as to warn them.

It seems even Barbatos, up until the question of "where did you come from", doesn't realize you're from the future. And his whole ish is time and AUs.

If you choose the future option he cuts you off and makes the assumption your being an ass by referring to the human world as the future as humans see themselves above demons and comments on how it's a typical human answer: arrogant and rude.

I know angels aren't supposed to interfere too much, more to sit back and watch but it makes me wonder: did Michael send them back last time because they were in the Celestial Realm, and he doesn't care as much or isn't as concerned since they're in the Devildom this time?

Also, in his warning he says

And removes the curse of Snow White/Sleeping Beauty from MC.

Is he just curious how things will turn out? Does he not have the power this time to put MC back?

And why is he referring to the Celestial Realm that way? It almost reminds me of Simeon and his disconnect with the CR, speaking about it as if it's not his own decision that would be the call. We know Michael is basically Father's second in command, he's in charge of the CR basically from what we've seen.

Has that changed? Is Father going to be more present in this time? Or is it like the Devildom in the way of, there's a ring of command in the CR and they can over ride Michael if they all agree? Like how it seems the House of Shitlords tried to oppose Diavolo?

Also-- WTF?! Even if he passes everything he may still not be appointed King?!

Not the point of the post but, wtf?!

But yeah, so it seems Michael isn't Nightbringer, but he's aware of NB and what they've done, but isn't interfering too much.

I've had a theory in my head, partly as a joke, that Michael is a blonde, blue eyed Lucifer to be the day to his night (black hair, red eyes) and no one sees the resemblance

But what if Michael is Father in disguise? A way to connect to his creations on another level? He'd still be Omnipresent, powerful etc just in a different skin with his power hidden to pretend to be someone else.

I have no concrete proof to make this a legitimate theory, just a nagging voice in the back of my mind:

1. Michael is in charge, despite everyone fawning over Lucifer when he was an angel.

2. he's so seemingly "all knowing" and powerful.

3. Father has been missing or absent for a long time according to Simeon in the og Obey me (Boogeyman trial)

4. Everyone is terrified of Father, even if their biggest fear isn't of him. (Again, Boogeyman trial. Simeon's and Lucifer's biggest fear was him, when the boys wanted to go with MC to the CR, Lucifer asks if they really think Father would let them in)

5. He was represented in the Boogeyman trial as a bright, particular light, with no physical form. Simeon says "I haven't seen that light in a very long time" or something along those lines. Anytime we'ved talked to "Michael" it's been the same, aside from peeking at his texts.

At any rate, I loved it, loved how it flowed and already marked the calendar for 10-11 more days (should be around the 23rd-24th) so I can pounce when it's released

[birrdies]

deadweight

⚠️ limited life session 2 spoilers

It used to be easy— letting time slip by with a pickaxe in hand, hidden in the cave’s lowlight until his redstone-stained fingers ached and his thoughts weren’t so loud. Mind-numbing simplicity: hoist, dig, repeat. Such peace is hard to come by in these sorts of games; Etho’s been in plenty of them to know that fact well enough. But the caves are always a good place to breathe, to let the torchlight wash his thoughts away and keep his idle hands occupied. 

That is, until this game. The ruthless kind. A clock ticks away on Etho’s wrist, wrapped around the skin like a shackle far heavier than his soulbond had been. This is a death sentence, a promise of what waits for him at the end of the line. No matter what he does. Every second counts. 

There’s no space left for mindless hours wasting away in caves, hoarding supplies he might not survive long enough to even need. There’s no room for excess, for just-in-case. Instead, there’s the frantic scraping together of whatever he needs that minute, that day. Because nothing else is promised. 

Seconds might not matter much now. But when his timer inevitably fades to red— when he watches the final minutes slip away from him like sand in the choke of an hourglass— they’ll matter then, won't they? When it comes to a choice: kill or die (both equally promised, only leaving him to wonder when). Etho knows the choice he will make. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s killed to stay alive. 

So Etho saves seconds where he can. When he mines, he works efficiently. Systematically. He can nearly forget the seconds ticking away on his wrist when he counts the pieces of coal, measures the raw iron in his hands, and retraces cobble paths. The shortest routes for the most precious resources. Low risk, high reward. He knows the game; he can play it well. 

By the time his bags are full and his pickaxe is nearly worn through, he hears it.  A voice beneath his feet, buried deep in the stone. Quiet enough that Etho thinks he might have imagined it. He knows he should turn away from it. Gathering whatever else he can and returning to the surface to work on his farms takes priority— he’s got a team counting on him, after all— but he can’t. Not just yet. Not when he recognizes the voice. Etho glances at the skin of his inner wrist. The green numbers glare back at him. A silent taunt. 

20:44:05

It seems like a long time, doesn’t it? But long enough to indulge himself? Etho’s never been particularly skilled in the way of discipline. He rolls his sleeve down to cover the timer. As if he can ignore the ticking. 

The stone gives away under his pickaxe. He digs straight down (a risky choice but the fastest one), and finds himself within closer earshot. The mutterings continue, frantic and familiar in a way that infects Etho’s heart like homesickness. It smells of campfire and tastes like melted snow on his tongue. It feels like the end of the world, a valley cutting him in two like a false promise. Worn pickaxe clutched between weary hands, Etho digs further down. 

“Talking to yourself, Bdubs?” he teases, hoping his voice carries through the several feet of stone. 

A few more blocks down. “Wha— Hello?!”

Etho chuckles, despite himself. He forgets how easy, despite everything, small joys like this are to find in these games. All he needed was to know where to look for them. It shouldn’t have surprised him that he could find them hidden in Bdubs’ chaos. 

His descent feels more desperate now. Almost like it’s been four years instead of four hours. Like Etho’s a wilted flower crookedly twisting its stem and leaves to find the barest glimpse of sunlight. He needs to close the gap, to hear Bdubs clearly without any obstructions.

“Are you having a chill moment just now? All alone?” Etho taunts. It’s a practiced dance, one it seems neither of them has forgotten the steps to. An old game. I’m not the boogeyman, I’m just convincing people I am. Etho tugs suspicion right, Bdubs feigns and attacks left. 

Time hasn’t dulled the fun of this. Not nearly.

Only a single layer of stone separates them now. A playful spark lights Etho’s fingertips as he breaks through the final sheet of stone. He long thought it dead and buried, lost somewhere in the ashes of their snow castle. But Bdubs has a knack for not staying dead and an even larger penchant for resurrecting ghosts of pasts that Etho’d rather forget. 

“Yes, yes I am,” Bdubs calls back. Etho doesn’t have to see him to know he’s smiling. Etho can hear it clear as day; maybe he’s just as glad to hear Etho’s voice.

A mess of pebbles and dust trickles from the ceiling as Etho breaks through the last of the stone. This vantage provides a fantastic view of the top of Bdubs’ head as he whips it back and forth, searching for the source of Etho’s voice in the small hole he somehow dug himself into. Etho grins behind the mask and leans into the gap. 

“I need an easy boogeyman kill,” Etho says, hooking the edge of his pickaxe over the lip of the stone. “Come up here real quick!”

Bdubs flinches as the dust rains over his head, across his shoulders. He cranes his neck back, and for a fantastic second their eyes meet. A wicked grin spreads across Bdubs’ face, his perpetually bruised eye squinting. “You need an easy boogey kill?” He parrots back at him.

“It doesn’t get any easier than you,” Etho says. They both know it’s a lie. After all, Etho hadn’t been able to do it once. Every man Etho had killed under the guiding hand of the curse had been for Bdubs. Bartering for another life, another chance. More time. 

A reluctant sentinel, Etho’s not sure if he could hurt Bdubs even if he wanted to. The clock ticks away around his wrist.

“Oh really?” Bdubs swipes his hair back, shaking out the rubble and dust. From a sheath at his hip, he pulls free a weapon of his own, a freshly-crafted diamond sword. And Bdubs, its wielder, eager to break it in. “And now I’ve armed myself!”

Another step of their dance. Etho pushes, Bdubs pushes back harder. Promises of exile only to draw a line down the middle. Weapons drawn with crossed fingers hidden behind unyielding backs. It’s easy— too easy— to step back into the beat of it. Like they never even stopped.

“You find anything yet?”

“Oh yes. Diamonds!” Bdubs brandishes his blade in an arc of pride. The torchlight shimmers in the fresh glint of the blade, the sharp edge impossibly bright. 

“Y’know, I cleared out this whole ravine by myself,” Etho says. “I’m a hero.”

It’s a test. Another harsh push waiting for the equal and opposite pull on the other end of a soulmate link with no connection. He waits for Bdubs to gloat, to one-up him, to erupt in an outburst that would waste away the seconds. Because if he has to lose time, he thinks he’d like to lose it like this: at Bdubs’ mercy.  It’s something familiar. Like coming home to a place they thought they said goodbye to permanently. 

But Bdubs doesn’t give it to him. Part of Etho expected this too; maybe he didn’t deserve it. Instead, Bdubs offers only a tense silence as he replaces his sword with a pickaxe and starts digging himself free. He carves out a staircase; Etho steps back and lets him. 

A step below, Bdubs pauses. His pickaxe hangs lazily at his side, but his grip is anything but casual, his knuckles white around the worn wood. Etho stands over him, waiting and measuring his disappointment and trying to divide it into parts that are easier to swallow. 

Etho knows he’s made a mistake when Bdubs’ silence stretches far too long, when his face turns up and anger bleeds into his eyes, and the beating of the seconds slipping past returns, worse than the hammering of Etho’s heart. 

It’s impossible to ignore everything. A new game doesn’t heal old wounds. It only scars them over. And neither of them is strong enough to admit they’re still aching. 

“I heard what you guys said about me,” Bdubs finally says, and the admission is quiet. Too quiet, for a man like Bdubs. Even in the short space between them, Etho looking down on him from the top of a narrow cobblestone staircase, Bdubs sounds miles away.

It’s like standing on either side of that valley: Etho on top of the hill, Bdubs with his ankles in the water. Too much to say and too little time to say it.

“Oh, no.” His heart sinks. “... Did you?” Bdubs nods once. “I heard.”

“I… I feel bad,” Etho admits, fingers tapping an uncertain beat on his pickaxe. These are precious seconds and Etho’s wasting them this way: grasping at straws, so desperately afraid to say goodbye to something he already lost. There’s no sand left to slip through his fingers. Yet here he is, grappling.

Bdubs scoffs, using his pickaxe as leverage to climb the stairs. “Everybody— Everybody on the server is talking about it. Bdubs is the dead weight.” 

He closes the gap one step at a time, slow but uncalculated. As if he’s staggering forward with no real place to go, only to seek out the first available target. 

Etho turns away, digging the tip of his pick into a vein of coal to his left. Anything to turn his gaze from Bdubs, to numb the guilt starting to burn in his belly. Collect resources, divert attention. Bury it. It can’t hurt him that way. “Maybe so—” “Wow! Wow! I see how it is!” Bdubs exclaims, hurt dripping from his voice. It’s funny how Etho much prefers the venom that used to soak his words. Even when it was directed at him. Anything is better than this. 

He steps away, abandoning the coal in a heap. His back strikes the stone wall behind him.  There are far more dangerous things behind him than Bdubs. Creepers, skeletons, anything ready to sink its teeth into Etho’s unsuspecting back and cut his time even shorter. Bdubs can’t hurt him— he won’t. Not when their timers are green. 

Etho tries not to think that’s the only reason keeping Bdubs’ sword from finding a home in his chest. 

But that’s how they’ve always been, isn’t it? Push and pull. Just as Bdubs’ played his role, baring his teeth and ready to snap, so had Etho. Measuring his seconds as if they were precious currency. Measuring Bdubs’ worth in how much time he occupies, what he can provide, and his level of risk. Every move and every relationship a calculated move. Not just in this game either. 

He wouldn’t give Bdubs a life— couldn’t. Not without stipulations. Kill another red name, he asked of him. Too large a price, one they both had paid for, and one Etho still hasn’t quite managed to pay off in full. He wants it to be about Bdubs. About this dance they’ve crafted, the distance they keep putting between themselves only for their own incapability of staying away to bring them back at each other’s feet again. Like sinners rushing to confessional booths. 

He wishes it could be different. He wishes they could be different people, in a different place— that this is just a cave and two people occupying it without the ghosts of what-ifs clinging to their backs.

But they aren’t. 

Even with Etho’s back to the empty cave behind them, Bdubs’ anger draining and his usual bravado filling him up in its place, Etho knows the outcome will be the same in the end. Because it isn’t about Bdubs. It’s about survival. Etho’s not so deluded to think he’ll have a change of heart in this game. Not when their time is so sparse. Precious. 

And at the end of the day, Etho will always choose survival.

Bdubs is the first to leave the ravine. Etho, cloaked in its silent darkness, pulls up his sleeve again and glimpses at the time he has left.

20:40:32

Was Bdubs worth four minutes?

[turnips-dont-grow-on-trees]

What Measure A Man?

Fandom: Werewolf By Night (MCU)

Gen

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Jack and Elsa fight a monster, find a lost child, and talk philosophy, not necessarily in that order. Tw for off-screen child abduction, child in peril, canon-typical violence

(A/N: I hope I haven’t misstepped with my depiction of a cucuy. I am weak for wordplay and actor allusion, but if I’ve crossed a line let me know and I will make it a generic bogeyman instead.

(Also, I do love the film’s monster makeup and the decision to go with a trad wolfman design with an expressive face. I just wanted to have my cake and eat it too, so I wrote this doesn’t-contradict-canon-but-most-probably-wouldn’t-call-it-compliant fic.)

Elsa had been tracking the cucuy for almost a week, and she was getting close. It had been moving steadily south-southeast, and she expected it would likely be slowing down, now that it had found what was surely its ideal habitat – an old forest, whose canopy was so thick that even at high noon the understory was dim twilight, where shadows abounded. Just what a boogeyman needed.

She crept carefully along a deer trail, looking for any signs that the monster was in the immediate area. And because she was paying excruciatingly close attention to her surroundings, she noticed the wolf before it noticed her.

It was nosing through the brush perhaps fifteen metres downhill from her, its reddish coat blending in with the carpet of fallen leaves but the white on its paws and muzzle standing out in the dim light. Elsa took a steadying breath, prepared to stay still and observe from a distance, but she didn’t get the chance - a jay kicked up a fuss just over her head, and the wolf’s head snapped up to look in her direction.

“Elsa?!”

What. the. Fuck.

The wolf - Jack, it had to be Jack - bounded up the hill towards her. She had to stifle every instinct and trained reflex in order to keep her posture loose. Lucky for her, appearing unconcerned was a specialty

"Hi… Jack." Up close he was smaller than she would have expected, about the size of a large alsatian. Otherwise, there was nothing to distinguish him from the mounted specimens of timber wolves she’d seen in lowercase-h hunting lodges. There was nothing to suggest that he was a werewolf at all, or indeed Jack Russell, except she was fairly certain she would recognize those eyes anywhere.

"Elsa! What are you doing here?"

“I’m tracking a cucuy… ” There had to be a way to ask, right? Jack hadn’t said anything about why he was a wolf, but that didn’t mean it would be rude to ask. Jack’s ears flattened against his skull. “A cucuy! Oh no no no, that is not good. A little girl has gone missing; I’m helping the search party looking for her. If a cucuy is involved, we have to hurry! Come on, this way!” He raced back to where she’d first spotted him. Elsa hurried after him, scrambling to keep up with him and her tumbling thoughts, a jolt of adrenalin sending her heartbeat into overdrive. Internally, she was berating herself - if she’d been faster, better, she could have caught up to the cucuy before it found its next child to kidnap. But with Jack’s help, finding the creature responsible would surely go twice as fast.

Elsa’s chest felt tight. A knot formed, just beneath her ribs, that she knew could not be picked apart and untangled with logic. A proper Gordian knot, the only way to get rid of it was to cut it, and the only way to cut it was to find the girl and hope they weren’t too late.

That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Starting now, she wasn’t going to stop looking until the girl was found, and she had no idea how long that would be. Tracking a cucuy alone was one thing; then, hours of tracking could be downright monotonous if there weren’t many signs. It was practically routine, and she could take short breaks knowing the trail would still be there for her to pick up again if she didn’t wait too long.

Now, though, now there was a countdown clock she couldn’t see, and her mind started forecasting the future, unspooling potentialities, imagining still being in the forest, still searching, still feeling this damnable, sustained tension for the next two, three, four hours - the thought of which was its own form of anxiety, compounding her stress.

Stop. Focus. She took a deep breath, then another, and finally a helpful, rational thought was able to penetrate her spiraling thoughts. Cucuy don’t typically eat their victims right away. They try to adopt the children, and when that doesn’t work, they lose their tempers with disastrous consequences… but it takes time to get to that point. And by now the sun had come up; the bogeyman was likely drowsing the day away, with the little girl in thrall. Like many monsters, it was primarily active at night.

She caught up to Jack as he was circling the ground, seeking whatever trail he’d been tracking before. Suddenly, he darted forward, only to slow down after several strides. He then backtracked, snuffled at the ground audibly, then leaped forward on a slightly different heading, only to come to a halt once again.

"Jack, Jack, slow down! We have time, so long as we get there before nightfall. At this rate you’ll just tire yourself out before we even get there."

Panting slightly and looking as abashed as a wolf could, Jack bobbed his head. “Sí, sí, you’re right. I got a bit ahead of myself, didn’t I?”

“You got ahead of the trail, at any rate.” The pace Jack now set, nose to the ground, was more akin to a leisurely amble, and Elsa fell into step beside him. “Can I ask a question?”

“Of course! Anything.”

“Is this what you’re like when you transform without the influence of the bloodstone?”

“Well, no, but yes.”

Elsa rolled her eyes. “Thanks, that cleared everything up.”

Jack glanced up at her, then at the forest around them. “You remember, when I said there is a part of me that is not me? That part came out with the bloodstone, yes, but it is also the part that comes out on full moon nights. That is one kind of transformation; this is another.”

“So if your current transformation is not the ‘part of you that is not you,’ what is it then?”

“Eh? Also me. I’m still myself, still human.” He paused momentarily to scratch behind one ear. Using his foot.

“Think you might need to get your eyes checked, mate.”

“Well – Hang on.” He paused, scenting the ground closely. “Would you mind moving to my other side? The wind’s shifted, your smell is getting in the way.”

“No one’s ever insulted my smell so directly before,” she huffed, mock-offended, but she did comply. “You were going to try to tell me that you are in fact a human right now.”

“Because I am.” He glanced up at her again. Behind his wolfy grin, there was… something. He wasn’t just trying to take the piss out of her. But she didn’t know what he wanted her to say.

"You're literally a wolf. For god's sake you're walking on four legs and covered in fur!"

"So? Most humans have two legs, it is true. But some have one, or none. The number of legs we have does not make us human."

“Yes, fine,” she conceded the point. “Humans are intelligent, is that it? You’re saying it’s your mind that makes you human, that because you can talk and think, you’re human on the inside, where it counts?” She shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

“I wouldn’t say humans are intelligent–”

Elsa snorted, then jerked in surprise when Jack actually nipped her heel.

"I'm being serious! This is important. Being smart, that's not what makes someone human. If that were the case, then there would be a, how you say, a scale. People at the top, the ones with the highest IQ, they would be the most human. And people less smart would be less human. There are already people who think this way, and it is wrong! Ted was born human, raised human. He got three doctorates. Since he was changed, he's not quite so fast at problem-solving. He can't do the quantum what-you-call-it in his head anymore, the way he used to. But he's not less! He's just different. And he hasn't stopped being human just because of an accident."

"An accident!?"

"In a manner of speaking. It was not the intended outcome to become as he is."

Elsa mulled that over, ducking under a low-hanging branch. "What, then, decides whether someone is human? If it's not their body and it's not their intellect?"

"Well, why not let them decide? I think, if someone feels that they are human, that should be enough, yeah?"

Elsa sighed. She’d come here to hunt a monster, not get philosophical, but she supposed this was par for the course when Jack was involved. “Surely it can’t be that easy, but what do I know? Can’t say I’ve given it much thought before. Growing up, I was taught a very black-and-white definition of human and monster.”

Jack hummed. “But something changed your mind, no? You disagreed with Verussa even before we met.”

Elsa waved him off. “You give me too much credit, it wasn’t anything as noble as you make it sound. I just - Wait.” She halted and gestured for him to do the same, crouching down to get a closer look at what she’d spotted. “Look - cucuy tracks, and they’re fresh. We’re close.” Jack was instantly alert, ears twitching and tail partially raised. He partially opened his mouth, scenting the air. "There’s fear-scent, faintly, both human and rabbit. It probably tried to offer her live prey, which she would have refused. I don’t smell any of her blood, so I don’t think the cucuy retaliated. But we are close, now, and we need a plan. You have more experience fighting monsters, how about you go after the cucuy, and I will get the child to safety?"

"And how are you going to do that, the way you are now? Which, you never actually - nevermind, no time now. How about you distract the cucuy while I get the child – what’s her name? Do you know?” “Sylvie.” “Then I’ll come back after I’ve gotten Sylvie to out of there, and cut its head off.” Then she added, more sharply than she intended, “Oh, sorry, unless it counts as human and I should spare it?” She could not say she was a fan of the uncertainty being around Jack brought to monster hunting.

Jack looked at her with eyes far too knowing. “I don’t like killing. But I do not have the luxury to pretend I don’t understand it.”

“Alright then. Glad we’re agreed.” Elsa broke eye contact first.

Moving silently, they crept forward. A broken-necked rabbit lay on the packed earth of a small clearing. There in the rocky hillside beyond was a tall, narrow crevasse, maybe four feet wide, and extending back at least ten feet. Elsa could just make out the small figure of a human child, tucked into the back of the cave. And leaning over her, the cucuy.

She and Jack exchanged one last look, then he charged, hurtling forward like an arrow, teeth bared in a snarl. He covered the distance in less than two seconds, giving the cucuy no time to react before his jaws clamped tightly around one of its legs. Jack heaved his body backward, pulling its spindly limbs tumbling from its shelter, before letting go and darting out of reach of its grasping hands. The cucuy screeched in anger, its deep eye sockets fixed on Jack; Elsa seized the opportunity to break cover and dash to the little girl’s side.

She was young, maybe six or seven, and dressed in Tweety Bird pyjamas. So far as Elsa could tell she was unharmed, though she was sound asleep despite the ruckus - likely still under the cucuy’s thrall. Elsa didn’t envy her the nightmares when she awoke, but at the moment it made her job easier. She slung the girl over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and booked it, sprinting away from the fight and not stopping until she’d put at least twenty metres between them.

Then she carefully laid the girl down, beneath the overhang of a fallen tree’s roots. No time to catch her breath, Elsa ran back to the fight in time to see Jack, bleeding from one ear, leap forward and slash open the monster’s forelimb with a quick snap of his teeth, before leaping back to resume circling it, growling. Elsa readied her machete and waited until the cucuy, pivoting to keep Jack in its sights, turned its back to her before she leaped forward and lopped its head off with one blow.

She let the blade fall to the ground, and finally, finally, stopped to catch her breath.

Jack trotted up to her, skirting the headless, many-limbed body on the ground. “Sylvie, is she okay?”

“She’s fine, the thrall should break soon now that the cucuy is dead.”

“Good, good, that’s good.”

As they fell into step once more, walking towards the sleeping girl, Elsa figured she would not get another opportunity. "So… can I ask why you’re ‘human’ on four legs today?"

"To help with the search party, of course. My nose is much better, this way. But," he added, flicking one ear at her, "I am thinking that you are wondering how, not why. Simply put, when I transform voluntarily, I keep my mind. I am all of myself, and not caught in-between."

"So you could turn back, now that we’ve found the girl? I have to say, it’s a little distracting, having a conversation with you like this."

He grinned toothily. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner? But I think you will agree that changing back would be more distracting - I haven’t got any clothes with me.”

Elsa raised an unimpressed brow. "So what exactly was your a plan, if you found her? Naked man approaching a young girl in the woods - not a good look."

"I have a Lassie routine I can pull out. No, really!" He raised his tail from where it hung down at rest, pulled his head back so he looked less like he was stalking prey, and grinned a toothy doggy grin, his tongue lolling to one side. He shifted his gait so he trotted as he walked, practically bouncing. Elsa could not suppress a snort - werewolves should not be so goofy - and shortly thereafter Jack relaxed back into his natural wolfy posture. He shook his shoulders lightly like he was shaking off snow. "It is tiring to maintain for long time," he admitted. "Gives me a crick in my neck." The girl, Sylvie, was just where Elsa had left her, asleep between the roots of a wide beech tree. Elsa tried shaking her awake, but Sylvie merely turned over in her sleep. She checked her over for injury, more methodically than before, and beside her Jack did the same with his own senses. It all reaffirmed what Elsa had already determined, that apart from nightmares, Sylvie would be just fine. Still, little kids were resilient. Could be she’d be able to put this bad dream behind her. Jack wuffed softly. “You’ll have to carry her back. I’ll keep out of sight in case she wakes up.” “Except I don’t know the way. C’mon, Lassie, you can take the lead.” “Ay, I already regret saying anything about that.” Elsa lifted the still-sleeping girl onto her back for the trek back towards human habitation. Hopefully the search party wasn’t too far, or the sleeping spell wore off soon, because while seven-year-old wasn’t heavy, she wasn’t exactly light either, and as he was, Jack was no help at all. “So… How is Ted doing? Is he around?” “No, he doesn’t like cold weather; he rarely comes this far north. I am actually on my way to visit him, in Florida." "That’s nice. What brought you to Missouri?" They’d talked for about a quarter mile about places they’d both seen on their travels, when Elsa felt a stirring at her back. Signalling to Jack that he should stop talking, she shifted her grip and lowered Sylvie to the ground. The girl woke up slowly at first, then all at once. She shrieked, ear-piercingly loud and sudden enough that Elsa took a startled step backwards, holding her hands up placatingly. "Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you, you’re safe."

"Wh-where am I?! Who are you?! I don’t, I don’t - !" she took great gulping breaths.

Elsa crouched down. "My name is Elsa. I found you in the woods. Your family is looking for you; I’m here to bring you home."

Sylvie latched onto her sleeve with a vice grip. "Why am I in the woods! Why!"

"It’s okay." Elsa soothed, squeezing her shoulder to ground her. "You’re awake, the nightmare is over. You’re safe. You’ll be home soon." Elsa didn’t particularly want to gaslight a seven-year-old with lies; a distraction, on the other hand, could be just the thing to shift her focus and get her moving forward. Physically and metaphorically. "Have you met my friend, Jack?" He trotted over, head held high, and sat down next to Elsa, tail wagging.

"Oh!" Sylvie released her vice-grip on Elsa’s jacket to tentatively reach towards him. Jack obligingly lowered his head so she could rub between his fuzzy ears. "He’s so pretty!"

"You’re so right," Elsa agreed, to appease the child; Jack cocked his head and grinned at her. She sighed and stood up, brushing off dirt and leaves. "C’mon, your family is waiting for you. Let’s get you home." She held out her hand to Sylvie, and together they started walking, Jack trotting along beside, still in Lassie-mode.

"How did I get out here? Do you know? Do you know where my Daddy is? I miss him! I don’t like these woods!" Sylvie stopped abruptly and dug her heels in. "Get my dad!"

"The faster we walk, the faster you’ll get to your dad."

"I don’t want to walk! I hate these woods! I want you to call my Daddy!"

"I don’t have his number." Which was an oversight on their part, admittedly. She should have checked if Jack had gotten a contact number for the search party. "I can’t carry you the whole way, it’s too far. Literally the only way we’re getting out of these woods is if we all walk."

"Why can’t you carry me?"

"I just said. You’re too big."

"But I don’t want to walk."

Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose. Sylvie was scared, and scared kids had the same fear reflexes as anyone else: fight, flight, or fawn. Elsa should consider herself lucky that the girl’s first response wasn’t to bolt into the forest, but the impulse to curl up and lie still wasn’t helpful in this situation.

She tried another tactic. "You know, Jack is scared of the woods, too."

"What, really?" Sylvie looked skeptically at Jack, who gave her his best puppy eyes in response.

"Yep," Elsa said, biting back a grin. "Total scaredy-cat, this one. But it’s good for him to be outside, so I’m trying to get him used to the forest. Do you think you can help me? Can you show him how to be brave?"

Sylvie gave her proposal due consideration, then nodded, steely-eyed. "You don’t have to worry anymore, Jack. I’ll look out for you."

Task in hand, Sylvie had no more issues with walking. She kept up a constant stream of chatter, directed mostly towards Jack in order to reassure him. In the end, it did not take that long to cross paths with the search party. Within half an hour Elsa had returned Sylvie to the grateful arms of her father, Jack hanging back out of sight of the adults, who were all significantly less likely to be fooled by his dog routine.

Elsa extricated herself from their gratitude as quickly as she could, uninterested in tearful reunions. She bummed a map off one of the searchers and plotted the best course back to her car. As soon as the search party was out of sight, Jack fell into step beside her.

"It was good to see you again, Elsa."

"Mm. This was a lot more fun than last time." She chewed her lip, thinking carefully about whether she wanted to make the offer. "Listen," Elsa began. "I was actually on my way to Georgia, this hunt was just a detour. Word is there’s something draining the ley lines. If you’re headed to Florida, do you want to… travel together, for a bit?"

"I’d like that."

"Clothing is required. That’s non-negotiable."

"Of course."

The last vestiges of the knot in her chest loosened, and she took a deep breath of cool autumn air. Some company would be nice for this trip.

[keef-a-corn]

Dat’s right, People, it’s time for ‘Keef watches TFP and you just get the notes!’

This is for season 1, episode 24: One Shall Rise Part 1

Please reblog or comment on this with your thoughts! I really want to know what your opinion of the episode was!

I write down the timestamps, but I watch Transformers Prime on Stan (an Australian streaming service) so they may be slightly off.

ALSO! I try my best to note points for every character, but tend to get a little caught up by Bee (although I think I do a pretty good job with the notes regardless) so do be warned.

These notes may not be the best as One Shall Rise is a 3 (kinda 4) parter and more than 2 part episodes stress me out.

~~~~Transition~~~~

~recap~

01:01 honestly a good start to an episode of this nature. Like despite having just fought Megatron and being held down, if something so shocking and questionable (as in a very powerful being, from your religion,’s blood is erupting from a planet that had nothing to do with yours, linking your planet and theirs) were to happen, I sincerely doubt anyone would be able to stay in the moment and not get lost in your own thought.

01:07 - Megatron learnt nothing from Optimus? Stab first, then say one-liner. You will find this is true across many media, because as soon as the one-liner is delivered, the opponent is now fully aware of the intention of the one delivering the line. They have enough time to prepare to defend/protect themselves. If they one-liner is delivered after, the opponent will be processing what happened to them. One-liners accompany surprise attacks.

01:12 - See?. Shouldn’t have said the one-liner.

01:16 - Bulkhead’s doing a great job

01:33 - I understand why they chose for Arcee to help Ratchet, but I’m still allowed to question it. Like yeah, Bee’s staying back to accompany Raf (and so he doesn’t try to kill Megatron himself), but it would’ve probably have been quicker and easier if it was Bee who helped Optimus back through, rather than Arcee. Although, I still understand the decision.

01:38 - despite getting punch, Bulkhead’s still holding up very well.

01:42 - what’s actually going on with that position?

01:44 - Megatron pursuing Bulkhead by foot is such a stupid move.

01:53 - Let’s pretend that the ground bridge didn’t close, Megatron can’t cut through it and Bulkhead had already disappeared. What was the plan? He just strike the air and freak ‘em out a bit?

01:57 - gotta appreciate the continuity of Megatron’s face still have the tire marks.

02:13 - I was expecting him to start jumping up and down

~intro~

02:59 - the bridge was already open and then closed.

03:00 - Were they just chilling in the space that makes up the ground bridge tunnel, waiting for it to open again, for so long that Bulkhead and Arcee managed to swap?

03:02 - Ratchet and Bulkhead are so short compared to Optimus that he has to really bend his legs to receive their support.

03:08 - Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me. I’ll be more considerate though, because Ratchet was essentially saying that it was too much, as opposed to just one beam of dark energon.

03:12 - I’m gonna actually bite someone. I hate this so much.

03:15 - The way Bulkhead pushed him down and the way Optimus sat *mwah*

03:20 - pure bean

03:23 - I get that she’s being protective and all because Raf got hurt, but must she be so cruel to the injured pure bean? He wasn’t involved with Raf getting hurt, he did the responsible thing and sent him to the medic, wasn’t involved with any of the decisions in the profession he’s not familiar with + he’s not Raf’s guardian. Now, I’m not one to throw Bumblebee under the bus… but if June were to get angry at anyone, she should get angry at Bee. Bee’s Raf’s guardian and Raf was in his care when it happened.

03:25 - I’m gonna kill her.

03:33 - h-what

03:41 - Why does no one talk about this shot?

03:54 - ~Dark~ energon.

04:00 - I don’t think that’s even remotely close to the boogeyman..

04:01 - There’s something so innocent about the bots not understanding human references.

04:03 - how does that lineup with anything that the humans know about Unicron?

04:26 - NO! What did he say??

04:28 - he’s so cute I can’t-

04:34 - Oh.. oh dear.. Oh Ratchet noooo

04:37 - From everything, doubt they’d even care, or believe you.

04:40 - that too.

04:43 - the way he said June- (J o o n)

04:45 - but he didn’t fail anything! She’s just the ass that directed her anger at the wrong bot.

05:06 - it’s weird hearing her say that considering the statement is so relevant for American students now, so much so that it’s pitiful.

05:33 - NOT JUNE SAYING THAT CHILDREN DON’T HAVE THE FREEDOM OF CHOICE ON EARTH.

05:42 - Not a huge Miko fan… but I get it.

05:45 - I don’t recommend doing what Miko did, but I will say that keep that sort of stuff in mind when you need to discuss a decision with someone like a teacher. They aren’t your parent, they cannot make you do something you don’t want to if you believe you’d benefit more by not doing it. They may have a certain level of power over you, but they get a power check anytime you stand your ground on a decision.

06:01 - this is a parallel to.. the first episode? Where Jack was the one insisting that they leave.

06:08 - on the other end of the stick is that as you get older your relationship to someone should become less of a factor into a personal decision/opinion. Just because their your parent, doesn’t mean they always know what’s best for you.

06:14 - Good on June for not pushing it. She accepted that answer.

06:19 - AAAAA NOOOO

06:26 - Bro chose her pride over convenience.

06:32 - THEY DIDN’T SAY GOODBYE

06:42 - Noooooooooooo

06:43 - not the door wings ;0;

06:44 - it makes it sadder that he was standing alone as he watched the only human that could understand him leave.

06:55 - slight error as Arcee went from behind Bee, to standing at his side, but that will be ignored to laugh at the heights differences.

07:13 - oh man, that reporter, I wonder who voiced him.

07:25 - everyone static for so long is glorious

08:07 - she’s pretty good at dodging the lightening

08:13 - then crashes.

08:52 - this scene takes a long time, but it works well to emphasise that they were in a lot of danger.

09:05 - And enjoyable detail is that Bee opens his doors for a second before transforming.

09:24 - situations like these are reasons why it makes sense that Bee is yellow. It’s a vibrant colour, so it’s an emergency colour.

09:44 - Let’s be honest here, Bee should’ve brought someone with him. Bulkhead, maybe?

10:04 - the only other human to have sat in Bee’s driver’s seat is Jack.

10:09 - running a stop sign, damn.

10:33 - bleeeeh

10:46 - if everyone else wasn’t doing anything why was Bee alone?? No one thought that maybe a rescue mission shouldn’t be just one rescuer??

10:56 - Optimus looking to Ratchet, then smiling (more?) is such a cute detail

10:59 - Bee’s heavy landing after transforming.

11:25 - imagine trying to say that and not sound like someone a bit too into astrology

11:52 - just to be clear, Agent Fowler’s correct.

11:55 - hehe

12:02 - following Ratchet saying ‘by the AllSpark’ Bee reacts by looking at him then giving him a surprised look

12:14 - Don’t understand the point of the focus on Arcee walking in.

12:27 - the way Optimus’s optics shook once he realised.

12:32 - Honestly, I agree with Megatron- it really hurts to listen to.

12:52 - the music tho-

12:57 - This is how I wake up every morning.

13:14 - The writers better have a document explaining how volcanoes produced lava if the Earth didn’t have Magma.

13:19 - husbands theorising

13:28 - Melatonin, blankets and make the room a bit cooler.

13:44 - ooh~ Expedition.

14:35 - hoooo

14:40 - The Elmer Fudd approach I see.

14:50 - AHHH THE WAY HIS FACE MOVES, THE EXPRESSIONS, THE E V E R Y T H I N G

15:03 - Arcee enthusiastically joining the brainstorm session. + don’t look at me with those big ol’ eyes.

15:08 - he announces ‘I awaken’

15:10 - Miko’s expressive story telling. H O- Bulkhead’s expressions.

15:14 - Solemn as it is, I cannot get past the fact that the two shortest of the autobots haven’t thought to move.

15:19 - the double blink to look up hurts considering this is a very effective method to prevent tears.

15:33 - who’s gonna tell him?

15:57 - where did Soundwave come from??

16:20 - Bro really trying to impress his dad.

16:25 - change ‘Unicron’ to God or Jesus and you have the why the priest blesses the Eucharist during mass (delivery included).

17:00 - Fatherless behaviour. I swear every villian recites that speech when they finally meet their more evil father.

17:08 - GOTTEM

17:19 - Your time of the month maybe.

17:25 - NOT THE FORCE OF DESTRUCTION CALLING MEGATRON A WORM.

17:45 - Megatron really trying to force a friendship.

17:54 - and here we have the liar.

18:04 - The liar has been called out.

18:13 - Unicron really went back to bed.

18:26 - Optimus scouting gives off big ‘undercover boss’ energy.

18:56 - I laughed so hard at this that my shoulder hurts

19:09 - oh… no one told him shoulder pads are out of style..

19:19 - Get in line. (I have taken it upon myself to draw up what I imagine the ‘Who wants to destroy Optimus Prime’ sign up sheet would look like:

(WHO WANTS TO DESTROY OP:

1. MEGATRON

2. StArsreAm

3. SKYQUAKE (Quake dies ;^;)

3 4. Ratchet❤️ Joking! K.O.❤️

4 5. Ratchet (the real one) (I miss understood) AYO-

4 5 6. Optimus Prime (Bumblebee saw. I cannot do that to him.)

4 5 6 7. MECH

5 6 7 8. Primus :)

6 7 8 9. St3V3

7 8 9 10. Unicron)

19:43 - didn’t realise until now, but this parallels Sick Mind. An Autobot speaking to an enemy in the enemy’s domain- Curiosity is what compels the enemy to listen.

19:49 - doubling parallel, speaking to increase the safety of others.

20:03 - a species?? Prime needs to be introduced to a dog or something. HAH- introduce him to a Bumblebee.

20:15 - Antisocial people:

20:23 - Dude has magician powers.

20:34 - well it took 13 Primes to put him in a coma. Can’t fault Optimus for being weak.

20:38 - They never learn. Phrase AFTER destruction.

20:43 - Translation: not yet, Dame Fragger.

21:20 - top ten lamest Villian one liners.

-To be Continued-

———————

That was One Shall Rise part 1

THAT WAS ONLY ONE FRAGGIN EPISODE?!

It took me weeks to finish!

For all that it is- it's a very good episode.

Still frustrated about last episode and am very much annoyed by June's behaviour. I love Bee with all my heart, but he was the one in charge of Raf at the time-

[novelconcepts]

81. for taivan

81 - Feeling For Them in the Dark

Habits are formed fast in the wild. Taissa can't even be sure how long she's had this one. Started, maybe, after Van's injury. Started, maybe, when the sleepwalking got especially bad. Whenever it started, it's ingrained in her system now: a tendency of rolling over in the dark, eyes still closed, hand stretching for a familiar body.

Most times, she finds fabric first. Van's shirt. Then her arm. She pulls, and however Van's fallen asleep, she rolls instinctively to curl against Taissa's side. Her head nestles against the crook of Taissa's shoulder. Her fist tightens around Tai's biceps, or her sleeve.

Most times, Van is right there, within grasping distance. It isn't safe to sleep alone. It doesn't cross their minds to even try.

Tonight, she reaches, eyes shut, and finds nothing.

A jolt of adrenaline punches her out of a sleepy fog. She's upright before her conscious brain can weigh in, her anxious voice cutting through the night.

"Van?"

"Here," Van calls softly. Taissa groggily follows the echo, shivering in the brisk summer air, to find her sitting sidelong the low-burning fire.

"What're you doing up?" She looks around, puzzled. "Wasn't it Mari's turn to keep watch?"

"And Akilah," Van confirms. "I told 'em to sleep. Brain's all..."

She makes a gesture either side of her head vaguely akin to jazz hands. In the shine of the firelight, her eyes look ancient.

Taissa settles in beside her. She'd rather be sleeping, but they have a rule about watch: no one sits alone. Anyway, the look on Van's face worries her.

"Was it..." She lowers her voice, pressing a palm to her own sternum. Van shakes her head.

"No, haven't seen her in a week. I've just been thinking. About Coach."

Taissa grimaces. "Why?"

"He's still out there. Just...hanging out. In the movie biz, they call that Chekhov's gun."

"In the reality biz," says Taissa dryly, "we call that unlikely. We lost track of him in winter, Van. He's probably dead."

Van scuffs a hand across her face. Her skin is blotchy, peeling in places. The constant sunlight is not agreeing with her in the slightest. "And if he's not?" she counters. "I hate thinking of him like some kind of boogeyman, but..."

But he tried to kill us once. What's stopping him trying again? Taissa understands. It's a thought she's had in the dark, too. And in the light. It's awful, and it's probable, in the event that a starving man with one leg has survived on his own could be probable, that they will have to deal with him again. Like Van's said: he's an element already introduced, one that must surely return.

"There are more of us," she says, "than of him."

Van rests her face in her hands for a moment. Taissa leans against her, tugging at her sleeve until Van tips seamlessly into her. She wraps an arm around Van's shoulders.

"Don't wander off like that," she adds. "Scared me."

She feels Van smile. "Usually my line."

"Yeah, well. Maybe we should reintroduce the rope."

"Yeah, well. Maybe you just want to tie me up."

Taissa smothers her laughter before it can rouse the others. Van gives a low sigh of contentment. The fire smolders on.

[overheardatthecontinental]

Ooooouuuu for the fanfic writing asks because I'm both nosy & greedy -- #8 pleasseeee

😘😊

8. Post an out-of-context spoiler from a WIP

And because I adore you, I'll give you one from each of my active WIPs :)

Endlessly Dangerous

The phone vibrated again.

Helen: Nothing I can’t handle. When he went to the bar, Marcus and I started a new game where we take a drink every time Winston tries to speak in metaphors

Oh, that would not end well. He fired off a message quickly:

JW: Do not do that

Before sending a new message to Marcus:

JW: Do not let Helen play a Winston based drinking game

Marcus: The idea that you think I have any control over your girlfriend is hilarious

Endlessly Dangerous (Helen's Version)

Her fingers twitched.

Art was about transformation. She’d taken a story that held significance to her and created a replica. She’d conceptualized the piece before carefully planning exactly how she wanted it to look. Then, it was destroyed. Smashed into hundreds of pieces. John had taken one part of it and used it as a weapon.

It was no longer what it began as.

And she wanted it.

Endlessly Bitter

"What can I say?" Helen leans back in her seat, smiling flirtatiously. "I attract trouble."

John is not amused. "Yes, you do."

She laughs at him, leaning across the counter. John gives her a brief kiss in response, surprising Winston. The idea of the boogeyman giving any PDA is jarring.

"Do you want your usual?" she asks him.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, one dark roast and a Xanax, coming right up."

Criminally Insane

“Good morning, John,” she said, closing his door behind her. “I”m Doctor Kingston. I’ll be your psychiatrist.”

His eyes seemed to cut into her.

Helen was used to the different kind of looks she got from patients. There were looks of anger from patients who didn’t want to be hospitalized. There was paranoia from those whose brains had convinced them that she was evil or a cog in a system out to destroy them. There was the emptiness of those who couldn’t comprehend existence outside of their own emotions. This was different.

John was assessing her every movement, looking for something.

“Good morning,” he answered evenly, politely.

“How are you doing today?”

He raised his brow and dryly replied, “Phenomenal.”

Untitled Matrix fic

"I know," Tank bemoaned. "And I get it, but it means our shore leaves won't line up again which means we're now at five months without fucking."

Neo blinked, focusing again on his hand in a desperate attempt to not listen to Tank talk about his sex life. 

Distal phalange, medial phalange, proximal phalange.

"You still got two hands," Trinity replied without missing a beat and Neo barely held back a snort.

"Your empathy is astounding."

Matrix Redux

“What happened?” He bit out, trying to remove Morpheus’ arm from his.

“You had a seizure during the testing and--”

“To her?” It came out as a snarl. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he ripped his arm back from Morpheus and undid in quick succession, removed the two plugs violently.