#it was a lil difficult making the vest work but i got it done in the end

[dinerfries]

signgirl

[finniestoncrane]

Hello 😊😊

can i request arkham origins eddie x fem! reader they met at the GCPD and she was always stalking him until one day he got tired and asked what's wrong with her?

Fluffy pls ☺️💚

That's Not Funny

Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 700 for you, more fluff that i think i've ever put into something before that involved this man u-u 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: it's p/much sfw but there's a kiss and maybe a lil bit of leering at eddie because he's so pretty

It was really difficult not to let your mind wander when Edward was around. From the moment you had met him, he had intrigued you. Everyone else had been so kind and welcoming on your first day on the job at the GCPD, clerical work was the backbone of any working operation and they all knew it. Except for Edward Nigma, who had pushed past you to get back to his work, only muttering something incoherent when he was told you were new. Someone else had done his introductions for him, but you were barely listening past his name, watching him move somehow awkwardly yet confidently through the bullpen.

An innocent crush had only grown over the course of your first month there, not made any less intense by your efforts to ‘bump into’ him at every opportunity. It was easy enough to know his comings and goings, given that you had access to his schedule, his workload, and also his personal files. Home address, telephone number, no next of kin…Perfect.

It was frustrating though, as he was well aware of your existence and yet, had never made any effort to speak to you. There had been several occasions where you had been caught leering at him, and he’d never even so much as looked directly at you. That time you just happened to be walking past the locked room when he had come out of the showers, wrapped in a towel, chest hair matted to his chest, soaking wet, your mouth literally agape at the sight of him. Or when you spent your entire lunch break watching him, unblinking, tinkering with someone’s computer in the bullpen, his eyes meeting yours a few times, aware that you were staring right back at him each time he happened to look over. Even to have him confront you would have been something. But he said nothing.

Which is why you felt so confident in your blatant admiration of him as you stared at the back of his head in the break room, watching him chug two cups of coffee.

“What’s wrong with you?”

His words had you jumping a little, excited to hear him speak finally, but completely terrified.

“I…uh, what?”

“What’s your problem?” He turned to face you, questioning you with narrowed eyes, his arms folded across his chest. It was useless to expect you to answer, you were too busy wondering how a sweater vest could ever be that attractive.

“Hello?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I knew it.” He scoffed as he recognised confusion on your face. “Don’t try to pretend now. They really have you playing the long-con, hm? Easily manipulated? I think it’s pathetic that you were so easily pulled into their idiotic little pranks.”

“What do you…”

“Save it, you think I’m too dumb to know what’s going on? I’m the smartest person here, and you think I wouldn’t realise you were all teasing me? I can admit, the organisation that goes into something like this, the collaborative effort is admirable. How did they manage to get you on board so easily? Hazing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This! The whole thing! You…getting you to pretend to be obsessed with me so I embarrass myself and ask you out. So that you can all laugh at Edward, because he needs to be knocked down a peg. Can’t take it that I’m smarter and more capable than you all!?”

You sat silently, watching his frantic little gestures, arms flailing wildly as he ranted.

“Because a pretty girl couldn’t possibly be interested in Edward. No! He’s just the loser who ‘does the computers’ which doesn’t even make grammatical sense!”

The heat in your cheeks was embarrassingly strong. He called you pretty. The rest of the words were slowly sinking in, but you were far too focused on the idea that the object of your obsessive desires thought you were pretty.

“Well? Are you going to defend yourself? Just know that I can tell when people are lying. I’m incredibly perceptive.” He gestured his hand out, presenting the palm to you, giving you the stage.

“There’s no…I’m…I just…I think you’re interesting.”

“Oh.” Edward stood awkwardly by the counter, shuffling towards you slowly and thrusting out his hand. “In that case, Edward Nigma, nice to meet you.”

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[devildomdoofus]

Lemon Dreams: Part 1

[NSFW]

Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

a bit of spicey lil dreams the brothers have of MC. If requested, I’ll add the undateables (minus Luke) into a Part 3.

Gender-Neutral as always.

MINORS:

DO NOT INTERACT

DO NOT PROCEED

Be smart, have common sense.

I’m not responsible for your irresponsibility.

You see the warnings. I put them out plainly. Adhere.

‼️WARNINGS‼️

NSFW, mature theme, mature content, implied intercourse, nudity, swearing, light bondage, BDSM, tidbit of pet play, wet dreams,

IF I MISSED ANY, PLEASE INFORM ME

Author’s Note (Sorry, I’ll try to be brief):

Trying my hand at some “light” N S F W content to see how I do and see how it goes.

Thank you all, once again, for the love and support and positive responses!! You’re enjoyment is the reason I keep doing what I love to do✨ Please: stay healthy, stay safe, stay you, and stay ruling them all, MCs 💕

- DevildomDoofus

💙Lucifer:

Regrettably, it has been nearly a millennia since he’s had any amount of a decent shuteye due to his brothers’ antics, his oversight of R.A.D., and obligations to Diavolo so you can only imagine the amount of fatigue that he felt in his mind, body, and soul. But because of his image and his own personal desire to be nothing short of perfect, he couldn’t simply rest whenever or wherever he pleased. It was outlandish to even consider the idea. Unfortunately, the side effects of denying himself any form of rest were starting to show. It was causing him to make mistakes he wouldn’t normally make and Diavolo had to personally intervene, using his authority on behalf of his dear friend’s health or lack thereof and demanded that he take a day off. He was the only one in all of the realms that could try and convince this workaholic to put on the breaks. You, yourself, have tried before but Lucifer was as stubborn as the days of summer were long and you felt like you were talking to a brick wall. But because Lucifer could not deny his prince’s demands, he reluctantly obliged... but not without absolute confirmation that nothing would go wrong while he was absent and as soon as he felt rested enough, he would return immediately.

Locking himself away in his room while putting a soundproof spell on the outside of it, he finally sits down at his desk and leans back in his chair as he sluggishly closes his eyes. The silence was both mildly relaxing and extremely uncomfortable as it was so rare for the world around him to be so... quiet. so undisturbed. So peaceful.

It was a bit unnerving.

He sighs deeply. This whole resting thing was going to be a lot more difficult than he originally thought. He stands up to go grab a vinyl record, places it on the antique gramophone and turns the device on. The orchestra makes their way through the metal funnel and the melody of the instruments echo beautifully throughout his room. “Much better,” he hums to himself. He tosses his coat aside, unbuttons his vest and drops it to the floor, removes his button-up shirt, kicks off his shoes, and does away with his belt while his pants follow suit. He dons his nighttime robe and finally slides into his bed. As soon as he hits the mattress, his eyes shut and his mind turns off, allowing him to drift swiftly into a deep slumber.

The dream started out like any other dream he’s had in his life; it’s mundane and not much is going on. It’s practically the same as ‘bringing work home with him’ but in his dreams. He’s at his desk, crossing his t’s, dotting his i’s, finalizing some paperwork, and the like, while the stress from his waking hours begins to find its way back to him like a boomerang.

Then, as if by magic, all of his stress melted away as soon as he heard a knock on his door along with your voice calling for him softly on the other side. He smirks. “You may enter.” He kept his head low as you stepped in due to the fact that he was finishing signing a particular paper. “Just a moment,” he instructs, as the last cursive letter finds its place on the paper. He begins to lift his eyes to meet yours. “Now, what can I do for yo-...” He freezes.

There you were, standing before him, in nothing but one of his ties hanging loosely around your neck. His jaw clenches and his fist tighten into a ball so firmly that his knuckles turn white under his gloves.

‘Like a lamb to it’s slaughter,’ he quotes, internally.

Needless to say, the dream takes a more DRASTIC turn and he’s got you bent over the desk, hands tied up with his tie that you so graciously considered to bring with you, and his name pouring out of your lips like a faucet. He’s taking you all for himself, piece by divine piece, with every snap of his hips, bite of your skin, and claw of your flesh. What a sight you were beneath him.

The moment he wakes, his body is covered in a ‘morning’s dew’ of sweat and the sheets of his bed have become painfully heavy on his lower half. His heart is still thumping wildly in his chest and his eyes are darting everywhere in his room, ensuring that he’s alone and no one can see him in such a disheveled state. He uses part of his robe to dab away the sweat from his brow and then rubs his eyes as he collects himself.

Spends the next many few hours calming himself down and hoping that he is blessed by some unholy miracle where NOBODY walks in...

especially you...

with nothing but his tie hanging loosely around your neck and-...

Ah shit.

The following morning at breakfast, he is eyeing you rather heavily from across the table and his brothers take notice but never dare to say a word. They just assume that you’ve done something to piss him off again and want no part of it.

They are not entirely wrong, though. You had unknowingly irked him quite a bit.

You entered his dreams without permission, made such a delectable spectacle of yourself in front of him, and caused him to feel things that no other demon, angel, human, nor any other soul for that matter, has been able to make him feel. And now he has to deal with these explicit thoughts and feelings, especially when you’re around or in his vicinity, along with many other things that demand his attention and it’s all just so irritating. Delightfully irritating. The kind of irritating he secretly enjoys.

The next few days, you never really get the sense that anything is off with Lucifer for how well he carries himself, no matter his circumstances, and yet... he seems to be less physical with you. Normally, he would give you the occasional hand on the shoulder or upper back when you needed guidance, allow you to lean on his shoulder when your days had been particularly rough and you needed to rest, or pinch your cheek when he teased you but lately... he wouldn’t even keep eye contact with you for very long without turning away and- was that a hint of pink in his cheeks? No, surely you are imagining things. Lucifer, blushing? Has the devildom froze over?

💛Mammon:

This poor, sweet and a little bit sleazy man was just SO exhausted from having to get up early that morning when he’d normally sleep in, to go to a school he doesn’t ever really pay attention to, as well as constantly keep lower demons from getting anywhere near his precious MC, bribe Levi to do his homework in exchange for an exclusive Ruri-Chan figurine (which he went into further debt to obtain), keep his overbearing fanbase from his modeling jobs happy on social media... it all was simply too much for The Great Mammon to be doing when he could alternatively be doing something better. Like being lazy sleeping off this R.A.D lag.

He had skipped his last few remaining classes and told you he was headed to your room to crash before school let out and you two could hang out later. He plopped onto your bed, nuzzled his face into one of your pillows, and fell asleep shortly after to your sweet aroma surrounding him.

His dream began as they typically do, with him gambling his Grimm for higher payouts or watching the Devildom stock market fluctuate in his favor... or more often times than he’ll ever admit, it’s just the two of you spending some quality time together alone for a change.

Only this time, his dream didn’t end up the way it typically did.

In his dream, he was sitting next to you on the sofa with his arm resting behind your head wanting to wrap it around you so fucking badly and watching whatever you had put on when it was interrupted by the winning lottery ticket read out. He leapt from couch with a big yell and the winning ticket in hand, and rushed to hug the tv and to kiss the demon inside of it, thanking him, Lady Luck, and anyone else involved in his incredible fortune today. As he turned around to come squeeze you tight with excitement and have you share in his celebration, his whole body tensed and he stopped in his tracks. He had become a deer in the headlights.

You were now lewdly postured on the couch, bare and exposed, excluding how you were practically dripping in gold jewelry/accessories whilst surrounded by enormous piles of Grimm. With one finger, you beckoned him over.

To say that this is one of his all time favorite fantasies would be THE understatement of the millennia.

He was in front then over you in a matter of milliseconds, his demon form taking over his body and stealing noises from you that the entire House of Lamentation- no- the entire Devildom could hear and FUCK he loved that thought almost as much as he adored you he cared about you; the thought that the entire Devildom could hear that you were his and his alone, that no other soul could make you feel like this.

And just as it was about to get really good, he wakes up.

Red faced, breathing heavily, and a thick coat of sweat all over his body. Not to mention the newfound, painful tightness in his pants.

He’s jerking his head around the room to confirm hoping to deny that is was all simply a dream, and to be certain that you hadn’t come back from school early or something and found him like this.

“Unholy shit.” He wipes the sweat from his face and then takes his phone in his hand to check the time. “UNHOLY SHIT!!” You had texted that you were on your way back home 10 minutes ago! He had to be quick.

He replaced the sweaty sheets and pillow cases with new ones, adjusting them so that it looked as it had before he slept on them, tied his school uniform coat around his waist to disguise the ‘friendly neighborhood bachelor,’ and darted like a bat out of devildom to his room, avoiding major hallways and doors to ensure that no one could stop him or chase him down and see him in his predicament.

You can be sure that for the next few weeks, he’s avoiding you like the plague. He sends texts that he is “paying off a debt and can’t make it,” or “Sorry MC, I’m a little tied up at the moment. This Grimm won’t make itself.” and to you it was a little odd, but nothing he hasn’t exactly done before, so you go about your days as normal. Poor Mammon has once spent an entirety of four months working a few jobs to pay off one big loan.

If only you knew how often he was reliving that dream in his head, over and over and over again. For such a thing to become reality? Well... he feels he’d have better luck winning the lottery. But just as he gambled, he wouldn’t give up so easily.

🧡Leviathan:

It is not uncommon for Leviathan to have certain dreams about certain individuals he enjoys, be it anime characters, video game characters, idols that he fawns over, etc. It’s normal. Quite often, in fact, but he would rather LITERALLY DIE before he ever admits to such a thing, much less have anyone think he has a crush. With his brothers as they are known to be, he’d never live it down. Which is one of the reasons why he keeps himself locked away in his room and goes on binges of whatever it is he’s invested in at the time. He’s left alone to do and be as much of himself as he pleases without judgment. It is one particular episode of an anime he had been bingeing for several hours that has him with his head resting upon his keyboard and ever so slightly snoring away as the characters converse in the background. It wasn’t boring in the least, it’s just that his eyes refused to stay open any longer and his body decided for him that it was about time for a proper nap.

His dream began as normal, with him on a quest to save the renowned, royal heir from the ten-headed beast that guarded the tower in which they were kept. The journey to the tower was extensive and not without its obstacles, the battle was epic, in every sense of the word, and the reward for it’s heads would match the gratification of the victory that ensued it.

Little did he know that in that tower, it wasn’t just any royal heir lying in wait for their prince to come, as they had always been. It was you.

You, in all of your glory, draped across the bed and adorned with the finest of cloths that were barely covering your most intimate of skins.

As he entered your bedroom chambers, expecting to find a fictional character he adored in his waking hours, he stops dead in his tracks and his entire body turns red hot in matter of seconds. You could easily hear the thumping of his heart throwing heavy blows at his ribcage, and, if you looked close enough, you could see the steam trickling out of his ears. You could also hear the clinking of his amor, the metal plates shaking against one another as he trembles before you.

Leviathan.exe has stopped working.

Yes, he’s had plenty of dreams like this before but.. fuck.. they were never of you. Much less like this. Believe him, he’s tried on many occasions to at least see your face or hear your voice, ANYTHING. But inevitably, his anxiety and shyness won in the end and you never came passing through his dreams... until now.

You leant against one arm, your lips curling into a smile, and then beckoned him silently with one crook of a finger.

Anxiety and shyness who?

He quickly does away with the heavy armor, tossing them aside, and crawls across the bed to you, to your face, to those precious lips.

He takes a hold of them in his own and seemingly devours you as he strips you of what little cloth covered you and then pushes you back down against the bed. The dream continues with your bodies intertwining in every way that earned him the lewdest of noises from you.

Until he jerks awake with his face a deep shade of crimson, body covered from head to toe in a mist of sweat, and a heartbeat that could put a drum solo to shame. He quickly scans his surroundings as he’s coming back to reality, making sure he’s the only one within a mile’s radius. If anyone thought he was a hermit now, you can only imagine what it would be like if he was caught looking the way that he did. The anime that he had fallen asleep to was now on a screen that was asking for confirmation if he was still watching. He presses the power button on his computer and wipes away the sweat on his brow before leaning back in his chair, eyes glued to the ceiling as he’s recollecting the dream. He sees the faces you were making in pleasure pass through his mind once more and it makes his face turn 30 shades redder and increases the painful tightness in his snug sweatpants. He shakes his head, no longer wanting to continue digging this grave of overwhelming lust, and plants his head back onto the keyboard. Lord Diavolo, please, just kill him now.

The following months, Leviathan stays locked away in his room and avoids you as if you were the final boss of a game he never wants to stop playing. He knew that if he saw you, got near you, or even heard your name being mentioned, there would be no way of stopping his thoughts, his body’s reactions to those thoughts, nor his brother’s comments about how he’s “acting awfully strangely.”

As much as he wishes that he never had the dream in the first place because of all of the trouble it’s causing, he can’t help but relive it over and over again, putting it on repeat in his mind. But to admit to you these powerful feelings and attempt to bring it to reality? Only normies do such a thing... right?

💚Satan:

Line after line, chapter after chapter, book after book, he simply could not put the new series he had discovered down. He was so invested, he’d finish one book and immediately pick up the next. His mind was reeling far too fast for him to stop now and nothing in all of the three realms could do so. That is until his own body waved it’s white flag and begged for him to shut his eyes, even if for just moment. Satan bargained, internally, that he’d allow himself roughly thirty minutes of rest before he’d pick back up where he left off. He sets the book on a nearby desk, settles down onto his loveseat and closes his eyes.

As a man of many talents and faces, his dreams were known to be as heavily diverse as he was, and often times reflected whatever book he had been reading, philosophy he had been pondering, or stress he had been managing. No one particular type of dream frequented more than another.

That being said, in the past few weeks, you had been a bit more physical with him. Whether it was a simple brush of the hands as you two reached for the same novel, late night study sessions ending up in late night study and cuddling sessions, or the occasional linking of arms as the pair of you walked the length of a museum and studied its inhabitants. It goes without saying that you were making an impression on him and his mind, leaving little to no room for any other thoughts than the ones involving you. Naturally, you had found your way into his dreamworld and you were the one constant in the ever changing slumber visions.

The dreams that you were involved in, which were now a majority of them, were mostly sweet; the most intimate being the one time you had placed a chaste kiss upon his cheek. If you were to ask him about these dreams that had him chipper than usual, he would smile and tell you that “they were simply pleasant hallucinations but nothing more.” And he’d be lying through his teeth, desperately trying to keep his cheeks from reddening in front of you. If you were lucky enough that his gaze lingered, you’d catch the tint of pink making its way across his face. The poor inner romantic in him couldn’t help himself. He’s mastered the art of poker face in its entirety, but when it came to you, his willpower and calm demeanor waned into nothingness and he was like putty in your hands. Just don’t push it or there will be Devildom to pay.

This particular time around, though, his dream would take a more unforeseen turn.

In his dream, he had invited you to join him on an outing over to the Royal Library and you two were now making your way to your favorite lone table in the farthest back corner, hidden behind the many shelves of books. After claiming your usual spot, he went to gather the books he wanted to go through and planted himself in the chair to finally open them up and get started. Meanwhile, you had wandered off, presumably, to find and create your very own mountain of novels to conquer.

An hour or so passed and he had made his way through five of his books when he felt a tap against the cover of the one he was currently reading. “Forgive me, MC, but I’m almost done with this paragraph and I need just one more moment to do so.” Another tap against the cover. “May it wait, MC? I’m nearly finished.” This time, you gingerly grabbed the tip of his book and tilted it away from him (a pet peeve of his). Just as he was about to give you his trademark glare of warning, his eyes widen and his jaw clenches, with his fingers letting go of the book and tightening into a fist taut enough to turn his knuckles white.

There you stood before him in little to no clothing, fluffy little cat ears and a tail to match, with a leash and collar adorning your precious neck. You took his stiffened hand, ever so slowly opened it up, and delicately placed the end of the lead into his palm, flashing him your cheekiest grin.

Now you’ve gone and done it. He snaps.

He jerks the end of the lead so that you’re aggressively pulled forward, bending over the table and sending the piles of books to the floor with audible thuds, and your lips crash into his. He uses his free hand to trap cradle the other side of your face as he devours your lips, devours your taste. Impatient and hungry, he soon lets you go with a low growl before standing up and dragging you behind him, forcefully, by the lead, coming to the front of a shelf that leant against a wall and grabbed your waist, lifting you up to push you against it, having more books tumble to the floor with a sound thud, while once again, taking your lips with his. Something about the way you looked, the way you sounded because of his actions, drove him completely mad.

Before it could go any further, he jerks wakes to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He quickly scans his surroundings and when he finds it empty, he breathes a heavy sigh of relief. The knocks continue and from beyond the door, a familiar voice requests his audience. “Satan? It’s Solomon. My apologies, but I just wanted to return a borrowed book.”

He reaches for a nearby cloth and dabs away the sweat that covered his face. He steadies his breathing and in the stablest voice he could muster, he answers back, “Alright. One moment please.”

“Take your time,” the sorcerer replies.

He gathers himself quickly, as the master of his own emotions does, hoisted up from the loveseat, straightens himself out and starts to head for the door but with a quick glance downwards, he pauses. There’s no way he could greet Solomon with such a visible... display...

He takes his coat from the coatrack, wraps it around his waist and finally opens the door with a welcoming smile.

“Thank you kindly for the recommendation. It was a pleasant read,” Solomon tittered in recollection then immediately shifted into a frown of concern. “Satan... are you alright? Forgive my intrusion, but you seem a bit disheveled.” The disheveled man in question nods, chuckling in hopes of deterring Solomon from pressing any further by lightening his aura. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your concern. I simply had a bit of a nightmare.” Solomon raised a brow and Satan continued in his tall tale. “It had been so long since I’ve had one, so I’m sure you can imagine how unnerving it’s effects had on me.” Moments passed like molasses as Solomon pondered what Satan had said and the uncomfortable silence was wearing down on Satan’s last minute, makeshift composure. “Thank you for returning the book,” Satan’s voice firmly interjecting the fellow wise man’s thoughts as he received the book from his hands, “and I’m delighted that you enjoyed yourself.” He holds the book in front of where the coat covered his waist. “If you wish for more recommendations, I’ll be happy to share them with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some tea to drink and a book to read to calm my nerves. Good day, Solomon.” Before Solomon could get a final word in, Satan slips back into his room and shuts the door. For good measure, he locks it and turns the deadbolt. He shuffles back over to the loveseat where it all began and dropped down, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a heavy sigh. The blush that wanted so desperately to creep it’s way into his complexion the moment he’d awoken was now set free and his entire face turned red. He knew how to keep a tight grip on every other emotion he’s ever had... but love? Lust? This was going to be a challenge.

Outside of the door, not having moved an inch, Solomon stood with his chin snug between the crook of his forefinger and thumb. “Can demons have nightmares...?” He audibly contemplated as he waited a moment, following his train of thought before asking himself aloud again, “If so... then why did Satan have an erection?”

A pair of delicate hands found their way to Solomon’s shoulders and he glanced over them to see Asmodeus leaning in close to his ear. “It’s called a kink, darling.” Solomon politely shoos away the embodiment of lust with a gentle wave of his hand before starting down the hall from which he came, with the demon practically skipping in tow. “Kinks, we both know, I’m aware of. I had just assumed that his.. situation.. would be more relative to Belphegor.”

“Well,” Asmodeus chirped, “that’s what you get for assuming.”

[emersonfreepress]

ok ok in the spirit of community, how would the ros fair in a paintball war?

(referring to this ask! like the zombie au post this ended up making me think a lot 😅)

ohh... interesting, interesting... p sure the only paintball wars i’ve really seen were the ones featured in The League, Peep Show, and Community... but let me wrack my lil head...

ok, i ended up coming at this from multiple angles like the zombie au post 😅 always so much to consider in battle environments! and in the spirit of community, I'll stick with the individual player elimination style paintball match. in the woods with other e prep seniors. last one standing wins bragging rights

Gabe

Shooting skill | 6/10 - Experience with shooting and practice with Kile ofc

Stealthiness | 8/10 - He's done a fair amount of sneaking around during his after school activities, is super observant (or just paranoid lol), and naturally light on his feet. Good luck ambushing him.

Strategy | 8/10 - Strike deals. Do favors. Form alliances. Shoot 'em in the back once they’ve outlived their usefulness. ...What? It’s just paintball.

How does he win? | Graciously. Gabe likes winning, and especially via strategic manipulation, so it puts a smile on his face. And he's in a good mood so he treats a bunch of you to ice cream or smth 👀

How does he lose? | Slumps in frustration at being outwitted or taken off-guard, sulks about it for a little while. He's not that sore of a loser but needs time to lick his wounds and stop thinking of the different choices he could have made.

Kile

Shooting | 9 - The most accurate shooter of the cast and easily one of the best shots at E Prep. Lots of practice + talent

Stealth | 10 - They're stupid good at climbing trees and 100% consider that a valid method of ambushing their classmates. People start having flashbacks to 3rd and 4th grade recess and P.E. Scanning the trees. They just start taking people out with such efficiency it quickly starts ruining the game 😂

Strategy | 0? 10?? - “...Strategy? You just stay out of sight and kill 'em all, right?” (immediately scolded by Gabe for word choice 🙄) They really do mainly stay out of sight and pick people off with max stealth, like 😆 they'd be such a terror, people would need to take them out early for anyone else to stand a chance! They spend a lot of the game staking out the most frequented paths in the area and taking out groups quickly, all at once. Then they'll get around to stalking and picking people off one by one. The real fun...

Winner type | Stoic. Likes winning combat but the stakes were non-existent, so... the win is meaningless! this just infuriates the losers more 😅 such disrespect

Loser type | Sucks their teeth and tosses their paintball gun to the ground. "Y'all suck." (they're over it five mins later tho lol)

Jack

Shooting | 3 - This is nothing like shooting light guns... ☹️

Stealth | 5 - Not just due to his size making him an easier target, but homeboy is liable to get distracted by a cute squirrel or some pretty flowers 😂 He's not great at keeping his voice down either so good conversation would make him easy to seek out. He's just out here enjoying a beautiful day 😅

Strategy | 7 - All that movie-watching (and DMing) make him a valuable creative mind for problem-solving, but he needs a cooperative team to be effective. Rescued and recruited by Rupan/Rohan early on in the game ^ ^

Winner type | Disbelief! And everyone’s content and satisfied with him winning. Except Vivian/Vincent, that jealous fool

Loser type | Doesn't mind losing at all! He just hopes he was a good teammate and was glad to have fun ☺️

Jessie

Shooting | 7 - Comes from a family of hunters, girly knows how to shoot.

Stealth | 6 - Familiar enough with woods and stalking prey to be capable of sneaking around. Having too much fun to not giggle and get overly invested in the developing plot of the game. Even more easily distracted by critters and flora than Jack 😅

Strategy | 5 - Oh, she's just here to have fun. She'll go with whatever the person she's teaming up with decides, but can adapt easily enough.

Winner type | Surprised... then elated! Bouncing and happy and it's completely contagious. No hard feelings about a single thing. Convinces Heidi to invite people to the Emerson Estate—it's a hot day and they have a nice pool

Loser type | Same as Jack! Congratulates the winner with a hug because she's sweet like that 🧁

Rain

Shooting | 2 - This... thing is so cumbersome. And ugly. At least it shoots pretty colors.

Stealth | 7 - Small and used to sneaking around different environments and seeking out hiding spots. Their height and frame makes them harder to spot too.

Strategy | 4 - Hide!!! They’re not getting assaulted with paint and pellets!! Especially not after managing to make this ugly jumpsuit look cute?? Waiting it out is perfectly legitimate. Might share snacks if you decide to join them in hiding 😆

Winner type | Falls asleep in an unexpectedly cozy hiding spot and emerges as everyone thought they’d declared the winner. I imagine R and others yelling at them to get their gun while the original winner scrambles to get theirs, just for Rain to win by pure luck of the draw. Won’t stop them bragging about it, though! (I want this spurned runner-up to be Vi bc ofc)

Loser type | "So I can stop holding this thing?" Yawn. "I'm so hungry and bored, we've been at this for hours..."

Rupan/Rohan

Shooting | 4 - Ah, shit. These don't shoot anything like light guns.

Stealth | 7 - They sneak out and around town a lot 😂 They just force themself to be careful about how loud grass and bushes are.

Strategy | 7 - They’re treating this shit like an action movie and banding together a ragtag team of misfits to take down the strongest alliances and players. Savvy enough to reject Gabe’s and Curt’s offers to join, not opposed to strategic backstabs. They're very clearly just as focused on having fun as they are on winning—and playing Predator, which honestly works with Kile runnin around. They even brought war paint and borrowed a tactical vest. Is it mostly packed with snacks and weed? Maybe. Does it prove useful for negotiations? Hell yeah.

Winner type | Raucous celebration, just pure joy and adrenaline ☺️ Celebrates with their team, brags a bit, rubs it into Vi's face, makes fun of Curt, the usual. Then invites allies out to get pizza because it's the obvious next step

Loser type | Mostly disappointed they can't keep playing. They're a little sore about being left out of the action, but soon just start chatting with other marked players about how the game went for them. Plenty entertaining on its own, they want all the details

Vivian/Vincent

Shooting | 5 - They've got a little bit of shooting experience.

Stealth | 4 - They're overly sensitive and hate being in nature. Their skin is sticky, they keep feeling bugs everywhere, they've gotten dirt all over their pants, it's so hot, they keep WALKING into SPIDERWEBS, [flails about, screaming furiously]

Strategy | 8 - They have good ideas, they're just difficult to execute alone, especially since they're getting sunburnt and getting crankier and can't stop swatting at insects 😅 they're one of the first people to figure out that someone's taking out groups from the trees, so they stay solo and try to find a single person to team up with. Really what they need is someone who's a better shot but easy to boss around. They can probably just owe them for an in-school favor...

Winner type | Barely suppressed gloating. Vi somehow finds a way to be an obnoxious winner almost entirely by the look on their face. Once they're in a smaller group, they're passionately discussing the details of the game and happily boasting about their triumphs (while glossing over all of the whining and and slip-ups lol)

Loser type | Booo, such a sore loser. (Especially in the scenario where Rain wins 🤣) If they're outsmarted or outgunned in a clear, transparent way they'll growl and stomp off, then quietly glower and sulk for way too long. If they're double-crossed or beaten in an underhanded way oh lord —they're fighting it to the end. R can't help but get involved either way, reminding them it was a damn game with literally no prize. "C'mon, Vi, chill. You want ice cream? Let's get you ice cream."

Heidi

Shooting | 6 - Some shooting experience.

Stealth | 8 - She's very aware of her surroundings and her body. Perceptive yet quiet. Tactical. All residual traits picked up from her many activities over the years.

Strategy | 9 - Most likely to outsmart everyone. The first one to figure out groups are being targeted from the trees. Goes it alone and only open to trading (unless she sees Curt with Jess in which case she puts a quick pin in her plans to rescue her 😂). She also immediately figures out it's Kile, because ofc it is. Keeps close tabs on what groups are doing, knowing that eventually Kile will come down to ground level to pick off individuals and couples. Predator becomes prey 👀

Winner type | Proud but not boasting. She doesn't need to be. Victory looks good on her, natural and fitting. Thanks everyone for a good game then takes the girls for a long ride in the Cadillac 😎 top down on a bright day, baby

Loser type | Damn. She should have won this. Maybe if she'd... She probably could have... Then she snaps out of it, roped in by the celebratory mood of congratulating the winner. She's over any feelings of frustration or regret after getting to discuss the match with the person that took her out/the winner and there's no hard feelings. If anything this was fun as hell, it should be an annual thing. ☺️

Curt

Shooting | 8 - Some shooting experience and a natural knack for it. Good reflexes.

Stealth | 8 - Curt likes to say he gets along with the woods around these parts. Sneaking around is second nature to him. Really good hearing too. He's an easy target if you manage to seduce him though, having no issue leaving himself vulnerable if it means that kind of fun 😂

Strategy | 7 - Honestly, he's most interested in seeing how long he can get away with using charm and seduction for both protection and double-crossing 😂 Eventually becomes persona non grata and gets all of his ammo stolen by a vengeful mark, barely getting away in the process. Since that jig is up, he finally starts thinking a win might be nice... and so he teams up with the only competent player who would never betray him and also inspires the least vitriol in others: Jessie. What? Is his back-up plan using her as a human shield? No! 😚 Of course not! 👉👈

Winner type | Insufferable and gloating. Rubs it in a lot of people's faces, specifically Heidi, Rupan/Rohan, and any participants who genuinely don't like him. Brags to Gabe (who is completely disinterested in gassing him up 😂), then promises he'll make things up to Jessie (who didn't mind and had fun lol). Then celebrates by asking whoever he's flirting with these days for a quick date—and a ride in the Ferrari. Makes a scene pulling out of the parking lot. Ass.

Loser type | Doesn't care one bit as long as he had fun! And he always finds a way to have fun, it's why he's so carefree 😅

[wanna-do-bad-things]

Expecting.

Summary: Tired of dating for nothing, Henry laid everything out for her on that very first date. But when he gets everything he hoped for, there’s one thing left that he really wants.

Word count: 1683

Warnings: trying to get pregnant (no heartbreak tho, it just takes a lil time), fluffy baby daddy Henry

A/N: this was for @henrythickcavill, requested via my patreon. 

Forever tag list:  @luclittlepond |  @fcgrizi  | @henrythickcavill  |  @mitzwinchester  |  @mary-ann84 | @hell1129-blog  | @pensieve-foryour-thoughts  |  @agniavateira  |  @dancingwendigo  |  @living-in-the-darkness | @trippedmetaldetector |  @watermeloncavill  |   @justaboringadult   |   @madbaddic7ed   |   @ruthoakenshield  |  @omgkatinka   |   @iloveyouyen   |   @spursondele    |

________

Henry has been on cloud nine ever since she told him she was pregnant. Tired and mentally exhausted trying to find the right person, Henry had all but given up. It’s not that he was actively looking for a girlfriend, or wife in his case, but he did hope that when the right person came along, he’d just know. He’d feel it in his bones. He didn’t think it would happen like it does in the movies, where everything aligns, everything tastes better, music sounds better and he can breathe like he’s never breathed before. But he thought he’d feel something different.

She didn’t breeze into his life. She didn’t make him understand now why everything else hadn’t worked out. But what she did do was make him wonder how the hell he’d managed to feel so complete before when he felt bursting at the seams when he was around her. He’d laid it all on the table on their first date.

“I know this is a little full on, but I’m going to be honest with you. I can’t keep doing meaningless dates. If you’re not looking for something serious, something long term and possibly the end goal, then this date isn’t going to go far. You can leave, I’ll still pay for the bill, but I won’t hold it against you. I understand not everyone will be on the same page.”

Instead of pushing her chair back, grabbing her coat and bag and walking out of the restaurant, she pulled her chair a little closer, poured them both a drink and said, “so what colour theme are we having at the wedding and how many children are we having?”

She took an open interest in what he had to say, she challenged him on a few of his viewpoints just for a good conversation piece. They shared many of the same opinions and differed on a handful but nothing deal breaking or something that neither could get past. Henry understood that not everyone was the same and listening to her speak was amazing. He adored that they were on the same page when it came to values and their life.

As the weeks and months went on, he tried to trip her up. Tried to catch her out and see if she was just spoon feeding him everything he wanted to hear but no, it continued to flow almost perfectly. Henry took her on several vacations per year, she joined him on set, rode him when he needed his stress relieving and helped him with his lines. She was by no means a good actress, but she would try to put her feelings into it, try to give the script some sort of justice and helped Henry when he needed it.

They married three years later, with her joking that Henry would rush her down the aisle just so he could get straight to the baby making part of marriage. But it didn’t happen as quickly as either of them hoped. She came off her birth control and though they’d lose themselves within the sheets (or on the counter tops, table, against the hallway wall, the sofa, his gaming chair…just anywhere which could hold their weight,) as often as possible without wanting to take the fun out of sex and just have it for the sake of having a baby, pregnancy just wasn’t as easy to happen as they’d thought.

A year and half into their marriage, she’d began to draw up schedules, bought thermometers to check her temperature and downloaded several ���trying to get pregnant” apps. She tracked her cycles, found the optimum times for having sex and had started to pitch it all to Henry when she realised she was two weeks late.

He’d sat there before her, waiting for her to reach the main part of her big presentation of why looking at their baby making schedule would be most effective when he’d watched the blood drain from her face and her scramble out of the room, roughly slamming the bathroom door closed and lock it before he’d been able to fully understand what had just happened. He’d heard things dropping onto the floor, things being torn open and as he’d stood nervously on the other side of the bathroom door, his hand on the wooden surface, listening carefully for anything which could give him an idea of what had happened, he’d finally heard the little sob that came from her.

“Are you ok?” He’d asked softly, not wanting to refer to her by any pet names, instead addressing her by her name. She hadn’t replied for a moment or two, just the sound of her soft cries filling the room in which he couldn’t access until she’d finally slid the lock open and he found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by torn open pregnancy test boxes and four tests sitting in front of her, letters boasting PREGNANT 4+ WEEKS on each of them.

Henry hadn’t wanted to go too crazy. He’d wanted this for too long and didn’t want to curse anything by purchasing anything too early. He’d gripped her hand, their fingers locked together, tears falling from his eyes as he’d pressed their hands to his lips as his eyes had remained fixated on the screen during her scan, watching as their two babies wriggled around for them. Watching as their tiny limbs stretched out and they flipped themselves around in their little bubble of comfort.

With each passing week, Henry ensured that he took care of any of the big jobs, needing her to take it as easily as possible. She hadn’t wanted to completely give up their workouts, and he’d make sure that he was there to observe each one, with a personalised plan specifically for pregnancy. They scoured the websites for the perfect nursery set up. With the babies genders remaining a secret, pots of neutral paint sits in the room. Dust sheets are down ready to catch any splatters of paint which hadn’t made it onto the walls. Tins of light colours are waiting to be applied and Henry has changed into his “DIY” clothes which are sweatpants and a loose, though still fitted for him, cotton tee shirt.

Most of the walls will be a pale grey to match the carpet, but there’ll be soft mint greens, duck egg blues, pale yellows scattered around the room in forms of cuddle bears, artwork and books that he wants to read to them. Two rocking chairs have been placed, and tested, and he already looks forward to sitting in them while reading to the two of them as they have their feed, much like he’s already done with her sitting beside him, their joined hands pressed to her large bump as he’d read some of his favourite childhood stories to them so that they would already recognise his voice. She’s due in one months’ time, and only now does he feel confident enough to begin to paint and assemble everything he’d bought.

She’d caught him in the middle of their living room two months ago, the boxes emptied out and him checking every screw, every nut, bolt and piece against the assembly instructions to ensure that everything was there, fully prepared with the phone and laptop beside him to make all the forms of contact needed to get the right parts sent out. “I’m not leaving it until last minute to then find out something is missing, or wrong or damaged and it’s too late.”

He’s strolled around the house with the double pram, telling her he needed to break in the wheels. He’s practiced for what felt like hours closing the pram and re-opening it again. Getting it in and out of the large car which he bought for the babies in mind. He’s tested numerous ways of picking up the baby carriers and how to get them in and out of the car with ease. He’s completed a baby first aid course and made sure he’s bought enough things to baby proof the house.

“You have some explaining to do.” She says, waddling into the doorway of the nursery, holding up some of the baby outfits he’s purchased.

“Look at the little cape though.” He grins, putting down the paint roller and tray before he’s even applied the first stroke. He walks over to her, his hand instinctively going to her belly as the other touches the cape of the baby vest which reads “my daddy is superman.”

“And this?” She holds up a mini Chiefs kit.

“I don’t make the rules around here. It’s law that they should match their daddy.”

“But what if they choose to suppo-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Henry cuts her off with a wag of his finger, “we don’t have none of that negativity around here. Absolutely not.” It takes everything she can muster not to crack another smile and to try and keep her expression as neutral as possible but the stern look upon Henry’s face makes it more difficult to do so.

“You can’t wait for this, can you?” She asks him as she sinks down into her rocking chair and slowly goes back and forth, sighing contently to get the weight from her swelling ankles and sore feet.

“Lumberjack beard, bags under my eyes so big I could do a months shopping in them and endless stories of ‘so yeah, my kid pooped today’ conversations. I can’t wait.”

“No dad bod?” She questions.

“I’m a daddy now, and I’ve got a body.” You sure are daddy, she thinks. If she weren’t suffering from her aching hips, she’d be wanting to climb onto his lap and ride him. He looks far too good right now.

“Yeah you have, now let me see that body of yours get to work….on this room. Not on me.” She says, holding up her finger and lifting a leg up as though that could stop Henry from covering her body with his own, “you’ve done enough.”

“Well, you know what they say… it helps to speed things along…”

[sally-mun]

OKAY BITCHES ON TO PART 2!

Also don’t forget to check out Part 1 if you haven’t yet!

British

Okay so maybe it’s in poor taste to start the British section with dolls I’m not actually sure are British, but fuck it. The one on the left is a doll I’m reasonably sure I got from a British seller, and the one on the right seems to just be a scaled-up version of it, SO. That’s what I’m going with.

No joke, the left doll is my favorite Sonic plushie EVER. It’s so incredibly fluffy and the proportions are just right and it’s really well-made and AUUGHH I LOVE HIM. Interestingly the doll on the right is made of the same uber-fuzzy material, but it doesn’t have as much of a fluffy effect because of the larger scale. Also the shoe stripes are ribbons for some reason, which makes them stand out from all the other dolls.

So this is from a line of dolls that, as far as I’ve ever seen, are simply known as “Europe prize” plushies. I don’t know if they were actual prizes for some sort of game or claw machine or whatnot, but that’s how I tend to see them listed. These dolls are REALLY nicely made and incredibly cute, like way more than usual. I also have the Knuckles from this set, but he doesn’t live in this net so he’s not pictured here.

I know this line also included Sonic (obviously), Amy, and Shadow, but I’m not sure who else. I’d REALLY like to get the others someday, but I don’t have much hope for that, since they’re long since out of production and prices just keep going up as everyone cashes in on nerd collector culture.

This doll is fine enough on its own (if a bit fearful in the eyes), but what’s really odd about it is that it’s like literally twice as tall as the other dolls in its line, for some reason. I have the Sonic and Tails from this set, and their sizes both match each other, but for some reason Knuckles is a tall boi?? Oh well.

I believe this set also includes an Eggman doll, but I’ve never seen it before.

I wish I’d thought to showcase it better in this photo, but the tag on the bottom of Sonic’s right foot here is the real spotlight of this doll. I don’t know much about the background of this doll, but i know that tag on his foot is what distinguishes him from other Sonic dolls, and collectors go NUTS for this guy. I remember missing out on one years ago because the shipping was too costly (it’s always been rough importing from Britain, but it used to be a lot harder), and for a while I thought I’d never get one. Oddly this one that I did eventually nab is the only one I’ve ever seen with suction cups. I’d like to hope that one day I could get the one that doesn’t have them, but I’m not holding my breath.

Following the last doll, I’m sure a lot of you are immediately noticing that this Tails also has the tag on his foot, albeit a very faded one. This doll is also super odd, because EVERY other time I’ve ever seen this doll before, it has NOT had the foot tag! This one is the only one I’ve encountered with the tag, and I didn’t even know it had it until it arrived in the mail. This doll is also about 50% bigger than the Sonic doll with the foot tag, maybe he goes with the non-suction cup’d Sonic plushie? I don’t know off the top of my head how big that Sonic is supposed to be, so it’s possible! Or maybe these dolls have nothing to do with each other, and I bought some weird anomaly. Definitely one of the weirder Tails plushies in my collection.

Australian

EASILY the ugliest doll I will ever own, short of maybe obtaining the Tails that matches this set. (Trust me, the Tails is REALLY FUCKING UGLY.) I have such mixed feelings on this lil guy because, as many of you already know, this is one of the elusive Sega World Sydney dolls, which means it’s EXTREMELY rare and thus meant to be treasured... and yet holy shit guys how did you fail so hard on this doll. I mean FOR FUCK’S SAKE HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE SOCKS! OR FINGERS!! There were plenty of Sonic plushies in the world by the time this doll was created, and they all socks and fingers, let alone better designed faces. I dunno man, I don’t know how to reconcile how ugly this doll is.

And then there were two.

Those of you that’ve been following me for years have probably already seen these before, but fuck it, here they are again. The Sega World Sydney plushies are the ONLY official Sally plushies to exist, and like the Sonic one, it’s really difficult to reconcile how incredibly ugly they are. I mean I can at least cut them some slack with the faces I guess, because the one on the left isn’t terrible I suppose. I think the fact that she doesn’t have hands is really stupid, but I mean, if Sonic didn’t get fingers I guess I’m not surprised Sally didn’t either. No, the thing that really gets me about these Sally dolls is the hair. It’s hard to tell from this angle but it’s.... bad. Oh my god it’s so fucking bad. It looks like she had a bad incident with a weedwacker. WHO THE FUCK DID THEY HIRE TO DESIGN THESE PLUSHIES?!

Whatever, I don’t turn away official Sally merch. Vests exist for these dolls, but as you can see I don’t own them for either of these two. I do have a third, smaller Sally that DOES have her vest, but she doesn’t live in this net. Maybe another time!

More bad Sally hair, this time without legs because she’s a hand puppet. She probably has the worst hair of all of the Sally dolls I personally own, it’s very clumpy and matted. The others’ hair is at least still fluffy.

I’ll let the fact that she doesn’t have hands slide here, being a puppet at all, but even then it’s only because I’m feeling generous. There’s no reason she shouldn’t have had them.

SOOOO not technically a plushie, but it was in the net and I’m doing Sally items right now anyway, so fuck it. This is a mini-backpack, but the fabric is so furry that it’s pretty much impossible to get a clear picture. I left the strap there sticking out just to help give some idea of what shape you’re even looking at.

I can’t remember what I paid for this, and honestly I don’t care, because it’s so unique and I’ve never seen another one since.

Bootlegs

A friend of mine sent me this as a surprise a few years ago because he thought it was cute, and I definitely have to say it’s one of the more fascinating items in my collection. Most of the time bootleg merch is trying to imitate something official to confuse the buyer, but so far as I know this is completely original! I love it because it’s what I imagine Sonic would look like if he were an Animal Crossing character. The most bizarre detail of all, though, is that the tush tag has the logo for Detective Conan instead of Sonic the Hedgehog. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY.

This is a fake version of the Fang/Nack doll from Sonic the Fighters, but honestly, I don’t mind at all that it’s a bootleg because holy shit this doll is higher quality than some of my official ones! (I’M LOOKING AT YOU, SEGA WORLD.) According to the pictures I’ve seen, I think he’s actually even better quality than the original he’s copying!

It’s hard to describe just how nice this doll is, because the picture seriously does not do him justice. The stitching is perfectly clean, the proportions are absolutely perfect, the fabric is soft and high-quality, and oh my god the HAT!! The hat is AMAZING, it’s actually solid and holds its shape VERY well! The same goes for his tail too, on that note. Plushies with long tails tend to have trouble maintaining their shape, but this doll’s tail is really well done. He also has a much longer muzzle than most dolls of this time were willing to use, which again helps his proportion and overall accuracy. I don’t give one single shit that this doll isn’t official, I love him so fucking much! <3 <3 <3

Other Dolls

What can I say, I fucking LOVE Nick Wilde from Zootopia, and this is one of the best dolls of him I’ve ever seen. It’s actually really nicely made (they put a LOT of work into his shirt), and he’s very soft and huggable. Also, bless that smarmy expression, they got it just right.

Jumbo Tom Nook! This is the only jumbo plushie of him I’ve ever seen, so I’m glad I was able to nab it. The fabric is oddly shiny though, and I have no idea why?? I have several Tom Nook plushies from different doll lines, and I’ve never seen another one that’s shiny like this.

Decided to picture these guys together because why the fuck not. I apologize for the lack of clarity, but I’ve never been willing to open their bags. I want them pristine~

One thing I think is cool about the Undertale dolls is that there’s so much uniqueness put into each one. They all have differently shaped tags to reflect their individual personalities, and the plastic bags they come in have different patterns as well. The fabric patterns all completely unique to each one as well, so they’re not all clones of each other (especially with Papyrus).

You can actually still buy all of these guys right now on the Fangamer website! They’re pricey, but you get a quality that makes the price worth it, and you get a discount if you buy them together!

Vault Boy from Fallout, and for some reason I’m just now realizing that I don’t know what vault number is on his back. I feel like a terrible fan, FORGIVE ME. He has also never come out of his bag, so sorry for viewing difficulties here as well.

Companion cube ‘fuzzy dice’ for the car. This is one instance in which I have actually not used the car-related plushie in my car, as at the time I got this it was VERY difficult to get companion cube merch of any kind (these dice were actually a compromise with myself because I still couldn’t afford a regular cube), and after the work I put in to find these I definitely wasn’t going to risk them in my car! Just as well anyway, because they’re awfully big and would’ve been pretty cumbersome to look past.

...I did, however, put these in my car for a while. These are fuzzy D20 dice, because come on, if you’re going to hang dice in your car and have the option to use these, how can you not?? It definitely got a lot of compliments, even from people that simply saw them through the window. I didn’t even play tabletop games yet at the time, I just really liked them~

AAAAND THAT’S IT~ At least, that’s it for this net! Maybe I’ll do this again with the other nets sometime, if you guys would like to see more. I do have another one that also very much needs a dusting, so we’ll see!

Thanks for tuning in!!

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Lil headcannons for a colours soulmate au in which the S1 finale wasn't the first time Hamish had been hit in the face with the powder. Because why not? This version of the colours is the one where you can only see varying shades of the colour of your soulmate's eyes. Because why not?

Here is part two, as promised

To everyone who knows Vera on any level, she hasn't changed a bit. Okay, maybe she's a little bit more sharp now and then and she gets a little testy whenever it rains. But maybe that's just the stress of being Grand Magus, and Temple Magus, and Chancellor of Belgrave setting in.

When she's alone at home, Vera stays up late into the night, wondering if she made the right decisions. She falls asleep in Hamish's jacket often.

The jacket is completely worn through now, the suede verging on ruined again. But she doesn't want to make back to brand new again nor does she ever want to get rid of it. It's quite literally that last bit of Hamish -- her Hamish -- that she has left.

She tells herself that it's for the best. If the Knights remained active, the Order would pursue them to the ends of the earth. But you have a seat of power almost all disciples would die for, that inner voice says, you can turn the Order around.

"They're our enemies." "But they don't know that." Well ok fine but I'm also deathly afraid of seeing Hamish's face again so let's not talk about this ever.

Eventually, logic trumps all else and Vera agrees to induct the Knights.

When Alyssa returns their memories, Jack is consumed by rage and hatred. Hamish wants to feel the same, he wants to be burned bitter by the betrayal, but he can't.

"Secrets are terrible things. They ruin the best of things and can break down nearly everything."

"I love you."

Hamish understands Randall's apprehension, Lilith's disgust and Jack's rage. He wants to say he feels the same. But all he feels his confusion. All he thinks about is the day he watched Vera leave.

Who's jacket had she been wearing?

Hamish runs his thumb over the letter hanging from the chain before tucking it under his new Order robes.

Did the necklace belong ..... to Vera? Because he knows it isn't his and he found it right where he'd fallen.

What the fuck is in Hamish's head on repeat for the entire evening.

"If you're going to stand there, at least make yourself useful." While Vera congratulates herself on her ability to appear as normal in front of Hamish, Hamish studies Vera as he passes her a drink. The same drink he'd watched her make back in the den.

Vera is momentarily distracted by the taste of the drink in her hand.

"Drinks are an art form, V, which means I can make whatever I want with justifiable reasoning." Laughter echoes. "And what are you calling this drink? It's a bit . . . harsh for all your old suggestions." "I'm thinking something along the lines of Vera."

"Are you calling me harsh?!" "I would never!" Pure, unfiltered joy echoes through the entire apartment.

"Magus?" Hamish's voice brings Vera back to the present. "Mingle, Acolyte. It's your party, after all."

Hamish reluctantly leaves the bar. He wants to stand there longer and study Vera -- maybe some of his questions will get answered.

"Drink it all in one go or your brain will shrivel up to the size of a raisin." "Bottoms up."

Suddenly, Hamish can recall his high school locker combination. Lilith is talking about some childhood fear, Randall's complaining about a retainer, Jack's crying about a tattoo -- frankly, that part scared Hamish a little -- and then he's stunned into silence with the flood of memories.

And then he's as angry as Jack was. He's furious. But not at Vera for what she did. He's furious at her for not waiting. Waiting for him to respond, waiting to see if they could have made it work.

He's furious because now he'll never know if they could have avoided all the deaths between then and now. Maybe the Knights could have allied with the Order. Maybe the Knights could have weeded out all the bad magic in the Order. Maybe he and Vera could have done it together, made the Order what she said it could be, a secret society of magic practitioners that is dedicated to preserving and passing on the art of magic. So many maybes, so many what ifs.

A part of him wants to storm into the temple, into the reliquary and demand that Vera confess. The more rational part of him keeps him grounded to protect the fact that they have their memories.

He'd feel a little bad about planning to rob the Order blind if he wasn't so pissed at them for raiding the den. Thanks to Lilith's potion, Hamish is slowly developing burning rage at the idea of being betrayed by his own goddamn soulmate. As time passes, he's starting to forget that he used to understand her circumstances, her choices being bad or worse.

So when they come across Zecchia, he's ready for it without any hesitation.

"Bring me something in a tall glass." Okay maybe a little hesitance. Just a little.

Hamish thinks it might have been a mistake when the news about Rogwan is delivered. He realises he's gone and royally fucked up on a Jack Morton level when they find out Zecchia robbed them.

"So, what's all this talk about wolves?"

Vera's too pissed with them to register the fact that Hamish has his memories (not all, though, right?) "Where is my inventory?"

"It was . . . stolen from us." "For fuck's sake, Hamish, can't you keep track of anything in that fucking apartment?" Randall: ( ͡° ʖ ͡°) (ಠ_ಠ) what the fuck is happening here 🙃 "I am seriously considering killing both of you." "Please don't." "SHUT UP"

Rogwan taking Hamish's fear could have been incredibly catastrophic if Vera had had her phone on her around the same time Hamish got his hands on money and a phone booth, even worse if she had answered any of those calls (though to be honest, she might just have been incredibly confused about it or more accurately, Hamish might not have even dialled her number properly)

Hamish standing at the phone booth with the dial tone while Randall repeatedly tries to climb a nearby tree: I know what you did, Vera Stone. You wicked witch with a cute butt. You jacket thief, alcohol thief, heart thief-- vest thief! + stupider and stupider things until Randall eventually gets his attention again.

"I give my life to the cause to protect the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose from threats both inside and out." "So . . . we're supposed to babysit the Grand Magus aka you?" Both Vera and Hamish shoot Jack a withering glare. Randall finds it funny and Jack is grateful for Randall.

"Is everyone okay?" Awww she cares. Stop smirking at her -- stop -- STOP IT, FACE!

As much as Hamish was internally laughing at Vera for her still harbouring her old feelings, Hamish realises that he hasn't forgotten his own instincts when it comes to Vera when he sees the Magistratus, Angus, charge at Vera.

He may have fucked several things up, but no one is allowed to harm Vera. Tundra is a Knight of the Blue Rose, but Hamish is Vera's -- it's not as if he'd have it any other way anyway.

Vera's pretty stressed, what with the impending end of the world. Hamish is waiting for Vera in the reliquary, having discovered something ... interesting about the Tartarus explosions.

"I got your text." Hamish stands, book in hand. "Yeah, I found -- . . . is wearing three different shades of black a conscious decision or--" "Shut up."

Hamish happily complies. Who cares what colours she's wearing when he's got her in his arms? For someone who doesn't like anyone kissing in the reliquary, Vera seems to be very unopposed to the idea when she and Hamish are the ones doing all the kissing.

Not that Hamish is complaining. He wouldn't ever want to stop Vera. "Wait -- wait, this isn't why I'm here." "Your text specifically said you had something big to show me." "I ... see how that can be misconstrued."

Vera glares. "Make it quick, I'm busy."

"Tease," Hamish mutters with a grin before delving into the very solid fact that the world is going to end.

"The council wouldn't listen to reason so . . . I gave them fear. Stopping Praxis is the only way to stopping these eruptions." "Or is it the only option you'll consider?" The glass hits the table hard. Hamish is beyond pissed, but he's not sure at what. Vera is clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place. Perhaps he should let her know about his first clash with pulveris memoria

"They're asking for something I can't give them." "Or won't." He knows he's being difficult but he doesn't feel guilty about it at all. He's still mildly miffed that Vera didn't think he could make the choice for himself on whether or not he wanted anything to do with the Order.

Of course, his entire demeanour changes when Alyssa shows up in the reliquary. He may be pissed and a little disappointed in Vera but that doesn't mean he's willing to let her stand in harm's way. And of course, Alyssa knocks him straight the fuck out. (I mean personally I don't like her but I have to admit, that was a smart move)

I can't fucking remember how the scene goes word-for-word but you all know it.

Hamish wakes with the gripping fear that Vera is hurt or worse, dead. As soon as he sees Vera though, he's incredibly calmer. She seems okay. She's alive.

"She took your magic." Honestly, it could have been worse. It really could have been a lot worse. But he doesn't say so because he knows magic is something that is important to Vera and he knows that she's fucking terrified -- even if she won't say.

"I imagine she, like you, finds me a selfish woman." "Vera, I don't think you're selfish. You're demanding and ... weirdly ticklish, but not selfish."

Vera thinks about all that she's put Hamish alone through. She has very many a regret in her life, but Hamish somehow seems to dominate that lost. "How can you be so sure?" "Because of all the times you could have killed the Knights but you didn't, because you wanted th-- us to live. To learn."

It's a little hard to separate Vera's soulmate from Tundra's champion, but Hamish does it. He's still a Knight, despite whatever feelings he and Vera might share. Both of them are him but not together. Not just yet.

"It's all right to let someone care about you, V." "You--" "You dropped this." Vera stands still as Hamish puts the chain over her own head. How long had he had all his memories? Said nothing? All this time, he'd kept his mouth shut -- was it for her sake? Old guilt creeps back into her.

"Maybe you are selfish, V, but not for all the reasons you think. Your selfish acts are always about protecting other people. Me, Jack, Alyssa, the Knights, the Order. Selfish doesn't mean evil."

"What's he doing here?" "We're not staying." "Yes, we are."

"No, you're not." "It's not safe." "I'm no threat to her."

Hamish really doesn't want to leave Vera alone with Alyssa. But she trusts herself so he'll trust her. Besides that, he still has to save Lilith.

When Hamish returns to the temple, chasing Midnight, Alyssa is dead and Vera is shaking.

"V, it's not your fault." How does he know exactly what she's thinking?

Hamish sets a drink, Vera's drink, in front of her and turns to leave. To give her space. To give her the choice. He drags his hand over hers. Do you want me to stay?

Vera makes no movement other than wrapping her fingers around Hamish's hand and holding fast. Yes.

And as he stands there and the doors to the reliquary closes, he glances down at Vera and realises that bad as things are, they could be worse. Vera tried so many times to push him away, but she's failed every time. And he's incredibly thankful for that.

Vera doesn't have her magic, but she's got all the colours in the world because of Hamish and somehow, that's so much more important to her.

Someone help me I'm Sad™ I wanna write this but like ,,,,, not as a full book because that would make me cry ,,,,, maybe like a nice collection of scenes 0.0 what do you think?

Take a look at other soulmate aus I've chosen to torment myself with

[jeanjauthor]

Clothes vs. Money: Status and Self Worth in the 18th Century

Writers, this is an EXCELLENT summation of how important the quality & appearance of clothing is in a pre-modern society.

Clothing today is incredibly cheap: a single day’s wages will get you pants or skirt, shirt, socks and underwear, all of it brand new, straight off the rack, in a vast variety of colors and patterns.  A week’s wages will get you shoes and coat and a couple changes of underwear, extra shirt, extra pants or skirt (or a dress).

Prior to the 20th century...it could take you more than a month to earn enough money for a new shirt, or underclothes, or trousers, or shoes.  Not and, but or. You’d be lucky to get two of those things at average to good wages for the vast majority of people...and since the vast majority still worked on farms prior to the industrial revolution, and with it, the agricultural revolution, you’d only see that kind of money during or shortly after harvest season.

Listen to John Townsend reading from these journals.  Take your inspiration from them.  Be realistic in what your characters would be wearing, how often they’d get a chance to do laundry, and make sure your characters are clothed appropriately for their situation.

In the movie Ever After, Danielle (Cinderella) borrows a fancy noblewoman’s dress left at the painter’s studio to go rescue her fellow servant.  The dress is only available to her because her best friend growing up is the painter’s apprentice, and because painting a portrait can take weeks of work, so it was often just easiest to leave the clothing on a mannekin form while the owner went off in their other clothes to do other things.  We might think the dress she normally wears isn’t too bad, but it’s only slightly above what the other servants wear, and it’s definitely not new.

In the modern era, this is also true, though the lines are a bit more blurred.  We have Casual Fridays, where you can come to work at some places in jeans and a teeshirt, or a Hawai’ian shirt...and we have formal suits and dresses and skirtsuits.  Some situations you can get away with a Casual Friday.  Others, you’d never get away with it.  Lawyers, for example, are expected to wear suits or the equivalent at all times, to project an air of professionalism & seriousness. 

We have a variety of uniforms that we have to wear for certain jobs or industries, too.  Not just UPS or Military or Post Office or Law Enforcement.  Have you noticed the variety of uniforms in the restaurant industry?  Some places (McDonalds, etc), issue you your uniform. It isn’t yours to keep, however; once you’re done working for them, you have to hand it back in.  You also have to keep it clean and neat at your own expense.  Housekeeping staff for hotels have to do this, too.

Other places simply say “wear black pants (or skirt, but no yoga pants or jeans) and white shirt, no teeshirts or logos (not even a lil alligator or polo pony)”...and that’s all you have to wear.  You have to supply your own “uniform.”  It could be almost any style of trousers or non-logo non-tee shirt.  Others allow you to wear a serious, sober, law-office-worthy tie...while some allow you to wear “an amusing tie of publicly acceptable subject material”...aka no naked-lady ties, or ties covered in swearwords...but you could wear Loony Tunes characters like Bugs Bunny, or a Transformers tie if you wanted.

However, clothing is incredibly cheap; if you’re used to having money in your pocket for clothes every few months in real life, you probably haven’t thought about having to repair your clothes.  Shirt gets ripped?  Go buy a new one!  No big deal!  ...Right?

You cannot take that attitude, that mindset, into a pre-20th-century tech-level world.

Just to give you an example, making the cloth to make clothes took HUGE amounts of effort before the advent of industrialization, from the farm machines to automatically pick the cotton through to the carding and spinning and weaving machines.  Prior to all of that (and yes, the mechanized industrialization of agriculture is PART of why clothes are so cheap...and why wool, which still has to be sheared by professional shearers working one sheep at a time, is so much more expensive!)...it took 12 full time spinners to keep 1 full time weaver working at the loom.

What does that mean?  It means that the 12 spinners listed above did nothing but spin all day long.  Aside from maybe making their meals, they didn’t plough (plow) the fields, they didn’t feed the livestock, they didn’t shepherd the sheep, they didn’t mend the fences, they didn’t craft the furniture or repair the roof thatching...  A lot of families grew flax specifically for turning it into linen thread, and spend every spare moment they had spinning thread, to either hopefully get them enough thread to set up a loom in the winter months when there was’t a lot of outdoor activity going on, or to sell to professional weavers, in hopefully good enough quality to fetch the best price for their balls of thread.

Ploughmen (whatever gender) would be outside all day long, plowing, weeding, harvesting, mending things around the farm and would only spin if there was time.  Housekeepers and child tenders would spin while food was cooking (which could take hours), or while laundry was drying...but it would still probably take roughly 30 part-time spinners to keep 1 weaver in constant production.

Also, consider the fact that it takes literal days to set up a loom...and god help you if you got it wrong and didn’t discover the mistake right away, because you’d spend hours more undoing and redoing it right.  Dependind on the width of the fabric, the tightness of the weave, the type of fabric and the kind of loom (Navajo vertical looms are different beasts from European treadle looms...and a lightweight linen suitable for handkerchiefs and veils isn’t going to be at all like a heavy canvas, never mind a rug weight material), the swiftness of making the cloth means that your progress might be measured in inches per day, feet per day, or if you’re very lucky, yards per day...and that’s assuming you have enough thread on hand for both warp and weft.

...Think that’s a lot?  I haven’t even gotten into all the effort required for finding and making dyes, madders (fixing agents to help keep the colors from fading too fast in sunlight) and getting the consistencies right.  (Contrary to popular belief you could get some bright colors out of natural dyes; black was the absolute most difficult to dye, not purple. The materials for making black dye were far cheaper to acquire than for purple, but still, difficult to dye and keep it actually black in sunlight.)

Nor have I gotten into sumptuary laws, which tried to dictate what a person of a certain social rank could wear, including furs and silks.  (Anyone could wear squirrel fur, for example, but to wear mink or ermine, you had to be waaay up high on the social ladder.) ...People still wanted to wear things “above their station” and sumptuary laws were difficult to enforce at times...but sometimes they were enforced ruthlessly.  So it was risky at times.

Danielle in Ever After would’ve been whipped & imprisoned/indentured for wearing that fancy dress, if people had realized she was a peasant, not a noblewoman.  But for her, the risk was worth it, to save a man from being sold off to the colonies for indentured servitude, to bring him back to his wife and his family & friends.

So John’s not kidding when he says that people in the late 1700s/early 1800s invested money in their clothes as a sign of their social status.  You want people to treat you with more respect, you have to look like you have the social status, and that preceived social status is often dependent on wealth.

Buying new is not the only option, either.  We have places like the Rack where they sell off for cheap the odds and ends, remnants of garments that just didn’t sell at listed price in the big department stores, or they might have a few flaws that the big stores reject (missing button, wonky stitching, etc), but otherwise the garment is in good shape and still basically brand new, so it’s sold for maybe $20 instead of $80

We also have the true thrift stores, such as Goodwill, Salvation Army, St. Vincent de Paul, Value Village, and those are just the local charity/donated goods shops in my area.  You can visit these places and get that same dress at $80 for just $4-$8, but it’ll have been worn by someone else, laundered (well, one hopes), and put up for sale.

The same sort of system existed in pre-industrial societies.  Mercedes Lackey has a beautiful scene in her first Bardic Voices, The Lark & the Wren novel, wherein the main character, the Wren, is taken to various used clothing sellers in the market places of the city she’s in, and given advice on what to buy, which includes torn and stained clothing, and how to hide the stains, using ribbon trim and embroidery and applique patches, or even just wearing a vest over a shirt that’s stained on the chest area.

Since Wren is trying to make a living as a bard/minstrel, it’s considered appropriate for her to have clothing that has fancy, eye-catching trim on it, as part of her entertainer persona.  When she’s busking in the street (performing for passers-by to hopefully get pennies...or pins...in payment), the more eye-catching, the better, since it goes with her ear-catching music.

And when she gets a job providing polite, soothing music in an upper-class bordello/brothel style establishment, she wears more subdued clothes.  Why?  To help her blend into the background, since the focus is to provide soothing, pleasant music while the rich patrons wait for their chosen paid companions to be available.  They’re not going to put up with someone wearing screaming shades of red and yellow and green with ribbon-strung bells dangling off their elbows...but neither will they put up with someone wearing the cheapest, crappiest woven fabrics visibly stained and ragged, badly patched or torn.

Since the adage “the clothes make (the social status) of the man” has been around for ages and ages...I can only imagine that clothing--and the kind of high-tech gear you can afford--far into the future will also still continue to be a mark of unspoken social status for humankind.

...I mention gear because aliens might or might not have any need for clothing, but they’ll certainly have a need for gear, and the higher the quality the gear, or the more functional it is, the more likely they’ll be considered higher quality in social status, too.

Also, functionality is a key factor, because social status isn’t just about kings and queens at the top and peasants and slaves at the bottom. It’s also about what kinds of society your characters move around in.  You wear clothes appropriate to being a sailor while on a ship, but you will want different outfits when you’re a blacksmith apprentice, versus a clockmaker’s helper, versus a farm laborer, versus a nobleman’s son.

A nobleman’s son wouldn’t want to wear the leather apron or smock that a blacksmith would, but if you walked into a smithy and asked for a job while wearing fine silks, you’d get turned down (and laughed at behind your back), but if you walked in wearing wool (which doesn’t catch on fire; it just scorches and smolders and goes out) and leather (ditto), you’ll be taken seriously.

Your gear is the same.  The Millenium Falcon was a rusted bucket of bolts and patch jobs compared to Queen Amidala’s personal, sleek, silvery interstellar transport, but it was still a fantastically swift, maneuverable ship.  The Queen’s personal yacht would get her respect from port authorities.  The Falcon’s capabilities would get it respect from other smugglers and crime bosses, because it looks like it can’t go very fast and should fall apart at any minute...but it won’t fall apart.  It’ll blast past everything else & keep going...provided you can keep it patched together.

Anyway, long speech short, watch this video, and think about how your stories and your characters protray their social status, their wealth, via their clothes & gear...and remember, pre-20th-century, clothing is expensive.  You and I have each probably have so many different outfits on our shelves and in our dresser drawers and wardrobe cupboards and closets that we’d be considered damn near royalty in terms of pure clothing-wealth, compared to just about anywhere in the 11th Century.

Clothing makes the character, and the story.

[imagine-lcorp]

A Bodyguard's Job (One Shot)

Request

Anon: I loovvveee your writings so I was wondering if you could do a one shot where the reader is Lena's bodyguard and they get attacked one day on their way into L-Corp and maybe the reader gets hurt or something? Thanks love!

A/N: Hi, again! A lil reminder here, I’m gonna be trying to post imagines regularly on the blog wednesdays and saturdays. So, if I don’t publish this imediately don’t worry, I’m working on them and will be posted as soon as I can :) 

As always, thank you so much for your kind messages and the requests. It’s really fun to write for you beautiful people :) Kudos to the anon that sent this one and I hope you like it! :D 

Lena Luthor x Bodyguard!R//Word Count: 1,571

If there was another way to describe your job, you could call yourself a paranoid for hire. It was an essential trait to develop if someone wanted to prosper in the bodyguard business. You had to know your client, their background, their connections, the environment around them, who did they trust, and their contacts. You needed to be prepared for everything. No matter how harmless or hostile the attack, no matter how out of place or noteworthy a person was.

When someone hired you, you had to ensure their safety even if it meant putting yourself on the line of fire. But, of course, that also had to come in the contract. It was different for each client. There were low risk clients, that usually needed an escort service, and the high risk clients, the ones that needed full protection, twenty four hours a day. Like your latest employer, billionaire CEO of L-Corp and owner of CatCo Worldwide Media, Lena Luthor. You cannot say it was a surprise when she contacted your company's services. After several attempts on her life, that you had been aware of, the only surprise was that she had taken so long to get a bodyguard.

Nothing out of the normal had happened since you started working for her but you were sure this was one of the most demanding works you had ever done. Not that you complained about it. Payment was great, better than any other, and Ms. Luthor was a great person to work with. She didn't deserve a hint of the bad publicity she received. There was just a lot to take in account with her having a few powerful people after her.

It had been almost two weeks since you started to work for her and, lucky for you, she had already caught up with the whole dynamic. The constant changes in routine didn't seem to bother her. She even asked for advice and talked to you about security protocols. You hoped today went as smooth as any other day and if it didn't, you were prepared.

"Good morning, Miss Luthor." You opened the front door of the building for her. You were about to leave to L-Corp.

"Good morning, (Y/N), nice jacket." She eyed you up and down, seeing as you had opted for a business casual outfit today.

"Thank you, ma'am." You followed alongside her towards the car. Your eyes always scanning your surroundings.

"Good morning, Raphael." She said to her driver once she got in the back seat of the car.

"Good morning, Miss Luthor." He said with a smile.

Raphael knew the new routes from which you would be arriving at L-Cop. And you had trained him on the basics of vigilance and surveillance on the road. You had wanted to bring one of your partners but Miss Luthor had been adamant about keeping Raphael. He was a man you could trust. You soon discovered that, indeed, he was a man equipped for the task.

"Ms. Luthor, Jess sent today's itinerary. You have two meetings and three appointments with some investors." You had memorized these people's names and faces. All were clear. "And I'll be talking to your security director to change the schedules of this week's guards."

"Thank you, (Y/N). Anything else?" She asked. You remembered her secretary had sent you a text this morning.

"Jess mentioned your friend, Miss Danvers, will be dropping by your office for lunch." You told her, looking with attention at the streets.

"Do you think we could have lunch outside? I'll need a break from the office if I have to see these guys today." She sounded a bit tired. That made you feel a bit sorry. You also knew it wasn't easy to deal with pushy business men.

"Sure, miss. Any place in particular?" Your tone sympathetic.

"I'll ask Jess to make us a reservation in the Chinese restaurant in Linden Street."

"Alright, it all will be ready for then, Miss Luthor."

"Thank you." You saw her smile at you from the in the rearview mirror.

The rest of the way was spent on relative peace. Raphael kept driving and you kept watching until you reached the building. You parked near the entrance and took a moment to check with the bodyguards inside of the building if everything was in order. After two weeks, Miss Luthor was used to wait and move until security gave you clearance. No matter if you were outside or inside her buildings she always followed your indications. Once the team gave you the sign, you got out of the car to walk alongside her, as you usually did.

"All clear." You opened the back door and offered your other hand.

"Thank you." She rested her hand on yours, enough to step out of the car and enough for you to recognize the softness of her hand.

"You're welcome." A soft smile escaping you.

You never understood how it was possible for someone to want to harm someone like Lena Luthor. Even before you had met her, you were sure she was like any other young woman trying to make a name for herself. Her last name was a heavy name, not much people liked it, but there wasn't justifiable reason to attack her when you had seen her, in just a handful of days, try her best to help the people in National City. Whoever tried something like that was truly a mad man.

You were a few steps away from the double doors of L-Corp's lobby. Another bodyguard was near the glass doors to receive Miss Luthor and walk her to her office. After that, you would head to the department of security to revise schedules. It had been a calm morning and you were ready to make sure it stayed that way. But then, as if attracted by your thoughts, you heard a scream like a battle cry.

"Luthor!" Shouted a man behind you.

"Gun!" The bodyguard by the door came running towards you and Miss Luthor.

"Out of the way!" You reacted immediately.

You turned around, grabbing your gun from your holster, and shielding Miss Luthor with your body. You pointed at the man and saw him pointing back at you, or rather, at Lena. Neither of you thought twice before shooting nor, while he managed to shoot you in the abdomen, you managed to hit him in the right leg. A second later, the man was on the floor, with the extra help of Raphael who had managed to tackle him after he screamed from the wound. You had fallen backwards and hit one of the glass doors, the pain in your abdomen making it difficult to move. The security guards that were inside the lobby came rushing after, helping Raphael first, as you had signaled, and checking on you.

You were less than pleased with the situation. First, because it was too early and you hadn't had breakfast. Second, because the police and the paramedics had taken a bit longer to arrive at the scene. And, third, because your were hurting a lot. The bulletproof vest you were wearing, as it was mandatory, had absorbed most of the bullet's impact. And, for what you had noticed, the man's gun was lower caliber. But the pain was real and the paramedics had taken you to an ambulance to check it.

When the police arrived, they immediately put the man in custody and they were taking him in an ambulance. You were more concerned about Miss Luthor but you guessed security and the police were still with her. After a moment, the police informed you they had taken Miss Luthor's declaration and, after they took yours, they were leaving with the suspect. When the paramedics finished attending your wound, you decided to wait a bit longer inside the ambulance and called another of your guards. It was necessary to investigate the man and revise again the security protocols.

"Make sure to put this on Miss Luthor's files for future reference, and check any other connections he could have. Ok?" The guard nodded and headed to back to the building.

"I can't believe you're still working." You heard Miss Luthor's amused voice.

"A bodyguard's job never ends." You looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Unless you want to cancel our contract."

"No, I..." She laughed. "I am and feel safer having you around."

"Glad to hear it." You smiled, after all, it was part of a job well done.

"How bad is it?" She looked at your stomach.

"Oh, just a really big nasty looking bruise." You didn't think before pulling your top up to show her the bruise. You had to take your jacket, shirt and vest for them to look at the injury. "The paramedics said it should fade in a week but I should take a few days just to make sure it's nothing."

"Well then." She left her eyes wander a bit longer. When she realized she hadn't responded she cleared her throat and looked back at your face. "Also, now that you took a bullet for me, don't you think we should be on a first-name basis?"

You laughed and looked down for a second. You definitely couldn't complain with this job. "As you wish, Lena." You said.

"Get better, (Y/N)." You saw a playful smile forming on her lips as she started to walk away. "Sooner."

[overwatchimaginations]

Cowboys and Angels

Credit to the late George Michael for the title.

“Are you serious.” You blinked slowly, eyes looking up at the fluorescent lights. You had once again been thrown to the ground by your Commander, Reyes. A tan hand came into your vision and you gladly grabbed it, hoisting yourself up. “Come on, Y/N. Look where I’m trying to attack. From what I’ve taught you you’ll then be able to defend.” You readied your stance, one foot slightly forward, knees bent, arms in position. “If I swing.. here-” Your left arm moved to block the hit, a satisfying thud echoed. “And if I swing here..” Immediately you span your body round, dodging the next blow. “Good.” Gabriel turned his side to you and stepped forwards, circling. You followed him, stance still in it’s prime position and waiting for the next strike. He span, body lowering and foot extended- Those bloody fluorescent lights and the hard wooden floor and you were just sick of it. “I’m done.” You stated, exasperated. “We’re not done until I say we’re done, cariño.” He smirked. You refused to move. Still lying on the ground, you crossed your arms and closed your eyes. A gentle nudge in your ribs made you turn on your side, curling up into yourself. Gabriel let out a deep sigh. “Okay. Fine. We’re done.” “Thank God.”

***

After your training session you had headed back to your room for a well needed shower. Not even through the door and you stripped off your fitted black Overwatch training vest, throwing it onto the floor. One by one you removed your trainers, socks, leggings and then sports bra before hopping into the shower and turning it up to a high heat. Steam and water poured over you, fingers running through your hair and just savouring the moment. You massaged shampoo into your locks, rinsing off dirt and grime of a hard days training. A dollop of conditioner massaged into the ends of your hair and you were ready to lather up your loofah and scrub yourself clean. A deep scrub all over your body, and you washed the rest of the conditioner out of your hair. Turning the shower off, you stepped out and grabbed the fluffy towels off of the radiator. One wrapped around your body and one wrapped around your hair. Trudging through to your bedroom, you flung yourself onto the bed and let out a sigh that you had been holding in.

After the last mission, Gabriel had decided it would be for the best for you to train in hand to hand combat, and for you to also move into the Watchpoint, as other agents had their own spaces there too. Saftey concerns were raised, and the contract for apartment was immediately cancelled, with bribing the landlord with a hefty sum of cash. Your room was slightly smaller than the apartment, however you enjoyed being closer to everyone. It felt safer. No more late nights walking down the streets of Gibralter.

You managed to squeeze out most of the excess water from your hair before chucking the towels on the floor and throwing on a pair of underwear and a loose top. Climbing under the covers, you rubbed your eyes and sumbitted to the darkness that was blissful sleep.

***

A rapid knocking on the door suddenly brought you out of your slumber. “(Y/N)??” More knocking. You threw the covers off of and stumbled to the door, glancing at your watch. Opening the door, you saw a panic-stricken McCree. “What? I er- Jesse. It’s half three in the morning what do you wa-” He barged past you, covering your mouth with his hand and slammed the door closed, then wrapping his robotic arm around your waist. “Shh. Just.. shhh.” If you were more awake you would have tried to break free, but only being woken not even a minute ago you succumbed to Jesse’s hold. Heavy footsteps bounded down the hallway. “Where the fuck did he go? He came down here.” “Jesus, I mean, he could be anywhere.” “Still on the Watchpoint though.” A grunt from the second person and the footsteps led away from your room. You nudged Jesse in the ribs and he let go of you, taking a step back. You span around with an accusing finger pointing at him. “Jesse bloody McCree you better explain to me right now-” “Hey, (Y/N), don’t make me gag ya’ again.” You stopped talking, standing still and blushing oh so slightly. “Heh, yep. That’s what I thought.” “What?” He raised an eyebrow, glancing down slightly and smirked. Realisation hit and you crossed your arms over your thin shirt. “It’s cold.” You snapped. “Of course it is.” He held his hands up in a mock surrender, chuckling. “Look, I don’t got a lotta time, but thanks for lettin’ me hide ‘n here, sweetpea.” Your brows furrowed, cheeks warming at the nickname. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” “Na, darlin’. Let’s just say some'o the other guys in Blackwatch ain’t too happy with me.” “Oh. Is there anything I can do..?” You suggested meekly. Jesse raised his eyebrow again, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “No. Jesse, no.” You pursed your lips. “That isn’t what I meant at all. I meant help with-” “With what, doll? “Nevermind. You obviously only seem to have one thing on your mind at the moment.” Jesse smirked at your comment. “Well, sugar, when all you’re wearin’ is panties and a t-shirt, y'all ain’t leavin’ much to the imagination.” Your mouth dropped slightly, cheeks blushing a deep red. You took in a deep breath. “Jesse. Please. It’s too early. Go back to your room.” Jesse chuckled, put two fingers up to his forehead in a mock salute and headed towards the door. “Yes, ma'am.” He opened the door and checked both ways down the hallway before turning his head to the side, looking over his shoulder. “Y'know, doll, I may have some competition.” He grabbed the handle and closed the door, leaving you in the middle of your room, barely dressed and barely able to comprehend what he just said. “Sleep. That’s all I need.” You furrowed your brow and rubbed both of your eyes with your hands, taking small steps towards your bed.

***

“Sir. Really?” Your arms are crossed and your left hip jutted out, your stance screaming attitide. Gabriel chuckled. “What? Do you not like him?” “I- no. It’s not that.” Gabriel cocked his head and raised his eyebrow. “Oh, gatita, did he get to you?“ “He barged into my room at stupid o'clock in the morning and practically straight up said he wanted to- you know..” “Ahah. Sí. I know.” “So.. Why me?” “I thought you could put up with his charms.” “I can.” “Then there shouldn’t be a problem.” You huffed. You clearly weren’t going to get your way, and Gabriel had assigned you to a mission with Jesse McCree.

***

Along with advanced combat and weapon training, you had also been teaching a new girl about your ‘old’ job. As Gabriel had unofficially recruited you into Blackwatch, with the permission of Morrison, you had reluctantly decided that it would be best to pass on your role to someone who could tackle it full time. It was difficult, as you loved your job, but you couldn’t pass the opportunity to progress even higher into Overwatch. You had to teach the newbie all that you could before you were sent out on your mission with McCree. “You need to negotiate settlement terms, such as an ongoing discount with them or a discount if we pay early. Be creative; try and get some free shurikens thrown in if you can.” The girl nodded, furiously taking notes on her holopad. It wasn’t often you had to deal with a new supplier, as in this business trade was loyal. However, one company may go down every now and then and you need to do research on finding a suitable replacement.

You looked over the girls notes, deeming them acceptable enough to make enough sense should she need to refer back. “You’ve done well today. Go home, get some rest as we get onto actual buying tomorrow.” She nodded, thanking you and packing up her belongings. You waited for her to leave the office before powering down the holopads and stretching. It’s been a long day. Quickly tidying the desk to make it look presentable, you decided to head out towards the break room to grab a bottle of water. Pushing the door open, you looked around. You were slightly surprised that no one was in here, even considering how late it was. Usually people were milling around for late night snacks or socialising. One foot in the door and something cold touched the back of your neck. You instinctively raised both your hands, heart pounding. “Reach for the sky.” You immediately dropped your hands. “For fuck sake, McCree. Can you not?” You carried on walking over to the vending machine to grab a bottle. “I have enough on my fucking plate as it is, I don’t need to be threat-” “(Y/N). Stop. Was just a joke.” “Yeah, well, it was one of your funnier ones.” “Darlin’, that was cold.” You turned around to face him, water bottle in hand. He was standing there with his stupid cowboy hat in his hands, eyes wide. You actually felt a bit of remorse. “Sorry.. Jesse..” “No, doll, it was my bad. I know you been jugglin’ things and I shouldn’t'a done that. I guess I’ll jus’.. Walk away..” Smiling slightly. Don’t let his sarcasm get to you. You pointedly stop and stare at him with a bored look on your face. He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips turning up slightly showing his teeth. “I can’t work with you if you’re going to act like that.” “Like what, sweetpea?” Amusement laced his southern drawl. “Like, this.” You gestured generally in his direction, clearly exasperated. He was still smirking, but his eyebrow raised in slight confusion. “You don’t like me?” “No. Yes. I don’t-” McCree chuckled. “Y'ain’t the first to get flustered around me, doll.” “I’m not flustered.” “What’s with the red cheeks then?” You blinked and took in a deep breath. “This is supposed to be a strictly professional relationship and you go around barging into my room at stupid o'clock in the morning and then getting a laugh out of making me nearly shit myself.” “Am I not allowed to have a lil’ fun?” “Yes, but-” “But what?” People need to stop interrupting you, you thought. A small, impatient growl released from your throat and you went to storm past him. It seems he didn’t want you to, a tanned muscular arm blocking your path. “Move.” McCree let out another deep chuckle. “Nope. Y'all ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til you tell me.” You glanced down to your water bottle in your right hand. Thinking quick, you raised it above your head as though ready to strike him- He was faster. Jesse caught your wrist with his robotic hand, you dropping your bottle in surprise. He then crouched slightly, catching you off guard and all of a sudden you’re over his shoulder with your bottle forgotten on the floor. “JESSE MCCREE.” “Hmm?” “Put me down this instant .” You wiggled your legs, simultaneously attempting to whack him on the back in the hopes that he’d put you back on solid ground. He was incredibly amused. Jesse’s toned arm was wrapped around the backs of your thighs to stop you from falling, dangerously close to your bottom. You squirmed some more; you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

He started walking out of the mess hall, whistling a tune. You huffed. All you could see was where you came from and it seemed he had no aim in sight as to where you would end up. He took a couple of turns, when he stopped suddenly. “Sir.” “McCree. What are you doing?” You recognised the voice as Gabriel’s and you perked up. “TellhimtoputmedownPLEASE.” You exclaimed, frantically trying to release yourself from his grasp. All you heard was a small snort coming from the Blackwatch commander. “Carry on.” Whatever looks were exchanged between them, you didn’t know. However, you made sure to give Gabriel a good thump on the arm as McCree casually walked past him. “You betrayed me.” “Cariño, I would never betray you.” A hint of humour in his voice. “Trust him.” He stood in the hallway with his arms crossed and his head tilted slightly looking at you. One corner of his mouth was pulled up, a half smile forming. You let out another huff, accepting you had to go wherever McCree took you. He took you round another corner and you recognised it as the corridor where your room was. “What’s the code to your room?” “Like I’d tell you.” You thought he’d put you down here so you could put it in. Nope. Jesse turned around so you were in front of your door, keypad just high enough to enter the code. Your brows cross in defeat. “It’s open.” He spins around again, too quickly that some of your hair gets caught in your mouth. You manage the catch the door and slam it when he crosses the threshold. Only now does he tenderly lower you down so you’re back on your feet. One look at him and you close your eyes slowly, turning to walk to your bedroom. “Wait.” You turn on your heels, snapping your eyes open and looking at him expectantly. “You’re welcome.” “For what?” You asked flatly. “Carryin’ you back to your room. You looked mighty tired back there ‘nd thought I could help.” “Right.” “Wait.” You brought your hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. He stalks over to you, lifting his human hand to your face. Eyes widen and you flinch slightly, lowering your hand. He only brushed some of your hair that was still caught on your lips. “There.” His hand lingered for a few seconds more than what should have been appropriate; fingers ghosting over your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered, not used to the gentle contact. “I knew it.” Once again your eyes shot open, looking into his. “You can’t resist me.” “You just touched me in a way that I haven’t been touched in a while is all.” You spat out, swatting his hand away. “Of course, darlin’.” A grin spreading across his face. “Professional.” “Always am.” He tips his head and makes his way to your door. “Lookin’ forward to working together.” He closes the door behind him and you hear a faint whistling as he strolls away. You hate to admit it, but he was right. You were shattered from doing your full time job and training in the evenings. Rubbing your eyes with your hands, you headed towards your bed to get some well needed sleep.

[agl03]

Welcome to the Framework

Well its been a bit since I’ve gotten to do a proper meta and I wanted to celebrate being halfway through Hiatus with one.  

I just wanted to get down everything we have on the Framework so far and a few of the theories we have for everyone in there.  

The big thing we need to note and really helped me with coming up with theories is it doesn’t have to make sense. 

IE If Coulson never joined Shield he couldn’t have met May and they can’t be together.  AIDA Is the master here, so if May’s regret was not getting together with Coulson then she’s going to make that happen. 

The Hostages

Coulson, May, Mack, Mace, and Fitz

They have all essentially been Tahiti’d by AIDA fixing their regret and their real memories will be repressed by the life the fix gave them.  

Couslon

Regret Fixed:  

Joining Shield in the first place

Or coming back after his death, IE when he was brought back he got the Cal treatment and a new life vs the Bus.  

Current Location:

History/Social Studies Teacher 

Washington DC or his home state of Wisconsin 

Theories/Head Canons:  

If Robo Coulson was telling the truth in 4x15 then Coulson is married to/in a relationship with May.  There is no wedding ring there the screen shot.  

I low key love the Trophy Husband/BF of Hydra Big Wig May.

As a citizen he will be one if not the easiest for the girls to get too, and likely one if not the first.  

Unless he is said trophy husband/bf of May...then he’ll have a fair amount of security on him.

The trick with Coulson is the “Its a Wonderful Life” twist in showing him how much good he has done, that the good out weights the bad by a long shot.  

I have a hard time believing that Coulson in any world will be into Inhumans are dangerous/bad and suspect he will being forced to teach this.  Hydra is in control and makes the rules.

Also won’t be shocked if Coulson isn’t helping out in his own little ways.  Fighting back almost without realizing it.  

Writers I beg you for the “Guys, I know Kung Fu” moment.

Look for a lot of development between Coulson and May, Daisy, and Mace.

Kick in the Feels Potentials:

Initially not knowing or remembering Skye/Daisy

Not ever knowing May or anyone else on the team...but May and Daisy will offer the biggest kick in the feels.  

If he really goes ‘believe’ the Hydra Inhumans are bad stuff.

Quotes/Spoilers:

None for Coulson specifically 

Mack

Regret Fixed:

The opportunity to be a father.

Current Location:

Unknown, we suspect the DC area as well if he is working for Hydra.

Possibly in Indiana if he also isn’t involved with Shield/Hydra

Theories/Head Canons:

Next to Coulson I feel he will be one of the easiest for them to get too, especially if he is also a civilian.  

If he is with Hydra I don’t suspect he’s as high up as May.

Possibly a mechanic

I also don’t think he is with any sort of Shield underground.  He’s living out in the open and don’t think he would put his daughter in that kind of danger.  

Mack’s fix made it so he wasn’t on the Illiad in the fall and wasn’t there to help the crew fight back.  I suspect as a result Hartley, Bobbi, and Gonzales were all killed that day and won’t be in the Framework.  

We will get a triumphant return of the Shotgun Ax at some point.

I had originally speculated he would be a candidate for who wanted to stay behind.  But now I’m not as sure on that one.  Once he realizes the life he’s been leading isnt’ real I think he will be willing to let it go so they can stop AIDA....still gonna suck and we’re goign to have a when Mack cries we all cry kind of moment....but he will come out.  But I can see him resisting to joing the fight.

Potential Kick in the Feels:

Real or no Mack is going to have to say goodbye to his daughter again.  So stock up on Thin Mints now.

We could see his distrust for all things alien at an all time high.  Daisy helped him get over that.  And part of that distrust also had him helping Real Shield.  IE Mack isn’t too upset with the extreme measures surrounding the Inhumans.  

If he is part of Hydra we could see his Shield job a bit twisted and rather than helping Inhumans....he’s Hunting them.

When approached by the girls he tells them to simply go away, he’s happy.

Him not knowing or caring about getting back to Elena when the girls bring her up. 

Spoilers/Quotes

TVLINE | Mack’s situation made sense, reuniting with his daughter. But Coulson’s surprised me a bit — teaching? We’ve learned a little bit about all our characters this year, and that’s not a coincidence. We were planning on exploring them as people with a whole new set of experiences, trying to find themselves or who they are within that whole new reality. We’ll see that with anybody we encounter who’s been plugged into the Framework.

This is going to be a long one so under the thing we go!

Fitz:

Regret Fixed:  

Not having a positive/supportive father figure 

Being Betrayed/Abandoned

Current Location:

Unknown but based on the plates on the car somewhere in DC.

Theories/Head Canons:

The prevailing theory is that AIDA gave Fitz a positive father figure that supported him and his genius in the form of Radcliffe. Again remember things don’t need to make complete sense.  AIDA is the mastermind so she can shove a square peg into a round hole to make it so Radcliffe is in this position.  

We are unsure to the degree he is affiliated with  Hydra

Expecting him to be along the lines of a Quinn/Stark

Hydra or no, he’s got bodyguards and could prove difficult to get too...especially if you throw Radcliffe in the mix who has a vested interest in making sure the hostages don’t get out.  

Jemma getting to Fitz’s HEART is the larger arc here, that he is more than his ‘programming’.  

Fitz stands to have the best chance at taking down the Framework from the inside.  

In some way shape or form he will be used as leverage against Radcliffe and/or Jemma.  

He “Should” be happy but he will be one that isn’t.  AIDA doesn’t understand what Happiness is/means.  On some level, no matter what AIDA has done he will sense he’s missing something (cough Jemma) as losing her was his absolute worst fear.

I’m still low key hoping that Fitz knows she’s alive and helped her fake her death...not holding my breath....but will cling to that bit of hope until canon blows it up.

Kick in the Feels:

He doesn’t know who Jemma is/was

They were indeed bitter rivals

There is a Rando GF (again just remember ITS NOT REAL) and we honest to goodness don’t have time to get too deep into anything like that.  

He’s not the Fitz we know

He’s Radcliffe’s ultimate hostage and won’t believe anything against his ‘father’.  

Notable Quotes/Spoilers:

It's also a reflection of how steeped into this world he is that he doesn't seem to be troubled by the fact that she's in a grave, which was sort of the point of that moment. He looks like he's on top of the world. 

Is there any chance that Radcliffe could actually be Fitz’s father on Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.? — Micah I saw that theory on Reddit recently, so I took it to the source: “They’re both Scottish, and we’ve discussed it at length,” EP Jed Whedon says. “Truthfully, there’s no one better to play his dad than John Hannah, but no, Radcliffe is not his father.” There goes that theory!

May

Regret Fixed:  

May is tough since we haven’t had May as May since 8.

“What are we waiting for?” and she did have a relationship with Coulson.

Something out of left field that isn’t on our Radar.

Current Location:

Hydra HQ

Theories/Head Canons:

She is either high up if not the Director of Hydra 

She is DEEP undercover for what is left of Shield.  

Daisy should be able to get to her with relative ease considering she and Ward are with Hydra...we think.  

May is going to be kicking some serious rear judging by how much we’ve got her Stunt Double coming up.  

Due to the length of time she’s been in there and that she has beaten it before I think that May will be one they are able to ‘get back’ relatively quickly. 

LIke FItz she was called out as one that “Seemed” on top of the world so I think she will know on some level something is off and not be happy.

Kick in the Feels Potential:

Evil Director of Hydra May

Not knowing her Ducklings

Not knowing Coulson

Something worse than Bahrain lurking

Notable Quotes/Spoilers:

TVLINE | So in May’s case, for example, wha’ts going on with her there in the Triskelion elevator? There will be a lot of me saying, “You’ll have to wait and see,” but… you’ll have to wait and see. No, she seems like she’s very comfortable in that elevator. I don’t think that she’s afraid that she’s there. It doesn’t look like she’s a prisoner but perfectly comfortable.

Mace:

Regret Fixed:

He’s the hero he always wanted to be

Current Location:

Unknown but suspect Playground

Theories/Head Canons:

Joined Shield ages ago

Is really Inhuman

Possibly helping to lead the resistance.  

Will go by the Patriot

He and Coulson will get some good bonding moments

Top of my list to want to stay/not make it out.

Kick in the Feels:

His coming heroic sacrifice 

Notable Quotes/Spoilers

None for Mace.

Overall I also feel we need to brace that the hostages don’t get thier memories back until they get out.  IE they are fighting and doing the right thing because its who they are...not because they got their memories back.

Jemma/Daisy

The girls are self aware so it won’t matter what their Avatars were doing before, Jemma and Daisy are taking over for them now and their memories will be in tact.

Its going to hurt like Hades when they realizes what has been done to their friends...I have a feeling Lil is going to kill us again.

Daisy is going to be in with Hydra it seems and her Avatar was likely helping to hunt Inhumans.  

I don’t think Daisy will have her powers, if she does she’s hiding them.

Daisy’s arc is fully realizing her hero arc.

Jemma I am expecting to be part of the Shield Resistance and Undercover with Hydra/Shield....or possibly wherever Fitz is.  

She is NOT in the grave.

Again kick in the feels as she gets Fitz to remember the man he really is and his good heart.  

Woman on fire...here we come!

Radcliffe

He is a bit of an x factor for us.   He helped build the world and quite possibly made changes even before the hostages were sent in.  IE he made it so he already had Fitz as a son/partner he wanted.

He noticed a change when the hostages came in and it rippled to effect him in some way.

We don’t know if he is self aware of it AIDA “Tahit’d” him too when she sent him in for the last time.

Radcliffe is the only one who knows exactly where the hostages are being held.

Radcliffe will have to face the thing he fears the most if he gives it up, death.  

I stand by my pre season prediction that when we see him fall for good its for Fitz.   

Radcliffe is still one of the biggest threats to the Framework itself.

The Avatars  

The Framework is going to be full of new and old faces.  As much as we want to see lots of people back we also have to be careful that we don’t get too many and we lose the fight to save the hostages.  My top picks to see again:

Ward:  He’s been confirmed but will be interesting. 

 As the Ward in there is based off the memories of the hostages and their fixes.  

Meaning...he can go either way on us.  He can help or he can be a foil.  Ward is the king of Plot Twists...I completely expect that to continue here. 

Trip:  Without Coulson/The Temple he never died.  Its a matter of where he landed after the fall.  

I don’t think he’ll be Hydra and I expect him to be with Mace or even in prison for being loyal to Shield.

Hunter:  Now he can also go either way on us as he was a Mercenary.

Option 1:  Mercenary hired by and working for Hydra

Option 2:  Mercenary hired by and working for Shield again...driven by wanting to get revenge on Hydra for killing Bobbi.  

Option 3:  Mercenary hired by Fitz or Radcliffe and is on Fitz’s protection detail. (FYI this is my dream option).

Option 4:  He’s working free lance and the girls find him to get his help.

Mike:  Depends on who they got to stabilize the extremis and its a toss up of who he is working for...likely still unwillingly with Hydra.

Bakshi 

Cal

The Dragon

Its not going to be as simple as finding everyone and getting them out.   There needs to be someone/something they have to fight in order to get out.  A ticking clock if you will.  

Its going to take time, not only to find everyone but for them to have the whole Remember who you are kind of moment, and then work together to bust out.

On top of that we might not have everyone wanting to come out...plus the Avatars in the mix.  Essentially the team is going to be seen as the baddies at some point as they have to destroy the Framework World.  Ward, Trip, Hunter, and all the other Avatars don’t care its “not real” its real to them and won’t take kindly to someone wanting to ‘destroy’ it.  

I won’t be surprised if said Dragon isn’t the head of Hydra or if the Hydra there has a proper super villain end/take over the world kind of plan.  

I am half expecting to see AIDA as the head of Hydra watching over things.  Much like she programmed herself into May’s early program. 

I still think we need to have everyone...or at the very least the girls out of there by 19/20 because we still have to take down AIDA/The Superior and most likely the Daisy Fleet from going after the Inhumans who are in seek and destroy mode now.  

Well that was fun!  Been a bit since I had a proper meta like that and hope that we’re going to start getting more spoilers soon so I can really ramp up the theorizing!

[luirlar]

HOLY SHIT. Kara has John, John has bombs attached to his chest, they have a virus of some sort. Flashbacks and present time events introduce a new big bad while sending off an old one. Everything looks very big and very bad in this episode, and it is great to watch. And I get a lot of John x Harold feelings, which is great to witness, I hope. This one is long but I am pretty happy with it. Buckle up.

I have watched the whole show before, so SPOILERS MIGHT HAPPEN. Big spoilers will be blanked out but references and irrelevant spoilers are going to be out in the open.

Last bits on POI: After months of looking for The Man in the Suit (I cannot ever overstate how ridiculous this nickname is to me), Donnelly finally catches on and catches up with Carter and Reese. He is ready to bring them to jail and then Kara Stanton rams a literal goddamn truck into the plot (and my heart), shoots Donnelly, and sedates John.

The episode opens exactly the moment where we left off. Carter’s phone rings: it’s Finch. Carter tells him that she thinks the woman who took John used to be his CIA partner, and just as she says this, Finch enters the latest number he’s received from the Machine: Kara Stanton’s. So what the hell is up? A fucking ride that awaits us in this episode and the mess that it triggers, which directly and indirectly carries on till the series’ end. It’s that big of a bad, friends.

John wakes up in a bus, next to Mark Snow (who we last saw warning Joss about a Big Thing “She” Has Planned), opposite to Kara, and he strapped to a bomb vest.

Kara: I know you don’t care about yourself, John, but you’ve got enough semtex strapped in you to spread a lot of misery around.

Gosh. Kara Stanton makes me melt every time she opens her mouth. So cold, so evil, so calm and certain about the absolute havoc she can wreck.

John: So what’s this really about? Kara: This is about three dead little spies in a brave new world. It’s about the afterlife, John, and us negotiating our places in it.

Well, that sounds like a good, wholesome time.

Carter is called to the crime scene where Donnelly was shot, where she was but isn’t telling. Fusco suspects something is up, but Joss can’t tell him squat. I always feel a special appreciation for Fusco. He knows the least about what’s going on at all times, and he knows people hide shit from him, and yet he always helps. He has faith in the team, and I love him for it. They all set out to find out more about Kara and what she might be up to, which is difficult, what with her being declared dead a few years back and all.

On the first stop of their #assassin #throwback tour, John and Mark are supposed to pick up a hard drive, but the sellers try to get smart about the payment, so Kara gives out a kill order. Both Mark and John hesitate, so Kara shoots the sellers for them. Wait, she was in the room with them? No, no. From a rooftop, across the street, with a sniper rifle. She gives no shits whatsoever.

*fans self*

[2010] We are taken back to a scene we’ve seen before, where Alicia Corwin and Mark Snow send Kara and John to Ordos to retrieve the laptop, and where Mark tells both Kara and John separately that their partner has been compromised and needs to be killed. We also get a repeat of the scene where John refuses to shoot Kara, Kara shoots John, and John connects the dots about them being set up. We again see John running away from the building just in time to escape the missiles sent to bump them both off, but then… we see Kara wounded, and being picked up by some sort of uniformed squad. She wakes up in a hospital-looking place, and an Ominous British Man (not yet named) greets her. He tells her that he knows who she is and why she’s there and he doesn’t need her to talk, and that they’ll get along great. Not creepy at all.

John and Mark’s second stop is knocking out some ATF (Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms) agents and impersonate them. In what? A fake bomb threat in an office building. Because Kara couldn’t resist the joke, apparently. I too love joking around while strapping explosives to my former coworkers. John sends a text to Finch indicating he is carrying explosives, and the text allows Finch to know where he was, and who the phone belonged to.

Once inside the building, Kara tells the bomb bros to go to a super secured floor that doesn’t exist in the building’s public records. We know this because Carter, Finch and Fusco are good at detective-ing. Because the episode was not stressful enough, Kara informs us that the signal might be bad inside whatever super secured secret place the boys are headed to, so she puts a timer on their bomb vests.

[2011] We’re back in the hospital-looking place, but some time has passed (I hadn’t noticed the time stamp! This episode and plot point makes more sense to me now!).Ominous British Man babbles about the Titans – Kara’s bosses are the old gods, Kara is part of the new gods, the old gods wanted to eat her because they were afraid of her, or something – and Kara is done with his shit.

Kara: If I break your neck, can I go back to watching TV? She may be tired and is probably being tortured, but she can still sass people out like a champ.

Ominous British Man clarifies that he doesn’t work for any government, and that money is not his business, information is. He offers Kara the name of the person he labels as responsible for the state she is currently in, the person who sold the laptop Kara and John were sent for. (How badly did they psychologically torture and manipulate Kara for that to make sense to her, that the person responsible for her misery is not who gave the kill order, but the person who sold a laptop that she knows nothing about?! Anyway.) In exchange for what, Kara (and we) ask?

Ominous British Man: Do you remember how the Titans were finally killed? Before they could eat their youngest child, Zeus, he wrapped a boulder in his swaddling clothes, then watched as his father choked on it.

What the hell is this Brit on? It’ll all become clear in time (or not, I had to think really hard and read some wikipedia shit to get it, but I’m not a greek mythology buff so maybe you know exactly what this means right now.). He speaks in very obnoxious riddles. I wish Kara would have broken his neck to be honest.

Carter and Fusco are at the building where John and Mark are, but downstairs. John manages to quickly call Finch, and they both figure that since theyre basically in a DOD cyber weapons lab, Kara is probably trying to steal a virus that would shut down the entire internet, or specific networks, or something. She’s stealing something big, that’s for sure.

Unless… Unless John is the most predictable broody white knight in the world and Kara is a cold-hearted bitch who knows him too well. Kara knew John wouldn’t follow orders, would assume Kara wanted to steal something, and would erase all the drives with all the Very Bad Viruses.

Kara didn’t want any of the Very Bad Viruses, because she had a Very Very Bad one. Or at least, a very specific one that she needed to delete the others for. I don’t know how any of that works, can you tell? In any case, she unleashes the virus into the world, sets the timer of the bomb vests to 5 minutes, and skedaddles. But not before John tries his usual emotional “you don’t have to do this, we can hold hands and make the world better together” shtick, and Kara stares dead in his eyes with zero emotional response. Yikes, John, your white knight moves are starting to rust or something.

Mark tries to make a run for his life, with less than 5 minutes to do whatever he can. And then, then All Of The Feelings happen: As John is trying to head to the rooftop (cause his broody white knight redemption arc has to end in a fucking rooftop, right?) to try to hit as little civilians with his explosion as possible, Carter gets to his floor.

Carter: You don’t have to do this. John: You know I do. ‘Cause you’d do the exact same thing.

I mean, I mock his broody self-sacrificing shtick a lot, but it is absolutely the thing to do when you know you’re in all likelihood gonna blow up. And I think it’s because John’s character rarely shows emotions in his face, on purpose, but when he does, it cuts through my misandrist soul and makes me want to hug him and then punch him for making me Feel Things. Between that, and the amazing score as per POI usual, and Taraji’s always amazing performance, I am More than a Lil’ Stressed™. John heads to the rooftop, ready to die. Show’s over folks. But then again…

Finch: So I see I’m not too late…

So, you see, when John warned Finch over the DOD phone to stay clear of the building, what Finch actually heard was, “get as close to me and the building and the fucking bomb as humanly possible”. John tries to stop Finch by… pointing a gun at him? Which, for one, is rude, and more importantly, ridiculously useless in this context.

John: This is my past catching up to me. This doesn’t concern you. Harold: But this moment does. I’m not leaving you, John. So can we please stop wasting time?

Husbands that hang ’round bombs together, stay together. Unless their remains are scattered by the explosion. Sorry. Finch has 3 attempts at one of five combinations. Yikes. And the first one fails.

John: … Sorry.

In the meantime, Kara is making her way out of the building and calls Ominous British Man, who is still not given a name, a purpose, a boss, or a plan. Just a vague creepy Big Bad feel. He carries on speaking in riddles, making grand empty statements, and Kara cuts him off and asks for the goddamn name of the person who sold the laptop and indirectly sent her to Ordos, the name she went through all this trouble to get. Ominous British Man tells her a name is all he has, since this person apparently doesn’t exist in any known database. She jots down a name in a piece of paper. *INTRIIIIIGUE*

Back up in the rooftop, everyone is about to cry. Except me, I’m already crying.

John: I’m pretty sure I’d be dead already if you hadn’t found me. Harold: It’s hard to say. John: Not really.

This is a beautiful moment, except… why does Harold say it’s hard to say? It’s pretty straight forward to say, no? (Except… wait for it.) Harry looks like he is about to cry, which I guess one would if a bomb was about to blow up literally on the face. Goddamn, though, Michael Emerson is an acting champ. This is, on paper, a super contrived moment, but they make it work for me. In a completely unrealistic cliche moment that is only made bearable because the alternative would have been Captain America and his sugar daddy dying, Finch deactivates the bomb on the third and final try, 7 seconds before it is set to detonate.

We’re taken back to Kara’s car, and something is beeping. Her backseat. That has Mark Snow in it. He decided to do something positive (in-universe, negative for all Kara fans like myself) with his life for once, and take Kara with him to the sweet sweet afterlife. Goodbye, you sexy Big Bad motherfucker. John gets back to the library where Bear greats him happily, and John thanks Finch, all teary eyed. At the precinct, the FBI tells Carter that Mark Snow must have been the Man in the Suit, so they close that case. All’s good and right and there are no mysteries left to solve here. Ta-dah!

  What, you thought that was all? Sweet summer child. Did you forget Kara got the name of the guy who sold the laptop and started a whole trainwreck of events that brought us to this very episode, and in a way, brought this whole series into being? Maybe you don’t care. That’s fair. Who cares. Fuck The (Ominous British) Man.

Unless…

Mother of HECK. Yes, you read that right. Harold Finch! How? Why? When? What was that latop, then? (Sure, *now* you wanna know..!) WHAT THE FUCK?! *INTRIIIIIIGUE*

I know, I know. But the whole history of the laptop will not become clear until the second half of season 3, so you’d better get comfy with that unsettling feeling in your stomach. Aaaaand the virus Kara activated is set to go off in five months and change. *INTRIIIIGUE*.

  ** A note on Kara’s time with Ominous British Man: BIG SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 AND 5 AHEAD ** Why do I say she was in all likelihood tortured? And that the time stamps make this episode make sense to me? Well, the first (and second) time I watched this episode< I wondered how come Kara turned so easily on her country – because remember, she always did her job, or said she did, for her country. Why would she do a job for a dubious mysterious man, a job that could endanger a lot of people? She asked zero questions for a man who was in no way her boss, or shouldn’t have been. I suspected some torturing or intense indoctrination might have taken place, but I didn’t think much of it other than “really? that easy?” But then season 5 happened. And we see how Shaw gets tortured and gaslighted and manipulated. On the one hand I’m glad we don’t get to see that, but on the other the blanks that aren’t filled make Kara seem like a godless spiteful easy traitor. Not because your bosses sending to kill you isn’t good reason to be vengeful, but it shouldn’t be for a trained, hardcore agent. Unless extreme measures were used, which they probably were. Anyway, I love talking about Kara Stanton and I love her.

Today I (re)watch: Person of Interest, 2.13 HOLY SHIT. Kara has John, John has bombs attached to his chest, they have a virus of some sort.