#jeanie dear

[pinknyellowblob]

eddiez moms…

designs by the one and only @cyanwyrmy !!!!! i love them a lot

[cyanwyrmy]

Introducing my concepts for Eddie Dear’s Parents!

Jeanette “Jeanie” Dear is Eddie’s Mama. She is a writer and comic book artist, most often writing and drawing for newspaper columns. Jeanie is 4ft tall and bi and trans!

Evelyn Dear is Eddie’s Mom. She’s a friendly and hardworking mail-carrier who ain’t afraid to speak her mind. Evelyn is 3.5 ft and bi and demisexual!

There’s other stuff too…they are childhood friends, they have southern accents, and they of course adore their son, Eddie!

What do y’all think of my designs? I’m really excited to see what Eddie’s parents look like in the official canon :o) In the meantime, Jeanie and Evelyn will be Eddie’s mamas in my mind!

[icarusredwings]

X university unoffical staff gc

Firecracker: He fell asleep to McCafferty again.

*Sends a picture of scott face down in paper work with headphones on*

Stormqueen: Again?

Speed: Valid.

Jeanie: Aww at least he's getting some rest.

Morphine: Which one?

Firecracker: It says 'Bottom'

Howlett32: Same.

TrippleW69: LMAAOOO YOU WOULD KNOW WOULDN'T YOU

Jeanie: ??

Dr.Beast: Oh dear..

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John | Unsayable Things

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

I banged this out in an hour or two, past midnight, deep in my feels, half chatting with my baby @stylespresleyhearted who put in the initial request for this series and who is now owed a few choice lines herein. If you wanna stew in the pain of Friday’s episode- this is the angst fest for you. With a tiny bit of hope at the end. Tiny. But it’s there.

Summary: months after one drunken letter of horny (and gentlemanly) admiration was sent off by one John Egan to Miss Lana Tierney of Hollywood fame, a written rapport has formed between them, based on a refreshing freedom to be perfectly frank and even trivial in their letters -a tone set by his inarguably appaling initial correspondence. But until today, he’s never dared make use of the number she gave him to dial when he needs to say unspeakable things.

Warnings: angsty as hell? morose and possibly suicidal thought processes? it’s Egan after THAT phone call so, I imagine you can envision that it’s not exactly a stable mentality portrayed here-in.

Masterlist

Date: October 1943

The hotel lobby is as chilled as an ice box with those front doors constantly revolving, letting in gusts of autumn air that’s suddenly turned harsher than he recalled when he stepped out into the daylight this morning. His ride back to East Anglia won’t be here for another two hours and no amount of charm or haggling can get him the petrol to make the journey on his own. It’s a carpool sort of life now, every man, woman and child in Britain knows that but every minute he stays in the great metropolis feels like a betrayal to those boys who just got-

-he will get back in time.

He vowed it, he arranged it, now all there’s left to do is wait until it can be enacted. John was never good at waiting but now all the activities and pastimes he’d once relied upon to fill a slow hour seem intolerable. Imbibe any more booz and he’ll be unfit to fly, seeing the sites could get him more sights than he’d like, polite conversation makes him want to scream in the face of the next passer by that he’s lost something precious today -don’t they know? -and it would be just his luck today of all days to get answered by someone who did know, some parent with a dead child, pulverized to bits while he fucked his demons out.

So John keeps his mouth shut in a stern line and stares venomously ahead at the charming little Renoir hung in the lounge. No one has troubled him yet and by the spooked face of the desk clerk who offered him a menu, he dares to think he won’t be in future.

He is sick to death of it all, of the death itself and the brave faces and the lack of bravery he suddenly feels now and the necessity of it all. He hardly recognizes the hollowed out sinner he’s become with a head full of too many griefs to even formulate a prayer.

He was close to catatonic, eyeball deep in his self abhorrence, when he realized he was spinning round the little lacquered card she had enclosed three letters ago.

“If you ever need to say those unsayables, here’s a private line. Don’t call it if you don’t want me to answer, only you, my mama and my hair stylist have it. Xoxo, Jeanie.” 💋

The unsayable would be to call one of the most successful, desirable and busy women in the world only to admit John Egan has run outta words. But with the mounting desire to do something stupidly productive, and without the kind fist of a friend to dissuade him -he knew walking in front of busses wouldn’t get him any closer to Thorpe Abbots- a starlet’s withering rejection just might do the trick. Just might hurt enough to slice through the fog. His fingers were sweating as he spun the rotary, thumbnail tracing the underside of her extension.

God knows it would be unlikely to get through even the first connection, much less get overseas, much less find her at her home. What time of day was it back there anyway? And this entire conversation would get bugged to hell, he’d have to be careful and this was a terrible idea to start with and-

“Hello you,” the airiest voice he’s ever heard warbles over the static, teasing and warm, “I’ll admit it, that lilac did nothing for my color last night. You win, I’ve got the front page of the Whisper to confirm, please, don’t rub it in.”

John stares out of his little alcove in the lounge with watery eyes, mouthing a silent -what the fuck- to himself before recalling the obvious: only her mother, her hairstylist and him. With this line, Jeanie -or should he call her Lana on the phone?- didn’t expect a stranger. This was an anticipated call and he about hangs up in mortification at not being what she expected.

But then, the hollow idea of one and a half hours of waiting for the ride catches up and John recalls that he had in fact phoned in order to be humiliated and he was a rare sort of chump to take so poorly to a plan gone off to so dazzling a start.

“Can’t imagine a shade that wouldn’t suit you.” he finds himself saying smoothly, the flirtation on autopilot.

He can hear an audible gasp on the other end of the line and a breathy sputter and what might be sheets rustling, or perhaps it’s a dress or paper or-

“JOHNNY?” she all but squeals and he winces at the blare of the receiver in his ear, the flinching crinkle of his blue eyes not without some pleased merriment at her unabashed excitement. “This you? Finally you used it, you silly old thing! Oh gosh, oh gosh say something again, your voice is divine! Oh, I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you. I thought you were my mother! Oh say something! You’re there, aren’t you? Johnny?”

She sounds so pleased he finds his eyes smarting and suddenly this feels like the worst idea in the world. He needed her to be harsh, to fit with every other disillusionment that’s rained down on him this past month, instead he’s met with -care. His stomach roils and not even the mean suspicion that she’s putting on an act can make it calm. “Well, I’m finally somewhere I don’t have to share a line with the whole group.”

“Where’s that, Johnny?” She sounds as eager as if he’s got a lot of options.

“London.”

“Oh!” There’s a waiver to her voice, he’s not sure why, but either way she sounds unsure if she should be merry or sober. “Business or pleasure?” she inquires levelly and it’s got all the sultry teasing he’s read into her scrawled writing hundreds of times, John finds himself flushing despite the morose sentiment that comes up right behind it.

“That, well, uh, that uh“ he picks at the sleek paint on the phone base and questions whether he’s going to use precious time on the phone with the hottest dame on planet earth to throw a pity party, “-I think the intention was a rehabilitation for the nerves. Ironically the guy who suggested it is now toast.”

“Oh John.” she sounds wounded and he bites his lip in savage pleasure at hearing what he wishes he could feel. “Was it -was it someone close?”

“A couple hundred, more like.” he sulks, his jaw ticking so hard he might break a molar if he keeps on. “But yeah. Yeah today was-“ he tries to think of the censors and that makes him laugh at the thought of all their previous filthy correspondence making it through but some slip of the tongue about a dead friend could land them in the hot spot, his following laugh is snotty and he could gag at himself for it.

“Johnny, darling man, are you-“ she shifts course and he holds his breath, depending on her for something, he doesn’t even what, “-does this happen to have something to do with our duet’s harshest critic?”

He smiles at her cleverness, she’s not a complete airhead then. And she recalls Buck. Of course she does, she hasn’t stopped sending him kisses via Egan’s letters even though she didn’t recall meeting either, not even when John had sent back photographs of the both of them to jog it. The flow of correspondence hadn't stalled despite this strike out and neither had the morale boosting glamor shots of certain of her assets which John kept locked in the false bottom of his footlocker and one small one folded in in the hollowed heel of his boot.

_“keeping it handy for the emergency tug off?” Gale had scorned him but Egan liked having her with him._

“Yeah, Shirley Temple- he’s been uh, he’s been traded, ya see.” Egan manages the metaphor once more and winces at the truth it hides.

He hears Je-Lana?-Jeanie?- suck in a breath on the other end. “Gosh. John. Any sign of, of-“ she begins to stammer, “of chut-“

-chutes, she’s going to say. John coughs loudly into the reviver and her voice trails off in recognition of his warning. “This was a mistake.” he decides, “I just -you can see why- I just thought I’d like to hear a-a-a voice, a-“

“A friend!” she replies eagerly, “I’m here, I’m here don’t go, not yet, not unless you have to, Major. Are you waiting? You’ll be wanting to get back, no? Or will you be staying on? In London?”

“I’m not staying.”

“Of course.” she whispers, “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”

His grip on the receiver has turned white. “No,” he decides, “I’m the one who’s sorry. Bringing this up, never even talked to you before and I go and make it this the call. Pretty girl like you doesn’t need this.”

“I told you to call.” she reminds him gently, “And Johnny, I’m ever so happy to hear your voice, I’ve imagined it a million times rereading your letters and looking at your photographs. I can concede that my imagination failed.”

“You reread them?” he is amused.

“Yes. Don’t you reread mine?”

“Mhmm you bet.”

“Gosh your voice gives me shivers.” she whispers into the phone and he feels an odd rising of the hair on the back of his neck. “Are you having to beat the London women off with a baseball bat?”

“I just let ‘em swarm.” he admits and she makes a noise of intrigue, “I was with a widow last night.” He blurts. “Polish. We watched the bombs from my hotel room.”

“How relaxing.” Without missing a beat Jeanie’s soft tease comes through, “Did the one balance the other for the nerves?”

“I’m dehydrated and hungover.”

“And grieving.” she adds.

That’s an unsayable. “I just needed to talk to someone.” he decides.

“Did she not speak English?”

He’s gone this far, he might as well be honest. “She didn’t know Buck.”

“Mm.” She makes a mournful noise of assent.

“I-I’m tryin’ not to do something stupid Jeanie,” he hates how his voice shakes but to her, it sounds more like rage than fear, “and I thought if I could hear your voice I’d -id get some peace. And wait for my ride without bustin’ up the Carleton.”

“Yes, I forbid you to bust up the Carleton without me, Major.” she warns and his pulse leaps at the simple direction, it’s a joke of course but it lodges heavy and wanted in his chest. “Promise me, Johnny, one day we’ll cause a great scandal there, you and I?”

“Miss Tierney,” he bites at his lip, “it’s a kindness for me not to make promises. To girls -to anybody.” She’s got to know that, she’s just being nice. “Especially not to special little ladies with nice long futures ahead of them.”

“It’s Turner, actually, Miss Turner if you’re going to be so formal.” She corrects, not a single part of her name Hollywood hasn’t meddled with. “But you must know, it’s far too late for that John. I miss you like mad.”

“We haven’t even met.” he reasons.

“What, and you don’t miss me?”

He curses under his breath fondly and shrugs. “I adore you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which he thinks he may have blown it by being so gushing but in fact, Jeanie finds herself milking her throat to dislodge the lump of painful glee settling there.

“Then you do whatever you have to, Bucky Egan,” she commands him, imperious but fervent, “you punch and get punched and drink as much as you need and bed as many girls as it takes and go after Buck-“

“-hold up, how’d you kn-“

“-but you come home. It’s much too late to tell me not to get my hopes up. You’re all I dream about anymore. There’s got to be some future for us, there’s got to be, Johnny, I’m not asking you to promise I’m asking you to try. Do what you’re good at.”

The pause is long and heavy and Bucky thinks he hears her sniffling on the other end. Unmoored by the unprecedented honesty he’s receiving and the juxtaposition of being someone’s risky bet for happiness when just this morning he’d come to resign himself to letting go what could only ever be a passing night's comfort- “Hell of a business.” he finds himself repeating.

“But you’re the best at it.” she retorts, “So stay the best.”

Everything certain, everything he thought was a given got blown to hell with Gale’s plane today. “Used to tell him if everybody else went down it’d be just him and me. I believed that.” He mumbles into the phone, turning to tuck his neck into the device like it’s the soft crook of her neck, “Now to be the best- that’s just me, and charred Europe under me and no one else in sight. That’s what you’re asking? ‘Cause that’s how this ends.”

The sun is shining bright and brutal in California, a cheery morning to mock her cocktail hangover and now she thinks it’s to hurt him as well, everything is so far removed an ocean away. Such bleakness is hard to even fathom for her, but the man she’s come to know, to love even, on paper is hoarsely spilling his guts to her over the phone and she’s not sure what one says to such a prediction. Her agent hovers in the doorway, the angry swats of her hand not sufficient to deter him from fretting with the press conference approaching. “So what, this is a suicide note?” she winces as soon as she says it but honesty has always been their currency.

“No.” he replies at long last and her shoulders sag. “I thought- i just wanted to hear your voice once before I go up again, Jeanie.”

“And I’m glad you called.” she swears, “And now I’ll have a voice to go with all the wicked things you do in my dreams.”

“Oh fu- Jeanie that’s unfair.” He balks and she grins at the little victory.

“Alls fair in love and war, Major.” She reminds, “Now tell me, do you want to tell me about him? Buck-“

“No, fuck no!” he hisses, angry at himself, “I wanted to talk to you to forget. I wanted to hear your voice.” He repeats it like an idiot.

“Then tell me,” she soothes, unphased by his outburst, “what would you like to hear in my voice, Major? The latest score? Perhaps the front page of the Times? They brought it in with my toast. Or some dirty line from one of your letters? I’ve got them here under one of Salinger’s books. They’re safe from the fiancé there, he’s a complete ignoramus with a phobia for learning.”

Bucky chuckles at her unabashed derision for her hotel scion intended and grins at the idea of her sleeping so near to his scrawled professions of lo- obsession at the very least.

Love is another unsayable.

“Just -tell me about your day, sweetheart?“ he begs, hoarse with the need to teleport elsewhere for the remaining forty minutes of his wait.

“If you’re sure.” she sounds only mildly skeptical, “It’s been very loungey, rather frilly.”

“Perfect.” he sighs, closing his eyes.

“Well, it’s actually morning here so I haven’t been up to much,” she begins and he feels guilty for just dialing away, damn the timezones, “I’ve not even dressed.”

“What color are you wearing?” he begs before he even realizes it.

“White.”

Hey sucks his teeth and nods approvingly. “White what?”

“A silk top and- no! Go away Herbert, for the last time!” Some interruption seems to occur on her end as a man’s voice comes through in snatches and Jeanie’s raised one drifts through the hand she’s cupped over the receiver, “Herbert, for the love of God, I am talking to one of the men protecting our country, the reporters can wait!”

Jeanie’s snappy loyalty soothes some raw edge he’s felt since watching *her* leave this morning without more than a kiss. “Reporters, huh?” he sympathizes, fully ready to give her an out.

“You’d think they’d have enough to report, there’s a war on.” she seethes and he has to smile again, “Anway, where were we? Oh, my pajama shorts.”

“White.”

“Yes Johnny, white.”

“Send me a picture?”

“Awfully demanding for a man who hasn’t even promised me he’ll try to live and see them in person.”

John puffs out a laugh at being snared so easily. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Promise?” Her voice sounds so small.

“I promise.” He’s dazed by the shift, how did he end up being the one begged by Miss Hollywood herself? Perhaps he’s still drunker than he thought.

“It’s all any of us can do, Johnny,” she says, “but we’ve gotta try. You got your pinky up?”

“What?”

“For your oath- pinky swear.”

“You're not even here.” he laughs.

“I’ve got mine crooked, come on Major, meet me halfway.”

And so John Egan finds himself sporting a watery, helpless grin as he lifts his finger into thin air and crooks it around her imaginary little digit. Her sigh sounds as if she can feel it a ocean away. Perhaps he’s gone fully looney in the way he thinks he can, too.

He doubts she’ll appreciate his choices in the next few weeks, maybe even doubt his intention to keep his oath, but what matters is he’s going to try. Even if it’s an angry, furious, blind sort of determination, it keeps him firmly out of the London bus lane until Hobbs and his transport arrive and then it’s goodbye Jean Turner, hello again Thorpe Abbots.

Taglist: (I’m sorry for tagging y’all twice in a single day, oops)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

[tiazvni]

unholy | jean kirstein

words : 361

warnings : fem!reader, black coded, riding, slight sub!jean, exhibitionism, sex in a church <3

jean cursed through clenched teeth as you bounced on his dick, the feel of your pussy swallowing him whole making his eyes cross.

“cum for me, jeanie,” you whine softly in his ear, your nails dragging over his scalp. “i wan’ it, baby, please.”

you shifted in his lap, planting your feet on both sides of his thighs for leverage, and smirked as he writhed beneath you. his fucked out expression was so adorable, and you craved more of it as you angled yourself deeper.

jean couldn’t contain his groans. the low rumble of his voice echoing over empty pues, mixing with your sweet sighs and the constant slap of your skin against his, filling the small church like a symphony of ecstasy.

with your pretty sunday dress bunched up at your waist and cute panties pulled to the side, his hands gripped your ass for dear life, mindlessly helping you maintain rhythm.

he couldn’t take it. when you convinced him to come to your father’s church, he had no idea that it would include being fucked to the brink of insanity by you - his innocent, god-fearing girlfriend - mere moments before your father’s sermon.

“holy fuck,” jean gasped, struggling to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his skull, “s-slow down, baby.”

you ignored him, his moans spurring you to bounce harder. it was his fault you were like this. having lost your virginity to him barely a month ago, you were addicted to the way he filled you, wanting nothing more than to keep him buried in your pussy until neither of you could move or think.

“but jeanie, you feel so good,” you lick the shell of his ear, delighting in the whine that crawls from his throat.

you were a demon, he thought - an unholy entity that had somehow possessed his perfect sweetheart overnight. that was the only logical explanation he could come up with before he stiffened, mouth opening on a soundless scream as his orgasm suddenly peaked, surprising both of you as warm cum spurt deep in your cunt.

jean had never been a believer, but you sure as hell made him see god.

[madameaug]

Jungkook x Black OC Headcannons

Pairing: Jungkook x Jennette

Jungkook/Jennette: Jungkook was oblivious to the hints Jennette gave him. With his semi-famous status, he didn't want to make any assumptions that could cost him a dear friend. Jennette would be a talking stage with Jungkook for over a year.

Jungkook/Jennette: Jungkook flew Jennette out to Seoul to celebrate getting her Master's degree. He was so proud of her and wanted to treat her to the beautiful sights of his home country. Jungkook couldn't deny how good Jennette looked. The blinders of friendship were removed, and he saw Jennette in a new light. He was taking her to a bell tower that was a prized possession of South Korea. It was famous for its K-drama scene. The ringing of the bell signified the two love interests finding their soulmate. Jungkook loved that drama.

With Jennette staying in Korea for the next week, he contemplated re-watching the series with her. The pair looked up at the golden bell, shoulder to shoulder, when it let out a loud ring. Besides the potential hearing damage they may have gotten, Jungkook looked down at Jennette, smiling at her.

Jungkook/Jennette: Jennette was the first to introduce pet names to their relationship. She wasn't a fan of 'bae' or 'baby' she wanted something more unique. So she would try out different pet names on Jungkook til she found one that stuck.

"Hi stinka butt."

"Are you saying I stink?"

"Noo silly. It's a pet name." Jennette explained.

"I don't like that one."

"What about pookie?"

"Meh."

Jennette tapped her chin. "I got it! How about love bug." She squeezed on Jungkook's bicep, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye.

"That could work, it's cute."

Jungkook/Jennette: Jungkook prefers a private relationship to I public one. He has one singular post of him, and Jennette pinned on his Instagram, but that is it. He doesn't respond to questions about his relationship, nor does he frequently post her. But he makes it known that he is happily taken.

Jungkook/Jennette: Jennette is always asking Jungkook to teach her Korean. They have been together for a while, and hopes she could have a conversation with his parents one day. Jungkook does his best to teach her simple phrases.

"Repeat after me, annyeonhaseyo."

"I know how to say 'hello'. Teach me something else."

"Try 'naneun dangsin-uy adeulgwa salange ppajyeossseubnida. Naneun gyeolko geuleul tteonaji anh-eul geos-ida." Jungkook rattled off.

translation: i'm in love with your son. I'll never leave him.

Jennette nearly repeated the two sentences perfectly. Even coping Jungkook's busan accent. It took Jungkook by surprise as he smiled.

"Good job Jeanie!"

Jungkook/Jennette: The two are overly competitive. They will turn anything into a competition. They will see who can do the dishes faster. Or who can make the bed up the fastest. Sometimes they will literally go to a park just to race each other.

"Ready."

"Set." Jungkook bent down in a track star pose, eyes honed in on the trashcan on the other side of the park. He waited for Jennette to give the count. Three seconds pass and the next thing he sees is Jennette with a two feet advantage.

"GO!"

Jungkook put the burners on and ran his heart out to the trashcan.

Jungkook/Jennette: Jennette definitely sends Jungkook's trending TikTok dances for him to practice and learn with her. Although she never posts them, she keeps them on her camera roll and looks at them for good laughs.

Jungkook/Jennette: Whenever they do have an argument, they do have to separate for a little bit. Jennette often goes and takes a really long shower. The steam relaxes her and clears her head, so that she can come back and articulate her feelings and not be lost in weighted emotions. Jungkook is similar. He has a punching bag that he will physically release his frustration on. Neither of them want to let the tension linger around them, so they try to resolve their issues promptly.

Jungkook/Jennette: These two are foodies on another level. Their friends are always asking them for recommendations for food spots to try when they visit Atlanta. They are always expanding their palates. You don't even want to know how much money they spend on eating out. Tuesday night they are eating gyros, and on Sunday they could be eating chicken and waffles at a brunch spot. They love food! And if they aren't eating out then they are combining popular soul food dishes with Korean foods.

[bcolfanfic]

omg i can’t with john being a lowkey horrible gossip and gale not taking it seriously lmao. what are some of his other “theories” and do the kids ever inherit these traits and join in on this?

he's the worst (affectionate). he's a huge gossip about the entire new york gang since after ev and helen move they're the only ones that don't live there so all the information they get is a little delayed and sometimes convoluted. in side b dear sweet john finds a lot of brevity in trying to parse together what exactly is going on with jeanie living with ev and helen seeming a whole lot less temporary. this time he *is* right in his line of thinking lmao, gale gives him that much when it all comes out.

josie inherits his gossipy heart and micah inherits gale's "you're being ridiculous" rationality lmfao. they're both john and gale's little clones respectively.

[triggerthreestrikes]

Fanfic excerpt/trailer/bite sized bit from/for my fanfic Fallout: A tale of two couriers. I talk more about it in the linked post. TW for graphic depictions of a headshot, and for mentions of enslavement.

Summary. Flynn Investigates Carla’s “disappearance.”

Flynn walked into the Dino-Dee-Light Lobby immediately after Manny’s story. Something wasn’t right. Was Carla really stuck up and prissy? Maybe she might’ve had opinions about Novac’s cuisine and accommodations, but the resentment in Manny’s voice only came when he glanced up at Boone’s room. There was more to Manny and Boone’s relationship. At least on Manny’s side. What exactly the nature of that was he didn’t know, but it wasn’t Carla’s personality that rubbed Manny the wrong way. Especially comparing Ranger Andy’s story. And..there was the story Noonan told. Obviously, Mole men was a side effect of No bark being…himself. But one staying in the lobby? That had merit.

“Oh! If it isn’t one of our two couriers! How can Jeanie May help you dear?” The older lady behind the counter greeted. “Well hey there! Naomi and I are finding everything fine, just had a few itchin’ curiosities I had to scratch about the town.” Jeanie gave a big smile, clearly pleased he was paying the town compliment. “Well I’d be happy to scratch those itches for you dear! What do you wanna know?” “Well, first, I noticed that there’s an open bungalow, that for rent?” Jeanie’s smile remained. “Oh, I’m sorry dear, but those bungalows are more for permanent residents. I’m afraid I can’t just rent it out.” Flynn clicked his tongue and shook his head “shame. Ah well, if we ever get tired of this courier thing, I’ll keep Novac well in mind. It’s a cozy little place.” Jeannie smiled in response, clearly, the way to her good side was paying the town respect. I wonder… Flynn thought to himself. “Well, I’ve got to head out for the night, don’t stay up too late now dearie!” Flynn’s easy smile remained even as the innkeeper left the room, right up until the door closed behind her. Taking a Bobby pin and screwdriver from his courier’s bag, he approached the front desk, and located a safe nestled in the floor.

It wasn’t caps he was looking for. Or NCR dollars. The legion kept paperwork. And if he was right about Jeannie May, and the courier hoped he was wrong…she would want a reminder. Of what happened when someone insulted her little corner of the Mojave. The safe came open with a click, and inside was the expected assortment of caps and NCR bills. Flynn felt a smidgen of relief at the seeming absence of his confirmation, Until the details struck him. Any travelers traveling through Novac would likely be NCR gamblers or caravan merchants. They’d pay with bills. Not caps. So.

Where did she get the caps?

Flynn took another glance at the suspicious currency. Checking the bundled amounts. In the wasteland, 500 cap pouches and thousand cap pouches were marked with loops of string. Two knots for a thousand, one knot for 500. And sure enough, two pouches with those exact amounts respectively sat within. Flynn knew her prices. He knew that even if she had been collecting the odd caps within the timeframe Carla left, she wouldn’t have this much. This was a lump sum payment.

He’d traveled Arizona for years before he freed Naomi. He knew the Legion’s prices for flesh.

This amount was for a child, and one woman.

As Flynn took the blood money from her safe, at the bottom of it, hidden under the pouches, was a folded note. The same one she was reading when he and Naomi first walked in. Reaching inside, The courier read the final nail in Jeannie May’s coffin.

We, the representatives of the Consul Officiorum, have this day bargained and purchased from Jeannie May Crawford of the township of Novac the exclusive rights to ownership and sale of the slave Carla Boone for the sum of one thousand bottle caps, and those of her unborn child for the sum of five hundred bottle caps, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged. We warrant the slave and her young to be sound, healthy, and slaves for life. We covenant with the said, Jeannie May Crawford, that we have full power to bargain and sell said slave and her offspring. Payment of an additional five hundred bottle caps will be due pending successful maturation of the fetus, the claim to which shall be guaranteed by possession of this document. M. Scribonius Libo Drusus et al.

-Administrators of M. Licinius Crassus, Consul Officiorum ab Famulatus

Flynn crumpled the letter in his fist, shaking with incandescent rage. “You’ll pay for this…” He snarled.

With a firm knock of her door, Jeannie answered to find the courier standing on her front step. “Hello dear, is there something I can do for you? It’s rather late.” “There’s somethin’ out front of the dinosaur I want you to see, I want your opinion on it. Just a minor concern, honest, but it’s important. I promise!” His smile was still present, but Jeanie couldn’t help but feel that it was…hollow. “Oh…well, if you’re sure. Did you talk to Boone about what it is you wanted to show me?” “Oh sure I did! He said it was somethin’ you should know about!” The Novac innkeeper felt a pit form in her stomach, but nonetheless, she felt at ease knowing Boone would likely act in case the Courier tried anything.

As they approached the front of the dinosaur, The courier turned on his heel. “Jeannie, I want to say I’m sorry to drag you out this late but, I wanted to ask this and the dinosaur seemed like a good place…what happened to Boone’s wife?”

She got what she deserved. She thought to herself. “Oh, poor dear. I know he thinks she was taken, but it’s pretty likely she ran off. She was like…well, a cactus flower. Pretty to look at, but all prickly to touch. She always went on about how much better everything was in Vegas. Always tried to have Boone go back with her. I guess she got tired of waiting.” The courier nodded slowly. “That’s a shame. He really seems like he misses her.” Jeannie put on her best sympathetic look. “I know dear, but it’s probably for the best she’s gone. I’m sure that some other girl that’s nice and homely will come along and steal his heart.” Maybe even that other courier. She’s a pretty thing. Good manners too! I should try and introduce them! She briefly remembered that the two couriers seemed quite close. Oh dear. I hope she’s not taken with this one. He’s polite, sure. But he’s a drifter. He’ll never settle down, probably doesn’t even look her way. Best I try to convince her to stay. She’d be better off with a man who looks after her.

“Well, that’s just about what I wanted to ask. The man wanted me to ask around, and I find myself warming up to ‘Im. We’ve spent a few nights talkin’ up there and I guess he wanted to put his fears to rest. Just one more question.” “Ask away dear.” “What’s this?” The courier handed her a note, and the already cool night seemed to lower its temperature even further. Her bill of sale sat in her hands. “I found it in your safe Jeanie May. I’m a sucker for old love stories and you said it was a letter from your old flame. But when I read it…Jeannie, That ain’t a letter from a lover.” The innkeeper’s face paled and reddened at the same time. “What are you going through an old woman’s belongings for you hooligan?!” She shrieked. “I’m a lot of things Ma’am. And unfortunately, nosy is one of ‘em.” The courier replied simply. “I wanna know, you didn’t like her, and from what I can tell, some people didn’t either. But why? The legion? Slavery?” “She didn’t leave me with much choice! That uppity attitude you have is exactly why I sold her! I got rid of a poison from Novac, and I’m getting rid of another one tonight! Get up to that room I rented you, Pack up, and clear out! That one with you can stay, but you can die in some radioactive ditch for all I care you snake!”

The courier’s neutral expression didn’t change. Jeannie stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot angrily. “A snake Ma’am?” He asked. “Are you drunk or just thick? Yes a snake! You, walking in here with your High and mighty attitude! Stealing from my safe?! I bet you think this place is nothing compared to your fancy Vegas! It’s written all over you, city boy! Now clear out, before I get on the radio those legion boys left me and call another squad here to clear you out for me!” The old harridan shrieked. Worryingly, the courier did not move, did not change his expression, but his eyes, once dispassionate and disappointed, were now filled with a fiery hate. “You get all that Boone?” He said finally.

Jeannie’s blood ran cold as she heard a bolt action cocking in response from Rexy’s mouth. Whirling around, she saw Boone glaring down at her, the moonlight reflecting off his rifle’s scope. “N-Now Boone, be reasonable! You wouldn’t shoot an old woman-” “I’ve only got one word for you bitch.” Boone snarled down at her as he shouldered his rifle. “Run.”

The Novac innkeeper didn’t need to be told twice. Turning around, she began to sprint off into the desert. Cursing the courier all the while. For a moment, she considered that Boone would spare her. Right up until a searing pain through her right knee shattered that notion. Letting out a scream of agony, She collapsed, holding her ruined knee as it bled profusely. Taking one last frightful look back, she saw the courier, holding a rifle of his own with its barrel smoking, now wearing Boone’s Beret. The glint from Rexy’s mouth shifted, and Jeannie’s eye burst along with her skull as a .308 round went crashing through her grey matter. Spattering the road into Novac from Nelson with gore. She hadn’t gotten more than a few feet from where she’d turned. The courier approached her corpse, glaring hatefully at the remains of the old witch. “Burn in hell.” He hissed.

Walking into the lobby of the gift shop, he saw Boone walk out from the door to the sniper nest. “Nice shot, but I had it handled.” The courier shrugged and gave a more genuine smile than the one he’d shone to Jeannie May. “Sorry, I wanted my own piece.” “Oh? Why’s that?” “Naomi? The other courier? I freed her from the legion. I killed a frumentari captain and picked the lock on her collar” Boone went quiet at the revelation. “What made you suspect her?” He asked. “Well, first I asked around. Manny, Andy, hell, even No Bark. Manny gave me the same venomous shit Jeannie was spewing about her, but I feel like he had his own problems with her and was just parroting what he heard from her to justify it. Andy told me she had…opinions about this place, but it wasn’t meant to be hurtful. And No Bark? Well he told me something interesting.” Boone paled at the mention of the village nutcase. “No bark? Pal, you better not be telling me you believe even a quarter of what he says.” “I believe he saw a group of figures take Carla kickin’ and screamin’ from your room that night.” Flynn deadpanned. “Now, of course I took his explanation that it was molemen seeking to steal away the young and pretty with a good ten pounds of salt, but he mentioned one of ‘em stopped in the lobby of the Dee-lite. That pointed me to her safe. Inside? 1500 caps. In the bundle bags. No way she earned that much. Before I freed Naomi I traveled up and down Arizona. I know what price those bastards put on flesh. Then I found this in her safe.” “Just like them to keep paperwork…” Boone snarled. “What’re you gonna do now?” Flynn asked. “I’m not staying here, that’s for sure.” “You think they’ll suspect you?” “No. People die out there all the time. Besides, I was on break when it happened.” Boone replied with a smirk. “Hm. I’m hunting the bastard who shot me. If you wanna get out of here, then how about you join up with me and Naomi? Snipers work in teams right? We’re bound to come across more legion. Already they hit Nipton. And I don’t want Naomi back in their hands.” Flynn held out his hand in an offer. Boone considered it for a moment, staring intently behind his sunglasses before a small smile came to his face. “Deal.” He said, taking the courier’s hand.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

The platonic yanderes I've mentioned before all have nicknames and relationships with their bby (a.k.a. you, the reader!). How they met their bby is considered a special, life-changing moment in their eyes, and they are protective in their own... special... ways. But that story will come at a later date. For now, I think I should delve into some smaller stuff , so let's explore the type of humor and nicknames between these platonic yans and their bby:

• 🧡Wolverine/Logan Howlett🦡: nicknames for his bby: pup, bub, darlin', shortstack (regardless of if you are shorter than him or taller than him)

Nicknames his bby gives him: Lo, Old Guy, Wulv, Mr. Cigarette Duet (the bby might have either been testing the waters with that one, or under anesthesia. People say weird things under that stuff)

Their humor: dry humor and small quips

• 🦁Sabretooth/Victor Creed🦷: nicknames for his bby: cub, fresh meat, whelp, kitten

Nicknames his bby gives him: Vic, Large Lion Man, Shere Khan, Mr. Backstabber (both literally and metaphorically, bby has seen him do both, it was messy)

Their humor: cat puns

• 🦡Wolverine 2.0/Laura Kinney💛: nicknames for her bby: fox, pearl, sibling-in-arms, honeybee

Nicknames her bby gives her: Laurel, Kin-ship, Baby Claws, Little Badger

Their humor: stand up comedy (where you pretty much do a spoken caricature of your life, poking fun at it, or something that happens to you)

• 🐺Daken/Akihiro🌀: nicknames for his bby: beautiful, doll, handsome, my favorite (insert sexuality/gender)

Nicknames his bby gives him: Wolf Guy, Seducter, Nature's Child, Lone Wolf (the bby calls him Seducter because they found out about his pheromone ability. And yeah, the bby poked fun at the fact it failed on the bby, because they aren't attracted to him in the least like that)

Their humor: quips and movie references

• 🔥Marvel Girl/The Phoenix/Jean Grey🦚: nicknames for her bby: sunshine, dear, sweetie, firecracker

Nicknames her bby gives her: Miss Marvelous, Venus, mind games, Jeanie

Their humor: inside jokes

• 😎Cyclops/Scott Summers🚨: nicknames for his bby: kiddo, shortstuff, kid, gremlin

Nicknames his bby gives him: Scout, Shades, Laser-Light, Ruby in the Rough (bby wanted him to feel good about his power, so they say those nicknames in a nice fashion)

Their humor: puns all the way

• 🥈Cable/Nathan Summers🤖: nicknames for his bby: tiny, powerhouse, tyke-bomb, brat (he means these nicely, even if he is gruff and stern)

Nicknames his bby gives him: Back To The Future, Terminator, Metal Man, Mr. Robocop (bby couldn't help themself, they saw so many nickname opportunities)

Their humor: banter and witty remarks

• 🎭Mystique/Raven Darkholme💙: nicknames for her bby: child, precious, dear, little heathen

Nicknames her bby gives her: Karma Chameleon, Blue, enchantress, The Blue Fairy

Their humor: witty and dry remarks

• 🎱Rogue/Anne-Marie🥀: nicknames for her bby: suga', hun, love, sweetheart

Nicknames her bby gives her: Miss-Anne-thrope, Marie, Killer Queen, lovedove

Their humor: Southern stand up comedy and phrases ("sweet Southern heat is not just a flavor", "sweeter than apple pie", and jokes of all the various animals found in the South, especially in weird and concerning places)

• ♠️Gambit/Remy LeBeau♥️: nicknames for his baby: Ace of Spades, imp, bebe, ma moitie

Nicknames his bby gives him: King of Hearts, Sugar and Spice, trickster, Jack

Their humor: poking fun at languages and their relationships (the English and French language are hard to master. Good job if you understand half of it, or even a little of it)

• 🌌Nightcrawler/Kurt Wagner😇: nicknames for his bby: angel, treasure, friend, beauty

Nicknames his bby gives him: doll-baby (it is a Southern nickname, it means sweet, charming, and innocent, in my area), Angel of the Night, fluffball, Blue (Da Ba Dee)

Their humor: pranks. Pranks all around

These are all my opinion, and if you get the references, great job! If not, that is okay! These were my ideas of nicknames and humor for previously mentioned platonic yanderes (plus their bby's nicknames for them!). I hope you enjoyed these platonic yandere honeycomb thoughts!

[nightcovefox]

Break a- Wha-?!

Character(s): Beep-O, Jeanie, and Princess Peach

Context: Takes place after sparks of hope. Jeanie still learning emotions and figure of saying

A/n: This may be short-

And this was inspired by a video on TikTok lol

>>>>>>

*Princess Peach was nervous, even tho she had done thousands of speeches. But worry about what the Toads/Rabbids/Toadettes think of their new allies up above.*

Peach: Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

Beep-O: Don’t worry your highness! You will do great! I know it! Break a leg Princess!

Peach: Thank you, Beep-O!-

Jeanie: Beep-O! Thats an awful thing to say!!!

Beep-O: Nono Jeanie! It means good luck! “Break a leg” means good luck and it's a figure of saying-

Jeanie: Ahh, I see. Well, I hope you get hit by a truck Princess!^^

Beep-O and Peach: …

[vampire-matcha]

I found British Military hair regs 🤭

These are all approved

Kyla would look so good with her curls long, or maybe shorter locs

Soap’s hair is technically out of regulation, but this is fantasy land so she probably plaits it for the field and she’s fine.

But yessss, shaggy long mohawk soap. I bet she teases it when she’s off duty to make it even more wild

I agree that ghost went from itty bitty titty to nice big pecs, and i feel like Soap was the opposite. She was real curvy, but then got more muscle in her chest and she lost them 😭 Still has a gorgeous ass tho sit on me queen PLEASE

Kyla would probably be the leanest, since male gaz is also the leanest (or at least it looks that way. He’s all lean muscle and then everyone else is kinda stocky), so imagine she’s hanging around in sweats and a sports bra and DEAR LORD THAT WAIST

Kyla and Soap would be full on menances when they’re together. Bullying you into working out with them is just an excuse to feel you up.

Lifting? They’re grabbing your waist and chest saying “it’s for support”

Squats? grabbing your ass

Sparring? Dry hummping and whoops now they’re fingering you on the mat. No shame.

Price calling them in when she wants a show

KYLAAAAAAAAAAA with her hair long. Imagine her on top of you with her curls hanging over you 😍😍😍

Jeanie definitely has her hawk in a French braid with the sides shaved, and I LOVE the idea of her teasing it up on leave, or even putting it up in spikes. My girl Soap traded her tiddies for biceps, but they're still good to suck on ;) and a great ass to grab and dig your nails into when you fuck.

Kyla's got athlete tits for sure, and a fucking 8-pack to match too. Did you know that my gay awakening was a girl in middle school wearing the rolled sweats-tanktop combo? Chefs kiss. Her waist would be so GRABBABLE let me just dig my hands into her. Not to mention she'd be flexible as hell too (Elliot mentioned once that Kyle did gymnastics so I assume the same is true for Kyla). Imma bend that girl in a pretzel.

And they spot Price's new secretary and give each other a look like "we need a piece of that" and decide she's their new toy. In every universe, the Sergeants are a pair of devils.

Also I know I mentioned licking on Simone's Christina piercing, but I could honestly seeing either her or Price or both being stone butches. Both of them enjoying playing with their sergeants and secretary, enjoying the tastes of them and the sounds they can pull out of them. And like you said, enjoying the shows they put on together.

[philliamwrites]

SWYAATL 17: Nature Offers Her Violence

Pairings: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence & gore, angst, anxiety, mentions of character death

Summary: “It’s still scary,” you say. Jean turns to you. “I killed one, but I’m still scared.” His eyes soften. “Good. Fear keeps you humble. But that doesn’t mean you’re not brave.” “That doesn’t make sense.” “Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s being scared and still doing what you have to do despite it.” He looks out over the roofs—your Jeanie, who looks so much older than you remember after just a few hours— “Marco told me that.”

Notes: [01] || [16] | [18]

Words: 6.5k

A/N: Another 2 weeks gone just like that. I can't wait for vacaction to roll around and finally really commit to writing more. Dear anons who sent me an ask, I didn't forget about you!! I just need a little more time to finsih the little something for you guys hehe. Thank you as always for such overwhelming, amazing support. I don't know where this would be without you guys ♥

17: Nature Offers Her Violence

Emil’s voice is like a whisper, so close and clear in your ear as though he is standing right next to you: “There is no easier way to make an animal dangerous than by feeding it.”

Now, you have been fed the most dangerous of all things: Power.

Scratching the skin between your eyebrows with your torn, bloody nail, you try to fight off the dull throbbing in your skull by pressing your thumb into your forehead. Something is different; something has changed but when you try to grasp it, it runs like sand through your fingers. Once you find a moment of respite, you need to think through it thoroughly; to carefully clean and scratch off the layers of dust and grime and reveal the painting lying beneath it. You have an awful feeling that it will look a lot like a pink-petalled tree overlooking a steep cliff. “A cherry-blossom tree,” Emil had explained.

“But cherry blossoms are white,” you had said—you are saying right now as well, many years later as memories overlap with reality. “Not pink.”

“They might not be in here,” you repeat his answer. “But out there.”

You turn to the Wall, looming ominously in all directions. Slowly, your memories are coming back—memories you have forgotten even though you don’t know why. Had Emil known because of his great-grandfather? Or because you had shared your mother’s books with him? You wonder if that painting is still out there, under the ruins and debris of Emil’s house. It couldn’t have possibly survived all the years exposed to the weather and nature’s violence, but if … if …

The metal ring lies hot against your skin. You pull it up from under your shirt, inspecting the ruby orb, the way the light glides off it as though inside liquid is moving. Emil’s ring is more than just a childhood’s promise. It was very important to him, he had said so himself. Another riddle to solve later. This moment feels as though the axis of the earth is tilting ever so slightly, but the outcome will be fatal, and you are at the very centre of it.

You cram the ring back under your shirt, glad for the familiar presence of its weight against your skin. The Titan has begun to fall into itself, shrinking like a raisin. It won’t take long until only bones are left. When you make your way down to the ground, it is only to confirm that the rest of your team is dead. There is no use checking Franz—with only his upper body left, he has bled out, his organs strewn across the street. You don’t want to be the one to tell Hannah.

Turning away abruptly, you cross the street to Karl’s body. His head is split open—you think back to the day Jonathan died in the forest. Two years ago, everything had seemed so much simpler. When the villain of your story had been another person, and that person ended up being punished. Playing hero was easier when your own life wasn’t at stake.

You shake those memories off, turning away as bile rises in your throat and you take deep, forceful breaths to stave off the nausea. There is no time to do anything—the squad responsible for cleaning the bodies won’t have a chance to retrieve Karl and Franz anyway with the hole in the Wall and Titans roaming around. Which leaves the last person in your group—Daz. Even before you start searching for him, you already have a feeling about what has happened: He had been already gone before the fight had started, leaving the rest of you to fight the Titan by yourselves. He had abandoned you.

Only now you realise the reason your hands are shaking isn’t from the adrenaline or the lingering fear—you’re furious. You’re so angry at Daz and by proxy at your own previous hesitation. Maybe things would have turned differently if you had reacted faster. Maybe everyone from your squad wouldn’t be dead now. Your knees wobble from that realisation, and you brace yourself against the corner of a house, forcing heaps of air into your body and exhaling them in slow, shaking breaths.

The mission. Focus on the mission. Everything else can wait. If you make it through this.

Using your ODM gear, you move back to the district’s centre. Being on your own is a death sentence should you come across more Titans. As soon as you near the Main Square, you hear it. The screams, the heavy thuds when you skid across a roof and come to a halt near its edge.

Doors are open all up and down the rows of houses—people are darting out of them, then stopping dead when they see the street crowded with Titans.

It is impossible, unimaginable. That only five years after Shiganshina fell, it is happening again. And now there are dozens. Dozens upon dozens. Maybe hundreds, flooding the streets like a poisonous current. You feel as if you are trapped behind a glass wall, able to see everything but unable to move—watching, frozen, as a 3-metre Titan seizes a fleeing boy and lifts him bodily off the ground, sinking its serrated teeth into his shoulder.

The boy screams, but his screams are lost in the clamour that is tearing the day apart. The sound rises and rises in volume: the howling of Titans, people calling one other’s names, the sound of running feet and shattering glass.

Your name. Someone calls your name.

Hands curl around your shoulders and shake you. You raise your head slowly; Marco’s white face floats against the thunderous, grey clouds billowing behind him. You can’t remember Marco walking toward you, can’t remember seeing him on the roof at all; it is as if he’s materialised in front of you all at once, like a ghost.

“Marco.” Your voice comes out slow and uneven. “Marco, stop. I’m all right.”

You pull away from him.

“You don’t look all right. I’m sure nobody is all right at a time like this.” Marco glances at the street below and curses under his breath. “We have to get the Titans away from the evacuation roads. Where’s the rest of your squad?”

You blink. There are no Titans in view for now; it should scare you how fast they move into wherever they sense people. Someone is sitting on the front steps of the house opposite you and crying in a loud and grating series of shrieks. The boy’s half-torn body is still in the streets, and the smell of blood and death is everywhere.

“Dead.” Your voice is hollow, just like the pit in your stomach. “Except me and Daz. Frank and Karl—”

The person on the stairs is still sobbing. Shouldn’t the rear guard be here, evacuating people? Out of the corner of your eyes you see uniformed soldiers approach the crying person—Reiner and Bertholdt.

Marco swears. You blink against the burning curtain of tears and square your shoulders, ball up the knots of your emotions and push them so far down where they don’t hurt anymore.

Stepping out of Marco’s looming shadow, Annie regards you with a tightly locked expression—a door firmly sealed shut. “The Titans are moving towards the Inner Gate. Something must be holding up the evacuation,” she says.

“Let’s hope they have more luck holding them back than us.” Reiner’s joined you. His eyes pass over you, pausing on the dried blood on your uniform, the ripped fabric of your pants. Seconds later, Bertholdt is behind him. They must have told the person to hide, because now the street is deserted.

“This is way beyond our capabilities,” Bertholdt mumbles. He looks a little green and keeps throwing glances over his shoulder. “We should find the others. We’ll be stronger in numbers.”

“That might lure out more Titans if they sense a bigger group.” Reiner kneads the tense muscles in the back of his shoulders. “But I’m all for regrouping, so let’s be smart about this. We’ll look for the rest of the 104th. Stick together, got—”

Before he can finish, the watch tower’s bells ring a second time this day. For the first time, that sound doesn’t fill you with dread and fear. It means the evacuation is done, all citizens who managed to reach the Inner Gate are on the other side and safe.

“Finally. I thought things would never start looking up for us.” A weary smile passes Reiner, there and gone too quick. “Nice timing, too. I’m running out of gas.”

“They should distribute supplies down Regent Street. Let’s hurry. It smells like rain.”

Marco’s right. As you begin to navigate through narrow alleys, past crumbling buildings and the corpses of soldiers and civilians, the sky opens up and rain falls in unrelenting torrents. You wonder if that might be enough to wash away the blood on the streets, to clean the pavement from today’s horror.

Too scared to look down and identify one of your friends, you keep your eyes set on Marco’s broad back until he turns a sharp left, following Reiner’s lead up on a crimson-tiled roof where you spot familiar faces keeping watch. Half of the group is on the outlook, the rest huddling around a slumped figure.

Nothing seems odd until Marco mumbles, “Why isn’t anyone going over the Wall?”

You notice it then, too. How quiet everything is apart from the pattering rain. No sounds of ODM gear zipping through the sky.

Like a compass, your eyes rivet on Jean first, slumped into himself on the roof and for a second your heart beats in your throat in fear he might be injured. But when he snaps a response to whatever Connie just asked a second ago, he seems unhurt. “There’s nothing we can do! How the fuck are we supposed to scale the wall without gas?!”

“There’s gotta… there’s gotta be something.” You’ve never seen Connie in so much terror. “We can’t just … that means we’re gonna…”

“What’s wrong?” Reiner demands. It seems like nobody has even noticed your group’s arrival. “Where’s the supply group?”

You meet Jean’s eyes. A multitude of emotions changes his expression at once—relief, anger, and then it settles on utter despair. He buries his face in his hands, and mumbles, “Those fucking cowards … we’re gonna die because of them.”

“Were they wiped out? What happened?” Marco asks, hesitating. He’s drawn closer to Jean, and for a moment he reaches his hand forward to pull Jean up, only to withdraw it immediately as though realising he’s facing a cornered, scared animal that will immediately snap its teeth at him.

“I guess they’ve barricaded themselves inside HQ. Apparently, they lost the will to fight,” Jean explains, his voice hollow. “I can understand that feeling.”

You can’t keep quiet anymore. “But abandoning their duty to supply us? Just leaving us out here to … die.” You feel sick, thinking of Daz. He’s still nowhere in sight among the other cadets, and by now, you wouldn’t beat an eyelash if you found him torn from limb to limb in the gutter. “We’re all scared. Yet we keep fighting.”

Jean considers you for a long moment with a bland expression, his eyes blank. Slowly, he shrugs. “Not that it matters. Titans have swarmed the place. We can’t even get gas for ourselves.”

“So what?” Connie snaps, swinging his arms violently and you have a feeling he’s seconds away from trying to beat sense into Jean. Marco, who’s honed his skills on sensing whenever Jean’s about to get his ass kicked for his brutal honesty within those three years of Cadet Training, steps between them. “Hanging around here’s no different! The Titans will gather here too. We should use everything we got and finish them off right here.”

“Do you really think we have the manpower to pull that off?” Jean turns his head, regarding the rest of the gathered rookies. “Look at us. Most of the veteran members of the vanguard have been wiped out. We’re just cadets. Who can possibly take charge of a suicide mission like that?”

You follow his gaze, take in the sunken forms of the other recruits. Their defeat, their hopelessness. A girl sits curled into herself, trying to make herself as small as possible. Your heart shrinks to the size of a small, hard stone.

“It’s not like we can stand a chance against the Titans anyway,” you hear Jean continue. “If Titans got into HQ, that means the supply room’s probably got some that are three or four metres tall. There’s no way we could get anything done in there.”

There’s silence. Watching Connie’s shoulder drop, you can sense the fight leaving him. “So … it’s hopeless, huh?” he mumbles.

Jean heaves a heavy sigh, which is answer enough. When he looks up again, he stares right at Marco. A moment passes between them, one you feel as though nobody but them should be part of. “You know … if I’d known this would happen, I would’ve said something sooner.”

It takes a moment before Marco can find his voice. “Ah, Jean,” he says, mournfully, his voice soft—in just the same way he had said all those months ago in the boys’ barracks when you had walked in on them jostling like little kids. “Has anyone ever told you how bad your timing is?”

You feel like you should say something; to capture this moment with words even though words were not necessary. Something like “I knew it” or “Finally” or “I love you two so much, please don’t leave me behind.”

You turn away and join Reiner’s group on the ledge looking out towards HQ to give them the illusion of privacy. Curling your arms around yourself, you feel terribly cold. Nobody calls after you.

“What now, Reiner?” you ask. You need to focus on what’s next, on how to solve this problem. Occupying your mind with solving the problem to staff off the wicked whispers of doubt and neglect. There’s time for that later, if you have the luxury to deal with it. “You think we can fight the Titans?”

“We let them gather here and it can go either way,” he says. He has his arms crossed over his broad chest, standing tall as though no gust can blow him off his feet. Just the sight of him calms you a little—strong and dependable Reiner who always has got your back. The tight knot in your shoulders eases a little standing next to him. “But if we lose our will to fight, it doesn’t really matter, does it? We’ll die.”

“Is there even a way … to get out of this city,” Bertholdt wonders, gazing out at the wall. For being the tallest of you three, he manages to look the smallest right now.

“If we die,” you think out loud, “then what’s the point? What’s been the point of any of this? What are we dying for?”

Freedom, a voice responds in the back of your head—is it Emil’s? Or Eren’s?

Eren. You turn around. Didn’t you see a blonde shock of hair somewhere? If you remember right, Armin’s been in Eren’s squad. If Eren is here, he’ll have the right words, he’ll fire everyone up to fight and not give up.

“Where’s—” you begin.

“Where’s Eren?” another voice asks.

Mikasa’s rapid footsteps on the roof sound like gunshots as she steers towards your group. Not a scratch on her, she looks just as put together as this morning when you had all left the barracks laughing and without any worry. But you notice spare blades missing in her holster, meaning she had fought. Something about seeing her warms a dark, cold place in your chest. With Mikasa by your side, you guys are invincible.

“I haven’t seen him,” Reiner says. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “But Armin’s over there.”

Mikasa whirls around without a second look back. She crosses the roof with few strides, you follow hard on her heels, and when she calls Armin’s name, you don’t miss him flinching so hard as though he’s been struck by a physical blow.

His eyes are locked onto the roof under him, and he doesn’t look up when you reach him. He appears to be a different person altogether. His hunched shoulders are no novelty, but the way he’s slouching now is an unread page in a usually familiar book. This page appears ripped, crumpled. Barely hanging on to the rest as though it might fly away any second but what’s written on it compromises a good half of everything that makes Armin the person he is.

You grow cold. Very cold. Every second that passes and he doesn’t answer Mikasa, your heart keeps on beating rabbit-fast and you hold your breath to keep from making a sound. Until it stops, wedged into your throat with the speed of a hydraulic press. Just jammed in there, making you choke.

“Where are Thomas and … and Mina, Armin?” you ask next, though much quieter than Mikasa.

You don’t want to know the answer.

You already know the answer.

You want to tell Armin to keep his mouth shut; if he doesn’t say it, it won’t become reality.

You open your mouth.

Armin’s head snaps up, tears run down his face, leaving clear streaks across his dirty cheeks.

Mikasa freezes.

“We … the cadets of Squad 34—” Armin’s voice quivers. He swallows, wipes snot away with his sleeve. He bends his head; his hair falls forward, hiding his face. “Thomas Wagner, Nack Tierce, Milieus Zeremksi, Mina Carolina. Eren Jaeger. These five members fulfilled their … their duties and died valiantly on the field of battle. I—I alone … survived. Only I …”

The word “alone” comes out broken, as if he can taste the bitterness of loss on his tongue and struggles to speak around it. As though he is ashamed about this outcome; that it is him delivering the news when he should have been dead as well.

The whole world stops in its motion. You’re aware the whole roof is staring at Armin, processing the words, but your head is empty. Your chest constricts painfully.

Mina. You think of her small, pale face under her crown of dark hair, of her determination in a fight and her heartening enthusiasm whenever she throws herself into a new task or challenge. You’ve promised to visit her in Karanes. She’s promised she’d take you out with her family on the lake to fish.

Eren. Oh, Eren. His dreams. His conviction. Isn’t it poetic that he died while doing what he always wanted? Killing Titans? But nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and people turn it into poetry. All that blood—it was never once beautiful. It was just red. Gods notice red. It is their favourite colour, and so they choose to draw the world in red. Over and over again, this time with the name that was supposed to be your new home—

You begin to shake violently. “Oh God,” is all you manage, and a moment later, you scramble to the edge of the rooftop, bend over and empty your stomach in heaving spasms.

Marco lurches after you, holding your trembling shoulders before you topple off the building. His face has crumpled, shattered like a damn under too much pressure, but he holds you as you tremble, as you shatter, and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” his voice thick with grief; with all his heart in those words.

Behind him, you see Jean. Standing there, motionless. Eyes red-rimmed. He’s staring at Mikasa, Mikasa. You can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now—how grief must tear her apart from the inside, eating her alive. No words can mend what is broken; can bring back and fill what is lost. And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone.

“Armin,” Mikasa says. She has such a soothing voice. So calm, so collected, like an untouched, clear water’s surface. “Now isn’t the time to be emotional.”

Armin’s face goes blank with surprise, startling him momentarily out of his grief like a record skipping a beat.

Mikasa pulls him to his feet, then turns and marches towards where you and Marco still stand near the edge of the roof, clinging to each other. “Marco,” she continues. Still in his arms, you can feel him tense up. “If we eliminate the Titans swarming around HQ, we can replenish our gas supplies and get over the wall. Correct?”

“Well, yes,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. Now that you can finally get a good look at her, you feel cold all over at the blank expression on Mikasa’s face. There is no warmth in her eyes. No light. They are dead, and so must be a part of her now that Eren is gone. “But even with you, we can’t handle them all—”

“I can handle them,” she fires back, snaps. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen Mikasa snap. “I am strong. Stronger than all of you. Very strong. As such, I can annihilate the Titans here. Even if I have to do it alone. As for all of you, you’re not only unskilled, you’re also cowards . You’re a real disappointment. You can stay here and twiddle your thumbs. Twiddle your thumbs and cry and watch.”

Her outburst commands silence. Another recruit flounders. He shoots back, “You can’t do that. Even—even you can’t take them on all by yourself!”

“If I can’t, then I’ll die,” Mikasa answers, almost matter-of-factly. “It’s that simple. But—” She turns, faces the roof’s end. “If I win, I’ll live. And the only way to win is to fight.” And then, she jumps. She flies. She disappears between buildings, moving gracefully towards the beasts that haunt your every step. What do you call the animal that, finding the hunter, offers itself to be eaten? A martyr? A weakling? No, a beast gaining the rare agency to put an ending to its own fears. She leaves you cowards, and the silence that settles is like a big, gnawing chasm.

Jean is the first to break free from his paralysis. He rubs his hand over his face, with enough force to leave red imprint marks with his fingers. “You can’t seriously just pull something like that right now,” he mumbles. “Sounding like that fucking suicidal maniac … this is all your fault, Eren.”

He whirls around and draws his blades. The sudden movement startles everyone out of their shock. Raising one blade high above his head, he screams, “Hey! Since when were we taught to let our comrades fight alone?!”

Multiple heads turn his way. You feel Marco give you a last, tight squeeze before he lets go.

Jean continues screaming over to the next roof, pointing the tip of his blade at them. “Or do you guys want to end up as actual cowards?!”

From the other end of the roof, someone else—Sasha—screams, “Yeah! You think Instructor Shadis is gonna let this slide? Come on, you cowards! You weaklings! Morons!”

Something stirs among the cadets. You can’t believe it works, but they move and draw their blades and even though they still look scared shitless, they also look stubborn and spiteful. Ready to fight.

“I have to go back to my squad,” Marco says beside you. He gives your shoulder a solid pat and smiles tentatively. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

You nod and watch him move across the roof towards Reiner and the rest. When he passes Jean, they share some quiet words and briefly squeeze each other’s arms before Marco leaves.

“This is gonna be tough,” Jean says when he steps up next to you. You shudder and collect yourself, rub away the wetness from your cheeks. When Jean doesn’t defer to your loss, you know it’s only to protect you. You’ll have time to break down later. If “later” exists for you. “But you managed to kill one of them, right?” He points to your holster where a pair of blades is missing.

“Yeah —” Your voice breaks. You clear your throat. “Yeah, I got one.”

“Good.” He juts his chin forward. “I don’t trust half of these guys not to stab themselves with their blades when zipping up their boots.”

“It’s still scary,” you say. Jean turns to you. “I killed one, but I’m still scared.”

His eyes soften. “Good. Fear keeps you humble. But that doesn’t mean you’re not brave.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s being scared and still doing what you have to do despite it.” He looks out over the roofs—your Jeanie, who looks so much older than you remember after just a few hours— “Marco told me that.”

Something infinitely warm spreads in your chest. You take Jean’s hand and effortlessly win the thumb war, squeezing his thumb because you don’t give him a minute to catch up to what’s going on. “Let’s go kick some Titan ass then.”

It’s true what they say. That the best way for team building is under attack, screaming, yelling and in pain.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Armin watching you with eyes so full of grief and yearning, it’s not difficult to know what’s going inside him, and you hurt all over for him and his loss.

Losing Emil all those years back, the wounds always feel fresh like a cut you keep on reopening. But losing Jean today would mean losing a limb; another part of your body. It would mean the part of your soul residing in his body shattering and you’ve already lived part of your life cleaved in half. If the rest were gone too, nothing but a hollow shell would remain.

You’ve already lost Mina and Eren today. You won’t lose anyone else.

So in that single moment, when you look at Armin, and he looks to Jean, and Jean looks to you, you realise that all three of you would lay down your life for each other. They don’t teach you that at Cadet Corps: that you will find people so important to you because of the years you’ve fought and bled together that you will kill and die for each other. Live for each other. Such is the honour and duty of a soldier.

“I’ll go after Mikasa,” Armin says. He’s dried the last tears, and now only the red, swollen skin around his eyes betrays that he has cried. “You two take care. We’ll meet up at HQ.”

“It’s Mikasa we’re talking about, she won’t need it … but still, look after her.” Jean gives Armin a hard clap on his back. “We’ll see you on the other side.”

Armin nods, then disappears down the roof.

Jean and you follow the others. It doesn’t take long until you catch up to them. They’re standing in line at the edge of a roof, looking down at Titans roaming the streets.

“Why is nobody moving?” Jean asks. “HQ’s right there.”

“How do you expect us to pass those fucking monsters?” A Cadet with deep wrinkles on his forehead and a sharp chin whirls on Jean as though he alone is at fault for the current Titan invasion. Out of instinct, you step into his path, shielding Jean, and the cadet bumps into you and startles back.

“You’ve got a functioning ODM gear, right? Then use it,” you snap back.

The cadet scowls down at you, mutters “bitch” and turns away to another group of rookies who look unsure about this whole plan. But you can’t allow yourself to hesitate now that there is at least something you can do. This plan is better than not doing anything, and the last thing you owe to the dead is at least trying to move forward.

“Not all of us will make it,” Jean says as he surveys the streets. His voice is low, as if not to let anyone else hear and spread panic. “Not today. Not tomorrow. If there even is a tomorrow.”

“Yeah, if.” You stare down at the blades in your hands and angle them left and right until they catch the sliver of sunlight peeking through grey clouds. It’s stopped raining. Maybe that’s a sign. “It’s still worth trying.”

Jean exhales audibly. He surveys the hesitating soldiers lining up on the roofs, waiting for something, and then at the Titans that have finally sensed the living nearby and look around as though scenting their fear. A myriad of emotions flash across Jean’s face. Doubt. Resolve. Back to hesitation, then fear. You can see it in his eyes, he’s concocting something, but before you can ask, he screws his eyes shut, opens his mouth and roars: “EVERYONE MOVE OUT WHILE WE STILL CAN!”

The first line of cadets jumps. Jean’s face—pale and wide-eyed—turns to you for a second, imploring you to do what you don’t know, and then he follows them and doesn’t look back. For a moment, fear that you’ve already lost him grips you tight enough to suffocate. But he is an exceptional flyer—almost as good as Mikasa. He’s excelled at every flying test.

Only until today, the dummies haven’t tried to kill you.

Rolling your head until a bone in your neck cracks and relieving some tension, you’re about to walk off the roof when you hear something like a roar in the distance. When you turn around, nothing seems out of the ordinary. There’s nothing apart from the stomping of approaching Titans. A large bird—a hawk, maybe—soars in long lazy circles over the houses, an elegant black boomerang against the silvery sky.

Do it like that, you think. The sky is the only place where you have a chance against them.

When you fall, the wire bounces you back up right before hitting the ground, sending you higher than the rooftops and opening up the sight of all hell breaking loose.

The cadets look like small flies buzzing around in search for the exit—easy pickings for the Titans to fish out of the sky. For monsters this big, some of them move awfully nimble. Only a hair’s breadth away from you, a gigantic hand arches through the sky—closing around another cadet who was following right behind you. His screams suffocate inside the giant’s palm as one squeeze is enough to crush his lungs and bones. Your stomach churns when you hear the wet crunch of snapping bones—but that’s also when you realise the danger of this altitude.

You don’t think. Smashing your fingers into the levers, you let the wires wheel out and fall. There is so much screaming around you—somewhere in there you can hear your name—but when you evade an outstretched hand and drop to the Titan’s knee-height, you find new anchor points and real the wires back in. The metal of your gas canisters scratching across the ground makes an awful noise—heat sparks behind you as the friction grates the metal surface off. You release all the leftover gas and pray momentum carries you back up into the sky and through one of the windows of the building.

With death breathing down your neck, you throw caution out and manoeuvre recklessly between the Titan’s feet, shifting left—no, right, back to left, faster and faster until you see HQ towering above you. The wires reach their end point. You take the swing at full speed, soar higher in a wide arc and curl into a ball, bracing for impact.

Glass shatters when you smash through the window, taking off your momentum. When your feet hit the ground, you stumble and try to brake the rest of the speed—and slam right into a bookshelf. Books topple off from the impact, their spiky edges punching more bruises into your skin, but you barely feel the pain. More windows break behind you, sharp shards fly like rain in a storm. You whirl around, scanning faces to see who has managed to outrun the Titans.

There’s Sasha, Reiner, Bertholdt. A few nameless faces—all with eyes spread wide from horror at the cost that they made it. They survived. When they all stand and catch their breaths, the sudden silence is deafening.

Heavy steps come up from behind you, and before you can turn, you’re nearly knocked flat as Jean wraps the entirety of his body around you.

“Dear Lord. [Name]. [Name] [Last Name].” He holds you even tighter. “Don’t you do something stupid like that ever again.”

He’s talking about that reckless evasive manoeuvre—to close to the ground, to the Titan’s feet. You can hardly imagine what it must have looked like from all the way up where he’s been. You can hardly imagine how close you’d been to be trampled to death in the first place.

So you don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest and let yourself at last be held. You put your arms around him. Everything about him is so familiar, from the lingering apple scent—the same as his mother, to the sharp angle of the collarbone that rests just under your chin. He says your name again, repeats it over and over until your hands reach up and cup his face.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. We’re fine,” you speak over Jean’s frantic prayer of your name. “Everything’s OK, Jean.” You press your foreheads together until his laboured breath slows down slightly. Behind you, you feel another set of arms wrap around the pair of you—Marco, manifesting the long-ago threatened Jean-Marco-you sandwich. You don’t mind it.

It feels safe, and good to be held so tightly, so secure after everything you’ve been through—when you close your eyes, you can almost pretend like you’re all children playing a game, reckless and young, tumbling into each other with the wild abandon of those who have never known themselves apart and have no reason to doubt that the others will always be there, holding on to them and holding them up when they can’t stand longer.

When you’ve rebuilt your reassurance that you’re fine, you let go and survey the room. Only then you realise that a lot less have managed to reach HQ than expected.

Jean suddenly sags against you, and it takes both Marco and you to hold him up. His voice is barely a whisper. “I told them to move. I gave the order. How many people died because of me?”

“A lot more would have if you had not taken the lead,” Marco replies immediately with a ferocity you’ve never heard from him. You can see his knuckles turn white where he’s holding Jean up by his elbow. “We would still be out there if it wasn’t for you, Jean.”

Jean doesn’t look as if he’s listening. His eyes flicker across the room, and then they pause, and the remaining colour drains from his skin; it’s like watching a fire flicker and go out. You follow his sight. In the far corner, below a heavy office desk, a handful of cadets are cowering and staring up at you through big, frightened eyes. The girl has blood splattered over half her face, the source a motionless body in front of them with half his head missing.

Everything clicks into picture. Why nobody had supplied you with gas. Why HQ was so awfully silent. Why nobody had come to help.

You feel Jean’s whole body twitch. Before you can catch him, he springs forward and drags one cadet out from his hiding spot by the collar. Jean’s punch lands right across his jaw, sending him back to the floor. “You abandoned us!” Jean screams, lunging forward again—or tries to, but Marco is holding him back, his arms fastened around Jean’s torso. “People are dead because of you!”

There’s more shuffling when the girl scrambles out from under the table. “The Titans overran the supply room!” she shrieks back. Tears cut a dirt path across her cheeks. She has freckles, you notice distantly. Freckles, like Mina. Suddenly the anger at being abandoned evaporates and only cold remains in its place. “There was nothing we could do, nothing!”

“It’s your job to deal with it anyway!” You’ve never seen Jean this furious. It’s justified, but pointless, you realise. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t bring back the dead.

“Jean—” you begin.

The wall on the left side explodes, sending boulders and debris flying. Light pours through the hole into the dark room for a moment, before it is blocked out by a huge head. The Titan grins so hard it nearly splits its face in two.

Nobody moves for a second.

Then they move all at once.

Cadets lunge for the small door at the opposite side from the hole in the wall, trampling and stumbling over knocked over books and papers. Glass crunches under their feet, the sound like bones breaking. Someone slams their elbow into your side to get you out of the way, knocking all air out of your lungs. Marco seizes your arm and pulls you out of their way before you get slammed to the ground. He’s shouting something but the overwhelming screams of those fleeing drowns whatever he’s saying. But then he turns his head, his dark eyes wide. A muscle clenches in his jaw.

Jean. He’s just standing there, frozen to the spot. Staring at the Titans. It’s like all life is draining out of him—there is no willpower to run or fight as though happiness and laughter has never existed. He’s giving up.

You move against the tide—towards him, towards the leering Titans and their hideous faces, and clasp Jean’s hand.

When the walls come tumbling down, you hold hands, just like you did all those years ago with Emil.

This time, you won’t let go, no matter what.

The Titan jerks.

Jean is holding your hand so hard you fear your bones might break.

Something moves.

For one second, the Titan’s shadow swallows you whole, and then—a fist the size of a small carriage slams into the Titan’s face, sending it flying. Light pours through the hole. In their place another Titan stands, and it roars so loudly you cover your ears. His scream fills every narrow street and bounces off the buildings like a crack opening the earth’s crust, the boom and tremor of an earthquake.

Your mind doesn’t fully comprehend what is going on. The simplest answer is the obvious: A Titan is fighting another Titan. But that is impossible. It cannot be.

It roars again, blood-churning and bone-splitting—it is magnificent, almost, for it feels as though someone took the fury of the human race and incarnated it into this desperate howl.

Anger that is cathartic.

Liberating, almost, to know that to all things housed in her silence, nature offers her violence.

A/N: "To all things housed in her silence, nature offers a violence" is a line from Hozier's "Blood Upon the Snow". I highly recommend you guys check it out!! The song fits the hidden plot of this story SO AMAZINGLY I just had to sneak it in as a homage to the Faerie King himself. I also went back and edited a few things in chapter 13 to weave the theme into the story. Idk, it's such a small, unimportant thing haha. but i really really like it and it will make more sense on the long run, I promise.

Taglist: @arisu003, @brooki, @prttyangelz, @honeylmnade, @berriesandcrem, @im-just-star-dust

Not sure if I got everyone from my taglist, so feel free to confirm/remind me/join!

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Hi Marina!! Thinking about John and Jeanie from Dear John, and Gale and Maureen in your integrated AU, as always, and was wondering if you have any crumbs or snippets you may want to share with us mere mortals. If not, that’s okay!! Hope you have a lovely day and can’t wait for whatever you post next!

Oooh my darling hello, hello, I do indeed have a few crumbs, they are just that -mere crumbs- but I adore you all and I want to wet your whistles for both so here goes:

Dear John Crumb:

“Who’s yours from?”

“Marge.”

“Maaaarge.” Bucky predictably parroted, Crank and Benny got letters this time too, and that was good for them.

Buck’s face while perusing his letter however, was not the typical luminous glow of an ardent young cherub in love, and that had the odd effect of worrying Bucky. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s, she’s bein-“ he trailed off, flipping the letter back and forth and scrutinizing it intensely, “I think she’s hinting somethin’. Where’s that envelope? Hell Benny, don’t put the plate on it!”

“Sorry major.”

Buck took the worn envelope and shook it, prying the seams apart until like an old dream replayed, a little square and shiny card floated to the ground. John kept himself seated, not even ready to dare hope that had anything to do with him, much as he was shaken by the similarity to Julie Jean’s first correspondence and attached photographic gift, tucked in an envelope seam. The way Buck had shaken it just so and how it had fluttered to the ground and how Buck’s thumb had looked pressed against Lana’s black and white nipples.

“John Egan, you’ve got mail.” Buck bellowed with something like triumph in his voice, face lit up like a firework stand ablaze, “Get over here, you mopey sonuvabitch.”

The chair he was sat in clattered backwards into some poor fucker as Egan dove up and towards Buck’s bunk, drawn to the waved little photograph in his hand. Buck was a merciful man and handed it over without a game of tug. Bucky deeply wished the room wasn’t full of curious friends but then again, looking into this flat, shiny, black and white, shrunken little world -it took him miles and miles away. Away to a front yard in some small town where it looked chilly but festive, with candy cane decor lining the sidewalk up to a plain brick house and two girls in the yard, mid blurry laugh, clinging to each other like they’d fall over and tweak their ankles in the leaves if they let go.

Marge and Julie.

“How ‘bout that.” Gale’s voice was warm and soft and Bucky didn't have an answer for him, he ground out a rough cough that was intended to be an agreement before it got snarled in the lump in his throat.

—END SCENE—-

Those Who Can crumb:

After being in the darker interior of the building, being processed for hours, the hazy late afternoon light of outside glared painfully against Ida’s bloodshot eyes as she stepped out, leading the way down the three wooden steps to the muddy yard. Monochrome, this place, brown wooden buildings and brown earth and a muddy sky and brown flight jackets one after another.

And there in the midst of it, waiting for them with ever constant patience and thinned stateliness was Gale Cleven and his lost blue eyes and an alarmingly symmetrical set of facial scars.

“Major.” Ida felt her face soften into an odd expression she realized was likely that of relief. Cleven had that way about him, it was better suited to her preferences than Egan’s blustering warm hearted concern, Colonel Harding’s gruff joviality or her John’s perpetually intense concern. Her little brother was, oddly, nowhere to be seen now and that was a comfort in this wide open, highly observed space.

“Colonel.” Gale Cleven’s eyes weren’t a lost blue anymore but a pair of stormy seas and Ida steeled herself for pity. She found smoldering rage in his face instead. Another relief.

“How was it?” he was nodding to the command hut.

“Fine.” she assured.

He went searching for something in her face and Ida was sure it was easily found skin deep along her puffy, purpled left cheek, but if she had anything to do with her expression alone, he’d be kept guessing for ages. “Good.” he decided at last but his smile was tight, “Made John wait in the combine, he’s in there pacing like a madman. They make a note of who’s attached to whom, Colonel,” he explained, “a more discreet reunion seemed in order.”

“We’d appreciate all the direction you—“ Ida had begun but was cut short by Lt. Kendeigh who broke ranks from the processed group and came out of the hut behind Ida like a bat out of hell, running up to Cleven and tackling him in a hug, rather like a dog with their long lost master.

—END SCENE—

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 294, Replies Part 1

1) “Last time we had mirio and then Machia went hooonk shiuuuu, because Momo is as badass as we think she is. Now, let us see what shall take place, on Chapter 294: Final Performance”- The closing moments of the arc, and the League’s time together, as one of the Core members prepares himself to leave the spotlight for good…

2) “oh hey look, dead people

that was certainly their last performance, that’s for sure.”- And they won’t be the only ones, if Compress succeeds in getting Tomura out of this Jam the League are currently facing. 3) “WAIT WHY THE FUCK THEY PUTTING GRAN TORINO INTO AN OXYGEN MASK

THAT FUCKER IS DEAD

HE GOT CRUSHED THE FUCK UP AGAINST THE GROUND BY SHIGARAKI AT FULL FORCE, TRUST ME HE IS NOT GONNA NEED THAT MASK”- Well, they did the same for Nighteye after he got shish-ka-bobbed, so I think it’s standard medical practice. Besides, Gran Torino might not be dead – he’s almost certainly paralysed though, with his spine broken clearly in two. If any adult hero survives this war, they’re almost certainly losing a piece of themselves doing so, judging by the count so far. 4) “Yeah Jeanist, but let us not beat around the bush, those people there are dead. Mt lady? Dead. Midnight? dead. Gran Torino? Super Dead. Endeavor? I wish. But perhaps eventually.”- I’m honestly going to start keeping a record of all the adult heroes who’re still alive and in one piece by the end of this series, and I don’t think we’re gonna be breaking the single digits with it. 5) “Yeah, but remember Mirio those are high-ends, they can learn as the fight goes along. The longer the fight goes on, the harder things are gonna become.”- They’re Near-High Ends actually, according to Garaki. The difference seems to be that they have above-average intelligence for a Nomu, but still no sense of true self, and so can’t vocalise or anything like that. Thankfully this means they can’t strategize and are little more than attack animals. Sadly, this means they still have capabilities that are close to the High-Ends’ own, so are still tough and dangerous regardless. 6) “Also, oh my god Ida calling Bakugo by his hero name- I’m still not used to that. And the fact that Bakugo of all people couldn’t come up with a comeback? Jesus, he really is beyond saving, he’s gonna be buried right next to GT”- Things are dire when not even Bakugou’s feral energy can keep him in the fight anymore. 7) “oh dear god Mr Compress is gonna do something to save his pals, isn’t he?

…

OH DEAR GOD THE TITLE OF THE CHAPTER- OH GOD MR COMPRESS YOU BETTER NOT”- I’ve seen people give an arm and a leg to save their pals, but I’ve never seen them give their ass before. 8) “Now tell me Mr compress, couldn’t you compress yourself so you can escape the cables and then just decompress? Surely you could, right? And it won’t require you making a dramatic sacrifice, right?”- I’m honestly uncertain if Compress can compress himself – we’ve never really seen him pull it off as an infiltration tactic before, despite how useful it’d be, and whislt he can do so to the league and pull them back out, he may be incapable of undoing it fro the “inside” so to speak, which would only lead to him suffocating or something. At the very least, he was forced to resort to this more drastic measure instead of self-compressing to evade Jeanist’s wires.

9) “I think you can exclude Dabi from that list, he already did got everything he wanted an- OH MY GOD TOGA IS CRYING”- Sadly, Dabi’s dreams can only be satisfied with maximum suffering inflicted on his family, and everybody else by proxy. And it’s a tragic case of dramatic irony, whilst Compress has sympathy for Dabi’s unfulfilled wishes as a part of the team, and Toga’s own emotional turmoil – and Toga would do the same were the situation reversed – Dabi does not give a crap about either of them, save the usefulness they can provide to him in the frenzied death-match he desires. 10) “Well you better act soon Compress, because Jeanist is getting sick of having to tie you guys up for longer.”- Now his attention’s no longer distracted by Machia, Jeanist is free to ensure the conscious members of the league are no longer left that way whilst the battle is pitching up. The less variable they have to keep track of, the better, and given what Compress does here, despite his lack of overall combat power, it was the right call. 11) “ACTUALLY I’M GETTING MORE WORRIED ABOUT SPINNER DYING BEFORE COMPRESS DOES GOOD LORD MAN I KNOW YOU WANT TO PUT THEM TO SLEEP BUT LOOK AT THAT FACE”- It’s not like Jeanist can accurately track their pulse and breathing from a distance away through the cables,  especially with the chaos erupting around him. The best he can do is focus on not breaking their necks and hoping that they pass out quickly so he can ease up on the pressure…but again, the situation is dire enough that even if Jeanist were to accidently kill them like this, he wouldn’t be blamed or held accountable for it. 12) “OH GOD HE’S NOT GONNA COMPRESS HIMSELF COMPLETELY, RIGHT? JUST A CHUNK OF HIS OWN BODY SO HE CAN ESCAPE THE CABLES

OH GOD NO”- Also a neat attention to detail that Compress can only perform this move on his right side, as that’s the only one with a flesh-and-blood arm remaining, Overhaul’s injury against him further handicapping the league’s chances of success at the crucial moment. 13) “AT LEAST YOU WILL SURVIVE THIS ONE, RIGHT? SURE, YOU’LL BE THE ASSLESS COMPRESS, BUT STILL, YOU’RE NOT GONNA DIE, RIGHT?”- He got them out, but in such a manner that means he himself won’t be able to flee with them – not that they even could overall, with the surrounding heroes mobbing them in an effort to prevent the primary instigators of the war from escaping and rendering the overall point of the conflict null and void. All Compress can do is sacrifice himself to give the others some breathing room, and leave the rest in Spinner’s hands to get Tomura out of there. 14) “HOLY SHIT HE WAS FAST

WELL, HE WAS MORE AERODYNAMIC WITHOUT HIS ASS AFTER ALL. LESS WEIGHT TO BE CARRIED.”-Compress is an under-looked member of the league, but his abilities have always been a source of support for them, giving them an edge with infiltration and similar, along with his observations of the others and accurately judging who needs help the most. In this moment, both the powerhouses of Tomura and Machia have been felled, and Dabi is not interested in lending his aid to the “leader” when his own goals are nearby, yet the support of a weaker, yet genuine team player proves crucial for the League to not completely lose this war. 15) “I’M STARTING TO FEEL LIKE THE ASS IS NOT GOING TO BE THE ONLY THING THAT WILL BE SACRIFICED IN THIS ESCAPE OF HIS”- Sometimes, winning a war comes down to having a person who’s willing to sacrifice more than the enemy in order to score a victory for his side, no matter the cost to him personally. 16) “YES BUT CAN YOU PLEASE DO THAT WITHOUT KILLING YOURSELF PLEASE? TWICE DOESN’T NEED COMPANY RIGHT NOW HE’S FINE”- Desperate times, desperate actions – and yet, the effort put into those actions is undeniable. Compress is no powerhouse fighter, but he’s always been one to lay down his life on the line for the others, which is a quality that Tomura is able to attract in his followers. 17) “That name seems familiar, but I can’t remember from where. Also, is this gonna be a Compress backstory reveal?”- It was name-dropped as one of many noticeable Quirk-users in history by Gentle during his infiltration of UA, desiring to be a standout villain of notoriety similar to him and Re-Destro’s ancestor. Ironically, Gentle actually seems to have more in common with Harima’s methodology than his actual descendant.

18) “Well, I must say, his ancestor must be extremely disappointed with the path he picked then, because what Compress got involved with is a long cry from exposing injustice, if the piles of civilian corpses they left behind those past 20 minutes alone are anything to go by.”- Not unlike Re-Destro’s own past, the legacy of a notable ancestor become twisted and distorted over time, becoming a negative influence on the next generation that guided them down a wrong path when they may have chosen otherwise if left to their own devices. In fact, the same can be said of both Dabi and Tomura’s own pasts as well – many of the league are those whose past histories isolate them from normal society in some manner and drive them together in a common cause in opposition to it, and Compress’ backstory shows how even a well-meaning example like his Robin Hood ancestry can change a man for the worse in trying to emulate that. (MHA ch 291) 19) “Wonder how much a DNA test is worth considering people with Toga’s quirk, who can become another person.”-And a hint towards Compress’ impending reveal, that he too, is one of such a renowned bloodline in their little group. 20) “Oh, not worth the time to kill him if your dad is not up to watch it huh, alright Dabi, can you fuck off then I want to know more about the assless compress”- Some translations I saw said that Endeavour had passed out from the exertion of body-checking Machia unconscious, and Dabi didn’t want to kill Shoto whilst their father wasn’t awake to see it. He’s got a plan in mind for how this fight’s going to play out, and he won’t accept deviations. 21) “THE MASK

IT’S OFF

OH GOD NO AM I READY TO GAZE UPON WHAT MR COMPRESS IS LIKE UNDERNEATH IT? DARE I WITNESS THINGS HUMANKIND WAS NOT MEANT TO KNOW?”- Behold and witness the Hawtness!! 22) “hello?”- Compress had to lose half his cake to balance out his good looks underneath that mask.

23) “Also, he’s the heir of a lineage of vigilantes wanting to fix society and he ended up a super villain trying to bring forth the destruction of it, as well as the genocide of an untold number of innocent people. Ouch Compress, that’s not gonna look good when you get to the pearly gates, your grandpa is gonna fucking kick your ass.”- Even if change is important to fixing society’s flaws, it’s arguably more important to bring about the right kind of change, not destructive anarchy like the League enacts in a short-sighted effort to “fix” things, no matter the good intentions. @thelreads

[amicus-siderum]

Actually, I think Kaeya would be a really good influence on the young people and children of Mond.

Yes, he's horrible at taking care of himself, has terrible coping mechanisms and is just downright not in a good mindset whatsoever. However, when it comes to others, he tries his darn hardest to make sure they take proper care of themselves specifically so they don't turn out like him.

He invites his knights to the tavern after a successful mission - drinks on him. He won't force anyone to drink alcohol if they don't want to. If he knows someone has problems with alcohol, he won't suggest a tavern outing. Kaeya knows how difficult it is to keep those in check and doesn't need to put anyone else through that. (There are exceptions, obviously, such as coaxing info out of suspicious persons via loosening the tongue with alcohol, but that's different.)

Kaeya sees Rosaria smoking behind the church, he joins her, keeps her company, asks for a cigarette too. He tells her she really should quit, it's not good for her. Rosaria mumbles under her breath, calling him a hypocrite, but if she notices how he orders her chocolate and different snacks at the bar to keep her from getting antsy and in turn keeping her from going for a light, she doesn't mention it.

Jean isn't taking care of herself? Long hours at the office, little to no food, horrid amounts of caffeine instead of sleep? "Jeanie, there's an issue that desperately needs your attention! Yes, it's very important, follow me! Why are we going to your house? Well you see, this is where the very important matter should be. It's you. You're the important matter. You need sufficient rest to function properly. Much love and understanding, goodnight." Jean would argue with him, call him a hypocrite, if as soon as her head hit the pillow she wasn't immediately out like a light.

I like to believe that Kaeya also teaches the children of Mondstadt all about the importance of self care, as in eating regular and nutritious meals, getting enough sleep, getting help when they're sick. He educates them about different substances, why they're bad and how to use them safely if they desperately feel like they must. He doesn't make it a whole 'thing', it just somehow comes up in conversation, but he does stress the importance.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not making him into a saint by any means! Kaeya doesn't care enough to intervene if some drunkard is drowning their troubles at a tavern or if one of the townspeople have been skipping a suspicious amount of meals. It's not his issue, not his problem, he doesn't care. However, when it comes to the people he does really hold near and dear (read Diluc, Jean, Rosaria, Klee, Bennett, etc.) he will take matters into his own hands.

I think Kaeya knows the theory, he knows what should be done really well, he just doesn't do it himself. And because of that, Kaeya hurts. He doesn't want people he cares about to hurt like he does. So he makes sure they too know the theories, but actually put them to practice too.

[bcolfanfic]

“when all the stuff happens with jj (crosby’s oldest) and meadow gets pregnant curt handles all that (very) badly at first”

this feels in character with what you’ve said about curt and cros not getting along but 👀👀 i want more how does he react

badly. lmao.

but yeah i've kicked around a few versions of it w/ rachel and i think my favorite is him not even knowing they're involved till everything is hitting the fan. didn't tell her dads she was seeing him bc she knew they'd lose it (not just curt re: him being a crosby, him and croz aren't actually in a terrible place with each other atp. though it all more or less goes back to square one for a while during. she's around 22 and jj is 29, so there's the age gap too). and didn't really think it would end up being serious anyways. but they likeeee each other a lot, and by the time she gets knocked up it's starting to get more serious. (funny side bar- in a rare moment of kindness towards meadow before they really start to become friends, josie covers for them to sneak off during a big ol wyoming get together with everyone. *that's* when she gets pregnant, which josie never lets go lmfao.)

i think i've posted before about rebecca or jeanie coming to jj's apartment and seeing meadow so at bare minimum *they* knew there was something going on there. but they "oh, dear me" smile and nodded and kept their mouths shut bc they also knew it would be a Mess.

thennn she gets pregnant and whoops now everyone has to know /: she tells jj when they're parked somewhere in his car, he kinda has a panic attack and then drives them both back to his parent's house because they'll know what to do. already knows curt is gonna kill him and wants mommy lmfao. *jj*. you big baby. (he grows up eventually, don't worry).

but they go back there and meadow tells jeanie who sits down realllly hard upon the news drop. gets croz from doing yard work, he sees how panicked all of them look and is like ??? is something wrong ?? and poor meadow just bursts into tears. bless her heart. she is curt made over and has categorically been quite a bit of trouble throughout her life, but she's a good girl at heart.

after a lot of "well, um" handwringing jean eventually says she'll tell curt and ken they need to come down to the house because they all need to talk about something. bry of course bc that's her fuckin. twin sister knows what she's been seeing jj and looks sooo guility when curt and ken are halfway out the door and tell her the crosby's are being weird saying meadow's at their house and that they need to talk about something. very awkwardly says she's gonna go with them and curt is like ??? do you know something we don't ?? and she's like uh (: no (: just worried about meadow 's all (:. texts her when they're in the car and has to clamp her hand over his mouth when meadow texts her back and clarifies what's going on.**

curt, as you can expect, lossessss it. is very very quiet for a moment just looking between meadow and jj with ken's hand on his shoulder. then he ends up snapping at bry first bc he realizes she knew they were seeing each other- asks if she knew her sister was pregnant and she's like no ?!?!?!. meadow gets upset and tells him to leave bry alone, and that's when he really snaps at her.

gets upset telling her he trusted her more than anything, she's always been such a smart girl what the /fuck/ got into your head you still have a few months until you're done with college you had /plans/. he's yelling at this point, croz tells him he needs to calm down because the shouting isn't doing shit and then he turns that pissed off-ness on jj and croz. says a lot of really mean shit about how croz failed as a parent- he's just like you, just as fucking embarrassing. gets really cruel to jj too and him and croz almost get physical over it bc croz is obviously defensive of his son. (at least until curt leaves, he lays into jj hard after he's gone. is embarrassed alongside just being really disappointed in him, and it takes some time and tears for their relationship to come back from that)

curt regrets this *a lot* down the line when that baby is his entire world plus some, but to begin with he's very much of the opinion that it would be for the better for meadow if she got an abortion. knows rationally he can't make her do anything, but is out his mind angry at jj, doesn't want meadow with him, and thinks a baby would just derail her life in a way he really doesn't want for her. at his core all of his upset is coming from not wanting his kid to struggle in life, and his heart is in the right place- even the intent/impact of his thought process doesn't line up.

but that suggestion makes meadow upset because she doesn't want to do that and feels like her dad is never gonna forgive her if he doesn't </3. (which is what her and josie get closer over, bc josie gets wind of that and is deeply pissed off that curt is making her feel that way).

he eventually lays off that particular topic and things get less rocky with time. but it's hard and tense for a while. ken isn't exactly thrilled about it all either either, but him and curt also have somewhat of a rough patch in everything bc he's the main voice telling curt he's being way too hard on meadow. lots of little squabbles about it all, and lots of ken trying to get it in his head that if he keeps it up he's going to drive their daughter away for good.

this is getting 80000 words too long, but tldr fast forward meadow ends up having quite a lot of complications w/ her pregnancy and has her baby really early. the baby makes it, but to begin with its touch and go for both the baby and meadow. it's a hard road, and that's what really shakes curt out of the stupor he'd spent all that time in. and what makes him (very very slowly) come around to jj because he sees how much he cares for meadow and their baby when things are as difficult as they are.

**meadow little miss live texter. sends the big 2nd gen groupchat a crying selfie from the bathroom mid everyone yelling in the living room and that's how they all find out. little punks all immediately tell their parents too lmfao. ken does find a little funny when he figures out *that* is why him and curt both started getting a bunch of calls/texts from everyone. bc meadow is a little ridiculous and their kids are narcs <3