#jeanie dear

[cyanwyrmy]

💌📭Oh, I like Eddie so much in your performance, I adore this big boy, can we find out more information about his moms? (sorry if there are any mistakes, I'm writing through a translator)

Hello! Thank you for the ask! Just a reminder before I talk more about them, Jeanie and Evelyn are NOT CANON in the official Welcome Home lore and they are just fan-made concepts of who Eddie’s parents could be. I’m sure Clown has plans for Eddie’s family that will be shown in a future updates!

Jeanie Dear (Left) and Evelyn Dear (Right) are a married couple living in a city far from where they grew up. Jeanie is a writer and comic artist for a newspaper, and Evelyn is a mail carrier. The pair have been friends since childhood and grew up in a small southern town where they struggled to express themselves. I have some unfinished sketches of Jeanie and Evelyn as kids that I might share in the future, but for now I’d say the were similar to Carl and Ellie from Up: Jeanie was a shy and artistic kid who kept to herself, while Evelyn was outgoing and had no trouble standing up to bullies.

Perhaps I’ll share more later, but that’s good for right now. Please enjoy this cute newly wed drawing inspired by the “I love my wife!!!” Meme

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

You just did a “girls leave lipstick on S/O” ask, now lets do it the other way!

S/O leaves lipstick on Robin, Jean, and any wildcard of your choice!

(Also, it’s 2024, guys can and should wear lipstick, too, so it’s still gender neutral!)

Leaving lipstick on their girlfriend

Genshin Impact - Jean, Lisa, Lynette, Navia, Chiori Honkai: Star Rail - Firefly Girls' Frontline- WA2000, Helianthus GoV: NIKKE - Rapi, Anis, Neon

Have I ever mentioned how glad I am Tumblr put the image limit from 10 to 30? Anyways, have a truckful of gals because the bug randomly bit me. I also don't write for Robin just yet, but soon!

Jean is completely bright red the moment she feels the lipstick on her cheek, a hand instinctively going to rub it off, but stopping midway because she felt that it'd be rude.

(Jean) "A-Ah! Sorry, it's not that I don't like the kiss, S/O, it's just...Well, the knights might talk if they see something like this on me!"

(S/O) "Aw, worried that people know I love you, Jeanie?"

(Jean) "Of course not! B-But...!"

She grows increasingly flustered watching S/O's reaction, hands fidgeting as her eyes stare at everything except her lover.

The absolute last thing she needed was for Lisa or Kaeya to see her like this.

Because then she'd never be able to live this down.

Lisa chuckles when she notices the lipstick on her cheek, seeing it from the reflection of the library's window.

She can't help the slight blush from the sight, instead she just turns to S/O with a little smirk.

(Lisa) "Oh? Someone's getting jealous."

(S/O) "Jealous how?"

(Lisa) "By letting people know I'm yours, if this lipstick is anything to go by! Here, let me make it a little more fair.~"

And Lisa promptly kisses S/O, leaving a little smudge of her own against their forehead.

(Lisa) "There, now we're even!"

She doesn't flinch or even bat an eye when people stare at the mark left on her.

Lynette's ears twitch a little bit in annoyance at the feeling of something foreign against her lips.

To which she quickly pulls out a small pocket mirror to check what it was.

Then after a brief moment of silence, turning to S/O.

(Lynette) "...S/O."

(S/O) "Hm?"

(Lynette) "Is this a joke?"

(S/O) "My love is never a joke, dear Lynette!"

She blinks once slowly, with an unamused expression growing flatter by the second.

(Lynette) "If you're going to kiss me, please don't make it to where people will notice."

(S/O) "Hah! Alright alright, sorry. Couldn't resist."

Though the next time S/O would try it, they would magically have it on themselves instead, while Lynette had not even a smidge of lipstick on her.

Navia wears the lipstick with a badge of honor!

Who cares that people will see it? In fact, that's actually even better!

They needed to know that she was taken!

Plus, she did it ALL the time to S/O, so it was only fair!

(Navia) "S/O! I'm home!"

(S/O) "...D-Did you fight with the lipstick on you?"

(Navia) "Huh? What makes you say-"

(S/O) "There's a little gunpowder on your cheek too..."

(Navia) "Well, you know what they say! Love blooms on a battlefield!"

(S/O) "Isn't that...uncomfortable?"

(Navia) "It...is a little sticky now that you mention it."

Chiori raises an eyebrow when she sees S/O's lips all bright and colorful.

Before they go in fully for the kiss, one finger quickly shoots up to intervene, getting it all smudged instead of her face.

(Chiori) "What do you think you're doing?"

(S/O) "Giving my lovely girlfriend a kiss!~-"

(Chiori) "You're giving me a stain is what you're doing."

Wiping her finger off on a nearby towel, Chiori puts one hand to her waist.

(Chiori) "I don't mind the smooches, but I'd prefer to not get dirty from it."

(S/O) "Oh, I'm hurt!-"

(Chiori) "Sure you are. Here, so you don't whine-"

Chiori wipes off S/O's lipstick with her thumb before kissing them, pulling away after a brief moment.

(Chiori) "All better? Good, now I need to work."

Firefly lets out an adorable squeak when she rubs her cheek and feels the stain smudge, her face turning scarlet.

(Firefly) "S-S/O! Is there something on my face!?"

(S/O) "Hm...Just a little."

(Firefly) "Can you get it off please? I don't want people to stare!"

(S/O) "Sure thing, stand still for a second-"

She leans in with no hesitation, before S/O surprised her again kissing her on the lips, making Firefly pull back with a hand going over her mouth.

And which her surprise quickly turned into a pout, with Firefly calling out their name in a slight whine.

(Firefly) "S/O! You know that's not what I meant!"

Her annoyance however quickly turns into laughter, hearing S/O's own and making the tension in her shoulder melt away in an instant.

WA gasps, with S/O watching in real time as she went through all stages of grief.

Only to be caught in the "Anger" stage swiftly, and indefinitely.

(WA2000) "YOU BLOCKHEAD! What did you do?!"

(S/O) "J-Just left a little love mark on you, WA!"

(WA2000) "Little?! Your lipstick is taking up half my face! You better get it off right this instant!"

Though she was doing a terrible job of trying to sound intimidating with her face still so bright red.

Especially with her voice cracking at her squawks, and brow twitching at S/O's amusement.

(S/O) "Should I camouflage you in lipstick instead?-"

(WA2000) "Should I shoot you instead, S/O?! D-DON'T YOU EVEN DARE-"

S/O leaned in to kiss her again, making WA swear vehemently in German, yet still begrudgingly accepted their affection.

Solely because no other T-Doll was present to watch their shenanigans.

If S/O tried the same thing in front of the Commander, S/O would get shot.

Helian's eyes widen as her monocle falls out of alignment, realizing just what S/O did.

Making her hand audibly smack the table underneath her, turning to her lover.

(Helianthus) "S/O!"

(S/O) "Yes, Helian?~"

(Helianthus) "Don't act innocent with me! You know exactly what you did!"

(S/O) "I'm not so sure. What did I-"

(Helianthus) "T-The lipstick!"

Her stutter sealed her fate. Alongside her face quickly heating up.

(Helianthus) "Were you hoping the other Griffin Personnel would see this?!"

(S/O) "...Would you hurt me if I said yes?-"

And with that, S/O sealed their own fate as Helian dumped a metric ton of paperwork in front of S/O, requiring them to finish it by tonight.

And it was already 9:30 PM.

Rapi knew immediately that there was a foreign sensation on her face.

She also knew exactly what it was when S/O pulled away, making her frown.

Though S/O was immune to it by now, and looked more cute than intimidating.

(Rapi) "S/O..."

(S/O) "Rapi..."

They echoed back, mimicking her serious tone before immediately breaking character and chuckling.

S/O's laughter was something Rapi was not immune to however, as a soft smile accompanied her sigh.

(Rapi) "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but I'd rather not deal with Anis's comments, S/O."

(S/O) "Okay okay, Rapi. One second."

Rapi leaned into S/O's touch as they gently rubbed the lipstick off. She was honestly a little reluctant to, but she had to keep up appearances around the Outpost.

And the last thing she wanted was the Commander seeing the lipstick on her and thinking she was...doing something else on duty.

Anis made an audible "Blech!" noise the moment her hand smeared the lipstick on her cheek.

(Anis) "Yuck! Why the heck did you put that much on?!"

(S/O) "To show you my love, Anis!"

(Anis) "IT'S MAKING ME CRINGE, COMMANDER-"

Anis rolled her eyes as she aggressively rubbed her hand against her face, accidentally making it worse.

(Anis) "Ugh, I swear you did this on purpose!"

(S/O) "Hah! Well, honestly I just wanted to see your reaction, but this is better than I expected!"

With a puff of air shifting the bang on her forehead, her lips moved downward into a more annoyed expression.

And quickly noting S/O's clearly amused smirk.

S/O scoffed at the threat.

(S/O) "Going to shoot me?"

(Anis) "No. I'm going to make you wish I did."

Anis pulls out her phone and sends a DM to one her fellow NIKKE's.

[ANIS] Belorta. I have a mission for you.

One day later, both Belorta and Anis were inside the Commander's office, explaining why S/O was currently stuck to the ceiling, caused by a freak explosion involving a can of soda, and a NIKKE-Sized bag of Mentos.

Neon raises an eyebrow at the feeling on her cheek. It was kinda...icky!

(Neon) "The heck did you put on me, S/O?"

(S/O) "Lipstick!"

(Neon) "...Oooh! I think I know what you're trying to do! YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE ME MORE POWERFUL, WITH YOUR LOVE!"

S/O didn't really know how to respond to that. They were about to make that joke themselves, but they had a creeping feeling that Neon didn't take that as a joke.

Not the reaction S/O was expecting...Then again, this was Neon they were talking about-

(Neon) "I will show the world our strength! Come along with me to the firing range!"

Neon happily dragged S/O around by the hand, eager to show her newfound strength!

Even though S/O meant to tease Neon, it was now them who was in utter despair from their prank.

And she did obliterate more targets than usual, but that was probably because Neon had a placebo effect.

Or maybe it was actually her love being the enhancing factor.

Either way, S/O wouldn't be able to live this down for the next few months around the outpost.

[therealslimshakespeare]

Oath to the Spunk Wall

A Dear John💌 stalag flashback fully authored by my brilliant @stylespresleyhearted

Bucky was fucking dying in the stalag.

Figuratively and literally - he could feel life and the will to live seeping out of every pore in his body as they spent day in and day out stuck with no chance of escaping. And Buck, Buck, Buck - Buck who had been his driving force to get here in the first place. They were on completely different ends of the spectrum.

Bucky wanted to act now. He wasn’t sure what the guys were waiting for. Did they think things were going to change? Were the Krauts gonna suddenly start treating them like real fucking people? He didn’t think so. Bucky had abandoned ship, almost killed a pair of kids, had nearly been beaten to death, and tasted the brains of a man who got his head bludgeoned and all of it was feeling unnecessarily unimportant.

The one person he wanted to save the most - Buck - didn’t want to make a move. He didn’t even want to try. And Bucky, he had made a promise before embarking on his mission, a promise to try to live and see the girl of his dreams in her white, frilly, silk sleep set and he had made a promise to himself to get his best friend home safe but none of that was happening. He was stuck. Unmoving. A hollow shell of the man he once was. Imprisoned.

Now Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He could see it in the faces of his guys all around him - the way in which they eyed his every move or were careful with their chosen words when speaking to him like he was a rabid dog who would bite at any given second. Bucky was supposed to be a leader but in light of things he’d become nothing but a burden to the boys who looked up to him. A waste of space and a waste of a bunk if you asked him. He’d be more useful dead. At least then his boys could have his jacket and his beanie and his gloves and blanket and take everything so they could stay warm and alive until the day came. Not that he could voice it. He didn’t want to deal with Buck’s sad eyes or more of Brady’s prayers or DeMarco’s crazy fucking look everytime they locked eyes.

I’m still trying, he thought but had no hope of Julie Jean listening on the other side.

There was no contact between them. Every couple of weeks mail came but none of it was from her. There’d been letters from his momma, of course - his momma was a saint - but while he would die for his mom he suddenly didn’t feel the will to live for her. She would only end up disappointed in him too. Her son was a rake. Useless. Dirty. No marriage, no children.

He was no good to his sisters either. What example was he setting?

His Jeanie was who he ached for and who he missed. She’d been the one keeping him together before here and to have her suddenly ripped away was like cutting off one of his legs and signing him up for a marathon. It was senseless to be without her. For years he hadn’t gone more than a handful of days with no new letter and no new photo. She was real selfless that way.

Africa had made him restless but when he returned there had been two letters and five new photographs waiting. He had mailed out his own explanation the next morning but another letter had already arrived: worried for him. He was important to her and she never made him doubt it. Thoughts of Jeanie helped center him, made breathing feel easier, and tempered his moods but none of it lasted for more than a couple of hours.

John Brady was a good kid. Catholic, brave, and a damn stone in Bucky’s shoe. He was a great leader to his crew, the most even tempered man in the entire 8th Air Force, and a talented pilot. Brady never questioned Bucky, he was always quick to initiate what their Major wanted done and more times than not Bucky caught the young guy watching him. One time Bucky had overheard him mouthing off to new arrivals who had said Bucky was no more than a ‘fun-time. Surely he couldn’t be a good leader.’ Brady hadn’t liked that and only after the new arrivals had left red-faced and close to tears had Bucky whistled to announce his presence.

“You don’t need to waste your breath defending me, Brady,” Bucky had told him, swinging an arm around his lanky shoulders as they exited the officer’s club. “All I need from you is to keep doing what you’re doing up there.”

“Major all due respect - I will never sit back and let someone who don’t know squat about being up there mouth off about you or Major Cleven. How you choose to soldier on, that’s your business, sir.”

Little brother Brady, Buck referred to him as. Bucky’s little brother that is. Apparently it wasn’t news to anyone on base that Brady was always sticking up for him, or popping his collar like him, or implementing rules Egan had set when he was Air Exec. He wasn’t anymore but Brady insisted his way was the correct way and so his rules stayed.

And no, Brady never questioned him but still - the kid was always the first to see through Bucky. Before the mission he was aware Bucky had no intention of returning without Buck and still he let his Major co-pilot. He never questioned any of Bucky’s requests or standard but when he didn’t agree there was always a witty remark or dry look that had Bucky’s face turning red. Like when the kid had been adamant to jump only after Bucky.

Or, more recently, how Brady created The Wall of Hopes and Dreams, - a wall solely for Bucky’s hopes and dreams that had multiple photos of Lana Tierney plastered - and his worry for his Major had him grabbing Bucky’s hand and physically dragging him to the wall.

“Come on now, Major Egan,” he worriedly bit on his lower lip, hands on his thin hips. He wasn’t blind; his superior officer had been far from okay the last couple of days. Lingering too close to the gates. Provoking guards. “We come to the Wall of Hopes and Dreams -”

“ — also known as the Spunk wall — ” Demarco.

“ - present Major John Egan who has come to pledge his promise of life and sanity to his girl, Miss Lana Tierney, also known as A.C.O.R.N.. Major, if you please.”

Bucky sighed. He spared a glance to Buck who was seated at the table also looking resigned to what was about to occur. They all must have been really worried if no one was trying to intercept the filthiness that was gonna be uttered and sworn under God and every man in their cabin.

Bucky shrugged; wasn’t the first time and his men would feel better. Brady did look real worried.

“Julie Jean,” he began, refusing to call her anything but her true name. The name she signed all her letters with. “First and foremost I promise to uphold my promise of life to you. That includes not doing any of the stupid things Buck and Brady warn me against. Under their wise guidance I shall return safely to you.” They should be proud - he barely allowed any sarcasm to seep in.

Buck was still watching, no hint of him shying away yet.

“And what else, Major?” Brady was incessentantly tapping a foot and chewing on a thumbnail.

Bucky felt guilty. He was really doing a number on the poor guy.

“I promise to return home with my own two hands so that I can help you hold your rack and take the ache off your back.”

And there it was. Gale’s blush. But when Bucky turned his head to check, he still hadn’t looked away.

“I promise to remain safe in my entirety and protect my - uhh - little major so that you can assist in keeping him warm and wet for me.”

DeMarco coughed to hide a laugh. The Wall of Hopes and Dreams was something that Brady held strongly about so out of respect for him the guys played along. Even though sometimes trying to contain their laughter ended with choking on their saliva.

“Julie Jean I will uphold my promise to you of keeping you satisfied and full of my spunk - ” DeMarco was having a hard time dealing tonight if his chortles and coughs were anything to go by “ - and give you all those babies I wrote about in my first letter.”

“Jesus, Bucky, the first?!” DeMarco exclaimed, laughing.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him but Brady’s touch to his elbow reminded him he still had a couple of more oaths before he could walk away.

“I hereby promise to give you that good pounding I mentioned in letter 23, section 2 - so kindly arranged in numerical order by Biddick, may he rest in peace.”

A few of the guys chuckled at the antics but all of them were sure to nod in their agreement. All the men they had lost stayed with them. One way or another - in the sky, in their hearts, where their bunks lay, and they were even brought to the spunk wall.

“What else, Major?” Brady insisted, still on a mission to finish this. All the guys may have found it a joke but Brady was sure it worked. Only a couple of hours but he would take it. Those hours gave his Major hope again so he found this tedious antic worth it because so.

“And I promise to fulfill A.C.O.R.N to the best of my abilities once I’ve returned home -”

“ — maybe she can sit on your face and straighten your huge nose — ” that was Crank jumping in.

“I also promise, Julie Jean, to kick all of these guys asses as soon as we escape this hell hole for making me say all this filthy shit and I will knock any of them out if they even imagine any of this with you.”

All the guys were so happy at the Major getting some of his fight back into him that they didn’t tremble (too much, that is) at the threat. Since her first photo arrived their balls had been under the threat of their Major so it was also nothing new.

“I, Major John Egan, solemnly swear to uphold these promises to the best of my ability by staying alive, staying safe, and all in all, not being a mopey son of a bitch. Thank you.”

He turned with a smile, he couldn’t fight it off any longer and was met with the cheers and hugs of his men.

Brady let out a sigh of relief as the oath was finished. Tomorrow would be a better day.

Buck was still seated at the table but like Bucky figured, he was too prude to make any eye contact with the guys.

“You didn’t stop it,” Bucky shrugged, sliding back into his bunk with an air of faux innocence and ignoring Gale’s glare. He laughs, wholeheartedly.

Turning his back to the guys, he slides his photo from under his pillow. The one of her that he kept on the sole of his shoe for every mission. Of her smiling bright, a shoulder of her gown sliding off, a peak at the goods but not enough to be explicit. She radiated happiness and that’s why he chose it as the one he kept with him.

From his time on German ground, his time in the water and the forced march through town it’d been discolored and wrinkled and the colors had begun to fade into one another but it’s all he had and he refused to give it up.

He could still trace the radiance of her smile. The shape of her hair and the swell of her breasts. She would be a foot shorter than him - possibly not even reach his shoulder - and in his bunk, trying to find sleep Bucky thought of other things instead.

He’d be able to curl her into his chest and wrap his arms around her completely. She could hide in him and feel safe. She was often telling him she had only felt truly safe when he began writing to her. And even though they had never met she had claimed his lap to be her designated seat once they were in each other’s presence.

“We could make room for everyone else,” she was so helpful.

He presses the photo to his nose. Imagining he could smell her. Kiss the pout of her lips or the chub of her cheeks.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he swears, ignoring the chatter of the boys behind him and pressing his lips to her distorted image.

If I make it home is left out because Bucky’s aware that Julie Jean would want no association with the possibility of him not making it back. For her it wasn’t an option.

[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..

[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.

[winniemaywebber]

Winnie darling!! Happy December prompts season 🥰 I’d love to see 3 and 15 for our dear Jean & Croz, and 23 and 19 for Olive and Dougie? Love you bestie! 🫶

hi, my love!! happy december.

both prompts under the cut to save space! from this list - feel free to send me some more. inbox is open as always!

doctor's orders // knees pressed into soft carpet

A frigid chill swoops through the windows of the Crosby residence, Josephine Harris shivering in its wake.

“Jesus, Jeanie,” she grumbles, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “Can we close these windows yet? It’s freezing!”

“Go upstairs if you’re cold,” Jean barks back in return, the heaviness upon her body making her sweat. Nobody told her of the sudden hot flashes in the last few weeks of pregnancy, sweating like it’s summer despite the Fall chill. 

“No,” Jo soothes. “I’m staying with you.”

Jean lays back on the couch, groaning in pain. “I’d love it if I could be up and about, trying to get this baby out,” she complains, shifting her head on the cushion of her makeshift bed on the couch. 

“Doctor’s orders, Jean,” Jo reminds her, flicking through a magazine. “You heard him. Bedrest. You’re too top heavy to be getting around,” she smirks, taking in her friend’s convex shape.

“Oh, shut up, Josephine,” Jean huffs. Her eyes suddenly start swimming with tears, biting her lip to unsuccessfully keep them at bay. “Sorry,” she sniffs, reaching towards a handkerchief on the coffee table, Jo handing it to her. “I’m sorry I’m so grumpy. I’ve just had enough.”

“I know, doll,” Jo comforts, pulling a blanket over her friend. “My nephew needs to start making his way out. Believe me, this is just as much fun for you as it is for me.”

A short rap on the door shocks the pair of them, Jo patting Jean on the shoulder as she goes to answer it. 

“Mail’s here!” Josephine calls, entering the living room once again. In her hands, she holds a stack of envelopes, two instantly recognizable. Disregarding the others, Jo kneels in front of Jean, her knees pressed into the soft carpet.

“Who would you like to hear from first, Jeanie Bug?” she asks, her voice soft and soothing. “Rosie or Harry?”

“Binger, please. If that’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t. Now,” she pauses, carefully opening the envelope. “Let’s see what our Croz has to say.”

My Jeanie,

It won’t be long now, until our boy is here. I wish, more than anything, that I was there to take care of you. Hold your hand, soothe you and make you comfortable. I’m glad Jo is there to do those things. I am so excited that I feel like I’m walking on air around base. 

I hope you’re not in too much pain, my darling. Rosie has passed on from his letters from Jo that you’re not exactly having the best time in these last few weeks, but I promise it’ll all be worth it. All worth it to see our boy.

Jeanie Bug, I miss you with everything in me. Next time I hear from you, you’ll be with our Joseph Robert and I can hardly wait.

All my love, my little wife. 

Bing

“Joseph Robert?” Jo asks, wiping tears from her flushed cheeks. “After Bubbles, and Robbie?”

“Yes,” Jean squeaks in response. “And after you, my best friend.”

ursa major // a hotel bar

“Happy new year, honey girl,” Dougie says, pulling Olive in for a kiss.

“You, too, my love.” 

Despite the promise of a quiet night, the Officer’s Club had turned chaotic; Harry Crosby crooning as awfully as John Egan due to the amount of whiskey he’d put away, Rosie dancing with every Donut Dolly as the band played his favorite jazz tunes, the girls shrieking in absolute delight as he flung them across the dancefloor. Val approaches them, out of breath from her spin with Rosie, glugging back her French 75. 

“Jo’s a lucky woman,” she laughs, clinging to Olive. 

“Hope she can keep up with him,” Olive laughs in reply, watching him fling Tattie about the floor this time. “He hasn’t stopped!”

“Don’t worry, English, she knows what she’s in for.” Everett Blakely comes up behind his girl and plants a kiss on her temple, murmuring something in her ear that makes her giggle mischeviously. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed,” she winks, kissing Olive on the cheek.

“Mhm,” she smirks, taking the glass from her friend’s hand. “Have fun!”

Dougie and Ev saying their goodnights to each other, Olive watches the crowd in front of her dwindle as the time ticks by. She yawns, covering her mouth quickly to hide it.

“Wanna get out of here?” Dougie says, holding her close to him.

“Yes,” she says sleepily, leaning on his chest. “But not to bed. I just wanna be with you a little longer.”

“I’m sure I can make that happen,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Wait here.”

***

A short while later, the pair of them are sitting on the wing of a fort, looking up at the first clear sky they’ve seen in weeks. Precariously balanced, the couple snuggle up together, legs dangling. Olive sighs, looking up at the night sky.

“What’s it like up there?” She asks, tearing her eyes away from above to look at James. 

“Apart from the flak and enemy planes?” he replies, handing her his hip flask.

“Yes, apart from that,” she chuckles, taking a sip. “What’s it like?”

“Well…minus all of that, it’s freeing. When I’m up there, I’m not thinking about anything else. Just getting the job done,” he shrugs, taking the flask back. “But before all that, I get to see the endless blue sky and on a clear day, it’s magnificent.”

“Sure sounds it,” Olive sighs. “I suppose it’s akin to ‘calm before the storm.’”

“Something like that,” he chuckles. “I’ll take you up there, one day. When the skies are safe.”

“You mean Ev will take us up?”

“Right,” he agrees, pulling her in closer. “But I’d want you to sit in the nose with me, sweetheart. Best seat in the house. View is to die for.”

“Uhm?” Olive stops, brow slightly furrowed. “Bad choice of words, darling.”

He tuts, laughing softly after. “You know what I mean.”

Both their heads turn back to the sky, Olive spotting a constellation above them in clear view.

“Look!” She shouts. “Ursa Major!”

“Ursa what?”

“Ursa Major - the bear!”

He pauses for a second, eyes squinting to make out the shape as he follows Olive’s finger, mapping it out for him. 

“Oh, I see,” he says. “It’s not fair that you’re beautiful and smart, y’know.”

“Shut it, you,” she smiles, touching her nose to his.

“Only if you make me.”

[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.

[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!

[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!

[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

[therealslimshakespeare]

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

[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.

[measuringbliss]

Tomb of Dracula Read-Through 1 (#1-4)

He's so fucking hot.

MASTERPOST

So the protagonist's named Frank Drake, and is actually a descendant of Dracula's, which is a shame because he's handsome and I was fully ready to ship them.

Turns out Frank's inherited a certain castle in Transylvania. He has no money, and so wishes to sell it. But to sell it, he has to first see the actual estate, doesn't he...

The art is absolutely gorgeous, naturally. And something interesting occurs...

Reading old comic books, you might be tempted to think that the bright colors are an artistic exaggeration of the true aspects of the world, but the text box clearly indicates that the light is yellow.

So Frank's love rival, Clifton, who's here with Frank and his love interest, discovers Dracula's tomb and removes the stake he has through the heart. And that's how Dracula comes back.

Dracula's already a horny little goblin and aggressively heterosexual because as soon as he gets Clifton out of the way, he notices there's a woman in his estate. OoOoh! He quickly hypnotizes her to come to him after a marvelously theatrical entrance, but Frank has no chill and SMACKS DOWN the lady.

By the way, she has a really great outfit. I still don't know/remember her name, though.

Frank escapes with Jeanie thanks to a silver compact he inherited that supposedly protects them from Dracula, and he thinks Clifton is dead, but I seriously doubt that.

Dracula still needs to eat though, and he quickly finds a prey in the village. When she's found, the village is riled up and the artist gives excellent panels:

Back at the castle, Frank and his lady trap the Count, they have a heart-to-heart where Dracula says Frank will eventually fall to the same curse (Hmm, I'd be curious to see that) and Frank proves he definitely has anger issues:

I'm loving this trend of him smacking everybody down, it's almost a jumpscare and is absolutely delightful. It doesn't work though, and Frank gets beaten up. The lady wakes up and Dracula exclaims that they're alone at last!

The absolute madness of the two expressions in the middle, and the great last panel... truly marvelous.

The villagers put the castle on fire, which is a shame both for me (who loves a nice castle) and for Frank, who wanted to sell it. Oops.

Frank leaves the castle, Jeanie in his arms. AND THEN THE FINAL PANELS SHOOK ME SEVERAL TIMES.

Oh this is great drama. This is awesome. Incredible.

In the second issue, Frank comes back to the castle to seek revenge... and instead, he finds Clifton, who's well and alive! I predicted it!!!

Meanwhile, Dracula seeks his manservant again.

The heterosexuality has already ended. Thank the Count.

Sadly, Carl's not been a very good boy. Still, we get a gay panel.

Frank informs us that not only is he moving Dracula's coffin to London, but he successfully sold his castle and surrounding land.

He later strips for us and finds Jeanie in his room.

Clifton is also there by the way, and he thinks she's still human. But no, Frank quickly invalidates my theory that he's dreaming and uses his crucifix to make Jeanie go away. Dracula observes the scene from afar and thinks that it's only a matter of time.

By the way, I've been reading all this listening to the Buffy, the Vampire Slayer score. Not intentional, but definitely à propos.

Dracula gets in an altercation at a London bar and stays absolutely polite and distinguished in his way of speaking, I love it.

I also love that textbox, it's very relatable as a gay gentleman myself.

There's a lot of great stuff on this page. The Big Ben panel, Clifton's wide-opened shirt (dear artist, this is not equivalent to the wonderful bosom and sultriness of Jean but I appreciate the attempt), the angles...

Clifton notices however that Jean doesn't appear in the mirror and Frank was telling the truth. He then proceeds to prove that he's an absolute dumbass by thinking "Whatevs, at least she'll be mine" which, to be fair, I understand. Still, drugging Frank and freeing Jean maybe wasn't the brightest idea he's had.

While they search for the coffin and Jean's about to bite Clifton, Frank wakes up and does what Frank does best:

He never disappoints!

Frank gets his shit wrecked by Dracula, but he barely manages to stake Jean before she bites Clifton. The sunlight is there just in time to burn Jean in front of her paramours. Damn, the story goes hard.

Issue #3 starts with a banger:

Enter: Rachel Van Helsing and Taj. They hunt vampires, and Rachel's ancestor was the one to put a stake through Dracula's heart. Turns out Dracula has multiple coffins, but the one that Frank took is full of gold!

Meanwhile, Clifton's Dracula's slave again and tries to retrieve this very coffin.

Pretty sure that third panel gave me a kink.

Everybody gets in there, a fight ensues, and Rachel Van Helsing proves she's a girlboss by shooting at Dracula without flinching. Still, Dracula flees and our heroes are lead to Scotland Yard for the murder of that dude in the pink vest.

In the truck, Clifton stans Dracula so hard he might ask to kiss him (and more) anytime now. He found who bought Castle Dracula, and the Count stalks that person, who's revealed to be Ilsa, a woman in search of eternal youth and who welcomes Dracula in her home, ready to bargain. This is where the "can't enter unless invited" rule is introduced. I hope they have so fun with it! Buffy certainly did.

#4 time! In this issue, Dracula doesn't have white skin anymore. I'm almost sad. I suppose the color artist finally remembered that Dracula's manservant had supposedly fixed some of his appearance.

Dracula is such a victim, it's hilarious.

Not gonna lie, their chitchat is kind of hot. Probably intentional.

The panel of Dracula carrying Ilsa is, in fact, the very first image of this post. How erotic.

Ilsa later wakes up in her new coffin, and is understandably hungry. She goes for Dracula's new manservant, Clifton, but then...

You see, Dracula just needs a manservant who'll accomplish his every whims. Every. Whims. Bisexuality goes hard.

She explains her magical mirror is actually a passage through time, and argues Dracula might enjoy going back to his own time. He sees some sense in that, and they leave to feed.

Clifton's set to wait for them, but do you know who comes crashing?

That's right, Frank and his fists!

Meanwhile in a small village, Ilsa targets a young couple because she's a hater.

Dracula attacks Frank, but something hilarious happens.

Dracula is just a Dead by Daylight villain.

Cornered by the lights, he gets in the house and seeks the mirror, his only chance of escaping!

Ilsa meanwhile faces Rachel Van Helsin, and rages that she's still as old as before--because she was vampirized at that age, when Dracula became a vampire at 30! But she's not totally desperate, because there's one thing she hasn't told Dracula: turns out he needs a mirror in the exact time and place as he wants to travel. Otherwise, he'll get to a deadly place full of monsters.

Ilsa tries to kill Clifton so he won't warn Dracula, but she can't--she's revulsed by the act of killing. She begs Rachel to end her life, and exists this series.

Taj tries to prevent the Count's escape, but...

And that's how #4 ends!

Indeed!

[cjwelford-archive]

→ the green dragon apartment. closed for @sebvora

It felt weird being this bummed out, and honestly, CJ thought he would have snapped out of it by now. He was still not talking to Wren, him and Emery slyly texting each other, skirting around the topic of their sister. Unlike the elder Welford, the younger one was happy for CJ, expressing something that the lifeguard initially voiced to Seb; it was a funny story, or well, would be. And he was an adult, and Wren had no right to tell him off like that. That she wasn’t his mom.

Of course, CJ defended Wren as much as he could bear to. When the divorce happened, and their parents fled Providence Peak to focus on themselves rather than their kids, Wren was the one who stepped up. Wren was who became the parent. 

And he hated feeling like he was letting her down.

Not sure how to cope with this feeling, he had been visibly avoidant in the apartment, avoiding both Jeanie and Seb where he could. Today though, was like the universe telling him he had to face this issue sooner rather than later, as he came in from a rather taxing shift at the pool — the smell of chlorine clinging to him for dear life — just as Seb opened his bedroom door, and they stared at each other for an awkward beat or two.

“Hey dude.” He said softly, painfully aware that the dude in question was legally his husband. And for once, staring at his best friend, CJ felt like he was at a loss of what to say to him.