#law is a strategic bitch

[silversoulstardust]

love how even with the sea stone cuff off law is still willingly getting dragged around by luffy's ability, this time with luffy's arm around his shoulders bc roomed uses too much power.

sure, all for the sake of energy conservation

law complaining about the lack of space on farul (cavedish's horse) compared to moocy (luffy's bull companion from colosseum) as they race to the palace will never not be funny to me

like. i'm sorry the bull's down and the horse's not good enough for you princess do you prefer getting carried around like a damsel in distress on luffy's shoulder instead

[dykealloy]

three idiots

[sodrippy]

kidlawluffy infighting is my favourite thing in the world

[heartlilith]

Lilith - Becoming Powerful

“Lilith, or "Black Moon Lilith," is a point in your birth chart that reveals your personality's hidden or taboo parts. It indicates where you've kept your true desires secret to avoid criticism or rejection. This hidden side, often called your shadow, represents everything society considers forbidden or unacceptable.”

1st House: This is a powerful placement whether you like it or not. This placement is the embodiment of Lilith; seductive, head turning, taboo, femme fatale. To make Lilith work for you here, you need to remember not to repress your personality, you are who you are. Being yourself attracts the people that are meant to be in your life. Your ability to captivate people with your appearance alone is admirable. You’re intimidating, provocative, raw. Becoming powerful is all about knowing this and using it to your advantage. Making eye contact with others, stating your opinions unapologetically, wearing black and red clothing. Knowing that you’re that bitch!

2nd House: Lilith here is all about that money honey. Using Lilith here to become powerful can look like building up your self worth to become unwavering. You have a natural ability to get things from others if you just focus on building your self worth. You’re naturally sensual. Wearing perfume, black/red clothes (like 1st house), and clothes that compliment your body shape. Becoming powerful with Lilith in the 2nd house is investing in yourself so that others invest in you too. You are naturally a money magnet you just need the skills and confidence to fully unlock your capability.

3rd House: Lilith in the 3rd house can be a very persuasive placement. The way you communicate with others is calculated and strategic. Learning about the laws of suggestion, how to seduce, and reverse psychology would make you extremely powerful. How to talk to people in a way that reaches your desired outcome. Learning what to say and when. I’m not saying to be full on manipulative, just play the game. You’re intelligent and have a unique perspective on the way things work. Use your communication skills to become powerful and look up the laws/reverse psychology that I mentioned previously.

4th House: Lilith in the 4th house is a hard placement to have. Becoming powerful means complete separation from your family. When you leave your childhood home, you’ll become powerful. Working through your trauma and creating separation with unhealthy family members will help you. Your emotional intelligence is another way you can become powerful. Harness your ability to see right through people and use it to your advantage.

5th House: Lilith here is all about self expression. You need to be comfortable with what Lilith brings here to become truly powerful. Being comfortable with your sexual expression and using art to convey your emotions. Lilith in the 5th house is a placement that indicates a heartbreaker, they can look but they can’t touch. I think your power lies in expressing yourself totally and unapologetically. Embracing your creativity and gaining power through arts.

6th House: Unlocking your power with this placement is creating routines focused on the self. Putting yourself first and foremost always, be selfish. Everyday, create a routine that is beneficial to you; a work out routine, skin care routine, say affirmations in the mirror, getting your nails done, having a healthy diet are all things that will unlock your power. Pay no mind to your coworkers; go to work and go home, you are not there to make friends. Before helping others, help yourself - that is how to become powerful.

7th House: Another powerhouse placement. Becoming powerful with your Lilith here is using tactics to get people on your side. You’re naturally very good at persuasion, use this. In love, you can have whoever you want so choose wisely. Becoming powerful means charming others and knowing how to act and when. Using your charm can get you ahead in life, networking and creating contacts to be successful.

8th House: Lilith in the 8th house is a naturally powerful aspect. You have the ability to gain things from other people, people want to help you. Dressing up, even if you’re the slightest bit suggestive is going to help you. You don’t have to dress up like an escort or anything but using a sexy perfume, an off the shoulder outfit, high heels, things that are minimally suggestive are going to amplify your abilities to gain through others.

9th House: Your power is being able to detach from things and people. This is great. Study the law of detachment and USE IT. Your ability to detach can actually help you get what you want in life. Detachment is key. You’re not afraid to argue and stand up for your beliefs because to you, pissing people off doesn’t matter. You don’t care - detachment. Stick up for your beliefs without concern, you could very well become revolutionary.

10th House: Power placement. Similar to the 1st house, you embody Lilith. The difference is the 1st house can hide it better, the 10th house not so much. You can use your good looks and mannerisms to climb the corporate ladder. You know how to get people into the palm of your hand. Becoming powerful here is learning the tools; psychology, 48 laws of power, the power of seduction and implementing them as you see fit. Not paying attention to gossip and rumors will also make you powerful.

11th House: This is a tough placement to have. Having Lilith in the 11th house means you were probably outcasted or hurt in some way by friends or peers. Becoming powerful with this placement is working through that trauma and becoming an advocate for others. Embrace what makes you different, embrace standing out from the crowd. Becoming an advocate for others who felt that way will make you powerful, you could become a leader.

12th House: Lilith here is very useful because of your ability to hide it when necessary. Because of this, you could be popular or comfortable to be around. Having the ability to hide Lilith and then pull her out of a hat when you need to is powerful. You can be sneaky, strategic, but also walked on. Using Lilith to become powerful is knowing when you’re being taken advantage of and tricked. Becoming powerful means believing when someone shows you who they are. Pay attention to actions and not words.

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[senseofnewness]

hate, set and match

pairing : tashi duncan x female rival!reader

rating : explicit

word count : 3.3k

contains : smut 18+, bullying, name-calling, violence, fingering, homophobic slurs, internalised homophobia

summary : Before Tashi Duncan became the Duncanator, she was just a little bitch. Yet, she was YOUR little bitch.

Until that fateful summer of 2006, Tashi Duncan had barely existed in your world. 

You were both members of the same tennis club, but your paths rarely crossed. You, a year her senior, were deep into your law studies at Harvard, while Tashi was on the cusp of joining the Stanford team and competing in the Junior US Open. For you, tennis was merely a pastime. For Tashi, it was everything. 

That summer, however, she became the unexpected source of your frustrations, and suddenly, Tashi Duncan was impossible to ignore.

It all began on that one particular day when Tashi Duncan had ratted you out to the coach for smoking weed under the bleachers. She had claimed the smell was ‘bothering her’ and preventing her from concentrating. Deep down, you knew it was just an excuse to cover up her shit performance on the court.

Tashi was the club's golden girl, but you couldn't help but see all her flaws. While she was undoubtedly strategic and agile, she lacked power and aggressiveness. Her serves were weak, half-hearted attempts at dominance. There was no drive, no passion behind them, even though you knew she had it in her.

Her little act of betrayal earned you a week-long suspension from the club. And oh god, you were pissed off. Tennis was your summer sanctuary, a refuge from the weight of your family's name and the looming expectations of your future at the family law firm. On the court, all you had to do was hit the ball. And she had taken that away from you.

●

When you returned that week, a burning desire to settle the score consumed you. You wanted her to pay for what she had done.

One advantage of having the tennis prodigy as your adversary was her frequent absences for tournaments. This gave you ample opportunity to rummage through her locker. As you opened the door, her scent filled the air. A blend of cheap detergent and her overpowering girlish perfume. Your eyes landed on her racket, and a devilish smile crept across your face. She would soon learn what it felt like to be unable to play. Grabbing her spare racket, you meticulously cut through all the cross strings with pliers. Next, your gaze fell upon one of her tennis outfits, the one that accentuated her figure and made her look like a slut, showing just enough ass and thighs. With your signature lipstick retrieved from your purse, you boldly wrote SNITCH across the chest. You wanted her to know without a doubt that it was you.

●

It took several days for your scheming to come to light. Rumors swirled about her triumphant return to the club, but it was when you caught her, head bowed, scrubbing her tennis skirt in the sink with soap and water, that you knew she had realized you were now a threat.

"If you think I'm going to let you reign supreme here just because everyone worships you, you're in for a ride, bitch." You told her, your tone icy and menacing. She met your gaze in the mirror's reflection, her eyes red and brimming with unshed tears, though she refused to let them fall. Tashi Duncan didn't cry, she was too strong for that.

"Your parents must be so proud to have raised a victim like you." You continued, aiming to provoke her, and it was working. "All their hard-earned money wasted on putting a little skank like you in this club. I pity them." You sneered. It was a cruel jab, even by your standards.

"Keep my parents out of your filthy mouth, you whore." She shot back through clenched teeth. "Or what." You teased, stepping forward with your hands on your hips. Though you were only slightly taller than her, in that moment, it felt as though you were towering over her.

Tashi's fist struck first, catching your jaw with a force that sent you reeling. Staggering backward, you felt the impact of her next blow as it split your lip open, flooding your mouth with the taste of blood. Adrenaline surged through you, fueling a desperate grasp for control as you seized Tashi's hair and delivered a retaliatory punch squarely to her eye.

Amid the chaos, the coach's commanding voice cut through the air, demanding an immediate end to the fight. Strong hands intervened, forcibly separating you and Tashi, both of you breathing heavily and glaring at each other with intense animosity. Your split lip throbbed painfully while Tashi sported a bruised and swelling eye.

As you stood apart, restrained by the coach's firm grip, a bitter satisfaction washed over you. "Oh no, poor girl." You taunted, restrained but defiant. "Your parents are going to be so disappointed in you." The coach's hold tightened, preventing any further escalation.

Deep down, jealousy flickered within you as you watched Tashi leave the room, tears finally streaming down her face. Her family's support and concern were envious, a stark contrast to the indifferent distance of your own. They would notice her pain while yours would likely go unnoticed. Tashi's parents believed she was worth better than that, while your own expected nothing less from you.

●

The punishment this time around seemed less severe than your first offense. Perhaps it was because Tashi Duncan, with all her talent, was involved, and losing her from the club, even temporarily, would be a significant blow. Now, you were both compelled to team up and train together every day in an effort to ease the conflict until the end of the season.

"I can't believe I'm stuck playing with a loser like you." You complained as you stretched on the court, eyeing Tashi on the other side as she counted the balls. "Shut up." She muttered, her eyes still showing the lingering effects of your recent altercation. "You really need to work on those backhands." You couldn't resist needling her. "Even my grandma plays better than you."

"What's wrong with my backhands?" Tashi retorted, her eyes flashing with defiance. “They lack fire.” You replied, meeting her glare with calm determination. “We all know you love tennis, but you’re not showing us how much it means to you.” Were you really trying to help Tashi Duncan? Sometimes your brain worked in mysterious ways and even you didn’t understand your own motives. “It’s worked well enough so far.” She shot back with a confident shrug, a proud smile curling her lips. “That's because you’ve never played against someone who’s willing to risk it all.” You said, stepping to the baseline and preparing to serve. 

The ball flew across the net, a blur of speed and precision. Tashi lunged, her racket connecting with a sharp crack. The back-and-forth began, each stroke echoing with intensity as you both fought for dominance. But as the game progressed, it became clear that something was shifting. Tashi’s shots, though technically flawless, lacked the raw intensity needed to overpower you. Your serves were relentless, your returns fierce and calculated. A drop shot brought her scrambling to the net, and a powerful backhand sent her scrambling to the baseline. She was losing ground, point by point, her earlier confidence fading. With a final, decisive serve, you clinched the match. Tashi stood there, breathless and stunned, her racket dangling at her side. "COME ON!" You exclaimed, throwing your arms up in triumph. Her startled reaction to your outburst drew a derisive snort from you.

●

Three weeks into being partners with Tashi, you could already see her grasping the essentials. Perhaps it was the influence of playing against you, but her serves now carried a ferocity unlike anything she had shown before. Lately, you two were spending most of your time together. A part of you was driven to mold her into a true champion, perhaps even living vicariously through her. You had shared all your tricks and techniques with her, ensuring she wielded them with precision. The hours spent together were beginning to blur the lines, to the point where outsiders might have mistaken your growing bond for something more than just a competitive partnership.

"Move already, I need to shower." You shouted through the shower curtain. "I'm not done." Tashi yelled back defiantly. You sighed and kicked the curtain open, revealing a naked Tashi trying to cover herself with her hands. She was exasperatingly beautiful, resembling Botticelli's The Birth of Venus. She quickly turned around, her long, wet hair falling down her back in an irritatingly perfect cascade.

"Is your ass so big that it takes you half an hour to wash it?" You remarked, eyeing her body. Her bottom was infuriatingly flawless, drawing your gaze. She turned back, hands now covering her bottom, fully exposed to you. Her petite breasts adorned her chest with a graceful symmetry, accentuating her figure. Your gaze traced the curve from her erect nipples down to the dark curls between her legs. She remained silent, allowing your gaze to sear every inch of her flesh.

With your eyes fixed on her, you pressed the soap dispenser and began lathering your body with the liquid. As you slid your hand between your legs, using the soap as a pretext to touch yourself and ease the tingling sensation in your core, you realized it wasn't sufficient. You yearned to touch her, to explore her body, to discover if she felt the same burning heat inside as you did.

Your hand moved towards her, slipping between her legs, your fingers caressing her folds. Her skin was smooth and moist. Slowly, you eased your index finger inside her, simultaneously rubbing her sensitive nub with your thumb. Your touch sent shivers up Tashi's spine, causing her to arch her back and press further into the caresses. She clutched tightly at your shoulders, bracing herself as you continued to explore her depth.

You were in total control of Tashi Duncan, free to indulge in whatever pleased you. In that moment, with her eyes closed in bliss, you sensed her unwavering trust. As you continued to tease her clit, you gently inserted a second finger inside her. The sounds she made were unlike the powerful grunts she emitted during matches. Instead, they were breathy, high-pitched, and… divine.

You were now exploring her with your fingers, your index and middle fingers skillfully positioned to stimulate the sensitive area behind her clit, while you continued to fondle it externally. You moved your fingers skillfully inside her, while Tashi practically rode your hand, her hips matching the rhythm of your strokes.

A loud moan escaped her lips as you felt her pulse around your fingers. She opened her eyes, locking her gaze with yours. In that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you.

When Tashi leaned in for a kiss, you instinctively stepped back, letting go of her. "What are you doing? I'm not a dyke." You blurted out. Touching Tashi Duncan was one thing, but allowing her to touch you was entirely different. You withdrew your hand from her warmth and hurried out of the cabin, soap still frothing on your skin.

●

The next day, everyone knew about Tashi Duncan's attempt to corner you in the shower to kiss you. You had made sure of it. Of course, you conveniently omitted the part where your fingers were up her cunt. It was just a detail, after all.

"Why the fuck did you tell everyone?" Tashi stormed onto the court while you were stretching before practice, her anger palpable. "Isn't that what you are? A lesbo?" You retorted casually, shrugging. Tashi snatched her racket and began pelting balls at you. "Talk." She spoke with each strike. “About.” Strike. "Yourself." Another ball hurled with force. She served aggressively, finally diving into the game.

You swiftly grabbed your racket and attempted to return her last shot. Tashi unleashed her fury with every swing of her racket. You matched her shot for shot, but your words cut deeper than the game itself. "Carpet muncher." You sneered after a particularly fierce rally, trying to get under her skin.

Tashi's eyes flashed with rage as she dashed to return the ball, her movements swift and purposeful. The game became a relentless exchange of powerful strokes, each strike echoing the frustration between you. "Vageterian." You taunted again, your words dripping with disdain as you lunged for a drop shot. Tashi gritted her teeth, her focus unbroken as she chased down the ball. "You seem to know a lot about that for someone so straight." She remarked as she stood still in front of you, a playful edge to her voice. "What can I say, I'm an ally.” You retorted, raising your fist in mock solidarity. Tashi couldn't help bursting out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, the one who had initiated physical contact earlier, and now spent the morning calling her slurs only to proclaim yourself an ally. Her laughter was contagious, and despite your efforts to resist, you found yourself joining in. Both of you laughed so hard, clutching your bellies, that the sound reverberated through the building

●

You were both seated on the bleachers, watching another team play. Despite the earlier laughter, the atmosphere between you had reverted to its usual dynamic : that of adversaries. Taking a sip from your water bottle, you offered a measured comment. "You did better this time, but you're not quite pro material yet." A part of you considered apologizing for the name-calling, knowing it had provoked a charged response from her. Yet, you hesitated. Apologies were unfamiliar territory for you, you had never offered one before, unsure of how to admit fault when it mattered.

"I'm going to Stanford anyway." Tashi replied, her tone determined. "You're not going pro?" You asked incredulously. Another talent wasted. She shook her head and took a bite of her protein bar. "Of course not." You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "You're incapable of making wise career decisions.” You jabbed your finger at her.  “Let me tell you, all you’re gonna do is end up as someone's wife, playing tennis at the country club." The words echoed strangely like the future you had envisioned for yourself. "What about you?" Tashi shot back. "Tennis is just for fun." You retorted dismissively. "A real future awaits me." You paused, then added with a hint of superiority. "It would be embarrassing to make a living out of something even a dog can do : running after a ball."

●

When Tashi had come back from the championship victorious, everyone had welcomed her like a hero. Everyone except you.

It would have been out of character to go out of your way to congratulate her. You had watched the match on TV and observed Tashi's transformation into a woman. Yet, a lingering sensation persisted that Tashi Duncan had embodied you on that court. From the powerful strikes to the loud scream, she had become you. You, if you weren’t afraid of stepping out of your comfort zone. You, if you had the courage to reveal your true self to your parents.

You waited for a moment alone on the court with Tashi to broach the subject of the match. The first few points played out with a tense exchange between you, each shot meticulously calculated and executed. "Saw you destroyed Mueller. For once, I wasn't totally ashamed of you." You admitted between serves. She responded with a smile, one of those smiles that simultaneously took your breath away and fueled your resentment toward her even further.

Tashi's shots sliced through the air with precision, keeping you on the move as you scrambled to return them. Your own strokes carried power but lacked the finesse that came so naturally to Tashi. Despite the lingering animosity between you, you couldn't help but admire her skill. "Focus on your footwork." You found yourself advising her reflexively, unable to resist offering a correction.

●

Practicing with Tashi had become a rare event. The US Open Junior champion had moved on to bigger and better things, leaving behind sessions with you. When you finally caught a sight of her, clad in a miniskirt and a white tank top that hinted at the shape of her nipples, it had been a week and a half since you last saw her.

"I heard you're seeing that Zweig kid." You blurted out in the middle of a match, a sly grin crossing your face. Tashi's name was constantly on the lips of the girls on the team, and every detail of her life was scrutinized. And to be quite honest, you found yourself paying extra attention to the whispers whenever her name came up. "Big dick, right?" The teasing edge in your voice was unmistakable, and you sensed her irritation mounting as her serves grew more erratic. "Already had him last season." You added casually, recalling the brief but intense fling. "Picking my leftovers? That's embarrassing, even for you, Duncan." Your words were calculated to provoke a reaction, hoping to ignite the same fiery rage she had shown against Mueller. In reality, Patrick wasn't exactly your leftovers. Your parents and Patrick's parents were friends from the country club, and a brief but passionate romance had blossomed between you. However, there was no love story between you, it was just a fleeting moment. But deep down, you couldn't help but think that Patrick Zweig was probably the type of guy you would be married to someday. Handsome, rich, fan of tennis and most importantly, approved by the family.

Tashi's face hardened, her grip tightening on her racket. "I don't need your crumbs." She shot back, her voice steely. You smirked, noting the flicker of anger in her eyes. "If you say so." You served again, the ball darting over the net with precision. Tashi returned it with a fierce forehand, the sound echoing across the court. The exchange intensified, but it was clear you had the upper hand. Your shots were relentless, each one a deliberate move designed to exploit her weaknesses. As the practice match continued, Tashi's frustration grew. She fought tenaciously, her movements becoming more aggressive, but she couldn't break through your defenses. You were winning, and she knew it.

With a final, powerful serve, you sealed the game. Tashi's return was wild, the ball flying out of bounds. She stood there, panting, her face flushed with exertion and frustration. With a sharp motion, she threw her racket across the court, her eyes blazing. You smirked, watching her closely. She was getting there. With a bit more practice, she might one day beat you.

●

By mid-September, summer had faded into memory, indicating the time for both of you to part ways. Your final game together was charged with intensity, the court resonating with the rhythmic thud of balls and the shuffle of sneakers. Each point was diligently played, characterized by precise serves and swift returns. Despite your usual determination to defeat Tashi, this time you consciously allowed her to claim victory with a final cross-court winner. It was a deliberate gesture, a parting gift from you to her. You wanted her to know she was the best player. That no one was better than her. "It was nice playing with you one last time." You said, offering your hand to her. She accepted the handshake, but as you withdrew, your thumb brushed the back of her hand for a lingering moment. She might not recall you as the only girl she could never defeat on the court. Instead, she would remember you as the first one who made her come. "Break a leg."

♠♣♥♦

a/n : Just a little story to put me back into the writing mood. Hope you like it. Really sorry about the use of slurs. I usually avoid it but reader is so closeted and the worst.

[multiseb21]

Your post made me want a lawyer Marc au so badddddddd

lol sorry I forgot to answer this. Now, I’m no writer, but I can definitely law school stereotype the fuck out of Marc if you want 🙂‍↕️

First and foremost, he is insane in the membrane (positive), but he is also annoying as hell when he wants to be. He is that bitch getting to class 20 minutes early on the first day to claim a seat on the first or second row, and he is a proud GUNNERRRRRRRR (annoying). That man would probably never get cold called because would have that damn hand raised ready to answer. Also, we know Mr. “Agreed, but…” is annoying, so he would be raising his hand to say shit like that in class after someone gets cold called.

1L Marc is most definitely one of the hashtag ~not here to make friends~ people. I have no doubt that he would acquire all of the A+ outlines for exams from 2Ls or 3Ls (real recognizes real), but he would gatekeep the FUCKKKKKKKK out of those great outlines. We all know that little shit loves mind games, so I could see him fucking with people by sending them an outline with strategically-placed incorrect info. Based on this convo with Alex [x], he would most definitely be that annoying fucker walking out of an exam talking about how easy it was (it was not easy in the slightest).

Work/life balance in law school is ass; HOWEVER, there are still some fun times. Marc Marquez, you would love shaking your ass after hitting up the open bar at Barrister’s Ball aka law school prom. His ass would probably be living it up at bar review (events put on for law students to let loose…obviously at a bar). Karaoke and Halloween bar reviews specifically. Enough said.

Crucially, law school is a cesspool and everybody is dating/hooking up with everybody (so I’m not saying he would suck and fuck his way through it but I’m also not not saying that)

Finally, his annoying ass would prob run for Student Bar Association President and win…as only a 2L. I hate his ass. Anyway, he def ends up going big law after graduation. Uhhhhhhh enjoy.

[buddie-buddie]

we will find a way (through the dark)

9.2k - t - ao3 In which President Evan Buckley is kidnapped and Secret Service Agent Eddie Diaz falls apart.

This whole Wyoming trip was a bad idea. Eddie had said as much when the travel plans first crossed his desk. Buck, to his credit, had agreed. Neither one of them seemed to understand why a speech at an hour-long ceremony warranted a three-day trip, but that ship had apparently long since sailed.

“What’s there to do in Wyoming anyway?” Buck had asked one of his advisors. “Can’t I just fly in for the ceremony and leave as soon as it’s over?” 

Eddie thought that was a brilliant idea. The less time they had to spend away from the White House– the less time they had to spend in Wyoming, of all places– the better. 

Unfortunately, Buck’s team was prepared with an answer, quickly launching into some long-winded explanation full of Washington jargon like strategic and good faith and precedent-setting. It was buzzword salad, as far as Eddie was concerned. 

The way Buck’s eyes seemed to glaze over as they spoke indicated he felt the same. 

Buck going anywhere other than the White House or Camp David is already less than ideal, and heading to some rural area of Wyoming, where there’s bad reception, limited resources, and guns outnumber people 4:1 is pretty much Eddie’s personal hell. 

Now that they’re here, his feelings haven’t exactly changed. His team is incredible, as is the entirety of the Secret Service. They’ve been hard at work clearing buildings, mapping travel routes, surveilling, and filling the gaps left by the less-than ideal amount of local law enforcement support they’ve been provided. 

They’ve been here for a day and a half now, and while Eddie still isn’t feeling great about the trip, he’s no longer walking around with “resting bitch face so severe it might get stuck that way,” as Buck had so lovingly pointed out when Air Force One had first landed. 

Tensions had managed to grow since their arrival, which Eddie knew could be attributed to Buck’s overall frustration with this trip in the first place. A frustration Eddie shared, tenfold. 

Buck was exhausted after a particularly busy week, spread thinner than he had been in recent memory. Thinner than Eddie thought possible. And yet, somehow, even after all these years, Buck still manages to surprise him. 

The night before they were set to leave Washington, Eddie had brought up the idea of postponing the trip. It had been a long, draining week and to add a few days of travel on top of it felt like a cruel and unusual punishment, at least as far as Eddie was concerned. It physically pained him to see Buck so stressed, exhaustion materializing in the bags under his eyes, in the dark circles that cast an unwelcome shadow across his face. 

When Buck didn’t go for that, Eddie suggested shortening it to one day instead of three. He was met with protest, insistence that he’d rather go and be miserable than change his plans and disappoint his constituents. Buck had stopped for a minute, his half-packed suitcase in front of him, and promised that when they got home, he’d stay in bed for a whole day. 

“I’ll allow it,” Eddie had said, wrapping his arms around Buck from behind and dropping a kiss to his temple. 

“I have one condition,” Buck said, relaxing into Eddie’s arms, melting into his touch. 

“Let’s hear it,” Eddie murmured against Buck’s ear.  

“You,” Buck said, pausing and tipping his head back in an attempt to look at Eddie. “Have to stay in bed with me.” 

Eddie grinned. He couldn’t help but squeeze Buck a little tighter, fondness unfurling in his chest. “Deal.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie nodded, turning Buck so they were pressed chest to chest, their foreheads resting against one another. “Yeah,” Eddie murmured, stealing a proper kiss. 

-

The first day of the trip goes according to plan. Buck is exhausted, and Eddie can tell he’s losing steam towards the end of the day, but he still manages to keep a warm smile on his face until they make it back to the hotel room. Eddie follows him inside, locking the door behind them as Buck heaves a sigh and sits on the edge of the bed. 

“You did well today,” Eddie says, toeing off his shoes and shrugging out of his suit jacket before crossing the room towards the bed. 

“I– I feel like you guys are smothering me.” Buck’s reply seems to startle both of them. 

Eddie tries not to take it personally. It’s not his fault there are fewer police officers in the entire state of Wyoming than there were students in his high school! Usually when they travel, local police come in to support the Secret Service. The small police population out here has meant fewer support officers than they’re used to. It left Eddie and his team feeling a little stressed, and they had come to the decision that the best way to fill the gaps and compensate for the change in routine was to increase the presence of Buck’s personal detail. 

Instead of two agents shadowing him, they bumped it to three. Instead of four agents surrounding him in open air, they’ve had six. 

Frankly, Eddie isn’t a huge fan of the change in routine, either. He’s been on edge since the second they got here. But if it means keeping Buck safe, he’ll adopt whatever changes are necessary. He might not like it, might spend all day longing for the status quo, but he’ll do it. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do if it meant keeping Buck safe. Nothing . 

“I’m sorry,” Buck and Eddie say at the same time. 

“No– no, Eddie. I’m sorry,” Buck insists, his eyes wide and searching as he holds Eddie’s gaze. “I– I don’t know where that came from. I just–” 

Eddie sits down beside him. Their knees brush, and the tension in the air dissolves immediately. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for telling me the truth,” Eddie tells him. “I’m sorry that we had to change your detail. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“There’s nothing here but open air and cows,” Buck grumbles, loosening his tie and pulling it over his head with a sigh. “Can’t we decrease it?” 

Eddie shakes his head. Annoying as it is, it’ll be a cold day in hell when he does anything that could potentially put Buck in danger. “No, baby. I’m sorry.”

Buck makes a noise halfway between a groan and a whine, flopping back onto the mattress. Eddie sighs, taking comfort in knowing that even as tired as he is, Buck hasn’t lost his personality. 

“We just have to get through another day and a half. Not even. First thing Wednesday morning, we’re on the way home,” Eddie reminds him. “And then I believe there’s a deal involving a bed and a locked door that’ll need your attention.” 

-

The following afternoon is Buck’s big speech, the whole reason for the trip in the first place. He spends 15 minutes speaking at a ceremony to honor the 100th birthday of a national park that Eddie isn’t convinced he himself had ever heard of before learning of these travel plans. As Eddie expected, Buck absolutely crushes his speech, complete with a standing ovation before he waves goodbye and heads backstage to meet up with his team. 

“Nice work,” Maddie says, beaming as Buck makes his way down the stairs, trailed by Eddie, Bobby, Chim, and Hen. He strides over to where she’s waiting with a few of his advisors and a flock of additional Secret Service agents. 

Buck lets out a deep breath, relief and gratitude shining in his eyes as he thanks her. “Now what?” he asks, accepting the bottle of water Eddie passes him with a small smile. 

“Now, you have to go get changed into something more appropriate for skeet shooting with the governor,” Maddie tells him. 

She manages to keep the grin off her face, but Chim fails, chuckling as he claps Buck on the back. “Now this, I can’t wait to see.” 

It’s a twenty minute ride in the motorcade to the rifle club, where Buck is ushered into a sitting room and promised that the governor will be with him shortly. He takes a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs, directly beneath a taxidermy buck. 

“It’s Buck-ception,” Chimney muses. Eddie grins, though it may have less to do with Chim’s bad joke and more to do with the horrified look on Buck’s face as he turns his head and sees the deer mounted directly above him.

“I miss Washington,” Buck grumbles. 

Eddie doesn’t blame him. 

Washington has the Oval Office, which is free of dead animals hanging on the walls. Washington has four times more law enforcement officers in its 70 square miles than Wyoming does in its nearly 100,000. Washington has Christopher. Washington has the Residence. Washington has their bed–– God, Eddie misses their bed. 

Washington has their best memories and some of their worst ones too, but it’s home. And while Eddie’s never felt homesick when Buck’s in reach, he finds himself longing for the city just as much as Buck is. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because the governor is striding into the sitting room and Buck is rising to his feet to shake the man’s hand. 

“Mr. President.”

“Mr. Governor,” Buck says with a warm smile. Eddie remains in awe of him– how even when he’s somewhere he doesn’t want to be, doing something he doesn’t want to do, Buck still manages to be so friendly, so genuine. He still manages to share the best parts of himself.  “Thanks for having me.”

The governor returns Buck’s smile. “Pleasure’s mine.” He leads Buck down a hallway to a private locker room, Eddie, Bobby, and Chim trailing behind them alongside the Governor’s security. The Governor motions for Buck to use the room on the left before heading into the room on the right himself.

Chim stands to the left of the door while Bobby walks through the room, returning a moment later with a nod to signal that it’s empty and safe for Buck to enter. He steps into position, standing on the right hand side of the door as Eddie moves to follow Buck inside. 

“I think I can handle this by myself, guys.” Buck motions to the bag in his hand. Eddie tries not to take it personally. He knows Buck is feeling overwhelmed. He said as much last night. And yet, there’s still a pang of rejection at Buck’s words. But he shoves it down, nods, and steps to the side, as much as he hates the idea of Buck being out of their sight. 

But it’s only for a minute. They’re in a building that’s crawling with agents, and this is a private room– Eddie remembers as much from when he saw the building’s plans during his briefing this morning. There are no exterior doors, no doors that connect to other rooms. Just a small changing area connected to a private bathroom. And Buck is only getting changed out of his suit and into whatever sort of skeet shooting attire Maddie put into the bag that’s slung across his shoulder. 

He’ll only be a minute. 

The Governor reappears a few minutes later, his own suit traded for a flannel shirt and a dark khaki vest with matching pants tucked into calf-high boots.

Eddie catches the way Chim’s eyes light up, already anticipating Buck’s getup. He shoots him a look, silently begging him to behave. 

They wait for another minute before Eddie starts to get antsy. He has no idea what could possibly be taking Buck so long. He’s pretty efficient when he gets dressed in the morning, only slowing down to swap lazy kisses with Eddie as they move around the walk-in closet at the same time. That and tying his tie. But Eddie’s out here in the hallway and he’s hard pressed to believe Maddie would pack him a necktie for an afternoon at the rifle club. 

Something must be wrong. 

Eddie steps forward, knocking on the door. “Mr. President, all good?” He waits with bated breath for Buck’s answer, only it doesn’t come. 

“Mr. President?” Eddie tries again, more insistent this time. Again, no response. 

He looks between Chim, Bobby, the Governor, and the two state troopers trailing the Governor, concern written across all five of their faces. 

Fuck. 

Eddie doesn’t waste another second. 

The door is unlocked, but there’s something blocking it. He’s able to twist the knob and push it open, but it only goes a few inches before he’s met with resistance. He slams his shoulder into the door, using all of his weight to push it open far enough that he can make it through. 

A leather-trimmed bench has been dragged over from the middle of the changing area, if the dents in the carpet are any indication of where it once sat. It was shoved in front of the door, clearly meant to slow down anyone trying to make their way inside. Buck’s suit jacket is in a pile on the floor, just beside his dress pants and shoes. His bag lays sideways on the floor, a pair of olive green pants hanging out of the opening. 

His white button-down is in the middle of the floor, stained red with what can only be blood. 

There’s a lot of blood. Too much blood. 

A trail of it starting in the middle of the room, leading out through a wide-open window. 

Shit. 

There are bloody footprints on the carpet. Three pairs in the middle of the floor – two made by shoes and one made by bare feet. By the window, there are only two pairs. Both shoes. They dragged him out. 

The realization burns in Eddie’s chest, nearly breaks him. They dragged him out. 

How did they all miss this? How did none of them hear it? Eddie thinks he might be sick.

Behind him, he hears Bobby radioing in a mayday and calling for a total lockdown. He hears boots in the hallway, voices echoing in his earpiece. The Governor’s saying something, the state troopers, too.

But he can’t focus on any of that. Not when Buck is gone. 

No, not gone. 

Taken. 

The worst of it is the tiny black rectangle in the corner of the room. Buck’s panic button. Eddie beelines toward it, dropping down to get a better look. It’s still intact, which has Eddie trying to wrap his head around why Buck didn’t hit it– it must’ve been in his hand at some point if it made it all the way out of his pocket and across the room. Why didn’t he hit it?

He’s careful not to put any fingerprints on it, pulling a pen out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and using it to flip the thing over. He’s not ready for the sight of the bloody fingerprint, just to the left of the button itself. It trails off, as if the device was knocked out of Buck’s hand before he could get his finger onto the button. 

But he tried. 

Something about that makes it even worse.

-

“Talk to me,” Eddie says, walking into the sitting room, which has since become, for all intents and purposes, Secret Service headquarters. 

He just got off the phone with the director, briefing him on what had gone down. It’s been fourteen minutes since Eddie breached the door to the locker room and they discovered Buck had been taken. Closer to eighteen minutes since Buck entered the locker room in the first place. The pit in Eddie’s stomach grows steadily with each passing minute. He’s desperate for an update– a real update. Not just “Yeah, he’s definitely gone,” which had been the latest one a few minutes ago, before Eddie stepped out to call the director and try to tamp down the rage burning within him before it consumed him. 

“We have footage,” Bobby says, looking up at Eddie from behind a laptop screen. He’s sitting in the same oversized leather chair Buck had been in before, the stupid taxidermy buck above his head. 

God, what Eddie would do to go back to that moment. The things he would change. The things he could prevent. 

“Let me see,” Eddie says. Bobby hesitates, one hand on the laptop screen, as if to shield Eddie from view. 

“Eddie,” Bobby begins. “I just watched it. I think–” His voice is gentle and sympathetic in a way that has Eddie feeling absolutely terrified. 

“No,” Eddie insists. He can hear the hysteria starting to creep into his voice. He clears his throat, takes a quick breath. “Let me see.”

Bobby hesitates once more, but Eddie steps up next to him, standing over his shoulder and staring down at the screen. Reluctantly, Bobby hits play. 

It’s from an exterior camera, one that had a perfect view of two men dragging Buck out of the locker room window. Eddie stands there fuming, his blood boiling beneath his skin as he sees Buck, covered in blood, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a strip of tape across his mouth. 

He kicks and claws, thrashing around as they pull him out of the open window and throw him in the back of a waiting golf cart. It has a miniature flatbed in the back, and one of the men jumps in beside Buck, locking his legs around him and holding a hand over his mouth to keep him still and quiet. 

The other man throws a tarp over the both of them, concealing them from view, before jumping in the driver’s seat and speeding off. 

And then they’re gone. 

Eddie can’t breathe. Buck is gone– taken – on his watch. He’s out there somewhere, barefoot and covered in blood and at the mercy of the two animals who just dragged him through a window right under Eddie’s nose and Eddie can’t fucking breathe. His chest is tight and his head is heavy and everything hurts. He can’t– 

“Eddie,” Bobby’s voice sounds far away, too distant to be coming from the man standing directly beside him. “Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie can’t get the words out. Can’t get the air in. Can’t do anything except stand here as his world falls apart and stammer out a broken,  “They– I– I can’t–”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice is even where Eddie’s wavers, smooth where Eddie’s grates against the lump in his throat. But the fire in his eyes burns just as furiously as the one in Eddie’s. The undercurrent of anger that Eddie can sense coming off of him is just as intense as the one thrumming beneath his own skin. 

And something about that is more comforting than the evenness of his voice ever could be. 

“We’re going to get him back,” Bobby says, matter-of-fact. There’s no room for interpretation, no doubt behind his words. 

“He’s… Bobby, I– I don’t–” 

“He needs you,” Bobby says, his voice low. Quiet enough that it doesn’t draw the attention of the other agents coming in and out of the room, but loud in all the ways that matter. Keep it together , is what Bobby doesn’t say out loud. Keep it together for him. And fall apart later. 

Eddie hears it all the same. 

He nods, managing to get a shaky breath. And then another one. The heat behind his eyes eases up, the pressure in his head and the burn in his chest ebbing away with each additional breath. Not all the way, but it’s enough. 

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder, squeezes reassuringly in a way that has Eddie’s chest aching for an entirely different reason. 

And then Hen is running into the room, waving a sticky note in her hand. “I got a plate.” 

“Let me have it,” Eddie says. Bobby, to his credit, doesn’t protest as Eddie grabs the laptop out from in front of him and pulls up the database. 

Hen reads off the plate number and Eddie types it in. The system shows a match immediately. He pulls up the driver’s ID and his heart skips in his chest. That’s the same guy from the security video, the one driving the cart away. He’s sure of it. 

If the way Bobby stiffens beside him is any indication, he’s sure of it, too. They share a small nod, and Eddie sends a silent prayer of thanks to every God he can think of before keying his radio. “All agents, be advised, we have an ID on one of our suspects. Dixon Allan, age 31. Driving a white Silverado with a busted left tail light. BOLO is going out now.” 

“Last known address on our friend Mr. Allan is 129 Fox Hollow Road,” Bobby says, looking between Eddie, Chim, and Hen. 

“Well, let’s pay him a visit,” Eddie says. 

-

Eddie kills the Suburban’s engine three doors down from the house. The road has a more suburban feel to it than many of the streets Eddie’s seen since they first arrived two days ago. And yet, despite the paved streets and the houses close together, there’s not a single streetlight on the entire block. Though that’ll work in their favor. The sun is quickly setting, leaving them with only a few more minutes’ worth of daylight before the street is completely blanketed in darkness.

Another two cars pull up behind him, all of the agents careful to close their doors quietly and move silently as they head over to Eddie’s car.

Eddie swaps his suit jacket for a kevlar vest, rolling the sleeves of his white button-down up his forearms as Bobby steps up beside him, clad in his own vest. 

“Eddie.” Bobby says, the fear on his face giving way to something softer, more compassionate. “I can go in first.” 

Eddie’s chest squeezes, the onslaught of emotion catching him completely off guard. 

“We have no idea what we’re walking into,” Bobby says, the compassion from his face bleeding into his voice and softening the razor-sharp edge of the truth behind his words. 

“I know,” Eddie says solemnly. He knows Bobby is trying to protect him, offering to be the first one in, the first one to see whatever it is these animals have done with Buck. To Buck. 

But what Bobby must not realize is that this – whatever it is they’re walking into – is what Eddie deserves. He’s the one who let Buck into that locker room alone. He’s the one who waited too long to breach the door and get inside. He’s the one who failed. He failed his country, failed his people. Failed Buck. 

And whatever horror scene they’re about to walk in on, Eddie deserves every second of it. He can’t put that on Bobby. Not when all of this is his fault. 

“I’ll lead,” Eddie says, the words scratching against the lump in his throat. 

He’s saved from having to say anything more about it when his earpiece beeps, signaling an incoming communication. “All agents, be advised. SWAT is eleven minutes out.” 

It’s Eddie’s boss, the director of the Secret Service. The unspoken words there are Wait for them. Which Eddie has no plans of doing. 

Eddie keys his radio. “We’re moving in.”

“Special Agent Diaz––”

“Do you have any idea what can happen in eleven minutes?” Eddie demands. He gives zero regard to the reprimand he’s bound to get for interrupting his boss– and over the team comms for everyone else to hear, no less. “What they could do to him?”

“Stand down and wait for SWAT,” the director says. “That’s an order.”

“I don’t give a damn if it costs me my badge!” Eddie hisses, careful not to raise his voice to the point of giving away their position. “It’ll be on your desk first thing tomorrow if that’s how it has to be. But I’m going in there and getting my President. And I’m not waiting eleven minutes to do it.” 

The comms are silent for a beat before Eddie keys his radio one more time. “Respectfully, Sir.”

“I would never ask any of you to disobey–” Eddie’s voice trails off as he turns to face his team,  only to find them all in their vests, their weapons drawn. They’re ready to go.

“We know,” Hen says. 

Eddie tries again, shoving down the ball of emotion that’s started unfurling in his chest. “No one is under any obligation to–”

Chim cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all consenting adults here. Now, let’s go get our President back.”

Eddie nods. “Clip your lights on,” he tells them. “Stay light on your feet and wait for my signal.”

He’s met with a round of nods, each of the agents fastening their flashlights onto the top of their guns. As they’re walking down the sidewalk, approaching the house, his earpiece beeps again. 

“Be advised, SWAT recommends breaching at the alpha side.” 

Eddie knows that’s as close to a “You were right and I was wrong” as they’re ever going to get. He’ll take it. 

At least his badge is safe.

“Copy,” Eddie replies. He directs the agents to different sides of the house, approaching the front door with Bobby, Hen, and Chim on his heels. He glances back at them, and once he sees they’re all ready, he turns to the door and kicks it in.

The lights are off, the entire house swathed in a darkness that feels somewhat fitting for the gravity of the situation. Eddie steps over the threshold gun first, feet second. 

His stomach drops as he looks around. He freezes, the beam from his flashlight locked in place. His breath catches in his throat and from somewhere behind him, he can hear Bobby’s do the same. 

The front door opens up into a small entryway, just large enough for a coat rack and a small table pushed up against the wall, holding nothing but a single set of keys– no doubt belonging to the white Silverado parked out front, the same one they used to flee the scene– and a layer of dust Eddie can see from several feet away. Directly ahead is an open door that leads to what looks like the kitchen. To the left, a hallway. 

There are cobwebs in the corners and dust on the floor. The house is cold– too cold for anyone to be living here comfortably. But that’s not what has Eddie’s blood running cold, alarm bells going off in his head as he fights against the fire in his chest to get a clean breath. 

There, on the hallway wall, set clearly against the white paint, is a bloody handprint. 

Beside it, another one. This one messier than the first, the fingerprints trailing away, down the hallway, as if their owner dragged them across the wall. 

As if their owner was dragged. 

Not without a fight, though, if the fingernail scratches in the wall are any indication.  

“Jesus,” Chimney mutters. His voice is empty, hollow in a way Eddie’s never heard it before. Almost as if he’s shut off his emotions, tamped them down in the way Eddie so desperately wishes he was capable of doing himself. 

“Let’s move,” Eddie says, pushing the words past the fear that’s materialized by way of a lump in his throat.

He heads down the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest as his eyes scan the trail of blood and scratches on the wall. The need to find Buck is the only thing more powerful than the rage burning deep inside him. It’s the only thing keeping him moving forward, keeping him from falling apart.

The intensity of the blood against the wall trails off the further he gets down the hallway, the heavy, robust marks fading into barely-there traces with each step Eddie takes. He tries to take comfort in knowing that it means Buck wasn’t actively bleeding– at least not from his hands– but any shred of relief is lost to the fear and the fury dangerously close to consuming him.   

The trail ends at the second door on the right. Eddie holds up his free hand in a silent signal to his team to freeze. The quiet footsteps behind him come to a halt, and he turns his head to see Bobby beside him. 

The anguish in his eyes has Eddie feeling like he’s looking in a mirror. Bobby has the same clenched jaw, the same creased forehead, the same fire burning behind his eyes that Eddie feels in his own. But there’s something more there. Something softer. At first, Eddie isn’t sure what to make of it. Then, Bobby nods his head towards the door, a silent offer. 

I’ll go first. 

He doesn’t have to say it out loud–– Eddie hears the unspoken words loud and clear. He knows it’s Bobby’s last attempt to protect him. To shield him from whatever might be behind the door.

Later, he’ll let himself feel the gratitude. Later, once Buck is home and Buck is safe. 

Later, he’ll find Bobby and he’ll thank him. He’ll tell him that he’s never had anyone care about him in the way that Bobby does. He’ll tell him how much the seemingly simple gesture meant to him. How he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget it. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby how even though it meant the world to him– maybe even more– he couldn’t take him up on the offer. He hopes Bobby will understand. No, he knows he will. 

Later, he’ll tell Bobby “I had to do it.” And later, Bobby will smile and clap him on the shoulder and say “No, I know you did.” Later. Once this is all over. 

But now, all Eddie can do is meet Bobby’s eyes and hope the look he gives him is enough to say all the things he can’t right now. 

And then he moves. 

The door is locked. Eddie wastes no time kicking it open. It slams against the wall, the hinges rattling as he barrels into the room, Bobby and Chimney immediately behind him. 

The room is dark, illuminated only by the beams of their flashlights. There’s a startled whimper from the far corner, and it’s a miracle that Eddie hears it over the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

“Buck!” Eddie crosses the room in three strides. Protocol says he needs to clear the room of any potential threats before entering, but he’s long past the point of giving a single damn about protocol. 

Someone behind him shouts out a “Clear!” and he hears Bobby on the radio, updating the other agents on scene. 

None of that matters to him. His sole focus is Buck. 

Buck, who’s sitting in front of him, eyes wide and wet even in the bright light of Eddie’s flashlight. He’s on the floor in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest. His hands are bound behind his back and there’s tape over his mouth. His captors are nowhere to be seen. He’s alone. 

For reasons Eddie can’t quite name, that makes the knots in his stomach coil even tighter. Buck was alone in here. Buck, who hasn’t been alone– not really, anyway– in years. Buck, who just minutes before being taken had insisted he’d be fine by himself. 

Sure, the alternative is that Buck’s captors could’ve been in here with him, doing god-knows-what to him. And that’s hardly better than Buck being left in here alone. But something about the sight of him all by himself, tucked in the corner of the room and looking smaller than Eddie’s ever seen him, has Eddie’s stomach turning, his chest squeezing beneath the agony of it all. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Eddie promises, easing one corner of the tape up. He’s not sure if that last part is true. Not yet. But it needs to be.

“We’re here, we got you.” That part is true. They have him. 

Finally, finally, they have him. 

“Are you hurt?” Eddie asks. He can barely stand the half-second of wait time between his second and Buck’s reply, which comes by way of a quick head shake. No. 

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief, just as his radio beeps in his ear. “All agents be advised, we have both suspects in custody.” 

Eddie lets out a sound that’s halfway between a sigh and a sob. The relief is palpable, coursing through him and soothing the frayed edges of what little remains of his sanity.

“We got them,” he tells Buck. “It’s over.” 

Buck nods, eyes still shining in a way that feels like a knife to Eddie’s heart. “Gonna take this off, okay?” Eddie says, working hard to keep his voice calm and even. Buck nods eagerly. Bobby is there too, kneeling down at Buck’s side and starting in on the ropes wrapped around his wrists. 

Eddie brings one hand up to the side of Buck’s face, and his chest squeezes at the way Buck immediately melts into the touch. He pulls the tape off with his other hand, dropping it to the ground as soon as it’s off. 

Bobby gets the rope off at the same time and Buck collapses like a puppet whose strings have just been cut, falling into Eddie’s chest with a strangled noise that Eddie knows he’ll be hearing in his nightmares for years to come. 

“I got you,” Eddie says, fighting off a sob he can feel building in his chest. He swallows it down and brings a hand up to the nape of Buck’s neck, holding him close. “I got you.”

Buck’s chest heaves as he draws in a shaky breath, fingers wound so tightly in Eddie’s suit jacket that his knuckles have gone white. “I got you,” Eddie says again. It’s just as much for Buck as it is for himself. 

He holds Buck as close as he possibly can, buries his face in his hair and finally takes a deep breath for the first time in hours. His hair smells like sweat and blood, but underneath it all there’s still the familiar minty fragrance of Buck’s fancy conditioner. It’s barely recognizable, but Eddie clings to it just as hard as he holds onto Buck.

Bobby backs off, gives them a moment to hold each other, to breathe. To let it sink in that this nightmare is finally over. Eddie’s gratitude knows no bounds.

“I– I’m sorry.” Buck’s voice is ragged, trembling in the same way his hands are. 

Eddie’s heart breaks all over again. 

“Shh,” Eddie shushes him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-I told you… I told you not to–” Buck stammers. Eddie eases him back, putting just enough distance between them that he can take Buck’s face in his hands. 

“Buck, please–” It’s all Eddie manages to get out before his voice cracks, hot tears stinging his eyes, threatening to spill over. 

He blinks them back, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Buck’s. “I’m sorry I left you,” he says, his voice wavering. He could apologize every day, every hour, every minute for the rest of his life and it still could never be enough. “I shouldn’t have listened, I should– I should have insisted.”

Buck shakes his head. “This is not your fault.”

“It is,” Eddie insists. “It is, I– I should have…” His sentence trails off when he registers the way Buck is shaking. He’s trembling in Eddie’s arms, his whole body fighting against what Eddie assumes is a combination of an adrenaline crash and the fact that he’s still barely clothed. Eddie lets go of Buck only long enough to stand up. Quick as their lack of contact may be, it’s still met with a sound of protest from Buck. Eddie helps him to his feet, and it’s the first time he gets a proper look at him, and it takes his breath away. There’s dried blood all over him. It’s caked onto his skin, his hair. It’s beneath his fingernails, stuck in the creases of his palms. Sweat-damp curls are plastered against his forehead, and dark circles hang beneath his weary eyes. 

“Come on,” Eddie says gently. He wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, taking on his weight as he leads him towards the door. 

He keys his radio with his free hand. “All agents be advised, I’m bringing POTUS out. Need medical on standby.”

“No medical,” Buck protests. “I– I’m fine. Just need a shower.” 

“Yes, medical,” Eddie shuts that nonsense down immediately. He leads him out the door and towards the waiting ambulance. 

Maddie is the first one to reach them, running over as soon as she sees them cross the threshold. She meets them halfway across the front lawn, pulling Buck into a tight hug. She’s the only person on Earth for whom Eddie would let go of his hold on Buck, and he doesn’t mind stepping back and letting them have a moment together. Eddie can’t make out what she says to Buck, but if the way his shoulders sag is any indication, it’s exactly what he needed to hear.

-

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks. Buck is sitting on the back of the ambulance, Eddie directly next to him. Buck’s head is resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie finally, finally feels like he’s able to breathe again. Buck is dressed in Secret Service issued sweats, a navy blue crewneck sweatshirt and matching pants. Hen had been quick to bring them over as soon as they made it out of the house, and Eddie’s not sure who was more grateful– him or Buck. 

Eddie was quick to help Buck into them, hoping they’d help to fight against the chill in the night air. He had grabbed a rescue blanket off the back of the ambulance, too, and draped that over Buck’s shoulders in an attempt to get him as warm as possible.

“I– I promise,” Buck says, voice still a little wobbly. “My, uh, my wrists are a little sore. That’s all.” 

“And your head,” Eddie reminds him. 

“And my head,” Buck agrees. 

There’s a small gash on Buck’s forehead, just above the spot where his birthmark kisses his eyebrow. It’s no bigger than an inch wide, and there’s an angry bruise already blooming across the skin behind it. The paramedics already cleaned it and applied a steri-strip, and Eddie was able to find a tiny bit of comfort in the knowledge that it wouldn’t need stitches. 

That tiny bit of comfort was immediately chased away by rage when Buck explained that one of his captors had accidentally smacked his head against the window frame when dragging him out of the locker room, hence the injury. “It’s weird,” Buck had said, both to Eddie and to the paramedics as they tended to the wound. “He apologized. It was like… I– I don’t know. I almost feel like they didn’t want to hurt me.” 

Buck had also said that they dumped him in the room, tied his hands behind his back, and left him alone almost immediately. They didn’t hurt him, didn’t demand information or national secrets. Didn’t make so much as a single threat. Not that they would have had much time to do so– Buck hadn’t even been there an hour by the time the Secret Service arrived.

It all certainly tracked with what Bobby was getting from Dixon, who apparently started talking before the cuffs were even fastened. Bobby had come by a few minutes before and pulled Eddie aside. Maddie was quick to swoop in and sit with Buck while Eddie was briefed. Apparently, the two idiots were hired by someone to whom the governor had an outstanding debt. They were only supposed to rough him up, but upon realizing the man they had jumped from behind was the president, they panicked and took him. How kidnapping the president of the United States was a better decision than aborting the mission and making a run for it, Eddie will never understand. But all that matters is Buck is here. He’s safe. And Eddie isn’t letting him out of his sight any time soon. Possibly ever. 

Not even to deal with Dixon and his partner. Bobby had asked if Eddie wanted to speak with either one of them before PD took them away, to which Eddie had shaken his head. “You’d be wrong to trust me alone with either one of them,” he said. 

Bobby nodded, understanding. “Why do you think I’m over here?”

“It doesn’t hurt, though,” Buck says, pulling Eddie out of his thoughts and back to the present. “My head.”

“There was a lot of blood,” Eddie reminds him. He feels sick at the thought of it, the visuals playing in his mind sending his stomach churning all over again. “It was all over the locker room. And on the walls in the house.”

“Not mine,” Buck says. “It was his. The smaller one. He tried to grab me in the locker room and I– I pushed him off. He hit his head on the corner of a locker. And then he must’ve gotten scraped up on the window, cause his arms were bleeding a lot. He got it all over me.”

Eddie remembers seeing the smaller of the two kidnappers get in the back of the golf cart alongside Buck, the visual of it seared into his mind. That would certainly explain the blood in Buck’s hair, not to mention the streaks of it across his bare body. 

“Okay,” Eddie nods, comforted by the fact that Buck seems to be alright. At least physically. And for now, he’ll let himself take solace in that. For now, that can be enough. 

He tips his head against Buck’s, their temples resting against one another as Eddie takes a shaky breath. Buck’s voice is so quiet, so small, Eddie almost misses it. “I fought back.”

“I know, baby,” he assures him, rubbing reassuring circles into Buck’s back. “I know you did. It’s over now. It’s all over.”  

-

When they get back to the hotel, Buck beelines for the bathroom, eager to shower off the blood and the sweat still caked onto his skin. Eddie fights every instinct telling him to follow Buck inside, to keep himself plastered to Buck’s side. Instead, he tries to give Buck a little bit of space, tries to wait to follow his lead, painful as it may be. He leans against the door frame and watches as Buck turns the shower on and grabs a towel off the rack. 

“Can you–” Buck says quietly, and there’s something uncertain in his voice, something almost a little bit shy, that Eddie hasn’t heard in a long time. He looks between Eddie and the shower, biting on his bottom lip. “I– I don’t… I don’t want…” His voice trails off, his question left unspoken. 

Eddie hears him anyway. Understands him perfectly, in the way he always has. “Of course.” 

He walks the rest of the way into the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and stripping out of his own clothes before helping Buck out of his. Steam fills the room as Eddie guides Buck into the shower and steers him beneath the warm spray. 

Buck closes his eyes, tips his head back against Eddie’s shoulder, his back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie wraps an arm around Buck’s waist, holding him close as the water sprays over them. Eddie can’t bear to look at it, can’t stand the sight of the water running pink as it swirls around the drain. He presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s head and closes his own eyes, taking a deep breath and allowing himself to relax into the feel of Buck pressed up against him.

“Thank you,” Buck’s voice is so small, Eddie barely hears it over the sound of the running water. “I don’t–” 

Eddie’s not sure how Buck was planning to end his sentence before his voice broke off. But it doesn’t change his answer. “It’s okay,” Eddie murmurs. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” Buck admits.

“You don’t have to be.”

He feels the sob tear its way through Buck’s chest before he hears it. Buck crumples against him, falling into Eddie’s arms as the gravity of the day’s events seems to finally hit him. 

“I’ve got you,” Eddie promises, taking on Buck’s weight and easing him onto the floor. He pulls Buck into his lap, holds him against his chest. He ignores the way the tiled floor is digging into the bottom of his thighs, and the way the water is beating on his back on the wrong side of uncomfortable. “I’m here.” 

There’s a certain weight behind his words. They hang heavier in the air between them, as if they’re suspended in the thick cloud of steam. They’re more than just an assurance. 

“I’m here,” Eddie says again. It's a promise. A pledge. And unspoken vow that he’ll never leave again. 

They stay like that for a while, until the sobs wracking Buck’s body fade into sniffles, until the water starts to turn tepid and Eddie gently eases him to his feet just long enough to wash off. He turns the water hotter and work’s Buck’s fancy shampoo into his hair, massaging his scalp and scrubbing behind his ears in the way he knows Buck loves. Eddie’s stomach turns as it rinses out pink, the last of the blood disappearing down the drain. 

He follows it with conditioner, the shower filling with its peppermint fragrance. Buck has been using this stuff for so long, Eddie feels like one of Pavlov’s dogs with the way the smell of peppermint instantly soothes him. It’s immediately grounding, and never more so than tonight, as it covers up the metallic scent of the blood washing down the drain. 

Once they’re done and all of the hot water is gone for good, Eddie detaches himself from Buck just long enough to turn the water off and grab Buck a towel, passing it to him before grabbing one for himself. As they towel off and step out of the shower, Buck’s hand finds Eddie’s wrist, holding onto him as he guides them out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. 

Buck stands over the dresser for a moment before crossing the room and pulling a t-shirt out of Eddie’s duffle bag. It’s the one he wore to bed last night, and as he turns it over in his hands, Eddie can see some of the lingering tension bleed out of his shoulders. He looks up at Eddie, who nods without hesitation. “All yours, baby.”

They make their way into bed, and Eddie relaxes instantly as Buck curls into his side. Eddie shuts the lights off and drops a kiss to the top of Buck’s head.

“Thank you for finding me,” Buck says quietly, the words muffled by Eddie’s t-shirt. But Eddie hears him loud and clear.

It feels like Eddie’s heart is splitting wide open. He wonders, briefly, if Buck is able to hear it do so from where he’s laying with his head atop Eddie’s chest. 

“Thank you for fighting,” Eddie says, running a hand through Buck’s hair. 

“I didn’t do much,” Buck replies. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You did more than you realize. You fought back, you…” he takes a breath, clears his throat as he searches for the right words. “You bought us time. You fought to make it out of there. You… you gave me– you gave us hope. We needed that.”

He shoves all thoughts of what might have happened if Buck hadn’t fought out of his mind and instead tries to focus on this, on being here with Buck. He tries to focus on the feel of Buck curled up against him, tucked into his side like they’re two puzzle pieces slotting into place. Like the two of them were made for each other.

Eddie likes to think they were.

Buck’s eyes are shining as he props himself up on his elbow, looking at Eddie properly. 

Eddie continues. “Even in our worst moments, we still make a pretty good team.” 

Buck smiles for the first time since this whole nightmare began, and the sight of it alone does more to mend Eddie’s battered heart than he ever thought possible. “You think so?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “I know so.”

"You know what could have stopped them even sooner?" Buck asks, a mischievous glint in his eye. He’s looking more and more like himself with every passing moment, something for which Eddie has never been more grateful.

Eddie knows exactly where this is going. "We're still not giving you a gun. Nice try."

Buck lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “But what about a really sharp knife?”

"So you can end up with an accidental self-inflicted stab wound?” Eddie asks. “I don't think so." 

"What about…” Buck begins, his voice trailing off as he inches closer to Eddie. “A super smart…” He brushes his nose against Eddie’s. “Absurdly handsome Secret Service agent…” he drops a quick, playful kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth. “...Who carries both a gun and a really sharp knife?"

Eddie grins, only for Buck to chase it away with a long, lingering kiss. "Deal," he murmurs against Buck’s lips as they part.

"Great,” Buck leans in again, smiling against Eddie’s lips as they kiss again. “I always did like Bobby."

Eddie can feel Buck’s chuckle rumbling in his chest, and despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, he can’t help but laugh alongside him. “You’re ridiculous,” he says fondly. 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “But you love me.”

Eddie nods, stealing another kiss. “I do,” he promises. “I really, really do.”

-

Eddie wakes up slowly, a tiny, content sigh falling from his lips as he turns over and reaches for Buck. Only instead of finding his warm boyfriend, all Eddie’s fingers are met with are cold bed sheets. “Baby?” Eddie mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. He props himself up on his elbow and blinks slowly as his eyes adjust slowly to the low light. 

It’s too dark for the bed to be this empty. 

He glances over at the door to the ensuite bathroom, but there’s no light slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door. “Buck?” he calls, a little louder this time. When he doesn’t get an answer, he kicks the duvet off and swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up properly. He reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, clicking it onto the dimmest setting. It’s still enough light to have him squinting as his eyes adjust. 

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes before standing up and looking around the room.

No. 

No, no, no . Not again. 

His stomach drops, his heart slamming into his ribcage. There’s a pool of blood on the carpet, just next to Buck’s side of the bed. And a trail of blood across the wall, leading from Buck’s side of the bedroom all the way to the door. Five lines for five fingers, fingernail scratches chasing after the bloody smears before cutting out abruptly at the door jamb. He stumbles, nearly falling over as he scrambles towards the hallway. 

“Buck!” The scream tears its way out of his chest, shredding against his vocal cords as he yanks the door open. “BUCK!”

“Eddie.” 

He blinks his eyes open. Buck is leaning over him, his eyes shining with concern. Moonlight pours in through the open window, dancing across his face as he looks down at Eddie. “It’s okay,” Buck assures him. He runs a thumb over Eddie’s cheek, his touch instantly grounding. “You were dreaming.”

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat and tries to catch his breath. His heart hammers in his chest as he looks around, trying to get his bearings. 

They’re in bed, in the Residence. The window is open, just how Buck likes it. Buck is beside him. Buck is here. The walls are perfectly clean. No blood. No fingernail scratches. Nothing but wallpaper. 

And Buck is here. Buck is pulling Eddie into his chest, holding him and murmuring “It’s okay,” and “I got you,” and “You’re safe.” 

Buck is here. 

Eddie’s breathing begins to even out, his heart rate slowing down as he holds onto Buck, his arms wrapped tight around him. “I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes. 

“No need,” Buck says simply, as if Eddie waking him up in the middle of the night plagued with nightmares of something that happened months ago is no big deal. 

Self loathing burns in his gut. He hates that he still thinks about that awful, awful night in Wyoming. He hates that everyone else seems to have moved on, and yet there’s a part of him that’s still right there, still standing in that blood-soaked locker room. Still kicking down that door. Still finding Buck, tied up and covered in blood. 

He hates how vivid the memories are when they come. He hates how he feels like he’ll never be normal again. Like it’ll never stop hurting.

He hates the nightmares. Hates the sick, twisted dreams where he sees that bloody wall again and again and again. Hates the dread that consumes him, the darkness that lives inside him still, even now. 

He hates that it ever happened in the first place. That he ever failed Buck like that. 

Eddie remains in awe at how well Buck is doing since that terrible night. Sure, the two of them both clung to each other for the first few days after their return. And it was weeks before Eddie felt like he could breathe again anytime Buck was out of his sight. But Buck seems to be doing well.

He hasn’t been plagued by nightmares in the same way Eddie has. He doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up every time their schedules don’t line up and they have to spend a few hours apart. Not like Eddie does, anyway.

He’s doing well. 

Eddie is not.  

“Was it Wyoming again?” Buck asks after a beat. 

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat as he nods. Buck passes him a glass of water from the nightstand. It makes something in Eddie’s chest ache. 

Buck is so good to him, so in tune. He always knows exactly what Eddie needs, always before Eddie knows it himself. Eddie could live a million lifetimes and still never find the one in which he’s worthy of being loved by Buck. 

“Y-Yeah,” Eddie says, his throat feeling better after downing half the glass of water. “I woke up and you had been taken again.” 

Buck sighs. “Oh, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie is quick to say.

“For what?” Buck asks.

Eddie sighs, setting the glass down. “Everything,” he admits. 

“Eddie,” Buck says gently, placing a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezing reassuringly. “Stop being sorry for that.”

“But I–”

“You came and got me,” Buck says, cutting him off. “Like you always do.”

“I always will.”

Buck smiles, and still, even after all this time, it’s the most beautiful smile Eddie’s ever known. “I’ve never doubted that.”

[captaincapsicle83]

The Avenger

The Avengers Initiative

Masterlist

Previous Part

Part 3

Setting: New York, 2011

You had been here before.

Okay, not here here. That wasn’t the truth. You had never been here, to this facility, but you had been here, in this moment. About a year ago, actually, when you first met Tony Stark.

A woman, who had brown hair and felt twice as threatening as Pepper had, is leading you through a hallway, a long one with tiled floors and glassy walls.

219 west fourth street, New York City, New York.

You remember the threatening letter, okay not threatening but it had that aura, that arrived in the mail. You were set to meet at this address, in the lobby, where a woman named Maria Hill would escort you.

That was this woman’s name, who you were following. As you walked, she yapped, talking about the building. It’s history, something about a shield.

“You know,” she said. She was stopped in front of a door, and you were paying attention for once because the walking had stopped, and you didn’t have much of a thought to get lost in. “Fury normally doesn’t do this?”

“Who?”

She seemed to ignore you, “His style is more, show up out of the blue, and surprise you. Like he did to your buddy Stark.”

Before you can ask more questions, she opens the door, and steps aside to let you walk through.

The windows in the room went floor to ceiling, about four sections of window that went across, giving a view of the city below. The room had a thin gray carpet as flooring, one of the kinds you can barely call carpet, it was so flat.

There was a long table, with about 16 chairs around it. It wasn’t rounded per se, more of a rectangle without the sharp edges. Like the shape of a smart phone. At the far side of the table, from where you stood, a man leaned with both his hands balled into fists on the table, presumably to better support himself.

He struck you as dramatic. He was dressed in all black, a black shirt, you could see the waist of black pants, and a long black coat. You couldn’t see from your vantage point, but you assumed his socks and shoes were black too. His face wore a scowl, whether a resting bitch face or he was actually upset you didn’t know, and a black eyepatch.

Maria Hill gave you a grim smile, one you didn’t have the time to return before she left the room, shutting the door behind you. You suddenly worried if this was a trap from the beginning. Worried the “tell no one” message was another play in the game.

Not a good one however. You told Tony, his friend Rhodey, Pepper, Jarvis, and the lady at Starks front desk the exact address of where you would be.

“Hello, Miss Murdock,” the man said. He took his hands off the table, stepping back ever so slightly from the table, straightening himself up. He gestured around himself, “you like my new place.”

Slightly unsure of yourself, and this situation, you nodded.

“Normally we work down at the triskelion. Ever been?”

You shook your head.

“You don’t know who I am, so I?”

Another shake of your head, and the man dipped his own and chuckled.

“My names Nicholas Fury. I’m the director of SHIELD, which is an intelligence agency, and a special law enforcement organization.”

“What’s it stand for?”

“Hmm?”

“Is SHIELD an acronym for something?”

“A couple different things actually. It started out as “Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division.” Then it changed to “Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.””

“Why’d it change?”

“Politics,” Fury chuckled. “Have a seat.”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“Cautious,” he asked, amused.

“Are you?” You asked, eyebrows raised. He was standing on the other side of the room still, as far from you as possible without jumping out the window.

The smile wasn’t present on his face, but still in his voice, “Now why would I be?”

You maintained eye contact as you pulled out a chair on your side of the head of the table.

“Miss Murdock, you’re an impressive individual,” Fury says, sitting down on his side. He reaches under the table, and pulls out a tan file with a small logo on it. It reminded you of an atom, except the middle was more oval shaped.

“I know,” you say, and by the look you get, the notion hits you that he wasn’t exactly done talking. Oh well.

“I want you on a team,” He says.

“What kind of team?” You ask.

Nick Fury adjusts himself in his chair, sitting a little straighter, frowning to himself at your file. You couldn’t help but wonder what was written in it.

“You work with Stark,” Fury stated. You got the sense he was a man who knew everything. Like even if he were to ask you a question, he would already know the answer.

“Yes,” you confirm, still sure you didn’t need to. He knew.

“I talked to him about this…he wasn’t very receptive,” Fury drops the file, and stands up from his chair. “Miss Murdock…I want you to be an avenger.”

You looked at him, took in the tone of his voice. It gave off the weight of what he was telling you. It was important. Your mind raced around in circles, worrying as you always did about a slip up.

And you sort of slipped up, as it seemed you always did, as the only things your gums could flap out was, “A what?”

[mandosaur]

Dance of the Mythosaur and Dragon (0/?)

Fandom: The Mandalorian, House of the Dragon

Pairing: Din Djarin/OC

Summary: In an effort to gain powerful allies in the upcoming civil war, the Blacks decide to seek out the cosmos and wed their princess to a distant planet renown for its warriors. Princess Daenys Targaryen II is wed off Mandalore’s new Mand’alor Din Djarin for her dragon blood and dragon in exchange for their aid in the upcoming war.

Warning: Allusions to incest.

Word Count: 1,476 Words

Estimated Reading Time: 5:22

Chapter: Prologue

Next

(A/N: Finally, here is the idea of a cross over between House of the Dragon and the Mandalorian which I’ve been flirting with since October of last year!

This is being cross posted to AO3)

The letter had been sent many moons ago. It had left in a small, concealed ship bound for the stars in its maiden voyage. Daemon Targaryen had personally signed it himself and stamped it with the Targaryen crest.

Now, more time later, a response has arrived with a new transport.

The paper is written in a set of letters he did not recognize, but an enclosed sheet of paper provides a key for translating it into Common. However, even without deciphering each letter, he knows what the message says.

They have accepted his proposal. He has provided them an offer no one could refuse. Access to an ancient bloodline, the beasts of old they alone controlled, and a beautiful bride who could provide them many heirs…

It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth to give access to what was so closely guarded in Westeros to a foreign planet, but he knows it is necessary. War looms in the distance. He can almost hear the roars of dragons as they dance in the skies, see fires envelop every corner of the Red Keep, and taste the acrid tang of blood in the air already. Everyone knows a war is brewing.

His letter across the galaxy had been a strategic move. It was not uncommon for families to wed off their daughters in search of fighters and supplies. His own Bronze Bitch had been promised to him for politics. His niece would not be the first Targaryen to marry a foreigner for her homeland and certainly not the last.

Taking a seat at his desk, he begins to pen another letter in response in the common tongue. He refuses to use the bizarre symbols on the page given to him. He will not give the galaxy anymore than what he has already sacrificed in search of his soon to be wife’s throne. Let the galaxy have their blood and their dragons, he thinks, but he will not concede any more than is necessary.

It takes him more than he likes to finish the letter. Diplomacy isn’t his strong suit, always preferring to use blades and dragon fire in place of words and formality, but he manages fine. The letter is brief and to the point. A simple review of what they have already agreed on.

His nice and sister in law, Daenys Targaryen II shall wed the new Mand’alor to unify Westeros and Mandalore in a treaty. Through her, Mandalore will gain access to Targaryen blood, descended from the very dragons they keep, and Daenys’ own dragon, the Cannibal. In exchange, Mandalore shall provide aid in the civil war which will surely be descending upon the shores of Westeros soon.

He stares at the words across the paper before signing his name across the parchment. Another strike of his wrist forges the signature of Viserys on the page. As King, it is his word alone that can wed off his daughter, but the King is back at the palace and will not hear of their plans until after a ship has departed for the cosmos. Daemon has always preferred to seek forgiveness rather than permission.

Sealing the letter with wax, he presses the royal signet into the stamp and calls for a servant. There is another secret ship which will depart for the galaxy at night. It will leave hidden from prying eyes and will not stop until it arrives in Mandalore.

As soon as the servant disappears with the envelope, he stands from his chair and stares across the window. The stars wink in the distance almost as if waiting. Waiting for Westeros to join their star wars and cosmic games.

With a grit of his teeth, he turns around.

He hates it, he decides, hates the world past the edges of what the Targaryen dynasty controls. If it were up to him, he’d marry his niece to another Westerosi house and let his planet stand alone free from the burden of others, but he has no choice. A war will come eventually and he intends to make as many powerful allies as he can before it begins.

Thus, with a resigned press of his lips, he stalks off from his office in search of another servant. He must pen another letter to the Red Keep. It is time his niece departs for Pentos.

———————————————

Somewhere across the galaxy, Din clenches his jaw underneath his helmet. The letter from a planet he had never heard of rests in Bo Katan’s hand. It feels like a death sentence has descended upon his shoulders.

Bo Katan paces the length of the council room as she reads the letter out loud. She has painfully translated every letter in their bizarre tongue into Aurebesh. The paper is full of her small translations in the margins. Every so often, she has to pause her reading to squint at a new sentence with tired eyes.

By the time she finishes, the rest of the council is divided.

Half of the Mandalorians from Bo’s faction are in agreement. It was their idea to wed their Mand’alor off. They had sent out missives searching for Din’s future wife without Din’s consent. It was high time, they claimed, he settle down and strengthen his claim to his throne through the marriage of another royal family.

The other half of the Mandalorians are from his covert. They are a group used to isolation and hiding. The idea of letting yet another outsider in is met with hesitation and the shaking of heads. They are opposed to the marriage.

Din echoes them. When he agreed to take the Darksaber and assume the mantle of Mand’alor, he knew there would come a time where what was left of his freedom was stripped away from him. Bo Katan had told him an arranged marriage would one day be decided for him, so he knew the day would one day come. He just hadn’t realized it would be so soon.

He knows nothing of this new planet other than the fact that it’s primitive. They don’t engage in trade with other planets preferring to stay within their own lands. Its people rely on archaic methods of medicine, shun others with a different world view, and likely know nothing about the galaxy past what their eyes can see in their night sky. He doubts those outside the royal family even know life outside of their planet exists.

He also knows even less of his new wife. She’s a Princess second born. Her older sister is heir to the throne, which has caused quite a stir in their patriarchal society, and is much younger than him. The paintings her planet has provided, yes paintings because the basted planet hasn’t discovered the art of electricity yet, show a beautiful girl with Targaryen features and a dragon that extends past the limits of the canvas in the background.

But that is all he knows. He has not been provided more than that. He rolls his eyes and is thankful his helmet hides his face from view.

He has no interest in marrying a spoiled royal brat from another planet even if Mandalore wants her giant lizard. He has already vehemently denied the marriage contract and been outvoted by his council. He curses the blasted day the first letter arrived to their planet with an offer he would have loved to refuse.

Still, the sword at his hip is not a crown. His leadership is reliant on the words of his council and the choices of the other Mandalorians. He accepted the title of Mand’alor when his covert demanded he represent them in their former planet’s affairs and promised he would keep the throne for them. He also took an oath in the living waters when he became Mand’alor that he would obey the creed and place the planet over his own wants and needs. Thus, as much as it burns him to go through with a farce, he can do nothing more than agree.

The paper is passed to him after more debates and arguments. The council is still undecided, but their battles are merely for show. Everyone knows the marriage treaty has already been agreed to.

Din picks up the pen offered to him by another Mandalorian and hesitates. The paper in front of him is a mess of the bizarre writings of Westeros and Bo’s own Aurebesh scrawl.

Wishing he could go back to the moment before he took the damn blade from Gideon and became Mand’alor, he resigns himself to his fate.

Slowly, he signs his name on the dotted line at the bottom of the parchment. The room falls silent.

Let the songs be written, he thinks bitterly to himself, that he, Mand’alor Din Djarin of the Mudhorn Clan, has just agreed to marry Princess Daenys II Targaryen of Westeros.

[yogpetshame]

It's been a while since I studied law (and not in Norway), but Your assessment of the Ridgedog situation is pretty sound. Even assuming the authorities don't presume that Cannibalcow is under the psychological effects of spousal abuse, they wouldn't be able to hold him this long without due cause. To the best of my knowledge Norway isn't the kind of place to imprison a cishet white guy just for funsies.

I'll always look back on the time Mark Turpin called me an "armchair lawyer" and laugh at the irony. What a dumb fucking bastard.

Her claim that she was just "hormonal" is really the obvious lie. I've heard "manic" or "high" or "giving as good as I got" in that slot before but "too pregnant to think straight" is not a coherent analysis of irrational past behavior. Like I said I'm not doubting that she was pregnant in early 2022, but it does not make you hallucinate. At best it would explain a breakup or a misunderstanding. Not alleged domestic violence resulting in at least a year running of jail.

Another possibly too technical point to add - she was talking about there being some upcoming hearing which I guess was yesterday. This is kind of hard to explain using baby words - if the state has enough evidence to hold him but maybe not enough to convict but enough to scare him, the strategic result of this is usually that he spends a good chunk of time in jail pleads guilty to something and then leaves early. That might also be the current situation, which is why she wants the restraining order lifted, because her testimony in his defense is irrelevant and they're both just waiting for his bad boy time to finish up before pleading out and she doesn't want to spend that time out of touch.

And maybe I'll backtrack for a moment - I'm laying into her but it's not on principle. It's because Cannibalcow mocked women who Ridgedog was abusing, while he was abusing them. She insisted that they were making up lies to take from his fame- his fame, can you imagine - and that his funhouse harem was all an elaborate ploy to pick her and only her in the end. I don't think anyone ever deserves to be spousally abused, but when you're putting a ring on a bloody-mouthed-wolf going "stop crying you jealous bitches are just upset that I get to marry this sheep," I can only say, "please fucking think" so many times.

[bitchpleasebitchthankyou]

Miss Manners on: PDA

Q: I will soon be attending my 50th law school reunion. I expect that, at least once, I will be in the company of a certain married couple, as both people were law school classmates of mine. This couple “adores” each other, very publicly. They exchange loving glances, mild caresses and light kisses at every opportunity, in every venue. I find their behavior inappropriate. Is there a polite way to ask them to stop?

Miss Manners says: No. Miss Manners supposes the charm that this couple is still so in love -- or at least eager to counter divorce rumors -- after decades of marriage is lost on you. If it irritates you beyond polite tolerance, you may say, “Ah! I see another classmate. I’ll leave you two alone to enjoy each other’s company.”

Your Head Bitch says: Everyone has different levels of comfort with PDA, I hear you. But there is definitely no polite way to tell them to can it, that I can tell you for sure. I'm inclined to agree with Miss M that it's incredibly sweet that a couple married this long still feel so strongly for each other (also to be fair, the PDA you're describing sounds pretty mild to me). All you can do is strategically limit your exposure -- for example, do a pop by: 'Oh, hey you two! I'm just going to get my wife another drink but I wanted to say hi -- so good to see you!' with only the briefest break in stride to pat them on the back on the way to the drinks table. Otherwise, yes, you'll spend the rest of the evening seeing someone you simply MUST say hi to.

"Oh, I think that's Dale -- I've got to catch him, BYE!"

[theundeadgospel]

good morning session was. well. I cried four times off mic so LMAOOO

• We reached our 50th session ✨

• Vashka (Homebrew vampiric war commander) is confirmed to be the actual BBEG. Also confirmed to be Kassandra’s fucking daughter. WHICH I THEORIZED SESSIONS AGO SO GOD DAMMIT HGHFHDGDGCVCV SHE REFUSES TO HURT HER OWN DAUGHTER AND HER DAUGHTER IS MINDSET ON MURDERING HER TOO

• Our Homebrew is also heavily based off of Castlevania. So, Vash wants a world where humanity is primarily used for livestock, overran by a vampiric utopia. Kass disagrees and thinks it’s just pointless and will lead to cannibalism eventually. And she’s very tired of fighting now as a former war monger. So because her own mother is standing in her way, Vash is trying to murder her. Vash is CRYPTICALLY powerful as a psychic user as well — she’s already murdered one of our NPCs we tried to keep alive, set invisible undead assassins after our party, actively targeting our party and Kass, sent giant undead ogres to tear apart Hallowbrook, and last session found Kass just to have her platoon shoot six fucking fireballs in her direction.

• Kass seems to want redemption because of how tired she is of being perceived as a monster. She does feel regret for accidentally killing the men in the mock war games and expressed guilt over murdering Aphrodite as well. But, due to the fact everyone and her people kept calling her a monster over the years, she eventually ingrained that name into her skin and continuously refers to herself as ‘just a monster’ . She refuses to see herself as anything else at this point and literally wants to die because she’s set to be executed, her own daughter wants her dead due to opposing views, and she basically has no one in her life she can go to. Her temper is insane and extremely lethal. Because of her past crimes (still did many fucked up things as Strahd in the past) , she failed as her people’s baroness and folks no longer respect her — and you know, the court murdering her wife which was her only grounding pillar, so she essentially just walks around like a living zombie - ball of bitter hatred now. Masked by extensive suffering from guilt and heartache.

• The Innkeeper (Homebrew domain lord of Hallowbrook) was someone who formerly served under Kass and was forced to kill innocents who opposed Kass’ rule back in the day. The blood on his hands was always due to her. However, he was also the only one who witnessed her go from demented war lord to god I hate living like this what have I done to myself and has lingering faith in her — much to his own knights’ disapproval. Almost the entirety of Hallowbrook wants her dead. Because she’s a dangerous vampire and they hate the undead for the most part, seeing them as nothing but greedy creatures of slaughter. Because of her accidental murders in the war games, she’s set to be executed — but you know, this is Strahd. As long as you don’t decimate her coffin, she comes back. She knows she’ll come back. Our party is unaware of this, so some people are freaking the fuck out LMAO

• Morian caught on however. He was the only one present when talking to Kass with the Innkeeper at this abandoned building, stalling time by asking her questions about why she’s like this and such knowing Beth and Elias were well on their way to stop the execution. He realized first oh fuck wait the Innkeeper can execute her as by law but there’s nowhere that says we can’t RESURRECT her after. Beth, because she’s a paranoid fuck and hasn’t been thinking straight nor even had a rest for several sessions, ain’t thinking strategically. All she heard was ‘I’m with my executioner’ and the bitch was OFF like the wind to save her stupid lesbian not girlfriend yet HFHDHCBBB

• WELL. ALL WAS WELL UNTIL VASHKA PINPOINTED THE DAMN LOCATION FIRST. Cue her ordering her men to open fire on Kass as a grand entrance right as Kass was about to agreed with Morian to accept the path of redemption — to which Kass literally shoved him out of the way and took half damage. Fucking. 80 points of fire damage that would’ve CHARRED Morian to death, saving his life. She’s BURNT.

• Session ends there, but we all strategize oog ✨ it’ll take one round for Elias and Beth to get there. Morian HAS to survive the first round. He’s p low health as is and is currently body shielding Kass who’s also p down in health now tbh — but we do have the Innkeeper who is also level 20 and an oathbreaker so I’m not too concerned. Beth however, LMAO, she’s at 24 health. She is FULLY ready to die for Kass’ protection and most likely will next session — I’m almost planning on it just to prove she’s a true knight wanting to die in battle protecting her loved one and family, she’s DEAD ass about laying her life down for Kass, and Myrkul is her god damn patron so you know he’s going to go dude. leave my realm, you got work to do. BFGGDHCVV It’s VERY difficult to keep the vampires down in this campaign — even Aphrodite got sent back by her demon father. They’re all well aware they’ll come back. We’re hellbent on staying alive with purpose. Additionally, Beth has been wanting to speak directly to Myrkul again in soul for a while and ask for a weapon upgrade so LMAO

• The plan is to wait for Beth to arrive so she can use her strength to haul Morian and Kass out of the way (Morian is too weak to carry her, who’s in full knight armor herself), then body shield both of them herself. Most of everyone’s healing spells don’t work on undead. Beth has one set of lay on hands for 15 points — and she will be using it all on Kass instead of herself before going into a heavy rage to soak up as many hits as possible and attack anyone nearby before dropping. She’s had a ring of death warding on her since early sessions and will be giving to Kass too — discreetly. Like. Bitch is full on planning to talk to her mid battle, get her to say she’ll let us redeem her, then kiss her while sliding on the ring as she’s taken back by the action. That way, if someone DOES do a major hit on her, the death ward will activate and spare her enough time to flee. ✨

• not my DM going lol why do you think Kass has such strikingly similar struggles to Beth? 💀

thanks you’re just spurring on my delulu fantasy of them healing and getting together jade HFHDHDGFGB that just confirms Kass IS Beth’s NPC I’m hollering

[shaaknaa]

First of all, you wanna know the difference between Trump and Nixon? Nixon didn't run for president with the intent to get away with crimes. Like, if you paid attention to Trump before and during the presidency, as well as during the criminal proceedings, it's clear that he thought it was a Get Out of Jail Free Card and used it as such.

When Nixon was president he did shady shit, all presidents do, but they tend to be... Strategic about it. And if their shady shit is crimes they try to Not Get Caught.

Trump, on the other hand, was under the impression that once he became president he'd be above the law forever and so started commiting crimes like a video game exploit.

And I think it's because he isn't a politician. He's a neolibral capitalist. Who, as we know, consider The People to be a resource to be exploited... Like a videogame. The same with Laws.

Politicians don't see us like that. At worst they see us as a bunch of idiots who need to be appeased. But they are accutely aware that if they don't throw us a bone every so often... We'll start eating the rich. And they know that petty bitches will use the Law against them if they piss off the wrong other politician.

Things are unprecedented because no one has acted like Trump.

How do we balance the tentative joy of hearing about the indictment with the overwhelming and crushing knowledge that not a goddamn thing is going to come of this and ultimately nothing will change?

Because

um

reasons.

(actually i feel like if the skies split open and shithead goes to jail it'll just leave a giant sucking void for desantis to slime his way into the party's graces and he'll charge full speed ahead into nuking this country from the inside)

Okay, look. Everyone reacts differently, we've all been through a fuckload of trauma, and all that, but I just... really don't get the pre-emptive "don't get your hopes up, nothing will happen and nothing will change." I know that people do it as a defense mechanism, but we spent months hearing that Trump would win the 2020 election. (He lost it.) Then we heard that all his lawsuits to overturn might actually work. (They didn't.) Then we heard that he wouldn't be impeached after January 6. (He was.) Then we heard that he wouldn't be indicted, and well, today, he was. This is unprecedented in the history of America. Over 250+ years, and a current or former president had never been indicted for anything. Not even goddamn Nixon was formally charged, and Biden definitely isn't gonna pardon Trump the same way Ford did with Tricky Dick. And now that someone has finally bit the bullet and gone first, there are a whole cascade of other indictments lined up and waiting to be finished.

We don't know what will happen, but something will. Trump will be arrested and arraigned, and yet again: this has never happened before. Just throwing up our hands and going "well guess nothing's gonna happen and he'll get off scot free!" is NOT the energy we want to be bringing here. It's time to push forward, make sure that the Manhattan DA, and everyone else with pending charges against him, hold that motherfucker's greasy orange feet to the fire and make him FRY. As for DeSantis, as I have written about before, he's not smart, he's not a good candidate, and his ideas are not by any means universally popular. Fascists thrive on making you feel disempowered and hopeless, so it's no use to fight them since they'll just win anyway, and all the terrible events of the last few years have made it an appealing idea, but... c'mon now.

Everyone insisted for months that Trump would never be charged with anything. But almost 60% of the country thinks that the criminal cases against him are permanently disqualifying, and this is before any major cascades. This whole "if you dare to arrest Trump, he'll win in a landslide in 2024!" psy-op is just that: a psy-op. A trick. A bluff. They're shit scared that the Big Mac God King is finally on the brink of an actual downfall and facing consequences for his actions for the first time in his fucking miserable life, and they're trying to freak us out of doing it, because they have nothing left. So I say: get him. Run him over. Then back up the truck and run him over again.

[m0thcl0wn]

zou ramble post

whyd Wanda lick Luffy

also Pedro <3

OH Robin and the dragon, shes adorable shes really grown to be one of my favourites over all (i dont think i could list like 1-10 my favourite straw hats, theyre all my favourites)

Law

Luffy getting washed away after being told to hang on. love him. idiot.

BEPO

"then its true they must be-" "A Cannibal Tribe." "NOOOOO"

i love Shachi's voice

i like the new eye catchers theyre fun

the chumby gatormobile (Wany)

Zoro letting Usopp puppet him. like he just goes along with it

Nami sleeping on the sheep (shes so pretty in the purple/blue? dress)

STOP LICKING HIM WANDA??

theyre all happy to see luffy the most they love their captain

Sanji :(

Zoro noticing Nami get upset at the mention of Sanji

(god WCI is going to fucking HURT)

((like im already crying, Sanji has been one of my favourites since the beginning, i know some what what happens in it but GOD its nothing like the real thing yknow? the same with when Ace died, i knee it was coming but it hurt like hell))

BROOK MY BELOVED

they keep apologising for Sanji, my chest hurts

Brook with his hand on Luffys shoulder, hes a dad

the dog minks going after Brook cos hes bones LEAVE HIM ALONE and the straw hats just letting it happen

(side note sanji with his shirt/jacket over his shoulders hes SO HOT)

i love getting to watch Brook actually fight, hes so cool

them using Ceaser to carry the canon balls wheeze

"shippy" (sadly)

god Sanji

HEART PIRATES REUNION

Law holding up Bepo (his lil smile) hes so happy seeing his crew again

Luffy making the bridge jump usopp telling him to read the room

"Luffy dont talk about the samurai" "wheres the ninja our SAMURAI FRIEND KINEMON wanted to see" youre such an idiot Luffy i love you

Shishilian <3

Dogstorm big and him falling asleep mid convo about Shanks

Pekoms crying over his family and changing his hatred for the straw hats to Nack and beast pirates wheeze

Ceaser is v cute, i like him a lot (i like his cunty leotard and eyeliner)

i wonder if Sanji *knew* that this ends up the way it does (ep 762, idk if its confirmed after this, thats where i am while writing it), the looks he keeps giving makes me think he does, does he know that this will lead back to Germa 66 and his family?

POOR PEKOMS WTF BEGE

"Sanji gets a startling invitation" aAA

do you ever think about the dudes in Bege and like, do you wonder what they thought the first time around getting inside this dude?

"i can kick your lumpy ass anytime"

Ceaser is a girlfailure

"i imagine youd have to slice through his abandon" thank you robin

do they never show us haow to get in the castle castle fruit, thats what i wanna know, thats freaky as hell

oh Sanji has gotta know right hes so angry

OOO VINSMOKE MENTION FINALLY

oh god this is really gonna hurt

he looks so disgusted at the invitation poor dude

Brook knows about the Vinsmokes?

they all love their captain so much

poor Sanji

(he is so handsome though)

WHAT DID VITO SAY TO HIM

two smokers staring each other down across a long table

sanji my poor self sacrificing boy

pain

SANJI HUGGING THEM ONLY TO THROW THEM OUT

this is going to hurt so much

Zoro stop being a little bitch

(hes not really but like cmon yknow, you can just be honest that youre worried)

Luffys lil tongue licking his sting

i love whenever Brook gets to sing it always slaps and i just love him

master cat viper(tm) the song slaps idc what anyone says

the raindeer/deer mink chopper falls in love with for like 30 seconds

"youre worried about Sanji too, huh?" Luffy knows his crew like the back of his hands

the heart pirates posing for Luffy

"not cool not cool not cool" you tell him

"we're not friends we're strategic allies" oh law youre already in too deep

cat viper is garfield?

Brook, Franky and Robin trying to guess what the drawing was

Kin'emon and Kanjuro share one braincell

FUCKING SHISHILIAN WHEEZE whyd he scream!! cmon man!!!

dogstorm and cat viper (enemies to friends to lovers 80k words)

the minks letting their city fall for their friends sobbing

the soft soft music

HES HAD A BACK TAT THIS WHOLE TIME?

lord momonosuke wild

"nin nin NINJA"

theyre so sad its not the ninja they wanted

(more and more talk of wano, so fucking close)

((123 EPISODES UNTIL WANO))

Luffys frowny face

LAW GETTING EXCITED ABOUT THE NINJA

theyre menacing Raizo poor man

"so, no shadow clowns?" sobs Law i love you hes so fucking excited when Raizo does it

theyre all so happy about it

"THERES FOUR LAUGH TALES THATS CRAZY" "YOU IDIOT JUST LET THE DOG TALK"

"shes SUPEERRR" frobin stans rise

feral for Rayleigh that man is SO hot i shouldnt be allowed near him (also Roger. actually worse with Roger, tumblr would delete me if i said anything)

hes gonna say no

INKNEW IT

overtaken getting louder in the background god i love the music of op

"straw hat you shouldve run this be me first" "but its cool right?" "well yeah but"

AWW KANJURO DOING THE FRANKT POSE

they fist pump for the alliance

"do we need the ninja part?" "OH COURSE WE DO"

"us being allies means we're best friends"

Zoro is so jealous of his captain praising Sanji

the beast pirates planning on killing Zunesha makes me think, what is zous plan when Zunesha died?

MARCO

Luffy being like who the fuck is marco? "he looks like a pineapple" OH THAT GUY

"dinner time dinner time dinner time dinner time"

"captain could you bring back a poneglyph rubbing pretty please" "THAT WAS SO CUTE" youre right usopp it was

love Luffy being a special little guy

Pedros tail LONG

YOOOOOOO BEAT THEIR ASS ZUNESHA

Zoro getting lost and Law making fun of him

new clima tact lets gO

starting to see some,,, odd art choices

and just like that no more Zou

WHOLE CAKE ISLAND HERE I COME

VIVI??

[scentedchildnacho]

I guess this maybe happened to the women on main street Las Cruces because even if the cops beat her up she couldn't change her behaviour or strategize differently

I am a prisoner of the present moment and I can't feel better till people stop abusing the animals

The British use to be very in my face but now that their online they help...they help now with law and stuff and feeling bright and philosophical

Yea the homeless are like rain man Dustin Hoffman oh my God lady that's your daughter...so you could have car tels instead of their doll house seclusions

The homeless do all have a child actress syndrome it's that they all are pretty good at something wouldn't it be better if you enjoyed it's art form in a sanitary way

The elk were a little smelly like they didn't get a donkey preserve audobon elephant bath also?

Then I had to be sent to the meals that kept telling me to stand up to wash myself and so home made bombs

I was white and they kept sitting me around on the pony tail of nerves in my low back that a virus mostly dormant could keep getting aggravated and if I'm called a psycho now my ass feels kicked to brain damage yea yea you really really reefer kick ass

Hey jobs you wanted striking blitz looks and now you can have any blitz you want if you ever again kick your kid out for me to carry it's idiot school unmet work load burden to carry

Don't ever ever ever kick your kid out on me don't ever don't ever don't ever kick your kid out or blitz blitz yea the homeless can terrorize yes

Uhm my mother is severely physically handicapped and did like work pension and has a domestically abusive spouse these other mothers there isn't anything wrong with her and her kid is down harassing people at a job

Yes not guilty by plea of insanity raped by gang police over ten times yes I can I can terrorize yes

Yes fucker bitch there are donkeys if your car doesn't meet emissions regulations let it burn

That elk is like a camel...

Yea yea broke the back of the poor to be a reg clerk yea yea broke the back of the poor caused excruciating climate and pollution pain yea fucker bitch

Hey yea yea freeze em or stab em with a virus shove something on a seizure disorders face run run like the conquered if you conquer yea yea gross gross fucker bitch

Yea yea trap people in small spaces violate the constitution do all ya can to refuse freedom of movement and kill yea yea fucker bitch

No I don't care all ya been here you are not allowed educable you have the dumbest machine ever the transaction when it's Alan turing you are nothing but worse then Adolph Hitler cause you have called me such and you are nothing never educable nothing but a cervical cancer shove it that down there up her

When you earn respect you may have it otherwise nothing but how much money do you need off the coffee fucker bitch

[bumblecrisp]

OHHHH MY GOD. oh my god. i have been waiting for this day.

I LOVE JOSEPH JOESTAR. he is my husband. we have been married for 47 years (about two months).

ok let’s start with the obvious. he is so fucking stupid. i like that in a man. he is so goddamn dumb he is an IDIOT💕💗💖💞💓💘!!!!!!!!!!! he has literally zero self awareness and that is deeply attractive to me 😁

not a thought behind those eyes. god bless

he’s really smart. now this might seem contradictory to point 1, but that’s exactly why i like him so much. he is a strategic genius, which combined with his ridiculous good luck makes him very successful in his endeavours. he is very intellectually smart but otherwise dumb - exactly my type lol

he is niceys‼️ bro is a rich white guy in the 1930s whose best friend is a black man (smokey brown, my beloved). they met when smokey pickpocketed him and joseph rescued him from the police and was like i like your vibes let’s hang out. he straight up attacked a guy in a public restaurant for being a racist ass hoe!! but he also extends a courtesy and respect to his enemies, like wamuu. he has a strong sense of justice and genuinely wants the best for everyone. he’s just a good guy ok.

acab. again he was way ahead of his time with this one

he’s so lame he’s just the worst 😩💕 like he’s sooo lame he can’t flirt for shit and i think that’s wonderful. he wants to be caesar sooooo bad

he’s cuuuuute he’s a cutie patootie! i personally am a pt 2 truther, i’m not really a gilf person, but he definitely has a tragic lifelong case of chronic babygirlism. he just has such a pokeable face, yk? he looks like he’d be fun to Annoy

also he’s 6’5”/195cm if that matters to you

and mega rich

i, personally, with respect, do not think i could ever date a 100% cisgender heterosexual man. while he does definitely look like a macho dude you CANNOT tell me there wasn’t something going on with him and caesar. he’s some flavour of queer i GUARANTEE IT. (personally i think he’s bi 😁)

this one doesn’t really do anything for me personally but i feel it would do him a disservice not to mention it. his stand creates vines which he can manipulate. do with that knowledge what you will

he has no fashion sense. look at this clown ass bitch. i NEED to m-[gets dragged offstage]

(i realize that this isn’t usually attractive to people. im just a little fucked in the head its fine 👍)

he is a douchebag. he’s loud and rude and boisterous and obnoxious and a little bit of a perv. but i like that about him. objectifying women is bad except☝️when it’s my pookie bear

he makes a fine ass woman and i’m tired of pretending he doesn’t. josie joestar can get it

like come on. she’s a smash for sure. (i should mention that, in canon, the whole ‘tequila joseph’ bit is clearly intended as a joke with transmisogyny as the punchline. that is, for obvious reasons, bad. however, i would argue that it is in this case a reflection on the author rather than joseph himself. in fact, given the strict gender-enforcing laws of the time, the fact that this was joseph’s first idea speaks to an surprising [for the time, in mainstream society] level of openness to exploring/playing with gender. or maybe im losing it idk)

crop tops.

i love him so much he’s the dumbest man alive and he deserves the entire world ☺️

Why do people find Joseph Joestar attractive? I always thought he was a douchebag, but that might just be me. I would like to hear the JoJo's fandom's perspective on the character because you guys seem to love him

Defend Your Blurbo #51

Please remember this post is about curiosity and genuine fandom discourse. Be kind with your answers because this is not a debate essay, this is a discussion between fans

Meet Joseph Joestar, the main protagonist of part 2 of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure and a side character of part 3 as Grandpa Joseph.

Have fun with this one. I have a feeling this will devolve into which version of Joseph is more attractive. So JoJo's fandom defend your blorbo