#or are they gonna stick to their guns with the black hole

[hesgomorrah]

okay, now that i've had a bit of time to chew on the 2da news. obviously we won't know how well they succeed until the actual set drops, but from what we learned today i'm so so excited that they seem to be giving real weight to the two/jamie reunion. i enjoyed beyond war games a lot, but it was paced in such a way that two wasn't really given space to grapple with the loss of jamie and zoe beyond a couple brief moments. i was worried this set would take a similar approach and just sort of throw jamie in there and then get back to business as usual, but that doesn't seem to be the route they're taking. the set and the first story are both named after him, and apparently there's a big focus on their double act, which i am very much looking forward to. july can't come soon enough.

[briefalpacashark]

~Meeting 141~

The first time you meet the members of task force 141.

Warning: mentions of violence, death, blood.

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It was a typical mission. Neck deep in shit and halfway to hell. The mission was simple. It had two parts. The first part was to collect information off a computer. It was a two team mission, Alpha consisting of Gaz, Soap and Ghost. And Bravo, consisting of Price and Roach. Currently, they were both making their way through an oil rig in the early hours of the morning, with the cover of night. A nice little base for some black market operations. The second part of the mission was harder. Extracting the asset. And asset Price informed them beforehand would be joining their team.

“What ya recon he's gonna be like?” Soap asked as he stood in the main office room, gun raised at the door, ready for anything. The group had many guesses of who the newest member of their team would be. Price wasen't necessarily secretive about them, but he didn't tell them anything about them either. “He's a medic. Probably likes sticking stuff up ass’s,” Ghost, who was positioned by the door, said, making the two guys smirk. “Youll love that then, won't you?” Gaz asked, not taking his eyes off the computer screen in front of him. Soap chuckled at Ghost's dead panned look. “Come on Gaz, you know he's sensitive about that sort of thing,” Soap joked. “I hope you both get shot in the ass,” Ghost grumbled. “Done,” Gaz announced. “Alright, let's move,” Soap said. Getting into formation, they peeled out of the room. “Ghost to Price, we've got the package, on the move out of er,” Ghost spoke into the com's. “Copy that, Asset secured, see you soon,” Price's voice cracked over the radio. They moved through the oil rig quietly, their shadows barely noticeable in the dark as they moved down the outer side of the buildings, the metal racks slick with the rain that had just started. Then it started, a lucky spot, a glint of metal perhaps brought attention to team Alpha. They were set upon by a volley of bullets. They bucked behind the cover of a building, trying to return fire as best they could. Ghost, who had taken point, peeked around the building taking out two men. That was until he felt his leg buckle as pain erupted up his thigh. “FUCK!” he exclaimed as he dropped to one knee.

“WE'RE TAKING HEAVEY FIRE! GHOST GOT HIT!” Gaz yelled into the com's as he helped Ghost to the ground. He took one look at the bullet hole, his face washing itself of colour. It was spurting blood like crazy. “He's hit bad!” Gaz added. His worry for his friend was quickly forgotten when a group of men came around a corner to their left. He raised his gun and started shooting. “Theres too many,” Soap grunted as they tucked themselves behind a few barrels. They were pinned down, unable to return fire and stuck like sitting ducks. They couldn't use explosives, one wrong flame could set the whole place up like a tinderbox. The enemy team slowly moved forward, laying the cover on heavy as they approached the barrels. The soft rapid patter of feet on metal drew the lad's eyes high. And there you were. Your small five foot three frame throwing itself of a higher level soaring across the sky. Knife and gun in hand. Your hair long and braided, whipped in the wind behind you. The assaulting team barely registered your presence before you landed upon the lead. Your knife burying itself beep into his neck, His body toppled over with the hit. You used the momentum to roll up to your next opponent, you dragged the knife across the back of his knee, pulling him into a kneel. Rising up you shot him in the head before propping his body up as a shied as you delivered three more accurate shots. The small assault team now all lay dead at your feet. Fueled with the adrenalin, and the absurdity of the stunt you had just pulled, you slowly tuned around to the three guys peeking over the barrels with shocked looks.

“Friendly,” you raised both your hands. You chest heaved, your eyes scanning over them to see if they would believe you. “Macgyver, the fuck was that!” You snapped around to Price, who stood at the edge of the level you had jumped from. Seeing if from that angle you could see that you drastically underestimate the height of it. “Improvisation?” you shrugged, you didn't really know yourself. You had never done anything that crazy before. yet you had seen your team mates in danger. And you acted. “Fucking hell. Patch Ghost up and let's get the hell out of here! We'll provide cover!” he ordered. You nodded, tucking your gun and knife into the back of your pants. You rushed up to the barrel, vaulting over it and landing in a crouch over the legs of who you assumed was Ghost. What stared back at you was a skull mask, revealing only the dark pools of his eyes. He certainly was a sight. One you didn't know whether to be scared of or impressed by. “Ghost?” You asked. In your adrenaline fueled state, you didn't notice how close you were to him. He could feel your hot breath fanning his face. He could smell the lavender soap you had used that morning. He gave a curt nod, but you had already moved your eyes down his body, looking from the issue. Finding it the gapping whole you quickly knew what it was. The bullet had hit an artery. Your hands ran down the Ghost's vest, searching for the familiar tourniquet. Soap shared a look with Gaz as you practically fondled their friend. Finding the tourniquet, you undid it, slipping it up his thigh. It was a high shot, so your hands were placed dangerously close to his groin as you quickly worked your magic. Ghost didn't know what to do or say as your small hands touched his so closely with no remorse. After all, you were a medic. You didn't care about that sort of stuff. Still, you could feel a blush dusting the tops of your ears. “He's hit an arty, we need to get him out. I've stopped the bleeding, but I need tools to fix that,” you said absentmindedly peeking around the corner of the building. You quickly ducked your head back as bullets volleyed towards you.

“Ok, can't go that way, Come on,” You swiveled yourself to Ghost's left side, taking his arm and hooking it over your shoulders. You huffed as you heaved him to his feet, They were momentarily surprised at the strength your little body possessed. Gaz quickly took his other arm and you lead them quickly to the rendezvous point. Where you practically threw ghost into the boat. The poor lad grunted as he hit the bottom of the boat taking Gaz with him. “Sorry,” you apologized jumping over them to the controls of the boat. “Were at the rendezvoused, where are you?” Soap asked into the com's. “Look up,” Piece said. You all did just in time to see their bodies plunge into the water beside you. You waited till they were pulled into the boat before you slammed the throttle down. The sun slowly started to rise, casting a golden hue over you. “Both assets secured?” Soap asked. Price nodded, wringing his hat out, Gaz doing the same as he lifted up the hard drive. “So,” Soap trailed off. "She's a woman," he stated. "Great deduction skills," Ghost commented. “That is Sargent Y/L/N. Australian special forces. Best medic out there. Can do anything a doctor can do,” Price stated. “Oh Cap, you're making me blush,” you said, looking back at them with the brightest smile you could muster. A smile that seemed to be awfully contagious. “Men meet the newest member of 141,” Pierce smiled back at you. “Glad to be on board,” you nodded before your eyes fell back to Ghost. “Can someone take over?” You asked. Roach happily obliged. Walking over to Ghost you pulled your knife and started cutting away at his pants. “At least buy me dinner first, love,” You chuckled slightly, placing your hand on his bear thigh gazing deeply into the bullet hole. Your hand slipped around the back. “No exit wound. Looks like I'm gonna have to dig it out when we get back,” you muttered. Ghost wasn't listening, he was fixated on the feeling of your hand running across his bear skin. Aside from the burning pain of being shot, it felt pleasant. “I think I might have a bullet hole too,” Soap interjected, raising his hand. "I'll put one in you," Price warned.

And that was how you first meet the 141. Literally dropping into their lives.

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--COD Master List Here--

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[liver-f4ilure]

The Charleston Church Shooting: Dylann Roof

*NOTE! This is a repost! And it will look familiar CAUSE IVE POSTED IT ON ANOTHER ACCOUNT!! Is it the best? No.*

—

Early life/ Prior convictions

Dylann was born April 3rd 1994 to mother Amelia and father Franklin with 2 sisters Amber and Morgan. During early childhood his parents would divorce and his father would later remarry. His stepmother accused his father of abuse. He would beg his step mother to let him live with her but she wasn’t able to. Dylann would be described to have obsessive compulsive tendencies with germs. In middle school he would stop caring about school and started smoking weed and drinking vodka. In nine years he would have attended seven schools. In 2010 he would drop out of Highschool and continue playing video games and smoking weed and drinking.

(The Roofs home)

In 2015 he was caught with an invalid prescription for suboxone at a mall to which he was banned from for a year. Later that year he was caught loitering in the mall to which they searched his car finding a forearm grip for a AR-15 semiautomatic rifle and six unloaded magazines capable of holding 40 rounds each but was let off it was legal in the state. Roofs Suboxone charge was mishandled and a system error took it as a misdemeanour instead of a felony. Which would have possibly prohibited him from purchasing the firearm.

(The flag of Rhodesia)

Later Dylann would look into the Trayvon Martin case and from an unknown article concluded Zimmerman was in the right. He then fell down a rabbit hole of black on white crime and misinformation. He then found 4chan and would find even more misinformation and hard right ideologies Dylann states he hasn’t been the same since that day. Which leads to his manifesto titled ‘The last Rhodesian’ Rhodesia being the African state founded in 1965 ran by primary Europeans and a white supremacy ideology before being abolished in 1979. The term now sticks with white supremac!sts like Dylann had became, as he also used the flag on his jacket. In preparation before the attack he looked up black churches and found the Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church and would scout the area and ask around about mass times.

The shooting

(The Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church)

June 15th 2015 somewhere around 8:00pm Dylann entered the church, once he did he was greeted by Rev.Pinckney and given a bible to study with. Roof was sat next to Pinckney as the study continued. As the study closed and the ending pray started Roof stood up and pulled out his Glock 41 .45 calibre handgun and began shooting. Killing Pinckney first. Then 26 year old Tywanza Sanders stood up to plead with Dylann before he said ‘I have to do it. You rape our women and you’re taking over our country and you have to go’ he then shot and k!lled Sharonda Singleton, Dr. Daniel L. Simmons, Ethel Lee Lance, Cynthia Hurd, Myra Tompson and Tywanza Sanders. Dylann would reload 5 times that day. Polly Shepherd was spared when he asked her if he shot her yet to which she replied no he then told her ‘good cause we need someone to survive because I’m gonna shoot myself and you’ll be the only survivor. He then turned the gun on himself realizing he was out of ammo. He then left the church to the surprise there wasn’t anyone outside. The next day the police confirmed the gunman was 21 year old Dylann Roof with witnesses reporting they saw him drive towards Shelby, a town close to Charleston. At 10:44am Roof was arrested at a traffic stop in Shelby where it was then confirmed he worked alone.

(The victims)

The Trial

Five days after the shooting the grand jury announced that Roof was being indicted for 33 federal charges.

12 counts hate crime against black people

12 counts obstructing the exercise of religion

9 counts murder using a firearm.

On June 6th Roof reportedly did not want to be trialed by jury and instead let the judge decide if he was guilty and if the death penalty was reasonable. August 23rd Roofs lawyers called the motion of death penalty unconstitutional and asked to reject the motion. On September 1st an on camera hearing was held in case of outbursts. December 7th 2016 the trial started. During a survivor statement Roofs mom collapsed as she had a heart attack. After 3 days of the trial FBI played a video on which he admitted to laughing and drinking while describing to friends how he’d shoot the church. To which his friend didn’t report to police and said he was drunk and took his keys and Glock that was on him. After 2 hours the jury found him guilty on all 33 charges. Roof wanting to plead guilty but told not to by lawyers.

(Roof at his video hearing)

January 10th 2017 Roof was sentenced to the death penalty,death by lethal injection.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Summary: Conflict arises with Harris's new teacher, filling Halloween with more tricks than treats. But it's nothing a visit with Ms. Sweetheart can't fix.

Warnings: allusion to Reader and Eddie's one-night stand, panic attack, Reader's grandma has dementia.

WC: 5.6k

Chapter 6/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Guns N’ Roses t-shirt: check. Goodwill jeans with makeshift holes in the knees: check. Bandana tied snugly around his forehead: check. Arms littered with an assortment of temporary tattoos: check.

Eddie grins as he assesses his son’s costume, reaching into the thrift store bag as he pulls out the pièce de résistance: a denim jacket, only two sizes bigger than Harris would usually wear. It was a bit over what he’d been hoping to spend, but he’d reasoned with himself that it could also be worn after Halloween. It was an investment, he’d decided, not a splurge.

His smile falters when Harris indignantly stomps his foot, crossing his arms over his chest. While Eddie had hoped his son would go with more badass tattoo options, perhaps a skull and crossbones or even a snake, he had insisted on a Sesame Street theme. Cookie Monster munches on his signature treat as Harris pouts.

“No, Daddy!” he whines, twisting away when Eddie holds the jacket closer to him. “I can’t wear that!”

“C’mon, Har,” he tries, scouring his brain to come up with a convincing enough lie. “Axl Rose wore jackets all the time!”

Harris doesn’t just shake his head; he swivels his entire body back and forth in protest. “I don’t care! No one’s gonna be able to see my tattoos!” He holds out both arms in front of him; nearly every square inch (besides the section blocked by his cast) is covered. Eddie had spent most of last night diligently applying them precisely where Harris had asked, lest there be a tantrum. There was, unfortunately, a headless Elmo from when Harris had asked–no, demanded–that he try by himself. Still, Eddie figured that only one casualty was a win.

“Those are some sweet ol’ tatties,” Eddie muses, biting back a laugh at the two-dimensional Big Bird on his son’s forearm. “But wouldn’t it be cool if you wore the jacket into school and then–BAM!--took it off and surprised everyone with them?

Harris appears to consider this, mouth tucked into his cheeks. “Can I show Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Sure, bud. We’ll stop by her classroom when I pick you up.” Whatever gets us out of the house in weather-appropriate attire. “But first, show me your most metal pose.”

The boy opens his mouth wide and sticks out his tongue as far as it extends, scrunching his face dramatically until the corners of his eyes crinkle. His middle and ring fingers press into his palm, thumb crossing over them, with his forefinger and pinky raised in the quintessential rock ‘n roll symbol. 

Eddie swoops down and smacks a wet kiss to Harris’s cheek. “That’s my boy!”

Standing among the crowd of parents at pick-up, Eddie opts out of making banal small talk and instead chooses to look at the bulletin board. The previous art project that had been hanging against the faded blue paper–”self-portraits” that the students had made on the first day of school–have been replaced by finger paintings of orange blobs that vaguely resemble pumpkins. There wasn’t one for Harris because he was in Ms. Sweetheart’s classroom then, so it’s his first art project in his new class. He eagerly scans the board for Harris’s, frowning when he can’t find his name. 

Maybe it’s still drying, he tries to convince himself, imagining his son over-saturating the paper with globs of paint. It wouldn’t be entirely out of character.

Ms. Marion’s classroom is a sea of costumed children. A boy dressed as one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stands by his mom. A Cinderella, a black cat, and a Thomas the Tank Engine surround Ms. Paula. As soon as Eddie spots Harris, he smiles and waves him over, hurriedly scribbling his signature on the sign-out sheet.

He expects Harris to zoom past the other kids, fueled by the standard Halloween diet of sugar and chocolate, but he just kind of…mopes to the doorway. His shoulders slump dejectedly, and though he keeps his gaze low, Eddie can still see the film of mist staining his innocent eyes.

“Har, what’s wrong?” He waits for an answer, and when he doesn’t receive one–an oddity for his perpetually chatty son–he tries a new tactic. “Wanna show me where your artwork is? I must be gettin’ old, because I couldn’t find it on the board out there.”

“‘S not there,” Harris mumbles, scratching off a flaking piece of the Rosita tattoo on the back of his hand. “I didn’t get to finish.”

Eddie watches as the tears start to slip down his cheeks, and he brings him into the hallway before Ms. Marion or Ms. Paula sees what’s going on. He can’t be certain, but his paternal instincts tell him that they’ve contributed to Harris’s sad state. “Why not?”

“I-I t-tried, but M-Ms. Mar-Marion and Ms. P-Paula got m-mad at me.” The words come out between choked sobs. “‘C-Cuz I c-couldn’t sit d-down.”

“What do you mean?”

“I k-keeped st-standing up, ‘cuz m-my legs wanted to st-stand.” The explanation tumbles out of him so quickly, as though he’s trying to beat the clock. “And they s-said if I did-didn’t sit down, I c-couldn’t do art. But I k-keeped f-f-forgetting, and th-they t-taked away my pay-pay-paper and said, ‘sit in the c-corner!’”

Eddie’s breath hitches, and he has to clear his throat before speaking again. “Did…did that happen in Ms. Sweetheart’s class? The legs thing?” 

“Mhm,” Harris manages, “b-but she let me stand and d-do ju-jumps to get the wig-wiggles out. She just t-t-telled me not to do ju-jumps with s-s-scissors, ‘cuz of s-safety.” His breathing increases to a rapid pace, face flushing red as his chest heaves. “B-But Ms. M-Marion ye-ye-yelled at me!”

Eddie’s brows pinch together, and he gently presses his calloused palms against Harris’s narrow shoulders, desperate to prevent him from hyperventilating. “Harris, you gotta calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re crying like this!” Despite his efforts, his frustration bleeds into his tone, and he winces when the latter sentence ends with an unwanted snap. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s just an art project.” 

“Harris?”

The sound of your voice draws the attention of both Munsons. You let out a small oof as Harris flings himself against your legs, and though he practically flew the five foot distance between his father and you, now is not the time to remind him about using his walking feet.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” You crouch down, taking his hand in yours, and notice his quick, shallow breaths. “We’re gonna breathe together, okay? Eyes on me.” You demonstrate inhaling for three seconds, holding for three seconds, and exhaling for three seconds. “Now let’s do it together.” 

He hesitates but ultimately follows your lead, and you guide him until his breathing slows enough for him to sputter, “I t-tried to sit, b-but I c-couldn’t.”

You haven’t the slightest idea what he’s referring to, but Eddie fills you in. You feel the heat of anger creeping through your body, not just for the way your co-worker treated the sweet boy, but for her insolent approach to teaching as a whole.

“We can go to my classroom,” you offer, silently sighing in relief when the boy nods in agreement. “I don’t know if I have the supplies to make the same project as Ms. Marion, but if you have a few minutes, you can draw something now. I bet Mr. Will would love to help you; he’s a super-duper artist.”

Just as you’d predicted, Will jumps at the opportunity to help Harris with his impromptu art project, encouraging him to draw something that makes him happy. While he does that, you comb through the mess left behind from the Halloween party you’d thrown. You’d sooner toss one hundred cupcake wrappers in the trash before attempting a conversation with Eddie Munson. He’s simply too unpredictable; kind and thoughtful one day, harsh and guarded the next.

One of the wrappers in your hand drops to the floor and you reach forward to pick it up, pinching the pleated material between your pointer and middle fingers. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on your form, the way the backs of your thighs are slightly exposed when you bend over, and you stand up quickly. 

“Are you the Magic School Bus lady?” He takes in your lavender dress with planets and stars stamped all over it. Oh. He wasn’t checking you out; he was just trying to figure out who you’d dressed up as. Good. Anything else would be inappropriate.

So why does a twinge of disappointment radiate through you?

You glance at your costume; with all of the commotion, you’d forgotten you’d even been wearing one “I mean, would I even be a teacher if I didn’t jump at the chance to be Ms. Frizzle?” You motion over to Will, decked out in green from head to toe with two yellow horns glued to a headband atop his mop of brown hair. “Have you met my trusty sidekick, Liz the Lizard?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, Byers actually used to play in my D&D club back in high school. Made some pretty sick art pieces to liven up that dingy excuse for a room.”

You look between the two of them, trying to do the mental math. “Will, didn’t you say you’re twenty-four?” And if Eddie is thirty, that means…

“I, uh, had a little trouble graduating,” Eddie sheepishly admits, ruffling the back of his hair and offering a tight grimace. “But I got there eventually. Class of ‘86, baby!” 

“Worked out for me,” Will shrugs with a grin, looking up from Harris’s drawing. “You were the best DM Hellfire ever had. Although, rumor has it that Erica Sinclair gave you a run for your money.”

Harris picks up a yellow marker, furiously scribbling a circle in the left-hand corner of his paper. You try peering over to see the whole drawing, but he presses his whole body against the table, successfully thwarting your plans. “No peeking!” he warns, not putting his feet back on the ground until you’ve averted your gaze. “‘S a surprise.”

You put your hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll be surprised.” You raise your eyebrows at Eddie, who shares a similar response in return.

“Dunno when he got so bossy,” he snorts before calling out to his son, “Har-Bear? Five more minutes. We gotta get home to trick-or-treat with Grampa Wayne.”

“Ooh, that sounds like fun!” you echo as Harris grabs a purple marker from the box. “What’s your favorite candy?”

“Hmm.” Harris uses his free hand–the one with the cast–to tap his chin, continuing to color with the other one. “M&Ms. But only the plain ones. Daddy doesn’t let me have the peanut ones ‘cause he says I could choke.”

You shoot a sly, knowing look at Eddie. “I’m sure that’s the only reason. Such a selfless father.” You cross your arms over your chest and cock your head innocently. “And what do you do with all of these confiscated peanut M&Ms, Mr. Munson? Donate them?” 

Eddie tucks his lips into his mouth to mask his grin. “Listen, the jig is gonna be up at some point,” he mumbles out of the corner of his mouth, loud enough so you can hear but soft enough that Harris can’t. “Let me enjoy my free candy while it lasts.”

“No judgment here,” you say with a small laugh, “they’re one of my favorites, too.”

“TA-DA!” Harris shouts, startling you, Eddie, and Will. He holds up the construction paper and smiles widely. To anyone without kids–or who didn’t teach preschool for a living–it would look like a bunch of colorful scribbles. But you can tell that he’s drawn a group of people standing by a tree (or a really, really tall flower) underneath the sun.

“Wow, Harris! That’s amazing!” you clap your hands together to punctuate your enthusiasm. “Who are all those people?”

Harris’s pointer finger travels left to right across the paper as he names each person: “That’s me, Grampa Wayne, Daddy, you, and Mr. Will!” The stick figure that represents you has a purple scribble on it, which you realize must be the costume you’re wearing. “An’ we’re all smiling because we’re happy!” Sure enough, each person has a curved red line at the bottom of their face. But there’s something else that catches your eye.

All of the people have a small space between them, except for you and Eddie. The circle that Harris drew to represent your left hand overlaps with the circle that is Eddie’s right. 

You glance at the real Eddie, and if he notices, he doesn’t give any indication. “I love it, buddy.” He takes the drawing and inspects it closely. “Yup, this one’s definitely going on the fridge when we get home.” He flicks the paper for good measure. “Go clean up the markers so we can head out, Axl Rose.”

Among the noise of markers clattering back in the bins, you lean in to Eddie, inadvertently inhaling the scent of his cigarettes and cologne. For a brief moment, you’re transported back to the night fate had led you to cross paths; the thought of his lips on your neck in the stairwell has you clenching your thighs and swallowing thickly as you murmur, “I can ask him to make a new one with just you, him, and his grandpa.”

Eddie shakes his head. “N-No. I like this one.” He lets one hand drop to his side and it grazes yours. His rings brush your knuckles, and you instinctively draw back at the sensation of the cool metal and the zing of heat that pulses at his light touch. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“S’okay.”

He blinks a few times and redirects his attention to his son. “What do you say to Mr. Will and Ms. Sweetheart for letting you do your art project?”

Harris’s little chest swells as he inhales deeply, storing up as much oxygen as he can fit in his lungs before bellowing, “THANK YOUUUUUUU!”

Eddie brings his palm to his ear canal, rotating his forefinger as though trying to repair a punctured eardrum. “Love the enthusiasm,” he says through gritted teeth. “Seriously, though. Thank you both so much.”

“Of course,” Will says warmly, picking up the marker bin and placing it in its space on the shelf.

“Anything for Harris.” You smile, motioning towards the little boy already by his father’s side. “Have fun trick-or-treating tonight, bud! I can’t wait to hear about all the yummy candy you got.”

Harris scrunches his nose in contemplation. “Are you going trick-or-treating, Ms. Sweetheart?”

“Nah,” you laugh, “I’m gonna stay home and give candy to all the kids who come by.” And pray that Grandma doesn’t curse them out, you silently add.

“Oh.” Harris pauses, grabbing his dad’s hand. “Okay, bye!”

Eddie chuckles as his son pulls him towards the door. “That’s my cue. Um, Happy Halloween,” he adds awkwardly, waving once before disappearing down the hallway.

There’s so much more that he wants to say: you’re the best; you saved the day; you should be my son’s teacher instead of that old, bitchy bat. But he didn’t have time. Maybe another day. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

Wayne arrives just a few minutes after Eddie and Harris get home. As soon as his gruff voice comes over the intercom, Harris excitedly buzzes him in. “Grampa Wayne’s here!” he yells, even though Eddie’s standing right next to him. He grabs the pillowcase from the couch; it was originally white, but after Eddie accidentally threw in a red sock with the white laundry, it’s tinted light pink.

No sooner does the older man cross the threshold into the apartment, Harris is trying to drag him out again. “Let’s go, before all the good candy is gone!” he whines. His eyebrows pinch together and he drops his grandfather’s hand. “Oh, wait, I gotta show you something.” He scampers off into the kitchen, and Wayne winces when he hears the rattle of magnets falling to the floor.

“I’m okay!” Harris calls out, running back with a piece of paper in his hand. “Look what I drawed at school today!” He gives Wayne the rundown of who’s who.

Wayne analyzes each person in the picture, stopping at the overlapping circles between you and Eddie. “This is great, Har-Bear,” he muses. “Are, um, are Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart holding hands?”

“Mhm,” Harris casually confirms, taking the drawing back. “‘Cause they’re married.”

Eddie chokes on air as Wayne does a double-take. “Congrats, Ed,” he jokes, clapping a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. “Gotta say, I thought I’d at least get an invite.”

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes. “Harris, why do you think that Ms. Sweetheart and I are married?” He wracks his brain for answers, but he can’t come to a logical conclusion. Did I talk about her in my sleep? Oh, shit, what if it was when I had that dream—

“Because you gived her a present,” Harris says, eyes innocent and wide. “And when grown-ups love each other, they give each other presents.”

“Oh, he gave Ms. Sweetheart a present, huh?” On the surface, Wayne’s words are as innocuous as Harris’s, but Eddie hears the teasing buried just beneath. 

Harris nods. “Mhm. He gived her a tape!”

“It was the Toni Braxton one that she came into the shop for…that day that, uh…” Eddie raises his eyebrows at his uncle, who nods in acknowledgment. He brings his focus back to his son. “It doesn’t mean that we’re married. People have to go on dates and fall in love before they get married.”

The young boy absorbs this information. “So you should go on dates and fall in love with Ms. Sweetheart!” His face lights up at the idea of it, and it breaks Eddie’s heart to let him down. 

So, he doesn’t. 

“Why don’t you hang that back up so we can get outta here and get you some candy, huh?” He forces a smile and watches his son scamper into the kitchen before turning back to Wayne and shaking his head. 

Harris peels a magnet off of the fridge, the one Eddie bought him on their Daddy-Son day. It has a sea lion balancing a beach ball on its snout, with HAWKINS ZOO printed in bolded letters along the bottom.  

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he speaks directly to his drawing. “When Daddy and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love and get married, I’ll finally have a mommy.” He presses his hand flat against the paper as though he’s sealing in the wish. He stays like that for a moment until his dad calls his name, and he clutches his pillow case as they head out the door. 

Eddie assumes that the love and marriage talk is done for the evening, but the feeling of relief doesn’t last long. The trio of Munson men is halfway down the stairwell when Wayne starts instigating. “Hey, Har, is Ms. Sweetheart pretty?”

“WAYNE!” Eddie grits his teeth and shoots a sharp look at his uncle. The last thing he needs is for Harris to get his hopes up about a blossoming romance between his dad and his former teacher. 

“Oh, yeah!” Harris gleefully agrees, oblivious to the mounting tension. He grips the railing and jumps from the second to last step onto the tiled landing below. “Super pretty! Like a princess.”

The eldest Munson turns to Eddie. “Didja hear that? Pretty like a princess.”

“I heard him,” Eddie replies tersely. 

“Daddy?”

No. Don’t ask me. Harris Wayne Munson, do not ask me what I think you’re going to—

“Do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty?”

Although he anticipated the question, Eddie still freezes. If he disagrees, Harris will inevitably want to know why not. And if he’s being honest with himself, he can’t name a single ugly thing about you. 

He does think you’re pretty. He thinks you’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Stunning. And even though he’s literally seen you naked, fully on display for him–a memory he revisits more often than he’s willing to admit–it’s the thought of what you did today that solidifies your beauty. The way you’d effortlessly calmed Harris down without Eddie even having to ask. The frown on his face almost instantly became a smile, the flow of his tears ceasing and turning into the giggles that brought sunlight into Eddie’s life. You did that.

Any woman can be sexy, but you? In that moment, you were perfect.

Fuck. 

“Daddy? Hello?”

At the sound of Harris’s voice, Eddie realizes that he physically hasn’t moved from his spot on the stairs. His hand is gripping the banister so tightly that it leaves an imprint in his palm. “Yeah, buddy,” he manages through his Sahara Desert throat. “I think Ms. Sweetheart’s pretty.”

“Like a princess?” Wayne’s eyes twinkle mischievously. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to tease his nephew about a crush, and he’s not passing up this limited opportunity. 

“Yeah. Like a princess.”

Education outsiders might think that Halloween is one of the worst days to be a teacher. The lethal combination of sugar and excitement barely contained in tiny costumed bodies seems like a recipe for disaster. But any teacher worth their salt will tell you that there is a day far, far worse than Halloween: November 1st. 

On Halloween, there is the expectation for fun. There’s a costume parade, classroom trick-or-treating, and even a little party. The kids are out of control, but who cares? It’s Halloween. 

But on November 1st, there is work to be done. And you’re expected to teach the months of the year to 10 four-year-olds who are suffering from candy hangovers and won’t stop asking why they can’t go trick-or-treating again today. 

You and Will are preparing for battle as students trickle in, excited to show off the candy stashes they acquired the night before. Abby Carver cries because she ate her Reese’s cup and now she’s sad that it’s gone. Joshua Harrington is continuing to “sling webs” at the other kids despite your incessant reminders that he is no longer Spider-Man. A fight over a KitKat bar breaks out not even five minutes into the day, and you confiscate it before someone causes serious bodily harm. 

Two fingers lightly tap on your shoulder—too high up to be a kid—and you whirl around with an irritated, “what?”

“Whoa,” Eddie says, concern etched into his otherwise soft features. He takes a small step back, nearly tripping over a rogue Lego that somehow made its way out of the toy area. He stumbles but catches his balance easily. “Everything okay?”

“‘S a warzone out here,” you try and joke, but you feel it fall flat. You’re too tired for humor. Grandma may not have yelled at the trick-or-treaters like you’d feared, but she did get increasingly angrier with each knock on the door. After the fifth time of her snarling at you to “shut the hell up” (like you could simultaneously be on both sides of the door), you’d relented and just put the candy bowl on the welcome mat, scribbling “TAKE ONE” on a yellow sticky note, adhering it to the plastic container. 

Two decades earlier, Halloween at Grandma’s house had a completely different connotation. She’d have a little pizza party all set up for you, and she’d buy a big bag of your favorite candy, in case you didn’t get enough during your door-to-door quests. And she’d always let you watch whatever spooky movie your heart desired, regardless of your parents’ rules. 

“That’s what grandmas are for,” she’d said with a wink, and the two of you curled up to watch Little Shop of Horrors. Her demeanor matched the hokey magnet on her fridge that read, If I knew how fun my grandkids would be, I would’ve had them first. You’d stay like that until you both fell asleep, only being roused by your parents arriving to pick you up. The good old days, before Grandma waking up involved watching the confusion in her eyes as she tried and failed to place you.

“C-Can I help you with something?” Your guard goes up immediately when you notice that Harris isn’t with him. The time you’d spent together after school yesterday had been nice, fun, even, but you couldn’t trust that today would be the same. Not after what happened a few short weeks ago. 

“I, um…I just swung by to give you this.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his denim jacket; it’s the same one that he lent to Harris when he’d forgotten his at home. A flash of yellow paper catches your eye, and he unfurls his palm to reveal a small bag of peanut M&Ms. “You said they were one of your favorites, right?”

You look at the treat, not willing to reach out and grab it. What if it’s a joke? An elaborate ploy to reel you in, just to shout “gotcha” when you finally let your walls come down?

“Are they poisoned or something?” you quip, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did you spike them with Ex-Lax?”

Eddie’s lips part in surprise before he collects himself. “Guess I deserve that,” he mumbles. “But, no. They’re not. I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” He drags his fingernail over his heart in an X-formation. 

You take the bag, inspecting it for any sign of tampering, but you come up short. The edges are sealed, and there are no pinpricks as far as your eyes can see. “Dipped into Harris’s stash for me?”

“Hey, these bad boys are technically mine for the taking until he figures out that he can eat them without dying.” Eddie chuckles lightly, peering at you through impossibly long lashes. “But, yeah, I was hoping you’d accept these as part of my apology. Or apologies, I guess. For, uh, for not calling when I said I would, and all of the awful shi—awful things I said to you.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he steps closer and says, “I am so fucking sorry.”

You make a small tear in the bag, tapping it against your palm until an M&M falls out. Popping the blue candy in your mouth, you allow the shell to start dissolving on your tongue before crunching on the peanut, hoping you can process what he’s said by the time you’re finished chewing. 

This is what you’ve been waiting for—an actual heartfelt apology. His brown eyes reflect nothing but shame and remorse, and you can tell by the way that he’s fidgeting with his rings that he’s anxiously awaiting your reply. 

His vulnerability softens you slightly, and considering you haven’t keeled over after ingesting the candy, you throw him a bone. 

“This fun size bag covers the ‘not calling’ part, but I’m gonna need a lot more candy if you want me to forgive you for what you said at the music store.” You keep your tone light; teasing, even, but there’s a layer of truth to it. He can’t merely waltz into your classroom with a gift and expect you to forget his hurtful words. 

Eddie nods, his frizzy curls brushing the tops of his denim-clas shoulders. “I know. I’ve said some pretty terrible things in my life, but that might’ve been the worst. And, um,” he fumbles his words, desperately searching for the right ones. Semantics has never been his forte. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not true; your grandma didn’t want to forget you. And…neither do I.” When you raise your eyebrows, he starts to backtrack. “Because you’re so great with Harris; like, you understand him and stuff. He’s always talking about you.”

Daddy, do you think Ms. Sweetheart is pretty? The question replays like a song he can’t shake from his head, its melody familiar but the notes still keeping him on edge. Pretty like a princess, only instead of saving her, I’m the one who needs to be rescued. So much for Prince Charming, huh?

The M&M melts in your mouth while you formulate a response to his candid admission. Sweetness seeps into your taste buds as you try to straddle the line between careful consideration and overthinking. Speak too quickly and you might say something you’ll regret. Take too long and you’ll make this even more awkward.

“W-Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Short, simple, to the point. Your words are slightly slurred by the candy obstruction, but what else is there to say? You could add that you forgive him, but you’re truthfully not sure that you do. His words scarred, had taken your already mangled self-worth and snapped it into pieces, and so did his reasoning for hurting you. Despite the love and kindness you’d shown his son, Eddie had fully believed that you were responsible for spreading personal information that would wound him. It was exactly as Jeff had said: Eddie struck below the belt at the first sign of conflict, so determined to protect himself that he didn’t even realize that he was attacking the people on his side.

The sound of books clattering to the floor snatches your attention from him, and you whip your head to your little classroom library to see two kids standing over a pile of fallen books, guilty looks stamped on their faces. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out, dashing off to assess the damage. You’ve never been so grateful for your students causing mischief.

The hour hand crawls to the number two; at one point, you swore the clock was moving backwards. The chaos of the morning was only a preview of the rest of the day’s fiascos, but you and Will had navigated as best as you could.

“Jesus,” he murmurs once the kids have all been dismissed, gingerly rubbing his temples, “that was brutal. I can handle the day after Halloween; I can handle Fridays, but when they coincide? Nope, never again.” He slumps into a chair dramatically, letting his arms drape over the sides.

“Gonna have a glass of wine when you get home?” you joke, wiping Play-Doh residue from a tabletop.

Will nods. “Or a whole bottle.” His focus shifts to your desk, and he nods his chin in that direction. “I see you have something to look forward to tonight, too.”

You follow his gaze, widening your eyes when you see the object he’s referring to. A bag of peanut M&Ms–much bigger than the one you’d inhaled this morning–sits on top of your desk calendar; resting next to it is a cassette. You walk over, curiosity getting the better of you. The cassette is Guns N’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction; you recognize the iconic cover as soon as it comes into view. It’s not your usual music choice, but you’ll listen to almost anything.

There’s a piece of paper taped to the giant yellow M&M bag, folded in equal triads. Messily scrawled across the front in black ink is Ms. Sweetheart. You gently pull the adhesive loose and open the letter, nervously running your forefinger across the irregular edge where it was obviously torn from a composition notebook.

Fun size mistake=fun size bag of candy

Family size mistake=family size bag of candy

I’m really good at fucking things up, but really bad at fixing them. I wish I could say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, but we both know that I did. 

You don’t have to forgive me, but I need you to know how sorry I am. 

-Eddie

P.S. Not sure if hard rock is your thing, but I saw this at work and it reminded me of the kindness you showed our favorite little Axl Rose yesterday.

“Who’s it from?” Will asks, breaking into your thoughts. “A secret admirer?” He brings his clasped hands to his cheek in mock dreaminess.

You manage a laugh as you fold the note back up and tuck it under the calendar. “If it is, he’s really bad at it, because he signed his name.” When did he even sneak in here to do this? Kind of scary that someone could walk in and you didn’t even notice.

“Aha! So it is a guy!” Will pumps his fist triumphantly, though you’re not quite sure what he thinks he’s won.

“Just Eddie Munson, thanking us for letting Harris draw here yesterday.” 

It’s not a total lie, but Will sees right through it. “Uh-huh. Thanking us? So that note is also for me? Can I read it?” He starts towards your desk, outstretched hand reaching towards where you’d tried to hide it, but you playfully swat them away.

You glance at the clock and frown. “If you leave a little early, I won’t tell anyone.”

Will flips you off; over the last two months, you two had developed a sibling-esque relationship that came out more once the kids had left for the day. He grabs his backpack from the supply closet and slings it over his shoulders. “You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or I’d stick around and keep bothering you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes, knowing full well that he’s itching to leave regardless. “Gotta save up your energy for when Marshall visits.”

Will blushes at the mention of his long-distance boyfriend’s name. He still wasn’t out to many people, but when you’d casually mentioned the date Jess had with a girl named Robin, he’d felt comfortable opening up to you. “I can’t wait!” His grin is so wide you swear it’ll stretch right off of his face. “Thanks again; you’re the best.”

That leaves you alone with your gigantic bag of candy, a Guns N’ Roses cassette, and an apology that you have no idea what to do with.

Once again, Eddie Munson has given you more questions than answers.

--

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[thatdeadaquarius]

Okay so-- i was reading some sagau posts and came across this one where the reader was an army vet and my brain just Did Its Thing--

So now I'm here to inflict this on to you--

Would guns be considered as catalysts. And would they only do Phys Damage.

Me reading this ask:

😶 😐 🤨 🧐 🧐 😰 🥲 😭😭😭 💀

STOP YOU'VE INFLICTED ME WITH PSYCHOLOGICAL DMG FROM THIS ASK 😭

(Also srry took so long to respond, when i didnt realize how short this was/was just sitting over here 😓)

^ For the sake of gun imagery being a lot/maybe staff might hate me for it,

we'll put this gay shit instead (i almost mispelled to "gay shot" lmao)

☆

Sun: Army Veteran Reader, Gender neutral Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: SHORT Headcanons

Stars: everybody bc i think itd be funny

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: gun stuff, mild violence, mild cursing & Trigger Warnings: Gun fun everywhere

THIS ASK HAS ME GIGGLING TO MYSELF LIKE A MANIAC

You're out here having a whole gun they let you take for off-base

And u ofc have a license so u can conceal carry

(idk how non-american gun laws work, but tbh ours are so fucked idk how they work here either, just that an army guy i knew once could have his gun when he got back home)

And ofc ur just paranoid enough (more like it just makes u feel safe)

That when u get yoinked into a portal to a silly little brightly colored gacha game fantasy world, the gun comes with 💀

Id like to add in my silly little "ur in a video game, so video game rules" AU version of genshin so:

The only other gun (ish) wielder (Mika) has unlimited bolts

Sooo I'd think your gun would be the same jfc lol

NO BC YOUD SCARE THE ACTUAL SHIT OUT OF EVERYONE IN UR VICINITY IN A BATTLE

BC GUNSHOTS ARE A DIFFERENT TYPE OF LOUD

When u first stumble into abyss monsters/hostile creatures of the realm, u nearly scare off a Lawlachurl bc every shot's like thunder to these bitches😭

So not only the monsters but the vision holders think u fucking summoned lightning

OMG THE BULLETS ARE SO FAST THEYD PROBABLY NOT SEE IT

ESP BC DISTRACTED BY GUNSHOT LOUDNESS

SO U AIM THIS LITTLE BLACK CROSSBOW (???) AND THINGS JUST DIE (OR GET RIDDLED WITH HOLES) WITH NO CLEAR ARROW STICKING OUT

STOPP- you're becoming a witchy god or smth to all of Teyvat bc it just looks like hella high level magic atp to them LMAOOO

Rumors of you get out of hand and say u just point or snap ur fingers and things get wounded/just die on the spot 💀

Oh another difference between Teyvatians seeing ur gun vs. crossbow (what they know)

Is that guns are wayyyy more destructive

Like an arrow would get shot but it'd bounce off of things like rock or wood or metal, maybe dent a little depending on how close

But a bullet goes thru that shit so easy, and leaves a whole little explosion behind, once again depending on range

(I once saw a Mythbusters episode? of them proving bullets would definitely go thru car doors, like movies lied to u, this is why drive-bys acc work like for gangs)

Lmao, the image of you in like full armor with a Teyvat made automatic gun after showing it to blacksmiths

Makes u just more convincing as a god, esp bc military training

(Ppl like Gorou and Kokomi begging for military tactics/training ur world has done)

...

....Ok.

I'll address it.

But only so u dont think im stupid later.

Yes, the Fatui have guns.

No, this not the same as having a glock LMAO

End of story.

(Also, urs runs on bullets, whereas the Fatui rely on magic/delusions to power theirs, plus they dont seem as fast or destructive as urs, more "explosions aimed at you" than real bullets)

Which,,, u leave the managing of ppl copying ur gun to ppl like the Qixing or smth, but make sure to give them advice on good gun laws if teyvat accidentally revolutionizes bc of ur advanced gun that anybody can wield (non-vision users)

Thats the best ive got abt that

Oh, also enjoy being praised as a War god now.

:)

☆

... dammit i had smth i was gonna tell u guys-

Uh what tf was it, it was important

OH

Next post is the Eldritch God Oneshot! Look out for it :) !!

☆

Safe Travels Kid,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 17

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

(Farewell, Roger…)

A gunshot was heard.

Red scattered before my eyes like rose petals.

—The man in the black hood who held a gun to my head fell to the ground.

(Huh…?)

One by one, the other men fell to the ground. Through the gunpowder smoke, I saw—

Kate: …Ro…ger.

Roger: Kate, you hurt…?!

Roger ran over and cupped my face in his hands. He stared at my face before running his hands along my body, checking for injuries.

Roger: Your arm’s bruised from when that guy grabbed you, but it’s not broken.

(...It really is…Roger)

Roger: …Kate?

When his eyes returned to my face, the tension within me snapped.

Kate: …Roger, Roger…

I clung to his shirt and buried my face in his thick chest.

Roger’s large hand patted my back, the warmth of it making my heart ache.

Roger: …That was scary, wasn’t it?

Kate: …It was…Ugh, I couldn’t…

Roger: That so.

His calm voice soothed my heart, and when he held me tight, I felt happy to be alive.

Nica: Ah, you lived. So, did you shoot them all? You’re a very merciless doctor, aren’t you?

(...Why is Nica)

Jude arrived after.

Roger: Look here, only missed a vital spot on one.

Nica: Ah, he’s close to death, no?

Jude used his foot to tilt the face of the man suffering from a gunshot to the leg up.

Jude: You’re gonna spill everythin’ ya know.

Man in black hood: …If I’m going to get killed anyway…

The ground instantly turned red.

(...)

The man lied motionless, as if drowning in the blood gushing from his neck.

Nica: Ah, he died before we could get him to spill anything. Too bad, we lost a valuable source of information.

Jude: …Tch, ya kill then run away by killin’ yourself. Disgusting.

Roger: …Kate, don’t look.

As I stared at the corpse in a daze, a large hand blocked my vision.

My face was pushed against Roger’s chest and I found myself being lifted up.

Roger: …Let’s go home.

All I could do was give a small nod in response as I tried to hold back the emotions rising within me.

--

After taking all the kidnapped youths back home and returning to Crown castle, Roger saw to my swelling wrist.

By my feet, Ale ate away at his reward meal.

(Why did Roger bring me back to his room and not the lab…?)

But the moment I thought that, I had my answer.

(Ah, I see…I was in a dark place just then, so he’s trying to make me feel less scared)

Roger: Oh right, Kate. See that square door on the floor there?

Kate: Square door? …Ah, there really is one!

While rubbing an ointment on my swollen wrist, he nodded over to the handle sticking up from the floor.

Roger: That’s actually a hidden door—Leads directly to the basement lab.

Kate: Wow! I didn’t know!

Roger: Wasn’t originally part of this room when Victor gave it to me. I made it.

Kate: …You made it? So you just made a hole in the floor…?

Roger: Yeah, if anyone finds out, I’m gonna get a good tongue-lashing. It’s a secret between you and me.

I couldn’t help but laugh at Roger’s own mischievous smile.

Kate: Pfft, ahaha…Geez…Just how much do you value efficiency?

Roger just smiled and, as if to shut the lid on something scary, slammed the medicine box lid shut.

Roger: …You’re finally starting to return to normal.

(Ah…I laughed…)

Roger: Alright, I’m done treating you. You should get some rest.

(I’m only able to laugh like this because of Roger’s help)

As soon as my stiff expression relaxed, I felt all the fear and anxiety slowly melt away.

…Now there’s just the guilt in my heart.

Kate: …-ry. I’m sorry, Roger…

Roger: …? I’d like to hear a “thanks”.

Kate: Sorry…

Despite what he wanted, all I could do was let out my feelings of guilt.

Roger: …Kate?

Kate: At the time…I wanted to kill them. But…My finger, it wouldn’t budge.

They were sinners who have killed, and Crown would have condemned them without any hesitation.

(...I knew that, but still hesitated to take a life)

(I was scared)

Kate: So…I ended up…

Roger: Ended up?

Kate: I ended up…making you kill those people.

Roger: …O_O

(The sin should’ve been mine to bear)

Roger: Kate, though I’ve never killed in front of you, it’s not my first time. So what you’re fretting over is— 

Kate: But…there’s no way you get used to killing people?

Roger: …

Kate: I told you I’d get strong, and I’ve been doing my best, but… But…I’m still weak…

(I couldn’t even run up to and hug Roger on that rainy day)

(I want to be able to support Roger, who’s trying to be strong, even just a little bit)

But I’m still as weak and pathetic as ever.

Roger’s always been the one supporting me.

Kate: Roger, I’m sor…

I couldn’t get the rest of my words out.

Because Roger’s lips had taken my breath away.

Kate: …Ro…Mnnn

Roger: …

When I was about to part my lips to speak, they were sealed again, entwined tongues snatching any thoughts I had away.

Before long, wet sounds could be heard from our lips.

Kate: Mnn, nn…nnn

(My mind’s gone numb…I can’t say anything…)

Anything I was about to say had melted away with the heat of the kiss.

But being hugged close to his broad chest and receiving kisses, as if telling me “that’s enough”—It felt as if all was forgiven.

When our lips finally parted, Roger’s face was so close that I could barely focus on it as I stared.

Roger: Kate, I’m glad I got there in time to shoot them.

Kate: …Huh?

Roger: I’d have to live with leaving you with a permanent scar if I let you kill someone. I’m glad you didn’t kill…Also I’m glad you’re alive, partner.

Kate: Part…ner…?

Did you just say partner? +4 +4

Don’t spoil me.

Am I still your assistant?

Kate: Did you just say partner?

Roger: Partner comes after assistant, doesn’t it?

However, I looked down, unsure if I qualified for it or not.

Roger: I know you were desperately fighting against your own fears to protect the others that got kidnapped. You stood there to protect them instead of yourself. I don’t think someone who fights for the sake of others is weak…Hence the promotion.

Kate: …

And so Roger has saved my heart again.

He allowed me to be myself and cheered me up with a smile of encouragement.

(...I was trying to not cry because I didn’t want to look weak)

Kate: …Uuuuuu

Roger: Oh, what’s up? You’re groaning.

Kate: …Huhu…

Roger: Ah…you’re trying to hold your tears back.

Kate: B-because…You’ve acknowledged me as your partner…I’ll ruin it if I cry.

Roger: Pfft…

Roger burst into laughter.

Kate: Besides, I know my crying face makes you happy.

Roger: Pfft, ahahahaha! You…You’re really…

You’re so damn cute!

The moment I was allowed to expose my weakness, the dam burst and tears spilled out.

Kate: W-waaahhh~ Roger you bully!

Roger: Ahhh, you’re crying. So cute. Pfft, haha…

As expected, Roger smirked as he stared at my face, but…he held my hand the entire time I cried.

(I said I’d never confess because I didn’t want it to be unrequited)

(But I admit it. I like Roger)

(I fell in love with this person)

Roger: When you’re done crying, let’s go out to eat. Your treat.

Kate: I’ve been promoted to partner, so you should treat me…Hic…

Roger: Alright, alright.

The next day, after having a delicious meal and beer with Roger and feeling so happy to be alive—

I visited Victor’s office to report on the incident.

--

Kate: Excuse me.

Victor: Yes, enter.

William: …

When Victor gestured for me to sit on the sofa, William, who was already sitting there, smiled at me.

Victor: First, I would like to apologize for putting you in danger.

Kate: Why are you apologizing? It’s my fault for being cautious. I’m really sorry. And thank you for saving me.

Victor nodded silently and I could see the sympathy on his face.

I was told that he sent out teams to search other locations as well when I got kidnapped.

(Everyone was worried about me…)

I bowed deeply again to express my gratitude to them.

William: Kate, with the criminals dead, your testimony will be an important lead. But speaking about it will be like digging up old wounds, so we won’t force you.

Kate: If any information I have will be of use, then I’ll tell everything I can. This is also part of my job as Fairytale Keeper.

—I told the two everything that happened.

Victor: It seems that the criminals were working for someone that wanted the bodies.

William: Your testimony has helped narrow down who they were. The criminals who kidnapped you—they’re a group of funeral directors.

Kate: A group of funeral directors?

William: As the name suggests, they’re a group of people who conduct funerals as their occupation. It seems that they realized the value of corpses, and started doing evil.

Victor: This group must be condemned. No exceptions. And now—Here lies a problem.

Victor’s cold voice caressed my cheeks as he spoke.

Victor: Just who was their employer? They were someone who instilled enough fear for them to prepare corpses and commit suicide.

William: …Fear isn’t the only method to control others, the reverse is also possible.

(The reverse…?)

I didn’t understand what William was muttering to himself.

Victor: We’ll take care of the rest as we’re already investigating it. I won't let this continue on—Absolutely not.

--

Roger turned toward the sound of the door to the basement opening.

Roger: …Ah, Kate. Just—

Alfons: Unfortunately for you, it’s Alfons, not Kate. These documents here are from Victor. At any rate… It’s quite unusual for a man with hearing as good as yours to mistake one person for another, isn’t it?

Roger: Kate’s the only one that comes down here these days.

Alfons: Speaking of, did you know? It has been almost a month since Kate has become Fairytale Keeper.

Though he knew that, some sort of surprise arose in his chest.

Roger: Yeah, it’s...already been a month. Time flies by when you get older.

Alfons: So, how is there any progress to proving that romantic love exists?

Roger: You could say that there’s still not enough research. —However, there’s one thing I noticed.

Next

-

Another cliffhanger :D

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

Jason The Toymaker Headcanons

The grind never stops fr fr. Sorry for disappearing I had summer classes and then a certain triangle demon from a kid’s show is took up most of my attention and creativity, and now I’m in regular classes and silly goofy video games have taken up my attention and creativity when I’m not slaving over my art projects for school. Teehee. Oops!

Jason has been another underrated character in this fandom imo, and I especially love love love LOVE characters who just get so obsessed with shit. I can’t remember if it was canon or fanon about him, but I love the fact he gets so possessive of his friends to the point where he kills the competition. And also the friend. Because the best friend to have is one you have complete control over, right?

Anyways.

Cis man? WRONG.

Like you’re gonna look at Jason and tell me that motherfucker has only ever used he/him pronouns? Bro is an eccentric Toymaker ffs

Jason uses any pronouns. Even the ones that don’t exist. Bro collects that shit like Pokemon cards

Hey remember LJ? Yeah Jason made him

I mean hello??? Sentient toy clown? That’s right up Jason’s alley

Jason has also made other clown characters, like Candy Pop

Jason is also one of the few inhabitants that straight up doesn’t need to eat food. Ever

Much like Nina, no one’s really sure what he is, they just know its immortal like everyone else and insanely hard to kill

Most people also avoid them or go out of their way to not get emotionally close to him for super obvious reasons

Like. They’ve all seen her workshop. Every week he comes back with a new human he’s lied to and whisked off their feet with some bullshit fantasy and within the next few days they’ve made a doll of the poor guy

Jason technically isn’t even allowed to do that, humans aren’t allowed to know of the existence of the manor or Slenderman or literally anything that goes on there, but does Jason care? Absolutely not

Slenderman tried getting on her ass about it once, and by some miracle Jason was able to talk themselves out of punishment

Besides making morbid people dolls, Jason of course also makes random other toys. Almost all of them are sentient or are able to think and comprehend speech

Jason uses Mr. Glutton (the snake) as not only a chair, but a garbage disposal as well. Need to get rid of body parts? Give to the snake. It’s like a black hole in there

So y’know how Anne and Eyeless Jack are the go-to doctors of the residency? Jason is the fix it guy for anything that’s not biological

Torn clothing? Jason can sew it up for ya

Gun/chainsaw/mechanical weapon is jammed? Jason has a fix for it

Broken trinket from your room? Jason somehow has already made an exact copy of it for this specific occasion

You could count on one hand the things Jason doesn’t know how to fix

And still despite being the repairperson no one usually sticks around long enough to chat

You’d think with how delusionally clingy this mf is that it would be a problem but surprisingly no

There’s a reason why xe specifically only targets humans

Like? Humans as a species are so easy to manipulate? And are leagues more fun to torture and scare than her fellow serial killer roommates

Similarly to how the others make bets on what weird item Helen can use as a murder weapon, they also make bets on how fast Jason’s next victim gets dollified

So far the record is a single day because somehow one girl had the balls to pull an 80s horror protagonist and stabbed Jason with their own fabric shears

She didn’t get far. Obviously. What’d you expect from an entire mansion crawling with murderous entities. LJ accidentally clotheslined the girl while reaching between doorways for something

Everyone on the third floor then got to bear witness to Jason dragging her back to his workshop by her ankles. Using the same fabric shears. The carpet is still stained from how much she bled. I’m pretty sure one of her fingernails is still lodged in the wall, too

While they don’t share a studio/workshop, Jason and Helen often use a lot of the same crafting materials. They have a mutual relationship where if one of them goes out, they return with something both of them ran out of recently

Beyond that they literally never speak to each other, and they both like it that way

Jason is way too eccentric for Helen to be able to stomach for longer than an hour, and Helen is too particular with so many different things that it gets on Jason’s nerves

One of the few people that does stick around Jason often is Ann

Obviously there’s the underlying factor that Ann literally owes her current life to Jason, but even outside of that stipulation, Ann finds them pleasant to hang around

Unlike Jason’s other doll experiments and creations, Ann is the only one that came with sentience already attached. Saved Jason the hassle of having to create an entire consciousness network from scratch

Like damn, vengeance is one hell of a powerful force, enough so that once Ann was put back together by Jason, she was up and functioning practically immediately

The two aren’t inseparable per se, and definitely don’t see each other as anything more than friends (Ann moreso than Jason), but you can often find them in the same room interacting

Jason, like many of the others, adore Sally to an unnerving degree. It seems as if everyone, no matter how much they dislike kids or ghosts or humans or whatever else Sally counts as, feels a supernaturally strong urge to protect the kid. Jason is one of the few seen with her constantly

Yeah go figure the Toymaker likes to appease the child

But seriously it’s a little freaky how Sally has this effect on so many people. Someone should look into that

While it’s one of the most recent additions to the household, Jason is one of the oldest entities within the group.

Like hello bro was around in the late 1800s, Jason has peepaw bragging rights

With that comes the stipulation that Jason hates modern technology. The newest thing they own is a sewing machine from the 70s

I think it’s pretty obvious that because of his peepaw status, + the fact Jason thrives off unhealthy obsessive friendships, a lot of the younger residents hate her, and vice versa

Is friends/close with: Sally, Ann, Nina, and LJ

Is neutral about: Jane, EJ, Kagekao, Helen, and Slenderman

Doesn’t get along with/hates: BEN/Ben, Jeff, Clockwork, Puppeteer, Liu, Masky, and Hoody

Ben is practically the antithesis of Jason. Modern tech manipulator vs old fashioned old timey manipulator

If those two somehow end up in the same room it’s ON SIGHT

Nina and Jason are constantly bitching and gossiping about anything and everything under the sun. Somehow someone who’s besties with Jason’s rival is also besties with Jason. Nina is just that talented, apparently

Ofc they also bond over fashion. Who do you think makes most of Nina’s batshit insane wardrobe pieces?

Puppeteer annoys the hell out of Jason. That, and he keeps trying to steal and manipulate all the dolls Jason makes. Rude.

Jason is the only one allowed to destroy xer own work. If it catches you fucking with any of the dolls, thrown away or otherwise, you can kiss your existence goodbye because Jason will make it her life’s mission to see to it you never have peace again

Tries not to be in their true/corrupted form too often considering how rotted his arms get in that state. The skin flakes off and everything, and it’s really inconvenient when you’re trying to work on fine craftsmanship and your own rotten black flesh keeps falling into your paint or some shit

Not exactly the easiest thing to control though. The more emotionally volatile Jason is, the more likely you’re gonna see him at his worst

[velvet-paradox]

Naughty

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Female reader Length: Medium Summary: You like your man a little mean and he obliges. Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, reader discretion advised, established relationship, name calling (dumb, dummy, toy, slut), strong language, porn with very little plot, a lot of brain rot going on here friends, light slapping (but not painful), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talking, detailed smut. P.S. I may or may not have a lovi obsession just sayin'. OK BYE Tagging: @synnersaint

She likes it when he's mean.

When he comes home hot and still full of spit and vinegar. Says it turns her on to get a little kaleidoscope glimpse in to what his enemies get the full taste of. Of course he's never truly mean to her, how could he? He loves his little dummy back home. With her glittering eyes and open arms, waiting patiently for him mission after mission. Her hugs are the best. Welcoming him home, where he belongs, even if he does reek of gun residue, sweat and gore.

Blood doesn't bother her, whether it be her own or Keegan's, she's not shy with the sticky stuff. She's cleaned his wounds with bare hands and when she's finished she's got more dirt and grime under her nails then he did. She's even stitched his forehead once or twice, much to his disapproval even though when he chances a look in the mirror, he can barely see the scars.

She's good.

Too good.

Too good for him, she doesn't deserve the junk and turmoil he brings to her doorstep. Wounds that won't heal, scars that won't fade. But he tries. He tries to be a good man when he's not running point, when he's not given instructions to just barrel through and get the job at hand, done. Keegan wants to be a good man; good enough to deserve you.

He looks at your photo when he's alone in his tent, on the road, in the helo. When the world is just too fucking loud, he's careful to take it out of his front left breast pocket (safe keeping of course), looking at your beautiful handwriting first.

FROM ONE DUMMY TO ANOTHER XOXO

He'll smile at it, beneath his ghost balaclava or bare and streaked when he's all alone, before he'll turn it over. Still after these tedious months, he gets that tingle in the pit of his stomach, the ends of his toes, the balls of his feet, the seam where God himself split his sac.

You don't have to be naked to look this fucking good. In fact, you're fully clothed, only your soft hands are available, giving two peace signs on the back of his motorcycle. Two of his most precious guilty pleasures.

"Come on, come on." Your whine cuts through the forgotten music in the background, the faint smell of a homecooked meal wafts up the stairs and renders the man completely useless.

Keegan is transfixed at the leash in his hand, the black leather is soft and worn in his palm, the chain clinks quietly when he moves his wrist and finally looks down. Stunned once more by your beauty. On your knees in a lacy one piece, slinky at best, leaving just a hint of peek-a-boo skin through the fine material. The leash is of course attached to the collar around your neck, next thing he sees is your wiggling, hips swaying as if you had a tail, sticking out your tongue in a lewd and obscene manner.

"You said we were gonna' play," you pouted as Keegan smiled down at your desperation. Distance did make the heart grow fonder and stitched your desires back together. "Don't you wanna' play with me?"

"Of course I do baby," Keegan pet your pretty face, humming when you nuzzled against his palm. "I'm just trying to figure out which hole I'd rather stretch out tonight."

The gasp and look in your eyes hit him straight in the groin, knowing damn he'd never sunk into that tight ring of muscle as of yet. You'd need preparation, time and training of course and more than just spit as lube.

Keegan shuffled and wound the chain around his thick fist, drawing you up on your knees. "You wanna' play? Let's play."

….

Your noises are music to his ears, long forgotten are the spraying bullets and shouts of commands, what's left, the only sounds that matter are of desire. Not too long ago were you taunting him from over your shoulder. He forced you to stand, about face, hands on the wall as he kicked your legs open. Biting his tongue at the way you arched your back and made your ass jiggle, pushing back against him as he tried to remain as still as possible. Which wasn't easy.

You never took it easy it on Keegan, he was a man of war. As much as you'd tease him, make that pretty noise when you wanted something badly enough to vocalize it, he'd lose his composure. Keeping the balaclava on just a little longer until he couldn't take it anymore.

He tossed you to the bed after that stunt, crawling over you, the clips of his fresh gear snagging on the lace as he covered your mouth with one hand, pinned your hip down with the other and stared into your fluttering eyes.

"You sound so good baby, so damn needy for me. You can hardly stand it, huh? Look at you, already moaning like a slut for me, just for me right? No one else."

You shook your head frantically, mumbling behind his palm until he lifted it away from your lips. "What's that, pet?"

"No one. No one else, I promise. Just you," you licked his hand sensually, keeping your eyes on his face as you laid back down. "I only want you to slut me out."

Keegan chuckled lowly with a nod of approval, pinching your side. "Good girl. Now just keep letting me know how good you feel, yeah? 'm gonna' keep going until you're shaking, making a fucking mess, is that understood?"

Your enthusiastic face made him hard.

Keegan ripped off his mask and got down on his knees, dipping the bed with his weight. He delighted in your squeals and giggles, fitting your legs over his shoulders, licking his lips when he realized the only the thing separating his mouth from your pussy was a pair of flat snap buttons.

Now listen, Keegan is no slouch when it comes to eating pussy. He knows what he's doing. If there were a (pun intended) eating contest, there would be a trophy case decorated with a few honorable medals as well.

The first time he tasted you, you almost broken his nose, bucking up hard into his face. You apologized repeatedly but Keegan just laughed it off, saying that would be the best excuse for his twice broken nose already. He licked his name against your clit. Letter by letter, shapes and swirls as he claimed your cunt.

K was a pointed tongue slashed against the hooded nub, the first E was gentle and flat tongued, the other E was followed by a slow and deliberate suck, G was a sloppy swirl and A and N were hummed to a tune of his own making.

Your hands moving to brush back his hair felt so damn good on his scalp, panting and wiggling for him. It had been two weeks too long. "Please baby that's it, that's it." Your voice was already fucked.

"I know you fucking love it," Keegan grunted against your sex, taking a moment to grace your slick folds with the bridge of his nose, chuckling lowly when you keened. "You just fucking love it when I devour you whole, don't you? Yes you do, tastes so fucking good."

When Keegan got lost in the sauce there was no telling just what he'd say, what string of commands or obscenities he'd loop together in some sensual tapestry that left you breathless.

"Yeah? I taste good?"

Keegan lifted his head, remnants of black grease paint over his pretty eyes looked up at you from between your legs, making them tremble in his grip. "You taste divine, princess."

With that, Keegan brought you to the edge, licking and sucking, toying with your cunt when he tagged in his fingers to join in the fun, those thick fingers breached your hole and stretched you out over and over until you begged. Sobbed for him to let you cum, that you couldn't hold it back any longer and oh how did Keegan love it when you begged!

"Come on sweetie, you can do better than that. Turns me on when you do it…. so fucking beg."

He licked your arousal from his fingers, making an absolute show of it too. "Good job, baby. You did such a good job for me." Keegan groaned as you panted to catch your breath, laid out and limber. He could throw you over his shoulders if he wanted, flip you over with ease, your limp body just going through the motions. Keegan could (and has) had you in every position possible and some that required a bit of technical work, a little fine tuning, angling his hips just so, holding your neck or lacing your fingers together.

Keegan is a man of many talents, in and out of the bedroom as he shifts and takes off his belt-- one handed. Your glassy eyes shine in the dim light from the room, predatory as you drink him in while he undresses.

Your hands are on his waist, burning hot before gives a gentle pat to the outside of your thigh, rolling you over on to your stomach. Sometimes he can't help himself and he gets this primal surge deep in his groin to obliterate you, break you, fuck you raw and stupid until you're a sloppy little mess of limbs and cum.

The smacks to your ass are deliberate and you raise up only to be pushed back down, Keegan grunted at you to keep still, to spread your legs, keep that one bent, just like that.

Keegan edges himself, rock hard in his hand as you dips just the crown of it around the base you, still wet. That bit of pre-cum on the tip is enough to wiggle between your cheeks with ease.

You shudder when he does that thing you like.

His spit slips between you, another glob of it makes it a sound leaving his mouth and hitting his shaft.

"Jesus Keegan, fuck me already. I need it."

"Oh I've got just what you need you dumb little pet," he grabs the leash, tugging on the chain as you pull on the sheets. "Whose my dumb little girl, huh? Is it you, baby? Are you my dummy girl?"

"Fuck. Yes."

Keegan yanks on it, jerking your head back. "Say it. I wanna' hear you say it."

Fuck; he's throbbing.

"I'm your dumb little girl. Just so fucking-- God that feels so good... I'm so dumb, so dumb for your cock, baby. Please."

"Good job." Keegan cooed and then thrusted in deep. "Let's slut you out then, yeah?"

….

God you're pretty. Clawing at the sheets as he fucks you through another orgasm. The clanking, your moans and body bending, arching into his touch like a needy cat. Pet me pet me pet me.

"Baby please," you paw at him, sentences die on your tongue, failing to make it out of the column of your throat. "I'm gonna' cum again." Now on your back with your knees pretty much to your chest, rocking on his cock with his momentum, the leash pulled skin tight.

"Awww of course you are. I can feel you squeezing me, my dumb little girl is getting her pretty little hole fucked out. You're so fucking hot," Keegan moaned out, he dragged a hand down his face, salt and sweat, paint staining his hands before he smeared it over your chest. He's marked you in a number of ways but to see you marked like this, with his mystery always got him going.

"Just like that-- ha!" you drawled, an almost pained 'oh my God' seeped into the air behind clenched teeth. Keegan mimicked you instantly, keeping his hand pressed between your tits. "I'm gonna' cum again, don't stop!"

Keegan's chuckle held desire and humor, fitting one of your legs over his shoulder, smearing his face against your calf. He was tempted to take a bite, too. Those intrusive thoughts always got the better of him.

"You think I could ever stop fucking this pussy, huh? Fuck yeah, squeeze around me again baby. You're such a good girl for me," Keegan was rewarded by his own praise when you leaned up to watch him split you open, spit on your pussy and fuck you harder.

What can I say? The man has stamina.

"Oh my God! Keep going keep going, fuck."

Your legs started to shake the minute Keegan's thumb met your swollen bundle of nerves, throbbing around his cock, crying out for more more more, that you couldn't take it. You came with a whine, sobbing with your release that flooded around the base of his cock. Keegan growled and gave it, chomping down the sensitive meat of your leg.

"Good job, baby. You look so fucking cute when you cum, when you're all brain dead," Keegan hissed through his teeth and pinned you down, heavy hands on your knees as he spread you open. "Open up for me, let me finish inside you. Gonna' fuckin' fill you up, two weeks is bullshit. Stay awake baby," he gently slapped your face in quick succession, jerking your chin to make you look at him and only him. "Don't get all dizzy on me now dummy, you've got some more dick to take."

She's really going to get it now...

[leonsrightarm]

i'm gonna lie awake thinking about mouthwashing actually because there are so many things about the game that just hit me as so thematically interesting and i don't really have conclusions about anything yet. i'm still putting the cork board with string together. so this is just like a. vomit word salad of stuff i noticed and thought was interesting. as like a manual cyst draining. so that it doesn't clog up my brain and prevent me from sleeping.

first and foremost i definitely need to replay it because there's a bunch of stuff i know i missed the first time through or didn't make solid connections with.

a couple things immediately stick out to me tho

spoilers under the cut

1) vision and audience is obviously really important. there is an eye on the front cover of the game. but i think it's really interesting just how many things actually revolve around what is seen vs. unseen, who sees and what they see, and how what is seen alters reality.

like first of all there are no windows a la iron lung. the only things we "see" about the outside world are represented on displays rather than via pictures or out of windows. the only thing that comes even close to accurately being a picture representation of "outside" is the display in the cockpit, in the seat of power, that shows the collision. everything else is some false representation of "outside" - a weather display, a cartoon, film reels of the past, a commercial for mouthwash showing real trees that conflicts harshly with the art style of the characters' realities.

the characters' lives are restricted to what they see and what they see is only their immediate surroundings. this is their whole world. and it's constricting and breaking down toward an inevitable terminus in either the crash or their layoffs. there is nothing outside the ship. and it's only in the cockpit that there is a small tiny hole that peers out into a slightly expanded universe. but this isn't really that much more of a pov - after all it's only a small, clunky monitor display and it only shows death.

the codes are an extension of this, as is the communication from corporate - only the captain can see the full picture of reality, but this is an illusion of power rather than actual hierarchy. what is seen is still being limited to what the captain is allowed to see by corporate. some artificial sweetener and a layoff notice.

jimmy falls prey to this illusion of power and is desperate to achieve it, but he never really gains even that full vision. as he moves around the ship, things shift into darkness and escape his line of sight. pitch black surrounds him. he can't see into the utility room. he can't see daisuke after he crawls into the vent. he can't see anya and curly in the med bay when the door is closed. there is that section where they're looking for the disinfectant when the whole section of the med bay is just denied from vision.

even in the moments of his terror, vision remains an extremely important motif. the monster that chases him is blind, embodying this fear of sightlessness, the graveyard scene with swanesa is a game of constantly trying to keep him in your sight, the part where you can only walk backward without looking behind you, the ultrasound! everything is about seeing and being seen and the futility of his attempts to exert control via vision.

also love the way other characters exert control over vision - swansea with utility and anya locking away the gun and locking the med bay door.

meanwhile, curly, lying immobile in the med bay, with no autonomy to speak of sees EVERYTHING. he has nothing BUT vision. the moment when jimmy is talking with anya in the hallway and you can see curly staring at you through the frame of the doorway is what really hit me first about this because it's such a powerful image. he sees what anya does in the med bay, he sees daisuke crawl out of the vent. the whole time, he watches, and retains power over jimmy by seeing him for what he really is.

ironically the moment when curly's vision cuts out is only at the very end - jimmy moves off screen, the gas takes him, his future is entirely out of his control and there is nothing left to see.

and then of course there's a whole ADDITIONAL layer of what the characters see vs. what the player is allowed to see as in the pill feeding scenes. and where that line is even drawn.

2) swansea and the axe. thoughts on this one are limited at the moment but there's such a parallel between swansea breaking the fake screen display and specifically axing daisuke in the face (after telling him to close his eyes, hello....) and breaking through the cockpit door and on the other hand the instances where the axe is used to break through the foam which is the only thing keeping them all alive. i'm not quite there yet i am PERCOLATING.

3) anya had been clearing jimmy's psych evals for 137 days. at some point she had to make the decision to clear his psych eval even though she obviously knew there was something deeply wrong with him. lots to discuss here but this is one of those um. gladiatorial operations where you have to multitask delicately cutting open the patient and also stabbing people who look like they might want to talk shit about anya.

4) some biblical stuff came to mind but i dont wanna talk about it i think its lame and boring

5) mouthwash as false cleanliness and consumption as complicity. anya specifically overdosing on the mouthwash is really important although i'm not all the way there on this one either. i think it's a symbolic stand in for jimmy's false atonement that doesn't help or change anything - anya suffocates in it. (his extreme resistance toward bearing the burden of consequence and his need to veneer it over with a cheap form of "responsibility" as atonement. this all loops back up to 3.) and then the mouthwash failing to clean daisuke and only dirtying swansea (who becomes visibly, physically dirty as he consumes it).

but also consumption as complicity i guess is not the exact right phrase. it's more like consumption as bond. the cake binds them, the mouthwash binds them, curly's leg binds them. but it also separates them. swansea is separated by the cocktail and curly is obviously separated by the painkillers.

okay anyway probably not all i have to say but i ran out of words and it's well past my bedtime.

[silvercap]

prompt "i had it under control. you didn’t need to do that." for shake? or whoever you'd like 🥰

Oooooohh yes hehehe ;) warning for a little bit of gore

(Prompts)

"Sherry?" Jakes voice echoes over the twisted, broken hull of the beached cargo ship, rusted metal crumbling under his glove as he slips inside. "Sherry, are you in here?"

They're in some tropical country that makes Jake's shirt cling to his back with sweat, mosquitoes still buzzing around him despite the harsh wind that's kicked up from the oncoming storm. Waves pound the sand, the roar of the surf spiralling through the broken ship so loudly that Jake would swear they're on the sea. He picks his way cautiously through the rusted out shell of a room, peering carefully around the corner with his gun ready and loaded. "Sherry?"

There's one of those awful lizard BOWs lying on the floor, Jake's breath catching as he aims toward the spot. He shakes his head at himself, turning his attention upwards when he realizes it's just a corpse, bullet wounds riddling its flank. He lifts his gaze---and gasps in horror, rushing forwards as quickly as he can. "Sherry!"

Her blue shirt has been turned a deep black with the amount of blood soaking into it, the massive, protruding length of sharp metal impaled through her gut just above her waistline coated in the stuff. Behind her, the rusted beam sticking out of the wall is slick with blood and what he thinks are hunks of tender viscera, stomach rising in his throat. Not because of the gore, but because he can still see Sherry pulling herself along with gritted teeth, her face pale and hands shaking as she drags herself towards the end of the beam with a groan.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Jake chants, holstering his gun and clambering over the debris-strewn floor until he reaches her side. "Holy shit. I've got you, Sherry."

He slides an arm under her armpits, bracing the other on the beam.

"On the count of three?" he asks. Sherry nods tightly, swallowing. "One, two, three---"

Jake pulls as hard as he can, muscles flexing as Sherry does the same, her stomach making an awful sucking sound as the final two feet of the beam slide free of her gut. She collapses into Jake's arms almost immediately, eyelids fluttering with a whimper, and Jake's blood goes cold. She's got a strong healing factor, but with how slowly she'd been moving, he can bet her abdomen has been healing and tearing over and over the entire time she'd been impaled. He can't see the wound doing anything at all, so he reaches for the first aid spray in his belt pocket and cradles Sherry so that her head is resting on his shoulder.

"This is gonna hurt, Supergirl." The button depresses easily under his finger, and Sherry's body arches as she cries out in agony, the antiseptic healing spray surely burning like lava on a wound of that size. Jake flinches in sympathy, carefully peeling back her shirt. Her skin is still completely gone, but he can see her intestines knitting back together, averting his gaze before he has to watch the rest. "Jesus, I hope your body can heal sepsis as well as it heals bullet holes."

Sherry stirs in his arms, head lolling back as her pale eyelashes flutter. "I--had it under control," she rasps softly, voice a wreck. She swallows, shuddering with a grimace in Jake's arms. "You didn't---didn't have to do that."

"Jesus Christ," Jake laughs, quiet and damp. He reaches out to cradle Sherry's face when she smiles weakly, shaking his head. "You sure are something else, you know that?"

[eijirousbestie]

“This supposed to be art?”

headcannon where Bakugou is friends with an art major

he doesn’t know shit abt art

kinda motivational in a weird way

kaws rug DUPE

* * *

Your knees ache from kneeling on the ground for so long. Black sweatpants now littered with blue and green splotches as you add the finishing touches on your art project. The tarp you laid out on the floor of your dorm sticks to the palm of your hand as you steady yourself on the ground to lean forward and paint this giant replica of your head. Your art teacher thought it would be a great idea to make your class recreate their heads into a 3D model using cardboard and glue guns. It’s supposed to be an abstract piece and thank god for that allowance because what you’ve done so far has made the face look unidentifiable. Bullshitting and calling it an abstract creation on critique day is gonna save your ass. And your grade. Dipping your brush into the turquoise paint you were using for 1/4th of the head, your hand slips a bit as a knock on your door breaks through your concentration.

You grumble a gruff “Come in,” voice slightly gravely from not having talked in a couple hours due to your hyper focus. Facing away, you hear your dorm room door click open, the hinges squeaking a bit. Standing with his hand encircling the door knob is Bakugou, broad build taking up majority of the doorway.

“Called your name like fifteen times and you still didn’t respond. Had to make sure you weren’t up here plotting my demise or some shit.” You give an absent minded hum as a reply, all too focused on applying never ending layers of blue paint on cardboard that continues to suck it up like there’s no tomorrow. Thirsty bitch.

Bakugou watches your uninterested form from where he stands and his face slightly twists in confusion as he tries to discreetly peek over your shoulder at what you’re doing. However all he can see is what appears to be a blue mess. The smell of acrylic paint only now registering in his mind and nose. Deciding to be curious, he takes a step forward towards your bent over form, letting the door close behind him. The plastic tarp you laid out crinkles under his socks, earning a grunt of disapproval from you. “Watch your step. If you track paint on my rug man I swear to god-”

“Nobody’s gonna get shit on your fake ass KAWS rug. Calm the fuck down. Just tryna see what’s got you so holed up in here.” He’s directly behind you now, leaning over your shoulder at a better angle to see what you’re working on.

“Art project. It’s due Tuesday so I’m trying to get as much done so I can chill this weekend,” you say, not once looking away from your creation.

“Well what the hell is it supposed to be?” His brows are furrowed together as he tries to make out whatever the hell it is you’re making.

“My head.”

“Your what.”

“My head. It’s supposed to be my head.”

It’s silent for a moment, until it’s not.

“This the most trifling shit I’ve seen in a minute.” You let out a loud and exasperated sigh, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you if you don’t got shit nice to say, keep your mouth shut?” He’s usually always a dick but today was just not the day to test you. The project is frustrating enough as it is.

He shrugs before speaking. “She taught me not to lie.” He chuckles lightly before squatting near the head, almost level to your seat on the ground. “That was a joke if you couldn’t tell.” You cave a little as you both stare at your nearly finished project.

“Well since you love honesty, tell me straight up if this is ass or not.”

“I don’t know shit about this so my opinion wouldn’t really matter much. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“But does it even look like art? Like something you’d see in a museum?”

He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “This supposed to be art?”

“Dawg I literally told you it was an art project for my art class.” Your eyes follow his fleeting form as he stands up and heads for the door.

“Well art or not, just keep going til you get it done. Then you won’t have to look at it anymore if you’re not satisfied with it. Problem solved.”

Your eyes retreat back to the blue mess and you nod. “Makes sense I guess.”

“Majority of the things I say usually do. Oh and the next time I have to call you fifteen times I’m blowing your door down and throwing out your fake ass rug.” And with that, he leaves.

You can’t help but shake your head and let out a soft chuckle before resuming your task. Just get it done.

[manicplank]

love your fucking headcanons so I'm gonna be a bit weird

what would be their reaction to fake Peppino just randomly wrapping around them?

OR

First reactions to fake Peppino. Just like what they were thinking when they first saw the frog babygirl

(sorry you waited so long! I'm feeling icky.)

Fakey reactions

Peppino: He was absolutely HORRIFIED. A freakishly deformed clone of himself stood before him. He screamed, and so did Faker. The battle ensued. After supposedly defeating the clone, Peppino found himself racing through the secret entrance of Bruno's. He ran for his life as the demonic entity chased him. Thankfully, he escaped.

As the tower fell, the monster chased him again, but it didn't seem violent this time. Everyone escaped as the tower crumbled. Peppino was out of breath as Gustavo pat him on the back. Suddenly, he's in the air with goopy noodle arms wrapped around him. The clone made a horrifying noise of joy as Peppino froze in fear. "Aww, he loves you," Gustavo cheered.

Gustavo: He was even more scared than Peppino. Things in the tower got SUPER weird all of a sudden. It looked... somewhat like Peppino, but weirder. He hopped on Brick and got out of there as quickly as he could.

After the events of the tower, the clone lurked around the area. Peppino occasionally would run into him when taking out the trash. Therefore, Gustavo was on trash duty. One night, he went to put the bag of trash (scraps) to the can out back, but he was suddenly scooped up with weird, gelatinous arms. He screamed out at first, but then he heard a happy hum from Fakey. "Aw, hey little buddy! We got lots of leftovers in the trash tonight. Have at it!"

Mr. Stick: Being near the boss gate, he had seen this thing before. He actually thought it was Peppino at first. He went inside to cuss him out for sneaking in without paying the gate fee. He started to talk, only for the clone's head to turn around like an owl's. Needless to say, Stick ran out of there as fast as possible.

He still guarded the boss gate. As he waited for Peppino to finish the levels, he was lounging in his chair, drinking out of a coconut when suddenly, a long pair of arms grabbed him and pulled him in. "H̷̢̢̨͈͍̯̥̠͙̹͚͍͙͔̱̮̙͎̹̬̫͙̼̜͚̭̳͍̫̯͖̻̗̥͐̍́͐̓̋̌̅̅͛̒̀̇̽́͑̄̈́̀̈̔̈́͊̈́̐̈́͆̋́̎̉̑̎̌̅̔̏̓͂̃̋̕̕͜͠͠͠ͅŲ̷̢̡̯̗̟͚̫̤̭̮̮̟̝̹̪̭̼͚̻̖͔͇͇̤̤̫̱͕̰͖̲͙͙̆͊̃̑̀ͅĞ̵̓́͋̽̐̾̒̍̂͊̊͌̔̕͘͝͝͝��̧̡̼̳̫̫͈͉̗̗͓̮̠͓̺̝̯̞̖̦͐̈͘Ş̸̜͔̳̮̭͈̫̪̠̠͂!!" Stick screamed for help as the clone embraced him with his arms wrapped around several times. He squirmed and wriggled until the Fake let go. He then ran for his life.

Pepperman: He was absolutely petrified. He thought he was dipping his brush in black paint, but it wouldn't transfer onto his brush. And then he heard a laugh. He looks over to see a tall, lanky, melty Peppino. He froze in fear. He knew it wasn't Peppino himself, and that just made things even scarier. He screamed, and that was thankfully enough to scare the creature away.

However, one day, the clone came back. Pepperman was once again frozen in place. The clone tilted his head. Pepperman started to run away just to be scooped up and hugged. He was confused. It isn't hurting him... Huh... Okay...?

The Vigilante: He was called to an abandoned pizzeria near The Pig City to investigate the disappearance of a few police. He walked over to see that the door was boarded up. He was short enough to fit underneath and squirmed into the building. He sees Peppino... Peppino?! That's his bounty!! He pulled out his gun and shot as quick as possible. The bullet pierced a hole that quickly filled back up with goop. The clone turned around and screeched, growing a big and angry. The Vigilante charged out of there as fast as possible.

Fake Peppino has tried several times to hug The Vigilante only to be dodged. Aw... Sad clone :(

The Noise: He was smoking in the slum and hiding from his responsibilities. He heard some weird slamming going on near the boss gate. He looked over and saw Mr. Stick being snatched in by long arms. Nope. Nope. Nope. He put his cigarette out and went home. Not dying, today.

He went into Noisette's Café for a coffee later in the day. A large, deformed Peppino stood at the counter. "Oh, hey babe," Noisette called out, "look at my new friend!!" The clone turned around and charged at The Noise. Noise screamed and ran, but he was quickly grabbed and hugged tightly by Fake Peppin. He squirmed and wiggled around, still yelling. Noisette whistled and threw a peanut butter spaghetti in the air. Fake Peppino went over and grabbed it with his tongue. The Noise ran out of the café and went straight home.

Noisette: Peppino walked into her café looking a little weird. She asked if he was okay, but he didn't respond. She put his coffee in front of him, and he pulled the entire cup into his mouth and swallowed it whole. She crossed her arms. "Hmmm... Are you the clone Vigi was so afraid of?" The creature nodded. "You are... ADORABLE!" She put her hands out, and Fake Peppino scooped her up and wrapped his arms around her as much as they would stretch. Immediate besties!

Pizzahead: A clone had escaped the lab without triggering the alarms in the War level. He searched all around the fifth floor and found wet footprints going down to the slum. He followed them, leading him to Bruno's Pizzeria. He walked in to see dead pigs scattered around. The door slammed shut, and his heart dropped. Oh shit... The clone crawled down from the roof. OH SHIT... Pizzahead closed his eyes tightly and embraced death. The clone came close to him with its mouth open, then sniffed him. He accepted that he was dead until he felt a weird, slimy thing touch him. The clone had licked him. Oh... Okay??? Maybe he can use the fact that he's made of pizza to his advantage.

The two ended up bonding over time. Pizzahead saw Fake Peppino as a dog. He would walk him around the tower (on a leash since he can't be trusted). Fakey would always wrap himself around Pizzahead whenever he saw him. To Fakey, being a friend with a pizza was the BEST thing in the world!!!

Pillar John: Huh... That thing that just went by looked kind of like Peppino. That's weird. Oh, well. He'd investigate more, but he's stuck in one place. Whatever.

The thing came back later on. Ew... It's kind of weird. Fake Peppino looked at John with a tilted head. "Frieeends!" He stretched his arms around John and gave him a hug. At first, John was freaked out. However, it was nice to be hugged.

Gerome: While most people would be afraid of this demonic deity, Gerome was so dead inside that he simply didn't care. The clone was drooling over him, ready to bite, but Gerome poked its uvula with the end of his mop, and the clone gagged. Fake Peppino got upset and crawled away, whining like a dog.

After the events of the tower, Fake Peppino was handing out hugs like candy on Halloween. Gerome tried running away, "NonononononONONO!!!" He wasn't fast enough, and Fakey swept him up in a big, happy hug. He was sticky and uncomfortable. Gerome hated every second of it.

[asherthehimbo]

Always Black Cats And Bitter Coffee: Chapter 6 [part 4]

Chapter 6 [part 4] : finale

warnings: mentions of stabbing, guns, shooting, two deaths, blood, anxiety, blame, guilt

It was a few weeks after Minho and Yunho found you, bound and gagged, with a knife sticking out of your abdomen. Now you were standing in court, the best lawyer your parents could buy one one side of you, Minho on the other, he holds your hand in comfort, squeezing it every now and then to reassure you. Behind you, all your friends are sitting down. Even your parents decided to take time out of their schedule to support you in this trail.

Since you had finally healed enough, it was time to put Sanni on trial, and lucky you because you were her main victim, meaning you had to testify to everything she did. The courtroom is silent, no one dares say anything, and her side is empty. The jury sends you sympathetic glances despite not knowing the whole story, and you hate it. You never did like being looked at in sympathy.

You can’t breathe in here, waiting for Sanni to walk in, the pressure is killing you, you tell Minho you’re gonna go take a walk outside, clear your head a bit, he asks if he needs to come with you, but you tell him you need to be alone. You walk to the back of the courtroom where the door is situated, and right before you open it a loud bang echos from the other side, you hesitate for a moment before hastily opening the door, worried about what had happened, the people in the courtroom behind start to crown together to try and see for themselves, and you vaguely register your friends calling for you.

The scene before you makes your stomach churn all over again, the new scar now placed over your soulmark paining as if the wound had just been made. You look at the security guard lying down on the ground, a bullet hole in his head, next to him stands Sanni, blood splattered over the uniform she wears. She looks tired, her roots are growing out, the pink dye in her hair fading. If this was another time, another place you might have felt bad for her, but you can’t bring yourself to do so anymore.

She looks at you, and there are tears in her eye’s. A part of you is scoffing at the fact that she can actually feel human emotion, but the other part of you, the younger part, the part of you that spent years loving her, it breaks. “You love him, don’t you?” she cocks her head in Minho’s direction, you can’t bring yourself to speak, so you just nod. She brings the gun up to her heart, right where the fake soulmark she plastered on herself is located.

“My heart’s only ever belonged to you, It can’t continue beating without knowing that it’s beating for you.” You wonder where all the other guards are, if nobody’s going to stop her, why she’s suddenly showing such raw emotions that she’s never shown before. “I just want you to live with the fact that the end of my beating heart is your fault.” She says, and your body moves before you can stop it. You reach out, hand brushing with hers as she pulls the trigger, the blood splattering from her heart directly onto you, your hand is intertwined with hers as she falls, causing you to go down with her.

You can’t help the tears that fall, and you hate it. You hate her. You hate the fact that despite everything she’s done, there’s still a part of you that loves her. You feel someone kneeling behind you and wrap their arms around you, vaguely registering its Minho, your actual soulmate, the man you are in love with. You fall backward, releasing your grip from Sanni’s warm hand, and the cold metal weapon rests inside it. You cry into Minho’s chest, not paying attention to the commotion surrounding you.

abc x 2 masterlist | Soulbound masterlist | Stray kids masterlist

Current Taglist[7/30]: @i-dont-know-me-either @gaysontheprince @skzhoes @xavi-in-kpopland @moonlight-894 @foxilsdenn @conwunder

note: rahh, we finally ended the series! thank you to all of you who read and enjoyed my work🫶 I hope you look forward to the next installment of soulbound. and thank you to @wolfferno , who helped me with the last chapter🫶

also do you guys want memes or no???

[scentofdriedflowers]

so I bit the bullet and watched the svu premiere today and well for me it was... meh on the characters/squad... better on the case (heard it was from a real story kind of so...)...

squad is still a mess

Bruno and Velasco are kind of useless and boring I don't see why they're still there, sorry not sorry, one of them AT LEAST gotta go. They don't bring much if anything to the plate like, dudes have been there for 2/3 years now and have still 0 personality and the acting is wobbling at best, also how the fuck Bruno is dressed? he looks like he just got off bed, dude?!

new girl, Silva is it?, is meh, don't like her much, kinda like muncy but better acting at least, I need more to see, now is kind of a show off and bit arrogant on her 'i know things i'm from homicide' like gurl, you've been there 3 weeks tone it down a notch will ya? svu is gonna mentally challenge you, but at least she's kind of competent and can do the boys job alone lol. Imagine being mentored by Velasco tho LOL! big laugh I had there lmao. get me Rollins back ffs

I save Liv and Carisi here, at their best! thank god for a court scene fucking finally they remembered they have a court set. God I missed Amanda being there supporting him and watching him do his magic. Defense lawyers are kind of limp tho, I miss Rita Calhoun or Barth or Buchanan kind of lol assholes sharks but good. Fin is Fin, weird comment on the gun at the shooting range but whatever.

Talking about the shooting range, kind of weird/cringe, what was that?? this showrunner way to write 'team bonding' lol? news flash it didn't work. Also kind of coding this new girl as the Rollins replacement number...5? 6? lost the count , oh look she can shoot 🙄

I still found so many scenes were I'm: 'Amanda should be here', 'it's missing Amanda Rollins hour', yeah there still a big Rollins-shape hole in the squad room, still want her back there, big time.

Also Curry, only 'new' character I really like, but what the fuck is she still doing there??? why? what's the point? she doesn't look and act like a captain that's offending for her, I'm offended on her behalf! get her the deputy chief position for fuck sake! I thought that was the whole point on reintroducing this character!?!!! why Graziano is ruing characters that are not even his?! or if she likes so much svu get her to take the bronx svu to fix and lead, she get the boys out of Manhattan and we're good, and we see 16th interact with her in some episodes.

Bottom of the line it wasn't super horrible but it didn't feel like SVU, it doesn't feel like SVU anymore, since season 24 since Rollins left there's no family squad, they're just coworkers, no found family feelings, no meaningful private scenes, no real bonding...only happen sometimes when the core 4 are together and we need Rollins for that, they don't know how to introduce new characters and make them stick and be loved. When they introduced Amanda, Amaro, Carisi and Barba they were big presence since episode 1 and loved right there, when they introduced Mike Dodds or Kat or Garland they were swept in the family too, but now nothing. Maybe there's no chemistry/feelings with this new actors like there is with Mariska, Ice T, Kelli and Peter, but it's lacking the heart of SVU. and I don't see it happening anytime soon. Also still missing Amanda like crazy and not worth losing sleep over this show. I think I'll tune in when the Rollisi family is in, so episode 3 and 4 for now I guess lol.

rant over✌️

Ah I forgot new opening credit is yikes you get mariska and then a string of men, i think they put the new girl in it already just because if not it looked really bad with just a men cast with M, especially for a show about 99% women trauma. And why it looks so dark?? Why they all dressed in black or dark colors? it ain't a Johnny Cash song, it's missing some colors, also a blonde, just saying. And the precinct too, I miss season 17-20 layout, it had warm colors.

[swift-creates]

@chrumblr-whumblr day 5: forced to obey 

wc: 623 | warnings: threats of gun violence, hostage situation | characters: Rose Oleco (OC) (pov), Dick Grayson, unnamed gangster, Jason Todd (barely)

Rose belongs to my sister! as always if you want to know Moar about my silly things just ask please ask. PLEASE ask. THEY ARE SO CUTE HELP. 🥺

—

Rose stumbled as she landed, leaning on a nearby wall to regain her footing before looking around and behind for her boyfriend. “Nightwing?”  “I’m good. Just… go.” His voice was choked even over the comms, and she felt her chest clench in fear.  “What? Where are you?” 

“Right behind you, Shadow.” She whirled around, hands raised, to see one of the gangsters they’d defeated earlier gripping Dick by the shoulder, a gun to his head.  Rose tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Let him go.” “No. First, you’re gonna do something for me.” The guy shook him roughly, and she spotted the slightest twitch in Dick’s jaw as he shoved him back. “You’re gonna get over here and put these meta-cuffs on yourself, and then I’ll see about letting your little boytoy go.” “Many honourable men are little boytoys,” Dick sniffed, and Rose desperately wanted to grab him by the shoulders and say Not now, Richard. But she couldn’t, and prepared to form a portal under them instead-

“And before you think about making any of your sparkly black holes, just know that birdie here ain’t likely to survive a bullet to the brain. And you ain’t likely to be faster than one neither.” He pressed the pistol tighter to Dick’s head. “At least use proper English while threatening Nightwing,” Rose said through gritted teeth. “It’s either.” Dick raised an eyebrow slightly, and she returned an almost imperceptible shrug, trying to tamp down her bubbling panic. I don’t have a strategy for this, darling. Not like you would. Her mind raced as she tried to think of something, anything, but every plan she came up ended in blood spatters and pain. 

“Get over here, girl.” The gangster scowled, shifted impatiently. His finger twitched on the trigger, and Rose flinched.  “All right, all right.” She stepped forward slowly, bent to pick up the cuffs and put them on, took another step closer. Tried to avoid Dick’s wide, panicked eyes. Sorry, Blue. 

One more step, and he was within reach. The barrel of the gun turned to point at her instead of him, and he turned to look at Rose in dismay. “It’s okay. Just return to base,” she tried to comfort him.  “Not without you.” He reached for his escrima, stopped short when the man snarled a warning.  “Easy now. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to her, now would we?” 

He was angry, she could tell that much. Angry at the guy for dangling their safety in front of each other like a carrot on a stick, and frustrated that she was now in the hands of a criminal, powers dampened and gun to her head. But he met her eyes and flicked his gaze quickly downwards and back, and she trusted him. 

Raising one boot, Rose stomped down hard on the guy’s foot, and he cursed, staggering to the side. She saw Dick tense as his gun hand quivered, then there was a loud BANG, and she squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the guy was on the ground, Jason was standing over him with one pistol smoking, and Dick was running to pull her into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered.  “Are you?” she shot back, frantically looking him up and down for injuries. “How did he even catch you? For a second I thought…”  “I’m fine,” he reassured her as he unlocked the cuffs and let them drop. Then he pulled her in again and buried his face in her hair. “I’m just glad you are, too.” 

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, ignoring Jason’s exaggerated gagging, and pulled away to look him in the eye. “Let’s go home.”

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Hiii so I’ve been really into Coriolanus Snow lately 👀 and I was gonna ask if you could write a version of the end where Lucy Gray runs into the wilderness to leave Snow but Snow catches up to Lucy Gray and his possessiveness over her becomes worse after that moment. Maybe he incapacitates her to make sure she can never leave him again. Also I love love love your writing 🫶

Writing this makes me want to write more in first person, Coriolanus is absolutely off his rocker. I might continue it depending on it's reception!

A Bird in the Hand

Contains: blood, pure insanity, and physical harm

•••

I just shot Lucy Gray. 

My ears are ringing and it still isn't loud enough to drown out the mockingjays.

She stumbled here. I swear, I saw it. Venom sends pain all through my arm. Am I going to die? How could she do this to me?

“Lucy Gray!” I don't even realize I'm screaming her name. 

It's too early for katniss. The leaves are still wet, sticking to my hands and knees as I search for proof that…

I just shot Lucy Gray.

I hear her everywhere and nowhere. My beautiful songbird. You're hurt. 

Red on the ground, a splatter here and there. Leaves crushed in my hands. Spread on my gun. 

How many kills before I lose track?

“Lucy Gray!” My throat is sore and my heart is beating out of my chest. I scour the ground like a dog. Desperate. Feral. A scuff here, a stumble there.

The ringing gets louder. The birds are a cacophony of her. It's beautiful, it's maddening. Just like,

“Lucy Gray!” I scream as I chase her trail. Her blood is my lifeline. Why did she make me do this? 

Then, through the madness, 

“Corio…” 

A pained whisper, softer than wind through grass. There's a tangle of roots, a splatter of blood, and a torn piece of fabric.

My heart beats twice as fast as I race down the hill, sliding over soggy leaves, tangled thorns digging into my skin. The venom reached my heart and it's spreading everywhere, a wildfire in my veins.

There she is.

Spread about the fallen leaves—wavy black hair, bright dress now stained with blood, skin drained of its warm hue—a mosaic of macabre colors.

“LUCY GRAY!” My voice cracks as I race to her fallen form. She's so beautiful, my angel. 

Her eyelids flutter when I pull her into my arms. Fragile little bird. I brush her hair from her sweaty forehead and press my fingers against her neck. Her pulse is so faint, cold dread quenches the fire in my veins.

I search for the source of the blood. A hole in her calf, leaking still. Her dress is already torn, what's one more tear? I rip off a length of fabric and tie it beneath her knee.

“You can't leave me, Lucy Gray,” I whisper, cradling her close.

Her eyes flutter again and meet mine, hazed with pain. I don't hear her speak, but I feel her question sear into my brain. 

Why?

“Why? You know why, Lucy Gray. You always knew. You belong to me, but I don't belong out here with you. I never have. You know what I did to save you. I love you, why don't you love me enough to forgive me?”

She doesn't respond. Her eyes are vacant, staring up at the mockingjays that rain torment from above.

The venom in my veins is subsiding now, or perhaps integrating with my blood. I can still save us.

I rise from my knees, holding my beautiful Lucy Gray. 

If I can forgive her, surely she will forgive me. We have both hurt each other, but love conquers all—right?

Eventually I reach the cabin. I lay her on the bed, and press a kiss to her forehead. I need to find help, and I know she can't possibly leave me in this condition. It's ironic how, in this moment, I feel more secure in our love. 

If I didn't love her, I wouldn't have saved her. She needs to stop running from me. If she had only stayed where I could see her, I would have never needed to shoot her. 

A cool serenity washes over me as I look down at her weakened form. This is better for us, isn't it? She's so beautiful, she needs me so desperately. Yes, I need her to need me. 

I don't flinch as I approach her bedside. We need this, don't we? We need stability, and we can only have it if I can keep her safely under my control. And in order to do that, she has to stop leaving me.

I trace my hand down her bloodied leg, to her thin and fragile ankle. I can do this with my bare hands, can't I? Yes, it'll be easy. She's a bird, their tiny bones snap like twigs. 

One deep breath.

CRACK!

She doesn't even flinch. Her foot hangs at an unnatural angle.

Once more, for good measure. One hand on her heel, the other over the arch of her delicate foot. 

CRUNCH!

Her foot is mangled now, twisted, her tiny bones splintered like so many fragments of wood. 

A small smile flits over my lips. 

No one said love wasn't painful.