#seeing his haircut was like a stab in the gut

[cuntyvicodin]

missing his luscious hair before he lost it in the divorce

[kimhargreeves]

🇺🇸 One Last Mission- Rick Flag x Reader

Summary: You are reunited with Rick Flag again for a very dangerous mission. This will only bring you both closer together but will you both make it out alive?

"These are your brothers and sister for the next few days."

I listened to Rick carefully or pretended to anyway because I was so enamoured with him, always had ever since we were forced to join in on the first Suicide Squad team.

Someone next to me started to stab me with their finger and tried to talk to me. "What is it?!" I angrily muttered still not looking away from Rick Flag.

"Come on it's not fun seeing ya like this. Trust me when you fall in love you're head over heels over someone and nothing else cares." Harley told me and pouted.

"I appreciate your concern but that won't happen. I know when to stop if things get dangerous, besides he's probably still with that Moone girl." Or like Harley called her 'witchy lady'.

We all entered the chopper and patiently sat down and waited until we arrive to Corto Maltese. I felt my heart beating faster when I saw how close Rick and I were. We've only been together for an hour but he already acts differently than he did the first time we met.

He seemed even taller and way stronger than he did. His new haircut seemed to fit him better along with the tattoos adorning his skin.

"(Y/N), you alright there?" I jumped up a bit when I heard Rick's voice close to me.

"I'm fine! Perfectly fine...now.." I felt so awkward around him.

I wasn't like this the first time we met. Actually, I hated his guts. It was only when we parted that I realized how good of a man he is.

"Okay.." he raised an eyebrow confused by my weird behavior but he paid no mind to me and began to talk about the Weasel.

The chopper made it to a stop and we each began to jump down in the water and swam up and fell down on the sand. "I hate getting my clothes soaked, always makes you feel uncomfortable."

Rick agreed and took his guns out and tossed one to me "We each gotta be careful-"

"Hey!" Blackguard stood up on his feet and many flashlights were directed towards him. "I'm the one who contacted you!"

"Stupid kid, you're gonna get us all killed!" I shouted in anger and saw him with his arms up. "Okay.." I raised my gun and aimed it at his neck.

"(Y/N), don't shoot!" Rick warned me.

The rest of the team looked at Rick and Blackguard back and forth waiting for him to say something. This wasn't how I imagined this to go!

I ignored Rick's warning and shot Blackguard but as soon as I did one of the men on the other side wiped his face off. "Fuck!"

And everything turned to chaos. We were here for less than five minutes and everyone on the team was dead...

Rick was wounded and began to lose blood. So as fast as I could I hoisted him up and began to carry him before the enemy could spot us and headed deeper into the island.

"That idiot..I'm sure Waller and her team has fun watching us. The other half of the team are probably fine and made it in without any risk." I began to talk angrily to myself and heard Amanda telling me to shut up when I realized I didn't turn my microphone off.

I held Rick tight and almost fell due to his weight. It was entirely dark and it was getting harder to walk through the jungle besides I almost dropped Rick when a spider began to crawl up on me.

Something began to move so I quickly took my gun out and pointed at whoever was approaching. More guns were pointed at us and I was met with a woman who pointed a flashlight to us.

"Quienes son ustedes?!" Who are you.

"Venimos a ayudarlos." We came to help. "My name is (Y/N) and this is Rick." I glanced at the man resting his head on my shoulder.

"I'm Sol Soria." She said something else in Spanish and two men grabbed Rick and helped me. Thank God cause I wouldn't had be able to carry him any longer.

I followed her and her team to their hideout and saw them place Rick on a bed in a hut and began to patch him up.

"Thank you for helping us out. Hopefully, he'll wake up soon."

Sol sat down in front of me and she seemed like a strong independent leader. "Where's the rest of your team?" She poured something, I assumed it was alcohol and took a hurriedly drank it.

"Dead. Killed. Pulverized. We arrived and everyone was executed. Can I have some more?" Sol scoffed and smirked to herself.

"So that was the huge explosion, sorry to hear about your team."

"Yeah, me too. They seemed like people, well most of them." I drink again and glanced at Rick who was now patched up on bed and shirtless.

Sol and I exchanged a few words and told me she was on our side. She left me so I could rest up in the same hut as Rick.I rested my head on the pillow and quickly fell asleep.

*********

It was early in the morning and I didn't get much sleep. I was worried about everything and decided to sit by the window to get fresh air and would look at Rick every now and then. I sighed and rested my head on my palm and stared at his sleeping figure.

He's so handsome.

"Must you continue staring at me sleep." I nearly fell out of my seat when he said that. I quickly stood up and felt my face turn red.

"I was not watching you sleep." I try to deny and looked away from him. I saw his figure sit up slowly.

Sol came in and nodded. "Nice to see your awake Colonel Flag. We prepared breakfast, you're both welcome to join us."

Rick looked at me surprised so I told him who he was and how she found me. "They're on our side, they're willing to help us. Sol will explain everything in detail."

The both of us walked side by side and made it with the rest of the soldiers. Rick thanked for the meal and began talking to Sol "The rest of the team must be around somewhere."

"Don't worry, my men will keep an eye out for them. I'm sure you and your girlfriend will appreciate it a lot.-

Rick and I spat out coffee and turned to each other and looked away both embarrassed and with red on our cheeks.

"She's not-"

"Yeah! He's not-"

We both ended up stuttering and couldn't finish our sentences. Sol looked at us back and forth but didn't pay much mind.

"Yeah.. thanks." Rick muttered and I stated down at my lap. We both glanced at each other again and looked away once more.

********

Rick and I were walking side by side again and making fun of what Sol told us earlier. Both of us laughing and joking about us dating.

"There's no way I would date a criminal."

"Yeah! I can't imagine being in a relationship with a super soldier."

"It would be disastrous."

"Not as disastrous as dating someone who got possessed by a witch." I remind him. "How are you and her..umm doing?"

"Oh, we broke up." Rick plainly tells me and I stop and so does he.

I stare up at him and saw him shrugging his shoulders when he read my expression. "It just didn't work out. We had fights, problems happened and we broke it up. It was mutual."

"I'm sorry.."

"Don't be. I'm over it." Rick said like it was nothing but I could tell he must've been hurt back then. I mean he joined Task Force X to get rid of the witch possessing her.

"(Y/N)." My heart leaped when Rick rested his hand on my shoulder. "Let's get some drinks."

I frowned and saw him smirk when he turned around and started walking ahead of me. Sol had offered us some drinks, so there's no way Rick was declining the offer.

We began to laugh and have fun. I really never saw this side of him. "It's a shame we never had the chance to do this. It'll be our last time though, I'll get sent to Belle Reve again and you'll be free."

Rick smiled sadly and placed his beer down. "I don't get why you're a criminal. What you told me last time was that you killed a couple of men because they killed your entire family right? In my eyes that was self defense. You did what you thought was right and I hate to say it, but I agree with ya."

"You mean a lot to me, Rick." Was what I said and smiled shyly at him.

Rick smiled back and seemed to hesitate to say something. "Here's to us. Let's hope we'll reunite with each other once this is finished."

He raised his glass and so did I. "Here's to us. One last final mission before we part ways." I drank my beer and saw Rick didn't drink his. He was silent and staring at me.

"You tired of drinking?" I joked.

Rick shook his head to the sides and forced a smile on his lips. "Just..admiring the view is all." He finally raised the glass to his lips and our time together was interrupted by the other half of the team that suddenly showed up.

[the-kingshound]

A snippet between my MC with F!Yniol as MC's romantic interest.

The rain pelts down on your face, turning the ground muddy, the smell of the rain hitting the Earth tries to lull you into a sense of comfort.

You are exhausted, stab wounds making breathing something hard for you to do, your long hair, now entirely wet, weighing down your head with rougue strands sticking to your face.

Holding Mordred's clutching frame you order in a firm but soft manner:

"Do not come out of the wagon until I tell you to. Understood?"

"Y-Yes MC"

"Good. Now run."

With ordering Mordred to run into the wagon, you decide to quickly finish the job. With bandits laying all around you and your sword buried in the guts of one, you draw out your dagger and try to get your sword. But, only in vain as the leader of these vile dregs of the society gets between you and your sword, eyes twinkling at the prospects of being the one to kill The King's Hound.

The bandit leader rushes towards you, perhaps, imagining you to be a weak warrior without your sword. A fatal mistake. You quickly sidestep from his overhead vertical swing and go right behind him and stab him in his armpit, the action fastening your bleeding. As the bandit leader drops his sword and you sway on you feet to go and finish the job you hear Mordred grunt in pain, you quickly swing around and see Mordred sitting on the mud, perhaps slipping and falling down. You smile but before you can turn back you feel a painful pull. The bandit, in a last minute desperation for the win or his life, has gotten hold of your long hair and has pulled you towards him to run you through his rusted sword. You quickly put your leg up and jam it in the bandit leader's belly. As you run out of idea's and the face of Mordred, your comrades, of dear Yniol comes to your mind in flashes, the terrifying idea of never seeing them again, to never sit together and talk, to never sing Mordred to sleep, to never touch dear Yniol's forehead to yours, to never see the smile on her face again, to never see her blush, you use the dagger to slash through the thick, silky locks of your hair and in the same desperation and fear stab the bandit leader in the throat. You fall down, you body screams in pain but all of that is lost in the icy fear of Mordred's wellbeing. You crawl towards him, and find him still sitting there, frozen. You finally reach him and pull him into a hug, the tighest one you ever gave anyone as your blood stains the child's already sullied clothes, you can only think of one thing.

"He's safe. He's safe. I can see all of them again."

It is rough around the edges and my grammar is most likely wrong. (English is not my first language, though it's not really an excuse.) And also the fact I am drooping but the idea's too good for me to pass up.

Hope ya have a good day author!!😁😁

@cova111, @jaunefleurwrites check this out, we have the haircut scene way sooner than expected😍

Yniol find you less than an hour later. They ride at the head of a knight's group and they make their mount slow down as they get near, then come to a stop as they see you. The knights stand back, frozen by your tired but still fierce stare, but Yniol dismounts without hesitation.

Both you and Mordred are soaked to the bone. You shielded him as best as you could to spare him the cold but his teeth are chattering by the time Yniol gently kneels down and, after wrapping him in her cape, picks him up. Summoning what little remains of your depleted strength, you ignore the pain and get up as well. Despite Mordred not being a child anymore - in fact, he's approaching his 15th year of age-, he placidly lets himself being carried by the taller knight to her stallion, closely followed by you.

Yniol briefly lets her gaze wonder on the still corpses of the bandits but doesn't linger much other than registering how much blood there is. Then her worried brown eyes fall on you and on your suddenly short hair.

Then Morien dismounts as well and they limp towards you aided by their cane, "let me see."

You are too hurt and exhausted to do other than surrender to their emergency care. They don't comment on the short hair and neither do you.

You don't want to think about the silky locks you were so proud of, the ones Yniol used to comb with her fingers while you both layed down on her bed.

When your blood loss is under control, at least for the time being, and it's time to go back to the castle, Mordred gets to ride with Morien and you mount with immense struggle behind Yniol on their stallion. Then you wrap your arms around her stomach and you rest your almost dead weight on her back. The sensation of her warm body against yours is so relieving you have to swallow a lump in your throat. Exhausted, you lay your forehead on her back, closing yourself up to everything else in the comfortable darkness you want to hide in right now.

"You can rest now, my Liege."

[moviesludge]

@donnerpartyofone asked what is going on in EVIL BREED and the movie was originally recommended by @sonofshermy , who shared this old description of it with me after having seeing it in 2008, so I got permission to share. Perhaps this will shed some light on it all.

January 25th, 2008

I watched Evilbreed: The Legend of Samhain last night

I wouldn't describe it as a classic

It has got one of the most gleefully demented unintentionally hilarious moments in film when a woman (aunt, sister, cousin, lover? I forget) sits downstairs watching telly while marlon dinglealike, gary, is upstairs in the bathroom having his intestines pulled out thru' his anus by an evil cannibal dude… it's unintentionally funny because she sits on the sofa rolling her eyes yelling 'gary! what are you doing up there? gary, quit fooling around' while gary screams as yards of intestinal tract are pulled out of his bum like a length of scarves out of a magician's top hat, even when she goes to investigate and garys being strangled with his own (still farting) guts she stands outside the bathroom door moaning 'gary, that's gross' and accuses him of having 'haggis' again, 'you know it doesn't agree with you'

she mentions haggis because this is set in ireland and as legend has it east lothian… in ireland… was home to the evil sawney bean who druids would sacrifice human flesh to every hallowe'en… or samhain

gary has explained this to us earlier before adding 'don't stray from the path'

thankfully everyone does

oh, and it's hallowe'en

some campers have already been killed because we see them getting chopped in the first 4 minutes and they manage to get a shag in before hand… the lady camper is played by chasey lain, a former porn star, and her male friend is played by richard grieco, who was in 21 jump st with johnny depp a whole lifetime ago, and he's got a ramones haircut

he ends up on a spit with his little willy flapping about as he's rotated over a fire

another ex-porn star, jenna jameson, shows up as their friend ('I was supposed to meet my two friends in the woods') later in the movie only to get carved up and have her innards pulled out while in the nuddy with her bits on full view… but don't have a wank, boys, it's a latex body double…

other deaths include knife in face, head chopped off with wire tied between two trees, accidental stabbing and screwdriver in the tummy

it was over in 1 hour and 15 mins and it was 15 minutes too long

some exploitation movies transcend their cheapness and subvert their baser concerns to produce something truly mind-boggling and entertaining

this one did briefly but otherwise it was pretty rotten, there's no suspense, it's never really gross, not at all disturbing, just rather desperate

and what does that make me?

an hour and 15 minutes older but none the wiser

2 out of 5 for gary

[stolethekey]

i woke up just in time, now i wake up by your side

hello! this is for the (final!) @b99fandomevents—i can’t believe how far these two (and this show) have come, and i’m gonna miss them so much. i got to write this for @amydancepants-peralta, who wanted a fic where jake and amy have a disatrous first date, and then amy decides to transfer to chicago—jake has three days to convince her to stay.

enjoy! (you can also read this on ao3.)

It’s their first date, and it’s a disaster.

Neither of them has said anything in the ten minutes since they’ve sat down. Jake buries his nose into the menu, hoping that he looks occupied enough with choosing an entrée to excuse the heavy silence that has settled over the table. A few feet away, in the other side of the booth, Amy does the same thing.

A young man in a pressed suit and tie approaches their table, a small, nervous smile on his face. “Are you all ready to order?”

“Yes!” Amy nearly leaps at the chance to talk to someone who is not Jake. Jake tries not to feel too hurt by the desperate excitement in her voice. “I’ll take the chicken piccata, please.”

Jake lingers around the chicken parmesan but ends up going with a steak, because he’s determined to show Amy and maybe himself that he can eat like an adult. They pass their silk-embossed menus to the waiter, sip their waters, and suddenly it’s too quiet again.

“You got a haircut,” Jake notices, wringing his hands nervously under the table.

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

There is a beat of silence that stretches just a little too long, and then Jake says, “This is awkward.”

Amy chokes out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Another moment passes. Jake swallows the non-existent saliva in his mouth. Their waiter, mercifully, returns with their food a few minutes later. Jake doesn’t want him to leave. He does, of course, and then they’re left in that terrible silence again.

Jake makes it through half his steak before speaking again. “Should we, um, just get really drunk?”

Amy grimaces, reaching for her water. “I don’t think so.” Her voice is quiet, almost defeated. “If we can’t do this sober, what’s the point?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Jake’s stomach, but he stabs his fork into his a piece of broccoli anyway. - It’s the day after their first date, and Amy asks for a transfer.

Jake learns about this through a wail from the evidence lockup that he hears from a good twenty yards away. He bursts through the door, frantic, to find Charles curled in a ball on the ground, rocking back and forth.

Charles gets out the details in between sobs, or at least enough details that Jake gets most of the picture. Amy put in a transfer to Chicago, it’s been granted on account of an emergency vacancy that needs to be filled, and she has three days left at the Nine-Nine.

“Three days,” Charles gasps, tears streaming out of his eyes. “Three days, you have to convince her to stay, Jake, you have to—”

“Hold on,” Jake says desperately, watching Charles dab at his face with a completely saturated tissue. “Let me get you another box of Kleenex.”

He opens the door to leave and runs straight into the source of Charles’s despair, in the flesh.

“Oh,” says Amy.

Jake closes the door behind him before Charles can see her and have a heart attack, then crosses his arms. “Is it true? Are you leaving?”

Amy has the grace to look self-conscious, shuffling her feet and shoving her hands in her pockets. She nods, and Jake feels strangely like the walls are swimming around him.

It just makes sense, she says. She has family there, and New York is too crowded, too expensive, and maybe Chicago is a better place to live anyway.

“Is this because of me?” Jake demands. “Because of…you know…our date?”

“No, of course not.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it.

Jake scoffs before stalking past her into the bullpen, ignoring her half-hearted call of his name. He blinks back the hot, furious tears forming in his eyes, and internally he starts a calendar. - On Day One, Jake calls in sick to work.

He responds to the “r u ok??” texts from Charles, Rosa, Gina, and Terry with a copy-and-pasted “I’m ok. Just feeling gross.” He ignores the ones that mention Amy. He also pretends like he doesn’t notice that Amy hasn’t sent him anything.

The morning is spent mindlessly scrolling through his social media beneath his blankets, with no regard for time or his grumbling stomach.

At noon, Charles posts a picture of the squad from Halloween with the caption “Gonna miss my favorite Halloween-hater. #SayonaraSantiago.” Jake decides he’s had enough Instagram for the day and finally hauls himself out of bed.

He orders a pizza, then turns his phone off and the TV on. Inadvertently, the pizza becomes both lunch and dinner and one Die Hard movie becomes a marathon—and before he knows it, the sky outside his apartment is dark.

“Well, that was productive,” Jake mutters, brushing the pizza crumbs off his lap before standing up to toss his trash into the garbage.

On Day Two, they aren’t talking to each other.

Amy looks up almost timidly as he walks out of the elevator, then waits until he reached his desk to let out a small, hesitant “Hi.”

Jake grabs the file waiting for him on his desk and walks out of the bullpen without looking at her.

So, strictly speaking, this is mostly his fault.

That fact does not do anything to quell the mixture of anger and hurt writhing in his stomach. He spends the day furiously completing paperwork in an empty interrogation room, jabbing his pen so furiously into the paper that he rips a hole in an I-918 and has to start over.

At noon, Rosa stops by with a turkey sub, which she drops wordlessly on the desk in front of him before sliding back out the door.

At five, he has completed more paperwork than he has in the last month combined. He drops the stack of files on Terry’s desk, forces a smile, and says, “Finally caught up on all those forms you’ve been hounding me about.”

Terry, his eyes piercing and slightly concerned, does not laugh. “Dismissed.”

It’s Day Three, and Holt has had enough.

He assigns Jake and Amy to label evidence in the lockup together, much to Jake’s chagrin. Amy turns and speeds off without a word. Jake turns towards Holt with a big, reproachful protest on the tip of his tongue but is cut off by Holt’s raised eyebrows and stern expression.

“Peralta, you need to get over yourself.”

“What?”

“You need to get over yourself,” Holt repeats. “Your partner of six years is leaving tomorrow, and you haven’t spoken to her in three days.”

Jake snorts, crossing his arms defensively. “Yeah, well, she’s leaving because of me, so—”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Holt says, not unkindly. “If you let her leave like this, you might never get the chance to talk to her again.”

Jake stares at the ground, furiously attempting to dig a hole in the ground with his toe.

“I know you don’t want this to be the way things end.” Holt’s voice is gentle, and Jake can’t bring himself to look up. “It would be unwise to let your pride get in the way of your last chance to save your friendship.”

“Whatever,” Jake mutters irritably, but something uncomfortable has begun to form in his gut. “Gimme that Sharpie so I can go write case numbers on a bunch of ziplock bags.”

Jake does not, in fact, get over himself—at least not for the first few hours. He chooses to instead label evidence in the same furious silence that has occupied his past three days, pretending he doesn’t see the furtive, almost timid glances Amy throws his way every few minutes.

Then he walks to a bodega for lunch and realizes mid-chew that this is Amy’s last lunch at the Nine-Nine, and the uncomfortable thing in his stomach grows a lot bigger.

He finally swallows his pride on his walk back to the precinct, and when he re-enters the evidence lockup the thing in his stomach has started feeling a lot more like guilt.

Amy walks in a few minutes after him, tossing a balled-up sandwich wrapper into the trash, and notices that he’s watching her. “You have something to say to me?”

“Yeah, actually,” Jake says quickly. “I do.”

She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes, and Jake’s heart sinks a little.

“I—uh—I’m sorry,” Jake says. “For how I reacted, and for icing you out the past few days. It was immature of me, and stupid, and I should’ve been an adult about it, but—well, I guess we both know I suck at that sometimes.”

Amy snorts, but her expression has softened slightly. “Thank you.”

“And I’m gonna make it up to you,” Jake continues, almost determinedly. “We’re gonna make this the best day you’ve ever had at the Nine-Nine.”

Amy laughs slightly. “I don’t think that’s possible, given the amount of work we have left.”

“Who cares?” Jake shrugs. “The best part of work has always been the people anyway.”

And for all the organizational skills Jake may lack, he sure knows how to delegate. All it takes is a couple text messages to a new, Amy-less precinct group chat and the rest of the Nine-Nine is off. Gina cashes in on a favor and gets Shaw’s to close its doors for the evening. Rosa makes a last-minute motorcycle trip to a local party store and uses a sizable amount of cash and her surprising aesthetic skill to acquire a large box of decorations. Charles says, “leave the food to me,” and no one is brave enough to question him about it.

Jake stays with Amy on the floor of the evidence lockup. They talk and laugh as they work, reminiscing about their years at the Nine-Nine and the particularly memorable perps they’ve brought in.

There’s also a supercut of the stuff that wasn’t work at all—the precinct parties, Charles saving Thanksgiving, the Boyle-Linetti wedding. There are the Halloween heists, the Jimmy Jabs, and there’s the Bet, with a capital B. Neither of them mentions the last one, but Jake is definitely thinking about it.

“Remember that time Terry tried to do the full bullpen and almost knocked a tooth out?” Amy asks, grinning widely. “I thought Sharon was gonna pull him out of the force immediately.”

“You have no faith,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I knew she’d let him stay.”

“You did not.” Amy points at him, narrowing her eyes. “You were so scared when she came to pick him up.”

“I was not—”

“So scared. I’ve never seen a grown man visibly tremble like that, but—”

“God, shut up.” Jake throws a balled-up piece of tape at her, and she laughs. It’s a real one, this time, one that’s bright and infectious.

They let it fade into a gentle silence, one that’s more comfortable than the ones of the past few days.

There’s a beat, and then Jake says, “Don’t go to Chicago.”

He expects Amy to be surprised by this change of subject—to recoil and give an affronted, “what?”

Instead, she sighs, long and slow, and closes the manila folder in front of her. “Jake—”

“I mean, I know it’s your decision, and I respect that,” Jake says quickly. “And if you truly meant what you said to me earlier, about how it’s important to be near your family and it’s a better place for you to live and you’ve grown out of New York—if that’s really the reason you’re leaving, then that’s fine. Just tell me, and I’ll shut up about it and we can just have a big blowout goodbye party and you can leave.”

Amy picks at the edge of her boot and says nothing.

“But if it’s not—if you’re leaving because of what happened on our date—I don’t want to be the reason you give this up, Amy. I know how much you love it here, and this place loves you too. Captain Holt is a phenomenal mentor to you, we both know that, and you might not get that in Chicago—you’ve done so much good work here that I know you’re proud of, and I can’t be the reason you don’t have that anymore.”

Amy looks at him, her eyes a stormy mix of unreadable emotions, but still doesn’t say anything.

“Look,” Jake says, splaying out his hands in front of him. “That date was kind of a disaster, we both know that. And I think it’s because we were both trying too hard, because we cared too much. Because we’re friends, Amy, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

He takes a deep breath, then says, “I don’t care if we never date. I don’t care if I never get to hug you, or kiss you, or do any of the things I’ve so desperately wanted to do. I just can’t lose your friendship. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had, and an even better friend, and I would be more than happy to just be friends with you for the rest of my life. God knows it’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve plenty,” Amy says softly.

Jake swallows the way that makes his chest flutter. “I’m just saying—I’m laying my cards all out on the table, here. I want you to stay, and I respect it if you don’t want that. But please don’t let me be the reason for you leaving.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Amy gives him a small, wistful smile that says everything Jake needs to hear.

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Party at Shaw’s it is, then.”

Amy slaps the last label on a duffle bag, checks her watch, and stands. “I’m actually taking off early—I need to clear up some stuff at City Hall before I leave. I’ll meet you there?”

“Oh,” Jake says, a little dumbfounded.

Amy notices his expression and shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s not—I mean, this has been settled for days, Holt knows, I was always leaving at three today. So it’s not, like, spontaneous, you know. I would’ve told you earlier, but—"

“I was being an ass. Yeah.”

Amy gives him that little sad smile again, and Jake wants to kick a wall. “I’ll see you at the bar,” she says, almost gently.

Jake forces a smile and nods. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” - When he pushes through the doors of his favorite bar a few hours later, Jake is expecting loud music, streamers, and—if Gina’s Instagram stories were credible—possibly Mario Lopez. Instead, the bar is completely empty.

There are no balloons, no decorations—the only set table is in the middle of the floor, and on it sits a pizza, two salads, and two glasses of water.

“What—what is this?” Jake mutters, mostly to himself.

“A dinner between two friends,” Amy says, emerging from behind the bar. She gives him a small, slightly nervous smile. “And if it goes well, a second date.”

Jake blinks.

“You were right,” Amy tells him, carrying a bottle of wine and two wine glasses to the table. “Our friendship is the most important thing, here, and it means a lot to both of us. I mean, that’s why we were trying so hard in the first place, right? Neither of us wanted it to fail.”

Jake nods in silent assent, not trusting whatever his mouth would say if he let it.

“But it did fail. Miserably.”

“Uh-huh,” Jake says, somewhat stupidly.

“So the worst thing that could happen has already happened, and we’ve gotten through it. And I think—I think, now, having gone through the past few days, we know enough to give it another shot. As long as we set very clear boundaries.”

“Boundaries,” Jake repeats. “Boundaries are good.”

“Yeah,” says Amy with a slightly amused smile. “So, we’re friends. Really good friends. And that’s what we have to protect, above anything. So this is not necessarily a date. It’s a dinner, and we’re a pair of very good friends who are gonna eat it. And if we want to, afterwards, we can decide to call it a date.”

“Can you do that?” Jake asks. “Label something a date after it’s already happened?”

“Who cares?” Amy smirks. “Since when have you followed rules?”

Jake swallows and shrugs.

“Anyway, if it’s awkward, or weird, then we move past it. It’s a slightly awkward moment between friends that doesn’t have to mean anything. No more silent treatment, no more rash decisions, just two friends who are still friends afterwards. Got it?”

“Afterwards,” Jake says slowly. “So—Chicago—”

“Yeah, I’m not going,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling. “That was a dumb thing I did to avoid this guy I went on a terrible date with.”

A broad grin starts to make its way across Jake’s face. “He sounds like he sucks.”

Amy laughs, then pulls out a chair and points at it. “So—pizza?”

The grin on Jake’s face softens into something smaller, something gentler. “Definitely.”

They each take a slice, then a bite, and Jake will never admit it—but it’s the best Meat Supreme he’s ever tasted.

[yakuzacasual]

I need you to know I read that Daigo post liek 6 times in the past 12 hours. Imagine Daigo going about his business when he remembers something he said and he just out of fight or flight responses crushes whatever is in his hand (usually a pen or box of cigs) or if he’s friends with the person, they might lowly say one of his pick up lines to him in his slurred tone and he’s hit w flashbacks that make him wanna run. Any thoughts? I have so many ideas if you ever want to discuss🥰

PREFACE

Good day, we continue on our endeavour to bully Daigo.

Idk how I feel about the result of this one, especially since I was writing it during a lecture and half-alseep, but it definitely was fun. The idea was *tries to correctly spell out gorgeous a few times because life imitates memes* gorgeous and I am forever in your debt. Hope you’re having an amazing day!

DAIGO GETTING TEASED FOR HIS “PHASE”

This scenario is kind of a follow up to THIS.

With how dignified and confident he acts, everyone instantly assumes that Daigo Dojima is constantly at the top of his game. What they don’t realize is that underneath that very well-maintained facade he’s been keeping up for years now, there is still a simple, self-loathing man, forever burdened by all kinds of stupid shit he has done in his youth. Being a god awful flirt is one of them, as previously explored, and now that he’s got a living, breathing proof of this past misbehaviour by his side, controlling the sudden waves of shame has gotten harder than ever. You have seen him at the pinnacle of his worst, at the lowest he could sink with the slurred flirting and wandering hands. And yet, after the somewhat weird reconciliation, you’ve still accepted him as your friend. He regrets that now, albeit only a bit.

At times he just randomly remembers bits and pieces by himself. Maybe it’s a box of cigs that reminds him of a brand he used to smoke back in the day, maybe he accidentally stumbles upon a nice, white jacket and his mind wanders to the puffy monster he once owned? All sorts of things may end up being his spark, even most random ones that none would ever suspect. The result, however, is always the same. It’s always a raging fire inside of his brain - a scene straight from Spongebob really, if you know, you know - and a look of absolute apathy on his tired face, as he takes out his embarrassment-turned-anger on whatever he has on hand. The cig box? Squished. The pencil? Broken in half. The phone? Cracked and his hand is now bleeding, stabbed with small glass bits and he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out. Please help this man. The reaction is but an instinct and Daigo doesn’t control it well, if at all. He’d literally bend a road sign if that’s the closest thing he has. No aggression against living beings, though. Should he only have, say, a stray dog at hand, he’s going to gently pet the heck out of the lucky pup and, as he discovers, it’s even more therapeutic that way. He may even adopt a few strays into his office, without Kashiwagi knowing of course, and treat them like royalty while they help him unwind. 

Sometimes you take it upon yourself to tease him mercilessly, to the point where you’ve almost perfected your impression of his broody self. And by gods, nothing gets his goat quite like this does. He knows you don’t mean anything by it, you don’t do it out of spite, you just want to get a reaction. Still, it immediately awakens the fight or flight response and you do not wish to fight him. The flight response, though? Probably exactly the thing you would expect and want, which is Daigo’s ears going red - see, the emo haircut would’ve come in handy now, aye? - some nervous line barked right back at you, one that most likely makes no sense and then just one spin of the heel and he is GONE. With the long strides of his legs he is out of sight and out of mind the moment you blink and you can be sure he’ll stay away for the rest of the day, seeking for ways to alleviate the stress you’ve inflicted upon him. Now, all of the family is giving you nasty looks, knowing very well what went down, again, and expecting to end up as the collateral damage of the boss being in a bad mood, again. Should you make the teasing your MO, you’re going to be both the most beloved person amongst the lower underlings - your guts are just something else, they concur - but also the number one public enemy of anyone working directly under Daigo. And of that he is well aware, so he makes absolutely sure that no one tries anything stupid.

In his free time, he is trying to prepare for the future instances of your teasing. He has full out conversations with himself, preparing  for a variety of different things you may such just so that he has a properly witty response, while also sounding like he just came up with it on the spot. He puts a lot of effort into playing out the scenarios, sometimes even getting some closest friends to support him. Unfortunately, it hardly ever pays off. Most of the time you just end up surprising him to the point where he forgets his lines and becomes a bumbling mess instead. It makes him ditch the initial idea of training all together, grow a few more silver strands and also form a fresh furrow on his forehead.

While it may not seem like it, Daigo is not mad at you for the teasing. If anything, he considers it to be a good way to get over his anxiety and slowly stop caring about the stuff that he can’t really change. You may want to gift him with things such as these anti-stress balls that you can squeeze in your hands, he’ll be absolutely elated to know you care, but do be prepared to have the ball jokingly thrown at you whenever you start your shenanigans again. With time and practice he may even join the banter, maybe even have some competitions for the worst pickup lines amongst his closest friends or best impressions of himself. In general, thanks to this influence, he starts to embrace the weird phase he’s always been ashamed of as an integral part of who he is today and learns how to change it into a joke. He won’t stop occasionally crushing shit, though.

[nightskywriter]

WHG Round 14 - Atlas - The Reaping

@whgmasterofceremonies @concealeddarkness13 @ratracechronicler @maple-writes @rhikasa @pen-of-roses @timefirewrites

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to post! ❤️❤️

—

The people of the so called Panem didn’t look like much of a threat. Maybe it was just the, what did Joseph call it, district he was in, but they looked hungry. And not the good, driven hungry, but the defeated hungry. The look of a people whose entire civilization was about to collapse.

Atlas didn’t get why the other countries were so scared of these people.

He’d been in all of the surrounding countries, but Panem had been the most difficult to break into. But it was the country that enthralled Atlas the most.

Everyone he met that learned Atlas wanted to come here had warned him to stay away.

But then, Atlas wasn’t ever very good at listening. Maybe that was why he’d died so many times.

[[MORE]]

Atlas met the eye of one person, a man whose clothes were stained with ash and coal. The man quickly looked away.

The only people who didn’t hunch when they walked were the people in helmets and wearing all white.

They had batons at their side and had an air of overestimated importance.

Atlas didn’t like those people. Over the past few centuries, it was usually people like them that got him killed.

And sure, he came back every single time without fail, but dying wasn’t one of Atlas’s favorite pastimes. He tried to avoid it. Being immune to staying dead didn’t make him immune from the pain that often went with it.

“Boy!” Atlas looked away from the person in white he’d been analyzing and turned to the small woman who had called him.

She was too thin and her shawl had more holes than not, but her eyes were the first ones he’d seen in the District that were clear.

“Why are you not at the Square yet? If the peacekeepers find out… You can’t be late! Come with me.”

Atlas didn’t bother stopping her when she grabbed him by the arm, leading him in the direction she’d been going.

Now that Atlas thought about it, it was the direction everyone he’d seen so far had been going.

“The Square?”

The woman ignored him, pulling him after her faster.

The small, crumbling buildings around them suddenly stopped and the town opened into a large open square.

Evidently, most of the District’s people were already there, facing a poorly made stage.

The stage had one large glass ball that appeared to be full of slips of paper.

Three people were seated on the stage.

An older man in need of a haircut, with a flask in his hand. A round man, wearing a poorly tailored suit. And Atlas didn’t know what to think of the woman except her outfit made her hard to look at.

In the square, the adults and youngest children were separated from the teenagers. They looked down from stadium-like seating that was set up around the square.

The teenagers were in the center of the square. They appeared to be separated and organized by age.

The woman suddenly let go of Atlas’s arm and pushed him towards two booths where the people in white, Peacekeepers, were set up.

Sheets of paper were laid out in front of them on the tables and they had some kind of machine-looking thing with a needle on the end.

“You’re late,” one Peacekeeper said, hand outstretched.

Atlas looked down at the papers on the table. It was covered in names, most with a check beside it. It appeared to have the name and address of everyone in the district.

Over the years, Atlas had seen papers like this. Sheets with all of the names and how to track a person down if everyone didn’t show up.

It was never something good if the government was using the list.

The Peacekeeper reached forward and grabbed Atlas’s hand.

If Skylar were there, she’d probably get mad at him for not pulling away, but to be honest, the whole charade was a bit too fascinating at this point. He wanted to see what happened.

The Peacekeeper stabbed the end of one of Atlas’s fingers.

Atlas jerked his hand back with a curse.

“What was that for?” Atlas snapped.

Atlas imagined the Peacekeeper was rolling their eyes behind their helmet.

“Atlas Hemlock,” they said, reading off the needle-machine and consulting with the charts in front of her.

Atlas’s eyes widened. He wasn’t used to being recognized, especially in a country he’d never been in.

“Seventeen-years-old. You’re in section D.”

Well, they knew his name, but evidently not his age. He hadn’t been seventeen in a few centuries.

After sending the papers one last look, Atlas made his way to Section D.

*****

Atlas had seen many civilizations and cultures, many styles of music, language and fashion, but it’d been a long time since he’d seen anyone with as dreadful fashion taste as the woman who stood at the microphone.

Her hair was taller than her head, and it stuck out around her face like some kind of star. She’d even painted it silver. Her face had been painted a dark blue with white spots haphazardly dotted on.

Her dress and shoes looked like it was made of tinfoil from the 20th century.

“Welcome, District 12!” She said into the microphone, causing feedback to echo around the square. “Thank you all for coming to day—”

“As if we had a choice,” a boy beside Atlas muttered.

“As you all know, today is a day of celebration. We celebrate our Capitol and how it repaired this country after the war.”

Atlas glanced around the crowd. Except for the bizarrely dressed woman on the stage, no one seemed to think of this day as a day of celebration. Most looked nervous, others bored and some simply looked resigned to their fate of just sitting there.

Atlas shrugged his suit coat off. Any other time it would have been fine, but the square offered no shade and he was growing annoyed at the heat bouncing off the stone below his feet.

“So, with no further ado, it is time for the most exciting part of the day.”

The woman walked over to the glass ball.

Atlas wasn’t sure what was written on the slips, but whatever was written was powerful enough that it seemed everyone in the square had suddenly stopped breathing.

If the woman on the stage noticed, she didn’t show it.

She reached her hand into the bowl. She reached around the bowl as if trying to find the right slip to grab or maybe just raise the anticipation. After a moment she took her had out.

“Atlas Hemlock!”

Atlas frowned. His gut told him that her saying his name was a very bad thing.

But Atlas Hemlock what? What did she wasn’t him to do?

Lacking a better idea, Atlas raised his hand.

“That’s me,” he said, loud enough for the woman on stage to hear.

For the first time, the woman stopped smiling and just looked confused at Atlas’s reaction. After a moment she said, “Well, come on up here!”

Without a better option, Atlas made his way up to the stage.

As he walked up the steps, he noticed her face was back to the frightening smile.

She shook his hand with too much enthusiasm then turned back to the crowd. “Would anyone like to volunteer to take Mr. Hemlock’s place?”

The crowd looked up to Atlas with something like pity but no one spoke up.

After a moment, the woman looked back to Atlas.

“Congratulations! You are going to the Hunger Games!”

[asclepius-erebus]

Just Call Me Mando

Title: Personal Eden (Ongoing)

Chapter 2: Just Call Me Mando

Rating: Mature (17+)

Word Count: 2.4k

TW: None! (lmk if I should include any!)

The armored man turns his back and disappears as you hurry into his ship, gathering up your wet dresses as your shoes strike the metal platform. Once your feet make contact with the main hull of the ship, the enormous door begins to close behind you, advancing the abyss of darkness.

“Hey!” You hear the familiar modulated voice yell roughly in the darkness, “Strap in, this won’t be a smooth take off.”

You don’t know where or how to secure yourself in the empty expanse of the darkness, feeling your way around the metal walls for purchase over anything remotely resembling a handle or belt to hold yourself onto. You feel yourself trembling, still unsure whether it is from fear or excitement, the distinction between them blurring.

A gloved hand suddenly takes a strong grip over your forearm, forcefully directing you to the other side of the hull, and shoves you onto a metal wedge projecting from the side of the wall. Your arms are shoved into the straps of a harness before the hands disappear and you resume hastily buckling yourself into place, your ice cold fingers tangling between themselves trying to fasten the single buckle and tighten the straps. Your grip is frustratingly weak as you pull yourself together and finally feel secure.

The ship begins to rumble as the engines roar to life outside, the brutal screaming metal igniting a combustion that builds up the momentum the ship needs for take-off. You’re jostled in all directions as the ship rises out of the dense canopies of the forest and into the clouded and rainy sky. If you weren’t so deprived of your only reliable sense, the sensation of your gut falling through the floor in combination with the trembling in your hands, flying would be much less terrifying.

The ship steadies, feeling yourself being pulled downwards as the ship continues to accelerate upwards and break through a heavy layer of clouds and battle the planet’s gravitational field as you venture farther up through layers of atmosphere.

You’re suddenly blinded, the world flickering back to color and life as the armored man finally allows you the privilege of sight. Adjusting to the brightness, you look down to see yourself clutching your dead master’s cane, and the dead body no where in your vicinity. You begin to unbuckle yourself when the ship jolts aggressively forward again before assuming a more solid trajectory. Hyperspace? You think.

The rhythmic steps of boots on metal sounds the arrival of the man your master called Mando, emerges from the cockpit and into the main hull where with shaking hands, you undo the buckles of the harness attaching you to the ship. You feel weightless and numb, both from being so bare in your wet dresses, as well as the from the anxiety marinating in every cell of your body as you constantly think about what’s next?

You observe the cane in your hands, finally being able to look at the finer details and intricacies of the device that had been the source of your chastising. With the pads of your fingers, you trace the silver inlays in the dark stained wood, many twisted vines and thorns wrapping with the grain of the wood around the cane as it leads to a club at the head. With a firm twist, the club comes undone, and out comes a dagger, serrated at an edge and with engravings on the body to match that of the cane from which it came unsheathed. The blade itself is light, meant to be held at the base by the club and in between one’s middle and ring fingers for maximum stability when stabbing and swiping across enemy skins. It is beautiful craftsmanship, akin to what you admire in the armored man’s Beskar armor- lifetime guarantee for its durability and strength.

“It’ll be two days of hyperspace until we get to Nevarro.” Mando says, interrupting your admiration for the cane. He walks past you and to an oversized metal cabinet. You glance up and watch him curiously, opening one of the heavy doors and out falls the pale and deceased arm of your dead master. The arm had fell from chest level, and you know Malsifer was not a tall man. Your eyes widen in shock as he nonchalantly tosses the arm back and punches a few numbers and commands into a num pad. The small corner of the ship erupts into icy smoke. To your surprise, your dead master had become encapsulated into a sheet of carbonite.

Like a newborn Fathier, your legs shake as you stand up, “W-What is going to happen to him?” You ask the armored man, watching him transfer the block to the other side of the large metal cabinet.

“I deliver him and collect my pay.” He responds, never turning to face or address you.

Your eyes continue to scan the man up and down, his shiny armor glistening in the artificial white light. It’s still hard for you to believe that you’re even alive and on his ship, sending a new wave of chills over your body as a million thoughts race.

“What is Nevarro?” You ask.

“A place where you get off.”

Your head snaps up, “Absolutely not.”

He finally turns to face you, body language, or helmet-language for lack of better term, completely expressionless- though you can sense that he is displeased.

“I don’t do charity.” He says, crossing you again and to another closed area of the ship, “I won’t be taxi-ing you from planet to planet till you make up your mind on where you want to get off.”

“I’ll pay you!” You exclaim, hoping to negotiate more time for your next move. Money is always a good incentive.

The modulated voice chuckles as he coaxes a wrapped bundle out from an alcove, “Oh yeah? How much?”

“Five… hun…-dred…” You say hesitantly, not knowing whether you even had fifty to your name. The accessibility to your funds was strictly managed. You’d been granted an allowance, not a good one, but one that if on the off occasion you were in a market with Malfiser you could afford a few treats and knick knacks. Everything was always provided for you, food, clothing, a roof over your head… there was everything to take for granted when now all you can probably afford is a scoff in the face.

He laughs again.

“Do better.” He says coldly before disappearing up into the cockpit, the bundle jostling in his arms.

You’re not sure what to make of it as… a pet? Some other strange extension of him… For all you know he could be completely alien underneath all the armor.

When next he returned, he wordlessly tosses you a heavy woven blanket of sorts. It was rough and thick, something one would probably use as insulation for building a house than to comfort and keep them warm at night. It would have to suffice, for you had nothing.

The armored man doesn’t return back down from the cockpit. You remain sitting on the metal wedge, having wrapped yourself in the scratchy blanket and deciding that you are not going to speak to him until you have a reliable and justifiable answer for what you’re going to do with yourself. If he wants to be succinct, so can you.

Thinking of what you have available to you, which isn’t very much, it would be easiest to take on a different identity. Changing your name would be the most painless, something that can be easily accomplished with a few elaborate lies here and there to justify why you don’t have legal documents or proof of identity. But how known are you in relation to Malsifer? Surely some of his past clients may recognize you, if you were to stumble into their network again. Your appearance would have to change too… A haircut, or costume change? Clothes would be the easiest to find, however, with what money? It would be against your morals to steal them from a shop or off someone in the streets. And you’re too fond of your hair, but if change be necessary then something would need to be done about it as well…

 For what felt like a wink, you’re awakened by the sound of boots on metal. The animated Beskar moves past you, hoisting and moving objects around the hull. Though sleepily, you swear you can hear the incoherent babbling of a baby.

You feel something tugging at the blanket around your ankles, looking down, your blurry eyes widen in surprise at a small green face with enormous black pools for eyes staring up at you. Its ears are three times its tiny wingspan, so large that you’re sure it could hear the batting of your eyelashes as you blink in astonishment.

The armored man is the first to break his silence.

“The kid likes you.” He says, attempting to be friendly, “I don’t know why, but he does.”

You remain silent, picking up the child inquisitively and holding it gently on your lap. It coos and smiles at you, a handful of tiny sharp teeth protruding from teething gums looking back at you. For its age, it has wrinkles and a tiny spattering of white hair on top of its head. You’d never seen such an alien before, but then again, you’ve never seen anything like Mando before either. You admit to yourself that the child is cute, in the way that aliens are cute.

“Are we not on speaking terms anymore?” He asks brusquely, stacking a large crate on top of another nearby.

You do not look up to him to respond, offering the child your palm and it reaches with three grubby fingers to latch onto yours, playfully pulling and spreading them apart.

“Only when spoken to.” You respond, matching his tone.

His footsteps stop on the other side of the hull, “Is it something Malsifer had you do?” He grunts.

“It’s what you have me doing.” You respond sourly, letting a small smile crack just for the green toddler in your lap.  

You’re already annoyed with how stale the conversation was becoming, but if he is reluctant to be hospitable them you’re not obligated to be the kindest guest.

He lets out a sigh, murmuring to himself quietly, “Only when spoken to.” He repeats.

You glance up at him, his back towards you and the child, leaning against the stack of crates he’d just assembled. In the back of your mind, you know it’s petty to behave so coldly, but it’s also his responsibility not just as a host, but as another living individual (you assume), to be reciprocate some sort of kindness.

Perhaps the conditions under which you two had met were far from ideal, and he had probably envisioned that you were somehow prepared every day for such a harrowing rescue and with a plan already in place to escape to a new world and start fresh all over again. That is not the case.

“Kids are easy.” You say mildly, to lighten up the air that felt heavy in the hull, “They’re very responsive to other people’s emotions and demeanors. Usually a baby knows to avoid ill-humored people even before an adult does, it’s an innate sense that is to their advantage when seeking out attention and affection.”

The child turns away from you, bored from playing with your hands and instead taking a comfortable seat on your lap from which to watch the conversation between the armored man and yourself.

He turns to face you, leaning his hip up against the crate, “Are you implying that my kid knows you’re not dangerous?”

“Most definitely.” You look up into his visor, “Like I said, kids are easy, and responsive. They lack the reasoning to know what it means to be suspicious, and their interests are almost always self-serving; so long as whatever you do for them is favorable by them, it feels rewarding to them and you earn their trust.”

Your words hang in the humming air as Mando continues to simply stare at you holding the child for a moment, his helmet unmoving. You wonder what he can see in the visor, is it like a window outside or is there computer software constantly running specs into his peripheral and every move is algorithmically calculated? How much can he see? Like an x-ray, or heat signatures? You wonder too, why he hasn’t removed it since you’ve met.

Crossing his arms, he says quietly, “I’ll see what I can do for you. On Nevarro, I have a few connections… I’ll find out what I can to get you out of Malsifer’s mess.”

You smile gently towards him, “Why the change of heart? You first scoffed at me and now you want to help me.”

He shrugs, “You’re a foundling, and it’s against my code to turn you away… As much as it might inconvenience me to help you.”

“I’m not a child.” You chuckle, “But thank you.”

“You might as well be in this wild sector of galaxies. Malsifer sheltered you in his tiny sphere of influence, controlled you, and never let you learn anything beyond what was within his selfish interests. There are things you’ll have to learn, but you don’t have to do it alone.”

The genuine kindness swelled in your chest and uplifts your spirits. You feel optimistic that even if you get dumped on some planet, you’ll at least know what you’ll be looking for, and perhaps even consider yourself acquainted with the terrifying armored man that extended a helping hand to you. Beneath the Beskar is a conscience.

The child in your hand babbles in the direction of the armored man, extending its arms and wanting his attention now. He lumbers over, his footsteps heavy from fatigue, and picks it up from his grasp.

“What’s your name?” You ask.

He stops before you, perching the baby up onto his arm and looking down at your seated figure, “Just call me Mando.”

[hailhydra920]

The House With A Murderer In Its Walls Pt. 6

Chapter 6: NO

Summary: Things don't go as planned

Warnings: Scary themes, blood, death

Tags: @dee-vn

You screamed. It was instinct really. What else would you do when your flashlight goes out and a creepy murderer comes out of nowhere? Right as he said, "BOO!", a small light flickered on, and you saw him. He had shoulder length brown hair, dark eyes that could pierce through your soul, and a gleaming metal arm. Did I mention he was covered in blood? Well, he was covered in blood. "Don't you dare touch, Y/n." Steve growled with anger. "Steve, was it?" He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt her. I love her after all." This made Steve angrier. "The heck you do!" He laughed, his bloody form shaking. "Oh, I do love a challenge, I really do. I'm sorry you can't protect your girlfriend." "Take one step closer, and I'll kill you!" Steve shouted as he pushed you behind him. "I'd love to see you try." He said before grabbing you swiftly and vanishing. "Y/n!" Steve screamed. "No! No! This can't be happening! I failed."

~~~~~~~ "What do you mean it's a maze?!" Sam exclaimed. "Are you saying we're going to die in here?!" "Well, I thought you figured that when we first entered the house. The dying part, that is. Don't worry, this guy mad it mapped up for us already. As long as we follow the map, we should be fine." Tony said as Sam snatched it out of his hands. "I don't see the word EXIT anywhere on here." Sam groaned. "I guess he didn't get that far." Tony said rubbing his beard. "No dip, Sherlock! His freaking body is right in front of us! We're gonna die!" Tony ignored Sam and went deep into thought, trying to figure out a way to survive this whole thing. Soon, he heard crunching. He turned toward Sam in fright, only to find out it was Sam munching on chips. "Would you stop that?! You're freaking me out!" Tony exclaimed. "Well, sorry. I'm not gonna die of hunger, that's for sure." Sam said eating another chip. ~~~~~~~ "Clint, something's coming." Nat said as Clint froze. Shallow breathing was heard nearby. Suddenly, a person, with an chainsaw walked slowly toward them. It made animalistic noises and blood began to flow out of it's mouth. It's veins were bulging out of its body, and it seemed like its skin was see through. It had the creepiest smile stitched on its face (literally). Blood and guts sprinkled its body. To top it off, it had a rainbow afro perched on it's head. "Oh, heck na." Nat said grabbing her gun. It started to run toward them, blood gurgling in the back of its throat, making its growls a bit more scary. It swung its chainsaw at Clint. Clint ducked just in time, his hair getting a jagged haircut. Nat began to shoot at it, but it only screamed and edged closer. Nat tried to move away, but her leg made her unable to. Clint tackled the person, if it could even be called that, and stabbed it, but it was too late. Nat was on the floor, her blood soaking the ground beneath her. Horrible chainsaw marks were etched into her skin, and flesh and blood painted the nearby wall. Clint screamed. Then he screamed again. He closed his eyes, unable to look at Nat and her gruesome death. He saw the creature begin to move again. Clint grabbed his bloody knife and pinned the creature to the floor. Stab after stab, after stab, Clint screamed in anger and sadness, his knife harshly slicing through the creature's body. Soon, the creature was life less and Clint cried. Salty tears streamed down his dirty cheeks, as he sobbed loudly. Nat was gone, and he was alone in the maze. ~~~~~~~ "I'm coming Y/n. I'll find you and make sure he won't hurt you." Steve said as he jogged down the dark tunnels, his flashlight shaking wildly. Tears clouded his eyes as he ran mindlessly through the many hallways and tunnels. He entered a room, this one had lights inside. Steve cautiously stepped inside. "H-hey S-sam, y-you there?" Steve asked trying to level his shaky breaths. "Yeah, I'm here, are you okay?" "N-no, he has Y/n." "What?" "He took her! I don't know where she is! I need to get to her! She may be hurt!

[bxcksdoll]

The Snap

Pairings: Thor x reader

Summary: Set in infinity war. Thor shows up in Wakanda to help defeat Thanos but sadly he doesn’t go for the head and Y/N doesn’t survive the snap...

Request by @xmarveled : Holy shit your trust series absolutely wreckked me. There’s not enough Thor fics in this fandom and yours are some of the best ive ever read!! Can you write an angst fic about the reader dying in thors arms? Wether or not the death is permanent is up to you.

Warnings: hella angst, swearing

A/N: I’m not gonna lie, I teared up when writing this

There you were again; surrounded by aliens from some far off galaxy. You had no idea how you’d gotten into this situation twice already in your life. First the battle of New York and, now, the battle of Wakanda.

“God, I just can’t catch a break...” you mumbled under your breath, stabbing the freaky-looking creatures charging at you, with a spear Okoye lent to you.

“Y/L/N! Heads up!” Bucky shouted. You looked behind to see another jumping in mid-air towards you. Seconds later, it was shot down by the super soldier.

“Thanks, Barnes,” you nodded, moving quickly towards some more aliens.

Herds and herds of the creatures continuously crashed through the force fields, like powerful, destructive waves. They seemed to go on forever, infinite killing-machines.

You breathed a sigh of frustration, sending your spear piecing through another three creatures, lined up close together. As they gradually surrounded you, you put in more and more power into your spins and points - impaling many at one time.

Looking around the battlefield, you noticed that they were enclosing some others; Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Okoye and Bruce were all surrounded, fighting with all of their might.

Frustratingly, you were unable to get to them due to your own problem. The fight seemed never ending. The herds began to stack further and further up.

Then, whoosh a stinging, throbbing pain was felt on your right leg. Glancing down, a fresh cut was clear - painful but not very deep. Crouching slightly, you carried on fighting, not stopping to take any chances of getting clawed again.

More obviously now, the aliens closed in and trapped everyone in their own seperate circle. But no one gave up, denying that it appeared they were losing. The fight was excruciatingly painful and tiresome; at this point, you were crouched on the ground. You still carried on, though.

Suddenly, an enormous beam of light appeared; lightning struck across the field, electrocuting all of the creatures around you and eliminating them from existence. Quickly, you stood up, breathing heavily.

There he stood. Thor. You two hadn’t seen each other since he last left for Asguard; all this time, you had been wondering what was taking him so long and when he would get back. Here he was, standing before you.

His appearance was slightly different - hair much shorter and, instead of wielding mjolnir, he carried an axe-like weapon. The corners of your mouth turned upwards, a sense of pride rushing through your chest.

“Bring me Thanos!” his deep voice boomed, sending chills through your body, head to toe.

Next, he leapt up, dark clouds surging over his head. As he came down to Earth, lightning sparking in his eyes, an even bigger lightning bolt struck through Wakanda, reaching unbelievable lengths.

This time, you continued to fight but a different feeling ran through your veins; desperation, you thought, to get to Thor or maybe complete belief that you wouldwin this fight.

The battle went on for much longer but that didn’t stop everyone from fighting with every last bit of energy within them.

At one moment, you managed to have a very quick catch-up with Thor. You commented on his haircut, telling him he looked good and told him you missed him but that short convocation wasn’t enough to express the loneliness and emptiness you had felt without him for the past couple of months.

After more time had past, you all ran to one particular place in the forest; where Thanos was. One by one, you tried to take him on. As you ran towards him - spear positioned just over your shoulder - you took notice of how easily the purple giant tossed Rhodey aside with the powers in his gauntlet.

“Shit,” you thought to yourself as he locked his eyes on you just before sending you, effortlessly, into a tree.

On the ground, you saw more of the avengers charging towards Thanos. Each one looked like a rag doll in his power - he tossed them away with the blink of an eye. That is until, he punched forward, aiming for Steve; Steve caught the gauntlet in his hands, holding him from causing anymore damage.

Thanos seemed to be struggling, surprised at the strength of the Captain. However, Thanos got out of his grip and continued to toss him away.

Attempting to sit up, you discovered that Thanos had enclosed the tree around your body. You sat there unable to move. Helpless.

Thanos finally reached the place where Wanda and Vison were but he was, thankfully, too late. Wanda had destroyed the stone.

Thanks looked unfased, to your surprise. He spoke to Wanda, something unaudiable to you. Then, all of a sudden a scream came from Wanda.

“No!”

Panick hit you like a bullet to the chest; witnessing Thanos use the infinity stones to turn back time.

“Oh god,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes.

With a few twirls of Thanos’ hand, Vision was back in his previous position - as if he was never destroyed. Then, Thanos picked him up, tore the stone from his head and flung him to the side, like a piece of unwanted scraps.

He placed it on his gauntlet, power visibly surging through his body. Your whole body shook with fear, unable to express the unrelenting physical and emotional pain you felt and dreaded.

Unexpectedly, a bolt of lightning struck. You looked up, with a pang of hope, to see Thor flying down. Thanos shot up a beam but Thor deflected it with his new weapon.

You gasped, witnessing the axe hit Thanos clean in the chest. This was it; you had won, you knew it.

“I told you,” Thor sneered as his feet touched the ground, “you die for that.” He pressed his axe further into Thanos’ chest, causing his to yell out in pain.

Thor, stopped - allowing Thanos to feel every inch of pain and suffering. Thanos appeared to be trying to speak but you couldn’t make out what he was saying, it looked as though Thor couldn’t either.

“You should have gone for the head,” he finally came, lifting his hand to snap his finger.

Suddenly, you broke free from the tree that previously secured your body from moving.

“What the...” you mumbled, standing up slowly.

“What did you do? What did you do?!” Thor demanded, glaring into Thanos’ eyes as you looked confused at the destroyed, melted gauntlet on his hand.

Instantly, Thanos opened up a portal and disappeared. Leaving all of you confused and unable to know what to expect next.

Thor looked at you, eyes wide and glossy. You opened your mouth to speak but a voice was heard before you could.

“Steve?” sounded Bucky. You glanced back, to where Thor and Steve’s attention was and saw bucky walking over, his hand fading away.

Pain hit your gut as you watched him fall, turning to dust; you were unable to act quickly, completely distraught and confused as to what was going on.

Steve rushed to where Bucky fell, clutching the dust on the ground. He looked up at you with desperate eyes as tears began to brim in your eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” you questioned, turning to meet Thor’s fearful gaze.

Turning around to the rest of the landscape, the three of you witnessed other people fading away. You felt a heart aching feeling at your inability to prevent the devastation in front of you.

Soon, dust began to float into your vision; you looked down, in fear, to see your hands fading away.

“Thor!” your voice cracked. Thor snapped his head to meet you, tears already welling in his eyes.

“Y/N, no! Not you! Please let it be me, not you!” he cried, clutching onto you as you dropped to the ground.

“Thor, i-it’s going to be okay,” you breathed. He clutched you in his arms as your head lay on his lap.

“No, Y/N...” the feeling of Thor’s tear drops hit your cheeks as you felt your body disappearing.

You brought your hand up to cup his cheek one last time, before fading away to dust...

[salutmonmec]

EVEN THE DEAD DESERVE A SONG

an Elu Hunger Games AU

ao3 link

Lucas has been in love with the same boy since he was five years old.

Now, he will be forced to fight him to the death.

What a fucking nightmare.

CHAPTER 5: BABY, YOU’RE LIKE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE

“Three…”

“Two…”

“One…”

“FUCK!”

Lucas’ vision blurs as he tries to jerk away, but Alexia’s surprisingly strong hands have a vice grip around his left leg, rubbing lotion in furiously before Lucas can kick her in the face. She lets him go as she turns to throw away the wax strip.

“That was the last one, you’re fine!”

“I think I’m bleeding.” He examines his leg for any sign of injury, positive that she ripped all the skin off.

“Oh shut up, why are boys always such drama queens?”

Arthur laughs as he sweeps up the bits of Lucas’ hair from the floor where he gave him a haircut earlier. Alexia smirks at him, freckled cheeks flushing. “I’m serious! You never hear the girls complain.”

Lucas slowly sits up on the padded table, groaning. He shoots Alexia a glare.

“I can hear everything you’re saying.”

Alexia raises her eyebrows at him. “That’s sort of the point.”

Lucas’ mouth twitches up into a small smile as he slides off the table, stretching his legs out. He bounces on his feet, rubbing them together. He feels like a newborn seal. He turns to glance at himself in the mirror. His black tie-back gown is all rumpled, but his legs, much to his surprise, don’t look too strange. The lack of hair makes his muscles stand out more. He’s not complaining.

Arthur sets down the broom and walks over to stand next to Lucas in front of the mirror, turning to pick at some pieces of his freshly trimmed hair. He hadn’t cut too much off, leaving it on the longer side, styling it into a side part that tamed a bit of the ridiculous volume. Arthur runs his fingers through it, breaking apart some of the gelled pieces, letting some strands fall softly across Lucas’ forehead. He sighs, tilting his head and looking into the mirror with a frown.

“Of course your hair looks perfect now, right before we have to style it for the parade.” Arthur purses his lips, hands settling on his hips. He looks at Alexia over his shoulder. “Do you know when Imane’s getting here?”

Alexia shrugs casually as she wipes down the waxing table. “I think soon? The fittings usually take a while.”

Right on cue, a knock on the door startles them all a bit. A Peacekeeper opens it, backing up to reveal a woman who Lucas assumes is Imane. Her face is serious, dark eyes rimmed with black liner, gold eyeshadow a stark contrast to her brown skin. Her hair is wrapped up in a black headscarf, ears glistening with multiple piercings. She’s wearing a baby blue high-necked sweater, tucked into flowy, high-waisted black pants. Pretty and supremely intimidating, all at once. She walks over to greet Arthur and Alexia, the ends of her pant legs flitting upward to reveal spiky gold boots, sharp enough to do some serious damage with a kick. Lucas swallows down a nervous gulp.

After quick hugs and greetings, Arthur and Alexia shuffle their way out the door, throwing Lucas a wave and mouthing see you later. He sends them a small smile before turning his attention to Imane, who is standing with her hands on her hips, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He pushes down his nerves, walking up to her with a hand out to shake.

“I’m Lucas.”

Her face warms with an amused smile, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

“You don’t think it’s my job to already know your name, Lucas?”

He meets her brown eyes, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, sure.” He pauses, moving to lean his back against the waxing table, crossing his arms. “I’m sure you’re paid to find out everything you can about me.”

Imane smirks, hands settling back down on her hips. “Is that so?”

“Make me feel comfortable, spill my guts out to you, all the while you listen and report back everything. So everyone in the Capitol knows who to place their bets on.” He knows he should probably just shut up, but it’s been a long morning. His legs can attest to that. “Isn’t that how this whole thing works?”

Imane shrugs, bracelets on her wrists jingling as she moves. Her amused expression turns serious, eyebrows lowering to furrow over her eyes. “Sure, they’re paying me. A big, fat paycheck actually.”

Lucas narrows his eyes at her questioningly. She meets his stare head-on.

“Doesn’t mean I’m here to work for them.” She steps closer, lifting a finger to push lightly into his collarbone.

“I’m here to work for you.”

Lucas almost barks out a laugh, but he holds back, breath whooshing out in an unamused huff.

“Pretty sure I have no say in any of this.”

Imane smirks. “Maybe not.”

Lucas looks away, a small smile pushing its way onto his lips. At least she’s honest.

He turns back to her, uncrossing his arms to lean back on his hands. “Arthur said this is your first year. Is this how they punish the newbies? Assign them to District 12? God knows I would have no idea how to make mining look good.”

Imane lets out a bright laugh, breaking through the tension in the room. Lucas smiles with her, feeling the pressure in his chest loosen slightly. She moves next to him, mirroring his lean as her giggles die out. She turns to look at him, grinning. “Believe it or not, I actually chose this.”

Lucas snorts before he can stop himself. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Maybe black is my favorite color?” She shrugs again, a smile still twitching on her lips. “Maybe I like a challenge?” She pauses, turning her head towards him, meeting his eyes. The smile is replaced by something softer, her eyes wide and warm. “Or maybe I just have a soft spot for underdogs.”

He breaks the eye contact, looking straight ahead, not focusing on anything in particular. His chest tightens as reality creeps its way back in. “Underdog implies that we have some kind of chance.”

Imane sighs, looking forward, rocking back on her palms. It’s a minute before she speaks, a heavy silence falling between them.

“I’m not here to make you look pretty Lucas.” He brings his hands forward, presses his nails into his palms, trying to quell his sudden anxiety. “I’m not here to turn you into a Capitol play-thing.” She turns towards him, expression fierce. “I’m here to make you look like a competitor.”

His head snaps up to meet her gaze, and she nods, giving an answer to a question he had no idea he was asking. She pushes off the table, moving to stand in front of him. “You’re smart Lucas, anyone who spends ten minutes in a room with you could figure that out. And… rumor has it that you have other skills as well.” Imane gestures a bangled hand to the corner of the room, where covered outfits hang on a rack. “The outfits? The look? I have the easy job. I make sure you’re noticed. The rest is up to you.”

He inhales deeply as the dark voice in his head makes its presence known.

Do you really think you can handle that?

He grits his teeth, shoving the voice back where it belongs.

I don’t have a choice.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and Imane moves to sit back next to him. She hesitates, before lightly laying her arm across Lucas’ shoulders, pulling him gently into her side. His eyes burn as he tries for a smile.

“Guess there is no avoiding the frilly costumes, huh?”

He feels Imane shake with a silent chuckle, air whistling out her nose as her face slowly breaks out in a soft grin. She rubs his back lightly before hopping up and walking over to the clothing rack, unzipping the garment bags in a flourish.

“Who said anything about frilly?”

----

Three motherfucking hours.

He’s tired. He’s thirsty. His foot itches, but he can’t scratch it without messing up the pins that Imane is currently painstakingly placing around the hem of his pants. Maybe this is the actual games, how long you can sit still without going mentally insa-

“OW!”

“Shit sorry!”

Imane carefully places the pin she just stabbed him with into the hem, patting his leg reassuringly. She gestures for him to remove them. “Last adjustment, I promise.”

Lucas wiggles the tight black pants off, careful not to poke himself again. Arthur and Alexia burst their way into the room, a huge stack of hair and makeup supplies tipping out of their hands and onto the table. Lucas looks on, concerned. What are you going to do to me?

Imane had covered up the single mirror in the room, saying that it was more fun for the final reveal to be a surprise. Lucas on the other hand, wasn’t so sure.

----

“Are you ready Lucas?”

Arthur and Alexia are practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on their toes on either side of the covered mirror. Their energy makes Lucas smile, but he can’t ignore the fact that he feels slightly ridiculous. His feet are clad in thick-soled lace-up black boots that have to make him at least three inches taller. The leather had been rubbed with black powder, mattifying the finish, like he had been walking through one of the coal mines. He thought they looked cool, but he can’t ignore the fact that every step feels like he has bricks strapped to his feet. The rest of the outfit is black as well, a somewhat simple pant and shirt set. The pants are skin-tight, but made of a thick, ruched fabric that mimics the ridged texture of rock. Surprisingly soft, though. The shirt is matte black silk, thin enough to make Lucas feel almost naked. The neckline is low and wide, exposing his collarbone, while the hem skims the top of his thighs, asymmetrical and flowing. The back has a single shiny silk panel that runs down his spine, and trails behind him a bit as he walks. The sleeves are tight, hitting him at his wrists. Alexia had taken time to paint his nails black, which he already accidentally chipped when trying to drink from a glass of water. She would have smacked him on the back of the head, if Arthur hadn’t just finished styling his hair.

As for his face and hair, he had no idea. Alexia had come at him with handfuls of black makeup. He has a feeling that he looks like a little kid that got into a finger paint set while his parents weren’t paying attention.

Let’s just get this over with.

He nods at them, and they tug the sheet down off the mirror.

…

…

Holy shit.

The breath he didn’t know he was holding whooshes out, eyes wide as he stares at his reflection. A thin band of black covers his face from temple to temple, running across his eyes, contrasting with the blue and tempering the child-like roundness into something more… adult. Below that, a black handprint had been pressed to the left side of his cheek and jaw, smearing down across his throat and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He reaches up a tentative hand to touch it, still not quite sure that he was actually looking at himself. The sides of his hair are softly slicked back, black paint mixing with it at his temples. The top is a mop of tamed waves, which had been painstakingly styled to fall subtly over the right side of his forehead.

He looks… older. Almost feral. Like he would have no problem burying an axe in someone’s back. I guess that’s the point.

Alexia squeals, clapping her hands in joy as she jumps over to stand beside him. Imane walks over and brushes an invisible piece of lint off his shoulder, smirking, clearly pleased with herself. Arthur is practically beaming at him, which quickly turns into a frown as he shoos Alexia’s hands away from his handiwork. Alexia laughs, twirling away from Arthur to give Lucas a quick kiss on the cheek. His cheeks blush furiously before he can process what happened.

“You look amazing!”

“The black makes your eyes look so blue.”

“What can I say, I’m a genius.” Imane gives a dramatic bow as Arthur and Alexia clap loudly, laughing and hollering. Lucas drags his eyes away from his reflection, smirking to himself.

“So what now?”

Imane smiles at him. “We go grab Eliott, and Daphné will come to escort you over to where the other tributes are being lined up for the parade.” She turns away to start packing up her supplies.

Eliott. Oh, fuck.

He shuffles over to help, grabbing her measuring tape and bringing it over. “So, uh, what’s Eliott wearing? For the parade, I mean?”

Imane shoots him a strange look out of the corner of her eye, but she doesn’t comment on the clear stutter in his voice. “The same thing. Idriss and I wanted you to look like a team.”

Lucas nods, pursing his lips. “Okay.” Shit.

She gives him a questioning look. “Is that not okay with you?”

He blanks, scrambling for words. “No, no, it’s fin-”

A knock on the door saves him, and Manon pokes her head inside. “Everyone ready to head out over here?”

Imane smiles at her, gathering her supplies up in her arms. “Yes, ma’am.” Arthur and Alexia head out into the hallway first, Lucas and Imane following behind. The door slams behind him, and he takes a slow breath before turning to look down the hallway, but that he could never be prepared for what was waiting for him.

Eliott was standing casually, conversing with a tall dark-skinned man that Lucas could only guess was Idriss. The all-black ensemble contrasts starkly with his pale skin, making the moles and freckles scattered around stand-out sharply against his neck and jaw. The thigh-skimming hemline of the shirt makes his legs look a mile-long, the wide-neck highlighting the surprising broadness of his shoulders. Lucas’ eyes roam up his right arm, the silk clinging to his lean muscles, and his heart jumps into his throat, pressure moving through his stomach to someplace lower.

Jesus, get it together.

He has a handprint mark mirroring Lucas’ twisting across his throat, the black makeup bending sensually over his collarbone. The band across his eyes makes him look like a sort of dark fantasy prince, his normally messy hair combed back away from his face, tame and tightly controlled. He looks like a stranger, intimidating and cold. Eliott turns his face toward him, noticing the influx of people coming out into the hallway. His grey eyes find Lucas and they widen, a slow, bright smile breaking across his face. Suddenly, he’s Eliott again. Lucas tilts his head, matching his grin with a shy one of his own.

Idriss turns to chat with Alexia, freeing up Eliott, and Lucas walks slowly over, holding his gaze. Eliott bites his lip, eyes moving languidly up and down Lucas’ body. A shiver moves through his spine under the intensity of his stare. Is he…?

He reaches him after what feels like an eternity, cheeks aflame with the heat of a thousand suns. He swallows down his nerves, plastering a smirk on his face. He keeps his voice low, so Eliott has to lean down a bit to hear him.

“Please tell me they waxed you too.”

Eliott bursts out laughing, reaching down to lift up the edge of his pant leg. Perfectly smooth. Lucas snorts, shaking his head. He glances back at Eliott, who is still grinning, eyes crinkled up into half-moons, swallowed up into the line of black. Lucas can’t help but stare.

“Of course you manage to pull this,” he gestures at his own outfit, “nonsense off.” He huffs out an exaggerated sigh. “Me on the other hand… on a scale of 1-10, how fucking ridiculous do I look?”

Eliott’s grin gets replaced by something softer, and he gazes at Lucas for an excruciating beat.

“Zero.”

“Well, that’s a lie, you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Lucas looks down at his boots, shuffling his feet, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

“You think I’d lie about something like that?”

His head snaps up so fast he gives himself whiplash, turning back towards Eliott with wide eyes. Eliott had leaned in to say the words, and Lucas almost goes cross-eyed with the effort to not stare directly at his lips. Eliott huffs out a quiet laugh, breath tickling Lucas’ face, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Lucas’ lips pull up into a small smile at the sight. Eliott Demaury. Blushing.

The sound of clacking heels makes Eliott look up, eyes focusing on something behind Lucas. He turns around to see Daphné strutting her way down the hallway, all done up in a brand new red dress, the huge collar folding back around her chin like a giant flower. Lucas coughs into his hand to suppress a laugh, which makes Eliott grin down at his feet. She pushes past everyone, coming up to pull the boys into a tight hug, squealing like a dying animal.

“Don’t you two look fabulous! So…” She shakes her head, seemingly at a loss for words, “... dark!” Lucas catches Imane grinning into her hand behind her. He smirks.

“Thanks Daphné.”

She flashes him a bright smile, patting his cheek like a little kid. She spins around, just as quickly. “Alright, off we go boys!”

She starts walking back the way she came, Lucas and Eliott falling into place behind her. Lucas turns to wave at Imane, who winks at him while Arthur and Alexia grin and give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles to himself, turning back to face forward, matching Eliott’s stride. He can feel Eliott’s eyes on him, and it takes all his strength not to turn and meet his gaze. Keep it cool, Lucas. They walk in silence the entire way to the parade grounds, Lucas occasionally allowing himself a glance at the beautiful boy next to him. He catches Eliott sending him a look a few times in his periphery, and he feels his skin prickle with every passing glance.

It’s going to be a long night.

[dotwrites]

Braided Chapter 4- The Bandits

Tangled/Rapunzel Kuzupeko AU inspired by @thewildwilds ‘s fic of the same name.

Summary:  Peko discovers why Fuyuhiko isn't too fond of revealing his identity to random thugs in the forest. A group of bandits discover that they've made a mistake.

Read on AO3

Fuyuhiko took a torch from the wall of the narrow passageway, lighting the dirty floor just enough for them to see as he led the way down the winding path. At first, they remained silent, as though so much as a small noise would cause the dirt walls to collapse in on them. Peko’s mind was preoccupied, still trying to understand why her young master felt the need to lie about who he was. Surely, the men at the tavern would be disappointed to find out they missed the opportunity to bow to their prince.

“Young Master,” she eventually spoke up.

“I told you not to call me that,” he answered with a huff as he turned a corner.

“I apologize,” she started, “I was wondering if you could explain something to me?”

“Depends on what it is, and if you’re ever going to stop using that stupid title.”

Peko nodded, remaining silent for a moment before speaking again, “I will do my best. My question is, why did you lie to them?”

“What, to the bloodthirsty fucking thugs that almost beat me up?” He scoffed, as though the answer should be the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes. Why did you not simply tell them that you are the prince?”

Fuyuhiko paused, looking back at Peko. The flame from the torch lit his face dramatically, the fire dancing in his eyes even as he looked at her with exasperation. Instead of answering, he asked another question in return.

“What exactly did my dad tell you, about the kingdom? And about how they feel about us?”

“This is the largest, most successful kingdom, which he said will one day rule all. He said that the people of the kingdom have vowed unending loyalty to the royal family, but he requested I still remain vigilant, in case someone grows jealous.”

Fuyuhiko rolled his eyes before turning forward again, continuing walking down the passageway, “The same shit he told me and Natsumi, then.”

“It is the truth, then?” She asked when he didn’t add more.

“No. At least, not all of the truth.”

As he spoke, they turned another corner and found themselves a few yards from an opening in the tunnel, light filtering in through hanging vines that swung gently in the breeze. He picked up the pace, not giving Peko a chance to ask for clarification as he set the torch in an empty metal bracket along the wall then made his way out of the passageway. Peko followed, silent despite the new questions his response had given her.

“It doesn’t matter. Just...don’t tell anybody who I am, okay? If I want them to know, I’ll tell them myself,” he told her as he stopped in front of a tree.

“Understood,” she nodded, looking around at their new surroundings.

The forest was similar enough to the one they had been walking along before, though the road here was narrower and bumpier than the main road. What worried her more was the way the sky was turning colors and the sun was starting to hide behind the trees. She feared they wouldn’t make it back to the palace before the sun would set, leaving them stranded at night in a forest full of strange creatures that could attack at any moment.

Fuyuhiko glanced around too before starting to walk down the road, “I’m taking us the long way home. The main road is probably full of guards looking for me by now, and I’m not fucking dealing with a bunch of babysitters treating me like I’m incompetent.”

“Would it not be best to get you home sooner?” She asked, “The guards could help ensure you return home safely.”

“Yeah, well...they’ll also tell my father I was running around the forest with a strange girl, and I sort of want to keep you a secret from them. You still have a way out of this, you know. I’ll tell my dad I let you go and you can run away and go wherever you want.”

It made more sense when she realized he was doing it for her, though she didn’t understand why he was insisting that she should wish to leave. She still wanted to keep her vow, protect Fuyuhiko from any and all threats and be as useful a tool as possible.

Before she could explain that to him, she noticed a pair of men coming out from the trees. Gripping her sword by her side, she took a step forward to stand between the men and the prince, earning a sigh from the latter.

“What’s this?” Asked the smaller of the pair, a handsome man wearing a smirk and a belt with several knives along it, “Don’t you two know there are bandits around here? You should be careful, you could get attacked any moment.”

“Especially considering how small you are. A man like myself could overpower both of you easily. Shouldn’t you have some guards with you or something?” Added the second, a muscular man much like the bartender, who laughed as he took another step towards the pair.

“Thankfully, you ran into us. We could protect you, you know,” The first one continued, “It would cost, but nothing is quite as valuable as your safety, is it?”

“I can fucking assure you, we don’t need your help,” Fuyuhiko scoffed, “Why don’t you go find somebody else to scam?”

“Ah, you don’t want our services, then?” The smaller man pulled a knife out of his belt, “That’s a shame, really.”

“As he said, we do not need your help,” Peko insists.

“Huh...what, are you supposed to be the guard?” Asks the man as he runs his finger along the knife blade, glancing at Peko’s sword, “And who’s he, then?”

“He looks familiar,” Hummed the larger man. Peko caught sight of it as he kept one hand by his side, making a motion with it that seemed to lead to another pair of people walking out from the treeline.

“Who does he look like to you?” Asked one of the new people, a man with a head of black hair and a length of rope in his hands, “Looks like a noble to me, don’t you think? Probably worth a lot of money.”

“You’re an idiot,” scoffs the fourth member of the group, a middle aged woman with brown hair tied back who was idly swinging a small ax, “Looks to me like he’s the prince himself. What an honor, running into him in the middle of the forest...I wonder if the king knows he’s here.”

“Oh no, didn’t you hear? The prince disappeared after breakfast this morning. There’s guards all over the main road looking for him. I wonder how much of a... reward we would get for returning him.”

“Now, now,” the first one to speak laughed, “shouldn’t we all be bowing? It’s only polite to show some respect before we tie the boy up, don’t you think?”

“Of course, of course,” The woman curtsied with one hand, eyes remaining on Peko and Fuyuhiko.

Peko glared as she raised her sword to the man with the knife, assuming that he was the leader of the group, “You will not be tying him up.”

Fuyuhiko took a step back, glancing around for any other bandits hiding amongst the trees. If Peko was looking, she would notice the fear in his eyes. Peko showed off some skill before, sure, but she couldn’t possibly win against four bandits all on her own, he thought. He wanted to run, but he knew they were too far from the main road. There was no way he would reach the guards before the bandits caught him, even if Peko kept them preoccupied for a little while.

“And who exactly are you, little girl? You ever heard of a haircut?” Asked the leader.

Peko did not give him an answer, instead lunging forward as she made a slicing motion with her sword. The man hopped back, just barely avoiding having his guts torn out. As he did, the larger man approached Peko from the side, ready to tackle her to the ground. The girl ducked down, kicking one leg out to hit the man in the shin, a loud curse ringing out as he reached down to grab her. She rolled out of the way, but the man managed to grip on of her braids, pulling roughly to force her to sit up.

Fuyuhiko watched with wide eyes as Peko dropped her sword, pulling back on her braid to try to free it from the man. The woman and the man with the rope approached Fuyuhiko then, moving slowly as though they were trying not to startle him.

“Come on little prince, we’ll get you home nice and safe now,” the woman grinned, “Well, mostly safe at least.”

Fuyuhiko took another step back, falling back as he tripped over a root. He couldn’t help but think he’d been a fool, thinking that he could survive on his own in the world. Maybe his dad was right, maybe he did need protection.

Peko just barely saw her young master fall from the corner of her eyes, but knowing he was in danger was all she needed to continue her fight. She reached for her sword again and swung it over her head, the very tip of the blade slicing a thin, shallow line across the large man’s neck. It wasn’t enough to stop him, the tank of a man simply growled and tugged harder, pulling Peko further forward. She pulled back as hard as she could, causing him to lose his balance, then kicked her leg under his to make him fall forward. Peko once again rolled out of the way, barely avoiding being trapped under him. Before he could react, she wrapped part of the braid he was holding around his neck and tugged, hard enough to cause him to gasp for breath.

While he was struggling, she stood up, never loosening her braid around his neck. She stabbed her sword into the ground hard enough that it stayed standing when she let go, then took her other braid and whipped it towards the woman before she could take another step closer to Fuyuhiko. It wrapped around the woman’s wrist and when Peko tugged it back it caused the woman to drop her ax.

“You will release us,” Peko ordered as the woman stared at her in shock.

The woman scowled, reaching down with her free hand to pick her ax back up. She ran towards Peko, throwing the ax as she approached. Peko ducked just before it hit her, the weapon instead landing in a tree just behind her. The large man was out cold, so Peko released her grip on that braid in order to grab the ax. She tugged the woman forward and held the ax up right over the woman’s chest, pressing just enough to threaten a small cut.

“I do not wish to kill you, please do not force my hand,” Peko said as the woman’s eyes widened. When the woman made no move to attack, Peko tugged her braid to the side so she would fall to the ground beside the large man.

It was then that Peko noticed the leader of the group was standing over Fuyuhiko, knife swinging down as the prince held a hand up to try to protect himself. Pulling her braids free, Peko grabbed her sword from the ground and began running towards Fuyuhiko, a weapon in each hand. The knife sliced the prince’s palm open before Peko could reach him, his pained scream ringing in her ears.

Instead of going for the leader right away, Peko ran past him, throwing the ax into a tree as she tugged the rope from the hands of the remaining underling. Before the man could fight, Peko had pushed him to the ground, red eyes bright with fury as she held the tip of her blade over the man’s neck, close enough that when he gulped, it left a small scratch.

“Run,” she insisted, pulling her sword away as she spun to face the leader, “And you, back away from him.”

The leader scoffed, but turned away from the prince in order to face Peko, “I should’ve taken care of you myself. Don’t worry sweetheart, I won’t hurt him too bad so long as he doesn’t fight back. You, on the other hand…”

As the leader lunged forward, Peko dropped her sword, holding the rope she’d stolen taut as she ducked below the man’s blade. She surged forward, headbutting him in the stomach before reaching above her head and grabbing his wrist, twisting it painfully and forcing him to drop his knife. She quickly wrapped the rope around that wrist, standing up straight as she forced his arm behind his back. As he screamed and reached for a knife with his free hand, Peko grabbed that wrist as well and pulled it to join the first. After tying his wrists together, she pushed him to the ground in front of Fuyuhiko and put her foot against his back.

“You will apologize,” She demanded, “And you will not threaten him again.”

Fuyuhiko quickly stood up, holding his bleeding palm tightly in his free hand as he looked down at the bandit at his feet.

“Fuck--fine! I’m sorry!” The bandit gave in, bowing his head, “I’m sorry, your highness, I’ll--I won’t do it again!”

“You’re fucking right,” Fuyuhiko scowled, kicking the man’s shoulder, “I should have you all killed right now for that. That’s what my father would do, and I’m starting to think you deserve it.”

“Please, have mercy on me. I swear I’ll never attack you or any member of the royal family again, just please don’t kill me,” The bandit begged, and Peko pressed harder on his back in response.

“Would you have me kill them, sir?” Peko asked. Whether she wanted to do it or not didn’t matter, she would obey his orders without question. All she needed was for him to say yes.

“...no. Leave them, but we take their weapons,” he decided after a moment.

Peko quickly gathered the knives from the leader, as well as the ax she’d taken from the woman. She also took a strip of cloth from the man with the rope and gave it to the prince, helping him wrap it tightly around his wound.

The pair left the group of bandits on that road as they continued on their way as dusk overtook the sky, a full moon slowly rising.

[soundslikenerds-blog]

I Need to Talk About “Avengers: Endgame”

WARNING: THIS WILL BE VERY SPOILER-Y!

PLEASE, IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIE, DO NOT READ THE SPOILERS!

IT’S SO HARD TO STAY AWAY WHEN YOU’RE CURIOUS AS HELL, BUT PLEASE DON’T LOOK AT THESE SPOILERS IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN THE MOVIE!

SPOILERS WILL BE BELOW THE CUT, SO IF YOU DON’T TURN AWAY NOW, I CAN’T BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE SPOILERS YOU WILL SEE!

THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!

OK!

I have an actual metric fuckton of stuff to say about this movie-too much, really. I won’t be able to hold it together for even a part of it, since I cried like a baby throughout 90% of this movie. I have a lot of words and a lot of emotions. Walking into this movie, I had a lot of theories. Some of them were true, and others were not. Some of them, I wished I had been wrong about. I steered clear of all spoilers, dropping off the face of the world once I heard that a leak happened, and I’m somewhat relieved that I can be back. It’s not gonna be the same, though. Never.

I’ve only seen the movie three times so far (I had to edit this twice while writing this reaction, ngl), so I’m definitely still missing some shit. I just haven’t been able to keep myself collected for long enough to write it all. I’m definitely going to see it again tomorrow, which is like opening a gaping wound and pouring salt, vinegar, alcohol, and tears into it. Why do I do this?

So, here it goes. It won’t be in order, but I’m just writing it down as it comes back to me (while listening to the Avengers Theme because I need to cry for a bit longer, I guess).

I was a bit upset that the movie didn’t open with the original Marvel fanfare. I was angry until I cried for the first time in the movie, which happened a mere 3 minutes in.

Clint’s. Fucking. Family.

When he starts running around, yelling for them, I was absolutely gutted. It felt like someone drove a knife into my back.

The Russo Bros.

JESUS. CHRIST. GIVE. THIS. MAN. A. BREAK.

GIVE. ME. A. BREAK.

Tony’s physical state in space was absolutely mind-boggling. I was crushed just seeing him like that, like a little skeleton man. I’m realizing as I write this that I can’t even think about Tony right now. Nope.

No.

Anyway, now that I’m crying, I might as well keep crying.

Nebula lifting Tony up into the seat like he’s a small child. YES, GIVE THIS MAN ALL THE LOVE AND CARE IN THE WORLD! HE DESERVES EVERYTHING GOOD! DON’T TOUCH ME, I’M CRYING!

When that little light hit Tony’s face, I was like, “CAROL! IT’S MY GIRL! WHAT A GODDESS!” and the entire theater erupted with applause. I was so happy I wasn’t stuck with a theater full of people with sticks in places they shouldn’t be.

STEVE SPRINTING UP TO TONY WAS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL, TOUCHING, WONDERFUL MOMENT, BUT THEN, THESE TWO FUCKERS FIGHT AGAIN LIKE 2 SECONDS LATER! DON’T TAKE MY LITTLE SHREDS OF HAPPINESS AWAY FROM ME, MARVEL, FFS!

“I lost the kid” -Tony, making me want to vomit because of the sheer emotions.

Pepperony reunion was beautiful. I cried. Everyone cried. Not everyone. Me and a few other people.

Tony losing his shit on Steve left me gutted. I just wanted everything to be okay between them, especially since both of them came so close to dying.

“I needed you!” -Tony, 2k19

“I need you two to get along” -Me, 2k19

“Up until this moment, I thought you were a Build-a-Bear” -Tony to Rocket, and the theater erupted in laughter. The Russo’s were trying to butter us up with as much funny shit in the first half as they could because THEY KNEW WHAT WAS COMING, AND NO ONE ELSE DID!

When I saw Carol’s tears in her eyes upon seeing Nick Fury’s picture as one of the vanished, I...ugh. No. I’m feeling a lot again.

She was so ready to kick some purple ass, and I was like “YAAAASSSS, KWEEN! Kill the evil grape!”

The fact that we saw the jump in the reflection of Steve’s eyes, my heart fluttered. What a beautiful...whoa. I was...the EYELASHES?! HeLp!

WHEN THANOS GOT HIS NOGGIN CHOPPED CLEAN OFF, THE WHOLE AUDIENCE LOST IT, BUT WE KNEW IT WOULDN’T BE THE END OF THANOS. The cheers were full of joy and also a bit of fear for what would come.

“I went for the head” -Thor, 2k19

Even though, I was fully committed to this movie, when the “five years later” faded onto the screen, I couldn’t help but read it in a Spongebob Narrator voice. OOPS!

Steve trying to be a little optimist in the absolute worst circumstances...ugh!

Joe Russo’s cameo. I was like, “yaaaasss, represent the LGBTQ+ audience” but I was also like, “you’re gonna kill me in this movie, aren’t you?” AND THE SECOND TIME I WATCHED IT, WHEN PEOPLE CHEERED BECAUSE OF HIM IN THAT SCENE, I JUST SAT THERE WITH MY ARMS CROSSED LIKE AN ANGRY BABY! I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING! I KNEW THAT HE WAS GOING TO STAB ME STRAIGHT THROUGH MY FUCKING HEART IN A LITTLE WHILE! The second time around, I was more excited to see Jim Starlin in that scene.

CAROL’S HAIRCUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seeing Natasha cry over Clint’s disappearance was...rough. 10/10 don’t like seeing my heroes cry because it turns me into an actual blubbering mess. Natasha was a strong, fierce, incredible warrior goddess, and to see her crumble over the stress was both so incredibly realistic but also heart-wrenching. She has done such a good job holding it together in the worst circumstances throughout these movies, but now we get to see her as just as vulnerable as anyone else. Natasha was a gem, and SHE DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER. I NEED TISSUES. I’M CRYING!

On a side note: I love that new hair she’s rocking, ngl.

“I tell people to move on; some do, but not us” *chills*

I’m upset that the peanut butter sandwich wasn’t credited and had no appearances in the trailer. It played such a pivotal role. First, it was Nat’s. Then, Nat tried to pass it off to Steve. Then, Scott practically fell in love with it.

Scott, looking at that peanut butter sandwich:

While we’re talking about Scott Lang, I have to say that a lot of us in the theater cried like little tiny babies, when Scott and Cassie finally saw each other again. Five hours passed for him, but his daughter aged five entire years. That was heart-wrenching and also such a happy scene.

TONY STARK FINALLY HAD SOME HAPPINESS! HE MARRIED PEPPER, AND THEY HAD A DAUGHTER, MORGAN! I CAN’T! DON’T TOUCH ME!

Professor Hulk was both really unsettling, really funny, and everything that I wanted. I didn’t really know whether to laugh or cringe a little bit. It was really well done, and it made for some laughs, but ngl, I was a bit...disturbed by it.

The picture scene. Scott is just...the most relatable.

“Take the goddamn phone” -Scott Lang, leaving myself and the rest of the theater in stitches.

“Shit” -Tony Stark, 2k19

“Shit” -Morgan Stark, 2k19

Tony = Parenting Goals, leave me alone.

“I love you 3000” -Morgan Stark being the sweetest little peanut in the history of all things. Someone protect her LIKE THEY SHOULD’VE PROTECTED TONY! HELP, I’M CRYING AGAIN!

“But would you be able to rest?” -PEPPER GODDAMN POTTS, KNOWING THAT WE’RE GONNA EXPERIENCE THE WORST PAIN IN MERE HOURS!

*ahem*

Scott’s transformation between adult, child, old, baby, and back to adult was funny af. Every person in the theater lost their shit during that scene.

“Someone peed my pants” -Scott Lang...legendary

Steven Grant Rogers in THOSE pants. We all know which ones I’m talking about. The ones he wears when he walks outside the facility and is greeted by Tony Stark. I needed an inhaler because it took my breath away. Wow.

TONY GIVING STEVE HIS SHIELD BACK REPAIRED MY SHATTERED HEART AND CLEARED UP MY SKIN.

Scott sitting outside with his little taco, only to have it blown away thanks to Rocket and Nebula, OH LORD HELP ME! I nearly pissed myself, I was laughing so hard. Then, when Professor Hulk walks by and hands him a taco with this big ass green hand, everyone went from “lol” to “awwwww” like he was some giant green puppy!

Nebula throwing serious shade at Scott! LIFE!

“What’s up, Regular-Sized Man?” -Rhodey, coming in for the kill.

Prof. Hulk riding in the back of the truck with his thicc ass, the theater erupted.

VALKYRIE! WHEN IT PANNED OVER TO HER, EVERY SINGLE TIME I’VE SEEN IT, THE THEATER WENT FUCKING BUCK WILD! PEOPLE LOVE HER! I LOVE HER! I WOULD MARRY THIS FUCKING GODDESS!

Thor.

Wow.

Whoa.

Huh.

Like, when it showed him, I laughed because...it’s still the God of a man, Chris Hemsworth. At the same time, though, it made me so goddamn sad. The audience didn’t always know whether it was right to laugh or get a bit emotional about it. He feels like he failed his people and the entire universe. That’s a lot of guilt on his shoulders, and we know where this guilt REALLY belongs.

Peter.

Quill.

STAR

DUDE

HE IS A LORD NO LONGER!

Like, I love you, but this is on you, homeboy.

MEEK AND KORG!

When Prof. Hulk mentions Thanos, and Thor gets really quiet and teary-eyed, I couldn’t help but getting emotional about it. He feels like such a failure, and that’s heartbreaking.

He...is using Stormbreaker...as a bottle opener...wtf, Thor?!

“There’s booze” -Rocket

And that was the line that convinced Thor Odinson, the God of Thunder, the King of Asgard to join up with his team again and kick some ass. Really. I’m not lying. This is the true motivation for my dude, Thor. Wow.

“Jane put her hand in a rock, and the stone put itself into her” -Thor, 2k19

*THE THEATER LOSES IT*

Rhodey motioning what he wanted to do to baby Thanos was one of the funniest bits in the movie. I almost puked, I laughed so hard, and then the reaction he got from the other characters. Oh shit!

“See you in a minute” -Natasha to Steve, and the second time I watched it, I lost my goddamn mind. The people next to me were probably like “wtf is gonna happen?” because they knew I had seen it the previous night during the premiere. So when Nat is doing her little “hahaha, I’ll see you in a second” I was just over there dying, trying to hold back my gross sobs. Like I’m doing right now.

I can’t see the keyboard.

Seeing a different view of the Battle of New York was fucking stellar. I was dead. I knew that this was the moment I would get to see Loki being Loki. Wow. Much anticipation.

Prof. Hulk having to pretend to Hulk out left me shook. I couldn’t hear the movie because of the audience laughter.

Bruce and the Ancient One was a great little duo, and I would honestly pay to see Tilda Swinton just interacting with my favorite heroes all day.

“That suit was doing nothing for your ass” -Tony

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s America’s Ass!” -Scott, speaking on behalf of everyone in the universe.

LOKI IMITATING STEVE WAS A BEAUTIFUL CALLBACK TO “THOR: THE DARK WORLD” AND I LOST IT. I LOST IT AND COULDN’T FIND IT FOR A HOT MINUTE! Then, Thor just slaps that Asgardian “shut the fuck up” mouthpiece on him, and I don’t get to hear Tom Hiddleston’s silken waterfall of a voice again throughout the movie. Who approved this? Like, I enjoy knowing that there was a reason behind said mouthpiece, and it was because Loki couldn’t stop running his mouth, but I just...I wanted more of Loki than I got.

Hulk getting mad about taking the stairs. That was a mood and a half.

When Steve got into the elevator, I was low-key hoping for another can of whoopass like in “Captain America: The Winter Soldier” but what I got was even. fucking. Better.

Hearing Cap say “Hail Hydra” was just as bone-chilling as when I read it in the Captain America: Steve Rogers issue a while back. It was pretty intense hearing him say it, but I thought it was a cool hint to the comic. It gave me chills, but it was also…

Alexander Pierce, ugh! Listen, Robert Redford has always been-and will always be-a stone cold fox, but Secretary Pierce is the #worst. No one likes him. Seeing all these “long lost” characters was such a nice send-off for our heroes. This was the end of a decade-long saga, and this truly felt like a fan-service movie with a lot of heartbreaking moments that we didn’t want as well.

Seeing Tony have that cardiac dysrhythmia was not my favorite thing, but it was much easier than seeing...the INCIDENT AT THE END THAT SHATTERED MY UNIVERSE!

Loki’s eyes following the case when Ant-Man kicked it away left me cackling in my seat. Every time I’ve watched it, it was hilarious. Idgaf, every single time Tom Hiddleston is on that screen, he steals the show, even when he can’t speak.

God.

That man.

Help.

Hulk busting out of the stairwell and hitting Tony across the fucking room was hilarious.

Then, this little shit, Loki, picks up the tesseract and yeets himself right outta the movie like he was never there to begin with. We don’t see him another goddamn time. I was low-key hoping that Thor could’ve found a way to be in on the plan to get the tesseract so that he could’ve seen Loki one more time, but whatever. I’m not in charge of anything ever.

Like, we’ve gotten to see him as Loki for like a cumulative 4 minutes in two entire movies. How rude.

STEVE RUNNING INTO STEVE!

AND THAT FIGHT SCENE!

I was all kinds of whoa.

Me during that scene:

“That is America’s ass” -Steve Rogers, 2k19 or...2k12…? Help.

Steve and Tony going back in time to the 70’s was all kinds of tears. Like, Tony getting to see his dad got me all choked up. AND HOWARD’S LIKE “THERE’S NOTHING I WOULDN’T DO FOR HIM” AND I’M JUST CONFLICTED BECAUSE TONY SUFFERED BECAUSE OF HIS DAD, BUT I DON’T UNDERSTAND ANYTHING ANYMORE!

And when I saw Steve grab four of those vials of Pym particles, I was like “HONEY, YOU KNOW GODDAMN WELL YOU DON’T NEED THAT MANY! PUT IT BACK! DON’T BE LIKE THIS!” I felt like a mother in the candy aisle with a free range toddler.

Listen.

Now, here’s a question.

HOW.

THE FUCK.

DID PEGGY CARTER.

NOT SEE.

HER MAIN MAN.

STEVE.

AMERICA.

ROGERS.

????????????????????????????

Steve’s there like:

And my girl, Peggy, is just:

Completely oblivious.

Whatever.

1970′S JARVIS! FUCK ME UP!

Tony giving this “stranger” a hug after having a quick chat with him on an elevator was hilarious because Howard had no idea what the shit was going on.

Honestly, Nebula’s trip to Morag with Rhodey was nice and all, but I wasn’t as invested in it because I knew that it would tie into Thanos, and it did. I was just sick of seeing this purple nutsack-having face. I was done with him. THEN I HAD TO SEE PETER QUILL AGAIN, AND I WAS READY TO PUNCH A HOLE IN THE SCREEN BECAUSE I’M STILL MAD ABOUT INFINITY WAR! I will blame him for this until I die.

And then we get Nebula 1.0 meeting Nebula 2.0, and I was 10/10 uncomfortable. Not a fan. Not a fan at all. Negative fan.

Thor talking to his mom made me cry. Frigga is the goddess Asgard needed but not the one it deserved. AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

When I realized that Steve, Tony, and Scott went to NYC, Nebula and Rhodey went to Morag, Thor and Rocket went to Asgard, I knew. I knew that shit was about to go down on Vormir. I already knew that someone was going to die in order to get the Soul Stone, but I didn’t want to think about who it was going to be. AND WHEN I SAW IT, I WANTED TO FUCK RIGHT OFF OUT OF THERE. NO THANK YOU!

I knew that Clint and Nat would want to sacrifice their own lives to keep the other from doing it, and they’re two of my favorite characters in the MCU, far above many of the newcomers. They’ve been around since the beginning, and I have an even deeper connection with Nat because I could identify with her as a woman. She didn’t have superpowers, but she wasn’t the damsel in distress, and I found a lot of power in that.

That entire scene had me on the very edge of my seat, and it left everyone else in the theater the same way. Even going back to watch it, I’m still on the edge of my seat, even though I know what happens. The first time around, I didn’t know who it was going to be, who was going to sacrifice themselves for the Soul Stone, and I gasping for air every time one of them made a break for the edge of the cliff thing.

Thinking about that scene still gives me chills. Thinking about how Clint was holding onto her arm as tightly as he could and nat was sitting there, not even trying to hold on. Ugh. It makes me so fucking emotional. I don’t give a fuck. Natasha went out a fucking hero. She sacrificed herself for the greater good, knowingly. I know a lot of people are like, “they did her dirty” but I prefer this death to one at the hands of Thanos. She sacrificed for something she loves: her team, her family. She sacrificed so that Clint wouldn’t have to, so that he could be with his family when they were brought back. The MCU did Natasha dirty by not giving her a movie earlier on, but this death was selfless and heroic, just like Natasha. She died a hero, and no one can change my mind on that.

I’m crying.

Wait.

Ok, so seeing Clint break down and cry was not my favorite thing.

AND THEN THEY GET BACK, AND EVERYONE IS SO FUCKING SAD ABOUT NATASHA’S DEATH! SAME! LET’S BE SAD TOGETHER!

Steve cries: mood.

Hulk throws shit: mood.

So, gauntlet 2.0 is built, and Prof. Hulk puts that shit on and ruins himself. Good job!

Nebula 1.0, who is pretending to be Nebula 2.0, brings Thanos to the future, which is not the best. I was just in shock by the amount of fuckery going on. Like, I didn’t understand any of the time stuff, and if anyone claims they did, they’re lying. Or they’re smart.

Prof. Hulk reverse snaps his fingers, and everything is good again! Birds are chirping, Laura’s calling for Clint, the sun is shining, Thanos’ ship is shooting at the Avengers facility, and he’s being a little prick. Everything’s back to normal.

I was low-key nervous that Hulk, Rocket, and Rhodey were gonna drown under the rubble of the facility, and I was not impressed. But when Scott was like, “yo, I’m on my way,” I was ready for snack-sized Ant-Man to go full on King-Sized Ant-Man again. I was ready.

Thanos sitting outside on a rock, looking like he was ready to kick puppies or some shit. He just wants to be the worst version of himself, I swear to butt!

Thor, Tony, and Steve fighting Thanos was what I signed up for. Like, Clint’s doing the hundred meter dash beneath the facility, and he’s being chased by weight lizard/gorilla/alien hybrids. Then, we have the holy trinity putting Thanos in his place.

Wild.

STEVE.

ROGERS.

CAPTAIN.

AMERICA.

WIELDING.

MJOLNIR.

WAS.

EVERYTHING.

CHANGE.

MY.

MIND.

As soon as that hammer lifted up off the ground, gasps could be heard all throughout the theater. I heard people gasping halfway around the world. People woke up from REM sleep just to gasp. They didn’t know what they were gasping about, but they felt the power of what was happening. I died but was resurrected just to continue gasping.

When Mjolnir was thrown and bounced back only to show that it was thrown by Steve, THE THEATER SCREAMED SO GODDAMN LOUD THAT WE WERE ABOUT TO BLOW THE ROOF OFF THE PLACE. IT WAS LIKE CHRIS EVANS HIMSELF HAD WALTZED IN, PLEDGED TO MARRY EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN THE ROOM, AND ALSO GAVE THEM $38 TRILLION A PIECE. IT WAS MONUMENTAL. THE GROUND SHOOK. WE CAUSED THE WHOLE PLANET OF JUPITER TO QUAKE. SOMEONE SHOULD CHECK TO SEE IF IT STILL EXISTS BECAUSE THE CHEERS AND THE SCREAMS WERE ENOUGH TO BLOW UP THE ENTIRE PLANET. IT WAS THE WILDEST MOMENT. THE BEST MOMENT. THE MOMENT WE HAD ALL BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE CAP NUDGED THAT FUCKING HAMMER IN AGE OF ULTRON. THIS WAS THE MOMENT!

Then, we get one of the most epic scenes in cinema history.

Steve using Mjolnir and his shield at the same time, summoning lightning and kicking Thanos straight in the dick (figuratively). It was the wildest ride. I swear, people started punting each other across the room because they were so excited. I wanted someone to punch me in the face because I was so hyped. There was just a lot going on.

Then, Steve starts to lose to Thanos, and I was not ready. I was like, “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NOPE! I DO NOT LIKE THIS! I WANT TO LEAVE! STOP IT!”

“On your left” - Sam Wilson, 2k14

“On your left” -Sam Wilson, 2k19 or like 2k24 because it’s 5 years in the future. Or is it 2k23 because the 5 year skip came almost right after the events of Infinity War? I don’t know what year it is. Help.

Anyway. Beautiful.

THEN THOSE PORTALS START POPPING UP, AND I WAS LIKE:

I had goosebumps seeing ALL of these characters on screen. It was bittersweet not having Natasha there, but it was such a beautiful moment. That moment wouldn’t have existed if it wasn’t for her. I will give her credit always!

“AVENGERS...Assemble” -Steve “The Guy With America’s Ass” Rogers with the line we’ve all been waiting for since the beginning. It’s been a long time coming, but we got it...finally. Once again, the theater screamed, jupiter exploded, the farthest star swallowed itself, it was a lot.

Tony and Pepper fighting back to back in their suits.

Give my heart a break.

The all lady team up. I get that it was a bit on the nose. I feel like it would’ve been cooler if no words were spoken but all the female cast members just started to line up behind Captain Marvel. I was more than okay with this, though. That scene was cool as shit to see all my ladies lining up to kick some the purple nutsacks ass.

“I am inevitable” -Thanos, that little punk bitch.

“I am Iron Man” -Iron Man, 2008

“I am Iron Man” -Endgame, 2019

Everyone in the theater opening night was like “WWWWHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! YEAAAAAHHHHH!” including me when Tony snapped those little fingers. It was the best line that could’ve been delivered before that snap, but no one saw what was coming. People continued to lose their shit as Thanos’ army was dusted. It was poetic justice. And when Thanos got dusted, everyone continued to “WWWWWHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! YAAAAAAASSSSSS!” including myself. This changed the second night. As the theater erupted, my ass was sitting there like “NO, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN! STOP CHEERING!” as I’m holding back adult sobs!

Then.

The camera found Tony.

The cheering died instantly.

The theater got so fucking quiet.

I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.

I could hear the collective heartbreak around the theater.

We had won.

However, we also lost.

I can’t talk about it. I can’t write about it. I just cannot. Of all the people I thought would go, he was low on the list. I was almost certain that Steve would be ripped away from me, but I never thought that this would happen. I’m not okay. I’m really sad. I’m not smad anymore. I’m just sad as shit. Rhodey, Peter, and Pepper getting their moments with him only hurt my heart even more, and I can’t. I’M CRYING AGAIN! I’M NEVER GONNA STOP!

“You can rest now” -PEPPER POTTS

TONY STARK DESERVED BETTER! HE WENT OUT A HERO, BUT I CANNOT! I WILL NEVER BE OKAY ABOUT THIS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!

“I love you 3000” -TONY FUCKING STARK’S MESSAGE TO HIS LITTLE DAUGHTER. I’M GONNA PUKE! SOMEONE THROW ME AWAY! I’M DEFECTIVE! HELP!

“Your dad liked cheeseburgers. I’m gonna buy you all the cheeseburgers you want” -Happy to Morgan, fucking my entire world up.

“Proof Tony Stark Has a Heart”

It was so touching to see that every hero was gathered there to pay homage to a hero. It was such a beautiful scene. Seeing everyone there just felt like the twist of the knife in my cold, dying heart. It was great. I loved it.

I’m convinced that the only people who didn’t cry in these scenes were stone cold killers, and I will refuse to believe otherwise until I’m dead and gone. Like, my father cried during these scenes (Nat’s death, Tony’s death, and Tony’s funeral), and it takes...a lot to get tears out of him. I cried the entire ending. Like, the scene with Wanda and Clint. Ugh. I can’t take this anymore. I didn’t stop crying, even as Thor was giving the throne over to Valkyrie (she deserves it, yaaaaaasssss kween), or as he had his moment with the Guardian’s of the Galaxy. I continued to cry when Steve and Bucky had their moment that parallelled “Captain America, The First Avenger”

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back” - Bucky, CATFA

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” -Steve, CATFA

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back” -Steve, AE

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” -Bucky, AE

I UGLY CRIED AGAIN BECAUSE I JUST FUCKING KNEW WHAT STEVE WAS GONNA DO. HE WAS GONNA USE THE FOURTH VIAL OF PYM PARTICLES TO DO WHAT HE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO. HE WAS GONNA GET THAT FUCKING DANCE! AND BUCKY KNEW EXACTLY WHAT WAS GOING ON!

That’s why this little shit wasn’t surprised to see that Steve hadn’t come back on time.

I was high-key hoping that Bucky would receive the title of Captain America. He’s held the shield in virtually every movie he had the chance to. Both him and Sam Wilson hold the title in the comics, and I felt like this could be a new arc for Bucky. Like, he needed this redemption. It was still gonna be bittersweet no matter what because Steve Rogers has always been the version of Captain America I love the most. When Bucky urged Sam to go see Steve, he knew that Sam was the man for the job.

Old man Steve is a silver fox. Change my mind.

I think it’s partially the voice, ngl.

So, I really don’t understand the time stuff, especially with an old man Steve in the future, so I don’t really get how it didn’t change everything with him being old af during the events of the Avengers, AOU, CATWS, CACW, IW, literally all of it. I just...don’t understand? But I don’t care because at least he got his happily ever after. Steve was a man out of time, and he did his time as a hero. He deserved happiness, and he found that with Peggy. I saw that some people were like “BUT HE ABANDONED HIS FRIENDS!” Steve did his time, and he deserved to have his happily ever after, just like Tony got to do for a while with Pepper and Morgan.

And he finally got his dance.

And the credits.

The fucking credits.

All of the original cast members signed their names.

And of course, RDJ was last.

Everyone cheered, yelled, screamed, and cried. It was another earthquake, Jupitergate, Supernova kind of moment.

And that little sound at the end. Tony making his first Iron Man suit. I have a glimmer of hope that it’s Harley building his own suit to become Iron Lad because why would they put him in this movie if they aren’t going to do anything with him in the future? Each of these movies has had a post-credit scene with a hint as to what will happen in the future of Marvel, and a piece of me is so content if this truly just ended with a callback to the past, to the man who started it all.

I didn’t stop crying until I got in the car with my friends, scream-sobbed, and then had to pull it together in order to drive and not die in a fiery car wreck even though that would’ve been better than going back to the theater again and again to have my heart shattered even more.

I’m never gonna be okay again, but this is it. This marks the end of my childhood, even though I’m in my 20’s now. The comics, the movies, the merch, it all symbolized my childlike wonder. I know that Marvel will continue making movies, but these were the heroes I fell in love with. Before the release of the first Iron Man, I had fallen in love with the comic book personas of these characters. Iron Man, Captain America, Spider-Man, Hulk, Thor, Hawkeye, Black Widow, FUCKING MOON KNIGHT (I need a Moon Knight movie, ngl) were all characters I fell in love with (there’s a lot more, but I’m too emotional to sit here and list every single one of them). Then, actors who felt like they were made for these roles brought my favorite characters to life. With this being the end of the superheroes I loved growing up, it’s essentially marking the end of my childhood. I grew up reading these comics, and I watched the movies as they came out in theaters with my dad. Now, I go with my dad, with friends, with my uncle, my brother. Sometimes I see them alone if it’s the fifth or sixth time seeing it. Still, this marks the end of an era, and I have so much appreciation in my heart for these actors who brought to life my heroes. I have so much love in my heart for Stan Lee, who made my life one filled with superheroes and childlike wonder. This journey has meant the world to me, but every journey has an end. I will continue to watch the movies that have come out and will watch the new movies as they are released, but there will always be a little something missing. Either way, I will continue to support this franchise for all the happiness it has given to me over the years and all the happiness it will continue to give.

RDJ, we love you 3000.

Excelsior!

[disaster-bay-leaf]

they won't see me run, who can blame them?

a short kanej fic from Inej’s POV by me

She was the Wraith. The best spider in Ketterdam. The secret-gatherer. A way to survive. That was true.

But the Wraith was something quite different for each and every person that heard of her. She heard that in the way they spoke of her.

Dunyasha, the White Blade, said the name as a kind of a taunting challenge. As if she wasn't supposed to be a person, but a ghost, a ghost who should have been harder to beat. Another legend who really was just human. And look where it got her. To a quiet end as another crooked body on Ketterdam's streets.

Other gangs treated the Wraith in one of the two ways. Some saw her as a monster in the shadows, just waiting to slip their secrets to the infamous Dirtyhands and condemn them forever, as something hellish, unnatural. They spoke of the Wraith as something to be wary of, to be afraid of. She based on that reputation. Others, though, tend to see her as a little girl playing assassin and thinking she was smarter than them. They said "oh yes, the infamous Wraith, I bet she's not even half as good as they say". These ones underestimated her. And that was their mistake - they often ended with a knife in their guts and their friends joining the first group.

There were also the people that knew she was dangerous, but disrespected her because "she did Kaz's dirty work". She either beat them up or, rarely, ignored them. The full of disdain "Wraith" in their tones was laced with a good dose of respect when they heard of the results of her work.

Her friends spoke of the Wraith with pride of her, that she managed so much in so little time. With pride that she's feared and respected. Jesper tend to do that. "Our Wraith, the best spy in Ketterdam," he said sometimes.

And then there was Kaz.

Kaz, the broken boy, driven by a vengeful force to avenge his brother's death. The feared and vicious Dirtyhands who she'd grown to care for more than she ever should. The one who freed her, helped her, taught her the life in the Barrel, refused to be the one who marked her again, bought out her contract with Per Haskell, rescued her from Van Eck, saved her life when she was stabbed by Oomen, infuriated her to no end, tried to overcome his trauma for her. He was the one to create the Wraith myth with her. He used it very often, but not for disrespect and not with fear or a challenge. He said it with a formal stiffness when it came to business, when she was a spy, walking the rooftop landscape of her city. His tone was softer when they spoke casually, bantering over buying him a new hat, criticising his haircut or her saints. He also had a special "Wraith" when he unknowingly let his guard down and needed something to quickly put it up. It was sharp and cold and used to happen definitely more sporadically now, after he told her about his brother. She didn't really blame him for these moments though. He needed time. There was one "Wraith" she never got to hear though, but Wylan once told her. About what happened to Oomen. He described the vicious fury in Kaz's voice coming from worry for her life.

But when he decided to open himself up a bit, they weren't Dirtyhands and the Wraith.

They were Kaz and Inej, two people tossed around by fate like rag dolls.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18816670

[nasira-alanwar]

Already

Can I still say that I never killed a man even if it feels like I once someone die? What’s the difference?

Every medic student sees a dead body eventually. A doctor will call a code after forty minutes even through the ribs stopped snapping a while ago. One morning, the engine crew will hold back laughter as you slowly shuffle into the bedroom of the old man who died last night ass, naked as old men tend to be, and place the limb leads to print out a monotonous strip of asystole. Maybe you started an ER clinical after the guy who hari-kari’ed himself is still in Trauma 1 and you wanna see if eviscerated intestines really look like sausages. There are too many opportunities to see a dead body before medic school is over, and if a para-maybe hasn’t seen someone dead before their eyes, well… that person is avoiding the sight. 

Don't get me wrong. Dead bodies freak me out. There disconnect between their deadness and my aliveness is too much for my brain to comprehend. Once, I heard it was the basis for why most people are afraid of clowns and zombies. They look like us, but they're not us... not anymore.

I remember every dead body I’ve taken to the morgue, every full-arrest we declared at the hospital, every patient who looked me straight in the face and coded. I’ve seen death and dying, but I’ve never killed a man– not with my hands.

I’m sitting in the ambulance bay while I wait for a call, tucked inside the passenger seat of a rig. Tonight, the bay feels like a warehouse: cold concrete, the smell of diesel, rows and rows of ambulances freshly washed or on their last legs with their hoods popped and the engine gutted for repairs. 

One of the perks of working with one of the managers is that I don’t have to post up the streets but get to hang back at the post and jump on the good calls: the ones that need extra hands, the messy ones, the fun ones.

A voice drops into the bay from over the intercom waking me from a half-assed doze. It’s shrill and echoes through the bay as unintelligible noise. “Tom!”, my manager and partner tonight, “GSW in Holdark.“ It repeats: “Tom, GSW in Holdark.”

I sit up at the first “GSW” and see Tom trotting over to the ambulance. He’s short and stocky, just like the baseball catcher he used to be with a matching high-and-tight salt-and-pepper haircut that makes me wonder if he was a Marine.

Tom slips the keys into the rig and cranks it. “I guess we’re going to Holdark!”

Stupid Holdark.

The rig stalls. Nothing good comes out of Holdark. My first day, a patient out of Holdark pulled a knife on me. I hate Holdark.

“This call sounds bad.” Tom winces as he leans into they keys trying to start the engine to this piece of shit ambulance. “I think they’re gonna need our help.” The engine grumbles to life.

“Did they say GSW?” I ask as we pull out of the bay.

When we pull up on scene, it’s surrounded by police cars. I jump out, and Tom lags behind me to grab the jump bag.

The smell of copper stings my nose before I even get across the street. I remember this smell: blood on asphalt.

A police officer steps onto the driveway with me. My gloves snap against my wrist as I pull them over my hands.

“What do you guys need?” I ask, throwing myself into the call.

Crime scene tape flutters against a breeze drawing the smell of blood further into the air. The smell fizzes in my head against adrenaline.

“We’re going to call it,” one of the medics says.

“He’s dead,” says the other. “He’s been shot more times than we can count.”

I’m expecting the patient to move, to sit up and shout, “Hey! No, I’m not! I’m just bleeding!” He has wounds all over his upper half, but neither of the medics holds pressure on anything. That’s when I notice the patient isn’t bleeding.

No blood spray, no oozing. There’s nothing but gravity pulling pools of his blood from his body down the driveway he lays against. No breath puffs out of his mouth or nose into the cold night air unlike for the rest of us standing around him.

The man is skinny and splayed out on the cold asphalt in one of those awkward positions only the dead fall into. It looks like a grim cartoon, and I have the thought to outline the guy with chalk to match. He’s still wearing his socks. They’re long and white and covered in blood.

An officer sighs. “He was running out of the house when the nephew shot him.” Blood feud.

Damn, I think.

He was killed. Damn. 

His nephew did it. Damn it. 

There’s nothing we can do. God, damn it. I put these gloves on for nothing.

Another officer walks over and shines a light onto the body we’ve all gathered around. 

Yep, still dead, I think.

“How many times was he shot?” the officer asks.

We’re all inch closer to the body, as close as we can get without stepping in blood, each one of us tallying his wounds in our heads: the neck, the chest, one under this arm, one over here, one over there, another where his guts came out. I see six. One of the first crew mentions he can’t see the back but won’t move the body since it’s now a crime scene.

“Oh…” the officer says. A diligent pause. “How many times do you guys think he was stabbed?”

I look at the medics. The medics look at the officer. We look at the dead guy.

“Wait,” says the first medic, “He was stabbed?”

The officer moves the light from the dead man’s injuries to where the driveway meets the house. A knife sits in a small puddle of blood.

“Well, yeah”

“Then he was stabbed!” This would be funny if it wasn’t so gruesome. I bite my lip to stifle a chuckle. Sometimes bullet wounds look like stab wounds. Both bleed. Both get treated with direct pressure. Both can kill.

There are about three liters of blood on the ground and another soaking into the man’s jeans. He must have run out of the house only to bleed out in the driveway.

I sigh. Rough luck, man. I’m sorry.

I stroll over to where my partner is standing. He already knows the situation. This time, there is nothing for us to do. Tom pivots towards the dead body. Manny, one of the medics is knelt down beside the body gathering about twelve feet of cardiac printout which is still spewing out of the monitor. He wobbles, holding up the monitor as he struggles to avoid letting the strip drop into the blood pooled on the ground, let alone fall over himself into the puddles that are starting to congeal.

“What the hell is he doing?” Tom asks me but before I can answer, Tom shouts over to the medic. “What are you doing?!” This time, “the hell” is implied.

“I’m trying to get one without a heartbeat,” Manny shouts back.

My jaw falls open. What the fuck?

Catastrophe unleashes my mind into chaos. Alarm bells go off. Manny’s response echoes in my head and clatters against my thoughts. Dead people don’t have heartbeats.

“Shit,” Tom whispers.

Shit.

“Just leave it!” Tom shouts and with the next breath he lets a sigh out between tight jaw muscles. “Just go get the declarati

on!”

My eyes are locked onto a stream of blood making its way through a crack in the asphalt. I can see my boss through the corner of my vision, and imagine his thoughts are a mix of “You’re fucking kidding me!” and “I hope no one heard him say that”.

I start to rattle off rationalizations.

They’re probably agonal beats and aren’t compatible with life.

His wounds are too severe.

We’re out of trauma boundaries.

He’s bled out too much for us to fix.

Thought after thought flood into my head and my chest tightens against each breath I pull.

Not my patient. 

Not my call. 

Not my seniority. 

Not my burden.

It feels like my burden.

I can’t move, not because I’m scared, but because I’m being pulled in too many directions at once. Start compressions on the guy. Pull out the cot. Scream in frustration. Hit Manny in the head with that stupid fucking cardiac monitor.

I blow a long breath through pursed lips. This feels like defeat. The rocker on my patch feels stupid now. “Paramedic,” it says, embroidered in green on white. Above it a symbol of an ambulance, a heart, the star of life, and a heartbeat.

He still had a heart beat.

Manny calls the hospital in the ambulance. Time of death: fuck-up-o’clock.

A firefighter walks over with a sheet and lays it down on top the body and spots of blood bloom against the starchy white.

Like CSI, I think. Then, I realize how close I am to a murder. This job is weird and right now it feels unreal.

I walk over to the rig where Manny’s partner is cleaning the cardiac monitor. She’s small, blonde, and wears glasses. This is the first time we’ve met. The wipes in her hand come away rusty red from blood after touching the leads.

“Do you need any help?” I ask. 

She shakes her head and purses her lips to say “No,” but I take it as, “Not unless you’re gonna fucking un-kill the guy.” I take a quick scan of her face but I can’t read her emotions before she turn her back on me. 

Keep turning your back, bitch.

“That was a bad call,” I say, trying to grab her attention and to open up a conversation. Blood, guts, death, defeat– this job sucks sometimes. If you consider the pay, this job sucks all the time.

She looks at me and blows a strand of hair away from around her eyes, bored, and rolls a shrug off her shoulders. “He was dead before we got here.”

I nod my head and turn on my heels. He was dead before we got here.

My partner motions for me to get back into the rig. There’s nothing we can do here so it’s back onto the streets for us. An officer snaps a stream of crime scene tape to let our ambulance bumble out of the cordon. I pull my seat into the dashboard and recline it back the precious inch and a half it gets, and I stare out the window. The roads feel too dark as sodium street lights push shadows across the dashboard.

Breathe in. 

Don’t scream. 

Breathe out. 

Relax your shoulders. 

Fuck.

“Does it ever freak you out…” I ask Tom, “seeing how people kill each other?” My voice sounds thick in the quiet nothing of the ambulance cab. It’s the same meek tone I had when I was a student: inexperienced, overwhelmed, confused.

Tom gives me some cynical, cheap answer which is both useless and callous. 

“You get used to it.”

I lob my head in his direction. 

You are so fucking worthless, Tom.

We keep driving away.

In the quiet moments of my life, I’m reminded of that body laying in the driveway and the smell of liters of blood on the ground.

He was already dead, I tell myself. I didn’t kill him. He was already dead.

[arthurs-wife]

Forever - III

Ireland 1541

Maybe it was time for a haircut.

Jedediah Porter sat on a rock and looked at his reflection in his broadsword and ruffled his hair multiple times to make it more presentable. It might never be.

"Aye, Jed, stop your nervous fiddling will you?"

Without looking up, Jed continued to groom his beard, or at least try. He could swear there was more grey in it.

"I'm not nervous," Jed huffed, finally settling and sheathing his sword. He stood up to face Liam, his second-in-command. Since his (very brief) stint in the Norman brigade 400 years ago, Jed had vowed the rest of his life, no matter how long it may be, to defending the native Irish. It was in his blood, anyhow.

"Come, Immortal," Liam chuckled, beckoning him to the rest of the troupe, "before they eat before us."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Jed grumbled and reached the front of the line where he and Liam began leading the brigade, "I'm not immortal."

"Far be it from me to look at a man who survived a shipwreck and not think he was passed to us from God himself," Liam said. He had always been a superstitious man, but this time, unfortunately, he was right.

"It's not that hard to survive a shipwreck, brother," Jed persisted.

"Then why couldn't anyone else do it?" Liam pointed a stubby finger at him, "and why do you not look any older than you did 20 years ago? I look like a dried up sack of potatoes!"

"So do I, Liam," Jed scoffed, "your sack was just made with burlap and mine jute." He finally let a smile play on his face.

"You right bas-"

"Helmets on, soldiers!"

Jed and Liam straightened immediately and donned their ceremonial helmets, the ones that would get you killed in battle but looked quite nice. They tromped the remaining way to the castle, eager to get this over with. Had Jed not been stupidly immortal, he might have been excited to meet the King of Ireland. This would just be another forty year long cycle of bullshit until he had to deal with another, and another, and another. Maybe he would leave Ireland one day.

The castle doors swung open and Jed was ripped from his thoughts as he gazed at the grandiosity of the place. He tried not to think about how much food was being wasted on these people.

The troops stayed behind while Jed and Liam were led to the throne room where they would meet Henry the VIII and his wife (whichever one it may be) and sit down with them for dinner.

"Have you spoken with the housemaids since last night?" Liam whispered and Jed shushed him. This was not to be an ordinary dinner. While Jed was not worried about assassinating the new King of Ireland, he was worried about the backlash against his troops, his brothers, if it went wrong.

"No," Jed muttered, "everything should be in order."

He nodded to a maiden near a door, who scurried off to what Jed assumed were the kitchens.

King Henry the VIII was a large, boisterous man who sat in his throne so smugly that Jed wished he could stab him then and there. But he wasn't worried about that. He sat down with Liam opposite the bunion of a man and his apparent mistress, not wife, a native Irish woman with blinding red hair and freckles like stars.

"Knights," the King began, his voice as loud as his attire, "we are pleased to have you here with us this evening. Please, remove your helmets."

They did so, and Jed had no choice but to stop staring at the King's mistress, but not before he noticed. Surprisingly, he boomed with laughter.

"No offense taken, son," he put a hand on the woman's shoulder, who looked entirely too uncomfortable with the entire situation, but fixed her eyes on Jed in a sort of plea, "this woman has been keeping me company while I visit this... tiresome island."

He felt Liam bristle beside him.

"We appreciate your hospitality, my King," Jed bowed his head and the two men sat down.

Soon, the table was groaning under plates of food, delicacies from far off lands that Jed couldn’t pronounce. Several glasses of wine were brought out and a shaking handmaiden set one in front of the King, her eyes darting furtively towards Jed. He would have been upset if the King wasn’t gazing directly into the handmaiden’s shirt.

“To England!” the King raised his glass and the rest of them followed suit, “may she conquer many lands!”

The other sycophants at the table cheered while Jed, Liam, and who Jed assumed to be Molly, nodded solemnly and drank.

Only the King didn’t.

He looked into his goblet and for a moment, Jed couldn’t breathe.

He knew.

“What the hell is this?” He boomed and the table grew silent. A maiden came running over. “Tell me, girl, is this the wine from my personal cellar, or that piss from France?”

“From F-France, my King.”

“Are you trying to poison me?” he roared and made to pour the glass in her face, but set it down in front of Molly instead, “here, whore, this might be the finest thing you’ll ever taste.”

“My King-” Jed began, and the large man turned to face him.

“Don’t tell me you want it?” he chortled and waved again to the maiden to dismiss her, “no this is better suited for her kind.” He threw his head to Molly and grimaced. The maiden was back with haste and set another glass down for him. He inhaled deeply.

“Much better,” he declared and raised his glass again, “to England!”

Jed watched with horror as the wine he had poisoned to rid themselves of England’s rule was instead consumed by the most beautiful woman in Ireland, who almost immediately began frothing at the mouth and choking. She reached out for the King, who launched himself back with a disgusted look on his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” he whispered into the stunned silence when her last breath shuddered into the castle walls. Almost in unison, the King and his posse turned to face Jed and Liam, who flew out of their seats and unsheathed their swords.

“Liam, get out of here!”

“Not without you!”

Jed growled at the man’s infuriating sense of loyalty and began slicing away towards the King but it was too late, he had escaped with several other important figures towards the back of the room.

Soldiers piled around him one after one as Jed and Liam stood back to back and stabbed, sliced, hacked their way through what seemed like the entire royal army. Jed turned to face Liam and look him over.

“Are you alright, brother?” he asked.

“Yes, yes,” Liam huffed, “stop your fussing. I’ll be fi-”

The screech of the tiniest soldier Jed had ever seen cut him off and a sword plunged through his gut. He rolled his eyes and turned, slicing the man’s throat in one go. He almost felt sorry.

The stab wound wasn’t too bad, it might have pierced a few organs, but Jed pulled the sword out anyway and tossed it on the ground. Liam’s face was pale.

“Jed, you-”

“I’ll be fine.”

“But you-”

“I know.”

Another stunned silence before-

“I was right!”

Jed let out a disgusted noise but smiled anyway, stepping over bodies to the table.

“You are immortal! No one could have survived that stab, you ne-” he stopped mid-sentence as Jed carefully picked up the red haired woman in his arms, “what are you doing? You know we can get you an alive one in town?”

“Shut up,” Jed barked and Liam blanched.

“Jedediah?”

The woman hung limp in his arms for the second time in his life, he wondered how many more he would have to endure.

“It’s Molly,” he strained, his throat tightening around his words, “she keeps coming back to me.”

“This is,” Liam shook his head, “this is your Molly? Surely it’s her kin, or…”

But if there was an immortal man, surely there could be a reincarnated woman who haunted him.

“I don’t think she recognized me,” Jed continued, looking up at Liam with glassy eyes, “why wouldn’t she recognize me, brother?”

“It might not be her,” Liam soothed, leading them out of the castle, “how likely do you think it is?”

“I knew it when I saw her,” Jed said, “I could feel it in my bones, Liam. It’s her and I have to save her.”

It was raining lightly when they emerged from the dank walls of the castle and Jed could see the King’s brigade riding off in the distance. They would be back. He had brought the wrath of England down on them all.

“Don’t worry,” Liam said, placing a hand on Jed’s shoulder, “we would be punished by them one way or the other. Let’s go.”

They rode away from the castle and to the Northern Irish shore Jed had become so accustomed to. The tree was miraculously still there and Jed laid her down beside it. As he dug another grave and lowered her into it, Liam began reading.

“I will not punish your daughters when they turn to prostitution, Nor your daughters-in-law when they commit adultery, Because the men themselves consort with harlots and sacrifice shrines with prostitutes- A people without understanding will come to ruin.”

Jed looked up and wiped his brow, leaning on his shovel.

“Hardly appropriate for the love of my miserable life, don’t you think?”

“It’s the Book of Hosea,” Liam protested, looking over the cover. It was a very old book, passed onto him by his family.

“Don’t much care what it is,” Jed gruffed and began digging again, “try a nicer verse.”

“Thought it was suited for that pig of a King,” Liam mumbled, but turned to a different page anyway.”

“I will plant her for myself in the land; I will show my love to the one I called ‘Not my loved one’. I will say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people’,

And they will say,

‘You are my God’.”