#set vaguely in s2

[goodthingscomeinthrees]

picture me in the weeds (before i learned civility)

the gilded age | bertha x george | t, 4.8k, complete

“Bee! I wasn’t told you’d be here tonight! My goodness, what a surprise.” Bertha tries not to wince at the silly old name, the one she hasn’t heard since childhood, the one she’s tried her hardest to bury down deep and forget.

[lunamond]

I really hope that the lotr fandom will soon move on from discussions about Rop's legitimacy as a Tolkien adaptation.

The current climate of people either fully dismissing the whole show or declaring it a full-on masterpiece needs to stop. I (for the most part) enjoy watching the show and therefore find myself more often than not on the side of the latter. But, I really wish we could have more productive discussions about the actual content of the show other than just how well it lines up with the lore, including calling out some major issues that I haven’t seen discussed at all.

In all the discussions about orc families, short vs. long-haired elves, ring mechanics, etc, It's definitely noticeable that nobody (neither fans nor antis) seem to have called out the super racist orientalist elements in the Rhun storyline.

[sonnetforbonnet]

Thinking about the "Stede crossed Ed's boundaries" discourse from Calypso's Birthday, and how it's mostly not true? I won't deny that Stede was attempting to initiate sex at a high stress and, by most parameters, inappropriate time. It probably didn't fall under the definition of "taking things slow," but that's also not a clear boundary. No one defined what taking things slow actually means; however, they *do* establish how that boundary should be respected.

Stede kisses Ed, Ed wants to take things slow. Stede holds Ed's hand, asks if it's okay. Ed confirms that it's okay. So the guidelines for taking things slow is this: things are okay if Ed says they're okay.

What does Stede do at the end of the episode? He pulls Ed into the room and pushes him against the wall. He silently waits for permission from Ed. Ed nods and confirms that it's okay.

No, it wasn't really a good time for all this, but I think Stede can be cut some slack after what had literally just happened. He still respected Ed's boundaries based on what happened when Ed first asked for the boundary to be instituted in the first place.

[mcchi-ken]

Sleebing part 1 (for real connaisseurs, Le Nanne)

[flowers are Jasmine for unconditional and eternal love, Blackthorn for protection, China Aster for fidelty, Queen Anne’s lace for haven and sanctuary, Purple Lilac for first love, Nemophila to say you’re my one and only]                      i fecken love flower language

one day i’ll be done posting pirate fanart i did in the past months and then s2 will air and the cycle will start again...woe is me (nobody is making me do this)

[technicalthinker]

Ok so Loki s2 have been very fun and relaxed with the Lokius dynamic, not trying to downplay it or no-homo it but instead have embraced it and made it feel genuine, funny, heartwarming etc. Like whether canon or not, they haven't tried to aggressively deny any possibility.

So with all that said,

[pyrriax]

hey guys im really normal.

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

Izzy arc this, garlic soup arc that, we don't talk enough about my man Buttons, who in just four episodes of S2 completed his journey from insane guy on a leash to magical transmogrification into his dream form. In both seasons he perfectly straddles the line between genuinely competent and helpful first mate and vaguely haunting enigma. Here is a first mate who can do it all: spot enemy ships at a huge distance with his naked eye, and chew through the enemy lines with his fake teeth set. He can hex the guy who double crossed you, he knows about the gravy basket, he gives genuinely helpful advice to both Stede and Ed, and he does it all as a sort of side job, because he is actually pretty busy with his quest to achieve his final form. To love means to change, and he's got the perfect bowl for it. Truly the most character. Nobody does it like him.

[tryingonametaphor]

i think it’s very interesting that we got basically no insight into will’s life in lenora. sidelining him from the supernatural plot is one thing but they deliberately gave us nothing about his life after he moved. we see a girl hit on him in s4ep1 but it’s unclear if he’s liked by his classmates or not.

we see that el is being bullied but we don’t see the bullying carry over to will who is always hanging out with her. we see that el has difficulties with certain subjects but she’s working on it. we get some insight into jonathan’s time in lenora with the show introducing us to argyle and establishing jonathan as a stoner. we see that he’s having trouble with college applications because of his selfless nature.

but we get next to nothing about will in episode 1 (march 21st) and then the next episode is set on his birthday which they conveniently claimed that they forgot. he has a pretty strong emotional arc in regards to his love for mike in s4 but that’s it. all we know about will is that in his time away from hawkins, he’s accepted that he’s in love with mike.

80% of the scenes he’s in seem to be from his POV and yet we barely know anything. he doesn’t talk about it either. except for when he says “these past few months i’ve been so lost without you.” but that’s too vague to come to any conclusions.

even in season 3, the only insight we get is “will is sad that the party is falling apart.” we don’t see him suffer the aftermath of the possession the way we did in s2 (his ptsd), we don’t find out why joyce is suddenly so lenient regarding curfews and will biking back home. it feels like we see will but it’s just enough of him to acknowledge that he’s there but not enough of him to matter.

i can only describe his presence since season 3 as “almost invisible” like he slips under the radar and people kind of forget that he exists. the audience sometimes forget that he exists too. i wonder what that means considering that they’re making him the center of s5.

[dalliancekay]

I'm just gonna write out what I think cos if someone sends me this again for the 113th time, I'm gonna snap. Look. Interviews (months!) before a premiere of something are tricky. You gotta be careful and VAGUE with what you say and what you want people to expect. Mostly creators focus on the themes in the first, maybe second episodes or so too trying not to give away much. Just the bare bones, what is already expected anyway. After all, they want you to watch it and go: "Ahhhh...." It was the same in S2 as well. (David describing in interviews how unmoored Crowley was in S2, how kind of disappointed etc and Michael how Az is also a bit disconcerted by not having a job, something big to belong to). But that's a description of - how we find the Ineffables in ep1, rather than describing the whole of Season 2. And there was a book first before the series and you must admit Aziraphale and Crowley are a bit different in the series than they are in the book. So caution was needed. PLUS their story has evolved again. It doesn't now end in the Ritz (I know it never really did for Neil and Terry who clearly wanted them to deal with the whole system somehow). The husbands have more trouble ahead. More details were added. We got more of their story, their journeys. Crowley doesn't change and is just waiting for Aziraphale to catch up with him is not much of a story, don't you think? Aziraphale is a naïve goody two shoes angel who has to realise Heaven is bad - is just so simple I'd be angry if I was Neil and read that. Well, okay, I AM angry.

And I'm sorry but Aziraphale has not lived a guarded life. He has lived a life of fear and anxiety with bosses who underestimate, belittle and laugh at him and think he's soft and rather pointless. Does anyone know what the question was Neil answers?

Yeah, Aziraphale changes a lot in S1 (esp first 2 eps, he's kind of forced to think about the stuff that was always kinda there but swept under a rug a bit in is mind). Crowley throws out - we should do something. This whole Armageddon thing, I don't like it. He is so much a questioner of everything, isn't he. Why does it have to be tis way. Makes no sense, what if... And generally, he doesn't have much to lose. If Hell wins, well, he knows what it's like. If Heaven wins, well, it'd be marginally better? Just about? If he survives to see it? Still sucks balls tho. So yes, David is right that Crowley NEEDS Aziraphale to see things his way and quickly. Cos EARTH.

Aziraphale knows the Earth came with a manual and an expiry date. He even told this to Angel!Crowley aeons ago.

So Aziraphale's journey (is not stopping believing Heaven is good and truth and light) is believing that he has choices. That the Plan might be Ineffable but it doesn't have to follow what he was told it must follow.

Crowley says, look, let's try, what do we have to lose. You like Earth as much as I do. And he gets Aziraphale to agree, they hatch a plan.

We watch Crowley come to love and trust Aziraphale through the ages after all he has been through. We watch Aziraphale to guard their little existence and carefully push at boundaries of what he thinks he can get away with. He wonders at what things are really like. What do they mean.

Their journey, is towards each other.

I don't know how they will smash the System before they fall into a tight embrace and never let go, but I know they will. Even if they have no idea yet that that is even possible. How could they.

And if I see one more post about how Aziraphale was backsliding and choosing his ‘faith’ over Crowley in the Final 15, I will set the internet on fire.

I can never decide if Heaven and Hell are more like mafia or like a dictatorship. Maybe a mix of both. Just cos they couldn't be killed, they were left alone for a bit. Didn't last long though, did it. They needed to be separated so they don't stop another go at destroying the little Universe project God started. I guess the Archangels are quite fed up with it.

Remember. Aziraphale and Crowley have nowhere to go. They never had. The best they could do was keep their little places on Earth. For themselves. For each other. Until they couldn't.

If you thought Aziraphale won't take the chance to have a tiny glimmer of an opportunity to destroy the fucking system in whatever way he can come up with (instead of what, being downmoted, having his memory erased too?), than you don't get him at all. Did he want to stay? You heard him say it. Was he allowed to? (No, really Metatron, nice chat but do fuck off for real now, I have a date with my demon). If you think Metatron wouldn't be back with a punishment for helping Gabriel than I don't know what to tell you.

Remember this?

And then they threatened the demon he loves.

ALSO Why do people keep bringing this back to justify their vague (or not so vague) dislike of Az (but but Neil said "I think Aziraphale needs to learn") cos they think Az betrayed Crowley by leaving or something. The angel is just so stubborn. And he just won't listen to Crowley... right? /s And they ignore all the other wonderful things Neil says about Aziraphale. Especially pointing out again and again and again how smart Aziraphale is. And you can see this. In canon. On screen. In the words and scenes of what Neil wrote. You can see Aziraphale's struggles - he is a part of something he disagrees with and has no way out (Hell is not a way out btw) and tries to live in his existence in the little bubble with Crowley while being extremely careful not to have it burst. Until it inevitably does. Just as he always knew it would. But okay, if you want to have Good Omens be about a demon who figured everything out and is now waiting for his fluffy little angel to catch up and apologise to him (a million times) for being stupid so they can finally ride into the sunset, have at it. TL;DR - Heaven is good and Heaven should/could be good are two different things - Aziraphale is not an idiot; whether he still believes God is good/neutral/whatever and just the management bad or not is up in the air, we can't know unless we ask him, but it's definitely not so simple as he needs to see it's bad, like Crowley did, end of story - The Ineffables HAVE NOWHERE TO GO. There isn't a secret third option where they can leave for and be happy if only Aziraphale opened his eyes - it's what the story is about - Crowley left Heaven for an even worse place. It would make zero sense for Aziraphale to follow his journey. Crowley is not free and doesn't have all the answers - I bet it has never occurred to either of them the whole System can be ever changed (we don't even know if it can be. The System is bigger than the UNIVERSE) - But I think that's what they'll do in S3

[thefreakandthehair]

@eddiemonth prompt, oct 3rd: School | Bad Reputation - Joan Jett and The Blackhearts | Combative

cw: pre-steddie (vaguely set s2), weed, migraines, un-betaed because I'm challenging myself to write these in under an hour read on ao3 | link to series on ao3

It’s 1985 and the boys bathroom smells like weed.

Interestingly, the boys bathroom smells like weed before Eddie ditches his last period to smoke in the little cement block room, window cracked and far less obvious than whoever’s in there ahead of him.

Probably a Freshman who doesn’t know any better, or some first-timer who hasn’t learned the ropes yet, he thinks to himself. 

What he doesn’t expect to find when he pushes the heavy wooden door open is recently dethroned King Steve, sitting on the disgusting tile floor smoking a poorly rolled joint in the corner of the bathroom. Wedged between the sink and the wall, he looks… small, sad, lost, even. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d recruit him for Hellfire. He certainly looks the part of lost sheep. 

Steve startles when the door opens and, in what may be the only time in Eddie’s many years at Hawkins High, relaxes when he sees Eddie. Steve’s eyes widen and then look away, back down at his hands. His shoulders clench and drop. His entire body seems to move to defend itself before retreating back into whatever stupor he’s smoking himself into. 

Eddie has no idea what the fuck is happening that Steve Harrington doesn’t take him as a threat after his years of proving himself to be just that. Nor can he imagine what the fuck Steve’s experienced that’s caused it. Seconds pass and Eddie just stands there, door closed behind him, unsure of what to do. Hotboxing the bathroom with Steve hadn’t been his plan, but he’s been desperate for just a few drags off the joint sitting heavy in his pocket all day. 

“You uh, you know that window opens, right?” Eddie asks, gesturing toward the window with his chin. 

Steve doesn’t look up. “Sure do.” 

“Got it. Cool. Okay, uh—” Eddie sputters. He’s had very few interactions with Steve, each one civil enough to leave no bad blood besides the company Steve keeps. Or, well, kept. But none have been long enough for Eddie to get a handle on Steve, not in the way he usually can.

Steve sighs and begins to stand. “I’ll get outta your way, man.” 

Something in the way he moves, the way he grips the sink edge tight and rocks once to gain momentum before Eddie stops him, reminds Eddie of Wayne. Veteran Wayne, who works a harsh manual job and is no less than 25 years their senior. That can’t be normal, he thinks. 

“Hey no, I’m uh, actually here for the same reason. Mind if I just,” Eddie trails off as he locks the door and wiggles his joint around, holding it between his pointer and middle finger. “I’ll crack the window so we don’t get busted.” 

“Yeah, I don’t care, but leave the window closed. It’s too fucking loud.” Steve shrugs and Eddie stops mid-stride. 

Eddie looks back down at the spot Steve has settled back into, his head carefully resting against the painted cinder block wall with closed eyes. It’s easier to watch him like this, long eyelashes spidering across his cheeks and brows furrowing. A tiny line appears between them, vertical, and Eddie holds himself back from smoothing it out. 

“Alright, just know we’re probably gonna get caught.” Eddie compromises as he sits on a toilet, the stall door open, and lights up. 

The flick of his lighter brings him a moment’s comfort, followed by the familiar warmth curling into his lungs. His throat burns and he coughs once, then twice, before exhaling. Little puffs of smoke leave his lips in one long, continuous breath. Immediately, the frustration of his meeting with the guidance counselor, the anger at his English teacher for failing him when he was fucking trying, the shame and disappointment of having to go home and tell Wayne he’s being left back– again– vanish. He knows it’s temporary, that it’ll all come rushing back to him in an hour or two, but for now, his brain is quiet. 

For now, the bathroom is silent. Long moments pass in surprisingly comforting stillness, just Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington in the strangest show of camaraderie imaginable. 

Eventually though, Eddie’s lips loosen.  

“Why are you in here anyways? Shouldn’t you be like… I don’t know,” Eddie starts, miming the act of dribbling a basketball. “Doing some sport thing?”

“I do more than play sports, Munson.” Steve’s eyes roll and he shakes his head, grimacing at the movement. Eddie can’t quite put it together, what that reaction means. 

“Huh. Coulda fooled me. And probably like, the rest of the school’s population. The rest of your Kingdom,” Eddie teases, gesturing widely with both arms. 

“There’s no Kingdon, you ass. Much as you pretend to stay outta the gossip, I know you know what happened. And I’m glad it did, so drop it, okay?”

Steve has a bite to him, an attitude that Eddie admires and can’t help push a bit further. 

“So you fall from grace and now you sit on grungy bathroom floors to smoke? Alone? That’s sorta my thing, just say–”

Eddie’s words get drowned out when Steve interrupts. “I’m down here smoking, alone, because I have a fucking migraine. If I have to see one more fluorescent light or hear one more high-pitched screech in the hallway, my brain is going to leak out of my goddamn ears.” 

Even stoned, Eddie puts it together all at once. The closed window. The cool tiles. The struggle to get up. He doesn’t know the full story, but he remembers Steve walking around with his face beaten in and the rumors that it’d been Billy’s doing during a fight, and the time before that, when Jonathan had gotten a few good shots in. Damn his bleeding heart, but Steve suddenly feels more like a lost sheep than he could’ve imagined.

Someone Eddie feels the urge to protect. 

Eddie stands carefully, all too aware of the sound of his own footsteps as he finds the hidden switch to turn the lights off. There’s still a tiny bit of light filtering in from beneath the door and through the window, but it’s darker. Safer. 

“I can be quiet.” 

Steve looks up at him, brows drawn tight in confusion, and Eddie’s chest aches. How infrequently does someone care for Steve?

“I’ve been in classes with you. I’m not so sure you can,” Steve retorts, a little less sarcastic now. Eddie makes a show of sitting back down on the toilet and mimicking zipping his lips and throwing away a key. It gets an actual laugh from Steve, and goddamn him, Eddie loves the sound of that. 

Eddie watches as Steve’s eyes close again, this time with a relaxed forehead, and stares at him while they  finish their joints. Alone, together. Maybe they could actually be friends, Eddie and Steve. Steve and Eddie. There’s a ring to it that Eddie hates because of how good it sounds. 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a rattling at the door and subsequent pounding. Steve’s eyes open and dart between Eddie and the door. “Fuck,” he whispers. 

Fuck is right, Eddie thinks. If he wasn’t already getting held back again, he would be now for what he’s about to do.

He crouches over next to Steve and takes what’s left of his joint from his fingers. “Do you have anything else on you?” 

Steve shakes his head No and opens his mouth, only for Eddie to press a finger against his lips. “Get in the stall and flush the toilet when I open the door.” 

“What–”

“Get in the stall,” Eddie whispers harshly, helping Steve to stand and all but shoving him in the stall he’d been in previously. 

“Dude, they’re gonna know I’m here, it’s fine,” Steve resigns. 

“Not if you have nothing on you, just say you had to take a piss and I was already in here. I’ve got a reputation, you don’t. Who are they gonna believe? Besides, I’m not graduating and you are. Consider it a graduation gift.” 

Before he can open the bathroom door, before he takes the fall as planned because of course, the principal believes the story they’d concocted, Eddie feels Steve place a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks.“

As he’s dragged to the Principal's office and suspended, an all too familiar setting, he hopes it’s not the last time he gets to smoke with Steve Harrington.

[ellephlox]

Strawberry Rhubarb

Summary: You get kidnapped by Fisk.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Warnings (please read this entire list before proceeding!): Violence, blood, forced nudity, physical assault, torture, feelings of inadequacy, torture with knife, strong profanity, burning, stabbing, concussion.

A/N: This is set sometime in S2 when Fisk doesn't know for certain that Matt is Daredevil, but he is suspicious of him and definitely doesn't like him.

Also, it's a bit long, so I skimmed it for mistakes, but that's it. I'm at the airport because I have to fly home for a family emergency and I'm too tired to bother reading through critically lol

Everything was pitch black, except for a thin band of light, directly in front of your eyes.

You squinted, thinking at first that it was light coming underneath the bedroom door; had you left the kitchen lights on? But it was too high up to be the floor. Your phone, then. Your phone must have lit up with a notification and you could just see the light underneath it.

And then you realized there was a cloth around your head. For one wild moment, you thought Matt had put his black mask on you, and that this was something intimate that he was initiating, but something about it didn't feel right. The cloth was wrapped too tightly, for one, and the slit of light that you could see suggested that it was ripped in the center, and Matt's mask had no tears in it. Vaguely you remembered walking into the post office to mail out a letter, and something hitting you hard in the back of the head, but everything else was blank.

A gruff voice spoke. "Is she awake, Hanson?"

"Vitals suggest she's conscious," a cool voice responded. "Should I proceed?"

"Yes. You got into her phone?"

"I had Underwood hack it within five minutes. Passcode has been disabled."

"Good. We'll send a warning to to him. From what I anticipate, he'll be willing to come here of his own accord."

Fisk. Dazedly, you placed the voice as Fisk, and the cooler voice as some unnamed assistant. Your heart lurched, thrumming so hard that you thought it might burst out from your ribcage. All rational thoughts had abandoned you; never had you and Matt discussed what to do if someone ever kidnapped you. Sure, you'd had conversations about self-defense and fighting techniques; there had been the random nights that Matt tried in vain to teach you had to send a proper roundhouse kick at an assailant. And of course you'd nagged him about what the plan was if he was to ever get kidnapped by someone he was trying to take down.

But this scenario? It had never even crossed your mind, and the panic of having no idea what to do was gnawing at you.

The person on your left, with the cooler voice — Hanson — stepped forward and ripped off the black mask that was wrapped around your head. You blinked at the blinding light, unable to see for a moment until your eyes adjusted.

Hanson, a wiry man with a receding hairline, was appraising you. He held your phone, and a thrill of fear flashed through you at what texts or photos might be incriminating on there. "Should I send a video, sir? Or would a phone call be more effective?" he asked.

"Underwood's search of Mr. Murdock's files suggest that he has no light perception, though we're still uncertain as to whether forged notes and doctor intervention could have fabricated those documents," Fisk said, his face twitching. "Send an audio message instead. A picture may be a worth a thousand words, but hearing, on the other hand... that's exponentially more powerful, is it not? To be on the safe side; we want to ensure that Mr. Murdock receives our message."

"Understood, sir."

You closed your eyes as your brain tried to catch up with what was happening. If Fisk kidnapped you, did that mean he knew Matt was Daredevil? You tried futilely to think of a way that he could have found out, but came up with nothing. Matt had pissed Fisk off recently; he'd told you that things had gone sideways when they spoke together, and it ended with fists flying.

But he couldn't know Matt was Daredevil. You told yourself this over and over again in an attempt to calm yourself down. Besides, you didn't have hardly any texts with Matt that they could read, you realized — you had mercifully cleaned out your phone to get more storage just the other day. That also meant you'd saved your photos to a different drive and deleted them off your phone. Hope burgeoned in your chest.

Matt's identity isn't entirely doomed because I was stupid enough to get kidnapped.

"You may begin, Hanson," Fisk said, folding his hands together, and the same lightning strike of panic went to your core.

"Wait." Your mouth was dry from disuse. Playing dumb had to be the best course of action; at least, it was the only plan you could think of in your muddled state. "I can give you money, I swear, I have cash in my wallet — you can take my credit cards, I don't care, please just let me go." The end of your sentence finished with a sob, and you didn't need to act at all for that to come out naturally.

"If Murdock comes on your behalf, then we'll let you go," Hanson said flatly. "You'd better hope that your boyfriend truly cares about you."

"Boyfriend?" You drew in your eyebrows. "I swear, I know of Murdock — friend of a friend, invited a few of us over to his place once or twice — but I have nothing to do with him! If he's involved in something illegal — or, I don't know, something with you folks — I don't know about it, please believe me — just let me go—"

Fisk sat down on the chair in front of you, settling himself in slowly. His eyes bored a hole into your skull and you couldn't help but look down at his shoes. "You think I do things lightly, Miss L/N?"

"I don't know. I don't know who you are or what you do."

"I've always found that those who are methodical will always win. Funny, really, that Aesop could articulate such a fundamental principle with a puerile story. When I was a boy, I wanted the hare to win. I didn't think it was fair that the tortoise should enjoy victory when it was the hare who seemingly had the predisposition, the potential, the skillset to win. But I learned. I discovered, through my own folly and mistakes, that it is not the person with the most resources who gets to the top. It's the one who strategizes, the one who is thorough."

"I don't understand." You were shaking where you sat; you could feel the muscles in your hands jumping as tension stretched taut through you.

"Let me spell it out for you, Miss L/N. When I want to win, I take my time. And I took my time in getting to know you. I've seen your family, your yearbook photos, the first job you had. I've read your college recommendations and seen your SAT scores. I've spoken to your therapist and friends. I know the exact day that you began seeing Matthew Murdock and I have footage of all the dates you've ever been on with him. So, when I suggest that you do not try lying to me, I am recommending it for your own sake, lest you want to lose your tongue."

Never had you felt so cornered in your life. Fisk sat in front of you like the opposite of light at the end of the tunnel — he was a black hole, sucking every bit of hope from the room, and in that moment you were certain you would not leave this room alive, and a silent voice within you begged that at least it wouldn't be messy, for Matt's sake.

"Start recording," Fisk ordered, and Hanson picked up your phone. Dread coiled in your stomach as it rang. Based on where the sun was in the sky, you'd been gone for awhile and it was unlikely that Matt was already wondering where you were. He'd receive and listen to any audio file sent to his phone almost immediately.

The way Fisk's eyes settled, calm and snakelike, on you made your heart freeze. "Y/N, say hello to Mr. Murdock."

You said nothing. Obeying him, putting your voice onto that audio message, felt like a betrayal of sorts. Maybe it was just the headache speaking, from where you'd been knocked out, but it felt all kinds of wrong to open your mouth and follow through with Fisk's intentions.

"Hanson, encourage her to speak," he said.

Hanson did not hesitate. He took out a knife and pressed it to the tip of your thumb. "Speak, or your thumb will be a centimeter shorter."

"Hello, Mr. Murdock," you parroted back, despising yourself with every word and shivering at what Matt would say when he heard the audio file. At what he would think of you. You knew he wouldn't blame you for getting kidnapped, but still, you hated that now you were just another burden for him — another person to save.

"Give me the phone, Hanson," Fisk said. He took your phone (if you made it out of this mess, you would definitely be sanitizing it) and spoke slowly. "I hope that this is enough of an incentive for you to stand down. You see, this is what you brought upon yourself when you decided to bring Vanessa into this. It was a mistake to say her name." He ended the recording and handed the phone back to Hanson. "Send that to Murdock, please."

"Yes, sir."

Once Fisk waved Hanson off, you felt even more apprehensive. You wanted to meet his eyes — to show that you were unafraid, to prove that he was making a mistake in holding you captive — but that was so far from the truth that you didn't dare make eye contact.

"We'll release you in soon," Fisk said, standing up. "I understand that this isn't pleasant for you, and I regret that you must be the way for me to make a point to Murdock."

"You're going to let me go?" you said, stunned.

"This is a long-term game plan, Miss L/N. This isn't like a movie, where we take people and behead them. No, I consider our tactics more mature than that. I intend to keep you long enough to show Murdock what I'm capable of, and to demonstrate to him that he should never again utter Vanessa's name."

"He's a lawyer," you said, your voice shaking. "And a damn good one. You'll be deep in legal trouble, so—"

Fisk laughed. "Do you know where you are right now, Miss L/N?"

You glanced around the room for the first time. Barren, cement walls, no windows. "A... lair of some kind?"

"As I said before, we are not children, playing out some movie," Fisk said. "No, this is a prison. A prison that I am in control of, as Murdock discovered when he visited to inquire about one Mr. Castle. You can rest assured that the extent of my control goes far beyond the walls of this prison, and the courtrooms are not exempt." He took a step forward and placed his hand on your head. You closed your eyes, trembling, as his palm brushed your hair, as though curious to know what the texture was.

"I apologize, Miss L/N, that you have been caught in this war between your boyfriend and myself." And then, without any warning, he swung a fist so hard into your abdomen that you choked aloud, all of the breath gone from your chest. There was no reprieve before he swung again, and you tried to curl up but the restraints around you made it impossible; you could only heave for breath.

That was only the beginning.

Once Fisk left, you didn't see him for a long time. He had said that you would be released "soon", but you quickly learned that was a subjective term; at least a few days passed with no word of him. You tried to tell time from when you were given food — which was sparing and meagre. Though you were no longer tied to the chair you had woken up in, the room was small enough that you still felt suffocated, and you could do nothing but sit on the corner, back aching, and wait.

At first, it wasn't that bad, as far as kidnappings went (at least, in your imagination). You were hungry, and not nearly enough water was provided, but that was the worst of it, aside from the discomfort of sleeping on a wooden bench. Your bones felt as though they were bruised all over and you were sore from shivering; your shoulders especially were taut from pain of being clenched for so long in the cold. The hunger, while throbbing at first, subsided to a dull feeling that you could attempt to ignore, and the headache gave you something to think about, at least, during the empty hours in the room.

Every thump that you heard, every shout... you couldn't help but hope that it was Matt, there to rescue you. There was a small part of you that began to doubt that he'd be able to make his way to you, let alone find you, as another few hours passed without anything happening.

Or maybe he'd cut his losses and was going to leave you there.

No, don't be dumb. That was ridiculous. Matt loved you. You loved him.

Oh, but what if you're just temporary for him? He could always go back to Elektra. Besides, Elektra at least wouldn't be weak enough to get kidnapped, you thought derisively. It would frankly be justified if Matt went back to her. He deserved someone who could keep up with him.

Maybe it was the dehydration that made your thoughts spiral even more, or maybe it was the exhaustion, because you only convinced yourself further that he wasn't coming, and that he had elected to leave you there.

I'm annoying. I'm always waiting for him, I'm always clinging to him, I'm like a leech that won't go away. He's probably realized how nice it is to have a break from me.

Or maybe he's met another lawyer. Someone really smart, someone who got a 180 on her LSAT and gives him a run for his money.

Karen, maybe. He always liked Karen. She's courageous, and passionate, and literally a model, and so much better for him than I am.

You were so lost in your own self-loathing that you didn't hear Hanson enter and started so violently that you gasped aloud when he spoke.

"Y/N, we're beginning a new recording."

"What?"

"Mr. Fisk would like a new recording to be sent to Mr. Murdock. Say hello."

This time, you kept your jaw firmly shut. It wasn't even out of a refusal to obey Hanson, but more out of your own reluctance to say anything to Matt, because you detested the idea of being even more of a burden on him.

This time, Hanson didn't wait for you to cooperate. He took out his knife and expertly swiped it near your upper arm, so quickly that at first you thought he missed, until a fiery sting flared, followed by the trickle of something warm.

Yet you remained silent.

"I might suggest you speak, Y/N. The quicker you talk, the less pain there will be, and Mr. Murdock won't have to receive quite as lengthy of a recording."

Feeling inspired, you spat at his feet. Hanson was quick to react — he flipped the knife up so that the tip was pressing into the back of your ear. "Did you hear me? Say hello to him."

When you said nothing, he applied pressure to the knife, and it began to cut through your skin; you couldn't help but gasp out loud, panic beginning to set in as red drips started to flow down your neck.

He's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear he's going to take off my ear—

"Hello!" you cried out finally, wincing at the stinging residue left where the knife had been.

"Good." Hanson tucked the knife away. "It makes things easier, doesn't it?" His gaze lingered on you for a moment before switching back to the phone. "Mr. Murdock, I'm undressing your girlfriend now. Don't worry, we don't intend to violate her."

"What?" you demanded. "You're not undressing me!"

Hanson ignored you. He took his knife and ripped your shirt open, removing every bit of fabric from you — including undergarments — until you were shivering, goosebumps crawling up your flesh where you made contact with the cold wood of the chair. You tried to cover yourself to no avail; the cuffs made it nearly impossible to give yourself ample cover. With no other choice but to sit in the chair and wait for Hanson to leave, you closed your eyes as tears rose.

Do not cry in front of him. Distract yourself. Ask him a question, get him talking.

"Why undress me?" you asked finally. "What's your endgame here?"

"Mr. Fisk wants you to understand the power he holds," he said smoothly. "And he wants Mr. Murdock to stop interfering. A show of power, especially with humiliation, is apropos for that sort of message, isn't it?"

"Fuck you."

"That's not the kind of diplomacy we're looking for."

"I don't care. Fuck you and your stupid messages. You're torturing someone who's got nothing to do with any of your shit, and as far as I'm aware, Matt was only fulfilling a legal obligation to talk to Fisk. You're making a mistake."

"Was it his 'legal obligation' to mention Vanessa to Mr. Fisk? No? Then, I am sorry to say, we are justified in our actions." Hanson twirled the knife and drove it downwards, faster than the blink of an eye, into the top of your hand.

This time, you screamed. And it wasn't the only scream, either — when you glanced down, and saw the blade of the knife gouged straight through the top of your hand, staking your entire arm to the wooden chair, you screamed again, throat so raw that it felt as though it were tearing, because God, the pain, make it stop, there was no way that one little blade could make you feel as though you were being torn apart, atom-by-atom—

"Mr. Murdock, I hope you've made it to the end of this message, because Mr. Fisk has something he'd like to say to you," Hanson said, unconcernedly straightening his tie. "Never bring Vanessa into this again, ever. Good day."

He clicked the end button on your phone and typed a few buttons as he delivered the audio file.

And that was the last thing you saw. Your tunneling vision collapsed altogether and the wooziness of looking at the blood streaming down your fingers took your consciousness.

When you awoke next, everything was pitch black. The light that used to stream in from the hallway was gone. You couldn't see your hand, not that you particularly wanted to, but it felt hot and irritated, though the blood around it had clotted. That was the one good thing, you supposed, though you had a suspicious that the heat around it was not as good. But maybe heat was good. Like a fever — fevers meant that the cells were killing the bad cells, right? Perhaps the same principle applied to knives-in-hands.

Then again, you weren't sure how straight you were thinking at the moment.

Every so often Hanson would enter, leaving you squinting in the jarring yellow light that he brought with him. Best case scenario, he'd add a cut to your collection, taking the tip of a new knife he had to make you bleed. Worst case scenario he tried something new — choking you, grazing your foot with a lighter. Either way, you learned to be obedient, and whenever the recording started, you said hello to Matt, just as he wanted you to.

And then, as time blurred and warped into a funhouse kaleidoscope of nonsense, you were no longer in that room. You didn't even remember being taken out of it. One moment you were lying on the floor, trembling uncontrollably from the cold, and the next... you were being handled roughly, thrown down, and left alone. The roar of a vehicle beside you was loud enough that you opened your eyes.

Water. There was water near you. The Hudson? The wood beneath you was damp, like a dock.

And next to you, sitting silently, was your phone. Hands shaking, you reached out, wincing at the throb of pain and at the gaping dark wound where the knife had apparently been extracted from your hand.

It was your phone. You stared at it, unsure of what to do. Was this a test? Did Fisk leave you here as torture?

Or was this your chance to escape?

Which, at the moment, felt unlikely. Your legs weren't moving. You could hardly lift your head, for whatever reason, and you were so damn cold that it made you want to fall asleep where you were, no matter how damn uncomfortable the dock was.

Or... you could call Matt.

Matt. You wanted to cry at the thought of him. Why hadn't he come for you? He probably was tired of how needy you were, how incapable, how useless compared to Elektra. But you stared at the contacts in your phone, then at the various cuts on your body. There was no one else to call.

You clicked his name, unsure of whether he'd pick up, but on the very first ring his voice was there. It sounded like an ethereal tether, anchoring you back to a reality that you hadn't been to in days, not since before you had been kidnapped.

"Y/N?" Matt said, almost breathless.

God, you missed his voice. And being in his arms. Suddenly you wanted to sob, just at hearing him, because hearing him meant everything would be alright. Matt's voice was comfort, it was home.

"Y/N, are you there?" he said, this time more insistent.

Right. Answering him would be a good idea.

"Matt?" you said weakly, taken aback by the sound of your own voice. It sounded like someone had taken your voice box, air-fried it, left it in the desert, then thrown some shards of glass in for good measure.

"I'm here, I'm here, sweetie. Where are you? Are you okay? What can you see?"

"I..." Something was pulsing behind your eyes, and it was distracting. You closed them to alleviate the pressure. "I... what?"

"Sorry. One question at a time." Matt was speaking slower, now, and you were glad for it. "Are you hurt?"

"Mm. Probably. But I'll be okay." Worrying him seemed like the wrong thing to do. You'd be fine, of course you would be, because it would be embarrassing if you weren't fine. The thought of having to be rescued as well as being incapable of getting up and brushing off your knees was alarming.

"Y/N, I need you to look around and tell me what you see. I'm going to try to find you. Is that water I can hear in the back?"

"I'm... by the Hudson, I think." You tried lifting your head, but it sent electric bolts of pain down your neck. "Ow. I'm having a hard time looking."

"That's okay, sweetheart, you're doing great. What else can you see?"

"Streetlamps. Dock."

"Okay. Anything else?" There was rustling in the background of the call, then the telltale squeaking of Matt's apartment door. Was he headed to work? No, it was dark out, you reminded yourself. It was too late to go to work. He was headed for Josie's, maybe. Or to go see Elektra.

"Y/N, are you there? Don't fall asleep. Stay awake, listen to my voice."

You jolted upright, unaware that you'd been drifting. "Sorry. I'm here."

"The phone isn't picking up much of the audio, but I'm headed in your general direction. Keep talking to me, Y/N. I need you to stay awake."

"I'm not falling asleep," you protested.

Though sleep did sound really nice. You didn't even notice the cold anymore, and you were glad you were in the shadows of night, because if anyone found you, naked and laying there on the dock, you'd surely get arrested. Was it a felony to be naked in public? You couldn't remember.

And your hand, it hurt so much, it felt as though it were numb and on fire at the same time. You scratched at it, but it only made it throb more, and then you could feel the warm stickiness that suggested it was bleeding again, so you let it fall back down onto the wood and stared up at the few stars bright enough to penetrate the haze of New York City.

And then your eyes were shut, and you were reluctantly opening them as a sharp voice commanded something of you in the background.

"What?" you asked, trying to remember where you were. Right. The dock. Waiting for Matt, presumably. Was he coming? That didn't seem certain.

"Y/N, talk to me. You've got to stay awake. I think you've lost a lot of blood."

"Talk... 'bout what?"

"Tell me about the nearest building to you."

"Mm. Okay." You swung your gaze to the right. "Um, there's a bottle." And it was a big bottle. At first you weren't sure if you were hallucinating, but it was definitely there, and bottle-shaped. Art, you realized. A sculpture of some sort. "Big bottle. Big, big bottle."

"You're amazing, sweetheart. I know exactly where you are. I'll be there in five minutes, alright?" He didn't wait for your thoughts to drift. "Talk to me about your plans for Thanksgiving. You had plans for us, right?"

"Right." You struggled to think of Thanksgiving. It felt like eons ago that you'd been mapping out the holiday, like you were a different person entirely last you'd thought of it. "I want... homemade cranberry sauce. Not the jar stuff."

"Right. What's wrong with the jar stuff?"

You were exhausted; it was too tough of a question to answer coherently. You opted to ignore the question and moved on. "Mashed potatoes. With toppings."

"What kinds of toppings?"

"Um." Thinking was making your head hurt even more. "Butter? I don't know. Matt, it hurts." The admission slipped from your mouth before you could check it.

Stupid, you've got to keep him from worrying, he needs to think that you're alright, he can't know that it hurts.

"I know, I know it does, I'm going as fast as I can go," Matt said, and you assumed he must have been telling the truth — he sounded out of breath and his speech was punctuated with running footsteps.

It began to rain. It was a cold rain, the kind that felt as though it should be snow but the temperature wasn't quite low enough. It splattered across your skin and reminded you of the fact that you were naked. "Matt, I'm naked," you informed him, blinking as you looked down at your body. Blood was all over you; it was difficult to see where Hanson had targeted you. The burn on your foot was making itself known as it got wet in the rain, and you bit your tongue to keep from crying out.

But he didn't sound surprised. "I heard. In the audio file. I've got clothing for you."

Oh, yes. The audio files. How much of your kidnapping had Matt been privy to hear? You weren't sure if you wanted to know.

"What vegetable were you thinking?" he prompted.

Your eyes drifted open. "Well... that depends. What d'you want?"

"Whatever you want to have."

"Not fair," you objected, voice slurring slightly. It was annoying, trying to keep up with the conversation; you wanted nothing more than to sleep, even with the rain now pattering hard on your face. "I guess... peas are nice. Peas are Thanksgiving-y."

"I like peas. My dad used to make them all the time — he'd buy them frozen, heat the whole bag up at once, and melt butter in it. Then we'd keep it in the fridge for a week and it would be our sole source of a vegetable."

"Mm. Butter peas," you repeated. "I'll do that. What... what's your..." The word wouldn't come to your lips, and you paused for a few seconds. "Favorite pie?"

"Strawberry rhubarb," he said, but this time, the voice wasn't coming from the phone, but above you. Everything felt foggy, though, and for a moment all you could think was that there was a man above you, and that it had to be Hanson — Fisk must have wanted to take you back, and they were here to take you again, and please, you couldn't do this again—

"Hey, hey, it's me. It's me." The voice above you was Matt's, and his face came into focus as he kneeled next to you with a wavering smile. You drew in a breath, ignoring the stab of pain in your chest.

"Matt?"

"I've got you," he said, pulling you up into his arms. "I have you."

You couldn't help it; tears began to flow, because Matt's arms were so strong and safe, the exact thing you had longed for all that time in the cell. You could still feel your heart racing wildly and you tried to draw another breath to calm down.

Matt's head was tilted as he surveyed you. He must have left the apartment in a hurry, because he hadn't bothered to put on the red suit, or even the black outfit. He was still in his work pants, with an untucked collared button-down and a tie that was loose enough that it looked ready to fall off him. The only part of his ensemble that he'd put on was the black mask.

And, dammit, even lying in the rain naked and injured, you were still able to appreciate how good he looked.

"Okay." Matt's head was still tilted, and you realized he was appraising you. "Okay. We're going to be okay, sweetheart."

We. You felt a rush of affection for him, and reached outwards weakly with your uninjured hand. He took it, squeezing hard. "I'm here, Y/N." He took off a backpack that you hadn't noticed yet and helped you to sit up, slipping one of his larger tee shirts over your head as though you were a lifeless doll. You didn't mind the help; you wouldn't have had the energy to do it on your own.

He was exceedingly careful. His hands skated over the parts of your body that hurt the most, precisely aware of where he should and shouldn't touch in order to not aggravate the wounds. When it came time to putting on the pants, he practically lifted you up before putting your arm around his neck so that you wouldn't topple over as he pulled your pajama pants on you.

"Thanks," you murmured. "Sorry... sorry I'm useless."

He kissed your cheek gently, and then picked you up, carrying you away from the dock. "You're never useless. Never. I was..." He drew in a breath. "This past week has been hell. I tried to get into that prison dozens of times, but Fisk had it guarded so well that I couldn't — I'm sorry, sweetheart, I did everything I could — but it was a fortress. And the law couldn't help, the police couldn't help, because they've all been corrupted, and — well, I'll tell you when you're better."

You wiped roughly at your face with your good hand. "Can we go home? I'm... I'm scared he'll come back, that they'll try to take me again — I don't want to go back there. He knows I'm here, Matt, they dropped me off here, they know."

"We're going home," he promised, and then his face darkened. "If they ever even try to talk to you again, let alone touch you..." He broke off. "The point is, they won't. I will never let this happen again, do you hear me?" He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, a bit more roughly, as the anger broiling beneath the surface for Fisk crested slightly. "How are you feeling right now? Are you able to walk?"

"I'm fine." You shifted slightly. "I can walk." It was an ambitious offer, though. You were struggling to keep your head up and you weren't sure how long you could stay upright.

Matt exhaled. "I've already texted Claire. She's going to come to the apartment. You... you've been through a lot, sweetie. You've lost a lot of blood." He helped you to your feet, and you clutched at him, swaying uncertainly. It only took one step forward for you to yelp, as your burned foot seared in protest, and without another word Matt took you up in his arms.

"I'm fine," you insisted. "You don't have to carry me, really. I can walk."

Matt's face twisted. "No. You're... you're not in good shape, sweetheart. I can take it from here."

You didn't answer. His tone was more serious than you were anticipating, which suggested you'd underestimated your own injuries. The exhaustion that followed seemed to corroborate that. It was hard enough staying awake on the dock, but now, in the warmth of Matt's arms, and with the rhythmic jostling as he walked you away from the Hudson, it was enough to make the black start to descend on your vision again.

"Y/N, hey, stay awake. Don't fall asleep," Matt was saying, but as much as you wanted to listen to him, the heaviness won out, and you passed out, into a heavy blackness lined with the velvet curtains of dreamlessness.

Moments flickered in and out.

Claire's face. Determined, stoic, and at times, anxious. You wanted to say hello, or to say that you were fine, but your lips were lead and no sound emerged.

Then Foggy. Attempted smiles, cracked jokes that you couldn't hear or retain. Doughnuts, you noticed once, hazily drifting in and out.

Karen was there. Beautiful Karen, who you couldn't help but envy. Sitting beside you, reading beside you silently, glancing up at you.

And, of course, Matt's face. Constantly worried, constantly seeking out the sounds of your heart or wounds, fingers dancing over you to check for invisible damage. Sometimes he was sleeping in the chair next to you. Or he'd be pacing in the living room. Sometimes he had his work out with him, his fingers running over the braille keys as they popped up, but still his head was always slightly tilted towards you, keeping watch.

And then...

Hanson's voice.

You jolted upright, heart leaping into your chest as you glanced around wildly, certain that you'd see Hanson's polished shoes crossing the floor towards you.

"Shit, shit, sorry!" someone was saying, and you jarred your neck as you turned to face Foggy, who was guiltily setting down your phone. "I'm so sorry, Y/N!"

"Y/N?" Matt was next to you; how long had he been there? His face was anxious and he was holding your hand. "I'm sorry. Foggy and I were listening back through the audio files, trying to find clues as to where Hanson might be — if there's a chance we can go after him legally, Foggy thinks we should take it."

"He's... he's not here?" you said, uncertain, still feeling shaky from the adrenaline.

"No. No, he's not." Matt was looking at you sadly, his eyes almost locked onto your gaze but just a bit high on your forehead, and the near guise of eye contact made a rush of embarrassment flow through you.

"My bad," you said, struggling to sit up. "It just... took me by surprise, I guess, hearing his voice again."

"No one blames you," Foggy said automatically. "Jesus, slow down, Y/N — you nearly died of hypovolemia."

"Foggy's right." Matt settled onto the bed next to you. "Rest, stay laying down. You've been out for awhile."

"How long is awhile?"

"Awhile," was all he said.

"Did I... did I miss Thanksgiving?"

Matt's expression told you all that you needed to know. You groaned and flopped back onto your pillow, which was a mistake; your skull resounded with the impact and stars floated above you.

"You need to take it easy," Matt was saying, concern in his eyes. "You're not unbreakable, Y/N."

"Think I figured that out on my own," you muttered, shielding your eyes as the sun glinted off of the window. "Shit. I missed Thanksgiving."

"Not really," Foggy said. "We're postponing it. Homemade cranberry sauce and buttery peas will still be on."

His words tickled a faint memory in the back of your head, of lying in a dock and talking almost incoherently with Matt on the phone. "Aw. You two talked about... the plans? While I was out?"

"It was that or talk about the latest legal precedent issues that are making life hell for us at the office," Matt said, smiling. "But we would never do Thanksgiving without you." He rubbed his thumb gently against the top of your hand, avoiding the bandage where the skin was sensitive. You didn't even want to think about what that wound looked like.

"I'll have to run to the grocery store soon, then," you said. "And we have to buy a crock pot, Matt. And we need—"

"We need you to get better, first," he cut in. "Claire left some medication for you. You should take it now."

"I'm fine."

"Y/N."

"Matt, whenever I tell you to take your meds, you brush me off and say that you're fine." You tried to push yourself up onto your elbows. "I want to get ready, I want to get out of this bed — I feel like I've been out of commission for so long."

But Matt gently stopped you from getting up. "Sweetie, Foggy wasn't lying. You almost died. I need you to get better, okay? Rest, and heal. I'll be here."

"But—"

"Get some sleep," he whispered, and it wasn't really that unappealing an idea. You slowly lowered yourself back onto the pillow, this time avoiding the mistake of flopping backwards.

"Okay," you said finally, sleep already taking you. "But... I want to do two desserts, okay? One strawberry rhubarb."

"And the other?"

"Devil's food cake," you murmured, closing your eyes. "'Cause it'd be funny."

As you finally fell asleep, the last thing you heard was Matt's laugh.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

thoughts on mammon and levi as a duo

Absolutely fucking love them!!

I feel like they're the closest in age (other than the twins obviously) like if they were humans the age gap would be just one year.

Love that Levi's one of the brothers who truly sees Mammon and understands him even though they're always fighting - he's the one who says Mammon is a "jerk with a heart of gold", he's the one who agrees when MC says Mammon has always been kind, he's the one who says that Mammon is social/good with people/makes friends with people easily and cares about those people

Love that no matter how much in debt Mammon gets with Levi, Levi still gives him money

Love that Mammon goes and stays in line and gets things for Levi when Levi's too anxious to go

Love that Mammon actually has a vague idea about all the things Levi is interested in and knows what new things he's looking out for

Love that we've seen Levi go to Mammon multiple times when he needs reassurance

Love that Mammon's the one to remind Levi to buy two of an item so that he can open one box and keep the other closed

Love that Mammon wanted to buy a similar figurine for Levi because he thought Levi lost the raffle draw

Love that they have a similar stupid sense of humour and made a stupid comedy duo

Love how Mammon gathers everyone to set up a gaming night after he finds out that Levi was upset because he needed irl friends to play a new game

Love that in Nightbringer the thing that makes Mammon start trusting MC and bringing them into his schemes is that he saw them being nice to Levi

Love when they're fighting and Levi tries to straight up drown Mammon but later when MC tells him that they shouldn't fight he's like "?????we weren't fighting?????" that shit was the most sibling thing ever, I've had that exact same conversation with my mother after she had to stop my brother and I from killing each other

Love that in s2 and nightbringer out of everyone's relationships with MC, we see that Levi's most jealous of Mammon & MC's

Mammon cares about Levi so much, that's his little brother and he would do anything for him but each time he sees him he's also immediately overtaken by the Cain Instinct

Levi looks up to Mammon so much (though he'd rather die than admit it) and he trusts Mammon to support him with anything he needs but he also prays for Mammon's disappearance under mysterious circumstances everyday

I also have this headcanon that Lucifer met Levi through Mammon. That one day Mammon dragged home this painfully shy angel he found skipping practice/lessons while he was skipping practice/lessons. And at first the angel absolutely refused to even acknowledge Mammon, curling up into a tighter ball as if not seeing him would make Mammon disappear but then somehow Mammon managed to annoy him enough that he started snapping back and actually turns out he's hilarious and fiery and mean when he's not stuck in his own head. And Mammon is delighted. He's never had this much fun with anyone so close to his age before. And after finding out that unlike the other angels their age this one hasn't been issued a guardian/mentor yet he (literally) drags him back to Lucifer and is like "can we keep him!!?" And Levi is mortified because holy shit that's Lucifer, who never leaves the palace, who never hangs about with angels this far down the hierarchy, who might as well be the heir to the entire Celestial Realm. And Mammon's hopping up and down on his toes and is hanging on to Lucifer's sleeve and is like "please please please can we keep him". And Levi's shaking and on the verge of crying and this is terrifying and horrible and even worse than that time where he was the only angel in his batch that none of the other older angels picked to mentor and oh he's going to die on the spot. And Lucifer's mother bear instincts just immediately flare up because yes this is his child now

[stephanythedramaqueen]

Hi! I love your Osha and Qimir posts sm! I am obsessed with them and really hope the show gets a S2. 😭

Sorry if this dumb a question, but why is Qimir so desperate for a pupil? I’m rewatching the season and the way he says that line to Sol just sounds so angry and frustrated.

Is it just because he’s lonely or because he’s following darth plagueis orders?

Hi! I’m obsessed with oshamir too, dw. The brainrot set in deep!

Okay so the simple answer here is that Qimir wants the Power of Two. And he was angry in that scene not bc he was super frustrated about not having one, but more likely bc he invested all that time and energy training Mae, which might have been years for all we know, and she ended up betraying him and thus ending her apprenticeship under him. That’s years and time and energy wasted. I would be angry too.

Going into depth about this, in Sith theology the Rule of Two is one who holds the power and one who craves it. A master and a pupil. A teacher and student. A paragon and acolyte. It’s a very power grabbing impersonal dysfunctional power dynamic.

However, I find it very important that the wording here in the show should be taken into account. Qimir doesn’t want the Rule of Two, which is what the Sith crave. What Qimir wants is the Power of Two. And the way the Power of Two is described in this show in particular sounds more like a Force Dyad, before this term was invented. The Rule of Two has always been about power imbalance. The master who holds all the power and the pupil who wants it. But the way the season ended between Osha and Qimir is that they’re equals. As per Leslye Headland’s own account:

Mind you, the Rule of Two never affords any equality whatsoever.

The witch coven describes the Power of One, the Power of Two, the Power of Many, a connection between each other through the Thread (aka The Force) which makes them stronger too. Now it’s interesting that the Jedi would call their power of the dark side. The same way Qimir is. But not all Darksiders are Sith, the way he never technically identifies as a Sith. The way its described, this unique bond through the Force/Thread is more aligned with a Force Dyad. And if we’ve seen anything what Rey and Ben over there has shown in the movies, it’s a strength and bond capable of great feats. And that is what Qimir wants. The strength, the power, the capability of greatness with another through the Force, so he could have the freedom to exercise his Force the way he wants without restriction from the Jedi or the Sith. And in order to get that, he would’ve needed someone who knows his craft and has the strength in the Force the way he does; someone who needs to learn this.

Now is Qimir lonely and suffering? Yes. Does he recognize this pain and despair in Osha? Yes. Is he eager in his connection for someone to understand him the way he understands her, like no one else ever would? Also yes. Did Darth Plaguis sent him to do it? Unclear. Unlike what the internet has been spreading as per yesterday, it is not confirmed that Plaguis is Qimir’s master. Leslye Headland, the showrunner, has been vague about Plaguis role in this. In one interview she seems to imply Qimir doesn’t know Plaguis is there at all and Plaguis is just spying on them. In another, there’s a hint that there’s more going on between Plaguis and Qimir.

Either way, that’s an answer that can only be answered in season 2. Leslye isn’t so foolish as to spoil that.

[aziraphales-library]

Heya ! I'm looking for some fics that are set post season 2. Not fixits exactly, not that I would mind fixits. But I'm looking for long canon compliant fics. Also, is there a tag for such fics ?

We have #good omens s2 and #canon compliant tags. On ao3 you'll want to use the tags "Post-Season/Series 02" and "Canon Compliant", which is what I did to find you these...

scherzo in f-sharp minor, for orchestra by astrhae (M)

It was a truth universally acknowledged that an angel in possession of no memory must be in want of a wife. No, that was the wrong book. The wrong line. Aziraphale frowned. “What,” the gentleman before him asked, “and I mean what, are you doing here?” ----------------- Or, two years after things fall apart, Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's doorstep without his memories. The easy part is getting it back, the hard part is getting them back together.

Until the Bitter End by sentientsky (T)

After learning the truth about Heaven's plans and fruitlessly trying to fix a corrupt system (and maybe also having his memory messed with a little bit in the process), Aziraphale slips back to Earth in search of Crowley.

i will make it better, if only for us by davethefish (T)

With Aziraphale in Heaven, everything that Crowley loved has left the earth. He doesn't know what to do, so he starts small. Maybe someday he'll love the earth as much as he loved Aziraphale. It's time for him to remember why he chose to stay in the first place.

Black Holes and Revelations by ArtisticRising (E)

Crowley takes a leap of faith… into the heart of a black hole. It’s the last card Crowley has to play. He can’t do this without Aziraphale… and he’s betting that Aziraphale can’t do this without him. Act I (Black Holes) ends around Chapter 6 (10 if you want the smut babes). You could leave the story off there. Up til chapter 6 you have a whole story that’s pretty much G rated. From there my thirst comes out like a sexy little demon in tight jeans and a vaguely downwards saunter. Act II (Revelations) is an attempt at season 3. Treat it as a separate work that builds off Act I. Lots of plot twists ahead/theories/speculations that I won’t spoil for you :)

The Ineffability of Gray by kitfornow (NR)

Fifteen years have passed since Aziraphale returned to Heaven, and still sometimes Crowley feels shell shocked and embarrassed and grief-stricken. And mostly, he still feels numb. Fifteen years isn’t really so long, in the grand scheme of things, and yet these have somehow been the longest years of his existence. He can almost feel time crawling by, laughing at him. But slowly, so slowly, Crowley began to try again. To try harder. To find a piece of himself that Aziraphale had not touched. To find a piece of himself that does not need changing. On his good days, he can open up. His friends come over to the flat, once in a while, and Maggie brings new records and Muriel brings burnt cookies that no-one complains about because they're so proud of them. They'll exchange stories and simply enjoy each other's company for a few hours. And sometimes, he feels almost alright. Until Crowley turns around and Aziraphale is there, standing in front of him, trying to stop the world from ending all over again.

hurry back, please bring it back home to me by Percyjacksonfan3 (T)

“Why should I?” The demon interrupts cuttingly. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where your priorities lie and anything I say won’t make a bit of difference.” “That’s not true at all.” Aziraphale replies after a long hurt moment. “And you know it. Besides, you’re being stubborn. You’ll help me eventually.” Rage flashes over Crowley’s face. “You think so, do you?” Aziraphale juts his chin up stubbornly, ignoring the unpleasant feelings Crowley’s expression stirs in him. “Yes.” Aziraphale needs Crowley's help in saving humanity from the Second Coming and despite what happened between them he's determined to get it. After all, it's not only that he needs Crowley, but his plan also includes their car. As for the other matters between the two of them... well there's no reason those can't be sorted out along the way as well, is there? Or, a possible take on Series 3 that includes the Bentley, a resurrected Jesus Christ set on bringing about the End of Days, and an angel and a demon who are stupidly in love with each other but are both suffering from a lack of experience on how to actually deal with said emotions. Emphasis on the stupidly.

- Mod D

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

the whole prophecy thing in Amphibia was so half-baked. it had the potential to be a really interesting plot points, but not only was it only revealed like two episodes before the finale, it was also so sloppily explained.

Mother Olm says that Anne, Sasha and Marcy were given the power of the calamity stones in order to save Amphibia from becoming its worst version. that's all fine and dandy, but why these three girls specifically?

what do three teenagers have that other people don't? especially considering how two of them were extremely selfish at first and wanted to use the stones for their own interest.

Sasha even tried to kill the frogs in s1 and take over Amphibia in s2. how is that a person worthy of the calamity powers? sure, she redeemed herself later but the prophecy couldn't predict that. for all they know, Sasha could have chosen to stay evil and hurt the people of Amphibia even more.

prophecies tend to be vague but usually there's some sort of explanation for why a person is chosen by that prophecy. maybe it's a hereditary thing, or perhaps they've proven themselves capable of being a hero, there's usually some line of logic.

not to mention, the part about Anne potentially dying was shoehorned into the second to last episode (if i remember correctly). it was clearly setting up for a temporary death that only served as shock value.

i can't believe people still actually bought Anne's death and didn't immediately realize how cheap of a plot point it was. instead of seeing Sasha and Marcy actually do something useful with their powers, we get like five seconds of them showing off their powers and then Anne taking over and doing the important stuff.

[cerastes]

Seeing a vague and negative comment on The Current State of CN Arknights immediately followed up by your white pharaoh profile picture was the perfect set-up and payoff to do me in. Well done.

It’s me, White Pharaoh, I’ll absorb Flint’s melanin with my S2, now she has white guilt.