#that's some fucking tragedy and a half lemme tell you

[corvuserpens]

Alright girlies, I just came back from watching The Crow (2024) and

I'm sorry babes, but it's better than Wicked Prayer. Not better than the 1994 original -- but better than Wicked Prayer. This is your obligatory 🚨🚨 SPOILER ALERT 🚨🚨 don't say I didn't warn you.

To everyone who recently followed me for Black Sails, we'll get back to that soon, just lemme dump my thoughts on this movie bc The Crow was a game changer for little nine-year-old me back in the good ol' 90's. It's the movie that turned me into a baby bat.

So first things first: the cinematography. Gorgeous. Nice sets, great lighting. Mood always on point. Aesthetics to die for.

Second of all: score. AWESOME. They had Joy Division's Disorder playing while Eric and Shelly were escaping the rehab center and when that first beat started playing, I almost screamed in the mostly empty theater and started tapping along to it. Immediate B- for the movie just for that. But the rest of the music was just as good imo, it slapped so hard that now I have to look it up and play it non-stop. Surprising amount of goth and darkly-inclined music in there, which I was not expecting given the overall appearance of the lead characters.

The story, as I already expressed in a previous post, was generic but at least it had some themes to it that I found interesting. I couldn't really relate to the lifestyle these characters were leading, and honestly, the whole "oh they had a fucked up childhood and it led them into a life of crime/bohemian lifestyle that will be their end", y'know, "live fast, die young," is kinda old for me. I've seen it too many times for it to be edgy anymore. I get this is a reality for many people and I feel or them, obviously. I just don't think it's original anymore. Or maybe it's just not my kind of tea, which is fine. If it is for someone else, more power to them!

Anyway, where was I? Oh, right. Themes. I may not relate to the lifestyle, but I do relate to the whole "loving someone so much you can't imagine yourself living without them" which is what spurs on the whole conflict. From the very beginning, the movie doesn't hesitate to tell us "these two are doomed by the narrative so all the happy times they have won't last." And I will say, FKA Twigs and Bill Skarsgard have insane chemistry. Eric and Shelly's story is very brief and their relationship is only a speck in each of their lifetimes... but they sell the genuine love between them SO well, which lends an extra bit of flavor to the whole tragedy. They only knew each other for such a short amount of time, but the love was there. The connection was there. The threads of a future were just beginning to weave together, and then they were all cut away in the blink of an eye.

In the original movie, the tragedy of Eric Draven and Shelly Webster mirrored James O'Barr's own loss: they had their entire future set up in front of them, all these plans. They were on the eve of their wedding, and then they were brutally murdered. The tragic element in the new movie isn't lessened. It's just different. And I enjoyed that.

One thing I didn't really enjoy was the whole hell premise and the villain who made a bargain with the devil for eternal life in exchange for innocent souls. First of all, that's not how Satan works and this is slander of the highest order. No, I'm not a Satanist, but I respect the guy. Second of all, it's another tired old trope that needs to be put to rest. I find it much more interesting when human characters do evil shit because they act upon their evil impulses, which we all have, NOT because "the devil made them do it." Just... ugh. No, I loved Top Dollar in the 1994 movie because he was some fucked up little dude who lived for mayhem and death and had impeccable taste in Victorian fashion, who happened to dab in the occult along with his half-sister whom he liked to fuck. He was theatrical and extremely Edgy for the time and that's why he's so iconic and memorable. I don't need a villain who sold his soul for eternal life. Let him be evil for evil's sake, you don't need to sell your soul for that, damn. Not to mention Roeg felt flat and uninteresting. The connection to predatory men in high positions of power who prey on the dreams of young women artists was there, but they made it so on-the-nose that it sucked the interest out of it. Eh.

Now. The whole abandoned train station as a liminal space between life and death and the mysterious man who may or may not be an angel (or the skeletal cowboy from the comic book). There's an interesting concept. And the whole using puddles of dirty water, and rivers or other bodies full of liquid (a tub at some point) as a portal to and from that space? Simple, yet effective. Reminds me a little too much of the meme of the girl on the swing who jumps off into a puddle and disappears through it, but regardless. I think Eric jumps to and from there a bit too often and it breaks the mysticism a bit, but whatever.

I did enjoy the fact that Eric doesn't get his full powers immediately after dying, and I DID like the detail that, as long as his love for Shelly remains pure, his body will always heal because, as the Mysterious Man points out, the death/corruption/undoing of love (can't remember his exact words) isn't hate; it's doubt. As the story progresses and Eric finds out Shelly's Big Dark Secret™, his love for her falters, so his body begins to fail. It ties perfectly to the end of act one, when Shelly asks him to promise that when she becomes hard to love, to love her harder.

Which brings me to Shelly's backstory. It wasn't bad. I can understand the whole "your mom pushed you too hard when you showed signs of great artistic potential and it led her to manipulate you, abuse you and expose you to things a young girl shouldn't be exposed to" so she had to escape from her clutches, but the things she saw fucked her up and she turned to drugs and alcohol to cope.

But at this point, when she reveals she has this Big Dark Secret™ that she can't tell Eric about or else he wouldn't love her anymore, we already know that the villain made a bargain with the devil, so he has the ability to reach into the darkest parts of a person's soul and force them to act on it. And that kinda spoils the moment when it's revealed that Shelly killed someone. Because y'know, her soul is Pure and Good and she would never actually kill anyone because if she did, then she'd really deserve going to hell! Just... No. That's not how women work. That's not even how people work! People are imperfect, that's what makes us human. It would have been so much more interesting if Shelly had in fact killed that random girl, like, I dunno, over money, over drugs, over blackmail or something random and stupid that made her act out and then had it haunt her for the rest of her life, I don't fucking know! But no. She killed her because Roeg made her, exempting her from the blame and the consequences instantly. Boring. Let Eric learn all the fucked up things Shelly did and love her anyway. Let her get a little redemption for her bad choices by earning his full, unconditional love because that's all any of us wants, isn't it? To have someone see how rotten we are and say we are enough for them despite it all. Goddamn.

Okay, what else. The comedic timing. The stupid pun when they first meet, the opera music playing over Eric going ballistic in the hall, the fact he got stabbed with his katana in the back, but two minutes later, somehow the katana flipped around so Eric can pull it out of his front?? That was such a 2000's era movie mistake, lmao. Very charming.

No officer Albrecht or Sarah as a human stand-in for Eric's moral compass or to remind him of Shelly or all the other people they loved and who he will have to leave behind when all's said and done? Bad.

For a movie titled The Crow, there was a sad lack of crow influence in the movie. Eric isn't connected to his crow in any way. No more whole "you kill the crow, you kill the man" anymore, which is bullshit. Bill Skarsgard doesn't even get to have a crow perching on his shoulder??? What is this??????????? Big boo. The crow was the central focus of all the other movies bc it was the protagonist's link to the land of the living. It was a constant presence to remind us that, when all the wrong things have been set right, the crow would lead him back to the land of the dead to rest. As it were, in this installment, the crow was a prop and nothing more. If it hadn't been there, the story wouldn't be affected in the slightest. This is where this film fails to be a The Crow movie to me: one of them is still alive by the end when that's not what The Crow as a franchise is about.

The original comic book was an expression of tremendous grief and loss over a loved one, by how untimely and unfair it was. In the end, the protagonist, whomever they may be, dies so that they can be with that person they lost and they can be at peace in whatever comes after life. Don't get me wrong, it's still pretty compelling to have Eric learn Shelly is going to hell and offers to trade his soul for hers, and it is okay that in the end, Shelly is brought back to life while Eric remains dead. I mean, the whole bit with the mysterious man being a first responder and telling Shelly that Eric fought hard over her? Heart-wrenching. In a different movie, I would be all about it, but this is supposedly a The Crow movie and it broke the precedent imposed by the previous installments, both in comic book and movie format. So... Yeah, that's a no from me. Themes of grief and loss? Never heard of her.

To wrap this post up 'cause it's getting too long: I liked that the Marion character seemed to have a thing going on with her body-guard or wtv he was? You know, the one who killed Shelly? That was a nice little side detail I noticed. The themes were nicely established, but didn't tie up too well, I think. Too many loose ends or things left unexplored. I was glad we didn't get the schmuck happy ending in which the Universe or Entity or what have you deemed Eric's love for Shelly pure enough that he wouldn't go to hell in her stead and they were both brought back to life and lived happily ever after. But we also didn't get to see Eric getting dragged to hell in the end either, that was a missed opportunity to really let the consequences of his choices sink into the audience and make us all leave the room completely horrified. Would make for a much more impactful credit roll. Or maybe I'm just fucked in the head, idk.

The defeat of the villain felt unsatisfying. Did like the whole "you corrupted her (into killing that girl)" "you can't corrupt what's not in there already" thing, but if at the end of the fight Eric had gotten a little monologue about how "it's not about whether the corruption is in there or not, it's your choices not to act on it that really matters" before shoving Roeg into the jaws of hell, that would have helped matters along, me thinks. Hate that the movie has to hand-hold the audience through making connections between what's said at the beginning of the story and when later the characters mirror it with actions. I get we went through covid and all our memory and attention span got royally scrambled for it, but come on. We're not little kids. Let the setup/payoff ratio stand on its own, I promise people will remember.

All in all, hour and half well spent, I wasn't bored and my eyes had a feast with the visuals. I'll give it a 6/10👍 Would have been better as a stand-alone action flick instead of being advertised as a new The Crow installment (and really, it's trying to be a more faithful adaptation of the comic book? Even Donald fucking Trump couldn't make up a lie this blatant), but I enjoyed myself and that's what matters.

[the-owl-tree]

oh my GOD I love your isekai warriors au.... I love that the isekai trope is becoming a lot more popular, especially in anime... please tell me more about it!!

shaking ur hand rn hello fellow isekai anime/other mediums fan :3c FIRST lemme go on my tangent about this genre and my main inspo because wow this got way too long lol

isekai is total comfort food for me haha it's my go to genre of manga/manwha/webcomic reading whenever i'm feeling down and while i generally feel the genre is getting bloated and somewhat stale in anime, i still enjoy it quite a bit. It's a cute idea with a lot of potential, i just wish less of the shows went for the wish fulfillment route of things since we have so many by now.

mine is very inspired by a lot of korean manwha style stories in which the protag gets trapped in a show/game/book/etc. and has to deal with it, specifically what if you became the villain of a story. A lot of them play off the trope of the one dimensional evil villainess and how an average person would have to deal with coming into the body of someone like that and dealing with consequences. That, or it's the tragic villain, someone's who's life is marred by tragedy usually of their own doing.

The most interesting ones are those that play on how character archetypes would actually work in the story. The cold bad boy is just a shitty abusive guy, the shy guy who follows the girl is kind of a stalker, and so on.

One of my bigger inspirations was a plotline that also stuck out to me: a teen girl who died too soon and got reincarnated as the mother of the protagonist. obviously she has no clue what to do, she's a kid who wants to go home! And the only way she thinks she can is by ensuring the story goes as planned (and this of course is doomed from the start, unbeknownst to her, the villain is a reincarnater too and has already made tremendous changes). She dies and the reader never knows if she gets to go home or not. It's kind of this rough around the edges gem of an idea that I love and obviously had to steal for myself.

note for anyone getting intrigued by my descriptions uh a lot of these stories tend to be pretty shallow in their exploration. this subgenre consists a lot more of wish fulfillment/revenge fantasies comparatively to like a deep dive of "oh my god i've fucked up the narrative". Not to say they don't have interesting ideas! many are super interesting. just like. temper your expectations if you're going in

originally the story was gonna be set in a canon arc but that felt boring so i decided to just make up a whole story for it

The story is meant to be a (loving) poke at old fanfiction, common tropes in the aforementioned subgenre of isekai, and just a general ""cliche"" Warriors series (in the human universe here, I figured it's call Battlers/Battle Cats or something stupid lmao). In this story, Frostblaze is born into [ONE OF THE FOUR FAKE CLANS I HAVENT FIGURED OUT NAMES YET IM SORRY]. She's the born to an unnamed mother who tragically died of illness when she was just a young baby and has no clue who her father is.

She's isolated from her peers due to her eyes which some believe are an omen of her unnaturality. This only worsens when she is apprenticed to their Clan leader and causes Honeypaw, the daughter of the Clan leader, to become enraged with jealousy. She is one of Frostpaw's worst tormentors in the early parts of the book and eventually, during a battle, tries to off Frostpaw herself....but is killed by Frostpaw's love interest, the dashing and handsome (if a bit stupid) Eaglepaw of [INSERT RIVAL CLAN HERE].

The two hit it off (Honeypaw is an after thought at this point) and work together to stop the eeevviilll leader of uuhh eviiiiilll clan. They win, live happily ever after, Frost is actually their Clan leader's daughter and Honeypaw is her half-sister and blah blah blah.

At least, they're supposed to. Honeypaw, out hunting, is hit by a truck at the same time a human is. Human wakes up as a cat about to be buried because everyone thinks Honeypaw is dead and freaks the fuck out.

A lot of the plot points are kind of just me working through my gripes of the subgenre lmao:

"the person who is reincarnated is more adept and cool and better than their character and everyone loves them" -> Honey is awkward, neurotic, and can come off as rude to those who don't know her. Even her coolest trait, her wrestling ability, is off-putting because oh my god why are you putting a cAT IN A SPIDER GUARD THEIR SPINES DON'T BEND LIKE THAT HONEY PUT HIM BACK TO NORMAL-

She reread the story before she died but, because she has no pen, no paper, and sadly of all, no thumbs, she's unable to write it down to keep remembering it when she gets sent to this world. It's awful and she desperately wishes she had thumbs back.

she stands on two legs, makes weird comments alluding to being a human, and just is a bit of a weirdo. Honeypaw was isolated for being mean, Honey is isolated for making everyone uncomfortable (unintentionally). However, her isolation allows her to slip under the radar and do some more investigating, as she's noticed that some of the details in the story aren't adding up...

The story is strange and the characters aren't as she remembers now that they're in the flesh. Of course, her main priority is to thwart Honeypaw's assassination attempts, the spirit being intent that the way to get her body back is if she dies again. It's only from a near death experience that they realize that that's not gonna work and have to work together to change the story so they don't die!

and, as many people have pieced together, they're not alone.

[daz4i]

ok. what i have so far

(this turned out way longer than i expected omg. i should be asleep rn idk what I'm doing)

i decided he (gonna call him dante. bc it's me. so why not) is unaffiliated and is mostly motivated by curiosity + thirst for (non-harmful) chaos. he just wants to know everything all the time. and he likes to mess with people

i have 2 ideas for abilities, one is more concrete and developed than the other tho 🤔 both are based on my own writing. why not. who's gonna stop me. this shit is for self indulgence and building confidence i think. ANYWAY

lemme start with the less developed one bc it's quicker

winning hand: luck manipulation

user can. well. affect people's luck, including their own. activated by touch

5 cards show up above the person's head. they are not tangible and they are. not opaque. i forgot the word. like a hologram basically

they are chosen at random - it's all about luck after all - but i feel like if an especially emotional situation called for it it will suddenly be affected by said emotions.

anyway, the luck is measured in poker hands, so like royal flush means ultra lucky, can't go wrong, etc, and high card is comically bad luck, nothing works out

this one's more fitting for the trickster-y vibes, but less about the information thing, so the other and more developed idea is probably better (i just wanted to share winning hand bc i like it. and it's one of my favorite works of mine so I'm biased)

ghost: invisibility + intangibility. basically. well. becoming a ghost

*insert danny phantom joke here*

user can become invisible and intangible at will (aka go through walls and such). can't touch anything, and others can't hear them; basically non-existent to anyone but themselves, and in people's memories (as in. they're there one moment. and gone the next. but you know they were there it's not like they're erased)

this affects clothes and anything else on their person, for convenience. doesn't affect other living creatures touching them or smth like that tho

so like. since this is op as fuck. a limitation i decided on is that while he can activate it on will, he can't choose when to turn it off. it's not very reliable for actual infiltrations bc of that, and mental state can affect it too (like, being stressed makes it turn off way faster, being embarrassed makes it last longer, stuff like that. tho it is mostly at random)

so another thing for convenience's sake is that it can't turn off while inside a wall. i thought to maybe add smth like slight hovering and then it can't turn off when he's touching something, but then you can exploit it by staying half inside a wall at all times, which is boring. so for narrative purposes, this simply doesn't happen :P also, floor physics apply (so like, gotta use stairs or catch a ride on an elevator to reach a different floor and such)

ok i think that's all i have for abilities

story

i don't have much yet. i want him to be around in sunday tragedy, seeing what's going on. and at some point when his ability turns off it is exactly the time nikolai uses his ability to leave the building and they meet like that (meetcute: watch them fake getting cut in half as they catch you essentially spying on them bc you're a nosy bitch)

nikolai finds it interesting how dante managed to get under his nose and see the whole thing, and how he didn't step in to help (knew there wasn't much point and that there is more going on and wanted to see how things escalate)

meanwhile dante immediately turns on little shit mode and grabs nikolai, telling him to spill the beans on what's going on or he'll turn him in ("if you try to use your ability you're gonna have to take me with you!"). nikolai tries to shoot him obviously (meetcute: you try to blackmail them for information so they try to shoot you). dante turns on Ghost, and well. it's a scary situation. and i already said stress makes it last a shorter time. so it only takes like a few seconds for it to turn off. nikolai gets kind of excited bc woag cool ability that manages to evade his attacks. also this guy isn't so bad, their goals kind of align (finding information), so may as well ask him to join in on his plans, who knows. he may come in handy. so they go save sigma together

sigma suffers so much guys. now he has to deal with TWO clowns fr. also they may be flirting? or threatening each other? nikolai may or may not be trying to kill that new guy who seems surprisingly okay and even excited about it? tho, at least dante is slightly more chill and makes sure sigma's fully okay before he starts bothering him.

anyway. most random group ever is now on their way to infiltrate a max security underwater prison

this is all i have so far. idk how I'll get kunikida involved but on god i will date him too. if you actually read this i am kissing you on the mouth/high fiving you/giving you a reassuring nod depending on what you're comfortable with.

i should make a bsd self insert. i got an ability idea. and decided no organization works so I'm like an independent ability user. now the question is what the fuck is my deal. and since i am doing it like 80% for the purpose of self shipping then how do i connect the dots in that regard too

[caffeineforbucky]

The Things We Left Behind

Synopsis: It'd been years since you've seen Frank Castle; let alone spoken to him but, one night while working at Nelson and Murdock; you get an unexpected visitor.

(set before the punisher gets introduced in daredevil)

Pairing: Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: soft angst, profanity, some fluff...maybe?

Special thanks to @firefly-graphics for the text divider(s), doing God's work ppl.

A/N: I have recently been binge-watching The Punisher and lemme tell ya...Frank Castle can punish me any day...Jk. (Or not) I noticed that there aren't enough punisher fics on this website, and I decided to take matters into my own hands and write one. Please Enjoy!

Working in the city had its pros and cons. None of which you particularly enjoyed but, you didn't loathe them either. As opposed to the crime and violence that went on—the quiet nights at Nelson and Murdock were something to appreciate.

It was a late night in the office, the steam from your third cup of coffee clouding the lenses of your reading glasses as you took a sip—traces of berries and cloves gracing your taste buds.

"I'm heading out," Karen Page voices firmly, your eyes flickering to meet her judgemental gaze. You knew she didn't like when you stayed in the office by yourself but, no one was going to proofread your case but you. "You good to lock up after you're done?"

You set the mug down, flashing her a smile intertwined with tired eyes. "Yes, Kare," You respond, nodding your head along. "It isn't the first time, and I'm sure it won't be the last."

Karen sends you a tip of her head, tapping the frame of the door before she disappears down the hall—the sound of her heels still evident, even with the cheap carpets throughout the building.

You blow out a tired sigh, brushing your hair back with your fingers as you read over the file for the third time—trying to understand how your client was convicted of murder without evidence. Sure, they were the only ones at the scene, and law enforcement had nothing else to go off but, you trusted Matt's judgment when he said they were being honest. Not to mention that your client had just turned eighteen, and the victim was their ex—you believed in their word.

"So, this is what you're doing now?"

Paralyzed in the spot, a sharpness creeps down your spine as you straighten your posture. A deep, gruff—almost gravelly voice holds you like a relative you hadn't seen in a while. As if it were a family member you hated but also missed on occasion. Fear became tangible. A living force that crept over you like a ferocious beast, immobilizing you; your brain. No. You thought, your breath caught in your throat. No, it couldn't be. He was dead. Frank Castle is dead.

"F...Frank?"

It wasn't—isn't—possible. It'd been two years since you had heard about the tragedy that took place in Central Park. It broke your heart into pieces when you learned of the Castle's deaths. You hadn't spoken to Frank since he enlisted—he had served for eight years, and you'd only heard of his accomplishments from keeping up with the reports. He was your best friend once, alongside Billy Russo, and it fucking killed you when he died. Having met him when you were just fifteen in Highschool.

It wasn't until you turned in your chair that you saw a figure looming in the darkest corner of the room—heart palpating at an alarming rate. You grip the armrests, pushing down to stand up on your feet—legs wobbling as they step out of the shadows. You almost pass out from the shock, placing your palms flat on the table to anchor yourself. There Frank was, his face illuminated under the warm lighting of the one table lamp that was lighting your space.

"Hey there, darlin'," He spoke up—hands tucked into the pockets of his black parka, lips quirked into half of a smile but not quite there.

He was so much older than you saw him last; taller. That boyish charm you remembered—consumed in the lonely trenches of war and death. It was him, goddammit it was him. You couldn't find the words, all the things you wanted to say getting jumbled at the back of your mind. Your eyes wandered his being, lingering on the scars embedded into his skin. You told yourself it had to be a dream. That you had fallen asleep at the table for the umpteenth time.

You swallow hard, trying to wrap your head around Frank being alive. How was that possible? "You're..." You start to say, finding that it was difficult to speak. Your eyes meet his obscured gaze, fine lines, and engraved crinkles combined with the bags that made him look fucking exhausted. "They said...the papers said you were..." You shut your eyes, biting your tongue so hard; you started to taste the faintest of metals. You had to wake yourself up somehow.

Frank saunters to your hunched-over figure, only stopping when you meet his gaze once again. He felt his throat lock, watching your mascara mixed with tears undulating down your left cheek—lip trembling the slightest before you took a breath, shoving off the table to stand tall. "You look like shit," You quip, wiping away your tear with the back of your hand. "Have you always looked like that?"

Frank huffs out a laugh, glancing at the exit—shaking his head at your poke. "Glad to know that you haven't changed a bit. I'd almost forgotten how pretty you were."

You scoff, sniffling as you fold your arms over your chest. "Frank Castle, ever the flirt. I don't remember your lines being that charming but, I guess faking your death for two years will give a guy a chance to think about what to say when approaching someone." A snarky tone; mean. You didn't mean to come off as rude or an asshole but, you had a right to be angry. You couldn't fathom Frank ever lying to you, keeping something like his existence a secret. Then again, you didn't know Frank at all. Not anymore.

"Darlin'," Frank's smile falters, the stoic nature crawling back to make a home on his stance. What did he expect? For you to break out the warm and toasties? To greet him with open arms and that goddamn smile he missed so much? "I'm sorry," He mumbles, lowering his head in shame. "I didn't...I mean, I wanted..."

You pursed your lips together, watching the man trying to find the right words to soothe you. And while you had a right to be angry, Frank was entitled to his secrets. He didn't owe you a single thing. Castle did whatever the hell he wanted—you knew that faking his death wasn't the hardest. It was burying his wife and kids.

"I could use a drink," You chime, cutting his ramble short. "Care to join me?"

"Ten years is a long time, Frankie," You say into a glass of whiskey before taking a swig—the amber liquid burning the back of your throat. "I'd of appreciated a call or a letter."

Frank stared down at his glass, swirling the alcohol a few times—frowning deeply in thought. You both occupied the small breakfast table in your kitchen, sitting across from one another—a bottle of opened Jameson in the middle. "Yeah, it's been...some time, hasn't it?"

You nod, setting the glass down in front of you. Frank left for the Marines on his eighteenth birthday, whispering promises you knew he couldn't keep as he hugged you goodbye—tears coming down your cheeks. You were going to miss him but, it's what he wanted for himself and you respected his decision. You chew on the inside of your cheeks, debating on whether or not you should bring up his family. He had to know that it was in the papers, and nothing could control the elephant in the room. "I, uh..." You trail, flickering your attention between your drink and the burly man across from you. "I'm sorry about-"

"Don't," Frank whispers, shutting his eyes as he shook his head. "I know you are, darlin'. I know you are."

You swallow your apology, nodding your head in agreement. You inhale deeply, mentally shaking the thoughts from your head to stray the conversation to a different topic. "What brings you to Hell's Kitchen, Frank? I mean, why the sudden visit? How do you know where I work?"

Frank sets the glass down, turning his body towards you—gaze settling on your own. "You honestly think I haven't kept tabs on you?"

That was surprising, and yeah, you assumed he stopped giving a shit once he married his wife, once he left. You don't respond to that, casting your eyes somewhere—anywhere—but him.

"I always knew where you were, darlin'."

Your eyes snapped to him, brows suddenly furrowing at that answer. "So," You start, repeating his words to see if you had it right. "Lemme get this straight. You knew this entire time where the hell I've been, and not once did you try to reach out? What kind of shit is that?"

Frank sighs, knowing damn well that this was the reaction he was expecting. It was shitty, keeping a close eye on you, and not even sending a text or letting you meet his family. You were his best friend growing up, and it was the least he could've done.

Maybe that's why he decided to show up tonight. Guilt was a real bitch, and now that his family was taken from him, you were the closest thing he had at the moment. Not that he couldn't trust Billy but, you were a hell of a lot easier on the eyes. "I...I just needed a friend."

Your shoulders visibly dropped. Hardened eyes softening at the tone of his voice; gravelly, faint. Friend. After all this time he still considered you a friend. If you were being honest with yourself—you never stopped being his friend. You lean forward, reaching for his rough hand that rested on the table. "I never stopped being your friend, Frank."

He looks down at your hands, his thumb grazing soft circles beside your thumb. He missed you—so much and there wasn't a day you didn't cross his mind, especially when he got married. He still regrets not sending you an invitation. "Not after you left for the Marines, not when you stopped sending letters, not even when..." You pause, your eyes meeting at the same time. "The point is, I'm here. I always was."

You weren't expecting it, the unanticipated tug of your hand as he stood up—pulling you right into his rock-hard chest—thick arms wrapping around you to hold you close. His cheek pressed onto the top of your head before kissing your hair. It took you a second to register the hug, but you sank into it as soon as you felt his grip tighten around you. Your arms came around his back, not even touching from how broad he was. You missed him. God, you missed him.

"I have some business I need to take care of in Hell's Kitchen, thought I'd stop by and see you." He says, grabbing your shoulder to draw away from the hug. "So you're a lawyer now, huh?"

You blow out a breath, rolling your eyes at his smirk as you step away into the kitchen. "Yeah," You breathe, reaching for the handle of your fridge. "I used to be a family slash child services lawyer but, I couldn't stomach some of the cases I had. Too much on the conscience, you know?"

"Thought you wanted to be a teacher?"

"You remember that?" You ask in disbelief, glancing behind your shoulder at him. "I told you that when I was sixteen."

"How could I forget? You asked for a chalkboard that year. Weird ask but, I got you one anyway. God, you loved that fucken chalkboard. 'Member when you took it to Graduation and made everyone sign it?"

You choke out a laugh, lowering your head in shame. "Oh, fuck off, Castle," You turn away from the fridge, smiling from ear to ear as you start down the hall, leaving Frank in the kitchen for a moment to enter your bedroom. Flickering the light on, your eye caught the wooden frame of the board hung up on the wall. You pad over, taking the frame in both hands before heading back to where Frank stood.

"No fucking way," He downs the rest of his drink, placing the glass onto your table, and he chuckles. "You still have it?" Frank takes the frame from your grasp—eyes filling with crinkles from his bright smile, his eyes tracing over the entire graduating class. Then, his eyes land on his name, his smile dissipating.

To my best girl, Frankie's gonna miss you but, I'll see you very soon!

"I shouldn't have left you like that," Frank grunts, his grip on the frame making his knuckles turn white. "You never deserved that."

You dismiss the obvious apology with a wave of your hand, taking the chalkboard to lean it against the counter. "Don't even worry about it, Frank. You had a helluva lot to worry about than someone you used to know." You say with a shrug, giving him a gentle smile. "I'm okay, I promise. We both left things behind from our old lives. I don't blame you for trying to move..."

Frank's calloused palms are cupping your cheeks suddenly, the warmth of his body emanating around you—your sentence faltering. His big brown eyes are boring into yours, holding you in their trance. "You shouldn't have been the one I left behind." He whispers, eyes fluttering shut as he rests his forehead against yours.

Read pt. 2 here

I don't know how I feel about this one but, I had fun writing it. Lemme know what you think; feedback is wholeheartedly appreciated. And let me know if you want a second part or sm. Thank you!

[wri0thesley]

Okay but hear me out, gojo teaching his girl how to properly touch herself bc she can't make herself cum and has been edging herself unintentionally and gojo helps out with his long fingers 🥺

instruction - gojo x fem!reader (2k)

you might be having trouble, but gojo doesn’t mind playing sensei to you. 

warnings: nsfw/minors dni! oral sex, assisted masturbation, fingering. afab reader with fem pronouns

[reblogs/comments appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

The first time that Gojo gives you an orgasm, it’s using his tongue. His head is buried between your thighs, soft noises of praise coming out of his mouth interspersed with the flutter of his kisses on your inner thighs and the downright filthy sound of his mouth dragging through your slick. His tongue toys with your clit, swirling it and sucking it, circling it before he returns back to flicking the tip over it with mountingly quicker and harder motions. Your hands are knit in his hair, and as you feel the ball of pressure inside of you finally split into a thousand tiny pieces, you tug on the silver-pale strands in your grip and wail into the ceiling. He guides you through the aftershocks with slower, deeper laps of his tongue across your cunt before he lazily pulls himself up onto his elbows, looking at you with those big blue eyes, galaxies swirling with them.

“You were so noisy, doll,” he murmurs. “I know I’m good with my tongue, but hell - if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that seems like the first time you’ve ever got to cum--” 

You feel yourself squirm, embarrassment flooding your thoughts. It’s not like you haven’t tried! But something in you always seems to stop you coming, and you’ve spent too many nights frustratedly falling asleep with your thighs a mess after being unable to bring yourself any kind of relief.

You can’t really hide anything from Satoru Gojo, though. 

The look on your face tells him all that he needs to know - that flustered, half-guilty expression, your bitten lips darkened from the dig of your teeth. His own expression softens indescribably, those long fingers sliding up your damp thighs as he coos, all pity; “Oh, baby girl . . . We can’t have that, can we?”

He coaxes you, words coated in sugar, eyes gentle, to show him how you’ve been touching yourself. Before you know what’s happening, he’s taking your hand and pulling it down to rest over where you’re still slick with your own arousal and Gojo’s saliva. You’re still adorably sensitive, flinching at the pads of your fingers over your tender clit, so Gojo gently tugs on your wrist.

“Try circling it,” he murmurs. “You’ll hurt yourself if you go all in with the stimulation--”. You do your best to follow his orders for a few minutes, until the sensitivity wears off a bit. And then, he’s kneeling between your thighs and pushing your knees up a little so he has a better view of how exactly you’re rubbing at your petal-soft folds, how you’ve been treating yourself up until now. “Show me exactly how you’ve done it before,” he breathes, the crystalline sapphires of his eyes set on the space between your legs like he’s a patron at an art gallery. “Lemme see why you haven’t gotten to come, baby.”

You do your best. It’s the same as it always is, though - you rub at your clit with inexperienced, clumsy fingers. Heat seems to build up inside you, but you never manage to get it to go further than that build up. Even when you use your other hand to thrust two of your fingers inside, it feels like you’re reaching for something that isn’t quite there. It’s so annoying. You’ve read guides on how to do this, watched porn videos in the hope it’ll help you with your block - but nothing seems to work. And now, you’re being watched by your boyfriend, and you can’t help but be hot and embarrassed . . . and kind of turned on. The way that he’s looking at you. The concern knitting his usually smooth brow.

Gojo watches you, pensive, as you feel tears of frustration bubble up in the corners of your eyes. You move your hands away from your cunt, curling them into fists and giving the bed beneath you an exasperated thump. 

(Gojo’s eyebrows raise as he sees you removing the stimulation entirely. You poor little thing. No wonder you haven’t managed it.) 

“I-I can’t get it to go further,” you say, agitated. “I-it gets to a point, and then it just seems to stop! It builds up and it builds up but it just stays there!”

Gojo shifts closer to you. His hands rest on your thighs. “You know what I think?” He asks you, his voice very low. His cock has been hard in his pants since the moment he got you on his bed, never mind the orgasm he gave you with his tongue - but it’s a damn right tragedy you’ve never been able to make yourself come, and (much as he doesn’t want to admit it) being Gojo’s girlfriend can be a lonely life. He’s away on missions so often, and he loves to tease, and he knows that you’ll have his cock on the mind forever once you’ve had it for the first time. So it’s better for both of you if you learn exactly what you’re doing. “I think y’just haven’t had the right teacher yet. And . . . you’re in luck,” he flashes you one of those patented Satoru Gojo grins, half-unhinged and half-handsome. “Because I’m right here and willin’ to take some time out of my busy schedule to teach you all about the human body--!”

“Don’t put it like that,” you say, weakly, as he reaches between your thighs and pulls the lips of your cunt apart. He looks back at your sex; the swollen clit, the hole begging to be filled, the absolute mess you’ve both made with tongues and fingers and your earlier orgasm. 

“You always stop before it goes further, right? Because you get bored and frustrated?” He clicks his tongue, shaking your head in mock scolding, as you squirm. “Baby girl, you gotta have temerity. You’ve been edging yourself ever since you figured out how to jack off.” His thumb swipes down through the slit as he lets go of his thumb’s hold. “Play with your clit for me. C’mon.”

The way he meets your eyes tells you that this is an order, and Gojo when he slips into the mode of a commander is not a man to be messed with. You hesitantly slide your fingers back between your legs to gently circle your swollen clit, your touch incredibly gentle. Gojo’s pretty mouth tilts into a smile. “Use your other hand to play with your chest,” he says. “I’d ask you to use it for something else, but . . .” The smile widens, showing a hint of white teeth. “I think I’m much better placed to do that.”

You are about to ask him what he means when his hand brushes over yours and then a fingertip gently pushes into the pulsing ring of your entrance. His fingers are slender - it does not hurt for him to push them in, but you are still robbed of your breath by the sensation of it plunging slowly into your silky depths. He gives one or two cursory pumps, before withdrawing his finger entirely so he can add a second beside it.

This one is more of a stretch, but it is a stretch in the best possible way. You use the hand not playing with your clit to squeeze the weight of your breast, your breath hitching. Thumb and forefinger pinch your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak, as Gojo finds a slow rhythm to pump his fingers in and out of you.

“That’s deeper, right?” He rasps. “Feels better? Like places you’ve never been able to reach before?” He crooks his fingers just so and magic seems to spark, a spot on your inner walls your own shorter fingers have never managed to gain ground on. Your thighs tremble and you gasp out his name. “I thought so.” He swallows. You look up at him through the fan of your eyelashes and you see the lust in his eyes is palpable. He catches your gaze and holds it, unafraid. 

“I want you to be rougher with yourself,” he growls, low. “Press a little harder--”

The hand not currently fucking two digits into you takes hold of your wrist, pushing you to put more pressure on your clit. Fuck. The sensation of his hand guiding your wrist’s movements, in tandem with the fact that his fingers have not yet stopped hitting that special spot with every single thrust . . . You can feel the ball tightening, pulling in on itself, like a hundred knots in the same piece of thread. 

“If you didn’t have me,” Gojo rasps, and the sound of his voice gritty and dark sends a jolt of pleasure throughout you, “You’d be stopping now. You’d think you weren’t gonna get anywhere. But . . . you will, doll-- you’ve just gotta push past it--” He takes his hand away from your wrist, but you continue the pace and the pressure that he chose for you.

You whimper out his name, the hand playing with your chest squeezing hard (if you have bruised fingerprints on the soft curve of your breast tomorrow, Gojo will laugh gently at them and press on them a little meanly before he soothes you all over with kisses). 

“You gonna promise me you’ll do that when you’re alone, yeah?” Gojo asks. He’s sounding a little breathless. Your eyes manage to focus long enough to see that he’s rubbing himself through his underwear, an impressive bulge pressing against the expensive fabric. He sees you looking and gives another feral grin that seems to echo through you. “D-don’t worry, we’ll take care’a that after your lesson--”

“I promise,” you breathe, as he curls his fingers just right against that spot and your own fingers reach fever pitch. You don’t know if you’re promising to do it the way that he taught you, or if you’re promising that you’ll take care of his cock, or if you’re promising something else to him entirely - your life, your love, your very being - but you do know that the knotted threads inside of you snap all at once as Gojo’s fingertips reach so deep, so good, so perfectly inside of you.

Your channel clenches and constricts, spasming around the digits buried in it to the knuckles. Heat washes over you with a feeling of peace, different to when he’d used his tongue on you and yet similar. Gojo is practically purring as he watches you and feels you, a gush of slick coating his fingers even as he guides you over the crest of your orgasm.

“Good girl,” Gojo’s murmuring, as your breathing (when did you start panting?) evens out. “Oh, so good for me, doll . . .” His fingers come out of you with a wet pop and he brings them to his mouth, tongue flickering out teasingly to taste you. “So sweet for me, too . . .” He sighs, his eyes closing for a moment as he enjoys the lingering flavour. When those eyes open again, they’re lit with hunger.

“Well,” he says. “whaddya say? Think you can come like that next time you touch yourself?” He raises his eyebrows, a playful grin on his face. “Think y’can come at all?”

You nod fervently, and win a chuckle from Gojo. He shifts on the bed, pushing the underwear he’s still wearing down to his thighs to reveal the thick jut of his cock. You’re breathless at the sight of it, already needy despite the fact your second orgasm of the night was scant minutes ago. 

“I want a video of it,” he tells you. “Next time you touch yourself. I want a video of you and I want you t’say my name as you do it. But for now . . .” He gently taps the wet (so, so, wet - ruddy and flushed and dripping with his pre-come) head of his cock against your thigh. “I think we’ve got some other business to attend to, yeah?”

[sekhisadventures]

Grimo's Invention Scrapbook

To a goblin a ‘scrapbook’ has a different meaning. In this instance its inventions he had to scrap, figuratively or literally, due to them not working as intended, working too well as intended, or leaving too big a body count to be explained away with a shrug, a few bribes, and a halfhearted ‘whups?’

Wind Up Smiley Boom-Boom

A large round ball with a big grin painted on it’s front, four mechanical spider-like legs, and a hole for a winding key in the back. It smells strongly of gunpowder.

“Right okay, so when Bilgewater first joined up with the Horde a lotta the orcs were kinda… iffy… on us. Sure they knew Gazlowe and they figured he was okay, but goblins had a bit of a rep for… well… stuffs.”

“So I figures ‘hey, get ‘em while they’re young’ right? Get the kids to like ya and you’ve got it made, so I gave toymaking a whirl! Smiley Boom-Boom, your happy bomb friend! Wind him up and have explosive fun for hours and hours!”

“Gave one to the orphans over in the Orgrimmar Drag JUST ONE AS A FREE SAMPLE MIND YOU and they wound it up and… well… the thing went great! Exactly as I designed it! It jumped up, laughed just right, then ran out of the orphanage, down to the outfitter’s shop, sang the countdown song and… well… that’s where I thought maybe I shouldn’t have made them actually able to… um… explode.”

“Ho-lee shit Garrosh was pissed! Had to go hide out in Bilgewater Harbor until the heat was off and sold the rest to the Gob Squad after I removed their voiceboxes. At least they did well as military ordinance against those Naga that kept getting up our asses in Azshara.”

Grimo’s Grabyango

A bottle of some green bubbling liquid. Occasionally it shakes violently. Smells strongly of plants and something acidic.

“So, engineering wasn’t working out for a bit during the whole Pandaria mess, so I figured that we gobbos got our start with good ol’ Kaja Cola right? Well the recipe hadn’t really been updated in ages, so why not try mixing up some stuff, give it to a peon, and see what happens?”

“I used Kaja Cola as the base and mixed in… eh, gimme a sec, lemme dig my notes out… yeah here we go. Two cups basilisk venom, a handful of goldthorn pulp, spirit residue I picked up near Kharazan that time, pinch of sugar, and supercharged the whole thing with some bottled arcane energy that fell off a cart heading outta Silvermoon.”

“Now THAT one Garrosh really liked… at first. Gave it to some thirsty peon at the northern gates of Orgrimmar and he grew about thirty feet tall and started smashing the shit outta the Night Elves that had been attacking us for cuttin’ down their damn trees. Oooooh yeah that got the big man sittin’ up and taking notice! … right up until the peon looked at him. Turns out that as a side effect he couldn’t really tell one small screamy squishy thing from another and… er… well, we kinda had to… kill him… after he killed a bunch of grunts, and smashed five shredders, and almost got Garrosh himself until he chopped the peon’s arm off with Gorehowl. Yeaaaaaaah, I had to go hide out in Bilgewater Harbor again.”

Titanstrike, New and Improved!

The rifle Titanstrike, originally made by the titan keeper Mimiron. It lost it’s power after being used to neutralize the fel poison of Sargeras’ Sword, but this version has several additions including an external power source, a new scope, and such. The barrel has several large scorch marks.

“Oh maaaaaaaaaan I can’t believe they wasted this beauty on that huge freakin’ sword stickin’ outta Sithilus! This gun was a masterpiece of engineering, even if a giant robot gnome made it! After that though it was a piece of scrap that I couldn’t even get to fire half the time… godsdamn tragedy I tells ya…”

“Well fuck that! I’m an engineer AND a goblin! If I can’t fix it, nobody can! … welp, I guess nobody can. I… well… hired someone to acquire it from the bank vault of the former owner, then I tried adding a new power source by draining the energy from storm elementals using this mote extractor doohickey I got off the auction house and stickin’ ‘em in a Tesla ball, put one of my own specialized scopes on it, and wired the whole thing up into a lightning rifle!”

“Yeah, um, it worked a bit too well actually. I pulled the trigger and the kickback blew me right through the wall and into the air! Sent me all over Orgrimmar anchored to the ground by a continuous blast of lightning coming from the barrel!”

“There I am about sixty feet in the air screamin’ blue murder while a seemingly endless stream of electricity tears holy shit outta the ground and buildings as I pass over ‘em, everyone below me freaking out and running for cover. As I pass Warsong Hold Sylvannas even comes out to find out what’s making all the racket only for her guards to shove her back inside and dive in after her right as the bolt tears up where they were standing. Good reflexes boys, ya deserve a raise.”

“Well, finally the power source DID run out and I… well… I was up in the air supported by fuck all. I tried to use my glider cloak to get to safety and wound up stuck on one of the spires at the city gates. Sylvannas had gotten out of the Hold at this point and she and Nathanos wanted to ask me some really uncomfortable questions about the gun… and then Nitika came up the stairs with Mola’ruam and… well shit if you think Sylvannas was pissed… Whoof…”

Fourth Wall Breaker

A strange device that, when it worked, looked like a sort of oversized television set with lots of extra dials and multiple antennas sticking out of it. It now looks like an oversized soda can that was crushed by a tauren, judging by the huge hoofprint on it.

“Okay, so our newest recruit is this Mag’har girl named Galdia right? Well, she’s always in a mood because she can’t go home to Draenor ‘cause of the whole time/space thing and normally I’d just tell her to get the fel over it but… well, she’s an orc and a warrior. They get over stuff by cuttin’ off heads. Kinda attached to mine ya see.”

“So, I figure fuck, if the gnomes can warp reality by accident it can’t be THAT hard, right? I (ahem) appropriate some gnome dimensional tech and get to work improving it. Few extra dials here, the recharged power source from my improved Titanstrike, couple extra (this baby needed a lotta juice,) a specialized communications array I ‘borrowed’ from some Draenei, then I flipped it on and gave it a go.”

“The screen flickered for a moment, then all of a sudden I’m lookin’ at this human chick… except she’s lookin’, well, a little too real. Glasses, ponytail, sitting in a big comfy chair, and she looks like she just saw a ghost. Well, we stare… then she screams, then I scream, then we both scream, then Nitika walks in and says ‘hey Grimo, there’s a cart outside sellin’ ice crea- WHAT THE FEL DID YOU DO?!’ and Mola’raum hears her and runs in too, then all four of us are screaming.”

“Now, see, I figure I musta made it TOO powerful and accidentally tuned into a higher plane of reality somehow. I figure I can modify it so that doesn’t happen again but its kinda hard to explain that in the heat of the moment… I try to switch it off ‘n tell them but Mola’raum and Nitika just nod to each other, then Mola grabs me ‘n holds me in a full nelson while Nitika kicks the invention over and stomps the crap out of it until the sparks stop! No respect for technology I tells ya…”

The SantaShredder 5000

A Sky Golem built during the War in Pandaria, repurposed as a holiday spokesman in order to bullshit the people of Orgrimmar out of their hard earned coin spread mirth and holiday cheer for a reasonable price!

"Okaaaaaaaaay, so this was a more... recent incident. For the longest time I used this Skyshredder to get around y'see... but I wanted somethin' I could stretch out in on long trips, so after we got some cash in the Shadowlands I invested in a Xiwyllag ATV and put the shredder in storage."

"Then back last Winter's Veil I had this great idea! Greatfather Winter is a big scam right? Get your kid's S.E.L.F.I.E. taken with Jolly Ol' Winter (for a fee) and have 'em give the old man their holiday wishes! Well, the orc that they normally had doin' it in Orgrimmar came down with the flu, so I got my shredder outta storage, painted it red, stuck a fake beard on it, and reprogrammed it for the whole 'Ho Ho Ho' schtick!"

"Worked great at first, some people thought it was fuckin' hilarious... then this mag'har kid shows up... ugh... thats where it all went fuckin' pear shaped. SantaShredder asked the kid what they wanted for Winter's Veil, and they said they wanted their parents to be able ta see feckin' Draenor again!"

"Now... I wanted realism right? I gave it the ability to calculate how likely a wish was able to be granted. Most kids? Easy as fuck! They wanted toys, pets, that kinda garbage... but a portal to another world in another timeline?! Odds were so low that the fucker COULDN'T calculate it, but it had to try!"

"I'm counting the take as I suddenly smell hot copper, then the kid screams and runs away as the Shredder starts shootin' sparks everywhere! It blew half it's fuses, fried it's punch card reader, spontaneously deleted the concept of 'Nice' I programmed it with, defaulted to 'Naughty' for everyone in range, and hit an 'out of coal' error... which made it reset to it's original Shredder programming..."

"Er... its original programming was 'kill the fuck outta everyone it saw as a threat.' In this case, a crossed wire changed that to 'kill the fuck outta everyone it saw as naughty,' which in this case was... everyone it could see."

"That was a fuckin' fiasco... good chunk of Orgrimmar got torn up by the thing before we could take it down! Little fucker even stomped one of my L.U.P.E. into scrap! I had to have my other dog go fetch Titanstrike from where I hid it after Nitika tried to swipe it again and blew the top half off, then threw the last of my Nutcracker Grenades down into it's engine!"

"It worked... but then Darkhoof took over and that fuckin' cow threw Titanstrike into the fucking VOID! DOES SHE KNOW HOW MUCH FUCKIN' GOLD I HAD TO PAY TO GET THAT DAMN GUN IN THE FIRST PLACE?! IT WAS AN ENGINEERING MARVEL AND SHE CHUCKED IT INTO THE FUCKIN' SHADOW REALM FOR NO DAMN GOOD REASON! NO APPRECIATION FOR TECHNOLOGY I FUCKIN' SWEAR THAT-..." (This continues for about ten minutes.)

[anika-ann]

Conundrum (A.B.)

Type: One-shot, challenge fic

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!reader    Word Count: 7700 (:

Summary: conundrum - a confusing and difficult problem or question

Andy Barber is a difficult man whom you have yet to understand. He certainly doesn’t make it any easier; and right before Christmas, he manages to surprise you again.

Prompt: You have to look for a gift impromptu

Warnings: a smidge of angst, a drop of awkward humour, mention of death (mild AU - both Laurie and Jacob!), alcohol consumption, feels, explicit language, reader gets called a dumbass... that’s it I hope, lemme know

A/N:  This is my submission for the Happy Hoelidays challenge. There’s no hoeing tho, shame on me. Also, if you want some music to go with this, know that I listened to ‘God I Hope This Year Is Better Than the Last’ by SYML an obscene amount of times.

Andy Barber was an enigma.

Reporters liked to think he wasn’t; almost a year ago, they tore down all the walls he had built up to protect the privacy of his family and they shed light into startingly intimate details of his life – and where they couldn’t shed light, they used their imagination and sold it with a claim of having a reliable source. Naturally, it worked; there were always people willing to believe it just so they obtained more of juicy gossip material.

There were wanabe psychologists who would address his trauma and tried to analyse his personality, the consequences he would suffer in the aftermath of the tragedy, who attempted to strip down his soul just to get a few more reads and generally talked about him as if they were best friends, as if they knew him.

It was all a load of bullshit.

The truth, you thought, was that no one knew him. If you were being honest, you weren’t sure if even his wife ever had, truly – but that was you under the influence of the little information you bothered to gather from the influx of crap that the media provided the public with.

What you believed was that the reporters and all the self-proclaimed experts on him knew nada.

Andrew Barber was and always would remain an enigma; to the public, to the little what remained of his family after the death of his wife and son, to his co-workers – the category which included you. If you could even call yourself a co-worker; you were simply a secretary. Granted, one whose previous employer let her peek over their shoulder quite a bit so you learned a thing or two about law, but Andy Barber was the lawyer. The former DA from Boston, who moved over to rule the DA office of Portland, your home.

Even after having been working with him for nine full months, Andy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t get any easier for you to read or predict. When he wanted to let you know he was disappointed, he did. When he was truly angry with someone, well, he wouldn’t let it go unnoticed either.

Other than that, however, you would have had better luck trying to decode the actual enigma-encrypted messages sent during World War II.

Small talk didn’t last longer than three sentences from you each. Work-related affaires were discussed in his office with politeness and with calm, rather dispassionate mannerism. If you caught a hint of a smile when an important case that helped people went his way (or the office’s way really), you considered it a miracle that sent your heart reeling.

He would sometimes smile only for you if you brought him a coffee without him asking first, simply because he looked like he needed one; at those times, he would thank you softly and let slip in your first name instead of referring to you with your last. Those were your favourite moments.

Well, almost.

You found him with a tumbler and an expensive whiskey on occasion when you were leaving the office late; you never commented on it, but there were four times he actually silently invited you to have a glass with him. You refused the first time and accepted the other three.

Those nights, you got a glimpse of the mystery of a man hidden behind surprisingly soft mannerism, one which was in such a sharp contrast to his shark-like demeanour he displayed in front of the judge and the jury. His scars ran deep, his hopes had been shattered, his life in the past year as bitter as the overpriced liquor. Your heart cracked for him to the point of nearly breaking altogether.

And yet, it was beating for him too; behind all that hurt, you couldn’t but notice certain gentleness. Yes, he could be scary, downright terrifying and when his temper got the best of him, the true rage on display, he was a force to be reckoned with. But oh, that gentleness. The kind shattered soul he hid so well every morning, more so on the days right after your little heart-to-hearts. Trying to build a working relationship with him – a friendship of a sort, anything you wanted to call it – was a game of push and pull and more of a string of guesses than an effort that would bore fruit.

You might have already given up on that and instead, with the ferocity you hadn’t known you possessed, you kept punching the crush you had on him; that silly thing that would always call louder and louder after he revealed a piece of him on one of the precious nights, only to shut you out completely the next morning.

Andy Barber had never even remotely showed a romantic interest in you and by God, did you not blame him for not being interested in anyone at all as far you knew. While you considered yourself a fairly capable worker and half-decent person, you were aware you could never measure up to him. Just another reason to push down the feelings you had for him, ones that seemed to bloom with more intensity whenever he raised the corners of his damn lips, when he asked a question about you during those stupid nights as if he cared— nonsense. You had to get rid of those. He didn’t even like you, barely acknowledged you in the end. Or did he? You honestly didn’t know.

Bottom line was that if you couldn’t get close enough, then the reporters knew jack shit, no matter how much reading on him they had done or how many books on psychology, criminology and law and shit they went through. Many people knew Andrew Barber’s name, but no one could hope to know him.

And yet, those assholes still called and asked about him.

It was the fourth one that day; December 23rd, over a year from the accusation of Jacob Barber, and those fucking vultures still called Andy Barber’s office. They weren’t even good newspapers and news sites anymore; obviously, because every rational decent person would have let the poor man rest. But nope. Not them.

“Portland’s DA office, secretary of Mr. Barber speaking. How may I help you?”

“Oh, wonderful! Is there any chance I could talk to Mr. Barber personally?” the chipper of a man asked on the other end of the line and just by not giving his name, he raised suspicion; was it forgetfulness caused by his distress or intention?

Fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, you had to be polite. Hot-shot lawyers and other important people rarely returned the courtesy, but that was the world you lived in.

“There might be, Mr-?”

“Oh, Connor. Peter Connor.”

“Well, Mr. Connor, what is your legal issue?” you asked patiently, writing down his name automatically.

“Well, you see, I would rather talk with Mr. Barber about—my delicate situation, in private.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stopped scribbling and spared a brief glance towards the door to Andy’s office. It was opened ajar in what could be an invitation, but all blinds on both the door and the windows were down in typical fashion.

Talk in private?

Yeah, not gonna happen. You knew a few tricks that these assholes calling the office tended to pull and whoever this man was, you were growing more suspicious by the minute that he was not seeking legal advice.

You went back to your notes and wrote down the word liar right next to his name and a question mark. Was he a liar? One way to find out you guessed; you caught your phone between your ear and your shoulder, opening a new tab in your browser to google the name along with a wild guess of him being a reporter.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connor, I’m afraid I will need more information before I put you through. And I will probably need to make you an appointment, my boss is a very busy man-“

“Oh, is he? Lots of cases in Andrew Barber’s new district, huh?”

The blood in your veins was set aflame even before the search was done, because in an instant, you knew for sure.

And then you had it confirmed by the results.

This jerk had even given you his real name, utterly shameless. Sure, he could have only had the same name as the journalist you found, but what were the chances? Two days after you told his colleague – who had made it through your vetting, got an appointment and even got past the reception desk before you spotted him for what he was – to get lost and not try again?

Your pulse skyrocketed along with your blood pressure. Technically, you didn’t owe Andrew Barber anything, but he was respectful enough, didn’t make much trouble and for most time, was an okay boss to you.

You owed him this much: he was a decent guy. Why couldn’t other people show a shed of basic human decency too and leave him the fuck alone?

“That depends, Mr. Connor,” you purred, barely holding the outrage locked inside. You felt both energized by your anger and achingly tired and done with humanity. You rested your elbows on the desk and leaned onto it with a sigh, massaging the bridge of your nose, eyes closed. “Is he going to have to sue your rag of a newspaper or will you and your colleagues finally get the memo and leave. His. Personal. Life. Alone?!”

You most definitely strained the last words through your teeth, but you didn’t care anymore if you were being rude. He was the fourth reporter today ready to ask about Andy’s personal matters. The FOURTH!! He was lucky you didn’t tell him to go fuck himself… explicitly.

“Are you threatening me?” the man demanded, his voice insulted, losing all traced of pretence.

As if you ever. You knew better than that, working with lawyers.

“Nice try, Mr. Connor.  I will thank you to never call this office again unless you have legal issues or a relevant question which you should direct to our PR department anyway. And if you could extend this to all editorial staff, please, preferably to all editorial staff in the United States, that would be splendid. Have a good day. Happy Holidays.”

You slammed the phone down, missing the slot for it, not caring. You were sure he would hang up on his own.

“Asshole,” you muttered under your breath and hid your face in your palms, grunting, fingertips sinking into your hair.

“I hope you don’t mean me,” sounded from the doorway and you yelped, honest to god yelped and straightened in your seat, head snapping up-

-only to meet your boss’ curious gaze. Hurt and anger casted shadows over his beautiful cerulean irises, but there was no mistaking the melancholy and resignation on his face either.

“Of course not!” you blurted out quickly, panic rising in your chest.

How much had he heard? Was he going to fire you for being unprofessional? Did he figure out what was this about— of course he did, there was little room left for doubt. Your choice of words was pretty straightforward.

Andy bounced off of the doorframe he was leaning onto, not easing his stance – his arms remained crossed over his chest and had you not been so alarmed, you would have indulged in the sight of his biceps nearly cutting through the seams of his shirt.

“Why do I get the impression that whoever you were talking to was not the first person to call the office to feed on ‘the misery man’ that Andrew Barber is?” he more stated than asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

You gulped as he approached your desk, nails digging into your palms. You had no idea what to say. Once again, you couldn’t quite read Andy; you had no idea where this was heading and how you should answer without setting him off, making him sadder or even more bitter. And without getting fired, obviously.

“I—uhm, well, I suppose you heard me, so you know he wasn’t the first—Mr. Barber. I apologize-“ His eyebrows rose a fraction and you didn’t dare to analyse why. “-if I was too loud. But--- humanity sucks.”

The moment the last two words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, snapping your eyelids close and squeezing. You were sure you were about to have bloody crescents in your palms from your nails at this point.

Did you really just say that? To your boss, no less?

Way to go, me.

“Not wrong there. Why don’t you take your lunch break now?” he offered casually.

You nodded as you felt the tell-tale burn of tears forming in your eyes; fuck, this was humiliating. Why had he had to walk in exactly in that moment? And now using that tone?

He didn’t say anything else and you didn’t dare to look at him. Only when you heard him walk back to his office and close the door behind him, you opened your eyes and released the breath you were holding, your heart hammering in your chest.

Gulping and swallowing your tears before they could escape, you grabbed your purse and your coat, rushing out to the cold air of Portland winter.

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Andy didn’t bring up the incident again when you came back. You had a short list of assignments for the upcoming days off which you went over with him before parting ways for the holidays. You mentioned you would probably drop in tomorrow despite not necessarily having to, but wished him Happy Holidays in case you’d miss him during your brief visit.

The corners of his lips twitched at that, but he wished you the same. You supposed his holidays weren’t about to be happy – more like the opposite. Last year, he celebrated with his family, even if it might have been already falling apart. This year however…

Your heart cracked another fraction for the man and you wondered if you should leave some cookies for him in the office tomorrow at least. Then you realized he would probably hate it, either being bitter about feeling like a charity case or hating the reminder of what he had lost, what wasn’t waiting for him at home anymore. Not to mention that maybe even the poinsettia, which you had placed on his office window two days ago and neither of you commented on, was already too much.

The only cookies you baked that night were the ones you knew should stay in a box with apples for over a day, the cookies you were supposed to bring to your sister’s house for Christmas, because your nephew Harry loved them.

With cheesy Christmas songs in the background and a bottle of wine for the party of one, you kneaded the double batch of dough and couldn’t but spare your achingly handsome and likely lonely boss a thought and maybe… maybe a tear or two.

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The office was empty when you arrived on 24th at around half past four; everyone left as soon as possible, which was to be expected. Admittedly, despite not knowing what you would talk about with Andy, you found your heart sinking when you didn’t see light peeking through the blinds of your and his offices. You had expected him to be working to avoid being at home; but then again, you knew next to nothing about him. Maybe he was with a girlfriend. With a boyfriend. With former colleagues. With his deceased wife’s family. It was only assumption of yours that he might be lonely on Christmas.

You shook your head at your train of thought as you unlocked your office, mentally going over which files you needed to bring home, trying to eliminate the amount as not to endanger confidential information by taking them away from the safety of the bureau.

You froze in your tracks when you found a rather large piece of paper folded into a roof on your desk. A note, you realized, frowning and slowly walking to the suspicious object.

There were very few people who could enter your space, namely three: the janitor, you and Andy. The first option was unlikely, the second impossible, the third confusing. You didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just shoot you a text if he needed anything.

You halted in your steps, the air knocked out of your lungs when you noticed that the note was not the only new item on your desk.

There was a box.

A box roughly size of your extended palm. And if you weren’t mistaken… it looked like a jewellery gift box.

“What the hell?” you asked yourself breathlessly, your curiosity getting the best of you; more so as you recognized what was most definitely Andy’s handwriting on the paper.

Andrew Barber, your boss, with whom you weren’t sure what your relationship was – if there was any at all – might have got you jewellery.

Say that again?

A tiny voice in your head told you he might have just used the box for something else entirely, but that didn’t seem to be his style.

So you picked up the gift carefully, almost reverently removing the lid, your heart pounding in your chest, stomach twisting with pleasant anticipation; with the familiar rush that kids feel when opening a present with high hopes of what could await them inside.

Your lips parted in pure shock, you mind turning blank.

There were no words in English language to express how… how absolutely magnificent the bracelet inside was.

Five thin circles with symbols made of slender lines inside, looking like charms, but withing the body of the bracelet, one clasped to the next one with delicate ellipses. The metal reflected the fluorescent lights of the office, glimmering softly, appearing almost fluid, a thin stream of water trapped in a box.

You actually had to blink and it took all your willpower not to pinch yourself, because—how-

How had he known? Where had he got it? Holy mother of Jesus, how much had he spent on it?

And why get you a gift in the first place? You were… acquaintances at best. Yes, there were almost friendly moments, and then there were those nights, but this was---this- you couldn’t even---- think, apparently.

Keeping an eye on the opened box, you gently placed it back on the desk, afraid to even touch the metal itself. You blindly reached into your purse in search for your phone to dial the only number that made sense for you to dial at that moment.

It sure as hell wasn’t Andy’s.

Nothing but a dialling tone sounded for half a minute, the time seemingly endless. You fell heavily into your chair, still staring at the absolutely gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

How did he know?!

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as your sister still didn’t answer the phone and your hand automatically reached for your necklace to toy with.

And that was when it hit you.

Your necklace; one you got from your sister during the period of your biggest obsession with the Divergence series. Two arrows in a circle pointing different directions, the symbol for a ‘divergent’ person. Your eyes wandered over the five circles of the bracelet – scales, an eye, hands connected, a flame, a tree –, an incredulous chuckle escaping you.

But--- you didn’t think he would notice. You didn’t even wear it all the time, rather often, yes, and yeah, perhaps you did have a bit of a bad habit of fumbling with it when nervous-

“Hey sis! What’s up?” Amber’s voice sounded cheerily from the microphone. You jumped in your seat, startled by her as she interrupted your musing. “Please tell me you’re still coming, because Harry wouldn’t shut up about his favourite chocolate chip.”

You cleared your throat, barely able to comprehend what she was talking about, too caught up in your head.

“I—hi. Uhm- I need help actually,” you finally stuttered and you could practically feel her frown even over the phone.

“Oh? Is everything okay? You sound… a little strange.”

“That’s-“ not wrong. You scanned the office and listened in for the tinniest noise, making sure you were still alone. “I’m at the office and I--eh, I found a gift for me.”

“Awww, a secret admirer? Nice!” Amber chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “…unless it’s a stalker. You don’t think you have a stalker, right? Is that why you called me, so I could tell George? He’s not on duty-“

This time you did roll your eyes at the mention of her husband who happened to be a police officer.

“No, Amber, I have no stalker as far as I know. I’m pretty sure I can recognize my boss’ handwriting at this point.”

Nothing but silence could be heard from the other end for a good minute. You bit your lip in anticipation of… something.

And then: “You’re shitting me.”

“Not really-“

“Holy mother of-!” your sister squealed loudly and you winced, instinctively withdrawing from the phone. “Your boss got you a Christmas present?! --Wait. Is it a Walmart card? Because if it is, then this call is pointless, because that’s boring as-“

“No, Amber, he—he gave me a bracelet,” you admitted softly, your gaze once again wandering over the said object. Beautiful. Fragile. Yours, apparently. What?

When Amber only responded with silence again, words suddenly spilled from your lips, all the mixed feelings you had about receiving the bracelet released, relief singing in your veins as you vented.

“And-and it’s actually really beautiful and--- it’s thoughtful, because it has all the fractions from Divergence on it? But not like something you buy for ten dollars, only paying for the copyright or whatever and the quality is shitty, no, I mean--- it looks pretty, eh, delicate.”

It did, awfully so, which was why you still couldn’t make yourself to touch it even if you really, really liked it and wanted to do nothing but to wear it for the rest of your damn life.

“And expensive. I-- I think it might be real silver and…” you wavered, almost scared to share your last observation out loud for it seemed impossible for it to be true. “Amber, you know I looked through a lot of Divergence-related goods so I would know. It- it doesn’t look familiar at all, it’s--- I think it might be custom-made.”

You choked on the last word, tasting so strange on your tongue as you couldn’t quite believe that you were saying it. You felt--- incredulous to put it simply… and touched and- absolutely bewildered.

Silence stretched in the follow-up to your rambling and you felt your brows drawing together.

“…Amber? You there?”

“Oh yeah, I’m here,” she assured you swiftly, mischief curling around the tone of her voice like a smirk on her lips you couldn’t see. “Just wondering how could you not tell me you started sleeping with him-“

“What?! No!” you protested instantly, straightening in the chair. “I’m not—I’m not his sugar baby or whatever! This is not a ‘thank you for letting me fuck you raw’ gift-“

“Not that you would complain from what I heard and saw-“ she hummed playfully.

She was right. But shush!

“Screw you!”

“George does, that’s why we have Harry in the first place,” she sassed you. “But… sis? What kind of a gift it is then?”

And wasn’t that the question.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, you should, because from what you told me, you guys aren’t even friends. Nota bene, this isn’t exactly a gift you give to a friend,” she pointed out, addressing one of the million issues concerning the damn (gorgeous) bracelet.

“I-- I guess?” You were sure, in fact. This was something to give to a… well, to a lover, to a partner. “But- Amber, he doesn’t--- that’s not-“

“What did the note say?”

“Huh?”

“You said you recognized his handwriting,” she reminded you slowly as if speaking to a five-year-old. “What does the note say?”

You glanced at the note again noncommittally, remembering exactly what it said. Pretty much nothing. Definitely nothing to go on.

“Uhm… Thank you. Happy Holidays.”

There was a beat of silence, again. “That’s it?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Eloquent.” You rolled your eyes at her sarcastic tone. She should see him at court. True though, on personal level, he wasn’t exactly chatty. Unless he opened up a bit over a glass of whiskey--- anyway, she had a point, obviously. “What are you gonna do?”

That snapped you from your musing like a shot of life into your bloodstream.

“That’s why I’m calling! I should-- I should get him something too, right?” Right?! Absolutely. “Oh god, I hate last-minute shopping. And I don’t even have a fucking clue what to buy! Well, a good whiskey is always a safe bet I guess, but supporting his drinking habits doesn’t sound like a good idea. Plus, it’s kinda… impersonal with comparison to what he gave me.”

Though if there was one thing you learned about Andy Barber, it was that he could appreciate the high-quality liquor, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as impersonal as one might think.

“Well, I don’t know him so I can’t really help, but what you got from him should definitely give you a clue.”

“A clue?” you parroted, confused.

“I don’t mean like a clue for what you should buy him. But… look, even if you didn’t suspect that it’s custom-made, which whoa, he has to pay a lot of attention to buy you something like this. Much more attention than you thought.”

“…okay?”

“He likes you, you dumbass! It doesn’t matter what you get him, he’ll be happy you got him anything in the first place!”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you deadpanned, unsure which statement you were referring to. That he liked you or that you shouldn’t take care to choose something that would really bring him at least a little joy.

You tried your best to ignore how your heart skipped the beat at the former.

“Whatever. Harry’s throwing a hungry eye on me, I gotta go fix him a snack unless I want him to eat all the candy again. Good luck!”

“Amber!“ you called out in honest despair, panic rising in your chest, only to get no answer.

You pulled the phone from your ear to look at the screen, already knowing what awaited you.

Disconnected.

Fuck.

It seemed you were on your own. Wasn’t that wonderful?

You shot your sister a simple ‘I hate you’ text, the gears in your head already turning frantically in order to figure out what you could get Andy.  

Amber replied with a set of laughing emojis within seconds. Bitch, leaving you alone to deal with a situation like this! What a sister she was.

You sighed, admiring the delicate lines of the bracelet again, torn between indulgence and guilt. There was no questioning whether you should buy Andy something too.

Say yay for the last-minute shopping for a man out of your league and whom you had no idea what you should get.

You were utterly at loss, growing anxious not only about the difficult choice of a gift, but also about possible delivery, wondering what should you even tell him and when.

Maybe though…. just maybe, you were getting kinda excited about what you were about to do too.

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Three hours.

You spent almost three hours at the mall where you could barely breathe because of the crazy crowds and yet you were none the wiser; your excitement left you quickly, once again replaced by despair. It took you three hours and passing the lingerie shop four times, a shop with pieces on display that barely covered anything, intended for either bedroom games or a swimming pool, before it finally hit you.

You cursed under your breath, calling yourself an idiot in murmur loud enough to have few people around you look at you in surprise.

“Dumbass, I’m such a dumbass,” you continued your monologue as you fished out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts.

To say that the person on the other end was shocked to hear from you at this time of month and hour was an understatement.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Lee. I have… eh, a favour to ask…”

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You were being ridiculous.

Absolutely and utterly ridiculous as you stood on a modest porch in front of a small family house, the roof hiding you from the intrusive drizzle but not keeping you quite safe from the wind as you clutched your handbag to your side as if it was your lifeline, cursing yourself for not wearing a scarf in December.

Your nose was practically freezing, your cheeks burned from the wind and your hands were cold too, because you were stupidly underdressed; as if you haven’t lived in Portland your whole life.

But that wasn’t the main issue; an Uber dropped you off about five minutes ago and still, here you were, standing outside and trying to convince yourself to ring the bell.

The plan had been to finish packing a bag and leave around 10 p.m. to your sister’s house, where you would spend the night so you could be with her family on Christmas Day from the very beginning. But then Andrew fucking Barber, your fabulous boss, left a gift in your office, a breath-taking bracelet now sitting low on your right wrist, and it all went to hell.

Maybe you could still make it to your sister’s house – it was shortly after nine, your bag waiting on your bed, so maybe you should just call another Uber and be on your way. Maybe you could leave the silly envelope in the post-box just so you wouldn’t have to deal with Andy’s reaction; after all, he had chosen the same approach; cookies be damned, there would be more left for Harry then-

But you really, really wanted to thank him. And you might be shitting your pants, but the prospect of seeing him in a domestic environment, possibly more relaxed, perhaps nearing the man you had had the honour to see on those nights… you couldn’t make yourself to pass on that opportunity.

At the same time, you kept reminding yourself that Andy did not expect to see you tonight, he might not even be home – you were pretty sure a dim light was coming from the living room, the TV on probably, but yeah, you could keep lying to yourself – and that he might be grieving and genuinely might hate you for invading his privacy since you had to search his home address in the official documents.

Yeah, you definitely should just spin on your heels and-

“Oh for God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath and pressed the doorbell, your heart suddenly hammering in your ribcage as you realized there were no takebacks now. “Shit.”

Maybe you should just run. What if he had fallen asleep already and you just woke him up?! Oh, he was so going to be pissed and he might even show that emotion, screaming you down like he did one with that intern-

A scruffle on the other side of the door snapped you from your hopeless expectations and you sucked in a horrified breath.

And then the door slid open before you could react and you were certain you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, a semi-frozen deer to make the situation worse and--- there he was.

You quickly dropped your gaze, only then realizing how rude that was and that you should meet his eye no matter how much you did and did not want to do so at the same time. As you gaze travelled up, you found that a domestic Andy was everything you imagined he would be; black socks, loose dark grey sweats, pale t-shirt slightly wrinkled. One of his arms hung loosely by his side, the other still at the door-knob as you continued your inspection, gaze caressing the line of his bare forearm, reaching the sleeves that were hugging his biceps precisely. Broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed beard framing plush lips with the slightest hint of a curious smile.

You smiled awkwardly as your eyes met his watching you with interest, dimmed with a hint of a doze-off you must have woken him up from. You tried not to dwell on the inconspicuous redness surrounding his irises.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up!” you blurted out quickly, rewarded with a light shake of his head and a stifled yawn; subtle.

“You didn’t. Hi,” he greeted you, only to make you realize that 1. you forgot to say hi and 2. his post-nap voice was a thing from wet dreams-- which was definitely not relevant at that moment.

“Hi,” you offered unsurely, eyes roaming his face, searching for any trace of anger. All you found was bewilderment; if pleasant or not, you couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry for barging in. I just… uhm- I wanted to thank you and-“

The hint of a smile on his lips grew a fraction, expression softening at your admission and before you could find your footing, he opened the door further, subtly extending his hand to usher you in.

Your heart skipped a beat, the strangest feeling tickling your gut, teeth sinking into your lower lip, the grip on your handbag growing stronger. Yet you accepted, taking two reluctant steps inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing whatever fate awaited you.

Attempting not to look too nosy, you turned back to Andy rather than scanning the hall.

Words got stuck in your throat. As tired as he looked, worn to a bone by everything but physical exercise, you couldn’t but marvel at what a handsome man he was, even without his smart suits and ties and neatly styled fluffy hair; it was still very fluffy, just more of a mess than a fashion statement.

God, wasn’t he beautiful.

He kept looking at you too in mute anticipation of something, appearing mildly lost just as you were, giving the impression of a man who couldn’t tell what to expect.

Your gaze locked with his, unyielding, a gorgeous trap and you knew you had to say or do something before your heart gave out entirely.

Your mouth opened, no words coming out and you cursed yourself, simply opening the bag and pulling out a Tupperware box with half the cookies you baked last night, practically shoving it to Andy’s capable hands.

He accepted the item with eyebrows shooting up once before settling back, eyes misting for a moment. His fingertips brushed yours as he took a firm hold of the box, the not-quite-there smile of his remaining on his lips.

He seemed perplexed.

You felt like an idiot.

“This feels so silly now,” you admitted with a sigh, realizing the absurdity of the situation only accented by the fact that you stood there in the hall of his home in your coat and high-boots, ridiculously overdressed in comparison to him.

“It’s not,” he whispered finally, forcing the corners of his mouth to rise higher. “Thank you. Didn’t know you baked. Should have figured.”

You shrugged. “Never came up.”

Something shifted in his expression as did in the air; you knew he sensed it too. The unspoken hung between you, that you meant not in your daily routine at the office, but on your private nights, so rare and precious, so desperately pretended to be non-existent the next morning.

Your gaze lowered as the silence fell on your pair again and you awkwardly shifted your weight from one leg to the other. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“So, uh-“

“Thank you for the bracelet. Really. It was-” you licked your lips, meeting his eyes again, so deep, so blue and somehow soft and you forgot what you were about to say. “Eh- I wasn’t expecting it. I-- I didn’t think you’d… notice. And--- care.”

His brows furrowed for a bit and he placed the box on the shoe rack next to him; an action he soon regretted you guessed, because his fingers went for his wrist as if he wanted to readjust his cufflinks, a nervous habit of his, only to meet bare skin. Good to know you weren’t the only one iffy in this conversation.

“But you liked it?” he asked almost shyly and the corners of your lips rose on instinct as did you right hand, the sleeve of your coat sliding down a fraction, enough to reveal the new accessory.  “Looks pretty on you.”

Your breath hitched as his fingers gently slid over one of the symbols, brushing over the sensitive skin of your wrist. His gaze returned to yours, a flicker of something heated in his eyes, calling butterflies to your stomach.

Lord have mercy.

“Thanks- uhm--- thank you. Here, I got you something too.” You quickly reached into the handbag again to hide how flustered you felt – for a different reason than awkwardness.

He had touched your wrist and you turned into a blushing mess. Fabulous. And to make the matter more humiliating, now a twinkle of amusement played in his irises.

“You gave me a plant. And cookies.”

“Yeah. Kinda? But that was more of a… gesture?” you offered reluctantly as you handed him the envelope. “I uh—this is probably stupid, but, uhm--- here.”

“Stop putting yourself down,” he muttered darkly, causing your cheeks to burn hotter. “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.” Pulling out the firm colourful paper, he blinked a few times, seemingly surprised. Ha, you bet he expected a Walmart card! Instead, there was a voucher for five entrances to the swimming pool where your friend Lee worked at. “Oh. Thank you. That’s really nice of you.”

A stone the size of Texas fell from your stomach and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief. Andy seemed genuinely pleased by your choice of gift and you felt your whole body relax.

“It’s just… eh, just for half an hour each and you can pick them on a horizon of three months. I’m not sure how often you like going, so… uhm, my friend works at the place, so you just give her a call and it shouldn’t be a problem to book it for mornings right before the opening hours,” you explained lamely, earning a puzzled look.

“How did you know I liked going when no one’s there?”

That caused one corner of your lips twitch in slight amusement and your eyebrow arch, even if his reasons weren’t exactly funny; his cheeks flushed a hint of red, a sight to behold for more than one reason. It was nice to have the roles reserved, you making him feel flustered for once.

Really? The rather quiet lone-wolf Andy Barber, followed by reporters still, just asked you this? Cute.

“…that’s fair,” he said and for a brief second, you were afraid you had shared your thoughts out loud. But he didn’t look offended, so probably not. The self-awareness then. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m-eh, glad you like it.”

You stood there again, both smiling – a little reluctantly, a little soft – and once again you had no idea how to proceed.

What you did know was that you enjoyed talking to him, even if it was awkward like this. You enjoyed seeing him in his natural habitat, in his home, relatively relaxed. You thrived seeing more of this Andy Barber, just a handsome guy, not Andrew Barber, the hot-shot lawyer.

He was the first to break the silence, hesitantly gesturing further into the house.

“Would you—would you like to-“

YES! was what you brain screamed.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother…” was what you told him, mentally cuffing yourself on the head.

“You’re not,” Andy opposed lowly. The whisper of your name that followed made you shiver.

His gazed trailed all over your face, so intense you would swear he saw right into your soul and further. You felt naked, but for some reason not too vulnerable – Andy seemed to like what he saw, expression genuinely inviting and yet. Yet there was a subtle promise of this not being a friendly invite which was as exciting as unsettling. The air appeared the crackle and you found yourself yearning to taste the electricity on your tongue.

“May I?”

He beckoned to your coat, suddenly free hands already rising and all you could do was to nod, automatically placing your handbag on the floor and unbuttoning the garment. Once if fell open, revealing simple black jeggings and a light pink sweater, Andy sidestepped you, fingers sliding under the hem, cautiously skimming over the bare skin above your collarbones, leaving a burning sensation in their wake.

The warmth of his fingertips seeped into your flesh and yet you shuddered, goosebumps rising on your skin.

You watched Andy put your coat away with care, turning back to you torturously slowly. He filled all of your personal space, so close and too far. You weren’t sure when exactly the air turned so heavy in your lungs, but as your gaze travelled to his lips, not missing how his sought yours in return, you felt all the oxygen leave the room.

“Andy,” the word rolled off your tongue, nothing but a soundless breath of his name.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips again and back before he spoke, voice barely above a whisper, hoarse.  

“Am I imagining it?”

He didn’t have to say what and still you knew with absolute certainty that he was addressing the unbearable and delicious tension, the one that had been building and coming to life during those three nights you had spent talking in his office late--- and now it was back with smouldering intensity.

“You’re not.”

You shivered and gulped when he cautiously took a single little step further into your space, your gaze falling to his chest, lowering in sudden surge of the deep-rotted insecurity, whispering about your and his world being thousands of miles apart. And yet, your heart raced in anticipation, your hopes dizzyingly high that you might touch heaven, even if for a few moments.  

When his fingertips grasped your jaw, tough light and oh so careful, your eyelids fluttered close, already indulging in the sensation. God, his touch was so soft despite the roughness of his fingertips…

As if he wished to torture you or to indulge that sweet little moment before lips met lips, he stopped an inch from his destination, his breaths as wavering as yours, the words whispered straight into your mouth just a little broken.

“I’m fucked up.”

Your brain basked in blissful fog, but this got across, causing you to tense briefly.

You couldn’t deny what he was saying, you both knew he spoke the ultimate truth – well, you guessed. What had happened to him, having his life dismantled and then losing his family, that sort of thing was bound to leave a scar. Confirming it bluntly though, that felt unforgiving, only adding insult to injury.

“We all are,” you whispered instead, not only because you wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’, the words too harsh.

And it wasn’t trivializing the tragic turn his life had taken. It wasn’t downplaying the depth of his wounds. It wasn’t necessarily implying that you had been through something equally horrible either. Most importantly, it wasn’t you mocking him.

And somehow, he understood that; even if he could have interpreted it in every wrong way imaginable and shove you away, insulted, disgusted.

But no, in that fleeting moment that meant everything, Andy understood that this was your acceptance; this was you telling him that you were willing to try; take whatever he offered and give anything you could in return.

Finally, his lips brushed over yours, slightly chapped and oh so warm and delicious, withdrawing too soon, leaving you to savour the taste as your ran your tongue over your own lips. You inhaled shakily, overwhelmed by everything that was him, powerful, electrifying and then your hand was somehow on his chest, your palm laid over his racing heart, your fingers twitching as his ribcage expanded with a sharp inhale.

Blindly, your mouth searched his again, his whiskers tickling softly and scratching at once, a pleasant sensation on your sensitive skin as he grew bolder, and truly attached your lips in a kiss that made you feel lightheaded with the emotion poured into it. Your hand curled around his nape, an instinct to pull him closer, fingers toying with the short soft hair there, drawing a hum from within the expanse of his chest.

You granted him access to your mouth when he wordlessly asked, but it was him who retreated shortly after that, his heart now appearing as if in pain with its furious beats under your palm. His breaths started coming out short and it dawned to you what was wrong. How fast this could have felt to him, even if he was the one to start it.

‘I’m fucked up,’ he had said. Too caught in the moment, you hadn’t fully realized the extent of his words perhaps.

But you did now – at least a little better than before.

So when he rested his forehead against yours and a breathless ‘sorry’ slipped from his lips, you shook your head lightly and planted a kiss on his cheek, hand still on the back of his head, fingers running over his scalp in a hopefully soothing motion.

“I’ve got you, Andy. You lead.”

You had no strength to keep him close when he pulled his face away, your eyes snapping open in fright that you had said something terribly wrong.

But Andy’s cerulean eyes were big and glassy, grateful and softly speaking about him being… moved by your proposition. Your heart felt like it just grew twice its size, too big to fit into your chest at what a breath-taking picture he was.

The next thing you knew, he dropped a chaste kiss to your forehead and pulled you into his arms, an almost protective embrace, kissing the top of your head for a good measure and you melted against his large frame, smiling into t-shirt.

“Thank you,” he murmured breathlessly into your hair and your smile widened, remembering the note he had left with the exquisite gift that had started everything that led you right here into this moment.

“Happy Holidays.”

Thank you for reading! I’ve been sitting on this since the beginning of damn November. I hope you enjoyed.

It was my first (and maybe last) time writing Andy, so I hope it was alright. Feedback always appreciated.

P.S. – sorry if the nosy reporters thing offended you.

P.P.S. - …I know, the prompt was veeery loosely filled. Shush.

Pretty divider by whismicalrogers.

[sharknadoslutt]

Not that I ever wanted to watch it because of the era it plays in, but what was so awful about Star Wars resistance?

Oh Okay this ask got me GOING so Welcome to my Tedtalk on my feelings on Star Wars Resistance; a story of Disappointment.

So Mr. Dave Filoni, the story telling Prince, left the show like halfway through production of the first season for other projects (For TCW season 7 and The Mandalorian). This left what was a promising show with characters Dave himself had created, in the hands of very inexperienced story board artist and writers. Personally, I think they panicked and half assed it so that Disney could make money on toys. Because.. idk. It just doesn't even come close to the emotional story arcs that TCW and Rebels gave us. and that's what Star Wars is supposed to be about. Changing for the better. Hope or some shit, am I right?

What was most disappointing in my opinion.. is that the protagonist, Kazudo Xiono, is UNBEARABLE. He is the EMBODIEMENT of privilege. This punk has had everything handed down to him from the moment he was born. He was born like 14 years after the Empire has been brought down and the New Republic reigns, so he has never known war. AND HIS DADDY IS THE SENATOR OF HOSNIAN PRIME FOR FUCKS SAKE! THE CAPITOL????? WHERE THE SENATE IS???? YOU KNOW HOW RICH THAT MUST MAKE HIs FaMiLY??? His dad literally gives him an allowance even though he is a grown ass man in the military when the show starts.

To put things into perspective for those not up to date on Sequel Era Lore and I envy you greatly tbh bcs not to be that person i do not like the sequels that's the equivalent of being the Senator of Coruscant in the Prequels!!!!

Not to mention he is a BUMBLING idiot. Like. This man has ADHD on steroids. As a person with ADHD it's.. lord, it's cringe. He is clumsy. He is loud. He says inappropriate things at the wrong time. He doesn't know how to do anything for himself. AND HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A SPY FOR THE RESISTANCE UNDER COVER AS A MECHANIC???? HE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT MECHANICS and really doesn't really learn anything about it by the time the show ends. And don't come at me saying this is a kids show so I cant complain about things being silly bcs I'm not the target audience. I can and I will bcs no one was NEARLY this obnoxious in TCW or Rebels. Kaz is Jarjar Level, but I ACTUALLY LIKE JARJAR!

DUDE IS A DAMN SPY HE DOESNT EVEN LIKE GO BY AN ALLIAS!!! HE DEADASS USES HIS REAL FULL NAME. BCS KAZ IS AN IDIOT.

I'm not saying he isn't a good person. Kaz is very sweet tbh. He's just an unknowing spoiled ass man-child who NEVER REALLY DEVELOPS INTO ANYTHING ELSE?????

It would be okay if he entered the show like this and exited a more mature, capable man. But he really doesn't. There are never any consequences for his actions. Ever. Other than when he becomes a spy and, again, IS USING HIS REAL LEGAL NAME as a spy for the Resistance... to avoid a scandal and to scold him for LITERALLY DESERTING THE NAVY his daddy cuts him off from his allowance. So instead of half assing his cover job as a mechanic, Kaz has to actually apply himself so he can make money for food. He doesn't improve much. His co-workers (Who are MUCH more interesting than him) constantly complain about him messing things up and making their jobs more difficult.

Man, FUCK KAZ. MY HOMIES HATE KAZ. BEING HOT CAN ONLY GET YOU SO FAR!!!!!

At the Season one finale there is a moment where you think he is finally going to grow as a man! Grow into the protagonist we deserve! Tragedy, for the first time in his life, strikes Kaz! It's during the events of episode 7, when The First Order blows up Hosnian Prime. His home planet. Where his FATHER LIVES. He has a moment of humanity and he is devastated. He almost cries. But he sucks it up to finish the mission and get his friends off base for their safety. He is a man now. and the audience feels a sense of comradery for Kaz. After all, Star Wars is about Fathers. Kaz has lost his father forever. His father was KILLED by the First Order. He now, first hand, has experienced real loss for the first time and this is going to help him grow and toughen up. he has to live on his own now. Our hero has a reason to be doing what he's doing. Fighting against the first order.

BUT NAH. FAM. then the very next fucking EPISODE YOU FIND OUT HIS DAD IS FUCKING ALIVE AND THAT HE DIDNT ACTUALLY EXPEIRENCE THE LOSS THAT HE HAD THOUGHT, AND HE GOES RIGHT BACK TO BEING HIS GOOFY ASS CHILDISH SELF. NO. I HATED THAT. THERE WAS NO REASON FOR GROWTH. MAN FUCK RESISTANCE.

FUCK. IF ANYONE DESERVED THEIR FATHER TO LIVE THROUGH A DAMN PLANETORY DESTRUCTION IT WAS MY GIRL LEIA, NOT FUCKING KAZUDO THE CLOWN XIONO. FUCK. guys I'm sorry I just really hate this god damn character.

Like. Lemme break it down, folks.

TCW started and Ahsoka enters. I HATED Ahsoka for a long time. Bcs she was young, cocky and annoying. But that was on purpose. Narratively, she experiences loss, she experiences pain and GROws as a character while navigating her Jedi life during the war. Our girl grows into the capable protagonist that we EXPECT out of a Star Wars story.

Same for Rebels. We meet Ezra, and he's not quite as annoying as Ahsoka was at first in my opinion (I cannot stress how much I did not care for Ahsoka yall) but he was young. He was childish. But he was more capable at 14 than fucking Kaz was at 20. By the end of Rebels, not only is he more wise and capable, but he is selfless. He has found his own path and it's only because of what he has gone through. His journey has made him stronger. Ezra is my favorite Star Wars journey, if I'm being honest. He is the perfect example of character development.

KAZUDO XIONO ENTERS SEASON ONE AS A 20 YEAR OLD MAN-CHILD USING DADDY'S MONEY WHO IS LOUD AND DOESNT KNOW WHEN THE STFU... AND EXITS THE FINALE... AS A LOUD MAN-CHILD WHO CAN NOW USE TOOLS. He doesn't' experience REAL FAMILIAL loss. He doesn't really experience a lot of character development at all. Things just happen around him, he helps, but he doesn't learn. He doesn't grow. I fucking hate that.

Literally every single character in the show BESIDEs Kaz is more interesting than him. and EXPEIRENCE CHARACTER GROWTH!!!

Jarek Yeager, Kaz's boss in the mechanic shop, was in the Rebellion and LOST HIS FAMILY. He is a sexy ass man too. HE starts the show not wanting to help the Resistance at all bcs he's experienced loss since his days in the Rebellion, and his heart is hard and he's comfortable. By the end of the show he is risking not just his career, but his VERY LIFE to help the Resistance.

Tam Ryvora, Kaz's co-worker. Daughter figure to Yeager and a total bad ass woman of color. She is the one on the show who experiences the most character development and struggles to find her identity while the First Order is taking over the galaxy. I LOVE her.

There are these 2 kids who are force sensitive and orphaned after Kylo Ren comits GENOCIDE on their planet. This arc set up is never fully addressed nor does it have a conclusion, like most story arcs on this show tbh.

There's a literal witch for some reason??

There's this fucking rad ass sexy Mirilian Pirate girl named Synara who FOR SOME REASON is suggested to be Kaz's love interest. Gross. Girl, you gay. Move in.

I could go on and on and on. But I wont. Fuck this show. Fuck Kaz. It literally adds NOTHING to the bigger Star Wars lore. TCW and Rebels do this beautifully and this show is a hot mess of ideas and characters that never come to a satisfying story telling conclusion.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk, dont watch Resistance.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

Top 5 Brotps

Ahh... to be a pair of bros trying to survive the dreadful world of the apocalypse together...to have a bro who watches your back so that walkers don’t get the drop on you, and to have a bro who is willing to actually listen to you when things are extra rough and you need support.... to probably watch your bro die a super shitty death because it’s twdg and you have no control over the situation...

Good times. 

So yeah, I wanna talk about some of my favorite brotps across this series. We tend to put more focus on romantic duos rather than friendships, so why not shine a spotlight on some platonic love, y’know? 

Also wanna note that I’m more talking canon brotps... as in I’m using what the actual games gave us rather than going off of headcanon... if that makes sense. So like, as much as I could like to put something like brotp Clementine and Mitch on the list since they’re one of my favorites to write, there isn’t enough in the actual text to justify putting them in a top 5. Understand? Cool? Cool. 

5. AJ and Tenn

I have such a soft spot for these two... which is super unfortunate since Tenn always ends up dead whenever I replay TFS because I refuse to have a dead or tongueless Louis by the end..... but that doesn’t mean I don’t love the friendship between these two before tragedy strikes. 

If you’re brave enough to not trust AJ, therefore sacrificing Louis or Violet, Tenn survives to the end of the season where he and AJ have a really nice heart to heart. If you haven’t at least watched how the scene plays out, I recommend it. 

I love the idea of AJ having someone closer to his age that he can have as a buddy, and I love the idea of Tenn learning how to be a better survivor from AJ. They can teach each other how to be better, y’know? 

Plus, it’s cute to hear AJ say that he likes Tenn the most, that he’s his first real friend. Somethin’ real wholesome about that. 

...Which again, adds to the tragedy of trusting AJ. Sigh. 

4. Javi and Tripp

I know I’ve said in the past that I wish these two could’ve had an actual romance, but y’know, we gotta accept that it’s never gonna happen in canon.... sigh. 

However, it’d be a sin to overlook the bromance these two have. 

Sure, they got off to a rocky start after Clementine kinda murdered that dude, but that doesn’t stop them from developing a friendship over the course of the season. 

One of my favorite moments between the two is when Tripp confides in Javi about his feelings for Eleanor, and in turn, Javi can explain what’s going on with him and Kate. While I disagree with the love interests actually being talked about, it’s still a quiet, real moment between them. Tripp isn’t afraid to be a bit of a poet when talking about his feelings, and Javi is supportive of that. Two bros who listen to each other? Love that. 

Also there’s something so damn tragic about Javi wanting to save his bro when Joan decides to be a proper antagonist and does the ol’ switcheroo on him. 

All in all, love this bro dynamic and will be forever salty that Tripp has two unpreventable deaths. 

3. Lee and Doug

I won’t talk too much about this one because I already covered it in my Top 5 Reasons Doug's Pretty Great, but I gotta put them on the list. So, to summarize:

Lee and Doug are the real bros of S1. Y’all thought it was Lee and Kenny? Nah man. When you’re friendship is so fragile that it could totally break with one single disagreement, then I can’t say it’s all that great. And yeah, you could argue that Doug is only Lee’s bro is you save him, and that’s true because otherwise, he’s super dead.

But after saving him, if you disagree with Doug on anything, he doesn’t immediately get all “Ya saved me ONE time, Lee! What have ya done fer me lately?? >:(” In fact, I’d argue that even if things went down differently, Doug would still be a good bro to Lee. 

So Doug wins the bro award. 

The two of them care about each other, from Lee worrying about Doug’s mental health, to Doug going out of his way to save Lee’s life at the dairy, to them having genuine feeling conversations. 

Again, want more details then go read the previous T5F. Just know that they’re best bros and I’ll die on this hill. 

2. Michonne and Pete

The Michonne mini-series gets a bad rap and that’s not okay. If you're one of many who skip this one when going through the series then shame because you’re missing out on one of the best pair of bros in this series-- Michonne and Pete. 

Listen, Michonne and Pete are great. They’re a couple of bros who have each others backs at all times, Pete cares so deeply about Michonne’s mental health and making she she has what she needs, Michonne feeling comfortable enough with Pete in confide in him about her daughters and the visions she has of them, and they’re more than willing to fight and sacrifice themselves for the other if necessary. 

Sure, they disagree on things, but their friendship isn’t built on “you have to agree with me” so they can actually work things out and be better for it. 

I just love them, okay? Pete wants her to feel like part of the crew and give her a safe space, and Michonne wants to help him in anyway she can, I just.... no one talks about them and it’s not okay. 

Go play Michonne, even if just for these two. They’re worth it. 

1. Clementine and AJ

Surprise.... but not really. 

C’mon, I think we all know that Clementine and AJ are the ultimate bros. Do I even need to explain? Probably not, but I will anyway. 

Clementine has know AJ since he was born, she has cared for him and did everything she could to get him back-- good and bad things. She could’ve said, “A baby? Fuck that.” but she didn’t, she took little baby AJ and protected and raised him. And we already know that AJ would do whatever he had to in order to protect Clementine back. 

True, the relationship isn’t perfect and miscommunication is, uh... a thing sometimes, but together they grow and become better. Even AJ makes terrible mistakes [y’know... like murder] she promises to help him atone... unless you’re one of the ones who tells him he’s justified which like no judgement or anything but..... y’know. Maybe a little side eye.

Anyway, more than that, they play off each other well and feel like two people who have know each other for years, they feel like a pair of siblings trying to survive in this shitty world and find a home together. 

And can’t forget to mention the cave scene. Not the one with James, but the one where AJ gets upset and the two of them talk some shit out. Don’t get me wrong, I love the James cave scene for how wild it is, but there’s something about the cave scene where it’s just Clementine and AJ, and the choice to trust him or not. 

Oh, and the barn scene? I mean.... c’mon. 

Over all, as far as platonic relationships and brotps go, Clementine and AJ are my favorite. Could write an essay on them and why their dynamic is one of the best parts of TFS but that’s not what we’re here to do. 

Clementine and AJ.... bros for life. 

---

Honorable Mentions

- AJ and Louis.... bros even after everything that went down with Marlon and Tenn.  -Clementine and Rosie. Rosie is best girl.  -Lee and Omid. Two history nerds who should’ve have more bro-time.  -Kenny and his mustache. -Lee and Ben. Yeah, I stand by it. I won’t shut up until someone gives me my Lee and Ben buddy cop dramedy.  -Mitch and Willy until the dumb thing happened.  -Clementine and Lee would count, too, but only really the second half of s1. -Nick and Luke but only for two episodes. -Louis and Violet’s friendship routes are pretty good, too. 

---

What are your thoughts? Do you agree or disagree with my picks? What are some of your favorite brotps? Lemme know! 

Have any suggestions for future T5F’s? Feel free to send ‘em in! :D

—

Next week’s T5F Top 5 Best Executed Deaths

[b1ksh88p]

You got any nsfw Harry Warden headcanons?

Harry Warden NSFW Headcanons

Hey uh...I’m sorry in advance, all this was written with no sleep. Hope y’all enjoy because I had to cut a lot of stuff out lol. If you see a typo no you didn’t (/0\)

Clingy. Harry, like most slashers, is touched starved as fuck. He will never admit it but whenever he can get his hands on you he’ll touch you somehow. Cooking food? Right behind you. Getting pounded into next week? He’s holding your hand/tit/grabbing your hips. Oh we’re you reading a book on the couch? Magic trick you read on his lap. Something about how warm you always are makes him feel good. Talking of feeling....

Rubber/Latex Hear me out! Put the pitchforks and pickaxes down lemme explain. Listen the guy is 6 foot and wears a borderline gimp suit all day. Pretty sure the guy could just take clothes off one of his many victims or ask his s/o to buy some but just doesn’t because he’s comfortable in his gimp suit. Hearing your slick against his gloves/suit is certainly one way to drive him mad. Brave enough to put a rubber/latex skirt on and come down to the mines you’re not gonna feel those legs in the morning

Imitating Him. Awww you think you can be a miner adorable. Wait you can actually pick up the pickaxe? Huh you can swing it? You have a raindrop of knowledge about the mines?! You’re rambling about your fav crystals/rocks?! You’re wearing a mask?! You fool you’ve broken the man! Ladies and gentleman evac immediately he’s gone feral! Nah but tread lightly with this new power lest your poor legs be sore

Breathplay. Sorry babes but the mask stays ON during sex. It’s not even a mask anymore it’s apart of him. If he trust he may take it off to eat and grace you with his face but don’t get used to it. He might strip down to indulge you once in awhile because GOTDAMN his body is like a Greek statue, but you better get used to the mask. It’s apart of the fun for him. Stroke it or kiss it whilst he’s fucking you and w h e w you’ve just solidified Round 2

Praise. This one should be obvious. When you’re whole entire life is snatched from you and everyone in the town despises or fears you it’s kinda hard to feel appreciated for all that master slashing you do! You’d become his little cheerleader. Every little thing he did you’d be there with a cheery expression and the kindest words to say. He’s not much of a talker but he has other ways of showing you his gratitude. Tread lightly with when you praise him. After a kill he’s not exactly in the mood for romantic love making. Edge him on and considered yourself fucked into the wall whimpering for more. In the rare occurrence you’re feeling brave enough or on top call him a good boy he’ll practically melt

Marking What’s His. Now Harry ain’t about cannibalism no more but once ya try human meat the urge is hard to defeat (I’m so sorry) Don’t be surprised if after a kill or isolating himself from you for a couple days he comes in like Jaws and leaves marks all over you. You can protest about the placements all you want but he really doesn’t care. Inner thigh, outer thigh, boobs, collarbone, ass, your neck, he wants you to know all of you belongs to him even when you aren’t with him.

Biting...Again. But what if you turn the table? Now it is you marking what is yours! You better ask permission beforehand or be flung into the nether. He still is very impulsive/jumpy so any unexpected touching could end up with you beneath him in a scary but lust filled staring contest. Butttt let’s say everything magically went right! Now Harry is very dominant in nature and in the bedroom but this? This can break the man if you do it right. Anywhere around his neck or chest and you’ve hit the lottery. It won’t last forever tho so don’t be surprised when he returns the favor by tenfold. Also don’t bite his inner thigh if your down there he will squish your head like a watermelon, far to sensitive for all that attention

Housewife Kink. Before his tragedy Harry always wanted a simple more traditional life. With it so tragical ripped away from him seeing you doing something as simplistic as cleaning or cooking awakens something primal in him. He loves being pampered. Although he may groan or grunt at a worrisome s/o he can’t get enough of your attention! Oh we’re you bathing/showering alone? That’s cute scoot over he wants to join you. He’ll cover his face a lot but let you wash his hair and back.

Playing Dirty. Listen if you have anything cute you want to preserve simply never wear it around Harry. He’s a fucking soot magnet. Everything gets stained and it’s almost like he likes it that way (breaking news he does). He doesn’t care about sweat, coal, blood, spit, or cum. When he’s horny he’s horny regardless if that’s after being in the mines all day or a killing spree. In the end it all gets washed away anyway so why do you care?

Shower Sex. Despite his gross tendency to avoid a proper shower and go with a half ass wash down in the mines dirty ass communal shower after disappearing for a week you gotta either get in after making/begging him to get in or else he’s gonna join you. It’ll start off pure. A bit of poking and scrubbing. Then fingers linger a little longer, and you swipe away at them telling yourself you just want a normal shower then bam you’re being picked up and fucked until the water runs icy cold.

Harry doesn’t give a damn how cunning/cute you think you are he’s the one in charge ⛏

[leavetwn]

* AMANDA CAMPANA, NOBINARY + SHE/HER/THEY/THEM  | you know RAMONA GALLO, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, TWENTY-THREE YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to CRYING ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR BY MUNA like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole COLD PIZZA AS A HANGOVER CURE, TALKING SHIT ABOUT CUSTOMERS IN THE BREAKROOM, LONGING FOR WHAT COULD'VE BEEN,  thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 17TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( claire, 22, est, she/her )

HEY , BESTIES ! happy new year (the way it’s 11:55pm here so barely) !! my name’s claire and i’m 22. i’m livin in the est timezone, and my pronouns are she/her. i’m bringing y’all a mess of a muse 😈 because well  ,,, it’s what i’m best at. if you’re feelin ramona & wanna plot, just go ahead and like this & i’ll hit you up. i usually plot on discord, but if you prefer the tumblr ims, that’s no problem at all. anyway, lemme stop waistin time and get to introducing you to ramona. * tw: mentions of cheating & alcohol. 

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 .

full name: ramona gallo.  nickname(s): anything your muse wants to call her tbh. age: twenty-three. date of birth: august 17th. zodiac sign: leo. gender/pronouns: non-binary, she/her/they/them. sexual orientation: bisexual. romantic orientation: biromantic. hometown: irving, north carolina. current residence: irving, north carolina. occupation: employee at zoinkies currently,  a lifeguard during the summer. eye color: brown. hair color/style: had long hair up until her breakup then had one of those breakdowns and cut her own hair into a bob and then her own bangs. i bet it was a mess lol so she probably called her friends or went to a salon the very next day to get it fixed. also highlighted the ends red but her natural color is brown. height : 5′5″. clothing style: simple and comfortable. t-shirts, croptops, turtlenecks, all usually paired with either jean shorts or jeans in general. she prefers to feel cozy rather than cute. tattoos: yes. a small one on her wrist. wants more eventually. piercings: both ears peirced & a navel piercing that she did herself against better judgement lol.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 .

you were born on a scorching hot day in irving , your father says so, anyway. you’re convinced he’s being dramatic. your birth went smoothly; after two previous children, your parents had become disillusioned by childbirth. just another one to add to the bunch, and one that was meant to save a dying marriage. still, they loved you nonetheless. your father, to this day. your mother, until you were ten, and then she up and left without a warning. 

your father keeps food on the table by fixing cars. you spend your days in the hot sun watching him replace parts and continuously try to crank vehicles until they run. he fist pumps every time one does. ‘ how lame, ’ you think, but it’s inspiring how hard he works to take care of three kids. and he does a good job. 

therefore , you spend much of your early life trying to make him proud. you’re smart as a whip, and all your teachers have good things to say about you when it comes to academics. you’re a bit of a troublemaker, though. your father doesn’t mind that too much; he was the same at your age. and he’s proud  —  proud to see you work so hard. 

you spend your teenage years doing much of the same. though , you begin to come home a bit later than usual, and your excuse is that you’ve been at ashley’s or samantha’s, but really all three of you were out partying. you don’t think your father would care (your grades are fine & he wants you to live like a normal teenager) ,  but you still lie about it. why ? well, who knows, maybe you like the adrenaline rush it gives you. like most things, you do them for the thrill. 

you join the swim team. you’re kind of bad , but that’s okay. just like always , you work hard, and you realize that you’re kind of a natural. your father cheers louder than anyone else in the stands. it pushes you to do better. with your good grades and athletics , your guidance counselor tells you you’re a shoo in for a scholarship from whatever university you want. you apply to several. if it’s one thing you hate, its this town. you can’t wait to make it out, and you figure, this might be your only way. 

you’re eighteen, and you’re in love. it’s crazy how love can make you see things differently. suddenly , this town doesn’t seem half bad. all your friends find it cute , and you tell them everything. the things he tells you or the way he makes you feel. it’s a crazy feeling; you never want it to end. 

you throw your cap in the air. finally , high school is over. college is looming. you’ve been accepted to several & received scholarships from at least a few. you lie in bed thinking about it. now, you suddenly don’t want to leave so bad. don’t want to leave him behind. how could someone leave another they love so easily? it makes you hate your mother more.

for the first time, you disappoint your father. you don’t go to college. you don’t give a damn. you want to stay where love is. you’re addicted to the feeling. this lasts for three years. now, you’re twenty-one; you’ve gotten a job at zoinkies, and that keeps you away for most of the day. you randomly decide to visit your boyfriend during a lunch break one day. you find him in bed with someone else. suddenly , you realize love isn’t as addicting as you once thought. what once made the world beautiful now made it hideous. what once made you feel so high had somehow made you feel so low. it was horrible, and you’d realized your mistakes. 

you threw away your future for love. something as rotten and twisted as love. something you swore you’d never let yourself feel again. something that you put away in a locked box with no key. irving was the same place you’d always known it to be. boring, drab, familiar. at least you had your family. that was barely enough to keep you sane, though, and it was hard to feel normal.

you turned to the thing that help. alcohol, partying, any escape at all. you lacked coping skills   —  that much was clear, but you didn’t care. you blamed it on something else entirely. just as your teachers had said, you’re a bit of a troublemaker. you do anything to make yourself feel alive, to make yourself feel free of the hurt. 

it’s two years later now. you’re still not over it in some ways, as regret turns to anger and resentment. you’re bitter. who wouldn’t be? but you feel like you’ve had time to mourn. maybe it’s because you never acknowledged it in the way you should’ve ( it’s still locked away in that box. ) you still have your bad habits. you still work at your stupid job that you hate. you’re lost, but you’ll figure it out. you always do. so, you continue to float , seemingly stuck in the town that you never let go of, and you wonder what comes next. only time will tell.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 .

still swims but doesn’t have as much time for it. probably not as good, but since she spends the summer lifeguarding, she uses that time to practice & try to get back to where she was. also kinda jaded asf so even if she says she wants to get back into it, she probably won’t lmaoo.

is a horrible driver. how did she get a license ?? not even she knows. def the type to like have a leg up on the dash board, hand out the window, and only one hand on the wheel while speedin idk how she makes it out alive

can take a car apart and put it back together again thanks to her dad. also changes her own tires so let her change your tires. im just sayin 

stays up way too late & would sleep until 2 pm everyday if she didn’t have to work. should probably work on being an adult and going to bed at a normal time but just half the time doesn’t give a fuck so she’s probably sleep deprived a lot. therefore also has a 

character parallels: alice ayres/jane jones (closer, 2004) , clementine (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, 2004) , fiona gallagher (shameless, 2011-present) , more to be added.

𝐈. ━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

ok but plots really do be making my world go ‘round. 😳 i love em, so literally hmu with anything you’re feeling, and i’ll be down. just wanna plot & write with everyone 💕 but here’s a couple of wanted connections for y’all. i’ll prolly have a most wanted tag sooner or later & i’ma be make a plot page soon.  

* the unholy trinity  — these two are the friends she cherishes most. i’m assuming they’ve been friends since at least early high school , maybe earlier. they went through a lot together. these two were with her through all her relationship troubles. true ride or dies. she’s do absolutely anything for them, and she trusts that they feel the same way. they’re rowdy & wild, do whatever they want, and have a damn good time doin it. also have a gc where they just talk shit and send tiktoks idk just gimme this plsss 🥺

* friends with benefits / one night stands  —  this would probably be the extent of ramona. clearly not over what happened to her the last time 😭, so she’d have plenty of these tbh. she probably wouldn’t think too much about it, but it could be awkward for you muse maybe, etc. 

* unrequited love / crush  —  here’s a toast to the ones who crush on ramona. it would be an absolute tragedy lmaoo. she’s not really mean about it, but she is 100% certain she’s not looking for any type of relationship. could be really dramatic and messy and those are tha best kind. literally this

* former friends / enemies  —  she’s lived here her whole life, so she’s at least got one. these two just don’t get along/no longer get along for whatever reason that can be plotted out. 

* coworkers   — she works zoinkies throughout the year and picks up shifts as a lifeguard during the summer so your muses could know her from that. could delve into a close friend territory too lmao. they probably just sit in break rooms and talk about rude customers or bossy managers lmaooo.

* literally anything your heart desires — a lot could work. we could even just start from nowhere & have them meet for the first time if they’re newer/just to town. 

[thessalian]

Thess vs The Twilight Zone

So having played a bit more of Baldur’s Gate 3, I have a few more feelings about it. I mean, it’s fun and everything, don’t get me wrong. Just ... there’s this twilight zone feel to it for me. I mean, it’s neither fish nor fowl, and that makes it a little ... disconnected, I guess, in some ways. It’s not the game’s fault, exactly. It’s just ... too video-gamey to be a real D&D campaign, and too much like D&D to be a video game? If that makes sense?

Okay, lemme try to come up with an explanation that works. I mean, in some ways it’s just like a video game. You have tasks you need to do and there are various ways to do them, some of which suit your stats better than others, and that’s pretty standard...

Except it still relies more on luck than stats. And half the time it makes you watch how much more reliant it is on luck than stats. Because it’s showing you dice rolls. While it’s impossible to have a truly random number generator, it’s still way closer to random than the usual video game thing. So it’s very definitely not a video game. But it’s not a D&D campaign either, because the DM is a huge wodge of code and there are severe limitations not only in what you can do, but how you can do it, and there’s no bonuses given for cleverness, good RP, any of that, because there is no RP, exactly. There’s picking off a checklist.

That’s the thing. It’s the starkest reminder possible that you’re not really roleplaying. In a role-playing game. I mean, yeah, there’s always a dialogue tree and your responses are always limited, but at least it’s easier to willingly suspend your disbelief when you’re not having to click the left mouse button to roll a die when you’re saying something that’s only maybe, if you’re lucky, in the same room as what you as the character would say. And then wait until the little dice-rolling animation stops to find out whether that thing you didn’t really want to do that way in the first place works or doesn’t. If you can see the RNG making the decision for you, it doesn’t feel as organic ... and if it’s something you didn’t really want your character to say and the roll fails, you can’t quite help but think that an actual meat-and-bone DM might have lowered the difficulty if you’d RPed it the way you wanted to.

Also - and gods I hope they change this when it’s out of Early Access - it’s really hard to roleplay anyway if you don’t know from Faerun. I don’t really know from Faerun. I don’t know where my little half-elf came from. I don’t know how she got ganked onto a Nautiloid. I have no the fuck idea what’s going on. They don’t even have the ‘amnesia’ conceit. There’s a point where you get asked where you’re from and the only option that isn’t a lie or an evasion is, “Tell them where you’re from” with no actual dialogue telling what that exactly means and I’m like, “...that’s not helping me“. On the straight roleplaying end, you’d need to have read either a good percentage of the Forgotten Realms lore or an awful lot of codex - none of which I am finding in this game at this point - to understand where you are, why any of this is happening, and why you give a shit.

Like in any good D&D campaign, it gives you a lot of options to solve a problem, but from what I’ve seen from going through the Walkthrough, a lot of them end in tragedy and mess. There are some easy ways to Game Over yourself through one bad Wisdom save. It’s like going through a campaign with the most unforgiving DM in the world. It has the limited flexibility of a video game with the “you can die over one bad roll” brutality of D&D ... and that’s a problem when combined. The “death over one bad roll” thing is usually a sign of a bad and inflexible DM anyway, and even then you just make a new character and join the campaign in progress instead of going back to a previous save and doing it all over again. I’m not sure if “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again” is a good approach to something that’s supposed to feel as ... vital as D&D. It’s not Dark Souls.

Not that it’s not fun. I love the companions - even if one of them doesn’t like me very much - and mechanically it’s interesting. Just one of the things I notice about Larian Studios is that they’re really invested in making a video game feel like tabletop, and ... they’re getting closer? But it’s never going to be 100% there. A good DM can run with anything - anything - a player will throw. Even the best-developed game only has a limited number of outcomes to any given scenario. I guess I’m just finding that the mechanics that speak to me of tabletop’s flexibility and infinite possibility clash rather badly with the limits of a computer programme.

I mean, right now you can only get to level 4 anyway, so it’s mostly something I dink around with to get the hang of, so it doesn’t bother me too much yet. It’s just me philosophising on the limitations of computer programmes. At least when the dice are against you in tabletop, you can just say, “Well, I should have done something else, then”. When there’s little to nothing else you could have done by the game’s own rules that doesn’t completely contradict the idea you had for your character (or worse, if you don’t have a real idea of your character at all beyond background, class, race, and stat block, because that’s all the information you’re getting unless you choose to play as one of the companions like you did in some of Larian’s other games, which isn’t available in Early Access anyway), it just casts harsh light on the limitations that ... for instance, Bioware games tend to camouflage better.

It’s still fun, though! I like it better than Divinity 2, anyway.

[diomustaine]

I think like half of the fandom truly believes/wishes for Levi to be alive, the other half wants him to be put out of his misery, believes he’s been thru a lot of grief, pain, suffering, etc. Indeed, the guy is a walking tragedy but you know what? that is not what his character is about. Seriously how can u wish for him to die already? Nobody really wants that. We all want to stop suffering, we want to stop hurting, but we don’t want our lives to be over...we want to actually start living.

Levi is no different. He’s a survivor. He’s gonna make it, I honestly don’t believe his injuries are that extreme (my uncle worked for years on the ER and, like most doctors, he’d seen some really bad/weird shit, but the ugliest, most traumatic experience he’s ever had was when they brought in a young woman with her face almost completely chopped off her head, like only hanging by the chin, she was attacked with a machete and brought like an hour late to the hospital because the guy that did this to her wouldn’t let the paramedics into the house,  - anyone who’s ever worked at the ER could totally verify this shit happens-, BUT the POINT IS...she survived, after months of recovery and a fuck ton of surgeries, she was able to go home -.

Obviously it’s not the same case with Levi, he won’t go to a hospital, at least not anytime soon, but he was discovered pretty quickly after the explosion, there’s a chance he might’ve pulled himself out of that river, so the blood loss shouldn’t be fatal. Now what I’m tryin to say is that: consider the woman from the previous story (and so many others out there who blew their faces and part of their heads off with a shotgun and STILL made it out alive), doesn’t it make you believe that his condition is actually not that bad?

ALSO...lemme tell you one thing, despite the fact that he’s NOT my fav charac, he is Hange’s fav person...and Hange is MY fav person, so I do not want him out of the picture, and much less in a underwhelming death. He was one of Paradis’ hella important soldiers ever, I’m honestly so mad at him for being reckless and overconfident with Zeke. Bitch your country needs you, quit fooling around! Well, despite all this drama, and despite all the pain he’s causing Hange and the trouble this will get Paradis into, I actually and firmly believe that there was no other way for him, to be left out of the final battle, not being able to finish Zeke himself...

He’s free now

You know all the Kenny monologue? Everyone is a slave to something. Levi was also a slave, not to Erwin or his promise, to his strenght. He’s been released from that gift, that curse, the burden of being Humanity’s Strongest. He might still be able to fight but who knows when. Maybe never. He’s disabled now. Yeah, it sucks balls cuz he’s still very much needed, but now other characters are gonna have to step in and take his place. This was plot needed, others will have their time to shine, like Connie, whose reason to kill Zeke is way more intense and character relevant than that of Levi’s.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, how can he be free when his on the verge of dying? when he’s disabled, blind and is pretty much a vegetable right now? But everything has a price. This was his. Just like with Erwin, he payed the price with his life. Levi was stuck, he was pissed, dissapointed, tired, just like everyone else. The promise he made, the comrades he’s lost and his very own ability/desire to be the one and only to stop Zeke made him drunk on that. I don’t know if he was aware of it, if he was thinking straight or just kinda blinded by hatred. We’ll see, I’m sure of that.

My queen Hange will do anything to save him, to find out what the hell happened to both of him and Zeke, and will deff find a way to get out of that sticky situation. Hange values life. It was not a desperate move what she did in that river, that’s what her character is about, to care for the lives of the innocent, the people she loves, to learn the truths of the world. That’s Hange. I’m really happy she’s finally getting the recognition she deserves on media but this is nothing new. She has proven to do anything on her power to prevent the loss of lives not just the little guy’s. I have faith in her. This was a perfect opportunity for her to escape from Floche and finally be back in action and lead the few SC members left, she’s also gonna need Levi, no one can deny they make a great team. Paradis needs this team.

Enough now...hope you guys enjoy this lil comic I made. Any other 2 am thoughts?

[fireteamcatastrophe]

The Red War, “Hard Time”

((This begins what will turn into a bit of fic for Fireteam Catastrophe reacting to the Red War. I think this would be the best way to truly capture who these characters are: through the tragedy of the Red War. I think this has the potential to be particularly badass, but I’ll let you all be the judge.))

Breaker-77 was one of the first to hear the sirens, one of the first to respond, and the first one to have the true trauma of all Hell breaking loose enter his psyche. He watched a strange ship beeline for the Traveler, and his equivalent to a gut sank. It was with practiced precision that he took a Legionary out, spinning left to bring his assault rifle to bear. The Shadow Price feeling like a water gun in the hands of the Exo, it smote the Cabal soldier with the precision of someone who truly practiced the weapon in its entirety. However, it was a scrap he recovered from a fallen Redjack. The frames were scattered around the City, and Breaker watched former marks and protection rackets vanish into the smoke of the Cabal Stomp.

He grabbed one Cabal by its wrists as the thing charged with two axes: he was locked in place and the weapon had dropped to the floor. The giant of a creature, known as a Gladiator by his HUD, screamed through its helmet into his face. He smelled rage, pure and simple in its creation and ultimately he smelled his own death. A moment of panic lapsed, and Breaker-77′s mind snapped into the chilling flashback of a heist gone awry in a time he couldn’t remember. Dogs. Wolves.

Hounds.

The Exo was perceiving a large bank, probably one of the largest, no. It was a military complex. Russian, he remembered it by the writing. They were stealing something very specific. It was... No, was it SIVA? No. SIVA was from the Plaguelands. Breaker was holding his hands up to clutch the dropping cage that held something unfathomably valuable. His mind snapped to reality for a second, and he realized the weight of the cage had put him on the ground. He rolled sideways, throwing the ‘cage’ off his body and jumping to his feet. Doing something instinctive, Victor Gonzalez-

Who was Victor Gonzalez?

The Gladiator delivered a tackle to its opponent, and Breaker lost the wind in his lungs as he fell backward. Drawing a knife on his pauldron, the Exo stabbed into the Cabal helmet and pried something off. Smoke and oil hissed out, and the creature became belligerent. Breaker raised the knife again, and dropped it. Smiting easily, he repeated the process several times until the hulking creature fell limp. He climbed from under its weight, and screamed.

“Breaker, we need you up-” The audio was cut off as unknown Guardians met one of their many ends at the hands of Cabal artillery. They revived, and Breaker coughed himself out of another flashback. The Guardians he swore were his old crew from the Golden Age, a long lost group of rogues and thugs who saw him through many heists. Now, however, they were long dead and the warrior who defended the people he would have robbed in his past life was a wielder of the Light. He looked up, wanting so badly to know that his Fireteam was alive, knowing that the Cabal had not found and stomped out their Ghosts as they tried to do his own. Dallas, the small machine, was tucked away in Breaker’s pack. They would not take him again.

Breaker saw refugees being chased by War Hounds, and his body surged with Arc energy as he conjured his Fists of Havoc. The beasts vanished in lightning, and the survivors of their hunger were struck with awe. Breaker watched another Titan wave them into cover. The surging Titan lowered his auto rifle and pointed behind the civilian: old tricks coming into play.

“Get in line! I didn’t say stop running! Fucking move! If I have to tell you again, you’re fucking dead do you understand me?!”

Once, Breaker had used this exact tone on this exact civilian in a robbery on a SUROS exhibit. Or was it the raid on New Monarchy’s stockpiles? It may have even been the Dead Orbit Fuel Raid. Breaker had done so many illicit things for so many awful reasons, he had a moment to ponder what even made him a warrior of the Light. Why did the Traveler choose him? Why did the Ghost known as Dallas revive him? As Breaker shoved another stunned civilian, he spun around and caught a series of slugs to his chest. Several Psions were charging up the way, using thruster packs that he hadn’t seen before. He drew a light machine gun, checked the belt, and felt the arcane energies of this weapon, a custom-built weapon created from fragmented memories and decayed blueprints, whir into motion. The kathunka-thunk! of the weapon tore into the Psions, who were quickly reinforced by War Beasts - Dallas was updating names as he found them - and several Legionaries. The cover of the belt popped up, and Breaker felt various mechanisms click to guide his hands along the reloading process.

It was smooth, efficient, and deadly. The “Full Force Forward” machine gun had devices specially designed to recycle missed shots, akin to another weapon known as “Super Good Advice,” but it would also begin stripping the armor of fallen foes and cycle them into bullets. There were other features, but none of them were relevant. Each kill extended the belt, and Breaker had used this on several thousand Cabal when he began raiding their Martian outposts. It was designed with them in mind, since they held near infinite amounts of suitable metal to salvage, but it had earned its costs twenty-fold on every enemy in the Sol system. One more spin of it wouldn’t hurt.

A massive Cabal wearing a fuel tank approached, and Breaker felt the embrace of death as it cooked straight through him. He found his mind dancing through hallucinations, and an urge struck him: shoot the tank. Reviving on a roof top and letting out a hearty, demoralizing laugh, he dropped from the third story balcony and poured the lead on thick. The Incendior exploded, scorching all of its allies. Breaker found a moment of peace, and heard Zavala’s voice.

“All available Guardians! We-”

Breaker felt something torn from his body. Almost as if his very soul tore from its bindings, he staggered. Dallas sputtered, trying to speak. The voice dimmed, and slowly went silent. Cabal roared, and Breaker suddenly felt every inch of pain he’d felt the entire day. With a roar, he searched around him. This pain was only felt when cleaning out Hive nests where they sapped one’s Light. However, this was far more intense. Breaker’s mind went awry, and he was suddenly hallucinating the burning City as the highway he escaped through upon finally stealing something from a very angry, Russian someone. He felt an urge to run, but couldn’t find out why. The sirens blared in the distance, and he pounded his feet. His softcase on his thigh held something extremely valuable, something he knew was his ticket out of here, and he had to haul ass with it.

“Anyone on this frequency!? Anyone!” Breaker didn’t recognize the voice but he knew that was one of his Crew. The Exo sprinted with more intensity, police firing explosives and hurling the unfire of strange Void magics over him. Civilians were herded into the escape vehicle: a dropship. A strange design he hadn’t seen before, but one that looked like it could fly in a pinch. Could it go to Mars? Breaker had a hideout there. He’d snuck something very valuable away there. But he couldn’t help but feel like that something caused trillions of people intense pain. His mind clouded red, a strange symbol filling his eyes.

~consume enhance REPLICATE

“By the Traveler! Breaker-77!” When did Victor get that name? Who was Breaker? Victor was Breaker. Wasn’t he? “Please, help me,” Breaker didn’t know what was said by his crew, but he felt that the hostages needed to be quiet. They would get rowdy, and ruin their chance to escape.

“Ev... Everyone...” the Exo coughed, turning around and seeing the Warmind’s vaults burning... They looked like a City all of a sudden, a city underneath the Traveler. Something was engulfing the Traveler...

“Everyone! Get on the god damn floor and shut your fuckin’ mouths!” Breaker knew how to handle crowds. He was good at that: he broke their wills, after all. That was his code-name: Breaker. “We’re getting out of this joint if it kills us,” the hallucinations ceased, and the Exo realized that the lives he’d lost had saved him once again. Zavala stood there, concerned.

“Breaker-77! What the Hell is the matter with you!? These are innocent civilians!”

Breaker looked to the cinders fluttering in the breeze, and everything within him ached. His heart ached the most, however. The bank robber covered his face with his hands as the cargobay doors shut. The ship took off, hitting full-speed as soon as it could. Breaker heard women crying, children screaming, and men asking why Zavala was still bleeding, and why they were running. After all, the Guardians could take-

“I said shut your fuckin’ mouths! Lick the fucking floor, or I’ll-” he had spun and faced the crowd, his face no longer concealed by the helmet he’d been so proud to earn. He realized it, and tore the scrap metal from his head. The horns he’d had installed to simulate a demon were apparent, and his scowl was cranked to eleven. “Zavala, did you feel it too?”

“Feel... The Light vanish?”

“Yes.”

“I did.”

The Exo had - without any conscious effort to do so - dropped to his rear and sank his head between his knees. The civilians stayed quiet, quiet enough to hear the horrifying Guardian and Commander Zavala break in half.

“Zavala, I think this whole job just went South.”

“It was likely just a localized ritual done by the Psions. Ikora wou-”

“Zavala! They’re dead! We’re all that’s left! An old bank robber, a tired Awoken, a bunch of nobody civilians, whoever is piloting this bird, and at least two Ghosts that haven’t said a word since that ‘localized ritual.’ Has yours spoken?”

“Break... Er... Do we have... a Plan B?”

“No, Dallas, we don’t. The sirens finally caught up to us.”

[fathercharlesoffdensen]

The head meds kicked in, but I had some time yet before work to knock this out, sry not sry.

Thor: Ragnarok's particular brand of humor does not, in fact, belittle or go out of its way to disrespect the apparently sacred ground of the stodgier parts of the MCU, but rather underscores their emotional importance by showcasing the characters dealing with them years down the road in a notably healthy way, at least compared to how they did so previously in canon. This is my thesis statement.

On principle, I cannot make everyone in Thor fandom see that Loki yearns for his relationship with Thor and even the rest of his family to be harmonious, and that, at least in movie canon (your mileage may vary, comics King Loki, you crazy leotarded bastard), or convince Marvel that it's actually a boon for Tom Hiddleston to infuse Loki's facial expressions with sincere emotional resonance when it comes to reacting to the idea that, in spite of their differences and Odin's terrible fucking parenting, he still loves his adopted brood, as opposed to characterizing him as a vaguely sympathetic Magneto-Joker hybrid and discarding him once he's no longer important to the plot. But uh, both of these things are a Thing.

I also can't expect that there aren't pockets of honkey-heavy (I include myself in this demographic; 'Crocs, mac 'n' cheese, glamping,' see? I am one of you) MCU fanon that aren't racist or least culturally insensitive and/or flat-out stupid, and that that also influences the small hard-on some people have for hating Ragnarok. I can say that if your main argument is bristling that Taika Waititi just doesn't ~~understand~~ Loki the same way Whedon and company do because Spike 2.0 doesn't translate well into the monolithic Maori New Zealandian he's-not-White-and-I-am-uncomfortable-about-that-guys dialect, you probably have some soul-searching to do. If you can’t find it, a gently used one from eBay will probably work just as well.

So anyway, Ragnarok, lemme walk you through it. There are a number of occasions where the film references its predecessors in humorous ways, and it is common for the aforementioned sliver of Thor fandom to be crotchety about it because I guess comedy does not, in fact, equal tragedy plus time. (Hot take: It does.) I posit in spite of all the whining that each reference to Thor 1 and/or 2 and/or the Avengers flicks in Ragnarok serves a specific purpose that, super weirdsies, probably doesn't involve Taika Waititi putting a 'kick me' sign on Tom Hiddleston's back and then turning on a camera. Also, I personally liked 'em, because things are too fucking serious sometimes and it's nice to laugh. But! Here they are, in all of their glory:

1. Loki's summer stock theatre: Loki has gone out of his way to cast appropriate actors whose portrayals of his family and friend(s) are a direct insight into how Loki himself views them all. Sif is overly feminine and useless, because Loki's a bit of a sexist as a defense mechanism for his own masculinity and 'feminine' interests/mannerisms being scorned for like 1,500 years, and is probably also still miffed that that pesky spelling Sif's hair to stay dark after he snuck into her bedroom and cut it off in comics canon MORE THAN ONCE thing did not, in fact, make Thor stop hanging out with her because it made Loki the prettiest maiden by default. Volstagg is Fat. Hogun is pretty accurate, because even Loki knows better than to fuck with Hogun too much. Liam Hemsworth parodying his brother's take on Thor is the most meta fucking thing I've ever seen, with the possible exception that Matt Damon might have his cameo as Loki because he also played Loki in Kevin Smith's Dogma way back when (though I can't substantiate this alas).

Perhaps most telling, Odin makes sweeping overtures in Loki's play about his being the savior of Asgard, the son he wishes he'd appreciated before he made his noble sacrifice, etc. This is a kind and noble portrayal of his adopted father, one which Loki has had time to come around to because he has had time to get to know Odin and the Asgardian citizens in a way he previously couldn't, post-Dark World, and it has matured and humbled him. Even so, his longing facial expressions when Odin matter-of-factly says he loves him and is proud of his magical abilities and reminds him of Frigga are an incredible epilogue to The Tragedy of Loki of Asgard, because finally, art has imitated life in a way that has showcased both Loki's and Odin's maturity. What Loki's play doesn't do is make light of Loki dying/'dying.' The humorous portrayal of everyone is proof that Loki himself has used both humor and theatre as a coping mechanism. This isn't someone who was gleeful to usurp Odin so he could have a run at 'conquering' Asgard. Bereft of prophetic insights from Heimdall or fate or what have you that Thor has at his disposal, and needing to not make too many waves, lest Thanos figures out where he's hiding, Loki spent most of his time as a hands-off 'ruler of the Realms, with the possible exception of small improvements on-planet, like putting railings on the fucking Rainbow Bridge because someone could fall off that thing, Heimdall.

Even Thor's accusation that he mostly sat around "in your bathrobe, eating grapes" is probably 50 percent not fully appreciating Loki's approach to Kingship and the other half goading him because he knew he was going to find Loki pretending to be their dad the second Surtur gloated that Odin wasn't on Asgard anymore. He wasn't really interested in ruling all along, in spite of being brainwashed/tortured into attempting it by Thanos; he said as much as far back as in Thor 2011 ("I never wanted the throne; I only wanted to be your equal"). Again, Loki was never portrayed in the movie 'verse as being a dyed-in-the-wool villain, and by Ragnarok, he's a young man/demigod just trying to figure out his place in everything; which arguably, Thor is doing as well, albeit in the form of taking a gap year or two from college to pal around with his friends on an extended road trip. TL;DR: Loki inadvertently spends a couple of years cooling off and growing up, and the result is a significantly healthier being who can laugh at himself because he's had the opportunity to finally sit down and put things into perspective. This brings me to my next point; this is a transition sentence.

2. Someone fell off that thing, Heimdall: If you aren't already mad giggling when you realize Loki has been in the room with Thor on Sakaar for several minutes and even in the scene, albeit blurry, without either of them noticing, I entreat you to appreciate that a bit. Okay.

Once again, Loki telling the story of his suicide attempt at the end of Thor 2011 as less a tragic, spur of the moment action brought about by his grief and inability to see the rift between himself and his family mending any time soon, and more of a pre-planned risk he took good-naturedly the way a self-referred adrenaline junkie might talk about going cliff diving or some such showcases another common defense mechanism of his: Adaptation. Loki is something of a chameleon even before taking his actual shape-shifting abilities into account. He's also an opportunist: If jumping aboard a new ship mid-battle because the odds of survival appear much greater, he has few moral qualms about doing so, and/or an intense desire to Just Survive that overshadows everything else. (Most of the time, anyway.) In a kinder understanding of his talented, lying silvertongue than Thor and Sif and the Warriors 3 seem to have, as well, Loki has a knack for selling his actions by way of pretending they were what he planned to do all along. This is the pathos behind his retelling of his near-suicide to a group of admiring onlookers. Loki has learned from his time as Odin what it is to take up the mantle of, as Hela sneers, "goblets and garden parties," and it inadvertently primes him to get along really well on Sakaar. Now that he, too, is away at college for the first time, Loki is unburdened by all the embarrassing shit everyone on Asgard knows about, and he uses it to craft an idealized version of himself for the sake of having a good story to tell at a party. This doesn't mean Taika Waititi is making light of Loki's near-death experiences: He absolutely expected to die in the 2011 film, and, I strongly argue, in 2012, this was also the case. After being pumped full of so much of Thanos' magic and power over the years probably was the only thing that kept him from dying from his wounds after taking a giant fucking sword through the chest, Loki woke up, looked around, surprised, and then made the situation work for him.

(I started rambling about how Odin's reluctance to not immediately come home once he broke free of Loki's spell [because he and Frigga had missed a lot of Odin Sex Nights aka Wednesdays and/or Heimdall warned him or something that destiny needed to take its course and that course was just letting Loki deal with all the board room meetings about how much Asgard spends monthly on booze while he ate pudding and lorded over the nursing home TV on Earth and that seemed way easier than having to listen to Loki whine about how much he hates prison all over again] and/or how obvious Loki's body movements are even in his Odin form meant that probably at least 75% of Asgard knew he wasn't fucking Odin the second they saw him also ties into the theme of everyone in the family kind of learning to get over themselves is apparent in even more subtle ways, but uh, this was the main gist of it. Sorry/you're welcome.)

3. "Mblergh, it's me!" I know The Snake Story wasn't movie canon before Ragnarok (though "that time I turned you into a frog" has been portrayed in other versions of Thor and Loki's relationship and it's fucking great in every one of them), but it, too, is evidential of the Brodinsons' mutual ability to allow time to help them reframe painful memories of the past with additional insight and a sense of humor; because again, it's fucking funny. Sorry you hate brown directors and having the replica of Loki's Avengers sceptre your mom bought you at Hot Topic in 2012 crammed up your ass so much that you can't see the forest for the trees, though.

Concluding paragraph: Thor: Ragnarok is up there for me with X-Men: First Class and Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith as being superhero movies with colons in the name and the backing of a ridiculously attractive bromance that have taken over large swaths of my overall fandom experience over the years and I am extremely fond of it on the basis of that alone, but also it's the most in-character and positive portrayal of Loki that we could have gotten from a movie 'verse whose big-wigs are otherwise largely apathetic to him, and people should probably be sending Taika Waititi like fruit baskets or something for it rather than angry missives on Twitter because we don't deserve him, and yet, there is he is anyways. Final thought: I have to believe he would appreciate Tom Hiddleston's emo vampire from Only Lovers Left Alive being brought into his own What We Do in the Shadows canon and Adam hating every God damned second of it and that they would talk about it over another bowl of pasta before talking about their plans for Thor 4, aka why don't we just do a mocumentary of the behind the scenes of Loki's theatrical productions (lots of Norse myths brought to life in increasingly inappropriate ways on stage) and idk you and Hemsworth can kiss or something at the end and Jeff Goldblum can be there doing whatever the fuck he wants, and then they high five.

Work Cited: I reblogged a post earlier today of a 99% legitimately solid argument that Loki didn't fake his demise at the end of either of the first two Thor movies, and a piece of it nonetheless got stuck in my craw. OP is probably good enough people, whereas I am merely a crabby fandom bitch who would look nicer if I wasn't so fat and would smile more. Bow following standing ovation slash a handful of death threats on social media. I gotta get ready for work now. L8r world, smell my ass!

[simptasia]

my “richard is daniel’s biological dad” theory is one of my oldest headcanons (it’s the third post on my lost headcanons tag, and it was made 4 years ago) and since i’ve just rewatched season 5, it’s fresh in my mind, so i wanna elaborate

warning: quite a bit of elaboration

in canon, daniel is the son of eloise hawking and charles widmore (and the half brother of penny widmore and the brother-in-law of desmond hume).

fun fact about me, i’ve studied genetics since i was a child. the x-men movies inspired me to do so. however, even people who are unread about the subject can see that daniel faraday doesn’t resemble any member of his family

ellie and charles have blue eyes. daniel has brown eyes. there’s a bunch of other differences but this is what stands out to me. this is what started my theory. i can forgive daniel being american, that’s something that can actually happen. and yes, a brown eyed child of two blue eyed parents can actually happen. it’s very rare, but possible. if i encountered this in real life, i’d assume that it’s a throwback from a brown eyed ancestor. HOWEVER, this is fiction. its different.

this is all due to casting choices being made a season before character choices (if daniel was cast right he’d be british, blue eyed, round faced and actually played by a 26 year old. however that means no jeremy davies and lemme tell you, good can be better than right. so we are to accept what we are given)

upon the discovery that ellie is an other, indeed she was the leader of the others, that meant she worked closely with richard alpert. richard is advisor to the other’s leader (on a side note, he also picks who becomes the leader)

it started as “richard is her advisor, he has brown eyes, a stronger jawline, and he’s attractive enough for ellie to want him so this makes sense”

seeing more of season 5 (in particular, the variable and follow the leader), it made more sense to me. richard and ellie get along better than ellie and charles. they come across like they care about each other. richard in particular, seems to genuinely respect her more than charles does. he’s also very protective

in canon, this protectiveness can be chalked up to ellie being pregnant. and in general, although morally eschew, richard is a rather nice person. and charles is consistently a very not nice person. however this makes this make more sense

by this point in time, charles has already had an affair, which resulted in penny. and at one point richard points out that charles and ellie love each other but have a... difficult relationship. it’s not unlikely that ellie would have an affair

now, richard. i’m aware of how much he loved his dead wife isabella. i’m not ignoring that and i choose to believe that richard was relationship-less and celibate for a reeeeally long time before he fell in love with ellie

what’s important to this is i see the affair as happening not just because of sex (richard would never), but out of romantic feelings too. also no, i don’t think richard picked ellie to be leader because of love. neither richard or ellie are perfect but i think he picked her honestly believing she’d be a good leader

oh another thing: i still like the idea of dan being penny’s half brother and des’ brother-in-law, so to have it both ways, i’ve decided that only ellie and richard will ever know about this, keeping everything intact. penny would still posthumously consider daniel her brother (in my mind, naming a daughter after him)

i don’t mean to be smug but this theory is better than canon. not just genetically but having thought about it, i realised it’s more interesting and has more depth

and there’s really no reason to not see it as the truth (besides the fact that if this theory was true, daniel would be biracial but played by a white guy. much like my trans!charlie headcanon, im asking you to take this with artistic license)

here’s more about what this theory would mean:

both of daniel’s parents watched daniel die

it’s a given that richard having children would lead to him having to watch them die, but not like this.... not like this. also the idea of a man who’s ageless and lived for so long, having a child who died young

i like the idea of when ellie realises she’s pregnant, and tells richard, she feels guilty and says sorry because she knows richard will have to see daniel die (the dramatic irony. it HURTS) and richard vehemently telling her not to be sorry because despite that, he’s happy this is happening

THEN TWO WEEKS LATER IT ALL GOES TO SHIT

imagine the tragedy of both of them burying daniel

rather than be made by two people who may of loved each other but barely liked each other, daniel would be made in a loving relationship

this theory makes a lot of scenes with richard and ellie feel very different, in a good way. richard being concerned for her being pregnant around radiation (YEAH THAT HAPPENED, my mum commented that no wonder daniel is fucked up) and even going so far as to knock her out so she wouldn’t be in danger. richard doesn’t get this protective of other leaders

on that note, this changes reaction shots from richard. richard’s reactions to this situation in the variable look totally different to me now. after dan says “i’m your son”, ellie looks shocked and richard looks at her with great surprise. stuff like that. and like, yeah that already makes sense, but i’m saying with this in mind, the context for all this has changed

and yeah, daniel saying “i’m your son” with both parents present

after dan’s death, charles and richard are looking him over and charles says “i don’t know why but he seems... familiar to me”. then richard looks at charles with big eyes. curiosity & shock, yes but perhaps also “uh oh”?

also that line makes more sense in this context, because as i’ve said, it’s not like daniel looks like ellie at all (besides being white)

this didn’t happen in the episode proper, but there’s a photo from the filming of this episode that shows richard caressing daniel’s face after he dies. please note that richard barely knows this person

what ellie did was wrong but this adds extra justification. ellie is the type of person who shoots a man in the back without asking questions first, because he was pointing a gun at richard. with this in mind, ellie wasn’t just protecting her trusted advisor, she was protecting her lover

there’s the irony that the classically beautiful richard + the fairly pretty ellie = ...daniel. who, i don’t mean to be unkind, isn’t conventionally attractive

dan and miles were friends and considering i ship miles/richard post-finale, that means miles is gonna unknowingly date his friend’s dad

the scene where daniel tells richard that he’s in love with charlotte becomes daniel unknowingly telling his father he’s in love. either way, richard relates to this whole thing due to aforementioned dead wife

on that note! even taking away my headcanon personality traits for them, richard and daniel do have some things in common. they’re both polite, kind and at times diplomatic (by which i mean, they both attempt to calm down their friend’s attitude problems). they’re both lost loved ones to tragedy. yes, i know LOST had a lost lenore problem, shut up. and despite both their friendly demeanours, they’re both done morally questionable things. also remove my shipping and they’re both still friends with miles (he is the salt to their sugars). so while dan was raised by ellie (very badly) i feel like some of the kinder aspects of him came from richard

not that being polite is genetic. in canon, dan has a nightcrawler situation where he’s a the good son of two shitty people. here i’ve... given him a good dad. whom he’ll never know is his dad. because that’s sad

also while they’re both smart, at the end of the day, they are ruled by their emotions over rational thinking. love being paramount. and they both eventually completely snap, leading to irrational and suicidal behaviour

i know richard didn’t raise him, i just thought it’d be nice to bring up what they have in common. (also i think richard visited when daniel was very young. and made several attempts to convince ellie to not go thru with it)

oh also it makes the scene where charles goes “he’s my son, too” unintentionally funny because i swear i thought “nah, you idiot”. and a theory that leads to charles being duped and not realising it is great

there’s def more but then i’m just writing fanfiction, so i covered the basics. i like this theory and with each person who agrees with it, i gain more power

if you bear this theory in mind, it honestly enhances any scene with richard & daniel, and richard & ellie, and richard & charles, etc etc

in conclusion, this is a family picture:

thank you for your time