#that's the face of a man who has KILLED. like a lot

[sheepispink]

Idea by @isabellaswiftie13198987

COD MASTERLIST

“This isnt a normal massage Si,” You hum, moving to practically straddle his legs as he lays face flat against the bed. What day of work wasnt long for him? He practically ended up like this more days than one and you were determined to see him a little more relaxed, even moreso that it’s the weekend tomorrow. “Oh? This a premium massage, hm?” He grunts, his head only shifting slightly to peer back at you before he lets his nose brush the duvets again. They smell of you— everything does, the towels, the couch, the bed, his clothes too. The only thing left untainted was his uniform; though now you had mercilessly pulled it off of him, perhaps that’d be infected too.

“Hm, sort of.” Slowly you graze your hands along the expanse of his back, something you’ve grown to forget the feel of. It’s warmer than you remember, rougher too with some new scratches near his waist. Even with the painfully differing colours of all of the bruises, it’s like a brand new map to explore, and to comfort him for. It cant be easy to change this often, whilst the rest of him is supposed to stay the same. So tonight, it’s your turn to re-mould him into the man you know and love—he just has to relax, and enjoy your show.

“You see, first you gotta knead the dough.” His fists clench when you start at his shoulders, pushing your fingers into the thick muscle and forcing the knots out. One hand on each shoulder, you continue, slowly moving closer and closer to his neck until finally his shoulders relax properly, the bed squeaking slightly as he lets the air take his tension. Now you move to your knuckles, dragging them down his back to the base before slowly working up. Your knuckles push and drag against his skin, occasionally stopping to really put pressure on a spot. When you reach his lower back, where his muscle is a tiny bit pudgier, your knuckles press in and tension flickers through him. “Love—“ But you’re too fast, pushing the heel of your palm into the muscle until he lets out a shaky sigh.

”Lord..”

“There was a lot of dough there, gotta knead it out.” You muse, carrying on your little journey to work out every ‘large piece of dough’ or rather the knots in each muscle until he quite literally has melted against the bed.

His arms aren't flat at his sides anymore, no he had to stretch them forward before he completely lost feel in them too. After all, your hands were way too good at getting him to this state. “You done?” He grumbles, voice noticeably softer but still a little too gruff for your liking and so you quickly shake your head, leaning down to press a kiss to the curve of his ear. “Who just has plain dough? That’s disgusting Simon.” Your cheeky remark makes him grunt again, and you snicker, grabbing some creams from the dresser. His back was dry, likely from lack of water, but definitely from lack of care. It’s not like you ever let that last too long anyway; as long as you were around he’d be a pillow princess every night.

You squeeze a dollop of moisturiser, the cold substance making him shiver but you don't take too much notice, spreading it from the top of his shoulders down to the waistband of his boxers. Your thumbs press in again, dragging across his waist to his sides and then up along his spine too. “This is freezin’, you’re trying to kill me now.”

“Hmph, fine i’ll warm you up. It’s time for the cheese anyway.”

You huff, patting his skin to maximise the absorption of the cream. But what confused him was the “cheese”. What were you going to do? It made no sense to him in the slightest, were you gonna just punch him or something?

He feels the first touch, dangerously light against his neck, and then it grows warmer and warmer as it grows lower. Your warm breath fans against his back, soft touches of love left against every inch of his spine. Your hands hold his waist, affectionately grabbing his muscle as you continue your path. His bruises get all the more pecks, making him twitch again, almost squirmish, but he can't swat you away when you just feel so, so good. Carefully your nails drag against his skin, definitely not enough to hurt but enough to make him shift beneath you, eyes flittering against the bed. “Don’t think there’s enough cheese, Sweet’art. You know I like extra.”

You giggle, happy he’s finally going along with your plan and you nod along, returning to his shoulders to leave your mark there too, kissing and scratching the skin in a way that makes way too many sighs leave his mouth.

“Mm… we're all done?” He can only mumble now, eyes drooped and likely about to fall asleep if not for the fact that he does not want to let this end, ever. “Pepperoni first— they’re frozen, sorry.” This time the touch is icy cold, but it quickly fades out to a numbing feeling. You have icy hot gel in your hands, which you rub into the bruise, making a circle on each one that litters his back. His fists unravel now, slowly gripping the pillows above instead. It’s almost adorable how easily he gets all mushy from your touch, just a simple massage. “Uh huh.. and what now?”

“Baking time.” You lean down more on his back, the warmth of your body invading his. Slowly you blow across his back, and he can't help but squirm a little, the feeling ticklish but comforting nonetheless when he feels your legs against his. When he feels your arms wrap around his middle, and your legs properly encase him, he doesn't even bother to raise a brow, instead using the last of his strength to turn himself over and pull you in properly. “We need all the warmth we can get for the best pizza.”

He murmurs into your ear, giant arms clutching around your body and swallowing you whole with his presence. He pulls the covers firmly over the both of you, entangles your legs and buries his face deep in your neck. “A shame really, you smell like a real meal, love.” You can only giggle and kiss his neck again, making sure your arms are wrapped as tights as his are. “Baking time lasts the whole night, didnt you know?”

“Well if you’re the oven, then i gotta make sure you’re the right temperature too.” His lips shut you up before you can respond, eyes all drooped and exhausted. Seems the pizza was perfectly made today.

[see-arcane]

My Criticism: the erotic bond of Thomas and Orlok and the romantic/sexual bond of Ellen and Anna deserved more focus. (But that's also my thoughts on the various Draculas). Happily surprised they gave some sexuality to the newlyweds it literally never happens with Dracula media

I think that for the amount of time and the focus of the story, Eggers fit in as much as he could without it overshadowing the main core of 1) Orlok targeting Ellen and 2) Thomas and Ellen being in love and headed for tragedy. And yes! Eggers lets these newlyweds be truly in love and hot for each other! It's like what we deserved with Jonathan and Mina for 127 years, very nearly! :')

SPOILERS BELOW

That said, I do think that short of a real kiss with Ellen and Anna, Eggers gave us a decent 'what-if' of what Mina and Lucy might have been like if they both made it to marriage (bar Harding not quite measuring up to Arthur Holmwood standards, loving husband and father though he is). They are both married young women now and Ellen is rooming under Anna's husband's roof. It'd be tricky to have anything properly raunchy go on, but we do at least get that scene of Ellen laying in bed with Anna!

Before the Orlok business happens. Augh.

As for Orlok and Thomas...oh, but there is a lot to unpack there.

To be clear, this is very much not Dracula and Jonathan's weird predatory thing. It is another, weirder, semi-callback to The Lighthouse kind of thing. At least in the vein that the brief homoerotic flints of interaction we get there--

The slow dance scene where the two men who hate each other almost share a kiss, only for the younger man to recoil in panic.

A scene of insults and accusation where the older man describes the younger as having eyes like a lady's.

--lean on braided elements of homoeroticism, homophobia, and violent/elder masculinity baring its teeth at gentler/younger masculinity via comparisons to women.

Or, to be frank, even as Orlok is bitter at Thomas being the man Ellen chose despite their 'covenant,' it isn't just the bitterness of, "She chose another man over me!" but, "She chose a weaker, younger, effeminate man over me!" Which paired perfectly (horribly) with his running theme of being a psychic rapist. Orlok is the more masculine man. Thomas is, in his eyes, the lesser, effete competition. Why, the boy may as well be a woman himself.

Cue Orlok taking a route with Thomas that we never see him take with any other man in the movie. He preys on Thomas in the exact same way he would eventually do to Ellen at the climax. The only dignity he leaves the young man with is that he does not strip him as he feeds--only Orlok is naked, crouched and feeding at Thomas' breast twice. The first time being the result of getting almost obscenely aroused--literally or hungrily--at the sight of Thomas' thumb bleeding. All we get to see there is Thomas' terror under sudden paralysis as Orlok closes in. And the next time we see Thomas is him, not on the chair where we last saw him, but sprawled on the floor.

On his stomach.

Dressed, true. But with his face and front down. Already bitten at the heart.

Then, in his last scenes with Orlok, we see him actively try to kill Orlok in his box. Orlok stops the attack, tracks him down to the locked room Thomas has hid in--a room in his own castle! which he could unlock!--and purposefully uses a trance to make Thomas open the door. Just as he trances Thomas into laying himself out on the bed, locked and afraid in his own body. Orlok falls on him, feeding again at Thomas' chest, loudly and deeply draining what sounds like a horrific amount of blood.

(There's a comment to be made about the reversal of taking in bodily fluids, but we'll skip that for now.)

In the midst of this, Thomas is treated to a vision of Ellen in Orlok's place. Seeing it, he looks almost docile. Welcoming.

Orlok, naked, drinks and drinks. And leaves him on the bed.

Instead of slaughtering him. He doesn't even call the wolves to him once he's finished to eat the leftovers.

Which I find strange, considering that in a future scene, Orlok muses aloud to Knock that Thomas yet lives. As if he's surprised. Did he have the wolves on a mental timer to come after Thomas by daylight? Or did he think that, despite Thomas' heart still miraculously beating, he had drained enough blood to assume the young man would die on his own?

Or.

Was the surprise not that Thomas was alive, but alive and human? Not the undead, like himself, like he planned to make Ellen?

It doesn't add up to have the wolves only appear by daylight to spook Thomas out of the window--if Orlok was so concerned about technically keeping his hands clean of murdering him and so keeping the covenant with Ellen technically not a thing of theft, he could have absolutely let the wolves in that night to finish the job and be sure Thomas was torn to pieces. Instead, Thomas is intact come sunup, the door left open to the wolves...

...who only come running and raging up to him once Thomas proves to still be alive and awake despite how he passed the night. Can't be undead if you aren't dead first. This, combined with how Thomas states later on that he still feels Orlok's shadow/hold on him, seems to imply that Orlok didn't want to just kill Thomas off. He seethes about Thomas so deeply that he would rather see the young man under his heel forever just as he means to keep Ellen under his thumb and mentally assaulted at every opportunity.

If Ellen is Orlok's prize for desire's sake, Thomas is Orlok's conquest made out of pride. 'Making a woman' of Ellen's chosen man. Hell, he puts the words in Ellen's mouth when he tugs a mental string in her to get them fighting. Despite Orlok only ever mentioning the technical truth of Thomas 'selling her for gold' (with a contract he could not read and assumed was for a commission and a completion of a house sale), Ellen somehow has the knowledge to accuse Thomas of 'falling into Orlok's arms'--when, in fact, Orlok mounted Thomas and did what he did.

...

......

.........

Which brings me to the grimmest point of this whole fucked up mess which I really truly hope is Not the Case.

Orlok had his puppeteer hands in both of the Hutters. He was obviously leaning heaviest on Ellen, but he had his grip on Thomas too. So I have to wonder.

How much of the sex scene between the Hutters was entirely their will?

What if Orlok, in full voyeur fashion, pulled even more strings to make that sudden feverish intimacy happen? Ellen says aloud that they will show him their love. Is it a show only Ellen wants them to put on? Or is it Orlok, once more violating his victims by proxy? Either way the shock-vision of Ellen weeping and vomiting blood cuts the mood immediately--however real or imagined it was--and both Hutters snap out of their haze to embrace.

No no no I am unclean

Nonsense I love you I love you

Something else for Orlok to watch. A little knife-twist from his face-to-face with Ellen--You cannot love--and fuel on the martyr fire for Ellen, who heard from Orlok that he would kill all she loves, including Thomas, if she refuses him--in another life, another threat: (If you make a sound I shall take him and dash his brains out before your very eyes.)--though the villain could have killed him a dozen times already. But she cannot take the gamble.

All of which is a very very long way of saying that while Orlok's main focus is definitely on Ellen, there are signs of another stranger hate-attraction with Thomas. The opponent he wants in full submission versus Ellen, the runaway bride to coerce into being his equal.

tl;dr: They're just not that into you, Orlok, let it go

[castillon02]

“You ‘have amnesia,’” Dr. Sharma repeated, her eyebrows arched. 

“Oh yes,” Q said. He cheerfully waved his hand at his bandaged head. “Mugged this morning. Terribly traumatic. Physically, not mentally, since I don’t remember any of it, of course.” 

Dr. Sharma’s eye twitched. “I see.” Over the past year of therapy, she had grown inured to Q’s shite, but this was perhaps a new level of it for her. “Amnesia,” she repeated. 

Q beamed. “Judging by the dark circles under my eyes, this seems like a bit of an opportunity for a fresh start anyway,” he said. “Past me looks overworked.” 

Dr. Sharma had been trying to get him a holiday for the past four months. Her “I see,” every time M had denied his request for leave had become steadily sharper. Now her eyes gleamed. “Amnesia,” she said, smiling wider than Q had ever seen. 

(Also on AO3)

—

“Amnesia,” M said, squinting at him from behind his desk. “Really, Q?” 

“M,” Q replied, tasting the name as if he’d just learned it. “Seems a bit funny to work for a letter, but I suppose my past self had his reasons.” He leaned back in his chair and cast his eyes around the room as if those reasons might be visible if he looked for them. 

M’s hand twitched toward the security button on his desk lamp. “You answer to the letter Q,” he pointed out. “You clearly remember some things.” 

“The name Q has silent vowels,” Q said, straight-faced. “Q-U-E-U-E. A long line in A&E is the first thing I remember experiencing, so it seemed fitting. You know, waiting for something that never seems to come gives you a lot of time to think.” 

M glared. “If this is about your leave—” 

“I am leaving, yes,” Q interrupted. “I even have the paperwork filed for Queue Smith, since apparently you lot do that here.” He quirked his eyebrows. “You still haven’t told me what I do, exactly, but I assume it’s some form of tech support, not anything crucial. Something other people have been trained in.” Like Q had been training R and X for the past six months, for instance. Specifically to deal with M’s bizarre separation anxiety. 

“You are actually one of our most valuable assets,” M gritted out, clearly aware that said valuable asset was a lying liar who was lying to him at that very moment. 

Q smiled. “What a shame I can’t remember anything, then,” he said. “No value whatsoever now. In fact, Dr. Sharma distinctly said I was as useless as a pin-pricked prophylactic, and the rest of the medical department agreed with her.” 

M’s eyes narrowed and he sat a little straighter. “Dr. Simmons would never go along with this.” 

“Dr. Simmons thought the whole thing was very novel,” Q disagreed. “In fact, he said amnesia might be under-diagnosed, particularly in injured field agents being recalled for missions.” 

M frowned. “How patient-centric of him.” 

“Oh, terribly.” Straightlaced Simmons, head of Medical, didn’t always see eye to eye with Q, but they both prioritized the health of the people under their care. M wouldn’t find anyone in-house who would challenge Sharma’s diagnosis. Now for the killing blow: “Everyone says that if I’m lucky and have a nice long rest, then I might remember some things. But who knows? Amnesia is unpredictable. I could be out of the game for good.” Q gave an innocent shrug. 

“It can be dangerous, walking around ignorant in the world,” M said.

“Maybe,” Q said. “But I got mugged while I was working here with all my memories intact, so really, nowhere is safe, is it? Might as well be unsafe in the Maldives.” Q gave M his most beatific expression. It was rather cute of M to threaten him with being killed, as though Q didn’t have a dead man’s switch for exactly that contingency. 

M gave him a long look but eventually sighed. “I’ll put you on an indefinite medical leave. Don’t do something stupid with your free time.”  

Q stood. “I’ll do whatever I please. Since that is, in fact, the point of the term ‘free time.’”  

—

Q spent five days eating take-away and playing Elden Ring in his pajamas. On the sixth day, he had enough energy to move, so he took the train and then a bus to a little town in Andalusia, dreaming of egg-and-potato fry-ups and sunny olive tree-laden views. 

Warmth. Sunshine. Red roofs and white stone buildings. An outdoor cafe where he could drink his tea and people watch. 

Down the street, a wrinkled old woman stooped down to scratch a brindled dog whose whiptail flew back and forth at the attention. Q watched them until they rounded a corner out of sight. When he brought his gaze back to his own table, Bond was sitting across from him. Shite. 

“Amnesia,” Bond said. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

Q stared him down. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” If Bond asked about a mission, Q was going to send him back to R and X for replacement corneas. 

But Bond shook his head. “You can call me James. We don’t know each other outside of work,” he said. “I thought we could change that.” Bond gave him a half-smile, somehow sheepish—different from his Target Acquired smile. His bright yellow I Heart España t-shirt was more camouflage than Q had ever seen him in. 

“Caminito del Rey has beautiful vistas,” Bond added, his blue eyes locked on Q’s. “Or I know a place with good tapas if you’d rather eat than hike.” 

This might be a work-shaped trap. But there wasn’t any tech in the Gaitanes Ravine, and yellow wasn’t the color Bond wore when he went anglerfishing. Additionally, traversing a treacherous one-meter-wide walkway carved into a rock face a hundred meters above a river sounded like it was genuinely Bond’s idea of a good time. “If we went hiking,” Q said, “it wouldn’t be efficient. I take pictures of cool bugs. I lollygag to look at spiderwebs. I get distracted by rock formations.” 

“If I wanted efficient,” Bond said, “I’d wait until you ‘got your memory back.’” He offered Q a wry tilt of his mouth. “I have it on good information that you’re currently useless, and I don’t expect we’ll need any of your skills from the office.” 

Bless the medical staff’s ability to gossip. Q exhaled and slouched a little. “You’re really here just because?” he asked.  

Bond shrugged. “We’re good at being useful together. I thought we might be good at being useless together too. If you like.” He tilted his head. 

Q stood without answering. 

Bond stood with him. His designer blue jeans stretched flatteringly around his thighs. No concealed carry. His watch wasn’t one of Q’s. He had a knife in his boot, but that was sensible enough. His t-shirt showed off tan arms criss-crossed with pale scars and a smattering of graying hair. He had a red España bucket hat tucked into his belt. 

007 on holiday. 

Q smiled. “Lead the way.” He extended his hand. 

Bond took it. In the center of a rural village steeped in machismo culture, Bond held his hand. “I have a car,” he said, and they walked, still linked at the fingers, to where Bond had parked his entirely normal Mitsubishi Mirage rental. Good god; a hatchback. Not even four-wheel drive. Bond was really giving this ‘useless’ thing a genuine effort. 

If this went well, Q would have to send 006 a basket of explosives. Rather than leaving his mugging-based amnesia up to fate, he’d rather desperately arranged for a surreptitious blow to the head from one of Six’s experts in cranial violence. He hadn’t expected that his memory loss would lead to something so lovely.  

[niccolites]

can't stop thinking about that highlander art by @lurrlonde found here

highlander!soap who is the son of a laird. fiercely against the English, and with no time for politics. his father is at his wit's end with him, sick of the constant reports of his son firing up rebellion's wherever he goes, causing bother with English soldiers, making it difficult anyone in the clan to not be tarred with the same brush - troublemaker

his father tries to set up countless betrothals for his son. a wife would calm him, give him something in the centre of him. johnny shirks this off as well. the ladies are sweet things (and maybe he does charm a few of them into letting him slide his hands up their skirts), but they don't settle him. he is ravenous, an open maw in the shape of a man. these ladies with their practiced words would be swallowed up by him, dainty fingers that are snapped off to reveal delicate white bone

but, he does love his father, so in the light of the fifth attempted engagement that he spurns, he stays and helps his father out. meetings with other clansmen, the politics boring the shit out of him. but he does know his duty, even if he believes that he answers to a higher power than the pleasing of other lairds

you live in a small village of little consequence. at least you did, until some englishmen roll through and start up trouble. angered at the torching of a nearby fortress of theirs, and more than happy to let off that steam nearby. unluckily for you

and johnny, finally listening to the twitch of his hands and heading out to escape the counting of his father's rents, happens upon the scene of you shrieking in your burning field. held back by one soldier, another torching your crops. a third, trying to rip open your bodice as you scream, red in the face and crying

johnny, more broadsword than man, hasn't swung his arm out in a few weeks. your screams are a divine calling and he answers, barely half a thought of a plan before he is across the field, bloodletting until his muscles sing with it. a higher purpose, received and delivered.

he kills all three of the men, only gets a cut along his brow and a bayonet in his calf in return. lightwork, but it certainly seems a lot of blood to you

there is dead men in your field, but you drag the man who spared you the worst of it into your home after you manage to extinguish the fire before it ruins everything that you and your brother have managed to plant that spring

he really has been worse off, but he leans on you just a little more than he should. feels the buckle of your knees and eases up again, apologises for being a burden and basks in the the rush as you tell him that of course he's not, he's just at least 2 heads taller than you and it's more weight than you're used to carrying. he understands, angel, this all must be a lot for you

in your home, you let him slump in a chair and kneel down to dress the wound on his calf. his blood stains your skin and he watches, enraptured. red into the fine lines of your palms, like maybe it had been there even before you had stitched up the cut in his leg. stares down at you, struck silent with dark eyes that make the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up. something about him making you nervous even as you force that down, given he likely saved you from a fate worse than death from those soldiers

you stand up and now he's looking up at you instead, mouth parted as he watches every slight shift of movement that you do. you reach for his face, a damp flannel that you clean the cut on his brow with. his chest heaves, and you feel it, like a phantom ache in your own lungs

you ask if it hurts at all. drowned in the sweet cup of your hands on his face, he tells you that pain could not be further from his mind

you're why he's doing this, he realises. every fight he has been in has honed his body for this, for saving you. his father has been trying to convince him of his purpose, to be laird to his people, but he's found it here, in the clasp of your hands

you suddenly realise that you are treating a wounded animal, mistaking it for a tamed beast. you pull your hand back, but the teeth snap shut, caught

[bitingdrivers]

👔 2 times max saw daniel without his suit (a very loose definition of the word ‘without’) and one time daniel saw max in one. bones au, maxiel, 1.4k words. also, there's a smallest vaguest mention of death and viscera, be prepared!

1

Max makes his way through the floor, passing agents who are going home after a long day. Without people the floor looks empty yet cluttered at the same time – dozens of identical desks covered in papers, files, and dirty mugs. 

The office is dark when Max finally reaches its glass doors, an old lamp painting the room with orange light. 

Daniel is sitting at his desk. His suit jacket is draped over his chair, the shoulder holsters are a stark contrast to his white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

He is drinking. The whiskey looks like amber in the warm light of the lamp. 

“Daniel,” Max says as he enters the office. “Are you okay?” He tentatively moves further into the room. 

Daniel looks up at him and breathes out “Yeah. It's just...harder. When it's a kid.” His voice is hoarse. 

Max nods before sitting down in the chair opposite him. “Yes, I understand–” 

“No, it's-” Daniel groans, rubbing his face. “I have a niece and a nephew. They are close to the age the victim was. It was just…hard. Seeing his skeleton. So small.” His voice is barely a whisper at the end.

Max didn't know Daniel had a niece or a nephew, but he supposes it's normal. Maybe he would be an uncle too, if he still talked to his sister. If he knew where she even was. 

He looks out the window. It's so quiet he can hear the sounds of the street below.

“I-I was at Waco. Branch Davidian compound. I helped identify children who had been killed in the fire. 17 of them,” Max says watching headlights pass by like shooting stars.

“Are you saying you get used to it?” Daniel says. His knuckles are white from gripping the empty glass.

Daniel’s collar is unbuttoned, his tie a little loose. Max looks back out the window. 

“No. I'm saying you'll never get used to it.”

The reflection of the lamplight in Daniel's eyes looks like the stars as well.

2

“How long will this take?” Daniel is sitting on the table in the bone room. His suit is covered in pieces of flesh, cartilage, and bone. 

“As long as it takes to remove all the evidence.” Max helps him remove the jacket and puts it in an evidence bag. 

Daniel moves to start unbuttoning his shirt, but Max stops him. “Don't touch anything, Daniel! You might compromise the evidence.” Max loosens and takes off Daniel's tie. It has honey badgers printed on it. It's not completely ruined by the viscera, so Max hopes Daniel will get it back. 

“So. Uh. Do you think it was suicide? The guy tries to rob the bank, but it doesn't work. He blows himself up to escape the jail?” Max can see Daniel's throat bobbing as he unbuttons his shirt. 

“Carlos said the bomb was triggered via two-way radio. He probably had an accomplice,” Max says as he takes off Daniel's shirt. “Maybe we can track the sig–Oh.”

“Wh-what? Is there goop on me?” Daniel jumps off the table and swivels his head around to check his back. 

“No, no. It's just, I didn't know you have more tattoos,” Max is used to seeing the three on his pinky and the rose on his thumb, and sometimes he catches a glimpse of “free,” “love,” or the cupid inked on his forearms. Now Max sees Daniel's tanned and muscled torso, his smooth chest and, more importantly, his tattoos.

“Oh. Yeah, I had a lot of fun in my youth.” He looks at the astronaut on his left shoulder with a fond smile. 

“You say it like you're an old man,” Max chuckles and drops to his knees. He is about to undo the belt when Daniel jerks back. 

“Woah–uh. Wha-what are you doing?” Daniel stammers, looking down at Max. His eyes are big.

“There's more evidence on your pants. I of course need to remove them too,” Max explains. Daniel pauses, looking into Max’s eyes. Then he nods and looks away. 

Max quickly makes work of Daniel's belt and the pants fall down. There are more tattoos – colorful and big – wrapping around his thigh. 

Max wants to ask more about them when he looks up and. “Daniel. What?” 

“Huh?” Daniel looks down at him. Max can see the tensed muscles of his thighs. Daniel's knuckles are white from gripping the edge of the table. 

“Why do you have… Bring pink?”

Daniel looks at his boxers. Then he exhales and his face relaxes. “Oh. Yeah. These are my… favorites. Don't like to be boring, you know?”

Max is glad to see Daniel’s big smile is back. “You remind me of this bird–” Max tugs at the pants pooled at Daniel’s ankles so he can step out of them, “–Cinnyricinclus leucogaster.”

Daniel makes a confused noise.

Max stands up and moves to put away the pants. “Violet-backed starling. The males have this bright violet plumage to attract mates.”

“Hah, yeah. I'm all about attracting mates.”

When Max turns around, Daniel is looking right at him. 

+1

The building is mostly empty as Daniel makes his way to the lab. This case was not the easiest one, so he is glad that it's finally over. He spent the last few hours going through all the paperwork to make sure the guy will be locked in prison for the next 15 years. 

It has become their tradition to go for a drink after closing a case and Daniel is excited to get himself a beer and listen to Max explaining to him the details of this case as if Daniel is hearing about them for the first time. 

Daniel is just rounding the corner to the glass doors of the lab when he notices Charles talking to someone. Daniel can only see the back of the man – his broad shoulders hugged tightly by a black suit jacket and long legs clad in matching trousers. The man is nodding to Charles’ words when Charles notices Daniel and says hi to him. 

The man turns around and – it's Max. His hair is gelled back, the crisp white shirt is unbuttoned in the collar. Daniel can see the hollow of his throat.

Daniel has never seen Max in a full suit before. In the lab he usually wears a pair of tight jeans and his blue lab coat paired with a basic t-shirt underneath. And outside of the lab he just swaps the coat for a black bomber jacket.

The one time Max had to testify in court, he simply put on a blue shirt that Charles produced seemingly out of thin air. Daniel thought he looked good in blue and even told Max that. Max thanked him and then said that an attorney told him once he should always wear blue when testifying because it disposes the jury from his, apparently, “cold and unpleasant personality.” Daniel hopes this attorney loses every case she gets. 

“Hello Daniel.” Max’s voice brings him out of his thoughts, and Daniel notices an expensive-looking watch on Max’s wrist when he lifts his hand in a little wave. 

“Bones! You look smart tonight.” Daniel tears his eyes away from the way Max’s jacket hugs his waist.

“I thought I always look smart?” Max asks, tilting his head. 

“No-uh. I mean yes. It's just a figure of speech. Means you look good.” Daniel has to loosen his tie a little bit. Maybe they already turned off the building's air-conditioning for the night. Probably so, Max looks a little flushed too. “Should we go somewhere fancy instead of the Founding Fathers then?”  

“Oh. I am sorry Daniel, I can't go with you tonight. There's a party with the university's sponsors and Lewis made us all go,” Max says, looking something between annoyed and sad. 

“Yeah, he threatened us with taking away our parking spots. Very authoritarian of him,” Charles huffs, rolling his eyes.

Now that Daniel is looking, Charles is also dressed in a suit.

“Oh. That's fine, I can survive one night without a glass of beer. Probably better for my liver, right?” Daniel chuckles and rubs his neck as Max furrows his brows. 

Daniel opens his mouth to say something else, although he's not sure what exactly, but Lewis’ voice interrupts him. 

“Alright, everyone ready? The car will be there in 5, we should move.” He claps his hands and moves towards the exit. 

“Have fun tonight, Bones,” Daniel smiles at Max, takes one final look at his suit and turns away. 

He will still go to the bar, but now he won't be listening to Max’s chatter and he definitely will be drinking something stronger than beer.

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

updated and improved "all the fears want arthur lester carnally" list

just a general tally of influence/Marks arthur would have received if you were playing by TMA rules. enhanced with further contemplation and with some peer review from @luci-z-wont-shut-up thankyouuu

the eye

VERY dedicated private investigator. consistently more invested in Solving The Mystery than, like, Remaining Alive

was magic-stalked by the KIY and his cult throughout season 1

also kayne was watching his whole life and taking notes to roast him about his trauma later. apparently

something something metanarrative implications of an audience gathering around just to watch you suffer

the spiral

possessed by a god of madness (twice) (three times?) (possibly more depending on how you count?)

was held hostage in a fake dream-realm mental institution with fucked up architecture so one of the aforementioned madness gods could pry information out of him (which also gets cryptically described as "Here, there, everywhere, nowhere. Anywhere." which is sooo the spiral-coded)

relies on someone else to be his eyes so there's always the lingering background awareness that he may be missing or outright misrepresenting information & consequently he can't trust what he sees

the end

he's died.

multiple times.

there's also the omnipresent threats on his life but mostly just that. like. he's been The Ended. doesn't get much more direct than that

the stranger

i still think "losing parts of your body to another consciousness while they are still attached to you" is VERY the stranger type activities

the king in S1 turning any weak-willed bystanders against him so any stranger could turn into a threat without warning

also, the king and scratch posing as normal people, even people he knows sometimes!

orbited by a cast of nonhuman Entities remaking their identities into something closer to humanity for one reason or another (john, yellow, scratch, kayne) and frequently not quite hitting the mark (ty luci)

the lonely

general sense of alienation from his peers that started young and—just vibe checking here, just taking a general temperature—doesn't seem to have gotten much better over time

"I want him safe." / "You want him back." / "...Yes." <- guy who can totally handle being alone

john left and he went fully off the deep end in the span of like, a day

it's just one of those things that i think he hates and is terrified of but also is constantly haunted by

the desolation

the whole vibe of the death/destruction specifically of things that could have brought meaning to the world, or people who had a lot to live for and could have touched other lives and had an effect on others, is... um. (gestures vaguely at the. all of them)

will do LITERALLY ANYTHING to avoid losing anyone else.

also pain. i feel like pain takes a thematic backseat but it is still a part of the desolation and good lord is this man in so much pain basically all the time

one time he did an arson at an in-progress building site and left a guy bleeding out in the ruins!! desolation come get your juice

also independently invented molotovs so he could use them to kill a different thing which was perhaps divine inspiration straight from the lightless flame itself??

the slaughter

start with parker's death and just work your way down from there tbh

the butcher confrontation "Whose life did you take without provocation, without threat? Who did you kill that was innocent?" vs the slaughter's "random, senseless, unmotivated violence"

also knowing that pain and death are coming but not where or when or how. Yup 👍

just. in general. he has been wading through his own and other people's blood in equal measure since the start of the damn show

had to hide in a pit full of rotting corpses that one time

the vast

timelines! go confront how meaningless your entire life is in the face of the uncaring multiverse! have a quick crisis about it! fuck meaning!

i still don't have a whole lot for this one tbh

he can't stop falling off things obviously but i don't think he's particularly scared of that. i think he's resigned to it. balance is a fickle beast and he has accepted that it does not return his affections.

one time a kraken almost drowned him?

the buried

known claustrophobe!

almost got pinned in a cave, unable to move, on multiple different occasions!

this man and caves in general have a very very bad relationship. they keep making him be underground and then terrible things happen to him down there.

drowning goes here also :)

the dark

"Funny. Before all of this, I used to fear the dark. Not in any crippling way, but – but now it’s… well, now it’s no different."

used to be unnerved by the dark and now he is blind. checks out

also, the dark world. it's in the name, baby. that's more john's fear but i think it has to rub off on him at least a little bit

the corruption

eeeeverything that happened with the witch. she tried to use him to breed maggots. now that's what i call Corrupt™

horig, also

obsessive, almost self-destructive levels of devotion to an entity that killed his friend and wrecked his life. listen i'm supportive i think they're perfect for each other in an ESH way i'm just saying this probably also falls into the corruption's purview (ty luci)

ESPECIALLY considering john lives in his body like a parasite. not trying to be derogatory here but like, on an objective level. he is stealing his body parts. and arthur loves him. again, incredibly on-brand for the corruption

the web

he Doesn't Like Being Told What To Do >:[

ongoing vendetta against cult shit for this exact reason

the idea of not having fully free will seems to be very actively and deeply concerning for him

"I am the captain of my soul" and so on and so forth

got literally brainwormed by The Creature back in addison (twice!)

the flesh

Michael Fucking Faust

also, had to bite his own finger off before that. in case you needed or wanted some bonus points

the hunt

HOO BOY has he ever been Hunted. so many times by so many different things. take your fucking pick

also: "You are hunting." / "Predators need to be hunted." <- basically an active prayer to the hunt

this man is prey animal rage incarnate honestly. go!! lose yourself in the bloodlust!! kill them before they can kill you!!!!

john would really appreciate it if he was a little Less cozy with the hunt tbh :(

the extinction

i'm actually not counting this one bc it doesn't take avatars and also doesn't rrrreally exist yet

he's lived through a world war and a pandemic. how's that. i think that's as good as it gets.

CONCLUSION: i still think arthur should go shake hands with the vast and get carried off by a bird and hope that gets the rest of these assholes to fuck off. i think it's his best bet atp.

[rubyybutterfly]

Get your hands dirty if necessary

S/a: Mention obscenity, trauma, love, husband, No use of y/n.

Sinopse: Your husband returns from a 2 month mission, there's nothing better than a good shower and a hug.

When John walked through the door of his house he was greeted by the shock of a smaller body than his own, holding the woman by the thighs. He was graced by her scent, lavender and strawberry. Due to the softness of his wife's body, that skin, perfect.

When you looked at him and placed your hand on his cheek, his beard was a little longer, a reminder of how long the mission took.

He looked so tired, hurt. You stand up while holding his large, calloused hands. Your husband, your John. To you he wasn't Captain Price, he was just John.

I missed you a lot too, love", He said looking at you with that smile of his that you liked so much, that smile he had where his eyes crinkled.

He smelled of ash, tobacco and sweat. But that smell didn't make you sick, you liked it, it was the smell that showed he fought and came back to you. As I promised on the last night before the mission.

The two of you tangled up in that silk sheet, a tangle of feet together, you laid on his chest as you played with his dog tag, As he caresses her waist.

John was tired, his now not so young muscles ached, his left knee was hurting after being hit, not to mention this mission was more complicated than it should have been.

Looking at you he pulls you by the back of your head into a passionate, almost rough kiss, holding your waist he guides you to the wall.

" No, no, you need a shower, you need to eat and rest," you he said. as he pulled away from the kiss, John had a look of disgust on his face. He wanted to feel you inside, your walls tight and warm.

But not. You were right, even though you didn't want to admit it John liked your plan. A shower, a good meal and a bed wasn't bad after months of sleeping on the hard floor and eating food out of bags.

Going to the bathroom you help your husband take off those clothes, the equipment. You looked at John as he pulled a pistol from his back- just for safety- he said as he placed it in the sink drawer.

John, now naked, walked over to you and gently took off your dress. Since you weren't wearing a bra you were left in just your panties. Which John soon took off.

When you look at John's chest you frown, a recent scar running from his heart to the other side, You touch the wound carefully John just lifts his hand and holds yours gently.

Just superficial, nothing serious. It takes a lot more to kill me, love," he said in that hoarse voice.

The water was warm, John hugged her body while his head rested on hers. He felt the water, felt their bodies pressed together, their smell, everything.

You almost died, John," you said softly as you slipped your arms under his armpits and hugged his broad, strong shoulders.

"There are difficult jobs, but someone has to do them. Someone has to get their hands dirty," he said at the time. His dark voice, He held you by the waist. Water fell on your heads.

John knew he was not a good man, a man worthy of a family. The blood he had already shed It's more than he remembers, the memories will accompany him along with the pain he already suffers.

But if there was something he could be thankful for.

It was you.

His wife, his woman. That hIt was you.e gave his heart to and that he trusted her as if she were the boys on the team. The woman who made him feel the feeling of love,true. That he promised he would protect and love the day they both stood at that altar. And if he had to get his hands dirty to protect you, he would dirty them until the only color they would have was.

Red.

[repulsive-manwhore]

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE 🔗

why are you such a stupid fucking cunt?

"PLEASEEEE! please, i'm begging you... i'm fucking begging you please let me out!!"

"i'm not letting you out of there... not until you tell me what the fuck you meant by that. what do you mean you know who i am, huh? HUH?!"

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"PLEAAAAAASE!!!"

"you're not getting out of there, i put a fucking chair under the doorknob. besides, if you broke out what are you gonna do? i have a gun, you stupid bitch."

"...what do you want?"

"i want you to tell me the truth... tell me my name."

god dammit...

"i- i don't... know your name..."

"y'know i have to ask, just for shits and giggles... do you think i'm a fucking retard or something? who says 'i know who you are' and DOESN'T mean that? hmm?!"

just come clean, there's no point, you're just pissing him off further. he knows that you know. you have to tell him... but maybe...

"...okay, i'll say your name... under one condition..."

"you really think you're in the position right now to make conditions? no, tell me my fucking name. right now."

"you tell me why you're stalking me."

"...why the fuck does it matter?"

"i wanna know. i have to. otherwise i don't care you can just kill me right now, i don't care."

"that's a lie."

"no it's not."

yes it is.

"i can make your life a lot harder you know, the same way you just made my life harder tonight. dragging me into a fucking mu-"

"DON'T... don't say it out loud."

and there it is. leverage. you can tell he didn't wanna kill that cop. you saw it in his face when he first walked into that motel with you. he doesn't need more blood on his hands, he wants you, he HAS you. and now he's stuck with you, because he can't kill you. he stalked you for a reason... why would he throw you away?

"...your name is Ryan."

"go on, don't be shy. i have a last name too."

"...Matherson. Ryan Matherson..."

it got quiet. reaaaaal quiet. oh fuck, the doorknob...

CREAAAAAAAK.

...why is he just standing there? what's he gonna do... why am i fucking wet right now? oh that's right, because you're crying on the floor looking up at this absolute monster of a man, and for whatever fucked up reason you just always have to fall for me the fucki-

"get up. let's go."

"...why, where are you taking me? are you gonna ki-"

CLASP.

"I SAID, NOT OUT LOUD!"

"mmmmph! mmmmph, mhm, mhm..."

yes, yes i promise i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i'll fucking listen to you... god, your hands... your big, strong, calloused, veiny ha- stop stop stop stop stop... stop that. just nod.

"good. i don't wanna fucking kill you, alright? i never wanted to, this was NEVER supposed to happen... but we gotta get out of here, okay? and if you try to run i have to... you know what i fucking did, to you, to him. you run and tell and i get locked away forever. i won't let that happen, even if it means i have to do it to you... i don't want to... please?"

he does have a heart... somewhere at least.

"i promise... i won't run just tell me what to do."

"good... good. i can't take you to the front desk like this. i'm sorry but i have to keep you locked in here."

"what? no! why can't i just wait in your car or something?!"

"again, do i really have to ask if you think i'm an idiot?"

he's right, your dumbass would try and hotwire that motherfucker while he checks out and you'd just end up in a ditch somewhere in rural Wisconsin if he left you to your own devices.

"alright fine! just... can i maybe have a snack please while i wait for you? i'm really hungry..."

"i'll get us some food when we go. in the meantime, eat the fuckin complimentary toothpaste for all i care. it'll be like 15 minutes, you'll live."

SLAM!

wow, thanks asshole. lemme guess, if i'm thirsty i can just drink out of the toilet right? you'd probably like that too, sick fuck... okay that's definitely projection cmon now.

"you said 15 minutes right?!"

"yes... 15 minutes. just hang tight. promise, i'll be right back..."

"okay... and you better tell me why you kidnapped me okay? DO YOU HEAR M-"

SLAM!

UGH! fucking jerk... alright, fine, you're all alone now. just wait for him... you really shouldn't be alone right now you know. you always get so sad when you're alone. he should be here with you right now...

...fucking your little victim brains out.

[porque-nolos-dos]

eddie diaz gets shot in broad daylight in downtown LA. he watches his blood splatter against his best friend's face. he reaches out for him three times. he vaguely has the realization that he's in love with his best friend, but there's a lot happening so that's just like background. he loses consciousness after he learns buck isn't hurt. he thinks this is it. this is the end.

and then he wakes up in the hospital and it's ANA FUCKING FLORES at his bedside LOLLLLL

im so sorry. im so so sorry but it's endlessly funny to me that he gets shot, he wakes up, and ana is there??

and then he finally sees buck who is like "btw it would've been better if i was the one who got shot" and eddie's high on drugs and just has to be like ?? wtf?? in the moment

and then later drops the bomb HAVE MY SON (who is my heart) IN CASE OF MY UNTIMELY DEMISE

eddie then goes home, buck is driving him, he gets to see his son again and yay hang out with his 2 favorite people. he's alive, what a great time- oh a surprise welcome party- TAYLOR FUCKING KELLY IS IN MY HOUSE IM KILLING MYSELF EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY

literally the funniest fucking sequences ever seen in television history. man shot. man gay and in love. man remembers he has girlfriend he halfheartedly likes. man's crush suicidal. man go home with crush. man's WORST ENEMY IS IN HIS HOUSE AND HOME.

eddie's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day where he gets shot, wakes up to his gf, and goes home where taylor kelly is there. and he would probably say that the worst part of it all was taylor kelly. i love you eddie diaz. so sorry that this all happened to you.

[gofancyninjaworld]

Blast is more of a Goku expy than a Superman one

Initially posted on r/onepunchmanfans

All credit for this observation goes to u/Nanayon123. I'm merely gibbering incoherently at the implications.

The man, the myth...

He is styled like a knock-off Superman, and he does seem to be this iconic hero about whom many wild tales exist. And the reality is even wilder as he leads a larger-than-life quest to curb a veritable god's activities, but Blast has been a rather weird character. Seemingly a hero but does unheroic things. Warm and personable, yet oddly cold. Great deeds but leaves many of them half-finished. A family man but also an absent dad. Married yet oddly fixated on his partner, a known evildoer. A hero for a 'hobby' like Saitama, but whereas Saitama tends to leave people better off, Blast seems to leave them worse.

Seems to sum up Blast's deeds handily.

More gibbering below the cut.

...the curse

With that one observation, all the oddities about Blast add up to a coherent whole. When he says that he likes strong people (the Spanish translation, in using 'gustan,' makes it even stronger than mere liking), that's fundamentally what he's after. He likes strong people, he's physically and psychologically attracted to strong people, and if they happen to be helpful to him in his quest to thwart 'God', so much the better. Regardless of who or what they actually are. The fact that he was aware He had a strong partner to quest with and a strong woman with whom to also have happy-fun times and play happy families with. The fact that they were conspiring against him bothered him not a whit. That *is* very Goku-like. If Goku happens to help you in the course of looking to fight the strongest warriors, good for you.

So who's the sociopath here?

Sure, we can understand that Blast needs to surround himself with strong individuals to counter God. I'd theorised before that Blast was more of a warrior than a hero, but he makes it clear in chapter 211 that his mentality towards strong and weak goes much deeper than that. For strong people, he's prepared to do anything. Risking his life for the possibility of saving Void, not a problem. But lifting so much as a finger to try to save Genos, who risked his life to buy Blast an opening to tackle Cosmic Garou, sorry, no can do. Blast has no concern for such a weak individual. [1]

To he who has much, more must be given. To he who has little, well, no fucks need be given.

If you ask Blast why he's so fixated on Void, he'd have said something about Void having a unique ability. I understand why ONE removed that reason being given a priori: it'd have muddied the waters and made it harder for us to see his true intentions.

Additionally, I understand why ONE redacted Flashy Flash discovering that it had been Blast who had destroyed the Ninja Village -- at least for now. It really doesn't matter *when* Blast found out about Void's activities as a ninja, buying children to abuse into losing all sense of themselves, then sending them out to be assassins for hire; he'd have had no concern for those children or the assassins they'd become as they're weak. Only avatars of 'God' bothered him. The only concern he'd have had would be retrieving the cube at some point. That's it.

This entire explanation is no longer necessary: the ones too weak to be avatars are beneath Void's and Blast's concerns. And what harm they did is only mildly regrettable to Blast, which he made clear.

Instead, we get to see what Blast actually thought of the Ninja Village. It was regrettable, more of an inconvenience than a tragedy.

Oh well... I suppose some people died.

I wouldn't be shocked (just dismayed) if it turned out that Tatsumaki was the only person he cared to save from the facility, leaving other prisoners to be killed by the escaped monster or otherwise face an uncertain future. He's only interested in the strong. In a real sense, he's a lot more like Void than he'd be comfortable admitting. At his very best, Blast is an ancient-style 'hero' where the word means only a strong guy who does incredible deeds of great daring but is otherwise not especially moral. At his worst, well, you'd best be afraid of what lies behind those weird eyes and deceptively open expression.

adorable and yet...

The Opponent

To say that this is anathema to Saitama is an understatement. Saitama may be the strongest man -- far stronger than Blast can imagine -- but he has never forgotten where he started from. Because of his own humble beginnings, Saitama is adamant that you cannot judge a person's potential by their current position.

This guy is the anti-Blast: instead of deciding who is a winner and a loser, why not encourage people to fulfil their potentials? You never know what people might be capable of.

He has never disparaged anyone's efforts for being meagre -- if they did all they could, he recognises the courage it took to do that.

Saitama in a nutshell.

Never mind encouraging heroes: no matter who you are, Saitama is always willing to reach a hand out to you, if you will take it.

He needed that suit to not look a total fool, but Saitama didn't hesistate in the face of a child's needs.

Saitama has never overlooked injustice being done in the interests of self-satisfaction. If he's sometimes been less harsh with evildoers than he otherwise might be, it's because he recognises that people deserve the chance to do better if they've done wrong. He'll happily beat the ever-living shit out of you and break all your toys, but he takes care never to be the writing on your wall.

Go forth and find out how to be the better person you yearn to become.

If someone really wants to die, Saitama won't stop them, but otherwise, he's the guy saying to people that no matter where you are now, you *could* be better if you took the courage to try. So try.

You didn't jump; you fell. Can't have that. Saitama balances his belief in a person's right to self-determination with concern about their welfare.

I don't know how it will come about, but there's a conflict coming between Saitama and Blast, and it can't come soon enough for me. Blast is such an important character in OPM. He's literally the foundational member of the Hero Association, being the prototype for what a supported hero could be. He's got an incredibly important mission as well. And yet… yet… that guy has no business calling himself a hero as he is.

Someone has to talk sense to Blast about what the word 'hero' really means and who better than Saitama?

True, things are pretty cordial between them now but with worldviews so different, they can't stay that way. I'm here for it.

Footnotes

[1] True, it didn't happen in the current timeline, but that's only because Saitama cold-cocked Garou before it could. We've been shown Blast's character.

[miserymet]

Tragedy - Reploid Bass AU

Was digging through my old WIPs and found this bad boy. It’s technically unfinished (because I didn’t know how to end it) but it gets the main point across and establishes the where the plot is at post MMX7. Thought it might be interesting to those who want more details on the AU.

(quick timeline context; Bass gets his memories back post mmx6, disappears off the face of the earth and shows back up again halfway through mmx7)

Summary: Zero and Bass talk about one of Bass’ many regrets. In the process, Zero tries to connect the brother he knew as Forte to the stranger wearing his face.

“I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

The words are quiet. Not soft, as nothing Zero’s brother does is soft anymore, but they lack the usual bite. It’s enough to draw Zero’s attention to where Bass now sits. 

The chair holding him is old, a mundane relic of the furniture that was commonplace over a hundred years ago. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t crumbled under the weight of its occupant, but Bass had mentioned that the entire base was designed around its mechanical residents. Perhaps its creator imagined one of his robots might need to use a chair. Even if there’s not much of a difference between sitting and standing for them.

Zero’s surprised to see that Bass has his back turned to him. His brother isn’t too keen on letting Zero out of his sight nowadays, but his gaze is firmly fixed upon the screen in front of him now. Another uncharacteristic behavior. Zero sets aside the spare parts he was examining, all interest gone, and approaches the screen that has his brother so transfixed. It casts a dim light even in the darkness of the base, but the image is clear enough.

It’s an old contact log. A few lines of text sit at the bottom of the screen and for some reason, Zero feels the need to read them aloud.

“Bass. I made a mistake. I created something that I can’t control. You’re the only robot strong enough to stop it. Please help me.” He furrows his brow as he speaks the final line. “I’m sorry.”

“Six lines. Twenty six words. A hundred and fifteen characters.” Bass mutters.

“What does it mean?” 

It’s a genuine question, and maybe that’s why Bass laughs as though it’s the stupidest thing he could have asked. Zero waits with bitter patience for his brother to finish. This is typical of Bass’ new personality. Brash, abrasive, rude, all of these words and more fit the new image Zero’s brother has made for himself. Even his name is new. “Bass.” It’s been a bit of an adjustment to say the least.

Eventually, Bass manages to pull himself out of his laughing fit. His next words are the last thing Zero expects to hear.

“These are the words that killed me.”

“…I thought I did that.” Is all Zero can say to that. Bass laughs, much quieter this time.

“In the end, yeah.” His brother leans back in his seat. “But fighting you wasn’t-, I didn’t…”

“You ‘weren’t supposed’ to?” Zero volunteers.

“…I shouldn’t have.”

Bass goes quiet, lost in whatever old memories are haunting him today. Zero can’t help but feel frustrated. He used to know what to do when Bass…when Forte was upset. Whether it was about his lost memories, his weakness, his outdated code, Zero could always help. It’s different now.

Everything’s different now.

“Do you remember what I told you about our creator? How we didn’t really get along?” Bass starts, gaze still stuck on that old log.

“Because of your penchant for rebellion, yes.”

“That was only half of it. Yeah, I disobeyed him whenever I felt like it, but he wasn’t some doting father.” His brother turns to glare at him. “He was the most selfish, stubborn, stupid old man I ever met. Full of himself, too. You would have hated him.”

“That sounds a lot like you.” Zero can’t help the bite to his words. Maybe X was right. Maybe all this is getting to him. “Where are you going with this?”

“I was loyal at first. The old man had a lot of expectations for me, and I was determined to meet them. I didn’t. No matter how hard I tried, how strong I was, it was never going to be good enough if I couldn’t beat-,”

He stops abruptly, almost letting something slip. Something important. Bass is always vague about his old memories. He’s hiding something, but Zero can’t tell if it’s because it’s too risky or because he’s hoarding all that’s left of his past. It could really be either one. Zero isn’t sure he knows Bass all that well anymore.

“The point is, I was a failure to him. So he tried to move on. Build something else.” Bass shakes his head. “I couldn’t accept that. We fought. First it was just arguments, but it escalated. Before I knew it we were trying to kill each other.”

“What did you do?” Zero asks, though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“I left.”

Oh. Zero wasn’t expecting that.

“It sounds obvious, right?” His brother rests his head against his hand, expression flat. “But I wasn’t a reploid. I didn’t have the programming X or Axl did. It wasn’t as simple as changing my career. I was leaving my creator.”

“Bass…”

He doesn’t let Zero get a word in. “I agonized over it for days. What was I if not his robot? What could I even do without him? I was practically one foot out the door already, but I couldn’t move the other one. I…cared about him.”

Zero tries to imagine it. Bass, in his original body, standing beside a vague figure. His gaze sweeps across the room and Zero sees Bass sitting on a table full of junk, swinging his legs as he speaks to his creator. What did his face look like? Was it flat and cold, speaking in an even tone about plans or progress or whatever a man like that saw fit to discuss with his creation? Or was he annoyed, brow furrowed with one dipping lower than the other and mouth pulled into a small pout? Maybe it was a face Zero had never seen before, a soft smile, a wry grin that so clearly spelled out his amusement. 

He can only imagine. When he turns back to his brother, Bass wears the grimace he’s grown so used to.

“That was how I convinced myself to leave, in the end.” He breathes an empty sigh. “If I stayed, I might have hurt him. Might have let my anger take me to far and…”

His hands move in front of him, digits curled tightly around an invisible enemy. They hang in the air for a moment and shake. Then they fall. Bass lets his head follow them.

“You came back.” Zero speaks softly, trying for a gentleness he’s never been good at. “Why?”

Bass doesn’t pick up his head. “Same reason. I cared.”

“He made a robot, couldn’t control it and called you for help.” It feels both more and less real when he says it aloud. “He called you to your death.”

“And I came. I came because I am a fucking idiot.”

Zero blinks at the harsh language. Bass is far from the composed brother he knew, but even he didn’t use that language regularly. It feels strange. Forte would never, but Bass…it fits him a little more.

“He didn’t even have to apologize. The moment he came to me for help, the moment he called me strong-,” Bass grips his head in his hands. “All my conviction disappeared. I walked into that lab, this lab-!” He throws out his hands, nearly hitting Zero, “and I died for the man that tried to kill me!”

Zero doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? This is something he’s just learned, a grief he can only imagine. Bass has lived with this knowledge since the day he got his memories back. How did he feel, waking up and knowing that he lost everything to a man long gone? How do you live with that burden? How do you keep fighting?

Bass shoots up from his chair, gaze now fixed on Zero. There’s so much behind his eyes that Zero can’t see. A world no one alive has any hope of understanding.

“I was so close to being happy! To having something other than a worthless creator who only tolerated me as long as he could use me!”

His brother takes a step forward, the light of the screen illuminating every tear that falls from his face.

“And he took that from me! You took that from me!”

“I’m sorry-“

Zero sees the punch coming. He almost dodges. It’s what every self-preservation program in him begs him to do. He doesn’t. He takes it. The punch is hard, snapping his head to the side quite painfully. He doesn’t flinch. Not even when Bass’ fist splits the synthetic skin of his cheek. All he does is look back at his brother.

Bass stands there, eyes wide and mouth open. His arm hangs in the air. He can see the grime left on his hands. Can see the tension in every part of his body. Then, it shifts. Bass drops his hand and closes his mouth. That glare returns, fierce as ever.

“Don’t pity me. It’s too late for that.”

Zero tries to find his words. “I don’t-,”

“That hit only landed because you let it.” Bass casts his gaze to the side. “Everything I do to you is because you let me. Even in this body, I’m not strong enough.”

[ihfmseatsoch]

ok ok ok so if i may be so bold as to request something, ive been enamored wiht the idea of an older, controlling, borderline abuse boyfriend jimmy, like he and reader live together on earth, and reader goes to college, while jimmy works physical jobs trying to support them both. he's a SHITTY person though, so hes jealous of any man the reader talks to, reads through their phone, makes sinde comments about their weight and appearance, and (im totally not projecting here) eventually pressures them into dropping out, for like his perfect little live in partner/gf fantasy sjdhasd feel free to do whatever with this, but this specific scenario has not left my head for days

WHEEE this was fun to write ^w^ i rushed this a bit but i just didnt want you to have to wait any longer... :p

—

Jimmy Zare x fem!reader

reader uses fem terms (girl, girlfriend)

genre: how do i categorize this.... fic that makes you feel bad or horny depending on how you handle verbal abuse lol

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: age gap, domestic abuse, manipulation, arguing, fat shaming, several references to the readers body/appearance, jimmy being the biggest asshole oh my god i hate him (i want him so bad it makes me look stupid)

(is it bad that writing about jimmy yelling at me turns me on... WOAHHH who said that .....😰 also dont kill me for the weight shaming part IM A FAT GIRL !!!!!! i like when evil men are mean to me !!!!!! RAAAH)

—

"He's a good guy, he can actually be really sweet!"

That's a sentence you find yourself saying out of complete muscle memory at this point whenever someone questions why your boyfriend–... well, they question an awful lot about your boyfriend.

For example, why he's over twenty years your senior whilst you're still going to class on the weekdays. Why he doesn't allow you to see your friends, wear certain clothes, leave your apartment without him, and why he takes up so much space in your brain, completely distracting you from your own life and goals.

You've missed at least four assignments this semester alone. It's stupid, really. You thought you'd be done with obsessing and crying over boys after you graduated highschool. It's completely immature for a so-called adult like yourself, but then again, you're hardly into adulthood at all.

Jimmy, on the other hand, has a lot more life experience, many of those experiences negative. That might be why you've taken some form of pity on him, going so far as to move into his apartment so you can take care of him when you're not busy. He needs someone to make sure he doesn't fall off the deep end.

The thing is, it's become hard to fit him in your schedule, but whenever you're unable to make time for him after he comes home from work, that familiar scowl on his face indicating it was another shitty day, he throws a fit.

He'll accuse you of everything under the sun; Infidelity being the primary thing.

"You don't love me. There's someone else, isn't there? It's that one kid that asked you to help him 'study' last week, isn't it? No? Give me your fucking phone, then."

This is what you come home to everyday, so it's nothing new. In fact, you're pretty used to it by now. Though today, Jimmy seems particularly pissed.

"Where have you been?" He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, eyeing you up and down like he always does when he's about to grill you on something.

"Sorry..." You mutter, way too tired to deal with one of his moods again. "Traffic." You answer simply, not having enough energy to overexplain yourself like you normally do.

"Uh huh. Traffic." He mimics you in a way that already tells you he's not buying it. Great.

"...It's the truth." You shrink into yourself at the way he's looking at you. Contemptuous as always. You're in for another argument, it seems. A million, desperate pleas run through your mind;

'Please don't give me another lecture about how you're my only financial support, and how grateful I should be. Please don't ask to see my phone. Please don't tell me to drop out.'

But, of course, you can't actually change the outcome of this. You're gonna get yelled at. Belittled. Degraded.

"You're two hours late, and you're gonna tell me you were just stuck in traffic?" He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you.

"You're never home when you're supposed to be, and when you are home, you're all tired and upset.” He pokes a finger into your shoulder, hard. "What do you think that looks like from my point of view?"

"I'm sorry." You rub your face, exasperated. God, you wish he would shut up sometimes. Sure, he can be amicable, but lately... he's been a raging dick. Yet, you can't help but cling to the memory of his good moments. "I'll try to make it back on time tomorrow."

"Yeah? And how many times have I heard that before?" He sneers, "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

The way he accuses you so confidently, so sure of himself... it's insulting. Does he really think that little of you? "College has been kicking my ass, Jim. You know that. I'm not hiding anything from you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, college this, college that. Always complaining about fuckin' college," He scoffs, his eyes stay narrowed, still glaring. "How about what I'm going through? You think I'm having a great time every day at work, hm?"

"No, I–" You stammer, hating the way he's turning this around to make himself the victim. Oh, woe is him, having to provide for himself and his girlfriend. How tortured he is. "I know, alright? I'm sorry. I just– what else do you expect me to do?"

"Be here. Like you're supposed to be. And I expect you to stop acting like I'm the bad guy for asking you to be a decent girlfriend."

Jimmy's voice raises slightly as he takes a step closer, towering over your sheepish figure. He nudges your shoulder again, even rougher this time.

"I'm busting my ass every day to put food on the table, and you can't even have the decency to show up on time, let alone look happy to see me?"

"I– I am happy to see you! I am, I'm just– you don't get it. I want to be here, but... I'm not even halfway through this semester, and–" You stumble over your words as you attempt, in vain, to defend yourself. It's not like he'll ever feel sympathy for you. It's always about what he wants. What makes him happy.

Jimmy rolls his eyes at your attempt to reason with him. It's as if he doesn't even register a word you say. "But what? What's more important to you, huh? Some stupid classes, or the guy who keeps a fuckin' roof over your head and feeds you? Be grateful, goddamn it." He snaps, grabbing your arms and giving them a forceful shake.

You flinch from being handled like you're not even a human being, much less one with feelings. "Stop, please, I'm– I am grateful, I really am..." You're not lying, either. To be honest, his guilt tripping works wonders on you. Are you really acting unappreciative? He wouldn't be this upset if you were in the right...

He seems unfazed by your frightened demeanor and continues to hold a firm grip on your arms. He looks you up and down, not even having to say anything for you to know he's judging you, as a girlfriend and person in general.

"Oh, you're grateful? Then maybe you should act like it for once." Jimmy gives your arms another firm shake, a harsh reminder of who's in charge here.

"I'm not asking much of you. I just want you to be here, and you can't even do that. Do you think I'm just gonna sit back and accept that bullshit?"

"No..." You shake your head, looking down at the ground in shame. Were you really that awful? You didn't want to be a bad partner, it's the last thing you ever wanted. If you could make eye contact without feeling guilty, you'd see Jimmy's face light up with satisfaction as he finally notices you're not even bothering to put up a fight anymore.

There's a condescending lilt to his tone as he speaks, "No one will ever love you like I do. You know that?"

You nod, knowing there has to be some truth to his claim. He takes care of you, doesn't he? He keeps a roof over your head, gives you money for groceries, and he's not always that unpleasant to be around...

He's a good boyfriend. You're the problem. You always are.

"Exactly."

The grip on your arms eases, moving them to place a hand on each of your shoulders, contrastingly gentle compared to his behavior only moments ago.

"You oughta thank your lucky stars you have a man like me who puts up with all your bullshit. You get that, right? How lucky you are to be with me?"

You know he's right. You were blessed with someone who still loves you, despite your many shortcomings. You're too fat, the acne on your face and body is repulsive, the way you do your makeup is weird... all of this being things Jimmy has told you directly. At least you have an honest boyfriend, isn't that what every girl wants?

He gives your shoulder a pat, like he's treating you like a small, petulant child. "You realize I could have literally any girl I want, right? Pretty, skinny, smart ones, even. But I chose you. Because I care about you."

He pauses, letting that sink in.

"But it would help if you'd actually put the effort in to look decent." He adds as an afterthought.

You've internalized every single snide remark he's thrown your way, reminded of them every single time you look in the mirror. Yet he still loves someone like you. Someone so difficult and embarrassing to be with.

"Jim, I don't... I don't know how I'm even gonna be able to free my schedule at all with school and stuff..." You mumble guiltily. You know he wants you to drop out, he's suggested it more times than you can count.

"That right there, that's why I'm frustrated, goddamn it," He says with an exacerbated sigh. He moves one hand from your shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Why don't you get it? Dropping out isn't the end of the world. Just quit and stay home. Done. Easy."

"It's not that easy... I want to get a good job and help out too, you know..."

It's true that you want to pull your weight around your shared home. With your combined income, it'd make everything easier. But... with how shitty college makes you feel, leaving you beaten down and tired by the end of the day...

You find yourself listening to Jimmy on this for once.

He can tell you're seriously contemplating it this time, which makes him feel... more in control. He's got you thinking and believing exactly what he wants you to. Soon, he'll be able to get you to obey him without another word from you.

The thought of having you as his subservient, stay at home girlfriend is more than appealing. It's his goal to mold you into what he wants you to be.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, I know. But you're stressing yourself half to death, and for what? Some stupid degree? Listen to me, I'm not gonna ask you again. You're just creating problems that don't need to exist. Just quit. You'll have plenty of free time that you can spend with me."

You can't deny how tempting the idea is. Hesitantly, after several moments of pondering the hypotheticals and what-ifs, you speak up,

"...I guess... dropping out wouldn't hurt too much."

He perks up at that, barely being able to contain a delighted grin. You're actually putting him and his wants first, and acknowledging that he's right. You're doing as he says, without any of the usual arguing or excuses. He'll finally have his dream complaisant, docile girlfriend to come home to every night.

It only took a month or two to finally get you to cave. You'll be easier to control from now on. Hell, maybe you'll lose some weight with some free time on your hands, stop wearing that shitty makeup...

"Good girl," He says in a patronizing tone, like he's addressing a child, "That's what wanna hear."

God, you really hope this isn't a bad idea. Jimmy looks pleased for once, so...

This decision can't possibly ruin your future too badly, right?

—

[mymoshangthoughts]

the thing about my mobei jun hcs are that i believe two things are equally true

mobei jun is helplessly in love with (airplane) shang qinghua and would do literally anything for him, finds him charming, wants to spend the rest of his life with him, would simp 100%, very in love

mobei jun absolutely hates that sniveling motherfucking stupid piece of dumb shit (airplane) shang qinghua and spends many days thinking about how nice it would be to pop off his stupid little head so that he'd stop with all the fucking bullshit and also, fuck that guy

like i think he finds pathetic crybaby airplane to be the cutest thing ever. and he simultaneously thinks he's the most obnoxious bastard ever.

to be fair, i think most of his hate comes solely from the fact that:

airplane is clearly lying to him, has been clearly lying to him, their whole fucking relationship is basically a lie from day 1 and getting him to say anything sincere is like pulling teeth

airplane is not his type. oki bear with me, i know that i SAY two-faced crybabies are his type and thats because THEY ARE. but its like, he doesnt REALIZE that's his type and it's also the type he hates. highkey, this man has 'uncle issues' and realizing that his type is lowkey similar to his uncle is a reality that he is NOT ready to cope with. so he very much THINKS thats the type of person he hates most, even tho he's weak to it

airplane is NOT RESPONDING APPROPRIATELY TO ANY OF HIS COURTING ATTEMPTS, NOT EVEN GIVING AN APPROPRIATE REJECTION. IT IS MADDENING. try being strung along for many years with someone who keeps kinda giving you HOPE they miiigggghhhttt like you back, but then they rescind it just as quickly. over and over and over until you kinda hate them a little bit

i just love the contradiction of mobei jun being very ready to be a devoted and loving partner while also being very ready and happy to punt shang qinghua into a death-cave, oki? like he's been strung along for WAY TOO LONG not to have some hang ups about his shitty not-boyfriend

in other words, our beloved ice demon king is a motherfucking tsundere. to his very core, this trsundere is dying at all times because he simultaneously loves and hates the object of his affection and feels deeply embarrassed by his own feelings and equally shameless about them. mobei jun is pretty much ready at all times to completely deny any affection ever held for shang qinghua with a cold passion AND to shamelessly announce that this is his consort, his husband, the owner of his heart, and the only one he ever wants near him and the person he cares for most in this world

our precious tsundere king is sliiiggghhttly just trying to guard his heart from breaking because shang qinghua basically sends him every single mixed message in the world and LOOK IT MAKES HIM A LOT INSANE

when he tastes even a whiff of rejection from shang qinghua, mobei jun is ready to close himself off and haughtily sniff "i never liked that human anyway, fuck off. im not crying at all". at the slightest indication that shang qinghua returns his affections, he's ready to throw away almost all of his pride and cling to him desperately

i love him so much. mobei jun is so fucking silly and i love it. he absolutely is mad at shang qinghua and holds a grudge against him (for various reasons). but he's also so down bad for shang qinghua that it's a bit sad lmfaooo

expanding upon my previous thoughts of "shang qinghua totally tricking mobei jun into marrying him without his knowledge", i'd just like to say that i think it's a particularly amazing thought with regards to mobei jun's Very Conflicted Heart in mind

like he's split in equal parts "omg omg omg im his!? he's mine?! WE'RE MARRIED?!?!?! HE LOVES ME?!!? HEAD EMPTY, NEED QINGHUA, WHERE QINGHUA, MUST QINGHUA, LOVE QINGHUA, AHHHHHHHHH, NEED HUSBAND NOW" and ".........im going to kill him. im going to skin him alive. im going to roast him over one of those fires he loves so fucking much and eat his organs in front of him while he pleads for his life. THAT MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I CANNOT BELIEVE HIM IM GONNA--"

[dihydromorphinone]

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 you are not suguru geto.

— satosugu!! gojo/geto, heavy angst no comfort, shibuya arc but there’s hidden inventory mentions, gojo’s crashing out, third person pov but it’s all satoru satoru satoru, not proofread and REAL chaotic but tbh that’s how i imagine how gojo felt but i’m not that good with reading characters because i don’t react like my peers oops

an: it’s a bit different than what i usually write so i felt a bit odd posting this but oh well i’m glad i’m trying new things :3

it’s been a long time since gojo saw him.

it’s been a while, he thinks, and gets confused; he killed him, didn’t he? so, who is this then?

no, it has to be him. he didn’t dispose of his body, he couldn’t bring himself to, right? so that might be him.

if he survived, gojo thinks he just became the happiest jujutsu sorcerer ever, and it’s common knowledge they usually lead miserable lives. but how could he survive? no; the person in front of him mustn’t be him.

along with the disturbing thoughts whether the man standing in front of him is the one he loves or perhaps an entity trying to trick him, the memories and equally obnoxious images of them two flood gojo’s mind.

they used to meet up in secret after he defected and tried to continue with their lives as if nothing happened. as if there wasn’t any scars, jabs and marks on their relationship. as if suguru didn’t kill humans, spiralled down and, most importantly for gojo, as if geto did not just leave him.

during their post-geto’s departure meetings, he couldn’t help but just.. reminisce about the good, old times; when they were both young, and most importantly - together, despite everything. there was no other person who would match satoru as well as suguru did, and both of them knew it well.

he was cocky. too arrogant. too full of himself. always the best and no one dares to even assume differently. geto understood everything; he was born and raised with the whole ‚you are the strongest’ mentality, so he wasn’t really blaming him.

and as for suguru - always so oddly polite, seeming even dishonest because of his calm, but peculiar personality; he seemed inhumane, even, and gojo knew well how does it feel to be shunned by your own kin out of fear which was just a bullshit excuse.

they mixed well together, despite all the flaws; together, they created something, perfect. beautiful, even. but can you really create something beautiful and then destroy it?

the betrayal. overwhelming sadness, that feeling as if a thousand needles just pieced him; it was the closest thing satoru could describe what he felt when suguru dropped the bomb on him. he wasn’t mad AT him, he wasn’t upset WITH him - if anything, he was pissed at himself.

he was his closest friend. the only friend. how could he ignore all the warning signs? there were dark circles under his eyes, he really lost a lot of weight, and every time he kissed suguru, he could taste a bit of blood; something he brushed off as him accidentally biting his own tongue or lip too hard, but after some time it was obvious for satoru that it was anything but accidental.

they used to be so young and so happy; riding together on one bike despite it being strictly forbidden, sharing ice cream flavours throughout the summer, using the same umbrella during the fall; even though satoru could just walk in the rain, he turned his infinity off every time suguru pulled out an umbrella.

the man in front of him is not suguru. there is no softness in his voice; the creature tries to imitate it, but fails - no one else did it like suguru. and what’s up with that forehead stitch? he didn’t cut his pretty face, so how is it here? no, that’s not geto suguru. gojo is sure of this.

the flow of cursed energy is surely his. the body may be also his, but he’s not actually there. maybe in some dark depths of his own body, lost and scared of what he’s become - but the one doing all the talking is not his suguru. satoru does not like it at all, and if there’s a god above him; he should feel insulted by all the curses said at his address by the white haired man.

he deserves it anyway, satoru thinks. he put him through hell while he was with suguru and did just the same without him. nothing but a cruel existence. gojo just sighs, trying to accept everything and take it at face value, but he winces against his will.

so how it is then, satoru? he asks himself, expecting no answer; you accepted that you killed him, accepted your tragic and romantic past, so how it is that now you feel your heart crushing, satoru? and truly, he has no explanation ready, because simply, there is none.

he probably never accepted anything wrong about suguru, because there was nothing wrong with and about him. he could apologise for ruining half of the world and gojo would brush it off as, well, something that just happened, not a big deal; and that mindset surely is a double edged sword when your beloved commits crimes against your own morals and law.

now, gojo can’t help but think if somewhere behind those oh-so-familiar eyes that were no longer his, maybe somewhere really deep inside suguru is there watching. and if he is, that’s enough for him; because despite everything, maybe all people are meant to lose the ones they love, but gojo knows he fought for suguru until the very end.

reblogs, comments and likes are very much appreciated 💟

[kalinara]

The one(s) with Baby Scott remind me of that panel that everyone likes to use to make fun of him, or at least AvX.

Folks really do like to make fun of this panel. But they ignore and/or miss the context.

Scott isn't criticizing or attacking Bruce here. He's asking for help. Because he's a child who appeared in a terrifying future to learn that he's (apparently) going to betray everything and everyone he's ever loved. He has learned that HE is the one who is going to kill the man who saved him and gave him everything.

(As much as I hate Xavier, I can't deny that Scott loves him and has good reasons to.)

Fortunately Bruce DOES recognize the context and advises accordingly.

(From the Superior Spider-Man Team Up)

This isn't a funny scene. This is a very quiet, very un-dramatic, but very genuine moment where Bruce Banner is talking a kid out of suicide.

And while the bulk of the blame goes to adult Hank, you can't tell me that moment where Logan holds his claws to his throat in front of a completely silent crowd (with the adult version of at least one of his closest friends), and suggests trading him for Charles Xavier, didn't play a part in this.

I always really wished we got a scene where Bruce actually called Logan and Hank out for this bullshit. But there you go.

--

It does occur to me that the Hope scene has a weird element of being both a tiny bit heartwarming and also proof that Logan learned nothing.

So Hope is trying to assassinate someone. Maybe. I'm not clear on that. There are lots of angry mutants though, helping her. But she and Scott end up having a confrontation, while she holds him at gunpoint.

I mean, it's not a great situation, but it's also not like Nathan hasn't held his father at gunpoint on a regular basis in the 90s and early 00s. Scott's used to this.

I don't really blame Wolverine for jumping in here though, because generally holding someone at gunpoint is not great. Also, I feel like stabbing was probably not necessary. You COULD have just knocked her over the head. (I mean, IRL, that would probably be bad too. But comics work on the same logic as television and concussions are optional.)

It does however lead to Hope shooting her grandfather in the head. Oops.

That's when you get the part where Logan tries to kill her outright. (Amusingly, for all her earlier monologue about how she and Scott are nothing to each other now that Nathan is dead, she does say "thanks for the powers, Grandpa".)

This part's actually a little heartwarming if you're a shipper:

Fortunately, she ends up using Logan's healing factor and surviving.

As a tangent, I really enjoy seeing the damage done to Wolverine from Hope's borrowed optic blasts. It illustrates how much Scott holds back when he and Logan fight.

Also, tangential bonus:

We can't even really credit Hope's incredible aiming skills for the fact that she managed to shoot his eye out without any sort of damage to the rest of his pretty, pretty face.

The universe just wants to keep this man beautiful. (It doesn't want to face Jean's wrath if it doesn't, perhaps.)

But anyway, it's heartwarming to see Logan actually acknowledge that he cares about Scott. It's also pretty eye-rolling though that he hasn't really learned anything from AvX though. Yet again, he's blaming someone for the accidental (only apparent this time) death of someone he loved, ignoring his own role in the accident, and outright shamelessly attempting to murder a child.

Tsk.

(The Hope, Logan and Scott scans are all from Uncanny X-Men #15)

Logan shouldn't be allowed near children

I know that's a loaded title but I stand by it. There's obviously an element of Flanderisation going on but considering his stated reason for opening the Jean Grey school he is far too eager to murder children.

Why TF is he leaping at children, snarling with his claws out? Check out the frothing drool.

For example, in All-New X-Men, the O5 have just been bought to the future by Hank McCoy. He stops teaching his violence through yelling class and heads out the front, leaping at the 16 year olds with his claws out. Not Hank, who brought them there but clearly traumatised children - while screaming like a lunatic of course. Even if he's not trying to kill them, what purpose does terrifying them serve? He clearly IS trying to kill them, though. I'm sure his students would love to see their headmaster butcher confused children in front of them.

Unsurprisingly, he scares the fuck out of them. In part influenced by constant threats of his violence, the O5 steal the X-Jet and flee, explicitly doubting this guy is an X-Man. His thoughts about the 16 year old Jean Grey... No dude, this isn't the Jean you know. She's a child you've tried to kill. Fucking creep.

This one is great. Young Scott has enough going on without this frothing beast advocating for his immediate execution as punishment for his future self's actions. Out front of the school with literally everyone watching. He's using his authority to advocate for slaughtering a child. Thankfully nobody agrees with him, but this is traumatic, terrifying, and affects Scott especially so badly he runs away.

No wonder he freaks out and leaves. Obviously the headmaster of a school should drop what he's doing, not for his wellbeing but to get his bike back. How is he in charge of anyone's wellbeing or moral instruction? He demands absolute obedience while doing nothing to deserve it. It's all about how Logan feels.

Here he is trying to gut a 15 year old Wiccan for having Scarlet Witch vibes, not for the or last time. I'm a little surprised he remained an Avenger after this. When you have knives for hands everyone looks like a pincushion. Except that's not it, because everyone else is a living weapon too and they mostly manage to be somewhat rational.

Why are his claws out here? Is he trying to kill him? What did he expect after threatening and traumatizing him? Snarling and shouting like an animal - isn't he trying to emulate Chuck here?

I can't remember why he's doing this but it's not the first time he's tried to kill Hope. Didn't work then either.

A 16 year old Jean uses a telepathic projection of the Phoenix to aid Wolverine in a fight. He stupidly thinks it's real and straight up tries to kill her. The bad guys get away. Not sure how many times he has to attempt to kill the Phoenix before he understands it's not an appropriate thing to do, nor is it about him. He's more like Sabertooth than he thinks, except he thinks he's in the right and somehow never gets called out. Logan has advanced senses - how is his instinct to straight up kill her instead of investigating further?

We can do better

I think that once Logan reached a certain point of saturation he became static. The lone wolf that's the best there is at what he does, and what he does is behave so unpleasantly it's hard to believe anyone would want to be near him, let alone allow him to run a school. He says 'bub' a lot and he snikts at the drop of a hat while repeating the same interpersonal drama over and over. I see him as a frequent self insert for the worst kind of toxic masculinity yet he's more popular than ever. No judgement if you like him at all, but I think the character deserves better. Somehow he's still a misunderstood loner despite a lot of people knowing him very well - with the amount of teams and books he's in he has the most active social life in 616. It'll never happen but I'd like to see him retire, as there are several Wolverines better than he..

[howicked]

Ah, Robin. We've been looking everywhere for you. Would you mind answering a few questions for us?

BBC GHOSTS (2019-2023) | 05x03 (Pineapple Day)