#very military very practical lots of pockets

[spicyraeman]

more lae'zel doodles. I am nothing if not predictable

[daddykinkkinard]

! crossposting from my twitter !

bucktommy costume analysis 👔

hi ! i'm a fashion student and am really interested in costume design so i wanted to do a (long) post on tommy's style and how i think buck might be influenced by it in s8 as seen in "buck's britches." :))

[about tommy]

tommy's wardrobe is entirely functional and indicative of his dedication to his work. it's practical, useful, and speaks of his can-do attitude.

all his signature clothes (henleys, shackets, canvas jackets) have historical traces to being used as workwear.

(1) henleys - this one, ironically in the philippines it has its own term in our local language. it's called a camisa de chino and is used by laborers. although i live in a different country, i'm sure its use case is still the same for other countries as it's historically deemed the workman's undergarment.

also: yes. tommy is technically right. there were henleys in the 80s. even in the 1880s. so what we're learning here now folks, is that he's a smartass little shit.

(2) shackets - historically, also an item used by the working class. they were mostly worn to prevent any possible stains on inner clothes from their work (i.e. dirt, grease, grime, etc.)

(3) canvas jacket - although this was only seen in 7x04, it's more likely that he still owns a lot more. (waxed) canvas jackets are traditional workwear often used as weatherproof outerwear or heavy duty rainwear.

as a form of fun speculation, i'd like to think some of these items are also in his closet:

contrast collar canvas jacket

an authentic flight jacket

overalls, but only for when he fixes up the car

denim trucker jacket

if anything, who better to listen to when talking about tommy's clothes than tommy himself !

here's lou's cameo for me describing tommy's closet as rugged, practical and useful :))

[about "buck's britches"]

now to the "buck's britches" post. two notable items of clothing:

the famous flight jacket

baker pants.

now here's the thing about buck:

buck doesn't wear utilitarian clothing. in fact, he doesn't wear woven clothing all that much. he wears knit. knit polos. sweaters. hoodies. he is not a workwear person. in fact: he's a comfort person.

that's his primary reason for style that's a testament to his own character. buck is widely recognized as the more radiant and funny character. he has charisma and is very inviting, which is accompanied by his choice in clothing.

soft, warm, comfortable.

which goes back to the photo ostark posted on his instagram story.

(1) flight jacket - here's where i have to go and burst everyone's bubble for a bit. this is only a flight jacket because it's labelled as such. but categorically, it isn't. flight jackets are the classic term for bomber jackets.

bomber jackets (and flight jackets) were workwear used by the military, characterized by garterized cuffs and hems and short bodices. for pilots, they were interchangeable. but modernly, they have some more definable features.

characteristically, flight (or aviator) jackets are leather with shearling or sherpa collars. bomber jackets are the modernized version taking the silhouette and cuff designs and making them more accessible through material choice (linen—like buck—nylon, silk)

(2) baker pants - as the name suggests, it's a piece of kitchen workwear often in twill (which i'd assume is what oliver is wearing), denim, cotton or linen. it's characterized by the topstitching to outline the pockets and diagonal pocket openings (vs. the usual curve).

so very evidently: buck has been influenced by tommy's style. he's wearing woven material versus knit for one. if i were hopeful, i'd say they're exploring one another's style because they're sharing a closet.

[character analysis]

woven fabric as a material is sturdy. it's more structured and does not stretch. think: cotton, linen, rayon, wool, denim. what this means for buck is that, by virtue of being tommy's boyfriend he is introduced to structure, groundedness and maturity.

tommy's closet is filled with utilitarian clothing and workwear. he, as a character, is known to be emotionally grounded and mature and it translates to his clothing.

buck adapting the defining features of his wardrobe shows how much tommy has helped him get off his hamster wheel.

in fact, even the inverse can be noted. when buck asks for a second chance and practices communication towards tommy. he's wearing a woven buttondown. and in emphasizing tommy's desire to make buck comfortable, he's in a hoodie. neither of which are common for one another.

buck and tommy, even through subtle clothing choices are becoming part of one another's world and that makes me so soft as someone whose love language is fashion.

[wishful thinking]

perhaps maybe we could see tommy in a fully casual sweat set? i know that they might be protecting lfjr but man. if i see a hoodie on him. (nqueso, if you can sneak me a photo of him in knitwear ill love you forever i just want to prove my theory right i wont even post it)

if they are putting buck in this sort of attire, my guess (or hope) is that they have tommy ease up too.

it would be nice to show buck's effect on tommy as much as tommy's effect on buck because tommy's an established character and has a backstory that the writers could explore.

so if the 9-1-1 costume designers ever see this:

please put tommy in a sweat set. or a hoodie. (not a zip-up one, im talking real hoodie). i'm willing to compromise with overalls. i see what you're doing with buck's wardrobe, and love it. maybe tommy's could soften up too :))

thanks for reading ! 🫶

[oceantornadoo]

hiiiii, i just read your annoying military neighbor story with price and… lord help me cause if that’s not my favorite scenario then i don’t know what is. it’s so good. and i think your set up is very tasty it’s got that juice. so i come asking for a full fledged long (as long as you wish it be) and angsty (as angsty as you wish it be) fic based on it. it would be a delight. please.

anyway, love you have a good timezone ✨👍🏻

you are so lovely i love asks like this!!! i tried to keep the politics very general since john’s british but as an american, i also have very complicated issues with our military. also the angst turned into cockwarming, not sure how that happened…

—

it had been a week of you sleeping at john’s before you came to your senses. a week of knocking at his door, ignoring his eye contact, and slinking in like a guilty cat. a week of falling asleep on his lap to the soothing sounds of his tv and waking up in his bed, one thick hairy arm a chain around your waist. you’d always dipped out as fast as possible, needing to get to work, but today was a saturday, so you blissfully luxuriated in his soft bed and warm presence.

john felt like he was walking on eggshells. you’d show up when no one could see you and walk out before the world was awake. of course, it was the best sleep of his life. funny from a man who just wanted to sleep alone after sharing tents and safe houses with his men. something about you on his lap, practically purring, or you underneath him, protected, sent him to sleep like no other drug could. he couldn’t take a week of no conversation so today, he was determined to woo you.

when you got up, john was nowhere to be found. you followed the delicious scent of pancakes to his kitchen, his back turned to you as he focused on his stove. you took in his back muscles for a moment then turned your gaze to his walls, this being the first time you'd looked at them in the morning light. the sights of medals, pictures in camo gear, and congratulations notes assaulted you, guilt gathering low in your stomach. you could see the blood staining him in a few pictures, a visual to how freely he treated other humans through the nature of his job. now there was a sour taste in your mouth, the smell of pancakes suddenly nauseating.

"hungry?" john finally acknowledged your presence, figuring he could lure you in with food. instead he saw your spine straighten, lips pursing as you turned your gaze towards him. shit. "no, im fine. gonna get going, lots of errands to do." you made to move out of his line of sight and on instinct he burst towards you, stopping you with a hand on your arm. "stay." your eyes flicked to his walls again, then back to him. "your pancakes are burning, john. thanks for the offer but i need to go." he swore under his breath as he turned to shut the stove off, moving the burnt pan off the heat. guess he needed to up his game to keep you. "y' need your key, sweetheart." he was back in front of you with a grin, hand patting his back pocket. you rolled your eyes, reaching forward to grab at it as he took a step back. the action was childish, absolutely too young for a man of his age and level in the military, and yet, here he was.

“don’t think i can’t see past you, john. you can’t order me around like one of your soldiers.” so that’s what had been bothering you. he’d seen it in glimpses: anti war buttons on your bag, heard your loud conversations with fellow activists through the walls, the guilt in your eyes every time you showed up at his door. he’d thought you just disliked the bachelor pad, his men watching football with the volume up; but it was more than that. your dislike for his job ran deep.

“somethin’ you wanna talk about, love?” his voice was low and threatening, abandoning the childishness that had overcome him. this is why he didn’t mess with civilians - their “morals” not adapted to the realities of the battlefield. of course, you and those eyes had rendered his rule useless, and now he was paying for it. “not particularly.” your eyes shifted, ignoring his. he didn’t like to stand over you, wasn’t one of those men who needed to swing his cock around to get a woman to pay attention, but you always made him work for it. his hand grasped your jaw, tugging you forward to meet his torso, your pelvises brushing. “say it.”

“i don’t like what you do for work, okay? i respect you’re sacrificing everything for your country but i hate that you’re carrying out orders for people pushing senseless wars and countless deaths. i don’t like that the laws don’t apply to you.” he huffed. finally. “you think i like killin’? the blood on my hands stains everythin’ i touch. and bein’ in charge, telling my men to do the same? but it’s fuckin’ necessary an’ if i don’t do it, a worse man will.” you turned away, cheek brushing his torso.

“i know you’re not at the top, not in the politics, but i also know you’re fucking up there, john. you’re not some grunt worker, you’re conscious of the shit you do!” fucking minx, you had taken your keys out of his pocket when he wasn’t paying attention. you backed away towards the door, his body suddenly freezing without you. “i’m sorry. i can’t.” you were grabbing your stuff, toeing your shoes, and out the door before he couldn’t blink.

it had been a week and you were miserable. circles under your eyes, constantly yawning at work. couldn’t catch more than a few hours without sleeping in john’s arms, the thought of it closing your throat. it was a lonely friday night and you were hibernating in your living room, the farthest room from the wall you shared with john. your food delivery was late, again, so when you heard the heavy knock at your door, you jumped out of the position on your couch. “i don’t want to be that person but i was supposed to get my food thirty - oh. hi john.”

he looked worse than you felt. with his overgrown beard and tired eyes, it was like he’d aged ten years before your eyes. “can i come in?” you nodded and saw your takeaway in his proffered hand. in spite of yourself you smiled, and the grin he gave you in return rewinded that aged look in an instant. john took in the sight of your apartment as he took off his shoes and took the food out of the bag. sure enough, a few signs demanding peace crowded your walls, mixed with art and music. it felt too intimate for him to be here. his apartment was simply a place to rest between deployments but this, this was your home. the thought of not seeing it for a while quickly dampened his mood.

“what’s wrong?” you asked through a stuffed face, too impatient to wait for him to start eating. you guided him towards your couch, the both of you taking a moment to eat the food you ordered in amicable silence. “i ship out in a week. be gone a month, maybe more. just didn’t want-“ he never got to finish his sentence, too busy catching you as you launched yourself on his lap, food forgotten. “john. i’m sorry. i-“ he shushed you with a glimmer in his eyes. “don’t apologize for speakin’ your mind, love. ‘specially to me.” you nodded, pulling back to meet his gaze. “doesn’t mean i’m not sorry.” he grinned. “me too.”

“what are we doing, john?” he shook his head, kissing your forehead. “whatever we want, as long as it ends with you in my arms. my sleep was shite this week.” you giggled. “me too. pretty sure i fell asleep standing one day.” he turned serious again. “you can ask me questions. just don’t run away from me again. got it, love?” his hands on your hips, pulling you closer til your pelvises kissed. the feel of his hardness under your pajamas, the forcefulness of his eye contact, the baritone of his voice; it made you squirm, a familiar build in your stomach. “ok.” you said a bit breathlessly, trying to hold back your moans as you focused on his t shirt instead of his face. john jutted his hips up, catching your clothed clit at the perfect angle.

“john.” you moaned, practically a whine. “you like being ordered around, sweetheart? quite a walking contradiction.” he saw your nipples stiffen under your thin shirt, warmth building up your neck to your cheeks. “look at these. practically begging for it.” he mouthed one over your shirt, tongue tracing the outline of your nipple. you started writhing in his lap, grinding back and forth on the imprint of his fat cock trapped under his jeans. you were halfway to orgasm already, the slow grind turning up the pressure, your walls clenching in anticipation. he reached a hand to your neck, keeping you in place with a strong grip. “keep fucking yourself on my lap, love. just like that. can feel you getting closer.” he switched his mouth to the other nipple, licking and sucking and swallowing. your shirt was practically transparent due to his ministrations, the feel of it like a tether pulling at your core. “more, john, more.” he squeezed your neck and bit your nipple at the same time, the sensation of being utterly controlled so appealing you came in his lap. waves ran through you as the clenching became hard than soft, eventually making you boneless in his lap.

“wanna fuck you but i’m so tired.” you sniffed into his neck, back in the position that had led you both here. “i’ll jus’ put it in, love, an’ you can go to sleep. alright?” you nodded against his skin. john pushed aside your pajama shorts, reveling at the touch of your wet heat. another time. he pulled out his cock, beads of precum rolling down, then slipped it into you with ease, your previous orgasm and overwhelming tiredness making you putty in his arms. “so big.” you yawned. “so tired. just give me an hour and…” you trailed off, asleep once again in his arms, back where you belonged.

[geminiwritten]

hold on ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you’re the youngest member of the boys and you hate that butcher insists on calling you ‘kid’ so you show him in more ways than one that you are not a child

notes: this is very weak, but it was kind of good writing practice because i definitely don’t write a lot of action (i’m so sorry if it sucks)! as always, please let me know what you think!

warnings: a lot of swearing, google translated french, age gap (not specified, but inferred) guns, violence, a dagger, explosion, descriptions of wounding (please don’t read if any of this is triggering for you!)

word count: 4310

Butcher is an asshole. You knew that from the moment you met him. He is rude, and brash, and impulsive to the point that made you believe he didn’t have an angel on one of his shoulders, only two antagonistic little devils. You often found yourself itching to dig your fist into his face, especially when he called you by the stupid nickname he coined the moment he met you. Kid, or The Kid, if you weren’t in the room. It vexed you beyond belief, and you knew exactly why.

Butcher is an asshole, but he’s also fucking gorgeous. He’s tall and broad, and his voice is so delicious, it often finds its way into your filthiest dreams. To say you were obsessed with the man wouldn’t be an overstatement, and it was no secret, everyone but Butcher himself knows it. You’ve wanted him from the moment you met him, but then he went ahead and called you ‘kid’ and you quickly realised that he didn’t see you as anything more than one of the boys. The youngest one of the boys.

“Are you okay, mon amour?” Frenchie asks, nudging you with his shoulder.

You look at the man sitting beside you, dressed head to toe in black with a bandolier slung across his body. The van rattles as it hits a bump, and across from you, MM casts an angry glare toward the driver’s seat.

“I’m good,” you reply, flexing your fingers around the gun laying across your lap.

You were no stranger to the weapon, having spent years training in the special forces before flunking out the minute you found out about the movement for Supes to be contracted into the military. You were furious and scared, and then you ran into an old neighbour whose mother used to be book club buddies with yours – Hughie – and the rest is history.

“Butcher’s on location,” MM says, tucking his phone back into the pocket on his vest.

“Make sure he waits,” Hughie calls from the front of the van. “It’ll take me five minutes to get eyes on the whole building, but he can’t go in blind.”

MM looks at Frenchie, “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive,” Frenchie replies, “They will not be prepared for a raid, and they will have the information we need.”

“And how many are going to be willing to give it to us?” you ask.

He grimaces, “Not many, but I do not doubt your persuasion skills, mon cherie.”

“Persuasion,” you scoff, looking down at the weapon in your lap.

Don’t get it wrong, you weren’t some kind of super CIA motherfucker who should be feared by all, but you were pretty swift when you needed to be. You weren’t overly worried about the mission, not with Frenchie, MM, and Butcher at your back, but you hadn’t properly exercised your training in months. You know you’re going to be rusty, and you don’t exactly know what you’re walking into, but Frenchie does, and he’s confident in your ability.

The objective was simple. Frenchie had some old friends who were keeping tabs on his and Butcher’s movements and feeding them back to someone who was then getting them to Vought somehow. All you had to do was shut them down and find out who their contact was, and probably murder more than half of them in the process. Simple, right? Except for the fact that not even Frenchie knew exactly how many men you were running in on, or what kind of weapons they had.

“We’re here,” Hughie announces, just before the three of you in the back lurch forward with the sudden stop of the van.

You button up the fastenings on your fingerless gloves and check that your bandolier is packed with extra magazines before standing up. MM opens the doors for Hughie, and he jumps up into the back of the van with his laptop under his arm. Frenchie pulls a small stool from the storage cage and plants it in front of the flip down desk as Hughie begins unpacking his equipment. No more than five minutes pass before video images start popping up in black and white squares across the screens.

“Butcher,” Hughie says, tucking his earpiece in, “can you hear me?”

You fix your own piece into your ear before routinely checking the clips and fastenings across your tact suit.

“I can ‘ear you,” Butcher’s voice rumbles in your ear, and you can feel your cheeks flush pink.

“Alright,” Hughie scans the screens in front of him, “they’ve got pretty high tech surveillance, but their security isn’t great. I’m getting twenty-two heat signatures, most in the basement, a couple on the ground floor, and three on the fourth. According to Frenchie’s intel, there are other tenants in the building, so my guess is that three up top aren’t apart of this.”

“The two at ground level are most likely security,” Frenchie says. “There are always one or two of them watching the building’s main entrance.”

“But there’s another way in?” MM asks.

Hughie nods, “Looks like you can access the basement from the back, but that’s probably their main point of access, so you’ll want to find another way in.”

“You tellin’ me there’s one fuckin’ door to this place?” Butcher’s voice comes through the earpiece again, and you have to flex your fingers around your gun to remind yourself to focus.

“The backdoor and the building’s main stairwell,” Frenchie replies.

“Two fuckin’ doors?” Butcher says. “Fuckin’ hell, Frenchie, how the hell are we s’pposed to get out if things go wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Frenchie states, giving you an incredibly confident grin.

Your stomach twists nervously, but you don’t let it show, returning his grin with a nod and a small smile.

“There are windows,” Hughie says, “but only Y/N will fit, maybe Frenchie.”

“Then we go first,” you look at Frenchie, “through the windows and make sure Butcher and MM can get in the back.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Butcher snaps. “We don’t know what kind of weapons these cunts got, and if you two get overpowered, we won’t be able to get in ‘n’ help. We all go in the backdoor, force our way in.”

Frenchie chuckles, “You are a fan of forcing yourself into the backdoor, Monsieur Charcutier?”

MM snorts while you and Hughie snicker, but there isn’t a sound from Butcher.

“Look,” you say, “I appreciate your concern, Butcher, but we have the best chance of surprising them by slipping in where they won’t expect.”

Frenchie giggles again at your unintentional innuendo.

“Listen, Kid,” Butcher says, sending wave of irritation through your body, “I appreciate your concern, but I ain’t lettin’ you ‘n’ Frenchie get killed for somethin’ as trivial as a bit of intel.”

“I’m not a fucking kid, Butcher,” you bite back, at which everyone in the van startles. “Frenchie and I will meet you at the backdoor.”

You pull your black kerchief up over your nose and crack the van’s doors open, peaking out cautiously before stepping down and into the dark night. Frenchie and MM follow your silent footsteps toward the brick building, skirting around the side until you find the low and narrow basement windows. You point at MM and then toward the back of the building, and he nods before hurrying off.

“There’s a guard waiting outside the backdoor,” Hughie’s voice comes through your earpiece.

You hear a couple of grunts before MM says, “Not anymore.”

“Do you have Butcher?” Hughie asks.

“We’re in position,” MM affirms.

You nod at Frenchie and he gestures for you to go first, so you turn to the closest window. You take a deep breath before crouching beside the window and gripping a lip in the brickwork to help swing your body through. Using your chunky black boots, you kick the window in and follow the momentum with your feet first. You hit the concrete floor with a thud, quickly darting to the side before Frenchie drops down in the same fashion.

“What the fuck?!” one of the men shouts, scrambling to get up from the old and torn sofa on which he sat.

Your hands are on your gun before you can remember thinking about it, and a gunshot bursts in your left ear as a thug across the room fires at you, missing completely. You take aim and shoot his shoulder, making him drop his gun and crumple to the floor in pain. Two more bullets hit the brick wall behind you, and two more of the gangsters fall with wounds in their shoulders. Frenchie is already rushing to the backdoor, and you cover him easily by dropping three more men with pistols and hitting one in the leg who was scrambling toward the stairs. A cluster of lankier looking men cower in what looks like a makeshift drug lab, all wearing rubber aprons and protective goggles over their eyes. You turn away from them and take down another heading for the stairs, watching him fall on top of his comrade before whipping around and firing at a thug who was pointing his gun at Frenchie. The bullet cracks as it hits him in the side of the head, but you don’t have time to regret your aim before someone tackles you from behind. You duck forward, gripping his thick arms before he can strangle you, and use his momentum to throw him onto his back on the floor in front of you with a loud thump.

Your gun is back in your hands as you scan the room over its barrel, a familiar sense a satisfaction quelling your fight mode when you find every assailant either downed or cowering with their hands up. The backdoor creaks open, and MM and Butcher march in with guns up before stopping abruptly at the sight of the pacified room.

“What did I tell you, eh?” Frenchie says, and you hear it more in your earpiece than from across the room. “She is fucking incroyable.”

“Holy shit,” MM mutters, lowering his gun.

Butcher’s eyes are wild above his face covering, filled with an emotion you can’t discern as he stares at you across the dark room.

“Alright,” Frenchie shouts, pulling his kerchief down, “where the fuck is Lafeyette?”

The room stays quiet, but the four of you slowly cast heavy glares across the fallen thugs until one of the timid lab assistants points a shaking finger toward the two men collapsed by the stairs.

“Time to talk you filthy sac de merde,” Frenchie spits, as he and Butcher stalk toward the men.

MM nods at you as he readjusts his gun and widens his stance, guarding the door in case anyone thinks of trying to escape. Your fighter instincts settle at the slight sense of security, and you sling your gun over your shoulder as you approach the small drug lab.

“What are your names?” you ask the men.

Three of them glance at the shortest of the four, and with trembling hands he moves his goggles onto his head, revealing two clean circles of skin around his bright blue eyes.

“I am Gabriel,” he says, his accent thicker than Frenchie’s, “this is Théo, Lucas, and Éliott. They do not speak English.”

“Can they understand it?”

He nods, “Mostly.”

“Good,” you nod and hold your hands up, “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you give me a reason to.”

They all shake their heads vigorously.

“Are you here because you want to be?” you ask them.

“No,” Gabriel replies, and the other three shake their heads again.

“How did you get here?”

“Théo and I came together,” Gabriel says, “without papers, and Monsieur Toussaint said he would get us citizenship. Lucas and Éliott were here already, and they have kept us from leaving.”

You gesture to the bench full of laboratory equipment, “You make drugs for them?”

“Oui,” he nods, “Lucas is a- uh, how do you say un scientifique?”

“A scientist,” MM calls out from behind you.

“Oui,” Gabriel nods again, “he teaches us to cook.”

You frown, “Do you have any family here?”

“Théo has family in America,” he replies.

“Does he know where they are? Can you contact them if we help you leave?”

His bright blue eyes sparkle with hope, “Oui!”

You nod, “Good, we’re going to try and help you, okay?”

You barely finish your sentence before MM screams your name, and you feel the weight of a large hand on your left shoulder, dragging you back and blocking your ability to grab your gun. You crouch under the pressure and reach your thigh holster with your right hand, gripping the hilt of your dagger. You unsheathe it as you turn in a full one-eighty, escaping the assailant’s grasp and sweeping underneath his arm with your dagger outstretched. The blade slashes horizontally right beneath his kneecap, causing him to buckle as you rise to your full height and lacerate his throat. You leap back to avoid the spray of blood and falling body, watching the man slump face first into the concrete floor at your feet.

When you look up, you find every pair of – conscious – eyes on you, a mixture of terror and disbelief written across the room of faces.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks, though there is more pride than concern in his expression.

“I’m good,” you reply, crouching down to clean each side of your dagger on the dead man’s shirt before tucking it back into your holster.

Butcher drops the collar of who you assume is Lafayette, and you still can’t read his face behind his kerchief as he stares at you.

“Uh, guys,” Hughie’s voice speaks into your ear, “someone heard the gunshots, you’ve got emergency response on site in less than five minutes.”

Frenchie swings his foot into Lafayette’s stomach before nodding at MM, “Let’s go.”

You turn to the four lab assistants and gesture toward the backdoor. They scramble to remove their protective gear before hurrying toward MM who guides them out. Frenchie jogs past you, but Butcher stops and holds his hand out.

He pulls his kerchief down, “I’ll do it, you get out of ‘ere, Kid.”

“Fat chance,” you scoff, “now go.”

You’ve already got the gas canister in hand, and he knows you’ll pop it before he can argue, so he turns and mutters something inaudible as he stalks toward the door.

With your kerchief securely up over your nose, you release the pin and throw the gas into the room before turning to the lab table. You work quickly, pouring the two vials that Frenchie gave you into an empty beaker and setting it atop a lit burner. In five long leaps, you’re out the door and slamming it shut before sprinting away.

Butcher is waiting for you just around the side of the building, his hand outstretched. You barely have time to grab it before a huge explosion blows through the low basement windows and shakes the entire building. Butcher pulls your body against his, pivoting so that his back is to the blast as it knocks both of you off your feet. You hit the ground and your ears ring, but you don’t feel a single bit of debris hit you thanks to the body lying on top of yours.

“Fuck,” Butcher curses, though his voice sounds distant in your ringing ears.

You look up at him, his face inches from yours and smattered with dust and dirt. The adrenaline coursing through your veins has your whole body on high alert, overly aware of every part of him that is pressed against you.

He looks down at you, his pupils blown wide as his gaze darts to your lips. He licks his own, his chest heaving against yours and your head spins with a thousand filthy thoughts. For a split second, you think he might kiss you, and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation, but then he pushes himself up and offers his hand. You sigh and take it, letting him haul you off the ground.

“You alrigh’, Kid?” he asks.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” you spit, snatching your hand from his.

You run toward the van and leap into the open doors, Butcher at your heels. Hughie slams on the accelerator before Frenchie has even closed the doors, and you instinctually grab onto the nearest thing to steady yourself. It just so happens to be Butcher, and you know not from the scratch of his beard against your temple as you cling to him, but his scent. Warm and woody, with hint of apple-scented soap and whiskey.

You retract quickly and fall into the seat on the opposite side of the van, resting your head back against the blocked-out window.

“What the fuck, Frenchie?” MM exclaims. “You said that would be a small explosion, that it would look like an accident.”

Frenchie grimaces, “I did not account for the other reactants in the lab.”

Butcher sits quietly across from you, his eyes trained on you as you do everything you can to avoid looking in his direction. You focus on your gun, unlocking the empty clip and clicking the safety on. MM and Frenchie speak with the four timid men huddled at the back of the van, asking them a series of questions before deciding where would be best to take them.

After a painfully long drive, Hughie stops the van and Frenchie helps the four men out of the back doors. He tells you all to go back to the safe house and he will be there soon. The rest of the ride home is tense and silent, MM not daring to speak once he sees the irritated frown on your face as you fiddle with your equipment, packing it into cases and locking it in the van’s storage cage.

Once safe inside the decrepit apartment you currently call home, Hughie grins at you, “Holy shit, Y/N, you are fucking bad ass.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, starting on the clips of your tact suit.

“I wish I saw all of it,” MM says, “you’re deadly.”

A small smile quirks the corner of your lip, and you let out a small sigh as you release the last buckle on your Kevlar vest. You drop the heavy thing on the dining table along with your bandolier.

“I’m still pissed that you didn’t listen to me,” Butcher states, at which you roll your eyes, “but you did good, Kid.”

Your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowing at him. “Do I look like a fucking child, Butcher?”

Hughie’s grin vanishes and MM freezes on his way to the couch.

“Do I?” you press, holding your arms out as if to emphasise your attire. “Because a fucking kid couldn’t do what I just did, yet you insist on calling me by that fucking name!”

He doesn’t flinch the way Hughie does, nor are his eyes as wary as MM’s. He remains his usual cool self, though his frown is more curious than irate.

“Didn’t realise it bugged ya so much,” he says.

“You don’t fucking realise much, do you, Butcher?” you snap, before turning on your heel and marching toward the room that was designated yours.

You march inside and slam the door, but a pair of heavy boots are hot on your heels, and you curse the landlord for not installing any locks as the door swings open again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Butcher demands, slamming the door once again behind him.

You unzip your outer jacket and throw it on the bed, “Didn’t I make it clear?”

“Uh, no, actually,” he steps toward you, “I’m not fuckin’ pissed about the raid, I’m pretty fuckin’ impressed, but you’re still throwin’ a tantrum like a fuckin’-”

“Like a child?”

His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest, “I was gon’a say kid.”

You clench your fists in an attempt to refocus your frustration, digging your fingernails into your palms until it stings.

“Look,” he says, “I know you’re capable, and fuckin’ talented with a gun, but I wasn’t tryin’ to be a dick, I was tryin’ to keep you safe.”

“Because I’m so young and stupid?” you ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because I can’t fucking handle myself even though I just prevented all of you from getting your fucking asses kicked?”

He sighs, “I never said you’re fuckin’ stupid.”

“But I am young,” you mutter, your voice revealing more emotion than you intended.

His brows shift into a dubious frown, “What’s this fuckin’ obsession with your age?”

“What’s your obsession with my age?” you snap, “Calling me ‘kid’ all the time and acting like you’re my fucking babysitter.”

“Oh, so fuck me for caring ‘bout your safety, is that it?”

“No, Billy, that’s not it,” you sigh, tearing your gaze from his to focus on unclipping your thigh holster.

“Then what is it? ‘Cause I don’t know what I’ve fuckin’ done!”

Your holster comes loose and you grip the hilt of the dagger with white knuckles, standing straight again.

“You haven’t done anything!”

“Then what haven’t I fucking done?!” he exclaims, unfolding his arms and throwing his hands up.

The little voice in your head splits into a thousand, screaming a thousand different commands at you. Cry, yell at him, throw something at him, scream, hit your head against the fucking wall, punch him in the throat… kiss him.

Your ears, still numb from the explosion, fill with the sound of your thumping heartbeat as you take three quick steps toward him. His height is intimidating, but you don’t have time to regret your decision as your fingers curl into the material of his shirt and pull him toward you. You have to stretch onto your toes, your other hand finding his chest for stability as you crush your lips against his.

For a second, you think you’ve seriously fucked up, but then his mouth begins to move against yours and your knees buckle. His arms catch you, wrapping around your waist and holding your body against his as his tongue slides across your bottom lip. You part your lips with a sigh, and he takes all control, claiming your mouth and wiping your mind of any thought that isn’t him.

In two easy steps, he backs you against the bed, sitting you down without his lips ever leaving yours. He crawls on top of you, straddling your thighs and catching your hands as they find the buckle on his belt.

“Love,” he sighs against your lips, “hold on.”

You blink up at him, slowly coming down from your high, “To what?”

He chuckles, “I meant slow down a sec.”

“Oh,” your cheeks burn, and you snatch your hands out of his grasp. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever fuckin’ apologise for that,” he says, a dopey smile on his lips, “but I don’t know-”

“I do,” you interrupt him, holding yourself up on your elbows.

He raises his brows, “What do you know?”

“I know that I want you,” you reply, “and I know that you want me. I don’t know if this is a good idea, but it fucking feels like it, so please, Butcher… please.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes lingering on your lips before trailing down your body to where he sat. “I know I want you, but why the fuck do you want me?”

You snort, “You’re kidding, right?”

He only frowns.

“Butcher, I have wanted you from the moment I fucking met you,” you fall back against the bed with a sigh, “I don’t know how you haven’t fucking noticed.”

He leans over you, holding himself up with a hand either side of your head. “Why?”

His voice is so deep and his eyes so dark, you struggle to breathe as your clothes suddenly feel like they’re strangling you.

“Because you’re-”

“An asshole?”

You giggle, “Yes, and rude, and brash, but you’re also fucking beautiful.”

His heavy breathing suddenly stops and his eyes widen as they search yours, as if looking for some sense of deception or sarcasm. You open your mouth to reassure him but he swallows your words with a kiss, his lips crashing into yours with bruising force. His mouth moves across your jaw and down your neck, and you whine when pulls away before quickly realising that your high-neck undershirt is in the way. His fingers find the hem and yank it up over your breasts, not bothering to remove it completely before his lips assault your chest, biting and soothing your skin in five separate spots as you writhe beneath him.

He moves down, placing a kiss on your sternum and your stomach, before pausing at the waistband of your pants and looking up with hungry eyes. “You sure ‘bout this?”

His hot breath fans your skin and goosebumps rise in response.

You nod, “Yes, please, Butcher. Yes.”

The buckle and button are loosened in a second, and he groans at the sight of your lacy black panties. He places a hot, wet kiss just above the hem before sitting back and unbuttoning his own shirt. He doesn’t manage to shrug it off though, because you take the opportunity to grip either side of it and pull him back down on top of you. The feeling of his skin against yours makes your whole body clench, and you know you’re kissing him sloppily but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Your fingers find his belt again, struggling to remember how the damn thing works when he pulls away with a gasp, “Hold on.”

You frown, “What now?”

He chuckles, “No, sweethear’, not like that.”

His hands take yours guiding them up over your head until you feel the wood of the headboard at your fingertips.

“I said, hold on.”

END.

[cenittxnadir]

Master Chief Dating Headcanons

It is not news that John is not the most social of the group. Not even from the Blue Team. That position will probably be split between Kelly and Fred. So seeing John in a relationship is something completely new and unexpected, but it was nice to see, especially for the rest of the team who jumped at the opportunity to annoy him. It's not every day you get to outsmart Master Chief.

Leaving this clear, expect a lot of doubts and awkward moments with him, not in a negative way, this is all new to him but he is willing to learn your likes and dislikes while he discovers things that the UNSC has long been in charge of taking away from him.

John can be someone quite serious but behind closed doors and among his fellow Spartans he is one of the most relaxed, you won't see him laughing out loud or being flashy but with you he feels like he can be that child he couldn't be, not in a sense of immaturity but for the first time he feels that there is someone who can take care of him.

Dating Spartan is complicated, no matter what generation is. Everyone has trouble interacting outside of their fellow Spartans. So it is not something that despairs you, you will have to be very patient if you want to have a relationship with them.

In John's case, it's probably you who initiated the physical contact part, he doesn't mention it verbally but he really likes the attention you can give him and the day you told him how much you liked his hugs, he kept asking you if you wanted one He was happy, he felt that he was doing good in the relationship.

Consent for John is something vital, he is not used to being touched in a more intimate way, so all the time he will be asking you if he can hold your hand or hug you. He does not do it out of shyness but rather out of respect for your personal space. The last thing he wants is to bother you and it's the same thing he expects of you.

He's the epitome of a provider, something he didn't even know he was. Not only in the economic and material part. He is a protector by nature, so expect him to be aware of everything that happens with you even if you don't mention anything to him, so be careful trying to lie to him or hide something from him, he probably already knows but he won't tell you anything. Maybe you have your reasons for not telling him, but be very careful with this, he may feel insecure, so it is best to maintain good communication.

Speaking of economics, Spartans do have a salary, most of it goes into savings, since the UNSC provides them with all their needs. So taking this into account and John's military rank, he has a few zeros in his pocket. So when he discovered that many couples gave each other gifts as a sign of affection, he took this method to compensate you every time he had to go on a long mission. Soon after, he practically became your sugar daddy until the gifts were enough and you decided to put a stop to it. You explained him that a hug from him after so long without seeing him was worth more than any material gift.

John, being a protector, will be watching you at any time, not because he distrusts you but because you are important to him and he does not want anything bad to happen to you, he has had enough bad things in his life, you are one of the few good things that has. He can become jealous, but he would not do anything extreme or sick, as long as your life is not compromised, in case something like this happens, he will not hesitate for a second to use all possible means to protect you, even if it means abusing his of position.

In conclusion, you are the most precious thing he has, he will not let anything bad happen to you and that is a promise he made the day you agreed to be with him. Despite his appearance, John has learned to be more relaxed and enjoy the little things more, as long as you are by his side to show him how valuable his effort has been all these years and that now it is his turn to be taken care of by someone else.

[firegirl888101]

how would the harbingers react to a reader who's good at drawing? like, they like to draw the harbingers or other things

Good at drawing?

I'm shit at drawing so I'm not really sure what to say, that's why I didn't reply to this for awhile. But, I eventually got a couple things when my friend was sketching some stuff in front of me.

Sorry that the current Insatiable Madness chapter is taking so long, I've been studying a lot these past couple of days.

I also got another ask where it asked about Halloween. I don't really celebrate Halloween, because I never grew up with it. I've always been too shy to trick-or-treat and I didn't have many friends (and still don't) who'd want to go with me. Quite sad actually, but it's alright. I don't think I missed out on much.

Is anyone expecting me to make a Halloween special? I don't mind doing it, but I'll need inspiration as I wouldn't know where to start 💀

Actually, the more I think about it, I do have one fun idea. (Harbingers going trick-or-treating??? Halloween party if that even exists? Idk, I'll have to do some research.)

|You can take this with Yandere and without - some will probably lean towards yan though.|

So, to begin with:

Pierro wouldn't be too bothered. I feel if Y/N had a skill they were confident in, and wanted to show it, he'd let his curiousity get the better of him and check it out. But, if it's something like drawing he'll probably leave a comment then leave. Whether it's positive or negative, you be the judge. This man is like a slate slab. No personality I'm sorry 😭😭 (When I see more of his character, maybe I'll like him more?)

If you were to draw this man, he'd be humbled. A Grandpa who received his very first present from his grandchild. Would definitely frame the damn thing in his office (which originally was your parent's) he'd put it on the desk. It's his office now, don't argue for it back.

Capitano would show interest. Not too much since he's the main captain of the Fatui, but still interested. If he's bored, or deems the 'fort' (the house) safe, he'll sit down with you and watch what you're doing. Occasionally asking you if he could doodle with you - but I think that would be very rare. His main objective in his mind is guarding you when your own is low whilst you're having fun, doodling or drawing something.

Would 100% deny the picture of him at first. He'd think, that looks like me, but it can't be. Yes, it's him, you'd reassure. Eventually he does take it and folds it in his coat. After that, he'd probably leave the room in embarrassment. Since then on, he'd definitely keep all drawings you've made of him in his pocket. There's too many? Let's put it in the second pocket. That's full too? Looks like he's buying a new coat. Oh? There's room in his military coat he hasn't worn in two years? That'll do just nicely.

Dottore would be intrigued if he saw you practice anatomy - or if you drew more of a gorey scene. I think he'd be even more interested if you liked to draw the human body with extra things (such as arms, legs, eyes or even got rid of a few), and question you on your design choices and if it already exists somewhere. (He's not fooling you, he's obviously taking inspirations for a new experiment). If he didn't know, or wasn't good, he'd probably ask for tips on how to sketch ideas like yours. He reassures you it's not for any experimentation but once again, he's not fooling you at all.

If you were to draw him he'd treat it like glass. Nobody has ever given him a sketch before - bonus points if you draw him injured whilst you're angry with him. He'd treat it as if you drew him with love, and not as if you'd stab him in the heart if you ever got the chance. What do you mean he shouldn't like it this much? It's a work of art! He'd be very quick to correct the drawing if you got anything wrong. Who knows what this man has in his body at this point.

Columbina would join you in your drawing activities. Maybe add some glitter if you have any. The second you complain about cleaning up, however, she has somehow disappeared and has become very forgetful about the events upstairs. 'How curious!~' She would hum to herself with her usual smile. Is definitely the type to ask if you could draw her. Who are you to refuse? Especially when she gives you that look of daunt hope and kindness which makes you drop your pen in fear. Before you can give her an answer, you've already picked up your pencil and began to sketch her beautiful headpiece.

When Columbina receives her multiple sketches, she's overjoyed. Oh, look how you drew this part! How you drew her clothes! She's quick to kiss you on the cheek as a thank you and runs off somewhere. Huh, you feel like you've just been used.

Arlecchino will roll her eyes at first. She's seen many children in the hearth draw for her. Her initial thoughts were vague, she didn't really see much of your hobby. That was until she actually saw what you were drawing. She would stare as you worked, your pencil delicately brushing against the paper you most likely bought the other day. It soon will become a habit to watch you work, becoming a therapeutic source for her. She sometimes questions why you're drawing... certain things, but she wouldn't actually stop your creative mind from working.

Handing Arlecchino the drawing you drew of her would make her blood rise to her cheeks slightly. Sure, she's received a lot of gifts in this sense before. But from you? What an honour! She'll accept it with a soft smile she'd usually show the kids, and pat your head treating you like one. Little do you know she's trying so hard to control her cute agression response by not tearing the paper.

Pulcinella would react very similarly to Pierro. However, he'd have more experience with complimenting and encouraging 'a child' in a hobby they're having fun with. If he saw your skill, he'd probably compliment it whole-heartedly with a chuffed smile. Massaging his mustache like some aristocrat, in the 1940s... Anyway, he'd be very pleased when he watches you draw more and more. He's happy that you're spending your time doing something you like under the tense situation his coworkers (and him, but he doesn't like to admit it) have brought upon you.

I do not see you drawing this man at all. He's a short, dobby, old, looking as man. I don't see him as the type to ask either, at all. He's minding his own business in your house and plans to keep it that way until the situation is resolved.

Scaramouche really doesn't care. We've all got our own likes and dislikes, but he's not bothered about yours. Will most likely purposefully pass by you working on a piece and insult it just to get attention. He'd never actually mean it though - he just never tells you that important fact. As time progresses he'll sneak into your room just to look at more sketches or finished drawings you've done, and assess your progress from each year if you've been practicing for a long time-period.

Now, here's where things get interesting. If you were to draw him and never show it to him, said puppet finding it for himself in one of your drawers, he'd first feel angry. Why wouldn't you show him this? It's of him! ...But then he'd quickly realise it's because of the way he treated you when you were working (oops). If you actually handed it to him and let him keep it, he'd be delighted. You actually drew him? He didn't even have to manipu-- he means 'ask' you to draw him? This is a good step forward to where he wants to be in your heart.

Sandrone would be delighted to know that she's finally found a use for you in her head. She never thought that purposefully walking past you one evening would lead to her shuffling through all the sketches and designs you've done with awe. Where did you get this idea from? How can she recreate it? Would you be happier and more devoted to her if she were to make your dreams true? She digresses. Watching your creative little mind draw your ideas to life inspires her also, and makes her want to recruit you as a special exception to the 'no non-artificial beings' allowed in her workshop. Thinking of all the monstrosities you could design with her help sends pleasurable shivers up her spine.

Drawing her, however? This was rather unprecedented. Out of all the things-- no, people you could have drawn... and you decide on her? And ooh! You even drew her slave she likes to travel around on, how thoughtful, you're already expressing your adoration for her works! Trust me, don't draw her. You'll give her daydreams that will never happen.

Signora, like most of the harbingers, wouldn't care at first. She hates your house and hates your world, why in Teyvat's name would she be interested in what you're doing? That's what she used to think, until her arrogant slick eyes caught sight of what exactly you were drawing. In my opinion, there's only a couple things that would interest Signora. Drawing dresses, if you were interested in fashion designing, would definitely be the main one. Viewing your designs after you finished them would soon become a small hobby for her, and soon, she'd eventually ask you to draw her in one of your designs.

You'd say yes, of course. An excuse to draw a drop-dead gorgeous woman in one of your designs for free? No way you were going to pass this opportunity! For her hard work in modeling, you'd definitely pay back twice and give her a drawing of her in her harbinger uniform too - which I think would flatter her a bit too much.

Pantalone wouldn't care, and would never become interested. He's a very rich and successful banker, not any ordinary man. As soon as he sees you drawing somewhere in the house, he'll shrug and go the opposite way. He knows what it's like to be interrupted through a thoughtful process, and he doesn't feel like getting an earful from you if he interrupts it. What he does think about, however, is if you're making money from it. Maybe an online business. He asks, and receives a very disappointing answer. No? What do you mean no? These are good, he'd pay for a portrait! Well, if Mora was a usable currency here. Ugh, the thought of being a poor man in this world makes him disgusted.

Drawing him would result in lots of praise. He'd be very happy you used your own time to draw him. He didn't even have to pay for it, it was gift! You even said so yourself. Immediately taken from your hands and framed somewhere. You can't seem to find the drawing though... Pantalone insists it's still in the house, but no matter where you look you just can't find it! Oh well, it's probably better you didn't know where it went. (You would have never been able to find it, he hid the location so well after all.) Pantalone told you he'd give something back to you as a thank you, but you're not holding him to his word.

Tartaglia would be interested the second he sees you doing something he hasn't seen you do before. That looks interesting, let him give drawing a try! He'd boast how his siblings love his drawings he creates, but you knew he was lying to set a cheery mood. Your understanding was backed when you actually saw his 'Amazing Drawing'... It was embarrassing to say the least. He would heed all your little tips and eventually get good at drawing from your guidance! I can see him as the type to use these skills later for his siblings, and as the type to continue drawing even if you begin to get bored of it... He's skilled with his fingers after all-- okay I'm sorry I'm done.

Drawing him can go one in two ways. I see him as someone who will whine about being drawn. He'll say: 'Have you drawn me yet?' in one of the most annoying voices he cna muster. He knows and understands you find it annoying when he asks you to draw him, so he's found a loophole. Just keep asking questions related to it until you get the hint! ...You got the hint weeks ago, but you're refusing to do it. Well, you're refusing to show him your drawings you've already finished and hid out of sight. Showing him these drawings would make him really happy! Would fold his favourite and carry it around with him everywhere like some of the other harbingers. His next commission he's planned to ask you is of a drawing of Capitano. You eagerly declined, not wishing to impose on the Captain's privacy.

[klm-zoflorr]

Agnes Montague, the villain Phoenix :33

I used a stained glass filter on this one, looove how it looks. Also here are a few versions without as much editing so you can see the details.

Agnes is one of my favorites in this AU. And in general too I guess lol. So I made her entirely too overpowered! She's obviously based off Dark Phoenix/Jean Grey/The Phoenix from Xmen. Without as much of the hero-turned-villain vibes Jean has, Agnes can be nice but she's mostly a wrong-doer.

I'd probably say she's the most powerful super-human in the 'verse, or at least where the story takes place. Her and Magnus are buddy-buddies because. Um. I just want them to be.

So, her powers, right. She can control and

produce fire, lots of it. She can fly. The wings only appear when she wants them to btw. I think she has some form of telekinesis, sure why not plus I don't have a lot of people like that in the verse (and I'm quickly running out of canon characters anyways loool). I don't think I'll give her too many psychic powers? Maybe just some ability to block psychic attacks. Oh well nevermind lets just make her cooler let's say she can attack people psychically, as in not quite read their thoughts (even if I think she could grasp on some of the things you're thinking while she's there) but like, cause intense pain to her victim and maybe even kill them by hitting them with her mind.

Her hands are more like talons or claws, with tough nails and strong, too. She can rip someone's face off or hold herself up with them.

The nature of her powers make them somewhat incontrollable and ill-suited for precision work or limiting damage/casualties.

Despite all of that, Agnes is very tired and looks as such. Her abnormal body warmth makes her sleep poorly and not very much, if she isn't setting the room on fire or throwing objects around when she's having nightmares. She holds off from getting intoxicated in any way because she might level off the whole island if she did.

And the cherry on the cake... She can ressurect herself. AND others. Let the holy cleansing fire engulf you and be reborn anew with your sins scrubbed clean yadda yadda you know the deal. It resets people to a younger age and cures any ailment they have, so that's a rather extreme form of healing too if you will.

Naturally, with that sort of powers the Cult Of The Lightless Flame (named like that because Agnes hoggs all the light) treats her as a goddess. Which isn't that far from the truth actually.

Suffice to say in the story she is not the big bad our heroes have to take down because that would be straight-up impossible.

Design notes and misc:

-I usually imagine her with dark hair, but for this AU she really just had to be a redhead I feel.

-Yes, in the art she doesn't have feet but that's just because I got lazy.

-She wears practical gloves, a guilded shiny supersuit, impractical shoulder pads and a white flowy skirt and shoulder sash that both get set on fire very frequently. This is meant to evoke how she mostly doesn't care or need to be dressing appropriately for fighting, she's too powerful to need to.

-She doesn't carry anything on herself either, no pockets no bags no nothing, she has goons for that. She's just there to look impressive and deus ex machina everyone's asses to the ground if they get too annoying.

-She's lived a long life, done a lot, was in the military at some point which influenced a lot of how she thinks. Again, she CAN be unfrivolous and practical, she just doesn't want to and has to remain a symbol. She can shoot a gun pretty well.

-Her "crown" (it's a paper crown) is something children that admired her gave her. She's very very careful not to burn it, but can't wear it everywhere either

-She's not much of a strategizer or a long-term planner unlike Magnus, she just doesn't see the point in that and she already has everything she could ever want. She could have the potential to rule the city instead of having everyone vaguely follow her lead, but she's just not much of a tyrant.

Oh, yeah, and Jude. Jude Perry is Agnes' right hand woman and closest friend, her villain name is Lampadarius and she can make anything that isn't organic matter melt/heat up (like those cans in MAG012: First Aid). One of her favorite tricks is heating up her gloves and burning people like that. It pisses her off when you call her Agnes' guard dog. She's been ressurected a few times by the Phoenix, so been around for a while too.

[transmutationisms]

…so can you expand on the psychological ramifications of stewy being in private equity? that has definitely been lost on me given that i barely understand what private equity is

ok this is an underrated funny aspect of the show imo, and also good insight into stewy and kendall. i'm trying to spare you a bunch of stupid business jargon but basically, maesbury capital (which stewy represents but sandy/sandi ultimately own) is a private equity fund, meaning it's a big pile of a bunch of rich people's money, and stewy's job is to take that money and invest in private companies. a PE fund can invest at a few different points: at the very beginning of a startup's life (venture or angel investing), at a point where the company is trying to grow or restructure (growth investing), or when a company is struggling financially, in which case the fund is usually planning to either dismantle it and sell it for scrap, restructure and go public, or sell it for cash to another company. PE firms like to present themselves as doing a lot of growth or venture investing, but in truth many/most are primarily engaging in this third category of investment strategies, because they're lucrative (and because many startups are stupid, and only good for generating investor payouts).

so, when kendall went and dismantled vaulter in season 2 because logan decided that selling most of it for scrap would be more profitable? that's basically a dramatisation of what stewy does routinely, except of course the exact financial instruments and strategies will differ because stewy represents a PE firm. like, if kendall's venture capitalist schemes tell us about his delusions of creating cool new products and services, stewy is sort of the opposite because his structural goal is usually to dismantle companies and liquidate them however is best for maesbury's backers. it's a total destruction of all use-value and a conversion of it into pure exchange-value in the form of capital (which goes into his pockets and maesbury's). stewy generates money by destroying utility, which is perverse if you think capitalism is supposed to create and sustain human life, but actually completely comprehensible if you understand that capitalism is an insatiable growth machine with inherently contradictory internal tendencies and no raison d'être beyond the endless accumulation of pure capital itself.

many viewers think stewy is insane because he is friends with kendall roy. this is true, but on a deeper level stewy is insane because his job is to participate in the inexorable tendency to more and more abstraction in the capitalist mode of production. it literally does not matter at all to someone like stewy whether people are fed or clothed or happy, or have any of their needs met. the point is solely to create money, to turn all social forms and values into numbers on a balance sheet. this is why, when kendall tries to threaten him on axos at the end of season 2, stewy is able to casually tell him that "it doesn't matter; it doesn't mean anything." he and sandy are convincing shareholders that their offer will be able to make them more money, "and that's all that this is." stewy speaks the language of business differently than logan, because stewy doesn't care about dick-swinging competitions or demonstrating dominance in logan's cringey old catholic military way. which makes stewy more rational in certain ways, but also more insane, in that he operates in a way totally detached from this type of social value system and solely motivated by cold hard numbers.

the irony is that, whilst being detached and disembodied in his business practices, stewy is also better than the roys at appreciating the material fruits of wealth. he eats; he dresses well; he enjoys the "several houses" he owns. kendall is always trying to come up with some grand moral bullshit masculinity reason that what he's doing is noble or whatever, and he's alienated from his body and afflicted with severe catholic martyr disease. stewy just bypasses all that shit, measures his success by his payouts, and enjoys wealth because he sees it as an end in itself and not a means to logan roy's respect.

this is also why kendall's line in 'living+' about "it's enough to make you lose your faith in capitalism" is so funny. kendall can't just accept that business is a bunch of meaningless bullshit confidence games played by coked-up assholes who like to win; he always has to try to convince himself he's making cool new tech shit, or saving the world from the spectre of death itself or some shit. it's like, insane that he made it to literally 40 years old, growing up in a media conglomerate of all things, and still thinks that what he's doing requires actual skill or creates actual social value—but of course, part of the reason he still thinks this is because he deified logan and was therefore incapable of ever seeing logan or waystar for what they really were. stewy would never say that line because he can't be disillusioned this way on account of he already knows the whole thing is bullshit. it's just that to him it doesn't matter, because being bullshit does not preclude it from paying well.

[furiousladyking]

It's a Date

It's a Date - Part One??

Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: this is kind of a feeler to see if anyone is interested in yet another fic in this trope

Summary: Jake Seresin is feeling defeated. His youngest sister, Brooke is getting married in 3 weeks, and he has yet to find a date. While he loves his family, he can't say he enjoys getting those comments from his mother about when he is going to find a "nice girl" and settle down. In comes Y/N "Casper" L/N, a prime target to help get rid of the one on Jake's back.

Warnings: probably very incorrect military information - but hey we're trying our best, probably profanity

________________________________________

The Hard Deck was seemingly filled to the brim with aviators and civilians alike, something quite common for a Friday night in July. The crowd was loud, and there was an old rock song playing, however drowned out. The familiar clink of pool balls and thump of darts lulled incredibly tired individuals into a sense of calm.

In an entirely uncommon event, Hangman was... quiet. Too quiet if you ask any of his fellow aviators. Looks were passed, and whispers between Phoenix and Bob were somewhat hidden for thirty minutes.

"As much as we all appreciate a little bit of a break from hearing you go on about how great you are, you're kind of freaking me out," Phoenix tried as she walked up to the pool table. Coyote snickered beside her.

"Hmm?" Rooster quirked an eyebrow at the distracted man beside him. No come back? No stab at flirting? He took the pool cue and placed one end of the floor. He waited a moment. Despite the far away look in Jake's eye, he sunk the shot he had lined up. Rolling his eyes, Rooster decided to test the boundaries.

"Hey Hangman, did you hear that Cyclone let me know I was getting a promotion? Lieutenant Commander."

"Wow, that's cool," Hangman replied. He lined up his next shot. Those surrounding the pool table were a bit taken aback. Bringing his cue back, he stuttered on the follow through. "Wait, what?" The ball missed the pocket by about half a foot.

"There he is," Bob said from his seat, rolling his eyes.

"Lieutenant Commander? Rooster we both know you'd be the last-" Hangman began, hitting what the squad called his sassy stance. One hand on his hip, jutted out, the other holding his cue stick.

"Hey, no need to hurl insults, I was just seeing how out of it you were. Wasn't sure if we needed to send you to the infirmary. Your ego wasn't practically suffocating us" Rooster put his hands up in a mock-surrender.

Hangman placed his hand on his face, letting it slide down in hopes it wipe the worry away. He debated on brushing it off and telling them he was just picturing the best way to rub in his latest win during their dogfighting. The Dagger Squad had been stationed together in Miramar for a little over a year and no one was being reassigned anytime soon. Jake had been making a conscious effort to be more vulnerable with the squad, to let them in as his chosen family.

"My sister is getting married in 3 weeks."

The others were silent for a moment.

"Congratulations?" Phoenix offered. Hangman sighed and shook his head, mostly to himself.

"When they started planning the wedding six months ago I told my mom I had someone to bring with me," He started. Rooster cocked his head to the side. "She reminded me on a phone call about how excited she is to meet my girlfriend"

"Hangman has a girlfriend?" Fanboy pipped in, after hearing bits of the conversation.

"He doesn't," Rooster answered for him. "That's the problem."

"Hey, why don't you get someone to go with you and just act like you are dating?" Bob spoke from his spot on the chair. Suddenly feeling numerous eyes, he started to defend, "I've heard people do it a lot."

"I'm not bringing some hooker to meet my family," Hangman huffed, glaring in Bob's direction, then softening his gaze. "I'm just going to have to tell my mom that she and I broke up. Maybe she'll even pity me enough to not try and set me up with her friend's children." Jake leaned his pool stick up against the table and went to sit down next to Bob. He sipped his drink as he pondered how that would play out in reality.

"Get Casper to go with you." Hangman almost choked on his drink. He looked incredulously in Coyote's direction. "Think about it, she's the only one you know well enough to pretend you've been dating. Besides Phoenix, but we all know her acting skills wouldn't be good enough to go along with being your girlfriend for four days." Phoenix elbowed him in the rib. Coyote tries to stand tall, but still clutches his side in his hands.

As if on cue, he hears her voice. Still in her service khakis and hair in a bun, she carries her drink with her toward the group.

"Hey, what are we talking about?"

"I swear this type of shit only happens in movies."

_______________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

Anyway, let me know if this is something I should even consider continuing!

[good-beans]

Concept that just popped into my head: Milgram characters doing "get ready with me" videos

Aw, this was so fun!! I always love your hc style of normal au/everyone's chilling, and tried to go the same route -- it was so cute to think about :D

Haruka: Puts on his outfit for the day and explains everything in great detail. He has lots of comfortable items and fun colors. At the very end he speaks off-camera and you realize Muu was standing there cheering him on the whole time. He gets a lot of encouraging comments, and Muu and Fuuta keep an eye on the account to delete any nasty ones that may come in.

Yuno: Shows her outfit, makeup, nails, and bag she’s taking with her. She tries out a variety of styles (not just sticking to the more feminine looks we see in canon). She gives a bit of a tutorial and tips as well as showing things off. Has a main account for her daytime outfits, and a more private one for her nighttime looks. Mahiru is the only one aware of the latter account.

Fuuta: Layers. Lots of layers. There will be three sweatshirts laid out in front of him and you wonder which he’s going to choose before realizing he’s putting them all on. He focuses most on his sneakers and sportswear. He plays loud music over the videos, not knowing what to say. Has gotten into comment-section arguments over those yellow socks.

Muu: Also does a full look at her appearance: nails, accessories, etc. She mentions where you can buy everything, and it’s unclear whether she was sponsored by these brands or is just excited to talk about them. (Whether they’re actually together or not,) she’ll have Haruka on as a guest a lot to show off couple’s outfit ideas. She definitely has the biggest following, and loves recommending Haruka and the others’ accounts.  

Shidou: He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but his account is getting tons of views so the others keep encouraging him to make videos. He’s just glad to be connecting with the other prisoners as they show him how to do it. He dresses in a mix of the sleek patterned shirts and dad fits, and both types of videos are equally popular. 

Mahiru: None of the serious-faced flirts or little pouty faces – it’s all smiles for her. Every video is basically a full tutorial – she has captions and a voiceover giving commentary on everything. She has the next biggest following, and interacts constantly. She loves getting questions “what should I wear on an x type date?” “How do I dress to impress x type of person?” because she always comes up with the perfect outfit to help. 

Kazui: A bit confused as well, though he does know a lot about style. His interro question makes it seem like he wanted kids – I think he’d really get into the account as one of those “Dad How Do I” types. He talks about matching things, clothes upkeep, shaving/hairstyling. 

Amane: Also wouldn’t have made the videos without prompting from the others, but enjoys it a lot. She usually talks about practical things instead of “vain” fashion: she’s excited to show off a new raincoat, sturdy shoes, useful pockets, etc. Over time, she leans into outfits that are more cute and colorful, gaining confidence in them. 

Mikoto: He started the account as something for one of his design classes, and got really into it. He likes to challenge himself with unique styles and clothing articles, making pretty much anything work. He keeps everything professional in case an employer/coworker sees, but isn’t afraid to add some flirting and flaunting in there. If he’s open about his plurality, he’ll have some special videos, “choosing an outfit for John today!”

Kotoko: Like Amane, she’s more excited about practical outfits. She’ll show off clothes that have good flexibility, places to store and conceal objects, and heavy duty materials. She’ll rate jackets, boots, and other “military-grade” things for what has worked best for her. She’s very attentive to the accounts that follow her – she does full background checks to make sure her info is being used for justice, not more crime. Mahiru convinces her to do a special where she puts all her piercings in and talks about why she chose them/what they mean.

Es: Experiments with a lot of new styles, trying to figure out what they like. They also just play music in the back, not having much to say about each outfit. They'd rather focus on their series of dressing-up-Jackalope videos, much to his dismay...

[paeliae-occasionally]

Character Intro!

Thanks for the tag @theink-stainedfolk

I have done this for Xaeren here so this time we are doing Marsh.

Marsh

Name: Marsh Atyros

- Nickname: None

- Age: 27

- Sex: Male

- Appearance: He is tall with short silver white hair and an elated smile that is terrifying to anyone who knows him. Unlike his brother Daimion, he has very few scars and even fewer are visible. He is very strong with semi-muscular arms which have much more useable strength than is visible. He is also strangely flexible and double jointed so he can do that thing where you only bend the first section of your fingers down while the rest of the finger is straight. Dai always hated it when he did that.

- Occupation: Incarcerated. About to escape to have a fun wander around the countryside with his brother. (Dai does have more of a goal)

- Family Members: His mother is still alive but he hasn’t spoken to her since she sent them to join the military. He never really knew his dad, only that he left when marsh was young. He has a brother Daimion, who might be the only life he values at this point.

- Pets: None.

- Best Friends: Daimion. He also knows a few people in prison well enough to not kill them, but that doesn’t really count.

- Describe his room: Well his prison room is maximum security so just a toilet, a bed and a sink and his knives. (They have struggled to take them off him, but it always ends up with a too many dead prison guards for them to justify trying again.)

- Way of Speaking: He speaks playfully and honestly. He doesn’t like lying, it is a moral boundary for him, he never lies if he can avoid it. Marsh is actually the happiest character I have written in a long time and speaks with that joy.

- Physical Characteristics (Posture, Gestures, Attitude): He stands straight and never sits on chairs correctly, always lounging in positions that look incredibly uncomfortable but he assures you it is much better than just sitting normally. His military training shows in his natural posture but he actively tries to move away from that, preferring instead to move fluidly.

- Items in his Back Pocket/Purse: A butterfly knife to spin dramatically, a larger pair of knives for actually fighting, and a stiletto knife for vibes. (This was taken from him when he was sent to jail but as soon as he gets out, he acquires a new one)

- Hobbies: He exercises, a couple of murders here and there, he throws knives, spins a butterfly knife, is altogether bored and tries to provoke the guards outside his cell in any way possible. This has included singing to them.

- Favourite Sports: Well knife throwing is a sport… still deciding whether he has guns. Probably yes.

- Abilities/Talents/Powers: Marsh is built to be deadly. He takes life without regret, and greatly enjoys the process. As such he has a lot of practice from a life of killing lawfully in the military then a life of killing illegally when he was kicked out. He is very good at it.

- Relationships (How they are with other people): He is very loyal to Dai and deeply cares for him but is adamant that just embracing the psychopathic tendencies will help, Dai does not agree.

- Fears: Dai being overcome by guilt.

- Faults: None <3 (He is overconfident and stubborn)

- Good Points: He is loyal, honest and very talented with a variety of weapons. He also has a long memory.

- What they want more than anything else: Life to continue as it is, preferably with Dai at his side.

Tagging @drchenquill, @saturnine-saturneight, @tildeathiwillwrite, @phoenixradiant, @thecomfywriter

[annabel--113]

my oc story

so I have these ocs… and I’m kinda writing a book about them and just finished a chapter and just wanted to post something about it and see if anyone would see it or like it

Characters:

Andrew(A.J.): he’s Allison’s best friend. He’s goofy and love to make lame jokes also really caring. His mom passed when he was really little and his dad is serving in the military. He lives with his grandma on his dad’s side she’s very kind but doesn’t leave the house much and gives him a lot of freedom. A.j. Is 17 btw and so is Allison all the teens in the story are 17-18.( also maybe potential crush going on between him and Allison hint hint)

Allison: she has two siblings one older brother who has basically ignored her since he turned 13 they where close as kids but he started to practically hate her as a teen, they are 4 years apart in age. He moved away to collage when he turned 19 though. Her other sibling is her younger sister she very spoiled and kinda hates her too but just ignores her unless she’s tattling on her, she is 11. Her parents are very strict with her and especially her grades Allison doesn’t do well in school and constantly gets yelled at over her grades more details on her parents later. Neither of them have phones btw and this story is set in around 2011 in america. Allison has had terrible nightmares since she was a child and hardly sleeps due to them. She also starts hallucinating “the girl in the mirror”, about 6 months before the incident, who looks nearly just like her. More info on the girl in the mirror if you want you can comment if you want more btw.

—————————————-

I’m at my house already, to be fair I did walk pretty fast. I walk up the driveway to the front door and turn the doorknob. It locked. Just as usual I don’t know why I even tried opening it I walk around the house and open the side gate and walk up the stairs to the second level. Our house has stairs on the outside as well as the inside to get to the second floor, I’m not sure why it’s probably because our house is older than the other newer houses on our street.  

When I got to the top of the stairs I pulled out my key from my backpack pocket and unlocked the door. I entered into the carpeted hallway and turned to the first door on my right. That was my bedroom it’s quite small, well very small hardly fits my bed and dresser. It works well though at least I don’t have to share. Walking into my room I tossed my backpack down on the floor by my dresser. It sure felt good to take off that heavy bag, they really should give us smaller schoolbooks.

I do have to start on my homework though, I’m meeting up with andrew today, that will be nice at least.

                  ___________________

I finished my work, a history assignment and the dreaded math page, and then headed to the backyard. Our backyard is quite nice actually we have a pool, my mom used to offer swim lessons in our yard to kids in the neighborhood but that was a long time ago. We also have a small trampoline and there’s a patch of grass and a garden box with dead plants from months ago. But what I’m headed to is the shed in the corner in between the back wall and the fence. I pull a ladder over from behind the shed and set it out and climb up to the shed roof. From the roof I can see the thick grove of wildish trees behind the wall. The trees occupy the empty lot behind my neighborhood, andrew and I hang out there a lot. There’s a specific clearing right on the other side of my backyard wall where the shed is, we usually meet up there. From where I’m sitting on the shed roof I can see that he’s not here yet, that’s fine I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Not long after we met andrew found an old ladder and propped it up against the wall behind the shed so I can climb up and down to the clearing easily. I climb down that ladder and sit next to the big willow tree and pull out my book to start reading while I wait.

                  ———————————

“BOO!” 

“AHH!” I screamed “what the heck was that for” I said as Andrew just laughed hysterically 

“No reason really other than to scare you” Andrew said in between laughter 

He sat down beside me and leaned over to peek at my book

“Whatcha reading”

“Uhh it’s called ‘in your shoes’ I’m rereading it actually” I said as it flipped the book over to check the cover 

“Huh seems interesting could you maybe lend me it sometime” 

“Of course in fact you can have it when I finish which will probably be tomorrow evening”

“Nice, sounds perfect, sooo whatcha want to do today…?”

“I dunno…” I said trailing off 

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a book of his own. It was, as usual, his worn copy of the book “gone with the wind” he really loves that book, probably because it was the book his grandad left him.

He started to read leaned up against the willow tree near me, I tried to read but my thoughts where racing so I just ended up staring off into the distance lost in thought

               ————————————

           3 years ago

I was outside in the backyard, it was pretty cold so I wore a sweatshirt, as I stepped out of the back door into the crisp night air I felt calmer. I walk over to the shed and stepped behind it and glanced around until I saw what I was looking for, the block of wood I had painted to be a target. I pulled it out and propped my makeshift target up against the outside wall of the shed. I then reached into my pocket and pulled out my switchblade. Kinda crazy honestly that I could even buy it though I did buy it online, anyway then I just started practicing my knife throwing at the target block. 

It’s calming actually to do knife throwing especially if you’re pretty good at it. I find the think of the blade as it hits the wood to be relaxing, so not more than 30 minutes later of knife throwing I hear some rustling in the trees on the other side of the wall then I saw a figure in the trees. Someone was here. 

“Hi there” a voice called from the trees it scared me and I swung my arm and before I knew it I had sent a blade hurtling at the person. He screamed and dodged it just barely. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry you startled me!” I said quickly.

“It’s ok I’m fine geez you got some reflexes, and who throws knives at 10 o’clock at night” he responded with a grin 

I rolled my eyes and responded with “ and who climbs trees and scares people in their yards at 10 o’clock at night” 

“Ok that’s fair” he said then turned to pull my knife from the tree trunk it was lodged in. “Oh and my names Andrew by the way what’s yours” 

“I’m Allison , and don’t throw the knife down I’ll come get it” I say as he almost drops the knife down into my yard. He quickly pulls the knife up and says “oh got it, sorry”

He then watches as I pull a ladder over and climb onto the shed roof. Now on the shed roof we are only around 5 feet apart I can see him clearer now. He looked about my age with wavy brown hair and slightly tan skin. He grinned and passed my my switchblade back. I noticed that he had dimples, and freckles but only a few on his nose. 

“Thanks” I said as I took my knife back 

“Mind if I step down there” he asked indicating to the shed roof. I nodded and he slowly lowered himself from the tree onto the roof.

——————————————

(Back to the regular timeline btw)

One day after after meeting up under the willow tree 

“So whatcha want to do today?” Andrew asked

“I dunno? It’s pretty hot today.” I said 

“OH how about we go get milkshakes!”he said excitedly 

“Sounds great” I said. So we walked to the cold stone down the block and ordered some milkshakes. I got vanilla with caramel sauce and Andrew got chocolate with crushed Oreos. Of course I paid because Andrew conveniently forgot money. We sat down at a booth and he immediately started drinking his milkshake.

“I gotta go to the bathroom, don’t steal my milkshake” I teased.

“Geez I won’t” he said grinning 

I smiled back and walked towards the bathroom and quickly walked into a stall. I finished and was washing my hands and looked up at the mirror and I saw her. She behind me a few feet away in the mirror I was frozen in fear I saw in the mirror as my face went pale. I didn’t dare turn to see if she was really behind me. Something was different about her since I last saw her. She had a small knife in her hand at her side. My knife. My knife with deep red blood dripping from the tip. I couldn’t move, I tried to scream but the bathroom stayed silent. So I closed my eyes and bolted blindly for the door fumbling around until I grasped the handle and got out of there as fast as I could. I froze outside the door. Andrew stared at me worry etched on his face at my panicked look. “Are you ok?” He said standing up from the table and stepping towards me. I took a breath then said “I’m doing fine let’s go home now.” He looked confused then nodded and state to gather the trash at our table and threw it away. I stood still watching him as he cleaned up. After he finished he walked up to me and said “so you ready to go?” I took a moment to compose myself and nodded. He smiled gently and we set off. 

We arrived back at the willow tree I still hadn’t spoken the whole time my mind was preoccupied with images of the girl in the mirror. I couldn’t get my mind off the knife,my knife, dripping with crimson blood and the drop of red on the skirt of her white dress. 

                  ————————————

(about a 4 months later)

March eleventh the day of the incident 

It was late around midnight so by now it would be the eleventh of march. I had gone to see A.J. Around 9 o’clock after I had a yelling at from my parents. I just needed something to distract me so of course I went to see A.J. He knew what was going on I didn’t have to tell him it happened often enough that I’d go see him after a yelling from my mom or dad. So we decided to just go for a walk to nowhere in particular. We ended up walking around in the alleyways behind a shopping center. Those alleys are like a maze, plenty of twists and turns. We were chatting about something that had happened at school earlier that week. Some fight that happened in the lunchroom. I hardly remember what we were saying I think a.j. Was making some jokes, he could clearly tell I was distracted and probably wanted to cheer me up. 

Then I heard footsteps. I can tell who is coming from footsteps pretty well and I knew these ones. The loud clunk of two sets of heavy shoes and one putter of light sandals. Then the light but heavy confidant steps of someone I recognized well, it was them. 

And I heard their voices, they knew I was here and they knew what they wanted. 

“A.J. You need to go.” I said quickly hardly recognizing my own voice 

“W-what?” He stutters out confused 

“I said you need to go, leave, go home now.” I said now more sure of what I said 

He looked completely confused but realized from the tone of my voice that I was serious. he didn’t think he should leave, I could tell that but he started to walk away regardless. I stood still as he walked out of the alley and turned a corner. I could hear them getting closer their voices loud in contrast to the silent night. I had no idea how late it was by then. 

They approached and saw me there. I saw rosette their “leader”, most call her red or cherry, something like that because of her straight shiny red hair. Quite the contrast to her boyfriend Dallas’s inky black hair, he stood behind her a sinister smirk on his face also. I noticed a beer bottle in his hand, and one in Lila’s also she was an enthusiastic cheerleader in school often cheering at her boyfriend’s games. Lila’s boyfriend, I didn’t quite know his name I think he was newer to their gang, stood next to her. Rosette still smirking said to me “so, you thought you could get away or something? Not after you bad mouthed me in front of people in the lunch room certainly.” 

I took a step back instinctively. Though it had been months since they had laid hands on me I still knew they wouldn’t hold back. Yet also they seemed to be slightly drunk well everyone but rosette, she was tough always partially sober. Then again she didn’t drink hardly as much as the others even though they were underage all the rich kids somehow got their hands on alcohol most weekends and had big parties. I assumed they had just came from a party like that. 

“Oh don’t walk away yet we haven’t even gotten started” rosette said clearly threatening. I stood taller and she smirked. 

“So where did we leave of last time, oh yes I remember you have yourself a little friend I’ve found. Honestly it’s pathetic for anyone to put in the effort of pretending to care about you. You know he doesn’t really care.” 

My anger flared up “you don’t know what you’re talking about!” I said a bit louder than I wanted to.

“Oh I don’t? Really such a shame that you care about that boy.” She said her sinister smile still plastered on her face. Behind her Dallas cracked his knuckles.

“ what are you getting at?” I asked my voice shaking.

“Oh just thinking would be quite a shame if he were to go unprotected. Some people can be quite cruel to teenagers wandering alleyways at night. You never know what can happen” she said coolly 

I knew her threats when I heard them. She was threatening to hurt a.j. How dare she. Of course she had figured my soft spot. 

“Don’t you dare.” I said between gritted teeth. 

“Oh what are you going to do? You’re playing a losing game it’s four against one.”

She said as Lila took a swig of whatever beer they had and Dallas smiled and rolled his sleeves up. I’ll never understand why they like to fight. Maybe it’s to let their emotions out, people like them seem to hide everything including emotions. I stood at the ready and Dallas noticed me taking a fighting stance and smiled then threw a hard punch to my side. I couldn’t dodge it in time and doubled down in the pain. I felt another punch this time at my jaw by who I think was Lila’s boyfriend. I was backed into the brick wall of the alley they threw a few more punches. I was tired and could hardly fight back then I saw rosette smile and whisper something to Dallas he broke his beer bottle on the other brick wall. I recognized what was happening they would use the broken bottle and cut me out then go find a.j. They’d get to him they probably had their fancy car nearby. As Dallas approach me holding the bottle I instinctively reached in the pocket of my jacket. They noticed my movement and stopped. I slowly pulled out my blade from my pocket with a snap of metal the blade popped out. Rosette froze for a moment at seeing the knife. They said Coolly “think you can just pull a blade and make us go away? Think again. I know you Allison your to much of a coward to use that.” She glanced back at Dallas smiling coolly.

Dallas took her sign and began to charge at me. I shut my eyes tight stood up tall and held my blade out still and jabbed forward. I heard a shriek not sure who from. I kept my eyes shut afraid of what I’d see if I opened them. Seconds, minutes, passed I heard my heart in my chest pounding. I heard rosettes ragged breathing, she was afraid. Then I opened my eyes I saw Dallas fall to the floor a dark pool spilling from his chest. His eyes were rolled back. I noticed that his chest didn’t rise and fall. He wasn’t breathing. He was dead. Rosette looked at Dallas and seemed to realize what I had because she then turned to me furiously. She shreiked tears pricking at her eyes staring at Dallas. She charged at me shoving me against the wall. My head hit the bricks sending searing pain through me as soon as I opened my eyes back up after hitting my head I saw them running out of the alley towards the light at the end of the alley. Towards the parking lot I knew was that way. Though I knew it was there I couldn’t look at Dallas’s body. I stepped a bit away and leaned back against the wall and stared at the dark bloody knife and wiped the blood dripping from my lips from the earlier punches. 

                ———————————

I ran when Allison told me to get out of there, I had hardly been running for a few minutes until I knew I had to go back I rushed back trying to navigate the alleyways. Then I heard some voices, I think I recognized them they went to my school. Then I heard Allison’s voice. I looked over the corner of the brick wall and my heart seemed to stop. I saw Allison  about 15 feet away from where I was hiding at the corner of the alley. She was holding a knife into the chest of a guy eyes shut tight. Two girls and another guy stood by terrified. The closer girl with red hair was frozen in fear. Al opened her eyes and the boy she had stabbed collapsed to the floor they stood still and I saw that he was dead. At realizing that the red haired girl screamed and shoved Allison against the wall her head hit the bricks hard. The red hair girl let go of Allison and looked at the others and they took off running out of the alley. 

She killed him. She killed him. I could hardly breathe. My thoughts swirled around to quickly to decipher. I don’t know how long I stood there with my eyes shut thoughts swirling, was it minutes? Hours? I opened my eyes and saw Allison standing looking at her bloodied knife. She closed her eyes and gripped the knife holding it up. 

“Allison!” I called her name out she froze. Her eyes shot open and the knife dropped to her side quickly.

( thanks so much for reading sorry if my writing sucks I’m still figuring it out but please leave a comment but also please be kind and respectful this is my first story I’m nearly 14 btw so my writing sucks lol)

[mastermindmp3]

Down Bad is... perhaps my favorite song on TTPD. The sparkling synths, the cosmic metaphor, the phrase "Down bad, crying at the gym, " which, me too. The implied rhyme in the bridge where she cuts off, "how dare you say that it's— (over)" Everything is so good. I've previously said that a lot of songs on TTPD are capsules of time, and Down Bad is no exception. This pocket of time is one after leaving a whirlwind romance, grieving a love that the speaker knows was fake in the first place, and yet still hurts.

Let's dive into it, shall we?

Down Bad explores the idea of a love bombing ( as defined by Oxford, "the action or practice of lavishing someone with attention or affection, especially in order to influence or manipulate them." ) through the lens of an alien abduction. Again, we see an extended metaphor to explore a core idea, a common theme on TTPD. A very key feature of love bombing is that it is most effective on those already longing for company. By the letter of the song, we don't know if the Speaker was experiencing that level of loneliness, but it certainly feels implied by her want for something so short.

The song is quite different in tone from the previous track: it lacks the denial that Favorite Toys does, lacks this feeling that the Speaker is ignoring something. She admits, frankly, that the love she perceives only wanted her "to do experiments on, show [her] the world is bigger than [them], then put [her] back where [she] came from."

( I think one could tie that lyric into Illicit Affair's "You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else." )

The Speaker in Down Bad is in mourning - quite fitting, for such a fatalistic album. She describes being left by her alien lover as "like [she] lost [her] twin." Twins have a very mythic quality in fiction, telepathic connections and mystical connotations. In the real world, there are plenty of anecdotal stories of identical twins having a connection unlike a simple sibling pair, including my favorite anecdote: A pair of twins who were separated at birth and yet ended up living lives that so closely mirrored the other's, it felt planned.

The speaker feels her loss is of that magnitude. That she has lost someone who knew everything she felt, who had that mystical remedy for her. Much like Fortnight, Down Bad's speaker is stuck. Not stuck in her suburbia, but stuck in her hometown, looking up at the sky, waiting to be picked up again, and writhing in it, silently. "They'll say I'm nuts if I talk about the existence of you."

It's no secret that those who claim alien abduction or to have seen UFOs ( now called UAPs by the American Military, for Unidentified Aerial Phenonemon, allowing the phrase to encompass more broadly things like auroras and odd clouds, ) are condemned by their peers. Down Bad's speaker fears this same condemnation, for feeling so strongly about what is, by implication, a flash in the pan romance.

Most alien abductees, for instance, only claim to have been taken for a night, or a week at most. The romance was short lived, but now she's "waking up in blood" from the aftershocks of the alien lover's experiments. Though she feels fervent desire for them, that line reveals that they didn't take the same care with her.

Perhaps they didn't know how. After all, the speaker's lover is portrayed as so different, they may as well be an intergalactic traveler. Or perhaps they didn't care; the song doesn't answer that for us. All we know is that the speaker wants them back, in spite of the damage they had done to her.

Note: I was in love. Not we were, not I am. I was, and you weren't. I was, and am no longer.

[slotumn]

Apparently I'm having a lot of 3H worldbuilding thoughts this weekend. This post is on: on what Adrestia (+Agartha) was after, exactly, by invading Faerghus first in most routes

So the ideological/political explanation is that Faerghus is close to the Church and will defend them so you automatically have to go after them if you go after Church etc etc very cool, but what do they get, materially, by going into the frozen north first thing? That they don't have as much of in Adrestia (or Leicester)?

Metal and mines, apparently:

On top of this, regions adjacent to Faerghus— Duscur and Sreng— are also known for metalwork and weaponry.

Of course you can say it's because the Slithers have deeper infiltration up north (with their involvement with Duscur and Western Church plus Cornelia) so that obviously makes it easier, but I think it's the other way around. Meaning, I think the Slithers put more effort into infiltrating Faerghus because of the metal resources.

Following from that, I think the decision to invade Faerghus first in non-CF routes was a compromise between Edelgard/Adrestians and the Slithers, where Edelgard gets the ideological/political points but Slithers get the material benefits. Ideological stuff listed above aside, if you want to do wide social/civil reforms and make Fódlan less myopic, wouldn't it be more practical to take over the country with fertile farmlands and ports and industry and finance and trade first?

Well, that's what the Empire does in CF, where the Adrestian side presumably has more leverage on operations thanks to having Byleth and the Creator Sword on their side. Situation's a bit different in Hopes but I think it's interesting that in SB, the official invasion as led by Adrestia (instead of Lonato jumping the gun) does end up waiting until after securing the pact with Leicester.

Back to Houses though, it's not hard to see why Slithers want metal and mines. They want to make weapons, and not just regular weapons, they're out here making big fucking mechs. Probably fantasy computers (which also require metals, including precious metals) to operate them, too.

And on the one hand, seeing the Agarthans drag all the actual spoils off to their underground lair so they can make whatever fucked up weapon that they'll use for their own goals probably pissed the Adrestians off. But on the other hand, what can they do when the Agarthans are also providing the military technology (ex: Aymr) that the Adrestians use for their own goals?

Given all this, I think in non-CF routes, by the time Byleth wakes up again, the Empire is actually in a far worse state than we think. The Adrestian troops who are actually doing the fighting are stuck up north where they haven't made much progress in years, and any material gains they have there just go straight into Slither pockets. Back in Enbarr, the Adrestians and Agarthans hate each other even more than they already did at the beginning of the war and are probably doing everything they can to sabotage and spy on one another, while fighting a war on the same side.

At that point, the greatest common motivation the Adrestians and Agarthans would have in finishing up conquering the continent is probably the prospect of finally getting to go at it with one another.

And the letter Hubert leaves in SS/VW telling Byleth about the Slithers: the suddenness of that plot point aside, let's just appreciate how petty (complimentary) that is, politically. "I know you killed us and all, but we really hate the guys we were doing this group project (war) with. Can you kill them too. Thanks."

Tl;dr the Adrestian-Agarthan war councils in non-CF routes probably gave multiple people high blood pressure

[astralspen]

Not normally where I post my art but I finished a rough design for Atsushi in my Love Can End Even This Pain fanfic, an AU both lovingly and very uncreatively dubbed the Mentor!Chuuya AU where Chuuya finds and takes Atsushi in instead of Dazai

Below the cut is my re-written design notes and some other thoughts I have on him in this!

Design Notes:

-Atsushis black streaks are way more obvious in this AU than they are in canon

-His hair in general is also both fluffier and longer because he’s a tiger why wouldn’t he be blessed with the floof and I also just like drawing the floof

-Atsushis color palette leans into more colors while also still being pretty muted. In future plans he will have an outfit with his classic black and white combo, but that’s a spoiler so gotta wait for that one ^^

-Chuuya stitched a little tiger decoration on his sleeve for shits and giggles when he noticed how much Atsushi wore that shirt specifically (note; this builds on my hc for Chuuya that he knows how to sew from his time in Suribachi with the Sheep; I’ll expand on that when I draw Chuuya design!)

-I hc Atsushi having some sensory issues, so his clothes as a whole are pretty baggy so they don’t rub against his skin. I also hc Atsushi as being someone who likes to have himself pretty covered when given the choice, so he gets a shirt underneath his short sleeve one

-Probably me projecting my own love of boots onto him, but Atsushi almost always wears a pair of military style boots. In my defense, they’re pretty practical for his fighting style

-He keeps pocket watch on him! This is due to his past at the orphanage and a little something I’m excited to write in the fic that happens later on

Gen Thoughts on him:

-In this, Atsushi is more skilled in fighting than in canon because of Chuuya training him. So, he’s also more muscular too

-In one of the chapters I touch on Atsushi having binge eating disorder, and this was one of my major hcs of his. His past really builds up on this, as well as his larger than life appetite. As Atsushi recovers from it, I imagine he would be more of a snacker. Just always eating something small while still having his regular meals. If I’m being honest, I don’t intend for him to fully recover from his general food anxiety since a part of the hc is him not understanding when he actually is hungry, so he is muscular but also skinnier than normal

-I’m also going to be making him a lot less naive. His environment would shift his morals pretty drastically imo, with them becoming more similar to Chuuya in a ‘I won’t fight unless you pick one with me, but start it and I won’t hesitate’ way. I will, however, be keeping his no killing moral code in place for the most part. In general, Atsushi condones violence more than he does in canon though

-Very tiny and another general hc of mine but he loves music. Almost always listening to it and has heard some of every genre. Several pairs of earbuds and headphones no doubt

-In case you haven’t read the fic yet (please do ik I’m slow to update but I do hold a lot of love for it), Chuuya gives Atsushi a white tiger plush named Shiro. Atsushi likes to hug him every night because the plush reminds him he’s not alone. Atsushi will also sometimes stare at Shiro while talking to Byakko in his head. Byakko does not appreciate being visualized as a toy, but Atsushi figures out how to brush him off pretty quickly.

[crab-milk]

What is lion dancing? You've mentioned it before, but I don't think I've seen it before

I'm particularly new to the world of lion dancing myself, but I hope this could also help! Lion dancing is a Asian tradition that blends puppetry, martial arts, and dancing that has been around 206 BC. Although it originated from China, countries like Japan, Korea, Vietnam, and South-East Asian countries have their own respective forms of lion dancing. There's actually quite a few types out there, but they can be identified by their martial art forms, lion heads, or nationalities. I'm probably going to info dump now so I'll cut it here for others to read if they'd like.

Before we get into that, I have to clear some common misconceptions. Lions are NOT dragons. Dragons are puppets that generally have 6 or 9 people holding it up on poles and are long (龙 lóng - do you get the joke lol). Foo dogs are technically lions, but the terminology was derived from white people who mistook lions as chow chow dogs.

To clear further confusion, the reason they're called lions is because allegedly, when China started trading with the western world, lions and their pelts were only reserved for the wealthy. Poor people spread word about what lions looked like, and it somehow turned out that way. There's a lot of mythology surrounding why people do lion dances, but the shorter version is that the lion scares off demons and ill-intentioned spirits from villages. It's now a tradition at openings of businesses, weddings, funerals, and festivities.

Most people are generally used to seeing southern Chinese or Cantonese lions. Traditionally, all of these lions are male and have different variations, again based on nationality or style of martial arts that it's derived from. There are northern lions, which have a male and female (red and green bows respectively), as well as Japanese and Korean lions, which are mostly comprised of wooden masks and long fur.

I'll mostly focus on southern Chinese lions, but they're all pretty neat! I mostly practice Fut-San lion dancing, which is a pretty common form. They notably have a ":3" face and the style of martial arts (wushu) is considered a very common standard for southern Chinese lions. Recent variations of these lion heads also have pom-poms as they are derived from Beijing opera costumes. Each lion also has a pointed horn on the top. They can also have fluffy or wiry fur for its eyelids and mouth, but there exists variations with bristles instead, which may signify that the lion is based on a historical military figure (kind of similar to how Beijing opera singers do specific makeup for specific characters).

These are generally more common in other countries. South-east Asian versions of the lions are extremely decorated, intricate, and distinct.

Hok-San lions are also pretty common. They are distinguished by having a "snake" horn which means the horn curls into a circle at the end and a ":)" face.

Despite their differences, all southern lions have a mirror in the front to ward off evil spirits, some horn with a bow attached, and a beard. Traditionally, the mirror is there to scare off spirits who look into it. The horn is generally added after the lion is almost finished being made, and the bow on the horn is added ceremoniously to bless the lion and honor the gods. It is highly recommended people don't touch them, save for the practical reasons of dirtying the mirror or tearing off the delicate horn, but also to avoid getting bad luck from ill-intentioned spirits.

That aside, I'd like to finally to talk about what to do when you see lions! If you have red pockets of money, the lion eats them up (and the performer in the head puts everything in their sweaty shirt). Sometimes, lions go and play with the audience, so feel more than welcome to pet them or play fight with them! Each performer has their own distinct personality that they play in the lion and as a result, have a lot to share with the audience!

I could go on and on, but I'm afraid this is really long for no reason. I hope this info dump helped!