#we coulda had it all gang

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Girls dont want <other thing> girls want Lupin III vs Kaito Kid.

[lovebugism]

Okay maybe Eddie bought a silly couple costumes for himself and r (something cute with “Why aren’t you wearing a costume?” and “I’m not wearing that.”) 🩷

ty for requesting lovie! happy fictober! ily! — eddie buys you a costume you don't feel pretty enough to wear and the gang crashes your cuddling session (hints of smut, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 2.5k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Your bare bodies stick together beneath a decade-old quilt. Eddie’s nice enough to let you use his lanky bicep as a makeshift pillow while you cuddle on the couch. His other hand hovers over your face, smoothing out the subtle furrow between your brows with the pad of his thumb.

“What’s this face for, huh?” he singsongs into the heavy, golden, post-sex silence of the trailer. His smile is swollen and crooked and barely there. It’s a very hushed sunshine compared to your distant pout.

“‘Cause I still feel bad,” you confess, voice so soft it’s nearly inaudible. Your feet knock with Eddie’s when your anxious legs entwine with his. “I made you miss that movie.”

“You didn’t make me miss shit,” Eddie laughs, assertive but not unkind. His warm palm spreads over your cheek. His chocolate eyes dance between both of yours. “I stayed in ‘cause I wanted to, alright? I wanted to spend time with you.”

“You called me a succubus,” you tease with a gentle giggle.

He had, though he doesn’t have much recollection of it. You looked far too pretty underneath him, and he’d been far too close to his orgasm. 

His hips rutted sloppily against yours, his rhythm gone totally stupid after feeling you gush around him. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” he babbled into the sticky skin of your neck, voice tighter and higher than usual. “You’re a goddamn succubus, you know that, baby? Pussy’s so good… I’d fucking— I’d do anything you wanted me to— shit.”

His legs are still numb from the mind-blowing climax he had a moment later.

Eddie’s chuckle is louder and more boyish than yours. It fills the trailer with sunlight. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause you are. Which means I’d much rather be here with you than at The Hawk with all those other schmucks.”

He kisses you to seal his promise — a chaste peck upon your smiling mouth. It’s beautifully innocuous compared to how good he was making you feel hardly more than five minutes ago.

“I know you don’t like those movies anyway, so…”

“That’s not true,” you argue with a very believable pout.

His gaze goes sympathetic. “Babe… You almost cried when we watched Nightmare on Elm Street the other day.”

“No, I didn’t!” You most certainly did.

“You said you weren’t gonna sleep ever again.”

“I like horror movies ‘cause you like horror movies, dummy.”

The term of endearment makes him grin. He likes it when you get all mean, though you never really mean it. “Is that so?” he lilts with raised brows that disappear behind his fuzzy bangs. The ends of the umber strands are damp with sweat.

You nod lazily against his arm. His fingers are starting to tingle with numbness, but he loves you too much to move.

“Mm-hmm. That’s how relationships work. Compromise. I tolerate horror movies, and you tolerate—”

“Your Harrison Ford obsession?”

You lose your firmness and get all sheepish. “Shut up…”

“I’m pretty sure they were showing Return of the Jedi in the theater over, right after Sleepaway Camp,” Eddie observes suddenly, brushing stray strands of your wild hair from your temple. “We coulda had a double feature tonight, but you wanted to stay in with little old me.”

“That’s ‘cause I love you a whole lot more than some guy I’ve never met.”

Eddie beams at your words. His eyes start to glitter like he’s won something, and his cheeks speckle pink with pride. He’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. He’ll never get tired of you loving him.

“I’m flattered,” he singsongs and means it.

You smile and lean in to kiss his grin. The boy gasps before you can. He springs up from the couch at a moment’s notice, climbing over you with naked limbs. He flashes you his bare ass just before he tugs on the crumbled pair of boxers left forgotten on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, eyes narrowed in curiosity and mouth quirked in amusement. You twist on the couch so you’re propped against the back of it. You clutch the heavy quilt to your naked chest.

“I forgot something,” Eddie mumbles, halfway to himself, then sends you a lighthearted glare over his shoulder. “Don’t move!”

You still, grinning softly at the boy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. You watch him while he rifles through a plastic bag beside the TV stand. “I got us something while I was at the Halloween store with Harrington earlier,” Eddie explains over the noisy crinkling sound.

“Oh, god…” you murmur.

Eddie laughs and looks at you over his shoulder again. “C’mon, babe. Have a little hope, would you?”

He returns to the couch with a smirk and something he hides behind his back. He grins like a kid when he reveals them to you — two packages of Star Wars themed costumes held in both his hands. 

Pictured on one is a guy who looks eerily like Han Solo — complete with the vest, blouse, and holster triad. The other is an uncanny Leia Organa in a skin-tight white suit, beige knee-high boots, and a flowing cape.

You blink at both of them, then at Eddie. 

“…I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“Our Halloween costumes!” he exclaims with a beam. “See, I’m gonna be Han Solo— ‘cause I’m, you know, charming and sarcastic and handsome.”

“Don’t forget humble,” you joke with a lovesick grin.

“—And you will be my beautiful, hard-headed Leia Organa.”

You glance again at the package in his right hand, at the pretty woman on the cover. You know you won’t look nearly as good in the costume as she does. Your soft smile flickers. 

“Eds…” you mutter in a wavering lilt.

A frown forms between his bushy brows, similar to the one you’d been sporting earlier. “What?”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna dress up this year, remember?” you remind him, shifting awkwardly on the couch and clutching the blanket closer to yourself.

“But it’s Halloween, babe! Why wouldn’t you wear a costume?”

Your mouth opens and closes as you stammer out an excuse. “Because— I don’t know— I’m too… indecisive. Like, that’s a lot of pressure.”

“That’s why I picked for you!” Eddie grins, totally oblivious.

You laugh. It’s a bit cynical but not totally unkind. “I am not wearing that.”

He pouts, like a child or a hurt puppy. “But why not?” he wonders with a crestfallen inflection.

Again, you stammer. “Because— I mean— Just look at her, Eds!” you gesture to the package he holds with a significant focus to the girl on the front. “I don’t look like her!”

He grows from sad to confused. His brows pinch as he tilts his head to the side. His wild curls tickle his bare, pale shoulder. “Oh… kay?” he mutters, trying his best to understand you but not getting it completely.

You huff. Your chest stings as you explain it all to him.

“I’m… I’m not gonna look like the girl on the cover. You know that, right? I’m not— I’m not Princess Leia kind beautiful, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, seemingly agreeing with you and smiling all over again. “You’re a you kind beautiful. That’s what makes you so damn sexy.”

He leans down over you with the intention to kiss you. 

Still pouting and inwardly aching, you pull back from him.

“Eddie…” you murmur, still gentle but obviously sadder.

He concedes with a small sigh. The couch cushions dip with his weight when he sits down beside you. He leaves the packages abandoned on the other side of him and gives you his full attention. 

“Look… You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, alright? We can stay in for Halloween for all I care. I just… I think it’d be a lot of fun, you know?” the boy rambles with a seriousness that’s typically foreign to him. His palm smooths across your knee over the thick quilt. His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “And I think you’d look… very pretty as my Princess Leia.”

His chocolate eyes twinkle with an undeniable sincerity. It makes your chest feel so warm it burns.

“Yeah?” you mumble, not quite believing him but wanting him to hear him say it anyway.

“Totally,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. He presses a lingering peck to your lips, then melts when he tastes leftover sex upon them. 

A switch flips within him then. His belly twists, and his eyelids get all heavy. His smirk is weighed down by lust as he pulls back from you and shrugs. “I think I could show you better than I could tell you, actually…”

Across the living room, the door busts open. 

Sunlight explodes throughout the dim trailer, making the two of you squint. 

Steve enters first, knocking on the open door to announce his arrival. “Phone’s off the hook,” he observes, pointing to the telephone lying face up on the table beside the front door. 

Eddie had two fingers inside you, and the thing just wouldn’t stop ringing. He grumbled in annoyance when he had to part from you to hang it up.

Steve puts the thing back on the hook while Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle walk in behind him.

Mortified, you watch with wide eyes as your uninvited friends file in. Your grip tightens around the blanket. You use one hand to make sure every inch of your naked body is covered with it.

Eddie doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by it as you are. Instead, he huffs in annoyance and spreads his arms along the back of the couch. They were the ones barging in, after all. If they had a problem with his pale, lanky figure and his thin, plaid boxers, then that was on them.

“Oh. Come in,” he hums, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Make yourselves at home.”

Robin’s got a thousand-year stare in her eye and a blue, red, and purple mouth. “Can I use your bathroom?” she wavers, voice strained. Her fists are clenched beneath her baggy flannel. They tremble beside her baggier jeans.

“Uh, yeah. Knock yourself out.”

She’s already rushing down the hall before he can get the words out.

The two of you watch her leave and then turn to Steve. He’s an expert in all things Robin Buckley nowadays. He shrugs and tells you, “She had, like, four slurpees while we were waiting on you guys at The Hawk.”

You shift awkwardly like you’re getting scolded. Eddie only laughs.

As all the gang settles around the trailer — Jonathan on the recliner, Nancy on the arm of it, and Steve sitting on the adjacent table — Argyle is the only one without a place to sit. He idles beside the couch, smiling at you with rosy lips and rosier eyes.

“How are you doing today, amigo?” he wonders with a curt nod, as mellow as ever.

You smile up at the boy, not nearly as fazed by the bright style and long raven hair as you used to be. Actually, you’ve grown quite fond of his slurred jokes that don’t really have a punchline because halfway through, he realizes he’s forgotten it entirely.

“Good,” you respond, crossing your arms over the quilt you’ve got bunched at your chest. “You?”

“I’m peachy, brochacho,” he nods back at you. He grins, but the bright expression is weighed down by the weed. The skunky smell entwines with his musky cologne, creating a deep earthy scene that’s much more bearable than the weed alone.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you guys showed up—” Eddie starts with an inflection that would imply otherwise, wide eyes flitting around the room. “—But what the hell are you doing here?”

“You’d know if you answered the phone,” Steve retorts with a scrunched nose, flipping through a random car magazine. The Beemer on the front matches the sunshine yellow of his sweatshirt.

“Well, I was a little busy, Harrington—”

You nudge Eddie before he can finish the stupid joke. Everyone could already hear it anyhow — “I was a little busy, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

He shoots you an innocently confused look. You give him a half-hearted glare in return.

“You guys flaked on movie night, so we brought the movies to you,” Nancy singsongs with a sweet, pink smile.

Jonathan unrolls the folded-up paper bag between his feet. The flimsy cardboard crackles loudly as he rifles through it. He pulls out a number of unblanketed VHS tapes with handwritten stickers glued to the front of them. 

“Uh… We got Sleepaway Camp, obviously,” the Byers boy mutters in his usual Byers way. He waves the tape in his hand and sits it off to the side. He reaches into the bag and grabs two more. “Twilight Zone and, uh, Return of the Jedi.”

Eddie is as grateful as he is confused. Movie night wasn’t totally gone, and both of your movies had been seemingly carrier-pigeoned to his trailer, but neither should be out on VHS yet. “How…?” the boy trails off with pinched-together brows.

Argyle answers. “Let’s just say I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy…” he smirks, then swirls his features in puzzlement. It looks like he’s trying to do math in his head. “…Who knows a guy.”

“I can pop some popcorn if you guys wanna, you know, make yourselves decent,” Steve teases with a feigned maliciousness as he hops off the square table. The old thing squeaks under his weight.

Eddie’s retort doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh. Right. My bad, Stevie. It’s not like you totally barged in on us or anything.”

You shake your head at their bickering, though you’re still smiling quietly to yourself. Eddie shields you while you rise from the couch. You wear the heavy quilt like a dress as you shuffle down the hallway to his bedroom. The thing trails behind you as you go.

“Sorry about them, sweetheart,” Eddie apologizes as soon as the door clicks closed. 

He’d wanted to say something earlier, but kept his mouth shut instead of making it a bigger deal. He knew you were bound to be embarrassed — because you almost always tend to be, anyway. He didn’t want to draw attention to the situation, or least of all to you, and make it that much worse.

“’S okay,” you shrug and drop the blanket on the carpet. 

Eddie tries not to go all teenage boy at the sight of your naked body, but he nearly loses his mind when you bend over to pick up one of his t-shirts from the floor. 

“We did sorta flake on them,” you reason as you tug the cotton over your head. The baggy fabric falls over you like rain.

Eddie shakes his head, mostly at himself. He couldn’t love you more if he tried.

“Only you would blame yourself when those assholes walked in on us,” he laughs, walking the short distance to you and wrapping you in his arms from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your neck. You smell like flowers, sex, and his cologne. 

“You’re too sweet for your own good, baby. No wonder those schmucks won’t leave us alone.”

Robin’s voice seemingly comes from within the walls — ‘cause the bathroom is only one room over, and the walls are especially thin. “Rude!” she grouses, voice muffled. “I mean, it’s true, but still.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Band-aids and Biker Gangs

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: the brothers’ baby (toddler) sister gets (minimally) hurt, and they come to the rescue

“De, I want more pie!”

“You already had two pieces.” Dean argued with his three-year old little sister as they left the diner with Sam and their side.

“I’m pretty sure you have only yourself to blame for this,” Sam chuckled. “Your addiction got her addicted.

“I’m not—“ Dean took his eyes off you to argue with Sam, and you took the opportunity to run ahead, going for the Impala. You’d almost reached it when a group of motorcyclists swerved into the parking lot. They cut around you, but one came so close that he had you stumbling backwards, a scream of terror leaving you as the roaring engine passed about a foot away from you. In your attempts to get away, your foot hit the curb and you went down hard.

All of this happened in mere seconds, and Sam and Dean could do nothing but watch. That is, until the motorcyclists had passed and you were lying on the street, crying.

Dean reached you first, his instincts kicking in just a second before Sam’s. As soon as he reached you, he was checking for injuries—your hands were cut up badly because of the small rocks covering the pavement, but other than that you seemed unhurt.

Dean’s heart twisted when he noticed you sobbing and trying to pick pebbles out of your palms.

“Hey, hey.” Dean grabbed your hands. “It’s ok sweetheart, let me do that.”

He heard you whimpering, and looked up to see your staring past him, your little body shaking. Dean turned around to see the biker gang watching the both of them.

“Take her,” Dean said to Sam without even looking at him as he stood and went straight for the biker that had almost run you over.

Sam lifted you into his arms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck as he rubbed your back.

“Shh, it’s gonna be ok,” he whisper-spoke to you, rocking you gently but making sure to keep you faced away from the men. He watched Dean carefully, prepared to step in only if he had to—he didn’t want to let you go for a second, not when you were shaking and crying in his arms.

Thankfully, Dean had it handled.

…

“Hey!” There was no question as to why Dean was approaching the biker—he was pissed, and everyone knew it.

“You got a problem with me?” The biker demanded.

“Yes, actually, I do. That’s a toddler over there, that you coulda killed!”

The man was unbothered.

“I had it handled.”

“Well, do you wanna know what I think?” Dean was nose to nose with the man, all but shaking with anger. “I think you’re gonna get on that oversized tricycle, and you’re gonna clear out.”

A few of the other bikers stepped forwards, but the man held them back with an “I’ve got him.”

“Or what?” The man spat. Dean scoffed, a smirk twitching on his lips a split second before he knocked the man flat on his back. Before the man’s buddies could even react, Dean had his gun out and aimed at the man on the ground.

“What about now?” Dean growled. The man got up slowly, brushing himself off and staring warily at Dean’s weapon.

“We were just leaving anyway,” he huffed, and within a minute him and his friends were gone, making sure to give you and Sam a wide berth.

“Hey.” Dean’s rage was gone in a moment, replaced by soft eyes and gentle touches as he pulled you into his arms. Sam released you without protest. “How are we doing, huh baby?” Dean asked gently.

“‘M ok,” you sniffled, resting your head against Dean’s shoulder and all but burying your face against his neck. He’d never felt you hold him as tightly as you were now, and he felt compelled to tighten his arms around you too, making sure you felt secure.

“Let’s get you back to the motel and we can take a look at those hands, ok?” He suggested.

“It hurts,” you whimpered, each word coming out between shuddering breaths as you tried to speak through your tears. But you made no other protest as Dean carried you to the Impala. However, when he tried to bundle you into your car seat, you started to cry harder, refusing to release your clad-iron grip around his neck.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Sam soothed as he reached out and pried you from Dean’s arms. “I’ve got you, you can sit with me.”

Dean went over to his side as Sam sat in the passenger seat, securing you in his lap. They wouldn’t normally do this, as it wasn’t the safest way to travel, but the motel was only minutes away, and neither brother was able to resist you when you were upset.

You calmed down during the drive to the motel, the gentle purr of baby lulling you as the pain in your hands faded to a dull ache.

Sam carried you into the motel room, and when the brothers entered Dean went straight for the first aid kit. When he turned to you and Sam, he grinned when he saw Sam already distracting you, making silly faces while you giggled and kicked your feet. You were so happy that you hardly noticed Dean gently grabbing onto your wrist. That is, until he rubbed disinfectant on your palm. You were mid-giggle when it turned into a whine, and you struggled to pull your hand from Dean’s.

“Stop it!” You started to cry again when Dean wouldn’t let go of your hand.

“Hey, hey…” Sam brushed a few of your tears away. “De’s just fixing up your hand, you’re ok.”

“It hurts!” You yelled at him. He wasn’t fazed by your anger, knowing you were just hurting, and he spent the next few minutes calmly comforting you as Dean finished up with your hands.

“Ok.” Dean finished off each bandage with a gentle kiss to your hands. “You’re all done.”

You held your arms up and let Dean pick you up, wrapping your arms around his neck and burrowing against his shoulder.

“Thanks, De,” you mumbled. He could still hear you sniffling.

“You bet,” he said softly. “You were really good, you know.”

“Yeah,” Sam chimed in. “Good enough, I think you deserve some ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” Your head popped up, and both boys chuckled.

“C’mon, baby,” Dean grinned. “My treat.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

[britcision]

GANG I AM SURE IT IS OLD NEWS BUT I HAVE BEEN DOING MATH AND LEMME TELL YOU A FUCKING THING

EXHIBIT A: MITHRUN’S TIMELINE PER THE DUNGEON GUIDE

EXHIBIT B: KABRU’S TIMELINE PER THE DUNGEON GUIDE

EXHIBIT C: MILSIRIL’S COMIC PER THE DUNGEON GUIDE

HYPOTHESIS: Milsiril was bare minimum visiting, caring for, and feeding Mithrun at points in his timeline between year 480 (trying to recover) and 500 (appointed as a captain - this is also noted to have happened immediately when he was fit for work, since they were running out of people)

In the comic, Milsiril specifically references Utaya (year 499, from Kabru’s timeline - it’s the only demon incident in Utaya), as she uses the incident with the demon in Utaya to get Mithrun to eat and get his act together

Kabru lived with Milsiril in the elven capital from year 499 to 510

Milsiril specifically dislikes and avoids other elves… now with the apparent exception of Mithrun, who she thinks she might have quite liked pre-nuking

Milsiril would not want to go to Mithrun’s family estate and deal with his entire family every time to take care of him… and they may not have been keen on her dolls or cooking

The only thing we know about Mithrun and his family is that he hated his brother, and visits him every five years (brother has extended a permanent invitation for Mithrun to visit any time pretty sure Mithrun overestimates how much his brother cared/noticed he didn’t like him)

His parents deadass aren’t mentioned except to note that he’s the bastard child, and his parents ignored his older brother. There’s an implication here that they preferred Mithrun… until they sent him to a death squad

Milsiril has a repeatedly-mentioned tendency to take in strays, usually kids of short-lived peoples, and strong nurturing instincts that may/may not be pretty dehumanizing

CONCLUSION: there is a non-zero chance that Mithrun and Kabru LIVED TOGETHER FOR A FUCKING YEAR post Utaya at Milsiril’s house and just didn’t even fucking notice

I am losing my mind

This is incredible

Mithrun deadass coulda been The Crazy Uncle In The Attic for a full fucking year

He was busy going feral and blaming himself for Utaya cuz it “could have been different” if he’d been there and recovered for the same fucking year THE LAST SURVIVOR OF UTAYA was in the next room

What kind of unhinged interactions did they have

Kabru was fucking SEVEN the state of Mithrun in that comic woulda fucking RETRAUMATIZED HIM any mention of him being a dungeon lord???? NOPE

We know from the changeling incident that Mithrun barely considered Kabru a distinct person so 0% chance he would ever put it together but KABRU

Kabru is an observant little thot and his favourite thing is making assumptions from his observations

Just a MENTION of Milsiril and Kabru shoulda been all up on that

Mithrun FULLY DID mention her as Milsiril the Gloomy when exposing his backstory and Kabru just… tossed every single name in the garbage

(Which, fair. Elves live a long time, the odds of there being only one Milsiril are 0% and she wasn’t all that gloomy with Kabru, and, frankly, he had bigger concerns named Laios Touden)

Ugh too much too many bits Otta’s comic includes them actually talking about his adoptive mom but without names they were SO CLOSE I am going insane

Fanfiction

So much fanfiction

It MUST be post Kabru/Mithrun this ship is all angst and tbh the whole “desiring someone who can’t desire” is only gonna consternate Kabru for so long so once that is done I want a slice of “WAIT A FUCKING SECOND you’re the guy in the attic???????”

[aishangotome]

Ellis Twilight: Chapter 10

Chapter 9

♡———♡

Jude and Ellis, their hats pulled low and their mouths hidden behind scarves, stepped into the casino with me.

(Both of them were attracting a lot of attention because they clearly didn't look like ordinary people...)

(But they haven't been discovered yet, right?)

With two suspicious-looking men flanking me, I started to worry that they might be mistaken for kidnappers instead.

Jake: Why are you guys dressed like that?

Jude: ................

Ellis: ................

Kate: Oh, um, we were outside for a long time and got cold!

Kate: Their lips are numb and their voices are shaking, so they said they might not be able to talk for a while.

I could hear Jude cursing under his breath at my desperate excuse.

(I think I heard him say, "Ya coulda come up with a better lie...")

Jake: Oh dear, take care!

(Whew! He doesn't seem suspicious at all)

Kate: Oh, thank you. It's not that bad, so don't worry!

Jake: Are you weak? You won't be able to make it in the circus if you don't train properly!

Jake laughed cheerfully and patted Jude on the shoulder with his large hand.

Jude: ................

(Oh, he's angry... I'll pretend I didn't see that)

Ellis: ..............

Ellis winked at me as if to say, "Nice save."

Jake walked further into the casino and stopped in front of a door with two security guards. He took off his hat and bowed.

Jake: Hey there, could you tell the owner that I brought some more circus friends?

(...The mastermind behind the kidnapping might be beyond this door)

(Maybe the victims are too...)

I took a small breath and entered the room.

The eyes of several strong-looking men inside turned to us at once.

Jake: Sorry I'm late for our appointment. I had a wonderful encounter!

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: I've been waiting for you, Jake! Are these people the wonderful encounter you mentioned?

Jude and Ellis: .............

(This is the casino "owner" Jake was talking about)

If our guess is correct, he's the one who orchestrated the kidnapping.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: You've brought some very... lively ones this time.

The man in silver-rimmed glasses stared at us rudely.

(This is the mastermind behind the kidnapping...)

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Miss and gentlemen, judging by your clothes and the glow of your skin...

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: You don't look like you were lured to the circus by hunger for money or fame.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Why are you interested in the circus?

(...He's suspicious...)

The moment I instinctively read the man's expression, I heard a click.

(The door to the room is locked...!)

A prickling tension filled the room.

In the strained atmosphere, Jude and Ellis calmly approached the man called the owner.

Jude: I've always admired the performances of Jake Grace, a man who made his name in a grand spectacle.

He spoke in fluent Queen's English.

His refined manner of speaking, devoid of his usual accent, was so different that it almost felt like someone else was talking.

(Wow, he's completely different... With this way of speaking, his identity shouldn't be exposed...)

Jude: However, I still have some doubts. There's always a catch to a good deal.

Jude: You're saying that you'll guarantee our food, clothing, and shelter until the circus is established. Are you the representative?

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Yes. I'm in charge of the investment in Mr. Jake. Although, there are people above me.

(So this guy isn't the top of the gang either...?)

(Is he like one of the factions within it?)

Jude: Does the "higher-up" know about this investment?

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: ...I don't think it's necessary for a mere member to know that.

Jude glanced at Ellis and me.

From our experience in business negotiations and crisis situations, this meant... "Get to your positions."

(In other words...)

(It's time to start the commotion...!)

The moment Ellis kicked over a vase, I instinctively hid behind the table.

As the gang's attention was drawn to the loud noise, Jude spoke.

Jude: Restrain the guy with glasses. I'll take care o' the rest.

Ellis: Roger that.

As soon as they communicated in the brief moment the gang members were drawing their guns, Ellis lightly kicked the ground.

In the next instant, he leaped onto the table and then above the gang members' heads.

(...As always, his movements are amazing)

Before the panicked gang members could aim their guns, Ellis' long fingertips touched the owner's head... and the owner's wrists snapped together as if bound by an invisible rope, unable to move.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Wh-What is this...?

Ellis: This one's done.

(He restrained the owner in no time. What about Jude...?)

Like a puff of smoke, Jude slipped into the midst of the opponents and touched their foreheads.

The gang members immediately collapsed to the floor one after another.

(Is that Jude's ability...?)

(The people he touched... they don't seem dead, but...)

The sight of people losing consciousness and collapsing as if their strings had been cut, without being punched or kicked, was eerie and sent chills down my spine.

Jake: Wh-What's going on? Who are you guys?

(Oh right, I completely forgot about Jake...!)

He was just being used by the gang.

If so, it would be dangerous for him to be in the middle of this brawl.

Gangster: Damn it! You brought troublesome guests!

Kate: ...!

I saw a gun being pointed at Jake in my peripheral vision.

Kate: Dodge it...!

Jake: Whoa!?

Without time to think, I threw myself at Jake with all my might.

I fell to the floor with Jake, who stumbled.

Kate: Ugh...!!?

Jake's huge body landed heavily on my leg.

A sharp pain shot through me, my breath stopped for a moment, and cold sweat broke out all over my body.

(It hurts...)

Jake: I-I'm sorry, are you alright, miss!?

Kate: I-I'm fine...

(The pain is making my vision blurry...)

But I couldn't stay down any longer, thinking that they might point a gun at me again.

Kate: ...Ha...

I desperately tried to lift my body, which screamed in pain with every breath, but I couldn't stand up. I could only lift my head while lying on my stomach.

(...! Everyone except the owner has lost consciousness)

Thanks to Jude's ability, the room was completely silent, and Ellis was holding a black-bladed knife to the owner's neck.

(Ellis...)

At that moment, our eyes met - his twilight-colored eyes looking at me with concern as I lay on the floor.

He looked like he was about to rush over to me, so I hurriedly suppressed the pain and gave him a smile.

(I'm fine!)

If we let the owner escape now, it would all be for nothing.

Ellis: ......

His twilight-colored eyes wavered with anxiety, but he didn't lower the knife.

Jude: 'Ey, you.

Jake: Huh?

Jude, who had somehow gotten close, touched Jake's forehead.

Jake's consciousness instantly vanished, and his body collapsed on the spot.

Kate: Why even Jake?

Jude: This is Crowns' job now. If he saw this, we'd hafta kill 'im too.

(Crowns' job...)

In my pain-blurred vision, I saw Jude walking away.

The restrained owner glared at Jude, who stood before him, with his small eyes behind his glasses.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: That accent, the bodyguard with the black knife... You're the trader who sent one of our executives to prison, aren't you?

Jude: Where are the recruits?

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: ...Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you.

Even though there was no one left in the room to help him, the owner had an arrogant smile on his lips.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: If you kill me, you won't get away with it. I suggest you back off.

Jude: Is tha' so? Then die.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: What?

Jude: Even if ya don't talk, we can easily get the information by torturin' yer underlings.

Ellis: Wait, can we kill him?

Jude: There's no doubt this guy is the casino owna' an' the mastermind behind the kidnappin'.

Jude: From what he said earlier, the uppa' echelons of the gang aren't involved in this kidnappin'.

Jude: He's the one responsible fer the execution. If he can't give us any information, he's jus' garbage.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Wh-What!? If you kill me, you'll make enemies of all the gangs in London!

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: The "higher-ups" won't stay silent either!

Jude: Ha, ya have a high opinion of yer own worth.

Jude: The "higher-ups" dun care about a memba' who screwed up by meddlin' in shady business without their permission.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: ...!

Seeing him turn pale and lose his words, Jude twisted his lips as if amused.

I remembered Ellis saying, "I love hearing the screams of people I hate."

Jude: Let me tell ya somethin' to take to yer grave.

Jude: There's no such thing as a human bein' who can kill an' get away with it.

Jude: If ya didn' even understand that an' still went around kidnappin' an' killin' people, then you'll regret it in hell.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: H-Huh... I'll talk, I'll tell you everything...!

The owner readily opened his mouth under Jude's threat.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: The kidnapping was a plan I started for money!

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: I happened to see Jake, who had fallen from grace and was drinking himself into oblivion, and I thought of using him...!

Ellis: Where are the people who were brought here as potential circus members?

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: --They were all handed over to a human trafficking broker.

Ellis: Where did they go after that?

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Probably abroad. I don't know any more than that.

(So, Bill's acquaintances were all sold abroad by a shady broker...)

--If that's the case, they'll never come back.

Jude: Tch... Abroad, huh? That's outside our jurisdiction.

Ellis: Even if Victor tries his best, it'll be difficult to track them down...

Their voices deepened the sense of despair.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Hey! I talked, didn't I? Let me go!

Ellis gave the shouting owner a cold look.

Ellis: ...I never promised to let you go if you talked.

Man with Silver-Rimmed Glasses: Wh-What...?

Ellis: Our goal is to stop the kidnapping. And then...

Ellis: To punish the perpetrators.

Ellis: We wanted information because we want to help the victims.

Ellis: Just because you gave us information doesn't mean you're innocent, right?

Ellis: That's why I can't let you go... I'm sorry.

(Ellis...)

In my fading consciousness due to the pain, I listened to their exchange.

The scenery had been distorted for a while now, and my head was getting hazy.

But even in this state, I knew clearly that Ellis was about to get his hands dirty.

For the sake of Her Majesty who ordered the mission, for the sake of the victims, and to prevent any more victims.

Even though I knew it was necessary, I couldn't help but feel my heart ache.

Kate: Ellis...

Unable to stop him or silently watch, I called out his name, and he smiled wryly.

Ellis: ...I'm sorry.

Ellis: Kate- close your eyes.

(Ah...)

Cranberry jam-like red splattered the surroundings.

Before the smell of blood reached my nostrils, my consciousness was swallowed by darkness.

---

(...Wait...)

(What happened to me...?)

I felt like I was being cradled by something warm and swaying gently.

I drifted in a vague sense of time for who knows how long... and slowly regained consciousness.

---

(This is... the bed in the basement?)

I saw a bag of ice water placed on my calf.

Roger: --There seems to be no abnormality in the bone, but judging from the swelling, there's a high possibility of a muscle strain.

Roger: She needs to avoid moving it for a few days.

Ellis: ..............

Jude: It's fine. We solved the kidnappin' case, so she can rest easy.

Familiar voices drifted into my hazy ears.

Roger: Well, that's true.

Ellis: ...Roger.

Roger: Hmm? What is it?

(Ellis...?)

Ellis's profile looked terribly uneasy, and my chest tightened.

I had seen him look worried before, but this was the first time I had seen him so downcast.

Ellis: Kate, she'll be able to walk properly, right?

(...Is he making that face because he's worried about me?)

Roger: Yeah, she'll be fine. If she rests properly, that is.

Ellis: Rest properly...

Ellis: ...Understood.

(Don't make that face. I'm fine...)

I tried to say so, but only a faint sigh escaped my lips.

Kate: Ah...

Jude and Ellis: ...!

Both Ellis and Jude looked towards the bed in surprise.

Roger: Oh, you're awake, lil' lady... Did you happen to hear our conversation just now?

Kate: Yes... I'm sorry for getting injured during the mission. And on top of that, I can't move for a few days...

My voice was hoarse at first and I couldn't speak well, but gradually I was able to move my mouth.

Ellis: ...Kate, don't worry about anything.

Interrupting my words, Ellis sat down on the bed where I was lying.

With a creak, the ceiling disappeared from my sight as Ellis filled my vision.

Ellis: It's not your fault that you got hurt or that you need to rest.

Ellis: Leave everything to me.

Kate: ...Everything?

Ellis: Yes.

Ellis: Everything.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 10 Premium Story

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[pumpkinsy0]

Since I was just in the ER (im good now LMAO) why not some hcs of Pony ending up in the ER somehow?

im sorry im replying to this late it was my moms bday yesterday, but omg???? im glad ur ok and ur having a good day or somethin😭😭

ANYWAYS fuck it, ill talk about pony w asthma bc thats a hc i actually love and IIIII have asthma so its like y not

•he dont take it seriously, like at all, he never did, he ki still smokes, still forgets to take his pump w him, hes asking for trouble

•and when hes wheezing, hes just ignores it, and thats exactly what landed him in the er, he was at track, didnt bring his pump to school that day, and had a pretty bad asthma attack n now hes here

•he quite honestly couldnt remember what happened between him being in the ground on the track field to waking up in the hospital bed, all he knows is darry and soda is right there

•pony wants to go HOME!!! hell he aint even wanna b there in the first place, he could b getting put in a coffin and he still will deny that hes sick

•that and he also worries about the money, yes darrys job has insurance which somewhat covers the bill, but still, hes a worried at heart, but darrys telling him to stop thinking about that, thats his job

•i just know darrys scolding pony, yea theres a time n place for it, but pony, my brotha, u coulda died over something so preventable, stop livin life like ur lungs aint fucked over

•soda didnt find out till later, they called darry first n then darry called soda, he told him ponys gonna b fine and that he could stay at work, but soda didnt care he wants to see him NOW☝🏽and he ended up goin hom early

•pony hates being fussed over, he doesnt want anyone in the gang knowing, but we all know thats bot happening for long, pony doesnt have to stay in the hospital for that long, like a couple hours, but when he gets home, here the rest of the gang go🙄🙄

•they aint takin it that seriously at first glance either, ponys getting teased for having that asthma attack, but they were genuinely worried for a bit

•i promise u pony has his pump all the time after that one, hes not taking anymore chances

[amywritesthings]

SILVER UNDERGROUND / deleted scene 04.

levi's pov #2. :: a deleted scene from flashback two. this is levi's pov of recruiting james to the gang.

happy silver underground friday! thank you for your patience as i write up ch20. i know many of you requested more levi pov content, so i give to you the initial recruitment (levi's version). this is unedited. 3.5k words / mentions of violence, angst, language, pining. :: please remember: this is additional deleted content, not tied to the current canon of the story.

Three years pass and she still won’t leave his goddamn brain.

The girl with the stale bread.

The girl with the kindness that’ll get her killed down here.

Maybe you're not even that kind — he’s seen how ferociously you take down kids double your size when he’s passing by with Furlan, keeping tabs that you’re still breathing week to week.

Not long after the one and only fight he’s had with you, Kenny disappeared. The son of bitch gave some shitty excuse — something about teaching him all he could — leaving Levi Ackerman in a deathly quiet room for the second time in his life.

Just happened to be alone this time, that’s all.

He almost came to you then, but thought better of it. Getting mixed up in that bitch’s affairs, the one you call Mother, wouldn’t do him any favors.

Maybe she’d up and ditch you the way Kenny ditched him.

Maybe fate would have it—

No.

Dreaming’s a waste of time.

He should keep his distance.

He should never try to speak to you—

“Hello?” 

Furlan waves a hand in front of his face, waking Levi from a dissociative state. His steel gray eyes flicker up to the other boy, expressionless.

“I’m listening,” he curtly replies.

“No you weren’t,” Furlan mumbles, before flopping down into a rickety wooden chair.

This house isn’t much, but it’s home. Better than living on the streets, that’s for damn sure. Somehow him and this kid made enough money to get by and then some — but that’s probably because they’ve found the literal Underground City jackpot.

Two idiot MPs from the surface.

Two sets of Omni-directional Mobility Gear.

(The steal would be much easier than others think. Making the story sound impossible meant other thugs in the area wouldn’t ever try their hand at it.)

Crime’s a hell of a lot easier when you can fly.

Only problem now is that the jobs — and subsequently the money — are harder to come by. Furlan’s insistent on expanding. Levi has no interest in banking on trust beyond Furlan.

Until that idea hit him like a static shock—

All when he realized you were still fighting.

Still, after all these years.

“If you’re still trying to convince me,” Levi boredly starts, “then I might have a name to throw in the ring.”

Furlan perks in his chair, scooting closer. “Well, damn, you coulda said it earlier.”

“I just think you won’t like who I suggest.”

“Huh? Why? One of our guys—”

“No,” Levi cuts off. “Not one of the shitheads we split scraps with. I’m talking about a third.”

“A third… in command?” Furlan slowly inquires. Levi nods once. “So who is it?”

“A girl I knew once,” the dark-haired boy suggests, arms crossed over her chest. When Furlan squints, he continues. “She’s in the fighting rings. Goes by James.”

“She’s a kid?”

“No. Knew her when she was, but now she’s in the adult circuits.”

“So how old is she?”

“Maybe fifteen? Fourteen?” Levi supplies. “Our age.”

“Huh.” Furlan pauses. “And you… think she’d be good? Like how good?’

“Probably the best option we have.”

“Levi Ackerman talking highly about someone else… now that doesn’t happen every day.”

Levi squints in annoyance. 

“Are you cool with me asking her, or not?”

Furlan makes a face. “Well— here’s the thing. If we just add her, chances are the guys we kinda fumble the numbers with will get jealous. We’d probably need to initiate her.”

Levi doesn’t mean to, but he glares right back. Furlan must realize right away that his partner is a fan of the idea — a reaction he’s never offered.

“Five people aren’t jumping her, Furlan,” Levi insists in a bite.

“I— three?”

Three.

He’s seen you take down people double your size and weight. He’s watched you put popular contenders on their backs in seconds. The kids they hire are just that — kids. 

As much as he doesn’t want to agree to it, there has to be a compromise.

You can handle five.

You can certainly handle three.

“Fine,” Levi murmurs. “Three. She has a fight tomorrow.”

“Damn, you’ve been scouting this one?”

Something like that.

.

.

.

.

.

And just as he suspected, you knock them square on their asses.

Truth be told, it’s an unfair fight.

Levi stakes his claim at the corner, in the shadows, and watches the beat down in real time. All goons looking to show off like they know what the hell they’re up against.

They don’t.

Levi does.

When you scramble down the alleyway to get to safety, he takes off into a casual stroll. Taps an unconscious moron or two in the head to make sure they’re seriously out.

(They’re out, alright. Like a snuffed light.)

And when Levi finally catches up to you, you’re swallowed whole by shadow. Your hands are assessing each part of your torso — smart — while your breath exits in a controlled wheeze.

He’s sorry.

He really is, for once.

“You look like shit,” he comments, watching you rip your gaze from your scratched hands towards his voice.

Like a feral, scared animal you watch him.

Blinking once. 

Blinking twice, three times, as if you’re trying to figure out who the hell he is.

Levi knows it’s not from the injuries. You were smart and protected your head as much as possible. He was banking on quick precision from your technique.

“Mind your fucking business,” you snap back at him, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from smiling ear to ear.

(So that’s what you sound like.)

“How bad did they get you?” he casually asks, stepping forward with a boot.

You blink several times once again.

Yeah, you recognize him.

Just like he recognizes you.

“Why do you care?” you hiss, pushing away from the brick wall.

Levi stops moving to give you space. “I don’t.”

(But, fuck, he does. He really does.)

Breathe through the pain all you want, he catches the way you wrap your arm around your abdomen as if he’s going to try and take you on at your weakest.

Maybe those bastards did get a good hit or two in.

“I guess the answer is bad enough.”

“Fuck off.”

“Sure.”

Except he doesn’t want to.

If you let him, then he’ll stay.

“You can leave, you know,” you tell him, and he draws in a slow inhale. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine so long as those shitheads don’t get up.”

Your head whips behind you to see the alley as if Levi’s spotted anyone. 

No, they’re not actually coming. 

In fact, you knocked them out so thoroughly that it’s a little bit funny.

Then you turn, and his stomach clenches. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”

“I get that a—”

“Whoa.”

His heart seizes when you stumble. Immediately he shoots to the other end of the wall, ignoring the hand that shoots out to stop him.

“Hold on. What the hell are you doing?” Your nostrils flare. “I said I’m fine.”

Damn it, James. Don’t be proud right now.

“Yeah, and I”m six-foot fucking three.”

And he steps closer.

Closer.

Until the expanse of his chest hovers right at your palm.

Well — you aren’t trying to beat the shit out of him. That’s a plus.

You really do remember me, that sad sack of shit you were nice to.

“Roxy’s is close,” Levi slowly states, hoping you’ll connect what he’s thinking about. That you’ll get to where he’s trying to go with this before he has to spell it out.

“I know.”

“They have back rooms with supplies.”

“I know.”

“So why not go?” he grunts, very much over the bravado he’s very much guilty of himself. “C’mon, dumbass.”

You squeak, but it’s too late — Levi breaks that illusion of distance with a smack of your outstretched hand so he can get to the part he’s been agonizing over all day.

Helping you.

Because he sure as hell isn’t going to let you go through this alone.

(Not when he’s practiced this pitch for a week straight.)

You don’t push him away when he touches you. Hell, you just stare — Levi’s worried he has something in his goddamn teeth.

Then you ask. “Why?”

Surely you know.

Surely by now, you must know the why of this.

Because I owe you.

Because you have left my fucking brain since the day you asked my name.

Levi answers. “Because.”

Cautious with every step, Levi lets you call the pace. You’re surprisingly mobile all things considered, and he just acts as your anchor as you make your way through the winding rounds of the Underground City.

“You have a key?”

He has to force himself not to snort. “No.”

The staff at Roxy’s will forgive him.

Or not — he doesn’t give a shit.

Gingerly placing you against the wall, he musters up the energy to use the strength of his short but mighty legs. Levi kicks the wooden door with gusto, waiting a moment for the noise to dissipate, before grabbing you again to continue on.

Eventually he places you on a nearby chair and brushes off his hands, coated with sweat.

What the hell, Ackerman? Get your shit together. Now’s not the time to get nervous.

Especially over you.

God, not when he’s almost got you.

You’re too busy staring at the disjointed door to notice his expression soften when he’s staring at your face.

It’s so… pretty.

Why is it—

Wait.

“Oi.”

He snaps, and you blink and turn your chin back to him. All the air whooshes clear from his lungs. 

You’re worried. He can tell. 

“Eyes on me. They aren’t coming.”

“What makes you so sure?”

(God, he’s such an asshole.)

Choosing to ignore the question, Levi keeps himself busy by searching the cabinets in the room for the med packs he knows they keep here. Way too many wayward souls pass through. They always got some—

Ah.

There.

Turning on a heel, he eagerly brings the med kit and unfurls it, holding it to you.

You stare back, not moving.

(You don’t have a concussion, do you?!)

“What do you want me to—”

“Hold it, idiot,” he snips in his own minor panic. “I can’t do everything.”

Please let me fix my own mistakes, James.

Your hands uncurl like a clam, waiting for the med kit. Levi carefully places it in your hands and takes what he needs.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur. “Why are you doing this?”

Taking a cloth, he douses it with antiseptic and presses it ever so gently on your skin. 

You don’t even flinch.

“Levi.”

Time freezes.

His gray eyes meet yours, and suddenly he forgets to breathe.

You remember.

He never told you, but —

He’s pretty sure Kenny may have said it back at this godforsaken fucking bar.

Should he tell you he remembers you, too?

(You never told him your name. He’ll show all of his cards in one fell swoop.)

“Does it matter?” he gruffly responds, pressing the cloth to your cheek.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s harder to help than to ignore.”

“Kind of like giving bread to a strange kid, right?” 

Shit.

Levi blurts before he can take it back.

This wasn’t how he thought this would go.

Banter here and there, maybe, but—

“I don’t know,” you finally answer. “I’m not a saint for giving you food.”

Of course you’re not.

Saint James, the patron deity that hasn’t left his mind since.

Levi’s nostrils flare as he dips lower, too afraid to touch your torso. “I could have killed you — broken?”

“Bruised,” you reply. “I’ve felt broken before.”

“Positive?” 

“Yes. And I was trying to kill you back then, too. It wasn’t our fault.”

Were you?

Trying to kill him?

Makes sense, with how hard you went at him. It was the only match he felt nervous in.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Levi woefully answers.

“But you could have.”

His fingers pause for a fraction of a second. “Yeah,” he laments. “I could have.”

Just like tonight.

And just like every night after this, if you tell him yes to his bullshit plans.

“I thought maybe something happened to you,” you begin. “I never saw you on the circuit again, so I thought—”

“That was the first and only time I fought in that nasty shit.”

He pushes back his own fears and tips your chin upward. You easily obey.

“...so you weren't sold into it?”

Shit, was she? Too preoccupied by the feeling of how soft your skin is, Levi shakes his head.

“I was your only fight?”

“Technically,” he says.

“So then why were you—”

“Practice, in case I ever met someone who needed to kill me for quick cash.”

“That's a morbid reason. You were just a kid.”

“So were you, but for some reason you’re still in it.”

Gritting his teeth, he knows his temper is getting the best of him. It’s better to stay neutral in these types of talks but you… you’re so nonchalant about something so dire.

You could die.

Hell, he’s spent week after week hoping to hear your name so he’d hear you’re still alive.

Choosing to let that go, he drops his hands away from your face and flexes his fingers.

“Good news: you look like shit, but you’re not in deep shit. I can’t do anything about your ribs, but your face should be fine. You have a bad habit of leaning into your hits.”

It’s true. It’s like she likes getting hurt, as if it fuels her own rage.

A strategy, sure, but a shit one at that.

“Excuse me?” you growl. “What do you mean, I have a bad habit?”

Levi can’t help but give you a look. “Did those shitheads make you hard of hearing, too?”

“No, shithead," you mock right back and it’s actually… impressive. You keep up. It does something weird and unenjoyable to his stomach. “I don't lean into them."

“Yes, you do.”

“What, so you’ve watched my fights?”

Ah, shit.

Found out, yet again.

(Great job, Ackerman.)

“I watch fights. Not just yours,” Levi quickly retorts. “You're not special, so get your head out of your ass.”

“Oh fuck you, man.”

Damn, you really do speak his language.

Don’t smile, don’t smile, don’t—

And you don’t give up, either. “Leaning into them makes an opponent feel like they have the upper hand. Let them hit, then you strike.”

“It’s a shit strategy.”

“I’m smaller than a lot of my opponents.”

“So?"

“So? Coming out to a fight like you own the place puts a target on your back.”

Right.

Self-preservation, a tactic often used by the pimps who bring these poor kids to the rings. It’s a loophole to make sure your fighters don’t know their own worth so they can’t wail on you.

Kenny told him that.

Levi wishes he could have told her, too.

“Did your Mom teach you that?” he flatly responds.

Your nostrils flare. “Maybe she did, but your Dad sure as hell forgot to teach you manners.”

He snaps faster than he means to. “He wasn’t my father.” 

A beat passes, and his shoulders slump. 

“And you’re a better fighter than that,” he softens, exasperated. “Making yourself look weak is a shitty strategy for someone who can't land a punch, let alone someone who can. You take the punches because you damn well know you're better than every opponent they match you with. If you didn’t play the theatrics, then those idiots would all be dead in minutes.”

When you don’t spit in his face, he gently takes a step forward. Then another.

“I met you three years ago. I thought by now you would've found a way out." 

But you need help. 

This is his return payment. This is all he can offer in this shitstain of a city.

“Do you want out?” Your eyes widen, like he’s told you he’s secretly the king of the Walls. His tongue gently darts between his dried lips. “...if I had a way to get you out, would you take it?”

“...I don’t have a way out.”

“You do.”

“I don’t,” you croak, and it breaks his heart. “I’ve tried. You know people in the circuits—”

“You have a way out."

“Levi—”

“James.”

In defeat, he calls to you — your name, that name everyone else calls you.

All of his cards are on the table.

He can’t take this back. 

“This isn’t a charity hand out. We need a fighter.”

“Who the hell is we?”

“Furlan Church and myself.”

“Furlan fucking Church? That’s where you ended up after all this time, with that idiot?”

Levi blinks.

(Wait, what’s wrong with Furlan?)

Nevermind — he’ll ask later. He has a mission here.

“If you stay in the circuits, then you will die,” Levi finally states. “That bitch has been trying to put you in the ground for years. Do you really want her to win?”

Please say no.

Please listen to me.

Except you stagger backwards, and he’s terrified that somehow he’s botched this pitch. That somehow you wouldn’t be interested in a team—

“Wait — did you send those guys after me?”

Oh.

Shit.

“The three in the alleyway,” you continue. “They attacked me after the fight. It was really convenient of you to find me in the nick of time. So was that one of his initiation stunts?”

He wants to swear he was going to tell you, but that would sound like a cheap lie.

He wants to promise this wasn’t what he wanted, but that would sound like a patronizing lie.

“Dirty trick,” you growl and turn away, and worries seizes his heart.

“We need muscle for our next heist,” he quickly states, firming up his voice. “You would get a cut. You would have a permanent place to sleep. You would have routine meals, day and night."

You don’t turn to him. “I’d be selling myself for one contract to another.”

Levi shakes his head wildly, but you don’t see it. “You're free to leave whenever you want. If this doesn't work out in a week? Fine, then you can go. But if you do this, then you would never have to see that woman’s face again.”

“She’d find me.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he swears.

No, he wants to say. I’ll burn this city to the ground if she so much as tries it. I owe you.

“You would be protected with me.” 

But it isn’t just him.

You had a visceral reaction about Furlan. He has to be honest.

"With us."

Finally you turn back to him, and he’s woefully hopeful once more.

“Levi…”

The way you say his name…

Shit, he could hear you say his name like that every hour of every goddamn day if you’d just say yes to this deal he’s offering.

"You'll be paid,” he adds.

"I don't give a shit about pay,” you retort. “I have no money to my name as it is. Your... proposition just sounds too good to be true, that's all."

He needs more incentive.

He needs you to say yes.

"What do you need to be convinced?” he pleads, but it comes out monotone. “We sent our three best brawn and you cleared them in minutes. You can see why we'd want you."

"And if I say no?"

Fear seizes every cell of his body. You stare at him like he’s the enemy.

“Are you two going to keep sending people after me?”

(Would he finally stop searching for you?)

Swallowing, Levi knows he cannot keep you.

He barely knows you.

He just has a feeling he needs to.

“No,” he promises. “I'd let you live your life. This isn't an intimidation tactic. You would never hear from me again.”

And he means it.

He’ll give you anything for nothing.

It’s some kind of sickness he hasn’t quite recovered from since he was small.

Something about you has just infected his veins faster than the plague.

You turn your gaze to the door, and his face falls.

What can he do?

How can he convince you?

Your name exits his mouth in a fractured plea. “James—”

“I’m in.” 

Wait.

Did he hear that right?

You turn back to him with determination, chin lifted and shoulders squared. 

He can’t help but stare at you with a mixture of relief and admiration. 

Levi wonders if you notice. If you know, just how much you’ve been on his mind.

“I’m in,” you repeat. “I’ll go where you go.”

(And we'll never look back.)

[swan2swan]

So, spoiler thoughts:

So, a good season. Pretty decent, but I'm a little worried that they blew everything by making Season 1 so good.

Definitely had some of the best scenes in the franchise, but the way Season 1 ramped up felt like it was a little...shallow of a splash on Season 2. 8/10 season, maybe a 7/10.

Arguably my least favorite season of the cartoon, and that includes Season 4 of Camp Cretaceous....okay, no, I think this was much better.

I felt like the Brooklynn Alone episode didn't quite match the power of the Ben Alone episode, and that was the first issue. But that also feels like an episode where they had to cut some stuff down with Brooklynn--in fact, there's almost half an episode missing, it felt like. Woulda loved to see her adjusting to public life with her limb difference, and the DLN. Woulda made thee moment where Soyona gently comments on her limb difference all the better.

Speaking of Soyona, I'm glad thy kept her just as much of a menace. I was worried at a few points, but in the end, it was clear that she had complete control the whole time. Probably knows that Brooklynn is spying on her, too....but she's letting it happen.

The episodes with the gang also didn't hit hard enough. It really felt like they waffled around too much with the whole "Kenji Wants to Kill Himself" plotline for too long, and then missed the window. That's indisputably my biggest issue with the seasons: I hate when shows forfeit the essentials of their episodic format and just keep kicking the ball down the road. Kenji risks his life. Yaz gasps. Kenji risks his life. Yaz gasps. Kenji risks his life. Yaz gasps. It's a disservice to BOTH when you don't get to the point and do it five times over.

Then there was Zayna--a delightful character, more than welcome, but I felt that we deserved more of an exploration of "Hey, we're taking on someone who was the same age we were when we were Traumatized. Let's keep the same from happening to her, okay?" And then they could have focused on that a little more than one throwaway gag from Darius.

There also wasn't a lot of introspection on the group, and Darius's infatuation with Brooklynn and Kenji's falling-out with her also seemed a little diluted...meant to be products of odd happenstance and Bad Timing, a Malevolent Coincidence, rather than stagnation and an inevitable reaction. Such is the consequence of a backstory, though.

HOWEVER...the scene in Soyona's apartment was among the best in the franchise. Tense and powerful, wonderfully acted and perfectly paced, it was only matched by Brooklynn's return later. Soyona and Brooklynn played off each other in a way that made them the most engaging part of the season--both a praise and a criticism (the second-best part was possibly Sammy and Zayna, though, again...if they'd gotten into the "Keep Her From Experiencing What Happened To Us" part, it mighta been better.

The Leucistic Baryonyx was a fine addition, but I do wish they'd had the budget to bring in another new dinosaur. Maybe a Megaraptor of some sort. It worked, and the HORROR aspect was definitely there, but...eh. The part where Red figured out "Oh, clicking noises make you happy?" was PHENOMENAL THOUGH??? I FORGOT THAT RAPTORS WERE SMART? I WAS WONDERING HOW THEY WERE COMMUNICATING AND THEN I REALIZED THAT IT WAS JUST RED FIGURING THINGS OUT?????????? BECAUSE SHE'S SMART?????

But also, this felt very much like the Quarry Season. A lot of stuff is happening, there's a nice big group of people, but it's very enclosed. You can even see it in the concept art: the village in Episode 2's credits, the tarmac in Episode 10, this world shoulda been bustling, but they could only afford so much. Less an indictment of the show and more of the budget given to them. Suchomimus coulda been chasing villagers instead of schlorping water, and there coulda been some guards on the tarmac surrounding Brooklynn for that final meeting.

I was very delighted when she went with Soyona, though. And when her PTSD got her in the WORST moment.

Anyway. Hoping next season takes it to a new level. This one had the spunk of Season 1, but it didn't have the reach. But maybe a rewatch will help (it won't, most of my criticisms are Set In Stone, I'm just Correct).

[cowgirlfxcker]

ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔇𝔩 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔳𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔰

*Descriptions from Letterboxt and quotes from IMDb

Yui: Phantom of the Opera (2004)

The waiting is over...let the fantasy begin.

Deformed since birth, a bitter man known only as the Phantom lives in the sewers underneath the Paris Opera House. He falls in love with the obscure chorus singer Christine, and privately tutors her while terrorizing the rest of the opera house and demanding Christine be given lead roles. Things get worse when Christine meets back up with her childhood acquaintance Raoul and the two fall in love.

Shuu: Goldfinger (1964)

Do you expect me to talk?

No, I expect you to die!

Special agent 007 comes face to face with one of the most notorious villains of all time, and now he must outwit and outgun the powerful tycoon to prevent him from cashing in on a devious scheme to raid Fort Knox – and obliterate the world’s economy.

Reiji: The Seventh Seal (1957)

My body is ready, but I am not.

When disillusioned Swedish knight, Antonius Block, returns home from the Crusades to find his country in the grips of the Black Death, he challenges Death to a chess match for his life. Tormented by the belief that God does not exist, Block sets off on a journey, meeting up with traveling players Jof and his wife, Mia, and becoming determined to evade Death long enough to commit one redemptive act while he still lives.

Laito: The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

Well, Clarice, have the lambs stopped screaming?

Clarice Starling is a top student at the FBI’s training academy. Jack Crawford wants Clarice to interview Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a brilliant psychiatrist who is also a violent psychopath, serving life behind bars for various acts of murder and cannibalism. Crawford believes that Lecter may have insight into a case and that Starling, as an attractive young woman, may be just the bait to draw him out.

Kanato: Jack and the Cuckoo Clock Heart (2013)

The torment of love can transform people into wretched monsters.

In Scotland 1874, Jack is born on the coldest day ever. Because of the extreme cold, his heart stops beating. The responsible midwife in Edinburgh finds a way to save him by replacing his heart with a clock. So he lives and remains under the midwife’s protective care. But he must not get angry or excited because that endangers his life by causing his clock to stop working. Worse than that, when he grows up, he has to face the fact he cannot fall in love because that too could stop his delicate heart.

Ayato: Pulp Fiction (1994)

You won't know the facts until you've seen the fiction.

A burger-loving hit man, his philosophical partner, a drug-addled gangster’s moll and a washed-up boxer converge in this sprawling, comedic crime caper. Their adventures unfurl in three stories that ingeniously trip back and forth in time.

Subaru: The Crow (1994)

And I say, "I'm dead," and I move.

Exactly one year after young rock guitarist Eric Draven and his fiancée are brutally killed by a ruthless gang of criminals, Draven – watched over by a hypnotic crow – returns from the grave to exact revenge.

Ruki: Eyes Without a Face (1960)

A new face, a new identity.

Dr. Génessier is riddled with guilt after an accident that he caused disfigures the face of his daughter, the once beautiful Christiane, who outsiders believe is dead. Dr. Génessier, along with accomplice and laboratory assistant Louise, kidnaps young women and brings them to the Génessier mansion. After rendering his victims unconscious, Dr. Génessier removes their faces and attempts to graft them on to Christiane’s.

Yuuma: Brokeback Mountain (2005)

Tell you what, we coulda had a good life together!

Two modern-day cowboys meet on a shepherding job in the summer of ’63, the two share a raw and powerful summer together that turns into a lifelong relationship conflicting with the lives they are supposed to live.

Kou: The Menu (2022)

You will eat less than you desire and more than you deserve.

A couple travels to a coastal island to eat at an exclusive restaurant where the chef has prepared a lavish menu, with some shocking surprises.

Azusa: Parasite (2019)

You know what kind of plan never fails? No plan. No plan at all.

All unemployed, Ki-taek’s family takes peculiar interest in the wealthy and glamorous Parks for their livelihood until they get entangled in an unexpected incident.

[cosmicjoke]

New York, New York 1980

The jumbotron overlooking Times Square reads 11:48 PM and minus three degrees, Dec. 14th, 1980. Ugly, orange glow of numbers hazing through the mist, don’t mean anything on their own. Feels like minus twenty with the humidity. Snow’s started coming down heavy, and the streets have gone empty and silent. His breath fogs the air in front of his face and it’s knives down his throat when he breathes in.

Ash thinks he might die tonight.

He’s on his own.

Billy and the others took off a couple hours ago, he don’t know where to. Didn’t tell him and he didn’t ask. Probably to find shelter. Deadly out here, tonight. Deadly. Lotta’ people weren’t gonna’ make it to sun-up.

He swallows, sniffs hard. Snot keeps dribbling outta’ his right nostril, running down to his lip, freezing there in a thickening crust. He wants to wipe it away, but that would mean unwrapping his arms from around himself, and he thinks he might just go then and there if he does.

Eyes hurt, burn with tears as he glares up at that big, stupid screen, flashing through the dark and fog.

He needs to find some place too. Needs to find somewhere. All them shelters booked up, though. Every space taken. Coulda’ got there, maybe, if he hadn’t been workin’ the streets so late. But he needed money. Needed it bad. Hadn’t eaten in days. Would starve to death, soon. That’d be worse than freezing to death, he figures. Freezing to death, he figures, you just go numb, and then you get real warm, and you just give up and then you’re dead. Starvin’ to deaths worse.

Though maybe he should rethink that, considering how much this hurts.

Needs to find somewhere.

More than seven hours to sun-up, and it’s only going to get colder.

//

Subway car stinks like piss and vomit, the overhead fluorescents flickering in and out, an annoying, loud buzz emanating from the fixtures. But it’s heated, at least, and empty. Quiet. Better than being up top in the snow and air.

Ash keeps his arms wrapped tight around his torso. The denim of his jacket is worn through and wet from slipping earlier in the snow slicked street, the worn-out soles of his sneakers not made for any sort of traction. He can’t take it off. Even if it’s warmer here, he doubts he’ll manage to pass the entire night riding the subway. He hopes for a few hours, at least. If he’s lucky.

But Ash ain’t never been lucky.

He gets maybe half an hour of rest, another hour of going from stop to stop, before the car fills up with the ruckus of laughing voices, whooping and hollering.

Ash opens his eyes. It’s a group of gang bangers. Buncha’ hooligans.

He feels his body go tense at the sight, pressing his back against the hard plastic of his seat.

Shit.

This wasn’t good.

He had to get off before they spotted him. They’d take his money, if he couldn’t. They’d rob him. Maybe worse.

He tries not to be noticed as he stands and makes his way for the exit. He doesn’t get far, though, one of the punks calling out to him.

Ash stops, tries not to cringe away as the group comes toward him, blocking off his escape.

“Well, what do we got here?” One of ‘em starts. Big, tall guy. Gotta’ be seventeen, eighteen. There’s six of ‘em. All about the same. No way past. Ash knows he ain’t got a chance. “What’re you doin’ out so late, all on your own, little boy?” He grins down at Ash, ugly, crooked teeth, greasy hair hanging down around his red face. “You all alone, little boy?”

Ash can feel his heart hitting hard inside his chest, his own breath loud inside his ears. His mind races, tryin’ to come up with something, anything to get him out of this.

“… I… I’m meetin’ my brother.” He croaks after a long moment, the lie heavy and bitter on his tongue. He thinks of Griff and knows he probably won’t ever see him again. “I’m meetin’ him at this stop.”

“That right, little boy?” The punk grins wider. “You meetin’ your brother? ‘Cause we didn’t see no one out there.”

“H-he’s comin’… he’ll be here.” Ash stammers, voice thin and shaking. “I need… I need to get off.”

“Yeah… I don’t think so.”

The blade seems to come outta’ nowhere, just suddenly there in the punks hand, flashing in Ash’s eyes.

“Whatch’u got, boy?”

Ash steps back, his hands automatically reaching for his pockets. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Give it, you little shit!”

“I… I don’t got…”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before he’s being grabbed by the collar of his jacket and shoved back against the wall of the car, the knife suddenly at his throat, sharp edge of it digging painfully into the soft skin.

“Check his pockets.”

Ash knows better than to struggle. There wasn’t nothin’ he could do.

They find his money. They take it. A whole nights worth of work. Eighty-three bucks.

Ash thinks he should be thankful they don’t take his jacket and shoes too, though he guesses those wouldn’t be worth nothin’ to ‘em.

“Thanks, kiddo!” The punk tells him. “Now, didn’t you say this was your stop?”

They throw him out of the car, onto the platform, just as the doors are closing. He can hear their laughter behind him, and a moment later, the train is gone.

The concrete beneath him is freezing against his naked palms and the worn-through holes at the knees of his jeans.

For a long time, Ash just sits there like that.

He can hear it up top, on the street, the wind whistling down through the exit and into the tunnel, carrying the cold with it. He starts to shake, an already painful sting bleeding through the thin layers of his clothing.

When he finally pushes himself up, his palms are scrapped bloody from the impact. He bites his lip, hard, willing back the tears threatening in his eyes.

Wasn’t no use crying.

He glances around for a clock. Finds one. It’s a quarter past one in the morning. If he gets back on the train, he could get mugged again, but this time he won’t have no money. Doesn’t know what would happen, then, so he thinks he better not. Nowhere to stay, then, to keep out of the cold. He’s fucked, he thinks.

He meanders around the station for a while. Tries one of the public bathrooms. It’s damp and dark, the wind from up top seeping in through the swinging door, turning the space colder than out on the platform. He can’t stay here, he knows.

Doesn’t know where to go.

Finally he makes his way back up to the street.

It’s like walking into a wall of knives, the cold cuts so sharp and deep. Ash folds his arms around himself, sticks his hands under his armpits, tries burying his face against his shoulder, but nothing really helps, lungs burning with frigid air. He’s got to get out of this. Some place. Any place.

He’s come up onto 57th, near Central Park South. The park seems like an even worse idea than the subway, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

There’s some dive bars still open, but not for long. And anyway, Ash knows he wouldn’t be allowed to stay. He’s eleven fuckin’ years old. They’d throw him out, most like. ‘Cept maybe… maybe someone’d feel sorry enough for him to let him stay.

… Maybe he should go back to Club Cod and ask for his room.

The thought forces bile up into his throat. For an instant, Ash thinks he really might be sick. Not that it would really matter. Didn’t have no food in his stomach, no how.

He only gags a little, though, wiping at his mouth. He can’t stop shaking, the tips of his fingers and toes numb and pained, his nose aching viciously, won’t stop running.

He wanders into the park, knowing it’s a stupid move, but Billy and the others sometimes came here, when they couldn’t get into a shelter, and Ash hopes maybe he’ll find ‘em.

He makes his way toward the spot they’d usually be, but he knows soon enough they ain’t there.

The park is empty and silent and black well beyond his vision, the glow of the lamps lining the walking paths obscured and vague through the dense fog.

Ash licks his lips, a sick worry dropping down into his guts.

Nobody was out here tonight.

Nobody was dumb enough. Not even the stalkers and pervs and muggers.

Guesses it was just him then. Just him who was dumb and desperate enough.

He makes his way back to the street. He starts to cry. It’s pathetic, but he can’t help it.

He’s gonna’ die if he can’t find somewhere warm.

He stumbles along for a couple more blocks before he can’t make it any farther, huddling beneath a storefront awning.

There’s a bar across the street, open, by the looks of it, but nobody’s hanging around out front.

It’s his only option, now, and so he takes it, hurrying to the other side. Even if he only gets a few minutes of warmth, it’s better than nothin’.

Walking in, he gets blasted by a wall of heat. The relief is almost enough to make him start crying again, and he finds himself suddenly sapped of energy, sagging against the wall closest to the entrance, limbs stiff and frigid.

It takes him too long to really notice his surroundings, and when he finally does, he feels his stomach turn.

It’s a strip joint.

There’s a stage in the room’s center, chintzy lighting effects illuminating it in regulated patterns of blue and white flashes, the rest of the space shadowy by comparison, hazy and dreamlike, a thick malaise of cigarette and cigar smoke filling the air. Music pumps through the overhead speakers, monotonous and irritating in its predictability, the stench of liquor everywhere. There’s only a couple of patrons sitting around the stage. Overweight pigs who can barely pretend at being interested in the woman prancing around more than half-naked in front of them.

Ash stares up at her, and feels himself start with recognition.

He knows her.

One of the girls that works the streets out there with him. She calls herself Betty Boop, but her real name’s Beatrix. Not that he would say anything. Ash ain’t his real name, either. Griff called him Ash. Papa’s the one that added Lynx to the end ‘a that, ‘cause he said that’s what Ash reminded him of. A lynx.

He didn’t know she worked as a stripper too, but it makes sense, for nights like this, when workin’ the streets wasn’t really an option. Ash would do it too, ‘cept nobody would hire him for that kinda’ work. Not if they were runnin’ a ‘legitimate’ business, anyway. Places like Club Cod, though, he was naked more often than not. Only he didn’t get paid for it. He didn’t get nothin’ for his hard work, there, ‘cept the privilege of not dying.

He was lucky they let him out at all. Was lucky, he guesses, that Papa had taken him out of being a regular there. He only had to work when there was a special client needed takin’ care of.

He shakes his head, his throat tight. He doesn’t want to think on that. Doesn’t want to think of that place.

Nobody’s noticed him yet. He hopes he can keep it that way for a while. He doesn’t want to go back out there, into the cold.

So he stays where he is, and waits, and eventually, Beatrix comes off the stage, disappearing into the back. None ‘a the pigs even gave her any cash, fuckin’ bastards. Ash thinks, if he had any left, he’d give her a few dollars at least.

It’s maybe another five minutes, and still nobody’s spotted him, when he sees Beatrix again, comin’ out of the back, dressed in regular clothes and heading for the exit, right where he’s standing.

Ash feels frozen, then, not knowing what to do. She’s gonna’ see him, and he doesn’t know what will happen if she does. Doesn’t think he wants her to.

But he can’t move, and he sees the moment she recognizes him, her eyes going wide.

“Hey… Ash?”

Ash just stares up at her, not knowing what to say, his voice at once lodged in his throat.

“Honey… what are you doin’ here?” Beatrix looks around, worried, it seems like, that someone will spot him.

Ash looks away finally, shrugging weakly.

“… Just stumbled in, I guess.” He mutters. “Didn’t know you worked here.”

Beatrix looks back at him, mouth twisted into a frown. She’s got that look again. The one that Ash knows means she’s feelin’ sorry for him. The one he knows means she’s worried about him. He wishes she wouldn’t bother. Wasn’t like he was worth it.

“Oh, honey, ain’t you got no place to stay tonight?”

Ash keeps his eyes away, shaking his head.

“… Missed out on the shelters.” He mutters again, folding his arms around himself tighter.

“… You can’t stay here, hon. You’re too young. They’ll have to throw you out, soon as they notice you here.”

“… Yeah. I know.”

“Were you workin’? Out in this weather?”

Ash nods, feels his throat close up.

“Oh, sweetie…”

“I’m alright. I’m fine. I’ll leave soon. You don’t gotta’ worry. If you’re scared they’ll think you let me in or…”

“Ash, I don’t care about that. Look… I can’t let you go back out there, knowin’ you’ve got no place. You’ll freeze to death.”

“I’m alright.” Ash insists again.

“Nah uh. Ash… listen… why don’t you come with me for the night? I’ve got an apartment. My man’s gone for the week, out of town. You should be okay to come by and crash there.”

For a moment, there’s a thrill of dread through Ash’s guts. The thought of being locked in an apartment with one of them pimps. The ones that were always tryin’ to snag him. He couldn’t think of a worse situation to find himself in. It hardly registers to him an instant later that Beatrix said her man was gone for the week. But what if she was wrong? He knew how the pimps treated their women. Like they were property. Like they belonged to ‘em. Like how Papa treated him.

What if her man came home while he was there?

Ash guesses she must see the worry on his face, ‘cause she comes up to him then, reaches out and takes his hand.

“He won’t be back tonight, honey. I promise. You’ll be okay.”

Ash hesitates.

He knows he can’t really afford to turn her down. He knows he’s lucky, that he would have the chance at all for a warm place to stay tonight, when he’d been sure less than twenty minutes ago that he could die if he spent much longer out in the streets.

And so he shoves down the uncertainty and fear threatening to choke him, and nods weakly.

“… Thank you.” He whispers, and Beatrix just smiles, squeezing his hand.

“Come on. Let’s get you someplace less disgusting than this, huh?”

Ash snorts a laugh.

“S’not so bad.” He says. “Not compared to some places.”

He doesn’t elaborate on that, though. Wouldn’t be no point. Doesn’t wanna’ ruin Beatrix’s night any more than he already has.

“If you say so, sweetheart.” Beatrix smiles, still holding his hand. “You didn’t… I mean… when I was up there?”

Ash shrugs, looking away.

“I seen a lotta’ stuff. It’s alright.”

“Oh, Jeez, Ash, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m alright.” He repeats.

What the hell was he gonna’ tell her? Seeing a naked woman wasn’t anything new. Women had raped him. Clients at Club Cod.

Beatrix doesn’t say anything else after that, and he doesn’t either, just follows her out of the club and to her car, parked across the street.

It feels even colder than it did before, but Ash guesses that could just be ‘cause he got a little warmth. Whatever it is, he’s just happy when they get inside her car. He reaches out, pressing his frozen fingers against the vents blowing hot air.

He stares out the window as she pulls out, watching the falling snow as it comes down harder than before, beginning to whip past in a dizzying, blinding wash of white. It’s quiet. Now that he’s out of the cold, almost peaceful, and he can feel the exhaustion starting to weigh down on him.

He feels relief when they finally make it to her apartment, and he follows close behind as they make their way up the stares of the tenement complex.

“That damn elevator’s always out.” Beatrix mutters as they trudge their way up. “We’re almost there, hon.”

“… It’s alright.” Ash tells her, even though, by the time they make it to her floor, his lungs are burning a little, his legs weak and shaky beneath him. He tries to hide it, but he don’t think he does a very good job with the way Beatrix keeps eyein’ him.

“Here we are. I know it’s not much, but it’s clean and warm.”

Ash looks around and thinks about tellin’ her that, to him, it’s like a fuckin’ luxury hotel room compared to some ‘a the places he’s had to stay before. But he only shakes his head and tells her it’s great, and he means it.

“Bathroom’s right down that hall and to the left.” She points. “If ya want to get cleaned up, there’s fresh towels in there. I don’t really have any clothes that’ll fit you though, darling. I’m sorry.”

Ash shakes his head.

“S’alright.” He says. “Can… can I take a shower?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Ash thanks her again before making his way down the hall.

He knows if her man was here, he’d never feel comfortable enough for this. But it’s just Beatrix, and he knows she understands. Knows she goes through the same hell each night he does.

He’s still cold from the outside, and it’s almost painful when he steps under the warm spray of water, the tips of his fingers and toes burning. It’s only a few seconds before it turns pleasant, though, and Ash sags in relief against the stall, the lids of his eyes drooping closed.

He’s so tired. He just wants to go to sleep.

Sometimes… sometimes he thinks… he’d like to fall asleep and never wake up.

He shoves the thought out of his mind as he steps from the shower, drying himself off and dressing quickly. He’s happy at least to be out of his wet jacket and shoes, keeping his feet bare as he makes his way out of the bathroom and back down the hall to the living room.

He stops at the threshold, uncertain as he spots Beatrix moving around the small kitchen space, heating up what looks like TV dinners in a microwave.

“Oh, Ash!” She at last notices him standing there. She smiles at him. “Was the shower alright?”

Ash nods, finally moving forward.

“That’s good.” She keeps smiling. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, darling, but I heated up some tv dinners, if you want to eat. It’s nothing special, but…” she shrugs, holding the plastic trays up for him to see.

Ash feels his stomach squeeze and cramp, letting out a loud growl as the smell of the food hits him, his face warming in embarrassment.

He hasn’t really eaten in two days.

“I guess that’s a yes, then?” Beatrix laughs. “Come here, you can eat at the table. I’ve got some orange juice too, if you like?”

Ash swallows, hesitating a moment before moving to the small, fold out table near the kitchen, pulling out one of the vinyl backed chairs.

“O-okay.” He agrees. “Thanks… th-thanks…”

“Of course, sweetie.” Beatrix smiles again, placing one of the dinners in front of him, along with a fork. Ash watches her as she takes out a glass from one of the cabinets then, and a pitcher of juice from the fridge. He suddenly feels parched, swallowing dryly, his throat clicking. He thanks her again as she hands him the glass.

“So,” she starts, sitting across from him. “you doin’ okay, Ash? How come you didn’t have no place to stay?”

Ash digs at his food, keeping his eyes fixed down. He shrugs.

“What about renting a room?”

“… Got robbed.” Ash mumbles, still looking away.

“Oh, baby… I’m sorry. Are you alright? I guess that’s a stupid question. Of course you aren’t.”

Ash shakes his head, beginning to eat.

“I’m alright.”

For a long moment, Beatrix doesn’t say anything, and Ash is happy to concentrate on his food. He hopes she’ll drop it.

“I can give you some cash, if…”

Ash immediately shakes his head no.

“No, I’m alright. I don’t need your money.”

“But…”

“Besides, your man’ll be mad if you’re short, won’t he?”

The room goes quiet then, and finally Ash looks up at her, sees her mouth pulled into a tight frown.

“… I’m sorry.” He hurries to apologize. “I shouldn’t ‘a just assumed…”

“No,” Beatrix shakes her head. “it’s alright. You’re right. It’s not really my money to just… give away.”

Ash feels shitty, then. Feels like a jerk.

“It should be.” He blurts. “You’re the one doin’ all the work for it.”

Beatrix laughs at that.

“You’re sweet.” She smiles, reaching out, ruffling his hair.

“No I ain’t…” Ash ducks away, turning his face aside. “I ain’t sweet.”

“You are. You’re a good kid.” She insists. “It’s not right, you livin’ this life.”

Ash scowls, dropping his fork.

“It’s my life.” He spits.

Beatrix pulls her hand back, frowning, her face confused.

Ash thinks of Dad. Thinks of what he told him. ‘Make sure you get paid’, he’d said.

Like it was natural.

Like it was natural for what happened to have happened.

Like it was what was meant for him.

Papa told him so too. Papa told him he was made for this. Told him he was perfect for it.

He can’t explain all that to Beatrix, though. Can’t make her understand.

This was his life. It was the only life he was ever gonna’ have. Only life he was ever meant to have.

He wasn’t sweet.

He was a filthy whore, was what he was.

He belonged on the street. He belonged in this life.

His eyes burn. He wipes clumsily at them with the back of his hand.

“I’m tired.” He mutters. “Can I go to sleep?”

“Yeah, of course. Of course, Ash.” Beatrix tells him. “Here, I’ve… I’ve got a futon. Lemme’ just set it up for you.”

Ash feels bad. He shouldn’t ‘a snapped at her like that. Wasn’t her fault. She was just tryin’ to be nice. Just bein’ kind. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know what he was. Where he came from. He feels like shit.

He watches as she folds the bed out from the ratty looking couch, sets it up with a blanket and pillow.

“There you go, hon.” She smiles at him again. “Hope it’s not too uncomfortable.”

“… Thank you.” Ash whispers. Can’t look at her now. Feels like such an asshole. “I’m sorry. I’m just causin’ you trouble.”

“No you ain’t, Ash. It’s alright. Come on. Get some sleep. Don’t worry about anything.”

Ash don’t argue. He can barely keep his eyes open. By the time he gets to lyin’ down and Beatrix has turned the lights out, it’s barely a few minutes before he’s lost to the world, pulled down deep into black dreams.

//

“I’ll pay you back the next time I see you.” Ash promises come daylight. Beatrix tries to tell him he doesn’t have to, but Ash has learned it’s best not to owe anyone any favors, if he can help it. So he keeps insisting until she accepts, and then he’s gone, back out onto the streets.

He takes the subway back to 42nd. Billy’s there, loitering around in front of the peep shows. Ash makes his way toward him.

“Hey, there you are, man!” Billy greets. He slings his arm around Ash’s shoulders, pulling him in against his side and rubbing his knuckles against his scalp. Ash tries pulling away, but Billy doesn’t let him. “I thought you might’ve bought it last night, kid. Man, it was cold.”

“It’s still cold.” Ash grumbles, annoyed.

Billy laughs.

“So, where’d you end up?” He asks, finally letting Ash go, pulling out a pack of cigs. He knocks one loose and holds it out.

“Thanks.” Ash takes it. He waits for Billy to light him up before answering. “I ran into Betty Boop and she let me crash at her place.”

“Damn, lucky.” Billy laughs again.

“What about you and the guys?” Ash asks, takin’ a drag, letting the smoke seep out slow through his nose.

“Me and Zach made it into a shelter. Dunno’ ‘bout the others.” Billy tells him, takin’ his own drag.

Ash feels somethin’ sick slither through his guts at that. He hopes no one died.

“I wish it was summer.” Ash says.

“You say that now,” Billy answers. “but you’ll be just as miserable when it’s fuckin’ 90 with humidity.”

Ash frowns, takes another drag off his cig.

“Yeah, but at least I won’t have to worry ‘bout freezin’ to death at night.”

“True that.” Billy grins at him.

They stand there for a little while then, not sayin’ nothin’, and Ash hopes it’ll stay that way, but of course it doesn’t.

“So you stayed out workin’ last night. You crazy, man. I hope you at least made bank.”

Ash swallows, stares down at the cigarette between his fingers, flicks the ash from it. He shrugs.

“How much you make? You couldn’t afford a room?”

Ash brings the cigarette to his lips, sucks on it hard. The smoke burns down his throat.

He remembers the first time he smoked a cigarette. Billy’d given it to him. He’d felt like he was going to cough up one of his own lungs. He’d never tasted anything so disgusting. Like breathing in tar and fire. He guesses that’s what it was, really. Guesses you could get used to anything, after a while.

“I got robbed.” He admits finally, his face warming at it.

Billy scoffs like he knew he would.

“The fuck, man. How? You ridin’ the sub again? I told you not to do that shit.”

“I didn’t have no place...” Ash starts.

Billy cuffs him against the back of the head, and Ash stumbles forward a step, the blow leaving a dull throb through his skull. He doesn’t say nothin’. He was used to Billy hittin’ him now.

“How much you lose, man?”

Ash hesitates.

“… Eighty-three bucks.” He finally says.

He cringes, expecting another hit, but Billy just sighs, shakin’ his head.

“Dumbass. You ain’t never gonna’ make it out here.”

“I’ve made it three years already.” Ash sneers up at him.

“Yeah, ‘cause ‘a me.” Billy sneers back. “You little dweeb. You need a fuckin’ gun.

“… Can’t afford a gun.” Ash looks away, miserable.

“Look at you. You can’t weigh more’n sixty pounds soakin’ wet. You need a gun.”

“I said I can’t afford no gun. Lemme’ alone, Billy.”

“I could lend you the cash.”

“No.” Ash shakes his head.

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t wanna’ owe no favors. Lemme’ alone.”

Billy tsks.

“You’re so fuckin’ suspicious Ash. The hell’s wrong with you? I’m offerin’ to help.”

“No you ain’t, Billy. You’re an opportunist. You’ll hold it over me ‘till I pay you back somehow.”

Ash sees Billy’s hand come up, but he ain’t fast enough to get outta’ the way. An instant later he’s on the ground, the taste of blood on his tongue, his lip pulsating in pain.

“What kinda’ kid talks like that?” Billy frowns down at him, shakin’ out his hand. “How old is you, Ash? Eleven? You’re the weirdest fuckin’ kid I ever met.”

Ash wipes at his bloody lip, stares at the bright red against his fingers.

He doesn’t say anything as he pushes himself to his feet, dusting the snow off his pants.

He dropped his cigarette. Great.

Billy keeps eyein’ him, and Ash wonders if he’ll hit him again.

He sniffs, wiping at his nose.

“Just leave me alone Billy.” He mutters. “I don’t wanna’ kill no one.”

“Why? You already did, didn’t ya?”

Ash’s eyes sting and he turns his face away.

“… I shouldn’t ‘a told you that.” He whispers to himself, but Billy hears him anyway.

“Yeah, well, you did, Ash. Whatch’u think? You can be better than the rest ‘a us?”

Ash wraps his arms around himself, vision blurring.

“… I ain’t better than no one.” He whispers again.

“Damn straight, you isn’t. You wanna’ make it out here, Ash, you gonna’ have to let go ‘a that soft touch you got.”

“Fuck you, Billy.” Ash spits, but Billy only laughs.

“You wanna’ busted nose to go with that lip?”

Ash doesn’t say nothin’.

He thinks of Griff. Thinks of how his brother used to hold him at night when he got scared ‘a the dark, or whatever. Thinks of how his brother was so kind.

He misses him so much.

“Pff, whatever, kid. I’m outta’ here. See ya around, I guess.”

Ash doesn’t watch him go. Wasn’t no point.

Guesses he better get to hookin’, if he wanted to eat. If he wanted some place to stay tonight.

He wipes at his nose, and doesn’t think about much at all as he trudges his way down the street to stand in his usual spot.

Link to my a03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbss21/works

[krikeymate]

For @bossnhug91, who requested some Core 4 + Kirby. Found here.

“Why don’t you take your words and shove them up your-”

“WOAH, Tara no!” Sam yells, grabbing her sister by the shoulders and pulling her back frantically from the now sopping-wet man she was yelling at.

“I’m so sorry about our friend here, she’s a little drunk,” Chad blurts out, hands raised placatingly. “We don’t want any trouble,” he says with a nervous laugh. Chad knows he’s pretty big and strong, but not as much as this guy… and his friends. 

Maybe taking Tara drinking for her 21st was a bad idea. Ya think, dingus! the Mindy in his head chimes in. He’s a little glad she’s not here yet, lord knows his sister doesn’t know how to stay out of trouble… and neither do the other sisters in his life, apparently.

Chad backs away, squeezing himself through some other patrons - sorry, coming through - and turns to find the girls, who have… disappeared. And left him alone, again. Why does this keep happening to him?

Sam drags her sister to the bathroom, elbowing drunk white girls out of the way without remorse. She all but shoves her face into the sink with the intention to splash water on her face and sober her up a bit.

Tara doesn’t get the message and yanks herself away, tripping as she turns and throwing herself to the floor along the way.

“Tara,” Sam sighs wearily. Maybe those last shots were a mistake. Maybe letting her drink in the first place was a mistake, but it’s what Tara had wanted, and if she’s learnt anything over the past 14.5 months since she’s come back into her life, Tara’s going to do what Tara wants to do. She was the same as a child, although she wasn’t anywhere near as stubborn, back when Sam used to hang the moon and Tara blindly worshipped every word she said.

The real mistake was letting Mindy talk them into going out to celebrate, instead of staying home. And Mindy isn’t even here to deal with the consequences of her terrible decision. Where is she anyway?

Sam’s head snaps down as Tara groans on the floor. It’s the type of groan that happens moments before disaster; it has Sam grabbing her sister under the arms and heaving her off the floor and into a toilet stall in a flash.

And just in time.

It’s times like these that Sam doesn’t miss drinking. It’s also times like these where she kind of wishes she was.

She pats her sister on the back with one hand, and draws her hair away from her face with the other. She wishes Tara wouldn’t do this to herself, but she’ll admit, only to herself, that she’s so grateful that she’s been given the opportunity to do this for her. To be the type of sister that Tara can trust to keep her safe, that she can rely on. That she’s a good enough sister that Tara feels the need to defend her honour when some douchebags at the pool table start loudly talking about the psycho girl drinking soda at the bar.

She’s definitely mad that Tara’s drunk enough to pick a fight with a guy three times her size and with a gang behind him though. Then again, maybe Tara doesn’t need to be drunk to do that actually. Her sister does like to fight, she’s noticed. It used to be just Sam. Now it seems to be everyone but Sam.

Maybe she should leave a message for Tara’s therapist.

“Why’d yuh’stop me,” Tara mumbles from the porcelain. “I coulda had’im.”

The words make Sam snort. Her sister has always known how to make her laugh. “Sure you could have, baby. He’d have been real threatened by you throwing up on his shoes.”

“He’d deserve it,” she mumbles, leaning back. “Nobody talks ‘bout you like that.”

Sam helps her up off the floor, keeping hold of her arms to steady her. “I’d kill anyone who says anything ‘bout you,” Tara continues.

The words make Sam wince. “That’s a little overkill for some gossip, don’t you think?” she murmurs, leading her back out into the bar area to find Chad. It’s time to call it a night, she thinks. “We can’t control what people think or say about us, but we can control how we react to them,” she recites to her sister. It’s a mantra her own therapist has her repeating whenever something like this happens.

Her eyes catch Chad’s from across the room as Tara mumbles something about Mindy, and Kirby, and how they should be here to join in the fun, and then there’s an unfortunately recognisable form standing in front of her.

“Hey, YOU!” the wet man calls out, blocking their way. “That little bitch owes me and the lads some new beers,” he growls, posturing. It’s fairly effective, Sam’s actually intimidated, all too aware of Tara hanging off her arm and barely able to stand on her own.

“We’ll buy you a new round,” she says, smiling civilly. She doesn’t want a scene, well - another one, not right now. Why had Tara felt the need to flip the tray out of his hands? Why had she felt the need to confront him in the first place? Well, what are big sister’s for, if not fixing the problems their little sister’s make.

Of course, when has anything ever gone her way?

He should have said “great, that’s all I wanted, lead the way.” Instead what he actually says is “Or maybe she can make it up to me another way,” with a lewd grin on his face and a finger poking her in the shoulder. And what was Sam to do, take that lying down? 

Chad had thankfully made his way back over - why had he left in the first place, wasn’t he right behind them before? - just in time for her to shove Tara into his arms and take a swing at the bastard who thinks he can say whatever he likes about her sister.

It gets a little chaotic after that.

She thinks she remembers Chad taking an elbow to the face. Tara was on someone’s back. Sam’s pretty sure she took a bottle to the head, if the way it thumps with every heartbeat is any indication.

Being held face down against a pool table with her arms pulled harshly behind her and her wrists tightly bound in handcuffs isn’t a new experience for Sam, but having her sister beside her in the same position, hurling expletives at the police officers holding them down, certainly is.

“Hey! Be careful, she’s injured, jackass,” Sam spits. 

“Quiet you,” the officer snaps, lifting her up before slamming her back down.

It makes Sam’s head spin. She can hear Chad in the background, protesting. Then she hears the voice of an angel say “is this how you treat all woman who try to defend themselves, Officer Sawyer?”

Kirby “please stop getting into trouble Sam, you’re making my life very hard” Reed is here to save the day once again. Hopefully. Probably. Definitely. Sam’s working on having faith in people.

Sam meets her sister’s eyes across the table while Kirby argues with the officer holding her down. The grin Tara shoots her should not be as endearing as it is, given the circumstances.

Before long, they’re being begrudgingly released into Kirby’s custody and ushered out of the bar. Sam can’t resist looking back, and finds Officer Sawyer glaring at her with his arms crossed. Oh good, another enemy to watch out for.

She gets distracted by Chad’s arm wrapping around her shoulder and the cheery “well that was fun,” he chirps out.

Kirby spins in an instant and gets in their faces, well, as much as she’s able given how short she is. She’s about as intimidating as Tara. “It was not fun. You started a bar fight! You got injured! What is wrong with you people? Can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes?!”

Tara giggles into Sam’s side, swinging their hands together. “You said five,” she mumbles.

The words throw Kirby for a loop and her anger quickly fades into bafflement and concern. “Is she okay? Did she hit her head?”

“She’s just drunk,” Sam explains, wrapping her arms around her sister. The girl squeezes her back, humming into her chest.

Kirby frowns up at her. “Should she really be drinking?”

Sam’s saved from another opportunity to start a fight by Mindy’s arrival. 

“Oh man,” she huffs, out of breathe and bending down to rest her hands on her knees. “I’m so sorry I’m late, there was this dumb fire drill at the dorms and we couldn’t leave and woah, what… happened here.”

“Bar fight. Tara’s fault,” Chad replies.

“It was not Tara’s fault,” Sam barks, glaring at him.

Chad grins back at her, “it definitely was.”

Mindy pouts. “Awh man, I can’t believe I missed it.”

Kirby rolls her eyes. “We’re leaving, all of you, come on.”

[loisfreakinglane]

angel the series!

OOOOOOOOH THANK YOU

The first character I first fell in love with: 

i'm easy, it was angel. my dorkpire.

The character I never expected to love as much as I do now: 

i always enjoyed cordelia but she's become one of my moooooost favorite fictional characters of all time

The character everyone else loves that I don’t: 

i don't quite understand the adoration much of fandom has for wesley. godspeed to my besties but i find him sometimes enjoyable, but often increeeeeeeedibly frustrating. esp post-s2

The character I love that everyone else hates: 

lmaoooooooooooo connor. I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOR AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME

The character I used to love but don’t any longer:

this is another wes one. went from finding him humorously annoying on btvs to liking him much more on angel as part of the fang gang and particularly his friendship with gunn to growing super bleh on him

The character I would totally smooch: 

gunn. cordy. lilah.

The character I’d want to be like: 

i mean cordelia clearly. but also anne steele! an underrated fav.

The character I’d slap: 

fucking lindsey ESP for using doyles name in s5.

A pairing that I love:

angel/cordy foreverrrrrrrr we coulda had it all what a rolling in the deep situation

A pairing that I despise: 

one of my MOST DESPISED SHIPS OF ALL TIME fred/wes i am sorry

[drpeppertummy]

i have Got to stop posting these in the middle of the night. But Not Today

[stuffing, tummyache, tummy rub]

Gray, at some point over the years, had earned himself the position of the designated scrap eater in his friend group. Any final bites that couldn't be finished were passed off to him, and he always accepted them. He hated seeing food go to waste and he almost always had room for a little more. Once in a while, however, his willingness to dispose of leftovers would result in an aching, overstuffed belly. Today had been one such occasion.

For as much time as Gray spent with his friends, it wasn't all that often the whole group got together for a meal. That morning, all six of them had met up at the diner for breakfast. Despite the large portions the restaurant was famous for, nobody had enough left on their plate to bother bringing home, so one by one, as they finished up, they passed off their scraps to Gray. Gray, who'd finished a big plate of eggs, toast, and potatoes, was feeling pretty stuffed already, but it seemed silly to leave behind a couple bites of pancake or a little chunk of cantaloupe, so he took care of it. He'd hoped his belly didn't look as big as it felt when they left.

By lunchtime, the overstuffed feeling had worn off a little bit, but he still felt bloated. Unfortunately, since the whole gang happened to have the day off, they had decided to try out the new burger place together--or, rather, the other five had decided. Gray hadn't played a part in the decision. He seldom did; he was content enough to go along with whatever everybody else wanted to do. In this case, he was a little less than content. He was still full from breakfast, and after his burger--he'd ordered something small and simple but the effect was still the same--he felt like he could lay down and sleep for a week. His belly was definitely visibly bloated this time. His shirt felt a little too tight, and the waist of his pants was digging uncomfortably into his skin. When he was offered a few loose fries and last bites of burger, he'd almost declined, but once again, it seemed silly to let it go to waste.

When dinner rolled around, Gray wasn't hungry whatsoever. His belly was tight and sore, and he was beginning to feel a little bit sick. The group had wound up at Wendy's house, where she made a pot of her signature chicken noodle soup. That news had been a little bit of a relief; it was the only thing that could possibly have sounded even the slightest bit appealing. Maybe it would even soothe his aching stomach a little, although he wasn't holding out much hope for that. He dished himself out a small serving. The soup's warmth and mildness was about as welcome as it could be, but a bellyful of liquid wasn't particularly helpful to his predicament. It filled in every little gap that was left in his already stuffed stomach and then stretched it to its limit. He finished his bowl and leaned back in his seat with a soft sigh.

"Hey Gray, do you want this?" Laurie held up a half-eaten chunk of bread. His eyes fell slowly onto it, and she thought he looked exhausted. After a pause, he shook his head.

"No thanks," he said, his low voice even quieter than usual.

"You full already? It didn't seem like you ate that much," she said. He nodded sleepily and rested his hands on his belly.

"You had a pretty small lunch, too," said Carrie. "You feeling alright, big man?"

"I ate too much at breakfast," he confessed.

"Breakfast! Jeez, Gray, we've done nothing but eat a bunch of crap all day," exclaimed Sunny. "Why didn't you say anything? We coulda saved the burger joint for another time!" Gray shrugged.

After they'd all cleaned up the kitchen--Wendy had told Gray to go rest, but he refused--Gray finally did what he'd been dying to do all day. He sat down on the couch and laid his head back against the cushion with a tired sigh and closed his eyes. He reopened them briefly to look at Laurie as she sat down beside him. She placed a comforting hand on his round belly and gave it a gentle pat.

"Yeah, that feels pretty full," she said. She rested her head on his shoulder and rubbed his belly in slow circles. Covering up a yawn, Gray leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes once more.

[internerdionality]

Well I would LOVE to hear more about the t4t4t gentlescribed modern AU— What situation have they found themselves in? If you’re inclined to post a snippet obviously I’d be thrilled to read it

Okay! 😊 So, this fic arose because I was talking with fandom friends how the most common character, by far, in the fandom to get headcanoned as trans is Izzy, to the extent that people are starting to tag Cis!Izzy on fics where he's not trans, right? Which, no judgment or negativity there whatsoever, we just happened to be talking about how and why that became a thing.

And then I said 'wouldn't it be funny if I wrote a modern AU where everyone except Izzy is trans?'

And of course, then I had to do that.

Another idea I'd been noodling on for a while was something happening between Lucius and Ed when Lucius goes in to comfort Ed in S01E10. (I've seen other variations of that, liked them a lot, always wanted to play with it.)

So. In this fic, Lucius and Stede are both trans men, everyone else in the crew is some flavor of not-cis, the Revenge is a queer nonprofit that helps provide housing and funds for trans/enby folk in need, Ed and Izzy run an antifa biker gang/minor drug ring, and Ed's egg starts to crack when they all run into each other. (That's all backstory, the fic starts with Lucius going in to comfort Ed after the catastrophe.)

Note that Ed is trans femme/enby in this fic, but she doesn't know that yet, so they are still using he/him pronouns in this snippet.

“Okay, well. Blackbeard. Sir. How are you doing?” “Don’t have to call me that,” Blackbeard said, a little bit of a whine in his voice. “I mean—I don’t know if I want to be Blackbeard anymore. Not like there’s even a gray beard, anymore.”  “We noticed that,” Lucius said tentatively. “What, ah—what happened? If you want to talk about it.”  Blackb—fuck, what was Lucius supposed to call him?—shrugged.  “Pigs said it was a security issue, could hide shit in it or some fucking BS like that. Coulda fought it, or kept a shorter one, but. Thought it’d maybe be smart, you know? Be less recognizable. Got a lot of enemies in prison. Didn’t end up staying long enough for it to matter, though.”  “That makes sense,” Lucius encouraged. “And, maybe it just felt like time to try something new?”  The other’s eyes widened and fixed on Lucius, as if he were seeing him for the first time.  “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to be someone else, you know? Sick of being this.”  “Well, what would you like me to call you?” Lucius asked.  The person formerly known as Blackbeard pursed his lips. “I always liked it when people called me Eddie,” he said softly.

[rtheott]

Inovaire Chronicles: Smoke Rises Yet Again...

Disclaimer: I am tired as I edited this so blah. Also, I do plan on making this into a comic some time. This is a rough draft of the first story. Let me know how I could improve!

      Ms. Desiree dons her press hat on her head, grabs her coat, and leaves the abandoned building that she converted into her own newspaper manufacturing area and ventures into the city to hopefully find her daily scoop. The best place to look for news is the Harbour, so she heads that direction. The city around her grows dirtier and slum-like as she nears the docks. Desiree lived in the Harbour section of the island city known as Inovaire. Inovaire has three sections of cities, separated by class. These sections are known as the Harbour, the dirtiest and most crime ridden section; the Factory, the most commercial and crowded section; and the Plaza, the ritziest section where the most exclusive and powerful families live. The Harbour was where Desiree felt most comfortable in, due to her upbringing. She lived in the Harbour section until the age of 20 when she had finally scraped up enough money to purchase a printing press and an unused building in the Factory. Though, that took years to build up as her mother and her had to work hard in order to even be able to afford a full meal. She hopes that offering well paying jobs only to people from the Harbour would help them be able to avoid most if not all the hardships that she had experienced. Desiree nears the ocean where the city opens up revealing docks that constantly bring in goods, food, and visitors. These docks that border the entire island are why this section of the city is called the Harbour. After a bit of walking on the docks, her train of thought is disrupted as she smells a mix of smoke, smoldering wood, and melted bronze. Her eyes land on smoke that slowly billows out from the now almost fully incinerated Yuress Warehouse before they land on several soot-covered people sitting on a nearby dock. The Yuress Warehouses are where most of the city's imports of building supplies come from. This is what caused the Yuress family to reach such a high status and become one of the select families who have the most power in Inovaire. She approaches the dock, preparing to interview the workers as she readies her trusty notebook and pencil. As she reaches the group of workers, she hears one of them, a bear, talking. The bear’s voice has a deep baritone dripping with a thick accent that accompanies his stocky frame and large belly.

“-tried tuh stop da fire, but it spread too fast tuh completely stop it. ‘S almost like dey knew where tuh throw dose fire bombs for it tuh get outta control.” The bear was telling the other workers. Desiree jots down in her notebook the word arson. She waits for the bear to finish his retelling and asks him if he would be okay with an interview. He nods at her and they both leave the group of other workers. “So, mister…” She starts, hinting for him to tell her his name. “Shirjay Ritley, but jus call me Shirjay.” He answers. 

“So, Shirjay. You mentioned that someone threw fire bombs. Did you manage to see who threw it?” She asks. “Well, uhm… All dat I wuz able tuh see was a gas mask. It coulda been dat gang… uhhh. What were dey called again?” He asks. “The Firebrands.” Desiree quickly answers, writing down the name in her notebook and underlining it with one loud scratch of her pencil. “Thank you for your time Shirjay. I’ll make sure to have this in the paper as soon as I can. Try not tell anyone else about any more information. We don't want to spread any misinformation.” She tells Shirjay as she starts walking away. “Alright, miss…” The bear hesitates, “Wait! I nevah caught ya name!” He shouts. “Desiree!” She shouts back with a smile. “See ya ‘round, miss Desree!” He says with a wave as she disappears into the city. After a while of walking, she reaches the station and goes inside. She walks over to the desk of one of her workers, Veiryl Keeley, who had also been Desiree’s closest friend since childhood. Veiryl had a thin, yet sturdy physique and she could talk her way out of any situation. Desiree tore off the page about the fire from her notebook, making sure that she still had the page with the mention of the Firebrands in her possession. “V, start writing the paper for me please. Give it to Rayland and Pierre once you finish writing it, so they can print the papers. Tell them to hand all the papers to Barneby, once they have been printed. Barneby will know what to do.” She lists off to Veiryl. “A hello would be nice, D.” Veiryl said in her soft spoken voice. “Sorry V.” Desiree sincerely apologized as she practically ran to her own desk, conducting a search for pocket change so she could get lunch while she was out. Veiryl laughs before speaking, “You know I was just messing with you.” Desiree breathes a sigh of relief as she could never tell when Veiryl was joking or not. “But really, where are you going so quickly?” Veiryl asked. “I have a lead to follow.” Desiree answers as she successfully finds some money. Desiree runs to the front door again. “Alright, I’ll be back sometime after noon. So, I’ll see you all then!” She announces to the room just seconds before she closes the door behind her, leaving the station as fast as she had arrived. Desiree starts walking to a particular bar that she believes to be a common spot for some Firebrands before she stops dead in her tracks. She turns around, worrying that Veiryl might be mad at her. Desiree opens the door to the news station and pokes her head in. “Sorry again V!” She says from the door. “It’s alright D, now go! You are wasting daylight.” Veiryl assures her.

Desiree nods and leaves the station once more. The only thing on her mind now is to find out if her hunch about this bar is correct.

[pumpkinsy0]

Curly and Ponys first Christmas living together where both of them are confused when Christmas decorations don't magically appear because somebody else always does it

ohhhh these two,,,,luv em!!! thank u for the ask!!!

•ik they bought those decorations late as hell, they kept putting it off cause they were too lazy, and even uf they DID get it, theyd b too lazy to put ALL of them up, their gang/family usually helped w it but now its just the two of em, only 1/2 of those decorations r actually gonna b used

•if u think these two r arguing over what vibe of christmas they want and u feel like pony is into a christmas where its one solid color, ur on THIN ice bc they BOTH would rather a colorful christmas and cant understand y anyone would go for that boring outlook on christmas,,,im watching u,,,

•however we can compromise!!! pony argues just going for the regular red and green while curlys arguing for just different colors PLUS the red and green, they both r too stubborn and now their christmas looks like a paintball gun shot up the place

•their tree was so pathetic, its in an awkward spot in the living room, its so small and kept tipping over so they gave up on it and its just kinda leaning on the wall and stacked up by ponys college books😭😭

•they prolly coulda picked a better tree too, its not like that was the only one left, they were just in a sour mood cause it was cold as shit and wanted to go back home so they picked the first one they saw n dipped, say ts the next morning n just sighed😭

•curlys homesickness shows rarely, and this is one of those times bc angela would joke about putting herself on top of a christmas tree cause she was an “angel”, but they never ever got one, so he took a pic of angela he had and put it on top, hes never admitting he misses that demon tho🙄🙄

•SOMEONE (curly) put the mistletoe above the headboard of their bed thinking they were soooooo slick

•YESSS i will forver bring up haitian fanals i love them theyre so pretty, curly and pony tried making em but they looked so wonky, if u hc them living in an apartment, they couldnt hang them up bc they hand nowhere TO do it so its just chilling on a counter, but they still do light em up!!!

•the lights were so tangled up in the box somehow they genuinely just gave up and threw them up on the wall and said “we’ll get to it later” (they wouldnt)

•if u want them living in a shitty one bedroom, let it b known that they love going around the block seeing the other neighbors decorations and some of them light their houses UP, ik their light bill high as hell and when they didnt have their decorations up they could just feel those houses,,,teasing them,,,,

•ponys sent darry pics of the whole set up and darry could detect about 6 fire code violations, he sighed and showed tim and they accepted what theyve done letting those two move in together, to make the grieving process easier

•kinda unrelated but ikkkk they dont play about frank sinatra and maria careys christmas songs