#what if they fought with hammers instead of nails?

[raddest-laddest]

i love making entire aus for every little thought that crosses my head

[junovrsmp4]

three is not a crowd

OR

5 times Chris walks in on you and Matt fucking + 1 time he gets to join in on the fun

pairing: established!matt x reader, chris x reader, matt x reader x chris

summary: what it says on the tin basically

warnings: THREESOME, PURE FILTH, dick riding, oral (female & male receiving), teasing, edging, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, p in v, slight degradation/praising, slight angst, happy ending yay

word count: 6.9K

author’s note: im a whore for both of them. that is all. (also this has plot, and is mostly beta read but i havent slept in hrs so if some mistakes did slip thru my bad

1

“Hey Matt, have you seen my-” Chris begins to ask as he pushes Matt’s bedroom door open, expecting his brother to either be lazing around in bed or be at his desk, gaming.

What he doesn't expect is the sight he is instead greeted by, of you, Matt’s girlfriend of the last year and a half, astride Matt’s lap, riding his dick while he leans against his headboard, head thrown back and hands grabbing your hips, guiding you, slowly.

Chris is shocked, understandably, and he should just turn around and book it. Instead, he stands frozen, watching the way your head is nestled into the crook of Matt’s neck, your shoulders shaking. If Chris ignores the sound of his own pounding heart, he can almost hear the soft whimpers you’re letting out at each downward thrust of your hips.

At the sound of a soft, deep groan, Chris’ attention shifts to Matt, who has his eyes shut, and his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. There’s something surreal about this scene, seeing Matt, who looks nothing like Chris, but also looks the most like him, fucking this beautiful girl who’s been on his mind for months now.

“Matt…,” he hears you whine loudly against his brother’s neck, and Chris has to grit his teeth, fight against the urge to shove his hands into his pants and fist his growing erection. This shouldn't turn him on so much, hell, he shouldn't even be here right now. He should have run in the opposite direction as soon as he realized what he’d walked in on, but he’s mesmerized by the way you move, your back arching as your hips move back and forth. The slow, sensual, almost hypnotic, movements of your body as you ride Matt’s dick has him clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms and it’s easy to imagine him in Matt’s place as he gets this view of what it might look like to fuck you. Your moans grow louder, and Chris thinks it might be because you’re getting close, and god, he feels so hot underneath his skin.

“Shh baby, didn't you say we needed to be quiet?” Matt whispers against the side of your head. “Can’t have Chris hearing us, can we?”

At the sound of his name, Chris’ heart hammers faster, and he looks up at Matt’s face, only to see that his brother’s gaze was already on him, watching him with a slight smirk before thrusting his hips up, presumably driving his cock deeper into you, making you moan even louder than you already were.

Breaking out of his stupor, Chris stumbles backwards before hightailing it to his room, slamming the door behind him. It takes all of five seconds for him to get his cock out of his sweatpants, furiously jerking off as he leans against his door, biting into the hem of his t-shirt that he’d pulled up over his chest, and only another five seconds before he shoots his cum all over himself.

2

Chris knows its wrong, wanting his brother's girl. This was never a problem before, because any time he found out Matt liked someone, Chris immediately lost interest. It was the brothers’ code; they never fought over girls, and besides, they always just liked different ones.

You, though…it was hard not to like you, even after he found out Matt had his eyes on you.

Chris remembers the first time he met you, how nice you’d been to him and his brothers, how easily you’d fit into their lives. He’s not going to lie and say he’d wanted you right from the start. It was a gradual thing, slowly creeping up on him before he realized what had gotten him.

You just made him feel so comfortable, and surprisingly, the two of you had a lot in common. But then again, you had a lot in common with Matt, and Nick. And yet, you were so different. You were smart, playful, and so, so kind. You were just the right amount of goofy and serious, and you just, fit well into the dynamic Chris and his brothers shared.

It shouldn't have surprised him when Matt eventually told him and Nick that he was into you and planned to ask you out. It all happened so quickly after that. You and Matt had gotten together and, now you weren't just the new friend that Chris and his brothers were always hanging out with, but his brother's (his brother who was also his best friend, really) girlfriend.

Which is why Chris knows it’s fucked up. Wanting you. And he knows it’s even more fucked up that he wishes he could have a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago when he accidentally walked in on you and Matt. The amount of times he’s jacked off to that memory alone the past few nights is insane, his mind supplying images to create his own version of events where he doesn't run away.

Especially fucked up is the fact that Matt had seen him, had looked cocky that he’d caught Chris watching them, and even that fact hadn’t deterred Chris from chasing orgasm after orgasm to the thought of fucking you, imagining how tight and wet your pussy might be, what it might taste like.

Speaking of the fucker who seemed totally unfazed by recent events, Matt sat across Chris, scrolling through his phone, while Nick sat beside him, editing their latest video. Chris was trying his hardest not to flip the fuck out, but his whole nervous system seemed like it was fried. Nick had already yelled at him twice to stop moving so much because he was apparently jostling the table too much, and Matt had just let out a bemused chuckle without lifting his eyes from his phone the entire time.

Just as Chris was about to get up and retreat to him room, the doorbell rings, before Matt gets a series of texts.

“Oh, she’s here-” Matt says, before shooting out of his chair and rushing to great you at the front door.

“Hey, hey, hey!” your cheery voice rings through the hallway, as you and Matt make your way into the kitchen, and Chris almost chokes on the sip of Pepsi he’d just taken because holy fuck-

You were wearing a short, tight black dress that hugged the lines and curves of your body just right, the square neckline barely covering your chest. His eyes slipped further down to the way the fabric of the dress cinched at your waist, and to the slit at the side of the dress that came up to mid-thigh. That and the combination of tall strappy heels you had on made your legs look…really good. So good that Chris wishes he was between those legs, licking a path up your calf to your inner thighs, leaving bruising kisses to mar the smooth, unblemished skin of your legs, before finally, finally-

Nick hoots just then, exclaiming about how hot your fit looks, pulling Chris out of his daze. He watches as you bask in the compliments being showered onto you by both Nick and Matt now, and can't help but smile at the way you try to hide your blushing face.

So, it’s completely out of left field when he sees you again later that night, sitting on the couch with your hands covering your face but this time it’s to hide the loud moans that threaten to slip from your mouth as you watch Matt kneel in front of you, his mouth pressing kisses into your inner thighs…just like Chris had imagined doing earlier.

It’s ridiculous really, how Chris had been feeling slightly normal after dinner with you and his brothers, because as awkward as he may have been feeling about you and Matt, being around you and his brothers, having good food and just laughing about random shit made him feel really fucking good. Like everything was normal and he wasn't fantasizing about fucking his brother’s girlfriend. Like he hadn't accidentally walked in on them fucking.

Of course it’s just his fucking luck that as soon he’s feeling just that slightest bit of normalcy, he’d decided to go to the kitchen and grab a Pepsi from the fridge at 3 AM, only to find his brother about to eat you out on the couch.

“Matt-” you whine, as your back arches off the couch, one of your hands moving to grab Matt’s hair, the other trying and failing to hold back your moans. “Matt, please- nnggh- stop teasing.”

Chris feels all his blood rush down south and it leaves him lightheaded. The low lighting in the room accentuates the shadows of your body and he can see the muscles in your legs flex as your thighs clench around Matt’s head, trying to get him to move his mouth closer to where you want him. You’re not in the tight black dress he’d seen you in earlier, but in a blue baby tee and black lace-trimmed hipster briefs. There’s an almost imperceptible quiver that wracks through your entire body in anticipation for what’s to come.

Matt doesn't keep you waiting for long. Chris' breathing grows even more jagged as he watches Matt’s fingers push your panties to the side before he runs his tongue flat up your pussy. Chris can't see as much as he’d like to, but his overactive imagination does the job for him, imagining how wet you must be.

Chris feels like such a sick perv for still standing there, watching with wide eyes as Matt (his literal brother) enthusiastically licks and kisses your pussy, and he almost wonders how neither of you haven't noticed him yet. Then again, you and Matt seem so lost in each other, and now there’s another ugly thought circling Chris’ brain, one that makes his chest hurt a little.

He forgoes his Pepsi for the night and quietly returns back to his room, cock half-hard, and his heart just the slightest bit heavy.

3

“Alright, what’s going on with you?” Nick asks him, while his eyes are still fixed on his phone.

He and Chris were sitting on the couch (Chris had been avoiding the section that you and Matt had used during your late night rendezvous), and Chris was idly flipping through his Netflix watch list.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Chris says with a heavy sigh, slumping further into the couch.

It’s quiet, and the silence makes Chris look up at Nick, who was already looking at him with a curious frown.

“Seriously, what the fuck is up with you?” Nick asks, and he actually looks concerned, which throws Chris off a bit. “You’re usually bouncing off the walls and annoying the shit out of everyone in your nearest vicinity, but lately you've just been, I don't know- I’m like actually worried, did something happen? Is everything okay?”

Chris swallows around the lump that had formed in his throat and takes a minute. To do what, he doesn't know. It’s not like he’s going to prepare himself to tell Nick what he’d witnessed, twice, and how he was feeling about it. Really, how does one go about telling their triplet brother that they’d accidentally witnessed their other brother in an intimate situation with said brother’s partner, not once, but twice, and had enjoyed it, to the point of having nightly fantasies about it?

There were more complicated feelings lurking just under the surface, more than just Chris wanting to fuck you, but he did not have the mental bandwidth to unpack all that, so that was that. It’s not like he had honest to god feelings-

“See, at this point, you would’ve been yapping away-” Nick says, interrupting his train of thought, “-but instead, you’re just sitting there, looking all sad and miserable.”

“Okay, I don't look sad and miserable,” Chris says with a roll of his eyes. At least, he hopes he doesn't. “I’m just tired dude. Haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“Right.”

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Didn't say you were lying,” Nick says, matter-of-factually, in that signature Nick tone that lets everyone know when he isn't buying their bullshit.

“I’m fine,” Chris says slowly, waiting for Nick to stop looking at him so intensely.

“Sure,” Nick drawls out. “You’re also a shitty liar.”

“Fuck you,” Chris grumbles, chucking the TV remote at Nick, who flails to try and dodge it, letting out an indignant squawk when it bounces off his shoulder and falls to the ground.

This, of course, results in Nick throwing whatever was closest to him at Chris, which happens to be an empty water bottle, and eventually they're just chucking it back and forth, cursing at each other in between laughter.

It’s the most relaxed Chris has felt in weeks.

Too bad you had to walk in at that exact moment.

“Hey guys!” you say cheerily, plopping down on the couch, next to Chris. You’d stayed over for a couple of nights now, as you usually do, and Chris should be extremely used to your presence, except he feels his skin prickle as soon as your close to him, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off of your skin.

“God, how are you so chipper every morning?” Nick asks, shaking his head with a poorly hidden smile.

You twirl a strand of your hair around your finger, and bit the corner of your bottom lip. “It helps that I wake up to one of the hottest guys ever, and then get to hang out with his hot as fuck brothers,” you say with a smirk, waggling your eyebrows at Nick.

Chris wishes you hadn't just said that because now his mind wanders (more like sprints) to the memory of this morning, when he’d walked past Matt’s open bedroom. He’d heard the telltale sounds of skin slapping against skin, and your voice, whining Matt’s name over and over, which had him stopping right before Matt’s door, eyes wide, mouth agape. This couldn't be happening right? There was no way he’d walked into this situation for a third time.

Chris debates on whether he should just turn back around, go downstairs, out the front door, and bash his head against a tree, or if he should soldier on and just walk past to get to his room.

The sounds were getting to him. His cock strained against his grey sweatpants, creating a very obvious tent. His clothes suddenly felt a size too small, the air around him too thick, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead. He should leave, run far, far away from his house probably, but a sick part of him wants more than anything to see what’s got you moaning this time.

He rounds the corner and is met with a sight that almost has him falling to his knees.

It’s unfair, how incredibly gorgeous you look straddling Matt’s thighs, bouncing on his dick rhythmically, your head thrown back. You’re leaning back on your hands, supported on Matt’s knees, and Chris watches the way your body undulates as you swivel your hips, ribs flaring as your chest heaves. Every gasp you let out is a punch to Chris’ gut, leaving him feeling winded.

You’re so lost in the throes of pleasure that you don't hear when Chris groans out loud, but he knows exactly when Matt hears him, because his head rolls lazily towards him, his hands that had been grabbing your hips tightening, and there’s little to no warning before Matt’s flipping you over and thrusting into you with vigor.

“Does that feel good baby?” Chris hears Matt ask, his voice rough and low. “Tell me how good my dick makes you feel.”

“Fuck, so good, Matt- please, please, please-” your moans turning into whimpers as Matt’s thrust pick up in pace. Chris can tell exactly when Matt hits the bundle of nerves inside you that has you seeing stars because your back arches off his bed, hands scrambling to find purchase. Your fingers clench into the pillow above your head, as you beg Matt to go harder, faster.

Chris’ eyes bounce back to Matt, who’s watching you in awe, and he’s seen that look on his face numerous times before, like Matt can't get enough of you. Chris’ breath hitches, because he wishes it was him, in Matt’s place. Him, worshiping you, making you feel good. He wishes he was the one that was ripping those sounds out of you.

He catches Matt’s eyes just then, and Chris has never wanted to punch him in the face more than he does in that moment, because it almost feels like he’s mocking Chris.

See what I have, what you so desperately want…

Chris holds up a middle finger, directed at Matt and whatever god was up there who’d clearly forsaken him. He had half the mind to just yell but the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you. So with a scathing look at Matt, and a mouthed fuck you, he walks to his room, the sound of Matt’s laughter the last thing he hears before Chris angrily slams the door and sheds his clothes, pumping his cock to the memory of your voice.

It’s the hardest he’s cum all week.

4

Chris walks in on Matt pounding you against the wall leading to the garage. At this point, it had to be on purpose. The two of you had to be planning this, because how was it always Chris that ended up walking in on them, and not Nick? Knowing his brother, Nick would’ve gone around voicing his disgust at having caught you and Matt fucking, any chance he got.

So, it had to be on purpose.

Matt’s whispering dirty things in your ear, loud enough for Chris to hear every word.

“You’re so fucking pretty baby-”

“I want to ruin you, want you to feel me for days-”

“You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” and that has you letting out a particularly loud whine. The next bit Matt whispers into your ear is too inaudible for Chris to comprehend but he can tell how much it affects you, because you absolutely lose it just then.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

“Can y’all stick to fucking in Matt’s bed?”

At the sound of Chris’ voice, you look up at him, startled, and it’s electrifying, your stare. Chris sees your eyebrows furrow, your lips, plump from being bitten (by yourself, or Matt, who cares at this point), fall open. Matt’s shoulders stiffen for a second, so Chris knows he���s aware that Chris is right behind them, but the asshole just keeps fucking going. And you, you’re still staring.

“Chris-” you gasp, your nails digging into Matt’s shoulder. Chris thinks you’re going to push him away, scramble to pull yourself together.

You surprise him by pushing back down onto Matt’s cock with even more fervor, your hands moving up Matt’s neck to grab onto his hair, pulling hard.

Chris watches you cum on Matt’s cock for the first time that night, all while your eyes were locked on his.

5

Chris doesn't like being angry. He very rarely is. And usually, he gets over it really quick.

Which is why it’s shocking to everyone when he gets cold and hostile towards Matt seemingly out of nowhere, and the anger doesn't subside.

It gets in the way of their work. Filming becomes exhausting, and it leaves all three brothers feeling frustrated and annoyed at each other.

It’s in the middle of filming a new car video when it all goes to head. Nick and Matt had attempted to film a video, but Chris couldn’t hold back the jabs at Matt, interrupting him every time he spoke, insulting him for no reason whatsoever, which only made Matt retaliate just as hard.

“That’s it-” Nick yells, his hands pushing his hair out of his face in frustration. “I’ve fucking had it with you two. I’m getting the fuck out of this car and the two of you are going to stay in here and talk. Don’t even bother coming back in until you sort out whatever-” he gestures wildly between Matt and Chris, “-is going on with you two!”

And with that, Nick storms back into their house.

Chris stares out of the window with his arms crossed, seething. He can tell Matt is looking at him, can see part of his reflection on the window, but Chris isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of breaking first.

Matt, much to Chris’ annoyance, was completely calm and collected.

“Chris-” Matt begins to say, but Chris just chucks his empty Pepsi can at him without looking. He hears it clatter against something (the steering wheel, he thinks), before dropping down onto the car floor with a dull thud.

Matt sighs, and Chris wants to yell, because Chris is the one that should be huffing and sighing, he’s the one that’s tired of all this bullshit.

“Are you trying to prove something?” Chris asks, because he never could stay quiet for too long. “Is that it? What the actual fuck Matt?”

Chris had fully turned to face Matt, who at least had the decency to look somewhat abashed now. His face was tinged pinked, and he was fiddling with his rings.

Chris continues. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but if you’re just trying to get me to see she’s your girl, I fucking get it, okay? You’ve made that really fucking clear. Did I say or do something to warrant this shit, because if you think I’m out to get her, I’m not, okay? Jesus- do you know how fucking insane-”

“She wants you bro.”

Chris blinks. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I used to catch her staring at you sometimes, and there were times she’d just keep scrolling through pictures of the two of us together- you and me, I mean- and…I don’t know, she’d have this look on her face.” Matt trails off. He looks at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction so far, but truth be told, Chris was still trying to process what Matt had initially said.

“What…?”

“Look, the two of us are happy together. I love her, she loves me, but I think she…” Matt coughs out, and it’s the first time since this whole thing has started that Chris has seen Matt this awkward. “She’s into you too. She never really told me, but it got pretty obvious after a while. And eventually, I- I started bringing you up, when we- um, yeah. She wants us both.”

Chris starts laughing. Because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Alright, good prank dude- I’m still so fucking mad at you but-”

“I’m not kidding, Chris.”

Right. Because why would Matt joke about something like this?

“Um…”

“Yeah…”

And that’s how Chris finds himself back in Matt’s room. You and Matt were sitting on his bed, albeit a little far apart, meanwhile Chris had taken a seat in Matt’s gaming chair. Chris almost wants to call the two of you out on the pure torture you’d put him through the past few weeks, but one look at your face has him abandoning that train of thought.

You look so…remorseful. You’re slightly curled in on yourself, like you’re bracing for some sort of attack, and Chris’ heart melts. The last thing he wants is for you to feel upset, so he tries to lighten the mood.

“So, do you just wanna see which one of us has the better dick or-?”

He smiles as you sputter, eyes wide as you finally look up at him.

“There we go,” Chris whispers. “You’re finally looking at me.”

“Chris…I’m so sorry,” you whisper, lips trembling. “God, this is so stupid, why did we decide to tell him-”

“Hey, hey-” Chris chides. “I think I’ve been kept in the dark long enough, actually. I just wish y’all hadn’t used such a weird ass fucking way to tell me.”

“Well, to be fair, she didn’t even know you’d seen us that first couple of times,”

“Oh, god-”

“-And, we kinda assumed you’d take the fucking hint or something.”

“Yeah, I thought the hint was ‘I know you wanna fuck my girl, so I’m gonna make sure you catch us fucking every chance we get so you stay the fuck away’,” Chris says with a raised brow, staring deadpan at Matt.

“Wait, what-” you start, but you’re interrupted by Matt.

“Yeah, he’s wanted to fuck you for a while too.”

And that's how Chris finds himself with a front row view of Matt fucking you, up close and personal. Matt has you on all fours, facing Chris, while he pounds into you from behind, hard and deep. Each thrust punches a high-pitched moan out of you, and Chris watches, enraptured by the way you take it.

Chris watches to his heart's content that night, no longer worried about getting caught, no longer stressed about wanting to fuck you.

Chris watches you fall apart in Matt's hands over and over, and all he can think about is when he can finally have his turn.

+ 1

They’d had to wait for the perfect moment, a night they could be sure none of them would be interrupted.

They'd been planning for this night for a few days now, and it was finally here.

Chris and Matt stand side-by-side in front of Matt’s bed, arms crossed over their chest as they watch you squirm in his bed, their combined attention making you nervous. They’re both barely dressed, Chris in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, the front of which were already tented from his hard dick, while Matt was just in his black boxers. The low lighting of the room made Matt’s rings glisten as he rubbed at the stubble that he’d slowly allowed to grow on his face.

“How are we feeling, baby?” Matt asks you, smirking at the way you visibly gulp. “You ready for us?”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, looking up at Chris through your lashes before nodding.

That’s all the cue he needs.

Chris stalks over to you, slowly, climbing over the bed and crawling over you, his hands landing on either side of your head as he holds himself above you. You lay back, your hair fanning around your head on the pillow, your eyes wide as you wait for Chris’ next move.

“Can I kiss you?” Chris asks, wetting his lips, and he doesn’t have to wait long for his answer. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the strands close to his nape, bringing his lips onto yours. The kiss is heady, a wild mess of tongue and teeth, because you’d both been waiting for this, dying for it, and here it was, finally happening.

“Chris-” you gasp, open mouth sliding over the hot skin of his cheek as he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, biting harsh kisses into the skin there, before tracing his tongue across your jaw.

“Fuck, fuck- you smell so good, I need you so bad ma-” Chris blabbers, his brain-to-mouth filter long gone. He vaguely registers Matt settling onto the bed, leaning against the headboard, as Chris kisses a path down your body, laving every inch of skin he can access with nips and kisses. You arch your back as Chris circles one of your nipples with his tongue, sucking on it as he flicks the other. He alternates between kissing and nipping your nipples, all the while, you have an almost painful grip on his hair, pushing your chest harder into his face.

Matt watches your face intently, seeing the way your features scrunch up in pleasure, mouth wide open as you gasp and whine. There’s a small part of him that knows he shouldn’t be so okay with his own brother having his way with his girlfriend, but it’s almost like he gets a 4K view of what it might usually look like when Matt’s the one doing these things to you.

Chris continues his path downwards, fingers hooking into the sides of your panties and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulling them off of you. Your legs instinctively squeeze shut when the cold air hits your wet core, but Chris’s hands gently pry them open, staring at you in wonder.

“You’re so fucking wet, fuck-” Chris groans, before licking a stripe up the seam where your thigh meets your crotch, so close to where you actually want his tongue.

“Please, please-” you whimper, pushing your hips up closer to his lips, feeling his hot breath fan over you pussy. You hear both him and Matt chuckle, before Chris has his mouth on you, licking the wetness gathered in your folds. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and the obscene sounds of Chris’s mouth as he eats you out like a man starving.

It’s almost too much, the way he’s sucking on your clit, before pushing his tongue into you, his face pushed deep, you’re sure he can’t breath. The pleasure builds, heat pooling low in your stomach. You feel Matt’s fingers brush against your forehead, pushing the hair that was starting to stick to it from all the sweat.

“You feel good baby?” Matt asks, tone soft, but his eyes glint dangerously. “One of us wasn’t enough for you, was it? You’re such a dirty girl, wanting me and my brother.”

You whine, head pushing against his thigh closest to your head. Chris laughs, pulling his head back to chime in.

“Greedy little slut, that’s what she is,” he says, cheeks rosy and face glistening from the nose down, his chin absolutely soaking wet. “You gonna cum soon ma?”

You don’t even know what you respond with, just that Chris goes back to eating you out, this time, bringing his fingers to your entrance, sliding one finger, then two, into your sopping wet cunt as he licks random paths across your folds, occasionally circling your clit and sucking on it harshly, all while thrusting his fingers in and out of you, causing you to buck your hips up wildly. Your orgasm, only the first one of the night, is fast approaching, and your thighs clench around Chris’ head. The only warning he gets is a sudden yell of his name before you gush all over his face.

“Did you just- did she just squirt?” Chris asks, eyes wide as he takes in the mess that you’d made. His face and neck were now fully wet, and there was a perfectly round wet spot right underneath you. His fingers flutter over your now slightly puffy pussy, watching your folds quiver.

“Fuck, it’s too much- Chris, wait,” you whine, hands moving to grab Chris’ wrist. He doesn’t stop with his ministrations though, fingers pumping in and out of you, prodding at the bundle of nerves inside you that caused your vision to white out. It was fast, intense, and Chris manages to pull a second orgasm out of you before you’d even managed to catch your breath from the first one.

Chris sits up on his knees, reaching his arms behind him and pulling his tank top off, throwing it behind him. He hooks his arms around your thighs before pulling you down the bed, closer to him, allowing Matt to slot himself behind you.

“Can you turn over for me ma?” Chris asks with a gentle pat against your hip. It takes some effort, your limbs feel loose and languid, but you manage to flip onto your stomach. Hands grab your face, tipping your head up, and you see your boyfriend looking at you with a smirk, tongue peeking out to run across his teeth.

“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asks, voice like dripping honey with a hint of something razor-sharp. “This everything you imagined?”

“Yes- oh god, Matt- I need you, please-”

“You have me baby,” he coos. “You have me and Chris. That’s what you wanted, right? ‘Cause one dick was never enough to keep you satisfied.”

“Ngghh- please, please, I-” you whimper, mouthing at Matt’s dick through his boxers, startled when you feel a sudden smack against your ass, pain blossoming across your skin.

“If she’s already this cock dumb, I wonder how she’s gonna get when we actually get our dicks in her,” Chris wonders out loud with an amused huff, palming at your ass cheeks as he rubs his clothed dick against it.

You continue begging, your pussy soaking wet and clenching around nothing in anticipation for what’s to come, hips arching off the bed while your back dips low, shoulders tucked between Matt’s spread thighs as you lick him through the only piece of fabric that is keeping you from tasting him, from having his cock fill your mouth.

Chris smooths his palm down your back, making you arch your back even further, before he spreads your cheeks, seeing the way you twitch at being put on display.

“I think she’s waited long enough, hasn’t she?” Matt asks Chris, nodding his head slightly as if to tell Chris to get on with it. Chris doesn’t waste any time pushing his sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. You turn your head back to try and peek at it from over your shoulder, but Matt has a firm hand on your head pushing you towards his crotch while he pulls his dick out of his boxers. With one hand holding the back of your head, and the other around his dick, Matt slaps it against your cheek, amused at the way you so desperately try and get him to guide his cock into your mouth instead.

Simultaneously, Chris is behind you, rubbing the tip of his dick through your folds, gathering the wetness there. Above you, you feel Matt lean towards his dresser, before rifling through the top drawer and chucking something at Chris. There’s a sound of a bottle cap clicking open, and lube being squeezed out, before you hear the squelch of it as Chris spreads it over his dick.

Later, you’ll think they must have planned this head of time, but both Matt and Chris decide to push their dicks into you at the same time, Matt feeding you his cock, pushing past your lips, applying gentle pressure to the back of your head, while Chris spreads your folds apart and drives his dick into you, the tip catching inside you for a moment, before he thrusts his hips and pushes his dick deeper into you.

“Look at that,” Chris says, smacking the palms of both his hands onto your cheeks at the same time, before kneading at them. “She takes dick really fucking well.”

“It’s like she’s made for it, isn’t she?”

Chris fucks you like he has all the time in the world, savoring the feeling of your pussy clenching around him, fascinated by the sight of his dick disappearing in you at every thrust. You stretch around him so beautifully, and you’re so fucking tight, he wonders how he managed to fit it all in you in one go.

At the other end, Matt watches you with soft affection as you suck on his cock, tears streaming down your face from the exertion on your body and minimal air supply. At every thrust of Chris’ hips, you would get pushed closer to Matt, which would push his dick deeper into your mouth, making you almost gag on it.

You have no concept of time anymore, or where your body starts and Chris’ and Matt’s end. You feel like one big mess of limbs, moving fluidly, with the common purpose of chasing your orgasm. You hear Matt’s groans getting louder above you, and you know he’s getting close. You’re not far behind yourself, but Chris still seems like he’s nowhere close to being done.

Pulling your mouth off of Matt’s cock, you circle your hand around the base of it, before stroking your hand up and down, twisting it around the head. You swipe your thumb across the slit at the top while you tongue at the underside of the head, all while looking up at Matt through hooded eyes.

“Cum on my face, Matt, please-” you beg, mouth slightly open, a line of spit connecting your tongue to his dick. Chris' thrusts are picking up, but you keep your elbows planted firmly on the bed below to keep yourself steady for Matt. There’s a tingle building low in your spine, but you focus on Matt, the way he looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His hair is a mess, and his body is flushed. The hand he has on your head grips your hair tight, and the other joins your hand in pumping his dick. It only takes a few more seconds of that before Matt lets out a loud groan of your name, spurts of thick, hot cum landing across your face, and you close your eyes as it drips down your face, some of it landing on your tongue.

Matt leans back heavily against the headboard, and before you can register anything, you’re being flipped onto your back, face still covered in Matt’s cum. Your shoulders hit Matt’s chest as Chris crowds against you on the bed, his hands now on the back of your knees, pushing your legs back against your chest, before thrusting his dick back into you.

The sudden shift has you blinking back stars, and this new angle has Chris’ dick brushing against your sweet spot on every thrust, and all you can do is sob at the immense pleasure you feel. Matt circles his arms around you, one hand playing with one of your nipples, while the other moves down your stomach and edges closer to your clit. The tingling sensation grows, and grows, your hands scrambling to find purchase on Chris’ shoulders as he thrusts particularly deep into you before you finally snap, screaming as your third orgasm is ripped from you, the force of it pushing Chris’ cock out of you as you squirt all over him, yourself, and the bed, legs shaking uncontrollably.

You’re fully gasping and sobbing now, the intensity of your orgasm wracking through your whole body. You watch through hooded, teary eyes, as Chris leans over you, furiously stroking his cock as he soaks in the view of you, hot and messy, ruined because of him, before he too eventually reaches his orgasm, cum pulsing out of him and landing high on your chest, across your nipples, one spurt even hitting your chin.

The three of you are a heaping mess of limbs after, all basking in the afterglow of a night well spent, tired, but satiated. Matt and Chris lay on either side of you, stroking whatever part of your skin they can reach, occasionally batting each other’s hands away and pulling you closer to either side, like you’re not all squished together already.

“We should do that again sometime,” you say after a long beat of silence. Matt snorts, eyes closed, but the corners of his lips are quirked up in a small smile.

“Y’all are crazy if you think I’m never fucking you again after I just got a taste,” Chris states. “Besides, I think there’s a lot of lost time I need to make up for, hm?”

After that night, Chris gets to have his turn with you, over and over. Sometimes, Matt is present, and the brothers somehow always turn things into a competition of who can make you cum the quickest, who can make you cum multiple times, who can make you absolutely incoherent by the end of the night.

Now Chris had his own reason for always being so chipper in the morning. It helps that he finally gets to fuck the hottest girl he’s seen, who just happens to also be fucking his brother.

author’s note: i put too much fucking effort into an idea that essentially started as a joke, its gonna be so funny if this flops because i literally stayed up till 4 am twice in a row to write this lmao- anyways, let me know what you think! my inbox is open and waiting for your thoughts (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @kvtie444 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @55sturn @chrisopeningabag

[kurthummeldeservesbetter]

So if a Mel and Caitlyn pair up defeats a dictator and wins a war (at least the first part), a Vi and Jayce team up only ever kills kids or fucks up a mission, and l then what does a Jinx and Viktor pair do? What do the other options make?

Here are my ideas, ranking from best outcome to worst or what actually gets done.

Genuinely think a Viktor Mel pair (depending on if they both have some sort of magic) save the world. Both incredibly intelligent. Both caring but can’t be manipulated by emotions easily (influenced is a different story but damn when you’ve got a terminal illness or a dictator mom it’s hard being normal). However I think the arcane writers knew the team up would be too powerful. Also incredibly sexy. If they just had tea together once I think there would be no arcane story to tell.

Cait and Viktor. Not a lot getting done but if we’re thinking season 1 then it’s gonna be so nice and calm. They’re having tea. They’re planning our improvements for Zaun. A harp sings in the distance. They talk about Jayce. Caitlyn asks questions and listens to the answers and vice versa. World peace maybe not achieved but close.

Technically Jayce helped Cait free Vi and helped cover it up, as well as help her when Caitlyn tried explaining what was going on with Silco. Very even results. Nothing major changing here but typical for people who literally just bring out nothing in each other besides…friendship? Siblings? Idk.

Vi and Viktor would probably get along in the sense of they knew an older Zaun. (At least in comparison to Jinx.) Vi can be pretty gentle and Viktor definitely cares. Battle wise he ain’t gonna do much (the only time he really fought was when it wasn’t a good thing for anyone) but he’s bring the smarts to Vi’s streets. They’re gonna win the battle but it will be tough. Some lives may be lost but it ain’t theirs.

Mel and Vi….Vi does not like politicians. Vi does not like people from Piltover beyond Caitlyn (and maybe Jayce?) They argue the whole time. Nothing bad happens but nothing gets done. It’s mostly Vi’s fault but Mel can’t let it go. It’s been three days and they haven’t left the council room. It ends with the mutual agreement to never meet again.

Technically a Cait/Jinx pair saved Vi (after the commune) and also the conversation they had in the jail was actually civil. Don’t think a whole lot is getting done but a good battle buddies I think. There’s gonna be tension though. Lots of arguing and glares. Caitlyn’s hair is now orange and Jinx lost another finger. Lots more damage than necessary.

Mel and Jinx. Someone is dying. It might not be one of them but it’s definitely someone who shouldn’t be dead. Mel’s level-headedness barely works on Vi and it definitely won’t work on Jinx. She’s never had a younger sister. Jinx knows what buttons to push. The building is on fire.

Jayce and Jinx. Mostly everyone is dead except for Vi and Viktor somehow, or the exact reverse. They haven’t stopped arguing since they met. They just keep slapping each other like cats. Jayce keeps trying to hit her with the hammer but she’s elusive and it’s like a game of wack-a-mole. He kills a kid each time instead. Jinx won’t stop making fun of him. Someone lost a limb at some point.

Jinx and Viktor. Everyone is dead. I would say they are too but no, they’re stuck at the end of the universe with each other. It’s equally both their faults. Viktor deadnames her every time she insults him. She never stops and neither does he. They each have a shrine to their respective loved one and it’s the only places they don’t bother each other. She bleached half his hair. He poured out her nail polish. They fight till the end of time itself. Sometimes they have movie nights where their respective hallucinations (Silco, Sky) join.

[dilfdemolisher]

SURRENDER - Vampire!Hannibal AU

Summary: Now with a better understanding for the need of blood, it's time for you to hunt for your own meals - Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Content Warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, cannibalism, gore, manipulation, death, a pitiful attempt at gothic romance vibes

Word Count: 1.9k This a continuation of this post Eternal

The moon hangs like a distant, judgeful eye above you. The shadows stretch long and grotesque beneath the towering trees, their gnarled branches reaching like skeletal hands toward the heavens you’ll never reach. You stand at the edge of the forest, legs rooted in place. The wind sighs through the trees, carrying with it the heavy scent of rot and damp earth. But beneath that decay, your sharpened senses detect something far more seductive—something that coils in your chest with a cruel, insistent hunger.

Human blood.

The faint pulse of life in the distance, thrums against your consciousness. The hunger gnaws at you so cold and relentless, while you struggle to forget the curse that has claimed you. But Hannibal—he has no such delusions. His plans for you are far more insidious.

He stands beside you, still as death himself. Eyes, dark and fathomless, fixed forward. There’s a cold serenity in his gaze, a calmness that chills through your lacklustre-soul, as if the horror of what lies ahead is a trivial affair, that this shall be your new normal.

“You’ll soon understand.” His words, meant to offer comfort, instead suffocate you.

You swallow, your throat dry and parched, every muscle rigid. “I can’t,” you murmur. Though the words feel thin, you know they’re not truthful.

Hannibal moves closer, the chill of his presence palpable, a weight pressing down on your grave. “You will,” he replies, his tone not harsh but final; judgement day has passed long ago.

Weeks have passed since you last tasted blood, and now hunger is a living thing within you clawing at the walls of your resolve. You have fought it, tried to cling to some semblance of humanity, but it’s fruitless.

Hannibal watches you with unyielding eyes, “You’re starving,” he says, the observation as simple as it is obvious. “Why prolong your suffering? This is what you are now.”

The words dig into you like nails, the truth in them is undeniable, yet you shake your head, retreating a step from his unholy presence. “I don’t want to kill,” you whisper.

“You are no longer human, clinging to their morals is folly. You need to feed; that is what matters.” He says.

Your hardened heart hammers in your chest, but it is not fear that propels it—it is hunger. That endless, gnawing ache deep within your bones, a hunger that will tear you apart if left unsated. The scent of human life wafts through the trees again, an irresistible lure that tugs at the end of your resolve. 

“I don’t want to be cruel,” you pointedly stammer.

“There is no other way,” he says, his voice colder now, edged. “You feed, or you die. And the hunger... the hunger will tear you apart far more cruelly than I ever could.”

The night seems to press closer around you, a living, breathing entity that watches, waiting for you to fall, waiting for you. “I... I can’t...” The words barely escape your lips, trembling on the edge of despair.

“You can,” Hannibal murmurs, his gaze unrelenting, drawing you deeper into the abyss. His cold eyes hold yours in a vice grip. “Soon, you will understand. Murder is only itself when the perpetrator is as human as the victim.”

Your body begins to betray you. A shudder runs through you as your fangs elongate, unbidden, your instincts overtaking the fragile remnants of your will. The scent of iron calls to you and fills your senses until it is all that exists as Hannibal steps into the forest ahead of you. 

For a moment, you stand paralyzed at the edge, your heart pounding against your ribs as if it, too, seeks to escape this fate. But then, as if guided by some unseen hand, your legs carry you forward into the black maw of the woods.

The silence is encompassing, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the distant whisper of the wind. Every sense is heightened, the cool night air dull against your icey skin, the scent of the earth rich and suffocating. And beneath it all—the unmistakable thrum of a human life.

Hannibal stops abruptly, his head tilting ever so slightly, his gaze fixed on a figure barely discernible through the trees. Your breath catches in your throat.

There—a man, alone. His steps are unhurried, his presence oblivious to the predators lurking. You can hear his heartbeat now, steady and strong, the rhythm of his pulse beckoning you like a siren's call. The hunger rises within you, sharp and terrible, clawing at your insides.

You try to hold on to some piece of humanity. He’s a person—a life, not just blood, you think desperately. 

“No,” you whisper, your voice breaking as you step back, but Hannibal’s gaze is solid, implacable.

“You will,” he says, his voice like a death knell as he steps closer. His hand grips your arm, his strength inescapable as he pulls you toward the man. “He’s already dead; the moment we found him, his fate was sealed.”

Terror mingles with hunger as your legs move of their own accord, drawing you toward the pulse of life, the scent of blood filling your senses. You don’t want this. You never wanted this. But that no longer matters.

The man turns, his eyes widening in terror as he spots you. You wonder how inhuman you must look for such a response. 

He stumbles back, his heartbeat a drum in your ears, but you are already on him. Your hands grip his shoulders as your fangs pierce his skin, and the warmth of his blood fills your mouth, intoxicating and terrible.

The hunger quiets, for a moment, the darkness receding as you drink deeply. Each drop of life you steal, a part of your soul crumbles as a trade. His struggle weakens, life draining away beneath your hands.

When you finally pull back, gasping for breath, the man lies lifeless beneath you, grey and still. His blood stains your lips, warm and thick, and the weight of what you’ve done envelopes you; You’ve crossed a line from which there’s no return.

As you stagger backward, the taste of the man’s blood lingers on your tongue, the sweetness tainted by the bitterness of guilt. His body, crumpled and motionless at your feet, seems to stretch the silence around you into an unbearable void. You can feel the chill of the night air again, sharper now, as if the life you just consumed had momentarily made you mortal again. 

Your hands shake, still stained with his blood, as you stare down at the lifeless form. You want to scream, to cry, to tear away the skin that now marks you as something monstrous. But your voice is caught in your throat, suffocated by the weight of what you’ve done.

Suddenly, Hannibal is beside you. He moves with that same eerie grace when he places his hand to rest on your shoulder, firm but not harsh. 

“You did well,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, like the cool touch of a breeze after a storm. There is no cruelty in his tone now, no sharpness. Only a calm, unsettling tenderness.

“I—” You choke on the words, your body trembling. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you want to tell him that you didn’t want this, that you never wanted to be a killer. But no words come. All that escapes you is a quiet, broken sob.

Hannibal kneels beside you, his fingers gentle as they wipe away the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes. His face, pale and serene, showing no judgement, only understanding—a cold, distant kind of understanding that somehow twists the knife deeper.

“You are grieving,” he says softly, hand still lingering against your cheek. “But what you grieve for is the person you used to be—the human that you are no longer. What you are feeling now, this anguish, is only the remnant of a life that is behind you. A life that you must release.”

You shake your head, wanting to deny it, but his gaze holds you captive. He does not avert his gaze, nor does he look at the man you have just killed. His focus is entirely on you.

“There is nothing to fear in what you’ve done,” he continues, his voice like velvet wrapping around and cushioning your shattered thoughts. “You feel sorrow now because you cling to the illusion that you could have chosen differently. But in truth, there was never a choice.”

His words are meant to comfort, to soothe the storm inside you, but they only intensify the agony that twists within your chest. You shake your head again, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “I didn’t want this,” you whisper, your voice weak and broken. “I never wanted to be this.”

Hannibal’s hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His touch is cold, but not unkind. “None of us choose this existence,” he says quietly. “But it is the existence we have been given. And now, you must learn to live within it.”

The irony that he did this to you doesn't escape you, yet you can't bother to fight. You close your eyes, wishing for the darkness to swallow you whole, to erase the memory of what you’ve just done. But Hannibal’s presence remains steady and unrelenting.

You open your eyes, tears still blurring your vision. “Is this what my life will be now?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Killing, feeding, and pretending that it doesn’t matter?”

Hannibal’s gaze softens, and for the first time, you see something like compassion flicker across his features. “It will be easier,” he promises. “In time, you will see the world differently, and the weight of these moments will fade. You will learn to accept what you are, and with that acceptance will come a freedom unlike anything you have ever known.”

His hand slips from your neck, resting briefly on your shoulder before falling away entirely. He stands then, silent and graceful. “You are stronger than you think,” he says, his voice still soft. “You survived your first kill. You will survive many more.”

The forest seems to hold its breath around you, the night itself waiting for your next move. The body of the man, now a lifeless shell, lies between you and Hannibal, a grim reminder of what you’ve become. But beneath the horror, beneath the grief, you feel something stir—a strange, unsettling calm. 

It is not peace. Not yet. But it is the first hint of surrender.

Hannibal watches you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small nod, he turns and begins to walk deeper into the forest, his form melding with the shadows. 

For a moment, you hesitate. You could stay here, with the corpse, with the horror and the grief. You could remain in the ruins of your former self, lost and broken.

But then, as if pulled by some unseen force once again, your legs begin to move, carrying you forward into the darkness after him.

The night swallows you whole, and for the first time, you don’t resist.

@burnt-sienna-soup-ladles

[sweet-as-an-angel]

I WAS ***YEARNING*** FOR A APRT TWO TO THE OUTLAW STORY AJD WAS SO FERAL OVER IT THAT I WROTE MT OWN FFOR IT 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔

NO ONE ASKED FOR TJIS BUT HERE IS MY CONTRIBUTION TO THE BLOG ☺️💞 (... 🤡)

Yandere! Outlaw x Reader Pt. 2 to your original Yandere! Outlaw headcannons <3

...

The first thing that the Outlaw awoke to was piercing pain in his chest, as if there had been a hammer that hammered down a rusty metal nail straight through his flesh and into soft muscle, which had bent in half and gotten lodged in his lower ribs.

Breathing was unthinkable: with each inhale, his left lung felt like it was about to collapse; and, with each exhale, the sensation of suffocating, gasping for breath as if his head was underwater, drowning, made him choke on oxygen, wheezing for relief that wouldn't come.

It took every fibre of his being to lift himself up on the elbows, while his every fibre and then some was screaming.

Agony like this he hadn't experienced in ages. Most of his raids had gone without a hitch, but this one went wrong. Very wrong.

At first, he had been contemplating what it was that had distracted him so, what could have been the reason for his not having dodged the whizzing bullet in time, and had stood in place instead.

Had he been inattentive? Was it just recklessness at the time, or had his reputation as the West's deadliest gunslinger diminished?

It was when the second bullet tore through him that he had his epiphany: you.

Maybe he was growing soft. Maybe he was weak. Maybe he was letting his guard down.

Or maybe he was in love.

The Outlaw wasn't a very affectionate man. He had no experience with affection, having been dealt a heavy hand in land, having fought hands heavier than his in saloons with his bare fists; therefore, perhaps he had not the capacity to grasp his feelings.

After all, could this really be love? He had kidnapped you. He was your kidnapper. He was the monster under your bed, the fugitive that was wanted in countless states, the Boogeyman that parents warned their children about.

Still, while the instinctual drive to survive and his spiteful desire to keep evading the authorities, neither of these were the real reason why he had galloped on a beaten-up horse for hours, slumped over on his saddle and nearly toppling to the ground in his exhaustion, and had trudged on legs that felt like sacks of potatoes through the front door of his cabin, ignoring the agony in his desperate pursuit.

The real reason why he had been so desperate to return home was because you were there.

True, the thrill of raids and shooting at cowboys gave him a rush of adrenaline that he revelled in.

But, at the end of the day, the thing that would excite him most was you, in your simple, plain dress, wearing an apron and cooking a delicious dish in the kitchen, or stood on tiptoe dusting off the topmost part of the shelves.

And when you turned around, flinching as fright flickered in your startled eyes that you failed to hide in time, the shy smile that stretched sheepishly on your face was beautiful. The pinnacle of beauty.

It was for that blissful moment that the Outlaw could suspend disbelief and pretend that you were genuinely happy to see him. That, he could indulge in a fantasy that you were his housewife that had been waiting for him all this time, and had been waiting for his return.

And this time, you had.

He had blacked out as soon as his exhausted body crumpled into a heavy heap onto the floor, and had not remembered the gentle caresses of your skin, the delicate way that you had tended to his wounds and cleaned him up so dilligently, the bandages wrapped comfortably yet securely around his abdomen.

What he would remember forever, however, would be your face, sleeping peacefully by his side.

He could not believe his eyes. He had blinked twice, thrice, and still, he could not believe what he was seeing.

Until he believed it. The realisation struck him hard, and for a moment, he couldn't comprehend what the realisation had been.

Then he knew: the Outlaw knew. This was love.

A weak, callous hand hesitantly moved towards your face, to cup your sleeping cheek, yet it recoiled instantly, as if the physical contact burned him like a fire.

Tentatively this time, the same hand willingly crossed the barrier of fire and stepped on burning hot coals, determined to endure the discomfort if it meant he embrace comfort instead. It surprised him, then, that your cheek was cold, and that you stirred in your sleep, nuzzling your cheek into his coarse palm.

Rubbing your cheek with his thumb, Outlaw became mesmerised by your face, and noticed small details that he hadn't noticed before: the faint freckles on the bridge of your nose; the way that the sunlight made your eyelashes brighter by the tips; the thin wrinkle lines around your eyes, and how they were relaxed; the way that the hairs of your eyebrows were furrowed in your sleep. And, did you have that beauty spot on your face prior to this? Had you always had those dimples? Was your skin always aglow like this?

He knew it now. He knew it was love.

And, he knew, too, that he couldn't wait for you to wake up. For you to know that he loved you, and that he wasn't someone to fear. Not anymore.

Ignoring the pain that came with bringing your slender hand towards his face, he kissed the back of it through the bandana that he donned over the lower half of his face, and was almost tempted to pull the fabric down, just to see how his lips would feel on your skin.

At this moment, though, he was not fierce, fearsome Outlaw feared in the West, the one that could take down a gang of cowboys single-handedly. He was a coward.

Still, he couldn't be a coward forever. He vowed that he wouldn't be. Not for you.

If he was to be yours, he swore that he'd be neither Outlaw, nor a coward to you. He'd be yours — just like you were his.

Yet by the way that you were cuddled up to him and clinging on to him in your sleep, it looked like you had already come to that conclusion on your own, hadn't you?

YEEEEEEEES, I love these, my Sweet ! Thank you ever so much for taking the time to add to our wonderful Outlaw's story, your contribution to the blog is invaluable <33. Please do not hesitate to send in any more headcanons you have for our darling yanderes ^^

[babyflorencee]

You're stuck with me

Regulus Black x fem!Reader

"I just don't understand why you're so upset over this," I said, with a confused expression.

"Y/n, how can you be so stupid? That guy was hitting on you harder than a hammer to a nail, and he was so damn obvious about it!" Regulus yelled, roughly running his hand through his Brown locks.

This had been going on for around 2 hours. All the yelling, screaming, and insults that were being spat at each other, just to prove a point, that neither of us was able to get across.

Why was Regulus so mad, you might ask? Well, he's mad because some guy at a diner asked for my phone number, and was just overall hitting on me the whole night, even though he was well aware that I was with Reggie. However, if it wasn't for Regulus' trust issues and lack of self-control, maybe we wouldn't have left the guy limp on the floor with a bullet between his eyes. "What? Am I not good enough for you so you have to go out and seek attention from other people!" he yelled, face red with anger.

Regulus has always been insecure about our relationship. He thought I deserved better, so when he said that, my heart immediately broke. However, I was still mad at him.

"Trust me babe, you're more than enough! But that's not what the problem is!" I yelled back, getting more and more annoyed with him.

"Then please, enlighten me with what the problem is!" He yelled, throwing his arms in the air like a madman.

"You want to know what the problem is? You're way too clingy, and you're jealous ALL the damn time. Like I get, I'm yours and only yours! Reg, we are literally engaged. I'm not going anywhere, so why the fuck can't you get that through that thick head of yours?" I yelled back, not thinking about what I was saying. However, what I said hurt him, and he wasn't about to let that comment slide.

"Jealous? Well, excuse me for not being content with the idea of another man's hands all over that body of yours. You know, the body that's mine, and only mine to see and touch!" The whole fight was pointless; we both knew this, but neither of us wanted to back down.

Regulus and I have been in a relationship for a little over 3 years. We very clearly loved each other with all our hearts. We have only fought four times in our entire relationship, but this fight was different, but in the worst way possible. The intrusive thought of Reggie and me breaking up started to seem less crazy.

"Listen, I don't like sharing. I never have, and I absolutely refuse to share you. I don't want to fight about this anymore. It's silly. Can we just agree to disagree that the whole thing is that guy's fault?" He said, as he opened his arms out for me, with a hopeful expression.

I didn't respond. I just walked over towards him, engulfing him in a tight hug. Regulus immediately starts burying his head into my neck, holding onto me as if I was going to disappear any minute. Once we pulled away, he refused to look at me, instead; he looked at the floor. "Can we cuddle?" He asked, his voice so quiet I could barely make out what he said.

"Of course," I took his hand in mine, smiling up at him.

Once we got to mine and Regulus' bedroom, I was immediately pulled on the bed, being crushed by Regulus' weight. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, I knew something was on his mind. "Hey Reg, what's wrong?" I asked, already having an idea of what he was going to say.

He sighed, rolling off of me so that he was on his side of the bed. "I hate fighting with you," he said, his voice breaking.

I pulled him into a tight hug, wishing that the fight had never happened. "I was scared, for a minute there, that we were going to break up," he mumbled, into my shoulder.

"Never in a million years," I whispered into his ear, entangling my hand into his hair.

"You're stuck with me," I said, laughing a little.

We lay back down, grasping onto each other as if our lives depended on it. "I'm glad that's over," Reg said, placing a kiss on my cheek, yawning.

"Night love," I said, rubbing his lower back until I eventually fell asleep.

[lipstickchainsaw]

I'm about to start Act 3 in my rewatch of Arcane before the new season comes out, so this is as good a time as any to share my thoughts on how each of the characters in Arcane represent sociological forces.

This post is going to be long, so this post will be about Piltover:

Let's start with Marcus, who very much represents the 'Us vs. Them' mentality topside. A group of people who feel the enforcers didn't do enough to stamp out the criminal element during the uprising, and is left with a lot of resentment and insecurity about why that didn't happen.

But when they do try for that, they very quickly find out that the consequences are horrific, and now they have blood on their hands, and they're in power while their more experienced superiors have been removed from the equation, so they're floundering, facing pressure on every side, and reacting with more violence that doesn't resolve anything and just further increases the unrest.

(Until they get blown up by Jinx' long-repressed pain that they played a part in encouraging, but we'll get to that.)

Marcus doesn't really have a characteristic weapon, but if he did, it'd be a shovel, not just because this is the guy who found a hole and kept digging, but also because he discovered that this hole ended up being his grave, first metaphorically, and then literally.

Grayson, by contrast, represents the people who were there during that conflict, who fought in it and saw how monstrous things got. She's the boots on the ground, though, not the political class, so she didn't just see the results, she saw what it took to get there, and she's not eager to get there again. She's the part that maintains the divide, sure, but with a handshake right over the line. Willing to let things be and look the other way if it helps keep the peace.

But that peace is lopsided, and there is still a lot of unrest brewing under the surface, so when the peace breaks she's the first to go, caught entirely off guard by the ambition and anger still brewing in the Undercity.

Moving up that chain, we get Jayce, the well-off (but not ridiculously rich) upper class whose self-image insists that they are regular working class, and them 'making it' proves anyone can. The one who's grown up with surprising privilege he is not aware of, and who sees the world as remarkably simple, and the only reason problems still exist is because either the elite don't really care to solve them, or they're just not smart enough and Jayce's class would cut the knots that need cutting!

This insistence that things are actually pretty simple, that everything is just a nail to hammer down, is what allows him to be manipulated and taken for a ride by anyone actually savvy, but the power he ends up with still allows him to do a lot of damage (and makes people want to manipulate him).

But he's so stuck in his own head, and thinking he's fairly average and normal (and just smart and charismatic, instead of privileged), that he can't see other perspectives as reasonable.

But unlike the Marcuses of Piltover, the Jayce class started off genuinely meaning well. Their view of the uprising was a kind of beneficent condescension, as they were a step removed from the actual pain involved, so they likely went 'oh those poor people, driven to something like this by their poor lot in life (and not because we're actively exploiting them), clearly we should help them'.

And then when the help he's decided the Undercity needs doesn't work, because he never bothered asking them what they wanted or needed, he's confused and upset and, uh, kind of overreacts.

Going up one level more, you end up with Caitlyn. Caitlyn is the new upper class, who knows of the uprising only because of her mother's stories (and maybe because her mother was a bit more stressed for a couple of weeks when she was six), but otherwise the whole thing is too far removed from her personal experience it doesn't even register. She has seen just enough from the Graysons of the world to see that as a more honest way of living life than what her mother does, and so she decides to slum it, insisting she should be treated just as everyone else, unaware of how her class privilege affects any of those interactions as well.

Seeing it as a more honest living, as a goal to target with a single-minded focus, does lead her to approach the problem with a bit more understanding, allows her to actually see the Undercity and its many aspects, but even then, she's still coming from above, and her family is still responsible for much of that suffering, and when that check comes home, her appreciation for those nuances doesn't exactly survive.

Now, I said Jayces think the only reason things aren't better is because the Mels and Cassandras don't particularly care about solving those problems, and, uh.

They really don't.

The actual rulers of Piltover remember the uprising as this annoying item on the itinerary they had to deal with for a couple of weeks years ago, and they've passed responsibility to keep that from happening again off to the Graysons, so they can focus on the things they do care about: Getting richer and more influential within the council.

And while yes, Mel may be the more progressive rebel of her family, but in Piltover, what she wants is to not be the least of the Medarda's, and if that means turning Piltover into a scientific powerhouse, that's the way to do it!

The Undercity doesn't even register to her, and it doesn't for Cassandra either, as Caitlyn accuses her of, later (and I'm sure that's an argument that's happened in a ton of places).

Now, it's true that both of them eventually vote for peace, but that's because of their emotional connection to the Jayces and Caitlyns.

After all, the thing that makes Mel work is that she's been aimlessly building up political and economic capital, until she catches feelings for Jayce and starts to look at how to spend that capital, only its filtered through the lens of Jayce's own biases, because she doesn't have alternate lenses into the whole problem.

They've spent so long not giving a shit about anything other than their own status within the game the Establishment created for them, that when they finally do act, they are forced to do so without actually grasping it.

And that is, of course, the fault of the Establishment itself, the embodiment of Piltover as an entity: Heimerdinger.

Because Heimerdinger is an institution. Yes, he is the head of the council, but in a sense, he is the institution that underlies that council as well.

And like every other institution, he's slow to change. He completed his mission, achieved his goals, and has been enjoying the fruits of that labour for a good hundred years. He thinks he's done, and so he's stopped paying attention, at least in a structural sense, to the point where he isn't even playing the game the other council members are.

He's assured himself he is the board, and that everything is basically fine. The uprising was probably just a brief flash of something with little consequence to him. It was contained, so it's no motivation for institutional change.

And so he doesn't realise how bad things have gotten, how much the foundations of his grand city of progress have rotten and crumbled until Jayce (via Mel) kicks him out to form a new Establishment, and he finally has to think about what the fuck is actually happening.

It's in part a result of his long lifespan, and that sudden change is the one thing he's most afraid of, because what if the change goes bad?

The problem is, of course, that the change will happen regardless, and he's just neglecting to be part of it.

But hey, he does manage to be out of office when the result of his neglect actually blows up.

Good for him.

Speaking of his neglect, as we've gone up, we most also go down!

Viktor is, technically, the Undercity resident who's made it! He got out of the Undercity, and became the assistant of the Dean of the Academy, one of the highest aspirations possible!

But of course the Undercity hasn't left him. Literally in the sense of the degenerative illness, of course, but metaphorically in that, uh, nobody gave him the respect he deserved, unless he outright clawed for it.

Like, what the fuck is this guy doing as Heimerdinger's assistant? If this guy got the resources that Jayce got from Cassandra, imagine where he'd be?

But no, he has to work twice as hard to get half as far, and, unfortunately, he soon learns there's no point in asking other people for help, because they'll just tell him 'no', anyway. He'll still have to go at it himself, and he now realises he doesn't fit in the Undercity anymore either.

He has only himself, and like everyone in that position, uh, he quickly burns out. In this case, the tragedy is that he doesn't realise he does have someone next to him who he could reach out for help, and who won't go 'you're dying? That sucks buddy, but such is life!'

And instead of noticing that, in his burnout, he ruins that, too.

And as much as a lucky Viktor might partner with the Jayces of the world, he won't get the credit, and the Jayces of the world quickly get the kind of accolades that draw them away from the original work, and from helping Viktor with, you know, the whole dying thing, and the businessman beats the scientist regardless.

And we see this happen despite the good intentions of everyone involved, which is what makes this a sociological, institutional pattern.

Going the other way, however, is Singed, whose role as a disgraced scientist who clearly crossed a number of moral lines makes for an interesting commentary on both Heimerdinger's tenure, and Silco's proclivities, because he found a refuge in the Undercity, that was more willing to accept the many lines he crossed.

In part because they hardly have the luxury to turn him away. Silco's entire plan hinges on Singed's shimmer, so he gets to be a powerbroker there, too. Thriving as Silco lets him poison everything down there.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter One: Welcome to Belleview

Notes: ~11 years after the beginning of The Fighter, this is not a Luke/Leo story but is in-universe.

TW: Institutionalized slavery, nonsexual nudity, starvation mention, human euthanasia mention, degrading language, all the things.

✥ ✥ ✥

From the outside, it is a beautiful campus. Elegant in its simplicity, with three brick buildings forming a crescent at the mouth of a long, rose-bush lined drive that intersects wrought iron gates.

Today, police swarm it, more for the optics than anything else. They’re not here to enact change, or to start building moral credit, but they are here, and so he smiles, shakes hands, introduces himself.

He opens the double-paned glass door, which sits just in front of a set of reinforced steel bars, and he’s immediately met with the silence of a reception area from which all of its workforce has been escorted out. 

Almost all.

“Lincoln Prescott?” says a singular man, in his mid-twenties on his best day, peeking around the corner. He’s nervous, skittish even. Fidgeting palms run down his sweater and he smiles, but it’s not the smile of someone who’s happy, welcoming, comfortable, warm. 

Lincoln returns the gesture and nods. He doesn’t extend his hand. Instead, he turns over the key he’s just been handed, and he reads the man’s name-tag.

Jared Fisher, Handler. Level Two. 

Jared smiles sheepishly and takes off the name-badge. “I wasn’t sure if I should wear it. I guess… I guess it’s not really needed anymore.” He holds it out to Lincoln, who stares at it for several seconds, before he sets it on the counter behind him.

“Uh,” Jared says, cutting through the silence of the massive waiting area. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m sure, that you’re not– I get it, I mean. I know I’m the enemy here.” 

Lincoln narrows his eyes, shaking his head once. 

“They said if I– Uhh, they said they’ll take it into c– consideration, I guess. When the trials start. When… whatever is going to happen, happens.” He swallows, and Lincoln feels something that is related to sympathy, but not quite it. He lets that feeling fizzle quickly. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone," Jared says quietly. 

There’s silence again. Lincoln lets it settle over him, watching the ex-handler’s fidgeting intensify, before he says, “Oh. You’re waiting for me to speak.” 

Jared shrinks.

When the final nail in the coffin of support for the trade and consumption of government-sanctioned slavery had been hammered in, there wasn’t the type of frenzy that anyone expected. That morning, people, by and large, woke up, had their coffee, showered. They caught their trains to work, they read their news and they watched, closely, but there wasn’t an uproar. They stole glances at their phones and monitors for updates, for news, for what happens next. 

Truth be told, it had been heading this way for a while. Within the last ten years, individual states had begun passing legislation that, in hindsight, paved the path for widespread challenges to the system, led by a few congresspeople who finally woke the fuck up. Things turned violent early, with protests, rallies, boycotts, demonstrations… everything imaginable. 

Videos of workers being tortured, followed by videos of workers recounting their own stories, began making national headlines. Consumers of workers’ labor fought hard to sway public opinion back to the positive outcomes the system had brought the country, but with each passing week, with each new video of a worker strapped to a table being violated in unimaginable ways, it was a losing battle.

As local legislation was passed, certain states became a kind of safe-haven for runaways. And eventually, things started going federal. 

The most significant bill, the one that fully outlawed the use of worker labor and reinstated the ‘freedom’ of current workers, was going to be codified that morning. It wasn’t unexpected, at that point, but still, the infrastructure, the plan, was… well, it had holes, to say the least.

The workers who were deemed functional, by some arbitrary metric, would be relocated to massive government-owned housing units. They would share rooms by the half dozen, be fed, given medical attention, and slowly be reintegrated into society. No one knew exactly how that would work, but it had been successful in the states that had already outlawed worker labor (with some notable exceptions), so the plan, half-assed as it was, was set into motion.

Former safehouses were repurposed as halfway houses for those who were less “independent.”

Individual volunteers were gathered who would open their homes to those who were unable to care for themselves but didn't pose any significant safety or medical risk.

In the days leading up to the vote for reinstatement of worker rights, when it was clear how things were going to go, people did go into a frenzy. Hospitals scrambled to hire, doctor’s offices scrambled to modify policy, the call for volunteers to offer shelter, food, medical assistance, jobs… it was madness.

But that morning, the morning the final nail landed, it was quiet.

Jared leads Lincoln down a narrow hallway, spouting off information as he does. The linoleum tiled floor is clean, but peels around the edges. The walls are white, chipped along the corners and where the doorframes meet the drywall. The ceiling is white, but there’s a yellow cast. The fluorescent lights that line the halls give it a sort of eerie post-apocalyptic vibe, and it’s fitting.

The building, Belleview, is eerily quiet. There’s no obvious screaming coming from within, so it’s already better than he expected. 

Jared slaps his keycard against a box outside a set of double doors, and Lincoln takes a breath. The volunteers are gathering outside by now. His group of nurses, doctors, caretakers. They could be with him, but he wanted this run-through alone. To give him time to make sure the plan that he spent the last week finessing would work.

Jared stops at the first door, and pushes a button outside of it, bringing to life a screen. There’s a name on the top, and Lincoln glances through the information he’s shown. Jared presses another button, and the door unlocks audibly, the light above it turning from red to green.

Inside is a man, with nothing else. Brown hair, blue eyes. He doesn’t look at them. 

“This one can get aggressive.” Jared’s voice is matter of fact, as he points out the information on the tablet. “They come here to… you know, to be of whatever use they can be until they…” he whispers, and Lincoln offers him the briefest of glances. He regrets it immediately. “Expire.”

Lincoln turns his attention back to the screen, and so Jared continues. “We have 21, uh… residents, right now. I think that’s what we’re supposed to call them now. They were… well, you know. They were workers, but the rejects, I guess. They’re in… they’re in various states of um…”

Lincoln clears his throat tersely, throwing a warning glance to the ex-handler. 

“Well, okay. I’m sure you’ve been briefed, and if not, I’m sure you will be.” He begins walking again, letting the last door close without another glance, as he approaches the next. “We tried to take as good of care of them as we could. They’re fed and watered and we tried to... whenever we could, some of us tried to offer them some comfort.”

He stops at the door. “Obviously, they’re here for a reason, so they don’t tend to be super… uh, super cooperative or trainable or anything. They’re usually just… they’re here for a short time, and then–” He stops himself this time, without the warning glance.

“We call this guy Tank, but I think his real name is Tyler, if that means anything to you.” 

Lincoln nods. “Does it say here? Anywhere on here? What his name is?”

Jared fiddles with the screen for several seconds before it comes to a demographic page. It lists 20 inhabitants, and presumably, their room numbers. 

“Look at that,” Jared says then, interrupting Lincoln’s review. “Looks like I was right, it is Tyler. That was a guess.”

Lincoln takes a breath, because there’s no benefit to causing a scene here. If Jared was offered leniency, then he was a handler who, at least on the surface, wasn’t as bad as he could have been. 

“Anyway, this one used to be aggressive, too." The door opens and Jared gestures to the man who lays on his stomach, bandages across his back. "But now? Nothing going on in there.” He points to his own temples, and lets the door swing shut. He switches to the video feed, where Tyler stares into the camera.

Jared continues along to the next room, and Lincoln follows behind him, his thoughts racing.

Lincoln Prescott was already in his car on his way to the site he’d been assigned to oversee before they even finalized things in the White House. It’s a temporary solution to a very serious problem, they said. It would take ten to fifteen days to get those who were in no shape to get to a halfway house the medical attention they needed and find suitable placements for them. 

In the meantime, they were safest where they were. He was needed to help organize the volunteers and medical personnel, and to act as a sort of director of the temporary housing facility.

So he drove. He knew it would be bad, maybe the worst of the worst. He had been briefed. He was given a stack of files of the inhabitants that he would be overseeing. He looked it over that night, and every night since then. He spent the last six days memorizing every face, every backstory.

It was a site to house those that the government had deemed unable to be placed, for one reason or another. Too violent, too unpredictable, too difficult to be trained. From what Lincoln could gather, these workers served any and all purposes. Their primary reason for existence was, it seemed, to trial training techniques, to trial drugs, to motivate the workers who were difficult, to show that there were worse fates.

They ranged in ages from 19-26. None survived longer. 

“Doctor Prescott?” Jared asks, from somewhere far away. Lincoln looks up from the tablet, and Jared is already down the hall at the next door. Lincoln takes a breath, biding his time. They’ve gone through eighteen of the men, with Jared's special commentary on each of them. Twice, Jared had promised that he wasn't a bad person, and that the culture had been one thing, but now it was another, and he was ready to pivot.

Only once had Lincoln felt himself snap, and had to excuse himself before serious harm was done.

Some of the men were given the accommodation of a bed, some of them were given clothing, some had rotten food in their cells, some had broken bones, open wounds. Some slept fitfully, and some slept so completely still that Lincoln thought that they might not be alive at all. Jared had assured him, in those moments, that they probably were.

Jared opens the door to the twentieth room, with a small, “We call this one ‘Felix.’ I think you’ll like him,” as he does. The man, short blonde hair and dark brown eyes and at least forty pounds less than his frame should support, blinks himself awake. He sits in the corner of the tiny room and stares at Lincoln. He tries to smile, but the tremors that rock his body make it hard to buy. He doesn't wear any clothes, and has one of the DLS-issued shock collars affixed to his neck. His ribs shake when he breathes too deep, but again, he tries to smile, even as he backs further into the corner.

Jared is speaking to him, but Lincoln doesn’t clock exactly what’s being said. The man looks so afraid, but still, he lifts his fingers in a sort of wave, shaking as he does. Lincoln waves back, offering him a small smile in return.

“We’re not allowed to euthanize them,” Jared is saying. 

“What?” 

“When they hit the end, I mean. We have to give them enough food, give them enough water. If they choose to stop eating or drinking or… whatever, that’s on them. We can’t assist them. Once they’re too far gone, sometimes we’ll just stop trying to get them to eat, and let them go.”

He thought, by now, that he’d heard it all. His eyes widen. “Is that where we’re at with him?”

Jared shrugs. “He’s sick. The director said he’s gonna go any day now, but it’s better if we don’t directly cause that.”

Lincoln doesn’t attempt to keep the hatred out of his eyes.

“He knows,” Jared says. “They all do. Once we stop pulling them for testing, it’s only a matter of time. He wants you to pull him, though,” he continues. “He wants to know it’s not his time yet. He wants to show you he can still be of use. He doesn’t really speak anymore, but he tries to be sweet, so we will keep him in rotation.”

“Stop talking,” Lincoln says then, his fist in a tight ball but, remarkably, not around the man’s throat. Jared’s mouth snaps shut. 

“Show me the last one, and then you’re finished here.” 

As they retreat away from the man’s cell, the door closes behind them, and Lincoln watches the hope leave his eyes.

They make quick work of the last door, and the weasley man leads Lincoln back through the main wing, mumbling about how there were several wings they didn’t tour, but he at least got to see all the residents, and how if he has questions, he is more than happy to take a call, day or night, and how… 

✥ ✥ ✥

The volunteers stand in a haphazard group, each with a color coded name-badge to at least give Lincoln a starting point as to their role. He begins by directing the doctors and nurses to rooms, providing instructions on how to access the rooms, providing instructions on how to access the medical files, providing whatever information he can.

They’re working on finding placements for each of these boys, he tells them. But they all require intensive, specific treatment. As they find placements, they’ll be housed, and once they’ve placed the last boy, the volunteers will be reassigned.

As the last of the volunteers heads inside to get their own bearings, Lincoln takes a step back, regarding the innocuous building. 

“I guess that’s that,” Jared says from behind him, taking a step forward and extending his hand out once more. Lincoln looks down at it, shoving his hands into his pockets, as Jared mumbles,  “Welcome to Belleview.”

UNTITLED SYSTEM COLLAPSE STORY TAGLIST: @pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings

[thevibraniumveterans]

S2 of WHAT IF…

Ep1- “…Nebula joined the Nova Corps?”

Love the bleak opening sequence

Fascinating how Nebula narrates the context. Her “five years of isolation” hits hard.

Nova Prime siding with Ronan was a surprise

Ep2- “…Peter Quill Attacked Earth’s Mightiest Heroes?”

Cool intro; Peter leaning into his inherent powers is interesting…

The Winter Soldier being Gorbachev’s tool to contain Peter is surprising, but not unexpected…

“Does anyone have a plan?”/“I have a plan; retreat.” 😂

Thor announcing that Peter killed off all the Nine Realms except Earth; Peter needed containment to prevent him being too powerful.

Hope breaking Peter out is unexpected.

But Peter defeating his dad is a great ending.

Ep3- “…Happy Hogan Saved Christmas?”

Cool X’mas riff in the beginning music

Avengers Tower… looking festive.

Happy getting accidentally injected with Banner blood is unexpected.

Beethoven’s 9th riff playing when Darcy discovers a whole collection!

“Time for the Hammer to get nailed” 🤣

Overall, great X’mas episode.

Ep4- “…Iron Man Crashed into the Grandmaster?”

Cool that the Guardians of the Multiverse (from S1) are back!

Gamora’s origin story is a Tony Stark episode that looks to focus a bit on Valkyrie? Interesting…

Wonder what Gamora is doing there.

The little Chinchilla is adorable.

Tony with the nicknames (“Technicolor Dream Coat” is a Andrew Lloyd Webber musical reference) is hilarious

Also, Tony building a suit that reforms into a race car on command, and back, is AWESOME

Turns out, Tony inspired Gamora to be a hero.

Gamora melting Thanos, did not see that coming.

Ep5- “…Captain Carter Fought the Hydra Stomper?”

Cool Avengers team; with Carter and Janet instead of Steve and Banner.

It’s kind of what if 2012’s Battle of New York went differently. Then we pick up kind of CATWS but it’s Peggy and Nat.

Peggy’s spin-twist was really cool.

The whole reverse-CATWS but instead of Bucky gone bad and Steve finding out, it’s Steve gone bad and Peggy finding out.

Bucky as a Secretary of State? Did NOT see that coming. But makes sense that Bucky would be the one to try to bring Steve back. Truly a reverse CATWS.

The Stomper Suit keeping Steve alive, I wonder how.

Carter’s hilarious Star Wars reference to carbonite.

Also, the camera panning around Steve and Peggy, is a mirror of the Tony/Pepper one in Endgame.

Melina being part robot is also kind of creepy.

Captain Carter having a musical is hilarious too

Also, the emotional vibes kind of veering into CACW and “Black Widow” territory is quite fascinating.

Peggy disappears thru a portal, only to be greeted by Wanda.

Ep6- “…Kahhori Reshaped the World?”

Ragnarok comes early…

Also, this episode isn’t the first time we see the horrors of Spanish conquistadors invading on native land; we last saw that in Wakanda Forever a few years ago.

But when the Watcher narrates the context, it mirrors the Black Panther movie’s narrative about how the Vibranium came to Earth and ended with the peacemaking between various tribes.

Also great to note that this is the first MCU entry where nobody, except the Watcher (and Stephen Strange at the end) speaks English.

It’s really awesome that the Space Stone energy gives the people from the Sky World (who are formerly Mohawk natives from Earth) and Kahhori very, VERY interesting powers.

KAHHORI MOVED THE PORTAL TO THE LAND!! That is an insane amount of power and strength! That’s wonderful!

Kahhori and her people sinking the Spanish Armada is a sight to behold.

Ep7- “…Hela Found the Ten Rings?”

Hela suddenly being able to speak Putonghua was a surprise.

Odin says that the bearer of Hela’s crown be merciful, which explains why Hela is at first unable to lift it. Just like the first Thor movie.

I kind of wonder why Wenwu would invite Hela to wear a traditional dress; but more importantly, why does he have one ready?

MORRIS RETURNS!! Best fuzzy thing.

Hela visits Talo.

Folding paper. That’s basically Origami. IRL history has it that China has its own paper folding traditions long ago, just like Japan, but separately.

Hela being upset that Fenrir as a puppy was taken from her, is something interesting too.

Asgard, a realm of Norse legend, and Ta Lo, a fictitious Chinese fantasy realm, coming together to free the cosmos, is something I did not see coming.

Ep8- “…the Avengers Assembled in 1602?”

Tom Hiddleston as Loki narrating Hamlet? Not surprising.

Wanda summoned Carter from three episodes ago, and turns out Thor knew about this here.

But what are those portals? Wanda warns to stop them.

Wanda speaks of a lost traveler…

Tony says “Forerunner” but the caption says “person”.

Loki speaking of William Shakespeare writing about Iago in the play Othello.

Rogers Hood. Hilarious combo of Steve Rogers and Robin Hood.

Rogers and Carter double-teaming with the shield is really cool.

Where did the Destroyer come from?

Hogan throwing out all manner of old fashioned insults is hilarious 😆

Also, why is Hogan a hulk in this episode? He was one in the Christmas episode but this one?

Turns out the Forerunner is mainMCU!Steve?

The main effect is that Carter is alone again.

Strange Supreme makes an appearance. Which we leave on a “TBC” for next episode. The fact that he went to fetch Kahhori in Ep6 must mean something big is in the finale…

Ep9- “…Strange Supreme Intervened?”

Interesting; we get the full MCU theme for the title card. We never got the full theme in previous episodes.

Peggy speaks with Strange, who keeps dangerous beings inside their own little crystals.

If the Watcher is a metaphor for us, and Strange implying that the Watcher may not always be right, that means that we might not also always be right about certain things.

Peggy enters South Dakota… where Red Skull (HYDRA) exploded the Tesseract. But why would Kahhori be a danger to the Multiverse, considering Strange net with her last episode? Why is she considered a danger in this one?

Also, Kahhori now speaks English. Not odd, per se, but it helps. She says Strange is “a universe killer.” Which, in some way, he is.

Also, a dragon from Ta Lo, which kinda sells the point.

Hela being insulted that Kahhori sent the swords back is hilarious 😆

Peggy gets an Infinity Armor is pretty to cool. Also, Peggy and Kahhori vs Strange? That’s also really cool.

Peggy gets sent back to her home, but it’s an illusion, and she sees right through it.

Though, playing with the lives of so many people to face Strange, that’s a weird effect, perhaps meant to be “comedic” in a way, but comes off as cruel, which might have been the more intended effect.

Also, the characters falling to the portal just basically overpowering Peggy with their weapons? It’s very interesting because it’s not overpowering her for no reason, she NEEDS to be overpowered to stop an already over-powered Strange. She needs to be MORE than him to win.She gets Hela’s crown, a large sword, and multiple other weapons, while Kahhori uses her powers to lift Thor’s hammers and also uses the Ten Rings. Both Peggy and Kahhori MUST be overpowered to overpower Strange and stop him.

Strange becomes a huge devil monster and falls into the Forge.

Peggy goes to the Watcher.

S2E9 ending exactly as Loki S2E6 did, that’s interesting.

[amaroadriana]

:(

Awards After-party, post plot drop

Reference

She didn’t know exactly what to feel. Aviv had brought her to the room probably within seconds of the video hitting her screen. She recognised the man, or maybe she only thought she did. 

No matter how many times she had heard of cruel things, seeing them on screen was a whole lot different. The violence and horror unfolded before her eyes, each image etching itself into her mind with a chilling clarity. It wasn't just a story or a rumour anymore - it was stark reality, staring back at her with unflinching brutality.

Adriana couldn't tear her gaze away, transfixed by the grotesque spectacle playing out before her. The screams, the blood, the sheer senselessness of it all—it was like a nightmare come to life, searing itself into her consciousness with a merciless intensity.

In that moment, she felt a profound sense of disillusionment wash over her, the harsh truth of the world crashing down around her like a tidal wave. No amount of preparation could have braced her for this—the raw, unfiltered horror of humanity laid bare for all to see.

As the images flickered across the screen, Adriana couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of dread settle in the pit of her stomach. As if it was telling her this was all far from over. 

Thud. Thudthudthud. A pause. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Adriana recognized the rhythmic knocks - it was Henry; morse code for AH - Adriana Henry, something he taught her the moment he had become her bodyguard.

“Yeah, okay.” She wasn’t going to argue with him now, instead, she shot a quick text to Aviv to tell her where she would be found, before leaving the room with her best friend. 

As they moved through the corridors, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on her shoulders, each step as if a step closer towards reality, one she wanted to avoid. Then, amidst the silence, Yuliya's desperate cries shattered the calm, igniting a firestorm of panic within her.

It is only as she looked back towards the location of the voice when she saw him. Saw Aviv. 

Without hesitation, Adriana lunged forward, her instincts driving her towards the source of the commotion—towards Aviv. But Henry's firm grip held her back, his strength a barrier against her frantic attempts to break free. Panic surged through her veins, her cries of anguish echoing down the corridor as she fought against his restraint.

"Aviv!" Her voice cracked with emotion, a desperate plea torn from the depths of her soul. Tears streamed down her cheeks, each sob a testament to the agony that gripped her heart. In that moment, she felt utterly powerless, her worst fears looming large in the forefront of her mind.

Now, it was not the Russian in the video, it was Aviv, vulnerable and helpless, each scene more terrifying than the last. She imagined him in the hands of the French, him being broken by the brutality of his captors. It was her worst fear, her worst nightmare coming true right before her eyes. 

Adriana's desperation surged like a tidal wave, her instincts screaming at her to break free from Henry's grasp. She clawed at his hands, her nails digging into his skin with a fierce determination born of fear and anguish. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she fought against him, her muscles straining against his unyielding hold.

"Let me go!" she cried, her voice raw with emotion as she struggled against his grip. But Henry held fast, refusing to be shaken by her attempts to escape.

Adriana's heart hammered in her chest, her mind consumed by a single, overwhelming thought—Aviv. She had to get to him, had to ensure his safety at all costs. The mere thought of him in danger sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins, lending her strength she didn't know she had.

But no matter how hard she fought, Henry's hold remained unbreakable. His resolve matched her own, his determination unwavering in the face of her desperate pleas. And as she continued to struggle against him, her cries growing more frantic with each passing moment, she couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over her.

In that moment, she was powerless—trapped in Henry's embrace, her heart torn between the fierce desire to protect Aviv and the crushing reality of her own helplessness. And as tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat and blood that stained her skin, she knew that no matter how hard she fought, she couldn't do it alone.

“Aviv…” 

In the end, as her struggles proved helpless and Henry's grip remained steadfast, Adriana found herself crumbling beneath the weight of her own sorrow. Tears streamed down her cheeks in torrents, her cries of anguish echoing through the corridor as she watched helplessly while the man she loved was taken from her.

Every fibre of her being screamed out in agony as she watched Aviv. It was a nightmare come to life, her worst fears realised before her very eyes, and yet she was powerless to stop it.

She felt shattered into a million pieces, each fragment a sharp reminder of torment he was going to have to endure. The pain was unbearable, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush her spirit beneath its crushing embrace.

As she was pulled away, her vision blurred with tears and her body wracked with sobs, Adriana felt as though her world were collapsing around her. In that moment of overwhelming despair, she was consumed by a sense of helplessness unlike anything she had ever known.

All she could do was watch in horror as Aviv was taken from her, her cries echoing into the void as she was dragged further and further away from him. 

In that moment, she was broken—broken by the cruelty, broken by the brutality of the world, and broken by the unbearable pain of watching the man she loved being taken. And as she was dragged away, her heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces, leaving behind a complete emptiness.

[chemicant]

So Kid’s been on my mind. I’ve written some angst to cope.

Tw: death, injury, mentions of blood, angst, no comfort

Part 1 : Part 2

Kid was never messy. He was many things: loud, cocky, brash, rude, and arrogant, but he was never 'messy'. Even when he spent hours tinkering with metal, until his hands were stained with grease and oil, he was always careful to not get it onto his nice furs. Even after a hard-fought battle, when the decks and halls of the Victoria Punk were painted with blood, his workshop was the one place that was guaranteed to be in the same condition as he left it. Even when he tore into his food with the hunger of a hundred men, the lines of his painted lips would be as sharp and clear as if it were a fresh coat.

You wondered if that shining crimson was his natural lip colour.

Kid was a dazzling display of emotion. He was never the type to hide what he was feeling. When he was angry, he shouted; when he was happy, he laughed; when he was sad... you furrow your brows. You're not sure if you've ever seen him sad before. Even when he lost his arm, or when his best friend became a Pleasure, he was always more angry than sad. Anger was a familiar look on him, and as a result, his shouting was a familiar sound on this ship you called home. So familiar that you can hear it now. Though the ringing in your ears made it sound like it was coming from underwater, across a million miles of ocean. Sometimes, when he was really angry, his face would turn red like his hair. You chuckled to yourself at the lingering image, your captain was so beautiful.

You wondered what was brighter, his hair or his lips.

Kid was meticulous in all things. Especially when it came to the things he treasured. He took great pride in his work, the ship you sailed on was proof enough of that. The Victoria Punk was built and delicately maintained by his hands. He could probably name every nail hammered into her hull, keeping her together. You can feel her familiar hum vibrating through your bones from beneath right now. Kid cared a lot about his ship, his crew, and his dreams. So much so that he sometimes forgets to care for himself. Like when he lost his arm. That day, you vowed that if he kept being reckless with himself, that you would make sure to have his back in the same way you knew he had yours.

You wondered if he knew how much you cared about him. You wondered if he would appreciate it.

His face was in view now. His massive frame hunched over you, blocking out your view of the sky. You knew he would be angry with you, he was shouting again. But you found it hard to listen to what he was saying, so you settle for staring at the way his lips formed the next word. Instead of the comforting red flush of anger against his skin, you instead see that all colour was drained from it, leaving him whiter than the flag of surrender that flew from the enemy ship. A tinge of irritation swept through you. You felt like a mess right now, so how come his lipstick remained so intact.

Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek. His eyes widen at your movement and you see a glimmer of hope return to them. Your thumb moves down to swipe at his lips.

Ha. You knew it.

A trail of red paint, smeared from his bottom lip to his chin. Satisfied, you turn your hand around to see a patch of brilliant red stain the pad of your thumb. You feel content, you were able to take care of your reckless captain today. When the opportunity presented itself to protect his life for yours, you didn't even need to think. Now you could tell there was a hole where your stomach used to be, and your insides were splattered across your precious ship. Before your eyelids became too heavy, you watched as a lone tear traveled down his face and fell onto your forehead. Your captain truly was so beautiful.

How lucky you were to see all sides of him.

[heartsywritesthethings]

Day 1: Anticipation

y’all get a treat from GA!anon this October!Thanks for the submission love!

lol it's literally been forever since I've written a fic like this, but here we go. First pairing for Tickletober is Miguel and Lyla from Across the Spiderverse! 

~ ~ ~ 

"Did you find anything yet?" Miguel snapped at his virtual assistant. Sometimes, he really hated the fact that Lyla had her own personality. Things were so much easier when artificial intelligence was just something that helped along with missions instead of getting in the way of progress. 

"Someone didn't drink their spider coffee this morning," Lyla's voice answered through the speakers on his desk, but she was nowhere to be seen. Miguel clenched and unclenched his fists as he attempted to stay calm. It'd been days since the last canon disrupting event and Miguel was starting to get...well...antsy. He was always bad at sitting still, even before he'd decided the world of superheroes was his calling. 

"Did you find anything yet?" Miguel repeated with a fair amount of venom in his voice. 

Then Lyla appeared in her usual and preferred avatar, white puffy jacket, heart shaped glasses, and black boot heels. Why she felt the need to look this ridiculous as his avatar assistant, he'd never understood. Some of the other spider-men suggested that she had to overcompensate for his constant grumpiness, but Miguel ignored them. 

"Nothing. Still." Lyla replied, looking up at Miguel with the audacity to also look annoyed. 

"Keep looking," Miguel spat and turned his attention back to the multiple screens in front of him. Lyla stuck out her tongue at him and then fizzed away. 

Miguel tapped his foot. He drummed his fingers on the desk. He idly pulled out his fangs and then allowed them to shrink back to normal. 

The waiting was always the worst part. The anticipation. He knew something was about to go wrong, like a storm gathering in the sky, but he just couldn't figure out where. No one could. It was driving him insane. All universes seemed relatively peaceful. 

Well, as peaceful as a Spider-Man's New York could be. There were fights happening, sure, but nothing that would involve Miguel having to step in and interfere. He watched other spider-people jump into action in their canon, his body itching to join the fight. 

Wait, no his body was actually itching. It had felt just like his restless energy at first, but it had intensified, all over his body like little bugs crawling up and down his spine. Was his suit malfunctioning? It was digitized as well, but it never malfunctioned. 

"Lyla do you--?!" Miguel started when he felt the buzzing stopped suddenly. His body relaxed. Lyla popped into view on his shoulder, leaning back and filing her nails. 

"What now?" She sighed. Miguel fought the urge to swat at her like a fly. Despite her being artificial, she was still very intelligent. 

"There was--" 

"Something wrong with your suit?" Lyla finished for him. He swore he could see her smirk ever so slightly. "Nonsense. Your suit never malfunctions,"

She disappeared. 

Miguel frowned at the empty space she occupied before. That was...strange. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the screens in front of him. He'd look at his suit later, there were more important things at-- 

"¡Mierda!" Miguel stumbled back from the screens as the something in his suit drilled into his armpits. As quickly as the sensations had started, they ceased, leaving Miguel with his heart hammering hard in his chest and his mind reeling. 

"What was that?" Lyla's voice asked and this time Miguel caught onto the fake innocence in her tone. She appeared right in front of him, leaning forward and putting a hand up to her ear. "I didn't quite catch what you said there,"

"What did you do to my suit?" Miguel growled, lunging forward. Lyla easily disappeared the moment his claws would have gone through her. Not that it would have done much damage to him anyway. 

"Your suit?" Lyla asked from behind him curiously. The buzzing returned, this time as something lightly crawling along his spine up to his shoulder blades. 

"ACK!" Miguel cried out, reaching behind him to no avail. "Lyla! Quit it!¿Qué está pasando?" 

"Everything alright?" 

A familiar voice asked from below Miguel's desk. The vampiric leader of the spider-men carefully leaned over the edge to see Peter B. Parker standing awkwardly below him, this time without his baby in tow. The buzzing in his suit had stopped at least, but that didn't exactly help Miguel's mood. Whatever Lyla was doing, he didn't exactly appreciate it. 

"Yes," Miguel growled, "it's fine. Do you have something to report?" 

Peter looked uncomfortable, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his bright pink bathrobe. Miguel had honestly gotten sick of seeing it, but even he knew how stubborn his fellow spider-people could be and that was not a hill he was willing to die on. Besides, there was a spider-horse around here somewhere. 

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about Miles again," Peter started. Always the same with him. Miguel rolled his eyes, not bothering to bring the platform down. 

"I've given you my answer. It's still no," Miguel said. The buzzing started again, this time around the back of his knees. It felt like light feathers lightly drifting up and down the backs of his kneecaps. He almost buckled entirely as the tickly sensations raced up his nerves and threatened to take him under. 

"I just want to check on the kid," Peter continued, completely oblivious to the struggle that Miguel was going through right now, "It's been a while and I'm just...I know he wanted to be a part of something bigger, you know? He'd do really well here and you'd like him. Well, as much as you can like anyone. You're like the only Spider-man who isn't sociable. Or funny." 

Would this guy ever shut up? It was like this every damn time this Peter Parker walked into this side of the base. Wah wah wah, my baby. Miles. Canon. 

"I-hihi--" Miguel quickly clamped his mouth shut as a giggle threatened to escape his lips. It felt like a finger was dragging up and down his armpits, just teasing him. Miguel could feel his whole body shake with the effort of keeping the laughter at bay. Even when he clamped his arms down tight against his sides, it didn't matter. 

"Is this a bad time?" Peter asked. 

"He's listening," Lyla answered for him though her voice sounded far away, as if she was right in front of Peter and completely ignoring Miguel. "He's just being a little grumpy right now,"

"Come...back...later...¡Dios mío, deja de hacerme cosquillas!" Miguel managed through gritted teeth. Something fluttered around his midsection and he fought to stay upright. 

"Is everything alright?" Peter asked and suddenly the tickling stopped. Miguel took a deep breath and cleared his throat. This was absolutely ridiculous. 

"Yes. I'm fine. I've made my position on visiting Miles Morales clear." Miguel said and peered over the edge of the platform at Peter. The Spider-Man frowned at him, looking like he wanted to say more, but then Lyla appeared by his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Miguel bristled, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment though he knew that Peter couldn't see it through the mask. 

Suddenly Peter smiled and chuckled to himself as Lyla disappeared. 

"Well, obviously you're busy, so I'll talk to you later about it," He said, turning on his heel and heading towards the exit. Miguel reached for the platform controls. 

"What did she say to you?!" Miguel growled, "Lyla?! What are you up to?"

The platform lowered, but as it did, the tickling began again. All across his stomach, his sides, his underarms and even the bottoms of his feet. Miguel couldn't help it this time. He collapsed pitifully in a fit of snickers, giggles, and huffed Spanish curses. 

"¡No ahí! Noahahahaa!" Miguel laughed on the floor of the platform, feeling the tickling buzzing around his thighs now. It was completely overwhelming though Miguel wasn't even quite sure how Lyla even knew how ticklish he was. How did she manage to get into his suit like this?! 

"¡Maldita sea, mujer! ¡Deja de hacerme cosquillas! ¡Por favor!" Miguel begged in Spanish. It seemed that his ability to speak english completely went out the window once he'd been tickled silly. 

"Say you're sorry," Lyla sighed as she floated casually above him. She smiled at him innocently. "And I'll fix your suit."

"¿Por qué carajo debería disculparme?" Miguel snapped. Apparently she could translate that as the tickling feelings drilled into his armpits again and Miguel positively squealed. He kicked his feet as the buzzing somehow managed to slide in between his toes. He was losing his mind right now. 

"¡B-bien! ¡Lo lamento! ¡Por favor deje de! AHAHAHA NO!" Miguel cackled. Lyla yawned and then shrugged her shoulders. 

"Good enough for now I guess," She said and flicked her wrist. The intense tickling stopped and Miguel gasped for breath on the floor. 

Slowly, he pulled himself together and glared at his screens now as if they were the cause of his discomfort. He waited, pulling the platform back to where it needed to be. He waited for another canon disruption or for Lyla to mess with his suit again. 

His skin crawling...with anticipation as to what would come first. 

[synchodai]

Hello! I've read and love your hour of the wolf post and jacegan post. I noticed you have a more nuanced take on Cregan Stark (agree that he's a bi-icon). What do you think about the fans who see him as a dumb brute or uncultured? You've called him a himbo but also said he's not dumb, so I'm just wondering what your characterization on him. Thank you!!!

Wow, thank you for seeing me as an authority on this topic.

As someone who almost restarted the war and had the audacity to come late and start lecturing everybody else who actually fought, it is understandable why readers of Fire and Blood would hate Cregan Stark. He comes off as a warmongering brute who uses the threat of force to get his way — his way being wanting to kill others and his own men.

Why I personally think he is more than that is because he specifically DOESN'T get his way. What redeems and elevates Cregan's character for me is that he is the one who ends up submitting and being cowed in the end.

I call Cregan a himbo, but I don't actually think he's a dumb guy. He's dumb in the way Robert Baratheon, Daemon Targaryen, and so many other men in their society are dumb. The solutions to all their problems begins and ends with pummeling it into submission. If you've been trained all your life to use a hammer, everything is a nail. The North especially values shows of force and stoic machismo, so Cregan is doubly pressured to take up that mantle of hypermasculinity. He wants more war because it's something he knows how to handle. So when confronted with a problem that he can't beat up, like bringing order to King's Landing, he's suddenly at a lost. Keep in mind that he loses control over the city in the span of a few days.

That being said, I do think Cregan Stark exhibits more wisdom than the likes of Robert Baratheon in that he does take counsel and yield in the end. He appreciates sass, has a sense of humor, and respects the people who have the courage to say no to him. When those he convicted ask to take the black, he allows them to do so when he could have easily refused them if he was really so bloodthirsty, brutish, and vengeful. A truly stubborn man would have held onto power just to prove his point, but he didn't and it baffles our in-universe historians.

For me, the interpretations of Cregan being a hardass King of Winter who cleaned up the mess of the war miss what I like about him — that being that he stands down (which is a massive deal for Starks, see: why Torrhen Stark was so remarkable). I also don't agree with people who characterize him as an uncultured brute because that buys into the "barbaric" characterization of northern culture from southern in-universe historians who, of course, would other them. I don't think he's the political genius some claim, but he's definitely savvy enough to have secured his own seat from usurpation and know when he's out of his depth. I think whatever interpretation you may have on the guy, a lot of people just forget that Cregan Stark was young himself during the time of the Dance, and still had a lot to prove and learn as a ruler.

Also, I just think he's a hilarious character overall? Imagine you're in a war and you killed your enemy. Your teammate who's late to fight walks up with his full HP and then starts wanting to fight YOU instead because he called dibs on that kill you violated the rules if you squint. But he stops wanting to fight you once he gets a goth gf (who looks suspiciously like his totally platonic blood brother)? Hilarious. Peak comedy.

[roadtogracelandx45]

Unexpected|1| Webgott

This was originally supposed to be a one-shot but the more I started getting into the more I realized it needed to be a two-shot. This is the first time I am really writing Webster, so forgive me if anything is too wrong with him. I am still learning his character. (and reading his book.)

This is also going to be a part of Courage Under Fire.

Crossposted on wattpad, and ao3

3 months after Easy Company

 returns to the States

San Francisco, California 

Liebgott Residence 

David Webster didn't know how he ended up in San Francisco or how he ended up with Joe Liebgott's address but here he was standing on the porch that wrapped around the house. A porch that had a porch swing with pillows on it and planted flowers on either side of the door. 

 Olivia's touch, he assumed, the Joe, he knew would never do anything like this. Her family must have funded the house and their lifestyle. 

Joe was a barber who sometimes moonlighted as a cab driver and Olivia from what he understood from the clipped answers he got from Bill Guarnere was working with the VA.

  No way they could afford all this. 

 He swayed back and forth raising his fist to knock on the door causing a dog to bark and lights to flip on. 

Shit, they had a dog. Of course, they had a dog, they were on the path of having the whole goddamn American Dream. 

The war hero who fought in the European theater and his sweet-as-pie Southern Belle wife. And not to mention a baby. 

A baby that they found out about right after Olivia was attacked and Grant was shot. An almost final nail in the coffin of hope that Webster had built up since he returned from the hospital. 

The door swung up and the familiar click of the hammer of a gun being pulled down shook him out of his bitter thoughts. 

Standing on the other side of the door was a sleepy, shirtless Joe Liebgott with a handgun in his hand pointed right at him. His visibly pregnant wife appeared at the top of the stairs rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Joe? Who is it?"

"Webster! What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice was hard and cold like it had been when he first put his barracks bag in the back of the truck after returning from the hospital after missing 3 months of action.

David didn't answer him, instead, he just swayed on the spot, his eyes going from the man to the pregnant woman who had come down the steps, pulling a cotton robe closed over her nightgown, hiding the swollen belly from sight. Something he was thankful for, he hated that he got so jealous that Joe and Olivia were both getting the life that he wanted. He had come to a startling realization the night that Chuck Grant and Olivia both got hurt, that he wanted to be the one with Joe and the feelings he thought were mutual between them, and then the night after they spent together after VE day things changed.

Joe gravitate more towards Olivia again.

"Olivia." He hiccupped up.

"It's Mrs. Liebgott." She sniffed, her own bitter anger showing through, 'Let him in the house love, we don't want the neighbors talking.'

 Flicking the hammer of the gun back up Joe stepped aside and motioned for him to step into the house. 

Through the blurry vision,  he saw framed pictures in the hallway, the most recent one being taken in France after the war was officially over was of the couple at Izzy, Olivia's step-sister's quick wedding to John Egan, one of the bomber pilots from the infamous Bloody 100th. Even then, he could see the ghost of the dopey love-sick creatures they had been even with everything tearing them apart and spitting them back out.

"What're you doing here?" Joe repeated, his free hand winding around his wife's waist pulling her close to his side. 

"Fuck if I even know." He returned as he stumbled towards the armchair and flopped down onto it like he hadn't been a pretentious asshole throughout the three years they all served together. "Well for starters you can start by saying you are sorry for letting Olivia get into that Jeep with Grant." Joe's voice gradually got louder causing Webster to flinch, he had regretted letting Olivia, who had been sick and fighting a severe case of shell shock go outside and then climb into the jeep with Grant and the two replacements.

 Grant had been shot in the head and Olivia suffered an attack that almost cost her life and the life of their unborn child.

"Joe." Olivia soothed turning into him, her nose nudging against his jaw, her hand fisting into the band of his pajama bottoms, soft words being exchanged. The guilt that Webster had built up suddenly turned violent and the whiskey he had drunk started working its way back up his throat.

The love between the two was undeniable, he saw it that night when they were sent out to find the guy and Olivia and the way that Joe pulled her into his arms and how she clung to him and cried. Repeating her nightmarish attack. Joe and Bobby, Olivia's twin brother, had left her with a

 murderous Lewis Nixon and Dick Winters to go after Mac and Webster out of guilt and not wanting to see the damage that was done to her followed them and stood outside of the door watching Talbert and Luz play cards.

"I am sorry." He finally said, raising his blue eyes to look at them. "I shouldn't have let her go out with Chuck, I should have stopped her from going outside." "You are god damn right you should have." Joe bit out. "Why did you let me go if you knew that women were being targeted by the replacements and by the Krauts?" Olivia questioned at the same time.

"Because."

"That's not a good enough answer David." She snapped, "You do realize that I could have died! My baby could have died! Joe's baby could have died. Come up with an answer, or get the fuck out of my house.' 

"Because I was jealous." He raised his glassy eyes to look at the couple, he could tell that Joe was going to back his wife up and decided to just come out with it, “I was jealous because I am in love with you, Joe and you chose the social norm and her over me.” 

Surprised Joe led his wife to the couch to sit down, he was thankful that Olivia insisted on getting up when Webster knocked instead of staying in bed like the doctors wanted her to.

Too much excitement wasn't good, Joe blamed the attack and the fact that their mother had been running around in active shellings and patrols to save the men and he tried to enforce it but it was hard.

 She couldn't even take it easy after she got hurt, they had to sedate her to make her rest. He hated to do it but it was the only way that she was going to rest and in turn the nightmares were horrible. 

She woke up in cold sweats or screaming.

If she hadn't insisted on coming downstairs to see what was going on he would have laid David out. The anger outweighed that fleeting crush he had. 

The more time Joe had spent around Webster, the more he understood why Olivia spent so much time with Lewis or even Dick. It was a different kind of relationship than what they had and sometimes they craved it. 

"You are what?" She questioned with a surprised laugh, her hand gripping his hand in hers, honestly, she wasn't surprised by it. She had spent a better part of two years in close quarters with Nixon and Winters and saw how they were with each other and understood, "You know what," Olivia started as she squeezed her husband's hand and started to stand up, "You two need to talk and I don't need to be present.' Joe tightened his grip on her hand to make her stay seated next to him.

"Babe, you need to work this out, I will be upstairs with Peaches." Peaches was their beagle, a pup from her grandfather's dog Addee. "You know that it's going to take forever for me to go back to sleep."

David felt even more guilty, he should have thought this through all the way. But when it came to Joe Liebgott, he never seemed to think properly.

[magnetarbeam]

Voices of the Force: Brainstorm Notes 1

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea of bringing the Empire of the Hand back out of obscurity as an antagonist for the Galactic Alliance.

Their status since a little before NJO is an almost total mystery, but we know they still exist in some capacity because of that scene in I think Apocalypse where a fleet from them shows up to help Jag against Daala for some reason.

Because we've heard so little about them for so long, it seems to me that there's no reason not to flesh them out as kind of a dark mirror to the Alliance.

The ideological basis of the EotH is the same as that of the GA: A more centralized government providing a more efficient military to put against a superior force. One of the differences is that the Hand used it as a justification for colonialism and stuff before the Vong actually showed up in any meaningful force.

The reveal here would be that the reason we didn't hear much from them in NJO is that they were busy defending their own territories from the Vong. I'm not sure if the Vong should have actually had any particular advantage, but in any case events prompted the Hand to centralize their command structure more, and at least all their military forces are now under a single command.

Actually, I think the entire government structure becomes more centralized in a more Imperial structure, and the thing that makes it different from Palpatine and whatnot is that there actually are still threats around that... hmmm. Unlike the Galactic Empire in the Palpatine era, there are still plenty of threats around in the so-called-Unknown Regions that would be doing some fucked-up shit to people if the Hand didn't provide the strength to stop them. On the other hand, I think I could establish that many of those threats may have listened to reason to get them to stop, and instead the EotH just wiped them out.

And I don't expect anything they fought after the Vong would actually be strong enough that a completely centralized command structure is needed to fight it.

Metaphorically speaking, to a hammer, everything looks like a nail. That's also summarily part of why things eventually escalate into war with the Galactic Alliance.

I'm not even sure why the EotH would help Jag fight Daala, at least in a canonical context. Maybe the Hand, or at least that fleet, is led by one of Jag's immediate relatives, who thinks that he's redeemed his family name and stuff between Alema and his actions as Head of State of the Imperial Remnant, and that the family owes him or, like, some kind of something to that effect.

In this AU, Abeloth's tendrils stretched just as far in that direction, and it stands to reason that the powers in what people mostly still call the Unknown Regions out of habit would want to know what the hell that was. The GA has at least astrographical maps of most of it at this point, but the HoloNet and other facilities for distributing information like the story of the takeover aren't in place in those areas.

The fact that Force-sensitivity can occur in almost any sapient life form, mostly at random, means that organized institutions for management of it would spring up just as naturally as other forms of societal command structures and stuff.

I know in Disney canon the Chiss have their navigators or whatever, but they don't have any kind of Force group in Legends, as far as I'm aware. My best guess is that it was seen as a threat to their social order and was therefore suppressed.

An idea I've had since before I even conceived Voices of the Force is that Thrawn saw Vader and Palpatine and the Empire's various other darksiders doing stuff like choke people from across the room and shoot lightning out of their fingers and realized the Force, whatever it is, could possibly be very helpful for his own ends. So he scraped up a surviving Jedi or two and brought together representatives from all the local Force traditions of the maybe early-interstellar-stage species that he unified under the Hand's leadership, and created an official Force group for the Empire of the Hand, which is aware of a shitload of powers developed by those local traditions in their former isolation, many of which were meant to deal with specific environmental conditions (like the storms on Dorin), and all of which are unknown to the Jedi and the other Force groups on the other side of the hyperspace barrier.

I'm starting to think that the plot of Ahsoka and Jaina and Ben, accompanied by Jag and Zekk, continuing to retrace Jacen's sojourn doesn't start until a little bit later. They want to do this, but they have no more leads. There's a line in Omen about Ben having known all the places Jacen went, but if that was the case - actually, hang on.

Even if Ben knows all of the places Jacen went, he doesn't necessarily know the order he went in, which is also important for an attempt to retrace the path he took, and that would be why they always have to ask if the various beings know where Jacen went next. So they know the names and maybe locations of all the places Jacen went, and they don't know what order he went in.

The Ascendancy now has to deal with the Force existing.

I've started to worry about Abeloth getting into people's heads on that kind of scale because you could definitely argue that it means all other stories, even those meant to have nothing to do with it, have to deal with it on at least some scale. In FotJ, Abeloth's control is portrayed as a pretty subtle thing, and not the kind of experience that would necessarily traumatize everyone that experienced it. I think if, like.

I had to think about this because of Mercy Kill, the only novel that's set after FotJ in canon. That book is sacred to me and I absolutely do not want to fuck with it here. If all of those people had Abeloth in their heads, compelling them to vote for the senator she possessed, I at least would be able to read that book without questioning why it didn't come up.

The Empire of the Hand's Force tradition - the Clasping Hand, because those people are not subtle in their names - is established as a place Jacen went, and that Ahsoka, Jaina, Ben, etc eventually show up to in the effort to retrace his path. The Hand has records of Jacen's interactions with their central administration, and what specific powers he was most interested in learning.

Of particular interest to me in terms of Caedus' weird powers is the ability to literally take away and then just as quickly give back someone's Force-sensitivity, an ability that Vergere also knew. I have no idea where that came from, and if I establish that it came from some obscure planet in the Unknown Regions that was later absorbed into the Hand, it also could go a long way toward patching up the continuity, or rather the lack thereof, about Vergere. The idea would be that she was a Jedi from the Old Republic, and everything she said about her involvement with the Vong's discovery of Zonama Sekot is true, but at some point in the next twenty years or so she was able to see this specific weird planet and learn their Force powers, and the stuff she learned there caused or contributed to her Falling and then secretly becoming a Sith, and the Vong didn't know or care at all.

Because taking away a person's Force-sensitivity does strike me as a very Dark thing to do. Jacen would have been willing to learn it because he thought there was no dark side, and for obvious reasons that ability and any others he learned on that specific planet can't have immediately caused him to fall, but it might have immediately caused Vergere to fall.

I have to wonder what role that power would have played in its society of origin. Can you give Force-sensitivity to someone who didn't have it at birth? Is it, like, something you're supposed to prove yourself worthy of through accomplishing things in life?

My current conception is that the Jedi don't have any idea where to continue retracing Jacen's sojourn for maybe a year after the story starts, and in that time Jaina and Ahsoka and our other heroes are mostly doing regular Jedi shit. Probably unraveling some evil plot by a major corporation of the Alliance that has holdings outside of its space so they can get away with illegal shit, and that corporation makes an attempt to influence the GA government to stop the Jedi from exposing their schemes, but that attempt fails because I really do want to portray a largely competent Galactic Alliance.

As far as I can tell, FotJ wasn't even trying very hard to push the idea that the government was corrupt at large. Just that Daala was an ass. I don't believe for a second that these groups would be directly represented in the Galactic Senate like their PT-era counterparts, and I think in the fallout from the collapse of the Treaty of Vontor, at least the corporations that were suspect in slavery would face some pretty severe repercussions from Wynn's government.

Also, Wynn and Gavin are the only people outside the Jedi and the people that live with Jedi who know of the fact that Jedi Shadows are being placed into undercover positions in the Alliance primarily to thwart any further attempts at infiltration by the Sith, but the Shadows are also instructed to help root out regular corruption wherever possible. For Alliance political figures, I think letting yourself get bribed is... not treasonable, exactly, but punishable on the same level.

I think the Alliance would dedicate as much of their fleet as possible to actually conquering what's left of the Hutts and bringing their territory and former slaves into the Alliance, as a response to the stuff about the Treaty of Vontor. This is probably where the new Rogue Squadron roster with Syal and Vestara and whatnot gets their first action together. It wouldn't take much of their strength.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT 56

✨GT Stands For Gradient Temperature✨

So after two episodes of them fucking around, Goku and Nuova Shenron are finally ready to fight at full power.  The recap at the start of Episode 56 actually just covers Episode 54, ignoring the Vegeta stuff from 55 entirely.  That makes sense, given how little 55 had to do with anything.  It also makes me wonder if Episode 55 was a result of some production snafu, where they couldn’t get this episode ready in time, so they decided to cobble together five minutes of Bulma and Vegeta talking with clips to cover the rest of the runtime. 

So the narrator promises us a super-serious fight, and it seems to start off that way, but I feel like I say that a lot with GT.  Goku and Nuova seem evenly matched, with Nuova having an edge on speed, while Goku has the advantage in power. 

This is presented as a problem for Goku, as he can’t use the Kamehameha to beat Nuova, because Nuova will just dodge it.  So he flees back underground, this time hiding in some basement or something.  Then he fakes out Nuova with a mirror.  Nuova sees Goku charging up, and while he attacks the reflection, the real Goku sneaks up on him from behind.

But he doesn’t actually attack, even though Nuova tells him to get it over with.  Okay, so are the Shadow Dragons unable to sense ki?  That seems consistent with what we’ve seen so far, but I have a hard time believing it, since they’re supposed to be the ultimate villains.  Seems to me that if you can stand up to a Super Saiyan 4, you probably ought to have that kind of ability. 

Anyway, Goku says he owes Nuova, because in Episode 54 he had Pan at his mercy, but he let her go and fought Goku honorably.  Nuova explains that he doesn’t kill women or children.  Wait, what?  The Shadow Dragons are here to destroy the Earth!  Does he think all the women and children will be sent to a magic farm to live on?

So Nuova and Goku agree to restart their match, now that they’re even, but before they can get very far, another Shadow Dragon shows up and zaps Goku’s arm with an ice beam.  This is Eis, the Three-Star Dragon we briefly saw in Episode 54.  While Nuova was screwing around with Goku in that hotel, Eis took out Giru and captured the Dragon Balls Pan had been holding onto.  Nuova tells him to stay out of this, but Eis insists on taking over.  While Goku is distracted with Pan, Eis attacks.

Eis works over Goku pretty well, but even though Goku’s arms are trapped in ice, he can still fight back with his legs.  So Eis freezes those over as well. 

Then he encases Goku completely in ice, but instead of finishing Goku off, he tells Nuova to do it instead. They argue about the ethics of fighting, but Eis is the “older brother” and his whole “cheat to win” philosophy seems more in line with the whole “destroy the world” agenda.  So Nuova appears to go along with his request...

And as he charges up his shot, we get a flashback to the beginning of this episode.  For fuck’s sake, we just saw this part!  I get that they want to show us how conflicted Nuova is over this, but the flashback is way, way too long.  All they needed was the part where Goku spares Nuova and shows respect for Nuova’s code of honor. 

So to the surprise of no one (except Eis, apparently) Nuova shoots Goku with his heat ray, but instead of killing Goku it just frees him from the ice.  Goku then decides that he should take out Eis first, and that way he and Nuova can get back to their battle.  He boldly declares that he can finish Eis off in ten seconds, then adjusts his esimtate to five. 

Eis responds by... freezing over the entire city they’ve been fighting in?  I’m not sure how this is supposed to help him.  Well, when all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail. 

Wait, if he froze over the whole city, does that mean Pan’s covered in ice now?  Well no, it doesn’t, but I’m not sure why.

✨"Good" "Ideas", Poorly Executed✨

The big idea here is that Nuova and Eis are “brothers”.  This is the first time we’ve seen two Shadow Dragons in the same fight, and while they’re nominally on the same team, it’s clear that they have completely different ideals.  Let’s examine that more closely, shall we?

First, Eis.  There’s not a whole lot to say here, because he plays dirty and he’ll do whatever it takes to win.  That isn’t very interesting because that’s exactly like the first four Shadow Dragons, who preferred guile, misdirection, and sneaky tricks over honest clobbering.  Every dirty trick he pulls is something we’ve already seen from Rage or Naturon.  There’s nothing new to Eis other than the whole cold gimmick, and by now I’m guessing everyone who’s ever made it this far into the arc was expecting there to be a freeze-y guy on their team. 

Nuova’s the only fresh concept here, because he’s the one Shadow Dragon with some semblance of a conscience.  He wants to fight fair and win with his own strength and skill.  He refuses to fight defenseless opponents, and he refuses to kill women and children.  Well, good for him, but that makes no sense whatsoever.  Nuova’s sole reason for existing is to destroy the world.  He talks like he’s some sort of journeyman warrior, wandering from place to place in search of new opponents to test his skills, but no. This battle with Goku is the first time he’s fought anyone!  It’s ridiculous listening to this guy preach about his honor when he’s got a 0-0 record.  Remember, the city they’ve been fighting in was deserted, presumably because he made it so hot there that everyone had to leave.  Where’s the honor in that?

So they don’t really work as separate characters.  If Eis had faced Goku alone, it would be gone down just like every other Shadow Dragon fight.  And if Nuova had been allowed to fight Goku alone like he wanted... well, sooner or later Goku would have had to kill him.  I mean, there’s no alternative here.  This isn’t a guy who can just be allowed to live.  He represents a corruption in the Dragon Balls, and he’s a threat to the entire world. 

So the only genuine value the two characters offer lies in their disagreement over their methods.  Each one is disgusted by the  way the other fights.  You’d think Eis would just wait his turn, though.  If he’s so confident in his tactics, then he should just let Nuova win or lose on his own merit and then challenge Goku.  Likewise, if Nuova was as noble as he claims to be, then why did he fuck around so long in Episode 54? 

The answer seems to be tied up in this so-called “brotherhood” between them.  Goku is astonished to learn that any of the Shadow Dragons can be related this way, but aren’t all seven of them brothers?  Well, we never saw any of them interact with each other before, so maybe they all would have bickered with Nuova.  But Eis and Nuova are presented as being much closer to each other than the rest.  Why?  Because they look alike?  Because they have fire and ice powers?

Why is Eis the elder brother of the pair?  This is done for dramatic purposes, in order to explain why Nuova defers to him.  I guess what I should be asking is: “How is Eis the elder brother?” Is it because he’s the three-star Dragon, and four comes after three?  Is it because the wish that created Eis was made before the wish that created Nuova? 

Well, that doesn’t work, because we never find out what wish created Eis.  Nuova was created from the wish King Piccolo made to restore his youth.  That was the third-ever wish in the series, and the two before it were already claimed by the other Dragons.  Haze was born from the wish to resurrect Bora, and Oceanus came from the wish Oolong made for panties. 

The wish that created Eis is kind of an interesting topic, because for some reason the Dragon Ball Wiki claims it was established in the show (the wish to resurrect King Piccolo’s victims), while the GT Perfect Files later said it was a different wish (the wish to make everyone forget about Majin Buu).  But... no, I just watched Episodes 56 and 57, which are Eis’s only appearances in the anime, and he never tells anyone about the wish that created him.  I checked the dub too, and nothing. 

So at least now I know why the GT Perfect Files had to explain what wish created Eis, because it never made it into the show itself, so a sourcebook had to provide that information.  What I don’t understand is why the DB Wiki just stone cold fabricated their own version of events.  I mean, the resurrection of King Piccolo’s victims is a sensible choice for Eis, since it’s so close to the wish that created Nuova, and it ties them together as brothers, but that wish still came later, so it flies in the face of Eis being the older of the two.  And just because something makes sense doesn’t make it true. 

And I know I’m nitpicking about all this, but my point here is that the brotherly relationship is the only hook to these two characters, and Toei put zero thought into it.  These two didn’t grow up together in Dragon City, they were winked into existence back in Episode 48.  They’re only a few days old, at most.  But without this hokey family dynamic, there’d be no meat to the story.  Eis would just be another asshole in a group of assholes, and Nuova would be a colossal hypocrite. 

Now that I think about it, it would be more interesting to have seen Nuova get his fight with Goku, and they could truly go at it with no interruptions, and then we’d see Nuova’s so-called honor fall apart at the seams.  Can he really accept defeat without cheating, or is he just playing a longer, twisted game, like Oceanus?

As it is, I think there’s kind of an interesting dynamic here, where Nuova and Eis basically depend on each other to cover their own shortcomings.  Nuova talks about being upright, but when push comes to shove he needs Eis around to do the nasty stuff, like taking Pan’s Dragon Balls.  And for all of Eis’ ruthlessness, he’s still too much of a chickenshit to actually strike the killing blow on Goku.  He’d much rather see Nuova do it instead.  It suggests a lack of confidence from both of them.  Maybe this is why all the other Shadow Dragons split up the way they did.  If they all stayed together, they’d never get anything done.

✨Positivity Page✨

This episode is pretty light on action, but I will give it some credit for making the hits feel impactful.  GT sometimes gets this right, but it’s pretty sporadic, so I like to point it out when I can. 

✨Is This Episode Worse than "The Roaming Lake"?✨

The big problem here is that Goku is faced with TWO Shadow Dragons, and you’d think that would mean non-stop fighting, but instead most of the episode is taken up by Nuova and Eis arguing with each other.  Instead of double-teaming Goku, they each take a turn and debate over which way is best. 

And that isn’t the worst way to tell a story, but the problem is that Goku has to stand around like a goof and watch this play out.  Eis zaps him with that ice beam several times, and he just sort of stands there and lets himself get hit.  He could fly or teleport, or use a ki blast to break free, but instead he just jobs out, which gives Eis and Nuova time to bicker over which one of them should finish him off, or whether or not it’s fair to interfere in each other’s fighting.  It might have been kind of funny if Goku just grabbed Pan and left in search of the next Dragon.  “Hey, come find me when you two get your act together,” Goku could say. 

Also it’s just really, really stupid how Goku’s trapped in ice and can’t get out.  Death Battle probably didn’t even consider this when they made that Goku vs. Superman video of theirs.  Superman uses his breath on Goku to freeze him and the fight’s over.  

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Son Goku on ice.

Captain America did

it first, and better.