#wouldn’t that be so daring so revolutionary of me

[spaceaqueerious]

what if i finish that art of valdemar I’ve had sitting in wips since 2021

[scribere-flores]

Sabo x Reader

~Just as a hypothetical question~

Part 4. Other Parts

Word count: 4,5k words

Short summary: Reader spends her morning getting whiplash. Sabo is a touched starved mess.

A healthy amount of fluff and spiraling dirty thoughts in this part. Things get a little heated at one point, but nothing graphic yet. (Love building up the tension)

MDNI 18+

___

This must be the most wonderful dream.

Y/N was laying with her head against a chest, a strong arm gently wrapped around her back. She didn’t dare to open her eyes, afraid the wonderful dream would end if she did it. A comforting warmth embraced her whole being, as she carefully traced small loops on the soft skin.

She couldn’t find the right words to describe what the wonderful dream made her feel. Secure, or maybe cared for? Whatever the name of the feeling was, it made her whole body tingle, filled to the brim with warmth.

For some reason, Y/N imagined that her head was resting on the handsome revolutionary. The man that had comforted her last night when she slipped up. Had that really happened, or had that also been part of her wonderful dream? Whatever happened, the weird punch-drink was surely to blame for her mistake.

Her hand moved upward, her fingers tracing a path from the neck to a strong jawline. Was this what it would feel like to touch him, even if it wasn’t a dream? Her thumb touched something soft, lips maybe? She could feel how the mouth parted, a hot puff of air grazing over the upper part of her hand.

Suddenly she could feel something bite down on her thumb. Which was strange, since if this was a dream, she shouldn’t be able to feel any pain. Y/N reluctantly began to open her eyes.

And to her surprise, she saw Sabo with a smug grin across his lips. Biting down on her thumb.

Oh Dear God… this is not a dream. Abort, abort abort!!

“Please, don’t stop on my account.” Sabo said, making a wave of embarrassment wash over her.

Y/N jumped back, moving away from the handsome devil. Dear God, had she really just done that? She could feel her heartbeat quickly picking up pace, a hot feeling spreading through her body.

She looked around in an attempt to get some grasp on her current situation. She was in Sabo’s room, now sitting on the end of his bed. Far away from him, but not far enough. Dear God, don’t tell her he was completely naked under that blanket.

At least Y/N saw that she was wearing a large oversized button-down shirt and no pants. The shirt smelled like him and felt soft against her skin. She was wearing underwear, which was good. And the shirt looked kinda cute too… AND THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO THINK ABOUT STUFF LIKE THAT!

Had she changed clothes herself last night, or had he undressed her? Dear God, had he seen her naked?! She couldn’t for the life of her remember what had happened after they had left that lake. Why was she in his bedroom? Had they done something during the night?

Y/N felt like she was starting to get dizzy from all the questions in her head, and from the fact that she had shamelessly let her hands travel all over him just moments ago. Her slow descent into madness was interrupted by Sabo’s laugh filling the room.

“You really are too fucking cute when you’re flustered” Sabo wiped a tear from his eye.

“I- How?- What…” Y/N tried to ask him what had happened, but all she managed to say was incoherent words put together in a jumbled mess. She took a deep breath and tried again. “My clothes?”

“Oh, you probably don’t remember anything after you fell asleep last night, right?” Sabo asked, and Y/N nodded in response.

“First off, I did not change your clothes. You did that on your own, even though you were half asleep when you did it. And I had my back turned the entire time. So, don’t worry. I wouldn’t do something like that unless you wanted me to.” He explained as he gave her a kind smile.

Y/N let out a sigh in relief. That was good to know. At least now she didn’t have to worry about the possibility that she had also stripped down in front of him. This situation was already bad enough.

The feeling of shame slowly faded away when she heard another small laugh escape Sabo’s lips. You gotta be kidding? She was practically dying from embarrassment, and he was amused?

“Why am I in your room?” Y/N asked, seeing a satisfied smirk spread over Sabo’s face right after.

“Well, you were clinging onto me like your life depended on it and refused to sleep in your own bed. Something about my bed having a nicer scent?” Y/N could feel the blush spread over her cheeks. “To be completely honest, I was kinda surprised when you blatantly asked me to sleep together. Didn’t mind it though, you were acting fucking adorable. Practically begging me to hold you and-”

“CAN YOU PLEASE STOP!” She exclaimed, hiding her face in her hands.

She could hear a small chuckle escape Sabo’s mouth. A blanket was draped over the lower half of his body, bare torso on full display. He somehow seemed to be totally relaxed with this situation, sitting with his legs stretched out and hands behind his head.

Like he wasn’t bothered, flustered or even embarrassed about the fact that Y/N practically had her thumb in his mouth less than five minutes ago.

“Sorry, I may have overexaggerated a little, but you’re too fun to tease. So please, don’t be mad at me.” Sabo said, giving her that kind, dangerous smile. “Truth is, you were pretty upset last night. And it was kinda my fault for pushing you too far, so I didn’t want you to be alone if it got worse during the night. I know what it’s like, or at least I understand why you were sad.”

Y/N felt her heart flutter.

This was not fair. How was she supposed to keep her distance from him, when he kept saying and doing stuff like that.

Sabo was a revolutionary, a man that was supposed to despise the Noble class and anyone from it. She was 90% sure he had figured out her background already, and that he had known the moment they met.

So why did he not call her bluff out? Why did he treat her with such kindness at times? Why did he want to comfort her when she was sad? None of it made any sense.

And all of it made her confused. Her emotions felt like a jumbled mess, and he kept stirring them around with every teasing remark and caring word. Y/N didn’t know what to expect from him any longer.

But somewhere, buried deep inside her, she hoped that his words were true. That he didn’t just do this to play with her for his own amusement. That the stupid feelings she had started to develop wasn’t going to make her feel like a fool later on.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intention to make you upset, so please don’t cry.” Sabo said as he gave her a worried look, suddenly moving closer so he was sitting face to face with her.

“Cry?” Y/N asked, as she brought her hand up to touch her cheek. It felt wet. “Oh… I didn’t notice. Sorry, don’t let it bother you. I’m fine.”

“Stop saying stuff like that.” Sabo sighed, before grabbing hold of her hands and giving her a serious look. “It’s normal to be sad at times, you don’t have to hide it. I don’t mind and I won’t ever be bothered by it either. It’s my fault you’re upset, and I apologize for making you feel this way. So please, stop saying you’re fine, when you’re not.”

Oh no, he completely misunderstood her tears…

Y/N felt her heart picking up in pace. She looked at her hands engulfed by Sabo’s, his hands felt warm. The same comforting warmth she had felt in her wonderful not-a-dream this morning.

She didn’t want him to think he’d done anything wrong, when he hadn’t. He had only wanted to comfort her when she was sad last night.

And Y/N felt grateful for that. It wasn’t anything she had experienced before. Sabo was the first that had ever wanted to do something like that for her.

“But, I am fine… I think I’m just happy you wanted to do that for me.” She admitted, rather sheepishly.

A relieved smile spread over Sabo’s lips, as he let go of her hands and fell back on the bed.

“Thank fucking God! I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I made a cute girl cry twice. Well, at least if she cried for the wrong reason.” He chuckled, fully back to his normal, unserious self within seconds.

“The wrong reason? You make it sound like there’s a right reason to cry.” Y/N asked, moving closer so she could see Sabo’s face.

“Oh, there’s definitely a right reason… Curious?” He asked with a wide grin.

“Well, maybe a little? I can’t think of anything that would make me-”

Y/N pondering was cut off by a hand pulling her arm. And a moment later, she laid on her back, pinned under Sabo and confused beyond belief.

She could feel a warm flush spread through her, as she saw the bare, toned body over her. At least he had underwear on, which was good. She would probably have passed out if he had been completely naked.

Sabo wasted no time pinning her arms over her head with one hand, as he gently placed his other hand on her waist, giving her no chance to escape. The concerned eyes she had seen just moments ago were now filled with a mischievous look.

Whiplash. That was the only word to describe this feeling.

“Tell me your name, and I promise I’ll have you crying for the right reason within an hour.” Sabo whispered into her ear, hot breath tickling her neck.

This position, this situation, everything about this! It was far too intimate and out of nowhere. Y/N wasn’t dumb, she knew what Sabo meant by that.

It wasn’t like she disliked it, in fact she even felt a little excited. His thumb made small circles on her stomach through the fabric of her shirt. His touch felt warm and comforting, yet at the same time, expectant and demanding.

But everything was happening way too fast. How could he be so comfortable doing this when they hadn’t even kissed? Unless…

She took a deep breath, sparking a curious look in Sabo’s eyes, as she mustered up the courage to ask the embarrassing question that desperately needed an answer.

“Last night, did we, you know… I mean, I would have liked it if it was with you- I just want to know before-” The words rambled out of her mouth, a bright red blush spread over her face.

It looked like Sabo froze for a second, before he leaned back so he was sitting on his knees over her hips. He moved the hand holding her wrist, placing it over his mouth.

“She’s even admitting to wanting it now…” He said under his breath, barely loud enough for X to hear it.

“S-Sabo?” She stuttered.

She could see a soft pink tint on Sabo’s cheeks as his eyes roamed over her body. A small gasp escaped her lips when the grip on her waist tightened.

“God, you look fucking lovely when you say my name…” He sighed as his hands started to travel over her body. Not touching anywhere inappropriate, but close enough. The now familiar knot in her stomach was back, the knot she got anytime he touched her.

“Do you know how hard it was to hold back when you kept touching me like that this morning? You looked so goddamn cute, it took everything in me to not rip that shirt off you and kiss every inch of your body. I wanted to touch you so fucking bad, see you twitching under me. Hear you moan my name over and over until that was the only sound your pretty mouth could make.” His voice sounded like honey, somehow making the dirty words sound gentle.

“And now you’re telling me you want to? Do you even know how frustrated that makes me, when all I want to do is bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you oblivious.” Sabo’s lewd explanation was beginning to make her head spin.

Y/N hadn’t noticed when it happened, but Sabo was now leaning over her, one knee pressed in between her thighs. One of his hand was traveling up and down her leg, bending it and squeezing her bare skin. Every greedy touch against her body, left a hot feeling in its wake.

An involuntary moan escaped her mouth as she felt a palm against her throat.

“But noo, I can’t do that. Because I don’t even know what your goddamn name is. And just the thought of not knowing is driving me fucking insane and-”

Sabo stopped, looking like he just caught up with what he had been saying and doing for the past few minutes.

Y/N’s body felt hot and tingly, and it felt like the knot in her stomach was about to snap. Heavy breaths escaped her parted mouth as she looked up on the handsome man towering over. One of his hands still pressed against her throat, the other placed under her thigh.

Did he really want to do all that to her? She didn’t even know what half the things he said meant. Twitching? Oblivious? What did he even mean with those words?

Sabo still looked a little lost in thought, but seemed to snap out of it when she moved his hand away from her throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Just give me a moment.” He said with a closed eyed smile, before he got off the bed and walked to the bathroom.

Y/N sat up on the bed, utterly confused as she heard the tap on the bathroom sink turn on. A moment later, a muffled scream came from behind the door. It sounded like someone screaming under water.

Then there was silence for a minute before Sabo walked back into the bedroom, giving her the same closed-eyed smile, but now with water dripping from his hair.

Whiplash, again.

“S-Sabo?” Y/N stuttered, not sure how to react. “W-why are you wet?”

“Don’t worry about it. I just needed to cool down a bit.” Sabo said with a kind smile, as he pulled a pair of trousers over his legs.

“You were- And then- But now- I’m so confused…” She sighed, rubbing the area between her eyes as she tried wrapping her head around what just happened.

“I know, and I apologize for my behavior.” He answered in a calm voice as he put on a blue, button up shirt, before sitting down on the bed. “You’re just so fucking cute sometimes, it’s a little hard to hold back. But don’t worry, nothing happened last night. And nothing will happen, at least until I know who you are. After that… Well, I can’t make any promises. I would never do something unless you want to, that goes without saying. But I like you way too much to not at least try.”

Sabo’s blatant confession made her heart skip a beat.

How could he say those things in such a calm manner? Did he really like her? And was it the same type of ‘like’ as she was starting to feel for him?

What was she even supposed to say after hearing that? It felt like he was being honest with her right now, so maybe it would only be fair if she was honest too.

“It’s okay, I mean, about what you did earlier. I- I kind of liked it and-” Y/N’s flustered mess of words was interrupted by a hand over her mouth. She looked at Sabo and saw his eye twitch.

“Please, stop talking. You’re literally torturing me right now.” He said with a strained smile and waited for Y/N to nod in response before moving his hand away.

“Look, I really, really, want to know who you are. But I don’t want to push you about it and make you upset again. So you can tell me on your own, if you want. Which you won’t, because you’re stubborn. But don’t worry, I have other ways of finding that information.” Sabo said, giving her a reassuring look.

It felt good hearing him say that. Y/N still didn’t want anyone to find out who she was, or were before running away. She was ready to leave that life behind her and start over.

But she could tell Sabo wouldn’t give up either, even if he stopped pestering her about it. Maybe she could make him drop it if she pressured him a little.

“Why are you so obsessed with finding out who I am to begin with?” She asked, thinking this was a good place to start.

“You mean beside the fact that I want to know your name before I turn you into a cute, moaning mess?” He answered, grinning as something flickered in his eyes.

Whiplash…

Y/N nodded with a forced smile.

“Well besides that, it’s kinda my job as the Chief of Staff to know stuff.” Sabo said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Chief of Staff? For this base? Isn’t that a lot of responsibility? And in that case, shouldn’t it be Koala’s job?” She asked, hearing a small chuckle from Sabo right after.

“No, not just this base. For the entire Revolutionary Army, and yes it’s a lot of responsibility. Koala is my partner, she can really be a godsend at times. The other’s say she keeps me in check, and they're kinda right… But don’t get me wrong, I’m good at what I do.” He explained.

“What do you mean ‘the entire Revolutionary Army’?” Y/N said, even more confused than before.

“Hmm, how can I explain this?” Sabo pondered for a moment, before he went and got a notepad from the desk, drawing something on a plank page. “It’s a big organization, so I’ll try keeping it simple. These five people are the Army commanders, they are responsible for overseeing the Army in one different area of the world each. They also have partners like I have Koala.”

He pointed to five blobs on the page that she guessed were supposed to resemble people.

Sabo was bad at drawing. That was kinda cute.

“I don’t really like using the word ‘above’ when talking about myself, but for this explanation I think it’s the easiest word to describe it. So, above the Army commanders is me. And above me is Dragon. Even you must know who he is, right?” He pointed with a pen, moving it up on the paper as he went along.

“Yes, I know who he is… But I’m still not following.” Y/N sighed.

“Dragon holds the highest authority in the Army. The one with highest authority after Dragon…” Sabo stated, then a bright smile spread over his face as he pointed to himself. “Me!”

“Y-you?” She stuttered, feeling a shiver run down her back.

“Yes, I’m the Second in Command within the Revolutionary Army. Pretty impressive, right?” He had a proud look in his eyes. “Oh, you can’t tell anyone though. My identity is kind of a secret to outsiders.”

Danger.

Alarm bells started ringing in Y/N’s head. The handsome, blond man that smiled at her so brightly was not just a regular revolutionary. He wasn’t someone who followed orders and just happened to treat her with kindness.

He posed a real threat to her. Sabo was the Second in Command over the organization that took pleasure in torturing Nobles. There was no way someone with such a high position would let her be, if he found out who she was.

A cold sweat made her shirt cling to her back. Sabo was giving her a confused look.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re not sick, right?” He said as he put his hand against her forehead, making X flinch.

This man was dangerous. He was probably manipulating her into a false sense of security, playing on her emotions. And after he was satisfied, he would most definitely drag her to the guillotine.

Not a thing Sabo had said was true. The Revolutionary Army hated Nobles, despised them in fact. That was the undeniable truth, even if it made Y/N’s heart break.

She had been such a fool, believing that he was different from what she had been told about the Revolutionaries. Believing that he really liked her, that he cared for her.

She needed to get away from this base, from him. She just needed a little time to plan her escape, and until then, she had to avoid him at all cost.

Y/N stood up from the bed and turned towards the door, hair hanging over her face. She knew escaping was the logical thing to do if she wanted to leave with her life intact. She knew that was the only way.

So, why did it have to hurt so much?

“I’m gonna go now.” Y/N said, quickly running out the door.

She didn’t want to give Sabo the chance of stopping her. If he did that, she might not be able to stop the tears that desperately wanted to fall from her eyes.

None of this was fair.

___

“Hey, wait… And she’s already gone.” Sabo sighed as he fell back on his bed.

What the fuck happened?

One moment they were having a normal conversation, and in the next one Jane Doe was running out of the room. He thought back on their conversation, trying to figure out what he could have done to make her do that.

Was it because he had said he liked her? He couldn’t think of anything else that would make her run away. She was embarrassed and probably felt a bit shy, there was no other explanation.

“She’s so fucking cute.” He whispered to himself as the memories from the night started to come back in his mind.

Sabo liked the mystery girl. He liked the sound of her voice. He liked how easily flustered she would get. He liked the feeling of her cuddling against his chest. He liked how stubborn she was. He liked the warm feeling he got in his chest when he was around her.

And he fucking loved her smile. Anytime she smiled it felt like the world surrounding him became ten times brighter.

So yeah, Sabo definitely liked her. There was no use denying that anymore.

Not after he spent the entire night planning how to keep her with him for as long as possible. He wouldn’t describe himself as a scheming person, but it was always good to have a plan. And a backup in case the first plan didn’t work out.

He felt a desperate need to have her near him, to keep her safe. Sabo knew how dangerous the world could be, and he didn’t want anything to happen to her. She had already been through enough, growing up around people who treated her like that.

Bringing him to the other thoughts that had occupied his mind during the night. How was he going to make sure those disgusting bugs never came looking for her again? Sabo had thought about it a lot, and still wasn’t sure what the best way to go about it was.

A revolution was a delicate thing. And a provocation (like crushing some noble’s skull, for example) at the wrong time, could cause their enemies to seek revenge. That would most likely put a lot of civilians in the crossfire, and Sabo wasn’t willing to let innocent people get hurt for his personal gain.

The problem would solve itself after the revolution was over anyway. When they won, the noble class system in this country would be abolished, the ruling class would most likely be put on trial and sentenced to at least some years in prison. Or maybe they would be exiled from this Island. Whatever happened was up to the people to decide. And the outcome would serve as a means to protect the lovely angel he had held during the night from being found.

All Sabo needed to know was her name, and everything would be fine.

Maybe it was better if he just patiently waited until the girl told him. She would tell him at some point, if they kept getting to know each other.

He didn’t want to keep anything hidden from her, he would tell her anything she wanted to know. It didn’t matter if it was a question about his job, or why he pinned her to the bed with a desperate need to touch her.

If she wanted to know why he did that, and the reason was because he liked her so much he was slowly going insane, he would tell her. It was just dumb to hide it, when she had such a cute reaction when hearing it, running away to hide her adorable, flustered face.

He was sure that was the reason she left in a hurry.

Sabo just needed to be a little bit patient.

Only problem was that it was becoming increasingly hard to hold back around her. When in reality, all he wanted to do was mark every inch of her body, leaving proof of how much he craved to have her near.

Earlier, when Sabo pinned her under him, he had really planned to only tease the poor girl a little. But then that cute blush spread over her face and those sweet words left her mouth.

‘I mean, I would have liked it if it was with you-’

He nearly lost his fucking mind when she said that. Before he even knew what he was doing, lewd, airy moans kept slipping past her lips as his hands roamed over her body. She looked fucking angelic in that moment, and it took everything within him to stop himself.

And then, that angel told him that she had liked it. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating for a second.

But he held back. Sabo had promised himself he wouldn’t sleep with her until he knew her name.

And how he desperately craved to know that name…

“Fuck… Maybe waiting will be too hard.” He sighed, as he touched the place on his lips her thumb had pressed against this morning.

It wasn't a delusion, that girl liked him too.

And it wouldn’t be fair to keep her waiting too long, right?

___

[koolades-world]

Obey me! height headcanons

This isn’t revolutionary but I couldn’t stop thinking about this, especially asmo’s. For reference, I’m 5’2 and almost all of my shoes have platforms or are raised in some way because I like pretending I am taller than I actually am 💋 although in this case I think I’m winning for once (please tall people let me know what it’s like, the tallest person in my family is my dad at 5’5)

While I half wanted to make them unnaturally tall but I kept them within human possibility since these were their humans forms

1. Beel

100% the tallest, a beefcake of a man. Perfect for a boost up high, like during hanging up decorations or cleaning. When it’s the twins birthday, it’s a struggle to hang up the decorations. Nobody is as reliable as him. I imagine he’s about 6’3 or 6’4. The best for using scary dog privileges, going anywhere with him guarantees elite treatment. It would be so easy for me to get piggy back rides cause he wouldn’t want to leave me behind

2. Lucifer

He can’t be that far behind. I imagine him at like 6’2. Part of the reason people are scared or HoL is because of his height. Me personally, I’m scared by anyone I have to look right up at and he definitely falls in this category. Lucifer would make me shit my pants. At least Beel isn’t consult scowling and yelling. Would definitely use his height to my advantage, like making him clear a path for my through a crowd or to tell the fast food worker I wanted no pickles on my burger.

3. Levi

I definitely picture him as a taller dude, but nobody can every guess because he has terrible posture and is always staring down. Like, tall Levi is doing something for me. Lanky little gamer guy that no one knew was actually like 5’10 because 95% of the time he’s at home and the other 5% is when he’s playing a game.

4. Belphie

Another one I picture as lanky, but is constantly asleep so people don’t realize. He’s always curled up somewhere. Another sloucher 100%. He still insists on being carried around by Mammon even though he’s taller. Probably 5’9 or 5’10

5. Satan

I feel like he’s the Mr. Average in the height department. He’s the only brother who’s a demon, so it makes sense to me that he’s the most normal. Not that being super tall or short is bad, but he would fit in the most (which is saying a lot). I think he’s about 5’8. Demons are probably tall since it’s harder to intimidate a human if they’re taller than you. Nobody dares to comment on this, though. If they’re not Mc, you’re probably going to die which lucky us!! we are mc

6. Mammon

Short king! Not the shortest but I feel like him being not super tall adds to his appeal as a tsundere. He’s just short and (pretending to be) angry. I think he’s 5’6 or 5’7. He gets made fun of his height by his brothers even though Asmo is shorter. I like to think he also likes shoes that make him taller, it seems very him. he’s just cute ok <33

7. Asmo

He’s not that short but he just happens to be the shortest in their family. I imagine him about 5’6 which is funny to me to think this twink is taller than my father. I’m foaming at the mouth thinking about sharing a wardrobe with him, and if you happen to been a similar height to him, then it’s like you just won the lottery. I’m dying to have a mini fashion show with him 😭 it’s kinda funny to me to think that Asmo, who I personally think is the shortest, is stronger than Beel, who’s universally agreed to be the tallest. Height isn’t everything is what I learned from this

[functionalasfuck]

Me: BBC Merlin is my favorite show of all time. Longest standing fandom I have ever been in. I am borderline obsessed. These are my emotional support characters

Also me:

“Arthur is just Ken”

“it genuinely angers me that the only people Merlin has killed are sorcerers or sorcerer accomplices driven to ‘evil’ by systemic oppression and genocide but has never really killed any of the people in power perpetrating such a genocide”

AKAB “All Knights Are Bad” sure y’all get to not oppress the poor but you’re also upholding a genocide so FUCK that

Arthur, I love you, but you could have been replaced with literally any of the knights and the prophecy would probably have come sooner. The only reason you’re the once and future king is because you are next in line for the throne so you becoming king wouldn’t cause a war and you have the “super rare” attribute of being convinced maybe genocide and starving people is bad. But only with a decade of convincing

Merlin why aren’t you using your powers to create a Camelot Underground Railroad, my dude

Kilgharagh, I know you are just a plot device the writers used to allow for there to be more seasons than necessary, but I would wear your skin for my boots if I could.

Merlin the revolutionary WHEN???? How DARE you take that from me. How DARE you make Merlin be passive to a genocide and just play bodyguard for 5 seasons and then kill off his fucking charge before any TRUE systemic change could happen. I will NEVER get over this

[madame-midnight]

Take me home - Wolftar, Dystopian AU - 1015 words - Angst

Decades and decades ahead of this time, the world is not the same anymore; the streets have more garbage than pedestrians, more automobiles than parking lots and are brighter at night rather than during daytime.

The only things that are still the same are the people; there are still the riches and the declassed, there are still the revolutions and the injustices and there are still the anger and the love.

Remus Lupin was one of those revolutionaries, the ones who made freedom their motto and repeated it so many times that the movement’s veterans didn’t really know what it meant. They went out into the night alleys making uproar, breaking showcases and singing anarchy anthems, as if calling the darkness to follow them in their journey against the system — something that nobody dared to try explain or understand, or even find out the controlling source which dictated the rules the soldiers fulfilled and inflicted with so much pride.

Therefore, it was quite surprising when Remus, so faithful to the revolutionary principles, showed up at all plasma screens tuned in channel 3, up in the mezzanine of an event led by the country's fortunate elite, right next to the most famous singer of the New World which, by any chance, is The Governor's son.

He was the quiet one amongst the big shots, anyway, and it wouldn’t be impossible, despite outrageous, for him to be a traitor, mainly after not showing up so often in the meetings and having a light-headed behavior in those last times, keeping himself silent in the decision-making and don’t even noticing when the reunions came to an end, keeping up sat in the empty room, gazing the air with dilated pupils and a heavy heart. The suspicion ended, though, when the team started getting inside information from an unknown anonymous under the acronym R.L., while Remus disappeared completely from the rebels' day-to-day life.

He didn’t disappear, though, from the media camera sights, being even more present in the most miscellaneous events, camouflaging himself in the crowd of wealthy and faking formidably their content and fulsome expressions, always with Sirius, the pearl of the acclaimed Orion Black — The Governor Of The New World  —, an admired and obedient son.

– You’re feigning again – Sirius said through clenched teeth, while smiling at someone in the crowd, lifting his glass lightly as a greeting.

Remus flexed his shoulder uncomfortably:

– It’s not like you’re that much truthful all the time, dear – he swallows a little gulp from the glass in his hand, disliking the drink a bit but without any mood to search for another.

– You know this is not what I’m talking about, – the prince turn to the golden (and not so bright like once) eyes of his lover – you’re feigning when you’re with me the same way you feign when you’re with them – he points to the gathering around them tilting his head discreetly.

Remus dodges his gaze, sipping the fancy drink again, as if the disgusting taste would distract him from the chat, as if drinking from the bitter goblet was a fair punishment for not being enough for what the situation required, maybe. Sirius’ voice resonates again, like a sweet lullaby, soft and smooth, like it have always sounded to the ears of the rebel:

– I miss you.

– You wouldn’t miss so much if you were at home more than once a month. – rebates quickly, his words snapping in Sirius’ mind painfully – You wouldn’t miss me so much if you didn’t make me miss you, if you didn’t leave me alone in that white and numb place you dare to call home.

– I don’t have another choice, Remus, I need to do this so I won’t rely on my father anymore, so he will choose my brother rather than me to be the next Governor. Success makes me further from the authority position and you know that.

The bitter taste of the drink now was mixing up with the bitterness of annoyance, going down like bile in the back of Lupin's throat.

– And when I say that I miss you I’m talking about the Remus I met that night, the one that never took me seriously and was always ready to talk nonsense with a grin in his face and eyes brighter than the moon.

Sirius held the boy gently by the jaw, directing the gaze to himself. The place burned with a mixture between rebuff and desire.

– You show me off everywhere you go, but I still feel like your dirty little secret. Just ‘cause your conscience is clean from the need of hiding me, it doesn’t mean I don’t feel hidden. – Remus stares at the silver and sad eyes of his lover, taking the hand off his face – You brought me into your misery and expected I wouldn’t become miserable too.

An unpleasant silence made its presence between them, just before a slow song started playing in the huge tapering loudspeakers high at the top of the hall, inviting the couples to the dance floor. Sirius takes Remus hand in his own, pulling him lightly to the middle of the crowd, smiling a grin that didn’t meet his eyes.

– Come on, let’s dance, you’ll feel better.

The rebel could untangle himself, get out of there with heavy steps, leave his pair standing in the middle of the party. He could if he really wanted to.

But even with the fake smile and the eyes full of sorrow contrasting with the outstanding red garment and the dark curls framing his angular face, Sirius was still a set of singularities very pleasing to the eyes, was still the same man that made a libertarian try to fit-in an authoritarian system, even though this very same man never once asked him to. He was still too much for Remus to resist.

So he gave in, the same way he’s been doing since the night the New World’s pearl, too drunk to be coherent, whispered in his ear after a kiss shared in the back of a noisy bar:

– Take me home.

[elles-home]

i headcanon sanji feels like he’s marked by death, but in a very specific way that even he feels like is stupid and so he wouldn’t dare ever voice the thought

and so he continues on living his life until the straw hats eventually meet up with the revolutionaries and sabo, sweet sweet sabo, in an effort to show off how much control he now has over the mera mera fruit, lights sanji’s cigarette on fire

cue the most extreme internal breakdown because two other people have done that for him before, and both of them ended up dying within the year

and so sanji is like haha sabo. what are your plans for the year? oh. extremely dangerous liberation mission. mind if i join you?

(luffy is ENRAGED. SABO! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY COOK! WHY DOES HE WANNA LEAVE ME!!

sabo, trying his hardest to calm luffy down while also needing to shoot down sanji softly because the guy looks kinda insane at the thought of being denied: haha luffy. wdym. i said hi to him that’s all. and complimented his cooking, by the way he really is the best cook isn’t he? as befitting of the future king of pirates indeed!! the pirate king deserves no less!!)

anyway luffy clocks on something is indeed bothering sanji so they accompany sabo on one (1) mission (that really didn’t need stealth work anyway) and sanji sees just how innovative and effective sabo is in battle. he’s a bit soothed but not really because you wouldn’t call ace weak either. but nonetheless he relents and continues on with luffy, doing his job as the cook to the future pirate king.

(and if he is obsessive about keeping tabs on the revolutionaries for the next year, well nobody says a damn thing. and when sanji goes and throws himself at sabo the next time they meet nobody says a thing either. (that’s a lie. luffy fights him on principle. how DARE SABO TRY TO STEAL HIS COOK?!! “i didn’t luffy, i swear!!!” “LIAR!!”))

[tornadoyoungiron]

TRAINTOBER | DAY 19 - Revolutionary

Gordon discovers that he has a cousin who is electric.

~~~

“Don’t be preposterous!” Gordon sniffed as he gazed at the large black A4 Pacific before him. 

Said A4 Pacific just chuckled in response. 

“You have my word of being named after Sir Nigel Gresley himself,” the engine declared but Gordon just humphed in response. 

“You’re in league with my brother, playing tricks on me as usual,” Gordon scoffed. 

Sir Nigel frowned and gave Gordon a hard stare of disproval. Had he been an engine that actively worked on the mainland and knew well of the structure of their leadership system, Gordon would have faltered but Gordon was not of the UK’s mainland. 

“You can try and intimidate me all you like, but I will not fall for one of my brother’s hair-brained schemes!” Gordon scoffed at him and Sir Nigel just stared at him dumbfounded.

“You really have no idea what happened on the LNER do you?” The A4 Pacific considered, shocked.

“I was on the other side of the country on an independent Island, why would I?” Gordon blustered and Sir Nigel seemed to relax and accepted the A1 Pacific’s reasoning. 

“I suppose you have a point,” he accepted. “But you have my word that I am not engaging in the foolishness that your brother does.”

Gordon frowned but said nothing. 

Sir Nigel Gresley had designed an electric engine? How utterly ridiculous! He’d never heard of such rubbish! Still, he didn’t know this A4 all that well and the only other two he knew were complete, well, one could have less than appealing words to say about either of them. Especially Bittern.

Sir Nigel seemed pleasant and had been nothing but proper and gentlemanly, much like a true express engine should act. And so, Gordon considered his options.

“Prove it,” he dared the A4 and Sir Nigel just gave him a humble smile. 

“But of course. But for that we’d have to make our way back to the National Railway Museum,” Sir Nigel informed him. “Would you care to double-head with me, my good fellow?”

Gordon was taken aback by the courtesy. 

“Why, of course!”

~~~

“The Class 76’s held a strange place on the LNER I must say,” Sir Nigel explained as they neared York. “Most of us weren’t sure what to make of them. They were Gresley’s yes, but they weren’t Steam Engines and so they wavered on the line of being ridiculed and respected.”

“I didn’t think Sir Gresley wanted to dabble with anything other than Steam!” Gordon huffed. “The man I knew wouldn’t have anyway!”

“Times change and people must adapt to them,” Sir Nigel refuted. “Sir Gresley was always experimenting, always wanting to improve upon what came before. It was inevitable really that he would turn to more officiant ways of transport.”

“But to abandon steam!” Gordon croaked out horrified. 

“Oh no!” Sir Nigel quickly assured Gordon. “He always thought of Steam as a viable competitor. But it was him who pushed for the electrification of the LNER. It was he who pushed for a national plant where engines could be proofed instead of going to France. He was a revolutionary man in more ways than one, but he never, not once forgot his roots.”

Gordon was silent for a long while. 

It made sense, all of it did. Sir Gresley was the type to look for constant improvement, constantly trying new ideas, not being afraid of suggestions and considering alternatives. Maybe Sir Nigel wasn’t trying to trick him. Maybe he spoke the truth. 

“There were 58 of the Class 76’s made,” Sir Nigel explained. “Thirteen of them were named and named for Greek Gods.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t birds,” Gordon snorted and Sir Nigel just gave a soft hum at that.

“Only one remains as an exhibit, although parts of others also remain,” Sir Nigel ignored Gordon’s comment. “Would you like to meet them?”

More and more Gordon began to believe the A4 as they drew into the museum.

“Wait, I recognise this place, isn’t this-”

“This used to be the York Locomotive Depot,” Sir Nigel explained with a smile. “A familiar home to many a LNER engine.”

“I didn’t know it got turned into the museum let along the National Museum,” Gordon breathed as he gazed around at the place. “It’s… so different.”

Sir Nigel did not say anything, simply allowing Gordon to reminisce on the past until they reached a strange very box-like engine with a black polished livery with red lining and yellow lettering, almost like an LMS engine. 

“Gordon, may I introduce Darnell, he is the Class 76 I was telling you about,” Sir Nigel introduced the engine and Gordon stared at him with a critical eye.

“Ah, you another one that doesn’t believe I’m a Gresley now do you?” Darnell gruffly accused and Gordon frowned.

“Well, you definitely sound like a North East Engine,” Gordon muttered.

“Ay ay, look down here,” Darnell invited the Blue A1 Pacific to look at something and Gordon glanced down at the placard before the electric engine. “Those are my designs yes? Look at em! Really look!”

With a frown, Gordon did as the engine asked but then gave a gasp as he saw the signature down the bottom.

Sir Nigel Gresley.

Gordon’s face turned red and he glanced at his A4 companion in embarrassment. He’d been right after all.

“I owe you an apology,” he confessed and Sir Nigel simply gave him a kind smile.

“You have no need to Gordon,” he praised his elder cousin. “Though, keep that suspicious eye on your brother. He does tend to be rather… childish at times.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Gordon chuckled in turn.

~~~

Sir Nigel Gresley and Sir Nigel Gresley

[kob131]

Here’s a question for everyone- Give me your full thoughts on how the Fanaus/White Fang plotline worked out for you.

I’ll give mine to start.

It’s...alright.

I’ve heard a lot of people say that it was racist to have the Fanaus group (stand-ins for minorities) be bad guys because it supposedly demonized civil rights groups. But from my perspective, that’s just...kind of how those things crumble in the end. Most revolutions, if they succeed, tend to devolve into anarchy if not outright power grabs with stuff like The American Revolution and the Civil Rights Movement being exceptions to the rule. 

Hell, the American Revolution had a sister revolt in the form of the French Revolution which spawned ideas like ‘hey maybe we shouldn’t enslave other people for *insert stupid reason here*’. It also devolved rapidly into dictatorship after dictatorship, a clusterfuck of human rights violations until ultimately being undone within 30 years of the revolt.

And the reason why this seems to happen, boiling it down from the various and complicated factors, is because the revolutionaries lacked hardline morals and goals. If you’re, say, operating under the idea that you are fighting for your people and thus all your interests are for their sake- who cares if you behead a couple hundred or so of your fellows for daring to criticize you? Who cares if you start limiting their rights? You’re not a member of the elite so of course it isn’t oppression! 

Hardline goals and morals help stave off that natural slippery slope we all walk alongside in life. It gives a clear end to your actions, to your role as a rebel and shows you where you go wrong. And the WF kind of lost that, like many revolutions.

It’s also kind of hard to call it racist when the stand ins for racist white people are...far worse people. Like, bitch about people like Corsec/Fennec and Sienna but they’re better people than say...Cardin and Roman Torchwick. Hell, for all the complaints about Adam being a one note bad guy- he at least had a reason for why he acted the way he did and was treated as an actual threat. What reason does Jacques have to be so greedy? None, he’s just greedy. Is he treated like a legitimate threat? No, he’s a cowardly, sniveling little snake.

Even the best of both sides are treated very differently. Blake is never brought into question for her ideals or methods while Weiss gets shat on for her beliefs and actions. Rightfully so...but notice how there isn’t a shred of sympathy or even ‘he has a point’ on the human end? If it’s really racist, then wouldn’t the racism be against the group that’s portrayed as one-dimensionally evil?

... Yeah. this is why I don’t buy into the racism stuff.

That isn’t to say this is perfect mind you. In fact, when it comes to the worldbuilding aspect of the WF plotline, it kind of falls apart. We rarely see any actual discrimination against the Fanaus and what we do see is, again, from characters depicted as pathetic or evil, if not both. We get some small details like a ‘No Fanaus Allowed’ sign or the Fanaus of Mantle being forced into the rundown crater underneath Atlas. Hell, we get an example of someone who suffered from racism (Illa). But...since so much of it is small details or done by morally bankrupt people, it makes it seem like racism is this long decided evil like it is in modern society. When logically, racism should be more socially accepted and done by generally good people as well as bad ones.

All of this would go to show how desperate the situation in Remnant is for the Fanaus thus justifying why the WF became so radical in the first place. I think that’s the true failing of the plotline.

P.S. There probably should have been another leader between Sienna and Ghira to give a smoother decline to Adam’s radicalism. Because going from ‘we must be above them’ to ‘it’s okay to use violence and fear to gain rights’ is a pretty huge leap. There should have been someone holding a stance like ‘We should be allowed to defend ourselves from the human’s attacking us’.

[underwaterspiderbird]

What do you mean by “actual” antisemitism? Last time i checked, you don’t seem to be jewish, and therefor not the arbiter of the definition of antisemitism in the first place

i mean genocide, nazis going out in the street and shooting up anyone who’s not like them, actual fucking antisemitism. and even if i’m not, i’m still indigenous, my people still survived genocide just like the Jewish did, so don’t you dare try to shut me up, i will rock your shit. food for thought: spirit work is not equivalent to genocide. it just ain’t. and if we’re gonna play the arbiter of definitions game, you don’t speak for the entire Jewish people either. Also like all people in any ethnic culture, all Jewish ppl do not think the same. I guarantee you there’s plenty of Jewish ppl who think y’all are fucking idiots for trying to gatekeep a spirit that y’all didn’t even want to begin with bc she basically said “fuck paradise, fuck god, and fuck all of y’all. i’m out this bitch.” and don’t forget her own children being straight up merced by angels bc she wouldn’t come back to paradise. you don’t speak for Judaism, you don’t speak for the entire Jewish people (which i don’t even know how you think you’d be able to, all members of any group of people will always disagree about everything, that’s people. what u gonna do? tell the Jewish ppl who think ur full of it that they’re banished from Judaism?💀), you don’t speak for Lilith or who she opens and closes herself to, you definitely do not care about antisemitism considering u wanna speak on behalf of all Jewish ppl and speak over Jewish ppl who might contradict you. take the energy you put into being a hormonal internet revolutionary and put it into going outside and connecting with Jewish communities. you’ll learn that no matter the culture or ethnic group, no one member will ever think the same about anything, ever. just a thought🤷🏽‍♀️

[queenjulia11]

[the following was originally posted to Threads on 8/9/2023. My other Haunted City threads actually got some traction! I'm about to start school and probably fall behind again, but I'm early into season 2 and I'm happy there are other people enjoying this show out there!]

[Josephine I apologize for @ing you again on this since I know you saw it on Threads, I couldn't find a way to re-post this without the link working. Hope you're having a great day!]

Spoilers from episode 22 until the end of season 1!!

LET’S TALK ABOUT OPHELIA! When this character fully inserted herself into the party and completely took over Ekeprag’s body and mind, it was hard to see her as anything but absolutely terrifying. A strange obligation to both the souls occupying this body that wouldn’t allow Juliette or Valkos to let them go. But of course, Ross is a brilliant character actor and found a way to make Ophelia a deeply sympathetic and tragic character as the back half of season 1 went on.

Episode 22 is what really does it for me. We get to see who Ophelia was in life — Juliette’s biggest supporter. She’s spent however many years wandering Duskvol as a spirit, watching the world move on without her, desperate for Juliette and for revenge. And then suddenly, all her dreams came true. She’s been given a second chance at the life that was stolen from her, a chance to finish her revolutionary work, but most important to her — she gets to be with her beloved Juliette again.

And then she catches Juliette at the shrine, still mourning her even though she’s right there. Her confusion is palpable. Nothing is in the way of these two being together again, and Juliette fought so hard to make it happen. What does she have to grieve? Ophelia of course doesn’t see what the rest of us do: she feels better than ever while Juliette is forced to reckon with her terrible mistake. This new Ophelia was never what she wanted, and now she can’t get rid of her.

Ophelia hashes out her frustration on the star-crossed lovers in the park, foolishly throwing themselves away because they aren’t willing to fight tooth and nail to be together like Ophelia is. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” She would kill to be like these two. Alive. Together. Loved. Why is Juliette still grieving?

What makes it even more heartbreaking to watch is what follows. While Ophelia is upset, she doesn’t take any of it out on Juliette. She doesn’t even reveal what she saw.

Instead, she asks about Vimes. I saw this moment less as “how dare he be rude to you, let me teach him a lesson,” and more like “let me prove to you that I can help you, be useful to you; let me be your biggest supporter again by taking care of this problem for you.” And she does, and Juliette appreciates it, but she is undoubtedly moving on.

But Ophelia thinks she’s finally winning her back. Juliette wants to dance with her again! This is great! Except WAIT, Ekeprag is still home!

Ophelia and Juliette just can’t move as cohesively as they used to together as long as Ophelia is occupying Ekeprag’s body. Someone else is actively suffering the consequences of her second chance. What hurts the most is she thinks it’s fine. She thinks the glitches aren’t a big deal, when in truth they’re the final nail in the coffin. “We needed this, you and I.” Meanwhile, Juliette has finally accepted that the person she loved is dead, and would’ve wanted her to move forward.

She packs up the shrine, and allows herself to find happiness elsewhere. Things are still awkward of course because again, Ophelia is still there, but now Juliette is able to distance herself from her. When taking her revenge on Una Pharros, she fully states that Ophelia is no longer at her side. And pointing down at Ekeprag, says “That is your fault.” The two celebrate the victory together, but for Juliette, it’s meant to be a final send-off.

If she and Valkos were able to leave Ophelia behind, I believe they would have. I like to call moments like these perfect tragedy: where it’s so messed up that you can’t help but smile. Ophelia has no idea any of this is happening. To her, she is one step closer to helping the love of her life complete her life’s work. Not seeing that she’s losing her again. Ophelia was hurt when she caught Juliette mourning her. But what hurts more than being mourned while you’re alive?

Becoming a happy memory while you’re still right there. Ophelia has gone from a terrifying character to one who lives a terrifying existence. What a beautifully sad thing @rossbb and @jcvim have created here. Well fucking done, I can’t wait to start season 2.

[aizenat]

One thing I will say too about this tik tok trend is that it really speaks to the misinformation and lack of information given to Americans about 9/11, al Qaeda, bin Laden, and the entire wars we enacted in the Middle East during the 2000s.

I tell my friend at least once a month how I learned at 19, almost a decade after 9/11, just what was going on in the Middle East during the Gulf War from Khaled Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns instead of any adult or news on the topic. I wasn’t even born/was an infant during that conflict, and all I would hear growing up even referencing it was adults saying on the 2000s conflict “George W just wanted a reason to go into Afghanistan and Iraq to ���finish what his father started’.” AND NOTHING ELSE. No elaboration, no explanation! Just that!

And I’m a fucking millennial! So I imagine that for a generation who, just as I was barely born during the gulf war, were barely born during the 2000s wars in the middle east, they’re going to be surprised to learn WHY, at least from the man who planned it, we were singled out and attacked. That was the biggest question I had as a child about 9/11: why? Why did these ppl hate us so much to do something like that? Why?

And no adults could give an answer other than “they hate democracy/hate that we’re mostly Christian/hate that ‘we’re a free and wealthy nation’/etc.” But no history on WHAT we did specifically to make them do that, because even as a child I knew it was weird to attack an entire nation if you just hate the things they stand for. I hate a lot of what South Korea stands for, but I wouldn’t plan and execute a fucking suicide mission to bomb them! Like that’s extreme.

But one fiction book about the lives of two women living during and in the aftermath of the gulf war (and the rise of the Taliban) made it all click.

My point is that sometimes ppl from other countries, even Americans ourselves, don’t understand how in the dark we were put in regarding the Middle East and the impact of America’s involvement there. We never talked about the gulf war growing up, and we were actively lied to about the 2000s wars by Bush’s administration. And only us “un-American libs” dared to show any sympathy for those suffering in the middle east during our time there.

So I’m not surprised a bunch of kids who grew up hearing people talk about 9/11 and having to do memorials every year for it since they can remember reading bin Laden’s letter and thinking “hmm, he’s got a point.”

Ask those same ppl if they know about the Vietnam war, or the US involvement in the Korea War of the 50s. I bet they don’t know shit about it. And I’m not blaming them; I can’t tell you how many times in history we went over the Revolutionary War or even the world wars, but we stop there in history. Apparently we liberated Europe and parts of Asia from the Axis powers and then nothing happened again until 9/11. That’s literally how history is taught here.

I remember asking my mom as a child if we had any wars since wwii, because my history classes made it seem like that was the case. SHE’s the one who mentioned Vietnam, and when I asked if America won she gave a vague “not really/no one really won that war” (which is hilarious for her to say that knowing what I know now). I remembered following up saying “well, we haven’t been at war since I was born right?” And my mom paused going “well, there was the gulf war, but were you born yet? If so you would have been a baby.”

And I really need to emphasize, especially because I took an honors world history and APUSH in hs, so I technically got a more “neutral” (lol) history than the average American student who wasn’t a college bound nerd like me, NOT A SINGLE CLASS I HAD MENTIONED THE GULF WAR.

I lived in NJ, a blue state with abortions for all, boasting being one of the most diverse states in the country, and has a mostly good school curriculum that allows students to compete at spots for really good colleges, including the Ivys. And yet even I didn’t get a proper education on that war (or the Vietnam war or the Korean wars). If it wasn’t for other avenues or independent research I did after hs, I still wouldn’t know at my big 30+ age. And despite us asking our APUSH teachers often to explain the wars in the Middle East day the time, we STILL never got a decent breakdown in what was going on and why.

I don’t have kids but I’m SURE these gen z kids learning that America fucked over middle eastern countries that had devastating effects on the people there, encouraging them to join terrorist organizations as a result is a new concept for them. I’m not surprised they read a terrorist’s manifesto and went “omg this actually makes sense.”

No offense, but this is what happens when you don’t educate your people properly. They go looking for answers and find them in the worst places.

[ceaseless-watchers-special-girl]

calypso darling you are not a shit journalist!!! i won’t stand for this slander!!

NINETY SIX HOURS??? did she pull out the rita special for calypso?? awwww!! i can just imagine rita getting herself a truckload of blankets and snacks all for herself and juno just sitting there like “…..rita what is going on”

“it wouldn’t be the first time that she’s let an older lady step all over her” *hisses in archivist voice* spill the teaaaaaaa

“Over my dead body.” eve baby no

“You’ll hear me sing and squeal before I tell you anything you want.” YOUR HONOUR I WOULD DIE FOR HER

“Their treatment is not as harsh as Aurinko Permanent Corrections” thank fuck for that. aurinko permanent was a fucking nightmare

“stop by the Skydeck: Edge of New Kinshasa and peer down at Brahma from up high” i despise this. more than words can convey.

“A “cygnet” is a word used to describe a baby swan” DAMMIT JAY YOU’RE AT IT WITH THE SWANS AGAIN

“you don’t find jewels like that out there anymore.” ……..interesting….

“Just how the fuck did he get ahold of Baird’s recordings” YEAH HOW DID HE GET THEM???

“Birdie, I’m not comin’ home,

I'm sorry to leave you all alone.” JAY STOPPPP I AM BASHING YOUR HEAD IN WITH MY MOTHERFUCKING FLUTE

fuck. is this why the constables captured cyrus? he got caught?

“Peter Nureyev”– Eve flinches– “scared them shitless” peter nureyev love of my life angel of brahma the myth the legend

“You and I both know what it's like to lose your parents. I don't want Baird to experience the same thing” *cries and shoots myself into the fucking sun*

“And despite all their hardships, Cyrus still married Eevee and then Iris. Josie still went on to have twins. Camilla and Eber brought a daughter into the galaxy. Charlie chose to go down singing. Cyrus went out singing. Eve echoed a song. And Baird kept his head high and trilled for their memory” jay stop it i don’t even have a name for this emotion in my chest

“we'll hunt down that Little Birdie of yours, pluck him from the nest, and make him sing us songs about how beautiful it is to be saved by New Kinshasa” DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE

“Let him go. Blame me for everything, say that I'm the Revolutionary's mother while you’re at it and publicly execute me” *sniffs* eevee bell i love you

“New Kinshasa thanks you for your candor” NEW KINSHASA CAN GO FUCK ITSELF

“There will be a free Brahma. There will be a free Brahma. Brahma will be—“ oh my god fuck yes. never stop saying it. added bonus it annoys the constables

“Charmed, though I don’t find you pretty enough to marry… maybe if you lost the scrappy beard” CYRUS DESROSIERS-BELL YOUR HAND IN MARRIAGE PLEASE

“My name is Peter Nureyev, and I am going to bring down New Kinshasa.” I’D FUCKING DIE FOR HIM

“Eve, my angel…” HIS ANGEL

“No song whistles from her lips as she levels the blaster pressing back against Cyrus’ head” she’s reminding me so awfully of the lifeup workers. jay. jay. new kinshasa isn’t fucking life upping people. right? jay. jay???

“My angel, my angel. Set me free.” JAY YOU CNA’T FUCKING DO THIS TO ME

“She presses her head between her legs gasping for lungfuls of air” calypso girlie breathe

“Maybe she ought to reach back out to Mister Mercury and try creative writing again” SMALL WORLD HUH

“pop out another fucked up kid like her and her mother, and pat herself on the back for not dying to cancer or radiation poisoning or whatever” rip this girl has issues

“How does Osiris Cygnet connect to all this?“ my question exactly

“What was the collar around Eve’s neck?“ eheh. ehheh. hehheh. my question exactly

“I pray to my Goddess that whatever the hell happened to Eve, they did not do to Cyrus” fuck they did didn’t they

“I pray that whatever they did to Eve, they did not improve and inflict upon Charlie” FUCK I DIDN’T EVEN CONSIDER THIS. JAY. JAY ARE YOU IN FACT PLOTTING MY LONG-DISTANCE MURDER

okay wait no hold up. the executives were on saraswati for some reason, and they found slip there and their whole project/con with nureyev began. c&p pharmaceuticals is in the outer rim as well, so it makes perfect sense for the executives to offer their technology to outer rim governments before the solar ones, and they’ve given it to new kinshasa because they’re assholes. *desperately tries to remember the timeline* baird’s still young when this happens though, right?? how long has it been since nureyev threatened new kinshasa?? the lifeup project was only just finished in canon, did they have time to get it to new kinshasa?? is it a prototype?? is it another corporation entirely???

ugh i knew we couldn’t be done with charlie (and by “knew” haha well. let’s justr say. i was sad adn couldn’t accept it) but i think this might be worse than death. can you imagine if baird met him after they’d lifeupped him (lifed upped him? lifed him up??) that would be devastating. i hope baird doesn’t see what they did to eevee. even if he deserves to know

i wonder if there’s a way to fix lifeup workers?? probably not but a girl can dream

*glances at all my red string* yup i’m getting nowhere. onto the calypso lore!!!

“Peachier than an Earthen Sunday morning” girl the sunday morning outside my window rn is grey as all shit

“six hundred cred coffee” *trembles* how…. how much… is a cred worth????? (in my mind it’s been about 1 cred = 1 pound because i have simple brain so this shook me lmao)

“there was nothing she could find about the man. He doesn’t exist. Just another legend” this is such absolute bullshit rita my love i adore you

“When Rita starts something she doesn’t know when to take a break. She puts her whole body into it.” ritas need their big rita naps after their phenomenal rita specials

“He’s a prick at best and an asshole at his worst. He’s taken her for granted a lot” *offended squeak* he’s getting better!! but yeah i do wish he treated rita nicer in the earlier seasons. or i wish we got more screentime of them being soft and kind, because if juno was that bitchy all the time rita should’ve left his ass ages ago

“let another kid like you come and drag her around the whole galaxy” heyyy i thought rita like travelling the galaxy

“my name is Calypso! I’m not your damn kid” it’s giving *alexander hamilton voice* call me son one more time!

the mommy issues are strong with this one

i love it when people call her ms. rita. like yeah. ms. rita who lives down the street and eats salmon snacks but always has yummy cookies just for you. ms. rita who’s best friends with that grumpy asshole no-one likes. ms. rita who your neighbour says hacked into dark matters once but you don’t believe them she’s so sweet— OH SHIT WHERE DID SHE GET THAT KNIFE

“If you reach out to Rita after today, I will cease to help you myself” oop that’s an ultimatum

“Your next decisions are going to shape how the end of her life are going to be” well. that isn’t terrifying in the slightest not at all no siree

“Everyone else found partners for this project at the start of the year” RIP I HATE GROUP PROJECTS

“Ms. Starr, that will be a demerit for you” *cries in desperate for approval*

“Alone. Shit writer. Parentless. Jobless. Flying by the seat of her pants and overpriced coffee grounds.” wow how did you know what i’d look like in a year (minus the parentless bit)

“Maybe she ought to go off and find a cold ditch to lie down in. Or a warm ditch.” BITCH I’M—

“And if not Calypso Starr to tell his story, to transcribe every last detail she can capture, then who else? Who else does that leave?” calypso queen i understand the responsibility you feel and it’s honestly admirable what you’re trying to do but. don’t burn yourself out pretty please

“With or without Frannie’s help” noooo frannieeee

jay i am. aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA. this is beautiful. it’s gorgeous. it’s heartbreaking. how in the hell did i inspire this

mmm i think puzzle pieces are clicking together. however i am unfortunately shit at puzzles i have been roasted about this by my latin teacher BUT. i have received some answers and will be nomming on them gladly until i receive more answers 

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. xi

Hello Travelers, before we begin I need to stress that this part of Our Angel of Brahma contains explicit violence. With that being said, consider this your warning for the following content: kidnapping (mentioned), assault, police brutality, interrogations, and some self-harm. I will be going back to add CW to previous parts and will update when those have been added in. If there are any warnings that you would like added to this part or any others do not hesitate to reach out in my ask box or DMs! Additionally: I am planning on transferring this series over to ao3 in the coming weeks. The google doc is starting to crash and that is my sign that this is no longer a self contained one shot au. It is a drabble. a nearly 19k long (and counting) drabble @ananxiousgenz @ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @the-private-eye @demonic-panini

Calypso walks into her office. Coffee mug in one hand, and her comms in the other. She hadn't checked her emails yet and had only briefly skimmed the messages Frannie had sent her early in the morning. Most of which didn’t make much sense and had been sent five hours before she was awake, which was by her standards, five hours too early to be doing absolutely anything important. She booted up the computer and took a long sip of her coffee. Her comms rang and it was un-surprisingly Frannie. 

“Calypso Starr speaking–”

“Have you seen them yet?” 

“Frannie. Good morning to you too. I believe conversations start with hello.”

“Right– hello, did you see them yet?”

“See what?” She opens her email and smiles reading the subject line “RE: THE CASE OF THE MISSING ANGEL”. Rita was creative. Calypso would give her that. But she also seemed just as scatterbrained as Frannie did at times. They both knew their way around computers and comms. More than Calypso ever learned from her mom, so she was in no position to really judge either of them. If anything, they had every right to laugh in her face for not being able to do all the work on her own. Some shit journalist she was turning up to be. 

“The videos!” Frannie huffed and in the background, Calypso could make out the sound of a cabinet door opening and slamming shut. “Listen, I’m hanging up, and when you’re done with the videos and taking notes– and I mean all the videos, and all your notes– call me. Rita spent ninety-six hours trying to hunt all this down for you, kid. You better write the best damn article this side of the galaxy has ever seen! Because she ain’t helping you anymore after this, alright?” 

Calypso opens her mouth to argue but the call ends right then. She sets her comms on the desk in its designated spot next to her coffee mug and one of the glass swans. She isn’t a kid. She’s a grown adult just like Frannie. Frannie was however much, much older than her. And it wouldn’t be the first time that she’s let an older lady step all over her. 

Without anymore preamble, she takes a seat and opens the first video file. 

The video starts with a lone woman sitting at a table. The room is bare and poorly lit with no windows.  “State your name.” “Why should I? You already know who I am.” The woman’s dark hair falls out of her face revealing dark eyes and a few freckles. She glares at the camera. “And get that thing out of my face.” “No can do, now state your name.”  The woman huffs hanging her head low to the table. “Eve Bell.” “Full name.” “Eevee Bell.” She jerks her chin up and snarls, “Happy?”

Calypso pauses the video. This is Eevee Bell. Eevee the same night she was taken from her home.The same night she tucked Baird into bed and promised nothing bad would happen to her. Calypso flips open her journal thumbing through the pages until she finds her notes on the “Dad” recording. She reads back over them and flips to the next blank page. She rummages around her desk for a bit before finding a pen tucked into her newly acquired swan pen holder. She hits play on the video, and begins taking notes.

“Very,” a figure walks around the camera to stand behind Eevee. They’re dressed in a freshly pressed uniform. Their epaulets are black, with two embroidered stars in silver thread. A Constable of high rank. They place one hand on her shoulder and grip her chin with the other. “Now look directly at the camera, and tell them exactly what you did.” She clenches her jaw and tries to pull away. The Constable keeps her firmly pinned in place.  “Not gonna talk, huh.” “Over my dead body.” The Constable tsks and lets go of Eve’s face. Eevee, to her credit, rolls her shoulders as much as she could with her hands cuffed behind her back, and tilted her chin up higher. “You’ll hear me sing and squeal before I tell you anything you want.”  The Constable shakes their head and laughs, “We’ll see how you feel after today.” They exit out of frame and a heavy door can be heard opening. Eevee looks over and her eyes go wide as three other uniformed Constables walk into the room.  “Welcome to New Kinshasa, Eve.” The Constable says out of frame said. The video ends.

Calypso leans back in her seat. She glances down at her notes. Nothing. Blank. She puts her pen down and folds her hands over one another, leaning to rest her elbows on her desk. Her stomach does a strange thing, flipping up over on itself. The coffee is starting to kick in and give her heartburn. 

From her research and based on Baird’s recordings, the Constabulary does not treat its prisoners kindly. Their treatment is not as harsh as Aurinko Permanent Corrections. No, nothing could compare to Palomine Aurinko, and nothing will ever come close to Hoosegow. But there’s a good reason the Solar Planets consider the Guardian Angel System a war crime and New Kinshasa has been charged off and on for committing multiples since the Galactic Civil War ended. 

She grabs her comms and searches for anything she can find on the Constabulary on New Kinshasa and Brahma. She wasn’t expecting her quick galactic search to turn up anything. Just like everything else she’s been looking into privately, this too should have been a dead end. Instead, a tourism site hosted on a Saraswatan travelers guide comes up. 

One of the main attractions to vacationing to Saraswati it turns out, is visiting New Kinshasa. Vacation to Saraswati, and set time aside for a three days, two nights trip to see New Kinshasa. Shuttle over on day one, and see New Kinshasa day two. Get to meet Constables, shake hands with Sergeants, and rub elbows with Inspectors off duty at hotel bars. Take a tour down main street and stop by the Skydeck: Edge of New Kinshasa and peer down at Brahma from up high. 

The photos on the website are orderly and well lit. More than likely staged pieces of propaganda meant to make the average person forget about what happened to Brahma. If Calypso were anyone else even she’d believe it. But Baird’s recordings exist and Brahma has been suffering. Dark Matters can successfully scrub all records from the galaxy but they never stood a chance at stopping something from slipping through the cracks. 

One of the photos on the website catches her eye. A Constable in uniform, with epauluets on their shoulders embroidered in silver thread. Perfectly stitched planets with tilted rings. They’re shaking hands with a man with grey hair and a peculiar mustache. A gold brooch with blue jewels is pinned to his suit. His wide smile reaches his eyes. 

Calypso scrolls down to read the caption at the same time she reaches for her mug. She takes a long sip of her coffee. 

Superintendent Constable Bishop shaking hands with art collector, Osiris Cygnet. 

A “cygnet” is a word used to describe a baby swan. So named after the swan-shaped constellation, Cygnus, and -et indicates smallness. 

If Calypso were the average person, she shouldn’t know this. As she leans back in her desk chair and stares at the swan pen holder, Calypso is reminded that she is not the average person. As she stands now running through her apartment, digging through a cardboard box for a gold swan brooch with sapphire eyes, she has not been the average person since childhood. 

The storage unit came from a deceased art collector. He had an affinity for collecting crystal swans and counterfeit paintings. She sold most of the glass swans back to collectors on Earth while on her visit to her mother’s grave. She held on to the pen holder as a memento and sought out a pawn shop to trade in the brooch when the shop owner said she ought to keep it, “you don’t find jewels like that out there anymore.” Or whatever that meant. 

“Shit shit shit shit–” she finds the brooch and races back to her office clutching it tight. Sure enough, it’s a good match. 

Osiris Cygnet, art collector that vacationed sometime within the last ten years to Saraswati and took a shuttle trip to New Kinshasa. Just how the fuck did he get ahold of Baird’s recordings?

Superintendent Constable Bishop, Eve’s prison guard, and most likely, her future executioner. And he was promoted. At some point in the last twenty years, he was promoted. Multiple times. 

The pin back on the brooch digs into her palm. Calypso clenches her teeth. She should let go before the wound is too deep and forms an ugly gash. She reaches with her free hand and hits play on the next video.

Eevee sits on the stone floor of a prison cell. She stares pointedly at the door. Occasionally her eyes flick up to the camera. Its hard to tell, but her face looks puffy. Her arms have bruises running from her elbows all the way down to her wrists. There are red marks on both wrists from wearing handcuffs. She pulls her knees up to her chest letting out a long groan of pain. The camera zooms in. It is just near inaudible, but the camera's microphone picks up her quiet voice.  I hear your tune,  like a songbird at noon. What a lovely trill, it makes me feel ill. Eve looks like she would curl tighter around herself if it were possible. Shrink into nothing. Make herself as small as a mote of dust.  Like chimes in the wind, we were destined. A full-body shudder wracks through her.  Birdie, I’m not comin’ home, I'm sorry to leave you all alone. A figure approaches the cell. They’re not in uniform but the way they approach Eve’s cell is not without confidence.  “It’s a good song.” Eve jumps with tears in her eyes as she blinks at the person in front of her. “Hey baby, I came to bust you out.” The figure shoves their hands in their pockets.  “Cyrus…” Eve slowly gets to her feet and crosses over to the bars of her cell. She holds a hand out. Cyrus takes it carefully, pressing his lips to her knuckles. She is nearly breathless as she asks, “What are you doing here?” “Like I said: busting you out.”  “I–” Eve shakes her head. “No, you can’t. What about Iris? What about Baird? They need you more than I do right now! How'd you even get in here anyways?” Cyrus shrugs and pulls a key card out from his pocket. “Snuck onto a shuttle, knocked out a Constable, stole their key card? C'mon, Eve, it's not that hard.”  “Not that hard– Cyrus! That's a death sentence! If you get caught–” “I won't get caught, alright? Peter Nureyev”– Eve flinches– “scared them shitless. They’re scrambling right now and too disorganized to notice me.” She's quiet, staring at their hands. “How long has it been already?” “Day five of the Warden Strike, second day without you. Camilla was the one who reached out to. Everyone else apparently was too afraid to, and the other Wardens are losing steam without someone to keep their morale up and minds motivated.”  “And what about Baird? And Iris? You left them alone to try and rescue me? Cyrus, I'm a prisoner, not a princess in a tower.” Cyrus clicks his tongue. “Iris has been alone for a long time, they’ll be fine. And Baird isn’t alone, the Spade’s are taking care of him.” He plays thoughtlessly with her fingers. “You and I only have each other though. I promised your parents I’d look out for you, and I intend to keep that promise, til’ death do us part and all that.”  Eve jerks her hand away to grip one of the bars. “Cyrus, look at me.” He lifts his head and flinches in response only slightly. “I came here willingly. And I’m not going to make it out of here alive. Eber and Camilla can barely afford to take care of themselves and Charlie. And Iris lost their family like you and I did. You and I both know what it's like to lose your parents. I don't want Baird to experience the same thing.”  Cyrus shakes his head. “Eve you're thinking this all backwards. I'm the one that dragged you into this, let me take your place and get you out of it.” The video ends. 

Calypso drops the brooch on her desk to run her hands through her hair. She tugs on the ends of her short bob. 

Eevee pushed Cyrus away because he wanted revolution. And he got it. He got a revolution and it took everything from Baird. 

These are real people. Not just voice recordings or a bedtime story a mother made up to soothe her distressed child. Baird, Eeve, Cyrus, and Iris. A real family. Charlie, Eber, and Camilla and their daughter, Evelyn. A spare family. Josie and the twins. Hank and Mrs. Darius. The Rats. Brahma was full of life. And it still is. Peter Nureyev is a legend to these people. Even if it turns out the name was fake, he was just as real as any of them. 

And despite all their hardships, Cyrus still married Eevee and then Iris. Josie still went on to have twins. Camilla and Eber brought a daughter into the galaxy. Charlie chose to go down singing. Cyrus went out singing. Eve echoed a song. And Baird kept his head high and trilled for their memory. 

The recordings from the comms were real. Are real. Calypso knows this. She doesn't have any faces to put to any names except now for Eve and a rough idea for Cyrus. They were alive. 

Calypso hesitates to start the next video. She's seen more than enough already. More than plenty. There are still two videos left. She already knows how this ends. Eevee Bell walked out of her apartment in the middle of the night so her son wouldn’t have to wake up screaming and watch her be dragged out the front door. She did everything in her power to safeguard him from a War she never wanted to bring home in the first place. And what did it get her? What good did it do when two years later Baird watched what happened to his father anyways? What good did any of it do when they broadcasted Charlie’s execution? 

Taking a deep breath, she hits play. 

“Songbird,” Constable Bishop stands in front of Eve's cell. They keep one hand on their blaster. Eve tucks her chin down while pulling away from the bars. “Tired of singing? That's a pity. You know, a few hours ago, I was alerted that someone came to pay you a visit. I had the cameras checked and we put the facility in lockdown. You'll never believe what we found trying to fly the coop.”  Two Constables drag a man into frame. It's Cyrus. Eve stands in place, her face drained of all its color. Cyrus tilts his head up. The two Constables flanking his side force him to stand, hoisting him up by his underarms. His hands remain pinned behind his back. .  “I wouldn't be all smiley right now if I were in your shoes, Desrosiers.” Constable Bishop pulls their blaster from its holster. They click the safety off and point it directly at Cyrus. “Now then, here's how this is going to play out. Ms. Bell, you're going to admit that you organized the Warden strike, you're going to take the fall and you're going to accept the consequences.” “And if she doesn't?” The Constables holding Cyrus pull on his arms. He hisses through his teeth.   “If she doesn't, then we'll blame you both. And then, with you both out of the way, we'll hunt down that Little Birdie of yours, pluck him from the nest, and make him sing us songs about how beautiful it is to be saved by New Kinshasa–”  “I did it.” Eve crosses her cell and reaches out as far as she can to grab the Constable Bishop’s uniform. Her fingers just barely reach their elbow. “I organized the strike. It was all my idea to begin with. I knew it was risky and stupid but I did it anyways. I poisoned the watering hole–” “Eevee–” “And Cyrus had nothing to do with it. Joining the revolutionaries and inciting the Dome Wardens was all me. Let him go. Blame me for everything, say that I'm the Revolutionary's mother while you’re at it and publicly execute me. Tear me limb from limb– just let Cyrus go and leave my son out of this.”  Constable Bishop holds her gaze. He lowers his blaster and gives her a curt nod, “I wasn't going to go that far, but if that's how you feel, well…” He put his blaster away. “I’m pleased you came around, Ms. Bell.” He turns to the other two Constables and motions for them to leave. “Escort the Pest off of New Kinshasa.” They grab hold of Cyrus’ jaw and force him to look up. “And if we ever catch you sneaking up here again, you’ll be publicly executed.” Eevee looks away as they drag Cyrus out of frame. His voice comes as a muffled shout that grows quieter and quieter.  “Don’t look so down Ms. Bell. You made the right choice. New Kinshasa thanks you for your candor.” The video ends. 

She lied. Eevee lied to Constable Bishop. Even if half of what she said did hold some truth to it, there were still lies she sprinkled in that they believed. At least they chose to believe them. And choosing to believe in something only grants it more power. It warps reality, and makes it more real. 

Baird’s first recording that Calypso heard echoes in the back of her mind. Some say that the legend isn’t true. Some say that Eevee Bell set the Dome Wardens on strike. At least one person believes that she is Peter Nureyev’s mother. 

Baird and Iris did not know everything. For whatever Cyrus was caught for finally, Constable Bishop made good on their promise and did eventually come back for him. They did not however publicly execute him. 

They got Charlie instead. 

With only one video left, Calypso hits play. She’s only slightly surprised to see Cyrus in a similar interrogation room to the one Eevee was in in the first video.

“There will be a free Brahma. There will be a free Brahma. Brahma will be–” “Do you ever, shut up!” Constable Bishop slams their fist against the table in front of Cyrus. His epauluets are different, now instead of two stars theres three. Cyrus winces clenching his jaw, but doesn’t draw away. “No wonder you got a divorce, I’d get one too if I was stuck married to you.” “Charmed, though I don’t find you pretty enough to marry… maybe if you lost the scrappy beard–” “Enough!” Constable Bishop drags a hand down their face, scratches at their stubble, and stares down at Cyrus. “All you have to do, is look at the camera,” they point to the one currently rolling, “and say exactly what you did.” “And then what? You’ll let me go scot free? You’ve already beat black and blue, I think I felt a tooth or two dislodge from my mouth. You willing to pay for my dentist bill?” “There are no dentist left on Brahma.” Constable Bishop circles around Cyrus and stands behind him. They grip his left shoulder, and guide his face up towards the camera with their other hand. “Now go on, tell them exactly who you are, and what you did.” Cyrus’ eyes are a muted green. His face is long and skin a darker shade of brown than Eevees’. He takes a deep, calming breath, and flashes a quick smile revealing a dimple on his left cheek.  “My name is Peter Nureyev, and I am going to bring down New Kinshasa.” Constable Bishop lets go of Cyrus to whip out their blaster. They crack the blunt end against the back of his head. Constable Bishop’s hand and blaster come away slightly bloodied, and the shout Cyrus lets out echoes in the small room.  “Think you’re so smart, huh? Try again.” “Cyrus Desrosiers-Bell, and when I get out of here,” Cyrus strains against his restraints baring his teeth in a sharp, sadistic grin, “I’m going to rip your fucking throat out!”  Constable Bishop clicks the safety off their blaster. They press it to the side of Cyrus’ head. “Go on, keep talking. We don’t need you alive, you serve no greater purpose to your revolution. You get caught in New Kinshasa once and I let you go, shame on you. You get caught sneaking around New Kinshasa a second time and get far enough back home just outside your front door, shame on me.” Bishop tsks rechecking their blaster. “One jolt. That’s all you need.” “Well go on then,” Cyrus lifts his chin. His brows squish together. A small gasp escapes his lips. “You don’t scare me. Not the first time you’ve pressed that thing to my head.”  After a moment, a comms goes off. The Constable checks it with a quick glance and relaxes. “You’re right,” they draw their blaster away from Cyrus but do not click the safety back in place. “I don't scare you enough. But she probably will.” A question forms on Cyrus’ lips but dies just as quickly as the interrogation room doors whirls open and close. Heavy bootsteps cross the room. A small shadow falls over Cyrus. His eyes go wide.  “Eve, my angel…” Cyrus shakes his head, tearing his gaze away. He grits his teeth. “No. You killed her.”  “Did we though? Constable,” the Bishop turns to the new arrival. They pass their blaster off to them. The new arrival walks into frame to accept the blaster. Standing beside Constable Bishop, is none other than Eevee Bell. The same dark hair, dark eyes, and constellation of freckles. A collar of some sort clasps snuggly around her neck.  It is as if the soul that bubbled to life inside of her has been snuffed out. This may look like Eevee Bell, it may move like Eevee Bell, but it is not her. Not anymore. No song whistles from her lips as she levels the blaster pressing back against Cyrus’ head.  “Eevee, baby,” the Constable places her finger over the trigger.  “Now then, any last words, Desroisers-Bell?” Cyrus licks his lips and stares into the camera. “My angel, my angel. Set me free.” The Constable pulls the trigger. Her arm absorbs the recoil as Cyrus’ body seizes and–

Calypso closes out of the video and turns away. She presses her head between her legs gasping for lungfuls of air. 

Rita spent ninety-two hours digging through Goddess knows what just to dig up this. The tumbling feeling in her stomach returns full force. Combined a racing heart and the rising bile in her throat, Calypso isn’t so sure anymore if she wants to call Frannie back. Maybe she ought to reach back out to Mister Mercury and try creative writing again. Maybe she ought to quit writing and journalism altogether, shuttle home to Venus, find a nice well off spouse, pop out another fucked up kid like her and her mother, and pat herself on the back for not dying to cancer or radiation poisoning or whatever. It might also do her a whole lot of good to find a therapist. At least looking for one wouldn’t kill her.

She waits until her heart has stopped racing and stomach settled back into place. Her pen feels like it’s barely there as she scratches down quick notes:

Eve gave the constable’s idea for public execution, thus Charlie. 

Cyrus Desrosiers-Bell. He took Eevee’s last name? And then kept it after marrying Iris?

Cyrus was beat and taken away because he snuck on to New Kinshasa�� twice. First time to try and save Eve (failed to) and second time for unknown reason (caught and tracked down). Could this be why/how Talia’s book club found a way to New Kinshasa?

Don’t know what song Cyrus sang as he was dragged away from Iris. Possibly some version of Charlie’s Lament? 

How does Osiris Cygnet connect to all this?

What was the collar around Eve’s neck?

Constable Bishop’s promotions: have something to do with what happened to Eve? With what he did to Cyrus? (SIDE NOTE: I pray to my Goddess that whatever the hell happened to Eve, they did not do to Cyrus.)

… I pray that whatever they did to Eve, they did not improve and inflict upon Charlie. 

She puts her pen back in the swan holder and examines the puncture wound in her palm. The injury is small, not a gash like she thought it might be. A bandage and anti-spetic and Calypso will be right as rain. Peachier than an Earthen Sunday morning. 

“I need to find a hobby.” Calypso glances at the swan holder. Perhaps– no. Absolutely not. 

She dresses her injury and calls Frannie back despite every part of her howling not to. Her coffee has long since gone cold. Normally this woudln’t be a problem. Just drop a few ice cubes in and presto. Or reheat the whole mug and presto. Today is one of those rare days where neither is an appealing option and the last of her six hundred cred coffee goes down the drain. Finally her call connects with Frannie.

“You finished the videos?”

“Frannie.”

“Right, hello. You finished the videos.” It’s not even a question anymore. Calypso hums turning away from her sink to lean her lower back against it. Slowly she lowers herself to the floor. “I’ll take that as a yes, okay! I asked Rita about Peter Nureyev like you wanted me to. And she turned back around within a day to tell me that there was nothing she could find about the man. He doesn’t exist. Just another legend.”

Calypso scoffs, “Well that’s impossible, I just saw the videos. Eve and Cyrus both mention him by name. Baird mentions him in his recordings by name. Camilla mentions him by name at some point. He has to be real.”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you, kid, but if Rita can’t find him, no one can. It’s impossible to find something or someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Or maybe he disappeared.”

Frannie hums, “Sure, maybe that. Look, kid,” Calypso bites her tongue, “I wanted to talk with you about asking for help. Remember how I said you won’t be asking Rita for anymore favors?”

“Yeah, yeah actually– Frannie what was that about?”

“Kid,” Calypso does not retain her inward groan, “Rita is a really good friend of mine. Me and her go way back to when we were just little ladies getting our noses dirty and toeses wet with cybersecurity. She went down the HCPD path, I went down a freelance one. 

“My point though is that me and her aren’t the same little ladies we used to be anymore. We’re little old ladies now. And us little old ladies need our rest and relaxation. When Rita starts something she doesn’t know when to take a break. She puts her whole body into it.”

“Don’t you mean mind?”

“No, body. Rita has been sacrificing her own health for the better part of three decades now trying to help her Boss. He’s a prick at best and an asshole at his worst. He’s taken her for granted a lot.” Well, maybe she should find a better Boss, goes unsaid. “Their relationship is better now, but I’m not going to let another kid like you come and drag her around the whole galaxy.”

“For fucks sake Frannie– my name is Calypso! I’m not your damn kid!” Calypso pants. The swooping feeling returns. “I’m not you’re damn kid, I haven’t been anyone’s damn kid in over ten years, so stop calling me a fucking child! If you don’t want me talking to Ms. Rita anymore fine. I get it. You don’t wanna hear about my requests to her that’s fine. I’ll cut you out of it and–”

“Calyspo Starr.” Her jaw clamps shut narrowly avoiding biting her tongue. “If you reach out to Rita after today, I will cease to help you myself. You can take your little comms and find someone else willing to help you for free. All I’m asking, Ms. Starr, is that you don’t involve Rita any further. Have I made myself clear, Ms. Starr?”

Ms. Starr, I’m sorry but there’s nothing more we can do for your mother. Your next decisions are going to shape how the end of her life are going to be. Have you got a will lined up already?

Ms. Starr, I can’t accept your solo proposal. Everyone else found partners for this project at the start of the year. Maybe you can join a group and be their editor? 

Ms. Starr, that will be a demerit for you. Let’s find you something more suitable in the lost and found. You wouldn’t want to mistaken for a ruffian, do you?

“Crystal.” Calypso ends the call before Frannie can respond. She calls back. Calypso decline the call and throws her comms across the kitchen. She watches as it skitters along the tile. 

Alone. Shit writer. Parentless. Jobless. Flying by the seat of her pants and overpriced coffee grounds. She was never cut out to be a journalist. Maybe she ought to go off and find a cold ditch to lie down in. Or a warm ditch. Whichever she stumbles across first. 

Just who is Calypso Starr? Who the hell does she think she is anyways? And what gave her the idea that any of this meant something to someone in the first place?

I choose to believe… 

Calypso takes a deep breath and starts counting back from ten. 

I choose to believe… 

As she slowly exhales, true clarity rings through her mind. Baird chose to believe. And it doesn’t matter how, his recordings made it off-planet. And if not Calypso Starr to tell his story, to transcribe every last detail she can capture, then who else? Who else does that leave? 

Calypso Starr, the rebel who didn’t wear the right uniform. The orphaned university student who scrapped by without any friends. And now, a Solar based, historical freelance journalist. Scratch that from the record: Galactic, historical freelance journalist. She’s worn half a dozen different hats over the years, but one thing has remained consistent: a Starr burns brightest before they go out. And if Baird Bell and Brahma are the undoing of her, then there’s nothing to be done about it. She’ll get to the end of the recordings and uncover the truth one or another. With or without Frannie’s help.

[noteguk]

Hey nala! I loved bad attitude, I can’t wait to see more of the oc teasing jk 😭

Thank you!! I really like exploring the dark side of the force that overtakes the oc every once in a blue moon. So I hope you guys like this one! (The timeline is after bad reputation, but before bad attitude) 

[ ! ] this is a drabble for bad influence. You can read it as a stand-alone. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, sexting, badboy!Jungkook x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits/enemies to lovers, dirty talk, taking and sending pics (not nudes), jk’s skirt thirst, a glimpse into the chaos that lives inside the oc 

— words; 1,2k

~ 

Years of high school (and now college) excellence did wonders to disguise your impulsive side. It was a common misconception to believe that, just because you were disciplined enough to keep your grades high and your responsibilities in check, you didn’t act on dumb, random thoughts that popped up inside your head. You kind of wished it was true (it would’ve saved you a lot of drama in your personal life) but you also had to admit that you had your fun indulging in your more chaotic needs as well. 

Jungkook’s answer came quickly, but not as quickly as you had first expected. Which meant that he was either busy or distracted — past tense — and that it would be slightly more fun than you thought. 

With a smirk growing on your lips, you turned around on the bed, reaching for your phone. His answer was simple, only one word, but it was more than enough for you to realize that your machiavellian plan would be fruitful. 

jk tutoring 🚫: dont.

If years of perfecting self-restraint didn’t stop you, his half-assed warning wouldn’t. With your phone in hands, you propped yourself up on your elbows as you typed a response. 

You: Why not? 😔

As you nervously waited for his text, the picture you had previously sent him was staring you right in the face. It wasn’t anything outrageous, just a simple mirror selfie of you sitting on the edge of your bed, legs crossed and head slightly tilted to the side. It was something so innocent, so gentle and casual, that you could almost pretend that you didn’t know exactly what you were doing when you picked that skirt.

It wasn’t any revolutionary discovery to claim that Jungkook had a thing for your skirts — he had mentioned about a million times already and, even if he hadn’t, it was extremely obvious from the way he explored your body with a lot more eagerness when you wore one. What was a revolutionary discovery, however, was the piece of clothing you found hiding in the corner of your closet, something you had long discarded because Yongsun had managed to shrink it the first time she washed it. 

It was practically impossible to wear it outside, but, well, it was the perfect tool to provoke Jungkook with. Because if karma didn’t take care of him, you would. 

Finally, his messages popped up on your screen: 

jk tutoring 🚫: in a lab rn dont wanna get hard thx

jk tutoring 🚫: but it looks rlly fucjing hot 

jk tutoring 🚫: wanna see you riding me in it bby 

jk tutoring 🚫: in front of that mirror ;) 

You bit your lip, bubbles of expectation starting to pop in your stomach. Sexting Jungkook was the free trial of being a chess genius — you were always ten steps ahead, predicting his following words with almost perfect accuracy. Was it mean, perhaps a little twisted of you to be doing that while he was (miraculously) in class? Maybe. But you had a lot of things in your mind and mercy wasn’t one of them. Especially after the months of torture he had put you through. 

You: whatever you want 🥰 

You: I’m surprised you even go to class tho, that’s news 

jk tutoring 🚫: u took the day off to pester me? 

You: maybe I did

You: maybe I’m also home alone for the rest of it 

jk tutoring 🚫: dont fucking say that 

In true supervillain fashion, you had to laugh at his apparent desperation — a high-pitched, victorious laugh that seemed to come straight from your soul. Jungkook very rarely found himself in that position and you absolutely lived for it. It was one thing to provoke him in person, when he was much stronger than you and could shut you up in no time, but, through the screen, only equal rights. And equal methods of torture.

You: why? You don’t wanna come over? 

jk tutoring 🚫: u kno I do 

jk tutoring 🚫: ill ttyl

You: not later!! Now 🥺 

jk tutoring 🚫: baby this isn’t the best moment 

jk tutoring 🚫: Im already hard n im almost done here ok

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, giving the angel and the demon on your shoulders time to present their case. The collected, rational part of you told you to leave it at that: he would come over later, you had managed to provoke him enough to piss him off and get the reaction you wanted. You won. But the impulsive, evil side of you told you that you didn’t win hard enough. 

Before you could think too much about it, you took another picture, feeling blessed enough to get a good shot on your first try. Your thumbs flew over the keys, typing fast to get the message sent before Jungkook decided to put his phone away. 

You: but these are the panties that you like 😔 

Like clockwork, there was a long moment of tension between your message being viewed and those little dots appearing at the corner of your screen. Once again: you knew exactly what you were doing. And you knew that a picture taken underneath your skirt, presenting him with a full view of your red laced panties, would be the cherry on top. 

jk tutoring 🚫: I fucjing hate u

You: don’t think you do 

jk tutoring 🚫: im saving these 

jk tutoring 🚫: gonna fuck u so hard bby 

jk tutoring 🚫: not even gonna take those off 

jk tutoring 🚫: just gonna push them aside n see u coming all over my cock 

Playing like that with Jungkook was like russian roulette — only, it was only you, and all chambers were filled. You knew it would backfire, you knew that the second he walked in your room all your control would go flying out the window, and yet you pushed on. Impulsiveness was a drug for someone that rarely indulged in it, and you were too high to care about the consequences when they seemed so far away. Or, even worse, when you kind of liked them. 

That was what pushed you to write your following messages: 

You: come over now? Please? 

jk tutoring 🚫: wait like 10 min we’re wrapping up 

You: now 🥺 

You: I’m so wet kook 

You: my panties are soaked 

You: don’t you wanna come and take them off? 

You: Or maybe I can take care of myself today and I can see you another day 😔

jk tutoring 🚫: dont fucking dare

You: I bet I could come super quick too I’m so turned on 

You: I want to feel you inside me 

You: I’m so tight too I can barely put my fingers in

You: please? Come over? 

Checkmate. The forces of chaos inside you were rejoicing, every cell of your body anticipating the impact of your words. You, however, already knew you had won even before he answered you. 

jk tutoring 🚫: im coming over rn

~

check out the rest of the bad influence collection!

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[josiebelladonna]

plus, when i really look at her words, there’s… something off about it all, like it feels scripted or something. she’s not actually speaking from the heart but rather to appeal to people. i hope i’m not the only one who feels this way, either.

“I’m an extremist” …jesus. really not the best time to admit that.

“I’m not a happy person but I do feel joy. I’ve been depressed most of my life.” so have i, but i didn’t grow up spoiled rotten. my parents struggled with demons despite doing what they could. my brother pretty much hates me at this point. what you’re feeling is called being alive and human. no one is entirely happy or entirely depressed unless there’s something wrong with them.

“I like it rough but also sweet and tender” i imagine most people do. that’s a pretty common thing. in fact, i like a *little* force. i’m grayer than you, and from my own research, sexuality is not black and white like you say it is, either (hence why everything she says feels incredibly off, just wrong, like i’m reading it wrong or something). but you wouldn’t give a fuck now would you?

“I enjoy sex” again, that’s a pretty common thing (that is, if you don’t grapple with shame). but seriously, i see way more women who are like this than women who are like me and are reluctant to share and explore their desires because it’s like ripping off a band-aid. but stop acting like you’re the only person who feels this way.

“I didn’t realize people didn’t know my sexuality” ??????? first off, people can’t read your mind, billie. the world does not revolve around you, ffs. and no one is outing you, either, NO ONE. someone asked you an innocuous question because that’s what the press does and you reacted the way you did because you’re neck deep in hollywood now. and second, this is a lot more obvious than you think. you express your sexuality through the way you dress, the way you act, the way you talk, everything, speaking as someone who grapples with this shit every goddamn day. stereotypes are stereotypes, but they’re there for a reason. one look at me and you can tell i’m not straight. you can set out to destroy the stigma from sex and sexuality, there’s still going to be people who don’t get it. i really don’t understand why you have to make such a huge deal about it all. besides, we have countless songs, records, and artists about sex and sexuality. i really don’t see how this is going to be any different or “revolutionary”, knowing how the way you talk feels like it came from somewhere else.

i could just chalk it up to immaturity but this is probably the biggest thing about her that annoys the fuck out of me: she is obnoxiously egotistical, and it seems to be getting worse with time. a little ego is good, healthy even, but when you’re walking around going like “I didn’t realize the world doesn’t revolve around me”, it makes me not want to touch your infected pussy with a ten foot pole. and the fact i smell plagiarism and this weird “cut and paste/copy of a copy” vibe from her recent interview just adds to it.

“well, why do you talk about someone you don’t like?” because that’s a part of the vast universe that is sexuality. someone talking about what they don’t like is interesting and gives you insight into them (that is if they keep it to a level). but fighting the dark side of life and wanting to be loved by everyone and being like “good vibes only” is not healthy, and the bubble is going to have to pop at some point. it definitely did on the green druidess. i make a big deal about it because everyone likes to give her a free pass for being racist, sexist, and most recently antisemitic, à la donald trump or someone like that, when other people would get reprimanded. i make a big deal about it because everyone is so quick to defend her, like you could say the most innocuous thing about why you don’t like her and it’s like dogpile on the rabbit, like how fucking dare i say these things and i get blocked left and right. hey, if your precious queen can say ~scandalous~ things, why can’t a rando like me? seems particularly hypocritical, doesn’t it?

so add “plagiarism” to the list of everything wrong with billie eilish now

[a-gal-with-taste]

Pact (Part 3)

Summary: “Ten years. If your dumb ass is still alive and kicking, and I’m still breathing… then fuck it. Let’s get married.” “Promise?”

Warnings: SFW | Marriage Pact AU, Revolutionary-shenannigans, language, fluff, banter, bonding, semi-slice-of-life, first kisses, young fools in love, pre-canon

Part 1 | Part 2

It’s only a small percentage of the population that hasn’t yet learned that Vander cheats. Most fall for his easy-smiles, open laughter and charming personality, but the three of you know better than to be fooled by any of it. 

The young man is sometimes more wolf than Hound, and he makes it well-known in his toothy grin as he tosses his set of cards into the middle of the table. You don’t so much read’em and weep, as much as you glance at them and snarl, “You jerk, I should’ve had you figured out two rounds ago. You’re sending us all into bankruptcy!”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Vander said with an offended frown as he caught the small drawstring of clinking-coins thrown to his face, giving a defensive glance to a bitter Benzo. “I’ll have you know that every cent of this is going to go into fundings, every cent!”

“Funny, is it really still your turn to go over funds this month?”

Vander gave Silco a scowl, speaking rather shortly even if the words should’ve technically been in a joking manner, “Could always switch the jobs again, ya seem to have no trouble making that choice without me.” Benzo only rolled his eyes, shouldering his friend joining him on that side of the booth, and only then did the steel-glint in gray eyes fade away.

A glance over at Silco beside you, and you could see the storm in bright-blue eyes remained. 

You’d spent two days in the care of the older medic - and in that time, some rumblings had started between the Sons of Zaun. Though no one could give you details, Silco had done his job in leading the Enforcers on a roundabout, leaving Vander in charge and unaware of the situation Silco had handled. Miscommunication, misunderstanding or something else missed, had sent out a small force sent out to figure out why a squadron of Topsiders were in hot-pursuit in the thick of the Lanes.

There’d been a clash. 

Two injured, two arrested, and when you finally hobbled back to The Last Drop, communication between the two heads of the Children of Zaun was basically non-existent.

Silco hadn’t gone into details, Vander was fine with pretending nothing was wrong whenever he spoke to you, so Benzo had been your only go-to for the events following the ruined altercation. From what you had gathered, an argument had broken out in the streets, ending with Silco ‘suggesting’ delegation of duties be changed from Vander being in charge of the deployed forces into the streets, to municipal work until... 

You had blinked, “Until... when?” But Benzo had only shrugged, “Don’t know, lass. Silco gave the order, but didn't exactly put a timer on it.”

Never, at least not in your memory, could you remember a time where Silco gave orders to Vander, nor vice-versa. To fellow Sons and Daughters, certainly - for as united as they were in goals, following an immediate agenda around such stubborn and spirited individuals was rather difficult, unless one put their foot down. But never to each other, and it was clear that Vander wasn’t taking too kindly to being told what to do. 

Compared to Vander largely wearing his emotions on his sleeve, you don’t think many others are paying attention to the fact that Silco’s knuckles grow whiter and jawline tense when Vander turns away from him. You try to make up for the difference, and while Benzo is quick to ease away the tension by cracking some jokes about desk-work, you also try to sooth the man beside you by gently bumping your knees together beneath the booth.

A blink, as Silco is roused from his thoughts, and there’s a glance toward you, “How’s the foot doing?”

“Well, hopscotch is still a no-go, but I might be able to manage a twirl after another couple drinks.” Bringing the glass to your lips in emphasis, you smile at the rim when you see his mouth twitch as you continue with a teasing lilt. “Bet you’d like to see me do a twirl.”

“Yes, watching you twist your ankle and have to carry you back off to the medic, again, would absolutely be a delight to see.” His dry remark is softened by a look of slight, but genuine perturbation, and you don’t even realize one hand has slipped off the table-surface, before it’s squeezing gently at your upper-thigh. At a respectable location, but you find yourself breath catching nonetheless while Silco murmurs, “You are feeling better though, correct? I would’ve been there to walk you home but... well, things happened.”

“Yeah,” You’re quick to whisper back, as you see a dark-brow furrow at impactful memories you had missed in only a span of two days. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to carry me to safety any time soon, Sil, I know how much you hated it.” The previous hints of a smile dim in comparison to the small smirk that crosses over thin lips.

“Oh? But you played the damsel so well, I almost expected a kiss by the end of it.” It isn’t enough that you blink once at his teasing - the bastard also happens to give your leg another squeeze when you finally open your mouth to fire back at him, causing you to swallow before finally stuttering out something that sounds vaguely irritated in reply.

“Could always smooch you with the fist, you know. Wouldn’t even have to ask.”

His hand slipping away from you almost goes unnoticed. Until it’s almost fiery-warmth catches around your wrist, and the cards in your hand crinkle as you watch him raise it up to his face, and brush his lips along the knuckles. “If I should be so lucky.”

Benzo says something about ‘pay attention’ and ‘lovebirds,’ but the words might as well be static to you. The only things left clear are a burning on the back of your knuckles, and a warmth in Silco’s aqua eyes. Both fade when he drops your hand from his grasp, and Vander speaks, bringing the rest of the world back to focus... even though you so-badly want a few moments more in that one you got a glimpse of;  where Silco, and only Silco, ever looks at you like that. 

“Feel like uppin’ the bid?”

“Unsure if we could afford it.” Silco’s dry remark is dismissed with a wave of a hand the size of his skull as Vander continues  “Nah, don’t need the extra coin... though, it would be fun to watch ya go take a swim-of-shame if ya lose this round-”

You want Silco to look at you like that again. You want to feel that warmth of his again, elsewhere than your knuckles, and so with more gusto and flippiantance than you’re actually feeling, you decide to up the stakes even further than Vander’s idea of a soak-of-shame in the river for the loser. 

“And I'll kiss the winner.”

Two sets of eyes immediately swing over to you, accompanied by gaping mouths. There’s a gleam in Silco’s eyes already, but Benzo doesn’t even give it consideration and tosses his cards onto the table in definitive defeat. “Alright, that’s me cue, ‘m out.”

“Aw, don’t feel like smooching, ‘zo? I’m hurt.”

“Nah, but apparently they do, lonely bastards.” Jerking his chin towards the Sons of Zaun that were left playing, your gaze followed the direction Benzo gestured to and though you blinked, you had to snort at how competitive the two boys quickly got. Blind to all the world but each other, and five slips of paper in tight hands, you had to hide a smirk behind one of your own as you leaned over to loudly whisper, “I didn’t realize they were so desperate.”

“Nah, they’re just competitive and also idiots,” Benzo assures you, with a nod to Silco. “Mean, he’s definitely gunning for it, but Vander’s got a vendetta that needs to be cleared up.” That made you blink, glancing over at the Hound in question who definitely seemed... intent.

It surprised you. Sure, Vander and Silco had their disagreements, and of course could both act like utter morons about any given situation, but you had never seen one or the other actively working against the other. They weren’t alike, far from it, but fit together like two pieces of the puzzle that kept the Undercity together. 

They couldn’t be fighting and, with Silco all but tossing his cards onto the table before shortly standing with a bristle in his step as he strides out of the booth, that’s exactly what you reminded a smug-looking Vander. “Don’t you two morons stop fighting... leave the stupidity to the Topsiders, alright?”

“Only if he does, lass, you wanna start puckering up?" Vander said with a shit-eating grin, eyes following Silco out the door, so he was blind to your eyeroll and your hand raising to connect to his face. 

The yelp he makes is high-pitched, amusingly more like a puppy than a Hound, and you briefly soothe the sting with a fleeting brush of your lips to his reddening cheek. "Be nice, or I'll put you both to sit-out in different corners," You scolded him lightly. "Despite being Children, you're actually adults. Act like it, and talk shit out."

"Again, lass," Vander said, scrubbing at his cheek with large fingers with a frown, gray eyes going dark again as he glanced over to watch Silco, resuming his march to the front door to storm out. "Only if he does."

If the two insisted on being dumb about it, the least you and Benzo could do is resume normal operations of going to your respective Son of Zaun and sooth over tempers and poor moods. A glance at the man and question, and Benzo is hustling over to do just that, while you slip from the booth yourself, with a rather over-exaggerated drag of your palm against your lips, cleansing you of the smooch you had given the Hound. 

Ignoring his faux-offended scoff, you paused by the supply closet just behind the bar to grab some towels, and soon found yourself jogging just behind Silco as he marched through the streets of the Lanes.

"You're not seriously going for a swim?"

"I fear a rebellion will occur within the rebellion if I don't." Melodramatic much? You rolled your eyes and gave him the same whack on the shoulder, though you pulled your blow considerably. "Silco," You said, seriously enough for him to swallow back a retort and glance at you out of the corner of his eyes. "I'm all for hitting first and talking later, but only for Enforcers and annoying punks on the streets. Vander is your Brother... you can gripe and grumble around actually talking to him, you know."

There was a pause, before a small sigh escapes him, and some of the tension leaked from his shoulders. "I'm... well aware we can be doing better. And we should be, but..." Closing his eyes, there was a soft, short exhale from his nose before teal-eyes cracked open to glance at you imploringly, and you nodded with empathy.

It was stupid, yes, but you could get it. Again, Vander and Silco were the two puzzle pieces that branched Zaun together - they fit best with one another's help, but they weren't perfect for each other by any means, only reflected images that filled in the cracks the other left behind.

Obviously, there were bound to be disagreements, but you trusted that they remembered there was a Nation looking to them, so that they would get a grip on themselves and return together, stronger than ever.

"I get it. But that doesn't mean you're off the hook with actually talking with him tomorrow."

"I think he wants more space than to-"

"After, your little dip, of course." You interrupted the excuse, not even humoring the nonsense while shoving the towels into his arms. Silco took them, giving a single glance before both brows rose on his hairline when he looked back to you, but you only smirked. "Hey, you lost, fair and square. Least I can do is show you the one pond in the Undercity that's not bubbling over with toxins... on some nights, you can even think it looks clean."

"I was thinking more along the lines of an extended shower at a safehouse," He comments in response, not sounding too impressed at the idea of taking a legitimate dip. You smirk, turning as you pocket your hands and walk backwards ahead of him, raising a brow in a dare. “Really? I would’ve thought, especially watching me kiss another guy, you would leap at the chance to go for a swim with me.”

“I didn’t stay to watch...” The insisting lie is given quickly, but his steps to follow are even quicker as a sharp, eager grin begins to take over his more recently stern expression. Even as you laugh, admonish him with a shocked cry of his name, when he suddenly quickens his steps in order to overtake you, clasping arms around your middle and half-guide, half-carry you to the waterpool, you really don’t mind.

You’d much rather be caught sternly in the arms of a grinning Silco, than the worried, strained Son of Zaun that was slowly beginning to become the norm for him.

And though Gods know that building and leading a nation takes its toil and strain, for one evening, you are glad to forget it all. It’s easy to, when the two of you duck into a small cavern that drips with actually-clear water, that glows under the fluorescent like of Zaun-evolved glowworms. 

When you turn, thoroughly soaked after oh-so romantically being tossed into the pool by him, you find yourself forgetting about everything. Everything, but the man treading water beside you, expression soft and awed along the edges, as his eyes shine under the neon teal lights when he leans forward to sneak a brush of lips along your cheek, far beneath the surface in a forgotten pool of an underground cave.

It’s easy, and welcomed wholly, to forget about everything else in the world then.

-

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[tommyspeakycap]

Please could you write one with Grealish where you’re a Chelsea fan so refuse to wear a Villa shirt with his name on, and for bants Mount gets you a Chelsea shirt with his name and Jack gets all pouty?

omg I love this idea!! gets very smutty at the end ;) enjoy!

Villa Boy

A love for Chelsea had been something you adapted and grew to into as a young girl. Your dad was never entirely sure how to bond with his only daughter and your mother told him just to include you in what he loved. And so came your season pass with a little lanyard that still hung proudly in your childhood room right next to a shirt mounted in a glass photo frame with Frank Lampard's signature scrawled along the eight on the back.

It was actually how you met Jack in the first place, which is the only one single reason that he has for liking your club affiliation. Otherwise, it was one of the most annoying things in his world. It was often a source of teasing and taunting, you saying your team was better than his and him swaggering home and gloating for weeks when Aston Villa take a win over Chelsea. It was the bane of his life that he couldn't get you into that claret and blue. Not even to sleep in or wear around the house, you just would not dare put it on.

"I would feel my dad's shame emanate through the walls, maybe it would kill him. And then I'd lose every morsel of self respect I have, so not a chance." You'd snort, not even giving him a window for more persuasion.

His England shirt? that was fair game. You'd wear that with pride, to the shops, round the house, walking the dog and especially at his games but there was just absolutely no chance of getting you into his Villa shirt.

Though Jack may never admit it, it was one of his biggest wants. Seeing you in his England short was nothing short revolutionary - he'd said. It only made him want to see you in the Villa shirt more. That was his childhood club, getting to captain that was one of his biggest achievements and while he knew you were absolutely proud of him. You were the most proud and encouraging person in his life and there were no ifs buts or maybes in that.

But my god he knew you'd look fit in that claret and blue.

No matter how much it annoyed him, he wouldn't get you out of the darker blue home jersey of your favourite club no matter what he did. It was something he had come to accept over the course of your relationship, it was by and large fine.

Until that jersey said someone else's name across the back.

"Awh come on!" He yelps, mouth dropped open as you emerge into the kitchen with your toothbrush hanging out your mouth and only one shoe on. Jack knows you slept in because he switched off your alarm last night in hopes you'd miss the game, but Jack dropped a bowl when he tripped over the dog and woke you up anyway.

You going to the Villa v Chelsea game in a Chelsea shirt was bad enough, but now he's just clocked something that's sent his mind firing a mile a minute.

MOUNT

19

Not a fucking chance.

"Oi, you!" He calls out, throwing himself off the chair at the kitchen island, his feet fumbling over one another to get after you as quickly as possible. "What's up, Jack?" You hum innocently, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you stand in the doorway shoving on your other shoe. "Is something the matter?"

Jack gawks, opening and closing his mouth awaiting words to find his frazzled brain. "Yes!" He squeaks, a tone you'd never heard from a man before, let along your very deep voiced man. "There's no way that you're- what are you doing? Come back." He groans, his feet shuffling after you as you walk back through the house to find your car keys. "We're going to be late if you don't hurry up." You note sweetly, Jack drops his jaw. "We're not going anywhere until-"

"Hi Mason, yeah I got it. Fits like glove actually. Yeah, we're just leaving now. I'll meet you in the car park."

Jack's face was literally priceless. His agape, eye's wild, brows furrowed. A pout settles itself firmly into his lips the second he sits in the car with his arms folded over his chest like a toddler. You have to physically stifle a laugh at him as you beam the entire drive to Villa Park.

"M' gonna burn that." He states. You cast him a glance out the corner of your eye as you pull into the players parking. A snigger escapes despite your very best efforts and Jack resumes his frontward glare at the dashboard with his lips in a firm line. "Gonna win this game, burn that shirt and knock Mount flat."

You know he's not being serious about Mason. He's very fond of the player when they're on the same side. But you had become very close friends with him through the mutual love for the club he plays at and Jack absolutely despised that. He wasn't the kind to be bothered by your friends even to a moderate degree and even here he trusted you, he just fucking hated the concept of another club and another mans name over your back. It ticked him right off.

You know this very well. You knew what you were getting into the second Mason handed you that dark blue shirt. It was all fun and games really. You loved the club but you only wore the Mount shirt to get under Jack's skin. You thought it might even throw off his game a little.

The second he stormed onto the pitch and scored a goal 5 minutes into the game, you figured that might not be the case.

Every opportunity, every goal, every opening and every single tackle, Jack turned to you. He turned to you with fire in those brown eyes, sending you a cheeky wink. His passion, the very serious look etched onto his features and the way he was looking at you was fuelling a very different kind of fire in you.

Jack played the whole 90 minutes and he took Mason Mount down at every single given opportunity in a careful way that just evaded him getting a yellow card. He finished hot, sweaty and with a man of the match trophy for 2 goals and one assist with a majority of the game spent with the ball at his feet.

The 3 nil win should have been a lot more disappointing that it was, but he just looked so fucking good. The sweat stuck his hair to his temples, his muscles tight and protruding through exertion as he walks off the field after shaking every hand.

You're standing just outside the tunnel with Mason and John McGinn standing with you, talking about the match mostly. John makes a joke about you wearing that top more often, seems to be a good luck charm for Villa even if it's the opposing team. Mason scoffs and says; "More like an angry boyfriend wants to murder me charm."

That's when Jack appears and John barely gets his mouth open to greet him before Jack shoulders through the two footballers. His mouth finds your immediately. Hot, passionate, fiery and filled with his dominance.

He pulls back and grabs onto your hand tightly with his back to the two midfielders. Jack twists his body round with a daggering glare.

"Nobody," Jack growls, "fucks around with girl."

His tone, deep and gravelly, only serves to dampen your panties further in a way that makes your clench your legs together.

Jack's done with pouting, the teasing can resume later. For now, he's dragging you by the hand to a darkened conference room. Hiking you up his body before setting you on the table that sits at a miraculously perfect height that places you right against his bulge.

He wastes no time whatsoever ripping down your leggings and panties, his fingers finding you immediately to swirl pressured motions around your sensitive clit. "Ahh, who's got you moaning like that baby?" He rumbles, words vibrating through your lips.

"You Jack, oh god, you!" You pant as his fingers leave you feeling empty and needy. Jack easily tugs down his shorts and pulls himself out of his boxers to line up with your entrance. His victory sex is hot always, but usually there was a dry spell after a Villa v Chelsea game, so it had never been this hot.

"And who am I?" He grunts, pushing himself into you to hear your shuddering squeak of pleasure. He lays you down over the table, hands following you under your shirt to carefully and tentatively swirl his fingers over your nipples from under your bra. "Oh god, Jack," you move your hands to the hem of the blue shirt to lift it over your head, but Jack's hands stop them before you have the chance.

"No, no, no," he chastises with a smirk, "Want to fuck you in their colours," He continues to thrust roughly into you with each heavy breath, mouth and squeak that escapes you only spurring him on. "Want to fuck you with his name on your back, baby. Remind you who you belong to."

You shudder in pleasure with the feeling of his lips attaching to your neck, letting out a shaky, heavy breath as he snakes a hand down between you to swirl those circles around your more pleasureful spot once again. He knows the intricate details of your body better than any man ever has and he always ensures he uses it to his advantage, but nothing like today. His lips on the sweet spot of your neck, hitting and stretching you perfect between your legs with masterful work of his fingers pushing you closer and closer with each second that passed.

"Fuck , I'm so close-"

"Who's making you feel so good, baby?" He pants, skin slapping and heavy breathing echoing around the room. "You, Jack. You!"

"Not a Chelsea boy eh?" He grunts, teeth nibbling down over your collarbone. "Not a Chelsea boy baby is it?" He reiterates, pairing the movements of his hand only until you snap open your eyes again, "No Jack, it's all you. not a- oh god!"

Jack breathes a chuckle into your ear with an appreciative hum to follow.

"Yeah, Villa Captain isn't it? You're screaming out for a Villa boy, ain't ya?" He coaxes, edging you further and further as he speeds up to a pace he's never quite hit you with before. The adrenaline of the match, the irritation of that blue jersey and the passion for the win colliding to give him an energy he's never yet had. Watching your eyes roll beneath him wearing that stupid blue entices him on, only makes him want to pleasure you more if even possible. "Yes! Yes, I am, oh god just don't stop."

"Go on then," he encourages, voice deep in your ear. "Come undone for the Villa Captain baby."

He didn't have to tell you twice, that was for sure. The sight of your eyes fluttering, the feeling of you clenching around him with a steam of, "Fuck yes Jack!" sends him tumbling over the edge of his orgasm right after you, a strangle cry out of your name as it wracks through him.

When he lays down beside you in the table that very surpassingly withstood the pace of your antics, you're both breathless and shining with sweat. Your legs feel like jelly as you still throb from the pleasure. Jack turns his head to you with a lazy smirk, brushing some hair off your forehead as you turn to look at him.

"Well, I certainly do love a Villa boy."