#Been trying to branch out but the answer is I can get to my document at work then.
Text
Firefly Chapter Fifty-Three
We tied the horses to a tree, making sure to leave it loose enough that they could get free if they needed to. We looked around to see there wasn't anyone on guard. “Something's off. Why isn't there anyone on guard?” We slowly made our way to the front of the building. The glass doors and windows at the entry were boarded up by plywood. When we walked into the lobby of the science building there were plastic totes and boxes stacked up in the middle between the doors and stairs.
I picked up a clip bored and looked at it. It was a checklist of things. “They were packing up to leave. This is a checklist,” insaid, handing it to Joel. “Hello! Is anyone here?!” Ellie shouted. Joel and I both shushed her. “We gotta keep it down. We don't know who might be here or what might be in here,” I told her. She whispered sorry and we headed towards the stairs. “Where do you think everyone went?” Ellie asked, quietly as we came to the second floor. Before either of us could answer we heard a loud banging coming from down the hall.
With Joel in the lead, we quietly and slowly made our way towards the sound. It was probably a stupid idea, but what other choice did we have? It could be one of the fireflies. We made our way to a classroom, and Joel slowly pushed the door open, gun aimed in front of him. When we walked in, we saw monkeys running about and knocking stuff over. I walked in further and looked around. “Fucking monkeys. Doesn't look like anyone has been here for a while,” I said.
“Let's look around and see what we can find. Don't wander off too far,” Joel said. I walked out into the hall and looked into the other rooms, going in and checking anything I saw that might give a clue what happened here. “Do you think They're still alive?” I wiped my head to the left and looked at Ellie. “I don't know. Maybe. I don't see any kind of signs of struggle but that doesn't mean something didn't happen. They were packing up to leave but why? That's the question. Whatever happened here, it happened a while ago.”
We continued going through the rooms, coming across monkeys once in a while. There were documents on the Cordyceps Infection and failed tests for vaccines. There were scans of people, infected, with different stages of Cordyceps. We looked through everything until we came to one of the rooms that had a white board with a map pinned to it. “Looks like they headed to Salt Lake City,” Joel said, pointing to the map where Salt Lake City was circled in red. “Looks like we're going to Utah,” I said.
We were getting ready to head back to the stairs when voices from outside floated up into the room through the broken window. Joel moved closer to look down at the ground, moved back, and put his finger to his lips. Ducking down we made our way out of the class room and down the hall. We were only a few feet from the stairs when we heard voices and footsteps coming up them. Joel quickly opened a door and pushed Ellie and I inside, closing it behind him and leaning against it to listen. When they passed the door, he opened it just enough so he could look into the hall.
One by one, silently, with Joel going first, then Ellie, and finally me, we moved out of the room and down the stairs. At the bottom Joel looked around before urging us toward the front doors where we came in. We got to the horses, untying them from the tree branch when yelling started. Then a shot went off and three men charged us. I pulled my gun, armed, and shot one in the shoulder, knocking him back. Another came up on Joel, who dodged the man's bat.
I shot the first one again in the leg and then shot another in the head before going to help Joel. He was struggling with the guy who had run at him. The man swung the wooden bat again, Joel dodged it and he hit the tree breaking the bat. “Yn, watch out!” Ellie yelled. Before I could turn around someone tackled me to the ground. We fought, rolling around, trying to get the upper hand on each other. I had no chance against him, he was bigger and stronger. He also had a knife in my face.
My hands wrapped around his wrist, pushing against him as hard as I could. My grip was slipping and the only thing I was able to do was move his hand down away from my face. He put all his weight down, driving the knife into my shoulder. A shot went off at the same time I screamed in pain, then he was falling off of me. Joel was standing above me and when I looked up I gasped. “Joel.” He looked down to where my eyes were fixed. The broken end of the bat was protruding from the side of his abdomen.
He stumbled back and I stood. “Joel, don't pull…” He pulled it out of his abdomen and threw it to the ground. Yelling got closer and closer to us. “Get on the horse, Joel!” Ellie told him, urging him to mount the horse. He did as told and she climbed up behind him. I got on the other horse and we headed towards the way we came in at. I shot at anyone following until we were completely out of sight.
Blood was running down my arm and hung limp by my side. We followed train tracks for miles before Joel started to slow down. Ellie was doing her best to keep him upright. I had come up beside them on the side Joel was leaning towards to try and help her. His skin had grown pale and clammy. I'm sure I wasn't looking the best either. The pain in my shoulder was horrible. With every bounce it shot down my arms and across my shoulder.
That all went away the moment Joel and Ellie's horse came to a stand still and Joel looked over at me before falling off the other side of the horse. Ellie yelled his name and got off the horse, falling to his side. I slipped off my horse, ran around to them, and fell to his other side. “Joel, look at me!” I said, grabbing his face to turn his head towards me. “Look at me, Joel.” His eyes looked up at me, his mouth opening but nothing came out. His eyes shut again and he fell unconscious. “Joel! Joel, don't do this! Wake up! Wake up, Joel! Please.” Ellie was shaking himself, tears coming to her eyes. “We can't do this without you.”
#joel x reader#ellie x joel#joel the last of us#joel and ellie#joel tlou#joel miller x reader#joel miller#ellie x riley#ellie x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#the last of us fanfic#the last of us game#the last of us#the last of us x reader#pedro pascal
20 notes
·
View notes
Note
If it’s not too much—would you mind talking a bit about how you research specific, near-nameless people and what your process is for that kind of thing? It’s such a different task than researching, say, a specific topic in history, and not a skill I’ve really had a chance to develop. I really admire your dedication and thoroughness to your whalemen and want to be able to afford that same level of comprehensiveness, without knowing where exactly to start…..
I’m gonna answer this with many a caveat! So depending on what you’re researching it might be helpful or it might be useless
The first caveat is that I can only answer in a US-centric capacity, and, when I’m getting more granular information, a New York City capacity. But these records exist for municipalities elsewhere too—it’s just the extent and accessibility of which that will vary.
A lot of people slip through the cracks when it comes to official documentation and you might not be able to find them/find much on them. For instance race, class, and gender are going to play a significant role in how someone’s life is recorded, if it’s recorded at all. And there’s a lot of human error in old record keeping that can make someone hard to find. The only reason I was able to find out as much about my friend Mr. Buel as I did, despite him dying at around age 21, was because he came from a middle class background in an urban location and his father was a rather prominent physician at the time, so his lifestyle before he went whaling was captured more clearly across census records and school records.
Whaling history is a rather unique window of time in that it’s wonderfully documented, and a lot of these otherwise forgotten ordinary guys thus have some record of their existence on crew lists. Adding to that, hundreds of whaling journals have been preserved and digitized. Most of them are logs, so they’re impersonal, but there are also a handful of personal diaries which are a rarity and luxury to have. These men would often talk about their friends and families, hometowns, old jobs, etc. And, from a non-research standpoint, it’s always an honor to be able to learn about someone’s emotional world through their own words. As such, my research and how much I’m able to find out about these men is really privileged by the fact that I often have a good amount of baseline info already that I can plug in to find out more. And if I don’t….odds are they were probably a Young Twenty Something in the year they were whaling so I can guesstimate a birth year and usually find them after cross referencing more.
So, what to cross reference? I’ll talk about it below under the readmore cos it got long.
The easiest place to start is geneology websites. Ancestry.com is the most utilized and has the widest availability of records. You can find the census, marriage certificates, naturalization certificates, passports, death certificates, military documents, ship manifests, baptismal records, wills, and more. It’s also ridiculously expensive. Familysearch is a free alternative with less records, though I haven’t used it myself. You could try Ancestry’s free trial to farm as much as you can (and cancel before) or wait for a bulk sale that they do sometimes (that’s still stupid expensive). But it’s very hard to cancel a subscription (it’s always set to autorenew) without them hitting you with a cancelation fee once they have your card number. I believe you can avoid this by gifting yourself a subscription so they don’t have a credit card to charge and thus it won’t autorenew. It’s ridiculous, but unfortunately one of the better options as far as ease of use, searchability, access, and scope of records. There are also library versions of it that you could access for free if it’s available at a branch near you. It makes me so mad that….the census is paywalled. Fuck em.
With all that said, census records are great places to start if you know someone’s name. Even better if you know more specifics such as approximate birth year, other family members’ names, occupation, location, etc. There are federal censuses (every 10 years), as well as state censuses (records vary by state what survives and how often they were taken, as well as what questions were asked). But they aren’t perfect. Anything prior to 1850 is only going to list the head of household, and other household members are nameless and simply grouped in age and gender brackets. Prior to 1880, you won’t be able to find anyone based on a specific street address because each house was numbered in order of visitation by the enumerator instead. This was a puzzle for me when I was trying to figure out where Buel lived, because his school papers listed a home address, but when I searched it, it was several blocks away from the election district the census said he lived in. So I used fire insurance maps and realized that the house numbers had changed rather dramatically from the 1850s to now. Through those I found his actual home location by matching the address and election district to the map.
Sanborn fire insurance maps are great if you want to know more about a specific part of town in the 19th and 20th centuries, as well as the actual house numbers in that time. The New York Public Library digitized a number of them, and iirc they have other states too. These maps were highly specific about what each building was made out of, what sort of industries or shops were around it, houses of worship, parks, etc. It won’t tell you anything specific about an individual person, but does add some texture to their life.
While the census is a good jumping off point, it has a number of issues like those mentioned above, and beyond. The 1870 census was so incorrect the first time around it had to be conducted again. The 1890 census was largely destroyed in a fire and so those records are lost. There is going to be a lot of human error. Enumerators might accidentally skip addresses or people. They’re inevitably also going to mark down incorrect or reductive information about those people. The racial identity of people was particularly misrepresented by enumerators often, as it wasn’t self id but the enumerator passing a judgment within ever changing and limited ‘categories’ that shifted with each census. Ages are going to be variable. Names might be misspelled or a person might change their name (tho I have to plug in here that no one’s names were changed at Ellis Island! It’s a huge myth that is so deeply enduring! Didn’t Happen! Except for one person named Frank Woodhull! Look him up sometime for some Gender Nonconforming History). Also, more than one person can have the same name as someone else living at the same time. That’s just how it is. So that’s where cross referencing is important. Trace the person across records—do you see the same family members, do you see marriage records that could account for changes, do the ages and years make sense, all of that. It’s like putting together a puzzle. Sometimes the puzzle is never completed. Sometimes people just disappear from the record entirely.
For looking for people outside of the census years, city directories can be good for that. Again, a lot of cities had these—New York’s are digitally accessible through the NYPL. These came out every year and basically functioned like a phonebook, usually listing someone’s name, occupation, place of work, and home address (and sometimes limited racial signifiers, if the person was not white). Directories are again, not perfect. They only list people who were ‘gainfully employed’, and it’s very rare to see women in them because of the limited types of work open to women while the directories are in use. But it’s another way of piecing things together. For instance I found the first name and address of my other friend Mr. J.E.Haviland (Jacob), by taking what he mentioned in his journal (the names of brothers, his particular skillsets, and an acquaintance of his who used to work in the same neighborhood as him with specific street names), and ultimately finding a man who matched in the city directory in the years he would be working in that neighborhood. Again, puzzles!
The National Archives also has TONS of documents (I’ve dug through them for seamen’s protection certificates as well as US Consular records to find out about things that may have happened to men abroad), and a lot of them are digitized. The problem is they aren’t often easily searchable so you spend a lot of time staring at rather poor scans and folders containing hundreds of pages of stuff. But if you know more or less what you’re looking for, it’s a possibility. The Library of Congress also has a number of public records available and digitized, as well as searchable newspapers in Chronicling America. And all of that is free. Findagrave, also free, can be helpful in finding cemetery plots as well as other family members who might be buried there that could help in further cross referencing info. And check the municipal archives / libraries in the location you’re researching as well if they’re accessible—they often have public records or could help steer you in the right direction.
Court records can be interesting as well, and can usually be found in state/municipal archives. In the absence of diaries, police court records are one way to hear someone’s voice, just for a little moment. Granted, it’s often their voice in defending themselves, but I’d say police court records are, unfortunately, one of the few ways to hear marginalized perspectives which otherwise don’t have much presence in the government record. Sensationalist newspapers would often publish bits from them. As such they must be taken with a huge grain of salt, but it’s another avenue to find a piece of someone’s life
The last thing I’ll say is the only research subscription thing I pay for currently is Genealogy Bank, on the subject of newspapers. It was also expensive (though I got a bulk sale), but feels worth it to me right now. It’s pretty amazing, and not just for researching people but topics. The searching isn’t always particularly accurate, but it’s a WEALTH of newspapers (more than Newspapers.com I believe), that is searchable and can be narrowed by state, city, and all the specific newspapers published in that city over a couple centuries. You can look up names or keyword search anything else and specify specific days and date ranges. It’s good. Again, not a perfect search system, but it’s better than Chronicling America imo.
Depending on who you’re researching, archive.org is also invaluable. Look at the pages of libraries / museums / other academic institutions there to see what they got. It’s where I find all my whaling diaries.
That’s all I can think of for now! Hope it was helpful!
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Welcome, everyone, to another Spotlight Saturday!
This week we are spotlighting writer @throttlegainwell so read their answers to our ‘Get To Know Your Fic Writer’ questions below the cut. And here is the ao3 link to check out all of their amazing fics:
Reminder: This month’s prompt is ‘soulmates’…
…so please see our pinned post for more info. We have posted a lot of soulmate prompts for those needing some inspiration so check those out as well.
And as always, feel free to message us with any questions, whether you are a fic reader or a fic writer. Both of us write fanfic so we are open to helping however we can. Need a beta? Message us and we’ll either help you or put out a call for beta help! Hit writer’s block? Maybe we can help? Or maybe you just want to recommend a fic? SEND US AN ASK OR A DM!
Happy Saturday! ✍🏼 📖
Spotlight Saturday Questions:
@throttlegainwell’s answers:
1. I guess I prefer one-shots generally, but it's much more satisfying to me to write (and finish!) multi-chaptered fics.
2. A mix of both? There's usually at least some degree of planning for each chapter, but sometimes I just see where it goes.
3. ... It depends on the story. Usually, I'm rushing to slap a bunch of ideas into a document as quickly as I can type (or writing notes on my phone). Lines of dialogue, character ideas, themes I want to address, bits of description or narrative or details to include, plot arcs, whole scenes sometimes... I get those into one doc (which I clean up as I go, if I'm copying them over from my phone), then I create a corresponding doc titled LINEAR that I typically view side-by-side with the fragments/notes doc. I move bits into the LINEAR doc as I work, once I know where they're going or have a place for them (like when I've built the connective tissue), until the first doc is empty; I finish writing in the LINEAR doc. There's usually a brief summary of the story, by that point, in the Synopsis window on the right (I work in Scrivener) so I don’t get too off-track, and I'll probably have some notes in the Notes window, as well as any warnings that will be necessary if I post it (so I don't forget later). But sometimes I just sit down and write, like, an entire story, without thinking about it, or I'll try something stream-of-consciousness or experimental. And sometimes I actually do outline (though sometimes that outline is just a bunch of things that I know need to happen, and I drag those around until the order of them feels like a satisfying arc--I wrote an entire 40k+ story that way).
4. Oh, everywhere, I guess. From the source material, definitely. From books I read, concepts I've studied, themes that just interest me so they tend to crop up in my work or maybe I want to try a different spin on them. Sometimes a story I've written/am writing sparks an idea, or I want to try a variation on it to see where it goes, so I branch off from that. Sometimes I just want something, out of the blue. Occasionally, I browse prompts.
5. Nah. I did the whole concrit thing back in my early fandom days. I'm here to have fun and I assume so is everyone else.
6. Nope! I used to do beta reading, a long time ago, and I've casually edited for fandom friends, but I've never used a beta reader. I don't really see myself starting now.
7. Whichever one is the most interesting for the story or whichever one best serves the story's goals, usually. Sometimes because I haven't tried a particular POV before and I just really want to give it a shot, or because I'm writing it with one voice and the voice of a different POV character just *feels* right or sounds really interesting. But I've been branching out a little! I'm usually very committed to 3rd person limited, but this past year, I've been trying switching POVs a bit, I'm writing one story simultaneously from two different POVs (beginning to end, for each) just because it's such a different story for each character, and I'm writing one from omniscient POV because it was really the only one that would do what I needed.
9. I usually try to! (Not always. But usually.) I don't read a lot of fanfic, due to what I imagine is the very common combination of lack of free time and quite severe concentration issues (though I've always been a big reader and I love it a lot, so this is, needless to say, a massive bummer). It's worse with fiction than non-fiction, so if I actually manage to read a fic, it's a safe bet that I probably took notes during and the author will hear *at length* about all the ways I enjoyed it and what I found really interesting or memorable.
10. I have many WIPs, but blinks only came up in a few. One is too explicit to share here, but here's one: He can’t tamp down a shiver at the thought; he blinks extra hard, resisting the urge to grasp the back of his neck protectively.
11. Ooh. Like I said, I don't read a lot of fic (and I haven't read that many for the ST fandom), but I very much love what maddie_grove is doing with Tonight, Tonight, The Highway's Bright. I wildly enjoyed where the hours bend, by fakelight. And this world is gonna pull through, by scoutshonour, hit just right.
12. I don't tend to expect much feedback. I post because otherwise I'll go back and tinker with fics, and I don't really have the time for that, plus at a certain point it's not fun anymore, but I'm still messing with it. So when it's done enough that I've accomplished what I set out to, I post to free up my brainpower to move on to other things. It doesn't necessarily discourage me to not receive it (usually), but it really does encourage and motivate me when I *do* receive it. If someone enjoys a story and wants to talk about it, I'm likely to write more works in that vein or explore those ideas/characters/fandom more. I’m more likely to go back to a WIP if people are excited about it with me. I've received some truly lovely, thoughtful, analytical, humbling, and memorable feedback, and I hugely appreciate and enjoy all of it.
13. Don’t delete/erase anything. Save it all.
14. I tend to get into a certain headspace to write, but I wouldn't say that I usually feel what the characters are feel. Sometimes, I probably do. (I'm one of those people who moves their lips when they read an emotional scene, so I guess I do get a bit into it while I'm writing! Embodied cognition, what a trip.) I do sometimes draw from personal experience, but typically only in very broad strokes.
15. Happily. :) I've written a LOT of sex scenes over the years, for a lot of different thematic, narrative, and character purposes (and sometimes just for rule of horny, rule of funny, or to explore a particular kink). I approach each one differently, based on the tone I'm trying to set, whether I want it to be particularly erotic or emotional or something else, the level of narrative distance I want the reader to feel, what the characters are like, what the overall genre is. Sometimes I get visual or detailed, depending on what I'm trying to do (and whether I feel those characters would do so or whether it would be a help or a distraction in that moment), but I tend to depict the internal processes more than the physical details. The sensory aspects. The observations, interpretations, and reactions. Connections between characters, if there's more than one. I personally tend toward realism in my sex scenes, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't skirt the edges sometimes or just say fuck it and throw realism out the window for a particular story. But I don't think realism is necessary in smut (or any fiction, when it comes down to it). It's a matter of preference.
16. Omg how many fic ideas am I NOT nurturing right now. Way, way too many. Here's a Jancy one that hasn't quite made it to the WIP stage (still in the synopsis-in-dedicated-doc stage): Jonathan and Nancy break up over the college thing. (It’s not really the college thing.) Years later, as they're both settled into their careers (Jonathan as a photographer, Nancy as a journalist, both constantly traveling for work and hard to reach), they end up sharing a room when they visit for Lucas and Max's wedding. Lots of angst, lots of pining, lots of denial, and ultimately an exes-getting-back together story. Sometimes you just want the cliche done your way.
17. I just don't write, tbh. I try to address whatever issue is preventing me from writing (if possible) or (if it's beyond my control) I just accept that it's not a writing period of my life. I'm happier when I'm writing regularly, and I do think it's good for me overall, but I'm not going to let hobby writing cause me genuine stress. (I've got non-hobby writing for that, ha.) I take it as a sign that something is wrong or that I'm just tired of writing and need to recharge (by engaging some other interest or hobby for a while).
18. Depends. Sometimes the title comes first, sometimes during, sometimes after. Sometimes I really do just fall in love with a title, though. I rarely struggle to title fics after the fact, but when I do, I'll just slap a quick and vague title on there and call it a day. Often it's a pun or something relevant, sometimes an important line from the story, sometimes lyrics. I have a series of art-related titles for some Will stories I want to do and some science ones I have saved for some Dustin stories. Some photography terms for Jonathan. Stuff like that.
19. Turns out it's hurt/comfort! This should surprise no one.
20. Oh, have I ever. Yeah, I've had people read enough of my work to point out themes that I tend to tackle a lot (I'm big on autonomy, resilience, and kindness--you'll see them repeated a LOT in my work, from different angles--and, yeah, I write about trauma a lot), and I definitely have some words/expressions that pop up a lot (and with each passing year, I try a little less to cull them). Also, you'd be hard-pressed to find a story of mine where someone isn't making, drinking, or talking/thinking about coffee. No reason. It just... seems to happen.
21. I had a shared 'verse with a friend, a long time ago. It was a huge amount of fun. We really gelled and produced just tons of material for it that had us in tears laughing and, you know, was also incredibly horny. That was a shared 'verse, rather than a collaboration for an entire story, but, yeah, I'd say that I'd be willing to collaborate. I don't consider myself terribly reliable or consistent, though, so I worry that a potential writing partner would find this frustrating.
22. I used to think so, but, honestly, I've been proved wrong many times, so I'd say no, not really. There's not a lot that I absolutely won't write. There are a few things that remain pretty serious squicks for me, but I'm sometimes able to write about things that I would find difficult to read. Some things also don't necessarily interest me or I would find it technically difficult to write them.
23. Don't worry about making it beautiful. Just get it all down. (You can’t sculpt what’s not there, you know?) And in that vein: write EVERYTHING down. Even if you’re not sure it works. Don’t assume you’ll remember or won’t need it. Just write everything.
24. Anything that's involved regimentation. That just doesn't work for me in every case. It's important to be flexible, both to discover what *does* work for you or to be able to move between different strategies for different stories or at different times in your life. Close second, though: that you should mine your pain to write because that's where true art comes from. That advice is shit. Sometimes art is aliens fucking in a time warp and also there's a ghost with daddy issues. Write whatever the hell you want. It does not have to be profound literature to be a good story.
25. For my ST fics? I think I've gotten a pretty decent response for most of what I've posted, considering it's all very niche and this is a massive fandom (and one to which I came extremely late and very recently). I guess a little more response for already wise, already worn might have been nice, just because it's a weird little experimental story that I think actually came out really neat, but it's *very* niche so I never expected much response. Or possibly Two Steps Forward, just because I think it's an interesting little ghost story that's different from everything else I have posted, and I really do have a soft spot for gen works.
26. For my ST fics, our future foe scenarios is a pretty odd one. We've got Nancy really feeling her big sister duties while also kind of worrying about Jonathan, making out with him, then convincing the Party to let her earnestly and VERY awkwardly talk to them about the importance of consent (and kind of roping Jonathan into helping her, which he's not happy about but dutifully does). It’s kind of clumsy, but she means well.
27. I love when the ideas slot into place, when I know where things are going, I see how it's moving, and I get all the pieces lined up so it's a straight shot to the end. Extremely satisfying. I dislike working out the kinds of technical details that I'd prefer to gloss over but that are sometimes story-significant, like ages and timelines. I'm increasingly just ignoring that shit.
28. Apparently I'm getting several thousand words done a day, on average, with as many as 6-7k some days. But I'm happy if I just do a couple hundred, or a line or two. This has just been an unusually productive year for me.
29. Ideally: I ignore it for a couple of weeks until I've forgotten the shape of it, then I read it over with fresh eyes. Increasingly: when it's written, I go over it for typos, overall continuity, basic coherence, and (if it covers sensitive themes) to make sure that I'm not inadvertently presenting something wildly hurtful or counter to my goals. And then I just call it done.
30. I'd say that I never really polish all that much to begin with, these days. I mostly post 1st drafts, even though there's typically stuff that I would pretty easily catch and adjust if I gave it a real once-over. I've just decided that I'm okay with not fussing with it very much. But I share WIPs these days, some of which are pretty rough. (I did not used to do this that much.)
#jancy spotlight saturday#spotlight saturday#writer spotlight#jancy fanfic#jonathan byers#nancy wheeler#jancy
10 notes
·
View notes
Note
Thanks for the answers :) got some more if that’s ok?
1: is there a canon reason why Jake is named well, Jacob? What’s your Headcanon about the name?
2: besides the undertaker vs mankind hel in a cell match, what’s the duos favorite OMG moment in wrestling?
3: what’s the official name for the duo: the starburst duo, starburst duo, team starburst, etc….
4: was there another name for the duo before coming up with starburst duo?
5: what’s something the duo would laugh at every time?
6: would Chris like three despicable me movies? I say yes due to the adoption theme & maybe the fart gun weapon. ( can see Jake creating his own version of that XD)
@gothicghost2000 No problem at all my friend ;-)
1) As of this writing, sadly there hasn’t been an official documented reason for Jake’s naming in New Order by his creators so for the canonical part it is currently unknown.
That having been said, Based on a Headcanon by the ever lovely @snothing , Jakand’r translates in Tamaranean as ‘Moonfire’; more implicitly he’s named after one of Tamaran’s moons though in a bit of coincidence, it’s also a name that starts with the letter J which can fit into how both his sister and him are named after Mary and John Grayson. For more on that, that post would be right here
2) Perhaps the Duo’s OMG moments will also include but not limited to:
Cody vs Dustin Rhodes, especially it’s ending from AEW Double or Nothing 2019,
Kofi Kingston vs Bryan Danielson for the WWE Championship at Wrestlemania 35
Kurt Angle Driving a Milk Truck to the Ring then Dousing Milk all Over Steve Austin (aka Milk-O-Mania)
And lastly but never the least
Goldberg vs Brock Lesnar at Survivor Series 2016
3) I probably lean on The Phantom Star Vanguard Titans as it reflects both their place of origins and roots while making them a sub branch of the Titans via their respective connections with Dick and Kory.
4) At first they try coining the Star Phantoms as a sort of nickname for them but as time went on after the press gave them their more well known moniker, it ended up sticking to them and they accepted it, finalizing it via their Twitter account being called as such.
5) Probably videos about epic bloopers, special effects failures, and other such mishaps when it comes to big budget movies behind the scenes are a surefire guarantee in getting Chris and Jake to burst out laughing so hard. It's something of a tradition for them nearly every single time they have a sleepover.
6) Oh my yes Chris would adore those movies which is quite ironic in a sense given he's a superhero and yet the main character Gru himself starts out as a self admitted supervillain. As for the tool you describe, I see Jake taking some inspiration only instead he opts for instead gas grenades, packed with instead a compound that emits a powerful odor that can be described being 'Someone accidentally cutting the cheese at the same time a skunk walks right into the room'. Jake would use it in flushing out entire rooms are armed criminals and thugs inside a building during patrols
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi!! I'm one of the active people in the tumblr branch of the HCH fandom!! For some reason I like asking a set of questions to other HCH fans sdv;gjkerlgk I wanted to ask you too ^^
No pressure to any of them, as in you don't have to answer if you don't want to, and take as much time as you need if you do want to answer!!
Favourite HCH character?
Favourite panel/screenshot of said character?
Thoughts/opinions on Nicolosi? Negative, positive, and neutral are okay!
Any HCH headcanons, theories, or OCs?
Again, no pressure ^^ Have a good new year :]
hi fuzzy!! tysm for asking ^^ this is actually a very cute fandom thing to do, considering it's also a small community so it's a great way to know each other's opinions :D
I'll answer under the cut just to prevent clogging other people's dashboards
1. Fav HCH character:
I also love very much Percy and Luna!!
When it comes to picking a fav I'm always indecisive because each media I like has me attaching to at least 3 of them (●__●) my top fav tho has to be Sapphia! loved her since the start she's just too iconic (and her backstory is actually so sad that's why I grew attached to her)
(and I'll add again that my user on here was sapphialuvr before I came back a year later and was mad indecisive between tiffaluvr or ryuuluvr but tiffa sounded better)
2. Fav panel/screen of said character:
Nice question because there's some screens where they're together!
One of them is the one where Marla sneaks out with Sapphia but nobody (minus a few) knew it was her. So when Percy was on the tower, and she says "August says hi!", ofc he's confused
(the lil Percy is so silly like cmon 😭)
As for Luna (and Saph again) i was laughing SO HARD when she clashed at the wedding because her bestie had stolen her crush (which sounds like an average american rom-com), and when she was talking with Sapphia about this, girl had only one way to stop her:
and unironically, this picture has been in my camera roll favorites since then
(in between of friends picture, a wallpaper and more webtoon screens)
3. Thoughts/Opinions on Nicolosi (negative/positive/neutral)
Definitely hated him at some point (or more than one) because of his behaviour at the party (?) (I forgot if it was a party that August organized but u get it), where Sapphia clearly acted out of impulse and then we all know what happened next.
Also in the backstory where he was super mean to her, ableist, hated her for being a lesbian and kept forcing himself to believe she was the villain!!! oh, and the desperate try to stop the wedding.
I have no idea if he's converting back to being good or something, since we can see him finally coming to his senses after the closet scene (percy in the closet and august confessing), I really hope tho!! would love to see a redemption arc
4. Any OCs/Theories/Headcanons
My biggest theory was the whole Lucas/Luna/Lucille thing (I had figured out Lucille was Lucas b4 the transition, and Luna was his sister). I had a whole document about it where I color picked stuff and helped with a few lines from diff chapters! Took it very seriously (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) Canvas readers already knew, but for me (and anyone else) who started reading in 2022, clearly it was new stuff!! I remember sending the doc to a few friends and convincing them of the theory being real, it was fun ngl!!
Other than that, I don't have any particular headcanons, and no OCs (but would love to see if someone has any!)
That's it!! Again, ty for asking! This was very fun ^^ Can't wait for the new season to start so we can comment it together and make the community even more active!!
And happy new year to u too!
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Take A Break (Abestache Drabble)
A/N: I hope that this is good enough to hold y'all over until the second thing I make XD I must provide for the Abestache community!
Word Count: 666 (Unintentionally evil lol)
Warnings: Angst, but there's fluff in there! Offhand mention of blood. Literally just a sentence, but I'm tell you anyway! Oh, and unhealthy work habits because it's Abe. And Abe is gonna Abe.
"Abe! Where are you?"
The question went unanswered as the detective continued to stare at the walls. Photos, documents, and god knows how much red string covered the space, resulting in a mess that Abe was trying his damn hardest to decipher. The photos screamed a message that he couldn't understand. Even after days upon days of work, he still didn't feel any closer.
"Damnit," Abe muttered to himself, putting his head in his hands. His eyes hurt, his eyes dry and cracked with red.
'Its been a month since I started this case. The days and nights started to fuse together after the first week. The leads I've received branch off like a fresh set of roots, making it even more difficult to track. Nothing is clear to me anymore, and damn, is it frustrating. But I can't give up. Not until this perp is caught and locked up-'
'Are you monologuing again, hon?'
'No, I'm just going over my- wait a minute.'
The detectives monochrome view shifted to color as the door to his office opened.
"Had a feeling you'd be in here! Barely see you outside of here nowadays." Wilford said as he entered the room, taking a seat on the opposite side of Abe's desk.
"Wil, I'm busy right now." Abe sighed, not looking up from his hands. He couldn't think of the last time he went outside the house, let alone outside this room.
"Oh, you're always busy with your 'job'! But this is getting a bit out of hand, don't you think?"
"You know this case is important, Wil."
"When was the last time you took a break?" Wil asked.
"I can't just stop when I'm ahead!"
"That's not answering the question, Abe." Uh oh, he used his first name. This was bad.
"...I think it's been… I don't know. A few days? A week?" The detective mumbled.
Now it was Wilfords turn to sigh.
"I thought we talked about this."
"We talk about a lot of things, Wil."
"No, but this. This, here, right now. This is what we talked about."
"Look, Wil, I don't know if this is clear to you, but let me out it in terms you'll understand. People are dying, and I have to be the one to stop it."
"People die everyday, Abe! I know it's important to you, but that doesn't give you the excuse to-"
"To what, Wil?"
"Let me finish! It doesn't give you the excuse to kill yourself trying to find whoever this is!"
Abe was about to say something, but the words fell flat on his tongue.
The detective finally brought his attention up to the man in front of him. He was dressed in his usual pink get-up, only missing that horrible Afro. He must've come back from a night out. If he saw a tiny blood stain on his shoulder, no he didn't.
What struck him most however, were his eyes. It was like they saw right through him. Oh, who was he kidding, they could. To Wil, he was an open book, whether he liked it or not.
The man stared at him with a mix of concern and affection, a stare Abe thought he'd never get to see, until he met Wilford. A stare he thought he didn't deserve, until he met Wilford.
'I know you can hear me right now,' a familiar voice said in Abe's head. They had a habit of doing this. It took a while to get used to, but it became easier with time. It was just how they worked.
'Yeah… I can.'
'You're tired, Abe.'
'We've established that.'
'So what do you think we should do about it?'
There was a moment of silence between the two of them.
'...I could take a break.'
'And?'
'I'd… I'd like to spend some time with you.'
"That sounds like a plan to me." Wilford said out loud, a slight smile on his lips.
He could say no to him, could he?
52 notes
·
View notes
Note
Betrayal, ghost, and nightmare :^)
I chose Valen from ML for these answers and...This got unhinged fast. I'd apologize, but this is apparently just how Valen makes my brain work.
Betrayal: Valen knew it was possible, but didn't think it would happen, because there were so many futures where it didn't. And betrayal is maybe too strong a word for having watched Adair sign his life - their lives - away, out of fear. Because at the end of the day, that's what it was. Fear. But it still stings, watching everything "good" and "right" begin to teeter and decay, while the cogs of the universe click closer towards disaster.
And Valen would say that he's above something as petty as 'eye-for-an-eye', but he is, sometimes, only human. So he salts the wound, and twists the knife because surely that's only fair. One life against the future? Two? Surely that's a small enough price. It's just omelettes and broken eggs, after all.
The version in plain English: Adair did not consult with Valen before signing a document surrendering his (Adair's) full body autonomy to government and military control - which could have distinct ramifications for both of them. Valen is decidedly not pleased by this development, seeing all the ways that this can only go wrong, and breaks off his relationship with Adair. Then, for good measure, Valen also provides an 'anonymous tip' which gets Adair's brother disappeared into the maw of enforcement, all while telling himself that it's what needs to happen. He's right but that doesn't mean it's not a dick move.
Ghost: The drugs work until they don't. The voices return. They stay. They always whisper, muted and soft, in languages he's never learned. Words he shouldn't understand, and yet.... He's practised not reacting to them. He's been called crazy, but he's not, he never has been; the voices assure him that it is so. This is how he was always meant to be, so much more than his mortal vessel.
In plain English: Probably not entirely fair to call this 'haunting him' but Valen's odd.
He was diagnosed with schizophrenia in his late teens and didn't question it for years until forgotten doses bring him branching visions of reality, clairvoyance, and a distinct awareness of himself that he cannot explain.
He's actually a god made flesh, but he can't tell anyone because who in the world is going to hear that and not say "This man, who already has been diagnosed with a mental illness, has finally cracked?"
Nightmare: The world ends and he's done nothing to save it. The world ends and he's tried everything to save it.
Tears of blood drip from empty sockets and he knows without seeing that the flames are coming. The inferno that will strip him down, burn him away until only phoenix, or ifrit, or demon remains. He doesn't know what will be left.
The world ends and he stands alone.
The world ends in flood. In flames. In fallout.
The world ends.
The world ends.
He gave up a long time ago on trying to get anyone to understand. Foster parents who chalked it up to the trauma of being in the system. Friends who told him to ease up on the apocalyptic media, to stop acting like he alone is the sole saviour of all. Therapists with tight smiles who tell him 'the subconscious mind works in odd ways.' No one has ever understood; he's given up trying to make them.
Plain English: Valen has messed up dreams of doom and destruction. And everyone brushes them off as 'just nightmares' because, 'Sure, Val. Everyone has messed up dreams sometimes.'
The whole godly consciousness in human form is really, really hard to cope with some days.
#Miadhachain Legacy#Val Quirke#Valen Quirke#I'm learning to love Valen again and it's great#This came out much more gothic-y than I meant it to when I started#and yet here we are#Valen is in the wrong genre of story
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello Chai! I’m awake at an ungodly hour by sheer accident, and I had been thinking over the ship question you asked the other day, and I think I have an answer I’m satisfied with now
I can only speak for myself really, but I think I boiled it down to a couple parts. First, I think its simply a matter of there being more material to work off of with Chaiya and Zhai. They’re the ones discussed the most, plus there’s galair’s art (always fantastic btw, hope to commission one day based on what you’ve posted here alone). It follows that those would be the ones people would gravitate towards the most, and for good reason! The way you write about them in particular is compelling, making them solid ships for you.
Secondly, I think its less a matter of appeasement and more…politeness might be the word? There’s a very subtle difference in my head, mainly having to do with intent. Its the fact that shipping involving two fictional characters, and shipping involving a real person are going to be slightly different. When it comes to two fictional characters, you can always fill in the extra info you need with headcanons, and with that more justifications for different pairings. That’s less possible when there’s a real person on the other side of the screen. From the point of view of an internet acquaintance, there’s always going to be things I don’t know about the other person, and so I have a less clear idea of different boundaries, or just simply likes and dislikes when it comes to romantic things. I try and keep a running document in my head, so to speak, to inform my answers for these kinds of things, but I only have a handful of months to work with or so? So with all of this, Chaiya and Zhai are safe boundaries to stay in because they have the clearest green light.
Additional personal notes that also might affect these two things, I confess that I actually don’t have much of an imagination when it comes to romance. My relationship with it as a concept has always been complicated, and that was even before any irl experience that didn’t exactly make things any better, since the way I think of things is apparently somewhat strange. Until I started trying to change it recently, romance just made me…sad I guess? So I can read and enjoy things other people write, but when it comes to trying to think of original things, romance ends up getting buried in several layers of something else, wether that’s body horror or one very specific concept from an Eastern Philosophy 101 class (fun fact Zhongli nearly made me quit the game for sounding exactly like my professor in the archon quest, but regardless became a leaping off point for a logistically complicated fic idea). Trying to excavate those layers is a lengthy process, but one I’m attempting to undertake, and being here is part of that (so thank you for making it a nice place to be).
That was probably more of an answer than you may have wanted, but I hope it made sense! If you’d like I can attempt to branch out shipping things in the future, just point me in the direction of things you might like in a person and I can go from there! (Plus, I do remember that you said once you have yourself unlabeled, so I wanted to ask if you would want ship responses to branch into Genshin women or not? Its something I want to be 100% sure on before going in that direction, since I haven’t been able to pick up a clear answer before)
—☁️ Anon
Haha no worries! This was really interesting to read and think about.
I think I worry just about people being nice vs honest with me when I prefer honesty a lot of times—which plants a seed in my head that it’s out of appeasement than politeness (not to say that I don’t respect it because I’ll take any crumbs of my selfship lmaoo)
When it comes to boundaries I completely understand but I’m more open because this concept really intrigues me!
But thank you for taking the time out to write all of this!
#oh and my sexuality is vvv complicated but I generally prefer men so I would prefer not being shipped with a Genshin woman#even tho I do simp for a couple ahajsjosjer it’s so complicated omfg#—kaeyatic mailbox {📬}#—{☁️} anon
1 note
·
View note
Text
can my eyes rest
Summary: Everyone experiences periods of burnout but Ezran, being king, has them younger than most.
Ezran is a good tempered kid, Opeli knows. He’s sweet, possibly too much so sometimes, deeply empathetic, and endlessly patient. She never knew him well before his father’s death, although she knew he was kind and mischievous, never far from his glow toad or another jelly tart.
She knows he’s not himself, one March morning, when he snaps at his brother. Of the two, Callum is far more hot headed, but this morning, he’d been asking Ezran when the king was going to oversee some documents he’d drafted for Ez, and—
“I’ll get to it when I get to it, alright?”
Callum just blinks, seventeen and suddenly unsure for the first time in a while, and then quietly clears his throat. “Alright,” he says softly, and focuses on pouring himself a cup of apple cider.
Opeli thinks Callum would’ve said something, if it hadn’t been at breakfast surrounded by everyone, and if Ezran’s shoulders weren’t still haunched, his expression regretful and resigned as he sulked back in his chair, his brow furrowing even under his crown. And moreover, Callum is busy too, with his own schedule. Being his brother’s high mage is no easy task. They likely won’t see each other again until lunch.
Opeli’s schedule, strangely enough, has far more freedom, given that she’s by Ezran’s side nearly all day every day. He’s quiet during the morning, a bit more distracted. He doesn’t even try to lighten his tone.
Opeli still remembers when Harrow had described Ezran’s difficulties in his lessons as a little boy, his hardship in making friends, and they’d gotten him prescribed a diagnosis. Burnout happens to everyone, of course, but as a young boy—as a young autistic child—Ezran would be particularly susceptible. Opeli has always known this.
He’s a good king, perhaps surprisingly good considering his age, but he’s still a child. It’s both easy and impossible to forget sometimes.
“Your Majesty,” she says, halfway through the morning when crowlord has left to wheel out one barrel of answered letters in order to bring in a new bunch. Ezran’s eyes are glazed over. He’s holding it together, but only just. “Perhaps you and I could go over some things with a walk in the garden?”
Ezran perks up and eyes her suspiciously. “Like... a break?”
She tilts her head. “Would that be so bad?”
That’s how she gets him away from the stone walls and into the sunshine, walking along the hedges. Ezran trails his hand over the trimmed leaves and branches, stops to watch a ladybug crawl up a stem. Opeli waits until he speaks first.
“Is this because I snapped at Callum this morning?”
“No,” Opeli says, looking over. Ezran’s face is downturned. “It’s because even kings need a break. And children especially do.”
He snorts, smiling a little. It’s the first smile she’s seen all day. “I’m thirteen, Opeli.”
“Still a child. But... I will ask that when you feel the need to get away, you will work on recognizing it and expressing it?”
Ezran looks at her then. “I’ll try,” he promises.
She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “Good. Now—” She shoos him further down the path. “Barius has the bakery open the rest of the day. You should enjoy it.”
He catches himself mid-grin. “But—”
“I will handle the work and we can start again fresh, tomorrow, Your Majesty.”
She expects Ezran to peel down the pathway with a grin after he turns to her, and she only stumbles a bit when he throws his arms around her in a hug. He’s still short enough that his top of his hair just brushes her chin. “Thank you, Opeli,” he choruses.
She softens further as he pulls away, her hands on his shoulders. “Of course,” she says. “Ezran. Now go on.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice.
Later, Barius carries him in from the bakery in time for dinner, after he’d eaten his full of jelly tarts and fallen asleep, and Soren makes sure he gets tucked in. Ezran murmurs an apology to his brother, and Callum and Rayla play cards with him until he falls asleep again. Bait, ever the loyal guardian, curls up in his arms.
And if Opeli lets him sleep in later the following morning, too, then who really has to know?
A king—a kid—needs his rest.
#ezran#tdp ezran#tdp#the dragon prince#autistic!ezran#my fic#fic#ficlet#opeli#brotp#ezran's council#love my lil boy and opeli does too#title from 'prodigal' by cinematic pop#ezran tdp
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
Green Thumb
Part 8
Request: Yes or No
Sam and y/n had more development than y/n and Wanda lmao
~
You crossed your arms as you entered the room, glancing at the older man. You shared a look with Sam and Wanda, taking a seat in between Sam and Vision. You licked your lips, leaning towards Sam.
"What's this about?" You asked quietly, gaze flickering to Tony who sat in a corner.
"If I had to guess.. Probably about what happened in Lagos." Sam replied, glancing at Steve and Natasha. You frowned, looking at the Secretary of State.
"The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt." He began, gaze sweeping over everyone in the room.
"You have.. Fought for us, protected us, risked your lives but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the term 'vigilantes.'"
"And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?" Natasha asked, studying the older man. You looked back at Tony Stark, making brief eye contact with him. It felt like an intervention. Or a teacher scolding their class after they made the sub cry.
"How about dangerous?" You frowned, looking forward when you heard his words.
"What would you call a group of US based enhanced individuals who routinely ignore borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, quite frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?" Mr. Secretary asked, looking over the small group in disappointed. You'd hate to admit it, but he had a point. The citizens of Sokovia were left to find new homes and the people of Lagos had to fix what had been destroyed. Mr. Secretary stepped to the side, looking at the screen. Videos began playing of all the times the Avengers caused destruction and most likely death. Wanda looked away, growing uncomfortable as the aftermath of the Lagos incident played. She already felt guilty enough about it. She had told you many times how she wished it would've gone differently. Steve noticed, frown deepening.
"That's enough." He called, watching the screen turn off.
"For the last few years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's a decision the governments of the world can no longer tolerate." Mr. Secretary told them, hands clasped behind his back. You frowned, brows furrowing slightly.
"But we have a solution." Mr. Secretary took a book from his bodyguard, stepping forward and handing it to Wanda. Wanda picked it up, looking it over.
"The Sokovia Accords.. Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries." Wanda slid the book over to Rhodes so he could take a proper look at it. You looked at Mr. Secretary as he walked around the table.
"It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of The United Nations Panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary."
"That's such bullshit." You whispered. Mr. Secretary turned towards you, cocking a brow. Natasha let an amused smile slip while Sam covered up his snicker with a cough.
"The Avengers were created to make the world a safer place." Steve spoke up before he could address you.
"This is the middle ground." Mr. Secretary said, walking to the front again and facing everyone.
"The Accords will be ratified in a couple days." Steve turned towards Tony, earning a silent response.
"I'll leave you to discuss."
"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Leave it to Natasha to say what was on everyones' minds. Mr. Secretary paused as he approached the door.
"Then you retire." He answered plainly. You watched him leave, picking up the cup of water infront of You You went to take a sip but it turned to ice before you could drink from it. With a small huff, you placed it down.
"That's new." Natasha called with a small smile, hoping to ease the tension in the room. You stood up, leaving the meeting room and heading to the lounge. The others followed, taking more comfortable seats on the couch. A debate quickly started between Rhodes and Sam while Steve looked through the Accords.
"Have you two thought about starting a debate club?" You asked, tapping the frozen water a few times before it finally turned back to normal water. Natasha let out a small snort, chuckling as she shook her head.
"I have an equation." Vision announced, stopping Rhodes and Sam. They turned towards him.
"In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of enhanced people has grown and during the same period, the number of world ending events has risen."
"So, it's Starks' fault?" You asked, leaning back in your seat with a tilted head. Tony scoffed from his spot on the couch, rolling his eyes.
"I'm saying, there might be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge, challenge insights conflict, and conflict... Breeds catastrophe. Oversight is not an idea that should be dismissed."
"I wish I understood half of what you said." You muttered softly, running your finger the leaf of a plant beside the seat. Natasha turned towards Tony, watching him.
"You're being uncharacteristic non-hyper verbal." Natasha pointed out softly as he looked at her with a deep sigh. Steve looked up from the Accords.
"It's cause he already made up his mind." Steve said, earning a small eye roll. Tony slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head.
"Actually, I'm nursing a headache." He muttered as he stood up, walking towards the coffee machine. He poured himself some coffee and grabbed a bottle of pills before sighing and placing down a device. He showed an image of a young man.
"Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. A great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor level gig for the fall. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the people in Sokovia." Tony said, obviously agitated as he looked over everyone. You wondered why he now cared for the people who were injured during attacks.
"He wanted to make a difference although we'll never know cause we dropped a building on him while kicking ass." Everyone stayed silent as he spoke. You watched him take a pill, drinking it with the coffee.
"There's no decision making here. We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, we're no better than the bad guys."
"Tony, when someone dies on your watch, you don't give up." Steve closed the Accords, looking at Tony with a frown.
"Who says we're giving up?"
"We are by not taking responsibilities for our actions. This document shifts the blame." Steve voiced his opinion, shrugging lightly.
"Steve, that is dangerously arrogant." Rhodes spoke up, shaking his head. Steve turned towards him.
"This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the world security counsel, it's not S.H.I.E.L.D, it's not HYDRA-"
"But it's run by people with agendas and agendas change." Steve pointed out as you rubbed your forehead, sighing softly. Both sides had good points but you sided with Steve. The team was obviously divided.
"What do you think, (Y/N)?" Vision asked, looking at you curiously. You licked your lips, gaze focusing on Tony.
"I'm curious as to why you care so much about this Charles guy. You've had, what was it? Eight years as Iron Man to care about the people who get hurt? Why now? Cause you realized one of those people could become the new you? Would you care this much about Charles if he had been a typical guy? No degree, no plans for the future, just a normal guy working a normal 9 to 5 job and just trying to make it through the week. I agree with Steve. What if something happens and they don't send us to help because it doesn't go with their agenda? People get hurt cause you've never set up a system to help after these things happen. You're a fucking billionaire, Tony. Make a company that's designed to help people get back on their feet after the Avengers bulldoze through cities." You said, legs crossing as you looked over everyone else. Steve gave a small nod, glad you were seeing his side. He checked his phone, abruptly standing and announcing he had to leave. You and the others watched him go in confusion.
"To answer your questions, I do care about normal people." Tony said, arms crossing. You let out a soft groan, leaning back in the couch.
"I'm sorry, what are you? Twelve? Didn't you turn twenty this year?" Tony cocked a brow, watching as you rolled your eyes and stood.
"Yeah, I did turn twenty. Surprised you knew considering you've never particularly liked me."
"Well, first impressions are everything and you did try impaling me with a branch."
"Maybe I should've."
"Alright, boys, let's calm down." Natasha called, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turned and walked towards the steps, heading down to your room at the facility. You entered and plopped down on the bed, running a hand through your hair. You tapped your foot on the ground, fingers going to the root bracelets in an attempt to relax. Wanda opened the door, closing it behind her and sitting beside you.
"What's wrong?" She asked softly, staring at you in concern. You weren't one to snap at others so quickly.
"There's so much going on. The Accords, my fucking powers, the sudden change in Nat and Tony, you possibly getting into trouble cause of the Lagos incident.. That could've been me." You breathed out. Wanda frowned, brows furrowing.
"No, it wouldn't have."
"I shot fire out of my hands and turned water to ice without meaning to. They're getting unpredictable." You looked at her, grip on the roots tightening. Wanda's gaze flickered to the window, making you turn. Part of the window was covered in a thin layer of ice.
"And that just proved my point."
"You're an incredible person, (N/N). Have faith in yourself. You'll gain control of them sooner or later. You have beautiful powers that could change and heal the world." Wanda pointed out gently, having you rest your head on her shoulder. She softly began to hum a lullaby. You didn't understand the words but her soft voice proved to be soothing.
"Thank you."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Why'd you call me again?" You asked, toying with the strings of your hoodie as you looked around the cafe. You had planned on taking a nap and watching a new show on Netflix but it seemed like Steve had other plans for you.
"Because I trust you and need your help." Steve replied, fixing his baseball cap as he tried avoiding eye contact with civilians.
"Really?" You asked softly. Steve nodded, offering a smile. He licked his lips, nodding to the tv. You turned, looking at the news. You really didn't have to considering what they were showing was right down the street.
"Your friend?" You looked back at Steve with a tilted head.
"We gotta find him before anyone else does." Steve said. You nodded, watching him. Steve had been desperately trying to find his friend, Bucky, since the attempt on Furys' life.
"I'll go in alone. We don't want to seem threatening or set him off by going in as a trio."
"(Y/N)? Being threatening? He can't even scare a baby!" Sam said in amusement, shooting you a playful grin.
"Right back at you, bird boy."
"I'm sorry, who here is named after the top bird of prey?" Sam asked, leaning forward slightly as Steve let out an amused sigh.
"Oh, I didn't know you were named after eagles." You responded, smiling in triumph when Sam huffed lightly.
"Come on, you two." Steve chuckled, leaving the cafe and heading down the sidewalk.
"I don't trust Stark." You told them, arms crossing. Sam glanced at you as Steve turned into an alleyway.
"Not surprised considering the little fight you two had."
"I think he had Vis keep an eye on me and Wanda. I snuck out while he was with Wanda in the kitchen." You told him, frowning.
"Firstly, I'm an adult-"
"That's questionable."
"-And secondly, he's not my dad." You took off the hoodie as Steve unlocked a car parked in the alleyway, giving Sam the duffle bag with his outfit. You looked at your phone when it buzzed, seeing texts from Clint.
Clint
Heard you had a fight with Stark
Clint
You're officially an Avenger now
You smiled softly, chuckling softly at the texts. You waited for the guys to finish changing before taking the earpiece from Steve. The apartment building had been nearby so you and Sam headed onto the roof while Steve entered.
"How well do you think this will go?" You asked Sam, looking for any sign of law enforcement.
"Wanna bet?"
"How much?" You looked at him, giving a small grin. Sam looked up at the sky for a moment, thinking it over.
"30 bucks. I bet this will go to shit and this dude will escape."
"I bet we'll get into serious shit but this dude will either come with us or get caught." You replied. Sam stuck out his hand, nodding. You shook it, chuckling softly. You turned your head, noticing movement.
"We've got company, Cap."
"They're approaching from the south." Sam added, attention focused on them. You heard Steve begin to talk to someone, watching the cars pull in and get ready. You turned your head, hearing the door to the roof open.
"Shit." You whispered, letting Sam pick you up and lift you into the air. You could hear the fight going on inside through the earpiece.
"Should we help?" You asked, glancing up at Sam.
"No clue." Sam replied, watching Bucky jump from the apartment onto the roof of another building. You noticed someone running at a high speed, jumping up onto the roof and knocking Bucky down.
"They have cat ears." You mumbled, pushing Sam's arms away.
"Deal with them." You motioned to the German police force on the roof, hoping down onto the roof. You raised your hand, a root shooting out and grabbing the strangers arm, refraining them from clawing at Bucky. Bucky turned his head, making eye contact with you. Your eyes widened when the man grabbed the root, using what felt like super strength to toss you off the roof. You quickly used a root to grab onto the side, breathing out a sigh of relief. Sam took care of a helicopter before flying by to grab you.
"Thanks." You breathed out, holding onto him as he followed the chase. Steve, Bucky, and the cat guy went into one of the tunnels. Sam flew in once there was an opening, trying to help Steve with the cat guy. You huffed when the cat guy grabbed Sam's ankle, pointing your hand at him and shooting a strong gust of air. The cat guy lost his grip monetarily but quickly grabbed on again. Bucky threw up an explosive so Sam quickly stopped, flinging the guy off him. Sam landed, walking past the rubble. You sighed, raising your hands as you and Sam were quickly surrounded by cops.
"Mom's gonna kill me." You whispered.
"That's what you're concerned about?" Sam asked, glancing at you in disbelief.
"We're getting arrested, (Y/N)!"
#x reader#x you#x y/n#x male reader#avengers#avengers x reader#avengers x male reader#avengers x you#avengers x y/n#marvel#marvel x male reader#marvel x you#marvel x y/n#marvel x reader#x barton reader#clint barton x adopted reader#natasha romanoff#steve rogers#wanda maximoff#vision#bucky barnes#james rhodes#T'Challa#tony stark#sam wilson
194 notes
·
View notes
Text
Title: What’s in a Name?
Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader
Summary: Continuation from last chapter. You and the others are finally homeward bound, flying back to the U.S. from the events in Egypt and Greece. You get to hear a little more about Peter’s eastern European roots while passing time on the plane together.
Warnings: None, just fluff and Peter being Peter.
Notes: I know where some things I’m referencing don’t match the comics. Blend of comic canon and the movie version going on here.
Chapters: Previous Chapter Here
Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp , @wintwrsoldiwr , @tommy-braccoli , @amourtentiaa , @cringingmemeries , @bi-panicatthe-disco , @himbos-are-my-lifeblood , @simp4mcuwomen
Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist
—————————
The morning sun was still low and red on the horizon as you’d stepped back out into the open air of the flight deck. But seagulls were already calling from somewhere up above as men milled around, checking and readying a set of helicopters that you knew would soon be taking you ashore.
You wouldn’t miss this boat itself of course, none of you belonged here after all. But you’d be lying to say it’d been easy to let go of Peter when morning had come. You’d woken up far more tangled than you remembered going to sleep as, chest to chest, his good leg wrapped over you and one of his hands somehow far up the back of your shirt.
The longest part of getting ready had been the procrastination of leaving that bed. After that, it only seemed like minutes before you were all awkwardly standing up here now, waiting on next instructions. It wasn’t as if you’d had anything you could pack after all. Besides that somewhat silly polaroid picture you’d seen Peter carefully stowaway in one pocket of his shorts, you had no possessions to speak of here. Even the shoes they’d given you were some poorly fit military boot. The tops of them scraped against your ankles as you walked and you’d be glad to be rid of them whenever possible.
The Professor and Moira approached after another moment, Moira hurrying a little more as one of the helicopters began to fire up, followed by the other soon after. She had to speak louder over the rising noise of the blades rotating faster and faster.
“Keep these on you!” She called, going to each of you in turn, handing over a U.S. passport with a driver’s license closed separately inside. She only opened them briefly to check that she was matching each to the correct person. “The flight we’ll be taking is just a commercial plane. The government has contracted them and dictated the pickup and landing points, but it’s civilian pilots and flight crew. Normal security still applies, but only those with U.S. citizenship are allowed aboard.”
As she’d gotten to you and Peter, she’d handed both passports to you as you’d had your hand outstretched, and he’d still been holding on to his crutches. You quickly opened one just to see which was yours, so you could pocket only your own. The first one opened was his however, but even in the low light of early sunrise, your brain hitched on something unexpected.
The picture looking back at you was clearly him, albeit a little younger, and with slightly longer hair than the way he wore it currently. But that wasn’t the issue. You reread the name printed in front of you more than once, before glancing up to him as if to confirm.
It said Pietro Django Maximoff.
“Your real name isn’t Peter?” You asked, even over the helicopter noise before you could stop yourself. But the realization was already dawning on you almost before that last word left your mouth that so many people were called one name by friends and family even if their legal name may still be another. You felt a bit stupid then for your reaction, instantly wishing you could take the question back.
But thankfully he only leaned in with a smile, taking his passport and license from you even as he spoke right against your ear. “Define real.” He pocketed them, before continuing. The helicopters were at their full ready now. “But it’s a bit loud here, babe. I’ll tell you all you want to know about my sexy alter ego later, deal?”
—————————
By the time you’d gotten to the airstrip on shore, it was full morning sun now. And just as Moira had said, there was already a large U.S. commercial jet waiting there. You also found out you weren’t alone, as you’d had to join a line of people already waiting to board. They were checking credentials as people moved up one by one onto a mobile stairway that had been rolled up flush with the plane’s open door.
Looking around you, most of the would be passengers still looked like military of various branches though. Army, Navy, Air Force, they still had on their uniforms. But there were others too, likely diplomats being evacuated you thought. Men, women, even a few children as you’d seen the curious eyes peeking out from behind their parents’ legs as you all had also moved through the line.
“It had to be damn stairs,” Peter mumbled as the two of you neared closer to the plane. Without any actual terminal here, boarding straight from the tarmac was the only option.
“If Hank can help carry the Professor up them, wheelchair and all, I’m pretty sure I can handle you.” You responded, only meaning to give him a little grief.
But he just spun things right back on you of course. “Oh, you can handle me any time.”
And when your stare said you didn’t seem to find that quite as funny as he did, he only shrugged, still smiling. “Sorry, you left yourself wide open for that one.”
“I did.” You admitted. “But I still want to hear the story of that driver’s license. And why did you even have one to begin with? Seems a little unecessary.” You said, still moving up every few moments as you neared the bottom of the stairs.
Yet he just kept smirking at you, almost a seeming delight in his eyes then, realizing that you were that curious about it. “Now who’s impatient?” He taunted, just before turning back to flash said documents to one of the workers now checking them.
“Do you have anything to declare?” The woman asked him.
With the way he paused, you knew his brain was churning then to select whatever he would deem the funniest or wittiest response. But as odd of looks as you were all already getting, mostly from Hank and Kurt’s vivid blue skin as usual, it probably would be best not to test the waters any further. You did want to get home after all.
“We don’t,” You answered before he could, relieved when she seemed to want to hurry you all aboard and away from her as much as you did. She handed Peter’s passport back to him, then took your own in quick succession to glance it over as well before seeming satisfied enough as she handed it back to you.
After you were past her, it was the issue of the stairs however. Obviously they expected Peter to just figure it out, but you knew you could lend a hand. The trick was going to be in trying to keep that act of levitation a little more subtle though, still being in mixed company here.
“You should have let me have a little more fun with her,” Peter said, though glancing back with some curiosity as you moved behind him.
“I don’t want to make a scene,” you responded quietly. Really, referring to her just as much as what you were about to attempt. “Pretend you’re going up the stairs anyway. Move a little like you’re walking.”
The person in front of him on the stairs wasn’t looking back, and only more of your friends were directly behind you. With the sidewalls of the stairway also going up about waist high, the people still on the ground couldn’t see the little glow that went around his legs as you willed him to levitate just high enough that his cast didn’t drag the steps as you both continued towards the plane’s door.
“Woah, hey at least give a warning.” He responded, lifting his good leg up enough for it to also miss the now passing steps even as his crutches hit once or twice.”
“I did.” You answered, though still trying to look past him the whole time to make sure no one was looking back from the plane’s doorway. Once you’d gotten nearly to the top, you set him back down to do the last couple steps on his own and enter the plane normally.
Once inside though, the aisle really was too narrow to use his crutches properly. Maybe on a more normal flight more measures would have been taken to assist the disabled, but there sure wasn’t anyone offering anything today.
Kurt was behind you, and offered to take the crutches while Peter put one arm over your shoulders and you both half hobbled, half shimmied awkwardly down the aisle until you reached the first open seating.
Being a larger jet meant for transoceanic travel, there were seats in groups of three on both the left and right side of the plane, but a row of four in the center as well. You ended up in one of the rows of three on the side, letting Peter take the aisle seat to have more room for his leg, while you sat in the middle, and Kurt beside you at the window as he’d laid Peter’s crutches down on the floor underneath the seats.
You finally felt like maybe you could relax a little then, just glancing around a bit. There were some old magazines in the seatback in front of you, but probably not much of anything else any of you could really do now in however many hours it’d take to get stateside. You were pretty sure a passenger jet like this would be a good deal slower than the high tech military one you’d gone to Egypt in.
You were only looking up at the light and air vent controls above your seat next as a sudden movement and curse surprised you as your eyes darted back to the aisle.
“Goddamnit.” A man said.
His soft sided suitcase had just burst open, spilling most of his clothing onto the floor as he then paused to shove it back in as best he could. He struggled with the zipper a moment, but it only slid back and forth uselessly, no longer sealing the bag back. “Cheap ass government issue,” He added, finally just picking up the whole thing and holding it closed against his chest as he walked on.
And that random event would have been nothing more to you, except for the way you saw Peter move his head back then, sucking in a pained breath through his teeth as he gripped the armrest between you.
Kurt noticed too, leaning forward as he asked, “Are you alright, Peter?”
“Yeah, sure,” He grunted.
But as you glanced down to see Peter’s other hand now clutching his broken leg, you also saw a newly materialized pair of sunglasses pressed between his fingertips and the cast. As well as a military jacket now folded messily under his seat.
“That was you.” You spoke abruptly, yet low enough just for the three of you. “You took those out of that man’s suitcase!”
“Well I didn’t think the stupid zipper was going to break when I tried to close it back! He’s right, that was a cheap zipper.” Peter admitted.
“And you hurt yourself trying to get back into the chair didn’t you?” You chided a little more, not quite sure what was worse, the thievery or the recklessness.
“I hit my foot on that damn bracket, and the vibration went through the bone.” He motioned to the metal bracing that bolted the seat in front of him to the floor.
“Thou shalt not steal,” Kurt said, not judgmentally, but just as if this should be an inherent truth as he still looked to Peter with concern.
“Oh man, so I get like twelve hours of flight time to look forward to, trapped next to you two goody two shoes then? Awesome.” He joked back, though already looking back down then at the sunglasses in his hand with a little admiration. They had a mirror finish as he spun them over in his fingers. “And hey, you guys are the ones who burned up my last jacket back in Egypt, remember? I’m not going home empty handed. I’d been wanting one of those army looking deals since we got here. Buzzcut there seemed like he’d have one.”
“Mama look!”
All three of you paused your talk then to see a small boy now standing in the aisle as the movement of people had slowed once more with passengers stopping to put their luggage in the overhead bins. But his mother didn’t seem to be paying him any mind as he continued to point. She was talking to the man in front of her as that man fought with an oversized suitcase.
The boy continued staring though, likely at Kurt. But it wasn’t really a fearful gaze, more excited than anything.
“Guten tag,” Kurt said cheerfully regardless, just waving in return.
And at that the boy’s eyes really went wide. “Sprichst du Deutsch?” The boy stammered a little, yet with the biggest grin.
“Ja, ich komme aus Bayern.” Kurt replied.
And that spontaneous connection over a surprise shared language would have been truly adorable too if Peter wasn’t suddenly leaning right over you to interrupt it.
“Yo, Kurt, ask him if I can borrow some of his markers!” Peter pleaded abruptly.
“What?” You and Kurt both said almost simultaneously.
“The markers, he doesn’t need the whole box. I only need like three colors, tops.” Peter answered, motioning back to the boy. And when still neither you or Kurt seemed to understand this sudden sense of urgency, Peter actually put his hands together like making a little prayer. “You told me you didn’t want me to steal, so I’m trying not to. Come on, at least a red one?”
Kurt really was confused then, but he did lean forward, saying something else in German to the boy.
At that request the boy did look down at the coloring book rolled in one of his hands, and the small pack of markers sticking out of his pocket that evidently Peter had somehow put a target lock on.
But he really did like Kurt apparently as after only a couple moments of thought, the little boy opened the marker box to pull three out.
“Sweet!” Peter said as the child handed over red, black, and blue to him. “I’ll give them back in a bit, right?” Peter added though, smirking at him. “Thanks, little dude.”
And it was all just the oddest thing to you as the boy only happily waved bye to Kurt after, the movement of people starting again as he and his mother continued on to go sit a few rows further back.
“I don’t even know what just happened,” you said after they were gone.
“That was world class negotiating, babe. I mean Kurt literally just smooth talked some colors from a kid with a coloring book in his hand on a twelve hour flight.” Peter responded.
“You are actually going to give them back though aren’t you? You told him you would.” Kurt replied with a little concern.
Peter kind of shrugged, “I mean yeah, I guess so.”
“He’ll give them back,” You added for him. “Or I will.”
“Okay, okay, jeez. Yes, it’s not going to take me hours to do anything. Ever. I’ll have this baby gussied up in no time.” Peter responded, patting his cast gently. “You can’t leave a blank canvas to a guy like me. Especially if I have to stare at this thing for weeks.”
And he was right, you weren’t even in the air yet before he just started doodling away.
————————————
Thankfully the plane only stopped one more time, at an air base in France to pickup more U.S. government evacuees, before at last the wings were over water and you were finally pointed home.
By now Peter’s cast looked more like those advertisements or example sheets on the walls of any tattoo parlor. Yet when you made a comment as such, the sly grin you got in return made you instantly wish you’d thought that through a little better.
“Ah, so you’ve been in a tattoo parlor then?” Oh he was so interested in this topic now. You could see that wolfish look coming into his eyes. “You’ve got some ink somewhere?”
“I don’t.” You’d thought of doing it though, quite a bit actually. But it was such a commitment. You’d probably keep that tidbit to yourself for a while though, lest he try to drag you immediately to a tattoo shop on the drive to D.C.
“I’m not totally sure I believe you.” He answered, though leaning in to whisper in your ear after, “Think you’ll let me check some time?”
The fact that he was still so bold with Kurt literally right beside you, made you wonder if you really should be making sure whatever rental car you ended up with later was just some sort of bucket seat tiny two door thing. If it was a boat like sedan with a full bench back seat, you might actually be in trouble tonight.
“We’ll see,” Is all you answered back though. At least for a moment before you realized now was as good a time as any to flip the conversation back on him.
“So when do I get to hear the Pietro story?” You asked, relaxed into your seat as much as the small space would allow. “Kurt and I have nothing else to do. Let’s hear it.”
“The who?” Peter teased back, just working on giving one of the pin up girls he’d drawn a little better shading.
“Or Django. Either Pietro or Django, they both sound pretty interesting I think.” You replied playfully.
Peter glanced at you, but smiled a little. “You’re just going to be disappointed actually. I was just hyping it up, there’s really nothing to it.”
“Then go on, it’ll be a quick story then.” You still wanted to know more about him of course, and every piece was just another part of the whole picture.
“Django was my grandfather. Mom’s dad back in the old country.” Peter replied, still just finding more and more little details to add to his drawings. “I didn’t really know him. Mom never liked to take us back there much to visit. I mean it makes more sense now of course. She didn’t want my Dad to know where she was. But back then I just figured she thought that place was creepy.”
“What place?” Kurt asked innocently enough. You both were actually equally curious to whatever Peter might say about his family. Like he’d said before, Kurt wasn’t used to having friends his own age. And learning more about each other now was all part of growing those bonds.
“Wundagore Mountain,” Peter replied. “And trust me, as much as it sounds like the newest ride at some amusement park, it’s totally not. I remember being like five and going back there thinking Dracula himself was going to yank me out of that freaking soviet tin can Mom was driving us around in. Wanda still swears she heard voices up there. I mean I don’t know, we stayed with Mom’s aunt one time and she tells us this thing so creatively called Man-Beast was going to come down off the mountain for us if we didn’t behave.”
Peter glanced over to the both of you, further clarifying, “Not like Hank or anything though, it was basically just a werewolf I think. But if it’s a werewolf, call it that you know? What the hell is a Man-Beast? They had so many weird things that could take children. I feel like every story was, oh but don’t do that or Porga will get you. Oops, you talked back to your mother? Guess Tagar is coming tonight. Darn, forgot to brush your teeth? Nice knowing you, kid, Bova’s going to take you to live in the woods forever now.”
You were sort of just staring and listening, but out the corner of your eye you saw Kurt only nodding as if in complete understanding. You would hazard a guess that parts of Bavaria evidently had very similar folklore. Between the two of them, they could likely trade stories like this the whole flight.
But Peter just continued, “But yeah, Django was my gramps, just met him a couple times. And Pietro...well that’s just me. Like I said, nothing special. I was Pietro all the way until Mom started us in kindergarten.” He smirked a little. “Guess she figured the dorky little Jewish kid with the curly brown hair needed all the help he could get fitting in with all the John’s, Mark’s, and Scott’s of the world. And yeah, feel free to tell Summers I said that later.”
So she’d Americanized his name. It wasn’t unheard of with first or second generation immigrants, but still there was something a little sad about that. Yet you smiled softly, that image of the kindergarten age Peter frankly adorable in your mind. “You were a baby brunette?”
“Until the old X-gene flared at 12 or whenever that was yeah,” But he paused, a little surprised, just then realizing what look that was on your face. “Oh stop, you’re picturing it now aren’t you? I was a total dork, don’t do that. Seriously, no! I swear I will never let you find those pictures.”
But you just kept grinning. “No need. I can imagine this forever.”
“Hell, where is Jean?” Peter looked around in a little show of dramatics. “Memory wipe needed on aisle 3, Red.”
It was just too funny though, and honestly it made all the sense in the world. The physical resemblance between Peter and Erik would have been a lot more noticeable had they both still shared similar hair color and texture. Yes, you would bet Peter’s hair had even had that bit of auburn in it too back then.
“But I do have a question,” You spoke then, your tone sincere. “What do you actually want to be called?”
“Sexy?” He answered at once.
But you didn’t let him off the hook that easily, still waiting patiently for the real answer as you just watched him.
Finally he relented, but still seeming a bit non committal. “I mean I’ve heard both for so long, I answer to either. Really, I do. But if the Django comes out though, that’s Defcon 1. It means I’ve done something catastrophically wrong and Mom is about to go full on nuclear on my ass.”
You considered this for a moment, before trying it. “Pietro,” you said, looking for any difference in his expression.
He did grin at you, eyebrows going up a little.
“Peter?” You asked then.
And to that he just continued to smile. “Babe, it’s like you’re trying to pick the name of the new dog.” He raised the pitch of his voice a little, imitating a generic wife you guessed. “Honey, which one does he like better? Did his ears go up at that one?”
“Hey, I’m just trying to figure things out,” you defended. “Guess I’ll just go back to imagining all that curly brown hair now.”
“Noooo.” He whined.
———————————
The three of you had joked and talked for quite a while. But somewhere, maybe about two thirds through the flight, things did quiet back down. Eventually you decided to try and sleep some if you could. You weren’t tired yet, but you knew you would be by the time you landed.
With the difference in timezones, even though you’d left early in the morning Greek time, it would likely only be around lunch time in the U.S. after landing. While you already would have been traveling for almost twelve hours.
It was as if you’d get to repeat the day all over again. You had all that time still ahead of you, including having to convince the Professor to let you drive Peter home.
You closed your eyes for a bit, thinking of all the hypotheticals of what you could say. What you would argue if needed, and what Xavier may say in response. But as you tried to let your thoughts drift further, you realized you’d crossed your arms, little chill bumps on them as you opened your eyes to look up at the air vent above you.
Was it stuck open? You fiddled with it a moment, but felt no difference. Shifting to sit back up a little, you looked at the seatback in front of you again as well, in the pouch there with the old magazines.
“They don’t have any blankets,” Peter said quietly, easily interpreting the reasoning for your search.
You’d thought he’d already been asleep just as Kurt was though. You were surprised as Peter reached out, smoothly laying that jacket over your chest and arms. The one he’d taken earlier.
“See.” He added. “Crime does pay sometimes.”
You gave him a skeptical look still, but the jacket really did make the difference as you leaned back again in the seat, snuggling into it. “Thank you, thief.” You answered softly.
“Any time.” He smiled a little, before reaching down to click the button on the armrest between your seats. He moved the armrest up and out of the way, then running a warm hand under the jacket to find one of your own.
You grasped his hand when they met, intertwining your fingers together.
“Have a nice nap, see you in Jersey.” He said, yet closing his own eyes as well.
“See you in Jersey, Pietro.”
You felt him squeeze your hand more at that, and you couldn’t help but smile.
————————————
(Continued in next chapter here)
#quicksilver#quicksilver x y/n#quicksilver x you#quicksilver xmen#quicksilver x oc#quicksilver x reader#peter maximoff#peter maximoff x y/n#peter maximoff x you#peter maximoff x oc#peter maximoff x reader#x men fanfiction#xmen fanfiction#xmen fic
185 notes
·
View notes
Note
My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷♀️💖💖💖
Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!
this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that
tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)
---
“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.
“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”
“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”
“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”
Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.
Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”
“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”
“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”
“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.
“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”
Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.
The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”
“Nope.”
“Cool.”
Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.
---
“I want this one, please, Ves.”
“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.
“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.
“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”
“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.
“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.
“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.
“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.
“Hmm.”
“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”
“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”
---
“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”
“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”
“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”
“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”
“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”
“Holy shit.”
“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”
“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”
---
“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”
“Oh, uh- thanks!”
“Yup.”
And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-
“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”
“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”
“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”
“Y-Yes?”
“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”
“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”
Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”
“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”
Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”
“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”
“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”
“Not… not really.”
“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”
“Versace!?”
Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.
---
“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.
“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.
“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”
“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.
“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-
Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.
Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.
“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”
“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”
“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”
“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”
“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”
“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”
Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.
Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.
“Oh, wow.”
“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”
“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”
“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”
“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”
“They’re not exactly subtle.”
“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”
Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”
“Wow.”
“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”
“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”
“No.”
“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”
“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.
---
“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.
“Nice,” he says.
Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”
“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.
“Uh… I- Thank you?”
“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”
“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”
“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”
The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.
Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.
“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”
“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”
“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.
“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”
“Sorry, Pierre!”
“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”
“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.
“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.
“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”
“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”
“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”
---
Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.
Okay, focus.
He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.
Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”
He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.
“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”
“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.
“Are you, really?”
“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”
“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”
“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”
“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”
“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”
“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.
“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”
“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.
“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”
“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”
Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.
“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”
“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.
Vesemir makes a phone call.
---
2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen
---
“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”
“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”
“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.
“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”
“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”
“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”
“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”
“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.
Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”
“Geralt!”
Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.
“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”
“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”
“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”
“Do you… do you not want me he-”
Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?
He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”
“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”
#geraskier#bouncey's buddies#prompt fill#geraskier fic#geraskier ficlet#geraskier fluff#getting together#boyband au#geraskier boyband au#the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell#thirsty jaskier#thirsty geralt#soft geralt#protective geralt#clumsy jaskier#soft boys content#bouncey's endless au collection#bouncey's endless getting together fics
244 notes
·
View notes
Text
DEBRIS AND MISERY
CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?
PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader
WORD COUNT: 3.1k
SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other.
A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes
WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork.
support my writing through ko-fi💖
MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST
The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.
Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.
Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.
Those were the words of his mother.
Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.
It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.
Time works differently at the TVA.
“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”
There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.
“Uh, yeah...Here.”
“Thanks.”
Probably an infinity stone.
The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.
Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.
Pathetic. But amusing.
The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.
There’s just...so much to think about.
And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.
Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.
Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.
He hadn’t seen that before.
The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.
Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.
The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.
You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.
He also wonders what your name is.
The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.
He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.
He clears his throat once more.
Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.
Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.
Oh. Oh. You—
Hm.
He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.
“I know you can hear me.”
His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.
Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.
A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.
Or so he thinks.
“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”
You don’t say anything, only blink in response.
Tough crowd.
Loki shifts in his seat.
“...What is your name?”
He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.
You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.
Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.
Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.
Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.
Then, you finally give him an answer.
“Agent.”
And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.
Agent.
Loki scoffs silently to himself.
Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.
He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.
Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.
Curious minds think alike.
-
You needed a change of scenery.
With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.
Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.
The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.
Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.
Dream away the pain, then.
Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.
Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.
You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.
You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.
Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.
Crap.
“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”
You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.
There’s still time to leave.
Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.
“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”
Well, too late.
With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.
You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.
This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.
Time to start fresh.
You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.
He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.
Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.
Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.
With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.
The air is tense. However, still breathable.
Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.
Classic Loki.
You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.
-
You snore when you sleep.
Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.
Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.
0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.
You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.
Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.
You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.
You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.
The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.
He prods you again.
You still don’t move.
Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.
Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.
His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.
When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.
Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?
The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'
Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.
There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.
Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.
He’s staring. Right. Back to work.
Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.
Then, he sees it.
‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.
His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.
He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.
He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.
You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.
He longs for home. He longs for family.
For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.
Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.
“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”
Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.
“I’m sorry.”
You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.
You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.
Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.
He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.
But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.
It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.
Curious minds think alike. Mostly.
TAGLIST:
@lareinedususpense
@poubxlle
@mystoragehatesme
@the-maroon-panda
#loki#loki x reader#loki laufeyson x reader#loki x you#loki laufeyson x you#loki imagine#loki laufeyson imagine#loki series#sylvie#mobius x reader
69 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mountain part ii.
‹‹‹part i.
Megumi Fushiguro
Pairing: megumi /reader
Word count: 1.8k
+ summary: On a recovery mission of a cursed object you split into teams of two. You and Megumi get caught in the cross fire while looking for the object.
Genre: angst
Warning: slight cursing
You watched as Megumi trekked through the dangerous mountains.
You pushed the button on the walkie-talkie, “How is it looking out there?”
“A little wet, rocky. How is it looking from your end.”
“It looks like a big stream of this blood-red cursed energy, with small branches veering off. Like veins on a leaf.”
“Which way is the stream going?” He asked looking at his dog, really looking at you.
“Keep going straight, up towards that hillside over there.”
“Of course a hillside.” He grumbled.
“Megumi you can take a break. The sun will be rising soon. I guarantee our counterparts are still sleeping like the dead.”
You thought you heard a chuckle on the walkie-talkie. “Let me know when you see something.”
“Over and out.” You said. “Your dad needs a sense of humor.” You commented as you patted the divine dog's head.
Megumi was going further and further up the mountainside. You noticed a slab of a stone 3 yards in front of him.
“Hey, Megumi can you walk towards that slab of stone to your right?”
“Copy.”
He and his partner walked over to the slab. There were strange symbols of a language on it.
“What do you think it means?” He asked.
“Not sure, looks familiar though. Can you dust off whatever is on it?”
You watched as his hand over the moss and dirt off the lettering.
“Any clue now?”
“No.” You sighed defeated. “But I know I know it. I do know this, there is a temple not far from here. Be vigilant.”
“Over and out.”
The text on the slab of rock seemed so familiar. Something you have read before in the past few months.
“Fushiguro I think I need to turn the connection off.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, just the text on that slab it’s bugging me. I have a few documents saved on my phone about old language, some of it pertaining to Sukuna.”
“Keep me on the radio then.”
“Stay put don’t advance forward. Promise?”
He laughed before responding, “I promise.”
You slowed down your breathing and closed your eyes.
After regaining your vision you radioed Fushiguro. “Connection is stopped.”
“Got it.” He responded.
You went to grab your phone, looking through all the files and photos of old sorcerer language and looking at the translations.
Megumi on the other hand was sitting on a rock. He was about 500 hundred feet from the temple.
“Megumi come look at these flowers!” He heard a familiar voice call out to him.
“Tsumiki?” He asked turning towards the temple.
“Come here they look just like the ones from the garden don’t you think?”
Megumi couldn’t help himself he was walking closer to the temple. His body had no control. He was possessed to see his sister.
You found the document and reading the translation.
“The Mountain of Ryomen Sukuna. Temple devoted to our savior. We pray to him and built him a temple, for our master.” You read aloud. “Shit! Megumi! Get out of there now! He knew the minute we came here! Megumi! Megumi Fushiguro Answer Me!”
There was nothing but silence on the other end. You tried to reconnect with the divine dogs. You saw Megumi at the temple standing there by a bunch of dead bushes. He looked entrance with the structure.
You stopped the connection again. You know you should be keeping eyes on him but you needed to reach the others.
It wasn’t the time to set off the flare guns but you know you have no choice.
You went outside to find a clearing and shot the gun twice. A minute in between each shot.
There was a response with a single flare shot. They were coming. They were close to the board between north and south.
You reconnected with the dog again. You saw the dog running towards Megumi. Growling at the air in front of the temple. You noticed out of the corner of the dog's eye that there were cursed spirits coming out of the corners. They were heading straight towards Megumi. The Dog tried to fight them off all at once to protect his master. Until you could see any more. The connection was gone. The dog was dead and soon Megumi will too.
You had to think fast. You could sit and wait for Kugisaki and Itadori and send the other dog to find Megumi. Or you could go find him and leave the dog to bring them to you and him.
You couldn’t do a lot on your own. As minutes prior prove neither can the dog on its own.
You needed to go together. You went to a tree and left a note for the pair. You grabbed the bloody shirt and gave it to the dog.
“Find Megumi.” The dog nodded and grabbed the shirt from your hands. He sniffed it and ran upwards the mountain. As you followed the dog you mark trees with a paint ball gun you got from your bag.
You saw Megumi sitting on the ground you could see a cursed spirit leeching on his chest. Smaller ones were waiting on the edge to get the scraps of Megumi.
“Alright boy, get the smaller ones. I handle the big one.”
You had stored some cursed tools in the bag. You had a long sword.
It was like this cursed spirit was obsessed with Megumi. Didn’t even bother to look at you or the divine dog. Even at the screams of the smaller ones in the mouth of the dog.
You sliced its bottom half off. It was like a worm. You grabbed its head carefully yanking it from Megumi’s chest. You held the head and stared at it angrily. You felt your insides boil. And with that, the cursed spirit melted in your hands.
You didn’t have time to think about that. You dropped to your knees picking up Megumi in your arms. That monster opened up his wounds.
“Megumi can you hear me?” You asked softly.
“Mmm. Tsumiki.” He groaned with his eyes still closed.
His sister.
“____! Fushiguro!” Itadori called out.
You turned your head towards him. “Come quick Fushiguro is hurt.”
Itadori came over and sat down. “Apply pressure to his chest like I’m doing. I’m going to recover the finger.”
You turned towards Itadori. “Yuuji has he been present with you?”
“Sukuna? Yeah, he was being rather annoying.”
“You rang my dear.” The small face appeared on his face. You slapped Yuuji across the face.
“___ what was that for?!”
“Delicious.” The Demon smiled licking the blood on Yuuji’s face.
“He knew! He knew this place when he saw it. This temple was built for him and he stored a finger here! Tell me where the finger is Sukuna?!” You said holding Yuuji by his collar.
“Gladly. There is a box buried under the bushes.” He said smugly.
“Where is Nobara?”
“She went to get us a quick away out of here. Which we are going to need.”
You sent the dog to dig up the finger. The dog licked the outside of the box. You got the box from him.
You opened it and saw the finger. You pocketed it in the bag.
It had been a week an half since you got back from the mountain.
Megumi was still in the hospital. You were very angry at him. He promised. Right now you were held up in your room. Going over files about cursed techniques.
You stared at your hands. How did you melt that spirit?
You had called your parents and they said they would look into it for you as well.
Megumi groaned waking up. The past few days have been painful both on his chest and his head.
His friends came by and sat with him. Everyone but you.
It was around the third day he started to get worried about you and if you were ok.
“She is really mad at you. She was doing training with Maki and Gojo, after getting cleared. She was so angry.”
“She kept going on how you promised. That sea urchin promised.” Nobara said.
“How do you know that was me?” He asked.
“Have you seen your hair?” She asked.
Megumi lightly touched his hair. But that wasn’t the problem, he knows he hurt the trust he built with you. “Where is she now?”
“Held up her room. Something weird happened. She melted the cursed spirit sucking on your chest with her hands.” Itadori said slurping on some noodles.
“I’ll see her later and apologize.”
“Do you even know why she is mad?” Itadori asked him. He shook his head now. “When I was hidden, she made me promise every time I left that I would come back in one piece. She used to do that with her older brother when he left on missions. The one time they didn’t make that promise-”
“I get it,” Megumi said
Megumi was about to knock on the door. But what if you turned him away. He decided to go inside and just try and talk to you.
He opened the door to see you with candles on your window, using them as a light source. While you were reading books and papers, all spread out on your bed.
“Don’t even bother knocking? You must have hit your head too.” You commented not even looking at him.
He decided to just clear his throat.
“What I don’t even get a response to that?” You said finally looking at him. He still stood there like a statue. You got up off the bed and walked over to him. “How could you? You promised me! You walked right over there after I specifically told you to hold back. That was a direct violation of my trust and our partner's ship. You went in there without any knowledge! Which if you even bother to know that place was made for Sukuna and he hid his finger there!” You pushed his shoulder. “Huh still got nothing to say!”
He tugged you into his chest and his head fell down on your shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing.” You felt in his chest, the way he said it he meant two different things. “This doesn’t make up for your worry for me, but I didn’t have control of myself, I was possessed.”
You were silenced for a minute. “I’m sorry for making you promise it’s not fair to do to someone.”
“It is fine. Actually thought I was going to die and I had no control over myself. And I lost one of my shikgami and I thought I was going to lose you too.”
“I thought you didn’t care about saving people?”
“I do when I care about someone.”
You had decided with that statement to hugged Megumi back. “I care about you too. You should go back to the hospital and rest some more. Maybe if you are feeling up to it we can have a ceremony for the dog. I had him cremated for you he is in your room, in a wooden box.”
“That would be nice. Walk with me to the hospital room?”
You nodded and held his hand walking back to the hospital.
#megumi jjk#jjk fushiguro x reader#jjk fushiguro megumi#jjk megumi x reader#jjk megumi fushiguro#jjk fushiguro#jjk megumi#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fushiguro x reader#jujutsu sorcerer#jujutsu kaisen megumi x reader#jujutsu kaisen megumi fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jujutsu fushiguro#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#megumi x reader#megumifushiguro#fushiguro jjk#fushiguro megumi x reader#megumi jujutsu kaisen
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hair ☕
Okay, so at the outset, I would like to emphasize that English is not my mother tongue and I am still learning. But writing is my hobby and I decided that I will try my skills here too, in English, I invite you to write requests, I hope you will like it!
3,5k words!
=================================
She was strong. She was a good soldier, commander, companion.
But she was also a beautiful woman with an amazing figure who was envied by many. Despite being quite short, because she was only five feet three, she had long slender legs. Overall, she was considered a beautiful woman. However, she had short hair.
Her hairstyle was practically identical to Levi's, but no one accused her of trying to look like him, as she was cutting her hair that way long before Ackerman joined the survey corps.
Oh, she and Levi. It was quite a sneaky topic, let alone the rumors around the body. They were often seen in each other's company, people interpreted it differently.
Some said it was just a friendship and a bond they established when Ackermann was part of her branch at the beginning of his career. And the others insinuated the supposed romance of the two. Well the versions were really different, but the truth was that y/n and good captain Levi were just two great friends. The woman was one of the few people who knew the man's past, and shared with him some facts about her. Because they both came from the Underground, however, and managed to get out of there on their own, and not with the help of scouts, as was the case with Levi.
At first they were not very sympathetic, quite the opposite. They had very similar characters, which theoretically should indicate that they will get along well, but that was only theoretically. In practice, they got on their nerves terribly.
But despite this aversion to a man, it was precisely this that helped him the most after the death of Farlan and Izabel. She provided him with comfort, help and warmth. Something no one else could give him. It was thanks to her that he recovered so quickly, and he was in the place where he was at the moment.
At some point their relationship began to take a less formal path. More and more often they stayed at each other's offices, helped each other with Erwin's sentences, that is, documentation. They drank tea together, despite the fact that the brunette was a coffee advocate, she made an exception for Levi and almost completely gave it up. They had similar problems, especially those with sleep, may both of them suffer from insomnia, so when the entire corps was asleep, they sat in the two of them over documents, or simply spent their free time together.
Y/n did not even know the exact moment when she began to care in this other, more intimate way on the short captain. It came overnight. Of course, she was behaving the same as before, after all, she was not some horny teen, but a mature woman, but at the moment when she was going to the black-haired's office, or she just knew that he would see him, her body was flooded with heat. And maybe she wouldn't care so much if it wasn't for the fact that she had short hair.
She loved the short haircut, the long hair simply irritated her and disturbed the soldier's everyday life, but she was afraid that they might be an obstacle to any closer relationship with Ackerman.
***
She sat quietly in her office filling out paperwork for Erwin. She nervously tweaked her hair, which was longer than usual, because every time she tried to cut it, something was getting in the way and that was how it was already quite long.
The silence in the office was broken by the sudden opening of the door through which entered a black-haired man with pliers and a towel in his hand. He closed the door with a bang and set the items on the coffee table, then looked at the woman poring over reports and other documents.
"You have long hair." He said suddenly and walked closer to her chair, and when he was next to him, he entangled his hand in her dark strands. She breathed a breath and leaned against the back of the armchair, massaging her temples at the same time giving herself to the caress.
"I didn't have time to cut them off because of the last expedition, and with all the crap Erwin did, I have more work to do than ever. And Hanji keeps following me all the time and asks if I managed to convince Bushbread to do experiments on titans." She explained in frustration then exhaled her mouth with a whistle.
"Tch, fucking shitty glasses. Come on, rest a little, cut off your hair, and you will give me a haircut." He replied then pulled the woman's chair back and, grabbing her hand, led her to the bathroom. She was so tired of it all that she didn't care, and the presence of a cobalt-eyed woman was calming, so she didn't resist. "Get your hair wet." He gave the order, which she followed by putting her head in the shower and then she wet her hair with a stream of water. Ackermann handed her a towel, which she grabbed and dried her hair.
Let the two go back to the brunette's office, meanwhile she took off her jacket and threw it on the couch, which Ackermann only huffed, but said nothing. She sat down without a word on the low stool that the man had prepared at that time. He ran a hand through her hair a few times and began carefully trimming it.
"Can I ask you a question?" She finally gave up y/n, unable to withstand the silence in the room
"You ask them anyway, so why do you ask me for permission." The bored man replied by which l/n raised the corner of her mouth in a small smile.
"What do you think about women with short hair?" She asked, and black hair stopped breathing for a moment. What the hell was that about? Is this some kind of provocation?
"What am I supposed to think. They are no less feminine because they do not have long hair, their appearance does not define a person." He replied quite neutral, not realizing that he had just kindled a little ray of hope in his friend's heart. "And why do you ask?"
"Because I care about someone, and all in all, I wanted to know your opinion." Ah yes. His heart leapt into his throat, and his stomach seemed to have a 3D maneuvering device. Someone did she like? But who the hell. After all, the only men with whom she spent time was himself, Erwin, sometimes he encountered Moblit in the company of Hanji and Mike. Who could steal her heart enough to make her care about her hairstyle? Probably Erwin. That fucking perfect general.
Maybe Levi didn't have complexes as such, but he was always a little jealous of Smith. He had a perfect body, he was tall, intelligent, had a high position in the military, and he came from a non-poor family. He was nothing compared to the blonde, he had nothing to offer. And he would like so much to have her with him.
"I'm done." He muttered softly brushing single hairs from the woman's clothes. She got up from the stool and unintentionally combed her dark hair. She looked beautiful, but he wouldn't tell her that.
"Your turn." She said and took the pliers from his hand. This time it was he who sat on the stool. He involuntarily smiled under his breath and closed his eyes at the woman's gentle touch. He was literally like a docile kitten. Why couldn't she be his?
***
He had been avoiding her like plague for about two weeks. He was irritated by the lack of a black-haired woman around him, but he knew that if it was like before, he would take the blow even worse.
A blow that would never come.
Y/n really didn't know what she could do wrong. After all, everything was fine, and then overnight Ackerman began to avoid her. Maybe he just got bored?
At first she explained his ignorance with overwork, in the end everyone in the command had their heads off. But when one day in a row she saw him sitting quietly with Petra, she knew it was not it. By the way, seeing a redhead in his company, something broke in her. What did this teenager have that she did not have? Did their relationship really mean nothing to him? So many questions, so few answers.
And this way almost every evening she landed in Erwin's office with Hanji with a bottle of whiskey or vodka, depending on what Smith had in the bar. Erwin and Hange really couldn't comprehend the change in brunet's behavior, and the sight of a really hurt l/n was so pathetic as to be nasty.
And so the next evening the three gathered in Smith's office where they once again debated about the captain's behavior.
"I do not feel it completely, so change the attitude towards people overnight.
I know that our curly pedantic has its own rules, but without exaggeration." Hanji announced, finishing the rest of the whiskey from her glass.
"Maybe something made him do it?" Smith replied, then grabbed his chin.
"Tch, and this thing is called Petra Ral, really fascinating." Black-haired girl summed up pouring herself and Zoe whiskey.
Their conversations were so loud that they interested Ackerman who was just about to make himself a cup of tea. But when he heard three familiar voices, he stood at the door of Smith's office, listening to what was being said.
"Don't take it for granted." Erwin said and frowned by the high concentration of alcohol in his glass.
"So what could be the reason Levi is ignoring me then? Just like logic Erwin, there are two options, or he has something to me and he distorts what is unfortunately but impossible because he always treated me only as a friend. Or he just shoots with Petra, and that's what I believe more. "Did they talk about him? What romance with Petra? And y/n cared for him the way he wanted it, but he's just an idiot and he broke it? He held his breath for a moment and tried to enter the room, but stopped himself and continued to stand still.
"Like it or not, I have to agree with the above. Although I keep my fingers crossed for the first version." Squeaked at the end of the woman, which caused a loud sigh of disapproval from y/n.
"Shut up Hanji, I don't want to hope again for something that will never happen." She growled angry and hurt. She really cared about him. Not on any Erwin, Moblit or Mike, but on him. On a goddamn Underground thief with a hard character and misophobic aspirations. Damn it, don't let this be a dream.
He walked away from the door and headed for his office. He has even forgotten why he left it at all. He sat down at the desk and stared blankly at the sky until the very morning, trying to put everything in his head. He must try to fix what he broke.
***
Like a day like every other day. There was no expedition, no surprises, just an ordinary day in the recon. Well, maybe almost. Because Ackerman had been nervous and a little stressed since the morning. And it wasn't just because he wanted to talk to y/n seriously, but largely because he couldn't find her anywhere. As to spite that day, she sank underground, his only salvation could be Erwin. Which office was on his way to. The evening and dinner time was approaching, so he wanted to come to him before her, to look for the presence of a woman at the last meal, if necessary.
He entered the office without knocking, Smith merely looked up from the mountain of documents he had probably been studying since this morning, then turned him back to the sheets of paper.
"What you want Levi?" He asked breaking the silence prevailing in the room. He was pretty sure why this one had come to him, but preferred not to reveal all the cards at once.
"Where is y/n"? Erwin sighed and then put down his quill and straightened up in his chair. He was afraid of Levi's reaction, but what could he do if the milk had already spilled?
"She went on a mission. She should be back in two or three days at the most." He replied with a straight face in the middle being a bit irritated by the reaction of the black-haired man.
"What mission? And why the hell didn't I know anything about this." Ackerman asked, very angry with the news once again.
"Maybe because you've been avoiding her for a long time? Maybe because it's a secret mission, I'm not obligated to tell you everything, Levi. I respect you and treat you as a friend, so I will give you some friendly advice. Think about what you really want and don't screw it up. I don't think I need to tell you what I'll do to you if you hurt her, not to mention Hanji." A faint smile affected his lips at the end of his speech.
"It's none of your business anymore. Thank you for the information." He replied coolly and, not worried about the threat of his friend, left his office.
So he was supposed to wait? He hated waiting. Uncertainty burst him from the inside, these few days will probably be a real nightmare for him.
***
It was well past nine o'clock, so most of the Corps' soldiers were resting in their quarters. Only a few officers were still in the courtyard. And Levi was watching them from his office.
Week. She has been gone since fucking week.
And he was consumed not only by uncertainty, but also by fear. Because they didn't know anything, not even Erwin, who entrusted the woman with this mission. Through it all, the captain was irritated and angry from day to night. Everyone wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Even Petra must have found out about his bad mood when some two days after y/n's departure, she felt bad for the fact that she smiled at him instead of focusing on cleaning. The last time he was afraid was when he first left for exeption.
Suddenly, a horse ran into the courtyard, on the back of which was a scout, but he was clearly unconscious, barely clinging to his mount. At first, Ackerman did not move from his place, but when he heard the screams about the return of squad leader l/n and summoning the medics, he sprinted out of the office.
When he was already leaving, he saw only a brunette, which two cadets were carrying on a stretcher to the infirmary. There was blood everywhere, and the worst case scenario flashed through his mind. She might have died.
He knew that they would not let him into the infirmary anyway, and the cadets didn't know anything, the only option was once again Erwin. What a mission it was to make her come back like this.
He hurried to Smith's office and threw open the door. He did not care about the surprised face of Hanji, who was sitting on the blonde's couch, but he walked over to the man and grabbed him tightly by the collar of a white shirt.
"What was that mission? And why did you send her over there alone, don't you care that she's just fighting for her life?" He was screaming at the top of his throat, he didn't care what everyone thought of him right now, he didn't care about the consequences, he only cared that he could lose her before he actually possessed her.
"In Stohess there is a man who leads the gang. It interfered with various shipments and the like. They are also active in the Underground. The task was to diversify into their ranks, apparently she did not quite succeed." He replied with stoic calm which made the black-haired man even more angry.
"Have you been really fucked up? Such a mission is not a job for one person, it is for the rest. Such matters should be handled by the MP's, not us!" He shouted and pushed the blonde back so that he almost fell from his chair.
"Only that they interfered mainly with transports to our corps. Mostly those not entirely legal. You know very well that a large amount of drugs and medical equipment we have is not entirely legal, but it is needed. I wanted to send the two of you on this mission, because both of you know the Underground, but she did not agree to you taking part in this mission. Probably because you were not getting along at that point." The man explained succinctly, and Ackerman said nothing. It was his fault, his goddamn fault. If only he wasn't such an asshole, nothing bad would have happened.
Until now, a silent Hanji came up to the shorter man and put her hand on his shoulder, the latter turned towards her, close to crying. Holy shit what she did with him.
"You'll finish later, for now, go to her." She ordered, and he nodded and without a word headed for the infirmary.
***
"When will she wake up?" He asked one of the medics, who was just finishing treating single wounds on the body of an unconscious woman.
"She should wake up in the morning. But probably not for long, he has to rest a lot now. She lost a lot of blood, it is surprising that she was even going here alive." She replied and got up from the small stool, putting the remnants of bandages and other medicaments on a silver tray. "But take it easy, she will get out of this, squad leader l/n is a damn tough woman, not just character. She will lick it." She added after a moment with a slight smile on her face trying to cheer the man up.
"I know she's strong." He replied quietly, his head bowed and his hands folded.
"So just be patient. I think she survived because she had someone to return to." She laughed softly and just left the room, leaving the slightly confused captain with the unconscious woman.
He slowly walked over to her bed and sat down next to it on the wooden chair. He grabbed her chilled hand and pressed it to his lips, giving it a tender kiss. He had to wait.
And so the hours went by, and Levi spent them thinking about his feelings for the woman and simply gazing at her adoringly.
She was so beautiful, he loved everything about her. From a smile that could not be seen too often, ending with short hair. He was lazily combing them almost all the time, not being surprised how pleasant they are. He did not even notice that it was starting to dawn, and the soldiers of the corps were slowly waking up to start another day of service. He also did not notice that Erwin accompanied by Hanji arrived in the room in the meantime, but when they saw the man sitting next to the y/n, they only smiled at each other and left, leaving them alone, of course they gave each other high five for fruitful cooperation.
"Wake up now, because these feelings will blow me up soon." The words were coming out of his mouth involuntarily. His eyes were closed, he tried to focus, to be patient. "I overheard your, Hanji and Erwin conversation about me. I really was an idiot. I shouldn't be away from you, that's why you're here at all. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be lying here, I wouldn't have allowed it. I have plans to blame Erwin for letting you go on this mission alone. But you don't know how much I was bursting from the inside by the thought that you care about someone, and that someone is not me. I was so fucking jealous. Ugh, feelings are a pain in the ass. You don't even know what you're doing with me. I just love you, and I love everything about you." There was a silence in the room, and the man breathed a sigh of relief, finally blurted out into the crowd of thoughts.
"Even my short hair?" Silence, a hoarse voice broke the silence in the room. The man immediately opened his eyes and straightened in his chair, a smile spread across his face at the sight of the woman's open eyes.
"Even short hair." He replied and once again ran his hand through it, and placed the other on her cheek.
"I heard everything, you idiot. Love you too." She said and smiled broadly as he reciprocated.
"I love you too." He replied and pressed their lips together in a kiss.
#levi attack on titan#reiner braun#eren#historia reiss#mikasa ackerman#aot smut#levi ackerman +16#levi x oc#levi#levi ackerman#shingeki no kyoujin levi#captain levi#levi aot#levi heichou#levi imagine#levi x reader#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#shingeki no kyoujin x reader#erwin smith#hanji zoe#hange zoe#connie springer#eren yeager
140 notes
·
View notes
Text
Things the Scoundrels are No Longer Allowed to Do- Part II
Based on “Skippy’s List,” I have continued “A List of Things the Scoundrels are No Longer Allowed to Do.” I hope you enjoy it. The original can be found here:
https://thelordofdarkreunion.tumblr.com/post/637424500291600384/a-list-of-things-the-scoundrels-are-no-longer
The group known as the Magnificent Scoundrels has gotten a bit out of hand. This list was compiled by Admiral Hackett of the Systems Alliance, Admiral Kelly of the GA, Fleet Admiral Hood of the UNSC, Inquisitor Vail of the Holy Inquisition, Commander Briggs of the Frontier Militia, Princess Leia of the New Republic, and Director Fury of SHIELD in order to curb the Scoundrels’ more dangerous or inappropriate behaviors. These rules apply to all Scoundrels and their teams/crews.
207. Expended ammunition is not a business expense.
208. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to call requesions officers or quartermasters “sugar daddy.”
209. There is no “anti-Shepard conspiracy” within the Scoundrels’ fleet. That’s the Citadel Council’s thing.
210. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to adopt dogs to “sic on the brass.”
211. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to pay Revenant to kill people they don’t like.
212. None of the Scoundrels are The Chosen One. That was Anakin Skywalker.
213. It is wrong to fire warning shots at drivers who do not recognize your right of way.
214. Reading is not “for officers only.”
215. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to ask anyone who outranks them if they’ve been smoking crack.
216. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to turn their starship command rooms into throne rooms. Especially with tacky carpets.
217. We are not making clones out of any of you. You are all hard enough to deal with as is.
218. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to steal any massive, mobile space stations or star fortresses, which include but are not limited to:
- The Rock
-The Phalanx
-The Citadel
-High Charity
-Cloud City
219. Thomas Drake is not allowed to crash economies “because it’s fun.”
220. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to assign nicknames to anyone.
221. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to make chain guns that fire miniature nukes
222. The weapons specialists of the Apocalypse are no longer allowed to collaborate with the engineers of the Normandy or Enterprise, and Quill is to give up the nuke chain gun.
[I will not! How can you stop me? I have a chain gun that fires nukes!]
223. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to wake up superior officers with cymbals
224. Napalm Sticks to Kids is not a motivational song.
225. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to quote bastardized versions of Dr. Seuss rhymes on military operations.
226. Command decisions do not need to be ratified by a ⅔ majority.
227. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to line their helmets with tin foil to “block out the space mind control lasers.”
228. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start any SITREP (Situation Report) with “I recently had an experience I just had to write you about…”
229. Do not attempt to take the gas masks off of Death Korps troopers.
230. Rodents are not entitled to burial with full military honors, even if they are “casualties of war.”
231. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to mock command decisions in front of the press.
232. You should not speculate on the penis size of anyone who outranks you. Especially if they’re in earshot.
233. You cannot arrest children for being rude.
234. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to create new, made-up government forms, then insist they be filled out.
235. No one is allowed to perform “lap dances” in uniform.
236. Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command.
237. Cain is technically allowed to kill any of you if he finds reason to, so stop pissing him off.
238. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to defect to other military service branches during training missions.
239. Your race is not “other” on official documents.
240. There is no Scoundrels ethics committee. And if there was, Thomas Drake would not be chairman.
241. Chainsaws are not the answer to every question. Nor is “more chainsaws.” Or “chainsaw cannons.” Except for that one time, and yes, it was awesome.
242. Stop posting classified information on social media.
243. Adam Vir is no longer allowed to play “Hippocratic Oath chicken” with Dr. Kril.
244. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to cook nerve gas in the sink.
245. There is no “annoy” setting on a phaser.
246. A wet towel is not an improvised weapon. Unless you’re Master Chief. There’s a reason the Covenant calls him “The Demon.”
247. I know you all have passes, but if the gun can’t fit through the x-ray machine, it doesn’t go on the plane.
248. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to download Internet Explorer into the Geth hivemind or the Martian noosphere.
249. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to demand payment in liquor, backrubs, or bubble wrap.
250. Any Exterminatus-grade weapon is not “my little friend.”
251. Airlocks do not double as waste disposals.
252. No member of the Scoundrels or their crews are a pagan god or goddess of fertility.
253. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to learn profanities in any language that can bend reality.
254. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to steal their own souls.
255. There is not a Space Marine Chapter whose heraldry is a smiley face.
256. The following weapons are no longer allowed as dueling choices: steamrollers, nerve gas, land mines, or heavy artillery.
257. Shepard is no longer allowed to drive or pilot anything.
258. Han Solo is no longer allowed to attempt any piloting maneuver in which the original inventor was killed doing.
259. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play The Only Thing They Fear is You every time a super soldier enters the battlefield.
260. In formal introductions to nobility, you are not allowed to introduce your companions as “the other guys.”
261. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to monologue.
262. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to do anything that would make a Sith Lord cry.
263. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to get telepaths to hurry up the speeches of long winded politicians.
264. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hand over annoying reporters to any organization that could be considered a theocracy.
265. If a black op requires you to impersonate an employee, you are not allowed to bill the target for overtime.
266. By definition, chaplains cannot be atheist.
267. The proper response to the question “Why?” is not “Why not?”
268. It is assumed that a properly trained Titan Pilot knows what at least one of the buttons in the Titan’s cockpit does, and it is wrong for Cooper to pretend otherwise.
269. At the end of a high profile assassination mission, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play disco music on the target’s phone.
270. The Scoundrels cannot hear the soundtrack.
271. Thermonuclear hand grenades do not exist, and the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to try and make them.
272. I assure all of the Scoundrels with absolute certainty that Ralph is not a traditional Japanese name.
273. None of the Scoundrels are from Margaritaville.
274. Hawaiian shirts are not part of any of our governments’ formal uniforms.
275. Master Chief is not allowed to record Gravemind ASMR.
276. The Scoundrels are not allowed to write tell-all books about anything.
277. “Legends never die!” is not a valid excuse.
278. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to think of new, creative, or fun uses for cursed artifacts.
279. Check the door means listen to see if there’s any activity on the other side, not put multiple rounds through it.
280. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to give wasabi to unsuspecting aliens.
281. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to attempt to do anything they saw Jackie Chan do.
282. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to implement any battle plan that includes the words “and hope they miss a lot.”
283. There is an upper limit to the number of people a bullet can go through.
284. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to attempt to unionize the Unggoy.
285. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to hack forge world PA systems so they only play Allentown.
286. Sarcasm is wasted on Imperial Stormtroopers.
287. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to upload porn to the HUDs of their commanding officers.
288. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to download porn from the HUDs of their commanding officers.
289. No matter how tough the battle, the Scoundrels are to keep the congratulatory ass-slapping to a minimum.
290. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use time machines to invade Germany on August 31, 1939 and thus secure Belgian dominion over Europe.
291. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to Tokyo drift tanks
292. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to “catch air” in military vehicles.
293. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to send anything to the past, future, or alternate dimensions.
294. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to mount speakers on tanks to play Ghost Division as they drive into battle.
295. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to post memetic hazards on the internet.
296. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to bind eldritch dieties to their will and make them mow the lawn.
297. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to load weapons with all tracer rounds
298. If your personal weapon can be read with a Geiger counter, you aren’t allowed to have it.
299. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to turn Khornite daemon worlds into self supporting blood banks.
300. “Pimp my Death Star” is not a real show, and we are not bringing Grand Moff Tarkin back from the dead to host it.
301. Prussian Glory March is not a disco song.
302. We know that Shepard was brought back from the dead by Cerberus, but no matter how high profile or how close a friend, the Scoundrels are not allowed to ask Cerberus, the Adeptus Mechanicus, or, god forbid, Fabius Bile to bring anyone or anything back from the dead.
303. Any weapon that can be set to “flay” is strictly forbidden.
304. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to sing the Oompa Loompa song every time someone annoying dies.
305. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to store squeeze tubes of explosive putty in medicine cabinets.
306. On most planets, shoulder holsters are frowned upon as casual attire.
307. Zero body count does not mean just the ones they can find.
308. Walmart is not a one stop shopping place for hunting demons.
309. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to play football/soccer with AT-ST or Sentinel walkers.
310. None of you are currently parents, but if you ever become one, Trazyn the Infinite is not to be named your child’s godfather.
311. You know what, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to name any of the following as godparents of any potential children:
-The God-Emperor of Mankind
- Emperor Palpatine
- Councilor Sparatus
- Leman Russ [Bjorn said it was OK so fuck you.]
- Kahless the Unforgettable
- Kuben Blisk
- Kharn the Betrayer
312. Searching a building means entering it, not leveling it with artillery and digging through the rubble.
313. FedEx does not deliver to Tatooine.
314. None of the Scoundrels are allowed to single-handedly make Starfleet Academy the number one party school in the universe.
315. Covering fire does not include nuclear weapons.
316. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to challenge anyone to a dance-off to the death.
317. Kirk, rifts in the time-space continuum are not for your personal amusement.
318. Blowing up the top twenty floors of a building is not a “diversion.”
319. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to convince Sith Lords to use Force lighting on their welding projects.
320. Canadian is not a real language, and you can’t set your translators to it.
321. There is no such thing as a were-saxophonist.
322. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to tell new personnel that starship windows can be rolled down.
323. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to start wars between major weapons corporations, especially “because I’m bored.”
324. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to clear enemy underground bunker complexes just using Bangalore torpedoes.
325. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to order a lance of Imperial Knights to perform synchronized dance numbers.
326. The Scoundrels are to leave out human mating rituals when presenting cultural exchanges to alien ambassadors.
327. When raiding enemy corporations or terrorist organizations, the Scoundrels are no longer allowed to look at the target’s HR files to see if they have better benefits.
328. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use time machines to collect autographs.
329. Any buttocks belonging to the Scoundrels or any of their crews are permanently forbidden from making contact with any copy machine.
330. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to go FTL to avoid red lights.
331. “Just throw them out the airlock” is not a backup first contact protocol.
332. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use the Enterprise’s transporters to fill enemy starships with jello.
333. None of the Scoundrels are the patron saints of large explosions.
334. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to make, accept, or take rake-offs on bets concerning X-class end-of-the-universe scenarios.
335. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to go on PA systems and announce they just won The Game. Goddammit.
336. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to trick Captain Marvel and Cato Sicarius any superheroes or super soldiers they deem “annoying” into fighting each other.
337. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to sell tickets to or organize cage matches between prominent super soldiers.
338. Lockpicking and door breaching are two entirely different things.
339. Performing obscene acts while in the cockpit of or piloting large combat mechs is strictly prohibited.
340. Freeing slaves out of justice is good. Out of spite, not so much.
341. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to compose offensive emails during stealth operations on the target CEO’s email and subsequently CC the entire company.
342. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to recreate the Charge of the Light Brigade with the Death Riders of Krieg.
343. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use telepaths to get out of speeding tickets.
344. The state-controlled news service of the Imperium of Man most definitely does not have a liberal bias.
345. Likewise, the state-controlled news service of the United Federation of Planets does not have a conservative bias.
346. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to kidnap Ewoks or Volus and put them in hamster wheels.
347. Adam Vir is to, by order of Supreme Grand Master Azrael of the Dark Angels, return the Watchers in the Dark he took from The Rock as pets.
348. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to spend the entirety of their bonus pay on lottery tickets.
349. The very concept of a Hutt lap dancer will earn a surprise visit from the Deathwatch.
350. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to use grenade launchers to play bocce ball.
351. If you are unsure of which side of the road you are supposed to drive on, the middle of the road is not a healthy compromise.
352. No matter how cool it would be, the Scoundrels are not allowed to use any time machine to loan General Eisenhower a squadron of X-wings for D-Day.
353. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to program medical droids for “aggressive dentistry.”
354. The Scoundrels are to stop trying to get a reality TV show based on themselves.
355. Garrus Valkarian is not “on loan” to the Vindicare Temple to improve either his or their sniping skills.
356. Pointing out a massive plothole in any bad guy’s plan will not stop them from attacking you.
357. Preliminary nuclear bombardment is not automatically Plan A.
358. Maverick and Tope are not tax exempt for being chaplains.
359. Thomas Drake is to stop teaching classes to the rest of the Scoundrels on tax evasion.
360. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to refit tanks with jump jets.
361. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to create their own currencies.
362. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to attempt to set Jawas on fire with a massive magnifying glass.
363. The Stanley Cup does not have the same power as the Holy Grail. Not even on Canadians.
364. The Scoundrels are not allowed to steal the Stanley Cup.
365. The Eldar really hate it when you greet them with “Live long and prosper.”
366. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to give pre-teen children their phone numbers, especially when they are on black ops.
367. You cannot partake in the sport of fencing with a broadsword.
368. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to switch nationalities or service branches for tax purposes.
369. None of the Scoundrels are “He who must not be named only in passing.”
370. The Scoundrels are no longer allowed to shoot at natural disasters.
Well, there it is. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you would like to add to the list, feel free!
#magnificent scoundrels#halo#master chief#titanfall#jack cooper#warhammer 40k#ciaphas cain#mass effect#mass effect shepard#guardians of the galaxy#peter quill#star trek#skippy's list#star wars#han solo#kirk#funny#comedy writing#crossover#list of things you aren't allowed to do
35 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
plasterdrain
lem
icimdengelenlervegecenler
şiirsokağı
ezgurple
EAZY
fanofspooky
Horror=Love
hurleymendoza05
The Love of Oneal 376