#A CHIP THAT FUCKS WITH HIS MEMORY AND HIS PERSONALITY AND CHOICES AND AND—

[diremoone]

spoilers in tags.

alright the Caleb myth FUCKED. ME. UP. like THEY EXPECT US TO SIT ON THIS FOR HOW LONG BEFORE ANOTHER MAJOR UPDATE??

[waynes-multiverse]

The Exit Strategy – Part 3

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there’s one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, some spice & implied smut (incl. a bit of dirty talk), mentions of a terrorist attack, a tiny bit of angst & feels, fluffy fluff

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for your feedback on the last two parts! So happy I get to finally share this little adventure with you and that you all loved it so much 🥹🩵 Welp, let's dive in before I get too fucking sappy... 😝

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 3: This Is a Heart-To-Heart

With pursed lips and a clicking tongue, Russell’s eyes skimmed the seemingly endless aisle of breakfast cereals, his pointer finger drifting from box to box before it landed on the Lucky Charms. His lips rose to a satisfied grin, his heart skipping a beat as a memory popped into his mind.

The supermarket’s PA speakers announced the opening of a third cash register during the evening rush as Colter stood idly by, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and blew a raspberry. In his periphery, Russell could see his younger brother check his watch for the fifth time and smiled a little to himself.

“Russ, uhm, hate to break up your very serious choice of breakfast cereal here, but we need to move. We’re gonna be late,” Colter finally dared to remind him. Russell had wondered how long it would take. “Can’t you do your grocery shopping some other time?”

Russell only chuckled at that. “Oh, this isn’t that. I need this for tonight.”

“Uh-huh.” Colter wasn’t entirely convinced. “You do know we’re invited to dinner, right? There’s gonna be food. You don’t need to bring a–,” his eyes narrowed at the item Russell threw into the cart, “–box of Lucky Charms. Wow. Okay…” Colter scratched the nape of his neck. “You know, most people bring a bottle of wine. Flowers… You want me to–”

“Nope, I’m good.” Russell shook his head. “I have a plan, alright?”

“Oh, so now you have a plan?” Colter deadpanned. “Where was that plan when I got beat up in a supermarket alley?”

Russell snorted a laugh and cocked his brow. “Is that why you’re so jumpy since we walked in here? Did she actually give you supermarket PTSD?”

“I’m not jumpy,” Colter defended with a too defensive shrug.

“Well, alright, I’m almost done here,” Russell assured him and pulled out a tiny piece of paper with unreadable scribbles on it – his shopping list. “All I need now are Nacho Cheese Doritos, rocky road ice cream, brownies, and potato chips. Luckily, I already got the beer in the trunk.”

Colter’s frown deepened, but his lips quirked a tiny smile of amusement. “Alright, should I even ask?”

Russell laughed. “Trust me. Those are all the things I need to win her back. I know what I’m doing.”

Colter relented with a sigh. “Alright, gimme the list. I track down the snack aisle.”

“If you find them, I’ll give you a five dollar reward, little brother,” Russell quipped, earning him the middle finger as Colter rounded the corner.

Russell exhaled a sigh of relief once he was alone. All afternoon, he’d wracked his brain if he could or should tell Colter about you – about the fact he had a wife and two kids. Was now the right moment? Or had it already come and gone?

And if Russell was looking for a petty excuse, he could just audaciously claim Colter never asked. Never asked if Russell had someone special in his life. Never asked if he was an uncle yet. So, was it really on Russell to offer information that was never asked of him? Now, that wasn’t really his nature, was it?

Like he said, petty excuses…

Russell knew it was (mostly) on him. He did give way to the illusion he was a lone wolf without any strings anywhere. At the end of all his pondering, however, he came to the conclusion it was best to let you navigate how to proceed. You’d always been his compass.

On a late summer evening, with the sun slowly approaching the horizon and dipping the suburban cul-de-sac in shades of golden orange, you found two men on your doorstep: One who only looked familiar despite knowing him almost your entire adult life, and one who seemed familiar, even though you’d never met him before, but some unmistakable features and mannerisms reminded you of your husband.

Said husband beamed at you from ear to ear, carrying two paper bags worth of groceries in his arms. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The heart in your ribcage pounded faster as your eyes landed on his smile. Nothing and no one ever broke your composure or pulled the rug out from under your feet – but Russell had always managed to do both since day one.

“Well, I guess… come on in, guys,” you said with a small sigh of hesitation and held the door open wider, mentally preparing for an entirely unplanned night – they usually were whenever you spent time with the green-eyed chaos theory.

Never in a million years did you think you’d end up here when you met a young soldier on a sunny day at the American embassy in Iraq and put him through a baptism of enemy gunfire only a few hours later. And to be fair, he’d always been handsome, but the quirky shit didn’t reveal itself till later. If Russell Shaw had been a book, you would’ve definitely misjudged him by his cover.

Russell set the brown bags down on the kitchen island, a small smirk flickering across his plump lips. Internally, you heaved another sigh. Of course the idiot would think about sex – a curse conjured up by your own making. If Russell ever had a bad influence in his life, it would’ve been you.

“So, what did you bring me here?” you entertained his little plan, spying into one of the bags. You already had a pretty strong inkling of what might be inside, your heart swelling that he, A, cared and, B, even went as far as making a thoughtful, swoon-worthy effort.

He used to do these things all the time – till it all eventually stopped.

“Only the best for my girl,” Russell said, chuckling giddily as he hauled a tub of rocky road from a bag as if he was making a bunny appear from a hat. Only in your opinion, it was a way better magic trick.

“Oh no, you are the fucking best!” You squeezed his shoulders, short of jumping fully on him, with a grin from ear to ear. Your cheek muscles even began to hurt. You hadn’t smiled this much in ages. “Look at this! You even got brownies! You’re unbelievable, Shaw. You know I’ve been craving this shit for months. We’re supposed to be an organic family,” you explained with an eye roll, your hands still rummaging eagerly through the bags.

“Yeah, I figured somethin’ like this. Remember when you had to pretend to be vegetarian for that greenwashing gala?”

“God, don’t remind me. The asshole served cauliflower steaks and then turned around and shot a fucking lion,” you scoffed, both of you chuckling at the memory. Russell had been right in the chicken coop – it felt like no time had passed at all.

Not touching him and falling into his strong, warm embrace was hard. Not kissing him was harder. And being in his near vicinity without doing any of these things was unbearable. You weren’t just important to Russell; he was important to you, too. For a long time, he’d been the only person you could trust and confide in. You never lied to each other – that had been a rule.

“Wow, okay, so this is different,” Colter noted, you and Russell both glancing up at the young man across the island. As he was only met with two furrowed brows, he clarified, a finger gesturing to your cross necklace. “Just the-, uh, the whole swearing… I mean, at church you were… you know.”

You laughed when you realized what he meant. God knows your aliases had confused the shit out of Russell in the beginning, too – till he learned to take advantage of your role-playing skills. Then, he had tons of fun with it.

“Yeah, I know. Quite the mind-fuck, isn’t it? I usually only pretend to be someone else for a short job – a day or two, a single event. Deep-covers like this aren’t my favorite either,” you shared and hoped it would signal to Colter that he could relax. If his shoulders became any tenser, you’d worry they might freeze that way.

“Speaking of, where’s your husband?” Russell chimed in with a teasing grin.

For the briefest second, your reply would’ve been, “Which one?” Russell could see it, too – the twinkle in your eyes – but then you stopped short when you noticed his look.

Colter didn’t know you two were married. Oh, Russell…

“Basement. Finishing up our report,” you said in a quieter voice, turning on the faucet of the kitchen sink.

Colter’s brow knitted with an amused smile when Russell turned on the radio as well. “Is that really necessary?”

“Can’t be too careful,” both you and Russell replied, not even noticing you spoke at the same time, too zoned in on your routine.

“Who’s your mark?” Russell then asked, leaning back against the kitchen island in an angle that shielded his presence from the window as you got to work on your fake dishes.

“Congressman Eric Mueller.”

“A congressman? Really?” Colter’s brow raised before his eyes showed a little intrigue. “What’d he do?”

“Selling sensitive national security information to foreign agents,” you answered.

“How’s the pastor involved?” Russell asked, opening a box of Lucky Charms and stuffing a handful of dry cereal into his mouth.

“How do you know he’s involved?”

Russell only chuckled at your blatant diversion. “Oh, c’mon! You’re an open-minded person. I know you don’t hate the man for no reason. So, what’s the reason?”

You sighed in proud defeat – checkmate for Russell. “Mueller is laundering money through the church. Pastor’s taking a cut.”

“And?”

“He’s a pedo,” you finally admitted, dumping a clean plate ungraciously into the soapy water before swinging around to meet Russell’s eyes.

“There it is…” He nodded with a winning smirk that felt wrong, rubbing a hand through his beard. “Thought I caught a bit of a creeper vibe. Figured it was just all the kumbaya Jesus shit.”

“I wish… Every time he touches my arm, I wanna cut his hand off with a fucking spoon.”

“Well, we might get to that later if we find the time,” Russell quipped, flicking a marshmallow into the air before catching it with his mouth. You frowned – your son did the same damn thing in the mornings. “What information is Mueller selling?”

“Security protocols, blueprints…” you replied.

“To what?”

“Mall of America,” was all you said before the kitchen fell silent. Crickets. Well, and the faucet and radio… “Our intel suggests they’re planning an attack in December.”

“Well, merry Christmas,” Russell huffed bitterly. “So, that’s the carrot.”

“Yup, that’s the carrot,” you confirmed.

The lives of innocent children and families going about their Christmas shopping in America’s biggest mall was what the agency used to lure you back into the field – the carrot in front of your nose.

For days, you had debated whether to take the job or not, leave your family, and go back undercover to do things no one else wanted to do. But one look through the door at your peacefully sleeping son and daughter made the decision for you. How could you not go? If you didn’t do this, other parents might not get the same courtesy of seeing their children safe and sound in their beds and kissing them goodnight. So, you left your children for the sake of others.

Russell nodded with understanding, telling you he would’ve done the same thing if he were in your shoes. You knew he would have. Still, a part of you felt incredibly guilty, always hoping that Lewis and Amelia would understand someday when they were older.

“Who is it? Russia? China?” Russell asked.

“Neither. It’s an extremist splinter group. Has ties to both ISIS and Hezbollah, but works mostly out of Iran,” you said.

“How did you infiltrate Mueller? A guy trying to blow up a mall doesn’t strike me as a good Christian,” Russell noted.

“Well, he’s not, but his wife, Clara, is. She’s very involved in the church. Was easy to get in this way. I helped her with a few charity events. She got me a job as a bookkeeper for the church, not knowing I’d actually find a bunch of evidence there. Afterward, she invited me for coffee. Now, we have brunch on Mondays, play bridge on Wednesdays and tennis on Fridays. I’m at her house all the time. God knows I have the place bugged in every room now at this point…”

“Bridge,” Russell snorted in amusement, earning him a scolding glare from you. “Does she know?”

You shook your head. “Nope, doesn’t have a clue what her husband’s up to. Wonder what that feels like…” you muttered the last sentence under your breath, Russell narrowing his eyes at you. “He was in the Navy. Stationed in Pakistan. We think he got approached there. He was probably a sleeper agent till he got elected.”

“How far is he in it?”

“Honestly, can’t say. He might be fully turned or just doing it for the money and glory.”

“Glory?” Colter cocked a brow.

You confirmed his shock with a nod. “The mall’s in his district. After the attack, the plan is to portray him as a hero who vows to avenge his constituents. Puts him on the map as running mate for the next election.”

“Then they’d have someone on the top level,” Russell deduced thoughtfully and then found your eyes. “We can help.”

You felt the creases between your eyebrows deepening.

“Yeah, and I already told you – no, thank you,” you huffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t tell you all this as a sitrep, Russ. I told you, so you know we have everything under control, and you can leave again.”

“We both know I’m not going anywhere,” Russell replied stubbornly, his stern gaze drilling into yours. “I can help.”

Undeniably, Russell, with his expertise and certain skill set, would be a helpful addition. You had never trusted someone more in the field than him. The two of you had been an unstoppable team. After almost twenty years together, you could communicate with just a single look. You knew he always had your back, just as he knew you’d always have his – and in the espionage life, that was probably the greatest asset of all.

However, while your mind all too eagerly agreed with him, your heart protested just as heavily. It was a high-risk, high-stakes operation, and a part of you wanted to protect him and keep him as far away from it as possible. You’d known that feeling almost your whole adult life – since the day you’d met him, you had wanted to protect him. Whenever you ignored him, shot him down, or even left him, you were always doing it for his own good. Protecting him meant sometimes hurting him.

But the persistent motherfucker never listens…

Bringing your husband into this and turning your children into orphans wasn’t your only fear, though. There was still Colter.

“Oh, I know you can. I trained you. Remember?” you retorted with a fiery look.

Russell clicked his tongue. “So, this isn’t about me. It’s about him.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m not one of you guys?” Colter quirked a brow and assured you with easiness in the shrug of his shoulders, “I can handle it.”

Ignoring him, your focus stayed on Russell – the culprit. “You brought a fucking clueless wildcard into a clandestine operation! No offense, Colter…”

“None taken,” Colter said with pursed lips.

“Bad move, Shaw,” you continued directing your anger at your husband.

“I can vouch for him. He’s good, alright? Trust me. He helped me out with something before. And just recently, he even stumbled onto a DoD black site,” Russell reasoned with a weak chuckle like he was sharing the family newsletter.

Your frown intensified. “Yeah, the word stumbled really fills me with tons of confidence here.” Then, you expelled a deep sigh. “Look, I know you two had a weird fucking childhood, but you, of all people, know it’s not the same thing! He isn’t trained for this.” Your eyes then drifted to the younger Shaw. “No offense, Colter, but if I ever need someone to kill a bunny, I call.”

“Little offense taken,” Colter quipped with a creased brow.

“I assure you he’s good, alright? Great, even,” Russell said, stepping closer to you. Your heart jittered, the movement like dominos that fell a path from your ribs up your spine and down your arms where goosebumps formed in their wake. “Everything he doesn’t know, I’ll teach him on the road. You don’t have to worry about a thing, sweetheart. Shaws are excellent at improvising. Remember the helicopter?”

“I remember screaming and wishing to die quickly for two hours straight.”

Russell pursed his lips, hiding an amused smile.

“You can fly a helicopter?” Colter asked, brow rising in genuine interest. He slightly leaned forward as if to hear better, cherishing those bits and pieces of his brother’s mysterious life. He hoped one day he would’ve collected enough of them till the nonsensical puzzle matched the picture on the box.

“Yup,” Russell grinned boyishly, wagging his eyebrows. “Named her Birdie. She was a beauty.”

“She was a piece of shit. And he couldn’t fly at the time, hence all the screaming on my part,” you clarified.

“She made me take flying lessons after, but honestly, I had a pretty good handle on it the first time round,” Russell bragged, earning him another frown from you. His irresistibly green eyes then bored into yours. “But it worked, didn’t it? We’re both still here, right?”

You exhaled another long sigh. You hated when he was right.

“Just take tonight to think about it, okay?”

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” you softened, feeling a warm palm gently splay across your back – slightly lower than a friend would place it. You knew Russell was lulling you into agreement – you had taught him that damn trick yourself – but you couldn’t deny it felt so, so, so nice.

“C’mon, ice cream’s melting. Let’s get some unhealthy food into you before you chew someone else’s head off,” Russell teased.

“I am kinda hungry,” you admitted in a meek mumble.

“Oh, I know. I can tell.” Russell chuckled behind you and kissed the top of your head, his arms snaking around your waist.

Fuck. It felt too good. Too familiar.

You wanted his hands to wander down, fingers lifting your skirt, brushing along your inner thighs on their way up. You wanted his head buried between your burning legs, fingers bruisingly gripping your hips while his tongue dipped into your heat. You wanted him to step even closer, tear your lace panties down, pry your buttcheeks apart, and take you hard and deep.

God, you hadn’t had sex in forever. Who could think clearly like that?

Swaying out of his embrace, you grabbed one of the paper bags and looked at him suggestively. “Wanna take this downstairs? I have to show you something.”

Russell’s lips twitched with a smile. He knew what it meant – not here.

His gaze then drifted to Colter. “You’re gonna be alright up here for a while?”

“I’m good.” His little brother nodded with a shadow of a smile as if he had only waited for the moment the two of you would excuse yourselves and retreat.

“I’ll send Tom up here. Have him brief you,” you said, both brothers’ eyes then blinking at you.

“Does this mean I’m in?” Colter asked.

“If you want to, you’re in,” you stated and muzzled a sigh.

Colter’s head bobbed for a moment, a hand scratching his throat. “Well, not exactly something you say no to.”

Russell and you shared an amused look and both replied, “We know.”

“Oh, Tom’s also made some lasagna. I’ll tell him to feed you,” you added kindly.

“Thank you.” Colter matched your smile.

“Whoa, not so fast,” Russell threw in, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Did your cute little hands have any involvement in the making of said meal?”

“No, Tom wouldn’t let me get near it,” you huffed with an annoyed eye roll.

“Smart man,” Russell quipped and then turned to his younger brother. “You should be safe to eat it, then.”

His joke earned him a whack of his chest from you.

“Ow!”

Russell followed you down the creaking wooden steps to the basement. The walls were still raw, the giant room unrenovated. In passing, you switched on the washing machine for an adequate noise level and pulled back the thick, navy curtains to reveal a whole setup with desks and computers.

Russell whistled lowly, green eyes flashing around the room. “Got the whole spy gear down here, huh?”

“Yup.”

Sliding an old artwork to the side, you entered a code into the wall safe. It held mostly sensitive information but also some personal items. You retrieved your private phone before locking it again. You scrolled through your photos until you found what you were looking for, handing it to Russell.

As soon as his eyes landed on a picture of his son on a swing set – with a grin brighter than the sun and one that looked just like a copy of his father’s – Russell inhaled sharply, his grip on the phone tightening.

“He looks like you,” you said softly, leaning your head against his bicep, tangling your arms around his. Then, you swiped to the next picture. “That’s Amelia on her second birthday. She liked blowing out the candles so much, I had to light them seventeen times in a row,” you giggled. But Russell only swallowed thickly, quietly laying the phone down on top of the dryer. You could see the tears well in his eyes again. “Was this too much? I’m sorry.”

Russell shook his head, offering you a sad smile. “No, uhm, it’s too little.”

“Yeah, I get that. Feels like they change every time I turn around. Bet they’re already looking different now,” you said with the same regret-filled sadness in your voice.

“When this is over, you think I could see them?”

The hopefulness shimmering in his green orbs devastated you, adding a few more cracks to your already damaged and bruised heart.

“Of course you can. You can see them as much as you want,” you assured him. “Maybe Amelia first? She’s still little. I mean, it’s just–”

“No, I get it,” he brushed off your concerns with an easy smile, but you could see all the hurt underneath it. “Lewis is older. It’s more complicated. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Russ… Of course he remembers you,” you said. “You’re his dad. He has a picture of you on his nightstand. He talks to you every day.”

Russell snorted a humorless chuckle, the guilt eating him alive from the inside out. “Kinda makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think it does,” you replied, smiling softly. “He missed you. We all did.”

Russell’s lips on yours took you by surprise, reminding you of the first kiss you’d shared – only back then, the roles had been reversed, and he’d been the shocked one.

The kiss was gentle and tentative, nothing hasty or thoughtless about it. He still tasted the same. He still felt the same, even though the beard tickled slightly. His large hands cupped your face – a perfect fit – his thumb sweetly caressing your cheek as he pulled back, hazy pine green eyes searching for yours.

“Sorry,” he said with a rather unapologetic smile and a bob of his Adam’s apple. “Couldn’t hold back any longer.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled with a half-hearted shrug and tiptoed up to claim his lips again, your arms draping around his neck and pulling him closer.

What started slow and careful became a fever dream when your tongue slipped inside his mouth, his hands wandering down your sides till they reached their rightful place on your lower back. Your mind flooded with every kiss, every touch the two of you had ever shared, your heart close to bursting because it had found its missing piece again.

As he drew back, his nose brushed yours, his fingers lovingly tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. His eyes then focused on the top of your head. A smile rose on your lips, guessing his intentions.

“Can I?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. “Go ahead.”

Carefully, he lifted the wig from your head, and a few sorries and giggles later, the fake hair was gone. Removing the hair clips and tie, you gestured with your chin to the desk.

“Can you hand me that blue case?”

Russell grabbed the small case and turned to you with a cheeky smile. “Eye drops, too?”

You nodded, and he came back to you with the requested items. Pulling your eyelids open with your fingers, you took out the colored lenses, placing them back in their case.

Russell held up the eye drops. “Want me to do the honors?”

You giggled and gave him another nod. “Yes, please. You know I hate doing that stuff.” Russell then gently pulled down your eyelid as you tilted your head back. “God, this feels so sexy…”

Russell laughed, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. “You’re always sexy. Doesn’t matter if I’m giving you eye drops or stitching you up.”

“That’s sweet, but shut up. We both know you’re lying. You’ve sewn me back together in some pretty rough states,” you remarked, but your cheeks couldn’t stop from rising higher and higher.

“And vice versa,” Russell said simply, administering the last drop into your right eye.

“Ugh, fucking burns.” You sniffled, blinking your eyes a couple of times till the sting subsided.

Russell’s hands then cupped your cheeks, bringing your focus to him. He smiled at you, bright and warm. “There she is,” he said softly, his voice only a whisper. Your heart tugged in your chest, trying to squeeze itself through your ribs just to be closer to him. “Missed those beautiful eyes.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you teased and pressed your lips on his, slow and sensual – careful. As you glanced up at him, your heart cracked a little more again, your eyes welling up and burning with tears.

“Hey, what is that? Why are you crying?” Russell worriedly checked on you like you were a kid with a fever, his thumb catching a salty teardrop that had escaped.

“It’s the eye drops,” you replied lightheartedly in a last ditch effort to hide the all-consuming guilt in your stomach.

Russell sent you a kind smile, stroking your cheek. “I don’t think it’s the eye drops, sweetheart…”

“I’m so sorry, Russ. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was helping you…”

“I know. I know…” he soothed and opened his arms. “C’mere.” As you fell into his embrace, he kissed your crown repeatedly, his arms holding you just as tightly as you held onto him. One palm patted the back of your head, the other rubbing your back in soothing circles. “I know you did, okay? And I know why you left. It did help, you know? To get my own head outta my ass… Just one of those things, I guess. Didn’t know I needed to hit rock bottom first before realizing what I’d lost. I’m only sorry I didn’t get my shit together sooner.”

Swallowing, with an ear on his chest, you listened to his heartbeat for a moment – steady, strong, safe. There wasn’t one single person in this world that could give you what Russell always could – comfort. It was what you wanted the most, what you needed during your worst times, and what you goddamn craved, always.

“You know, when you didn’t come back after a year, I was scared you finally found what you’re looking for, and it wasn’t me,” you admitted quietly, swallowing.

Before Russell, you barely ever shared your true feelings and thoughts with anyone, not even family and friends. Your heart, mind, and soul stayed hidden like your personality, your identity, and everything else that made you you. But Russell had always seen beyond the walls, the masks, and the aliases.

He drew back slightly, the hand that tangled in your hair lifting your head till you met his eyes and their loving crinkles. “Never gonna happen,” he assured you with nothing but honesty in his gaze. “You’re it, baby. You know I’m a one-and-only kinda guy,” he quipped, flashing you his signature grin. “You’re everything I ever wanted, sweetheart. The only family I ever had, really. I should’ve told you that sooner. Maybe you wouldn’t have left then.”

“This is soon enough,” you said and pecked his lips. “Why didn’t you tell Colter about me? Or the fact that he’s an uncle?”

With a sigh, Russell grabbed the brown paper bags, the ice cream in it surely melted by now, and settled down on the raw concrete floor, leaning his back against the rumbling washing machine. “Well, if we’re gonna talk, we might as well do it old school. Sit down. Eat,” he ordered you.

Taking a seat next to him, you grabbed a container of room-temperature rocky road and opened it. “Whoa, that is soup, yep!” you exclaimed with a laugh.

“Eh, it’s better when it’s melted anyway,” Russell remarked.

“So true…”

“Hand me the Doritos.”

“Yup.”

Quietly, you and Russell then created your dish like the two of you were parodies of Gordon Ramsey on the comedy channel, and only after savoring that first bite of rocky road cream soup with Nacho Cheese Dorito sprinkles (the croutons to your meal if you will), did you stray back to topic.

“So?”

“Right, uhm…” Russell scratched the back of his neck.

You snorted in amusement. “You always do this, you know.” He raised his brow, giving you a sideways look. “You change the subject and distract me in that cutesy way of yours.”

“I don’t think I’m cutesy.”

“You were twenty years ago,” you countered with a fond smile and took a crunchy, spicy spoonful of your soup. “I still see you that way sometimes, you know?”

“God, I hope not,” he groaned, chuckling. “That’s just horrifying.”

“You weren’t so bad. Pretty sweet, actually.” You shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. Russell had always been the lost little duckling that had imprinted on you.

He smirked, but his cheeks betrayed him by turning sweetly red. “Yeah, that’s how I lured you in.”

“I don’t think you did much luring, big guy…” you retorted. “You had zero game.”

“What?!”

“Oh, c’mon, Russ… This can’t come as a surprise to you,” you said, giggling.

“Fine,” he caved with a roll of his eyes and chuckled lightly. He scratched the scruff on his throat. “Guess I was a little nervous that night. You were really intimidating.”

You snorted a laugh. “I know.”

“‘M glad you made the first move, though.”

“I made all the moves,” you corrected teasingly. Your gaze then fell pensively to your lap, where your fingers nervously fumbled. Your heart jolted once, like the jump start of a car. “So, uhm, you know… were you making any moves on other people?”

“People?”

“Women,” you clarified and pursed your lips. You didn’t look at him. You knew he would probably find your discomfort amusing.

“Ah.” Russell smacked his lips, trying his hardest not to grin. Then he looked at you – brow raised in an almost scolding manner, but his lips curved upwards and gave his act away, dimples barely hidden by the beard. He held that gaze till you finally met his green eyes. “Have you not been listening to me before? I told you – there’s only you, sweetheart.”

Your brows drew into a frown. “Don’t sweetheart me. It’s been three years, Russ.”

“So?” He twitched his broad shoulders. “You know that’s not a problem.”

“Well, that was before…”

Russell snorted loudly. The crinkles around his eyes doubled as he rubbed the tears out of them. “What, you think sleeping with you has suddenly awoken the dragon?”

“You don’t have to make it sound so ridiculous,” you muttered.

Russell licked his lips, nodding. “Well, news flash – you’re the only treasure for this dragon, baby.”

You stifled a gasp. “I said less ridiculous!”

His grin only broadened, but then he apparently decided to let you off the hook. “Look, in the past three years, has there been opportunity and maybe a little flirting? Sure. But nothing ever came of any of it. Twice, I came scarily close to kissing someone, but I bolted. Wanna know why?”

“Yes? I think…” you replied hesitantly, causing that infuriating smile of his to rise again.

“‘Cause all of it felt like cheating on my wife. So, are we done with this now?”

Defiantly, you shrugged him a nod, but your heart pumped warm, fuzzy happiness into your veins before Russell’s next question made them freeze again.

“Bigger question is, did you kiss a few toads? Or, you know, did some quacking?”

Your lips rose till dimples formed and your cheeks started to hurt. “Please let me be there when you give the kids the sex talk…”

“Okay, don’t even try to change the subject now,” he chided playfully. “I just meant out of the two of us…”

He choked on his words when you narrowed your eyes to a small glare.

“Out of the two of us what, Russell? Please finish that sentence.” Your voice rang with challenge.

“Nothing.” Sheepishly, he scratched the nape of his neck again. “I just meant that, you know, you’re the one who has more, uh… experience in that area.” When your glare morphed into daggers, he swallowed thickly and corrected course, clearing his throat. “Which, you know, I’m real happy about because God knows I’ve profited greatly off of it.”

“Are you slut-shaming me right now?”

“Nope, mm-mm. No, ma’am.” Russell’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then he muttered under his breath, “Not like you’ve sent more soldiers off to war than Bush… Ow!”

Russell rubbed the burning spot on his chest where you had punched him.

“That one hurt this time…” he groaned.

“Good.” The daggers in your eyes blunted back to a frown. You let out a sigh. “You’re an idiot. Please move on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With curled lips, Russell bobbed his head. “So?”

Musingly, you then rolled your eyes to the ceiling, your head falling back as your tongue darted out between your lips. “Alright, let’s see… In the last three years, I’ve slept with one, two…” you muttered and then mouthed till #4, beginning to count on your fingers.

“Oh, stop it! You think you’re real funny, young lady, huh?” Russell huffed.

When you saw his exasperated expression, you bursted into laughter, the sound echoing off the bare concrete walls.

“C’mon, I had to,” you choked out your excuse between belly-crippling laughs and hysterical snorts. “I’m a single mom of two small children. I’m thankful if I get five minutes in the shower alone.”

Russell laughed a little too, but his heart flooded with relief. The thought of you with someone else had gnawed on him for some time, sharp little bites that pricked his soul. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if it were true – well, aside from dissecting amphibians.

“Almost gave me a heart attack, sweetheart,” Russell chuckled. “Can’t do this to me anymore. That was a young man’s game…”

Instead of uttering an apology, you captured his lips, kissing him till his head spun even more. His breathing quickened, his heart clinging to every last bit of oxygen when your tongue slipped past his lips. His hands tugged on your hips only all too eagerly until he had pulled you into his lap. Your legs straddled his muscular thighs, your clothed cunt rubbing against the growing erection in his jeans. Your underwear soaked at the thought of him splitting you open.

“Make me cum,” you sighed into his ear, nibbling on his lobe. “Want you inside of me again.”

“You’re killing me here,” he groaned as you kissed your way down his throat, teeth grazing over his skin. His fingers twitched with an itch to crawl up your thighs, push any obstruction to the side, and plunge right into your surely wet and waiting channel.

“Good,” you smirked, rocking your hips harder against his bulge.

“Sweetheart, I’d love to, but you’re not exactly quiet.” He chuckled against your lips. “We’d have to blast some death metal on the highest volume for the neighbors not to hear. Doubt they ever heard those sounds coming outta this house.”

With a frustrated huff, you relented breathlessly and slid from his warm lap back to the cold, empty space next to him, cursing the bad timing.

“First time I stitched you up was pretty memorable,” Russell noted after a labored minute, a tiny smirk tugging on his lips.

Your cheeks blushed, your chest still heaving with panting excitement, but you matched his mischievous smile with your usual cocky attitude. “Bet it was. I looked hot in that towel.”

“Yeah, you did. Had a pretty massive boner the whole time. Was surprised you never noticed,” Russell said.

You grinned. “Who says I didn’t?”

“Oh, I know you didn’t, or you would’ve jumped me right there in that bathroom,” Russell teased.

Gasping, you slapped his arm. “I did not jump you!”

“You kinda did.” Russell only laughed harder, with that same boyish grin he always carried when he was happy. “All you wanted was to pull my pants down and hop on for a quick fix.”

“Really? Are you done now?” you playfully scolded him. “And excuse me for wrongly assuming a soldier who’d been stuck in the desert for months with a bunch of other dudes might want sex if the opportunity arises.”

Russell’s boisterous smirk only grew wider. “You wanted me. You had it bad.”

The heat in your face was burning, your tongue poking the insides of your cheeks. “Alright, I don’t think you need an ego boost, Shaw.”

“Still think I’m handsome?” he asked you with a nudge of his elbow.

Pursing your lips, you musingly narrowed your eyes at him, assessing him in jest. “I don’t know. You are a little more rugged these days. The beard’s definitely a midlife crisis.”

Amused, Russell quirked an eyebrow. “Midlife crisis?”

“Yeah, what’s next? Buying a ridiculous car and brewing beer in your basement?”

“Actually, I brew it in the trunk of the ridiculous car.”

Your brows drew together. “Shit. Really?”

Russell laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “Yeah, really.” He then a hauled a bottle of unlabeled beer from the bag, handing it to you. “Taste it. It’s good.”

“If it tastes anything like that schnapps you made in that Guatemalan prison, then no thank you,” you retorted, uncapping the bottle and taking a sniff.

“I promise this wasn’t made in a designated pee bucket, alright?” Russell laughed. “Just drink it. Tell me what you think.”

“Alright, here goes nothing,” you mumbled and took a hesitant, quick sip. Then you took another longer one, squishing the liquid around in your mouth. Your brow raised. “Huh. Not bad,” you remarked, watching Russell’s grin widen. “Why do I taste marshmallows?”

Russell then fully beamed at you. “Knew you’d get it. Took me a while to perfect it. Wasn’t easy, you know? The secret is only adding one of those little Lucky Charms marshmallows. First try, I used the whole pack. God, that was gross.”

“That’s actually pretty genius,” you said with an impressed smile.

“Well, if it is, I kinda owe it to you. You were the OG food genius.”

Smiling, you leaned back against the washing machine with a small sigh, your head dropping to his broad shoulder as you snuggled up against him. He opened his arm and pulled you closer as you nursed your sweet-tasting beer. Russell placed another kiss on your temple, calloused fingers gently caressing your skin.

“When did this job get so hard?”

“Wasn’t it always kinda hard?” Russell answered your rhetorical question, mumbling half his answer into your hair.

“Guess so. Didn’t always feel that way, did it?”

“No, we had some pretty good times,” Russell said with a warm smile and pecked your crown once more.

“You think we’re bad people?”

Russell’s absentminded gaze dropped to you then, now fully focused. “What’s bringing this on, hm?”

You only shrugged in his embrace.

“Alright, I’ll play,” Russell said and then hummed. “Well, we’re not the best people…”

“I was hoping for a little more reassurance,” you said with a playful huff.

Russell chuckled softly. “Look, we always did what we thought was right. And we’ve seen real bad… evil. I don’t think we fall into that category, sweetheart.”

You nodded against his chest. “I guess so…”

Part 4: This Is Not an Exit

One of the things I loved writing most about this series were the deep conversations between all characters, but especially this one in the basement. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did before we break some, uhm, news to Colter next week 😉

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[tofu83]

Let me introduce the latest high-tech prison in the Republic of All Mankind！

As you can see, it’s not a building or camp but simply a set of body armor. It can limit prisoners' freedom and correct their behavior with minimal resources

Mark, the rebel who encourage young people to engage in destruction, has the honor to serve as an example.

Turn around, Prisoner!

"What the fuck are you doing to my body!?"

See? Even if he has thousands of unwillingnesses, he can do nothing but obey. That's because this exoskeleton has been connected to his central nervous system. Now he is not able to control his own body, but let the armor in charge.

Oh, that gentleman with crewcut hair in black jacket, you have question?

"Why not brainwash the prisoner or implant a controlling chip to make him completely compliant?"

Good question! We intend to keep their mind clear in order to let them understand what we could do to them. Let them know that every single person is just the property of our country. Even you and me both have to admit that the authority has absolutely power over us. Right?

Besides, the prisoners have to learn what is good and what is bad. Take Mark as example. He will join the rebels hunting team working with law enforcers to hunt down his accomplices, and force them into the same kind of prison he is in now.

"You freaking bustard! I will never betray my allies!"

He is so noisy, isn’t he? No problem! Turn around to show our guest your face, prisoner! Just a click on this button,

"Mmmm…Mmmm!!!"

the mouth gag and face mask will make him quiet!

Okay, let’s continue. After working for the authority many times, we infer they will finally understand how childish they were and how glory to serve the country. They will submit and be loyal to their country from the bottom of their hearts.

But we know some people are very stubborn and won’t easily be break down. If we need immediate combat effectiveness, they are the best choice because the armor also has the ability to fully control the wearer.

Lets enter the code here…

You can see that the prisoner stops struggling and stands up straight. His eyes glowing red like robots’ because he is actually becoming a robot.

Their minds would be wiped out in order to be reprogrammed easily.

Only the useful parts of their memories will be retained, and the rest will be deleted.

Now the reprogramming is almost complete.

Hunter bot 001 active and report status!

"Hunter unit 001 is fully functional, reporting for duty."

Let me prove that he is already converted into a loyal servant of our country.

"Hunter bot 001, perform your main mission!"

"Yes sir, this unit will comply. Start searching for potential insurgents…. Target detected! A close friend of the famous rebel, Mark, is in this room!"

Wow, what a surprise!!!

"Rebel, Name: Black. Must be arrested immediately!"

Hey！That gentleman with crewcut hair in black jacket！

Congratulations on becoming the second inmate of the new prison!!!

[bludrogue]

Another Random Headcanon About Jason Todd

This is another weird experience I have had, but this is due to a personal experience. If I slam on my breaks too hard, witness a car accident in front of me, or bash the back of my head against the driver's seat (or any seat in the car for the matter), I tend to have the scent of burning oil fill my nostrils.

I don't know if that's normal, and sure, I'm projecting myself onto the headcanon, but I think it's an interesting experience. With that said, here's headcanon #3:

Headcanon #3: Phantosmia

-- Every time Jason has bashed his head against a hard surface, whether it be a wooden table, a brick wall, a lamp post, the concrete streets, a car door - honestly, the list is so long he can't even remember what he's smashed his head against -- the first sense to kick in was his olfactory.

-- Now he wouldn't care if this was just a physical response in general, but his nose always picks up on a scent that's never there. He's not entirely certain why his nose fills up with nonexistent fumes, this has been the case for as long as he can remember.

-- You'd think the scent of bourbon would remind him of Willis, the man always had one in his hand or in the cup holder of his arm chair. Jason can still recall the scent to this day - oak dipped in smoke, tinted in caramel, and saturated with vanilla. And as much as his mind can recognize the smell like he can recite a Shakespearen play off the back off his hand - that's not the scent his body would use to recall Willis.

-- No matter how many times Willis got close enough to burn his nostrils with his breath, it's never been the whiskey either.

-- Instead, it's fucking drywall.

-- Of all the scents in the world, it's fucking drywall. Because of course it is.

-- When he was a kid, it was this putrid scent of a heavy dose of rotten eggs nearing sulfur with a hint of chalk dust. And maybe those particular remnants are from a memory where Willis probably bashed his head hard enough into their shabby walls that he made a hole. Not that Jason remembers aside from the egregious smell - whether that's a side effect of the pit or straight up trauma, Jason is not would willingly attempt to recall any shared memories with his biological dad by choice.

-- If he could, he'd bury those memories deeper than when his body was trapped in the earth and surrounded by an ocean of soil.

-- But it's not just before being Robin.

-- During his time spent as Robin, if he hit his head hard enough, Scarecrow gave off a musty odor with a tinge of the world's worst garbage dumpster. Peguin, oddly enough, reeked of spoiled milk. And don't get him started on the Riddler -- that one he can't even describe with just words. (He weirdly gives off the scent of nail polish remover, do not ask him why.)

-- But the Joker?

-- The Joker's scent was nothing what he expected.

-- His sense of smell doesn't go toward the crisp and suffocating scent of smoke, the one that clogged his lungs so much that he wondered if that was the final straw to lead him marching towards death's door. Nor was it the smattering metallic smell emitted from the crowbar that bashed him over and over and over and - And his nose does not recall the Joker with the lead heavy scent of blood, no matter how much of his own spilled the day he died.

-- No, instead the monster carries the scent of fucking bubble gum.

-- Sweet, fruity, pink chewing gum.

-- Because of course the universe just has to ruin the little things, those simplicities of enjoyment. Like the birds chirping in the morning become screeching alarm clocks, his coffee mug always being chipped, a hole in his favorite pair of pants, just anything to ruin his day. He wonders whoever the fuck is in charge of mapping out his life is relishing in the misery he endures every fucking day. When he fucking gets his hands on -

-- Did you know it took him a solid year to even so much as spare a glance at a pack of the most basic, minty chewing gum again after his spent training with the League of Assassins? Did you know that it was until two years after his whole war between him and the bats he was finally able to even hold a stick in his palm without gagging? Did you know that only four years after all the bullshit he went through, he could finally place one stick of ice peppermint gum in his mouth for a solid ten minutes without throwing up immediately after?

-- He still can't handle the fruity flavor gum - no sour apple, no watermelon, no strawberry, no cinnamon, and especially no bubble gum flavored shit - without the dreadful urge to vomit lingering after.

-- And before Jason mended his relationship with the bats (or is still trying to, he has plenty of ups and downs with Bruce that he's getting dizzy from the ride.) Bruce's scent was ruined.

-- When he was Robin, Bruce carried the redolence of leather and a warm campfire. There was just something that screamed safety in his scent that he couldn't explain. The every time he woke up in the gurney from a concussion, the smell would hit before he would open his eyes and he knew Bruce was there.

-- But everything changed the night Bruce chose the Joker.

-- Bruce had hit his head hard enough against a porcelain toilet seat that his nose was bashed with the scent of leather instantly. He thought he had picked on his own jacket, but once the campfire wood wafted into the air he knew that was his designated scent for Bruce.

-- The emotional side was then crying for his dad, begging him to keep him safe from the monster in the closet, pleading to just let him come home, to choose him - his son - please - But the logical side was louder, especially when he aimed the gun at the Joker's head and gave Bruce a choice to make.

-- He had a job to complete and Bruce had a choice to make.

-- And Bruce decided and his scent was tainted.

-- Now, when there's a meeting held in the bat cave, or the only company he shares is with Bruce, he has to resist the urge to rub the scar on his neck to reassure himself he's not bleeding. To remind himself that his nose is just playing tricks to get himself to believe his throat is sliced open again.

-- But he never minded his olfactory any attention about these scents. Honestly, it was more subconscious than anything else, so why pay any attention to the matter? Plus, it wasn't like the matter was giving him any issues or disrupting his routine in any sort of way. He was still able to patrol and function to his usual capabilities -- which was not the standard, but still... functional.

-- And that meant had nothing to be concerned about. That these phantom scents had to be normal, right?

-- Maybe this was just another secret human function nobody spoke about. Kind of how the American education system fails to explain safety for sex because of the desire to keep a 'puritan' image.

-- But, as usual, he was proven wrong.

-- According to Tim, phantom smells were not a normal human function. Because, 'No, Jason. People do not have specific scents when you hit your head too hard,' and 'No, Jason. It is not common when you hit your head hard enough to smell a person or smell a nonexistent scent.' And blah, blah, blah.

-- He stopped paying attention after the third no.

-- But how did this conversation come about? Allow Jason to draw the scene for you:

-- Jason 'allowed' himself to be dragged to the manor by Bruce due to the severe concussion he received due to an Arkham breakout, followed by the orders of mandatory bed rest. And so, he was trapped under one roof with his siblings, who were piled into his room to force him to remain awake for the required hours necessary to be deemed safe from a coma.

-- He knew Dick was besides him, and the head massage he was receiving was not helpful in keeping him awake. But the others were somewhere in the room, he didn't need to open his eyes to know. He could tell by their scents.

-- The only person who wasn't in the room was Tim, who claimed he'd come right back without another word. (He's positive Tim went to go refill his coffee mug for the seventh time, and someone needs to get a handle on this kid's caffeine addiction.) But when Tim returned, he heavily smelled of apples - he always did when he was anxious.

-- Not that Jason usually minds if he hits his head, but this time the pounding was an incessant bitch who brought a drill to ram against his skull, so he couldn't handle the heavy scent at the time.

-- Jason immediately scrunched up his nose the moment Tim entered the room the moment he caught a waft of green apples. He rolled onto his side to have his back face the door, followed by a groan of, "Dude, Timbo, you fucking reek."

-- If Jason hits his head, sometimes he can practically smell Tim's potent and eternal state of anxiety. It's just as bad as Bruce's paranoia (but no one can ever beat that man in his levels of anxiety). However, when Tim is anxious, he carries the particular scent of green apples.

-- He hears Tim scoff, and there's a dip of weight at the corner of the bed. Jason lightly kicks Tim to shove him further away, only for the asshole to scoot closer.

-- "Hey, I took a mandatory after-patrol shower," Tim retorts, and he lifts his mug up to his lips and sips his coffee.

-- "No, you smell like fucking green apples," Jason hisses, burrowing his face into the pillow. If Tim gets any closer, his churning stomach might aim at Tim as his puke bucket. "You always do when you're fucking anxious about something, but Jesus fucking Christ, tone down the scent or, fuck, go sit in the arm chair."

-- "Green apples?" Dick mumbles, pausing in the movement of his hand. Jason almost whines at the loss of movement and he taps Dick's wrist. The moment Dick's hand continues those soothing circular movements, he relaxes.

-- What Jason doesn't see - or decides to blatantly ignore -- is the wide - eye stares everyone is glaring into his head. If Jason were to look, he would find a 'what the fuck' expression on each of their faces.

-- "Are you positive you're not smelling one of Tim's scented shampoos, tough guy?" Steph asks with curiosity lacing her tone. Tim has an array of scented shampoos and unscented ones -- the kid may be shit at self-care, but he certainly knows how to tend to his hair -- ranging from pomegranate to coconut to lavendar to oaky to vanilla, etc. (The list could go on.) But he certainly does not have a single apple scented shampoo.

-- "I'm positive," Jason replies. "He has a scent, you have a scent, everyone has a scent. Especially when I hit my head, it's normal."

-- People having individual scents is totally normal. He's positive of it. Plus, he's hit his head a multitude of times that the phantom scents kind of linger.

-- Tim taps the side of his coffee mug with his nails. "Jason... that's not- that's not normal."

-- Jason lifts his head from the pillow, the combination of scents burning his nostrils, but he ignores the hot twinge in favor of glaring at Tim. "It's fucking normal, Tim. I fucking experience it every time I hit my head."

-- "May I implore that none of your human experiences are what is considered 'normal', Todd?" Damian raises an eyebrow. He's settled on the ottoman by the end of the bed.

-- Jason opens his mouth to argue, but quickly clenches his jaw shut. As much as he hates to admit... the demon-brat has a point. Not that he needs to elaborate.

-- 'Is this a side effect from the lazarus pit?' Cas signs, tilting her head at a slight angle. Her eyebrows furrow together and the corner of lips curl - just as she always does when she's curious about a topic she doesn't understand.

-- "No." Jason whispers, keeping his tone gentle and crossing his arms over his chest. These phantom senses have always been around for him, even before the pit.

-- "So," Tim drawls, shifting the weight in the bed as he crosses his legs and holds his coffee mug. "When did this start?"

-- Jason narrows his gaze at Tim. "Fuck you, you're not my therapist."

-- Besides, he'll see his therapist next Wednesday, and he'll snitch on Bruce to his therapist. (And yes, his therapist is Harley.) He's not clinically insane - yet - but if this another 'Jason Todd anomaly', then why does he have phantom scents that hit his nose at random times? Especially when he hits his head?

-- "Wait, Lil' Wing," Dick pipes up, and Jason finds a cheeky grin on his face that warns Jason that Dick is about to ask a question he won't want to answer. "What do I smell like to you?"

-- "Yeah! I want to know too." Steph chimes in, resting her head in her hands as she places her elbows on the bed. There's a doe-eye look in her eyes that screams 'Pretty Please' as she flutters her lashes.

-- Heat crawls across Jason's face and spreads across his cheeks. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he just had to go and whine about Tim reeking of fucking apples. It's not that he's embarrassed - not that he'd admit the truth out loud - but he's now more nervous than anything to reveal their scents. Especially now that he's more aware that having phantom scents isn't a typical human function.

-- Jason releases a breath, and decides to tell each one of them their identifying scent.

-- He has to admit, there are some positives to this phantom scents.

-- Dick carries the scent of sugar coated, blue cotton candy and mouthwatering salted popcorn. It reminds Jason of the one chance he took to sneak into the circus tent and hide under the bleachers as he watched the performance of the graceful Flying Graysons. He's always transported back to that memory when the scent hits his nose. But there's always a hint of hyacinth, and Jason has no idea where that comes from.

-- Tim may smell like apples when he's anxious, but he always carries a different scent of a different apple depending on his mood. If Tim is anxious or afraid, he reminds Jason of the odious redolence of a green apple. If Tim is mildly annoyed, enraged, or upset, he carries the scent of red apple. If Tim carries the scent of a yellow apple, it's an indicator that Tim is in a good mood.

-- Jason likes the yellow apple the most because A) That means Tim is in a good mood, and B) the smell of a yellow apple is a piquant flavor he has added on to his list of good scents. He doesn't feel has to avoid that apple without a specific reminder which is nice.

-- Steph smells zesty and sweet and reminds him of pop rocks candy, specifically the grape flavored kind. This could be due to her vivacious nature, but he nose tingles every time her scent appears. That could sometimes lead him to sneezing - which he doesn't admit to her.

-- Cas smells like Jasmine and sandal wood with a hint of roses.

-- Damian smells like paprika and cinnamon.

-- Duke smells like honey (and a part of him wonders if that's just because of the suit or the bee meme that his nose decided to join on the bandwagon.)

-- Alfred smells like his homemade chocolate chip cookies and hibiscus tea.

-- "And what about Bruce?" Dick's question is hanging in the air as Jason is drifting off to sleep. And Jason will never speak the truth of how Bruce smells now.

-- But he can always bend the truth.

-- "Used to smell like leather and campfire wood," Jason yawns into his pillow. "Used to smell safe."

-- "Used to?" Tim's question remains unanswered as Jason finally falls asleep.

-- When Jason wakes up, he notes that everyone is asleep except for Tim, who's claimed his spot in the armchair and curled around his laptop. His mug rests on top of the coffee table, his fingers are rapidly yet quietly typing away on the keyboard, and his focus is so honed in on the screen in front of him that he's caught off guard when Tim abruptly states, "Phantosmia."

-- Jason rubs the sleep out of his face. "Phanto-what?"

-- "Phantosmia," Tim repeats, adjusting his body weight on the arm chair and his eyes remain on the computer screen. "Or more known as a phantom smell, meaning you'll smell something that isn't there. Most people typically smell metal, burnt toast, or chemicals. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just what occurs with either strokes or severe head trauma."

-- "Well, that explains a lot." Jason huffs, a smirk teasing his lips.

-- Even though he has an answer - which is pretty rare considering his medical history puts Santa's naughty list to shame - he doesn't believe having phantom smells is necessarily a horrible thing to have.

-- If the wind blows in just the right direction, he'll have scent of his mom follow him. Not his birth giver, Shelia, but Catherine. His mom carried the luscious scent of marshmallows, lilac flowers, and lit vanilla candles. And in his mind, it's still like his mom is there, still with him. Oddly, that was the last scent he remembers before he died in the warehouse and it's the safest he ever felt in years despite all the surrounding chaos.

-- "Thanks for researching, Timbo." Jason whispers.

-- Tim turns his head to Jason, and his lips lift into a grin. "Sure thing, Jay."

-- Phantosmia, while there are aspects of it he despises, he thinks there's a bit of a blessing buried in it too.

Hey guys! It's been a solid few days (I got super busy this week), but I thought I'd produce another headcanon. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I'll post another head canon soon!

Other headcanons:

Head canon 1

Head canon 2

[trueaffections]

★ word on the street with SIRI BOWDEN ★

first up, roll call: your position at eden and how long have you done it? my name is siri and i'm a vip server. i've worked here for three and half years.

what’s your drink of choice to make for yourself or others? my favorite drink is a manhattan. chilled, in a martini glass, i think it looks stupid on the rocks. reeks of insecurity. i'll sometimes ask for tennessee whiskey instead of rye, when i'm really trying to make it clear to the bartender that i know what i'm doing. shows i'm about business. i usually just drink white wine, but i've found it makes one almost too approachable.

we’re passing you the aux. what’s your number one club classic? breakin’ dishes by rihanna. i miss her so bad. not only is it an incredibly sexy song, it's like, cathartic to get to twerk in unity too, because i think we've all been there. plus, i like watching all the guys get a little nervous, because they should be. 

what’s your most iconic night out memory? i once got to ride in a helicopter with some guy. i don't think it was like, his helicopter, but he definitely had a better hook up to it than anyone i know, so credit where credit is due. it was actually a really nice sort-of-date, because i couldn't hear any of the 20 questions he asked me over the blades...

what’s your craziest rideshare story? i have been known to throw elbows at the uber checkpoint. you know, like when they set up at the end of the street to just take drunk people home all night? i may or may not have gone a little overboard a few weeks ago when we were trying to get a ride to the girls' house. we were coming out at the same time as a bachelorette party, and there was only one uberxl left. we travel best as a pack, it's a nightmare to try and figure out who's going in what car - and don't get me wrong, i'm part of the problem, i'm the first one crawling to the back row to snag seats for me and jack, but it's a delicate balance, so we were getting that fucking van. ultimately, i figured "whatever, she's getting married." when she's somene's wife she won't be sitting around stewing about some bitch who tore her sash over an overpriced ride in a toyota highlander.

what’s your typical fast food order after the clubs close? i don't crave fast food, but i will put away a bag of tortilla chips. that's the perfect drunk person snack. just dry, you can get a dip out for appearances, but i know what i want. just plain, corn tortilla chips.

you ready to kick this interview up a notch? okay.

truth or dare? truth. i don’t like to waste my daring.

what is your toxic trait?  i'm sure a number of eager and obviously stable young men in southern florida would really jump at the chance to lay this one out, but i guess i could give them a hand. i have been told i have a nasty attitude, i'm argumentative, i'm pathologically closed off, but you guys keep coming back for more, so i guess it's not all bad, huh?

[the-froschamethyst4]

Easter Breakfast

𖤐Pairing: Hook up! Gaz x F! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐AN: If I have to cry, you have to cry

𖤐Warnings: fluff, angst, morning after, aftercare, language, sad ending, more use of Kyle, the ‘L’ bomb, short fic, blaming Price,

𖤐Summary: When Y/n and Gaz hook up before he has to leave for duty. He is usually before the sun even up, but today was different, and Y/n doesn't know why?

————

————

6:00AM

Y/n yawns when she hears birds chirping and the sun just barely poking from her curtains. She rolls on her back and looked to her left seeing an empty bed.

He quick hook up was gone for the day. He probably had to get back to the military base. She sits up and grabs a shirt off the floor and opened her bedroom door, but a scent of freshly made pancakes filles her nose.

She was confused and walked downstairs seeing a tall man, gray sweatpants and no shirt.

"Kyle?" He turns when hearing his name. "What are you still doing here?" She asked.

"Oh good morning...thought I'd make you some pancakes, I know how much you like them," he says with a smile and scraping a pancake on a plate.

He then pushes the plate across the counter and smiled at her. "I found strawberries, bananas, syrup, whipped cream, and some chocolate chips, make it how you like it," he says.

"I thought you were gone. You usually are by now," she says, sitting at the counter. She looks down at the plate and saw the pancakes made a little bunny.

"Thought...maybe I leave too soon and thought maybe you deserve a few things."

"A few things?" She asked.

"Yeah, homemade pancakes, I also have a few gifts for you."

"Gifts? Kyle, you didn't have to. I didn't get you anything."

"Nah, it's okay, it's okay," he says. "It's just for you."

He walks off and went to go grab a paper bag and come back placing it in front of Y/n. "I didn't have time for wrapping paper and I couldn't find a gift bag either."

Y/n opens the bag and looks down in it and then pulled out a small light tan teddy bear with a small dark army green t-shirt with 'Task Force 141' on it and Kyle Gaz Garrick on the back.

"Kyle? What's this for?" She questioned him, looking up at him. "I don't understand, what is this for?" Gaz and Y/n aren't a couple, so what's the teddy for?

"Just to show my love for you," he says. Y/n felt some sort of suspicion going on, why is he, a hook up, doing all of this?

“Kyle…you don’t this ever! What the hell is going on? Tell me. I’m not going to be mad or anything…” she asks him.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay…I’m going on a year long mission…it’s…it’s going to be in Russia and my Captain says…we may…we may not come back…”

“What?” Y/n was shocked. “You might not come back-THAT’S FUCKING SUICIDE! You are going on a suicide mission and you’re okay with that?!”

“I don’t have a choice, Y/n…” he says with his mouth open and taking in a sharp breath. “I leave tomorrow morning. That’s why I didn’t leave right away like normal…I wanted to spend more time with the one person…that…that makes me feel happy and loved…I know I’m just a hook up but I’ve learned from you and what we do together and you make me feel happy…I love you, okay?”

"Kyle," she gets off the stool and placed her left hand bend his neck pulling him down into a hug, his arms immediately went around her waist holding her tightly. "I love you too," she felt tears in her eyes.

Soon they fell and she buries her face into his shirt.

-----------

Rain hits her umbrella, she stares down at the head stone, reading his name to herself and tears fells from her eyes again.

"I miss you," she says to the headstone. She bends down and placed her hand over the photo of Kyle, smiling in his Military uniform, he surprising looked happy in that photo and not forced like all the others she's seen of him.

Going home was hard because of the memories that were made in her home, so she moved from Manchester to Yorkshire to get away. She lives happily in Yorkshire but misses Kyle dearly.

She comes and visits his grave every so often, when she thinks about him really. She placed a sunflower down and touched his grave once more.

"I love you," she says before leaving the graveyard.

As she heads to her car she sees his friends dressed in tuxes and looked sad for Y/n. Kyle use to talk about Y/n all the time.

"Came to pay respects as well?" She asked, sounding a bit sarcastic towards Price. Price and the guys were badly injured but Kyle paid the price with his own life, while the others were just in the hospital and came home to their families.

"Y/n-"

"Don't...I'll be leaving, so you guys can pay respects to him..." Y/n blamed Price for Kyle's death, he had a chance to save Kyle like he did with the others, but Kyle 'didn't want to be save,' is what Price told Y/n.

She didn't believe that.

[transghetti]

(random song rec🔝)

i read somewhere that perfection kills creativity, and as someone who is a perfectionist with diagnosed ADHD, i was fucking in TEARS.

so- i'm not deciding on formats for shit yet lol my writing is gonna look sloppy and crooked and nonsensical and it'll hurt me inside but yk what?

the good ones will stay to see me improve, and those who don't i wish you well regardless because your cup of tea isn't the same as my can of monster alr? <3

⚠️MAJOR CYBERPUNK 2077 SPOILERS??⚠️

.

.

.

soo this is basically how i wish that last phone call between kerry and male V had gone, because bro called me a coward and my personality is a result of a lack of closure already :p it might also be specific because its MY v and his silly little feelings

(please note: i have shitty memory so--)

...

V's head was still throbbing, feeling like it was splitting open from the center, and Viktor had sprung up the worst news on him before he could get his bearings.

Now, sitting on the roof of the building beside Misty's Esoterica, overlooking the city that was somehow both simultaneously alive and dead, his stomach churned and the nauseating coppery taste of blood lingered on his tongue.

No amount of choices felt like enough.

He could call Panam but that would be risking the lives of the Aldecaldos, Johnny pointed out.

He could remain in control while the biochip was constantly reshaping his psyche and killing him in the process, but there's no way in hell he'd get into the Arasaka Tower in one piece. Not to mention, how could he be certan he could trust Hanako?

Then Johnny had uncharacteristically (well not really) suggested he take over, just to get V to Mikoshi-- Maybe he'd get Rogue to help him bust in guns blazing.

The clock was ticking and V was running out of excuses.

'I need a minute.'

'I just... need to think.'

But he couldn't. He didn't want to think about this. He wanted it to be a bad dream, to wake up in his shitty little loft and run down the stairs to see Jackie at that food stand with his soup and synth-sirloin. He wanted to have his body to himself again.

"If there's anyone you need to talk to, now would be a good time."

Johnny's words got V thinking again.

Panam... He could tell her about the impending 'trip', maybe even have her accompany him. But V wasn't even considering that.

He thought about that silvery hair, the sensation from when Johnny got pistol-whipped for shredding strings in a mansion he wasn't invited to. V remembered sitting back, watching that dumb rockerboy threaten the Us Cracks at gunpoint for wanting to cover his song.

V remembered, after the girls' opening gig, that sunset on the balcony, where he promised to save the struggling artist from the shadows, from himself.

"Come to think of it... A certain rockerboy comes to mind."

Johnny's disapproval was immediate, but V snuffed him and called Kerry, eyes subtly lighting up despite his half-dead state when Kerry picked up.

"Hey, V. Was waiting for you to call again, thought you were too scared for a second."

That stupid smirk flashed on the holo and V had to clear his throat and blink back tears,

"Yeah? No, I... Just wanted to see how you were doing," He hated himself for it, but he just couldn't find it in him to tell Kerry.

Kerry's eyes narrowed,

"Hey, uh, V... You okay? You sound... weird."

"Yeah- Yeah," The merc answered too quick, too softly, and shook his head, "I'm just tired. Long day."

Kerry nodded, though he didn't seem convinced,

"Alright, well... I gotta go, V. Stop by sometime, still waiting on that round t--"

V stifled a cough, panic pushing him to just come out with it,

"Wait. Don't go... This is important."

The silence that answered V was deafening and he glanced at the vision of Johnny still sitting on the ledge somewhat patiently,

"Ker... I'm going to try and get this chip out. The one with Johnny's personality construct? I have a plan and I know where to go so that it might be possible,"

He winced at how vague he was being, but he didn't want to risk roping Kerry into this mindfuck shitstorm, "But... There's a chance I won't come back."

The rockerboy frowned,

"V... Fuck. Man, that's-" He exhaled heavily, uncomfortable with expressing any sort of weakness after just recently working on being less of a 'pussy', "That's some heavy shit... How are you-? I mean, where are you going?"

"Somewhere dangerous, Ker."

"Fuck. Could you just... V, come over. Just for a minute, you owe me that much," Kerry turned defensive, and rightfully so.

V fought the urge to roll his eyes, huffing out a weak laugh,

"Thats not a good idea. You might try to keep me, and this is too important to push off. I'm sorry, Kerry."

Now Kerry was tearing up and V silently cursed before the rockerboy scoffed,

"Goddamnit. You fucking... piece of shit. Don't die. I swear if you die, I'm beating your ass myself."

V inhaled deeply and looked past Johnny, at the vibrant sin and misery of Night City,

"Keep the shadows away, Ker."

He ended the call, glossy eyes flicking back to Johnny's annoyed-though-sympathetic expression,

"... You know, I could stomach watching you two fuck better than this."

V shook his head, a bitter chuckle rumblimg behind gritted teeth as he grabbed one of the pills Viktor and Misty gifted him, popping it and swallowing before he could taste it.

"What a sentiment."

[calamitaswrath]

Cal Lucia plays Fire Emblem Path of Radiance: Chapter 29

Once again, all written down from memory cause I was streaming this for a friend (and had a wonderful time doing it!)

Really not a whole lot of chapter intro, eh? Well, I suppose at this point, there isn't a whole lot of prep work left to do. We can just move right into it.

Base conversations! Not really too much going on there, I have to admit. The conversations between the Laguz are nice, and it was funny to see Nealuchi invoke Reyson and Leanne to Naesala to get him to fight - and it works out, too!

It's nice to see Elincia give her speech to the troops before departing, but the presentation of it all was. . . a bit underwhelming. No CG, and the cheer sfx was just really short. I would've liked more for her.

Pffft, Ike gets an actual choice whether or not he wants to give a speech. . . given his obvious 'tism, I kinda wanted to not have him give it, but in the end I was just too curious. And - hold on, he gets a proper CG and everything?? Rude.

Ashnard killed his father? Shocking! . . .Well, not really. Interesting to see though that he knows he is a dead man walking.

. . .Bryce's personal weapon is called Sehnsucht not only in German, but the original Japanese as well? Pfft, okay.

Soo, upon my friend's suggestion, I went with Tibarn as reinforcement. But to be entirely honest, for me it was only between him or Naesala. I barely even remembered Giffca - with my month long break before chapter. . . I think it was 17? Anyway, with that break, I don't even remember him all that well.

Not much to note about the actual gameplay of the map - Titania still managed to get an amazing last-minute level-up, I didn't manage to get Mist to sword rank A so that she could use the Runeblade she got from Bertram, and Nephenee fucked shit up.

Actual fight against Ashnard was a lot of chipping away at him, because Ike didn't activate Aether. . . until the very last hit. The Aether luck really isn't on my side.

After the battle - ahhh, there it is. The king's wyvern isn't a wyvern at all, but rather a dragon laguz. Guess I half remembered that correct.

Heartwarming little scene between Ena and Rajaion - and then after the chapter, my friend also informed me that he just. Dies between games and isn't brought up again. Okay??? What???

And then the epilogue! Everybody gets to say a final little line, which was nice, if a bit long. Mist hands over the medallion to Reyson and Leanne, and Sephiran gets to say some ominous things that certainly aren't hinting towards any sequels. And an animated cutscene with Ike and Elincia! . . .Yeah, if the game is trying to push them as a pairing, then it really isn't doing it well. Not with Soren and Ranulf there.

Really is rather unusual that characters don't get personal endings in this game, I have to say. But with a sequel likely already planned at that point, there wasn't much of a. . . well, point.

I'll probably also write down some closing thoughts on Path of Radiance later, but these'll just be my initial thoughts on the final chapter. I also already started Radiant Dawn - was still streaming it for that friend - and I was in The Zone, anyway. Those thoughts I'll also write down retroactively then. For now, here's my number one for this playthrough:

[pondslime]

Bo and Lester Sinclair

AHHHHHHH, the stinky men themselves 🦍 + 🐀!!!

disclaimer: imo, any situation in which u "date" either of these two men would have to be predicated on some absolute tomfuckery and a hostage-type situation. LMAO. I see no other conceivable world where you'd just........run into them and have a normal ass relationship jhfdsjhfjdshjsdf they are so deeply ABNORMAL. so warnings for stockholm syndrome/dubcon headcanons below!!

once again under the cut bc a bitch truly does TALK

feel free to send me a character of ur choice for headcanons and I'll give u 3 pros and 3 cons of dating them. if ur so inclined!!!!

boseph

sidenote: I've been on a sabbatical from Him™ recently. he's been on the backburner. I've been hoovering down DIFFERENT fictional shlong. HAPPILY. so tell me why I was scrollin thru these gifs of him goin yum yum there he IS HIIIIII BABY hehehehe muy deliciosio. ?????? so fuckin embarrassing!!!!!!!!!!

ANYWAY.

3 PROS

dick game is fucking immaculate. I HATE to fuckin say it. literally crying screaming THROWING TF UP. bc come on. I'd LOVE. more than anything. to tell u with CONFIDENCE that it's subpar. but I'd be fuckin lying to u AND myself. and the gods would smite my fuckin ass from existence. so yeah. it's good. u know. the kinda dick game where he absolutely does not care if this feels good 4 u. and it's mean and awful............but somehow it's makin u astral project into 328798329832 different galaxies. it's SUCH a fuckin shame. smh.

despite being a FAKE ASS LARPING "mechanic", I genuinely do think he's handy and knows his way around vehicles/how to fix things. he's very much a car guy. <-this is also a CON. have u met a CAR GUY before??? immediate no. but I'm considering it a pro. bc u will definitely have to bring him sweet tea down to his stupid shop one summer afternoon. and the garage doors will be wide open and he'll be blasting korn or slipknot or some shit. and he'll be workin on a car engine in a slutty wifebeater with a slutty lil rag tucked into his slutty lil belt loop. and he'll be sweaty and covered in grease and annoying. he'll complain about how ur interrupting his work. and then u get banged on the hood of the car bc he's a skank. so it's a pro.

I just feel like he smells G O O D. like. AS MUCH as I call him stinky. I unfortunately think he consistently smells good. like. the kinda smell that makes ur brain go ooga booga cavewoman-mode and forget ur basic motor functions. sigh sigh SMH

3 CONS

EVERYTHING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN FOR THIS LOSER

MEAN dom (this is also. regrettably. a pro)

it would be SO fun to peg him. u will never peg him.

mommy issues out the fuckin WAZOO. daddy issues too. every issue in the fuckin book. get ready 2 be seen less as a person and more as a weird conglomeration mishmash projected fantasy-nightmare. he's dedicated his whole adult life to maintaining a murdertown in his beloved mama's memory. his mother also fucking hated him. he's very aware of that. recreates and sexualizes his trauma to feel better about all that. yikes!!!!!!!!!! YIKES!!!!!!!!!!

lester

3 PROS

full of boundless enthusiasm!! genuinely interested in what u have to say!! will happily talk to u for hours about whatever dumb shit u have boppin around ur brain!! most ppl are usually unsettled by him (honestly, for valid reasons LMAO. I mean. he IS leading u to certain doom in his big bro's helltown), so having someone around who doesn't treat him like an oddity has him BUZZING.

he's a v strange but thoughtful gift-giver. I definitely see him as the kinda guy to randomly give u weird lil trinkets. like here u go. he whittled down this wood into the shape of a catfish for u. he's coming over to present u with a bizarre taxidermied raccoon w/a frilled dress and tiara. both the dress and tiara are made of recycled chip bags and six-pack rings. u love it

I feel like he makes a MEAN gumbo. u wouldn't even know it's made of lizard tails and alligator eyeballs. unless he told u. which he will. w/a huge grin while ur mid-mouthful

3 CONS

actually LITERALLY stinky. like. RANCID. DIS-COS-TANG. I'm not discounting the fact that he takes baths in like. a metal tub in his backyard w/dial soap. from time to time. but come on. he's a bit putrid. a bit foul.

I v much feel that he hasn't navigated a lot (if any) normal adult relationships. so get ready for some pie-in-the-sky goofy affection that skews pretty immature. he means well, but there's a lot of cognitive dissonance and general weirdness there. he's hardly been shown any good representations on how relationships should work, so his interpretation is...................boyish. and strange

I.........feel like he's clingy. just. smthn about him. as happy-go-lucky as he might appear, he's v liable of getting his feelings hurt if he feels like ur pulling away/losing interest in him. all the sinclair boys are pretty DEEPLY maladjusted lmao. I could see him being the type of personality to sulk around. he's the baby of the family after all. just a lil guy (affectionate) (derogatory)

[saulweissberg]

availability / @bloodbuzzfm setting / bubbe edna's house (and saul's childhood home), bridgeport, connecticut. timeline / saturday, august 10th, 2024 at 4:35 pm before the annual country club end-of-season soirée.

he hadn’t given micah much of a choice. not really. saul hadn’t threatened his son or demanded that he come along to his grandmother’s house, but he made it nearly impossible for micah to refuse. saul bought a plane ticket in advance, set to fly out a few days after saul himself would be returning to the east coast, so micah couldn’t say he didn’t have the money to buy a ticket (as if saul would ever tell him about a family event and then not offer to pay for fucking anything!). then, he heaped on lots of guilt. he reminded micah that he hadn’t seen his cousins in months and his bubbe was almost eighty—which horrified saul to think about after losing his father so young and edna would’ve protested, proclaiming that she felt like she was in her prime and didn’t need anyone to fuss over her—so he better get in as much time with her as he could before the inevitable happened. 

by some sort of miracle, it had worked! micah had joined the weissbergs for the annual country club party that edna perlmutter weissberg insisted on her children attending since she was made the chairwoman over forty years ago. though she had officially retired ten years ago, it was clear to all members of the club that edna still had influence on the board, and she’d be damned if the biggest party of the season—a farewell celebration of summer!—would be missed by her children. or her grandchildren. there were of course many other events and parties that the club held, but summer had been his father’s favorite season, so this annual holiday for his immediate family had become a tradition shortly after the elder gideon died. saul was ecstatic to have his son join them, not only because he, as much as terry and micah thought he didn’t, valued all the time he could get with him, but it was also a relief not to hear edna and levi give him shit for not bringing micah along with him all weekend.

it was just a few hours before they were all supposed to head out to the club. edna was in the kitchen, attempting to help her personal chef finish up her famous lemon bars that she brought to every club party since reagan was in office, and the sounds of meatloaf’s bat out of hell album floated up the stairs and followed saul down the hallway to his old bedroom. levi had been sent out on a errand to pick up some last minute items for the party, while eliana had joined her grandmother in the kitchen, evidently singing along to the cd playing (because edna refused to use some new fangled app on her cellular device when she had a perfectly good cd collection!) from what saul could hear as he moved further down the hall. young gideon had taken his laptop to the backyard and forbid anyone from bothering him as he ‘pondered his sophomore novel and where the story would take him’ which was really code for he didn’t have a second idea for a book and his agent was getting increasingly frustrated with him. that just left micah.

whenever he came back to his mother’s house, the very house in which saul and levi had grown up in, he always insisted on sleeping in the guest room. his childhood bedroom held too many memories for him to comfortably sleep, much too easy for him to fall deep into his memories of his father or get distracted by a box full of mementoes from high school that would keep him reminiscing until the early hours of the morning. saul and levi had shared a room until they were twelve, insisting on sleeping in the same room until suddenly it was imperative that they have their own spaces and they would absolutely just die if they were forced to share a room any longer. even then, the twins often spent all their time together, only parting at bedtime… unless they were locked into some petty fight over a girl or who ate the last bag of pizzarias chips, but their arguments barely lasted a whole day and they were back to being best friends by morning. after saul left for college, though, he had trouble staying in his childhood bedroom without some eerie sense of malaise overwhelming him. like it was a reminder that he would never be a kid again, and he had done a mighty job of fucking up the kid he did go on to have.

a kid he fucked up in a room that made him feel like a kid. the closer he got to his bedroom door, the more his heart started to thud within. the moment he approached the door, he felt faint, forcing himself to bring his fist up to knock on the door. “mikey?” saul called, voice shakier than he wanted. he pushed the door open and stuck his head into the gap between it and the frame.

his childhood room was revealed to him the more he pushed the door open; edna frequently redecorated other areas in the house, but when it came to her sons' respective bedrooms, she hadn't touched a thing since they both left for college. it was a shrine to saul's long ago youth. the pixies poster he bought at a basement pub concert in boston during junior year of high school still hung over his bed; a promotional picture of tom cruise in risky business cut out of a magazine was still taped to the mirror above his dresser; framed pictures of the young saul with various family members and friends were placed about the room; even his star war figurines that he hadn't touched since he was in middle school were lined up on a bookcase in the far corner. he would never be a child again and this room was just mocking him, rubbing salt into the wound of aging.

saul gulped before speaking. “are you going to be ready in a bit? the party doesn’t start until six but bubbe insists on being there early. make sure it’s all set up to standard.” and by that, he meant edna’s standards. g-d forbid they pass out philly cheesesteak potato skins like last year!

[ltleflrt]

🚨 PERSONAL OPINION ALERT 🚨

I mostly don't agree with this. I think there's a lot of valid reasons why the canon of the game supports these numbers.

Shadowheart vs Astarion aka Bitchy Abuse Victim vs Bitchy Abuse Victim.

Shadowheart is practically written to be the Main Love Interest, and it shows in Larian's stats. She is hella fucking popular. Among cishet MEN. And I can tell you that the porny fanart on r34 sites supports that fact, because Shadowheart is FAR more popular in smut art than in fic. Fic participating Fandom is primarily female and/or queer, so we don't want the woman written for straight gamer bros. I'm a woman who likes women, and I find her boring as fuck. I think the memory loss angle makes her characterization seem kind of shallow. Her bitchiness is just mean and cold and offputting.

Astarion is… well, we can probably blame him on his actor. Holy fuck, the performance. There's things about him that I don't like, things about his performance that I don't like. But overall, he's the more fun character to interact with. But I'm a fan of gremlins, so that's definitely a personal choice. His bitchiness is silly and flamboyant and makes me laugh instead of feel like I need to avoid him.

Orin vs Gortash aka Plot Villain vs Plot Villain

Orin is designed to be extremely creepy and offputting, and they did an excellent job. I love me a toxic bitch, but there's no redeeming her. (Ok, I won't say it's completely impossible but. Any writer who can pull it off IS a god, and should have a temple raised in their name.) She'd rather murder than fuck. I like that! It's fun! I love a villain that makes my skin crawl, that makes me freeze up in fright, that makes me want to avoid at all costs! But I don't want to write romances about her. Do I think that she'd make a fun character in a yuri serial killer au? Meh. She's already evil. She'd fit that narrative, but I like my serial killer aus because it takes a good character and turns them evil. She's already there. Where's the creative license? In other words, what's there to write about in the first place?

Gortash acts like a human. Unlike his counterpart, you don't see his crazy on the surface. He speaks well, seems charming. He could possibly be redeemed, and bitches love a redemption arc (it's me, I'm bitches). There's also just the baaaarest whiff of canon if you're playing Durge, and while I don't think canon is required for shipping, I think it still gets more attention than non-canon, so that's an automatic attention magnet. He's not my bag of chips, and I'm not really sure why he's got such a passionate following. But I can absolutely see why he's more popular than the rabid inhuman murder queen.

Viconia vs Cazador aka Abuser vs Abuser

Maybe Viconia would be more interesting to people who have played the previous games, but from what I've heard from them BG3 did her dirty. But if you haven't played them, then you have no idea who she is. Shadowheart doesn't remember her, so she doesn't talk about her. Unless it's all hidden within her romance arc, which I haven't played yet. You don't even hear her name until you're meeting her for the first time, and when you're exploring the building you meet her in, you're learning about Shadowheart's past, not Viconia. There's no build up of interest in her as a villain, because SHAR is the focus of Shadowheart's suffering. We don't even know Viconia is the one carrying it out until nearly the end of the game. What exactly is there to glom on to? She's pretty, but that's all she has going for her.

On the other hand, we hear about Cazador the entire game. Even playing a goodie goodie ray of sunshine Tav, I had enough approval with Astarion that he was telling me about Cazador's abuses before I even hit the goblin camp. Even if you're not totally obsessed with Astarion, if you're talking to him regularly, Cazador's character is built up for you for HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS before you ever meet him. And as you wander through his estate you learn more about him as a character, through talking to the npcs, and reading things. He has more foundational story before you ever come face to face with him. To be honest, he's kind of a let down at that point, because he's been built up so big for the entire game. But all of that information about him makes him far more interesting as a character.

Mizora vs Raphael aka meddling devil vs meddling devil

This is probably the only one on the list that I really agree with. Especially if you're a Wyll stan. Both characters have about equal screen time, and characterization. Maybe the only thing Raphael has going for him is extra game function, in that you can raid his house and steal his stuff. Oh, and there's a song. Okay, he wins because of the Song. Larian should have given Mizora a song instead of a sex scene, and she'd be the clear winner here lol

Alfira vs Dammon BELOVED VS BELOVED

I think it's disingenuous to include them since 352 to 400 is actually not a bad ratio. Sure, Alfira is behind, but in the grand scheme of AO3 works, they're neck and neck.

Minthara vs Halsin aka The Goblins vs The Druids

Oh come the fuck on, of COURSE Halsin is getting more attention. The MAJORITY of people who played the game side with the druid grove. And up until recently, you could only have both of them in your party if you performed game breaking feats. Until Patch 7 came out LAST WEEK, having Minthara in your group in a Good playthrough still felt like a cheat if you used the knockout trick they gave us in a previous patch, and you certainly couldn't romance her. And most people only bother to knock her out and pick her up in Act 2, because they're curious about what she's like as a character.

Minthara is actually REALLY cool, and I did an Evil playthrough and cheesed the game once so that I could meet her. But I wasn't really enjoying the Evil playthrough, so I couldn't appreciate her much, and I wasn't romancing her. And cheesing the game to bring her along cuts out a big chunk of her story early on that would make her more interesting. Halsin though, he's going to come along with nearly all players through their whole journey. We just have way more time with him.

Florrick vs Zevlor Competent Leader vs Fuckup Leader

Florrick is too compentent to be interesting. Even when you're dragging her out of trouble, it's not because she fucked up or did anything wrong. The one time she kinda turns against you could have been interesting if it wasn't so easy to immediately talk her around. Meh.

Zevlor fuuuuucks up. Sad old guard dog energy. Built in redemption arc. I feel like this is an instant K.O. in this round. Fandom loves a sad doggo fuckup.

Z'rell vs Nere aka creep vs creep

This feels like Rapist vs Narcissist, and I think the former is going to instantly turn off interest for most people. I fucking hate Nere, and would probably lean toward Z'rell if she didn't shove herself into my brain and also admit out loud that she thinks she should be immune to all consent issues. No thank you, I'll take the Narcissist (I guess). And I doubt I'm the only one who reacts this way to Z'rell's creep factor.

Jaheira vs Minsc aka Grandma vs Weird Uncle

This is as it should be.

A common issue in fandom spaces is female characters ignored in favor of their male counterparts, and one of the biggest reasons I see given is that the women just aren't as interesting as the men. They're placed in lesser roles with less story impact, less personality, less character development, so of course the men get more fan interest.

With that in mind, here's 9 sets of characters who DO have comparable characterization, plot relevance/presence, and personal development -- and how many tagged works each character has on Archive of Our Own. Spoilers: it's pretty bad.

[coconutcordiale]

wasted and strawberry lace with sub!rooster for the 1k celebration 💗💗 love u mae!!

your ecstasy (i'm floating away)

pairing- rooster x afab reader

synopsis- sometimes bradley just needs to get out of his head a little

warnings- 18+ minors dni (glen don't read this either ik you want proof rooster's a bottom but this is not the droid you're looking for) sub bradley, dom reader, dirty pics, teasing bradley while he's supposed to be working, unprotected piv, orgasm control, subspace, established relationship so kink negotiation is implied to have happened pre-fic, lots of anxiety and rooster's bummer of a life

length- 1.9k

an- thank you so much jo ily!!!! this is weirdly not just filth it kind of turned into a character study almost? my b

for the prompts wasted; ‘i know baby, I know’ & strawberry lace; lingerie. I had two other requests for {wasted} which’ll get posted separately the muse is just very fickle right now

i think of this as part of the heart in danger (rooster x roommate) universe but can definitely be read separately there's only one comment about it. also let's hand wave the fact that rooster would probably not be allowed to be on his phone while getting briefed on a life endangering mission

the link to lingerie is not very inclusive, if that bothers you feel free to skip the link. it fit perfectly so i had to use it. but as always envision whatever you want :)

title courtesy of dopamine - børns

The problem with being back in North Island is that no matter how many renditions of Great Balls of Fire Bradley does, that pit of uneasiness still sits like a rock in his stomach, reminiscent of the last time he was here.

He remembers being so heavy, having such a chip on his shoulder going through TOPGUN the first time around that it’s a wonder his jet was ever able to get off the ground.

So, when faced with Maverick - the one person who purposely ensured that Bradley was well and truly alone - for the first time in over a decade, the anxiety simmering deep within him starts to claw its way to the surface.

And it’s not just Maverick. It’s all too much; the idea that he might die serving the Navy, die doing the same job his mom always wanted to keep him safe from, die flying as close as he can to a blonde guy with a mustache that he barely remembers – his only real memories of him consisting of brightly colored shirts and deft fingers flying over piano keys.

Or maybe it’s even worse if he burns in trying to emulate the guy that never believed he was ready in the first place.

No time to be thinking about the past, Hangman spat at him. As if Bradley doesn’t know that, how high the stakes are. As if he doesn’t know that he’ll be a danger to the entire team if he doesn’t get his overanxious mind under control; like he’d still be thinking about this given the choice not to.

If only he could just get his brain to shut up for one goddamn second.

He’s pulled from his internal self-pity by his phone, nearly jumping in his seat at the vibration. He really needs to get it the fuck together.

Wanted something fancy under my new button-up today, what do you think?

“Christ,” Bradley mutters, flipping the device over before anyone sees the lingerie you’ve so kindly sent him a picture of, a sinful black lacy little thing, while he should be paying attention to Maverick.  

“Feathers ruffled, Rooster?”

Bradley tries to keep his eyes from rolling, he really does, but Hangman’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to him, always has been. No amount of team bonding and dogfight football can fix that.

He flips the blonde off while Mav’s attention is on Fanboy, not trusting his tone to stay calm. When Hangman finally turns back to the front of the room, he texts you back as sneakily as he can with one hand and his eyes fixed forward.

Are you trying to make me jerk off in the bathroom like a teenager?

I don’t remember saying that was allowed, Lieutenant.

Fuck.

Bradley drops his head back and stares at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing. Whenever you use his rank against him it always spreads heat under his collar.

It only means one thing.

He’ll count his lucky stars that you were able to come with him to North Island, even if there is a death sentence at the end of it. Because you’ve always been able to read him better than anyone.

You must’ve sensed how much he needs this, needs to be taken out of his head for a little while. How his brain’s been running a hundred miles an hour, ever since he got called back.

It’s not something you do all the time, more often than not he likes to take the reins, likes to lay you out and take you apart.

His cheeks still get ruddy with embarrassment sometimes, thinking about how domineering, brushing against the edge of mean, he was with you the very first time you crossed the line from roommates to something more. But he knew what you needed, what you were too scared to ask for.

As it turns out, just as much as he knows what you need, you do the same for him. Like you know everything’s too much for him this close to the beaches of southern California.

That every day his flight suit has sat unpleasantly against his tanned skin. The straps holding him into his F/A-18 have felt like they were in danger of rubbing his skin raw.

Since the moment you both headed stateside his mind has supplied him with endless possibilities of what could go wrong, and probably will go wrong in this mission.  

He hasn’t been able to finish one coherent thought. That’s the thing about your mind spinning with possibilities – eventually, they come too fast to really register them. He’s halfway through one nightmare sequence when his brain moves on to another.

Every day he’s come back to you, watched you answer work emails while perched at his Navy-issued hotel room desk, and felt a sob catch in his throat as he considers what he’ll leave behind if he gets chosen for the mission.

He almost wishes he could wash out, but knows his stupid, bull-headed pride won’t let him. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, deep down he’s still the same eighteen-year-old screaming in Maverick’s face for pulling his papers, for telling him he’s not good enough. No matter how much he tries to hide it, the chip on his shoulder hasn’t quite filled itself out.

Sorry ma’am. I can be good.

He can practically see your smartass grin when he gets your response, a simple two words that have him counting the seconds until he can bolt out of the debrief.

Prove it.

+

You’re still wearing the lingerie that’s sure to haunt his dreams for the next several deployments, that’ll be stuck in his head when he’s suffocating on other pilots’ egos and wishing desperately he didn’t have a bunkmate. It’s pulled to the side, his eyes transfixed on where you’re letting him thrust his thick cock into your wet heat, his feet flat on the bed so he has enough leverage to fuck up into you.

“Stop, baby,” you say, and Bradley knows his face crumples like he’s in pain, but he immediately halts his movements, hands tearing at the bedsheets in protest of the orgasm quickly being ripped out from underneath him.

You run your hands down his chest, nails raking red marks across his pecs, the sharp sting his only tether to reality.

“Plea –” He tries to beg, but it gets lost in a groan as you swivel your hips on his cock, too slow for him to build back up to the edge.

It feels like you’ve been at this for days and distantly, Bradley can tell he’s shaking with need, breathless whines leaving in a stream without his permission as you whisper how gorgeous he is like this. He’d preen under the attention if he weren’t currently floating, as close as he ever gets to flying when he’s on the ground.

He can feel the wetness beneath his lashes, spilling hot tears onto his cheeks as you move to cup his jaw, your harsh grip offset by affectionate strokes across his cheek with your thumb. “I know, baby, I know.”

Sounds are leaving his mouth, he thinks his hands are reaching for you, but he doesn’t know what world he exists in right now, his mind light and high in the clouds.

“You need to cum, don’t you?”

Bradley leans into your touch, the soft pads of your fingers giving him something to focus on, something to ground him as he tries to wade through the fog to understand your words, to be good for you.

Your fingers tighten on his jaw, just on this side of painful, bringing him back to Earth. “I asked you a question, Lieutenant.”

He nods and you tut, the disapproving noise lancing him, your displeasure bringing more burning tears to his eyes.

You look down at him, his world narrowing to the soft light behind you, glowing around your head like a halo and the smile that Bradley has dreamt of on every aircraft carrier he’s had the displeasure of being on since he met you.

“Words, Bradley, you know better than that.”

He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about the whine that rips from his throat, high-pitched and reedy. His head is empty, a lone yes rattling around his brain like the last piece of candy in those little cardboard boxes you get at the movies.

“Please, princess.” The words force themselves off his tongue, syllables falling out of his mouth slowly like molasses. “Need you, need to cum inside you.”

He should probably be calling you ma’am or something more deferential given your current situation, but at this point, it’s truly a feat he was able to get any words out at all.

"Good boy."

When you tangle your fingers in his curls and tug, another drawn-out moan leaves his lips involuntarily.

You smirk. Bradley thinks he’ll be seeing that coy, self-satisfied look on the back of his eyelids every day for the rest of his life.

“You’ve been so good,” you murmur, sultry and bringing more heat to his cheeks, which he didn't even think possible after they've been flaming for hours now. He wants to keen, wants to bottle up your praise and live with it inside his ears forever, but you’ve started moving your hips again, building your rhythm back up and it drives any coherency from his brain.

“Cum for me, baby, fill me up,” you whimper, leaning down so your words are hot in his ear, sending sparks down his spine.

His thrusts turn erratic at your permission, hands gripping your hips for dear life as his head falls back, exposing the thick line of his throat. Your hand stays on his jaw, moving down his neck, thumb rubbing softly over his pulse as his climax snaps through him, every muscle tensing and releasing as his vision whites out.

He’s boneless, afloat, mind blissfully, finally blank. For the first time since he got the order to return to California, his chest feels light.

Your hands are carding through his curls, voice soft and melodic when he comes to. It warms him all over. “You back with me?”

Bradley nods, face tucked into your neck. He hears the crinkle of a wrapper, opening his eyes to spy a piece of a Nature Valley bar inches away from him. He wants to roll his eyes, tell you he’s fine, but decides he’s too tired to argue, taking the snack between his lips.

“Thank you for taking care of me, princess,” he mumbles through a mouthful of granola bar.  

“I needed it too,” you admit quietly, like you don’t want to ruin the calm that’s taken over your shared hotel room by being too loud. “I know you can’t tell me anything about why we’re here. But it can’t be good, right? It was nice, to be in control for just a little. I feel a bit better now, more settled.”

“Me too,” he agrees, nuzzling the soft skin behind your ear before nosing his way to your mouth for a kiss.

He tries to pour all his love into the press of his lips against yours, hoping it’s enough.

[phoenixyfriend]

In which Cody and Rex Accidentally God-Mode

People expressed interest so here we go:

For a variety of Terribly Stupid Reasons, one of the clones accidentally becomes a god. Not like "Threepio is worshipped" god, but like "came to Mortis as backup and through a series of absurdly unnecessary nonsense, somehow absorbed all three Force beings and ascended to godhood" and now everyone just has to deal with that

Are you legally a person? No! Are you inexplicably the most powerful person in creation? Somehow! Do you want to be a literal deity? ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT

And yet

(The chip, of course, got burned out during the ascension process.)

I think it would be especially funny if nobody realized there was a side effect until significantly later. The Jedi are just like "ah, I guess a Force-Null person was a better conduit for Things" but No it's Even Weirder.

Obvious choices are either Rex or Cody. Maybe they can be one of those dyad deity duos.

“Does this mean one of you is light and one is dark?” “No.”

I was thinking fire (Cody's sunburst thing, 212th gold) and water (Rex running Torrent, 501st blue). Very useful on Kamino.

@purronronner asked:

Does this affect the broader mystical dichotomy or like. is the light/dark system scrapped and now everyone has to use the fire or water side of the force

And I think... No.

They're just running around, accidentally causing miracles. They have plenty of other powers beyond the fire/water thing, those are just the Aesthetic Themes. It's also way beyond a normal force user, but they just. Don't realize it's them? Shit keeps happening and they blame it on the Jedi.

"Huh, I wonder how this canyon got flooded?"

"Beats me, let's just finish the mission."

The 212th ends up on Hoth and everyone is FREEZING and then Cody's entire body lights on fire. He's unharmed and so is his armor but everyone's a little uhhhhhhh.

Something something "I could have SWORN that trooper's leg was broken."

The godly situation is completely undetectable to regular Force Users. These are just Normal Clones.

I have Fox Thoughts also. Mostly with Cody. Fox complains about losing time and constant migraines and Cody's just like "well I can't help with the memories, but I can try to give you a neck massage to help with the migraine?"

And then the neck massage is accidentally a magical conduit for Cody's should-not-exist powers to go into Fox's head and

1. Deactivate the chip permanently

2. Return all those missing memories.

Fox panics and tells Cody all those Horrifying Crimes he's just been reminded of.

...they still don't know Cody and Rex are literal gods now.

[dendrite-blues]

For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 

It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.

This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.

Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 

The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.

What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.

Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine

The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:

“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”

So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.

1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.

Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.

Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On

This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.

L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)

As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 

Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.

“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”

To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.

Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 

But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.

Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen

It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.

The Final Loop: I Crave Attention

S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.

HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.

That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.

I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 

Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?

Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 

Fair enough.

But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 

Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 

The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.

This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.

Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.

What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.

So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 

He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 

In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.

Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 

By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.

Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.

Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.

In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?

Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.

The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.

Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 

You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.

It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.

[orleans-jester]

“Is it?” Frank said, as the boy brought up the obvious. They were probably all around the same age, but there was something just so juvenile about this guy, it really made him think that he was a stupid fucking kid. “Then I should hit it harder next time.”

It was a wonder this guy was able to go on for this long without being murdered. Perhaps it was Chernabog’s protection from the other side, but Frank could not imagine how anyone, not even Oogie fuckin’ Boogie, could put up with this sort of whininess for very long. He could feel the erosion at his patience. It was going to be real bad for Silas if he kept it up. Neither Delta nor himself had long fuses.

He was serious about not judging her. Everyone else in the world, fucking right, they were laid bare to him. He knew their thoughts, he could judge them better than most. But he had finished his judgment of Delta right when he realized he liked her. That was the only judgment that had been needed.

Even if she was better trained in patience than he was, as was demonstrated now.

Such was the curse of family though, one proud member talking about you with everyone else. Chernabog seemed to be that one, letting his son be privy to his devotion to Delta. Frank understood. Though he didn’t have much of a family outside of his mother at one time, she spoke about him to the ladies in her tailor shop. It was no mere annoyance. It was a large one.

But a thought from Delta took him away from that and he smirked over at her. Oh, those blessed memories. Delta helping him in securing the hooks, proving that he was the authority in taking pain, and she was in giving it. She was the only person to which he would ever belong, he knew that in his heart, whether it was beating or not.

He’d bring Silas to the construct that Chip had made for them, their torture tower, which also doubled as his pleasure rooms. Pulleys and ropes still hung from on high, and a few books scattered around showed his literary pursuits, even going as far as to reading while he was suspended sometimes. He found it helped him concentrate better.

“And what kind of art do you usually make?” Frank said, seeing Silas as a blank canvas. “Something modern like splatterpunk?” He chuckled as it it was cheap. He was hard-frozen into his own aesthetics. Blood and gore was fun, but that was more … Oogie’s direction. Violence for violence sake. Can’t see the forest for the trees, but deforestation is her passion. Frank - he had his own style, closer to Silas’s fathers, though he wouldn’t really know it. “I prefer surrealism. Exquisite corpses. You see, my girl and I - we work best as a team."

He would just suspend Silas for now, wrap him up in a body bag and let it hang from the ceiling, giving Silas time to think, to whine, to hope, to simper, whatever he wanted to do, but it was secure for now. Then he’d go back to Delta because being by her side was where he belonged the most.

--

There were many departed who were not in attendance. Iain - sure, he had friends up top but he was united with his daughter, he wasn’t going anywhere. Esmeralda wasn’t showing face - thank fuck for that, she was probably one of the most unwanted. She’d been trying to keep Frollo away from the living, keeping him down there rather than up there. Sally - she was always watching but she wasn’t approaching. Her son was all grown up. Delta too. As much as her heart ached for them, she knew - she didn’t have much choice but to let them go. They didn’t need her. They didn’t even want her. This next life - she was happier in it. She’d hopefully see them along in their own journey through life and death.

Figaro had been making rounds before seeing Lance. Willem might have been their person but he had brought a date and she wasn’t going to get in the way of their flirting and longing looks and tender touches, yeck. So bounce, bounce bounce until their eyes settled upon Lance and now they were in the big group that was the growing band.

They turned their head and saw Willem and grinned even more. “You sure you don’t wanna join the …” then their eyes went wide, looking behind him. Another ghost, perhaps? Another someone that they knew? Better.

“Not leaving without saying hello, are you, my boy?”

Somehow, he had wandered here. He’d always wanted to see the inside of this castle, and the tug from his loved ones being here had somehow got him to trundle up and inside. Figaro took a minute to try to grasp this, eyes actually filling up with tears and emotion, and then combined the three of them in a hug.

The flesh and blood intruder got a smack at the back of his head.

"HEY NOW! That's my head." As if Frank didn't know. That childish side was rearing. His left arm and even his foot stomped as he pouted about it. He couldn't move much else without actually trying to fight himself free of Frank's clutch.

Delta had to admit it helped her keep her cool when Frank said he wasn't judging her between their minds' link. She assumed so she was judging herself so harshly. If she was, why shouldn't he? That was her logic. It was hard to keep this dragon's fiery side cool once flared. If she knew Frank at all that was hardly his goal. She was sure he'd have loved to see her have at Silas, but she couldn't help but hold back. Silas knew her a little too well for her liking considering she didn't really know him at all other than who he was or where he'd been.

God damn Chernabog.

Delta gave Frank the look of thank you because she really had needed a moment to step back and think. In their minds' eye she'd clutch them together pulling him down from Spider Man's upside kiss, but this was no Marvel kiss. This was their kiss. FrankenLurch and his acid girl. The magic of their mind was she would pull from memories, Frank dangling from a suspension just out of her reach and she'd pull him tugging that hooked skin a little harder to flush full lips proper against his all while putting out smoke against the underside of his jaw. An added sweet kiss of Frank's beloved pain. It was the sort of kiss that could make her wet, drenched in fact, ready to put on quite show of self love below him as he dangled in the air. But this moment wasn't for that. This moment's mind kiss held a need of their strong connection, a firm hold before she stepped away.

Delta trusted Frank to do whatever needed to be done from there. She'd come back to him when she'd composed her thoughts on this. She wasn't even sure if Frank was going to just throw Silas aside for now and come back to the party or start having his way with him, but as she stepped away she felt confident Frank had everything under control.

So, she took her time to reconfigure. She held her head high and walked back out to take a peak at her party. She'd gather reports from her fae soldiers to see if anything important was going on. She'd take note of attendance. It was hard to tell anyone left when there were so many new and uninvited arrivals. She watched closely on the unhinged like her Hunch, the unpredictable sort. She noted the new band at play. Whatever. The Cheshire Cat Dj had gotten on her nerves anyway.

She did love the unpredictable sort, but the problem with them was they didn't always do things your way. Good thing she wasn't the Queen of Hearts or these people would be in bigger trouble. Delta just kept tabs watching them all not for order, but for knowing. If chaos was happening on her watch, in her castle, she wanted to be in the know. The band had something to do with the Reaper's family it seemed by the looks of it, so Delta was all the more approving. The more Merry Men she saw she couldn't be too upset by these ghostly comings considering they were all loyal to her. The castle seemed fairly safe so far considering the untimely realization that the castle was unprotected on this night.

As for Silas being drug away he kept his shoulders hunched up this time as opposed to how easily he walked the first time. This time he felt more like he was being dragged instead of escorted like a VIP. At least at first that's how it felt. Then the closer they got, so up against the other that way, so bold in his confidence to lure Silas in his clutches, that quite Frollo romantism kicked in, that poetry is classism, in how the heart beats for Poe and there's a knocking at his door kind of way.

Silas would say quite idealistically, almost sensually, and softly like he'd had an epiphany. "Oh... oh... I see. You want me to be the art now."

"I'm usually the artist, you see."

There was intrigue in his face. Curiosity sparked more at the idea of meeting a fellow artist than worried about whatever this man thought he was about to inflict upon him.

---

Outside at the party that Delta was taking a step back in, dressed to the nines, and trying to shake off how Silas getting under her skin, Willem had been spending most of his time with Nutmeg and the fae population. However, much of the fae population dispearsed when Delta needed extra security to figure out what was going on there.

Willem would notice a lot of his usual friends went barreling out the door. They looked like they were having fun. He peeked out and noticed Babyface and Ellie on the beachfront property side, not enough to notice what they were doing, but the water had a way of taking his mind other places too. There he was with Nutmeg, finally, in a date-ish situation, and he couldn't help but have similar thoughts as Babyface. The past was washing up in those waters. He didn't see Ian among the ghosts. He touched the spot of his curly headed memorial tattoo. He sure didn't see her either. He wasn't sure what he'd say if he did ever see her again.

Figaro seemed to be having a blast in the middle of the Theme Song Guy Band hullaballoo. He almost didn't want to disturb them, but being their person he felt the need to say something if he was leaving and Nutmeg would just have to understand. If she didn't, she wasn't the one anyway. So, he walked up to Figaro and said, "Hey uh, I think I'm going to head out for a bit. I have some dolls to check up on. I have to take care of them tonight. It's a weird night. Probably a good night to check in on them."

Yes, he meant Livvy's dolls, legendary female pirate, true form forever. His heart couldn't let them be and something about seeing that shore line felt like the breeze blowing his sails. It was a reminder of her. Hook's son always trusted the wind. Time to give those dolls a check in. He felt like their caretaker now that she wasn't around to love them like he knew she did. He thought too much like Geppetto now. They were all little people to him whether they'd been brought to life or not. Each one deserved significant care.

[imagines-hoarder]

House Warming - Bucky Barnes

Summary: Hopping through some standout moments in making Bucky's apartment a place worth coming home to. (This definitely could have been a headcanon but I refuse to do headcanons at this time.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.6 k

Warnings: fluff with a lil angst

A/N: I have finished all the assignments left for my degree and decided to sit down and write today. This is probably trash but idc because it has been written and therefore I may as well release it. It's been a while since I've written and years since I've truly tried dipping my foot into a different fandom, but I figured I'd give it ago. Please don't forget to leave comments, I love interacting with y'all. Thank you @bwbatta​ for the dividers! xoxox

Masterlist

It all started with a damn candle. A ‘sandalwood & vanilla orchid’ candle tucked away in a reused cyan jar.

“I found it at the art market down the street last weekend,” you said as you placed it in the corner of the living room window. “You know we have to support local business.”

“And I shouldn’t assume this is your way of telling me my place smells, right?” Bucky quipped from the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He’d just gotten back from a 12-day mission with Sam, and the last thing he had on his to-do list was to buy candles.

The smile grew firmer as you put yourself into his arms. “Complete opposite, actually. I bought it cause I thought it smelled just like you.” You hid your face within his chest, and he thanked the stars that you couldn’t see the warmth rising in his cheeks. His barren apartment felt a little bigger with a candle in the windowsill.

From there it became decorative pillows… and a couch to hold them. The small living room had quickly become a mess by the time you both had brought it up to his fourth-floor apartment, furniture wrap and packing peanuts strewn everywhere.

“I still don’t know why you needed to buy a sofa this big,” Bucky grumbled as he leaned over the back of the beige three-seater, looking down at your splayed out across its cushions.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe. I love the transient bachelor look you’ve got going on here, but you need more furniture than an armchair,” you mumbled between heavy breaths as you tried to regain control from maneuvering the couch into the apartment.

“And the pillows?” A laugh fell from your lips as you watched him look at the indigo cushions with a remarkable amount of disdain. Who buys pillows made just to look nice on a couch?

“They add character.”

“I didn’t think character was an area we were lacking in. Transient bachelor, remember?” He walked around the couch and shifted you over so he could lay beside you. You instinctively curled into him as you both closed your eyes. For a second the place felt like home. “I also don't know how you plan for us both to fit on this couch every day along with the pillows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You looked up from his chest with a mischievous glint that made his heart skip. “It’s a pullout bed too. I’m sure it’ll be firm enough even for you.”

The home improvements didn’t stop there, but Bucky refused to admit how much he enjoyed them.

He liked having a place and person to come home to. After you had bought neutral bedding for his room, you’d spent an evening putting together ‘his and hers’ trestle bookcases for either side of the bed. He’d try to keep up his crabbish demeanor as you argued that ‘you needed a place to set your books for when you slept over,’ and a side table could no longer contain the small collection you had spilling over. Even still, he couldn’t find it in himself to banter much about the minor changes you made to make the place feel lived in.

And God, did he love living with you around. Between missions, his continued therapy, and trying to find his place in a world that had tripled in opportunity since his youth, he knew that he never had to question who he was and where he fit in when he walked through that door. You still occasionally slept at your own apartment when he was away, but he could always count on you being asleep in his bed by the time he came home.

One toothbrush in a glass became two, and from there, hand creams, face masks, and cotton pads cluttered the bathroom counter, packed away in their clear containers. You had made sure to keep lavender bath salts on hand for the late-night baths you took together when he woke up in a panic, unable to close his eyes again for fear of falling back into a nightmare.

It took time and working through plenty of hesitation before Bucky could progress from sleeping on the pull-out sofa to the bed, but ever since, you found your nights attended by restlessness whenever you weren’t wrapped in his arms.

Once your lease was up and you had a lengthy conversation about your inability to rest without him, you quickly filled the apartment with brown boxes. Bucky had been no less than astounded by how much you fit into them. From then on, no nook or cranny was without a vase or shelf.

“How many mugs does one house need,” Bucky asked skeptically while he continued to carefully pull them from their paper wrappings.

“Oh, come on! They’re fun!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his waist as you took the Charlie Brown mug from his metal palm. “Plus, we go through enough coffee around here to justify some extra mugs.”

After you put the mug into the lowest shelf of the cabinet, you busied yourself with filing away the spices one cabinet over. No matter how much he tried, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from you, lost in your own world as you chipped away at unpacking your belongings, making yours his, and vice versa. The domesticity in the little things you did was something he could get used to, and he wanted to return the feeling of normalcy as much as he could. He was far from the average boyfriend, but you remind him that could be a good thing. You never wanted to be average, but in these small moments, as you both did what normal couples do, he felt that he could create a new normal with you.

“So your Christmas gift came in already, and it’s too big to hide.” Your awkward tone carried over the phone as he exited a station ten minutes away from the apartment. Even though his neck ached and the cold nipped at the top of his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a breathy laugh.

“I thought you said you were good at this gift-giving thing, doll,” he teased you as he maneuvered his way to your shared apartment.

“Oh, don’t you fret, baby. I am the best gift-giver in all of New York City. I just slightly miscalculated how big this thing was and have realized it won’t fit into our closet.”

He tsked with a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you gave me my Christmas gift a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t know if I’d be back before Christmas.”

“Well, you will be, and I’m glad you are,” your voice softened lovingly as he pulled out his keys to the front of the building.

Bucky had gotten used to your love, but he’d vow to never take it for granted. All the pain he’d endured had somehow led him to you, the person who didn’t see his broken pieces as a burden or a project but as a potential to be whatever he desired.

When he hung up the call and unlocked the apartment, his brows furrowed into one; the apartment was pitch black. It was only when he heard your soft footstep walking towards the entrance that his face relaxed.

Before he could even kiss you, you had your palms firmly placed over his eyes. “No peeking; your gift is in the living room.”

The uncertainty in what you could have got him made his stomach clench. “Is it an animal?”

You slowly dragged him through the front hallway, making sure to avoid crashing into the entryway storage table. “I’m sorry to say it’s not alive.”

“Is it a nice welcome-home spread with candles, fruit, and the pullout bed all set up?”

He could feel your eyes roll to completion. “Easy there, sergeant. That’s for later.” You pulled him down to sit on the couch, and he kept his eyes closed as you pulled your palms away, moving to turn on a lamp. “Okay, Buck. open up.”

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing nestled against the wall; when he did recognize it, he could only form two words “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

He was quick to stand up and cross the room, eager to get a good look at the walnut centerpiece. “Does it work?”

You scoffed as you moved to kiss his cheek. “What kind of girlfriend would get her ancient boyfriend a broken phonograph console?”

He didn’t even attempt to answer as he bent down to wrap his arms around you, his lips eager to find yours. “A fucking Magnavox radio and phonograph,” he mumbled against your lips.

“A working Magnavox radio and phonograph, you mean.” When you pulled away and saw that his face held a glow reserved only for special occasions, you knew you had made the right choice. “I’ve got some records wrapped up if you want to open those now too.”

You yelped in surprise as he picked you up and made his way towards your bedroom. “I’ve got something else I’d like to unwrap first.”

Bucky Barnes had grown up in a period when the average family could seldom afford nice things or much of anything at all. The Great Depression has resulted in the slogan ‘Make it do or Do without,” being ingrained into what memories he still had, and 'doing without' had become commonplace for the Barnes household.

That’s why every gadget and gizmo you added to your household left him in awe. For much of his life, including the decades he spent as a weapon for Hydra, he hadn’t been allowed to call anything his own; he was still getting used to living so plentifully, both in love and in life. But now, he could barely move and he thought it had all been taken away from him.

The attack was supposed to have been contained, at least three miles away from the apartment. Anything less, and he would have made you visit your family upstate instead of just suggesting it. By the time Sam had told him that there’d been some confirmed damage within a block of the apartment, Bucky was already on his way home. He couldn’t think of anything but the worse: you trapped in a collapsing apartment building or pulling up to find no building there at all.

He felt his lungs fill with air again as he pulled up to your building, completely intact regardless of the severe damage less than a five-minute walk away. It felt like both seconds and hours between when he parked his outside and unlocked the front door.

“He doesn’t have his phone on him, mom. How am I supposed to…” you trailed off from your call as he walked into the living room, turning your head away from the Breaking News report you’d been glued to for the last hour. “Wait, I’ll call you back. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you back.” Your eyes never left his as he walked over to you, hanging up the phone with worry in your eyes. “Buck, are you oka-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pulled you off of the couch and into his arms. His grip was less reserved than he usually kept, but he made sure not to hurt you, eager to keep you in his arms, where he knew you were safe. A single tear fell from the corner of his eyes as he realized the real possibility that he could have lost you if you lived even 5 minutes closer to the attack. You stayed like that for a while, gathered tightly in his arms as you both settled onto the floor You didn’t push him to verbalize his fear; you already understood it. And it took this occurrence for him to realize he never wanted to experience this feeling again.

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening, and while it worried you, his fear had been evident enough not to require questioning. The city-wide cleanup had lasted all hours of the night; for the first time in all the years you had lived in the city, the sounds of the whirring of vehicles clearing debris off the street had been too close to ignore. The sun was rising before a single word was said between you and Bucky, tangled together on the sofa as the first ray of light made itself known.

“You’ve spent so much time piecing this place together, doll.” His voice was raspy. You know he hates when you see him cry, but his pain was always evident in his voice. “And it could have been all wiped away in seconds.” You let a heavy silence settle between you as you traced a pattern into his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to say it, but you knew what he meant: You could have been gone within seconds. “I just… I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

You’d both gone through so much to make your relationship work. Nearly normal was as close as you would ever attain to being an average couple. The distance, the days without contact, and the ever-present fear that anything could pull you away from one another was something that had taken time to work through.

You looked around the living room and saw the place you had built together. There were photos and books scattered on any flat surface, a leftover mug half-filled with cold tea, and a record left out on the phonograph. The apartment looked like what love felt like; a messy combination of everything you and Bucky. But this apartment could not contain everything that ‘home’ was; only Bucky could do that.

The words fell from your mouth before you could restrain them. “Maybe we should move.”

Your eyes found each other, and you both sat in silence, though it felt lighter, invigorated with the new proposition.

Before he even responded, you could see tension dissolve from his shoulders. “Where do you want to move?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, only being able to provide him with a shrug. “I don’t know… maybe upstate, maybe somewhere else.”

“Your mom would like you being Upstate.”

“My mom would love us living next door too, but I don’t see that in the cards anytime soon.” You got a ghost of a smile for that.

“We could probably afford a house if we moved out there,” he said as he moved his lips to meet your forehead.

“Buck, I’d move anywhere with you. As long as we have each other, then we have all we need to rebuild this place.”

He pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head, and you swore you felt his chest flutter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna look for some places, bigger ones too.” He tilted your head up to find your eyes, and you were sure that all of the love you carried for each other was incredibly visible at that moment. “You have made this apartment something worth coming home to. Now let me give you a house to make a home.” Your skin tingled with adoration as you pulled him as close as possible, burying your face into his neck.

You didn’t want to let go. You wanted to lay in this room, in this bed, and in this moment until the end of time, but you knew that something bigger and better was on the horizon for you and Bucky.

“All I heard is that you’re buying me a house.” His laugh was music to your ears.