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bakusquad-assemble · 3 years

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The Conference room

Genre: enemies to “lovers”, but they’re both emotionally stunted and don’t know how to express themselves.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x bratty fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ content, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism, degradation, hate sex, Bakugou catching feelings

Word count: 4.7k

Description: Reader is a pro-hero tasked with working with her worst nightmare; Bakugou Katsuki. The two of them have never seen eye to eye, making it impossible to get anything accomplished. But when Bakugou jumps at her from across the table, things take an unexpected turn.

A/N: had an idea and ran with it! I’m a total sucker for enemies to lovers so I had to indulge! While this can be read as a one shot, I also wouldn’t be opposed to making it a series? Lemme know what you guys think! This is my first time writing anything like this, so please be kind.

“God, you’re insufferable, you know that?” You rolled your eyes, falling back into your chair with an exasperated huff. There were a few things that you didn’t enjoy about being a Pro hero, like the long hours and the lack of privacy, but this absolutely took the cake.

Bakugou Katsuki, or Dynamight as he was known to the public, sat in front of you clad in simple business attire with the nastiest scowl plastered on his dumb face. The two of your agencies had found themselves working together due to an influx in connected crime, and it had been the absolute worst thing you had ever experienced. The two of you had never seen eye to eye in the best of times, constantly teasing and bickering whenever you were in each other's presence, but having to work side by side with the explosive hero was like pulling teeth without any numbing agent. The two of you just didn’t mesh well together, constantly fighting for dominance of the situation, and it made for a very tense working environment for everyone involved. You were currently in the middle of coming up with an infiltration plan for a big villain hide-out, and Bakugou kept fighting you at every turn. He shot down every single one of your ideas, but had not yet made one himself. He was infuriating, and you wanted nothing more than to just walk out of the conference room and never speak to him again. You knew that was impossible though. People's lives were at stake and you weren’t selfish enough to let your discomfort affect your hero work.

Bakugou clicked his tongue at you, only adding to your frustration.

“You’re one to fucking talk!” He snarled in your direction, his hands balled into fists on top of the white marble table placed between you two.

“You haven’t come up with one usuable fucking plan all day!” His words were like venom, corroding your patience with every syllable. He had to be joking.

“Do you really have your head shoved so far up your own ass?” You started, the prominent look of detest written on your features.

“If my ideas are such shit, i'd like to see you come up with a better one! Or is that outside your levels of expertise? Does that brain of yours even have a rational mode or is it all just explosions and violence.” You could see his eyebrow twitching in anger at your words, and for some reason that excited you beyond belief. You loved getting under his skin, giving him a taste of his own medicine. It was cathartic in a way, watching him squirm.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He spat viciously from across the table, his fists banging on the surface like an overgrown toddler throwing a tantrum. This time it was you clicking your tongue.

“I rest my case. I should have known working with you was going to be nothing but hell. Some pro hero you are, can’t even make a simple infiltration plan without throwing a fit.” Bakugou growled loudly, and you couldn’t help but akin his behavior to that of a feral animal.

“Will you shut the fuck up!” He seethed, but you were unfazed. You simply leaned back in your seat with an excited grin, crossing your arms over your chest as you did so. You weren't sure why arguing with the explosive man gave you such a rush of adrenaline, but you needed more. It was as if his words of resentment were a highly addictive drug, and you were itching for your next fix.

“Aww what's wrong, can’t handle a little bit of criticism?” Your confidence rang through the air like gun fire, piercing and tearing at Bakugou's skin. He was heated, you could tell by the way his pale skin flushed and how the faint smell of caramel assaulted your senses as he let off a few pops of his quirk in his fists. If you hadn’t known the man in front of you, perhaps you would have been intimidated by his crude actions, but you knew Bakugou would never lay a hand on you. No matter how heated your arguments got.

This certainly wasn’t the first time you had argued like this, it happened to be a recurring theme for the both of you whenever you were in the same room, but today something felt different. The tension laid heavy between you two, tangible, but it was laced with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint; A warmth pooling in your stomach.

“I said shut the hell up!” He screamed, standing up from his chair in a huff. You had pushed him too far, letting your teasing nature get the better of you as it had been known to do. Yet, instead of dropping it, moving on with your work, you persisted. You poked the bear once more, but this time in a way that surprised even you. You locked eyes with his piercing crimson ones, rising from your chair with formidable authority. Your chin tilting up ever so slightly as you spoke, letting the warmth in your stomach take over.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me, Dynamight”

Bakugou froze, and you couldn’t help but smirk victoriously. You knew the teasing tone would be enough to fluster him, to shut him down and win the argument so you could get back to working in silence. What you weren’t expecting was the way his breath caught in his throat, or the fervent blush that crept up his neck and consumed his features. And you certainly were not expecting the way your face reciprocated immediately upon sight. The palpable tension consuming the two of you, and the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was not the feeling of complete and utter disdain that always lingered there, but instead something far worse. The warmth that had been bubbling in your lower abdomen was now yelling at you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that feeling had always been there, simply lurking under the guise of hatred. Your eyes took in his features with a new glazed expression, subconsciously nibbling at your lower lip as you did so. The way you could see his heart hammer in his chest made you question if he was feeling the same sensation you currently were.

Your mind didn’t have much time to process that thought however, because within an instant Bakugou was throwing himself at you from across the table. His mouth on yours in seconds and his hands gripped at the back of your head to hold you tightly into the kiss, as if trying to relish in a fleeting moment. It was like a shock wave of intensity took over you, throwing all caution to the wind, and you found yourself kissing back with unexpected heat before you even had time to think. He slammed your smaller frame against the cold concrete of the office wall and you couldn't control the small yelp that slipped into his mouth. He had no idea why he was doing this. Why did your words have such an impact on him? Whatever had possessed him in the moment seemed to have taken hold of you as well. He wasn’t expecting you to kiss back with such fervor, in fact, he was fully convinced he was going to earn himself a solid punch to the mouth. But that wasn’t the case, and it made him question if those flirtatious and subtle sexual nuances had always littered your vocabulary, or if it had been a heat of the moment thing for you as well. One thing he knew for certain was that he had always found you enticing. The way you quipped back at him with ease, moving through his words as if you were bullet proof. His insults never penetrating your perfect complexion. And the way you would smirk at him, it was intoxicating. The way you knew just how to get under his skin. He hated it, and even though he’d hate to admit it, he loved it so much more.

His rough and calloused hands kept a firm grip on you, finally getting a chance to enjoy that perfect frame up close and personal. Your hands tangled up in his ash blonde locks, pulling at them roughly and putting space between your mouths so that your lips were just barely hovering above his lower one. Even still he could feel the delicious grin that overtook your features at the involuntary whimper that escaped his lips from the lack of contact. It wasn’t long before he was pulling against you to initiate the kiss again, and you did nothing to stop him, allowing him to dive back in and devour those sweet and supple bruised lips of yours once more. God, how he had always wanted this. He let his pelvis grind into yours, his hand finding its home on your hip to pull you in closer, forcing a moan to creep its way out of your throat. He wasn’t sure what had come over him; repression, pent up sexual tension, pure feral instinct, but he just couldn’t control himself. Especially not when such a lewd and sweet sounding moan cascaded from your lips like that. He had to have you now.

The faint noise of the lock clicking behind him rang in his ears like one of his explosions, and he found his head whipping in this direction of the noise as if expecting to see someone witnessing something they weren’t supposed to. Instead he saw the faint golden glow of your quirk, and upon rounding his eyes back to you, saw everything that he needed to know written on your features. You had locked it over his shoulders using your psychokinetic quirk. He chuckled darkly above your lips, before swooping back in hungrily, taking your actions as a nonverbal cue to continue. You couldn’t get enough of his taste. The sickly-sweet sensation taking over your senses, and by the way he kissed you, you could only guess you were just as intoxicating to him. Your hips moved on their own accord, desperate to feel his hard cock rubbing against you through the slack of his pants, but you could feel the resistance from the blondes firm grip on your hips. You needed more of him, wanted to get rid of this disgusting heat inside of you. You knew he noticed how much you ached for him too, you could sense it in the way his ego grew in his chest with every movement. He was always so perceptive, and you hated that about him. How dare he be able to control you like this. Have this domineering hold around you that you most certainly did not allow in your daily life. You never took his shit. Never put up with his bitching. Yet here you were, horny and writhing in his grasp, desperate for his twitching cock to fill you up.

“What’s the matter, princess?” His husky voice cut through the room. The teasing nickname you detested grating at your senses and finding a new feeling bubbling up deep inside your abdomen. God, you fucking hated him.

“Don’t have anything else to fucking say?” He ground his hips against yours again, eliciting the same noise of wanting to come crashing around the two of you. You tried your best to suppress it this time, not wanting to give him the sheer satisfaction of knowing just how much he had you under his spell right now, but the noise forced its way out as a high pitched whimper. You felt the way his cock twitched against your heat, only adding to your sheer desire. Your head fell back against the wall as you bit harshly at your lip. How could you be so weak for this man that not even ten minutes ago you absolutely despised with everything in your being. He took that as an answer.

“Did I finally find a fucking way to shut you up, dumbass?” He whispered into your ear, the soft wetness overtaking your senses and filling you with pure adrenaline. His hand gripped at the hair on the back of your head like you had done to his only moments before, exposing your neck so that he could trail rough kisses down to your collarbone. Biting and nipping at the soft skin.

“If you want my cock so bad, beg for it. “ It was like a light switch had gone off in your brain at that very moment. You couldn’t let him win, Let him talk to you like this. No matter how much it made your juices pool in your panties like some kind of whore in heat, you couldn’t let him embarrass you like this.

“In your dreams, you fucking pervert.” you spat viciously, a salacious smile biting at your features. Bakugou's head rounded to meet your eyes, an interested smirk over taking his features.

“Huh? What did you say to me?” The venom was tangible, but it did nothing to deter you from spitting back again. This time the smirk on your lips growing into a confident one, even through your ragged pants of need.

“I said...in your fucking dreams. “ putting emphasis on each word He growled into your skin, vibrating your body with his raw and feral rage.

“You fuckin’ brat.”

You knew you had just signed your death warrant but you didn’t care, in fact, it only aroused you more. You needed to feel him inside of you. You needed the release. It was as if the room was spinning and the only thing that was keeping you grounded was the aching between your legs. The desperate need to feel something. You felt his grip grow tighter on you and before you knew it your face was pressed up against the cold wall in an instant. Bakugou's hand laid on the back of your head, gripping at your hair and pushing your face against the concrete, the other tightly locked on your hip, keeping your soaking cunt up against the hard bulge in his pants. You felt your body buck against it subconsciously, sending another shockwave of pleasure pulsing through your body, and his.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” He hissed into your ear. The hand that laid in your hair coiled itself around your neck, squeezing ever so slightly as he brought your head closer to his. You let out a slight gasp, but still a smirk laid ever present on your face.

“Good.”

His free hand made quick work of your soaking panties, pushing them to the side under the hem of your pencil skirt. One of his thick digits slipping against your wet folds before situating itself inside without much warning. Even with just his finger you felt so full. The warmth from his hand radiating inside of you and only aiding in your pleasure. Bakugou couldn’t help the noises that escaped his mouth as he worked your pussy with his fingers. The way your walls clamped around them and left them completely soaked only made his need for you grow.

“God, youre so fucking wet for me.” His breathing was erratic, greedy. He had been overcome with lust that he was barely registering what he was saying. Normally situations like this would absolutely fluster Bakugou, or just straight up never happen. Bakugou was always so focused on his hero work that hookups were few and far between, and certainly never quite this passionate. A quick fuck with no return call and that was it. There was just something about you that made his head spin. You were always a challenge, never backing down no matter how brutal his berating and instead firing back at him with such confidence that it caught him off guard more often than not. Sure, it was so infuriating, but he had a thing for strong women. So everytime you spit back with that ungodly sexy smirk of yours, the fire in Bakugou only grew. He never thought he’d see you like this though, never imagining that he would be able to make that pretty little mouth of yours moan out for him, but he had certainly spent countless nights alone with his hand gripped around himself at the very thought. He quickly added another finger as he pounded them into you, causing you to gasp out in pleasure.

“ Yeah, you like that? You little slut.” You shut your eyes tightly, feeling the embarrassment overtake you as your head nodded against his hand like the greedy slut you were. Normally you would never accept words like that to come out of a man's mouth toward you, but there was just something about the way Bakugou said them that had you reeling with anticipation.

He curled his fingers inside of you, toying with your sensitive spot ever so slightly. Did you really think a simple nod was going to satiate his need for praise? He was going to tease you until he got what he wanted.

“What was that?” He smirked against the skin of your neck, nibbling roughly at the sensitive skin. You felt your body jerk against him, sending his fingers deeper into you. You bit your lip hard to suppress the moan that overtook you.

“Just fuck me already, Katsuki! ” you whimpered, his first name feeling foreign in your mouth. You were growing impatient, and even though your words came out as a command, you knew deep down it was desperation. The embarrassment rampantly flooded through your body, turning you a deep shade of pink, but you pushed through it. You couldn’t keep letting him play with you like you were some toy, you had to take what you wanted any way you could. You needed to cum, and you certainly weren’t going to do it on his fingers, no matter how good they felt. You needed the real thing.

“I can’t take it anymore, just fuck me!” You reluctantly begged, trying to look anywhere but at the man behind you. You could feel the shock rush through Bakugou's body at your words, clearly taken aback for a second at your bluntness and hearing his name spill from your lips like that. A wave of determination flooded through his system. He was going to make you scream his name so everyone in the office could hear it, even from the confines of the soundproof meeting room. He quickly let go of you to fiddle with his belt buckle, but you didn’t dare move to look at him. Instead you found solace in rubbing your thighs together. The friction keeping you high, keeping you blind to what was really happening. To the fact that you had just begged Bakugou Katsuki, the biggest piece of shit you have ever met, to fuck you.

You felt the tip of his cock trace your sweet hole for a second, and you braced yourself for agony. You thought he was going to relentlessly tease you, break you, find some way to have you squirming in his grasp and begging again, but instead the feeling of him bottoming out in you quickly overtook all of your senses. He was surprised he had even lasted this long in the foreplay if he was honest. He needed you, needed to feel the way you felt around him. He had fantasized about this for years, what it would feel like to finally have you in such a compromising position, but he was in no way ready for the sheer bliss your walls brought him. You had him reeling. He grunted aggressively against your skin, not moving inside of you as if to take in this sensation. Who knew when it would happen again, or If it would happen again.

“Fuckkk” he whined, and somehow his words alone had you aching for more. If you thought his finger had you feeling full, it was no match for the size of his cock. You couldn’t help but rock back onto him, rotating your hips in a way that had the both of you moaning.

“Katsuki” His name dripped from your lips again like the words sweetest song. There was something about the way you said his first name that had him teetering on the edge. It was so sweet, like honey trickling down the curves of your lips, begging to be savoured, and like hell he was going to deny himself that sweetness. Even if he knew he would probably never get the chance to taste it again. He wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to pound you into oblivion. He pulled back for a second, his dick sliding out of your entrance and leaving you with a longing and empty feeling after being so full only a second ago. Your eyes widened, about to whimper out in distress at the loss, until the fullness came back to you forcefully. The roughness of his thrust sending your body bumping into the wall in front of you and causing a loud moan to escape your lips. Your hand quickly shot up to your mouth, covering it quickly in the hopes that no one had heard you. You felt Bakugou snicker in your ear, pulling your hand roughly away from its place over your mouth, his hot breath panting heavily onto your skin.

“Let them hear you. Let them hear so they know who you belong to.” He spat out in between thrusts, head clearly spinning from the pure ecstasy you brought him.

“You wish.” you hissed, sending your ass into him to meet his thrusts. Bakugou grit his teeth in pleasure, cursing out under his breath. You were definitely right about that. You were the one person Bakugou knew he would never be able to truly control, but honestly, he didn’t want to. You were a force to be reckoned with, and an absolute powerhouse of a Pro Hero, and he admired you. Just as you did him, in your own little way.

Bakugou brought his open palm down onto your exposed ass with a grin, the pain of his warm hand mixing with the pure ecstasy of his cock and eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head, spinning from the sensation. Bakugou found himself groaning with every thrust, unable to force them down. You just felt too good, too addicting, and he needed more; needed to cum. His hand gripped at the back of your hair, pulling your head to the side so that his face was flush up against yours, his mouth inches from your ear. The sound of his erratic breathing and raw grunts of pleasure filled your senses immediately, making the warmth in your stomach bubble with excitement. You weren’t going to last much longer like this.

“Fuck” Your voice came out in a choked whimper, laced with blatant wanton lust.

“Like that, don’t stop.” You commanded, and Bakugou groaned in response. The grip on your hair tightened ever so slightly and you felt his teeth snarl against your ear, nipping at the exposed skin. He could tell you were close by the way your walls clamped around him, making it almost impossible to hold out any longer.

“Yeah” He panted in agreement, his thrusts becoming more unpredictable as he felt himself getting closer to the edge. It didn’t take much before you completely came undone around Bakugou. It was as if your body was floating weightlessly in space, a beautiful expanse of stars and colors blurring your vision, before gravity was quickly pulling you back down to earth abruptly, leaving your legs trembling from the impact.

Your hands subconsciously gripped Bakugou's, savoring in his warmth as you rode out your high around his thrusts, your head spinning with pure ecstasy and adrenaline. Bakugou buried his face into the crook of your neck, as if to hide the flush that had spread across his face from nonexistent eyes. Watching your body tense and shake around him had to be the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen in his life, and that was exactly what sent him over the edge.

“F-Fuck” His voice quivered against your skin and you felt his grip grow tighter on your hips, pulling you back into his pelvis to burry himself deeper within you. If you weren’t currently trembling from your own climax, perhaps you would’ve stopped Bakugou from coating your insides, but in the moment you didn’t seem to care. You felt your walls clamp down around him once more, desperately taking everything in without any fear of the consequences it might hold. Bakugou didn’t pull away from you, instead leaving his body flushed up against yours as the two of you attempted to regain your composure.

The room was silent, aside from the panting that still hung close to your ear. The primal lust that had just engulfed the two of you was quickly replaced with confusion, and the room was suddenly too silent. Bakugou pulled away from you at last, and his warmth that had enveloped you just two seconds ago now completely dissipated. You weren’t sure why, but you missed it immediately. It just felt so right, brought you so much comfort, and that very thought alone scared you. You quickly pulled yourself off the wall and rounded to look at the blonde man behind you as he fixed himself up. His face seemed to mimic yours, and you weren’t sure whether or not that was a good or a bad thing, but for the moment it brought you solace. You let out a shaky sigh before straightening the hem of your skirt against your reddened thighs. You could feel his eyes on you, like lasers burning your skin. You quirked an eyebrow up at him, trying your best to muster a smirk while your fingers worked tirelessly at untangling your hair that Bakugou had made a mess of.

Bakugou felt his voice rise in his throat as his eyes finally met with yours once more, he had so many questions; what was that all about? What does this mean for us? Can I take you out for dinner? but all of those questions died in his throat before they made it to his lips. The shake of your head deterring him from letting them out. You didn’t want him to say something he was going to regret, something stupid you say after the high of an orgasm. You weren’t sure what exactly that would’ve been, but you liked it better this way.

“Don’t, your stupid voice is what got us into this mess in the first place.” You tried your best to keep your voice even, calm, as if none of this had shaken you to your core. As if he wasn’t still lingering inside of you. As if you felt absolutely nothing from that encounter. Just another meaningless hook up, that was all. Or at least that was what you tried to tell yourself. You watched as Bakugou’s eyebrows furrowed, as they did whenever you spoke, but this time it felt off. Laced with something different. It would take you a while to pinpoint that exact feeling, but it would come to you nonetheless. When you were alone in your bed late at night, thinking about the way his eyes glistened, and his body tried to stay steady. Hurt.

You moved towards the tall blonde with a false sense of confidence, though to the unsuspecting eye you never faltered. Your delicate hand moving up to the tall blondes cheek and patting it roughly. The curves of your lips forming into that smirk that Bakugou loved detested so much.

“Leave the planning to me, I don’t really need your help anyway.” Your eyes locked with his for a moment, before you felt the need to break away. To slam the cover shut on those feelings that threatened to spill over the top of Pandora’s box. You sauntered past his form nonchalantly, your hips moving in a hypnotizing form that had Bakugou unable to peel his eyes away.

“Just remember...” You started, turning your head to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Meetings in the conference room are confidential.” And with a wink, you quickly turned the handle of the door and made your exit, needing to get away as quickly as possibly so that you could breathe once again. Bakugou still stood at the center of the room, confused and finally at a loss for words. He had no idea how any of that had just happened, or why he felt a heavy pang in his chest as he watched you leave the room seemingly unfazed. But there was one thing he knew for certain, one thing he was determined to do now more than ever; he was going to make you his.

#bakugou #bakugou katsuki #mha #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou imagines #bakugou x reader #mha imagines #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x oc #katsuki bakugou #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

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yukichouji · 3 years

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OK, so, @heniareth asked to hear more about my first Warden for DAO and it took me a bit to put all this together, but here we are :) Thank you so much for asking and giving me a chance to ramble about him :D The post is long, hence the cut and please be warned about the thorough lack of structure and order haha I am bad at ordering my thoughts properly. I hope it is still alright to read :)

I have exactly two screenshots of my warden Theron Mahariel and those are it (apparently my obsession with taking a f*ck ton of screen shots of like everything only truly developed with DAI) xD Second one is in the temple of sacred ashes and it was taken in an attempt to make a bad joke about how the battle was so grisly that everyone got blood splatter under their armor ha

Anyway xD Theron is Dalish and he spent his entire life safely with his clan until his best friend Tamlen and he stumbled across some ancient elven ruins in the forest and made a discovery followed by tragedy. Duncan was able to save Theron’s life, but not Tamlen and by the time they returned to the ruins to search for him, Tamlen’s body had disappeared. Not only that, the sickness that had befallen Theron was one that had only been delayed with Duncan’s help and had but one cure, the Joining. And so, to survive, Theron was forced to leave his clan, the only life he’d ever known, his home, his family, to follow Duncan to Ostagar where he would become a Gray Warden.

He’d been a hunter for his clan for a while before all that happened and therefor knew his way around a bow quite well, though he’d never fought anything more frightening than a bear in the wilds. His clan has tried its best to stay away from Shemlens and avoid confrontation, so Duncan was one of the first humans Theron had ever really gotten to talk to. He was suspicious at first, but his keeper trusted Duncan and seemed to hold the Gray Wardens in high regard, so he decided to heed her judgment. Leaving his clan behind, unsure if he would ever see them again since they’d already decided to move North as soon as possible in order to keep safe, was one of the hardest things he’d had to do up until that point in his life.

He was raised by Ashalle, an old friend of his father’s. Both of his parents died around the time of his birth, so he never got to meet either of them and he was never really told about the circumstances of their death. All he knew was that his father had been the former keeper of his clan and his mother a hunter form a different clan. His father had fallen in love with his mother and they’d had to meet in secret because the elders did not approve of their bond. It wasn’t until the day he was to leave his clan for good that Ashalle finally told him the truth about what happened. Apparently, when his mother was pregnant with him, during one of those secret meetings of theirs, their parents were attacked by a group of humans and city elves. During the resulting fight his father was killed and his mother gravely wounded. She stayed alive just long enough to give birth to him, then passed away. Quite the story to stomach, especially when he was about to put his life into the hands of a human, stepping out into a world that had been nothing but hostile towards his people for as long has their memory lasts. A world he knew very little about, other than the stories the elders told of the dangers and cruelties lurking everywhere within. And through all of that, his failure to protect Tamlen weighed heavily on him, a burden he’d carry with him wherever he set foot.

He was mid twenties, when all of this happened and at that point, the elders and Ashalle had been urging him to find an elven lass to bond with and start his own family for a while. And he’d been doing his best to dodge them for just about as long. He’d never met a woman he’d been interested in and perhaps, if he was to be very honest with himself, his feelings towards Tamlen might have run a little deeper than he’d have liked to admit to anyone, let alone himself. The Dalish don’t frown upon same sex relationships per se, but since the elves are such a diminished race it is regarded as extremely important that anyone who can start a family and produce children to keep their blood alive do so as a duty to their people. Anyone who refuses to or, gods forbid, settles with a partner of a different race is all but branded a traitor to their kind and shunned by their clan, sent into exile to fend for themselves. So in a way, by leaving when he did, he dodged a bullet or a very tough decision he was eventually going to have to make for himself that had been headed his way for a while now. Though one wonders if the fate he found can be considered any better.

He loved his clan and the life he led with them dearly. To him, there was nothing better than that simple life of wandering from place to place and the inherent freedom of it, the deep green of the forests around them, the moonlight glint of the hallas’ coats, the aravels’ colorful sails, the stories of his ancestors told around campfires as the young and old listen with equal wonder, the thrill of the hunt as thin soles tread soundlessly over soft, moss-covered forest floors, Andruil’s invisible hand guiding him onward, and the rush of satisfaction at having been successful. At having been able to provide for his clan, keeping them fed and healthy and safe from danger of any kind. That was where he felt most at home. It was not an easily life, but one worth living.

He can’t read. Never learned, because it never seemed important. All of the lore about his people is kept as oral history not written down.

He really wanted to be able to take Zevran to meet his clan, once all of the horrors of the Blight were over. He knew they wouldn’t be able to stay if they wanted to be together, but he at least wanted to visit and show Zevran how he grew up and who the people were that meant so much to him. Finding a place among the rebuilding Wardens after that didn’t seem like such a bad thing, then. Sadly, none of that ever came to pass. He died defeating the Archdemon and ending the Blight. And instead of receiving a burial the way his people would have intended, in the green forest he’d loved so much with a seed planted over him, a tree growing to mark his grave for his people, his body now lies in a cold stone crypt together with his Warden brothers and sisters, who share the honor of having given their lives to end a Blight.

#me things #yukichouji plays games #@heniareth yours was a lot prettier and easier to read xD #But I still had a lot of fun with this so thank you for that :)#my ocs #Theron Mahariel #dao

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fuckingthefictional · 4 years

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Red Stained Dress

Request: “I hope you’re having a wonderful day/evening/afternoon/night! May I request Reader being a cousin to the Shelby’s (mother’s side) and being very very like lady-like, clean, expensive clothes. And one of the boys gets blood on her dress? If that’s alright? Thanks in advance.”

A/N: I made this entirely too angsty for my own good, either way hope you enjoy!

Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence, swearing, blood.

“Mummy what is falling in love like?”

“My darling, it is one of the best things in life. It is special and sacred. It makes life worth living, it makes the world that little bit brighter.”

“When will that happen to me?”

“Time will tell my sweet girl, but be patient- love is always lurking around corner, where you least expect it.”

Your mother was right. It did lurk around the corner and it caught your heart in its grasp and lead you to love. To your husband.

At the age of 20 you went from Y/N Strong to Y/N Massey. Wife of James Massey. You were happy, at peace.

But your mother had failed to explain the complexities of love. That it didn’t come easy. There was darkness and rockiness. And love didn’t always last.

For you it broke in front of you. When your husband was taken on the battlefield- somewhere in France.

And suddenly you were a widow, you were alone.

Your mother and husband had passed. The only person left was your father (if you could even call him that)- Charlie Strong.

On her deathbed your mother had begged you to go and make amends with him. Even going as far to write down his address on a piece of paper for you to keep.

But you hadn’t plucked the courage to do that yet. To you your father was just a man who ran from his wife and child at the first moment he could.

There was only one trait that you shared with that man. And that was your love of horses. You had always had a connection with animals. Horses and dogs in particular would just flock to you- who knew maybe it was in your blood.

“Ms Massey?” A quiet voice interrupted your heavy stream of thought, looking up you saw one of the many maids that worked at the house standing in the entry way to the library.

“Is everything alright Mary?” You asked.

“Ms Carleton has just arrived for you ma’am, she’s waiting for you by the car.”

You nodded, rising from your armchair and taking one last glance at his armchair before you left for the day.

May and yourself were going to a horse auction, you’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

You were both looking for some new horses to take on and train, as well as some new potential clients.

“Stop dallying Y/N!” Your friend’s familiar voice rang out, “The auction starts soon, we’ll miss out at this rate!”

You rolled your eyes towards May, silently dismissing her joking jabs at you.

“We won’t be late May,” You reprimanded, “stop fretting.”

“The clock says otherwise.”

“Ladies like us are never late,” You waves your hands to prove your point, “everyone else is simply early.”

May giggles in response, “if you say so Y/N/N.”

You swatted at your close friend jokingly, you were hoping for a successful, calm day- but trouble always did seem to follow you every place you went.

“Ladies and Gents we will start our bidding at 50 pounds.”

The horse auction was surprisingly crowded, it seemed that quite a few people had come to see what breeds could be found at the auction house that afternoon.

It was dwindling down to the last few stallions and the occasional mare. All in all you had been successful in purchasing two stallions and a mare of your own.

The last horse on auction in question was beautiful, it was a stallion- dark and shiny in colour, its legs were long but muscled. A perfect contender for you to train for the races.

You raised your hand in interest.

“50 pounds here,” the auctioneer spoke, looking around at everyone else, “Going once, twice-“

“150 pounds.”

Your head whipped round, looking for the man who was trying to outbid you.

“300” you spoke again.

“500” A murmur rippled through the crowd.

You weighed up your options, it was a lot of money for a single horse- you didn’t want to blow through every single penny you had to your name.

“Going once, going twice-“

“1500 pounds.” A new voice had cut out, there were shocked murmurs erupting throughout the stands of people.

The gavel banged on the table, signifying the final action of the day, as people began to disperse from the auction house- you could finally see the man that had snatched the last horse up.

You knew who it in an instant- it was Thomas Shelby. Your cousin Thomas.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you began to make your way down the stairs with May. Silently you found yourself praying that he hadn’t taken any notice of your presence.

God didn’t listen of course.

“Y/N?”

You took a deep inhale, as you rushed down the stairs to try and escape.

“Y/N!”

Fuck, there was no chance of outrunning them.

You quickly murmered that you would catch up to your friend, before you slipped through the doors arena like stage.

The doors itself open and closed behind you, before it was repeated again.

Here goes nothing I suppose.

You breathed in a shuddering breath as you turned to face your estranged family members.

They were all there. Thomas, John, Arthur, as well as another two men that you didn’t recognise. Not to mention the man that you had long since called your father.

You put on a polite smile, which probably looked far too forced, “Good Afternoon Thomas.”

“What are you-“

“What are you doing ‘ere ‘ey?” Your father cut Tommy off, questioning your motives as his piercing eyes stared into your similar ones.

The action only caused a swell of anger to swirl in her belly.

“I assume the same reason that you are- business.” You spoke simply, biting down on your tongue to keep any more words at bay.

“And what ‘business’ do you have here Hmm?” Tommy’s gruff voice asked.

“Jesus I’m just here to purchase any horses that look good enough to ride professionally- what is your probl-“

“Mr Shelby.”

Everything that happened next, happened all too quickly. Because before you could even register what was happening there was a yell coming from one of your cousins.

“Get down!” John’s voice had cut of your own with a loud yell, as you were suddenly tackled to the floor.

A loud crack rippled through the air as the wooden banister above you splintered into two, a bullet lodging itself in the wall behind it.

You peeled up behind the curtain of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes, “What the fuck?” You screamed in fear, shock melting into every nerve and muscle in your body.

Another gunshot pierced out, as it shattered the large window close by into thousands of shards.

A part of you didn’t want to believe that this was happening- surely it was just a dream? A terrible, horrific nightmare?

Another crack of a bullet being launched sounded close to you, peeping up from behind your quivering hands you saw that it was Thomas who had fired it.

Thomas who had fired a fatal shot into another man’s head. Thomas who had caused the death of a man, who may have had a wife, or a child or a family.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that was to come next. The sight of your eldest cousin brutally throwing punch after punch after punch at another man’s face.

The sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh and bones shifting and cracking under the weight of Arthur’s meaty fists continued to echo around the room.

The man’s face slowly becoming mangled into mush, the sand below him becoming stained with crimson blood - you knew you couldn’t take it for a moment longer.

Swallowing your fear, you jumped off of the ground, screaming desperately for Arthur to stop.

You tried to pull him off, only to be knocked backwards onto your back. You felt the air leave your body as you collided with the ground.

You shifted back onto your feet, ignoring the pain surging through your spine. Watching as your father, Tommy and another man ripped Arthur away from the scene.

Crawling over you to the motionless body, you lifted two fingers to his neck. Frantically searching for a pulse. After a few seconds you found one, “He’s still alive- but his pulse is weak, he needs-“

Once again you were cut off by your father, “John take Y/N to the car.”

“What? No!” You protested, “did you not hear me- that man is dying he needs a doctor now.”

Within seconds you felt your body lift off the ground and over someone’s shoulder.

“Stop! You can’t do this!” You were screaming desperately, you voice becoming hoarse “What is wrong with you?”

The feeling of tears running down your face, alerted you to just how upset you felt. You just watched your family kill- like they were predators.

A few short minutes later, you felt your feet finally hit the floor. Looking around you grasped onto the nearest solid object that you could find.

The car was cool to touch and it calmed your raging thoughts for a second before a swell of nausea hit. You wanted to be sick, to cleanse the memories of what you had just witnessed away.

“Y/N...” John’s voice held care, like he was tiptoeing around what had just happened, “About what you just saw.”

“You didn’t see anything.”

You’re head shot up angrily, Tommy stood in front of you, with the rest of the group of men behind him.

“Really because the blood on my fucking dress says otherwise,” you fined, lYou’re fucking insane- you just killed two men, two men who may have had families that will never see them again.” Tears welled up in your eyes, “You should feel ashamed.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, “If we didn’t kill them, they would have killed us.”

“We all have a part to play in this world Tommy- you don’t get to decide who lives, who dies and who tells the story. You’re just a selfish coward who shoots first and asks questions later.”

“Y/N you can’t say that- he’s your family.”

Your head whipped around, quick enough that you swore you could’ve gotten whiplash. It was your father who had spoken those words.

“You don’t get to say anything to me- you do not have that right anymore, you lost that a long time ago,” You jabbed a finger into his scrawny chest, “Family Hm? You lot stopped being my family years ago. None of you came to my wedding, none of your cared when my husband was killed, and you ‘dad’ disowned me before I could walk- so don’t you dare lecture me about family.”

“You’re still apart of this family Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Well if that,” you pointed back over to the auction center, “is what being apart of this family is then I have no fucking interest in being apart of it.”

Family isn’t always to do with fucking blood- it is what you make it.

#peakyfookinblinder #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peakyblinder #peaky blinders #peakyblinders #requested #tommy shelby x sister!oc #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x reader

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chaotic-txt · 3 years

Text

Easier to stay, easier to go

Soobin x Reader | Drabble | Angst

Warning/s: None.

──────────── · · •

It was about time that you finally got back.

You were back again at your same old, worn out apartment where the lights are dim and flickering every moment, where the ceilings are full of dust and cracks, walls with paint flaking out of the surface and a fairly clean space.

The place isn’t exactly what you could call home, but you figured that it’ll do as a roof above your head. It has never been one anyway, constant fights and heated arguments occured every now and then, words being thrown at each other were much like gun firing bullets, piercing deep within flesh. Either it ends badly—with the neighbors banging against your thin walls because of the noise—or, one would leave the place and then come back after some time.

In this case, it was you who left with a heavy heart, clouded mind and a tear-stained face. Coming back at that same place felt like it was years since you have stayed there that standing inside seemed that a wash of nostalgia suddenly hit you, and it was not the good kind.

Your reminiscence with the rest of the previous events before you walked out of the apartment was broken by lazy footsteps that trudged upon the floor. The owner of those feet was met by your figure right by the doorstep, standing meekly and not knowing what to do. Usually, when one comes back after the fight, the other would come towards them with guilt written on their face and arms spread wide to engulf them in a tight hug. They’d be worried sick and would inspect thoroughly to check the other isn’t hurt, before coming for another embrace that would melt their worries away.

But there was none of that right now.

After Soobin saw your form and seemed to only spare just a glance at you, he went back to the kitchen right where he have been for the past few hours. There were no signs of recognition, no hugs, no whispers of apologies and sweet, hushed phrases to make up for the dispute that had broken out between the two of you. He just left you there like your presence was not much of a big deal for him, like your presence was not there at all and that you haven’t been gone for almost a week or two prior.

And somewhere within your heart hurt like it was squeezed to death. This was the first time he had done something like that; feigned ignorance and just simply moving on to continue on his dull and gloomy day. This was not the Soobin you knew, and the fight was yet to be over and done with.

As you approached the kitchen, sounds of cluttering dishes and utensils were heard along with the sound of the running tap water by the sink. Soobin’s back was facing you as he washed used plates and empty glasses in absolute silence. Empty soju bottles were beside him, maybe 5 to 7 bottles that were drank on different days considering that he doesn’t have such high alcohol tolerance to down them in just one go.

The mere thought have made you uneasy. Soobin was never a drinker. You know him too well to tell that he would rather discuss the problem than resorting to drinking and downing shots after shots, drowning his bladder with the alcoholic substance. However, as the months went by, he was pushed to a point where he had to raise his voice and so were you, until it became words that you never thought would ever leave your own mouth or his. Time changed you both, from two people who cherished each other to mere and total strangers who couldn’t care less with who was bound to get hurt. And you knew that from the recent fight that happened, it was your fault. Anger was what blinded and fueled you to say such things that hurt Soobin deeply.

As a way of showing how terribly sorry you were for leaving him that night, you made your way towards the tall male and slowly brought your arms to wrap around his torso from behind him.

He paused. You felt as though he was not finding any comfort from your affection no matter how you tried to convey your unspoken words of apology and regret, and that didn’t make things hurt less. It was blatantly wrong to always brush off the problems and you were silently admitting to yourself that things have gone way too overboard. It was that or there was something more that you have to be sorry for that you couldn’t just get off your chest. At the back of your mind, you knew you owe him a big apology.

The moment the last plate was placed aside to dry off, Soobin detached your arms from him. You stood there watching him go around the room, grabbing his own jacket and ruffling his hair as if to slightly disarrange it. You panicked. It was at that point that you reached out to him, finding yourself bolting towards the door to block his way and stop him from leaving.

“Soobin, I want to talk with you, please.”

He gave you a look, one that was quite unreadable as his eyes lingered on you. How he managed to stare at you for a little longer than he would have liked was a question he could not find an answer to. He was supposed to be mad at you, he was supposed to resent you as if your entire being chokes him to the point that he would want to leave immediately. Instead, he did not feel such emotions towards you as your eyes pleaded him to stay.

With that, his gaze gradually softened, in which he tried to hide under his dark fringes that were slightly covering his vision. He didn’t want for you to see him hesitating, he didn’t want you to know that you and your dewy eyes had that effect on him. It was enough to make him stay easily just as how it was easy for you to leave him once and every time that you two fight.

How did the both of you reach this point?

“Soobin...I, I know you’re mad at me for leaving– for all of the things that I've said that night. I didn’t—I didn’t mean any of those, Soobin, please believe me,” you muttered, forcing to swallow down the sobs that lodged itself inside your throat. Your heart were shaken by the tremors, fearing that your words had fallen upon deaf ears.

“Just let me leave, Y/N—”

“No, no please,” a whimper escaped your lips as you desperately attached yourself to Soobin, clinging onto him for your dear life with tears soaking right through his shirt, “Let’s not do this anymore, let’s fix this...”

“This is beyond repair, Y/N,” his eyes locked on to yours, holding your shoulders back, “this isn’t something that you could just mend and patch up so easily.

Not when you’ve already involved someone else when it's supposed to be just you and me.”

With his words, your eyes reflected confusion. Soobin mistook it for something else, that perhaps you were acting dumb in front of him, acting as if what he said wasn’t true, or if you were truly and genuinely confused just as a tiny part of him was—he honestly didn't know, because how could he still trust you after what happened? How will he believe you without any doubt creeping and lurking at the back of his mind?

“The night you left—the night when I was insisting for us to just sit down and talk things like rational alduts because I was so tired of arguing, the night when you were so full of your pent-up anger and I was ready to apologize even though you’ve hurt me with the things you said—I dashed out to find you. I didn’t stop searching, I didn’t waste a second in hopes that if I looked hard enough, I’ll soon find you.”

A wry laugh escaped his mouth, a poor attempt of masking how he was slowly breaking in front of you. Tears were brimming at his eyelids, pain flashing within his pool of dark irises. Remembering what he saw that time was a stab through his heart, a gut-wrenching pain as he tried his hardest to suppress his surging emotions—he has had enough. A whole week or two was enough for him to dwell deeper on it.

“But then—” he choked on a sob, “—I saw you with someone else. I saw you with him, Y/N.”

Memories of that moment came rushing inside your head. You were taken back to that Thursday night with Taehyun, sitting upon the stool of some small stand right by the street, leaning in slowly close to you. With one last look through your eyes—soft and gentle, a thing you were uncertain if it was because of his tipsy state or if it was true and genuine—he closed the gap, allowing both of your lips to touch each other's as your eyes then fluttered shut.

You stood there dazed as it played over and over again, staring blankly at the male that has now allowed his tears to cascade down his cheeks. Your grip tightened desperately, knowing what was going on inside Soobin’s head. You tried to formulate something, anything, but alas, your words got caught up in your throat and your mind went completely blank. Now, he knew your secret that’s been haunting you ever since it happened, a reason why you never came back for days straight while Soobin was left alone to worry over you. To contemplate about things, to decide that it’s finally time to leave, and how things would be much easier for him to stop dealing with what’s hurting him.

In just a blink of an eye, you’re about to lose something good that has happened in your life.

Seconds were now dragging into minutes and as silence still remained, Soobin was already tugging at your hands to pry them off of his jacket. It was hard to commit such action as he finally had you within his reach, yet he still chose to push you away despite his heart telling him to pull you close. It was a hard thing to do, but with the given circumstance, it was either he stay just like the fool that he is, or he goes.

And he chose the latter, something that you’re finding very hard to believe, something that you’re not allowing for it to happen. So you went with what your mind commanded you to do, as fast as you could, not long after the male had taken a few feet away from you. You kissed him, tiptoeing just so you could reach for his lips, molding them together as you cupped his cheeks eagerly. Your movements were a bit rushed, but there was the pressure to it, afraid that if you were to let a distance slip in, he would pull away so quickly out from your grasp.

Soobin, on the other hand, was left there standing idly. A warm tug at his chest presented itself as he felt your lips on his own, bringing back memories of the days where nothing went wrong, where it’s just only bliss and contentment, smiles and laughters. He missed it, basking in the feeling of having you close like this, pressed on to him without the need to let go; just the warm, fuzzy jitters as he gets lost by the fervent gliding of your lips.

His mind then began begging—screaming for him to push you away, to stop what you were doing to him as to also stop himself from letting you in again, to stop being frail and weak with just a mere kiss. But his heart, it never forgets. It only wants more, longing and yearning for more than what he have hoped and wished for and it was this moment. The day he has you in his arms once again, just as where you should be.

Before he could even process what he was doing, his hands have already pushed you by the wall and he responded with such passion that he could not hold back. Soobin moved his lips along with yours, catching up with the pace and rhythm of it. It all came back to him, the memories he thought that he have already forgotten—how soft the texture your lips felt on his and how you tasted like peach and vanilla on a hot Summer day, something that he could never resist. You tasted like the sweet first love that has struck him, you tasted like the fresh first drink of water that had replenished his parched throat...and yet somewhere in between, it changes.

What started as sweet, blooming love morphed into a bittersweet reality. And then he remembers, these were the pair of lips that touched another, and that you tasted like infidelity.

With a parting sob after he disconnects his lips from your own, Soobin leaned his forehead on yours. With this proximity, you could finally see the details on his face better than before—his thick, well-accentuated brows knitted together, his long and damped lashes, his porcelain soft cheeks, his lower lip that was jutting out and quivers so slightly. The image broke you—a visage etched with pain and misery this relationship has put him through—a reminder that this was what you have caused him.

You’ve hurt him severely, a deep cut that would surely leave a scar, uncertain if it will ever heal and stop from bleeding.

Why does it have to come to this?

“I’m sorry...I’m really sorry, Soobin...I’m so, so sorry...”

And just then, Soobin asked himself: why is it still easy for him to stay?

#txt scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #soobin imagines #soobin scenarios #txt reactions #kpop reactions #soobin reactions #angst #txt #txt imagines #txt imagine #txt soobin #txt fanfic #txt angst #soobin angst #txt choi soobin #choi soobin #soobin

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dailydnp · 3 years

Link

Daniel Howell on Depression and How to Get Through The Night

Daniel Howell is the YouTube star breaking boundaries about depression, who has now released a book to help people with mental health issues.

Daniel Howell is one of the most popular YouTubers out there, with millions of followers and a refreshing line in self-deprecating humour that has made him stood out from much of the braggadocio on that channel. He is also someone who dared to go beyond the jokes and gaming on his channel to reveal his battles with depression to his young audience a few years ago, producing a huge response from people. Now he has written a book about mental health, called ‘You Will Get Through This Night’. A mix of information, advice and laughs, the book is a welcome addition to the elevation of mental health as a national issue, and it manages to be so in a way that is going to connect brilliantly with young people. We grabbed a word with Daniel over Zoom to find out more about it…

When did you decided to write the book and what was the process like?

It was a very serendipitous journey I never planned. All this talking about myself and mental health, and sharing these quite intimate details about my own life, was never the plan. I started my career trying to be funny, just being a clown on the internet, but as time went on two things happened: one, a sense of responsibility creeping up on me where I realised anyone with a platform has an impact on people, and even if you think you’re just being funny, if you do share yourself, people relate to you and you end up resonating with them on some level.

Also just for me, I have always been so career focused, I’m one of those guys that pushes their well being to the back, and after years of me doing that it just got to the point where I couldn’t do it anymore. It was not only affecting my ability to be good at my job, and be friends with people and nice to be around, but creatively it was this real hump where I felt like if I don’t sort my life out, and get on top of these problems that I know are lurking behind me, I’m not going to be able to go forwards.

It was that which led me to talk about my experiences with depression in that YouTube video ‘Daniel and Depression’ that I uploaded in 2017, and that was a huge moment for me. Even five years ago, there was such a taboo around mental health. These days people go, ‘ aren’t we all open about mental health now?’ but just five years ago, it was a completely different world. I thought me bringing up a word like depression would destroy my career. ‘Are people not going to want to work with me? Are my friends going to think I’m strange?’

But I was honestly surprised, for the first time in my life, by the reaction I got from humanity. Because my upbringing led me to being very cynical, to be very defensive and to protect my vulnerability. Actually when I shared something that was so raw, people appreciated it. On some level people were like, wow you articulating it made me understand something I didn’t get about myself, or my mum’s been through this and I finally get it, or now I know what my friends are going through.

When you open yourself up, despite the fear, people appreciate it because this is how people think and feel. We’re all vulnerable, we’re all trying to protect ourselves, we’re all putting on this front, focusing on our careers, pushing everything to the background; but then it’s a truth that when you open up about how you really feel, not only is that a weight lifted for you but it lets other people in.

Then I became the mental health guy. I didn’t ask for it, it became my thing.

The book always had the question of what it might be. People always want to write their life stories, but firstly my entire life story is already out there on the internet, it was there in real time. I thought if I’m going to do this, I want to do a mental health book that just gets straight to the point, it’s not going to be too scientific, it’s not going to be too spiritual or flowery, it’s going to give you the information you need, the tools, the tips, the life hacks, the stuff that science has shown will make a difference, as bare as we can, in bullet point form. And then my job is to make it stupid and funny by using myself as a punching bag doing everything wrong in terms of managing your mental health. For me it’s the book I wish I had five, ten years ago.

Was putting it together enjoyable, once you’d given yourself permission to have fun with it?

Yeah writing a book and collating all these life saving tips on mental health, was good for me. The process of writing the book was like reading it. I needed the experience of putting it together so I could learn from it myself.

What I’ve learnt from just being funny is it’s a bit of an excuse to give yourself therapy. You’ve set yourself the task of telling this story, making this point or joke about something, and in the process of trying to find out whatever this point or joke you’re making, there’s a bit of a moment of self reflection in there.

So it’s fun to have an excuse to tell a story and be funny but for me it’s been emotionally cathartic too.

What are the main things you learned or that even changed you?

One thing was the 360 around your lifestyle. The book is structured practically into 3 parts. The first part is what are things you can do right now to change the way you feel, the second is lifestyle, what changes can you make, and then the third part is looking deeper, at more long term things about readjusting your mindset and working out what makes you as a person.

The process of going through the lifestyle for me felt a bit like a roast. Things like the importance of your social life, the importance of your nutrition, the importance of how often you move, and it was very difficult to be aware of what might just be my personality and preference. I’m an introvert, I’m a bit of a nerd, I like to stay inside, I don’t like to party a lot, and I just learned that if you don’t go jogging you’re going to have more anxiety than someone who doesn’t. It was good to have all that shown up.

A nugget that was quite profound is that you can always change the way that you feel. I was always having days where I was really stressed from what I was working on, or a period where I’d be really depressed, and sometime I would wake up and immediately know I’m not having a good mental health day. When I’m not going to be able to perform, I’m not going to be a very helpful friend. I just used to say to myself ‘this day is a write off’. But what I learned from this book is you can change how you feel by doing something. Your activity directly influences how you feel.

It got rid of the excuses because sometimes it was like, ‘I’m having a bad day I simply cannot do that task’ when you probably can. It’s empowering for yourself to say, ‘Actually if I eat something, if I get a change of scenery, if I talk to someone, if I problem solve to question my thoughts and readjust my mindset, you can change how you think and feel on any day.

With mental health so many people ego through their life thinking it’s this weird mysterious fog that they can’t impact on. Sometimes you feel bad and there’s nothing you can do about it. But actually we’re just weird hairless apes, we’re not that complicated, and there are little things we can do to snap ourselves out of it.

How do you think it’ll fit into the current times?

The idea that this book is coming out when our society is opening up again is almost a divine intervention! There is literally no better time to sort your life out. We’ve all gone through so much, this collective trauma, and the dent to our lifestyles and ability to self-care. Not only have we had all the joy ripped away from us, but people haven’t been able to go to the gym, to get support from friends, and this is a new chapter for everybody.

I’m seeing it as: can take this next step and not fall back into bad habits? This is a good time to put a pole in the ground and move forward in a good direction.

What are the key things you’ll be taking forward?

It’s not just the lifestyle stuff, it’s also about mindset changes. I’m a worrier, one of these people that thinks myself into oblivion. It means I’m analytical but I’m not very present, I spend a lot of time in my head prophesising my own doom. One of the things in the book is realising that you are not your thoughts. If you get a negative thought in your head actually that’s just your brain’s suggestion that you should feel stress about this, that and the other but we don’t have to stay fixated on these worries.

I’ve spent the last ten years in therapy, deeply going into myself asking questions about authenticity, confronting my sexuality, but also it’s been about just day-to-day having a better relationship with my own mind. That when I get these emotions that want to spiral into a panic, or make me feel very stressed, just to talk back to myself with the right attitude and say I don’t need to go down this rabbit hole due to this thought. I can just acknowledge it was an idea my brain had to think about and I can choose to do whatever I want with it. I can choose to solve the problem and break it down, I can ask for help I can give myself a reality check, or I can just acknowledge the thought and say ‘No thank you I’m going to do something else with my day.’

Back to the first depression video – are you aware of the difference between you then and now?

It’s profound, I would say me aged 26 was someone who didn’t question anything. You think you have a career priority and if I have any emotional baggage, it’s just not important right now.

Obviously there was the huge issue of my sexuality which had a huge impact on my mental health. My entire life story from childhood to how I was perceived as a public figure, how I operated day to day, and even my acceptance of a thing that I knew was true deep inside me, I had an incredibly toxic view of that at the time. I needed to understand it. I went to therapy and learned a lot about the way I would talk to myself, the way I would beat myself down and tell myself that things are the way they are and there’s nothing I can do about it. I should tolerate certain situations, and that was all wrong, so I’ve become much better at being fair to myself. Accepting my own vulnerability instead of building up a huge wall; letting it down, being honest with myself which is important if you ever want to change anything for the better. Also you get closer to other people when you feel like they can really see you.

How have conceptions of masculinity affected that?

The whole concept of masculinity was huge in my life. I had a very macho dad, he didn’t emote, he didn’t share anything, it was all jokes and all on the outside. I got to 16, 17, that age when you notice adults for the first time and cotton on to it. I could see the pain he was going through but he didn’t want to confront it. I also went to an all-boys school where there’s no vulnerability, you can’t give a small opening for someone to jab a compass in. That was the culture that shaped me. That continued into my late twenties when I had the moment when I realised being honest with yourself about something going wrong is bravery. It’s not weak to admit vulnerability if it’s going to help you grow. It’s not a sign of weakness to go to the uncomfortable place. Life is a series of uncomfortable obstacles that you put off, but every single time you go over them, you look back and go, ‘oh why did I waste so much time not doing that sooner?’

Is masculinity shifting do you think?

Definitely, roles in society have been so Neanderthal. If you have a personality with a stiff upper lip and it works, good for you, but someone else may feel pressured to hold things in and eventually they’re going to crack. It’s ok to ask for help and to let go of that, that’s what we’re learning in society. Conversations in mental health are so much more normal. There’s a long way to go in terms of judgment and misunderstandings, but I hope the book will spell it out for a lot of people. The book has been fact checked by a psychological professional, Dr Heather Bolton and all of the advice in the book is from evidence based practices that have been shown to have a good effect. It’s not just a nice sounding idea. We all have that friend on Instagram who’s like, ‘Positivity! Yeah here we go!’ And you go, ‘Wow that image had great graphic design it must be true.’ No it isn’t. So we’re in an age of people opening up but there’s also a lot of nonsense on Facebook so when we’re thinking about how we feel and making changes to our lives, we need to trust the experts.

#daniel howell #danisnotonfire #dan #phan #mine #interview

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beewolfwrites · 4 years

Text

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Nine: Hunting Season

Sorry for the later than usual update! I personally didn’t like writing this chapter for a variety of reasons (having to use street view on google maps to explore an entire park was one of them). But I hope you enjoy it :)

As usual, the AO3 link is here. And for those who are new here, this is a Chishiya x OC/reader fic :)

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The car ride to the game wasn’t ideal. As a group of six people, there wasn’t quite enough room for everyone in the five-seater car. And the result? I was squished in the middle seat at the back, with Chishiya on one side and a couple making out on the other. A woman was sitting on her boyfriend’s lap, their hands roaming freely in the cramped space.

Chishiya paid no attention to them as he rested his head against the window. Personally, I didn’t know where to look. If I kept my head forward, the sight of the road zooming ahead left me feeling queasy. I couldn’t exactly turn to my left and stare openly at the couple. And I definitely couldn’t stare at Chishiya. It was already weird enough that we were crushed up against each other. I could feel his warmth seeping into my skin, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Somehow, they reminded me that he was real. Cold but human. I found myself wanting to slide even closer.

When did I start feeling comforted by his presence?

It was a thought that scared me, and I must’ve stiffened in my seat because Chishiya suddenly turned to me. I could see him trying to figure out what was wrong, and so I smiled at him innocently. He was either unconvinced, or he no longer cared, because he returned his gaze to the window.

Needless to say, it was a long, long car ride.

----------------------------------------------------

When the car finally stopped, we were outside the Shinjuku Gyoen National Park, near the Sendagaya gate. Pasted to the windows of the gate office was a white sign.

GAME.

‘Come on,’ Chishiya said as he stepped out of the car.

I joined him, sticking closely by his side as our group passed through the gate. And with the bleep of the lasers, our fate was sealed.

The park seemed to be hesitating somewhere between half-asleep and on the verge of life. Aside from the trudge of our footsteps and the rustle of branches, the place was silent. The path ahead shone grey under the moonlight, and on either side of the path pockets of darkness lurked between trees. I wasn’t sure which was worse, the darkness beneath the foliage, or the exposure of the open flat land just off the path.

We followed the signs that dotted the way, leading us across the bridge over the Nakano-Ike. The water breathed with pond life and the trill of crickets. If not for the game, I would have liked to linger and enjoy the views. As we passed beneath a low-hanging tree, I reached up with one hand and brushed my fingers against the leaves.

The movement caught Chishiya’s eye, and he peered over his shoulder.

‘What?’

As I spoke, a few members of our group jumped, only to mutter and continue walking.

Chishiya, on the other hand, looked at me like I was a misbehaving child. ‘You have a leaf in your hair.’

I combed my fingers through, trying to find it. ‘Where is it?’ When he didn’t reply, I brushed at my hair even further.

‘Idiot,’ Chishiya said.

So he was just joking. What is he, five?

We followed the path along the edge of the Nakano-Ike until we reached the Central Rest House. The entire outdoor seating area was illuminated, and I was surprised to see nine other people, some sitting on picnic chairs, others leaning against the walls. One man was inspecting the empty food stall. On one of the picnic tables was a pile of phones, and we passed them around, taking one each.

‘FACE REGISTRATION IN PROCESS.

PLEASE WAIT FOR THE GAME TO COMMENCE’

The others in our group drifted apart from me and Chishiya. The couple remained together, holding hands as they comforted each other, but remaining two members separated. It just proved that despite the Beach giving you the advantage of a group, it didn’t mean you were truly a team.

And Chishiya, does he plan on completing this game by himself?

He was certainly the type to wander off on his own. But inside, I wished that wasn’t the case this time; I didn’t want to play this game alone. Even now, he was leaning against a wooden pillar, his back to me.

‘REGISTRATION CLOSED. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.’

Sighing, I listened in closely. If I was playing this alone, I couldn’t rely on him to talk me through the rules I might have missed.

‘GAME – HUNTING SEASON

DIFFICULTY – TWO OF SPADES

TIME LIMIT – ONE HOUR.’

Two of Spades. That wasn’t so bad. And an hour was a pretty generous time limit.

‘RULES –

ESCAPE THE PARK WITHOUT BEING CAUGHT BY THE HUNTERS.

IF YOU ARE CAUGHT, IT IS GAME OVER.

GAME START.’

All at once, the lights shut off and the place went silent. Everyone was glancing around, uncertain, and for a moment it was almost as if the game hadn’t begun. That was, until the man next to the food stall silently dropped to the ground, a bullet hole between his eyes.

For half a second, I stared at the body, mouth open. Then something snapped and the whole group of us scarpered out in every direction.

Run, run run!

I sprinted into the trees at the back of the rest house, stumbling around in the silence. There were branches and bushes all around, but nothing with nearly enough cover. And everywhere I looked, the darkness started to shift, morphing into faces—

A hand clamped over my mouth.

I struggled, breathing hard over my nose. My fingers tried to rip their hand away, but the person wrapped their other arm across my waist, pulling me closer until I felt his breath tickle my hair.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Chishiya.

Instantly, I relaxed. How many times now had he surprised me by coming to my aid?

Still holding me tightly, he whispered again. ‘You need to stop running around so loudly. You’re going to give us away.’

Beneath his hand, I nodded in understanding. The moment stretched before he finally released me, his hands returning to his pockets while I took a minute to steady my breathing. My half-healed bullet wound was stinging from where he had grabbed me too tightly, and I wanted to snap at him for it, but it wasn’t the right time or place. The game took priority. There was no way of knowing who the hunters were or what they looked like, so we had to be as vigilant as possible.

‘We should find somewhere else before we come up with a plan,’ I whispered. ‘This area’s the first place they’ll look.’

He nodded, then gestured for me to follow him. We stuck to the trees between the paths, keeping low and creeping slowly to avoid leaving tracks, until eventually we came to a tea house. The traditional Japanese gardens at the front were far too open and uncovered, but the thick foliage behind the tea house offered the perfect amount of cover.

‘Over here,’ I mouthed to Chishiya, and snuck into the bushes.

It was disconcertingly dark. And all I could hear was the rustle of birds and Chishiya’s slight movements.

‘How come you came after me?’ I asked.

‘Don’t you want to make an escape plan?’

‘I do,’ I told him, ‘but I also didn’t know you wanted to work together. You didn’t tell me anything.’

He released a small huff of annoyance. ‘I shouldn’t have had to tell you that. We made a deal.’

A deal to take me to find supplies afterwards. I can’t believe he’s still honouring that.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘It’s just that you really caught me by surprise before.’ Squinting, I tried to figure out which direction we should head in. There was small sign just next to the path, but in the darkness, it was impossible to make out what it said. Turning back to Chishiya, I asked, ‘do you know your way around the park?’

‘I’ve been here once or twice.’

‘Okay… that makes things easier. I was going to ask which entry gate is smallest, but I think it’s better to assume none of them are safe. The hunters will probably be waiting there.’

Chishiya thought for a moment. ‘If this is one of the teahouses, it means we’re not too far from the edge of the park.’

‘Which way do we go then?’

‘West.’

That’s…not helpful. Not even a bit.

‘Chishiya, I have no idea where we are right now,’ I said, frustrated, ‘let alone which direction is West.’

‘Ch, you’re hopeless.’ He pulled out his phone and checked the time. We still had 40 minutes left. He slid it back into his pocket and sighed. ‘Let’s go. But be quiet and stay out of sight.’

We slipped around the back of the treehouse, sticking to the lines of trees between and on either side of the paths. It was strange that we had yet to come across one of the hunters, but I didn’t doubt for a moment that they were prowling the park somewhere. The man back at the Central Rest House had been shot so precisely – a perfect aim, even from far away – and none of us had seen it coming. And judging by the lack of sound from the shot, the hunters were carrying silencers too.

Although I could see his silhouette in front of me, I was a little worried that I would end up losing Chishiya in the darkness. Even though he only looked out for himself, I felt safer around him, like he would always come up with a solution to any game, no matter how difficult.

Every time we came to a crossroads where the paths intersected, it became a challenge to stay covered, especially as the trees grew sparser, leaving us completely exposed.

We passed by a second teahouse, this one surrounded by wide open paths – a death trap. Chishiya raised two fingers, a gesture to follow his lead. A second later, he sprinted across the open intersection, disappearing into the foliage on the other side.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Listening carefully for footsteps, or any sign that we weren’t alone, I took a breath, then ran.

But nothing happened.

I found Chishiya, reaching him without so much as a scratch. It was like there weren’t enough hunters in the park to justify this being a game.

‘How come we haven’t seen one of the hunters yet?’ I whispered.

He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s probably a good reason.’

Following the path further, it quickly became apparent that we were stuck. On one side of us was a bridge over a large pond, and on the other was an open walkway that stretched on farther than I could see.

Chishiya analysed the situation for a moment. ‘Can you swim?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But we can’t swim across that whole pond, we’ll be seen for miles.’

He smirked. ‘Not the whole pond.’

And that was how I found myself treading water, neck-deep, as we crept along the bank. The water was freezing, and the cold hit my lungs in a dull ache that left me almost breathless.

And what’s worse, the phones didn’t have waterproof cases, so we had to hold them in the air with one hand while paddling with the other. It was agony, suspending my bandaged arm above the pond water for such a long time, and all I could think about was how if there was a hunter on the other side, we’d be such easy prey. The pond seemed to stretch on forever, but once we passed beneath a large footbridge, the end was finally in sight.

Ahead of me, Chishiya used the shadows of the bridge to pull himself out of the water and onto a rocky bank. He bent low, extending a hand to help me out of the water. A voice in the back of my head told me not to take his hand, that I could do it myself. But I was too tired to care. I saw his eyes scan over me once, his gaze lingering on the now drenched hoodie.

‘Let’s get through this and I’ll replace it, I swear,’ I told him.

‘I’m not sure you can’ he said, unimpressed. ‘I want that one back’

I folded my arms, huddled against the cold of my wet clothes. ‘You just have to be that difficult, don’t you?’ Then my eye caught the apex of trees ahead of us. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’re coming up to the Mother and Child forest,’ he said. ‘We’re not far from the edge of the park.’

Shivering in my shorts, I held up my phone. We had just 25 minutes left.

‘Are we going into the Mother and Child forest?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not much of a forest. It’s too exposed.’

Without speaking, Chishiya led the way forward. Here, the paths were wide and open, but sheltered by a canopy of tall trees that protruded from steep banks. There was a long path to our left, with wire fencing on either side of the banks, presumably to keep park goers from doing what we were doing now.

We moved away from the paths and deeper into the trees. Here, it was much, much darker, and I could barely see where I was stepping—

Chishiya’s hand grabbed my hood, jerking me back until I was leaning against his chest. Heart racing, I flinched when his voice came in a close whisper.

‘Look down.’

Lowering my eyes to the ground, I had to squint before I could see it. The blackened metal gleamed faintly in the moonlight, spikes protruding out of the ground like a grotesque crown.

‘A bear trap,’ I breathed. ‘That’s why we haven’t seen any hunters. They’re staying around the edges of the par—’

His hand clamped over my mouth. I squirmed, only for his other arm to wrap around my upper body as he tugged me behind a tree and pulled me to the ground. The position was uncomfortable, with me sitting between his legs, my face pressed into the junction between his neck and his collarbone.

What the hell is he doing?

And then I hear the footsteps.

It was a steady crunch… an occasional snap… careful and methodical, and slowly moving closer.

I stilled in Chishiya’s arms, focusing solely on the sound of the footsteps and the feeling of Chishiya’s calm breaths as they gently skimmed the exposed skin of my neck. If it weren’t for the fear of the situation, I would’ve found our position strangely intimate. With my head against his collarbone, I could feel the steady beat of his heart… except it wasn’t steady. It was beating ever so slightly fast.

Is he… nervous? Chishiya gets nervous?

The thought was instantly pushed from my mind as we finally caught sight of it.

The hunter.

They were dressed head to toe in camo, their heavy black boots glistening even in the dark. Covering their entire face and neck was a black wolf mask, the two eye holes gaping open, but revealing nothing of the person inside. And in their hands, they were holding a large gun with a silencer attached.

The hunter turned, peering in all directions.

I felt Chishiya’s hands tense around me, gripping harder. I wanted to tell him that he was crushing my still-injured arm, that I wasn’t going to make a noise, that he didn’t need to warn me like this. But of course, I couldn’t. I gritted my teeth through the pain.

The hunter looked in our direction.

I held my breath.

Don’t move. Don’t blink.

Then he turned away, and I relaxed, as did Chishiya’s bruising hold. There was a crunch of leaves as the hunter crouched down to inspect the untriggered bear trap… and then nothing.

Just like that, he was gone.

For a full minute, neither of us moved. Until slowly, almost uncertainly, Chishiya’s hands fell away. I took my cue and shifted, giving him room to stand before doing the same. This time, he didn’t help me up, choosing instead to saunter through the trees.

I had no choice but to follow, but I decided that if we got out of this place, I’d have to thank him for saving my skin twice in a row… right after slapping him for that bone-crushing warning he did. The half-healed wound in my arm was probably bleeding again now.

Taking out time to avoid making noise, we snuck down the treeline that followed the path. I was worried we were running out of time, and I wanted to check my phone, but the light of the screen would be too risky. If I were to estimate, we probably had about twelve or so minutes left.

On the way, Chishiya and I scanned the ground for more surprises. So far, we avoided several leg-hold traps and at one point, I grabbed Chishiya and pulled him back, stopping him from walking straight into a snare. He didn’t seem too bothered by the near-miss as he shrugged out of my hands.

Eventually, we came to a final intersection. The path we’d been following joined a longer one that stretched all across the park. On the other side of the intersection, up the bank and beyond foliage, I could see the tall metal of a fence.

There it is! My eyes dropped to the large open space where the paths met. There’s no way we can cross this.

Chishiya placidly looked around, as if trying to find some other way of getting across. But there wasn’t one. For the first time since our run-in with the hunter, he looked at me. Raising three fingers, he mouthed ‘on three’.

We’re not going to… he doesn’t mean…

He lowered a finger.

I shook my head. There had to be another way. There had to be.

But there’s no time…

He lowered a second finger.

I took one step back, preparing myself. I didn’t know if this was a trap, or if Chishiya was going to use me as a decoy. But my gut instinct told me to trust him.

He lowered his third finger… and we ran.

Together we shot down the bank, leaping over the metal wiring at the bottom. I felt the bullets shoot across my skin, missing me by centimetres. They were surrounding us from every direction. We’d been cornered.

But I ran. I ran. And I stared at that tall dark fence in the distance as I leapt over the wire and jumped onto the bank. The bullets kept coming, one whipping through my loose hair. The tall fence was closer now, growing bigger with every step, but I couldn’t stop.

‘Climb,’ I heard Chishiya huff.

Jumping at the fence, I tugged my feet up and clambered my way to the top. Now, the bullets were clanging against the metal, the force shaking the structure. I caught sight of a wolf mask hidden between two trees, and instinctively threw myself over the edge, my stomach grazing the metal spikes that lined the top.

My body hit the ground with a thud, but the bullets continued to ricochet.

I’m out of the park. I escaped, right?

There was a flash of white and a pained grunt, before Chishiya landed on top of me, his weight knocking the air from my lungs. I felt him gasp from the impact, right as the bullets stopped. All was silent.

‘GAME CLEAR – CONGRATULATIONS!’

He didn’t move at first, then as if remembering where he was, he pulled away from me and sat up on the grass.

I lay there, cold, wet and exhausted. We did it.

Not bad for a girl who’s terrible at Spades.

Rolling over, I turned to… Chishiya?

He had unzipped his hoodie, revealing both his toned chest and a bleeding wound in his side. His fingers lightly touched the area as he inspected it. Catching sight of my expression, he zipped his hoodie back up, eyes cold.

‘Are you okay?’

He got to his feet and pulled his hood over his head. ‘It’s nothing.’

Standing up, I tried to reach out to see, but he took a step back. He was wearing the same, distant expression he always had.

‘Did they get you?’ I asked. The white of his hoodie had become spotted with red over his injury. ‘We should go back to the Beach. I wonder where the others are.’

‘I haven’t been shot,’ he said, dismissive. ‘It was the fence.’

My eyes darted to the metal spikes, the pinpoints shining under the dull light. Even though he was playing it off, it could still get infected. And it must’ve hurt, despite how cavalier his reaction was. The thought disturbed me. Even though I knew Chishiya was only human, he seemed untouchable somehow.

‘We should still head back,’ I insisted. ‘An could take a look at it—’

Then he uttered my name. It was the first time he’d ever spoken it before, and the way it rolled off his tongue sent goosepimples along my skin. And in a tone that left no room for argument, he said, ‘we made a deal.’

The words crushed me one by one. He was willing to put up with an injury for the sake of a stupid deal I made with him. I just didn’t understand why. But it made me wonder whether there was more to Chishiya than he let on, whether he did have a sliver of a heart buried somewhere.

Giving me one last glance, he muttered, ‘let’s go.’ Then he turned and began walking away from the park.

I stared at the back of his hood, and the small red patch on his hoodie. And it was then that I finally understood something. Whatever I felt for this man, it was no longer hatred.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #aib #chishiya alice in borderland

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agroovymutant · 4 years

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I am very invested in ‘Pietro’ really being Peter for many reasons, but I don’t want to hope too much because I will be incredibly upset if it turns out he isn’t........ however, here are my feelings on theories I’ve heard about who he could be if he’s not Peter (spoilers: I basically just say I disagree with them all and it makes more sense if he’s actually Peter, haha) and my thoughts on what’s going on with him/how he got there etc if he truly is Peter...

If you just wanna read the evidence I’ve collected on why I think ‘Pietro’ is really Peter, scroll to the final bullet point! Warning: it’s LONG!

EDIT 24/02: Kevin Feige has now stated that Agatha purposefully “recast” Pietro in order to mess with Wanda. This does not confirm that this isn’t Peter brought over from another universe but it does change some of my points on other theories slightly. I do think it also does make it seem slightly less likely that he is secretly Mephisto or someone.

EDIT 26/02: In the new episode Agatha states that ‘Pietro’ is under a possession spell, which really rules out that he could be anyone like Mephisto, Nightmare, or Chthon.

‘Pietro’ is really Mephisto or Nightmare - (EDIT 26/02: In the new episode Agatha states that ‘Pietro’ is under a possession spell, which really rules out that he could be anyone like Mephisto, Nightmare, or Chthon.) I mean, immediately I feel there are a lot of holes in the theory that ‘Pietro’ could be either of these big bads tbh. To start with, they are both very powerful beings, how would Agatha be able to control them like she is seen doing in Agatha All Along? Do we really think she’s that powerful? Secondly, why would Agatha be controlling them if they were on the same side, and why would she been controlling them to pretend to be Pietro? Seems super weird to me. Yes, the necklace could be the thing keeping him in ‘Pietro’’s body, or normalising his appearance, but why would he wanna be in this particular body? Why would he be running around doing a really poor imitation of Pietro? Doesn’t make sense to me. ‘Pietro’ does call the twins “demon spawn” (could be hinting they were created by Mephisto, who looks like the devil, or Nightmare, who is a literal demon) and he does mention nightmares to Wanda too, but these could easily just be a throwaway lines or a subtle reference to the kids being created from Mephisto’s soul fragments in the comics, doesn’t necessarily mean ‘Pietro’ is either of these big bads. If Agatha is an unreliable narrator (very likely) and she isn’t really controlling ‘Pietro’, but he is indeed Nightmare or Mephisto, why is he lurking around Agatha’s house, looking like he’s acting more as a henchman than the devastating villain he really is? Surely he would have someone else do a menial task like that? The bug on the window in Agatha’s house could very well be Mephisto, as his first appearance was as a fly, so this would make sense. This doesn’t rule out that he’s also possessing the ‘Pietro’ body/can shapeshift, but it makes it less likely imo. Regarding the mid credits, if he is either of these beings, even with her new powers, Monica will be in big trouble. She has only just gotten her powers and doesn’t know how to use them, were as Mephisto and Nightmare are both crazy powerful beings who would be able to kill her easily, and really would have no reason not to. Now, the show is not gonna kill off Monica, so how the hell would she get out of this situation if it was Nightmare or Mephisto? I don’t believe she would, which makes me think 'Pietro’’s not either of them, and possibly not even a bad guy at all, it’s just been framed that way for the cliffhanger (I don’t actually think the next episode will show us what happened after this though, my theory is that next episode will be flashback style and in the final episode we will get a Darcy/Monica/PETER team up. Here’s hoping!!!). Also...... final point. Though a bit of a silly one, I do genuinely think this...... why the hell would either of these bigs bads choose to act and dress like that?? Just seems a bit weird, idk. Overall I do think ‘Pietro’ is acting sus (maybe cause of mind control and being zapped over from a different universe) but I just think he’s a bit too childish etc. to be either of these big bads in disguise.

‘Pietro’ was created by Agatha - (EDIT 26/02: In the newest episode, Agatha confirms she cannot create beings in the scene where she calls Wanda The Scarlet Witch) Immediately I think there are a lot of holes in this theory too tbh. To start with, can she even do that? There’s nothing that I know of in the comics that suggests she can, and even if she could why would she make someone who didn’t look or act like Pietro? (EDIT 24/02: it has now been confirmed that this was just to mess with Wanda) I don’t really think she created him, but if she did he must be based on what she thinks Pietro looks like? If she really did create him, maybe he looks and sounds like Peter because she is from a different universe where this is what ‘Pietro’ looks and acts like. While this would mean that he isn’t actually Peter, it does support the idea that a multiverse including the Fox X-Men does exist, so if this is true we could still get Peter in the multiverse in the future.

‘Pietro’ is Nicholas Scratch (Agatha’s son) - (EDIT 26/02: In the new episode Agatha states that ‘Pietro’ is under a possession spell, which really rules out that he could be anyone like Mephisto, Nightmare, or Chthon, and it seems unlikely to me that she would be possessing her son, but who knows! Also, after she introduces herself to Wanda she says to Señor Scratchy “She does look shocked to meet the real us, doesn’t she?” to me this implies Scratchy is more than just a rabbit but this is just a guess.) In the comics Nicholas and Agatha are enemies and although I know the show isn’t following the comics exactly (Agatha isn’t the villain in the comics) this does make me feel as though it’s slightly less likely for Nicholas and Agatha to be teamed up and doing whatever Agatha’s doing together (not impossible though). If Nicholas and Agatha were on the same side though, why would Agatha use her son as a Pietro replacement? They obviously don’t look similar. it seems like a very strange and sloppy plan. And why would she, as shown in Agatha All Along, be controlling him if they were allies? Makes no sense. If Agatha and Nicholas are not on the same side, it would make sense that she was controlling him....... however, it would still make no sense for her to make him pretend to be ‘Pietro’ when they look nothing alike. Also, why would she even have brought him to Westview if they were not allies? In the comics he’s quite powerful and dangerous, doesn’t seem like a good idea to bring him along when Agatha would have to spend so much time focussing on keeping him under her spell. I’m not saying it isn’t possible that in WandaVision Agatha and Nicholas are allies, I’m just saying in either case I think it is unlikely that ‘Pietro’ is Nicholas. In the comics, Nicholas is banished to another realm. I think it’s possible that, in WandaVision, instead of another realm, he’s trapped inside the bunny rabbit we’ve seen in a few episodes? The rabbit is called Señor Scratchy, after all (I know that’s a reference to the devil but so is Nicholas’ name...) Another point about Nicholas in general is that in the comics he has allied himself with Mephisto. If Agatha and Nicholas really are allies in this then maybe Señor Scratchy is Nicholas and the bug we see on the window is Mephisto, and Agatha is trying to free them both from the bodies they are trapped in.

‘Pietro’ is Jimmy Woo’s FBI witness - I thought this was quite an interesting take. I was talking about it with a friend of mine and he suggested that the necklace we keep seeing on ‘Pietro’ could be some sort of FBI tracker. But Woo has seen ‘Pietro’ on the broadcast so why wouldn’t he have been like “that’s not Pietro, that’s my witness!”? My friend suggested that Agatha could have altered the witness’ appearance but if that was the case, why wouldn’t she just make him look like the real Pietro? Doesn’t make sense to me but a fun theory nonetheless (but where is the real FBI witness??). Also, with the ‘breach’ alarm going off in the background of the shot where Darcy sees ‘Pietro’ arrive on the broadcast, it seems to me that whoever is ‘playing’ him came in from outside the Hex.

‘Pietro’ is really Chthon - (EDIT 26/02: In the new episode Agatha states that ‘Pietro’ is under a possession spell, which really rules out that he could be anyone like Mephisto, Nightmare, or Chthon.) Initially, I thought this one made a lot of sense, and still think it could potentially be right but I don’t think it makes as much sense as him really being Peter. Chthon created a different dimension in which he resides most of the time. Before he left Earth for this dimension he wrote the Darkhold (which is possibly the book seen in Agatha’s basement in the new episode). The Darkhold is the key to him moving from his dimension back to Earth. Chthon is very often linked to Doctor Stranger (and Doctor Strange: Multiverse of Madness is where we will next see Wanda appear sooo......) After Chthon leaves Earth the first time, he falls into a deep slumber. He is eventually awoken and there’s a lot of back and forth with him coming to Earth and being sent back to his dimension and being trapped there etc. But eventually he ends up trapped in the dimension and banned from Earth, and through a loophole it turns out he can come back if summoned, via the Darkhold. (Perhaps this is what Agatha is trying to do in the show?) Now the theory that ‘Pietro’ is really Chthon comes from a comic book where Chthon resurfaces many years after his initial banishment, and Doctor Strange isn’t around to stop him. Loki finds out and disguises himself as Wanda to reform the Mighty Avengers to stop Chthon. However, Mordred (long history with Chthon) manages to summon Chthon into the body of Pietro. People think that, especially with the reveal of the book which may be the Darkhold, this is what’s happened in WandaVision, with Agatha in place of Mordred. In the comic, the Mighty Avengers injure ‘Quicksilver’ so severely that Chthon is forced to leave his body, and Vision reads a spell from the Darkhold, trapping Chthon inside it. While I can see where this theory is coming from, I’m not sure it’s right. If Chthon is involved, imo, it makes a lot more sense for him to possess Wanda. Years before Chthon possesses Pietro, he is summoned to earth with the Darkhold by Morgan Le Fay, but she cannot control him. After realising this, she traps Chthon in a fixed point, under warding, for a very long time. A lot later, he is once again banished but, before he leaves, he marks a baby as his future vessel; that baby is none other than Wanda Maximoff. Many years later, thanks to Mordred, Chthon possesses Wanda and tries to use the Darkhold to summon his proper form back to earth in a mystical circle (the Hex?). When the Avengers arrive to help Wanda, Chthon imprisons them the circle (like the Westview residents?). Beast arrives and manages to distract Chthon though, and Chthon is removed from Wanda’s body and trapped inside a doll, which Pietro and Wanda then bury. Years later, Chthon possesses Wanda again and this time she is freed from Chthon's possession by Doctor Strange (Multiverse of Madness?). Is it possible that, because of the Avengers’ Time Heist fucking with the Multiverse, Chthon was disturbed from his slumber in his dimension and is trying to get back to Earth to wreak havoc? Perhaps Wanda is somehow the perfect vessel (maybe to do with her being a Nexus being) and Agatha will use the Darkhold to aid Chthon in possessing her? I don’t really know how I feel about any of that, but after reading the Pietro theory, I just thought that, if Chthon was involved in WandaVision, it would be more likely he’d possess Wanda based on what’s previously happened in the comics and the position Wanda was left in at the end of the most recent episode.

‘Pietro’ is really Peter Maximoff - Obviously, this is the theory I most want to be true, but am hesitant to believe because of my overwhelming love of the X-Men prequels and my tendency to take bad things happening to my faves really really badly (I’m talking ‘cried every day for over a month after Loki died’ badly...). Anyway. Here are my feelings on ‘Pietro’ being Peter:

EDIT 26/02: In the new episode Agatha states that she is possessing ‘Pietro’ - would she be able to possess someone who was already under Wanda’s mind control? I’m not sure she would, so she would possibly have to have brought someone in from outside the Hex. This could support the theory that he was pulled in from the multiverse, rather than just outside the Hex in that reality and Wanda either weakened the barriers between worlds allowing Agatha to being him in from the Multiverse - possibly with the help of the Darkhold - or Wanda herself accidentally brought her in without knowing and he was found by Agatha. Also, she states she couldn’t get Wanda’s “real brother” so used this fake ‘Pietro’ under mind control instead, it may not mean anything but the term “real brother” did stick out to me. Could ‘Pietro’ be her brother in the sense that he’s her brother from another reality, so technically not her real brother? When you think about it, though ‘Fietro’ could mean ‘Fake Pietro’ as Agatha had intended it, to a viewer, it could also be a nod to ‘Fox Pietro’ - or Peter, as we know him. In the flashback scene where we see Wanda and Pietro as children, they are both played by different actors to the flashback scene when Fietro is talking about their childhood. This could just be because his memories were made up, or it could be his real memories of his childhood with his universe’s Wanda. EDIT 3/03: Yesterday, an interview with Matt Shakman (WandaVision’s director) was published on CBR.com. In the interview, he is asked about whether the finale will provide us with a firm answer on who ‘Fietro’ really is and he says: “I think there’s a strong possibility you might get a little more of Evan Peters coming up. But how that plays out, I wouldn’t want to say.” He could be talking specifically about the finale, but he could also be talking about in the MCU in general. Either way, this has made me a bit more hopeful that he really is Peter tbh.

1. So, starting at the beginning - when he first turns up. We now know that this was Agatha’s doing and, though I do feel as though she is possibly an unreliable narrator, if we believe that she was controlling ‘Pietro’ with her magic, that means he’s not Mephisto, Nightmare or Chthon just playing the part of ‘Pietro’, because why and how would Agatha be controlling any of them? This means that he’s either some random guy she’s controlling - but why wouldn’t she try to get someone who looked a bit more like ATJ Quicksilver? How did he get in there (see next bullet point)? Why does this random guy have the same hair as Peter? etc. etc. - she created him out of thin air (already addressed), or he is really Peter. Out of these options, honestly, Peter makes the most sense.

2. When he first turns up and we see what is going on outside the Hex in the SWORD facility, there are alarms going off. Darcy seems to be in a panic when she runs over to her desk and sees ‘Pietro’ on the broadcast. Why were there alarms going off? It seems like they’re the ones that go off because of a perimeter breach. If this is the case, where would this new person entering the Hex have come from? How would they have gotten in? It’s not like someone is gonna just wander into that huge red dome, is it? In the first episode where we see outside the Hex, Jimmy tells Monica that Westview “doesn't want me to [go in]” and asks her “you can feel it too, can't you? No body's supposed to go in”, a random person from outside wouldn’t just wander in, especially with all that security around. Perhaps the alarms are going off because someone has been pulled into the Hex not from the MCU reality but from the multiverse?? The Fox X-Men reality. Peter.

3. His hair - when ‘Pietro’ turns up. he has his Fox universe silver hair. By the next episode it has changed to ATJ Quicksilver’s blond. Why would he start off with silver hair if he wasn’t the Foxverse Quicksilver?? Silver hair isn’t a normal thing for a man in his 30s to have, really. So if he was a random guy being possessed/controlled I think it’s a bit weird that he just happened to have silver hair, the same as Peter. I feel the only reason it’s blond in the next episode is because Wanda’s reality is trying to make him fit in, by making him look more like the person he’s supposed to be - ATJ’s Quicksilver. But my point is basically why would he have silver hair to start with? Why not just make him blond? Surely it’s because he’s Peter? (Also, side note, is his hair silver again in the episode 7 mid credits? He has a hat on and it’s a low angle shot so it’s hard to see but I was thinking that maybe now he’s been kicked out of Wanda’s family and she knows he isn’t Pietro, his hair has gone back to its normal colour because she is not trying to make him fit in. Once again, why would he have silver hair if he isn’t Peter?).

4. The episode 5 subs - the descriptive subtitles on his first episode introduced him as the Fox X-Men version of Quicksilver...

5. He has powers - where the hell did they come from if he’s not Peter? Billy and Tommy have powers, but the twins - through birth or some other way - were created by Wanda. So their powers must come from her - either as something inherited from her or just because they’re a part of Wanda’s illusion. Where would ‘Pietro’‘s powers have come from now that we know he wasn’t created or summoned by Wanda? Can Agatha give people powers? (EDIT 26/02: seems unlikely as Agatha literally told Wanda her illusion magic wasn’t as powerful as Wanda’s) Or are his powers just another sign that he is really Peter?

6. ‘Pietro Maximoff as himself’ - this is shown in the Malcolm in the Middle style opening credits, none of the other characters have who they’re ‘played by’ listed and this isn’t something that appears in the Malcolm in the Middle opening either so I’m not sure it’s a reference. Initially, I thought it was just to try to reinforce the idea that he was Pietro even though we knew he wasn’t, and to make us even more suspicious of him (it worked on me!), but what if it was telling us that he really is Peter Maximoff. Playing himself. ‘Peter’ is obviously the English version of ‘Pietro’ and Peter was listed as ‘Pietro’ on some of the DOFP promo stuff so it’s completely reasonable to assume that in the Foxverse his real name is Pietro and he just goes by Peter because he’s been ‘Americanised’. So maybe it was a hint that the Fox ‘Pietro’ is literally playing himself, Pietro ‘Peter’ Maximoff........ He also refers to himself as ‘Uncle P’, perhaps hinting that ‘Pietro’ isn’t usually the name he would use for himself?

7. The clothes - he literally turns up in a leather jacket. Though usually a silver one (though he does wear a suspiciously similar black one, and similar black jeans too, in his Deadpool 2 cameo), this is something Peter is well known for wearing in the Fox films. We’ve seen that people who come into the Hex get their clothes rewritten into more ‘Westview-appropriate’ attire, maybe his silver jacket was deemed too bright and crazy for the little town and the era they were in. In episode six he’s wearing a silver watch, much like the watch Peter wears in DOFP. All the clothes we see him wear seem a very odd choice for someone who is maybe supposed to be the villain of the show(?). Bright blue and pink? I mean they’re basically Wanda and Pietro’s colours, maybe hinting that he is really on the ‘good’ side? His jumper in the mid credits, to me, looks very (comic book) Quicksilver-esque. Overall, his outfits just seem like something Peter would wear in this jumbled Wanda version of reality (his style is kinda ‘bright and a bit too young for him’, maybe this is just Wanda’s take on it). And I repeat, if he was Mephisto or whoever, would he really choose to wear such fucking ridiculous clothes??

8. He acts like Peter - though slightly less cute and a little more adult-like than when we last saw him in Apocalypse (I’m not counting Dark Phoenix cause he had like three lines in it so it was hard to gauge what he was like) he is still a hyperactive, sugar-consuming, video-game playing, sarcastic, immature, thieving, jokester... essentially. Which is pretty much who he was in X-Men - though, as mentioned he was a little more adorable prankster, less straight up arsehole (like he’s slightly been in this), but I think that could be put down entirely to whatever is going on with the mind control or whatever (he probably super confused with mind control making him think he is Pietro and ask the right questions, but his real personality is still shining through slightly), plus the fact that he was probably only in his mid-twenties in Apocalypse, so as a man is his thirties now, he’s likely to be a little less ‘cute’.

9. He also sounds like Peter - this is obviously just ‘cause that’s Evan Peters’ real voice but they make a point of commenting on his voice and his lack of ATJ’s accent.

10. The Parent Trap is playing at the cinema in the background - a film about twins separated at birth . I mean..... doesn’t this just hint that Wanda and ‘Pietro’ really are twins separated by the multiverse and ‘Pietro’ really is Peter?? And the twins in the film switch places? Does that not hint that Peter has switched over from his own universe to play the part of Pietro in this universe?

11. Why does Wanda trust him? She looks at him when he first arrives and obviously she knows he doesn’t look anything like her Pietro, but she still somehow ‘recognises’ him. She must feel some familiarity for him? Initially she lets him stay in her house and play with her kids. She shares a lot about what she’s been through and been doing in Westview with him... She must have trusted him to an extent, even though she was suspicious of his different look and strange personality, etc. Wanda, in the comics, is a very powerful Nexus being, so if this is the same in the MCU perhaps in their version it means she can recognise Peter as her brother even though he’s from a different reality with a different face. Also, it’s shown in Age of Ultron that she can sense when Pietro is injured (and in WandaVision Billy, who has pretty much the same powers as Wanda and a ‘blood’ connection to Vision like Wanda does with Pietro, can sense when Vision is injured), so they clearly had a deep connection. Is it possible that even though Wanda and Peter are from different realities she still has this bond with him - perhaps she can sense they really are family, and they still have this blood connection, even though they’re family from different realities.

12. The necklace - people have suggested it may be being used to control Peter. I think that’s a great theory and completely possible, but I also have another theory to add - from the clip we see in Agatha All Along, it looks as though Agatha was there using her magic to control ‘Pietro’, though it may have just been shown that way to make it really obvious at a glance he was under her control, it could also mean the necklace is there for another purpose. Thinking about Agatha’s brooch - she has worn a variant of it through every decade and the only other time (?) we’ve seen that happen is with ‘Pietro’‘s necklace. Perhaps Agatha’s brooch protects her from Wanda’s false memories. Perhaps the necklace ‘Pietro’ is wearing is, similarly, to do with memories - possibly placed on him by Agatha to give him some memories of the real Pietro’s? Or to make sure he does not regain his memories of who he really is - Peter Maximoff?

13. NO ONE KNOWS WHO HE IS - and people (Darcy, Jimmy, Monica, Vision, Wanda, Billy AND Tommy) keep drawing attention to this fact!!! Why would they be bringing attention to this if it wasn’t important?! I’ve made it pretty obvious I don’t think he’s one of the powerful villains I previously mentioned, and if he was just some random guy why would people be bringing so much attention to him? Narratively, it makes sense for him to be an important character, and with all the evidence I’ve gathered I think it makes most sense for him to be Peter. 14. I know this is a weak one, but think about the time period of the episodes - ‘Pietro’ arrives right at the end of the 80s episode, when it is about to go into the 90s. The last time we properly saw Peter in the Fox universe was in the 1980s, and in Dark Phoenix we briefly see him in the early 90s. This could mean something! Perhaps the Multiverse universes are not all aligned to the same time period, but Wanda accidently reached out for ‘Pietro’ and ended up pulling Peter into her universe because he was in the same time period her ‘show’ was currently on. 15. Left this one ‘til last cause I’m really not that sold on it but, his tattoo - now, the ‘Mom’ tattoo we see on ‘Pietro’ in episode 6 is Evan Peters’ actual tattoo. Why didn’t they get him to cover it up? Is it a hint that ‘Pietro’ and Wanda really do share a mum, just different versions of the same mum from two different realities? Could it also be a hint that ‘Pietro’ is indeed Peter brought in through the multiverse... MOM = Multiverse of Madness, after all. (I also think it’s possible the Hex is a pocket reality Wanda has created but that’s not strictly relevant to this Peter post).

BEHIND THE SCENES

16. Speaking of things outside of what we see in the show - head WandaVision writer, Jac Schaeffer, spoke about the casting of Evan Peters in an interview on Marvel's official site. In the interview she said: “We were rooting for it for so long, and didn't know if it would be possible. It was complicated to make happen.” Why would it not have been possible to make happen? Casting Evan Peters to play some random guy doesn’t seem very complicated to me. Is it possible that, when the writers came up with this idea, Disney had not yet acquired Fox? And the reason that they weren’t sure they could make it happen was because they did want to bring him in to play his Fox character and had to wait for Disney to finish the acquisition before moving forwards with their Evan Peters idea? That’s the only reason I can think of why it would have been “complicated” tbh.

17. This is a really weak argument tbh, but I thought I may as well include it anyway - around the time Dark Phoenix was due to be released, when Disney were part-way through acquiring Fox (which was public knowledge and had been for a while) - Evan Peters stated that he hoped Dark Phoenix wouldn’t be the end for his character, and said he’d be sad if it was. He went on to say "I'd want to do more, there's more to explore and shooting the sequences are more fun and just to be behind the scenes on it." Perhaps this was just wishful thinking on his part, but it is also possible that he knew that the door wasn’t necessarily closed on that character and there may be a chance for him to return to the role once Disney had purchased the X-Men (perhaps he had even already been approached about playing Peter in WandaVision).

18. In terms of promo for the show, Evan Peters has not been involved AT ALL - no interviews or anything. Obviously originally Marvel were trying to keep his involvement in the show a secret so it was a big surprise (unfortunately for them they didn’t manage this but ah well), but now that the cat’s outta the bag, why has there been no promo from Peters? I know he doesn’t do social media and I know it’s COVID times but interviews are still happening. Why has he not been called in to promote the show at all? To me, it feels like Marvel are worried about the sort of questions an interviewer would ask Peters. It seems as if they’re still trying to keep his character’s identity a secret, which means it must be important and not just some random Westview citizen - and the fact that he is still yet to receive his own character poster for the show only adds to my suspicions. (EDIT 26/02: Agatha talked about ‘Fietro’ in the new episode and seemed to very purposefully avoid mentioning who he actually was. To me, this very much makes it seem even like his identity is a big deal and it will be revealed as a major plot point in the finale next week. I mean, think about it - they’re gonna save a Multiverse reveal for the finale, aren’t they?)

19. Marvel have literally said this show will lead into Multiverse of Madness on many occasions, they have said that the events of WandaVision open the Multiverse, and we have yet to see this happen! The only mention of anything connected to the Multiverse so far was the Nexus ad. So there must be something big coming up that opens up the Multiverse. There are only two episodes left and nothing has happened that implies the Multiverse has been opened up (EDIT 26/02: one episode left! And the Multiverse still not been addressed) unless Peters’ ‘Pietro’ is really Peter. This wouldn’t need a huge amount of explaining as it’s already been set up and even people who don’t watch the Fox X-Men movies by now know he played the ‘other’ Quicksilver.

Also, side note, in Far From Home (set months after WandaVision) Fury and Hill don’t seem at all surprised that Quentin Beck is from an alternate reality. We find out at the end of FFH that they are both skrulls pretending to be Nick and Maria - who has a connection to the skrulls? Monica, obviously! Perhaps Talos and Soren are not surprised Beck is from an alternate universe because they have already been informed of the events of WandaVision opening up the Multiverse, by Monica (or possibly even through their daughter being Monica’s contact, who we see in the new episode? Just adding that in there cause it’s a theory I really like, as a huge fan of the Skrulls). 20. Marvel haven’t denied it - I know this doesn’t necessarily mean anything but I like to think that if there was absolutely no way that Fox X-Men were joining the MCU via Multiverse, someone from Marvel might actually have said this in an interview since the Evan reveal, just so people don’t get their hearts totally crushed and Marvel don’t get a load of backlash for leading fans on? Idk. Disney/Marvel Studios never actually said there wouldn’t be more films in the Fox X-Men universe after Disney acquired the rights to them, everyone just assumed. This could mean something. 21. Merch - there was a massive amount of X-Men merch released last year. Yes, maybe it was just because Disney wanted to cash in on their acquisition of the Fox movies, but maybe it was something else... There was the 20th anniversary line of Funko Pops, there were the variants for that line (metallic Mystique, Professor X with Cerebro, and YOUNG Magneto from DOFP), there was the Marvel 80th anniversary original X-Men line of Funko Pops, there was the line of Hasbro action figures from various films including Deadpool 2 and the X-Men prequel movies..... I’m just saying, a lot of X-Men merch has been released over the last year, and most of it has been based on the films. Yes, last year was the 20th anniversary of the first X-Men movie, but that doesn’t explain the release of all the prequel/Deadpool merch. If it was for the 20th anniversary of X1 then why the young Magneto Pop etc? It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it does make it clear that Marvel know there are a lot of people out there who are huge fans of the original and prequel X-Men movies, so they must know that people would love to see those characters back, played by the same actors. Perhaps Evan really is Peter, and perhaps we will get more characters from his universe in future MCU content. 22. Elizabeth Olsen’s “Luke Skywalker level cameo” - okay, so she didn’t say these exact words. She was asked if there was anything in WandaVision similar to Luke’s Mandalorian cameo (weird question tbh??) and she apparently said “Yes, I’m really excited.” Paul Bettany has also said something weird and cryptic in an interview about how later in the show there’s a guest appearance from someone he’s always wanted to work with. (EDIT 26/02: now that we’ve seen White Vision I’m pretty sure Paul Bettany was talking about himself - what a troll! But it’s so funny reading back what he said, haha. HOWEVER, Lizzie’s comment still stands.) NOW, Elizabeth Olsen is actually a huge Star Wars fan so she would know how big the Luke Skywalker cameo was in Mando, so I highly doubt it’s Evan Peters’ appearance she’s talking about, as some people have thought it might be. The Luke Skywalker cameo in Mando was, for me (also a massive Star Wars fan), mind-blowing. As soon as I saw that one X-Wing turn up, I was shaking, and by the time we got to see Luke’s face revealed I was sobbing. Evan Peters’ appearance in WandaVision, while fun, was not at all on that level (and I say this as a fan of the Fox X-Men movies above everything else). A cameo that would have that sort of effect on me, would be one that confirmed without a doubt that the Fox X-Men will be joining the MCU via Multiverse. Initially when I heard that Lizzie had said this, I assumed she was exaggerating and it would be Doctor Strange or Loki as they are clearly tied into all the Multiverse stuff as well, but when I really thought about how big the Luke cameo was and how much influence Star Wars has apparently had on Elizabeth Olsen (apparently she cried when she saw Mark Hamill at a premiere?), I thought that it couldn’t possibly be either of those characters. So now I’m thinking it must be someone that confirms the Fox X-Men are joining the MCU (Fassbender or McAvoy maybe?), which would in turn confirm ‘Pietro’ is really the Peter we know and love. Obviously this is all speculation, but that’s all that really makes sense to me from that comment. 23. Deadpool 3 has literally been confirmed, and it has all but been confirmed as being MCU - I have two points to make here: 1. How the hell does Deadpool 3 fit into the MCU when mutants have never even been mentioned before because of the licensing issues? With all the shit that happened in the previous Deadpool films (mutants AND the X-Men clearly already being established, time travel working in a completely different way to how it works in the MCU, and many other points too...) Deadpool in no way fits into the MCU as it is now so surely it only makes sense to bring him into the MCU via Multiverse? 2. If Deadpool is in the MCU why the fuck couldn’t the Fox X-Men be too??? Give me one good reason. There isn’t one.

TLDR; my theory on how Peter could have been brought to the MCU reality is:

Assuming Agatha brought Peter over - she is magic as we know - I think she summoned a Pietro from another universe (possibly using the Darkhold if that is the book in her basement, or possibly she was able to summon him easier because Wanda’s magic had weakened the barriers between universes or something) to use against Wanda and when he arrived she either 1. didn’t know he didn’t look like the right Pietro (possibly because she’s from a different reality herself, and surely a Pietro is a Pietro, right?) or 2. just straight up didn’t care/felt it was too late/too much effort to really do anything about it (EDIT 24/02: it has now been confirmed that she “recast” Pietro to mess with Wanda). It is also possible imo that Wanda unknowingly brought Peter over from the Foxverse and Agatha just happened to find him and decide to use him to her advantage (he does say he heard Wanda calling out to him, this could be the real Peter talking).

The summoning of Peter sets off the alarms we hear in the background of the shots when Darcy sees him arrive on the broadcast. Agatha is controlling Peter with her magic and the necklace is something to do with that (suppressing his memories/giving him Pietro memories etc). Wanda, as a Nexus being and someone who clearly has strong bonds to her family (she can sense when the real Pietro dies, just like how Billy can sense when Vis is in trouble), recognises him as a Pietro even though he’s not her Pietro which is why she initially semi-trusts him despite him looking different. When he’s pulled into the Hex his clothes adapt to Wanda’s reality which is why we see him wearing a black leather jacket initially - it’s been rewritten from his silver leather jacket. His hair starts off silver like Peter’s (because he is Peter) but becomes blond in the next episode - this is because he’s spending time in Wanda’s house and she is subconsciously trying to make him look more like her Pietro. When he is removed from Wanda’s household and she tells the kids he’s not their uncle his hair goes back to silver because Wanda is no longer focussing on trying to make him fit in with how she thinks Pietro should look. He has powers because he is Peter. He is being controlled by Agatha and that’s why he is asking weird questions and acting like a bit of an arsehole, but his Peter personality is still shining through slightly (his childish behaviour etc). So far, this pretty much sums up my feelings on ‘Pietro’ possibly being Peter. I know it’s clear I’ve put way too much thought into this, even though I said I was trying not to get my hopes up.......but I literally cannot stop thinking about him haha. Let’s hope he is really Peter and we’re getting the Fox X-Men in the multiverse. *

(Obviously there is another option which is that he’s just some random guy being mind-controlled by Agatha but that just seems so dumb and a waste of Evan Peters to me so I don’t even really wanna think about it tbh! Haha)

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pinnithin-writes · 3 years

Text

The First: Aftermath (Part 2)

A collaborative work between myself and @reneethecyborg on what happened after Lupin III: The First. Part 2 of 4, 1609 words.

It never ceases to amaze Zenigata how quickly things tend to spiral out of control when the Lupin gang is involved. Just a few days ago, he was staking out a Parisian museum in hopes of preventing Lupin from stealing some old diary with vague ties to his grandfather. The stakeout had sort of worked, excepting Lupin’s usual dramatic escape at the last second. Then radio silence for a day or so, until Lupin popped up again in the middle of Mexico for no clear reason. That’s when things really got complicated, as they almost always do with these people.

While arresting Lupin may be the cornerstone of his career, Zenigata’s primary goal has always been to uphold justice and root out corruption wherever it may lurk—even among his own coworkers, from time to time. With that in mind, it’s not terribly surprising that he often finds himself forming a temporary alliance with the Lupin gang when there’s a greater evil to deal with, and there are few greater evils than the one they’ve come up against this time.

All in all, things seem to have worked out alright. The entirety of the Brazil base’s manpower was either taken into custody or gunned down when Interpol (and the Lupin gang) stormed the place, the Eclipse device was kept out of the wrong hands, and Laetitia Bresson can get on with her life as a bright young woman with a promising career in archaeology to look forward to, finally free of the dark cloud hanging over her.

But something still isn’t sitting right with Zenigata.

He would never admit to giving them a head start—it would sound too much like he’s going soft—but it didn’t seem fair to chase the Lupin gang out on a rail before they had a chance to say goodbye to their new friend. From where Zenigata had been watching on Interpol’s own boat, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, the whole affair seemed rather subdued. Lupin didn’t perform any of his usual grand gestures of farewell; Laetitia had hugged him, but he ended it fairly quickly and spent most of their conversation on the speedboat, like he was trying to keep a bit of distance between them.

The pursuit didn’t last long, on account of the fact that they could hardly leave Laetitia stranded there on the pier, but what little he saw before cutting the gang loose left a bad taste in his mouth. Again Lupin lacked his usual grandstanding and bravioso—no cheeky waving, no jumping around hurling childish barbs as the speedboat careened off into the sunset.

As a detective, Zenigata’s job is to make inferences based on whatever scraps of information he can wring out of a situation. In this case, the information he has leads to one conclusion: whatever happened on that plane, it didn’t go anywhere near as smoothly as Lupin insisted it would when he originally pitched his plan to destroy the Eclipse personally. There’s other supporting evidence, too; when the plan was originally hashed out, Lupin claimed he would set the Eclipse to destroy itself and then immediately bail out before it could become a danger to him. But when the time came, nobody saw him at all until long after the plane had begun to consume itself, and even then he didn’t have his parachute.

Something went wrong up there, Zenigata’s sure of it. If he had to guess, he would suppose that Geralt wasn’t as much of a pushover as Lupin seemed convinced he would be. They probably fought—or rather, Geralt fought while Lupin danced around making a fool of himself. Given the nature of Lupin’s scheme, it would stand to reason that Geralt might have come at him with everything he had. People tend to abandon all pretense when their ideology and life’s work goes up in smoke before their eyes. With that in mind, it’s very likely that Lupin took a beating before he could get away. That would explain his behavior after the fact, if he were injured.

Of course, there’s not really anything Zenigata can do about his theory, regardless of whether he turns out to be right. Going back for Laetitia meant he had absolutely no chance of catching the Lupin gang, or even tracking where they might have gone; he’s got a hunch they’re still somewhere in Brazil, but that’s not enough to work with. And there’s still all the logistics and busywork that come after a caper like this—reports to write and fact-check and edit, charges to file against the surviving Nazis, favors to cash in so Laetitia can make her way back to France (and then, shortly, to Boston) without too much hassle.

Zenigata is going to be up to his neck in paperwork for the rest of the month making sure this mess is sorted out properly and without any mistakes, and that’s assuming everything goes smoothly when it comes to filing charges. He’d like to believe his annoyance at being chained to his desk is purely a result of not being able to hunt down the Lupin gang after having no choice but to let them slip away, but he’d be lying to himself. The truth of the matter is that he’s worried, and there’s nothing to be done about it now except grind through the paperwork and wait to see if they resurface any time soon.

Just as Zenigata’s considering calling it quits for the night, his desk phone rings. That in itself isn’t terribly unusual, but everybody who’s needed to speak with him about today’s chaos has come to him directly—the building’s internal lines have been tangled up for hours with all the cross-department communication. It must be someone from outside the building, then, and Zenigata has a strong hunch who it might be. “Inspector Zenigata,” he says automatically.

“It’s Jigen.”

That’s what Zenigata was hoping for. “I’m not going to bother asking where you are.” Jigen would never say, and it would be impossible to trace the call before he loses his patience and hangs up. Besides, he’s almost certainly calling from a payphone, and that’s only marginally more useful information than ‘probably somewhere in Brazil’.

“Good. Saves us some time.” He sounds about as terse as usual—his gruff demeanor doesn’t translate well to phone conversations—but there’s something else there. Maybe he’s tired. “Just wanted to let you know we made it to dry land.”

Well, that’s good. Pretty vague reassurance, though. “And you’re all alright?” He can’t be blamed for probing a bit. It’s basically his job.

A brief pause. Not a good sign. “We’re all alive, if that’s what you mean.” Definitely not a good sign. Jigen sighs, or maybe it’s just static on the line. “Look, pops, I’ll level with you. Lupin’s not doing too hot. He’ll live,” he adds hastily, cutting off any possible miscommunication.

So Zenigata’s hunch was right. It’s no victory, all things considered. “How bad is it?”

Another pause, though this one is less loaded. “Not as bad as it could’ve been. He didn’t get shot this time, for once.” Lupin had mentioned his plan to palm Geralt’s bullets before they disembarked. Sounds like he pulled it off. “But that prick really did a number on him. Broke some ribs, fucked up his arm. Nearly crushed his throat, looks like.”

Zenigata finds himself gripping the receiver more tightly as he imagines what might have happened to cause those injuries, anger bubbling into his chest. Lupin may be a criminal, but nothing he’s done would ever warrant such brutality. “And you and Goemon, you two have it under control?” If they needed a proper doctor, Zenigata might find himself too busy to notice any reports that might come in regarding notable patients in the area. He’s got a lot of work to do, after all.

“I think so. It’ll mostly just take rest. Lots of rest.”

“Are you sure you can make that happen? Lupin won’t like it.”

“We’ll chain him down if we have to.” Jigen says it flatly, but there’s a hint of humor under there.

The situation must not be too dire, if he’s able to crack jokes. “Well, thanks for telling me. I really appreciate it, Jigen.” He won’t admit that he’s been fretting since he had to make the call to turn the boat around.

“No problem. It’s what Lupin would want, anyway.” Jigen pauses again; there’s a faint tapping noise, like he’s drumming his fingers on the receiver a little too close to the mouthpiece. “Pops, do yourself a favor. Take a vacation once you’re done cleaning up the Nazi mess. We’re not gonna let Lupin do jack shit for at least a month or two, so you’d be wasting your time waiting up for us.”

Now that he mentions it, a vacation sounds nice. Zenigata does get to travel a lot, but only for work; he hardly has time to take in the sights or buy souvenirs. “A month or two, huh? I’m holding you to that. I want a clean bill of health before you even think about another heist, got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jigen sighs more than says. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I’ll tell Lupin you said hi.”

And just like that, the line goes dead. In terms of the Lupin case, Zenigata still has no leads, but he can’t bring himself to be particularly upset about it. He got the information he was hoping for, and he can’t really ask for more than that. Instead, he returns to his paperwork and makes a mental note to look into attending Laetitia’s archaeology seminar in Boston next month.

Part 1 (by Pin) < --- > Part 2 (by Cosma) < --- > Part 3 (by Pin)

#ink #fanfiction #lupin iii #daisuke jigen #koichi zenigata #lupin iii: the first

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eclecticmiasma · 4 years

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Cold Blood (Bucciarati x Reader)

FS, as I deem you, you are always welcome in my inbox you nutball 😘 Incoming forced Bucciarati x Reader angst.

In the end, even the righteous are nothing more than animals.

NSFW

[Warnings: rape, dead dove do not eat]

Art credit: MIE. on pixiv

When you and Bruno had entered the abandoned hangar, it seemed normal enough. A bit ominous in how massive and empty it was, an impression not helped by the lack of lighting, but nothing out of the ordinary. All you wanted to do was get in, gather some intel, and leave.

That’s when you spotted Diavolo’s henchmen.

“You’ve built up quite a reputation for yourself, Bucciarati. Many loyal citizens even refer to you as the Santo di Napoli…How quaint.”

Bruno’s mind reeled for ways to wipe the shit-eating grin off of the green-lipped doctor that loomed atop some scaffolding near forty feet above you. Even the gremlin that perched next to him on all fours seemed to be mocking in his gaze. Fear etched its way into your features, as neither of your stands were equipped to reach them. Until they made a move, you were caught like mice in a trap.

“My orders were to execute you both, but there’s a small experiment I’ve been dying to try for decades. The world lacks such passionate and honorable men as yourself, and I fear that if I simply snuff out your life now, I might never get the chance to see if my theory holds true.”

Your capo stood in front of you protectively, fingers itching, a cold and calculated look on his features. He was no doubt regretful that he had asked you and not one of his other underlings to help him with this task. His number one goal was to protect the ones he loved, and his love for you ran much deeper than you even realized.

“You see, I have a theory that any man on the planet can be brought to their base instincts with nothing more than a chemical. Humans love to drone on about how civilized and evolved we are. We tout our self-control as though we’re anything more than sentient beasts…The problem has been finding a man virtuous enough to be worth experimenting on. You should be honored that I’ve chosen you, Bucciarati.”

Cioccolata gave Secco a tap on the head and gestured for him to fish something out of his pockets. The boy did so gratefully, worming his fingers through the taller man’s pants until he found what he was looking for. His shoddily held together mask slipped down and revealed a beaming grin as he held up a small pistol for the doctor to see.

“Perfect! Always a reliable boy,” Cioccolata praised, flicking a white cube into his pet’s waiting mouth. He turned his attention back to his anxious captives, “If the experiment goes well, I’ll gladly let the two of you live. Though, I don’t know if you’ll want to.”

It happened in a millisecond. He pointed the pistol straight at Bruno and pulled the trigger once. Something much thinner than a bullet shot right through Bruno’s black and white suit into his bicep. You rushed forward to help him as he cried out in pain, immediately ripping the foreign object out of his arm and throwing it to the floor like it was made of fire. It appeared to be some kind of small, pink dart.

“Stay back!” Bruno shouted at you, feeling warmth spread from the sight of injection throughout his upper body. Whatever was in the dart worked immediately, and as you made eye contact you watched his frantic pupils dilate to the point that you could no longer see a hint of his bright blue irises. Panic flooded through you as you watched him struggle, fearing that he was in real pain. You turned up to shout obscenities at Cioccolata, demanding to know what he’d done, but the doctor’s unhinged look of pure delight gave you pause.

“I wouldn’t take my eyes off of him if I were you,” He said, clucking his tongue. You noticed that Secco was leaned over the edge of the scaffolding, angling a video camera your direction.

Bruno’s heavy breathing brought your attention back. He was sweating bullets, normally kempt raven hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes flicked up and down your body as his chest heaved. Fear gripped you as you realized he looked like a cornered feral animal, “Bucciarati…are you o-”

“[Y/n]…” He practically growled, limbs twitching, drool dripping from his parted lips, “Run.”

You didn’t need him to tell you twice. The entrance to the warehouse was twenty to thirty feet away. If you could just get outside, you could flag down Abbacchio and Giorno who stood as lookouts for backup.

You got hardly ten feet before something wrapped around your waist and slammed you backwards onto the hard metal floor, knocking the air out of you. Your veins ran ice cold as whatever it was immediately hooked its arms beneath your shoulders and began to drag you backwards. You kicked out wildly and screamed bloody murder, trying to dig your soles into the floor just enough to keep from being taken.

In a last ditch effort to escape, you turned your head down to bite the arms that constricted your chest. Horrified, you realized they belonged to Sticky Fingers.

“Bucciarati, stop!” You cried out, terribly confused. Sticky Fingers stopped and heaved you sideways so that Bruno stood at your feet, looming over you. His breathing was even more erratic, and his hands were visibly trembling. A single tear leaked from his blown out eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispered. You tried to jerk out of the stand’s grasp as it suddenly gripped the sides of your shirt and ripped it open in a flurry of movement. Bruno’s eyes pierced your bare chest with his unhinged gaze, and suddenly he was on you like a rabid wolf. Lips, hands, teeth, breath- all of it gliding along your body at once with no regard for your sobs of protest.

Bruno and Sticky Fingers made quick work of your clothing, stripping you naked in a matter of seconds. All you could do was beg your capo to stop as he exposed you to the world, and all he could do was mutter apology after apology. He gripped your hair painfully and pressed his body against you, rutting his clothed, painfully hard erection against your lower abdomen and panting in your ear.

“[Y/n], [y/n]…I have to. I need to…”

“Bucc-Bruno, please don’t do this,” You wept. Bruno bypassed removing his pants altogether by just zipping the top half of them off completely, freeing his throbbing length. It hit your bare stomach with a sickening slap and bile rose in your throat. Sticky Fingers tightened its grip on your arms as you struggled, but you managed to kick Bruno hard in the thigh.

“You bitch,” He shouted, hands moved impossibly fast, digging his nails into your flailing legs so hard they pierced your skin. His voice sounded like it came from another entity altogether. You never even thought it possible for Bruno to get so enraged.

Just as fast as his fury came it disappeared into dust. His face immediately twisted into sadness and he threw himself against you, letting out a slew of apologies against your ear. You stopped struggling and just cried, completely stunned and profoundly conflicted. On the one hand, the man you trusted the most in this world was going to violate you beyond repair. On the other hand, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Bruno. It was the enemies that stood proudly above you, lazily gratifying their own members to your despair.

Like a man possessed, Bruno pushed your thighs apart painfully wide and began frotting against your bare folds. His groveling melted into mumbling incoherently about all of the ways he’s wanted to fuck you ever since the day you met. It pained you deeply to think that your friendship might have been nothing but Bruno biding his time, waiting for the day you would accede to his desire. You tried to shake the thought from your head. It isn’t Bruno, it isn’t Bruno.

From somewhere above, you heard Secco cackle wildly. The tip of Bruno’s cock found its way into your entrance, and the burning stretch immediately brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Bruno pressed on, despite the fact that your body rejected him fully. It was agony, your role model’s thick, dry length impaling you inch by excruciating inch. His lips met your neck and sucked angry red marks into your clammy skin. It felt like he was splitting you in two. Sticky Fingers gripped your arms so tightly one of your shoulders felt dangerously close to popping out of its socket.

“Looks like I was right again, Secco. Even Santo Bucciarati can’t fight nature,” You shook your head violently, feeling the room spin. Stop talking…you thought. Stop talking, stop talking, it isn’t him!

After eons, Bruno finally bottomed out inside of you. Even sitting still, the thrum of pain you felt around his cock was immense. Your eyes wrenched closed, refusing to watch as Bruno took your body for his own.

“Please,” You whimpered one final time, appealing to some part of Bruno you desperately hoped was still lurking beneath the surface of whatever possessed him. You were granted no such appeal.

“Fuck,” He growled, moving inside of you, dick dragging along your walls like barbed wire. He felt your hot, sticky tears against his cheek as his sweat-slicked face leaned against yours, and in his first act of kindness dragged his tongue along them, “Don’t cry, bella…you’re taking me so well…” His hips snapped against you as his hands roamed your body, grasping at whatever flesh was within his reach. Even Sticky Fingers made small sounds as his user canted deep inside of you.

Bruno moaned aloud when your pussy clamped on his length for the briefest of moments as he hit a spot that, under other circumstances, would have felt incredible. Instead, it only made you sick. A cloying feeling scratching at your guts as he fucked you with wild abandon.

His thrusts became more erratic once his lips found yours. You fought as hard as you could, clamping your lips shut and turning your face away from him. Sticky Fingers didn’t hesitate to painfully grab your jaw and snap your head back to center, using its thick digits to pry open your mouth and give its owner access. Bruno moaned into your mouth when his tongue met yours, and it took everything inside of you not to retch as it slid along your throat.

“God, fuck,” He pulled away from you, wrapping his arms around your neck and penetrating your hole at a brutal pace, “I love you, [y/n],” Your stomach dropped, “I love you, I love you, I-” His hips stuttered as his release hit him suddenly, his seed spurting deep within you all at once. You whimpered pitifully at its warmth, disgusted at the feeling of his thick semen coating your walls.

Cioccolata slowly clapped. Secco proudly showed him from what great angles he managed to film the fall of Bucciarati.

Bruno clung to you for several minutes after his orgasm, when all you wanted him to do was leave you alone to mourn. His body trembled against yours. When he finally pulled away, you saw that his eyes, the real Bruno’s eyes, were filled to the brim with tears. You never saw him look so pained. He tried to speak, but no words came. Sticky Fingers faded away, and you collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Bruno pulled himself from you and bellowed into the endless abyss of the hangar until his throat was raw.

Diavolo’s guards held true to their word. They didn’t kill you that night, or any other night. They simply collected their data, and left the two of you to wallow in your shattered new reality.

*all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

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plasticnightmaredoll · 4 years

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How about that WandaVision finale?

I have been MCU trash pretty much since 2008's "Iron Man," and it's currently a great time to be MCU trash. "WandaVision" is one of the few series that not only kept me coming back week after week, but actually amounted to much more than just a gimmicky twist (I'm looking at you, "Behind Her Eyes." Seriously, that show is soap opera drivel with a shocking double twist as its only captivating trait...and the double twist wasn't handled very well anyway)

In the end "WandaVision" was about overcoming grief and accepting reality.

Spoilers ahead!

The "WandaVision" finale was quite good overall, but there were a few disappointments. I'll address the latter first:

We never found out who was in witness protection. At the beginning of the series, Jimmy Woo stated there was someone trapped in West View who was in the witness protection program, and it seemed like it would be a key subplot but ultimately, it didn't lead anywhere. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be seen as anything more than some...random bit of information, but it is odd that they put such a specific detail into the story in the first place if it wasn't going to lead anywhere. Then again, supposedly we may get more questions answered in "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness," so this subplot may not have been wasted after all.

There were so many theories floating around hinting at who the true villain was behind the scenes, including Mephisto, Nightmare, Grim Reaper, and Chthon. All seemed like valid enemy choices, especially Mephisto as many clues appeared to lead to him, and Grim Reaper due to his helmet making an appearance in the opening credits of episode two. However, there wasn't a big baddie hiding in the shadows, and Agatha Harkness and Tyler Hayward were the only villains. Then again, that doesn't mean there isn't an ultimate villain lurking out there who could appear in "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness," but it kind of sucks we have to wait until 2022 to find out.

I wanted White Vision to go to Wanda and get together with her since Hex Vision restored his memories. But White Vision just flew off and wasn't seen again for the rest of the episode. I guess he needed time to process all the memories that had just flooded his high advanced robot mind, which is understandable because it was a lot to take in. I would have liked to see him make another appearance in the episode, though, even if it was at the very end with Wanda in her secluded cabin. I just want them to be happy together, ok?

Evan Peters wasn't actually Quicksilver/Peter Maximoff from the "X-Men" movies but someone named Ralph Bohner. This must be the Ralph Agatha referred to numerous times throughout the series but was never shown (not until the later episodes, that is). It does seem a bit weird -- off-putting, really -- that Evan wasn't Quicksilver from an alternate timeline. It would have made sense, and would have been a nice sampling of the "Multiverse of Madness," but in the end, he was just...Ralph. I honestly, don't get it, though: Why choose Evan Peters for such a random role when he was Quicksilver in the "X-Men" movies, and we are getting into the Multiverse part of the MCU storyline? Also, what happened to him in the end? After Monica freed him from Agatha's magic, we never saw him again. So....? What gives?

Although this is more of a personal gripe than anything, I was seriously hoping Doctor Strange would appear in the finale, even if it was in a post-credits scene. It would have been an excellent lead in for "Multiverse of Madness," and I just really love Benedict Cumberbatch's portrayal of the character. But again, this isn't really a flaw with the "WandaVision" series and is more of a pet peeve.

Also another peeve: What happened to Señor Scratchy?

I can't even say that there was a lot to be disappointed in with the finale, though. The lack of an "ultimate big bad meanie" isn't so bad. The series was more focused on Wanda running from her grief, having it smother her, and then earning her acceptance. Agatha and Hayward were sufficient as "true villains" of the series.

The only big issues are Evan Peters being a random dude named Ralph, and the weird subplot of a missing witness that ended up leading nowhere (for now?)

There was plenty of good in the "WandaVision" finale!

Wanda finally donning a scarlet outfit and crow reminiscent of what she wears in the comics was totally bad ass. It looked fantastic, and it shows she's now understanding herself and her powers much more. She isn't naïve about any of it, and is ready to learn how to control and enhance her abilities. Initially, she didn't want to be seen as a witch but ultimately, it is her destiny, and she chose to accept it without fear.

The second and final post-credits scene with Wanda making tea in her secret cabin in the mountains was interesting to say the least. Physical(?) Wanda was doing daily task while her astral projection -- which featured her in her costume -- was studying the book of dark spells (or "Book of the Damned," as Agatha called it). This is a funny nod to 2016's "Doctor Strange" considering Doctor Strange's physical form would sleep while his astral form would study magic. The difference, though, is Wanda is reading from the Book of the Damned, which can't be a good thing. Also, it almost indicates she has two personalities: Wanda Maximoff and Scarlet Witch, and I like that idea. She may have to wrestle with herself internally in the near future.

I was so glad that White Vision was able to regain his memories of his past -- and true? -- self thanks to Hex Vision. I hope White Vision will go to Wanda and reunite with her, but I'm not sure when that will happen. Paul Bettany isn't listed in the cast for "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness" so...I'm really confused. White Vision still exists and is somewhere but...where? When? How? The cast list for "Multiverse of Madness" is very short, though, and Paul's upcoming films and series list ends in 2020 so...maybe it's meant to be a secret? The movie isn't due out until next year so it COULD be the case. Otherwise, it seems like a huge oversight on the MCU's part to just forget about White Vision. It would be a pleasant surprise if he shows up in "Multiverse of Madness" to help Wanda from doing bad things, losing control, or whatever?

Scarlet Witch is supposedly stronger than the Sorcerer Supreme, which is kind of awesome but kind of troubling because Doctor Strange may not have the best time in "Multiverse of Madness" is he is to confront her. This is why I hold on to the theory that White Vision may appear in the movie to aid Doctor Strange by calming Wanda down. Either way, knowing she is so powerful and at the same time, a very emotional person, hints at an epic fight in the near future.

I really liked how Wanda tricked Agatha into stealing her chaos magic. I was wondering why Wanda was missing with some of her chaos magic spheres, but assumed she was just growing tired and weak and was losing focus. Then it's revealed that she wasn't missing her shots -- she was placing large runes on the Hex's walls to prevent Agatha from using her magic. Then this allowed Wanda to take back her powers and steal some of Agatha's, which, in turn, made her accept her role as the Scarlet Witch. Agatha is punished by being trapped as nosy neighbor Agnes in West View, but I don't think it's the last we'll see of her.

I'm glad Wanda was able to finally accept Vision's death as that was what had caused all this mess in the first place. Despite what she did, she was a sympathetic "villain," if you can even consider her one. She was overwhelmed by grief and found a way to cope...she just happened to drag a small town into her world. Oops.

Monica's powers continuing to evolve was amazing, like how she managed to stop the bullets Hayward attempted to fire at Billy and Tommy. I really like Monica's character and the actress, Teyonah Parris, is very talented, so I'm excited to see more of her in Phase Four.

While it was expected, it was ultimately the right decision to let the people of West View go free. Even if they still resent Wanda for trapping them previously, they are given the chance to return to their normal lives without any harm done to them (well, maybe some mental and emotional trauma but, hey, who doesn't deal with these things in life, right?)

Some things I want to make note of:

Paul Bettany is a fucking troll and I love it! He had hinted at a surprise cameo later in the "WandaVision" series, which would involve working with an actor he's always wanted to work with. This caused a lot of speculation as to who it would be, although, Benedict Cumberbatch was the top choice since Doctor Strange and Vision never had screen time together, and Benedict is a great actor (then again, so is Paul, although, he's underrated, I think). Then there were rumors of Al Pacino being the surprise cameo since he was a major influence on Paul, and there were theories Al would show up as a secret villain like Nightmare. Turns out the secret surprise cameo was Paul Bettany himself since he played both Hex Vision and White Vision, and the two did fight for a bit before having a philosophical chat which led to White Vision regaining his memories. So, yeah, Paul Bettany is Troll of the Year. I guess I was initially disappointed that the big reveal wasn't really a big reveal, but I quickly realized how hilarious it was that Paul played us all so well. He's probably laughing his ass off right now at everyone's "WTFFF?" reactions.

I know Elizabeth Olsen was criticized for her poor Russian accent, but I think she's a very good actress and love her portrayal of Wanda. I mean, accents can be a bitch to master, I get it, and sometimes, I think if the performance is still impressive, we can learn to be unbothered if the accent is off.

I noticed that Chiwetel Ejiofor is returning as Karl Mordo in "Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness," so perhaps he will be the main villain or a secondary villain? He has to be a villain since he is hunting down sorcerers to take their powers. Maybe he wants to take Wanda's powers, too? I mean, she's a sorcerer of sorts, so...maybe that is going to be a plot point? Although, Mordo is probably way out of his depth against her but we shall see.

I kind of still want Mephisto or Nightmare to appear in Phase Four since they have been hyped so much due to clues in "WandaVision." I don't think Wanda will be the big baddie for Phase Four, I just don't see it. Also, I don't see Mordo as being the big baddie, either. Both are very single-minded in their goals, and yeah, Thanos was, too, but he dragged the entire universe into his insane and devastating goal. I don't think Wanda or Mordo have such grand and deadly intentions. Wanda just wants her kids back and Mordo wants to get rid of sorcerers as...revenge against the Ancient One's "betrayal?" I don't know...but I don't think he wants to take over the universe. I never read the comics, though, so I could be wrong.

In the second post-credits scene of the "WandaVision" finale," we see Wanda's astral self studying dark magic from the Book of the Damned, and Billy and Tommy suddenly call out to her. I am guessing she could have been studying spells to see if there was anything that could bring them back since, unlike Vision, they were a creation unique to her from the start. Vision was initially a new, more powerful, more durable body for Ultron, then he was given Jarvis' AI and became, uh, the Vision, so, he never "belonged" to her. Getting her kids back, however, may prove to be a problem for the universe because it could lead to multiverse madness. I'm so funny, I know.

As disappointing as it was for Evan Peters to presumably be some dude named Ralph Bohner and not the "X-Men" movieverse Quicksilver/Peter Maximoff, maybe it makes sense when you really think about it. Marvel owns the rights to the X-Men now because Disney owns Marvel and Disney purchased the rights through their merger with 21st Century Fox. Marvel plans to reboot the X-Men with "The Mutants" movie sometime soon, and that means characters will be recast. They kind of have to because the current cast's movie series has hit a dead end with "Apocalypse" and "Dark Phoenix" proving to be underwhelming. I do wonder how Marvel will breathe fresh life into the X-Men in the movieverse because I feel like there is X-Men fatigue right now? Or maybe it's just me. I've grown disappointed with the franchise and am sort of annoyed at a reboot because it may be too soon. But, hey, hopefully I'm proven wrong!

Marvel also has rights to the Fantastic Four, which means we may actually finally get a good Fantastic Four movie! Three attempts have been made so far (yes, three), and they all failed to impress with the last attempt being an embarrassment. I mean, it was a disaster as nearly everyone hated how boring and bland and choppy it was, and that is reflected in its pitiful earnings. On a budge of $120-155 million, the 2015 "Fantastic Four" movie only grossed $167.9 million globally. OOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFF.

Phew, that was a huge post, but got all my thoughts out. Considering how shitty things have been since the abomination of 2020 was born, and with little hope for things to improve anytime soon (I have my own problems as well, which aren't going away anytime soon, either, hahaha T__T), it's refreshing to have some stuff to be happy about. Some people hate the MCU, some people have lost interest, and some people may just be indifferent, but I'm definitely and MCU fan and it makes me feel excited and giddy, two things I don't experience often anymore :\

Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or in a reblog, but no hate and no "cancel culture" talk. I want to keep this post positive.

#wandavision #scarlet witch #agatha harkness #vision #the vision #mcu #marvel #wandavision spoilers #tommy maximoff #billy maximoff #elizabeth olsen #doctor strange #benedict cumberbatch #paul bettany #evan peters #senor scratchy #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #kathryn hahn

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poppyna · 3 years

Text

the visitor ; anton&poppy

timing: earlier in may + last week participants: @poppyvernis & @grantcontrol summary: anton gets sent to the hospital. poppy gets a snack a meal plan. content warning: head trauma

In his less than stellar career as an exterminator, Anton was at least able to prove two things: One, he couldn’t dodge bullets, and two, he couldn’t dodge the ground. In retrospect, chasing an overgrown spider on someone else’s roof wasn’t the best idea, but at least it gave him enough time to consider his life choices, as flashes of previously, terribly made ones came running back to him, right before his very eyes, the fall itself peculiarly slow, as if it was intentionally taking an eternity to accommodate this Powerpoint presentation of numerous mistakes and regrets. Then the thud came, and everything else faded to black.

The next thing he knew, he was coming in and out of consciousness, being wheeled through what smelled like a hospital, what sounded like an introvert’s worst nightmare. What he could see were mere blurs, almost incomprehensible and incoherent images fighting for his attention against the blinding lights of the ceiling. What he could hear were bits and pieces of rushed conversation, none of which he was interested in.

A familiar voice did ring in his ears, barely making any sense to him, mostly because he was more concerned about the stuffed rabbit he just dropped as they were wheeling him away, his outstretched hand reaching for it but to no avail. “...oh, it’s the exterminator...what happened?” “...fell down a roof…chasing...dog...” “really?! ...well, that’s dumb.” Then the darkness returned, dragging him back into the depths of his own mind, where a haunting shadow patiently lurked. Hello, Anton. You have your mother’s eyes.

Gossip spread through the ER like wildfire, no matter how much the nurses liked to boast about having the perfect mask of professionalism with patients. The ones with strange reasons for ending up there were the hottest topics- at least for a few moments before someone else came with an even more inane reason. Poppy liked to pretend she wasn’t as interested as the rest of them, but even she wasn’t immune to the allure of knowing other people’s business. And the business, specifically, seemed to be an exterminator of some sort who was in over his head.

The reception area had a temporary lull in new faces, and it was her who was tasked with bringing the personal belongings over to the different private rooms. She expected bags of clothes, maybe a phone or two, but not a… child’s toy? The last thing she wanted to see was some sickly child. Those cases always left a bad taste in her mouth. Regardless, she donned a pair of gloves and set out to deliver the goods that had been left.

When she finally came to the room the note on the doll had mentioned, she realized two things very quickly. One, that the doll did not, in fact, belong to some sickly child, and two, that she definitely should not have stepped into that room. Poppy could almost feel the uneasy dream the man laying in the bed was slipping into from her position all the way by the door. She gulped. She definitely should have just asked someone else to do this job. She threw a quick glance behind her shoulder before she slid the door to the room closed with her hip. As she extended her hand to brush over the man’s forehead to enhance the unpleasant dream he had, she noted that this must be that exterminator the staff were all murmuring of.

“Sorry,” she whispered to herself.

Anton has done his fair share of running. From debt collectors? Check. From adult responsibilities like being a good dad to a young daughter he’s barely met? Check. From bees? Check. The last part, he felt like he’d be doing for an eternity. Or at least until he got tired, which in this place, wherever it was, didn’t feel like it was happening any time soon. Where the hell am I? He wondered, at least for a bit, looking around him as grayish smoke and mist surrounded him, drowning this place as far as he could see. That was, until his attention was once again stolen by the giant bees that were apparently chasing him.

Anton. The voice spoke to him, not as sound in the air but seemingly from deep within, as if the speaker was someone, or something, that resided in his heart of hearts. You cannot run forever. Panting, wheezing, though not actually feeling tired, if only afraid, fearful for what could happen should his feet, knees, fail him, the exterminator continued to run, looking back every now and then to find the giant bees still after him, never speeding up nor slowing down.

Then he spotted something strange, something new, a face, unfamiliar and out of place, from within the swarming rabble. Sorry, she whispered to him, not as sound in the air but from deep within, only confusing him even more. Who the— He cut himself off as he turned away, colliding straight into something else, something strong enough to knock him back, down on his ass on the ground. Wincing, Anton took his sweet time making sure he was still in one piece before he looked up and saw the man in the beekeeper’s suit, his arms already reaching towards him. I’m already home!

On his bed in the hospital, his physical body twitched and turned, his lips moving, though rare were the words that came out ever coherent. Although the fear was great, his guilt would never come second, and under three words, Anton’s lips moved ever so slightly to allow them a strange passage. “It’s okay…”

Poppy’s brow furrowed for a moment as the visions he saw danced through her mind. What the hell kind of fears did this man have? She wasn’t creating anything for him to experience- no, this was a nightmare birthed from his own personal hell. If the rush of energy she felt from how terrified some guy and his insects made him feel- she probably would have cared more about that. She rolled her neck and shoulders slowly, head tilting from one side to the other. It felt like a massage to her very core that no physical touch could satisfy. There was nothing better than this feeling, and for a brief second she considered taking it all in that very moment. She wouldn’t need to feed again for quite some time.

The words that left his mouth snapped her back to reality. She opened her eyes and stared down at him. For a moment, she panicked. Was he awake? What the hell? That had never happened before. Poppy considered her own thoughts that she felt while feeding and bit her lip. The high, warm feeling in her stomach began to fall, leaving her blood buzzing through her veins as though she had just run a race while her heart sat thick in her throat. That’s the monster she pretended she wasn’t. She didn’t even know the poor guy who she just tormented and there she was considering adding a second notch onto her ledger. Fuck.

She retracted her hand slowly, knowing she shouldn’t let it idle on his head for too long. Poppy felt compelled to flee, but there were too many nurses out in the hallways for a fast walk to go unnoticed. The sun had yet to fully set, she couldn’t go intangible and leave, and even if she could the cameras would pick up a door opening and closing on its own, and- and-

Her hold on the stuffed toy in her other hand tightened and she resolved herself to take it face on. Poppy looked behind her, just to check and make sure no other nurse had crept inside while the whole ordeal was unfolding, then took a few steps back. She glided her hand down her face and combed her fingers through her hair, at least trying to make herself look as thought she was a normal human nurse just concerned for a regular patient.

The Beekeeper was a story Anton’s late grandfather told him and the rest of his cousins whenever they had become too naughty, too rowdy, for the other grown-ups to contain, to rein in. It was a tale of warning, of fear, the title character the appropriate Boogeyman for their family’s line of work. Yet as the years went by, as Anton found himself drifting farther and farther away from his own family, the Beekeeper became more of an afterthought to him, a forgotten string of words from a bygone era, nothing more than the whispers of a past he can never go back to. That was, until he returned to White Crest.

It wasn’t like he was forced to return, however, as his former life in California wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. He had made mistakes, so many, and though he wouldn’t admit to regretting much, there were major milestones in his life that he dared wish had happened differently. Thus, the move was a welcomed respite from the dark clouds that hung over his head through the years, only to be replaced by darker ones once he arrived in this sleepy town. At the very least, he had inherited the pest control business as well as a better place of residence when that grandfather of his died.

“Am I dead?” The words slithered weakly out of Anton’s lips as his dark brown eyes wandered slowly towards the other person’s very form. Holy fuck, she’s gorgeous. It was a weird first thought, considering the nightmare he had just survived, the fall he had taken. One would assume he’d be more interested in figuring out what had happened, how he got there, yadda yadda yadda. Then again, the exterminator has survived far worse and has taken more dangerous beatings. It seemed that the gates of hell were closed to his soul yet again. “Are you an angel? I’ll go wherever you’d take me.”

It took him more effort than he was used to, but he was able to muster a warm smile, the so-called stone meant to hit two birds: the nurse, as a sign of gratitude for keeping his unconscious body company, and himself, as a distraction from the horrors that he had just escaped from. Groaning, he moved his body around, at least as much as he could, still tired and barely recovered from the fall. When he found a comfortable enough spot, a position that made the rest of him ease a little, he turned to her again, his eyes not wanting to leave her face, his smile unable to falter. There was something about her that drew him like a moth to a flame, a vision of beauty and salvation. Shame that Anton had no idea how that allusion was more dangerous than he could ever understand.

She blinked. The more conscious he became and the more words that left his mouth, the less Poppy was able to compute what was happening right before her. Her mouth moved to form the first syllables of ‘are you crazy?’, but she stopped herself before she broke whatever illusion had overtaken the man in front of him. This was definitely… different. She was used to crying, used to screaming, even used to people waking up in anger over having vivid terrors ruin their night of sleep. Not once had she gotten a complement. If she could even call a hospitalized man spouting words a compliment.

When more than a handful of seconds of silence passed between them, she blinked and cleared her throat. “Ah... no. Not at all,” she started, rocking back on her heels, “you’re not dead. So… I am not an angel.” A soft chuckle escaped her while her head gestured to the side, trying to point out the walls and machinery of the dimly lit room in an attempt to maybe bring him out of this stupor. (Yet again, she had to hold herself back from saying anything out of turn. There was a reason she wasn’t the one who did courtesy rounds with patients). This had to be a concussion of some sort, a fairly nasty one. That thought stung a bit. Having to wonder if she had just fed from someone with a concussion worthy of putting a professional athlete out of commission was a new low. But upon closer observation, he appeared… “fine” seeing as he just fell off a roof. Well, fine in Poppy’s books. Which had considerably low standards for what humans needed to be “fine”.

Regardless, Poppy forced herself to put on a mask of kind professionalism, looking back at him with a gentle smile though she made it a point to stare at his ear instead of into his eyes. “Don’t try to move too much- okay? You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?” She lifted the stuffed animal she held and waved it a bit once it was in his line of vision. “Does this help? It seems to belong to you.”

The smile never faltered on Anton’s lips as he continued to look her over, perhaps even seeing her for the first time. “I beg to differ.” The words slipped out without his consent, though hearing them now, he wouldn’t have even bothered to rein them back if given the chance. He didn’t believe in angels, not as much as he believed in annoying insect monsters that could kill him, that most likely killed his grandfather, but seeing her heavenly face, all that cuteness and innocence, he could definitely see himself becoming a believer.

Slowly, his dark brown eyes wandered around them at her behest, though they didn’t stray long. She had a magnetic presence over him, one he could not seem to ignore. Or at least look away from for far too long, which wasn’t really that long. A part of him feared that she was just a mirage, an illusion, and if he didn’t keep his eyes on her, she would disappear, something he hoped the man in the beekeeper suit was instead. “Oh, hey, Mister Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek!”

His instincts told him to reach out for the stuffed animal, which his body followed and regretted immediately. He didn’t even get to move an inch, his shoulder quickly punishing him for overextending them. “Fuck.” Wincing, he tried to move it around, feeling the pain, before realizing he just swore in front of a goddess. Eyes wide in horror, they found her again, and despite the brief moment of silence, he tried to cover for himself with a warm smile. “Sorry… My shoulder… Pain… You know how it is.”

Anton nodded towards the stuffed animal as he explained further. “That’s the, uhh, favorite toy of my client’s three-year-old. Some overgrown spider tried to grab it and run, but I managed to chase it away and keep the toy but, well, you know… Fall from grace.” He let out an awkward chuckle, not sure if the truth made him look any worse. Couldn’t be any worse than the exterminator who fell off a roof. “I’m Anton, by the way. Anton Grant.” He offered her a hand to shake and winced when even that small attempt made his body hurt. Fucking hell.

While he spoke, Poppy let herself trail over to the hub of machinery at the top of his bed. Her eyebrow quirked at his remark, but other than that, she forced herself not to give any other reaction. Despite the night terrors he just experienced, she could barely feel the residual traces of fear that still clung onto him. All of it had seemingly vanished when he became conscious once more. She hoped that meant that his suspicion for what had caused it was low, too. Though, based on the way he was acting, she was fairly certain there was little for her to worry about in that regard.

She let herself relax somewhat at that thought, though jumped slightly when the man began to move, caught off guard by his sudden urge to get up. “Ah,” she started, reaching forward with her free hand before pausing, letting it hover a few inches away from him. “Your injuries aren’t horrible, but you still need to lay down. If you try to move too much you might make it worse. And that’ll make your bill worse, too.” A stern look crossed her face for a moment. One that read ‘I mean it, don’t fucking try it’.

Poppy shook her head gently and set the doll down next to his thigh, her hands coming to a rest atop the side railings of the bed. A giant spider? She thought back to his nightmare. Well, if what she had gathered from that was correct and he had experienced some kind of bizarre beekeeper who was out for blood, then the spider story should track. A quiet huff escaped her lips as the corners quirked up. “I don’t… know if I should assume that’s real or fake,” she replied, her voice low with amusement, “but if it is, then… that’s. A nice thing to do. Getting a kid’s doll back.”

“I’m not your nurse, but… I’m Poppy,” she paused when he attempted to move once more. She used the back of her hand to gently push his down until it laid on the bed once more. “I’m serious about the no moving thing, Mr. Grant.”

Anton has had horrible and worse, numerous times, throughout not just his respective careers as an exterminator and pest hunter but also his everyday life, most of which he will always regret. Her mention of a worsened bill, however, scared him the most, and with a gulp, he resolved to heed the warning, knowing full well his finances were much scarier to deal with than a trio of beeserkers. That look on her face is pretty cute, though.

His eyes widened in a mixture of horror and excitement as she approached his thigh, though it was immediately replaced with a relieved expression and then disappointment when the doll landed instead of what his crass mind had imagined. Although he was somewhat glad that Mr. Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek was safe and within reach, his thighs craved the touch of something else, someone else. Even in the aftermath of brutality, Anton was still but a boy, hungry for fantastical companionship.

“Oh, it’s real!” He said, almost too excitedly, dark brown eyes beaming with misguided pride. “I really fell down. You see the small rip on Mr. Snuffleupagus Von Der Beek’s right ear?” He winced as he momentarily forgot about all the pain, mostly due to his desire to impress her, and pointing at the spot, straining his arm yet again. His smile only grew wider when she complimented him, as he’s never heard an actual compliment since he came to White Crest, certainly not after he’s been paid at least.

“Poppy?” He mouthed her name over and over again after the word already slipped through his lips, her touch surprising him but in a very good way. He could feel his heart beat race again, her warmth and her scent magnified by his childlike crush. “It’s a pretty name. Perfect for a pretty girl.” He offered her his most charming of smiles, his heart beat rising when she mentioned his name. “Please. Call me Anton.” He tried to distract himself from the loud vibration inside his chest by furthering the conversation. “Is there a way I can choose you to be my nurse? Like a form I can sign or something? I’ll probably need to stay longer now. I’m so hurt, Poppy.”

A quiet hum reverberated from her lips. This definitely was not the first time a patient had acted head over heels for a nurse. And Poppy was sure it wouldn’t be the last, but at least this guy- Anton wasn’t some creepy old man. Just a concussed guy. Who thought she was pretty, it would seem. Her eyebrow raised once more and she stared at him. She’d never encountered someone who acted quite like this before. Even among the strangest of individuals who ended up in the back of the ER.

An idea popped into her head then. Oh. Hey now. She could make use of an infatuation like this, couldn’t she? The softer voice in Poppy’s consciousness tried to remind her that this was definitely a breach of the Hippocratic oath, but she wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t even human. Yes, she was pretty certain that oath didn’t account for creatures like her. Who was she to deny free food when presented to her?

“I assume you’ll be kept overnight for observation unless the doctor sees you now,” she said, more to herself than as a response to him. She then let a soft, long sigh leave her lips. “If I transfer to your nurse, would you quit trying to move?” Poppy glanced over to him with that same look, though it was less serious and more teasing than before. She may not have all the schooling that the RGNs had, but she had the same nursing certificate nonetheless. It probably wouldn’t even take much convincing to get whoever was actually assigned to him to let her take over. They’d probably let her take all the patients if it meant getting to sit quietly at the front desk like she did.

“Poppy, I would quit everything for you.” Anton quipped, though part of him was certain that it was true, that he’d actually risk his entire life, change everything including himself for her, for a muse that he could serve. The other part? He’s been there before, a long time ago, and it didn’t end well. He did get a cute kid out of the deal, but she was taken from him, too. Probably best for everyone involved back then. He was, after all, at a terrible place in his life.

These days, he has most things under control. He had a stable source of income, he wasn’t too bored that he’d do less than legal things for the sheer fun of it all, then a rebellion against his family and everything else, and most importantly, he had a pretty big house all to himself. If he played his cards right, he may find a very attractive, very nurturing nurse roommate. He and the boggarts at Grant Residence.

“Where do I sign? Do I even need to sign anything?” Anton wasn’t quite well-versed with all these medical proceedings. For a long while, he’s been able to skirt out of its way, mostly with help from old acquaintances, accomplices, and his earlier almost rendezvous with death in White Crest introduced him to who both seemed like old acquaintances of his grandfather, Doctor Adams and Detective Lee, the oddest couple he’s ever met. Oh, maybe he’s here! “Oh, by the way, do you know a Doctor Adams here? Weird British guy, has glasses… I actually forgot his first name.” He chuckled, even as pain still lingered within parts of him, dark brown eyes extremely happy at the sight of Poppy.

“Uh-huh,” Poppy drawled out slowly, her head bobbing once in some semblance of a nod. She briefly wondered if this… infatuation of his was more of a passing side-effect of his concussion rather than anything else. Even so, Anton had definitely made himself out to be an unforgettable person.

Strange or not, a meal was a meal. “Well,” she looked out toward the door to the room for a moment, then back to him. “I’ll have to go poke my head around and see who’s assigned to your room.” Her face pinched in concentration. “You won’t have to sign anything, don’t worry, Mr. Grant.” At his question, her expression softened back to one of neutrality. Doctor Adams, huh?

“Is… unless he frequents the ER here, I probably don’t. Lots of doctors in the world, you know.” She rolled her eyes half-heartedly, his words sparking a memory of self-righteous doctors that would sometimes be called down to the ER and throw fits at the state of things. “Alright, I’ll go… run and sort this out. Do you need anything before I go?” She paused. “That, ahem, isn’t me.”

With the devotion of a high schooler suffering a huge crush on his classmate, Anton listened to her intently, a wide grin on his face. Concussion or not, at this moment in time, Poppy was the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The second best was probably waking up from that nightmarish hellscape he found himself in while unconscious, but it was probably just a one-off thing. He’s had the same nightmares before, and although they were never that intense, he did fall off a roof this time, so his brain, as much as it could while working in terrible condition, justified that as a good enough reason.

“It’s fine. I’ll sign anything you want me to sign.” The words slithered out of his mouth without any thought, none at all. If Anton had been dragged to a network marketing scheme instead of finding his way to the hospital, he’d probably have lost all of his money as soon as he woke up. Thank god for his client, such a kind-natured soul who was probably more worried about cleaning his corpse off her lawn than his actual health. Eh, good enough for me.

“Yeah, of course!” He laughed at what he perceived to be her quip, already forgetting his question about Doctor Adams. “What isn’t you?” Again, his subconscious tried to help him out, but Anton was presently not 100% whole. A part of him tried to make sense of what was going on, what had happened, but that part wasn’t as strong as the other part of him that catered to his sad, pathetic craving for her companionship. “I’m fine, Poppy. Not as fine as you, but I’m fine.” He grinned, even though his body was obviously not fine, not yet anyway, pain still lingering in his bones and joints.

As soon as she leaves, however, he mutters to himself, an unnecessary assurance to his own misguided feelings, his still blurry perception of the things happening around him, all while he watched her go. “Oh, yeah. She’s definitely into me.” She was, of course, not that into him, but he needed to believe that lie. At least for now, he felt hope, not as just another lie to trick himself into carrying on but as a warm dream he can aspire to. At least for a couple of days, maybe even weeks. Anton’s romantic relationships never end well, after all.

In the days that follow.

It wasn’t every day that Poppy put a bit of effort into her appearance on a day she went to work. In fact, it was never. Except for maybe the very first week she had landed the job. The long hours and constant moving around and sweating meant that makeup was not the best of ideas. Especially at seven in the morning. But she had been planning for the specific day a certain patient was to be released. She’d spent much of the time that Anton had been spending in hospital care thinking about what to do. Never before had anyone she’d ever fed on been so… completely unaffected by what she did to them. Not only that, but it was as if the man had been slapped by some cupid’s curse.

Whatever the case might have been, Poppy decided that it would be best to make use of it. These types of things happened for a reason, didn’t they? She told herself such while she put that bit of effort into her appearance. Her hair was pulled back nice, her eyes lined with a gentle wing of brown eyeliner, and her cheeks had a faint dusting of orange blush. Just enough to make her look like she was definitely not a nightmare demon in some human skin.

She walked down the long corridor of the hospital wing and came to a stop outside the door to Anton’s room. Poppy inhaled quietly, then knocked on the wood with the back of her hand. “Mr. Grant?” She asked, opening the door a inch to make sure he was awake, then more so once she saw him. “Good morning. I think I have something you might be interested in.” She raised her hand and waved a stack of papers for a moment. His discharge papers. Fresh and ready to be signed by the doctor.

For the entire duration of his stay, which was like just a couple of days anyway, Anton found the entire thing quite nice. Sure, he’s been having a couple of nightmares here and there, waking up more tired than he expected, but it was probably just the side effect of that fall. Besides, he finally had an excuse to take a day off, and though it probably sets BUG BUSTERS PEST CONTROL SOLUTIONS back for like a few dollars, it wasn’t that heavy of a price to pay.

Anton could technically take a day off every now and then, but he never did, always consumed by the nagging feeling of guilt and the dread of disappointing his already dead grandfather. So far, however, the Girl’s text messages, meant to update him on the daily goings-on at the office, were mostly boring “oks” and “someone called but i referred them elsewhere”. If he had known things would be this chill, he would’ve taken a day off a long time ago.

Aside from loafing around in his hospital bed, Anton filled much of his time and attention with the love of his life, his nurse Poppy. Thanks to his concussion, which was a weird thing to be thankful for, the exterminator believed he had finally found his muse. His past relationships all ended terribly for one reason or another, but he had high hopes Poppy would be a different case. If he only knew.

“Poppy? Please, call me Anton.” He reminded her again, for the nth time, though he didn’t really keep count and consciously didn’t actually mind. The words just felt like the right reply for her calling her future boyfriend Mister. “Good morning!” He greeted her with as much excitement as he could muster, eager to spend another day with her, only to get deflated when his dark brown eyes found out what the papers were.

“I’m being discharged?!” He turned to her with sadness and despair, as if he was betrayed, rejected, by the girl of his nightmares dreams. How could Poppy do this to me?! “Uhh… There must be some mistake? I still feel, uhm, bad?” Scrambling towards her, he threw off his sheets, grabbing her hands in desperation. “No, Poppy, I’m still in pain... Please. I need you… To take care of me.” He whined. Like a child.

Bingo.

Poppy rolled her eyes playfully and snorted quietly. By that point, she had grown used to Anton’s antics. For the most part, at least. “You say as much, but your doctor says something completely different. Apart from the, uh, bouts of night terrors?” She paused there, sparing a moment to look up at him with some faux-concern. Mostly faux-concern. Seeing the side effects of her noshing still twisted her stomach from time to time, but there was nothing she could really do about that in the end, was there? She still needed to eat. A gentle nudge and she wiggled her hands out of his grip.

“Aside from that, you’re back to being in perfect health.” With that, she set the folder she held down on the rolling table beside his bed. Poppy looked at him with eyes that were both teasing and pitying. “This is a normal part of being in a hospital, you know. You do have to leave at some point.” She tapped a painted nail on the top of the folder twice.

“It isn’t like I’m going to magically disappear after you leave. I still exist, you know. Is there something I can do to ease the pain of this discharge?”

“Oh, yeah… The night terrors…” Anton simply shrugged. He didn’t really want to talk about them, afraid to unearth a childhood trauma that he may not be yet ready to come face-to-face with. As much as the Beekeeper was but a story his late grandfather used to tell his grandchildren whenever they’d misbehaved too much, the exterminator has seen and experienced otherwise, a part of him certain that there was more to the tale than he was told. With a smile, however, he eased her concern, not wanting to burden the love of his life with his inglorious fears. “Just a side effect of the fall, I think? Nothing to worry about!”

Yet he could not stave off the disappointment and sadness he felt at the idea that this was it, this was the part where they’d, well, part ways, him and Poppy, forever no more. Anton felt his heart wrench, a stinking feeling in the deepest pits of his stomach that almost sent him in a panic. This was the best he’s felt in weeks, months, and now it seems over. Back to lonely nights in his late grandfather’s massive house then. Maybe he should really put that guest room up for rent. “Do I have to?”

There was nothing normal about him, that much he understood. Certainly, the adjective perfect was rarely used to reference Anton. Poppy was right, however: All things must come to an end, even the good ones, especially the good ones. Life is nothing else but suffering, sometimes tolerable, most of the time annoying as fuck. Still, she offered him hope, and like trout to a lure, he could not ignore it. Forlorn, his dark brown eyes wandered back to her, and he mustered a weak smile.

“Promise? I mean, I guess it’ll be a little less painful if you, like, I don’t know, keep in touch? By, uhm, giving me your number? There’s, like, a really good restaurant at the docks. Dinner sounds like the least I can do to thank you for keeping me healthy.”

Poppy smiled.

She put a finger to her lips, as if to tell him not to tell anyone else. Without saying anything, she pulled a pad of sticky notes and a pen from the pockets of her scrubs. If Anton was anyone else, she would have worried that they might wonder why she precariously had such things in her pocket, but she had learned that by that point, he didn’t seem to care about much other than looking right at her. For a moment she wondered what his reaction would be if he ever figured out what she was. This little façade couldn’t go on forever- at least. For her, time had proven that everything nice would have to end at some point. Would he still be as awestruck if he knew? Or would he finally come back to his senses?

A thought popped in her head. Had she ever cared so much about what a human really thought of her? Really?

When she glanced up and saw the genuine gleam of desperation in Anton’s eyes, Poppy decided not to worry about it. Whatever he wanted out of her, she could play along. No one else was being hurt- clearly he wasn’t as affected as other humans would have been. As she carefully wrote down the digits to her number, adding a small smiley face at the end, just for the appeal, she spoke: “As long as it doesn’t entail you chasing after some sort of gigantic bug and getting another concussion.” She peeled the note off the pad and flattened it down on the cover of the folder, the ink on the face smearing just-so.

Poppy took a few steps back and smiled. “Another nurse will stop-by in a bit with some more for you to sign. And then you’ll be a free man once more.”

Anton nodded fervently, dark brown eyes wide in delight as they found themselves glued on the tiny piece of paper that contained Poppy’s number, that he held as tightly as he could, as if he was afraid it would vanish very soon. Committing her contact information to his memory, the exterminator couldn’t hide his triumphant joy, chuckling at her quip. It would be dishonest to not admit that he had thought about doing the same thing again, suffering the fall and the nightmares as an excuse for him to be near her once more, in the same room as the angelic face who woke him up from his nightmare. Her phone number was a safer compromise, though.

“Thank you. Again. You have no idea how much this means to me, Poppy.” He didn’t either. Not really. Especially all things considered. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

That was the last he saw of her. At least at the time. When he was told to leave, the exterminator unfortunately couldn’t get a hold of the nurse that had a warm grip on his heart. Anton wanted to wait and see her, bid her goodbye at the very least, but she was apparently busy elsewhere and some security guard was being rude, watching him like a hawk does a mouse. With her parting gift, however, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they crossed paths again. Or at least until he’d hear her voice again. Maybe, if she was too busy to have dinner with him tonight, he would at least see her in his dreams. The thought made him smile as he finally made his way out of the hospital, breathing in the fresh air made even better by the memory of his muse.

In fields of poppy, buzzes this little bee.

#wickedswriting #chatzy: anton

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handlewcaare · 4 years

Text

Origins: ?

The first time he died, it was a little over in the 730’s.

No one really takes into account that immortality was not one evidently diagnosed, not when it first occurs. Similar to those who passed, he was subjected to smallpox. The manifestations were all there: malaise, chills that did nothing to coax the fever, he could even hardly stomach what food was provided to him. However, the mild mannered man—his birth name lost to him—never once barked or snarled in distaste of his family’s efforts. Rather, even in his enervated and delirious state, he always offered his gratitude in the form of a slight nod and a mumbled ‘thank you’ that weighed too heavy along his lips.

By the time the winter came, his immune system became more worn and enervated. His strength wilted like the flora underneath the pelt of the tundra. Had it not been so long ago, he would have described how his family’s voices sounded, what woe and distraught that would amplify by the final breath of their oldest brother and son—or maybe, he was the youngest? He vaguely recalled being an uncle, but maybe he was a father as well. He was a little attuned to a small one’s cry; a habitual feeling. He didn’t know now, as immortality never guaranteed a permanent memory.

For whoever his family was, it was the end of their line. One of their own would never survive to see how their generation would flourish. He would never witness the following summer, nor would he recall anything but the hearth of the fireplace as his immune system failed him. They would have been right, normally—

—until he attempted to breathe through a thick penumbra of dirt an hour later.

The suffocation of the cold, dark earth evoked natural panic thorough his senses. His fingernails nearly cracked under the strain of him clawing him out of his grave. The absence of home left him cold and pale, as if his circulation could never be initiated ever again. By the time he rasped out for a heave of breath he believed he didn’t need, his russet gaze blearily peered toward the silhouettes of astonished grave robbers.

As groggy as he was—as if stirred into the early morning—he could only provide an awkward “hello” until one of them attempted to ram the tongue of his shovel into his frontal lobe.

Everything around him always changed. Ailments became easier to cure, people lived longer (not as long as himself, but a decade or two later). Yet, he was drowned in an neverchanging state; no matter how many injuries he succumbed (with slight annoyance), no matter how many diseases infiltrated his system, he was in a constant within a world full of variables. He had been thirty-three for the past several centuries, not a wrinkle, nor a callus, nor a scar to his name. It made him somehow nauseated that children could develop more scars than he could.

While people lived longer, however, their actions became easier to predict. What desperate beau would ready his blade to kill his lover’s fiancé would be intercepted by his cold and unrelenting hand. An admirer of a serial killer would only copy their tactics (and their mistakes). Once he started to apply the patterns, catching felons was a habit of his.

It was roughly in the spring of the 1920’s that he countered a pseudo-Duchess, a beautiful woman should he be frank, but not enough to pry him out of his own head.

“And where were you last night, Madam?” His baritone was demure, soft enough to never be tarnished by the nicotine they both breathed in.

She could only align a cherry-lipped smile, a bit wistful at the contours, “I was over in New York City with a friend at West Egg,” unlike his voice, her’s felt coarse with one too many huffs of nicotine.

His brow raised, “Don’t have friends with old money?”

“They’re not as respectful with the loss of my mother,” her vanity perished under the devestating weight of her relative. Had he not been emotionally aware of such a loss, he would have entirely missed the falsetto of her chocking up. “Y-You have to understand, I was in need of some company to cope.”

The private investigator briefly skimmed over his notes scribbled in his pad. “I’m sure you did,” he reflected, reverence couldn’t have sounded so potent, “so much so that you had to pay your debts to a nicely suited man with a violin case.”

The Duchess’s verdant glare widened by the mention of her ‘company.’ As she guffawed, she hastily attempted to light up another cigarette after shakily snuffing out her half-finished one. She was getting restless, “what? So I can’t befriend someone from an orchestra?”

“Said friend is affiliated with many of the bootleggers of West Egg,” another bullet to fire that stained her pretty countenance with a snarl, “it wouldn’t be a problem, if you didn’t hire him to lay a hit on your mother for—“ he suddenly became rather pensive, “—ah, fourteen milli—!”

“I don’t have to answer a damn thing from you.”

She was right, she didn’t have to. As the prime suspect outright splashed her cherry wine into his face, he made no attempt to hastily chase after her for interrogation in sheer furor. Rather, he only trailed after her out of the restaurant neither of them could afford. Had he not encountered the same type of crime in the seventeen hundreds, he wouldn’t have put a wheel lock to prevent her from escaping so soon.

His smile was a bit too smug when she glared over her shoulder.

His detective work never got much recognition. In truth, it was what he preferred in the first place. The rough cases where he would hold the hand of someone who wasn’t the same as him left him sleepless at night.

Sanguine was never a pretty sight to see seep from the lips of a young woman just trying to go home late, nor was the sound of an old man’s whimpers—“I don’t wanna go”—the equivalent of a swan song. Death was a hideous thing that clambered and infiltrated what should have had warmth and color. None of them should ever look like him. Oddly enough, he could feel how much colder their hands were compared to his own. How lifeless and stagnant they were; a grotesque reflection, should he ever try to be the poetic type.

The more work he did, the more he couldn’t stomach the cases he failed in. There was always a private victory he would have in saving people from monstrous situations in the form of a simple shot of bourbon, but most of that had changed when he encountered a man in a well-dressed suit.

It was Autumn when a seat beside him was occupied at the pub, roughly thirty years later after the Duchess was hauled off to court for the murder of her mother. The glass balanced along the stranger’s frames held more hearth than the eyes that saw the detective through them.

“You’re quite handsome,” for a specimen, the sentence would eventually trail off to someone the private eye wasn’t. As acrimonious as the private eye was, his manners were still prevelent.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

“More along the lines of what I can help you with,” the man assertively corrected. The smile that graced his demeanor would have disarmed anyone, but the private eye became too keen.

After that, it was all a blur. Immortality could never guarantee a permanent memory, but after he was succumbed to various experiments, he didn’t think they were worth it. As the cold water splashed over his cyanotic skin, his body jolted when the tongue of lightning crept along his scalp and left him a panting mess. What would soon follow would be his body partially submerged to an acidic bite that cindered and charred through bone and tissue; hungry for the blood that could only become more bitter and citrated the more Subject 66 aged.

He could handle pain easy, but not to this vehement extent.

“Can you get up, subject 66?” A hauntingly calloused baritone spoke to his hunched physique across the tessellated floor.

That isn’t my name.

When he didn’t answer immediately, the toe of a leather shoe prodded into the progressively healing ulcer from the acid. If only half of his body could function, he would have seized that leg with the acid still singeing through his withering palm. Instead of the guttural cries of the injured genetist, Genus hummed in a low tone.

“Your healing factor has improved marginally,” he declared, as if it was an advancement. “We’ll have to be more creative with our experiments.”

Subject 66 couldn’t help but align a coy simper, copper tasted heinous along his lips, “why don’t we trade places then?” He challenged.

Subject 66 couldn’t recall what his name was prior, not since he was under the knife of a genetist who conjured himself a god-complex (as if he wasn’t pretentious enough). Not since his brain was dissected in several quadrants, leaving him hollow. He was but a phantom that lurked within the murmurs of a shell. He was quite handsome for a specimen, but the compliment only served as pure vitriol for what would will him to escape.

Dr. Genus never accounted for the fact that near-perfect regeneration could be used against him. As clones of mutated animals and copies of the scientist’s self-made image were torn through by the weight of his arsenal—a fireaxe he stole from a little compartment, twin machetes he smuggled under his shirt from his torture, and a desert Eagle that always fractured his radius—he could only feel a sense of relief that swarmed his senses to the acrimonious aroma of copper and salt.

It wasn’t the rivers of blood that was euphoric. Not in the slightest. What was euphoric was the bleeding sunshine that welcomed him when he used a healing stump of his arm to open the door. The symphony of cicadas that beckoned the enervated to sleep the summer away. After—how long? Months? Decades?—some time of being confined to fluorescent lighting and pale, minimalistic cages. Subject 66 could only chuckle to himself as he staggered out and back to the world that would be ever changing.

#opm #one punch man #Origins Headcanon #Zombieman #OPM Zombieman #I wrote... a novel #lmao #ken.txt #long post #I was also inspired by the Old Guard when I wrote this #so that’s another reason why it’s quite hefty #character study

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 3

< Chap 2 | Chap 3 Cocks And Guns | Chap 4 >

Summary: Jack finds himself in a crossfire between friends, foes and silent admirers.

Author’s note: To the handful of people reading this: I hope you’ll enjoy this one! Have a good weekend my lovelies. ❤️

Word count: 5.105 (18 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, extortion, WWII PTSD, (gun) violence, mobsters

–

Cocks and Guns

The woolen uniform itched and Jack was eager for the night shift to be over. With sweat running down his back, he peered into the darkness that surrounded the makeshift war camp. Everything seemed so calm and quiet; it was near strange to think that a few miles from here the Germans lurked. The enemy.

A few months ago he had seen their faces for the first time, the mood grim in the dead land between bloody trenches. It had rained for weeks on end and Jack could have sworn it had been God himself crying for the travesty that was this war. In that moment he had also wondered if these Germans before him truly wanted to fight. He, for one, surely didn’t. He felt the same dread he saw in them. Cheekbones fallen in, eyes wide.

That day the battlefield had remained calm. And not many days later Jack was reassigned, one general impressed with his good eye for detail and sharp mind. It was why he now was here, belly flat on the earth as he peered out into the distance, eyes sharp and back soaking wet with sweat. Behind him he could hear the occasional male voice or thump of sturdy boots. But before him the land was unreadable. All scraggly bushes, haunting tree shapes and the song of hidden cicadas. Jack felt the sound irked him, even though he couldn’t quite explain to himself why. The creatures were perfectly harmless and he had learned that the locals were terribly fond of them.

At first this new job hadn’t seemed so bad. They got more rest than in the trenches, and the men seemed a tad more cheerful. On the odd occasion they had even slept in real beds, made music, met women. And these women, French women, were utterly divine. Jack had never been outside of English territory, so he was near shocked to find how very different the French were from his usual English birds. In a hash he thought that maybe, if ever he’d get out of here, he’d marry one of those pretty brown eyed mademoiselles. Start a life here in the rural lands that usually harvested wine. What a life that would be. Besides, it wasn’t like he missed England all that much. Especially not when that same England sent him out to fight like this.

Scratching at some sweat that was drying on his jaw, he lost focus for just half a second. And though the cicadas continued to sing and the stars to shine, Jack knew something was amiss straight away. The male voices were no longer solely behind him. They were before him. Hushed and part of the darkness that stared back. Had he imagined it? Swallowing harshly he focused on the black lines of branches and bushes. With the wind quiet, any movement would indicate unfriendly visitors. But none moved. None sighed. Indeed, perhaps he had just imagined it. With a coded click of the tongue he signalled the other scout whom lay a few meters up ahead.

The man shot up disturbed, helmet crooked on his head, followed by a thump of lead hitting flesh. Jack’s heart was racing in an instant, eyes noting his dead fellow scout, shortly followed by then a blitz of stars in the bushes. Bullets were being fired and even ducking low he could swear he would be hit. That this would be it. That he would...

Gasping, Jack shot up from the bed. A sheen of sweat stuck to his brow and it took a good few moments before he realised he was no longer in France. The room surrounding him was dark, but he recognised it well enough. He was at the Maniari’s, having just awoken from a bad dream. Sighing, he let himself fall back on the comfortable mattress. Even years after the war, he was haunted by his days in the army. And he felt it only got worse when he was alone, the cold sheets a cocoon that trapped him in the most frightening of memories. Staring out at the ceiling he waited for his heartbeat to calm and breath to steady. But that was not going to happen.

Gunshots fired in the night outside. And before he even realised it himself, Jack had thrown himself off the bed and onto the floor, arms tiger crawling up to the window sill, eyes peering over the edge. The window was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool nightly Tuscan air to relieve the heat after a sunny day. That same heat still remained in the stone ledge he pressed his cheek into, bewildered eyes finding the cause of all this ruckus: Augusto and his men.

Down on the patio on the far end of the house there stood a group of swaggering, loud men. Thick cigar smoke curled up in the air and from the way they had to steady their every move, it was obvious they were well into their cups. In total there were four, faces hard to discern in the low moonlight. It didn’t however refrain the men from clearing their identities with loud laughter and booming voices. With a shotgun in hand, Augusto stood at the front, a cigar hanging over his lip as he looked over his shoulder, hinting at the other men to watch.

‘Watch and learn!’ He growled, body starting to jerk as he cleared a few shots in the dark. Jack noticed that he wasn’t just shooting at nothing; from a tree hung a white ribbon that stood out just enough for even the drunk men to see. Not knowing whether Augusto hit anything at all, Jack flinched as the men started to cheer even more loudly.

Next up was one of the more slender looking men. Perhaps one of the bodyguards. Holding a handgun he outstretched an arm, aim more pure than that of Augusto. With a Hollywood-esque exaggeration he blew the heat from the gun’s barrel, laughing as one of the other men clapped his back.

Like this the nightly banter outside continued. It felt like hours upon hours, and though Jack had forced himself to lay back down in bed, he could no longer catch any sleep. Staring out at the ceiling he watched and waited, and dozed and mulled on thoughts that mixed reality and dream until finally he saw the first rays of sun crawl over the wooden beams above him. The sheer lace curtains drew pretty patterns there, reminding him of his first acid trip. How relieving that moment had been after months of struggling to deal with his post traumatic shock disorder.

You’ve got it bad boy, Lucia had whispered, brushing away his hair when he would wake bathing in sweat.

She was gone now.

Sighing, Jack pushed himself off the bed, head feeling dazed. He hoped that this wouldn’t occur every night, but something told him that he shouldn’t keep his hopes up. This family was mad and he knew it. Stretching himself out, hands above his head, he cracked a few joints before returning to the window sill, eyes finding that a butler had moved out to the bullet shell covered terrace on his left. The man was placing a whole collection of glasses, half finished liquor bottles and crowded ash trays onto a larger tray, face stern and focused.

Then Jack realised there was another person up and about. Just beneath his window, seated at the long end of a table, chair covered in a black and white striped cotton, sat the only daughter of the Maniari’s. Bunny. She was all dressed up to the nines, hair neatly coiffed and body clad in a blue knee length dress.

From his position, Jack could see everything perfectly. The way her cigarette smudged with lipstick, the way her eyes sometimes moved to the butler who was cleaning up the mess on the other terrace. And he also noted that her fashion magazine was a bit peculiar; either they had started to include an accounting segment, or Bunny dear was holding a secret. The pages looked off. Reaching a little further, Jack tried to figure out what it was she was hiding, but that move betrayed him. The window creaked and with a hurried scowl Bunny looked up, hand closing her magazine.

‘Good morning,’ Jack chimed, smiling warmly. Bunny sucked on her cigarette and stared up at Jack. A moment passed.

‘If you say so.’ She sighed, pressing the half-finished cigarette into a glass ashtray before walking back inside.

Jack contemplated how he had wronged her, but as his eyes wandered over the curves of the misty hills, his mind bleaked. In the far distance, behind the neatly kept gardens, he could see the vineyards, stretching for miles. Most of it owned by the Maniaris, small houses dotted over the landscape, all rented by locals or used by family members. Today was the day he would meet some of them. He wondered if they would be just as mad.

‘Too expensive.’ The old nan flared an aggravated hand in the direction of the suit clad man who had come to gather the rent. Her eyes spoke poison, but also intrigue when she noted Jack. For a short moment her trembling jaw quieted, wrinkly features studying the unknown man before her.

‘YOU, you do something about it!’ Her finger directed back at Big. ‘The protection is shit! Last week one of my goats was shot and look at what you do. NOTHING. No-thing. You scum! You..-’

One of the men pushed Jack outside of the small cottage and closed the door, leaving Jack alone. The sun was starting to sink down and with a quick check on his peculiar sundial watch he noted the time. 4.30, just about. And violence..? He listened and heard the muffled whines of the woman inside. Yes. Biting his tongue he started his way to the end of the small garden that stretched around the cottage. Vegetables were growing in long rows of green. Cabbages, leaks and the like; nothing spectacular. But he also noted feet. Or feet marks to be exact. Dragging in the mud and too large to fit the small woman that lived here, alone. Had she had a visitor? Clicking his tongue he turned heel, hearing the front door re-open, men pouring out.

‘Fucking nuthouse.’ One of the bodyguards muttered, lips glueing to a cigarette that was lit with a bloodied hand. Jack noted that too, but said nothing. It was not why he was here.

‘Found some footsteps over there.’ Jack nodded, and the men looked up.

‘So?’

‘Male. Large male. Old, most likely, or wounded. Hard to see through the red stain of this darn mud.’ Jack pointed at the garden and two of the men stepped in, one of them taking notes and photographs of the measurements and findings. They nearly looked professional - were it not for them to be stinking like a brown pub in the wind.

‘Unlikely to be Alfi.’ Big stepped forward, still distrusting of Jack. Luigi hadn’t come along, though he had offered; it was Jack who had refused. At first the idea of having Luigi with him seemed pleasing, but seeing Luigi’s slightly particular behaviour yesterday made him rethink. Perhaps it was better to find the brother’s motivations and relations one by one; in the end they both had been in Paris at the time of Lucia’s demise.

So far though, the young Maniari mostly just seemed like a spoiled brat, who, unfortunately, wasn’t all that clever. Big scowled at Jack, who smiled a fair laugh.

‘Alfonso can’t get hurt, you say?’

‘It can’t be him because why the fuck would he be in some old hag’s shitty garden? He’d come home if that’d be the case. Pfft.’ Big shook his head in disbelief and regarded one of the men who had walked to a nearby tree to take a leak, hand brushing down the pee on his pants before he let out a relieved sigh.

‘Fwoa. You just keep on pissing from that stuff.’ He laughed.

Big smirked. ‘That’s what you do. Drink like a god? Piss like a god.’

The rest of the men laughed, but Jack didn’t. He turned around, watching the distrustful woman who peaked at him through the lacy veil of her curtains. Perhaps he’d return to her later.

The sun was sinking fast, but apparently there was one more job to be done. After a short stop at the villa, a small garrison of three sleek cars drove up the ruby red roads. At the front was Augusto’s car, a silver Mercedes, it’s lacquer shining in the last drops of honey hued sunlight. In the far back was the brandless black beast that carried Jack and four square shouldered men. These men were new to Jack, and for a moment Jack wondered if he was brought along so Augusto could keep an eye on him. Of course he had hoped that he would have been just allowed to lumber around alone, but reality was different. In reality even family friends had to join in on the dirty work. Whatever the dirty work would be right now.

After a short drive the cars halted before a small winery, long rows of vines weaving in patterns behind the tall cypresses that stood at either side of the muddy road. The sun was close to disappearing now, leaving long and tall shadows at the men’s feet. The Maniari crew had nine men in total, which seemed excessive for a visit. But then again; perhaps it wasn’t enough. Jack noticed how they all kept a hand close to the insides of their jackets, buttons undone. He was no fool. There were weapons held disguised, ready to be used at will.

Turning on his heel, Augusto was surrounded by his trusty bodyguard number One - a surprisingly small and slender man - and the four jarheads.

‘No words English. Just watch. I need your eyes alone. No funny business.’

Jack nodded, not sure what was about to happen. With confident strides the men walked up to the near abandoned looking winery, an old tractor parked near the door. The yard was muddy, leaving hundreds of tracks of cars, feet and what looked to be dog paws.

‘Nando!!’ Augusto called at a man who stepped out of the front door. The leather faced man was obviously not eager to see Augusto, eyes skittish and hand holding onto the door knob.

‘Good eve.’ Nando watched the many men that surrounded Augusto, eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t want no trouble sir.’

‘Then there won’t be any trouble.’ Augusto smiled broadly - too broadly, his cheeks drawing menacing shadows in the light of the sinking sun. ‘Just business talk.’

‘Right now? I was just about to eat sup--’

One of Augusto’s men pushed Nando back inside, pushing through the narrow hallway until all men were indoors. It was there where yet more visitors were found. More tough looking men in suits, hands staying nervously close to their pockets.

Jack barely got a chance at properly looking at these other men before the situation escalated. Augusto voice boomed with some insult about ‘crooked investors’ and then all hell broke loose. Or, so it seemed. Being pushed back against the opposing wall of the narrow hallway, Jack lost track of movements. Men were rushing back and forth, commands being yelled. The house was too small and it didn’t help that Jack had hurt his head, his vision swimming.

It was seconds later when the calm returned. Jack found himself leaning into the wall. On the ground in the small living room red stains leaked into the carpet. And watching Augusto, he saw those same red stains on his blouse. Had the mobster been wounded? Gasping in horror, Jack blinked, memories flooding him.

RUN JACK. RUN! Harry’s bloody teeth gulped the words, eyes wide.

The memory faded.

Hold! Hold! Hold for the king! Rain clattered on poorly made helmets, the dark night icy cold. Are you soldiers? Or are you weak? Right there the enemy awaits us, but we are ready. Squadron 2, line 4. Get ready to climb!

Jack felt sick, feet stumbling. The whole hallway seemed to tilt a few degrees, like he were on a ship filled with cute picture frames and handmade doilies.

‘Let’s get outta here.’ Big pushed Jack back out of the door, the rest of the men following.

‘What a fucking mess.’ Augusto growled. He didn’t sound as wounded as he seemed. Jack inhaled sharply, the evening air biting into his lungs. Panic and trauma washed over him and he had to try his best to stay afoot. Around him the other men walked out, reminding him of the soldiers in the trenches. The same mud that slipped beneath his unsteady feet had been there in France. Day in day out. Everything had been so wet, all the freaking time. At some point he hadn’t even known anymore whether it was the rain, blood or both. With blinking eyes Jack focused on his shoes, red splatters climbing up his leather shoes. He knew he wasn’t in France. He knew he wasn’t hurt - yet. And yet the ache in his heart seemed to seep in every corner of his limbs, turning his usually sharp mind to muddle.

‘Such a waste of wine.’ Augusto clicked his teeth. ‘And to you.’ He reared his head and looked at the man who looked at him through the small doorway. Jack didn’t know the man, but he seemed like a boos of sorts. His smug face raised a challenging chin, but said nothing.

‘Shame on your pitiful blood.’ Augusto spat on the ground. ‘This was once my father’s land. And now what?! Look at this! The moment some poor man comes up and tries to rebuild it, you take it from him.’

Jack frowned. Before him he saw the same Augusto that had beaten his daughter and threatened his family with the worst of repercussions. And yet that same man now wanted to protect this poor winemaker. Really? It almost seemed absurd.

‘There’s much waste, old friend. But this? I see potential. You see flaws. You hold onto the old. I embrace..the new!’ The smug looking man laughed. ‘And you see, Nando here.’ He turned and squeezed the terrified looking farmer into the door frame. ‘Has become a very, very good friend of mine. Haven’t you Nando? Hmm?’

The poor man swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Y-yes sir.’

‘No no. We’re friends. Call me Gio, please.’

‘Yes..Gio.’ The man nodded, terror clear in his eyes.

Augusto sighed dramatically. ‘Well, dear Gio, you ruined my shirt!’

‘Oh curse you old friend. Buy yourself a new one. And kiss your wife for me, will you!’

‘Watch your words!’ Augusto wanted to step in and all men were back to grabbing for their pockets, but Big was there to hush his father.

‘Father, let us deal with this another--’

‘Another time? Would you look at that smug bastard with his..’ Augusto waved his hand in the air with disgust, his pretentiously friendly tone gone.

Gio laughed and waved, his skin lighting up with the last rays of sunshine. ‘Let us have proper wine soon my friend. We’ll discuss business, like the old days!’

Augusto spat on the ground and shot one last poisonous glance at the boisterous man in the doorway. It was obvious the two had a history. And Augusto was pulling the short end of the string tonight. With dragging feet he let himself be guided back to the cars. Even now Jack wasn’t quite sure why they had come with so many. Was it to show off? Or had they really been ready for a war? Still feeling a little wheezy, he walked to the last car and got in, his body soon squeezed in the middle of the bench between the two large men.

‘You’re hurt!’ Luigi exclaimed. With hasted feet he worked his way through the men who had started to scatter in the large hallway. Some went to the lounge for a drink, others to their quarters for sleep. None were rueful enough to deal with their boss Augusto right now.

The man groaned. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Oh why look at you father.’ Luigi tutted, peeling at the winesoaked blouse of his father. His father swatted his hand away.

Luigi hesitated. ‘Ehh.. I must warn you, father.’ Luigi licked his thin lip. ‘Mom has one of her...moments.’

Augusto turned heel, eyes wild. ‘She..what? Why didn’t you do something?!’

Luigi shrugged in defeat and pointed outside. In a flurry of curse words his father ran out, feet thundering on the loud marble floor.

‘You alright?’ Luigi stepped in next to Jack. The other men had dispersed, leaving the two men standing here alone.

Jack nodded quietly. France still ringed in his ears. Or perhaps it was a mild concussion. Either way he could do with some rest and a meal.

‘Quite a day it was.’

‘Indeed. I heard Mrs. Tuscesi got another beating. What a woman. What. A. Woman.’

Jack nodded, allowing Luigi to guide him up the stairs like he had yesterday. Again that fleshy warm hand found his lower back, but Jack didn’t object. Stepping in turn with Luigi, he told his friend about the little situation with Gio. Luigi sighed.

‘My papa never learns.’

They halted amidst the stairs, where a window gave a lookout over the shadowy gardens. Little torch lights cast a mysterious hue over the greens, where the signora danced, a little 3-legged dog by her side. Meanwhile Augusto was storming through the long lane between sky high cypresses, right at her.

‘Didn’t know you had a dog.’ Jack said. He didn’t want to question what was the matter with Luigi’s mother - it seemed a touchy subject, especially now he was living here with the Maniari’s. For a moment they watched as she waved her expressive arms in the air, before throwing a shoe for the dog toe catch. It hobbled awkwardly on its three tiny stilts.

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi corrected, then returned his warm hand to Jack’s back. Jack again, didn’t object and followed as they continued their way up the stairs. This time Luigi got a little further before he halted amidst the hallway, feet quiet on the stone floor.

Jack smiled, knowing exactly what Luigi wished to ask. It seemed near inappropriate, but in a way Jack could use some friendly company at the moment. Besides, he still needed to find out what Luigi’s true motivation was in life. He had changed so much since last they met in person. Not only had he grown in size, also his manners had changed. The Luigi he had met in Paris was not quite the man before him. That Luigi had been an oversized boy who liked to play. This was a man who made the game.

Turning on his heel, Jack looked over his shoulder. With a single nod the affirmation was given; join me. And so Luigi joined.

With most of the men gone on their nightly mission, the house was left quiet. Bunny peaked through her cracked bedroom door. On either side of the hallway the lights were dimly lit. But no guards were there to keep watch. No brothers were there to call onto her. All she could hear was her mother on the phone and her brother’s record player downstairs. From the looks of it both were preoccupied and so Bunny took her chance, feet slipping out of the door frame.

The heavy creak of her door made her flinch. Fuck. Holding tight onto the door knob she waited. Perhaps there soon would be footsteps, guns cocking, knuckles cracking. But no, there was nobody here.

Continuing her quiet pitter patter, Bunny made her way to one of the doors on the right. Not far from here her mother was babbling into the phone. Or worse yet; crying into the phone. Bunny again halted her steps.

‘But I need you! I..I need you!’

Her mother sounded positively desperate. But then again, so were all women who lived in this household. Her mother would drink herself to death. Bunny would run herself to death. Pick your poison, they say, right?

Gritting her teeth, Bunny turned her attention to one of the doors on her right. It’s where Alfonso’s study was located. A bunch of mystery rooms that she had rarely been allowed to visit. And the attraction to visit became even stronger when Alfi disappeared. The brother’s had looked inside for a bit, but decided there were no clues worth mentioning to the Englishman. All seemed as it should be, they said.

But Bunny didn’t believe it could be that easy. Alfi always had been a weird brother. Being the oldest of the bunch, he had always felt terribly important with his books and administrational work and numbers. He had always been the precise one, the easily ignited one. One thing out of place would send him into fury, and so it was here where Bunny decided to do some of her own research. Here in his study. Where all her brothers seemed too busy with their gun fights and extortion, Bunny knew that it was unlikely to be just a regular kidnapping. There had to be clues. There just had to be.

With a click of the door knob she opened the study room. And it was exactly what she expected to find. A simple desk set amidst ceiling high bookshelves filled with administration and books. It was kept so orderly it was hard to think this may just be the start of a crime scene. But Bunny had read books herself, too. Agatha Christie had taught her one thing: death is in the details. And patterns are always there. The only difference was that this was no oriental train or desolate island, but home. The home she had lived in with people that could very well star in one of Christie’s books. For they were characters, each and every one of them.

Behind her, Bunny could still hear her mother’s wails, followed by a sharp click of the door. Was her mother going out? Oh no. Oh shit. Quickly closing the door behind her, Bunny pressed her ear against the door, listening to the footsteps in the hallway. It was definitely her mother, and from the way her heels tapped the floor in an uneven rhythm, it was clear that she was drunk. Not that this was such a surprise; each time her mother suffered a setback, she’d fall back into the dirty old habit of binge drinking.

‘Zazoooo. BABYYY where are you sweetieeee.’ Her mother’s shrill voice called as she clambered down the stairs, footsteps fading.

Zazoo hadn’t been able to climb the stairs ever since the incident. A shooting incident. And though all said it had been the Luchesse’s, or perhaps even Gio himself, Bunny knew better. She always knew better. And she was sure that it had been one of the family who had shot the dog’s leg during one of the many drinking fests. One night the dog had four legs, the next just three.

Poor dog.

Turning back around, Bunny let out a sigh. Again her eyes fell on the many small details around her. Having learned from her mystery books, she tried to find clues. The burned candles, the disturbed dust on the shelves, the…Hmm. She walked to one of the shelves that had obviously been disturbed quite recently. With a tug she pulled out some of the folders that were tucked tightly together. She wasn’t sure what exactly she was looking for, the numbers all unfamiliar. But there were names here too. Many names, though unfamiliar in most cases. Only the Luchesse named immediately rung a bell, but then the numbers didn’t clarify much either.

Flitting through the pages, Bunny let her eyes slide over the neatly noted numbers. Prices, codes, phone numbers. They could be anything. Continuing her research, her eyes stopped on one page. A blood stain had poured into the thin paper, dark red, though also still slightly slimy. An unusual type of blood stain when at best you’d suspect a paper cut.

Noises in the hallway made her turn on her heel again. More people. Male. Fuck. Hurrying to get the folder closed and back on the shelf, Bunny nearly let it slip from her hands. Her heart was thundering and fingers slippery. She knew that if she was caught red handed now, this would be last day she ever saw daylight. Her father would not have this. He didn’t like unsubordinate little women. He wanted them meek and mild, not curious and self established.

Rushing towards the door, Bunny already tried to find excuses to tell. Perhaps she had heard a faint noise and since she couldn’t find the guards, went to see for it herself. Perhaps she thought she heard Alfi. Perhaps she..

‘My mother has a dog.’ Luigi’s chuckle reverberated up the stairwell. Bunny sighed and relaxed a little. Luigi didn’t give a crap about these administrational books. He cared more about appearances, self pampering and other slightly dubious male activities. Pressing her ear back against the door she listened, but no further words came. It were two pairs of feet, moving in the same direction. Towards the Englishman’s room, or hers. Oh no. Oh no! You can’t be saying they were looking for her!

Making sure the footsteps were far enough away, Bunny unclicked the door and rushed into the hallway. The men were gone. Though their voices returned, chuckling through Jack’s door.

Bunny knew at that moment that she would be better off if she just went back to her room. She was putting her nose in things she didn’t understand. In things she wasn’t supposed to understand.

‘Oh Jack!’ Luigi exclaimed, followed by a bit of laughter. Bunny quietly moved in closer, ears peaking to pick up the sounds. But no more sounds came.

Then Bunny made another mistake. She watched. Women weren’t supposed to see these things. But here she was, bending over and peeking in through the keyhole. Inside the well-lit room stood the two men. Jackets removed, embracing. But it wasn’t the type of embrace she knew. This was..different. Long lasting. Luigi’s hands were on the Englishman’s buttocks. And it lasted too long. This was..this was. Bunny watched in shock and awe through the tiny keyhole. And then Jack’s blue eyes found hers.

Fuck.

Chap 4 >

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69 @thereisa8ella @darkbooksarwin @summersong69 @madbaddic7ed @luclittlepond @maroonmolly @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @hell1129-blog @agniavateira @tillthelandslide @elinesama @maddyreads14

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry as jack #the englishman jack #mobster mystery fic #original story #multichap

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temperancejones · 3 years

Text

Some Kind of Curse - Chapter Three

Kris and Steve spend a few hours with Duke and the chief of police arranging their father's funeral for the next morning. They decide to bury him at punchbowl, as he was a veteran, and many people on the island considered him a hero for being such a great cop. Steve and Kris ultimately decide that they will put up a plaque for him at the family mausoleum next to his wife and parents, who all have a plaque there too. Oddly enough, the only McGarrett body buried there is of Jean, the widowed wife of Ensign Steven McGarrett, who died in the Pearl Harbour attacks. Once the meeting is over and everything is set in stone (thankfully HPD was already mostly done with their funeral plans for their father, because they knew that Steve and Kris were overseas at the time of his death), Steve and Kris head back to their hotel to finally get out of their uniforms and relax for the night. They end up grabbing a bite to eat again at the restaurant and have a few beers to unwind before heading back to their room for the night. During dinner, Steve steps out to make a phone call to Mary to inform her of their father's death, and to ask her to come to the funeral. Mary, who essentially grew up without any parents (she was only ten when their mom died and their father sent them away), said she would think about it, and then hung up.

The next morning, Kris find herself reluctant to get out of her bed after a night of minimal sleep. Her mind was racing all night, just trying not to think about her father's funeral in a few hours, and how miserable it truly is to bury both of your parents before the age of fourty. Neither of her parents will ever be able to be grandparents if Kris or her siblings have any kids down the road, and they will never get to see how their kids have grown up in so many ways. Deep down, it breaks Kris' heart to think about, but she knows that it is something that is completely out of her control. All she can do now is take care of her siblings and make sure that they keep the memory of their parents alive and (hopefully) make them proud.

Kris continues to lie in bed for the next little while, trying to muster up all the power and courage in her to get up while Steve goes out for a run to try and clear his mind. Kris would love to go with him, but she can't risk popping her stitches quite yet. Half an hour into Steve's run, Kris hauls her ass out of bed and trudges into the bathroom to freshen up a little bit and make herself look presentable for the funeral today. After washing her face, Kris looks at herself in the mirror for the first time in a while. Her brown hair that was recently cut (by Steve during a little bit of off time on base) into a choppy bob to stay out of her face during missions, and be as low maintenance as possible, is now a mess from her restless (lack of) sleep. She notices a few more wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes- something that comes with aging and stress, she assumes. But her eyes... oh boy her eyes. Specifically, the bags under her sad, blue eyes that prove she hasn't slept in a while look rather daunting. If she had any makeup right now, she sure as hell would be using it to make her look like she was a living human being and not an exhausted person who probably hasn't had a good night's sleep in the last seventeen years of her life. Taking off her pyjama shirt, she sighs and takes a closer look at the rest of her body. Her chest is now littered with black and blue bruises from the bullets she took in her vest yesterday- she doesn't dare to touch them because she knows that it will hurt like a bitch. Kris sighs and looks at her left shoulder, which is still dressed in a white bandage that's probably due for a change. She carefully takes off the dressing and winces as she touches the tender skin around her bullet wound. From there, she grabs some saline, a new dressing and some medical tape from her medkit, then applies a new dressing, thinking about how this wound is going to lead to yet another scar on her body. Throughout her career in the Navy and Military, Kris' body has slowly begun to be covered in scars from bullet wounds, shrapnel, cuts, broken bones and the occasional surgery. It's just one of the joys of being on the front lines with the men and going out on dangerous missions all the time; Steve has plenty of scars and aches too from it. One thing that Kris loves about her body though, is her tattoos. Each upper arm has a tattoo, and she loves to look at them whenever she gets the chance. Her left arm has a beautiful custom Navy piece that she got with Steve when they graduated from the academy, and her right arm has a black and white mandala with some thick black stripes near her elbow. Kris then gets changed into a new pair of underwear and a sports bra, and washes her face, hoping it makes her look and feel less tired.

A knock on the bathroom door snaps Kris out of her thoughts. It's Steve, and he's back from his run, by the sound of it. "Hey, if you're done lookin' at yourself in the mirror, I brought some coffee for us. And maybe some cocoa puffs from the Liliha Bakery." Steve says loudly, which makes' Kris smile. She dries off her face and opens the door, now poking her head out of it. "Cocoa puffs? Gee, I hope you bought something for yourself, because if you think you're getting any of them, you're dead wrong. Gimme a sec." Kris grins, wiggling her eyebrows at Steve, who is putting the coffees down on the table, now chuckling at his twin who seriously hasn't changed at all since they were kids.

Kris throws her pyjama shorts back on and exits the bathroom, making a beeline for the coffee and cocoa puffs. Steve hands her a coffee, and then opens up the bag of cocoa puffs. Before Steve can even think about grabbing a cocoa puff for himself, Kris' hand is already on one, apparently quite eager to eat it. Steve can't help but laugh at his sister's antics; this was something she has done since they were little kids... she loves the cocoa puffs from Liliha, and would fight tooth and nail for one. Every Sunday, their mom would get up early and grab fresh cocoa puffs for the entire family to have, and they would usually sit outside and have them for breakfast as a family. From there, Steve and Kris eat their breakfast in silence, not really wanting to discuss what is going to be happening today, because frankly, it's something that they both don't want to think about. Once they're all finished, Steve heads into the bathroom to take a quick shower after his run, and then they both put their dress uniforms once again.

The funeral is a sombre affair. Many HPD officers come up to Steve and Kris and offer their condolences, and Steve and Kris answer them on autopilot, thanking them. Before their father's casket is lowered into the ground, Kris is handed the flag that was rested on top of it, which made her breath catch in her throat. Steve put a hand on her back in confidence and placed another on the flag as they said one last goodbye to their father. Kris found herself on autopilot for the entirety of the service, as it was something that she didn't really want to remember or experience ever again. Losing one parent was hard enough, but now that both were gone, and her father was murdered because of something that her and Steve were working on was something that was simply incomprehensible. The 'what if we hadn't taken on the mission of tracking down the Hesse brothers' made Kris feel sick to her stomach to think about- because if they hadn't, John McGarrett would still be alive today, and his children wouldn't be orphans.

When Kris comes back to reality, her and Steve are the only ones left at the cemetery. Kris sighs and crosses herself, whispering a quiet goodbye to her father, and then begins to walk away. She pats Steve on the back, and together they head back to the SUV, and drive back to the hotel in silence. They can mourn for their father once they catch Hesse. He needs to pay for what he did, and they need to get a little bit of revenge. But, they can't do that if their minds are occupied with mourning and emotions, so for now, they will be pushed back until they know that justice has been served to Hesse. Steve and Kris know that they can't bring their father back, but the least they can do is catch his killer and make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison for his actions and all of the pain he has caused.

When Steve and Kris get back to the hotel, they get changed out of their uniforms and go over their mission plan once more; sneak in the house through the back door once the coast is clear, and then begin to investigate the house. They need to see if Hesse left any evidence behind, and then they need to track down the tiger and the champ tool box to try and figure out why their father mentioned them. Maybe they would find out why their father apologized for lying to them moments before his death as well. Before they leave the hotel room, they make sure to grab their Navy ID's and their service weapons just to be safe; they don't know if Hesse is lurking around the house, just waiting for them to fall into his trap or something like that. It makes Kris nervous to think about going to the house, but she knows that it is something that needs to be done so they can get some real answers.

Thankfully, when they arrive at the house, nobody else is there. They decide to park the truck down the street and enter the house through the back door, just to make sure that they aren't seen by anyone in the neighbourhood, or by any HPD members who may be lurking around the house.

Seeing her childhood home for the first time in seventeen years is an odd feeling to Kris. She would feel relieved to be at home under any other circumstance, but today, it makes her feel a little sick to her stomach. For some reason, Kris can't think of any happy memories regarding this house- all she can think of all the pain she has felt here throughout her life; this is where she lost both parents. In the back of her mind, she wishes this house would just burn down so all of the bad feelings end emotions could be forgotten along with it, but at the same time, this house is all that Kris and her siblings have left of their parents, and she simply cannot bear to part ways with them entirely yet.

Taking a deep breath, Kris follows Steve into the house. They enter into the dining room, which also doubled as their dad's office. Kris remembers sneaking into the kitchen for a glass of water late at night and seeing her father doubled over case files, always working hard, even at home. But now, instead of seeing her father sitting at the desk and deep into his work, there are evidence markers, pools of blood and blood spatter on the walls. Before Kris can get too emotional about the sight before her, she tucks it into the back of her mind and gets to work. First, she needs to find the tiger that she made for her father- hopefully there are some answers in it.

Steve makes a beeline for the desk, noticing a lack of dust right in the middle of it, perfectly shaped like a computer. Kris can essentially see the gears turning in his head as he remembers that their father hated computers and refused to buy one. Steve then looks around for something and manages to grab a print next to the computer spot, thanks to some trusty wheel lube that their father had tucked away in the desk. Steve snaps a picture of it to run once they leave the house, and then continues to look around the room for more evidence left behind by Hesse and perhaps an accomplice, based on a bloody boot print left behind that doesn't match up to Hesse's custom shoes.

It takes a few moments, but Kris manages to find the tiger along the wall behind her father's desk. She quickly moves to it and picks it up, chuckling a little bit. This tiger was one of the ugliest things Kris has ever seen or made, and its impossible to tell that it even is a tiger- it's lumpy and poorly painted, but alas, it is something that her father had cherished from the moment she gave it to him, which is something she will always appreciate.

"Got the tiger. Let's go find the box." Kris tells Steve, who nods, and follows her out of the office, and to the garage, which is down the hallway and to the right. "Looks like Hesse had an accomplice. That's probably how they managed to ambush us. Looks like there was a computer here, too." Steve explains, pushing open the door to the garage, revealing their father's beloved mercury marquis, exactly how they left it seventeen years ago.

"So, Hesse and his accomplice managed to track our calls... son of a bitch." Kris mutters to herself, now understanding how those helicopters appeared out of nowhere and attacked their convoy in Korea. She shuts the door behind her and walks to the front of the marquis. Steve pulls off the cover on the car and lets out a low whistle, running his hands along the front of it. "Never thought we'd see this beauty again. I'm glad dad could never part with it." He grins, patting the hood of it lightly.

Kris smiles, now walking around the car to look at it entirely. "Dad sure had taste in cars. God, I missed this piece of junk. It needs so much work." She tells her brother, who only smiles in reply. Their father had bought this car when Steve and Kris were fifteen, and they were all working on it together so that Steve and Kris could drive it once they turned sixteen and got their own licences. But that never got to happen, as life got in the way. Kris, Steve and Mary were all sent away to the mainland before the car was completely fixed up, so it must have sat in here for the last seventeen years. Kris sighs, and looks inside the car, admiring the beautiful leather seats when she spots something along the far wall of the garage.

The red Champ toolbox.

Kris calls Steve and directs him to the box, and then makes her way over to it too.

With a bit of hesitation, mostly because he doesn't know what to expect inside this box, Steve unlatches the lid and pops it open, furrowing his brows at the odd contents inside it.

Kris notices the contents too and sets down the tiger next to the toolbox and reaches for a black tape recorder sitting on top of a bunch of old photographs. She looks it over, and then hits the play button, revealing an old recording from their father. Her heart sinks to her stomach when she hears her father's voice for the first time since his death, and immediately turns it off, not wanting to hear anymore of it right now. She places the tape recorder back in the box, and looks over at Steve, who is currently looking at the photographs, looking rather shocked. Before Steve can say anything, there is a distant slam in the house, which immediately sends Steve and Kris into defence mode. Steve quickly puts the photographs back into the box and shuts it. Kris hurries to get some cover behind the car and hopefully get the intruder, most likely Hesse with a surprise ambush. She slides her gun out of the holster on her right hip and looks over at Steve, who motions to the door to the house that they entered the garage from. Kris nods at him, understanding that someone is about to come through it.

And sure enough, someone does. A man, kris presumes by his loud voice, who is currently yelling orders at Steve, as they both have their guns pointed at each other. They manage to come to a truce and lower their weapons to show their ID at each other once the intruder introduces himself as Detective Danny Williams; the haole that HPD put on their father's case.

Once Steve and the Detective show their ID's to each other and put their weapons away, Steve tells Kris to come out. She slides her gun back in her holster and slowly stands up with her hands in the air, so the detective does not accidentally shoot her, and finally gets a good look at the loud voice she heard yelling at Steve.

Detective Williams is undoubtedly stunning.

This is going to be a big problem, Kris thinks to herself.

#h50 #h50 fic #hawaii five-0 #hawaii five-o #kris mcgarrett #steve mcgarrett #chin ho kelly #danny williams #hawaii five o #kono kalakaua

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