#I think she deserves a gun. for silly reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

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୨୧ Pairing: assassin!soobin x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

୨୧ Genre: crime au/angst/smut

୨୧ Summary: Carrying a hit out on a corrupt politician at the charity event of the year might seem extreme to most women but it's a regular Friday night for you. Things like this should go smoothly, only tonight you're not the only one on the hunt.

Someone's out to get you too. Someone who knows your every move as if they were his own. But can he actually go through with killing you or will feelings from the past cause him to abandon his mission altogether?

୨୧ Word Count: 2.8k

୨୧ Warnings: you're an assassin so, ya know, guns/knives/mentions of assassinations but no actual deaths, fingering, marking, a lil bit of roughness, unprotected sex, for sure praise kink vibes, pet names (baby), and i'm pretty sure that's all.

୨୧ A/N: I'm dedicating this fic to @anyamaris who's honestly the entire reason that I wrote this to begin with. I've never met anyone who cares so deeply about what it is that other people want so here's something that's all about you because you deserve that and so much more. I hope my silly lil angsty assassin low key rom com smut makes you smile 💜

An $11,000 crystal chandelier hangs high above your head, casting a soft copper glow across the dim ballroom. Three others like it are positioned a few feet apart, framing a painting on the ceiling worth more than the four of them combined. No one raises their head to admire the beauty that the mayor’s dirty money went into crafting. They’re too distracted by the action on the floor. Champagne towers, a gorgeous woman singing atop a grand piano, mistresses in tight dresses, and business. Of course, the business. That’s what they’re really here for.

Everyone thinks that last week’s charity ball, full of senators dining with their families and taking photos with less fortunate children, was where the fate of the city was decided. But no, it’s here, in dark corners with men whose faces you’ll never see in the daylight, that corruption thrives and fates are truly decided. It turns your stomach to be here arm in arm with the Chief District Judge, smiling and nodding at every misogynistic comment he makes about the way you look tonight.

He picked it out for you, this curve hugging black dress with a slit high enough to let his mind wander to places you wish it wouldn’t. It makes you wish that he were your target for tonight but, no, instead it’s the senator halfway across the room shaking hands with old friends while his companion gets drunk enough to pretend she’s actually attracted to him. You need to get him alone but the bastard’s never alone. They should’ve just let you snipe him, quick and clean.

Your boss insisted upon something intimate though. Something sure and nothing's surer than confirming a kill with your own two eyes. Studying his movements, you’re caught off guard by a familiar scent. Cologne, powdery with notes of citrus. It brings you back to a time before all of this when you were a petty thief living in your little hole in the wall apartment with—

“Walk away” a passing voice whispers, marrying with the scent of the cologne like two pieces of the same puzzle. “It can’t be” you gasp, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. Turning your head, you catch a glimpse of a ghost from your past shifting through the crowd. Soobin. Tall, handsome, and impossible to take your eyes off of. Your palms begin to sweat, making the neck of the champagne glass slippery in your hand.

“What did you say, dear?” the Chief District Judge asks, placing his hand on yours. You smile, innocently sipping your champagne, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need to go to the little girl’s room.” “Oh, of course, but hurry back to me. Wouldn’t want another man to snatch you up now, would I?” “You’re so silly,” you giggle, “I’m all yours.” Sitting your glass down, you summon all of your nerves and make your way toward the stairs that lead to the second floor.

Your date’s gaze is burning through your dress, enjoying the way the fabric moves against your body as you advance the stairs. It’d make you want to crawl out of your skin if your attention wasn’t still glued on Soobin. He watches you from the bar and, even at this distance, you catch yourself drowning in the pools of chestnut he calls eyes. It’s been an eternity since you’ve seen him in a suit, long enough that you’d forgotten how elegant he looks in one.

Your brain’s wracked with questions. What’s he doing here? Is he on the same job? Why’s he telling you to walk away? Making a quick left turn, you dip into the bathroom and rush into one of the stalls to gather yourself. You take a deep breath, peeking beneath the other stalls to be sure you don’t have company. All clear. “Just relax, okay? Don’t let him throw you off your game. You will finish this. Pretend he isn’t even here. He doesn’t even exist.”

The bathroom door swings open, and a pair of black laced Prada Oxfords step inside. “Baby?” Soobin sings, locking the door behind him. Staring straight ahead he sees nothing. Only polished marble sinks and spotless mirrors reflecting a motionless row of stalls. “I know you’re in here,” he says, quietly pushing open the door to the nearest stall. Empty. “So why don’t you just come out?” Kicking off your heels, you retrieve the knife tucked into your garter. At the same time, Soobin slips out the gun hidden beneath his suit jacket.

He pushes open the door to the second stall and the auto sensor flushes the toilet, giving you both a miniature heart attack. Soobin laughs, moving on to the next stall, “And what’s behind door number 3?” The door flies open and out you come, the tip of your blade slicing through the arm of his jacket. Soobin spins you off in the direction of the sink but catches you before your lower back hits the edge.

“Why do you have a knife?”

“Why do you have a gun?”

“That’s fair.”

Kneeing him in the stomach, you wrap your arm around his and struggle to grab hold of the gun. “Stop it!” he demands, gripping you by the back of your dress and tossing you back into the stall you came out of. Regaining your footing, you move to charge back at him but the barrel of his gun’s already aimed at your kneecaps. “Shit,” you mumble, pissed at yourself for not having moved quicker, “What do you want?”

“Walk away” he answers. The same words he whispered to you moments ago, only there’s a nearly undetectable drop of sadness in them now that he has to face you. You still look like the picture of you he keeps in his phone. A few years older, a few more kills to your name, but a dream to behold nonetheless.

“You know I can’t do that. I have a job to do.”

“So do I but I don’t wanna do it” he begs, the sadness in his voice growing heavier, “Please don’t make me do it.”

He aims the barrel at your chest and he might as well pull the trigger because the pain that penetrates your heart makes you want to fold over. You’d expected that someday someone would be sent to stop you but him? Being assigned to different agencies had done a lot to tear you apart but your love for him never changed. Maybe you’d been foolish to think that he would feel the same. “Me? You took a job to kill me?”

“I had no choice. It’s nothing personal.” “Nothing personal?” you shout, the hurt quickly turning to anger, “Bullshit. So, if I don’t agree to walk away, you pull the trigger, is that right?” Soobin’s shoulders drop, his head turning away from you, “That’s right.” “Then pull the trigger,” you say, stepping forward so that it’s pressed to your chest. Soobin turns back to you, his face twisted in a scowl, “Don’t say that.” Your heart’s racing a mile a minute and the handle of your blade’s clenched so tightly in your fist that it’s creating an imprint on your palm.

You don’t want to die but if you don’t finish this your boss will kill you anyway. “Pull the trigger” you repeat, searching his eyes for any sign of the man who used to hold you on dark nights when the world felt too scary to face. Soobin was once your protector. He wishes that he still could be. He wants to be. Why’d you have to follow him into this world? He left you behind to give you a chance at something normal with someone normal. Why couldn’t you just walk away? Why can’t you now?

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he groans, fighting his body’s urge to become a jittery mess. You crack a teary eyed smile, “You used to love that about me.” It’s ever present in his mind that if he doesn’t do this he’ll have hell to pay. He can’t just let you go. He can’t but...shit, he has to. He lowers his gun, sliding open the magazine and emptying the bullets onto the floor. Nothing in this world could ever make him hurt you. Anyone else wouldn’t have made it up those stairs alive. You, though, are untouchable.

Soobin walks over to the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. What he’s just done is a death sentence. The price on your head has just transferred onto his. It’s only a matter of hours, two or maybe three, before he’s blacklisted. “Soob,” you say, placing your knife down on the sink, “You still care.” He glances at you in the mirror, amazed at how such an intelligent woman can be this clueless. “I never stopped caring. I don’t think I can. I probably won’t stop loving you until—” You take his hand, stroking his fingers, “Stay with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He gently squeezes your hand, a quiet acknowledgment of your attempt to comfort him. “It’s better for you without me here.” “Just like your note said before” you sigh, pulling your hand back. It’s deja vu. He’s pushing you away like he always has. Last time you fought your hardest to keep him but not this time. “You love me” you scoff, making your way back into the stall to collect your things, “But I’m still not enough for you to stay. Not even when your life depends on it.”

Reaching down to slip one of your heels back on, you feel a set of arms around your waist. They embrace you firmly enough to keep you close and softly enough to communicate that there’s nothing to fear. You turn in time to be kissed with such passion that you forget these are the lips of the man sent to kill you. None of that means anything. You only care that they’re on yours, his hands hungrily gripping at your hips…your thighs…your ass…any part of you he can reach.

There are no fireworks between you. The need that’s built up for you both is too strong to reduce to technicolored sparks in the night sky. This is an atomic bomb. A force strong enough to wreck you and you welcome it with open arms. Soobin can’t steal his mouth away from yours, he’s glued to you. “You’re more than enough” he promises, backing you against the wall, “So much more.” “Then why do you run away?” you ask, tearing his jacket even more as you help him out of it. He lifts your dress, letting his palm skim the lace of your panties. “I’m no good for you.”

Ripping his shirt open, you send buttons clinking to the ground where the bullets lay. You touch his chest and feel his body tense as you tease your way down to his belt. “I never asked you to be good for me. Be bad for me” you whine, squeezing your thighs to get the friction you find yourself growing desperate for. Flipping you around, he slaps your ass just the way you like. You arch your back as his thumb tucks your panties to the side, his middle and pointer fingers pushing into you.

In the quiet of the empty bathroom, all he can hear are your low sweet, moans and the splashing of your juices each time his fingers curl into your core. “You feel so good on my fingers, baby. Just dripping for me” he growls, his other hand coming around your neck to bring you closer to him. Your nails claw at the wall, the feeling of being pressed against it as his fingers fuck deeper into you intense enough to make you want to climb it.

Reaching back, you knot your fingers into his hair, pulling at it each time he hits your sweet spot. “One more” you moan, grinding back against his hand. “One more? You sure you can take it?” You nod, feeling a third finger brush your inner thigh, “I can take it, mmm, oh god.” His third finger slides into you slowly, his wrist rotating to stimulate you from every angle. “That’s it, baby. Take it for me. You like it when I fill you up with my fingers?” “Yes, I…I love it. So good. So—”

The door to the bathroom jiggles and you both freeze completely. At least you do. Soobin’s still except his fingers which remain inside of you, moving at a tortourlsy slow pace. The door jiggles again and there’s the low chattering of a group of women.

“Cut it out. What if they get in?” you whisper, turning to stop him. Soobin smiles down at you, sweeping you into another kiss, “So what if they get in?” Hooking his arms behind your legs, he lifts you off of your feet, the tip of his cock flicking at your clit. Your body shivers, making enough sound to give pause to the women outside. “You’re terrible” you giggle, reaching between you to stroke his length. You lightly trace the head of his cock with your thumb, guiding him closer and closer to your slit.

Soobin lowers his hips, raising them to thrust into you a little at a time until you’re writhing on his cock, too full to know what to do with yourself. Catching you staring up at him, your eyes sparkling like stars, makes the air feel thinner. It’s like he’s somewhere high up, climbing a mountain and losing air the higher he goes but he can’t stop. The way you make him feel, he can’t let go of it. Reaching up to cup his face, you plant kisses on his bare chest, choking back moans. “You’re perfect,” you say, meaning it with all your heart.

Soobin shakes his head, spreading your legs wider, “Not as perfect as you. Never as perfect as you.” The noise outside of the door quiets as the women give up, heading off in search of another bathroom. Soobin wastes no time thrusting into you, gripping your thighs hard enough to mark you. “Fuck, yes, just like that, ah!” Your lids fall closed and maybe Soobin was right, there must be stars in your eyes because they’re all you see in the darkness. “You’re so tight for me. So warm. I want you to cum for me” he whispers, pushing in deeper and holding you there. “Cum for me and don’t hold back.”

Grinding you onto him, he can feel every part of you and you feel every part of him. The twitching of every vein traveling up his length in response to the clenching of your walls. You’re the cutest thing, your body shivering, pillowy tits bouncing, filling the bathroom with incoherent moans. It’s almost as if he has you wrapped around his finger, something like a rubber band, twisted around and around until you’re pushed so far beyond your limits that you’re about to snap.

“Oh…” is all you get out before you break, grasping at his chest as your senses are overtaken by something too heavenly to fathom. “My little killer” he coos, kissing the last bit of smeared lipstick from your lips, “You’ve always been worth it.” The clock’s ticking on his mission and soon on his life as well. All he wants with whatever precious minutes he has left is to stay in this moment with you but life, as always, has different plans.

A phone sounds, a wistful ringtone echoing through the bathroom. Opening your eyes, you glance down at the phone peeking out of his jacket pocket. The screen flashes RESTRICTED. “Better get that,” you say, patting him on the arm to let him know it’s okay. Soobin carefully lets your legs down, only reaching for the phone when he’s sure you’re okay. “Hello? Yes. I know, I should’ve reached out sooner. I—” His attention momentarily strays to you gathering bullets from the floor and loading them back into his gun. “Did I handle her? Confirmed. Mission complete.”

Hanging up, he tosses it across the floor and you shoot it. Perfect aim. “They’ll be sending someone to confirm the kill soon,” he says, readjusting his pants to make himself decent, “We should get going.” “We?” you ask, checking to make sure you heard him right. Bundling your things up in his jacket, he approaches you much too happily for such a dire situation. “Yes, we, if you’ll have me.”

You take your heels from him, throwing them back on. “Of course, I will. Just one thing, point another gun at me and I’ll kill you.” Throwing your purse over your shoulder you float over to the bathroom door, still high off of your orgasm, and unlock it. Soobin trails behind you, content to do so for the rest of his life, “Point gun. Die. Noted.”

#soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin angst #soobin smut #txt angst #txt x you #txt x reader #txt au #txt smut #chubby reader #plus size reader

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exstasyplague · 1 year

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UnPopular Jujutsu Kaisen Opinions (with arguments)

manga spoilers

☆ Yuji is the perfect MC

i've seen a lot of people trashing on him. some say gege writes him poorly and doesn't give him enough scenes, some say he's boring because he doesn't have any fancy cursed techniques. first of all, yuji has been aware of the jujutsu world for 6 months in manga; even less in anime. he doesn't have any OP cliche to him (looking at you Ichigo) and that makes him so much more enjoyable! when he loses he loses for good reasons and when he wins you can feel genuinely happy for him because you know he deserves it. he is a teenager and the shift in his mentalities embodies that perfectly; along with him we discover the cruelty and unfairness of the jujutsu world. at first, especially if you're a shonen watcher, you'd tend to believe he will shift to a high white knight borderline annoying mentality yet he doesn't, the jjk verse doesn't work like that. yuji is able to adapt. he has traits that you'd see in your real life friends: silliness, kindness, idiocy, love for jennifer lawrence etc but also traits that make him a perfect mc: empathy, resiliance, convinction, raw anger. + gege have him some of the HARDEST panels.

ㅡif it's just pain... Yuji Itadori won't ever stop

also. his last battle with mahito. hands down. best. panels.

mahito (another well structured villain) RUNNING for his life while yuji walks slowly behind him. if that doesn't show major improvement from the kid he was at the beginning idk what does. that's some MC shit right there man.

☆ Sukuna is not a fraud

the fraudkuna memes are funny. i admit. i'm sure mahoraga kisses him goodnight and tucks his blankey, however, sukuna is a fucking piece of shit, LOL (i mean it in the best way), my man literally became curse. people expect him to not use the weapons he has to his advantage as if he didn't want megumi from the beginning specifically for using his abilities. a good gun doesn't make you a military tier shooter. it's about the resources, it's about the experience, it's about the aim. "why doesn't he use his curse technique wah wah" — because he knows gojo is strong. unless he isn't absolutely sure he will strip him away from all his gimmicks, he has no reason to flaunt his true powers. sukuna wants to win. he wanted to kill gojo since the beginning of the series. i think the fight is balanced well, sukuna uses his resources and takes the consequences for being a tad too cautious. in the heian era when cursed energy had a purer, rawer output even domain expansions were simple in principles: you're in, i kill you. (line from the manga, btw) his CT is probably straightforward as well with a simple principle so having gojo use his infinity against it and figure out how to strip him naked would make him lose faster than todo called yuji his bestie.

☆ Gege doesn't hate women

because the unfortunate thing with nobara and yuki getting xd-d by kenjaku, a popular belief seems to be that gege is fond of trashing the women in his series. argument people have for that? "the only one in the spotlight is maki and she's female toji". first of all, if gege hated women he wouldn't write them as he does— each one of his lady characters is incredibly well structured and way beyond the love interest/ gotta be protected trope. mei mei, shoko, utahime, miwa and many others became non-existent, or what? even tengen is a woman. masashi kishimoto (the creator of naruto) is an author i'd say has 0 regards for women since the way most of his girl characters are built is literal dog shit. sakura is naruto's one sided love and a sasuke dickrider, hinata is a stalker that sharts when she sees naruto, karin is a sasuke dickrider, kurenai is asuma's chick and the only two women somewhat ok as a structure are tsunde and temari. (i am a big fan of the naruto series but i am spitting facts, also an avid sakura lover) plus there is a rumour that gege is a woman too and from the way sato sugu is written i'd agree anw

☆ Kenjaku is the best villain of the series

homie got railed by itadori's papi just for his plan, that's not even aizen level of plotting bro. he got drizzled in jizz and gave birth to yuji 💀

how good that d had to be for him to get impregnated....

ANYWAY jokes aside, he is very calculated and chill. he is not the strongest but his literal essence is to be a technique stealing leech and well, he's just that. with suguru, even in his villain arc you can empathize. sukuna is cool and straightforward: he wants to massacre people, kill gojo and then enjoy his life slashing random ass people who don't kneel is total submission.

kenjaku? bro, kenjaku has plans over plans and he executes all of them. even in geto's sexy body he still gets hated because there is genuinely nothing likeable about him. not because he's a poorly written character, he's written to be a piece of shit that makes you wanna break the screen when he gets a W and idk about y'all but even when he exorcised mahito i was like "aw hell nah bruh, get your hands off asap". may come as a shock, i know but we're like supposed to hate villains (not me being the biggest sukuna simp even in his crusty dusty OG form🤭) and well, nobody fucking roots for kenjaku. so gojo, go take your boyfriend's body or something fr.

☆ Yuta is.... mid

hear me out.

i don't hate him— not in the slightest. i hope he will actually have something going on with maki since apparently nobara is afk. i liked his entire rika situation but... bro.

yes, i will be going into the power system 😭I'M SORRY BUT like all he does is copy shit. wow. sure, he's a good copycat. i am not complaining about him being called so powerful and wtv but i don't find anything exciting about his battles and his personality is dead ass boring. do i get happy when he wins? yes. do i hope he'll come and save goatjo? yes. yes. yes. but people call him the real MC and all that shit... not even that— i... nothing in me likes him. my opinions are not absolute. his story is cool. i liked jjk 0 but the only thing that ruins his story is literally his lack of perosnality. and don't come at me for not grasping his depths or whatever. yuta is best fanfic y/n material because he can be turned into bashful stereotype really easily. "omg, best friend power, precious friends made me wanna live ❤️" very sweet HOWEVER very untouching for me. i only liked him when he made maki go all blushy because my girl deserves happiness.

☆ Toji actually cares about Megumi

is he the good father that would spoil his kid as a ray of sunshine?

no.

but he chose this. to forget about everything, to abandon his pride, to part himself away from the clan that rejected him and live his life on his own. megumi's mom made shit better for him and she died so his life became shit again. he thought that by entrusting megumi to the zenin clan he would actually be able to make something of himself since he had cursed energy.

also, people tend to forget just how conservative and judgemental the 3 big clans are, maki and mai have been shat on their whole life by the zenins, especially maki. toji went through the same shit if not worse. he wasn't always buff max version of himself, he wasn't born with anything. exactly because he gave up on all the things in his life he was able to reach that type of power and live with some purpose since he failed in everything else.

in the manga he has the option of coming back to life as long as he keeps killing sorcerers, which is his speciality, but he meets megumi, recognises him and kills himself in order to not hurt him. be fr. anciet sorcerers sold their booty holes to kenjaku to get a second chance at life.

ANYWAY. SADLY i can't post Toji memes since i reached my pic limits.

let me know what you think:) i may make a part 2. feel free to also ask for my opinions about anything in the verse, lol. if you wanna see my fics check my ao3, i promise i don't write in the same braindead way i type. <33

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nanomooselet · 7 months

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Episode Two: The Running Man

It's odd how little gets said about this ep, considering it's the most direct homage the earlier anime adaptation - but maybe that might be why? Since, as I said, this was my entry into the story, to me it felt out of place. It seemed like it was doing all it could to distract from how the previous ep concluded.

With hindsight, I think that's the idea.

The opening with the radio! I'm so weirdly fond of it. Yeah it's a flashback, but it shows Vash in a private moment without his mask; a glimpse of his secrets. He's not wearing his coat, so you get a look at how broad his shoulders are; he's also handling the tools to maintain his gun skilfully for someone who claims he's not a fighter. As he's contemplating the crash - he was there, obviously, and he has the photo of him, Rem and Nai still - the radio host says without the Plants, our ancestors would have died out long ago. How long ago? Long enough that Vash likely shouldn't still look such a gosh darn pretty boy? Yet it slips by.

(I do not understand the complaints that Stampede had no mystery.)

This is the episode where he's most committed to the bit of being cute but sort of hapless and silly, too, so the contrast is dramatic. I don't think he was actually expecting Meryl and Roberto to clear his name all at once, but I do think he was hoping, I don't know, maybe they'd believe him from the first. But nothing's ever that easy for my boy. I gotta say, Vash, optimism has its limits. Your story is that you're being framed by your previously unknown identical twin brother. You know it's true, I know it's true, but you might have had an easier time with some, I don't know… evidence? It's not surprising the reporters are sceptical.

Oh god, I'm so sorry, do you want a hug or -

(By the way, this means Knives told everyone it wasn't him, it was a one-armed man.)

He's being melodramatic, but I suspect also more sincere than what comes across - which is the whole reason he exaggerates, of course. (What? No, I'm not talking from experience. I have never, ever done this. Never ever in A MILLION YEARS have I exaggerated to obfuscate my sincerity.) The angle changes to show his face, and it's pretty clear how genuinely exhausted and upset even the thought of Knives makes him. Though it is still pretty funny that Meryl just isn't having it.

Also funny: Meryl versus the Worms, round one. Worms 1, Meryl 0.

Roberto greeting Tonis is really cute. He's a grump, but he's never an asshole to kids.

Ahhhh Tonis gives Vash his bugs and Vash pats his head and then he moves to take his hand away Tonis grabs it so he'll keep doing it and then when Rosa tells Tonis to leave Vash look dismayed and waves goodbye and it is so cute and IT IS SO SAD.

Because Rosa loves her son, wants him healthy and happy and safe, wants him shielded from the violence of the world and from decisions like pulling a gun on the hero of your town who's been nothing but good to you, better than you deserve - and yet we saw Rosa come to the decision that she would do this last episode. Right about... here. See the way she moves from standing in front of him, almost protectively, to beside him, clearing the way? By the look on her face, she doesn't want to. Vash proved himself yet again afterwards, saved the town without hesitation the moment it was endangered at great risk to himself. He's a good man, a friend, someone she trusts. But it's not him Rosa's thinking of now. It's not even the town. It's Tonis.

I have to say, Roberto doesn't look shocked or concerned. He just wearily sets down his mug and raises his hands, expression unchanged. Meanwhile Meryl's turned into a cartoon.

Vash understands. He didn't fight back against the MPs. He didn't instigate the duel. It's because of him that this is necessary. That just doesn't mean he's going to make it easy for them.

Ah, that old Stampede special: the undignified leg-spread landing.

Man the English dub is good, but it's this episode I started to realise how good. It's incredibly funny. "The furious fists of the Nebraska Family challenge you to a duel!" "Felt the fury right there!" "Money! Come back!" "I hope you like pancakes, because you're going to become one!"

There's one translation I'm not sold on, though, and it's Nebraska declaring "Power is justice! Power is truth!" I had the same problem in Persona 5 Royal when I played it and the characters kept going on about how they'll "prove our justice". It sounds so awkward.

From what I can tell, the word they're using translates more clearly to "moral rightness" or "righteousness", and the score title for Stampede renders what Nebraska says better: might is right. He's advocating Social Darwinism, basically. It's the natural order of the world: the strong deserve to flourish, the weak deserve to perish.

Nebraska: I hate cowards like you! This whole planet is fighting for survival! Anyone who runs is bound to die like a sorry loser! But you, Stampede! How dare you?! / You coward! I despise waste-of-life cream puffs like you! You have to fight tooth and nail to survive in this world! If those who can't hack it run away and die like chickens, then so be it! But you? I expected more, Stampede!

Vash: You might be right that I'm too timid. But is that such a terrible thing? Is fighting everything head-on so important? Even if it gets someone killed? / Okay, I may not be the bravest, but what's so terrible about being a little timid? Is fighting head-on always right? It risks lives, and for what?

Nebraska: Weapons… are made for fighting! Do you get it now?! There's no future for those who don't fight! / I might as well, huh? It's what the damn thing's made for! That'll show ya! Any snivelling slug too scared to fight must die!

Vash: Come on, can you back off? I really don't want to fight anyone. / Can you guys cool it for a second? I'm really not in the mood for violence.

Nebraska: That's the attitude that pisses me off! / When the world ends, will it ask if you're in the mood?

It's kinda funny that Nebraska keeps going on about it, though, because he also keeps demanding accommodation for his son's weakness. If he was really committed he'd rely only on himself instead of endangering Gofsef. And yet oddly enough, it's the hypocrisy which saves him, because it's how Rosa realises how much they have in common. He loves Gofsef, just like she loves Tonis, and Vash forgives them both.

Enjoy the subtle gag of Meryl mirroring her "parents'" expressions, BTW.

Nabraska judging the townspeople for drinking before 5:00PM as if he didn't just destroy half the place trying to steal their only power source.

Gofsef being creeped out by Tonis's Worm buddies.

And Roberto visibly tuning out as Meryl tells him off.

I think the reason this feels like it's all happening so fast is because this is the place where an episode of the older adaptation would end, leaving some implied time to pass before the next crisis. But this isn't twenty-six self-contained episodes, it's twelve instalments of one story. The running man must continue to run, because it was never humans he was running from.

And I didn't realise this until now, but the drone in Vash's room? It's looking for him, or his things. It doesn't find either.

When it doesn't...

E.G. launches his assault, though the drones had been patrolling since the previous night. Vash was about to leave when he heard the scream from the diner and rushed back to help. And so he stayed long enough for E.G.'s master to arrive in person.

Whatever happened in Jeneora Rock, it seems it was necessary for Vash to witness it, so E.G. had instructions to keep him in place.

So E.G.'s cyborg enhancements look like a bear trap.

Of course.

#trigun stampede #meta: tristampparty episodes #tristampparty #trigun meta #scriptwriters knew exactly what was going on in ep 11 by the way #wonder where they got that sketch of vash looking adorable #somewhat convinced knives chose it to annoy vash #dig the subtle worldbuilding of the cars out there all being crap #but the eom's truck never has a problem

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pocima · 4 months

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My seasonal music highlights: spring 2024 🦋

Welcome back to my silly little songs of the season reviews, you can check out this winter’s installment here ⭐️ one fave song per artist, no particular order, there will be a mini review section and trust I loved these songs as well, just couldn’t yap as much about them, you know the drill. GIF source: Supernova by aespa.

*: Full album review guaranteed to be presented in my year-end favorite project list

☾ Adulter8 - Sega Bodega*

Father… you have raised the bar yet again. Sega Bodega’s new album Dennis was by far my most anticipated project of the year, which unquestionably delivered the excellence I was expecting and more. I was so captivated by Adulter8’s intricacies that I couldn’t help but play it at least 92 times within first week of the album’s release. What starts off with an 8-bit-like sequence escalates into one majestic pre-chorus and afterwards the best beat drop I’ve ever heard in my life. The lyrics are a result of a thesaurus browse, simply the distorted “dilute, adulterate, diminish, reduce me to nothing, seduce”, effortlessly accompanying the elaborate Arabic-influenced instrumentals. Those beat drops though… especially the first one… that build-up… calling that “top-notch” would be insulting. I felt like my soul left my body for a split second when I was first listening to it at 12AM. I cannot even attempt to comment on the greatness of that singular drop. The song is overall just incredible and addictive, and will most likely end up as my favorite song of the entire year. I don’t even feel the need to comment on more for now because come on, this is Sega Bodega, this is off of Dennis, this is Adulter8. If you get it, you get it.

☾ Mine - aespa

The looooooong anticipated release day of Armageddon the album was a national holiday for Synkcity. We’re seeing such bright times after all these hate trains, mismanagement from SM, the sabotage from rival companies coming to light and what-the-hell-not, honestly. After nearly three whole years and three EPs, aespa finally present their full-length debut. Needless to say, singles Supernova and Armageddon are top-notch, continuing aespa’s all-smash title track streak. However, there was an album delight that blew my damn mind, and it was Mine. Hearing the first chorus in the highlight medley was enough to keep in mind that the track would be one of the best b-sides of the album, but I regretfully have to admit I didn’t think it would be one of aespa’s biggest guns as a whole. My jaw fell harder with every. second. of this. song. Karina and Ningning’s breathy, sassy, forceful, majestic raps kickstart the track along with tambourines that feel like digital diamonds jingling up in front of you. Winter comes through with the earth-shattering second half of the prechorus, and Giselle kills it by spitting one of her most plate-shifting rap verses. A major reason why Mine is my personal favorite off of the album is because how much everyone shines in their own right. Winter and Ningning are back at being one of 4th gen’s iconic vocal duos (as well as their pleasing rap lines), Giselle retrieves her well-deserved main rapper position (SM you can still catch it), and Karina effortlessly wraps both the vocal and rap roles around her fingers as she always does. That bridge? That bridge is disgusting even for four of the bridge architects of K-pop. The girls absolutely outdid themselves on this. The instrumental track may be less maximalist than the title tracks’ or, say, Set The Tone’s, but oh boy are they vehement and so hypnotic. The drums, the synths, especially the ones in the last chorus… it all forms together to make the song nastier and nastier as it progresses. Everyone involved in this walked into the studio with a mission to change the trajectory of music. I’m afraid I’m in this MY lifestyle for long. aespa truly are unsteppable.

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☾ Fácil - Empress Of*

For Your Consideration promoted Empress Of into my new favorite indie popstar, and Fácil is my chosen earworm off of it. Every song on the album is so sultry and charismatic, and Fácil has this distinguishing sharpness in its sound, courtesy of umru, to top it off. Empress Of’s ear for memorable melodies and catchy lyrics especially come in clutch here, with casual melodic beatboxing in the background and the looping “tócame aquí, tócame ya, ya, ya, ya”. The self-made hisses and snares go hand in hand with umru’s signature punchy splices. Multiple layers of vocals linger in the entire track, from panting and breathing to sensually delivered lines in the higher range. The bit I’m gonna point out next is more self-indulgent (and I’ve pointed it out on my page previously lol) but nevertheless, I felt like the casual bravado and the combined danceability and grit of the track was akin to candy bOmb by OnlyOneOf, and the more good music with similar vibes, the merrier. Can’t get enough of either.

☾ Hypertonic - TAN (+ my Soda origin story 😙)

TAN have proven themselves to be masters of old gen K-pop revivalism since they came out the gate with their 2022 debut Du Du Du. The group first came to my attention with Walking On The Moon and later in 2023 with the hit Fix You, which went multi-platinum on my personal devices. For some strange reason, I still didn’t fully open my eyes and get into them despite their almost unmatched title tracks. That is until they released the first-day diamond-certified Hypertonic. Hypertonic, as a song, is pretty much everything I could ask for from a new gen pop boyband: in-your-face electronic production, intriguing composition, high-powered vocals and raps, and a full song structure, despite the track duration falling slightly below 3 minutes. The gritty synth heavy instrumentals are robotic and over the top in the best way possible, giving you the feeling that they’re straight out of 2000-10s Japanese EDM archives. The verses, chorus, rap and bridge hit all the right spots, going with the instrumentals instead of being overshadowed by them or vice versa. The high notes in the bridge and outro couldn’t have topped off the track’s overflowing energy any better. Now, I wanna bring up how I was particularly taken over by the first half of the second verse. I mean it when I say “taken over” because I was so obsessed with that particular member’s flawless line delivery that I was scrambling to learn their names. The particular member turned out to be their main vocalist Jooan, and it all made sense because he was behind the perfect vibratos (earned by his musical theater education), a good amount of high notes and runs (along with brilliant lead vocalist Hyunyeop) and bits that blew me away in previous songs I’ve heard from the group. Honestly, I was starstruck by all of TAN at first Kprofiles browsing sesh. I mean, what’s there not to love about a band of superb singers (+ superb main rapper Jiseong who’s obviously included in the “singers”), dancers, songwriters, producers (the self-production makes the music even more impressive), choreographers and overall artists who are intensely passionate and excellent at everything they do? This type of multi-skill and well-roundedness is exactly what I seek and keep up with in both K-pop and outside of it. Jooan though… you will pay for being the cause of some of my most humiliating K-pop fangirl posts. Love me a mind-blowing vocalist (duh), dancer, rapper, songwriter, producer, sound engineer, overall a true all-rounder with an irresistible face card. Please give these dudes’ music a stream or two because they really have no business not getting their flowers from K-pop fans and tasteful people.

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☾ Malena - Domiziana

Somebody took “after your biggest flop comes your biggest slay” a bit too literally, and I am more than satisfied with that. After the colossal washout that was Domiziana’s previous single Katholisch Erzogen, which was merely another one of the examples of cheap blasphemy for shock factor accompanied by a fake-creepy beat straight out of the Tiktok “musician” archives, Malena turned everything around. Not only was it a massive bounce back from whatever she had going on with that disaster, but also an upgrade in her whole career in every single way. The production is arguably her most minimal but most defined and well-executed to date, with the amapiano influences and siren-like background vocals doing wonders. The vocals and lyrics are her best by a landslide as well. The whispery, high head voice stays, but this time with more emotion and variety in delivery. We listen to a story about cheating, betrayal and a lack of commitment, enriched with references to the cult classic movie Malena, the namesake of the track. The music video is set in Domiziana’s mother’s hometown, Catania, with different sets, cameras and editing. Malena ends up being an incredible audiovisual experience and the current highlight of Domiziana’s work. Maybe it’s just her highs and lows, maybe it’s her taking her career more seriously than ever, hopefully the latter. May she beat the one-hit wonder allegations (mind you, Ohne Benzin doesn’t hold a candle to this masterpiece) and continue to serve like this.

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☾ Lipgloss - Terror Jr

A portion of pop music fans constantly ask for the good old 00-10s to be brought back, meanwhile some others wish to move on and focus on more future-oriented, complex sounds instead. Lipgloss masterfully combines both, delivering nostalgia yet nonetheless sounding shiny and brand new. The simple repeated chorus, casual lyrics and the vibe of the production overall feel 2016, and fans have likened the song to Terror Jr’s Bop City era’s sound. Still, the natural execution of this song makes it solid and refreshing on its own rather than a pathetic attempt at reviving what pop used to do. It took me a bit too long to find out that the experimental pop duo’s producer David Singer-Vine was ½ of The Cataracs, a producer duo behind numerous 2010s pop hits such as Like a G6 by Far East Movement and In The Dark by DEV (along with the entire The Night The Sun Came Out album). As a solo artist he produced songs such as Gold by Kiiara and Stuck With Me by Tinashe. This made the Terror Jr experience make a lot more sense: listening to their music feels like taking a trip to the present in a fancy time machine, with hosts who have a nice grasp on the past and the future. Special shoutout to that music box all over the instrumentals by the way, that scratched my brain just right.

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☾ Perfect - Cosha

I didn’t call the MurMurs EP the “free therapy album” when it first dropped for no reason, you know. Alternative R&B hidden treasure Cosha returns to heal us all after her 2021 re-debut album Mt. Pleasant, with more of her sublime melodies and vocals. In the EP, Cosha keeps switching from soulful, serene and down-tempo (Fire Me Up, MurMurs Interlude) to drum-heavy, danceable and inviting (Relish, Glow). Meanwhile, Perfect pinpoints that sweet middle ground. Firstly, the beat is absolutely hooking. The drums, bass and recurring plucks pull me in the most, and Cosha’s higher-range head voice is pure magic, especially in the chorus. The second verse has this slight beat switch that brings forward the bass that I’m obsessed with, and then we’re back to that divine chorus with even more adlibs, high notes and harmonies. It’s laced. I feel like the whole project, but especially this specific song, would suit many people’s tastes, so this is especially a deep cut recommendation of mine to everybody.

Mini reviews

❥ Nasty - Tinashe: I feel so bad that this is going into the mini reviews section because the song has been on rotation since it dropped, I don’t believe I need to elaborate on its earworm factor. Obviously, Tinashe has an ear for hits, and the production is relatively simple yet so effective. So glad that it’s going viral and Tinashe is getting the hype she deserves.

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❥ You know what (Hey listen) - 4s4ki: I’m afraid as long as 4s4ki keeps making music, she will keep appearing on all my favorites lists. She just can’t miss no matter what genre or sound she tries out. This one’s for the people that get their head in their hands and slide down a wall at 1AM. Give us vocals, give us guitar breakdowns, give us a REAL love song, give us everything, queen.

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❥ Hard dreams - Gesaffelstein feat. Yan Wagner: Real techno’s been so back since Gamma dropped. The visuals for this album still hold their title of being the best of the year, by the way.

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❥ Botoxxx - Isabella Lovestory: She SLID on that bridge. Love to see the budget in the MV. We need the sophomore album.

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❥ Caught Up - FLO: The guitars? The vocals? That key switch in the bridge? FLO’s discography is still flawless. We need the debut album.

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Thank you for reading, feel free to give feedback on the song recommendations or review formatting ☻

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emcscared-whumps · 2 months

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SHIFTING PHASES - Part 1

[PREVIEW] Chapter 7: No Wish Without a Price

Shifting Phases Masterpost

Here's the next chapter! This is the last chapter I will be previewing for a while, but, since I don't post as I write, I wanted to give you guys something a little more to chew on, you deserve it for being so patient with me :)

Big shoutout once more to @whump-cravings for beta'ing this chapter <3<3 Thons feedback has helped me improve my writing out of sight, thankyou <3<3<3

CONTENT and WARNINGS: Beating, blackmail, bullying (school bully, but they're out of school), drowning (attempted, but is a big focus), emotional whump/angst, guns, mer whumpee, transformation, vague threat of sexual assault (not explicitly said, but still definitely happens). All characters present are 18 or over. wc: ~4.8k

Pete's Perspective

He’d really fucked up, back under the whitebeam.

For weeks now, Pete had been pushing Burton’s limits, intentionally or not, whether by hiding money, lashing out to escape a particularly painful hold, or something else. Burton’s patience had been thinning already; he’d barely needed one more reason to corner Pete somewhere far from help.

Pete had given him three.

And Burton’s reprimand under the whitebeam was the final straw.

“L-Liz, ye s-ssshould go,” Pete stammered, shoulders pinching high as his heart began to race. He couldn’t drag her into his problems again; he couldn’t bear the thought of another friend getting hurt because of him. He swallowed as Burton smirked and stepped close, and shivered when a hand snaked around his shoulder. Tension lined every muscle. With his eyes, he begged Liz to listen, please; it’d be so much worse for them both if she fought.

She didn’t even acknowledge him.

“You should listen to your silly little boyfriend, Dovey,” Burton smiled. “This isn’t your business.”

“If ye think I’m dumb enough ta just leave Pete alone with you sacks of shit, ye’re dead wrong,” Liz said, stance firming up.

“Liz, d—don’t—” Pete started, but was cut off by a sudden, painful pressure ensnaring his neck. Burton’s large hand had wrapped around the edge of Pete’s scarf and yanked back, leashing him with the knitted fabric. A couple of sharp, experimental tugs forced Pete’s hands to his neck, as if by testing the hold, Burton dared him to resist.

“Go,” Burton said darkly.

“Make me,” Liz snarled.

Burton let out a low growl and shoved Pete into the group. The eager, grasping hands of one were quick to snatch the scarf and reapply the pressure while the others grabbed his arms and shoulders, wrestling him firmly into their hold. Pete coughed weakly as the fabric pulled tighter still. Through wet eyes, he watched Burton prowl over to Liz and rasped thinly, “D-don’t—Liz—” Every movement, every syllable hurt. How could fabric so soft be so unyielding? His fingers dug in against his neck as he tried to give himself the barest room to breathe. “Don’t, hhhk, don’t f-fight…! ‘S’not wor—th… it!

…I’m not worth it…

“Listen to him cry!” one mocked.

Another laughed, “Wah, wah, p-p-p-p-please! Lizzy, come s-s-s-save me, I’m sc-c-c-c-cared!”

This was funny to them.

Burton towered over Liz. “Last chance, Millen,” he said, “Leave.”

But still, she did not back down.

Inwardly, Pete cursed her fearlessness; the two of them were badly outnumbered—this was hardly the time to fight, but she couldn’t see that, or the yellow and black handgun that appeared at her temple. Pete opened his mouth to cry a warning, but his scarf cinched too tight to speak, making him squirm despite the pain. Colette’s thumb hovered over the safety.

Pete jerked, panic and dread shooting through him. He tried again to wriggle free. Don’t hurt her!

Liz froze, but flashed her teeth in a wicked grin. “Too chicken ta fight me fer real, Colette?” she said, turning slowly to face the hunter’s handgun, and the young lady behind it. “And what are ye gonna do with darts that don’t work on humans?”

“Oh, these ain’t darts, Dovey.”

The strength drained from Pete’s legs and the gang easily forced him to his knees with a hand on his head. Blood roared in his ears, yet colour drained from his cheeks. The missing bullets, the small, dark object that Colette had snuck from Miss Moore’s bag... He should’ve said something. Mentally, he kicked himself, stupid. STUPID. His cowardice was going to kill them both! The scarf grew tighter still; he had to fight to make his voice form anything more than pathetic, gurgling whines. “Liz pl-pl’sse, d-don’t—Liz—don’t r-res-ssist…!” ‘S’not worth—“ he choked. He couldn’t breathe. “Le’go…!” he gasped.

Liz’s expression darkened.

Oh Powers, no, no—!

In a split second, Liz slapped the barrel of the gun away, launched her fist toward Colette’s chin in a vicious uppercut, and howled, “Let him GO!”

Colette gave an enraged shriek as the two tussled. Liz’s fists flew, catching her face and stomach while Colette’s rings grazed Liz’s cheek as her hand flew to her hair with lightning speed. Liz nearly screamed when Colette yanked her head back, nearly tearing out her fiery red curls. Above them, the gun’s muzzle swayed aloft, bobbing almost forgotten above their heads.

Liz fought hard, catching Colette’s wrist in a vice grip. Her arm shook with the effort of keeping her opponent in place, but she staunchly resisted every plot to gain the upper hand, and snarled through gritted teeth when her hair pulled tight.

They staggered further from the fountain, but Burton, in his pursuit of a front-row seat, stepped into Pete’s line of view. The girls yelled, but he couldn’t see what triggered furious caterwauling.

Boots slid over stone, fabric suddenly shifted, and—

CRACK!

The muzzle flash was as blinding as the shouts and resounding shot were deafening. Amidst the chaos, the boys’ hold on Pete slackened, allowing him to drag in a desperate breath and wail, “LIZ!”

His stomach lurched; from the corner of his eye, he saw Burton move in—towards Liz, who laid on the ground below Colette.

Nothing the boys could do would stop Pete from struggling. Fuelled by terrified fury, he writhed and kicked against their hold, and through the bruising pain, wrenched his scarf from their hands. The release was sudden, but he had no time to stop; one final buck let him bury his elbow into someone’s ribs and launch himself away, toppling another to the ground. With his full weight behind him, he sent a clumsy punch flying into Burton’s face. Hot pain bloomed across his knuckles.

The punch connected with a muted crack, jerking Burton’s head to the side. Pete drew back his shaking hand, cradling it as it throbbed.

A hush fell over both sides.

Burton slowly turned on Pete, wiping his jaw and working it slowly. He eyed the dark smear on his hand before lifting his wrathful gaze to Pete, baring his teeth like a hound denied its fun far too many times; and, like the prey it hunted, Pete shrunk back with eyes as wide as saucers.

“B—B—Burto—” he began to plead.

Burton stormed forward, seizing Pete’s arm in a bruising grip and wrestled him back into the gang’s hold, heedless of Pete’s frantic thrashing and yelling. A stray backwards kick caught one of his assailants in the leg, throwing him off balance. As he fell, his sudden weight almost pulled him free, but one wobbly kick could never have been enough.

A fist slammed into Pete’s gut, leaving him coughing and choking against the spasms of his diaphragm. Not a second later, his arms were again pinned tightly behind his back. Between wheezing pants, Pete let out a whine at the sudden, painful strain on his shoulders.

Liz growled again, spitting and cussing up at Colette who stood triumphantly over her, “I’ll make ye sorry,” she seethed, “I’ll fuckin’ kill all ye useless wank stains. Ye’re dirt, Burton.”

Pete gasped with relief. It was like a massive weight had lifted off his chest, and he could finally breathe again; Liz was okay, she was alive.

It didn’t last long though. Anxiety quickly resumed its grip on his heart when his eyes found the gun still strained down at Liz.

“Try it, bitch,” Colette sneered, victory turning her voice smarmy. She flicked off the safety the second Liz twitched to strike. “Ah-uh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dovey.”

Liz bared her teeth in a snarl, but laid still. “Ye’re a fuckin’ coward, Colette,” she spat, “ye’re pissweak, ye’re nothin’, that’s why ye need the gun. Can’t beat me on yer own. How does it feel provin’ that I’m better than you even when ye win, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Colette snapped and spat on Liz, “slag.”

Liz’s features twisted with disgust, but before she could retaliate, Colette yanked her up by the arm and half-dragged her back along the path. Liz yelled as she went, but Pete couldn’t discern the words over his heaving breaths and roaring blood in his ears. He just hoped she had enough sense to stay away—the guilt of getting her caught up tonight weighed on him enough.

…And, after this… he would want to stagger home and tend his wounds alone.

Once they were gone, Burton seized Pete’s throat with one hand and buried his other in his wiry auburn hair. “Since when did you have a death-wish, Spencer?” he said, fury melting into sadistic triumph. In the dim light, his eyes glittered with the obvious glee of Pete’s thundering pulse beneath his palm. “You know what happens when you resist.”

“Y—d-don’t—ye w-wouldn’t—! Pl—please, don’t!” Pete choked out.

Burton smiled. “You can let go now,” he said to the boys holding him, “I think he got all uppity because his girlfriend was involved; he knows better than to make things worse.”

“Hey, what’re’ye talkin’ about, Burton? What’d’ye mean?” asked one, though he and his friend did as they were told and released Pete’s arms, leaving him to stumble forward toward Burton.

In less than a second, the bastard had a cruel grip on his shirt and wrist. “Let’s just say I know a dirty, little, secret,” he replied, shifting his weight, forcing Pete to move with him… back toward the fountain.

Pete’s pulse quickened, his stomach dropped, and his blood turned to ice. He shook his head. He had to run, had to get away as quickly as he could—but he’d never be strong or fast enough to escape, if he was even able to stand by the time Burton was done. But, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t actually—! It’d be too far; Pete would die! Surely he knew that!

“It really would be a shame if your silly little friends were to find out,” he said, digging his nails into the fresh burns on Pete’s palm, drawing a choked yelp. “Oh, but I wonder what your mummy would think. Are you scared she won’t love you anymore, Petey?”

Pete squirmed against his grip, holding back panicked tears and biting out, “No! Sh-she would—she would!”

“I’m not so sure about that, Petey, and I don’t think you are either,” he purred before leaning close and whispering in to his ear, “looney.”

She would! She—she has to—she’s my ma!

“She could never love a worm like you.”

Tears streamed down Pete’s cheeks. “Ye’re wrong!” he cried, and surged forward, slamming his head into Burton’s with a sickening crack.

Burton howled and grabbed Pete’s neck again, squeezing tight and moving his other hand to his hair. Pete screamed and choked, clawing at his neck with blunt nails and stumbled back with a sudden push. Suddenly, he was moving, going down, down—

A blinding lightning bolt of pain seared across his vision.

Pete cried out, writhing on the ground, kicking at Burton’s legs, anything to make him let go. His head throbbed with sharp, stabbing pain.

“Oh, does that hurt, worm?”

Pete’s lips parted, but little more than a squeak escaped. Yes! Yes! So much—let go—!

“Stop struggling and I’ll let go,” Burton said.

It took every ounce of strength in Pete to stop fighting the agonising, choking pressure at his neck, but when he did, Burton kept his word and let up, though still kept him pinned to cold stone with a knee at his chest. “That’s better isn’t it,” Burton said. “You’re starting to remember your place, Spencer.”

“Woah… he’s just… laying there. What the fuck Burton,” breathed one of the boys who now stood behind him. “How do you get him to do that?”

Burton merely smiled down at Pete, who gulped, ducking his chin.

The other said, “I bet he’d let you do anything,” and made a crude, terrifying gesture.

Pete tensed and his eyes grew wide, but he didn’t dare twitch with Burton atop him to feel the slightest hint of resistance. Burton didn’t move either. Their eyes met only briefly, though it felt far longer than the fleeting second it was. Pete expected to find cruel hunger in those earthy depths. Instead, there was an odd, unreadable expression that cast his features further into shadow.

Pete swallowed.

Burton’s eyes moved to the side to catch his other friend in his peripheral, face twisting as if he’d tasted something foul.

Before he knew it, Pete was being dragged upright by the hair. Each yank drew another pathetic yelp, but he dared not resist, not even when the tension tore small wounds in his scalp. “No,” Burton said flatly. “He’ll listen to this.” With his full weight behind him, Burton violently shoved Pete’s head down to the water’s rippling surface.

A short scream forced itself from Pete’s chest. He managed to catch himself on the cold, stone edge with a strained grunt, but Burton did not let up. He pressed his head down further until he was so close, he could smell the faint, crisp scent of water, could feel the coolness radiating from it. Pete was in no position to fight, but still he resisted, gulping down air, holding his position with all his strength despite the terror that lit his nerves on fire and threatened to send him down. He shook under the strain. Burton could easily force Pete’s head into the water, but didn’t, toying with him; and he was entirely at Burton’s mercy.

“No—nonono, n-no, don’t,” Pete stammered, eyes wide.

“What’s the matter, Pete, afraid of a little water?”

Pete couldn’t think. With his mind frozen by panic, he could only utter a single, frightened plea; “Burton, d-don’t, p-please—”

“You should’ve thought about that before you humiliated me in front of everyone and jeopardised my school record,” Burton said with a growl, and plunged Pete into the icy water below.

Horror and adrenaline shot through Pete’s body, shocked by the cold. He didn’t even have the chance to scream; instead, he was forced to clamp his mouth shut and expel the water before it rushed down his throat from a reflexive breath in. Pete fought again—he had to get out—but Burton’s hold stayed firm.

In that position, bent over the fountain with the bastard pressing his head and shoulders down, it was impossible to get back up. His muscles burnt with the strain of resistance. He needed air. How long could he hold out for? He’d lose everything if he gave in now.

Without warning, Burton jerked Pete’s head, tearing loose more auburn strands.

His lungs burnt. It took everything in him not to breathe, the water beckoning him with its cool, relieving caress, but the precious few seconds he had left were running out. Darkness crept across his vision.

Burton… let me up, please…

He did not.

He’ll let me up… right…? Powers, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t let me die, would he…?

Pete would be as good as dead if Burton held him down too long, he had to know that. He had to. Even though Pete was fairly sure Burton didn’t have it in him to kill, a spark of doubt flickered in his mind; just how valuable was his punching bag?

His consciousness was slipping.

After what felt like an eternity, wind finally hit Pete’s face, turning the chilly water clinging to his skin bitingly cold. He hung limply from Burton’s tearing hold, mouth gaping desperately, trying vainly to swallow down as much air as he could. From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Burton watching him, with glittering eyes and parted, upturned lips. Pete couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t make a single sound, he couldn’t breathe—

Pete tried harder still to drag in breaths, but his lungs remained stubbornly sealed, instead forcing air through the set of gills that flared beneath his scarf. It was enough to delay the darkness that threatened to swallow him, but not to relieve the burn of his muscles. Pete blinked hard and gasped again, a wet, horribly choked sound. His lungs loosened the tiniest fraction for a split second, allowing a minute wisp of fresh air past before closing again. Tears streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the water dripping down his face that he blindly mopped up with his sleeves. Thankfully, only the tips of his hair were soaked.

“Aw, what’s wrong, runt?” Burton sneered.

Between his body’s weak attempts at coughing and his instinctual fight for air, “C—C—” were the only sounds Pete could manage.

“Can’t speak either?” Burton jeered, encouraging the others to join his fun.

Finally, the last of his strength ebbed, and he faltered, stumbling in Burton’s grip, teeth bared in a grimace at the tear of more hair. His world tilted and faded. Dimly, Pete heard the muted laughter and shouts from around him, but they drifted further away every second. He could barely hear Burton speak; “I can fix that for ya,” he said, spinning Pete to face him. Despite how distant he sounded, the steam of his breath rolled against Pete’s face.

Pete folded when a fist sunk brutally into his stomach. All at once, he wanted to cough, retch, and try again to gasp for air. He found himself on his hands and knees with his head resting on the cold stone. More tears streamed down his face, this time, from the violent coughing that gripped his chest between the ragged, wheezing breaths that signalled his body’s switch to air.

Pain blossomed where the punch connected.

It hurt. He’d probably find a dark welt later. His limbs were weak, his stomach churned, and he shook so badly he almost crumpled the rest of the way down, but the immense relief of the cool air he gulped down outweighed it all. Thank the Powers, he thought over and over, thank the Powers, thankyou.

The respite was short-lived.

More pain exploded across Pete’s cheek, swiftly followed by the dull crack of his head colliding with the fountain’s ornate stone wall behind him and the dull thud of his body hitting the ground. Pete groaned. Everywhere ached and throbbed.

Burton kneeled in front of him, dragging his head up once more to take in the sorry sight before him, to relish the power he held so tightly in his fist. He hissed, “Don’t ever cross me again.”

Pete made a choked sound, unable to control his trembling. He couldn’t stand bending to Burton’s every whim, allowing himself to be beaten and robbed at every turn without so much as a word of protest. Shame heated his cheeks, but what more could he do when this was the furthest fighting would take him? There was nothing he could do, not when he stood to lose so much more than his dignity and lunch credits. “Y—yes, yes Burt-t—Burton,” he wheezed, voice breaking into coughs.

“Good lad,” Burton said, carelessly releasing Pete’s head to roughly pat his cheek before standing, “Let’s go. I think he’s learnt his lesson.”

It was over. It was over.

The notion repeated in Pete’s mind while his body sagged with relief and exhaustion, still heaving, drinking down the air with ragged pants as if he’d been starved for a lifetime. He was thankful that Burton hadn’t taken it as far as he could’ve; it would’ve been so easy—just a couple more seconds was all it would’ve taken. Though the fountain’s cool wall at his side steadied him as he regained his breath, his heart skipped beats at the thought, sending a weakening queasiness through him. Footsteps crunched along the frosty grass, continuing until they clacked unmistakable along the cobblestone surrounding the fountain.

Burton yelled, “Enough! I said enough! Don’t you dare, you stupid pricks’ll drown ‘im!” but the footsteps continued, their owners cooing.

Pete tried to stand, to crack open his eyes to see his assailants and run the other way, but the sudden, intense light of the moon blinded him to all but hazy silhouettes. They grabbed him easily, mocking Burton, “Only a pussy would walk away now, Burton, you’re not chicken, are you? The bitch is so easy to push around! But if you insist, we’ll have a turn with ‘im.”

Every vein in Pete’s body iced over. Their turn.

Before he knew it, Pete was yelping in protest as the boys ripped off his scarf with bruising force and dropped it to the ground to be trampled and forgotten. “No—Help!” he cried, “Burton!”

“Aw,” said one, “Pete doesn’t want his poor scarf ruined!”

Burton yelled again, but no help came.

Once again, Pete was plunged into the frigid waters far deeper than Burton had ever forced him. Credits gleamed on the bottom, their rectangular faces glimmering with reflected moonlight broken only by the waves of Pete’s struggles. Two of them, no doubt, belonged to him and Liz. They were beautiful, like the quiet moment they shared before… this. If not for the hands buried painfully in his hair, or the danger of the position he was in, Pete could easily have felt at peace among the silvery wishes.

It took even less time for his lungs to scream for air, for him to start struggling ever more desperately; he couldn’t withstand this again, but he could only scrabble uselessly against their hold. They yanked his head back up, holding him up for a second before thrusting him back down.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take that precious chance, that invaluable sliver of time to steal a breath and save himself. Their hands were so close—how could they miss the glaring difference between him and them? Someone cussed when Pete struggled again, clumsily kicking his leg out behind him. As punishment, they shook him. Pete’s lungs burned. He needed to breathe; it took all his strength to hold the little air he had left. His gills ached, begging to take over and keep him alive, but he couldn’t let that happen; he couldn’t give in, he couldn’t. If he failed, he’d die. Pete placed his hand on the bottom and pushed hard.

Another violent jolt shook Pete’s world, sending the last of his breath bubbling to the surface, torn from his grasp. With empty lungs and exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs, his assailant’s weight pressed his chest further into the hard rim of the fountain, though the pain seemed far away. His eyes drooped. Darkness crept from the corners of his vision. Pete’s struggles died down further, but none of Burton’s gang seemed to notice until Pete’s hand slipped with another jerk, sinking him.

Pete had no choice but to surrender.

Cold, relieving, terrifying water rushed down his jaw to his gills, and he opened his mouth to greet it. Greedily, he gulped it down, gills flaring with each deep, shaky gasp, and as he did, the sensation of impending change flooded every corner of his body.

I’m goin’ ta die.

Slowly, Pete’s features began to change. The tips of his ears grew pointed, poking above the water to meet icy air, and the webbing between his fingers grew further and further. Under his sleeves, fins began to protrude from his skin and press against the fabric of his shirt, and scales slowly emerged to cover the skin of his hands and forearms, but still, the cruel hands of the humans held him down. How long would it take for them to notice the strength drain from him? His legs buckled from under him, too weak to take his weight. Unease permeated the atmosphere above him, punctuated by the loosening and changing grip.

It took multiple of Burton’s gang to haul Pete from the water by the scruff of his coat. They expected him to move, to keep struggling, but Pete hung limp in their grasp, too exhausted to do more than curb the loll of his head and weakly gasp for air.

“What the fuck? Is he dead?!” one exclaimed. “He wasn’t under long enough!”

“Oh my Powers,” said another, “look.”

Pete shuddered when fingers brushed his gills. Tears streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from the water that ran down from his hair. At the base of his spine, a thick tail pushed itself out over the waistband of his jeans, and his legs were more than halfway fins. There was no way out.

“Shit,” Burton breathed.

When Pete opened his mouth to beg for mercy, all that came out was a bout of hoarse coughs and horribly choked gasps for air. He brought a scaled, webbed hand to the wrist of whoever was closer, but his grip was too weak to pull them off. Instead, they yelped, and Pete felt himself drop. It took a moment for his mind to register the sudden, splitting pain at his forehead, and the warmth dripping from his hairline to his brow from where he slammed against stone. Everything spun. His whole head ached, his ears rang, and he could barely make his eyes focus on the figure that lingered while the others fled, leaving him to finish shifting on the ground. Pete could barely see his silhouette, but the voice, unusually perturbed, belonged to Burton, who swore again at the way Pete’s long, pointed ears drooped, and a weak, gurgling whine caught in his throat after another bout of wheezing coughs. He too turned and fled, discarding Pete as if he were a broken toy.

Pete was so weak. Along his still-growing tail, glimmering, snow white scales surfaced, mottled by an orange hue identical to the colour of the fins that grew from the small of his back and tip of his tail… and the ones where his legs used to be.

He couldn’t move.

Small sobs built in Pete’s chest. Blindly, he turned his head, searching for his satchel. He needed the small towel he kept inside it, but like this, he couldn’t see more than a foot ahead. The cobblestone was chilly beneath his hands as he groped along it, hoping, praying to the Powers that his hand would brush against it, but it never did. He cried. His world still spun, and his head throbbed harder still; it felt warm. Pete didn’t realise he’d fallen back to the stone again, he just hurt. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even tell which way was up. For a while, Pete laid there, trying and failing to control the overwhelmed tempo of his ragged breaths and stifle his anguished sobs until the mist that seeped through the shadows finally crawled across the open ground, obscuring all but the closest objects.

Where was Liz? She was there earlier. She’d been hurt. Pete tried again to get up, only for the slipperiness of his scales to yank his hand from under him, sending him crashing back down. He heaved another sob, curling his arms around his head, bracing himself against the sharp ache that lanced through his skull. The lone gunshot echoed in his mind in time with each throb, over and over, tormenting him—he needed to get up and find her, help her, make sure she was safe, but he was too weak, too useless to be anything but a burden. He couldn’t remember when the shot rang out, if it was before or after she was dragged away.

He was so tired. The uncertainty weighed heavily on his soul.

How long he spent splayed out on the cobbled surround, propped awkwardly against the wall of the fountain shivering, he couldn’t be sure, but it was long enough for him to wonder if there was any real reason for him to try to get up anymore when all he did was hurt people. As the haze that blanketed his mind grew thicker, his consciousness drifted, he found himself hoping above everything else that Liz was okay. She had to be okay. She always was.

…Where was she…?

“Liz…?” Pete whimpered, but there was no reply.

Pete needed something too, he had somewhere to be, but the thought, as easily as it came, slipped from his mind. He was so, so tired. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d remember… Maybe he’d wake up in his bed warm and safe and not hurting, and this was all a dream.

Where was he…?

A long sigh escaped his cold, battered body, eyes finally drooping shut. Several pairs of booted footsteps jogged over frozen grass.

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absolutely-normal-about-x · 6 months

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So Idea I have:

So again doing research on Legends like any sane person would be I found out some new characters that were supposed to be appearing in legends 3 as other main characters. Barret (The red haired) and Aero (the pink haired one) and right off the bat imma take them and be playing them around in legends Reborn since I think they deserve better.

Also it would be REALLY fun to play around with them, especially Barrett. So I might have some ideas of them , especially that they are actually involved much earlier than 3. By making them Volnutt and Roll’s Rivals (mostly as Barrett as Volnutt’s). Often he and Volnutt would buttheads with eachother with their personalities. Barrett being 2 years older than Volnutt having more digger experience and skills. As both of them would have competitions over who gets to clear the ruins faster and better. Also owning his own ride to allow to traverse ruins faster. Maybe a friendly rivalry with the young Digger, being a bit of a show off but he definitely called Vol different nicknames.

Aero on the other band is a spotter like Roll but a bit more keen eyed. It’s strange considering her Size (She’s 16 but a lil fun sized) a lil smart energetic genius who's also a clever hacker that causes mischief. But at the same time she’s a sniper as she owns a rifle that she only uses. when she’s with Barrett on Ruins. Both of them are shown to have really good marksman skills. Barrell prefers using guns while Aero with Rifles.

One of the ideas I Wanted to play around is…Them being Axl’s Students. Or well trained under Axl himself, like he picked these two up when they were ten. Barrett being an Orphan and Aero running away from her home sticking together before running into him. The reason why is because Barrett reminds him a bit too much of himself in his youth so…he takes them in and trains them. The 3 of them are pretty close and by the time they turned 15 and proved themselves to be capable diggers he parted ways for them but still watches over them and visits them so see how they are doing and catching up. Axl considers Barrett and Aero’s Gang his own kids to keep an eye on.

The moment they find out the Truth of their Boss/Mentor’s past and connection to Volnutt’s Weirdly scary Family…Let's just say Barrett would start call Axl all sorts of affectionately old man names and Aero losing her absolute SHIT.

Plus it would be really Cool that Axl’s Successors and X’s Youngest Son working together like their predecessors.

But leaves one more slot ;3 but again I’m thinking on my silly lil cap

#megaman x #megaman legends #legends reborn #au #megaman volnutt #headcanon #Also how Barrett found about Volnutt’s connection to the Guardians #He called Volnutt Nutsack in front of Fefnir once #never in his life has ran so fast from his blasts before #Now Zero?#that’s gonna be silly

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rocksaltandmountainash · 4 months

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Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 27

* Summary: Kara tries to bury herself in work. It doesn't quite go to plan when she finds herself back in Beacon Hills.

* Series masterlist: can be found here.

* Warnings/Notes: swearing, canon typical violence, slightly smutty, references to full on smut, Peter Hale sometimes deserves his own warning.

* Word count: 6.1k * Gif sources: Crowley | BH Preserve | Peter

Georgia:

“You’ve been killing my men for weeks and now you want a deal?”

Crowley narrows his eyes in the dark, curious about what you’re up to. Calling on the King of Hell was a patented Winchester move, it shouldn’t surprise him you’ve picked it up - but there are no devils traps here, no Winchesters - just a silly girl messing with things she doesn’t understand.

“Any crossroads demon could have done that.”

“I didn’t want to talk to any demon; I wanted to talk to you.”

You sound a lot more self assured than you feel, but Crowley can see straight through your bluff, down to your nervous and naïve core.

“Must be big if you’re willing to give up your soul.”

“C’mon, you don’t think that was, like, lesson one of the Bobby Singer crash course in hunting?” you laugh, “I’m not trading my soul.”

Now he’s annoyed - you’re not the one who decides terms.

“What then?” he barks, voice laced with barely concealed anger.

“I’ll owe you one?” it comes out meek, “A favor - anything you want, whenever you want — in exchange for information.”

“What information?”

“Do you have Dean and Castiel in Hell?”

Your question hangs in the air before it floats away on the smoke curling from Crowley’s cigar. He watches from the corner of his eye as you shrink. Fleeting thoughts of what the fuck am I doing, I wish Sam was here, this is too fucking risky dart across your mind.

Crowley contemplates the situation that’s landed in his lap. You’re clearly in over your head, but it’s undeniable you have potential. The wounds on his demons proved that - no hesitation marks, it was quick, brutal work.

So it’s not exactly kindness that has Crowley deciding he’ll give you a free pass - once. More like inexplicable pity and blatant conceit. If you manage to track Dean down, it’ll be valuable for the Winchesters to know he’d assisted you.

“They’re not in Hell.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He tries not to smile at your crestfallen expression, busies himself with locating an empty spot in the ashtray.

You believe him - not because you trust him - you just can’t think of any reason he wouldn’t boast about having Dean if he did. But his answer is still no answer at all. Where the fuck are they?

Crowley stands and drops a business card on the table, “Call next time.”

“Right, um, thanks….” you pocket the card while thinking there’s not gonna be a next time, it’s not like you want to hang out with Crowley,

“What abo - “

“Keep your favour. You have nothing I want.”

With that, he’s gone, and you pound your beer in frustration before you drag yourself to bed.

Beacon Hills, California:

The evening is easing into darkness when you pull up to the old Hale house in the woods. Dew covers the ground, and the air is crisp enough that your breath leaves trails as you turn the engine off and get out of the car.

Making your way to the trunk, you’re just about to slide the key in when the sound of a twig snapping gets your attention. Dropping your bag and pulling your gun out from its holster in one swift movement, you have it locked as you spin toward the source of the noise.

Quick fingers circle your wrist and firmly push your arm away as a face comes into view.

“Jesus! I almost shot you.”

Glaring at the man in front of you, you put your gun away.

Fucking Peter Hale.

Of course he’d show up when you were trying your best to stay unnoticed. And of course he’d look gorgeous doing it.

He’s clad in a wool coat, the collar popped ever so slightly, and the top buttons of his shirt left undone - maybe intentionally - to show the contours of his neck and a few days of scruff.

“No, you didn’t,” he states, arrogant as ever, while he looks you up and down. “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through…”

Peter tilts his head and you know he’s listening to your heartbeat or smelling the lie on you.

“Kara.”

“Hmm?”

“Is there somebody in your trunk?”

“No.. that’s crazy.” you return his question with a shrug.

Crossing his arms, Peter waits you out, with no intention of leaving you alone. When a soft thud sounds from inside the trunk, you both hear it, but you purposefully avoid looking toward the car.

Amused at your feeble efforts to mislead him, Peter raises an eyebrow at you.

You huff, irritated that you can’t get anything past him when he uses his werewolf senses. It wasn’t playing fair.

“Fine,” you pop the trunk and gesture wide, presenting Peter with a bound and gagged Leviathan, “Peter, meet Carl.”

Peter looks from Carl to you and back. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone in a trunk, but he certainly wasn’t expecting it from you. It’s an interesting development.

You take hold of Carl’s bound feet. “Since you’re here, give me a hand?”

Peter pushes you aside and picks Carl up, tossing him over his shoulder effortlessly and heading toward the house. He pauses on the front steps,

“I’ll help. But afterwards, you have some explaining to do.”

Sighing, you follow him.

You should have stayed away from Beacon Hills altogether, but you’d tracked the Leviathan down in Arizona. Driving with a monster stashed in the trunk made you nervous, so when you neared Flagstaff, you made a split second decision, turning away from the cabin in Montana and instead heading west toward California, cutting a few hours off your journey.

****

Peter gets Carl situated on a chair at one end of what used to be the living room and you take out duct tape and rope from your bag, just to be sure. Ignoring Carl’s muffled complaints, you work fast, tying him down securely.

“What now?” Peter asks, leaning on the frame of the large archway that leads in from the foyer, before thinking better of it, pushing off with his shoulder, brushing the dust and soot from his coat.

Checking the time on your phone, you frown.

“I need to make a call.”

You walk past Peter out onto the porch, pulling the remains of the front door closed behind you. You need to let Samandriel know you are ready, but don’t want to pray in front of Peter, so you tap the number for your bank and speak over the pre-recorded options.

“Hey, it’s Kara. Sorry I’m late, but I’m sorted now. Let’s do this.”

With that, you return inside, and using the sparse amount of moonlight coming in from the boarded-up windows, you prepare. Set out a large bowl, two glass jars and one vial on the floor. Keeping one eye on Carl, you take inventory of what you have jammed in your backpack; a machete, a bunch of smaller knives, including your Chinese ring daggers.

“Kara?”

You don’t hear Peter as you continue to triple check your gear, mumbling your checklist to yourself....Spare magazines, a few boxes of ammunition for your Desert Eagle, you grope at the chain around your neck to make sure you’re wearing the steel flint stick and kerosene lighter combo.

Peter watches you closely, waiting for you to pick up the machete and do your thing. Then he could renew his endeavours to have you again.

He didn’t want to tell you how to do your job, but a full arsenal seemed like overkill for a lone monster.

He feels no shame admitting to himself he’d love to watch you give over to your darker impulses. Wanted to coax that tiny spark of anger he had seen when you promised the Nogitsune death into something bigger, a flame that would burn Argent, Scott, and anyone else that got in his way.

Patience. He scolds himself; knows to play the long game with you. You were on the verge, and he had to be careful not to frighten you, not to push you toward the other side. It was exhausting, but he could manage for a bit longer.

“Kara!”

Peter calls your name louder this time, and your head snaps up, remembering he’s there. Satisfied you have everything you need, you zip your backpack and stand.

“You can go.”

It comes out brusque; you don’t have time to talk this through, not when Samandriel is on his way and you’re distracted trying to fight off an overwhelming wave of doubt.

“What’s going on?”

Peter approaches you slowly, stress emanating from you.

Shit. This is a bad idea. But it was your only idea to find Dean and Castiel. Samandriel was on board the moment you suggested it, but then he had always singularly focused on locating Cas.

Combine that laser focus with him being an angel, and all the abilities that come along with it, and maybe his enthusiasm was biased.

You’d spent so long turning this over in your mind, wondering if it could work, that now the time was here you realised you had put little thought into what you’d do if it did work.

“I...it’s nothing.”

Peter holds your hands lightly in his own, studying your face while he tries to put the pieces together. Whatever you’d landed yourself in, it’s serious.

For a second, you consider letting him talk you out of it.

Focus.

Just because you felt scared, terrified actually, doesn’t mean you should stop.

“I’m fine.”

You remove your hands back from Peter’s grasp and shove them in the pockets of your jacket.

“Seriously, Peter, I have work to do,” you sound more determined as you glance at the door, giving him an out, a signal to leave.

Peter just laughs. “Then work. I’m not going anywhere.”

****

When Samandriel finally arrives, you’re relieved, but his appearance alarms Peter, a low growl coming from him as his claws peek out from the tips of his fingers. Samandriel goes on the defensive, his eyes flashing a bright white.

“It’s okay!” you cry, getting between them with your arms extended. “He’s my...I know him.”

Peter looks at you with narrowed eyes, and you give him an imploring pat on the chest. He stands down, moving back into the shadows.

“A werewolf, Kara?” Samandriel asks.

“Don’t start,” you groan, never sure if he is simply asking or passing judgment, “Do you have it?”

Samandriel passes you a bone wrapped in linen, which you weigh in your hands. You’d imagined it heavier, with what it was capable of, but it was light and well balanced, like all good weapons should be.

Dropping it into the bowl, you pour the blood from the jars and vial in before carefully swirling the bowl around, letting the mix coat the bone, while trying to keep one end clean for less gross handling.

“You’ll need this too,” he waves another package at you, before tucking it into your backpack, “Are you ready?”

“No. But let’s do it anyway.”

Peter intervenes, can feel tension seeping out of you and the uniformed idiot. “Kara, what are you doing?”

“Kara. We should begin.”

Peter shoots Samandriel a dark glance, imagining how easily he could silence the boy.

“Ignore him. Look at me. What’s going on?”

Facing Peter, you’re at a loss for words. Anything you might say would lead only to more questions, and if you had to break this down for him, you might start to have a few more questions of your own.

“Peter...I..”

That’s it, Peter thinks, just say the word. I’ll kill the boy, you kill Carl, and we’ll fuck with blood on our hands.

“Do me a favour?”

Peter hides his delight, promising himself he won’t gloat when he tears Samandriel’s throat out.

“Just…don’t tell anyone I was here.”

Shaking off your disquiet, you wind your arms through the straps of your backpack and hitch it onto your shoulders. Samandriel stands behind Carl, awaiting your instruction, so you pick up the unbloodied end of the bone, and make your way over to them.

“How will you-”

“Through the neck.”

It might not be vital to end Carl the exact same way Dean killed Dick Roman, but you thought it was the safest bet to replicate the situation as closely as possible.

You rip away the duct tape you had covered Carl’s mouth with as Samandriel grabs him by the hair and yanks his head back, exposing his throat to you.

“I’ll kill you! You bitch, you’re going to be my dinner!”

Carl’s threats do nothing to you, but Peter stalks toward him, a dangerous look crossing his face. Samandriel notices before he can get too close, and wordlessly asks for your permission.

You give him a tight nod and with merely a point in his direction; he has Peter pinned up against a wall.

“Sorry.” you call to Peter, focusing on lining up your strike.

Steadying your nerves with a deep breath, you brace yourself with one hand on Carl’s shoulder before you plunge the bone into his neck.

He makes gurgling sounds as black blood erupts out from the wound, and you tell Samandriel to stand back.

You keep a tense grip on the bone as the surrounding air pulses. Slowly, the vibration increases, building to a rapid beat, and your stomach twists in anticipation and fear.

****

Just as fast as it had arrived, the feeling dissipates, the air shifting back to its normal, stagnant state.

“No. No, no, no, no…”

You try again, thrusting the bone further into Carl’s neck, forcing it deeper through muscle. There is no hilt on the bone, nothing to stop your hand from slipping around, inky blood covering it and dripping hot down your arm.

“Come on, come on, you fucker.”

Samandriel let you stab uselessly for a few minutes longer until it’s clear that whatever energy you had tapped into was gone.

“Stop.”

You release the bone and stand back, not wanting to accept that your last best chance had just fizzled.

“Was it the bone? Did you get the right one?”

“Yes. It was just as the spell required.”

“Well, what then!?” you shout harshly at Samandriel.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He’s as confused as you are, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, struggling to keep disappointed tears at bay.

“No…it’s not on you. Sorry.”

“You tried”, Samandriel reminds gently. Underneath all his duty bound efficiency, he could be quite sweet, but it felt like that’s all you ever did... try. Try and fail.

“Yeah, guess we did” you tilt your head in Peter’s direction. “Let him down, please?”

“Of course. I need to go. We’ll speak soon.”

“Sure. Come when you can.”

After Samandriel clicks his fingers, Peter is released, growling as soon as his feet hit the floor, and moving on instinct toward Samandriel, who promptly disappears.

Whipping around, Peter pants as his eyes flash from bright blue back to their usual colour.

“What the hell was that?”

You laugh, humour returning at Peter’s surly expression, “That. Was Samandriel.”

****

After you’ve dispatched with Carl and gathered your things, apologised to Peter - once for letting Samandriel restrain him and once for the mess you’ve left on the floor of his old home - the two of you drag Carl’s body deep into the woods behind the house.

“So if it had worked, you’d be in Purgatory?”

“That was the theory...” you strip off your jacket and throw it above you, before resting on the handle of the shovel you’re using, even with the chill in the air you’re getting sweaty.

“You think that’s what happened to your friend…”

“Dean. Yeah. But it was kind of a Hail Mary.”

“Why?” Peter grunts as he digs.

“Well, ‘cut off the head of the snake and the body will flounder’ and Roman was the head - “

“Like an Alpha?”

“Mmmm. Carl was a dick.. he just wasn’t the Dick.”

“Huh. Hey,” Peter jabs you lightly in the leg with his shovel, “Dig.”

“Sorry!”

You grin as you resume digging. Peter was more than happy to help you bury a body which should concern you. But you’d spent so much time alone recently, it was good to talk.

So once Peter got you started, you told him some about what you’d been doing; cases with other hunters, though never the same people too frequently, hunting down leads on Dean with Samandriel. You don’t tell him everything, keep it as light as a grave digging conversation can be.

Assessing the grave, you hope you can still climb out. “Deep enough?”

“Looks good.” Peter agrees and leaps onto the solid ground.

You pass up the shovels to Peter, then grab onto the edge, kicking into the side of the hole to make a foothold.

“Here.”

Peter reaches and grabs you under the arms, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing and planting you firmly next to him. Walking over to Carl’s body, now neatly wrapped in a tarp, he throws him in the hole before picking up the smaller bundle.

“Wait! Not the head.”

“Really?”

Peter wondered if you wanted to keep it as some sort of trophy. Couldn’t blame you, he wouldn’t mind a reminder of the moment himself. Watching you swinging the machete with all the strength your tight body could muster, black goo splattering onto your face… he had to stifle a groan and subtly readjust his pants.

“It can reattach.”

Peter drops the head and rolls his eyes. “Ugh.”

Taking the second shovel, you throw dirt on top of Carl’s corpse. With Peter’s assistance, it doesn’t take long before the hole is filled back in, and you tap down the soil with the back of the spade to finish the job.

“Bye Carl.” you take your knife and carve his initials into a nearby tree trunk.

“All this for a monster?”

You nod.

Dropping the head and your duffel in the trunk, you slam it shut before tossing your backpack onto the passenger seat, ready to get back on the road.

“So, uh…good to see you.”

“Think you’re getting out of here that easily?” Peter steps forward and crowds you against the side of your car. “I haven��t seen you in ages.”

His closeness makes your breath shallow, the heat coming off him distracting and dizzying.

“Naw Peter….you miss me?” you joke, even as you are wishing you weren’t like this.

“If I did?”

“Careful, don’t admit there’s someone you don’t want to rip to shreds on sight. I mean, what if someone heard?”

“I do have a reputation to uphold.”

Peter draws lazy lines up and down your side, caging you in and gently using his leg to spread your knees. He’s attuned to you, how your eyes have darkened, the way your breath hitches as you tilt your hips slightly forward.

“I gotta go,” you say, sounding less than convinced.

“Why?” he murmurs against your ear as he tucks strands of your hair back. His thumb grazes down the side of your face, finding a home next to your lips.

Your resolve is melting. It’s been too long since someone touched you without violence. You want something soft, bad, and it’s making you shameless. Should resist getting felt up, out in the open, especially by Peter, but his leg is right there.

He uses the pad of his thumb to trace your lips, waiting. Feels your tongue peek out and skim his finger, enough permission for Peter, and he snatches you to him, crashing his lips against yours.

It’s open mouthed, and hungry and your entire body sighs when his tongue finally slips in to tangle with yours, exploring for a while before he moves to your neck, licking and suckling marks down the column of your throat.

His hands go under your shirt, roaming up and bringing you closer to him. Forward, down, back…his thigh providing the friction you crave, and the stability you require now that your own legs are quaking.

“Come home with me.”

He pulls away and clasps his hands behind his back innocently. The sudden removal of his palms leaves you against the glass and steel of the car door, and you gasp at the sting. The dampness on his trousers has Peter certain he’s got you on the hook. But he won’t let you off that easily - needs you to beg.

You’re teetering between logic and desire. Your head wins out.

“No.”

“Why not, doll?” he can’t keep an edge out of his voice.

“I…just can’t.”

Peter is now utterly done with biding his time. Contemplates, briefly, if you’re worth it, but even as the thought enters his mind, he’s returning hands to your hips and picturing bending you over the hood of the car. He knows he’s not ready to give up just yet. You feel too good around him. His ego, his competitiveness won’t let him quit.

“Argent?”

You say nothing, but guilt clouds your face as you turn away and Peter thinks he’s found the source.

“But why? He’s gone. It’s just me and you.”

“He’s been a little busy,” you snap defensively, shoving Peter’s hands away, “You know, funeral for his daughter.”

Coming back to Beacon Hills was a mistake. You’ll never be able to forget what happened, but you also didn’t need to make it more difficult, pick at barely healed wounds by being here. You need to get out.

Peter sucks in a breath at your rage, tries again, but different.

“He’s not the only one. Missing her. Allison.”

The mention of her makes your chest constrict, your skin flaring with oppressive heat.

How dare he…or even suggest he knew how Chris felt…Like any of us…

Fuck it, gonna hit him.

“I mean, look at you, Kara..”

Realising your misunderstanding, you deflate, fists unclenching.

Peter was merely offering comfort, no, not even that - just a distraction, and why wouldn’t he? That’s all you are to each other…if you’re anything at all.

You’d let your mind jump to conclusions. Mean spirited conclusions. Grief and isolation have changed you, made you too quick to think the worst of people.

Miserably, you wonder if Peter’s right, that you’re pathetic for staying loyal to a man who wasn’t here, that you haven’t heard from in months.

Probably - because if Chris was here, you still wouldn’t be together. Wouldn’t be able to face him. How could he look at you and not think what everyone thought, the monumental guilt that has settled inside you.

“It’s my fault.” you whisper.

“What? Of course it’s not,” Peter says dismissively.

“It is. See?”

You twist your head and lift your hair away so Peter can see the space behind your ear.

“I don’t…what am I looking for?”

“Use your other eyes.”

When he focuses his sight, a faded outline comes into view. A kanji.

Peter gently runs his fingers over the symbol, “What does it say?”

A small whimper escapes before you can answer;

“Death.”

*****

Manic, you explain to Peter how you found it when picking crusts of dried blood out of your hair after a hunt. The sickening feeling when you’d researched what it meant.

The Oni had tagged the others as ‘oneself’, declaring them free of the Nogitsunes influence. They had marked you with ‘death’.

As best you could tell, that should have been the end of you, if they had gotten a hold of you, if you’d been there when…But you weren’t, you’d been MIA, sulking over your breakup with Chris and the injury you’d sustained.

Too slow. Not there.

You deserted Allison.

“They took her in my place,” you choke out, bile rising in the back of your throat.

He shakes his head, “Don’t do this to yourself.”

It’s a warning, from someone who knows what this kind of thinking can do, but once you’ve opened your throat and spoken your worst fear, it all bubbles up and you burst into tears.

Peter pulls you in and lets you weep against him. “You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know.”

You want to push him away. Try, once or twice, hitting at his chest with weak fists. He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t let go either.

“Listen to me,” he captures your jaw, rougher than necessary, but adamant as he smoothes away your shame-filled tears, “It’s not your fault. You helped her. Helped get rid of the thing that killed her. You did right by Allison.”

He encircles you tight then hardly moves as sobs wrack through you, surprising himself. This is meant to be a chase, only a play to get you back in his bed. But now he’s wiping away your tears and doing his very best to soothe you because the sight of you broken is wrecking him, burrowing down to parts he’d long forgotten.

****

You run your fingers along the spines of the books lining Peter’s bookshelf, pulling a few out and reading the back covers. There are many to choose from; crime thrillers, some classics, biographies, but they all looked new, contemporary.

Peter returns from the kitchen with a dish of steaming food. “Snooping?”

“No!” you smile at him, your nose leading you to the table. You feel better after showering and changing clothes. Crying on his shoulder. Ugh.

“I’m not sure what I was expecting…” you gesture to the bookcase as Peter plates the meal he’s made, and takes a seat next to you. Something with chicken and potatoes and a sauce that is making your mouth water, “More dust maybe?”

“Well, most of the Hale library was kept at the old place, so we lost a lot in the fire.”

Your fork freezes mid way to your mouth, “Shit…I’m sorry.”

“Hunters.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing but he’s ... straighter, tighter, the reminder of the fire a sharp wince.

“There were kids in there…That’s not hunting. That’s murder.”

Peter looks at you, seeing - for the first time he’s let himself indulge in - you as something other than a conquest, a challenge, a hunter to be taken down a peg or two. More than just something to be yanked away from Argent for the sport of it.

“Does it bother you? That I hunt?”

You don’t look at him, suddenly worried what it would mean if he said yes and hating yourself for caring about his opinion of you.

“You hunt monsters that can’t control themselves, that’s not me anymore.”

Not just monsters.

Carl Copeland was 43, worked in insurance sales. He’d been married to his wife Sophie for almost 20 years and they shared three kids. One day he took a shower, or had a glass of water, or did one of a million other mundane things. You don’t know the ‘how’, but a Leviathan got hold, and wouldn’t let go.

It shouldn’t matter. The body count he amassed should be all the ‘why’ you needed, but the images haunted you. Three dead little kids. Two girls, one boy, torn up in their beds, remnants of their pajamas strewn through the sheets.

Shaking your head, you clear away the pictures as best you can and steer the conversation back to safer ground.

“Thanks, by the way.”

Peter tilts his head.

“For dealing with the Darach.”

He considers denying it, sticking with the party line that she’d simply left.

“You knew about that?”

“I do now,” you giggle, and your glee at guessing correctly makes Peter join in with laughter.

“She’s never come back or turned up anywhere else, so I figured someone must’ve-”

You make a stabbing motion with your knife.

“How’d you know it wasn’t Scott?”

You laugh again because the suggestion is absurd. Scott is kind, he’s good, and acts accordingly. Most of the time, you’re right there with him, but Jennifer? Too much damage done, too big of a threat to leave unchecked.

Suppose it could have been Derek, he’d certainly be justified, with how she’d taken advantage. But his vulnerability might have made it too hard, no one can just turn their feelings off when people prove they’re liars. Not even werewolves.

Chris would’ve told you.

That left Peter. It required the kind of ruthless logic he has. Only thing you haven’t been able to figure out is why he didn’t tell anybody. You thought he’d want the credit.

“She definitely dead?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Thank you.”

“I aim to please.”

He feels for your legs under the table, pivots you and drags your feet up to rest across his lap. Moving his thumbs along your calves, he digs in firm lines that chase away the tension. You push your plate aside with a satisfied smile and stretch out.

Warmth snakes up your body, and your eyes flutter to a close. You’d expected to be in Purgatory, instead here you are; fresh, clean, with a full belly, and a friend.

Well, maybe not a friend. You couldn’t tell anymore.

His palms move higher, pressing and squeezing into your thighs. You quirk an eyebrow at him in question; shocked he still wants you, when you’ve just humiliated yourself.

“Really?” you ask, rising from the table and glancing toward the door.

Peter nods, tries and fails to not seem eager, but manages to stay still as you move down the hallway.

Waiting for his invitation, for you to admit finally that you want him. He’s played it out in his head too often, all the ways he’ll make the months of planning and plotting worth it. For both of you.

Pausing halfway to his bedroom, you tug your shirt over your head and let it drop to the floor. Peter gets to his feet but stays rooted to the spot, eyes glued to your silhouette, breathing in your excitement.

You grin as you call to him, “You coming?”

He smirks and saunters up the hallway, watching you undress, as he decides he’s definitely going to ruin you. Get you so desperate for him, you won’t waste another second on Chris Argent.

****

Hours later, you tiptoe to the kitchen wearing only a baggy t-shirt, and use your phone torch to find a cup in the cabinets to fill under the tap. Leaning against the counter you down the cool water, half asleep but completely dehydrated by Peter’s skilled, athletic performance.

You drink another glass, smiling at the ache in your legs, the satisfying after burn of a good fuck. Then you open the fridge and dig around for something to eat.

“Come back to bed.”

Peter’s voice startles you and the glass slips out of your hand. Peter darts his own out, catching it before it can hit the floor.

“Fuck. You scared me.”

Poking your head around the door, you scowl at him.

“Thought you might be leaving.”

Your frown fades at how his features, half lit by the fridge light, look soft. His hair is messy from you pulling on it, and all the usually hard planes of his body seem only warm and inviting. All his relentless posturing gone, now that you’ve given in.

“Nah. Just hungry.”

Plucking a few strawberries from their plastic container, you hold one up for Peter to bite into and shut the door.

He guides you backwards with his palms on your hips until your bare ass meets the counter.

Watching as you tear the flesh of the strawberry from the hull with your teeth, he kisses you as soon as you swallow, licking at the sweet, tart juice.

He’s going for control when he lifts you up onto the counter, trying to wash away how desperate he just sounded.

Doesn’t take much - it’s embarrassingly easy for Peter to turn you on. His hands are everywhere as you make out, sneaking up under your t-shirt, grabbing at your ass, pushing your knees wide to let you grind yourself on him.

You lose count of how many times his mouth meets yours and whine when his fly pushes into you, which makes him groan against your ear.

Peter slips his hand down and runs his fingers through your folds, relishing the feel of a shiver starting in your cunt and working its way up your spine, the kick of your pulse against his lips on your neck.

He pulls away and your eyes flash in annoyance, but he moves fast to hit the switch for the overhead lights. “Want to see you.”

He steps back into his rightful place between your legs, sighing. Thinks you’re divine like this, golden beams dancing across your thighs, goosebumps forming where your body rests atop the granite. Shyly keeping a hold on the hem of your t-shirt but still demanding, locking your legs around his waist and digging in to pull him close.

“You know…”

He cradles your head with one hand, makes sure you’re watching as he spreads you apart with the other, gathering up your slick before bringing it to his mouth, humming as he closes his lips around the taste.

“Strawberries are better with cream.”

“Has that line ever worked?” your laughter melts into a moan when he plunges two fingers inside you.

“Once or twice.”

Peter grins, vowing to do anything to keep you like this - supple, and panting, and carefree beneath his touch.

You’re too serious, traipsing around town, the whole goddamn country by the sounds of it, so intent on doing right, on being good.

What a fucking waste, when you should only be here, lying open and waiting for him to devour you. He kneels, hooks your leg over his shoulder, ready to feast.

****

The sun is up the next time you wake. Peter is face down on the pillow next to you, one heavy arm slung across your bare chest, a palm cupping your breast. Slipping out from under him, you quietly collect your clothes and get dressed.

“Leaving?”

“Hey. Morning.”

He looks more gorgeous in daylight, wearing nothing but the hangover of last night’s efforts and broken sleep.

“Yeah, I should get going.”

“Mmm,” he tugs on your arm and you let him pull you down to kneel on the bed beside him, “You should stay here.”

He yanks the covers back, not loving the needy thread in his voice, but loving what you do to him, tipping his head proudly toward his erection.

“Right there.”

“Peter…”

Regarding him for a moment, you look at your phone to check the time, like you have anywhere else to be.

“I have work to do.”

“Huntings not really a job.”

You pout, and his cock twitches while he waits for you to decide.

“The fuck you know about jobs, Hale?”

But you’re laughing as you mock him, and he knows you’ll cave. You’re already standing to unbutton your jeans.

****

When you finally escape Peter’s apartment, you make your way through town to the diner for a quick brunch. Recharged, you head to the Animal Clinic and wait while Deaton finishes with his patients.

“Hey Doc,” you hand him a coffee, “You due a break soon?”

“For you, I have some time.”

He smiles kindly. Even though he’s always glad to have another adult to help Scott and his friends, Deaton’s unnerved to see you’re in town, as far as he knows - things are quiet.

“How are you?” you ask, following his white coat to the privacy of his examination room.

He thinks you’re sweet for asking, for trying to fill the space with idle chatter, “I’m well. How are you?”

“Fine.”

Deaton’s warm brown eyes bore into yours, knows as well you do that it’s a half truth - at most. You don’t really know why you came, just a whim that you should check in. Make sure Stiles wasn’t lying when he told you that mostly, they’re getting through it. Together, and slowly, navigating around the aftermath of the Nogitsune. Plus, you can always trust people who work with animals.

“Ya know, relatively speaking.”

He chuckles at that. What else could you really say? Beacon Hills is a vortex of supernatural bullshit the kids keep getting drawn into, and you both want to help.

You didn’t help.

A few minutes pass of you staring at the floor, panic starting deep in your gut as you worry about Lydia. What else she might say if she knew you were here.

Worry that all of them, her and Deaton and Scott and Stiles and Derek, will think you’re a threat if they knew what the Oni had left on you.

“Kara? You want to tell me why you’re here?”

Deaton’s voice brings you back, and it’s that precise moment you decide. Last night won’t be your last attempt. You didn’t help Allison, but you have to help Dean - you are going to find him.

“Yeah, uh…” you clear your throat, “Can you tell me everything you know about Purgatory?”

#wakingupinbeaconhills #supernatural x teen wolf fic #spn x tw #peter hale smut #peter hale #alan deaton #stiles stilinski #supernatural fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #crowley spn #samandriel

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theflannelwizard · 1 year

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PLEASE. gimme your scout thoughts NAOOOWW GIMME GIMME GIMMEE

THIS IS THE BEST ASK ANYONE HAS EVER SENT ME. Buckle up cause I have a LOT of Scout thoughts. Some of these are supported by canon and some of them are just random ass headcanons but fuck it we ball. Under a read more cause it is gonna get long.

The more he brags about something, the more insecure he is about it. To me he reads as deeply in need of validation and when he's out here flexing and talking about how hot he is it's largely in hopes that someone will agree for once.

That said I don't think the ego is entirely an act. He does think he's hot shit. He just ALSO really really really needs to hear someone else say it cause he's starved for affection.

Not to be a scoutpauling enjoyer on main but I think he calls her all the time for no reason. Calls her to tell her a joke he thought of or to brag about whatever he's just done or to awkwardly ask how she's doing and then say "yeah, me too" no matter how she responds. And she's usually too busy to really engage him but she wouldn't pick up if she didn't want him calling. And she does usually pick up.

Middle school dropout. I do buy into him being dyslexic but I also think he just isn't very educated. It was more important to get a damn job. His family is huge, his mom is single, and I am no longer certain whether I'm joking when I say Spy didn't pay child support.

I think he calls Medic 'Ma' sometimes and it started 100% as a joke, like when teenagers call their teacher 'Mom' on purpose, but now it's just Something He Does.

Sometimes I see people write him and Soldier as not getting along and I totally get where that's coming from but it's not my truth. To me they are best friends who chase each other around the base with BB guns and make campfire food and root beer floats together and get too hyped for the 4th of July (Soldier likes the America of it all, Scout likes the candy and fireworks, they both like American marching band music) and like. They have fun together. They egg each other on.

Blinks in photos. Every. Single. Time.

He claims he’s good at cleaning but he is not. If you ask him to wash dishes he will rinse them, if you ask him to sweep or mop he will not do anymore than makes the place Look clean at surface level, etc etc. He’s the same way with cleaning himself. He counts rain as a shower and swimming pools as baths.

The exception to that rule is his ma and Miss Pauling, he cleans up pretty nice for them. They're also the only people he'll wear a suit for.

If he knew Spy was his dad he would be mad about it. He would not call him Dad. He would probably try to use it for comedy but not because he actually thinks it's funny, just cause he uses humor to cope. And uhhh he would go from "that guy's a prick" to "that guy ruined my life and I am never speaking to him again." sorry for not thinking he would forgive and forget right away but he deserves to be angry at least at first.

Speaking of. I think the scoutpauling and spydad dynamic is so funny. Imagine you're the spy and you abandoned your son as a toddler and then not only does said son end up back in your life as your obnoxious ass coworker but he's dating your boss. And he complains to your boss about how hard his life was growing up fatherless. And your boss knows you're the deadbeat dad her boyfriend got fucked over by. I would be SWEATING.

This man LOVES comic books but he skips over big chunks of text and words that take too long to sound out. When that happens he just infers from the pictures what’s going on. Secretly he really wants someone to read his comic books aloud to him and do silly voices and help him get better at spelling/phonics but he would NEVER ask. He’s not a little kid anymore, he doesn’t need to be treated like one.

I think sometimes he flat out refuses to take his shirt off for anything and when this happens it is always because he’s been bleeding so heavily from his chest, back, or side that his shirt dried into the scab and now it would hurt like hell if he tore it off. However this is also the only time that anyone actually encourages him to take his shirt off because nobody cares about his abs and shoulders but they do care a little about making sure he doesn’t get super infected and die.

Swears he isn’t scared of escalators but that’s a lie, he thinks he’s gonna trip and get shredded.

Not licensed to drive but knows how. His driving is insane off roads, people die if they get in a car with him off roads, but when he's on a road he actually drives very well cause he knows he can't afford to get pulled over. A cop sees him speeding and suddenly he's being taken in for countless charges of murder and possession of illegal firearms and who knows what else.

And of course, he hates the Mets and the Yankees <3

#this is but a small glimpse into my mind. i could probably make three or four more posts this length without breaking a sweat #all i do is think about him #also i 100% cried and happy stimmed and had to run a few laps to calm down when i saw this ask. scoutism goes insane #scout tf2 #tf2 scout #calvin talks #calvin's stuff #tf2 headcanons #scoutpauling #should i tag the other mercs? i think not. they just make little baby guest appearances.#racmune #answered

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sonadowkismesis · 7 months

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tell me about the gun commander! I need to hear your opinions I am deeply curious

hi! i really apologize for taking this long to respond. truth is, i didn't know where to start. given how bare bones the writing is when it comes to the commander, it's difficult to talk about his character without immediately dipping into speculation territory... and i'd end up asking myself things like "is this an actually widely accepted hc or just something i've thought about?"

so, i'm gonna lay my cards on the table here and say that this will mostly me sharing my thoughts (some more speculative than others) about unexplored aspects of his character, or things i think would have deserved to be expanded upon.

but first off, i'd like to advertise this post (the one that got me thinking about this in the first place!) so you can see where it is i'm coming from, and so i don't have to reiterate the points touched upon there

the first thing i noticed about the commander is how... he feels like a near perfect mirror to shadow, in a way that i don't think many people have noticed.

they're two people who lost the one most dear to them and thus blames the other for this tragedy, determined to take their revenge on those who wronged them. shadow blames gun, humanity -that of which the commander is a part of, meanwhile the commander casts gerald and the black arms, and therefore shadow, as guilty. while the commander has sat with his anger and sorrow for decades, shadow still holds the memory of the massacre fresh in his mind.

do you ever think about the fact that they might be the only people still alive who knew maria? the commander literally says he saw maria as an older sister figure. not friend, a sister. when you take into account that shth is the same game where shadow and maria are first referred to as siblings, it's hard not to see this detail as... deliberate.

it's almost like sonic team looked at shadow's grief and revenge arc from sa2, and thought "what if we did that again, but from the other side of the equation this time?". i'm not crazy it's right there dude. it's compelling as fuck and probably why i'll never think of the commander as the flopburger character others see him as.

something people might bring up as a plothole is the fact we never see the young commander on the ark before shth. if he and maria were this close as kids, how come we never see them together in sa2?

the commander is an obvious retcon (and not the only one in this game tbf), but that elephant aside, the shadow and maria scenes from sa2 are short and few enough that i don't think it's asking too much from our suspension of disbelief to imagine that young commander just. happened to be away during the duration of these scenes. in fact, i can think of at least a few good reasons for why it makes sense for him to not be around them at this time.

given his status as a top secret project, it's reasonable to think shadow would have had limited contact with anyone on the ark who wasn't a scientist. maria being an exception speaks for itself as she is gerald's granddaughter, and to some extent the person shadow was "made for".

but above all, i think when taking into account young commander's apparent terror from seeing shadow... i could easily see him try to avoid the hedgehog as much as he could. not yet out of hatred (the way i see it, his grudge against shadow and gerald would only grow after the ark raid happens) but more out of suspicion, distrust, and especially fear. he's so offput by the fact maria keeps hanging out with this guy, that he declines any of her suggestions to spend time with them.

sidenote: although it seems silly to us, i like to think most children would be scared of shadow, and the commander was no exception (especially considering black doom was like, right there which probably made the scene feel a lot more sinister). maria would then be a rare exception, as her bouts of compassion/sympathy towards the experiments on the ark seem to suggest. i could see her as the type of person to catch a bug and show it off to you for a bit, going on about how cute it looks... if she's a creature enthusiast, it would make sense why she clicked with shadow so well, in contrast to the commander.

i could imagine that in the event where shadow and young commander would have to pass eachother down the halls, yc would immediately try his best to put distance between him and the (dreadful) creature. switching lanes, changing directions, walking very close to the wall, you name it. (in my mind, shadow doesn't pay much mind to yc, but the fact that this kid seems to be that terrified of him is somewhat amusing)

anyways, it's that tendency to keep shadow at arm's length that leaves me thinking that his confrontation with shadow 50 years later could very well have been his first time... actually talking to the guy. because he never actually got to know shadow personally, his entire perception of him was built on unchecked biases given space to fester for decades on end. in these conditions, is it surprising that the commander ended up holding that grudge against shadow for all these years? how easy it is to project all the evil in the world onto someone you know next to nothing about?

the semi-hero story is the only path where the commander actually gets to talk to shadow face to face and... the shadow he meets feels lightyears away from the monster he had made him out to be, from his quiet and measured demeanor, to the graceful acceptance of his sins. and worse, shadow doesn't even remember the massacre the commander had been so eager to blame him for.

it's a brutal clash between reality and the fragile narrative he's constructed, one that literally leaves the commander to collapse on his knees. in that moment, it doesn't matter if shadow truly is responsible or not when the commander's biases and resolve have been shaken regardless. how could the hedgehog who spoke with so much truth and integrity be the evil demon he's been chasing after for so long? it just doesn't make sense.

i think for the most part, the commander's change of heart about shadow as it is depicted throughout the game does the job, and that string of dialogue where he invites shadow over to make amends is really sweet (although you can only hear it when playing the expert mode).

the commander hasn't been utilized again as a character after shth aside from a few scenes in chronicles, which is kind of a shame... because if there's one thing that i think should have been explored further, it's the commander's involvement with GUN. while we get a somewhat substantial exploration of his perception of shadow and its evolution, the same can't be said for the other side of the coin.

think about it, do we ever actually see him reflect on the fact that GUN was the one responsible for the ark raid all along? how does he feel about working for the organization who literally killed his family? does he even know about it for that matter??

personally, i often feel like a lot of the complaints about this plot point are done somewhat in bad faith? i've always held the opinion that young commander likely didn't know better or was misled on GUN's involvement on the ark, deliberately or not. i don't know about you, but to me, an 8yo child trusting a human-led organization who we know to lie to the general public in order to cover their tracks, over a scientist whom he personally saw create an all powerful creature with the help of an even more terrific alien demon kind of... speaks for itself. listen, my point is, it's not that hard to think of a reason why the commander would have this perspective on the events that transpired, especially given he was a small child when they happened.

but.

even putting sonic fans' obtuseness aside, the fact that none of this is touched upon in the actual game is such an oversight... like, it's a setup that never sees a pay-off or is ever called into question, and i understand shth is about shadow's character first and foremost, but jeez if you're gonna create a brand new character from scratch with their own backstory and motivations maybe don't leave a huge blank space right in the middle of it? it's sad because by diving into the circumstances of his enrolment at GUN, they could have covered some interesting themes like that of military indoctrination. and it would have added another layer of parallels between him and shadow, who is also deceived throughout the game and struggling to find the truth...

i think i've exhausted all the points i've wanted to make, so here are some dumb hcs i came up with that i didn't know where to mention

- since the commander was a child on the ark like maria, he might not have seen a lot of the earth so it's totally possible that shadow is the first mobian he ever saw, which would add to the spook factor

- the commander's parents were scientists who brought him along on the ark when he was little more than a toddler (i'm thinking around 4yo?). they were killed by GUN as part of the initiative to stop project shadow (afterwards the young commander would be told it was because of a freak accident involving gerald's roaming experiments, something he would believe for most of his life)

- after the ark raid, the young commander would be sent to live with distant relatives back on earth, all while being closely monitored by the organization (as they must have done with the other rescapees)

- the grandchild he mentions in expert mode is a little girl named alice, aka alicia. she was born on 30th october 2005, a few weeks before the game takes place (her parents were trying for an halloween baby and missed the mark by a day) (i may have kind of designed a whole family for the commander? if anyone's interested, maybe i'll post them eventually)

- the commander was granted access to a secret safe after rising through GUN's ranks. it has a ton of memorabilia that was locked in there after the ark shut down, away from prying eyes. as part of his effort to make peace with shadow, he invites him to go through it so he could recover some of his memories. among the countless toys and photos of maria he thought he'd never see again, there is no mention or pictures of project shadow at all, which was likely destroyed forever.

#sth #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #gun commander #abraham tower #blingee asks #blingee.txt #sorry that this took a week to write bah #but i hope you're happy with the rambling anon

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