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firegirl888101 · 2 months

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Insatiable Madness Intermission!

(Intermissions contain percentages for a certain point in the story! This Intermission is only accurate after View 10 and before View 11.)

Please keep in mind that these will change for better, or worse, as the story develops.

And remember, someone with a percentage of 50% could have the same feelings as someone with a percentage of 100%! Each character expresses, feels and thinks differently from eachother due to their different personalities.

It is important for you, the viewer, to decide whether a harbinger has turned yandere or not. I will not reveal much, for I mustn't disturb your own thoughts.

However, I can reveal that there are currently 2 Yanderes detected, and more will soon follow... In fact, I feel it might be sooner than you realise.

~ PIERRO AND PULCINELLA ARE PLATONIC ~

Pierro - 19%

He truly does see Y/N's value as a pawn to the Tsaritsa's plans back in Teyvat, but finds their behaviour appalling. Sometimes, The Jester questions whether the Tsaritsa would appreciate them dead rather than alive in her palace once they return home.

They're an eyesore. Not only that, but they constantly complain of his presence in their house. It's not his fault, the incompetent doctor didn't think of his machine only working one way. It's because of these very reasons he decided to take refuge in your father's office. Of course, you complained the following afternoon when you realised that's where he's settling. Unfortunately for you, he's indifferent to your complaining and just pushes you out the room if you distract him from his work. Don't you have better things to do? Go bother someone else, he's sure some of the other Harbinger's have been dying to ask you more questions.

'Always yapping in my ear. When are they going to repent their useless actions, be quiet, and stop resisting the fact I've taken the calmest room in the house? It's not my fault I brought my work with me unlike some of the others.'

Pierro doesn't care for this world. Although, the technology and freedom the people seem to have reminds him of Khaenri'ah, that thought alone helps him relax when he's alone in the evening. Perhaps when Dottore sorts out his defective machine, he'll return alone to reminisce of what could have been?

Capitano - 12%

He believes Y/N is weak, and unexpectedly powerless considering their intelligence within the fate of Teyvat. Before walking through Dottore's portal, The Captain was prepared for a noble battle. However, finding you shivering in fear was not what he was expecting.

They're pathetic. They make him feel useless in this world. He's a trained soldier, an army general, a legendary and respected tale among not only the Fatui but elsewhere in Teyvat. Without a battle or a conflict, there is physically nothing he can do here. Sure, he could always fight with Childe and give him the satisfaction he's been waiting for, but Capitano doesn't feel Tartaglia is worthy of such a spar yet. Not to mention the fact you've already professed your dislike of violence, Capitano believes people in this world are wimps.

'Once again I have been refused and turned away from the front door, how else should I spend my time today...? I'll ask Lohefalter for some advice.'

Capitano feels as if this world is stationary. It seems too safe for his liking, no monsters, no powers, nothing. But is it as it actually seems? Or is this world far more dangerous than he could ever imagine due to the disguise it covers itself in?

Dottore - 39%

He believes The Decider has untouched potential. Yet, The Doctor can’t help but feel as if experimenting on them would be fruitless. He feels conflicted, and often chooses to observe their behaviour from afar with a notepad he stole from their office and a pen he brought with him.

They’re quite interesting. Dottore can’t remember the last time he was forced to observe the behaviour of someone before cutting them open. This whole experience has been a massive realisation for him, and perhaps a sadistic awakening. From now on, he’s decided that when he gets a new lab rat he’ll torment them first to get inspiration for his experiments. After all, his younger clones aren’t the most… imaginative logic wise in terms of ideas. But, you refuse to answer his questions! How is he supposed to get results if you avoid him all the time? He doesn't understand, you don't seem to be avoiding anyone else, why are you excluding him solely? ...It seems as if he'll have to rely on the 'television' for now.

‘Their lips seem to be shaking at a faster pace. They must be feeling a rapidly increasing fear in our presence. How… strange. This is common behaviour among regular people, why would The Decider of all biological beings display the same patterns?’

Dottore is keen to discover more secrets about this world, and has no doubt in his mind that there is an important link between it and Teyvat. All he needs is more evidence to make his argument... that, and with the portal working in the first place of course. How is he supposed to record his results when his portal can't take him home?

Columbina - ???

She believes The Decider is special. Very, very, special. The Damselette doesn't recognise and cannot pinpoint why she feels the way she does, but what she does know is it feels exhilarating.

They're amusing, the way they struggle and how it's clear they want to protest the Harbinger's actions. Watching their realisation that fighting back is hopeless brings her great satisfaction, it feeds her sadism in a delightful way and is a good temporary source to get that kind of pleasure considering the fact that she can't tease any of her soldiers at the moment. Often, she'll find herself stood outside of your bedroom, unable to prevent her curiosity from leading her there. She hasn't decided to go in yet, respecting your privacy for the time being. But, if you keep leading her on she'll have no choice but to disrespect that privacy and do some investigating.

'Hmm, this room is awfully stuffy but it'll have to do. Does the Decider really spend their time in here? Oooh, what's that smaller television doing there? The Jester seems to have placed his papers all over this desk, how insulting for them. Pfuhuhu...~'

Columbina doesn't mind this world. In fact, she prefers it. Here, unlike in Teyvat, she has the freedom to do whatever she wants and has an interesting mortal to keep her company. What? She's not that stupid, unlike the other Harbingers she's fully aware just how powerless Y/N actually is. She wonders how long it will take for the others to notice, and looks forward to the chaos that will follow soon after.

Arlecchino - 25%

She knows her true feelings. The Knave simply doesn't care for The Decider, she's too busy fretting over the House of Hearth functioning appropriately whilst she's away in another world.

They annoy her a lot, however unlike some Harbingers, she covers it with disinterest as her annoyance could instill more fear into them. She's used to the look of fear, and has no intention of making them feel it due to her unable to control her temper. She's controlled her behaviour in front of others before, you shouldn't be any different. So why is it, whenever you look into her eyes, is it harder for her to remain uninterested with you? Before, it was noticeable and minor, therefore she could push it away. But now? It's getting harder to manage, she tries to stay away from you any time she can. She often warns you not to look into her eyes, just as she does for anyone else. And yet, you have made no effort to correct your mistakes. Arlecchino often wonders if you're just a very forgetful person, that, or you're just an idiot.

'I mustn't let the children stay in my mind for too long. For now, I have to focus on The Decider and returning them to The Tsaritsa for the mission.'

Arlecchino pays no attention to this world. She has seen The Jester feel emotional towards its progression but can not see it in the same light. All she wants is to finish the mission so she can return to the House of Hearth and focus on the Hydro Archon's Gnosis.

Pulcinella - 40%

He finds their behaviour appalling. Y/N in The Rooster's mind is incredibly childish, he finds their 'coping methods' blatantly rude and unforgiving.

They're impossible to deal with at times. Maybe, if they had a clear idea of their own predicament and the Harbingers predicament, they would understand that none of the harbingers want to be there in the first place! The very idea of you being in the same area as him riles him up... However, he has grown to appreciate your behaviour considering it reminds him of home. Yes, you can often act worse than a 7 year old, but he does understand that you're not in a good place right now. And you shouldn't be faulted for that. Would he ever explain that to you? No, definitely not. These feelings he harbours causes him to feel protective over you at times. Pulcinella can't explain it, there's something about you that makes him so angry yet so forgiving. If you ever make it out alive under the Tsaritsa's guise, he might consider making you a high ranking attendant under him. Perhaps you'll even rise to his right-hand? No, he mustn't get his hopes up. You're bound to die the second you enter Snezhnaya.

'Did they just prohibit us from entering in the garden? I have to interject, prohibiting us from entering their bedroom is completely expected, but the garden? Absolutely not.'

Pulcinella doesn't care about this world. As a mayor, he's more focused on the heap of work he'll have to do when he returns. The very thought sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine, considering the fact that he always completes his work on time in his schedule.

Scaramouche - 47%

He sees The Decider's existence as worthless. The Balladeer can't tell whether you're dim in the head or playing your cards weakly. You have clearly shown him you're powerless and unwilling to even try and escape your situation. Must he do everything for you?

They're too nice to the Harbingers in his opinion. Why, despite them murdering your family, do you show them kindness? Show him kindness? Not even a day later of being kidnapped and held hostage in your own home, you share your food with them. They didn't command you to do that - the majority of them don't even need to eat! You chose to give them your homecooked meal, and for that, you've somehow earned Scaramouche's respect. For the first time in almost 500 years, you caused him to hold his tongue and not point out the blatant truth, your cooking was disgusting. After following you to make sure you wouldn't run out of the house crying, he promised himself that you would never have to eat that food again. Why? Because he'll cook for you. It would be wise on The Decider's part not to question him about this though, he himself has no clue why he suddenly feels care for you despite only knowing you for a couple days. The thought disgusts him, has he not learnt his lesson?

'All of their struggling so far has done nothing for them, are they waiting for the right moment? Hm, maybe I should do something to... push them in the right direction.'

At first, Scaramouche despised this world. The people are useless here, the air he breathes in feels blotched, and the surplus of technology used is downright uncomfortable for him. Everywhere he goes, there's some kind of light staring back at him. Is there even a way to turn them off? How can you sleep when there's still light outside? He doesn't understand you. Now though, Scaramouche secretly can't bear the fact that he'll eventually have to leave you. Maybe this world isn't so bad after all...

Sandrone - 40%

She thinks that The Decider is lacking something important. The Marionette can't decide whether she likes them or not. On one hand, they're knowledgeable about this world and its beautiful technology, but on the other... they look so... plain.

They're too impractical, and display irrational behaviour. It seems to her you don't think before you speak, she despises that kind of person. Sandrone believes that the truest enemy of perfection is emotion, you support her beliefs by simply being yourself. Although, you have shown resilience, which did take her off guard at first. Despite throwing a tantrum and causing an emotional escapade, you seemed to shape up after. Perhaps you got everything out of your system? To her, this is marvellous progress. Now she can continue to ask you her own questions about this world and its discoveries.

'Ugh, that's not right either. I knew I should have drawn a diagram of the machine before taking each part away to inspect. What to do, The Decider seems too busy with the others to help me out here. Perhaps I should... deal with their problems so they can deal with mine.'

In the beginning, Sandrone despised this world. It felt weird, not to mention the possible danger of unexpected attacks. After awhile, she came to regret her outbursts at Dottore, and now enjoys every single day she gets to be here. Everyday, she has a new gadget to tinker with. The list never ends, it feels like being in her workshop! Despite wishing she could return to Teyvat as soon as possible, she definitely won't become bored anytime soon. From this unique experience, she's learnt to assess the situation more before giving a vocal opinion.

Signora - 20%

She knows something is wrong with The Decider, but she just can't put her finger on it. The Fair Lady doesn't really care either way, allowing her arrogance to control her interest.

Their immaturity got them in this mess; Signora really doesn't care what happens to them in the end. Sure, you gave them a roof to stay under during their stay in this world. But, she knows that if it were completely your choice, you'd kick all the Harbingers out the second you could. Other than that, she doesn't really have anything to say to you, and has no intention of choosing to talk to you. If she was ever forced to make conversation with you, she supposes she could give you some pointers for clothes.

'What are they wearing this time!? I can't do this anymore. If it weren't for me being stuck here, I could care less. But every single hour I have to see The Decider is pure torture! Seriously, what are they wearing?'

Signora doesn't really like this world, although, she's not that bothered either. All she wants is to get The Decider to the Tsaritsa and continue her mission in collecting the Gnoses. In fact, if Dottore fixed the machine, she would be in Inazuma right now with the Raiden Shogun's Gnosis in her very hands! ...Or so she estimates anyway.

Pantalone - 20%

He has nothing to say to The Decider. The Regrator honestly cannot be bothered to talk to them, considering the fact that he would have nothing to say. It could just be him, but he doesn't see anything special in you at all. Is Dottore sure he as the right person?

They truly are boring. If you were interested in banking, or had problems with money he could advise in some way. He's so bored just fiddling with his coins in the house. Give him something to do, anything. He would beg, but he feels that's beneath him. Do you seriously have nothing to do in your house? It's not too small, so he doesn't think you're poor, but the only thing he can do is watch the 'television'. Even then, he can't do that because Dottore's hogging it all day with a pen in hand! For the love of the Tsaritsa, get him out of this world before he dies of old age. That, or give him some work. He's itching to get back into his paperwork for the Northland Bank he put off before coming here.

'And that is the 20th time I've struck heads. Has Dottore left to bother The Decider yet? Ah, it seems he has not.'

Because of you, Pantalone is shivering in anticipation to leave this world and get back to Teyvat. However, from his conversations with the mad doctor, it seems like that won't be happening any time soon. He is this close to snapping, if Dottore won't find a solution to get them out of this world, Pantalone will have to turn to you instead. If you don't have the answers he wants, you'll have hell to pay.

Tartaglia - 42%

He enjoys Y/N's company. The Young Lord* likes spending time with you whenever he can, even if he can tell it annoys you sometimes... That doesn't matter though, because what's important is you haven't pushed him away yet!

They're funny, their behaviour to him is very amusing. He's spent hours by your side and somehow doesn't get bored! In the beginning, he only spent his time around you because he wanted to know about his future, to this day he curses his selfish behaviour. Now, he spends time with you because he wants to. Besides Capitano and Pulcinella, he hates all the Harbingers and physically can't be in the same room as them for more than an hour before feeling his Foul Legacy grow within him. But you? You nullify that feeling completely. In fact, Childe hasn't felt the abyss within him grow the entire time he's been in this world which is a miracle! Occasionally, he does feel bloodthirsty and asks you for a fight. But, after seeing you shrivel away in the mention of violence, he stops himself and goes to The Captain again. He'd rather be denied by the legendary captain compared to you. Childe can still feel electro jolt through his body when he sits down for a much needed rest, The Balladeer is too harsh on him sometimes.

'Where on earth are they? They're not in their bedroom, not in the garden, not in the kitchen, and not in their office! Did they... no, they can't have escaped. Perhaps they-- Oh, there they are! That's unusual, they never go to the bathroom at this time.'

Despite enjoying his time here with you, Childe knows that after awhile he'll begin to feel homesick and wish to see his family again. He also knows that when the time comes to return to Teyvat, he'll have to let you go and give you to the Tsaritsa. This is what is stopping him from getting to know you on a personal level, the thought makes his heart feel tight in worry for you.

*Note, I am using the meaning of 'Childe' as his official title because I cannot take 'Childe' seriously I'm sorry- I see it as a nickname since that is what Tartaglia seems to use himself.

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queen-of-the-avengers · 3 months

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500

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: angst

Summary: You're given a gift that will allow you to help others. You try to use this gift for good and you never make anyone feel like a charity case. However, when you meet Bucky Barnes, you know you have to do something or he'll live the rest of his life in pain.

Squares Filled: graveyard (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

The thing you love most about New York is not everywhere is like the city. If you travel far enough outside of it, it turns into any normal town like any other state has. You’re on your way to visit your parents at the New York State Veterans Cemetery since your father was a soldier in World War II. Your mother requested to be buried alongside him even though she was never in the military, and they let her.

It’s a four-hour drive from the city where you live, so you take this moment to yourself and think about your purpose on Earth. About once a month, you get like this because you’re not normal. You were born with the ability to see people’s pain above their heads in numbers ranging from zero to sixty. One is not in any pain at all and sixty is the worst pain a person can be in.

You’ve been to plenty of hospitals around New York, so you’ve seen people who are in a tremendous amount of pain, but no one has ever been above sixty. You’ve been on this Earth for thirty-three years and never have you seen someone with a sixty-one above their head. Why were you born with this ability? You’re not sure but you know you can do a whole lot of good with it.

It’s why you became a licensed therapist as well as a social worker. You take on jobs that will help as many people as you can. While you can’t heal anyone physically like a nurse or a doctor, you can help with their emotional and mental trauma which is where most of the pain lies. You’re the only person without a number above your head but it’s likely your powers don’t work on you.

You look at the taxi driver and see the number twenty-five above his head. He’s seen some stuff in his life, that’s for sure. He must be a taxi driver to get away from it all, to just coast through life without having to deal with a lot of stress. You’re guessing but it’s not like you’re going to ask the man what kind of trauma he’s been through in his life.

He drops you off at the cemetery and drives away once you’ve paid him. You like to spend hours with your parents and tell them all that you’ve seen and the people you helped, and that usually takes a few hours at the least. You clutch your mother’s favorite flowers and walk into the cemetery, keeping your head down out of respect.

You sit down right across from their graves and break the bouquet into two so both your parent can have flowers.

“I helped a teenager last week escape his abusive parents,” you begin. “They didn’t care about him and often used him as an outlet for their rage. His pain was at a thirty. Thirty. At age fifteen. I went to go visit him in his new home and his pain was at a twenty-seven. He’s healing and I’d like to think I had something to do with it. I wish you guys were here to see this. It’s amazing to see someone’s number go down because of something I did.”

You look up and scan the area when you notice a man standing by himself near one of the graves. The wind is knocked out of your lungs and you have to brace yourself on the ground so you don’t fall over. The man isn’t saying anything to the grave, just standing over it. Above his head is a whopping five hundred. If you saw someone with an eighty, you’d be floored. The fact that this man has a five hundred over his head… how is he still alive? It’s clearly not physical wounds that hurt him.

Who is this man? Even the most depressed people never go above sixty. You once got involved with a woman who was passed around in the sex trafficking ring and she didn’t even go above sixty. This man has five hundred.

Five hundred.

He says something to the grave before leaving, and you’re too shocked to get up and follow him. What would you even say to him? He had to have been broken down to the very last piece only to be put back together. Over and over again. That’s probably why he’s at five hundred. You don’t want him to feel like a charity case but you have to know that man. To think he’s walking around in such profound pain brings you pain.

“Mama, I think I found someone who might need my help. I’ll let you know how it goes next week.”

Since the cemetery is four hours away from the city, you’re hoping that he is from around here. You spend the next several days walking around Central Park just watching for that five hundred to show up again. You know exactly who the man was. You got a glimpse of his face as he was leaving the cemetery, and you knew he’d never leave New York. This is his home.

You know who he is and after some research on him, you know why he has a five hundred above his head. The following Saturday, you’re walking around Central Park in hopes of seeing this man again. You’d like to think because he has a five hundred, he has his humanity back. He’s feeling the guilt of everything he’s done so you know he isn’t dangerous.

Two women job past you laughing at what one of them said, and you notice how one of the women has a two above her head while the other has a fifteen. Maybe the fifteen did something her friend doesn’t know about and the guilt is starting to eat her alive. A young couple is sitting on the grass with a picnic between them, and both of them only have a five above their head. They must be in love. An elderly couple walks past them with both of them having a forty above their heads. Guess love doesn’t always work out for people in the end.

Central Park gets around six thousand daily visitors, and none of them have a number above sixty. You’ve traveled across the country for your job and non one has ever surpassed sixty. Not until him. You walk further into the park where a cluster of benches are, and you stop when you see that thick five hundred number again.

There he is. Sitting all alone.

Now’s your chance. You walk up to him who barely acknowledges your presence.

“May I sit here?”

He looks up and sees the book in your hands thinking you’re going to mind your business and read silently. He doesn’t say anything but nods so you sit across from him and open your book. You pretend like you’re reading it when really, you’re looking at him from over the top of your book. He has gloves on his hands and it’s not wintertime yet.

There’s a reason why he is wearing gloves.

“My name is Y/N. What’s yours?” you ask gently.

“Bucky.”

“That’s an interesting name. Is it short for something?”

“My middle name is Buchanan. My friends call me Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.” You go back to reading only to put the book down several minutes later. “Do you live around here? Or are you visiting someone?”

“No, not visiting someone.”

He’s clearly not into the conversation but you’re not going to give up. He’s not another project. You’re genuinely interested in getting to know him. Sure, his number enticed you to want to talk to him but you’re going to treat him like you would anyone else. It’s going to take a lot more than one conversation for him to open up to you.

The next day, you find him sitting in the same spot with the same five hundred above his head. You walk over to him and don’t ask to sit down, you just do. He lifts his head and notices the book first before looking into your eyes.

“Hi, Bucky. Do you mind if I sit here again?”

“No,” he shakes his head.

Today, you let him get used to your company. You don’t say anything to him except for when you part ways at the end of the day. You want him to be comfortable around you otherwise, he won’t talk to you. Every day after that, you keep sitting across from him reading the same book, allowing him to feel comfortable around you.

“So, what’s your book about?” he asks on the fourth day of sitting across from him.

“It’s called The Maze Runner. I know, it’s for an audience a bit younger than me, but I love the movies. It’s about a young man who wakes up with no memory of who he is and is stuck with a group of boys who also have no memory of who they are. They’re stuck in this maze-like area and they have to try and figure their way out of it that no one has ever survived. There are three movies but there are five books.”

“Sounds interesting. I’ll have to read it.”

“Here,” you close your book and hand it over to him, “take this.”

“No, that’s yours.”

“This is my fifth time reading the series.”

“I can’t just take your book.”

“Then consider it a loan. Give it back when you’re done. Plus, it’ll give me an excuse to come and talk to you again.”

Bucky smiles for the first time since you’ve met him, and God, what a beautiful smile it is.

“Thank you.”

“Look, I have to get going, but here is my number.” You write down your number on a spare piece of paper and hand it over. “If you ever want another good book recommendation or the second book in the series, give me a call. Or, you know, if you just want to talk.”

“Okay,” he nods.

You don’t have to look back to know he’s watching you walk away. The next time you see him is a couple of days later. He hasn’t used your number which is fine because you don’t want to rush anything with him.

“Did you finish it?” you ask and sit across from him.

“Yeah, I did. It’s really good.”

“I brought the second one just in case.”

You two exchange the books and he smiles at you.

“Thank you. Would you like to go on a walk with me? Just around Central Park.”

“Sure.”

A walk around the park usually takes two hours if you’re leisurely enough about it, and there is no rush to go anywhere else. You want to ask Bucky a million things about his life and where he came from but you don’t pry into his life. You can get that information online if you want to, but you want this relationship to grow naturally.

Though, you’re not sure you understand why someone like him can be this sad about who he is.

“So, this might be a weird question but how do you feel?”

“Why is that a weird question? I’m fine.”

“It’s just… you seem so sad sometimes.”

“Honestly? There’s not a whole lot to be happy about these days.”

“You’re alive, right? That’s a pretty damn good day to me.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes, I wish I wasn’t.”

“Well, if you weren't, I wouldn’t have met you. I think you’re a great guy.”

“That’s because you don’t know who I am. If you did, you’d be smart to run,” he sighs.

“I know who you are. I know about the Winter Soldier. I lived in DC when everything happened with Steve.” He looks at you and uncertainty swims in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’ve read about what you have done. Hell, I’ve seen it, but that doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“It doesn’t?” he asks with a thick voice filled with emotion.

“Come on, there are a lot of people worse than you like child molesters and rapists. On that spectrum, you’re not so bad. What makes a person bad is the fact that they know what they’re doing is wrong and still continue to do it. When someone wakes up and stops doing what made them bad, that’s not being bad. When someone is manipulated into doing bad things but doesn’t do those things anymore, that’s not being bad. I’m sorry, am I making any sense?” you chuckle.

“Yeah, you are,” he chuckles back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for the walk but I need to go now. I have to get to work. Can I take you out? You know, a place that’s not Central Park? I can show you my favorite bookstore with books like The Maze Runner.”

“I’ll text you.”

“Great. I look forward to it.”

You start to walk away from him knowing he is watching you walk off. When you get to the busy street, you look back and notice something that brings a bright smile to your face. That five hundred above his head? It’s now at four hundred and ninety-nine.

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marley-manson · 8 months

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the topic is Trapper and the army as foils, you have three hours, go

In no small part the satire of Mash, particularly in the first half of the show, is tied up with gender performance.

The army represents traditional, stifling and violent masculinity. This is shown through everything from freudian jokes about guns (eg Frank and Margaret's flirtations in The Sniper or The Gun), to Margaret trying to cajole Hawkeye into performing a more traditional standard of masculinity while treating him like a soldier in Comrades in Arms Part 2, to many jokes and comments about (usually) Hawkeye not being a real man in contrast to army standards and various specific army personnel (eg Lyle in Springtime, Flagg in White Gold), to Frank and Margaret's worship of the masculinity of the army ("He's twice the man you'll ever be," re: Flagg and Hawkeye, Margaret's lust for MacArthur, Frank pursuing the sniper in The Sniper in an attempt to be a "real man" in Margaret's eyes, etc) to many jokes positioning the military as a sexually aggressive man pursuing Hawkeye ("Sure, the sun the moon the stars, your high school letterman jacket. Same deal I promised nurse Baker." "A receipt please, and promise you'll go out with other doctors," etc.)

In contrast, the main characters all fail to perform traditional gender in some way, from crossdressing to immaturity to indecisiveness to peacefulness to Margaret's masculinity and Frank's pathetic failure to live up to his own masculine ideals, to just about everything about Hawkeye. His cowardliness, his jokes about not being a real man, his jokes about taking the feminine role in sexual encounters with men and women, even multiple double entendres about his average at best penis size.

Trapper is the most traditionally masculine of the main cast. He still subverts masculinity in some subtle ways here and there, such as the occasional feminizing joke and mentions of not being in great shape, but overall he's the more butch counterpart to Hawkeye's fem. He plays the role of boxer while Hawkeye plays the role of diva in their respective manager/star roleplaying episodes. He's broader and buffer and plays football, often seen playing catch with someone while walking around the compound, while Hawkeye disdains sports and doesn't participate. He reads Field and Stream which Hawkeye derides in Alcoholics Unanimous while making a wry comment about shaving his armpits. A past lover nicknamed him Big John.

And there are many, many jokes about Hawkeye and Trapper being sexual partners. The recurring Uncle Trapper and Aunt Hawkeye gag, if my father sees this you'll have to marry me, for me? only if you put those on, your father and I will tell you what we did to have you, that's when I fell in love with him, etc etc etc. It's constant. In these jokes Hawkeye usually takes the feminine role, though not strictly every time ("Me and the missus," is one exception in As You Were, the dance in Yankee Doodle Doctor is another).

Trapper's masculinity is differentiated from traditional military masculinity in a few ways. Most obviously, Trapper abhors the military's violence. He never uses guns and mocks Frank's obsession with them, he's a healer rather than a soldier, and he's disgusted by the results of military violence on the men on his operating table.

He's also secure in himself. The military's brand of masculinity is strongly characterized by insecurity and overcompensation. Frank is the main representative of this military insecurity - a coward who insists he's brave (The Army Navy Game), a man who clings to a phallic gun to compensate for his sexual and gendered inadequacies (a main theme of The Sniper, perfectly mirrored when the army itself comes in with a vastly disproprotionately powerful automatic machine gun on a helicopter to shoot down one sixteen year old), a homophobe repressing his own attraction to men (As You Were, the original script of George), etc. We also see this in Flagg, who implicitly sublimates sexual urges into violence (seen when he suggestively caresses his gun while describing how he wants to torture a boy in Officer of the Day).

Trapper doesn't need to overcompensate. He's well-endowed physically, he's portrayed as a competent and considerate lover, he's a brave man who doesn't mind being seen as a coward, and he may or may not be attracted to men but either way he's not a homophobe (George) and he doesn't express his sexuality through violence. When Margaret proves herself stronger than him, his response is to be impressed rather than offended (Bombed). When he dances with Hawkeye for a gag, he doesn't mind letting Hawkeye lead.

He's also differentiated in terms of tradition, with the mliitary representing a more propagandic 50s traditionalism, and Trapper representing a 70s, countercultural freedom from tradition. We see this in the way Trapper has plenty of sex despite being married, while adultery is a court-martial offense in the military. It's notable that he's open and carefree about it, while Frank and Margaret are surreptitious and hypocritical in their affair. This lack of traditionalism is also shown in his disrespect for authority, often in direct contrast to Frank and Margaret's worship of it, and his allyship to George who the military would persecute for his sexuality.

So ultimately we can see that while Trapper and the military are both examples of masculine performance, Trapper's masculinity differs from the military's in being more flexible, less violent, less traditional, and more secure. The military's masculinity is far more toxic than Trapper's, particularly in the context of 70s counterculture media, which aligns womanizing with sexual liberation rather than a lack of respect for women, accurately or not.

This contributes to their respective dynamics with Hawkeye.

Hawkeye, we've established, is usually more feminine, and there are a myriad of jokes characterizing Trapper as his sexual partner, as well as the military as a sexual pursuer.

The jokes Hawkeye and Trapper make about their relationship tend towards cozy domesticity. They're Radar's "aunt and uncle," they directly roleplay marriage ("Martha, we're going to have to move, the people upstairs are impossible,") and less directly behave as though married (the bickering in Alcoholics Unanimous, the discussion about naming their pony in Life With Father). Occasionally they're treated as a healthy couple in contrast to Frank and Margaret's toxicity ("While I'm gone, promise you'll go out with other doctors," vs "Touch anyone else and I'll cut off your hands" in Aid Station).

In some instances the jokes lean towards predatory - "If you're trying to get me drunk, it'll work," or "Who is this man in bed with me?" "I followed you home from the movies," but they're always playful, always fond. If Hawkeye takes on a submissive or victimized role in these jokes, it's one he has fun with and discards just as easily in the context of the rest of his relationship with Trapper.

So, it's important to note that Hawkeye and Trapper support each other and look after each other in an equal, enthusiastic friendship. From Trapper ensuring Hawkeye gets to sleep in Doctor Pierce and Mr. Hyde, to Hawkeye supporting Trapper when he wants to adopt a child, to Trapper right at Hawkeye's side as they attempt to procure an incubator, they are there for each other every step of the way. If their relationship is a marriage in some ways, it's a healthy, strong, and non-traditional marriage, an equal and open partnership free of jealousy and insecurities.

Compare that to the military's relationship with Hawkeye. In jokes it's characterized as powerful and predatory, far from an equal partnership. Sometimes it approaches positive - in Carry on Hawkeye, much of the humour is derived from Hawkeye and Margaret's gendered role reversal as she assumes military command of the unit. Hawkeye playfully calls her sir, seductively lies on her desk like a secretary in a porn film, and most notably treats an immunization shot as sexual penetration in a prolonged gag about sexual role reversal. Hawkeye has fun playing a sexually submissive role to a representative of military authority in this episode, but it is a submissive role.

Several of the one-off jokes have a similar sensibility, such as the double entendre of "My bellybutton's been puckering and unpuckering all day," in response to a representative of MacArthur assuming their excitement over the general's arrival to the unit, or Hawkeye's "Okay, take me, I'm yours," to Colonel Flagg. They demonstrate a willingness to play the receptive role on Hawkeye's part, but they also, pointedly, disturb the object of the jokes.

When Hawkeye makes these jokes that sexualize military authority, he's attempting to be provocative as well as defiantly drawing disruptive attention to his own powerlessness as a drafted surgeon. The power dynamic between Hawkeye and the authority of the military only goes one way, and Hawkeye gets a kick out of pointing it out in ways that perturb the representatives of that authority, but it's a power dynamic that takes its toll on him.

Many of Mash's plotlines revolve around Hawkeye rebelling and attempting to seize some scrap of agency back from the military. Adam's Ribs, for example, in which he starts a mild riot over the food he's being fed and spends the episode attempting to procure barbecue ribs from Chicago (which Trapper procures for him), or Back Pay where he tries to charge the military for his forced labour. A particularly notable example is Some 38th Parallels, in which Hawkeye complains about being paid the equivalent of a nickel per operation, and his frustration manifests in impotency until he can perform a gesture of rebellion against the military.

One unfortunate consistency of these episodes is that the army ultimately retains its power. When Hawkeye achieves his goals, it's only in small ways that do little more than satisfy his own need to assert his sense of self. Often, Hawkeye doesn't achieve his goal at all, but is thwarted by the army, such as in For Want of a Boot. In every instance he remains powerless in comparison to the authority of the military.

So the context in which Hawkeye makes these sexualized jokes about the military literally fucking him is one of abject helplessness. In a sense, all he's capable of is pointing out what the military is doing and putting it in his own, audacious terms. He's not capable of preventing it. His jokes usually have an edge of bitterness to them in delivery, and when they don't, that tone is imparted anyway by the greater context.

With Trapper, Hawkeye can play-act a marriage or an assault, but in either case he's an enthusiastically consenting, equal partner. Trapper's performance of masculinity allows for Hawkeye to take any role from victim to wife to husband, and enables Trapper to respond in kind from a position of equality and respect. The military, in its insecure, domineering performance of masculinity, is a dictatorial authority, never allowing Hawkeye perform any role but a feminized, victimized one, and only ever giving him the choice of whether to perform with a wry smile or a sneer.

In short, Trapper is the cool, considerate service top to the military's insecure domineering boyfriend.

I'm tagging everyone who enabled this lol, share the blame. @beansterpie @majorbaby @professormcguire @rescue-ram

#mash #this was dumb but writing it was somehow cathartic for me lol #i should've done this with frank and hawkeye as foils wrt subverting masculinity bc i think that would've been much easier #but i got caught up in this honestly. it's incredibly fun to write this kind of shit #maybe i'll post a round 2 sometime #marley on mash #ship ht #mash gs #and like... it's a little bit parodic but also sincere to an extent lol. this is absolutely one way of reading all the freudian #undercurrents in the show. it's definitely silly to contrast trapper and the military to make a point about how the show depicts #masculinity especially for like 1800 words lmao but it's a very fun angle #trapper mash #hawkeye mash #long post

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lila-lou · 4 months

Text

✨ His only exception - Pt. 28/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, angst, fluff, soft Ben, Ben being slightly insecure

Word Count: 6891

A/N: This is part 28 of “His only exception”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As Ben drove to the Vought Tower, his hand remained on your thigh. You glanced over at him, noticing the tense set of his jaw, and decided to break the silence.

"How's everything going with the team?, you asked, your voice soft as you reached over to squeeze his hand.

Ben sighed, his grip tightening slightly. "I still don't trust those fuckers any farther than I can throw 'em".

It wasn't easy for Ben to trust others, especially not them.

You shook your head, still unable to believe the extent of the lies and betrayal that had unfolded within the team. The memory of how they had treated Ben made your blood boil, but you knew dwelling on it wouldn't change the past.

"I still can't believe what they did to you", you muttered, your voice tinged with anger and frustration.

Ben shrugged nonchalantly, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Eh, it's enough justice to see their fucked-up and pissed faces every day", he replied, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Now they have to do exactly what I want".

"But… as much as I'd love to rip them apart", he admitted with a wry chuckle, "They're doing a pretty decent job. They're taking care of all the supes I want to get vanished, and the media seems to like them".

He paused, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. "Can't deny they're effective, I'll give them that", he added.

As the two of you stood in the elevator, Ben looked down at you, his expression serious. "After the meeting, I'm going with you to the doctor", he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We need to make sure everything's okay with you and the baby".

You nodded, your hand brushing softly over your stomach, a gesture of both comfort and uncertainty. "Yeah, I guess we do", you murmured softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of emotions. "It's just… all so surreal, you know?".

Ben's gaze softened as he reached out to gently squeeze your hand. "Don't worry too much about it", he reassured you, his tone surprisingly gentle.

As you stepped into the meeting room, the team was already waiting impatiently. Butcher seemed particularly annoyed, his arms crossed over his chest. The others raised eyebrows as they saw you walking slightly behind Ben, a rare sight that piqued their curiosity.

"Well, look who decided to join us. And what about you, did you crawl out from under your rock, (Y/N)?".

Before you could even respond, Ben's protective instincts kicked in, his tone sharp and defensive. "Watch your fucking mouth, Butcher", he snapped, his jaw clenched tightly. "She's here because she damn well pleases, and that's none of your business".

You shot Ben a grateful glance, appreciating his defense, but also feeling a bit annoyed at his brusque manner.

Butcher couldn't resist pushing Ben's buttons further. "Ooh, touchy, aren't we? Didn't realize you had such a soft spot for the lady".

Ben's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he shot Butcher a menacing glare. "Keep pushing your luck, Butcher, and you'll fucking regret it", he warned.

Ben pulled out a chair for you, gesturing for you to sit down. With crossed arms, he stood beside you, his expression stern and guarded as Butcher filled everyone in about the supes who seemed to want to stand up against the new Vought. Meanwhile, you felt some gentle movements in your belly, a sensation that both excited and unsettled you.

As Butcher spoke, Ben glanced down at you, noticing the subtle change in your demeanor. "You alright?", he murmured softly, concern flickering in his eyes.

You nodded softly, trying to concentrate on the meeting as A-Train and Annie showed some video footage. Hughie chimed in, directing his comment to Ben, "No one knows where the supes are hiding right now. They're keeping a low profile".

Ben's expression darkened as he absorbed Hughie's words, his mind already strategizing the next move. "Alright", he muttered, his voice firm. "We'll find them. Keep an eye on any leads, no matter how small".

Frenchie reminded Ben of the media conference in two hours, and Ben rolled his eyes, grumbling, "Annie should take this".

Annie raised both arms in protest, but Ben brushed her off rudely. "No, you'll fucking handle it, blondie", he insisted brusquely.

Just then, a wave of nausea hit you.

Again Ben looked down at you, noticing your pale complexion. "You´re sure you´re fucking okay?", he asked.

You shook your head slightly, feeling queasier by the moment. "I think I need some air", you mumbled, quickly stepping out of the room.

Butcher's voice followed you, gruff and concerned. "What the bloody hell is going on with her?", he demanded.

Ben waved him off dismissively, already following you out of the room. "Like i said, none of your business", he retorted sharply, his focus solely on you.

With Ben on your heels, you quickly stepped into the nearest bathroom, the urgency rising as nausea overwhelmed you. You doubled over, vomiting painfully into the toilet, your body trembling with each heave. Ben hovered nearby, concern etched into his features, but unsure of how to help in this situation.

Ben held your hair back.

"What do you need?", he asked, his voice tinged with worry. But you were unable to respond, the waves of nausea rendering you speechless.

As Ben watched you in distress, he felt a wave of helplessness wash over him. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for him, accustomed to being in control and taking charge. Seeing you in pain, and feeling powerless to alleviate it, left him feeling unusually weak and unsettled.

Annie turned to Frenchie, a curious expression on her face. "So, are Soldier Boy and (Y/N) a couple now?", she asked.

Frenchie shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Mon amie, how should I know?", he replied casually.

Annie raised an eyebrow, pointing out the fact that you seemed to like Frenchie the most.

Frenchie chuckled lightly. "Well, I don't know for sure, but it certainly seems that way", he admitted with a knowing smile.

Butcher's tone was sharp as he addressed Frenchie. "Then why's Soldier Boy still a tense asshole when he can stick one away whenever he wants?", he quipped, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Annie nudged Butcher with her elbow, shooting him a disapproving look. "Come on, Butcher, ease up", she chided, her tone firm but gentle.

"Are you fucking happy taking orders from a supe on coke with PTSD?".

Hughie mumbled, "It's better than being dead", as A-Train chimed in, "Soldier Boy's actually doing a pretty decent job, even though I hate to admit it".

"Plus he didn’t kill anyone like Homelander did, and he's actually trying to represent the supes as the good ones again", Hughie added.

Ben held you steady from behind, his grip firm yet gentle. "Are you feeling any better?", he asked.

You took a deep breath, feeling the nausea subsiding. "Yeah, a little", you replied, leaning back against him for support.

Ben helped you up, his strong arms steadying you as you made your way to the sink. After rinsing your mouth, you leaned against the sink, feeling weak and shaky. Ben stood beside you, his concern evident in his furrowed brow.

"You´re fine?", he asked softly, his hand reaching out to rub soothing circles on your back.

"Yeah, kinda", you mumbled. "This part of pregnancy is absolutely no fun at all".

With Ben's hand on your lower back, guiding you inside, you returned to the meeting. Annie eyed you suspiciously, but Ben quickly took charge, instructing everyone on what to do. Then, he stepped towards the elevator with you.

You made your way to the doctor's office for a battery of tests, with Ben steadfastly by your side, his arms crossed over his supe suit as he watched over you protectively.

The doctor reviewed your files and then turned to you. "I want to try another ultrasound", he said, his tone gentle yet determined, "Even though the last one didn't work as we hoped".

You nodded and changed into a gown, then hopped onto the examination chair. Ben stood nearby as you slowly spread your legs.

The doctor approached with the ultrasound equipment. "Take a deep breath", he instructed gently as he inserted the transducer into your vagina. You winced at the discomfort, and Ben hissed in response.

Again Ben's protective instincts flared up as he watched you wince at the discomfort. He shot a glare at the doctor, his tone laced with hostility. "Careful there", he growled, his voice low and threatening. "Don't fucking hurt her".

The doctor raised an eyebrow at Ben's hostility but remained focused on the task at hand. "I'm being as gentle as I can", he assured, trying to calm the situation.

You reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Ben's arm, silently urging him to relax.

The doctor adjusted the ultrasound machine, his eyes scanning the screen intently. But after a while, Ben got impatient.

Ben's jaw clenched as he watched the screen, his frustration mounting. "Do you fucking see anything or not?", he demanded.

"Just give me a moment", he said calmly, his tone professional despite Ben's impatience.

The doctor turned the monitor toward both of you and began to explain what he saw.

"Here", he pointed to the screen, "That's the gestational sac, and there", he moved the transducer slightly, "Is your baby".

You looked at the screen, feeling a surge of relief wash over you. Ben's grip on your hand tightened as he listened intently to the doctor's explanation.

"The heartbeat is a bit faint, but that's normal at this stage", the doctor continued. "Overall, everything looks good".

You could have sworn you saw one single tear in Ben’s eyes, but he quickly composed himself.

"I can't believe it", you whispered.

Ben actually smiled softly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "Me neither", he murmured. "But I'm fucking glad it's real".

As the doctor continued to measure and check everything, you couldn't help but feel a sense of amazement at the whole process. It was new territory for all of you, and the doctor seemed just as intrigued as you were.

After a moment of silence, the doctor spoke up again, his tone filled with a mix of curiosity and wonder. "It's definitely the baby of a supe", he remarked, his eyes flicking between you and Ben. "It seems the baby has some control over whether it's visible on the ultrasound or not, like… a shield".

Ben's lips twitched into a little smirk, a proud glint in his eyes at the thought of potentially making the first natural supe on earth.

"Given the circumstances, I'll need to see you as often as possible. We need to monitor your progress closely, considering the unique nature of this pregnancy and its potential effects on your health".

After another few tests and a long talk with the doctor, Ben accompanied you to his office, where you promptly collapsed onto the couch, feeling exhausted after the barrage of tests and examinations.

Ben leaned against his desk, flashing you a smirk as he commented, "Looks like carrying my baby is taking a toll on you, huh?". You just rolled your eyes at him.

Ben pushed himself back from his desk and handed you a bottle of water. “Here, drink up”, he said. “Do you want me to drive you home?”.

You shook your head, taking a sip of water. “No, I need to work”, you replied, rubbing your temples. But Ben wasn’t having any of it.

"No way", Ben insisted. "Not while you're carrying my baby".

You sighed, knowing it was futile to argue with him when he got like this. "Ben, I'll be fine", you said, trying to reassure him. "I have work to do, and I can't just abandon it".

But Ben's expression hardened, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive once more. "I don't fucking care", he stated firmly. "Your health and the baby's health come first. Besides.. I´m your fucking boss now, so… You are hereby granted a leave of absence".

"Alright", you conceded, sighing heavily. "But only because I'm too tired to argue with you".

Ben's lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he reached for his keys. "That's what I like to hear", he said, his tone playful yet firm. "Let's get you home and make sure you rest".

With that, he led you out of the office and drove you home.

As you kicked off your shoes and headed straight to the bathroom to get changed, your phone on the kitchen counter buzzed with a message from Frenchie, asking how you were doing. Ben glanced at the message, his brows furrowing slightly.

“You got a message from.. Serge", he called out towards the bathroom, his tone laced with a hint of jealousy, not knowing that thats Frenchies real name.

You emerged from the bathroom, wearing more comfortable clothes, and raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s just Frenchie”, you replied casually. “He’s just checking in, nothing to worry about”.

Ben's expression darkened, a trace of annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Since when do you talk to the team again?", he asked.

You rolled your eyes. "Just with Frenchie", you mumbled, trying to diffuse the tension. But Ben wasn't satisfied with that answer, his suspicion lingering in the air.

His eyes lingered on your belly, a frown forming on his face. He wasn't happy, and you could sense his unease.

"You're jealous, aren't you?", you teased, a small grin playing on your lips as you observed his reaction.

Ben scoffed, trying to downplay his feelings. "Don't be fucking ridiculous", he replied, his tone defensive. "I just… don't trust them, that's all".

You mumbled a noncommittal "huh", looking at him, which made him raise an eyebrow in response.

"What the fuck are you thinking?", Ben asked, his tone a mixture of irritation and curiosity.

You grinned and shook your head. "Oh, nothing", you mumbled, but as you tried to step out of the kitchen, Ben grabbed your wrist, his gaze intense as he looked down at you.

"What's going on in that head of yours, huh?", he asked again.

You chuckled, feeling a rush of affection for Ben despite his overbearing attitude. "Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you", you replied.

Ben was taken aback by your unexpected declaration, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. But before he could respond, you leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips. Surprised, Ben's initial hesitation melted away, and he quickly pulled you against his chest, returning the kiss with fervor. His hands found their way to your hips, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, his passion evident in every movement.

As Ben carefully lifted you onto the kitchen counter, stepping between your legs, he gazed at you intently. His hands rested on your waist, his touch gentle yet possessive, as you bit your lip, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. The intensity of his stare sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but blush even more under his scrutiny.

His gaze fell on the necklace he had gifted you. "Thank you for coming after me", he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. "For literally saving me". He meant more than just the physical act of freeing him a few weeks ago; it was a testament to your unwavering loyalty and love that had brought him back from the brink.

You bit your lip again, feeling the weight of his sincerity. His eyes held a depth of emotion that stirred something within you. That was the moment you knew, that despite your reservations and uncertainties, you couldn't deny him the chance to be a father.

"I'm going to keep the baby", you whispered softly, your voice filled with determination and a hint of vulnerability.

Ben's eyes shot up, a mixture of surprise and joy dancing within them. His lips twitched into a grin as he processed your words, a surge of happiness washing over him.

"Really?", he exclaimed. "I mean… of course you fucking are", he added hastily.

You shook your head in disbelief, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you looked up at Ben.

Ben's grin widened. "Guess that means I'm going to be a fucking father then", he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine excitement. "A real one".

Ben heaved you up onto his hips, a smirk playing on his lips as he carried you into the bedroom.

"That screams for some extra orgasms for you", he grumbled playfully, his tone teasing as he laid you down on the bed.

You leaned back, giggling slightly as you squeezed your legs together, teasing Ben. He tried to push them apart, his hands roaming over your thighs.

"I can't, I'm on my period", you joked.

Ben raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, come on now", he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "That's not how it works".

"Well, who knows", you grinned mischievously. "Maybe our baby comes with some special perks".

"I highly doubt it", he replied. "But I guess we'll find out soon enough".

With that Ben pulled down your sweatpants and panties with a bit of roughness, parting your legs shamelessly. Your breath hitched at the sudden intensity of his actions.

"You're just full of jokes today, aren't you?", Ben grumbled.

You grinned down at him. "Always gotta keep you on your toes", you replied, but before you could say anything more, Ben silenced you by sucking harshly on your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You moaned loudly, your back arching as Ben's mouth and tongue worked their magic on your pussy. "Fuck, Ben", you cursed, your fingers tangling in his hair as he continued his relentless assault. The intensity of his ministrations sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts as you surrendered to the ecstasy.

"Ben, ease up", you gasped, pulling on his hair gently. The sensation was overwhelming, and you needed him to dial it back just a notch. Despite the pleasure coursing through you, you were starting to shake from the intensity of his ministrations.

Ben chuckled against your sensitive skin, his eyes locking with yours as he murmured, "Are you going to stop teasing me and behave like a good girl now?". His tone was playful, but there was a hint of authority in his voice, challenging you to comply.

You blushed hard under his gaze. "Maybe", you teased, unable to resist pushing his buttons a little more.

Ben's lips curved into a smirk as he bit your thigh lightly. "Careful now", he warned. "You wouldn't want to test me, would you?", his voice low and husky as he trailed kisses back up your thigh, his lips tantalizingly close to your heated core.

As he inched over your clit, you shook your head, trying to push your hips upward so you could feel his lips again, but his grip on your hipbones held you in place.

"Patience, sweetheart", he murmured, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "I'll get there when I'm good and ready".

With a mischievous grin, Ben dipped his head down, teasingly grazing his lips over your sensitive skin. He reveled in the way you squirmed beneath him, your breath hitching with each tantalizing touch. "But if you keep squirming like that", he whispered huskily, "I might have to punish you for being so impatient".

You whimpered, feeling the delicious torture of his teasing. "Ben, you said you wanted to reward me", you moaned, your voice pleading. "But all you're doing is teasing the hell out of me".

Ben chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. "I am rewarding you", he murmured huskily. "Just not in the way you expected". With that, he dipped his head back down, his tongue tracing teasing circles around your throbbing clit, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body.

As Ben's skilled tongue danced across your throbbing clit, a wave of pleasure surged through your body, making your breath hitch. His movements were deliberate, teasing, as if he relished every moment of your ecstasy. His lips pressed softly against your skin.

You grasped the sheets tightly, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. Each flick of his tongue sent electric pulses of pleasure racing through you. Your hips instinctively arched towards him.

Ben's grip on your hipbones tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pressed your pussy harder against his lips, his tongue delving deeper, seeking out every ounce of pleasure within you.

Amidst the overwhelming sensations, you found yourself murmuring, "The doctor said it's unusual to feel this nauseous within the first few weeks of a pregnancy". Your words were punctuated by soft moans, escaping your lips involuntarily as pleasure coursed through your body.

Ben's movements faltered for a moment, his eyes flickering with surprise and something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher amidst the haze of pleasure. But then, he resumed his ministrations with even more fervor, as if determined to drown out any thoughts other than the ecstasy you shared in that moment.

"I don't care about the fucking doctor", he growled against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "All I care about is you, right here, right fucking now".

You cried out loud as Ben applied more pressure, his determination evident in every movement as he sought to immerse you fully in the intoxicating whirlwind of pleasure. But amidst the ecstasy, a nagging worry crept into your mind.

"Maybe it's not a good sign that it starts so early", you moaned.

Ben paused for a moment, his eyes locking with yours as he pulled back slightly, a furrow forming on his brow. "I'm trying to give you something here", he grumbled, frustration evident in his tone as he nodded towards your wet pussy just inches in front of him.

The weight of his words hung in the air, mingling with the heady scent of desire as you gazed into his eyes, searching for reassurance amidst the storm of emotions swirling within you. But then, with a determined glint in his eyes, Ben leaned forward once more, his lips capturing yours in a fierce kiss that tried to silenced any doubts, any fears.

"Just… relax, sweetheart", Ben murmured against your lips, his words a mixture of frustration and reassurance. "We'll talk about this later".

As he pushed himself down again, his movements more urgent, the tension between you palpable. But after a while, your inability to concentrate on his work scratched at his ego, gnawing at the edges of his patience until finally, a string of curses escaped his lips.

"Fucking hell", he growled, the words laced with frustration as he fought to rein in his simmering anger. "Why won't you just… come?".

Your heart sank as you sensed the frustration and self-doubt creeping into Ben's voice. The realization that he believed it was his fault only deepened your own sense of guilt.

"I'm sorry", you whispered, the words barely audible amidst the rush of emotions swirling within you. "I'm trying, Ben, I really am".

Ben struggled to make sense of the situation.

"I know you are", he grumbled, his voice softening slightly as he reached out to stroke your cheek, his touch gentle despite the frustration that simmered just beneath the surface. "But maybe my dick would get your full attention, hmm?". Yet beneath the harshness of his tone, a flicker of concern still lingered.

As Ben stood up, shedding his supe suit with practiced ease, your eyes followed his every movement, tracing the contours of his body. Despite the frustration that had simmered between you moments before, the sight of him standing before you, already hard and ready, stirred something within you.

For Ben, there was nothing better than tasting you, hearing you moan beneath his touch.

As he approached, you sat up, your movements fluid and graceful as you pulled off your shirt, leaving you completely naked before him. The air crackled with anticipation, the tension between you palpable as you met his gaze, your eyes locking in a silent promise of mutual desire and longing.

Ben closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to cup your face as he claimed your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss.

With a firm but gentle push, Ben guided you back onto the bed, the mattress yielding beneath your weight as you settled into the soft embrace. Quickly, he shifted his position so that you straddled him, his hands finding purchase on your hips as he urged you to look at him.

"I need you to look at me, sweetheart", he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "Think about nothing but the feeling I'll give you. No more distractions".

You nodded.

As Ben lowered you slowly onto his dick, you felt your tightness stretching around him, a sensation that always elicited a quiet wince from you. Despite your body's familiarity with his size, the initial discomfort never fully subsided.

But tonight, as he filled you completely, the discomfort seemed to intensify, a sharp pang of pain shooting through you as you struggled to adjust to his size. Each inch of him felt like a stretch, a challenge to your body's limits, and though you tried to relax and surrender to the pleasure, the discomfort lingered like a stubborn shadow, refusing to be ignored.

"You okay?", Ben's voice broke through the haze of discomfort.

You nodded weakly, forcing a small smile as you tried to push aside the discomfort and focus on the pleasure that awaited you. But deep down, you knew that tonight would be different.

Your nails dug into Ben’s shoulder plates, seeking purchase as you sought to steady yourself against the waves of discomfort that threatened to overwhelm you. Beneath you, his hands remained firm on your hips.

With a sharp intake of breath, you sucked in your lip, trying to stifle the small gasp that escaped you as you slowly raised your hips up. The ache intensified as you lowered yourself back down, the discomfort blossoming into a sharp pain that made you wince audibly this time.

Ben’s frustration grew palpable, his jaw clenched tightly. He had always prided himself on his ability to please you, to bring you pleasure beyond measure, and yet tonight, it seemed that every effort only served to exacerbate your discomfort.

“I’m sorry”, you whispered, your voice trembling with a mixture of pain and guilt as you met his gaze.

Despite the frustration gnawing at his patience, Ben wasn't ready to give up just yet. He knew that you always struggled to take him, but tonight seemed to be on a whole new level. Yet, amidst the discomfort and the lingering doubts, he remained determined to find a solution, to ease your pain and bring you the pleasure you both craved.

"No need to apologize", he muttered softly, his voice a soothing balm against the turmoil in your mind as he reached for a bottle of lube from his bedside table. With practiced ease, he uncapped it, the familiar scent filling the air as he coated his fingers, his movements gentle and deliberate as he prepared to ease your discomfort.

With his free hand, Ben guided you up again, his touch surprisingly gentle as he positioned you just above him. But for him, gentleness was a relative term, and you could feel the underlying urgency in his movements, a silent plea for relief from the discomfort that had plagued you both.

With a soft gasp, you felt his coated finger glide over your clit, the slickness of the lube providing a welcome relief to the ache that had lingered within you. And as he pushed two fingers inside your pussy, a slow and deliberate rhythm, you couldn't help but relax into his touch.

As Ben's fingers worked their way inside you, his eyes were glued to the sight of how they pushed into your tightness, each movement deliberate and calculated. He could feel the tension in your body gradually giving way, the resistance softening as you began to relax under his touch.

"You're doing great, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper of encouragement as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. "Just relax and let me take care of you".

Even though Ben felt the urge to mutter something really inappropriate, urging you to just fucking take him, he knew that this wasn't the time. He understood that you needed him to be gentle and patient today, especially with your hormones going crazy and everything related to the pregnancy feeling overwhelming.

Suppressing his own frustrations, Ben focused on the task at hand, determined to provide you with the care and attention you needed in this moment. He kept his movements slow and steady, his touch gentle yet firm as he continued to work his fingers inside you, seeking to ease the discomfort and bring you the pleasure you deserved.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?", he asked softly. "You think you're ready to take me?", he looked up at you.

With a shaky breath, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met his gaze. "Yeah", you whispered, your voice filled with determination and longing. "I'm good".

"Alright", Ben muttered, his voice a low rumble of anticipation.

As you carefully guided Ben’s dick inside you, lowering yourself slowly onto him, a mixture of pleasure and relief washed over you both. Ben groaned deeply, his eyes falling shut for a few seconds as he relished the sensation of being enveloped by your warmth and tightness. A low, primal growl escaped his lips. His grip tightened uncontrollably, sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the intensity of his desire coursing through him.

Your breath hitched as his grip tightened, a mixture of pleasure and pain dancing on the edge of your senses. “Ben, be careful”, you murmured, your voice laced with a hint of urgency as you reached towards your belly, a silent reminder of the life growing within you.

His eyes snapped open, meeting yours.

Instantly, Ben loosened his grip, his hands falling down to rest gently on your thighs.

“I didn’t mean to…”.

Feeling his remorse, you took Ben’s hands in yours, guiding them back towards your hips with a reassuring squeeze. You knew how difficult it was for him to hold back, especially in moments of intense passion.

“It’s okay, Ben”, you whispered, your voice filled with understanding and love. “I trust you”.

You began to move a bit faster, eager to reciprocate the pleasure he always gave you, even though he was a lot to handle today. His dick stretched you beyond your limits.

With each movement, Ben's touch grew even gentler, his guidance subtle yet firm as he encouraged you to find your own rhythm. Together, you moved in perfect harmony.

But despite your efforts, you still struggled to find release. Frustration gnawed at the edges of your mind as you desperately tried to shift your angle, to find that elusive sweet spot that would bring you to climax. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind refused to shut off, the weight of your worries and uncertainties clinging to you like a heavy shroud.

"Fuck, look at me", Ben ordered, his voice a low growl of urgency as he grasped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I need you here with me, baby".

His words cut through the fog of your thoughts, grounding you in the present moment. With a shaky breath, you nodded, your eyes locking with his as you surrendered yourself to his command.

As you gazed into his eyes, the intensity of his desire mirrored your own, igniting a spark of passion that burned bright between you.

Ben cupped your small body with one of his big arms around your waist, pressing you gently against him. With his other hand, he grabbed your buttock, pressing you down onto his cock, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips.

"I want you so fucking much", he murmured.

His words sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment. As he held you close, the heat of his body enveloping you.

Ben pulled you closer, his touch and words finally grounding you in the here and now.

"You take me so damn well, baby", he muttered, his voice husky with need. "I love the way you feel around me, so tight and wet".

Each word sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening the intensity of your connection as you surrendered yourself to the raw passion that flowed between you. With each thrust, each whispered confession of desire, you felt yourself drawing closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Finally, you let go of your thoughts, allowing yourself to get lost in Ben´s beautiful green eyes. His dick throbbed inside you, and you began to clench around him, your body responding instinctively to the pleasure coursing through you.

Ben's gaze never wavered from yours as he felt you tighten around him, a low groan escaping his lips. "That's it, baby", he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Feel how good you make me, how much I need you".

With each clench of your muscles, you felt the tension building within you, the pleasure reaching its peak as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

As the climax washed over you both, you felt a sense of euphoria enveloping you, a shared release of tension and desire that left you both breathless and spent. Ben held you close, his arms wrapped around you protectively as you basked in the afterglow of your shared intimacy.

As you fell against his chest, your breath heavy and your body weak against his hard chest, Ben chuckled softly and planted a kiss on the top of your head.

“Fuck Sweetheart”, he muttered with a mix of amusement and frustration. “Your orgasm was playing hard to get tonight, huh?”.

You couldn’t help but laugh weakly at his comment, feeling a sense of relief and lightheartedness wash over you despite the lingering intensity of the moment. “Sorry about that”, you replied, your voice still tinged with the remnants of pleasure.

Still, Ben couldn’t shake the feeling of frustration and inadequacy gnawing at the edges of his mind. He may have overplayed it with his lighthearted comment, but deep down, his ego was bruised.

He prided himself on his ability to please you effortlessly, to have you ready within seconds and coming within minutes. But tonight, he felt like he had fallen short of that mark, struggling to bring you the pleasure you deserved. And for him, as the man, it was one of the worst feelings imaginable.

Despite his attempts to brush it off with humor, the nagging sense of disappointment lingered. He knew you didn’t blame him, but still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had let you down.

As he held you close, his mind raced.

As you looked up at Ben, you could see the turmoil in his eyes as he wrestled with his thoughts. Cupping his face in your hands, you gifted him a small smile, hoping to ease the weight of his worries, but he didn't respond.

"Babe", you murmured softly, your voice filled with love and reassurance. "You know it was on me, right? It's just… my mind and emotions that went crazy tonight. You were as damn awesome as always".

Your words hung in the air.

Ben shook his head slightly, his gaze drifting down to your belly as if seeking solace in the promise of new life. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as if to shield you both from the doubts and insecurities that lingered in the air.

As he held you, his touch gentle and reassuring, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. You nestled against his naked chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin. His heartbeat echoed beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that lulled you into a state of tranquility.

As Ben felt your heartbeat slow down and heard the soft rhythm of your breathing, he knew that you had drifted off into a peaceful sleep on top of him. With utmost care, he gently lowered you down onto the bed, ensuring you were comfortable and tucked in beneath the blanket.

As Ben gently brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him at the sight of you, sleeping so peacefully and undisturbed. With a soft sigh, he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your forehead before quietly slipping out of the room.

Entering the kitchen, he wasted no time in indulging in a line to take the edge off, the familiar rush momentarily distracting him from the lingering echoes of frustration and doubt. But it was his favorite whiskey that truly called to him.

With the bottle in hand, Ben made his way to the living room. Settling onto the couch, he allowed himself to sink into the soft cushions.

As he took a sip of the whiskey, its smooth warmth spreading through him.

As the evening rolled on and Ben was engrossed in a movie, he suddenly heard the unmistakable sound of vomiting from the bedroom. Pausing the movie, he quickly made his way towards you, throwing on some sweatpants along the way.

His gaze softened at the sight of you, hunched over the toilet, your face pale and drawn with discomfort. Without a word, he moved to your side, offering a comforting hand on your back as you continued to retch.

"You okay?", Ben asked softly, concern evident in his voice as he rubbed your back gently.

You groaned in response, leaning back slightly with tears in your eyes. "Ugh, this is gross", you muttered, hoping that the nausea would pass soon.

As you finished vomiting and stood up, feeling a bit dizzy, Ben moved to help you steady yourself. His arm wrapped around your waist, offering support as you made your way to the sink to brush your teeth.

While you were preoccupied with rinsing your mouth, Ben retrieved your silk robe from the bedroom. With a tender touch, he draped it around your shoulders, the smooth fabric gliding over your skin as he fastened it loosely around your body. "There, all better now, princess", he said with a smirk, kissing your shoulders. "Can't have my girl feeling under the weather, now can we?", his tone teasing but affectionate.

Rolling your eyes at his comment, you spit out the toothpaste and pulled the robe on correctly, adjusting it around your body. As you brushed over your eyes with your hand, trying to shake off the dizziness, you couldn't help but mumble under your breath.

"I feel like shit", you grumbled, the discomfort evident in your voice as you leaned against the sink for support.

Ben chuckled softly, his teasing tone belying the genuine concern in his eyes as he steadied you with a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"Aw, come on, you're tough as nails", he teased, trying to lighten the mood. "A little nausea never hurt anyone, right? Besides, you'll be back to your badass self in no time".

As he spoke, he continued to support you, his touch gentle yet firm as he guided you back towards the bedroom.

As Ben guided you back towards the bedroom, his heart aching to see you in discomfort, he couldn't help but overplay his worry with playful comments. Deep down, he hated to see you like this, but he struggled to express it in a more straightforward manner.

You mumbled softly, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. "I shouldn't be puking this often, not this early in the pregnancy", you lamented, your voice tinged with frustration and concern.

Ben's expression softened at your words, the playful facade slipping away as he realized the gravity of the situation. "We'll figure it out", he murmured.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Part 29

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee

#jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x y/n #smut #billy butcher

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sardonic-the-writer · 11 months

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: scout, soldier, medic, and spy

↳ warnings: mentions of surgery and alcohol

↳ song: runaround sue—dion

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭

• He’s such a doofus. It takes him at least a month to pick up on it

• The entire time you’re flirting or making moves on him, he’ll jokingly reciprocate it under the impression that you’re just joshing around

• It takes one of the other team members approaching him for the mercenary to realize what was actually going on

• “Son.” Engineer had sighed as he stood in the doorway to Scout’s very messy room, “You do realize they like you?”

• Scout’s very dismissive and red faced about it

• “What? Psh. Stop messing with me, Engie. Don't you have sentries to build or somethin’?”

• The second Engineer leaves, he’s practically tearing up his room in a tirade of emotions

• Overthinks the past few months with you way too much. Practically wears a spot into the floor from all the nervous pacing he does

• In the end, Scout confronts you to ask you out

• Tries to be formal, but we all saw how that turned out with Miss Pauling. Eventually just gives up on trying to be suave— and not succeeding —to blurt out what he’s thinking

• “So, uh, yeah. I’m not so. Er. Good at this sappy stuff, but there’s a Tom Jones museum I think we could go check out. Together.” Scout pauses, accent only getting thicker with worry, “Alone. Y’know?”

• Over the moon when you say yes. All nerves dissipate and are immediately replaced with a cross between a smug and relieved victory

• If you look close enough at his ears, they’re a little pink

𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐫

• If he hasn’t known you for long, Soldier will actually just chalk your actions up to being a communist spy

• A very exasperated Demoman had to get Miss Pauling to bring in heavily classified paperwork on you just to prove to him you weren’t a commie

• “Very well maggot! I’ll believe you— for now! Sleep with one eye open!” Soldier had barked, slamming down your file on the dining room table as a tired Pauling watched. You noted that the papers were upside down, and you doubt he even read them. Or that he could read

• He’s very blunt with everything. Words, actions, emotions, etc. Doesn’t understand why other people can’t just do the same. It would make conversation so much easier to him

• So he’s not oblivious to your attention per se. Just very curious, I suppose

• It takes maybe less than two weeks after the Communist Incident, as Demo had dubbed it, for him to corner you

• “Maggot! Do you find me attractive?” He demanded

• You’d been eating breakfast at the time, and almost choked to death on your laughter at the question

• “Short answer, yes.” You gasped through wheezy laughter, the volume only increasing at the frown on Soldiers face. “Follow up question; is that really how you just asked if I had a crush on you?”

• Nods and booms back that he thinks you’re also easy on the eyes. Proposes the idea of doing a training course with you sometime. Breaks out into a crooked grin when you accept

• “Excellent! I expect you up at oh five hundred for the course tomorrow!” He saluted you, which was Soldier equivalent to a bone crushing hug of respect

• You returned it, and missed the way his eyes crinkled with happiness behind the brim of his helmet

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

• Always so consumed in his work that he probably just ends up finding out from Archemedies

• The birds had always been allowed to rest on your shoulder while he performed risqué experiments on you, acting as a distraction from the feeling of someone sifting around in your guts

• I guess the dove had picked up on one too many looks you’d tossed the ex-doctors way

• To this day, no one can understand how the two of them can communicate, but one thing leads to another and suddenly Medic is looming in your doorframe silently

• “What’s up, doc?” You’d greeted him with a Bug’s Bunny quote and a grin. Medics lips only twitched up slightly as he pushed his glasses back up the brim of his nose

• “A little bird told me zhat someone has a crush, ja?” He barreled right into the topic, leaving no room for you to prepare for the sudden accusation. Medics scrutinizing gaze didn’t miss the way your eyes glanced in the direction of his lab, no doubt silently cursing Archemedies

• “No need to fear, freund.” He unclasped his gloved hands from behind his back and approached you. “I simply am here to offer you a deal.”

• Turns out the deal was a chance talk over cheap beer in his office. Pretty rare, considering how much of his time Medic chose to dedicate to work

• “I’ll take it.” You shook his hand, briefly noting how large it seemed even when compared to you

• “Vunderbar, mein schatz.” Medic smiled gently, leaving you to wonder what he had just said

𝐒𝐩𝐲

• There is no hiding when it comes to this French fuck

• Spy immediately picks up on every glance. Every chance of avoided eye contact and unnecessary clearing of a throat

• Suddenly he seems to be a lot more talkative towards you than normal. Hanging out by your side at gatherings rather than a dark corner with cigarette smoke curling around his head

• Fleeting touches slowly begin to sprinkle themselves in between conversation. A hand on the shoulder here, and a brief touch to the pulse point there

• The first time he did the latter, he noticed how fast your heart was beating and couldn’t stop himself from letting out a slight chuckle

• If he was nicer, Spy would definitely take action and approach your first. In fact, sometimes he almost finds himself wanting to

• But the man knows how people work. If you truly wanted to pursue him, you would come around eventually. No point in making rash decisions. He was a patient man, after all

• A small part of his ego preened at the thought of making you work for it

• And come around you did eventually did

• Finds himself opening the door to his smoking room one late night only to be met with the image of a very frazzled looking you

• You rush out something about a date too fast for his ears to catch. Spy is simply too busy letting his eyes roam over your casual cloathing and slight fidgeting. The crooning of an old French record plays from behind him as he blinks down at you

• “Would you like to come in?” He finally sighs out, opening the door a little wider in the form of an invitation

• By the time you manage to get inside, you notice he already had a wine glass set out for you

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nevadancitizen · 6 months

Text

-> HURTING, LONGING, LOVING – DANCING TO DISCO MUSIC

synopsis: you wake up and have no memory of simon. you can only hope to find him among your fractured memories and the scattered lights of a disco ball.

word count: 2.3k

characters: simon "ghost" riley, amnesiac! gn! reader

trigger warnings: transient global (aka temporary) amnesia, mentions of canon-typical violence/interrogation

notes: heavily inspired by disco elysium and part one of @roosterr 's amnesia series. go give it a read if you haven't already (＊๑˘◡˘)

Nothing surrounds you. Only warm, primordial blackness – the pond you learn about in Biology 101, the one where everything and everyone comes from. You don’t know this, of course, because you’re curled up in it, your mind fermenting in it. You’re no larger than a grain of yeast. You don’t have to do anything anymore. Ever. Never, ever.

But you’re growing. Gram upon gram of yeast, slowly morphing into meat. Muscles and bones and organs and a beating pig heart, decaying as soon as they grow. Soon you’ll need to do things. There’s a faint tickle of an idea. Soldiers. Battlefields. IEDs and tanks. You don’t know what to do with this information.

Somewhere within the idea – a sensation! Pain. Arcing, shooting pain, lightning through every new nerve in your new body. The limbed and headed machine of pain and barely-dignified suffering is firing up again. It wants to walk the streets of Manchester. Hurting. Longing. Loving. Dancing to disco music.

It wants someone. You want someone. A blurred-out face, someone you’re kneeling at the feet at. A ghost of a man. So lost he doesn’t even know what his face looks like.

“I swore I wouldn’t let you go,” your barely-formed mouth mumbles. Your teeth are hot, melted-together plastic and your tongue is jet-fuel-fired rebar.

Look up. No. You were just talking to yourself. That’s all you ever do. Even in this primordial pool. And the act is wearing thin, the spots of the disco ball fade around you…

The warm blackness is instantly replaced with a cold, artificial light. You bring your hand up to block it – since when have you had these? Gangly things with a red wire further down in… your elbow. That’s not a wire – that’s a tube. Of blood? Your blood. You have blood.

You remember now. You were born with hands and elbows, knees, feet, organs and fat and a copious amount of blood. A collarbone you’ve broken more than once. A body that was molded in the crucible of battle.

And holy shit does that body hurt. That hindbrain wasn’t exaggerating when it said that you are a being of suffering.

A dull throbbing is behind your eyes as they rove around the room. They land on a button neatly labeled Call Nurse. You press it and wait.

Everything after that is a blur. Nurses, doctors, “Follow my finger with your eyes, but don’t move your head,” poking and prodding with various instruments, “Tilt your head back so I can feel your neck,” blue latex gloves, “How much do you remember?”, bright lights in your eyes.

One nurse checks the dressings on your forehead. It’s just above your temple. His hands are rubbery and unfeeling as he re-dresses it. A trickle of cold liquid dribbling down from an alcohol swab. Bandages press against your skin. “What’s your name and date of birth?”, “Can you name the members of the task force you’re a part of?”

A man cuts through the blur as he comes thundering through the door. A balaclava with a skull pattern. Three men are behind him, hanging in the doorframe, out of the way. But the man moves quickly towards you, standing on the edge of the crowd of medical professionals, pacing back and forth, eyes on you, like how a sheepdog circles its sheep. Longing, waiting. Held back by an invisible leash of respect.

After a while, most of the personnel disperse, leaving you with a transient global amnesia diagnosis, a nurse, and the men. But even then, they leave after casting a glance at the sheepdog.

He moves closer, then stares at you for a while. He’s expecting something. His brown eyes are like sodium lights. A small trickle of streets and the sky. In your mind, you know he’s the place to be. You’re still alive while he’s around.

Yeah. He’s groovy. You want to disco with him. He is disco. But somewhere, a deep unaccessed area of your mind is saying, “You don’t want to disco like this. Not really. Not in the deepest part of your soul, where blond eyelashes only make you sad.”

Wait – come on, what are you talking about? Sad blond eyelashes? Blond eyelashes are fun!

“Why do I hurt all of a sudden?”

“Hey, it’s alright, darl.” He kneels by your bed and takes your hand in both of his. They’re warm, rough, calloused in places you thought couldn’t be calloused. “It’s me, it’s Simon.”

“What?” You pull your hand away from his. “I don’t know a Simon.”

Simon scoffs, but it’s more of an exhale of disbelief. “Don’t you remember me?”

“No.” You narrow your eyes. “Should I?”

Simon crumbles before you. His sodium streetlight eyes go out with an explosion of guilt – the bulbs pop with a fizzy sound. He looks like he should be groveling at the feet of a feudal lord, providing excessive evidence of his crimes, or throwing a cat-of-nine-tails over his shoulder and ripping the flesh from his own back. Whatever made him this way – you can be damn sure it was your fault. Those three simple words, instead of “I love you,” are “No. Should I?”

“It’s me.” Simon’s voice cracks as he speaks. Tears flood his waterline. He takes off his mask, revealing his pale face and dyed-blond hair. “It’s your Simon.”

“Simon,” you say softly. You look at him and hurt. A hole in your still-beating pig heart. Blood spills out from where the bullet went in.

“No. Nothing.” You look down at his hand. It’s palm-up, splayed out where you let go of it. It curls up into a fist, then Simon pulls it into his lap.

He says nothing. Just stares at you like you’re familiar yet somehow unknown.

You don’t know what to say. You just can’t conjure up any thoughts as you stare back. The morphine can’t be the cause of your dumbness. And it certainly isn’t the new modafinil that was just introduced to your system.

You search his eyes and feel, above all things, lost. Lonely in a hospital full of people.

Simon pulls away. His breathing is heavy and labored. A single tear slips down his scarred cheek. He doesn’t look like he’s one to cry. The tear leaves a trail of wet that looks like a new scar.

He tugs his balaclava back on and shuffles out, casting one last longing glance over his shoulder before closing the door behind him with a soft click.

That’s where it is. He is disco. He’s stumbling through the streets of Manchester. Hurting. Longing. Loving. Dancing to disco music.

You’re stuck in the hospital for a week for physical therapy and observation. Simon visits intermittently. He brings things to jog your memory – men that are part of Task Force 141, small snow globes from where you and he have apparently been deployed. Some of them work. But none of them bring back any memory of your apparent relationship with Simon – your boyfriend.

Today he comes in with a small device. It’s not a phone, but resembles it. A small wire comes from the amp and ends in a small circle of plastic.

You point at it. “What’s that?”

“It’s a contact microphone.” Simon settles in the chair that’s set up by your bed. He points at the blocky part of it. “This part holds the recording. You can play it back if needed.”

“Are you going to play it back?” You ask.

“No,” Simon says. “This one is blank.”

You take it from Simon’s hand and turn it over, looking at it. Examining. “Then why are you showing me this?”

“You are…” Simon sighs, trying to find the words. “You were a profoundly talented interrogator. You used contact microphones to record the interrogation, the confessions, the works. There’s a specified interrogation chamber underground. Contact microphones pick up the noise better down there.”

You continue looking it over. Fiddling with the wire. Running your thumb over the mesh of the microphone.

“Anything?” Simon says.

You close your eyes and think. Contact microphone… violence, blood. There’s a welding torch in there somewhere. The smell of bubbling flesh and burning hair. Cauterization without anesthesia. It was that way on purpose.

You open your eyes and look at Simon. “Interrogation.”

“Obviously.” Simon huffs out a laugh. It sounds forced. “I told you that.”

“Yes.” You sigh, looking down at the contact microphone. You try to think more. Contact… physical contact. Your fist making contact. Something hard. Solid bone breaking under your hands.

But also… something soft. Something that smells good. Smells homey. A black hoodie with some cheesy skull pattern on it. Actually, a closet full of black and grey clothes. A monotone voice to match a monotone closet.

The clothes smell faintly of cigarettes. A carton that’s mostly empty. They taste better than regular cigarettes – they’re some European brand.

“Do…” You look up at Simon. “Do you smoke?”

“Why?” Simon asks. “Do I smell like cigs?”

“No. Just…”

You close your eyes and try to remember more. The carton is a brown-orange color. The back is plastered with warnings about nicotine being an addictive chemical. No filters. A smooth, walnut-esque finish.

“Revaality,” you finally say and look up at Simon.

“Yes! Yes.” Simon takes your hand instinctively, excitedly. He smiles. Like crying, it doesn’t really fit him, but you’re glad he’s smiling anyway. “That’s the brand I smoke. I smoke Revaality.”

He takes your face in his hand and guides you to look at him. His sodium light eyes are bright once again. “Anything else? Lovie, please…”

You cringe away from his touch. Again, Simon is punched in the fucking face when he remembers that you don’t know him. Not like that.

Simon pulls his hands away. “Shit. I…”

“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “I know.”

I know you know a different version of me. The thought lingers, loud and unsaid. Simon, you’re a man with a lot of past, but little present, and almost no future. I’m sorry we only live in your memories, because I don’t even have those.

“I’m trying.” You look down at the contact microphone. “Believe me, I’m trying.”

“I believe you,” Simon says. “It’s just… it’s hard.”

Silence for a while. The artificial lights above you buzz and cast harsh shadows on Simon’s face. He looks… tired.

“I still love you,” he says quietly. Almost a whisper. “I… you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

He rests a hand on the railing of your hospital bed. “I’m not the best. I drink. I smoke. I have a laundry list of mental issues and types of trauma. So much it’s not even funny.”

“But you…” he sighs. “You fell in love with me anyway.”

You look up at him. He’s crying again. A pang of empathy in your heart. You don’t know why, but you don’t want to see him cry. The tears that cut through the dirt on his face are unbefitting.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is a mirror of Simon’s. Soft and wavering. “I want to remember. I don’t even know what happened to me. The doctors always dance around it when I ask.”

Simon bunches the end of his sleeve up in his hand and wipes away his tears. “You were a fucking idiot. That’s what happened.”

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“Not in a bad way.” Simon lets go of his sleeve and rests his hand on the railing of your bed again. “You love too much and too hard. You saved me.”

“It… the building…” He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing his waterline to clear of tears. “The building was coming down. We thought we were out of danger close. But there was a piece of rebar that…”

Simon looks down at his lap. He’s ashamed. “It was supposed to hit me. I was supposed to die. I’m used to it. I’m used to close calls and blood transfusions.”

“But I’m not used to…” He glances up at you through his eyelashes. His long, blond eyelashes. “People I care about being hurt. Or people caring about me in general.”

“Simon.” You reach out and lay your hand over his where it rests on the railing. He holds his breath like he’s afraid.

A pause. You want to be sure of your words before you speak.

“I’m going to try my damndest to remember,” you say. “Even if I don’t remember everything, I – I want to try to learn to care about you again. Because, based on our limited interactions, I know you’re a good man. Even if you drink and even if you smoke and even if you have a laundry list of mental issues and an assortment of trauma.”

Simon slowly brings his other hand and rests it on top of yours. His callouses brush against your knuckles. Abrasive yet comforting in a way you barely remember.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Really, truly. Thank you.”

And, in this moment, Simon finally has some sense of control in an ever-turbulent world. The world that tried to take his one and only love. The world that has taken his one and only love and is only now feeding him droplets of what he knows – what he once knew. He must exercise this control carefully, lest he lose you again.

In the sky, there are no dogfights and no silverplate bombers. Only stars and the rabbit curled up on the moon and a singular winking comet. God is in Heaven. Everything is normal on Earth.

Somewhere, the spots from a disco ball freckle the dance floor once again.

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dykealloy · 10 months

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spoilers up to the end of dressrosa arc here but. I can't stop thinking about how Law takes on Rosinante's will. Corasan freed him from Doflamingo and the marines and the world government and everyone that ever could have touched him at the time, but has Law really felt free? “Everything I do until I die represents what Corasan achieved” is sweet until you recognise that Law is willing (and planned) to go to the grave for that belief. Until Doflamingo dies there is always a part of him stuck in that treasure chest, constrained by what Law felt happened to Corasan due to him that day.

It's crazy how textbook survivors guilt victim Law is (I’m new here so I wouldn’t be surprised if this isn’t the first time this has been brought up), but let’s just quickly go over some symptoms:

Obsessive thoughts about the traumatic event ✅ (will go over this in greater detail below)

A sense of disconnection or detachment/need to isolate oneself from others ✅ (Law doesn't fully isolate himself but he definitely has his walls up at all times, though there are often subtle hints of him enjoying the company of the people he chooses to surround himself with. He is notably more reserved, emotionally unavailable, cold and distant than others around him, and watching closely you'll notice that even physically he has a tendency to situate himself three steps behind the group)

Insomnia, nightmares, flashbacks of the traumatic event ✅ (if we can assume some of his backstory expressed in Dressrosa are flashbacks, and also assuming that the perpetual eyeliner he wears are covering some pretty heavy eyebags. Also mention that the only time we see him resting is against Sunny's mast on the way to Dressrosa - and that was 1. a filler episode, and 2. if he was sleeping, it was very quickly interrupted by an attack by petplay guy - a nightmare in of itself)

Irritability and anger ✅ (though elements of this could just be attributed to Law's personality or a natural response to the straw hat's shenanigans, as well as Luffy's total inability to stick to a reasonable plan)

Feelings of despair and thoughts of suicide ✅ (that's Law's Dressrosa arc babe)

Now, there's many reasons why Law is unable to move past this guilt (an apparent lack of therapists in one piece being one of them) - but his inability to believe in unconditional love is likely the biggest offender.

Law may have started off (initially) with one of the most fortunate, stable beginnings, with a loving family and a big house in a rich country (wealth of which was built off the back of lies and corruption and the murder of innocent future generations - we'll get there). But he had a mother and a father who loved and nurtured Law (and were both highly respected doctors in their own right who citizens trusted and relied on). Law's happy beginnings really juxtapose the unfathomable horror that had been lying in wait in Flevance.

Even when shit started to hit the fan, at a very young age (<10 yrs old), Law was already stepping up and showing love for his little sister (lying to her when she was on her deathbed, knowing full well he would likely face the same fate after reading his charts, putting on a brave face for her so she wouldn't be afraid when the screams began to reach their front door, hiding her away when soldiers sieged their home and rushing to check on his parents). Given everything that happened in Flevance, it's completely understandable that, while Law will likely never forget the love his family gave him, remembering it became twisted in the lasting memories of his home — parents riddled with bullet holes. a closet holding a sick little sister waiting for him in a house engulfed by flames. stumbling through a town of friends, neighbours, just... people he used to pass by on the street, now all dead.

Seeing hell, knowing why and how it transpired, who were responsible (spoilers, the World Government; the same body that most citizens believe exist to protect them — yeah, sister "a merciful hand of salvation waiting to help" were perhaps the worst possible combination of words you could have left Law with here. Likely instrumental in having him lose his faith "I don't believe in anything anymore."), knowing he is the only survivor, and fated to die anyway due to the terminal illness that is slowly killing him because some figureheads years back were greedy and the governing powers above the figureheads were willing to cover up everything if it meant garnering a portion of wealth and maintaining influence and control. It's beyond grief, beyond rage. And there's absolutely nowhere Law can put it. No one he can retaliate against. Who could come out of hell knowing this and not want to see the world burn?

So, smart little Law escapes under a pile of bodies and goes to the one person infamously revered for being in the business of that kind of thing. And boy oh boy I can only begin to imagine how a young and impressionable Law - fresh from a genocide, with a hole in his heart and a hatred for everything still alive - had his concept of love warped whilst surviving those two years around Doflamingo and his family. A family where members are only welcome so far as they are useful to Doflamingo and his aspirations. Of course Law's going to pick up some fucked up ideas about how love works outside this little white fence he grew up and watched burn down.

Then. Enter Corazon.

Their relationship may begin on shaky legs (near-juvenicide via defenestration in a failed attempt to ward Law away from sticking around) but Corazon quickly becomes the one person in the world Law can trust and rely on again. And Rosinante can only do so much in terms of healing and guiding this broken kid (yes, his position both as Doffy's brother and as a double agent made things difficult, but need I mention he was only 26! 26 when he died!) but he showed Law kindness and compassion when he was at his lowest. He had faith in the existence of a cure that Law was long past believing. Was determined to help him, even against Law's wishes, even if it meant having Law relive his trauma over and over again. Corasan becomes incredibly important to Law, giving him a reason to live beyond just destruction and revenge.

After the rest of the world had long turned his back on him, when he had been nothing but a dying puddle of rage and self-destructive nihilism, Corasan saved Law. He told Law "Aishiteru" - a very rare way of saying "I love you", never used casually due to the depth of its meaning and the massive connotations behind it - in essence translating to "I love you so much I cannot possibly imagine life without you". There's a high likelihood that at his age, Law had never heard these words before, and probably didn't quite understand the weight of Rosinante saying it at the time.

Corasan frees Law, then he dies at the hand of Doflamingo, Rosinante's own brother.

All Rosinante wanted was for this poor kid to go on and live his life unburdened by his more than turbulent history and his connection to Doffy, but I think for all his planning, Rosinante's one critical error was well and truly underestimating how much him loving Law, and loving Law to the extent he did, would mean to that kid. Law really went from that ten year old hollow void sentiment of "why does anyone or anything at all get to exist when everything that was important to me is dead, burned to ashes and wiped off the map" to "I should have died at age thirteen and every second I've lived since then, I've only lived as a result of Corasan's efforts and as a personal affront to Doflamingo." This time, Law has a tangible, heinous 10 foot monster of a target to direct 1. his grief and anger and 2. justice for Cora towards, and this time he has the power and will to follow through. More than that, he believes Corasan sacrificed himself for him because he's a D. (someone destined to rain down destruction on the gods - Doflamingo, in this case). Corazon becomes a saint that Law dedicates the rest of his life to. Which is something that Law is not vocal about to just anyone he comes across, but is so unbelievably obvious once you know what you're looking at — his tattoos, his jolly roger, his crew, his ship, his ambitions, his beliefs, his fucking. custom-made Corazon jacket. all of it for this man that showed Law - at a time when he hated the world and everything in it - love. For all of six months. max.

And his whole life and personality and behaviour CONTINUES to be guided by this trauma — the way he's reckless with himself, his borderline self-destructive actions, the way he keeps telling himself that none of it would've been worth it unless Corasan's last wishes are fulfilled, the way he surrounds himself with bright people and soft things, the way it doesn't register that his crew genuinely loves and cares about him, the way he's terrified of losing anyone important to him again (and I would say this is one of his biggest downfalls as a Captain compared to someone like Luffy - who is just as reckless as Law is but trusts his crew, doesn't try to send them away, isn't afraid to let them grow and risk their lives for him like Law is with the heart crew), his inability to take a damn compliment. The way he doesn't understand Luffy AT ALL.

Doesn't understand that this alliance that he's brokered means nothing to Luffy because he sees him as FRIEND. No transactions or mutually beneficial pacts necessary. Doesn't get that he's the one that inadvertently asked Luffy to be his friend, thus breaking a long chain of people (mostly parental figures and siblings) abandoning or leaving Luffy behind/no one taking the first initiative to ask to be around him. Law is complete and utterly in the dark as to why someone would ever bat for him when the stakes are this high for no other reason than because they like them and care about them as a person.

Luffy, with his playground rules where he loves unconditionally and will take on the world for a friend he made five minutes ago, perplexes Law with his sheer simplicity.

When Sengoku tells Law, "Don't try to find a reason for someone's love", I do NOT think he takes it well. Because there must be a reason. There has to be. Between the two options of Corasan saving Law's life and freeing him because he believed in the will of D., or Rosinante saving him for no other reason than because Law was a kid that was loveable, and because he loved him unconditionally... everything we've learned about how Law functions up until this point suggests the former will always make more sense to him, and after everything he's been through, is most likely less painful for him to accept.

#LONG POST #in this essay i will... oh no. this was a spiral i was not ready to go down.#I'm not doing okay btw #one piece meta #these were originally 2am tags but upon reflection i thought it should probably be its own post #CJ's op watch-through #one piece #op #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #corazon #corasan #donquixote rosinante #monkey d. luffy #lawlu #dressrosa spoilers #op meta #op analysis

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magnoliasforyourmedic · 1 month

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I just read an article where a WWII medic by the name of John Burch of the 82nd Airborne Division discussed just how troubling of an environment the Battle of the Bulge was for a medic.

Under the Geneva Conventions medics were not allowed to carry weapons and were not supposed to be targeted. “The Germans didn’t respect at all,” Burch said.

Burch spent a lot of time at the hospital that had been set up in Reims after the Germans had just been ejected from the town, but he said that no one knew where the front lines were.

As the battle progressed, the wounded continued to flood in, as did some unwanted guests.

“Germans were dressed in American uniforms over their own and were dropping into areas by parachute.”

“(Once) some came in two ambulances dressed in American uniform and greatly hurt the medical staff of the 101st – they murdered really, the medics and we found out then it was not wise to be known as a medic.”

Let that set in.

German dressed in American uniforms hijacked ambulances in order to infiltrate the hospital, slaughtering doctors and medics.

The enemy was walking amongst them, purposefully targeting soldiers whose only mission for the war was to help their own.

To say it was “not wise to be known as a medic” was an understatement. The situation was so bad, in fact, that the general of the 101st Airborne offered some advice:

“The general of the 101st met with our commander and said, he couldn’t order us to carry weapons, but he advised that it was up to us. So, we taped over our steel helmets that had red crosses on them and hid our identification and were given pistols. We didn’t really know how to use them, but … we never put on our red crosses again.”

I wish they would have included a scene that shows this kind of thing because I think having to watch these unarmed angels of the battlefield cover up a symbol that was supposed to protect them would have been super powerful.

#yall this is crazy #the Germans would DISGUISE THEMSELVES as Americans and then slaughter doctors and medics?!#bastogne #battle of the bulge #wwii #article #quotes #band of brothers #101st airborne #medics #magnolias for doc #information

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robo-milky · 4 months

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[MORE INFO]

[Loosely references Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde]

Nicknames:

Crema/クッレマ (Cloche) | Big Henchman (Grim) | Vet/Medic (Ace) | Tiger Prawn (Floyd) | Monsieur Fumé (Rook)

Bio:

A proud and confident man, loves nothing more than himself. He’ll act diplomatic when needed, but that exterior will crack fit if something doesn’t go his way. Mors is bad at compromising, and can be very stubborn. May act passive aggressive in retaliation. Ever the megalomaniac, he will stop at nothing to reach the top. He is a man above pretensions, like morality and ethics. Though he can be boisterous, Mors is well spoken, hurling obscure insults at those who earn his ire. No matter what, he is always in the right.

Core Values -> Accomplishment + Knowledge

Elm is the opposite of Mors, a humble and kind man. He’ll do good for the sake of it, not asking for anything in return. Can be a bit of a pushover.

Core values -> Inspiring + Empathy

Background:

From the hit series, “Loyalty Lock”, Mors is an antagonist. Was an aspiring doctor of noble birth, that got drafted by mistake. His military career consisted of being a foot soldier, medic, to army officer (through bribery and corruption). Along with him being a controversial political figure in Vostege, Mors has many enemies. This resulted in him buying hiring a special vessel from “Goldbelle’s Facility of Maids”.

Mors had no one else but himself to blame, having taken the life of his one and only ally. If he was still under her protection, would he be a free man? Arms bound by rope, wood digging into his neck, he might as well think of his last words instead of what-ifs.

Elm stepped into the dark carriage and Mors came out the of coffin.

Notable Thoughts: Mors’

“I can’t possibly imagine being buttered up so easily, like the Headmaster of this school. Hm? Why are you staring at me like that for?”

“Eugh… Not only does Miss Jin have to resemble Cloche, but they share the same name. It leaves a foul taste in my mouth.”

“Grim is a curious specimen, indeed! I’m no veterinarian, by any means, but I would love to take a closer look at him when he is still.”

“Mr. Trappola? The boy’s clever, alright. He always knows just the right things to say.”

“I suppose Mr. Spade is quite cute, is he not? Always so eager to please.”

“Mr. Howl is alright for a beastman… He is at least well disciplined. ”

“Mr. Pergameno is surprisingly knowledgeable of protective eyewear. I may ask him for recommendations, sometime.”

“Lucius seems to hiss at me whenever I stop by and chat with Professor Trein. I wonder why, hohoh…”

“Professor Crewel would make a fine drill sergeant. The crack of his whip brings me back to my days of youth.”

“Coach Vargas’ physique is extraordinary. I’d like to someday study his veins, if given the opportunity to.”

“The Mystery Shop always somehow has everything I need. I wouldn’t ask Mr. Sam any questions he wouldn’t ask me.”

Notable Thoughts: Others’

“Mr. Clematis? Such a nice and helpful man! Taking on the task of monitoring the library by himself, on top of his studies.” - Crowley

“It could have been anyone else from ‘Loyalty Lock’ to get isekai’d here, but it just had to be him.” - Cloche

“Eek! Hide me! Do not make that freak come near me, please!” - Grim

“Can you patch me up instead? I don’t wanna get another scolding from the Vet!” - Ace

“Yeah, of course I respect Mors! He’s been taking the time to help me with studying and some reading.” - Deuce

“Mors’ insistence of live specimens, for dissections, stresses me out a little, but that’s how he did it back in his time… haha…” - Trey

“If I had to choose between dealing with Rook and dealing with Mors, I’m taking Mors all the way. At least he can leave me alone.” - Ruggie

“That geezer has some magic within him, but it’s unlike any I’ve seen before. It smells off.” - Leona

“I’ve got to return the handkerchief Mors gave me someday!” - Leikata

“Ah, Mors! Talking with him gives me nostalgia. It’s not bad looking back into the past.” - Lilia

Extras/Trivia:

- Harbours a strong dislike of all beastmen, and a preference for humans

- Pops in and out of any classes if it interests him

- His glasses are pinched on the bridge of his nose

- May go off on a tangent about all the “incompetent people” of his world when drunk

- Always faintly smells of smoke. Cigar? Gun powder? …Something else?

- Addresses most of the cast as adults, since they would have “reached maturity” where he is

- Oddly flattered that there is a “series based on his life events and greatness”

- Greys early because of stress in his youth

Gallery:

#welcome to NRC old man (not actually that old)#questions welcome- will try to get around them once I finish my last event ask #expands on both cloche’ lore!#cat scribblez 🌸#oc: mors clematis #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twst ocs #twst yuu #twisted wonderland oc #twst yuu oc #twst fanart #twisted wonderland fanart #twst art #twisted wonderland art #tw military

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matan4il · 10 months

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Daily update post:

I've seen the following headline discussed on several news sites:

And most of the discussion surrounded the issue of why are the terrorists shirtless (which takes the gold medal at the "turn a simple answer into a pointless debate" olympics. They're shirtless to make sure they're not carrying suicide vests, that they plan to detonate in the vicinity of the soldiers). What people should be noting about this, is that these armed terrorists were coming out of a hospital. It's another needed piece of evidence that Hamas has been using Gazan hospitals for their military operations. I am once again encouraging you to think about the UN, the Red Cross, the journalists reporting from Gaza, and every "respectable" human rights organization, like Doctors Without Borders, which operated in these places, and COVERED THIS UP for Hamas for the past 16 years.

Denmark's police announced that they have arrested 3 people (with one additional person arrested in The Netherlands) for planning to carry out a terrorist attack against Jews and Israelis.

Israel's top satire show continues to ridicule the inability of the world to have any moral clarity, of even the most basic kind, when it comes to antisemitism.

youtube

And that's how you could have done it, SNL.

In the same context, I watched the House debate on the bipartisan resolution calling for the presidents of Harvard and MIT to resign. Some of the arguments against the resolution were absolutely infuriating, either types of "whataboutism" ("But what about all the other things we should be doing to combat antisemitism?" Well, Karen, you can do those, too. There's absolutely no contradiction. At the same time, you say that you've dedicated many years to fighting antisemitism, and yet look at the state of your fight. Maybe holding people in position of educational power personally responsible, maybe making people see that there is a price to pay for taking Qatari money and allowing antisemitism to thrive, would make a difference, on top of those other measures that should be taken to fight Jew hatred) or just repeated, "But free speech!" (as if that line of defence wasn't obliterated during the hearing, when it was demonstrated that other marginalized groups' right to protection has been treated as superseding the right to free speech, on the same campuses where these presidents failed to define a call for the genocide of Jews as harassment, which means that not only did these universities fail to protect Jewish students from antisemitism, they engaged in discriminatory behavior towards Jews themselves).

Thankfully, the resolution passed, 303 to 126.

Here's a reminder of what Jewish students have been dealing with:

youtube

On the last day of Hanukkah, I wanna share with you this story. You might have seen this picture before:

This is the Posner family's hanukkiah. In Dec 1931, a moment before the Nazis' rise to power, and when their imminent threat is already well felt by German Jews, Rachel Posner puts this hanukkiah at the window, knowing that the Nazis' headquarters in Kiel, the German city where her husband is the community's rabbi, is situated right across the street from their home. After lighting the candles, she's suddenly inspired to take a picture of the hanukkiah with the Nazi banner in the background. When she gets the picture printed, she writes on the back:

"Judea, drop dead!" says the banner. "Judea will live forever," answers the light.

"Judea, drop dead!" was a part of a common Nazi slogan back then. It went, "Germany, wake up! Judea, drop dead!"

The Posner family heeded the warning signs, and left Germany in 1933, one of the last moments when that was still possible for Jews. The family moved to Israel, and was saved. Once established, they decided to donate the hanukkiah to Yad Vashem, Israel's Holocaust remembrance authority, to be displayed at our museum. The family only asked for one thing: to get to light the hanukkiah every Hanukkah. Now, museums are not supposed to say yes to this. If you donate something to a museum, that's it. The artifact belongs to the museum, you don't get to ask to use it, and in fact, for preservation purposes, it's not supposed to be used. But YV understood from the start that our museums is not going to be like other ones, and that when people donate artifcats to us, these are not just inanimate objects. These are the remainders of people who are lost, innocence that was robbed, a world that was destroyed. These are reminders of hope and life in the face of hatred and murder. And we can't take that away from people. That's why YV agrees to this type of request.

So, when I take people on a tour of our museum during Hanukkah, and go into our "German Jews room," and I show the corner where a large "window" bears an imprint of Rachel Posner's photo, I have to explain why the display next to the "window" is empty, other than a small note that reads, "temporarily removed." And why Hanukkah is the only time of the year when visitors can't see this hanukkiah.

This year was no exception. Hanukkah came, and we got the Posner family hanukkiah out of the glass display case... Except this year, after the Oct 7 massacre, things are different. The hanukkiah first traveled to Germany, where it was lit by the families of the hostages asking for their loved ones' return, and then it traveled back to Israel, and from there to Gaza, where it was lit by a great grandson of Rabbi Akiva and his wife Rachel Posner.

This is 41 years old Tal Haimi.

Tal was a third generation at kibbutz Nir Yitzhak. He's one of many Israelis, from which there was no sign of life since Oct 7, though there was an indication that they're held in Gaza (most commonly, their cell phone signal was picked up there). Yesterday, his family got confirmation that he was murdered during the Hamas massacre, and it was his body that was kidnapped to Gaza. His wife Ella is pregnant, and was documenting the course of the pregnancy for the past two months, hoping to share that with him, when he returns from captivity. May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #israelunderattack #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #Youtube

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m-musings · 15 days

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Headcanons: How TF2 Mercs act when they're crushing on Merc!Reader

Word Count:1.1K

Warnings/Other Notes: none!

Scout:

You thought this man was awkward before? Whoo boy, wait until you add a romantic interest into the mix.

Anytime Scout begins to crush on someone, he is absolutely clueless.

He'll say the weirdest things in a pitiful but sweet attempt to woo a possible love interest.

If you happen to catch his eye, be prepared for a lot of cheesy flirting and showing off.

Scout would do almost anything to get your attention, even if he ends up embarrassing himself.

When you start to laugh at all his antics, he'll throw a smile in your direction, feeling overjoyed that his plan to win your heart is starting to work.

Soldier:

Like anything else in his life, Soldier treats a crush like a military operation he must push through to get to his goal.

He won't change his personality much, but you can tell that he's gentler with you than he is with most other people.

Solider will offer his assistance with any task you might need help with, even if he's in the middle of helping one of the other mercs.

If you really wanted to, he'd let you try his rocket launcher, even if deep down he's extremely anxious about doing so.

He would put his helmet on you though, he doesn't want to see you get hurt.

Soldier is still kind of crazy around you, but it's a different kind of crazy, one that drives him to make you happy.

Spy:

As soon as Spy realizes he's caught feelings, he's turning the charm up to 11.

You'll find small gifts and trinkets for you sprinkled all over base, put in place by an invisible Spy.

And in front of the others, you can expect to find him close to you, flirting with you by subtly whispering compliments in you ear.

When he has to leave you, Spy will suavely grab you hand and leave a soft kiss on top.

He rarely, if ever, shows any outwardly sign of his actions affecting his own self at all.

But if you look very carefully, you can see a twinge of red hiding just behind his mask as he smirks at you.

Engineer:

Ever the picture of a southern gentleman, once Engie figures out he's got feelings for you, he feels obligated to properly court you.

He'll begin by asking you on a date- preparing a sweet picnic just outside of Teufort.

Once you arrive, he'll give you your favorite flowers in a cute little mason jar, along with a cute little card wrapped with a ribbon.

If the date goes well, he'll be at your humble service around the base.

Need something fixed? Engineer's on it! Lost something important to you? He's helping you search for it! Need a hug? His arms are wide open!

He just really likes you and wants to treat you with all of the love and respect you deserve.

Medic:

Medic can act one of two ways when he develops a crush on you.

The first is denial filled apathy. When he's around you, He'll act like he does around anyone else, albeit with the slight fluttering of butterflies deep in the pit of his stomach.

In this scenario, Medic would still be the same ol' mad doctor, but he is far softer with you than anyone else he encounters, even if it is subconciously.

But in the other case, he would be head over heels in love with you, in his own slightly obsessive special way.

He'd tell you all kinds of interesting medical facts and try find ways to show off his many accomplishments as a doctor.

And if you ever become lonely without him, he'd send Archimedes to keep you company. At the end of the day, Medic only wants to keep you happy and healthy.

Demoman:

If Demo ever develops a crush on you, he becomes much more clingy and affectionate than you've ever seen him be.

When he wants your attention, he'll trot over to wherever you are and start flirting with a smirk plastered on his face.

Despite his dislike for good ol' Nessie, he'd find you a cute little plush of her to keep in your bedroom to remind you of him.

If you're feeling up to it, Demo would offer to share his scotch with you, disguising it as a fun little drinking competition between the two of you.

He knows how loud he can be, so if you happen to be bothered by his volume, he's sure to quiet down a few notches when you're in his vicinity.

Demo might be abrasive at times, but deep down, he's got a soft spot for you in his heart.

Heavy:

Heavy is such a sweetheart when he's got a crush.

He'll keep an eye on you when on a mission, always prepared to use Sasha at any time so that he knows you're safe and sound.

And when you run out of energy, he's offering you part of his sandwich to help you regain some.

Heavy will sometimes go on friendly outings with you, intimidating anyone who may mean to do you harm by acting almost like a guard dog.

If he ever sees you struggling to reach something that's just too high, he's right there to lift you onto his shoulders so you can finally grab it.

Heavy can be a little much at times, but he really enjoys being able to help you just for a chance to see you smile in his direction.

Sniper:

Sniper is the same grump he always is when he's got feelings for someone, but he's still very visibly enamored with them.

If you happen to glance his way when he's admiring you from afar, his face will grow beet red and he'll cover his face with this hat.

Anytime you have a free day around Teufort, he's inviting you to play card games in his van while you two listen to soft music coming from the radio.

If Sniper notices that someone is following you while fighting the other team, he's sure to gun them down before they can reach you, much to your relief.

Although he has spent many days underneath the harsh rays of the sun, he's always sure to make sure you have some kind of protection from it.

He may act nonchalant when you ask him how to teach you how to shoot his rifle, but the proximity has him screaming on the inside. The man has no idea how to handle it, though he can't find it in himself to mind.

Pyro:

Pyro literally doesn't change when he's got a crush, but he's always been affectionate with you so it's no different than how he acts when he's in love.

#team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 imagines #tf2 x reader #tf2 mercs x reader #tf2 mercs #headcanon

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year

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The Lost Queen - VI

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 1,320.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 6

You could feel the exact moment the air changed. The exact moment when everything had changed.

When history had been changed by your presence in this time.

It was like one of those period films you used to watch on lonely Saturday nights. It looked just like a movie you remember watching a while ago about Alexander, except no one in the movie had been stabbed.

As far as you knew, at least.

But it wasn't supposed to happen like that. Cleitus was not supposed to die until just before Alexander's wedding to Roxanna. Yes, there was the drunken fight between the two men, but it was for a different reason and at a different time.

It shouldn't happen now. And definitely not because of you.

Your presence was already affecting the course of things and you blamed yourself for it, even if it was illogical. Maybe it was that butterfly effect you had already heard about. It's not like you transported yourself over two millennia into the past of your own free will.

You didn't even know how you ended up in this place and with these people, but you knew it had something to do with the book you had so foolishly decided to buy. How or why you didn't know. Yet.

You would figure out how to leave this place, this time, one way or another.

Ptolemy was trying to remain calm. He was really trying, but he didn't know if he could do it much longer.

Because, for the first time in years, he had felt afraid of Alexander.

And that was something to consider. He had known Alexander since the days he was a boy, and although he was not as close to Alexander as Hephaestion, he still considered himself a close friend of the King.

Ptolemy respected Alexander not only as King, but as a friend.

And now he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think.

Alexander announcement was a big surprise. Why had Alexander felt the need to announce his intention to marry (Y/N) in this way.

Or why he wanted to marry her in the first place.

Ptolemy had no idea what to think about her. He had nothing against her but he couldn't say he was satisfied. But that was because he didn't know her. Yes, she looked pleasing to the eye, but there was something about her that made him disturbed and anxious.

Something about her scared him.

''Call a doctor!'' Hephaestion's strangely calm voice removed him from his disturbing thoughts.

Ptolemy waved and ran out of the tent, happy to do so. He didn't want to think about Cleitus or Alexander, or even (Y/N).

The soldiers were all awake and alert, alarmed by the screams in the King's tent, but none of them seemed willing to bother some of the generals for more information.

It's not like it was necessary because Ptolemy knew that in a matter of hours everything would spread.

How their King himself attacked one of his loyal generals in a drunken rage. He tried not to think about the consequences this would bring to everyone in the future.

After a few minutes, Ptolemy woke the King's doctor and took him to where Cleitus was. Still at the banquet tent, but it had emptied. Alexander and Hephaestion were not present, Cassander had withdrawn along with Nearchus. The only ones there were, obviously, Cleitus, Perdiccas and (Y/N).

He tried not to think too much about the last one who was looking at Cleitus with an expression he couldn't decipher.

''By the gods.'' Philip, the doctor, said some prayer and knelt beside Cleitus. ''What happened to him? I don't remember us being in battle.''

''And we're not.'' Ptolemy replied, unsure whether or not he should tell the truth, but Philip would eventually find out, ''Alexander stabbed him.''

Philip frowned but decided not to make anything more important. Ptolemy was grateful for it.

''C-Can you save him?'' The three men present turned their heads to (Y/N) after she finally spoke up after everything that had happened.

''I can try, but...''

''But?'' Perdiccas tried to encourage the doctor, but Ptolemy didn't miss the look his friend had given to (Y/N). A concerned and loving look.

He tried not to think about it either.

''It's a cut on the abdomen and very deep, I don't know...'' He didn't finish the sentence but it wasn't necessary. Everyone already knew; the chances of Cleitus surviving were low.

''I can help.'' (Y/N)'s firm and determined voice surprised everyone.

''You can help?'' Philip asked, confused and suspicious.

(Y/N) nodded, ''Yes, I have... Uh, I know a little about medicine, maybe I can help.''

Her words surprised everyone.

''I don't know if-'' Philip was cut off.

''I know what I am doing. Trust me...'' Ptolemy was surprised to see (Y/N)'s beautiful eyes filled with tears and that sight gave him an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, ''Please...''

Please. It had been so long since Ptolemy had heard those words and he had forgotten how much power they had.

''Let her help.'' Ptolemy ordered the doctor who, feeling sullen by the looks of both generals present, reluctantly accepted (Y/N)'s help.

Alexander was sitting on the floor, with his back against a cot.

The powerful undefeated King now found himself defeated. Defeated by his own guilt and his inner demons.

He could feel nothing but the purest remorse.

He didn't understand why he had done that.

Why had he stabbed his general? His friend? He couldn't understand what had gotten into him.

That was what had occurred to him in the moment of his drunken rage.

The only thing Alexander remembered was the anger he had felt. From the hatred that had consumed him like fire when he was disapproved of by his friend. And he regretted that.

Oh, for Zeus, and how he regretted that. He would regret this for the rest of his life.

Would Cleitus live? Only the gods could say. Alexander had never felt so helpless in his life as he did now.

So useless.

He didn't know what to do or how he had gotten to Hephaestion's tent. He had vague memories of his friend and Craterus carrying him to Hephaestion's tent to rest. How he could rest was beyond him.

The gods had a cruel sense of humor, the King scoffed. It was supposed to be a special, fun occasion. He would announce his intentions to marry (Y/N) and everyone would celebrate the fact that he was finally getting married. They would drink and eat, as they always did, but that was not what happened.

It was Cleitus's fault, he told himself. If he hadn't dared to disapprove, show contempt for Alexander's choice in public this wouldn't have happened.

But at the end of it all, there was no one to blame but himself.

Alexander might as well have drowned in his own lament or in his wine. He didn't care, he just needed to get rid of these terrible thoughts that were eating him from the inside out.

''More wine.'' He ordered a page who had entered the tent he was occupying at that moment. The boy looked at him with remorse and this only increased Alexander's anger.

He clicked his tongue.

''Now!''

The page didn't need to be told three times, he ran out of Hephaestion's tent, leaving the King alone again. Alexander didn't know where the others were, probably with Cleitus.

Alexander buried his head in his chest and this time, he didn't fight the tears that fell.

When the page brought the jug of wine, he poured it into his cup and sent him away. Alexander didn't want to be alone, but he didn't want to be seen in such a broken state.

Alexander drank the wine and closed his eyes, hot with tears. Was he really a monster?

''Alexander...'' Hephaestion's ever calm voice filled the silent tent.

Alexander smiled but refused to open his eyes.

Hephaestion knelt down beside his friend and hugged him. No words needed to be said between them.

Alexander was grateful for this and hugged his friend back.

— lady l: I hope you enjoyed! Just showing a little of what happened after Cleitus' stabbing, because in the next chapter, well, we're going to have some drama, friends! If there are any mistakes, forgive me and let me know what you think! I love you all and see you in chapter 7. ❤️❤️

#history #yandere history #yandere historical characters #the lost queen #tlq #yandere alexander the great #yandere alexander the great x reader #alexander the great x reader #long fic #fanfic

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