#((so clever))

[NECK KISS] desire, passion; a sensual, provocative gesture canon-adjacent ∙ episode 10

In hindsight, they really should have killed Purple first.

You can be hot, but you can't be hot and smart, or else it'll ruin the fun. Just look at Blue.

But it was fun with Purple. Not so much now, since they're being all competent again and somehow managed to convince the Captain to rub their two last braincells together, but it was fun.

Too bad it has to end.

"For someone I just called smart," The skin of their host splits open. "You sure are asking some unsmart questions."

This is nice, though. Even Blue didn't smell this afraid.

"I like to kill and I hate competition. Where's the fun in letting babies do all the work? It's not like killing you all was hard."

"Ohhhhhhh, I get it." Still putting on a brave face, waiting for their Captain to rescue to them. "You must have been following Orange's orders."

"Orange??" They'd laugh if they had the mouth to— oh, wait! They do! Seven, in fact! "Orange couldn't kill a sunbaked worm."

Clever, though, so clever, playing to their ego like that, getting them to monologue, taking advantage of Green's split-second outburst to try and open the trash chute.

A tentacle pins their wrist to the switch, shattering the plate, wires and springs jutting out as the button clatters to the floor.

They smell hurt.

"See, this is why I like you." Green titters, putting their visor to the curve of Purple's neck, the rattle of their pulse, the hitch of their breath. They squirm like a mounted butterfly, like a salted slug, something helpless and afraid and mineminemine.

They could kill them like this. They really could.

"If you think your Captain's gonna come for you," They allow themself this, this one indulgence, the many flats of their many tongues on the length of Purple's throat. It burns.

I was absolutely delighted that the author mentioned Hedy Lamarr.

Steve is telling the Howlies that she and Howard Stark were working on some stuff together.

Because in the MCU world that isn’t at all out of the question. In fact, the two of them together could potentially do more than either of them might do separately.

So I was just “chef’s kiss” to this piece of brilliance. I’m surprised other fic writers hadn’t thought to do it.

Remy snapped his hand back quickly after setting the personal box of pizza down in front of the girl, “Aie petite! Bite de food, not me! Promise ya in dis case Italian taste betta den Cajun.”

He couldn’t quite place a finger on it, but something about his stowaway seemed familiar. It left an uneasy feeling in his gut; whenever such sentiment rose, it was usually in regard to one of his many past missteps. God did he pray this girl wasn’t related to any one of them, though were the heavens still listening to him after all he had done?