sifting through my inbox and i forgot i put this in there as a draft. this is how pietro and wanda's relationship in mcaau could have gone, but they suffer so much in canon that i didn't want them to be like that.
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sifting through my inbox and i forgot i put this in there as a draft. this is how pietro and wanda's relationship in mcaau could have gone, but they suffer so much in canon that i didn't want them to be like that.

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found this sitting in my drafts. this is a reaction post i was gonna do after the parahuman reveal in LV, but i didnât finish it in time. it takes place about a week and a half - two weeks after the news breaks.
"what happened to your eye, man?"
itâd take less effort to raise jesus than it would to lift your head from where it hangs over the back of your seat, which is why you only glance sideways at your best friend and frat bro as he slides into the spot next to you. with the exception of your girlfriend, marcus has seen you stressed out, run down, hungover, and generally worse for wear more than anyone over the years â if heâs asking, then whatever it is must look beyond shitty.
when your only response is to arch an eyebrow, which takes far more effort than it reasonably should, he opens his laptop, angling it towards you. the built-in web cam sharpens into focus on your gaunt face. you stare blankly at your time-delayed reflection in the window. the white of your left eye is dark and bloody â burst capillaries, probably from scrubbing so goddamn hard in an effort to stay focused. lately, youâve been so exhausted that your body has apparently deemed it a conservation of energy to just fuck depth perception and shut down one side of your vision altogether. even when you were driving, you could barely able to keep both eyes open longer than a few seconds before one would flutter shut again. against the green of your iris, it looks a little like christmas jizzed in your eye, and the bags youâre sporting beneath could probably walk at fashion week.
"work," you slur, stretching your long legs out as much as possible under the seat in front of you. the lecture hall is barely a third full and you doubt anyone else is coming. campus has been something of a ghost town since the news broke about the existence of non-humans, with UNLVâs population reflecting the state of the country at large â a lot of students have gone home, wherever that might be, to be with their families, whether out of fear for their safety or to escape the chaos in the city. the ones that stayed are taking sides, religious or social or their own.
you? youâre here to sleep, something youâd ideally be doing at home, but have essentially given up on ever since the media hounds figured out where you live. unlike bran, you donât have a property-wide, AI-protected security system to encourage them to fuck off.
to be fair, you and mona could just move to the primm compound â bran made you a standing offer the second the first reporters started popping up â but the fact of the matter is you havenât actually seen your boss in person since their arrest, and from what little youâve spoken with them on the phone, just to report in and keep them updated on the status their empire, youâd prefer to keep it that way. like a vast majority of the world-conscious population, you watched the trial via livestream and heard what bran agreed to submit themselves to.
maybe it makes you a coward for not wanting to bear witness to the aftermath of that kind of suffering â it definitely makes you an asshole, but thatâs not exactly breaking news â but the thought of it makes you uncomfortable on more than just a moral level. if you were poetic, youâd say it feels like cold hands gripping your rib cage, squeezing until youâre struggling just to breathe normally.
(thatâs how you described it to mona, the one time you bothered to mention it. she said thatâs what an anxiety attack feels like. because of course you wouldnât know.)
so monaâs been staying with salem and ringer, and youâve been making due with the very legitimate excuse of working your ass off keeping everything running. societal upheaval, it turns out, is amazing for business, which makes sense when you stop to think about it -- you were only eight years old when the whole Y2K scare happened, but you can remember it was pretty much all anyone talked about for months, all that was shown when your parents turned on the tv in the evening. police with their riot control gear, religious cults with their signboards and koolaid, apocalypse survival nuts with their kits and premiums on underground bunker real estate â mass economic exploitation at its finest. as of this morning, stock for caesars entertainment alone was up 16.81%. every hotel on the strip is booked out past january and traffic coming in from mccarran and i-15 is more or less rush hour status around the clock. the lifeblood of vegas surges, people rushing to spend their life savings in a frenzy of desperate hedonism. after all, you canât take it with you, right?
the corner of your mouth quirks in spite of your exhaustion. if this were a competition between the demonic paragons (and youâre not entirely sure it isnât), greed is totally winning right now. you aim to keep it that way â if nothing else, at least you can offer bran this.
"demons, man," marcus shakes his head â clearly heâs doing some contemplating of his own. "thatâs some anime shit."
you snort quietly. âscared?â
"youâre not? no, of course youâre not." he rests his chin on his fist, studying you semi-accusingly. "you knew the whole time, didnât you? that was your boss on tv."
you shrug one shoulder. âfirst rule of fight club.â
"yeah, âcause fight club totally wasnât a fucked up cult or anything," he mutters, before sobering. "people are saying itâs the end of the world. what ifâ"
"mr. baxter and mr. young," your professor intones from the front of the lecture hall, hand hovering in front of a whiteboard full of bullet points you should probably be writing down. "youâre aware you donât have to be here right now.â
marcus has the good graces to appear sheepish on both your behalves. âsorry professor.â
you close your eyes as soon as she turns back to the board â itâs probably because youâre half dead, but her fiery aura is kind of hurting your head today.
"trust me," you murmur, just loud enough for marcus to hear. "if the end of the world comes, youâll know." you pull your hood low over your face in the universal gesture of take-notes-for-me. "wake me up when lectureâs over."
attempting to clear out some drafts, so glasgow au thing i started a longass time ago and never finished.
Bran is the first and only one to notice when Gordon starts disappearing in the middle of the night. It's more surprising than immediately concerning, because Gordon is usually the first one out, and between his anemia and all the long hours awake at the wheel, he sleeps like the dead they're fighting metaphorically should and unfortunately don't.