#... a well-deserved break: being snarky on the net

[bluedestinybluebird]

Did I really just see an ad for a wedding session with an #oldmoney tag?

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Tony Stark Is An Emotional Man - My Unpopular(?) Take

So, I’m rewatching the MCU - because of course I am - and I just realized something watching The Avengers for the first time in probably 10 years.

While everyone believes Tony is a prick - and don’t get me wrong, he is 60% attitude in a small package - until he saves the damn planet; the statement he gives to Banner about the Hulk saving him is very heartfelt. He opens up about his own condition with the shrapnel, which is a rare moment of him being openly vulnerable - especially in the earlier phase of the MCU. He is being genuine, and he is trying to make Banner see the positives and understand that perhaps, the situation isn’t as bleak as he’s been thinking.

Tony is trying to provide help, to comfort Banner; not for his own gain but because he recognizes himself in Banner, in spite of their very different ways of handling their inner demons, and their wildly differing personalities. Because he knows what it’s like to lose your way and your self worth, and he wants to see Banner regain some sense of himself the same way he has.

It’s nice to see the kind side to Tony, and for him to expose it willingly to help a fellow team mate - and eventually friend - accept himself and his inner struggle. Tony does not get credit enough for the fact that he always did have that side to him, he just didn’t know how to show it. Even his jokes and snarky sarcasm get less “mean spirited” as he evolves, and grows as a person.

I feel like Iron Man 2 coupled with The Avengers (and of course Iron Man 3 added onto that) are a perfect portrayal of how Tony’s more outward sense of caring for people, despite his awkward sense of socializing, was already beginning to shine through the cracks.

To me, Tony Stark is by far the most compelling character because while I am not entirely like him, I recognize so much of myself and my own hardships. It’s never too late to reinvent yourself, and Tony is the perfect metaphor for that. He even directly likens himself to a phoenix in Iron Man 2, although played for laughs at the Stark Expo.

But not only that, later on in the movie when Steve insinuates that Tony is not a hero, that he would never sacrifice himself on behalf of another; that he fights for himself alone, and tells him he's basically nothing without the suit - you can see it's hurting him. Tony never really holds eye contact unless it's worth while; unless it's getting to him and requires his full attention coming from someone he truly trusts, unless it means something. You see him keep his eyes off of everybody in social situations before he knows them or they have earned his respect; you see him avoiding getting in neck deep, avoiding and brushing off comments on his distant persona.

But that insult right there; from the man his father would rave about, that's taking. You see the pain in his eyes, you see the fact that he's being torn open. You see that he's brought right back to who he once was, reliving the guilt of every mistake he ever made. All because of Steve's judgmental, misguided perception of him. Tony hides his true self; hides his suffering, and his internal grappling with his shame and guilt over every problem and death he's directly or indirectly caused. The fact that Steve Rogers - of all people, as the revered Captain America - cannot see through his surface disguise is really getting to him. I believe Tony had assumed Steve would be superhuman, and he's struck by the realization that Steve is no more human than he himself is. He has imperfections, and flaws, and jumps to conclusions.

And the fact that it is Steve, of all people, making these assumptions of him and taking these jabs at him makes it all the worse. You need only watch for Tony keeping eye contact throughout the verbal onslaught to know it's hitting home; and to know that Tony feels, Tony knows this is what people all initially think of him. He had just hoped that somebody as subjectively righteous and morally good as Steve would have the ability to see through the facade. The fact that he doesn't, and that he doesn't hold back on his opinion, is what hits the hardest.

Another point is when Fury informs the remaining team of Coulson's (faked) death. Tony doesn't look at anyone, he sits turned completely away from the conversation. You can see he's close to losing it, and if he were to speak, if he were to look up, were to make any sort of eye contact directly - he would crack. That's one thing I love about RDJ's portrayal of Tony; the fact that he is so terrified of showing his vulnerable side in front of others, even when he is grieving or blaming himself for any mishap. He feels like he has to be the strong one, like he has to keep it together. Not for himself as much as for everyone else - because if the unfeeling, arrogant Iron Man breaks, how are any of the other team mates going to make it?

If Tony of all people reveals he takes it harder than almost anyone else present, how are they going to see him as the same man? I love how it is only later in the MCU, that he exposes this side of himself more willingly and freely - like in Endgame where he mentions how he lost “the kid” while referring to Peter. He not only maintains eye contact with Steve as he admits that, he chokes up. This same theme is prevalent between them in Civil War when Tony asks Steve to lay down his guard and hand over Bucky, “because it’s us” - which is a testament to the fact that Tony has now accepted Steve as a friend and ally, and this betrayal of his hard earned trust is breaking his heart. But this early on, none of this has become a valid option to him yet. So he keeps it inside; refusing to show his true colours.

And in this moment, what does he do when it gets too much? When he's required to speak up, to acknowledge Fury's mention of The Avengers project? He ups and leaves. Because if he speaks; judging by the eyes alone (which is yet another credit to Robert) he's going to tear up. And hence, he walks out to get it under control, to reil himself back in. It’s a habit he throughout the franchise will begin to display less and less; as he learns to be more comfortable with the team as friends, as well as openly displaying his own emotions.

We see another side to this later when Steve approaches Tony alone one on one; and Tony initially attempts to make quips about how Coulson shouldn't have gone alone, how he was an outgunned idiot. Steve cuts straight to the core, and Tony snaps. You see him nearly tear up, you see how upset he truly is deep down and how he was only doing his best to play it off the only way he knows how. But as soon as he is spoken to, is forced to make an assessment, to actually talk about it; to look Steve in the eye and defend himself - that's the exposed vulnerability that is the real Tony Stark.

Behind the snarks, behind the facade, behind the charade of the arrogant, nonchalant prick he’s been trying to make the world see him for. He's as human as he could ever be; and I believe this is also the first time Steve notices that there is more to Tony than he had presumed. He too, had assumed Tony is too wrapped up in his own ego and lavish life resume to care for the smaller man. But here, he sees that Tony feels, Tony sympathizes, and Tony is deeply traumatized by the fact that he - as he feels - allowed this to happen. He sees that Tony believes this is on his conscious.

Tony's glassy eyes and emotional turmoil betray him, and even though he jumps right back to his intellect and brains as a safety net and a defense mechanism - addressing Loki's plan to hit them at home and split them apart - this is the first time Steve is exposed to Tony's determination, ability to assess and deduce the situation, as well as his belief in doing the right thing (another theme seen later in Age of Ultron regarding Tony’s creation of Ultron himself, as well as in Civil War where Tony is adamant that the Sokovia Accords are the right path to take to pay for the critical mistake Ultron turned out to be.) And as they assemble, you're struck with the realization that this has been enough of an eye opener for Steve to realize that there is more to Tony Stark than meets the eye.

And who is first to the tower, leading the charge if not Tony?

And despite his blind faith in his own skill and ability to stall Loki just long enough; there's the epitome of the courage Tony possesses. He knows that without the suit, he has no fighting chance. He knows Loki could snap his neck in the blink of an eye. And still, he never backs off. Indeed, there is an underlying death wish or at the very least a sense of him subconsciously feeling he deserves and is fated a grim deminse - but it does take unprecedented bravery to put yourself in such clear danger.

Tony Stark could be called many things; but a coward is not one of them. Sure, he does have the untested suit on hold, but he did not know 100% it was going to work as planned. He was counting on it, but you know a part of him knew it was a long shot and might not work out in the end. The suit could have been faulty, Loki could have cracked his head open; the cavalry could have been running late. Still, Tony gambles with his life and luckily barely comes out on top.

At last, we have the finale. What can be said about it, except the fact that it shows exactly who Tony truly is? He knows he's going to die - indeed he doesn't - but he is intent on that, he is accepting death and welcoming it. If it helps save the world, if it will keep Pepper and everyone he loves, everyone he knows; everyone alive safe.

Here, the decision from the first Iron Man to actually show us Tony's eyes and face behind the mask is a godsend. Seeing as RDJ is an actor who communicates so much of his emotional range with his eyes only; we are given an easy access to see everything Tony is experiencing flash through them. We see the fear, the pain, the uncertainty; the acceptance of the inevitable. We see his eyes convey the jumbled mass of conflicting emotions speeding through his mind, we see how he finally just relents and gives in to what he thinks is going to be his time of dying. His final moments.

And he has made them worthwhile, he has already achieved what Yinsen begged of him in that cave in Afghanistan - he has made his survival count. He has saved numerous lives, and if his death is what it takes - so be it. Cue the parallel to Endgame. Hell, even Age of Ultron has elements of this as previously mentioned; although that one was on Tony himself, and his irrevocable fear and flaws as a human being. However, here the team sees Tony's will to sacrifice himself firsthand, for the first time; and contrary to Steve's initial assessment that Tony would never put his life on the line for anyone but himself - he does just that.

This is what makes this movie so powerful.

Sure, it builds upon every team member’s arc; even Fury's. But it is Tony who proves himself above all; who shows the team what we the audience already knew. That he is a hero, that our past does not define us. That Tony Stark feels, that he knows right from wrong although he's still stumbling blind half the time - just like the rest of us. And it proves to Steve - to the entire team - that he is not merely the selfish, arrogant asshole only sticking up for himself. He is a man, albeit a flawed one, who cares deeply. Who feels, who mourns, who appreciates life and the people around him; and who is - behind the barrier he's placed between himself and everyone else to avoid getting hurt - extremely insecure. He is fearful, apprehensive, sensitive, and well aware of his shortcomings.

And Tony Stark is, first and foremost, a good man.

Repost from my previous blog.

[rosemarypasta]

monday afternoons ♡ 7

➤  pairing : oikawa tooru x female reader (karasuno manager)

➤  chapter warnings : slowburn (?)

➤  summary : You just recently joined the Karasuno boy’s volleyball team as their first year manager. As you grow closer to your teammates, you also unexpectedly grow closer to one of their biggest rivals, Oikawa Tooru

➤ chapter word count: 2090

♡ masterpost ♡

-ˏˋ chapter seven ˊˎ-

MONDAY

5:50 PM

“Shall we head home then?” Oikawa smiled. You grinned as a reply. He expectedly extended his hand towards you and you gladly took it.

Three months have passed and a lot has happened though nothing out of the ordinary occured. You got drowned by high school assignments and responsibilities, the Karasuno boys trained harder than ever to reach nationals, you joined them for a weekend-long training camp in Tokyo, and most importantly, you have been hanging out with the Seijoh captain on an almost weekly basis now.

You wished to hang out with him every Monday but to not blow your cover, you forced yourself to attend some Monday practices, hoping the team wouldn’t catch on to your pattern and find out what you’ve been doing all this time. Though, you tried to not worry as much, remembering how nearly half of the team are simple minded and would probably never catch on. Besides, you had a variety of excuses to use so you’ve never ditched practice without a convincing reason.

“Man, that plot twist was unreal!” Oikawa reminisced about the movie the two of you just saw as you walked back home, hands still connected. Your eyes wandered to your intertwined hands. You remembered the first time you held hands with him. It was after one of your dates a month ago and when he extended his hand for the first time you didn’t know what he was doing so you started a second too long before he burst out laughing, telling you to take his hand on the way home. You can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up when recalling that embarrassing moment but you couldn’t help it. He was the first guy you’ve done this to anyway so it was an inevitable and natural reaction.

You looked up to his bright and smiling face. Though everything seems to go smoothly, you can’t help but tend to the problem you had in mind in the back of your head. It has been over three months since he asked you to the first date but little to no romantic progress has been made. You were confident that Oikawa didn’t dislike you, afterall, he’s the one that keeps on making plans with you and the two of you surprisingly had good chemistry with each other so how has three months passed without a confession? The only thing that has changed was the fact that you two now hold hands occasionally but it wasn’t enough.

Though at times you question your own romantic standards. Perhaps you’ve watched too many romance films that it started to give you a false sense of relationships. Besides, Oikawa is the experienced one of the two so you figured the pace the two of you were going was realistic. You weren’t the protagonist of a romance novel anyway.

Maybe slow is good. Maybe in real life standards, this isn’t even that slow.

5:55 PM

“Tsukishima!” Sugawara called, tossing the ball right in front of the net.

Tsukishima complied happily. He ran up to the net, jumped with all his might and with a sharp flick of his arm, he slammed his palm hard against the ball, spiking it down to the opponent’s side of the court.

“Tsukki! Nice kill!” Yamaguchi’s voice rang from the sidelines as the tall blonde descended from the air after spiking a ball through Hinata and Kageyama’s double block. Coach Ukai’s whistle went out, announcing the victory of Tsukishima, Sugawara, and Asahi in one of their many three on three matches of the day.

Tsukishima watched his stinging red hand. It hurted but it oddly felt satisfying. He was oddly active in practice that day and he knew he wasn’t the only one who noticed his change of behaviour but no one made snarky comments so he didn’t mind. He oddly craved doing spikes more than usual as he figured hitting something or anything hard enough will ease his pent up anger. Tsukishima pretends he doesn’t know why he was feeling tense but deep down, he knew what he was feeling. He just thought voicing his actual concern would be pathetic.

Tsukishima brought the collar of his T-shirt up to his nose and wiped the sweat off his nose. His eyes wander to the barren bench beside the score board, only occupied by the raven haired manager. He clicks his tongue at the sight.

“Tsukki? What’s up?” Yamaguchi trailed his scowling best friend, his hands full with volleyballs. “Huh? What’s going on? Tsukishima’s mad?” The mini sized middle blocker shadowed the taller green haired one, a folded net in his hands. Tsukishima debated whether voicing his concern to his simpleton teammates would even benefit him in the slightest.

“He’s mad? What’s new?” The dark haired setter mumbled behind Hinata, which ticked Tsukishima off even more than before. “Well don’t you think it’s kind of suspicious how miss manager is always gone on Mondays?” His tone was sharp with no doubt in his voice but to his disappointment, his three fellow first years had a blank expression on their faces.

“You mean Y/N?” Kageyama replied to his bitter dialogue with an eyebrow raised. Tsukkishima opened his mouth to talk further but the raw stinging of his hand reminded how energy deprived he was now and figured it was impossible to get these kinds of things past their thick skulls so resolved to closing his mouth back again.

“Y/N-san is visiting the dentist today right? Daichi-san mentioned it earlier, Tsukki.” Yamaguchi cheerfully patted the taller boy on the shoulder, thinking he was informing his dear friend. The blond stared at his innocent and oblivious friend. Out of the three, he figured Yamaguchi would at least be the one to meet him halfway on his accusation but he watched as his childhood friend skipped off to the storage room to put the balls away for the day.

Tsukkishima was disappointed, but certainly not surprised.

6:02 PM

“Yeah so Iwa-chan hit me on the head a bit too hard and we had to cancel practice that afternoon cause they all had to rush their precious captain to the school infirmary!” He chuckled, to which you burst out laughing. “Ah, what a shame, we’re almost home. I was about to tell you what I made Iwa-chan do to make it up to me after all that ruckus.” Oikawa sighed as the neighbourhood park began to loom closer.

“Don’t worry, you can tell me next week.” You hummed, swinging your connected hands. “Sure.” Oikawa smiled.

It was the perfect way to end a date. The chain of giggles, the warm sunset, the cold afternoon breeze, and an unexpected visit from your volleyball teammate.

Wait.

An unexpected visit from your volleyball teammate?

Your eyes widened at the sight of the familiar towering blond boy, leaning against one of many vending machines available throughout the neighbourhood. Right as you noticed him, his eyes which were previously fixated on his phone, raised up and met yours as if he was waiting for you to arrive.

“So, how many cavities did the dentist say you have?” He spoke through gritted teeth with a rare smile on his face.

TUE 5:34 PM

The day after you got busted by Tsukishima, he has been trying to corner you all day long.

Morning practices, in between classes, lunch break, and after school practice. It was easy to avoid him during morning practices since you were around the guys and you never left Shimizu’s side and during school hours you stuck with Yachi. But now that practice is coming to an end and everyone is dispersed all around the gym cleaning up, you crossed your fingers that you didn’t get dragged out by Tsukishima.

You tried your best to clean up as fast as you could, even going out of your way to help Kageyama out with his tasks so the two of you could zoom out of practice immediately. You rushed in the storage room after finally mopping the floor clean from the sweat the boys accumulated. You were about to store the mop in your hands and drag Kageyama out of the gym but a tall looming figure appeared behind you.

“We finally get the chance to talk, hm? Y/N-san?” Tsukishima said in a low voice through gritted teeth, evidently pissed off from being avoided the whole day.

“I-Is there something wrong, Tsukishima?” You managed to breathe out, still clenching to the mop, not realizing that your knuckles had turned white. A mixture of guilt, anger and shame bubbled up. You didn’t know what to do and what to say. All you felt like doing was to cry but what for? It’s certainly not anyone’s fault but yours for lying to your team. Tears began to well up but you blinked them down. You couldn’t blame Tsukishima for being upset, you deserved a yelling or two and you knew how bad it looked from an outsider’s point of view how the scene of a towering boy cornering a seemingly crying girl. You bit your lip hard, trying to suppress the hot tears accumulating from your frustration and disappointment at yourself.

But as if the whole world was playing a prank on you, the expected happened.

“Tsukishima what the hell?” The raven haired setter barked. Tsukishima looked back with the same half-lidded look on his face, his hands still in his jacket pockets. “What?” His monotone voice spoke. He opened his mouth to speak more but instead got slammed against the wall, his shirt balled into Kageyama’s fist. The sudden action knocked the shelf beside them and made certain equipment come crashing to the ground.The chaos brought the attention of the whole team, Daichi, Hinata and Tanaka rushed into the room head first.

“Kagey-” You attempted to say.

“What the hell is up with you? Don’t think I didn’t notice you eyeing Y/N all day? I can get why you despise me but what the hell did Y/N ever do to you?” He spat, his face was just inches away from the tall middle blocker.

Tsukishima’s lips pressed into a smirk, unfazed by his teammate’s outburst. “Man, King-sama, first it was slamming Hinata to the ground and now me to the wall? I knew your words were harsh but I didn’t know your actions wouldn’t be a one time thing.” He spoke, his eyes locked on the setter. “You always complain about me not giving my all in practice but what about miss Y/N here hm? A king should always practice equality on his subjects.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I knew you were lacking some screws up there but I never knew you would be this dense.” His lips now pressed into a forced smile. He laid his hand on Kageyama’s fist and yanked it hard, forcing him to release his now wrinkled shirt. “Well, here’s a hint to get your idiotic brain a jumpstart, haven’t you ever wondered why Y/N keeps on skipping Monday practices?”

“Monday as in yesterday? Y/N had a dentist appointment right?” Hinata’s bright voice out of nowhere spoke, making the two boys’ heads turn to the overcrowded storage room entrance.

“If you count playing hooky with Oikawa-san as a visit to the dentist, then yes, sure.” Tsukishima replied through his gritted teeth, trying his best to not insult the oblivious middle blocker even more.

“Oikawa? As in Oikawa from Seijoh? How’d you know?” Nishinoya chimed in, sticking his head into the room in curiosity with his eyebrows furrowed. Everyone’s eyes turned to you. “I happen to be walking through Y/N’s neighbourhood yesterday and bumped into them all giddy and holding hands.” Everyone’s eyes turned to you. You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was admit it at this point but none of the words were coming out.

“Is that true, Y/N?” Daichi’s calm demeanor made your guilt settle deeper into your chest. You nodded slowly. You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with any of them. You feel like you have disappointed them.

“Why Oikawa? That no good pretty boy probably got other gir-”

“Tanaka!” Daichi barked.

“What if he’s just dating Y/N to get back at Kageyama?”

Hinata’s innocence blurted the thoughts that everyone feared to be true. The momentary chaos in the dark storage room came to a stop and as this realisation hit you, hot tears started to run down your cheeks.

next:  -ˏˋ chapter eight ˊˎ-

previous:  -ˏˋ chapter six ˊˎ-

[jaybeartodd]

The Darkest of Times Pt 1. -- Jason Todd x fem. reader

Summary: Scarecrow has reigned his terror over Gotham causing a citywide evacuation. Unfortunately, not everyone had the privilege of being evacuated. The Reader and her friend are managing in a bunker until he goes missing. During one of her searches she meets a certain Knight. 

Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Permanent Tags: @vividmjs @alohabucky

Warnings: cursing, violence

A/N: So this is a little story I have a few ideas for that I might progress with. It takes place during the Arkham Knight storyline but I am changing some of the events to fit the reader being there. Enjoy :)

“I’ll be right back, Pete.” After giving your cat a reassuring pet, you sling your empty bag over your shoulder and with a large huff, you open the sealed door to your hideout. This ‘hideout’ consists of an old bomb shelter from some doomsday nut. All that it took was a net of branches and leaves to cover the door. Its proximity to virtually nothing and camoflauged appearance, it certaintly made itself ideal for escaping the attention of the evildoers currently have the time of their lives in Gotham’s new situation. A ‘new situation’ created out of terror-inducing gas courtesy of Scarecrow or at least you assumed this was his MO. Suffice to say, you have not been able to check the news.

Your eyes rake over the empty field, figures being made out of shadows by the paranoia that settled itself within you that awful night. Not everyone had the courtesy of being picked up by the buses hauling citizens out of the city and not everyone had the courtesy of having somewhere to escape to. Luckily your friend, Anthony, knew about this shelter and your life has been since spent with you two huddled underground as chaos ensued above ground. A rich man’s fortune in comparison to the many who met a much different and agonizing fate. A shudder rolls through you at the memories full of screams and nightmares.

When you had first arrived, you spent about a week down there with the scarce supplies already in the bunker. The supplies depleted fast and left the two of you without any other choice than to brave the outside mayhem. Deciding that risking both of your lives at once was ludicrous, you and Anthony took turns finding new grocery stores and convenience stores to break into that weren’t completely ransacked. It was always a dangerous game but you became more relaxed as weeks went by without incident.

It was routine. It was safe. That is, until Anthony went out by himself and hadn’t returned.

Weeks flew by and worry buried itself deep in your stomach. Your failing hope aligned nicely with your scarce supplies.  This has led you here; a knife strapped securely to your thigh and determination that hardly dissipates with each trip that turns up empty.

The plan you have stuck to has you scouting the closest convenience stores and work your way out in hopes he is hiding out somewhere of which you are both familiar. This is fueled by the hopeful mentality that he is simply in hiding because it has not been safe to return to the bunker yet. This would be more convincing if it hasn’t been so long since he disappeared.

Your boot crunches over broken bottles and you wince at the noise echoing in the emptiness. You know this store has been cleaned out of any food, courtesy of you and Anthony, but a small part of you hoped Anthony would poke his head out from one of these aisles and joke about you taking too long.

But with each empty aisle, you feel your stomach plummet further.

“Looking for something, sweetheart?” a gravelly voice startles you from behind. You turn your head to expose a stout man with a menacing grin aimed at you. His outfit consists of heavy armor and plenty of weaponry to intimidate you. You swallow and give a nervous smile as you stumble back.

“Nope, I’m good,” you reply shakily and reach for your knife. He eyes your hand with a look of disdain. In a hopeful deterrent, you whip out the knife to hold it menacingly in front of you.

“Not one step closer buddy,” you say retreating towards the exit. Once you feel at a safe distance from him, you spin on your heel and sprint towards the door. Your reach for the doorknob is cut off with a loud bang and a sharp pain in your leg. The shot does its job and you crumple to the ground with a cry. Your thigh oozes blood underneath your shaking fingers from the fresh gunshot wound.

“Shouldn’t have brought a knife to a gun fight,” he chuckles and saunters towards you. You fight against the pain and start to drag yourself backwards.

“Shouldn’t have assumed you were the only one with a gun,” a robotic voice taunts. A spray of bullets immediately follows and you cover your face as they ricochet through the room. The dust settles and you slowly open your eyes to see a man place heated guns back into his holsters. He wears a strange blue helmet with glowing eyes and ears that strangely resemble a certain Bat vigilante. His towering figure is clad with heavy armor that has a display of red across the chest. The emotionless mask turns towards you as he begins walking closer. You hold up your knife with one hand while trying to scoot away with your other one.

“Back off, er, whatever the hell you are,” you mentally slap yourself for not sounding as brave as you had hoped. He stops and tilts his head curiously.

“I believe I am the man that just saved you.”

Your teeth grind heavily as you conjure up the most venomous scowl.

“I don’t need saving especially from guys who look like Optimus Prime.” A grunt escapes your lips and you stop scooting backwards when you bump into a door. Your leg hurts like a bitch and the blood trail following your movement makes your stomach do flips. The masked man chuckles an unnerving robotic laugh.

“Even if Optimus Prime can suture up a bullet wound?” His hands come up to cross against his chest, leaving the decision to you.

You let out a sigh of frustration knowing fully well that you won’t be able to make it back to the bunker like this.

He seems to take that as a go ahead and pulls out supplies from one of his pockets. His gloved fingers grasp your pant leg and rip it along where the wound is. The pain, matched with the realization of you now being officially down to one pair of pants, elicits a groan.

His hand brushes harshly against the wound as he starts wiping the blood from it. A hiss makes its way through your clamped teeth in response.

“It helps if you talk about something else,” he advises, sounding strangely sincere.

“Okay, did you really kill that guy?” you question. He raises his head and looks at you.

“And what do you think?” he challenges. Without any response from you, he returns to the task at hand.

“I think that killing is wrong.” His laugh further frustrates you into believing him to be condescending.

“You sound like someone else I know. That guy with the loose trigger finger was a criminal with horrible intentions towards you and now he is somewhere where he can’t hurt anyone.” His tone is mostly masked by the modulator but you can still detect a hint of annoyance in it.

“Oh, so you are the designated good guy that decides who deserves to li-” a scream rips through your sentence as he digs into your wound.

“Sorry, gotta get the bullet out,” he informs without an ounce of remorse. Your nostrils flare and you breathe through the pain by focusing your attention on him.

“And to answer your question, no I am not. But I am the current best option.” He pulls out the bullet and tosses it aside before pulling out a flask from another one of his million pockets.

“Best option for whom?” you ask through grimaces as he pours what you assume is alcohol to sterilize the wound. His head shakes in laughter.

“Do you always interrogate your saviors?” The dripping sarcasm seeps through the robotic voice. Your only response is to scoff as he finishes up suturing your wound.

“Hey!” you protest as he grabs ahold of your shirt and rips it. He tears off a piece and wraps it around your leg.

“Well I am certainly not ripping my favorite shirt for someone who has been chastising me since I met her.”

Without a proper retort, you stay silent and he pulls the makeshift bandage tightly to make it secure.

In a rather abrupt move, he stands up and clears his throat.

“I know people driven to crime because it is their only way out. I don’t think you can see that far from your high horse,” you speak softly. The thought driven by the painful memory of your own father falling into that exact trap and being punished for it.

“Oh trust me, I know better than anyone. Now, do you have a hole you crawl back into or something that I can take you to?” he inquires. The Arkham Knight prides himself in hiding any and all semblance of emotions. And this is no exception as he doesn’t let on to the fact that this conversation has stirred something in him that he had not felt in a long time; remorse.

“Yes, I have a place. No, you can’t take me to it,” you respond and stand up shakily. Sweat drips down your forehead and you swipe away the tearstains on your cheeks.

“You still don’t trust me?” he surmises incredulously. 

“No, because anyone still left in this hell hole of a city is usually a criminal,” you state and he takes a step towards you.

“And so does that make you one?”

“I don’t know. Do you feel the ‘good guy’ urge to shoot me and send me ‘somewhere I can’t hurt anyone’?” you shoot back while staring at him defiantly. He growls at this and turns backs around.

“Fine, good luck using your snarky ungrateful attitude and bum leg to make your way home.” he spits and strides away. With the utmost maturity, you make a face at his retreating figure. 

The weight of the situation final settles in. You hadn’t even made it two stores in before getting shot and not finding any trace of Anthony nor any supplies you are in desperate need of.

Now isn’t the time for panic or self-loathing...

Shaking yourself from a downward spiral, you search around for something to stable yourself on. Luckily the bullet didn’t hit any bone but damn did it still hurt to put weight on it. Your eye catches a metal barred piece of a shelf on the ground. In the world’s biggest stroke of luck It is just big enough for you to put your shoulder over and use as a crutch. After what feels like an exhausting eternity of never-ending pain, you manage to grab a hold of it and use it to support yourself.

“Ah-ha! Take that Optimus Prime!” you whisper victoriously. You hobble out the door but immediately stop when you hear talking.

“Where is he, Knight?” a gruff voice demands. 

“The big city,” the familiar robot responds. You peek around the corner of the building and have to take a break from exerting yourself. There is no way you are going to make it back to the bunker like this. As the men continue arguing, you search for something helpful. Your search zeroes in on a car parked on the side of the building closest to you. Bingo.

You take a deep breath and limp as fast as you can towards the vehicle. It looks like a modified tank and you have a hunch it belongs to your robotic friend. They are too distracted by their fighting that they don’t notice you slip into the car. 

“Don’t leave your car unlocked in Gotham,” you whisper while closing the door as quietly as you can. You search through the thousands of controls looking for a way to turn the stupid thing on. With a victorious exclamation, your fingers brush against the rather obvious Engine button

“That looks promising,” you laugh and punch it. The engine roars alive underneath you and the men jerk their heads towards the noise.

“Oh shit,” you exclaim and grab onto the steering wheel while slamming a foot down on the gas. All you see through the blurred objects around you is a very angry man sprinting after you shouting probably the most delicate of phrases. 

With only a few dumpsters as collateral damage, you make it to the main road. Your eyes remain pressed wide as the car pushes over a hundred miles an hour. This is definitely a far cry from your little Camry you drove in high school.

Hell, with this speed you can easily make it to a store with supplies. So that’s exactly what you do. The adrenaline of the drive numbs your pain for the moment so you carefully make your way into the grocery store and start shoving things into your bag. Once it is full, you limp back into the car and make your way towards the bunker. 

If you weren’t afraid of a certain someone using their guns on you, you would use the car to track down Anthony. But you know that will have to wait until you are healed. And who knows, your optimist side proposes, he might have returned while you were gone.

You park the car a little ways away from the bunker so that he can’t use it to find you. Your hand freezes on the bunker door when you realize it isn’t sealed. Anthony?

You carefully make your way down bubbling with relieved excitement.

“Anthony, I am so friggin’ relieved you are back. You’ll never believe what I-” Your entire body comes to a complete halt as you stare at a far cry from your familiar friend.

“Who is Anthony?” Optimus Prime himself asks while holding Pete in his hands. At a different time you might have laughed at how absurd he looked in his uniform with a small cat in his arms. An obscenely different time, maybe.

“Give me my cat back,” you demand, staring him down icily.

“Give me my car back,” he retorts while holding the cat closer.

“Are you seriously holding my cat hostage?” you fume but he remains stoic.

“Fine! Your car is parked about a half mile that way,” you point, “I never planned on keeping it! I just needed a way to get home/ get supplies. How did you find me anyways?”

He sets the cat down and Pete immediately gravitates towards the cat food you have stuffed into your bag. You set it down, keeping an eye on the large presence occupying your living space. Secretly, you crave human contact you have been deprived of for weeks. But did it have to be this guy?

“I know where most of the shelters are and don’t remember seeing you in any so then I did a quick scan of nearby bunkers and voila. You know, grass is a pretty shitty cover,” he responds smugly. You take an angry step towards him but immediately regret it and resort to sitting on one of the beds instead, dragging your bag with you. This is all done with the deduction that if he wanted to shoot you, he would have done so already.

You begin taking the contents out and dish out some of the cat food onto the floor. Pete walks up and starts ravenously licking it.

“What are you still doing here?” you ask, looking up at his still figure annoyed. 

“Why don’t you stay in one of the shelters? They have resources so you don’t have to go out and get yourself shot,” he says softly. You scoff with a roll of your eyes.

“Yeah and be a burden to them. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, clearly.”

“Plus,” you continue, ignoring his comment, “Where do you think the first place Scarecrow is going to attack?”

“He won’t attack the shelters,” he responds coldly.

“And how would you know that?” You stop sifting through your bag and stare inquisitively at him. He clears his throat.

“I just do.” He remains tight-lipped causing you to sigh in frustration.

“Well, great conversation. Thank you for patching me up but don’t you think you should get back to shooting criminals with your self-righteous pistols?”

His helmet swivels around as you can only guess means he is looking around until they land on the empty bed next to yours.

“Who is Anthony?” he questions. pacing through the small space. An idea suddenly occurs to you.

“He is a friend of mine. You haven’t happened to see him have you? He is my age, a couple of inches taller than me, brown curly hair, a bit scrawny?” He stares at you for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“No, can’t say I have seen him.” Your face falls into a frown and he feels the sudden urge to turn your mood.

“But I can keep an eye out for him,” he suggests, immediately lifting your features.

“Seriously? Thank you so much. I would owe you a lot,” you gush and he snorts.

“So I save you from being assaulted and then stop you from bleeding out and you steal my car. I offer to keep an eye out for some guy and you ‘owe me’. I feel like we passed owing me awhile back, Doll.” Your nose scrunches at the nickname. 

“Yeah well I am not forgetting that you kill people.” you bite back.

“I don’t expect you to,” he says so softly it sounds like a thought. And with that, he turns on his heel and starts climbing out of the bunker.

“Wait!” he freezes. “What do I call you? You know, besides Optimus Prime.”

“Jay.” The name is spoken so quickly and so clipped, you barely register it. You sit there completely dumbfounded and a little whoozy from the day’s turmoil. A feeling stirs within you that seems to say he didn’t really mean to tell you his real name. 

[inkandblade]

Hello!! I love your work!! For the prompt thing, Stiles is used to his friend living in the apartment below him. He's still a little tipsy and forgets that death eyebrows Derek moved in downstairs, and breaks into Derek's place so he can make a greasy carb-loaded breakfast to share. If this is too involved maybe Derek waking up to Stiles drawing/writing on his back?

Stiles was being very quiet. Very, very quiet—as if he was hunting waaaaabits. He stifled a snort and felt his magic tingle out into his nose and fingers and feet to help muffle the sounds he was making. The floor in Jackson’s living area, unlike Stiles’ in the apartment above, was polished wood. Stiles slipped his shoes off and almost fell over as he bent down to put them as neatly as he could near the door. Jackson had a strict no shoes in the house rule.

Luckily he also had a Stiles makes the best breakfasts on the planet rule, and kept his fridge stocked accordingly. Who could say no to their handsome, magic upstairs-neighbour making them a handsome, magic breakfast on a Sunday morning?

Actually, someone who’d pulled last night could: Stiles screwed up his eyes and thought very carefully and reached his magic out towards the bedroom… Just one heartbeat. He managed to stop himself from crowing, ‘All is clear!’

Stiles couldn’t resist sliding in his socks towards the kitchen, though. He collided with the counter top with a resounding oomph. He didn’t manage to retain his snort this time, but he was pretty sure the sound didn’t travel; a Spark was an awesome thing to have when trying to hide your tipsy shenanigans—no matter how delicious—from a grumpy werewolf.

Stiles pulled the one of the blinds out a bit and saw that there was a tiny slip of sunlight just showing through the long lines of the high rises outside. He turned around and focused very carefully on the clock on the microwave. He had approximately fifty-five minutes to make his mom’s from-scratch hash browns, bacon, and chocolate-chip pancakes. The coffee machine for some reason looked different to the last time Stiles had broken in to cook breakfast, but it was set to the usual time.

Jackson was going to loooooooooove Stiles to the moooooon and back.

Stiles didn’t even try to stifle his giggles this time.

He did what he had to with the potatoes and extra fancy cheese, figured that the super-duper sourdough would make super-wonderful toast, and mixed a little extra something-something into the pancake batter in the form of a pick-me-up spell. Even if Jackson hadn’t had a big night last night, and even if he was still a bit of a prick, he worked hard. Even assholes deserved nice surprises sometimes. Stiles’ mom had always said that being kind didn’t hurt anyone.

Stiles set everything in the fridge to keep—naked as the Saran wrap wasn’t in its usual spot—then put his ass on one of Jackson’s stupid, designer kitchen stools and his head on the marble bench-top. It was far, far more comfortable than usual. Ten or fifteen minutes worth of sleep wasn’t enough, but it would do for now.

♠

The growl was expected, but didn’t sound right. Stiles opened his eyes and blinked into the morning sun and was certain that Jackson would have told him if he’d become an Alpha in the last couple of weeks. They hadn’t seen each other since the beginning of the month, but hell, that wasn’t the kind of thing you kept from someone who relatively-regularly broke into your kitchen.

It might have been the Alpha in the voice that cinched Stiles’ understanding, though. “Who the fuck are you?!”

But, really was it the voice? It was probably that this guy was, and no offence to Jackson ‘cause even if he was hot, and he was, he had nothing on this guy. Stiles sucked in a breath and tried to make his thoughts come back to something that resembled coherent. The hot Alpha in front of him was wearing designer jockey-shorts and a murderous scowl. It was entirely possible that Stiles was still quite drunk, because both of those things seemed absurdly sexy.

Stiles tried for a smooth introduction, but all that came out of his mouth was a squeak. The werewolf’s eyebrows rose in tandem and all of a sudden Stiles understood. He sat back a little too quickly and was lucky that the wards he’d put into the walls hadn’t been taken with all Jackson’s stuff—the magical safety-net righted him back onto the stool and Stiles was glad the counter was there between him and the Alpha.

He couldn’t understand how he’d forgotten that Jackson got that out-of-the-blue transfer to the other side of the country. Well, he could, but he couldn’t figure out how he was going to explain to hot-and-murderous-red-eyes that his magic sometimes fucked with his memory if there was tequila involved.  

The Alpha was still glaring, but hadn’t moved, so Stiles decided he should probably try to speak again, before the guy did come closer.

“I’m,” Stiles swallowed as the Alpha wrinkled his nose. Morning-after-tequila breath was likely not an attractive thing to such a sensitive scent organ. “I’m your upstairs-neighbour, and I seem to have made what I’m hoping isn’t actually a fatal error.” One of the eyebrows dropped, just slightly. Stiles’ brain declared that a good sign. “Full disclosure. I’m a Spark. I set up the wards on this place for the previous tenant. We’ve known each other since kindergarten. I’ve been breaking in on every other Sunday morning for breakfast for a couple of years. The amount I drank last night,” the ‘wolf’s nostrils flared again, “must have short-circuited my brain? I honestly forgot there was no Jackson here to eat my happy-face pancakes and drool over my hash browns anymore.”

The Alpha’s stomach made a very distinct noise, and his eyes faded from red to something Stiles wished he could describe. The guy glanced at his stomach and back up again, a look of betrayal pinking his cheeks. He breathed in quickly and seemed to regain his composure, saying with a stone-like face, “It’s your magic in the walls.”

That was possibly, Stiles thought, supposed to be a question. He should at least make an attempt to answer it.

“Yes. Wards. It’s what I do for a living. I can have them removed for you?” It was not something he should be doing after someone moved into a place, it usually had to happen before someone moved in, or they wouldn’t be able to stay in the apartment or house. That, well. That confused Stiles enough that he felt his brain starting to try to claw its way out from underneath the remaining fog of the alcohol.

If the Alpha hadn’t had the old wards removed, he shouldn’t be able to be here. If he had had them removed and replaced, then Stiles shouldn’t have been able to break in.

Stiles reached out with his magic again. They were definitely still his wards, and they hadn’t been altered. The Alpha huffed and Stiles realized that he must have his drunk thinky-face on.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” The Alpha looked far too amused for Stiles’ liking. If the wards on this place had failed and Stiles couldn’t feel that, then he had a major, major problem. “Hey,” the guy had taken a step closer and was waving a hand in Stiles’ direction. His nostrils were flaring in and out. “Breathe. I’m not going to hurt you, and there is nothing wrong with your wards.”

That snapped Stiles out of it, but not enough to form a coherent sentence. “But—”

“Jackson Whittemore is my cousin. He was born human, and then bitten by my Alpha mother.” He paused a few moments, possibly to let that sink in, then restated, “We share both our bloodline and biteline. That’s why your wards haven’t caused me any problems.”  

This time Stiles’ brain caught up with what was being said. He breathed out a sigh of relief and decided not to dwell on the fact that the Alpha’s nose screwed up again. Instead, Stiles decided he should probably introduce himself.

“I’m Stiles Stilinski.” He swallowed and figured that he should try to exit, stage-left, as quickly as he could. He let his mouth move as quickly as it would. “I’m very sorry for breaking into your apartment, and I promise I won’t do it again. I made pancake batter and cheesy-hash browns. The spell on the pancakes is benevolent, I swear. The potato should be fried in a mixture of butter and olive oil or they won’t taste right. I’ll replace everything, I promise.” He glanced back at the fridge. “I will need to know where to buy that cheese, though, ‘cause I have no idea.”

“You made hash browns with Cacio Bufala?” The Alpha, who Stiles still didn’t know the name of, blinked like a stoned owl. He didn’t actually look angry, though, just incredulous.

“I,” Stiles hoped his smile looked sincere, not snarky. “Yes?”

The guy laughed, and Stiles really, really wanted to know his name now. He had the most amazing smile, and his eye were lit up with something other than the Alpha power they’d had before. The fact that the man was basically naked wasn’t helping any—chiselled abs and power-house thighs and a thick treasure trail and lickable clavicles, and that was all without thinking about the dude’s face. Any moment now the guy was going to smell Stiles’ arousal over the stink of his morning-after-tequila breath. The guy twisted around as he reached for another one of the blinds and shit.

The tattoo on the guy’s back. Jackson’s Alpha was Talia Hale. Talia Hale only had one son. Stiles’ brain was definitely in danger of exploding. The man in front of him was pretty famous. He was an Alpha because he had, at the age of fourteen, ripped out the throat of the guy who’d tried to assault his older sister. Stiles was, quite possibly, lucky to be alive. Then again, the traitorous part of his brain supplied, Jackson always maintained that his cousin was a fluff-ball in disguise, once you got to know him. Stiles always assumed that Jackson was down-talking the guy ‘cause he was jealous of his cheekbones or something.

The Alpha turned back and sniffed again just as the coffee machine beeped that it was ready. He flicked his eyes down over Stiles’ stale clubbing outfit and back up, hovering a moment over Stiles’ neck. “I’m going to get you a cup of wake-up coffee, and then you are going to make me pancakes and absurdly expensive hash browns, and once we’re eating you can tell me more about the wards. If the food’s good enough, I won’t have you spell yourself out of them.”

Stiles nodded and managed to squeak out, “Deal.”

“I’m Derek, by the way.”

♠

Expensive cheese name brazenly lifted from a Mental Floss article. Prompt me or Tempt me.

[ashnadir]

lasirenaelena:

There was no way she could prevent herself from rolling her eyes when he retorted that tuna was red. He was teasing her again, that much she knew. He knew what she meant, but he was just being an eel, or even a snail. Probably closer to a snail, slippery and evasive.

“Oh yeah, if the dance isn’t good you can reject him, no problem. Well, there’s no knowing how he’ll take it. Usually they’re pretty gracious and will back off, but there are also the few who get violent and attack the mermaid. She’s rarely ever alone though, so the merman who attacks her usually gets messed up by her pod.” One of the benefits of always being with the pod is the protection they offered. “It’s pretty much the same if a mermaid wants to pursue a merman. And you’d be surprised at how much same-sex … sex happens when it comes to merms. It’s usually more casual though, since there’s no chance of conception.” Usually the dancing and displays of strength were reserved for mating that would result in a child. If a merm just wanted to have fun, they didn’t really see the point in wasting a lot of time gathering stones and kelp when they could be doing other things. “My pod was primarily female so,” Elena smiled slyly, “you can just imagine.” Of course there were plenty of mermaids who would mate with landfolk since it was sometimes easier to just go on land and find a willing male, than to swim for miles before finding a pod that had a few mermen.

Elena laughed along with Iann when he insisted about mermaid contraceptives. “Well, the most common one is probably seaweed. You just kind of,” all this talk of sex and contraceptives were finally starting to get the better of her, and a slight blush began to creep onto her cheeks, “well, we basically just put the seaweed… in there before it happens. Sometimes we use sponges, but seaweed is the most popular.”

As they walked along, a tree with a low hanging branch passed overhead, Elena had to dip her head out of the way to avoid it. She reached up and plucked a leaf from the branch as she passed, rubbing it between her fingers as Iann explained the smoking thing. “Then you should stop, if it’s not good for you.” If he didn’t even want her to try it, then why was he doing it to himself? “I’ve not seen it before. We actually tend to avoid fishermen, despite all the stories that say otherwise. It wouldn’t do well to get caught up in a net. But you know what, I think I might have seen something like it in a few shipwrecks, but I never knew what it was for.”

This was great, listening to Elena talking about all these relationships, mating practices.  She made it all seem very matter-of-fact as well, which Iann (in his humanness and human understanding) could appreciate.  "Too bad, huh?  I know some amphibians and fishes who can change their sex just to reproduce, then return to their regular state.  Or stay in that new state,"  Iann said with a grin, then raised a hand. 

"Ahhhh not that everything should be about procreation of course.  Pleasure is just as good.  And in some cases it's better, depending on the pair doing the mating, am I right?"  He said with a snarky smirk, broadly insulting people who didn't deserve to raise children.  

"Oh ho ho, you little hedonist,"  Iann chuckled, when Elena got all sly about her own relationships within her pod.  He elbowed her with a laugh.  To Iann, hedonism wasn't a bad thing, after all.  Everyone deserved a little pleasure and fun, so long as it wasn't harming anyone else.  And once the contraceptive talk started and poor Elena started to blush a bit,  Iann decided he should cut her a break.  "Well, if there's anything you need to find out about human hoochie-coochie, you let me know, hm?  I'll be very frank about it."  Iann had no compunctions about sex as a theory and an abstract, believing strongly in sex education for all.  But he couldn't help adding with a smirk.  "So you can blush some more."

Iann shrugged.  "Haven't you ever done stuff that's not good for you, but you like it so you do it anyway?  Lecture all you like, Ms Morality Mermaid," he said, tapping the smoked ashes out, and grinding it so nothing was lit anymore. 

 "Man...I should look into what ships sank around Soapberry.  Then if I find anything interesting, you and I could take a trip, hm?  Treasure-hunting!" Iann said.  "But not for pipes." 

salted coffee | open