#Simone Verde

[storiearcheostorie]

Separate dalla seconda guerra mondiale: agli Uffizi l’"Incoronazione della Vergine" del Beato Angelico ritrova la sua predella

Separate dalla seconda guerra mondiale: agli Uffizi l’"Incoronazione della Vergine" del Beato Angelico ritrova la sua predella

Redazione Si ricompone dopo molti decenni alla Galleria degli Uffizi un capolavoro del Beato Angelico: l’antica pala con l’Incoronazione della Vergine. Il dipinto è stato infatti appena riunito con la sua predella (raffigurante lo Sposalizio e i Funerali della Vergine), dalla fine della seconda guerra mondiale custodita sempre a Firenze, ma nel Museo di San Marco. I visitatori possono adesso…

[amethvysts]

ai minhas divas eu fico assim 🤩🤪😋 ao falar de carioquices, principalmente futebol (que eh o futuro tema da minha pesquisa de grad). e agora que a minha maior diva @idollete trouxe o enzo torcedor de time pequeno, pensei neste grande GOSTOSO com essas camisas aqui:

e estou tremendo na base. tipo assim, vejo ele como um cara que não torce pra time nenhum pelo elenco ou pela atuação atual, mas só pela história. agora: impossível o nosso enzo!esquerdomacho não torcer pelo time que tinha o castor de andrade como patrono. é muito a carinha dele frequentar os jogos do campeonato carioca com essa camisa, uma bermudinha, tênis adidas e uma pochete amarrada na cintura, junto com o óculos. look instagrammavel pra sofrer pelas pontuações humilhantes ❤️🤍

[comicchannel]

DC Multiverse Green Lanterns Simon Baz (Collector Edition) - McFarlane Toys

Link para compra BR: *Possível importar pelo Link abaixo

Buy here: https://amzn.to/3NQ4bwP

[adrianagoni]

Descubriendo la violencia de la dictadura en Chile. Ramona Wadi.

Lo que sobresale de manera prominente en las narrativas sobre la dictadura chilena es la red de complicidad y el correspondiente silencio entre los militares y los agentes secretos de la dictadura. Los militares se han negado en gran medida a cooperar en

Descubriendo la violencia de la dictadura en Chile La indescriptible violencia en las cárceles de Tejas Verdes y Cuartel Simón Bolívar continúa atormentando a Chile hoy en día. ASUNTOS INTERNACIONALES MILITAR INFORMES FECHA: 12 DE SEPTIEMBRE DE 2022 El 11 de septiembre tiene un significado especial en Chile: es la fecha en la que el tristemente célebre dictador Augusto Pinochet lleg�� al…

[eowynstwin]

CARTEL PROTECTION

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader, John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader, Alejandro Vargas x f!Reader (unrequited but also kind of requited, it's complicated) Rating: All Ages Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: None Author's Notes: The first chapter in a series that I will likely not get to, but it's fun and I thought y'all might enjoy it. Who knows, if there's enough interest I might write a connected fic or two rather than a whole thing. I hope y'all can excuse how very rough this is, because it is literally the very first draft.

The tarmac of Los Vaqueros Cuartel General is hard and hot beneath the soles of your boots, bouncing the heat of the Mexican sun back upwards toward its origin, and as you approach the truckside powwow you can feel a fine sheen of perspiration beginning to form on your bare arms. It’s hot, far too hot for late October, and you don’t imagine yourself not sweating for however long this operation is going to take.

“I need you in Las Almas,” Laswell had said over the phone, intruding on an appointment with your manicurist. “Something is going on, and I don’t have enough information.”

“Sure,” you’d replied, regarding the woman opposite you trying to hide the fact that she was listening in. The nail tech wasn’t a plant, you were reasonably certain, but only an amateur talked freely about your kind of work. “I’d love to see Alejo and his kids again.”

You put two fingers (nails painted with tiny sugar skulls) to your tongue and cab-whistle at the group of three men to catch their attention. None of them flinch, and as they all turn to look at you, you realize immediately that this job is going to be more bothersome than you’d assumed, because the skull-plated mask that turns your way is not, as it were, a new face.

You remember the iron smell of staunched blood and the full brunt of his weight driving the both of you to the ground as you’d tried to hold him up. You remember the drench of warm Kastovian rain and hydroplaning in a stolen truck across the border into Georgia. You remember watching three hours of surgery. You had not stayed to see the fourth.

It shows immediately in his eyes as you meet them. The man you only know as Ghost remembers too.

You are not in the business of dragging baggage around. “Colonel Vargas!” you call, waving.

“Alma!” Alejandro exclaims, a wide smile breaking the severe lines of his angular face. “Laswell said you were coming, but I didn’t expect you so soon!”

As you join the men, you let him hug you, unable to keep from grinning at his easy affection. Alejandro—Alejo to you—is another familiar face.

You remember reheated mole verde on rice in the General kitchen, tiny sips of mezcal as he waxed poetic about what he could do with the full stock he kept in the larders of his fabled ranch. He’d looked at you warmly then, as warmly as he looks at you now when you release your embrace.

You hold his warmth precious, but do not respond to it.

“Someone has to be the brains of this operation,” you say, and wave to Rudy in the truck.

“It’s Alma, then?” asks the soldier standing next to Ghost, in a brogue that stands out as much as Ghost does.

John “Soap” MacTavish is the only personage you do not know. Laswell had given you a very sparse brief before you’d headed toward Mexico, so you already know that he’s both effective in the field and resolutely Scottish, but it only takes you one glance to get a notion of his character. The mohawk says more about him than he probably could ever say about himself, and the stunning blue eyes tell you the rest.

You glance at Ghost. Laswell had told you about Soap, and said you knew everyone else. Damn her. She isn’t getting a Christmas card this year.

“Sometimes,” you answer the Scot, looking back at him. Alma, of course, is not your real name.

Ghost snorts. He doesn’t say anything, but you know what he’s thinking.

So you say it out loud, smiling at the sergeant congenially. “Sometimes it’s Katya. Sometimes it’s something else. Maybe I’d be Mary, if we were in Glasgow.”

He smiles back immediately. Oh yes, Soap MacTavish is a dangerously open book. “Queen of Scots, aye? I see how it is.”

“CIA shit,” grumbles Ghost. Then, to business, “Where’s Hassan?”

-

Las Almas is as beautiful as you remember it, colorful and lively as the Fuerzas Especiales convoy passes from the countryside into the city’s sprawling outskirts.

“So how do you know Alejandro?” Soap asks, looking at you over his shoulder. He’d volunteered to take the furthermost seat in the back, which was really more of a padded bench facing out the window, in order to give you the more comfortable chair.

You meet his gaze. The SAS needed to hang a warning sign on him—DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT—because close up, the jewel-bright azure is even more arresting than it had been at a distance.

“I met him on vacation,” you reply, lifting one brow and hopefully hiding the little jolt in your breath that the proximity inspired.

Rudy and Alejandro both laugh at that. You chance a peek at Ghost, who’s sitting beside you in the back row of the SUV, and find him looking resolutely forward. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

“Anyone who comes to Las Almas for vacation is either too stupid to live past the first day,” says Rudy, eyes crinkling as they meet yours in the rear view mirror, “or just crazy enough to have a good time.”

You smile back—it wasn’t the first time he’d said that about you.

“In truth, we’ve ended up helping each other a few times, haven’t we?” says Alejo. “The US is always worried about narcos crossing the border, and Fuerzas Especiales is always in need of good intelligence.”

It had been your impeccable Spanish that had convinced Kate to stick you across the border. Her superiors had been doing their augury, reading the bird formations in the sky and sifting through the proverbial entrails, and had decided via these machinations that rather than let you monitor Verdansk post-Armistice as you’d originally been tasked (your Russian is also impeccable), you should instead worry about cartels on the Texas border.

You sneak a glance at Ghost again. He’s looking at you this time, eyes narrowed.

The reassignment had come to you at the third hour.

“Hopefully ‘Alma’ can help again, then,” he says, and it is very strange to hear that name on his tongue, to hear the syllables bend around the brassy, rumbling Manc that had comfortably used another name for you entirely.

Verdansk. A hollow shell of a building, its veins somehow still pumping water and electricity. His mask, pulled up over his nose, revealing a hard line of a mouth as he sipped bitter black coffee, the corners twisting as he was unable to hide how much he hated it.

“You should be burned for this by itself, Katya,” he’d grumbled.

“You do groceries next time,” you’d replied pleasantly. “See if the shelves magically fill with boxes of Tetley when you’re there.”

“Fuck Tetley. Even this swill is better than that.”

He still drank the whole cup.

“Think I prefer Mary,” says Soap, settling against your seat back.

The brogue brings you out of the memory and back into the present. Verdansk is half a world away. So is the Ghost you’d playacted domesticity with. You needed to make room in your head for missiles, rogue Quds Force majors, and enterprising narcos. The job had no care for anything else.

“And that’s why I’d choose it,” you say, mimicking his posture and sitting back. The Scot has no place in any of your memories, not in Kastovia and not in Las Almas—and you’re thankful, in that moment, that he’s there. “People are willing to do things for someone that sounds like one of their own.”

You hear the smile in his voice as he responds, “Can’t think of a man who wouldn’t do anything for you, bonnie—”

“Alright, sergeant!” Ghost snaps.

The reprimand surprises you both, and you lapse into awkward, contrite silence. Alejo meets your eyes in the rear view, concerned, and you give them an exaggerated roll.

The need to ground yourself notwithstanding, it was a bad idea—and, you think, massively trashy—to flirt right in front of him.

You slouch in your chair. Laswell is getting coal for Christmas. The grossest, sootiest stuff you can find.

[jolalibrary]

thank you to all those who have submitted lovely tracks so far for @goodwithcheese and i's coffee shop.

got a song to add? let us know here or slip a note into the inbox

here's our current playlist:

Coffee - Chappell Roan

Café con Leche - Simon Grossmann

Coffee and TV - Blur

Steal Your Heart - Augustana

Rooms On Fire - Stevie Nicks

She Makes Me Laugh - The Monkees

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

Purple Rain - Prince

Wild Horses - The Sundays

Do or Die - 30 Seconds to Mars

Missile - Dorothy

Back in my Body - Maggie Rogers

I'd Do Anything For Love - Royal Philharmonic Orchestra

Wicked Game - Tenacious D

Farts Ain't Funny - Jomo and the Possum Posse

Mala Gente - Juanes

Vivir Sin Aire - Maná

Vivir Asi Es Morir de Amor - Nathy Peluso

Dreams - Fleetwood Mac

Beautiful Day - U2

Feeling Good - Avicii

I Feel You - Depeche Mode

You Can Leave Your Hat On - Joe Cocker

Shrike - Hozier

Chihiro - Billie Eilish

Bed Chem - Sabrina Carpenter

Nights - Frank Ocean

Slow Dance - Clairo

Let The Sun In - Wallows

Piano Man - Billy Joel

I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues - Elton John

I Want to Know Your Plans - Say Something

Raspberry Beret - Prince

How Loud Your Heart Gets- Lucius

AOK - Tai Verdes

[tecontos]

Dando gostoso pro amigo do meu filho (Desde Agosto-2023)

By; Simone

Ola, me chamo Simone, sou separada, tenho 46 anos. Estou a 3 anos acompanhando aqui o TeContos e amo os contos postado aqui. A cerca de 2 meses tenho me aventurado com um sexo bem gostoso com o amigo do meu filho e vou contar.

Era um final de tarde quando meu filho chegou com um grupo de amigos, entre o eles um que eu ainda não conhecia, loirinho, olhos verdes uns 21 anos aproximadamente. Como sempre, todos foram me cumprimentar com um beijo, mas ele se manteve afastado. Fiz uma brincadeira, dizendo que pra me beijar não precisava pagar, ele ficou vermelho de vergonha, achei uma graça aquela timidez.

Todos passaram a tarde em casa, rindo, ouvindo músicas. Quando passava por eles notava que Diego, nome do loirinho, me acompanhava com o olhar. Isso despertou em mim certo orgulho: pensei no esforço da academia, dietas e cuidados para me manter com tudo em cima. Além de orgulho senti até um pouco excitação, pois aqueles olhos tinham alguma coisa a dizer.

À noite depois de um banho, fui me deitar, sentia uma sensação gostosa e estranha. Quando relaxei e fechei os olhos relembrei do olhar do Diego me observando e quando dei por mim já estava me masturbando, e imaginando qual seria o gosto do pau, da boca e até de seu gozo. Desejei sentir seu pau me penetrando fundo e com força. Gozei.

Quase todas as semanas meu filho levava os amigos em casa, mas Diego voltou apenas uma duas ou três vezes e desapareceu. Achei uma pena, pois sabia que o deixava incomodado e isso me enchia de tesão.

Passado quase um mês, meu filho e o grupo de amigos foram passar o final de semana fora e fiquei sozinha. Ia aproveitar pra ler, descansar, cuidar de mim. No início da noite estava deitada no sofá quando a campainha tocou, abri a porta e dei de cara com Diego. Fui logo respondendo que Paulo, meu filho, tinha ido viajar. Diego disse:

- Eu sei e foi por isso que eu resolvi vir aqui”.

Perguntei por que e nem respondeu foi entrando. Essa atitude dele acendeu um alerta imediatamente. Sem nem pensar peguei-o pela mão e o levei para o quarto. Ele me acompanhou, parecia hipnotizado, enquanto tirava sua roupa ouvia-o respirar cada vez mais forte. Meu coração parecia que is sair pela boca, queria logo descobrir o que ele tinha pra me dar. Quando tirei sua cueca e deparei com seu pau percebi que estava diante o cacete mais bonito que já tinha visto, em volta tinha um pouquinho de pentelhos bem clarinhos, a ponta era rosadinha e era grande, grosso, comecei a sugar com tanta vontade, passava a língua envolta, mordia a pontinha bem de leve voltava a chupar.

Que delícia! Poderia ficar assim a noite toda. Não, acho que não. Eu queria mais. A essa altura minha buceta estava bem molhada, e eu queria meter, tirei a camiseta e a calcinha e fomos pra cama. Diego com todo carinho abriu minhas pernas e começou a me lamber, primeiro ao redor dos lábios, depois começou a morder meu clitáris, eu me contorcia toda louca de vontade de ser logo fudida por aquele caralho delicioso. Eu rebolava na língua dele e pedia pra ele meter mais fundo.

Quando eu já não aguentava mais ele atendeu meu pedido e senti o seu pau grande e grosso arrombar minha buceta, ele metia com tanto vigor e sem machucar que me enlouquecia. Gozei, mas queria mais eu pedia mais e ganhava mais, ele não cansava. Na quarta vez que estávamos fodendo ainda como se fosse a primeira ele me virou de quatro e ao invés de me foder Diego começou a lamber meu cuzinho, novamente me levando a loucura até o ponto de eu pedir pra ele meter.

Senti apenas a ponta de seu pênis que foi forçando até que entrou todo e seu movimento foi ficando mais rápido enquanto eu mesma manipulava minha buceta. Gozamos juntos.

Ele ficou a final de semana todo. Metemos no quarto, na sala, no banheiro, na cozinha até na área de serviço.

No domingo a noite quando meu filho chegou dissemos que o Diego tinha acabado de chegar procurando por ele. E é sempre essa desculpa que usamos para o Diego poder entrar em casa. Metemos quando meu filho está na faculdade, trabalhando e até quando ele está dormindo. E cada vez fica melhor.

Enviado ao Te Contos por Simone

[leftnotright]

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win. Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus. (Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei

Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira

Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

CHAPTER 11: LET'S BE ALONE TOGETHER

When Reborn and Verde returned to the sunset-tinged sands of the Simone Island, it was to the sight of Ryohei frolicking in a shore tipped with gold, surrounded by a flock of boys and girls with red hair and stigma eyes. Reborn stared out at the sight of Ryohei, his shoulders blushed pink and his hair slicked back, children hanging from his arms. 

Pink and red and warm, summer golden-yellows. Reborn thought those would be a good colour palette for a wedding — he should update his mood board. 

Then Ryohei turned, sun-lit eyes scorching the horizon before they laid upon that figure dressed in black, standing on the sand. He grinned, lips wet with seawater, and waved with both arms. 

“Reborn!” Ryohei cheered and, like something out of Baywatch, came wading out of the shore, waves breaking on his calves.

Reborn stared. 

Reborn turned to Abramo, “You have done exceptionally.”

Abramo nodded, arms crossed over his chest, puffed with pride. “Thought you’d like the tight shorts. He chose the worst colours though.”

Verde sighed and walked away, shoulders slumped and eyes squinted against the bright outdoors. Good, Reborn didn’t think he deserved to bear witness to Ryohei dressed in only wet, clinging swimwear.

“How’d it go!? Did you have fun!?” Ryohei asked as he came to a stop in the soft, white sand. 

“A few moments short of painful,” Reborn shrugged and reached his hand across. Reborn trailed his fingers along Ryohei’s sun-blushed chest, connecting constellations of just-there freckles with the droplets that clung to his skin. “I’m glad to be back on Simone soil.”

“Well, welcome home!” Ryohei laughed, hands on his hips and completely unperturbed by the finger tracing along his pectoral. 

Abramo glanced between the men, then the hand that had still yet to drop. He wiggled his eyebrows at them before not-so-casually excusing himself, splashing loudly into the surf.

“How’s the mainland? Everything still intact?” Ryohei joked as he squatted down next to a haphazard pile of towels, pool noodles and discarded clothes. 

For a moment, Reborn was distracted by a single drop of sparkling seawater as it made a journey down Ryohei’s spine and into the tight waistband of Ryohei’s flamingo-themed shorts. He wondered, if he were to tug them, if there would even be any give. 

“Nothing of note,” Reborn hummed, and watched as Ryohei shrugged on one of his many Hawaiian shirts, left mercifully unbuttoned.  

“Reborn, you should swim too, the water’s great! Something about a volcano!” Ryohei said as they began the slow, sandy walk towards the Simone quarry.

Reborn slipped his arm through Ryohei’s and smiled, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Can’t let a day like this go to waste.”

Ryohei grinned and cheered, scattering the seagulls scavenging along the shore. 

“Wait for me here will you, my dear Ryohei?” Reborn crooned as they stepped through the hazy darkness of the Vindice portal, solder and fumes stung their noses. “I’ll be out in a moment in something more… Comfortable .”

“Remember to bring Leon! He needs some real sun!” Ryohei called and Reborn waved over his shoulder as he disappeared through chained-down doors.

Ryohei rocked on his heels and looked around, the grand atrium of the Vindice’s Simone Base still as impressive as the first time he had seen it. The skeletons of the Machine were filling out with muscle of thick wire. Those heavy, metal bases were bolted deep into the bedrock to support the towering beams, finally set and soldered into place in arches overhead.

Vindice ghouls floated around, carrying boxes of materials, sand and shattered glass. There were loose bolts and nuts littering the floor, as numerous as the crushed-up remnants of ancient shells. Ryohei could feel them under the thin soles of his sandals as he walked, inspecting each frame with barely bottled excitement. 

And at the centre of it all, surrounded by those looming structures of metal and hope, Verde sat on the floor, nearly nesting in his papers. 

Ryohei had barely seen Verde since bringing him to the island, elusive and nearly outsight evasive of all things unrelated to ‘his Machine’. In truth, Ryohei didn’t know Verde well — or knew the would-be- could -be Verde well. The Verde of the future had always been too taken with his creations to deign an audience with the Vongola for anything short of the Tri-Ni-Sette collapsing.

Ryohei could see that same fanaticism now as he made his way over, stepping around the wires thick as great tree roots. He peered over Verde’s shoulder to read what the man was scratching down with a pen running low on ink.

“What?” Verde snapped, quick as a whip.

Ryohei grinned, “How’s the progress? Figured out the glass?”

“Components are missing. Working backwards,” Verde answered, eyes shifting around as if knocked by every new idea in his rattling brain. “Someone— I created intentional voids. I do not know why.”

Ryohei tilted his head, brows furrowed. Verde had left out information. Crucial information. Ryohei squatted down and rested his chin on his knuckles, sandals grinding into the sandy stone floors.

“There's no distinct pattern to the omission. If there's a code, it's not obvious.” Verde dragged a box full of rolls of grid paper, elbow-deep as he scrounged for a loose piece. 

There was silence. Soft breathing. Completely unobtrusive, but almost omnipresent. A heat that warmed the stone under Verde's thighs and dried out the paper in his hands. Inescapable. Like the smell of summer on a windless day.

Verde turned his head and regarded Ryohei, still dripping with water, flecks of shells clung to his shins and between his fingers. His shirt was damp with a mixture of seawater and sweat, the bridge of his nose glistened with sunscreen. And he was still. Sitting on his sandy haunches, sun-kissed face cradled in his seashell-sparkled hands. Watching. Windless.

Verde returned to his work. Verde continued to speak. Less to Ryohei and more to Ryohei’s presence — to the heat —, an engineer to a rubber duck. Ryohei listened wordlessly, eyes bright and alert despite the odd, jargonistic words that flew well over his head.

“Everything else is laid out. Working with that, it will simply be common sense. It will require a heat, apparently even more so than the kiln the Vindice uses now but— there’s a piece missing.” Verde scrubbed his hair, sticking up weirdly with oil and sea salt residue. “I will find it. Given time, I will find it.”

“You will,” Ryohei agreed without missing a beat, without taking a breath, without a doubting thought.

Verde blinked and turned to the man crouched at his side, sand sticking to his legs from the beaches, nose bridge pink from the sun. He was smiling. Unhindered. Unwavering. The sky was blue, the sea was deep, and Verde would solve this puzzle made just for him.

What faith.

Verde clutched his near-empty pen tighter, took a breath and felt his lungs scorch. The near-constant damp of the place ripped from the very fibres of his clothes. Under those smiling eyes, Verde was warm.

People hailed Verde as the next Da Vinci. Under those smiling eyes Verde was Now .

“I will,” Verde said, voice almost raspy-dry. 

Ryohei grinned like a bonfire. Like a collapsing star. Full of blinding life and steadfast, searing, unrelenting Will . 

Oh.

Verde shifted his gaze to the side and saw Reborn standing there, cast in shadow with eyes so bright it was like looking at a sunrise. Reborn inclined his head.

Do you see it? 

How could you not?

He’s perfect—

It’s huge—

It could be ours.

Verde swallowed greedily, throat parched, hands tingling. Reborn regarded him with sunrise eyes from behind the figure made of heat and some astronomic faith — clad in an eyesore of a blue and red Hawaiian print shirt.

Verde felt his eyes sting from the light, but kept them open. He felt the buzzing in his teeth. Verde felt the strike of dry lightning on brushland.

Reborn smiled, vindicated. 

☀☀

Reborn reclined on the wicker lounge, cradling something boozy, fruity and full of crushed ice. The sun beat down on him as he laid there, his open white, linen shirt fluttering in the salty sea breeze and Ryohei’s wet abs reflecting in the black of his sunglasses.

Ryohei grinned as he helped a small gaggle of Simone children build a sandcastle, shoulder-deep in the sand for a secret tunnel. Reborn watched the slick muscles along his back flex. 

“Enjoying the show?” Abramo asked as he came to occupy the lounge beside Reborn, his own crushed ice cocktail sloshing about in his four-fingered hand. 

“It’s a luxury,” Reborn sighed, fixing his sunglasses upon his nose. “I need to enjoy the sights while they’re still so exclusive.”

Abramo glanced at the man from around his cup. Reborn looked smug, a curl to his lip, a lilt to his tone — it reminded Abramo of a barn cat after a hunt, picking feathers from its teeth. Abramo sipped his cocktail and cast his gaze over to the man crusted in sand and sunshine, children clambering onto Ryohei’s shoulders as he knelt on the shore.

“Does he know?” Abramo asked. 

Reborn regarded him out of the corner of his eye. 

Abramo let his cup settle on his stomach as he watched his Family orbit around this new Sun on their beaches, blond hair gritty with salt and seashells, laugh louder than crashing waves and smile brighter than daylight. 

“He’s told you right? About his old Set,” he continued, “Things like Harmony… Ryohei’s been hurt, ya know?”

Reborn didn’t utter a sound as he laid there, dark eyes cast in shadow as the rest of him basked in sun. He could feel his skin burning. He didn’t want it to stop.

“I know,” Reborn said finally, almost too softly. 

Reborn remembered the suitcase full of pictures, full of papers he had yet to read. He remembered the whiskey, how it had let the words float to the top and spill over. He remembered the lonely, lonely look in Ryohei’s eyes and Reborn’s teeth wanted to grind.

Reborn looked forward and saw Ryohei wrestle with the Simone youths, heard the cheers as no less than seven young boys sent him crashing into the shallows. 

“Okay,” Abramo uttered, and Reborn felt the pressure ease, the weight on his chest and crushing gravity. Acceptance was light against his skin. “Nonna Teresa’s pub has an upstairs balcony. It faces the west beach. It’ll be empty tonight.”

Reborn raised his sunglasses and glanced at Abramo. The man was smiling, red eyes soft and warm as he watched his Family play in the sand and the sea, little hands dragging the Sun to follow. 

“Reborn!” He turned to the call and saw Ryohei waving, a child standing on his shoulders. “You coming!? You said you’d swim! Volcano water!”

“Volcano water!” The child agreed loudly and jumped into the sea, almost immediately replaced by another clambering Simone child.

“Be gentle with him,” Abramo said as Reborn rose from the lounge.

“How gentle can you be with something just short of a god?” Reborn asked and threw his sunglasses on his towel, sand between his toes and salt in his hair. Ryohei welcomed him into the shore with open arms, sunflares sparkling on crested waves and red eyes watching everything. 

☀☀

It was getting cold, a southerly breeze biting through the summer night’s heat haze. The low roar of the pub below melted into the drag-and-crash of the tide, salty meals mixing with salty sea air. The door to the balcony closed with a snap, their private table stocked with alcohol and nibbles.

Reborn let out a long, burning breath, a Simone-style whiskey almost scoring him down to the belly. Beside him, Ryohei sat, elbow on the table and cheek upon his fist, staring out at the bay, the last curve of a smile still on his face. 

“What is Harmony like?” Reborn asked, staring out at the pink-orange-red of sunset. 

Reborn had heard stories. The moans of Harmony-drunk Flames post-bliss. They say it's like drugs, but better. Like alcohol, but stronger. Like sex, but deeper. Something that could make a hardened mafioso roll over and show his belly, all sticky sweet like honey and tar. 

“Warm,” Ryohei answered finally, gently, voice just over a murmur. “Like a bath after getting caught in a storm. Like seeing family. Like coming Home after a long…long forever.” 

Reborn listened to Ryohei breathe. Slow, soft draws of breath through his nose. There was a slight whistle, like it had been broken before. The hand on the table, loosely wrapped around a glass, flexed. Scars pulled at rough skin, bumped and callused. Dark at the knuckles. 

“You’d do anything for it. To protect it. To stay,” he said, “It feels like being loved.”

Home. Reborn barely understood the concept. Base, safehouse, touchstone — those were all more familiar to him but Home? Said just over a whisper and with such warmth it all but melted off Ryohei’s tongue and nestled inside Reborn’s ears. 

Reborn tapped his cup with the tip of his finger, a crystal ‘twing’ rang light through the air.

“What was your Sky like?” 

“Which one?” Ryohei asked back.

Reborn ran his thumb through the condensation on his glass, ice clinked as it melted. 

“Your first.”

Ryohei didn’t move, still cheek to fist, still staring out past the bay like there was something out there. Something heartbreakingly close. 

“She was perfect,” he said, a smile in his voice. “She’s my little sister, my childhood friend. I held her hand the day she was born — it was tiny. Tiny little nails.” 

Ryohei took a drink. Reborn mirrored him slowly. 

“We were always together. She was shy before she went to school, used to hide behind me. I would always have to talk to the shopkeeper if she wanted ice cream.” Ryohei looked into his cup for a moment, watching amber whiskey shift and swirl. “She ate a lot of ice cream. Even in winter. Has a sweet tooth. Likes things cold.”

Reborn let the silence settle, let the glass in his hand go lukewarm under his fingers. He sipped neat whiskey with a slow relish. 

“And the second?” He asked, prompting gently.

Ryohei didn’t respond quickly. He pressed his lips to his glass and drank, long, slow draws of the burning liquid. His breath fogged the cup. Ryohei put the glass back on the tabletop with a soft clatter and licked his lips when they tingled from the alcohol.

Reborn watched.

“He was everything.”

Ryohei sounded raw. Like an open wound, meat and nerves, exposed down to the bone. 

“He — He was everything. To everyone. You should have seen it- You will see it. God he was —” Ryohei covered his mouth for a moment, breathed hard against his hand covered in starburst scars. “So scared. All the time. He didn’t want to be there, Boss wasn’t raised to be a, well, Boss . He got thrown into it. He was scared.”

Ryohei shifted in his seat, the old wooden chair groaning under his weight. 

“Maybe…that was why I loved him so much. Boss was scared, all the time, but that didn’t stop him from fighting. From trying . He built a family out of strangers. He fought for a Family that he had only just heard of. He protected everyone — He tried —”

Ryohei’s voice hitched. Reborn didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Eyes wide, fingers clutched his glass. 

“He tried —” Ryohei said again. He swallowed, throat flexing in the sunset light. “He tried to suffer through it. Tried to be big enough, to- to make room for me.” His leg moved, the chair wheezed. “And even then he tried to keep me, to love me, to give me a home even when it hurt . Even when I hurt them— ”  

Reborn didn’t know when he moved. Before or after the bolts and wedges of the old, rickety barstool gave under the heat of a Sun ablaze in self-loathing. But he had lept, feet off the ground and hands stretched out, fingers seeking that burn, burn, burn as they fell—

They hit the old timber deck of the pub. Their glasses shattered beside their heads, amber whiskey soaked Reborn’s sleeve, and matted Ryohei’s hair. Bits of wood scattered around, smelling of smoke and black as char. His hat was somewhere in the ruins.

Ryohei laid there, arms out akimbo. Reborn laid there, arms wrapped tight around Ryohei’s crown. Chest to chest, belly to belly, Flames alight and aching as Ryohei laid there under Reborn.

“I can’t do it again,” he whispered, voice muffled into Reborn’s collar, cologne and sea salt in his every breath. “I can’t lose it again. I’ve already lost so much — I can’t lose a home again .”

Reborn could feel him shaking. A spring wound tight, years of compression bubbling under his skin. Years of being small, of being held tight and forced to bow to fit a box. Reborn let his fingers, wet with whisky, slip. And he stared at Ryohei. At the pinch in his brow, the ache in his jaw, the whistle of his broken nose and the burn of his eyes as they blinked, stubbornly dry despite it all. 

Ryohei was used to loss. He had run out of tears to cry about it.

Reborn had thought about Skies, like all young Flames, he had fantasised about the day someone worthy of holding him would come. A Sky vast and pure and just the right kind of unhinged that would make room for him, bend the horizon for him. A Home. Better than wine, better than sex.

“You won’t,” Reborn said. With such conviction, with such faith —

Ryohei would not lose again. Not now. Not him. Not ‘His Reborn’ . 

Flames rumbled like the coming of a solar flare.

Reborn had thought about Skies, like all young Flames. And he let those dreams, those little thoughts burn with the rest of him as he laid there atop this supernova, his very own Impossibility . 

Flames bubbled. Lashed. Stretched. Reached.

And like Icarus he fell, his forehead pressed to the rough timber decking just beside Ryohei’s. He breathed in deep, scorched his lungs with smoke and sunlight. 

He felt Ryohei breathe against him, chest expanding under his — that shocking Hawaiian shirt still searing in the twilight. 

“You won’t,” Reborn said again. 

Ryohei’s chest rattled, “Reborn—”

“You won’t lose me.”

It hurt. 

Like sinking into a hot bath after a snowstorm. A shock to the system to feel True Heat. 

Reborn felt it tear through him, through his arms, down his legs, up his throat until his tongue tingled and his gums throbbed. And then he looked to the side, his forehead slick with sweat, he saw something divine .

Ryohei laid there, head turned to face him. His cheeks were flush, red and pink and ruddy. There was sweat bubbling on his hairline, slicked back with the fall. His horrendous collar open against the seabreeze that barely cut them a break. The cut on his eyebrow was bright pink like it was fresh again, rebirthed in place. Reborn could see the pulse in Ryohei’s throat jumping a double-time rhythm even for him.

And Ryohei was smiling. Lips puffy and cracked in the corner, teeth knocked just a bit askew from one too many punches without a mouthguard. His eyes were wet — with sweat or tears Reborn didn’t know, but he didn’t care.

Reborn was going to make this man, this Sun, his Icarian Sun , cry for so many reasons. Happiness, frustration, anger, love and every overstimulating nerve he can touch.

And he had all the time in the world. Their world. Their Harmony —

Reborn took a breath, felt his chest expand and relished in the knowledge that he would never know the chill of cold again. 

Reborn reached up, fingers sticky with dried up alcohol and sweat and cupped Ryohei’s shining face. Felt his hand sear like he cradled the molten core of a star.

“Till the fall do we part.”

Ryohei stared at Reborn, sweat dripping from his nose. Then he let out a laugh that boomed from the belly, grin bright and utterly radiant in the twilight. A celestial body plucked from the heavens and laid out before him, barely contained in mortal flesh. Reborn bounced with every heave, would have tumbled away if not for those arms that wrapped around his waist and held on with a vengeance. With desperation. With a plea, and a hope and a faithful prayer—

“Why would we fall?!” Ryohei laughed, eyes bright and voice brighter, glittering with seashell sand and glass. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch ya!”

And that was all it took. Reborn let the air seep out through his lips, let that torrent of heat turn into a slow, molten crawl in his veins. Let it curl up in his chest. Let it find a place to call Home.

“Because you did that so well just now,” Reborn huffed, and looked at the charred remains of the barstool. They were going to have to reimburse Nonna Teresa. She took payment in manual labour.

“Hey! I’m a great catch!” Ryohei defended hotly.

Reborn smiled, so deeply satisfied he could barely find the space to be surprised. “Indeed you are, my Ryohei.”

In the quarry, deep underground, the Vindice all turned their heads. Verde glared through his glasses, his pen creaked in his hand. And in the pub, the Simone raised a glass, welcoming the dawn of the strongest Elemental pseudo-Harmony the world had ever seen.

[tomatoswup]

141 and Tacos [Headcanons]

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo Parra

Whilst 141 and you are on a quick break through the streets of Mexico, do you spot a fairly sized taco stand on the side of the sidewalk. Eat up! What kind of tacos would 141 like?

A/N: Y'all can't tell me 141 DIDN'T eat any mexican food during their time in Mexico cause i knOW they were starving goDDAMN,,, Also this was written with a reader with Mexican origin or relation in mind, so take that as you will.

also first post on this blog ★

warnings: none unless you don't like the description of cow tongue or somethin' :)

Price

This man loves the good ol' classic Tacos De Carne

Asks the poor vendor to pour a ungodly amount of onions ontop because's who's gonna stop him cmon now,,

also he's british,,,

Rudy kinda looks at him like 'Damn does the man like onions this much?'

Fell in LOVE with the salsa verde although he had a stroke at first

Orders 10 tacos de carne and a quesadilla because he's about "variety"

After his first time eating them, he craves tacos a bit more after finishing missions.

That one dude that puts hella avocado in his tacos

No like literally the poor tortilla is gonna pop open

"..."

"What?"

"Price your taco is gonna literally fucking explode.."

Instead of killing enemies, Price is killing these poor tacos

He still eats them in peace tho 🫶

Soap

Soap's a bit more of the daring/curious one

So he tries the Tacos de Lengua first since you offer one to those who dared eat it because you're pretty sure none of the 141 members (excluding Alejandro and Rudy) have tasted cow tongue before.

Cringed at first when he took the first bite tbh

The texture was something that threw him wayyy off

Like who tf thought putting cow tongue in tacos was a good idea??

But as he slowly started taking it in, it actually tasted...good?

The meat was soft and chewy but it oddly felt comforting?

Quickly found himself to actually like the tacos and orders 5 more from the vendor.

Asks if your mother makes them, and if you say yes, he WILL ask for an invite.

"IS THIS WHAT YOU LIVE WITH?? YOU'VE EATEN THIS YOUR WHOLE LIFE?!"

croaked at the salsa roja though, started tearing up a lil`,, it's ok tho you pat his back as he chugs water.

Gaz

i will die with the headcannon that gaz is as gen.z as he can be

Orders Tacos de Birria because he remembered Rodolfo talking about eating some for lunch.

He also remembers seeing people cook them on his insta feed so

Likes the greasiness to them tbh

AND THE CHEESE PULL HE GOT WHEN HE TOOK THAT FIRST BITE? JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL THIS MAN IS IN HEAVEN

His leg gave out as he finished his first taco

you know the lil birria juice they give yall in a lil bowl? Stained.

His fingers are drenched and shi

50 napkins by his plate as he eats ong

Ate 4 before he tapped out

Will chug a coke and a water after so his arteries don't feel as clogged tho

This poor man is in a food coma at the lil picnic table by the stand by how full he got with only 4 of those tacos.

"Ayo where's Gaz?"

Gaz: -Sprawled out on the picnic table seat with his eyes closed-

"Oh fuck he's dead-"

"I lived bitch."

Ghost

Was very hesitant to taste tacos out in the streets at first because damn his paranoia does get ahead of him :(

But after everyone tries them, he tries to give them a shot

Didn't like the tacos de lengua because of the texture

And the tacos de birria were too greasy for him (but if he would've totally ate them after drinking though)

But damn, looking at the pastor slowly rotate on the vertical rotisserie did make it look really appetizing...

No regrets

Really likes the tad of sweetness added to the flavor because of the pineapple added

Ghost really loves meat so when he watched the vendor pack the tortilla with pastor, he knew he was in for a ride.

Orders quite a bit,, like 7 (or more if he's really hungry)

Faces away from yall to eat so you guys couldn't see his reaction but damn, that empty plate tells stories..

Alejandro

Being born in Mexico got it perks ngl

And being in Special Forces allows him to travel all around the Mexican states.

So he's tried alot of taco varieties

But his heart and soul will always be with Barbacoa straight from his momma's home OR from Las Almas.

Either in tacos or with a full plate of rice and frijoles puercos he will FUCK THEM UP.

Plate cleared and EVERYTHING

He loves eating them when he's homesick :(

Lives by salsa roja,, and throughout these headcannons I'm not talking about the salsa only made with tomatoes,, I'm talking about it being made with them red hot ass chiles.

The butt on fire kinda salsa roja

Drinks one corona whilst eating

But also waters that down with a cold water righttt after 😌

Rodolfo

Another classic,, Loves the crunch of the tacos de chicharron ♡

Like Alejandro, he pours an crazy ass amount of salsa roja on top

And lemon, lots of lemon on top,,

Soap and Ghost watch him in curiosity and fear as he drenched his tacos red

You give him props fr fr

Always drinks a Jarrito de Tamarindo with his tacos, like a baller~

Orders like 5 normally and like 1 taco de chorizo on the side :P

Just as a palette cleanser, but besides tacos de chicharron, he also likes the taste of tacos de lengua

But tbh it just depends on how he's feeling

Likes his onions cooked and put on the side so he can just plain right eat them.

And righttt after he's done eating everything, he grabs another Jarrito as a finisher :D

[rosstrytobe]

A parte incazzature varie, la cosa che mi fa veramente morire è questa:

Manuel da subito ama vivere in villa Balestra con Simone

1) A Dante gli disse che già immaginava come usare il verde di villa Balestra prendendo degli animali insieme a Simone e insieme a lui creare una società -> Manuel vede nel suo futuro Simone e in questo futuro vanno a vivere insieme

2) Manuel dice a sua madre di non rovinare le cose belle quando se ne va dalla villa perché per lui è una cosa bella vivere con Simone in quella casa -> Sta già immaginando la sua convivenza con chi sarà e sa già con chi si trova bene

3) Quando Nina chiede a Manuel di tornare una casa. Lui ha un illuminazione e chiama subito Simone dicendogli se potevano nascondersi a villa Balestra -> Significa che quando Manuel pensa ad una casa il suo primo pensiero va a villa Balestra con Simone

Ergo: Manuel ama Simone e vuole andare a convivere con lui nella loro villa ❤️

[okeutocalma]

Simon "Ghost" Riley. — child male reader.

Os membros do Tf141 estão em uma missão.. enquanto eles limpam um bairro residencial destruído, um dos recrutas encontrou uma caixa quebrada, há alguns ruídos estranhos saindo dela, eles olham para dentro e o que vêem é de tirar o fôlego ausente..

— Ei, Ghost! Acho que você deveria dar uma olhada nisso! — Ele grita para Ghost, que se aproxima rapidamente.. Ao notar você dentro da caixa, uma criança pequena, coberta de sujeira e poeira, os olhos dele se arregalaram em choque. A única coisa visível eram apenas seus grandes olhos [claros/escuros].

O garotinho segurava suas próprias roupas esfarrapadas, olhando para os estranhos com seus grandes olhos verdes. Seu corpo tremia e seu pequeno peito se encheu rapidamente, puxando ar para seus pulmões.

Ghost se aproxima do garoto rapidamente para ver se ele estava bem, seus olhos se arregalaram em choque enquanto ele encara o garoto incrédulo. Ele se ajoelha e fala com uma voz calma na esperança de fazer o garoto se sentir seguro..

— Ei, amigo.. Está tudo bem.. Não vou te machucar.. viemos ajudar, ok? Você tem pais? — Perguntou, a voz banhada em ternura quando falava com a criança, ainda sem acreditar de como tinha sobrevivido.

— Estão lá. — Sussurrou, a voz trêmula e rouca. Ele balançou a cabeça em negação, apontando para os escombros a alguns metros de distância.

Ghost sente seu coração se partir ao ouvir as palavras tristes do menino, ele se ajoelha para ficar na altura da criança e tenta tranquilizá-lo.

— Sua mãe está debaixo dos escombros, amigo? Não se preocupe… Nós vamos te ajudar, mas você tem que esperar aqui. Há muito perigo. Nós vamos tirá-la e então nós dois podemos ir… Tudo bem? — Ele faz o possível para deixar o menino à vontade e tranquilizá-lo de que tudo vai ficar bem, enquanto seus pensamentos se voltam para perigo que correm no momento. Qualquer soldado poderia chegar e os pegar desprevenidos.

— Ela morreu... A pedra a fez explodir. — As palavras saíram em um sussurro, os olhos [claros/escuros] se fecharam e assim ele ficou por alguns segundos. As mãozinhas apertando a própria roupa suja, os lábios dele começaram tremer indicando um choro próximo. Ghost começou a se desesperar, não sabia como acalmar uma criança, a situação piora quando é lembrado que estão em meio a um campo de guerra!

Tiros ainda eram escutados a distância em meio a cidade destroçada, gritos de cidadãos inocentes e os gritos de soldados.

— Sinto muito, amigo… quantos anos você tem? Qual é o seu nome? E me diga.. o que aconteceu..?

O garotinho abriu os olhinho, e logo levantou os cinco dedos. — Hoje completei cinco anos. — Ele disse pegando um papel que estava dentro da caixa, era uma folha de calendário, suja, um pouco queimada, mas o número 21 estava circulado em vermelho. — Aqui, mamãe tinha falado que eu nasci um dia depois do feriado! — Mostrou para o homem.

Ghost olha para o círculo vermelho desenhado na folha do calendário, seus olhos parecem focar nisso enquanto tenta descobrir o que a criança quer dizer com isso, mas ele rapidamente muda seu foco para algo mais importante naquele momento, a criança, gentilmente faz mais perguntas ao menino.

— Obrigado amigo e qual é o seu nome?

— [Nome]!

— Sinto muito, [Nome]. Parece que você e sua mãe moraram aqui sozinhos.. Você sabe onde seu pai está?

— Papai deixou mamãe. — Ele sussurrou. — Papai saiu com uma menina, pois ela estava grávida do papai.

Os olhos de Ghost lentamente se enchem de tristeza enquanto ele tenta controlar suas próprias emoções.

— Você vai ter que vir embora comigo. — Sussurrou, olhando o garotinho arregalar os olhinhos e caçar algo dentro da caixa, logo se levantando com um gatinho de pelúcia sujo e encardido em mãos. — Qual é o nome dele? Pequenino.

— Milk!

Ghost suspira com a resposta de dp garotinho, há algo um pouco perturbador em ouvir essas palavras de uma criança. Ele só consegue adivinhar o que o menino pode ter passado para poder dizer algo assim, mas ele tenta não colocar pensei muito nisso, tentando colocar seu foco no garoto..

— Podemos levar Milk conosco, amigo? O que você acha?

— Adoraria.

Ele pegou a criança suja no colo e começou a correr em direção à própria equipe. Parece que agora ele tinha um filho.

[occhietti]

Lloyd ma quando arriva la primavera?

"Credo che sia già qui, sir. E ha portato con sé il verde delle foglie e il rosso delle rose. Per non parlare di quello che si vede dei prati

Sì, ma fa freddo, Lloyd…

Sir, la primavera è una questione di colore, non di calore

E tutta questa pioggia, Lloyd?

Servirà per fare degli splendidi acquerelli, sir

Grazie, Lloyd

Prego… sir

- Simone Tempia - Vita con Lloyd

[boomgers]

El destino del reino se bifurca en bandos… “La Casa Del Dragón · Temporada 2”

Poniente está al borde de una sangrienta guerra civil con los Consejos Verde y Negro, luchando por el Rey Aegon y la Reina Rhaenyra, respectivamente. Como cada facción cree que el suyo es el asiento legítimo en el Trono de Hierro, todos deben elegir su bando.

Estreno: 16 de junio de 2024 por HBO y en Max.

Avance: Consejo Verde

Avance: Consejo Negro

Basada en la saga ‘Fuego y Sangre’ de George R.R. Martin, la segunda temporada de la serie original de HBO, cuenta con las actuaciones de Emma D'Arcy, Olivia Cooke, Matt Smith, Eve Best, Steve Toussaint, Fabien Frankel, Sonoya Mizuno, Rhys Ifans, Jefferson Hall, Matthew Needham, Abubakar Salim, Gayle Rankin, Simon Russell Beale, Clinton Liberty, Jamie Kenna, Kieran Bew, Tom Bennett, Vincent Regan, Tom Taylor, Freddie Fox, Tom Glynn Carney, Ewan Mitchell, Phia Saban, Bethany Antonia, Phoebe Campbell, Oscar Eskinazi y Harry Collett.

[minkufu]

Character Check

Pulling out my very large batch of khr chibis again and want to check if I have all the important(and not so important) bases covered...

So, if there is a character you really like that is NOT in the list below, tell me who they are.

Vongola

Tsuna

Gokudera

Yamamoto

Ryohei

Hibari

Lambo

I-Pin

Dino

Bianchi

Lal Mirch

Varia

Xanxus

Squalo

Belphegor

Fran

Lussuria

Levi

Mammon

Kokuyo

Mukuro

Chrome

M.M.

Chikusa

Ken

Verde

Millefiore

Byakuran

Shoichi

Spanner

Genkishi

Rasiel

Iris

The Cervello

Simon

Enma

Adelheid

Shitt-P

Skull

Tomaso

Naito

Pantera

[positivelybeastly]

What would the avengers think if they saw x-force beast?

"They would think, 'hm, Beast is looking as blue as ever,' and continue on their merry way. I wouldn't be a very good director of an intelligence agency if I just left my dirty laundry on the washing line where everyone could see it, now, would I?"

"'Ah, but Beast,' you might be thinking, 'what if one of your cohort decides to tattle on you? What if Marvel Girl or Wolverine decide to start talking?'"

"How does that conversation go again? No, please, tell me. I'd be delighted to imagine them trying to tip toe around the fact that they were morally outraged at what they know I've put into motion to keep Krakoa safe - but not outraged enough to actually stop me. A telekinetic hold here, a punch to the gut there, oh, how impressive, how masculine, how very girlboss, as your trite slang goes."

"But it didn't change anything, did it? They still turned up to the Pointe. They still accepted their mission briefings. They still went out into the field, and accepted my orders. They can spite me all they like, they can bitch and moan and complain and disobey my direct orders, but at the end of the day, I am still the Director, and they are nothing but an employee with an axe to grind."

"'Well, you see, Captain America, Beast killed the entirety of Terra Verde, and I've really got my knickers in a twist about it.' 'Stars and stripes, Wolverine, how do you know that?' 'I've known he did it for months now and didn't tell anyone because it achieved long term stability for my fledgling mutant nation that I didn't want to endanger. The only reason I'm telling you now is because he did something that affects me.'"

"Somehow, I think not. My secrets are safe."

Well, yeah, this is one of those things where it depends on how much the Avengers actually know, and I'm kind of inclined to believe they don't know much outside of rumours. Reed Richards makes mention of having heard that Beast is doing weird, fucked up shit with genetics when he meets Rasputin IV, but he clearly doesn't know the full extent of what he's done or he'd, you know. Do something about it.

At least, I fucking hope he would, he's meant to be a goddamn fucking superhero, isn't he?

But if they knew? Well, for simplicity's sake, let's take the core Avengers team at the moment. Captain Marvel, Captain America (Sam Wilson), Thor, Black Panther, Iron Man, Scarlet Witch, and the Vision.

Beast has been on an Avengers team with literally every single one of these people at some point in their lives, though, iirc, T'Challa was the Illuminati - he and Hank were on the team at the same time for a bit around the #160s mark, but BP wasn't on the mainline Avengers much during that period from what I recall.

Even Tony and T'Challa, who know that Hank has the capability to conceptualise weapons of mass destruction and untold devastation, would not be prepared for X-Force Beast.

This is the Beast they know.

Meanwhile, X-Force Beast would yank that detonator out of Reed's hands, set it off, and not so much as blink. That is fundamentally not the same person.

First reaction? That's not Beast. That's mind control, or a brain parasite, or a clone, or Dark Beast, again. There's no way. There's LITERALLY no way that they buy it at first. No fucking way do they believe that's the same man who was hanging out with Simon, getting tanked and being homoerotic with.

But once it's established that this is actually Beast, I think they'd just be horrified. They would be devastated. This would be an incredible betrayal, especially for Wanda, Carol and Vizh, who Hank used to have a fairly strong relationship with - fucking, Hank helped Vision wash dishes after inviting him into their quant suburban New Jersey home when they were married to Wanda, I think Vision might well be the one who finds it hardest to understand.

It's a little understated, but Hank has a 'you annoy the living fuck out of me,' 'ah, but I do it so well!' friendship with Vision in those classic issues of Avengers, which is kind of hilarious because of how well he gets on with Simon but not the synthezoid who shares their brainwaves, go figure. And especially once you understand that the Vision absolutely does feel, just in that Vulcan way where they feel so much they have to suppress it and act as if they don't feel at all, I honestly think they might be the most indignant.

The Vision was created by Ultron for destruction, and they rose above it. Hank had a loving family, plenty of chances, and this is what he's become? They'd be furious, I think. I don't know if they'd be furious enough to actually try and kill him, but especially if it's established how dangerous and how bloodthirsty and cruel Beast is, on a whim, it'd be . . . hard to resist.

I do think that in the end, they'd bring him in alive, try and get him brought to justice. This is the kind of thing that, even if Krakoa weren't bombed to fuck right now, they'd dig their heels in and be like, no, you fucking answer for this, because this is personal. This is a betrayal of the team going back years. What the hell happened?

A smart writer would mirror this moment.

Maybe with Jarvis or Carol, instead of Simon - Simon's reaction to this, to find out what happened, has to be its own separate issue, honestly - but it'd be a fun callback, for people who know their Avengers history.

Man, Jarvis . . . fuck. That one would hit. That one would be a fucking train to the face in terms of how it'd hit. How did Hank go from curing Jarvis from a disease in Avengers #650 something, to killing a country just half a year later? I feel like they would just be desolated, like a part of their heart just got carved out and stamped on, because this team loves Hank.

But then again, I was told the same thing about the X-Men, and they've been treating him like goddamn shit on their shoe for years, so who knows, maybe they'd be just as blasé as the X-Men have been about it all.

[chaosites]

what are some of your favorites movies :0 i want to know everyone’s different tastes

That's a good question!

Like we've said before, collectively its Inside Out (funny I know) but another collective one is Coraline! We also all like Laika in general.

but individually I don't know if a lot of us have ever really thought about it? It might be easier to also include shows, actually if that's allowed?

Let's go down the line with what we know on those terms!

Alan: Care Bears Movie 2: A new Generation

Brandon: Steven Universe: The Movie

Chara: 9, Heathers

Chel-C: Deadpool Trilogy

Clara: The Little Mermaid (Disney in general, especially classic)

Clyde: The Labyrinth

Colbie: South Park, Bigger, Longer and Uncut, Kickass 1&2

ENA: Foodfight

Entrapta: 2001: A Space Odyssey

Ethan Lee: Rat Movie: Mystery of the Mayan Treasure ( and the sequel! )

Glass: The Wizard of Oz (Classics such as)

Gregory: ......The FNAF movie.

Jax: Doogal (YOU BETTER BE KIDDING YOU BETTER BE FUCKING KIDDING JAX THAT BETTER BE A J)

Jill: Birds of Prey (And The Fantabulous Emancipation Of One Harley Quinn)

Joan: Nature documentaries

Ken: Sailor Moon Movies

Koko: Barbie movies and then tons of shit that did not age well like Sixteen Candles

Kris: Foodfight as well as Rat Movie(s)

Lonnie: Any shitty movie/series where the women have sex with eachother

M: The Lorax but genuinely

Mabel: Every animated movie, Twilight despite never seeing it

Marcy: She can't pick but she loves fantasy and isekai genre

Maxie: Cats & Dogs

Neil: He's literally a cinephile.

Ray: Most romcoms

Sal: Casper

Seven: Sailor Moon movies also

Si: Knives Out (+ Glass Onion)

Simon: Studio Ghibli films, especially the older ones

Toko: Unfortunately didn't mind 50 shades.

Torrin: More into unfiction like Valle Verde, Vermis Malum, etc

Travis: Finding Jesus /JOKE , he doesn't have one

Trent: Any shitty movie/series where the MEN have sex with eachother, Saltburn

Vix: Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium