#at the risk of sounding conceited

[lemonavocado]

i still want these by the way please please please 🙏 ive been sorta inactive because im busy w work and applying to university but i swear to god im so disgustingly hyperfixated it's all i think about

guys the frankenstein hyperfixation is back and worse and it is eating me alive!!! send asks of any kind i need to yap 🤲

[stuckinapril]

Reframing whenever someone decides to leave you out of something or walks out of your life or just all around neglects your presence not as your loss but as theirs…. like that could have been so much more fun w me in it but I wasn’t and that will forever be your loss

[son1c]

maybe i'm missing something but does cohost not show any numbers at all? i know i've gone on record saying that numbers (likes and reblogs etc) don't really mean anything, but it's definitely... weird... to have them be completely absent. somehow it makes the whole "posting experience" feel even more isolated and quiet than it does on here. i don't like it

[suguwu]

not to be that person but i just finished rereading lover be good to me and like. i did that. i labored and loved and ended up with a piece that i'll carry with me for the rest of my life. i did that.

[claitea]

honestly i could probably draw even more. but it is past midnight so i'm making myself stop

[yakitori-queen]

not to be so very emotional but one of the highest honors to me is when people like my work enough to analyze it. i can't express how much this stuff makes my day.

and yes!! to go a little more in depth : i'm always fascinated by stories that reframe the classic "chosen one" tale as a tragic fate, instead of a power fantasy. as a great burden forced onto a person who didn't ask for it.

paul became braver and bolder in the end and it's as beautiful as it is tragic. beautiful, because it goes to show who he truly is : someone kind, courageous, and selfless. tragic, because these traits were revealed only because he had no other choice, forced through a horrific series of traumatic events watching his friends and fellow townspeople die before his eyes.

in the end he was the only one who could even attempt to save the world. as bravely as he faced it, he didn't have a choice, not really. that's what i was getting at with those two panels : the first, the idealized concept of the hero, the savior of the world. the second, the reality : a broken, terrified person, desperately trying to be strong because the fate of the world lies on his shoulders whether he likes it or not.

Preface (please read!):

This one's pretty fucked up gang. TW for UNNATURALLY BENT/BROKEN/DISLOCATED LIMBS.

This is based on a one-off phrase by Jon Matteson in his TGWDLM watch party during Let It Out where he said "Was that bones breaking?" I'm assuming he meant bones cracking, as in the sound, but this got me thinking of an interpretation of Let It Out in which Pokotho breaks Paul's bones to make him pose and dance.

[wannabepoeticischiya]

Weak

[ 01 ] — there's someone at the door

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"Is Gojō-sensei your ex or something?"

[Name] chucked at his accusation before letting out a loud rueful laugh.

"Boyfriend?! HAH! I'd rather be cursed a million times over than be with that conceited, narcissistic, eyeglasses freak!"

ao3: weak pairing: gojo satoru x f! reader genre: romance wc: 18.7k ++ status: ongoing

A knock echoed shattered the eerie silence blanketing a messy apartment. Mountains of dirty clothes and towers of empty ramen cups stood like landmarks, boxes accompanied by plastic bags from online shopping littered her floors like leaves on a wide lake.

"Yes... wait just a second." 

A woman hurriedly flattened out her bed hair and rushed to get the door, occasionally tripping, and stumbling as her feet made contact with stacks of untouched letters and paperwork.

The knocking continued, getting frantic and erratic by the second. "HOLD YOUR HORSES!!! I'M ALREADY ON MY WAY!"

She peeled away the stray toilet paper that stuck to the base of her foot and swung the door open, half expecting it to be the pizza delivery guy or the postman but instead, she was met by three young students from Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical School.

She slammed the door shut and grumbled to herself, leaning against the only thing separating her from a thousand memories. Her heart hammered against her ribcage as all the air she breathed felt stuck behind her throat, and before she knew it, she was back in that cold, lonely place. She wanted to walk away, perhaps flee to the nearest fire escape—to run as far as she could and ignore the vigorous banging on her entryway—but the faint scent of cursed energy wafted to her nose.

Are you kidding me? My landlord is totally gonna sue me!

The woman found herself caught between two equally unpleasant alternatives. On one hand, indulging a few brats didn’t look like it was too much of a hassle—she could kill them if it ever came down to it; burn the evidence, and be done with it—but these were sorcerer brats, there was no telling what the results would be, no matter which direction her interaction with them took place. Or she could escape to the nearest exit, pay for renovation with the money she doesn’t have, risk getting kicked out, and therefore have to sleep on the streets. 

That sounds absolutely terrible…

As much as the woman did not want to face confrontation, the idea of sleeping on the streets felt like too much. I can handle a few kids, no biggie. Bracing herself, she swung open the door once more and caught the fist that was aimed to break her doorway.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?" She snarled, tightening her grip on the poor boy's clenched hand.

"(L/n) (Y/n)-san?" His brown-haired companion questioned, holding a hammer and a nail, cautiously pointing it at the mysterious older woman.

The short girl painfully reminded her of someone she once knew. They both had the same short hair, equally hopeful sparkle in their eyes, and that annoying persistent demeanor. She hated it.

"Who else?" She surmised, eventually freeing the boy's throbbing hand and menacingly glaring at the rest of his sorcerer friends.

"Can we come in?"

(L/n)'s eyes landed on the boy with black hair, his appearance looking somewhat familiar to her, the older woman just couldn’t put her thoughts when exactly had she seen someone look like that.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and left the door wide open, her figure soon disappearing behind the landscape of her mess. The sooner she got these little trolls out of her hair, the sooner she could get back to her life.

The three students awkwardly walked through her apartment, trying their best not to judge the young adult or let out any mean or inappropriate comments.

Their eyes scanned their surroundings, in simple terms... everything was a mess. Everything. The television was carelessly placed on the table, lights were continuously flickering on and off, there was a leak on the far-left ceiling, water pooling on the red basin that was left there to do all the work, letters and papers were scattered everywhere, some were opened, some were crumpled and some were ripped to shreds. Her walls held all sorts of cursed spirits' heads, all assumed to be preserved or stuffed.

The lady emerged from her kitchen hallway, balancing three glasses of juice in one hand without breaking a sweat. The three broke their gazes off the odd choice of decoration and instead focused on the owner.

"What'd ya come here for, hmm?" She gestured to the—surprisingly clean—couch, the students awkwardly obliging to her offer.

"Gojō-sensei is sick."

(L/n) raised an eyebrow at the boy, she wasn't one for small talk but his straightforward approach had caught her off-guard, nonetheless. "And this is my concern, how?" She questioned.

"Well, we heard—"(L/n) raised her hand and Fix-it Felix immediately shut her mouth.

"Let me rephrase the question," she began, her eyes taking on a colder glint, and her voice modulating to a less friendly tone. "What makes you think that I have ties to this Gojō guy?"

"We heard him mumbling your name in his sleep." Kirby hurriedly replied, placing the now empty glass on the table before him.

"He kept calling for someone called (L/n) (Y/n)."

"He's sick." JoJo McDodd added.

(Y/n) wanted to deny their accusations, say that she wasn’t who they thought she was, that the person they were looking for was dead, or that she was a hundred million miles away. But Thor over here had confirmed her identity the moment she opened her door, and the obvious signs that she was indeed a sorcerer (her less-than-aesthetic choice of trophies) were arranged all over her tiny living hole. They caught her between a rock and a hard place, or in this case, a sorry excuse that they wouldn’t buy, or the truth.

(Y/n) scoffed at it all: the revelation, her foolishness, and above all the ability of Gojo Satoru to be less than a sorry excuse of a human being. Of course, he would—that stupid bloke. "Yeah, he’s sick,” she agreed not a moment later, “sick in the head." (Y/n) sneered.

The woman sighed, the sooner you get this over with, the sooner they can leave, her fingers irritatingly pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look," she began, "Gojō Satoru doesn't get 'sick'." Her fingers quoted the word sick, hoping to emphasize her point so that these demon spawns could get it.

"If he claims that he is, he's probably referring to it metaphorically." She lectured, wanting to add more but suppressing the urge to do so.

The first years could only tilt their heads and stare at her, eyes brimming with confusion.

(Y/n) sighed, "Maybe, he's implying that he's sick of everyone and everything being weaker than him," she suggested, adding a few more words under her breath, something that did not quite reach the ears of the three first years.

It's always been like that anyway.

"But he really is though! He's bedridden, (L/n)-san." (Y/n)’s patience wasn’t long enough to begin with, but with all these incessant pleas and unwelcome beseeching, it was burning far too quickly for her liking.

"Why don't you ask Ieri to check on him?"

"She did.” Marshall Lee confirmed, “But after a while, she told us to go and look for you."

Why Shoko? I thought we got along...

"Is Gojō-sensei your ex or something?" Pink Panther brought to light the idea he and his two companions theorized ever since they heard the older woman’s name escape their teacher’s lips (though unconsciously). Curiosity and wonder glinted in his eyes as Amy Rose the Second and Nergal Jr. glared and prayed for him to shut his rat hole and take a hint. At the very least, they wanted to leave this place in one piece. 

(Y/n) chucked at his accusation before letting out a loud, rueful laugh.

"Boyfriend?! HAH! I'd rather be cursed a million times over than be with that conceited, narcissistic, eyeglasses freak!" She cruelly denied, eyes burning and overflowing with hatred and something that can only be described as regret and sorrow.

Tch... you just have to ruin my life again, huh? No matter, that's all you'll ever be good at, anyway.

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[blairehamilton]

open starter (2/4) location: high pulse

after downing her drink, blaire made her way out to the dance floor. a few dances in, she felt eyes on her-- the same pair of eyes that she'd seen watching her last time she was at the club. nausea set in, maybe from the alcohol or maybe from the feeling this person brought her. biting down on the inside of her cheek, she used the bravery brought on by the drinks and approached another person. " hey, can you pretend that i'm here with you tonight. that guy over there, " blaire paused, nodding subtly over toward the man that had been staring at her that night, " he's been staring at me since he got here. he did the same last weekend, too. " she explained quickly, her voice barely loud enough for them to hear her over the music. " i'll buy you a couple of drinks. just, please pretend that we're here together. "

usually blaire wouldn't approach somebody like that, but they seemed better than the creepy man. maybe security could have been her best option, but she also didn't want to risk sounding conceited if the man just happened to be looking her way. all she wanted to do was dance the night away and forget all of her responsibilities for the time being. it was better than being stuck at home all weekend without anybody else around. this was social interaction that she'd been needing for a while now.

[shsl-heck]

Thinking about the Chevalier interlude, specifically the inaugural team of Wards. Like in universe, they sell it to this first group of kids (and presumably the rest of the world) as a place for second chances, to find friends and mentors who understand what youre going through, where you can learn to use your powers safely while making good memories. The kids broadly seem to believe in these noble intentions of course, but what really gets me is that I've seen readers buy into it!

"Oh, it's such a tragedy that the Wards program became this awful thing that traumatizes kids even more, and expects them to die for the sake of civilians! It's fallen so short of what it was originally supposed to be!"

No it has not??? The fact that the triumvirate and Hero are saying it has this noble goal doesn't make it true. The Wards was pretty clearly always a way to increase the amount of bodies the prt could throw at threats, and we know this because it was started by the fucking Triumvirate as a part of the Protectorate! Alexandria literally came up with the idea of the Protectorate to legitimize the power of capes, and have a consistent source of heroes Cauldron could throw at problems. That is the whole reason for the PRT/Protectorate existing. So when we have this group of children brought in a subsidiary, there are 2 real options.

1). Cauldron and Alexandria decided they would be really niceys and created this program with no intentions other than helping these kids out.

Or 2). As things got worse, they realized the Protectorate didn't have enough manpower to do what they needed, and so they expanded it to include children (the demographic most prone to triggering). That way, they greatly increase the number of capes who they can send to fight and die as needed, and the ones who do survive their tenure in the Wards will be better trained when it comes time to join the actual Protectorate.

At the risk of sounding conceited, I think the second one is far more likely based on everything we know about Cauldron. Maybe it was originally a little nobler, and the goal was just to create more well trained heroes and cut back on young villains, but there's no way Alexandria, Doc Mom, and Contessa didn't factor in the ability to sacrifice the kid heroes if it improved their chances of success. That was absolutely a perk at minimum.

That's the real tragedy of the inaugural Wards. The kids were lured in with promises of safety, comraderie, and second chances like lambs to the slaughter. All the while, Alexandria and Cauldron knew that many (if not most) of these children would suffer abuse by the prt (like in the case of Reed), die, or face a fate worse than death like poor Mouse Protector. It's horrifying! The idea that they didn't know the danger these kids would be in is literally inconceivable. Especially when one of you is also the head of the prt! They knew, and they didn't care. It improved their chances at the end of the world, and so they did it no matter the cost.

[phebess]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Oof I just looked through my own works page and I think it's possible that I write too much Carlando. But here goes! Some are kind of basic but I have a few sleeper favorites as well.

What Happens in Brazil - The one that started it all. I was so new to writing that I think it *desperately* needs another edit, but I also kind of want to leave it as is - even if it's rough. I still love this story so much and I had so much fun writing it!

Señor Sainz - Another one from the early days. I re-read this the other day and, at the risk of sounding conceited, had a great little time. I feel like I didn't ever struggle with writers block on this fic, so it was fun to read without getting to chapter/scenes I regret writing.

Twin Flame - Look, I'm a whore for a soulmate AU. End of.

Pit Stop Practice - This one is so short, and I wrote it during probably the lowest point of Lando's career, and yet I loved exploring how he handled it behind closed doors.

Number One Fan – I do love this fic, but what makes it a top five for me is the experience I had while writing it. The response to this story, whether in the comments or in my inbox, was beyond what I had ever expected, and it was so motivating to keep going with it. I read every comment and tried to respond to every message, and found myself literally cancelling plans to sit down and write. This fic made me feel so loved, so thank you all for that 🤍

And those are my top five! Thank you, sweet anon, for sending this prompt – it was nice to go back to where things started, and pushed me to give out a much belated thank you to anyone who's ever read something of mine.

[theconstantsidekick]

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (8) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Angsty McAngsterson!

Summary: Rhodey's down for the count, and Romanoff and Y/n are the ones to be blamed. If they'd just listened to Tony, none of this would have happened.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Past Trauma

a/n: this took me a grand total of two fucking months

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (7) | Captain America:Civil War ft. Static (9) | Series Masterlist | Age of Ultron (Static Origin Story) | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

He turns at the sound of the door to the observation area slamming open. But in all honesty, he feels her before he even hears her. 

“How is he?” She asks. A question thrown out into the air, addressed to no one but born of worry and desperation. She’ll take whatever she can get. He can tell—so will he.

Guilt, however, is an unfearing emotion. 

He doesn’t answer. He stares at her.

He stares at her, and he stares at Romanoff who’s shouldering her weight. He stares at his sister, desperate and pleading and all he wants to do is tell her to fuck off.

Instead he drags both women outside, out of sight, to a balcony.

“The doctors say he shattered L4 through S1. Extreme laceration in the spinal cord,” Tony replies, finally. “Probably looking at some form of paralysis.”

“Fuck,” Y/n whispers. It sounds almost involuntary, like it spilled out of her mouth without thought. Like she barely realizes that she’s said it. But then maybe the sound of her own words hit her cause inhales abruptly and screams out, “FUCK!” She’s grabbing at her hair, barely able to contain herself from pulling them out. She’s pacing up and down the frankly modest stretch of the balcony.

“Y/n!” Romanoff shushes her. She doesn’t want them to get noticed, they cannot risk standing out. They already have a target on their back, Tony knows cause he’s the one who put it there.

The rebuke, however, falls on deaf ears. Y/n seems too engrossed in her journey of self-deprecation to even notice Romanoff, let alone her plea to quiet down.

In any other fucking moment Tony would’ve felt like an absolute fucking dickwad about it but in this one?

Well, let’s just say, he’s unfearing.

“Fuck indeed, Stark!” He bites back. He watches her steps halt and her jaw clench. Her eyes shut at his tone, her head jerking away at the crudeness in it. She even takes a step back, holding on to the railings, trying to keep herself tied to the present. Tony, though, carries on without fear, “None of this would have ever happened if it wasn’t for you.” Pointing at her, he adds, “It’s all your fucking fault!”

“I know,” she replies in a small voice. “I know,” she hits herself over the head, regret laid bare in her every action. “I should have… I should have calculated better, worked faster, tried harder to slow his momentum.” She’s rambling. “I tried to—I tried to do it in my realm, but I’m not used to that place. I should have been able to control him but I barely take anyone in there. I just… Lack of practice. I was so afraid of my powers I never… I never thought I could use it to help people so I never… I didn’t…”

Fuck.

He can’t take this anymore. “I meant siding with Steve.”

That seems to shake something awake in her. “For fuck’s sake, Anthony. Were you always this conceited or did I punch you a little too hard during drills?”

“That would make this your fault too.”

Y/n smiles then.

Just like that. There she is. 

That’s his sister, Y/n Stark who’s always been synonymous to the word ‘unbreakable’ in his dictionary.

He sees her shift from being absolutely lost to something very close to livid.

She doesn’t need to hold on to the rails anymore. She stands up straight, meeting him eye to eye—her determination is back.

Tony has to adamantly remind himself that he is not going to regret his words.

She smiles and he can see Romanoff step away from the siblings—she’s the only team member who’s spent enough time with them to know to let the Stark siblings fight it out amongst themselves.

“Maybe you are Howie’s son after all, huh?” The words fall out of her mouth all twisted and angry, coated in venom. Before Tony can retort, she continues, “You wanted to lock us up to find a way to feel less shity about the fact that you created the fucking Terminator. Well, guess what? You’re on your own, kid. I’m not walking the plank for you. Not this one!”

“Oh fuck off!” Tony rebukes, cause when the fuck will his sister get off her high horse? “I never asked you to do that! I’ve never fucking asked you to sacrifice anything for me.” 

Y/n straight up laughs at him—mocking and cold. “Yes, yes. And Tony Stark isn’t Iron Man. it’s just a machine playing at being a bodyguard.”

“I never—”

“Tony, you might not have said the words but you knew damn well what you were signing me up for the moment you told the world you’re Iron Man,” she tells him. “You’ve never had to ask me to do anything for you but that’s simply because you didn’t fucking have to.”

“That’s completely unfair. Being Iron Man was my thing!” He beats his chest, “Mine.” Walking closer to her, “You shoved yourself into this gig because you just presumed I wouldn’t be good at it.”

She chuckles, hollow and unkind. “If you want to pretend that the bullshit you’re spewing makes sense, I’ll let you fucking continue but do not fool yourself into thinking you’re some undefeatable hero.”

Tony takes another step towards her. “I don’t think I am undefeatable! I just know I am more than capable of holding my own.”

“Yeah. ‘Course. That why you sporting that busted lip?”

It’s a taunt through and through. The lip’s bust cause she landed a (frankly—and Tony would deny it till the day he dies—damn near artistic) blow straight to his face. He’d provoked her to do it—thrown the first punch and then taunted the shit out of her. All this while knowing full-well she was completely on the defensive. 

She loves them all too much. 

The Avengers are the closest thing she has to a family, he knew she wasn’t going to lift a finger unless he made her. So he may have said a few colorful things, itching for a fight. 

And now, he’s getting it.

“You proud?” He strikes back—he’s never been to back down from a fight. Why start now? He’s going to meet her punch for punch, word for word. He is not in the mood to lose any more today. He doesn’t have the luxury. He backs down now, it was all moot.

“Excuse me?” Y/n asks, all her previous cockiness gone.

“I asked if you were proud of it? I mean, you must be. It was a good hit.” The tone’s so harsh he throws himself off too. He knows—well, he’s consciously aware of the fact that he is the one speaking the words but they sound distant. As if he’s just a passive listener as the whole scene unfolds.

But he isn’t.

“Tony! That’s not fair!” Romanoff speaks out, clearly shocked at Tony’s insolence.

Makes two of us, he thinks.

“What’s not fair is that my sister, my best friend, the one person in this whole fucking world who was supposed to always, always be on my side, is siding with her perky blond boytoy,” he exclaims, heartbroken. Because could this shit be any worse? No, seriously, could anything be worse than this?

He’s been repeating himself, shouting himself hoarse and he knows it seems like he’s overreacting—like he’s blowing this all out of proportion. But he is not. You have to understand that while he’s had the most extravagant upbringing, he’s always been comfortable and well off, he’s been alone for most of it. His father was—well, his father was Howard Stark. And his mother, God bless her, couldn't bridge the gap between him and his father no matter how hard she tried. Despite that he cherished it—having them—even in this broken way, he really did love his parents. Then he lost them. Both of them, together in one fell swoop.

Then there was that bitch Obediah. 

We don’t talk about that bitch Obediah.

Tony was too fucking smart for most of the people he’d met, no one could keep up. Some were jealous, while others just wanted to get closer to him to bask in his limelight. All of them, all his interactions throughout his life were always… transactional. He was always alone.

Except her.

Y/n came to pick him up from school, not because Mom or Dad had asked her to. Nope. She came to pick him up so she could take him to Chinatown and have spring rolls. If Tony ever asked her why she’d pick him to go along with her, her answer was always a confused look and annoyed string of words asking him, ‘why would I take anyone else?’

And the question was always, always genuine. Because Tony was her bestest friend in the whole fucking world.

Now, think about it. How would you react if your best friend sided with Steve ‘Golden Boy’ Rogers?

“Fuck you, man. I know you think you’re the center of the universe but you’re not. I’m not siding with him!” Y/n bites back, angry and overwrought.

But that’s not his point. She’s missing the fucking point. “You’re not siding with ME either!”

Her head falls then. “Tony,” she exhales heavily, hands on her hips. She’s wearing the tattered up remains of her clothes from the fight. If he looks for it hard enough, he can see her exhaustion, almost feel it. Even as she speaks, the fight’s leaving her, he can see that too. “I spent my entire life running away from this. I cannot go back. You don’t understand because it’s not the same for you…” He’s never seen her this… this jaded.

He can’t afford to get distracted.

“Because I haven’t had shit hauled at me?” Tony challenges, undeterred and unwilling to move even an inch. He may not have gone through what she has but he’s had his own share of shitty fucking experiences.

“I am not saying that, Tones. I’m not. I’m just saying it’s different for you than it is for us,” she explains, her tone patient and sympathetic.

“She’s right, Tony,” Romanoff cuts in. “We’re not downplaying your experiences, we’re not trying to take away from it. We’re just saying it impacts us differently than it does you. We have lived very… different lives.”

“We’re a little wary of ‘organizations’ insisting on controlling our actions,” Y/n surmises. 

What comes next is not one of his best moments.

It’s not something people will talk about in his greatest hits. Nope. Never. It will, however, make the top-three-dumbest-shit-Tony Stark-ever-did list. Fuck—Tony will look back on this moment for years to come. He’ll come back to it time and again, think and then rethink his words. He’ll spend night upon nights, sleepless and disturbed—knowing that he fucked up here. He’ll know that this was where he fucked up. His words won’t be held against him, no. Not by her, never by her. But he’ll still know it was the most horrible thing he could say.

But Tony doesn’t know that yet.

He doesn’t know that yet because guilt is an unfearing emotion.

“Aren’t you a little tired of this schtick?” Tony asks, cocking his head with a cruel, hollow smile. “Aren’t just a little bit tired of using that same old fucking sob story for every single decision you ever make in your godforsaken life?” He looks around, chuckling at the thought. It’s a chilling sound. “At some point you’d have to stop milking that shit, don’t you think?”

It’s only when he finally looks at her that he realizes he’s fucked up.

Her face is hard—harder than stone. There’s a fury in her eyes he’s never seen there before, even for her enemies. He’s never seen that look on her face in his entire life. It sends a chill down his spine. 

When she speaks, her words are low but prominent. “My trauma is not for you to use as a punchline for your baseless argument.” They leave no room for an argument anymore. They leave no room for anything but shitting your fucking pants. 

He overstepped.

Big time.

Fuck.

“Tony,” Romanoff cuts in, clearly able to sense that this discussion could lead to bloodshed. “I’d suggest you take a step back.” Her eyes are pleading him to be more cautious with his words. “Think before you speak.”

“I—” He doesn’t know what to say. He clenches his fists. Trying and failing to gather his thoughts.

The pause that hangs in the air is so heavy it’s almost painful. He thinks maybe it’ll never end.

But it has to. 

“I get that you’re scared but what happened before won’t happen again. This isn’t like Madripoor. You’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it. And, I mean, com one, you might not trust the Accords yet but you joined S.H.I.E.L.D. right? So why not give this a shot too?” Tony questions in a softer voice, but his desperation persists.

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. was mine,” Y/n insists. “It was mine and Peggy’s and Howard’s, and Colonel Phillips’. We found it, Tony. It was my home.”

“I didn’t know you founded S.H.I.E.L.D.” Romanoff notes, almost sounding bewildered. 

Maybe she sounds bewildered, could easily be any other emotion in the book cause Tony, even after all these years, has made no progress on being able to read the former spy. 

“I didn’t want to be on the books, I preferred my life off the grid,” She informs her. And the strain in her words doesn’t hurt Tony at all. It doesn’t sting. Of course not. Nope. “We made it for people like me, to protect them, help them.” She sounds like she’s reminiscing. It somehow rubs him the wrong way.

“And yet, you left that too…” Tony comments, disparaging and snide.

“I had my reasons,” Y/n provides, and just like every other time she’s mentioned it, there is a hesitance in her words. 

“Yeah! You keep saying that, and I have no clue what the fuck this elusive reason is.” He has never pressed her on it before, but well, considering all this newly spilled bad blood, why not push his luck just a little bit further? “You told me about all your missions gone wrong, even your run-ins with the Winter fucking Soldier, and it wasn’t any of that. So what possible reason could you have for quitting an organization that you created to protect yourself?” 

“Do we have to talk about this?” She asks, annoyed.

“Yes. You always feed me the same bullshit about how you just had to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. that you couldn’t trust them anymore, that it was the necessary choice but whenever I ask why, all you do is blame Hank Pym’s fucking haircut.” Tony’s anger comes back to him again, picking up right where it’d left off. “You bail at the fucking sight of a regulatory body, why the fuck is that?”

“Because Tony! I couldn’t trust them anymore!”

“And we’re back here again,” he takes a step to her. “WHY NOT?!”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. WAS TESTING MY BLOOD!” She yells out, shutting him up completely. “Without my knowledge,” she adds much quieter.

“No…” It can’t be. “No. Dad—Dad wouldn’t let that happen,” Tony tries to argue. He can’t be sure though, he didn’t know his father well enough to bet his life on it. But he wouldn’t have let it happen. He wouldn’t.

“He’s the one who was running the tests.” 

For anyone following along, Tony’s heart hasn’t been doing well since he got abducted by his own fucking father figure, but this somehow seems to break his heart all-together. He never saw that coming.

Romanoff seems to be just as surprised as him, ‘cause she looks pale and remains absolutely mute.

Y/n is the one who talks then, trying to cut through the silence. “He… He was worried. He thought if he understood my powers, he’d be able to help me. And, I mean, can you blame the guy? You house this random teenager in your house and every night you wake up to a fucking earthquake cause she had another nightmare. Anyone would want an explanation, a way to control the powers.”

“But… He was your best friend,” Romanoff says and Tony feels like he can’t fucking breathe.

Y/n, though, just shrugs, like it wasn’t a cruel breach of trust. Like Howard Stark hadn’t stabbed her in the back. Like it was any old thursday. “He was,” she agrees with ease, before turning to Tony and continuing, “and sometimes friends do stupid shit in a naive attempt to try and help.” Fuck me with a chainsaw and call me Samantha, Tony thinks. “It wasn’t all bad. He’s the one who figured I wasn’t all alien.” She says it with a smile, like it was fucking nothing. 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Tony manages to ask, confused beyond words.

“And give you another reason to hate him? You had plenty. It was between us, we solved it and moved on like adults,” she tells him, calm as ever. 

“Y/n! He broke your trust!” Tony argues, taking a step towards her, finally finding his voice again.

She just rolls her eyes, “He got curious, Stark. He’s a scientist, can you blame him?”

“So am I! And I would never do that!,” He yells. And only when the words are out of his mouth does he understand what he just said. “I would never do that to you,” he insists in a smaller voice, with a softer tone.

She smiles then, true and open. “I know, Tones. I know.”

It’s… It’s hard for him to process this information. He doesn’t know where to put this, how to categorize it. He has absolutely no clue what to do with this.

So he asks instead, “Did mom… did she know?” He’s scared but it’s better than the alternative of having to come to terms with the whole situation..

“No, no nooo!” Her hands move around animatedly to drive the point home.”If Maria had known he wouldn’t have been alive long enough for you to exist,” she shakes her head with a fondness he doesn’t know where to place. “No, she didn’t know. He got the ass-reaming of the century from Peggy, we burnt the leftover blood samples and called it a day.”

Fuck. “Fuck!” Tony curses, absolutely lost on what he should do now. Cause what the fuck is he supposed to do now?

“Stark,” she urges, softly, “let’s focus on the problem at hand, let’s deal with the fake doctor, let’s handle that and then we can come back to this. We’ll fight this, together, united. The Avengers stay together, we fight our way through this. We agree on a document that works for us, for all of us.”

Tony shakes his head, tumbling back. “You don’t understand Y/n, you have to sign the Accords… there are no neutral parties. There can’t be. You sign this or it’s over.” She tries to say something, but he marches on, he needs to get this out. “After what happened in Sokovia, after the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D. after Lagos, the world governments are not going to settle for anything less. You have to see that.” He sighs, exhausted and man, can someone fix this pain in his shoulder please? “You can make amendments,” he suggests. “However many you want, okay? Make amendments to your heart’s content. Once you sign this, we can fight about the specifics, Y/n. We’ll have the best lawyer in the business on our side! Just sign it, Y/n. Please. They are out for blood, Ross more than anyone else. He will not let you go.”

“He won’t be able to find me,” Y/n tells him, with a straight face.

“If he can’t find you, how will I?”

He cannot lose her. 

He just fucking can’t. Not… Not over this.

It seems to hit her too. It’s only then that he notices she looks a lot less fierce than she usually does. “Tony, there is no scope for amendments.”

“Once you sign—”

He’s cut off. “Tony, read the fucking document. Come on! Have I taught you absolutely nothing? Read the thing before you sign it. There is absolutely no scope for amendments. There are too many loopholes to stop the issues from even being raised. It’s solid as a stone, I won’t be able to barter for even an ounce of freedom.”

“Y/n…” He’s fucking desperate. “We need regulation.”

“Tony this isn’t regulation… I can’t sign this.”

This is when Romanoff speaks up. “Tony, Steve's not gonna stop. If you don't either, Rhodey's gonna be the best case scenario.”

And somehow her words are harsh enough to make him angry all over again. “You let them go, Romanoff.”

“We played this wrong,” she tries. But he’s not taking any prisoners.

“'We'? Boy, it must be hard to shake the whole double agent thing, huh? It sticks in the DNA,” he throws back.

“Anthony,” Y/n scolds him.

“Are you incapable of letting go of your ego for one goddamn second?” Romanoff rebukes.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he tells her, “T'Challa told Ross what you did, so… they're coming for you.”

Just as the words slip out, Y/n’s phone chimes. 

“Either Tony’s a fucking psychic or the Secratary of State just has impeccable timing,” she comments looking down at her phone. When she looks up at them her face is stern. “He’s on his way, he’ll be here in 5. You should go.”

“Me?” Romanoff asks her, bordering on pissed. “We should go.”

Y/n just shakes her head. “We leave together, we won’t be able to lose them. You go ahead, I’ll buy you time.”

“Y/n—” Romanoff’s protest is cut short.

“Just go. Given the fact that my superpower is straight up teleportation, I think I’ll fare much better than you,” Y/n assures her. “Go.”

Reluctance clear on every inch of her face, Natasha Romanoff unwillingly begins to walk away. But not before one last (metaphorical) punch to his gut. She looks at Tony, “I’m not the one who needs to watch their back.” With that she makes her swift exit, leaving the balcony and seamlessly blending in with the crowd.

Slowly, both siblings, without words, come to stand next to each other leaning on the railing, looking at the view ahead.

“How are you planning on buying time?” Tony asks her then.

“Will you tell on me to the teacher, Stark?” She asks, teasing.

It’s a truce. It’s temporary. 

He still thinks they should consider signing the Accords and she still believes it’s not the way to go.

But despite all that, Tony can’t help the way lips curl up. “I’m not a rat.”

“Aren’t you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Cause that’s what all the rats say,” she tells him with a mischievous smile. “I would know, I’ve been the rat.”

A chuckle slips out from his lips.

She joins him easily.

He might not be sure about much right now, but he knows for a fact that if he were to lose her, he wouldn’t survive it. “What happened to Rhodey… you know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

The smile drops from her face. “Wasn’t it?”

“You have to know it wasn’t.” He needs her to know at least that. He needs her to know no matter what happens, this was not her.

“If I’d known my powers better, had I… I don’t know. If I had not been so afraid of them, if I’d practiced once I knew I was safe, none of this would have happened.” Her head falls back, eyes closed. “If I had control over my powers, Wanda wouldn’t have been enough to break me. Would have saved us so much trouble.”

“There would still be a raging Hulk on the loose,” Tony contends.

She rolls her eyes. “People know the Hulk. They understand—scientist gets angry, becomes green and Hulk-y. It tracks in their head. But it was different for me, the first time I ever showed my powers to the world was when I was out of control…” She closes her eyes, head falling. “Maybe it would’ve been better to not hide them in the first place,” she whispers.

“We don’t know that,” he ventures, ‘cause it’s true. “We don’t know what could have happened. All we could say with certainty is that we’re both a couple of dumbasses.”

“I’ll have to agree on that one,” Ross’s voice booms as he walks onto the balcony. 

Both siblings turn to eye the intrusion. It’s Ross flanked by… Ross—the other Ross—Everett and some other dude in a suit he’s never seen before. But he looks annoyed, old and has glasses on so he just presumes the man must be important as well.

“Nice to see you too Mr. Secretary,” Y/n replies with an easy smile. But it’s not open. It’s the one she wears just before she’s about to make someone’s day a lot worse.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, young lady. You should have taken Romanoff’s approach and run when you had the chance,” Ross comments. And honestly? Yeah, Tony kinda wants to rescind his fucking signatures cause siding with this man is seeming less appealing by the minute.

But Y/n just laughs. “It’s not like you’ll be able to stop me if I were to run even now,” and just to fuck with him, she glitches an inch off to the side.

Ah, that’s where I got the innate need to be an ass.

“Now you’re just showing off,” the smaller Ross says, sounding more charmed than pissed.

The smile doesn’t leave her face, “Maybe I am.” She glitches a step closer to the group of men. “So, Mr. Secretary, did you need something from me?”

“Still a fiery little thing, aren’t you?” Ross mocks. Tony can’t help but roll his eyes at his hubris. “It’ll die out soon enough, once we get you situated at the Raft along with the rest of your team members.”

Raft? Wait… What does he mean by the Raft? Why would he put them there? That’s not—it’s not right.

He’s losing his shit.

But Y/n frowns, innocent and demure, like she knew about it already. Like she knew that’s where they’d put them. “On what charges am I getting arrested, Mr. Secretary?”

And on his part, the Secretary of State takes her mock naivete in stride. Letting out a short laugh. “Well if you’ve taken the time to read the Accords, you’d know that using your powers on the field without the explicit say-so of the UN committee is illegal.”

“I didn’t use my powers.”

That finally breaks whatever rope was holding the bridge of Ross’s anger together. “Do not play dumb with me, Stark. This might have worked with Fury, but I’m not him.”

“Don’t I know it. Never thought I’d miss that old croak, and yet…” she comments, still smiling. “But my point still stands. I did not use my powers.”

Before Ross can say something that might put a sailor to shame, the shorter Ross intervenes, “We have footage of you fighting Barnes at our facility.”

“I didn’t fight Barnes, I fought the Winter Soldier. And on that issue, I’ve got two words for you, self defense,” she tells them easily and a smile just slips out on his face. He may not agree with her on this—profoundly divisive issue, but he’ll never not be in absolute admiration of his big sister fucking around with authorities.

“You can’t be serious,” the shorter Ross throws back, with a confounded smile.

“Check the footage if you like,” Y/n takes a few steps back, leaning on the railing behind her and pulling out a box of cigarettes from her pocket. “I didn’t throw the first punch…” She puts one between her lips, casual and easy. “I didn’t even use my powers until he came at me with his fucking metal arm and his fucking enhanced strength.” She pulls out her lighter. “What did you expect me to do then? Get beaten up?” She lights the cigarette.

“Yes,” Ross supplies.

She smiles at him, taking a drag. “Might be your style. Not mine.”

“And what about at the airport in Germany?” The shorter Ross asks.

Y/n shrugs. “Never threw the first punch.” Another drag. “Besides, I was defending myself from a rag-tag group of superheroes who were after me with a vengeance.” She smiles at her own words looking at Tony on her side.

And just for that, he decides to be a bitch too. “What if I were to sue you for assault?” 

Her smile drops instantly and for a second he thinks maybe he won that round, but alas. “You could have, if you’d fucking listened to me! You should’ve let me come to you. I have told you about a million times; you are not the biggest guy on the field. You fight well but not well enough to be cocky, you are supposed to let your opponent come to you.”

“The best defense is a great offense,” Tony says lamely.

“That’s what idiots say when they have shit defense! If you let them come to you, you get the advantage of not just using their momentum against them, you also get to know the move they trust most because 9 times out of 10, you want to start the fight off on a strong foot so you use the move you’ve practiced often, but also the one that you’re most comfortable with,” Y/n scolds him, hands waving everywhere, clearly annoyed with him beyond words.

“That seems like an exaggerated statistic,” Tony tries.

He fails.

“It’s not,” the shorter Ross supplies. “She’s right.” He earns a stern look to shut up from Ross.

“You could’ve sued me if you’d just listened to me. I’m easy to provoke, especially when the person provoking me is you.” She takes another drag. “Look at me right now, I want to punch you so bad.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Today clearly has not been a day of peace thus far, so why not continue to choose violence?

“That’s enough!” Ross yells. “I’ve heard enough out of the both of you!” The man looks like he’s well past blowing a gasket. He looks at Tony, “Stark, you are well past your 36 hours to get me Rogers,” he turns and fixes his gaze on his sister, “And as for you… Stark, feel free to cry to the judge about how it was self-defense when you’re on trial. Till then there’s a cell with your name on it on the Raft, that’s where you’ll have to throw whichever fit comes after this one.” The way he speaks it’s evident he doesn’t believe that she’s a threat, not to him. “We’re putting you under arrest.”

“Oh?” Y/n asks. She waits a second and then suddenly there’s a sound of static that rings out. She is next to Tony one second and the next she’s standing against Ross, toe to toe. She pulls the cigarette out of her mouth. “You and what army?”

A vein pops out on Ross’ temple. 

“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Stark,” Ross warns.

“Or maybe you’re forgetting that I might look like a young and ‘fiery little lady’ but I’m not. I have been doing this since before you were even a thought in your father’s head.” She takes a drag, slow and somber. “You best learn to respect your elders, son.”

And just like that, she’s gone. Glitched into nothing. 

Tony tries his best not to let this little spark of pride overtake his guilt.

Read the next part here. Find the series masterlist here. Find other Static Verse works here.

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hit me up if you wanna be added to the tag list. I have taken so long to update so much of my tag list has just deactivated their accounts. ouch hahahaha (cries while laughing)

[prokopetz]

My kind sir, I've clearly fucked up my previous attempt to explain what I thought someone else was saying, but: This stressing out function sure sounds like it'd do what you'd want to be able to do if your the sort of person who just wants to blow the heck up. Said person likely also has other explosive functions; that one is just - I blow up, and I'm no longer in the scene. Fetch me next one, since I'll be back.

(With reference to this post here.)

When it comes to evaluating the cost versus utility of abilities in a tabletop RPG, it's important to remember that, from the player's perspective, a character being removed from play even temporarily is a cost. It's arguably the most significant sort of cost that can possibly be imposed, insofar as it's a cost which imposes itself directly upon the player by removing their ability to participate in the game.

This means that occasions to make use of such an ability are likely to be rare for two reasons: first, because players are disinclined to use a ability when the benefit doesn't measure up to the cost (and the perceived cost of being removed from play is high), and second, because frequent removal from play naturally limits the player's ability to do anything, even if their character gets better later on.

Of course, you can offset the high perceived cost by making the effect of the ability very powerful, but that runs the risk of our ticking time-bomb of a character overshadowing everybody else; even if they don't use their self-annihilating "I win" button in a given situation, the knowledge that they could is going to warp everybody else's priorities.

This isn't to say that abilities which remove a character from play as a cost are impossible to work with. They're just a huge pain in the ass to get right, and they're so strongly self-limiting in terms of how frequently they're likely to come into play that it's rarely feasible to build a character around them.

Which brings us back to the central conceit of Eat God, where every player character is built out of exactly three rules toys. Asking someone to take up a third of their entire character sheet with the ability to blow themselves up isn't a winning play from a player engagement perspective, no matter how you implement it; either they use it rarely and a third of their character sheet is dead weight, or they use it frequently and spend most of the session removed from play. Neither is something I'm inclined to randomly inflict on a game.

[subjectivemortality]

Is there anyone you want to fuck but can't fsr?

Obviously @inbetween-beast-and-man 🫶

Real answer: At the risk of sounding conceited, when I want to get laid I obviously don't have a problem doing so. If I run into a situation where I'm attracted to someone and can't/shouldn't sleep with them for one reason or another, or the attraction isn't reciprocated, I generally just stop thinking of them in that way. Or I guess, more accurately, it stops being a consideration for me. Sex is great for having fun and connecting with someone, but it's not a requirement for those by any means and I would much rather maintain a friendship than pursue something that might do damage for the sake of an act I don't actually need.

That was a complicated explanation for what amounts to a 'not really', but alas

[beautifulpersonpeach]

It’s been almost two weeks since Yoongi’s incident. Any thoughts?

***

Do you reckon Yoongi has seen the movie Twisters yet? For some reason I feel that's the kind of movie Yoongi would like - tornados, explicit scenes, directed by a Korean (Lee Isaac Chung), more tornados... yeah I'd say it's right up his alley.

Or maybe he's watching Saltburn instead, over and over, like some sexually repressed sicko with an ice cream addiction.

Ice cream, not alcohol.

Anyway, my opinion from two weeks ago hasn't changed, but here's a tad bit more.

Frankly, seeing your ask annoyed me a little, because it reminded me of the peculiar compulsiveness that keeps the k-pop machine churning. At risk of sounding like a mildly conceited broken record, this ridiculous fiasco - first of the media's reaction to Yoongi acting irresponsibly, breaking the law, and then the fandom's response to it - exemplifies something I've said before. That the industry itself feeds the frenzy, and that the fandom, ARMY in particular, lives for it.

We shouldn't still be talking about Yoongi driving a scooter drunk from his studio. We shouldn't still be harassing journalists or fandoms over it. We shouldn't be egging ourselves into increasingly more manic episodes of paranoia and panic over Yoongi leaving BTS or BTS breaking up (it's not happening) or of the whole world secretly working to destroy BTS or of Yoongi dying from liver cancer. We most certainly shouldn't be turning Min Yoongi into some kind of martyr over it.

It's like masturbating in public.

Just sick and gross.

The man is fine. He is rich, embarrassed by his dumb and irresponsible actions, and by all accounts appropriately chastened. There was uproar when the news broke but that's because there's always uproar when a BTS member gets into a scandal, and this time an actual crime was committed. The media reporting was atrocious, but again that's par for the course, not just for Yoongi but most other high-profile celebrity cases in Korea; and unlike most of these cases, conclusive evidence was available to mostly vindicate him within the week and wrench out a blunt apology from the press. That's already significantly better than most other celebrities get.

Despite all the noise, there's never been any real threat to BTS or Yoongi as a result of this mess. He'll pay his fine, continue serving in the military, remain the recluse, and show his face again no sooner than September 2025 as Suga of BTS.

Seeing the scale of fall-out within the fandom just confirmed for me ARMY is nearly completely overrun with shooters. There's really no going back to the fandom as it used to be. It is what it is.

The one silver lining for me though, was learning that Yoongi is apparently still going to the studio. I'm curious to hear the music he's working on, but have made me peace with the fact that, again, we likely won't hear it until 2025 at the earliest.