#but it's more take me to an art museum and let me talk about robbing in then maybe we can fuck

[unholyhelbig]

any chance for a kate x reader angst?

Title: Firecrest (Part 1/???)

Ship: Female!Reader x Kate Bishop

Wordcount: 4075

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Mentions of sexual activities, fire, mentions of childhood abandonment, horrible grammar (I don't proofread lol), and things I'm sure I'm forgetting.

[A/n: how about enemies to lovers angst? How about Enemies to lovers with a little fake dating sprinkled in there? Let me know if this is something you all would like to see continued!]

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Your mother had the in-depth beauty of a street dog. Her features were angular, yet soft and welcoming. People were often tempted to reach and run their fingers through her fur. But she tended to gently correct. She had the perfect demeanor for a government spy. However, you had always known her as a brilliant biochemist. Alluring in her brilliance.

The soft lights of the city shaded her face in the back of the taxi. The air had warmed significantly, but the low hum of the air conditioner made you pull your suit jacket close to your breast. The maroon had felt like too much at first. But the impressed nod from the woman next to you was enough to ebb away any doubts.

Your mother popped open her compact and swiped her finger against the corner of her mouth, taking away the smudged gloss that wasn’t noticeable in comparison to her presence. There was not much you feared in this world, but her wrath. Her annoyance. Her disappointment. None of which she flashed often.

“Remember what we talked about, y/n.”

“Of course. Would you like me to repeat it?”

She snapped the compact and leveled you with amusement. Her eyebrow lifted, the start of a smile at the corner of her lip. She couldn’t be serious. You made eye contact with the taxi driver in the mirror. He showed the same amusement that your mother did, yet somehow, hers stung more.

A groan escaped you, but bled into the mantra that was drilled into you for the past two weeks. “I will be the perfect lady who is grateful for the success of Lance and his political circuit.”

“And?”

“I will not start anything I can’t finish with Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, And I’m an adult perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“That wasn’t part of it.” Your mother corrected softly. Her hands were suddenly on you, smoothing down the lapel of your suit. “But It’ll do. Mostly, because we’re here.”

Eleanor Bishop often held her galas in the historic buildings of downtown Manhattan. There were small pamphlets lingering by the extensive hand-carved doors. They’d detail the rich family that had built it from the ground up. The architecture was always admittedly beautiful, and Eleanor had a subtle, expensive taste.

This venue was no different; stretching hallways and men in suits that mirrored yours in a tasteful black. Your mother never stepped ahead of you, instead holding a hand out and helping you from the back of the taxi. You’d left a generous tip, careful not to shove your hands into your pockets.

“This used to be a museum for fine arts and culture. The last I heard; the city was going to tear it down but made it a historical site. They use it for banquets now, I suppose.”

“Oh? You’ve read the informational booklet, then?”

She jabbed her elbow into your ribs and mocked a scowl. “No. I robbed it. How do you think we paid for your college tuition, kiddo?”

That was an exaggeration. You were 90% sure- maybe 75%. Bobbi Morse was a force to be reckoned with, and that was something you had learned from a young age. She’d let you sit on the counter of her lab while she worked, and you’d watch her with absolute awe.

Your mother had taught you, without fail, a variety of fighting skills. Starting with Aikido and ending with Taekwondo. She was a master at her craft, both in the field and in her lab and had worked with you since you could walk to train you in the same.

“Mm,” You hummed your response, “Which priceless painting did you take?”

“It was a vase, smart-ass.”

You pulled in a breath to retort before effectively being rendered silent by the performance hall. Eleanor Bishop had gone all out for the benefits that she backed. This was a vast space that was adorned in white sheer and glittering lights. A slideshow of the sponsored bird sanctuary flashed on the televisions scattered throughout the space.

There was a band on the stage, string instruments that you could feel in the center of your chest. The low notes shuddered through you as you took in the crowd. There were few that you actually recognized, usually hazed in expensive alcohol and lingering by the food, or some form of fresh air.

“It’s ironic that it’s about birds, right?”

She leveled you with an unimpressed look and squeezed your shoulder fondly. It didn’t take long for Lance to make his way over to the both of you. His eyes lit up and a smile spread across his freshly-shaved face. He gave you a small wave, gently exiting the conversation he was having with a congressman, a millionaire, or an architect that was just the right amount of desperate.

Lance Hunter had stolen your mothers heart when you were ten years old. You always assumed it was the accent, but the more you got to know him, the more you understood his charms. Lance had never forced things with you, had never claimed to be your father.

There were quiet moments when he’d join you on the wrap-around porch of your family home and just sit. The two of you would watch the way the sun dipped behind the horizon, sipping on syrupy cans of soft drink. Eventually, you talked to him, and he listened with diligence.

“My girls,” he said, placing a chaste kiss against your forehead before sidling up next to Bobbi. They had effortlessly matched in a deep and royal blue that contrasted the ignited red of your own suit. You were the perfect epitome of a political family.

Eleanor Bishop had given you a brief nod of the head, signifying your presence. It was a silent warning told through blackened eyes: Behave.

Her diligent attention was enough to split your family up. You preferred to linger away from the stuffy socialites. Bobbi and Lance were required to mingle. You plucked a flute of bubbling champagne from a passing tray and moved towards one of the elegant support beams decorated with what you now learned, was real foliage.

The floral scent tickled the back of your throat, so you took a generous swallow and let the alcohol warm your stomach diligently. There had to be something interesting around here, away from the rest of the party. A plague or two that would further explain the venue.

A burst of forced laughter greeted your parents as they sidled up next to Jack and Eleanor. Lance had produced some campaign buttons, which the group took without hesitation. You had to admit, he was loveable and politician-worthy.

“Look at us, we match.”

You swallowed back a groan, not bothering to look over. A small noise still escaped you, and the grumble conveyed your exact disposition towards Kate Bishop. Disgust. Annoyance. The slightest bit of attraction. She overwhelmed your senses with her crisp, winter scent.

Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you glanced over at her. She was in red too, incredibly vibrant against her soft expanses of exposed skin. The dress had a dipping neckline, revealing the freckles that created constellations against her collarbone. She beamed with irritation. You’d never admit that she was captivating.

“I thought you were given explicit instructions to leave me be.” You said between gritted teeth.

She hummed and grasped the drink from your hand. Kate was calculated in her movements, wrapping her lips around the smudge of lipstick that you’d already created on the rim of the glass. She didn’t break eye contact, those slate orbs boring into you.

“We both know you’re the most interesting thing at these parties.”

“I’m not falling for your… charms, Kate Bishop. Your mother may have bought you out of our consequences last time. But, I have more at stake.”

She scoffed and set the now empty glass down on the nearest table. You knew damn well that Kate wasn’t absolved of accountability after your run-in a few months back. She held herself differently now, and it was a minute expression of her posture that caught your attention.

There was a small split at the corner of her lip, and a healing bruise just at her hairline. She’d attempted to use makeup to cover the abrasions, but you had a trained eye. You were your mother’s daughter. These were defensive wounds. And for just a moment, you worried that the Bishop’s had a heavier hand than you’d anticipated.

But then, Kate’s muscles flexed and her head lilted to the side, dark curls splaying over her shoulders. She had grown stronger. It wasn’t noticeable, or at least, it shouldn’t’ have been. But you knew every inch of her body and despite your forced separation, she’d grown steady of herself.

“Why should I be punished, when you’re the one who set the curtains ablaze.”

You leaned close enough to feel her body heat. To her credit, she didn’t step back. A ghost of a smirk was on her lips. You snarled your words. “And who’s fault was that?”

“I don’t see how I was supposed to know you’d get trigger happy with your powers when I went down on you.” She gave you a cocky pout. “Is that a new thing, or have you never been able to handle yourself in moments of pleasure?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from grasping at the strap on her dress, pulling her closer to you out of a burst of anger. The phantom look of confidence spread into a full-blown grin. You were exasperated, the familiar heat burning just under your skin.

It was true, you’d lost control for just a moment, with Kate Bishops head between your legs, one hand buried deep in her mess of tangled hair. As an orgasm washed over you, thighs shaking, your other hand had drifted too close to the drapes and had caught them ablaze.

Despite the both of you being adults, you were separated within an instant. Dragged embarrassingly away by your respective parental units after the fire was put out. The last you’d seen of her was reflected with the flashing red lights of a rumbling fire engine.

Kate had a devilish look in her eyes. “Harder, baby.”

“Ladies,”

It was a resolute sound that had you pulling apart as if she was a toxic entity. In your book, she was. Both hands landed in your pockets and the two of you looked sheepishly at Eleanor. She’d been keeping an eye on you, you were sure. And had made a direct line to you the second Kate had given you that salacious look.

“Good evening, Mrs. Bishop. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

Kate coughed out something that sounded like ‘Kiss ass’ and covered it up with a doe-eyed look of innocence. She may not have been afraid of her mother, but you were terrified. Bobbi had a soft hand. It commanded you like a weapon, and you were happy to do what you were told.

Your own punishment had consisted of heavier training. Both mentally and physically to perfect control that you’d had mastered years ago when you were nothing but a girl with streaks of tears dripping from your chin. The fire had been too strong then, overwhelming and horrible.

“Good evening, Miss Morse, I trust you’ve found a way to entertain yourself during the benefit that isn’t antagonizing my daughter.” Before you could answer, she turned her attention to Kate. “And you. I specifically allowed you to bring a guest in attempts to keep you away from Bobbi’s little arsonist.”

She had been under the full impression that you’d taken a zippo to the hanging drapes. It was the white-hot flames that leaked from your own fingers that had done the damage. Kate was thankfully tight-lipped about the fact, and you let the socialite think whatever she wanted. She hadn’t pressed charges.

Kate pulled her shoulders back, almost looking offended at the name you were tagged with. Almost. “Clint got stopped at the front for an autograph, mom. I’m just biding my time.”

“Bide it somewhere else. We’ve talked about this.”

Eleanor gave you a tight-lipped smile that had noticeably softened compared to the venomous expression she held for Kate. A light squeeze was delivered to your arm. It had always scared you how quick she could switch like that. Her shoulders pulled back as she wandered back over to her group.

Lance lifted his chin in your direction. Silently asking if everything was okay, and it was. His quiet reassurance brought the heat licking at your stomach to a bubbling halt. Why you cared more about Eleanors disposition towards Kate, then her acidity directed at you, was beyond something you were willing to confront.

“Who’s Clint?”

“Why? Jealous?”

“Can we have a normal conversation, please. Is it so shocking that I’d take interest in your friends?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Yes. If you must know, he’s not a friend. He’s a mentor. He’s, my partner.”

Both of your eyebrows lifted. Partner in what? It wasn’t something you would audibly voice, save you show any concern past the normal amount that you usually had for Kate. The tautness of her muscles, and the superficial injuries made that discomfort return to the pit of your stomach.

Kate was an archer. You knew such from the trophies that littered her dresser the one time you’d been privy to her room. Truth be told, you hadn’t paid much attention. You were backed against her door and her teeth were scraping against your pulse point. But the little gold figures and the child-sized bow on the wall was enough to of a giveaway.

You only knew one archer, and you knew him distantly; from photos that your mother had blacked out with a sharpie. She’d later told you that she regretted the fact because the memories of the three of you would always remain.

The taste of bile filled your throat and Kate lilted her head to the side, like a golden retriever that had heard a piercing noise. There was a surprising amount of concern in her voice. “You okay? You’re looking a little green.”

“Hm? Yeah. Totally. The champagne is just sitting weird.”

A frown had found its way onto your face, and you directed your attention back to the crowd. It seemed that Eleanor was satisfied enough with the two of you lingering in silence. You were trained to know where the exits were in any venue. Kate’s stare shockingly darted in the same pattern as your own.

People had trickled in until the floor was bustling with conversation. You let your shoulders relax in the slightest bit, swallowing back the acrid taste in your mouth. Eleanor had lost her viewpoint of you and her daughter, and you weren’t much in the mood for fighting her on pure proximity.

“There you are, god, I didn’t know this many people cared about birds.”

This time, you couldn’t stop your narrowed eyes from flashing to the intrusion. Whatever distracted Kate was enough to be deemed a savior in your book. But the voice was familiar, painfully so. It was as if your body reacted by busting out in goosebumps, chills rushing down your spine.

Now, you wanted your mother to be able to see you. You were a strong, and capable adult that knew at least six different ways to kill a person without a weapon. You’d gone on missions with your mother, with your Aunt Daisy, too. A simple man in a simpler suit should not make your knees weak.

Yet- here he was. In a charcoal black ensemble with a pocket square that was a flash of purple. It was a color you’d grown to despise. It was an eyesore, as was the man that stood at a height taller than Kate, but just a few inches.

You’d found a singular picture of him that wasn’t defaced in your mother’s nightstand. A polaroid of the three of you on the beach. The sun had turned your cheeks a flushed pink. He had you in his arms and beamed at the camera. Eyes matching the blue of the ocean.

They were the same now, the same vibrancy that you’d thought about. He looked other, worn from parenthood and the effects of time. Of course, you’d seen him on television, but Bobbi had always been quick to flick it off, only lingering during the Sokovia accords.

His mouth fell open in disbelief, but you were careful to keep your jaw stock still. You weren’t going to give Clint Barton the satisfaction of rattling you. Not here, not if he ever decided to show up when you had a family of your own. Not on your deathbed. He couldn’t invoke that from you.

Kate had learned to pick up on body language, and she had learned fast. Her stare shifted between both you, and Clint. She had the right amount of perception to keep her mouth shut, even taking half an inch step back. She was in a position to hold the two of you apart, if need be.

“Holy shit,” He breathed out, “Sparky.”

“Don’t call me Sparky.”

You were taken aback by your own ability to produce words. They were pinched and had dropped down an octave to true anger. Not the type that Kate Bishop was used to. Sure, you had aggravation directed towards her, but nothing short of teasing.

Clint took a slight step towards you, and you took a large one back, nearly bumping into the support beam wrapped with vines and vibrant flowers. Your hand reached out to grab onto it for support, but Kate’s fingers wrapped gently around your wrist. Right. Yes. That would be the safe bet.

You needed to find Bobbi.

Chances were, Clint hadn’t seen her with the growing attendance. You could slip out through the large storm doors that were a few feet behind you. At least then, you could burn scorch marks into the grass and not into this historical building.

“What is happening?” Kate said, refusing to remove her hand from your wrist. You didn’t wrench it away, either. It was a force, a grounding factor. You refused to let the fire move past your fingertips in fear that it would burn her. “Clint?”

“She uh… She’s…”

The words died in his throat. You couldn’t’ stand looking at him, pale as ice and wringing his hands nervously. He couldn’t hold still, but you were like a stone. Almost as if he would vanish the second you averted your stare.

“I’m his daughter.”

Kate’s hand did move from your wrist and to your hand, almost out of instinct. Your relationship, or lack-there-of, had never required this kind of closeness. But She was hanging on tightly, nails digging into your skin. The slight sting brought you back.

Clint croaked “How’s your mother?”

Kate winced and you felt the spring in your spine loosen. He was more nervous than you were and that gave you an advantage. “You can ask her yourself. She and Lance are mingling.”

“Lance is here?”

“Of course.”

He was running for congressman. It would damage his campaign if he hadn’t shown up. The gossip blogs that followed the lives of New Yorks Elite had picked up on the rift between you and Kate. There were a few grainy photos of the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in foil blankets that made you look like Baked potatoes. There was soot on her chin, and you had wiped the darkness away with your thumb. Of course, that had been the moment they caught and wrote about, and plastered all over the internet.

Clint worked his jaw and cupped the back of his neck with a tepid smile. It wavered incessantly. He was boyish in his charm and that would always be the case, no matter how old he got. You knew he had a family now. A real family that didn’t’ consist of a secret agent and their match-happy daughter.

You gave Kate a squeeze with your free hand, signaling that you were fine. The last thing you wanted to appear was weak. She seemed to get the message loud and clear, wrenching her touch away with a nervous clearing of her throat.

“I’m sorry… Can we back up for a second?”  

Clint had a dejected look in his eyes that almost made you feel a twinge of guilt. Almost. Your own ego often got in the way of things, and this was one of them. There was a flood of emotions between both of the archers, a silent pleading to hear him out.

“You and Mrs. Morse dated?”

“They were married.” You snatched another glass of campaign, this one all for yourself. You swallowed the acrid drink and let the bubbles assault your throat. “When did the divorce finalize, again?

“Y/n”

“No, I was never really privy to the details myself.”

“We shouldn’t do this here.”

You finished off the rest of the drink, a certain amount of your defenses lower. You felt warm, but not warm enough to do something stupid. He was right. You shouldn’t do this here and if you had your way, you wouldn’t’ do it anywhere. You were perfectly content to let this man slip back into oblivion and train the Bishop heiress that you had a habit of bedding.

Clint seemed to let out a sigh of relief when you nodded in agreement. He scrutinized you both, the rush of initial shock ebbing away like a melting lake. Chunks of ice broke off and gave way to the familiarity and closeness the two of you held. It was relaxed, despite the rivalry that landed you here in the first place.

“No,” he drawled out, “No, no, no. Kate, you didn’t’.”

The tips of her ears were red enough to match your suit and the color that painted her own lips. She hid her face in her hands with a groan. But you wrapped your arm around her waist and pulled her against your side.

“Does that bother you, old man?”

It clearly did. Kate leveled you with a delicious glare that was unmatched but didn’t’ move from your hold. Was she letting you have this? You weren’t entirely sure. He was whipping his head back and fourth with enough force to break his own neck. It was making you dizzy, but giddy all the same.

Your moment of joy at his dismay was short lived. You caught the sharp scent of your mothers perfume. She’d cut through the crowd and furrowed her brow at your closeness to Kate. It took her a few moments to realize that Clint was here. To realize that he was the man that had spurred your act of rebellion in doing the exact opposite of what she’d requested at the start of the night.

Her cool eyes took him in just as yours had. Kate was still next to you, swallowing a dryness in her throat that you could nearly hear. Bobbi didn’t attempt to separate you as Eleanor had. Instead, she gave you a quiet stare. “Darling, I think it’s time we go. There’s a situation we have to attend to.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure.”

It hadn’t been, but you shocked yourself and Kate by leaning in and pressing a kiss just behind her ear, still blazing with blush. She froze but gave you the slightest bit of nod. Clint opened and closed his mouth like a surfaced fish, but kept quiet.

Your mother walked with a purpose, her shoulders pulled back and an elegance to her sway. You didn’t look back, keeping time with her as she weaved through the crowd and towards the lobby that was ten degrees cooler and much, much more welcoming.

“Is there actually a situation, or is this your attempt at a rescue?”

She ignored your question, stopping and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a soft look in her eyes that made your stomach squirm. “Are you okay, sweetie? I had no idea that he’d be here. I never would have made you come.”

“I’m fine, mom.” She didn’t seem convinced, so you added “Really.”

Eventually, Bobbi relented with a shaky sigh and cupped your cheek in a comforting manner. “Good. Okay. Good. Because we do have a situation.”

[hypermania]

transcript of the full thread:

"A very long thread: To the League fans, We found out this news along with you on Friday. I see the pain and anger and worry out there, which for the LGBTQIA+ fans of the show is of course compounded by what’s happening across the country right now. #ALeagueOfTheirOwn

So the first and most important thing to say is: Before anything, before you fight for the show or each other, please take care of yourselves. Reach out to your community and ask for help if you need it. You aren’t alone. Please be kind to yourselves.

As I’ve been thinking about what’s happened, I come back to a quote from Penny Marshall’s film: “The hard is what makes it great.” Making this show is so hard and so great. There’s quite a bit to say about what’s been hard, but at this point that’s in the past.

Of course, if we have an avenue to do it well, we will continue the show, and I love seeing the noise you’re making in support of that. The noise matters!

And it’s hard for me to imagine there wouldn’t be a home for a show that thanks to you was in the Nielsen Top 10 for three weeks, was the top show on Amazon for a month and in the top five for six, that was recognized by critics as something special, that’s been recognized…

…with awards from GLAAD, HRC and a million other organizations, that was on a million year-end top ten lists, and that has a built in and deeply passionate audience.

Amazon is pursuing different kinds of programming, but to the rest of the world this show is a hit and has huge value and even greater potential. But first things first, we have to win this strike and get a fair deal before we can explore what comes next.

But for a moment, I want to talk about what happens if the world didn’t quite change quickly enough for you to have all the seasons of this show that we want to give you.

If we don’t find a good path forward, I will still know that League did what it came here to do and, in its own small way, changed the world.

And that’s because of all of you, and the light you continue to shine on the show — How you let it matter to you, how you let it become a mirror, how you let it change you.

I’ve never experienced a response to a show that’s as deep, personal, creative and meaningful as what the fans have done with League. When we were making the season 1, we all wondered and worried about whether people would accept it on its own terms next to the film.

They have, and you did that, and so much more. You lit up the internet on your first watch throughs of the show, when you realized where it was going (and made all of us laugh in the process).

You wrote enough fan fiction for 100 novels and created an outpouring of art and creativity that could fill its own museum — I’ve truly never seen anything like it.

You lifted up a 95 year old who had just come out of the closet and made her into a celebrity who gets recognized wherever she goes. Every time any member of the cast appears at anything, you turn it into a convention.

You stop Abbi wherever she goes, and though I’m a happily inconspicuous person, and you constantly find me and stop me and give me gifts that now have a shelf in my house.

When thousands of you appeared to see D’Arcy at the stage door of The Thanksgiving Play over its run, you turned it into the hottest queer bar in New York. You made Max’s suit and Chante’s beautiful performance into a movement.

A mob of you went to Pittsburgh and saw all of our locations. You dressed as the characters and made our characters into one of the biggest halloween costumes of last year.

You came out, you changed pronouns, you started living more openly, you gave sermons in church about the show, you opened bars, and you got a truly mind boggling number of tattoos that say “to the five” and “rob the bank.” What else am I forgetting? I'm sure you'll remind me.

But most importantly, you made a community, you found each other and found joy, which of course is what the show is about. In many more ways than I would ever have let myself imagine while we were making it, you literally bring the show to life every day.

Thank you for making our work mean something bigger. We’ve heard from so many different kinds of people around the world who are watching League.

But, in a time when all queer people are personally and politically under attack across the country and HRC has declared a “state of emergency,” my biggest fear is that the many queer fans of League will take this reversal as one more invalidation, one more blow, one more…

…effect of the general politicization of our identities. Most of us grew up feeling invisible, and as we gain strength, the predictable backlash forces are trying their hardest to get us to go back underground.

In case anyone needs to hear it: You are not small, niche, modest, off-putting or marginal, and neither are your stories. You are multitudes, you are building, and your stories are universal. You are the most rapidly growing audience and consumer group in this country.

You are powerful. You are the future, and the people who don’t recognize your importance now will feel be clamoring to catch up in a few years. As Chante said so beautifully when we received the Human Right Campaign Visionary award, you are the main characters. Be proud.

Be angry if you that’s how you feel, but know that we are going to win, and don’t ever let this moment or any other make you small. The biggest lesson of the characters in this show is that, in a world that had no space for them at all, they LIVED. (Continued)

They found love, they did the things they loved, they won. You’re doing the same thing, and just like them, you are heroes. We are still fighting for League. But whether we win or lose this one, I’m so proud.

From the time when we began working on the season, Abbi, Deta and I said to each other — Let’s not hold anything back, for as long as we get to be here, let’s do this the right way.

We got so many notes wondering if the exploration of the queer world of the 1940s or Max’s world would be better saved for season 2, if people needed to start somewhere a little more familiar. I’m so glad we didn’t listen, cause now I’m sitting here without any regrets.

And no matter what happens, the people behind League aren’t going anywhere. Give us a minute, we will be back with more for you to watch and read and feel. We’re going to win.

And you’re not going anywhere either, because what you’ve built and what you are is bigger than this show. It’s the story of our community, that comes to us through the hidden history that League shows just one small part of: The bars got raided and shut down.

But the people didn’t go anywhere, and they opened a new bar, and out of those spaces came music, cinema, dance, culture — What we now see as mainstream was birthed from the spaces our predecessors were forced to hide in. They made joy there."

[vilsoo]

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SPIDER

⸻ 🕷️‧₊˚ ⋅ spiderman!gojo satoru x black cat!reader obsessed with the hunt more than the prey, you love making satoru chase you. maybe one day you’ll let him catch you…

TAGS. robbery, theft, chase scene, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, flirting, eventual rough smut, slight stalking, use of petnames (cat, kitty, etc), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switchy!gojo, switchy!reader, WC: 3,670

gojo has never met anyone as reckless as you.

it was always in your nature to be so cunning, playful, and whimsical just to get what you want. but there was much more about you that he’ll forever admire; your intelligence, proficiency, skills, and agility as his partner alongside. you used to work together professionally, taking down criminals and carrying out missions while also having an intimate relationship together.

but aside your flirtatious, provocative side that gojo also had a thing for, you were still a criminal deep down.

he strongly believed that he could have a positive influence on you and not live the rest of your life as a thief. but your criminal instincts always got the best of you; you valued your independence and desires more than anything, enjoying your luxurious life of crime as a relentless and manipulative burglar. when gojo caught you stealing from the criminals you both fought, everything had to end that day from such betrayal. your mistrust and moral ambiguity was too much for him to handle as spiderman.

as the years gone by of working alone and saving the city millions of times now, you still come and go across gojo’s mind. you were nowhere to be found and unable to track no matter how hard he looked. as badly as he misses you alongside with him, he just couldn’t handle the conflicting loyalties, trust issues, and moral differences between you two. but there was no doubt that he still has love for you deep down… he’d often wonder what were to happen if you were to ever cross paths again.

“there’s been suspicious activity going down at the art museums and large bank corporations in tokyo and shibuya. many valuable art pieces have gone missing along with over 70 million yen robbed in just a blink of an eye…”

it was currently 12:07am in tokyo. gojo made his way inside the tokyo national museum while it was closed, checking if every art piece were still intact including the security protocols. he knew he wasn’t really supposed to be sneaking inside here, but he’s dedicated on catching this thief, even if it’ll piss the police off for stealing their job (like he always does) and taking care of things in his own way. but that’s how gojo rolls— technically considered as a vigilante, he’ll always be a menace to some people in the city, even the ones in authority. if only he wasn’t so whimsical and cocky about being better than the cops at doing their jobs sometimes…

as gojo was scanning the museum, nothing seemed out of place. even his spidey-sense couldn’t recognize any kind of movement, danger, or threat nearby. the showcase room with tokyo’s national treasures all looked perfectly fine— but it wasn’t until he passed by the katana displays.

a tiny black cat figure was sitting on the silk drape where the 10th-century crescent moon blade was supposed to be. though he was alert that an artifact was already missing, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trick this was. but when a click from the black cat went off, a demure voice recording started playing.

“hey, spider. been thinking about you a lot lately. it’s just boring living alone in this new house… maybe some new decorations wouldn’t hurt. like the crescent moon katana, one the five swords under heaven. i think it’d look lovely on my shelves, don’t you think?”

your voice heightened every nerve of his body as if his inhibitions were tossed out the window. his head darted at every corner of the showcase room, looking for cameras or even a sign of you lurking in the shadows. every thought of his was consumed by flashbacks of you; your scent that drives him crazy, your touch that drives him wild, your flirtatious side that gojo just couldn’t get enough of… all of your memories flooded right back into his head.

“black cat,” gojo marveled, suddenly coming back to his senses after realizing you were alive this whole time. “i should’ve known— 70 million yen in just one night? i didn’t think there’d be anyone that skilled to pull that off better than you can. still been a bad kitty, haven’t you?”

“aw. are you flirting with me already? seems like you missed me,” you teased through the speaker on the black cat toy.

“you ghosted me for months and here i find you again; catching you stealing art or starting your own heist,” he exasperated. “what’s it gonna take for you to actually stop stealing art?”

you couldn’t help but admire gojo through the security cameras; he still looked as good as the last time you left him. “you already know me, spider. my morals aren’t ever aligned with yours. now, you gonna get out of there and catch me or wait until the security system gets triggered?”

suddenly, the alarm went off right after you already made your escape out of the museum. cursing under his suit, gojo had to find a way out and avoid the red flashing lights and cameras. from the window, he can see you swinging with your grappling hook out from the museum and into the city.

“quick! check everything,” a man’s voice echoed down the hall when a rush of dozen security guards scurried into the showcase room.

gojo had to immediately attach onto the ceiling and hide in plain sight, looking for any nearby exits as quick as he could before you could get away this time. when he found a sunroof window that can be pushed open, he made his way out and started swinging towards the direction you were going.

it didn’t even take long for him to find you; he knew exactly what you were doing; making your way through the cityscape and pretending that he wasn’t following right behind you from a distance. you really wanted to get caught. or maybe you were luring him right where you wanted him to be…

“oh, you’re still with me!” you pretend to act shocked as you looked behind your shoulder, hauling yourself onto a crane and staying higher above him. you wanted to keep him at a distance where he can’t reach you, but he can follow you until you reached your hideout.

gojo grunted, remembering the fact that you can swing a little faster than him. “i can go all night if that’s what it takes!” he shouts.

“all night with me? is that a promise, satoru?”

“you naughty girl. still trying to flatter your way out of this?”

“oh, but you love when i do that!”

the two of you kept swinging through the city, through the streets, and even underground where all the train stations were busy. as exhausted as he was, he was still dedicated to reach you. maybe even capture you and pin you down with his webs for running away from him. as you swung through a darkened alleyway, gojo managed to draw closer and was preparing to shoot a web to temporarily stop you. but at the end of the alleyway, you suddenly disappeared. he landed on a window with a loud thud and panted heavily, looking everywhere for you.

“damnit,” he cursed under his breath. “where’d she go?”

as gojo crawled across the building’s windows and was about to haul himself over onto the rooftop, he peaked over and instantly recognized your shoes. you were heading through the doors of the building that appeared to be the balcony of a fancy penthouse, looking behind your shoulder with a smirk on your face before heading inside.

you were a naughty, yet clever girl in gojo’s eyes.

as quiet and sneaky he could be, he landed on the balcony and swung on top of your penthouse’s windows to not be seen. gojo had a sense that you knew he was watching— but then again, this is exactly you wanted. purposely discarding what you stole from today’s heist, you knew there was something else that you desired besides all that money and fancy artifacts you stole. you feigned oblivious about gojo literally stalking you. it made you want to spice things up a bit…

you whirled around to face your body mirror and slowly zipped down your latex black suit. slowly stripping down for him, as if you were throwing a little show— even the neighbors across the building could also enjoy. but you took pleasure and thrill from teasing gojo like this, always from a distance where it’ll tempt him to draw closer to you. he loved how coy you tried to play for him. maybe he wanted to get you back and give you the attention you were wanting. as he crawled on your large windows and made his way on the rooftop, he entered through your open sunroof window and landed in the middle of your living room with a loud thud.

but as he scanned the inside of your penthouse, you were gone. nowhere to be found in the last place he saw you. of course, you were wildly unpredictable to him. always pulling your own tricks and surprising him off guard. it wasn’t until it was too late before his spidey-sense could warn him that you were attacking him from his peripheral vision— before he could pull a move and defend himself from you jump attacking him, you grab his arm and flip him over on his back, straddling him as he grunted in pain.

“woah. breaking and entering now, spider?” you huffed as you hovered your masked face above his. “i don’t think it’s fair that i get in trouble for it but you don’t.”

“trouble?” gojo scoffed. “you’ve caused enough trouble for me tonight, sweetheart. i played your little game and chased you down the whole city. and now i finally caught you just like you wanted me to.”

your lips curl into a smirk as your gloved hand slowly caresses his chest. your suit wasn’t even zipped down all the way, only revealing more of your cleavage that gojo definitely couldn’t take his eyes off of.

“technically you didn’t catch me. i caught you— stalking me through my windows and watching me undress myself? maybe i’m not the only naughty one here…”

“oh, please. what exactly did you gain from stealing and making me chase you all the way to your penthouse? ‘cause i know exactly what you’re doing right now…”

the tone in gojo’s voice falls from stern to sultry, feeling your heartbeat grow rapid in just a fleeting moment. there was this unexplainable affect that gojo had on you when you two were together. he’d evoke such strong sensations that you never knew you were capable of feeling, like tempting you to go straight and become a hero like him to fight alongside with. as a thief and wanted criminal, it’s palpable that good boys like gojo satoru were your type… you may have loved him, but you couldn’t love anything more than the hunt and the luxury.

your faces were just mere inches away from each other; you still memorize his prominent features that you adorned like how you memorized dozens of safe codes. but as gojo fixates his gaze onto you underneath his mask, you have eroded his senses once again, the way your dark mystery drizzles into his skin. he couldn’t fight nor deny how effortlessly you beguile him, wrapping him in some sort of spell. he fumbled several missions in the past just to kiss your pretty face, to sneak away on rooftops and get down to business from how crazy you make him, and developing serious romantic feelings for you that he was willing to make you more than just his girlfriend and partner— if only you had not betrayed him…

“don’t you miss this, satoru?” you cooed to his ear as your hand makes its way to the neckline of his mask. he can feel the way your fingers slipped underneath, gently caressing his neck and wanting to lift it just to reveal lips.

gojo would be lying if he said he didn’t. hot flashbacks of all the times you two made love and fucked each other hard in the past started running through his mind it was impossible to evade. he missed you deeply; he could never fight off the irresistible effect you have on him.

“you brought me all the way here for a reason. might as well make the most of it, right?”

suddenly, gojo pushes your body off his and hovered above you now, snatching his mask off and tossing it away in urgency as he kisses you. he can feel the way your lips stretch into a smile as you kiss back, immediately wrapping your legs around him and running your fingers through his snow-white hair. your body falls weak from his knee pressing between your legs, remembering your ultimate weakness.

gojo’s mouth made its way from your lips to the side of your neck, holding back from kissing your collarbone to get one good look at you one more time. his ultimate weakness was your luscious, expensive scent— whatever perfume you had was like a strong pheromone to him, sending his mind into a haze. but he still managed to remain in control, no matter how dominant you tried to act towards him.

“if you’re gonna strip for me, why didn’t you finish, hm? you wanted me rip your suit off for you or what?”

“do it, spider. i dare you,” you taunt, subtly biting your lip.

gojo chuckled, shaking his head in response to not giving you what you want. “nah… i don’t think i should ruin it. do what you did earlier and strip for me while i watch you.”

even if you wanted to act all defiant and bratty towards him and not give him what he wants, there was a part of you that wanted to throw a little show for him. gojo sat down on your sofa with his arms propped on the back cushions, slightly manspreading. you always knew how truly perverted he was underneath that “hero” facade he has for the public, which is why you fell for him.

as you stood in front of him with a smirk, you slowly pulled down the zipper to your suit. gojo watched in silent amusement watching the sleeves fall from your shoulders, slowly revealing your tits and your laced thong, all the way until your black leather suit pools around your ankles.

“‘atta girl,” he says, shifting himself on the sofa from how uncomfortable his boner was under his spider suit. “not so hard following directions, am i right?”

“following directions is not the only thing hard for me right now…” your gaze lands on his crotch, prompting you to get on your knees and crawl right between his open legs, making him nervous. “poor spider. looks like there’s something else that needs to be taken care of.”

now you were back in control of gojo, who had to hide his face flushing red from your hands caressing his inner thighs. you looked so fucking sexy to him, even when you’re teasing him on your knees right in your penthouse living room with the police probably on the search for both of you right now. he lets you pull down the lower seam of his suit as he slips off the top part and discards everything on your floor, finally taking in his heavenly body and strong physique that you admired for the longest. it felt like old times, with both of you half-naked and craving deep intimacy one last time.

“i really did miss you, cat,” gojo murmured, peering deep into your eyes.

you get up off your knees and straddled him, feeling his soft hands glide down your bare back and caressing your waist. “i missed you too, satoru.”

he lets out a sigh when he feels the wet spot on your panties subtly rub on his aching cock poking through his briefs. “if i make you come multiple times tonight… will you promise to be a good girl and stop stealing?”

“is that another way of telling me you want to fuck my brains out right now?” you teased, subtly grinding your hips on him. “fine, i’ll oblige. you did promise to go all night with me.”

and as the night went on, gojo really fulfilled his promise of fucking you multiple rounds, multiple positions, and multiple orgasms. hell, you lost count that it was probably way more than him. it astounded you that he was lasting this long with you compared to when you two were together; always this sweet, shy, and submissive boy for you that couldn’t last two rounds because of how you were always in control. sure, after he was bitten by the radioactive spider that gives him his strength and super powers, he was still sensitive and more prone to orgasms because of his heightened senses. but now that time has passed and you haven’t seen each other in a long time, it seems that his stamina has increased dramatically.

your orgasms were way more intensified that you lost all coherence from how mindblowing gojo kept fucking into you much further and faster, wrapping his large hand around your throat from behind and slightly choking you. never have you been so turned on you couldn’t see straight.

“you can take it all, cockslut,” he huffed in your ear. “just can’t stop coming all over my cock, eh? you miss when i turn you into my dumb little whore?”

you tried to reply, but your words slurred and your thoughts were mush. all you could do was moan pathetically as lust speared through you from his words. your head grew so hazy with intensity that the world around you started spinning. you looked like you were in a daze, your face all glossy and sweaty from him fucking your throat so roughly and coming all over your face earlier.

gojo chuckles, harshly slapping your ass and pulling your hips back and forth on his cock. you could hear his animalistic groans and growls filling your ears from how fucking good you felt clenching around him. “i need to hear you say yes. c’mon, kitty. be an obedient slut for me.”

“y— yes, satoru,” you whined, almost squirming in his grasp when he started playing with your clit from behind. “i like— i like being your dumb… little whore…”

gojo can feel his orgasm building inside you as well that he had the urge to pin your head down on the cushions while roughly slapping his hips onto your ass. he loved the way your ass was rippling with every harsh thrust and every harsh slap.

“fuck, cat. i’m gonna come inside your cunt if you keep throbbing on me like that,” he grunted. “will you promise to stop stealing from now on? i’ll give you one more orgasm if you promise for me…”

your back was arched all the way as your moans were muffled by your cushions. you couldn’t stop drooling either that it left a few marks. “i— i promise…! please, please come with me, satoru. come inside me again, i need it…”

the way you kept begging and became so feral had gojo immediately lose himself, shooting hot, sticky white strings of cum into your womb. your cunt couldn’t stop flexing and tightening all over his cock as if you were trying to push him out from such an intense orgasm. sweat was trickling down the both of your skins, bodies flashing hotter than ever as you both collapsed on your cool sofa. gojo laid down on top of you, feeling the rapid beating of his heart and hearing him catching his breath. he looked so adorable that you ran your fingers through his hair, wanting nothing but to indulge in this sweet, intimate moment of cuddling just like old times.

“do you really mean it?” he suddenly murmurs.

“…mean what?”

“you promise you won’t ever steal again?” gojo hovered above you, his expression so profound as he peered deeply into your eyes, like there really was a chance of hope and redemption for you. that was all he ever really wanted; for you to be his partner alongside again, to make you a hero again and utilize your talents for helping people other than yourself.

but then again, you were unpredictable to the spider. there was nothing you loved more than the chase.

“hm. and what if i break that promise?” you smirked. “what are you gonna do if i steal again?”

“then… i’ll just have to tie you up next time and teach you a lesson,” he mirrored your smirk. “but i bet you’d love that, so… maybe i’d have to turn you in, then.”

“i’m kidding satoru. i don’t ever break promises,” you confide, softly caressing his face. “i promise to be by your side and not steal. we can be together just like old times… but only one condition.”

“…which is?”

“spend the nights with me here, satoru,” you whispered fondly. “i don’t wanna be alone every night again.”

gojo planted sweet kisses on your forehead, on both sides of your face, and on your lips, slowly turning into a passionate make-out session. “if that’s what it takes for you to never steal again… i’ll stay with you. promise.”

it was a shame, though. how gullible that spiderman, gojo satoru, could be sometimes. because that following morning when gojo was still sound asleep on your bed, you had to take your leave before the police arrived right at your location where all the missing stuff were hiding. you left a kiss mark on the side of his face with black lipstick and another black cat toy right beside him. as quiet and sneaky you could be, you escaped through your sunroof with a smirk on your face, not looking back on gojo who was soon to be framed for stealing.

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO © 2024. do not steal, plagiarize, translate, or repost/share any of my works on any social media where minors have access.

[talatomaz]

crossing paths pt.i | diana prince x lance!reader

a/n: reader has the powers of telekinesis. since this was going to be really long, i decided to split it into two parts. also this may be slightly canon divergent since i’ve not watched flash in a long time.

warnings: mentions of fighting, death

word count: 1.9k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

reader is sara & laurel’s younger sister who works with team flash. after her and cisco’s experiment goes sideways, she finds herself trapped on an unknown earth not unlike her own

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“You’re absolutely sure this will work, Cisco?”

You asked, tying your hair up into a ponytail whilst the mechanical genius typed on his computer; the keys clacking under his fingertips.

“Yes. 100%. Well, more like 99%. Okay, if we’re being truly honest, then 93%.”

Cisco paused after each figure before turning his head to face you.

“Cisco-“

You started before the former interrupted, “Trust me, y/n. You’ll be fine. You just need to travel there, have a look around and then come straight back. We’ve done it so many times before.”

You and Cisco had been working on modifying the extrapolator your team often used to travel between different Earths. Or rather, you used to use them before the rebirth of the universe following Oliver’s sacrifice.

You cleared your throat at the thought of the vigilante. Having grown up with him and he having dated both of your older sisters meant that he was practically like your brother. And you were broken when you’d lost him so you’d left Team Arrow and came to work with Barry and his team instead.

Working with Team Flash was...different, to say the least. But having known them for several years, you got on well with them all, especially Cisco and Iris.

However, this project you were working on was only known to you and Cisco; the others blissfully unaware, mainly because the two of you knew that if you told them, they’d guilt you into stopping your experiment.

You were the one who had gone to Cisco with the idea in the first place.

After the Crisis, many of you had assumed that everyone solely remained on one Earth however you believed that the multiverse still existed, but that it’d be much harder to access. Cisco had agreed to help you but had explained that he wouldn’t come with you due to his relinquished powers.

So here you were, getting ready to try out the extrapolator in order to confirm or disprove your theory that the multiverse still existed.

“Technically, we haven’t, Cisco. New Earth remember?”

“That’s just semantics.”

“Cisco, if this doesn’t work, you better be ready to explain to my ex-assassin of a sister what happened to me.”

You laughed as his face dropped at the thought of that conversation.

He cleared his throat, “I’ve done all the necessary calculations and made a few needed modifications, including a GPS chip. It’ll work, y/n. Here, take your mask. Just in case.”

He added as an afterthought, handing you the sleek black mask he had designed to disguise your identity.

You put the mask in your jacket and took a deep breath, readying yourself. Holding the extrapolator, you pressed the small button and a familiar portal opened in front of you; variations of colours swirling around the breach.

You looked back at Cisco and feigned seriousness, “If I die, I’m going to kill you.”

His eyes widened making you smile, “Be safe, Cisco. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, you then stepped into the inter-dimensional breach.

***

“Okay, hopefully this worked.”

The breach closed behind you as you stepped into an alley; the several dumpsters providing some form of protection from anyone who may have seen you.

Wherever you were, it was bright and sunny.

Pocketing the extrapolator, you stepped out of the alley and walked down the paved sidewalk, listening for any indications of where you were from passersby.

You continued walking until you came across a newsstand that looked fairly out of place in this seemingly technological environment.

You stopped, peering at the front cover of one of the magazines.

The words “DAILY PLANET” were printed on the top of the paper. You reached down and picked it up, flicking through the pages, pausing when you saw a familiar name on the byline.

Folding the paper back into its original state, you placed it back on the stand, flashing a kind but brief smile to the newsagent who looked at you with intrigue.

Although you didn’t know what Earth you were on, at least you knew you were in Metropolis.

A place you had visited several times since the rebirth of the universe.

A place that, despite whatever Earth, was always home to one Clark Kent, better known as Superman.

You pondered in your thoughts for a little while longer before deciding to venture out and explore the city, eager to find any similarities or differences between your Earth and this one.

You ended up in a museum.

You weren’t sure exactly how you’d gotten there, having followed wherever your feet had taken you but, nevertheless, you were here.

Whilst you were never a huge fan of museums, you’d often found yourself being dragged to them by Laurel when you were younger.

There was something about them that she’d loved.

She tried explaining it to you once.

How the beauty of art told a story or something.

You didn’t really pay much attention and who could have blamed you? You were only 10 years old. You’d rather be out playing or hanging out with your friends than spending your Saturday afternoon in a stuffy old museum.

But this place was anything but.

In truth, you knew that you sought solace in places like these during times of distress or uncertainty.

It gave you a chance to feel closer to your sister after the world had cruelly taken her away from you. Even on another Earth, you still found peace and felt her presence next to you.

You sighed, your shoulders sagging before tensing once more, feeling someone behind you.

You never used to be so on edge.

When you were younger, you lived such a care free life, never feeling any need to be concerned or cautious.

But that had changed quickly.

Soon you had been thrust into the vigilante life, more determined than ever to become like your sisters and help them fight crime.

In fact, you had learned to fight from a reluctant Sara.

After several arguments about the danger of her world, she’d come to accept that there was no changing your mind and had decided that if you were going to purposely put yourself in harm’s way, you needed to be prepared. She had put you through vigorous training which Oliver soon picked up with you after Sara had been recruited to form the Legends.

So, suffice it to say, you were well-versed in the forms of self-defence and were constantly on the lookout for any form of danger.

And being on a different Earth certainly warranted your caution.

“How are you liking our exhibit?”

A feminine voice said, her voice thick with an accent you couldn’t distinguish.

Turning with a smile, you spoke, “It’s beautiful. I never used to appreciate art but now I find myself lost in the works of Rembrandt or Claude Monet.”

“Ah yes. They were most excellent artists.”

You blinked, not at her words but at her face.

The woman who stood before you was, quite simply put, the most beautiful person you’d ever seen in your life.

Realising you were staring, you cleared your throat, “Yes, I agree.”

You opened your mouth to say something else - what, you weren’t sure of - when you closed it again having spotted a man who’d just entered the room which held the small exhibit.

The figure wore a black cap, obstructing his face, his eyes darting around before landing on another male situated in one of the corners of the room. The latter gave him a brief nod which the other returned. Discreetly glancing at them, you noticed familiar bulges beneath their shirt, surely holding a gun.

“Okay, don’t be alarmed but I think this place is about to get robbed.” You said in a hushed whisper, faking interest in another piece of art beside you.

You noted the small but discernible flicker in the woman’s eyes, her name still unknown to you.

“How-“

“Let’s just say I’m perceptive. Do me a favour and take out your phone.”

You waited until the brunette had followed your instructions.

“Pretend to be talking to someone and walk out the room. They’re not going to do anything until you’re gone because they don’t want to run the risk of you warning someone.”

She nodded at your words and proceeded to carry out your plan.

You fought the look of surprise and confusion that surely would’ve shown on your face at the lack of fear on hers. Instead, her eyes seemed to hold a look of determination.

Determined to do what, you weren’t sure of.

Once she had left, your suspicions were confirmed when the two men simultaneously took out their guns and shouted.

“Everybody down on the ground. Now!”

Screams and shouts were let out by the small group of citizens in the room, replacing the quiet bustle of hushed whispers that had previously filled the air.

As everyone immediately fell to the ground, you slid down the wall until you were in an upright position.

You watched as they removed several of the smaller pieces of art, carefully placing them in a duffel bag. You waited until they grew closer to you before standing up causing both of their guns to be aimed at you.

“Sit back down or you’ll get a bullet in your pretty little head.”

They both moved to stand in front of you, blocking you from the view of the security cameras and the people behind them. Using your powers, you pulled the guns toward you and flung them to the far side of the room.

You took advantage of their momentary confusion and kicked both of them. One of them grabbed you from behind, his tight grip trapping your arms. You raised your legs and caged the other’s neck between them.

Twisting your legs, you threw him to the ground and then drew yourself closer into your captor’s arms, lifting off the ground for a brief second before throwing him over your shoulders and onto the ground beside the other intruder.

“Run!”

You yelled to the handful of citizens who watched you with a mixture of awe and fear.

Then you felt yourself being pushed against the marble ground as one of the men jumped on top of you, his weight crushing your small figure.

“You’re going to regret that, bitch.” He snarled against your ear.

You threw your head back, smirking when you heard the grunt of pain and several curses falling from the man’s lips.

You raised your hands and with it, the other man floated in the air. With a wave of your wrist, he went crashing into his friend and they slumped into a corner.

You quickly picked yourself up and ran out of the museum’s back exit, knowing you had to avoid the police at all costs.

Reaching an abandoned alley, similar to the one you first arrived in, you took out the inter-dimensional extrapolator, deciding it was way too dangerous for you to remain here any longer.

Pressing the device, you expected to see a breach form but to your shock, there was none. Inspecting the device, you saw that it had been broken, more than likely from when you’d been thrown against the ground by the robbers.

You muttered a foul curse before calming yourself.

Think, y/n. Think.

Your ears perked up at the familiar whistle and rattle of train tracks.

Okay, you knew what to do next.

You needed to go home.

Part 2 ->

[ladyeliot]

“Your stupid spider”

Superhero vs Villain!Reader Prompts

Request: Anonymous: Hello there! Could you write a Superhero vs Villain, where the reader is Peter Parker's best friend but also his enemy? You can use #3 if you want. By the way I love your stories and your writing. Lots of love.

Prompt #3: Truce? 

Pairing: Superhero!Peter Parker x Villain!Fem!Reader

Summary: Peter Parker is your best friend, and Spider-man is your enemy. You finally discover that they are the same person.

Warnings: Violence. 

Word count: 2446

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

"If you are really interested in how I discovered the identity of my greatest enemy, please read on."

You. An ordinary girl, born in Brooklyn to a single parent family who had moved into a small flat in the Queens area with her mother. No drugs, no alcohol, no tobacco, your obsession was pancakes and syrup. You didn't do any chores, and you didn't sneak out of the housework. After school you went home with your friends to do your homework. You liked reading, and you listened to music with headphones so as not to disturb the neighbours. In short, a teenager that many parents wish they had.

However, your persona wasn't all rosy, just because Y/N was like that, didn't mean your alter ego was too. You had a secret, everyone has secrets, you might think, but it wasn't just any secret, it was "The Secret", and no one knew it. That's why you could say it was the best kept secret in Queens, or at least that's what you thought until he came along. Spider-man.

Everything went smoothly, it took you a while to assume your powers, your teleportation, but when you got it you enjoyed your solitude in your night outings. You discovered the reality of New York City, the nocturnal and dark atmosphere of being hidden in the shadows, that is to say, you had fun as only you knew how to do. Nevertheless, since the arrival of that Spider-man, your fun was over. That man had in mind to destroy the true essence of the city and that was something you could not allow.

Your first meeting was at the top of Rockefeller Center, a night like any other after the end of one of the most intrepid police chases in Midtown West. There you were, watching the chase unfold, and there he arrived. Remarkably, due to the concealment of your costumes, neither of you could figure out who the other was, and your voice-impersonation skills helped you never get caught. All in all, that was one of many encounters you would have in the wake of Spider-Man's popularity. But still, your life went on.

"Are you telling me you're going to stand me up this afternoon for helping your aunt bake a cake?" you asked Peter between complaints. "You know we have to study for the chemistry test on Friday. And that I'm nothing without you in chemistry."

Although you tried to show him the most apologetic face in the whole world, Peter was not immune to it. 

"Sorry Y/N," he closed his locker after grabbing his books. "I promised May last week, it's very important for her to give a good welcome to the new neighbours."

You rolled your eyes but finally came to terms with your defeat.

"Okay Parker," you gave him a little push. "But you've been letting me down in the afternoons for three days now. You'll make it up to me."

You winked and Peter's cheeks quickly turned pink, he gave you a shy smile and nodded goodbye. He was adorable. It was actually good to be free in the afternoons, since Spider-Man had gotten in your way, you had a complex relationship, playing cat and mouse, trying to hinder each other's actions, and it was interesting that week.

Like the previous days, after finishing your chores at home, you put on your black suit and disappeared. Your power was complex, you didn't fully understand it yet and you knew it would take a while, but you weren't scared. You could teleport to a specific place, teleport to another person or object, and even open portals to other places. But these superpowers had played tricks on you, sometimes you appeared in places you didn't recognise and then didn't know how to get back, or you had to return home by taking public transport. Everything has its drawbacks.

Dusk was falling over the island of Manhattan, it was a busy spring evening in New York, big businessmen were leaving their offices, dog walkers were wandering into Central Park and a group of elementary school students were leaving the Museum of Arts and Design. You caught your gaze on the broad clock of a prominent building and instantly there he was, coming from 8th Avenue.

You smiled, you were in the mood for fun and what better way than to open a portal right in front of him to get rid of Spider-man and send him a few blocks further south.

"Woah!" he exclaimed, stepping into the portal and disappearing, not for long.

You started laughing, he always fell into your trap and yet he was still funny to you.

"Hello Miss Holes!"

Within two minutes it landed next to you throwing a spider web which you dodged opening a new portal.

"Too slow, stupid spider," you said with a grin hidden under your mask.  "And too predictable to be the mascot of the Avengers.

The two of you began a small battle on top of that building, as if choreographed.

"Hey!" he exclaimed somewhat offended, dodging a new portal. "I'm not the Avengers' mascot."

"Then why is it your turn to do the dirty work?" you ran off, shaking off his cobwebs.

"What...?" began Spider-man somewhat confusedly pausing over the rooftop antenna. "What dirty work?"

You let out a small laugh and in an instant you teleported to his side.

"You know," you began to lower your tone."Robbing old ladies, selling drugs in the neighbourhood - oh, you even helped a woman yesterday who didn't know where to find the underground," you squinted. "Spidey, you're so bored that the most exciting thing in your life is meeting me."

You were so lost for words that you didn't see it coming. In that instant a spider web, a bit slimy for your taste, wrapped around your mouth like a gag silencing your every word. You quickly tried to get rid of it with little luck.

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed your opponent alejándose de ti. "Much better. Sorry about that, but we'll be doing us both a favour."

You touched solid ground again, and raised your hands in the direction of the satellite dish, teleporting it in the direction of Spider-man, who quickly dodged it. From that moment on, your rage intensified, increasing the tension of the fight, which usually ended without a clear winner, only exhaustion won out.

"Woah! That was a close one!" he exclaimed, leaping ten metres above you.

Your throat squeaked, but no sound escaped because of the gag. You tried to get rid of it by teleporting it away, but it wasn't possible. At that moment you would have made it disappear forever if you could, but finally you stopped throwing objects at it, to disappear from there yourself.

It wasn't being a good day for you, maybe it also had to do with the fact that you were sure that your best friend didn't have to make any cake with his aunt May, nor did he have to accompany her to dance classes or anything like that, they were all excuses and you didn't know why he was making them.

In milliseconds you were back in your room, rummaging through your things to get rid of that gag and remove the mask from your costume. Nothing was any good. You had no idea what that spider's web was made of, but nothing could break it.

In desperation you tried again to teleport it, but you were unable to concentrate all your attention on it. You had only one hope left, Peter, he would surely know how to get rid of her, although you would owe him a lot more explanations. You closed your eyes, instantly you were inside his room, luckily he wasn't there, nor was he inside the house, everything was silent. So you assumed that he was not baking a cake with his aunt.

A couple of hours passed, just enough time to come up with a plan before Peter arrived.You had taken a handful of sheets of paper, you knew that when he came in he would be scared and might scream, so you summarised your story as best you could on those sheets of paper.

You heard the front door close, Peter was talking to May and heading towards his room. You took the sheets of paper and positioned yourself in the middle of the room, waiting for him to come in, as if it was the movie "love actually". It was an embarrassing situation.  You watched as the doorknob turned and there he appeared.

It took a few moments for his eyes to settle on you, but at that very moment both of them widened like saucers.

"How the hell...!"

You quickly raised your hand, trying not to make your friend squeal or panic, and pointed hurriedly to the sheets of paper you were holding.

Peter closed the door behind him with a stunned look on his face.

"Please don't shout," he began, reading the posters in a trembling voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped a sheet of paper on the floor.

"It's me, Y/N," Peter's voice dimmed, and it took him a while to react. "WHAT?!!!!"

You quickly raised your arms again in a way to stop him from screaming.

" Whoa, whoa, whoa!" exclaimed Peter again. "What are you saying?!"

Dejaste que los carteles se cayeran al suelo y saltaste sobre él intentando cubrir su boca con tus manos. En aquellos momentos estabas segura de que su tía May entraría en la habitación en segundos debido al ruido. Peter seguía gritando cosas inentendibles bajo tus manos, con sus ojos castaños abiertos como platos mirándote. Decidiste destaparle la boca, ya que no servía para nada y volviste a por los folios para ponérselos nuevamente frente a él.

“¡Esto es una locura!” se llevó las manos a la cara, pero continuó leyendo los folios. “Spider-man me ha lanzado una de sus telarañas,” cambiaste de folio. “Y no puedo deshacerme de ella, tienes que ayudarme.”

Peter stood still watching you, his eyes were red with nervousness and his nostrils flared every time he took in and released air from his lungs. You knew it was going to be a shock to your friend, but you didn't understand how it was affecting him so much. You raised your arms, quickly pointed to the spider web gagging your mouth, you needed to get rid of it and then you would give him all the explanations he needed.

A blushing Peter slowly approached you, stepped around you and in an instant you felt no more pressure. At last you could rest, your jaw and mouth were sore, but it was no surprise to you, what was surprising was that your friend had got rid of the restraint in a second.

Puzzled, you turned to him, who was still in shock and looked a little frightened. He carefully brought his hands to the top of your mask and slowly lifted it, exposing your face.

"I can explain," you said calmly. "I..."

"Oh my god," Peter interrupted you, sitting up in his bed.

"Listen," you shook your head and sat down next to him. "I understand your reaction, it's crazy, I should have explained it to you a lot sooner, but- Wait, how did you get that obnoxious fabric off me so fast?"

Peter put his hands to his head and sighed.

"It's synthetic spider silk," he explained without looking at you. "It's got the gigapascals augmented, with its web you can hold even a car in the air, but-"

"Wait," you stared at him.

Your mind worked fast enough to grasp enough information and connect it in a couple of seconds. You slowly rose slowly from his side and looked at him with a frown.

"What?!" you exclaimed this time. "That's impossible!"

"Yes!" exclaimed Peter getting up and holding his hands to his head. "That's what I was thinking! It's impossible!"

At that instant the door to the room opened revealing a smiling May.

"Peter yo - Hey Y/N!" she greeted with a frown.  "I didn't know you were here. Are you staying for dinner?"

"Hi, May. No, no," you said quickly in a bit of a daze. "Thank you very much, but my mother's expecting me for dinner."

"Okay," she smiled looking you up and down. "Nice suit!" your cheeks took on a ruddy colour. "Peter, dinner in half an hour."

"Thank you May," Peter replied a little shyly.

His aunt closed the door again.

"That's why you were always making excuses for me in the evenings!" you reproached him."And the Stark scholarship! How could I have been so blind?" "And the Stark scholarship! How could I have been so blind?"

"I know, I know," said Peter, as he paced around his room next to you. "By the way, your powers - they're awesome!"

You motioned for him to lower his voice again. This situation was crazy, you didn't know whether to be relieved, to teleport, or to teleport him to a place far away. You leaned your back against the wall, closing your eyes so you could think clearly.He was your best friend, had you been hating your best friend all this time?He was your best friend, had you been hating your best friend all this time? He was your best friend, had you been hating your best friend all this time?  Peter stood in front of you.

"Hey..." he whispered caressing your cheek, the place where your spider web had passed. "If I'd known... If you'd stayed a little longer I'd have taken it off."

You crossed your arms over your chest and looked up at him arching an eyebrow. "This is too much."

You looked straight into those brown eyes, they had been a weakness for you since fifth grade. Besides, his gaze accompanied with the caress of his fingers on your cheek lowered your defences.

"Please stay for dinner. If you want, we can study chemistry later," Peter said almost pleadingly.

"Really?" you asked in confusion. "You want to study chemistry after everything that just happened?"

"Truce?" Peter arched a somewhat hopeful eyebrow.

"You're one of a kind, you stupid spider," you said, unable to hide a grin.

"You stupid spider."

Requests/Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

Taglist:  @indigo123789​ @mycosmicparadise​ @imerdwarf​

[oceanselevenism]

I've seen that most of the stories on ao3 about them are mostly canon-compliant (and I don't have anything against that tbh) but I was wondering if you have any aus that you think could fit them or that you'd like to see?

omg i have SO MANY aus!! (it got Very Long so its under a cut)

- college au! danny gets kicked out (hes on full scholarship and does Thiefly Things to cover his expenses so hes not endangered just fairly fucked up abt it) (does it count as kicked out if u only live w ur dad three months a year) in freshman year, he befriends rusty (1 year below him) in sophomore year, debbie also befriends rusty (she and danny dont talk much but shes 2 yrs below him at the same college), and when reuben comes calling for a job he thinks debbie has a boyfriend (thanks to debbie telling her dad that she does) so she fake dates rusty. who ends up joining the job. and danny is Very Jealous

- snl ripoff au! danny and rusty are the weekend-update-adjacent anchors and they get gay. i Would have this take place in la (reuben is taking A Risk producing a late night sketch comedy show on the west coast but the 11/12/however fuckin many are fantastic cast members so even though they lose revenue from the other timezones not watching as much as they watch snl or whatever, they still make BANK... but danny and rusty getting gay throws the equilibrium out of whack) BUT la sucks DICK so its happening in new york. also this way u get Ocean Sibling Banter (debbie and lou are the anchors for The Actual Weekend Update and when debbie/lou get together and also when danny/rusty get together there are so many ‘just switch out the blondes/brunettes nobody will be able to tell and we won’t have hr down our necks’ jokes)

- au where the caldwells, abt to go deep undercover on a Huge Fucking Case, have to give up custody of 6 year old linus to tess and danny. the case stretches on for twelve years and linus grows up w tess and danny (who get divorced like right after they adopt him bc tess finds out abt dannys Thiefly Activities-- he confesses to her bc he doesnt rly want to predispose the kid to said thiefly activities) and also isabel (she and rusty break up like Right Before tess and dannys wedding and its very funny; she then goes on to marry tess) parenting him (rusty isnt as much in the picture bc he doesnt feel bad at all abt stealing and tess doesnt want linus to pick up that mentality also rusty Feels Things abt danny)! then when linus is like 18 or 19 danny disappears (tess and isabel think its Thiefly Activities again and arent concerned, just disappointed, but linus is very concerned for his dad-slash-stepdad-slash-sort-of-uncle) and he tracks down rusty so they can find danny. they roadtrip across america and eventually catch up to danny, who is helping the caldwells, and the five of them take down whatever gang the caldwells were chasing. linus now has 6 parents

- au based on this post where some archaeologist finds a bunch of dannys [french person voice] Love Lettairs 2 rusty and so obviously the logical course of action is to rob the museum (which happens to be the museum that tess is curating. funny how things work out) without telling his team What Theyre Stealing. they successfully pull off the heist but turns out the letters were not among the items they stole!! danny is getting desperate. as a last-ditch attempt he calls tess and asks her to let them rob the museum. shes like Why The Fuck Would I Do That. he explains and she begrudgingly agrees. danny and livingston go break into the museum Again but rusty tails them bc dannys been acting Weird and he finds out abt the letters bc livingston sweats more whenever he tells a lie. they live happily ever after (literally, theyre immortal) the end. also even though dannys a werewolf the 11 all call him the new jersey devil (its not his fault that legend came to be ok!! he was very drunk!!)

- childhood friends au!! danny and rusty were best buds as very young kids and then the oceans had to move. flash forward 2 present day where danny and debbie r robbing a museum (theyre building a flower shop over the vault and tunneling in, the dudes in brazil who came up w it are very very clever) and guess which two people are the assistant curators (is that even a title?). guess. ill tell u its tess and rusty! danny recognizes rusty, rusty ‘does not recognize’ danny (which is valid. look at photos of child george clooney and tell me you would recognize him). the 11 demand that they use this to their advantage and so danny and rusty Sort Of Date while the rest set up for the robbery, and danny feels really bad abt it so on the day of (after everyone has gotten away, ofc, he might be a lovesick bitch but hes not a snitch) he confesses and rustys like lmao i was onto u from the start. what kind of a name is [insert alias here] anyway. then they go live a life of crime and its great

- @sanduschism came up w a fantastic au where danny pickpockets rusty and feels bad so he sends the wallet back and they strike up a Correspondence

- HOSPITAL AU!!! danny and rusty r er techs while theyre doing med school and nobody knows how they juggle their shifts w school but also rusty can do a tracheotomy in like 5 seconds and danny can tell when a person needs an mri before they even list their symptoms so nobody questions it and nobody splits them up Ever. when they eventually become surgeons, danny does cardio and rusty does neuro, and whenever they have to work together not only do they never have to say what theyre doing, they don't even have What Do U Want To Cook For Dinner convos fully out loud. tess is head nurse... she makes so many excel spreadsheets... they are ALL color coded. isabel is head er doc and nobody dares to halfass things on her watch. reuben is head hospital admin, saul is chief surgeon, basher is head of the burn unit, the malloys r the HUNKIEST nurses in town, frank does plastic surgery/ent (every patient loves him bc he is just So Calm), livingston is The IT Guy, yen does like orthopedics or physical therapy, and linus is their fav resident who they all lovingly tease 24/7. the ocean sibs r both Cardio Gods and each dominate their respective coasts. debbie is an nyc doctor and if she sees a mass gen doctor its on SIGHT. the few surgeries that she and danny collab on go so fast that the med students in the gallery Cannot tell whats happening. lou is also a plastic surgeon and she and frank r best buds. linus requests time off like 6 months in advance Every Time and everyone hates it bc then They have to be on call but he doesnt realize his Extreme Overachieverness is causing so much strife. whenever tess and danny get in an argument she colorcodes his rounds spreadsheet to be the most neon shit youve ever seen. can you tell i never fully progressed past my greys anatomy phase this one is like 93489302 lines long

- superpower au where rusty has midas touch and danny has corrosive touch and when theyre too young to have control over their powers (abilities develop throughout adolescence and the user gains control at the end of adolescence) they accidentally brush hands and are terrified they just killed each other but turns out their powers like. cancel out. so until they reach like 21 or 22 and can touch things without fucking them UP they just. hold hands all the time. bc otherwise they have to wear gloves to prevent Accidents and both of them “hate gloves” (and also love holding hands. gayasses)

- uhhh hallmark au where danny is a crime fiction writer out on some beach north of ocean city nj and rusty is his fancy nyc editor. everyone else is a thief including debbie who is just Very weirded out that her brother, who robbed boston’s institute of contemporary art at age 22 and got away with it, has decided to spend the rest of his life churning out books. he is very critically acclaimed and about half of the 11 are buds with him and use his published books as heist inspo. the other ~half of the 11 are buds with rusty, and they tell him if danny’s heists are feasible or not (they always are. scarily so.) anyway rusty and isabel break up 12 days before xmas and danny and tess break up 8 days before hanukkah so dannys heading to debbie’s place in upstate new york to mope for the holidays when A BLIZZARD HITS and he gets stranded in midtown. and he and rusty are buds but like. Email Buds. they dont hang out irl and therefore they dont let their Totally Bud-Like Feelings mess up their professional relationship. but danny is stranded and its hanukkah and he ends up crashing at rustys place for the duration of the blizzard. and then rusty ends up coming to debbies place for the rest of the holidays. and then they kiss on new years eve and debbie kicks them out bc theyre being gross

- And More! thanks for the ask, anon! sorry it got so long lol i just have Many Thoughts

[skullrock]

the lovers - Steve Harrington x Reader

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: you’re a college student working at the info desk at your local art museum. you meet Steve when his class comes in to see the latest exhibit. Steve keeps coming back to see you. awkward flirtations/cuteness ensues.

word count: 2,036 (I am sorry)

warnings: none!

a/n: hello!! this is my first oneshot in many years! please feel free to leave feedback/constructive criticism! my requests are open :)

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You enjoyed your job as an information desk attendant at the local art museum. It was nice to meet new people and listen to their observations about the exhibits. You loved art, too, and were currently majoring in it. Plus, on really slow days, you were able to get homework done. It seemed like the perfect job for a college student.

It was on one of those agonizingly slow days that you first saw Steve Harrington. You were waiting for an art class from your college in town to come look at the newest installation. Your job was to check the class in and take them to their guide. As the crowd of students flooded in, you scanned for any familiar faces, waving to a few. Your eyes landed on a boy, no older than you, standing towards the back of the group. You hadn’t seen him here before; you definitely would have remembered. Long hair, tall and toned, plush lips. He was the kind of beautiful that made your heart ache, the kind that deserved to be considered art.

He looked over at you, making eye contact, and you smiled at him, quickly looking down and moving to the front of the group. Once acquainted with their guide, you left to sit back at the desk. You picked up a textbook to study. It was pointless, though. You couldn’t get the boy out of your head.

You were surprised when he came back the next week. This time, he wasn’t alone. He came with a pretty girl with short brown hair and bright eyes. You knew her – Robin – from a class you had together last semester. As they approached, you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“Two student tickets?” you ask as they approach. Steve stares for a long moment before Robin pinches his arm.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” he stutters, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. Two.”

You laugh slightly, awkwardly, and hand him two tickets and two gallery maps. “I remember you from last week,” you say. “Are you back for more?”

“I wanted to bring my friend, ya know, show her around,” he replies, fiddling with the edge of the tickets. There’s an awkward pause before you respond.

“Well, enjoy! If you have any questions I’ll be right here.”

He pauses, whispers, “I-okay,” and turns on his heel. Robin says a quick thanks before running to catch up with him. As they walk away, you hear him say, “Shut up, Robin!”

----------------------------------------

Robin and Steve wander aimlessly through the galleries. Steve tries to act like he really is interested in what they’re looking at, but she knows him better than that.

“You dragged me here to see this girl,” Robin says, “and all you do is make weird faces at her?”

Steve rolls his eyes and doesn’t respond.

“I thought you were going to get to know her,” Robin continues. “At this rate, how long is it going to take? Five years?”

“I- Robin!” Steve says, exasperated. “I have a system! I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? You haven’t been King Steve in a while, dingus. Do you even remember what a girl is?”

Steve wanted more than anything to rebuke her, to tell her she’s wrong, but he knew she was right. He could remember the unfortunate flirting he attempted at Scoops and the disaster that was his relationship with Nancy. He usually ducked his head around pretty girls. But something compelled him to go for you. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he couldn’t mess this one up.

----------------------------------------

The week after, he is back. This time, he walks in with a more confident swagger. You ready a ticket for him.

“Hi,” he says as he approaches.

“You must really like coming here,” you joke, handing him his admission and another gallery guide.

“What can I say? I’m a connoisseur.”

“Okay, connoisseur,” you remarked, smiling. “Who is your favorite artist?”

“Well, you know,” he says, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s hard to pick. But if I had to, I’d probably go with...” In a moment of panic, his eyes shift down to the first name he sees on the gallery guide. “Monet.”

He pronounces this with a hard T.

You stare at him, almost stunned. You realize now that he’s putting up a front, trying to be confident, in an attempt to talk to you. You laugh.

“Uh, it’s Moe-ney,” you smirked. “But I appreciate the effort.”

His face falls and his eyes widen, looking panicked. You could see the blush creep up on his cheeks, almost hear his heartbeat speed up. You reveled in it.

“I know!” he defends. “Monet isn’t even my favorite. I was kidding.”

“Okay, mister big artiste. Do you have a name?”

“Steve,” he sighs. “It’s Steve.”

“I’m Y/N. You better start studying.”

----------------------------------------

“You said what?!”

Robin nearly rolls on the floor from how hard she’s laughing. “You called him what?!”

“I know how its pronounced, okay?” Steve groaned. “I just – I said it phonetically.”

“Literally everyone knows that’s not how you say it.”

“Whatever!” Steve huffs, plunking down on the couch. “You’ve gotta help me, Rob. I really want to know this girl. I want to have a chance. I can’t be an idiot around her.”

“But you’re smart, Steve.” Robin pats his knee. “Why don’t you impress her with the knowledge you dopossess?”

“Oh, like what? Like how to take care of 6 kids that aren’t even yours? Or how to make microwave mac and cheese? Or how to carry 9 empty cups out of a room in one trip? Or- “

“Okay, okay!” Robin interjects. “Alright. I will help you. Where do we start?”

----------------------------------------

You were pretty sure at this point that Steve was coming to see you, not the art. You started to dress up a bit for your shifts; dress to impress, right?

Another week or so passed before Steve came back. You smiled the moment he came through the door, and he shared one back, approaching you quickly.

“Learn anything new?” you ask, subconsciously adjusting your hair.

“I learned how Pollock changed the entire trajectory of American art.”

“Oh?” you ask, shocked. “Last week you came in here and mispronounced Monet, now you’re talking about Pollock’s impact?”

“A man can change,” he says with a smile. Then he leans down, onto the desk, becoming eye level with you. You can feel your breath hitch in your throat, a blush creeping up. You noticed a lot from this new angle: the smell of his cologne, rich and woodsy; the scar above his right eyebrow; the golden flecks in his dark eyes.

“And that’s not all,” he whispers. You blink, inclining your head, expecting an answer.

Finally, he says, “I know about Picasso, too.”

He straightens up, a victorious smile crossing his face. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, clearing your throat.

“Wow,” you laugh. “Color me impressed.”

“Yeah, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but uh,” he looks around before continuing, “I also know about Kandinsky.”

“I’m so proud, Steve.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but a few more people walk in, getting in line behind him.

“We’ll talk soon,” he says, giving you a warm smile before walking away. You watch him disappear around the bend; a smile plastered on your face.

----------------------------------------

The week after that, you have a shift with one of your coworkers. It was always nice to have company, but on a slow day like this one, it seemed pointless. To pass the time, you both talk. You decided to tell her about Steve, about how cute he was, about how wholesome you thought he was.

“I mean, this guy doesn’t know anything about art. But each week he comes back to learn a little bit more. Isn’t that cute?”

“Is this why you’ve been dressing up the past few weeks?” she asks. You roll your eyes.

“You should really see him. He is so damn-“

As if on cue, Steve enters the building. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in his red tee, how toned his arms are, how his jeans hug his legs…. You become acutely aware of how you were staring and quickly look away. He approaches the desk, tapping on it twice, smiling down at you.

“Hi Steve.”

“Hi Y/N.”

“Are you going to impress me this week?” you question.

“I thought maybe you could impress me,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Why don’t you tell me something?”

“Like what?”

He exhales. “I don’t know. Who’s your favorite artist? What’s your favorite work here?”

“Oh, that’s too much to get into,” you laugh, shifting in your chair.

“Why don’t you show me around?” His eyes are suddenly bright and eager, and he bounces nervously on his feet.

You stare up at him, slack jawed. You weren’t expecting the forwardness. “Well – I – I have to work. I don’t get off until-“

“I’ll cover your shift,” your coworker pipes up. You nearly forgot she was there.

You look back between her, and Steve, then back at her. Your mouth opens and shuts, a protest dying on your lips. Yes, you wanted to; but you suddenly felt self-conscious and silly. You really weren’t expecting this, not today, not ever. A boy like Steve wanting to know you seemed unreal. Is this even ethical? Are you allowed to show a visitor around? One that you’re definitely attracted to? That you have been flirting with for, what, literally five weeks?

Fuck it, you decide. You can’t mess this opportunity up. Standing (shakily), you tell your coworker that you’ll be back before closing, and meet Steve on the other side of the desk.

“I figure that you know a bit about me, so I wanted to know more about you,” he says quickly as you both walk towards the first gallery. You could sense he was nervous, too. “I hope that’s not weird.”

“It’s not,” you beam, trying to shake off your apprehension. “Come on. I’ll show you my favorites.”

And so you walk around the galleries, pointing out the different works you like. As time passes, you both relax. Steve took it all in, asking questions when appropriate, seeming genuinely interested in your observations. You make him talk to you about the ones he likes, too. You laugh when he points out a Monet, pronouncing it correctly this time. You are both laughing, talking, trying to get to know each other in the short amount of time you have before the museum closes. It feels natural, like you’ve known him for years.

At the last gallery, you reach your favorite work in the galleries. A couple, caught in a kiss, in a crowded subway.

“This one is perfect to me,” you say. “It makes me feel so many things.”

“What’s your favorite part about it?” Steve inquires.

“The atmosphere,” you answer, “and the way those two interact. It’s like they are the only people in the world. Among the chaos of a busy subway, they only notice each other.” You smile sadly. “Have you ever felt that with anyone?”

Steve thinks for a minute. He wishes he could say yes, with Nancy. But even at their best, he never felt the stillness and calm the figures in the painting did.

“No,” he replies eventually. “Have you?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not once.”

There’s a comfortable quietness and peace between you two as you both stare at it a little longer. After a while, Steve clears his throat.

“Well, do you want to try?”

You look over at him, bewildered. He continues to look at the painting; you notice his brows slightly furrowed and his fingers tapping on his thighs. He finally looks over at you and smiles weakly.

“Try what?”

“This,” he responds, gesturing to the painting. “You and I. Chaos. Peace. Do you want to try?”

Your heart swells, a smile spreading over your face as quickly as oil on canvas. You gently take his hand, turning to face him.

“What are you doing tonight?” you inquire.

“Nothing,” he breathes. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you take me to that Italian place on the corner.”

He smiles widely, relief and confidence soaring through him. Finally, he thinks. You didn’t fuck this one up.  

“It’s a date.”

[atinybitofau]

S E O N G H W A ⭇ art thief au

WHO COULD PUT A PRICE ON FINE ART?

a/n: had a little fun with this one hehet

• “A little more to the left.. a little more... there! That’s perfect.”

• now I know this sounds boring.

• —you being one of the most elite art exhibit planners in the country.

• except you find it more worth while than anyone else normally would.

• art being more important to you than a menial article of praise.

• art was a gift—

• a skill no less.

• that shouldn’t be auctioned for money hungry fools.

• but for people with a taste.

• though you don’t give yourself enough credit.

• not like anyone gives it to you in any how.

• “Y/n, Mr. Jung won’t be making it tonight. The finalized list of visitors will be printed and in your hands before doors open.”

• you smile your assistant away, fumbling with white tulips in a priceless vase.

• “One less of a burden anyway. We can open doors at 7.”

• things at the exhibit were perfect.

• after all, it was you who planned it.

• artists from far and wide just thieving for your expertise.

• the expertise of setting their art up.

• time was almost near,

• you, yourself presenting like an art piece from the pop up.

• but lights blind you as you check yourself in the mirror.

• halls eerily quiet.

• till you hear a hushed glass shatter over your breath.

• you run on your 5 inch heels thinking,

• how could you have been so unprepared?

• you, a widely known exhibit planner,

• to be robbed minutes before the exhibit even begins.

• you gasp,

• when the lights flicker on.

• a man like Spider-Man hanging lopsided from a rope, only lips shown to you.

• vice and like an art form itself.

• the way it mocked you and your excellence.

• “You’ve done an outstanding job, Ms. y/n. With your over the top art events— I couldn’t help but drop by and steal a glance of my own.”

• your jaw tightens and you’re eye locked with the masked robber.

• “A man like you shouldn’t feel honored.”

• “That may be so. But I’m definitely honored by the art pieces you have put out here today. One in particular I seem to be granted on.”

• he’s talking about you.

• though hiding behind a mask,

• feeling tempted to reveal himself in your presence.

• “My staff... what have you done with them?”

• “Oh? The poorly rooted crew you call your staff? Those little pesks would believe any voice out of your given ear pieces. Even if it were my own.”

• “Of all exhibits, why mine?” you ask the thief, eyes still unruly drawn to his.

• more tempted to pull the mask right off his face.

• if not for the visible gun and knife at his collar.

• “Now, Miss. That’s no way to credit yourself. You’re the most enviable art host in all of South Korea. Not at all tasteless. And maybe a little bit uptight but that’s no ridicule. I would steal your art auctions faster than you could say you’ll spite me for it.”

• “Is it too late?”

• “Depends. Turn around and we’ll see.”

• you reach to slap him when he graces on his rope like a stripper.

• lips smirking at you through his ski mask.

• and you visibly shudder, gulping.

• eyes watering when every single painting, sculpture, and art form disappeared while you had been conversing with the thief himself.

• “Y-you’re gonna pay for this.”

• “Will I?”

• the lights flicker again and you’re left in an empty space.

• no beauty.

• no art.

• no skills left to present.

• you were helpless because of a damn thief.

• and after paying your dues,

• a kind sue despite it being your fault,

• now jobless at the will of the devil,

• close to committing suicide for losing your whole life.

• just from one hell of a heist.

• “Y/n, there’s a check for you in the mail.”

• you look up concerned, letter now in your hands.

• it’s a check for half of a million.

• you noticing the only hint at the corner of the letter.

• an address?

• and a note hidden inside as well.

• ‘though you don’t give yourself enough credit, miss, you did take part in the most successful heist in South Korea’s crime syndicate. here’s your share. if it doesn’t tickle your fancy, why don’t you give my little art exhibit a visit? Maybe we could negotiate a price more reasonable for you.’

• your fingers play with the check.

• all of your debts solved if you do accept it.

• classless money.

• though...

• you had to admit that you were tempted to give yourself the credit.

• after all?

• wasn’t it you who set up the most successful art heist in the world?

• “Woah, girly. You’re at the wrong art exhibit.”

• shakily, you try to make out the lips on this handsome man.

• not the man you’re looking for, you think.

• not the art form you couldn’t stop thinking about for the past months on end.

• not the one who robbed your life away in a light’s flash.

• “Who sent me this?” you ask another man whose lips also had no resemblance to the lips you look for. “I need to beat the shit out of them.”

• one on the stair railing, eyes of glass shards smirks at you poking interest.

• “Brave for someone who rudely walked into a fox’s home.��� the blond sings quoting the thief of animals. “As a past art collector, don’t you think you could give the home’s residents a little more class? Like complimenting the art on the wall. The least you could do, Ms. y/n.”

• he’s not him.

• speaks like him.

• acts like him.

• but he’s not.

• “I know you’re trying to deceive me. But I’m here to thank your little boss. Someone a little less tasteless.”

• he’s impressed.

• thinks you’re as graceful as they come.

• no doubt the woman his boss has been pining for.

• an art that he’d insist on stealing if it didn’t come to him fatefully.

• “What makes you think I’m not him?”

• “I’m an art collector, didn’t you say?” you taunt the petty thief, other’s joining in on the show. “I have a knack of weeding out the grotesque virtues.”

• “It’s a wonder why you haven’t joined us yet.” the blonde jumps off nodding towards the highest level of the building. “Doing quite well stealing the hearts of men, why not the art on people’s walls that they don’t deserve?”

• he makes one hell of a statement though.

• for someone who knew very little of you.

• that you’d have a knack of doing what they do.

• “Go on then. The art piece you’re looking for’s up there.”

• you shove the cash check into his chest before storming up,

• for the moment,

• for the first time in your life ignoring the paintings on the walls.

• sighted on a more particular object of beauty.

• “Ms. y/n.”

• you stare at the curves of his back.

• as he stands in front of clear glass panes that face a city.

• like a truly priceless art form.

• “Finally giving yourself the credit you deserve?”

• you take a deep breath before saying, “Depends. Turn around and we’ll see.”

• so he does.

• and you think you need to give yourself more credit too.

• for finding the most beautiful art piece in the world more definitely being a vice you shouldn’t be shameful for. but proud of.

• “Yeah.” your lips twitch. “I should give myself more credit.”

• his eyes spoke more than it should.

• like something out of a museum.

• history of unspeakable truths.

• you wanted to keep it for yourself.

• an art you didn’t want to sell even if your life depended on it.

• “Ms. y/n. I hope you didn’t show up here to return what you insisted I’d pay for?”

• you let him enjoy mocking you.

• heels locked in place when he’s towering you the way he did on a rope not even a year ago.

• his head cocks in interest. “What’s this? You don’t seem unhappy. More enticed to see me actually. Now of all exhibits, why mine?”

• you’re in a time lapse.

• of hand crafted beauty at your disposal.

• but no one’s asking you to auction anything but yourself and your life.

• fully committed to using your skills for his bidding.

• “What you did to me deserves more than just a payment from selling you out the largest art heist in the world. I deserve more credit than that.”

• he’s bought.

• the way you look.

• the same way he did when he was robbed of his own life years ago.

• the vengeance and the vice.

• “That you do.” he glances to your lips. “Is this your way of saying you’d like to plan one of my heists, ms. y/n?”

• if this is how everyone feels about winning an auction.

• maybe you were wrong about the tasteless rejectables of high society.

• “Do you doubt my skills, fox thief?”

• “Give me none of that,” he chuckles lowly. “I am no fox. Just a man who craves the best art in the world.”

• “And I’m just a woman who came here to beat your ass.”

• he smiles at you.

• thinking you’re definitely the one art piece he left behind that day he should’ve stole over anything else.

• “And now?”

• “Now I just want kiss your ass. For giving me the credit I’ve always deserved.”

• you think he’s the greatest creation.

• for knowing true art and what’s valuable—

• the recognition.

• not the fame.

• “Did you get to look at the art downstairs? My exhibit that’s been needing a skillful planner like yourself.”

• your eyebrows frown. “More stern on finding you.”

• he smirks. “How sweet. Though... why don’t we take a second glance at them, shall we?”

• you follow him out.

• his hands interlaced with yours.

• as your greeted to 7 other smirking men at not only your disposal, at the bottom of the staircase.

• thieves in their natural habitat.

• surrounded by paintings that none other than you had painted years ago.

• that you thought you had sold to an anonymous collector.

• “Now about that heist we talked about. Let’s start by stealing what you really deserve.”

• he spins you around.

• arm locked up with yours.

• “How’s my heart sound? What kind of a price would you put on that?”

• “A price only I could afford, I’m sure.”

@atinybitofau

[perfecttimeseleven]

https://open.spotify.com/episode/599XTxnDzzcJibnEaEjPdb?si=e9ce5c51fbdb474e

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 7 TRANSCRIPT

ACT TWO SCENE ONE Lights rise on a table and two chairs in an otherwise empty-seeming room. THIEF #1 and THIEF #2 are seated at the table, examining a laptop. They’re both young; even younger than REMINGTON, JAY, and DAISY (think 13 or 14.) They’re unassuming — cute little kids, even — dressed in all black. THIEF #2 (bored) When you said “surprise job for our two-month anniversary”, I thought we’d like, I don’t know, kiss with tongue. THIEF #1 Yeah, but this is just as good. THIEF #2 Do you care about kissing with tongue at all? THIEF #1 Babe, of course I do. I just think -- THIEF #2 It’s just heist after heist all the time. The only thing you don’t seem to care about stealing is my heart. THIEF #1 Babe, it’s what we do. THIEF #2 Besides, it’s a crap job. Robbing a supermarket? A supermarket? That’s the most boring junk I’ve ever heard. THIEF #1 Don’t you trust me? THIEF 2 You’re a bank robber. THIEF 1 You’re a bank robber. THIEF 2 Okay, that’s fair. I just…will this be worth it at all? I know you have trouble grasping the fact that we’re now fricking loaded. We’re not little please-sir orphans snatching heads of lettuce from farmer’s markets anymore. We’ve stepped up our game. What’s so special about this supermarket? THIEF #1 Trust me. This will be an easy, fun night out. What’s not special about it? THIEF #2 Why are we wasting our time? We could be preparing for the Minecraft job. Or kissing with tongue. And…and, and, and…you’re not even taking the proper precautions. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to get caught robbing a stupid supermarket, of all things. Like imagine it! You get cornered in the...I don’t know, produce aisle or something stupid like that and the headlines are all “two kids got caught stealing from the Shoprite off the highway” — who wants that? (THIEF #1 stands up. 11. Super Supermarket Heist.) THIEF #1 (pointing at the laptop screen) LOOK. ALL RIGHT, WE’VE GOT OUR TARGET HERE. THIS LOCAL SUPERMARKET. YOU KNOW YOUR JOB, YOUR INSTRUCTION — THIEF #2 (standing up) I THINK WE NEED SOME MORE DISCUSSION. THIEF #1 IT’S A QUAINT UNPOPULATED SPOT WE KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT, AND THAT’S NOT A LOT! THIEF #2 WHERE’S THE FUN? WHY NOT GO BIGGER AND PULL OUT ALL THE STOPS THIEF #1 AND PULL THE TRIGGER? THIEF #2 Fine. I guess you have a point. I’ll do it. But you better watch a sweet, romantic movie with me later. THIEF #1 Is it — THIEF #2 Cats 2019. I know you hate it. THIEF #1 Fine. THIEF #1 YEAH, WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID GRAB THE CASH, THEN DASH OUT THE BACK AROUND THE TRASH THIEF #2 WILL THAT WORK? THIEF #1 (exasperated) JESUS CHRIST! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! THIEF #2 YOU KEEP ON SAYING THIS’LL BE A CAKEWALK. ALL OF THIS “NOTHING MUCH AT STAKE” TALK! HOW CAN YOU KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT? WE NEED TO PREPARE FOR ANY THREAT THIEF #1 I’VE GOT INSIDER INFO FROM MY SOURCE. I TRUST HER. SECURITY TONIGHT WILL BE LACKLUSTER. RIGHT NOW, WE WILL JUST SIT TIGHT. AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, WE’LL SHOP RITE! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP THIEF #1 AND NOT A SINGLE COP WILL SEE, TRUST ME, THIEF #1/THIEF #2 IT’LL BE EASY! GRAB THE CASH, THEN DASH IN AND OUT IN A FLASH! CATCH THEM BY SURPRISE! A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST. WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! THIEF #2 I just…this is so out of nowhere. We usually plan these together. THIEF #1 I wanted to surprise you. You’ve been so stressed. I didn’t want to add the stress of planning a fun anniversary outing on top of that. THIEF #1 I KNOW

THINGS HAVE BEEN ROUGH — THIEF #2 YOU’RE NOT AN OPEN BOOK. THIEF #1 BUT THAT’S EXACTLY WHY WE CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE AND — THIEF #2 LOOK. WE’VE GONE DOWNHILL. ADMIT IT. IT SURE SHOWS! BANKS WERE OUR TRADE, NOT TRADER JOE’S! THIEF #1 SURE, WE’VE DONE MUCH COOLER JOBS WITHOUT MUCH  CONSEQUENCE BUT A SMALL VICTORY WILL BOOST OUR CONFIDENCE! THIEF #2 DOING IT TOGETHER IS WHAT MATTERS MOST TO ME ART MUSEUM OR BANK OR MALL OR…I GUESS GROCERY THIEF #1 Yeah? THIEF #2 Yeah! THIEF #1/THIEF #2 SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPER SUPERMARKET, SUPERMARKET HEIST! YEAH, YOU’LL STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! WE’RE GONNA MAKE YOU STOP AND SHOP NOW PUT YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD OR YOU’RE DEAD OH YEAH, THAT’S WHAT WE SAID! SIT TIGHT OR WE’LL FIGHT OH, THIS AIN’T THE NIGHT TO BE STUCK UNSUPERVISED IN A SUPERMARKET WE’RE ARMED AND DISGUISED IT’S A SUPERMARKET GROSSLY OVERPRICED IT’S A SUPER SUPERMARKET HEIST! (THIEF #1 and THIEF #2 exit.)

ACT TWO

SCENE TWO

The lights rise on REMINGTON and HP. REMINGTON is sitting next to a Dumpster in the back alley behind a restaurant. HP is squatting beside her, picking at a piece of crumpled paper and tossing its remnants into a small trash can that he hugs with one arm. REMINGTON is wearing floral shorts and a tattered, half-tucked in Domino’s employee shirt. HP is still in his original outfit, although he’s ditched the rainbow scarf and his jacket. Those can be seen laying on the other side of the Dumpster, next to the wall in a pile of other fabrics that seem to comprise a makeshift bed. The two kids have a half-empty and surprisingly fresh-looking Domino’s pizza box in front of them. REMINGTON is snacking on one of the last pieces. REMINGTON Okay. I’ve been doin’ some big brain thinking. Superhero names. HP (turning his head sharply from the paper) Hm? REMINGTON Let’s do a little word association, okay? Test the power, the wow-factor that these names hold. Ready? HP Mmkay. I like to word associate. REMINGTON What comes to mind when you hear the word...Flambé? (HP pauses, looking up contemplatively, before turning his head back to REMINGTON.) HP Shrimp? REMINGTON Nooo, like…I don’t know. (takes a bite of the pizza) Doesn’t it sound fancy? Like ain’t it French or something? (receives no reaction from HP) Okay. Okay. How about...the Remedy? HP (squints a little in confusion) What? Like medicines? Medicines and pills and little maggots in bowls? REMINGTON Like, my name is Remington, but there’s not much you can do with Remy or Remington that isn’t Ratatouille — (sees HP’s blank face, gives up) I’ll think of more names. (takes another bite of her pizza) Mm. Domino’s could beat up Papa John in a fight. (HP finishes tearing up the piece of paper and jumps to his feet.) HP Your break is almost over. You need to get back to work. REMINGTON No. The voices hurt. I’m lazy! HP One fire by the end of the day. That is our rule. REMINGTON (reluctantly dropping his half-finished slice in the pizza box) One spark. HP No, one fire. You’ve passed the spark level. (HP offers REMINGTON his hands, which REMINGTON takes. HP effortlessly pulls REMINGTON to her feet.) HP C’mon! It’s easy! (REMINGTON reluctantly unclasps her bracelet and tosses it aside. 12. Perfect Times Eleven.) HP NOW DEEP DOWN, THERE’S A FIRE GROWING STRONG JUST LET THEM HELP YOU SET IT FREE, REMINGTON LONG! IMMERSE YOURSELF IN VOICES, AIM THEIR ENERGY AT ONE SPOT! CAN YOU FEEL YOUR INSIDES SORTA GETTING HOT? REMINGTON Yeah, but it doesn’t feel healthy... HP ONCE YOUR BRAIN WIDENS, GIVE IN TO PRIMAL DRIVES, YOU’LL GAIN ENERGY FROM ALL YOUR PAST LIVES NOT JUST THE ONES YOU HEAR SINGING! REMINGTON What do you mean? HP WHETHER ANIMAL OR HUMAN, THEY WILL BE BRINGING YOU ENERGY! AND THAT’S THE KEY! IT SWELLS UP IN YOUR BRAIN! LET IT PLUMMET DOWN LIKE RAIN ONTO YOUR GOAL HP/REMINGTON THIS ENERGY IN YOU AND ME, ALL OF IT COMES FROM THE MOMENT WE BECOME ONE WITH THE SOUL AND OUR SOULS HAVE BEEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN REMINGTON WHICH MAKES US NOW GODS AMONG MEN HP WE COULD BURN AWAY ALL LIFE AND CREATE THE WORLD AGAIN REMINGTON THAT’S A LITTLE EXTREME, BUT SURE, I SUPPOSE. AT LEAST ONCE I'M TRAINED, WE CAN LEAVE THIS TENT BEHIND A DOMINO’S! HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! HP STARTING LITTLE FIRES IS THE EASIEST TO MASTER! AFTERWARDS, YOU’LL LEARN TELEKINESIS FASTER TO SET A FIRE, GIVE YOUR SOUL’S ENERGY A TOSS! SCOOP UP A BIT OF THAT TIME AND SPACEY SAUCE THROW IT OUT OF YOURSELF AND JUST LET IT ALL GO THE HUGE AMOUNT OF ENERGY WILL SET SHIT AGLOW AND AFTER YOU CAN GET FUN LITTLE FIRES TO START, MASTERING THE REST OF IT’S THE EASIER PART HP/REMINGTON ‘CAUSE ENERGY IS THE KEY! IT SWELLS UP IN YOUR BRAIN! LET IT PLUMMET DOWN LIKE RAIN ONTO YOUR GOAL THIS ENERGY IN YOU AND ME, ALL OF IT COMES FROM THE MOMENT WE

BECOME ONE WITH THE SOUL AND OUR SOULS HAVE BEEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, THE LUCK OF THE DRAW REMINGTON IS BEING A REALLY GREAT TEACHER ONE OF YOUR POWERS? ‘CAUSE I AM IN AWE. HP WELL, TEACHING YOU’S AS FUN AS MAKING ANIMALS COMBUST! REMINGTON THANK YOU…THAT’S A COMPLIMENT, I TRUST? HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! HP Now, concentrate! Feel it build up inside you until every cell of your body feels like it’s screaming! REMINGTON Ahhhh! This shit hurts! HP And let it go! (REMINGTON propels her hands forward in one strenuous motion. There’s a whooshing noise and the inside of the trash can is now impressively aflame.) HP That’s it! REMINGTON That was my best one so far! HP/REMINGTON WE’RE PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN! A ONCE-IN-A-BLUE-MOON CHANCE, WE'RE EXISTENT AND ALIVE AGAINST ALL CIRCUMSTANCE! HP IT’S GREAT TO BE BETTER THAN HUMAN! REMINGTON EH. IT’S OKAY. IT’S GREAT TO LIVE WITH YOU IN THIS ABANDONED ALLEYWAY! HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH REALITY AT MY COMMAND! (REMINGTON, perhaps spurred by the vigor of the musical number, is ready to go apeshit with the fire. She concentrates on the pizza box.) REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (She manages to set the pizza box on fire.) HP Yes! Nice! REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (REMINGTON manages to start a fire from somewhere inside the Domino’s — we can see a faint flicker through the window.) HP You’re doing so good! REMINGTON’S VOICES AHH! (REMINGTON sets all of the nearby Dumpster’s contents on fire. Spectacular!) HP Fantastic! (REMINGTON victoriously embraces HP, who attempts to spin her around. REMINGTON then takes HP’s hand. They skip around a little/dance giddily amid the blaze.) HP/REMINGTON PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN, A UNIVERSAL LOTTERY WIN! NATURALLY MORE DISPOSED TO FREE THE ENERGY WITHIN! TIME AND SPACE WILL JUMBLE AND CRUMBLE AT MY HAND I’M A GLITCH IN THE MATRIX WITH THE WORLD AT MY COMMAND! (pausing in a triumphant pose center stage) PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN! (REMINGTON and HP freeze in their triumphant pose. Somewhere behind them, a burning piece of cardboard unceremoniously falls out of the Dumpster. Blackout.)

[delta-magnetic]

soooo i might've been thinking about a certain some ask game again and decided, fuck it ima answer all the questions that im actually able to lol

i've done 5, 16 and 17 already but to add onto the latter two:

16. here's another 3 because yes- Welcome Home (Sanitarium), Ronnie, and Dirty Window

17. I HAVE MORE NOW BITCHES. now have Master of Puppets, Load and Death Magnetic! AND Cunning Stunts!

alright rest under a cut lol you know i love to ramble

1. (fun fact this question is why i was thinking about this again lol) AAAAAA i shall say, lars! i'm sure meeting any of them i'd be nervous/a little awkward, but i think lars would do best at diffusing that. plus getting to hear him go on and on about whatever, in person?? yes please

2. i have made, shitposts galore (and also 2 uquiz's, the most recent one actually being all around good lol)

3. also thought abt this one a few times since seeing it hmmm, a few come to mind, but you know what i think would be fun? struggle within on drums. i'm sure that intro is a recorded thing if/when it's ever done live, but lets just imagine. plus for me personally? i know i literally have a guitar in my room, but drums seem fun, and when i think drums + metallica, besides some of the obvious answers (one, master of puppets), this song is what i think

6. i'm sure most would go for ultimullet here, but you know what i'm gonna pick? 2019 james. i always want to put my hands in his hair but like, something about '19,,, soft old man ilu

7. i have not seen it! though i've heard it's good, might have to watch it someday

8. definitely museum with lars. dude loves art and would just be giving out insight galore! not bendy or strong enough for kirk or rob, and while i love james and also taking walks, i would be slow and idk if he'd wait up for me fjkdblsksnj

9. holy shit there are, so many... could go for any of the songs from Load yet to be played live tbh, but my answer shall be Devils Dance!

10. i'll admit, haven't listened to all of garage inc yet, but i really like Die, Die My Darling!

11. again haven't heard many of these, but omf their cover of 53rd and 3rd is [chefs kiss]

12. maybe an obvious answer, but st anger. it's weird, i really like the first half of it off the album, but then after that??? eh?? but live puts some of that missing, emotion?, into the 2nd half i'm wanting (plus yknow, SOLO !!!!)

14. oh lort. again, so many. im srry i cannot pick kjnfsdbkj, but i will say i know i'd pick somewhere in missouri! which seems kinda lame, but getting to say i've seen metallica in my home state would be pretty cool

15. you're tearing me apart dude!! i know it's a pretty typical answer, but black album! i wouldn't even call it my favorite album, but sound wise? definite favorite

18. i don't have much, but i really do live in that master of puppets shirt. it's comfy, one of my friends bought it for me because i didn't bring any money (not expecting to want to buy anything lol), and it was my first metallica thing i ever owned!

20. tickets to a show, i cross out but tbh, it's true! other than maybe s&m (1 or 2), yea collecting is cool but i'm not chomping at the bit to own every single album actually! wanna have the ones i'll actually listen to regularly yknow?

24. tbh lars with any of them would be a treat, but having to concretely pick pairs? lars and james, kirk and rob. lars and james are so many years of friendship, they both always have something neat to say, and having them bounce off each other in an interview would be cool. kirk doesn't speak that often, and i think getting him with rob would get him a little more chatty perhaps

...oh you also asked what i'd ask lol. idk man, especially to lars n james. maybe to kirk and rob i'd ask if either of them like, found new/different artists they liked through each other (since i know they both have pretty varied music tastes)

25. i am answering these all at 1 in the morning, so maybe i'd be able to think a bit more if i did this at a more reasonable time, but either way holyf a lot from Halo On Fire. just to pick one?

I fear to turn on the light // For the darkness won’t go away

26. hmm again, 1 am, head is kiiiinda no thoughts head empty for some reason?? though luckily not too empty, bc just sitting here thinking for a second, Bleeding Me just popped to mind?

27. ooooo, if they were just on their own (not with family or friends) i'd probably try my best to not freak out and just be like "hey i love your music"

...and maybe ask for a hug

28. tbh i want to dress like cliff lmao, but my actual fashion sense? think like, current kirk but if he did not spent 600 bucks on everything and generally toned down a LOT (keep the graphic tees tho)

29. oh i can't remember who said it, but someone said something like, whenever they'd screw something up in the studio, cliff would just, look at them so disappointed njdfsbnkl

30. almost definitely kirk i'd say. i'm super shy, but if you get me talking about something i really like? unlikely to stop

31. YOU ARE MEAN !!!! my answer though, shall be kirk n lars! you want reasons? they're just neat!!!!!!!!

33. nah, if anything just because i don't have any of the social medias they're really on

34. hmm, not that i can think of?? partially because i haven't seen a ton of their inner-workings type deals, and they seem alright

35. just going general here, but memory remains. i just do not like that song for some reason

36. ...you know what idk how long this will even get but this post is already long enough so screw it this is getting it's own post lmao

37. tbh any of the more "moody" songs? like especially older ones, particularly Fade to Black and One. idk even what mood i need to be in to listen to them, but definitely not a regular-casual listening one

38. lowkey made a whole post about this lmao, but for a short answer for here: my uncle playing (the song) master of puppets whenever i was in the truck with him!

39. [looks at all of you very lovingly]

40. oh for sure. a few months ago i was out of town and, not having a good time. and putting on some metallica songs made me feel a lot more at ease

[jaxsteamblog]

Cave of Two Lovers

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

The next pick-up day, Katara woke up and didn’t want to get out of bed. The days after Zuko’s birthday party had been weird, to say the least. When she pictured him bringing in cookies, or clipping thorns, it was impossible to then imagine him standing next to that woman, Mai.

It didn’t occur to her that incessantly thinking about Zuko was the actual problem.

She just didn’t like it when things didn’t fit, she supposed. While Mai hadn’t been outright rude to her and Suki, she certainly wasn’t the type to be nice. Zuko was nice.

Putting her hands on her face, Katara groaned.

Katara stopped for coffee on the way in, wanting to avoid the whole tea situation. When she got to the flower shop, she didn’t see Sokka’s car. Slightly concerned, Katara got out and jingled her keys in her free hand.

There was a note taped to the back door.

The tape pulled free with a pop and she opened the hastily folded note while sipping her coffee.

Kat- Had to leave for a slight emergency. Can’t text, running to car. Close up after Z gets flowers. Love, Sokka.

Frowning, Katara put the note in her mouth and used her key to get into the shop. It was dark in the back room and the hum of the air conditioner sounded like the call of an ocean animal. Putting down her keys and coffee, Katara fished her phone out of her purse and unlocked it as she walked to the front.

What’s going on? Call me.

Katara shed her purse by the workroom door and slipped her phone into her pocket. As she turned on the light and walked to the counter, she finally pulled the note from her lips. She read it again, hoping that if it were something serious he would have let her know.

With the shop being quieter, Katara could hear the van pull into the alley. She sighed and went back through the workroom, getting to the door just as Zuko hopped out.

“I just got here and Sokka is out for,” Katara paused as she thought. “Something.”

“Is everything okay?” Zuko asked, walking to the door. Katara shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’m waiting for him to call.” She replied. Zuko nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. He started to say something just as Katara turned to the back door.

“It looked like a small order though. We should be okay.” She said.

“Yeah. After how much the party was, Uncle felt like scaling back a bit this week.” Zuko said. They walked inside and Katara helped Zuko with the vases, filling them as he went back inside and to grab the flowers. It didn’t take long at all to get everything loaded and secured.

“Hey, since the shop will be closed, do you have some free time this afternoon?” Zuko asked and slid the van door shut.

“I mean, yeah. Why?” Katara asked.

“There’s a new exhibit at the art museum downtown. I’ve been wanting to go but I need someone to take with me so I can lecture them about art styles.” Zuko answered.

“Okay, but I need to go grocery shopping first.” Katara said, shifting on her feet.

“Can I get your number?” Zuko asked. Katara bit the inside of her lip and nodded, watching as Zuko pulled out his phone from his pocket. She took it, just entering her number to let him add her name. When he got it back, his fingers moved deftly over the screen.

Her own phone dinged in her pocket.

“Alright, text me when you’re done?” He asked, replacing his phone and smiling at her. Katara’s fingers stretched wide for a second down by her leg. She nodded.

“Yeah.” She replied and Zuko’s smile widened briefly. She watched him get into his van and salute her before driving off.

Katara watched the van disappear around the corner and went back inside to lock up.

“Everything’s fine.” Sokka reassured her as Katara cradled her phone between her cheek and her shoulder. She scanned her groceries at the self checkout and glared down at her milk carton.

“You still haven’t told me what happened and it’s irritating me.” She hissed into the phone.

“Only because you’ll be mad.” Sokka replied.

“I’m already mad.” Katara jammed her card into the payment pad and entered her PIN.

“I went back to the flower market because I heard that Jimmy’s friend had a source coming in from the eastern provinces with a small shipment of panda lilies. You know how much I can sell these babies for?” Sokka explained in a rush.

Picking up her tote and sliding it over a shoulder, Katara moved her phone to her free hand.

“You ran out and couldn’t call me for panda lilies?” She retorted. After a brief pause, she continued. “Wait, you got them?”

“Three-quarters of the shipment! I couldn’t afford all twelve.”

Katara nodded to herself as she exited the store and went out to her car. “Are you going back to the shop?”

“Absolutely not.” Sokka answered firmly. “I don’t want to get robbed.”

“How cutthroat is the flower business?” Katara unlocked her car and placed her groceries in the backseat. All of Sokka’s clothes from the party were still in there; luckily the summer heat baked away any smell and now they were just limp.

“The best flowers bloom in blood.” Sokka said with theatrical menace. He cleared his throat and went on. “But seriously, there are a lot of people in the area who would want to move these. I’m going to try and find a buyer today.”

“Make sure to take Suki with you.” Katara said and got into the driver’s seat, immediately turning over the engine to get the A/C started.

“Hey, I am fully capable of protecting myself,” Sokka said. “But yes, I will be bringing Suki.”

Katara snorted and said her goodbyes before leaving the grocery store parking lot. While she waited at the side street, waiting for a pocket to open in the cross traffic, Katara chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Okay Booble, text Zuko.” She said and turned.

---

Katara waited outside of the museum and stared up at the large posters strung up across the face of the building. There were advertisements for the exhibit Zuko had been talking about and it looked fairly interesting. However, after standing in the afternoon sun, Katara was mostly looking forward to air conditioning.

“Have you been waiting long?” Zuko’s voice came up behind her and Katara turned. The lack of visible sweat on him made him seem cool, and Katara shivered at the thought.

“Yes, can we go in now?” She replied hastily. Distressed, Zuko walked quickly to the museum steps. They rushed to the ticket booth and Zuko bought two entrance passes. It being the beginning of the week and with little activity at such a hot hour, Katara supposed there weren’t many people staffed. Unsurprisingly, the ticket salesperson also punched their passes.

“Here you go.” Zuko said, handing Katara her pass. Her fingers brushed against his hand; he was cooler than she.

“You’re lucky, we’re getting the vents fixed so we’ll be closed the rest of the week.” The woman in the ticket booth said.

“The vents?” Katara repeated.

“Yeah, the air conditioning went out on us this morning. We got out some industrial fans but that’s just to get us through today. Enjoy!” The woman said.

Katara looked reproachfully at Zuko, who looked decidedly away from her.

The museum itself was grand, with ceilings that towered over her as practically far away as the sky. The stone around her was cool and offered some relief from the heat; the biggest problem was the lack of air circulating. She could hear various fans humming away like a hybrid of cicadas and jet engines. Just a constant, irritating wash of white noise.

“Have you ever been to Omashu?” Zuko asked. Katara shook her head and Zuko started walking to the side gallery.

“I’ve wanted to go see the cave there.” He added.

“The Cave of Two Lovers?” Katara asked.

“Yeah. Do you know the legend?”

“No, it’s just what the posters said.”

“Oh.” Zuko looked momentarily dumbfounded and they walked into the gallery in silence. There was a massive box fan at the door, angled to blow air into the room. Two large oscillating fans were standing like sentries at either end; both of them looked like they could take down a child if they fell.

The art on the walls, however, was simply breathtaking.

Done in a traditional style, watery brush strokes moved across multiple large canvases.

“Oma and Shu belonged to two different villages who had always fought each other. The war raged on for so long because a mountain separated them, making it difficult for either side to claim victory.” Zuko said as they stopped in front of the first canvas. As they moved around, he narrated the story. How the two lovers met atop the mountain, how they learned earthbending from the badgermoles to make a maze of tunnels, and how Shu was killed in the war between their homes.

As Zuko related Oma’s grief and how she used her earthbending, something the others had never seen another human being do, Katara felt goosebumps ripple over her skin and tears stung her eyes.

Finally, Omashu was created and an entire city-kingdom lived peacefully, laying on the foundation of stones carved out by a grieving woman.

Sniffling, Katara dabbed her nose with the back of her hand.

Zuko looked at her and then glanced around the room. “The whole exhibit is about them. Want to see the other pieces?”

They walked through a few more galleries with Zuko in fact talking about art styles and historical periods. Artist names popped up as frequently as place names and Katara stopped trying to discern the two types.

“Are you sure art isn’t your thing?” Katara asked at one point. Zuko laughed but didn’t respond.

After making it through four rooms, Katara was hot and tired. She said as much to Zuko and he turned about, looking around the room.

“Look, there’s a dark room there. We can at least cool down while I pull a map up on my phone.” He said, pointing to a door that was propped open across from them.

Katara looked in and saw paint cans in the dim light.

“It doesn’t look like this room’s finished.” She said.

“Want to go somewhere else?” Zuko asked.

“No. It has a bench. None of these other rooms have had a place to sit.” Katara said, feeling her feet start to throb as she stood still.

“Okay.” Zuko replied and they both entered. Zuko held out his phone with the flashlight on and they saw that this exhibit was far from being done. Drop cloths were haphazardly draped over painting supplies and a large ladder leaned against a wall. A push broom and large dust mop rested against the door frame and they jostled as Katara stepped in, pushing the door in a bit.

As she moved to sit on the bench, Zuko paced around the room, holding up his phone.

“I cannot get a signal.” He said. Katara watched as he stretched himself upward, leaning precariously over piles of hidden tools and paint to point his phone at the top of each wall. Noticing the lack of a tremble, Katara realized he must be very limber.

“Does this place not have wifi?” Katara asked, now taking her own phone out. There was a loud wooden clatter and the room darkened, causing her screen to illuminate a bit more.

Then there was the sound of metallic clatter.

“Well, that’s not ideal.” Zuko said.

Katara stared at the x over her bars on her cell phone screen.

“Zuko.” She said.

“Yes.”

“Did you knock over the brooms?”

A hesitation. “Yes.”

“And it closed the door?”

“Mmm.”

“And it’s locked?”

Silence.

“Zuko!” Katara whirled around and saw Zuko standing at the door, both hands wrapped around the doorknob.

“I’m sorry!” He said.

“We need to get out of here! What if they close up and we’re stuck in here all week?” Katara asked, panicked.

“Look, that won’t happen. If it, uh, if it comes down to it, uh,” Zuko let go of the doorknob and started pacing in front of the door.

“Can’t you freeze the hinges or something?” He asked.

“This place is too dry! Where am I supposed to get the water from?” Katara asked. Zuko, his hand hovering in the air over his hair, stopped and looked at her.

Katara recoiled, blushing. Seeing her reaction, Zuko held up his hands, blinding her with the flashlight.

“No! Oh no, I’m sorry. No, I didn’t mean, I’m sorry. Katara, I thought.” Zuko walked briskly to her and she swatted at him.

“Turn that stupid thing off before it drains your battery.” She snapped. Zuko obliged and spun a flame from his fingers, holding it in the palm of his hand.

“I was just trying to figure out how much we’d have to, I don’t know, spit on it. But that was also a stupid idea.” He said. Katara gaped at him, dumbfounded, before the corners of her mouth started to pull upwards and she laughed.

Chuckling, Zuko moved around and sat next to her, finally running his free hand through his hair.

“How are you so dumb?” Katara asked through her laughter.

“Azula is the prodigy. I was just lucky to be born first.” Zuko remarked. The bittersweetness in his voice stopped her mirth. Looking at him, she noticed how the shadows from the fire made his face look thinner.

“You’ve got that kind of family huh?” Katara questioned. Zuko nodded.

“Is that why you’re with Mai?” She went on. Zuko faced her, looking confused.

“What do you mean?”

Oh spirits he’s with her by choice. Katara thought and was glad that the dark room hid the tells of her embarrassment.

“It’s just, you two seem pretty different.” She clarified. Zuko sighed and focused on the flame. He started to fidget, shaping it with both hands.

“We didn’t use to be. I was just as emotionally drab as she is. Then this happened,” Zuko said and gestured to his face. “And then the end of the war. I don’t know.” His hands returned to the flame and he pulled on it, making the orange ball grow larger. “I wanted to look forward to things and enjoy them, the way my uncle enjoys his tea.”

At the mention of the war, Katara’s throat dried and she shifted away from him. Sensing the movement, Zuko leaned over a bit to look at her.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Katara nodded; she balled one hand into a fist on the bench, the other went to the necklace sitting snug at her throat.

“I lost a lot in the war.” She replied, her voice husky.

“Sokka told me about it. I’m sorry for your loss and, well,” Zuko suddenly sounded tense. “I know you might not want to hear it from the enemy but, I lost people I loved too.”

Another question jumped up from her chest but Katara caught it in her teeth, biting down and catching the tip of her tongue with it. He was as old as Sokka and would have been that young during the war. But they had both been young when they had done what they did.

And so Katara couldn’t bring herself to ask because she didn’t want to know the answer.

“You’re not the enemy Zuko.” She said.

“Well, I did get us locked in here and we might die.” He replied. Katara huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh and stood. Walking slowly to the opposite wall, she squinted at the paint.

“I think something’s here. Bring the light over.” She said. Zuko walked over and Katara stepped back as the image expanded in the light.

“It’s the curse.” Zuko said.

“What curse?” Katara asked in alarm.

“The tunnels the lovers made were created to entrap those that would follow them. Basically, it says that you will be trapped if you don’t trust in love.” He said.

“So how do you trust in love?” Katara asked. Zuko frowned as he thought, his gaze lingering on the large painting before trickling down to the floor.

“The rest of the myth talks about how the love is the brightest in the dark. How in the worst of times, the two found the greatest love.” He said.

Katara looked at the painting. Two figures knelt across from each other, kissing. In the middle of the war, far below the earth, literally in the most impossible place, two people were free to love each other.

“Or.” Katara started. Zuko faced her and she turned to him. “Or we just remember that badgermoles are blind.”

“And?” Zuko asked. Silently, Katara stepped forward and placed her hands on the backs of Zuko’s. Rolling his fingers inward, he extinguished the flame and they stood in darkness.

His hands were warm.

“Look.” He whispered. Unable to see him, Katara still turned around. The open room seemed vast, but a faint spill of green made her look up. Dots like hanging crystal, glowing in green light, illuminated a path. It ended at the locked door, but began behind the ladder.

They shuffled slowly to the ladder and pulled it past the edges of the green path. Their eyes, having adjusted to the faint light, picked up the lines of a door in the edge of their vision. Zuko pried it open, disrupting more paint cans, and they were suddenly in an alcove. A man coming out of the bathroom across from them jumped at their sudden appearance before scowling at them and walking off.

Sheepish, Zuko and Katara hurried out, closing the door behind them.

“You owe me lunch.” Katara said. Zuko laughed and rubbed the back of his head.

“Deal.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

[akimmito]

Heroes are made by the path they choose

First | Previous | AO3 | Next

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Chapter 9

Damian Al Guhl, Damian Wayne, Damian Lenoir. Three different surnames, three different families and three different types of expectations with moral compasses that overlap each other, combining and repelling each other. And he's in the middle.

Damian, just Damian, is caught in the crossfire.

He knows the ideology of his grandfather, of his biological mother, of the League as a whole and as individuals (at least, he thought he did). He was trained to be the ideal tool, but even a tool judged to be perfect can be thrown away when his goal has been accomplished or when he's not achieving it as he should.

He read all the available information about Bruce Wayne, Batman, Richard Grayson, Nightwing, Jason Todd, Red Hood (and their different identities, including the one he had in the League), Timothy Drake... the current Robin, Cassandra Cain and everyone else who have prowled the mansion at some point. The actions of each one he's known by heart, the morality that guides them and the extent of their abilities. And although at the moment he read everything he thought that because he was his blood son he would accept it, he's not sure now. He's a discarded weapon, he doesn't serve the plans of the League, but his moral compass doesn't fit with the Wayne and knows that Bruce Wayne will try to change that, to instill in him his own values... but he doesn't want that.

He has spent a year in the MT and knows the different ideologies, thoughts and attitudes of those who make it up, the way they collide with each other and, instead of being a breaking point, only strengthens the group more, diversifies and expands it their horizons. Right and wrong converge with each other all the time, they walk the gray line and are willing to cross them if necessary.

He has spent a year with Marie, he has received her understanding, her respect and her love. Everything that the League rejected of him (his love for animals and art), she not only accepted it but also encouraged him to continue, he gave Dafne as a first pet and later allowed his other animals to get a place where they can be freely, even a place for animals that they could not keep. Everything that Bruce Wayne would not accept, she accepts and teaches him that there are also other alternatives for each situation, leaving it in his decision which he makes in the end (only when she didn't let him murder Michel Laforet did she oppose his upbringing, so others, well, there have been criminals who disappeared without explanation). Marie has taught him and, little by little, he has been building his own morale.

If given the option of choosing a family, he would definitely choose to be a Lenoir, as he's, not change him. He doesn't have to make a place for himself (as would be the case with the Wayne) or demonstrate his courage (as with the League), he only has to be himself to be worthy of the love he receives.

Knowing this, he know that it is inevitable that everything will crash into his face. The League, if he knows that he lives, will not rest until he's recovered, he doesn't want that, he doesn't want his mother to get involved in that fight, but he knows that she will, that the MT will do it and is not sure of the result.

He just wants him to be able to spend more days with his mother and pets, without outside intervention. Just them as a family.

But his mother has a lover whose name is unknown to him (smart, otherwise he would track him down and knows he would have one or two Kwami on his side to threaten the poor wretch) and his mother accepted Oliver Queen's recommendation for two new clients, Richard Grayson and Timothy Drake (would it look bad if he let Agatha, one of the two German shepherds, eat them both?).

---------

Damian @DamianLenoir

Ringo adapts well with his brothers, he is particularly affectionate with Picatso

[Attached photo]

Adrien A. @AdrienAgreste

@DamianLenoir Picatso is the coolest cat in the world, great name.

Felix @GrahamV_Felix

@DamianLenoir @AdrienAgreste You say it just because you named it. All other pets have good names.

Chloe B. @BourgeoisQueen

@DamianLenoir @AdrienAgreste @GrahamV_Felix It's impossible for him not to make ridiculous puns, poor Picatso suffered the consequences.

Adrien A. @AdrienAgreste

@DamianLenoir @GrahamV_Felix @BourgeoisQueen Rude.

---------

'We must go to Turkey as soon as possible. "

Marinette enters the training room using her combat gear, Felix looks at her with curiosity equally prepared. They use the trainings to discuss the information they have obtained through their sources, because they don't ask who the informant is, not like Chloe or Kagami, they mutually respect each other's origin behind the clues, even though they know the identity of one or two.

Felix knows about John Constantine, the way they met (because he was close and about to burn Liverpool, all so that she would appear at noon the next day accompanied by a man who could well have come out of the same hell to torment him) and the relationship they have (difficult not to know, considering that it started the same night they met and that each encounter ends the same). He's not particularly a fan of man, he's twelve years older than Marinette, for heaven's sake (no, take it out the heaven, they shouldn't be involved in their affairs).

"Why Turkey?" He questions, handing him a folding cane.

"According to John, there is a Miraculous there and a demon wants it. "She explains, placing herself in attack position, he imitates her.

"Charming. Do you know exactly where it is?"Felix makes the first attack, using the stick to strike, she defends herself by imitating his action, beginning the roundtrip of different blows as they try to knock each other down.

"No, but when we are there, I'll feel it. Maybe… ”She breaks off to jump back the moment he attacks her legs. "Maybe we should prepare to rob a museum, I doubt it has an owner. Many of the jewels must have remained as family heirlooms or museum pieces when the Order was destroyed. "

"Oh, what wonderful news. I always wanted to rob a Turkish museum, didn't you know? I'll cross it off my bucket list. ”Mariette laughs at the sarcasm used, they've had their fair share of museum robberies looking for magical artifacts (some as favors for Constantine and others to relocate them away from bad hands).

They remain silent, leaving the only sound to be that of their blows and movements. Until Marinette knocks him down and applies a key to him.

"He also told me that Ra's Al Ghul is looking for Damian, it seems that the League managed to contact some demon from hell to try to bring Damian's soul and he was not there, so now they know that he's alive... we must be ready." She releases him and stands up, wipes the sweat and walks to the bottles with water. It may have been a short fight, but with Felix it is always complicated, just like with Kagami.

"Perfect." Felix complains, having to deal with the League of Assassins is a problem he doesn't want to deal with, but if they are going to protect Damian, they must. "We should seize and destroy the Lazarus Pits."

She nods at his words thoughtfully. Marinette has been postponing that specific task, even though Tikki asked for it five years ago when her magic became strong enough to split the properties of the wells, making it easier to destroy and less harmful to Earth.

"Well, it seems we have plans to share with the others." He stands next to her and also takes a bottle of water.

"Yeah, and we must still focus on finding the miraculous butterfly."

Marinette slides down the wall into a sitting position, looking at the training area, the different weapons clustered on the opposite wall, all for the different combat styles they master.

"I'll call a meeting, shall we go tomorrow?"

"About that, today two clients arrive in Paris and the appointment is scheduled for tomorrow... I think we can leave in two days, I'll arrange to leave Damian at the country house with Hugo."

"It's the most sensible thing, being around his pets will make your absence less resentful." She hums in response. Damian looked fearful that she had a partner and the whole confrontation was about that, being sure he wasn't going to leave him. She would like to take him, but she already has a whole method built with Felix (it took them a whole year to achieve a comfortable way of working that they couldn't find with anyone else) and they found it difficult to accommodate him, they have gone little by little, but it's not a simple task. "Tomorrow your clients arrive… I will stop by to give Damian something, especially if we are leaving the next day. "

She accepts only with a nod, the two remain in comfortable silence.

"That reminds me, my informant sent me a text about a man carrying a bottle with strange symbols, the last time he saw him he was in Hanoi and left a couple of corpses on his visit. You should talk to your boyfriend and start investigating that, it's not my area. "

"He's not my boyfriend, you know it."

"Yeah, it would be very strange if you were in a relationship with a thirty-six-year-old man... wait, it's already" He doesn't claim with real reproach, only four years ago it was a real sermon with anger and screaming while the man would sit and watch them argue smoking a cigar (and it wasn't even because of his age, it was to decide to spend the night with him without warning him, that and come back stinking of alcohol, cigar and something he couldn't identify).

"Says the one who was in a relationship with a forty-five-year-old woman for two years." She laughs, remembering when she met the refined woman who was friends with Amelia, it was because she took her out of all her circles upon learning that she was in a relationship with her twenty-one-year-old son. "I still don't know if you really liked her or just wanted to destroy her social circles."

"Both."

In both, a knowing smile forms, against all odds, they became good friends. Neither of them imagined that they could find in the other someone who understood them, especially with their first meeting. In addition to the fact that the way he joined the team was unorthodox, since he began working with her a year before Nathalie's death, so that everything would go down the drain because of a murderer and Agreste's incapacity of sticking to his villain role. Felix was upset and the two made a promise not to stop until they retrieved the brooch.

Yes, Marinette founded the MT with Felix, he gave the first funds with Kagami and soon after Luka and Chloe were contributing. The five of them were the original members until they discovered how it was going to operate and launched the invitations to old heroes and others who had the potential (taking out those less reliable).

And this is how they are here, casually talking about each other's relationships, the peculiar relationships with people ten years older than them.

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Felix @GrahamV_Felix

There are only three people in this world that I don't despise with all my being @MarieLenior @DamianLenoir and my mother. The rest, I'll see you in hell.

Chloe B. @BourgeoisQueen

@GrahamV_Felix * gasps * And I thought we had something special.

Adrien A. @AdrienAgreste

@GrahamV_Felix I loved you, you were my brother. I feel betrayed.

Luka @Blue_WildMelody

@GrahanV_Felix We appreciate your sincerity.

Nath @NathanielKC_twt

@GrahamV_Felix So we agree that you will go to hell? Because you will go to hell.

Alix @LostHeroBunnix

@GrahamV_Felix @NathanielKC_twt I doubt Lucifer wants it in his domains hahaha

Lucifer @LuciferMorningstar

@GrahamV_Felix @NathanielKC_twt @LostHeroBunnix On the contrary, I have the perfect place for him

Marie L. @MarieLenoir

@GrahamV_Felix @NathanielKC_twt @LostHeroBunnix @LuciferMorningstar I said pray, but I think it would be worse.

[theliterateape]

Why We Gave Our Son Away

By David Himmel

Parenthood requires sacrifice. Lots of it. A more optimistic person might say it’s not sacrifice but compromise, and to that I say they don’t know what they’re talking about. Over the last several years, my wife and I have been parents to a wonderful little human named Harrison. He’s intelligent, strong, funny, helpful, and kind. Most of the time anyway. He’s also a three-year-old toddler so he is also erratic, neurotic, sullen, mercurial, and violent. Why, just yesterday, he slapped me across the face after telling him I loved him. In a very tiny nutshell, that right there is parenthood. You give love, you get smacked in the face.

Parenthood also comes with judgement. Judgement from friends, family members, other parents, kids, and your own. There’s a constant vice grip of pressure to not screw up—not do anything that will come back to twist the truth or skew the perception in a tell-all book or on a fancy, blogsite hosted by Squarespace.

Being a parent is living in constant fear or failure, retaliation, and getting slapped in the face, kicked in the nuggets, and broken at the heart. And that is why my wife and I decided to give our son away. This Easter, Harrison will go to live with and be raised by his grandparents in the small rural town of Hammond, Illinois.

No doubt we’ll be judged for this decision. Brutally judged. Cast out of our circle of friends because, after all, what kind of monsters just, like, give their kid away. Perhaps you’re judging us now as you read this confession/explanation. But as you build your disdain and formalize your level of offense from our decision, you must know that we did not come to this decision easily. We agonized over it for days after a string of very difficult bedtime sessions.

He just refused, well, everything. Refused to brush his teeth. Refused to put on pajamas. Refused to sit and read the three books he picked out. Refused to stay under the covers. It has been exhausting. My wife and I have both seen what too many years of parenting has done to too many people. It breaks them. It robs them of their individuality, assaults their sex drive, slaughters their ability to make rational decisions, strips them of the vibrancy and curiosity that occupied them before they were parents. Parenthood removes the will to live a life—an actual life. Parenthood leads to buying items with sayings about coffee to decorate your house. Parenthood breaks your brain into thinking “Live, Laugh, Love” is a clever and inspiring mantra.

My brain is so burned out, I haven’t managed to read a single book since becoming a father. That’s more than three years now. I haven’t been able to watch a movie or enjoy a new TV series. All I have capacity for is watching Friends and Marvel films up to Infinity War. New things require energy and capacity I just don’t have.

But it’s not like we drowned the kid or left him to bake in a hot car or let him fall out of a window. We’re not monsters. We’re humans who want to live a good life. And we want our son, whom we still love, to live a good life. And he will do just that in Hammond, Illinois.

He’ll be loved. He’ll be with his grandparents, closer to his aunts and uncles and cousins. There’s a family park a stone’s throw from the house he’ll grow up in that he already loves. There’s a pool there. He loves swimming. He’s so brave and strong, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he becomes an Olympic swimmer like Michael Phelps. I may never know because my wife and I will likely be drunk and stoned making art in Paris or sleeping off a lazy afternoon on a Caribbean shore or murdering a cop in Portland, Oregon. Who knows where we’ll be because without the responsibility of parenthood, the world is once again our oyster. And we plan on devouring the whole goddamn thing. 

Harrison will have fields to play in. Outside of a big city, he’ll grow up surrounded by nature, or, rather, fields of soy and corn that’ll be used to make the foods that are slowly killing us. He’ll belong to a good church. And with his half-Jew blood, he’ll be respected because he’s a Jew like Jesus. He’ll grow up appreciating bro country—something I continue to do but never succeed. And I blame my northern Illinois living for that.

We will still see Harrison. At holidays, just like we already see my in-laws at holidays. And it’s not like we’re sending him to live with old-ass grandparents. These grandparents are not much older than I am. They’re younger than Don Hall even.

Will we miss Harrison? At first. But then the drugs and booze will kick in and we’ll be fine. And we’ll finally get to watch Euphoria with that young woman from the Spider-Man movie. We might even read Infinite Jest!

We’re giving our son away because we love him. But we also love ourselves. This is a win-win for everyone. This is the best thing for Harrison. His life will be full and free, not empty and confined like it would be living in the city with two withering creatives. Oh, sure, we could take him to a museum, but what kind of idiot takes children to museums? Parents, that’s who. With Harrison gone, we no longer have to be idiots. And he no longer has to be a witness to our withering demise as intelligent human beings.

We, on the other hand, will get to see Harrison grow up and thrive. But from a distance. That’s why we gave our son away.

[lia-jones]

Growing Pains - Chapter Ten - Finding Solace

My doorbell rang at 6:30 sharp. Apparently the driver shared Victor’s punctuality, and for a moment I considered how effective Victor was on keeping everyone on their toes. Without answering through the intercom, I went downstairs.

The black sedan was parked on the curb in front of the building. I walked to the car and the front passenger window opened. I immediately recognized the bass voice coming from inside.

“Get in.”

I paused for a moment, startled. Didn’t he say he was going to send a car?

“What? You forgot how the door opens?” Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Sunshine.

“Good morning.” I said, getting in the car. Of course, I didn’t have a reply. He pulled the car from the curb and just drove, his eyes focused on the road.

“Your coffee is getting cold.” Victor finally spoke.

I looked down. In the cup holder, there was a paper coffee cup with my name on it.

“Thank you.” I said before taking a sip, the warmth and the caffeine making me feel a whole lot better.

“It’s nothing.”

He spoke without even glancing at me, his eyes on the road at all times. I looked closer at him, hoping he would feel my gaze and at the very least glance at me. After a moment, I realized he was lost in thought. Like the true daughter of a therapist, I studied his posture. He looked tense, his shoulders not all the way down, his grip hard on the wheel.

“You look tense.” I finally blurted out, not caring if he would like it or not.

“Don’t worry about it.”  Ok, he didn’t want to talk. Tough luck.

“How did it go yesterday?” I pressed again.

Victor sighed.

“I spent yesterday’s afternoon with a forensic team. Ted embezzled almost two million dollars from the company. The lawyers pressed charges. He will be taken for questioning today.”

“I’m sorry. I understand it must be hard, you being friends and all.”

“It’s my company. It’s my responsibility.” Victor’s expression turned sour. “I shouldn’t have let friendship affect business.”

“You speak like this is your fault.” I said, in disbelief. Was he really taking the blame for being robbed blind?

Victor was quiet for a while, focused on entering LFG’s parking lot and parking his car at his reserved spot. He killed the engine and sat back on his seat.

“It is my responsibility.” He finally said, his voice low. “The people I hire, what and how they do, all of that is my responsibility.”

“That’s honorable, but a little pretentious as well. You can’t possibly know everything about everyone, know exactly what’s on their minds, predict every crappy thing life throws at you.”

“And even though it’s painstakingly obvious that I can’t, that is exactly what’s expected from me.” His eyes were filled with a painful resolve. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they say. Victor was fully aware of how heavy the crown was.

Our ride in the elevator to the top floor was silent. Victor kept himself busy with his phone, and I spent the time counting up the floors as we rose through the tall building.

“Today will be a hard day.” Victor said, touching my arm slightly. “Dealing with the mess Ted left won’t be easy, this is more than just making payments, I need to clear the company’s name. I need to protect what took so many years to build. The partners already know you, they will trust you. I’m counting on your help.”

I smiled softly at Victor.

“I’ll do my best. Thank you for trusting my skills.”

 “I do.” His eyes were earnest. “I do trust you.”

As I walked into the office, I was startled with the piles of documents in both desks. Victor followed me in and, without another word, took his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

“So, what do you want me to do?” I said, not even bothering to sit. I took one of the files and skimmed through it.

Victor leaned on the desk and explained his strategy to fix that mess. Some of the partners were trying to back away from the funding, already seeking other investors. Every file contained an alternative investment plan, one more alluring to the partners, in order to keep them with LFG. Ted held the accounts of some major companies, and losing them would be a hard blow on LFG’s reputation and profits.

Goldman joined us shortly after, his hand busy with coffee and food to fuel our morning. I spent the entire time talking to the partners, apologizing for what had happened and offering a renegotiation of the contractual terms.

We never left the office, except for bathroom breaks, having lunch while working. One by one, the files on both our desks disappeared.

By the time Goldman took the last file, it was dark out.

“Are we done?” I asked, leaning back on my chair.

Victor was already leaning on his chair, staring at nothing. He has taken off his tie and undone the first two buttons of his shirt, and he looked exhausted, faint dark circles surrounding his eyes, his hair slightly disheveled.

“Yes. We’re done for today.” Victor said, getting up. “Get your things, I’ll drive you home.”

We left the office and walked in the elevator silently, the humming of the elevator motors the only audible thing. I was startled by Victor’s voice.

“You know, we deserve a treat after all this hard work. Have dinner with me.”

“Sounds good. I mean, if you’re not too tired. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense.” Victor shook his head. “I could use the company and the distraction.”

Victor drove us to an eclectic part of town, filled with buildings of odd colors and shapes. We could see art everywhere: in the walls, the gardens, the light posts. Everything was decorated with something original and beautiful, representing some culture.

“I have been here for what? Almost six months? And I have never visited this part of town, it’s beautiful.” I said as I looked around.

“It’s southwest Loveland, the artistic part of town.” Victor explained. “If you follow the street we just passed to your left, you’ll find Loveland’s Museum. A few blocks after, the Music School and Loveland’s Theatre, where Loveland’s Orchestra performs.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “You’ve been here for months and haven’t properly visited the city yet?”

“Levi keeps inviting me, but work on my thesis during the weekend, so…” I shrugged. My life had been all work, no play. I had to do something about that.

“Levi?”

“My neighbor. He’s an immigrant like me, but he’s been here for years, so he knows his way around the city.”

“That’s ridiculous. You should visit the city with someone that is actually from Loveland, someone who actually knows the place.” Victor said, frowning. “I could give you a tour one of these days.”

“You?” I was surprised. “It’s fine, you probably have better things to do.”

“You don’t need to worry about what I have or don’t have to do.” Victor replied coldly. “I know every nook and corner of this town. I will gladly show you around.”

“Ok, thank you.” I nodded. He was probably just being polite, so there was no use speaking about it anymore.

We arrived at a secluded restaurant named Solace. It was totally decorated in shades of black and white, the walls covered with photographs of what the owner seemingly perceived as comfort: hands holding, two people hugging, a sunset, someone crying with joy.

“So, what do you think?” Victor asked, as we sat at a small table at the corner.

“I love it. The art is beautiful.” I said, still admiring the photographs on the walls.

“I knew you’d like it.” Victor picked up the menu. “The food is exquisite as well. You should try the duck, it’s delicious. Do you want to pick the wine, Miss “my-father-is-an-oenologist”?” Victor handed me the wine menu.

“You overestimate my knowledge of wine. Please do the honors.” I gave the menu back to Victor. He opened it, reading it carefully.

“So we’re both having the duck… How do you feel about… Beaujolais?”

“Fruity wine. I like the way you think.” I nodded. I didn’t have to be a connoisseur as my father to know Victor understood wine perfectly. I imagined how it would be like if Victor ever visited my parents’ house. He wouldn’t leave the cellar.

Our food arrived shortly, and Victor was absolutely right, it was delicious. The kind of food you’d expect from a 3  Michelin star restaurant, but in a small venue, where you could eat and just chill, listen to the music and enjoy the art, straight from work. Really my kind of place. Simple, elegant and with good food.

“How’s your meal?” Victor asked.

“Like you said: exquisite. And the wine matches it perfectly.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Victor said, filling my empty glass with more wine. “We need to toast.” He said, raising his glass. “To a job well done.”

“Cheers!” I smiled, as I raised my glass and clinked it with Victor’s. “You have to look me in the eyes while you drink, or you will get seven years of terrible sex.”

For the life of me, I don’t know why I said that. Maybe the wine was getting to me. Luckily, Victor found my words amusing, chuckling at my moronic statement.

“You believe in such a superstition?” He asked, holding his cup in the air, without drinking it.

“No, but… It’s seven years of terrible sex. Better safe than sorry.”

“Sure, nobody wants that. Let’s drink then.” He brought the cup to his lips and drank, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Your girlfriends will deeply appreciate it.” I nodded ceremoniously.

“What girlfriends?”

“Oh, please, a guy like you? Wealthy and good looking?” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“We do have a whole department for girlfriends at LFG.” He stated, his face dead serious. “They have to fill an application, stating how they can make my wildest dreams come true, and occasionally I drop by to beat them off with a stick.” He paused for my reaction, which was a laugh. “Where have you ever seen me with a woman? Even if I did have women lining up for me, they don’t interest me. I prefer quality over quantity.”

“You’re in search of the one and only? When you find her, please introduce her to me? I want to see the girl that meets your very high standards.” My heart panged. I ignored it completely.

“I don’t think I have to search much longer, actually.” He looked at me meaningfully. My heart swelled. My head immediately stumped it down. Stop reading into things, Andrea.

“Well, what are you doing here with me, then? Shouldn’t you be with her instead? Go get your piece of heaven, be happy.” I wanted to sound perky and positive, but my tone came out all wrong, my uneasiness about the subject clearly showing. Victor smiled.

“I have to be patient with her. If I come out too strong, I’ll scare her away. Besides, she’s terrible at understanding the subtle hints I give her, so I’ll have to wait for her to put all the pieces together before I can actually be blunt about it.” She has to be incredibly stupid if she’s missing the chance, I thought.

“I don’t know, if it’s this hard to begin with, if you have to use such caution, maybe it’s not worth it at all.” My words sounded more bitter than I intended.

“It’s supposed to be hard. The things that matter to you the most usually are. If you’re not willing to give it your all, put yourself on the spot and risk losing everything, it’s because that thing wasn’t as important as you thought.” Victor looked me in the eyes and rested his hand on the table. I wanted to hold it, but refrained. He quickly took his hand away, taking his glass to drink more wine. I did the same.

“Enough about me.” He stated. “What about you? Besides that Lewis guy, any love interest?”

I almost snorted the wine I was drinking.

“Ok, first: Levi is not a love interest. Not at all, not once, not ever.” I said, gesticulating furiously. “Second: I don’t have the time to visit the city, where would I find the time to date? No dates.”

“Does that mean you’re off the market, so to speak?”

“It means I don’t even have a clue where the market is. I’m still finding my ground here.”

“Good to know.” Victor smiled.

“What’s good to know? The fact that I’m pathetic? I’m glad you enjoy it, always a pleasure to serve.” I spoke ironically, pretending to be offended.

“It’s good to know that you’re working hard on finding your ground. You have all these plans, your doctorate, launching your career, I hope you see all of those through.” Victor replied earnestly.

Me too. It was so important for me to get my life back on track after so much I had been through. To find my own solace. I promised myself that when I got my diploma I would take a picture of it and give it to the owner of this restaurant.

I waited by the entrance as Victor paid the bill. I hadn’t noticed before the huge photograph near the door, hands lovingly holding a pregnant belly.

“There’s no solace like your mother’s womb.” I hear Victor speaking behind me. “Where you find nothing but warmth and love.”

I didn’t reply. I was afraid words would let out the tears I was hiding. I got out the door.

“Is everything ok?” He followed me, watching me closely.

“Oh, yeah, everything is fine.” I tried to downplay it, but he could hear in my voice how tight my throat was.

“Everything is not fine.” Victor insisted, softly putting his hand on my back. “Tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”

“Everything is fine!” I laughed. “I just got emotional with the photograph and I didn’t want you to make fun of me. I admit, maybe I had too much wine.” Victor’s eyes were deep into mine, scanning my expression for any sign of deceit. “Do you mind taking me home? It’s late, and we had a rough day…”

“Sure.” Victor promptly answered, as he snapped out of focus. “You’re right, we’re both tired, we should get some rest.”

He seemed to find my excuse satisfactory, dropping the subject completely. But I suspected he didn’t really believe me, because his hand never left my back as we walked to the car.

[offbrand-outlaw]

RDR2 HCs About Arthur Morgan because who's gonna stop me?

Arthur tries to ignore a lot of his younger years before he joined the gang. His childhood just wasn't pleasant and he doesn't like to remember it.

He did love his mother and sometimes, he thinks he might have loved his father? When he was too young to know better? He doesn't know. He keeps his picture and hat...but he doesn't really know why.

When he first joined the gang he was hard to handle. He was very suspicious of everyone and tried to fight a lot with everyone. He didn't understand why everyone was...nice to him?

Like, who were these men and women giving him food and shelter and a place to call home? What were they planning? Was there a catch?

Well, of course there was.

They took him out and taught him so many things. How to read, how to write, how to steal without getting caught (Hosea) and how to really do damage if you did get caught (Dutch).

Still, as he grew so did his mood swings. He'd back talk to Dutch, argue with Hosea, yell at the women and be a pain.

Sometimes, well sometimes Arthur got the impression that Dutch regretted saving him.

He never got that impression from Hosea.

Despite being difficult, Hosea was always patient and so were the women. Hosea always made sure that Arthur was okay, no natter what.

Hosea's patience was probably what really saved Arthur. His patience showed Arthur that, no matter, they would never cast him out.

When Arthur realized this, he really started to work with the gang. He would go on heist, go hunting, go scouting, and even go on a few solo missions.

But, well, he was still a man who liked to fight and drink. So sometimes he'd get into scrapes with the other men in town and go out for a drink.

One night, he met a girl and she had his child. Eliza and Issac. He loved them more than...more than anything. Maybe more than he loved Hosea and his own mother...was it possible to love someone more than your own father and mother?

And than they died. Oh, Arthur was hurt. He was so hurt and just so broken he didn't think he'd move on. He was so angry. Angrier than anyone had ever seen him. He was...well Arthur thought he was a monster.

He'd drink and he'd fight and drink and fight. An endless cycle until one day Hosea held him down and didn't let him leave camp. Arthur hit Hosea, yelled at him and cursed him, but Hosea didn't let him up.

Not until after his curses turned to sobs and his punches turned to a tight hug around his neck. How could he possibly ever hurt this badly? How was it possible?

It took time but Arthur eventually got better. He mourned them and all he could've done, but he did get better. He started drawing again and started keeping up with his journal too.

He was healing and than Mary came along.

He loved her and she said she loved him...but her father always got in the way. Even though he knew it might happen, he was still hurt the day she refused to marry him and left.

It hurt but...it didn't hurt as bad as Eliza and Isaac. So, he knew he'd get better.

Arthur wants to be a good man, a worthy man, so that he might one day see them again. But, he still struggles with it.

Some general HCs now because that was tough

Arthur has a sweet tooth and Bessie used to bring him all sorts of goodies.

Arthur liked to wrestle as a kid, which helped him become such a good fighter.

Arthur also liked to prank people, mainly Hosea because Hosea is just so...fun to mess with?

"Arthur! Did you poor sand in my boots?" "No."

"Who...who put my bed roll in that tree?!" "I don't know."

"Arthur, I won't be mad, did you-" "No." "Arthur!"

Hosea never really got mad, just kind of exasperated.

Arthur was always asking stupid questions to make Dutch mad. Everyone in camp finds it funny. Dutch does not.

Arthur's low self esteem stems from his tough childhood and his past relationships.

Hosea always tries to help but he doesn't really succeed.

Arthur loves to sing and dance but only really by himself. When no one is looking he will get down and dance like most kids do for no reason.

As a kid, he used to take Dutch's things and just keep them until Dutch came looking. Arthur just kind of liked seeing him mad.

When Hosea and Dutch would argue, Arthur would sit with Bessie, Grimshaw, and Strauss and ask them who would win the fight. Nine times out of ten everyone would say Hosea and more often than not they were right.

Arthur never really had the chance to be a kid, but he doesn't think it mattered.

Arthur's love of drawing came from when the gang robbed a small art museum and he was just...in awe.

He practiced on people in camp and constantly had people be unwilling models.

"Herr Strauss! Hold still!" "Arthur! I'm-" "Don't talk!"

"Arthur, shouldn't you-?" "Aw, Grimshaw, you ruined it! Now your pose is all wrong!"

"Hosea?" "Hm, what? Arthur? What time is it? What are-" "Roll onto your other side. I need a good portrait."

After a while, he stopped drawing people and started drawing other things. He loves drawing landscapes and animals. Horses are his favorite.

So like, sorry if this is really long? I just had so much for Arthur to share.

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | IN SESSION WITH ROB SATO

From vibrant rainbows to familiar yet alien landscapes occupied by strange beings, LA based artist Rob Sato’s works are filled with creative energy in a loose minimalistic style. From watercolor, digital medium to acrylics and oil, Rob’s artworks and illustrations have been shown in various galleries from Giant Robot 2 to the Oakland Asian Cultural Center, where recently his original paintings for a comic called 442 were exhibited. We’re excited to chat with Rob about his work, his various collaborations and what he’s got coming up for the rest of the year.  Take the Leap!

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself Hello, my name is Rob Sato. I’m an artist, illustrator, and writer. Something people might not know about me is that I was a kid I was so fanatical about the Oakland A’s that when they lost in the World Series I threw a tantrum so big that I destroyed my bedroom and after that I felt so stupid I quit following baseball. Also, I’m told I have maybe one of the great poop stories of the world. It can only be related in person, so ask me about it sometime if we ever meet.

How would you describe your work and style? Eclectic? Kaleidoscopic? I’ve never had a concise answer to this question. I tend not to pin myself down because I think if I did, I’d stop making things. 

Art is my outlet for the cryptic and obscure as well as the gushing spillover of foolish idealism and wild fantasy. It’s the only place I’ve ever found where you can healthily play with unhealthy thoughts, where you can explore undefined emotions, things that lurk out in the corners of consciousness that may be embarrassing or uncontrollable.

I love to make entertainment and decorative work, things that tend to be obvious, that communicate very clearly and reveal all their cards, but I also love to make work that hides things, that actively resists easy understanding or recognition and risks being super personal or unrelatable and strange. This can make things difficult, especially in the ongoing deterioration of attention spans, but I can’t help but pursue things outside of a pop sensibility and logical thought. I have to be, much of the time, in mental wildernesses. It’s hard to get there, hard to be there, and hard to come back, but it keeps me going.

Tell us about how you really started getting into art, and how that turned into what you do now? Was it something you always intended to pursue? I’ve drawn every single day for as long as I can remember. I never really thought about it. It just seems to be what I do. It’s how I have fun, how I solve problems, how I think. I’ve wanted to pursue other things like make movies or write books, but I always find myself drawing. Before I know it, it’s time for bed again.

When you are working on a new piece or upcoming exhibition or show? What’s your process like? What themes do you find yourself taking on? I explode. I used to plan things in a very directed way, but lately I’ve just let my brains spill out everywhere. I make a ton of drawings and paintings, and try my best to be fearless and open. Most of it produces failure after failure, but it shows me what might be worth building on, plus many exciting surprises reveal themselves in the process. As a show nears I start seeing what things fit together, what needs to be edited out, and how it all might form a cohesive exhibition. Sometimes the subject matter is the glue that makes everything stick, other times it’s the aesthetics. Alongside the explosion I usually have 2 or 3 pieces going at any given time that I’ve had long term plans for. These pieces can take take months or even years. 

Thematically I’m all over the place. War and peace, realism and surrealism, grim realities and escapism, sober observations and dumb jokes.

What are some of your go-to art making materials? Are there mediums you want to explore that you’ve yet to get your hands on? I feel pretty comfortable with anything you can use to make a mark on a piece of paper. I’ve mainly used watercolor and various drawing tools for the past several years. I’m been having fun with acrylics and oils again, and I’ve started to play around with photography a little. I’ve had ideas for sculpture and film for years that I’d really like to finally get to. What I really want to get my hands on is more time.

Where do you find inspiration? What kind of things or people inspire what you make? Watching someone pick their nose listening to headphones and singing softly to themselves in line at the grocery store. Just watching my cat live her weird life. Even though the final artwork may not really show it, these places are usually where my ideas originate. Art has also been a place where I can put memories that have some abstract need to be recorded.

I made this series of drawings called “Bad Hands”, which started out with me laughing at these dumb hands I was drawing with academically incorrect anatomy. Abandoning correctness felt so good. In the process it triggered a memory from High School. I had been forbidden from drawing in one of my classes, so I was contorting my hands into different shapes at my desk to amuse myself. There was a hysteria over gang activity in the school at the time and the teacher freaked out thinking I was throwing gang signs and I ended up getting sent to detention. 

At detention I was talking with a friend and made fun of the teacher for her mistake. A kid who was in a gang overheard and then HE misunderstood and thought I was making fun of gangs or something. On my way home from school he and a couple dudes punched and kicked me for a bit while I tried and failed to explain. I think it’s funny. 

So embedded in that piece is this tumbling series of misunderstandings, these multiple layers of hands being perceived as bad, speaking in an absurd language that communicates different things to different people. I know people aren’t going to see all those layers in the final piece, but that’s where it comes from and I hope it at least sparks some thoughts about talking with our hands, and where else can you follow this kind of train of thought except in art?

I get inspired by artists who seem to approach art as an intuitive discovery process rather than a  pursuit of mastery, that play is one of the more important aspects of making things. My wife, Ako, has been a huge influence on me in this respect. She’s continuously playing with various materials around her at any given time and finding out what she can do with them. Everywhere she goes she abandons a nest made of fresh creations she’s manifested out of mud, string, packaging, plants, uneaten rice, her used drinking straw, lint and whatever else was within her reach

You’ve done a lot of collaborations with companies, museums and art galleries. Do you have a favorite collaboration, and what about the collaboration do you enjoy the most? I’ve recently been collaborating with Tiny Splendor, an indie publisher and printer who have studios in LA and Oakland. It’s been really great working with them, Cynthia Navarro in LA on risographs, and with Max Stadnik, who runs the print shop in Oakland. 

Max has been returning to lithography, my favorite traditional printing medium, and he printed a piece of mine inspired by mushrooms called “Growerings". It’s a full 5 color print, which means it took five separate plates and each print had to go through the press 5 times. It turned out more beautifully than I could have hoped for. Litho is a super difficult but also very fun process and the results are so rich. 

I think I particularly love this collaboration because the image fits the medium so well, and the combination of the two elevates the final piece of work, When it works, the artwork and the print become more than just an image on a piece of paper. It’s more alive in some undefinable way.

Since we’re called Art School, we always ask the artists to give us their favorite art tip? Never force the thing you think you want, you’ll probably miss out on the really interesting thing that’s happening. Also, don’t drink too much coffee. I have trouble taking both of these pieces of my own advice every day.

What do you enjoy doing when you’re not making stuff? How do you chill out? I read and run. I love coffee and I love gossip and talking nonsense with friends. Also, I cannot stop watching Terrace House.

What is the last art show that you went to? What artists should folks keep an eye out for? I recently went to the Velveteria in LA’s Chinatown, which is one man’s collection of paintings on velvet. A very entertaining and very fucked up experience. I went to a life drawing session at Subliminal Projects and got to draw surrounded by Chad Kouri’s fun abstracts. I’m actually typing this interview inside an art show right now. 

I’m here at my wife, Ako Castuera’s, show “Soil” at the Weingart Gallery at Occidental College. We’re here feeding worms. She sculpted this beautiful ceramic vermiculture composter for the show. It’s a grand temple for worms. The show is an act of gratitude for the exchange we have with the soil which provides the clay for ceramics, and for the worms who turn decay into healthy earth to grow new life in. 

She sculpted a menagerie of creatures out of the worm poop that also populate the show. Super fun. Speaking of Ako and Subliminal, her show there with Hellen Jo and Kris Chau this past December was one of those once-in-a-lifetime powerhouse gathering of forces. That may have been the best show I’ve ever seen.

What advice would you give someone thinking about following in your footsteps? What’s something you learned that you want to pass along to art making newbies. Don’t listen to advice if it is extremely quotable. Pay no attention to it especially if it accompanies a photo of a famous artist and fits perfectly into an instagram post. If it’s easy to remember then it’s probably empty, crap inspiration. Those things are entertainments and not words to live by.

 If you’re interested in making art you’ll keep making it. It takes day in, day out patience and exploration and mutation to discover how you really work, not some idea of how an artist works. 

Sometimes it will be very hard, sometimes it will be so breathtakingly easy you think that your problems have been solved forever. Neither situation ever lasts, but cultivate and nurture your curiosity and what you love, and you’ll find ways to make it through the rough times and keep on making things one way or another.

Who are some of your favorite artists to follow and/or see in a show? Lately I’ve been really enjoying the work of Nathaniel Russell whose work makes this great space where funny, grounded matter-of-factness and sweet nothingness sit comfortably together. His drawing also reminds me of Ben Shahn, my all-time favorite drawer. 

I really like Amy Bennet’s oils, these intimate studies of isolation in suburbia where mundanity overlaps with quiet drama and melancholy. Her work obliquely reminds me of Edwin Ushiro’s work, though his stuff is the opposite of melancholic. He captures almost incidental but haunted moments from growing up in Hawaii and infuses them with warmth, and it’s in a style influenced in a super personal way by animation. It reminds me of Satoshi Kon’s movies in its well observed, slice-of-life elements. Edwin’s sketchbooks are a treasure too.  Esther Pearl Watson’s recent autobiographical paintings, Hellen Jo’s latest badass watercolors, Amber Wellman’s funny, playful oil paintings, and Matthew Palladino’s watercolors are also favorites. 

Megan Whitmarsh’s work is some of my favorite to see in person. Her installation with Jade Gordon at the Hammer’s “Made In LA “ show was maybe the funnest work I’ve ever seen and interacted with. I went to see the Ai Wei Wei show at the Marciano Foundation, which I thought was impressive in scale and execution but still somehow lame, but I stumbled on a Mike Kelley installation/ video piece I’d never seen before in the upstairs collection and loved it so much, but I can’t remember the name of it at the moment. 

It’s 2 videos shown side by side of the same guy wearing a cape singing almost the same song simultaneously, but each version has different words at different points. It’s a love song but one version is more bitter and mean and one is sickly sweet. Anyway, highly recommended!

What do you have coming up the rest of the year that you can share with us?  For just a few more days there’s a show up at the Oakland Asian Cultural Center with a bunch of my original paintings for a comic I illustrated about the 442, the Japanese American Army unit of World War II. Plus it has some personal work about Japanese American Incarceration and images from my family’s experience in the concentration camps. My grandfather was incarcerated in the Arkansas camps, and he was a soldier in the 442. 

Next up, I’m in a slew of group shows all happening within a few weeks of each other this month. Poor scheduling on my part as usual, but it’s nice to be invited to so many. I just sent off my piece to the “Seeing Red” show curated by Jeff Hamada of the BOOOOOOOM art and culture blog. That show will be at Thinkspace in LA. Giant Robot has been kind enough to host another solo show for me in September. 

I’ve been busy experimenting with some more 3d stuff that pushes the more narrative side of my work which I hope to show there. We’ll see how the experiments turn out. I’ve also been working on a ton of prints and ideas for books. This year I want to focus on working in print, making zines and comics, and writing a lot more. 

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