#but the reason i want it is there’s another quote by the same author i’m trying to track down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liillyliilly · 6 months ago

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I Need A Challenge

ushijima wakatoshi x reader words; 3804 synopsis; she writes a scathing review of ushijima's volleyball skills. how else should he respond if not by inviting her out to dinner?

She was tired of people like him. People who had no reason to be so stereotypically perfect. Everyone knows the type, comically good looking, is a prodigy in their one specific thing, acting so nonchalant that it ends up becoming their token personality trait. It was all so boring to her.

Which is why, as she was taking notes in the most recent Volleyball Nations League game, she wrote down some very harsh words for her analysis of star spiker Ushijima Wakatoshi. It was just the brutally honest truth of the world, she reasoned. Her editor, after reading the article she wrote at the game, almost dropped their jaw in shock at what she had written.

“This is really,” Editor Xhou sucked in some air through his teeth, “This is almost borderline libel material.”

She inspected her nails, shrugging as Xhou kept talking to her.

“I mean, you said that he is, and I quote from your own words, ‘Ushijima is the default setting for a volleyball player, there’s nothing too particularly unique’. You want me to let the paper publish this?” Xhou leans back into his office chair, pushing his glasses up and sighing.

“I write the truth, and the truth is that when Ushijima is on the court, you always know the exact plays he’ll make, the exact moves he’ll execute. The result is consistently the same. The games are too predictable when he plays.” She stands up from the seat opposite to Xhou.

Xhou sets the paper on his desk, checking that she really is okay with the article having her name attached to it.

A thumbs up is the only response she gives to her supervisor.

Xhou stamps the paper with his name, and faxes the documents to the coordinator putting together the sports magazine review for this issue. He wonders if the legal team is going to get involved again, he remembers the last player she reviewed, he was crushed and had to move to Alaska to play in a much smaller league. Xhou fully believes he’s going to get the magazine sued for letting her article fly.

Tendou finishes his squat set, hanging up the weights with a heave. Ushijima finishes his hundredth bicep curl, finally finishing his repetitions of this exercise.

Tendou pokes some fun, “I'm so sad for people without legs, they have to skip leg day.” He muses, trying to see what reaction or comment his best friend will make. Tendou twists and flexes in the full length mirrors lining the gym.

Ushijima only responds with a nod. He checks his phone, only to see that he’s received a little over four hundred notifications and counting. The beeping and noises start to pile up. Tendou peeks over Ushijima’s shoulder and gasps, he steals Ushijima’s phone away and immediately investigates what all the hustle and bustle could be related to.

“You should probably read this article, I think the writer has it out for your throat Wakatoshi.” Tendou grimaces while handing the phone back.

He skims the article, viewing the main talking points and major issues the author brings to light about his play style. His boring, everyday genius playstyle. He’s read criticisms of his volleyball skills before, but this one doesn’t seem too targeted solely about him, just using him as the mechanism to get a broader point across about the lack of challenges in volleyball recently. He chuckles at one of her comments, reading it aloud.

“Monster generation? I need a real challenge from these players, but all they’re giving me is platinum dreams without true passion and anger for the sport. I want them foaming at the mouth with new tricks, but I’m getting the same exact game over and over again.” Tendou cringes as Ushijima reads the words out loud. Ushijima stifles another chuckle.

Ushijima tucks his phone into his pocket, picking up his duffel bag. “I like her. She knows volleyball.”

It wasn’t just her comments, it was also the name of the author that Ushijima liked.

Tendou drops his water bottle in response to Ushijima’s behavior, stunned at the openness of amusement he has for the article and for the investment he has for this particular reporter.

Ushijima’s manager says that she’ll have a cease and desist letter issued to the paper for publishing such a slanderous piece. Ushijima proposes an entirely different solution.

She didn’t expect to be sitting at a restaurant, pencil and paper in hand, waiting for someone she just dragged through the mud to arrive so they could share a meal and an interview.

It was winter, and her reading glasses had fogged up slightly in the difference between the outdoors temperature and the warmth of the restaurant. The main features of the restaurant was the Western Style dining choices and decor, it reminded her almost of a hibachi place, but instead of Japanese food it was just a bunch of American and European dishes.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Ushijima pulls out his chair and settles into it, grabbing his glass of water so he can drink from it.

“High school seemed so long ago, but yes it is nice to see you again Wakatoshi. Sorry for the piece, your name just carries the right amount of importance to get my bigger points across.” She crosses her legs, setting her pencil behind her ear. The waiter comes around and takes their orders. He asks for the salmon, and she gets the house soup.

“No, I totally get it. But the statement about how people just continually eat up the single dish I serve? I thought you would’ve found a better analogy for my consistency on the court.” He just smiles at her, watching her move the pencil from behind her ear to her mouth so she could chew on it a little. One of her tells of when she was deeply thinking about how to respond to something.

Ushijima remembers all the stories she would write back in high school, ranging from sports analysis of Shiratorizawa clubs for her journalism extracurricular to getting paid to write love letters from person to person. She garnered enough money to pay for a new laptop and her entire wishlist of stationery items.

He remembers her lending him a pen once during class, it was a weightier metal pen. The ink was so black he was sure it was made of pure darkness. While he admired the pen she went into a rant talking about the pen itself, the quality of it and how it took forever to be delivered to her. They both got chastised by the teacher for having a side conversation and had to sit outside the classroom. But they ended up talking outside the classroom despite being told not to.

“Like you’d know what a good analogy looks like.” She hides her smirk behind a spoonful of soup. Ushijima appreciates her ability to be unapologetic, her honesty and bluntness matching his own linguistic traits.

They talk for three hours, about volleyball, life after high school, the article she wrote, about friends and the situations they found themselves in. Ushijima talks about Tendou and his chocolatier aspirations, she brings up Semi Eita’s new album that actually sounded truly alternative and unique.

He remembers her having a crush on Semi throughout high school. He didn’t really see why she would sit at their practices sometimes, just sighing wistfully, before freezing and turning flustered when Semi tried to make conversation like a normal person. But when Semi was seen to be a slight habitual complainer, she grew a distaste for him. Ushijima was sure that Semi was her longest crush, clocking in at around two months or so.

Ushijima did enjoy that she came to their practices sometimes, because then he could ask her about her pen collection and she would openly, loudly, and enthusiastically layer on every detail she could fit into her remarks. And she was someone who asked him about his favorite things, primarily volleyball but also about reading the advertisements in the Weekly Shonen Jump Magazine. Or about how good a runner’s high could feel sometimes.

Around her, he could share without fear of being misunderstood. She just accepted what she heard, and then analyzed it, taking her time and asking clarifying questions. He did his best to emulate her mannerisms and tact within their conversations, usually failing, but she didn’t mind.

She did openly declare an aversion for him throughout high school, that genius powerhouses should never be entertained with acknowledgement. What others considered harsh from her was almost like beaming encouragement for him. It was like she was telling him, if he didn’t continually improve and advance then the stagnation would leave him in the dust. A push in the right direction was more accurate of why she would say what she did about him.

He takes the bill from her, puts his gold debit card on the clipboard, and returns it to the waiter before she can even open her purse. Rolling her eyes, she sets some bills on the table and slides it over to him. Glaring at him until he accepts the cash and puts the bills into his wallet.

“Are you dating anyone right now?” Ushijima inquires while they walk down the street to get to the train station. The night air leaves a chill around the two of them. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, and she had her arms folded over her body.

Snow falls from the sky, catching the lights and making streaks of color burst in small flickers like fireflies. The piled up snow in the roads hadn’t yet been plowed thoroughly, and wasn’t sullied with pollution that made it yellow and black. The snow was much more like a blanket.

“Listen, I’m what people consider easy to love but hard to please. Most people say they felt like they were never enough for me when we were dating.” She bites on her bottom lip a little. It’s a confusing feeling to be unnerved by him, and she feels even more uneasy when she realizes that she’s speaking too openly. “I don’t intentionally degrade those I date, I just, I have high expectations. I don’t give many second chances.”

His breath comes out in puffs of white, winter nipping at his nose which makes him feel uncomfortable. He wonders if she’s as cold as him. He knew that she had high expectations, none of the boys at their high school got remotely close to being romantically involved with her. She wanted more than what most people could offer. She wanted someone who was as open as her.

She feels a little guilty about her article now. Maybe she pushed the words a little too much on his bad qualities. Ushijima really wasn’t that bad, he was just dependable and rational, which crafted his playstyle of being an ultimate pillar of strength for a team. Why shouldn’t a team go with the most reliable way of scoring points? Then she shooed the thought. If volleyball wanted to keep being popular, it needed to evolve.

“I liked your article a lot.” He offers, segwaying the conversation, knowing her thoughts better than she knew them. “Power goes far, but even then, there’s ceilings that need to be broken. There’s talents that need to be unearthed, planted, and then allowed to bloom.”

They sit on the bench under the covering for the train station. The screen shows that the train she needs to take will come in around ten minutes.

“Thanks. My editor was worried you were going to sue me for what I wrote.” She laughs a little, rubbing her hands against her thighs to build up some lingering heat in her hands and her body.

He passes her his gloves from his jacket pocket. Making a small hum he waves them in front of her. She accepts and embraces the black fleece covering her fingers.

“Oh, no, there’s no way I’d want you to be sued. But I do want you to add another part to the article.” He blows some air onto his hands, rubbing them together. She raises an eyebrow inquisitively, turning towards him on the bench.

Once he had finished reading her piece on Ushijima’s game, he went through and read all her other articles. He found out her favorite current player was actually Hinata Shouyou, the energetic innovator. She had written about his unique approach, due to natural athleticism. Also about his experience in Brazilian beach volleyball making his defense skills unique in the field of both Japanese volleyball and on a global scale. It was all about Hinata this, Hinata that. But could the ultimate decoy ever compare to the pillar of strength?

“What do you want me to change? I can’t make any promises.”

“Say I’m your number one, because I don’t do last place.” Ushijima lifted her chin up, looking right into her eyes. He inspects her face, the small miniscule motions her features display show that she’s listening, actively listening. “Did I ever mention that you’re the only one that has my attention?”

She really was. The only reporter he cared to give quotes to after big games, the only girl who he ever wondered if there was any possibility to develop a relationship with. He was hooked on every word she wrote, every interview she hosted online. She was in his world, but never overlapped her social circle with his for longer than an hour at best.

She swallows thickly, “I’m sorry to say this, but I really am unimpressed by your playstyle.”

He raises an eyebrow, sliding his hand from her chin to the side of her neck. He can feel the way her pulse is racing under her skin.

“We both know that’s not true.”

Her train arrived. She ducked under his hand and made her way onto the train. Before the sliding door closes, she motions him closer so she doesn't have to yell.

“Then show me your talents. I need a challenger for my first place.”

Tendou lies on his stomach on the floor, Ushijima is reviewing some plays written by his coach. He scans for any play that could show off his left hand spikes, or any play that he could try and improvise a receive if he wasn’t on the front row rotation. The plays are different from what he’s used to. But his coach said that they were all optional, and that Ushijima’s playstyle was perfectly fine as it was. But ‘fine as is’ doesn’t earn him any accolades in her book.

Tendou perks up, “I always felt like fighting had romantic undertones.” He references what Ushijima had told him about how the dinner with his reporter went last week.

“But I don’t want to fight her? I’d hardly call a slight disagreement a fight.” Ushijima sets aside the packet he had been studying.

He opens his phone and refreshes the webpage for the newspaper she worked for. When nothing pops up under her name, he goes to the calendar page to see if she’d be attending an upcoming game he’d be playing in. He sets his phone aside when he realizes she will in fact be in attendance.

“But you do want to fight for her ‘first place’ hottie player ranking.” Tendou kicks his feet in the air, crossing his feet and tapping the top of his head.

Ushijima stands up and goes to check his closet, seeing if he needs to get a tighter jersey for the upcoming game. “She never used the word ‘hottie’ when talking about her favorite player.”

“So you admit that you do want to be her favorite player?”

Ushijima finishes trying on the jersey over his long sleeve compression shirt, the jersey fitted better than he remembered. He tugs on the front of the uniform. Then what Tendou said clicks for him.

Ushijima blinks, “I do want to be her favorite player.” He doesn’t see why he would deny that observation. Being her favorite player would be the ideal situation for him.

Tendou rolls over onto his back and wiggles his pointer fingers in the air, “You want to be more than just her favorite player.” He sings the words in a teasing manner.

“Maybe I do.”

One time, near the end of high school, she was talking during lunch. Her friends were uninterested, wanting to discuss boys or homework instead of her critical worldview analysis. Her table was right next to the table that Ushijima and Tendou were sitting at, their volleyball friends already outside tossing around a ball.

Ushijima listened in, drinking his milk while Tendou ate chicken nuggets. When her voice got quieter, almost to the point of fading out entirely due to her slowly realizing her friends were not as interested in the conversation as she was, Ushijima leaned in subconsciously, trying to catch her words.

Tendou pinched Ushijima, telling him that if he wanted to listen to her, he should ask her to come sit with them. Ushijima froze. So Tendou invited her to come sit with them. Placing her lunch tray down, she ate a carrot, sensing Ushijima’s hesitance and Tendou’s eagerness.

It was Ushijima that spoke first, “Keep going. You remind me of someone. He said almost the same thing, about his worthless pride and not forgetting about it.”

She brightens. Continuing her dissection of the value of pride, she refers to Ushijima as a reference point for pride. Using him in her examples and demonstrations of her illustrative examples. Around the third time she says his family name, he makes another request.

“You can just call me Wakatoshi.”

Tendou drops his chicken nugget, but quickly regains his pace in eating the arms off the dinosaurs.

She says his name, once and then twice. Letting it settle onto her tongue and leave a trace of what a first name basis could mean. Pondering on that instead of her newest philosophy interest is quickly dropped. She only ever calls him by his name from then on.

Needless to say, the next game he plays at, she’s there, with her notepad and pen. Each receive, hit, serve, and toss is carefully recorded on her paper.

He doesn’t do anything too off the typical, but he does try new things his coach had mentioned. Pressuring an opponent’s highest scorer more, trying a few block kills when he’s in the right rotation, scoring some points off the tip of the blockers hands instead of cutting right through their attempts to defend. He’s more tired after this game than his last one. Yet, he had more fun this time around. His teammates seemed thrilled with the results of never having a gap less than five points.

After the game, before he goes to the locker room to debrief with the team and change into regular clothes, he stalks his way over to her. She’s talking to another reporter that had been sitting in the media section, but the other reporter just elbows her lightly when he notices Ushijima making an attempt to approach. The other man slowly walks away, bidding her a farewell.

She’s still sitting on the bench, cheekily covering her notes with her hand, and writing something down. When he takes a place next to her, he spreads his legs a little, expanding his presence and bumping their thighs into each other. She initially retracts from the touch, but relaxes into it.

He’s aware that his body is thinly sheened with sweat. It drips from the hair at his nape down his back and soaks into his player kit. She brings her notepad up to her face, looking at him over the spiral binding of the paper. Trying to hide her comments and analysis of the game, which had been overwhelmingly positive for Ushijima.

“What’s your professional opinion of the game?” He uses a finger to push down her notepad that was covering her nose. A streak of ink and pencil lead was across her cheek and nose. He brought his thumb up and wiped away the markings. At first swipe, nothing moved, so he slid his thumb over again with just a little more pressure.

“It was entertaining in a different sense. Rather than being solely athletic entertainment.” She licks her own thumb and finishes wiping away all the marks that she could feel him trying to get rid of. She misses a sliver on the apple of her cheek but he doesn’t say anything, enjoying the way that it makes her seem less intimidating and more adorable.

“Care to share with the class?”

“Well, when a certain player keeps trying to make eye contact during the game, when he should instead be invested in the game, it does pose some interesting investigative questions.”

At this point, Ushijima slid his hand to her thigh, asking her to explain further, “Such as?”

“When will he get up the nerve to ask her on a date? Will he take her for a ride in that brand new car he got? Does he need glasses from how frequently it seemed he scrutinized the audience in search of her?” She pauses, then continues, “And will he be mad if she writes something about how attentive the setter was during the game?”

“Soon, for the date. Most definitely a long car ride to the mountains. His vision is actually perfectly 20/20, he just wanted to make sure she was having a good time by observing her reactions. No comments for the setter, he’s a rookie, and much less attentive than an older, more experienced player.”

She hums a little in regards to his answers to her inquiries. Soon, she tugs on the back of his hand, the hand that was resting on her thigh. She bites the cap off her pen, waving the pen in the air, close enough to his skin for him to understand the point of what she was communicating.

The pen tickled the skin of his hand, but he liked the way she put one hand under his to make his hand rest flat so she could write her piece on his body. Capping the pen back up, she tucked it behind her ear.

Written on his hand was a series of numbers, along with a small doodle of a volleyball.

Getting up from her spot on the media bench, she leaves him with a short statement.

“I liked your response to my challenge. Keep making the Monster Generation bloom with each game Wakatoshi.” She halts for a moment, then turns back to him, “You can be my number one on those conditions. Blooming the Monsters and responding to my challenges.”

He’d return every challenge she gave him if it meant he could be hers.

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quillsandtypos · 3 days ago

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The Light of Laughter

Words: 7.7 k

Pairings: none, this is a platonic/familial fic

Characters: Lee!Peter, Ler!Tony, Ler!Bucky, Lee!Wanda, Ler!Steve,

Warnings: a lot of tickling and some older brother/mentor tickling so if that’s not your thing please feel free to sit this one out

Author’s note: This is a squealing Santa fic for the lovely @inneedofsupervision I’m so sorry your gift is late but I hope I make up for the wait. I also wanted to give a massive thanks to @squealing-santa for running this event and for graciously helping me with the deadline.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bell rang, sending chairs scuffing across the floor as students pushed their way out of the classroom. Kids pushed past him, knocking shoulders with him in the chaos as Peter waded to the back of the room.

“You don’t have to wait for me, ya know?” Ned said, roughly shoving his stuff in his folders.

Peter’s brows furrowed. He took one look at the mess on Ned’s desk and started helping him pack his things up. “Yes, I do. I’m the reason we got separated in this class, and we always walk out together.”

Ned brushed off his help, but continued shoving things away. “Aww thanks Peter.” He picked up a notebook paper that had floated down to the floor somehow. “You'd make such a good girlfriend,” he said, then frozen with the paper still between his fingers.

Peter gently pried it from his hands, sliding it into his backpack, sensing that all of the tests were starting to get to him. “Was that what you meant to say?”

Ned finally dethawed, going back to the task at hand. “We’re not acknowledging it.”

Peter chortled, fighting back a comment about the blush on his face. “Yes we are.”

Ned pointed a finger at him. “Not if you still want your christmas present.”

Peter mimicked zipping his lips, not wanting to risk losing his gift. He didn’t have to use his spidey senses to guess what it was. Ned had been dropping quote unquote hints to him about his present all week, and Peter had figured out it was legos by Wednesday.

He filed the last of Ned’s papers away, which was less of putting papers in folders, and mostly a lot of shoving. Peter didn’t even know how he managed to collect this many papers in the first place.

“You aren’t going to be able to find any of your papers when we come back from break,” Peter remarked, picking up a broken folder that was nearly split in half with all the papers inside of it.

Ned shrugged. “I’ll just throw out anything I don’t need when January comes.”

“Then get a new folder for the semester so you can break it by summer?” Peter asked, fighting back a grin. He knew he was pushing his luck with his christmas gift on the line, but Peter had a gift for him as well, and he wasn’t afraid to bargain his way back into Ned’s good graces.

“Exactly,” Ned nodded. “See, I’m glad you get it.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“By Mr. Smith!” Peter called, waving to his teacher as they walked out the door.

“Bye boys, stay safe over break. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He said, closing the door on them on their way out.

The hallways were a mess of hustle and bustle, everyone eager to escape the building as fast as possible. With the thought of finals erased from their minds, and their warm beds waiting for them at home to catch up on some overdue sleep, no one was wasting another minute in that dreadful building.

Peter tapped the top of the frame as Ned and him pushed through the doors, letting the cold New York winter air blow into the hallways, sending Christmas lights fluttering in the breeze.

“My gift?” Peter asked, once they were outside and away from the entrance.

“I want mine first,” Ned said.

Peter cocked his head at him, a coy smile playing at his lips. “How’d you know I bought you one?”

Ned deadpanned. “Oh come on Peter, we do the same thing every year. We give each other gifts on the last day of school before break.”

Peter dropped the act. “Fine.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small box covered messily in red candy cane wrapping. As he handed it to Ned he realized he’d missed a spot, and he hoped he didn’t notice.

Luckily, Ned tore it open as fast as he always did, barely noticing the wrapping before he immediately threw it away.

“Do you know what it is?” Peter asked, as Ned continued staring at it without saying anything.

Ned’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think so.”

Peter tapped on the clear box. “It’s a Palladium core I encased in resin.”

Ned’s eyes went wide. “No, it’s not-” he trailed off, but Peter nodded.

“Look at the front of it.”

Ned flipped it around and gasped, holding a hand to his mouth. “You got it signed by him?”

Peter smiled. “Yup. This is one of the ones that was inside him,” Peter stopped, holding up a finger. “Wait, not like that.”

Ned grabbed him by the shoulders. “Who cares! Peter! This is the best gift ever!”

Peter grinned even wider as his friend shook him rather aggressively, the zippers on his backpack clanging with the movement. It really hadn’t been that difficult to come by, Tony had just had to replace his, and when Peter asked about it, Tony had happily complied.

He thought it was a little weird at first, but he had just said, “kids these days” then scoffed and walked off, leaving Peter with the core.

Ned stopped shaking him, a frown overtaking his face. “Aww, but all I got you was legos.”

Peter’s face lit up at the mention. “No, are you kidding me? I’m about to get a bunch of sciency stuff from the avengers, all I want are some legos.”

“Alright, fine,” Ned groaned, handing him a bright gift bag.

Peter took it and ripped all of the tissue paper out of the bag. “Yes!” he cheered. “All I needed was the hulk to complete my set.”

Ned raised a brow. “Do the avengers ever find it weird that you collect lego figurines of them?”

Peter felt his cheeks warm. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never told them.”

“Heard,” Ned nodded.

“Alright, see you in a few days?” Ned asked, bumping his fist against his.

Peter finished the handshake. “Yep, I’ll see you then.”

Usually the two would walk home on the last day, but this year was different. As the snow began to lightly fall over the city, Peter was headed towards the avengers tower for a few days.

Aunt May had won some sort of radio contest back in November to go on a Christmas cruise for five days. She was overjoyed, until she found out she had only been given a ticket for one person. The last thing she wanted to do was leave him alone for Christmas, stating that she would rather work double shifts at the community center for two weeks than ever even think about leaving him by himself in New York. Peter was grateful she didn’t know about his nightly patrols, fearful that she might very well have a heart attack, but he needed to come up with some way to convince her to go anyway. Peter knew she needed a break, but after almost a month of trying to reassure her he’d be fine, even he was starting to run out of ways to convince her.

Peter was ranting about it to Tony one day in the lab, and he’d offered him up a solution on a silver platter.

Apparently, as long as he was staying with the Earth’s mightiest heroes, May was willing to let him stay in New York without her. He’d still had to assure her a dozen times that he would be fine with her leaving him on christmas, but they’d managed to pull it off. Just before school that day, she’d left for the airport with her bags. She’d placed a kiss on his cheek, told him to have fun, and to text lots of pictures. She added on as she stood in the doorframe, that she wanted him to be good for Tony. Peter fought the urge to laugh, considering it would be more fitting if she told Tony to behave himself.

He’d heard rumors of Tony Stark’s infamous Christmas parties, and had been fighting the urge to ask him if he’d be invited for the last week.

The walk passed by faster than it usually did, his mind buzzing with thoughts of what he could get up to for the next five days. As he approached the tower, he looked up at the full height of it. The A was already accumulating a fair amount of snow on top of it as the gray skies above it seemed to swirl around the building.

Peter heaved in a breath before he rang the doorbell. There would be more heroes in the tower than he was used to for the next few days. Tony was inviting all kinds of people from all corners of the universe for the week. He’d already met so many of his heroes, and now he had the potential to interact with even more.He’d tried to tease it out of Tony, but he’d only held a finger to his lips and told him he’d find out eventually. However, here Peter was, and the day was finally here.

At last, he gathered up the courage to actually ring the bell, and he listened intently to the sound echoing through the first few levels of the tower.

It was always a mystery who would open the door for him at the Avengers tower. More often than not, it was Happy or Pepper, but occasionally he would get one of the other’s.

Today, he was surprised to be met with no one. The door unlocked on its own, and it just swung open, seemingly on a stray breeze. Peter walked in cautiously, his footsteps light, but nothing seemed glaringly wrong except for the mysterious door. He quietly hung his bag on the hanger Tony had drilled into the wall, and began tip toeing into the living room.

He turned the corner, peeking out from behind the door frame when he spotted Wanda, and another woman he didn’t recognize.

“Oh, hi Peter!” Wanda called. “The other’s are upstairs in various places.”

“Oh, thanks for letting me in,” he said, staying a distance away from them. They seemed to be in the middle of something before he walked in, the other person on the couch blushing furiously.

Wanda stood, placing her glass of wine on the table beside her. “Oh, I almost forgot, Spider-man this is Tele, Tele this Spider-man.” Wanda turned back to Tele. “Or I guess I should specify, this is our world's Spider-man. God, that’s going to get difficult when everyone gets here.”

At Wanda’s words, Peter’s memory came flooding back to him. “Ohhh, your Peter three’s friend.”

They nodded. “Well it’s nice to officially meet you, but Tony said I should meet him up in the lab when I get here, so I should probably go.”

“Go,” Wanda waved. “We’ll have plenty of time to catch up in the next couple days.”

Peter hoped she was right, he’d been wondering if she’d be in the tower just yet. He had heard she’d been sent on a mission with Tele, Peter three, and Natasha, and he had a lot of questions for her. The occupants of the tower didn’t always notice it, but they had a tendency of telling him things he shouldn’t necessarily know. Not that Peter was complaining, but it was funny how all of their spy training and stoic personalities all softened when they were comfortable around each other.

Peter stepped into one of the elevators and pressed the twelfth floor. It smoothly rode up the line to his floor and when the doors opened, his eyes widened at the winter wonderland in front of him.

It was like he was stepping into santa’s workshop. The billionaire had strung up garland anywhere he could without making it a fire hazard, and there were so many fairy lights strung from the ceiling that the brightness replaced the glow of the regular lab lights.

Peter walked around, taking it all in.

Stockings hung from each large piece of equipment, their names listed on each of them in glitter glue that looked like Morgan had helped. The green and red iron man suit was on display in the middle of the lab, and each of the center poles in the room were wrapped to look like candy canes.

“You like it?” Tony called from the back, his voice echoing a little with all the metal in the room.

Peter spun around, trying to observe all of it in as big of a quantity as he could. “LIke it? I think Santa Claus threw up in here.”

“That better be a compliment Parker, you know I’m not afraid to flip you to the naughty list and take away your presents.” Peter laughed, hearing the teasing in his tone. It was always a challenge when he arrived in the lab to find Tony. Some days he thought the man was purposely making a game of it, but today he found him behind a few monitors with ease.

Peter looked at the screen, leaning over Tony’s desk to look at what he’d been working on. “Funny, you’re not the first person to tell me that today.”

“Well, maybe that means you deserve it,” Tony said, tweaking his ribs.

“Hey!” Peter squeaked, puberty immediately leaving his voice.

“Hey is for horses, what’s it doing in your mouth?” Tony remarked without taking his eyes off of the monitor. Peter backed up, making sure to keep his arms close to his sides.

“What’d you call me up for? What are we working on today?” he asked eagerly.

Tony spun around towards him, looking up at him. “You, my sticky friend, are not working on anything for the next five days.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter groaned. He could work on so many upgrades with all the time he was going to have in the tower. With no school, and no Aunt May, he had nothing stopping him.

Tony held his hands up. “No, I don’t want to hear a whining. I signed on to house a sixteen year old for a few days, not a five year old.”

Peter wanted to say that he was not acting like a five year old, but he feared that would only prove Tony’s point. However, he had never had such an ideal time to work, and he couldn’t give up on the idea that easily. “But I have so many new ideas for my suit.”

“Nope,” Tony said, dramatically popping the ‘p’. “You, my friend, are going to take a few days off, and so am I. There are people being put in place to keep an eye here on earth, and none of those people are you and me.”

“What was the point in decorating the lab then?” Peter asked.

Tony looked at him like the answer to his question was quite obvious, and Peter was reminded of how truly dramatic his mentor was.

Tony patted his back, getting to his feet. “Consider it me paying you back for that time I let you go to space.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “But you didn’t let me? I went without asking.”

Tony slowly turned to him. He stared at Peter for a moment before he started rapidly jabbing his hands into Peter’s midsection wherever he could manage. “Is this really a point you’d like to be arguing five days before Christmas, Parker?”

Peter boyishly giggled as he jumped out of the way. He should’ve known better than to nitpick Tony when he was telling a story. “Noho!”

Tony only followed the teenager, wrapping an arm around him and fluttering his fingers on his neck. “Are you sure?” he teased.

“Yes,” Peter laughed. He lightly pushed him away, taking care to not use too much of his strength considering Tony didn’t even have a suit on.

“Alright, spiderling, I believe you for now. So, are we clear about the rules with lab time?”

Peter couldn’t hide his disappointment, but he shook his head in agreement. “Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Okay, just a couple other ground rules, and then I’ll let you go.” He clapped his hands together. “We just discussed number one, so you already know no lab time for the next five days, I want you to have some time off. Rule number two, no patrols either, it goes under the time off clause.” Peter groaned, but Tony continued on.

“Rule number three, you have to help Morgan, Pepper, and I wrap gifts because I bought too many gifts for everyone. Rule number four, you need to send your Aunt May an update at least once a day-” Peter started to protest, but Tony held a hand up.

“Ah-ah those are the rules I agreed to for taking you on. If you don’t follow them your Aunt will have my head and yours.”

Peter held his hands up. “I was gonna say that it shouldn’t be a problem because I've already texted her twice today, but okay.”

“Sure you were,” Tony chortled.

“I was!” Peter scoffed.

Tony pushed his reading glasses up on his head. “Well aren’t you nyc’s little golden boy.”

Peter paused, uncertain what to do with the comment. Luckily, Tony moved on from most things pretty quickly.

“Okay, rule number 5, no more calling me Mr. Stark. You are quite literally spending Christmas with me, don’t make it weird. Number six, no shenanigans?”

Peter cocked a brow, and Tony shrugged. “What qualifies as a shenanigan?”

He pointed a finger at him. “Don’t play dumb with me kid.”

Peter gawked at him. “I’m not, what does that mean?”

“Well I don’t want to give you an example, that’ll just give you ideas.”

Peter threw his hands up, and Tony’s facade cracked a little, no longer able to bite down on his smile. “I’m messing with you web slinger, you know I support mischief.”

He pointed a finger at Peter. “Just don’t tell Loki I said that.”

“You have my word, Mr. Stark.”

Tony glared at him and Peter took a preemptive step back. “Sorry, Tony. It’ll take a little getting used to.”

Tony began walking out of the lab, and Peter followed. When Tony came to a sudden stop, so did Peter. “Oh, also, you can come to the Christmas party, but you can’t drink.”

“Oh, come on,” Peter protested.

Tony sighed. “Alright, fine, you can have a singular drink.” Peter began uttering his thanks, and telling him about how responsible he will be, but Tony shushed him. “We’ll pretend we’re in Europe to ease my conscience. You have to promise me you won’t tell your aunt though.”

“I promise,” he agreed, eyes shining. He honestly hadn’t expected to be invited to the christmas party, let alone allowed to drink, and he wouldn’t do anything to make Tony regret it.

“Alright, good,” Tony patted him on the back. “Now be a proper teenager and go bother people or hide in your room, your pick.”

Peter laughed good naturedly, knowing Tony didn’t truly mean it. Or at least, he was fairly sure.

Tony snapped his fingers. “Oh, also if you could bother resident broody and the star spangled banner, that would be the best present you could give me. Truly priceless.”

Peter smiled, heading up the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. “I think I can manage that.”

Tony gave him a thumbs up and they went their separate ways. Peter was surprised he hadn’t received a lecture on gift giving, specifically, on how he should have a lack of it. Last year he had gotten Tony a singular gift for the holidays, just a simple frame of the photo of the two of them, and Tony had given him a gift for ten weeks straight to prove a point. Apparently, billionaires didn’t appreciate teenagers with limited funds using their money on them.

Peter unlocked the door to his room, and jumped on top of his soft duvet. His body went limp, the mattress soaking up every bit of his exhaustion. He sighed contentedly, his eyes fluttering shut. He would just lay here for a little bit, and then he would wander around the tower and visit with everyone else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter woke up bleary eyed and still in his clothes from the day before. He rolled, trying to find where his clock was, and realized there was no more bed underneath him. His stomach lurched as his hands scrambled for purchase. He grabbed his sheets, which slowed his fall. He sighed in relief, still half delirious. He stayed there for a second, still trying to figure out what had happened when the sheets lost their hold.

He landed with a thunk and groaned in pain. Apparently, his spidey senses weren’t awake either. He wiped at his eyes, trying to make sense of everything.

He looked up at the clock on his nightstand and had to rub his eyes and read it again to make sure he was seeing correctly. Peter had woken up at nine am the next day.

He wrestled himself out of his sheets and threw them back on the bed. He cursed his teenage body mixed with a spider bite for needing so much sleep. He had probably already missed so many new arrivals while he was sleeping.

As he pulled out some clothes from his dresser, he realized there were decorations all over his room too. He must not have noticed it when he’d walked in yesterday, but someone had done up his room as well. Garland hung from each of his furniture pieces like icicles from the edge of a house, his rug had been changed out to a fluffy red and green one, and he even had some festive attire that someone had thrown in with the rest of his regular clothes.

He opted to forgo the red and green in terms of clothing for the time being. He was already likely going to be the youngest in every room, and he didn’t need everyone looking at him like a child because he was wearing an elf onesie. Besides, that would only bring more attention to him while he was trying to learn about all of the new people.

He quickly showered and threw on his clothes, absentmindedly pushed his hair back and headed out the door.

He ran down the steps at full speed towards the kitchen as his stomach growled. He couldn’t believe he’d slept so late, he’d make sure to set an alarm tomorrow. It was so stupid of him to sleep for so long.

A door clicked open in front of him, and he stopped just a few inches from where his nose would’ve collided with it.

“Little spider,” Natasha laughed, seeing him as the door shut. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

She continued walking, so Peter followed. “I accidentally fell asleep yesterday afternoon when I got home from school, and I just woke up.”

“Oh trust me, you didn’t miss much.” Natasha waved a hand. “The only person in the tower who doesn’t live here went to bed early, Steve and Bucky went on our last grocery trip till after the holidays, and Wanda made a few pie crusts.”

“I know, but-” Peter started, then stopped himself. Natasha had said he didn’t miss much, but she had been a part of this family for longer than he had. He had never spent a Christmas with the Avengers before, and it all felt so new and exciting to him. This was all old business to Natasha, she’d probably find him quite silly.

“What?” she asked, slowing down.

Peter stopped at the next landing to face her. “No, it’s probably dumb. Nevermind.”

“I’m sure it’s not dumb, come on, tell me. Or if it is dumb, then I will forget I heard anything.”

Peter’s lips twitched. “It’s just.” He sighed, but then decided he’d go for it anyway. “I’ve never been here during the holidays, and I just don’t want to miss any of it. I want to soak it all up, ya know?”

He scratched at the top of his head, but then abruptly put his hand back down, thinking the movement looked weird.

Natasha leaned against the stair railing. “Peter,” she smiled. “I was once new to this team too. I know the feeling of wanting to soak up every moment with this family. But trust me, they aren’t going anywhere, and neither are you.”

Peter smacked himself in the forehead. It had only occurred to him till after Natasha said it but it seemed obvious now. He should’ve known that she would understand. It was so silly of him to think he was the only one who had ever felt like this. Still, he knew Natasha wouldn’t take well to him opening the holiday with apologizing to her, so he moved on. “I know that, it just doesn’t feel like it.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “And that’s okay too. It took me a long time to get used to it.” She laughed. “Sometimes I think I’m still getting used to it. But remember, this is a marathon, not a sprint. You’re here for five whole days, don’t run yourself ragged trying to do everything.”

Peter blew a breath out, feeling a little less high strung. “Thanks Natasha.”

She squeezed his arm. “Anytime little spider.”

“Does that mean I can call you big spider?” Peter asked, now following her down the stairs.

She shook her head, chuckling. “I guess so. Just don’t ever say it in front of Clint, or I may have to kill you.”

“Noted.” Peter nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t certain he would ever be brave enough to call her that to her face, but he saved it away just in case he needed it.

He entered the kitchen, counting four bodies occupying the space, and all sorts of delicious smells wafting around the area.

Natasha leaned in beside him, whispering. “Like I said, pace yourself.”

She walked off, continuing down the steps, and leaving Peter in the chaos. He stood completely still for a moment, unsure of what to do. It almost seemed like they were doing some sort of dance. Pots and pans flew above heads, spoons were passed back and forth, footsteps were carefully made around each other like they had choreographed it all in advance. Peter was worried that if he stepped in, he might throw them off rhythm.

His stomach growled angrily, reminding him that while his bite also made him able to sleep longer, it also meant he needed to eat much more.

“Guys, can I cut into the kitchen to get breakfast?” Peter yelled over simmering liquids and frying meats.

Wanda was the first to turn towards him. “Oh, morning Peter. Can I grab something for you?” She looked at the chaos surrounding her with wide eyes. “I think that would be easier at this point.”

“Yes please, if you could hand me the poptarts, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Oh, do try the new chocolate flavored ones we got spiderling,” Thor said, turning around, whisk in hand. “They are quite delicious.”

“Yeah, I’ll have those if we’ve got ‘em.” Peter nodded. “Please,” he added on quickly.

Wanda flicked her fingers, and the pop tart box flew out of the cabinet. Peter was about to ask how she managed to direct her power so casually without hitting anyone, but then he realized the box was already in his hand.

“Hey, wait, we don’t just hand out food for free,” Bucky scoffed. “I thought we agreed the kitchen was a no touch zone when there were chefs in it.”

“Bucky, you’re making brownies. Calm down, you aren’t cooking up world peace,” Sam called out from the other side of the kitchen.

Bucky pointed a dirty spatula at him with such aggression that Peter let out a laugh. “That’s what you think, but for all you know, the moment you taste these all your problems could be cured.”

“Not unless your attitude disappears,” Sam guffawed.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Wanda, are you going to let this happen?”

Wanda looked about near her breaking point. “If by this you mean letting the boy eat his breakfast, then yes I do.”

Bucky groaned, and Peter couldn’t help but wonder who the teenager in the room was. “Can we at least make him help us?”

Wanda leaned against the counter, her hands on her hips. “Peter, I am currently dealing with actual children, so would you mind helping Bucky with the brownies when you’re done eating your breakfast? Steve was supposed to help him, but now none of us know where he’s got to.”

Peter nodded, shoving a poptart in his mouth. “Of course, I don’t mind helping.”

Wanda smiled fondly at him. “Thank you.” She covered the side of her mouth like it would prevent the others from hearing her as she fake whispered. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

The others protested, but she paid them no mind as she went back to her food. Peter took a few more minutes eating his fill in pop tarts until he joined Bucky in the kitchen. The sounds of automatic whisks, squeezing bottles, and bowls clanking against one another filled his ears.

“Alright, have you ever made brownies before?” Bucky asked, quite seriously.

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, who hasn’t? They come in a box.”

Bucky rolled his eyes for the second time in five minutes. “Homemade brownies Peter. Come on, who do you think I am?”

Peter held his hands up innocently. “Wasn’t trying to take away your brownie points.”

Bucky raised a brow. “Was that a pun?”

Peter tensed. “Maybe?”

He could tell Bucky was desperately trying to bite back a smile, and Peter snickered. “Alright, well, homemade brownies are a much more highly involved process.”

“Okay, so what do we need?” Peter asked, pushing his sleeves up to wash his hands.

Bucky listed off the ingredients and Peter rummaged around the kitchen to find them. However, even after five minutes of looking in the fridge, Peter couldn’t find the eggs.

He poked his head out of the fridge. “Guys, I think we’re out of eggs.”

He looked over to see Thor grimacing. “My apologies, between my breakfast this morning, and clarifying the mead, I think I used the last of them.”

Peter brushed him off, now opening the freezer. “That’s fine, we can just use applesauce.”

“No, we cannot!” Bucky protested. “It calls for eggs.”

Sam leaned around Wanda to look at them. “Barnes, have you never heard of a substitute?”

“No, you have to do the recipe exactly as it says, otherwise it won’t turn out.”

Wanda made cuckoo signs around his head, and Bucky whipped around. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” Wanda chirped, going back to whisking. She shot a wink at Peter and it took nearly all of his laughter to not burst out laughing.

Bucky threw his hands up. “What? I’m serious, you should never substitute things. It won’t turn out the same.”

Peter cocked a brow. “Didn’t you grow up during the depression?”

“Are you calling me old?” Bucky asked, his voice lilting.

Peter’s eyes went wide. “No! I mean, wouldn’t it have been common for you to have to substitute things?”

“Yes, which is why it’s not good!” Bucky nearly yelled.

Wanda stirred her soup. “My family had to substitute things all the time, and we were fine.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “And you’re telling me all of them tasted the same?”

Wanda nodded patiently. “Yes, you just have to know what you’re doing.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Are you saying I don’t know what I’m doing?”

Wanda shrugged. “I mean, you didn’t even know that you should substitute applesauce for eggs. That’s pretty obvious, wouldn’t you agree Peter?”

Peter nodded, knowing better than to be on the opposing team of Wanda, and Tony’s earlier words playing in his mind. Bucky flicked him in the arm. “Ow,” Peter winced.

Wanda continued adding things to her soup as she spoke to Bucky. “It seems to me that this is more of a skill issue.”

Bucky sighed. “Wanda,” he said, his tone warning. Peter kept his eyes on both of them, sensing the rising tension and wondering where it would go.

“What?” she asked innocently, her eyes widened. “I think you might just be bad at baking, it’s alright, not everyone can be good at it.”

“Maximoff, I swear,” he started.

“Barnes, don’t swear in front of the kid!” she gasped, her eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Yeah!” Peter agreed indignantly.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “He’s sixteen, he curses all the time.”

Wanda propped a hand up on her hip. “Peter, cover your ears, don’t listen to the man with the potty mouth.”

Peter followed her lead, putting his hands up on his head. “Yeah, Bucky, how dare you accuse me of such things!”

Bucky looked done with both of them. “Peter, you say shit about seventy times every time you’re in the lab.”

“How dare you! Peter would never do that!” Wanda said, looking like she was about to burst with how much laughter she was holding back.

“You know what Maximoff?” he said, his lip twitching.

She took a step closer. “What?” she asked, raising her brows. Peter backed up, having the innate sensation that one of them was going to snap and it wasn’t going to go well.

They were both perfectly still for a moment, and then Bucky struck. He grabbed her by the stomach with his metal arm, too quick for her to use her magic against him, and began scratching at her sides.

“Bucky,” she squealed, her legs kicking out at him and continually missing.

Peter did his best to fade into the shadows, suddenly forgetting his alliance. He knew how quickly the tables could turn, and how ruthless Bucky could be. Wanda hit out at his metal arm, her magic getting lost in between her laughter. “Are you going to stop giving me a hard time?” he asked.

“Nohoho,” she giggled, twitching all over the place as his fingers darted across her skin.

“Peter!” Wanda yelped. “Help me!”

Peter hesitated for a moment, but decided it would be in his best interest to keep the scarlet witch on his side.

With a quiet, “thwip!”, he webbed Bucky’s metal arm, pulling it behind his back to give Wanda an escape.

She fell to the floor in a heap of laughter, and Bucky let her go, not bothering to continue torturing her.

Peter was surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight, until he realized Bucky was slowly turning towards him.

“Wait,” Peter said, holding his hands in front of him. He had just poked a sleeping bear.

“Did you just web me?” Bucky asked, watching Peter out of the corner of his eye.

Peter could feel Thor behind him, and Sam watching the whole thing in interest now. All of his senses were suddenly alert, like he was about to go into battle. What all of his systems were currently telling him was that he needed to run, and quickly.

Without answering Bucky’s question, he leapt over the kitchen counter, sprinting towards the steps.

“Oh no you don’t, you pest,” he heard Bucky call after him.

Peter ran full force through the living room, thinking that if he could just make it to the steps and get the door shut behind him, then maybe he could make his escape.

He was a few steps away, just only a few more seconds and he would be free. His hand reached for the door, and he pushed it open. He got a foot in the door when a familiar cold arm wrapped around his middle.

“No!” Peter yelled, grabbing a hold of the door frame. He attempted to pull himself forward, but Bucky merely spidered his fingers in Peter’s armpits and he immediately lost his grip, his arms shooting down to protect himself.

Bucky threw him over his shoulder with an ease that Peter wasn’t used to.

“That’s not fair,” he protested. He tried to wiggle out of Bucky’s arms, but there was no give.

“No, what’s not fair is that you all get to act like little shits, and annoy me without any repercussions,” Bucky said, walking towards the couch.

Peter began to panic, squirming around like a bug caught in a web. He knew the moment that Bucky had him pinned he was done for.

“Bucky! Wait! We promise we won’t bother you anymore!” Peter said as a last ditch effort.

“You promise?” Bucky asked, standing directly over the couch.

“Promise.” Peter said, earnestly.

Bucky paused, beginning to set Peter down. Peter blew out a sigh of relief, then, Bucky reversed his direction and threw Peter forward onto the couch. “Too bad, I want my fun now.”

He jumped on top of him, pinning his arms above his head, and sitting on his thighs.

“Bucky, Bucky, wait!”” Peter called, nervous giggles already leaking out of him.

“Wait for what?” Bucky asked, his metal arm hovering over Peter’s stomach.

“Wanda, hELP!” Peter squealed, but was cut off as Bucky’s hand began fluttering everywhere he could reach.

“Just because you can’t bake, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on the rest of us!” Peter giggled.

“You know, I was going to take it easy on you since you just finished finals, but nevermind,” Bucky huffed. He began squeezing Peter’s ribs, softly brushing his thumb into each one.

“I take it back!” Peter wheezed, descending into frenzied cackles. It was a cruel move, targeting his ribs like that. It always sent Peter reeling, his body not knowing what to do with all of the sensations his skin was taking in, and Bucky was especially good at making him shriek.

“Oh, do you now?” Bucky teased, a terrifying smirk on his face.

“Yes!” Peter tugged at his arms in vain. It was no use, with Bucky at his full strength, and Peter weakened by his laughter, he couldn’t overpower him very easily. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

“Wanda save me!” he yelled, deciding it was in his best interest to rely on someone else’s power.

Peter faintly heard the sound of a door clicking open and prayed it was Tony. He also had a tendency of tickling him, but at least maybe he would accidentally distract Bucky long enough that he could escape.

To his horror though, the worst possible person had shown up. “What’d he do this time, Buck?” Steve asked, sounding unsurprised.

“Be a little shit like usual,” Bucky shrugged.

Steve came out of his peripheral vision, and walked in front of him, briefly wiggling his fingers over his socked feet. “STEVE!” Peter yelled, kicking out as much as he could with Bucky’s weight on his legs.

“Wow, I always forget how ticklish you are,” Steve tutted, removing his hand.

“Not helping!”

Bucky tasered his sides with his fingers. “He’s not trying to, he’s on my side unlike you other assholes.”

“Wanda!” Peter tried again, sensing the team up that was about to happen.

Bucky looked up at Steve, not stopping his attack on Peter while he did. “Oh yeah, Steve, would you mind going to deal with the red head over there?”

“What did she do?” Steve asked as if there wasn’t a teenager dying of laughter right beside them.

Bucky gestured down towards him, and Peter’s face lit up red. Something about being destroyed by laughter while they held a casual conversation made the sensations so much worse. “Same as Peter.”

Steve nodded. “Ah, I see.” He began walking towards her, and though Peter knew it would only further nail his coffin shut, he yelled over at her.

“Wanda save yourself!”

Bucky cocked his head, momentarily pausing. “You really don’t give up do you?”

Peter shook his head. “Friendly neighborhood spiderman.” He smiled sheepishly.

Bucky positioned his hands atop Peter’s ribs. “Well spiderman, you are far too ticklish to be this risky.”

Peter shrugged, his eyes alight with mirth. “At least I can bake.”

Bucky deadpanned, his fingers wrapping around the backs of Peter’s ribcage. “Okay, now you’re just asking for it.”

Bucky attacked, and Peter immediately fell back into his laughter. Loud cackles burst from his mouth as Bucky squeezed higher up on his ribs.

“Peter, oh my god, stay still, I’m trying to count all of your ribs.”

“Nohoh!” Peter squealed, having played this game with Tony too many times.

“Well now we’re going to have to start all over again,” Bucky huffed, squeezing each rib from the bottom to the top. Peter was going berserk, having one of his worst spots targeted for so long. He briefly opened his eyes and saw Wanda being thrown on the couch next to him. Steve didn’t give her a chance to escape and went straight for her neck.

He screeched as Bucky reached the tops of his ribs again, praying he wouldn’t start the process all over again. However, it was only when he felt Bucky’s fingers climbing higher still that he began to panic.

“Bucky, don’t you dare!”

Bucky paused for a moment, and Peter heaved in deep breaths while he was still able to. “Oh.” Bucky leaned in, smirking in a way that Peter knew that no amount of pleading would convince him to move anywhere else.

“I dare,” he hissed, then jammed his fingers into Peter’s armpits. Peter didn’t make any noise for a moment. He dug his heels into the couch, trying to find the leverage to throw Bucky off of him, he twisted around from side to side, trying to dislodge Bucky’s fingers. He would almost get adjusted to one side, then Bucky would start tickling his other armpit. However, his body was only able to contain the noise so long, and he burst into a scream.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Peter panickedly squeaked.

Bucky turned towards the other couch. “See, Wanda? I told you he curses.”

Peter could just barely hear her screams of laughter above his own, but he could’ve sworn she told him to shut up.

“Now,” Bucky said, turning his attention back to him. “If we can just manage to convince you I can bake.”

Peter was writhing on the couch, his laughter beginning to make his abdomen hurt. Though, he was admittedly not fighting as hard as he could. “You can’t though!” he yelled out.

“Okay, seriously, does anything tire you out?” Bucky said, momentarily pausing his hands.

Peter shook his head, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. “You’re maybe the only person I know who’s as stubborn as that guy back there,” Bucky teased, pointing to Steve, who was currently making light work of Wanda’s giggles.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Peter smiled, heaving in air.

“It is one,” he smiled. He ruffled Peter’s hair gently, which Peter doubted he’d attempt if he wasn’t currently pinned underneath him. “However,” Bucky started, sitting upright. “Just like him, it’ll get you tickled a lot.”

Bucky released his arms, and Peter’s brows furrowed. He started to sit up, but Bucky had yet to get off of him. Without taking his weight off of him, he adjusted himself so he was still sitting on Peter’s legs, except he was facing the other way.

Suddenly, Peter’s face went white. “Wait, Bucky please no.”

“Can I bake, Parker?” he asked, without looking at him.

Peter sighed, laying back down so he could save some of his energy. “No,” he answered plainly.

“That’s what I thought,” Bucky sighed.

Bucky didn’t make Peter wait any longer for his payback and all ten of his fingers began dusting across his socked soles. Peter was sent into immediate hysterics. He gave up trying to plead with him, but he couldn’t stop his body from rolling around the couch as continual giggles poured from his mouth. Every so often he would snort if Bucky got him with a particularly good method, or if he would stray upwards to his toes, but Bucky continued until Peter got all of the laughter out of him.

However, once the tears started to prick at the corners of his eyes, he let up. “Have you learned anything today?” he asked, getting up and sitting next to him. Peter stayed laying down, catching his breath. He noticed that someone must have lit the fire because he could hear something crackling.

“Not much,” he breathed out.

“I figured.” Bucky patted his knee. “But I’m always happy to teach you again.”

Peter jumped up from the couch, nearly taking his shin out on the coffee table, and Bucky laughed. “Not now, I’m not cruel.”

Peter raised his brows. “Okay, I’m not that cruel,” Bucky deadpanned. Peter glared at him, though he knew he didn’t really mean it.

He sat back down next to him. “You deserve payback for that.”

Bucky bumped his shoulder against him. “I don’t think so, I didn’t start it.”

A red light flashed through the living room. “I would beg to disagree.”

Peter and Bucky turned to see Steve on the ground. “Peter, care to join me?” Wanda asked, grinning.

Bucky attempted to run, but all it took was one flick from Wanda’s wrist and he was on the ground.

“Sam help!” Bucky yelled. Sam started running towards him, but abruptly came to a stop.

Wanda held an orb of dark red power in her hand, eyeing him carefully.

He held his hands up, walking backwards towards the kitchen. “No, thank you.” He grabbed a hold of a bowl. “Someone’s gotta keep stirring your soup.”

Wanda smiled, her nose scrunching up.

“Care to humble some super soldiers for the holidays?” Wanda asked. She twisted her magic and Steve burst into bright giggles.

Peter always knew it was best to keep the scarlet witch on his side. “Absolutely,” he agreed.

The tower was filled with laughter for quite some time, and lots of threats were said with no real violence behind them. When all was said and done, Peter was absolutely certain he was in for a very interesting winter break with his family.

Second author’s note: Hello my lovelies!! I know it’s been awhile since I uploaded on here, three years to be exact, but I had to come back for squealing Santa. Hopefully the fact that I’ve been working on my book has kept my fanfic skills in shape. While I can’t say I’m fully back to posting, I hope you enjoyed this, and I do have some other fics in the works. (Also if you read closely I put in an Easter egg for a future fic)

Taglist: @tenaciousperfectionunknown @teti-menchon0604 @tell-me-when-ur-ready

#quillsandtyposwrites #q&t marvel #marvel tickle fic #marvel tickle #marvel #lee!peter #Ler!bucky #ler!steve #Lee!wanda #ler!tony #marvel tickle fluff #bucky fluff #peter parker fluff #marvel tickle fanfiction #marvel tickle fanfics #tickle fanfic #ss2k24 #squealing santa 2k24

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 year ago

Note

I’m so sorry if this question is ignorant or stupid I really just want to understand so I can become educated. When someone is asexual would they still gain something from reading explicit fic scenes? Again sorry if I’m ignorant

Hey Nonny *HUGS*

SO SORRY it took so long to reply to this one... Kind of started and then it got forgotten, and I am sorry for that. No better time than Ace Awareness Week to help you understand!!

So, short answer to your question, is YES, SOME aces do, whether to facilitate in self-pleasure, or because seeing their faves happy, or as placeholders because some aces take pleasure-by-proxy, or a variety of other reasons, it just simply makes some of us happy. You'd be surprised how many of those smutty authors are actually ace themselves. It's one of those funny misconceptions that aces are all woobie-uwu-innocent-pure-thoughts-only magical creatures, and I'm here to shatter that illusion... Aces are some of the smuttiest-minded people you will ever meet. Why, I have no idea, maybe it's because we don't fantasize about sex the same way allos do that we can come up with increasingly hornier ideas? LOL No idea.

The thing about asexuality is that it's a HUGE spectrum, and no one ace is exactly the same. A sex-negative ace might get something out of reading smut because it's not involving them. Or they might not at all. Same with sex-positive/neutral aces. It's ALL a matter of what makes us tick.

BUT here's where I go into my LONG answer, and get you REALLY into the Ace Lore™.

I want to introduce you to the microlabel of Aegosexuality (formerly autochorisexuality), which is a term that loosely translates to "sexuality with oneself". The expanded definition, from the Sexuality Wiki, bolding is mine:

It is [...] a disconnect between oneself and a sexual target/object of arousal; may involve sexual fantasies or arousal in response to erotica or pornography, but lacks desire to be an actual participant in the sexual activities therein.

Aegosexuals are known to:

Become aroused by sexual content (at times) without wanting to personally engage in sexual activities.

Masturbate, but feel neutral or repulsed by the idea of having sex with another person.

Fantasize about sex (with varying frequency), but envision people other than themselves, and/or view it in third person, as if watching it on TV, instead of imagining it in the first person, through their own eyes.

Predominantly—or exclusively—fantasize about fictional characters or celebrities in place of people they know personally.

Identify as asexual, feeling little-to-no sexual attraction to people though enjoy masturbating (with varying frequency), are aroused by sexually explicit content, and/or fantasizing of such.

[/end quote]

====

Basically, smut turns them on, but some aces don't want to engage in the smut for-reals. This microlabel makes it ESPECIALLY confusing for newly-figured-out-aces because there hasn't been a lot of information about asexuality's huge spectrum until recently. Aegosexuals can initially believe that they AREN'T ace, BECAUSE they get turned on by porn or smutty stories, but then they're SUPER confused because the idea of having sex themselves is appalling or undesirable. It's a bizarre contradiction, understandably, to outsiders, but it makes COMPLETE sense once an ace figures this out, I promise you.

This is the microlabel I myself fall under. It's not from any trauma or past problems or medical issues. It's just me. That's it. And because of the confusion that this sexuality can bring, it often takes us a LOT longer to have ourselves figured out. For me, it was an accidental stumbling upon the "autochorisexual" label (before it became Aegosexual) and reading up on it that EVERYTHING fell into place. Before that, I thought I was maybe demisexual. After learning about it, I felt okay FINALLY calling myself ace, that I finally found the "right fit" for me. It was the piece of the puzzle that I was missing. I felt really liberated of my self-doubt after that.

And, of course, aros have their version as well called Aegoromantic, which is exactly the same but in a romantic sense.

Here are some more resources for Aegosexuality, if you'd like to learn more about this lesser-known branch on the spectrum:

What Does It Mean to Be Aegosexual? (Cosmopolitan US || November 24, 2022)

WHAT IS AEGOSEXUAL? MEANING, HISTORY, AND USAGE. (Gayety.co ||July 11, 2022)

History of Aegosexuality (The Michigan Gayly || February 1, 2021)

EVERYTHING YOU NEED TOO KNOW ABOUT AEGOSEXUALITY (Live Love LGBTQ+ Blog || October 27, 2017)

VIDEO: 5 Signs You Might Be Aegosexual (Lynn Saga, YouTube || August 6, 2022 || 6m20s)

VIDEO: What is Aegosexuality? | Aspec 101 (Slice Of Ace, YouTube || July 15, 2022 || 3m54s)

VIDEO: Asexual Identities: Aegosexuality (Ace Dad Advice, YouTube || May 22, 2022 || 12m27s)

====

AGAIN, I'm SO sorry I put this ask off for SO long, but I'm glad that I did, so that I could educate you guys on my brand of Asexuality during Ace Awareness Week!

And, finally, no offence taken at ALL! I LOVE educating y'all about stuff I learned through my journey, and you were very respectful in your ask :)

Hope you are well, Nonny, and hope you're still here to see this 🖤💜

#steph replies #asexuality #asexual awareness week #aegosexuality #ace week #my ramblings #links checked 2023-10-26 #lgbt resources #lgbtqia #about me

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maybeitsalive · 29 days ago

Text

Philip Marlowe, BI: Novels quotes (part 2)

(Part 1)

The little sister

Chap 30

“He didn’t speak much, but when he did he had a nice voice, a soft-water voice. And he had a smile that warmed the whole room. “Wonderful casting,” I said, looking at him across the cards. We were playing double Canfield. Or he was. I was just there, watching him, watching his small and very neat and very clean hands go out across the table and touch a card and lift it delicately and put it somewhere else. When he did this he pursed his lips a little and whistled without tune, a low soft whistle, like a very young engine that is not yet sure of itself” (...) “He moved another card and flexed his fingers lightly. His nails were bright but short. You could see he was a man who loved to move his hands, to make little neat inconspicuous motions with them, motions without any special meaning, but smooth and flowing and light as swansdown. They gave him a feel of delicate things delicately done, but not weak. Mozart, all right.”

The Long Goodbye

ALL THE BOOK. He's in love with Terry Lennox and that's it, that's the book. In this case, it’s more about how he acts and the things he doesn’t say that are telling. No quote can give a clue about the insanity that is this novel. Here’s my best try:

Chap 1

(About Terry:)

“I drove home chewing my lip. I’m supposed to be tough but there was something about the guy that got me. I didn’t know what it was unless it was the white hair and the scarred face and the clear voice and the politeness. Maybe that was enough.”

Chap 3

(After learning that Terry got re-married in the papers, Marlowe has this casual normal reaction:)

I threw the paper into the corner and turned on the TV set. After the society page dog vomit even the wrestlers looked good. But the facts were probably right. On the society page they better be. I had a mental picture of the kind of eighteen-room shack that would go with a few of the Potter millions, not to mention decorations by Duhaux in the last subphallic symbolism. But I had no mental picture at all of Terry Lennox loafing around one of the swimming pools in Bermuda shorts and phoning the butler by R/T to ice the champagne and get the grouse atoasting. There was no reason why I should have."

(Marlowe & Terry:)

“What I don’t get is why a guy with your privileges would want to drink with a private eye.” “Are you being modest?” “Nope. I’m just puzzled. I’m a reasonably friendly type but we don’t live in the same world. I don’t even know where you hang out except that it’s Encino. I should guess your home life is adequate.” “I don’t have any home life.”

Chap 8

“If you had had a grain of sense you’d have told the police you hadn’t seen Lennox for a week. It didn’t have to be true. Under oath you could always have told the real story. There’s no law against lying to the cops. They expect it. They feel much happier when you lie to them than when you refuse to talk to them. That’s a direct challenge to their authority. What do you expect to gain by it?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t really have an answer.”

Chap 10

(Marlowe & Morgan, a journalist:)

“Thanks for the ride, Morgan. Care for a drink?” “I’ll take a rain check. I figure you’d rather be alone.” “I’ve got lots of time to be alone. Too damn much.” “You’ve got a friend to say goodbye to,” he said. “He must have been that if you let them toss you into the can on his account.” “Who said I did that?” He smiled faintly. “Just because I can’t print it don’t mean I didn’t know it, chum. So long. See you around.”

Chap 11

(about Terry:)

“I owned a piece of him. I had invested time and money in him, and three days in the icehouse, not to mention a slug on the jaw and a punch in the neck that I felt every time I swallowed. Now he was dead and I couldn’t even give him back his five hundred bucks. That made me sore. It is always the little things that make you sore.”

(Menendez:)

“Don’t kid me, Marlowe. You didn’t spend three days in the freezer just because you’re a sweetheart.”

(oh yes he did)

(About Menendez – wait for it:)

“How about half a dozen of these?” I asked him and hit him as hard as I could in the middle of his belly. He doubled up mewling. The cigarette case fell to the floor. He backed against the wall and his hands jerked back and forth convulsively. His breath fought to get into his lungs. He was sweating. Very slowly and with an intense effort he straightened up and we were eye to eye again. I reached out and ran a finger along the bone of his jaw. He held still for it.”

Chap 12

(Terry’s letter:)

“So forget it and me. But first drink a gimlet for me at Victor’s. And the next time you make coffee, pour me a cup and put some bourbon in it and light me a cigarette and put it beside the cup. And after that forget the whole thing. Terry Lennox over and out. And so goodbye.” “I did what he asked me to, sentimental or not. I poured two cups and added some bourbon to his and set it down on the side of the table where he had sat the morning I took him to the plane. I lit a cigarette for him and set it in an ash tray beside the cup. I watched the steam rise from the coffee and the thin thread of smoke rise from the cigarette.”

Chap 21

“I sat there for a while taking life seriously. Then I tried to think of something funny so that I could have a great big laugh. Neither way worked, so I got Terry Lennox’s letter of farewell out of the safe and reread it. It reminded me that I had never gone to Victor’s for that gimlet he asked me to drink for him. It was just about the right time of day for the bar to be quiet, the way he would have liked it himself, if he had been around to go with me. I thought of him with a vague sadness and with a puckering bitterness too.”

Chap 22

“I said: “I’m a fellow who knew Terry Lennox, liked him, and had an occasional drink with him. It was kind of a side deal, an accidental friendship. I never went to his home or knew his wife. I saw her once in a parking lot.” “There was a little more to it than that, wasn’t there?” She reached for her glass. She had an emerald ring set in a nest of diamonds. Beside it a thin platinum band said she was married. I put her in the second half of the thirties, early in the second half. “Maybe,” I said. “The guy bothered me. He still does.”

Chap 35

“The other part of me wanted to get out and stay out, but this was the part I never listened to. Because if I ever had I would have stayed in the town where I was born and worked in the hardware store and married the boss’s daughter and had five kids and read them the funny paper on Sunday morning and smacked their heads when they got out of line and squabbled with the wife about how much spending money they were to get and what programs they could have on the radio or TV set. I might even have got rich — small-town rich, an eight-room house, two cars in the garage, chicken every Sunday and the Reader’s Digest on the living room table, the wife with a cast iron permanent and me with a brain like a sack of Portland cement. You take it, friend. I’ll take the big sordid dirty crooked city.”

("a heterosexual way of life will ruin you" is a recurrent theme)

Chap 39

“You were pretty helpful to a guy named Lennox too, the way I hear it. And you didn’t make a dime out of that one either. What do you do for eating money, pal? You got a lot saved so you don’t have to work any more?” I stood up and walked around the desk and faced him. “I’m a romantic, Bernie. I hear voices crying in the night and I go see what’s the matter. You don’t make a dime that way. You got sense, you shut your windows and turn up more sound on the TV set. Or you shove down on the gas and get far away from there. Stay out of other people’s troubles. All it can get you is the smear. The last time I saw Terry Lennox we had a cup of coffee together that I made myself in my house, and we smoked a cigarette. So when I heard he was dead I went out to the kitchen and made some coffee and poured a cup for him and lit a cigarette for him and when the coffee was cold and the cigarette was burned down I said goodnight to him. You don’t make a dime that way. You wouldn’t do it. That’s why you’re a good cop and I’m a private eye.”

Chap 53

All of it. All of it.

Playback

who? I don't know her.

#raymond chandler #philip marlowe #the long goodbye #the little sister #feel free to complete for Playback I couldn't finish it #or any other if there's something important I missed

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lucky-clover-gazette · 7 months ago

Text

captive prince book 1 highlights & annotations

chapter 3

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The Regent keeps him around. No idea how the Prince got him in the ring, but that one would do anything to piss off his uncle.

context: laurent wanted damen to lose—we know this because of the drugging. but i suppose that annoying the regent with govart's loss was a consolation prize? and he would have been... equally annoyed, if govart won? laurent cannot possibly think that the regent cares about govart's well-being, but maybe govart is a reflection of his authority. honestly, not too sure about this one.

craft note: “piss off” is a great anachronism here

Laurent might talk like he’d been raised on the floor of a brothel, but he had a Veretian courtier’s mind, used to deception and double dealing.

maybe try to make it sound like less of a compliment

‘I wouldn’t have thought of that. He has a mind for details.’ ‘Yes, I’m learning that,’ said Damen.

Maybe he just wanted another chance to fight something. Preferably an insufferable yellow-haired princeling.

‘Today, in the baths, you will serve.’ ‘Serve?’ said Damen.

he is technically serving cunt. a cunt named laurent

Laurent reclined against the tiled wall, settling his shoulders flat against it.

laurent lean #2

Laurent rearranged himself against the wall into a position that looked even more indolently comfortable than the one before.

laurent lean #3. also, this line is very funny

Those sweet blue eyes gazed at him.

normal reaction to an implied death threat

'Your little speech about fair play fooled me about as much as your show of obedience.'

context: laurent can’t conceive of damen being a decent person without an ulterior motive. given the fact that he's spent the past seven years in the regent's court, i can't really blame him

For Laurent was all of a piece: his body had the same impossible grace as his face. He was lighter built than Damen, but his body wasn’t boyish. Instead, he possessed the beautifully proportioned musculature of a young man on the new cusp of adulthood, made for athletics, or statuary.

damen has no idea how much it would probably mean to laurent to be seen as definitively non-boyish

The water was hot when it pulsed up from the ground, and hot when he poured it from the silver pitcher. The air was hot. He was conscious of it. He was conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, of his breathing, of more than that.

craft note: awareness of non-sexual physical sensation (heat, breathing, etc.) helps to build up tension. also, the repetition here is neat.

He remembered that in Akielos he had been washed by a slave with yellow hair. Her colouring had matched Laurent’s so closely they might have been twinned. She had been far less disagreeable.

damen likes blondes mention #3. another favorable comparison towards laurent, although he does get points off for being a bitch

‘Don’t be presumptuous,’ said Laurent, coldly. ‘Too late, sweetheart,’ said Damen. Laurent turned, and with calm precision unleashed a backhanded blow that had easily enough force to bloody a mouth, but Damen had had quite enough of being hit, and he caught Laurent’s wrist before the blow connected.

the girls are fightingggggg

craft note: i really like “damen had had quite enough of being hit.” it’s a massive understatement, which for damen’s characterization and the book’s sense of humor works perfectly.

He felt the tension hit Laurent’s body, though the tone didn’t change overmuch from its usual drawl. ‘But my voice has broken. That was the only prerequisite, wasn’t it?’ Damen released his grip, as though burned. A moment later, the blow he had thwarted landed, harder than he could have imagined, smashing across his mouth. ‘Get him out of here,’ said Laurent.

the amount of times i had to re-read this conversation and previous dialogue, to understand what the hell was going on between the lines...

context: damen previously made a flippant comment about not assaulting people whose voices haven’t dropped. it was meant as a dig towards the court of vere, which enables csa.

laurent wants an excuse to torture and/or kill damen while his uncle is away—knows that the court would see this retribution as justifiable if damen were to attempt an assault of the veretian prince.

laurent brings damen to the baths in order to essentially make his case for his revenge. he needs to create circumstances in which retribution is justified, and since sex = power to laurent—just another strategy—he sees a way to make that happen by teasing damen. he does not expect to feel anything while enacting this plan, as he is very used to dissociating during these kinds of situations.

laurent: “don’t be presumptuous” = “stop assuming we’re going to have sex, even though it was my plan to put us both in this intentionally erotic situation. i’m more uncomfortable than i thought i would be with this and i’m deflecting.”

damen: “too late, sweetheart” = “i am smug about the fact that this is making you uncomfortable. also, you’re hot, and i might as well enjoy the view.”

laurent: “but my voice is broken, that was the only prerequisite” = “by your own joking admission, i now have every reason to assume you’re going to assault me—and your obvious arousal does not help your case.”

damen, who has absolutely no intention to sexually assault laurent, is shocked by this and pulls away.

He had resisted the provocation to violence exactly because he had known he would end up suffering consequences. And now here he was, for no better reason than that Laurent, possessing a pleasing shape, had left off talking just long enough for Damen’s body to forget his disposition.

i love the implication that laurent is only attractive as long as he isn’t talking. damen is great at backhanded insults too!

‘I should have done this to you the day you arrived,’ said Laurent. ‘It’s exactly what you deserve.’

context: damen is not just some random akielion to laurent. laurent knows that he is damianos, and that damianos killed auguste, leading to seven years of abuse, sexual assault, and isolation for laurent within the regent's court. what he does here—having damen flogged to near-death—is still bad, but at least there’s more depth to the badness than damen or a first-time reader would understand.

from damen's pov, and for a first-time reader, this entire situation is sadistic and impersonal. but with full awareness of laurent's perspective, i can understand that it is essentially cathartic revenge. losing auguste to damen's blade forced laurent to experience the kind of trauma that changes a person forever. the person he has become is a reflection of that trauma, and damen is the ultimate scapegoat.

also, flogging is not exactly cruel or unusual punishment in this world—in fact, damen mentions that he's done it himself to akielion soldiers. it's notable that instances of damen's subtle hypocrisy appear in these earlier chapters: the flogging, parallels between kastor's rule and the regency, and akielion slavery. pacat is methodically building a house of cards with damen's unreliable narration from the start.

(when i call damen an unreliable narrator, it's not because i think he's a bad person or protagonist. he's an unreliable narrator in the same way that holden caulfield is an unreliable narrator: heartbreakingly earnest, ignorant due to inexperience, and within the ethos of the novel, ultimately Good.)

‘You are cold-blooded and honourless. What held back someone like you?’ It was the wrong thing to say. ‘I’m not sure,’ said Laurent, in a detached voice. ‘I was curious what kind of man you were. I see we have stopped too early. Again.’

this first book really is just the two of them playing a high-stakes game of “are you a good person” chicken

‘I was on the field at Marlas,’ said Laurent. As the words penetrated, Damen felt the world reshape itself around him. ‘They wouldn’t let me near the front. I never had the chance to face him. I used to wonder what I’d say to him if I did. What I’d do. How dare any one of you speak the word honour? I know your kind. A Veretian who treats honourably with an Akielon will be gutted with his own sword. It’s your countryman who taught me that. You can thank him for the lesson.’ ‘Thank who?’ Damen pushed the words out, somehow, past the pain, but he knew. He knew. ‘Damianos, the dead Prince of Akielos,’ said Laurent. ‘The man who killed my brother.’

i went into the context for this already, but i do just think it's insane that laurent is both torturing and gaslighting the person who ruined his life. like, remember the guy from the princess bride? "my name is inigo montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die." laurent is essentially doing the same thing with damen here—cathartic and premeditated revenge killing, karma's a bitch, an eye for an eye—but instead he's like "my name is laurent of vere, you were present in the battle where someone else murdered my brother (i know that you know you actually did it), prepare to be tortured and possibly killed based on my own unpredictable and sadistic whims. whore."

#capri #sam reads capri #captive prince #laurent of vere #damen of akielos #lamen #kinda

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thoughtportal · 4 months ago

Text

'Megalopolis' is a piece of s—t

SFGATE columnist Drew Magary begs you not to see Francis Ford Coppola's new film

This is not a review. This is a warning. If I gave Francis Ford Coppola’s “Megalopolis” a standard movie review and told you that it was an incoherent mess on par with “Rebel Moon” (which it is), your fanboy reflexes would kick and you’d write me off. You’d take me as just another pair of glasses dead set on panning a movie just to bolster their art cred. I hate critics like that, and so do you.

So I’m telling you this not as a reviewer, but as a friend: Do not see this movie. It is a piece of s—t.

You’ve been warned various times already. You were warned when the Guardian reported this spring that crew members on “Megalopolis” described its making, paid for entirely by Coppola thanks to his fortune in winemaking, as a “train wreck.” You were warned when that same article leveled allegations that the old man would sexually harass female crew members (barf) and burn hours of shooting time just hanging out and smoking weed instead of working (OK I respect it). Coppola has denied the allegations, and has sued Variety for its own investigation into his reported wrongdoing. In its introduction, the written complaint in that suit includes the sentence, “Some people are jealous and resentful of genius.” Go ahead and take that sentence as a warning, too.

Because Coppola has been running defense for this film basically ever since it wrapped. Lionsgate, the only studio willing to distribute Coppola’s vanity project, tried to get ahead of the damage by releasing a trailer larded with critical barbs that had been levied against Coppola’s old masterpieces, quotes that turned out to be fabricated.

But perhaps those warnings haven’t been enough. Perhaps, like me, you keep a soft spot in your heart for Coppola, a member of the auteur revolution who made a string of masterpieces through the ’70s and ’80s, but has made none since. Perhaps, like me, you were drawn in by a cast that includes Adam Driver, Aubrey Plaza, Dustin Hoffman, the god Giancarlo Esposito and other luminaries. And perhaps, like me, you’re so worn out by corporate filmmaking that you’re down with any movie that showcases pure artistic ambition, even if the end result is a misfire. Maybe this thing is a disaster, but maybe that’s the fun of it, yeah? Like gawking at a car wreck?

Wrong. This movie is unwatchable. It deserves to live in infamy, with its title acting as shorthand for any multimillion-dollar flop borne out of monstrous ego. I took a bullet watching “Megalopolis” for you. An actual bullet would have been kinder.

I’ll give you the details as best as I can manage. “Megalopolis” — oh I’m sorry, “Megalopolis: A Fable” — is Coppola’s attempt to portray near-future America as Ancient Rome. And brother, he is NOT subtle about it. He renames New York as New Rome. He gives every male actor a Caesar cut. He throws in engraved title cards throughout the movie that look like the menu of an SNES game. He turns Madison Square Garden into the Coliseum and uses it for an extended bacchanalia scene that goes on longer than a Catholic wedding. And he dresses up Shia LaBeouf, a talented actor whose face I never want to see again, in toga drag. Why is Shia in drag? What’s his character up to? Please don’t expect answers to any of that.

Here is the plot, as best as I can divine it. Driver plays Cesar Catilina, who runs the Design Authority of New Rome, which has its own police force for some reason. We know that Cesar is an architect, because the posters for “Megalopolis” all show Driver holding a magic T-square. We do not actually see him use that T-square in this movie. In fact, we don’t see him doing any nuts-and-bolts design work of any kind. This is because Cesar’s real occupation is Godfather of New Rome. He somehow has more influence in New Rome than the city’s mayor (Esposito), ANDhe has the power to stop time. How he acquired this ability is never explained. In fact, the movie gives Cesar this power for virtually zero narrative purpose.

Cesar is tortured. His wife has died, and Cesar is mourning her by doing lots of blow and sleeping with salacious TV reporter Wow Platinum, played by Aubrey Plaza. Turning Aubrey Plaza blonde is one of many crimes that Coppola perpetrates in this film. Now, Wow Platinum has some skeezy motives of her own (she’s a gold digger), so Cesar is wary.

He also has beef with Mayor Cicero, who apparently tried to implicate Cesar in his wife’s death, and who is working to prevent Cesar’s Design Authority from building Megalopolis, the architect’s vision of a future city. None of this is explained with any clarity. More important, it’s boring.

The rivalry between Cesar and Cicero grows more heated when the former falls in love with the mayor’s daughter, Julia. Julia is played by Nathalie Emmanuel, whose only direction from Coppola appears to have been, “act like you’re the love interest in a Michael Bay film.” Julia is a reporter (I think?) who’s loyal to her father but enchanted by this brooding, wide-chested rival. Is this love? Does the fate of Driver’s new “city,” which we know is the city of the future because it has moving walkways that glow, depend on them staying away from one another? Do I care about ANY of this s—t?

I don’t.

The plot I described above is barely discernible through the excruciating 138-minute running time of “Megalopolis.” I had to piece the story together myself while enduring things that no paying moviegoer should ever have to sit through. There’s that endless Coliseum scene, featuring a musical interlude from the city’s “virgin sweetheart,” who turns out to be older than she claimed (no!) and not a virgin at all (ZOMG!). In fact, she f—ked Cesar! On camera! Is nothing pure?

It gets dumber. There’s a scene where Julia, with the film’s incoherent score blasting in the background, solemnly reads not one, but THREE quotes from Marcus Aurelius in a row, giving the Roman emperor attribution after each one of them. There is Dustin Hoffman looking lost. There is Jon Voight looking even MORE lost. Driver is just about the only person here who does his best with the material he’s given. He acts so, so hard. Admirably so. Everyone else, with great justification, looks like they’re already embarrassed to be here. They know this thing is going to be a lemon, and act accordingly.

That includes Laurence Fishburne, in full “Matrix 2” mode playing both a chauffeur and an occasional narrator. That also includes Jason Schwartzman, who gets almost no lines in the film but shows up mostly because he’s related to Coppola. And it includes Plaza, who will absolutely be the best interviewee from this cast whenever Werner Herzog films a documentary about how awful the production was.

Oh hey, did I mention that there’s an Elvis impersonator singing the national anthem? That was random. There are also still photos of 9/11 (Rome falling alert!), plus an “interactive element” where a live performer in the auditorium asks questions of the on-screen Cesar as part of a press conference scene. It adds nothing.

There’s a jarring sequence where a little kid walks up to Driver’s car and shoots him in the face (credit where it’s due, Coppola still knows how to film a murder), but the bullet turns Driver’s right eye into a miniature galaxy before the wound magically heals altogether.

And, most importantly, there is Voight in a Robin Hood outfit, asking Plaza, “What do you think of this boner I got?” before shooting her in the chest with an arrow. That one’ll be a meme.

Save for Voight’s erect midnight cowboy, nothing else about “Megalopolis” will last. The dialogue is terrible. The color palette is nearly as incongruent as the music. The overdubbing sometimes doesn’t match the actors’ lips at all. The visual effects are terrible, featuring virtual sets that look like early design mockups Coppola never bothered to flesh out. Even the PROPS are terrible. Every physical prop in “Megalopolis” looks like Coppola either found it in his garage or asked his grandkids to make it for him. This movie cost the old man $120 million. He sold one of his wineries off to finance it. You could have shot a better looking movie with your phone.

And that’s really all there is to it. The only reason this film was released was because Coppola made it, and the only reason that Coppola made it was because he’s a centimillionaire. This is very much the work of a bored old stoner. I knew it five minutes into “Megalopolis.” I also knew that I was stuck.

Don’t let that happen to you. Don’t be tempted by Coppola, or by the cast, or by any contrarian review that attempts to kick off a reassessment of this disaster that it will never deserve. This movie is garbage. It doesn’t work as “so bad it’s good” camp. It doesn’t work as a “fable.” It doesn’t work as a noble attempt at a Big Statement. It doesn’t work at all. I’m sorry I watched it, and I will genuinely think less of anyone who finds it redeemable. There are plenty of directing legends, Martin Scorsese chief among them, who have great stories left to tell. “Megalopolis” proves that Coppola is not one of them. This man doesn’t know how to make good movies anymore. In fact, he doesn’t appear to know how to make any movie anymore.

Before my screening, the studio hosted a livestreamed Q&A with Coppola, Spike Lee and Robert De Niro. Toward the end of that Q&A, De Niro, an outspoken liberal, looked out at the audience and said to them, “Just imagine Trump directing this movie.” Bobby, I don’t have to.

#article #movie review #movies #film #francis ford coppola #Megalopolis

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vidjausers-fable · 1 year ago

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Pen Pals(Veneer X OC)Chapter 1

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Oh my god, I fell in love with Veneer and Velvet the moment I heard their silly little quotes and songs. I also have fun drawing them!? Anyway, this story is completely for fun, though it’s been a while since I’ve last written a fanfiction. Nothing is beta read in this chapter, so be kind if pointing out mistakes. Below is something I drew specifically for this fiction (though obviously it was inspired by the Barbie and Ken meme)

Also located on Wattpad and AO3. Chapter 2 and 3 are already located there, but soon will be here as well.

Once they had been arrested, Veneer and Velvet were booked and thrown into prison immediately. Well, it was more of a correctional facility if anything. A place where they wanted to prepare young adults who had made stupid mistakes for the outside world. Velvet didn’t take the change well but Veneer made no complaints, believing that it was the right thing to do because of the crimes they had committed. All those Trolls they had hurt…It weighed on him more than it did his sister. Velvet received a harsher sentence compared to her brother. Veneer’s was smaller because his heartfelt confession helped save the Trolls from his sister and expose their scam right away.

However, the two shared a cell in the correctional facility due to a bit of a crowding issue. Their rooms were split in two, one side for Veneer and the other for Velvet. It wasn’t the ideal living situation, but Velvet was the only one complaining about it.

The siblings looked completely different than what they used to. With no access to makeup in the facility, their faces were blank and deprived of any makeup and creams, and both adored the orange jumpsuits that read “Mount Rageous Correctional Facility” on the back. Velvet complained about her looks and image on the daily, as if it had not already been diminished.

Veneer sat at his desk with one of the books checked out from the Library, trying to somehow read and drown out the voice of his sister whining in the background. It was hard to do both at the same time so he closed the book with a loud sigh, “What is it this time, Vel?” he asked and spun around in his chair to look at his sister.

Velvet was half laying on the bed, her knees hanging over the edge. She threw her hands up and around dramatically as she spoke, “This isn’t fair! They took away another hour of my rec time from me just because I wanted an extra five minutes to eat. Didn’t I tell them I’m a slow eater?” She kicked her feet around as if she were a child having a tantrum.

Veneer leaned against his palm, unimpressed. As always. “And how did you ask for this extra five minutes?”

His sister glared. Did he Really ask her that as if she had done something wrong? “I asked, like a normal person! DUH!” she retorted sarcastically, throwing her hands up.

Veneer rolled his eyes. He seriously doubted that, but he wouldn’t say that out loud. “Maybe…just maybe Vel, you should ask a bit nicer,” he suggested and added before she could interrupt, “Unfortunately, the people here don’t like to deal with our attitudes.”

“Me? An attitude! As if! This place is worse than a shoe store with no branding,” she groaned. “And a restaurant without lobster.”

Veneer gave up talking to his sister and turned back toward his desk. There was no use arguing with Velvet. She was an entitled brat. She always tried to get the last word in, and it was impossible to point out her mistakes, or her flaws. In her eyes, she was flawless and never did wrong, and only did right. He’d dealt with that entitled attitude his whole life, and that attitude was the reason that he was in the correctional facility right now. It was honestly pathetic, but there was nothing that he could do about it except not give in to her tantrums and ignore them when they arose. Of course, it was easier said than done. She practically threw a rich snobby princess tantrum every day. “Why don’t you back me up anymore, like you used to?” Velvet abruptly sneered. Veneer could already see her expression without turning back around.

“Veneer, don’t ignore me.”

Over time, Veneer had found ways to stand up for himself. It was easier when they weren’t next to each other, but also because he was over her and her dramatic antics.

“Because.” Veneer closed the book he was trying to read, “It’s your fault we got into this whole situation in the first place.” He had to resist the urge to turn around and throw the book directly at her head.

“You didn’t exactly stop me when I kidnapped the Troll.”

“Because I couldn’t Velvet!” He argued, finally turning to her, “You took the Troll without even telling me at first. You put him in a diamond perfume bottle without a word. I knew it was suspicious when I suddenly caught you singing one day, or remotely have any talent. I bet if I didn’t walk in on you in your room that day with the Troll, that you would have kept all of that stolen talent yourself and left me at home with our parents, which by the way, I CARE about the fact that they disowned us. They get death threats because we scammed everyone, and can’t practice their dentistry anymore. They sold their business to pay off our debts, and you think they hate us? I know you hated them, but do you honestly think that they deserved all of that?” The entire ramble left him in a single mouthful it felt, leaving his sister appalled. He had so much to say to her that his words tumbled out almost all at once.

Velvet gasped, her jaw wide open and a hand over her heart, as if he tried to strike it. “They deserved it, Veneer, for the way they treated us growing up! They were nobodies and didn’t give us anything.”

“How did they treat us, Vel?! They literally did nothing wrong our entire lives! We had everything we wanted! You got a car for your sixteenth birthday and you pawned it off to buy a stupid golden ring! You don’t even have it anymore, you threw it down the drain when we became total frauds and got more money, which you used to buy worthless junk. Our parents are saints compared to how you talk about them.”

“Are you saying this is all my fault?”

“It is, Vel. It’s your fault we’re in here because of you. And I won’t change my mind about that.” He turned his back to her once again. Ever since they had been arrested, it had been nothing but anger between the siblings, bubbling over the tea kettle. Veneer swore that his steam was running out fast around her.

“It’s your fault too! You used the Troll as much as I did!”

Veneer ignored her.

“Veneer, you can’t throw all the blame at me!”

Veneer ignored her again, at least until he heard her stand up and stomp toward him. Right as he flipped around, she grabbed the front of his orange jumpsuit and began to shake him. She bared her teeth in anger at him, shaking him until his neck popped, “You can’t throw all the blame on me, Veneer! That’s just not fair. You used the Trolls just as much as me, so you’re not a perfect saint. Neither were our parents. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?!”

Metal clanged on metal and the siblings turned around to face the door of the cell. One of the Correctional Guards stood at the door, his baton against the cell bars, clinging back and forth until he had their attention. He glared at the two, though mostly at Velvet—the universal trouble maker. “Behave yourself Velvet, and stop arguing. That or I can extend your banishment from the rec room to the whole week. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

Velvet, still holding onto her brother’s shirt, glared at the officer, debating in her head if this was still worth it. If fighting her brother was worth the only freedom that they got in that joint. The two shared a long eye contact battle before she gave in, letting her brother go after shoving him back into the chair, and returned to her bed. “Whatever,” she snapped before rolling onto her side with her back facing the two.

Veneer adjusted his shirt before looking at the guard, a bit frazzled and his heart racing. Even she got to him sometimes. “Whew…” Saved by the guard.

The guard watched Velvet and when he felt as though she was calm enough, looked to Veneer, the one he really wanted to talk to. He took out his keys from his side pocket and the clanging of the metal made the two perk up. “Veneer, your counselor wants to see you now.”

Velvet immediately interrupted, sitting up, “What about mine? Doesn’t she want to see me?”

“She would, if you would stop destroying her office at every appointment.” He stopped fiddling with the keys and glared at the sister, waiting for her to settle down again. He looked to Veneer and waited for him to approach the bars, as part of the protocol for entering and leaving the cells.

“What for?” Veneer asked, approaching the cell door. “It’s not time for my appointment, is it? I don’t think it would be…” He sounded panicked.

The guard opened the door. Veneer was required to step out and press his back to the wall with his arms out and palms faced down. Veneer was a low threat so only one guard was needed, though at some point Velvet needed four. He quickly locked the door because as expected, Velvet threw herself against the door and grabbed the bars in rage and growled. She even reached down to try and swipe the keys as they were shoved back into a secure pocket. The guard scoffed in her face and turned to Veneer, patting him down. The guard took his shoulder and pulled him in front of him, letting him walk where he could see him.

Patting Veneer’s shoulder, he chuckled, “We really need to get you your own cell, buddy boy. Your sister gives me an ulcer everytime I open her cage. She’s like a dog who’s had everything handed to him, but still darts out the damn door whenever it opens.”

Veneer chuckled nervously, “Yeah…Uh, do you know why my counselor wants to see me? I didn’t do anything bad, did I?” He tried not to panic or ruminate like he used to. Besides, nothing he did was as bad as his sister…Though he honestly still felt as though he was a kid again, being sent to the principal's office, just multiplied by ten and with more consequences.

“I dunno, they don’t tell me anything. She didn’t seem mad, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I think it does.”

Veneer fidgeted his hands on the walk to his counselor’s office, guided by the guard. The guard opened the door and only shut it once Veneer sat across from his counselor. His counselor was a middle-aged blonde Mount Rageous person. She was prim and proper, and despite her strict posture and formalities of speech, she was a caring woman with bright blonde hair and honey amber eyes. Her office space matched the same atmosphere of her person. Everything was neatly arranged. There was a funky splash of red paint on the wall, pictures of cute animals under cheesy motivational quotes. There were also nick nacks scattered across the room. One of them was one of those solar powered bobble heads dancing along to no beat, sitting across from Veneer with a playful catty smile.

Linda greeted him with a warm smile. Veneer was still getting used to having someone like Linda to talk to. She always listened and never interrupted him, like his sister did.

“Dr. Graham…Uh, why am I here?” he asked and the emotions immediately flooded in, trapped within from where he had been dealing with his sister all day. He sunk down into his chair, trying to hide, “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

Linda gasped and reached across the table. She knew that Veneer wasn’t a touchy-feely person, so she touched the desk right in front of him instead. “No, no, no, dear! Actually, I have something exciting to share with you.” She waited for Veneer to slide back up into his chair and sit properly.

“What…is it?” Veneer asked hesitantly. He expectedly leaned forward.

Linda bounced, her own excitement showing as she pulled out a folder from her file cabinet. Everything was so perfectly organized that it took no time for her to find anything. “Since our system runs on good behavior, and you’ve been on your best behavior—might I say even better than those who have been here for years—we decided to give you a huge reward. Now, we don’t just give these away to every patient here!” Her hand was on a document, which she pushed across the desk then flipped it so it faced him.

Before him was a blank tan file cabinet folder.

Veneer’s eyebrow raised. “What’s in that?”

“You won’t know until you open it. Go on!” She pulled her hands back and clapped as Veneer reached for the folder. He picked it up and opened it to the first page. He read it and frowned.

Before he could get words out, Linda cheered and clapped her hands some more, “It’s our Pen Pal Program! We like to give these out to our top most behaved patients here. We were quite surprised to see how well you turned out, and how quick and well mannered you were, so don’t take this reward lightly!” She said and took the document back, flipping through the pages, explaining every single one of them until Veneer’s eyes couldn’t keep up with his brain.

“Wait, wait…So I earned this?” he asked and put his hands on the papers, taking them when Linda let go of them. “What do I do with this? How does it work?”

“It’s easy!” Linda began to explain, “You fill out these forms and I scan and put it into the system. After a bit of Beep Booping on the keyboard, the system finds a pen pal that will be suitable for you! The system is surprisingly 95 percent accurate. When a Pen Pal is assigned to you, you receive their first letter and then write a response to them. After that, you basically send letters back and forth to each other. It’s very old school and the only part that technically plays a role is to keep your documents up to hand and sort out who your Pen Pal is!”

Veneer was distracted by the exaggerated hand gestures Linda made as she talked. He shrugged it off and began to flip through the papers, looking at them carefully to make a decision. Having someone new and different to talk to sounded…different.

“If you fill this out right now while I still have you in my office, I should get everything uploaded and submitted within a couple hours.” Her fingers clacked loudly against the keyboard. Then she looked to Veneer and gave him one of her trusting, and warm smiles. “Is that something you’re interested in, Veneer?”

After looking through the last of the papers, Veneer took a second to think it over in his head. It would be nice to have conversations with someone from the outside world, considering he no longer had his parents. For once, he wouldn’t have a conversation centered around how did you get here? How did you get busted? Best of all, he could have someone to communicate with that wasn’t his sister. That was the icing on the cake. That’s what stood out to him the most.

Placing the papers back down on the desk, he looked to Linda with a determined expression. He held out a hand to her, brows knitting together. “Pen, please.”

“That’s it! YAY!” Linda took out a pen from the pen box that was organized by type of pen, colors, and probably even ink levels. Veneer took the pen and began to read everything meticulously and filled out blanks while he glanced over the paper. Linda was quiet, but played calming and relaxing music that she knew Veneer liked to help him focus.

The paperwork didn’t take long, and he finished it in less than thirty minutes. “Can you look it over and make sure I didn’t forget anything?” he asked, sounding timid as he handed the papers over.

Linda took the papers and flicked through the pages at lightning speed. A smile crossed her lips. “It’s perfect, I’ll get everything ready for you and you should get your Pen Pal within a week or two.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “Woo, look at the time. You have to get back to the cell for quiet time. Your favorite time!” She clasped her hands together. “Veneer, I’m so proud of the growth you’ve gone through these past months. You must have been eager for change before you walked through our doors.”

Veneer blushed at the compliments and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn’t necessarily wrong. “I’m not used to all these compliments…I don’t think I deserve all this praise.”

Linda shook her head and placed her hand back on Veneer’s spot on the desk, giving him a soft and understanding smile. “Just because your sister made you fight for affections, and do terrible things, doesn’t mean you’re less deserving of love. Remember what we talked about, okay?” She leaned back in her chair. “Also, Veneer?”

“Yeah?”

“I received your report for transferring rooms and approved it,” she answered, watching as Veneer became brighter every second. “We just have to wait for a room to become available, alright? You’re next on the list, I promise.” She nodded her head.

Veneer was disappointed knowing that he had to wait a bit longer, but nonetheless was happy that there was at least one person fighting for him. He nodded his head, determined before standing. “Thank you, Dr. Graham. For everything.” He felt appreciative of the woman, who had gone out of his way to help him become a better person.

A different guard stood outside when Veneer came out of the room, and nodded to the male. Walking in front of him again, he walked all the way back to his room. He felt an anxious pit in his stomach, knowing his sister was there waiting for him and already heard her voice hounding him to tell her everything he discussed with Linda, as she always did. And he didn’t want to do that. Sure enough, his sister was waiting for him with her hands on the bars, and once again the guards had to fight simply to keep Velvet within her cell. It was the same thing everyday, and maybe this Pen Pal program would help change things.

Veneer was tired of this life.

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beauty-and-passion · 8 months ago

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TMA - Chapters 61-70: Waking up and choosing violence

Hello everyone and welcome back to another week of ramblings about TMA, its characters and, most importantly, its mysteries. Will I ever find an answer to at least one of them? I doubt it, but I’ll keep putting together as many pieces as possible and one day I’ll prove to everyone that the All Michael Theory is the only valid one. And not just because it’s the silliest.

<< Main Masterlist < Previous post

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MAG 61 - Hard Shoulder

Wow, what a start!

We have a new voice: Alice “Daisy” Tonner joins the cast and proves herself to be one of the most badass women - as well as another character who woke up and chose violence. Huge respect for her (with a sprinkle of fear).

Basira suspected Jon was Gertrude’s killer? You know what? From the police’s perspective, this reasoning makes sense: it doesn’t seem like Gertrude had any relatives and Jon was the only one close to her (at work, at least). And, as Daisy said, he showed a ton of weird behaviors and weird behaviors are the first red flag for a suspect. Also, Jon is the only one who actually gained something from Gertrude’s death and that’s even more suspicious.

Awww, Jon was sad Basira suspected of him! Is he starting to feel something from her? Will he end up asking her phone mumber, then a date, then her hand in marriage?

I also find it very interesting that Jon asked Daisy to tell him something about the supernatural events she dealt with. It’s the first time Jon actively wanted a statement. Even weirder, he didn’t ask for a specific one, but any statement. “Whatever you like”, he told her.

That’s a bit odd, isn’t it? In season 1, Jon said he was getting too involved in the statements, now he’s actively asking for new ones. Is this all related to the “crimson fate”/curse? Is this Big brother’s influence? If I was right by saying that Big Brother can somehow “eat” the statements, that means Jon is unconsciously feeding this supernatural shit?

Speaking of the statement, I was HYPED when I found out that the delivery van was from Breekon & Hopes deliveries. Even better, they were transporting the coffin! Coffin from MAG 2 my beloved! And we also find out what’s inside it!

Once again, I’ll quote Jon: the content was surprising, indeed. I expected some creepy shit to come out but we got a weird staircase going somewhere down. It just made me even more curious about the coffin’s origin and now I want to know more: where does that staircase bring? I hope we will find out in some future statement.

Also, what’s with that weird static/vibration? I thought it was just a background sound added by TMA’s author to create the right atmosphere. But since it was mentioned in the transcripts too, I’m starting to fear it has something to do with the plot. Is it related to Micheal? Or Daisy? Or maybe the tape recorder suddenly broke because yes? No idea, but I love that we’re starting with so many mysteries.

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MAG 62 - First Edition

HOLY SHIT, MARY KEAY.

Yep, that was my reaction when I found out who this “Mary” was. And her voice is adorably creepy. Love it.

But as Jon said, there is a lot here. And by a lot I mean A LOT.

1) Mary and the Institute

The Keays worked for the Institute?! Of course, that’s how they found out about a lot of this weird shit, gosh I feel so stupid for not realizing it sooner!

But Mary also talks about her mother’s “slavish devotion to you and your patron”. Who is the patron? Elias? A member of the Lukas family? Big Brother itself?

2) Same side?!

Mary said she and Gertrude are on the same side “Even if Elias disagrees”. That can mean two things only:

Mary Keay is on Big Brother’s & the Lukas' side, even if Elias thinks she’s not so trustworthy

Mary Keay is on the opposite side, but she doesn’t know her job is actually helping Elias/the Lukas/Big Brother

Which theory is the right one? It depends on what side Gertrude was: if she was against Big Brother it’s one thing, if she was pro Big Brother it’s a different one.

3) Powers that watched over?

It’s very telling that Mary said Dr. Margaret Tellison was “touched by powers like those that watched over our family”. That confirms the Keays are associated with a supernatural shit - or that a supernatural shit watches over them, at least. Which one? Gosh, I hope to find out.

But also: if there was a supernatural shit watching over them, the Keays should worship it, right? So, why did Mary say “I’ve always found a singular devotion far too restrictive”? Maybe she doesn’t just worship the one watching over them, but a lot of different ones?

On a side note: who the fuck is Eric?

4) A Not-Leitner - and actually not a single one was

And here on the left, we can see TMA’s author trolling me with the book that drops bones, by making me think that yes, that’s surely a Leitner. It was also in Leitner’s weird hidden library, of course it’s a Leitner.

And here I find out that actually no, it’s just a fucking pointless book and it was gifted to Leitner by Mary Keay herself.

So not only we find out the Keays and Leitner interacted, but Mary gifted him a book and in MAG 35, among all the 200 Leitners that he could’ve picked from the hidden library, Gerard chose that one: the most useless one. Maybe mommy didn’t teach him well enough how to find them.

But also: Gertrude asked Mary “Who does the book come from?”, which implies Leitner didn’t write it. And Mary herself opened her statement by saying he “collected” them.

That means Leitner never actually wrote these books. He just put a stamp on them. This Norwegian motherfucker simply took books from all the supernatural shits and collected them in his secret library.

What an absolute fucker, he tricked me into thinking he was some kind of evil genius, while he’s just a collector/archivist of sorts. But hey, in this case, I want to know what the fuck happened to him. Where is he, now?

5) The End!

A-ah, here is the name of another supernatural shit! This one is called the End, but who or what it is? Mary Keay says “I could never truly serve it - I just don’t find death that interesting”, so the End is death, I suppose. Could it be the same from “Cheating Death” (MAG 29)? It wasn’t exactly a person, but more of a force that took different people. However, we also found out that these supernatural shits can be concepts too, so it could work.

Gosh, I’m so excited! We are starting to get more names of these little shits!

6) Mary Keay woke up and chose violence

In one statement, she:

insulted the Institute, by calling the Artefact Storage a “collection of mediocrity”

insulted Leitner by calling him “boring”

killed Dr. Tellison because she didn’t use her power for worthy causes

insulted tea (which is probably the most outrageous insult for Brits)

insulted Elias’ lazy ass (“He’s not exactly big on action though, is he.”)

insulted the “fake Leitner book”

Sheesh, this woman literally woke up and decided to kill everything on her way. I stan.

7) A laptop!

Jon found Gertrude’s laptop and a weird key! More mysteries! More weird stuff! What does this key open? What does the laptop hide? No idea, but I’m thrilled!

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MAG 63 - The End of the Tunnel

Ah, so there it is. The Dark, Maxwell Rayner or whatever its name is. The supernatural shit related to darkness, that one.

And… it looks weirdly similar to the figure from MAG 3. Is Not!Sasha an appendix/servant/part of this supernatural shit? Or is it just a coincidence that they look very similar?

Also, is this what happened to Sasha too? Not!Sasha killed her by decapitating her shadow? That’s a very awful death, fine, but it’s also extremely cool. What a sick way to kill, so creative! Love it.

There could be a connection between the Church of Saint James and the People’s Church of the Divine

Host? Maybe, why not? After all, if these things can be worshipped, why not do it in an actual church? Best cover-up. Also, the priest took the camera from Miss Gallagher-Nelson, so it’s very possible he did it to prevent any photo of their supernatural god from going out.

Melanie King is back! I remember her and okay, it’s kinda sad her career is over in the “fake supernatural Youtube department”. Hey, maybe she can find a place here in the Archives! Honestly, it would be interesting if she becomes Jon’s sort-of-protege and he teaches her about his Archivist job. I don’t wish for him to die or for her to become Big Brother’s new food/body/whatever, but I would enjoy a master/protege connection between them anyway.

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MAG 64 - Burial Rites

A statement about a mummy that cannot die? Very cool and I love that it’s a nice variant of the trope: “evil mummy wants to kill you”. Rather than you, this mummy was a lot more interested in killing themselves and you can see their desperation in how they took the knife and tried to stab themselves. I felt some pity for this poor creature who just wanted to end their misery.

Considering we recently talked about the End and remembered MAG 29, I suppose this mummy is one of the immortal humans that defeated death, became death, passed the role to someone else and were left with a very uncomfortable immortality - an immortality that apparently goes beyond having your organs removed and your body being closed in a tomb.

Wow, just imagine how awful and terrifying it would’ve been, to feel your organs being removed and your body trapped in a tomb and yet, you still cannot die. It’s a super cool concept and I love it.

Awww, Jon and Basira are bonding even more. This time, over their mutual inability to be proper spies. They’re getting ready for marriage XD

Aside from that, Jon’s attachment to the statements is starting to be a bit concerning. At first, he simply asked for them, now he literally went to the police station because he wanted more statements. Are we sure this poor guy is okay? I mean, I know he’s not, but this weird “hunger for statements” is way more worrisome than some “simple” paranoia.

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MAG 65 - Binary

Speaking of this statement, there are a few things I really liked.

First of all, I generally enjoy “deep web-ish” digital horror stories that revolve around the contrast between humans and machines. Hence why, the story of a guy who successfully uploaded his own mind into a computer immediately got my attention.

Second, I liked how this concept was handled here. It wasn’t the usual “scary chat with the dead” idea, but we got a whole ass video instead, featuring a guy eating his computer one piece at a time. A video that keeps following you on every device forcing you to look at it in full. Very cool and very creative.

Third, this particular sentence from Mrs. Tessa: “I can’t stop wondering what it must be like to try and have thoughts, messy human thoughts, trapped in the rigid digital processes of a computer.”. I think it perfectly encapsulates this concept, the situation, the video and its distorted way of communicating.

Oh, so Tessa didn’t come to the Institute just to record a statement: it was Jon who “lured” her there, to get the tech help he needed in order to access Gertrude’s laptop. Glad to see this man is still very clever, despite his paranoia.

MY BOY TIM. MY PRECIOUS BOY TIM. He woke up, entered Jon’s office and decided that violence was not enough, so he used extra violence and:

destroyed Jon, by calling him “you pompous idiot” and telling him he should’ve been fired

destroyed Martin, Sasha, Elias and, if there were some worms, he would’ve destroyed them too. Twice.

I mean, not that he hasn’t a valid reason to be frustrated. While everyone (me included) was worried about Jon’s paranoia and stalking tendencies, no one asked him “Hey, Tim, how are you?”. The poor boy was literally left alone to deal with his own shit. Of course he’s frustrated and angry. Of course he wants to leave.

And it’s immensely tragic that Jon understands, he even offers Tim to leave if he says it… but Tim can’t. And Jon can’t fire him either. And I bet everything that it’s all because of Big Brother’s influence. Goddamn Big Brother.

Hence why, I will soon run into this series, grab Tim and throw him out of this place. My boy needs to relax, possibly in a huge beautiful spa, surrounded by people ready to serve him and give him all the comforts he needs.

Tim deserves all of this.

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MAG 66 - Held in Customs

Two lines into this statement and I am perplexed already. What does that mean this is a “Statement of Vincent Yang regarding his claimed imprisonment by Mikaele Salesa”? Now Salesa is kidnapping people too? Wtf?!

But no, the truth is that Mr. Yang basically kidnapped himself by touching something he shouldn’t have touched. And even if Salesa told him “don’t go to sleep”, he did it anyway.

And if all of this wasn’t weird enough, he got rescued by Peter Lukas, who was basically trying to buy that weird wooden crate from Salesa, opened it up and found this poor fucker inside. Best rescue ever.

Jon might be the most paranoid man on the planet, but he’s also the most relatable too. First, he gives the perfect definition of Salesa:

Then he reads my thoughts and anticipates me:

Then he finds out Gertrude was trying to buy a Leitner! And she even managed to get three books:

a special printing of The Seven Lamps of Architecture, by John Ruskin

a copy of The Key of Solomon

a 1910 pamphlet simply entitled A Disappearance

which translated from writer to reader means:

more supernatural architects

a well-known book with a weird twist

a future statement

And yes, Jon is right again about Gertrude: the question isn’t who killed her but why. What did she learn? I thought she just wanted to say “fuck you” to Big Brother and escape from her destiny. But what if she was trying to do something different? I don’t know if she wanted to connect with it/defy it/connect with another supernatural shit, but oh boy, I can’t wait to find out.

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MAG 67 - Burning Desire

Ooooh, a statement about Agnes Montague! Aaaaand we didn’t learn more about her than what we already knew: she’s associated with fire, she probably has some kind of pyrokinetic powers and she’s a supernatural shit - sort of.

This was (probably) confirmed by her words about having destiny. When Mr. Barnabas told her he doesn’t really have one, she replied with “That must be nice”: almost as if she has a very specific destiny to fulfill and can’t escape from it. Maybe because she became the body of some supernatural shit? And since then, she acquired new weird powers, but she also lost the human freedom of making her own destiny and being her own person. Once again, it reminds me of Michael and the importance of identity for some of these creatures.

Okay, time to recap the members of this Cult of the Lightless Flame for future reference:

Diego Molina, the guy who was in the hospital with Gerard (and died in a fire)

Arthur Nolan, Jane Prentiss’ landlord (died in a fire)

another unidentified guy (I bet he also died in a fire)

a short, muscular Asian woman, with a tattoo of a burning guy

Agnes Montague, who is probably the Lightless Flame. Or its embodiment

Also, what did the Asian woman mean, when she said Agnes could’ve been “released” if she did some job? What kind of job it was? Was it related to MAG 8? She felt when the tree was pulled down, after all…

There are still a lot of things to learn about Agnes Montague and this cult, so I can’t wait to know more.

One last thing about the cult: wow, Jon, dramatic much? I use names like “supernatural shit” and “Spider Gang”, you use names like “Cult of the Lightless Flame”. If I were you, I would’ve called these people “Fire Gang” or something similar. But hey, maybe that’s why I’m not the protagonist of this story XD

Speaking of Jon… he wants to visit the tunnels again. Sigh. Life still has so much to offer, Jon. Why trying so hard to get killed? If even Elias “Suspicious” Bouchard is telling you to chill, then you know something’s wrong.

But hey, I suppose Jon should do some stupid shit to end this second season. And what better way to end it, if not by waking up whatever terror is hidden in those tunnels?

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MAG 68 - The Tale of a Field Hospital

I said before that it’s a shame most of these statements “have the same voice”, so I was pleasantly surprised by the language used here. Mr. Russo uses a very elegant, poetic way of speaking, especially at the beginning: it conveys the image of an artist very well and it helps differentiate him from other people.

Here we are, back with John Amherst after seeing him dying/not dying in MAG 36. And guess what, he’s a supernatural shit as well. Everyone is a supernatural shit in this world.

In this case, he’s probably The Disease or something similar. I’ll call him the Disease, until I will find out what is his shit’s actual name.

While speaking of the powers, it looks like he gets infected all the time, dies and comes back to life. But hey, look at the bright side: at least he doesn’t feel miserable about it. On the contrary, he seems pretty joyful and he even jokes about being “such a restless man”. Glad to see he takes death so funnily. I wonder what the End thinks of this little fucker.

Was this book a Leitner? I don’t know, it seems like one. After all, the book is about the supernatural shit, so… maybe? I’m not sure :/ I hope we will find a list of all the Leitners or I’ll have to tackle the Norwegian motherfucker and ask directly to him.

Wow, Jon didn’t wait two seconds: as soon as he got the key to the tunnel, he immediately went down and got lost. Right after Elias told him to not do too many secret explorations and put himself in danger.

Look, Jon, look what you’re making me do: agreeing with Elias.

Luckily, Not!Sasha was lurking around like the creepy imposter it is and it seemed like Jon noticed something weird about her. Something small, sure, but still something. Will he find out by the end of season two?

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MAG 69 - Thought for the day

So we’re finally meeting, spider lady.

It took her a long time to appear but hey, I suppose that since she’s (probably) the leader of the Spider Gang, she was waiting for the right time to make her entrance.

For what I saw in this statement, she looks both fine and scary as fuck and, just like every woman in this series likes to do, she wakes up and chooses violence. In this case, violence with a side dish of “projectors” doing some magical weird circle.

Uhm… mood, I suppose?

The relationship between Jon and Tim truly went downhill, didn’t it? And I like how it’s addressed because:

I’m not the one who realizes it’s because of Jon’s paranoia - Jon himself knows it. He literally told Martin that working is all they can do together now. He proves he’s still a clever, well-written character.

Even if we feel sad and frustrated by this situation, we can also understand why Jon became so paranoid. And it’s because the story until now makes sense, the events have a logical progression and the development isn’t rushed. Everything happened for a reason and there was always a logical explanation behind it.

Even if we as readers feel like Jon did a lot of stupid shit, deep down we know we would’ve probably done the same, if we were in his same place.

About the last point, it can also apply to Jon’s growing curiosity. Let’s not fool ourselves: we’re also very curious to know what’s hidden in those tunnels. We’re scared to find out, just like him. We know that, last time Jon went down there, some supernatural shit (which I suppose is not Michael?) told him to go away. He knows that too.

But hey, I suppose there’s a reason why curiosity is one of mankind’s strongest aspects. We are all curious and we all would do stupid shit just to satisfy it.

And if some of us maybe won’t go down these scary tunnels, we can still understand Jon, when he says:

“I should just leave it. They’re right. But I can’t not know.”

I just hope this man won’t end up dying just to satisfy his need to know.

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MAG 70 - The Book of the Dead

Once again, we have a concept already explored in other works. But, again, I love how it’s handled here: some creative choices are wonderful and I need to give them the attention they deserve.

First of all, how the book looks very old at the start and gets progressively “newer” over the centuries. It gives it more “personality”, you know? And it’s more fitting for the concept of a book that talks about the death of several people throughout history.

Second, it’s a very specific book, that illustrates violent deaths only. This makes it more convincing too, because not everyone in the world dies of violent death.

Third, I adore the idea that death changes according to your own choices. The exact moment Mr. Murray decided not to visit Lancashire, his death changed. Every time he made a new decision, his death changed. And it drew closer too, which contributes to the sense of dread and inevitability typical of death.

And speaking of the inevitability of death, I like how it portrays it here. Death is inevitable, not because “your fate is predetermined and you cannot escape from it”: you can actually change it. But death will still be there. Even if there is no predetermined destiny, death is still inescapable. Great way to convey this concept, loved it so much.

I also found particularly fascinating how, after Mr Murray’s death, there were white pages. Why? Is it because he didn’t pass the book to someone else? Is it because he tried to destroy it? Where is this book now? Are the pages still white?

Yes, Jon, I know. I also thought this Norwegian motherfucker called Jurgen Leitner was the author of these books and yes, I also thought he sold his soul/talked to Big Brother and gained some magical creepy powers. But nope, Leitner is just a guy who took all these books and put them together because… I don’t know, I suppose he woke up one day and said “violence is not enough, I want to see the world burn”. This absolute fucker.

And speaking of more books, it looks like we lost Gertrude’s copy of The Key of Salomon. I suppose she didn’t want to see the world burn, but just this book. But why? Uuuurgh, there are so many juicy mysteries and still so few answers!

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In conclusion

I suppose the only real answer we got here is that Leitner is an even bigger imposter than Not!Sasha, because he tricked us into believing he was some kind of genius/powerful entity, while he’s actually just a collector. He’s still a creepy collector and it’s thanks to him we know about these books, but still. Not cool pretending to be more than you are, man. Not cool.

We also learned more about the End (and yes, I suppose The Book of Dead is theirs) and I finally met the spider lady. These little supernatural shits are introducing themselves one by one and I’m thrilled to see more of them, but I’m also asking myself: how will Mr. Sims (TMA’s author) handle all of these characters? Usually, the more characters you have, the more difficult is to handle them all and give each of them a distinct personality/characterization. I hope he has clear plans, because I have high expectations and want to see what his writing choices will be.

Gosh, next week season 2 will end and oh boy, am I scared. Jon is still paranoid, the relationships are all over the place, Not!Sasha is still an imposter and there is a suspicious lack of Michaels. Where are they? Will my Best Boyo come back from the war (he didn’t want to take part in)? Will everyone keep waking up and choosing violence? We will find out next week, I suppose.

>> Next post

(How about a coffee? ☕)

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