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themculibrary · 4 years ago

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Stucky + Clintasha Pairings Masterlist

Links Last Checked: September 6th, 2024

Broken Dicks and Bloody Noses (ao3) - nerakrose M, 13k

Summary: Steve and Bucky meet in the ER, and then keep meeting in the ER because they are both knuckleheads who keep getting beaten up by other people.

Cafe Solace (ao3) - genrerebel T, 45k

Summary: On the run from Nat's unwanted matchmaking, Steve stumbles upon a cafe and meets Bucky Barnes, aka Hot Guy.

Caffeine and Leather (ao3) - peachesandass N/R,

Summary: He's wearing a white v-neck (that goes the perfect amount of low), a black leather jacket that looks really freaking soft, the tightest leather pants he has ever seen, and studded combat boots. The guy's long, unwashed hair and scruff really ties the 'hot and homeless' look together. Steve wishes he could pull something like that off.

Critical Feline Mass (ao3) - Kryptaria, zooeyscigar T, 39k

Summary: Adjusting to civilian life is hard for any military veteran — especially for one ex-sniper with a cybernetic arm, a classic Harley, and friends who keep trying to ‘help.’ When Sam Wilson at the VA sends Sergeant Barnes to rent a room from the hottest guy in the DC area, Bucky thinks maybe civilian life is worth it after all. And then he finds out Captain Rogers is everything Bucky’s not: a real hero, a Medal of Honor recipient, and an all-around nice guy. Bucky doesn’t have a chance in hell with him.

Sam was a huge help to Steve Rogers when he left the military. In the spirit of ‘pay it forward,’ Steve decides to rent out his basement room to a vet in need. But when Sergeant Barnes shows up on his doorstep, he knows he’s in for a world of trouble. Barnes is exactly what Steve never knew he wanted, from his bedroom eyes to his wicked innuendos. And he’s Steve’s tenant.

A love story in twelve chapters, including two Harley-Davidsons, a guardian angel, multiple snipers, the only woman who can scare them into behaving themselves, spontaneous kittens, and one attacking sheep.

Earth's Mightiest Heroes: The Avengers and Hawkguy (ao3) - owlwithafringe G, 7k

Summary: Clint was often the unseen Avenger, the last one to be noticed, the last one to be listed in an article or on the news, but he really didn't mind. He was proud of what he did and as long as he was acknowledged for his achievements then in his eyes, everything was fine.

So when he was reading an article about the Avengers, it was understandable when he threw it away from him in disgust, like it had personally offended him, which by the way, it had.

Getting the Super-Secret Boyband Back Together (ao3) - arsenicarcher (Arsenic) E, 44k

Summary: Nobody splits up Natasha's family. Not even the people in that family. Yeah, she's having none of this.

It Took A Year (ao3) - 74days T, 4k

Summary: Bucky watches the hot blond guy on his run every day. And he's quite happy to watch from afar. He's not pining. He's NOT.

i was found and now i don't roam these streets (ao3) - hipsterchrist M, 15k

Summary: They’ve decided to start producing Bucky Bears again, now that he’s all shiny and redeemed and fighting for good on this big Avengers misfits team. "He has a little shiny gray arm," Bucky says, wiggling the stuffed arm in question, one of the tweaks made in the new model. It takes Steve a second to realize that Bucky’s got a small smile on his face, actually looks a little bit proud around the eyes.

Or, Bucky relearns himself and how to be on a team, the rest of the Avengers try to get answers, and everyone watches too much Criminal Minds.

Just Me, You, and These Shitty Cigarettes (ao3) - dabblingwithwords E, 39k

Summary: Steve Rogers is pretty sure Natasha's new roommate is trying to kill him. Which he wouldn't mind considering he's been helplessly in love with him since they were thirteen.

Operation Star-Spangled Double(s) (ao3) - oatrevolution T, 14k

Summary: “Y’know, there are technically three of us,” Clint pointed out. “Shouldn’t it be Operation Star-Spangled Doubles?”

“Now you’re just nitpicking,” Tony said. He tacked a hasty (s) to the end of DOUBLE.

“Also, I’m pretty sure that’s permanent marker,” Clint added.

“Damn it!” Tony shouted.

Or, in the Parlance of the Internet, a Most Useful and Modern Device, a List:

Step 1: Impersonate Captain America. Step 2: ??? Step 3: Profit.

Rock and Roll Chose Me (ao3) - Kellyscams M, 71k

Summary: In which skinny!Steve--cosplaying, comic reading, anime loving, all around geek--is studying for his Masters in Art at Pratt university and happens to bump into Clint Barton, an old friend of his who's now roommates with Bucky Barnes, the lead singer of a pretty kick ass punk rock cover band, the Winter Soldiers. Thing is, neither Steve nor Bucky are what they seem.

Steve is vivacious, outspoken, and what he lacks in size he most definitely makes up for in personality. He's not really interested in finding anyone serious, but knows what it means to make a commitment work. Bucky, sporting tattoos and piercings and owns the fucking stage like it's nobody's business, is goofy and dorky, shy and bashful, with a habit of falling in love yet has a horrible fear of commitment; go figure.

So what does happens when vivacious geek meets shy punk rocker? The first answer is a lot of sex. The second answer...

Soft Cell (ao3) - Jibbly E, 8k

Summary: Nick went over the papers on the clipboard and walked over to Steve. "It says that there was a bond bite found on his shoulder when they cleaned him up. Is it yours?"

Steve felt all the air in his lungs leave him. "No, it's not. "

sorry about the blood in your mouth (ao3) - annelesbonny N/R, 13k

Summary: Adventures in babysitting. Or, Natasha says it isn't babysitting, but Clint's not convinced that they haven't somehow adopted an amnesiac super assassin, but he's going with it.

The one where Clint Barton believes in waffles and Bucky Barnes.

Targeting (ao3) - queenmab_scherzo E, 149k

Summary: Steve and Bucky end up playing for rival college football teams.

The Way to an Asshole's Heart (ao3) - AvoidingAverage M, 19k

Summary: There are three things Bucky Barnes knows are true: war is hell, sugar is sweet, and Steve Rogers is an asshole.

When Bucky Barnes returns from war broken, jaded, and missing an arm, he doesn’t expect to find a new home in the back of his very own food truck. He finds a kickass partner in Natasha Romanov that pairs nicely with her human disaster of a boyfriend, Clint Barton. Life is looking up.

Until he meets Steve Rogers.

OR, the Food Truck Hatemance that Nobody Asked For But I Definitely Wrote

Thirty-Eight Days and Counting (ao3) - thecommodore_squid (orphan_account) M, 40k

Summary: It didn’t escape him that Steve shared his assumed last name. “Are you gonna be my cousin?” Bucky asked dully.

Steve frowned. “Husband, actually,” he said easily, holding up his left hand to show a typical golden band.

Bucky scowled and closed the door.

AKA An AU in which Bucky is put in the witness protection program and Steve is the agent hired to protect him/pretend to be his husband.

To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most Of All (ao3) - perfect_plan M, 118k

Summary: Steve is a shy comic book artist and meets his new neighbour, Bucky Barnes.

In which there are awkward longings, meddling best friends, comic conventions, heartache, lemons, video games, dorkiness, dancing and two cute boys.

you got hell to pay but you already sold your soul (ao3) - Tator T, 21k

Summary: “I, uh, I had a mate--a soulmate,” he muttered quietly, and suddenly the room fell silent. No one seemed to even take an inhale after his little confession. “It’s obviously been a long time since then. It was back before the- back then.” He felt a burning behind his fifth rib, and tried not to remember the loving feeling of fire that came with it. (He could still remember how to drown. But the burning from the ice was never quite the same.)

or the one where Steve had a soulmate and then didn't but kinda always did

#themculibrary #steve rogers #bucky barnes #clint barton #natasha romanoff #stucky #clintasha #stucky masterlist #clintasha masterlist #f/m #masterlists

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highsviolets · 4 years ago

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breathless: lifeguard!obi-wan x reader

summary: a self-described “90s!au Summer lifeguard job with obi and he saves you from drowning��

word count: no clue. once again this was written on my notes app so pls excuse typos!

rating: pg-13 for language, themes, kissing

A/N: fulfilling a prompt request for @afogocado, who sent me the following photo and summary last night for inspo. gosh this was absurdly fun. enjoy, loves -xx.

breathless, a fic by corellians-only

“Sorry about your cigarette,” you mumble, crossing your arms to ward off the chill. your eyes focus on a triad of water droplets suspended on his left bicep even as he takes another step closer, vaporizing the gap between you.

“ ‘s not a problem,” he returns with a half-grin. It makes you weak. It shouldn’t. But it does. A new feeling is rapidly bubbling up to replace the onslaught of adrenaline. Effervescent heat starts fermenting in your core — he runs a hand through shaggy hair, now limp and loose around his face — he reaches around you — his palm skates over your bare arm — he’s looking at you perplexed, repeating his question more insistently now.

“would you like one? A cigarette?”

your brain — your eyes, really — toggles between his azure eyes and the pack of Marlboro’s now secure, comfortable, in his palm. His fingers, still damp judging by the condition of the cardboard, are extended towards you, a link, a bridge — an offering? — in that charged space between you and him. His eyes drag themselves from the cigarette curled in his fingers ((what would it feel like to have his fingers curled around your wrist, around your—)) to your face in time to catch your nod.

He watches you. Watches you pluck the white stick from his fingers. Watches you place it to your lips. Watches you lean forward, this time foisting yourself into his space, that forbidden no-man’s-land. Watches you watch him — he’s fumbling with the lighter, more awkward now that he’s not in the water — he’s got it now, the flame appearing with a muted click, and he’s raising the fire to your lips ((you haphazardly wish he would set you on fire in a different way)) — you inhale and close your eyes as the heady scent fills you.

Reluctantly you take a step back, exhaling the smoke and turning your head as you do so to avoid his face. The wind changes, though — what’s that they say about the best-laid plans? — and it’s thrown back into him and he splutters and coughs, pausing his own efforts. your jaw drops. Aw, hell.

“This just doesn’t seem to be my day, does it?” The remark, and your self-deprecating smile, brings a hitherto unseen light to his eyes. Something more than interest, more than mischievousness. maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither. his rejoinder is too quick for you to angst over it for more than a moment.

“why would you say that?” the cigarette twirls in his hand, like that kid who sits behind you in geometry does with his pencil when he’s bored. There’s no accusation dancing at the edge of his tone.

you shrug. Squint as the sun starts to make an appearance again. “Well, I nearly drowned, for starters” you drawl. His eyes, those ungodly aquamarine orbs, are boring into you, so you take another drag of your cigarette. Christ. It’s been a while.

“Near-drowning is a pretty low threshold for a shitty day.” The upwards lilt of his voice tells you he’s just messing around, so you roll your eyes. A thought seizes you.

“Well, I do you have you to thank for the ‘nearly’ part, don’t I?” you muse, matching his airy, unaffected tone. It’s your turn to examine him, now, and you rake your eyes over his form, patches of corded muscle still wet, glistening in the sun.

from the corner of eye you see him bite his lip. another impulse screams at you and you listen. You reach out and tug the lighter from his grasp — his hand clutches at the now-phantom object, reaching at nothingness — you take his other hand, the one with the Marlboro, and raise it to his lips — you murmur a few words that cause his eyebrows to shoot up in gentle surprise.

“Will you permit me?”

he nods ((once, twice, rapidly, easily)) and maybe you’re a fool but it seems like his breath hitches and his eyes flicker down to your lips when you light his cigarette.

He nods again, this time in thanks. He tosses the pack onto the table, and the lighter joins it quickly thereafter. it’s the least you could do, you say, as though you did this sort thing — share cigarettes with attractive half clothed life guards — all the time. Maybe you did, in another life. He wouldn’t know.

“I’m Ben.”

“Hi.”

there’s a silence. a few heart beats? half-dozen light years? You’ll never know. He runs his hand through his long hair again ((not quite to his collarbone, but shit, it’s better looking than yours)) and you says something that gives rise to a smirk playing across his diamond-cut features.

“I already know who you are.” Another long drag. A sidelong glance. Strains of The Cranberries waft over from over the iron fence. He shrugs. Another drag, maybe two. “I like the Indigo Girls better.” Another pause. “But Rites of Passage was better than Swamp Ophelia.”

“1200 Curfews is the best of both.” your eyes narrow. “Don’t avoid the topic, Ben. How’d you know who I was?”

A toss and vigorous stamp of your foot and your cigarette joins his, dead in the dirt.

He laughs and the heat in your stomach is back ((did it ever go away)) and it’s creeping through your rib cage straight to your heart and it’s climbing through you and creeping to your fingertips and trickling down to everywhere, everywhere and you grasp onto the table behind you with urgency and it’s all you can do stand upright, damnit and the rickety table sways under the sudden stress.

Hands — strong, sweet ((can hands be sweet)) immediately reach out to steady you, clutching your forearms, holding you in place — pinning you down, ((god you wish)) — thumbs caress your muscled shoulders in small circles — his head is bent, obscuring his vision — trying to get a better look at you — you nod, yes you’re okay, if you really knew me you’d know I was a klutz — he nods — smirks — he already knew that, knew you.

“You’ve been at the pool nearly every day this summer.”

once more he reaches around you and this time, Ben emerges with a towel. He wraps it around you gently, authoritatively, no doubt having noticed the goosebumps on your sensitive flesh. a hand tugs at the edges of the cotton cloth near your neck, dragging it back from slipping off completely. It lingers. He meets your eyes for the first time in what feels like years. You can breathe again now.

“Even if your head’s been buried in books, your friends, they’re still talking about you. Trying to get your attention.” He cants his head. “So how’s The End of History? Worth the hype?” Hands are near, around you, always. Chlorine and salt and sweat and cigarettes envelop you both, heavy, but not cloying.

“You know Fukuyama?” he simply looks at you and nods. “Well, he makes an interesting argument, but I don’t think he adequately rejects Huntington’s thesis.”

Ben smiles, a brilliant, radiant act that could act as your life force for days, you’re sure of it, you would do anything to make sure he smiled like this the rest of his life, he’s so beautiful. “Wise words from a wise woman.”

A man — boy? — yells over the fence — hey, kenobi! — that politics and diplomacy never won over any girls, tell her about the time in the Sheddu Maad neighborhood — he ducks his head — tells Anakin to shove off, mate, leave it alone.

You laugh at his embarrassment, only detectable because you’ve been analyzing him, only because he seems to make sense to you the way no one else does, only because he saved your life, how the hell would you know?

A hand scratches the back of his neck. “You wanna get out of here?” Ben ignores the jibing of his friend and speaks quietly, assuredly, like he knows you’ll say yes.

The fire surges in you again and you wonder what it would be like for that voice to tell you to hold still and you haven’t even finished giving form and sound to your assent when he’s wresting the towel off of your shoulders and pulling the baggy white lifeguarding t shirt over your head and his muscles are bunching with the effort ((and for your benefit, you suspect)).

The towel gets draped gracefully over a lightly tanned arm, the cigarettes and lighter and keys tossed into the pocket of his now-dry swim trunks, your book is secured in the crook of an elbow.

Ben grabs your hand and starts leading you to his car with an errant grin ((shit, he’s strong)). It’s a make and model you don’t recognize. He makes quick work of the necessities, tossing notebooks and periodicals and a set of brass knuckles into the backseat. the towel and your book join the island of misfits, but he’s more careful about those things. he’s like you. He doesn’t do this often. More interested in words and cigarettes than Alicia Silverstone’s clothes in Clueless.

He doesn’t let go of your hand. The nail of his thumb is tracing patterns in your palm and it’s achingly tender and the faintest bit teasing and just enough to grip his hand a little harder than necessary and you ponder how you can exact revenge for his antics.

Rummaging complete, he turns to face you. He’s serious. You can see it in his eyes — they’ve changed — they’re a more delicate shade of blue now, more like glinting sapphire than cerulean — Ben turns so you’re in between him and the car. His hair, too, has changed color, more copper-toned with flecks of gold. You like it better like that, and you tell him so.

“one thing left.”

“What’s that?” you hope you don’t sound breathless. Or maybe you do, and you decide you don’t care. He’s probably going to kiss you anyway. What’s the sense in not telling him you want him to, with all the ladylike weapons you have in your arsenal? He’s nervous now. His thumb has stilled. Ben’s eyes are the color of the sea before a storm, a rippling kaleidoscope of blues and half-greens.

still, he smiles, and it reaches those tempestuous eyes, crinkling and compressing their thunder and lighting around the edges.

a kiss imprinted on your knuckles — his mouth against you — a tongue grazes over your skin, tasting for the first time — you stare unabashedly — the heat has reached your cheeks now, and you don’t even care — his thumb replaces his mouth now, drifting over you the peaks and valleys of your hand.

“May you permit me?” He murmurs gingerly, echoing your previous words with obstinate formality.

and you, too, mimic him, simply nodding. Your hands drop as he leans forward and —

Oh.

the pressure of his lips on yours is feather-light. It’s seeking. Reassuring. Gentle. Exploratory.

But you do not want gentle. You are too far gone for that.

Your tongue insistently licks the seam of his lips and his gasp of surprise gains you entrance to his mouth — he retaliates with a gentle nip on your lower lip — hands move — now on his stubbly cheeks, now threading through his hair — tugging, grasping for purchase for your own stability as much as for pleasure.

he moans again when your fingers rake his scalp and his hands go to your hips, skimming under his oversized t-shirt and gripping your waist, holding you in place even as your legs seem to fall open of their own accord, at this juncture when instinct and pleasure formulate a compound, a melange, a hydrogen bond with irrationally high ionization energy.

Ben’s tongue delves into your mouth ((dominance)) and his chest brushes against yours and he tips his head to get a better angle while his left hand abandons its station on your hip and traverses bare skin, hiking upwards. a mewl erupts from the back of your throat.

he’s migrated to kissing — biting, really — your neck — your head has fallen back against the warm metal of the car — eyes fluttered shut — hands in his hair, scraping at his bare back — fuck, he’s good — it’s not enough —

a car horn startles the both of you. he lifts his head, blinking as though he’s been rudely jolted awake from an REM state. Ben eventually straightens and you follow suit, gathering yourself off the car and twiddling with the edges of your braid.

It’s you who laughs first ((laughing with swollen lips)) and you’re so glad you do. Ben smiles again, that jaw-dropping display of warmth and aliveness it makes your heart skip a ((non-proverbial)) beat. that’s happened so many times in the last few minutes you can’t believe you have yet to pass out.

He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “ready to get out of here?” a kiss to your cheek. “for real this time?” another to your nose. His eyelashes brush up against your skin — left breathless at the simple intimacy.

you beam up at him. “yes, Ben. I’m ready.”

Fin.

#obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan imagine #obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #cristina writes #afogocado #prompt request #cg's og's #never did i ever think i would write this #BUT HERE WE ARE #usernobie

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honeydots · 5 years ago

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200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

(ao3 link)

“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit.

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die.

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had.

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule.

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable.

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?”

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant.

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns.

But, god, of all the coworkers.

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left, “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’”

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else.

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.”

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant.

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too.

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.”

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen.

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind.

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.”

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.”

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance.

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly.

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.”

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around.

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped.

“Quick reply there, buddy.”

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things?

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.”

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.”

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.”

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.”

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime.

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.”

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand.

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass.

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.”

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—”

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.”

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of.

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something.

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto.

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck.

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.”

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.”

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance.

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was.

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched.

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals.

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated.

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.”

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie.

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.”

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up.

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?”

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!”

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.”

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned.

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence.

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now.

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto.

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.”

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.”

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point.

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too.

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.”

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?”

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.”

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.”

“This is not—”

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.”

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad.

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care.

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself.

“What the eff, man!”

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier.

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger.

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?”

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.”

“Sweet,” Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy.

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed.

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.”

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy?

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing.

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?”

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.”

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now.

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing.

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead.

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced.

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.”

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?”

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?”

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living.

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?”

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job.

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone.

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add.

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically.

“Go on, dude,” he smirked.

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach.

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.”

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant.

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him.

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself. At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers.

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it.

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?”

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.”

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again.

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.”

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.”

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now.

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed.

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand.

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro.

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.”

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?”

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible.

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time.

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.”

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.”

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.”

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record.

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more.

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use.

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t.

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.”

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense.

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.”

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable.

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.”

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.”

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back.

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.”

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep.

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.”

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop.

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet.

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before.

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind.

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way.

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today.

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing?

Perhaps.

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later.

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home.

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through.

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times.

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way.

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got.

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do.

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises.

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category.

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything.

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad.

Not so bad at all.

#it is shuake btw!#thank u for requesting this sorry i took ages #i hope you’ll enjoy it...... and sorry if youve been avoiding spoilers!!!#i know the games out but i also know not everyone has seen all the Content #but i will leave it at that #also its 6k cause i just dont know how to stop talking #my fics #my p5 fics #ask #dorky-arsene

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

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Ok so everyone and their mama is being resurrected on Krakoa and so many people in marvel have gone through the revolving door that is death. So please tell me just one little thing. Where is Irene Adler? Is she still dead? If not, then why is she only just now being brought back? Why is one of the most iconic imo queer couples still suffering? #GiveMystiqueHerWife #LetMyWLWBeHappy #BringDestinyBack

She is still dead, but she hasn’t been forgotten - this is actually a long-running subplot Marvel laid down, though I’m with you in wanting them to Get To It already. My guess is we’ll start to see more building towards this particular plotline once X of Swords is done, though it won’t actually be the NEXT major storyline. Just a hunch, but my bet is the next focal storyline the X-books concentrate on after X of Swords wraps up is the conflict brewing with the Children of the Vault, after Darwin, Laura and Synch got taken prisoner by them in one of the earlier issues of the core X-Men title.

Alternatively, the next major focus is going to be on what’s brewing under the surface with Vulcan (though its also possible these are going to be one and the same. Gabe’s stories have always been linked with Darwin’s more than anyone else, and given that he’s front and central to whatever’s front and central with whatever’s coming with the CotV, it wouldn’t surprise me if our next face to face with Gabe’s ‘dark side’ ties into that same story. Ugh, Gabe going all Emperor Vulcan again and teaming up with the Children of the Vault....now there’s a scary thought. But dammit, just let Gabe be good, I’m so tired of this ‘there’s something just innately dark and evil inside of him’ crap, bleh. BUT I DIGRESS).

But anyway, the thing with Destiny is actually an ongoing subplot. Back in Powers of X, it was explicitly ‘decided’ by Moira, Xavier and Magneto that they were actively going to try and keep any precogs from being resurrected on Krakoa, including - and ESPECIALLY Irene - because basically, they’re afraid of the precogs, and the fact that there’s no hiding from them Xavier’s big secret.....for all his big talk, he doesn’t actually know what the HELL he’s doing. The thing they’re hiding from everyone else is that they actually already TRIED the Great Krakoa experiment at least once before, or at least to some degree, though we do know they’ve done at least some things differently this time around.

But that was the future shown in Powers of X, where Moira ended up living 1000 years into the future before dying and resetting the timeline....and coupled with the fact that the three of them believe that they’re now on the LAST of Moira’s predicted eleven lifetimes, this is their last chance to ‘get it right’ so to speak, and to find a way forward that allows the mutant race to survive and flourish past any of the endpoints Moira’s previous lives and foreknowledge have shown....

Basically, the fear seems to be that if everyone else on Krakoa knew this background for how they came up with all of this and the futures they’re trying to avoid, as well as the fact that quite simply, they do not know if the course they’ve charted this time is going to be any more capable of circumventing the doom they keep butting up against lifetime after lifetime....this would undermine all faith in them and what they’re doing, and fracture the tenuous alliances that so far have everyone from the X-Men to Apocalypse and Sinister and Selene all working side by side.

They ‘built’ modern Krakoa according to blueprints gleaned from actual knowledge of the future.....but they’re afraid of competing blueprints getting in the way of the road they’ve taken everyone down and derailing their own plan of action. Especially if everyone else were to find out that for all their confidence, they can’t say with certainty the road this time around is going to actually lead where they’re trying to go....and that in fact, they actually have a track record of a good half a dozen previous attempts where they got it disastrously wrong.

So even though Xavier explicitly promised Raven that he would resurrect Irene in exchange for her cooperation and her place on the Quiet Council.....he, Magnus and Moira have been shown meeting in secret to say that they are actually deadset against that happening. But Raven is no fool of course, and she’s suspected from the start that Xavier’s just playing her, and he has no intention of ever resurrecting Irene. (I mean, she was married to the man once, after all, as blergh as that Bendis-bite was. I may think it made for a spectacularly shitty and pointless story, but just saying, few people know how much shit Xavier is full of better than Mystique does).

So we’ve been treated to scenes of Raven brooding deep in her underground Krakoan lair over a glance of wine and an angsty look at Irene’s old mask, vowing “I’ll get you yet, Xavier, and your little dog too,” because idk, why pass up a good Wicked Witch of the West allusion when its right there. Mystique works hard for her Brand, let her enjoy it.

She definitely knows the game that’s afoot, and she has no intention of letting Xavier get away with it. So she’s very clearly scheming on how to circumvent him and get the Five to resurrect Irene without Xavier’s help....but that’s easier said than done. She either needs leverage to force his hand, while still probably not knowing for sure WHY he’s stalling or trying to avoid bringing back Irene, and thus having no way to judge exactly HOW deadset against it he is, and thus how great of leverage she’d actually need to pull that off...or else, she needs a telepath she can trust (or y’know, trust that she has them securely in her pocket) but who also is strong enough to take Xavier’s place in the resurrection/brain download process....as well as needing access to the Cerebro archives where the back-ups of everyone’s consciousnesses are stored.

(Incidentally, part of how Xavier’s been stalling here is he’s claimed once or twice that he only has back-ups stored of mutant consciousnesses from the point when he started actually preserving them, and Irene died BEFORE he started doing this so he just doesn’t have her in Cerebro, but this is pretty blatantly a lie. He brought back Petra and Sway, after all, and they very definitively died LONG before David killed Irene on Muir Island back in the day).

But yeah, I’m as impatient as anyone to see Irene back in action in all her chaotic cryptic glory, and for Raven/Irene to finally fucking rise the way they deserve. And oh holy hell is Raven’s wrath going to be an absofuckinglutely beautiful thing once she finally has her proof that Xavier - her ex-husband, lol, oh X-Men soap opera tangles - has been lying and scheming to keep her wife dead all this time. Like she’s literally said the words “I will burn Krakoa to the ground,” and I mean, its Raven. When she talks about razing Rome to ashes, she’s not joking. The woman does not bluff. She lies, she deceives, she steals, but she never ever fucking bluffs. There’s a big storm coming here and this particular one’s name is Hurricane Raven, not Ororo Munroe. I want it, and I want it nooooooooooow, lol, but I can’t actually claim that this has been overlooked by Marvel rather than just allotted a time table that isn’t to my liking because -

OH I DON’T KNOW ITS NOT LIKE WE HAVEN’T ALREADY BEEN WAITING FOR THE RETURN OF IRENE ADLER FOR 84 BAJILLION FUCKING YEARS ALREADY, LIKE LOGAN HAS LITERALLY GONE TO HELL AND BACK A DOZEN TIMES SINCE IRENE FIRST EXITED PURSUED BY BEAR AND JEAN’S ASCENDED AND DE-PHOENIXED SO MANY TIMES DEATH HAS BASICALLY HANDED HER A PUNCH CARD THAT’S REDEEMABLE FOR ONE FREE RESURRECTION AFTER ITS ALL FULL AND C’MOOOOOOON.

I mean.

WILDSIDE is back. After dying in Neverland in Tieri’s Weapon X run, RICHARD FREAKING GILL was brought back to life before IRENE FUCKING ADLER, I would simply like to express my undying HOOOOOOWWWWW??? to that.

BUT.

DIGRESS.

Ahem. Sorry, I just have very strong opinions on the subject of Irene, lololol. And well, everything. I probably have strong opinions on kumquats and I can’t actually recall at the moment if I’ve ever even eaten one or if I’m just particularly fond of that word and the saying of it. Look, you get what I mean.

Anyway, yeah. We’re getting Irene back eventually. There’s absolutely no way we’re not at this point. Even my cynicism can’t pretend otherwise. They haven’t just left Chekhov’s gun locked and loaded sitting on the mantlepiece here, they commissioned an entire arsenal of Chekhov’s guns and renamed them Irene Adler’s guns in her honor and left them all gift-wrapped on the front porch. Its coming. Its just not. Here YET. (Cut to me being a five year old on a long car ride are we there yet are we there yet are we there yet how bout now - )

So yeah. That’s the scoop, the skinny, the shit(ake mushroom) on this particular subject.

Incidentally, on a related note, I am still of the opinion that pretty much all of Powers of X was one giant red herring, and the real direction all of this is building towards, with Moira, with the Five and the resurrection protocols.......ultimately, I think its all really been about IRENE’S machinations from the start, and Moira and Charles have actually been marching to the beat of HER drum ever since the very first time Irene and Moira encountered each other way back in Moira’s fourth lifetime.

Basically, I think it allllllllll really comes back to the fact that....

Irene Adler is a beautiful fucking liar who lies as only Raven Darkholme’s One True Love possibly can, and she played Moira like a fiddle from Day Fucking ONE.

Full theory on that can be found here:

https://bigskydreaming.tumblr.com/post/188290623176/so-house-of-x-2plot-hole-or-lie-when-destiny

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paulwalltran · 4 years ago

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Dungeons and Dragons Loneliness

Another interview with lofi music. Today was a pretty shitty day, alot on my mind. Here to unload.

Today’s mood: Fuck it all...

It’s a mad addiction, a horrendous one. It’s all I think about, it’s all I want to talk about. Or almost anything fantasy related. I’ve recently gotten a little closer with one of my co workers. Delerner Banks, everyone calls him Del. He’s always in the tunnel, and always brings warhammer books to read and do work (whatever it is he’s working on.) We talk about fantasy related things all the time, and sometimes we bounce ideas off each other, feeling out our thoughts of settings and lore. Talking to him about some fantasy before leaving work made me feel alot better. The loneliness inside has been eating at me.

I know it’s salt, I know its jealousy, that I’m mad at my friends. They been hanging out more without me, playing cards and shit. Its not a passion of mine, its fun sometimes, but its still not me. Its what they bond over, its what they do together, and that’s what theyre into. If I had to guess, they’re okay with Dungeons and Dragons, but even my best friend said that I take it too serious. Its fallen out of their favor, it eats up a lot of time, and they each have their version of what a fun campaign would be like. In me, I said to myself, “Fine, fuck it. I’ll have to assemble another crew to play with.” Tough situation then isn’t it? Wanting to play a social game that needs bodies, during an age where social gatherings are frowned upon, because they carry a potential to spread a virus... Still, this is what I want to do. I want a group of friends, who share the same passion I do. My current friends must think ill of me, they may just want to hang out. They think that if they come hang with me, I’ll want a game of DnD without a doubt. They just want to chill and kick it, they don’t want to roll dice. But ask me once and I’ll tell you yes twice, to playing DnD.

I love it with all my heart, all of the contents and materials are here, ready to play. No extra investments, no money needed to be spent, we can get going off of nothing like we did back then. A table top roleplaying game, we started with cardboard and lego figures, and just two books to share. But there was fun to be had, and a few heated sessions. But fun it was, the more we played the deeper i grew fond of the game. I’m even willing to experiment with other systems if I have someone to guide me. With cards, you gotta constantly update your arsenal to keep up with the meta, and let’s be real, not playing anything remotely close to meta isn’t as fun. Different formats allow different decks, and to keep current you gotta keep up. I dont have the fundings for it, I dont have the luck. I would rather buy a module that’ll last for years, versus a pack of cards. I have two books that have skyrocketed in value, cards go up and down like stocks. But thats the appeal I suppose, I don’t care for it though.

Back to the thing at hand, I’m in their group chat as they make plans. I can’t be there for all that. But fuck it, that’s all Im going to say. Fuck it, on repeat, until its engraved into my head. Pride is getting the best of me, I refused to be denied again. If it’s not something they want to do, so be it, I need to look out for me in the end. I must muster up the courage to start playing online again, the first one wasn’t bad, but it fell apart. I need to get the courage to be social, and get over the fear that everyone expects you to be a pro player. I’m scared going into this green still, roll20 isn’t my forte. But if I want to play DnD, this seems to be my only option. It may fulfill my wish, to find friends who are just as passionate as I. My other friends, they’re over on the other side. Its fine, it truly is, they have one another, and I need to be strong. I need to find the strength in this loneliness, even though its tearing me apart. My circle becomes smaller, thats just the way of the world. Adapt to survive, be formless like water...

Dungeons and Dragons, my greatest escape. I can be anybody, and do things I normally can’t. I can clobber up bad guys, indecent folk, and finesse my way out of punishment from the law. I can save a village, a town, a kingdom, when I can hardly save myself. I can fly, cast spells, break locks, imagination is my only limit. I can hoard and amass vast amounts of riches, I myself can even become a dragon. I don’t have to be me, although a bit of me resides in everyone I’ve made before. I can never truly separate myself, from those Ive breathed life into. For hours on end, I can go anywhere, do anything, I melt into the world thats placed before me.

Because the reality is that I’m practically shit, and nobody. The world is fucked up and jacked up and spiraling down the drain. I’m mentally fucked and my physicality is pretty much the same. I’m stuck in place when the world is demanding me to change. I lost with no real direction. No map in hand, no guide, and I’m scared out of my mind. I don’t know whether to trust the process or commit suicide. Im not sure where I’ll end up, if it’s good or bad. Im struggling, I’m suffering, and there seems to be no end. I could say I’m trying, but I would be lying, if I had to look at the brighter side. The positive things in life are so hard to identify. But my emotions are raw and hit hard, slamming against the walls in my skull. Demanding me to give them attention...and attention I give them, as they tear me up. Like being pulled at by the limbs, drawn and quartered is the method it seems like today. I was thinking that I couldn’t drink forever, my body would eventually reject. But what if I drank energy drinks on end, a heart attack to get me out of this place. I can down those all day long, so whats stopping me from taking that way out of it? Less grotesque and violent, it’ll probably be painful as hell. An organ seizing up, as the body ceases the function. I get said thinking about it sometimes, but one day, enough will be enough. But damn that lady...damn her for speaking those words... Tomorrow. If nothing is better by tomorrow, then do as you may. But sleep it off, tomorrow is another day.

It’s not verbatim, but its the gist. Just wait for tomorrow, and hopefully things will change. The choice is still mine to make, and something in me pushes me forward, keeps me going on. Sometimes I think about who I’m leaving behind, and maybe how much it’ll hurt. The evil darkness inside me says that they’ll get over it, they have to, and time doesn’t wait. I won’t be immortalized, I’ll simply end up a statistic. That maybe itll be a few years the sadness remains fresh, but wounds always heal. Discrediting my actual existence, and any form of relations. Like I wouldn’t have made any actual impressions, people don’t weep for me now. People kind of forget I exist already, what makes me think they won’t after I’m gone?

I think about my folks, my grandma, my girlfriend, my second family, and other close dear friends. I think about how many last will letters I would have to put out there, before I call for the curtains. Sometimes, I say I will start writing them, but they give me pause. I end up not wanting to leave this world, after pouring out my heart. Because I don’t want to leave any questions behind for people who matter, I want them to know how I felt before I passed. I want to leave with them apart of me, so they would never forget.

Still it doesn’t change, shit is rough as of lately, work has been eating me up. I feel like Im never hundred percent, and me back on gaming is making it worst. I’ve gotten back onto Elder Scrolls Skyrim, its been my virtual version of DnD. Waiting for the Outer World Expansion, so I can get addicted to that again. All I want to do is play Dungeons and Dragons, the question is how do I make that into a living? I think being a Matthew Mercer is one in a million, I don’t think I’m that great. I’m willing to learn, grow, evolve because it is my passion, but I’m always scared of making mistakes. To be one of the greater Dungeon Masters, to be THE Wizards of the Coast Dungeon Master, it may possibly be the dream. To eat, sleep, breathe, Dee en Dee. My obsession isn’t that crazy though, I’m still behind on the lore of creatures and settings, I haven’t studied at all. But with the right drive and motivation, I would, especially with something as real as a legit group.

Enthusiastic players, who show up every week, bi weekly, once every month even, to play this fantastic game. Group of chill folks who is willing to take the Dungeon Master Mantle with I get burned out and have the desire to be in the player seat. One of those is the driving force, they make me want to plan. They make me want to make the world, the style, everything in general better, with the constructive feedback. I mean it’s been so long as I was a player in a campaign until the end, I’m beginning to think paying for a Dungeon Master wouldn’t be so bad. Once a month? A couple of hours? I mean I’m thinking like seven USD per hour? Eight isn’t bad, but after that it becomes a questionable amount. It repeats in my head, “No DnD is better than Bad DnD”, this much is probably still true. I say still because I still might want at least one session with said game, so I can at least say it was the worst after having attempt it, rolling something. Ha ha, I kid myself, I’m lying because I know the rage would be all to real and caution is my game most of the time. But I mean, I just might have to start exploring the idea, I was definitely going to ask on FaceBook if any Roll20 games was recruiting a newbie.

Alas, today won’t be the last time I speak on the matter, Dungeons and Dragons haunt me everyday. I stare at minis, I stare at the upcoming books and modules, and I watch youtube where they tell RPG Horror Stories, Its become a huge part of my life, such as dancing once was. It almost links right into my earliest talents...writing. I love to write, just like I’m doing now. Im fairly decent at the writing game if I must say. Hey, real life failed Bard here, I should make one who always ends up playing big bro, and end up being friendzoned by all his interests. Im short, so Halfling is very true. Am I charismatic? Who knows, I can’t say for sure. But yes, I feel like this is what I need, a solid weekly game, maybe once every two weeks, hell, once every month would still be great. Something to look forward to the very least, in this life of routine and mundane. Something to look forward to for me, something that’s my own. Something I don’t need my closer friends to be apart of, since they’re not interested anyhow. I’m really talking shit because I’m hella salty, but at least I’m being upfront. Get it all out now, before the typing is done.

It’s been a productive session, I may have to attribute it to Lofi it seems. The Lofi Hip Hop Radio on YouTube, also found on Spotify. Some tracks still strike me deep in the chest, giving me horrible flash backs and feeling in my chest. Others keep me going, forward, almost propelling. I’m currently training myself to be accustomed to the sounds, because I at first was very scared. That it would just transport me to a dark place and keep me there. I’ve been trying to confront my feelings more with this music, I think I felt better after last session like this. The more I faced myself, the better I became. Yes, I most definitely referenced Persona 4, another amazing and loved title because of the message it portrays. I always wondered what my shadow self would look like, and what they would say. But eh another time, I’m about to start rambling again. I have to conclude here, before I get off topic.

Until next time Tumblr...

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thelightofthingshopedfor · 5 years ago

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@kiwimeringue replied to your post “I know it’s generally rude and very unwise to reply to a fandom...”

ok I'm super curious now, feel free to message me if you want to talk about it all stealthy-like~

@veliseraptor replied to your post “I know it’s generally rude and very unwise to reply to a fandom...”

i'm so curious

apparently I did want to talk about it, because this got looooong (also please do not add more discourse to this post, it’s probably kind of shitty of me but I don’t super want to have a dialogue about it, I just want to barf out my thoughts and defend my own faves on my own post, so if you want to argue with me I would really rather you didn’t and just made your own post instead)

(I also only just realized that I only put “tony stark negative” and “tony stark critical” in the tags, not anywhere before the cut, so here’s your warning now if you didn’t see the tags that this is me being frustrated with a lot things about how Tony is written)

I can't find the actual post now to screenshot or link because I just came across it on my dash, got annoyed, scrolled past, and then made my post when I couldn't stop grumpily thinking about it (so at this point I also don't remember who the OP was or who reblogged it onto my dash, which is probably just as well), but the gist was that almost all MCU title characters have storylines establishing that they're wrong about something and they show growth by accepting that and working to improve...except Steve, who never acknowledges that he might ever be wrong about anything, with the implication that this makes him a bad, self-righteous character who is basically incapable of growth. several other characters--Tony, Thor, Dr. Strange, Peter Parker--were mentioned, but the state of fandom discourse makes me assume any Steve-negative post exists at least in part to show how much better Tony is, which...may not always be a fair assumption on my part, but I do think it's fair to say that's still a relevant context. and of course Steve is one of my favorite characters, so anything even mildly Steve-negative puts me at least somewhat on the defensive right away, which again is not necessarily fair. (the other post that’s already sitting in my notes is about Ragnarok, which is probably even less surprising.)

anyway the post made me grumpy to begin with and then doubly so because I couldn't think of a good way to refute it aside from "yeah well maybe Steve's just a better person than your faves and he doesn't need a whole character arc about realizing he's been an asshole and needs to change because he didn't start out as an asshole to begin with, bet you didn't think of that huh" which is of course VERY unhelpful. but then I started thinking about how I don't think OP is right about the changed characters to begin with, given that a) it's not really fair to compare a character who's only had one solo movie (Dr. Strange) with characters who've had more, b) Spider-Man is kind of an edge case because he's a teenager and a lot of the problems in his movies stem from a combination of him being a fucking teenager and Tony dumping him with tons of dangerous tech that he doesn't have the training or adult impulse control to use safely and then blaming him when disaster inevitably results, and c) the characters who have had multiple movies and arcs focused on realizing they were wrong about something (just Thor and Tony, really) are...maybe not actually great examples because like 75% of that character development seems to reset after each movie and, actually, the narrative still operates under the premise that these characters are basically right even if some other characters don't agree. like...I mean, the only lessons Thor really, consistently seems to learn are "humans are at least not totally worthless (but lbr they're mostly silly and cute)" and "Odin is extremely wise and probably right about almost everything despite mountains of evidence--that grow with every single film he's in--to the contrary".

and Tony, well--yeah, that's his arc, in theory, and in theory I don't have a problem with flawed characters who keep making the same mistakes because let's face it, that's a very human thing to do. but with posts like this, it's like...you're effectively arguing that he doesn't really make mistakes overall, though, because it’s really just an opportunity for growth? and that when he does, the narrative shows he's wrong, he admits he's wrong, and he makes consistent efforts to change? which...again, obviously I have my own biases, but I have to see this as a weird interpretation because he's basically been the main character of the entire MCU thus far, which means he's likely to get sympathetic treatment and justification from the narrative even if he's ostensibly being called out for fucking up, and that's something I've definitely seen. his entire first movie is about him realizing how wrong he was and working to do better, definitely, but he ends up being his own worst enemy half the time and other people suffer for it. like...he wants to protect the world, okay, that's a reasonable goal. you can argue that the vision Wanda gave him made things worse, and that's possible, but I don't know how much that might be true given that I'm pretty sure he was working on Ultron before that too (and her mind-magic mostly seemed to work by emphasizing something that was already there, not planting new ideas). so he ends up creating a murderbot, with good intentions but he still does it and he keeps it secret from the other Avengers, and now-sentient murderbot immediately reaches the conclusion that humanity is awful and they won't need protecting if they're all gone, and everything breaks very bad, and then Tony...basically does the exact same thing again, without telling anybody else, in hopes that it'll work out better this time because JARVIS? and it does but that seems like mostly luck? and everybody manages to defeat the murderbot, barely, but a not-insignificant number of civilians die anyway because that tends to happen when a sentient murderbot goes on a rampage, and Tony feels really guilty about this when it's shoved in his face, so he deals with his guilt by kind of...spreading it around and allowing the possibility of other major problems down the line so they can hand over some of that responsibility and he can feel less guilty. (that’s not the most charitable interpretation, yeah, but I also don’t think it’s an unreasonable one, based on what’s there in the text.) and then of course things blow up and other problems get dragged in and it's a huge mess and half the Avengers are fugitives, and the general consensus sort of seems to be that nobody was completely right or completely wrong but Steve is the only one who actually apologizes for any of it (no wait, I guess Wanda and Vision apologized but just to each other) and Rhodey reinforces the idea that the Accords were a good idea with no major drawbacks...and then Thanos shows up and things get SO VERY MUCH worse.

and Tony is once again stricken with grief and guilt (not to mention half dead), so lashing out at Steve is understandable, but what he actually says is basically that this is all Steve's fault because he wasn't there (even though he immediately sent Tony that phone, which means Tony could have contacted him at any time but hesitated to do so even when monsters were basically falling from the sky), and he was right about the Accords and Ultron even if the latter didn't work out so well in ways that probably could have been predicted, and...that's what we're left with. nobody else has a meaningful opportunity to say "now hold on a second, you cannot possibly be arguing both for accountability and for your right to decide for the entire world that exchanging some freedom for some potential security is a good trade, and also how are you saying you were essentially right about Ultron when Ultron is what kicked off the desire for the Accords" or, like, anything. (does the world need a security blanket? going by the evidence...yeah, probably? but again. Tony. you tried that and you made a sentient murderbot instead so like, your track record is not great!!)

and then it all culminates with Tony sacrificing himself to save the universe, which I do at least think was a climactic, thematically resonant send-off for such a major character--for the final time, in the most final possible of ways, he reaches a point where there's no more clever tricks and he reacts by selflessly taking the entirety of the consequences onto himself. I can't say I'm happy with it, because I'm not a fan of character death in general even when it doesn't involve my top faves, and it absolutely would have been possible for the filmmakers to keep him alive if they hadn't gone into this with the specific intention of ending Tony's arc with his death. (ditto on all the other major character deaths, which is a big part about why they make me mad--none of them really, honestly had to happen, some even less than others.) but regardless of my feelings on whether it had to happen, it's inarguable that his entire arc from Iron Man to Endgame is that of a brilliant but selfish manchild who changes and grows until he doesn't hesitate to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the entire universe.

BUT THEN THERE'S SPIDER-MAN AGAIN.

spoilers if you haven't seen Spider-Man: Far From Home but like, the entire conflict of that movie was based on two major things: a bunch of disgruntled Stark Industries employees, at least some of whom had to have legitimate, recent grievances (and frankly that whole mess demonstrates--among other things--that Stark Industries must have unforgivably lax security around its arsenal of world-ending weapons); and Tony's decision at some point to essentially REMAKE ULTRON AND THEN DUMP THAT RESPONSIBILITY ON A FUCKING TEENAGER WITH ABSOLUTELY NOTHING IN THE WAY OF WARNINGS, TRAINING, OVERSIGHT, OR EVEN BASIC FAILSAFES, like holy shit my computer spends more time making sure I definitely want to delete that file than EDITH does about confirming that yes this random teenager is a legitimate target for IMMEDIATE DEATH. all the other adults involved in this clusterfuck bear a good share of the responsibility for this too, given that not one of them ever seemed to think either "hey, maybe saddling a smart and very good but basically normal sixteen-year-old boy with the power and responsibility (but not the resources or experience) of a grown-ass adult with unlimited resources is not the smartest move here, and yelling at him when he inevitably fucks up this power and responsibility we dumped on him with no training whatsoever is not actually fair or reasonable" or even "maybe before giving a piece of massively powerful and dangerous tech to a sixteen-year-old boy, we should spend at least 15 minutes going over the device's major functions and how to not accidentally kill someone, even if we figure things like ethics and privacy rights and knowing when not to use this tech aren't that important".

but, but, Tony still made the decision to give it to him, and he did so without building in any precautions at all, which is the exact same thing he did in CW/Homecoming with Peter's new suit (yes, the Training Wheels protocol was a good step, but the fact that it could just be turned off that easily--and that Tony isn't shown even trying to tell Peter to use the training programs or safely practice with the suit--shows that it really, really wasn't good enough) except even worse because EDITH is about 100 times more invasive and destructive than the suit. and he pretty much scolded Peter in Homecoming for getting ahead of himself, but then the second Peter did well in a bad situation Tony was right back to making this teenager an official Avenger and giving him all this power and responsibility he'd just decided Peter hadn't really earned, and Peter turned him down because at that point he had a better idea of his own limits and need for growth than Tony did, and then!! in what must have been one of his last acts alive!! Tony dumped an even bigger, more dangerous power/responsibility combo on him!!! way way bigger than the one he'd already turned down and maturely decided he wasn't yet experienced enough to handle!!! without even giving him a chance to say no!!!! and did not take any of that (or the mess with Ultron and the lessons he theoretically learned there, or the mess with the Accords and the lessons he theoretically learned there, or for that matter the lessons he theoretically learned in his three solo movies about treating his employees well and making sure he knows exactly what his company is doing at all times) into account when designing it, handing it off to other adults who also should have been more responsible about it, and leaving it to a teenager against that teenager's stated wishes, thereby ensuring that this teenager will follow Tony's footsteps in being unable to have a normal life!!!!!

...................but, okay, the point of the original post was that Steve is generally deemed to be Always Right and therefore he never has to change, and that makes him unrelatable at best and also not a great character. which...well, that's part of the point, that's why he was picked for Project Rebirth in the first place because he's a good dude dedicated to doing what's right; even before the serum, he was literally willing to die to protect a few people he barely knew (the grenade scene, remember). he was already starting from a point of selflessness and an understanding of responsibility that the others lacked, so it would be tough to give him a similar character arc without undermining or ignoring the whole point of the character. sure, though, even a character like Steve is imperfect and human and bound to be wrong sometimes, and when that happens he should acknowledge he was wrong and take steps to make amends, and if he's never shown doing any of that, it's true that it's not great even if part of the issue is that he's never really put in a position to do so.

except, except DID YOU ALL COMPLETELY FORGET THE ENDING OF CIVIL WAR

like, sure, if what you wanted was to hear Steve say "I was wrong about everything and Tony was right about everything, and I will humbly submit to whatever you think is best regardless of my own convictions, my very good reasons for having those convictions, and my personal concerns for my friends, or at the very least I will humbly ask for forgiveness and accept whatever you throw at me, because Tony Was Right About Everything," then...yeah, I'm sure it was a disappointment, especially if you figure Tony was right about the Accords and at least the intentions behind Ultron. it's true Steve doesn't really address any of that, which indicates he definitely still believes he’s right about those parts. but...look, the last time he saw Tony, he was fighting to save his lifelong friend from being murdered from a crime he didn't necessarily remember and really wasn't responsible for. once again I don't blame Tony for reacting emotionally and lashing out at the nearest targets instead of the people who were really at fault, but that doesn't change the facts of the situation, which are, Steve was fighting to save Bucky's life. and when he did that by incapacitating Tony, he didn't go any further; he took Bucky and left. and then he almost immediately sent Tony a letter of apology and a means of contacting him in return if an emergency comes up--and again, yes, his apology wasn't "I'm sorry for everything because I was wrong about everything," but it was a genuine, compassionate apology for the ways he'd hurt Tony even if his intentions were basically good. (this of course assumes that he really did know for a fact that Bucky killed the Starks and consciously chose to hide the knowledge from Tony, and frankly I'm not convinced that's true, but it's not really the issue here.) honestly, I thought his letter was kind of funny because it so closely followed the format of the apology-note meme--you know, "I was trying to do X, but I see now that I hurt you because Y" and everything. he didn't apologize for opposing the Accords or protecting Bucky or fighting in Germany so he could get to Siberia in time to stop what he had every reason to believe was a much bigger threat, because all those actions stemmed directly from his convictions and sense of morality and he wouldn't be Steve Rogers or Captain America if he was willing to compromise his most foundational convictions--but he absolutely did apologize for hurting Tony and recognized that he'd made at least one big mistake where Tony was concerned.

Tony...didn't. even before doubling down on the Accords and Ultron, I don't think he ever really said, hey, at least some of this was my bad; most of what he said boiled down to "okay this situation isn't ideal but I'm sure if I throw more money at it things will work out fine, more or less". in the Raft and in Siberia he got close to saying that maybe he'd been wrong about a few things, but that all went out the window pretty quick, and I don't think there's ever a point where he--just for instance--at least apologizes for trying very very hard to kill Bucky. and by Endgame, apparently he’s pretty much walked back what little he did kinda sorta think he was maybe wrong about. so.

that's...basically what I've got, OP’s interpretation is wrong because their facts are actually wrong and I was apparently annoyed enough to barf out all these words when I could’ve been doing anything else, the end

#tony stark critical #tony stark negative #I mean I think I'm being reasonably fair here but just to be safe #conversations #veliseraptor #kiwimeringue #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers #meta #my meta #captain america: civil war #avengers: endgame #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man: far from home #avengers: age of ultron #avengers: infinity war

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a-tragedy-told-in-metals · 5 years ago

Text

A Tragedy Told In Metals: Copper & Arsenic

Chapter: 2 link AO3

Playlist (Youtube) Playlist (Spotify)

Songs 4-8 apply to this chapter

CW: past child sexual abuse, past child abuse, vomiting, panic attacks

Toni jumped awake, her heart beating in her chest a million miles an hour. She glanced around to find what was attacking her, but she wasn't even sure what to look for. The racing calmed down as her eyes and mind adjusted to being awake, and she saw Rhodey standing in her room.

“Rhodey bear!” Toni pushed herself up “Why are you trying to kill me?”

“Not kill you, just wake you up,” Rhodey said, sitting next to her on the bed

“You weren’t supposed to be coming today. Right?”

“No, but I was sent to give you this.”

Toni took a manila envelope from Rhodey and squinted at the writing in the dim light of her bedroom. Toi’s mouth ran dry at the words.

“They want my armour this bad,” Toni muttered.

“Well, yeah.”

“They can’t have it. I told them that months ago.”

“The US military is not big on the word ‘no’”

“I’m aware. “ Toni said through gritted teeth

“Look, I tried to tell them off, but I’m not exactly in a position to be telling the top brass what to do. Not to mention I’m known as a biased party.”

“I really don’t want to go in front of Congress.”

“They can subpoena people.”

“I know. But I’m just mad they think they have a right to my things. They are my things, what the fuck do they think they’re gonna do with it? They can’t even get their drones to shoot straight, they think they can understand the Iron Queen?”

“ I’m pretty sure they want to blow stuff up, they don’t care about understanding the tech. Not to mention this would bring Stark Industries back under the thumb of the military.

“Iron Queen has JARVIS built into it, no one knows about him.”

“Look I’m not saying give ‘em the full suit. But you do have to come to the meeting. For me?”

“Fine, whatever,” Toni grumbled.

“Thanks, baby girl.” Rhodey kissed the top of her head.

~~~~~

Toni was in her most official looking clothes, sitting on the stupid bench and being followed by both celebrity paparazzi and political news junkies. This is what always happens, everyone has to have an opinion. Having Happy and Rhodey backing her was nice; they made sure no creeps were right behind her. Rhodey gave her a reassuring smile from across the aisle. Toni just rolled her eyes back.

The Senators filed in, and Toni's stomach flopped when she spotted Stern amongst the assembled blowhards. The irritation she’d been carrying turned into thick repulsion.

The stupid hearing was called to start and Toni squeezed the edge of the seat hard to keep herself in the moment.

“Ms. Stark, we have called this hearing to discuss the matter of the weapon you call the Iron Queen armour. Do you understand?” Senator Williams, the head of the committee.

A spike of annoyance cut through the inky depths of shame and fear at his condescending tone “It’s not a weapon.”

“Then what is it, exactly?

“As you said, it’s armour. Not just some bomb or gun.”

A new Senator spoke, “We recognize it’s a complex weapon. Which is why we need it, this kind of tech could be so effective in the hands of people who have the ability to regulate it.”

“You don’t know how to regulate it-- also, since I’m the only one with it, isn't it already regulated?”

“Right now you’re the only one, but other people are already trying to replicate your weapon.”

A video of poor copies of her tech played over. The Senators listed the countries imitating her. None of them even had the repulsor tech to get the suits into flight. Not to mention none of them had a proper reactor; their poor copies of her arc reactor were dying before they could even get the first shot off.

“None of those people are even close to what I’ve made. Those aren’t a threat to anyone.”

“Right now none of them are. But you owe it to your country to allow us to have the tech to protect people. It’s what SI has been known to do, both Obadiah Stane and your father understood that. Your company has a history of patriotism, it would be a shame to let them down. ”

Toni glared at them. She stole a glance of Rhodey who had an expression that read “Oh fuck” and Toni took a deep breath.

“No, you see, I don't owe you anything. I said no more weapons sales and I meant it, and Iron Queen isn’t even Stark Industries property. I’ve been spending the last months giving back by protecting people and cleaning up the messes that Stark Industries has created, thanks to me and those men that you hold in such high esteem. By not giving it to you or anyone else, I'm already protecting people,” Toni said, her tone as measured as possible.

“But you have no right to monopolize this tech. A civilian shouldn’t have this power, especially not someone with your record of irresponsibility. Those suits are dangerous and rightfully belong to the government so you don’t cause any more mayhem. You will be compensated.” Senator Stern growled.

To her genuine surprise, her fear completely left her, rage burning through her veins instead as she stared down the man who had tried to rape her. She wanted more than anything to just punch him in his dumb, possessive mouth so he would never talk down to her again.

“Oh, but you see the armour and I are one and the same. I can’t give you just the suit. Buying the suit would be like buying me, a person. That sounds like prostitution which I’m sure the Senate doesn’t want to be a party too. Though now that I’m thinking about it, you have some experience in the area of buying women’s...no, girls’ bodies, don’t you Senator Stern?” Toni said, her voice sickly sweet and laced with venom.

Stern turned bright red and shouted “How dare you! You are accusing a United States Senator of such a thing?”

“Can we all calm down?” Senator Wiliams shouted

Toni leaned back in her chair and smiled. All the pompous dicks had their feathers all ruffled, it was kind of fun to cause such a fuss.

“Back to the topic at hand,” The now annoyed Senator Williams said, “I understand you have... reservations about sharing your work with us, but be advised we will continue to try and re-create your technology. Having your guidance would make the process run smoother.”

“Who are you having build it right now?” Toni asked, confused.

“Hammer tech.”

Toni snorted, they were so low on her radar. “Why even bother? They couldn’t make a Model One Stark phone without screwing it up.”

“Well, we don’t have many options considering you won’t work with us.”

“Then just stop trying to mess with things you don’t understand.” Toni shot back.

“Do you even understand what you are messing with, Ms. Stark? It’s dangerous to fly around in a weapon. People trained for combat should do it, don’t you think? You’re just not the right kind of person to operate this. Let people who understand national security and fighting wars handle this. You can handle the mechanics, that’s what you're good at. But you just don’t have the right temperament or skill set to do this.” Some really old man Toni had never seen before said fixing her with a faux kind look.

Yeah, no, he did not get to talk to her like that. Toni fixed the man with her best stare. “You never questioned if I knew what I was messing with when you got the stuff I built. You’re only butting in now because you don’t get to own it. You want to control it and use it in your wars, but for the thousandth time, Iron Queen is not a weapon to use in anybody's war. It's more than that. I built it to help people and to avoid collateral damage, not cause it. You don’t own me, or The Iron Queen armour. And you never fucking will!”

Toni stood up and turned to leave. Happy thankfully jumped in front of her to part the sea of bodies. The flashing lights threatened to blind her, but she fumbled forward. Getting in her car, she sat down and closed her eyes. Toni flinched slightly when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s me, Toni,” Pepper said softly.

“Sorry for all that,” Toni said with a half laugh.

“Yeah, that’s gonna take some clean up. I think Rhodey is the one who’s gonna need an apology, though. He works with those men. Also, our PR department. They have to field the calls.”

Toni just grunted. Half way home they had to pull over for Toni to throw up her coffee. It was still humiliating to puke in front of Pepper, even if she had seen Toni wigged out and naked once.

~~~~~

Toni, Happy and Pepper were eating. The flight home from DC sucked. Toni had thrown up and then fallen asleep. But now the headache had faded enough for her to no longer feel like her head was spinning.

“You wanna let us know what all of that was?” Happy said gruffly.

“What do you mean? I just hate assholes like that.” Toni shrugged.

“Toni you were like the walking dead on the way home and threw up. That’s not just pissed off behaviour.”

“It’s just complicated and stupid.”

“Just tell us. If we couldn’t handle complicated then we wouldn’t be your friends.” Pepper replied

Toni looked up. The real reason she had lost control was because facing man who tried to rape he head on was not fun. Add on to that, the last man had sounded too much, too much like Obie. It hadn’t registered right away but now it was clear. And of course, she really hated people wanting to use her, it felt shitty.

“Yeah, it wasn’t.”

“What was it?” Pepper said.

“Stern, he’s the man who... who drugged me that time Fury got me out. I wasn’t just being an ass, he really tried to buy me off to fuck him with drugs.”

“Bastard.” Happy muttered under his breath.

Toni half smiled at that. She met Pepper’s sympathetic expression and Happy mad on her behalf. She could tell them now. It was an opening, as organic a time as there ever would be. It wasn’t something they had to know, but they were her family. Toni wanted them to know, really.

“That’s not all though. It’s them wanting to use me, I’m tired of people always just wanting to control me.”

“I understand...” Pepper started.

“No, you don’t. Obi...Stane, you know he tried to kill me and stuff, but that’s not really the worst part. Starting when I was ten he...” Toni shuddered tears starting to flow from her eyes she looked away from both of them, “He sexually abused me till I was twenty. Do you remember when I thought I was pregnant Pep? He would have been the father.”

Pepper gasped bringing her hands to her mouth. Happy’s hand hit the counter with a grunt.

Staring at them, looking like they were in so much pain, Toni faltered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I'm sorry,” was all she could think to say.

“God Toni, why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.” Pepper said.

To Tony's surprise, Happy brought her into a bone crushing hug, eliciting a small squeak from her.

“Sorry.” Happy said releasing her.

“It’s fine, you just caught me off guard,” Toni said giving him a smile.

“Why didn’t...why didn’t you tell us before?” Pepper asked.

Toni blew a harsh breath from her mouth, “I didn’t know it was wrong for a long time. I mean, I loved him, and I was ten, so I just assumed it had to be okay. It’s what am I good at anyway, ya know? So even when I realised it was kinda hinky for a grown man to have sex with an eleven-year-old I figured I’m a slut anyway, so how could it matter? I also assumed no one cared, or that you’d be mad at me, and if someone did do something I had no idea what I would do if someone took him away. It felt like it was my fault, still does a lot. I had to have done something wrong.. And I promised to never tell, so I didn't ever tell. I literally never told anybody until he died, I just let him do it.”

“Toni, it’s not your fault okay? And you’re not a slut. No one has the right to make someone else have sex with them,” Pepper said.

“And the only people who do that to kids are scum.” Happy said with a nod and an air of finality.

“Thanks,” Toni said.

It was nice to have people listen to her. She felt a tug in her chest, but it wasn’t sentimentality or rage. It was the burn of corroding skin.

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villainqueen · 5 years ago

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The Marriage of Heaven and Hell - Chapter 6

V X Fem!Reader fanfiction, set after the events of Devil may Cry 5.

Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

Ao3 [Link]

Chapter 6

Lives in eternity's sun rise

August 1st 14:20 pm

"Where do you want to search next?" V asked you as he stepped back into the corridor, where you already waited for him to join you.

"Tis could be anywhere. Pardon my impudence to lead thee on such a search. I did not intent to waste thine precious time." you answered him, at the exact moment both of you could hear loud rumbling from the other side of the hallway. It took only a few seconds for you to notice Griffon flying around the corner straight towards you.

"Are you done scouting? Have you found anything?"

"No time for that V, just run!" Griffon crowd in a panic. The reason for that was close behind him. He was followed by a demon. It had the upper body of a beautiful woman however, everything downwards her bellybutton was a completely different story. A whole pack of dogs grew out of her, loud growling with foam coming from their snouts.

"(Y/N), move!" V commanded and dragged you after him. Both of you began to run in the opposite direction and Griffon soon caught up to you; "That is Scylla, not an enemy that is easy to deal with. So, let's get outta here!"

"Oh, how wonderful! Looks like I found the one, before Abigor did, Master will be pleased!" giggled the demon with a voice of a young girl. "And there is such a handsome man too. Why don't you come to me so we can play~?"

"Yo Shakespeare, she is talkin' to ya! But word of advice here, doubt ya both have the same understanding when talkin' about playin', okay, try avoid that!"

"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind!" V answered soberly. This was not the time for joking around, Scylla was a famous demon and that also meant a dangerous one. A fight against her could be lethal, especially without being able to summon Nightmare yet. V had you by his side as well, but it was hard to tell how strong you actually were, you showed some magic attack before but you had no weapon with you. Was it enough to help him defeat such an imposing demon? Much more time to think about a strategy was not granted as the corridor came to an end you soon approached the big staircase that would lead down to the main hall.

"Got you!" Scylla laughed, now close enough behind you that you could smell the pack of dogs.

"Sir V, I propose we jump!" you yelled as the Scylla tried to tackle both of you. V without a second thought jumped over the railing, where Griffon picked him up. This caused the Scylla to crush down back to the ground floor. You also jumped and materialized projectiles made from pure light to fire towards the falling Scylla. One floor wasn't a big fall, so you safely landed back on your feet, with V coming down, right next to you.

"Looks like we have to fight this demon." V said, not amused by that prospect.

"Owie, that hurt! That is not the game I wanted to play. I'll make you pay for that!" the Scylla cried out as she got back on her several paws. This was the command for you to get in position as V summoned Shadow to join him while he recited: "The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey."

Nevertheless, before the fight could really start, you could hear more noises coming from behind you as both of you had only seconds to avoid getting hit by a demon that broke through the wall behind you. But this was not a deliberate attack by a demon, as you figured out quickly, since Nero came through the hole in the wall right after it, to join you in the main hall. It was the devil hunter who threw the demon through the wall almost hitting you both in the process.

"Hey kiddo, be more careful where ya throw demons in the future. Imagine you hit V with that, he would've been crushed. I mean look at him, basically everything could break his bones!" Griffon lectured Nero even though it sounded more like the demon bird was throwing shade at his own master. However, both enemy demons were not dead yet and in a much less playful mood now.

"So, three against two, at least the odds are our favor." V remarked just to be scolded by Griffon; "Didn't ya mean five? Hey big kitty, did ya hear that, we do the dirty work and never get any credit. I say we form a union!"

Nero, who just catched up to you, handed you the spear he found and said: "Think that is yours. You can go all out now, I know what you are, there is no point in hiding it anymore!" With a shocked expression on your face you received your weapon back. A silent "M-my thanks…" was all you could muster. How did he figured out your true identity? Was it bluff or perhaps someone told him? Impossible, the only one who knew of it was long gone... Anyhow, you had no time to think it over, as your enemies started to attack all of you enraged.

August 1st 15:00 pm

Loud chattering from outside of his office awoke Dante from his nap. He sat at his desk, feet placed on the table and a dirty magazine covering his face. His plan was to collect his thoughts about his current investigation, but the intimidation of clerics made him tired. His planned rest should end abruptly, as the door of his office flew open and the loud talking now took place right in front of him.

"Really, prices for cabs nowadays are extortionate!" a woman complains. This was Lady a fellow Devil hunter and old friend of Dante, known as "The Walking Arsenal", due to her usage of lots of different guns, with her favorite; her rocket launcher Kalina Ann.

"Would you have rather taken a bus? Do you know what kind of people ride a bus? I’ve known demons who smell better!" answered the other person. This was Trish, a beautiful woman with the looks of Dante's mother, and a demon herself.

"Look who his finally back, my two favorite girls!" Dante murmured with no intention of removing the magazine of his face.

"Talking about bad smell…" remarked Trish while Lady just commented with an unemotional; "Oh, you're back from hell, I see." before they returned to their conversation.

"I've been through hell and no one seems to be surprised I'm back. I don't really know how I should deal with such cold heartedness!" Dante now taking the magazine off his face and started to fake sob. Which had Trish just rolling her eyes; "Dante how often did you get trapped in hell now? Four times, at least? Don't pretend like it's a big deal for you!"

"It's not like you would die or anything. You are like, like a cockroach in that regard!" Lady chimed in, leaving a compliment that sounded more like an insult in Dante's ears

"Why do you always team up against me? By the way, what were you doing with the suitcases and shopping bags?" Dante pointed now at the luggage both women were carrying into the office. Dante knew now something was up, just by the look on their faces.

"You know Dante, after we both got trapped inside some demons by YOUR BROTHER, we thought we deserve some time relaxing, you know…" Lady began speaking up.

"And you mean what, by it?"

“We just went on a wellness vacation after the last job, to a wonderful spa, you would have loved it there! The seafood buffet was to die for" Trish continued.

"And of course, we both needed some new clothes to go with it, so we went spending a bit." spoke Lady again this time in a tiny voice as if she could avoid him hearing the truth this way.

"So, just to get it right, while I'm stuck in hell you both went on vacation?" after Dante expressed his disbelief, he had a sudden revelation. He knew Trish had a habit for spending and had an expensive taste but Lady? She was one of the stingiest people he knew, why would she spend so much money, unless of course…. "Please tell me I didn't pay for any of that stuff!" Silence. Both women avoided his eye contact. Till Lady started again; "You know we were in a pretty shitty position because of what your brother did to us…"

"No, forget it, you ain't gonna get out of it that easy, guilt tripping me won't work this time!"

"Stop complaining Dante, we got you something too!" said Trish as she pulled the gaudiest looking Hawaiian shirt out of one of her shopping bags. Dante wanted to stay angry however, he kind of liked the souvenir as it fitted his taste surprisingly well, so he decided to go easy on them. Not that there was much he could do now anyway. After all he was the one owning Lady money most of the time and Trish didn't really care for what he had to say anyway, like usual.

"Okay forget it! But there is something I might need you both for. A new job but a now I guess an unpaid one."

"Unpaid work? Did the latest trip to the demon world changed you so much, you became a good Samaritan now, Dante?" Trish joked not willing to do much without payment but after their excessive maxing out of Dante's credit card, she knew that she owned him at least that.

"Nah, not really, especially not since we might have to kick some holy asses. I'll fill you in to all the details later but first I've got to call Nero. The kid is currently doing something for me, together with V and there is something I found out he might need to know."

"Wait Dante, did you say V? What's going on?" Trish asked while taking a seat on his desk.

"Later, just let me make a call first!"

August 1st 14:30 PM

Once you hold your spear Sunrise in your hands for a moment, a melancholy feeling overwhelmed you. It's been so long since you felt anything that was related to your home and even through it was impossible for you to ever return, it was a welcomed feeling, despite being a somewhat sad one. Your attention went back to the current situation, now that Nero declared to know what you truly are, there was little reason to hold back and with Sunrise in your hand, you had the means to go all out. The times imprisoned in the human world might took a toll on you, but it should suffice to assist in fighting those enemies.

“Demons, I seek not your deaths! Hurry back to your world and your lives will be spared, otherwise this will end here!” you calmly declared as you got ready for the fight.

"Spare them and miss out on giving them a good beating? I don't think so!" Nero laughed; he was not one to give demons so obviously evil the gift of mercy.

"Little girl, don't be scared, I'll only eat the guys, you'll be spared for now, Master Caim wants you alive!" Abigor answered as he moved his olive colored long limps in a convulsive fashion. Abigor was a truly disgusting demons as he resembled the human form in a weird twisted way, with limbs longer than they should be which led him to move on all fours. His head was hairless, and only had the big mouth with visible sharp tooth and little black eyes that only consisted of pupils.

"If this is thou wishest, I will grant thee this much decency."

"Quit ya chatting, Princess! Let's get to the meat and potatoes here!" crowed Griffon and started his assault on the Scylla. No one wasted any more time, so Griffon and Shadow went to deal several attacks at the demons, under the supervision of V himself. Nero, who had his fun beating up Abigor before, was quick to pick up where he left and tried to slice it limps right off with his sword. Abigor had over plans and went back into his black hole just to come out behind him for a surprise attack.

"Oh child, it won't be that easy!" it laughed.

You decided to join the fight and went in close to fight Scylla. You had not as much raw strength Nero had, but you were fast and agile, perfect to use a spear and your technique was proof that you knew how to handle it. With precise thrusts and quick changes of stances you gave Scylla a taste of what you’re capable of and together with V’s familiars you stood your ground.

"This is no fun! Stupid animals! Stupid bitch! I want to play with those handsome men, not you!" Scylla cried out as the dogs charged at you three. They couldn't reach Griffon that far in the air, yet Shadow was surrounded and in a less ideal position.

"Griffon, attack from above and I'll put some of them down!" V said as he appeared near Shadow and pierced his cane in a dog head which had a weird lilac color to it, just to bring a distant between them once again by almost teleporting a few feet back.

"Thanks V, and here I was just about to challenge her to a boxing match!" his demon familiar scoffed sarcastically. And it didn't take much for V to notice that the demons would just grow back the dog heads out of her body once one was killed.

"(Y/N) we should try a different approach. This is going nowhere!" V said to you as you summoned a light circle around yourself, that held the dogs at a distant as it would cut them as soon as came near you.

"I see, I welcome any advice you offer." you answered him as you dealt with the rabies infected dog pack. This made V think for a short moment as he observed. The dogs would grow back so how could they kill of the Scylla for good. And then it struck him, if they could attack the human shaped body at the top, it might work. Nevertheless, it would take a much stronger attack than he could offer, without Nightmare he didn't have enough raw power. Griffon and Shadow already struggled with the sheer number of dogs at the lower end of the demon.

"We should try to attack her upper body."

"So be it!" you answered V and tried to focus your attack at the woman on top. Yet, even with your fast speed, each time you came close to her a new dog would grow shielding her from your stabbing. If this was to continue you and V, with his familiars, would end up exhausted and an easy target to be finished off. Raw strength could be what you needed right at this moment. But without Nero, who was currently occupied with Abigor behind you, pummeling it through the air, you couldn’t rely on his strength to win this fight and V had no means to fill this spot either.

"Hehehe, you little bitch can't even scratch me, my puppies will tear you apart!" Scylla mocked you, which lead you to make a decision. You turned to V and spoke in an apologetic tone: "I must apologize for what thine eyes will witness, Sir V. Yet please bear with it for I have no other option left." Now you're ready to pull out your trump card. Nero already knew about you and there was no point in risking defeat now, just to keep a secret that was already discovered. With that said, you activated your own trigger, much like Nero's devil trigger you saw before, yet a devil you were not. Your skin now had a light grey color to it and your body was almost naked. On, your now taller body, you had adornments that covered all intimate areas and other places like shoulders or the sides of your body as if it would function as armor, while it still being a part of the stone like skin. Around your hand and feet, you had rings of pure light and your face was motionless. Eyes bright but without any movement, a mouth that would not open even as you spoke. However, the most outstanding feature was the six white wings that came out of your back. This form had an eerie feeling to it, not monstrous but definitively not human. Beautiful and unsettling at the same time.

V stared at you, he had a vast knowledge of demons, but you were non he could recognize. Your form did somewhat resemble one of what humans would imagine an angel to actual look like. However, much more foreign than just a human with a pair of wings.

"Sir V, pray assist me and together we shall strike down this foe!" you said with your voice distorted. This pulled V right out of his thoughts and back to the task at hand. He nodded in agreement and so you jumped and stayed in the air, as your wings now gave you the ability to fly. As Shadow and Griffon, launched another assault, distracting most of the dogs and making a path for your attack. With force your spear came down onto the main body of the Scylla, piercing through two more dog heads she grew to protect herself from the attack. This didn't work out for her and you impaled the dogs and human body with one strike.

"Impossible! Master will punish you for that!" the Scylla cried out with her last breath as you reached your hand inside her, pulling out her soul.

“You've finally shown yourself! Seems like Scylla was at least of some use!" Abigor snickered as he watched this fellow demon die.

"Hey ugly shitface, better pay attention!" said Nero using the momentum to cut off one of Abigor's long limps. It screamed out in agony as he holds its bleeding stomp there once was its arm. But before Nero could finish it off, it opened another portal to escape the situation, avoiding death.

"Next time you will be my meal, mark my words!" the demon hissed at Nero before he fled the scene.

"What a coward!" Nero growled in return and put his sword onto his back. The fight was over but it always annoyed Nero to leave without a clear-cut win.

"Yo missy, not that I wanna be noisy or anything but care to explain what’s going' on with ya? This new look freaks me out!" Griffon asked as he took a seat on your shoulder, while you went down from the fading corpse of the Scylla.

"I, this is also a form of mine..." you started to explain as you tried to avoid the eyes of the two men in fear of seeing disgust or worse on their faces.

"Guess that means, it's true what these letters claimed." Nero interrupted you by pulling out the papers from is pocket and handed them V while continuing: "You're an angel for real!"

#devil may cry #DMC #dmc vitale #V #Vitale #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #chapter 6 #dmc 5 #V x Reader #DMC V

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thebookmen2 · 7 years ago

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AO3 BNHA fanfiction Master Post

(Not really in a certain order, I like them all) (most pictures were made for the fic while others I found on the internet that I thought best suited it) Alternate quirk Izuku::: Title: Yesterday upon the stair by PitViperOfDoom Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337607/chapters/19098982 Summary: Midoriya Izuku has always been written off as weird. As if it's not bad enough to be the quirkless weakling, he has to be the weirdquirkless weakling on top of it. But truthfully, the "weird" part is the only part that's accurate. He's determined not to be a weakling, and in spite of what it says on paper, he's not actually quirkless. Even before meeting All-Might and taking on the power of One For All, Izuku isn't quirkless. Not that anyone would believe it if he told them. Notes: BEST BNHA FAN FICTION EVER CREATED! I see dead people Midoriya, Rei!!!!! One of the best fictions that capture all of the BNHA personalities with a stunning plot that is original enough to not be OC but not copying the manga/anime for it to be just a recount of BNHA, infinity/10

Title: UA unsolved by Kabukichou (ameliafromafairytale) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13253055 Summary: "Hey there, ghosts," Midoriya says, "it's me, ya boy." The dorms are haunted. Shenanigans ensue. Notes: so many memes XD, good funny read after u read yesterday upon the stair

Title: Daymare by IntrospectiveInquisitor Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277075/chapters/25222215 Summary: Izuku Midoriya has endured a decade of abuse, ridicule, and social ostracization due to his status as 'Quirkless'. Even his childhood friend, Katsuki Bakugou, has tossed him aside and made it a mission to drill his uselessness home. But despite his obstacles and the derision of his peers, Izuku will never give up on his dream of being a hero, and will never feel shame for being called Quirkless. Because it's easier than acknowledging that he has a Quirk at all. Notes: HOHOHOHO! If u like Kacchan pissing his pants this is for u, Starburst! Colourful Izuku, super anxiety, protection squad

Title: Dis(associate) by BeyondTheClouds777 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853580/chapters/31865358 Summary: Izuku has a “dissociation” Quirk that lets his ghost leave his body, and it’s both convenient and inconvenient at the same time. Either way, though, he's going to do whatever it takes to become a hero. Notes: Ghost!Izuku AU, SUPER punny~! Cat bells

Title: know what i've made by the marks on my hands by Simkjrs Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356197/chapters/25417506 Summary: Midoriya Izuku just wants to lead a quiet, peaceful life. This is foiled by the fact that a) he can see spirits, b) his good nature demands that he help anyone he sees in trouble, and c) he, by all rights, should not exist. Helping the heroes who have fallen victim to the new quirk-breaking drug is a terrible idea for many reasons, the first and most important being that he hates attention and avoids it like the plague. But he's the only one who can help, so he does. This is, Izuku decides as he breaks in, more trouble than it's worth. Notes: just leave the child alone, badass Izuku, super freaking good, good hearted Izuku wanting to not give a shit. Accidentally keeps giving a shit.

Title: but you gotta get up at least once more by Simkjrs Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392847/chapters/16792135 Summary: Midoriya Izuku does not let his lack of a Quirk prevent him from being strong. Also known as that one AU where Izuku follows the ridiculous training regimen of Saitama from One Punch Man and becomes stronger than anyone ever imagined he could be. Notes: ONE PUUUUUUUUNCH! A great take on Izuku has no quirk AU, engaging read, Izuku and Kacchan relationship tho so toxic is beautiful, great art too! Happy Shinsou!!!!! Everyone: Mitoki no! Mitoki: Mitoki yes!

Title: I Summoned a Demon 101: an In-comprehensive guide to Corporeal Demon Do's and Don'ts by EAter Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11362569/chapters/25434867 Summary: Midoriya Izuku was born with a quirk: the ability to summon and bind demons from an alternate plane to do his bidding. With only a few days left until the UA entrance exam and still no offensive-type demons in his arsenal, Izuku makes a desperate attempt at summoning one corporeal, a feat he had never before attempted. He'd say it was a success but, he doesn't actually know if it'll be more a help or a hindrance. Especially since Bakugou Katsuki is, well, kind of a shit. Notes: not gonna lie, this is dirty. But I love this fic nevertheless because of Izukus quirk it's amazing, best OC's that don't seem like OC's I summoned a demon fan art: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11777418/chapters/26554554

Title: I exist, in you by Acchidocchi Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7426390/chapters/16867999 Summary: "Having a quirk like this, it's worse than not having one at all," the doctor says, handing some papers over to Inko, whose worried expression has not once wavered. "You'll have to keep a close eye on him to prevent him from hurting himself." Izuku tunes the doctor out. With a quirk like this, he is capable of helping people. And in that moment-- regardless of whatever Inko or the doctor says-- that's all that matters to him. (Or rather, a universe in which young Midoriya Izuku is born with the rare soul bond quirk; allowing him to heal others by transferring their pain to himself). Notes: the feels train is here, Shinsou and Izuku relationship makes me wanna die it's so beautiful, healing quirk Izuku is bootyful, based on Kiznaiver!

Title: Desperate Measures by GlowingArrowsinTheSky and SpiritusRex Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061265/chapters/18470281 Summary: AU in which Izuku stays quirkless and finds his own way of becoming a hero ; ) Notes: general studies Izuku, the protect squad is strong in this one, vigilante!izuku, Mei makes his gear, ‘The Vigilante’, izuku/todoroki, protection squad hunts Izuku hahaha, Izuku accidentally changes the world lol

Title: Erased Potential by theslytherinpaladin Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11088315/chapters/24735288 Summary: Midoriya Izuku, determined to become a hero before ever meeting All Might, looks for another way. He might not have a quirk, but that can’t be all that being a hero is about. He has the intelligence, the drive, the determination. All he needs now is to know how to use it. Enter Aizawa Shouta. Notes: If Aizawa got to Izuku before All Might (cough well technically Izuku got to Aizawa cough), Daddy Aizawa, Robin Izuku lol, comic books are involved

Title: Death Warmed Over by Kazzarole Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398358/chapters/28210815 Summary: When Izuku dies, it's with a lot less grace than he always imagined it'd be. But even when he gives up the ghost, there's still things that need to be said--and, luckily, he gets a second chance. (A fic written for PitViperOfDoom's "Yesterday Upon The Stair".) Notes: an unofficial "if Izuku from yesterday upon a stair died", plus Izuku/todoroki is good shit

In BNHA Universe AU's:: Title: Send Endeavor to the Shadow Realm series by PitViperOfDoom Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/584566 Summary: Todoroki Enji is the worst and Midoriya finds ways to let people know it Notes: JUST THIS WHOLE THING IS AMAZING!! Just some pure Izuku/Todoroki with a shit tone of roasting worst dad in existence 100/10 would recommend all of it

Title: The Laundry room by Dellsey Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11567502 Summary: Aizawa is visibly unhappy. “You didn’t know there was a laundry room in the basement? How did you manage before, then?” Everyone starts talking at the same time, and as Aizawa picks up what is said, he starts feeling a very diverse array of emotions, the most intense one being frustration, because, for God’s sake, these are supposed to be the students of the best high school in the country and they couldn’t figure out there were washing machines in the dorm building, but also exasperation when he hears ‘dry cleaner’ (too much money) and ‘mom’ (spoiled, spoiled children), and absolute dread when he hears someone say ‘you’re supposed to wash clothes that often?!’. He sighs. Sometimes, he forgets they’re just kids. Notes: just some good hearted class 1A dorm fluff

Title: Reverie by AuspiciousWhiskers Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7038916/chapters/16009183 Summary: Shinsou Hitoshi finds a cure for his insomnia in a very unexpected place. Notes: just the best Shinsou/izuku fic tbh, sleepy BOI needs his sleep, Izuku is best boy

Title: Fog lifting by PitViperOfDoom Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876822 Summary: Izuku doesn't want to be here anymore. He doesn't regret the decisions that led to him ending up here, but he would like to leave now, please. Notes: hooooooly shit I cried, if you like seeing Izuku being hurt u read this, let this boy go home

Title: That Time Izuku was in a Shitty Mood part of the "that time" series by CaridwenAngetueur1 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11889639 Summary: To say that Izuku had woken up on the wrong side of the bed was an understatement. In fact, Izuku was willing to physically fight anybody who summed it up that simply. No, Midoriya Izuku was in the shittiest of moods and you don't want to fuck with him when he's angry. Notes: Super freakin funny, best reactions to moody Izuku ever, don't fuck with izukus sleep guys

Title: diaper days by Sweet_lives Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532163/chapters/19559131

Summary: Deku crosses paths with a Villain who has the power to change ages, and leaves Izuku a toddler! Although this unexpected predicament holds many problems, the biggest issue at UA is who'll get to take care of him! Notes: just some wholesome baby Deku being looked after by class 1A

Title: Be Enough by PitViperOfDoom Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531698

Summary: Midoriya cracks under the weight of things that may be outside of his control. Bakugou addresses the problem by throwing Todoroki at it. Notes: just some Izuku/todoroki fluff TBH, just throw Todoroki at it and everything will be ok, one chapter fic

Title: Drink my thoughts by Celestialfics Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643583

Summary: [02:13 AM] todoroki: Are you awake? Notes: just a little bit of depression combined with Izuku/Todoroki

Title: Make the Most by Eloarei Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12185904/chapters/27665082

Summary: People always said he'd never get into UA without a quirk, but he did his best and he succeeded. And people always said he was never going to meet All Might, but there he was, knocked on the floor of a busy supermarket. It didn't look like him, and maybe that was why people weren't clamoring for autographs, but Izuku recognized those eyes when he saw them. He really had to stop listening to other people. Notes: my first All Might/Izuku fic and it's good shit, quirkiness Izuku, Izuku protection squad adult Izuku

Fantasy AU:: Title: In the Eye of the Storm by CheshireButton Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11910153/chapters/26911119

Summary: Izuku Midoriya is a scientific prodigy seeking a cure for a rapidly spreading neurodegenerative disease. A potential clue in his research points to a fabled island, guarded by an eternal storm from which no travelers have ever returned. He navigates through the hurricane and discovers an island that is anything but uninhabited. He must adapt to survive against the natives who place intruders in three categories: warriors, mates, or meat. Notes: maaaan I really love this fic!! Warning is a little dirty but not focused on that focused on the OMG best plot and characters, best Kacchan

Title: prince & prince by Authoress Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6565564/chapters/15022348

Summary: Note to self: don't accidentally fall in love with a prince who's in an arranged marriage keeping your kingdoms from declaring war against each other. Especially when you're spying on him as his manservant. Notes: SO GOOD, izuku/todoroki, best man servant Izuku

Title: Remember Me by Blue_Writer Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12603072/chapters/28707684

Summary: It had been years since Bakugou was exiled from his home and became the savage dragon king, but one good thing finally came to his life when he met Izuku again. The only issue, is that he doesn't remember him. Notes: Izuku/Kacchan, you want Kacchan being cute? This is ur fic, dragon boy AU, Izuku wants to be a knight

Title: break your bones but not your promises by PitViperOfDoom Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738864/chapters/29051784

Summary: Tales of a world of magic and mundane, of heroes, villains, and everything in between-- of promises kept, bonds forged, and monsters both battled and befriended. Notes: it's a good read, lots of Fae law, baby Izuku and Shino are highlights of my life

Villain Izuku AU:: Title: the distinction between hope and expectation by Kattenprinsen and Ramabear (RyMagnatar) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963121/chapters/15874927 Summary: Five years ago, Bakugou's favorite nerdy victim vanished off the face of earth. Even if that was the proper thing for a quirkless, useless kid to do, he never quite forgot those bright green eyes staring resolutely up at him even in the face of Bakugou's violence and explosive quirk. The last thing he expects is to find the boy again in his final year at Yuuei- not just that, but to have him hauled into the middle of a fight by a group of bizarro villains out to smash All Might to bits (or something). Admittedly, it's hard to pay attention to a madman's stupid raving when your childhood friend (not dead. not missing anymore. still useless. still so pathetic. utterly helpless.) stares up at you with eyes that are begging for help. Yuuei hasn't taken his rage or his vulgarity away from him, but it has given him something. Bakugou is a hero. And heroes? They save even the useless ones and save Deku he will. He doesn't have a single plan beyond that moment, doesn't need one. Besides, when it comes right down to it, Deku has all the plans that any of them need. Notes: summary sums it up lol, best mastermind Izuku ever!! Multi-quirk Izuku, kinda nearly turns his whole class into villains? Well...shows them the way a really good read, Izuku/Shinsou (nose bleed CUTE AF)

Title: The Switch by Rhyllow Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375993/chapters/28152045 Summary: Just when Todoroki finally realizes his feelings for Midoriya, his world is turned upside down. On a mission, Midoriya was hit with a quirk that turned him into a villain. Brimming with evil, blood lust, and greedy desire, Midoriya has become unrecognizable to his friends. Blaming himself for Midoriya's suffering, Todoroki makes it his mission to restore his love back to his regular self- knowing full well that there may be no hope left. Notes: oh boy, villain Izuku to the max , Izuku is unstoppable BOI

Title: No hero yet no villain by OldSauk411 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10868088/chapters/24141750

Summary: Midoriya Izuku had grown up bullied because he didn't have a quirk. Handled with kid's gloves because he also lacked a soulmate. Told he could never be a hero by the person he look up to the most. Filled with rage at everyone that had ever doubted him, he left to become something they wouldn't see coming, to get back at every single one of them for doubting him. He left to become a villain. Notes: got some Izuku and Shiguraki friendship, multi-quirk Izuku, soulmate AU bros, Izuku/todoroki

Soulmate AU:: Title: Burn and Breathe by PitViperOfDoom Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066478

Summary: Soulmates are connected through pain, and some bonds have more to share than others. Todoroki Shouto wishes he could reject his soulmate. Midoriya wants nothing more than to protect his own. Notes: sweet angsty little read, super powerful "don't you touch him" from Izuku

Omegaverse AU:: Title: we're young and wild and stupid by Dandolion_weed Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614520

Summary: Omegas who haven't presented deal with their premature heat in different ways. Midoriya Izuku bakes for people he loves. Notes: I'm weak for cute Izuku fics, not dirty just super fluffy

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couchcushings · 6 years ago

Note

I want to start watching old movies. What would you rec as the starter pack? (I've only seen "Harvey" and a few audrey Hepburn films)

i’m so sorry it’s been a week since i got this!! but, here i am, ready to rec you some old movies c: so, disclaimer, i follow actors more than genres so this list might be a little all over the place. anyways, i’m sorting this by decade and i’ll include links wherever i can!

(also here’s my letterboxd where i write semi-incoherent reviews of stuff that i watch)

(oh so the first link is the link to the letterboxd summary and the 2nd link is either a trailer or the movie on yt)

all my old movie nerd followers feel free to add to this if you want c:

1910s

his wedding night (1917) [x] [x] one of buster keaton’s earliest shorts. it’s got fatty arbuckle and it’s adorable.

the bell boy (1918) [x] [x] another keaton/arbuckle production and also adorable

if you like those, i would recommend any of the other keaton/arbuckle shorts

1920s

the 1920s is just a laundry list of buster keaton movies for me so i’ll just link a few of my faves:

one week (1920) [x] [x]the scarecrow (1920) [x] [x]the haunted house (1921) [x] [x]the high sign (1921) [x] [x]sherlock jr (1924) [x] [x]

1930s

i know you said you don’t like horror, but i wouldn’t be doing my due diligence if i didn’t reccomend any of the universal monster movies. the ones that were made in the ‘30s were the best, but the later ones are some goody cheesy fun.

night world (1932) [x] [x] this one stars boris karloff is a semi-comedic role. it’s very... noiry, but it’s got some good laughs.

aaaand more buster keaton shorts.

1940s

road to morocco (1940) [x] this is one of the first “road shows” with bing crosby, bob hope, and dorothy lamour. i grew up with these movies. they were my favorites, even if i didn’t get any of the innuendos, lol. this one isn’t on youtube (i might own a dvd copy of this) but this is the theme song. the ones on yt are:

road to utopia (1946) [x] [x]road to rio (1947) [x] [x]road to bali (1952) [x] [x]

sherlock holmes movies (1939-46) [x] [x] these are the ones with basil rathbone and nigel bruce. they are so SO cheesy, but since sherlock holmes is my cryptonite, i have to rec them. the playlist i linked isn’t complete but it’s got all the good ones c:

up in arms (1944) [x] there appear to be no links to this anywhere online so idk where you would watch it, but, holy shnikes. this is the beginning of the film career of MY BOY danny kaye. i’m in love with danny kaye. i’ve been in love with danny kaye since i was nine. i used to have a danny kaye themed url. i’ll be reccing more of his readily available movies later but like... i love danny kaye.

arsenic and old lace (1944) [x] this clip is the only thing you need to know about this movie. well, that and it’s got cary grant and peter lorre in it.

wonder man (1945) [x] [x] the first of the danny kaye movies where he plays 2 people. not readily available but still a fuckin’ fabu movie. if you speak spanish fluently, there is a copy here. fun story, this was the movie that convinced me that dan was some kind of poorly disguised trickster sun god.

my favorite brunette (1947) [x] [x] this one also stars bob hope and dottie. it’s so funny. it’s got lon chaney jr and peter lorre. idk i keep reccing it to people lol.

the secret life of walter mitty (1947) [x] this is another danny kaye movie. in fact, it’s the first one i remember watching from way back when. it’s all about a daydreamer who’s daydreams get a little too real... oh and it involves this song.

abbott and costello meet frankenstein (1948) [x] [x] about as far from a horror movie while still being idk kind of a horror movie? is there a word for a comedy with slightly suspenseful moments? idk, but this was another one i watched a million times during my childhood.

the inspector general (1949) [x] [x] another danny kaye movie!! this one is readily available on youtube in varying quality. i just linked the first one that i saw, but i’m sure there’s a better quality one floating around somewhere.

1950s

on the riviera (1951) [x] [x] and another danny kaye movie. this one also has gene tierny who is arguably the most beautiful woman in the world. and he plays two people again. it’s so good. the one i linked to is kinda shitty quality, but it’s worth it.

knock on wood (1954) [x] [x] more danny kaye!! this one is a fun little musical (which all of them are really, because my BOY was a song and dance man) but it includes this scene.

rear window (1954) [x] [x] yay!! finally a movie that might actually be normally included on a vintage movie rec list!!! this is a hitchcock flick. yes, he was a royal douchebag. but this is a good movie. mostly because of grace kelly and jimmy stuart but like, watch if you can!!

mister roberts (1955) [x] another movie that might actually be recced by normal people!! i would link u the trailer, but, honestly, this scene describes the movie much better.

the court jester (1955) [x] this movie was a Formative Influence for me. danny kaye in this movie is the reason that i love gentle boys. the songs are catchy and it’s so technicolor and cute.

me and the colonel (1958) [x] [x] *incoherent crying noises* pls its so good (yet another danny kaye movie)

the hound of the baskervilles (1959) [x] [x] this one, despite being made by hammer horror, is not really a horror movie. it’s a sherlock holmes movie. and it involves my bae, peter cushing. who i dedicated my url to. and maybe at least 50k words of fanfiction but that’s irrelevant.

1960s

on the double (1961) [x] sorry that all these are danny kaye movies, but i love this one.

ten little indians (1965) [x] [x] a silly little mystery based on an agatha christie story

that darn cat (1965) [x] on the other end of the kooky 60s movies we have the disney movies of the era. this one is super cute and it has roddy mcdowall c:

our man flint (1966) [x] [x] a fabulous bond parody he’s got literally 5 girlfriends

the adventures of bullwhip griffin (1967) [x] another super cute disney movie!! im lowkey in love with roddy mcdowall.

anyways, there they are!! if you want me to do the 1970s let me know~

#hi my name is chelsea and i have SHITTY TASTE IN MOVIES #but these are all good #chelsea replies #faekin-it

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breeeliss · 8 years ago

Text

[Miraculous Ladybug]: Dressed to Kill

i….am procrastinating this paper super hard….so i started a one-shot series. isn’t that fun?

bit of a T rating, but if you don’t mind that, enjoy :)

–

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

–

Title: Dressed to Kill

Summary: “You got a fucking manicure before a job?”

Chloe held one of her hunting blades in between her teeth while she loaded a magazine into her gun. “Shut the fuck up, they were giving mani pedis away for twenty euros, how was I going to say no to that?”

Chlonette Assassins AU

1. Flirting on the Job

“You got a fucking manicure before a job?”

Marinette rolled her eyes and peeked around the corner, staring at the two guards stationed at the door at the other end of the courtyard. She finished screwing her suppressor onto her own gun and checked her pockets for her compression gloves. “So if some asshole has me in a chokehold, you’re not going to punch him in the face because you have to protect your goddamn gel manicure?”

“I never said that,” Chloe groaned. “Obviously I’d clock him straight in the nose, but I will expect you to pay for my replacement manicure since you shouldn’t be getting yourself into that situation in the first place.”

“Oh nice.”

“I’m a single woman, I deserve to pamper myself, sue me.”

Marinette fastened the velcro of her gloves and counted the knives she had strapped to her thigh. “That’s your own fault. I offered to sleep with you literally last week and you said no.” She checked her watch. “Shifts change in 3 minutes.”

“Roger,” Chloe replied automatically. “Also, fuck you, you told me you’d sleep with me because, and I quote, you found my dry spell ‘cripplingly pathetic.’”

“I mean, it is. Offer still stands,” Marinette winked.

“Please, if anyone’s going to be doing the fucking, it’s going to be me,” Chloe snarled. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, tapped around her apps, and brought up full schematics of the building they were about to sneak into. “Alya just sent us a map. Adrien says lights out in 30.”

“Perfect.” Marinette readjusted the duffle bag on her back. “Any place that’ll give me a clean shot?”

“Probably the trophy room” Chloe said. “We might have to clear out the third floor though. I’ll do it. Give you time to set up the sniper and should still leave us a 5 minute leeway until the target comes into range.”

Marinette nodded. Clean and simple job, just how she liked it. “Alright. Moving in 2. Also, you’re the pillow queen to end all pillow queens. I think we know which one would do the fucking.”

“Um, I’m an amazing lesbian,” Chloe insisted. “Half the reason my arms are toned is because I do my fair share of the work.”

“You get frequent manicures and grow out your nails. How is that being an amazing lesbian?”

“I’m sorry that you’re so low maintenance that you have to depend on your fingers. Some of us have an arsenal of other devices that can happily do the work and then some.”

Marinette nodded. “Ah, strap-on queen. Sexy.”

“Marinette, shut the fuck up.”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “Since when are you shy about talking about sex?”

“Since we’re on an assignment.”

“We have 90 seconds to kill.”

Chloe rolled her eyes but Marinette saw the smile at the corner of her lips. “I would only sleep with you if bought me dinner first. And you would have to swear allegiance to me, complement me at least four times a day, and worship my body at every available opportunity.”

Marinette snorted. “How about this? You do a good job for me? I’ll buy you dinner, a hotel room, your own bottle of wine, and an entire evening to do whatever you want with me.”

Chloe lifted a brow and whistled. “Damn. Are you hitting a dry spell?”

“I’m forced to look at a hot dumb blonde all day,” Marinette said with a deadpanned stare. “What did you expect?”

“You’re such a bitch.” She jutted her chin towards the two guards who were laughing and heading back inside the building to take a break from their shift. They had a 5 minute window. “Ready when you are.”

Their assignment today wasn’t a huge deal. Alya got them a layout of the mansion, Adrien was probably sneaking out right about now after having knocked out the security system, and Chloe and Marinette were left to do the rest.

The CEO who lived here was apparently in the center of a huge embezzling scheme. Plan was to wipe out and secure the third floor and give Marinette a base to snipe down their target and all of his affiliates as they drove up the road and came back to the mansion at exactly 8:00pm for dinner according to Alya’s information. Ideally, it would give Chloe just enough time to break into the target’s study, wipe his computer clean of information, and hopefully give them more info on who else was involved in this nonsense. Then, it was just a matter of getting back to Adrien and his getaway car.

Hopefully this would be done in an hour. Marinette hated working weekends.

They both slipped in through the front doors after the stationed guards left, scanned the main room for any guards, and quickly sped up the stairs, staying low and keeping their hands on their guns. Marinette was in charge of memorizing the guard schedules, and this was around the time when everyone was switching around. Shitty security, since that meant that Chloe and Marinette had an easy time of avoiding them all while they meandered to their next posts. Marinette only had to knock out two guards on their way to the third floor.

Eight guards. Yeah. Not subtle at all.

“Yeah, this guy’s study is definitely on this floor,” Marinette muttered as they crouched on the other side of the door that was slightly ajar and leading to southern portion of the third floor hallway. “Two birds with one stone I guess.”

“Idiot,” Chloe snorted. She pulled out her pistol in one hand and hunting knife in the other. “Alright, you want me to be practical about this or sexy about this?”

Marinette raised an amused brow. “What’s the difference?”

Chloe shrugged. “Practical is I just scope them from here in like four seconds and call it a day. Sexy is I do the job and give you a show at the same time.”

Marinette laughed. “Careful, your crush on me is showing.”

“Please. I still haven’t said yes to your little sex date.”

“You also haven’t said no,” Marinette teased. “I’ll take the sexy option while you’re offering.”

Chloe tapped the tip of her knife to her nose. “Keep your eyes on my ass, it looks fantastic today.”

Marinette gave her a mock salute. “Yes, mademoiselle.”

When they first joined the agency, Chloe was super pissed that Marinette was essentially able to kick her ass every time she popped into the gym and tried sparring with her. Marinette kept explaining it was because she had four years of mixed martial arts training under her belt, so Chloe repeatedly being knocked on her ass was nothing to be ashamed of (insert condescending wink here). So of course the petty little thing went and signed up for Taekwondo classes and turned into a badass in the span of two years. And because Chloe was an insufferable narcissist, she liked to show it off at every available opportunity.

Though, Marinette had to admit, watching Chloe take down eight guards with nothing but a knife and some brutal double roundhouse kicks was pretty hot.

Chloe slammed a guard’s head against the wall and pulled her knife out of the muscle of his upper arm, leaving him in a crumpled, motionless heap. She wiped off the blade with the edge of her shirt and stuck her tongue out at Marinette. “Scale of one to ten.”

“Solid seven. I kinda wish I had a better view of your boobs.”

Chloe huffed. “Well shit I’ll pop my chest out the next time I’m literally kicking some dude’s ass.”

Marinette walked by the bodies of the guards and planted a quick kiss on Chloe’s cheek. “Thanks for cleaning up the place.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me!

“Please flattery got me everywhere with you.”

“Go set up your stupid gun!”

Marinette cackled and pulled a lock picking kit out of her pocket while Chloe pulled a door jammer and a CinchLock out from her own duffle bag and quickly barricaded the door to the main hallway. For good measure, she dragged an armoire and a desk in front of the door to further deter anyone from coming in.

Marinette kneeled in front of the trophy room and started fiddling with the lock. “Don’t you remember that time I took you out to that club last month?”

Chloe’s cheeks went red as she started picking the lock to one of the other rooms in the hallway. “Shut up…”

“Hands down the best night I’ve had all month,” Marinette exclaimed. “You dragged me off to the couches, sat in my lap, started making out with me, and stuck your hand down the front of my pants. I mean, I get we were a little drunk but Lord.”

“I was thirsty, okay?” Chloe popped her door open first and sucked her teeth when it was revealed to just be a guest room. She switched to the door perpendicular to Marinette’s. “And you looked amazing that night. I’m not an idiot.”

“I believe I told you that your dress made you look like a fucking goddess,” Marinette smirked. “And then you sort of blinked at me, didn’t say anything, and pulled me off to the side. Flattery will get me nowhere my ass.” Marinette pushed her door open and found the trophy room that perfectly overlooked the road wrapping up the hill that led to the mansion. She yanked her duffle bag off her shoulder, kneeled by the window, and unzipped her bag.

“You think yourself so irresistible don’t you?”

Marinette started setting up the scope to her gun. “Pretty much.”

Chloe finished picking the lock to the door and cheered. “Got the fucker’s computer!! And just you wait, tonight I’ll rock your goddamn world. Then we’ll see who finds who irresistible.”

“Is that a yes to the sex date then?”

“What the hell. I could use an orgasm or four. That dinner better be spectacular though. I’m a wine and dine kind of gal.”

“Give me some credit, will you? I’m a romantic at heart.”

Marinette quickly started to set her rifle up by the window while Chloe plugged in her ear piece and had Alya talk her through how to sweep their target’s computer for anything useful. They’d wasted a bit of time fooling around in the hallway so the target and the rest of his dinner guests started rolling up along the long road quicker than Marinette had anticipated. She clicked her tongue against her teeth, peered through the scope, and started loading up bullets. “They’re coming up the hill.”

“Seriously?” Chloe groaned. She muttered something to Alya before going back to tapping away at the keyboard. “I’ll try to hurry up but no promises.”

“No need,” Marinette breathed out. “I got it.”

“Make those shots count, darling.”

Marinette snorted. “Don’t I always?” She was the best markswoman in their entire agency. If there was ever an assignment that needed a sharpshooter, Marinette was always the first on the ticket.

She gently laid her finger on the trigger and lined up her scope so that it was pointed right in the middle of the windshield of the first car coming up the hill. She could just barely see a man that more or less matched the description of their target through the glass and lined the scope up to the center of his forehead. The moment she made this shot there was going to be a rain of bullets heading straight for her, so she needed to make this quick without being sloppy. She waited until the car stopped winding around the turn and started driving straight before she pressed down on the trigger.

The bullet smashed through the windshield and the car immediately jolted to a screeching halt. Marinette smirked when she saw that she successfully made the shot. The driver tumbled out of the car and was already pulling a gun out of his back pocket to aim for the mansion, the only other place where a shooter could possibly be holed up. Marinette didn’t even blink before she moved her gun and made quick work of him as well.

The other cars started coming up the hill and Marinette quickly started to recount her bullets. 3 left in the rifle. 5 on the buttstock. 10 more on the improvised shell holder she had on her left sleeve. She’d be fine so long as she didn’t miss too many shots. The next car came around the bend and she landed another bullet straight into the forehead of the other passenger. But this time, other cars behind that one were stopping and their passengers were ducking behind their car doors to create cover. Marinette waited for one of them to peek out above the car door to take a shot at her before getting them in the side of the neck.

“Chloe!!” Marinette shouted over her own gunfire. “How are we looking?”

“Bullshit password protection and shitty encryptions. Got his emails, contacts, and business files. Sending them to Fu and waiting for him to okay it.”

“Okay,” Marinette gritted out, cursing as she missed a shot. She quickly reloaded the rifle. “No pressure. Take your time.”

“Feeling the heat, babe?”

“No, I’m doing fantastic!” A stray bullet hit the side of the window and made Marinette flinch as one of her shots went a little too wide and hit someone in the shoulder.

Honestly. This was supposed to be her day off. She really needed to talk to Master Fu about getting other snipers to take these shitty weekend assignments. Surely seniority counted for something.

Marinette eventually got whittled down to her last five bullets with only two more men hiding in the trees and bushes along the side of the house. She managed to get one of them in the right eye before she heard someone banging on the barricaded door at the end of the hallway. The other guards in the house already knew that they were in here. They needed to get out quick. Marinette tracked her last target who was making sure to keep low in the bushes and make shots through the trees to keep his cover. “Chloe, talk to me.”

“Fu’s got enough. I’m wiping my tracks and we’re good to go. How are you doing?”

“One more.” She heard the banging happening at the other side of the barricade becoming more insistent. Marinette rolled her eyes, stared at her last three bullets, and decided to screw it and take a chance. She purposefully aimed one of her bullets at the ground next to the bush that the last shooter was hiding behind and smiled victoriously when he dove away from his hiding spot to avoid the shot. She quickly landed her second to last bullet through his temple and immediatley started dismounting her rifle from the window.

“How are we getting out, Chlo!?” Marinette shouted.

“Uhhh…” Chloe hesitated, zooming in on the maps that Alya sent over. “There’s a blind spot on the west wall. Adrien says if we scale down and go straight through the trees, we’ll get to his car.”

Marinette finished packing up her rifle, kept a hand on her pistol, and darted from the room. “Told you not to get a manicure today. Your ass is gonna break a nail climbing down the side of the wall.”

“Don’t remind me.”

They snuck into the guest room that Chloe had previously opened, climbed out the window, and breathed out sighs of relief when they saw that there weren’t any guards on this side of the mansion yet. They used the gutter pipe to get down to the ground and immediately ran through the trees. Marinette could hear shouting and gunfire behind her, but she focused on keeping her head down and creating as much distance between them and the mansion as possible.

Sure enough, they stumbled out onto a road and saw an inconspicuous black car with fake license plates parked just behind the line of trees. The back doors were already opened for them and Chloe and Marinette quickly dove into the backseats and shut the doors behind them. Adrien was already at the wheel, slamming his foot down on the pedal, and peeling onto the road and back down the hill.

Chloe pulled out her pistol and kept it pointed out the back window in case anyone started following them. Marinette caught the phone that Adrien threw her from the front seat and pulled it to her ear. “Yes?”

“The information was received. I assume everything went smoothly?”

Fu. Marinette chuckled and wiped her forehead. “More or less. We were extracted successfully. Heading back to base now.”

“Be ready to give a full report upon your return. Excellent work, Ladybug.”

Marinette smirked, hung up the phone, and threw it on the seat next to her. She shoved an elbow into Chloe’s side. “Good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Chloe sighed and slid back down on the seat next to Marinette, leaning her head on her shoulder. “God, why did our extraction point have to be at the other end of the fucking woods?”

“It was as close to you two as I could get,” Adrien apologized. “Besides. A good run never hurt anyone. Least of all you.”

“Leave me alone,” she muttered. Chloe held up her index finger and showed Marinette the nail that had snapped all the way down to the base. “Do you see this? Do you see? Broken nail.”

“I told you not to get a manicure!” Marinette repeated. “Besides, you’re a tenth of the way prepared for tonight anyway, so you might as well even yourself out.”

Adrien cackled. “Oh my God, wait, are you guys hooking up again?”

Chloe scowled. “What’s it to you?”

“If you say yes, Nino owes me like two hundred euros.”

Chloe screamed in outrage. “I thought you were joking about those betting pools!”

“Nu-uh,” Adrien said. “Your weird flirty, banter-y, rival, sexual tension thing is hilarious. You’re like Miraculous’s main source of entertainment.”

“Oh, gee, thanks.”

“Don’t worry Adrien,” Marinette smiled sweetly. “She will be thoroughly ravished before the evening is over. I promise.”

“Oh good. Maybe she’ll be in a pleasant mood in the morning.”

“One can only hope.”

“You two are fucking terrible and you’re both paying for my new manicure.”

#miraculous ladybug #chlonette #chloenette #chloe bourgeois #marinette dupain-cheng #chlonette fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #my writing #dressed to kill

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highsviolets · 4 years ago

Text

Breathless, i & ii

REPOSTING BREATHLESS IN FULL BC IT NOW HAS A BANNER!!!

darling brit made a banner for my favorite fic and i couldn’t be more grateful. it was so pretty it deserved its own post. thank you @afogocado!!!!

“would you like one? A cigarette?”

“Near-drowning is a pretty low threshold for a shitty day.” The upwards lilt of his voice tells you he’s just messing around, so you roll your eyes. A thought seizes you.

“Will you permit me?”

he nods ((once, twice, rapidly, easily)) and maybe you’re a fool but it seems like his breath hitches and his eyes flicker down to your lips when you light his cigarette.

“I’m Ben.”

“Hi.”

“1200 Curfews is the best of both.” your eyes narrow. “Don’t avoid the topic, Ben. How’d you know who I was?”

A toss and vigorous stamp of your foot and your cigarette joins his, dead in the dirt.

“You’ve been at the pool nearly every day this summer.”

“You know Fukuyama?” he simply looks at you and nods. “Well, he makes an interesting argument, but I don’t think he adequately rejects Huntington’s thesis.”

A hand scratches the back of his neck. “You wanna get out of here?” Ben ignores the jibing of his friend and speaks quietly, assuredly, like he knows you’ll say yes.

The towel gets draped gracefully over a lightly tanned arm, the cigarettes and lighter and keys tossed into the pocket of his now-dry swim trunks, your book is secured in the crook of an elbow.

“one thing left.”

still, he smiles, and it reaches those tempestuous eyes, crinkling and compressing their thunder and lighting around the edges.

“May you permit me?” He murmurs gingerly, echoing your previous words with obstinate formality.

and you, too, mimic him, simply nodding. Your hands drop as he leans forward and —

Oh.

the pressure of his lips on yours is feather-light. It’s seeking. Reassuring. Gentle. Exploratory.

But you do not want gentle. You are too far gone for that.

you beam up at him. “yes, Ben. I’m ready.”

“my curfew’s at midnight.”

Ben doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, he does. Just not right now. He’s busy at the moment, tinkering with something in the hood of his car. hunter green t-shirt — auburn hair — something out of goddamn salinger novel ((or maybe dos passos))

you look up at him. you’re settled on a skateboard ((he’s far too trusting of your ability to remain upright)). listless currents from a fan — somewhere, in the garage, you think — ripple in that nomadic space between his t-shirt and your skin.

remarks are so curious a thing, and you watch yours descend upon him. not quite a cascade. not quite a pittance of cleansing summer rains. it’s something other — but not ethereal — it’s here, it’s now, it’s taking you, too, holding you in thrall — words bump into skin ((sinew and sin)).

“it’s about doing the right thing.” the grind of one metal locking its relatives, corollaries, corrosions, into place has ceased. or maybe only paused. you’re not sure the car is done. but Ben looks at you, and you know he’s done. done explaining himself.

the skateboard’s wheels squeak and cry out against the pavement when you adjust. legs stretched out — ragged vans pointing above ((wherever that is)) — violet tipped hands clutching the back edges — knees exposed — just kissing the faintness of tangible ((affection or affectations, what’s the difference?))

“i know.” freckles gaze into the sun, his eyes, reflections. he expects your explanation to be plaintive. institutional. it’s not. “i just wanted to know why.”

Ben shakes his head, once, twice, thrice — face still half-soaked in the shadow of the hood — astonishment is plain to see in the flatness of his cheeks — the waltzing of his tongue on his upper lip.

Two seconds later he is right there, crouching ((muscles straining)) next to you, the leather tips of air jordans exotic and smooth against the external lateral bone of your left knee. His eyes, screwed up at the invasion of the sun against their tranquility, stare at the meeting of his shoes and your body and then he is gazing at you.

angels manipulate his mouth into a smile — Ben’s yours, now — hands are clasped — battles halt in the ceasefire. “I should really stop underestimating you.”

Ben reaches out. Two fingers ride the length of your cheekbone. They still as skin morphs into frizzled, sun-bleached hair at the crown of your head, in that space between your ear and eyebrow. your head nudges into his terms of surrender. “That would probably be best,” you say. The pause between conditional tense and adverb is like the space between you and him, an assured hesitancy, caught between becoming and being, trapped in an interstitial existence.

it’s so fucking americana it hurts.

hair , secured by a scrunchie the same shade as your fingertips, is given a light tug. let’s get you home, he says, and your presence wilts in upon itself , he senses the rush of photosynthesis exiting your body and brings your lips to caress his.

it doesn’t feel like the first time — nothing ever does — familiar in semantics — murky in meaning — singeing and sweet — a transfusion of significance between you and him.

the breaking away comes with a solemn sigh. he’s rising and bringing you with him. you resist the urge to stage a coup and use the skateboard to rocket yourself into his arms ((a safehouse you’ve found)).

___

time: a nebulous concept for you. it’s pages dogeared and how many days until the next cd is shipped to the store and how many t-shirts you’ve accosted from oaken drawers.

it’s a far more solid object for him. a tangible weave of textures and patterns that he notices in the scrunchies now in the car’s island of misfits ((he still hasn’t told you the make and model)) and how many times you guide his hand around your waist while you eat ice cream ((vanilla in a cone with sprinkles)) and the pens he’s busted through since you first met ((he knows the number , they’re immortalized in a tin cup on his shelf))

Ben’s holding one that has yet to join its brothers in the tin graveyard. The clicker rests against his teeth. It looks seductive in his mouth. Like he can make you keen with just an imitation of the real thing, with words and ideas. Words twirled around the air have power. You both know this.

You’re the one who’s twirling, though. spinning around his bedroom — boombox emitting a Billy Joel song at least ten years mature — mouth forming words you have yet to possess the courage to blare — so much like your kisses.

((the words come through in the translation , the body moves but he hears the soul))

he watches you and he is transfixed. he knows you do not know how much you are revealing to him. at least not consciously. but you want him to crawl into your soul and never leave. he does not see it or hear it or feel it as much as he experiences truth, the clumsy trio dotting patterns across his extremities and seeping into his essence ((what it means to be human)) like an antibiotic ointment. he is scared you will stick to things for which you are not designed. but it’s too late and he’s covered in the stuff, slick with you. unleashed in a trigonometric function of three sides ((him / you , other)). sins and signs and echoing sunlight.

your smile mimics his as you edge toward the bed where he’s sprawled out. you laugh and he matches you, shaking his head in rare & unguarded ((unabashed , unembarrassed)) regard. you are in harmony.

skin meets skin — heels arched into the carpet — he’s too strong too stubborn — and you fail and fall and spill over him — tumbling over his torso, legs mashed — the heat of his victorious grin burns the atmospheric bubble arching over the two of you.

You’re not sure if the record stops or if you’ve just ceased hearing it. he arranges you ((like a bouquet, like a song)) on the bed. he stares down at you. the eyes are stormy again, like before he kissed you the first time ((but nothing’s ever like the first time)). they say eyes are the window to the soul. Your hands whisk the hair that’s dangling there, like you can quiet him by quelling his independently-minded locks. it seems to work. he blinks and when you see the sun again it’s brighter, bluer, but maybe that’s because he’s so still now.

he does not move. He may not have danced but his soul is pressing into you like a dagger ((did you fall on a sword)). Ben cuts off your impending speech with conciliatory kiss. “i know , darling” , and the words etch themselves into reality against your body.

—-

Ben is distant and he is near to you all at once. There are corners of his being that you want to slide and drag and push to the surface. maybe if you do he will start to make sense. form follows function, he tells you, and the words feel as yellow as the pages on which they’re inked.

it doesn’t make sense to you — “you have too much sense, dear one” — elinor and marianne — but for all his purity he does not dance — no ricochets in his lever and pulley soul.

you are glass and flannel and he is steel and silk. he is not quite your sun, or your moon, or your stars, and not even your world. but you are rapidly terraforming to his sundry heights and arid permafrost and the devil’s sun that makes a home in his fingers, in his mouth ((yet he is not lucifer, nor abdiel perhaps he is raphael)).

Ben watches you soak in him. He takes note, n.b., nota bene, notes well, excellently, the stillness of your hands ((the tremors have lessened, but have they learned?)). your words are teal and vermillion and ecru and weeping with tannins. Ben deduces ease, easel, paint, art as you furrow into his chest. His mind infers souls through their bodies. Form follows function. Function follows form. Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t.

Through your mirror he sees himself with you but he does not comprehend. He is bewildered.

nails boards cones sheets — teeth fingers knees breath — swerving form yielding function clutching grasping — all so very , sine qua non — aspectu sine logos — why does the latin transform into Greek

Morpheus, he thinks, nods sagely. he hurls ticket stubs and lipstick napkins and sense ((you)) into shoeboxes and mailboxes and shadowboxes. he refuses a photo of you, with you, for you and takes your knotted eyes and throws them, too, into the nearest body of water. you are close but you are not near ((droplets on tanned skin, drowning in the water)) and it is all he can do to obey his life and he does not know that sartre laughs at him and de beauvoir pokes her lover.

you are not at the middle of your life and neither is he. the path is still obscured by the trees. is charon delivering you to this threshold of the styx ((stones, bones, death)) or the tip of the world where the stars scrape into the heavens with a different edge? he is rising: he brings you with him. so it was in the past, but does the past presage the future? if he is raphael then he is virgil ((Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t))

epic firestorm of righteous creation myths — empirical histories — imperial truths. but no. dante, where is dante, is he off in firenze, dancing in florid colors? no. dante is in exile, civitas ex nihilo : in need of virgil. guide him to transcendence.

____

you do not see him for several days. maybe it is weeks. you aren’t sure. time is not empirical, Ben has told you, it’s something you have to feel through its measuring ((sometimes vibrancy tips out of his ridges)). but you wish he had let you take a picture of the two of you. you are more like him than you realize , the truest truths are the ones you can touch.

it is the longest you have not seen him, and it is very hot. the pool, the lake, they’re not the same when you can’t thread sand through his hair and be abducted by his gaze as you read ((spirited away from his bookshelf)).

you’re running out of books — running out of time? — but time is not statistical — multidimensionality of you and him — there is no space where he does not compress himself to exist with you.

“it’s not a phase, mom,” you say, and take another bite of cereal.

“you need to make up your mind.” the crunch is effective at blocking out the noise, and your mind continues on its path. you wonder if DJ Tanner ever felt like this. hair surfaces in your bowl, and you pluck it out, grimacing. Maybe you should cut your hair. it’s hot out. DJ had short hair.

a rap on the table — spoon? knuckle? you can’t tell — strikes you. the words reality and wake up and decisions and wasteful are abrasions on your knees, still sore from too many tries on Ben’s skateboard ((he had smiled at your earnestness and kissed away the latent tears , let your body do its healing)).

you do not speak words so much as you give birth to emotions, agonizing and cruel and hideous. you do not know what you say or if you even say it ((dissociation)). but it is metallic in your mouth and turncoat shaking fingers and the sinking sound of unharnessed emotion in your ears.

it is hot and stifling and too much when you leave. nothing is feeling right — that stillness has lodged in your diaphragm again — opaque skies mock you — rain comes and you are colliding with nature and you are losing

Ben is standing underneath the overhang at the library ((it always comes back to the library)) and you wonder if you’re finally hallucinating. you voice forms itself to his name and he turns, damp hair following a few seconds later, and he drops his cigarette at the sight of you.

Exhilaration delivers specks of mud on your legs and arms but it is no matter. the time and space continuum has rectified and he is in front of you, giving you a cigarette, gray t-shirt abstracting to his muscles as much as your vans cling languidly to soggy toes.

he exhales smoke the way he says your name. it is precise and pious and it blooms over you like pink and purple hydrangeas.

Ben sees the gouges in your eyes and chastises your traitorous hands and absorbs you. cigarettes slump, abandoned, as he presses your cheek to his heart ((the conjunction of your logic and heat meeting his fervent center)). you cling to him and he does not resist but molds himself to you. time stops ((it’s an illusion)). rain continues. Ben’s kisses glide along your hairline, your forehead. it tickles and you laugh and his smile takes shape against your frontal cortex.

you pull him into the rain even as he protests ((but he’s laughing and the clouds pause, time takes a breath , are you time)) and you kiss him. it is like something breaks in him or perhaps the rain has induced erosion or maybe he is like you and there is a filigree thread connecting his head with his heart and constructing a railway through his body. Ben is all the lightning — the sky has crowned a new Zeus — you hold him as the thunder in his soul cracks and pulls

((maybe kant was wrong about time and heidegger was right about dwelling and nothing crystallizes in his soul like you do))

the two of you alight to his car ((still unknown yet cordial, native)) and when you reach his building he opens your door and scoops you up in his arms and it is like that first time by the pool ((but nothing is ever like the first time)).

your hand makes a fist in his soggy shirt and his hair is pasted to his forehead and you cannot censor the searing, violent, desideratum swooping over you ((nor can you pause the absurd laugh that gushes out of your heart at his display of exorbitant chivalry)).

“i can walk,” you say as he wades through water that’s now folding over his skin, lapping up his electrolytes.

“yes, dearest, but you can’t swim, can you?” he likes to respond with questions, but this one’s an answer. Ben’s clutching you so tightly that you can’t see his face but you feel the contentment in his tone—it dashes into you like the rain currently encompassing the Earth, hesitant with the effort of exertion, with the weight of metal souls. “I’m just preemptively forbidding a disaster, darling.” there’s a tenderness bridging Ben’s raw power and mischievousness — the network protrudes — extracorporeal ((does he know?))

He cherishes the rain, Ben tells you later, when existence reduces to you and him and incandescent petrichor and the pasticcio of kisses, heartbeats, palms on skin.

___

Ben is not carefree, but he is not serious. it is like he has learned that he can take up space ((empirical)). there is less constriction, tension, stenosis in his body ((the filigree is stretching his limbs)). movements are not languid but nor are they demonstrations of correctness. not slouching — just not strictly upright.

your hair gets tangled, like his sheets, like his legs in yours, and you tell him you want to cut it. An auburn eyebrow lifts archly, and he runs a finger down the length of your arm, tracing the veins ((your life)). “how will I teach you how to swim if you chop off your legs, darling?” Ben’s voice is charcoal. gray, yellow red orange burning, glowing at the edges. He draws up blueprints for cities in your open palm.

You make a quip about the ship of state and he snorts. When he shakes his head, his other hand — the one not serving as an architect on your body — shags through his hair, tanned skin meeting with copper effervescence in a ragged tryst. “i like its hows” he murmurs against your lips and you cannot protest, not when his caustic tongue ices, soothes, pacifies your conflagration.

The two of you are at the pool, again. He’s on his break. The air’s circulation is viscous, shoving over your skins. It straps you in — like the fanny pack around his waist. Ben’s donned his lifeguard pack for work, swapping out his array of gauche accessories for the traditional red and white accoutrement now fastened at his hips.

the most important things in his life, Ben thinks as he inhales the light spice of a Malboro, start with “l”. learning, lady, library, liberty, lake, logos, love. he doesn’t know from where last word originates; he must learn ((connaître ou savoir?)). in his experience, there’s no such thing as luck. He feels like a character in one of those war movies filmed right before he was born, smoking lucky strikes in a foxhole and just trying to stay alive, goddamnit, just trying to get through the war.

The two of you are always watching each each other. The obtuse phenomenology plays out like a courtly masquerade. veritas, quid est veritas, for here both object and deception are degrees of truth. He smirks around the cigarette and you blush but your eyes hold his and you catch his approval and stuff it inside your heart.

Ben takes your hand and places it on his thigh as you speak. the two of you are straddling a lacquered yellow beach chair, offensive in its self-confidence. he leans forward and touches his forehead to yours. he likes to take initiative — he is making use of his knowledge, he told you once, mumbled and sleepy, when you had whispered the question against his shoulder late one night.

Ben brings himself nearer to you. sweat — splashes — dangling exertions — smoke — sunscreen. it all plays about your lips and in your blood and in his hands that keep yours pressed against his flesh. someone yells at him to get his ass back to work and Ben rolls his eyes.

“duty calls.” his actions, the chair: they embolden you to dip your voice, your thoughts, mayhap you actions to a lower register.

He ducks his head to peer at your face, like that first time when you were falling over ((but nothing is like the first time)). as he passes the remainder of the cigarette to you, the words he speak sound like him, carry his weight, refracted starlight from coal. “we all have a duty. even you.” Ben doesn’t need to say his duties; they are his life, his schedule, the notebooks in haphazard stacks under the bed, his tin cups of pens. you wonder if you are part of his list ((if the cables have let you traverse the journey from his heart to his head)).

when you tell him that he is diamond but you are like one of those new gems they make in labs — what are they called — moissanite, he shakes his head. “you are not so scientific, darling.” fingers squeeze yours. “you are burning skies and delimitations and biting stars — the most natural things that exist.”

((you are not sure if you believe him, because nothing is like the first time)).

#wtf brit #it's SO PRETTY #am v uwu #thank you :)#fic: breathless #modern au #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x reader insert #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan x y/n #obi-wan x reader insert #cris writes

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