#every time i get a quote where someone aggressively avoids cursing i can only think of remi

[byanyan]

✏️!

incorrect quotesㅤㅤㅤㅤ∘ ˚ ( accepting!! )

byan: why do you think i don’t like you? i do. i would kill for you. byan: ask me to kill for you. remilia: …first of all, calm down—

remilia: oh, fiddlesticks! that really ruffles my feathers! byan: please, just say fuck.

byan: you know what’s funny about remi? she's my best friend, and anyone who’d hurt her is someone i’d murder, probably.

byan: iuegrukfhoeuhfeoruhf remilia: what is that? byan: it’s a keyboard smash remilia: how do i do it? byan: just press anything remilia: 7

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)

Pairing: Starker (Peter Parker/Tony Stark) Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This one was based off an anonymous prompt asking for the use of the quote “you say it best”. In typical Bobbie fashion, I set to spotify and made music the ultimate muse. Word Count: 7.4K Warnings: Tony is deaf in this one and ASL is mentioned/used frequently. There’s also some NSFW stuff, but that’s a usual for me.  Summary: 

Peter Parker doesn't like the subway, but relents when he gets a job with the New York Philharmonic. The gig he's been waiting for all his life is definitely worth an early morning ride. Things go from good to not so much when a stranger takes Peter's coveted seat - every Monday morning. It doesn't take long for Peter to confront him, only to find out that people aren't always what they seem.

Or - the one where Peter and Tony learn what love really is.

Read it on AO3 here.

It all started with a monumental misunderstanding.

For most of college, Peter got away with never riding the subway. His home-grown roots and the steady cliché personified by practically every move based in New York left a dirty taste in his mouth about the underground motor system – a part of him didn’t want to admit that they scared him (just a little). For the 6 years he diligently attended Tisch’s music program, Peter lived close enough to avoid any sort of transportation aside from the use of his own two legs.

Staying in the city, Peter should’ve figured that he would inevitably need to ride the subway some time or another – taking a taxi was a total no-no and not everywhere could be reached by bike. Of course, that predestined time finally made itself apparent when the New York Philharmonic came calling – after years of practice, performance, and gritting his teeth against the teasing, Peter was finally realizing his dream; and, ironically, getting himself a subway pass.

Despite the weird fear he harbored for all of his existence in the city, Peter found his rides on the subway to be pretty calm and easy. Having to grab the earliest train, Peter realized that there were good and bad times of the day to be catching a subway. He sent up a little word of thanks when his usual car stayed relatively empty for the third week in a row. His trusty seat by the window with just enough space to fit his saxophone case stayed empty and ready for him every day. Life was good.

Until it didn’t – and then suddenly life wasn’t that good again.

For the first time in weeks, Peter got onto the subway and immediately found himself frowning. His usual seat was rudely occupied with someone completely new, the curly brown hair of the man both flattering and unkempt. Attempting to be cool about it, Peter stealthily glared daggers over at the individual, his frustration for the break in his routine bubbling just barely under the surface.

Determined to speak up for himself the next day, Peter got on his train to find his seat once again empty, the man from yesterday nowhere to be found. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Peter quickly took his seat – the need for sameness overcoming the curiosity the brunette man from the previous day stirred up in him; he wanted to be frustrated by him, not attracted to the honey color his dark brown hair changed to when it caught the light.

Things stayed normal for the rest of the week – every morning, Peter prepared himself for a turf battle, and every morning, he found himself a little bit disappointed that his seat competition wasn’t there to both look gorgeous and be frustrating in Peter’s self-proclaimed space.

Boarding the subway a week from that first encounter, Peter was once again caught off guard by the same man sitting innocently in his seat. Though the man couldn’t know how much drama he was causing him, Peter felt his anger boiling up again, the idea of not sitting in the usual place grating against the already abysmal feeling of a Monday morning. By the time he worked himself up enough to actually talk to the other man, his seat was conspicuously empty. In his brooding, Peter missed his opportunity – he cursed himself of the lost chance, then quickly took the seat so no one else could ruin his everyday routine.

After the fourth week of the Monday seat-napping occurrence, Peter felt fed up and impulsively followed the man off the subway when they got to his usual stop. Realizing how creepy it was that he watched the stranger enough to know when his prime opportunity would be, Peter almost stopped himself from pursuit, his feet hesitating a few seconds before his frustration won out. Gritting his teeth, Peter shook his head and continued to follow.

When the foot traffic brought them together, Peter reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder – his touch light, despite the aggression of the move to begin with. He kept himself from blowing up until they were facing each other – then let shit loose.

As he spoke and gestured wildly, Peter noticed the man’s expression moved from surprised to confused pretty fast. His eyebrows were pinched, both eyes attempting (in vain) to watch the way his lips moved. It wasn’t until he saw the man shuffling that he stopped his fast talking (should be read yelling) and paused to take a well needed breath.

All of a sudden, Peter saw the man pull his gloves from his fingers, the thought of getting punched at the forefront of his mind, before noticing that those very fingers were moving a mile a minute. He remembered just enough from his freshman sign language class to recognize the ASL but was lost after that. The stranger continued to gesture before a grin randomly broke out across his face. Peter figured his own facial expression was worth the stranger’s smirk.

An obviously underused voice sounded in his ears next, Peter’s face dropping again, a rush of a deep blush rushing to his face at the words that were spoken from the stranger’s mouth. “I can tell you’re confused. It sucks not being able to understand someone, doesn’t it?” Though the man was talking, his fingers gestured with each word – the man obviously more comfortable with his hands than with spoken dialect.

Letting go of a very embarrassed breath, Peter let his eyes fall to his shoes, apprehension and shame filling up the space between them. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Not just for not knowing that you’re deaf, but for yelling at you at all.” He stopped then, the realization of his words hitting him square in the chest. The guy standing in front of him was deaf, and he was still talking at him a mile a minute. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I – you probably don’t even know what I’m saying.”

The man let his grin grow at that, a look of amusement fresh in honey-hazel eyes. “I can read lips, actually. You’re very emotive.”

A beat of silence rested between them before the slightly scratchy voice sounded again. “I’m Tony.” The man – Tony, pointed to himself, his hands fingerspelling as he introduced himself.

Peter couldn’t keep the smile from blooming across his lips, eyes twinkling as he finger spelt his own name back, those specific letters close to the extent of his ASL knowledge. “I’m Peter. And insanely embarrassed by my behavior. Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

Tony’s answering beam made Peter’s stomach lurch, the heat settling there unlike anything he felt before. It took a lot of effort to push it down, even more so when Tony nodded, his eyes twinkling with mirth and interest.

As one could expect, it took them a few minutes to really master talking with each other.

After getting the affirmative, Peter tucked his head and started to trudge towards the nearest coffee shop – Tony’s usual stop was only two away from his own, so the turf felt relatively familiar. He wandered these streets often between his morning and afternoon rehearsals – enough to know about the cute little hole in the wall with the best espresso. His feet led them there easily, Peter only looking back over his shoulder twice to make sure Tony was still there, following closely on his heels.

Peter let Tony deal with ordering for himself, then stepped up and added his own triple shot espresso to the ticket – his bank card coming out faster than it ever had before. A simple cup of coffee was the least he could do; it wasn’t often people got yelled at by random strangers on the street.

For such an awkward way of meeting, Tony took everything in stride. He too must’ve been a regular at the coffee shop – Tony stood in what looked like his usual spot and waited patiently for the barista to slip the cup in front of him, instead of yelling out his name like she did for every other patron.

In his observation, Peter noticed Tony’s way of speaking without saying anything at all. He smiled widely and allowed his eyes to do a lot of his talking, the deep color of them just as animated as the looks being cast about. Though he gestured with his hands often, Tony adapted to those around him easily, the man quick to find a way to get his point across.

When they sat down across from each other, Peter took a sip of his drink before even thinking to speak – the thought of his undercaffeinated mind causing him any more drama a very real worry.

The coffee did its job a couple of moments later, Peter’s insides warming suspiciously like they did when he saw Tony smile for the first time. Brushing that thought aside, Peter let his eyes roam over Tony, the man still sitting there patiently, his patented grin pulling at lips that looked to be way too kissable for their own good. He let his eyes stay there for a moment before clearing his throat, unusual nervousness washing over him.

Much to his surprise, Peter felt a hand on his own before he could get any words out. His eyes bulged for a second at the weird feeling of rightness that overcame him – Tony’s tan hands were calloused and covered in what looked to be paint or marker. Interesting, even down to his very hands.

“Don’t be nervous. I can get five words out of ten and keep up pretty well if you don’t start yelling at me like you were. I don’t expect you to know how to sign and these” he said, gesturing at the hearing aids Peter hadn’t even noticed, “help muddle through the vibration of your words. I’m probably a better listener than you are.” Tony flashed him his eyebrows at that, his amusement at the entire situation written so plainly on his face.

Blushing, Peter nodded, his gaze averting for a second to collect himself. Though they weren’t touching anymore, Peter could feel the pressure on his skin, Tony’s kindly spoken words wrapping the rest of him up so peculiarly. From being a complete ass to totally smitten, Peter wasn’t sure what was happening to him – what the man in front of him could do to him just by being an admirable person.

“You’re probably right about that. The only thing I really like to listen to is music. And that’s usually just to make sure I don’t miss my own cues when I’m playing.”

Tony’s eyes lit up at that, his hands making the sign for music without much thought. “You’re a musician? What do you play?” His eyes glowed with earnest; a genuine interest written clearly in his gaze.

“I’m the second seat saxophone for the New York Philharmonic. I usually play the alto, but I fill in on the bass line when the pieces demand more of a commanding sound. I’d prefer to play the bass, actually – much more my style.”

“I played the tympany for a while in high school, if you can believe it. Percussion gives off the best vibrations.” Tony mimicked playing the instrument, his hands holding the pretend mallets the same way he would’ve if the percussion was actually sitting there. Peter let himself feel a little giddy at that – music was his life; sharing the passion for it felt good for a change. The usual forced enjoyment of his colleagues could be so grating, but Tony – Tony made it feel novel, like it used to before performing became a job.

“I was too small for the drums when they were distributing instruments in sixth grade. I was lucky to have landed the saxophone instead of the flute.”

Conversation flowed easily between them after that.

Tony fumbled every now and again, the quirk of his brow causing Peter to slow down or back up to make his words clearer. Aside from that, their conversation didn’t falter. Peter eagerly sussed out that Tony was an artist that worked in graphic design, the dark marker on his fingers making sense as he dug into his bag and pulled out his latest work. The blue on his fingers matched the lid of the tracing marker stuck in the middle of Tony’s book of art. His eyes lit up as he gestured and pointed at the different pieces of the work – Tony’s energy and enjoyment insanely intoxicating.

By the time Peter’s ‘oh shit’ alarm went off, they were deep in conversation about the difference between Marvel and DC’s comic prowess, Tony more interested in the art than Peter and his character driven preferences. Looking up as he shut the alarm off, Peter gestured to his phone, the screen still alive and bright.

“I’ve got to go, but I’d love to get your number.” Peter pushed the phone towards Tony, his cheeks warm from the hope and want of a nice conversation and obvious chemistry.

Tony pulled the phone towards him, his pointer finger tracing the edge of Peter’s case. “You can have it, under one condition.”

Peter quirked his brow at that, his head rising in recognition. “Sure, what is it?”

“Tell me why you were yelling at me.”

Blushing more furiously, Peter let his hand drift to the back of his neck, the nervous gesture one he picked up after having the shoulder harness on during hours of playing. “It’s kind of stupid – but you were in my seat. Have been, every Monday, for the past few weeks.”

The oddest sound fell from Tony’s lips, the soundless laugh choked off like the chuff of a dog without a voice box. The joy in it sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, his face splitting into a grin, despite the raging embarrassment that lashed at his skin.

“I knew it. I kept taking it after that first week just to see what you’d do. You’re something else, Peter.”

And though he wasn’t the most familiar with ASL, Peter knew Tony’s parting gesture was something affectionately close to the one used to call someone an idiot.

For a while, the bulk of their conversation existed through the realm of text messages. Having just got into performance season, Peter didn’t have a lot of in-person time to spare. Between rehearsals and practice concerts, there wasn’t much time to function normally, let alone nurture a new courtship – so, they made do.

Most mornings, Peter woke up to some sort of text message from Tony. From little things like quips about the weather to snippets and sneak previews of his latest drawings and commissions. No matter what he opened up, Peter came to enjoy whatever Tony Stark sent his way.

The messages continued throughout the day, usually Tony narrating a zoom meeting, or talking mad shit about the neighbor who lived across the hall from him (based on her comings and goings, Tony swore the older woman was a British spy). There was always something to respond to between songs and stints of rehearsal – the idea of not being alone more than welcome after spending entire pieces and concerts in the depths of his music space, that section of his brain lonely now that Peter knew what good company felt like.

It was almost weird, then, when Peter found himself with a couple nights off after the hustle and bustle of the city’s celebration of Christmas. Aside from his New Year’s obligations, Peter was finally free to spend a little time with Tony in person. So free, in fact, that he found himself brushing up on a few rudimentary signs before meeting up with him.

When the day finally came, Peter felt the slightest bit of apprehension. They were surprising, the nerves – for all intents and purposes, Peter spent the last three months in constant communication with Tony. When they weren’t texting, they were sending pictures through snapchat, their multitude of faces saying so much more than words between them ever really could.

Maybe that was it – the rightness of the thing between them. Having never experienced it before, Peter couldn’t decide if it was the greatest thing to happen to him, or the weirdest experience of his life. Not growing up with his own parents made it hard to understand connection – especially the guttural, natural kind that usually came from the relationship between parents and child. Most of his relationships served a purpose, but his thing with Tony only brought him joy and excitement; a feeling so foreign, he wasn’t really sure what to do with it.

Putting it all away, Peter did his best to shake off the nerves – the least he could do was give whatever it was between him and Tony a chance. They were so good together in so many ways. He could practically feel Tony in each of his text messages, the man good at choosing his words to make the most maximum of impact. There was a connection that wouldn’t exist if Tony didn’t have to spend so much time trying to understand the rest of the world – Peter didn’t understand himself, but Tony luckily seemed to; so much that Peter learned a thing or two every now and again.

Despite it all, Peter felt whatever negative feelings within him completely dissipate when Tony answered his door. They figured the best way to really spend some quality time together was for one of them to cook, an action that Tony took upon himself without hesitation (the face Peter made when Tony brought up the idea probably had something to do with that, but Peter sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out). The other man’s smile was genuine and if the smells wafting from the apartment were anything to go by, the food was going to be insanely delicious, too.

Before he could psyche himself out of it, Peter drew Tony into a quick hug, then let his fingers fly. “It’s nice to see you again,” Peter said with his hands, his lip drawn between his teeth the entire time.

Letting out a soft gasp, Tony lit up, his grin dimpling with its intensity. He took a step forward, his own hands reaching out to grab Peter’s. “You’ve been practicing. That greeting has its own sign,” Tony babbled proudly, their arms moving together through the correct movement. “Lazier, but more recognizable.”

Peter felt himself melt into the touch, the thought of not getting his attempt right flying from his brain the second Tony gripped him. The warmth that radiated from Tony’s chest pulled him in, their innocent embrace bringing him an unnamable happiness.

Just as that thought started to settle, Tony released him, a knowing look sitting between the crease of his brows. “Come in, come in. Want to sit for a drink? The stuff on the stove still needs a few minutes to simmer.” Now that he was aware of Peter’s practice, Tony used his hands with every word, the signs a lot slower than the last time they muddled through conversation.

Peter followed Tony over to the small bar in the corner of the room, his presence more than enough of an answer for the other man, who was already pouring them a dense finger of what looked like amazing whiskey. After passing Peter his, Tony raised his glass for a toast – his eyes practically glowing. “To new things,” Tony said, his voice clear and filled with warmth – more than likely affection, too.

Clanking their glasses together, Peter ducked his head – the entire situation between them so new, and yet, so damn familiar all at once.

By the time they nursed their first drink, a blinking light at the entrance of the kitchen caught Tony’s attention, his body springing to action before Peter even recognized what could possibly be going on. Tony shot him a smile, his hands already moving. “I can’t hear the buzzer on the oven, so the light tells me when it’s going off.”

A flush moved over Peter’s skin, the simplicity of the explanation making him feel a little silly – in all of his time as a human, he never gave any thought to the things he used on a daily basis, how some people couldn’t use the things that seemed so simple and normal to him. Like every second of his time with Tony, Peter felt both out of his depth and completely mystified to constant be learning new, eye-opening things.

As he initially thought, Tony’s cooking was absolutely excellent. They ate at a small table in the corner of Tony’s kitchen, the room well equipped, the space an obvious lifeline of the apartment.

“I spend a lot of time in here,” Tony mumbled around the chicken parmesan in his mouth. His eyes caught Peter’s, the glance saying just how tuned in to his thoughts Tony actually was. “The kitchen has the best light for drawing – and I love to cook.” He enunciated the last word with a sign, his fingers deft in their movement.

“I can tell. Everything is amazing. You even cooked fresh pasta!” He twirled a noodle around his fork for emphasis, the freshness of it apparent even then.

“It’s a way to connect. Cooking. I’m not the best communicator – but I sure as heck know how to get my point across.”

Those words sat with Peter for the rest of dinner, and well into the after dessert making out they were doing on Tony’s insanely comfortable couch.

Peter didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them when Tony led them back into the living room, a drink in each of their hands. As they sat down and put their crystal glasses on the coffee table, Tony slung his arm around the back of the couch, Peter allowing himself to narrow the distance and absorb all the points of contact on offer. Like magnets, their lips found each other, the firm press of Tony’s against his own like the rest of him – pure, genuine, and upfront. In all things, Tony was upfront.

Straddled across Tony’s lap a little while later, Peter broke their kiss, the softest noise of confusion sounding in the room around them. Unable to decipher who made it, Peter quieted them both by climbing up and off Tony, his hands pulling the man up with him. “Will you show me your bedroom?” Peter needlessly asked as their lips sealed together in a chaste kiss, both unable to stay separated for too long.

Instead of answering, Tony gripped Peter’s hips and pulled him close, their bodies pressed flush together. Breaking the kiss, Tony used his hold to guide Peter back, the two of them stumbling in the awkward dance of too many limbs and not enough space all the way down the hall and into a well decorated bedroom.

A gigantic king-sized mattress took up much of the room, a large wooden bedframe outlining it and making the feel of it grand, almost eye-pulling. Crisp maroon sheets were jumbled in the middle of it, as if Tony didn’t make his bed after rolling from it earlier that morning (he didn’t), and an avalanche of pillows took up the head of it, the collective feeling of fluffiness making a rush of affection sneak into his chest. Tony liked to be comfortable, that much was obvious.

The softest touch against his cheek brought Peter back from the vortex of his thoughts, Tony’s questioning gaze warm in its inquiry. Calloused fingers brushed over the meat of his cheek, the caress pulling a moan from his lips.

“Is this okay? I really want you, but you look a little nervous,” Tony said softly, the words kind of jumbled against the skin of Peter’s neck where lips were worrying endlessly.

Moving suddenly, Peter grabbed Tony’s cheeks, his grip just enough to bring Tony’s focus back to Peter’s face, the need for his smile to be seen more important than the physical arousal coursing through him. “I am nervous. You mean a lot to me. I don’t – want to fuck this up. I want you, Tony. I do – I want you so much.” He spoke slowly, each word important, each one needing to be heard more than anything else.

“You can’t fuck it up. I’m here. Right here, Pete.” Tony pulled back enough to make the sign he chose for Peter’s name – a finger spelt P followed by the unmistakable sign for beautiful. “You can have me. It’s okay.”

Not a lot of words were shared after that. Peter gave in to the chemistry that roared between them, his hands making deft work of Tony’s shirt, then his own before there was nothing left between them but the slightly graying hair on Tony’s chest. In eager exploration, Peter ran his fingers down the length of Tony’s stomach, up his sides, and across soft lips – his hands for once doing all the talking for him.

Settling back against the bed, Peter felt Tony take the same path across his skin, his fingertips and nails followed shortly by tongue, lips, and teeth. By the time Tony made it down to his cock, Peter was hypersensitive, each one of Tony’s touches feeling like a shock to his core. So distracted by the goodness of it all, Peter didn’t notice the opening of a drawer, or the subtle click of the top of the lube opening. It wasn’t until the combination of warm lips around his cock and cold fingers pressing against his rim, that Peter realized Tony was moving things along – eagerly, if the desperate thrusts against his leg were to say anything.

Before pressing any further forward, Tony used his free hand to sign “okay?” in the cutest of ways. Peter was splayed open wide, on display like a fucking meal, and Tony still wanted to make sure. The thought struck him to the core. Shaking the immensity of it away, Peter nodded, his eyes slipping closed as Tony redoubled his efforts.

One finger quickly became two, Tony methodically pressing in and spreading his fingers to test the stretch and give of Peter’s rim. He found Peter’s prostate pretty early on, the tip of his middle finger hitting it within the first few strokes of his fingers pressed into tight heat. The constant pressure and immense fullness kept him from spiraling over the edge – but just barely.

Sliding a hand into Tony’s hair, Peter gripped the locks tightly, his fingertips digging into the soft scalp below. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to make a mess.” Peter let himself pant out a few breaths, a few pulses of pre-cum dripping with each word. “Please, I’m ready. I’m ready, Tony.”

He wasn’t sure if Tony saw the words coming out of his mouth, but he moved like he did – his body completely in tune with Peter, like each movement Peter made was another page in the instruction manual, another thing for Tony to categorize and use for the rest of time.

A displeased noise left his lips when Tony pulled his fingers out, the feeling of emptiness both uncomfortable and unsatisfying now that Peter knew just how good Tony felt inside him. The emptiness didn’t last for long, though – Tony drew back just enough to tear open the condom with his teeth, the rubber going down over his cock quicker than Peter thought it could. His last rational thought revolved around the opening of the lube cap and the slightly cold press of a warm tip to his most intimate place.

Inch by inch, Tony pressed himself inside, the obvious pulse of his cock enough to force Peter to relax – he wanted to feel every part of the other man, all of his twitches and throbs included. When he finally bottomed out, Peter grabbed Tony’s face, forcing his eyes up and on his own. “You feel so good, Tony,” Peter whispered, his mouth exaggerating every word.

The pure joy on Tony’s face made Peter’s cock twitch, the feeling of happiness an unknown aphrodisiac with a line straight to his pleasure center. Closing his eyes, Peter let everything wash over him, even the sign for ‘me too’ Tony pressed into the skin of Peter’s chest.

With Tony starting to thrust, Peter relaxed further and gave his body over to the other’s manipulations. Like all things, Tony moved with what seemed like a never-ending amount of energy. His fingers dug into Peter’s thighs as he held them tightly in his hands, Tony’s grip flexing with every thrust. His lips traced the length of Peter’s neck and clavicle, the slightest suck marks left behind in the most gentlemanly of ways. From the subtle brush of chest hair over peaked nipples, to the friction their bellies created, Peter felt on edge from the very start.

Little by little, Tony shifted the intensity of his thrusts, his hips rolling and grinding down against Peter’s prostate the second he managed to find it with the tip of his cock. Though Peter was sure he wasn’t conscious of them, Tony’s grunts and moans got louder in pitch with each steadily increasing thrust, the sound like the beautiful music Peter made on a daily basis.

When it was finally too much to holdout any longer, Peter let his fingers tangle into the hair at the back of Tony’s head, his clenching grip enough to draw Tony’s attention back to Peter’s face. His beautiful hazel eyes took in every miniscule facial expression Peter made as he came apart; every crinkle on his brow, every flare of his nostrils, even the shape of his lips when he finally took that plunge over the edge. Peter managed to get his eyes open just enough to see Tony lose it, too – the magnitude of this sort of vulnerability not lost on Peter a single bit.

----

The beautiful thing between them continue to bloom as the month’s past.

Despite living in a life continually filled with noise, Peter loved the silence that came with his place in Tony’s life. After understanding just how important it was to have a direct line of communication with Tony, Peter eagerly started his quest to learn the in’s and out’s of ASL – his teacher one of the best and most knowledgeable on the subject.

With a good reason to want to learn, Peter took to the language like a duck to water. They stilled verbally communicated pretty frequently, but Peter didn’t feel nearly as lost when Tony started to talk without using his words like he so often did. The signs and little subtleties were becoming a part of his life, each one just as important as the notes he used to create his life’s work.

Of course, Peter still felt a few reservations throughout their time together. Sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, Tony couldn’t keep up; especially in big groups of people, or around strangers that weren’t familiar with his particular brand of needs. He never went out of his way to let Peter know how he felt, but the obvious lack of Tony’s presence in those conversations could be felt.

As much as it frustrated Tony, it grated on Peter every now and again, too. It took so much effort to communicate, his old habits of talking fast or not facing Tony coming back without thought – the idea of not being able to send his signal to Tony easily just as frustrating as not being able to receive it.

And when it came to his music, Peter found it the slightest bit sad that Tony couldn’t hear the smooth tones and sounds that came from his instrument. Though he talked often about the way music felt, Peter wanted Tony to hear him – to appreciate the craft the way it was meant to be appreciated.

One of their evenings together, Peter was practicing in Tony’s front room while his boyfriend worked diligently on his latest commission, the head-down look about him one that Peter recognized pretty easily after so much time together. He warmed up with scales, then brought his first piece of music out of his folder, the familiar notes bringing him a sense of comfort that not a lot of other things could touch (Tony, of course, being the one exception). Playing through the first piece without much thought, Peter was surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder that easily slipped down to palm at his chest.

Letting the saxophone rest against the side of his thigh, Peter signed swiftly, his ASL so much better now that the two of them spent so much time with each other. “What’s up? Everything okay?” Peter asked, his fingers almost perfectly making each sign.

Tony smiled softly at him, his cheeks pinching into the adorable little dimple Peter loved so much.

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to listen to you play.”

Quirking his head, Peter pointed at the couch – “I’d like that, sit down and I’ll play you something.”

Without thought, Tony moved closer to him, his hand pressing more firmly against Peter’s chest. “I’ll be able to hear it here.” Tony said aloud, his voice twisting a little in annoyance. “The floor muffles the sound over there. I want to feel it.”

Unable to stop the small flare of irritation from slipping, Peter shook his head, eyes rolling. “It’s distracting. I can’t play with you standing right there.” Each word was a lie, the both of them more than aware that he could, in fact, play with Tony’s hand pressed against him – they’d even attempted (unsuccessfully) to have Tony’s cheek pressed tightly to his chest. Peter wasn’t sure what made him lash out or say something to hurt – it just fell from his mouth carelessly, without thought.

The way Tony pulled his hand back, almost as if he’d been burnt, made Peter feel guilty, which inevitably led to him letting more of his temper rear its angry head. “I sometimes wish you could just hear like everyone else. It’d make things so much easier.”

For the first time in their entire relationship, Peter felt the silence. In the moments between such nasty words leaving his lips and Tony’s reaction, the usually easy absence in noise felt louder than any concert Peter could remember playing. It was palpable, alive in a way that shouted turbulence ahead.

Then, Tony shifted until they were level with each other, his hands moving stiff, ruthless in their sincerity. He didn’t speak, not like Tony usually did when saying something he wanted to make sure Peter understood. “If it’s so hard to have me in your life, you’re welcome to go. I don’t need this – your lack of understanding. I thought you were different; but you’re just like everyone else.”

Tony didn’t say anything more, he simply got up and padded quietly into the kitchen where the sound of squeaking markers against paper could be heard just a moment later.

Knowing how much he fucked up, but still feeling a little bit of that lingering anger, Peter packed his music and saxophone up, leaving Tony’s apartment with no sound at all left behind.

It took a few days for Peter’s wallowing to get the best of him.

In the twenty steps it took to get to the elevator from Tony’s door, Peter realized just how shitty his behavior was. In all of their time together, Peter never thought of Tony as a burden or any sort of problem. Instead of turning around like he should’ve, however, Peter walked on, the ding of the elevator like a final note in their piece. He took every step of their attempt to communicate (and do it well) in stride, trying as hard as he knew Tony had to every second to get where they wanted to go together. It wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t.

Yet, in his anger, Peter let the one thing Tony couldn’t change or help become an obstacle between them when it never was before. He felt frustration towards the hurdle they were always jumping, but never towards Tony – no matter what stupid words came out of his mouth.

After missing three practices in a row, Peter wasn’t surprised to see one of his fellow orchestra members at his door – the beautiful Natasha Romanov knocked the way she played the cello, primly and without any room for bull shit. Her hand was rhythmic and demanding, the tone telling Peter he shouldn’t even think about ignoring the person on the other side. Bucking up (because he knew she’d never go away if he didn’t), Peter pulled a sweater over his three-day-old t-shirt and answered the door.

“Parker, you look like shit. Smell kind of like it, too. What the fuck’s going on? It’s not like you to miss rehearsals.” Natasha’s voice was booming, her words loud after so much time intimately wrapped up in Tony’s silence. “Who do I need to beat up?”

Peter couldn’t help the small smile that overtook his face – despite the guilt and shame hanging so heavily upon his shoulders, it felt good to have someone have his back; even if it wasn’t all that deserved.

“Me, actually. You should come inside. We’ll need coffee for this conversation.”

Leading her into his somewhat disordered apartment, Peter set about making coffee before saying anything more. He refreshed the grounds in the French press, then poured them each a piping hot cup of the good stuff, his anxiety lessening ever so slightly with each delightful breath of delectable coffee scent being pulled into his lungs.

It took him three sips before he felt ready to talk, the heaviness of all the things finally lifting.

“I’m an asshole, Nat. You’ve met Tony – good, genuine, sincerely lovely Tony. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me and I was… unkind. Incredibly so. I told him it would be easier if he could hear – if he wasn’t who he is. I’ve been too embarrassed to step foot outside of my apartment. Or play. I can’t – not when I made such a mess of things.”

In her no-nonsense way, Nat took in his words, paused to let them sink in, then slapped him across the back of the head. She looked him down squarely, her eyes unblinking. “You and I both know you deserve that.” Natasha remarked before letting her features soften, a look of understanding settling on her face, instead. “Do you know what I like so much about Tony? Not the fact that he can’t hear, or that he’s incredibly attentive to make up for it – it’s that he listens. Genuinely. Actively. Like it’s the only thing in the world that’s important to him. The barrier he’s had to overcome has made this beautiful openness to connect within him.”

Patting his hand on the table between them, Nat took another sip of coffee before continuing. Her voice seemed like it was shaking before she stopped, the emotion of her words obviously threatening to overcome her. “With you, I know that’s the case. You, all of you, are the only thing in the world that’s important to him. Peter, it’s like he takes all of you in. Everything that you give to him, he keeps and uses to bridge that gap. I’ve never seen another human smile at someone that way Tony smiles at you. He says so much by saying nothing at all. Because he knows, Pete. He may not be able to hear you in the sense you think he should, but he’s listening.”

He looked at her blankly for a second before nodding wildly, his eyes wide and open for what felt like the first time. Thinking about it, Peter recalled the many times he turned to see Tony staring at him, an inquisitive, yet affectionate look in his eye. When things were good (which was every day they were together but the last three) they didn’t need any words to communicate what was going on, not really, anyway. Tony spoke to make it easier for Peter, but the closer they got, the easier living in the easy rhythm between them became.

Jumping out of his seat, Peter looked at Nat gratefully, a genuine smile overtaking his lips. “I don’t know how I let myself not notice that for so long. Thank you, Nat. Thank you.” He grasped her hands tightly before turning to head out the door, Peter only stopping when he realized leaving meant leaving Nat in his house.

“I’m going to go and hopefully fix this. You’re welcome to stay. I have some of that wine you like in the fridge.”

Casting a glance over his shoulder before closing the door on his way out, Peter caught the mischievous look on Nat’s face, the cellist wasting no time in her pursuit for his good wine.

It took 20 blocks and many tireless minutes to get to Tony’s apartment. His timing was atrocious, but there wasn’t any time to spare. Tony deserved an apology, many apologies, and Peter wanted to start making it up to him as quickly as he could. Tony was a forgiving person, but forgiveness only went so far – and things between them were too good to give up; too vital and important to let pettiness and irritation rule over all of his actions and subsequent reactions.

Not wanting to presume they were still completely okay, Peter decided not to use the key Tony gave him a couple of months ago. Instead, he pressed the doorbell a couple of times, the flashes of it recognizable even outside of the apartment. Waiting with a heavy sense of tension and bated breath, Peter watched shadows dance at the bottom of the door, the sound of Tony’s footsteps just barely audible through the heavy wood.

It took Peter a second to take Tony in, the man’s presence overwhelming in how good it felt – to just be there, standing in front of him – like heaven. When he allowed himself to truly take Tony in, Peter realized Tony was just as wrecked as him, the usual bags under his eyes deep and purple, the sign of tiredness more like bruises against pale skin. Though he tried to project an air of fineness, Tony looked like shit.

Before Peter could talk himself out of it, he fumbled to sign his apology, his eyes locked onto Tony’s as he moved his hands. “I fucked up. You’re not a problem. You’re not a hardship. You’re everything. The rest of the world is all talk, but you – you say so much without saying anything; I was just too stupid to take it all in. Too wrapped up in my own shit.” Peter stopped then, his hands moving to cup Tony’s cheeks. Tony hesitated for a moment before leaning into Peter’s touch, the caress like kryptonite.

“I love you, Tony.”

Peter searched Tony’s eyes for a moment, the flood of tears at the corner of them confusing and the slightest bit frightening. There wasn’t anything else after this, no plan B or back up – if Tony didn’t want him, that was that.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tony softened his expression, the feeling of having his mind read enough to make Peter’s head spin. He forced himself to stay in the moment, though, his eyes watching in fascination as Tony moved to reciprocate the phrase, his lips moving without the use of his hands – a totally rare occurrence.

With a finger to his lips, Peter caught him before he could mumble out the syllables, his other hand wrapping around Tony’s waist, tugging until they were pressed tightly together, a touch of contact between them from chest to toe. Carefully, Peter pulled his hands back and signed instead –

“You say it best, when you say nothing at all.”  

[phcking-detective]

UH 💚

💚  drunk kiss

***

Nines leaves the bullpen. It is getting far too loud and crowded, nearly every human and android in the building crowding around the lieutenant's desk to see the box of puppies he and Connor brought in to the Christmas party in order to encourage adoption.

There were six puppies. Now there are only four. Leaving to track down the errant two is as good as an excuse as any to leave.

It's not that Nines dislikes the adolescent dogs necessarily. He simply doesn't see any particular appeal, certainly not to the point of baby-talking and enduring urine accidents.

The missing puppies are easy enough to track by the stray fur and one little repeating paw print. Apparently, one of the puppies had stepped in another puppy's urine puddle and has tracked it along its route into … the breakroom.

Having heat vision also helps. That's what initially alerts Nines to the possibility that the puppies' escape attempt included human help. There is one human heat signature sitting in the corner of the breakroom, with one small puppy heat signature laying beside them. The second puppy heat signature is a bit more difficult to pick out, given that it appears to be in the human's lap, and therefore blurs into the human's own heat signature.

Nines enters the breakroom to find the puppy-stealing human has turned the couch over onto its side, then shoved it over to form the hypotenuse between the two walls of the corner where they're hiding.

It does seem to be a fairly effective method of puppy containment.

But Nines so focused on locating the puppies that it isn't until he physically enters the breakroom that he registers the voice of the human inside the makeshift barricade.

"Hey, puppy, hi puppy, who's puppy? Who's puppy? You're puppy!"

"Detective Reed?"

Nines would honestly be more likely to believe Sixty has kidnapped the puppies, mimicked the detective's voice, and lured him into a secondary isolated location in order to deactivate him than consider the possibility of his asshole human partner being …

"Fuck off you uppity GPS!"

No, that is his partner.

"Why have you abducted two adolescent dogs, Detective?" Nines asks, approaching the couch.

"They're called puppies, dipshit."

Nines peers over the edge of the upturned couch to see Gavin sitting in the corner with one puppy in his lap and another puppy waking up from a nap at the arrival of a new person. The puppy in his lap squirms around to face Nines and frantically wiggles its entire body in greeting. When Nines continues to observe them without physical interaction, the puppy begins to whimper.

"Aw, hey, it's okay, s'okay, I love you," Gavin tells the puppy.

Nines calculates the possibility that this is all a simulation put on by Cyberlife, or perhaps an errant virus contracted from interfacing with a deviant android witness.

The second puppy puts its paws up against the back of the couch to get a little taller and sniff at the air. It barks at him.

"Why have you abducted these puppies, Detective?" Nines asks.

"Weren't fucking treating them right," Gavin mutters, hugging the puppy closer. "Did you hear what Hank said about naming him Major?"

Nines silently shakes his head.

"Major pain in his ass," Gavin quotes, then scowls. "It's not his fault! He's just a baby. It's not his fault he cries when he's alone and gets jealous of the other puppies and isn't as smart. He just wants someone to love him, he's a baby."

To Nines's shock, the detective's tear ducts engage at the end of his defense. He sniffles and clears his throat, not looking at Nines.

He has heard the many indictments against the puppy named Major. Connor confided in him that he would be difficult to home. Out of the six puppies, this one has the worst separation anxiety, often peeing and chewing on things if left alone, to say nothing of the barking and howling. He also caused problems back in the bullpen by howling repeatedly whenever he felt another puppy was getting more attention than him, which was the majority of the time, considering there are five others.

And he hasn't even begun to understand any of the commands Hank and Connor have been gently introducing to the puppies to prepare them for another home. The others all at least have some concept of Sit, Come Here, and staying still for grooming. But this puppy just seems … a little stupid.

Yet Detective Reed, the least understanding human in the entire precinct, [loves] him.

Meanwhile, the other puppy jumps and attempts to scramble up the back of the couch, but of course it can't find any purchase to do so. It slips back to the floor, but seems neither injured nor perturbed by the failure.

"That one doesn't like to be touched," Gavin explains while Nines watches the antics. "Everyone kept trying to grab her and hold her, and it was stressing her out. She was about to start biting, and then they'd be all, oh she's a bad puppy, she's aggressive, even though they're the ones that fucking messed with her."

Nines notes his LED spin yellow.

"So yeah, I grabbed them and got them out of there." Gavin glares up at him. "I can give Major all the attention he needs, and the girl-puppy can be left alone."

Nines does not criticize his decision. He can't. He's too busy analyzing, calculating. He does not have a social module, not like Connor. Not like bright, happy Connor, who always knows what to say and what facial expression to make, and even when he doesn't, it's [cute] instead of [creepy] and he doesn't understand why.

Maybe it is simply in comparison. Any mistake or flaw of his predecessor automatically looks lesser in comparison to how [wrong] RK900 always is.

And the attempts to help.

"Help."

Humans insisting on shaking his hand, trying to grab his arm or his shoulder, taking it upon themselves to teach him to "hug" and "smile."

Connor insisting they interface to deviate him.

The whispers and the stares, the only android who hasn't deviate, the poor machine.

He has remained partners with Detective Reed despite the human's poor attitude first and foremost due to their unrivaled amount of cases solved, but Nines admits a secondary benefit is in fact the human's poor attitude. All the yelling and cursing and throwing things keeps the other humans at bay, and if Nines simply orbits closely enough to Gavin, he stays within an ironically protective circle where the only person he has to deal with is the detective himself.

Which actually hasn't been so bad. He can simply disable his audio processor to ignore the worst of the yelling, and it is not as if any of the name-calling or swearing actually hurts his non-existent feelings. He returns in kind with [decaying meatsack] and [unevolved flesh monkey], their bickering cooling down to a more routine banter.

But he had always considered that an incidental benefit. It never occurred to him that his partner could be smart enough to--to notice. To …

Help.

"Oh shit, hey," Gavin whispers.

Nines refocuses on the scene before him: the girl-puppy has discovered that she can wedge herself between the end of the couch pushed against the wall to half-climb, half-shimmy up a little farther. Gavin slowly moves his knee over until it's right underneath her kicking leg to give her better support until she eventually manages to scramble all the way up on top of the couch.

Of course, this amount of attention paid to the other puppy sets Major off on another crying fit, but Gavin quickly assuages him once the girl-puppy is safely on solid footing.

The girl-puppy runs over to the middle of the couch looks up at Nines. He stares back down at her. She sniffs at him, then barks again. She hunkers down, paces back and forth, and looks up at him.

Nines kneels in front of the couch so that he is--

The girl puppy jumps onto his shoulder and scrambles on his slick Cyberlife jacket, biting his ear and hanging onto it. Nines reaches up and holds his arm underneath her the way Gavin did so she can steady herself. She gets her feet beneath her and stands on his shoulder.

"What does it want?" Nines asks Gavin.

Gavin shrugs, a new expression on his face that Nines has never seen before. It appears to be a large [smile].

"Puppies like licking faces," he says.

Nines frowns at him. The girl-puppy shoves her nose into his ear. If he were human, he would have flinched, but he is more efficient than that.

"Is her nose supposed to be cold?" he asks.

Gavin laughs. It is … a new sound. "Yeah."

Major takes the moment of distraction as an opportunity to jump up and prove Gavin's face licking hypothesis correct. Gavin turns his head to the side to avoid getting licked in the mouth, although he keeps laughing.

"Hello, puppy! Yes, hello! Hello! Did you miss me in the three seconds I talked to Nines? I'm sorry, I still love you best, I love you!"

The girl-puppy finishes sniffing inside Nines's ear canal and moves on to sniffing his neck, then up his chin, to his face. That leaves her straining forward and starting to slip again, so he quickly places her back on top of the couch. True to Gavin's word, she squirms and barks the second his hands are on her until he releases her. She recovers quickly though once he lets go and keeps his hands below the edge of the couch where she can't see.

Nines leans in closer to inspect her, and the girl-puppy does the same to him. The other dog Sumo has been accused of "knocking up" was apparently a Chow Chow, which means the all of the resulting puppies are guaranteed to grow up to be very large and very, very fluffy. This puppy seems to have gotten the most of the Chow Chow genes, with only her size and coloring reflecting her Saint Bernard parentage.

He doesn't know enough about dog breeds to determine if her curiosity and propensity for nose work to be a quirk or breed-related. He opens his mouth to tell Gavin the face-licking hypothesis does not apply to this puppy, but she shoves her entire snout into his mouth and sniffs his tongue.

Gavin thinks this is hilarious.

Nines huffs air out through his mouth, and the puppy immediately withdraws and sneezes.

"Ho-ho-holy fuck," Gavin cackles.

"Is that a new Christmas song?" Nines asks.

Gavin finds this hilarious too, slipping sideways until he lays on the floor. Major resumes his face licking attack, which makes the human laugh more for some reason.

It is … a [good] sound.

 “Are you gonna keep the girl?” Gavin speaks up from the floor when they’ve both calmed down.

Nines considers the puppy, who currently has both front paws against her face so she can lean up and sniff his LED.

“Are you going to keep the boy?” he asks back.

“Dunno. Probably hafta go back to therapy or something,” Gavin says, sounding almost sober. “Can’t have anger issues and a little puppy.”

Nines does not know what to say to that, so he does not. But he does note to himself that his partner is much more emotionally intelligent than he assumed.

“Your puppy is named Major, correct?”

“Yeah.” Gavin half-sits up. “Why, you need help picking a name for yours?”

“No.”

Nines cradles the girl-puppy mostly with his arms as he draws back, and allows her to harmlessly slide down his chest and into his lap. She looks around and sneezes twice, but maintains a good attitude about the experience.

Brave, smart, determined. And her natural desire for nose work could make her into an excellent cadaver dog.

“I have a name chosen.”

Gavin looks over the edge of the couch at them. “Yeah? What’d you choose?”

Nines tries to [smile] at him. He is aware the actual expression more closely resembles a [grimace]. Smiling is not one of the four facial expressions Cyberlife allotted him, and it is not like he could (or ever would) see a Cyberlife technician to install more.

But if he looks [stupid], Gavin doesn’t comment.

 “Commander.”

“Oh, motherfucker!”

Nines tries [laughing] too. The most he manages is a burst of glitchy static, but it is more than he has ever dared try in front of any other person before.

It is a [good] sound.

[pvtrichors]

RUDY PANKOW , 22 , HE/HIM/HIS , CIS MAN  |    hey is that MONROE ST. THOMAS ? i think i’ve seen the 23 year old walking around THE CUT , so i guess that means they’re a POGUE ? apparently if the weather’s right, you can find them SNEAKING A JOINT INSTEAD OF A CIGARETTE BREAK , which makes sense since they’ve got the whole SCARS THAT WILL TELL STORIES IF YOU LET THEM, A SMILE THAT IS BROKEN BUT STILL BEAUTIFUL & A CANVAS SPLASHED IN THE SAME COLOR AS BRUISES thing about them . if people had background music , their song would definitely be CROWDED PLACES BY BANKS 

monroe is very much the definition of what you expect to find when you come into the cut. that being said, there are different layers to him, some that are more hidden than the others. on one hand, he’s the boy who was a proud all star for the highschool football team, the all american version of what the dream is supposed to look like. on the other, he’s the same one who couldn’t afford to get himself to the away games, or the guy that can quote you poetry from memory, when he gets just high enough, each person usually gets a piece of him, a version, but never the full fledged experience, because he knows just what it is like to be “too much”, therapy has told him that, for better or for worse.

while plenty of people seem to think that his stint in rehab, something that he does not bother to hide from most of the general public, would have taught him not to drink or smoke, that is hardly the case. he instead learned that he can’t always use them as coping mechanisms, which means that he’s had to learn other avenues to get out the weight of his emotions, one of which happens to be art, you know, when he’s not busy crying in the privacy of the shower like the rest of us.

due to what happened in the car crash with his mother and sister, he has a plethora of scars sprinkled across his shoulders. while that doesn’t stop him from spending a good portion of time shirtless when the weather permits, the people that actually ask about them are usually met with avoidance, and sometimes even aggression. there are some things he will never really know how to talk about, no matter how long it’s been since he woke up in that hospital bed. speaking of scars, monroe is also painfully aware of the ones that came from his brothers experience coming out, and part of that, forces him to be very open about his own sexuality, or rather, blunt about the interest in people regardless of their genitals (and you can fight him about it, too, these hands are free ninety nine, always)

WC1: the exception to the rule, is the name of the game here. this is someone who despite monroe’s usual tendency to never really show his hand, sees through his bullshit, and actually knows him. however far that relationship goes, or will do, is definitely up to us and we can see where it leads, chemistry wise, but this is someone who is unbelievably special to him. he usually doesn’t admit it easily, or in the usual ways, and probably still tries to avoid them when they get a little too close, but usually ends up running right back in less than 24 hours. they even seem to have learned to understand that, or at least accept it, but feel free to torture him a little bit after he tries to run.

the middle children are the ones that are born with tragedy in their bones. They always said that Monroe absorbed all his sisters hurt in the womb, his very first act somehow becoming one of protection. To him, the statement now rang with bittersweet irony, but that’s the story’s tendency to get ahead of itself. In the beginning they were the perfect picture of the American dream, the one that was bought and sold, embraced with open arms. Sure, the floors in the old beach house were always dirty, and his father worked longer than he ever should have had to in order to keep their plates full, but they made it. Caroline started working again after the kids had all started school, breathing a sigh of relief with Kase finally passed that milestone birthday that would allowed her to begin taking the steps to contribute.

by then, his older brother had already begun taking on the family’s burdens, a nervous habit that had long since been coined as the family curse. He knew now that it was guilt that drove him to take that step, a strange since of misplaced shamed in the secret he was about to reveal to them all. The night that the words left his lips, they all remember it differently. It was a confessional that should have been met with love and support, but the scar that the two eldest boys were left with was one that had no chance at healing. The only part of the memory that seemed intent on sticking around was the sound of skin meeting skin in a vicious chorus, and the darkening bruises mixed with blood that formed as a direct result of the backhand that would eventually become the soundtrack to their demise.

that’s right, his brother came out to his family, and David’s first reaction was to take his feelings out on Smith physically, in front of the entire family. It didn’t matter if the bible had fanned the flames of his intolerance, or taught him some misplaced wrong rooted in sexuality, what did matter? Caroline wasn’t going to stand for it. Two weeks later, David left without a word, or a single cent, in his wake. The abandonment of his family seemed easy, and they never received the decency of an apology or even the watchful eye of shame. Nothing, not a single word, and his name became a welcomed taboo in the story, dad was the dirtiest curse word to ever leave any of their lips.

monroe didn’t talk about the nightmares that plagued him in the weeks after, but Smith always seemed to be awake right in time to shake him out of them. The silent agreement to keep secrets between siblings, a small bond that eventually cemented the lines of love between the two. It was no surprise to anyone that he followed in the footsteps of Smith, soon confessing his own struggles, but for him? There were welcome arms, acceptance was offered in free fall, because he needed it, and maybe it was that helped them all heal from the things that they still didn’t know how to speak of. What it didn’t do, was fill the gap that was created by their fathers (if you could even call him that) absence. Eventually, all five of them learned what it was like to be hungry, all the things that Caroline had desperately been trying to keep them away from. Some lessons weren’t meant to be learned, she’d say.

smith graduated high school the same year, a full ride scholarship he could never take, meaning that Monroe was the next to fall victim to the aforementioned curse that came with crushing weight on the shoulders of every member, but especially him. Life seemed to have a fucked up way of changing lanes, though. Caroline was running late, in the rain, to one of her many jobs. It was an unfortunate side effect of her newly minted single motherhood, after all. Dallas was in the car, to be dropped off at the baby sitter, but they would never make it there. The skidding sound of wet tires on warm asphalt, the high pitched screams of metal twisting metal, it all added another track added to the symphony of this tragedy.

you’re so lucky. It’s a miracle. The statements are repeated over and over, like a broken record, but they turn his stomach every time. A miracle, any God, would have either sent him away with his sister, the one he had been born trying to protect, and his mother, who would have died for him time and time again. The first time he told this to a therapist, the change in their expression announced what would be his first forced commitment, something that no one expected, and it tore all his buried scars wide open. Maybe that’s why they say rehab always feels like you’re bleeding out.

two months later, the only thing he was permitted out for was the funeral. His brothers came to visit three times a week, and often, they would cling to each other like the the last straws left in what felt like a burning building. After month three, he was released with false promises of therapy, with fake smiles that said he would take care of it, and the only reason he did seek out a way to cope was to honor the memory of his mother. he finally learned that he wasn’t an addict, but he needed to learn the secret of moderation. he needed to learn a lot of things, and now was going to be the start of that, including how to be a little more unapologetically himself.

[itisbucky]

You [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Hi! Sorry for disappearing. Guess who has her GCSEs this year. This song was all over my head for the last few days (more like months, no joke) so I just wanted to write something about it. I know this is short.

Summary: Your break-up with Bucky Barnes has been the only thing you could think of.

Warnings: Some uses of swear words. Kissing. It should be safe.

“See, this whole existence of ours, billion pieces, we are a tiny fragment of it. We literally don’t matter.” When you blurted out the words about your existence, Bucky Barnes looked at you and smiled. Your hair was all around your face and you the smile on your face was alive with the power of ten thousand flashlights. Your eyes, projecting your joy over talking about how small you were, were shining. Bucky was just grinning, one foot stretched, arms folded and he looked beautiful as ever. “It’s just a great randomness.”

“Well.” He said and frowned playfully. “If it’s like that I’m lucky I’m on planet Earth in 2018 to meet you and not somewhere else like… I don’t know. Mars?”

“Ah, you liar.” You said and pushed his shoulder, not being able to look him in the eye. Every time you were around him, your hands would start to shake, with your stomach falling upside down and the pressure near your heart. You knew he was flirting relentlessly with you but having to make the first move, that thought made you want to run away to another existence.

And you're a liar, at least all of your friends are

And so am I, just typically drowned in my car

Luckily, when the time came you knew it. You knew when you were supposed to kiss him because he was looking at you and he was so close and you just knew it. When he kissed you, you know he wasn’t just a liar. Being around him, thinking he would be just… rude. Being wrong never felt better.

 Well, it was all done now. That was three years ago and even though your break-up was a year away, it never felt like you were getting better. Hell, you were getting worse because being deprived of him after two years of him didn’t feel right. It was weird how it ended because when the big fight happened, that’s what your friend called your fight that led to your break-up, you didn’t see it coming. It was just he, leaving the room in the end.

 It’s my party

And I’ll cry till the end

 When one of your friends told you about the party, you know he would be there. The curse of dating one of your friends was you had to see him a lot, even after the break-up. Three days after you broke up you had to be at an event for the company.

 “So what is your escape strategy today? Do you need to charge your phone? Delivery coming? Your cat is choking on a piece of rubber?” Wanda sipped her drink and kept looking at her hand, which was playing with her hair.

 “I don’t have a cat.”

 “You might as well have one. You like cats.”

 “That is still not a strong enough argument.” You said before looking up and noticing one person missing. “Where is Bucky?”

 “I don’t know. He came, so he’s probably in the toilet or something.”

 “Okay. I’ll take something to drink.” You said with your mind focused on one thing.

 “Yeah. Definitely not going to look for him.” Wanda yelled behind you. You clasped your fists and exhaled. Yeah, of course, you were going to look for him but she wasn’t supposed to be that good at knowing you.

 After looking everywhere, there was only one place left to check. The balcony. It was January, in New York. You never thought we would be there.

 Of course, he was. You were just there, with your red velvet dress, looking and feeling so small and he was just a few steps in front of you, sitting on one of the chairs. He didn’t look happy.

 “Fuck.” He whispered and that’s when you noticed his red face and tears falling down his cheeks. It was the first time you’ve seen him cry and it felt so intimate. You knew you weren’t supposed to see that. Your first instinct was to go hug him because he was looking awfully vulnerable in the cold January air and he was just so big and his feelings were intimidating. You had to hold yourself back.

 “Sorry.” You closed the door quickly and avoided any confrontation because you were starting to cry and it was not fair. You remembered all the times you cried in front of him and how he tried his hardest to make you feel better and there you were because of a stupid break up.

 You must try harder,

Than kissing all of my friends, you

 Everything, even though you loved him still, led you to be the person you avoided being for years. You were holding grudges. You hoped it would make him feel something.

 That’s when you started to flirt people at parties. Anyone, you had a little liking of. Someone he knew. Some would respond. Most would. It was a great way of revenge for you. It was a way of making him feel bad. Who were you kidding? It only hurts you. You despised the feeling while also loving the awful weight of sadness in your chest because that’s what you deserved.

 And sometimes you would realise he didn’t care. Even if he did, he was great at hiding it.

 Yeah it takes a bit more than you

 When you saw him that way, it was just wrong. It was the first time you’ve seen him show emotions in months. You were moving with your emotions the whole year, not using your brain and for what? Breaking a heart. He must have been heartbroken. You knew you meant something to him

 You were feeling so stupid. Whatever the problem was you could’ve been there for him but you were stupidly just looking for a solution to satisfy you and break his heart.

  And you’re alive

At least as far as I can tell, you are

 You were thinking about how dead you felt at that moment because you were tired of all these games you played in your head. In lines of the satisfaction of hurting him and hurting yourself, you were becoming someone else.

“[Y/N]! Didn’t know you came.” Facing Steve Rogers was always joyful.

 “Steve Rogers, your voice is the voice of a nightingale.” You said, following with a relieved laughter. You could see yourself through a mirror, behind the huge man and you looked unfamiliar to yourself. It was you but she was clenching her fists, squeezing her shoulder and biting her lips at any chance she can. The person in front of you was tense.

 “I don’t know if I can handle this much love from you.” He patted you on the shoulder. He realised he didn’t look you in the face when he saw the tears on your cheeks. “Are you okay?” You just shook your head no.

 “I know how he feels. I know how you feel. I understand sincerity is scary but you can’t avoid how you feel with shaking your head or by sarcasm. You need to talk about it to yourself, to him.” He took a deep breath. “Did you think about what actually happened? I don’t think you did because Bucky didn’t either. Just give it a try.”

 “Thank you.” You mumbled and hugged it tightly before going into a quiet place for some time to think. You were already late.

 And so am I

You beat me down and then we’re back to my car

 You were amazing together. Every piece made for each other. That’s what your friends always said. Being a perfect couple of the friendship was, sadly, not so joyous as it sounded. Thinking about the struggle made you laugh because it was such a stupid thing to hate. Why would that be a problem?

 It was because every night out together turned into passive aggressive comments made, as you were both terrified to express anything. When you were out in Bucky’s red, vintage car, it was hours of piled up anger towards each other. It hurt like hell because fighting him was fighting the only person you could fall in love with. You were becoming toxic, slowly, internally and you didn’t want that because you loved him for who he is. You loved him at night when he sat next to you on the sofa and opened an episode of FRIENDS and that would be how you knew you were okay. You loved him when no one was around and he was analyzing every quote of the show like a high school English teacher.

 You didn’t want him to run out of those things.

 And it’s so ironic

How it’s only been a year

 And there came the fight. Exactly one year ago.

 You blamed him for his past actions even if you didn’t care.

 He blamed you for your perfectionism even if he didn’t care.

 You yelled for hours. To a point where you were crying hysterically and you had no voice.

 And he said the words.

 It’s not my fault,

That I fucked everybody here

 “Get out.”

 And that’s how it ended.

 Yeah it takes a bit more than you

 You wanted it to end now. A year was enough, more than enough.

 You rushed back through the hall without caring about how your hair looked. It looked awful but you were too determined to care. Your dress was wrinkled but you were too in love to care. You were in love with this man called Bucky Barnes and you were willing to tear your pride apart with your beautiful heels for his sake. You were willing to die for his sake.

 He was just a door away.

 He was only a step away.

 “Bucky?”

 And I say do you wanna dance? Do you wanna dance?

Do you wanna dance in the bar, at the back of the hall?

 Your tears were streaming down your face when you sat next to your lover, not minding your dress getting dirty. Your face was wet.

 When you kissed him and when you told him you loved him it was more sincere than any time ever.

 With your shoulder in his head, tired as hell, you knew there was a lot to resolve. At least he was there.

Tags: @buckisthatyou

[sleepyskunk]

Deconstructing the 2017 Movie Trailer Mashup

Why deconstructing a mashup? Because these videos are often perceived as a random mess of pretty images from movie trailers. While that’s absolutely true, there’s an opportunity to explore themes and also pay a few obscure tributes to elements that don’t belong in the video itself but that are generally widespread within pop culture. These montages have been going on for a few years now, and it’s hard to edit the footage in a way that won’t feel reminiscent of one of the many great retrospectives put out by other talented editors in years past. I have to say that trying to build a narrative with all that footage has now become more enticing to me than to highlight the moments that made the year in cinema within their proper context. Let’s get right into it, shall we?

Someone on Reddit commented: “starting off with GEOSTORM, that’s a bold move!” and it didn’t even cross my mind. The shot was exactly where I wanted to go right off the bat - a blend of childlike wonder and eerie caution reminiscent of earlier Tim Burton films. The track was composed for a television spot called “A Wonderful Day” from IT and it showcases major Danny Elfman influences. Thus, this was my small tribute to the Burton/Elfman collabs happening under snowfalls like EDWARD SCISSORHANDS or BATMAN RETURNS. I loved the contrast in dialogue from PERSONAL SHOPPER which was such an under-appreciated indie film this year. Every mashup has its horror section, but I am gently sneaking you in by the supernatural door this time around. It’s just innocent enough to deceive those who hate horror.

Childlike wonder flawlessly captured in one shot, from the lens of Matt Reeves. I can’t say I connect emotionally with his APES movies, but the quality control on every frame, CGI or otherwise, it pretty much above and beyond all industry standards. That facial expression is exactly what I needed, you can tell she’s not too sure whether she’s safe or not but without feeling properly scared either. This is like the part in the original POLTERGEIST where kitchen chairs are moving on their own and the family still thinks it’s kind of fun. Kind of.

KING ARTHUR is the best type of release when it comes to trailer mashups because 1) it had a fantasy undertone 2) it was tracking poorly and 3) it went way over budget. Big studios know months in advance if they have a major bomb on their hands, and they have two choices at that point: either stop spending a penny on it and dump it for a quick theatre run and VOD release (more common if the movie didn’t cost that much) or, like in this case, spend extra millions of dollars to sell the shit out of that movie on opening week-end before everyone realizes it’s bad. Those extra millions go towards CGI money shots like the one above, which is really meant to make the marketing more attractive and oh dear lord, did KING ARTHUR have some last minute money shots to offer or what? It was a joy to pick and choose from its nine trailers.

This is where I put my cards on the table, whimsy never happened and I am taking you all to creepytown. That shot from ANNABELLE: CREATION is one of the many that upstages the featured evil doll in that wonderful movie and the film’s cinematographer Maxime Alexandre reached out because he was happy so much of his work was featured. You never know in front of who your videos can end up and industry people are keen on celebrating the year in film, especially if their own works are included. This is just a top notch unsettling shot clearly inspired by THE SHINING (the girl’s dress and the way her arms look lifeless.) On a side note, I always manually add all sounds including that floor cracking. If anyone reading this is starting off editing mashups, I promise you one thing: using professional, isolated, studio-recorded sound effect packages such as BOOM library is much superior to the original trailer track (unless you get a clean sound within the trailer.)

Another random insight (if you’re interested in making your own movie mashups) is to try as much as possible to avoid that one marketing shot everyone recognizes. You can revisit a memorable moment but going straight to the most oversold shot of a film hurts you. While you’re eager to make everyone relive the most epic imagery of the year, some value gets lost when a studio bombarded the same shot over and over and you go for it. Two quick examples: Giant hologram JOI pointing at Ryan Gosling in BLADE RUNNER 2049. I wanted that moment, but the original side-scroller shot was so overused that I went with her from a closer angle (see video thumbnail). Another example is that uncomfortable sniffle from Daniel Kaluuya in GET OUT which I favored over the super overplayed mouth open crying paralyzed shot from every marketing piece. In both cases, I assume you know which shots I am referring to without having to show them. Trying the alternative makes us relive the moment without its obviousness. It gives that other shot they didn’t choose its moment to shine (and more often than not, it’s just as effective.)

Someone’s not getting much sleep. A CURE FOR WELLNESS is a gorgeous-looking film no matter what you think of its bizarre plot points. I spend much of the first segment flirting with the creative key points from IT. One I tried to play around with is the idea of Pennywise as a half-real/half-fiction monster, and how similar to Wes Craven’s A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET his realm of terror extends. A few winning concepts in both films: 1) He isn’t real but he can really hurt you so you have to stay on your guard at all times and 2) Only a select few have been cursed with having to deal with him, adding a psychological layer to an already spooky premise. Dane Dehaan looks like a kid from Derry, or Elm street if you prefer, whose mental focus seems affected by the fact that he saw something, and his friend saw him too. Meanwhile, I throw in a completely out of context quote from Vanessa Redgrave which ties in that mysterious “sickness” from Verbinski’s film.

A shot from PROFESSOR MARSTON AND THE WONDER WOMEN from a trailer edited by Kees van Dijkhuizen Jr. for Annapurna Pictures where he works as an in-house editor now. In 2015, I talked about Gen Ip’s storytelling approach and last year I praised Matt Shapiro’s famously epic crescendos, so this year, let’s talk about Kees a little bit because I find all their influences fascinating. My first observation is how far his much-adored Cinema series has taken him, and that one of the top production houses in the business (if not the top, sorry A24 and Fox Searchlight) hired him so he could bring his own distinct style onto their major features. The whole trailer mashup craze started off only a few years back and so many editors were recruited right off YouTube to turn their passion into a livelihood down in Los Angeles. I can think of at least six editors whose names you’d recognize and who are now living the dream, and I consider this to be really inspiring because none of them initially got into it thinking something like that was ever possible. (side note: I also moved to L.A. and was poached by a trailer house but prefer to keep things on the low-end until it’s been long enough. I wouldn’t want to jinx it.)

The second observation about Kees is how much influence he’s had on every mashup that gets uploaded on a daily basis every December (me included) - I will link his Cinema series below. Instead of pairing clips into a horror bit, an action bit, a laughing and dancing bit, a kissing and crying bit, Kees was always out to create new feelings and nothing ever seemed more important than proper flow. Many shots would pop-up that you would never expect thematically, images of moving objects like a breaking glass transitioned with a girl’s hair waving through the wind (also see the lie detector in the previous shot.) He would connect nature documentaries right along with major superhero blockbusters and the movements flowed so perfectly that nothing ever felt out of place, quite the contrary. He was the best shot curator we’ve ever seen, and the order in which he put them together was beyond logic and predictability. Imagine “One Perfect Shot” but with 275 perfect shots back-to-back. If you want a prime example of what I’m referring to (random objects and flow), check out 2:49 - 2:52 from his Cinema 2011 (links below). Kees set the bar so high that attempting an end-of-year mashup certainly felt foolish at times, but hoping to improve made the editing process all the more inspiring.

CINEMA 2008 | CINEMA 2009 | CINEMA 2010 | CINEMA 2011 | CINEMA 2012 

So apparently, they have the internet and flat-screen TV’s in RINGS but landline phones are still a thing. Quite frankly, I haven’t seen RINGS and I bet it’s aggressively ordinary, but how retro horror is that shot? Paired up with the voice of THE SNOWMAN saying “Mister Policeman” it’s a throwback to Nancy being terrorized by Freddy in the original Nightmare of Elm Street (minus the tongue.) I was also pleased with the aesthetic of HAPPY DEATH DAY, clearly the product of horror fans who grew up during the low-budget slasher craze of the early ‘80s. It’s got MY BLOODY VALENTINE written all over it (meanwhile their poster was paying homage to APRIL FOOL’S DAY.) Retro horror, in all its disturbing practical gore glory! Rick Baker, Tom Savini, how much we missed you in our modern times where only a few major productions have enough VFX money to escape the uncanny valley (and even then... *cough* JUSTICE LEAGUE.)

I always tend to edit right on tempo, which means switching shots at the exact moment the music beat tells you to. But over here, I thought this elevator drop from FLATLINERS looked so frenetic and out of control that I started it half a second before as if the beat couldn’t keep up! Like in cartoons when the car accelerates so fast that it takes off but their eyeballs are standing still for a little fraction. This whole mashup sequence is meant to be a little cartoony and tongue-in-cheek. To anyone who found this to be disturbing (and yes, I heard from a few viewers who said it was too much) I must admit that it wasn’t my intention. I won’t apologize for my work, people choose to watch if they want to or not. But if I really tried my best to scare the crap out of you, I can assure you THE LEGO NINJAGO MOVIE wouldn’t have made the cut.

Now channeling a CHILD’S PLAY vibe thanks to this retro television shot from the highly underrated BRIGSBY BEAR. A kids program works well as an element of fear because it’s supposed to be a safely protected zone of positivity and care, just like a doll or a clown for that matter. Once that turns on its head and begins to attack, you basically have nowhere else to hide. It also makes for great contrast, and Andy Muschietti must have had an absolute blast this year incorporating this component into his remake of IT. The bear costume was one of the many shots that wasn’t from a horror movie and yet I used to great effect in this section. I know there was a new CHILD’S PLAY movie this year but sadly, it didn’t hold a candle to the Hitchcockian original.

“At the end of the day, people are out for themselves.” That’s not true, and only people who are out for themselves could believe that. Because if you’re weighing low on the morality scale at some point in life, you still wanna go to bed thinking you’re a good person. So if you can’t justify what you did, the best logical next step is to convince yourself that human nature is to blame, that everyone else would have done the same as you. Ask people who were charged with insider trading on the stock market, they’ll always say “everybody was doing it.” I could refer to a certain World War to keep hammering that point but instead, I’d like to point out the interesting contrast between this and Part 3. I try to disprove that very statement by showing in the finale that everything we do that matters is for others, and others are the only thing that matters once everything else has come and gone.

The KING ARTHUR studio spending extra millions of dollars to sell the shit out of that movie on opening week-end before everyone realizes it’s bad money shot festival continues. EPIC! In fact, that shot is so gorgeous, you could place it anywhere in any mashup ever and it would probably work.

Having a bit of fun giving a more literal visual cue to IT’s “We all float down here” with Guillermo Del Toro’s hypnotically beautiful THE SHAPE OF WATER. However, it’s not the tudum tssshh, get it? movie connection that works here. It’s the underwater sound effect and the incredible sound mixing by trailer house Buddha Jones so that Georgie’s voice seems to come from the bottom of the ocean. This is likely the best sound work you’ll hear in the entire mashup, and I didn’t mix it, the editors behind that teaser trailer did. In fact, their work was so effective at scaring people that it earned twice the amount of views on YouTube than what Avengers: Infinity War received. A fact Kevin Feige will likely never admit.

That moment when you realize your manic pixie dream girl wears white socks! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I've used vulgarity in the past but not every year, depends whether it brings value. Some of you may remember “Game on, c***suckers” from KICK-ASS 2 in 2013 or “Nap time, motherf***ers” from COOTIES in 2015. Perhaps there’s another guilty pleasure at play here, however, which is that feeling of pure creative freedom. As mentioned earlier, not everyone digged the horror undertone of this year’s Part 1 and that’s okay because it went exactly where I wanted to go and no compromise was made. No client notes. No studio revisions. No censor beeper (which makes it worse because we seek to find out what the word was.) If you get into professional careers that are creative in nature, you’ll find that teamwork, compromise, and not taking anything personally are all essential components for success. But when the movie trailer mashup comes around, I report to no one. And that moment from THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING MISSOURI is one I wanted included as soon as the red band trailer came out.

This shot comes from a small movie you should seek out called MY NAME IS EMILY starring Evanna Lynch (aka Luna Lovegood in the Harry Potter movies.) The film was directed by Simon Fitzmaurice who was diagnosed with Motor Neuron Disease (ALS) a few years ago, the debilitating disease for which the viral ice-bucket challenge was based on. He wrote the screenplay for this movie while his body was entirely paralyzed, and the only way he could communicate with the cast and crew while shooting the film was through eye gaze technology. There was a documentary following his brave journey that played Sundance called IT’S NOT YET DARK. Check it out if you need some real work ethic motivation and want to feel truly inspired about overcoming challenges. Much better than THE DISASTER ARTIST which is a spoof about a millionaire with no talent who mistreated the people who worked on his film. Okay, it’s still very entertaining and James Franco is hilarious but I don’t get a ‘never give up’ vibe from it, more like ‘maybe this isn’t for you.’

With the second segment, I was going for a British Gangster film vibe, hence the music cue Main Offender by The Hives. No movie captured that feeling better than Ben Wheatley’s FREE FIRE this year. I find the criminals in British movies are equally as clever in their quips as they are dangerous and often have the appearance of fair, well-behaved citizens until they have a reason to go mad. Jon Hamm’s performance in BABY DRIVER was also a textbook definition of that archetype, because all the build-up scenes where he acts friendly and discusses music with the titular character only bring an element of surprise at the end of his arc (spoilers: he’s not that nice in the end) I am aware that BABY DRIVER takes place in America but it’s directed by a Brit so it counts!

If Kubrick only knew his famous jump cut from 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY that connects a flying bone to a space shuttle would lead to this fifty years later. What a shit show jump cuts have become! But they’re fun, and let’s be honest here: 7 minutes of serious quotes about life would get a little heavy. The way you edit jump cuts is the same way to solve a puzzle with over a thousand pieces. Extract dozens of short action clips onto your timeline and try to make them fit with one another over and over until you’re entertained. I mean, the music stays the same in the background, all I am doing here is deciding which projectile this pair of underpants from CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS will become. The answer was a tranquilizer from the underground mall chase sequence in Bong Joon-ho’s excellent OKJA. Maybe we should try one really long domino of jump cuts one day. Should take forever to edit, but how much fun would it be?

Did you know that Academy Award winner Alicia Vikander was a professional ballet dancer before she started acting? Work ethic applies in everything you do. When you hear about successful actors, you often discover people who are world-class at delivering under pressure and dedicating themselves to their craft with an insane amount of work. Acting is hard and yet so many people think they can do it, which makes it even harder. At least ballet puts constraints right off the bat, you need flexibility and a specific body frame. Part 3 is about finding your passion AND putting in the work. Just finding your passion is hard! It’s not always the bottomless pit one could hope for, especially when it becomes a real job with hours upon hours of work. Many people don’t even know what their passion is, they know what they’re good at but don’t love it. “Without your passion, it’s very hard to find our place in the world.” I don’t think you need your income to come from your passion in order to find said place, but I wish everyone that many of the limited hours they have each day goes towards their passion, and not towards something that feels like a waste of time. Wanting to wake up has everything to do with what happens after your first cup of coffee. Put your time towards something meaningful to you, even if it’s only on evenings and week-ends and you’ll never make a penny from it. If you love animals, volunteer at a shelter. If you love to travel, just GO!

But what happens when your family conflicts with your passion? Would you leave them behind to pursue your dreams? We all remember the tragic scene from DEAD POETS SOCIETY where a young scholar gets forced by his father to become a doctor instead of his passion and commits suicide. And then we have this year’s COCO, Pixar’s big comeback, where music is prohibited in Miguel’s family but it’s all he dreams about. But that conundrum doesn’t even have to be confrontational in nature. What if you wanted to work in a low-paying field like online journalism because it’s what you love but your single parent (who always took care of you) became sick and needed you to take care of their treatment. What happens then? What comes first? I humbly try to answer that later in the segment, of course.

We always told you Daniel Radcliffe... you’re special. That’s why you have a scar on your forehead that looks like a bolt... Just kidding, poor guy. I look at Mark Hamill in THE LAST JEDI and keep thinking that if studios are still a private enterprise in 40 years, some new Harry Potter movie will come out in which an old bearded Radcliffe will be teaching at Hogwarts. (PS: he keeps making bold choices, so much so that I am willing to watch anything he’s in.)

A man’s reach... (or woman, btw) should exceed his/her grasp. Words from a poem by Robert Browning, suggesting that, to achieve anything worthwhile, a person should attempt even those things that may turn out to be impossible. The downside with attempting the impossible is two-fold, however. 1) You may spend your life trying and never succeed. 2) If you do get there after so much sacrifice and effort, the world will expect you to do it again, or to keep doing it at the same level or better. If you won a Gold medal at the last Olympics, what are the expectations for the upcoming Olympics? That’s where passions and dreams enter a darker road, one many people choose to avoid altogether. But whatever happens, it’s worth the risk as long as you have the one thing along the way that’s a hundred times more important. And that thing is...

...people who love each other! Look at this guy, he just figured it out!

Kate Mara in MEGAN LEAVEY really seems to be the one thinking out loud in this shot while we hear a quote from THEIR FINEST. I had a blast with the Freddy Krueger references earlier but this is my favorite part. Audiomachine make the best tracks to bring that crescendo to its proper peak. You can say this part of the mashup is more in my comfort zone. And the influences from Kees that I discussed earlier can be felt here. Some shots of objects and landscapes that aren’t thematically connected but keep a nice flow. I also handpicked the best cinematography of the year all at once here. MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS was a damn pretty movie, then SHAPE OF WATER, then THE MAN WHO INVENTED CHRISTMAS, then OKJA. Every shot looks like a million bucks. Notice the use of paper, letters and ink. I want to see you again, a character from EVERYTHING EVERYTHING writes on a sheet.

Family comes first is nice, but along with family comes conflict and distance at times. Things we said that we regret. Times we let each other down, or weren’t there when we needed to. All the papers dropping from the bridge, all the shots that refer to letter writing, that’s where I was going with that. Not always obvious because it moves so damn fast which is why I do this deconstruction blog post every year!

The final big lift from Disney’s BEAUTY AND THE BEAST! Also, the first frame I added onto my AVID timeline. This is how I organize my work basically. I pick the right songs, then I identify the exact moments in that song where a big moment should happen - if you use trailer music, it will be crystal clear what those are. And then I try money shots in each of these spots over and over until one really, really fits. Then, I ask myself how did we get here, how can I get to that point? And build around these big moments. The second shot I added into the mashup was the little girl in Part 1 under the bed who points to another version of herself sleeping in her bed and says “Shhh! That’s not me.” I put that in right when the music stopped, it became a big moment, and then I built around it in order to get there. Every editor works differently, but I am just sharing how I personally prefer to do it. Back in 2012, the first clip I added onto the timeline was “I have an army. We have a Hulk.” from THE AVENGERS which means I’ve been editing this way for five straight years.

Those letters of reaching out to people you care about. Apologies or wondering how they’re doing. Flying everywhere around Winston Churchill (that’s my dog’s name, he’s a Pembroke Welsh Corgi!) I guess you should always be the one to reach out in difficult situations with important people. The mistake is to not reach out, or convince yourself that they were dragging you down and you’re better off without them. That’s rarely the case, and you’ll never get over them when you know that’s not the case. Maybe they will reply someday, maybe they never will. But you swallowed your ego and you decided to give it one more shot. That’s the bravest thing we can do in this life, and I hope you’ll see it that way if the time comes. Happy New Year! Achieve your passions, take care of the ones you love and make it a wonderful day! (Halle Berry: “Aaaarrh!")

- Sleepy Skunk

[thecreativeangel]

Inferno: Part 2 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: Since you’d given up on being Peter’s friend, you thought you’d never have to deal with him again. Of course, in your absence, Peter comes to a sickeningly guilt conclusion about his feelings towards you.

Warnings: Again, swearing. To quote Deadpool from the May 10, 2016 Honest Trailers - Deadpool (Feat. Deadpool), “Kids f*cking love it when I curse. Sh*t! F*ck! F*ckbag! Terbo-boner!” F*ck, I love Deadpool.

Words: 1,193

Inferno: Part 1

Dear child,

You were mistaken in thinking Peter didn’t notice your absence. All the times you buried your nose into a textbook to avoid having to look up at him, he was staring at you. If you did know, you would've said that karma’s a bitch. The thought process would have been that he only missed you when you were gone, and that was incorrect. But… you didn’t know that he was staring at you, couldn’t imagine that he would miss you, wouldn’t dare give him the shadow of a doubt and come running back into his arms. Well, you couldn’t run into his arms anyway, because he was your ex best friend, not ex boyfriend, but that’s beside the point. The cold shoulder didn’t stop Peter from gazing at you in class. Soon enough it wasn’t just gazing, more like blatant ogling, which often led to him getting into trouble.

“Peter, I’d prefer not having to interrupt the class to get your attention,” The teacher says loudly, still writing on the board with a black marker. “Right now we are observing the effect of higher pH levels on a freshwater ecosystem, not staring at pretty girls.”

At the mention of pretty girls you glanced out the small window on the door and sure enough, saw Liz Allan standing outside in the hall. You lowered your head even more and furiously scribbled down notes in your lab book while Peter turned five shades of pink, muttering an apology. You knew Peter was looking at a pretty girl, not knowing it was you.

Your actions cost you a friend

Peter lay in his top bunk, dangling one leg over the edge. He had been staring at the ceiling for at least an hour now, trying to recollect the moment he officially lost you. What had he done that you were left no choice but to abandon him? There were hundreds of ideas in his head, but none of them were true. They couldn’t be true. Still, you avoided him for a reason. Did you hate him? Did he hurt you? Peter thought back to a couple weeks before you stopped talking to him, replaying the days in his head. Nothing was wrong; you had helped him talk to Liz, defended him at Flash’s party, you’d studied with him after school, and only stopped talking to him after he officially got the guts to talk to Liz and ride with her on the bus-

Peter’s eyes widened and his brows furrowed as some sort of realization hit him. Didn’t (Name) ask me to ride home with her? That single memory opens a series of new one’s like a key, swirling around in his head. I was supposed to ride home with her. I was supposed to study with her every Wednesday. I was supposed to stay with her at Flash’s party!

He then remembered the one time he lied to you, when he told you he couldn’t study after school and went to help Liz instead. The guilt back then was bad. Now, it was eating him alive. The footsteps that Liz and I heard, the person that interrupted Liz talking because they were running... It couldn’t have been (Name).

What if it was? His subconscious spoke. You were wrong to ditch her, now look where it’s gotten you.

That’s not true! Peter argues. Why would she still talk to me for days after that? She only left after I took Liz home.

She’s the nicest person you’ve ever met. His subconscious says. But even she changed after you lied to her. You were wondering why she was distant? This is your answer.

That was the first time I lied to her- Peter starts to think, but his subconscious cuts him off.

You’ve lied to her when you need to be Spiderman, and that was for her own good. His subconscious explains.That was the first time you lied to her to get your way.

Peter couldn’t argue with that. It was true. He was selfish. He could have just told you that he had to help Liz. He could have prevented this.

The friendship is broken, 

but everything that is broken can be fixed

Peter walked down the empty hall, clutching the attendance list he was to take to the front office. His footsteps were mixed with another set of louder ones, another person was seemingly rounding the corner. You saw each other at the same time, having completely different reactions. The moment Peter’s gaze met yours, you looked down and sped up, trying to get past him as quickly as possible. You almost got away, but he grabbed your arm as you walked by.

“Let. Go.” You hiss, eyeing the open classroom door a bit down the hall.

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed lightly. “Peter, you don’t even know what you-”

“Yes, I do,” He interrupts, letting go of your arm. “I’m sorry I ignored you for Liz, I’m sorry I skipped studying, I’m sorry I walked away at Flash’s party. (Name), please.”

“I have to get to class,” You say in a monotone voice.

“You were there when Liz and I were in the library,” Peter blurts, watching your reaction closely. “Wait, were you? I mean, if you weren’t this is kind of awkward-I’m sorry, okay? Actually, never mind, just ignore m-”

“I was there,” You say quietly, just audible enough to shut him up. “You-you blew me off for Liz, Peter. I got the message. There are many reasons why I don’t talk to you, trust me…”

Yeah, You think. Some of them include Liz being a goddess, you being oblivious, and me liking you too much.

Peter shook his head furiously. “Look-I know sorry isn’t enough,” He says, dejectedly, although he was happy just to hear your voice again. “Can we sort of… start over? U-unless you don’t want to! I’ll leave you alone if you want! Not that-not that I want to leave you alone, I really miss you! Like, really miss you. More than I should, probably...I-Is that creepy?”

“God, Peter,” You laugh lightly at his constant rambling. “You make it so fucking hard to be mad at you.”

“Am I forgiven?” He asks hesitantly, cringing at how pitiful it sounded.

“No,” You say flatly. Peter’s nervous smile melts away instantly. You drop the aggressive tone for a sincere half smile. “But… I miss you too, and maybe I’ll forgive you after you prove that you’re worthy, or some other shit.”

Peter’s giddy smile is back and he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Yeah! Definitely! I’ll take that!” He begins to walk away, still facing you. “I’ll see you later?”

You were about to say something but he ran into a trash can and almost fell in, stumbling to recover. You cover your mouth to keep from bursting out laughing and Peter grins sheepishly.

“See you later, Peter.” You say, turning around and walking away, your spirits lifted. For the first time in months, you feel light as air. Hopeful. The word is hopeful.

Peter watches you walk to class, his face dusted pink and a soaring feeling in his chest. Great job, idiot. His subconscious says. You’ve fallen in love again. Peter already knew he was in love with you, and he accepted it. But one thing he knew even more, was that he had chosen the best person to fall in love with.

It’s called an inferno, 

a burning field of misery many are trapped in, 

but only until someone else is selfless enough to dim the fire

Tags List: @barnesvogue, @chicathekawaiichick

Authors Note: Yeah, I know Tumblr messes up the bolded poem in between the story on the previous part. I don’t know what to do about that, except say, “Tumblr what the FUCK?”.  I’m actually nervous about this. I wanted to add another part to it, but the idea was kinda creepy, but now it feels rushed, but I still hope it’s good? Basically, feedback is always good. Stay weird!

- A

[imaginarybird]

Because Reasons

@frankchurchillsaysrelax requested Emmett and Elle from Legally Blonde+enemies to friends to lovers+girl/boy next door+High School/College/Teacher AU... And this was born.

It’s not that Emmett hates his new co-chair of the history department on principle (although the position was supposed to be his and his alone this year). It’s not even that he hates her for constantly parking her car in his unofficial parking spot, or for always playing the most ridiculously upbeat pop music in her office that shares a wall with his, or even that she doesn’t believe in written exams and only uses glittery feather topped pens that write in pink ink.

No, the real problem is that her proposal for a student-run news magazine garners at least five times the student interest as his debate team proposal. And when she gets voted the head of the senior send-off committee--a position he’s held with pride for years as the de facto young staff member. And when all of his students start trying to transfer from his classes in favor of hers, and when that doesn’t work, they start attending her after school study sessions instead of his.

All of this coming together, along with her renting the house next door to his so there’s literally no getting away from her… that’s what makes it impossible to stand Elle Woods.

“Emmett, so glad you can join us.” Elle says from the front of the classroom where the senior send-off committee meeting is taking place before school starts, where she’s writing some bullet points on the whiteboard with one of her signature pink markers. “Don’t worry, you’re only ten minutes late so all you’ve really missed is the summary of the last meeting.” 

Reason #24 Emmett tries to avoid dealing with Elle at all costs: she’s always so… perky. Even when she’s being passive aggressive, or downright cutthroat when they’re arguing, Elle is smiling. She’s sweet and smiling and powerful and beautiful and it’s just not normal.

He clenches his jaw as he answers. “The staff parking lot was full.” Because she had pulled into it about fifteen seconds before him and taken his spot. “I had to go to the public lot on the other side of campus.”

“Oh, you should plan ahead next time.” She offers. “It must take about...ten minutes or so to drive over there and walk back.”

“You don’t say.”

The meeting progresses as they always do--everyone presents their ideas, he and Elle snark at each other, everyone likes Elle’s ideas best, he tries to point out the implausibility or the impropriety of doing something like throwing a casino night for a bunch of graduating high schoolers and gets ignored, they snark some more, and somehow he ends up getting volunteered to cover Elle’s detention duty for the month so she can focus her energy on planning the entire venture, starting this afternoon.

Reason # 25: Somehow she can convince anyone to do what she wants. Even when it’s inconvenient for them and they don’t want to do it at all.

He’s in an awful mood for the rest of the day, and because he has to supervise detention, he gets on the road late to head back upstate for his mom’s birthday dinner. Most of the drive is spent mentally cursing Elle’s name because it was her detention duty to begin with and it’s his fault that he ended up taking it and getting stuck in rush hour, and getting to his mom’s nearly an hour later than he had promised.

Even after the dinner, after a nice night with his mom, he’s stuck driving back in the driving rain so it’s dark and miserable and tense and slow again and Emmett can’t help but think somehow that that’s Elle’s fault too.

It would be just like her to be able to control the weather.

Reason # 26.

He finally gets home and all he wants to do is crawl into bed but he can’t. The neighborhood is lit up like the Fourth of July with the flashing blue and red lights of several police cars. And they’re all gathered in the driveway and on the lawn next to his.

Emmett’s heart jumps up into his mouth in the moments between figuring out where all the cops are and spotting Elle’s blonde hair and pink trench coat amongst the crowd and realizing that whatever had happened, she was all right. He feels sick anyways as he gets out of his car and takes in the whole scene.There are broken windows, the front door is barely on its hinges...he can only imagine what the inside of the house must look like… How scared Elle must be if she were inside.

Reason # 27: She’s not despicable enough. He can’t stand her and yet he’s worried about her anyway. How is any of this fair?

With a slight sigh he gets out of his car, upturning the collar of his jacket against the rain and crosses over to Elle’s lawn, just to ask the police what exactly had happened.

Elle spots him before he can even get a word out and rushes over; she pulls him into a hug that lasts far too long considering they’ve only ever shaken hands before and he thinks maybe, possibly, that she might be crying onto his shoulder.

Completely unsure of what to do, Emmett uses one hand to pat Elle on the back. Once, then twice, and she pulls away before he can go for a third tap.

“Oh my god, Emmett it’s awful. I got home and someone had broken in! The house is a disaster, my things are all over the place or missing…”

“So you weren’t inside when it happened? You’re OK?”

“I’m fine.” Elle nods, crossing her arms over her chest. “Whoever it was broke in while I was at the grocery store. They were gone by the time I got back. Which is too bad because I took four years of krav maga in college and I would have been more than happy to dust off my skills if I had found the skeezy jerk who painted such a disgusting message in my room.”

It takes a second for Emmett to parse out the most important information there. “Wait, you went in the house? Before the police got here?”

“Of course! I had to see if they had taken anything.”

Reason # 28: She has positively no sense of self-preservation.

But Emmett can barely contemplate it before one of the police officers comes over, provides Elle with a rundown of what they’ve found thus far, and tells her she’ll need to find a place to stay for the night. Elle looks suddenly small again, soaked from the rain and more than a little nervous about the whole affair. His mouth and brain refuse to communicate on the matter.

“She can stay with me.”

Gaining a roommate in Elle Woods is an experience unto itself. 

She critiques the contents of his shower (“Emmett, grown men do not only have a bar of soap and a bottle of Head and Shoulders to bathe themselves with”). She borrows clothes. She makes breakfast.

She makes good breakfast.

Reason # 29: She’s good at everything she tries. Who does that?

It’s actually kind of frustrating to share a living space with Elle. Because the longer Emmett is around her, the more time they spend in the same room doing their respective grading, the more conversations she drags out of him, the more cleanly scented products that seem to find their way into his bathroom, the more he realizes she’s kind of… nice. And caring. And if she does control the weather she’s probably only doing it better the world of the people around her.

Reason # 30 Elle Woods is the actual worst: She’s not the worst at all and Emmett’s going to have to admit (if only to himself) that he was, in at least a few different ways, wrong about her.  

Before too long--maybe three or four days into what was going to be a one night stay--Emmett and Elle are actually sharing stories about themselves and laughing together in more than a ‘I can’t tolerate you but we’re colleagues so I’ll pretend that you’re super funny’ kind of way.

And then they start eating lunch together. Sharing a living space and being a friend to the environment (“I’ll have you know that one of my first acts when I was put in charge of my Delta Nu chapter was to get our house put on solar power. We have a responsibility to care for our planet, Emmett.”) means that they start commuting so he gets his parking space back, sort of.

“I’m glad to see you and Ms. Woods are finally working past your differences.” The headmaster says one day as he and Emmett walk out of a staff meeting where Emmett and Elle had found themselves in agreement on every issue and teaming up on more than one occasion to argue their points. “The history department, and indeed the school will be a finer place for your friendship.”

Emmett’s not entirely sure that he and Elle are friends or if they’ve finally just realized that the things they were finding annoying about each other are a little more endearing when they got to know each other, but he does know that when the repairs on Elle’s house are finished and she officially has no more excuses to stick around at his place, the morning he wakes up and there’s not a blonde doing tae bo in his living room while bacon fries in the kitchen, the house feels like something is missing.

The school year continues and at a certain point Emmett knows for certain that he and Elle are definitely friends. He would never in a million years let someone who wasn’t his friend go through his wardrobe and replace all the clothes that make him look like a quote-unquote ‘scruffy fuddy-duddy’(“Emmett, you’re a history teacher at a prep school in his thirties, the kids will take you more seriously if you don’t dress like an ivy league philosophy professor from 1973”). 

This doesn’t mean he stops hating her--reason # 33: she signs every text message with a heart emoji and he’s pretty sure she actually means it--but his feelings of hate stop being that jaw-clenching, boiling sensation in his gut and start feeling a lot more… fluttery. Like someone shakes up a warm bottle of champagne and lets it explode all over him, leaving him comfortable and tingly and on edge all at the same time.

That’s what hating Elle Woods feels like now that they’re friends.

It’s a feeling that seems to grow every time she throws her head back in laughter or settles down to do some serious work, throwing on reading glasses and chewing on the end of a pen cap.

He’s not sure that he likes being friends with Elle--his inner grump doesn’t know what to do with himself now that everything she does is kind of endearing rather than being the most annoying thing on the planet--but they keep getting closer regardless. Elle has a way of doing that. Of knowing the right things to say and being adorable and actually being really helpful when he needs it. They’re constantly spending time together and as much as he hates her, he doesn’t really hate it at all.

Maybe that’s why it stings so much when Elle announces that she’ll be spending her summer break back in her home of Malibu. Because he’s gotten used to spending time with her and they’ve built a good working relationship and he had just assumed that she’d be working with him at the school’s summer program too. It’s definitely not because he’s going to miss her.

Except the more he thinks about it, the closer they get to the end of the year and the more she talks about her trip, the more Emmett starts to consider that it might be.

Reason #34: He’s going to miss her. 

Well, that’s just not going to work.

Emmett’s used to having people in his life not stick around so this shouldn’t be a big deal, particularly since she’ll come back in the fall but for some reason it feels like it is. Only he can’t say anything because that definitely won’t work so he can do nothing but go back to clenching his jaw and biting his tongue whenever he’s around her. He just needs to put a little distance back between them; after all you can’t miss someone that you’re not close with so if he stops sharing with her, stops finding her jokes so funny, stops wanting to be her friend...a summer without her won’t be so bad.

“Would you stop being weird?”

Of course...Elle notices and she’s not one to keep quiet about what she notices and when they’re chaperoning prom a couple of weeks before graduation she gives him an exasperated look while they count the King and Queen Ballots.

“What?”

“Stop being so weird.” She repeats abandoning her work. “It’s been a couple of weeks and I can’t think of a single thing that I’ve done to bug you lately, and we only have a couple weeks left before I leave for the summer, so either tell me what I did so I can apologize and we can go back to the way things were or...stop acting like a butthead!”

“A butthead?” Emmett sputters over the insult, unable to believe that it’s what Elle landed on. Not even his students use such...silly benign put-downs. He’s oddly offended that she didn’t pick something better. “You think I’m a butthead?”

“I think you’ve got a lot of butthead tendencies.” She huffs. “Your stubbornness and inability to say what you’re actually thinking being two of them.”

“How do you know I don’t say what I’m thinking?”

“Because if you did, you’d tell me why you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you Elle, I’m gonna miss you!”

Oh.

Oh, she’s good. She’s really good.

Emmett doesn’t even realize what he’s said until a second or two afterwards when Elle is staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

“You’re gonna miss me?”

Angry with himself for letting the feelings he’s been trying to bury out so easily, and more than a little embarrassed because this is not the sort of thing he does or the kind of conversation he has ever but if he refers back to reason #25...it’s somehow impossible to not give in to her, Emmett feels his cheeks heat up and looks to the side at the start of his answer. “Of course I’m going to miss you. It’s actually infuriating how much I’m going to miss you. Everything you do is annoying and yet somehow adorable at the same time and it’s not fair because we were not friends and we were never going to be but you wormed your way into my life anyways and now it’s impossible to think about what my summer’s going to be like without you force-feeding me quinoa salads and buying me ties that cost more than my car payment because you think they’ll bring out my eyes and not getting to see you crinkle your nose when you get frustrated because I’m fighting you on all of that and--,”

Elle leans across the table, cupping his face in her hands. She presses her lips to his, smiling as she pulls away. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

Oh.

Oh.

Reason # 35 Emmett Forrest hates Elle Woods: He doesn’t hate her at all.