#god 2016 shield....

[oplishin]

roman and seth realize they're the only 2 left on their team at survivor series 2016

[demifiendrsa]

DOOM: The Dark Ages | Official Trailer 1 (4K)

DOOM: The Dark Ages for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, and PC in 2025. It will also be available via Xbox Game Pass.

Title Logo

Screenshots

Overview

Developed by id Software, DOOM: The Dark Ages is the prequel to the critically acclaimed DOOM (2016) and DOOM Eternal that tells the epic cinematic origin story of the DOOM Slayer’s rage. In this third installment of the modern DOOM series, players will step into the blood-stained boots of the DOOM Slayer, in this never-before-seen dark and sinister medieval war against Hell. DOOM: The Dark Ages is a single-player experience that delivers the searing combat and over-the-top visuals of the incomparable DOOM franchise, powered by the latest idTech engine. As the ultimate super weapon of Gods and Kings, shred enemies with devastating favorites like the Super Shotgun while also wielding a variety of new bone-chewing weaponry, including the versatile Shield Saw. Players will tear across the demon-infested battlefields in the vicious, grounded combat the original DOOM is famous for. Take flight atop the new fierce Mecha Dragon and stand tall in a massive Atlan mech as you beat titanic demons to a pulp.

[offender42085]

Post 1149

Devin Sizemore, Oklahoma inmate 828303, born 1994, incarceration intake December 2018 at age 24, sentenced to life

Also, Federal inmate 40600-509, released from federal obligation in June 2022

Murder, Assault and Battery on LEO, Introduction of Weapon/Drugs/Alcohol into Correctional Facility, Possession of Stolen Property

In April 2023, an Oklahoma man was convicted for the second time of killing his toddler daughter, this time following a federal trial that was held after his state conviction was vacated in the wake of a landmark U.S. Supreme Court decision regarding the adjudication of crimes that take place on native tribal lands.

According to court documents, the defendant, Devin Warren Sizemore claimed that he had baptized his 21-month-old daughter Emily Sizemore, but something went wrong. Federal authorities, however, said that he had taken the child for a visit and did not return her to the girl’s mother, Sizemore’s ex-girlfriend.

Officials detailed a fractured family situation. According to a February 2017 report from the Oklahoma Commission on Children and Youth on little Emily’s death, defendant Sizemore had previously been charged with abusing the child’s mother.

“Reportedly the incident occurred in front of Emily Sizemore and the mother had an injury to her head,” the report said. “The OKDHS determined the child to be safe with her mother and substantiated the allegation of Neglect-Exposure to Domestic Violence against the father. The father was arrested for Domestic Violence. The OKDHS recommended the mother obtain a protective order and she declined a Sooner Start [infant and toddler development program] referral.”

Charged in a domestic violence case, Sizemore faced a no-contact order regarding his ex and had been out on bail when he killed Emily in July 2016, authorities said.

According to the federal criminal complaint, Sizemore took Emily from his mother’s home in Krebs, Oklahoma, on July 12, 2016. His mother said that he had “blown up” and took the child, authorities said. She saw him again the next day pushing a stroller with his daughter inside. She tried talking with him, but he said nothing and he continued walking.

On July 14, 2016, Sizemore went the home of Emily’s mother. The woman’s sister spoke with him, according to the complaint.

“Sizemore stated God has brought the storm, God sent him to tell everyone the world was ending and everyone needed to get right with God,” authorities said. “Sizemore stated he had a shield over him and he was God. [The sister] asked Sizemore where Emily was and Sizemore replied Emily was with God.”

Defendant Sizemore’s mother reported Emily and Sizemore as missing to Krebs police. Law enforcement started searching, and when officials found Sizemore, he apparently fled on foot — jumping into a nearby pond and refusing commands to get out.

As officers entered the body of water, they found Emily floating face down.

“As officers moved to render aid to Emily, Sizemore physically fought with officers in the water,” the complaint says. Cops arrested Sizemore. Emily was later pronounced dead, and a medical examiner determined that the toddler had drowned to death.

The next day, Sizemore, after having been given his Miranda warnings, allegedly told an agent of the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation that he took Emily several days before her death, walking around Krebs with her and sleeping in a barn.

According to law enforcement, Sizemore had attempted to perform what he described as a religious ritual on the baby.

“Sizemore put Emily under the water to baptize her for approximately 30 seconds, but something went wrong,” cops said. “Sizemore performed CPR on Emily and revived her. After Emily was revived, Sizemore felt something telling him to get a horse from the barn. Sizemore blacked out and when he woke up the police were attacking him.”

Sizemore was convicted in state court in 2018 of murder and other charges, but that conviction was vacated on April 1, 2021, in the aftermath of the 2020 U.S. Supreme Court case McGirt v. Oklahoma. In that case, the Supreme Court found that federal courts had jurisdiction over certain types of major crimes committed by enrolled members of a tribe that took place on that tribe’s land.

An appellate court in Oklahoma in 2021 upheld a lower court ruling that Sizemore’s case should be tried in federal court, not state, because he was an enrolled member of the Choctaw Nation and the crimes happened on the historic boundaries of the Choctaw Reservation.

Federal prosecutors filed a complaint against Sizemore on April 19, 2021, and Sizemore was tried again.

He also was convicted again, this time of voluntary manslaughter and child abuse resulting in death in Indian Country. The federal jurors acquitted Sizemore, however, of murder in Indian Country, second-degree murder in Indian County, and assault resulting in serious bodily injury in Indian Country. Prosecutors dropped a charge of assault and battery on a police officer in Indian Country.

When he completed his federal sentence in 2022, he was indicted by State authorities for murder.

4j

[c-is-for-circinate]

MCU 2024 Rewatch MASTERPOST: yeah sure why not

Fuck it, guess we're doing this! I, in the year of our lord 2024, am watching my way through the full MCU, in release order. Just that kind of masochist I guess. And because this is the Masochism And Schadenfreude website, you all get to watch!

One of the reasons I'm doing this is because I actually really want to track where it feels like the MCU went wrong. I saw the original Iron Man in theaters in 2008 (twice!), and it was genre-defining in several ways that seem very distant after sixteen years and thirty-some-odd movies. We all watched these for a reason! Time to figure out what it was and also where it got lost.

Note: for now we're skipping the various TV shows, Agents of SHIELD, the assorted Netflix miniseries, Agent Carter...it is Too Much and unlike Twitch reacters, I ain't getting paid for this shit. We're also skipping The Incredible Hulk. Fight me on it.

I have seen...some of these. Pretty much everything through Civil War, and then most things through Infinity War, and basically nothing since then. So it's also going to be interesting to see how future knowledge impacts some of the earlier movies, and then y'all are going to get my actual reactions to the later movies. Which I'm sure will be fun for SOMEBODY.

Anyway I'll be tagging everything as C Watches MCU 2024, and I'll link below on the list after the readmore as reactions happen. Hopefully this whole list will keep me honest!

(oh god there are 32 movies on this list even skipping the Hulk. why am I doing this to myself. what have I begun. why.)

Iron Man (2008)

The Incredible Hulk (2008) THIS DOES NOT COUNT AND I'M NOT DOING IT

Iron Man 2 (2010)

Thor (2011)

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

The Avengers (2012)

Iron Man 3 (2013)

Thor: The Dark World (2013)

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)

Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)

Ant-Man (2015)

Captain America: Civil War (2016)

Doctor Strange (2016)

Guardians of the Galaxy 2 (2017)

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)

Thor: Ragnarok (2017)

Black Panther (2017)

Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018)

Captain Marvel (2019)

Avengers: Endgame (2019)

Spider-Man: Far From Home (2019)

Black Widow (2021)

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021)

Eternals (2021)

Spider-Man: No Way Home (2021)

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022)

Thor: Love and Thunder (2022)

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022)

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania (2023)

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (2023)

The Marvels (2023)

[therealblondebucky]

Chapter 5 of Not The Only One - A Winter Soldier Story

Rating: Teen to Mature

Word Count: 1.9 K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (with more specifics in the tags)

June 23, 2016

Bucky lifted his head up stiffly and slowly opened his eyes. His metal arm was held tight in a large vice, keeping him trapped in place.

"Hey, Cap!" a voice echoed in the large abandoned warehouse.

A moment later, Steve and another man jogged in.

Bucky groaned slightly. "Steve?"

Steve's face was tense with worry. "Which Bucky am I talking to?"

Bucky blinked. "Your mom's name was Sarah."

"You used to wear newspapers in your shoes," Bucky chuckled at the memory.

Steve gave a small smile. "Can't read that in a museum."

"Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?" the other man questioned incredulously.

"What did I do?" Bucky asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Enough," Steve replied frankly.

Bucky moaned. "Oh. God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words."

"Who was he?" asked Steve.

"I don't know," Bucky whispered.

"People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than 'I don't know,'" Steve explained gravely.

Bucky hesitated, then slowly said, "He wanted to know about Siberia."

"Where I was kept." His blue eyes moved around as things began to fall into place. "He wanted to know exactly where."

"Why would he need to know that?" Steve inquired.

Bucky clenched his jaw. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

The shock on Steve's and the other man's faces betrayed the fact that this was new information to them.

"Go on," Steve encouraged gently.

"There was a girl," Bucky said, his eyes clouding over at the memory.

"Who was she?" Steve probed.

Bucky shook his head. "I don't know. Just some experimental subject for the serum. An innocent."

"Why would they need to experiment with it? And why not on someone who was part of their organization?" Steve asked as he freed Bucky's arm from the huge piece of industrial machinery.

"They needed to know if this combination was right. Plus, it had never been given to a female before. HYDRA wouldn't risk testing on one of their own." Bucky continued, "When it worked on her, they gave it to five others as well."

"Who were they?" asked Steve, arms crossed over his chest.

"Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum."

"They all turn out like you?" the other man asked sarcastically.

"Worse," Bucky replied, raising his eyebrows.

"The doctor, could he control them?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked down. "Enough."

"Said he wanted to see an empire fall," remarked Steve.

"With these guys, he could do it. They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, and you would never see them coming," Bucky informed them seriously.

"This would have been a lot easier a week ago..." the other man's voice trailed off.

July 24, 2016

Steve helped Bucky up and laid his friend's remaining arm over his shoulders. They limped off, leaving a defeated Tony Stark and a scarred vibranium shield behind them.

"She-she's still alive," Bucky managed to rasp out.

"Who?" asked Steve.

"The girl." Bucky paused. "H-he didn't keep her with the others."

"Where did he keep her?"

Bucky groaned. "A separate room."

"Do you think you could find it?"

Bucky nodded, and they picked their way through the rubble. After several minutes of walking through the ugly green and white hallways, they came to a large metal door.

"This is it," Bucky announced.

Steve unbolted the door and pushed hard. It moved with a metallic moan. Steve turned to Bucky, and their blue eyes met. After exchanging a long look and drawing strength from the other, the two men entered the room together.

Inside was what was left of a lab, and in the far right corner rested a Cryostasis Chamber. It was smaller than the other ones, but the eerie yellow light, soft, steady beeping, and icy whoosh sound indicated that it was functioning.

Through the Chamber's haze, they could make out the form of a girl. She was dressed in the same specialized suits as the others and looked very young. Her right arm was metal with a red star, and her long blonde hair hung down her back. Her eyes were closed, and her expression was obviously pained, even though part of her face was covered with a muzzle.

"What are we going to do?" Bucky's question ended the solemn silence between them.

"We can't wake her up. Not safely. That could end with any one of us dead."

"Steve, we can't leave her here. Not with Tony and Zemo."

"I don't know, Buck. I don't know…"

~~~

Steve and Bucky stumbled through the base's thick metal doors. The Black Panther stood out strikingly against the snow. Upon seeing him, the two super soldiers prepared themselves to fight.

T'Challa put a hand up. "I am not going to hurt you. I know now that I was after the wrong man."

Steve's entire stance relaxed in relief that T'Challa, too, had learned the truth about the bombing. "We could use your help. There is a girl, one of the Winter Soldiers, still inside. We need to wake her up and get her out of here."

T'Challa motioned towards Bucky. "He is in no condition to help with this."

Bucky started to protest, but Steve gently cut him off. "He's right, Buck. It's best if you wait in the Quinjet."

After boarding the craft, Bucky sat down in defeat.

Steve rested his hand on his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. It's gonna be okay, Buck. We'll get her. She'll be alright. I promise."

Bucky gave a half-hearted smile, which faded away to nothing as Steve disappeared behind the closing Quinjet door.

"Captain, do not worry about Zemo. He will not be going anywhere." T'Challa nodded towards his jet where the Sokovian was bound.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

The two men entered the HYDRA base together and Steve led the way to the abandoned lab.

"She will most likely be hostile," T'Challa commented.

"Waking up after being frozen for the past few decades will do that to you," said Steve dryly.

T'Challa spent the next few minutes clicking away on an ancient computer. Finally, the Chamber's glass moved up with a whoosh, and white icy fog flooded out.

Steve and T'Challa removed the girl from her prison. Even though she held some level of consciousness, she was unresponsive and unable to walk. Steve tenderly picked her up and carried her in his arms, bridal style. Her eyes slipped shut, and her body went slack. She reminded Steve of the last woman he had carried like this. She also was a Russian trained killer, but had red hair instead of blonde.

After returning to the Quinjet, Steve secured her as best he could. Rescuing a HYDRA trained assassin had not exactly been on the agenda for this mission and there were not many supplies on board to provide aid in this unique situation.

"I must deliver Zemo to receive the world's justice for his crimes against the United Nations," T'Challa informed Steve.

"Bucky and I have a few last loose ends to tie up ourselves. Thank you for everything, Your Highness," Steve said gratefully.

"I could be of more help than you realize, Captain," added the king of Wakanda before the two men parted ways.

"I still have a hard time trusting that a machine can fly itself without any help from a human," Steve admitted aloud before putting the Quinjet on autopilot.

Bucky made no sound of acknowledgment, but Steve knew he likely shared the same sentiment.

"Let's get you fixed up, Buck."

When there was no objection made, Steve grabbed a large first aid kit. Brushing the dark strands of hair out of Bucky's face revealed that his hair was stiff with dried blood, and his face was more beaten than Steve had realized. Gently wiping the caked blood off Bucky's face with an antiseptic towelette, Steve began to clean up his lifelong friend.

"You know, I used to be the one fixing you up after you got in fights," Bucky tried to joke.

"Where do you think I learned how to do this so well?" Steve replied with a small grin.

Once Bucky's face was free of any remaining blood, Steve carefully cleaned his long brown hair with a damp cloth.

"Does it hurt?" Steve asked, motioning to what was left of the metal arm.

Bucky stared blankly ahead. "Just as much as if it were skin and bone."

Steve shuddered as the memory of when Bucky lost his flesh arm flashed across his mind.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Bucky only shook his head.

"Alright. If that changes, let me know," Steve said as he began washing his own wounds.

The combination of physical exhaustion and emotional distress caused Bucky to doze off.

~~~

Aware of someone touching his right shoulder, Bucky woke up sometime later.

"Hey, hey. The Quinjet is cloaked, so no one should bother you. Make sure the girl doesn't do anything crazy. I'm going to go get some supplies. I won't be gone too long," Steve explained, and Bucky nodded.

The stillness of the Quinjet said that it was parked on the ground. While curious as to his current location, Bucky decided that he did not care to know where they were and he would rather remain ignorant as to their final destination for the time being.

Turning to glance at the girl, Bucky caught sight of his metal nub. This was not the first time the arm had been destroyed, but now there was no way to replace it.

"Without it, I'm not as dangerous, and I am less likely to hurt anyone," Bucky told himself.

But the U.N. bombing, the airport fight, the battle at the HYDRA base, the disbandment of the Avengers, and Steve now being a war criminal were all his fault, though.

Hell, the literal physical manifestation of all the wrong he had ever done lay unconscious behind him right now. She was yet another innocent life ruined by the Winter Soldier.

The longer Steve was gone, the deeper into the darkness Bucky let his mind go.

"I'm back! Did you miss me?" Steve teased upon his return.

Bucky replied completely deadpan, "Oh, you were gone? I never noticed."

Steve laughed before pulling out two rectangular red and white checkered paper dishes and handing one to Bucky.

"Sorry, they're a little smooshed," he apologized.

"Hot dogs?"

Steve smiled. "Believe it or not, these were the best ones I could find, and I didn't even blow all of our money on them."

Bucky chuckled faintly, remembering their collective remembrance of that adventure from the '40s before entering the HYDRA base earlier that day.

"There's also two loaves of bread, a dozen apples, and a jar of peanut butter if you get hungry again," Steve informed him proudly as he drew said goods out of his knapsack.

Bucky nodded in approval, and the pair ate their hotdogs in silence.

Afterward, Steve piloted the Quinjet back into the sky and put it on autopilot for the night.

The day had taken far too great a toll. Despite rarely sleeping well and having already had a generous nap, Bucky's eyes slipped shut, and sleep overtook him.

[dweemeister]

Children of a Lesser God (1986)

In narrative art that features individuals with deafness or hearing loss, these films tend not to portray such characters on their own terms, failing to centralize the story around them. Neither Jane Wyman’s character in Johnny Belinda (1948) nor Patty Duke’s portrayal of Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker (1962) frame their respective films; both movies rely on a hearing character to do so. Looking beyond the United States, the same is true of The Shop on Main Street (1965, Czechoslovakia) and the anime film A Silent Voice (2016, Japan) – once more, it is the hearing character who becomes the audience’s proxy. No deaf or hard of hearing actors played the roles referenced in this paragraph.

Such is also the case in Randa Haines’ Children of a Lesser God, with one significant exception – a deaf actress, Marlee Matlin, plays the deaf main character. In the late 1980s, such representation was a revelation, and simply unheard of. Matlin, deaf since she was eighteen months old, came to the producers’ attention after starring in a Chicago-area stage play. While auditioning for the role, she and actor William Hurt struck up a relationship – questionable timing, as both actors got the part (more on their troubled relationship much later).

Haines’ film, distributed by Paramount and from a screenplay by Hesper Anderson and Mark Medoff (adapting his own stage play of the same name), is a capable romantic drama with two great performances. Its portrayal of a deaf character by a deaf actress was indeed significant for its time; the decision to position the film through the hearing character’s experiences fails to distinguish it from its fellow films and numerous films since.

Somewhere in New England, James Leeds (William Hurt) arrives for his new job: as a teacher at a school for the deaf and hard of hearing. His enthusiastic teaching style rubs off on most of his students, as he emphasizes that, as important as it is to sign and read lips, they must also learn to speak. Also working at the school is Sarah Norman (Matlin), a former standout student who works as the school’s custodian. While the school’s hearing staff, for reasons initially unclear, dislike Sarah, the students appreciate her. James falls quickly for Sarah and they eventually begin dating, after a few rebuffs on her part. What follows is a romance where our two protagonists navigate through his desire to help her adjust to the world beyond the school walls and her lack of trust in others. Drifting in and out of the film are the school’s hearing principal, Dr. Curtis Franklin (Philip Bosco), and Sarah’s mother (Piper Laurie) to give both main characters advice, encouragement, and dramatic obstacles.

Children of a Lesser God suffers from its emphasis on James’ perspectives. Between James and Sarah, it is James who demands the most in any compromises between the two. When he first asks Sarah whether she would want to move in with him, James’ approach is, at times, more demanding than it is a genuine query. His insistence on Sarah speaking phonetically to hearing people, from the onset, seems to disregard whatever personal reasons Sarah might have for refusing to do so. Late in the film, the most heated discussion between the couple on this topic comes in perhaps the most inappropriate way – he wants to hear her say his name during sex. Both James and Sarah carry into this relationship sizable foibles and broken pasts, but the former’s communication style can be abrasive and domineering. At times, it makes Children of a Lesser God seem like yet another savior narrative.

Certainly, Sarah’s reluctance to speak phonetically is a defensive mechanism – one to shield her from the pain of past interactions with hearing people and a refusal to have anybody to speak on her behalf. The film also implies that she may be a survivor of sexual abuse. Matlin is magnificent in this role (my goodness, does she sign quickly or what?) and there are a few key scenes where, as Sarah, her character truly shines without James’ input. Interestingly, both scenes involve music. The first instance comes on their first date at a restaurant, when Sarah insists on dancing to “I’ll Take You There” by the Staple Singers. Feeling the vibrations of the music “through [her] nose”, Sarah grooves, eyes closed, to the music. Rather than shaking her hips and moving her head with the beat, she sways, and gracefully moves her arms to the song – released from the bounds of the musical and lyrical phrasing.

Later in the film, Sarah does not betray any irritation when James claims he cannot enjoy his favorite piece of classical music (in this case, the second movement to J.S. Bach’s Double Violin Concerto) because she is unable to enjoy it. Instead of showing her discomfort or lashing out, she asks James to “show [her] the music”, similar to how she “felt” the music on the first date. James fails to do so, but not for lack of trying. Here, Matlin, as Sarah, is fully observational – one can see, through her eyes and face, a sincere attempt to understand what the Bach “feels” like. Where others might point out Matlin’s emotionally fraught scenes in this movie as the best exemplars of her work (any of the fights with Hurt’s James, her jealousy while watching the school show, her reconciliation with her mother), Matlin’s command in these less dramatically important moments also deserve praise.

Matlin’s performance, however, cannot stop Children of a Lesser God from depicting Sarah as the otherized character that must change the most. The film, released in a decade of popular cinema with a more cavalier attitude towards relationship violence than previously seen, puts so little on Hurt’s James. It is fine to portray an imbalanced romantic relationship in a movie. But the film seems tepidly interested in Sarah in stretches, and fails to truly allow the audience to connect with her in moments where that might be possible. Additionally, whenever Sarah or anyone else who is deaf or hard of hearing signs in the film, there are no subtitles. Instead, it is up to James or another hearing character to verbalize the sign language – disallowing the opportunity for any viewer to find, in Sarah, a chance to see the events of the film through her. This, like CODA (2021; which incidentally also stars Marlee Matlin and concentrates on a hearing character, albeit a child of deaf adults), makes Children of a Lesser God a film not for the deaf or hard of hearing community, but for hearing audiences. Sarah’s deafness becomes an obstacle in this film – indeed, some of this is on the original stage play, but there surely were ways to address this.

The chilly New England atmosphere of this movie lends it a coziness that no stage play could possibly replicate. John Seale’s (1996’s The English Patient, 2015’s Mad Max: Fury Road) cinematography and Michael Convertino’s (1988’s Bull Durham, 1994’s The Santa Clause) electronic-heavy score (electronic-heavy scores tend to date quickly, and this is no exception), however, are merely functional. Children of a Lesser God, lacking in any technical accoutrements, relies solely on the strength of its actors and its adapted screenplay and the odd autumnal landscape of red-orange tree leaves and mist wafting over water in the early mornings. Director Randa Haines had never made a theatrical film prior to this, with her directorial career only covering network television and television movies until Children of a Lesser God. Her direction is here is unremarkable, but at least is sufficient for the purposes of this adaptation.

Hurt and Matlin began a romantic relationship shortly after auditioning for Children of a Lesser God – establishing a tricky situation of power dynamics on set during the making of the film. Matlin, seen as the ingénue, knew she had much to learn from Hurt (one year removed from his Academy Award-winning role in Kiss of the Spider Woman and one year away from Broadcast News) and everyone else on set. Matlin has always praised her fellow cast and crew members for that education in filmmaking. She moved in with Hurt shortly after shooting ended on Children of a Lesser God, but that was the beginning of the end of their relationship. The relationship, marked by drug and verbal abuse and rape, continued through the 59th Academy Awards in March 1987 (that evening, on the way home, Hurt questioned the legitimacy of Matlin’s Best Actress win, callously comparing Matlin to the other four nominees) but ended several months thereafter. In later years, following the publication of Matlin’s memoir detailing the worst aspects of their relationship, Hurt apologized for any harm he inflicted on Matlin and her family, wishing them all well. After Hurt’s death in 2022, Matlin reflected on her time making Children of a Lesser God and noted that Hollywood had “lost a really great actor”.

When Children of a Lesser God received five Academy Award nominations and won Marlee Matlin her Best Actress Oscar, speculation abounded regarding changes in the portrayals of deaf characters and opportunities for deaf and hard of hearing actors. Matlin was the incarnation of a potential groundswell of such representation in Hollywood. That groundswell has been less dramatic than anticipated (as are all such movements to address underrepresentation in American films), but Matlin’s win has, slowly, in its own way, opened a wealth of new opportunities for deaf and hearing-impaired actors in the United States in film and television. Children of a Lesser God might not be the revolutionary film that many non-viewers may have heard of. Nevertheless, its positive impacts continue to create small ripples through American filmmaking, belatedly, more frequently than ever before.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Living His Word

"Be strong and brave and finish this work. Don't be afraid, because the LORD God, my God, is with you. He will help you until all the work is finished. He will not leave you." — 1 Chronicles 28:20

Every one of us has work to do and the words of our verse today, which King David spoke to his son Solomon, speak to all of us. In Solomon's case, the work he was called to do was a building project. He was called to build the temple of God in Jerusalem. For us, it could be anything. We work as mothers, fathers, farmers, educators, factory workers, business people, artists, doctors, lawyers, preachers, and so on. The Lord God reigns over all areas of life and He calls people to work and to serve Him in all areas of life.

Each of these areas has its own difficulties and challenges and, as a result, we will always face the temptation of weariness and fear, the temptation to quit and give up. Instead, we must be strong, for "The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy" (Psalm 28:7) and we must be brave, for '"This is my command--be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the LORD your God is with you wherever you go'" (Joshua 1:9). We can be strong and brave because we are not alone. The Lord God is with us and is helping us.

And God will be there for us "until all the work is finished." God does not call us to work and to serve Him and then abandon us. He stays with us until the work is done. He "will not let you stumble; the one who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps" (Psalm 121:3-4). God calls us to our work and then watches over everything we do and helps us with everything we do. He never leaves us. We can always count on God to be there for us.

Each of us has a part to play and work to do in the Kingdom of God. Today, take comfort in the thought that the Lord is always there with us, and is always helping us, until the job gets done.

© 2016 by Bible League International

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-03-25

Can't tell if this is allergies or if I'm sick because spring is in the air

Listening: I have been listening to The Layover podcast, the behind the scenes podcast for Jet Lag The Game. I only got into Jet Lag pretty recently because I had Nebula anyway and saw it come up. Great show, both because the premise is great (carefully designed games incorporating travel on the scale of countries) and because they can actually edit this incredibly difficult pile of footage into something readable.

The Behind The Scenes is an interesting mix of talk about the on-the-ground situation of playing the game and the filmmaking that goes on after the fact, there's some cool insight into how and why they edit the way they do and it shows why it works so well.

I think you have to have Nebula to listen to the podcast? It does just spit out an RSS feed if you ask nicely though. Thank you podcasts.

Watching: Actually watched The Gay And Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo, the video series that launched like two dozen reaction images.

It's funny, it's a well put together indie comedy series. You've probably seen most of the really standout bits already even if you don't know it already but it is worth watching as a time capsule of web comedy, it's less than two hours long all told.

Reading: Started Glory In The Thunder by 0xabad1dea. I don't know what her real name is. I've had GITT in my ebooks library forever, 0xabad1dea is the main reason I got on twitter back in like 2016 (her and a couple other software blogs) and is why my Fediverse feed is still like a quarter security researchers by weight. She's probably one of the most well known static analysis researchers in the world.

Anyway Glory In The Thunder is a gaslamp-ish fantasy, although leaning very fantasy on the gaslamps. Very teenage characters which is whiplash but only because it's been a moment. Lots of very loud characters who announce themselves and their intentions, some fun seven dimensional politics going on, and a lot of jumping back and forth in the histories of the various gods who are constantly hanging around in the plot.

I think @shieldfoss has bugged me to read this before so you'll be glad to know that I am now.

I like this, I'm about halfway through. It's easy to keep track of despite having enough fantasy names to choke a horse, although I should really stop worrying about that, I've read the Shadowdance series you really have to try to beat that one. It's also a free book, you can get it at @gloryinthethunder.

Playing: Got a VR headset. Fidgeting with said headset. Figured out how to do wireless linked VR from Linux and Windows which is good, I should have all the kinks worked out, I'll have to see how I square the onboard capabilities of the Quest 2 with having a PC and fast WiFi.

Making: Finally run through enough smaller prints on the new hotend to feel confident running off the final endcap, so that's done. The parts of the 3D printed NAS case are complete, and I have started my first pass sanding which is going to take a while because PETG is very slippery. Once that's sanded I'll take it in to the shared workshop and run through some primer layers and some paint.

Tools and Equipment: Flat network cable is a godsend if you're running it in open air in a house. Absolutely useless for pulling through walls or running in conduit, and completely bereft of shielding, but having a flat cord that can press up against frames and sideboards really does make it all neater. I ran flat cat6 for all of this.

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Kaiju Week in Review (May 28-June 3, 2023)

Yukiko Takayama passed away on June 1. She was the screenwriter of Terror of Mechagodzilla, which closed out the Showa Godzilla series in 1975. Given no instructions from Toho besides "bring back Mechagodzilla," she turned in a surprisingly dark work centered around a peaceful dinosaur transformed into a weapon of war and a cyborg girl struggling to hold on to her humanity. She's also one of only two women to receive a writing credit on a Godzilla film, after Kazue Kibo (Son of Godzilla). She brought back both Titanosaurus and Katsura for the 2016 novella 2075: Meister Titano’s Counterattack, which you can read on Toho Kingdom. Rest in peace.

Skull Island co-showrunner and writer Brian Duffield took to Twitter to answer questions about the show, always a difficult tightrope to walk before your show's actually been released. What we learned: the show is set in the early 90s (so well after Kong: Skull Island but just a little before Skull Island: The Birth of Kong... love these distinct titles). Don't expect any returning characters. Season 1 will be 8 episodes long, and while Season 2 seems to be at least partially written, it's not guaranteed to happen.

More Monsterverse characters have joined Godzilla Battle Line: Mothra and King Ghidorah from Godzilla: King of the Monsters. Poor Rodan got snubbed; there's even a space in the artwork for him. Maybe next update. Mothra looks to be a beast, shielding nearby allies from stun effects when you summon her, slowing down enemies with long-range silk, and boosting her player's energy upon death. King Ghidorah is strong, naturally, but probably too costly.

SRS Cinema continues its hot streak by licensing Kadokawa's 2021 blockbuster The Great Yokai War: Guardians. The film bombed spectacularly, which I can't say I fault Japanese audiences for, but it's still a huge get for such a small company. As usual, the Blu-ray release will come first, with a more widely available DVD to follow. No VHS gimmick for this or The Whale God though; guess Kadokawa wasn't a fan.

I continue to be staggered by how many Movie Monster Series figures Bandai is cranking out: here's Mothra from Godzilla vs. Mothra and Larugeus, Kaigel, and Mammoth Flower from Shin Ultraman. For the sake of sculpt quality, maybe they should slow down; the bird looks traumatized and the plant looks like it's rising out of a dung pile.

[undead-merman]

Garnet

December 31st 2015

To my horror, my father's scraps of rambling claiming to be research turned out to be true. 

Deep in this unnamed facility past a million warning signs was the monster. His eyes gleaming in the darkness, reflecting the light of my lantern. I swear his eyes bore into me as if he was reading my very soul. He shouldn't be alive, not for how long this place has been abandoned. Life behind a chain link fence with only stagnant air and dust particles. 

I pulled him out and seeing as how I simply came here to fight off my burning curiosity and hatred, I don't have a team to help me swipe the place and collect the research from the last group that contained him. I've contacted my most trusted allies to help me. They'll arrive any day now to my camp just outside this worn down concrete mess of a building. 

He's semi feral. He understands basic body language, but does not speak or respond to any spoken language. I've tried. He growls and hisses at the most basic of things. He didn’t even understand forks and knives. He doesn’t even eat with his hands, he kneels down and licks it up from the ground. It’s a sad sight, really. I managed to lead him outside with some scraps of my lunch. He hissed and shied away from the sun like it was a beast. The poor thing, I shielded him away from the sun and waited with him until the sun went down. I made him a spot in my tent, and I'm watching him. I can’t be too careful with how wild he seems to be. He’s sleeping in my bedroll. 

I cannot believe my father was right. The power of manifestation is true and has happened in the past, allowing a billion gods to be born over the years… Garnet, as I will be calling him from now on, doesn’t seem to look like one. He looks more like a demon. Garnet horns, a long tail, rough skin with pillars of said stone growing out of his spine and across his skin. His skin I can tell is supposed to be a much more saturated red, but with who knows how long he’s been in there he’s surely gotten paler. 

I’m going to do my best to look after him. I think I should look into my father’s notes more as well. 

January 5th 2016

A few days have gone by, and I want to compile my notes here. My new team has arrived, a few of my late father’s friends, a few friends of my own. All of them know of my father’s sudden detrimental interest in manifestation, even after all his years as a man of hard science. A handful of them searched the building, while a few stayed with me and studied Garnet. 

Previous research dating back to the 1800s shows he wasn’t always feral. He was a calm-collected man that was theorized to be a demon of sorts. The horns on his head are indeed made from pure garnet, as well as the protrusions on his body. He used to have wings, as stated in some of the old writings, but they must have atrophied and fallen off. 

I’ve taken some time to try and teach him some basic English. He’s a fast learner, which makes my life a lot easier, though it seems like he used to speak it a long time ago. My guess with how long he’s been alone, he’s forgotten it. Makes me sick to my stomach. Over a hundred years of solitude. Strangely enough, looking at his old enclosure, there were no signs of attempted escape. He stayed put like a well-trained dog.  

There are thousands of files, some of them unreadable, almost all of them unorganized. We suspect people have been in here to explore or trash the abandoned facility, so it makes it harder to find material. But with Garnet the moral is up at the very least. Though, Garnet seems wary of new people. He only seems at ease around me and inside my tent. He snaps at anyone getting too close. In fact, he goes ballistic unless I stand in the way. I hate to describe it as such, but he acts like an unsocialized dog. Still, he seems like a good man, just lost from the stillness and loneliness of that facility. I’ve seen him sneak around and patrol my tent before curling up by my head. When he thinks I'm asleep he’ll lick my hair and chew it. 

Talking with the team they agreed to stay here for as long as it takes. One of them even inviting a few more to understand garnet, a biochemist, a genealogist, Histologist, Biophysicist, the whole nine yards. Some of my father’s friends are even paying for the expenses of this trip. I’m so grateful. I hope that the study doesn’t stress Garnet out too much. Furthermore, I’ve resolved myself to taking Garnet’s comfort as a priority. If he doesn’t want to do something, then I will make sure that they don’t press anymore. 

January 16th 2016

Our team has done some more digging and careful organizing and we’ve found out more about Garnet’s reason for being here. This used to be a research company that was looking into lab grown crystals but had ended up finding Garnet. They had harvested garnets from his body using different methods from bloodletting to cutting them out of his skin after burning him. From what it seems his blood would solidify into gemstones. It would provide hefty amounts, though their color would be low quality. The act of burning him which would scab over with the crystal and yank them out. These would result in much higher quality garnets. They wanted to test this, but I refused. It's far too inhumane. 

We have also discovered he’s been there for generations. They had found a collection of folders called ‘Project Vein’, they didn’t even properly give him a name. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, knowing this man had gone through all that for some stupid fucking jewelry. Worst of all, when he saw me crying he straddled me licking my face and tried to comfort me, me. I couldn’t sleep that night, I didn’t even try. 

The company dissolved after the great depression and he had been there ever since. Wasting away as he waited for someone to come find him. Save him, give him orders. Good riddance. I don’t even want to know the names of the people working here… it would eat me up inside. 

We’ve been trying to teach him more and he’s picked up on it more and more. Instead of basic words, he’s relearned slightly more complex sentences. Thankfully, he’s a bit more social now and not just hovering around me and hissing and biting at the others. Not to say he doesn’t hover still but at least he’s not hostile to the others at camp. My father’s closest friends from work, he has taken great interest in Garnet. He keeps trying to feed him and get Garnet to spend time with him. Garnet is still wary of him. We did find out Garnet enjoys fruit. One in particular being a pomegranate. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. We gave it to him, and we watched as he peeled the flesh with such delicacy. No juice spilled from it unless it was already in his mouth. We all sat around and watched as he plucked seed after seed. He offered a handful to my colleague and myself before eating the rest. Ever since then, he’s been pestering us for ‘the tiny pom’. 

His body is nothing like the doctors have ever seen. They were able to take small tissue samples and do some check up and scans. The tissues turned to Garnets within a few minutes. After study, his flesh truly turned to the crystal. The Mineralogist explained that garnets have a few different species. He seems able to produce many species… I wasn’t aware there were species.... Chrome pyrope garnet seems to be the main one he produces. He’s only able to produce a red variety as far as we know. But even she doesn’t know if. His flesh produces Spessartine. She wanted to take samples from all over his body including bone and marrow samples, but I refused.  

I made sure they don’t go overboard with testing. As fascinating as he is, I cannot allow any mistreatment. 

January 25th 2016

We have been here for nearly a month and Garnet has made leaps and bounds worth of progress. His long hair had been bothering him so they went head and cut his hair. He perked up the minute they showed him his reflection and he came scrambling over to me asking if I liked it. It suits him, and now I don’t have to spend twenty minutes every morning combing it. 

He’s finally comfortable wearing clothing, much to everyone’s relief. With the cold, It only further proves the point that he is not bound by reality like us mortals. While he contains a stomach, he does not need to eat, he doesn’t need to sleep, the cold has no effect on him, he can have his body torn apart and beaten and still be fine, and heal it all away within a matter of hours. 

He is not a mortal creature. If my father had any say in this, he would have called it a god. Garnet ceaselessly creates from his body without the need for energy. What else could you call it? I’m not even sure myself. Father’s research says there are billions of them. Gods created from the ideas and concepts attached to them. He mentioned gemstones, devils, zodiac, animals, though gemstones are primarily the object of his interest. Garnet, amethyst, ruby, topaz and citrine. He claimed to have known about Garnet, his mother telling stories about him. I worry that my family was somehow involved with him. 

We’ve plucked through as much as we could inside, but sadly time has destroyed most of their research. What I've previously written down in my cataloging is simply all we have. Garnet doesn't seem to remember anything after the last visit to him. From what he's told me, a man had come up to him and told him to wait there. He waited and waited until I came. 

Everyone discussed what to do next. Without Garnet consenting to testing, there wasn’t much they could do. But when I told them about my father’s research, they asked if I was planning to see if there was more like Garnet. I had to admit it. If there were any more creatures like Garnet, I was willing to risk everything to find them. 

I really am my father’s child… 

They agreed to help me and asked what to do with Garnet, and honestly I had to think awhile about it. I simply just couldn’t let him go about the world on his own. I know it in my heart that he’d be taken advantage of the moment someone got him in his grasp. But keeping him with me? It is not like he’s some pet. I’d have to hide him, keep him safe. I’m not sure if I am up to the task. 

But seeing how Garnet curls up to me every single night, licking my fingers and hair, and nibbles at my shoulder just to hug and hold me, I knew I had to. I told the group I’d keep him by my side and Garnet was thrilled about it. He latched on and didn’t let go until bed. I’d have to return home to look more into my father’s notes. The people of my camp offered to help me get back without having to arouse suspicion from the public. I am privileged to have such lovely people surrounding me in this mission. When I told Garnet that we’d be traveling back home, his tail whipped around wildly, and he seemed to take pride in the fact I called it home for the both of us. I hope I can spoil him like he deserves. 

January 28th 2016

We ended up taking a train. We were able to have a whole private cart to ourselves, so I didn’t have to worry about Garnet getting overexcited and getting caught. I had to thank one of my dad’s old friends for that. 

He was pressed by the window the entire time, and he refused to let me squirm away. I was by his side with his hand around my waist as he watched trees and mountains go by. It was charming seeing how amazed he was. Every seat cushion he bounced on, the table he laid upon and lounged like a king. After so long alone, it was heartwarming to see him so enthusiastic about the world. 

I’d let him pick at my lunch and takes the things he wanted as I looked up more about Gemstones, mostly the ones about my dear new friend. 

From my dad’s rants, I remember him saying that humans assigning characteristics would result in a grain of truth. So I looked at what the birthstone would represent and their symbolism. It was sweet seeing him sniff and poke at my pad and pen. 

Loyalty, passion, healing, and protection were the most common aspects… and it would make sense for him. Loyal to the end. Waiting for someone to come find him. I have to push down all those hateful feelings. I have Garnet to look after. 

Maybe in the future we will find more about them, but for now I'm going to spend some time looking into my father’s things and making sure Garnet feels safe, loved, and taken care of. He deserves it. 

[jinxquickfoot]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Human Shield

Find the fic on Ao3

Note: Second half is written from Tony's POV during Civil War, but not intended to be anti-Team Cap or anti-Steve.

2012

God, Tony wants to die.

“Put the shield down Rogers, or I’m going to shoot him in the head.”

Not literally, obviously. Figuratively. From embarrassment.

The guy they’ve been chasing for the past week is just that—a guy. A very well-trained, very strong guy, based on the burly arm gripping Tony by the throat, but still. Human shield is not Tony’s best look.

Steve is managing to appear, Tony begrudgingly admits, exponentially cooler. His expression is stoic behind the cowl and shield, the gun resting on the rim, film and steady. “Let him go, Batroc. It’s over.”

Batroc huffs, right in Tony’s ear. Tony cringes away because gross—he does not need this guy’s morning breath anywhere near his breathing passages—but that only presses his temple more firmly against Batroc’s firearm.

He’s already working on ideas to make the suit more portable. The suitcase design was a good start, but it had just taken one kick from the Frenchman to send it skidding out of reach. Tony’s hand-to-hand skills are far from weak, but he and Steve had been ambushed without warning, and apparently Batroc had decided that Tony was the more controllable hostage of the two.

Next time, this wouldn’t happen. He’d make some sort of suit he could carry on his person all the time, even just a gauntlet, so he’d be ready always.

But that was next time. This time, Tony has to make do with what he’s given. Which, at the moment, is the hostage training Natasha had forced him through for this exact scenario.

“You know I wear a two-hundred-pound suit around the bad guys, right?” Tony had scoffed. “I highly doubt one of them is going to be able to get me in a chokehold.”

Natasha’s response to that had been to, naturally, put Tony in a chokehold, not releasing him until he had agreed to let her show him a few moves.

“A human shield makes it harder to hit the target,” Natasha had told him. “But not impossible. Still, you want to reduce the odds of getting shot yourself as best you can, which means you aim for the ribs. Give us a window, and we’ll take the assailant out.”

They’d practiced it until Tony had it perfect. “There. You happy now, Romanoff?”

“Now that I know one of my friends is in slightly less danger than before? A little bit, yeah.”

Batroc’s blathering on about something else, demands or threats, but Tony isn’t listening. He catches Steve’s eye, raising an eyebrow. Ready? He sees Steve make the calculation—determining the risk. Then he makes eye contact with Tony, and nods. Ready.

Batroc doesn’t see it coming. He’s so focused on Steve that he’s completely unprepared when Tony slams his elbow into his solar plexus.

The gun at Tony’s head stutters, the hold around his throat loosening. It’s not enough to pull free, but the next moment there’s a bang, and then strong arms are grabbing his and pulling him to safety.

“Are you alright?”

Tony winces as he runs a hand over his surely bruised throat. Batroc is bellowing on the ground, bleeding from the shoulder, but neither Tony nor Steve pay him any attention. “Yeah,” Tony croaks, clearing his throat. Ow. “Just some bruised pride. Maybe a few other things. Nice shot.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “Always. Although not something I want to do often.”

“You getting squeamish, Captain?”

“Not for this,” Steve replies grimly. “For you—for anyone on the team—I’ll always make the shot. I promise.”

2016

Tony has been through a myriad of feelings the past couple of days, but the absolute panic of I’m about to be shot in the face is a new one. The swell of pride when one of his inventions works for the first time, however—that’s one he’s all too familiar with.

The nanotech gauntlet is barely out of the testing phase, but it’s the only one he’s allowed to carry these days under the Accords. He’s not meant to be using it, either, not without UN permission, but he thinks they’ll let him off the hook given there’s a feral Winter Soldier plowing through Avengers right now.

Catching the gun is the first thing that comes to mind when Barnes points the thing right in his face, his thoughts transforming from That was incredibly stupid to That was amazingly genius in a nanosecond. It’s also a nanosecond of distraction, where he’s not moving, not thinking, and apparently that’s all Barnes needs to get the upper hand.

Tony braces, preparing for the blow as the metal arm swings for his head, but the pain doesn’t come. Instead of a hit, he feels metal grip his throat, a human but inhumanely strong second hand wrap around his waist, as he hears the distant clatter of his glasses hitting the floor.

At the last possible second, Tony throws a counter-maneuver—one of the many, many moves he’d practiced with Natasha after the Batroc incident—but he doesn’t account for Barnes’s strength. The escape attempt does nothing, and then Tony finds himself helpless in the Winter Soldier’s hold.

“Release him.”

Barnes spins them both around, looking for escape paths, the arms around Tony tightening as T’Challa stalks towards them with claws at the ready.

“You will not escape here,” T’Challa adds, and Tony doesn’t know whether the calm murder in his voice is a point in or against his favor. Tony recalls the day he found out his own father had died. He hadn’t exactly handled it with aplomb. He can’t even begin to imagine how he’d react if he’d found out it was deliberate, that there was someone to blame outside of a lethal combination of windy country roads and whiskey.

Barnes responds by shifting his grip, too fast and too expert for Tony to take advantage, so his gun is pointing at Tony’s neck.

“That’s not going to help you.” A new voice. Barnes doesn’t turn to meet it, clearly more worried about the Black Panther. Natasha moves around to where they can both see her, meeting Tony’s eye. “Stay calm, Tony. We’ll get you out of this.”

Tony would love to believe her, but knowledge of just how deadly Barnes is even without a gun isn’t helping matters.

And then, a third voice. “Bucky!”

This time, Barnes does move, even though he’s careful not to let either T’Challa or Natasha out of his sight. Steve is running full tilt at them, not even bothering with the stairs as he leaps to the lower floor. The shield is missing, but Steve’s managed to acquire a gun. He holds it loosely between his fingers as though he’s worried it's going to burn him, not even trying to lift it when he sees the situation before him.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, all determination. “I know you’re in there. Stand down.”

Judging by the increase in pressure on Tony’s throat, Barnes has absolutely no intention of following that order. Tony chokes, instinctively trying to pry the arm away, but it’s like trying to shift concrete.

The gun in Steve’s hand twitches. “Bucky,” he says, yet again, his voice soft. “You’re not in danger. These are allies. I’m your ally. I know you remember me.”

Great, so Tony’s life depends on the memory of a guy with seventy years worth of brain damage.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs—a warning. She’s eyeing the gun, as though thinking of grabbing it.

Steve notices. His response is to clutch it a little tighter. Which Tony reads as I know what I’m doing, Romanoff, back off. And apparently Barnes reads as This man is about to shoot me so time to run away.

Tony has no choice but to be dragged with him, feet unable to find purchase as Barnes starts backing through the building. More backup has arrived, but Tony’s unable to pay them much attention. He doubts any of them are willing to take a shot anyway, not with the gun trained on them, and not when he’s blocking so much of Barnes’s body.

The panic doesn’t properly set in until he realizes Barnes is taking him to the roof. “Hey, you don’t need—” he tries, but immediately gets cut off when more pressure is added to his throat. He blinks rapidly as they burst into sudden daylight, willing them to adjust, then almost wishing he was still blinded as he sees Barnes’s target.

Tony is just thinking that he really doesn’t want to find out if Barnes is planning to drag him onto that helicopter, or if his part here is done and he’s about to be disposed of, when another figure joins them on the roof. “Bucky, stop.”

Barnes doesn’t stop. He doesn’t go to the helicopter either. Instead, he drags Tony backward until they’re balanced on the edge of the roof, and Tony catches a glimpse of water way too far below them. The gun is still at Tony’s neck. Tony grimaces as he tries to move away from it, but Barnes’s grip is as resolute as ever.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Steve tries. “I know you’re confused, but I know you know me. I’m Steve. You’re Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tony wishes he could have one ounce of Steve’s conviction. Maybe then his heart would stop pounding quite so fast.

Barnes doesn’t move. He doesn’t let him go. And Tony’s done playing damsel in distress. He raises his arms, just slightly, willing Steve to see the movement.

Steve does. His eyes go a little wider, his grip shifting on his gun. It’s not pointed anywhere near Barnes, but Steve’s reflexes are super-soldier fast. He’ll make the shot.

Tony watches Steve’s face, seeing the indecision there. Alright, give the guy a second to work through the idea of shooting his closest friend from the olden times. They only need a shoulder wound for Steve to get Tony out of this. Batroc had survived, and then healed well enough to escape SHIELD custody and had a second go at Steve on the Lemurian Star. And he wasn’t even a super-soldier.

Barnes will be fine, even if he ends up falling off the roof. Steve had survived a much longer fall in much worse condition from the helicarrier. Tony’s not so sure about his own well-being if they don’t do this. And he has no idea how long he has before Barnes either fires, snaps his neck, or throws him into the water below.

He brings his elbows up, and slams them backward.

Something snaps in his arm, pain ricocheting up his side, but none of that matters as time seems to slow. Because he’s not free. There was no gunshot. Just the sound of a finger squeezing a trigger, right beside his ear.

This is it. He’s dead. Steve didn’t take the shot and he’s dead.

That thought can’t have lasted longer than a quarter-second, but it feels like an eternity before he feels Barnes go rigid behind him.

Tony doesn’t waste the opening. He tugs the arm away from him, even as he sees Steve barrelling towards them. Tony remembers this part. Being tugged out of Batroc’s grip, beyond relieved even if there was no way he was showing it.

But when Steve reaches him, he doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t look at him. Tony is vaguely aware of a splash, and then Steve is launching himself off the roof, and gentle hands are gripping Tony’s bad arm.

“What—”

“I hit Barnes with a Widow’s Bite,” Natasha’s saying, tilting her bracelet up to show the missing disc. “Maybe you had a point about building ones you could throw.”

Tony cranes his head over the roof to where Steve has surfaced with an unconscious Barnes lolling in his arms.

“Hey.” Natasha tilts his face back towards her, concerned. “You okay?”

Tony blinks at her, trying to remember how to speak, but his voice is gone. He supposes nearly getting shot in the head twice in the space of ten minutes will do that to a person.

When she doesn’t get an answer, Natasha gently prods his elbow, making him wince. “Fractured,” she remarks. “You tried that move I showed you, huh?”

He had. And Steve hadn’t taken the shot.

He hadn’t… he hadn’t even looked at him.

“Come on.” Natasha helps him stand. “Let’s deal with that elbow, and then we’ll deal with the mess that just got one hundred times worse.”

Author's note: Steve believed that Bucky would never actually hurt Tony and therefore Tony was never in any real danger.

[akhilaasthana]

A Cambridge College alumni charity gala circa 2016

@lindiwe-in-camelot

Being back at their college was hard, seeing old classmates rub elbows with Adam and humble-brag about making partner or some difficult, high profile case they'd solved. And then they'd turn to her, Lindi, who had been on track to be in the top ten percent of their college, who had publicly dropped out and crashed and burned. Some friends, kinder, assumed she'd finished her degree later. There was no easy way to admit that she was a homemaker, bringing up baby-now-preteen Paige while Adam had the job at the top law firm. 

She'd needed a break, so she had excused herself and come to the green. It was a little too chilly to be out here without a jacket, especially given the silk blend, sleeveless, high-low floral dress she was wearing. The fresh air was just what she needed, after all of the empty smiles and big egos. Lindi took a deep breath in, catching the sound of a shoe scuffing against the tile. Someone else needed some fresh air too. 

Lindi saw them, an orange burn of a cigarette to the left, overlooking the garden. Lindi paused, old university temptations coming back strong. Fuck it. She stalked over to them, her heels clacking against the stone tile. "Hey," she said, putting all the warmth she could into that approach. "Any chance I could bum a fag?"

-

The assumption had been the event with be a tight, small affair and Akhila had still needed encouragement to come. It was a riotous affair of noise and the worst kind of socialising. Everyone appeared to be desperate to one-up the other. Worst still it wasn’t even exclusively her fellows—there were solicitors here. 

Akhila excused herself from a dull conversation pertaining to nothing of interest, and slipped outside. It was fresh, and Akhila was glad for the layers of her suit though she wouldn’t have minded her coat. She lit a cigarette, which would get her into some trouble later, and leaned against the wall. 

Quiet voice behind her. Akhila’s gaze drew back to see a young woman clad in heels and a light floral dress. Wordlessly, she offered the box of cigarettes to her flicking it open. She shouldn’t have these anyway—Hannah was going to kill her if she knew she’d bought more.

-

Step one of her naughty cigarette was complete. Lindi took a few extra steps towards the stranger, the haircut suggested they were a woman wearing a suit. Very practical. Very nineties. God, she'd had too much champagne. Lindi took one of the offered cigarettes. "Thanks, these sorts of nights drive me to smoke. Even if it's all in the name of charity." Lindi said, in the expected light hearted chuckle. "You got a light?" she asked, prompting the stranger to fulfil their sacred duty as bummer of cigarettes.

-

Akhila fished out her lighter, and to shield the flame from the light gusts she came closer. The desire to stub out her barely smoked cigarette was grew in strength. Akhila conceded in the end—one person was more tolerable than a crowd. “Wasting an evening drinking and eating in the name of charity feels a poor choice.” The line of her jaw was tight. She looked over the young woman, the light coming from inside had formed a soft halo around her head, so she looked away. She loathed herself for asking. “What do you do?”

-

She even managed to get a light from the stranger, though Lindi sincerely doubted without her prompting she would have been left with a useless, unlit cigarette. The stranger stepped closer, and Lindi got a flash of her face in the light from the flame. A cheap Bic lighter, that didn't suit her perfectly tailored outfit. Was she sneaking cigarettes she wasn't allowed too? Lindi tittered to herself and sucked in her first, tarry puff of smoke. She cleared her throat, slowly blowing smoke into the air above them. "Thanks, again." 

Finally, the stranger said something. Thank God. Lindi couldn't bear standing in the silence. "Isn't this event for starving children somewhere in Africa?" Lindi said wryly, wrapping one arm around her chest while the other kept her cigarette propped up in the air, within easy distance of her mouth. "Is it horrible that I don't know?" she whispered to the stranger, like a partner in crime. 

And then the stranger had to ruin it, with that stupid question that Lindi had been trying to outrun all night. So what do you do? Well, I wake up and try to wrangle a preteen out of bed and into her uniform and get her into school before first bell, then I go to a committee meeting about protesting the development of a motorway, then I make dinner, run errands, have my third existential crisis off the day and kiss my breadwinner husband on the lips when he comes home  and listen to his complaints about the commute and his boss and clients while I massage his feet and nod and coo and try very hard not to implode. 

She was so, so sick of that question. So, she decided to choose a different answer. "I'm a barrister," she said cooly, taking a drag of her cigarette. "Family Law. What about you? Let me guess..." About ten years older than her, smart suit, not a big talker. "You're an academic, in physics maybe?"

-

Akhila exhaled smoke over her shoulder, towards the green and away from the stranger out of polite pleasantries. The fundraising side of the evening was a farce. Theatrical show for the Cambridge alumni to put on and give themselves a healthy pat on the back for. That didn’t stop the stranger getting it wrong. Akhila chewed her bottom lip, holding back a cutting remark. Instead she took another drag. 

The young woman whispered to her, an illicit smile despite having just told Akhila she thought it for the starving. Silence hung between them and Akhila breathed it in, she could hear the subtle tick of her watch out here. A barrister, now she was regretting lingering this long. “Not even close.” Akhila answered, as she took a wild guess at who she was, what she did. 

Akhila really had no desire to get an earful on the difficulties of family law. Precisely why she’d enforced prenups. “I studied on the biomedical campus if that assists your guesswork.”

-

This stranger sure was a fan of long silences. Her joke about the starving children (which was in bad taste, yes) didn't even get a little rush of air through her nostrils. Lindi was just buzzed enough from the champagne and cigarette to not really give a shit. This was a lot more pleasant a conversation than facing her ex-classmates inside. Talking to a brick wall would be more pleasurable than that. This stranger was a tad better than that. 

Lindi took another drag as the stranger said she wasn't even close, but kindly gave her a clue. Studying on the biomedical campus. "Ah, a doctor then," Lindi declared, smiling to herself. "A psychologist? You don't speak much, give me all the pauses to speak into, just like my shrink." Lindi paused, just to see if the stranger would speak. Nothing. She smiled to herself and then continued, "But I can't see you sitting in a room all day, you can barely stand talking to me. Me taking to you... You didn't fumble with that Bic lighter and it always takes me about five goes to make the bloody thing work, so a surgeon then." Lindi deduced, puffing on her cigarette like she was Sherlock Holmes. "Good with your hands..." she added on, giggling to herself at the awkward flirtation. It didn’t mean anything, she was married.

"I hate hospitals," she said, after another pause. Her cigarette was nearly ashes now, she doubted the stranger would give her another.

-

Akhila pressed her tongue against her teeth, it wasn't just that the young woman was getting it all wrong, so often people did. She confused medicine with psychiatry, it was like looking at a beautiful contemporary modern art piece and declaring it romantic. Wrong. Akhila exhaled sharply, "psychologists do not--" But the young woman didn't stop there, she barrelled onwards. Taking little leaps and turning them into assumptions, at least this time she was closer to the truth. 

"Correct. I'm an orthopaedic surgeon." Akhila said firmly, tying herself up in small knots as to whether it was appropriate to elaborate. She came to the decision surely it must be, thus she ignored the young woman's proclamation she hated hospitals. "I deal primarily with sports injuries, and specialise in knees." The young woman's cigarette had burned out, much like Akhila's. She crunched the rest under the heal of her flats. Akhila held out the lighter and cigarettes to her. "Take them." She was going to be in trouble either way, there was no hiding the smell.

-

Lindi’s comment on psychologists had gotten a response from the stranger, but it appeared her guess of a surgeon had been correct. "A... knee doctor?" Lindi commented, unaware there were such things as knee doctors before now. How many things could go wrong with a knee? Surely it would get boring, wouldn’t it, staring at knees all day? 

Before she could question her more on the specifics of knee surgery, the stranger held out the cigarettes and lighter to her. Lindi paused, then took them from her hand. She slipped out another cigarette, put the box into her clutch and then preceded to try and get the fucking bic lighter to work. It only took her three times to light up her next cigarette. Too much too fast, fuck it. She deserved the second smoke. 

"Thanks. It's nice talking to someone who doesn't know me." Or people who thought they knew her. "Do you want a mint?" she asked, as if that would be enough to hide the scent of cigarette smoke.

-

"I'm a consultant surgeon," Akhila corrected. Her patience eroding with each lap of a careless comment. The young woman seemed, unawares, and probably had drunk a touch too much of the free champagne. Akhila felt a pulse of regret at giving her the cigarettes as she watched her fail to strike the lighter, getting it lucky only on her third chance. Tonight would be a night of regrets. 

A mint was a poor consolation prize but regardless, Akhila nodded. "I would like a mint." She had a small tin in her car, but she hadn't driven here tonight. They'd booked a hotel, taken taxi under the assumption they'd like to drink, but upon arrival Akhila had decided against that. She'd spent a good portion of the evening seeing how fast they could drive home tomorrow and whether she could make it to the hospital. The answer was firmly no but she'd thought it worth double checking.

-

Knee doctor, consultant orthographic surgeon, whatever. God, surgeons were just as pedantic as lawyers. However, the consultant orthopaedic surgeon was not immune to the temptation of a mint. Lindi smiled, opening up her clutch to efficiently locate the mint box carefully tucked into it's place. She'd gotten far too reliant on giant mum handbags lately, it had pained her to par down to her clutch. "Here," Lindi offered, tapping some mints into the surgeon's palm. Her hand was remarkably steady. "Extreme mint, watch out..." Lindi couldn't stand sweet mint flavours. 

"My husband's the lawyer, actually. He’s a solicitor. Corporate law," Lindi said with a mini-eye roll to accompany it. Such a fucking bore. "I'm the Cambridge drop-out." Lindi sighed, then stubbed out the rest of her cigarette with the toe of her shoe. "Is being a fuck up contagious?"

-

Extreme. Akhila should've heeded the warning because the sharp and intense burn of mint held it's own as she sucked on the otherwise innocent sweet. Hopefully it was intense enough to oblierate any stench leftover, but Akhila found that unlikely. "You aren't a barrister then?" Akhila asked, neither curious nor accusatory. She merely wanted a straighter version of the events that the young woman was seemingly playing out for her. "And who would you blame for your fuck up?" The source of her contagion as she put it. 

Though she understood to a degree, and it had been a very long time since she'd thought of him. Akhila chewed the mints, unsure why she'd accepted all three when one would've been sufficient. "Perhaps you have achieved elsewhere." Akhila said without much commitment, it was the sort of throwaway line that the young woman would find pleasing. If there was a husband, she suspected based on her age, there was likely to be children too. Allegedly, children were something of an achievement.

-

"I'm not a barrister," Lindi confirmed, like, keep up Dr Knee. "Which everyone else seems to think is contagious. Like the plague," Come on Dr Knee, ding ding ding, Lindi was patient zero for fuck-up-itis. She didn't want to talk about her baba dying to this woman, she'd had enough pity tonight. 

"Not in any way that matters to them in there," Lindi sighed, holding her arms tight across her chest. Jenny had already returned from maternity leave with her youngest, and Shenae was only going to take a year off for her bump. Michael had a stay at home wife, but she'd had to take the night off to take care of their youngest. They'd been quiet in that judgemental way when they'd found out that Adam and Lindi only had the one kid, like, why the fuck are you still at home then, Lindi? "They have kids and a career. Or just a career." Lindi envied Dr Knee that. 

"Sorry, you don't really care about all this. You just wanted a smoke," Lindi said, with another sigh and half laugh. "Does your husband think you've quit?" she asked, assuming Dr Knee had come with someone if she was so eager to get rid of the smokes now.

-

Evidently the champagne they'd been handing out was good, because she seemed to be enjoying herself. Whilst Akhila wasn't convinced her fuck-ups were contagious, a slight slip of a smile betrayed the young woman's other infectious habits. It all pivoted as she barrelled onwards about kids, careers and the people in there. Akhila exhaled through pursed lips, not invested in a total stranger's lack of self compassion. Nor was she interested in playing her shrink. 

"No, but her wife did." 

Akhila glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the voice, to meet Hannah's gaze, worrying her bottom lip with teeth. She stared, hoping to convey that she'd only smoked one. That somehow Hannah would sense the rest of her cigarettes were in this stranger's tiny clutch. Hannah came to stand like the intruder on a private conversation, loitering close enough to Akhila that she could smell the spice of her perfume. "Has Ms. Asthana told you all the juicy details of her latest paper?" 

"Hannah," Akhila said firmly, quietly. "She's a barrister in training, she's not interested." Akhila looked to the young woman as if offering her a rather meek olive branch – not debasing her, as she had done to herself.

-

Lindi jumped in her skin at a new stranger's voice butting into their conversation. Dr Knee's wife evidently. Lindi turned to see a blonde approach, a tall, athletic bombshell. There was something familiar about her, but Lindi found herself glancing back to Dr Knee, the way she had softened around her eyes. 

They were unbearably intimate, despite the fact that they didn't touch, or pash, or do anything but have a silent conversation with their eyes, 'you told me you were going to quit.' 'yes but these sorts of dinners drive me to smoke.' Lindi felt her heart quicken, her skin prickle as she looked at them. There were no lesbian couples in her village, not that Lindi knew of. God, was she staring? She didn't mean to, God, she hoped they didn't think she was a bigot, she'd cried when the marriage equality law had passed. It was just... She wanted... They were... 

"No, no juicy paper sharing," Lindi said, maybe a little bit too loudly. Barrister-in-training was a nice epithet from Dr Knee (she hadn't caught that surname). "I wouldn't know a sinew from a... a ligament?" Lindi said, chuckling at herself, waving her hand. A well practised dance at self-deprecation. "I'm sure it's far too technical for someone like me." 

"Would you believe me if I said I offered your... your wife," There was her heart again, pounding in her chest, "a smoke and she turned me down?" Unlikely, given what she'd overheard Lindi say. "Terrible influence, I am."

-

Akhila ran her tongue over the inside of her teeth, the young woman was inclined to putting herself down but she wasn't inviting Akhila to correct her. Though the temptation was there, it was an exceedingly simple difference that she was certain even a barrister-in-training could grasp. She said nothing of the sort though, and spared a glance back to Hannah, who clad in a sweeping light summer frock wouldn't be warm. Who was in turn staring down the young woman. 

"I would." Hannah said, with a smile that was destined to brighten even a gloomy Cambridge courtyard. "Well, you've clearly been spared a dull hour then... sorry, what's your name? I'm Hannah Moss, real pleasure to meet you, even if you are a terrible influence." 

The young woman seemed to be growing increasingly, twitchy? She'd gone a little wide-eyed in a manner that suggested some slight shock. She was also putting an awful lot of emphasis on wife. Akhila was content to ride the conversation as a passenger letting Hannah steer tended to be smoother, easier. 

"Would you both like to come inside? Awfully cold out here."

-

Lindi felt in the spotlight, the way the wife, Hannah, was looking at her. Her smile was warm, however, when she chose to believe Lindi's cock-and-bull story. "Paragon of resilience, there," Lindi offered to Dr Knee. 

The name Hannah offered was definitely twigging now. "Sorry, you're Hannah Moss?" she said, in a gauche sort of way. At these things it was much better to thoughtfully hum and go, 'good game at the Olympics,' even if you hadn't seen the match. "You must have excellent knees," she said, looking between the two of them, and only wincing at herself a beat later. She was being weird, so weird, they were going to gossip about her after. 'She was an odd one.' 'Yes, and a bit of a bigot, did you hear the way she said wife?' 'Yes, a very strange woman, thank goodness I'm not in psychiatry.' 'Oh darling, I love you, I can't wait to celebrate our third wedding anniversary now that we are legally married and not in a stupid civil union.' Lindi needed a drink. 

"No, you two go ahead," Lindi said, sure that they were looking for an excuse to be away from the strange, probably bigoted, not-barrister fuck up who had tempted Dr Knee to taking some cancer sticks. "Don't let me hold you back from the party." She was fucking freezing, but she wanted to be alone when she imploded from pent up frustration at how weird she was being, how she was drinking in every glance Dr Knee and Hannah Moss tennis star were giving each other. "There must be people in there you have to tell about your paper..."

-

It was not thoroughly uncommon for Hannah’s name to go unrecognised. Akhila had tried to reassure her one evening that it was the passage of time, Hannah hadn’t been on professional courts for coming up to a decade. But she knew the young woman’s reaction would be no small delight. “Actually—-“ Akhila had found her own moment to tease, even as small as it was but Hannah had already progressed to inviting them inside. She simply nodded. 

Hannah had moved back towards the door, and Akhila shifted after her. Stopping halfway to turn back to the young woman. “Good evening.” Which felt an apt goodbye to a woman whose name she still did not know. 

Hannah on the other hand, had already slipped back inside. The young woman’s optimism lingered with her, as the event after all was distinctly not balanced in her favour. Akhila found Hannah sourcing two glasses of Prosecco. “She seemed lovely, a bit repressed. You though, you I’m pissed off with.” 

This was not likely to be a night to forget.

-

Dr Knee had been about to say something, after Lindi's comment about knees, but Hannah expertly cut her off with the suggestion to move inside. Note to self, google Hannah Moss knees on the way home. Actually, maybe not. That was probably a fetish thing. Did Dr Knee deal with knee fetishists...? Definitely don't ask that. 

"Evening," Lindi weakly said, when Dr Knee turned to look back at her. And with a flash of light and noise from the gala, they were gone. Lindi was alone and free to bite on the knuckle of her first finger, because she was wearing a lot of makeup and couldn't touch her face and rub it all of. She was so stupid, everyone thought she was strange and a bit daft and they were probably right. Lindi allowed herself a self indulgent groan and then fetched her mints out if her clutch, chewing two rapidly to let the intense, cool heat ground her. She was fine, she was normal, just a normal woman who could act normally around lesbians without wanting to blurt out that she'd written multiple letters in response to the public consultation about supporting same sex marriage like some kind of freak. This was something she was going to have to unpack with her therapist, and she'd tell Lindi she was normal and fine, and no, she probably didn't need to go back onto Lustral…

Lindi waited until the mint had dissolved in her mouth before finally venturing back inside. A waiter walked by her with the free champagne. Lindi stopped him and took one glass, holding up the finger on her clutch for him to wait as she rapidly downed it, gave him the empty glass and then took a fresh glass with a gracious smile. Drink acquired. Another reason not to go back onto her anxiety meds, drinking on them was fucking awful.

By the time Lindi found Adam, she was a bit more levelled, calmer since the room was packed enough that she couldn't see Dr Knee and her hot tennis wife. Lindi slipped in next to Adam, who was in the middle of telling a story about how he'd negotiated a 'fuck you' clause into a company merger a few years ago, much to the ecstatic delight of their group of friends. Adam's friends now, she supposed. Corporate law, in Lindiwe's opinion, was equivalent to eating glass. Adam thrived in it, however, and Lindi was supportive of it and all the amenities it allowed her. 

She let the story wash over her, already knowing when to politely smile and chuckle during the highs and lows of this tale. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in the window. They looked perfect, her dress was gorgeous, effortless in that expensive way. Everyone's eyes were on Adam. He was shining, in his element, talking about all of the wonderful things he had done. He had shaved that horrible moustache off his face, thank god, and his brown hair hadn't lost any of its thickness. He was attractive, they looked good together. Lindi sipped on her champagne, breaking away from their reflection, and the way it was perfect yet made her heart squeeze uncomfortably in her chest. Just... Be normal, Lindiwe. 

There was another round of speeches (dull, completely uninteresting), a final thank you from the charity organisers (they must have hated this whole room of tossers wining and dining and rubbing shoulders all in the name of charity) and slowly, the party started to wind down. Adam was in his element, with no sign of slowing down. He was completely unaware of the way people were glancing at their watches, shifting their handbags on their shoulders. "Adam, darling," Lindi cooed, slipping her arm into his. "I can feel a migraine coming on," she lied, an easily used crutch. The migraine meds caught most of them now days, but it was handy when she wanted to go home early. Or to sidestep sex. 

"Right, then," Adam said loudly, squeezing her arm. "Better take care of the missus," he said, even though he knew she hated being called 'the missus.' Adam proceeded to shoot the shit with Michael for a few more minutes, before letting himself be guided back to the coat check and the massive queue that had formed. 

"You smell like smoke, naughty girl," Adam chided her playfully as they waited.

Lindi smiled weakly, thinking of the box of cigarettes in her clutch with a thrill. Maybe if she smoked them outside, then had a shower after, she could eke out the box to last her a week, two weeks, and Paige would be none the wiser and Lindi could continue to preach that Paige should never touch cigarettes were dirty nasty things. 

They took a few steps further forward, Lindi's feet aching from the heels. The couple who had gotten their coats came back against the line, and it was them. Hannah Moss and Dr Knee. (God, Hannah had even said her name, but Lindi had blanked it out in her previous adrenaline surge of 'I need to be a good ally.’) Lindi caught Dr Knee's gaze, and gave them both a timid smile and wave goodbye. And that would be the end of that train of embarrassment- 

Adam snapped his fingers, and Lindi felt her stomach drop. "You had a great run at Wimbledon... Moss, isn't it?" he said, and Lindi wanted to curl up and die. Of course, sports-mad Adam would recognise Hannah Moss, and be brazen enough to interrupt her when they were trying to leave this place. He was in his braggadocious, networking mood, nothing could stop him. "A sniper on the clay. Did you enjoy yourself tonight? Fabulous food." 

Lindi stood next to him, cleared her throat. "I didn't get the chance to tell you, Adam, I met Hannah Moss and her wife outside, while I was getting some fresh air." 

"Wife?" Adam said, glancing over at Dr Knee, he gave her a cursory glance, lingering on Hannah Moss. "Very modern," he said, and Lindi wanted to jump into a volcano after pushing him in first. 

"I'm sure you are wanting to get home, beat the traffic and all," Lindi said, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

-

There was no way out of the corner she had boxed herself into. Hannah drank both glasses, and Akhila quietly told her they could discuss later. All before an alumni that Akhila actually recognised swooped in, and she offered them a firm handshake. “I hear you’re a pathologist.” Akhila knew this because she’d religiously read the papers of all the alumni from her cohort that she knew by name. That was if they had papers. Some appeared to be less than fastidious in their post school life. Akhila spied out of the corner of her eye Hannah drifting, so be it. She’d have to make amends later. 

Later came much too soon, and far too fast. Akhila’s conversation dried up not long after realising Dr. Stanislas had nothing of interest to contribute. Akhila could feign no further interest in his new paper detailing a streamlined process in diagnosing microscopic colitis and eosinophilic enteritis patients from irritable bowel syndrome. 

She found Hannah close to the coat check. “Shall we leave?” Akhila asked, hopeful that the mood may have settled. That they could go home in peace and Akhila could kiss— 

“Yes. I don’t know why we came.” Hannah snapped, and Akhila knew this irritability that was often found at the bottom of her cups. “Coats?” 

They both joined the queue for coat check. Akhila straining not to give the obvious answer for why they’d come. Why Akhila had been talked so easily into coming tonight. The gala was in the name of a charity that sponsored young people, empowering them through education. Akhila found the title of benefactor an uncomfortable weight to bear, and so all donations had been anonymous. The night had also held the possibility of reuniting with fellow alumni of her school—but little such luck there. 

They queued in silence, Akhila busying herself with reading each new forum notification in detail. Until they’d gotten to the front and she handed over their tickets. Akhila helped Hannah into her coat, and then slipped her jacket on with ease. “I really fancy something disgusting and greasy…” Hannah informed her.

Akhila’s stomach writhed at the thought, but her attention flickered up. Catching the noise of someone who was trying to command attention in the queue. His gaze was locked on Hannah, ah, so he wanted her attention. Akhila nudged Hannah who was otherwise oblivious. “I think you have a fan.” Beside the unimpressive man was the young woman in a silk floral dress. She looked meek next to him. 

Hannah glided past the queue to greet him with a more generous smile than he deserved. “That’s me. Yes well sharp as you are, I did have better results in Paris. Absolutely, it’s been a terrific evening…” 

Hannah’s gaze was drinking them both in, whilst Akhila stood off to the side watching the ordeal unfold. The meek young woman spoke up and Adam latched onto the tidbit she offered. 

“Yes we always strive for modernity don’t we darling?” Hannah cooed, and Akhila hoped this might be over soon. “Well we have a long drive to go home, are you two lovebirds local? Here I was debating suggesting you come visit the club. Perhaps not if you’re up here.” Akhila cleared her throat. 

“We live on the south coast, just here visiting.” She had hoped she’d feel relieved that these strangers knew they were together, and not just friends. Akhila felt uneasy, she could feel the unsaid judgement hanging between them all. 

“Yes, come visit us in Brighton you’ll find it’s all very modern down there uh…sorry who are you?”

-

Adam was being an ass, and by association, he was making Lindi an ass as well. Because why would she be married to him if she didn't think the same as him? Hannah was prickly, Lindi could tell from the glint in her eye, the tilt in her hip. Adam, god forsake him, was undoubtedly checking her out. Lindi dug her elbow into his side, wishing she had said nothing at all about Hannah and her wife. Adam, full of confidence and wine, kept calm and carried on, oblivious.

 "Do you still play, at all? It would be worth the visit down south to watch you play live." There was a faint hint of voyeurism to his voice. He sounded like a fucking sleazebag. Of course, he extended out his hand, not able to hear the dripping scorn in her voice as she asked him who he was. God, it was like watching a train wreck in front of her, and she was married to the train. "Adam Tyrell, solicitor, working with Travers Smith," he said haughtily, as if he were wooing her in front of her wife and his own. 

Lindi dared a glance at Dr Knee, who at least looked awkward in her reserved sort of manner. She didn't quite match Lindi's mortification, her fervent wishing for the devil to come, open up a portal to hell beneath their feet and send them to eternal damnation. That at least, would be less painful, less embarrassing than this. What the fuck could she do? "Adam, look," she said, resorting to skills she had last used when Paige had been three. The line ahead of them was starting to pick up the pace. "We don't want to hold up the queue... And they will be wanting to get home..." 

"Say, what's the name of your club-" 

"ADAM!" Lindi seethed, abruptly loud in the quiet, chatter of the line. God, she'd made it worse, hadn't she? "Please... My migraine," she added on, feeling weak and foolish and pathetic. She glanced at Dr Knee and wondered how she had ever acted so cool and witty and fun around her when this, this, was what she was. 

Adam, fool that he was, looked absolutely affronted by her outburst. He shrugged, as if he wasn't being a voracious ass, and looked at her, and then at Hannah with a chauvinistic, patronising look. That's the missus for you... "Some other time," Adam boldly said, smiling at the two of them before taking his place besides Lindi, a firm hand to her lower back.

-

The man was foul, leering over Hannah as if she was an item to purchase and entertain himself with. Akhila stared, momentarily enraptured by the notion she could slap this awful solicitor. She did not, and she would live to regret that. Akhila cleared her throat. But it wasn’t her that interrupted them—this sweaty awful man making a blatant pass at her wife—the young woman all but screamed. 

Akhila’s attention sharpened to her and the shift from flapping wife, back into meek and mellow. How had she ended up with a man like that? Akhila viewed the illicit cigarette break in a different light. She pitied the woman, but it wasn’t her place to speak. 

“Yes, sure.” Hannah aired, looping her arm into Akhila’s. “Bye for now it was a pleasure meeting you.” Akhila didn’t have to follow Hannah’s gaze to know she was looking at the wife. 

Akhila said nothing, complicit in her silence as they departed for fresh air. “He was foul wasn’t he? And she…fuck me, I didn’t expect that out of her.” 

“I’m fairly certain he attempted to cuckold me and her.” 

Hannah laughed, they’d drifted out of one another’s arms to navigate the narrow pavements. “His mistake! What a joke of a man.” 

“Yes I do pity her…” Akhila tugged her coat, properly looping the belt through to hold it closed against the chill. 

“Thats! Because you’re a softie at heart.” 

Akhila chuckled, stopping ahead of Hannah to meet her luminescent gaze under the lamplight. “I thought I was in deep water?” 

“Not if you look at me like that…”

-

The other couple departed gracefully, swiftly, elegant and serene and unbothered by the muck of Lindi and Adam. Lindi's face was on fire, her forehead ached with tears that wanted to burst forth, but no, she couldn't, not here, not after that fucking outburst. She wasn’t sure whether her mascara was waterproof or not, and that was really all this evening needed to make it the absolute worst. What was wrong with her!? Lindi flicked open her clutch, picking up her case of mints with shaky hands, eagerly sucking on a painfully fresh lozenge.

"I don't know why you had to-" Adam started, whispering to her as they edged to the counter. He took a deep breath in, then let it out in a short burst. Frustrated, annoyed. "Why you had to cause such a scene," he hissed, and she suddenly realised that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed? By her? 

Lindi cracked the mint with her teeth, the air she breathed in through her nose icy fresh from the menthol. The silent treatment was petty, but effective, especially since all she wanted was to smile at the coat check, hand over the number she had kept in her clutch, and walk out of the stupid college hall with the scraps of her dignity intact. It didn’t matter that they did all of this with Adam standing there, silently fuming besides her. 

They had made it around the corner from the college, halfway to the taxi pick-up point, when Adam started again. "I don't know why you would act so jealous about a little thing like getting invited to a tennis club-" 

"I'm not jealous," Lindi evenly said through gritted teeth. Not now, Adam, come on... If only he'd stayed quiet until they'd gotten to the taxis, once inside the cab she could have wrung out the silent treatment until they'd gotten to the hotel because who wants to be the couple having a spat in the back of a cab and then when they got to the hotel room she could have played up the migraine card and oh my God was this what her marriage had been reduced to? "She was making fun of you," she snapped, before Adam could go on about how apparently jealous she was of him making a pass on a married woman who probably wasn’t interested in him anyway. 

"Making fun of me?" Adam scoffed, disbelieving, incredulous at the very suggestion. "Lindi, she was being friendly, more than friendly, I'm sure, inviting us to her club!" 

"She was toying with you," Lindi said, trying not to let the frustration into her voice. Adam always pick-pick-picked at her the moment she let her emotions get involved in their arguments. His emotions were always true and rational, somehow.

Adam huffed, then said, loudly. "She invited us to her club! Everyone at the party would have said that she was being friendly and courteous, until you blew up. Here I thought you liked queers." 

"You were being obnoxious!" Lindi snapped, stopping and turning to face Adam. "All night long, you were being a fucking, pompous bell-end! She was taking the piss out of you and you are too self-absorbed to see it!" 

Adam took in her agitation, her flared nostrils, her wide eyes, and something switched inside him. He looked, concerned, wry and knowing, and Lindi knew she had lost this argument. "Lindi, darling, are you being a bit sensitive?" he asked, and there was no defence from that position. Too defensive and she was hysterical, not enough and he had a right to be concerned. What if she said yes? Yes dear, oh you're so right, I was being sensitive, it's that time of the month, you know, and my hormones and Paige is growing up and after seeing all of our old friends again it made me nostalgic for our good old days in college and you know maybe I need to go back on the Lustral it's all been a bit much lately… 

He looked at her as if she was at the cusp of being Sectioned again. 

"I'm tired, Adam," Lindi said, defeated, and she meant it. "Can we go back to the hotel?" she weakly added on, because this conversation was only going to go in circles. He was completely normal, she was neurotic and oversensitive to other people's opinions. "I'm sorry," she added on, because she wanted this to be over, and the sooner she apologised the sooner they could put this behind them. 

Adam gave Lindi a concerned, husbandly smile as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She leaned into his warmth as they walked to the taxis. "Let's get you in bed, shall we?" he said, and Lindi nodded, wishing she could forget this evening.

[iriel3000]

2016 Friday Recs - Week 3

Happy Friday! Some reading recommendations for your enjoyment. No particular order and more to come.

Don't forget to leave some kudos and comments, please!

In From The Cold by tielan/@tielan

Her first impression of him is dangerous. Her second is deceptive.

13. "Sorry I'm Late" by hellaskye/@skyewritcs

"They have to drag Katie out of the hospital, still screaming, and Natasha realizes how empty everything is in the new silence." Natasha was always a fighter. But only because there was something to fight for.

What are the odds (that you could love me)? by sakurasencha

Natasha, Clint, and the Ninth Hunger Games.

I Care About You by Book_freak

Scene missing from Wings 2. Natasha realises that she cares.

Trouble with Triples by MsPerception427

Six months ago, Avenger and SHIELD agent Clint Barton and former IMF agent, William Brandt, learned that they were only the living subjects of a genetic experiment meant to replicate the original super soldier project. Six minutes ago, they learned that their dead brother wasn't quite dead. And he's had some added enhancements. There was never just two.

The Widow and the Hawk by orphan_account

“You are not with the Red Room.” It’s not a question, but he still attempts to answer, until realization hits him and he stares at her incredulously. “You… what?”, he asks weakly. “My god.” She can’t stop the smirk from dancing across her lips. “You can call me Natasha.”

15 Minutes in the Life of Clint Barton by Staring_at_starry_skies (eleanor_jane)

Clint Barton, during the fifteen most important moments of his life. From abuse to escape, circus tents to torture, and from a killer to a hero.

The Way You Make Me Feel by firetoflame

And still, she doesn't understand it: this . . . warmth that he exudes towards her. This kindness.

If you are one of the authors or know them on tumblr and they are not properly tagged, please let me know in comments and I'll add them. Please feel free to click the Iriel3000fridayrecs link below to browse more categories.

[genderqueerswagfight]

Who is in the bracket. I need to project on to my blorbos.

here's a list of everyone who will be in the bracket, NOT in order because i lost my bracket and have to remake it, but these are all the players im putting out on the field

Klavier Gavin (Ace Attorney)

Tachibana Hinata (Fabiniku)

Loid Forger/Twilight (Spy x Family)

Juno Steel (The Penumbra Podcast)

Iruma (Mairimashita! Iruma-kun)

Kashima Yuu (Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki Kun)

Magnus Bane (Shadowhunters TV 2016)

Viola/Cesario (Twelfth Night)

Rem (Death Note)

 Double Trouble (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

 Garnet (Steven Universe)

Godot (Ace Attorney)

 Alex Fierro (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard)

 Fiona (Shrek)

 Adrien Agreste (Miraculous Ladybug)

 Howl Jenkins Pendragon (Howl's Moving Castle)

 Fujimoto (Ponyo)

 Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens)

 Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archive)

 Francois (Dr. Stone)

 Kirby (Nintendo)

 Nanamine Sakura (Toilet Bound Hanako Kun)

 Luna (Vanitas no Carte)

 Kenjaku (Jujutsu Kaisen)

 Jessie and James (Pokemon)

 Loki (Norse Mythology)

 Luz Noceda (The Owl House)

 Neo Metal Sonic (Sonic)

 Khensu (Cleopatra in Space)

 Vinnie Dakota (Milo Murphy's Law)

 Avery (Pokemon Shield)

 Mikitaka (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

 Bugs Bunny (Warner Bros)

 Maxwell Klinger (M*A*S*H)

 Whisper (Yokai Watch)

 Batsubami Rei (Kakegurui)

 Yuka Ayukawa (Blue Period)

 Stacey (Kikai Sentai Zenkaiger)

 Mizuki Akiyama (Project Sekai)

 Deidara (Naruto)

 Scarecrow (The Wizard of Oz)

 Chris (Thomas Was Alone)

 Testament (Guilty Gear)

 Envy (Fullmetal Alchemist)

 Kuranosuke Koibuchi (Princess Jellyfish)

 Link (Legend of Zelda)

 Yoo Joonghyuk (Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint)

 Aoi Kureha (Paradox Live)

 Mae Borowski (Night in the Woods)

 Phosphophyllite (Houseki no Kuni)

 Kyza (Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn)

 Idia Shroud (Twisted Wonderland)

 Lake (Infinity Train)

 Winston Bishop (New Girl)

 Mr. Finch (Person of Interest)

 Nightshade (Transformers: Earthspark)

 Callum (Subway Surfers)

 Haruhi Fujioka (Ouran High School Host Club)

 Haruka Tenou (Sailor Moon)

 HiMERU (Ensemble Stars)

Wataru Hibiki (Ensemble Stars)

 The Toy Soldier (The Mechanisms)

 Kris, Frisk, and Chara (Undertale/Deltarune)

Teruki Hanazawa (Mob Psycho 100)

again these are NOT IN ORDER! the actual bracket should be out ugh. whenever i have time to remake it. if u have any complaints abt any of the characters pls tell me bc i probably wont do anything about it but i love drama

[spidersonicbatl0]

If doomslayer was a guest character in an new skylanders game

So Xbox own skylanders now. So if a new game is made (it going to not toys to life) guest characters are going to be include, to increase sales.

So what if the slayer was included to make adults buy the game. Most of you are going to say “but doom is rated 18+”. Yes, but Fortnite have him and he didn’t perform glory kill on anyone. Just don’t have blood and he can added. Also doomslayer is Xbox exclusive because xbox own id’s software.

Bio: one day in Skyland a portal open in the sky. Creatures from god know where attack skyland. The skylanders try the best they could to stop them. But they was much of the creatures. When all hope seem lost, a man with green armor destroys a super gory nest in an half hour. In few hours the creatures ran away from this plane of existence. Leaving the skylanders more them confused. Research from artifact let in the invasion by Hugo reveals that man is call the doomslayer. A mortal turn god. Who being fighting the creatures since they invade his home world. The portal master invite the slayer to join the skylanders, he yes because he need a vacation.

Stats

Health: 200 (max 700)

Speed: 80 (max 110)

Armor: 50 (max 150)

Critical hit 80 (max 100)

Elemental power 50 (150)

Elemental fire (because angry towards demons)

Attacks

Starting attacks

Gun fire: press x to fire the gun you have equipped at the moment

Weapons wheel: press b to open the weapon wheel to select your gun. The starting weapon are shotgun: deal great damage to enemies at point blank range, heavy canon: shoot enemies at a great distance. Chainsaw: use to refill ammo for weapons. More weapons are added with more upgrades

Upgrades

Plasma rifle and rocket launcher: when selected the plasma rifle fire fast plasma balls to damage enemies, rocket launcher: shoot a single rocket that deal great damage if hit. Warning if you take splash damage if close. Also increase ammo for weapons

Weapons mods: press y to use weapons mod or hold y to switch weapons mods on with weapons you have equipped at the moment. List of weapons mods: sticky bomb: shoot a sticky bomb at enemies from the shotgun. Precision bolt: shoot a sniper bullet to hit enemy, micro missiles: tap y to fire micro missiles for 5 seconds. Plasma blast: fires the plasma rifle to build up a powerful close up blast of plasma at enemies. Remote detonator: detonator a rocket before it hit something, lock on: lock on to a enemy to fire three rockets at once. Ammo for weapons

Ballistic and chaingun: ballistic fire one single powerful shot at enemies, chaingun fire multibullet fast at one. Weapons mods for ballistic and chaingun: destroyer blade: tap y multiple time to change an horizontally line to shoot at enemies. air blast: shoot a sticky bomb at enemies. Mobile turret: tap y to turn your chaingun into a mobile turret to shoot at enemies.

Super shotgun: doomslayer most iconic weapon. Deal massive damage to enemies at close ranger.

Upgrades path

The return of the king: weapons mods from doom 2016

Double shot: fire two shot from the super shotgun

Change shot: change up a powerful shot from the shotgun

Chaingun speed up: when activate you have increased speed

Doom is eternal: weapons mods from doom eternal

Meathook: fire a grapple hook from to pull yourself at enemies

Full auto: tap to shoot multiple shotgun shells at enemies

Chaingun shield: put a to absorb damage into a shield

Sky chi attack

Bfg9000: shoot a green ball that make if way cross the stage. One hit kill enemies with it tentacles

Soul gem power ups

A combat encounter can randomly drop a power up from doom

Onslaught: deal massive damage to enemies

Hasty: infinite ammo and increased speed

Berserk: punch enemies that one hit kill them

Trival

When play as doom slayer, an random songs from his games will play when fighting enemies or a boss

His player icon Change depends on much heath you have.

His catchphrase is rip and tear

His appearance in this take place between doom 2016 and doom eternal

[farfromstrange]

Foreigner's God | m.m

Pairing: Matt Murdock x avenger!OFC

Chapter Forty-Two: I'll Get The Coffee

previous chapter ° series masterlist

Summary: Everything is looking up for Matt and Eliza, finally, and being in love can be truly beautiful.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it), oral m!receiving, voice kink (?), fluff, this is so fucking soft, like this is just domesticity at its finest, and these two finally being happy.

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! Or as I like to call it, "Single's awareness day" because we are made aware of how painfully single we are everywhere we go <3 I wrote this with the original storyline in mind but then I went like, 'Wait a minute, I think these two deserve a break' and then this came out and I feel like I did it wonderfully. One of the best descriptive chapters I have written in my opinion (at parts, at least). I hope you can forgive me for this small break in the plotline.

The name she chose when she joined SHIELD came from a variety Nick Fury had laid out for her. With the title came a series of key points that would shape her identity. She chose her name with those traits in mind and landed on the most appealing one. She had always been rather proud of her name because it was the only thing in her life she could control, but that excitement eased after finding out she was born with the name Alina and that the name and identity she chose were just an alias to survive. Someone to exist in the eyes of the state so she could live like any other US citizen and not be locked away for it. 

When she first came to SHIELD and she was pardoned by the court while also receiving immunity for her crimes if she stayed true to the conditions she agreed to, the name she was given had felt like a blessing. Now, it filled her with dread. 

When Tony Stark stepped out of the back door of Clinton Church where the cemetery lay beyond and he said, “Eliza,” she cringed at the mere sound of her name. 

The gravestone wasn’t too fancy. It displayed his name, his date of birth, and the date he died. There was no quote, no ‘beloved father’ engraved underneath the most crucial information. He was simply Anton Sokovich-Petrova who was born in March and died in late June of 2016. He blew up an ancient terrorist organization and prevented an even worse fate from meeting his daughter, but that would have looked poorly on a gravestone.

All that was left for him was the boring gray stone that had been glazed over. A place for his daughter to stand at, leave flowers, and do all of the sentimental stuff people do at the graves of loved ones. She doubted she would; she hated the way it made her feel, how the pain caused her throat to tighten, and it made her angry too. She was angry at how everything turned out, and she was angry that her father died. Her parents were both dead and she didn’t have any extended family. She was all alone when it came to blood relations and the knowledge that she hadn’t been able to say goodbye to any of them made her already broken heart into liquid acid. 

Eliza, that was her name, but at that moment she wasn’t the woman SHIELD made out of her. At that moment, she was the five-year-old daughter of Anton whose name wasn’t Eliza Bennett, it was Alina and she was standing with her father at the grave of her late mother, leaving lilies on the already grown-over earth as if it meant anything. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the memory crawled its way forward and nestled into her frontal cortex.

The hand that was in hers squeezed lightly, reminding her that someone behind her was waiting for a reaction. She looked up at the sky, cloudier than usual, blinking away the hot tears that she had already cried too many of. 

“Do you want me to tell him to leave?” Matt’s voice sounded in her ear, a gentle echo that scratched an itch in her brain. 

She squeezed his hand back, though she felt more like an emotionless robot that wasn’t in control of herself. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know? You don’t owe him anything.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Eliza said, her eyes still directed forward and her face white as a sheet, “but I want to.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Using his cane to tap his way over the grass, Matt made his way over to where he could hear Foggy’s distinctive voice as he talked to Happy. They were talking about football, from the sound of it. There was a new game on Sunday and they were both engaged in how it would turn out. At some point, he could hear, they even made a brotherly bet on who was going to win the game. It was a terrible topic to discuss at a cemetery after someone had just been laid to rest, but Matt figured that it was better not to dwell too much on what happened than to let Father Lantom’s service drag their moods down.

Tony approached the young woman at the grave. 

“Where does that leave us?” she asked. 

He replied, “What?”

“You coming here. Where does that leave us? You didn’t answer any of my messages. You ghosted me after writing a heartfelt letter and now you came to my father’s funeral as if it’s the most natural thing to do after not speaking to anyone for weeks,” she said. “Where does that leave us, Tony?”

He was not a man of many words or actions, but when he spoke, he knew how to use the little number of words that came out. Although this time, nothing seemed to suffice. He wanted to comfort her but he didn’t know how. 

“I told you that I now understand why you did what you did and that I am open to talking about what happened. You didn’t respond. I don’t know what that means, so I’m asking you: what did your apology mean if it meant anything at all?”

Tony nodded curtly. He turned his head toward the sky as well, taking a deep breath that developed into a sigh. “I feel guilty,” he finally spoke, “for what I did, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said, what I did, and how I behaved like an asshole,” he said. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I said as much in my letter, but you’re willing to offer it to me anyway. I didn’t know how to react, so I shut down. I drowned in my guilt and shame to the point no one could help me anymore. I realized I fucked up and that most of what happened are on me and that is something… Your getting hurt is something that I can never forgive myself for. The protection charade was complete and utter bullshit and I'm... well, I'm fucking sorry, that's what the letter meant, and I still am, possibly even more than before.”

“What changed?” Eliza asked. She held her jacket closed by crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Why did you choose to come here today?”

“Your invitation to your father’s funeral opened my eyes. He died for a reason and I… I don’t want you to hate me anymore. I want to make things right. I don’t know if you can find it in yourself to give me that chance, and it would be okay if you didn’t, but if you did, I promise you I won’t ever lie to you again. Not even about what’s in your dinner.”

She chuckled weakly. “That’s all I needed to hear… weeks ago. Now it’s just cold air.”

“Eliza, please, I don’t apologize often, but I am sorry. Let me prove it to you. Come to work for me again, let me show you that I meant what I wrote in that letter. Let me just let my actions speak for myself the same way my actions fucked everything up."

Life’s too short to hold grudges. And he had always been like a father to her before, and a great mentor at that. She could learn so much from him. She needed to learn forgiveness, which also happened to be on her sobriety list of steps, and she swore she would do them all. She forgave him, but something was lacking, something crucial that wouldn’t reappear overnight. 

Eliza cleared her throat. She tore her eyes away from the sky and turned to him, finally, looking into his eyes. “You need to earn my trust,” she told him. “I forgive you, Tony, but my trust… that is something I can’t just give back to you. You need to prove that you truly meant what you said so I can fully trust you again, and only then we can move on from this.”

“Okay, I can- I can do that." He didn't smile, he gave her a curt nod. It was a language they both spoke well - not knowing what to say.  

“One more condition: I won’t come back to work for Stark Industries. I’ve got a job right here.” She nodded toward Matt and Foggy. “I’m not giving that up. I'm happy where I am, and I don't want to throw that away just for money."

“Deal. What else?”

“There is nothing else. The rest is on you. In return, I’ll do the same for you. But it’s going to take time.”

“Lucky for us,” said Tony, “we have all the time in the world. There's nothing that stands in our way now, right? You did your best and you did better than I ever fucking could.”

"You're right, I did great. You didn't. Do you see now that I am not a child anymore?"

"I've seen it for a long time, I was just afraid to admit it."

She hummed, "Figured that much."

"So, do we have a deal?"

She took the hand he offered her, shaking it briefly. Their eyes stayed locked on each other; it appeared as if they were fighting for dominance, and the pressure of the handshake told the same story. In the end, Eliza won. He was the first to turn away from the contact and she smirked, wiping her hand on her dress. 

He cleared his throat once more. “This is getting weird,” he must have read her mind, “So I’m just gonna turn around and go. That’s- yeah, I should probably do that.”

“It’s for the best,” she said. 

“Definitely. Good talk, kid.”

She watched him step away and toward Happy’s car. Foggy and Matt didn’t say a word to him, and she couldn’t blame them. After everything, they had their reservations about the genius billionaire philanthropist playboy. It was only natural, a defense mechanism to make sure he wouldn’t come near them again. In this case, they wanted to make sure Tony knew that if he touched Eliza again, he would face a whole different orchestra of music. 

She chuckled at their overprotective nature, then turned back to the gravestone. It seemed to stare even harder than Jesus on his cross. 

Eliza cracked her neck, frowning at the empty grave. “Don’t look at me like that, you wanted us to get along again, dad.” Naturally, she didn’t receive an answer. Even if there had been a body, the dead usually don’t speak with the living, so she wouldn’t have received an answer either way. 

“And now I’m talking to a literal stone like those people in the movies. That feels even weirder than playing pretend with a fucking toddler.” She wiped her runny nose with her sleeve. “But at least your soul’s where it’s supposed to be now. Thanks, dad.”

He probably heard her, wherever he was and thought to himself that he won. But it wasn’t Anton that motivated her to forgive Tony, it was her mind. She made that decision. She had control over her life the same way she had back then when she first had to choose her new identity. 

She was in full control of herself now and even the last hurdle was out of the way. Her father was dead, but the world would carry on. It was time for a new beginning, starting right then and there. She could move on.

Birds chirped in the early morning sun, basking in the soft rays of red that broke through the earth’s surface and supplied the planet with light. A soft wind blew through the green leaves on the tree, sending some soaring through the air. It was a soft morning breeze that caused a welcome chill on the skin, but the sun made the cold go away just as fast. Little clouds danced over the sky, forming mythical shapes. 

The City of New York slowly woke out of its slumber. Curtains opened, coffee makers sizzled, and toasters worked in high gear. The day started differently for everyone, some were happy to be awake, others not so much, but the warm weather and clear skies made a look out of the window worth it, and it was enough to raise the mood in every household, even if just for a moment of relief between breakfast and getting ready for work. 

The arm that was draped over her waist slowly slid a hand under her shirt, scurrying for warmth. Still drunk on sleep, she allowed the force to pull her back into the sturdy chest she knew all too well. Sloppy kisses followed the wandering hand, his soft lips leaving the breath of an angel on the skin of her shoulders. 

The chirping of the birds grew louder. The sun broke through the slit in the curtains, filling the bedroom with at least some daylight and illuminating the small particles of dust that levitated in the air. Clothes were strewn all over the floor, even one of the pillows had fallen off the bed and added to the fabric pile. 

Matt woke up first. Not quite aware of his surroundings just yet, he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. The slight scratch of his freshly trimmed stubble had her stirring in her sleep, and she slowly began to wake. 

He continued kissing her skin and tracing his fingers over her heated stomach until she let out a tired whine. Eliza flipped around, burying her face in his chest, and somehow tried to evade the process of waking up. 

He chuckled at her failed attempt, running a hand through her hair. “Good morning,” he said.

She grumbled. 

“Someone not awake yet?”

She grumbled again. 

“I take that as a no.”

“Five more minutes,” Eliza whined. “Don’t wanna get up.”

“That makes two of us. This is cozy,” Matt wrapped both of his arms around her to hold her body to his even closer, “and I love cozy.”

“And you’re warm.”

“That too.”

She made a content sound in the back of her throat; it resembled the purr of a small cat. His chest rumbled with the soft chuckle he let out, his voice still groggy and thick with sleep. His nose was slightly stuffed from the used air that had collected in the room. Matt made a mental note to open the window as soon as they got out of bed and the risk of her getting sick was minimized. She froze easily, he didn’t want to add to that and cause a cold. 

Eliza buried her nose between the pecks on his chest. He not only smelled like himself but he smelled of her shampoo and partly of her perfume that lingered in the sheets. It was a comforting smell that had her floating on cloud nine. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was nothing to worry about. She closed the chapter of her past and she found herself. They saved the world and in the process, he saved her. 

Matt Murdock saved her life. He did so the second he stepped into the interrogation room to bail her out. He came back. He always came back. 

The world was okay again. It wasn’t perfect, it couldn’t be, but she could finally sort out the feeling that caused such warmth in her chest. She was happy. She was so in love and she was happy with the man she loved by her side. There was nothing that could tear them apart now. They made it through hell and still stuck together. 

At the beginning of the year, she would have never thought her life would take such a drastic turn. She couldn’t have predicted the fallout after the Sokovia Accords or Hydra. If someone had told Eliza that she would almost die but find the love of her life that year, she would have called them crazy or even delusional. She had never fathomed something like this possible. Her life often went to shit, so something like Hydra coming back to haunt her was bound to happen, but finding Matt was a destiny come true that she could not have seen coming. All the fears she’d had before were gone now and she could finally rest. 

Her life was finally on the up again. 

“You know you can’t get inside of me, right?” Matt mused into her ear. 

She whined, pressing her face so deeply into his chest that her nose got squished. “Why not?” she said. 

“Because I can’t absorb you, that’s not how it works, love.”

“Unfair.”

He chuckled again, lazily tracing his callused fingertips over her spine. “You’re beautiful,” he said. 

The heat rushed to her cheeks. “Stop it.”

“Never.”

“I’m not as beautiful as you make me out to be.”

Matt gasped, and although it sounded playful, it was far from it. He tangled his hand in her hair, pulling her head back gently and just enough to bring her face to the same level as his. She closed her eyes, afraid to look at him, but he merely traced the loose strand of hair from her face and grabbed her cheek. “You are beautiful,” he said again, eyes loving though they didn’t meet hers, couldn’t possibly, but she felt every ounce of his love in the way his lips pressed to hers, caressing her with such unconditional love that had her shaking.

“How can you judge that? You’ve only seen me once-”

“I don’t need to see you to know that you’re beautiful. Pushing away the thought that I objectively saw you, I use other markers to judge your beauty, even though beauty is something I feel like no one is allowed to judge. To me, you are beautiful. And you wanna know why?”

She shook her head, nose still pressed against his. “Tell me,” she said. 

“First of all,” he began and with his arm hugged around her waist, he rolled them over until she laid on her back underneath him, “I can feel you,” he said. 

His index finger started at her forehead, tracing over the worry line that was nothing but a faded memory under his touch. He smoothed over her eyebrows, following the growth. He traced her temple, the distinctive vein that popped when she was angry or swallowed hard; he felt her pulse there. Then, he traced along the bridge of her nose and the top of it, pressing down slightly and she scrunched, making him chuckle. 

“That’s cute,” he murmured, “when you do that.”

He continued his wordless journey over her cheekbones, the skin red with the blood that pooled underneath, and so were her lips that she kept continuously biting with every electrifying touch he left on her skin. He pulled at her plump bottom lip, tracing the cupid’s bow of her top lip. Her tongue darted out to lick over his thumb, sucking on it momentarily before he pulled away. 

“I can feel you,” Matt told her, “and every scar or wrinkle on your face. I can feel every crevice and every imperfection that you hate but I love so damn much. And your eyes…” he traced her lashes. “I don’t even need to know the color, although I do now, to know that you are beautiful. You were beautiful to me before you showed yourself and you are still now. I love your eyes,” he said, “because they always look at me, no matter where you stand or where you are. You always seek me out and when you see me and your heart jumps, that’s when I know your eyes start to sparkle and you look at me the same way I do when I think of you.”

“What’s that?” she asked, her lungs out of breath. 

“Like you’re my world and I am yours.”

With his hand still on her cheek, he pulled her toward himself and captured her lips again. This one was no less gentle. 

“And your lips are kissable, but you know that. You knew that already.”

Still, out of breath, Eliza kissed him again. The words out of his mouth turned her head. They made her feel all kinds of things, none of them bad. She had never felt so on top of the world. He showed his love and devotion plenty, but his words paid with his touch were enough to make her fall even deeper in love with him. 

When her kisses grew more desperate, he pulled back. “I’m not done yet,” he said. 

His finger brushed along her jawline and down her neck where he traced her pulse point and her sternum. He painted a picture on her collarbone, moving lower down until he reached the collar of her top. Without struggle, he pulled the fabric over her head, leaving her torso bare to him. He drew stars over the vertical scar that adorned her chest and abdomen, a reminder of the worst night of both of their lives, and then he moved on to the smaller scars, paying the same attention to them. There was one on her hipbone and her lower stomach. 

He found her thigh, reaching into the leg of her shorts only to touch the skin he had missed, then traveled back down over the other scars that she had put on herself, the stretch marks on her sides and her ass, but even when she gasped, he didn’t stop. Matt felt the urge to prove to her that nothing could disgust him about her and that he loved every inch of her body. He worshipped the ground she walked on and he worshipped her body like her body itself was God. She felt like the filthiest yet purest heaven. He would drown in her any day. She owned him, body and soul, and he bowed down to the woman she was. 

Lastly, he pressed a kiss over her heart. He felt the organ jump in excitement, an emotion only he could elicit. 

“Like I said,” his breath fanned hot against her skin, “Beautiful.”

“Matthew,” her voice had shrunk over time. 

“Have I told you that the sound of your voice is the most beautiful sound to me?” Matt didn’t even think about stopping. “I love listening to it. I love how it changes pitch or volume according to how you feel,” he said. “Like it did just now. It sounds like the sweetest of honey, but not the overwhelming kind. You’re the sweetest, most exquisite honey. The one that runs straight from the spoon into your tea and it makes you feel all warm inside.”

The hand she fell in love with wrapped around her neck like a vice. The gasp got caught in her throat, sending shivers down her spine. Her nipples reacted instantly to his touch, even though he was far away from stimulating them. Only his voice reverberated in her ears and it sang a symphony of the highest order. 

His nose brushed against where his hand was wrapped around her throat and he inhaled sharply. “Your scent is the most distinctive, so I always know when you’re in the room,” said Matt, and Eliza shut her eyes at his wandering nose. It stopped behind her ear, taking another long whiff and it sounded almost as if he swallowed a moan. “Right now, you smell like my body wash and laundry detergent, but you also smell slightly salty, like rain. There’s some vanilla stuck to your skin from your perfume, and maybe it’s cinnamon, I’m not sure. You have this distinctive smell about you that instantly makes me turn my head your way because no one else smells like that. You’ve got me so high off of you, it sometimes feels like you’re a witch. Because every time you are near, I feel compelled to be with you, to kiss you, or to touch you in any way. It might be weird,” he said, “but I don’t care. You’re beautiful, inside and out, and I want to be with you every second of the day if necessary to feel you in the most intimate of ways. I know we can’t, it’s not how life works, but if I could, I would. I would die between your legs just to smell your pussy, I don’t care. I just want you.”

He drew the first lewd moan out of her. Her back arched, wanting to be touched so desperately she had never wanted it more. Her skin felt as if it was on fire and she hadn’t realized it before but the sweat started pooling out of her pores and her cunt ached for his attention. What started as a gentle display of love shot straight to her core and one look at his blissed-out expression told her he was doing it on purpose. He got off on it, that bastard. He purposely drove her up the walls in a way that was beautiful in itself. He was the beautiful one, surely, not her. 

His blunt confession made her clench her thighs, but his body between them forced them open. 

At the scent of her arousal in the air, Matt restrained himself from moaning the way he wanted to. He would have taken her right then and there, but his mission was not yet complete. 

“The way you taste, now that is something… I can’t even describe it. I mean, my senses are more often than not overwhelmed beyond compare and I can taste how certain things smell, like tears for example, or sweat. It’s all very unique in my head,” he stated. “I experience the world differently with my senses, but you already knew that. When I feel you, when I hear or smell you, it’s different. It’s intense. You’re everywhere and while that may sound overwhelming to a man like me, with you it’s not. You’re not intense, only the experience is, and you calm me more than you keep me on edge. You’re not loud or dirty like New York is. You’re not an attack on my senses, it’s… I find you beautiful because you’re everything but overwhelming to me. You’re the beauty I lack in what I have to hear, smell, taste, and feel every goddamn day. So when I taste the sweat on your skin-” he licked a long stripe along her throat, “or when you’ve baked something that smells good and I can taste the remains on you, it’s an escape for me. And when I go down on you?” he said. “Now that is something that could keep me going for years because your taste gets me high. Your taste lingers, it makes me want you more every time I do it, and I could never tire of eating you out. Between your legs is where I want to be because even then, the world turns quiet and it’s just you and me and your pleasure that is on my mind. It’s what’s important. Everything else - the world, the city, they don’t matter. It’s just you that I need.”

He didn’t even get a second to breathe. Her lips were on him without hesitancy, locking her leg around his hip and pulling his entire body into hers. Her kisses were bruising, biting on his bottom lip and assaulting his tongue with her own. 

“Get me out of these clothes, Matthew,” she demanded, lifting her hips. 

He pulled at her shorts and underwear until they came off. Left in his boxers, Matt ground against her core. It was only the silk of his underwear that kept them apart. 

“Do you believe me now that you’re beautiful?” he whispered into her ear. 

The kiss was forgotten for a second as she stared into his beautiful brown eyes. “I know one thing that is more beautiful,” she replied. 

“And what is that?”

“You.” 

His name was nothing but a breath when he removed the last piece of clothing in the way and skilfully thrust his hard cock into her tight cunt. She was wet and warm and he added that to the list of things he found beautiful about her. He molded into her and they became one. They were connected with every nerve ending. With every kiss, they grew closer together. With every thrust of his hips, their connection grew stronger. 

He panted into her ear. “You feel so fucking good, Angel. So beautiful,” he said. “And you’re all mine.”

“Yours,” she breathed back. 

Their lips connected again, dancing heated against each other. 

“Matthew.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. 

“I love you,” she said. 

His breath shuddered and he moaned in the back of his throat, cradling her head tighter so he could have full control, and she let him. “Fuck,” was all that came out as he picked up his thrusts, hitting that spot inside of her perfectly. Every nerve was already so sensitive, she clenched around him every time he drove home and he could feel every muscle mold around him as if she was only made for him. 

It felt territorial almost, the pull he felt toward her and how he wanted everyone to know that she was his and no one else’s. No one else could have her. He was the only one who could make her feel this way and he was adamant about proving it every time they so much as sensually touched each other. He owned her, but she was also her own person and the claim he felt over her came from a place in his heart that was more of the Devil than Matt Murdock, but at that moment, with his cock so deep inside of her and his lips sucking marks into her skin, neither of them cared. She would be purple and blue once they were done, and she would carry those marks with pride because she loved being claimed by him. She loved being his and she would continue doing so until death would tear them apart. 

When he had started rubbing her clit, she wasn’t sure, but the wave of the orgasm was close to overtaking her. He twitched and she knew he felt the same, but there was something about both of them holding back that made the experience even more magical. Neither of them wanted the moment to end so they both walked the tightrope, holding onto each other with the purpose of not stumbling and falling into the deep end. 

“I love you too,” Matt managed to choke out. “God-” he pulled at her hair, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss that made the burning in her belly so much worse. “I love you so much.”

She whimpered into the kiss. “I know.”

“You close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You wanna cum with me? Can you do that? Fuck- please. Be a good girl for me.”

With their lips pressed tightly against each other, the wave crashed into the shore. It was strong, it was burning, it mutated into an inferno that took down everything with it, and they so loved to burn alive. 

His hips stilled eventually. He gave her all he had and it still felt not enough. She breathed heavily, her body slacking into his arms and he collapsed on top of her. He was exhausted and she was, too, but in the best way. She cradled his head into the crook of her neck; it was her turn to take care of him. His soft pants waved over her sensitive skin, the sweat in his hair transferring onto her body. 

“Oh, my-” she exhaled. Her chest deflated with a heavy sigh. “Matty.”

He made an incoherent sound. 

“Are you okay?”

After a moment of contemplation, he nodded. She stroked a hand through his hair, relieved to have received at least some sort of an answer. His breathing slowed down after a moment and so did his heartbeat that was drumming against hers. 

Matt lifted himself on his forearm enough to pull out and dropped on the mattress next to her.

Eliza instantly moved to lay on her side, reaching out for his face. His eyes were closed. He still wasn’t present, his thoughts a mess, and his body on fire with all the different sensations and feelings that seemed to attack his soul. He tried not to show how sex affected him often, but even he had his weakest moments, and she loved him even more for showing them to her. He didn’t have to be afraid of her reaction, he could just be himself, and if he was overstimulated and tired after fucking her in a way that had been both loving and intense, she would make sure he got out of his trance just fine.

He licked his dry lips. “Do you, uh, need a towel?” even his voice sounded disoriented.

She chuckled lightly, stroking his sweaty hair back so it wouldn’t fall into his face anymore. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’ll get us cleaned up. You just lay back and breathe.”

“Thank you,” he said. 

Leaning down to kiss him, he placed a firm hand against her sternum. His eyebrows furrowed and he winced. “No kisses.”

“Okay,” she moved away instantly, giving him the space he needed, “I’m sorry.”

“‘S too much. Not your fault.”

“I know, baby. I’ll be right back.” 

The space allowed him a few minutes to get his thoughts back in order. He focused on the silk sheets and the air that smelled like her. He listened to her heartbeat in the other room and then some more when she came and cleaned up the cum that covered his lower half as well as it had hers. She did it so carefully, he barely felt it. All the while her hand stayed wrapped around his wrist, drawing soothing circles on the skin. 

She settled into bed next to him again, pulling the covers over their naked bodies. Trying not to touch him, she scooted close enough for him to feel her comfort. 

Matt exhaled. “That was-“ he trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Intense.” 

She said it at the same time as him, nodding along. “Yeah, it was. But it was good, right? You liked it too?” 

It had to have been by far the gentlest sex they had ever had, and with all the feelings he stirred up before it had made the experience intense on a level neither of them was used to. So this was what making love felt like. It wasn’t raw fucking, it wasn’t rough, it was gentle throughout and focused solely on feeling each other. 

His Adam’s Apple bopped as he swallowed. “Yeah, I did,” he wasn’t a man of many words when he was overwhelmed. She knew it was the truth though. He would have told her if it wasn’t. “Did you?” he asked then.

She blinked wildly, surprised that the question came when it was his moment of vulnerability and not hers. He was ever a selfless person, even when he wasn’t fully himself. 

“I did,” she said. 

“Good, that’s good.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, bug.”

“Is it okay if I touch you now?”

He opened his arm. “C’mere.”

She placed her head on his chest. His skin was hot and still flushed from the orgasm, as was his face. She had never seen a more beautiful sight. Tracing her fingers over his scars, Matt finally returned to himself fully and he hugged her to his bare chest. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, “for everything.”

“Don’t have to thank me,” she told him. “I’m always going to take care of you.”

“That’s what makes you so good.”

“I don’t know about good, but-“ Eliza searched for his lips, “I’m better with you.”

He melted into the kiss. It was peaceful. With the birds in the background and the sun on the rise, the world was okay, and time was merely a construct. 

That was until the obnoxious declaration of Foggy’s name caused by his phone broke the silence and their kiss in two.

Matt reached over with a scowl, but he missed the device and accidentally caused it to soar to the floor. He tried to stop it, but his reflexes weren’t quite awake yet. He grunted at the thought of having to get up to shut it off, and letting it ring hurt his ears too much. He leaned over, but Eliza had already thrown herself over his chest and fished his phone off the floor. She swiped right, answering, “Yeah?”

“Good morn- Liz?” Foggy sounded from the other end. 

“Yeah.”

“This is Matt’s phone.”

“Yeah, I know. He dropped it.”

“You- okay, I still have to get used to you two living together.” Cars rushed in the background and she could hear the clear honking of a driver that seemed unsatisfied with someone who cut him off. “Anyway, I just called to tell you guys to get the fuck up!”

“What time is it?” She squinted her eyes at the alarm clock.

“Half past get the hell up! We have work today. You know the thing where you have to come into the office and do something productive the entire day?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “I know what work is,” she retorted.

“Oh, yeah? Then why are you late?”

“Oh, my God! Foggy, we had sex, that’s why we’re late. Matt and I did a very adult activity that took a lot longer than expected and that is why we will be coming in a few minutes late today. Unless you want us to come strutting in naked and sweaty, you let us take a shower and we’ll see you at the office. Good day!” 

She hung up, leaving Foggy flabbergasted and quite frankly a little disgusted, but he brushed it off as he made his way down the street with two cups of coffee in his hand — one for Karen, one for him.

Matt raised his eyebrows, brown eyes filled with pure amusement when she slapped his phone back down on the nightstand and resumed her position on his chest. 

“What?” Eliza challenged. 

“Can I get you bragging about our sex life on tape?” he said. “Because that was hilarious.”

“Oh, shut up!” She rolled over with a groan. 

“A very adult activity.” 

“Matthew, shut up!” 

“I need that on a sign that I can put on the door whenever we have sex. I had one of those Do Not Disturb signs in college, but that sounds way better. Adult activities in progress. We should get that framed.”

In response, he received a pillow to the face. His laugh grew louder and she hit him again, this time with more force.

“You are a violent little thing,” he mused. “If that’s what you want-“ reaching behind himself, Matt grabbed his pillow and smacked her across the face with it, “You got it.”

She gasped. She underestimated the force he could put even behind a soft piece of fabric. 

Eliza licked her lip, fluffing out the pillow she was holding. On her knees, she flipped to look directly at him. “It is so on,” she said.

He slipped into his underwear, something she had done while she grabbed a towel for them, so their state of clothing was almost equal. She wore one of his thin sleep shirts, but it gave her enough space to move without losing a boob or two. 

Her eyes grew darker and her bicep tensed. She took this seriously. Matt was not about to pass out on an opportunity to humble her. 

When it came to pillow fights, he would always win.

“Careful,” he said, and his words were what truly started the game of cat and mouse that sent them chasing each other around the apartment, “you might hurt yourself reaching for me.”

She growled, “The only thing that’s gonna get hurt is you.” 

He laughed when he jumped out of bed and to the foot of it, holding his pillow like a wall of defense. 

“It’s like a puppy threatening me with his leash.” 

A pause. She stared at him, eyes narrowing, and then, “Run.” 

Matt’s first instinct was to jog into the living room. She followed close behind with her pillow at the ready. They stood at either end of the couch, and even though they were well-trained, they panted from the short distance traveled. 

“To hit me, you have to actually go around the couch,” he said. 

She ground her teeth. “Not necessarily.” She hauled her arm back and then forward, and let go of the pillow. It hit with precision, landing in his face. He tried to catch it, but it flew too fast, even for him. 

He played with it. The smirk he gave Eliza was shit-eating and laced with mischief. “You know that that was a mistake, right?” 

She had already grabbed one of the cushions by then, cocking her eyebrow at him. “Wanna bet?” she said. 

He chuckled. He was the first to take a step and she followed in the opposite direction. The couch was still between them, but it was only the backrest now. Her eyes sparkled. This was her shot. He didn’t see it coming, metaphorically speaking. She easily jumped over the backrest, catching herself on the seat, and hit him over the head with the couch cushion again. 

Out of reflex, Matt responded with his pillows, hitting her back. She squealed. Her weapon of choice was much harder; he eventually fled her notorious attack. Eliza jumped from the sofa, with her hair disheveled and the shirt bunched up over her ass. In her state of playful rage, she tossed all of the cushions toward him. She hit him in at least three different places - not even the pillows he stole from the bed could protect him. In the end, though, she was left with nothing and he had all of the pillows, and she only realized that too late. 

He sighed. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but you’re fucked,” the words flowed so flawlessly, she wondered if she was talking to the same person who spoke so eloquently in the courtroom. Of course, she knew better. She knew he had a dirty mouth deep down, but it had never shown this extreme. Perhaps she was rubbing off on him in more ways than one. 

“Uh-oh,” she gasped when he charged at her. Eliza ran circles around the couch with him hot on her heels, and once again they stood on opposite ends. She calculated - there were two ways he could run. If she pretended well enough, she could trick his senses into thinking she went the other way, and then she would be able to rearm herself in the bedroom. 

Matt being Matt though - or in this case, it was the Daredevil in him - saw right through her plan. She tried to fool him by leaning right, but he caught her before she could run. Halfway on her way to the bedroom, the pillow hit her and she squealed again. After hitting her a few good times to the point she was suffocating with laughter, he threw the pillow aside and wrapped his arms around her to keep her from leaving. 

“Gotcha,” he purred into her ear. 

“That is so not fair!” She cried out when his fingers dug into her sides, searching for the spot he knew she was most ticklish at. “Matt-y, st-oh-p!”

“If you yield.”

The smart comeback that laid on her tongue was cut off by a fit of laughter that came from a spot of discomfort. He knew exactly where to grab and it seemed unfair that he was so much larger, he could overpower her, and pulling out her super-strength didn’t seem fair. She couldn’t have, anyway, because the way he tickled her clouded her eyes with unshed tears. 

“C’mon, yield,” he said, “and then I’ll stop.”

“Okay, OKAY!” Eliza hit his arm three times, giggling, and she couldn’t possibly form a coherent sentence. “Yield!”

As promised, he eased up his torture. She slacked in his arms. 

“Wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“Asshole,” she bit back. 

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I am? Alright.” 

“Matthew!” He singlehandedly tossed her over his shoulder. His hand collided with her backside. She was putty in his hands. He could throw her around however he wanted, she would let him. 

She had never laughed this much or loud before. He carried her over to the now cushionless couch and laid her down. His lips found hers, not giving her a second to breathe. She kissed back almost instantly, tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him closer. They were panting and giggling into each other’s mouths and it was perfect. There was no other adjective to describe the situation, and she felt so happy and warm inside, she felt as if she were going to combust any second now. 

Breaking the kiss, Matt smiled down at her. “You forgive me now?” he asked. 

Eliza traced the crease between his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose. “I suppose,” she said, her voice only a soft hum. 

He bent down and pressed another kiss to her lips. It was short yet no less passionate. “We should get ready.”

“We should, but do we want to?”

“We don’t, but we have to.”

She sighed heavily, “True.”

“C’mon,” he patted her thigh, urging her to wrap them around his waist, “Let’s take a shower first. We’re already late, might as well make it worthwhile…”

The shower ran shorter than either of them would have liked, but they were already late and as two responsible adults they didn’t want to waste any more time. Although Matt considered it, Eliza had to physically force him away from prepping her neck with bruising kisses that were sure to have her on her knees in seconds. She exercised what little self-control she had left to steer off the inevitable. There was nothing she loved more than intimacy, but Foggy would murder them and she had already almost died too many times to count. 

She exited the bathroom, fiddling with her earrings - the new beginning gave her a boost when it came to looking dashing anywhere she went, and she started to appreciate herself a lot more since then. The necklace matt got her dangled over her shirt, Natasha’s crystal underneath. It was in no way a display of favorites; Matt was the closest person to her heart and she wanted people to know that she was his and he was hers. In return, he wore his necklace just as obviously, though the crucifix would always be there. Even through all the pain, he kept his faith and she found that remarkable. 

He stood in the kitchen, pouring some coffee into to-go cups that she had insisted that they should get. It was a wise choice. Upon hearing her enter, he smiled and shoved a plate over the counter. “Eat,” he said. 

Eliza frowned, walking up to him. Avocado toast. Her heart swelled. At the rate, the happiness was growing she would need a new heart very soon. She couldn’t take this. It was sickeningly too much, but she loved every second of it. She loved being loved, seen, and appreciated. She loved the care she received and how important she felt in his presence. She would show him the same kind of affection until her very last breath, or she would try to, anyway. She still believed she didn’t deserve him. 

She sat down at the edge of the table. He somehow always knew just the right amount of seasoning to use. She watched him while she ate. He cleaned up what he had made messy, put the little glass jars in the same spot he got them from, and wiped the kitchen counter. It was domestic, their new life together. She could get used to this. 

“You’re staring,” Matt mused from the fridge. He pulled out a water bottle, then patted the top of the fridge for the orange capsule that was as much of a friend as it was an enemy. “Here, before you forget,” he said. 

Eliza felt the three pills in the palm of her hand. He took care of her, he always did, but staring at the medication that kept the hormones in her brain in check reminded her why it took so long for her to be happy. She sabotaged herself. She was sick, after all. And she would always be sick, no matter what she did. The illness would always be there. Even with her life in order, the monster would continue lurking in the dark, waiting for a moment of weakness until it could attack. 

He stroked over the crown of her head. “You okay?” he asked. 

She looked into his eyes. “I’m okay,” she said. 

“Take your pills, c’mon. They don’t mean anything. You’re here and you’re alive, nothing else matters. Everything that comes our way now, we can conquer together. You know that.”

The pills went down with a lot of water, but she took them and he kissed her forehead with a proud smile and said, “Good girl.”

She shivered, but she kept quiet, too trapped in her head to focus on what was happening around her. 

Matt noticed the signs of dissociation and tugged at her hand instead. She yelped, blinking up at him in surprise. He pulled her toward him. “Stop thinking so much. Alexa-” the smart device made a melodic sound of agreement, “Play my Spotify playlist.”

“What’s that? Jazz or somethin’- woah!” Her joke was cut short. He twirled her around her axis before hugging his arm around her waist, and he cupped her cheek to lean down and kiss her. 

“Wait for it,” he hummed against her lips. 

The sound of the birds and the people outside was tuned out by the soft melody coming out of the speaker system. 

“We’re gonna dance to keep your mind off of things and then we’re going to work, but only once I’m sure you’re okay.”

Eliza pouted as she looked into the eyes of the man she loved. Tears sparkled in her own and she wasn’t even sure why. She was overwhelmed by his love, mostly, but also by the emotions that she kept bottled up inside, the ones that appeared suddenly and nestled into her soul in seconds. He was right, she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t terrible, either, she was in a weird space in-between good and downright awful and she hated it there. 

“How is dancing gonna help?” she asked, her voice wavering at the same time her breath did. 

He kissed the tip of her nose instead of her lips. “Trust me,” said Matt. 

She trusted him with her life, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to trust him on this. She didn’t feel like dancing. It seemed useless, anyway. But he insisted and with his hold so strong, she had no choice but to succumb to his unorthodox method. 

“Sometimes you just gotta-” he pushed her back, “dance it out.”

She twirled, not even in control of her limbs when he pulled her back in, but this time with her back to his chest. And that was when she recognized the melody. 

“Oh, you sly bastard.”

“Uh-huh.” The glitter in his eyes reminded her of the universe. “You remember?” He ran his fingers over her bare arm when she reached back to run her fingers through his hair and bring him closer in the process. “The night of the gala when we danced?” he said. “You remember the song?”

“Of course, I do,” she said. “I love that song. I just didn’t think… you put it on the top of your playlist?”

He shrugged. “Maybe?”

In seconds, she turned around and stood face-to-face with him again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting herself on her tip-toes to kiss him. Their forehead collided. “We’re not dancing,” she reminded him.

“Aren’t we?”

“No, we’re swaying. It’s just an excuse for people to-”

“-stand on the dancefloor and look like they belong,” he finished. His breath turned into a chuckle that fanned across her face. He smelled of coffee and mint and his cologne. “Yeah, I memorized that line in case I had to use it again,” he told her. 

“Oh, you taking pointers from me now?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Well, lucky for you that we’re not standing on a dancefloor, so the rule doesn’t apply.”

“You’re right, but we could pretend.”

At that moment it seemed as if he was staring into the depths of her soul. 

A sigh left the depth of her chest. “We have to work,” she said, hesitant to admit it and with the utmost regret in her voice.

Matt chuckled. The usually so sweet sound was breathless, maybe a little knowing because yes, they had to go to work and her point was valid, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. The more she kept staring into his eyes, the more her self-control swindled and she fell into his arms. She didn’t care about the world. She was his to command now. Screw self-contro, she thought. She could spend the remaining two minutes of this song dancing with the love of her life, the Man whose initial she had hanging around her throat, and it would feel good because they deserved it. After the hell they went through, they deserved this. They deserved a fucking break. 

He listened closely to her heartbeat. It dropped suddenly in determination and that was how he knew that she made her decision. His lip curled up into a smirk, it wasn’t naughty or anywhere near suggestive, it wa a kind one suggesting that he was proud of his accomplishment, so it was cocky nonetheless. 

Eliza took his hand in hers, holding it tightly as the other arm wrapped around his shoulders instead. “Lead the way, counsellor,” she said. 

The song was so familiar yet at the same time it sounded foreign. The day they first danced to it laid far in the past. Things had been different then. The night ended blissfully tangled between the sheets of his bed, but the cost they paid for falling so fast so hard for each other left them shattered in the end. They spent weeks picking up the pieces that were left behind of each other’s hearts. In the end, they found together. The universe brought them together without question as if it knew they were meant to be together, and it felt right at that moment, dancing with Matt in his living room while the world disappeared on the outside, but the path they had to take to get this far was now littered with corpses. 

They both lost. They both suffered. In any other life, the likelihood of Matt and Eliza finding together after the hell they’d been through would have been nill. But in that universe, in their reality, they found back together. What they had was a cursed love that they were slowly starting to heal, and while she laid in his arms as he swayed them around the room to the song she had grown to title as one of their own, she realized that this was it. They passed the finish line. The worst was over. They weren’t cursed anymore; this right there was her and him healing each other in the only way they knew how - through unspoken words and meaningful touches. Their hearts spoke a language their mouths could not. 

She was sure she found the man she would spend the rest of her life with and knowing he felt something resembling the same after he gave her that necklace was the thought that kept her alive and breathing. He sustained her, after all, and he had started doing so from the day they first met. It all became frighteningly clear to her, but the fear didn’t scare her. No, it excited her and it reminded her that this was real. She wasn’t dreaming. He was truly in her life and she was going to be okay; they both were. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

What was she thinking about? She was fighting off the cruel thoughts all by herself. She didn’t feel weak, she felt stronger than ever as she did it. 

“You,” she answered without missing a beat. “It’s always you.”

His feet stopped and so did she, stumbling a little at his abrupt change of pace. Through thick lashes, she looked up at him. She expected him to say something or at least to receive a reaction of some kind, but it didn’t come. Instead, his eyes darted aimless around and his eyebrows furrowed. He was listening to her heart, the soft tilt of his head told her as much. He saw the world through his senses, she sometimes forgot that, and he was trying to paint a picture - what the picture was, she wasn’t sure.

“Matt-”

He cradled her head faster than she could speak. His lips pressed against her in a heated affair. She caught herself by holding onto his forearms. The kiss wasn’t forced, not at all, it was merely deeper than she was used to, and she swore she could taste the emotion on his tongue. That part of her powers was gone, but he poured so much of himself into the kiss, she could taste his soul. 

He pulled away to let them both breathe. Their lips ghosted over each other, heartbeats aligned. Same situation, different setting.

“We should, um-” Eliza swallowed. She felt lightheaded. His body was the only thing keeping her upright. “Work,” she prompted. 

A strand of hair flopped into his face. It was so damn familiar yet still so foreign. He was officially hers now, she didn’t have to pine and wait anymore. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

That was the essential difference to that day at the gala. They were together now. The wait and heartbreak were over. There was nothing standing between them now, and that was why such a familiar situation felt more foreign than it felt like a real de ja vu. 

Matt desperately kissed her cheek. “Work,” he agreed, though his voice rumbled like gravel. He didn’t want to work, he just wanted her. 

His need for her, the constant yearning, he believed were starting to turn into an unhealthy obsession. But if it was so unhealthy, why did he feel happier than ever? 

He turned away, ready to grab a tie from the bedroom and get the day over with, but once he took a step away, she reached for his arm. She pulled him back, smashing their lips together once more. 

“Can we be late five more minutes?” she asked, assaulting his mouth with open kisses. 

Her hair seemed like the best thing to grab in her moment of eagerness, so he tangled his hand in the freshly brushed strands, pulling at them. He panted heavily, the answer coming more choked up than he intended it to, “Yeah, sure,” he said. 

The buckle of his belt hit the floor. Eliza dragged the zipper down, ruining his ironed shirt by crumbling it up until it was resting just above his hip. 

“Good, ‘cause we’re gonna need them. Or you are, anyway.”

“Five minutes?” He breathed even heavier now, the sound of her knees hitting the wooden floor sounding louder in his eardrum. His hand was still in her hair and he followed her down; it slowly dawned on him what she was doing. The plea for her to stop got stuck in his throat. “Fuck!” 

At first, she simply kissed the outline of his cock over his boxers and the friction along with the pure essence of her rushed the blood from his head where her tongue laid, and he was painfully hard again. As if he hadn’t just finished inside of her, she undressed him with precision. Her nails dug into his upper thighs and by God, he was this close to losing himself completely, he intertwined his fingers with hers s they traveled under his shirt and caressed his stomach. It was too much. She was already everywhere, the heat of her mouth would send him straight to hell and back and then to hell again until he was doomed and done for. 

His eyes rolled back toward the ceiling. In his head, he prayed to God. The crucifix rested heavy around his neck but her name rested heavier. He prayed to God because the almighty father of all was no longer the most important character in his life. He questioned faith, but he never questioned her. She was his vice, she was his guardian angel and she would eventually corrupt him in a way that would asure him a place in hell, no matter how many times he asked God for penance, but hell with her sounded much better than heaven, and he figured he would have never ended up there anyway. They were both sinners, all things would fall into their rightful places in the end. Where she went, he would follow. Unhealthy obsession be damned, he was so infatuated, he would have burned the world down on the spot for her. 

He had loved strongly before, then he had his heart broken by the woman he loved so desperately, and he had suffered alone for so long before she came along. He never thought a love this strong would be humany possible, but there were a lot of things he hadn’t fathomed possibly only a month ago. A love like that was the most plausible because it was real, she was right there and she was realer than anything else. God put her in his path for a reason and he would follow her until the end of the line. 

She drove him higher and higher until he was dangling off the edge of the cliff, and when she pressed her hand down on his abdomen, squeezing his hand in the process, he couldn’t hold it anymore. 

“I love you so much. Fuck!” The curses tumbled freely from his lips at the same time that he tumbled from the precipice. Her tongue along his shaft and the sensitive tip of his cock were more than enough.

Her five-minute estimate had not been far off. He came with the soft cry of her name, or had it been one of his many pet-names? She wasn’t sure. Her mind was just as fuzzy as his. Swallowing every last drop of cum he had to give her, she kept him tucked neatly inside her mouth. He rested perfectly in her throat. She exhaled through her nose - the sight before her was so damn pleasurable, she clenched her thighs. This would suffice for the rest of the day. The pornographic sounds and pcitures she had in her head were better than any real life nude picture she could have taken of him. 

Matt pulled at her hair, forcing her off his cock with a whine that both came from her and from himself. He brushed her cheek, catching the small droplet of cum on the corner of her mouth and shoving it back inside. She took it wordlessly. The mascara she had applied was smudged all over her cheeks from the tears she had shed, but it was so worth it in the end. 

He helped her to her feet, his eyes once again darting back and forth, searching for something he couldn’t see. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured. 

“You are,” she told him. When he kissed her, he could taste himself in her saliva, and his moan made her whimper. “You’re perfect,” she said again. 

The move she made to adjust his pants and get the belt back where it came from went unnoticed by him. He was somewhere between the sky and cloud nine, free-falling. Only when she gently kissed his neck did he snap back to reality. 

“We have to go work.”

He chuckled. “Foggy is gonna kill us.”

“Eh, but it was worth it.” Eliza smoothed out his collar. “Get yourself a tie, I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick to, uh… take care of some things.”

His lips pursed into a pout. “Take care of some things?” he quoted. 

“I have to pee.”

“Sure, that’s what it is.”

She slapped his chest, blushing at the sound of his clear laugh in her ear as he kissed her temple and sent her on her way. 

“I could just take care of it, y’know,” Matt said behind her.

As hard as it was to pass down the opportunity, she raised her middle finger into the air. “Fuck off!” The bathroom door fell shut behind her, but she heard his laughter long after she was gone. 

Today is never too late to be brandnew.

That much was true, at least.