#it is freeing to allow the unhinged ten year old in my heart to come up with this stuff now that I have the adult drawing and writing

[awsydawnarts]

The rest of the cast that’s important (in this age group, at least). This project has consumed me

[blueplanettrash]

#Pride (Bi Lance Story)

This is for @phoenix-xox for completing my crossword puzzle second! Sorry for how long this took and I hope you like it! 💙

Ω

All his life, he knew he was “different”. He didn’t really feel things like other people did; sure he liked people, he liked a lot of people but he loved a lot of people too. Boys and girls. To many people that would be completely fine, who cares what gender he likes anyway? It’s none of their business.

Those are the people he liked, the ones that didn’t care about his love like, who he wanted to be with, etc.

It was the people who made it their business that pissed him off.

They all thought they were high and mighty, that just because he went to school with them, or that they even breathed the same air that they somehow had a right to judge him and who he finds attractive.

He’s glad now; years later that the thought of people hating him because of his sexuality angers him more than scares him.

But obviously, that wasn’t always the case. He was a kid once, just wanting to have his peers accept him for who he was. That his sexuality wasn’t something that anyone else could decide for him, and they weren’t allowed to tell him to just choose one.

As a kid, that’s daunting. Especially when you feel like you’re the only one in the world that feels that way. Then to have your classmates and friends start spouting bi-phobic bullshit without batting an eye really just struck home for him. Sometimes he would go home crying, sometimes he would go home a blank slate.

Thankfully, his family was very supportive. He would talk to his siblings, telling them all the things that he heard over the day. So many times, he had to tell them not to go to anybody about it. It was his problem and he wanted to deal with It on his own. He didn’t tell them that he just didn’t want everyone to know he was bi, at that time it was too much for him.

Going into space presented a whole other problem for him.

Number 1: The mind melds. They tried not to do to many of these activities after the first one. Yeah, they needed to learn to trust each other and although on Altea, it was a perfectly acceptable ice breaker; on Earth, it was a complete break of trust if someone wandered a bit too deep.

If they just happened to look into his mind and see his memories of school or talking to his family; he didn’t know what he’d do. Probably scream and tear off the headband and seclude himself for the rest of the day. Not very heroic for a paladin of Voltron, but whatever.

Number 2: They were beginning to encounter aliens, that looked far more human than the ones on Arus. He was pretty lucky that the mermaids he and Hunk had met were all girls, other wise it would have been awkward for him.

And finally, number 3: He wasn’t used to having such open friends before. Well, he didn’t know about other people but the people he became friends with before; they needed time to open up. It seemed like you needed to know someone for years before they would even tell him about who they’ve dated before. Like that was some huge scandalous secret.

Seriously Ryan, we were ten. Your mom is not gonna ground you because you held hands with Britany on the playground.

Either way, the point is that he didn’t have open friends before so when they all collapsed in the lounge after a rigorous training exercise and Shiro went:

“I miss my boyfriend,” he sighed, face smooshed into the lounge’s couch.

He was understandably in a state of shock.

“He’s not your boyfriend you know,” Keith smirked, dirt smeared across his face from when one of the gladiators tripped him and he fell on his face. “Besides, he wasn’t exactly supportive of your dreams before Kerberos,”

“Yeah, but still… I miss him,” Shiro lamented with a groan.

Lance was essentially stunned. He’d never even had a clue that Shiro was interested in relationships, let alone with another guy.

“What do you mean he wasn’t supportive?” Hunk asked and Lance’s head whipped over to Hunk. He wasn’t surprised? He glanced around the room and noticed that they weren’t shocked like he was, hell, Pidge wasn’t even looking up from her computer.

“Well, I had this whole “disease” thing going on,” Shiro said nonchalantly, turning over onto his back.

“Disease thing!? What are you talking about?” Hunk cried, suddenly panicked.

“Its like this degenerative disease, I’ve had it since I was a little kid, its not a big deal,”

“Is this real life?” Hunk asked, turning toward Keith.

“I know right? That was my reaction when he told me too,”

Lance felt like he was in a sort of limbo. Thankfully, no one really witnessed his inner dilemma and he was free to question everything. Shiro was so open with his sexuality and if he was being honest, he’d never seen someone be so blasé with their preferences. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to go:

“Hell yeah, I miss the earth bois too!”

But he was unsure. He knew Shiro and he knew his team. He knew that they wouldn’t judge him for anything but still, he had engrained in his mind that there were some people that you just can’t tell. Yeah, there were the people who believed that his sexuality didn’t exist and they were all over but, by far the worst people were the LGBT people that also said that he needed to choose one or the other. It never made sense to him, they knew what it felt like to beaten down and cursed at for their preferences. They fought tooth and nail to not be stigmatized yet, they would tear him down the first chance they got.

Thankfully, by going to the Garrison, he cut himself off from a lot of those people’s ideas and opinions of him. He went through his entire first year thinking the other shoe was gonna drop and someone from his hometown or old school was going to transfer over and start the whole process over again. It wouldn’t be that far off to say that he lived his school life in fear for a good part of his first year.

It was comforting to see that other people weren’t as backwards as he thought they were; or was lead to believe they were from growing up in his hometown.

Maybe he could speak up. But what if they think that he’d mocking Shiro or something? I mean, his blatant flirting with some of the alien girls would probably make them think that. He didn’t show any interest in any of the guys they’d come across so far, even though Rolo was a snack.

But, honey. That took effort on his part.

In the end, he decided to ignore the voice nagging in his head to say something and just laid back and enjoyed their night off.

Did he have a bit of a pit in his stomach the rest of the night? Yeah, he did.

Did he regret not saying anything? Not at all. He was uncomfortable and he did what he thought was right for him.

Did it feel good? Absolutely not.

Ω

He didn’t exactly know how they got on the topic of his sexuality. But suddenly he was just telling Shiro that he was bi. Maybe it was because he was sick of hiding it, maybe he felt like he was supposed to tell him. He honestly, didn’t know.

“Why didn’t you want to tell us?” Shiro asked with bewilderment. “I mean I kind of get not telling other people, but we’re pretty open here,”

“I mean we didn’t really have a heart to heart or anything like that,” he shrugged, while inside he was full on panicking.

“Oh, okay…” Shiro trailed off looking a little hurt.

“Look, it wasn’t you or anything… just, back home it wasn’t really “acceptable” to be bi? I guess?” Lance started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I just didn’t know if you would be the same or not,” he admitted, ashamed.

“Wha- but I’m gay Lance! I wouldn’t do that!” Shiro cried, disbelief shining in his eyes.

“I know you would never do that, but it’s happened before and I was scared!” Lance defended himself, the feelings inside finally reaching threshold. Shiro watched him with wide eyes, unused to this “unhinged” version of his friend and teammate.

“It’s happened before?” Shiro asked softly. “Oh, Lance. I’m so sorry,”

“It’s fine. It wasn’t like it was you or anything,” he sighed, curling into himself.

“Well, I get that but I kind of was that person before,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Lance head whipped up to look at him in shock. “I guess that takes away from my point before,”

“What?”

“I know. I was young and dumb and didn’t care about other people’s feelings,” he said shaking his head. “So, I am sorry. I’m sorry for my actions before and I’m sorry that people like me made it hard for you to be yourself,”

Lance paused in shock for a while, just trying to comprehend what he’d just heard. Takashi Shirogane used to be one of the people that made him hate himself when he was younger. His hero, could have been someone to tear him down.

“What changed?” He asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“Honestly, Matt,” he answered. “Or moving to the Garrison. Before I didn’t really have that person to tell me that what I was saying or doing was wrong but Matt laid into me the first time I said anything around him,”

“So the Garrison changed both of our perspectives, huh?” Lance grinned, uncurling slightly. “Or cut us off from other people’s ideas at least,”

“Yeah, guess so,” Shiro hummed, sitting down beside him. “I hope that you’ll be able to open up to us someday,”

“Yeah, me too. It’s just… hard sometimes,”

“Well, don’t rush yourself  or anything, you should be able to feel comfortable around us,”

And eventually he was. He let himself pace himself and decide when he was ready to tell his friends. Sometimes he wished that he was able to tell them sooner, or forced himself to tell them sooner. The battle with himself is half the journey though and now…

He can be who he truly is.

[ryanmeft]

Ranking the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Part 1

The culmination of the superhero ride that started with Iron Man back in 2008 is almost here. Avengers: Endgame tickets are selling out fast even though the movie is nearly three weeks away, and speculation as to how this stage of Marvel’s box office juggernaut will all end is at a fever pitch. What better time to rank the movies that have brought us here? Now, no one with even a tiny bit of objectivity sincerely believes Marvel had a ten year plan and executed it precisely according to a grand vision. Looking back through these movies makes it clearer than ever that, more often than not, they made it up as they went along. In fact, considering all the retcons, changed minds, dropped plot threads and unexpected surprises, it’s amazing the continuity holds together at all. It mostly does...but the bottom part of this list contains the few movies even Marvel’s PR team probably wishes they could have a mulligan on, as well as some good-but-not-quite-lighting-the-world-on-fire fare. Let’s get to it. Warning: this article contains spoilers for nearly every movie in the MCU.

21. Iron Man 2

The red-headed stepchild of the MCU. After the surprise success of the original Iron Man, Marvel Studios apparently forgot that the strength of that film was allowing Jon Favreau and the writing team to put heart before brand synergy, and decided to make a movie that was half marketing for their planned Avengers crossover. Dropping Black Widow in here felt completely jarring, and it didn’t help that her role just added to the jumble of plot threads that didn’t seem to add up to anything; at the time, many saw it as proof that Marvel was putting a little too much faith in their ability to pull off this whole crossover thing. That’s only part of the sordid story, though, because the movie is also a mess in nearly every other way. Rather than the tight plotting of the original, this one sees Tony, Rhodey, Pepper and the rest speeding from random situation to random situation---a car race, an unhinged party, a spy caper---with only the barest of plot threads holding it all together. The movie’s only saving graces are the villains played by Sam Rockwell and Mickey Rourke. Each of them deliciously devours every scene they are in, providing the film’s lone moments of enjoyment, but they’re also squandered on what feels like an extremely low stakes plan. Iron Man so well proved that superhero movies can have a soul that it even managed to make some critical best-of lists for 2008. The sequel made us wonder if that might have been a tad premature.

20. The Incredible Hulk

There are some genuinely creative moments in this action-oriented “apology” for the in-reality-pretty-good Ang Lee Hulk movie. The opening sequence showing how Hulk’s blood travels, a chase through a Brazilian favela, tossing Bruce out of a helicopter to incite his other half, and the almost-love scene aborted by the alter ego were signs of how clever the movie could have been if it were not focused on cramming in as much smashing as possible. Nick Nolte’s complex antagonist is replaced with William Hurt chewing a little too much scenery, the new super-villain played by Tim Roth is a dull waste of the actor’s talent, the finale is listless, and the entire movie is just one long excuse to show Hulk ‘roiding out as much as possible. The camera work of skilled action veteran Peter Menzies Jr. and some excellent CG on the title character make it more fun to look at than many of the tights flicks of the time, which is something. As a general rule, things that are made to chase fleeting audience sentiments don’t stand the test of time, and there’s been a quiet reversal since 2008 in which Lee’s more original and creative vision for the character has come to be re-evaluated, while this one has been almost forgotten and relegated to endless TNT re-runs. Maybe with Mark Ruffalo having one more movie on his contract, he’ll get a crack at doing it right post-Endgame.

19. Thor: The Dark World At the time, this movie served as iron-clad proof that the only reason the Thor character worked at all was Loki. The god of mischief is at his delicious then-best here, conniving from a prison cell, partnering with his brother out of genuine concern, and eventually managing to actually take the throne. Sure, that latter development was quickly undone in the next film, but what a parting shot. He’s the only aspect of the movie that fully works, and if you pop it in today you sit patiently waiting for his scenes and snoring through the second, Loki-free half of the movie. Thor himself is lifeless when Loki’s not on screen. The Warriors Three are still nowhere near the right balance of humor and bravery. Natalie Portman remains wasted on a supposedly genius scientist who can nevertheless be stunned into immediate silence by Thor’s golden locks, while Sif is still 100% unnecessary in every way. Perhaps worst of all, the underrated Christopher Eccleston is miscast as a villain who always seems to be doing bad Shakespeare. We all tried hard to forgive it at the time (and director Alan Taylor claims it was made “a different movie” in the editing room, not at all implausible) but thankfully we’ve since admitted this is mostly a misfire.

18. Ant-Man

If you were to judge Ant-Man entirely by the size-changing shenanigans, it would be one of the best Marvel movies. Peyton Reed, building off a script by departing director Edgar Wright and Joe Cornish (and tidied up by Rudd and Adam McKay) gets a ton of mileage out of the novelty of being the size of an insect, from outrunning a flood in a bathtub to that rather brilliant final confrontation in a child’s playroom, using toys as ammo. Further, Paul “I Am Immortal” Rudd is pitch-perfect in the title role, while Michael Douglas and Evangeline Lilly bring a lot to the picture. It’s in the details where Ant-Man falls a bit short (pun intended). To start, we have a single major Hispanic character in the MCU, played by the frankly more-legendary-than-you-think Michael Pena, and he’s reduced to a fast-talking stereotype. Judy Greer and Bobby Cannavale are also worlds better than their roles, which are, respectively, a cliche shrewish ex-wife and a cliche over-suspicious cop. What really drags things down, though, is the lackluster villain, who may be the most inert black hole in the MCU’s rogues gallery. He is neither good enough to engage us, nor bad enough to hate. He could have been played by a grip, for all the personality he’s allowed. The core of the film is delightful. The hill around it is crumbly.

17. Captain Marvel

Marvel’s first female-led flick is understandably a phenomenon, pulling down the sixth-largest opening weekend of all time and serving as inspiration to young girls and target to the kind of people who don’t want women in their clubhouse. So what about the movie that’s causing all this hullabaloo? It’s pretty decent. The movie can be summed up very succinctly as “safe”. It takes few chances and is more like one small step than one giant leap for womankind. Had it been released during the early superhero boom, it would still be fondly remembered as a major link in the genre’s evolution. As it is, it borrows from the buddy-cop subgenre to create what is essentially an adventure/sci-fi movie between Carol Danvers and Nick Fury. It stands out more as a callback to the kind of action pics made in the 90’s (when it is set) than the heavily marketed shared universe of the MCU, and includes standout performances from Annette Bening, Jude Law and Ben Mendelsohn. It meets expectations; it does not exceed them, and if you are a fan of the distinctive style practiced by directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, you won’t find it here. It’s only a month old, and it may be too soon to definitely say how it will be seen as time goes on. Right now, it feels more like a solid first step for the character than a fully realized final destination.

16. Thor

The original Thor has some completely solid, indisputable charms. Chris Hemsworth does physical comedy much more skillfully than he is ever given credit for, it is the debut of Tom Hiddleston as Loki, the third act is a rare-at-the-time case of inventiveness in an MCU finale, and it’s always great to see Stellan Skarsgard in literally anything. I would watch two hours of Stellan Skarsgard eating lunch, with a clone of Stellan Skarsgard. His drinking scene with Thor is a seriously underrated bit of awesome. It helps make up for the fact that the movie has no idea what to do with most of the supporting cast, including in part Loki, who at this stage seems to flail around between personalities, having crazy forced on him in time for the final duel despite it not even being hinted at earlier. It’s as if director Kenneth Branagh just let him do his own thing, and Hiddleston’s not 100% sure what that should be yet. The mirror scene is objectively amazing, but he won’t really come into his own until Avengers. The Warriors Three are utterly wasted; Branaugh and the writers just never nail the right combo of comedy and camaraderie needed to pull them off. Sif is superfluous. Natalie Portman is one of the finest actors of our generation, here reduced to goggling over Thor’s pecs. It’s not bad, especially compared to some of the dreck that gets pumped out of the blockbuster machine. It’s just rather inert.

That’s it for part 1. I’m  going to be doing some Marvel/Superhero/General Nerd content leading up to Endgame’s release. Check back next Friday for part 2 of this list, and pop by Monday for part 1 of my predictions on the fate of each character in Endgame. Part 2: https://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/184208179827/ranking-the-marvel-cinematic-universe-part-2 Part 3: https://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/184372777282/ranking-the-marvel-cinematic-universe-part-3

[bluepenguinstories]

Intention Headaches Chapter Three

Hung atop aside, hinged off a chiseled face of a cliff rest a vestige some know as home – a domed structure, bolted on by nails and years of structuring and reconstructing. Inside lie bodies, torsos and limbs, abreast a bereft vestibule. Bodies moving, some stationary. Animated, alive, lively for all the motions and immobile actions.

Without the use of movement, chromatic machinery lit up a main hall, where piles of ancient manuscripts lie among magazines of a bygone era (beside a pile of magazines ready to be loaded into weaponry).

“We have been assigned a new mission,” One such figurehead, poised in such a figurative manner, walked in with a voice of a sultry honey badger in heat.

“Out with it, Virgil!” Roared an uproarious uproar amongst munches of an ultra rare steak. One human poised seated, having counted her losses and after counting her winnings had decided she had earned an ultra rare steak, but therein lies the problem – one should never count winnings amongst their losses.

“Very well,” veracious Virgil henceforth found footing. “Underway, we have been requested to assassinate Hemingway.” Overhead, stiff air in a stuffy room supported a cough. “Should we...?”

“Accept it, dammit!” Growled and howled a huff from a mouth stuffed.

“Now Adeline, I know you have a personal vendetta against the Hemingways, but we must remember those words we read on the side of the mechanic caterpillar, written through the use of an aerosol can. 'Love comes close, but it eludes me'. Do you remember what that means?”

“As our leader has said, 'love is a labor and we are indentured servants'. But I've always hated how she said that! Tryin' to pretty up her words!”

“Yes, and as such, if we deny this mission, we may lose funds for the month. However, if we accept it and fail, we may lose lives in the process as well as our funds. Is such a high risk worth the reward?”

Adeline, fulfilling a carnal desire, tore into the pieces of meat, ravaging and pillaging what once belonged to a cow. Deep down, remnants of cow burrowed within the conscious and melded the mindset, a just cause for such a lass to be on the prowl.

“I know you have been voted best girl in the wake of Virginia's illness, however, she still makes the final decision.”

“She better say yes is all I'm sayin'! After our loss against the Plaths the other night, we gotta show this town our fangs!”

“I will pass that message along and inform you of her decision.”

Virgil walked over to the console just two footprints away, where Adeline could still see. Silent hums from the machine greeted the two. Displayed in the air were options, in which Virgil knew just which combination created the recipe to speak with the ill.

“Dear leader, mission request to assassinate Hemingway. Should we accept it?”

On the other end, crisp and clear as less than apple and closer to day, yet still miles apart, enshrined the vocal choral reef of an undersea beauty. Or, that of a tenor.

“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to brew potions. Some drink glitter, I find porcelain dolphins in my lobotomies; vases taped shut to suitcases, some know of my return, but only upon your graves shall I utter the names of all the best breads for those to eat. Under each table are necessary supplies. Glue to hold us all in times where we can feel the cracks from the Earth. Ground beneath our little toesies. We know of the days spent, shrouded in cement, unbearable societies, yet we chisel away. If we are to work as a union, we must commune in each room, rooms of our own.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“I know you all will betray me!”

Adeline was slurping on fat. Loud and clear; queer findings, she heard it all.

“So in other words, yes,” Adeline concluded.

“Indeed,” Virgil was somewhere nearby, having made a reply.

“Excellent!” Added a line, aggressive in the grin department. Teeth spread, some sharpened on the ironing block. Forged ahead was a stomp across the base hall.

Plump aplomb, plum bedsheets plopped a volatile, stomach first, face smushed down against down pillowcases. Middling mutterings uttered outside an open mouth, drool exiting stage right.

“I won't rest until I hear an adverb...”

From outside a room of her own, two shapes with two sets of limbs gestured to one another.

“How could you let her just accept the offer?” Gyrated gruff giving of words.

“Adeline is best girl. It has been decided,” replied other set of limbs.

“That may be so, but look at us! We've taken a shitton o' hits over here! At this rate, we're gonna need new members! Remember when one Ka wanted in? Y'know what Virginia said?”

“'Only fools Russian'?” Virgil took a guess and hit outside the target.

“Excuse, em, me?”

“Apologies. I know no enunciation.”

“Anyway, no! She said, 'we cannot allow practitioners of magic.' Yet magic ain't even a thing! Did'ya see Ka claim to be a churchgoer? Nah! Ka ain't nah churchgoer! Far from, Ka a free woman!”

“Yes, however, Ka married. As she said, 'love is a union inside a megacorporation.' Under those circumstances, suspicion becomes necessary caution.”

Vinny volunteered to vanish; Virgil followed suit. Pinstripe, tuxedo, two-piece. All there inside closets. Both made their turns down the aisles, Virgil reassured.

“I will ensure this mission is as close to success as possible.”

Plan underway, assassinate Hemingway.

Adeline had a way, then lost it. Made one again so as to meet the main hall where members conversed. Virgil, unconsumed with conversation, consumed instead in an ancient manuscript well before days of neon.

“What's that ya got?” the best girl addressed.

“Research material on the Hemingway gang.”

Within Virgil's hands rest a book titled 'The Importance of Being Earnest'.

“What's it say?” Insistence increased.

“Unsure just yet. From what I gather it is a biography on the gang's leader, Ernie.”

“That bastard oughtta gimme an adverb 'fore he bites the dust, all's Im'ma say on that!”

Added to the tension was the pace meat muncher found herself in. Add a line and Adeline followed. Two steps one way, two steps back.

Preceding preparations post-declarations, another bold statement was made:

“Remember: if he breathes, he's a thought.”

“All gang leaders are queens,” Virgil made due diligence to remind those with high steaks.

“This one's diff'rent. Doesn't use adverbs. Shorter than the rest. Merely a thought.”

Virgil nodded a virginal nod. Sole male sorely knew his place.

“I shall sit this one out.”

Fruits of labor at times may involve blue. While quiet and sulfuric as the night, certain arrangements could be made to blue gear armed to the teeth, about 26 of them, give or take a few here and there depending on how many punches had been served. Blue hats, blue vests, blue as their cold, dead hearts.

Knocked upon one door of an aromatic adornment stood a blue, awaiting the pace of a refined romantic enamored with the allure of romance in times of war.

So soon, frozen. Door opened, quiet creak. No bells and whistles. Just wood application.

“Your purpose?”

“I have a report of smuggled narcotics in the area,” blue blathered before blasting barrels of bionic explosives packed into a tangible L-shaped device, small enough to fit inside such small hands.

Swaths of graceful age, reduced to meaty chunks and disintegrated charred bits where once stood tall a perfect paragon to the finer things in life. Also gone, were parts of the door. Door hinges, unhinged.

Surrounded in response were other gentlemen, prior sharing cups of tea, now enraged at the blue at the door. Shotguns in tow, cocked and barreled past the point of reason. One blue life, no more.

“Shameful,” one bearable bear body decreed, observing in equal measure dead hired hitman in blue as well as one who understood preciousness of presentation.

“Highest esteemed gentleman breathes,” a relief voiced by one who could wrestle bears with words.

“Attack meets retaliation,” forewarned one higher up on the respectable ladder. Rungs wrung out followed a pattern, polka-dots unruly, all things considered. One atop such a ladder may have sat, whiskey in hand, whispering of days of old.

Sure, just, fair, and true to form, each and every one of the single employs and envoys met such a lament, seated on a throne of regret. Sipped and chipped away at old days, one known as a leader of Hemingway. However, one day, Hemingway knew not the way. Such a day was an older day, when blood lay in a more sporty pool where all could drink and swim from sans the sanguine anxiousness of urination.

“We fight,” Ernie avowed, having taken to declaration.

Such strutted men, taken to streets. Outside, street lights with camera lens flares and a crimson radial temperature. Men in heat, overall, such men wore overalls.

World weary childlike syntax stopped the men in their tracks before reaching too close to the liminal space between Woolf and Hemingway.

“Stop,” commanded one without subordination and to his subordinates.

On the ground rest many pairs of mittens made of leather the size of a mouse, or smaller. Such mittens small enough to fit a foot (a pair fitting feet) who had given their introduction from out of a womb. In spite of having been strewn across the grime of the ground, such leather mittens fitted for feet were in such a condition as to suggest having not having a pair of feet placed inside of them.

“Baby shoes, never worn,” observed over three feet, yet less than five feet tall a man who looked to be between 10.2 and 12.9 years of age yet bore the voice of one with at least five ten's worth or greater years lived as a breathable human.

Men looked at each other. In unison, looked toward their miniscule pioneer.

“What must be done?” Question given.

“Stand back and ready shotgun.”

Command placed upon a chess board meticulous as the one which does not exist and all men were knights in the absence of pawns or bishops. At once and arms drawn before bidding them farewell; arms raised, as if to wave goodbye. So too, baby shoes.

Explosion in response to removed baby shoes from the battlefield. Erupted choruses of men who forged ahead.

Moon above and bereft. Sky of sulfur.

Once threshold had been crossed, howls took form. Henceforth Hemingway gang on guard, arms raised, scanning their environment once more. Dense streets ought have been arid, or lucrative, yet instead, invalid. Buildings best sat where better to stand and homeowners would have fled. Better yet were those without homes who could have found temporary residence within their wits. Instead, homes of abandonment.

Cascading howls hinterland. In earnest, Ernie sent signals to extraordinary gentlemen and such gentlemen took residence searching for shadows in each home.

“Dens for wolves,” muttered breaths.

Blood sprinkled, an inverted rainbow in only one color as howls from both friend and foe sprang forth once more. Fashioned by the Woolfs were claws used for burrowing into chests of burly men. Such claws, equipped with electricity, stacked with static. Even those to stand and breathe would see immobility.

Upon noticing injury and deaths of comrades, shot into the air spiked forward, launching itself forth as a gleeful missile would.

More Hemingway sprang.

“Jolly good,” all sang.

From afar, two jars in place of binoculars, a line added in the line of danger.

“Damn,” damned the one handing out damnations. “Curses,” cursed the same person.

To top things off, to even the odds, the 1's and 3's became 2's and 4's. In other words, rugs, carpets, and mats, make for good deceptive works of art. All one has to do is lay them flat and the world gives itself a pat on the back.

Wolves got to work working carpentry just in time for bundled burlap surgery to unfold. Backed away was a way with hemming. All rest were irons struck hot and forged ahead of schedule.

One step and a splintered acorn fission created flame and flash alike. Spectacle of smoke, specifically of the destructive variety.

Vicious visage which was voted greatest seized the confusion or upstaged clarity to make leaps and bounds across building tops and plunge to the bottom with her claws spread. Observant owl watched such a display.

“Carpet bombs,” his two words said and his look of disapproval said everything else.

Stepping forward once more were the Hemingway men, unscathed.

Unable to deny, Adeline, awe, star, and dumbstruck, struck a look of disgust.

“How the fuck?”

“Shielded clothing,” sang jolly good fellows.

“Thought you fuckers 'ere against modern shit!” Feral lady gave a series of barks which translated rather well into English words and phrases albeit some creative liberties taken.

“Everything with purpose,” next verse.

“Men,” preached a prophet little more than four heads tall.

Ways of hems aimed and took potshots at wolves inside buildings. Claws could not save those without shield.

Last whimpers made by canines slain. Growled a displeased pooch, lines added were diminished by the one who adds lines via combinations of finesse, razor sharp claws, and a ducked head.

Joyous chorus became showered confetti of blood crystal droplets, which Adeline collected and lavished.

“Your gang's mostly toast! You're definitely next!” Proud roar of a wolf.

“T'is Sunday,” gave a friendly reminder from a gentlemanly gentleman. Hiding underneath Ernie's underpants rest a righteous rod which he pulled out gracefully for all the world to see. Split into two, one rod became two, smaller rods. Each rod lit up, beams of pure energy, until the energy took the shape of a blade.

Ernie on a Sunday, blades of energy in tow, sliced down upon the arms of the one always adding lines. She saw two limbs dropped, plopped, and a jetstream of ruby liquid, tasting of salty iron shot forward before fizzling out.

“Farewell,” saluted a man in earnest.

She, in response, took to knees, and/or a scream.

“Does this mean defeat?” She asked of Ernie.

“Absolutely.”

[forever-more-never-again]

Burning (Scene Eight/?)

*I do not own the Avengers or MCU*GIF not mine*

Its the next chapter of Burning! yay! This one is going to lead up to the big climax. Be prepared to be shooketh!

Pairing: Slow Burn Natasha Romanoff X (Enhanced!Mutant!) Reader

Word Count: 1280

Warnings: PTSD, Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Rape, Swearing

a/n: This is not going to follow the MCU timeline exactly

Prologue / Scene One / Scene Two / Scene Three / Scene Four / Scene Five /Scene Six / Scene Seven / Scene Eight / Scene Nine / Scene Ten

Masterlist

*Readers POV*

I was itching to get back to hunting down the Hydra scum of the earth. But being put in a building with a bunch of ex-spies, assassins and super soldiers didn’t leave many chances for a jailbreak. And that’s what I called this tower, a jail. Sure, it was prettier and everyone was nicer than the one I had been kept in most of my life, but I was still under watch. There was someone tracking my movement all hours of the day and even within the privacy of my room, I had the feeling of eyes on me.

So I had been heading out to the workout room to work off some of the caged aggression I had been building when I ran into Natasha about to knock on my door.

“Oh. Hi. Natasha.” I knew I sounded stilted. I had been avoiding her since that initial breakdown I had when I was shown my room. I wasn’t use to affection. Much less someone touching my wings in a nice way...in a loving way. I had to lock my heart away. I couldn’t afford emotions.

“[Y/n]! I, Uhh, I just wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been a few weeks now and I haven’t seen you interacting with the team.” I watched, slightly amused, at the slight flush that crept up the Black Widow’s cheeks.

I walked past her, letting her get a glimpse of me in my workout shorts and sports bra. My wings trailing down my back. “I may be forced to become part of the team, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be part of one. I explained that on my first day. Remember?” I shot a look at her over my shoulder. She had walked with me to the workout gym area.

Natasha shrugged a shoulder, green eyes tracking my movements as I wrapped my hands and started stretching, “True, But what if some of us wanted to get to know you? I know you were doing something out there in Siberia at that Hydra base. I want to help, but I can’t if you don’t let any of us in.”

I tensed at her mention of Hydra. My wings twitched and I struggled to keep them contained when they wanted to fly out of the confrontation.

I took a deep breath trying to calm the inner tidal wave of emotions, “Never mention that again.” I surprised myself with how venomous my voice sounded. Natasha seemed shocked as well as her eyes grew wide and her concerned look turned into a cold hard mask of an assassin.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to self-destruct then.” And with that, she stalked out of the room leaving me by myself.

I swallowed down the urge to chase after her. Turning to face the punching bag, I let my wings unfurl behind me in the empty space. Reveling in the feeling of them being free. I started punching. With each punch and thud my mind worked overtime. Hydra. Screaming. Begging. Needles. But most of all i thought of all the ways that I would Kill Operating Commander of the Russian branch of Hydra. Commander Misha Petrov. The sick bastard who killed my parents in front of me. Who tortured me for years. Who injected the serum that gave me my pyrokinesis.

I didn’t realize how much my thoughts were affecting me until I heard a scream of rage and the sound of the punching bag flying across the room. I stood, shocked, panting. I had managed to use so much force that the bag had come unhinged from the ceiling and broke, spilling its sand in a path to where it lay feet away from me.

“Haven’t seen that happen since I recruited Cap for the Avengers Initiative.”

I let my wings fold back against my body as I turned to face Nick Fury. He wore his leather trench coat, sitting on a chair by the wall.

As I started unwrapping my hands, wiping the sweat from my face, without looking at him I asked, “So Cap has anger issues?”

Fury chuckled, kicking his legs out as he crossed his arms across his chest, “You could say that. Being frozen for seventy years wrecks havoc on a person’s state of mind.”

I shrugged my shoulders, still not looking at the man. “Phoenix,”

At that name I spun around, my wings alight with fire, “Is that my new ‘Avengers’ Name!? Why must you call me that?”

Fury didn’t so much as move a muscle at my show of aggression, “As a matter of fact, I believe it suits you perfectly. [Y/n]...I am simply a man, who is concerned for the team. I saw Natasha stalk out of her in such a way I haven’t seen since Budapest.”

I sighed and let my fire go out, but kept my wings ready for any sudden moves. I grabbed my duffel and tried to walk past Fury. But he stuck an arm out, preventing me from exiting the gym. I turned and stared into his eye. “What old man?”

Fury gave me a knowing look, “You use that cold exterior, but it’s just a ruse. I know who else was kept in that base with you. Confirm a theory for me, if you would, and I’ll let you go.”

The mention of Hydra once again put me on edge. But I had a feeling ignoring Fury and demanding he drop it wouldn’t work the way it had with Natasha. “Okay, Shoot old man.”

I swung my duffel over my shoulder, careful of my wings. I watched as Fury stood up and pulled out a picture from one of his pockets. He held it out towards me and I warily took it.

It was a grainy security image photo. Of Siberia. I gasped and dropped it, backing away fast. “Is he here? Does he know where I am?”

Fury listened to my distressed questions.

The man on the picture, though distorted and grainy was one that haunted my dreams right alongside Misha Petrov. It was the asset they were going to allow to rape me. The one that was acting out the night I escaped from that prison.

Fury bent and picked up the picture, giving it a pursuing glance before putting it back in his pocket. “So you confirm that you know this person and that they were kept with you?”

I glared as he stayed calm. No emotion crossing his face, “Yes.” I bit out, my wings trembling, “Why are you interested now? I’ve been here for weeks.”

Fury started walking to the door, “I’m just an old man who wants to see this team become great. So I’ll say this once, Phoenix.” He turned and looked at me with his eye, “Either you come clean to the team, or I do.”

As he shut the door, my pent up distress and anger broke. I screamed, throwing my duffel at the door that was now closed on the man’s receding figure.

How dare he! I gave them my stipulations on the first day! And he had the nerve to blackmail me into discussing the past I specifically said not to look into! Agh!

I let the rage inside turn into fire that ran down the length of my arms and wings. I started pacing. Trying to think rationally. Fury didn’t know all the details. But he knew something about the asset. Something that made them important.

As I stood still in the middle of the gym staring into nothing, one thought ran through my mind...How did Nick Fury know about the Winter Soldier?

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