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shaarlslec · 2 years ago

Note

The “I can see that you are lonely, and I don’t know how to fix that.” Prompt with Charles pls

don't tell me to write charles only if you want long-ass drabbles, i cannot help myself; thank you so much for your request, let me know if you liked it; prompt list and masterlist here;

safety nets

short summary: in which you break-up with your boyfriend and charles tries to help in the aftermath;

words: 5658 & warnings: angst, depression, alcohol, arguing with charles;

The last couple of months have not treated you great – not even a bit, not even at all.

You broke up with your boyfriend of three years at the beginning of the year and tried to cope with living alone ever since in the apartment you two once shared for most of your relationship as you took the risky decision of moving in together three months into your relationship claiming that you were nothing but madly in love with the dude.

Wrong, you were so wrong. “In love” was not exactly what you were back then, infatuated with the hopes of what is about to come in an unrealistic scenario that you played in the back of your head, yes.

And yet, who does not have a screwed-up story about a relationship up the age of twenty-five?

Moving too fast together and thinking that you were the one to change the man’s toxic behaviors was yours. Now, you had to cope with your learnings that people do not change just because you put in the efforts to help them to do so, and that being madly infatuated with the idea of love was not as great as it has first seemed to you.

Moving back with your parents was not one of the options afterwards, as you were trying for the last five years to show them that you can be your independent little self without having to depend on their wealth and connections.

After the break-up you have tried to switch the narrative and to focus on your work instead of malicious habits, but working non-stop in the sales world in such a place as Monaco took a tool on you fast, and without you even noticing that all you were doing were meeting after meetings after meetings with pretentious customers that wanted the best real-estate assets with little money just to keep their names well-known and well-renowned, your mental state became heavily affected by the higher ambitions you had and all the pressure on your shoulders.

In between trying to make a name for yourself in the industry, keeping your mental and physical state in check as tight as you managed, being as out-going as you were once when your boyfriend played music in the clubs you two enjoyed spending countless nights at, you slowly yet surely lost your spark as the bubbly-loving-warm daughter, friend and lover that everyone around you knew and admired for her free-spirited personality.

Your laughs were all faked, your giggles barely heard within your group of friends, and your enthusiasm for life taken away by the fact that you found yourself in a place you were not yet so familiar with – utter and complete loneliness.

“I am fine, guys.” You nervously lied once one of your friends popped the question that you had heard all year being addressed to you, brushing the soft air of autumn with one of your hands that held a cigarette in between your fingers as you were taking a break outside the club during one of your “drinking until I pass out” weekends.

Those happened a lot lately as your newfound mechanism of coping after months of pretending to be fine in front of everyone, considering that alcohol at least made you funny to be around people – trying to get back at least one thing about you that you loved.

“You are sure, Y/N?” They continued, showing you the same worried eyes that you got from everybody lately and that you despised from without your soul, “Take it easy with the drinks, we barely arrived here.” They emphasized, pointing to the half-empty gin and tonic that you held in your other already shaky hand.

Oh, fuck off and let me be, you would have wanted to shout straight into their worried little blurred faces.

You were fine, completely fine. That was what you kept telling yourself not to go insane every single time when you watched the mirror and saw a completely far different person that the one you were during the same period last year when two shots would have been enough for you to get you tipsy and ready for bed in the arms of a man you thought was loving you back as much as you loved him.

Instead of letting your outrage shine bright, you just laughed it off with a silly huff as you threw the cigarette’s butt in the ashtray with a loud hit, “Come on, let’s go back in.” You added, already on your way to the door and down to the bar to get you another gin and tonic.

Your friends stood perplexed for a short while behind you, watching you getting through the crowd of people drunkenly so on your already stumbled feet, “Charles is back for good in three weeks, he will know what to do with that. That is if they met.” One of them told to the group in a soft tone, grabbing one of your shoulders not to accidentally spill your drink on one random stranger that was questionably looking at you, “Let’s get her home for now, I will let Charles know that the situation has not improved since the last time he asked about Y/N, Charles will not be happy about it.” They uttered to each other in mumbles for the words not to reach your ears, pulling you closer to the group amid your loud rejections of not wanting to go home so early in the night.

Your friends meant well – they really did, letting aside the critiques of your new-found drinking improved game. Besides your parents that you visited once or twice every other month since your break-up, they were your safety net in the absence of Charles.

No one was able to save you from your own personal hell that you have created, and no one was willing to go through the pits of that hell as much as Charles has done in the beginning of all that was happening with you, even though the man was not obliged to do so.

And yet, being your closest friend that knew you the best amongst the bunch – Charles took that duty upon himself and was not going to give up that easily no matter how much you resisted him. Your own personal safety net, always there to catch you.

That was what Charles has been to you since a long time ago, and what you liked to think you were for Charles too. Not just friends like you were all friends within the same group, but something much more than that. You knew him since you were children, your parents living nearby and always organizing brunches together and some other pretentious neighborhood events such as shiny parties, charities and all that jazz that all adults around you liked to attend to keep their network busy and growing while you were playing hide-and-seek with the Leclerc brothers.

At some point during high school years after your last serious hide-and-seek game, the parties had stopped and yet you and Charles were already tightly bonded for your meetings outside your houses to stop. You watched yourselves grow together being that much of a constant presence into the other’s life. Even when Charles got severe about the whole racing thing, and he was gone most of the times away from home, weekly calls were still on the table, and attending his races became a tradition as well as him attending most of your important life events such as graduation from college, getting your first pay-check, and getting your heart broken for the very first time – although Charles would have preferred to not be a witness to all the pain it caused you, troubling your mind in such a way that you even fought with Charles due to that.

Right after Charles found out that your boyfriend moved for good from your apartment, the man tried anything within his efforts to keep your mind busy with anything else but not the break-up. Charles was rarely home still as the season begun, but every single time he came back even for two or three days, Charles went out of his ways to plan something for you two to do with or without your other friends.

Movies, plays, camping, road-trips, finishing, laser-tag, dinners, breakfasts – Charles done everything for you to light up a little and to not feel empty and alone all the time. For most of the times, Charles succeeded at first. At least, that was what your best friend thought.

You were faking your smiles in front of Charles to as you did with many of the people back then, trying to enjoy the time you knew your friend planned just for the sake of his own good rather than yours – upsetting Charles was the last thing you wanted to do, yet another person about whom you cared and loved deeply pushed by your behavior was the last thing you intended. You went to whatever Charles booked you tickets for and attended all the mentioned above goings, trying not to upset Charles by not appreciating the man’s efforts, wanting to keep him close.

That was until the boiling point.

You needed time to get over what was happening and to clear your head on your own pace, and although being around Charles managed to ease the pain – you wanted nothing else right after the break-up rather than to be alone in a caged mind full of what you could have done differently, while Charles’ intentions were to break you completely out of that.

“You know what you are to Y/N, Charles?” One of your friends was brave and drunk enough once to ask him as they noticed the Monegasque glaring at you across the campfire during one of the times in which Charles booked an entire cabin somewhere far away from the city to get you spending time with your closest friends instead of locking yourself in your apartment as you often did when Charles was away racing, hopping that you will show up at one of his races this season – always having a pass ready for you.

Without taking his eyes out of you, Charles huffed a short “What exactly?”

“The boyfriend without the rewards.” They spoke, clicking yet another glass of liquor with Charles who now turned to look at his friend with an ironic side-eye, “Don’t look at me like that, man.” They loudly panted back before placing their lips on the edges of the glass and then pulled Charles close to him by one of his shoulders so they can make sure that you and your other friends next to them gathered around the fire were not hearing what it was spoken, “Everyone here knows that it is true – even you two.” They added with a short sigh and an arched eyebrow that questioned Charles on what he was going to do about that.

“Oh, shut up, asshole.” Charles commented while visibly rolling his eyes even in the dim light of the windy spring summer you were having aside of the cabin, “She just broke up with that dick of a boyfriend of hers, and you are out here talking about boyfriend rewards to me.” He then added, glare now on the one mocking him at his side rather than at you who were attentive enough at the orange sparks that light up the air rather than at the conversation across from them, “I know her since we were like ten – I cannot just stand by and watch her close herself. I am her friend, friends help each other.” Charles added with a loud sigh, knowing that has happened before in the past and knowing how hard it for you was to open again after feeling blue for larger periods of time, “I do not want any rewards.” Charles then stated, drinking part of the liquor in his glass as well before standing up to find a better seat rather than one in which he was questioned regarding his feelings for you.

Charles’ defensive mode that was just activated by your common friends’ statement was not random. He has been in love with you for years, long before you met your ex-boyfriend, and long before Charles had even realized that is how love was supposed to feel like. That aching yet calming throb of his chest when you glanced at him, and that twist in his stomach when you smiled into his direction. Charles felt them all, and yet there was never the right or enough time to confess them to you.

Racing has always been a priority for Charles to which he fully dedicated first and putting all his other feelings rather than the thirst for winning second, thinking that you will always be there next to him and that maybe, just maybe, you will be the one to make the first step when the right moment will come. Charles thought that you and he had enough time, and when you first told him about that little crush of yours three years ago, that was when he figured out that the assumptions was wrong – you were not willing enough to wait for him until he decides what to prioritize best.

Fast-forward three years and a couple of weeks later you were standing next to Charles still, but with a broken heart and with the idea that no one, not even him, will have access to your soul ever again. Charles went behind you, placing one of his hands on your right shoulder to tightly squeeze you, announcing that it was him behind to guard you from the wind and no one else – as you were not allowing any man to touch you since your break-up.

You looked up to him as your fingers pressed against Charles’ on your shoulder, “What?” You had asked, watching Charles’ eyes reflect the orange sparks of the fire as he was looking down at you with somewhat of a poignant smile and yet with warmness within the irises of the man’s eyes, “Has anything happened?”

Charles declined with a nod and then scooped in the chair next to you that was now emptied by one of your friends leaving, everyone knew that the one who could talk you out of your mood was Charles, “Just wanted to check on you.” He then smiled, taking both of your hands to warm in between his own.

Your heart sunk seeing how Charles blew hot air on them to make sure that you were all comfortable, and then it ached again when your friend refused to let them go back into your lap as Charles guarded them with his. You would have wished for him to do that sooner, three years and a couple of weeks sooner to be exact.

As complicated as Charles’ feelings were for you, so were yours.

You were in love with Charles too, or to be more specific you had been in love with him too in the past when you were able to feel something, anything at all. And yet, Charles was never home – not like you would have craved him to be.

You were not to blame him for that, you were very much very aware of how important racing was for him and you had done nothing but support him through all of it. Still, you would have secretly wished for him to carry a type of lifestyle that selfishly permitted you too to be more than just friends. You were way too needy in the beginning of your twenties and trying to make a move with someone who was barely home was none of your options.

You were in this constant need of attention, need that was fully satisfied by dicks who were from there and who were more than willing to spend every single minute of their day with you having no other things to do rather than drive you completely and utterly crazy over meaningless stupidest things.

Now that you had lived that kind of a burning love where all you did was fight and make-up, you were mentally kicking yourself in the joint for refusing a calm and soft love that you knew Charles has been always capable of giving you. You wanted that now, and yet you were not ready to open yourself again – not even in front of Charles.

“I am fine Charles,” You muttered as you glared away from him, millions of thoughts of what could have been pricing your mind, “I am not a child, you don’t have to check on me every five other minutes.” You added with a short roll of eyes, also letting the sarcasm within your bitter tone to go through Charles’ ears.

“Y/N, I know that you are not a child, and I am not trying to baby sit you I just –” Charles then spotted, your chair loudly being pushed back by you lifting from your seat as you snatched your hands from below Charles’ – that was the tenth time somebody asked you if you were fine that day alone.

You needed a break, a break that Charles was not willing to give it to you, “I want to sleep Charles.” You breathed, “Can I please go to sleep?” You inquired looking at Charles getting up too, “You don’t have to walk me, I am telling you for the second time – I am fine.” You sharply demanded with a nervous chuckle, and yet it was already too late to play pretend in front of Charles who had figured all your fake laughs and giggles.

Charles’ already walking up in front of you giving you a glance over his shoulder, challenging you to move and follow him to the cabin meaning that you two had to have a talk alone in between closed doors, leaving your other friends behind to watch the fire still burning up to the sky.

You huffed as the door to your room closed behind Charles, “Look, Charles – I love you,” You paused, both of your hands resting on the man’s chest as you were looking up at him, “I appreciate all the things you are doing for me, and all the things that you had done for me – I just need space and time for my own stuff now, that’s all.” You softly added, departing inches away from him only for your back to be blocked by one of Charles’ palms that sustained your body close to him.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He then spoke, “And that’s exactly why I cannot let you out of my sight for now.” Charles muttered with a heavy chest, “I know what you do to yourself once I am gone, they told me everything – the bars, the guys, the alcohol, the loads of work.” He added, voice shaking while his eyes were fixed on you, “You will break at some point, I know you will – you have done it before, and I cannot watch you do it again.” Charles continued, feeling your back tensing beneath the man’s touch, “I can see that you are lonely, and I don’t know how to fix that.” Charles then almost sobbed, eyes softened in a nostalgic type of a sadness that you have seen him looking at you with before.

You took a deep breath in, glancing away from the man who had eyes only for you. You took two steps back, forcing him to release you from the embrace. Taking your head in both of your hands, you ruffled your hair in nervousness as you spoke, “Why do you always think that you have to fix everything?” You answered back, “Am I that bad that I need to get fixed?” You inquired as you took as many steps as they were needed from Charles not to resist the urge of jumping straight into the man’s arms no matter how much you would have wanted for that mere touch to fix everything for you, “I am not some sort of a patient that you need to find remedies for Charles, and I have never asked you to do so in the first place.” You busted out with your voice cracking, “You don’t see how fucked up that is?” You inquired, tears slowly streaming down to your cheeks now.

Charles took two steps ahead, and you took two steps behind you, “I am here to help Y/N, I am not trying to get you fixed or to be a prescription to you. I cannot—”

“That’s the thing Charles.” You interrupted in between the sobs, “You are barely here.” You mumbled glancing once into the man’s direction, “You are away for most of the time, and I cannot just ask you to take care of me two days once in a blue moon when you are back home – that is not healthy for either of us.” You commented after a loud sigh, your cheeks burning and being washed by your fingers helplessly trying to wipe away the tears, “I need you to stop.” You ended, your fingers touching the edges of the widow’s sill for better stability unless you were about to break down completely.

Heart shattered – right there. Charles’ heart in million pieces. You were slipping in between his fingers again. There were many things that Charles could kept his promise for when it came to you, being there for you all the time was one of the things that he was not able to pledge to you and that caused him another type of hurt. You not being alright was something, you two not being alright was something else – something that cut deep, and something that he did not know how to mend for the better in that very moment, no matter how fast he was searching for the answers in the back of his mind.

“Don’t you talk to me about what’s healthy and what’s not.” Charles fought back, resting now his right shoulder on one of the room’s walls, “When you are the one who is using all the unhealthy ways of coping after breaking up with a fucking sore loser and rejecting all of the help from anyone who truly do love you back.” Charles uttered and there was a type of spite in the man’s tone and use of voice that you had never encountered before coming from him, “I will let you sleep.” Charles then spoke, watching you shockingly staring at him back, “We will talk about this tomorrow.” He then nodded, putting an even greater distance in between your bodies by completely leaving the room and silently shut the door behind him, leaning on the other side for a minute holding his breath at the top of his lungs before a long release of a sigh, maybe you were right and what you needed was space and time, Charles thought then.

Tomorrow’s talk never came as Charles got a call the first thing in the morning being announced that he had to switch for an earlier flight to Italy where he had to get ready for the Imola GP and you returned in the city with your other friends after yet another day when you spoke nothing but replayed the words of yesterday’s little clench. Pushing Charles away from you was the last thing that you wanted to do, but that was the right call in the moment – he had to focus on his races, while you had to focus on getting out of the vicious circle that you caught yourself into. After all, it was not Charles’ duty to get you out of trouble – you needed to fix that yourself.

You thought about apologizing days after you returned to the apartment after you watched Imola’s race, and yet Charles was not picking the phone after what had happened there for him and the team. As much as Charles knew you the best, you knew him too. Watching him spinning and losing points will cause him to not want to talk about right away with you or anyone else, and that gave you part of the same treatment you gave to Charles in the last couple of weeks.

You thought that will pass, and that Charles will undoubtedly so phone you when he calms down, and when everything goes back to the normal flow of things. And yet, from then on nothing was considered a normal flow of things for Charles. You texted from time to time, but neither of you were ready for a phone call or to meet in flash and bones, you both needed space and time to deal with your own personal things on your own instead of searching for your safety nets.

Time passed in this matter, and as much as you would have loved to not grow cold with Charles as much as you did with everyone else around you – it happened. Life got busy for the both of you, and days have passed without texts, calls or seeing each other. It was for the very first time in years when you two took a break from your friendship, and maybe that was exactly what was needed.

You found excuses not to see him when he was back in town, and you even booked a whole entire holiday away from Monaco during his summer break to clean your head from all the working that you have done since the last time you saw him. You were deliberately avoiding Charles, knowing that you two meeting in those fragile states of yours will only do both of you worse than good. And yet, you knew that you cannot avoid Charles for the rest of your lifetime, and neither of you wanted that to happen.

After the season ended, Charles was home for good for a couple of months that were enough to get his mind off a hell of a season that was, and that was when he found out that you were still out there having not-so-much a lovely time being alone just as you wished back after your break-up. Charles was not the type to give up, especially on you. You were given the space and time you needed from him, and now he was back to take what was his. That is when Charles ambushed you during one of the weekends when you decided to paint the town red with your friends, tagging along too without letting you or anyone know that he will be there.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you spotted him on the dance floor having the time of his life with a couple of girls, all of them wanting to impress him in all ways known: dancing, flirting, touching.

“Look who’s back.” One friend spoke, elbowing you as they were already ahead of you to greet Charles and join the group of girls.

“And in what a fashion.” The other friend laughed, giving you a glance over your shoulder as they joined too, Charles’ arms spread widely to welcome them in a hug.

“Oh fuck.” You muttered underneath your short breath, Charles’ eyes catching yours in an instant as the man’s attention was switched from the girls to his friends, and then to you – completely and utterly looking astonishing in your little black dress.

Charles came to you moments after as you stood there perplexed watching him approaching you. Your heart raced, and there was no point in trying to escape the man’s glare on you as he was passing through the crowed with two beers into his hands already to hand you one as a greet.

“You look great.” Charles spoke, opening one of the beers for you as he took a quick look at you from head to toes.

“Thanks.” You muttered, taking the beer from his hand to make it your first drink of the night, “You look drunk.” You commented, watching the man’s already ruffled hair and white unbuttoned shirt that you guessed it was not his doing but one of the girls he was dancing with earlier.

Charles’ eyes rolled in annoyance, “Oh come on now Y/N, don’t critique me on this matter – I have heard that you had loads of fun without me here.” He added, bottle on his lips now as he was head bumping on the played song’s rhythm that blasted your ears, “Have fun with me too, come on.” Charles spoke, grabbing you by one of your wrists so you could join the middle of the group too.

You shortly sighed, and yet you knew that Charles was right. You were in no right or position to tell him to stop drinking, you were the one who has been indulging in this type of behavior for the last couple of weekends. One single beer was enough for you that night to stop as your eyes were curiously searching for Charles each time that your friend left the group to go and fetch another drink for himself.

Charles was not the type to drink, and you knew this based on all the previous encounters you two had at a party or in a club, or even during casual dinners. Your friend was not the type to hold his alcohol, and Charles stumbling on his feet with one arm around a random girl’s neck while looking at you with lazy sleepy eyes and the start of a hiccup confirmed you once again what you had already known.

“It was such a fuckery – this season.” Charles drunkenly shouted when you were back to your booth surrounded by only your friends now and no random girls, “I want to forget all about that. So, cheers to that.” He then nodded before taking yet another shot down his throat, being accompanied by all your friends but you, “What’s going on Y/N, not in the mood for drinking tonight?” Charles teased with both eyebrows up and a sly grin, “Everybody in here told me that you are a big fan of it now.”

You leaned back into your chair with your arms crossed at your chest as you were eyeing him, “Someone has to be sober enough to take you home, Charles.” You replied, giving a sharp look afterwards to all your friends present at the table for spilling the beans to Charles about your recent behavior.

Charles laughed at your words, “So thoughtful of you, Y/N.” He then replied, chin rested on one of his palms now as he was looking at you with a slight tilt head, “Taking care of me, when you were the one to tell me to stop when I was trying to do the same.” He bittersweetly continued, cueing all your friends that it was time for them to leave you two alone at the booth – everyone knew that you had things to talk about, and none of you wanted to be in the middle of your fight.

“Charles I—” You began, but your words being cut short right away by one of his fingers waving “no” in the air in front of you after you two were left alone, everyone else suddenly wanting to dance again.

“Don’t “Charles” me with those eyes of yours, Y/N.” Your friend spoke next to you now as he switched seats so you could hear him better, “I have been nothing but a good friend to you, and all you did was pushing me away when you needed me the most.” Charles helplessly breathed, “And then again, when I needed you the most.” He then added, head resting on your shoulder as Charles’ eyes closed in the comfort of your body being again so close with his, “I have missed you.”

You closed your eyes too, one of your hands catching his into yours to squeeze it tightly as a sign of even more comfort, “I have missed you too, Charles.” You added after a short breath which Charles’ felt on his forehead, sending shivers down the man’s spine in an instant, “Let’s get you home, and we will talk all about it somewhere where we can actually hear the words.” You chuckled, cupping the man’s face into your hands for him to be attentive at you inches away from your face, “Let’s get it fixed together.” You added, getting the man’s hair out of his eyes with a short brush of fingers, “Whatever we both have to fix.” You laughed, thinking about the many things that has been going sideways in both of your lives lately and the methods in which you could help each other to mend them.

Charles nodded, but not before placing a short peak on the top of your lips as you two were too close for him not to resist the urge to do so as the man struggled to contest the need of your lips on him too many times in the past. You were taken aback by his sudden move, and yet so deeply happy that he was the one to make the first step.

"I don't want to be the boyfriend without the rewards anymore, Y/N." Charles muttered as you were confused by the words not making any sense to you, "I want all the rewards, love." Charles then mumbled, forehead glued on yours now, waiting for your lips to be back on his to confirm that indeed he will get all the rewards.

You chuckled, nuzzling your nose with him and putting yet another short peak on the man's lips, "You will get them all."

You took him out of the booth with one shoulder across your neck stabilizing the man’s unbalance due to the alcohol, guiding him in a cab and going home together that night with an understatement that everything was going to be alright for the both of you if you were together in this, accepting and returning the soft kisses, warm embraces, forehead kisses and strong clasps of hands.

#f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #f1 fic #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc angst #i don't really like this one as much #but let's roll with it #charles leclerc drabble #f1 drabble

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usaigi · 2 years ago

Text

Mr. Knight, Jake & Marc

Lunar sys au character cards | Read all chapters on ao3

Prompt based on my own post

‘Mr. Lockley, can I please speak with you in my office for a second?’ Mr. Knight motions towards their room. Just beyond the front command room, passing through the locked hatch door exists a white corridor with numerous rooms. Some lead to pocket-sized rooms, uniquely personalized for each alter. Not necessarily a utopia, but certainly a safe space. Other rooms remain locked, with Jake holding onto the only key, but what lay beyond remains a mystery to even him.

For Jake, his room resembled the shitty apartment they lived in briefly in Washington Heights. Leaky faucet and infected with cockroaches–the true New York experience. Right after they got discharged from the military, after Marc fell into that never end void of darkness, floating aimlessly through space, cold and empty.

The first time Jake had any real control over their lives, instead of just a passive influence. The first time he felt like he was more than a just tool, more than just the bottled-up rage, the first time he was a real person. However uncomfortable that thought made him. However uncomfortable that still makes him.

Mr. Knight, unsurprising, has the most monotonous and unimaginative room. It’s all white, from top to bottom, with a sparse amount of office furniture.

‘Whatdya want?’ Jake asks as he follows them to their office, leaving the door open behind him.

‘We’ve, and by that I mean the identity of Moon Knight, have received an invitation to collaborate with some other local vigilant individuals,’ they say, handing him a printed copy text exchange screenshot.

‘Who?’ Jake asks, squinting down towards the paper.

‘Daredevil, Ms. Jessica Jones, and Mr. Luke Cage,’ not bad, he thinks. They could do worse.

‘What are you guys talking about?’ Marc questions, leaning against the doorway.

‘Ah, Mr. Spector, in full transparency we are talking about Moon Knight -related affairs. While I’m aware that you formally occupied that role I believe you’re currently distancing yourself from all Moon Knight matters?’ They say candidly.

‘Yeah, well, I still want to know what’s going on considering it affects us all,’ Marc replies.

‘Very well,’ Mr. Knight says as he handles Marc another copy of the printed-out text exchange. ‘As I was discussing with Mr. Lockley, the team colloquially referred to as the Defenders requested our help in a case by the docks.’

Marc lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘Ugh, Daredevil is kinda a dick. I don’t want to deal with that.’

‘I understand your aversion to working with Mr. Daredevil but please keep in mind they requested assistance in stopping a villainous organization called ‘The Hand’ in case that sways your decision.’

‘Of course, they have a dumb name,’ he snides.

‘Wait, why do you hate Daredevil?’ Jake circles back, taken aback by the news, this is the first time he’s heard of them even meeting.

‘He’s an ass. Ran into him a couple of weeks ago. Was feeling switchy and I could feel Birdy nearby. He was going on about a plan and we couldn’t focus so Birdy asked him if he could just write it down for us because we were having a bad case of brain fog and he said no,’ Jake lets Marc finish before letting out a small chuckle.

‘Sorry, I would have told you if I knew you were going to work with him,’ Jake grins, slapping Marc’s back.

‘Tell me what?’ Marc asks, narrowing his eyes.

‘Dude’s blind. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, he just can’t see,’

‘Oh.’ Marc turns white, as if all the blood rushed out his head, staring off blankly. ‘How long have you known him?’ He follows with a murmur after a minute.

Still smiling, Jake answers, ‘Years, before the blip. He’s my lawyer. How come?’

‘I don’t know if it was Birdy or Steven or me even but someone called him a pretentious ableist two-legged-rat,’ he drops his head, pressing his palms into his eyes, ‘and then he said ‘you really weren’t joking about your memory issues, huh’ and I allegedly punched him straight in the face.’

He did what?

Jake can’t help himself, he throws his head back with laughter, echoing throughout the room. He can’t even remember that last time something made him laugh this much, ‘Oh my God, Marc, that’s hilarious. But please, if you’re going to punch my friends in the face can you at least get it on video?’

‘Would you still suggest I decline the invitation? Perhaps I can send them an email,’ Mr. Knight redirects, unamused by how off-topic they’ve gotten.

‘No, we can help. I’ll just stay close. Keep Marc on a lease and all.’ Never missing a chance to tease him, Jake winks before Marc tries to crawl away in shame.

#moon knight #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #daredevil #matt murdock #mk lunar sys #moon knight fanfic #marvel #mcu

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marisandini-chu-blog · 4 years ago

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How Shadow and Bones Differentiate Villain and Anti-Hero

Alright, first I need to claim the fact that I love dark, edgy, but misunderstood bad boy in stories with the potential of epic redemption. Loki from Marvel. Jason Todd from DC. Captain Hook from Once Upon a Time. Zuko from AtLA. You name them, I simp them.

So when I watched this new show on Netflix and shown a tall, handsome man in dark clothing, both respected and feared for his power. I feel... nothing.

WHICH IS WEIRD! Like... he’s obviously my type. Complete with the sad backstory and vicious streak. So I kept wondering why I wasn’t enamored by the Darkling, Alexander Kirigan. I wasn’t surprised he was the main villain, I even expected it. But I usually at least have a bit of sympathy for them. This OOC behavior of mine made me introspect myself and the show, trying to find out which part gave me the red flags before Mother Darkling decides to pop the chosen one out halfway in the season.

That’s when it hit me; there were red flags! The show had been subtly trying to tell us Kirigan is a manipulative boyfriend not just by great acting and good directing, but by comparing him with the actual anti-hero of the story who I actually love; Kaz Brekker.

Here’s the list of signs you might not notice of why Kirigan is meant to be a Villain instead of an Anti-Hero.

1. The Eyes

"The eyes are the window to the soul" is a common saying and and the key to good acting for any good show. Eyes tell us a lot about what a person’s character is like and SaB showed us the difference of a sincere man and a man with a hidden agenda.

Look at him! Look at that little smirk. Look at the gaze. That's the look you find when someone's evil little plan is finally coming together. Not one awed by the power or by Alina. A blatant sus move is what I'm saying. Congrat, first flag planted.

Sure he could still fall in love with Alina, but that doesn't stop his agenda either. All it does is potentially create conflict for him to pick either his plan for revenge or life with Alina.

In comparison, look at Kaz when he said this to Inej; "She isn't like you, no one is." Straightforward eyes. Serious grim. No nonsense tone. Inej is one of the most talented and terrifying rogue-assassin and Kaz just blatantly said that he kept her from 'slavery' because of who she is, not what she's capable of. Like... the man has no shame being known to love her while still trying to be professional (or as professional a thief can be). I can respect that.

This is the eye of a man who would abandon everything to make sure she comes out alright in the end. Do not argue with me on this!

2. Leverage and Status

The moment Alina steps into the Little Palace she was treated like a princess. A palace, by the way, that’s managed by the Darkling. She gets favorable treatment; from the food, Zoya displaced when she fought Alina, a horseback ride just the two of them, asking her to call by his name to make them familiar, a black uniform that might as well be claiming???

Dude is desperate is what I’m saying.

Sure, this could all be romantic gestures. There’s the problem that Kirigan is superior in status and name, powerful Grisha, and has a vested interest in her power. Pursuing romance while Kirigan has the ability to make her life heaven or hell with a snap of his finger made every single decision be seen with wariness.

"Beware of powerful men," Genya couldn't put it any better.

Had they pursued romance after they destroy the fold, cementing Alina’s position as a saint more. Then I might have let go of that wariness.

I’m only proven correct when the moment Alina turned away from him, Kirigan made another leverage by (spoiler!) putting an antler to her collarbone... eeeewwww much?!

That’s how desperate the Darkling is to be in control of a person and a situation.

And when no letter came for Alina? That a big red flag because who else in this castle can control the coming of going of letter with the Savior. HMMMMMMMMMMM.....

Then there’s Kaz. My man. There’s no competition. This guy held no leverage on my dear Inej. When she almost decided to leave, Kaz didn't force or convince her to stay but he ask her. Doesn't remind her of her debt whether monetary or life debt to him. In fact, this guy needs money for revenge but instead mortgage his main source of income for her freedom.

HE POSTPONED HIS LIFE GOAL TO FREE HER FROM DEBT ASJHAKFSDJGLDFJ!!!

What more do I need to say?

3. Sympathy Card

This is the type of point you want to watch out from your partners, ladies, gents, and others. The sympathy card is the way to go when anyone wants to reach out to you so you can take care of them before they abuse or gaslight you.

While it’s good to share trauma and eased the burden, sometimes it's healthy to ask yourself whether the person can take advantage of you and to verify whether they lie to you or not.

When Kirigan shared about his past as a sympathetic boy with his secluded fountain and coin. Everything about that scene rang warning bells for me... the part he had requested her to use his color... requesting to horse ride with just them two... sharing sob story that may encourage Alina to help him...

Kudos to Alina to see through the fact she's seen as a means to an end.

It was only when Kirigan showed righteous anger and frustration of a war that's killing his people did Alina finally opened her heart to him.

Kaz however doesn't use the sympathy card. Heck, the man likes to believe he shed away any weakness and threw it in the harbor where it belongs. Kaz hates weaknesses. And garnering sympathy is an admission of weakness for him.

We still know there's a tragic backstory as any decent anti-hero would have... but by not sharing that, this implies that Inej and Jesper stayed because of who he is, and not because of who he was or how he came to be. They don't need a sob story to stay together and that showed a stronger bond between them.

4. Friends

To be frank, I find this the most hilarious because this point is the one that convinced me that Kirigan was secretly an evil bastard.

He doesn’t have any friends!!!

Like... dude had a literal witch army, a wife once, a fuck buddy, and a girlfriend but there wasn’t a single moment in the show where someone, outside of Alina and superior, to speak casually to him.

You’re telling me this person... the most powerful and influential Grisha in the East Ravka, charming as hell, handsome as fuck, and yet he doesn’t have friends?!

“I’ve buried good soldiers... friends...” Get the fuck out of here! WHAT FRIENDS?!?! Maybe if you get off your little power trip from your self-made pedestal, you can actually be less of an asshole and make one.

Sure he excused himself by blaming his ‘ancestor’ for being a shadow summoner. I can see how the fear makes it hard for him to get close to anybody. But all the other characters who are part of his army only ever shown to speak with him respectfully, and the royalty even commend him. No one disrespected him even openly and you’re telling me he doesn’t have one friend amidst all these people?!

In comparison, look at Kaz. He’s brash, crude, and unapologetic. He held true to his moniker ‘Bastard of the Barrel’ and yet this ass has friends. They show Jesper joking with Kaz, and Kaz has shown to banter with him back as well as tolerating his gambling addiction when it could have jeopardized the Job. Inej was shown to actually argue and have disagreement with Kaz when he’s technically her boss. Can you imagine the Darkling doing that? CAN YOU?!

No. Because he's a pretentious ass. That's why.

This is a great example of the use “show not tell” of how Kaz despite his obvious edges has a soft spot shown through his relationship with Inej and Jesper, who have a friendly dynamic. I can attest that while Kaz didn’t create a good first impression, I love Jesper and Inej (they are precious!) so much that I project it to Kaz in extension.

On the other hand, Kirigan’s goodwill had only ever been told by outsiders or himself. None from his inner circle (which he doesn’t have!) other than his mother, who ended up outing him instead.

So I applaud the writers and showrunners of SaB to actually have subtext signs of a manipulative bastard. The Duckling is a good villain character that's complex but unredeemable. Sometimes, you just have a good ol' charming villain you can't redeem and that's okay.

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pinkypromisesecrets · 2 years ago

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King Ocelli’s Consort?

A Little Birdie Told Me…….

This story might hold the most weight of all of them. I have collected multiple testimonies and received word from several reliable sources. According to multiple eyewitness accounts, a not-so-secret romance has blossomed between the King of the School — Matt Ocelli — and the new kid!

Anyone who matters knows about Ocelli. How could you not? But, just in case you’ve been living under a rock your whole life, here are some brief descriptions provided by the students of Heavensview High:

“I want to go swimming in those blue, blue eyes.”

“If he punched me in the face, I would thank him.”

“I mean, he’s okay. I guess. As far as jocks go.”

“What I wouldn't do to ride that mans— car. Ride in his car. Yeah.”

“He kicked those stupid Cardinals asses last year! Fuck yeah!”

“Matt?? Is he single?? Does he want me back?! He wants me back, doesn’t he? Of course he does. He always—”

“HOT.”

A teacher even stated: “If it wasn’t for the support of Mr. Ocelli’s family, this school would not be where it is today. We are eternally grateful.”

Matt Ocelli. Hottest, most popular dude in school. Everyone wants to either be him or date him. Rumor says that if he knows your name, you’re set for life. He’s been described as Heavensview’s very own celebrity. A blond Brad Pitt. A stronger Patrick Dempsey. A male Britney Spears. As for the new guy… well… Let’s just say I’ll be writing a piece on him at a later date. Dude’s weird. Students had less to say about him:

“Who the actual fuck is that?”

“There isn’t a thought behind those eyes. At least he’s pretty.”

“HE GOT BEAT UP BY FREAKING NEEKY NICK (uncontrollable laughter)!”

“I tutor him in math. Try to, at least. He panicked because he couldn't find the “eleven” button. Then he typed in “80082” in a failed attempt to write out “boobs.”

“I think I saw him at Blockbuster. I dunno man.”

“Hot.”

Matt and the new kid seem almost attached at the hip, so this development should come as no surprise to us. The new kid never stops tottling after him and his posse like a kicked puppy. At first it was speculated that he was undergoing “hazing” to join the football team — though due to the fact that the new kids spot on the team remains to exist only in his own mind, this is unlikely — or perhaps that Matt was merely putting up with him. Whatever the reason they met, we know the truth now. Matt Ocelli and the new kid (Colton? Carter? Conner?) are stuck in a Shakespearean-esque romance.

And you don’t have to take my word for it! Here’s what the students have to say:

“As I previously stated, I tutor him — the new kid, that is — in math. He has drawings all over his notebooks depicting him and that pretentious jock. Figures.”

“Matt pushed the new kid into a locker once. God, I wish that were me.”

Two close associates of the couple reported:

“Football is the second gayest sport known to man. You’re running around with a bunch of sweaty beefy men. It’s not surprising that the two most prominent players on that team would be boning.”

And:

"Ain't that a bite. I thought Coal was real gone for that math nerd that beat his ass. Now he's letting Matt beat his ass? *He must've got rejected hard as fuck."

When Matt was asked about the subject, he had this to say:

“Fuck you.”

Thanks Matt, but apparently that's the new kid's job.

Is there more to this story? Keep me in the loop.

Signing off,

The Promise Keeper

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basicjetsetter · 4 years ago

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The Fall of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Heavy Suspense, Language, Adult Themes, Violence, Gambling, Drinking

♢ Word Count: 6.5k

☆ A/N: No joke, this took me about two years to conceptualize. Two freaking years. But I can 100% say it was worth it to write every word. This is by far one of my most creative works and I love that I get to finally share it with you all. Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading!

You couldn’t help but notice and admire how pretty the sky appeared when it was tinged in the auroral haze of an autumn morning and backdropped by the twinkling glass panes of New York’s notorious skyscrapers. Though autumn’s end isn’t for a couple of weeks, the lukewarm season allowed Manhattan a preview of winter’s frigid air. The city's constant roar hummed down to a distant lullaby as you walked up the steps and in through the doors of the Metropolitan Detention Center.

It’s an impressively modern building, one you’ve become intimately familiar with in the past couple of years. Everything inside screams order, from the plain white, bleach-scented linoleum floors to the rows upon rows of caged boxes containing a range of one-time offenders, serial criminals, and constant jailbirds. The first time you ever entered the establishment, it struck you just how much the atmosphere felt devoid and depraved, almost as if hope and happiness got stopped, frisked, and turned away at the door. You never liked staying more than necessary.

None of the four guards stationed along the main lobby walls paid you any attention as you marched up to the reception desk. Their inattention didn’t spawn out of contempt but out of fear. They knew who you were here for.

The receptionist, on the other hand, wouldn’t care if the Queen of England herself hop-scotched through the front entrance, bowed, and bestowed him the coveted Royal Crown on a jewel-encrusted platter.

He certainly never took an interest in your frequent visits. The first time you set foot into this building, a bright-eyed attorney anxious to speak with her first client, the oaf of a man merely grunted at your carefully constructed introductions and waved you off like a pesky fly. On a typical day, your exchange of words consisted of him curtly asking you to state your business while he half-listened to your response and stabbed at his keyboard with blunt fingers. Detaching his gaze from the monitor might have required exhaustion of his half-assed energy.

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

Most of your ordinary clients got shipped to this facility and locked up with the rest of the inmates until you picked up their case. Unlike this particular client you planned on springing today, those other men lacked the say-so to determine their cell. None of them came close to his status. They didn’t have the power nor the money to hire a personal attorney, and none of their crimes could ever match those of the calculated, cunning man who controlled all New York's avenues and boulevards.

In the streets, he’s known as Deus. Depending on how close you are in his circle, he's either Parker or Pete. The name in the system is Peter Benjamin Parker. Your fiancé.

| Last Evening |

“Stop fidgeting with your collar, Peter.”

“This fucking bowtie keeps… shit… it keeps choking me.” He growled out his frustration. “I’m going to fire that damn stylist.”

You threw him an exasperated glare as he ripped off the accessory. “Maybe if you hadn’t told him to pick any old bowtie, you wouldn’t be whining so much.”

“Remind me again why you're forcing me to wear this, anyway?” He paused for effect, placing his hand under his chin like Rodin’s The Thinker, and then snapped his fingers in dramatic realization. “Oh, right! Because Stark is a pretentious asshole, who thinks tuxedos are mandatory at all events thrown in his honor.”

Peter may hate the idea of wearing a formal tuxedo for the whole night, but you were going to enjoy every last minute of him in that attire, mainly because he resembles a model who stepped right off the page of a GQ cover. The low-lighting in this limousine certainly did its best to heighten your mood, highlighting the sharp angles of Peter’s clenched jaw. You’d have to remember to send Pepper a Thank You basket for planning the event as Black Tie.

“Can you at least pretend to get along with Tony tonight?” To see if his jaw could tighten any further, you coyly add, “He is the new Governor of New York, after all.”

Mission accomplished. Peter leaned his head back against the headrest and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands, the light that glinted off of his platinum Rolex creating a scattered array of lights against the black leather seats. You pried your eyes off the extension of his neck as he spoke. “Great,” he huffed. “That’s exactly what I need right now. A gloating Stark who’s now legally duty-bound to hound my ass. One more thing to think about.”

As the limo pulled up to a slow halt in front of the Plaza Hotel, you grabbed one of Peter’s hands and held it until his eyes met yours. You gave him a reassuring smile and said, “Everything’s going to be alright, baby.”

The driver opened the door before Peter could speak and held out his gloved hand for you. You’ve been to the Plaza Hotel on many occasions, mostly business, and yet the sight of the château-styled building at night, with its myriad of lit windows and its luxurious lobby never ceased to leave you breathless. The view effectually took your gaze away from Peter’s tux, but not for long. The moment he stepped out of the limo, bathed in the golden light of the building, you felt transfixed all over again.

Peter discreetly tipped the driver and then turned to face you, clearly not as impressed with the Plaza Hotel as you were. He placed his warm hands on the swells of your hips and pulled you in front of him. His eyes appraised you, from your stiletto heels to your tight-fitted, off the shoulder evening dress, traveling up to your chunky Senegalese twists elegantly laid over your shoulder. He let out a low whistle and said, “If looks could kill…”

You straightened his collar and opened up the top button of his gingham dress shirt for both your sakes, then swiftly leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Parker.”

He wolfishly grinned as you quickly detached yourself from his borderline caressing hold. You knew he’d want more than a short kiss, but you couldn’t afford to get sidetracked tonight.

“Behave,” you chided.

“And if I don’t, future Mrs. Parker?” he prodded, a huskiness in his tone that sent a delicious shiver through you. His steps slowly brought him closer and closer to where you stood, and you weren’t sure if you’d have the will power to move away again. One proper kiss wouldn’t hurt…

A disembodied voice groaned in your ear. “Book a room!”

Peter chuckled unabashedly. “Sorry, Ned.” Though he tried to appear unaffected, Peter made an effort to clear his throat and tugged at his collar. “You ready on your end?”

“Yeah. Mic’s clear. Computer’s up and running. I’m all set. Can’t say the same for you two.”

You glance accusingly at Peter, who waggled his eyebrows at you. “We’re ready. Sorry about that. You know how Peter gets when I wear twists.”

Ned verbally shuddered. “Don’t remind me. I still refuse to sit on my couch, by the way, even after washing it four times! You owe me a new couch, dude. For my trauma.”

Peter half-heartedly grinned at the ground and said, “Dude, if we pull this off, I’ll buy you a whole new furniture set.” The one half of his grin faded away, replaced with a grim line of determination and sobriety. “Where’s he at?”

A few clicks rang through your ear-piece, then Ned replied, “Not far. About twenty minutes away, on Queens Boulevard in Elmhurst. Might be a while before he reaches the Plaza, though. There’s a jam on the bridge.”

“Cool, thanks. Keep us updated.” Peter didn’t want you to catch his expression, but you didn’t need to directly see it to realize he’s in business mode, cold and calculated, little to no warmth or playfulness left in his brown eyes.

Copying your move, he took your hand and held it until you both stared at each other. Briefly, with your eyes locked in place, he searched for any sliver of doubt, giving you one last option to ditch and save face while he executes the plan solo. You did not doubt that he and Ned could somehow pull it off without so much as a hiccup. Odds always work in Peter’s favor. For the past three years that you’ve known him, he’s never lost a gamble. Tonight, though, the gamble must include you, a new piece to his complicated game—a variable. If anything were to head south, the last thing Peter would want is to implicate you.

You understood the risks: the potential loss of your career, your squeaky clean record, and possibly your life. You wouldn’t be here, with him of all people, if you didn’t trust the plan. So you didn’t sway, letting your eyes confirm where you stood on the matter. I’m sticking with you. This exchange passed in absolute silence, ending with a small nod and a lingering kiss to your palm.

It’s always surprising to see Peter without a trace of humor or good-nature in his eyes. It took you a while to acclimate to his night and day demeanor and even longer to trust which emotions were real and which served a purpose. As he slides a cocky smile back onto his face, one that graces every part of his features, and holds out his arm for you, you knew. He’s in his element.

The game’s begun.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Not even five seconds into the Terrace Room and your jaw hit the floor. Pepper sure knows how to out-do herself.

The room displayed the same historic French charm as the outside façade, but much more grand, decorated with multiple crystalline chandeliers, large stone semicircular archways, and classical art adorning the ceilings. Somehow, Pepper’s touch of cream-colored table cloths, bouquets of immaculate white peonies, golden napkins, and floating candle holders added the perfect ambiance for Tony’s celebration.

True to his fashion.

The Man of the Hour is currently giving his speech at the head table as the Maître D’ checks your reservation and prompts a server to escort you and Peter to your table. It’s located not too far away from Tony's, near a stone wall and a divider separating the other tables. You weren’t entirely familiar with the three people who were already seated, but they graciously offered quiet nods of welcome. Peter grabbed your chair for you and smoothly pushed you in before taking his seat next to you while you strained to catch the last bits of Tony’s speech.

“… and I can truly say that without you, my amazing colleagues, friends, and organizers present tonight, this win would not have been possible. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And um, yeah. Thank you, all.” Tony lifted his champagne flute into the air with a flourish and a winning grin. Peter rolled his eyes. “Here’s to an awesome four years as New York’s new Governor.”

Everyone stood up to give him a round of applause, Peter’s claps more grudging than encouraging, but you were glad he put in some effort. When he looked your way, you flashed him a loving smile and mouthed Thank you. He rolled his eyes again, playfully this time, and quirked his mouth up in an amused grin.

Live music picked up as soon as Tony took his seat, soft jazz that blended well with the onslaught of muffled chatter and clinks of silverware against glass plates. Servers incrementally brought out the main course of roasted beef filet dressed in tomato tarragon sauce and a side of arugula salad. Peter stifled a chuckle as he heard your stomach growl when a server placed the plate of food in front of you.

As another server leaned in to pour you a glass of wine, you held out a hand and gave him a polite smile. “No, thank you. May I just have some water, please?”

The young man nodded, but Peter piped up before he could head off. “Got anything stronger back there? Bacardi? Whiskey? Rum?”

“We have Vodka, sir,” the server stuttered out.

“Excellent. I’ll take a whole bottle of that,” Peter grinned and pressed a couple of $100 bills into the man’s palm. Peter’s effect on people never got tiring to witness. He and the server appear to be around the same age, somewhere near the 25-year mark, yet Peter's vibe reduced the server to stutters. You’d say the tux assisted with his air of importance, but you’ve seen Peter have that same effect on businessmen while wearing a shirt that read “I lost an electron. Are you positive?” and plaid pajama bottoms.

The server vigorously nodded. “Right away, sir.”

“Don’t drink too much,” you cautioned in a tone low enough for only Peter’s ears. “You know how you get, and I don’t want Tony to have an excuse to place cuffs on you.”

Peter scoffed and mumbled around a bite of salad, “If I looked at him wrong, Tony would cuff me.”

“Now that’s a little presumptuous, ain’t it, Petey?”

You jumped up from your seat and wrapped Tony up in a hug he warmly returned. “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you, Governor Stark.”

Tony waved a hand, yet a big smile remained plastered on his face. “Ah, come on. It was bound to happen. Policy is the new name of the game, but I’ll sure miss that courtroom. You missy, on the other hand, deserve all the praise in the world. Best and youngest attorney in the whole state. Mentored by yours truly.” He trailed off, glancing in Peter’s general direction. “Though I question why you waste your talents on the likes of him.”

Now sitting ramrod straight in his chair, Peter slanted his eyes toward yours as you silently pleaded with him to be cordial. Once he brought his eyes back to Tony, he jerked up his chin in recognition. “Stark.”

Tony nodded at Peter. “Baby-faced Criminal.”

“Hey, now!” Pepper swooped in, pulling Tony back a little so she could see you better. “Just look at you! Always a beauty in everything you wear,” she gushed, then put on a stern face for Tony and Peter. “No roughhousing, tonight, boys. I mean it.”

“I was just making a valid critique on my star pupil's decision to become the Personal Attorney to a well-known arms dealer, is all,” Tony defended. He threw up his hands and drew up an innocent expression that might have worked had it not looked so derisive.

Pepper, pursing her lips, nodded sagely. “Right. Okay. So you were being an ass?”

“Pep!” Tony protested incredulously. Peter didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smirk.

You rolled your eyes in defeat. Oil and water can never mix, no matter how hard you try. No, Tony did not take the news of you becoming Peter’s PA well, and he’s made sure to rake you over the coals bout it every time the chance arises. You’ve been Peter’s attorney coming up on two years, and there’s not a sign from either of them that the grudge will ever be let go, not even for your sake, though they do try when threatened.

“I want you two to say something nice to each other and then let the rest of the night go on in peace. Go ahead,” Pepper ordered, indicating for Tony to go first.

Tony took in an excessive amount of air, then puffed it out. “Alright, Parker. Um… I like how you ostensibly don’t know the rules to a Black Tie Event.” He ended with a gesture to Peter’s lack of a bowtie. The poor thing lies in a mangled heap on the floor of the limousine.

Peter ticked up his eyebrow. “I like how the stick up your ass seems to reach new heights every time we speak, Stark.”

Pepper sighed and grabbed Tony’s arm. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get. Come on, you. There are many more guests to greet.” She tugged him along, throwing you an apologetic smile over her slim shoulder as they walked away.

Almost out of earshot, you could hear Tony say, “He calls himself Deus, for Christ's sake!”

They left you two in heated silence. Peter refused to meet your glare, instead choosing to chug down the freshly set out champagne flute filled with Vodka. He immediately flushed as he poured himself another glass full.

“Peter—” you started.

“Don’t say it. I tried, alright?” He slumped against the back of his seat, then shot you a surly frown. “You didn’t even mention our engagement to him. Again.”

You looked down at your untouched food, suddenly not hungry.

Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Were you ever going to tell him?”

An anchor of guilt plummeted to the pit of your stomach, chasing away the desire to eat anything for the next few hours. Your answer came out sounding whittled and nearly swallowed by the music. “Pepper knows.”

“And that tells me all I need to know,” said Peter, pushing away from the table and taking the bottle of Vodka with him.

You tried to stamp down the rise of startled panic by clearing your throat and evenly asking, “Where are you going?” A high octave managed to slip in on the last word.

“To socialize. Play some cards. Place a few bets. Criminal stuff. You want in?” He didn’t wait for you to answer, moving further and further away as a wave of hot anger replaced your shame. “Oh, my bad. Sorry. I forgot you probably don’t want your mentor seeing you ruin your perfect image with, what was it? The likes of me?”

He swaggered off, not a mere hint of his hurt evident in his show of arrogance.

You gingerly sat back in your seat, careful to ignore the inquiring stares from those who caught most of the argument. Your nails came close to puncturing your palms, and if your jaw clamped any tighter, it would snap. An annoying, persistent inner voice chimed out, He’s right, you know. It was probably Ned.

You understood Peter enough to know that Tony not being clued in on your engagement wounded him. He told everyone in his life about you—told Aunt May the second you finally agreed to go on that first date with him, nearly shouted to all the rooftops in Queens “SHE SAID YES!” when he proposed three months ago. Yet here you are, dragging your heels on telling Tony, one of the most influential people in your life, that you’re marrying the love of your life. He wouldn’t understand. Or, rather, he would, and he’d abhor your decision.

You’re not sure you could ever explain to Tony how Peter is your favorite star in the night sky. A big, glowing ball of light you spend hours upon hours admiring and appreciating. One that just burns brighter than all the rest.

Your engagement ring sparkled at you, winking as you moved it side to side and marveled at the simple yet elegant details of the inlaid sapphires and diamonds. Peter told you he picked it out a week before the proposal, but you knew he carried it around in his pocket for months, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When he asked, you couldn’t say yes fast enough. At that moment, Tony and his aversion to Peter never crossed your mind, but it’s lingered ever since.

Guilt returned as a salve for your anger.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a woman sitting at your table, a slight accent in her voice. She appears to be young, almost too young to be at this function. The glimmer in her eye and the hitch in her smile denoted a wise person. Goddess braids sat on top of her head like a crown, and she’s wearing a simple black dress with pearl studs that nicely accentuates her dark brown skin.

You uncurled your hands and blew out a held-in breath, kindly smiling back. “Something like that.”

She held out a hand. “Shuri Udaku.”

That name came with an inkling of recognition, but you couldn’t quite place it. You shook hands with the young woman, giving her your name. When you momentarily looked at your clasped hands, your eyes dropped down to catch the jewelry on her wrist. They weren’t pearls like her earrings. They were onyx and emblazoned with ivory symbols on each bead: Kimoyo beads, a technological revolution currently sweeping the nation, manufactured only by one woman. The realization hit you hard. “Hold on a second. The Shuri Udaku? Founder of Vibranium Tech, Shuri Udaku?”

“The one and only,” she answered, her smile growing wider.

This confirmation launched you into a field of questions and acknowledgments. It turns out she knows of your work as New York’s youngest attorney, but you know a bit more about her line of work because Peter always voiced his interest in her growing business. On the surface, Vibranium Tech is like any other technology company, issuing out new and improved ways of communication and medical treatment. In the underground, there’s been rumors of her interest in creating weapons—technological weapons unlike any the arms dealing business has seen before.

You didn’t want to bring up that facet of knowledge just yet. The normal conversation worked wonders on you, loosening your tense muscles and clamped jaw, all of them singing sweet relief once your body naturally released the tension.

“So, did I hear Tony correctly when he said your partner is the Deus?”

You winced and found yourself searching the room for a glimpse of your fiancé. He’s commandeered a table in the back of the venue, showing off his black and gold deck of playing cards to a group of interested guests itching to play a hand.

“Yeah, that would be him.”

“That’s so badass,” Shuri mused, leaning in conspiratorially. “Is he like the mob bosses in TV shows and movies? Like does he have henchmen? Bad-temper? High-speed car chases with the police?”

You genuinely laughed. “Not exactly. Henchmen, kind of. Bad temper is rare. And he’d never shut up about having a high-speed car chase with the police. No, he’s a little more lowkey than all that.”

Long ago, back when you were innocent to the life Peter led, you assumed that that’s precisely what it entailed—an exhilarating life of high stakes, exorbitant amounts of money, strong-armed goons, and reckless shoot-outs. That might be the case for a few bosses, but not Peter. He’s too strategic, and the ins-and-outs of his trade are too complicated to pin on just one person.

“Well, I, um…” she stopped, considered her words. You unconsciously drew in closer. “I may have a business offer for him.”

You kept your smile on, but it felt more commercial-like than friendly. “What type of offer?”

Shuri gulped down a generous amount of her red wine, then darted her eyes side to side before speaking lowly. “Would he be interested in high powered weapons?”

You raised your eyebrows but kept up your cool front. “Depends. In exchange for what?”

“Protection.”

A voice in your ear announced, “He’s here.”

You ignored it, focusing on Shuri. “From who?”

Shuri peeked around again to make sure no one paid any attention to your private conversation, but her examination stopped at the entrance. “From him.”

You cautiously slid your eyes to the main entrance, heart hammering a thunderous rhythm in your chest.

Brock Rumlow. Peter's rival and leader of a group named the Scorpions. A peddler/enforcer for the East Coast's largest mob: Hydra. Of course he’d try to pressure Shuri for the weapons.

He didn’t come dressed according to the occasion, opting for his usual tight-fitted black Tee and gray tactical pants. The visible half of his tattoo, a scorpion’s tail curling out from the cuff of his shirt, stood out against his tan skin. Two other men stood behind him, wearing almost identical clothes to Rumlow and sporting the same scorpion tattoo on their right bicep, not exactly hiding that they carried concealed weapons. All the voices in the room hollowed out to stiff silence, and even the band took its cue to halt. Your eyes found Tony in time to see his jaw tick for the briefest moment, and then he slid right back into a restrained version of his good cheer.

“Hey, hey! This is still a party, people,” Tony called out, addressing the guests. “Eat, talk, have a good time.” He signaled to the band to pick up the music, then crossed the room to chat with Rumlow. You’ve never seen him so keyed up.

You touched Shuri’s hand comfortingly, not taking your eyes off Rumlow. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She deflated gratefully. “Thank you.”

You nodded, already out of your seat and rushing to the back of the room, stopping short once you arrived at Peter’s table. He’s thoroughly invested in this round of poker, glancing back and forth from his cards to the nervous twitches of the five men and one woman at the table. You recognized four of them: Judge Nicholas Fury, Lieutenant Steve Rogers, Manhattan’s Chief of Police Sam Wilson, and District Attorney Natasha Romanoff. Sweat is perspiring on Steve’s forehead, Sam’s leg can’t stop bouncing up and down, and even Natasha, a woman known for keeping her cool while in the line of fire, is chewing on her lower lip. Fury's not fazed. He just seems tapped out.

From what you can estimate, about six hundred dollars lies in the middle of the table.

Sam and Steve speak at the same time. “I’m out.”

The other men followed suit, muttering their defeat. Fury dropped his cards down on the table facedown.

Peter wickedly grinned, zeroing in on Natasha. “Got any last words?”

Natasha squinted her eyes at his taunt. “Kiss my ass, Parker.” She put her cards down face up, showing her hand, and quirked up an eyebrow that dared him to top that: three Queens and a pair of twos. Full House.

Peter laid down his hand. Four 3’s and an ace. Four of a Kind.

A chorus of fucks circled the group as Peter cleared the table of the crumpled bills. Two new bottles of opened Vodka sit on the table as well, along with seven shot-glasses. Steve’s glass remains untouched, but the others look like they’ve drained two shots each.

“Bucky’s gonna kill me for losing so much money,” Steve muttered, twirling around his wedding band.

Sam sadly shook his head. “Dammit, man. I thought we had him this time, too.” He eyed Peter with suspicion. “What you got, kid? X-Ray vision?”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, causing a few curls to escape its sleek style. “Nah, jus’ luck.”

“Yeah, well, here’s to hoping your luck runs out,” said Fury, raising his shot glass and slamming it back.

You inched closer to Peter’s side. He reeked of alcohol, and his eyes are glazed over. You wonder how he’s even capable of sitting up, let alone playing people out of their money.

“Peter,” you whispered, putting your hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed, but he didn’t shake you off. “Rumlow’s here.”

The remaining people at the table began to disperse in a collective gripe of loss. Peter didn’t say anything, only jerked his head in acknowledgment.

Your hand itched to slap him back into reality. “Peter, baby, listen. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I should have told Tony about our engagement.” Desperation sapped into your words. “It was stupid and childish not to, and as soon as I get the chance, I’ll tell him. But for the love of God, this is not the time to—”

“Well, well, well! Look who we got here! Deus, in the flesh!” boomed a disturbingly baritone voice. Rumlow, shadowed by his two men, plopped down in one of the empty chairs, sitting right across from Peter. He glanced at Peter first, then languorously landed his gaze on you. “And who’s this pretty lady you got here?”

“My fiancée,” answered Peter monotonously. He said it as if the words synonymously meant: just some chick. A dull kind of ache slashed through your chest as you dropped your hand back down to your side and took two steps away from him.

Rumlow pretended to miss the interaction, appearing to be in deep thought, and then clapped his hands once. “Oh! The attorney. I don’t believe I ever formally introduced myself.” He offered his large hand to you, grinning with his whole teeth on display. “Name’s Brock Rumlow.”

You reluctantly let him take your outstretched hand. His skin is blazing hot, to the point where your hand nearly felt suffocated. He brought it to his lips for a small kiss that twisted your stomach in knots. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rumlow.”

Rumlow winked. “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart. And call me Brock.”

“Fuck do you want, Rumlow?” Peter bit out, picking the cards up off the table and shuffling them.

“Ooh,” tsked Rumlow. He made sure to lay another grin on you just to irk Peter. “Come on, Parker. Can’t a guy just enjoy some company once in a while? It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong.” He watched Peter’s movements, the cards haphazardly sliding back and forth from one hand to the next. “Playing cards, huh? You up for a quick game?”

You butt in with a pressed laugh. “Actually, we were just leaving.” Drunk Peter is overly confident. If Rumlow found that out, you knew he’d take Peter for everything he’s worth.

“So soon?” Rumlow glanced down at his watch. “It’s not even ten yet. What’s the rush?”

Peter cut you off. “No rush. I’m staying. You play Draw Poker?”

“ ‘Course I play Draw Poker, but that seems too simple for you, Parker. Don’t you wanna make it hard for me? A little Texas Hold ’em?”

“Draw Poker,” said Peter, splitting the deck against the table and flexing the cards enough to have them rapidly collapse into place. “Take it or leave it.”

A dark, mischievous smile brewed on Rumlow’s face as he watched Peter fumble with the deck and, at some point, entirely losing his grip. You discreetly watched him size up his opponent, dismayed to find that he likes the assessment. Hair is stubbornly falling into Peter’s eyes, eyes that anyone a mile away could point out are bleary and bloodshot. The flush from earlier deepened on his neck and flashed scarlet across his face—an easy target for a skilled player.

“Deal me in.”

The first game played out exactly as you feared it would. Rumlow and Peter agreed on a $100 ante to get the ball rolling, both pulling out a single bill from their pocket and placing it in the middle of the table, then they settled for a pot-limit. Though Peter’s shuffling skills lacked his usual finesse, he expertly dealt each of them a hand of five cards.

You leaned against the back wall with your arms crossed over your chest and watched the game unfold. Rumlow processes his hands at the speed of a bullet, snapping his eyes to his cards once he’s drawn, and immediately discards the ones he doesn’t like when it’s his turn. Other than the minutest crinkle in the corner of his left eye, you couldn’t tell when he felt confident or when he bluffed. He gave nothing away, not even an involuntary scratch to his five o’clock shadow. He was so in the zone he began to partake in the Vodka bottle close to his side of the table, swigging straight from the mouth.

On the other hand, Peter moved as if a millisecond was the equivalent length of ten years, scanning his cards more than several times with pursed lips, looking up at Rumlow, scanning his cards again, once, twice, three times, then reluctantly discarding some. He frequently shoves a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyesight, but the same unruly strands find their way back to impede his vision. He scratches the shell of his ear when he’s about to draw, and Rumlow’s picked up the tell.

Rumlow never even had to do more than call. The confident drunk in Peter always raised.

The pot increased to about $1400 before Peter folded his hand.

As Rumlow collected his winnings, he suggestively lifted his eyebrows at Peter. “Care for round 2?”

Confident drunk Peter never backs down, even when he’s the dumbass who can’t remember that he’s brought fists to a gunfight.

You step back up to the table and put a restrictive hand on Peter’s wrist to keep him from picking up the cards. “Enough, Peter. You’re done. Let’s go home.”

“No, I’m not done,” he said, snatching his arm away from your touch. “Go talk to Tony or somethin’. I’ve got this.”

Rumlow caught your bewildered stare and shrugged his broad shoulders, a gesture that didn’t match his cocky smile. He has Peter right where he wants him, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him because Peter is a willing participant running on alcohol and no critical judgment.

You should have left right then and there, but your feet stayed rooted to the floor. You couldn’t leave Peter like this. Sighing, you pulled up a chair to the table and sat beside Peter.

“Don’t worry. I’ll go easy on him,” said Rumlow, putting on a smile too sardonic to be comforting. Too artificial to be genuine.

His lie didn’t surprise you. The hole Peter dug himself did.

The second round went similarly to the first. Flash decisions from Rumlow and molasses-like contemplation from Peter. This time, though, the ante came up to $200. As far as you knew, Peter is only carrying about $2500 in his pockets.

By the time the fourth round started, Peter’s Rolex lies on the table. The ante is up to $1000. Somehow the pot-limit became no-limit.

By the fifth round, Peter made paperless bets. Ante is $10,000. Rumlow knew Peter’s pockets went deep, and he’d keep at it until he struck gold.

Nothing you said stopped him. Peter hadn’t won a single hand. He’s desperate for at least one good hand; he’s got something to prove.

Rumlow kept drinking with each win.

By the seventh round, a crowd is around the table, watching in horrified interest as Peter raises the bet to one million dollars. The most significant amount you’ve ever seen him bet. So far, he’s held this hand for three draws.

Peter’s hair lost all semblance of its previous style, hanging over his forehead in disarray. He’s hunched over in his chair, his jacket’s off, and he’s rolled up his dress shirt’s sleeves to his elbows. His group’s signature tattoo stands out stark against his inner wrist: a roughly sketched spider.

Rumlow, eyes now as bloodshot as Peter’s and face just as flushed under his tan skin, asks, “Think you got something, Parker?”

“Do you?” Peter countered.

“I just might.” Rumlow ran a finger against his bottom lip, then smiled at his hand. “Why don’t you say we make this last Showdown a little more interesting, eh?”

A terrible queasiness wrapped around your gut.

Peter listened intently, his silence Rumlow’s indication to continue.

“$10 million. And the best trading routes. Including foreign connections. I want everything you got.”

You turned to Peter, placing your hand on top of his until he finally looked at you. Your eyes begged him to listen to you for once tonight. “Please don’t do this.”

His reply sounded tortured. “But I can. I have to.”

“Is winning really worth losing everything?” you asked, your voice cracking.

Rumlow chuckled ominously. “Oh, that’s not everything, sweetheart. We both know what’s left.” He gave you a meaningful stare.

Your eyes widened in disgust.

Peter snapped his gaze to Rumlow. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“No, but I want her. Imagine having New York’s best attorney in my arsenal. How many charges has she saved your sorry ass from, Parker? Five? All felonies, right? You lucky son of a bitch.” Rumlow’s smile is sinister. “Not that lucky tonight, huh?”

Peter spoke through gritted teeth. “Back off, Rumlow.”

“To have Deus wrapped around her finger, she must be pretty damn good. Is she, Parker?” goaded Rumlow, ignoring Peter’s warning. “Is she any good?”

Instinct controlled your hands as they seized Peter’s cards before he launched himself over the table and landed an ear-splitting blow to Rumlow’s jaw. Rumlow must’ve known the punch was coming. Still, he hadn’t expected the impact to be that forceful because his eyes blinked in astonishment. The two men behind Rumlow didn’t react fast enough, missing Peter as he stood above Rumlow, grabbed the handgun hidden in the waist of his pants and pressed the muzzle deep into Rumlow’s temple, finger on the trigger.

Rumlow shifted his eyes up to Peter. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Peter’s voice is lethally calm. “Say one more goddamn word about her and you’re dead.”

“Put that gun down, Parker!”

Tony. Shit.

Peter squared his jaw, never taking his eyes off of Rumlow. About six off-duty policemen and the venue’s guards have their weapons trained on Peter.

“I said put the gun down! Now!” Tony had pushed his way through the crowd, Sam and Steve right behind him. You didn’t notice until now how quiet the room became, everyone holding in a collective breath.

“Put it down, son,” Steve gently ordered. He spied Rumlow’s men, their hands tightened on their guns, and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”

Peter didn’t move a muscle. His chest rapidly rises and falls with each breath.

Sam, holding a pair of cuffs in his hand, tried getting through to him. “It’s over. Drop the gun, kid.”

A slow grin spread across Rumlow’s face.

“Peter,” you spoke softly.

His red-rimmed eyes met yours.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Just put the gun down, okay? Please.”

Two heartbeats passed before his grip on the gun slackened, and he begrudgingly lowered his arm.

Steve and Sam seized on the opportunity. Steve disarmed Peter while Sam restrained Peter’s arms behind his back and tightened the cuffs around his wrists.

Rumlow massaged his injured jaw. “Guess that means I win, Parker.”

Sam yanked Peter back before he could charge at Rumlow. When Peter looked your way, he saw you still held his cards. “I’m still in play.”

“Wait,” you protested. Sam began to guide Peter up to the entrance. “Peter, I can’t—”

He nodded his head furiously, talking over his shoulder as Sam lead him away. “Yes, you can. You know you can, baby. Play the hand.”

You stared helplessly at Peter’s retreating form. It was all on you.

Rumlow watched, unperturbed; his cards still held tight in the hand that wasn’t nursing his jaw.

Slowly, you lowered yourself down into Peter’s chair, sitting directly across from Rumlow’s smirking face. Tony stared at you incredulously. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him rendered speechless. The room’s chatter never recovered, either. All eyes stay glued towards the standoff.

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

#peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #mob!peter parker #peter parker au #mob!au #marvel fanfic #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #black female reader #the fall of deus #peter parker x black reader #black reader

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demetriandelibinaryboyfriends · 4 years ago

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AIGHT Y’ALL I wasn’t tagged but I’m doing this anyways because f u c k i t

It's the year 2021 and you're obsessed with The Karate Kid. How are you feeling?

Deadasss weird as fuck, my dude. Like...out of all the things I could’ve predicted happening in our lord’s year 2021, it definitely was NOT getting hyperfixated on a hammy gay ship with a punk and a nerd from a goddamn karate soap opera. And yet...here we are??? I will never understand hyperfixations, my guy. But I’ve met a lot of really cool people in this fandom, so I can’t really complain.

Did you grow up with TKK or are you new to the series?

I have never seen a single Karate Kid movie in my entire life. When I was a kid, it looked kinda dumb so I never got into it XD But then I saw my roommate watching Cobra Kai on Youtube Red one day (he has every streaming service known to man) and I was hooked. And...here I am!

We gotta do the basics. Favorite character:

Literally EVERYONE except for Kreese, Yasmine, Kyler, and Tory, sorry stans

Okay but if we gotta pick, Johnny Lawrence is my Problematic Fave. Also I love my boy Daniel, he’s trying his best!!! And Amanda LaRusso, we stan a queen!!!

Among the kids, definitely Miguel, with Demetri as a close second. I also love Sam, Aisha, Moon, and Hawk (pre- and post-Bastardization Arc, anyways XD)!

Favorite ship:

Take a look at my username and take a WILD FUCKING GUESS lmao Yes it’s Eli/Demetri because DUH, every interaction they have is so fucking gay and Eli fucking saved him!!! And came back to him!!! And betrayed the world’s most terrifying dojo with a WAR CRIMINAL SENSEI all for Demetri!!! And how Demetri was willing to forgive him for everything at the drop of a hat because he always had faith there was still good in his best friend??? That’s TRUE LOVE motherfuckers. Please let them kiss in Season 4. I will sell you all of my limbs. Sam/Miguel is a close second because they’re cute as shit and it’s just so lovely to see two people so unapologetically smitten with each other. They are in LOVE, and I will RIOT if they break up again!!! Keep Sam and Miguel together 2k21!!!

Underrated character:

SAMANTHA LARUSSO!!! The amount of hate my girl gets for acting like a normal teenager and fucking up occasionally JUST like the rest of the cast makes me want to start punching things. She cares SO MUCH about her friends!!! And she loves the shit out of Miguel!!! She hasn’t always been the best friend but you know what??? Neither has Hawk, and we still forgave his ass!!! Also LET HER BE FEMININE but also kick utter ass, my god!!! Femininity should not be synonymous with being weak, y’all! ALSO DEMETRI, like yes, he likes to complain and occasionally run his mouth, but guess what else he likes to do??? Never give up on the love of his life his best friend Eli Moskowitz and refuse to lose faith in him no matter how much of a little shit he’s become, and I for one think that’s very badass of him. Also the way he takes care of Eli pre-Cobra Kai in his own snarky bastard way makes me absolutely Weak and needs more appreciation. Like the dude has charisma and COULD have probably made other friends and left Eli behind if he wanted, but did he??? No, he wants the weepy loser with the lip scar in the polo shirts and dorky sweaters and will protect him as much as his wimpy ass is able!!!

Underrated ship (don’t say therapy, lol):

Among the adults, Daniel/Amanda!!! Like maybe I just don’t watch that much tv, but it seems kinda rare to me to see a happily married hetero couple, and it’s just nice to see a married couple who genuinely love each other and where there’s not like...lingering resentment or some shit. I feel like this ship gets overshadowed by Lawrusso a lot (which like--okay, fair!!! Daniel and Johnny do have a ridiculous amount of chemistry, and the gay undertones are undeniable, so I get it), and it makes me kinda sad. I do love Lawrusso, but I don’t like when Amanda has to get her heart broke for it to happen, you feel? Among the kids, honestly YasMoon. Like I really love the idea of Yasmine trying to better herself because of Moon’s influence on her and because Moon like...inspires her to be a better person, I guess? With their pretty strong friendship, it just makes more sense to me for Yasmine to get a redemption arc through Moon than through Demetri. ALSO girls DO often pull the whole “mean girl” shtick to cover up being closeted lesbians, and Moon IS canonically bi, so it could work!!! I just think this one could be a really interesting Friends to Lovers take, and could make a really nice coming-out arc for Yas. And MoonPiper too, honestly!!! Like they only got 5 seconds of screentime so I understand WHY it’s underrated, but I still love what we DID get and loved that there was a canon gay ship (even if only for 1 scene lmao). I’m really excited to potentially see more of them in Season 4!!! Please, I’m begging!!!

Wax On, Wax Off or Sweep the Leg?

Sweep the Leg because it will always be deeply hilarious to me how Demetri took note of the first move Eli ever used on him and spent presumably weeks perfecting it OUT OF SPITE just to get him back with it at the soccer game MONTHS later. Just goes to show how OBSESSED Demetri is with Eli and their little karate rivalry which is just NOT straight, I’m sorry

Which of Daniel’s dumb little outfits is your favorite?

There’s something so funny about this pretentious little fuck walking around in fancy suits once he becomes a #SuccessfulBusinessman, and still occasionally trying to do karate in a full-ass suit (take THAT, Tom Cole’s boba!!!) I’m also a big fan of how he looks in his gi with his little headband. Still killing that look as a 40-50-something!!!

Character from the films you most want to return, who’s not Terry Silver:

Tbh I have still never seen a single Karate Kid movie (they took them off of Netflix, RIP), so...I don’t really care if they bring anyone else back??? I’m invested in the characters we already have in the show, I don’t need some rando from the movies to make a cameo to have a good time XD The only character I really wanted them to bring back was Ali, and they already did, so like...I’m good??? That’s all I really needed, I can die in peace now XD

Scene that lives in your head rent-free:

Basically any fluffy Elimetri scene, but 5 in particular: ~Miguel first meeting Eli and Demetri at the lunch table, and Eli looking at Demetri like he hung every goddamn star in the sky ~Demetri going off at a terrifying, “unhinged” karate sensei on the first day of Cobra Kai because he made fun of Eli’s lip and Demetri is not about that shit ~ELI STEALING DEMETRI’S NACHO AND SMIRKING AT HIM, LIKE EXCUSE ME SIR PLEASE BE A LITTLE LESS HOMOSEXUAL IN FRONT OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND ~Eli yanking Demetri onstage during Valley Fest to hold a board, and Demetri being visibly like...extremely turned on when Eli breaks said board ~ELI SAVING DEMETRI DURING THE CHRISTMAS FIGHT, ELI APOLOGIZING, DEMETRI AND ELI KICKING COBRA ASS TOGETHER AKSBDCUWYVCBU

Will Anthony LaRusso ever be relevant?

I hope not! He’s kind of a funny meme character to pop up now and again but I don’t think he deserves a serious plotline when there are so many more interesting characters to follow.

You live in The Valley and are forced into the karate gang war. Which dojo do you join?

Miyagi-Do because Cobra Kai would eat me alive. Also I’d probably straight up get stuck and die in that cement mixer, if I even made it that far XD Besides, being salty that your friend who you have a crush on likes martial arts better than you and starting martial arts to impress them but also being too lazy to join anything TOO intense is a Big Mood and I am certainly not speaking from personal experience here, no sirree

What’s your training montage song?

"Shut Up and Drive” by Rihanna for a weight-training and bicep-flexing montage, “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons for a more intense punching-and-kicking-shit montage. I don’t know why this is, I just feel it in my heart.

It’s the crossover event of the century! Which TV show are you combining with Cobra Kai for an hour-long Saturday night special?

*Briefly panics because I don’t actually watch that much TV and most of the stuff I do watch is fantasy/sci fi shit that absolutely would not work for a CK crossover*

Hmmmm okay but ACTUALLY

You know what would be fucking funny as hell would be an It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia crossover. Allow me to elaborate: ~The Gang goes to LA on vacation during the height of the Karate Dojo Wars. They literally can get barely anything done without all these goddamn karate-fighting teenagers getting in the way. ~They are all very annoyed by this. Even the most obscure of tourist attractions is eventually intercepted by karate fights. ~Mac tries to join Cobra Kai because he sees all this karate fighting on, and wants to unquestionably prove both his badassery and masculinity. Both Johnny and Kreese are like “Wtf are you doing here? Aren’t you like 30?” ~Mac gets a planet-sized crush on Johnny after all of 5 minutes and endlessly gushes to the gang about him. The gang mercilessly roast him about this and about how much of a pathetic loser with his life together in no way whatsoever Johnny sounds like. They proceed to have exactly 0 self awareness about this. ~The Waitress is in town visiting family or something, and Charlie is stalking her, as per usual. However, every time he’s about to go up and talk to her, a pack of battling Miyagi-Dos and Cobra Kais throwing punches and kicks everywhere blocks his path. One times, Mac is among one of these packs and Charlie is like “???? He didn’t get kicked out of that teen karate dojo yet???” ~Seeing how much the Kids These Days seem to like fighting, Charlie drops by a local high school to try and sell Fight Milk to the kids doing karate. Only Kyler and Brucks buy into it, and subsequently get the entire West Valley High wrestling team sick. Charlie is inevitably arrested, as Counselor Blatt thinks he’s selling the kids drugs. ~Dennis makes a plan to have sex with every hot chick he can in Los Angeles. He meets Ali on a dating app post-divorce, and inevitably tries to bang her. It doesn’t work. ~Frank crashes the rental car, and inevitably the gang ends up at one of Daniel’s dealerships. Dee quickly takes a liking to Daniel and is like “Watch, assholes--Imma homewreck this guy’s marriage.” She starts frequenting the dealerships to attempt to flirt with Daniel, until one day she walks in on him having sex with Johnny in a back room and she’s like “Is that the guy from Mac’s goddamn dojo?!?!” ~Dennis, of course, tries to sleep with Amanda. Amanda is not having it, and rebukes him in the most snarky, Amanda-esque way possible. Dennis is just like “Oh not AGAIN--the women in this goddamn diva city have too high of standards!” ~Later on, the gang is at the beach and Dennis spots the blonde lady he went out on an ill-fate date with, and decides to give it another shot--that is, until he sees her go up and kiss another woman and he’s like “IS THAT THE LADY FROM THE CAR DEALERSHIP??? STUPID-KARATE-KICK-COMMERCIAL’S WIFE?!? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.” ~Dee complains to Dennis about her lack of luck getting laid, and Dennis is just like “Oh come ON, is everyone in Los Angeles gay???” Smash cut to Hawk and Demetri having sex, Moon and Piper making out, Bert and Nate holding hands, Chris and Mitch doing oral, and Amanda, Ali, and Carmen having a threesome. ~Frank tries to scam Kreese into buying cheaply-made karate equipment for his dojo. The gang ends up having to leave LA because Kreese is quite literally plotting all of their murders.

For tagging, uuuuhhhhhh @jackonthelongwalk @soe-leo @max-eagle-fang @cc-tinslebee @backawayfromthegay @asphodel-storm do the thing, if y’all haven’t yet!

#cobra kai #cobra kai season 1 #cobra kai season 2 #cobra kai season 3 #ck #tag game #binary boyfriends #daniel larusso #johnny lawrence #it's always sunny in philadelphia #iasip

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ellewritesathing · 4 years ago

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You’re My Problem

Summary: What happens when you take unrequited love, throw in some jealousy, and add a dash of impulsivity? You get a recipe for disaster.

Word Count: 2.8k+

A/N: this was requested by @i-write-things-sometimes-x a forever ago. thank you for being so patient and i’m so sorry it took so long for me to write this!! 💕

Stiles’ Stilinski was a dumbass. He was impulsive, he was reckless, and he couldn’t focus on anything that wasn’t Lydia Martin for longer than five minutes. But he was also the one who brought you soup when you were sick, the one who remembered your birthday, and the one you’d been in love with since before you could remember.

He’d been oblivious to all your attempts of getting him to see you as something other than a friend pretty much for as long as you’d known him. Erica thought it was hilarious, and she never let you live down the mouth-to-mouth debacle after he’d almost drowned with the kanima venom. She’d been nicer about it, though, since Lydia and Stiles had their own moment of panic-induced lip-locking.

But it wasn’t just Erica that changed - everything was different after their kiss. As dramatic as your reaction seemed when you looked back on it, something inside you snapped that day, and all of your pent-up rage from being powerless in a town of supernaturals bubbled to the surface. You convinced Derek to turn you, and things between you, Stiles, and Scott had never been the same.

“And here I thought you came to lacrosse practice for me.” Isaac set down his gear with a grin and grabbed your water bottle. The light caught on his eyelashes as he drank, painting delicate ribbons down his cheeks as long as his chin was tilted up to the sky.

Erica didn’t care about how pretty Isaac could be, because she didn’t find him nearly as pretty as the lacrosse players packing up on the field. She rolled her eyes and pushed Isaac to the side, not bothering to adjust her strength in the process. “Move over, lover boy. You’re blocking my view.”

Armed with an evil grin and the knowledge that Erica couldn’t do anything to him in front of all these people, Isaac moved directly in front of her and tilted his head. “Didn’t Derek tell you to be nicer to people?”

“Derek also told me not to smother you in your sleep, so-” Erica reached forward, hand extended almost as gently as to move one of his curls out of his face, and shoved him to the ground “-you better watch out.” She drummed her fingers on the bleachers with an evil smile of her own before jumping up to follow one of the lacrosse boys off the field.

Laughing off Erica’s dramatics and shaking your head, you got up and held a hand out to help Isaac to his feet. “Come on.” You waved your fingers when he didn’t reach out. “You stink and the sooner you shower, the sooner I get lunch.”

“Yeah?” Isaac reached up for your hand and leaned on his other elbow for support. “That kinda sucks for you.”

It was your own fault for not noticing the glint of mischief in his eye before he wrapped his hand around yours and pulled you to the ground next to him. Soon enough, the two of you were rolling around the field (you trying to get up and him ruining every attempt) and laughing just like you always did. Your hands were barely intertwined, but it was still enough to feel his pulse racing.

“Are you two done? Because Coach is gonna turn on the sprinklers in like five minutes.”

Your heartbeat shot up at the sound of Stiles’ voice. Clumsily, you untangled yourself from Isaac and sat up. It didn’t matter whether you were human or superhuman, facing a cute boy or the monster of the week, nothing made you more nervous than Stiles Stilinski. “Yeah, we were just- uh, just leaving to grab some lunch. You wanna come with?”

“Thanks, but I kinda lost my appetite.” Stiles waited an awkward moment and then shrugged, rolled his lacrosse stick over in his hand, and started walking away. The faded number 24 bobbed up and down as he walked away from you, like a boat treading very uncertain waters.

You let out a deep breath and hid your head in your hands. It didn’t matter what you did, conversations with Stiles always ended awkwardly or with one of you leaving. At least this way, you couldn’t see the embarrassing aftermath.

“Oh, come on-” Isaac knocked your knee with his, letting out a laugh. You could practically hear him rolling his eyes before you turned to face him. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Ever since I turned, it’s like he can’t even bear to look at me.”

“And you are so hard to look at,” Isaac said with a grin. He rolled his eyes again and let out a low laugh. If he was going to say anything else about your massively mortifying crush on Stiles Stilinski, he didn’t get the chance. The sprinklers switched on.

---

You were a real pain in the ass. You were annoyingly right about everything, you always had to get your own way, and you could barely focus on anything that wasn’t Isaac Lahey for longer than five minutes. But you were also the one that watched Star Wars with him when he couldn’t sleep, the one that saved him a seat in English, and the one Stiles had been in love with since before he could remember.

Even after the world went to hell in a handbasket, Stiles thought he might have had a shot with you. All he had to do was find the right time to talk to you - and it seemed like the perfect time after you saved him from drowning - but he waited too long. Somehow something always came around to ruin his perfect moment. Eventually, you turned and traded him in for the one and only Isaac ‘Pretentious Asshole’ Lahey.

In the understatement of the century, Scott said, “Dude, you should just talk to her,” in that aggravatingly optimistic way of his.

“Yeah? I should just talk to her, and tell her that I love her, and then maybe we’ll just walk off into the sunset like a Julia Roberts movie?” Stiles was robbed of the satisfaction of his snark by Scott’s dumbstruck face. “Oh my god, what is it now? What’s with the face?”

Scott scrunched up his face and pulled on the straps of his backpack. He rocked on his heels defensively. “I don’t have a face.”

“You totally have a face, okay?” Stiles waved his hand in front of Scott’s face. “This right here is the face you make when it’s tater tot day.”

Scott shrugged and tried to play it cool. “It’s nothing, just-” He took a deep breath, leaned in, and said, “You just said that you love her. That’s all.” With another trademark Scott McCall shrug and smile, he started walking off to make his English class before the second bell.

“Well…” Stiles said to an empty hallway. He let out a heavy sigh and slammed his locker. “Shit.”

---

You’d spent your entire life pining over Stiles Stilinski. All those years wasted on a guy who didn’t have feelings for you, when there was a perfectly sweet distraction right next to him. Sure, maybe Isaac didn’t know your favorite movie candy and he didn’t always know the right thing to say when you were having a bad day, but he snuck you out of detention and he didn’t make you so tongue-tied that you couldn’t speak in complete sentences.

Isaac was fun. He made you feel witty. Maybe he wasn’t perfect, but he was fun.

This night was the closest to perfect you’d had in a long time: Lydia’s epic homecoming party. There were copious amounts of alcohol and scarce supervision, you and Isaac were dancing, and the full moon wasn’t for another week. It was as perfect as you were ever going to get … and yet you couldn’t stop stealing glances at Stiles.

Outright staring at him would have been preferable, but he had been glowering at you ever since Isaac, Erica, and Boyd showed up. If you didn’t want to see the look of annoyance that was almost permanently on his face when it came to you, then stealing glances would have to be enough.

It was a shame, though, because there was something so magnetic about him tonight. Maybe it was the effortlessness that made him attractive. He was slightly overdue for a haircut, so he was dragging a hand through it every other minute in that nervous way of his. Even though his plaid was one of the too big ones Noah had bought for Christmas a few years ago, his t-shirt was one from the older collection that he was in the process of outgrowing. Disheveled suited him; he was almost perfect. If the annoyed look on his face would disappear, so would the ‘almost.’

Isaac ducked his head down to speak to you over the blare of the music, lip grazing your ear as he spoke. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” you asked, trying to brighten up when you looked up at him. You should have tried harder, but dancing with Isaac and being witty wasn’t a priority when Stiles was so mad at you.

The corners of Isaac’s mouth curled up and he tilted his head to the side. You knew that Stiles was the thing, even if he didn’t say it while he twirled you out.

Isaac pulled you in slightly too quickly, so you collapsed into him more than anything else. The two of you were still laughing and cracking jokes about super-healing when you caught a glimpse of Stiles angrily swigging what was left of a beer and disappearing into the house.

For a moment, all the sweaty teens and bright lights faded away. You untangled yourself from Isaac quickly and clumsily before rushing out an “I gotta go” and pushing your way through the crowd.

It was easier to breathe when you reached the second floor without so many people around. The only problem was that all the air disappeared the moment you were alone with Stiles. It was the first time in months that you’d spent any time alone together, and the fact that he was more than a little tipsy wasn’t making things any easier.

Still, you followed him into one of the rooms and closed the door. “Hey, Stiles, are you doing okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, actually, I’m just peachy.” Stiles dropped the necklace he was fiddling with and brushed his nose with his thumb. “Perfect. Nothing to complain about, you know? At least no one’s trying to kill me this week.”

“Sounds like maybe you should be celebrating,” you said carefully, trying not to spook him as you made your way over. “You know, instead of hanging out up here, going through Lydia’s great aunt’s jewelry.”

Stiles let out a hollow laugh and turned awkwardly to the jewelry box on the dresser. He shrugged and picked up the necklace again. “But it’s so shiny and I’m so awkward,” he whined.

You took a few steps closer to take the necklace out of his hands before he broke the clasp. “You’re not awkward.” Stiles gave you a sideways look and you laughed. “Okay, maybe you’re a little awkward, but it’s an endearing kind of awkward.”

Stiles stubbornly refused to give you the necklace without a fight, and the chain was caught in the crossfire. The both of you panicked and scrambled to fix it, but this wasn’t the kind of necklace that two teenagers and a pair of tweezers could fix.

Stiles gave up struggling over the necklace and let out a heavy sigh, hand curling over one half of the broken chain and the bathroom sink. The necklace had been the only thing keeping the weight of the world off his shoulders - the only thing keeping Stiles tipsy and happy instead of almost drunk and kind of sad. “Just forget it,” he said. His voice was raw. “No amount of trying is gonna fix it.”

“Don’t say that.” You grabbed Stiles’ half of the chain out of his hand and put it next to the other half on the counter. Willing the chains to fuse back together and decidedly not looking at Stiles, you said, “You can’t just give up like that.”

“Why not? The necklace is broken and I broke it. I can’t fix it.”

“You can at least try to fix it.”

“Maybe it doesn’t wanna be fixed. Maybe it’s happier with the stupid scarf, alright?”

“Wait, what scarf?” When he didn’t answer, you looked up from the necklace to find him staring guiltily at the floor. “Stiles, please don’t tell me there’s some ruined Hermes scarf up here because Lydia will kill me.”

Still no answer.

As gently as you could, you reached out to touch his shoulder. “Stiles-”

“Just forget it!” Stiles snapped, pulling away before you could touch him. He almost crashed into the door in his hurry to get away from you. “Go dance with your scarf, okay? You two deserve one another.”

Stiles stormed into the bedroom, and you stormed after him. You caught his arm before he even made it halfway across the room. “Okay, man, what the hell is your problem?”

“My problem?” Stiles echoed. “You wanna know what my problem is?”

“Yes! You’ve been glaring at me all night, avoiding me for like six months, and- what? Now you’re freaking out over a broken necklace?” You took a step closer to him, pulse racing. “So, what’s your problem?”

“Okay, you know what? You’re my problem.” Stiles was so close that you didn’t need werewolf superpowers to feel all the emotions coming off him. “We were best friends until you ditched me for Isaac Freaking Lahey, okay? We used to hang out like all the time, and now we barely spend any time together unless someone’s trying to kill us. And you’re impossible to talk to-”

“I’m impossible to talk to?” you echoed. “Stiles, you cringe every time you see me.”

“I do not!” he said defensively, scrunching his face slightly. “Okay, maybe I do but that’s because whenever I see you, Isaac’s following you around like a puppy dog.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that. The puppy comment was a cheap shot and it wasn’t like Stiles could complain when he made it perfectly clear that he didn’t have feelings for you. “So is your problem actually with me? Because so far all you’ve done is talk about Isaac.”

“I don’t- it’s both of you, alright?” Stiles let out a shaky breath and looked away. He took a second to run a hand down the side of his face before speaking again. “My problem is that I have feelings for you and you don’t even know I exist anymore.”

No amount of accelerated werewolf reflexes could have prepared you for that. For a second, you were too surprised to respond. “You … have feelings for me? I thought you were in love with Lydia.”

Stiles snorted. “Please, she kissed me once and it was terrible for both of us.” He shifted his weight awkwardly, unsure what to say while you adjusted to the information. “Besides,” he said in a much slower, much quieter voice, “it’s not like she’s you.”

“Isaac hates Star Wars,” you said quietly, staring at the bullseye in the middle of Stiles’ shirt instead of meeting his eyes.

“God, I hate that guy,” Stiles mumbled. He looked around the room awkwardly before landing on the tv in the corner. “You wanna, uh, watch something with me? I really don’t want to go back down there.”

You nodded without giving it any thought, looking up at Stiles and giving him the first real smile you’d had all night. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Great!” Stiles gave a short laugh before slowing his breathing and looking at you so seriously that you thought your heart would stop. “Just, uh, one more thing?” he asked, voice quiet and delicate again. You started rambling, but the words fell away as soon as Stiles lifted his hands to either side of your face. The whole world slowed for a moment, coming almost to a complete stand-still when he pressed his lips against yours. “There,” Stiles said softly. “I’ve been thinking about that since freshman year.”

Despite all the anxiety racing through your system, or maybe because of it, you laughed. The sound of his heartbeat was deafening as you reached a hand up to the side of Stiles’ neck. Time slowed again as you leaned up on your toes, kissed him again, and realized that maybe this night was perfect after all.

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #request #i-write-things-sometimes-x

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omegangrins · 4 years ago

Text

A Rant on the End of Tremors 7: Shrieker Island

As the main man said,

Throwing caution to the wind because this blew up elsewhere.

If you can do it with Justice League, fuck it, let's do it for every shitty movie we've got.

While we're at it, can we change the ending of the 7th Tremors movie so *MAJOR FUCKING SPOILERS* Burt Gummer doesn't die or at least bring Jamie Kennedy back, or Marvel style recast Jon Heder, so he dies saving his son instead of a random-ass person who could have easily saved themselves. Or cut the forced montage of Burt clips at the end so his death is at least ambiguous. Seriously beyond pissed about that one. THAT is no way for him to go.

I would also like to point out that the next Tremors *HAS* to be titled Tremors 8: Ouroboros and bring everyone back for Burt's funeral . Otherwise, what's the fucking point?

I have feelings about it, people. *FEELINGS!!!*

One of my favourite childhood memories is picking out Tremors 2 from the local gas station's movie rentals and forcing my parents to watch it. I was probably 5-6 at the time.

Let's say that it's been a lifelong love affair ever since. It took me another 10 years before I even watched the 1st. Probably why I hold good sequels in such high regard.

I didn't even know about the 1st until it played as a trailer in front of 2 and never thought to watch until years later. That's a testament to its filmmaking if I ever knew one.

So seriously, that's how they chose to kill off one of the most well known and prolific characters in a movie/TV series known around the globe? With an unnecessaryily needed death and a montage of clips from all the other movies that are obviously better than this one.

And I'm saying that as someone who defends Chibnall/13th Doctor...

...and I'm fucking fuming because THIS is how you *actually* destroy something people love and hold dear to their hearts. It's like the ending of Game of Thrones. His shitty ass death has made it a loooooot harder to rewatch. And they are one of my favourite series!!! Not flawless but fun. But I will defend every other movie and all the episodes except this. Honestly I'll still defend 7/8ths of this one as well.

Like I said, it's easily fixed too. Fucking vice versa swap out Jon Heder for Jamie Kennedy, who the movies have been building up for the last two, and have Burt save his son in front of his old flame. Boom, you won't even need the montage of clips cause you can just have Travis and his mom reminisce about Burt instead. Show not tell. I don't even care he died by Graboid (although in all honesty, I've allways wanted El Blanco to take him down or Burt kills himself from the PTSD. It would have AT LEAST MADE SENSE. Hell, the best would be a heart attack to callback Val's "Yeah, Burt, the way you worry, you're gonna have a heart attack before you get a chance to survive World War Three.". But none of us ever get the best death.). And it's not even about Burt sacrificing himself to save a nobody. Cause that could work too. BUT YOU NEED TO BUILD THAT SHIT UP. Not just fucking drop it like it's hot.

Like I said too, the first 7/8ths ain't bad but it's an entirely different story than a swansong for a hero.

It's all about some billionaire scientist/cowboy hunter dude who likes to get his jollies off hunting the biggest and the baddest who ends up inviting people to this island so they can hunt down Super-Graboids he designed for shits and giggles. But then some Shrieker-fy....

And the pretentious douches come and die one by beautiful one while Burt tries to save them anyway and it's all spectacularly dumb fun until it comes crashing down in the final 10 minutes. Fuck, they should just cut the last 10 minutes. Then it's a perfect little Tremors ditty.

#RELEASETHE7THTREMORSWITH10MINUTESFROMTHEENDCUT

This isn't even about Jon Heder either. He's just doing his job. Hell, do what /u/VoiceofRonHoward pointed out.

"It is clear that Jon's character was just pasted in over Jamie's, the artifacts of the father-son relationship are all over it. They should have gone full Marvel and just replaced Jamie with Jon and acted like nothing happened."

CAUSE FUCK YES!! The only time a story sucks is when they don't commit. Commitment makes all the difference. Now, I'm pissed double-pissed they didn't do that instead since Heder and Kennedy are similar in terms of white-boy-ness.

Even Michael Gross agrees:

"Yes, yes. Now I can't presume to speak for Jamie [Kennedy]. My understanding was they asked him and he said no. And so that's why they went with somebody else. So I had nothing to do with that decision. I just heard the stories. I missed him for that reason. You begin a relationship with the character, and you want to continue it....

...As you build a relationship with this son, we had two, it would've been nice to have three, but that was the hand I was dealt."

One of my favourite bits of Tremors lore comes from the 5th too so it's not like I hate sequel changes out of hand:

"This is a warrior dance. Our ancestors hunting the lnkanyamba and the Impundulu.

"What's that?

"Impundulu. It's what you call the Ass Blaster.

"Ass Blaster.

"Yes.

"Hey, you know, you make Ass Blaster sound good.

Primitive cultures fighting Graboids, Shriekers and Assblasters. I just love that thought.

Hilariously, my meta opening to the 8th movie would be a flashback to 10,000 years ago and a Neanderthal-like Burt Gummer teaching others how to drive Graboids off cliffs like they did with mammoths.

Thank you for giving me the space to rant. Cause fuuuuuuhhhhhhhhuuccck!!!

Here's Michael Gross' own words from his AMA that prove the people making Shrieker Island didn't know their shit.

"The Tremors series is one very close to my heart and I want you to know how appreciated your continued effort is for your core fan base.

My only question would be were there ever any studio decisions made for Burt that you refused to comply with? Or was everybody pretty much always on the same page on what to do with the character?

Thanks again for your dedication.

- Josh"

"Thanks for the kind words, Josh. As regards the first four films, with Wilson and Maddock as the writers, we were very much on the same page. 5,6, and 7 were a bit different, because there was a 13-year hiatus between 4 and 5, and we had to refresh our memories while "reinventing" the franchise for a new audience. I will give you one example: in an early draft of Shrieker Island, a new writer wrote a draft where Burt threatened to shoot one of the bad dudes, and I had to tell him—this is true—"Burt never intentionally points his gun at another human being."

And his own thoughts on Burt's "death" and how to bring it all back together again.

Universal and the director [came] to me with this idea, and they said, 'This could be emotionally very powerful, if we have to say goodbye to this man after 30 years. And I hemmed and hawed, and I thought about it a little bit. And I said, 'You're absolutely right about the emotional gut punch this can be.' And I said, 'You're going to hurt a lot of people's feelings.' And I said, 'But I thought this franchise was over after four. So I could certainly live with it being over after seven.'

"What we negotiated -- well, it wasn't really a negotiation, we all agreed on this -- is that we kind of left the door open. >!Because although Burt is gone, we never see a corpse. We never see his remains. Everybody assumes he's gone. Is he buried somewhere? Is he unconscious somewhere? We never see Burt dead. We see Burt gone. We see Burt not returning. What does that mean? Has he been knocked out? Does he have amnesia somewhere? Does he wander off? Is he in a kind of coma? So yes, the way it ends is pretty profound."

"As regards to the end of Tremors 7, let me just say that while people ASSUME Burt is gone, we never see his remains, do we? Just sayin.'

"The only reason he has become the main character is that everyone else in the original cast moved on to other things. I NEVER thought of him as the central figure, but it just worked out that Michael Gross, like Burt Gummer, was a "survivor." :0) "

"No one would like to see it more than I!!! One of my greatest regrets is that so many other cast members fell away over time. Reba was on to other things, Kevin said no to a second, Fred said no to a third. I would LOVE one last go with all of them, but it is not up to me. :0( "

"There are no guarantees, but for those who wonder aloud if this is the final film, I will say what I have said before: SALES drive sequels, Show biz is 5% show and 95% business, so if this latest addition to the Tremors franchise, sells well, [Universal] will follow the money, and Universal Pictures Home Entertainment may will be back for more."

/u/ActorMichaelGross, the bell has been rung and the song sung. Get the producers on this ASAP!!

I was also the first person to discover the symbolic foreshadowing of Stumpy's end with Earl's sleeping bag in the original movie.

Let's just say, I really *really* love these movies. So if anyone knows anyone, hook me up to the producers of this series and I'll Justin Lin in the Fast and Furious out of this shit.

Since I don't think it's good to critique without proposing either, I say we can make up for this fuck up with the next movie. We'll call it Tremors 8: Ouroboros. After the snake which eats its own tail.

We find out Burt faked his death to get the Proudfoot Corporation to let down their guard and when everyone from the previous series comes back for Burt's fake funeral they give him ever loving shit for being such a paranoid whack-job that he would fake his death to fool a government agency. Why would he do this? He found an old photo of Hiram Gummer with a Graboid warning on the back and asks himself why this valley, why these things, why allways me? And we find out, it's not Burt. It's that lifestyles of extremes will end up in places of extremes. Burt and the Graboids are survivors of different species. Sure the Proudfoot Corporation IS using Mixmaster to combine Graboids, Shriekers, and Ass-Blasters into one super creature for the military but it pales in comparison to Burt looking at his life and wondering in shame how many ancient giants like himself he has killed. And with that, he actually dies, and we keep the ball rolling with the rest of the characters trying to stop what they allways thought was just another one of Burt's crazy conspiracies.

That's why it's Ouroboros. Everything comes back around. We could end/start the movie with Grady, Earl, and Jodi opening a Monster World in Perfection Valley a la Desert Jack's Graboid Adventure. I don't know. I'm fucking trying harder than the people they paid to do this already.

It ain't perfect but I'm building on sand here so changes are gonna get made.

Like if the makers of Tremors notice this,

Then DM me because fucking A you guys need some help.

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years ago

Text

Wait For It

Dean stalks out of the Impala agitatedly.

It's a sunny afternoon, and Sam's on the porch, coffee on the table next to him, flipping through his political science handbook. He looks up when he hears the car door being slammed, and his eyes follow Dean as he lands in the other chair around the table.

Then, without warning or premonition, Dean starts to talk.

He's got a new colleague.

Novak, he calls him. With gritted teeth, frowning eyebrows, and feeling.

They don't usually talk about people. So Sam listens.

Considering the amount of time Dean devotes talking about how Novak walked into his office, stride radiating importance as though he'd been summoned by Dean himself - well, he really must be a pain in the ass.

Over the next week, Sam's not always outside when Dean comes home from work. When he finally is, on a Thursday, Dean plants himself across him and starts speaking immediately.

Sam closes his book, purses his lips and pays attention.

Castiel, he's become.

Horrible, he's remained.

When Dean's done ranting, the sun's gone down. He gets up, hands on his hips. "He's just a jackass about everything, Sammy. Who's pretentious about eyecolor? Nobody's eyes can be that blue."

Sam nods sympathetically.

Dean goes away to make dinner, satisfied.

Midterms are round the corner.

Without really paying attention to it, Sam's stopped flipping through his handbook, and started highlighting in his textbook. He stays up late, and wakes up early, determinedly chipping away at the ginorminous block of syllabus, bit by bit.

He also stops being out on the porch when Dean comes back from work, and Dean tends to not barge into his bedroom to talk about the awful people he works with, so that's that.

But dinner isn't saved.

It's a simple conversation about mashed potatoes, and Dean goes off. "You won't believe how ridiculous Castiel is about honey, dude." Sam asks for a second helping, he also receives an anecdote on Castiel's ungrateful attitude towards Dean.

Sam doesn't even dare to mention his dislike for bacon once, for all the times Dean offers him it - because he's sure he'd get another indepth analysis of how Castiel hates Dean.

But when they settle down to watch Law & Order after dinner that night, Sam gets a chance to think. He wonders, not for the first time, how truly terrible Cas must be, for Dean to talk about him all the frigging time, and by the end of the episode, he's decided to be the pillar of support his brother needs, right now.

So when Dean starts, randomly, about how Castiel doesn't even appreciate good music, Sam whips out his puppy eyes, and listens to the entire tale.

Weeks pass.

His first paper is Tuesday, Ethics. Sam spends most hours of the day on his desk, holed up in his room.

It would be unfair to Dean to say he used up all the time Sam did spend around him, to talk about Cas.

(Which Castiel had ended up being, obviously.)

He only used like sixty percent of it.

"He's just...a weird, dorky little guy." Dean ends, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. His hands play with the hem of his jacket - he's still in work clothes.

Sam sighs.

"You know what?" Dean stands up. "I'm going to make coffee. Do I get you a mug or a thermos?"

"Thermos, please." Sam calls after him, gratefully.

"Okay. Carry on, bitch."

Sam feels guilty.

He's been so caught up in college, deadlines and exams, he's hardly talked to Dean except to thank him for all the coffee and sandwiches.

Dean may be a jerk all year, but he can get really supportive when Sam needs him to be.

Sam feels bad for not doing the same.

So when Dean puts a peanut butter sandwich in front of him, at one am while Sam panics through his last night revision, he looks up at his brother blankly and asks. "Hey, how's the guy who's been making your life hell? You stopped telling me about him."

"Oh, uh." Dean pauses.

Sam waits, but Dean takes too long, as if he's contemplating, so he takes a bite of his sandwich instead.

"He's not that bad." Dean finally lets out, exhaling into a hint of a smile.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"To you kicking Stanford's ass!" Dean raises his bottle, perhaps the sixth toast of the night, giant grin plastered on his face.

"I keep telling you the results are a far way from being out yet - but hear, fucking hear!" Sam clinks his glass to Dean's beer, smile equally wide. He's finally done. There's finally no more papers, no more tests, no more revision.

He made it through.

"I'm proud of you." Dean mutters lazily, leaning back on the seat.

"Y-yeah. I know." Sam returns joyfully, neither of them really thinking about what they're saying. They've been drinking for hours. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at his words. There's a moment of silence - well, as silent as it ever gets in the Roadhouse. Then Dean speaks up. "Guess what, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't even correct him.

"What?"

"I'm going to ask Cas out today." Dean declares, and Sam's eyebrows go up again, because while he's definitely known his brother's into guys for years, he hadn't expected Dean to come out like this.

But six beers in, and a declaration of pride out, Dean just ups and says it.

"I think I have a crush on him."

Many months go by. It's Sam's final year. And he's moving back onto campus.

"I'm going to miss you." Sam tells Dean, after they've finished lugging all of his bags into Jessica's room. Dean's half sitting on Baby's hood, and Sam has his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Shuddup." Dean throws back, and he definitely sounds weird. "I'm like, seven minutes away."

"Still." Sam grins, earnest.

"Yeah, alright. I'm not making you move out, okay?" Dean straightens, scoffing. "Have fun convincing Jessica to make you breakfast food at midnight."

"Yeah but," Sam laughs. "You live like, seven minutes away."

"Like hell I do. Get your ninety-percent peanut butter ass over here." Dean sighs, and Sam walks up to him, letting Dean pull him into a hug.

They hold onto each other, safety in the familiarity. Both of them know that they're probably not going to live together again. Sam has a plan after college, which doesn't involve moving back to Dean's. But they've shared a house for so long, it's going to feel weird.

It's going to be strange.

To lighten the moment, Sam whispers. "So, uh. Cas is moving in after I'm gone, isn't he?"

"He's probably already redecorating the place to get rid of your nerd cooties." Dean thumps him on the back, as they separate. There's a smile lingering on his face.

"What about your nerd cooties?" Sam bitchfaces at him.

"He likes those." Dean defends, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I bet he does." Sam snorts, and Dean reddens, realizing he just walked right into that, and then he just swears under his breath goodnaturedly as Sam walks into his new place.

Sam's phone rings.

It's only eight, on a Saturday, and Sam doesn't have to leave for office at nine like everyday, so he's sleeping in. Amelia's next to him, and she elbows him when the annoying ringtone wakes her before it wakes Sam.

"Sorry, babe." Sam tells her, kissing the top of her head distractedly, picking up the phone and sitting up when he hears Dean's voice.

It's trembling with excitement.

"Sam!" Dean gushes, and there's really no other word for it. There seems to be a commotion behind him, but the happy kind. Dean's tone is almost ecstatic.

"Dean?" Sam confirms, groggily.

"Dude, Cas just asked me to marry him!" Dean let out, almost breathless. "And I said yes! Of course, I said yes! We're getting married, Sammy!."

A smile grows on Sam's face. "Dude. You're getting married."

"I'm getting married!" Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at something Cas is saying apparently, because then he tells Sam he's putting him on speaker.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greets him, sounding thoroughly overjoyed.

"Congratulations, Cas." Sam says, beaming now. He's so happy for them both. Cas is amazing, and he gets Dean, and Sam knows Dean loves him so much. "And, uh, Dean? You better fight a good fight for my Bestmanship, versus Castiel's brother, okay?"

Dean laughs, and it's the kind of rare excited laugh which makes everyone around smile too.

Cas answers, instead, his voice just as excited. "Don't worry, I'd rather have Gabriel be the caterer."

Sam chuckles. "Good."

"Give the phone back a minute, Cas," Dean says in the background, and then it's off-speaker, and just Dean, again. "You're not busy being important or anything, are you?"

Sam looks around him. "No?" Dean hesitates for a beat, until Sam catches the gist. "Dude! Of course I'm not busy. Tell me everything!" Dean lets out a sound which is definitely a squeal, though he'd never own up to it. "How did it happen? Why did it happen so early?"

Dean exhales, happily, and Sam can picture the smile on his face.

"Wait, is there a ring? Dean, I need you to show me the ring." Sam adds, just before Dean starts to tell Sam about it all. Just like he had, at the very beginning.

Six days to the wedding, Sam sits on the old porch chair, tapping his pen on his notebook.

He needs to write a speech.

There's so much to tell. The two of them are adorable, for god's sake. They tend to be cheesy even in front of him, and so unaware of it - Sam wonders if they turn into mushy marshmallows when his back is turned.

Maybe he should include that in his speech. "Mushy Marshmallows" is a cute alliteration. Huh.

After an entire evening of thinking, he pushes himself off his seat to get a cup of coffee. (He'd try to convince Dean to make some, but him and Cas have an appointment with a florist for the wedding.)

In any case, Sam may not be done with the speech entirely, but he figures he's earned a break. You see, he's already got an unbelievably great title. He can work from there.

"How Dean Is The Worst Judge Of People."

He has a good first line, too. "Exhibit A: Novak-slash-Castiel-slash-Cas."

#destiel #deancas fluff #deancas fic #deancas au #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #castiel/dean #castiel/dean winchester #young castiel #young dean winchester #stanford sam #sam winchester fluff #sam and dean #destiel ficlet #domestic destiel #i wrote a thing #dean is bi

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courtgossip · 3 years ago

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Roman Dude Ancient Prude?

Feb. 22, 2018

Council meeting experiences momentary heat-up when discussing experimental therapy.

A new report has come in from a shit-stirring fledgling (our favorite kind!) who spent some time in the library of the Chateau with an Elder.

The informant was there to peep the book selection ("Dusty and pretentious. And yes--you can quote me directly on that"). The Elder sat before the fireplace, lost in thought.

So lost, apparently, that they let their guard slip. The Fledgling was able to have a minor riffle around in the thoughts of the Elder and oh boy, hold onto your asses.

Apparently in the last meeting, Dr. Fareed was filling the council in on how the therapy is going when the PM made it known that he thought they were all wasting their time with this endeavor.

"Honestly, I was shocked," said our informant, "I read A.'s memoir. Of course I did--we all have. I would have thought those two would be on the therapy first. Or that at least A. would be on it. Dude slang his dick all around town when he was mortal. But who knows."

The informant went on to say that the Roman apparently clarified that he thought the Lab should be working on a way to keep us from going into total paralysis once the sun comes up.

"And then P. interrupted just as things were really starting to get heated," our informant continued, "Basically, she was implying that he didn't fuck much when he was mortal, which is funny. Or that he was a lousy lay? Which is hilarious."

Indeed.

#//elder armand #//prime minister #//elder pandora #//sex and romance

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adammilligan · 4 years ago

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i ABSOLUTELY want to hear about the fantasy au!!!

OKAY! this is gonna be a ride so strap in. if it's incomprehensible and confusing then whatever let's do this anyway

so adam is from a town up in the far north, right. he lived there with kate until he was fourteen and kate (who worked as the town healer) passed away. kate was respected in the town because she was the best at her job but adam, as a bastard child, could never quite manage to win that same respect from the townspeople (and ofc it being a small town that same distrust generally gets passed down to children as well) so when his mom died adam was like yknow what? fuck it??? i'm leaving i'm out and if i'm gonna die of starvation sooner or later i'm at least gonna visit someplace beyond this icy wasteland for the first time in my life. so he takes what he knows about traveling through the snow and what little possessions he can carry with him and he just fucking. bails. if the town wants a healer they can do it themselves❤

so anyway he travels south and he damn near doesn't make it because he's fourteen and entirely unused to traveling because he's lived in the town his whole life and doesn't know what the fuck he's doing. but he's also stubborn as all fucking hell and doesn't let himself collapse until he starts seeing deciduous trees instead of coniferous and then he's like "wow. that's pretty" and just fucking faceplants. right in the grass.

so of course he doesn't die yet, right, he's found by somebody who drags his scrawny ass to some shelter and it turns out she's a sort of traveling healer??? and like...adam learned a lot from his mom but she was supposed to start REALLY teaching him when he was fifteen and obviously that didn't happen. so adam decides, since he has literally nowhere else to go and nothing else to live for basically, that he'll ask to be the woman's apprentice and (to his MAJOR fucking surprise) she accepts. so for the next six-ish years he basically spends time learning how to properly heal people and traveling along EVERYWHERE (he absolutely has a little summer fling with kristin in a seaside town. this is non-negotiable) and eventually all good things have to come to an end, right? so the woman isn't OLD old but she's certainly hitting an age and she decides that she's gonna settle down and just pass all her shit on to him and though he doesn't wanna leave the only person he's known for years he decides that he stills wants to Go Out and See Things and Help People and so they part ways.

meanwhile, in the world of royalty, there's a battle brewing because one kingdom just Will Not Fuck Off at the border between them and michael's acting as the prince regent right now because chuck is indisposed one way or another and he just sort of decides yknow what? fuck it? if these motherfuckers aren't going to leave then we're just gonna make them leave? and takes a party of knights down to the border to make them fuck off.

adam, who just so happened to be headed straight for the border, is not amused. but we'll get back to him in a moment.

anyway the fight starts, shit gets wild because there were more people down there than they thought, and michael's party is pretty much forced to in the midst of battle (like some "EVERY MAN FOR THEMSELVES" thing) but the PROBLEM is, michael gets hit and he gets hit BAD. like someone sliced him up and then a fleeing horse trampled him for good measure. the thing though is while michael's party was forced to flee, the opposing side was also forced to retreat because more of their numbers were taken out than he thought. so michael's essentially bleeding out on the forest floor, adam's been hiding up a tree this entire time because....what the FUCK just happened. and then he sees someone who's very obviously royalty just laying on the grass and decides to go up to him and poke him with a stick because if he's dead then HEY⁠—free stuff he can loot off his body to sell, right? give him a break he could always use the coin.

so, as it turns out, the dude's not dead! fan-fucking-tastic, right?

and adam TRIES to leave him behind. he really does. but then he thinks about how he would've died if the healer hadn't helped him and he thinks about what his mom would do and he bangs his head against a tree a couple times before finally turning around and performing the speediest emergency patch job on this man who might not even make it and all the while he's just like "don't wanna be here. people are gonna accuse me of murdering nobility. i have better things to do that be executed. cmon" and he's not even sure that the royal dude's gonna MAKE IT but he does his best anyway. he's using up supplies for this. royal dude better be fucking grateful.

once it finally seems like royal dude's not gonna die if adam moves him more than two inches, adam (veery slowly) drags him to a nearby cave system that he'd seen when he'd passed through the area before and decides to just look after him from there.

eventually, after adam has been looking after him for a While, royal dude wakes up. and he's Not Happy about it. so, naturally, he and adam get into an argument where he declares he's a prince and how dare adam lay his filthy hands on him yada yada yada and adam's like lol i'm not the one with the major fucking injury but alright. but also he's worried that michael's gonna kill him after he gets better but he doesn't want to leave him to die either and also he put too much work into this pretentious mf to just leave him now SO he might as well risk death.

and michael TRIES to do things independently at first. he REALLY does. he tries to the point where he keeps tearing his stitches and adam starts absolutely raising hell about it because his supplies are already wearing thin enough without angryfuck mcstubbornmeister fucking ruining them every chance he gets. and then he just fucking storms off for literally eight hours and michael's like "FINE. DIDN'T NEED HIM AROUND ANYWAY" but is also worried because he really can't move around all that much and he doesn't WANT to die and just as he's sort of accepting that he's been left adam storms back in with new supplies that he spent the last of his coin on and literally just starts raving about how if michael fucks these up too adam will LITERALLY smother him in his sleep. prince or not. and honestly adam's surprised michael didn't try to forcefully claw his way out of the cave but michael's just surprised that this commoner didn't just leave for good.

they both make an effort to get along a little better after that.

and then they actually get to talking and realize that they have more in common than they thought. which is odd, because they're also so different but they're similar in all the ways that matter and eventually they start trading stories while adam starts helping michael finally move around again and oftentimes the caves would echo with their laughter, so loudly would it reverberate around the stone walls. when michael is finally able to start walking (albeit REALLY stiffly) without assistance, he insists that he's going to go hunt because adam's been doing it for the both of them all this time and he hates just sitting around doing nothing. and when he ends up unable to catch anything because the pain flared up a bit too much, adam doesn't say a word, just flashes him a smile and shoots down a rabbit that they share without a word. and then adam lets him get water from the river instead, and somehow they end up laughing and soaking wet because they started a little splash fight even though adam starts fussing about the wounds afterwards.

but then the day comes; the day that michael can finally move around normally without too much strain, and at first neither of them acknowledge it. at first, they still sit by the riverbank and fish and tell each other whispered stories (whether fact or fiction) by the cooking fire, faces tanned from the heat and sitting a little too close than they'd like to mention. but michael brings it up one day, with hunched shoulders and a weary frown at the reminder, that he has a kingdom to rule. that his father was out of commission, and the longer he stayed hidden away the weaker the kingdom would seem, and adam sighs and concedes.

michael asks, a little hopeful, if adam would come with him. he could be appointed as the court physician, and he wouldn't ever have to worry about money or shelter or supplies ever again. but adam is used to small houses and worn paths and the ache of travel and the hard earth as his bed and his pillow, not downy mattresses and pampering. besides, constantly having to be in the presence of all those snobby nobles would be the absolute death of him, and he knows it.

so he says no, and very nearly changes his answer when michael's form deflates, the prince regent's face pulling into something downright sorrowful, and adam promises to accompany him to the border before they part ways.

they make it to the border, and it isn't even two moments of them awkwardly standing there shuffling their feet before adam thinks to hell with it and pulls the prince regent of one of the largest kingdoms in the land into a hug, except...they don't separate. they don't separate until adam pulls back, just enough to look michael in the eyes, before kissing him. it's soft and light and chaste, something that begins and brings with it the promise of never quite ending, even after they finally break apart, their foreheads gently meeting as they stare at each other.

michael asks if they'll ever meet again. adam doesn't know what to say, because life is tumultuous and messy and he might die before the year is at an end, so he only smiles. he smiles and he kisses michael once on the cheek and tells him that his kingdom is waiting for him, all while thinking (but never voicing) that it is his kingdom that needs him and michael has never been nor ever will be bound by the wants of a nameless travelling healer, and they finally unwind from each other and turn their separate ways, determined to not look back even as their minds scream for them to.

michael heads south, towards his kingdom, and adam heads west, always veering just the smallest bit north but never quite making it back to the town of his roots⁠—what holds him back, he's not sure yet. but there are people in need of help, and he'll be damned if he's going to let them suffer.

and so, it ends.

(until the unwritten sequel, where michael returns to his kingdom⁠—only to find it in utter shambles)

#ask and ye shall receive #this got really long sorry about that #if i ever was to write another multi-chap fic would yall be interested in something like this or would you let it flop #asks #thank you for asking!#midam #michael #adam milligan #story

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creek-cryptid-deluxe · 3 years ago

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Oh man. So I just watched a documentary HBO released. It was fantastic but there's a TON of talk about violence & s*xual assault because it was a documentary about...

Woodstock 99.

Now when this happened I was 14. I liked a lot of those bands & thus watched it on MTV (because back then MTV still played music, although MTV2 played more music up my alley, less pop) so I watched this all happen in real time over the course of 3 days. It was bananas.

The documentary was a lot of footage from the event, interviews with attendees, music journalists, the event creators (who still somehow maintain it was a success & 'not as bad as the media made it out to be'), random staff (security & emt), and some artists.

Now, I must retract a statement made yesterday on my Queen of the Damned rant, as Jon Davis was interviewed on this doc. Jon, I apologize for & retract statements made yesterday. You have cleaned it up & it was good to see you looking healthier than I've seen you look in the better part of 2 decades. Proud of you man. Glad you're flourishing. Sorry I was an asshole yesterday.

Can't say the same for my boy Dexter Holland from The Offspring. I wouldn't have known it was him if not for the text onscreen identifying him. He legit looked like someone made a massive overly tanned balloon caricature of him. Holy shit. And this isn't just some "getting older" weight that most people get. This is like... Don Vito from Viva La Bam (rip) level shit. Like...wow.

Moby was interviewed & they showed footage of his bus coming into the venue and I gotta say... dude is still a pretentious piece of shit. I don't understand how he can have his head so far up his own ass & still be able to speak audibly for cameras. Dude wasn't even that good for his genre, much less in general!

Don't get me wrong, I grew up listening to a ton of different genres. Still do. That's what you get when your dad is a musician & your mom is schizoaffective & your stepmom is an 80s new wave/pop person who loves fucking John Hughes movies. Tons of variety. At the 'height' of his career, I was listening to The Prodigy (RIP Keith Flint♡), Chemical Brothers, Crystal Method, and Daft Punk. But jesus christ Moby was crap.

Moby: fuck you. You're a shit artist & a garbage person. If I ever meet you, you're getting a cane to the nuts just because of who you are as a person. Then probably again for assaulting the public with your crap electronic music. Wanker.

So the present day interviews did just talk about the events of the festival but also things that were happening in the world at the time because a huge part of why it became the shit show it did was that it catered to & drew in a very specific demographic: angry white dudes between 20-25. They probably weren't sure why they were angry but they absolutely fucking were.

So in talking about what was happening at the time they obviously touched on the Clinton/Lewinsky thing, the fears about y2k, and the like.

The best part of this entire documentary for me:

They talked about the napster thing & the stance Lars Urlich from Metallica took on it. There were actually a number of artists who disagreed with his stance. There was footage of a round table style interview with him & Chuck D from Public Enemy. Lars is over there looking pissy while Chuck D was saying "I think this is a great thing because it puts the music back into the hands of the people." The idea being that they can easily share it with friends & it ends up gaining them new fans. Hell, that was the entire basis for Dashboard Confessional's career. Their vocalist has openly stated that if not for sites like Napster, Limewire, & Kazaa, nobody would have ever heard their music.

Cut to an interview with present day Dave Munstaine (formerly of Metallica but has been the front for Megadeth for far longer. He may also be the reason behind my thing for redheaded dude. Hm.) Let me just say, for being a 59 year old rockstar who just survived throat cancer, that man is still fucking gorgeous. And the hair is still long & red, bless him.

Anyway, his interview is my favorite fucking part because this man said something along the lines of:

"I remember back when I was with Metallica trading mixed cassette tapes. That's how we found new music. This isn't different. Why did Lars do what he did? I mean, who knows why someone does something like that. Doesn't he have enough money? I certainly think so..."

Y'ALL. I legit had to pause it & out loud said "BROOOOOOOOO. That is the most serious but legit shade I've ever seen thrown IN MY LIFE."

Then text my dad (because Metallica is his favorite & he tries to tell me all the time how Lars was justified) & didn't quote it but told him the Dave just threw serious fucking shade at Lars for the Napster thing & that he HAS to watch this doc.

His response was: "lol yeah there's definitely no love lost between Dave & Metallica. You hear Megadeth is putting out a new album despite Dave having just recovered from throat cancer?"

(I had not known about the album or the cancer. I hope Dave is doing well. Love him.)

But yes, that was the absolute highlight of my fucking week much less the documentary.

A warning: the low point of the doc is when attendees & journalists are talking about the instances of the aforementioned assaults & they cut to one of the even organizers present day interview & he says:

"I mean, we aren't talking about thousands of instances or even hundreds. There were maybe 50 or so." (At which point I scream "THAT WERE OFFICIALLY REPORTED YOU SCUMBAG!" This was later confirmed for me by an attendee who set up an anonymous site for attendees to report if they had been assaulted at the event so they wouldn't feel alone & have there story heard. There WERE 1000s.) Then he went on to say: "All those women who were walking around topless or wearing body paint, expecting not to be touched, they are partly to blame."

EXCUSE SIR, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY ON CAMERA FOR A DOCUMENTARY?!?!

Then he keeps talking about the event was an overall success & blames the artists for riling up the crowd (bruh you booked a load of bands that are angry. Korn. Dmx. Rage Against the Machine. Limp fucking Bizkit. What did you expect them to do? Come out and play fucking folk music? No. Their brand is fucking anger.) & of course the media for 'blowing it way out of proportion & scewing the narrative by only interviewing artists who were upset/angry.'

But every artist who was interviewed in present day was like "Yeah the energy of the crowd was fucking insane & hostile." Artists kept having to begin sets or stop mid-set to be like "Hey man! I'm seeing a lot of chicks getting groped while they crowd surf or out there enjoying the music. That shit is unacceptable. They deserve to enjoy themselves without getting groped. Ladies, if a dude crowd surfs by you, grab his fucking balls! Equality, right ladies?!" (This particular quote was from Dexter Holland mid-set with The Offspring. God love him.)

In short, good doc if you aren't triggered by such things, especially if you watched it in real time back in 99. Absolutely worth it for the Dave Munstaine shade. I'm still reeling about that. Fucking brilliant.

Dave, I know you're nearly my dad's age, but call me. I've loved you since i was like 6 yrs old.

(I also loved Sebastian Bach of Skid Row at the time, but let's keep that on the down low. What can I say, I love musicians with good hair.)

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tfw-no-tennis · 4 years ago

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mtmte liveblog issue 30

30 issues wow...forget the fact that I skipped like 5 issues of crossover event nonsense

another big ole swerve recap omg

this trial is so messsyyyyyyyyy lmao

hvbajdfbahsjkfdbhjs starscream listening to meagtrons speech looking like ‘hmmmmmmm I may have miscalculated’

prowl looks pissed af meanwhile optimus just looks dead inside lmao

I mean. megatron kinda does have a point. this is like, the most biased, conflict of interests lookin trial of all time, in that all the major participants have some sort of long, complicated history with each other. what a mess

optimus, listening to megatron’s speech: wow this is worse than divorce court was

oh shit I totally forgot that those decepticons attacked the trial

MAGNUS HAMMER AYYYYYY

a guy saying ‘objection!’ as optimus prime punches half his face off...that pretty much sums up idw op lmao

op: oh thank god, I can punch shit now. I'm not cut out for this bureaucracy nonsense

megatron: thanks, random decepticon, for the attempted rescue, but I'm super old and I just want to nap so no thanks

random decepticon: wtf- [gets murdered by optimus prime]

I love op’s big ass antennae

meanwhile, brainstorm goes to a bar and instead of buying anything, pulls out his own drink. I feel like that isn't allowed in most bars, or is at least frowned up vbsjdhfbhjdkfn. ily brainstorm

also? big ass mood I was so broke last time I was on a barhopping vacation w/friends that I brought a cheap giantass bottle of mixed drink in my backpack and just drank that at all the bars lmao

WHIRLLLL I love his humansona sm. and also I love that whirl is into artsy french movies or w/e omg

brainstorm, drinking thru a wrist funnel: sorry I cant take my mask off rn it isn’t plot relevant yet

‘earthlets’ lmao

I love that rung is like, too pretentious to care that much about movies and would rather read earth books lol

and then bluestreak is like ‘yeah they have books...comic books’ can this man not read

I still cannot fuckign believe that the argument that got megatron out of a for-sure death sentence or w/e was ‘its not a war crime if we’re on the moon’ liiiiike what the actual hell lmao

also I love that, once again, we see magnus’s strict adherence to the law, technicalities and all

magnus: you cant really stop a trial and move it somewhere else where the laws are better suited to the outcome you desire

prowl: what are you, a cop? fuck off

also op being like ‘ok whatever all that doesn't matter...what DOES matter is that it would look bad for us to move the trial to cybertron in an obvious attempt to circumvent the rules, and public perception is what’s most important, fuck all that ‘morality’ bullshit’

meanwhile, rodimus is dead! and ambulon is also dead, which makes first aid sad, which makes ME sad

ayyy, rodimus is still alive! well, one rodimus is alive, at least

rodimus and megatron really have the vibes of ‘stepfather and stepson forced to work together on a family road trip gone wrong after dad decided to sit this one out’ lmao

ah yes, ‘malaise’ the medical diagnostic term for ‘I don't feel so hot and idk why’ that practitioners like to throw under the ‘diagnostic notes’ section of lab orders to explain why they're ordering every blood test under the sun for a patient

I love medical terminology. ANYWAYS

BE NICE TO MY BOY MEGATRON.

rodimus: listen I have to come to terms with the fact that there's another version of me right here, and he’s DEAD, which means we can’t fuck, which is super lame

I firmly believe that rodimus would be team ‘hell yeah id have sex with my AU self’ tbh

I find it interesting that megatron is often casting blame for his actions onto others - here, he says that rodimus made him realize he doesn’t want to stop doing stuff w/his life, and then says that starscream forced his hand w/the whole ‘luna 2 law’ thing, and previously he’s said how whirl beating him up in jail is what led to him abandoning pacifism - take responsibility for your actions and decisions dude!

though he goes on to say here that he resorted to violence because he realized that the system that was in place could withstand everything else he would have tried to use to change it, which is super interesting

megatron: okay, yes, I MIGHT have murdered billions, but I could help find us a new planet, which would be baller, sooooo...how about you co-opt your lame son’s frat boy ship and put me in charge?

op: sounds fair to me. now how about we do some more Big Speeches before I make you somebody else’s problem

vbhdjskfbhaskdjf the ‘team rodimus’ lineup setup reminds me so much of the ‘together we make the ______’ meme with the different members being like, ‘the power’ ‘the gay’ ‘the awesome’ ‘the guy with no ears’ hbvhjdkfbs

chromedome: if I do this I could die

rodimus: that sounds like a you problem bro

‘this one time’ YEA RIGHT c'mon cd honor your dead husband’s wishes

omfg I forgot abt brainstorms ‘early early warning system’ lmao

I love nautica soooo much oh man

ooooof drift :( :( oh no

dead future rodimus!! uh oh is right

rodimus, known himbo: I'm sure I can defeat the inevitability of future events! all I have to do is cut my own arm off!

tailgateeeee he’s so cute...I love that he can tell stories of his daring escapades, just like at the beginning of mtmte, but this time its actually TRUE

OH SHITTTT GETAWAY

he looks so fucking sinister there lmao how are we NOT supposed to realize he has bad intentions from the get-go

‘you’ll make a prime one day’ well, getaway, you’re right about that at least...

cyclonus in the bg like 🤨🤔 at getaway

seriously I cant get over how getaway has such a slimy kinda vibe to him, like specifically in his interactions w/tailgate - this is before things even really take off but I'm still like TG GET AWAY (lol) FROM THIS GUY

cyclonus: somebody flirting with my crush? better go stare out a window instead of communicating absolutely anything to said crush about my feelings!

honestly I feel like, while megatron renouncing the decepticons and becoming an autobot is certainly interesting, it would be equally interesting for him to remain a decepticon but try to change the philosophy of the movement

like, I get why op had him give that speech - to prevent the cons from trying to free megs again/thinking that he was being coerced into things (ironic considered he WAS coerced into giving that speech) - but it’s kinda the easy way our for megatron - being able to completely abandon the decepticon cause and not deal with it at all, and start over anew as an autobot

it would've been a lot harder to remain a con and try to reform what he has broken in the decepticon movement - but I think that would've been really interesting

though from a writing logistics standpoint, I get why jro didn't go for that bc we don't get a lot of other decepticons in the cast for that to work, and also megatron still definitely DOES have to face down all his mistakes w/the decepticons w/the djd and overlord and whatnot

anyways. I cant believe that all megatron had to do to join the lost light was make ONE speech denouncing the decepticons. like, they should've at least had him do a tiktok dance too or something, just to make it a really tough deal

I love the rodpod vbhjfsdkfbjaskjndfj

ok but I still don't really get the logic of making megs CAPTAIN like ouch. poor rodimus

I feel like making megs a bartender at swerves or st would've been WAY more useful in showing him humility or w/e. OR it would've made him evil again, which, fair,

ratchet: don't worry, we’ll medically poison him, it’ll be fine

ok but rodimus is right, this is SO messy, op wants to prove his ex husband isn't 100% evil so he’s like ‘ill let my rebellious son deal with him’ lmao god. I love this setup so much, its so wild

ratchet is also right, rodimus’s fuckup definitely pales in comparison to megatrons All That

OH BRUTALLLLLLLL when ratchet says the list is fake ‘because my name’s not on it’ FUCKING OUCHHHHH

‘only bad guys say ‘unhand me” rodimus ily

omfg ‘we’ve practiced this’ of course they've done evacuation drills...magnus ily

lmao it’s the panel where it looks like rodimus and megatron are doing karaoke or having some sort of rap battle

and the lost light is GONE! oh shit!!!!

and there closes issue 30! once again we’ve gotten a lot of setup and exposition - which, while definitely necessary, means I don't have too much to say

I will say, throwing megatron onto the lost light has definitely mixed things up, and it’s interesting to see new dynamics already forming

so, until next time!

#lj rereads mtmte

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