#they recognize their actions as collective “why did *we* throw the knife out the window” etc.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

forever thinking about how the long quiet embracing their full divinity involves The Voices coming back. like yeah being plural is basically the same thing as being a godi'll cosign that

[drhu0806]

11 – “You lost it. Well, we lost it.”

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 (fanfiction) Characters: Tav/custom player character Rating: T Warnings: strong language

When the small window in the attic is uncovered, the bright sunlight that falls into the room reveals a dust-covered, messy space filled with chests, crates, and other clutter left untouched for years. Kainé coughs as she waves away the cloud of dust the flies up at the barest touch.

“Woooow, you took great care of the place, huh?”

Another tiefling steps into the room. Her skin is almost the same color as Kainé’s, but a slightly darker, wine shade to her rosy red. Her face is dotted with youthful freckles, but the dark makeup she wears makes her seem older than she is at first glance. She gives the dusty attic a judgmental once over.

“You really just stuffed all of Gran’s things in here? What if you needed to find something important, like, oh, now?”

“And you think standing there posturing is going to fix the problem? If you’re so afraid of getting a bit of dirt on your precious fancy clothes, then maybe you should take yourself back to your crusty little Upper City circle.”

Halua rolls her eyes but begins perusing a corner regardless. Outside the door, the rest of the party stands frozen by the threshold. Astarion looks to the rest and frantically shakes his head.

“I do not want to be anywhere near this!” he whispers.

Gale grimaces. “Ah, the beauty of family reunions. Perhaps we can simply wait out here…?”

“Are the rest of you coming in?” they hear Kainé call.

At the wild gesticulating from the rest of the group, Astarion leaps into action. “Uhh, it’s a little cramped in there, darling. I’m sure you and your sister are perfectly capable of taking care of things. Why don’t you throw anything you need unlocked out here for me to open? That way we’ll have more space to look at things.”

“Um… Sure.”

They collectively release sighs of relief and quickly disperse, though Astarion, nosy as ever, continues to loiter. Inside, the two tieflings continue to paw through the contents of the room. Kainé moves slowly as she goes through her late grandmother’s possessions, her hands lingering over uncovered items as memories come rushing back. There’s an old gardening set she recognizes from years ago, one she borrowed when she was growing her first vegetable garden. She finds a tea set with a tea knife she cut her hand on as a child (she still has the scar). There are books she’s certain are older than she is, some filled with handwritten notes and sketches, others on varying topics from all walks of life.

When they lost her all those years ago, she’d locked all these away without a second glance, wanting to shut out the pain and never look back. But years later, as she stands among the remnants of the life of the woman who raised her, Kainé can’t help but try and piece together the person her grandmother had been. A new wave of grief wells up within her, but different than the ones that came before. She laments never learning more about who she had been before her granddaughters came into her life, before her son’s bloodied and battered family showed up on her doorstep after crossing an unfathomable distance through the Hordelands in search of a better life. Who was she, when she wasn’t Grandmother?

“姐，给我帮个忙.”

Halua’s call rouses her from her thoughts. Finding nothing on her end, she helps her sister shuffle through the other corner of the room. Locked chests are moved outside the room to be picked open, the floor of the attic is gradually laid out with various objects. The two woman, covered in dust, take a small break as they behold a faded red jewelry box.

“Okay, hopefully this is it,” Kainé breathes as she wipes her forehead. Her sister sits sprawled against the wall, her head tilted back against the wall.

“Gods, I hope so,” she bemoans. “I really didn’t think she kept so much stuff. How long did it take you to move all this?”

“Ugh, I don’t remember. It was quick but… I wasn’t particularly careful about it.”

“I’ll say… Alright, let’s get this over with.”

They flip open the lid, revealing a hodgepodge mix of various accessories. It takes a few moments of picking through it before they notice something’s off.

“Hey, sis, is it me or… are these not supposed to be in here?”

“Well, some of these belong, but some of these definitely don’t… I don’t remember her keeping these in here. And the pendant is definitely not in here.”

They sit in contemplative silence before Halua’s eyes light up. “Hey, do you remember when we were moving her old furniture because it wouldn’t all fit up here? And then—”

“We had that awful mess because things fell off, yes, I remember. A lot of it was jewelry.”

“And we were in such a hurry we just ended up throwing things wherever, which means…”

Kainé’s shoulders drop. “Which means it’s probably not here. Fucking hell.”

“Gods… I cannot believe you lost it.”

The elder sister gives the younger an incredulous, menacing look, and Halua chuckles with a dismissive wave. “I’m kidding. We lost it.”

If the floor wasn’t so dirty, Kainé would have collapsed in a heap onto it right then and there. “Alright, give me a few minutes, and then we’ll go.”

[ldouble]

Helluva Party | Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: As a former employee of S.H.I.E.L.D (on the very front lines), you're somehow pulled into attending a notorious Tony Stark party. That’s where you meet Steve Rogers, officially, and the two of you weirdly click. Two people - trying to make a new life, who keep getting sucked into their old ways.

characters: steve rogers x reader

The elevator effortlessly glides up, but your stomach feels like you’re on the twistiest and turniest roller coaster. You have to put a hand to your torso, repeat the words you tell patients when they feel sick for no reason, remind yourself it’s nothing.

Therapy is one thing to talk someone down from. When you’re calming someone down, its because they’re about to do some major self discovery, scientifically aided, and healed if not completely cured.

They have no reason to worry.

And neither do you.

But Stark Tower is intimidating. Especially when it hosts everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You got a fresh start last year. S.H.I.E.L.D fell. Your work dried up. There was no where else you were needed. Enough had been accidentally cut on your watch with your knife throwing skills. So you did what you always wanted, before your deathly hobby turned into a career. You were now working as a psychiatrist. You got out of your own head to get into others.

Now, you were suddenly crawling back into the brains that you had almost become.

The stop of the elevator had you poised to hit the close door button, ready to make your way back down to the lobby to grab a cab home to your apartment. But your psychologist mind took over, the practice what you preach mentality overtaking, and your finger fell.

By the time the doors opened with a ding, your chin was up and head held somewhat high. It was the quickest reset you had ever performed. If only you had your notorious notebook to jot down how it had worked so well.

You had just remembered the old receipt in your clutch (dated with the last time you dressed up which was ages ago) that you could write on when someone yelled your name. At the sight of Natasha Romanoff, the idea of writing down your findings flew out the window.

“Nat!” You smile, accepting the Russian’s hug.

She reciprocates the action, asking more questions than you usually got out in an hour session with a routine client.

By the time you had make it to the bar you are filled in on all she had been up to, the details of the latest mission in retrieving of Loki’s scepter and all things Bruce.

Natasha gulps at you look once she finished retelling the doctor’s recent findings with the tesseract. She was already shaking her head at your silent implications when you placed a gentle hand over hers.

“As a doctor myself,” Natasha rolls her eyes at the mention of your new job. “No one talks that much about me unless they like me way more than a doctor.”

Natasha bites her lip, mumbling something about how you outfit was too nice to kick me. You laughed, a hearty laugh you hadn’t felt in ages. Upon seeing her recognize the newfound happiness you shooed her behind the bar in ask for a drink. 

She waltzes away giving you just enough time to collect yourself once again. You hate to admit it (acceptance was always the hardest step of grief) but you missed her. You missed the days of fighting, working, living and saving.

It was harder to see the goals you met in your new line of work. It took years to build a client base, see your patients make progress, feel like you’re helping people when all you can do is listen.

It never felt good to kill someone. The sound of a blade whipping through the air was satisfying but nothing felt better than knowing there was less person doing the opposite of helping. Hurting. Hunting. Killing.

So why did you feel like you were doing something similar not being in the field?

You blink the thoughts away, turning to wave Nat down for something a little stronger than a beer when you saw her chatting it up with none other than Dr. Banner. You shake your head, your eyes moving back down the bar.

Your focus is caught by a brooding blonde. A literal God, named Thor. But its his neighbor that makes you freeze. Tony Stark never really had that effect on women (it was his money that enticed them not his looks) but the mere sight of him makes you gasp.

Your last conversation hadn’t been the most pleasant. You had refused a job at Stark Industries, believing you needed a clean break. He had pressed you to the point of pure anguish. The last thing you remember saying to him was something along the lines of, “You can’t ask me to stay to help you sort out whatever that is.” With a point at his head.

You quickly turn around, not wanting a repeat when he already had a glass of champagne in his hand. Sober Tony was obnoxious. Intoxicated Tony was a whole other level of big headedness.

You make your way through the party, ignoring the likes of anyone who looks remotely familiar. The few who had stayed loyal to the real S.H.I.E.L.D rather than turn in favor for HYDRA had come over, just like Tony asked you to. It was unclear who was worse to be trapped into a conversation with - someone who knew why you were no longer involved or those who didn’t.

You find your way up to a second floor hallway, one side looking out onto the party while the other faced the skyline. Uninterested in people watching (a reason that sounded much more mature than not wanting to be recognized) you face the large windows out onto the city.

You spin on your heel, your eyes traveling from the lights outside to inside when your eyes glaze over the very face of the Avengers.

But it isn’t Captain America’s face that caught your attention, rather the conversation his friend was spitting.

“Avenging is your world.” Sam Wilson, The Falcon, shakes his head into space, before turning to face the party just across the aisle. “Your world is crazy.”

It was your turn to shake your head, biting your lip in a weird resonation of his words. His next words, be it ever so humble, about the entire situation.

He was right. You know it, too. This world of fighting was hectic. Chaos. It really shouldn’t exist. But then you’d look out over some fancy party and it’s be easy to grasp. It wasn’t the alcohol or glamour, it was the aura that it had.

“You find a place in Brooklyn yet?”

The Super Soldier held back his own chuckle. “I don’t think I can afford a place in Brooklyn.”

It was hard to believe but easy to understand. It was an expensive burrow. Still, you found yourself laughing under your breathe.

Sam said something about home being home, which you also understood, but only between a laugh. Your breathy sound ends just as Tony’s favorite team member looked back at you.

The next thing out of your mouth was a gasp for air, followed quickly by a cough you tried to cover up. You face the window, trying your best to play it off. The sudden eye contact scares you. First it was the fear of being recognized. That outrageous thought was quickly thrown out.

The thing is, you hadn’t exactly...met him. It felt wrong to even think of him as Steve Rogers when you’d never been introduced. Anytime Nat mentioned him you couldn’t believe the first name basis they had. You weren’t starstruck - not by a lot. You’d spent time in labs with Iron Man and the Hulk. You grabbed coffee with Black Widow. Thor had given you a freaking birthday gift.

No super soldier named Captain America scared you.

Except the one sidling up next to you now.

“Hi, there.” He says, bending down to grab your attention.

And right then, after feeling immense anxiety and worry of coming face to face with anyone who worked for the thing you had left behind, you felt perfectly comfortable in front of their very leader.

You’d been listening to Tony too much, through Nat. Captain America was the elected leader. Tony just made everybody look good.

“Hi.” You say, bringing yourself out of your head.

His blue sparkled, a lopsided smile reaching his lips as his hand reaches out to you. “Have we met?”

“Almost.” You say automatically, the word being more of a thought you wanted to keep than share. You shake your head, correcting yourself. “No.”

“Steve.” He says after learning your name. You can tell the way he locks it away, his eyes slightly closed as if grabbing the word from your mouth and putting it in storage. “I’m sorry, were you almost put in ice too or did you see me through a subway door closing?”

You can’t help the smile on your face, his humor and charm exactly what you expected. “No.” A hand find your hair and you watches the way his eye tracked the small scar on your finger. It was from when you were five. You cut yourself with a knife, a knife you weren’t supposed to be holding. From that point on your swore you’d never hold a knife again if you didn’t know how to use it. You thought that meant culinary school. Not becoming a dagger throwing agent.

Your other hand traces the mark, that runs from the tip of your left pointer finger to the center of your knuckles.

“I used to be in a similar business.”

You watch Steve accept the answer, silently deciphering your words. To relieve him you continued, now having a better thought to go off of. “I save people. From themselves.”

“I’m a psychiatrist.” You conclude, wanting to put him out of his misery. You crack a smile, earning one from him. He bobs his head, looking out into the city, thinking. You could tell, again, facial cues. You did a lot of listening and watching now. A few years ago you would’ve thrown a blade to trap his shirt against a wall while another went to his throat to demand a response.

You sort of like watching him form his words.

A question, expertly designed, was on the tip of his tongue when a booming voice yells his name. Thor waved from below enthusiastically. You quickly turn, not wanting to start a conversation with the God of Thunder. He always seemed to get you into existential conversation. In the old English, and it being so late, you couldn’t handle it.

“Don’t leave him waiting or else he’ll send Mjollnir up here.” You say, already backing away.

Steve looks up at you, a playful smile hinted at his lips. But it didn’t reach the surface, curiosity and confusion at your sudden departure the priority.

You want to stay. But the thought of explaining...of answering...even the oh so amazing Captain America, has you wanting to run back to the elevator.

The only reason you exit the conversation rather than the entire building...is the slight beat of your heart and reddening of your cheeks at the idea of talking with him again. Unlike Thor, you could even get into all the existential stuff with him.

Exactly what the super soldier would deem too out of the box is on your mind when you run into the one person you don’t want to see. The host himself.

Tony takes you under his wing, literally, walking you around the party. Surprisingly enough, not once does he convince you to come back to work. He asks questions and wants to know all about you.

You oblige, enlightening him with tiny details. Your lack of confidence in the authenticity isn’t from lack of trust, but because you spend more time inquiring about him. Wordlessly, that is your psych perception takes over as you study him. You conclusion: he’s only asking about lowly you because he’s sitting high and dry. Which isn’t a new thing for Tony Stark, tech mogul and THE Iron Man. But something tells you his latest win isn’t one just shared with the public yet. Too good to be true, even to the optimist that is Tony.

He leaves you, letting you walk around for the rest of the party. Hours pass, partygoers dwindling both from the penthouse and your data set to people watch. Numbers low on who to analyze, you turn around in a circle, sure you couldn’t have taken in every person in attendance. A full 180 and you come face to face with the man with a target on your back.

He makes sure of your hunch, that he’s had it out for you, with the sly comment, “You ditch a Brooklyn boy for some Staten Islander?”

You look over your shoulder, playing along. “I was actually waiting for this guy from Manhattan to fetch me a drink.” You look back at him, his head titled in focus. You stumble for a moment, not used to the attention being on you. To the floor you say, “I don’t think city guys are good at service.”

“it’s a damn good thing you’re with a soldier.” He smiles, offering his arm as he steps beside you.

You hesitate, your knowledge on attraction and how one simple touch can lead to a million mistakes and miscommunications. You let your head take over your heart this time, walking ahead of him. “Last I checked, Captains don’t fetch anything for someone else.”

Accepting the (slight) rejection, Steve joins into step with you, his hands stuffing into his pockets. “You make me sound like Stark.”

“We all sound a little like him after too much time together.” You shrug. Catching Steve’s curious eye, clearly wondering how and when you worked with Tony, you saddle up behind the bar to distract yourself. “It’s called mirroring behavior. Say, I grab a beer you have a higher chance of doing the same just because of me.”

Steve smiles at you over the counter, watching as you open the bottle and take a swig. “But what if I just like beer?”

You roll your eyes, bringing the cider to your lips. “Or so you say.”

“You’re good at your job. Tony help you with that?”

You nearly choke on your drink. Why? It’s a toss up for the unexpected question or the tone of jealousy you think you detect in his voice. Upon looking at him you can’t see if your suspicion is correct. He’s casual, leaning an elbow on the table and gazing around the room without a care.

When his eyes find yours again you can’t help but trust him. You deem it the authority he has within his role, rather than something like the way he looks at you or how cute he is, before answering. “He wishes my career took me here. But after the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D,” It’s Steve’s turn to look at you to ensure trust, your words an unspoken truth among so many secret keepers. “I found my way into a new line of work.”

You turn to your left, finding a spec on the marble to transfix on. When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even chastise you for so openly talking about the failure of his former employer, you look up at him. Only for your eyes to track his, to none other than your hand.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding the can opener. it was a wine/bottle mix and you had the corkscrew raised and the entire contraption being spun in your hand like....like a knife.

Mirroring. In a room of superheroes and fighters, you resort back to your own ways. You remind yourself this is exactly why you weren’t supposed to come when Steve speaks.

“Reading people?” He asks, genuine interest in his voice. You see his eyes barely flit back to your hand, forcing you to set the church key down, but ignore it, just like he is choosing to do. You nod. “Can you read them?”

You follow his finger, stifling a laugh when it lands on Nat and Bruce, clearly flirting just down the bar.

“Reading, not pointing.” You reprimand with sarcasm, quickly covering his hand. Heat travels up your elbow, your hand flying back to the cold corkscrew for comfort as you clear your throat. Steve’s eyes wanders away and for a second you think he felt it too when you shake your head. There are patients. No time to dilly dally.

After a moment you say,“From a psychiatric point of view, I’d say the male is exerting immense amount of dopamine, just getting by the stressors and paraysmpathic nervous system. Whereas the female’s self esteem is battling her body’s immediate release of cortisol.”

Steve looks up at you, his mouth hung open. As dryly as you can, you say, “He likes her and she likes him.”

It sparks a laugh from both of you, a long one that doesn’t end till he puts his hand over yours in an effort to stop. You let it rest, liking the feeling of the cold marble and his warm hand more than any old corkscrew.

“So how you going to diagnose them?” He asks, clearing his throat and suddenly removing his hand.

You tilt your head toward the pair - an assassin and a man who can’t control his killing - and take a second to think. That second is when Nat decides to leave, gliding past you effortlessly. As she walks by you say to Steve, more so to yourself, “It’s hard for people to hear the truth.”

Steve is looking over to Bruce when you tip your head back to him. You can see the question on the tip of his tongue and you want to stop him but he’s too quick.

Don’t play cupid, is the second most common thing you say to clients. Right after the ‘truth is hard to hear’ piece.

You can’t help but put your head in your hands when he outrightly says Bruce and Romanoff “is nice”. It’s a psychologists worst nightmare. Not the one you thought you’d see play out but it’s happening, so you can’t help but listen.

It’s the way Bruce stumbles in reply that sends you walking down the bar. You throw Steve nothing but a “watch yourself’ look before listening from your new spot.

You clink your nearly empty beer bottle on the counter when Bruce comes up with an excuse. It does more than you plan it too, as it grabs Steve’s attention and has him going for another one and making his way over to you. You can’t help but notice the way he smiles sincerely at his friend when announcing himself a leading authority in waiting too long. The statement makes you pause, but not long enough to miss Bruce asking about exactly how close Steve was to Nat’s flirting..

“Pointing works.” He says when he arrives in front of you, the unopened bottle extended (if not pointed) directly at you.

You accept, clinking off the cap with the opener still in your hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

He watches you take a sip, his eyes once again telling more than he thinks they do.

Your hand, once again holding the opener in the knife-life way is his next question. For once, you want to keep the conversation about work.

“My job is to listen. What you just did was talk.”

Steve mulls it over, taking the beer form your hand and tipping it back. He holds it out you, in offering. “OK. You talk. I’ll listen.”

You bite your lip. Knowing this could be bad. There’s a reason you listen. Talking...it’s like any pointy object for you. Someone always ends up stabbed.

Then again, how seriously injured could Captain America get? You already have one scar. A “Star Spangled Man with a Plan” shaped wound could be your next story.

A new blemish never arises. You don’t even feel so much as a pinch of pain. Talking to Steve, for hours, makes you feel about as painless as you been ever since you left the line of work.

Then again, your old career never makes an appearance in conversation. He did ask about your current career so that’s what you talk about. Psychology. Which leads to music. TV. His favorite food and how its Apple Pie. He doesn’t listen when you insist Pumpkin is better.

Your love of Chinese food is perfectly timed to the late night order, scoring you a seat and a plate at the after-party, so to speak.

That’s where you find yourself, on the couch with a small cluster of people. Most of which are the ones you had planned to ignore. Rhodey, Tony, Clint, Maria Hill, and Nat don’t as much as eye you suspiciously, thankfully. Besides, you mostly people watch, only talking when Steve wants some insight on whether or not Thor is really spiking his drink or giving him something watered down.

You share a look with Thor, encouraging the addition of it into Steve’s next beer, when Clint questions the God’s almighty hammer. You laugh when Clint looks at the thing bewildered at his inability in to lift it.

Steve joins you in softened laughter at Stark’s attempts. His head finds your shoulder when Rhodey and him quarrel about representing in their effort to pull the hammer off the table. But he refuses to make so much as a peep when Banner tries to “Hulk” it up, saying he doesn’t want to hurt the guy’s chances with Nat.

Before you can tell him Bruce could do no wrong in the red head’s eyes, it’s Steve’s turn. The way he rolls up his sleeves, making it clear he’s taking it seriously, has you silent. You can tell a lot by a person in the way they go about a challenge. it doesn’t surprise you at all, despite the short time you two have talked, that Steve goes for it.

It’s no shock at all that your attention switches to Thor. The look of panic, which you’re sure only you are watching, astounds you. Never once had the God been this nervous. But here he was, holding his tongue as Steve nudged the alien club up.

Steve comes back to you in defeat. You offer him a supportive pat on the back, having his eyes for all but a moment until everyone’s eyes land on you. Recognizing Nat just turned down the offer you shake your head. “Lift with your brain, not your weak bones.”

Steve gives you an impressed look, opening his mouth to call you out when Hill remarks the use of bad language.

“I had a feeling you’d be a stickler for that.” You theorize aloud.

Steve looks at you over his shoulder, raising a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” You reiterate.

Thor proves you all wrong, effortlessly lifting his weapon of choice, declaring no one worthy.

The group laughter is cheerful and it warms your heart. Something about comfort between all of these people who live so dangerously, intrigues you. Your mouth opens to ask Steve how he’s come to trust them when a high pitched noise floods the space and has you covering your ears.

Your breath catches at the sight of a botched bot, standing in the shadows. Its robotic voice, oddly human, has you biting on your lip. It’s been a while since you’ve been faced with anything worse than a crying client.

Something tells you this won’t end in tissues and a hug.

Steve, who stood upon the unaccounted for noise, says Tony’s name with more frustration that you could ever imagine coming out of the man. You look up to him in surprise, only to look back at the way his hand is flexed in front of you. It’s a poor job at guarding you but something tells you that if he had his shield within reach he’d have grabbed it already.

The bot piques yours interest, his mumbled statements about his own sleep like unscnoius state making you nervous. The way he’s so...real...takes forefront over Tony’s own whispering. But even without your focus directly on him, something tells you he’s unsure. It’s never a good sign when the host is surpised.

You slowly stand as the intruder fumbles with himself. You’re studying him so discreetly you actually wave away Steve’s warning hand.

“You killed someone?”

“No he didn’t.” You murmur, only loud enough for Steve to hear. He gazes back at you for a moment and you shake your head, confirming your suspicion. The...thing in front of you is no real killer. Not yet.

When Tony’s voice rings out from the bot the tension rises in the room. You couldn’t cut it with a knife it’s so thick...which takes a lot for someone with the throwing capabilities of yourself.

You don’t mind it, knowing the pressing threat stands in front of you rather than beside. The wise words erupting from the in flesh Ultron has you racking your brain...about nothing less than the brain in front of you. Computers have never outsmarted you. Then again, it’s been a while since you’ve been around Tony.

His building - in tone and message- signals something much more violent is about to begin. No sane person builds a mountain of words not to stand on it later. Maria Hill cocks her gun as you take in your surroundings. You believe a chopstick to be your best option for a weapon, at least one you can throw, when the crash of walls begins the battle you were really hoping not to get into tonight.

It’s like Steve senses your lack of protection, taking it upon himself to upchuck the table for cover. Instinctively, you crowd down in front of the couch, just missing the hit that Steve takes with the attempted cover.

A big part of you wants to make sure he’s OK, scream his name and chase after him, but it’s not the time. People come to you to recover with your help. Steve isn’t one of those people.

So, you go into survival mode.

You army crawl across the room, watching every disappear from the main level. They’re smart enough to find cover and/or a weapon. You, out of practice and way out shape, head across the room...you know, to the empty space ensuring no safety.

Catching sight of Nat, now armed, you duck down knowing there has to be a gun stashed somewhere. It’s not your first weapon of choice, having never trusted a bullet as much as a blade but something is better than nothing.

And nothing is what you find.

You graze every table you can, certain it hasn’t been long enough for you to forget what a gun feels like, when spot Nat and Bruce flying up the stairs.

Sure Nat has already pleaded with the doctor not to turn green you avert your eyes to Stark, flailing on the back of a bot with what appears to be a fondue fork. You’d kill for a fondue fork right now.

What catches your eye instead is something much less picking. It’s perfect timing too as you spot Dr. Cho crowding behind the piano, face to face with a waist up robot, hand glimmering and all.

In a split second your hand grasps around the candlestick and you toss it through the air. Despite the noise you hear its whistle and while it’s really not the time, you relish the sound that you missed so much.

It hits the neck, chopping off its head just as Steve clambers on top of it, chucking git to Thor to smash, to ensure it’s no chicken working with its head cut off.

A shield wizzes past your head, slicing another member of Ultron’s army seconds later.

Its lonely leader speaks next, chilling the charged air.

Before you know it you’re flinging the other candlestick (it is a set) at Ultron, stabbing his arm. It earns the tines looks of him before a dry chuckle. You don’t take your eyes off of him despite the stare you know you’re getting.

His next words are directed at you. “You just didn’t think it through.” His knowledge of what feels like the entire world makes you believe that while his idenity is still a mystery, yours is not to him.

Your presumption is all but proved when his crumbled form sings the infamous Pinocchio song. Not once was it sung at the party. Everything his at his finger tips. Yourself included.

The blue of his eyes fade but he surely doesn’t leave the room. Tony sighs, clutching himself on the stairs. Thor breathes heavily hwile Nat looks worridely at Bruce, who appears on the edge of vomitting up all the food he didn’t eat a the party. Cho looks terrfiied. Hill and Rhodey on the lower level.

That leaves Steve. Watching you.

In four steps he’s at your side, his hands on your arms as he checks you out. Not like that. You remind, tell, yourself its not like that as you meet his eyes.

“Im’ fine.”

"That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Guess you’re better at reading people then.” Humor has always been your go-to. There’s not anything much heavier than blood and blades. The least you could do is quip something light.

Steve steps forward, his voice dropping just for you to hear. “I was going to say you’re a damn good throw.”

The End

[udemytutorialfreedownload]

Randeep Hooda Dives Into the Making of Netflix’s Action-Heavy Extraction

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Randeep Hooda is about to make his Netflix debut reverse Chris Hemsworth this week in the motion thriller Extraction. Hooda — finest recognized for the 2014 street film Freeway, and taking part in serial killer Charles Sobhraj, Malayali artist Raja Ravi Varma, and farmer Sarabjit Singh, who spent over twenty years in a Pakistani jail on costs of terrorism and spying, throughout biopics — was in for a shock when he first learn the script for Extraction.

It described his character as “a wrecking ball of a person”, for Hooda performs military particular forces veteran Saju Rav, who’s now employed by India’s greatest drug lord (Pankaj Tripathi). In line with the film, Hooda’s position is an action-heavy one. However that wasn’t one thing he had been instructed when he auditioned for Extraction.

“They referred to as me three weeks earlier to Ahmedabad earlier than the shoot,” Hooda instructed Devices 360 over the telephone on Tuesday. “And I used to be like, ‘Why?’”

Evaluation: Chris Hemsworth’s Extraction Is Heavy on Motion, however Little Else

When Hooda met Extraction director Sam Hargrave — who’s making his directorial debut, having been a stunt coordinator on a number of Marvel Cinematic Universe chapters — he learnt why. Extraction is a couple of mercenary (Hemsworth) tasked with rescuing a drug lord’s (Tripathi) kidnapped son from Dhaka. (Ahmedabad stood in for the Bangladeshi capital.)

As a consequence of a flip of occasions, which we cannot spoil, Hemsworth and the child discover themselves being chased by Saju (Hooda), along with all of Dhaka’s police, who’re in the palm of Bangladesh’s greatest drug lord (Priyanshu Painyuli) — the man who ordered the kidnapping. An early portion of this chase is filmed in a severe of lengthy takes, stitched collectively to seem like one 12-minute sequence.

“Once I obtained [to Ahmedabad] subsequent day in the morning, they confirmed me, ‘That is what we’ll be doing with you in the movie and it is all going to be one shot,” Hooda stated. “So here is what you need to do. I noticed it and I went, ‘Whaaaaat?! How are you gonna try this? Who’s gonna try this?’ They stated, ‘You are going to try this.’ I stated, ‘ME?! How?’”

What started was a masterclass in motion for Hooda.

“First, we began with methods to maintain your physique, the place to maintain your weight, the hinge, the bending of the knee being decrease, [to] decrease centre of gravity,” Hooda explains. “Then, you are going to throw a punch in actual life, after which throw a punch in the film. Then methods to react to that punch, after which methods to get the steps and the sequences proper.

“And to do all of it very, very slowly. Sluggish is quick, quick is nice. So doing it very, very slowly, getting every step, over a interval of three weeks. And when each actors had been ready and had memorised the sequences, they introduced me and Chris collectively. Then we did [weapons], of course the props had been all faux. After which lastly, we obtained the knife and weapons we’ll be utilizing, after which went about that: methods to maintain the gun, how the hearth the gun.”

Hooda has carried out his share of motion in Indian productions, however this was his first style of a global one. He famous that there is much more rehearsal with action-driven movies like Extraction — Hooda claimed the staff prepped for 4 months earlier than they shot the 12-minute sequence — and there are much more security precautions as effectively.

Watch the Trailer for Netflix’s Extraction, Starring Chris Hemsworth

“For instance, you can not simply hearth an empty bullet,” Hooda added. “It will likely be given to you; all people will probably be instructed that the weapon’s scorching. Right here, generally, you’ll be able to simply apply or simply for enjoyable, you’ll be able to go bang, bang. I’ve been damage earlier than in movies made right here. However aside from a pair of nicks I obtained from Chris throughout the fights, every little thing else was very, very, very, very safely carried out.”

Hooda jokingly referred to as getting hit by Thor — the Marvel character Hemsworth is known for — his favorite half of filming on Extraction.

On a extra severe observe, the 43-year-old actor was “shocked” by an prolonged automobile chase that is half of the aforementioned 12-minute sequence. Although Hooda was technically on the steering wheel, the automobile was being pushed by a stuntman sitting on the roof of the automobile or mendacity in the trunk, relying on the place the digicam was positioned. On high of that, it wanted to be filmed in a protracted take.

“I used to be driving the automobile, however I had no management and there is a man sitting in the boot who was truly driving, and I do not understand how he was seeing the rattling factor,” Hooda added. “And there was a automobile which was driving apart from me, and I shoot at it and it goes up in the air and turns over whereas I smash one other automobile. it was all occurring stay in a single take. The quantity of coordination and apply and dry runs that they will need to have needed to undergo is unbelievable.”

“And also you’re simply in it and you are like, ‘God, it is like a high-octane online game.’”

Hooda credit Extraction’s motion chops to Hargrave, who at the same time as director, was hanging off harnesses and ropes on set himself: “Had he not had this motion background, had he not have this excessive diploma of health, then the outcomes would in all probability not have been the identical. As a result of he’s the director and he is obtained the digicam and he is hanging off the ropes, so he is aware of the place to maneuver it.”

Hargrave has an awesome staff round him, Hooda thinks — in stunt coordinator Daniel Stevens (X-Males: Days of Future Previous), second unit director and Hagrave’s finest good friend Thayr Harris (Deadpool 2), combat coordinator Michael Lehr (Gemini Man), and stuntmen Anthony Nanakornpanom (Avengers: Endgame) and Dan Dargan Carter (Baahubali 2: The Conclusion) who doubled for Hooda — whose dedication rubbed off on Hooda.

“There’s a sequence which is clearly not there in the movie the place I throw a grenade and it bounced off the truck and got here again at me and I caught it and threw it once more,” Hooda stated and added with fun, “That was fairly humorous, all people had an enormous snort about it, however I additionally felt fairly good that I had the presence of thoughts to dispose of the grenade.”

Extraction is out April 24 in English, Hindi, Tamil, and Telugu on Netflix.

Can Netflix power Bollywood to reinvent itself? We mentioned this on Orbital, our weekly expertise podcast, which you’ll subscribe to through Apple Podcasts or RSS. You too can download the episode or simply hit the play button beneath.

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