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cozycryptidcorner · 3 years

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The Mad Prince, Chapter 13 (slightly nsfw)

tw: alcohol/drinking, drunken consensual groping.

“What are you doing?” Clementine asks, almost amused.

You’re busy rummaging around all available cabinets in the kitchen, several of them open, plates, glasses, and other kitchenette stuff laid out on the counter. While you’re pretty sure there’s a far better kitchen below your feet, this one appears mostly for aesthetic and midnight snack reasons. You, though, have a very intentional way of searching, fingers nimble as you run your hands over the inner panels, just one.

“I’m bored,” is all you say, as if that’s the only explanation she needs. Unsatisfied with what you’ve found so far, you begin to put everything back, sealing the cabinets firmly on the latch. Jumping down from the upper counter, you continue on your quest on the lower compartments.

Once you resume your rummaging, it doesn’t take you too much longer to find a strangely shaped bottle, glass long and ornately spun around a strange purple liquid. All you have to do is unlock the seal at the top, and the scent of the thin, violet liquid makes your eyes water. You haven’t had a single thing to drink with any kind of percentage since the Starward Matchmakers™ took you into their loving flock, and to say you’ve been itching for a goddamn shot would be an understatement.

“Holy shit,” you half gasp, half wince. Whatever is in the bottle smells like paint stripper, your body is already trying to cough back up the liquor you haven’t even had a chance to drink.

“What are you going to do with that?” The shell slips as a touch of her real personality peeks through, her face scowling before she catches herself.

“Drink it, duh,” you can’t read the label, the large, swooping lettering elegant and filled with opulent promise.

“Is that a good idea?” Clementine prods further, arms on her hips.

“Oh please,” you glance over your shoulder just to make sure no one else is eavesdropping on the conversation, “if I couldn’t keep my mouth shut while drunk, I’d never have a job. Besides, I have a super fun idea.”

“Super fun,” Clem echoes, eyebrows arching.

“Come on, bestie, let’s go find two other players.”

It doesn’t take a lot of time to locate the prince, in his own makeshift office he’s turned one of the rooms into. The desk has a holographic screen hovering just slightly over the slab of dark metal.

He looks at the crystalline bottle in your hand, then back up at you. “Yes?”

“I thought we could have a fun game night.” You say, gently swirling the bottle around and offering it up like a vicious cat bringing its master a dead thing as a gift. “Involving liquor, of course.”

His eyes widen as his brow arches, a quizzical gesture, you’ve come to learn, and you feel his gaze flicker over your shoulder and land on Clementine, who is probably doing her best to appear like she thinks that this idea is the motherfucking best. Then he looks back at you. “And what games are you thinking?”

“Well…” you try to wrack your brain, “I was thinking poker, but I’d be fine with blackjack, diamonds five, lemon lemon…. Or like, old maid. Monopoly, even, if you like.”

The prince blinks. “Most of those are forms of gambling.”

You feel Clementine’s aggressive aura on your back, but you offer up a nonchalant shrug. “I suppose so, but like… we don’t have to play for money or anything. Winner or loser, doesn’t matter.”

There’s a beat of silence, you can see the synapses firing within his brain as he thinks over the suggestion. Then, calmly, he suggests, “I suppose that there are things we can gamble other than money.”

“I like your style!” You shake the bottle, “I was thinking about inebriation.”

”Babe,” Clem says, her voice slightly grated, “fun idea… but no.”

Oh, now it seems like the prince is very much interested, but only on account of Clem’s quick attempt to shut it down. “What do you mean?”

You’re quick to talk over Clem’s continuing protests, “instead of gambling money, the loser of the round takes a shot. Uhhh, but since your body’s like three times bigger, you get to take two.”

“Oh, I get to take two?” He asks, cocking his head with a slightly amused look. And he’s not immediately refusing, either, you knew he wouldn’t, but you supposed he wouldn’t actually consider it so seriously. “Is this something humans do?”

“Yes,” you say, nodding, “for fun.”

“And you would like to play it with me?”

You nod again.

He mulls it over, looking back at a now-silent Clem, and says, “and will you be playing.”

“I suppose,” she says, pursing her lips.

“We were also hoping that Elias would play as well,” you say, almost slyly, “to make it an even four.”

“I will let him know.” He says, completely serious, as though he’s talking about affairs of the state, and not about getting drunk while gambling.

“Okay,” you say, bouncing on the edge of your toes in excitement.

“Okay,” he echoes, as though tasting the word on his tongue.

“See you later, then,” you take a step back, trying really hard not to smile.

“Oh my god,” Clementine mutters as you turn around, quietly enough for only you to hear. “You two are ridiculous.”

“I hear most couples are,” you whisper conspiratorially back at her as the door to the office closes.

“And here’s to thinking you were at your wit’s end just a day ago,” she says, and you can feel the motion of her eyes rolling even though you’re not looking at her. “I can already see you making out with him in your head.”

“Okay but also consider: inebriation makes for honest conversations,” you say, running your fingers along your scalp, “and I plan on having a very calm and collected conversation about things like how many people he thinks are planning to kill me, while you, my dearest and most precious friend in the entire universe, are going to be keeping Elias distracted with your fantastic tits.”

She chokes, scrabbling for words, voice cutting in and out as though her brain is fried. “He does not think my-”

“You may be trained to clock someone’s fighting style twenty klicks away by the way they shake their ass, but I,” you turn around and walk backwards to drink in her glaring face, grinning, “have been teaching myself to recognize carnal lust on sight.”

“Princess,” she says, her voice full of warning, “you’re on thin fucking ice right now.”

“See you later!” You sing, escaping into your room before she sees fit to smack you into the next century.

---------------------------------------------_

“Okay,” you say, shuffling the cards between your fingers, “rules are simple.”

To your right side, the prince, and to the left, Clementine, with Elias sitting across the table. The bottle of liquor is in the center of the table, four shot glasses in front of each person as a grim reminder that you’ll have to drink the moment you lose your hand.

“So the loser of each hand has to drink the shots placed in the betting pool,” you say, cheerfully, “except for Aksanos, who has to take an extra two because his blood alcohol level is more difficult to raise since he’s bigger than my first studio apartment.”

Their first mistake: letting you deal.

“We bet with alcohol shots based on how confident you are with how good your hand is.” You begin to deal out cards, mentally counting to five for each stack. “High card is when you have no matches, two of a kind is when you have two of the same numbers, three of a kind is the same but with three-” etcetera, etcetera. The winner isn’t the important hand, here, it’s the loser. “Folding in this context means that you take the shots you threw into the pot. Any questions?”

“I don’t understand why I have to be here,” Elias says, holding his cards like this is a game of Go Fish.

“I mean any questions in regards to the game rules?” You skip over him, just for the sake of being annoying.

“What does the winner get?” Clementine asks, lounging with one arm swung over the back of her chair. “I think the person who wins first the most should get something.”

“You mean besides an intact liver?” You ask, taking a peek at your cards. Nice, unless everyone has a really fortunate hand, you should be alright this first round. “I don’t know, I’m not exactly in a position to hand anything out.”

All eyes turn to the person with the fattest wallet, and, to his credit, the prince actually looks like he’s pondering the question. “A favor,” he seems to conclude.

“From you?” Clementine asks, sounding suddenly like she’s ready to put her competitive hat on.

“Yes.”

“And what if you’re the winner?” She asks, prodding.

“I suppose that my prize will be peace of mind.” He says, looking at his cards. “Since I won’t have to offer up my services otherwise.”

“Awesome,” you say, reaching over and pouring the potent liquor in every single one of your shot glasses, sliding one into the center of the table. “Let’s begin.”

When you first pitched the game, you thought your only real competition would be Clementine. After all, you’ve seen soldiers like her lay waste to the poker tables before, especially since ceasefires make for bored tacticians with little outlets for their strategies. As predicted, Elias continuously seems to either fold or lose, he doesn’t seem to have much of a grasp for the game in general, nor does he even care to try. The prince, however?

He starts out slowly, cautiously. Like he’s testing his boundaries. He folds once or twice, watching you closely as he throws back his shots of purple liquor. After you’ve leapt into a significant lead, the thrum of hot alcohol from your folds burning through your blood, he seems to take a sharp turn and starts winning, as in, beating you as time eats into the night.

As you shuffle the card stack once almost every hand possible could have played, you observe him closely. He’s staring at your hands, intently, watching the way your thumb flicks one half into the other, head shifting slightly as you twist your wrist to part the deck once more. Almost in an accusation, you don’t look down at your hands as you shuffle, knowing this movement by heart, and then begin tossing everyone their cards.

Elias doesn’t even look at his hand as he folds, face and ears a mottled blue as he nurses a glass of water. Clementine is ‘resting her eyes’ for ‘just a minute,’ head slumped over on the table, her bra hanging from the side of the chair (when did she even take that off?).

The prince has already learned to only look at his cards once, hand over the backs, then gauges you for any sort of reaction as he pushes his filled shot glasses in. Luckily, though, the more you drink, the less your face works, so all you offer up is a resting bitch face that would kill any human man, matching him without hesitation.

You lay your cards out, revealing a four of a kind.

He lays his out, revealing the same hand… but with straight aces.

Four shots. You have to take in four shots.

“Careful,” he says, as though he has no cares in the universe, “I hear alcohol poisoning is a terrible way to go.”

You drink the first, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and refusing to give him the satisfaction of wincing from the burn of the liquor. “I’ve had worse.”

The second shot is harder to drink without making a face, you think your nose twitches despite your attempts not to move.

Your body is sending warning signals to your head as your fingers wrap around the third shot glass, not exactly nauseous yet, but with the knowledge that you definitely will be if you finish what you started.

“I fold,” the prince says just before the liquor hits your lips.

“What?” It takes you a moment to process what he just said.

“I fold,” he repeats, pushing his winning hand to the center and grabbing the remaining shot glass.

“You can’t fold after you’ve played the round,” you say, though your body screams in relief at not having to finish the shots.

“I don’t remember that being in the rules,” he says, “besides, it’s not going to be fun if you’re passed out on the table like your friend here.”

“-’m wrake,” Clementine mumbles, her words so slurred you can barely recognize their meaning.

You wait for a beat, then put the glass down and push it in his direction. “Fine. Here, don’t forget the extra.”

“I would not dare,” he says, amusement in his tone. True to his word, he pours another shot, drinking all three in quick succession.

For a while, you didn’t think he was getting drunk, blaming his more spidery bits for his supposed immunity to alcohol, but the more you stare, the more you notice unusual symptoms in his body. Like the flushed skin around his eyes and nose. Or the way his shoulders slant as he sits. How he’s started to rest his chin on his hand.

Slowly, you begin to shuffle the cards, keeping an eye on how he seems to be watching you with more intensity than before, and you realize something. Oh, oh, for fuck’s sake, you should have noticed it before, but now that he’s drunk, he’s not hiding it so much.

“You’re counting cards,” you accuse.

“And you’re playing with a marked deck,” he responds just as snidely.

You hesitate for just a moment because you hadn’t expected to actually get caught, and then you realize; oh. OH. That’s how he started making a heavy-hitting comeback, he figured out the almost nonsensical pattern on the back of the cards is actually a code.

Fuck.

And then you think further, hands folded like you’re praying. Yes, your mind is clouded with drink, but you’re still capable of weighing the pros and cons of an extremely critical concept. It’s not about the how he figured it out, you decide, but the fact that he quickly adapted, continued playing, and even started winning… without saying anything. He could have demanded a new deck in the face of fairness, but he didn’t.

That’s so…

So…

“Hot,” you say out loud.

“What?” He sounds confused.

“I mean,” you lean back in your chair, clarifying, “if you’re going to continue being so smart and attractive, I’m going to have to have sex with you.”

Elias coughs into his glass, bless him, you forgot he was even there, with his eyes bugging out of his skull. ”Keias,” he almost sounds like he’s begging, “please excuse me for the night, I’m afraid in order to best serve you, I will need to rest and recover.”

“You are dismissed,” the prince says, face a shade of blue you didn’t think he was capable of having.

And oh boy, does Elias leave like the entire goddamn room is on fire, though with the efficiency of an incredibly drunk individual. Even though his first few steps are wobbly, he still manages to flee the thick sexual tension your aura is probably emanating through the air, shooting out the door and disappearing into the ship.

Mercilessly, as soon as the door shuts, you turn back to the large drider at the receiving end of your arousal. To his credit, he seems to be so unused to blatant invitations to use someone’s body like a goddamn carousel that he’s at a loss for words. On the other hand, you have a variety of positions you would like to try out if what the anatomy charts they showed you back at the Starward Matchmakers™ are accurate.

But first… you need to take some measures to dull the oncoming hangover.

“Let’s raid the kitchen,” you say, knowing the sudden change of pace will give him whiplash.

“I’ll call someone to carry her to bed,” the prince says, gesturing to Clem’s body, “someone who isn’t inebriated.”

“Excellent idea,” you say, knowing full well you would drop her halfway through the hallway and somehow end up breaking both your noses in progress.

A servant is ridiculously quick to retrieve her, as though they had been lying in wait just outside the door at the prince’s beck and call, but you find yourself not caring about that creepiness factor in the face of food.

“Shall I call the chef?” He asks as you push through the doors leading into the kitchen.

“Nah,” you say, “they’ll need all the sleep they can get for the breakfast we will collectively want tomorrow. I can cook, I’m not an animal.”

Already, your vision blurs as the last two shots fully hit your system. Even with the glass of water you absolutely chug like a dehydrated lava scrapper, you know it’s going to be a hot minute before you start seeing straight again if you don’t start shoving carbs down your throat. So, quick as you can, you start rifling through the many different cabinets and the three (?!) refrigerators to locate something that your drunk stomach positively craves.

“Normally,” you say, “during my nights out, I go to one of those hover-stands that park out by the clubs and stuff specifically for the drunk hungry people leaving. I don’t know how to describe just how good Abuelita’s Tacos are when it’s three am, and you’re stumbling out of the club, exhausted.”

“And is that something you often do?” He asks, voice slightly slurred.

“It’s a good way to meet people,” you climb up one of the counters, rifling through bags of food with labels you can’t read. “Especially if you’re freelance. You never know who needs to transport cargo if you don’t start asking around.”

“Mmm,” he muses, “and do many pilots tend to frequent bars for customers?”

“Only the ones that aren’t in a guild or privately hired,” you say, hopping down from one counter and heading for the other.

“And you’re not?” He’s wheedling you for information, but you’re comfortable with offering up more than usual.

“Do I strike you as someone who likes being told what to do?” You ask instead of answering. “Oh, my god, the guilds have so many rules. Cut your hair like this, wear these clothes, go to those places, don’t do drugs. Gets old fast when someone is in charge of how you live your life.”

“Hm, we will have to agree on that.” The way his hands are cradling his head is… cute, you think. “Unfortunately, sometimes we don’t have a choice.”

“Yeah I’ve heard that your mom’s a mega-bitch,” you say, surprised that you’ve never outwardly spoken against the queen before.

For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, but then he laughs. He laughs. And it’s a beautiful laugh, you think, head empty but for the warmth of the sound. Sweet. Gentle. Nothing like the stories of a cruel, maniacal shriek, you have to stand there, speechless, committing that fucking delightful voice to memory.

“What?” He asks when he notices you’re uncharacteristically still.

“You’re cute,” you say, resuming your hunt. Aha, bread! Finally! Your stomach gurgles with joy, and your liver sighs with relief.

“Oh,” you can hear a bashful tone tangled with his words. “Thank you. It’s not every day I am observed to be so.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just tell you every day from now on.” You find a knife and a slab of plastic you assume is a cutting board, and unwrap the bread from the clear wrapping plastic. Everything in your body screams for protein, so you begin to rummage through the fridge for anything that smells vaguely like it will satiate the craving.

Once you bring a pile of stuff to the counter, the prince says, almost like he’s taking a gamble, “you’re not exactly what I was expecting.”

You start cutting slices of bread. “You mean today? Or just in general.”

“You were such a meek little thing when we first met,” he says, almost dreamily, “I was afraid you would be so easily crushed by my enemies, and so I tried to protect you like a little, delicate flower.” He holds his hands out, as though simulating how he might hold the aforementioned plant.

“But?” You prod, adding a slab of… meat? Maybe. Cheese? Also maybe. It’s a gauntlet of stuff you’re adding to your strange sandwich.

“But, I now see that you’re a manipulative, lying cheat.” Even though those words should make your heart sink, he says them with such fondness you don’t feel an ounce of rejection. “It takes a very smart person to outdo my careful planning, and you’ve done so many times.”

You lick your thumb clean of a spread you found in the door shelf, finding it strangely savory. “And… you like that?”

“Absolutely,” he says with no hesitation. “You challenge me in all the best ways. No one does that, not anymore.”

Trying to come up with a response that doesn’t involve crying on the floor, you slide the finished sandwich in his direction. “Oh.”

“That wasn’t very romantic,” Aksanos seems to realize, eyes snapping back into reality. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound so terrible-”

You kiss him. Hard. Without the tentative shyness you had kissed him with before. Oh, no, this kiss is hungry, it’s starving, it’s full of desperation and adoration, laced with heated attraction and stifled desire. It doesn’t take long for you to introduce a tongue to this equation, and even though you don’t think he’s familiar with that concept, he’s a fast learner.

The cold metal of the counter presses up against your ass as you use it for leverage, lifting one of your legs and slinging it over his waist, pulling him closer. His hands come to rest on your hips, gilded claws pressing through your clothes, you can tell that he’s unsure of what your boundaries might be. So you help him out, breaking the kiss long enough for you to find the hem of your shirt and lift it up over your body. Just as quickly, you unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side.

He stares at your breasts like he’s never seen a pair of naked tits before, and you suppose that anatomy differences between your species might be throwing him for a loop.

“Wow,” he says, and immediately looks like he regrets it.

You laugh softly, tracing his jawline with your fingers. “Thanks, I grew them myself.”

And then you’re kissing him again, guiding his hands up to your chest as a way of encouragement. He’s careful and slow, the cool sharpness of his claws ghosting over your skin, lips and fangs so eager to please. There’s a heat building between your thighs, one that the seam of your pants only marginally relieves as you grind up against his waist.

“Give me your hands,” you manage to whisper, breaking away from him long enough to draw breath.

He’s a tad confused but obeys.

“I’m going to show you where to touch me,” you murmur, “but those knives strapped to your fingers need to be off.”

“Good idea,” he breathes in agreement.

You take his dominant hand in both of yours, taking a quick moment to kiss the heel of his palm. Then, carefully, you reach for the piece of clawed jewellery on his index finger, picking at the clasp with your fingernail until it comes loose, pulling it off and setting it to the side. You keep your hands as steady as you drunkenly can, knowing each individual ornament is worth more than what you would make in a year.

Next, pants- you need to get the last barrier between him and you off and gone. Hands shaking, you manage to undo the button just above the zipper, clasping that tiny piece of metal between your fingers-

The door opens to someone who looks like they immediately regret every single life decision that’s led them up to this point. And, in fact, they look like if you and the prince weren’t staring at them at this very moment, they would duck out and act like they never laid witness to this mess.

“A- a thousand and million apologies-” they begin.

“State your business.” Like a switch is flipped back on, he’s a regal and terrifying monarch again.

“It’s first shift for the kitchen staff, my keias, I didn’t- if I had known-”

You look up at the clock, realizing just now how late- or early, really, it is. If you were still on the planet, the prince would be getting up to start his duties soon, so... conceivably? A cook would need that head start for a fancy breakfast.

“Yeah, thanks,” you say, twisting your body to protect your nakedness as you find your shirt. Though, through your panic and drunkenness, you can’t seem to locate your bra. Oh well, the sooner you’re out here, the better. “Sorry we wrecked the place, this should have been a bedroom activity, anyways.”

And then you drag the sole heir of Lolth’s monarchal throne out of the kitchen before he decides to kill that poor cook.

#drider #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lovers

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i-just-wanna-be-called-sparkle · 3 years

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Oh, I see your new title! Okay, tell me about Mitsuo. Anything you want, your headcanons, AUs, canon, or anything else, here's your rambling free pass!

THANK. YOU. You are a life saver. I have wanted to ramble about this stupid boy for SO LONG.

I’ll try not to ramble for like, ridiculously long, but also I really can’t predict how long it’ll end up being in the end. But where do I begin…?

I’d say I have quite a few Mitsuo AUs, the first one that comes to mind is a one off one where he’s an Imp, absolutely inspired by my partner’s Miitopia game, where Mitsuo is an Imp. I really love Imp Mitsuo in that game, he’s a little brat and he causes problems on purpose and I just adore it, it kickstarted my third wave of Mitsuo Love. It would he fun to do something with this AU but I haven’t thought of much by myself. I do know he usually comes out of hiding in Inaba around nighttime and steals stuff, because again, he’s just a little troublemaker. Narukami tries to befriend him, because it’s Narukami, and I can’t NOT create an AU where they aren’t involved with each other somehow.

I guess that’s another thing I’ve been brainrotting over, not explicitly Mitsuo, but him and Narukami as a ship. Can I call the ship Mitsuyu? I’m gonna call it Mitsuyu.

I really really like this ship. I really love the idea of Narukami trying to befriend Mitsuo because of how he’s portrayed to try and befriend literally everyone, I love the idea of him being the only one with enough understanding and compassion and empathy to get close with Mitsuo and really learn about him. I like how in game Narukami’s willing to go up to Mitsuo on the street and just listen to him ramble, and I feel like Mitsuo has no one to talk to aside from Narukami, so whenever he gets the chance, he just goes on and on and on, and Narukami’s willing to listen. I think he’s got a lot of things swirling around in his head, he could ramble for hours.

I’m worried this ramble is just gonna turn into one about Mitsuyu now, lmao.

Imagine how they’d interact in the Imp Mitsuo AU… Mitsuo would probably be a little shit. Like, he’d just completely mess around with Narukami all the time, maybe be a little flirty sometimes. He’d probably be genuinely surprised when Narukami keeps coming back to talk to him through it all. Next thing he knows, he’s got a genuine friend, and oh no, he’s catching feelings! Because let’s face it, Mitsuo would definitely catch feelings first, I think.

They’d probably hit him like a slap in the face. I think Narukami would come to a more gradual realization of his feelings. He’d be better at hiding them compared to Mitsuo too - Mitsuo’s probably painfully obvious. To clarify, I’m not strictly talking about Imp Mitsuo here, I mean EVERY Mitsuo from any AU I discuss that includes Mitsuyu.

Narukami would be really good for Mitsuo. I already have a post about Mitsuo headcanons, I believe, though I can’t remember if I listed off the headcanon of him being neglected. Couple that with him being ignored or belittled by everyone else around him because of his looks, it’s no wonder he’s so desperate for attention he’d kill a guy. Also sometimes I wonder how he managed to kill Morooka AND hang his body on a roof. He’s still in high school, y’know? Weird boy. But I digress.

Narukami would give him all the attention he’s been craving for so long. Praise, hugs, kisses, all the soft stuff Mitsuo didn’t realize he really needed until he got it. I think Mitsuo would cry when he gets to cuddle Narukami for the first time. Narukami would soothe him, too. I just want them to be soft, Mitsuo needs it.

It’d take a while, but I can see Narukami’s existence in Mitsuo’s life affecting him drastically, by that I mean holy shit Narukami, you just prevented a murder. Narukami would kill away Mitsuo’s feelings of emptiness, he wouldn’t feel like he’s nothing anymore, because he matters to Narukami. As long as he’s around, Mitsuo isn’t nothing. He feels he finally has a purpose.

I also can’t remember if I mentioned this in the Mitsuo headcanons post, but I don’t think Mitsuo would care what you label his gender as, maybe. Not much to it, he just doesn’t care. Maybe he secretly gets happy when someone refers to him with pronouns that aren’t he/him for once. He’s not good at hiding it in front of Narukami, I bet. Narukami likes to frequently switch his pronouns around just to see him smile. Mitsuo doesn’t smile very often, so Narukami cherishes it.

I used to think of Mitsuo’s in-game sprites as completely unflattering, at least, compared to how he looks in the P4 anime. He’s really cute in the anime. But I’ve gotten so fond of him that I actually think his smiling sprite is cute now. Like, when you can talk to him in the shopping district and he’s rambling about the murders, you have the option to either agree or disagree with what he says. When you agree, he smiles. And it totally gets to me. Not only does no one talk to him, I bet barely anyone ever agrees with him on things, either. I can’t imagine how happy he might feel to have someone engage with him for once and actually agree with what he says.

There’s so much untapped potential with Mitsuo, it’s so sad. The most you get of his backstory is through his dungeon, and through talking with NPCs around town about him, and thats about it. It’s a shame that Atlus didn’t flesh him out as much as the other characters. Seriously, through his attention seeking nature alone, there’s so much potential backstory there. What he’s already got is fine, it’s okay, but he could’ve gotten so much more. And most people brush him off because of his looks, too, so there’s really not much Mitsuo fan content out there to consume, along with the small amount of official Mitsuo content that exists.

I think a social link with him would be really cool, but with how everything fits together in P4 like a puzzle, it would never work out without heavy planning and modification. Might be a cool mod though.

I think his dungeon is great, and I love how one floor is the exact same as a floor in Adachi’s dungeon because he’s a mock killer. I like it visually, and I LOVE his dungeon theme. I was so angry when I heard it for the first time because goddamn, it was criminally catchy. I love his boss fight too. He needs to hide behind a video game character, a shield, to pretend to be strong and courageous and mature, when he’s really just a weak, cowardly child with (most likely) an overinflated ego. I like how the dialogue progresses into madness the farther you go into his dungeon, I like the first dialogue of Mitsuo getting “knocked down” by Morooka to represent him getting expelled. Even though there’s not much of it, the stuff in P4 relating to Mitsuo is all really cool and really fascinating.

I think it’d do wonders for his character just seeing more cutscenes with him in them. Like, before Morooka’s murder, you can see him in the background of some of Yukiko’s s-links, stalking her. Maybe it shows a cutscene of him rambling to Rise that one time, or it shows him angrily running out of Marukyu Tofu when the boys go there for the first time, cuz he was being ignored. Maybe there could be a simple cutscene of him being lead into the interrogation room by Adachi and then being pushed into the TV because YES, I AM STILL SALTY THAT HE IS THE ONLY VICTIM WITHOUT A CUTSCENE. I know the lights were off, but… C’mon, Atlus, doesn’t that just make your job easier…?

And look at that, I STILL ended up rambling about Mitsuo for too damn long. So sorry about that, but seriously - thank you for giving me the opportunity. It’s not very often that I get to talk about him, so I really just indulged in myself here. And sorry if the formatting is weird, or if the progression doesn’t make sense etc. I practically started speaking my mind, just seeing where that would take me. And it took me all over the place :’)

#ask tag #denizen-of-dreamland #i can’t thank you enough for this opportunity :’) :’) :’)#its a long read my apologies #persona 4 #mitsuo kubo #oh no… i just remembered another thing to ramble about lol #but this post is too long and ive been writing it for too long now #so i’ll keep it to myself #or save it for another time…?

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jzixuans · 3 years

Note

hello tell me about jal if you’d like

okay round two because i accidentally lost the first one mx homie i owe u my soul for indulging me

i was talking abt this earlier w august and i’m gonna try to be more eloquent abt it because i’m being Perceived TM

BUT. tldr jal calling themselves partners in crime is something that can be so personal

their very first interaction in isle of the lost is when jay steals her coffee on the way to school. mal makes him give it back but ultimately just. lets him have it because “you look hungry.”

of course she gives it to him under the pretence of it tasting like utter dogshit but it is absolutely clearly a front to maintain her reputation. jay accepts it with a “‘thanks, mal. i was starving’” and a “‘thanks, you’re a pal,’ he said in all honesty” which i would really like to dissect here because:

1) these kids are so adamant about the fact that they are Evil and Heartless Bastards and Don’t Have Friends

2) jay thanks her TWICE in the span of one breath. for villains who live by the mantra of “if you want it, take it. and if you can’t take it, break it” it totally would’ve been acceptable behaviour if jay just took it and drank it and didn’t say anything, but he DIDN’T.

3) he calls her a pal. mr oh no officer we’re not friends i’ve never seen this girl in my life calls her a PAL. yes i’m losing my mind over this one single word but he literally does in fact call her his friend TO HER FACE and i think that’s beautiful <3

4) he says it HONESTLY. this boy’s whole entire thing at this point is being a liar and a thief who uses deception and charm to rob you blind. the fact that he’s comfortable being open and genuine around the supposed evilest teenager on the entire goddamn island, where mal totally could’ve found a way to get him ridiculed for being a softie (which he totally is), speaks volumes to their relationship

5) mal just. gives it. to him. with hardly any fight. because he “looks hungry.” she can insist all she wants how she’s cold and cruel and uncaring but this moment already sticking her foot in the Goodness door. this establishes her as a leader and a friend who looks out for what’s Hers. of course she still has a ways to go, so we can assume that this is something she wouldn’t do for just anyone. she wouldn’t even do this for evie and carlos, who we know to be her future best friends partners later, so the fact that it’s jay who gets to be on the receiving end of this compassion and companionship already elevates their relationship to something special

jay would clearly follow her to the end of the earth and i think everybody on the isle is at least a little bit of a self-preservationist, so i don’t think this is something he would do if he didn’t have good reason to. he’s also content with letting her lead even though we see him as a perfectly competent leader in d2. conversely, on numerous occasions we see mal trusting jay to hang behind and watch her six.

she leads and lifts them up from the top, he supports them as the foundation and the anchor at the bottom. that’s their dynamic.

second part of me diving into this analysis of one sole page of the book is the fact that they refer to each other as “partner in crime”

again, these kids have been raised on distrust and deceit and sabotage and betrayal. i imagine that to call someone your partner in crime is the most intimate title you could give on the isle of the lost. (which makes jay’s statement of “he and mal weren’t friends, exactly, although they were partners in crime” all the more hilarious because they really just skipped the friend zone and went straight into an intimate relationship)

because i’ve been watching s&b, here’s what i think being partners in crime entails:

trusting each other to carry out whatever task

trusting the other’s process

trusting the other to have your back and help you out of tight situations

maintaining a certain level of communication in some shape or form

spending a lot of goddamn time together

trusting the other to not rat you out

knowing each other’s strengths and weaknesses

SPLITTING THE LOOT

so what we see here is that being partners in crime means having an ungodly amount of trust in each other, even if what jay and mal do are largely just petty crimes because this is an island crawling with villains who would not hesitate to do terrible things to those they catch wronging them

it also means that despite “not being friends” they spend SO much time together, whether it’s getting together to plan heists or running from angry shopkeepers or regrouping in their hideout giggling as they compile their score for the day. given the amount of back-and-forth we see between them, they DEFINITELY talk a lot during this time spent together, which means that learning about each other is inevitable

i capitalized splitting the loot because jay’s entire character in iotl is represented by his greed and his need to satiate his father’s greed and how he’s waiting for The Big Score that will get him and his father off the isle and living life like the sultans they wished they were and More Is Better. mal’s whole thing is that she needs to do things By Herself, take all the credit, be the biggest and the baddest on the island, a title that isn’t big enough for two.

yet here they are, splitting the glory, the thrill, and their winnings. (yes i know that they’re in a competition to see who’s the better thief, but i refuse to believe that they don’t split what they have afterwards, especially since we see them trading what they already have)

partner also labels the other as their equal, which is out of character with the roles mal and jay try to play on the isle yet so fitting for who they are as people

not to mention that this title wasn’t given to them by some derogatory or condescending comment. no. these two nerds made the ACTIVE DECISION to call themselves partners in crime. this is something they’re PROUD OF.

thank you for coming to my ted talk :)

#this is all somewhere between the fourth and fifth page of of the first descendants book #*fourth-fifth page of the second chapter #yes i'm losing my mind no i didn't edit this #if this isn't coherent rip i tried lol #long post #homeinabookshelf #ask #descendants

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hopeymchope · 4 years

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Magia Record: Reflecting on the Anime and the Game’s Story Ending

With Magia Record's story now complete in-game and with the anime "finished" (only the first season, but it took until literally this past weekend for the production team at Shaft to acknowledge that the second season is coming/inevitable), I have like… a ton of thoughts about where the game and the anime landed.

This will probably mostly be gripes, but overall, I'm still pretty happy with both. I've invested my past year into Magia Record during a lot of my free time, and hey – no regrets here. That game was absolutely worth the experience. The anime? Jury's still out somewhat, but it looks good so far.

This is definitely a normal thing to find surrounding a radio tower.

Anime Adaptation Thoughts:

The original Madoka Magica anime made the world feel slightly off-kilter by employing locations that were just a little off the rails from reality. The producers noted Madoka's bathroom as an important example; it's simply too large and has too much wasted space. It's maybe the biggest room in their house for no discernible reason, and that's by design, because it feels wrong. Another one was the music store we see in the first episode, where the technology is noticeably on a level that you just can't find in any real shop. On the flip side, the Magia Record anime creates a world that is deeply bizarre in many ways – much moreso than the original anime or the Magia Record game world. This is probably because the creator of the witch designs in the original was given far more creative control over the series as a whole this time around, and the result was BUGNUTS. Take note of the massive stack of discarded school desks that is arranged in a dangerous, precarious pile atop the school building (helpfully labeled as a waste pile, despite the fact that… well, who is picking up these garbage desks from the goddamn roof?). That's some imagery straight out of a witch's labyrinth, but it is ostensibly "reality." I think that's where Magia Record's anime really goes bugnuts, sometimes to powerful effect in that it makes things feel more unsettling… and sometimes to ridiculous effect. I mean, the field surrounding the radio tower now being replaced with a yard of jagged, cockeyed, towering gravestones and cross-like woodwork dangling with ropes and tridents? That's a LOT. That's… that's too much.

Look, if you were a die-hard fan of Kaede in the game, I am deeply sorry, because your girl got done DIRTY by the anime. Anyone who played the game who then sees where she winds up at the end of episode 12 is likely on a train straight to Double-You Tee Eff Station. I can't deny that it makes sense for the limited story she's given to develop across, but it was still disappointing to see. I suppose we don't really have the time to develop up all of the other characters from the game, so somebody had to sub in for this role… but oof.

Sana's backstory with her family is not nearly explained or explored enough in the show. I honestly think it comes off as confusingly unclear why they treated her like this or why they didn't notice her vanish at all. The game justifies this devastatingly well, but it feels like it's not clear at all here.

I think they could've had Kyubey run around Kamihama for part of the first season before he got ousted/blocked, and I think it would've been beneficial to do so. Now, that's not just because I love his character and find him fascinating, although that's definitely true, but it's also because there's so much exposition that I wish he could deliver to the characters about what's happened before we got here. Like, the tragic truth about Felicia's backstory is wonderfully awful, and I wish there was some way to deliver that into the anime, but I don't think it's possible without a ton of flashbacks. (And to be fair, players of the game may never know it without playing her particular Magical Girl Story.)

The change to not having Mami attack Yachiyo when they first meet was something I felt was a positive move. I loved that Mami got to have a moment she never had in the game during the Radio Tower arc, too. In generally, I enjoyed the slower, more piecemeal involvement of the original Holy Quintet, which has served as nice slow tease compared to having them be more upfront in the game. I did kind of miss the Madoka/Homura involvement in the radio tower case, but I ultimately came away feeling like it was better to save those two for later in the story because they're probably the best-known characters from the original series.

The combat soundtrack is exquisite - maybe better than ever before, honestly. The Magia Record anime has the best fight music in the series outside of, say, Rebellion.

Game's Ending Thoughts: (Spoilers Within)

The anime cutscenes in the final chapter are delightful.

Puella Magi has never shied away from having its characters die in the original anime or in the many manga stories. I'd argue that those deaths are at least part of what makes it such a successful subversion of the Magical Girl formula; the threat of death (often via witchiness) establishes the idea of there being permanent consequences that simple hope and faith and love can't overcome in spite of what those other anime may have told you. On the other hand, Magia Record turns out to have very close to zero consequences. Aside from established deaths from flashbacks that have occurred before the game even begins, by the end of the game, literally no one dies. Not even the most blatantly psychotic character is allowed to shuffle off her mortal coil; she just "disappears" and escapes. I particularly like (please note the sarcasm) how three different characters do some kind of "super-move" during the final two chapters that is said to most likely kill them, and yet they all survive them! At least ONE character winds up with some paralysis, but jeez, the others walk away completely unscathed. I can only hope the anime doesn't go quite so weak in the knees about any of the characters suffering actual consequences from the potentially-world-ending-level battles that occur.

I previously griped that I actually expected the psychos responsible for the entire storyline to get off scot-free, and although they don't get off 100% free and clear by the time the credits role, they come extremely close to doing so. However, I was really happy with the "Cherry Blossom Dreams" epilogue event, because there is dialogue in there that has the Magius admit that whatever guilt they have now, they are still capable of being complete sociopaths who want to dominate the Earth. That one person's presence (Ui) shouldn't be (and isn't) enough to keep them from being incredibly dangerous. Ultimately, the solution/punishment they receive is probably the best one available in light of their overall survival. Well done.

Speaking of the Magius, I mean… is it really possible that so many feathers never questioned that they were following a couple of 11/12-year-olds and one blatantly obvious psychotic? I guess having face time with the Magius was pretty rare, but there was still enough that some of the feathers declared their allegiance was primarily to those three above all else. And most magical girls range closer to 16 than to 11, I mean, y'know? Which is practically an eternity in terms of maturity. So I guess MIfuyu did a lot of heavy lifting on NOT making them seem like absolutely the worst possible choices for leadership, huh? (And for that reason: Mifuyu got off fucking LIGHT.)

Aaaand speaking of "one obvious psychotic," I find it funny how almost nobody knows Alina outside of her Magius role except for Karin. Because, just… it's so perfect. Karin (who is not a "Karen") happens to be the most insanely tolerant person when it comes to Alina. She seems to shrug off Alina's entire everything as amusing, forgivable quirks. Perhaps because so many people believe Karin's own obsession with Halloween is a weirdly morbid quirk, Karin doesn't even question Alina's obsession with making art about death using actual human remains. Which is… funny? No, seriously. I think it's legitimately comedic in a good way. But it should probably be much more alarming to me that she doesn't care. I'd like to think that Karen feels it's just delightfully Halloween-y for Alina to paint her canvas with legit blood, and I do believe Karin isn't really the kind of person who would ask where the blood came from because whatever, it's probably fine, better get back to planning my pageant or something. She probably even thinks Alina's skulls are plastic Halloween decorations. :P

We need to talk about Mami: Mami in "Another Story Chapter 9" felt so off and out-of-character compared to how she was written in things like Rebellion or A Different Story or Wraith Arc, and furthermore, despite that chapter being entirely about Mami wanting to just be a simple peer with no superiority over the rest of the Holy Quintet, Another Story Chapter 10 has her immediately revert back to being the smart senpai character, further cementing how weirdly "off" Chapter 9 felt. I realize they had something difficult to write, here, though. It's painful how Sayaka has to run middlewoman between Kyoko and Mami in Chapter 10 of AS. I feel like I could write a whole screed about Kyoko's behavior across the franchise and how difficult a character she is for me to like even though I "get it" and don't think she's necessarily a bad person; she's just living on the edge of being almost a total hypocrite basically ALL THE TIME. The conclusion where Kyoko acknowledges that she's going to continue to work with Mami and the others semi-regularly in spite of everything is really the best closure you can hope for with her. She's too antagonistic to give us much else, and she prefers it that way. It would take years to see her mellow.

At this point, it seems safe to assume that there isn't going to be any "season 2" of the game like what happened with Fate/Grand Order after its finale. The main narrative is well and truly done, and it's just going to be various events from here on out. Is that enough to keep me around? Um. I don't know. Probably not? Hard to say. I don't really know what other mobile game to throw my heart into. I've considered Attack on Titan Tactics, but like… Attack on Titan hasn't been kind to me lately so uhhhhh.

#magia record #puella magi madoka magica #pmmm

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

Text

Casual moths - chapter eight

Find the other parts on my masterlist here.

If you liked this part and wanna help me out, please consider a reblog. Thank you.

Chapter eight - secrets and labels

The heat is sweltering and Angel has to wipe the sweat off of his eyebrows every few minutes as he mounts yet another shelf on the walls of the flower shop.

He and Coco have been working on getting the shop back up for about 2 and a half weeks now. The windows are back in place, the shelves are almost all set up and most of the walls have received a fresh coat of paint. All that’s left to do is the big centre-wall, the one behind the counter that people see first thing as they enter the building.

Back before the incident, that wall was painted a light blue colour, nothing overly exciting or eye-catching. Angel thinks that needs to change. Callie is no ordinary women and this shop should reflect that. A girl who’s overcome so many adversities and so many hardships, she deserves a masterpiece. Even if it’s just a drawing on a wall. He’s already got an idea on what to put there, all he needs now is some paint — and some time.

“ We good for today? “ Coco grumbles as he places a cigarette between his teeth ad lights it which earns him a smack on the head from Angel. “ What? “

“ Don’t smoke in here. Place is supposed to smell like flowers, not tobacco. “

Angel knows by the look on Coco’s face, there’s something more he wants to say. It’s probably some teasing comment about Angel being whipped or something. Though Coco doesn’t say the words in the end. Just shakes his head with a smirk and puts the cigarette back out. “ Whatever you say, man. “

Callie probably wouldn’t mind him smoking but Angel does. For no other reason than the fact that the place really does smell like flowers. Even though Callie has them all stored in her garage and works from there right now, the store still smells of peonies and lilies and roses. Maybe, Angel thinks, it’s a scent so strong it’s soaked into the walls and taken over. Or maybe, maybe it’s just wishful thinking because the scent of flowers is also the scent that follows Callie around — and he loves that scent.

“ I’m gonna get some paint for the wall tomorrow. You free to — “

Though Angel doesn’t get to finish the sentence as the ringing of his phone interrupts him. He’s almost embarrassed to admit it to himself but when he catches Callie’s name on the display, his heart does a silly little jump. He’s never felt this way before and it’s both absolutely terrifying and incredibly exciting.

“ Hey, you. “

“ Angel “

She only says his name. She only says one single word but Angel immediately knows that something isn’t right. There’s no affection in her voice, no joy or warmth. There’s fear and he hates that.

“ What’s wrong? “

Coco’s head snaps towards Angel as those words tumble from his lips, eyes sending him a silent question.

“ I — I was on the way to drop Daisy off at my mother’s place, I was just about 2 blocks away from the house and EZ escorted me almost all the way here so don’t be mad at him. “

“ Callie I don’t give a shit about EZ right now, what’s going on? “

“ Travis car is following me around and I don’t know what to do. “

This guy is really pushing his luck. Just thinking about that ugly silver car slowly creeping along and following his girls, makes Angel’s blood boil to a dangerous degree.

“ Where are you? “

“ Um — on main street, almost by the ice cream shop. “

“ Okay. Listen, you’re just a few seconds from my dad’s shop. Go there, I’ll let him know you girls are coming and to meet you outside. Do not leave until I’m there. You hear me? “

Callie doesn’t say anything but he can hear her sniffle through the phone.

“ Babe? You’ll be safe there, I promise. “

“ I know. I know, I trust you. “

To hear that, it means everything. No one’s ever put a lot of trust in Angel. At least not until he found a family in the club and even then, he knows Bish isn’t 100% convinced of his loyalty.

“ Good. I’ll see you in a bit. Stay safe! “

It’s not something he tacks at the end of his sentence out of courtesy. Not this time.

“ Everything alright, man? “ Coco asks, eyebrows raised in question.

“ Nah. Nothing’s alright. You good to lock up here? I need to teach someone a lesson. “

“ Sure. “

“ Thanks man. For everything. “

He really means it. A friend like Coco, weird and ridiculous as he can be, is worth so much in a world like this.

Angel grabs his keys and rushes out the door towards his bike, while simultaneously dialling his dad’s number. For once in his life, he prays that time is on his side.

Callie’s car is parked in front of his dad’s butcher shop and Angel feels his heart expand in relieve. It’s quite ironic, isn’t it? How someone can become so important to you in such a short time that their happiness and their wellbeing directly impact your own.

As he steps into the shop, he hears giggling coming from the back. It’s a sound he will never get tired of. Daisy and Callie laughing in harmony, creating the most lovely melody.

Angel Reyes never spent a lot of time thinking about his own death. Living life like the one he does, it’s something that’s always kind of looming over you but if you focus on it for too long it becomes a heavy burden on your shoulder. So he tries to ignore it mostly. But listening to his girls laugh, he hopes that whenever it’s his time to go, this is what he gets to hear before the end. Because this is the most wonderful sound to him.

“ Hello? “

Angel doesn’t receive an answer though as he follows the laughter he is met with the sight of his girls sitting on the couch of his father’s living room. He never knew, never would’ve guessed, that a sight like this was something he wanted to see. And yet, this feels weirdly monumental. Angel is almost sure this is one of the moments that, in retrospect, will be one of the important ones.

“ Angel! “ Daisy’s little voice calls out to him. At least it seems like she’s unaware of the strange mood, of the fear and the frustrations washing through him and Callie.

“ Hey, princess. You girls are having a good time, huh ?”

Daisy nods her head enthusiastically, making her curls bounce “so much fun. “

“ Your dad told us some stories about you. “ Callie elaborates.

Felipe sits in the recliner, a content smile visible from underneath his moustache. If he didn’t know him so well, Angel wouldn’t have noticed, alas he does know him well and notices the glint in his father’s eyes right away. Felipe is not happy with the situation. In fact, Angel is sure he’s not happy with the fact that he’s still involved with Callie and in relation, with little Daisy. In his father’s eyes, he’s sure, he will never be good enough for these girls. And truth be told, he probably isn’t. Though for his own sanity, and for Callie, he needs to let himself believe in the fact that he can be enough. That he can be the man Callie thinks he is. The man Daisy thinks he is.

Maybe for once in his life, Angel Reyes can be the hero of his own story.

“ Whatever he told you, it’s not true.”

“ Only good things “ Felipe scoffs from his place on the recliner.

“ Ah, I’m sure about that, pop. “

He walks over to Callie, places a soft kiss on her head. Her hair smells like heat and flowers and summer. Just like the shop, Callie seems to carry around te perpetual smell of blooming flowers.

“ You good, mamí? “

“ I’m fine. “

“ Daisy?”

“ She’s fine too. Don’t think she really realised something was wrong. “

Sometimes Angel wishes he could be a kid again. Just to feel the lightness that comes with it. The feeling of being unbothered by life. The innocence.

“ Okay good. Did he follow you here? Did you see where he went? “

“ I don’t know, I — “

Though Callie doesn’t get to finish her sentence as the bell above the door signals a customer stepping into the store. Felipe gets up with a grunt and shuffles towards the front of the store. Whatever the customer says, it doesn’t sound all the way through to the back but just a moment later, Angel can hear his dad speak up loud and clear.

“ Well I am sorry, she’s not here. “

And it’s then, that Angel knows who just stepped in. Callie knows it too, he can see her eyes fill with a fear that he never wants to see ever again. It shakes him to his bones, it breaks his heart. Whoever puts it there, he needs to go.

Recognition flashes in the man’s face as Angel steps up next to his dad behind the counter. Travis looks rough. Black circles rim his bloodshot eyes. His shaggy hair hangs in greasy strands down his head and he looks like he hasn’t shaved his patchy beard in a while.

“ There a problem here? “

Felipe is just about to speak up when Travis interrupts him.

“ I um — I’m looking for my girlfriend, actually. We had a fight and she ran off. Saw her come in here. I wanna know where she is. “

Angel can feel red hot anger bubbling inside him, taking over. He feels his heart beating faster, wrath causing his ears to ring and his troath to grow a knot.

Though he knows he should keep calm and collected and face this obstacle with a clear mind, that’s not who he is.

In the blink of an eye, he’s got the guy pinned to the wall. Though Travis doesn’t look scared, he just looks — slightly inconvenienced. Like this is just a blip on his grand plan. A tiny hurdle he will have to overcome. Angel won’t let that happen though. If this dude thinks he can mess with Angel’s girlfriend he’s got a storm coming.

“ She’s not your girlfriend and she doesn’t wanna see you. I know it’s you who trashed her place and I know you’ve been stalking here for a while now. I’m only going to say this once. This shit stops now! You don’t follow her anymore, don’t look at her, don’t even think about her or Daisy anymore. If I find out you’re still bothering her, I won’t be so nice. I’ll put a goddamn bullet straight between your beady little weasel eyes. You understand that? “

Travis stays silent.

“ I said, do you understand that? “

At that, he nods. Though Angel is anything but convinced. His eyes are empty, there’s neither fear nor understanding. Nothing.

“ Now get the fuck outta here. I don’t give second chances, just so you know. “

The door fasl closed behind Travis and Angel lets out a big sigh. Not one of relief, one of frustration. As he glances up at his dad, he can see judgement. He should be used to it, it’s always there. But something about it irks him. He’s not wrong. Not this time!

“ What? “

“ I didn’t say anything! “

“ Nah but you want to. So come on, say it. “

“ Angel —”

“ You still don’t think I am good enough, right? That’s what this is, isn’t it? You think I’m gonna mess things up for her and Daisy. “

“ I didn’t say that.”

“ Nah, but you thought it. You don’t have to say it to mean it. “

“ Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“ I’m not doing shit. You just can’t hide it from me. I know how it is.”

Angel Reyes is prone to breaking his own heart. Sometimes his head is so loud and it tells him all the wrong things. Like how his dad will never be as proud of him as he is of EZ. How that is mostly his own fault. Like how his mom would be utterly devastated by the person he’s become. Sometimes the things that are not said, those that play in your own head, are far more heartbreaking and terrifying than the truth. Sometimes the demons you create yourself are the one that gonna eat you whole.

Pushing past his dad he steps back into the room, seeing Daisy cuddle up to her mother. It’s a sight he’ll never grow tired of, he’s sure of that. His own little piece of heaven. Something soft and warm and happy. Not tainted by his part nor the demons of his present. Just the girls. Just home. A family that chose him. That stands beside him.

“ Everything alright? “ Callie asks. There’s still fear lingering in her eyes where love should be but for Daisy’s sake, she’s trying to stay calm and not show it. Angel sees though, he always does.

“ Yeah. Everything’s good. Let me take you girls home. “

“ Will you stay? “

A family that chooses him. That wants him around.

“ Sure.”

“ It’s a nice day out, let me give you some steaks to grill. “ Felipe speaks up and Angel wonders if he feels even a spark of guilt. If this is him trying.

“ Oh that would be lovely, thank you Felipe. “

Callie follows his father back into the shop as Angel plops down on the couch besides Daisy who looks up at him with big beautiful eyes shining with a glimmer of michieve.

“Hey Princess, you good ?”

“ Yup. I missed you. “

He’s not going to admit it but that sends his heart soaring.

“ We just saw each other last night. I tucked you in, remember?“

“ That’s very long. I missed you a lot. “

“ Yeah? “

“ Mmh. “

“ I missed you too, kid. “

And he realises then, that that’s not even a lie.

“ Does your daddy still have some emenems? “

“ Some what?”

“ Emenems. The crispy ones. “

“ Oh, M&Ms. I dunno. You think I should check? “ Angel replies, a smirk on his lips and an eyebrow raised in question.

Daisy nods her head enthusiastically making her hair bounce.

“ Alright, you wait here and I’ll sneak into the shop to see if I can find some. “

By the smile gracing her face, Angel knows he’s doing something right. And maybe, if he can make her smile, he ain’t such a bad guy after all.

The door leading to the shop is opened slightly and just as Angel is about to step in, he catches a part of a conversation between his father and Callie.

“ Why are you apologizing? “ Felipe says and places a few steaks in a plastic bag.

“ Because I am getting you involved now too. I never meant for that to happen. I didn’t want Angel to have to deal with this either. I just — you are good people. You shouldn’t have to deal with my problems. They’re mine to fix. “

If Callie thinks, even for just a second, that Angel isn’t willing to fight her fights for her, she is absolutely mistaken.

“ What are you saying, Callie?”

“ Oh I just — Angel is such a wonderful guy and I don’t want him to have to deal with my shit. Sorry, my stuff. I don’t want you guys to be pulled into this and be inconvenienced or get in trouble. “

Angel hears his Father’s low chuckle at those words.

“ You know Angel is part of an MC right? You’re scared of getting him into trouble? “

“ I do. When I started — “ she sighs “ — things with Angel, I was very aware of who he is. Or at least of the club and what comes with the territory. I might not know the details but I am no fool and neither am I that naive. I knew what I was signing up for. I am afraid he just now realises what he got into when he chose to give me the time of day. I come with a lot of baggage. I’m scared of putting more weight onto him. “

Those words hit Angel at the core of his heart. The fact that she even as much as entertains that though is insane to him. There’s so much weight on him that pulls him down and threatens to drown him in this ocean of regret he’s forged himself. Callie though, she’s the one thing keeping him afloat. The one thing lifting his head from beneath the water.

“ You know, “ Felipe exclaims “ us Reyes men have big egos. We are hot-headed and stubborn, all three of us. Thing is, we pick our fights and we pick them well. Because those are fought for the people we love. And how could anyone ever regret that?”

“ You think so? “

“ I know so, Mija! I was not always a good father to my boys, especially to Angel. But I do hope that I raised him to be loving and brave and to protect the ones he loves. I know he thinks that I think less of him than of EZ. I know he thinks I am not proud. I love my sons, both of them. Equally. Angel was just — easier. EZ demanded attention and guidance. Angel was kind of independent from a young age so I failed to realise the moment when he did need help and guidance and me. That anger and resentment, that has kept him guarded and shut off from people. That is the fight I picked. It’s easier to let him resent me than to explain my own insecurities and shortcoming to him. I am proud of him though, he’s got a good heart, a soft one too. He thinks I don’t want him around you because I don’t think he deserves you. That’s ridiculous. I just know my son, and I know that my actions have turned him bitter and have put insecurities in his head that make him self sabotage. I’m not worried he’s gonna break your heart, I am worried my mistakes lead to him breaking his own heart. But to see you together, it gives me hope. So let him fight for it. For you. That’s what comes with being a part of this family. “

It’s like a punch straight into his guts. Though their relationship is strained, Angel feels a massive wave of guilt wash over him. He doesn’t want his dad to feel responsible for his issues. Though a lot probably doesn’t stem from the all-consuming, perpetual sense of being second best to EZ, many of Angel’s insecurities are lies and whispers his mind conjures when life gets chaotic. And that, for once, is not something he can blame on his dad.

“ He’s so amazing, Felipe. He’s warm and kind and goofy. He makes me smile like no other he — he steps up to be a guiding force in Daisy’s life. If nothing else, you and your wife showed him how to love someone. And that means a whole bunch in a world like this. “

It does. It really does.

“ Angel! Emenems, please. “

It’s like he’s stuck in a moment then, glued to the floor and yet he feels this magnetic force dragging him away. Pulled in both directions. Ultimately though, Daisy wins over. That conversation he’s heard, that was not meant for him. Secrets spilt out and hearts opened and none of it was meant for him to witness. Yet he did and Angel doesn’t think he’s able to forget that anytime soon.

“ Sorry corazon, no more m&ms “.

Daisy shrugs her shoulders casually. “ That’s okay. Can you sit with me? I don’t wanna be alone. “

And quite honestly, Angel doesn’t wanna be alone either.

The drive to Callie’s house is not exactly awkward but there’s a tension there, palpable in the air and yet neither of them can really put their finger on it. It’s like you know it’S there but you can’t name it or describe it and so you stay silent for a lack of anything to say. How to you talk about something you don’t even know ?

“ Do you — um “ Callie starts “ do you think he’s got the message? “

Angel glances towards her then lifts his hand from the stearing wheel and reaches for hers.

“ I don’t know, I’ll be there though. If the fucker decides to come back, I’ll be there. “

“ Language. “

“ Oh fuck, sorry. “

“ Angel! “

She giggles at his antics and, if anything, that is so worth it.

“ I heard you talking to my dad. “

Callie swallows audibly.

“ You did? “

“ Mh. Querida, I don’t want you to think that you’re a burden to me. I made a choice to let myself enjoy what we have and to uh — ah shit I am bad at this. “

“ Nah you’re good. Go on. “

“ I knew this thing we have was gonna be scary and unfamiliar and new. But I was willing to overcome that and to let myself — fall. I chose to let my guard down and that doesn’t change just because your own life ain’t all butterflies and rainbows. This is something now and your fights are my fights and my fights are yours. We’re in this shit together now. It’s what we choose. Willingly. “

“ So many quarters in the swear jar. “

“ Ah that’s what you take from this ? “ Angel laughs and tickles Callie’s side “ I’m pouring my black little heart out to you and this is what I get ? “

Callie leans over the middle, lips dangerously close to his ear. So close he can feel her hot breath on his skin. “ Oh I’ll repay you once Daisy is a asleep, don’t worry. “ And the hand previously locked with hers, softly squeezes her thigh at those words.

“ Hey uh — can I ask you something? “

“ Sure, “ Angel replies.

“ I know this is very high school and everything. But I uh — I would like to put a label on us. I just feel like the way we tiptoe around it is kinda annoying. “

“ You askin’ me to be your official boyfriend? “

“ Do you want to be? “

“ I dunno, Callie. The least you could do is make me a card. With glitter glue and all that stuff. “

“ Stop making fun of me! “ she demands between laughs.

“ Not making fun of you. NEVER! “

“ You are. “

“ Nah. Nah. Listen, I would love to be your boyfriend. If that means you are my girl. “ he says then glances towards Daisy in the backseat, patiently playing with her barbie doll “ my girls.”

“ Angel Reyes, “ Callie answers and places a kiss on his cheek “ we’ve been your girls from the moment we met. “

#angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #mayans mc imagine #mayans imagine #mayans fanfic #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #casualmothsstory

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scarletwelly-boots · 4 years

Text

In honor of Pride, I’m sharing my LGBT Disney headcanon identities. Some have maybe one detail in their narratives that I took and ran with, and some are more commonly considered queer or queer-coded (or at least have more signs that I picked up on). Happy Pride!

Mulan: Genderfluid. I know that canonically she had reasons to pretend to be a man and that after she was discovered she dressed more typically feminine, but I have read some truly fantastic Genderfluid!Mulan fics, and as a genderfluid person who has grown up fascinated by Mulan, I like to view her as like me.

Shang: Bisexual. C’mon, did you not see his face when Mulan kicked him over that first time?! Boy was in love with her before she was outed.

Ling/Yao/Chien Po: Poly. Yes, I know they have a whole song about girls and in the sequel they marry a bunch of princesses, but they were super close friends and had really good chemistry, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they all got together.

Sebastian: Gay. That blue crab in the Under the Sea number is his boyfriend. And my name is Bastien and I’m gay, so Sebastian is also gay. I don’t make the rules.

Ursula: Trans. Listen. This is the epitome of queer-coded villains. She was designed after a drag queen. I’m not saying all drag queens are trans, but a lot of historically labeled drag queens have since turned out to actually probably be trans. And there isn’t a point where she’s not presenting as a woman, so she’s likely not just in drag.

Melody/Henry (Prince Charming): trans. OH MY GOD. This is my most bonkers Disney conspiracy theory. I’m sorry in advance for the long story with this one. So a year or two ago I fell down a YouTube rabbit hole about Disney theories and crossover theories. One theory was that there was (albeit conspiracy-esque) evidence to suggest Ariel is Prince Charming AKA Henry’s mom. The main reason I remember is that both are ginger, but I know there were other details. So the video creator was trying to figure out what happened to Melody between Little Mermaid II and Cinderella, but never thought Melody and Henry might be the same person. My theory based on this: Henry IS Melody. After LM2 he realized he was trans. It fits with the crossover theory without needing to explain why Melody was not at her potential-brother’s wedding. I know there’s a lot of conditions for this to work, but I think it makes more sense than the Melody and Charming are siblings but Melody is inexplicably MIA theory.

Lumiere and Cogsworth: Gay. Come on. Obviously. I will also accept that Lumiere is bi/pan and in a relationship with Cogsworth and Babette or w/e her name is. Doesn’t work as well with the live action BatB, but maybe Cogsworth is married and Lumiere is dating the feather duster and they’re also dating each other?

LeFou: Gay. Like even before the live action this much was obvious. Gaston should’ve A.) treated him way better, and B.) opened his goddamn eyes and stopped chasing Belle. (I’m on the fence about Gaston’s possible queerness though.)

Hades: Gay. I recently heard that James Woods, Hades’s VA, is homophobic. So now I’m headcanoning this out of spite in addition to, I’m sorry MF-er, but you played this guy ridiculously queer-coded. He’s gay. Deal, Woods.

Timon/Pumbaa: Do I even have to say it? They raised TWO kids together!!! Gay!!!!

Scar: Gay. That lion was queer-coded to hell and back. I know there’s issues with villains being queer-coded, but if he’s gay, I’m counting him.

Terk: Lesbian. Duhhh. She’s voiced by Rosie O’Donnell, of course she’s gay! Also all of her friends are guys, which I’m not saying makes you gay, but makes her butch-ness pretty damn overt.

Shere Khan: Gay. Sorry, I might ship him a leeetle bit with Scar.

Baloo/Bagheera: These two were Timon and Pumbaa before Timon and Pumbaa. They’re gay. No, I will not take constructive criticism.

Jafar: Gay. Man, there is a huge problem with queer-coding villains in Disney. I know he sexually harasses Jasmine, but there could be a few reasons for this (other than the fact that he’s a jackass and needs to STOP): performative heterosexuality or bi. Or power-hungry AF and not caring what he has to do to get it. I’m leaning toward that one.

Genie: Pan or Ace. I could see him going either way. I think he gets a girlfriend in the tv show, so likely either pan or panromantic asexual.

Elsa: Queer. Obviously.

Side note: I ship Elsa and Cinderella in the Wreck-It Ralph 2!verse. The bedroom eyes they give each other in the loungewear scene?! My gay ass felt that.

Merida: Ace. C’mon. She’s literally an arrow ace! Isn’t this a thing? “I’ll be shooting for my own hand”???? Girl is ace AF.

Buzz/ Woody: Do I have to say gay? Is it not obvious? Get out of here with that Jessie/ Bo Peep shit. I can play in the poly sandbox just like with Lumiere and Cogsworth. And we do not acknowledge TS4 in this house. That movie was a disgrace.

Jessie: Lesbian. I’ll take bi or pan if you want to insist she’s in a relationship with Buzz. She’s a cowgirl though.

7 Dwarves: Are they brothers? Or just roommates/coworkers? If they’re brothers, absolutely disregard because I’m not an incest shipper (okay, with the exception of Thorki). Otherwise, poly.

Donald Duck: genderfluid. Have you not seen that post going around of all the times Donald wears a dress and it’s not as a punchline? Donald is genderqueer in some capacity.

Live action BatB Stanley: genderfluid or bigender. He seems pretty chill about wearing typical men’s clothes, but when Madame de Garderobe gives him a dress he’s fucking thrilled. Stanley is me when I put on a binder. Genderfluid.

Kuzco: Pan and bigender. He’s very queer, both gender- and sexuality-related. Like he dresses as a woman in a whole scene and I don’t remember him putting up much of a fight about doing it? I could be wrong.

Feel free to add your own.

#lgbtq #gay disney #pride month

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quicksiilver · 3 years

Text

In My Fathers Eyes

All Parts: Here

On AO3: Here

Part Nine: Second World

Word Count: 5.2k

Chapter Summary: A week has passed at the Compound. Rachel's been training with Natasha every day, and tonight she meets with Bruce to go under and walk through her memory again. Just like a glitch, she's taken elsewhere, and a new player enters the game.

A/N: Apologies for taking a bit to update. Enjoy this new face we’re meeting!

“And that was the last time he talked to me,” I said through my heavy breaths. Natasha threw a couple punches my way. I dodged half of them, then spun around catching her off guard with a kick from behind. She barely stumbled, and quickly got me back by taking out one of my knees.

“The night you made out on Tony’s car,” She said, fists at the ready. Back on my feet we went a few more rounds, only stopping when I caught her arms under mine pulling her into me. I sighed, rolling my eyes.

“Yes,” I said.

“Wait, you guys made out?!” Wanda shouted from the corner she sat in, almost spitting out the water she held in her mouth. My eyes stayed on Natasha. From getting knocked down that first day with the mention of Peter’s name, I didn’t let anything steal my attention. We’ve been training everyday, and to my surprise I’ve only gotten stronger. Fatigue never got the best of me, it hadn’t even come up. I started with Natasha a week ago, and since then she’s told me my strength has grown faster than anyone she’s trained with. Even Wanda didn’t get this strong in a week.

“Yeah,” I groaned, answering Wanda, taking Natasha to the ground with my knees around her waist. She tried to flip me, but I held her down. My hair was all in my face, stuck to my forehead, and flipped ridiculously around. I had it up, but through the past two hours there was no point in fixing it.

“Okay, get off of me,” Natasha smiled, defeated. Letting go of her arms I stood up. Taking a few steps backwards I slumped over making them laugh.

“You never said you guys kissed, I just thought you snuck out,” Wanda tossed me a water bottle. Taking a long sip, I nodded and rolled my eyes again.

“We did,” I said, “And he hasn’t talked to me.”

“There is a lot going on,” Natasha said solemnly, “I know he did a lot of work Thursday night.” Wanda motioned for me to come sit next to her, so I plopped myself down beside her and in front of Natasha. Steve was in here with Bucky, the two of them lifting weights across the room after their run they always took together. I watched Bucky as he only lifted with his one arm, the silver one behind his back.

“We saw each other the next day, in the hallway. I was on my way to come here, and he was going into his room. He didn’t even turn around,” I said. Wanda pouted, giving Natasha a look.

“It doesn’t matter,” I sighed, “There’s a lot going on, right?” I repeated Natashas words, raising my eyebrows. I did hear that Peter was out almost all day, and night, on Thursday. It didn’t make me feel any better because we had the chance to talk on Wednesday. We had the chance to talk on Friday when he was leaving the kitchen as I was coming in with Thor. He didn’t seem to be making an effort to pay attention to me anymore. Saturday, yesterday, I saw him with Tony outside when I peeked out my window after a shower.

“I’m not here to make friends, I have a job to do, right?” I asked them. Screwing their faces into confusion they looked at me, and spoke with offense.

“What are we then?!” Natasha spoke harshly before laughing. Wanda laughed with her, shaking her head at me.

“You’re one of us now, you’ve joined the lady Avenger alliance,” Wanda spoke regally, lifting her bottle of water, getting me to join in on their laughter. Natasha reached toward me placing a hand on my knee giving it a shake.

“Boys are gross, anyway,” She scrunched her nose, “Especially teenage ones.” I copied her look, and then smiled.

“Aren’t you and Bruce together?” I asked. Wanda almost choked on her water again.

“Ugh,” Natasha groaned, tilting her head back, “I try.”

“She loves him,” Wanda teased.

“Do not,” Natasha shot back. They bickered like children, my eyes shooting back and forth between them.

“Speaking of Bruce, aren’t you working with him later?” Wanda asked. I sat up straight, panic shooting into my stomach.

“Oh shit, what time is it?” I mumbled, jumping to my feet looking around for my phone. Wanda handed it over to me, she was the keeper of it while I fought. The clock read four thirteen.

“Oh man,” I said, turning to the girls on the floor, “I gotta go, I’m supposed to be with him at five.” They waved me off, telling me to have a good night. Natasha sarcastically warned me that if I brought up our conversation, she’d kick my ass the next time we trained.

Jumping out of the rink I started for the doors passing Bucky and Steve who said hi to me. Bucky gave me a smile with a nod of his head. He was always so charming, it almost made me blush. Before I reached the door it was pulled open by Peter. He didn’t see me at first until he was a few steps in, and when he looked at me we both slowed down. We passed by one another without saying a word, just a glance, but as I stepped out the door I swore I still felt his eyes on me.

After a speedy shower I rode the elevator down to Bruce on the floor now deemed as the Science Fair by Natasha and I. He turned as I came toward him, and gave me a smile.

“Hey, Rachel,” He said, his voice always calm and soothing, “You up for this again?” The two white earbuds were in his hand that he held out for me to take. Taking a deep breath, I smiled.

“I have to be,” I popped the earbuds in my ears, and sat down on the chair beside Bruce. Closing my eyes, I took a second deep breath, and prepared for the feeling to hit me. The first time we did this I had Peter here, and he helped me through it. Without him now I was taking this on alone, with only Bruce here to talk to me. I was used to doing most things alone anyway, so swallowing the fear of the emptiness that was about to swallow me, I sat up tall and listened to Bruce help transition me into the darkness.

Tony and Peter were working together in a room on the floor below the science fair. Papers were scattered around the large circle of a table as were folders, binders and boxes of files. When there was no other work to be done, Peter could be found here helping Tony keep things in order. Every sheet of paper held information to all the endeavors the Avengers found themselves in.

The side of Tony not many people outside the team got to see, the anxiety that riddled him and kept him up at night, it used to confine him to this room especially after the Sokovia Accords were signed. He didn’t want to lose an ounce of control. He had tabs on every Avenger and every word they spoke to the public. Any fight, or battle someone went through, it was on paper. He always had a plan, because he knew everything. Keeping Peter close by he recruited him to help keep this room in order, thus giving Peter access to the info on every Avenger in this building.

Sitting here tonight they were quiet, barely any words shared between them. Peter stacked a pile of papers with intel of the Space Stone together and slipped them in a folder with a label indicating its association with the stone, then turned to look at Tony pacing the room, tapping his chin with a pen.

“Mr. Stark?” He asked, his voice just above a whisper. Tony slowed his walk, looking at Peter with just his eyes, wearing his usual quizzing expression. It was Peter’s signal to keep talking, but to also be weary of what he was going to say. While Peter knew what to expect, sometimes he wasn't ready for it. Peter hesitated, but found the courage to speak up.

“I know... I know you don’t want me talking to her,” He said, Tony cut him off.

“We’re not discussing this,” He stated, turning away, picking up his pace to where he left off. Sighing, Peter sat back in the chair he was sitting on.

“Don’t get pissy,” Tony pulled a look of disgust, “You don’t know her.”

“Neither do you,” Peter mumbled, his eyes focusing on his hands on his lap.

“I think I know enough,” Tony said, stopping, resting his hands on the table leaning into them, “I know who her father is,” You’d think his words were hurting him with the way he spoke, “I saw the aliens coming out of the hole in the sky, and you know what that did to me.” Tony paused, his eyes glued to the boy across from him. Peter didn’t bother to look up.

“I was chill when I met her, I was chill driving her here, I was chill bringing her in when she met all of us. She’s shown me twice now that he is in there. In her,” He paused, reading Peter to see what reaction he was getting from him, hoping his words were doing enough to turn him off, “We talked about what you did Tuesday night. It was wrong, it was so wrong. You’re a good kid, I do not need you screwing up how great you’ve been here.”

“For you,” Peter said, finally lifting his chin, “You don’t want me screwing it up for you.” Tony scoffed, eyes rolling, and raised his voice.

“You guys don’t work!” His voice harsh, “You’ll never work! You’re one of the good guys, and she’s an inexperienced child of a goddamn villain.” Peter bit his tongue, knowing if he said what he wanted to say it would come back to bite him in the ass. He knew Loki was no villain. Sending aliens from space under the influence of a persuasive mind stone could happen to anyone of them, it just so happened to be Loki. He didn’t do it voluntarily.

“What do you think’s gonna happen when he comes?” Tony's voice now condescending, “When she meets him? Her only family she has? She’ll probably want to go with him, and that gives him more power because she’s growing stronger than any one of us has, fast.” His last words caught Peter’s interest.

“She is?” He asked, and Tony nodded, still wearing his serious expression.

“She is. It’s weird,” Tony said making Peter laugh under his breath.

“Is it?” He asked, “Her dad isn’t human, he’s a God… made of ice.” Tony straightened himself out, removing his hands from the table, and eyed Peter curiously.

“Maybe it’s a bad idea having you in here,” He motioned around to the clutter, “You have too good of a memory, and I think it’ll come get you one day.” Peter gave him a weak smile, Tony’s warm-hearted sarcasm making him feel something he hadn’t in a while. Before he could enjoy it too much, Stark pointed a finger at him.

“We already had this conversation. You aren’t going to get any closer to her, got it?” He waited for Peter’s head to nod, “Good,” He went to turn around, but hesitated. Peter watched him, the two keeping their eyes locked.

“I do need to know, though,” Tony said, Peter groaning audibly, “What do you want with her? You wanna date her? You want a friend? You want to sleep with her?”

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter sprung forward, waving a hand around trying to shut him up.

“Because I know you’re here a lot, alone, and there really isn’t anyone for you to-”

“Stop! Please!” Peter started to laugh, cringing hard. Tony smiled, happy to have a moment with Peter that wasn’t about work, or anger related. He knew he hadn’t been the best person toward Peter in the past few weeks, or maybe months. He knew Peter needed a friend, but he for sure thought he was still getting together with his friends from high school.

With the way he would watch him mope around the compound, and keep to himself, Tony knew that he was going through a low. Bringing Rachel here was sprung on Tony, he didn’t think they’d be able to track her down. Since then she’s begun to lose his trust, and even though Peter needed someone to fill the space he was leaving him in, he didn’t want it to be her. Before he could crack another joke for the kid, Friday chimed into the conversation.

“Mr. Stark, there’s an urgent call coming in for you,” She said. Peter sat up, tilting his head, and furrowing his brows. Tony met him with the same exact look.

“Tony!” It was Bruce, “You gotta get in here, man.” He sounded like he was in a panic.

“What? What happened?” Tony asked, trying to stay calm, “Aren’t you with Rachel?”

“Yeah,” His voice shook. From the background there was a glass shattering scream, and a muffled voice following it that was shouting something unintelligible. Peter leapt to his feet, actually, leapt on top of the table effortlessly, ready to run across it to get upstairs.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bruce said, “I’m at a loss, and I can feel the other guy ready to make an appearance.”

“No, no, no,” Peter mumbled quickly, snapping his metal band around his wrist that he fished out of his pocket the second Bruce’s voice came through Friday.

“I’m coming, try to stay calm,” Tony said, “Kid, stay here.” He gestured for Peter to sit down. Peter stared at him in disbelief, and as Tony waited for a second to make sure he was going to listen, Peter shot a web to the doorknob pulling it open. Before Tony could even say another word, Peter had another web shot outside the door taking himself with it.

Like riding a rollercoaster, I was being tossed around, and rushed through the air surrounded by bright, glistening, blinding colors. I had lost Bruce’s voice. We were in the middle of walking through a memory of my mother and I drawing with crayons at my kitchen table when I was pulled away from it suddenly, and thrown into this force that felt like it was pulling me somewhere. I had made attempts to grab onto something, or say something to Bruce, but whatever was happening to me prohibited that.

I was told these things in my ears would take me into my memory, dig deep into my subconscious, and bring things up that had been pushed away and covered up. What I was experiencing right now wasn’t a memory. It wasn’t even a thought. Being whisked through a forcefield of rainbow energy at a speed faster than I’d ever felt wasn’t a situation I’d ever think I’d be in. Even an eight year olds imagination couldn’t think something up like this.

In an instant, as fast as I was sucked into this, I was pulled out. I stumbled on my feet, catching myself before I fell over. Looking around at the beautifully marbled floor, my eyes followed the path I was standing on to the staircase at the end of it. The air around me was warm, and the air was crisp. Everything seemed fresh, and brand new. I certainly felt out of place with how royal this all seemed, and I couldn’t help but wonder why I was brought here.

There were sounds of birds chirping, and bustling life outside of where I was, but inside this huge ballroom it was just quiet. There hadn’t ever been a vision of this place inside my head. No place this regal could possibly come from me, my brain was more interested in the dark, and the mysteries.

“Rachel,” A deep voice graveled from the stairs. After finishing the circle I was spinning in to gawk at the details of paintings on the ceiling, I turned toward it to find a throne with a man sitting on it. He was young, it seemed, with ashy brown hair down to his shoulders. Dressed in long sleeved dark robes, pulled together at the waist with a leather belt, he stood up from his slumped over lounge and started down the stairs. His shoes clicked on the marble with every step he took.

“You can see me?” I asked, a little surprised. I’ve only done this memory thing twice, but when I was inside one nobody could physically see me. I would only go through the motions of myself in that memory, but my outside body was never a part of the scene. The man lowered his chin, with a smize. His eyes studied me as he descended from the stairs meeting me by my side.

“Of course I can see you,” He said. His voice was beautiful, smooth, and had a hint of my uncle's accent inside it. It seemed to be mixed with more, but I didn’t know much about outside worlds, or what people sounded like from Thor’s world.

“How?” I asked.

“Who do you think brought you here?” He asked back, his head cocking to the side in sarcasm. He still wore his smize, turning it into more of a smile now. He was absolutely stunning. His eyes were a hazel green, and they were sharp, and seemed full of wisdom. The curve of his nose was not even a curve at all, it sloped perfectly straight, leading your eyes to his full lips that were encompassed with perfectly taken care of scruff. His jaw appeared to be sharper than his eyes, and his hair hung below it in waves. I had never seen someone so beautiful, I was a little intimidated.

“You… You brought me here?” I asked quietly, “How?” I repeated myself.

“Your Avengers haven’t been careful,” He sighed, turning his chin to gaze out the window. I would’ve done it too, but I was too busy gazing at him.

“What?” My voice was at a whisper. He turned back to me.

“My apologies, let me start over,” He said, “I am Rune, of Asgard.”

“Shut up,” I said turning over my shoulder, looking all around the place again. Hurrying over to an opening onto the balcony, I nearly flung myself against the sculpted railing to look out upon the surreal world below me. My heart pounded in my chest, and my hands began to shake as the excitement, and pure shock, grew within me. Asgard was a princess fairytale on steroids, and apparently so were the people that lived here. Families were walking along the streets, and children could be heard laughing. Flowers were, well, everywhere, and past the royally constructed buildings and homes was a forest full of the greenest trees I’ve seen.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Rune said, leaning against the barrier with me. Not taking my eyes off the insane beauty of Asgard, I nodded. He smiled, giving me a small laugh.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I whispered.

“Did anyone have an intention of bringing you here?” Rune asked. Glancing to him once before looking back out to the horizon I shook my head.

“It hadn’t been discussed yet,” I said. My brain processed what we’d just said, making me look at him in confusion.

“I know, I know,” He laughed again.

“Do you know Thor?” I asked, my tone building my guard back up.

“I do,” Rune nodded.

“Am I related to you, too?” I asked.

“No, I certainly would hope not,” His voice lowered as his eyes narrowed, giving me a feeling I always tried my best to avoid. Clenching my jaw, I nodded as an answer, and looked away from him.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Like I said before, your Avengers haven’t been too careful,” He spoke with disappointment, but it was almost sarcastic, as if he was expecting this.

“What are you talking about?” Whipping my head toward him, I spoke in offense. The Avengers were taking perfect care of me. I had a place to live that wasn’t close to evicting me when rent was due, I had delicious food to eat whenever I wanted it, and I had finally found a piece of family I had gone my entire life without. Natasha and Wanda were training me to be strong, and teaching me how to protect myself when I was going to need it. I had friends other than Shaun, who I hadn’t talked to in an entire day, and they genuinely cared about me. Rune’s eyes studied me again, like he was collecting information from every move I made.

“They’re trying to keep you hidden from us,” He spoke carefully.

“Yeah,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes, “Sure they are. My uncle is from here, why would he hide me from it?” Rune’s expression didn’t falter.

“I know you’ve heard the stories of Thor and his brother, haven’t you?” He paused, “The stories of your father?” My stomach twisted, and a small chill rolled over me. It was one thing to talk about him with a member of the team, but to hear it from a stranger was enough to make me feel sick. My father was an enemy of Asgard at a certain point in time. He faced scrutiny, and was thrown into a dungeon. He had lost everyones trust, even his brother’s. Thor had told me things were better now, but standing here with Rune having the knowledge of who my father was, I wanted to sink into my shoes through the floor. Keeping the worry inside of me, I pressed my lips together and gave him a nod.

“I know it all,” I said confidently.

“Then you know they’re only keeping you to use you,” He said, my stomach taking another twist, “They only need you to get to Loki.” Swallowing hard, my worry was about to bubble over my composed exterior. The sound of his name still threw me for a spin.

“You’re crazy,” I mumbled, resting my elbows on top of the marble in front of me, shaking my head in disbelief, “That is so far from the truth. They’re seeing all of this happen right now, I hope you know. I have no idea how you got me here, but they’re watching this, and they’re going to hear everything you’re telling me.” Rune laughed, laying a hand to his chest. I glanced at him, confused.

“Oh, sweet girl,” He said, giving me an ick, “They can’t hear a thing. They can’t see us either, because guess what? I know how to hide things, too.” Giving him a look of disgust, he simply smiled back.

“Your father has betrayed your uncle once again. That’s why your world and ours are in despair. You see the extraordinary life down there?” He gestured out to Asgard, “Your father wants to watch it burn. Things haven’t changed. He’s still pure scum.” “Liar!” I shouted, rage beginning to swell in my heart. Pushing away from the railing I took a few steps back and glared at him. We stared each other down, his movement still giving me the impression he was trying to figure me out. It reminded me of how Tony acted around me, but Rune wasn’t afraid. It’s almost as if he wanted me to act out.

“Don’t speak like that about him,” I said through my teeth. Rune rested his back on the marble, folding his hands in front of him, watching me almost lose myself, “None of you know what he’s been through, none of you know how he feels.”

“And you do?” He asked with a gesture of his head toward me. I hesitated for a second, now knowing he knew I never met him before.

“I do,” I said strongly, fists clenching over my thumbs. Rune’s eyes flickered to them, then back to my eyes.

“Let me help you,” He said, raising a hand to tell me to calm down.

“Why would I do that? You just called my father scum!” I laughed, annoyed. Rune smirked.

“I’m on your side, that’s just what people call him. I know where he is,” His voice was hushed, and he started to walk toward me, “He’s in hiding, much like we are now. I have some idea of how to get him to come back, and how to stop him from destroying worlds,” He stopped, then pointed at me, “Then you come along, I find you through the Avengers who I’ve been watching, and I realize you’re going to be what stops him.” I waited for him to go on, but he expected me to answer.

“Why are you watching the Avengers? How are you watching the Avengers?” I asked, my eyes still angry.

“I’m watching them because they want to take your father down, and I needed to be sure they weren’t going to do that. I use the bifrost,” He said.

“Thor said Heimdall doesn’t let anyone control the bifrost.”

“Like I said, I know how to hide things,” He winked, and as much as I wanted to feel the ick again, his alluring eyes made it too hard, “Help me. Help me save your father, Rachel.” He held out an open hand, like he wanted me to take it. Looking down at it I felt nervous, unlike I did with Peter. I wanted to grab Peter’s hand, and squeeze it, and not let it go. Rune’s hand was intimidating, and seemed too strong. Rune was also an Asgardian, a strong being that descended from gods. I didn’t even have an idea of how old he was, and as Thor described it, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. He did have this mysterious facade about him, I could feel how much of a passionate person he was, it was nearly overwhelming how deep his energy felt. The way he was watching me was dangerous, and I mean dangerous for my feelings.

“Do you want him to be safe, or not?” Rune asked. Looking from his hand to his glistening eyes, I sighed, and I quickly took his hand. Shaking it once, I dropped it, and I watched as his eyes trickled down my body to my feet before looking back at me. Insecurity wanted me to retreat, but judging by his intrigue there didn’t need to be any worry.

“What do I do?” I asked fast, switching the energy before anything else happened. Rune bit the tip of his tongue, letting a smile grow.

“Out there? With the Avengers? Nothing,” He said, then tapped his chest, “With me? Everything.” Taking a deep breath a wave of adrenaline washed over me. His tone was hinting toward mischief, and it sparked more of interest within me. While this was so much bigger than breaking a tiny rule at the Compound, the last time I felt this exact feeling was with Peter when he agreed to get into Tony’s car.

“What’s the matter?” Rune asked. I assumed my expression had faltered at the thought of last week.

“Nothing,” I sighed, shaking it away. Rune lifted his chin a bit, looking down at me, much like Peter’s signature move. Squishing my eyebrows together, I stared at him and tried to get Peter out of my head. After a minute, he straightened out and I relaxed.

“Very well then,” He said, “These moments stay between us. While your physical body is still on Midgard, your subconscious is here. I’m sending you back, but I’ll be putting you through a horrific memory to protect your time here from being broken into. My apologies.” Rune reached out for my hand, and when they touched I was sent spinning through the colorful flashes again. When I fell back into reality, I could feel how sweaty my body had become. I was gasping for air more than I was the first time going under. My muscles ached, and I knew it was from this. Everyone knew by now I didn’t get sore from training.

“Rachel!” Bruce shouted, seeming relieved. My sight was blurry, and the room was spinning. Fighting to grab onto something I tried to stand up, but I fell straight for the floor, slipping off the chair before I even got up to my feet.

“Whoa!” I heard Peter’s voice shout, and he caught me, putting me back on the chair.

“What happened? What’d she do?” Tony’s voice was the next one I heard, and I made out his shape as he came next to Bruce messing with screens in front of him.

“She got sucked into something… I couldn’t see anything. I fought to get her back, but then she started to… freak out!” Bruce’s voice was shaky.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked quietly, still holding onto me. My dizziness started to fade, and as soon as I could make out where he was I swatted at him to get away.

“Whoa!” He said again, letting me go. Ignoring him, I placed a hand to my forehead and laid back in the chair.

“Kid, what do you remember?” Tony asked, looking over at me. Squinting to try to look at him clearer, I shrugged, “Seriously?” He mumbled.

“I don’t know!” I said, raising my voice, “It was all… fuzzy. Then I was thrown through the day my mom died,” My own words stung, “The day I came home from school. Found her on the kitchen floor. Called nine-one-one, and had a meltdown beside her,” The room was quiet, except for Tony clicking away.

“Right,” He muttered.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter began.

“Shut it, Parker,” Tony warned. I didn’t even want him here. Peter was ignoring me all week over that night at the airport, after we shared our trauma with each other, after we both grew a pair and finally kissed, and here he was just to watch me be sad again. I lived my life on my own for a reason. I was not going to let him get in the way of it.

“Banner, I can’t think of what to do. I’m going to need time to dissect this,” Tony said to Bruce, “Rachel, you can go,” He waved me off, “Peter, get back to work.” Following my orders, I steadied myself on my feet. Reliving the memory I had just seen, I felt the urge to cry. Not needing Peter, or the other two to watch me do it, I left and went off to my room ready to get Shaun on the phone.

Tags for the amazing ppl who’re reading this :’)

@idk-maybe-snape-did-it @avengerstanforlife You guys are the best.

#the avengers #the avengers fanfic #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #Peter parker #Peter Parker fanfiction #Loki Laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #iron man fanfic #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #The avengers fanfiction #bruce banner #tagging all the bros in this #Bucky and Steve #justice for Stucky LMAO.

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nightcoremoon · 4 years

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here's some controversy that has nothing to do with social issues.

a lot of people hate the band five finger death punch. saying those words provoked a visceral response in half the people reading this, and a "who?" in the other half. they're a groove metal band; similar to slipknot, mudvayne, disturbed, all that remains, system of a down, korn, and killswitch engage. they're one of those really controversial bands that are hated because they're ~not real metal~ by dumbshits who think that NWOBHM is the only valid metal genre. even though england ruined metal and punk but that's a conbfetsation for another day.

now, if you just don't like metal, that's fine. I don't expect everyone to like every genre. so obviously you won't like them, or any band in the genre. obviously. and these are not the people who are being targeted with this post. no, this goes to those who love metallica, ozzy, megadeth, slayer, pantera, testament, opeth, tool, manowar, meshuggah, children of bodom, cannibal corpse, fear factory, mercyful fate: this is to the people who love metal. now, I say this as one of us, but metalheads are one of the most judgmental groups of people in history. and frequently I find that metalheads make the same remarks in regards to their opinions on five finger death punch.

they do nothing but covers. they just yell and cuss. forty year old men with teenage angst. bad musicianship. they look stupid. they fuck their sisters and daughters. they sold out to the military. they're gay. they do too many ballads. they're redneck bait. they're toxic masculinity and macho personified. they rely on guest stars to carry their songs. they're talentless hacks.

these are all complaints I've heard multiple times from multiple people. and frankly I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hearing the bullshit complaints rather than the ACTUAL REASONS why they aren't the best band in the world. which I'll go through now.

they have an overreliance on breakdowns as if they were a post-hardcore band but they're not. breaking benjamin also skirts the line between post-grunge metal and post-hardcore and have many breakdowns, but the difference is that BB's breakdowns have math rock roots and use different patterns that syncopate well. five finger's breakdowns are... eighth notes. it's the difference between, say, black veil brides- who have excellent syncopated breakdowns- and as I lay dying, who have shitty and boring breakdowns. the only difference is that AILD has blast beats (and is fronted by an abusive asshole), and five finger has... ivan growling threats or whatever because they think that it sounds cool to have metal blaring while he says shit like "you wanna disrespect me? I will slap you so fucking hard you'll feel like you kissed a freight train, fuck you," or "if there was ever a time for you to back the fuck up it's right fuckin here and right fuckin now" or "it's not the size of the dog in the fight it's the size of the fight in the dog," or "in the end we're all just chalk lines on the concrete, drawn only to be washed away; in the time that I've been given, I am what I am", etc, all preceding screams. and no these are not exaggerations, these are literally exact quotes. there's also one that plays radio chatter from the military while he goes "hut hut oorah", which is different slightly. and in any case, they have done nearly a hundred different solos over their career, there is NO REASON for them to have such a ridiculous amount of breakdowns. they rival memphis may fire in that regard, but MMF actually has great breakdowns. churko is a metal producer, NOT a hardcore producer, and they sound empty when you strip out the vocals.

sometimes they will overuse a chorus, and hit the pop music pitfalls of having a song that's over half chorus. I'm sure they did this so the label would be happy with singles because the music industry is a commercialized garbage fire and holding it against the artists would be so fucking stupid especially since tool (the best metal band in existence) fucking said it best, "all you know about me is what I sold you, I sold out long before you ever knew my name, I sold my soul to make a record, dipshit, then you bought one; I've got some advice for you little buddy, before you point your finger you should know that I'm the man and if I'm the man then he's he man and you're the man as well so you can take that fucking finger and shove it up your ass". translation; the fact that you know a band at all means that they sold out to even exist in the first place because that's what selling out is. so even this complaint I have that sometimes they have repeated chorus is more of a complaint about a music industry which dumbs things down to sell radioplay to the lowest common denominator, which EVERY SINGLE ARTIST IS GUILTY OF. so moving on.

sometimes they'll have songs which are fairly simple from a harmonic/mechanical standpoint. opening verse chorus verse chorus solo bridge chorus chorus ending. verse goes some mix of eighth and quarter notes and rests in 4:4, solo is just the vocal line of the chorus, bass and drums are nonexistent and only serve to be a melodic backbone, and the music only exists to serve the lyrics... oh wait I can make the exact same arguments about metallica, rage against the machine, pantera, disturbed, and a hundred other bands. those guys aren't hated as much as five finger. hmm. wonder why.

the lyrics are often angsty. namely that they deal with honor, government corruption, mental illness, we live in a society, religious corruption, abandonment issues, recovering from toxic relationships, hey wait a minute these are all just insanely common topics for metal songs!

they usually play in the same key- wait shit every band has a favored key.

they do a lot of covers- wait shit they have literally more ALBUMS than covers.

(yeah that's weird to me too, but they only did a new level by pantera, from out of nowhere by faith no more, bad company by bad company, mama said knock you out by LL cool J, house of the rising sun by the animals, gone away by offspring, and blue on black by kenny wayne shepard... that's 7. they have 8 albums now.)

so shut the fuck up forever about the cover songs. metallica and the deftones and a perfect circle all had fucking cover ALBUMS, van halen only has a career because of the kinks, and every single rock band in the world is just ripping off the beatles, pink floyd, black sabbath, the who, led zeppelin, and cream. pick a legitimate reason to hate on a band, hypocrite.

alright what else...

"they're gay"

I'm not gonna dignify that with a response.

"they suck"

so does your favorite band. boom roasted.

"they're bad at music"

I'd like to see you do better then.

"they sold out to the military"

no they support the veterans and the troops; they fucking hate the military if you pay any attention at all. they believe in the good parts of the military that the government pays half our taxes to make us believe. you're not better than anyone else just because you see through one specific piece of propaganda because odds are you're blinded by another dozen. they write songs about how war is hell and how when vets come home they should be treated better. and anyway when you're in the dog eat dog world of the music industry hey guess what you need a market to sell to or else it's back to baskin robbins. I don't blame them for one second. if I had the option of endorsing cops to pay my bills you bet your ass I'll fly a blue lives matter flag and sell my soul to make money, and then donate shit to the black lives matter movement. flying a flag is worthless if I can do actual good with the money that those dumbasses send in. and name better irony than fighting to abolish a group that pays me to do it go on I'll wait.

"you're just a fanboy"

a) it's fangirl but metal elitists don't give a shit about the LGBTQ and b) just because I like a band doesn't in any way diminish the validity of my statements and any bias I might have is easily countered by whatever bias you might have and c) they're not even my favorite band you idiot I just think there's way worse out there just like I think it's unfair to say nickelback is the worst band in existence when drunk mom rock like hinder buckcherry savingabel and kidrock exists, and limp bizkit is standing right there, and d) they're not even the worst groove metal band, just look at fucking lamb of god, and e) if I was a fangirl I wouldn't have pointed out the flaws you fucking brainless troglodyte, and f) even if they were my favorite band in the world it doesn't matter if you think they suck because music taste is subjective anyway you goddamn moron. those guys write their own music, play their own music, perform their own music, and they love their fanbase more than most other bands. andrew biersack and kellin quinn and pepper keenan and glenn danzig and liam gallagher and axl rose and van halen and ted nugent and kurt cobain HATE their fans, or at least are huge fucking assholes. but not five finger. jeremy played until he literally broke his back; he's as devoted as phil collins, and if he made like atreyu and sang while drumming he'd be singing from a wheelchair, or like dave grohl when he broke his leg right in the middle of a concert, went to the hospital and got set and put in a cast, THEN CAME RIGHT BACK TO THE FUCKING SHOW AND PLAYED GUITAR AND SANG IN A CAST AND WHEELCHAIR. oh but wait, people say phil collins and dave grohl suck too, and turn around and suck mustaine's dick even though he's the biggest asshole in thrash metal behind tom araya and drunk james hetfield. point being, just because x doesn't like y doesn't diminish z's opinion.

"the singer fucked his daughter lol lol his grandchild is his son too lol lol his daughter is his wife lol lol it's funny because rednecks and incest lol lol" he's from colorado not alabama you dumb motherfuckers, and all the lol incest in georgia jokes are rooted in good ol yankee classism. also the guitarist is hungarian so the american redneck jokes don't even fuckin work. shut the hell up, you have all of the intellectual capacity of a common bog leech.

you can dislike the band. you can say you don't like it. you can say that you'd rather listen to different music. that's fine! that's okay! listen to justin bieber if you like him, listen to taylor swift if you like her, listen to new kids on the block if you want! I don't care! but stop expressing your opinions that you stole from someone else as fact. all you're doing is meme bandwagoning so you can find a community because you don't have the social skills necessary to meet people through the things you love so instead you try to pull serotonin out of making other people feel as miserable as you do.

with that being said, fuck all of the annoying dudebro douchebags who listen to the band and show 5FDP next to the confederate flag, blue lives matter flag, don't tread on me flag, punisher skull, trump sticker, and the crossed assault rifles on the back of your truck. you're all shit for reasons other than your music taste.

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fromcrossroadstoking · 4 years

Text

Talbert and the Potatoes

Part 2 of Welcome to the 5061st

“Army food sucks” - Floyd Talbert, probably

Tags: @gottapenny @itisjustmethistime @indigosandviolets @scarecrowmax

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May 15th, 1115

Floyd Talbert was not supposed to be a cook. He signed up to be a man with a gun, fighting shoulder to shoulder with his fellow infantrymen. But no. The Army shoved a spatula and a handful of laminated recipes at him and now here he was - surrounded by crates of mostly identifiable ingredients. The lettuce, although now more brown than green, was at least still obviously lettuce. There were the potatoes, of course - the never-ending, always there, always sort of mushy, potatoes. The carrots, inexplicably, were more like pale orange-ish sponges. The meat was, well, meat. Of a sort. What that sort was, Talbert wasn't sure and the label on the crate wasn't kind enough to say.

He was still staring at the crates when the head cook, Grant, walked in.

"Anything good Tab?"

"Is there ever?"

Grant grinned as he started poking around the crates and putting the food away. Talbert sighed, picked a crate, and started putting stuff away as well.

Just then the door swung open and in sauntered Luz.

"Grant! Tab! If it isn't my two favorite cooks!" A massive grin was plastered on Luz's face.

"And how can we help you today Luz?"

Luz turned very serious, "Glad you asked, Grant. I need food for my child."

Talbert and Grant both stopped what they were doing and turned to face Luz.

"The hell you talking about Luz? You don't have a kid."

"Actually, I do. Just adopted."

"Bullshit," Grant scoffed and turned back to his work.

"Its true! He's adorable. He's a little guy - brown eyes, brown hair, long ears. Named him Scruffy."

Talbert smirked and shook his head, "You adopted a goddamn bunny?"

"I did! And he's hungry. I'm sure no one will miss a couple carrots and some of that lettuce, so cough it up, yeah?"

"Can't help you Luz. They barely give us enough to feed the people here, never-mind pet bunnies. Just feed him some grass or something huh? Isn't that what they eat?" With that, Grant left the kitchen to pile some of the empty crates up outside.

Luz turned to Talbert, giving him the best damn puppy eyes he could, "Come on, Tab. Just a couple carrots? A handful of lettuce? Don't let an innocent bunny starve."

Talbert shot a furtive glance towards the door and quickly stuffed a few things in Luz's hands.

"Here take these and get out of here before he gets back."

Luz grinned, "Thanks Tab. Knew you were a good man."

Luz turned to go but Talbert grabbed him by the elbow and leaned in to whisper, "You know you should tell Roe about the adoption. He might be in to single dads."

Talbert released his arm and winked as he went back to unloading one of the crates.

Luz could feel the heat rise in his cheeks and silently prayed he wasn't blushing too badly.

"Gee, Tab, thanks. I'll get right on that." As Luz turned to go he added with a hiss, "And also, for the record, I said he was cute, not that I was in love with the guy."

"Whatever you say Luz," Tab's voice was the sing-song tone of a tease.

Luz turned on his heel and made his exit. He had a bunny to feed.

May 15th, 1145

Talbert was just beginning to peel the mountain of potatoes when Grant finally returned.

"Jesus Christ, Grant. How long does it take to stack a few crates?"

"Don’t be dramatic. I haven't been gone that long."

"Its been an hour!"

"It was a half hour tops!"

"Fine! Half an hour! It still only takes five minutes to stack crates."

"Yeah, well... " Grant added nothing further and simply went back to making preparations for the day's remaining meals.

After several moments of silence, Talbert couldn't help but add, "Nice hickey by the way."

Grant immediately readjusted his shirt, pulling the collar closed as best he could while mumbling a quiet goddammit.

"Alright, fine. I ran in to that real cute nurse. You know the blonde one? Kinda tall?"

Talbert grinned wickedly, "Oh, yeah! Name's uhhhh... it rhymes with Boe Biebgott yeah?"

Grant threw a potato at his head.

May 15th, 1300

Talbert had the great pleasure of serving lunch that day. The usual chorus of moans and groans and complaints filled the line as he scooped the standard Army fare on to everyone's trays.

The only person who never really complained was Roe. He always gave Talbert a small smile and nod of appreciation as he moved through the chow line. Spina, on the other hand, who was almost always right behind Roe, was never afraid to rib Talbert about the state of the food.

Except for today.

Roe and Spina moved through the line without so much as a sound - no hello, no food jokes, no smiles or nods. They had been down a surgeon for two weeks now, leaving them overworked and exhausted.

They looked like the walking dead.

When Talbert had a moment, he placed an entire pot of coffee on their table.

May 16th, 0700

Talbert walked in to the kitchen to start his day and was immediately confronted by a massive pile of potatoes.

Potatoes. Again.

"Grant, tell me I'm hallucinating."

"Sorry, Tab."

"We've been serving potatoes and meat patties for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!For weeks!"

"I know."

"We keep this up and we're going to be facing a revolt! I'm surprised no one's started building a guillotine yet!"

Grant finally looked up from the potatoes he was peeling, "Don’t be ridiculous. No one's going to build a guillotine. Too much work. Now a noose... that's easy and quick." Grant grinned at his own joke as Talbert sighed, picked up a potato, and got to work.

May 16th, ????

He wasn't sure how long he had been peeling potatoes. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Had he ever done anything besides peel potatoes? He had a vague memory of hitting a ball with a bat. That had been something different. (Or maybe it had been a potato he hit? And maybe the bat had just been a peeler?)

May 16th, 1115

"Tab! I need some more veggies for the little guy, please and thank you!"

"Luz! Glad you're here! Look at his!"

Talbert held out a potato for Luz's inspection.

"...a potato? Yeah, Tab, uh, we've seen a lot of those lately."

"No, look at it!"

Luz stared at the potato, not entirely sure what he was looking for, "Can I have a hint?"

"It's a face! A famous face!"

Luz's eyes darted between his very obviously not okay friend and the potato.

"I don't see it."

Talbert gave an irritated sigh and started pointing out the supposed facial features of the potato.

"Do you see it now?!"

"Umm, sorta?"

"It's MacArthur!"

Luz gave Talbert a long, hard look.

"Jesus Christ, Tab. You gotta get out of the kitchen."

May 16th, 1415

Floyd Talbert made a very solemn vow to himself that once the war was over, he would never peel another potato again.

May 16th, 1800

He wasn't supposed to be serving dinner. It was Grant's turn but Grant had disappeared without a word.

The MacArthur potato was nestled in his apron pocket. He wasn't sure what to do with it yet. Maybe he'd give it to Winters.

(Liebgott didn't show up for dinner either.)

May 16th, 1845

A Korean kid, no way any older than 13, came through the line. He didn't know where the kid came from but since the kid was scrawny as all hell, Talbert gave him extra portions of everything.

He also handed him the MacArthur potato.

It seemed fitting.

May 16th, 2200

After he finished up in the kitchen, Talbert had gone and played cards with Luz, Roe, and Spina. It had not gone well for Talbert and now he was completely broke. Broke and bone-tired.

Sighing as dramatically as he could, he entered the tent he shared with Grant, Sisk, and Babe.

His less than quiet entrance earned him a very adamant "shut up" from Sisk, who was curled underneath his blanket, attempting to sleep.

Babe was already snoring away. Grant looked dead to the world.

Realizing everybody in the tent was asleep (or attempting to sleep) and wasn't going to listen to his prepared rant about the unending monotony of war and the lack of decent pay and Roe being an absolute goddamn card shark, he decided to just turn in for the night.

Pulling back his covers, he immediately froze.

Potatoes.

Fucking potatoes.

His bed was covered with them.

A sudden howl of laughter from behind him caused Talbert to whip around. Grant was very much awake and laughing so hard he was gasping for breath.

"We - " Grant broke out into a new round of laughter, "We aren't serving them tomorrow and -"

"And-"

Grant was struggling to get the words out.

"And I didn't want you to miss them!"

Grant crumpled into a fit of laughter, tears running down his cheeks, as Talbert stared disbelievingly at him.

Fucking potatoes.

#Welcome to the 5061st #floyd talbert #chuck grant #george luz #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers fanfic #i wrote a thing

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commentaryvorg · 4 years

Text

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.10

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in trial 6, everything became terrible in a hopefully-mostly-deliberate way as Keebo took over as protagonist. Tsumugi pandered to the audience by trying to twist the story to be all about them and not this story’s actual goddamn cast, then completely forgot about that moments later as she forced an arbitrarily cruel final vote on the students that has nothing to do with actual hope and despair, apparently Kaito’s efforts in trial 5 suddenly mean nothing because it turns out the audience is totally okay with unfair executions after the mastermind broke the rules, and Keebo kept spouting a familiar meaningless buzzwordy hope that didn’t address any of his friends’ actual reasons for being in despair, which the audience lapped up because they’re morons while Keebo utterly failed to consider that maybe what they want from him isn’t actually a good thing.

Keebo’s already chosen to become the first arbitrary pointless sacrifice of the vote, and the Mass Panic Debate we just finished was supposedly him trying to inspire one of the others to do the same, even though he wasn’t even shooting his hope at them.

“Nekomaru”: “Even if you won’t give up, as long as you don’t sacrifice someone el—”

Not giving up is the definition of hope! Doing anything other than that should not be necessary for hope to “win”, you arbitrary fucking murderer!

But one way or another, whether due to Keebo’s nonsensical Hope Bullet efforts or not (I’d very much like to think not), Maki chooses to sacrifice herself.

Maki: “If Keebo and I sacrifice ourselves… then Shuichi and Himiko live, right? Then they can… survive this absurd killing game…”

Of course it would be her. Her backstory meant that she’d never cared all that much about her own survival or her own suffering, so if she can die to let at least Shuichi and Himiko live, then that’s no real loss, right? Kaito only helped so much with her sense of self-worth… and maybe his influence has been dampened right now because of all the bullshit Tsumugi has been spouting.

Shuichi: “Maki…?”

There’s a very subtle wavering to Shuichi’s voice here beneath his surprise. He can’t bear the thought of losing her too, and it’s this pain that’s going to lead to him figuring everything out and fighting back.

Maki: “I don’t want this killing game to end with despair. That would just… piss me off.”

Tsumugi: “Even if you only feel that way cuz I wrote you like that? Just like with Kaito…”

Tsumugi’s still bullshitting about the Kaito part, but otherwise what she’s saying is not entirely wrong. Despair being bad is self-evident and you don’t need to be written a specific way to think that. But the feeling of needing to “defeat” despair is something that’s still a part of Maki being manipulated, not by the way she was originally written, but by that Flashback Light in chapter 5. Maki still can’t quite see that to its fullest extent, despite having long since realised that the main point of that Flashback Light was to manipulate her into killing Kokichi.

Maki: “Even then… I’ll choose that ending if it means I can kill you. Even if I have to sacrifice my life, I will kill you!”

Now that’s something that’s how Maki’s always been written. Deal with problems that have no easy solution by killing them, and definitely kill the big evil mastermind no matter what you have to sacrifice to do so. Maki Roll, can’t you see that this is exactly like what you were trying to do for the first half of Kaito’s trial?

This would at least be Tsumugi’s writing backfiring on her, if this “punishment” she was going to receive was actually death. But since it’s not, she’s quite happy with Maki choosing this, and guh.

“Makiiii”

“my darling assassin T_T”

“That’s my Maki.”

“Assassiiiiin”

Maki has fans. Her fans seem somewhat possessive of her (although at least she doesn’t have the total sicko that Shuichi has). It also seems that some of them are hung up on the idea that she’s an assassin and don’t see her as so much more than that, as if the only reason they like her is a shallow “hurr durr schoolgirl assassin hot”, rather than any of the many things that have been compelling and interesting about her character and her arc. She deserves so much better than this.

“ALL OF THESE TEARS”

“;_; i’m gonna cry…”

At least a few of them are actually having meaningful, human reactions to this – a character they love is going to sacrifice herself for her friends! This is sad! …or, well, it would be if the sacrifice was at all meaningful and not completely arbitrary, but, you know.

“Another hope loop?”

This might finally be a vague allusion to other seasons we haven’t seen. I can kind of imagine a “hope loop” becoming the fandom term for one particular way in which the meaningless arbitrary hope ending was once resolved, but it doesn’t sound like it’s referring to DR1 or 2 specifically.

“Shuichi looks yummy <3”

I’m going to keep giving you updates on this one person just so you can keep seeing how much of an absolute creep they are.

Tsumugi: “I told you over and over there’s nothing for you out there.”

Keebo: “No, once the audience sees this ending, I’m sure they’ll help us.”

Oh, poor naïve Keebo, thinking that the audience is a force for good and actually gives a fuck about any of his friends when they’ve been watching them die. When they’ve been doing this for fifty-three seasons and keep wanting more. This ending right now is not meaningfully different from any of the previous ones and is not going to change anything about the audience’s behaviour at all, Keebo.

Shuichi: “It’s because of hope that this whole thing is happening!”

But Shuichi gets it! He’s figured it out! I also love the emotion in his voice here. All of Shuichi’s (English) voice acting in this last part of the trial we’re entering is just fantastic.

The music used for Shuichi’s Rebuttal Showdown here is Clair de Lune again, which is lovely. It’s like that’s become less Kaede’s song and more just a song for Shuichi’s sadness over losing his friends.

It’s a neat twist that the last Rebuttal Showdown is against the game’s actual protagonist. This is possibly the easiest one in the whole game, with Shuichi’s words coming in completely horizontal, unmoving lines. He’s just explaining the plain truth of the matter. He’s not wrong and he’s not trying to get in anyone’s way; he’s about to fix this whole ridiculous mess.

Keebo: (Shuichi… why? Is this the power of despair? Or…)

Yes, Keebo, despair is clearly so powerful and so evil that it dares to make Shuichi not talk like hope is the best thing ever. It couldn’t possibly be that Shuichi’s actually making complete sense and isn’t in despair any more and you should listen to him.

Buuut, Keebo’s only bullet (or, well, blade) is still just “hope”, so he still thinks that’s the only possible solution to this situation.

Keebo: “Despair takes everything from people! Even their strength to press onward! That’s why it’s not possible for despair to be better!”

Keebo, you absolute moron, this isn’t about which one is better! Obviously Shuichi knows that hope is a better feeling to have than despair, because he’s not an idiot! But no matter what Tsumugi’s trying to make it sound like, this isn’t about proving any kind of point like it was in DR1; this is about what happens next. This is about whether the outcome of the vote, regardless of which meaningless label is slapped on it, is something we’re actually okay with, including the fact that the killing game will keep happening if we do this.

“Shuichi is the cycle of despair?”

“What are you saying, hat boy?”

“What if Shuichi is the mastermind?”

“You’re slipping up, detective.”

“Fire, Keebo! I’ll allow it!”

Aaaaaand the audience has suddenly completely stopped caring about Shuichi as a character because he dared to say a bad word about hope. This is again not remotely what an actual reasonable, human audience that’s been enjoying this story up until now would ever do, and this time it can’t just be the cherry-picked minority of despair lovers, because this is the people who are rooting for “hope”. A reaction something like “well, he’s kind of got a point, but I still want more killing games…” would be reasonable, but not just immediately denouncing him the moment he questions them. Did they not even care about Shuichi at all during the five chapters they’ve seen of him and the arc he’s had?

Shuichi: “The people watching probably feel the same way… They want hope, too.”

Oh, Shuichi, you are giving them far too much credit. You’re assuming that the “hope” they’re obsessed with is actual hope that will inspire them in their daily lives. It sure would be realistic and understandable and relatable if that was the actual way the narrative was portraying this, but it really isn’t.

Shuichi: “Even if it’s fiction, everyone wants to feel hope… It gives them… courage.”

That should be how this works. And I love that Shuichi clearly understands this on a personal level. Now would be a very relevant time to remind everyone that Shuichi’s Likes in the report card are listed as “Novels”. Which means that, most likely, he always used fiction to give himself courage, especially when he had so little courage on his own in the first place! Shuichi understands better than any of these one-dimensional morons in the audience exactly what gaining real hope from fiction really feels like!

Shuichi: “While they ignore all the tragedies that we had to suffer to get there!”

Keebo: “Shuichi, that’s—”

Monokuma: “Then let’s start the Voting Time!”

Hah, Monokuma sure does jump in quick. He’s afraid of Shuichi pointing out what’s really going on here and how real all their suffering is and making the audience realise that maybe they shouldn’t actually want this after all, isn’t he.

Shuichi halts them to ask what the “punishment” for this vote will be, because he’s already figured out what it is. If we’d been playing as him, we’d have seen plenty of inner monologue of him slowly realising this and piecing it together as Tsumugi rambled on and on. But since we’re not seeing inside his head right now, all Keebo has seen is Shuichi being almost completely quiet and then suddenly jumping in with a fully-formed theory explaining exactly what’s going on and why this vote is bad. Shuichi really does look like a hero from the outside.

Shuichi: “That’s what Rantaro was talking about.”

…

Rantaro: “You wanted this killing game, so you have to win no matter what. …No matter what.”

…

Shuichi: “Something similar must have happened in the last killing game, and he was given a choice. He sacrificed himself… and was forced to participate again.”

See, Rantaro wasn’t the only survivor of his killing game. There were two actual survivors who got to escape into the outside world just like Shuichi and Himiko hypothetically would here. Rantaro just sacrificed himself to allow for that. (In my headcanon, those two survivors were both girls and kind of reminded Rantaro of his sisters and that’s why he chose to do that.) It’s still a stretch to think that Rantaro would ever have thought of that as “wanting” this killing game like his message said, though, so I still think that line was mostly there just to make chapter 4’s opening stinger mysterious.

But man, spare a thought for Rantaro’s two friends who survived and escaped, dreading to watch Rantaro go through this again while having forgotten about them, but watching anyway because they have to know what happens to him… and then seeing him be the very first one to die. That has to have been awful. I hope that when Shuichi, Maki and Himiko do escape, they find those two and every other pair of survivors from each past killing game and start some kind of big therapy group to deal with their trauma together and share stories of their lost friends and reassure themselves that they’re all still real.

Shuichi: “Tsumugi will still be the mastermind, Keebo will still represent the viewers… and Maki will be the new Ultimate Survivor. The killing game will begin again.”

Even if Maki wouldn’t necessarily die in this outcome, the fact that she’d lose her memories of everything in this killing game and forget about Kaito and Shuichi and be reset back to the guarded, lonely, self-loathing assassin she was at the beginning would still be awful and unacceptable. Especially since Kaito was one-in-a-million and the next game probably wouldn’t have anyone willing to help her out of it again.

It’s a little odd to think that Tsumugi would still be the mastermind? I always assumed Tsumugi wasn’t the mastermind of Rantaro’s game, simply because if she then also masterminded this game as well, it’d ruin the mystery for the audience. Unless she usually cosplays as some made-up character and this is the first time she’s ever played as herself (or at least someone who looks like herself and superficially shares her nerdiness but is less terrible and murdery).

“Izuru”: “Then it’s despair? You’re going to choose despair to end the killing game? …How boring.”

“Celeste”: “But this is fine. Our audience loves despair, so this will please them too.”

Will it? I mean, maybe it would if it were actual despair, since there’s emotional investment you can get from that even if it’s nothing but painful emotions. But what’s actually going to happen with the “despair” outcome of this vote is simply Shuichi, Maki and Himiko (and apparently Tsumugi) continuing to live isolated, boring lives in the academy without any more killings. That’s not a despair ending, that’s a boredom ending. Precisely the kind of thing the audience shouldn’t want.

Keebo: “Then… hope has to win this game, too. If we continue to win for hope, then this killing game will surely end someday!”

Keebo, dude. You’re going to continue doing the thing that Shuichi has just explained is exactly what causes more killing games to happen… and then you’re just going to hope that eventually they’ll stop happening anyway? You are not being very smart right now. If you’re going to hope for something to happen, you should also at least act in a way that might help make it come true, otherwise your hope is useless.

Shuichi: “When Maki said she was going to sacrifice herself just now, I thought… Why? So many of our friends have sacrificed their lives. Why Maki? Why now? Why do we have to go through it again…? The sorrow of losing Kaede… and Kaito… Why do we have to feel that sadness over and over and over again…? Why do we have to bear that burden…?”

I love Shuichi here so much. I love that he’s realised what this means and that it’s cruel and unfair and wrong.

Shuichi: “Well, I don’t care how much the audience wants it, I’m not gonna feel that way anymore! I don’t want anyone to feel that way anymore!”

I love that he’s realised that the audience wants this from him and how fucked-up that is! I love that he’s thinking that not just for himself, but for every hypothetical character in future seasons who’d ever have to go through this same pain if they don’t end this right here!

I just… really wish that that actually seemed like what the in-universe audience wanted at all. Some people were sad when Maki offered to sacrifice herself, but not a single person was thinking “oh man Shuichi’s going to be devastated to lose another best friend” and empathising with the pain Shuichi’s feeling here and enjoying doing so in that immersed, in-story way. Instead, they just immediately stopped seeing him as a person the moment he spoke out against them and their precious “hope”.

The thing is, I’m still enjoying Shuichi’s emotional pain here! Of course I am! Because I care about him and I’m empathising with him, and all of this is making me want him to succeed and get what he wants and never have to feel like this any more, even as I’m enjoying that he’s feeling this way right now.

And, see, while the in-universe audience are obviously inherently more twisted than an out-universe audience because the people they’re watching aren’t really fictional and they know this, that doesn’t have to automatically make them this kind of one-dimensional asshole who can’t even empathise with the characters or engage with this like it’s a meaningful story at all. Things could still have been made to work while having them basically respond to Shuichi and his story like those of us on the other side of the real fourth wall.

Enjoying actual genuine fiction requires suspension of disbelief, compartmentalising away and ignoring the knowledge that it’s all made-up, so that you can get invested and care about what happens. So in a similar way, it might be just about believable if we could be shown that this in-universe audience has instead been suspending their knowledge that it’s real, compartmentalising away and trying to ignore the fact that real people are suffering, so that they can still enjoy this and keep watching despite knowing that people – uhhh, characters, definitely not real people – are going to die. Then they could have been reacting to this approximately like a real person watching genuine fiction would (you know, with actual investment in and empathy for the characters), until Shuichi blows the lid off their wilful ignorance right here and forces them to confront their awfulness.

Shuichi: “Even if this is fiction, even if we’re all fictional… The pain in my heart is real! The sadness I feel when I lose the people I love is real!”

I am so, so glad that he’s realised this! This is one of my favourite moments in this trial and completely restored all the faith first-time-me had lost during all the ridiculousness of last post. This is exactly what we need to be talking about and really should never have stopped talking about – the fact that of course they’re still real people regardless of how fake their memories were. They still really felt all that pain, and they still really meant everything they did for their friends, and they still really died, regardless of the “writers” that were sometimes pulling strings behind the scenes.

And I adore the way Shuichi calls them “the people I love”. He’s not talking about specifically romantic love here, because he doesn’t have to be. Of course he loved them anyway regardless of what kind of love it was; they were his friends and they gave him all of his strength and meant everything to him. If anyone tries to use this line as proof that Shuichi must have had romantic feelings for Kaito as well, they’re completely missing the point. Using the word “love” in a platonic sense will always melt my heart and it’s especially so in this context here.

Although, while Shuichi is using this pain of his to prove to himself that he’s still meaningfully real, I do wish there was a little bit of time spent on the realisation that, since they all must have felt the same way as him, his friends must have been real, too. Being deceived into thinking they were just lies was what caused Shuichi to fall into despair, and there’s no way he’d have been able to climb out of that despair and talk so passionately about losing his friends if he didn’t truly believe once again that their lives were worth exactly as much as a “real” person’s. He has definitely figured this out by now, but it’s kind of a shame he never directly mentions it.

Shuichi: “I won’t forgive this game that treats us like toys. And if this is what the world wants… then I reject that world! I’ll fight the world that inflicts suffering for entertainment!”

Shuichi is being such a hero and Kaede and Kaito would be so proud to see him like this!

And it’s still inconceivable that seeing him like this isn’t what the audience wants. This is a far more inspiring and meaningful story than any of the nonsense Keebo has been spouting. They should be cheering Shuichi on, not Keebo – even if that means cheering Shuichi on against themselves.

“What are you saying, detective?”

“Forget about Shuichi.”

But nope. The audience doesn’t care about him. Now that he’s speaking out against them, they’d rather just drop him entirely.

“You’re in despair, right?”

“It’s okay to feel despair sometimes…”

Yes, clearly the only reason Shuichi is saying this is because he’s being controlled by that super-evil force known as “despair”, not because he’s right.

“C’mon, Keebo! Attack!”

“hurry up and refute it!”

“Force hope through!”

And of course, they just want Keebo to yell more words about hope at Shuichi, because doing that will totally change his mind and make him think inflicting suffering for entertainment is okay. Yelling emptily about hope can achieve anything, right?

“The big reveal, at last.”

Uhh, no? What does this person even think the “reveal” is supposed to be – the fact that these characters aren’t actually fictional and that watching them suffer for entertainment is fucked up? That’s not a reveal, that’s something that should have been apparent from the start but everyone has been wilfully ignoring. (And it’s something that everyone should now be forced to confront whether they like it or not, but apparently almost nobody is.)

“mmm… shuichi’s eyes ^q^”

This “fan” of Shuichi’s is still here. And they still don’t actually give a fuck about him and haven’t been paying attention to anything he’s been saying or feeling at all.

“Why have we been doing this…?”

You! You, right there, are the one sensible actual human being in this whole stupid audience! This is what everyone should be thinking right now – realising that Shuichi has a goddamn point and that this whole practice is vile and that if they actually care about any of these characters at all then they should want what Shuichi wants, which is to end all this and never have another killing game again!

“something’s different, right?”

“Are they blaming us?”

These ones are more ambiguous, but it is possible that these two people are also vaguely starting to realise that what they’re doing is not okay. Maybe.

Tsumugi: “It doesn’t matter what you do. No matter what a fictional character does or says, it’s just fiction to the outside world.”

See… based on the audience’s current comments, it’s really seeming like this is actually true, in this world. Those three just now are the only comments during this part that give any sense of people actually listening to Shuichi’s words. The overwhelming majority are like the ones I quoted at the beginning, complaining about Shuichi’s outlook and wanting Keebo to “fix” things for them.

Shuichi: “I… refuse to vote.”

Tsumugi: “Refuse to vote…?”

Keebo: “Monokuma said that if we don’t vote, we’ll be killed for breaking the rules!”

Shuichi: “Yes, I know. That’s why I’m doing it.”

And here’s this rule which has been vaguely a thing in the background of all the Danganronpas but was pointedly highlighted at the beginning of almost every trial in this one, making it kind of obvious it’d somehow be important later on. It’s also quite relevant that Monokuma’s declarations of this rule always explicitly said that not voting would result in death, not just “punishment”, because it means Tsumugi can’t suddenly pull a loophole and pretend this still just means they get forced into another killing game.

(Although that’s only assuming that the audience still cares about her following the rules, which, ha fucking ha.)

Shuichi: “If this ends without a single vote being cast for hope or despair… The audience would hate it. They’d never accept an ending like that… So I abstain! I refuse to give the outside world the ending it wants!”

I appreciate Shuichi’s determination and willingness to give his life to end this killing game for good and give a huge fuck-you to the audience… but honestly, it’s kind of flimsy that this would actually achieve that. It’s hard to believe that, over fifty-three seasons, there haven’t been a few kind-of-disappointing endings here and there (even accepting that this audience laps up meaningless buzzwordy hope-versus-despair nonsense like this). But surely the occasional boring ending would only make people shrug and hope the next season is better, and it’d take several in a row for them to finally think things will never get better and the show might as well just end.

Which, to be fair, might have been happening already if this season took longer than usual to come out and some people weren’t sure it ever would. But that apparent fact was buried in some obscure audience comments and wasn’t something Shuichi seemed to notice, so he shouldn’t be nearly so sure that this would work.

Plus, it shouldn’t only be about the ending – the rest of the story is a part of the story too. The other trials in this game have mostly been fantastic and there should be no way the audience wouldn’t want more of that kind of thing, no matter how disappointingly it ends!

…This should also still not actually be a disappointing ending at all, because look at what an amazing hero Shuichi’s managing to be! He’s willing to give his life to stop the real villain behind all this – not some meaningless concept of “despair”, but the people who actually wanted him and his friends to suffer! This is still something that it should be possible for the audience to accept makes a good story, despite the fact that they themselves are the villains in it.

Keebo: (Hope… won’t end the killing game? If that’s true, then this feeling that I must win for hope is…)

Geez, Keebo, glad you’ve finally caught up with us. It really should not have taken you this long.

It’s pretty neat that the “lying” mechanic as used here with Keebo isn’t actually lying – hope is just a concept, it’s not even a fact that you can lie about. Instead, it’s representing Keebo finally choosing to ignore and go against what his inner voice is telling him to do. The only weapon he has is hope, but that doesn’t mean this is the only choice he has.

“What are you doing, Keebo?”

“Hurry up and side with hope.”

“COME BACK HOOOPE”

“it’s hope again, right?”

And of course, the majority of the audience is not happy about this. Really, though, Shuichi has already ruined their hope ending by pointing out that this “hope” is arbitrary and cruel, and no amount of empty yelling about hope from Keebo could change that now even if he did keep listening to them.

“show us maki roll!”

This single comment here is the closest anyone in the audience ever gets to even vaguely acknowledging Kaito’s existence, since they’re using the nickname he gave her. And the utter lack any other mention of Kaito from the audience is quite clearly another thing that is completely Unrealistic and Wrong. Kaito was the best, and a significant amount of the audience should have been invested enough in his story and his influence on Shuichi and Maki to still be occasionally mentioning him here.

“i wanna break Shuichi’s fingers <3”

I sincerely hope that when Shuichi gets out of here, he ends up absolutely nowhere near this person and they never figure out where he’s living. Geez. Go and re-examine your life, you sick creep.

Keebo: “I may be a robot, but the thought of my friends dying still fills me with sadness. I don’t want anyone else to feel this way!”

You know, if they’d actually done anything at all with Keebo’s issues about being a robot, it could have worked pretty well in this trial. He’s always been struggling to fully understand the feelings of “real” humans, and so he should have also struggled to justify to himself that his own feelings matter even though they’re just being “simulated” by computer software. But he still feels it, so it still matters, robot or not. That’s exactly the kind of argument Shuichi had to make to himself to justify that he’s still real. Keebo could have been the perfect person (among those still with us) to help Shuichi and friends come to terms with the existential issues that this trial has given them! If only Keebo had had an actual proper character arc about accepting himself as just as much of a person despite being a robot, and also if only he’d ever been trying to give his friends actual hope during this whole deal. His character has so much wasted potential.

His protagonist status wears off here, which is an appropriate moment for it to do so. All he was ever meant to do as the audience’s protagonist was to keep the cycle going and keep more killing games happening, and now that he realises that, he doesn’t want to be their protagonist any more.

“gonna dismantle you, Keebo.”

Oh boy, here’s some foreshadowing to what they actually end up doing, because apparently none of them ever really cared about Keebo as a character or a person.

“WTF? You already killed each other?”

As if the fact that the murderers were all participants of the game makes everyone in the game a bad person and therefore it doesn’t matter if they suffer and die? As if most of the actual murderers were even bad people and not good people desperately trying to save everyone and/or being manipulated into it? Yeah, no, sure, this was all just a meaningless slaughterfest and so it’s totally okay for them to all continue to die.

“the questionnaires were pointless?”

I mean, it’s not like you guys ever affected Keebo’s actions in any meaningful way up until now anyway; I don’t know why you’re so disappointed.

“Shuichi has a point.”

Hello, sensible person! I don’t know if this is the same person as that one from before, but it’s nice to see at least a tiny, tiny fraction of the audience getting it. It really is such a tiny fraction, though – the vast majority of people are still just complaining about not getting what they wanted. And I’d like to just put this down to the fact that the people who are realising this are also nice enough to then stop watching and stay out of the comments section – but, no. The comments section is exactly where these people who’ve realised this should be, because they should be trying to persuade everyone else to agree with them and realise that this is fucked up and no longer want this!

Shuichi: “New characters are created just to show the outside world a fictional hope. They get written into these killing games, forced to betray one another…”

I appreciate how Shuichi is describing them as being “created”, because it proves that he now understands that this is exactly what happens. This has nothing to do with the pregame assholes who auditioned and wanted this; they just donated their bodies. The characters who are actually in this killing game never wanted any of this, yet they were literally created to suffer. That is not fucking okay and Shuichi will not let it continue. No-one else will ever be created for that purpose. He and his friends are the last.

Shuichi: “To end this killing game, and end it forever… We will reject Danganronpa!”

This whole speech here accompanies Shuichi’s protagonist status switching back on, and it has pretty nice dramatic effect. He’s being a hero!

Shuichi: “Tsumugi… you were right. I’m weak. I’m weaker than anyone else… If I didn’t have my friends, I’d be useless. That’s true even now!”

It’s lovely that Shuichi is okay with this. He realises that this is the character Tsumugi wrote him to be… but that doesn’t mean that it’s not still who he is, and it doesn’t mean he’s not real.

But he’s still not giving himself enough credit at all. Yes, he’s only able to be strong when he has friends to rely on and inspire him, but all that potential strength is still right there inside him, ready to be brought out by the right people! All he needs is a little nudge in the right direction, from the right kind of heroes.

Shuichi: “If Keebo and Maki didn’t stand up… I would have ended it all right then.”

It’s really sad to think what Shuichi probably means when he says “end it all”. Kind of like the way he once said that Kaito “saved his life”, without ever properly elaborating on what he meant by that.

But still, Shuichi – Keebo and Maki may have chosen to sacrifice themselves, but you’re the one who used the pain of that to realise that you’re still real and figure out what everything meant. They weren’t trying to encourage you to do that, or even to be strong at all, when they made their choice. That all came from you, and from your own strength that you’ve built up through Kaede and Kaito’s belief in you. You’re not as weak as you were at the beginning, not by a long shot!

Shuichi: “But it’s because I’m weak and because I lost my way… that I finally realized. I finally realised how cruel this “hope” really is.”

It’s cruel because the best way to write a good story is to have characters that are weak and suffer like Shuichi has been. The most inspiring type of heroes who give people the most hope aren’t the ones who are perfect and invincible, but the ones who struggle and suffer and yet still manage to win in the end. Shuichi has realised, because of his own suffering and the fact that he’s managed to claw his way through it anyway, that this is the kind of thing the audience should want to see, because it gives them the hope that they can overcome their weaknesses and struggles in the same way. A storyline like Shuichi’s should be exactly what the audience wants and exactly why this has happened so many times to so many real people who didn’t deserve to suffer for this.

I say “should be”, because this isn’t even remotely what the in-universe audience actually wants to see at all. It’s honestly bizarre how obvious the divide is between what Shuichi is describing as a genuinely inspiring engaging fiction that should be the reason the audience keeps wanting this, and the one-dimensional idiocy that this nonsensical audience apparently wants instead. If the out-universe writers are able to write Shuichi talking about the audience wanting this kind of story, they should also be perfectly capable of writing the audience actually wanting it! This shouldn’t be difficult.

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caddy-crystal-queen · 4 years

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Because humanity decides to be fucking stupid I need to return to the wonderful world of a fandom I am beginning to consider myself no longer a part of...fun.

Hello game of thrones fandom, apparently I need to come back to you because I am once again getting swamped with bs that I really shouldnt care about but is becoming almost impossible to ignore.

First off why are you all still dwelling on this bullshit? The show is over, and the next book probably wont be out for another twenty years or so (insert eye roll). I think it's time for everyone to move the hell on. There are more important things to be angry about in the world right now. Are all you bastards so bored, or so lifeless that you have to dwell on a fictional show that no longer means anything?

Second: I've been particularly hit with posts that basically pin Sansa fans against Dany fans. I am so fucking sick of seeing these goddamn posts saying that if you like Sansa you're every kind of -ist and-phobia there is. Theres seriously no middle ground with these people and I dont get it. I dont agree with how Sansa was written in the final season along with the other characters, but liking a character doesnt make you racist. It's getting to be bullshit and I'm beginning to feel awful for people who like both dany and Sansa for different reasons. I will admit, I was a total dany stan and for a short while I hated Sansa for how she was in the final season. But i realized my anger shouldnt be going to the characters, their actors, or their fans. The characters arent real. The actors were only doing their jobs. And fans just have this weird ass pack mentality that I'm beginning to think is incredibly harmful. My anger lies squarely with the writers, DB Weiss and David Benioff. Which brings me to my next point.

Third: I'm actually beginning to feel sorry for these two. Yeah, an unpopular here, but news flash: YOUR GENDER AND/OR RACE DOES NOT IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM CORRELATE WITH YOUR WRITING ABILITY!!!!!!

Stop calling them racist/sexist because they're two white guys who made terrible writing decisions. I know some of you especially point to the death of missandei as proof of their racism/sexism. Yeah, I can see why it could be interpreted this way, and to a degree it's even agreeable. But I also know that this is also a very toxic way of thinking. It leads to very toxic thinking. I've seriously seen entire posts about how white men cant write women or people of color correctly because of these two. Well...what the fuck is correctly? Are we seriously about to condemn every white male author just because of the terrible writing decisions they made regarding their characters of color? What about white women who write colored characters, because I'm a white woman writing a book in which the main character is a black man and if this is how I'm going to be received, then that's bullshit. I refuse to be condemned because of the actions of two guys who seriously need to work on their writing. Hindsight is a bitch, and they shouldve known that killing missandei off in the way that they did wouldve led to terrible consequences. Theres no excuse for it, but theres no need to condemn them forever and a day for it because a year has just about gone by since the ending of GoT and nothing has changed, and I dont think it's going to matter ten years down the road either when a potential remake of the show could be on the table because hollywood is now out of ideas. On to my next point.

Fourth: these characters are not toys. They're characters. They exist, or maybe its existed because the shows over yet the books arent, to tell a story and literally nothing else. They don't exist to push an agenda. They dont exist for you to fight over them and make ridiculous and unfounded claims about others you may not like. And yet what am I, someone who isolates herself from the fandom specifically because of this toxic nonsense, seeing? Supposed fans bickering, arguing, and bitching at one another, pitting these fictional characters against one another like toys on a playground being controlled by entitled, spoiled children who dont fucking appreciate them. You can love more than one character for more than one reason. Like people, these characters are flawed, and you, you spoiled brats, need to accept that. Liking sansa doesnt make you racist, and shitting on dany just because shes dany makes you look like an asshole. You dont have to like the same characters, but you sure as hell have no right to call someone horrible things just because they like a character you cant stand. Let people love the characters they love and dislike the characters they dislike. Neither of these concepts require justification from either side of the fence, since liking a character is a matter of preference and is highly subjective.

Finally: just fucking let people enjoy things. Like seriously, the world is going to hell in a handbasket bad enough. People deserve to like what they like without being labeled something they arent. I happen to love both Dany and Sansa, and I really wish they had been written better and gotten along. But I've also long since accepted that wasnt what happened and moved on. If someone doesnt like dany but likes Sansa, fine. Let them. If someone likes Dany and doesnt like Sansa, that's fine too. They dont need to justify why they like one and not the other to you, and you as an individual have no right to cast judgement on someone just because they like a character you personally find problematic. If you have nothing nice to say then just dont say anything at all. Or better yet, compliment them on something else. The world just needs more accepting and open minded/hearted individuals.

Be kind. Be compassionate. And for fucks sake, just be respectful of peoples likes and dislikes.

#caddy rants #game of thrones #fandom #fandom rant #tw: racism #stop the drama #respect people #respect opinions #stop being assholes #likes #dislikes #unpopular opinion #sansa #dany #i love both #deal with it #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #fandom wars

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tony-starkrogers · 5 years

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The Massive SteveTony Rec List

Welcome to my Fairly Comprehensive, Ridiculously Long SteveTony Fic Recs, aka my collection of pretty much nearly everything I’ve read and loved so far over the years. This fandom is lucky enough to have some truly brilliant and dedicated authors, and I’m always discovering new fics to love, so I thought I’d share some of them with you! Fics will be sorted alphabetically tbh just because I suck at sorting stuff? Some of my personal forever-faves will be marked with ♡. This is by no means all of the fics this fandom has to offer, but if you’re new to the fandom, this should give you a good place to start, and if you’ve been a SteveTony shipper for a while, hopefully you’ll find something new! And if you do have a favorite fic that’s not on the list, please add it to the comments or rec it to me (because who doesn’t need more fics)!

Here’s just a few GREAT resources to check out if you’re looking for Even More fic recs:

@sabrecmcstonyficrecs - I mean, sabre is basically THE fandom resource? Any and all fic you’re looking for you’ll likely find here. ||| @findingstony - if you’re looking for a particular fic and don’t remember where you found it, look here first! ||| @cap-ironman - the place to go, especially for brand new fics! the fandom lives here ||| @nasaficsrecs - many good fic recs ||| @ishipallthings many wonderful rec lists ||| @sineala - the place to go if you are at all interested in 616 SteveTony or really anything in the 616 comics universe

I have lots of fics bookmarked on ao3: my bookmarks! You can also check out my other fic rec lists, and my general fic rec tag. Also while you’re at it maybe check out some of my fics?

And here are the recs! (under the cut.) Have fun reading and be sure to show your authors some love with kudos and comments!!!

♡ 1796 Broadway by rainproof, teaberryblue - M | 460,220 words

Captain America respectfully requests that all complaints be addressed to him in writing. On paper, the nice old-fashioned way, because the computer screen hurts his eyes.

Put your phone down, Tony.

absence makes the heart by fantalaimon - G | 4,835 words

“One night,” Tony says, and just flies himself bodily into one of the canary yellow beekeepers like a red and gold battering ram. “I ask for one measly night. One single goddamn night with my boyfriend—”

“Oh, is the boyfriend label on now?” Clint asks over the comms.

A Higher Form of War by sabrecmc - M | 292,114 words

Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

A New Way For Us by ann2who - M | 24,435 words

They fight Thanos—and they’re losing. And before Tony knows what’s happening, he’s standing with Doctor Strange in front of the Eye of Agamotto and gets send back in time. Can he find a way to fix things this time around, or are they doomed to fall apart all over again?

♡ A Partial Dictionary Of The 21st Century By Captain Steve Rogers, US Army by copperbadge - E | 13,888 words

Steve is adapting well to the new millennium, and he has the dictionary to prove it.

age is an irrational number by valtyr - E | 8,749 words

Steve and Tony grow old together.

♡ All Roads Lead To by theappleppielifestyle - G | 13,155 words

After Obadiah's betrayal, Tony hides in the depths of the Midwest to become a mechanic.

The Avengers come into his life anyway.

All These Things I've Said by Amuly - M | 5,840 words

When Tony starts talking in a language Steve can't understand--the language of science--Steve figures he'll retaliate with a little foreign language knowledge of his own. Only once he starts speaking French around Tony, Steve finds that sometimes it's easier to say what he really wants to say to Tony in a language he can't understand.

Good thing Tony doesn't know French.

And The Void Would Be Calling. by jadedoll - E | 17,721 words

Tony could be suffering from amnesia, a hitch-hiker from a parallel dimension, a ghost or maybe a time-traveller. He's sure he could work out the answer if Steve would just stop pretending he was Tony's boyfriend.

♡ As Sharp As Any Thorn by RurouniHime - E | 47,027 words

It’s four days to Christmas, there’s a city in shambles, and the nation is in mourning because of the actions of a single man.

♡ Be No Stranger (All Your Saints and Soldiers Remix) by jibrailis - T | 5,973 words

That's the twenty-first century love song, baby. Glitz and glamour and every one of us is a liar.

Bizarre Love Triangle by panickyintheuk - T | 1,929 words

Once the idea was in his head, he’d started picking up on all kinds of things, like the way Stark talked about Iron Man with such affection, and seemed to share so many of his mannerisms, and was constantly working on ways of improving the suit. It was obvious.

Blank Slate - A Tony Stark Mystery by navaan - T | 25,381 words

He doesn’t remember who he is or who his friends are, but he knows he’s in a Nazi prison and needs to get away. He doesn’t remember anything about Captain America either, but the man seems to be the kind of guy you trust.And apparently they share more history than meets the eye at first glance.

♡ But Loving Him Is Red by theappleppielifestyle - Not Rated | 25,524 words

"It is- it is not just destined, Steve Rogers. It will reach through the decades, through entire universes if it has to. It will scour the galaxies without rest until the two of you are standing next to each other. Migardians- Migardians call them soulmates, I believe."

♡ Captain America, Undone by laireshi - M | 2,818 words

Steve thinks he can seduce Tony before Tony seduces him. He's very, very wrong.

♡ Captain !@#$*%& America by Wordsplat - T | 8,093 words

The first time Tony hears Steve swear, he's pretty sure it's a dream. The second time is a lot harder to dismiss, considering it's the middle of the afternoon and they're both clearly awake. After that, what else can Tony do but use science to get to the bottom of it?

Catching Lightning in a Bottle by sabrecmc - M | 120,650 words

College student Tony meets janitor Steve at MIT and they fall blissfully in love, until Howard happens and things fall apart. One divorce paperwork snafu courtesy of the ever-helpful Jarvis, and ten years later, Tony has to get re-divorced from Steve.

This does not go as he imagines.

♡ Cherry Ride by copperbadge - E | 12,318 words

A SHIELD agent named Roger Stevens told Tony that his nickname was "Cap". Tony didn't connect the dots until it was much, much too late.

♡ Counterpart by sara_holmes - M | 217,400 words

coun•ter•part [koun-ter-pahrt] [noun] 1. a person or thing closely resembling another, especially in function. 2. a copy; duplicate. 3. one of two parts that fit, complete, or complement one another.

Just because Hydra used the DNA of a Captain America from another dimension to create a lab-grown, six-year-old super-soldier, it doesn't mean that said six-year old super-soldier is biologically Steve's, right?

(Where Steve wants to ban Clint from bringing things home from alternative dimensions, until he doesn't.)

Dangerous Kitchen Tools by ladyshadowdrake - E | 18,330 words

Engineering prodigy, billionaire, and heir to the Stark Industries empire, Tony Stark turned the business world on its head by opening a restuarant and burying himself in the kitchen. Years later, he covers an informal evening cooking class for his friend and fellow molecular gastronomist, Bruce Banner, where he meets famously camera-shy comic artist Steve Rogers.

♡ Dazed and Confused by tsukinofaerii - M | 4,160 words

Captain America has a great many duties that need careful attention. He has to... uh... That thing where... Wow, Tony's pants are awfully tight, aren't they?

Dear Tony, by sirona - T | 5,925 words

Once the dust after what no one is referring to as "The Break-up" has settled, Steve starts writing and doesn't seem to know how to stop.

"death by coffee" and other search queries by goodmorningbeloved - T | 2,841 words

In which Steve's feelings are hopelessly obvious through his Google searches. JARVIS decides to step in.

Deep in the Heart of Me by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar) - E | 255,926 words

There were days when the realization that he was someone’s father made Steve's head hurt, but mostly he was grateful that he could trust his instincts, because apparently Peter was what had been missing from his life. Yes, he still had lingering, unresolved issues from his time in the Army, and sure, he had what Bucky annoyingly referred to as a criminally untapped ass, and no life outside of work and Peter, but Steve was okay with how his life had turned out because of trusting his instincts.

Unfortunately, those same instincts had straight up betrayed him by going absolutely haywire upon being exposed to Tony Stark.

Do It Over by Sineala - T | 1,999 words

The last words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin, and you won't know who they are until they die. The thing is, Steve and Tony die a lot.

♡ don't know why it took me so long to see by goodmorningbeloved - M | 11,209 words

“Oh, watch this,” Natasha says, propping her chin against her knuckles and turning a sweet gaze on him. “Tony, what’s it like dating a superhero?”Tony bristles in irritation. “We’re not dating,” he snaps. “Captain America probably thinks he can get into anyone’s pants just ‘cause he’s got a mask, costume, and reputation, but not me, buddy. That shield? Gotta be overcompensating for something.” He adds, a bit petulantly, “Oh, and all that blue? Definitely more Steve’s color than his.”-

In which Tony is a genius in all matters except recognizing his boyfriend past a mask.

♡ Emanata (The Comics Will Break Your Heart Remix) by teaberryblue - T | 29,720 words

Steve Rogers has the opportunity to fulfill his childhood dreams of becoming a comic artist when eccentric billionaire, superhero patron, and obsessive comic enthusiast Tony Stark offers him a job drawing Iron Man.

But Tony Stark has no idea that Steve Rogers is really Captain America, the newest member of the Avengers.

And Iron Man has no idea that Captain America is really Steve Rogers, up-and-coming comic book artist.

And Steve doesn't know what to do about the fact that he's falling head over heels for them both.

♡ Engaging the Enemy by tsukinofaerii - T | 22,823 words

Iron Man is one of the more persistent villains that the Ultimates face, with a special fondness for one Captain America. As Steve starts to findout more and more about him, the lines between hero and villain begin to blur. Sometimes, you don't have to be on the right side of the law to be in the right.

even if the brain has forgotten, perhaps the teeth remember (or the fingers) by theappleppielifestyle - G | 8,906 words

Tony gets temporary amnesia.

Some things are clearer without his preconceptions dragging him down.

♡ Even My Phone Misses Your Call by rainbowninja167 - E | 10,869 words

Steve makes it all the way to Ohio before conceding that the post-Chitauri road trip might’ve been a mistake.

Or, ten times Steve has to call Tony to come pick him up.

Even Tony Can't Resist Puppy Love by Wordsplat - T | 7,766 words

In which there is a dinner bet, a com line confession, and, as usual, Loki's magical hijinks make Tony's life unnecessarily difficult.

Fairy Godmother by Amuly - T | 5,186 words

Auntie Peggy has been telling Tony stories about Captain America his whole life. Only problem is, the real thing just about measures up to the stories. Which means, of course, that Aunt Peg has to go to work, because an Aunt's work is never done.

Favorable Winds by RurouniHime - T | 2,056 words

Steve’s voice comes from behind, a sigh and a thump as his own pack hits the floor. “Sam. Meet Tony Stark.”

Follow in Your Footsteps by Sineala - T | 6,788 words

When Tony is twelve, his soulmate's name appears on his wrist. Unfortunately, it's hard to find out anything at all about Steve Rogers.

It turns out there's a reason for that.

Formerly by laireshi - T | 13,620 words

A week ago, he touched Steve at night. A week ago, he kissed him. A week ago, Steve kissed him back.

(A week ago Steve was dead, and Tony deleted his brain.)

The Foodieverse (series) by copperbadge, scifigrl47 - works G-T | 130,326 words in series

It's an AU where everyone works in the food industry. That makes total sense and is definitely not wildly irrational on any axis.

♡ Get Some Now by Sineala - T | 10,376 words

Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any.

♡ Going on a Ride (series) by theappleppielifestyle - Not Rated | 14,306 words in series

"You want to take me for a ride on your motorcycle," Tony repeats, slow so he can process it as he’s saying it, "because you think my glasses are cute."

Hashtag Finally by Wordsplat - T | 15,208 words

Tony doesn't ever actually ask the Avengers to move into his house, steal his wifi, eat all his food, and become the best family he's ever known. They do it anyway.

How To Be a Truly Terrible Wingman by Wordsplat - M | 11,721 words

Prompt: "We were both playing wingman for our friends who have now decided to go home together, and after five minutes of conversation we fucking hate each other. Let’s bang it out."

♡ How To Excel At Supervillainy (and lose your heart to America) by Zekkass - E | 13,531 words

And that's how Tony's supervillainy hobby got way way way complicated.

♡ How to Lose a Super Soldier in One Easy Step by and_backagain, jibrailis - E | 18,248 words

Rogers jerks backwards, shock registering on his face, and Tony thinks, welcome back to the land of the living, Cap, looks like you're sticking around.

Or, a Pushing Daisies AU.

♡ I (created from fantasies) exist solely for you by Mizzy - T | 62,917 words

Six years ago, without the Avengers Initiative there to save the day, scientist Dr. Eric Selvig sacrificed himself to save the world, the almighty demi-god Thor was lost to a terrible storm, and vigilante Iron Man – spotted with a nuclear weapon trying to take advantage of the situation – was forever labelled an enemy of SHIELD.

This is a comic book office AU, where Steve is defrosted a year too late, Thor has forgotten who he is, and no one knows Tony is Iron Man. Also includes: office pranks, inappropriate post-it notes, and superheroes who like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain

Indecent Proposal by gyzym, Siria - T | 2,592 words

On the plus side, marriage is bound to be easier than proposing.

i stole the keys to this guy by kellifer_fic - M | 6,007 words

Where it was Nick Fury's idea, but he didn't mean it like that

♡ In Which Tony Stark Builds Himself Some Friends (But His Family Was Assigned by Nick Fury) (series) by scifigrl47 - works rated T-M | 343,010 words

Steve takes things like personal responsibility and respect seriously. Tony's got people he pays to take care of that kind of thing, and anyway, he's pretty sure that he's going to die of some exotic disease in his workshop, because Dummy's still a little spotty about what is 'clean' enough to put on an open wound. The rest of the Avengers are in this for personal gain, except for Clint, he just enjoys being a dick.

And some things shouldn't be a chore.

♡ i will never stop losing my breath (every time i see you looking back at me) by theappleppielifestyle - G | 3,222 words

In all fairness, Tony is on autopilot when this happens. He’s had a long, hard day, and it’s possible he hasn’t slept in several long, hard days. He’s already half-asleep on the couch and he’s relaxed and happy, which is a rarity on its’ own, and he’s comfortable enough to let his guard down and get his body to do all the work without switching his brain on.

That should’ve been enough of a warning sign, but apparently not: Tony stretches, says goodnight to his teammates and gets varied responses back, and then he kisses Steve.

He only realizes what he’s done after he’s started to lean back, opening his eyes to see Steve’s blown wide, staring at Tony with his lips gone slack and a tiny furrow between his eyebrows.

if they be worthy by theappleppielifestyle - Not Rated | 824 words

Everyone's staring, and Tony isn't awake enough to do anything but gape dumbly at the hammer in his hand."Huh," he says."Seconded," Steve says through his toast. "Tasha, go tell Coulson another one of us can pick it up."

♡ Last Train Home by erde - T | 10,983 words

Steve writes letters to Tony that he never sends. By the time he hands them to their rightful owner, Tony has had a brush with death, has retired as a superhero, and now has a small town workshop of his very own. But it's okay, Steve has gone into retirement too.

Like Gene Kelly in the Movies by lyra_wing - M | 11,449 words

Everything Tony Stark does is a dance. And it's super confusing for Steve.

Like Sunlight by sara_holmes - M | 8,309 words

Steve is used to the way it feels by now; a strange but gentle tugging connection under his sternum, warm tingles in his skin whenever they touch. That is, until Tony gets himself kidnapped. Then it kinda feels more like someone is trying to wrench his heart out through his ribcage.

Looking for Heaven by foxxcub - E | 31,950 words

When young Lord Anthony Stark learns Steven Rogers has enlisted in the army, he thinks he's seen the last of his tiny, headstrong, haughty stable boy. But four years later, Lord Stark gets an unexpected visit from Steve, whose mother has fallen gravely ill and into financial ruin. Even more unexpected, Steve agrees to a shocking proposal: they will marry, giving Steve the necessary funds to save his mother, and Tony the much-needed reprieve from harassing would-be suitors. It is a business arrangement, nothing more. But as time goes on and circumstances arise, Tony begins to learn that keeping his heart away from his husband is easier said than done.

♡ Love in a Time of Amnesia by Amuly - T | 6,241 words

Carol might have lost all her memories of her friends, but there's at least one thing she can know with absolute certainty: Steve and Tony are a couple. And if the rest of the Avengers insist on saying they're not, well: Carol will just have to put her amnesia to use, for the greater good.

♡ L☆VE by copperbadge - M | 3,773 words

Steve's favorite shirt is at the center of a debate about masculinity, sexuality, and whether or not he did in fact steal it like a thief in the night from Tony.

♡ Meet Your Heroes by Wordsplat - M | 4,130 words

Tony gets rescued by a highly concerned, very handsy Captain America. This is confusing for a number of reasons.

Momentary Paws (or, DO NOT WANT) by velithya - T | 16,834 words

WTF KITTEN

♡ Mr. July by jibrailis - E | 10,065 words

Tony is the only one who can defend Steve's virtue. Tony hates his life.

♡ Neanderthals In Tights (Also Known As a Football Game) by Wordsplat - T | 3,228 words

In which Tony supports Steve at his first big football game, with guest appearances by an exasperated Pepper and an embarrassed Bruce, because yeah, okay, maybe Tony's not really one hundred percent clear on the rules of this game. Why, exactly, are a bunch of neanderthals tackling his boyfriend again?

one hundred percent skill, fifty percent luck by kellifer_fic - T | 7,418 words

Where there is a poker game, a v-card and general misunderstandings

Orbiter Dictum by schmevil - T | 7,357 words

Steve is at the sink, washing the few dishes that pizza for two generates, when he realizes that Tony is in love with him.

Our Weight In Gold by ann2who - E | 33,607 words

It was every cliché he’d ever heard about. Every sappy thing they wrote down in the magazines, every single thing he had always hated about the myth. It was as though he had experienced life without sight, and was suddenly bombarded by a storm of color. It was all-consuming, and rushing through his veins like molten lava, like his whole existence was suddenly filled with sunlight. A door opened, and a myriad of emotions stormed through his body: confusion, disbelief, loneliness, and so much fierce determination that it almost knocked Tony off his feet. And he understood then, understood that these emotions weren’t his. They were Rogers’.

This is a story about fate, self-doubt, choice and eventually—love.

Over Sea, Under Stars by vorkosigan - T | 36,651 words

Tony gets the phone, but he never uses it and he never intends to. Or, he doesn’t until Steve starts texting him, asking strange questions about medication and mental health, which is when Tony gets worried.

♡ Phil Coulson's Case Files of the Toasterverse - works rated mostly G-T, | 287,890 words in series

Short stories from the Toasterverse

Place Your Bets by RurouniHime - M | 35,999 words

Steve Rogers may or may not have just picked up a prostitute. This may or may not be Tony Stark’s fault.

♡ Pulse, Beat, and Measure (series) by Sineala - E | 134,095 words in series

Two men. Two worlds. Life during wartime.

Ready, Fire, Aim (series) by gyzym - M | 63,019 words in series

There's no "I" in "Avenger."

♡ Relativistic Heat Conduction (series) by BlossomsintheMist - E | 70,484 words in series

Age of Ultron-based, but not entirely canon compliant. Written for the 2013 Cap-Iron Man Reverse Big Bang. Ultron has attacked, obliterating most of the world's superheroes and resistance in a matter of hours. The remaining heroes band together and share what strength they have to get through it, to survive, and defeat Ultron once and for all. Steve Rogers grieves in the wake of the disaster and the heroes' defeat, and no one knows if he will be able to provide the leadership they need--but Tony Stark isn't about to let him slip away that easily.

♡ Rom-Commed By Fate (Or JARVIS) by leashy_bebes - E | 14,387 words

The best thing about being an Artificial Intelligence is the ability to parse, filter and modify the things people say until you've got the cause to do exactly what you wanted in the first place. Or, in which JARVIS cock blocks Tony into having an actual relationship.

♡ Run Program: {x} by Amuly - M | 19,728 words

Taking care of Tony is a lot of work. Especially when you’ve only got one arm. And your code dates back to the 1980s.

♡ Secrets of a Successful Marriage by valtyr - E | 24,118 words

Tony Stark lives a double life; he's secretly the supervillain known as Iron Man. But his loving husband Steve has a few secrets of his own, as Tony is about to discover.

♡ SexyMechanic70 by Potrix - T | 2,449 words

“SexyMechanic70,” Natasha reads aloud, nodding approvingly.“Sounds promising,” Clint offers.“And look,” Bucky adds, “he didn’t even send a dick pic! And he praised your sketch which, by the way, is a totally lame icon choice.”Steve snatches his phone back, batting Bucky’s hands away when he struggles to reach for it again. “Cut it out,” he grouses. “Also, excuse me for not posting a picture of my abs.”“A true tragedy,” Sam sighs, earning himself an indignant squawk from Bucky and a betrayed look from Steve. “What? I’m just saying. They’re great abs.”“True,” Nat hums and bumps the fist Clint is holding out to her.

♡ Sixpence In His Shoe by scifigrl47 - M | 103,682 words

Steve and Tony should really read the fine print on what they're signing. Then again, some mistakes are not really mistakes.

♡ Soul Bomb by copperbadge - T | 1,944 words

Suddenly everyone in Manhattan has someone else's voice in their head. Tony got Steve's, for his sins.

♡ Stand Back, I'm Going To Try Science by Good_News_Everyone - T | 2,123 words

Soulmates are a rare and cherished thing, a simple touch of hands bringing love that lasts forever. By all the rules of romance, they're meant to wait for each other and to trust in the vagaries of fate to bring them together. Tony's never been good at waiting, and when he has science on his side, who needs fate?

♡ Start as You Mean to Go On by BlackEyedGirl - E | 2,612 words

Tony gets that the others think this is an ego thing - the way he can’t resist pushing Steve’s buttons. Honest-to-God, the guy just bugs him. Mostly because Steve is distractingly perfect, but a little bit because of the family history.

♡ Steve Rogers Is (Not) A Morning Person by theappleppielifestyle - Not Rated | 1,161 words

Dream, Steve decides. With that comforting knowledge, Steve takes Tony's face in his hands and kisses him.

(Spoilers: it isn't a dream.)

Steve Rogers Takes Offense and the World Gets Schooled by RurouniHime - T | 2,463 words

In which Steve has no idea how that got up on BuzzFeed (aka, because some people don't respond to anything but the direct approach.)

♡ Syzygy (a Kludged Together remix) by Mizzy - T | 20,198 words

When Tony Stark cut Steve Rogers' morning jog short to join him on a reconnaissance mission off the East Coast, Tony sure wasn’t expecting to end up stuck on a life raft in the middle of the ocean, Steve's hand knuckle-deep in his chest.

♡ Tales of the Bots by scifigrl47 (series) - most works rated M | 523,654 words

When Tony Stark was seventeen years old, he built his first AI. On that day, he ceased to be his father's creation, and became a creating force in his own right.

That one act likely saved his life, and not always in the most obvious ways.

The Best Policy by cylobaby27 - M | 22,724 words

Tony Stark breezes through life on bluster and bullshit. When he gets hit by a truth spell, he locks himself away in his workshop so he can find a way to reverse it without anyone finding out. So why can't he say no when Steve keeps asking to spend time with him?

♡ the family you choose by theappleppielifestyle - Not Rated | 7,385 words

“Just who exactly was my son making out with in a closet?”

“Tony Stark.”Huh.“You might know him,” Fury continues, and Sarah nods, furiously biting at her cheek so she doesn’t do something awful, like giggle.

♡ The Forever-Nighter by Wordsplat - T | 10,172 words

When Rhodey decides that Tony's been slacking lately and drags him along to the gym, Tony's fully prepared to duck right back out the door the first time Rhodey turns around. Then he sees Hot Blond Guy.

♡ The Last Love Song of Anthony E. Stark by jibrailis - M | 42,327 words

After contracting an Asgardian virus, Tony starts forgetting things. And people. And Steve.

♡ The Opposite of a Problem by Sineala - T | 2,490 words

"I promise to love, honor, and probably not obey you, and, uh, take you as my totally-unlawfully-wedded husband, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, until death do us part, or for at least the next seventy-two hours."

(Or: Tony and Steve get fake-married for the sake of the mission.)

♡ The Tchotchke Cha Cha by Arukou - T | 7,269 words

What started off as one impulse buy souvenir snowballs into a constant flow of knickknacks from all over the world, and Steve is starting to wonder if it's more than just Tony being nice.

♡ The Twice-Told Tale by arysteia - E | 15,789 words

For someone he'd hero-worshipped for so long, Steve Rogers in the flesh is a pretty big disappointment. For one thing, he keeps looking at Tony as though he reminds him of someone else, and even if he never says anything, Tony's pretty sure it's his father. A lifetime of not measuring up to Howard's expectations is more than enough, thank you very much, and he's certainly not going to make an effort to live up to any of Steve's. Steve's pretty clearly failed to live up to his expectations, in any case, and that's not hypocritical at all.

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by Sineala - T | 35,216 words

No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

♡ Toasted Buns by copperbadge, scifigrl47 - E | 47,044 words

After seeing Tony naked and tanned -- all over -- in a decontamination shower, Steve realizes he may be in trouble. Tony, meanwhile, is definitely in trouble over those tabloid pictures of him sunbathing nude. The solution is clearly a tropical island getaway.

♡ Tony Stark Falls In Love With A Cat by shellhead - M | 6,887 words

When Steve goes missing, Tony ends up finding him at an animal shelter. Volunteering.

♡ Tony Stark and the Super Sleeper, or actually, Soldier by RurouniHime - T | 8,571 words

The one where Steve keeps falling asleep on Tony.

♡ Tony Stark Takes a Liberty and the Universe Thanks Him by RurouniHime - T | 1,512 words

In which people think they are entitled to Steve Roger's face (aka, because tomorrow is coming, and I hold out hope, Supreme Court.)

♡ Toy Soldiers by copperbadge - E | 44,241

When Steve Rogers, five foot four and a hundred and ten pounds, met Tony Stark in a bar, he didn't expect it to lead to a relationship. Or that Tony would find out he's not an art student during a SHIELD rescue mission in Afghanistan.

♡ Truth by valtyr - E | 2,677 words

Captain America takes truth serum. Tony is all over that.

♡ Two Out of Three (Ain't Bad) by plingo_kat - T | 9,449 words

It blindsides him one morning in the middle of his customary third cup of coffee; Steve walks through the door in loose cotton pants, shirt pulled up to wipe the sweat off his face from his usual morning workout, and Tony thinks: adorable.

♡ Unveil My Unsightly Heart by Mizzy - M | 43,019 words

Looking over an old prototype helicarrier for its future viability as a base for the Avengers should have just been a routine day full of bickering and non-adventure for Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

But when they're catapulted into an alternate universe – where their alternate selves are married and battling with a mysterious threat – the two are forced to get over their differences in order to figure out what's going on, before it's too late.

Because there's more going on than meets the eye, and Steve and Tony falling in love might just be the most dangerous thing that can happen. Not just for one universe, but for all of them…

Wait & Sea by Lenalena - E | 53,244 words

In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

Wash It All Away by ann2who - E | 8,634 words

Steve hummed, looking up at him. “All right. Strip.” Tony blinked at him. “Excuse me?” “Can’t very well wash your clothes while you wear ‘em,” he said and held out a hand expectantly.

What You Don't Know by Sineala - E | 9,808 words

In 1941, two strangers meet in a bar. And then Captain America meets Iron Man. And then Steve Rogers meets Tony Stark. They get it right. Eventually. And also they fall out of an airplane.

♡ when i run out of road, you bring me home by quidhitch - M | 18,466 words

“Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.

♡ When I think about you by sirona - E | 11,955

Five times someone saw Steve sass the hell out of Tony and one time Tony finally bought a clue. Also known as the story of Captain Sasspants more than handling his own with Tony Stark at his most devious.

♡ When I Think (Oh, it Terrifies Me) by celli - E | 8,641 words

Look, some mornings you wake up and little green men are invading New York City; some mornings you wake up and you can hear Captain America's voice in your head. Tony has been an Avenger long enough that he saves his freakout for important things.

♡ will we ever say the words we're feeling by theappleppielifestyle - Not Rated | 1,673 words

He breaks off then, the realization of what he’s just revealed finally hitting him, and he stops, and Tony’s still staring.

(Or, Steve and Tony argue and Steve lets something slip.)

♡ With Words Other Than These by RurouniHime - E | 14,690 words

The way Steve’s beating that bag, though—Tony traces the cadence as well as the lines of Steve’s body, and wonders if he might not need to know about the mission after all. There’s a lot of tension knotted in Steve’s shoulders, a frenzy to each punch. The precision lacks. Maybe Steve’s just getting started, and if that’s the case, Tony could be here a long, long while.

with you by laireshi - M | 3,108 words

Sometimes Steve gets overwhelmed by how much he loves Tony.

Your Name on Every Wall by Sineala - T | 17,863 words

The Time Gem throws Steve into the past rather than the future, and in doing so, it gives him the opportunity to undo his past mistakes. But when it turns out that all of his mistakes involve Tony Stark, Steve begins to wonder if he's ever going to be able to mend things between them.

---

Hey, the list did have to end at some point! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed these recs!

Tagging some people who might be interested:

@divine529, @sabrecmcstonyficrecs, @sineala, @ishipallthings, @itsallavengers, @nasafic, @estebanrxgers, @starksnstripes, @goodmorningbeloved, @goose-danvers

#stevetony #stony #stony fic rec #stevetony fic rec #stevetony rec list #stony rec list #superhusbands #my fic recs #fic rec

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johnny-and-dora · 5 years

Text

like a comet pulled from orbit

"She files the memory away in the new mental folder she’s been curating since last night, affectionately labelled ‘HUGE, RIDICULOUSLY OBVIOUS CLUES THAT JAKE IS YOUR SOULMATE’, and shifts her attention back to him."

or, a soulmate au where jake's known for his whole life & amy's known since yesterday, with two grand heartfelt speeches for good measure.

read on ao3

before we begin: this one-shot takes place in a universe where your soulmates name is written somewhere on you in their handwriting, except jake's handwriting is so goddamn unreadable that amy manages to make it all the way to five years at the nine-nine without realising that her soulmate has been sat across from her this entire time. shenanigans ensue, and this is result. i hope you enjoy!

thank you to @startofamoment & @amyscascadingtabs for their wonderful endless support and to @elsaclack because i haven’t stopped thinking about this au since she posted hers <3

“I had this great big plan, y’know.” He says, deliberately averting her gaze – Amy furrows her brow, adjusting her slumped over position on his old, beat up couch, discards the cushion she’s been hugging to her stomach as some kind of makeshift anchor.

The maelstrom of confusion, anger and pure, unadulterated anxiety that has been rearing its ugly head deep in her gut since yesterday has quietly subsided in the intimate setting of his crappy, cozy, lowly lit Cobblestank apartment – she supposes that’s why she’s here, seeing as she wasn’t able to come up with a valid reason on the drive over, or even in the ten minutes she spent standing outside his door, poised ready to knock.

If there’s anyone who always knows exactly how to calm her down, it’s frustratingly, somehow, him.

(“Detective’s intuition, Santiago.” He’d winked, a lifetime ago when she’d once asked - handed her coffee after making her laugh for the first time in about three days, and she’d pretended to be impressed by his use of the word ‘intuition’.)

She files the memory away in the new mental folder she’s been curating since last night, affectionately labelled ‘HUGE, RIDICULOUSLY OBVIOUS CLUES THAT JAKE IS YOUR SOULMATE’, and shifts her attention back to him.

“What?”

“For telling you. I’d, um, been working on it for a while.” Jake’s hands are clenched and his leg is jostling up and down at a hundred miles an hour when it clicks, and she feels her heart skip a beat.

In truth, he doesn’t need to say anything – he’s apologised probably at least twenty times in the past day, most of them in the eight minutes that have passed since she arrived unannounced, unexpected really to the both of them, at his door. God knows he’s probably forgiven already if her heart has any say in the matter, even if she’s reluctant to tell him that.

But here he suddenly is, practically ablaze with all this brilliant, blinding energy, willing to put his heart out on the line for her – and Amy feels any semblance of protest quickly die in her throat.

“Yeah?” She prompts, gentle enough for it to be vaguely unfamiliar territory compared to their usual rapport. Her hand ghosts over his like an unspoken question before their fingers, almost by design, interweave.

It’s not intimate, exactly, barely even romantic - but he squeezes gently, once, twice, and something in the air shifts.

“I…I was gonna take you to the roof. Our roof, I mean, the roof.” He braves a fleeting glance at her and she tilts her head up to firmly hold it – there’s trepidation and question reflected in his eyes, but there’s also such reverence there, something so powerful that Amy can scarcely remember how to breathe.

The corner of his mouth immediately twitches upwards at the flush of her face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“…I was going to give this grand heartfelt speech where I basically confess my undying love for you, and tell you that we’re soulmates, and then beg you to not kill me for not telling you sooner. And then you were, er, going to forgive me and we would kiss and then ride off into the sunset.” He’s smiling fully now, all the radiance of the goddamn sun as per usual, and she can’t help but tease him.

“Ride off into the sunset?”

“Yeah, like the end of every old romantic movie ever.” He makes a sweeping, dismissive gesture with his free hand. “And everything was gonna be, y’know. Okay.” His voice falters, trips up a bit on the last word – his hand slips out of hers as they’re reminded of the mess – okay, shitstorm, that they’ve found themselves entangled up in.

Anxiety churns in her stomach as she agonises over how she’s supposed to feel – it was anger yesterday, but that feels wrong here. There’s just confusion and uncertainty and yes, desire, achingly inevitable desire; she has no idea what to act upon, no how-to-guide, no forum thread for “so your best friend has been secretly your soulmate this whole time.” (She checked). Amy has no idea what to do.

All because of the stupid universe and it’s stupid cosmic matchmaking - something she didn’t even know if she believed in until a few hours ago, something she’s been decidedly against for almost three decades.

All she is certain of now is that whatever choice lead her here, whatever lead her to him, is the one and only decision she’s allowing the universe to make for her.

(Despite whatever thread of fate they both followed to end up here, Amy maintains that what she says next - and the perfectly ordinary miracle that happens after - happens completely of her own volition.)

“Do the speech.”

“Uh, what?”

“I want to hear it. This grand heartfelt speech.” She says, taking far too much enjoyment out of the sheer panic that instantly flashes across his face.

“Uh, well, it was more of an abstract concept. And I haven’t actually practised anywhere other than the shower, and a lot of it was tied in to the whole roof thing so I don’t actually know if it’ll work here-“

“Do the speech, Peralta.”

“Okay. Okay. Here we go.” He holds a hand up in mock surrender, takes a deep breath, lets his fingers drum absentmindedly on the arm of the couch before he shifts his position to face her.

She crosses her arms expectantly, trying to subdue her smile or at least dial it down a few notches so she doesn’t give away just how hopelessly into him she really is.

“Amy. Santiago. Amy Santiago. The woman I am speaking to, right now.”

“Stop stalling.”

“Okay. So, you’re probably wondering why I brought you to this random rooftop in the middle of Brooklyn.” He grins like the little shit he is, and she resolves with ironclad determination not to let him get away that easily. “And this is where you say ‘Yes, I am, Jake, and I must say how handsome you look today.’”

“This is not a call and response thing.” Amy says, in the authoritative tone she reserves for him – he gives her a playful salute in response. It’s standard practise, familiar, and for a moment she wonders if that’s all she’s ever going to get.

“Noted. And I would say “’Thank you Amy, but this isn’t about me. It’s actually about us.’” His grin falters a little, now - she unfolds her arms, allowing him the time and space to say what he needs to, gently encouraging him to continue.

“I really like you. Like, really really like you. Like, I’m obsessed with how shiny your hair is and the way you scrunch up your nose when you’re annoyed and the way your eyes get all big and excited whenever you figure something out. You’re brilliant and beautiful and I’ve basically spent the last five years we’ve known each other trying to work up the courage to tell you that.”

He’s rambling at a pace she’s spent the last few years tripping over herself trying to catch up to - but she drinks every single word in anyway, like she’s scrambling for an oasis in the empty, unforgiving sands of a desert.

This is new; Amy can feel her resolve practically melting away, like he’s stripping down every last layer of her defences.

Like Monopoly and getting more felony arrests than her, he’s irritatingly good at it.

“And this is where I would ask you out, except you would probably say no, not because you’re not hopelessly in love with me – but because we’re not cosmically bound together or whatever.” He swallows thickly, clearly nervous, and she inches closer to him with protective instinct, hand finding its way to the small of his back.

“And I would say yeah, that’s fair, except maybe actually it might be my unintelligible handwriting that you have scrawled on your ribcage, and that I’m really sorry about all the inconvenience that has caused you.”

“And then I would say…Amy, we are soulmates. And I’ve known that for a really long time, and I’m a huge gigantic idiot for not telling you sooner. I was just…scared. By the time I realised that you just couldn’t tell it was me, you were already yelling at me for spilling orange soda on your arrest report and I just…figured you’d rather not know.”

Her heart fragments and splints a little at that, enough for any remaining anger or notions of injustice raging in the depths of her gut to be very easily extinguished.

“Jake…”

“Nah, you said it wasn’t a call and response thing, remember?” He tries to say it lightly but the usual humour colouring his voice is notably absent, so he just takes a deep breath and continues, seemingly (how can he be?) unaware of how she is certain that her heart is somehow his.

“Anyway, I was terrified that if you found out you were just going to be…disappointed. And I know it’s not the same, but I just kept thinking about my dad leaving and how I was so scared that you’d leave too, if you knew.”

Amy recalls a stakeout from a year or so ago, an impassioned exchange of fuck you, universe between sips of coffee because she’s powerless to find hers and his dad left anyway, so what’s the point, and it makes sense – as much as she wants to strangle him for not telling her then, it makes sense.

“It just got more and more difficult to bring up, y’know? Like, by the way, we’re soulmates, can you pass me that case file?” She nods in understanding, empathy twisting in her chest against her steadily increasing heart rate – when he finally looks at her again, it’s overpowering, like everything in the air is charged, magnified, primed ready to explode.

“The thing is, I’m…I’m really into you.” He pauses, allowing the tiniest, almost shy smile to cross his face, and pure, unadulterated affection flutters in her chest. “And I would really love it if we could…y’know. But you needed to know this first – actually, I guess, you needed to know this a long time ago.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, shame flickering in his features.

“I guess I just want you to know that I’m really, genuinely sorry. And I know you don’t know how to feel about soulmates, and I get it if you don’t feel the same about me but…I think we could have something really amazing. The end.”

There’s a beat or two of horrible, horrible silence before she remembers that she’s meant to say something back - in her defence, it was a very good speech.

“…You didn’t beg me not to kill you.” She teases lightly, but lets her face soften when she clocks his questioning gaze and realises he needs more, of course, infinitely more. “That was…very nice.”

Nice couldn’t even begin to do it justice, but in the moment she doesn’t have the words to convey how much it means, suddenly shy, suddenly woefully unprepared in the face of such unexpected openness and vulnerability. He’s never going to stop surprising her.

“…Would it have worked?”

“I think…at first, I would have been pretty mad at you. Like I think choosing the roof was a risk, if a very sweet gesture, because I might’ve thrown you off it.” His face crumples a little and she winces, not meaning to cause him any more emotional turmoil than she apparently unknowingly has for the last four years.

Really, when she visualises the scene, she has no idea how she would actually react – all she knows is now, the feeling of a spark lighting inside her and also vaguely the feeling of her insides turning upside down.

She fights the urge to ask for fifteen minutes with her laptop so she can at least outline all she wants to say.

“But…I would also know that you meant it. That you meant all of it, and that you didn’t mean for this all to become the huge gigantic mess that it is.” She gestures widely and openly to signify the huge gigantic mess, and his eyebrows quirk up with endearment.

“So I would forgive you.” She says it with certainty she didn’t know she had until she tripped over it on her tongue – it hangs in the air, somehow unfinished, and she feels a smile blossom over her face as she brushes her shoulder up against his; she holds his gaze for a second before continuing.

“…And then I would probably kiss you.” Amy tries to say it with some boldness, at least – she counts at least fifty different emotions flicker across his face at once before they form an almost smug grin, which makes her laugh enough to almost distract her from the swarm of butterflies currently occupying her stomach.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably. If you weren’t dangling from the roof at this point.” She grins and he laughs a little, shaking his head, and then-

And then, silence. Tantalising, breathless silence, silence that’s impossibly alive with endless, infinite potential, brooding like a thunderstorm. When she’s brave enough to look at him he’s staring at her with such heat it feels like she might spontaneously combust, right here in his living room. She bites her lip, barely aware of anything other than blood faintly pumping in her ears.

“Amy?”

“Mmm?”

“Can we…can we stop talking in hypotheticals for a second and can I say that I’m sorry and can you forgive me and then maybe can we kiss?” They’re so close now, intimate enough that she can almost feel the hitch in his breath as he nervously poses the question.

“I’ll think about it.” She’s using the last of her bravado, the very last dredges of her willpower not to lean over and kiss him – except his eyes keep darting down to her lips and she can practically feel her skin bristling, practically incandescent with white-hot desire as she tucks her hair behind her ears and they’ve suffered enough, haven’t they?

So when he leans to tentatively a kiss to her lips she instantly deepens it, overwhelmed by the intense, rapid rhythms of her pulse at his touch, at his hands sweeping down her spine and hers in his hair and wow. It’s fervent and almost desperate at first but soon slows to tenderness as they both seem to realise that they have all the time in the world.

She feels him smile against her lips in the moment before they break apart and she dares him to ruin the moment with a ridiculous joke, but all he does is expel a sigh of relief, like a man deprived of oxygen for months. She knows the feeling.

“Wow.” She murmurs, lightheaded, forehead pressed against his, eyes still closed. When they finally flutter open to meet with his it’s frustratingly clear that they were made to do this; the part of her that’s been resolutely against the universe pairing people together for the best part of thirty years is disgruntled to be proved wrong so swiftly and effortlessly.

But mostly, she’s happy. The way that Jake looks at her makes her feel treasured and desired and revered in a way that no-one else ever has, and she is so ridiculously, unbelievably, deliriously happy.

“You. You are just…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” It’s barely a whisper but it sets her alight – he’s breathless, tone dripping with pure, unbridled sincerity, and it’s enough.

He’s forgiven, because of course he is – really, he was forgiven long before she stepped past the threshold of his apartment, but she’s not going to be the one to tell him that if he’s going to kiss her like that and say lines like that afterwards.

She wants to say something, anything moderately affirming or even just coherent back, but for the first time in a very long time, Amy Santiago is rendered completely and utterly speechless.

So instead, she just kisses him again.

***

She gets around to telling him later, when the initial rush of adrenaline has faded into quiet embers of content joy and she can finally string a semi-coherent sentence together. Amy can’t really tell how much time has passed since, only that it is later, later, later, that moonlight is spilling through the gap in his curtains in the same way that dusty orange twilight was when she first arrived here, and yet she has absolutely no desire to leave.

Her soft grey linen hoodie lies on the arm of the couch and his left sock is discarded on the floor from when she’d traced her name etched in perfect, neat cursive just above his ankle and he’d quipped some line about finally being able to wear flip flops to work again without fear of discovery.

They’ve been talking, mostly, laughing in a way that is warmly familiar, even if the way their hands are intertwined isn’t – she has this wonderful feeling that it will be, in time.

“You really don’t mind that I didn’t tell you?” Jake has asked her some variant of this question roughly every ten minutes, seemingly struck by disbelief that he isn’t dangling from a roof at this very moment – it’s only now, though, that she realises she has the right to some grand speech of her own, even if she’s mildly disappointed that she can’t practise first.

Some things just can’t be planned, much to her horror – but to be fair, she never could have planned any of this, and she thinks it’s reasonable to say that it ended up all working out.

“Well, I’m not…happy about it. Part of me definitely wishes that you’d just told me, because I absolutely had the right to know after decades of torturing myself over it.” She gives him a pointed stare that lasts almost a second before her resolve completely dissipates at his puppy-dog gaze.

“But the rest of me is actually glad I didn’t know.” His eyebrows shoot up in almost comic confusion, and she laughs lightly, joy practically bubbling in her chest. She puts a hand over his heart and takes the time to choose her next words carefully, delicately, in a way that she hopes will tell him that she really means them.

“Well, the way I see it….this way I get to choose you. This way, I get to be with you because you’re brilliant, and sweet, and you make me laugh. Not just because your name is written in appallingly bad handwriting on my ribcage.”

“Huh. I guess I never really thought about it like that.” He goes somewhere else for a second; there’s that thoughtful far-away look where she can practically see seventeen different trains of thought pinging off his brain like a cell tower.

When he focuses back on her it’s with unbridled affection as if he’s only just realising all the nice things she said about him, and she smiles.

“Yeah, well…I’ve been thinking about this a lot, lately. And I guess…I choose you. Not because I feel like I should, or because the universe tells me I’m supposed to. Because I want to. Because I know that you’re the right person for me.” Amy’s not sure she’s ever said anything with more conviction in her life – the momentum behind her words absolutely terrifies her, but it’s thrilling too, feeling this much for one person all at once.

He’s quiet, for once – by the low light of his cheap lamp, she might even be able to make out the ghost of blush lightly colouring his face, and she thinks, point to Santiago. Not that she’s keeping score. (They’re even.)

“Only you would find a way to argue for free will even after all this. You are unbelievable.” The last word is said in a tone of complete and utter awe and admiration that it sweeps her off her feet – she reaches out to cup his face and press a long, drawn-out lazy kiss to his lips that feels so natural it’s like they’ve been doing this for years. He starts to press kisses that trace down her neck and collarbone, easily shifting her entire world on its axis; it’s dizzying.

Amy’s so, unbelievably glad that if she was going to fall for anyone, it had to be her soulmate – and yet, she somehow feels sure that that this was always going to happen anyway, regardless of whatever name she had inked on her skin.

In this life and any other, she was always going to choose him.

“I choose you too, by the way.” He mumbles, a little breathless, looking up at her like she’s the only thing that matters. “I just thought that was implied.”

She says a begrudging, silent thank you to the universe – in the moonlit sky pouring through the crack in the curtains, the stars catch a glimpse of them and smile.

#b99 #b99 fic #b99 au #my writing #peraltiago #jake x amy #shut up sian #this...i'm really proud of this #and i hope that shows #<3

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winterromanov · 5 years

Text

keeping all the promises (we made years ago) - a romanogers fic

Peter’s mixing a bad gin and tonic when Natasha and Steve finally come into the back. Her tiny frame guides him through the throngs of people as a The 1975 song plays in the background, crooning about skinny jeans and spare time and she’s got a boyfriend anyway. They disappear down the basement steps and Natasha must be a little drunk, he reckons, because the door is barely shut when they start kissing. And this—this, he realises, is the only narrative of the two of them that matters. (rock band au. chaos, man.)

/one

It’s Uncle Tony that gets him the job. Well—perhaps gets isn’t quite the right word, because get implies a bit of shuffling behind the scenes and handshakes when in reality Uncle Tony can get whatever he wants whenever he wants. He’s not even his biological uncle. Sometimes, Peter wonders if Uncle Tony just fancied having a nephew and saw him in kindergarten and thought, hey, he’s the one. May’s never told him how Tony ended up being his sort-of guardian, usually financially but sometimes otherwise. He’s just…always been there.

The always been there feels a little more literal now, ever since Peter mentioned that he might not want to go to college after all. Yeah, sure, the Princeton physical sciences program is like, the best in the country, but is that really all there is? He likes music and evening walks and the shitty little apartment he shares with May in the city. He likes the familiarity and the way it covers him like a safety blanket.

It wouldn’t be an understatement to say that Uncle Tony was pretty fucking pissed at the idea. Of, you know, not making the most of the thousands of dollars he’s invested in Peter’s education and not going to an Ivy. Nevertheless, there’s not much he can do about it. Even Tony Stark can’t force him to go to college, even if he looks at him with that disapproving glare every single goddamn day for the rest of his life.

(Uncle Tony’s disapproving glare is one of the scariest things Peter has ever seen, period. And Ned once made him watch all The Exorcist films in one sitting back in freshman year. Took him a good few weeks (months) to shake the paranoia and realise that, realistically, he probably wasn’t going to get possessed by some angry old spirit anytime soon.)

But Uncle Tony can ask him what he’s doing instead of going to college, and Peter quickly discovers that a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders is not an adequate response. He thought that maybe Tony would get him some sort of starter position in his company, but Tony isn’t the kind of guy who gives out jobs to anyone (even if they’re his sort-of nephew). No, if Peter ever wants a job at Stark Industries he needs a college degree first, and a good one at that.

“You need a taste of the real world, kid,” Tony had said, Peter idly spinning on the office chair in front of his desk. “And then you might think twice about giving Princeton the boot.”

And that’s how he ends up in front of Endgame.

Peter knows a hell of a lot about Uncle Tony, but also absolutely nothing at all. There are things he deliberately keeps hidden and Peter knows better than to ask about but he’s also ridiculously open, especially about how fucking rich and clever and sexy he is. May says it’s a confidence thing—that he must be hollow under all that blithe arrogance, but Peter has never met anyone more solid. He thinks. Tony cannot be anything other than whole, because he’s sure helped keep Peter’s foundations stable all these years.

He knows that Tony’s business is his life. That he’s a bit more…forward, with women than he should be, but it’s all talk because Pepper wouldn’t stick around if it wasn’t. He knows he prefers Turkish food over everything else and that he cares more than he lets on, always.

But he absolutely didn’t know that Uncle Tony kind-of owns a nightclub in the city; the super cool kind that has live bands and plays British indie rock and a menu with over fifty different kinds of cocktail on it. It makes so much sense, when he thinks about it. It’s exactly the kind of place he imagines Tony heading to after a day working non-stop at the tower.

It’s only three in the afternoon but the place is unlocked, Tony pushing open the double doors at the front with his shoulder. Inside, there’s a jarringly bright room with a bar and a stage that feels wrong not swathed in darkness or the muted glow from overhead lighting. A woman with long, brunette hair that falls down her back is mopping the floor off to the side. She looks up when she sees them enter.

“Wanda,” Tony greets, pushing Peter forward. The girl smiles bemusedly, shoving the mop back in a red plastic bucket. “Working hard?”

“As always, Mr Stark.” Her accent is soft, European. Peter likes the twinkle in her eyes. “You’ve just missed Nat, but Clint is still in the basement, if you’re looking for them.”

“Barton. Perfect.” He tugs on Peter’s arm, and Peter vaguely feels like some naughty kid being dragged around by their dad. This must be what that feels like, he muses, not that he knows much about the whole parent thing. “Come on, Peter.”

Peter rolls his eyes. Wanda catches him, and she laughs a little, returning back to the mop.

Tony drags him through a hallway lined with black-and-white checked squares and down a set of stairs labelled staff only, the walls covered in aggressive-looking graffiti which he assumes are song lyrics he’s never heard of. He likes music, but he’s the soft-spoken acoustic type. Not the mosh-pit type.

(Alongside Tony Stark’s disapproving glare and horror movies, he’s also kind of terrified of being swallowed by crowds. He doesn’t like the feeling of being lost or untethered. He likes being anchored to something. Someone. It’s kind of ironic, really, considering.)

Tony opens a door at the bottom of the stairs that leads onto what he assumes is some sort of staff common room, the walls all exposed brick and lined with tattered leather sofas probably pulled from a garage sale. Band posters either hang loosely with blue thumb tacks or, in some cases, in black frames—some scribbled with messy signatures. A makeshift bar stands in front of a small kitchen, lined with more liquor bottles than he cares to count. A coffee table is littered with vinyl cases and sloppily written notes, a wire charging an iPhone trailing all the way from the door. A man with brown hair and a strong jawline sits on the sofa nearest the back wall, Doc Martens kicked up on the table, scrolling through his phone. His eyes barely flicker when they enter the room, like he’s waiting for Tony to talk first.

“Welcoming as always,” Tony remarks, urging Peter to walk further into the room. The other man snorts.

“If you want a fucking parade every time you enter a room, Stark, you should stick to those dumb expo things you still insist on doing.” He’s still scrolling through his phone. “Who’s the kid?”

“I’m not a kid,” Peter can’t help but say, because he’s eighteen and a high school graduate, for God’s sake. Both Tony and the man raise an eyebrow, in that patronising way Peter is all too used to. Like, you’re basically just fresh out the womb, boy.

“You’re a kid until you stop thinking like one,” Tony says, and it looks like Peter is still going to be getting a lot of that. He gestures towards the man and back again. “Clint Barton, Peter Parker. Peter, Barton. He’s your new boss.”

“Half-boss,” Clint quickly corrects, “Nat would probably slit your throat if she heard you say that. Also…” Clint pauses, finally putting his phone down. He seems to examine Peter carefully, eyes flicking up and down. He feels oddly exposed. “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be doing AP Literature homework or something?”

Peter sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I’m not in high school. I graduated high school.”

“I refuse to believe that. How old are you? Fourteen?”

“I’m eighteen!”

Clint narrows his eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know my own age.”

Clint hums. He shifts his feet from the coffee table and to the floor, leaning forwards. “Don’t get me wrong, Peter, but are you sure you want to work here? Aren’t you better suited to…like, a computer science major? You just don’t look like the kind of guy we’d usually hire.”

Peter takes that to mean you look like a massive fucking nerd, moron. Well, Clint’s not wrong, but it’s always a bit jarring to hear someone say it actually out loud. He’s not the kind of person who works in a cool bar with cool people who wear Doc Martens and listen to the Arctic Monkeys.

“He’s hired because I say he’s hired,” Tony interjects, pressing his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “And because this little punk thinks that he doesn’t want to go get a STEM major.”

Clint smirks a little at that, like he’s gone from zero to just a touch of respect for him. “Teenage rebellion, huh?”

“No,” Peter replies, not that convincingly. “I just don’t want to go to college, alright?”

“Not right now, but a few weeks of working with these absolute head-cases will have you handing in your transcripts before you can say Ivy League,” Tony states and Clint chuckles, “You will be begging for the sweet release of the Princeton marching band and that compulsory calculus class.”

Peter looks over at Clint, who merely nods in a faux serious manner. “We’re special here, Parker. Absolutely one-of-a-kind.”

“Who’s one of a kind?” Another voice rings out behind them, clearly feminine but surprisingly low and sultry in tone. When Peter turns, he sees a petite woman with red hair that scuffs her shoulders, skinny jeans hugging her legs and a leather jacket over her shoulders. She clutches a shopping bag in her left hand, her nails painted the same shade as her hair. Her Converse sneakers are black and streaked with dirt, but like they were made that way, like it’s all staged.

He has to actively fight his jaw from dropping open. Because, Jesus—he isn’t blind. She’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen…and there’s something about her, a familiar quality he can’t quite place, like he’s seen her before in another time or place. She smirks when she finds him staring. Peter flushes, looking away, and thinks idly about beautiful gardens and being tempted in by a Devil.

“You are,” Clint replies effortlessly and, like that, Peter realises that there must have fucked at some point. Her eyes glint as she drops her bag on the counter.

“I assume you’re here for a reason, Stark,” she says, “If this is your new intern, I’m dying for a coffee.”

“Funny,” Tony shoves his hands in his pockets. “And as I was just telling Barton, this is your new employee.”

“As of when?”

“As of right now.”

When this woman assesses him, it feels more scathing than it did with Clint. Her eyes are slower, her expression less readable. Clint was clear in his uncertainty. It’s impossible to tell with her. Eventually, she halts, lips pursed. “Huh.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Clint responds. He’s back on the coffee table, like he’s bored by the whole situation.

Tony stands back, folding his arms. “You have an opening now the other Maximoff has moved on, and this moron needs a reality check. You lot are probably the worst people I could think of to give it to him.”

The redhead blinks slowly. She rests her chin in one hand, her elbow on the bar. She’s looking straight at Peter, green eyes blazing like exotic jewels. “You have any bar experience?”

“Uh…” Peter scratches his head sheepishly, “No?”

“You train him, Nat,” Tony says when Nat looks skeptical, “You train the hell out of him. Or get him to do the 4am bathroom cleaning shift. Your choice.”

“We have Clint for that,” she says, and Clint throws a scatter cushion at her. She catches it with ridiculously quick reflexes and dumps it on a bar stool before hopping onto it. Her shopping bag is exclusively filled with grapefruits. “Although, we do need a new bartender now Pietro has fucked off.” She pulls a knife from seemingly nowhere and points it in Peter’s direction, which gives off a threatening air that Nat looks all too comfortable with. Worryingly. “But no doing homework at the bar. It’ll ruin our image.”

“I’m not…” Peter starts, but Nat’s smirking again. So. He’s just going to have to accept the fact this is going to be a running joke, right? Anything that gets Tony off his back.

“You’re kind of adorable,” Nat says, looking over at Clint. “Steve will love him.”

“Steve will try and adopt him.”

“Steve will try and adopt anything that looks vaguely pained and puppy-like,” She chops a grapefruit in half, then into quarters. “It’s taking everything I have to convince him we don’t need a golden retriever right now. It’s exhausting.”

(At this point, he stands gormlessly and watches both Clint and Nat bicker back and forwards about this Steve, this guy that Nat must be dating, and nothing clicks. Nothing clicks yet. He feels like a bit of an idiot when he eventually does, though, because of course. That’s why Nat looks so familiar.)

“Well,” Tony interrupts in a tiny pocket of silence where Clint and Nat aren’t snarking at each other, “Consider Peter your anniversary gift. He’s every bit as charming as a golden retriever without having to pick up the shit. I think he’s already potty-trained. I think.”

Peter shakes his head out of disbelief. Not biological, but every single bit as embarrassing as a blood relative in front of anyone cool. Nat doesn’t take her eyes off the grapefruits.

“Our anniversary was last month, asshole, and all you gave us was a fucking star named after us. You know, one of those dumb certificates you buy online for about ten dollars.”

Tony clutches his heart dramatically. “It’s romantic, not that I’d expect you to understand. Imagine looking up at the night sky and knowing a little piece of you and Steve is up there, glimmering just for you, courtesy of me. That’s special, Nat. Money can’t buy that feeling.”

“Money can buy that feeling. You bought it for ten dollars. Fortunately for you, Steve is a gullible and the sappiest son-of-a-bitch we know so at least someone enjoyed the sentiment.” Natasha pauses for a moment, resting the knife down on the counter. “Now. You—Peter—how much, exactly, do you know about cocktails?”

There are things he learns incredibly quickly when working with Nat—facts, logistics, statements. Both Clint and Nat have known Uncle Tony for a while, but he’s not sure why or how. Tony helped Clint and Nat buy Endgame and he continues to invest in the business, taking a share of the profits. It’s been open five years, but Clint and Nat have known each other way longer than that. He’s not sure why or how. Actually; he’s sure why, because Clint and Nat are pieces of the same puzzle, irrevocably interlocked. The way they look at each other is haunted by years and years of shared history. You’d have to be blind not to see that.

Also—Nat mixes drinks with a speed and precision that is impossible to replicate. He watches hopelessly as she grabs spirits off a rack on the wall from memory, barely glancing at the labels. Wanda occasionally brushes past and Peter can see the amused look in her eyes, like she’s in on a joke he doesn’t know about.

She’s trying to teach him how to mix a basic mojito—not their most popular drink, but one of the easiest—when the front doors swing open and a man walks in, tall and broad-shouldered, blonde hair mussed from the motorcycle helmet that hangs in his right hand. His shirt is way too tight for his torso and arms but he looks so good anyway, in a way that Peter could only ever replicate in his dreams.

It takes Peter a moment to realise, when the man smiles at Natasha like she’s every good dream he’s ever had, that this must be Steve. And then it takes another moment once he gets a decent look at his face, that this isn’t just any Steve. This is Steve fucking Rogers. And Nat… Nat is Natasha Romanoff.

“You certainly took your time,” Nat says coyly as Steve sidles over to the bar. He reaches over and takes her face in his hands, kissing her gently and casually on the lips. It’s like Peter isn’t even here. It’s nothing too intimate, though; Nat seems aware of her privacy and what she wants other people to see. She seems to have a strict code on showing and telling. Peter isn’t part of her exclusive inner sanctum (yet).

(Clint struts in, then promptly struts out again, muttering something about letting someone else be the third wheel for a change.)

“Meeting overran,” he confesses, still curved over the bar, “Honestly, I keep telling them I’m retired.”

“Show them your birth certificate. Can’t possibly expect a man in his nineties to record another album.”

Steve laughs, and honestly, it’s like watching a scene out of a romantic movie. “For some reason, they just won’t believe me. They might believe you, though. You have a way of getting people to do what you want.”

Natasha pats his cheek gently. “Absolutely. Oh—and this is Peter, by the way. Anniversary gift from Stark.”

Steve’s eyes settle on him for the first time since he arrived, because it’s very clear that he’s the kind of guy who tunes out the rest of the world when his girlfriend is in the room. “I thought Stark got us a star for our anniversary. I love that star.”

“Of course you do,” Nat titters, “And Peter is filling in for Pietro.”

Steve offers Peter his hand, and he shakes it tentatively, because this is still Steve fucking Rogers. “Great to meet you, kid.”

“Oh,” Nat lowers her voice, “He’s not a kid. He just graduated high school.” When Peter’s mouth opens, she grins. “This is Steve. He hangs about here sometimes. Can’t seem to get rid of him. I have tried, believe me.”

“You’re Steve Rogers,” Peter breathes, dumbstruck, and it’s only when Nat and Steve share a bemused look that he breaks out of his stupor, cheeks flushed. He nervously looks at his feet. “Sorry—it’s just I’m a big fan.”

There isn’t anybody who hasn’t heard of Steve Rogers, as far as Peter is aware. He’s got all his albums on CD stacked on the shelves of his bedroom and he listens when he’s feeling particularly nostalgic, pressing them into the portable player May got him a lifetime ago and lying back on his bed. Steve is the Golden Boy of America’s pop music scene, his songs soulful and sad with a quiet, yet constant, lingering optimism. It’s the kind of music that reminds him of leaves in the fall and sitting alone on the subway. The kind of voice you could get lost in, but not in the unknown, terrifying kind of the way. It’s like he’s trying to guide you home.

Steve and Nat share a look and Peter fears that he’s made a bit of an idiot of himself. Again.

“Whatever you do, don’t ask for his autograph,” Natasha scrunches her nose, glancing up at her boyfriend. Steve looks mildly entertained. Like he’s used to it. “His ego is big enough as it is.”

Steve shakes his head. His hand reaches across the bar and squeezes Natasha’s shoulder. She softly runs her hand over his knuckles—it feels weird, to use the word soft to describe Natasha, because from what Peter has seen (in his admittedly limited experience) she’s never anything but razor sharp. “You’ll come to realise, Peter, that this woman never has a day off.”

Natasha’s smile is wistful, longing. “I don’t have time for days off.”

The room suddenly feels heavy and Peter can feel something lurking under the surface of their dialogue, something that’s not being said while he’s there watching. Steve looks away, smiling at the ground. Look—he’s not that into tabloids or dumb E! News twitter threads where their pictures are plastered about like incriminating photo albums, but he’s not totally unaware of it either. He knows Nat’s surname because he’s seen her red hair on the cover of magazines at the drugstore countless times, on May’s coffee table. Some of them have been holding Steve’s hand. Some of them are just Steve. Some of them are Steve with other women.

He’s got enough knowledge to know that this relationship mustn’t be…easy. Or conventional, at the very least. Not that he knows much about that. He knows about as much about romantic love as he does parental.

(Aka, not much at all.)

Wanda is the one who breaks the moment. “Nat, Clint is asking—oh, hi Steve!”

Steve smiles and the two share a quick embrace, because Steve definitely seems like the hugging type. Meanwhile, Natasha walks round the bar and beside him—Steve slings an arm casually round her shoulder, and it’s so comfortable and natural that Peter feels something shift in his chest. Wanda lets them know that Clint needs to run over the inventory before opening in a couple of hours, so Nat leaves Peter in Wanda’s capable hands while her and Steve head down to the basement together. Peter can’t seem to drag his eyes away from them.

“You too, huh?” Wanda remarks, one eyebrow raised. Peter blinks, not sure what she means. “They’re magnetic, right? And not just because they’re both ridiculously attractive.”

Peter flushes—for what seems like the millionth time since he arrived—and covers his hands with his sleeve. “I don’t—“

“We’ve all thought it, one time or another. There isn’t anybody else like them.” Wanda smiles softly. “They haven’t had it easy but they’re happy now, so. Every cloud, yes?”

Peter nods hesitantly. “What do you mean…haven’t had it easy?”

Wanda’s smile is still gentle, but there’s an unwavering nature to it. She seems to float past him, like she’s not quite real, an ethereal ghost. “That’s not for me to tell. But I can tell you how to make more than just a mojito, if that’s adequate?”

Peter feels himself relaxing, the tension vanishing from his shoulders. Wanda is a little less terrifying than Natasha. Her eyes are big and touched with melancholy, but there’s no bitterness there. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be really adequate, thanks.”

His first shift—well, his first shift is insane, and he completely and totally understands why Tony thought this place would cure his college related existential crisis. The bar is packed from the moment the door opens because even though there’s no live music tonight, Clint and Nat’s sick playlists seem to reel in people from all over the city and further out. A bearded guy in a Led Zep shirt drunkenly tells Peter that he’s come all the way from Toronto to listen to Hawkeye and Black Widow, and he’s really not sure what that means.

There are also people who are here when they realise Steve is about, from Twitter or whatever. He’s not exactly under the radar as he seems to spend a lot of his free time in Endgame (for obvious reasons) but as soon as the customers start coming in, he edges away, disappearing off into the basement while Nat, Clint and the rest of them work. Other than Wanda, there’s only one more employee who turns up—a tall, buff British guy called Thor who wanders in about fifteen minutes before opening time with hair off a Herbal Essences commercial. He slaps Peter on the arm and almost knocks the wind out of him.

By the time closing time hits Peter feels battered, bruised and a little like he’s fallen out of a top floor window, his shirt covered in shit tons of unnameable alcoholic combinations and his head beating like a bass drum. Clint, Nat, Wanda and Thor weave between people and the bar like it’s ingrained in them, grinning and laughing and seemingly knowing everybody. As the cool, 2am air of August hits his face like a slap round the face, Peter wonders if he’d actually been holding his breath the whole time, waiting for the storm to be over.

He almost throws up on the stairs. Almost. He kind of wants to go home, go to bed, and never come back here again. Everything—it just happens a lot, always. Maybe he is just a kid. Maybe he’s not ready for a life outside of education, like Tony had said.

He feels a hand curl round his shoulder and he starts, but when he turns he sees Steve, oddly reassuring and stable in this new world that makes no sense whatsoever.

“You alright, Peter?” he asks, warm and empathetic, “Maybe you should sit down.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, instead sitting on the damp, stone steps that lead up to the entrance. Peter sighs heavily, goosebumps bristling up and down his arms. Cautiously, he eases down next to him. Wonders how his life got to this.

“It can get pretty intense in there, huh?” Steve nudges him with his shoulder. “I thought that when I first started singing in public, like my heart was just going to rip out my chest. But it gets easier. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

Peter laughs a little at that. There’s a scab on his left thumb and he picks at it out of habit. “I think Clint was right. I’m not the kind of guy they like here.”

“God, don’t let him hear you say that. Clint can’t ever be right. The universe would implode.”

Natasha appears at the front door from nowhere, as is the pattern, and it’s the first time Peter’s seen her all evening properly—she’s wearing a black lace camisole and leather pants that leave very little to the imagination, but Peter knows better (and is better) to let his eyes hover for too long. Her lipstick matches the color of her hair. She’s absolutely breath-taking, like a rebellious Hollywood starlet. It’s the first time he’s seen her tattoos, too; she has a spider on her left shoulder, an arrow on the other and there’s the smooth curve of a circle that peaks out of the waistband of her trousers. She hands Peter a paper cup filled with water. Come to think of it, not drinking anything all night was probably a bad idea, adding dehydration to a general sense of, you know, existential dread.

“It’s just your first day, buddy,” Steve says, “It’s new. That’s all.”

“I think you did pretty well for someone with no experience,” interjects Nat. Steve gives her an exaggerated look of shock. “Hey. I said pretty well. He’s still got a lot to learn.”

“Praise indeed! You should be proud, kid. Took her over a year for her to say anything remotely nice about me.”

“That, and also I’d take every opportunity to prove Tony Stark wrong about something.” Nat smirks. “You just got to get into the music, then you won’t be able to fucking wait to come back.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles, looking up at her, “She’s pretty exceptional at making mixtapes.”

He’s entering yet another moment that feels like an intrusion just being there, another conversation without words. He’s been the third-wheel before—countless awkward dates at the Cheesecake Factory—but this feels like a whole other level of it, because the worst kind of couple to tag along with are the ones that use silence like it’s not silence at all.

“Am I…alright to go?” Peter asks quietly, folding the cup in his hands. He’s not sure how all this works.

Nat nods. “Yeah, seeing as it’s your first day. But tomorrow you’re helping with the clean-up.”

“How are you getting back?” Steve is already sifting through dollars in his wallet, “Get a cab on me.”

“Oh—Mr Rogers, I couldn’t possibly…”

“It’s Steve, and you absolutely can.” He hands him twenty, and Nat audibly sighs from behind him. “What? What is it?”

Natasha looks totally unsurprised. “Clint was right about something. You’re totally adopting our new bartender. He’s only been here a day!”

Peter has to admit, having Steve Rogers look out for him is hardly the most disastrous thing to come out of this shift. He half-smiles, mostly to himself, unfurling the twenty between his fingers. Steve just shoots Nat a withering, long-suffering look, because this is what Steve calls being nice.

“Thank you, Steve,” Peter says, standing up, “And thanks for the water.”

Steve salutes a goodbye and Nat walks down the stairs, filling the space Peter leaves. As he saunters down the sidewalk, he picks up snippets of their conversation:

“Which star do you think is ours? You know. The one Stark bought us.”

“Oh, shut up about that goddamn star. Stark will really try and buy anything, won’t he? Even bits of the universe. You’re supposed to—I think you should just leave the cosmos the hell alone. We don’t have to understand everything.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” A pause. “The science is neither here nor there for me. And Stark’s capitalist consumerist ideology aside…I just like to think the stars all come out for you.”

(He thinks about that all the way home, in the slow hum of the cab, the buzzing tinnitus in his ears. He thinks about loving someone so much you want the whole universe to exist just for them.)

The first thing he does when he gets home is Google them. He can’t help himself. He just—he has to know more. But as soon as he types in their names, and a ton of unsavoury articles mentioning other women and possibilities about Natasha’s past come up, he feels disgusted with himself. This isn’t the truth. This is just hearsay and shady sources and the edges of facts cobbled together with hyperbolic adjectives and PVA glue. This feels voyeuristic and weird, like he’s doing something explicitly wrong, like he’s listening to high school gossip.

He turns to Instagram instead. Natasha’s—predictably—is on private and he’s too awkward to send a request, and the blur of red on the icon might not even be her. Steve’s is a lot easier to find. He’s got almost three million followers and a blue tick, his photo an outtake from some shoot where he’s laughing like a maniac. His most recent picture isn’t even of him. It’s Natasha, caught off guard in the basement of Endgame, looking through the stack of records he’d seen on the coffee table. When he swipes along there’s another where she’s using a Bon Iver vinyl to cover her face, looking beneath her eyelashes at the camera. The caption reads though she be but little, she is fierce.

And this—this, he realises, is the only narrative of the two of them that matters.

The next day he wakes with a thumping headache. When he asks May if there’s any aspirin, she looks at him with a mix of disappointment and muted shock.

“Yes, I agreed with Tony when he said getting a job would be good for you, but really Peter?” she tuts, to Peter’s confusion, popping two tablets out of the tray and into his hands. “What was it, then? Beer? Rum? Vodka?”

Oh. Oh. She thinks… “Relax, May. I didn’t do anything. The music was just loud, that’s all.”

May doesn’t look entirely convinced, her eyes slightly narrowed, but it admittedly isn’t in Peter’s character to engage with any underage drinking (even though that’s what he’d probably do in college, if he was still going). Clint had slid him across a jack and coke with a wink at some point after midnight, but he’d let it go warm on the counter. The only time he’d ever really drunk was at Liz Allan’s New Year’s party at the end of junior year, and that was only to prove to that dumbass Flash Thompson that he wasn’t a pussy. His puke tasted like beer and then that just made him puke more.

“I just worry about you. I’ve never pictured you working in a place like that.” May sits at the kitchen counter, watching him as he swallows back the pills. “Couldn’t you send your resume to a bookstore or something? Bryony from Pilates says she’s looking for a new waiter at her place. Maybe that’s more your… thing.”

It’s quite likely that’s more his thing, but the told you so that would come out of Tony’s mouth is persuasion enough to keep on at it. Yeah, he feels like death and another night like yesterday is not going to make that any better, but surely he’ll get used to it. Right?

“I’m not quitting already. It wasn’t so bad. Plus, I got to meet Steve Rogers.”

May’s eyes almost bulge out of her head. “Excuse me? Steve Rogers as in…?”

“Yep,” Peter pops the ‘p’, grin tugging at his lips. His aunt isn’t exempt in the nationwide crush everybody has on Steve Rogers. “The manager—well, one of the managers—is his girlfriend. You know Nat Romanoff?”

“Oh, so she’s Nat Romanoff to you,” May chides, “Didn’t realise you two had got so close already.”

“Shut up. She’s kind of terrifying. So is the other guy who runs the place. But there’s a girl there—Wanda. She’s pretty awesome.”

May purses her lips, studying his expression. “Is she pretty pretty too?”

“No!” Peter replies a little too quickly, to May’s delight, “No—she’s… nice, but she’s a bit older than me. Anyway, I’ve told you before. I’m not looking for anything like that.”

(It’s been almost a year since Liz Allan tore his heart to pieces and he’s still not over it. It’s kind of pathetic, really. They were never really dating to begin with, but it all felt so real anyway.)

“Alright,” May hums, “Just…be careful, okay? I heard you come back late last night and I hate thinking about you walking about on your own.”

He wants to say that he’s eighteen and basically an adult and that New York City at 3am doesn’t scare him, but him and May have been so close his whole life and it must be difficult, her watching the little boy dropped abruptly on her doorstep all those years ago growing up and moving on. Other than Uncle Tony, who walks in and out of his life when it suits him, May is all he has. And she’s only got him. There’s a lifeline there that holds them indefinitely together and she hates watching it stretch, fray.

“Steve got me a cab,” he says gently, “And I’ll bring my bike tonight. I’m totally fine. I promise.”

She gets up, kisses him on the top of his head, between the curls that are still damp from the shower. It makes him feel like a kid, but not in the restrictive, controlling way Tony does when he’s pissed at him. It makes him feel nostalgic for the time where May would kiss his scraped knees better when he tripped on the sidewalk and make him peanut butter sandwiches with the crusts cut off for his lunch box.

“I love you more than anything,” May says, her mantra. You don’t have a lot, but you do have me.

Peter smiles. Blinks slowly. “I love you too, May.”

Just before he leaves the apartment for another round, a notification lights up his phone. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he opens the text anyway, and it’s a link to a Spotify page ran by username blackwidow. The playlist is titled for peter.

“You’ve looked them both up on Instagram, right?”

Wanda says this as she drops on the sofa next to him, propping her feet on the coffee table. Clint and Nat are bickering in the office adjoined to the kitchen and occasionally he can see one of them through the window—he’s almost certain at one point Nat had Clint by the throat, but Thor looks at him, shaking his head. You just gotta let them ride this one out.

“Uh…what?” Peter absent-mindedly replies, dragging his eyes away from the pot of pens that has just collided with the window. Wanda doesn’t react. It must be normal.

“Steve and Natasha,” Wanda elaborates, “I did. It’s the first thing I did, after I met them. You wanna know about someone’s life, you find their social media. Or lack of it.”

Peter sighs. Well, at least it’s not just him. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m assuming you haven’t sent Natasha a request.”

“Nope.”

Wanda grins. “She’s meticulous. Natasha. Obsessed with privacy and who gets to see what. I’m surprised she has social media at all. I mean…it’s not illogical, considering, but she does not reveal her soul to just anybody. Steve, on the other hand, is an open book. Not very good at hiding anything. Which is usually a good thing, sometimes not.”

Peter tilts his head, taking Wanda in. She’s wearing makeup today, black smudged round her eyes. May’s right, she is pretty pretty. “You seem to know quite a lot about them.”

“I’ve worked with them for a while now. And anyway. They’re interesting. You see it, too. Sometimes it’s hard to look away when they’re together.” Wanda doesn’t flinch when another crash comes from the office. “You wonder how they work, because they seem so very different.”

Peter shrugs. She’s not wrong, obviously, but he doesn’t want to look too interested, like the creepy fans that leave leery comments on Steve’s pictures. “People do say that opposites attract.”

“People are stupid. And vague. What even are opposites?” Wanda’s laugh is low and sort of croaky. “I am just glad they found their way back to each other.”

“How did they even meet?”

Wanda’s smile is the same one he saw yesterday, like he’s encountered a dead end and she knows it. This is not her story to tell, like so many others. “I am sure you will find out eventually.”

Clint bursts out of the office, then, dabbing at a cut on his cheek with a napkin. He looks kind of like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards, flustered and breathing hard. His eyebrows lift when he sees Peter sitting there, offering the two of them a quick greeting.

“Oh, and Clint!” Natasha calls out, appearing from behind the door, “Could you get me an iced latte?”

Clint considers for a second, before nodding. She throws him her reusable mug and he catches it with one hand before turning to leave.

“Don’t even try and get me to explain that relationship,” Wanda says, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Peter laughs under his breath. It’s like Nat said, in the conversation he shouldn’t have heard. We don’t have to understand everything.

At about 11pm that night he joins Wanda for a cigarette out the back fire door and for the first time, he feels kind of cool, watching as the end burns a tiny amber dot, ripping a hole in the black. He’d never smoke one himself—the fact that May is horrified by him consuming alcohol is bad enough—but he likes watching her, how oddly and decadently beautiful the smoke unfurling from her lips is.

At the bottom of the alley, a motorbike pulls up and a man that looks vaguely Steve-shaped jumps off of it. Wanda glances at him with a smirk, stubbing out the cigarette with the toe of her boot. His arms fold out, and a woman runs into them, their laughter echoing down the street. They obviously don’t know that him and Wanda are watching; it feels like a private glimpse that they’re not supposed to see, a privilege. Natasha’s legs wrap round his waist. They hold each other for what feels like minutes, hours.

He can’t take his eyes away the whole time.

“I told you,” Wanda elbows him, brushing past to get to the door. “They’re magnetic. You’re pulled into their orbit.”

“I just…I don’t know why,” Peter says, dumbfounded, “Maybe it’s the way they look at each other? Like the whole world could burn to ashes and they’d just…stand, in the afterglow.”

“You’re poetic, Parker,” Wanda muses, “But you’re not wrong, either.”

They’re pulled back into the heat of the club when Clint realises they’re not working, grabbing them both by the shoulders and violently shoving them back onto the bar. He’s not paying them to gossip about snapchat and heelies, or whatever the kids are into these days, apparently. And Thor can only handle so much attention before his ego combusts.

He’s mixing a bad gin and tonic when Natasha and Steve finally come into the back. Her tiny frame guides him through the throngs of people as a The 1975 song plays in the background, crooning about skinny jeans and spare time and she’s got a boyfriend anyway. They disappear down the basement steps and Natasha must be a little drunk, he reckons, because the door is barely shut when they start kissing.

It takes about two and a half weeks, give or take, for things to start to feel normal. The hours fuck up any semblance of a sleeping pattern, but he’s no longer waking up with a thudding in his skull like a second heartbeat and Wanda’s tip about earplugs help a ton. He arrives at about three, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. He’s usually off again by two unless Nat or Clint are feeling generous about clean-up. The bar is shut every Sunday and the freedom is near divine. He doesn’t get up until midday and spends the rest of the day in his pajamas, eating pancakes and watching shitty reality television about people who are paid to sing badly or hate each other.

Steve is in the bar most nights and whilst he doesn’t always talk to Peter, he begins to miss him when he’s not there. He’s usually got a motivational speech or two in his back pocket, and it feels pretty fucking awesome that Steve Rogers seems to care a little about his wellbeing.

He hasn’t had the nerve to ask about how they met, yet. Wanda is still tight-lipped and Clint is borderline psychotic anyway, so each of them feel like a dead-end. He’s stuck with assumptions and watching them from his peripheral.

“You know, he wrote his last album about her,” Clint says in a rare moment of honesty, while they’re preparing for opening. Steve and Nat are tucked in a booth by the door, her knees brought to her chest, speaking impossibly close together. “It’s abhorrently adorable. Almost puked when I heard it.”

“What?” Peter says skeptically, “You mean the whole of See You In a Minute is about Natasha?”

“The whole goddamn thing. Sickening, isn’t it? I think the title is some sort of private joke between them.”

Peter doesn’t mention that Steve’s last album is his favorite, because he doesn’t need more excuses for Clint to bully him. Plus, he needs to push on. He needs to know more. “Have they always been like that? You know. Close.”

Clint pauses. He’s polishing glasses, but lays the cloth on the counter, looking over at him. “I’ve known Nat a long time. Long enough to know that it takes…a lot, to impress her. To pull her in. Even with me—and with Steve—it took her months to realise there was a mutual trust there.” He grins a little, showing the softer side to all that strident energy. “If you tell her this, I will violently murder you, but I love that girl to bits and I wouldn’t accept just anybody taking her away from me. But I accepted Steve immediately. So take from that what you will.”

It doesn’t really answer his question, but he supposes it answers a bunch of other unasked ones.

There’s a moment of silence. And then—

“Have you and Nat ever…?”

The look Clint gives him makes him realise he knows better than to finish that sentence.

(He brings up See You in a Minute on Spotify the moment he has time alone before opening, back on the leather couch in the basement. He figures the songs might have a new meaning now he knows who they’re about. His thumb taps the titular song—a slow, atmospheric ballad that sits in the recesses of his heart as soon as he hears the opening piano chords.

I have one last dance all saved up for you

He really wishes he wasn’t crying, but he just can’t help it.)

A band is playing that night called The Guardians who everyone but Peter seems to know well. They’re a six-piece retro rock band that the crowd goes wild for—they all have crazy hair colors and equally crazy names, apart from the lead singer, who’s messy brown hair is barely brushed and is weirdly also called Peter. They stay for a while after their set has finished, building up a substantial bar tab that Clint’s on their ass about. Peter Quill and his girlfriend Gamora (the other singer and guitar player of the band, her hair bright green and her lips painted black) sit on the stools and tease Peter (who they call Little P, hilarious) until closing time.

“Are you even allowed to serve alcohol?” Quill jibes, sipping a beer, “Isn’t there a rule against children being anywhere near liquor in public?”

Gamora pokes his shoulder. “Maybe it’s some sort of psychology project. He’s studying us for a paper.”

Peter can’t even be bothered to argue at this point. He still gets this same genre of comedy from Clint on a daily basis so what’s a couple more age-related jokes? He just smiles, mixing a cosmo for Gamora’s scary looking sister who silently glares at him from the stool next to her.

“You know what would be a fun psychology project,” Quill points a finger in Peter’s direction, “Nat Romanoff.”

Peter pauses for a second. “What makes you say that?”

Quill’s limbs are loose from all the drink he’s been downing before, during and after his performance, so his movements are all exaggerated and floppy. “Don’t tell me you’re not interested. Clint too. They both have shit in their pasts they don’t want us to know about.”

Gamora is decidedly more composed. She shakes her head, looking at Peter seriously. “All conjecture, of course. And none of our business.”

“I heard she was a spy for the Russian government,” Nebula casually mentions, her tone completely void of inflection. “She can slit someone’s neck with an envelope.”

All three of them look at Nebula, slightly aghast, but Nebula’s expression is so stoic and emotionless Peter can’t tell if she’s joking or not. Even Quill blinks heavily, knocked speechless.

“That’s…not what I meant,” Quill slurs, leaning in closer, “But there’s something there.” He taps the side of his nose. “Mark my words.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Gamora says, “Having a past you want to remain in the past is hardly rare.”

Peter’s beginning to notice a pattern with his colleagues. They all guard their memories under heavily armored doors and it’s only in occasional moments of softness or weakness where anything is ever revealed, and rarely by the person themselves. Clint let’s something slip about Natasha, Wanda about Clint. None of them really know anything about him.

“How long have you guys known Nat and Clint?” Peter asks, before tentatively adding, “And Steve?”

Quill and Gamora smile knowingly, like maybe this is a question that’s been asked before. Gamora presses a hand down on Quill’s shoulder. Peter hides the urge to sigh at another dead end. “We’ve been performing here since they opened, but if you actually want to know anything about them we’re probably the worst people to ask.”

Quill nods. “They don’t talk. If you ever find anything out, though, feel free to let us know.”

Peter laughs disbelievingly. “As if they’ll ever tell me anything.”

“Have you asked them?” Gamora replies, and Peter’s expression answers her question. “Little P, if they didn’t think they could trust you, they wouldn’t have hired you. They don’t let just anybody into their inner circle.”

“My uncle got me the job—he’s like, an investor, or something. Trust had nothing to do with it. Probably the opposite.”

Gamora’s lip curve, unconvinced. “I think you know it’s never quite that simple.”

“I don’t…I don’t even know why I’m so interested.”

“That’s what everybody says,” Gamora says wistfully, sliding him a tip across the counter. “And we should probably leave before he makes a fool of himself.”

(The he in question is Quill, who has since disappeared to join the dancing crowds with his shirt off. Nebula’s eye roll is mechanical, like the rest of her. Peter wonders if Quill and Gamora are her Steve and Nat; two wildly different individuals that seem joined together by something no-one else can see, that no-one quite understands. She downs the rest of her cocktail and makes her way towards the couple, who have since started kissing in the middle of the dancefloor.)

Gamora kind of reminds him of Michelle. Clever, beautiful, existing on a plane that floats way above everybody else. He swallows hard. He’s not sure where that thought came from.

By coincidence, MJ actually messages him about a week later. He’s been so busy either sleeping or working that all his friendships outside Endgame have taken a bit of a back-burner, texts stacking in his inbox that he’s been too tired to respond to. Besides, the only person he really keeps in contact with from high school is Ned and he’s spending the vacation before he goes to college with his family in Hawaii—he’s kept updated with sunkissed snapchats from the beach, exotic flowers and drinks in coconut shells. He’s hovered over Michelle’s name a few times over the past few weeks, but she isn’t always the kind to message back. She flies off grid as soon as school is out. There’s no point in tormenting himself over her lack of read receipts.

But when she messages, asking if they want to meet at the mall, he types sure before he can properly think about it. It’s a Sunday, after all, and he’s been thinking an awful lot about the limited relationships he has lately. What he wants them to be.

(That’s definitely a bi-product of Nat and Steve. He can’t put it down to anything else.)

MJ is sat by the fountain in the middle of the shopping complex reading a copy of Marx’s The Communist Manifesto, making notes with a tiny wooden Ikea pencil. Her dark hair is long and loose and she’s wearing a plaid shirt with sneakers, casually beautiful in the way she’s always been. It takes her a minute to look up and actually see him standing in front of her and when she does, her mouth opens a little, curved in a bemused grin.

“Woah, Peter,” she says, closing her book, “Didn’t realise you were edgy now.”

(She’s talking about his new Doc Martens that Wanda helped pick out. They’re shiny black leather and extremely uncomfortable, but you know, he’s getting down with the culture.)

“I’m…not,” Peter says. MJ laughs at his awkwardness. “You should see the people I work with.”

“This your new job, huh?” MJ eases back into the bench, crossing her legs. “Now you’ve decided to fuck college. Is this the beginning of a crisis? I’m getting vibes, here. Smart kids who screw college to work in a nightclub are definitely going on some sort of downward psychological spiral.”

Peter shrugs, smiling. Trust MJ to be brutally honest about his life choices. “Do you wanna grab coffee?”

“Yeah, as long as it’s not Starbucks. I’m not using my limited finances to fund their crooked corporate empire.”

They trail around for a bit before they find a cripplingly expensive but decidedly independent coffee house, filled with mismatched vintage furniture and hipster-types crowding the front windows with their moleskin notebooks. Peter feels out of place but Michelle fills the space like she owns it, lounging in an armchair angled away from the counter. She closes her eyes and asks for a chamomile tea and a blueberry muffin which he—he just gets for her.

He returns with an Americano for himself, because for some reason he wants MJ to think he’s the kind of person who drinks black coffee now, when in reality he’d prefer something fruity and sugary that has him flying off the walls.

“So…” Michelle starts as he falls into the sofa opposite, “You’re definitely not going to Princeton?”

Peter folds his legs. Tries to get comfortable. “I’m definitely not going to Princeton.”

“Interesting. Even though Tony Stark will probably fund, like, all your tuition fees?”

Peter rolls his eyes. He hates her insistence on bringing up the fact he has Tony in his life, a handy billionaire safety-blanket, like he can’t complain about anything ever. Yeah, sure, Tony would probably fund his way through college—but he wonders how much of that is guilt money, the dollars his mom and dad would have scraped together if they were still alive. Not everything is about money. Tony Stark is the kind of person MJ hates with every fibre of her being, but… Peter still loves him, and not just because he’s rich as shit. Even when he’s being super annoying.

Michelle smiles sadly when he doesn’t reply. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s just hard for me to get my head around, you know? I would commit homicide for someone to fund my way through college. Maybe I already have.”

Peter chuckles. Has a sip of his god-awful coffee. “Where are you even going for college? I don’t think you’ve ever said. In-state?”

“It’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually,” MJ admits, “It’s a bit further out than in-state.”

“Oh. Right. Pennsylvania?”

“Bit further than that.”

“…California?”

“Not exactly.”

“MJ, are you going to make me run through every college I know about? Tony’s shoved just about every prospectus in my direction so we might be here a while.”

“I got accepted onto a philosophy program,” MJ starts, bringing her teacup to her lips. “At University College London.”

Peter almost spits his coffee out everywhere.

“I honestly didn’t think anything would come of it. The whole admissions process in England is completely whack, and they don’t have SATs and stuff over there so I didn’t think I had a chance. But—I don’t know. Something happened, and I got in. So I guess I’m moving to London.”

He’s not completely sure what she’s saying, just watching her mouth move and nothing but blurred, incoherent noise reaching her. She said London. MJ is moving to London, and that’s a hell of a long way from anywhere.

“You’re moving to London?” he just about manages to squeak.

“Yep. Totally aced it, dude. Time to live my English dream. You know. Try and abolish the class system they have over there and stage a revolution against their monarchy.”

A vacuum opens in his stomach, like he’s just now realising that he doesn’t really want to live in a country that isn’t the same as MJ’s. But she looks so happy. He doesn’t want to be, but he can’t help it. He can’t not be happy for someone who is about to do everything they’ve ever wanted.

Nevertheless, it’s an inconvenient epiphany. Wanting to hold onto someone as soon as they tell you they’re going to leave.

“Congratulations,” he says, hoping there isn’t a crack in his voice. “That’s…incredible, MJ. You’re awesome.”

“I know! And now you’re earning a proper wage like an adult, you can totally come and visit me over there. We can eat scones and laugh at how ridiculous British accents are.” She kicks him gently, grinning. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter says quietly. “Yeah, of course I will.”

“Cool. Now we’ve got that out the way…” MJ reaches into her bag, bringing out her little black copy of The Communist Manifesto. “Can I interest you in a dialogue with my new BFF, Karl?”

He sinks back into his chair, feels his whole body bleed between the fabric and through the floorboards.

He walks into work the next day and finds Steve and Natasha sitting in one of the booths. Steve has an acoustic guitar and he’s strumming chords while Nat is nodding along, pointing at something on a scrap of notebook paper in front of him. Occasionally, he’ll grab a marker and cross something out or scribble something down. When the door shuts behind him, the two of them look over. God. He’s got a running habit of ruining moments.

“Hey Peter!” Steve calls out in his usual, friendly way, “What’s up?”

He’s about to reply, but Natasha edges in first. “Come over here. Let’s talk.”

There’s something ominous in her tone but Natasha is impossible to predict, so a vague sense of anxiety haunts him as he sidles over to the booth and sits slowly in the space Nat has made for him. He wonders if she’s firing him but Steve looks chipper—surely he wouldn’t look that happy if he was about to lose his job, right? Maybe his not so discrete interest in their relationship has…got back to them? He’s already imagining the look on Tony’s face. I said you needed a reality check.

“Am I in trouble?”

Nat laughs. Even that is low and sultry, somehow sexy. Steve laughs too. “Peter—I know we tease you about it, but you do realise you’re not in school, right? And…calm, measured conversation isn’t usually how we deal with things here.”

He recalls the argument in the office a few weeks prior. Yeah, sounds about right.

“We just want to know about you,” Nat continues, “Because—I know a lot about the people I work with. But I don’t know anything about you, other than what Stark has said. And I trust his judgement about as much as I trust Steve’s.”

“Hey!” Steve says with a pout, “My judgement is perfect, thank you very much.”

“It’s the opposite of perfect, but okay, Mr I-trust-everybody-I’ve-met-ever.”

Steve shakes his head at him. “This is what I get for not being openly hostile all the time.”

“It’s got me and Clint this far. Anyway, I digress.” She nudges Peter gently. “Tell us something about you.”

Peter is mildly suspicious about the whole thing and doesn’t know what to say, so just stares vacantly at the two of them.

“Okay…well, at least we know you’re not a talker,” Nat murmurs, “So how about I ask you a question. Who was the girl you were with at the mall yesterday?” Peter’s jaw swings open like a door on a loose hinge. Nat half-smiles. “I saw you when I was coming out the Urban Outfitters. I’m curious.”

Steve glowers at her. “Peter, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to. She’s insatiable.”

“Oh, yeah. But if you don’t answer it you’ll be kind of answering it, if you get what I mean.”

Peter’s taken aback. For someone who is so private about everything, she’s appears to have no qualms investigating his private life. He coughs on nothing and shifts in his seat awkwardly. “Just a friend. From school. It isn’t—she isn’t…”

Nat laughs under her breath, looking over at Steve. “He’s right. It’s none of my business. But you two looked good together. That’s always a good start.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, and she sighs.

“I think so,” Nat splays her hands out on the table. He notices her fingernails are painted electric blue. “But, sure. It isn’t everything.”

“What is everything?”

The question catches both of them off guard and Peter instantly regrets asking, wishing he could catch his words back in a butterfly net and shove them back inside of him. The two of them are…they’re untouchable, Wanda and Clint have both made that equally clear. It’s something you find out, not something you’re told. But it’s too late now. Steve and Nat look at each other in a minute of an intense, burning eye contact and not for the first time Peter imagines being swallowed up by the seat whole.

“I guess…” Steve begins but trails off. Peter watches as his fingers inch closer to Natasha’s on a table, like they’re playing a complex game wherein they discover where their boundaries are, how far they can go while he’s still there. “I guess everything is when you’re sat in a room, and there could be just one person it or thousands, but it doesn’t matter because none of those faces are the one you want it to be. The only perfect room, the only one you’ll ever be happy in, is the one they inhabit with you. To leave it…or for them to leave, feels like you’re constantly just gasping for air.”

Natasha looks away. Somehow, Steve manages to drag his eyes away from her, after saying all that, and back to Peter.

“But sometimes everything is just knowing the favorite brand of ice cream they like to eat when everything is awful or the setting they prefer their washing machine on. It’s all about striking a balance.” He half-smiles. “Sometimes it takes a while to find it.”

Peter frowns. He likes Michelle, likes her more than he’d ever let on if the uncontrollable reaction his body had after she said she was leaving is anything to go by, but how can he know if it’s everything? What Steve is saying sounds suspiciously like soulmates, if they exist. That not being with them feels like dying. What he feels for MJ is blurry, inconstant; but it’s there all the same. He’s not sure if that flame is supposed to become anything more. Not that it matters.

“Michelle is moving to London for college,” Peter says desolately, then rolls his shoulders. “She’ll be living a whole other life over there. I can’t expect her to fit me into it, even if she liked me back.”

“Hey, Peter?” Nat says with a sympathetic smile, “Distance sucks, but you know what sucks more? Waiting too long. We know a thing or two about it, and I’d recommend quite heavily against it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve adds his two cents, “I’d give it a one star review on Amazon for being the worst ever. Not what I ordered, arrived broken, the lot.”

Clint enters and asks if they need a witness to sign the adoption papers and Nat throws a dirty washcloth at him, everything returning to normal. But there’s a warm feeling in Peter’s chest, because this is the closest he’s ever got. Maybe Gamora was right.

He sends Michelle a text that night, asking if they could maybe meet up again. She doesn’t reply. Maybe she never will, because that happens. But he’s not waiting too long. It’s not what he ordered.

They have an evening off a couple of weeks later because it’s Nat’s birthday. Apparently it’s tradition that whenever her or Clint turn a year older they fuck potential profit for a day and spend the night drinking whatever they can get their hands on. Instead, Peter’s invited to a small party that is hosted at Clint’s apartment across town—he’s still dragged to the bar a couple of hours before, however, to roll kegs of beer and various bottles of multi-colored spirits from the storeroom to Clint’s car for the occasion. He vanishes back home to shower and change before returning, May hastily shoving a bottle of wine into his hands as a gift as he leaves. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Nat drink white at all, but hey. He’s only little. He doesn’t know much about liquor.

Clint buzzes him in and he follows the drum beat in the corridor to his top-floor apartment; the door is open so he just walks in, but is surprised when he sees nobody about. The speaker is blasting music into an empty room and if it wasn’t for Wanda entering the kitchen, he’d assume he’d come to the wrong house.

“Peter!” she says excitedly, squeezing him into a tight hug. Her dark hair is loose across her shoulders and she’s wearing a burgundy dress that floats above her knees. He can’t help but smile at her. “So glad you could make it!”

He leans out of the embrace, putting the wine on the counter. Glasses are spread out without any clear design, interspersed with opened bottles of various drinks. As far as he can see, there’s no non-alcoholic alternatives—May would probably freak out. “Where is everybody?”

“Did Clint not tell you? We’re on the roof. I’m just off to the bathroom but if you go through the door off the kitchen and up the fire escape you won’t miss it.”

She bounds away so he slowly makes his way up as per Wanda’s instructions. As soon as he opens the door he can hear chatter and laughter, and upon reaching the top he finds an area covered in strings of white fairy lights and odd chairs from jarring furniture sets. A bar runs along the edge near the wall where Clint is mixing drinks, rows of glasses filled with a very generous amount of vodka and garnished with olives. There are people he recognises—Steve and Natasha are tucked into a loveseat, finally comfortable with the eyes on them, with Thor perched on the edge—but mostly people he doesn’t. A man with white hair sits comfortably with a brunette woman, while two unknown men stand deep in conversation off to the side. Nobody notices him straightaway and he feels little odd, the youngest there, but Clint dramatically fist-pumps the air.

“Parker!” he exclaims, walking over and clapping him ferociously on the shoulder. He wonders just how long the drinking has been going before he arrived as he tries not to cough up his lungs. “No extra-curriculars tonight? Lacrosse, maybe?”

“Leave him alone, Clint!” Natasha says, to Peter’s surprise, but then— “He’s way too little for lacrosse. I think he’s more of a mathlete.”

“Who’s kid brother is this, then?” One of the men he clocked earlier calls out before heading over, “Could be Rogers, I suppose. You both have that needy white boy look about you.”

Peter sighs, stretching out his arms. “Should we just get all the insults out the way now? Then we can move on with our lives.”

Needless to say, the insults don’t decrease with time—if anything they continue to spike as more vodka is consumed and less fucks are given, which are outstandingly little to begin with. Sam—a friend of Steve’s from his touring days—is by far the most scathing, not letting him rest for a second. Peter kind of likes it, though. It’s the way a lot of them show affection for each other, brutally kicking the shit at every opportunity. Steve’s other friend is Bucky, someone from childhood, and the white-haired guy is Wanda’s brother Pietro who left Endgame for music management somewhere. Maria and Phil work in legal and know Clint and Nat from wherever they were before Endgame. A good-natured yet authoritative man called Rhodey turns up later, who Peter recognises from Tony’s offices but has never actually met. Maybe Tony and Pepper will turn up at some point. Maybe they won’t.

Clint offers him one of Nat’s Special Birthday Martinis. He’s on the edge of turning it down, but everybody is laughing and he kind of feels part of this, so why not. The taste is bitter and awful and Clint laughs at him for a very long time, until his eyes water and he has to go and sit down. He talks to Wanda and Pietro, about their life in Sokovia before civil war ripped it to pieces, and Steve mentions how he took Nat out for Chinese food and champagne.

Steve brings in Natasha’s cake and Nat flushes—just a little—as she sees the candles flicker in the relative darkness, like Steve is holding a fire in his hands. Her eyes flutter closed as she blows out the candles and Peter muses on what she wished for, or if she wished at all. The alcohol makes his stomach feel warm, and the people make him feel warm, and he thinks this little party in this pocket of New York City may be one of the happiest moments of his life.

As the hours lull into the coolness of the morning, guests in various states of drunkenness either leave or continue on into Clint’s apartment. Peter takes a minute to steady himself, his heady heart and clouded head. He clings onto the metal railings until his knuckles turn white, staring out over the city. His city. He can’t go to college because he can’t leave here, all the lights and the heat and the music. New York is him and he is New York. This is something that cannot be ever taken away from him.

He hears footsteps and instead of you know, staying, like a normal person, Peter’s instinct is to duck behind the bar. He’s not ready for anyone to see him yet. He just wants a couple more moments alone with the world—plus he feels a little drunk, and being drunk is the best right here.

The footsteps come to a halt barely feet away from him. He’s not trying to listen as this is weird enough as it is, but it’s difficult not to. It’s Steve and Natasha.

“Another year, another one of Clint’s illegal martinis.” Steve’s voice. “Or two. Or several.”

Nat laughs lightly. “I’m going to go with several. I better not be holding your hair back while you puke tonight, boy. It’s my birthday.”

“Well—technically it stopped being your birthday a few hours ago, Nat, but I’ll let it slide because I love you.”

“You love me, huh? That’s certainly a new development.”

“Nah, it isn’t. Loved you the moment I saw you.”

“You fall in love with everybody.”

“Not in the way I love you. God, Nat. Do you actually realise what you do to me? Every time I look at you—you rip all the air out of my lungs.”

“That sounds pretty painful.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s agony. But it’s worth every second because…because you’re you. After everything. You’re you.”

There’s a few seconds of quiet. Peter wishes he’d just gone because as much as he wanted to know about them, to feel closer to them, this isn’t…this isn’t it. This is too private. Maybe if he edges along, he could sneak…

“Marry me.” Steve’s voice hangs in the night, like one of his songs. Poignant. “Marry me, Natasha.”

Nat is quieter than Peter’s ever heard it. It’s quiet, and it cracks in the middle. “Is that Clint’s martinis talking?”

“No. No. This is me talking. Marry me. You know—you know I’d be happy, forever, with what we have now. But I want to. I really, really want to.”

“Steve…” her voice is barely a whisper. Peter’s hand balls into fists. He’s here and yeah, he shouldn’t be, but he’s goddamn invested at this point. “I’ve been told that I can be pretty hard to deal with, sometimes. I’m reluctant to inflict that on somebody forever.”

“For you to inflict your inconstant, confusing, ridiculous self on me forever would be a privilege, Romanoff.”

“You really do have an answer for anything, don’t you? Insufferable asshole.”

“I’m your insufferable asshole.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

At that moment Peter’s leg just…involuntarily spasms. His foot collides with a nearby chair and it shifts across the concrete loudly, his cover completely blown. Shit. There’s no hiding now, so he peeks round the edge of the bar, finding Steve and Natasha stood with their arms around each other.

“Hello,” Peter says sheepishly, pointing towards the door, “I was just—“

“Parker, you’re not going anywhere.” Nat grabs him by his shirt and pulls him up, but there’s no malice on her face. Instead of violently throwing him off the top of this very high building for perving on their proposal, she drops him on one of the sofas. Steve hands him a nearby martini, amused by the whole situation if anything.

“You’re sitting there, and I’m telling you everything you want to know.”

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu #avengers #captain america #black widow #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #stevenat #steve x natasha #peter parker #mcu fic #fanfic #romanogers fic

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