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firebrands · 4 years

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a catalog of non-definitive acts | steve rogers/tony stark (7/7)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, mature, 5k of them gala drama, pining, and after all this - confessing how they feel | previous | on ao3

The press has a conniption when Bruce opens the door of his car and Tony steps out of the passenger seat. They haven’t arrived together for a party in years, and Bruce looks very dapper, Tony is sure he looks even better, and it’s very easy to fall into a standard pattern. They smile and wave, and Bruce tosses the keys to the valet.

As they walk up the steps, they stop to pose for photos at the entrance of the Met. Bruce wraps an arm around Tony’s waist, holds him close. A reporter shouts over the din of shutters snapping: “Are you each other’s dates?”

“Why must we come with dates?” Bruce says, smirk on his lips. “Is it not enough to arrive at all?”

Tony laughs, ducks his head close to Bruce’s ear and whispers to him: “You’re the worst.”

“So what am I tonight, bait or a rebound?” Bruce had asked in the car.

“How about a friend, you asshole?” Tony laughed, shoving Bruce’s shoulder.

“How boring,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes.

“Somehow I think you’ll manage,” Tony said, settling into his seat and fiddling with Bruce’s selection of music. He briefly considers taking a nap, but he’s still too wired from the indeterminate number of coffees he’s had, all to make up for the indeterminate number of hours he hasn’t slept.

The press goes a little wild at Bruce’s possessive grip, and Tony hams it up, rests his head on Bruce’s shoulder for another photo before they’re ushered inside.

“Friendly enough?” Bruce teases, picking up two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handing one to Tony.

“One could argue that you were too friendly,” Tony says, rolling his eyes again. He figures he’ll be doing that a lot tonight, if Bruce keeps this insufferable flirt persona up.

They make a round of greeting their standard socialite circle, stopping occasionally to admire the art. It’s in those pockets of silence that Tony’s mind drifts back to someone he knows would appreciate it more.

Tony probably looks pensive, which is probably why Bruce elbows him softly in the ribs and says, “You’d tell me, right?”

“Tell you what?” Tony asks, taking a step away from Bruce and his elbows.

“If you needed me to be bait or a rebound.”

“Good lord Bruce, what are we, fifteen? I don’t need your help with my love life.”

“Oh, sure, because you’ve had such a stellar history.”

“Oh and you do? Fuck off.”

Bruce laughs at this, takes Tony’s hand and rests it in the crook of his elbow, and steers him away from the Magritte they’d spent too much time standing in front of. It’s one of his famous ones; a man and woman with veils draped over their faces, kissing. The Lovers.

“So what happened between you two?” Bruce asks, downing his glass and holding his hand outwards, waiting for a tray to appear under it.

“Was I wrong to expect anything more than gossip from you?” Tony asks, taking a sip of his tiny espresso, prepared especially for him.

Now it’s Bruce’s turn to roll his eyes. “Concern, Tony. Ever heard of it?”

“Phrase your concern in a tone less suited to a fishwife, then.”

“Fine,” Bruce says sarcastically. “Do you love him?”

“This a scoop for page six? Jesus, Bruce. Why do you care?”

“Because you’ve been moping this entire evening.”

“And here I was thinking I was having a good time. Thanks for illuminating me on how I really feel,” Tony snaps, tugging his hand away from Bruce’s elbow.

Bruce makes an exasperated noise and catches Tony’s wrist as Tony turns away. “God, Tony. I’m sorry.”

Tony wrenches his wrist free and sighs, the fight going out of him all at once. “It’s fine.” He downs the rest of his coffee and a waiter appears at his side, ready to take the cup. The man’s mouth opens, about to ask if Tony wants more, but Tony cuts him off with a shake of his head. He feels tired. Not just from the lack of sleep, but from everything else; long hours in the workshop, making conversation with the other attendees of the fundraiser, the surprise of seeing Steve in the lobby earlier that night—pretending, pretending, pretending.

Maybe, he thinks, as Bruce once again places Tony’s hand on the crook of his elbow, it’s time to get some rest. He recognizes these signs best, when the fight goes out of him, when he’s tired himself out through sheer force of will. Maybe tonight his brain can finally shut down for a few hours. Hopefully.

He’s tired of missing Steve most of all, missing the casual banter they shared, the way Steve would look at him. And why did loving someone have to render you so helpless against it? If Bruce had continued his line of questioning, if he’d ask, well—why? Tony wouldn’t be able to answer. It’s—it’s a feeling in your gut. Attraction, affection, the small pockets of acceptance that only Steve could ever telegraph.

But it’s done now. Tony’s done with that now, and he’s tired. He’s tired of everything. He never wants to feel anything ever again.

Tony picks up a glass of champagne and drinks it in one gulp. Bruce makes a face.

Eventually they stop and stand in front of another Magritte: a self portrait of him painting a bird. The work is called La Clairvoyance. Tony snorts when he reads it.

“What?” Bruce asks, eyes trained on the canvas.

“Some futurist,” Tony murmurs.

Bruce hums in response, then says, “Sometimes we focus too much on the possibilities instead of seeing what’s right in front of us.”

Tony makes a face. “That’s not what this painting is about.”

“You know sometimes Tony, you don’t know how to listen,” Bruce says, very casually, like he isn’t striking the core of Tony. “Or maybe you just don’t want to.”

“Or maybe,” Tony ventures, very sarcastically, “there’s nothing to listen to.”

“Oh?”

“I—I just.” Tony shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Bruce sighs. “Okay,” he says, giving Tony’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

A beat passes, then Tony says, “I pay attention.” He knows how petulant he sounds and doesn’t care.

“I know,” Bruce says softly. “But maybe not to the right things, sometimes.”

Tony makes an annoyed sound, but says nothing else. He had asked him to stay, and he hadn’t. He’d done so much to convey everything he’d felt inside, and yet—and yet here he is, standing in front of a painting called clairvoyance beside a man he wishes was Steve. Some futurist.

“Shouldn’t have asked you to come with me,” Tony whispers, because it’s a lot to admit, and it’s hard enough to admit anything, these days.

Bruce moves his hand to Tony’s other shoulder and pulls him into a half hug. “I’m glad you did.”

Tony rests his head on Bruce’s shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. He knows he shouldn’t be too bold, can already hear a murmur go through the crowd, and as he pulls away, someone behind them tugs Bruce’s arm off of him.

“Tony.”

Tony whips around at the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Captain,” Bruce says, turning to Steve with a lopsided smile.

“Steve?” Tony nearly shouts, horror, confusion, and worry coloring his tone.

Steve blanches when Tony’s eyes meet his. Then he takes Tony’s hand. “Tony,” he says, “we need to go.”

“Why?” Tony asks, still completely bewildered.

“It’s an emergency,” Steve says, and Tony lets himself be led out into the lobby, dazed by the thought that of all the times he’d imagined walking in a party with Steve holding his hand, this image never came to mind. (Again: some futurist.)

Bruce follows after them, and as they exit the doors of the museum to the foyer, they’re immediately surrounded by photographers—much less than earlier in the night, but still waiting for a scoop.

Steve doesn’t stop, keeps dragging Tony towards the steps where Happy’s stationed at the curb; he can see the outline of Happy’s profile from the barely tinted window.

“Happy?” Tony says, because it must be some emergency for Pepper to lend him over. “Steve, what is happening.”

They stop a few feet from the car, and it’s well past midnight, so there’s barely anyone around anymore. Still, Steve looks around to make sure.

It makes Tony’s heart ache.

Steve’s still wearing the suit Tony had left him in, which means he was wearing the suit for hours, and there is an emergency, and his mind is going into hyperdrive.

Tony’s thoughts stutter to a halt when Steve turns back to Tony and takes both his hands in his. “Tony,” he says, and he’s beginning to breathe hard. He swallows, licks his lips, and Tony stares, confused as hell. He feels heat rise to his cheeks despite it all, though. He hasn’t touched Steve in weeks.

Steve takes a deep breath.

“I thought—” Steve takes another breath, tightens his grip on Tony’s hands. “I thought we had something, and then you said it was nothing.”

Tony can’t tell whose hands are trembling. Can’t tell if his palms are sweaty, or Steve’s. Tony tries to focus on his breathing.

“But I don’t think I can live with that, because—because. You must know.”

“What are you talking about?” Tony says. His brain is slowing down considerably, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling.

“Tony, I—”

“I thought there was an emergency.” Tony says, pulling his hands away from Steve’s. Everything feels tilted. The words are swimming in Tony’s mind, blinking and disappearing and rearranging—it does not compute. He adjusts his tie, just so he has something to do with his hands. No, this can’t be right. This doesn’t make sense. He turns to go back inside, where he can see Bruce holding an impromptu interview with the paparazzi.

Steve touches Tony gently on the forearm. When Tony turns to look at him, Steve says: “You can’t—you can’t not know,”

Steve takes a deep breath, eyes downcast, now. “You must know,” he whispers, almost to himself. He looks up at Tony again, eyes wide. “I love you,” Steve says, his voice almost breaking as he admits it.

The words hit Tony like an avalanche. If he were younger, he would have fainted. Maybe he’d be dramatic enough to have a heart attack. Alas, he has something in his chest that insists on its beating. Tony’s mind is all static.

“What?”

“I love you!” Steve says, more forcefully this time. There’s a sudden wildness to his eyes that Tony’s never seen, and at those words Tony feels heat rise from his belly; everything blurs out into red.

“No,” he says, voice shaking with barely contained anger, disbelief, humiliation. “No.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and looks very close to tugging it out from the root. “Can we get in the car and talk about this at home, please?”

Home.

Tony takes a step back. He feels anger swirl in his chest and spill out of his mouth. “What the fuck.” He spits out the expletive.

Steve bites his lip. “Tony, please, please just get in the car,” he says, reaching out and taking Tony’s hand in his. He grips it tight for a moment, then relaxes. He turns his palm up, like he’s waiting for Tony to complete the movement.

Tony’s breath shudders out of him. This is something they do, something they’ve done so many times before; he remembers the gold light of the late morning sun, Steve’s smile, knowing, knowing deep in his bones that Steve had wanted him back. His own palm open: an offer, not a request.

They stand like that for so long, and it’s broken only when Steve whispers, “please.”

Tony can’t feel his hands. Can’t feel his face. This feels unreal. This feels like the world is about to collapse in on itself.

Nothing is making sense. Not a single damn thing makes sense—“I asked you to stay,” he whispers, half to himself, remembering everything all at once. He pulls his hand back and tucks it against his chest. Images are flashing in his mind like a sick slideshow of rejection: hands pulled away, checking hallways before entering the elevator, the space between them that only ever existed when someone could see.

Waking up alone, every morning, no matter how he fell asleep the night before.

“I asked you to stay,” Tony repeats, squeezing his eyes shut and then forcing them back open. Steve is still standing in front of him, his cheeks red, his eyes glistening. Tony shakes his head, as if trying to force something else to float up in front of him.

“Boss?”

Happy’s standing outside of the car, looking at them. “Are we leaving or should I park…?” He asks, trailing off and looking worried.

Tony huffs out a laugh, his brain somehow rewiring now that he realizes he’s in public, and he walks towards the car without looking at Steve.

He plunks down and his brain is frighteningly silent; all black and empty, like it’s rebooting. Half of him wants to sink into the chair and go to sleep. Maybe, he considers, when he wakes up it’ll make sense.

When the door opposite him clicks shut, Tony blinks.

The privacy window rolls up, and Tony’s phone vibrates in his pocket. It’s a text from Bruce.

You okay?

Sorry

It’s okay. Are you okay?

Yes

Rooting for you, Tony. You let me know.

Nothing to root for

Then you’re more of an idiot than I thought you were.

Tony turns off his phone and slips it back into his pocket. He’s wilfully not thinking, which is much more difficult for him than it is for any human being currently alive. Tony purses his lips.

No, no, no.

Beside him, Steve tugs off his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeves, like he’s getting ready for a brawl. He’s breathing very loudly through his nose.

“Are you going to say anything,” Steve says it like a statement. His eyes remain fixed on the privacy screen in front of them.

“What do you want me to say,” Tony says back. He feels blank, like a surprise safety measure has been enacted in his brain that allows for nothing, absolutely nothing.

Steve grunts. “All right.”

“No, Steve.” Tony asks, turning to Steve and frowning, emotion slipping out of the cracks of his mental lockdown. “What do you want me to say?”

“Apparently you have nothing to say,” Steve bristles.

“Oh, wow, okay,” Tony says flippantly. “Fine.”

Steve presses a button on his side, turning on the intercom. “Stop the car, Happy.”

“What are you—”

The car slows to a stop, and Steve opens the door.

“Steve—” Tony calls out, reaching over the seat to try and grab Steve’s hand.

Steve’s too quick. “Have a good evening, Tony,” he says, as he slams the door shut.

Tony’s waiting in the lobby of the Tower, tapping his foot against the marble. He’s been waiting for ten minutes, and he figures he can wait ten more. He thinks he needs all the time in the world to figure out what to say to Steve.

Tony begins to pace.

What if Steve had gone straight up to his room? Tony scrubs his face. When did he regress to fifteen years old? He paces around again for a while, weighing the options of going up to Steve’s room and waiting for his arrival here in the tower lobby (and slowly driving Gerry, the security guard on duty, insane with his fretting). At this, he figures he should head up.

At least that way Gerry won’t witness his heart being torn out of his chest.

Tony steps out onto the communal floor and finds Steve standing there, looking like he’d just arrived. There’s a bit of sweat on his brow.

“Stairs?” Tony asks.

Steve nods in affirmative, wipes the sweat off with the back of his hand, and walks to the kitchen.

Tony wants to ask, how or when but those would just be questions to fill the air. He follows Steve into the kitchen.

Still, against his better judgement, Tony asks: “When did you…” he trails off when Steve levels him with a look.

“We don’t need to speak any more than necessary.”

Tony sucks in a breath. This is a tone he’s grown unaccustomed to, and even when Steve was at his most upset, he’d still manage to say Tony’s name. On any other day, that sentence would have ended with his name. We don’t need to speak more than necessary, Tony. We can try a different maneuver, Tony. You’re being difficult on purpose, Tony. It’s like having the air sucked out of the room, realizing how much you miss the sound of your own name rolling off the lips of someone you—Tony balks. Of someone you care for. Someone you’ve fucked. Someone named Steve Rogers.

Tony bites his lip, then hazards: “Have you considered that maybe we do?”

Steve shakes his head as he fills up a glass of water. “I don’t think so.”

Tony nods, contemplating this, wondering why on earth Steve would have said those things only to cut him off so immediately.

A wild thought comes to mind: La Clairvoyance.

“Okay, can I ask why not?” Tony asks, and it’s horrifying, degrading, to have to beg for information like this, he’d much rather just crack Steve’s head open and dive in to search for answers.

“You really need me to say it,” Steve says, completely expressionless as he takes a sip of water.

For a second, Tony thinks he can hear glass cracking. Steve sets the glass down very deliberately.

Tony swallows. He feels nervous, like they’re on the cusp of something either awful or wonderful, but odds don’t seem to be in favor of a good outcome right now; there’s a storm brewing in the space between Steve’s brows.

“I don’t mind,” Steve starts. He picks up the glass again, then seems to consider it and puts it back down. “I don’t mind, about you and Bruce. But I think the decent thing would have been to tell me, rather than wait for me to make a fool of myself.”

Sometimes, Tony hates his brain. This is definitely one of those times: he hears distinctly, in his mind, the sound of a computer blue screening. Back in the day, when he hadn’t built his own laptops, he’d fiddled around too much and was rewarded by the sudden screen announcing doom, coupled with a strange electronic thud.

“Me.” Tony says, mouth falling agape as he pieces things together (and behind all this haze he thinks, good lord, maybe it’s time I sent MIT back my diploma), “and Bruce.”

Steve responds with a pinched smile, then takes a step towards the door.

“Wait,” Tony says, reaching out to grasp his wrist. “Wait a minute.”

“Please don’t do this,” Steve says, gingerly extricating his wrist from Tony’s grip.

“Steve, I need to explain—”

“No, you really, really don’t.” Tony only manages to sputter in response, and god, only with Steve is he so unable to get a word in edgewise. “I understand. This is what seeing someone is like, right?”

“No, no, god Steve, no it’s not.”

Steve sighs, exasperated. “Okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, jesus Steve—”

Tony stops when Natasha enters the kitchen, hair in a braid and a frown on her lips. “It’s late,” she says, as if anyone in this damn tower has any semblance of time.

Steve takes the opportunity to leave the kitchen, and as Tony moves to follow after him, Natasha catches him by the shoulder.

“Nat,” Tony says, warningly.

“Tony.”

They stare each other down for a moment.

“Don’t,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Tony’s heart is beating fast in his chest with the implication that she knows—she knows. How? When?

“Don’t be an asshole,” she says, letting go of his shoulder and opening up the fridge.

Tony makes a face. “Me? Have you considered that he’s the asshole?”

“Have you considered that you’re the asshole, is a fair question to ask, too,” Natasha says, nonchalant.

“Who gave you the fucking right,” Tony shouts, slamming the door to the fridge shut and situating himself in front of Natasha. He knows that on any other night he never would have yelled at her like this, never have yelled at anyone, never have admitted that there was something for Steve to be an asshole about, but he’s over caffeinated and lacking sleep, and maybe he had a few too many glasses of champagne, and if Natasha knows then that means Pepper or Rhodey could’ve known, and none of this is fair.

Natasha regards him inscrutably. “Well, are you the asshole, Tony?”

“Why are you on his side?” Tony fumes.

Natasha snorts. “I resent that. I’m not on anyone’s side.”

“Sure seems like you are!” Tony scrubs his face and presses down on his eyelids. He’s exhausted.

Natasha sighs very dramatically, and takes Tony’s hand in hers. She strokes the inside of his palm in an effort to calm him down. “I’m not on Steve’s side, and I’m not on your side,” she repeats. “He didn’t tell me. He hasn’t told me anything.”

“And yet, here you are,” Tony sighs, sagging against the cool metal of the fridge.

“And so are you,” Natasha says, letting go of Tony’s hand.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Tony admits, feeling very small and young all of the sudden.

“Neither does he,” Natasha says.

“That’s not very comforting,” Tony says, smiling ruefully up at her.

“I didn’t mean it to be.”

“This is some pep talk,” Tony laughs.

Natasha returns his smile. “Good thing it isn’t one.”

Tony throws Natasha a lazy salute as he shifts to leave. “Thanks,” he mumbles, then walks slowly toward the elevator, his heart thudding in his chest loudly, picking up speed.

Tony’s been standing in front of Steve’s door for so long that he’s lost all track of time. His phone in his pocket buzzes with an email alert from whoever, and he startles when he realizes it’s been almost an hour. Not that he’s come to any great ideas in that span of time; his mind is still buzzing.

He takes a deep breath, and for the nth time that night, he raises his fist to the door.

It lands with a small knock, but it feels too loud in Tony’s ears. He regrets it immediately, wants to take it back—wants to shout through the wood: nevermind, I’ll come back next month, it’s okay, let’s just leave it.

The door swings open and Steve doesn’t look surprised to see him. His lips are set in a firm line.

They stand staring at each other for a few moments, and Tony takes a deep breath, readying himself and trusting his mind to make something sensible up.

“Good evening,” Steve says, beating him to it.

“Morning, actually,” Tony says immediately.

At this, a small smile tugs on Steve’s lips. Tony feels a small part of him relax.

Tony uses every ounce of courage left in him to ask, “Can we talk?”

At this, Steve’s mouth settles back into a frown. “What about?”

“I’m not with Bruce,” Tony blurts out, going straight to the point, half fearing that at any moment Steve will close the door.

Steve nods.

Tony has to say that he expected a bit more of a reaction. “Uh,” he says.

Steve nods again to himself, then looks at Tony expectantly, eyebrows raised as if he’s waiting for Tony to say something more.

Oh, Tony thinks.

That.

“Oh,” Tony says. He bites his lip. He feels, all of the sudden and all at once, very, very, scared. “Would you… like to say anything,” Tony says, gesturing around helplessly.

Steve makes a small, disbelieving noise. “Good morning, Tony.” His hand is on the edge of the door and Tony sees it move in slow motion.

“Wait!” Tony screeches.

The door stops, and Steve looks at Tony impassively.

“Did you mean it,” Tony asks, his eyes fixed on the door beside Steve’s face, feeling completely unable to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Of course I meant it,” Steve says, sounding insulted by the insinuation.

Tony’s heart sinks. This, he’s familiar with. The soft rejection. Being let down gently.

“But not anymore, right?”

“What is wrong with you,” Steve hisses. Tony watches as Steve’s grip on the door turns whiteknuckled.

“Lots of things, really,” Tony says, laughing weakly as he says it. He feels off-balance, doesn’t know what to do next. This is all new ground.

Something seems to shift in Steve, and he looks pained.

“Tony,” he croaks. His hand slides off the door, and it swings open wide. “Just tell me what I did wrong,” he says, eyes downcast.

“You didn’t—” Tony starts, on reflex.

Steve reaches out and cuts him off by resting his hand on Tony’s shoulder: “I did,” Steve says. “I know I did.”

Tony scrubs his face. “Do you mind if we sit down?” He feels dead on his feet and he can tell this will be a long conversation. But a small, secret part of him just wants to know, too, if Steve’ll let him into his apartment.

Steve swallows, takes a step back, and Tony shuts the door as he follows Steve inside, something bright warming up inside him now that he’s here.

“Coffee?” Steve asks, as Tony sits on Steve’s couch and tries not to crane his neck and catalog everything inside.

“Yes, please.”

Steve comes back with two steaming mugs and takes a seat on the couch, a safe distance away from Tony.

“So where do we begin,” Tony says, smiling awkwardly.

Steve shrugs. “I have no idea.”

“I should’ve come up with flash cards.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, maybe.”

They each take a sip of their coffee.

“You know,” Tony says, licking his lips as he bides his time. “I mean—you know. I do, too.”

Steve shakes his head, looking away.

“I wanted you to stay,” Tony barrels on. “I wanted you to stay all the goddamn time, Steve.”

“Why didn’t you say anything, then,” Steve says softly, like he’s afraid to be heard.

But the words fluster Tony, annoy him almost immediately.

“I did say,” Tony snaps. “I said so.”

“What, twice?” Steve says, hackles raising now, too.

“That’s more than you ever said!” Tony says, not caring how defensive he sounds. “And what about all the times you pushed me away?”

“Me?” Steve sneers. “You’re acting as if I’m the only one who tried to hide this, when you could’ve told anyone!”

“And I didn’t! Because you didn’t want to!” Tony’s anger swells up inside him and makes him stand up. “You never wanted anyone to see that we were together!”

“And neither did you!” Steve says accusingly.

Tony opens his mouth to say something, his mind used to the twists and turns of arguments with Steve, but he comes up empty.

He stares down at Steve, whose cheeks are flushed from exertion. Steve lets out a shaky breath, and with that, Tony feels the fight die out of him. Tony sits back down, rests a hand on Steve’s knee—asking for his attention.

He’s going to say something crazy now, but he only feels like he can because of everything else that’s been said. Maybe he’s much more of a coward than he thought. He’s learning a lot of things tonight, and that may be the worst of it.

“I don’t care about anyone knowing,” Tony says, quietly. “I care about you.”

He hears Steve’s breath catch; he’s so attuned to Steve that he can tell these things. But then again, there are other things he couldn’t tell, either, apparently.

“I care about you too, Tony,” Steve says, and at the sound of his name Tony’s heart does a funny thing where it feels like it’s swollen up so quickly it bursts.

“Good,” Tony breathes out, everything feeling made of glass, wildly fragile and impermanent; he needs, he needs to find stable ground. They both do.

He figures, he’s the best one to lead them there.

“How do you feel about trying this again?” he asks. He looks up and meets Steve’s eyes, then turns his palm up, waiting for Steve to complete the movement.

“What would that mean?” Steve asks, eyes flicking down to Tony’s hand then back up to look at Tony.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Tony says, and his palm is feeling awfully chilly now. “Maybe we could try doing this more.”

“Talking,” Steve deadpans.

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Don’t use that tone with me, we obviously didn’t do it enough for us to be here.”

“Fair,” Steve says, looking down at the floor.

Tony bites his lip. He’s about to jokingly say, please? But then Steve threads their fingers together, a small smile on his lips.

Tony’s sigh of relief is audible in the stillness of the room.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve says. He shuts his eyes tight and blinks.

Tony edges closer so he can rest his hand on Steve’s cheek, turn Steve’s face to his. He slides his hand back to rest on the base of Steve’s skull, pulls him close and touches their foreheads together.

“Say it again,” Tony whispers.

Steve swallows, and Tony tries to imprint in his memory the way Steve’s eyelashes look, downcast against his cheeks, the way Steve bites down on his lower lip.

“I love you,” Steve says, his voice soft and breath warm against Tony’s chin. The words sound new, and Tony revels at how they take space in the world. I love you. The decisiveness of the statement, the unbridled unconditionality of it. How could something so simple be so difficult to extricate from someone? How could three words alleviate such a weight off of Tony’s chest? How is it that the world seems brighter, and warmer, and safer, now that he’s heard it?

It’s Steve. It’s always been Steve.

All this time has just been practice. Maybe now, he can do it right, for once.

“Good,” Tony touches their noses together, breathes. “I love you too.”

###

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ice-cream-nekogirl · 4 years

Text

Amy Martinez (Character Sheet TV Tropes Style) K-O

Kick The Dog: Several times…

When she and Midoriya fought each other over how he handled the debacle with Overhaul, he attempted to apologize to her and give her an All-Might figure as a gift (Shinsou’s suggestion), but she rejected the gift and crushed it with her telekinesis.

Much like with Midoriya, Aizawa attempts to appease Amy when she’s upset with him for not taking her in after her parents died when he and the other pro-heroes could have, by apologizing and buying her a cat plushie, but Amy tells him it’s too late, denounces it as garbage and incinerates it with her pyrokinesis.

At the Christmas party, after Eri ate her cookie not knowing it was hers, an incensed Amy pretends to call Santa on her to not give her any presents.

Amy also wrote everyone angry letters (not knowing she wasn’t supposed to send them) and she simply wrote for Eri to “Get out.”

As stated, Amy wrote angry letters to most of her classmates, but ended up accidentally sending them as her classmates end up reading her actual, cruel opinions of them and she later says them word-for-word which made Iida,Yaoyorozu and Ojiro cry:

Calls Uraraka a ‘basic bitch’.

Tells Kirishima that he’s an idiot if he thinks being manly means anything.

Says that Yaoyorozu is ‘really stupid for the smartest girl in the class’ and is a ‘privileged bubblehead’

Similarly she calls Iida an ‘uptight robot’ and a ‘priveleged rich boy with no real meaningful goal’.

Asks Sero what he’s even doing in the Hero Course because he’s a “fucking human tape dispenser”

Calls Ojiro the “worst one in the class” because he’s “boring”, then insults his hero costume on top of it all.

Really just about anything she and Shinsou do to Ojiro as they relentlessly mock his generic personality by calling him ‘boring’ or steal his things for no reason other than amusement.

When she, Midoriya, Todoroki and Bakugo intern with Endeavor and visit his family at his house, she calls Fuyumi an idiot for being so forgiving towards Endeavor.

Kick The Son Of A Bitch: She always punishes Mineta for his perversion usually in the form of groin attacks, tossing him out the window or using him as an expendable decoy in battle.

She also beats the shit out of Tate Langdon with Shinsou before letting the former be dragged to Hell when together them and Madison free the residents in the Murder House from their purgatory and let their souls move into the afterlife.

Kiddie Kid: She’s a high schooler and yet she tends to act MUCH younger than that as it shows through her fondness for toys and My Little Pony, her excitable attitude and her dislike of work. Iida even frequently tells her that she needs to grow up.

Shinsou straight up says that having Amy as a friend is the same as having a child, one that he and Ashlen constantly look after with him being the ‘dad’ and Ashlen being the ‘mom’.

Kill It With Water: Her second death at the hands of her ex-boyfriend Damien as he drowned her in a bathtub. Much like above, she gets better as Madison this time revives her.

Killer Rabbit: Small, cute and for the most part sweet, but Amy can and WILL kill you if you cross her, if you’re lucky, she’ll just curse you or hex you.

Knife Nut: She’s handy with a knife and clearly gets a high out of using them.

Lack of Empathy: While she IS capable of feeling empathy for others, Amy can also easily show a disturbing lack of empathy for others due to her selfish nature and sense of entitlement as she can easily dismiss other people’s problems and feelings.

Amy: Greenie I’m not some urchin you found on the street I matter.

Lady Swears A Lot: She’s VERY foul-mouthed and has an affinity for F-bombs and other vulgar language. Iida has frequently told her to watch her language, denouncing it as unladylike while she just says “Shut the fuck up” in return.

Lame Comeback: Although she and Shinsou are normally very witty and quick to come up with a smart remark, when they are too angry to come up with anything clever, their insults are... less effective.

Large Ham: She’s super dramatic and almost always at 11, not to mention she loves to dramatic sing songs when she hears anything that even remotely sounds like a lyric to a song she knows.

Laughing Mad: Since she’s not very stable to begin with, Amy has a habit of bursting into laughter at inappropriate times. As she laughs during her fight with Midoriya after he punches her, which greatly unsettles him.

Leitmotif:

La la la la la da…

All the good girls go to hell…

so what if i’m crazy? (the best people are)

Like Brother and Sister: Her and Shinsou have known each other since they were four years old and have a very close friendship built entirely on trust and unfiltered honesty to the point where it’s almost inappropriate but it nonetheless displays that they only love each other like family and have nothing romantic between them whatsoever as they found out during a so-called date and they realized that while they love each other, the thought of being together repulses them.

Light Feminine, Dark Feminine: Although she’s just as wicked as Madison is, Amy’s definitely a Light Feminine compared to Madison’s Dark Feminine.

However, Amy is the Dark Feminine to Ashlen’s Light Feminine, as well as her other female classmates, especially Ashido, Uraraka and Yaoyorozu.

Light Is Not Good: While Amy wears black like many of her witch sisters, she also is fond of light clothing such as pink and other pastel colors, but she’s not exactly the most heroic girl in the world.

Limp and Livid: When pissed off beyond belief, Amy slouches even more to signify her very fragile stability and fights even more viciously, letting her rage literally take control in battle.

Little Miss Badass: Ever since she was 11 years old Amy’s enter a world of bloodshed and action and has gotten VERY good with her powers and magic, and only gets stronger as she gets older.

Living Emotional Crutch: She’s one to Shinsou as he broke down hard when she left for New Orleans and fell into a depression. While he managed to pick himself back up he never stopped thinking about Amy, imagined that she was there with him and made her one of his motivations in his goal to become a pro-hero. And he’s absolutely elated when she returns and gains even more drive to fulfill his dream with his friend back to him. And Amy is one of the few people that Shinsou trusts enough to turn to when he’s at his lowest point and his loneliest and Amy is quick to give him all the support and comfort he needs.

And vice-versa when Amy returns, Shinsou is easily the only living being that keeps her from going insane as she thinks about him whenever she’s having a meltdown as he can reason with her before she acts recklessly while at the same time comforting her and reassuring her. It helps that he’s the last piece she has from her childhood that reminds her of a time where things were easy, innocent and fun for her as she thinks fondly of their happier times where nothing other than having fun mattered.

She’s one to Ashlen as well, who has expressed of fear of not having her best friend in her life anymore to the point of crying and panicking. She even tearfully begs Amy to not leave her alone, because she can’t be without the person she views as her best friend in the world. And vice-versa, Ashlen becomes one to Amy, as she falls right back into insanity and depression when she thinks she’s hurt her and can’t bear to live with herself with that fact knowing that she harmed her. Amy even says that she doesn’t think she’d be able to live in a world without Ashlen, and confesses that she’d probably have gone on another homicidal rampage she’d never come back from without Ashlen in her life.

Logical Weakness: Amy might seem like the lucky one with her variety of powers, but in actuality having more powers also forces her to utilize more energy depending on the power she’s using and thus leaves her very vulnerable when using too energy to fuel her powers drains her and renders her weaker with nosebleeds and headaches, and she’s even realized that should she overdo it with her telekinesis that she could suffer brain damage.

Love Makes You Evil: Not quite as bad as Toga, but still very present.

The Mad Hatter: Amy goes insane during her time in New Orleans, is well aware that she’s no longer sane by the time she gets to UA, but embraces her insanity as part of who she is and how she’s grown. While it unnerves her friends at first, they wouldn’t have her any other way.

Amy: (laughs) I wouldn’t be nearly as fun if I were sane. All the best people are crazy~.

Manic Pixie Dream Girl: She can sometimes act like this, especially for Ashlen surprisingly enough, as her wild behavior encourages her to loosen up a little bit and find more confidence in herself.

Manipulative Bitch: Fiona did raise her for a short-time, but boy did she rub off on her. Amy’s learned how to use her appearance and earn sympathy from others while also bending the truth to get people to do what she wants or fall into her traps. Shown during the end of the Culture Festival where she pretends to be remorseful to Aizawa, only to blind him with a potion and begin her rampage.

Masculine Girl and Feminine Boy: She has this dynamic whenever she’s with Midoriya. Amy might dress and act femininely, but she’s far more ruthless, vulgar and crude compared to the soft-spoken and gentle Midoriya. Although Midoriya isn’t really effeminate, he’s the one who has to keep Amy from acting too rough and aggressive.

Likewise, while Todoroki and Iida aren’t anymore feminine and masculine in their own ways, they’re much less crude and shameless than Amy is so she’s also the Masculine Girl to their Feminine Boys.

Meaningful Name: Amy means “beloved” or “worthy of love” which may have to do with her loving nature as despite all of her flaws, Amy loves VERY strongly and her powers are connected to her strong emotions including her capacity to love others as she even states that she wants to become a hero because she believes in love and wants to fight for it. Also, Amy herself is very beloved by several that she is close to such as Shinsou, Ashlen, Bakugo, Madison, Todoroki, Cordelia, and many more.

Martinez is derived from ‘Mars’ which is the Roman name for Ares, the God of War, which MAY allude to Amy’s love for fighting and affinity for violence and chaos.

Her middle name ‘Ophelia’ also means ‘help’ which ultimately refers to her helpful nature as she becomes an ally to the heroes, women, witches and other groups she wants to fight for and support. Also could refer to the character ‘Ophelia’ in Shakespeare’s Hamlet who slowly lost her sanity after her father’s death and Hamlet’s behavior, much like how Amy herself lost her sanity after her parent’s deaths.

Mood Swinger: Can go from cheerfully happy and sweetly smiling to fuming and screaming angrily to bitterly cold and threatening murder to crying miserably and sulking sadly all within the span of a single hour or day.

Morality Chain: Shinsou is one of the few people she actually treats with equal respect and genuinely cares about enough to stop during a meltdown. Similarly, her coven and her classmates serve as hers as her friendship with them kept her from going over to the villain’s side or returning to New Orleans. Shinsou, Bakugo, Midoriya and Todoroki in particular are some of the only people that she is willing to reason with, likewise, Kaminari, Hagakure, Kouda, Shouji and Aoyama are the only classmates she consistently treats nicely.

Her new best friend Ashlen is one of the few people aside from Shinsou and Todoroki that she is willing to reason with, is always respectful towards her aside from teasing, and the only person who can get her to behave and be nice to her other classmates. And thus far is the only one who’s inspired Amy to treat people around her better as she reflects on her actions after following Ashlen’s example and has learned to be kinder and more respectful.

Morality Pet: She’s one for Madison, as the older, crueler witch will hold back on her meaner impulses when tormenting her classmates, most of the time, for Amy’s sake and will go out of her way to make sure the younger witch is happy. Likewise, she also served as one for Fiona, the former Supreme who treated her like a granddaughter, it didn’t stop her from attempting to murder Amy, but she feels regret for it and still cares for the young witch and watches over her to ensure she is safe and being treated well. Lastly, she’s one for her Ax-Crazy friend Darcy, who became less violent due to Amy’s influence.

More Deadly Than The Male: Witches are stronger than warlocks, and it shows in that Amy was always stronger than her ex boyfriend Damien. And when she interns with Endeavor alongside Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki, the three strongest males of 1-A. Endeavor reluctantly admits to himself that despite being the only female, Amy’s unpredictable temper, array of powers and tendency to fight from a distance makes her the most dangerous of the group.

The Music Meister: Sort of. When she breaks out into song and dance she can get some of her more outgoing friends to sing and dance along with her. Even Shinsou, especially when she starts singing Panic! At The Disco.

My God What Have I Done?: As she fights Midoriya and gains the upper hand by trapping and grabbing him with her Sentio Compassios form, she’s ready to maim him in her form’s hands but as soon as she sees him crying and pleading with her to stop, Amy finally pauses when she remembers that she protected him first, only to hurt him and as she lets him go she leaves without a word but it’s clear she felt horrible for intending to maim him. And then she feels even more horrible when she stops to see the damage she’s done to UA and all the heroes she’s harmed. Despite claiming to be sick of UA, Amy mostly withdraws from the school because she felt too guilty to return.

Never My Fault: Would rather shift the blame onto something or someone else even when it’s clearly her fault. Not only that but Amy generally doesn’t take much responsibility for her actions nor is she willing to own up to her mistakes.

However, this is ultimately subverted as Amy is well aware when things are her fault and DOES apologize for them, it just takes a while for her to admit it due to shame and guilt.

Nice Hat: Just like her sisters, Amy has an affinity for wearing some very nice black hats in the style of witches.

Nice, Mean, and In-Between: Of The Zombie Trio, she is more the “In-Between” to Ashlen’s “Nice” and Shinsou’s “Mean”.

However at times she and Shinsou either switch roles where he becomes “In-Between” and Amy becomes “Mean”, but then they are also capable of both being the “Mean”. Amy and Shinsou are both only “In-Between” whenever they are joined by Madison or Bakugo.

The Nicknamer: Much like Bakugo, but her nicknames are far (most of the time) less insulting as she likes to give everyone nicknames that are usually affectionate and cutesy as she tends to especially use ‘cat’ or ‘bear’ in their

Ashlen: Ash, Ash-bear, Ash-chan

Izuku: Greenie, Zuzu, Deku-bear

Bakugo: Katsu-kitty, Katsu-kun, Kacchan (like Izuku)

Shinsou: Hito, Toshi, Tosh, Toshi-bear, Toshi-cat

Madison: Mads, Maddie

Tsuyu: Tsu, Tsu-tsu, Tsu-kun

Todoroki: Toto, Sho-kun, Sho, Shoto-cake, Shoto-bear

Iida: Ten-ten, Tenya-bear, Four-Eyes

Uraraka: Raka

Hagakure: Toorun, Ruu

Yaoyorozu: Momo-bear

Kaminari: Den-kun, Den-kitty, Denki-bear

Kirishima: Kiri-kat, Kiri

Aoyama: Twinkle-Toes

Ojiro: What’s-Your-Face

Tokoyami: Toko, Toko-bird

Sero: Sero-bear, Han-kun

Ashido: Min-chan, Mina-min

Kouda: Kody, Kouda-bear

Aizawa: ‘Back-hair’

Nightmare Fuel Station Attendant: Due to her love for horror, Amy is more than happy to scare the shit out of her classmates by telling them horrifying stories about death, torture and serial killers. Helps that Amy’s unsettling nature also adds to the horror whenever she makes gestures and adds sound effects to her stories and even shows pictures.

Nightmare Fetishist: Enjoys horror-based things such as witchcraft, the occult, and also has a fondness for creepy creatures such as tarantulas, snakes and alligators as she coos at how ‘cute’ they are. She’s also ecstatic when she wanders around haunted sites with ghosts and blood-drinkers such as the Murder House, the abandoned Briarcliff Manor and the haunted Hotel Cortez.

No Indoor Voice: Prone to screaming at the top of her lungs when making a point. In fact, she’s the second loudest in the Hero Course behind Bakugo.

No Sense of Personal Space: Amy’s very hands-on and touchy, as she constantly puts her hands on her friends whether it’s on their shoulders, hugging them randomly, holding onto their arms or hands.

No Social Skills: Downplayed. Amy’s perfectly capable of socializing with people, but doesn’t seem to see an issue with swearing in front of adults and strangers, nor does she see an issue with being overly affectionate and touching, especially shown when she happily greets Inko.

Not Good With Rejection: No... she’s really not. Just ask Midoriya.

The Not Love Interest: She’s one to Shinsou, as his best friend, she is the person he is closest to and serves as one of his motivations, thinks about her every single day, cares and looks after her and is seen with her the most out of anyone. Amy is also quite affectionate to him and Shinsou was her main reason for returning to Japan so she could see him again and rekindle their friendship. They are very comfortable with each other, aren’t against hugging and share almost all of their secrets with each other. Also, Amy is one of the few people who can bring him out of his shell as Shinsou feels very comfortable loosening up around Amy and has no issue looking foolish in front of her. However, Amy and Shinsou have NO romantic interest in each other whatsoever, comically express how disgusted they are by each other and Shinsou’s true love interest in Ashlen, Amy’s best friend who she happily pairs Shinsou with.

Similarly, she’s also one to Madison, as the bitchy witch becomes slowly kinder to Amy’s friends because of her care for the younger witch. Madison also goes out of her way to make sure Amy is happy because she can’t stand to see her sad, even rescues her from All For One and the League of Villains by herself and often consoles her when she is upset. Amy’s overall influence has made Madison something of a better person who has become more considerate of others, but she gets jealous of other people who spend time with her and ‘steal’ her away, despite having no romantic feelings for each other. Helps that they even argue at times like an Old Married Couple.

She can also be one to Ashlen at times, as aside from Shinsou, Amy is one of the most important people in her life, acts as her main emotional support as she allows her to talk about her feelings and vent to about her past whenever she is sad or feeling insecure and Amy becomes one of her newer inspirations as she gradually grows more confident and secure with herself due to her influence.

Not So Different: She realizes this with the League of Villains, particularly Toga and Twice, who she forms a bond with over feeling outcasted by society and lack of mental stability. She also manages to have a pleasant conversation with Shigaraki when she can relate to him on feeling like one of the ‘losers’ of Hero Society, it’s the reason why he tried to convince her to join his League, while she didn’t reply, she ultimately ends up staying with the heroes because of her friendship with 1-A.

She ends up bonding with Bakugo after they got kidnapped together, where she points out that they’re really not that different from each other because she has a similar goal and mindset which leads them to talking more despite Bakugo trying to claim that they’re ‘night and day’.

Oblivious To Love: Averted. Amy is well aware of who’s crushing on who, or who has feelings for her as she is clearly flattered by Todoroki’s feelings for her and Monoma’s even more obvious crush on her.

Odd Friendship: With many of her classmates but particularly Midoriya,Tsuyu, Yaoyorozu, Tokoyami and Kouda.

Midoriya was the first friend she made aside from Shinsou, but while he’s a humble and shy nice guy, she’s shameless and arrogant.

Amy took a liking to Tsuyu as they are shown to work together quite well in combat and bond over tastes in aesthetics.

Despite mocking her in the beginning, she grows fond of Yaoyorozu even though they’re starkly different in terms of intelligence, personality and mannerisms.

Amy says that she likes Tokoyami because he’s a ‘boy witch’ and he’s fascinated by witch culture and they seem to get along relatively well despite him being low-key and collected and her being wild and hyper.

Kouda is the quietest student in 1-A while Amy is one of the loudest, but they easily become friends due to their love for animals and cute things.

To Bakugo’s horror, she hits it off with his mother Mitsuki due to their similarly loud, abrasive personalities and annoyance towards him.

She also becomes quite fond of Natsuo when she’s interning with Endeavor and allows him to open up to her about how much he hates Endeavor while she happily tells him that she hates him too.

When she and Ashlen officially meet, their friendship shows to be quite odd but sweet. Amy’s off the wall with a varying morality, while Ashlen is grounded and is firmly on the side of good.

Older Than They Look: Amy’s older than classmates such as Midoriya, Iida, Todoroki, Shouji and Ashlen, but acts MUCH younger than they do and certainly looks a bit younger than they do as she frequently gets mistaken for a middle schooler.

One Woman Army: When Amy is provoked and at her more insane, she becomes too much for even the pro-heroes to handle as she merely pushes them away with very strong telekinesis and keeps them at bay. Even the Big 3, Amajiki, Nejire and Mirio (who was quirkless) are no match for Amy as she effortlessly beats the tar out of them when they try stopping her. However, she’s still clever enough to fight older, experience heroes at a distance but her array of powers and rage (fueling her Sentio Compassios) allows her to overwhelm them and take them by surprise, and with Concilium she’s able to make some of the stronger ones simply go to sleep.

OOC Is Serious Business: Amy’s almost always upbeat and overzealous while also cracking jokes without a care in the world, but when she’s NOT acting happy-go-lucky or muttering a joke, it becomes clear that something is very wrong with her as her classmates are alarmed when Amy shows any instance of fear or nerves.

Seeing her acting unemotional or stoic is also an indicator that something is wrong with Amy, as Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki are each quite shocked upon seeing her so detached and cold during the Internship with Endeavor.

What further contrasts her from Bakugo is that while he drops nicknames and calls people by last name out of respect, Amy instead drops the nicknames whenever she is pissed off beyond reason.

The Ophelia: She was long, wavy dirty blonde hair, often sings at random times while dancing and appears to be out of touch with reality as she puts a positive spin on even the bleakest things. However, it’s played for horror when she goes on a rampage as she lets her hair down, singing all the while she’s causing mayhem.

As a bonus, her middle name is Ophelia, and she was even killed once in a manner very similar to Ophelia as she was drowned by Damien, not unlike how Ophelia died by drowning in a pond.

#amy martinez #bnha oc #mha oc #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #american horror story #american horror story coven #ahs #ahs coven #ahs oc #ahs original character #tv tropes

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veridium · 5 years

Text

sweet talk 101

PHEW. OKAY.

Part ten? HOLY SHIT? We are in part 10 of this thing. I am so delighted. So, here, have some fluff with a light touch of melodrama (as is my specialty). @bitchesofostwick and I love torturing our kids with sweetness followed by sourness, apparently.

ON THIS EPISODE: Cass and Liv are doing the whole friendship.com thing, though Liv can’t help but still wonder what her new pal’s plans are. One thing she knows for sure is that all her assumptions are quickly flying out the window. A text from her Mom reminds her of the fragility of her privacy and her expectations. Meanwhile, sweet bb Ellinor prepares for a totally casual and not at all scintillating project meeting with her blonde, handsome partner. WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Episode title brought to you by my falling back down the rabbit hole of Cute is What We Aim For’s music, especially this particular song.

part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7 // part 8 // part 9

A week after Ellinor and Cullen are assigned their project --

2:57pm. Dammit, it’s 2:57pm. Call it already, Professor Lucas.

“Alright, that will be all.”

That is all she hears before her mind goes exclusively to packing up her lecture notebook, pencil bag, and canteen into her backpack. It’s get the hell out of dodge time. Up out of her seat and out the door as the Professor warns about the midterm study sessions coming up. Yes, yes, fine, she’ll ace the practice exam as usual. That doesn’t matter.

It’s Tuesday, and she’s got plans.

Jogging down the steps in her calf-high boots, she searches through the crowds of foot traffic and sees the pixie-cut she’s been waiting to see, against a lamp post. Blue skinny jeans and a t-shirt underneath a leather fitted jacket. A resting bitch face that turns to cordial stoicism, and melts her into smiling. Olivia has a type and she can’t even deny it anymore: women who look like they’d be just as ready to step on you as make you laugh.

“Hey!” she says as she walks up, a perk in her step that makes her ponytail bounce.

Cassandra grins and stands tall, holding her phone. “Hey!”

“You said wear pants.”

“That I did.”

Olivia eyes her, fending off the urge to giggle nervously like a beguiled school girl. “Do I get to find out why? I don’t usually cater to people’s whims, case you couldn’t tell.”

Cassandra’s grin grows. “Really? Last I checked, I am now 5-0 with requests on your time and company.”

OH. Ohoho. OHO. Olivia’s hands go balmy, a visceral response to being hung out to dry with just a simple sentence. She’s right, though. After their meet up at the Church, texting had recommenced at their expedient frequency. That had led to a redemption coffee outing on the following Wednesday, where Olivia sat down in place long enough to actually finish her chai. That would have been bad enough, if not for the wandering into a used bookstore afterward, where Olivia couldn’t resist mock reading from old social science journals to really drive their asinine, outdated theories home. That was the first time she heard Cassandra laugh. Honest to goodness laugh. It made her break character.

But ego does not pay any mind to sentimentality in the moment of injury.

She swats Cassandra on the back of her upper arm before folding hers against her tightened chest. “You got a punch card going or something, asshole?”

Cassandra chuckles low. A cocky chuckle. The confidence looks good on her, when it overpowers her steady and thoughtful exterior. “Come on, I only got a few minutes loaded on the parking meter.”

She’s unceremonious but charming as they walk down the sidewalk bordering front quad. It had been an odd text to wake up to, a request that she wear close-fitting shirt and pants, and bring something to tie back her hair. It reminds her of when adults would chide her and her friends in high school for letting people tell them how to dress. No one was allowed to do that! Unless, of course, they were your parents, your elders, the federal government…

A few minutes walk to a back parking lot, and they come to the front line of spots. Just down the line, passed the handicap spots, there’s a shiny black and purple bike cocked to the side, and two helmets resting on the seat.

She stops in her tracks. Cassandra walks a few feet ahead, before she turns and faces her.

“No fucking way,” Olivia’s eyes go wide, mouth dropping open. “You’re shitting me.”

“Yes, because I definitely am a prankster,” Cassandra shakes her head. “Come on, you said you spend your weekends on bikes. Or was that you, shitting me?”

Olivia is getting sick of this woman being perfect. It’s nauseating, almost -- and by that, she means increasingly irresistible and that is becoming a problem. In all actuality it would make sense; kids who grew up in families like the Pentaghasts rarely had an interest that wasn’t generously indulged just because they could afford to do so. She probably had a inkling to ride a bike when she was nine, and they groomed her all the way up to being a licensed rider who competed in tournaments or something berserk like that. Just casual.

She slings her backpack straps onto both shoulders. “Well, shit.”

“What?” Cassandra asks as they resume walking.

“Nothing, I am just rarely rendered speechless.”

“Now that, I believe,” she smiles, a skip in her step as she bounces off the sidewalk onto the asphalt, grabbing both helmets and handing one to her. “Be honest, have you ridden on a bike before?”

Oh, sweetheart. Olivia laughs and takes the helmet, pulling her hair ponytail down to rest at the nape of her neck. “No, never. Absolutely not. I am a good girl.”

Cassandra sits up, back straight as she zips up the jacket she’s wearing. Now it makes sense why it reminds her of a moto jacket in a magazine. “I’m serious, Liv. Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Ugh, I have, many times in fact.” Olivia sticks her tongue out before slipping her head into the helmet. It’s a bit snug, but that’s not a bad thing when it comes to helmets. “Just sit still and look pretty while I do my backflips on the freeway.”

“And people say I am relentless.” Cassandra smirks before putting her helmet on and standing up, swinging a leg onto the front seat. Olivia is way too besotted by the simple act of her straddling a bike for it to be healthy. A 20-something’s blood pressure is not supposed to spike like that. “Well, let’s go then.”

Olivia’s heart races. It’s a simple request. She’s done it more than a dozen times. Get on the bike, hold the person by the sides of their waist, and enjoy the ride. Holding her breath, she approaches and does as Cassandra did, bringing a leg over -- God, the bike is tall -- and perches herself on the back seat.

Cassandra takes hold of her steering, and Olivia takes hold of her. Leaving room for Jesus, to be sure. Out the corner of her eye she spots a small group of onlooking people outside the doors to the building in front of the lot. They look like a bunch of east coast preps lost on their way to the nearest Hollister, and their faces are anything but pleased. One girl with french braids and a binder to her chest, brow furrowing. A guy, hands on his hips, wearing a knit Ralph Lauren-looking sweater even though it’s a 70 degrees out at least. A couple others, but it’s those two faces that stink the most.

What’s good, bro? Got milk with fat in your latte this morning, Chadworth? she sneers in her head. Her temper has two gears: territorial pomeranian, and pomeranian gone off the rails.

Cassandra kicks up the stand and revs the engine. “Ready?” she yells over her shoulder.

Olivia’s hands press harder against her waist, and she refocuses. “Negative, Ghost Rider, the pattern is full.” She then leans against her back, as close as her mouth can get to her ear. “Hell yeah I am.”

They reverse and then blow the popsicle stand. Cassandra rides well, and she doesn’t speed or try things. Corners are careful, speed limits respected. When they merge onto the freeway Olivia leans against her straight rather than do what she likes to do -- tricks like tossing her arms into the air, arching back, feeling the adrenaline race in her veins. Instead, she holds on, and takes in the scene racing on either side of them. No backflips.

Eventually they get off several exits down and pull into uptown where the pho shop is. It’s small, and tucked away a bit, but it’s a favorite among “the students” as the locals would say. They find a table by the window, small and built for two, and go ham on two bowls of soup.

“Oh yeah, toss those babies in,” Olivia teases, sliding her bowl across so Cassandra can drop in the peppers she doesn’t want. “Ah, yes, glorious. Thank you.”

Cassandra grins, throwing in the last piece and then grabbing for more bean sprouts. “Your table manners are compelling.”

“Good, it took me five years of debutante training to get me to stop hanging off the chandeliers.”

“Only five?”

“Five...and a half,” she wags her finger in the air, her other hand stirring her noodles around. Cassandra is spooning some broth to her lips, not a single sound of slurping or crass inhaling. It’s textbook table etiquette.

“So, how was your day?” she asks after she swallows.

“Good. Class was good...a lecture on the Peloponnesian war. I should have known better than take an Antiquated history class without bothering with the prereq.”

“What, is it difficult?”

“Not...exactly,” Liv shrugs, tossing a piece of beef into her mouth. “It’s just involved. Like, everyone there wants to be the next great archeologist or history authority. I just want to know how we got this point in our society, get an A, and move on.”

Cassandra wipes the side of her lip with her napkin, before placing it to the table and picking up another bundle of noodles between her chopsticks. “I can understand that. Some people really get bizarre in those classes. I once got into it with a guy who insisted on his hair-brained reddit factoids being true even though they stipulated that Stalin was like, this nice guy who loved kids and lattes.”

“Agh! What the fuck?”

“I know. I nearly asked him to throw hands on the quad afterward. Tell him where he could put his soviet apologia. I hate it when I’m made to feel like reduced to capitalist swine just for telling Craig whoever-the-hell that all his heroes died despotic cowards, and it’s not an ‘ironic’ fascination if he has a giant U.S.S.R flag hanging in his dorm room.”

Olivia snorts as she’s mid-gulp of broth, her hand going to her mouth and cupping against her lips and wet nose. She turns away briefly to wipe off her mess, while Cassandra looks on with a smile. A habitual concern is smearing her lipstick, but as she’s pressing, she remembers she didn't put on any that morning. In fact, she hardly bothered with anything more than concealer and eyeliner. She could rub her face in a thick towel, and it would be fine.

“I hope that was meant to be a laugh. You okay?” she comments, taking in another mouthful of noodles.

“You know,” Olivia remarks as she presses her napkin to her face, hopefully not smearing her contour or highlight, “you comment a lot on my quirks. You got a problem, Pentaghast?”

“Not at all, Sinclair. Why would I?” she tilts her chin, her hand stilling.

“Uh, I don’t know. You bothered, or whatever.” Maybe you’re trying to tell me to stop doing it by commenting, like my parents do. Darling, you’re mouth breathing. Sweetie, you talk when you can’t improve the silence.

“Nah,” Cassandra chews small, “Just teasing. If anything, your concern should be that I find you too fascinating to be real.”

Butterflies. She’s been causing them more lately ever since they agreed to this ‘friendship.’ Because that was totally what was supposed to happen when you’re good pals.

“Hm,” Olivia nods, preparing another bite in her bowl. “I’ll take that answer.”

“Lofty affirmation.”

“Yep.”

They settle into eating for a minute or two. Her phone had sat untouched on the corner of the table, on silent, too. Texts and calls don’t matter in the moment. It’s her getaway for more reasons than she’d like to admit.

“Speaking of bothered. Cullen’s still trying to pretend he doesn’t care that Ellinor wants to be friends. There’s no living with him,” Cassandra says, breaking the contented silence. “It’s been, what, a week since they got that group project assignment?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Olivia watches her broth as she stirs around the floating veggies. “Ellinor won’t stop not talking about it. But they’re finally meeting up soon, right? They have to. It’s like, the rule of group projects.”

“...Does she like him?”

“Does he like her?”

Their eyes meet, and smiles grow on both their faces. Olivia laughs to off-set her nerves from it. “Shit, obvious answers are obvious.”

She shakes some more of the hoisin sauce into her bowl, before tossing it up in the air towards Cassandra’s side. Cassandra, in her athletic prowess, catches it without so much as looking up.

“You’re keeping me on my toes. What’s next, another ‘trust’ fall?”

Olivia shakes her head mockingly and upturns her nose. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“You got the wrong girl if you’re looking for lack of protestation,” Cassandra counters, mixing.

“Maybe you’d find better company with those people watching us get on your bike. They looked full of ideas to protest. Women’s reproductive choice, suffrage, poor people having rights…”

“You mean Daniel and everyone?”

Great. Of course, she knows them. “...Uh, sure?”

“Hah,” Cassandra shakes her head. “They’re opinionated, alright. Just not very good, or original, at it. They go to Church. Our families know each other. All fun friends at the ski lodge and mission trips,” she mocks, eyes rolling a bit.

Church, church, church. It all went back to Church. That was perhaps the most religious thought she had ever had on her own volition.

“So, I take it they’re not very cool?”

“That’s one way of putting it. Insufferable is another.”

“Does that mean they don’t like you being around me?”

Cassandra holds her noodles mid-air hanging on the chopsticks as she pauses to give her a look. “Liv, they dislike a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but, they were giving me shitty glares of death in the parking lot. And I’m not a thing.”

“I didn’t say you where. I just meant that--”

“It’d make sense, I mean...promiscuous witch straddling your bike with her blasphemous thighs, you riding off on the highway to hell,” she starts to choke on her laugh, unable to keep a straight face.

Cassandra smiles smartly. There’s a glimmer in her eye that wasn’t there before. “I try not to worry what other people think. It gets ridiculous after a while, if you let it under your skin. My family brings enough attention to my life as it is. I don’t need to treat everything like tabloid fodder in my free time. But if I did, I’d want it to be written using your flare for vivid imagery.”

She’s eloquent, even when she’s hanging out with no audience. A bit awkward on the delivery at times, but sincere. It’s adorable.

“Right,” Olivia crinkles her nose, “heh, you’re right. I shouldn’t have picked. It’s pointless. I am who I am, anyways.”

“Yes, you are.” She looks up and sees Cassandra admiring her with that quiet, confident stare. A straight mouth, but softened eyes. It’s all in the eyes.

They finish more than an hour later, way passed the amount of time it objectively takes to down a small order of pho. They also take their time walking back to her bike. It’s a partly cloudy day, but warm -- worth the dallying. Olivia will probably get sunburnt, but there’s no reason to care. She does that thing where she pretends she’s walking on a tightrope, and even hops on a couple side-by-side benches to do so. Cassandra keeps to herself, but matches her pace at every slow-down and quickening of steps.

Then, she does one of those things that surprises Olivia just as she thinks she has the situation settled: as she approaches the end of the last bench, Cassandra offers her hand to her. She stops and stares at it, probably longer than she should if the goal is to play it all cool and nonchalant.

Her eyes flicker to Cassandra’s. She’s looking at her with civil kindness, impossible to read. Olivia tucks her chin a bit, grins, and glides her palm ever-so-quickly against hers. She hops down and feels the bracing strength in her handhold -- it was not needed, but it was something else. Something humbling. With her feet back on the ground, she is the first to remove her hand, so that she doesn’t have to survive the sensation of Cassandra being the first to break away.

Eventually it’s back on the bike and to campus where they belong. On the way, Olivia leans against her back, inch for inch, but it’s no big deal. Jesus still has room, somewhere, right? At one point, though, when they are rounding onto a neighborhood street -- one she recognizes as being a couple blocks from Rylen’s house of horrors -- she lets her hand go out to the side, fingers spindling through the air. Cassandra looks over, but due to the helmet, she can’t tell whether she’s mad or not. She doesn’t say anything, and Cassandra is the kind of person to say something -- so she takes it as approval.

When they pull into the fire lane behind her dorm and stop, Olivia would rather stick a hair pin in her eye and dismount. But, she makes it look easy as best she can, hopping down and sliding the helmet off her head. She hands it back to her while shaking her hair loose. Cassandra remains on her seat, but sits up. It gives Olivia leave to stand close, for the sake of the engine noise.

“Thanks for the ride. It was a perfect first bike trip,” she teases, thumbs hooking onto her backpack straps.

“No problem,” Cassandra projects through the rim of her helmet.

Olivia rolls her lip. “I’ll...uh, I’ll text you.”

“Please do.”

Dammit with that poker face. What gives? What’s in it for her? What’s got her so smug?

“Okay, well…” she rocks her weight between her toes and her heels, “get home safe!”

“I will. Have a good night, Olivia.”

This is where she is supposed to walk away. Again. She nods and turns for the door to the ground floor. Although, Cassandra does not turn tail and leave until Olivia is fully inside, safe and sound -- as if that were a concern to have, logically.

Oh, she can do that, but she can’t push be back on the bike seat and...

Once inside, she exhales her pent up breath and shoulders the wall, groaning. Everything is great, but yields no decisive result. Cassandra makes being straight look like a corkscrew roller-coaster ride, and feel like it, too. Olivia is signing up for every go-around she can, only to be dropped off and told to collect her bag and loose jewelry from the cubby hole.

Her thoughts go quiet as she gets up the stairs, and onto her and Ellinor’s floor. And who does she meet coming her way but the grunge queen herself, who’s face flushes in the instant they see each other. Ellinor is dressed for public, and carrying her bag. Her book bag. It’s gotta be no later than 5pm. She tries to pivot and go the other way, but Olivia is hep to her antics.

“No no, no you don’t missy!” she calls after her, walking faster to catch up, “get back here!”

“I don’t...I cant...I can’t hear you!” Ellinor mouths while she stuffs her other headphone back in her ear.

“Ellinor Trevelyan!”

She freezes, shoulders bunch against her ears.

“That’s right. Turn around and meet your maker. Where are you going at this temperate evening hour?”

“Uh…” Ellinor side-steps, “I got...homework…”

“What kind of homework? Would that be...Lit homework?”

“No!”

Olivia stops in front of her, and with a swift fist she punches her best friend’s bookbag. It feels like a sack of cinderblocks. “Right. That’s Lit class heaviness. Try again.”

Ellinor sucks on her cheek, folding her arms that are wrapped in hoodie sleeves. “I’ve got Lit homework. Sue me.”

“Oh, you bet your ass you do. A project’s worth. You going to meet with someone?”

“Maybe. I got friends, you know.”

Olivia narrows her eyes. “Bullshit. Who?”

“No one in the vicinity…”

“Hah! You’re meeting up with him! Fucking finally!”

Ellinor slumps and bends her knees, tossing her head back. “Shit, yes okay, fine. I am. We have a meet-up. I’m doing what I’m supposed to. Got it? Had your fun?”

Olivia dances from foot to foot, smiling and giggling with triumph. “Ohoho, don’t stay out too late, child. Curfew it at 9:30pm! Make good choices! Don’t let him get all in your petticoats!”

Ellinor looks ready to astral project out of this dimension and call it a day. But, as Olivia passes her and backwards steps so that she can continue mocking her with giggles and singing words, she surprisingly stays grounded in this plane of existence.

“Stu-dy bud-dies, stu-dy bud-dies, stu-dy bud-dies!” Olivia chants, scooting her boots back towards her door down the hall.

“Yeah, right! Better than noodle buddies! Get enough slurping?!” Ellinor barks back.

Olivia blushes and bites her lip, before turning her but toward her and perking it up. “Never enough!”

“Ugh, son of a--”

“Buh-bye, friend! Have fun! Kiss kiss fall in love!”

Ellinor makes her escape, drawing the line at old anime haunts of their freshman year depression pit. That leaves Olivia at her door, keys rustling in her backpack side pocket. She gets out her phone and makes quick for her messages, typing in Cassandra’s name.

-- I think Ellinor is coming over to your place for their project. Look alive and be prepared to evacuate the premises if necessary, lol.

Olivia shoves her key in her lock and feels another buzzing sensation. Thinking -- hoping -- it’s Cassandra, she looks quick.

To her disappointment, it’s Mom:

-- Do not forget the gala coming up! You HAVE to come home before! Mom-daughter time at the spa, LOL! Love ya! XO

Right. God dammit. She lets her arms fall and rocks her forehead into her door, groaning with the bane of a thousand tempers. Right around midterms, no less. Cassandra was right -- it was fatiguing to care about what other people thought. But it was different to overcome that when your entire life was groomed for social climbing, instead of you being born already at the top like she had. It’s easier not to care when you’re looking down at all your critics.

But, Mommy-Daughter spa time! ‘LOL’ was not the sentiment she would have used to describe it. “Fate worse than death she must relive for all time” -- now that, that was an apt descriptor. She gets in through her door, drops her stuff on her desk, and hops into the shower soon after. Once that’s done and she returns wrapped in a towel, her thoughts have spun once or twice around the planet’s equator. Turning the lamp on as its getting dark outside, she unplugs her phone from the charger by her desk, and pulls up Ellinor’s name in her texts.

-- My Mom isn’t dropping the museum trustee gala nightmare she wants to drag me to. I want to walk the plank. Hope your not-study date is going well! Tell Cullen hey for me, and be niceee!!!!

She’ll probably invite Ellinor to come along so that her Mom doesn’t get to push her onto the arm of one of her girlfriends’ sons, or even worse, one of Olivia’s beefcake cousins. It’s more than annoying, it’s excruciating, and she hates that it is.

Collapsing back on her bed, she exhales with the daydream of Cassandra by the lamp post wearing that jacket. She wants it all to herself, safe and sound. Fuck.

#fic update #adventures of ellinor and olivia #ellinor trevelyan #modern thedas au #college au #olivia sinclair #modern!olivia #WHOOO THE CHEMISTRY IN THIS CHILI'S TONIGHT

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networkingdefinition · 4 years

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Hamsters Quotes

Official Website: Hamsters Quotes

• A squat cannot be performed on a Smith machine any more than it can be performed in a small closet with a hamster. – Mark Rippetoe • Adrenaline kicks you in when you’re starving. That’s what nobody understands. Except for being hungry and cold, most of the time I feel like I can do anything. It gives me superhuman powers of smell and hearing. I can see what people are thinking, stay two steps ahead of them. I do enough homework to stay off the radar. Every night I climb thousands of steps into the sky to make me so exhausted that when I fall into bed, I don’t notice Cassie. Then suddenly it’s morning and I leap on the hamster wheel and it starts all over again. – Laurie Halse Anderson • And then the turbines generate electricity that goes into the whole town.” “You mean they aren’t powered by giant hamsters on wheels? I was misinformed. – Michael Grant • At school, our classroom had a small rodent zoo consisting of two rabbits, three hamsters, a litter of baby gerbils and a guinea pig. At first, I’d thought the teacher was raising snack food, which impressed me, being the first sign of intelligence she’d shown. Soon, though, I’d figured out the animals’ true purpose and left them alone, though I would never understand the appeal of petting and coddling perfectly good food. – Kelley Armstrong

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• But I just felt at one point that I was on a hamster wheel, you know? Just doing movie after movie and thinking so much about career related things and I think missing out on hanging with my friends and family as much I needed to. – Woody Harrelson • DNS is kind of the hamster under the hood that drives the Internet. – David Ulevitch • Even as a child I was fascinated by death, not in a spiritual sense, but in an aesthetic one. A hamster or guinea pig would pass away, and, after burying the body, I’d dig it back up: over and over, until all that remained was a shoddy pelt. It earned me a certain reputation, especially when I moved on to other people’s pets. “Igor,” they called me. “Wicked, spooky.” But I think my interest was actually fairly common, at least among adolescent boys. At that age, death is something that happens only to animals and grandparents, and studying it is like a science project. – David Sedaris • Girls were nice to me in the same way that they would be nice to a hamster. I fantasized about wild encounters with females but knew they’d never happen unless my own involvement could somehow go undetected. – Joel Achenbach • Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the Styrofoam cup-they all die. So do we. – Robert Fulghum • Have you noticed how the Republicans and Democrats try to copy each other at their conventions. Like at the Democratic convention John Kerry’s daughter told a story about how he once gave CPR to her hamster. At the Republican convention the Bush girls are going to tell a story about how when their hamster was bad, their dad built them a little electric chair. – Jay Leno • Haven’t had your fill of interesting events?” “Never. They are the spice of life.” She held up her half-finished hat. “How do you like it?” “It’s nice. The blue is pretty. But what do the runes say?” “Raxacori-Oh, never mind. It wouldn’t mean a thing to you anyway. Safe travels to you and Saphira, Eragon. And remember to watch out for earwigs and wild hamsters. Ferocious things, wild hamsters.” – Christopher Paolini • He was not used to the smell of dragon breath, which is best described as a combination of the stench of burning rubber and the stink of old socks, with overtones of a hamster cage in dire need of a cleaning. – Angie Sage • I always find cardio the most monotonous. Running on a treadmill shows me why hamsters are so crazy. – Luke Evans • I always see to the dogs first and leave the cats and the occasional birds and rabbits and hamsters for later. It isn’t that I play favorites, it’s just that dogs are needier than other pets. Leave a dog alone for very long and it’ll start going a little nuts. Cats, on the other hand, try to give you the impression that they didn’t even notice you were gone. Oh, were you out? they’ll say, I didn’t notice. Then they’ll raise their tails to show you their little puckered anuses and walk away.- Blaize Clement • I can’t shut my brain off. It’s like a hamster wheel.” ~ Justin – Richelle Mead • I could keep trying to do the same kind of comedies. You know how it’s going to go, and you can get an audience with it, but then I feel like a hamster on a wheel. – Vince Vaughn • I do not mean to be the slightest bit critical of TV newspeople, who do a superb job, considering that they operate under severe time constraints and have the intellectual depth of hamsters. But TV news can only present the “bare bones” of a story; it takes a newspaper, with its capability to present vast amounts of information, to render the story truly boring. – Dave Barry • I don’t believe in happy endings. Children have got to face death sooner or later. Granny and Grandpa die, dogs die, cats die, gerbils and those frightful things – what are they called? – hamsters: all die like flies. So there’s no point avoiding it. – Raymond Briggs • I don’t believe in reincarnation, and I didn’t believe in it when I was a hamster. – Shane Richie • I don’t want to talk to you no more, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries. – Graham Chapman • I feel so agitated all the time, like a hamster in search of a wheel. – Carrie Fisher • I got ham but I’m not a Hamster – Bill Bailey • I know what the intimidation level of high school is. You’re on a hamster wheel, running, running, running, trying so hard to fit in. It’s all about how you deal with what you’re given, feeling OK with being the odd man out before you’re finally successful. – Drew Barrymore • I love running cross-country…You come up a hill and see two deer going, ‘What the hell is he doing?’ On a track I feel like a hamster. – Robin Williams • I love watching him think,” Maeve told Lily. “You can almost hear that poor little hamster running and running on its wheel. – Jim Butcher • I voted against Gerald Nabarro in my first general election, but my defiance made no difference. If you had put a Conservative rosette on a mustachioed hamster, it would have been elected. – Jeremy Paxman • If anybody felt worse than I did, it was Amos. I had just enough magic to turn myself into a falcon and him into a hamster (hey, I was rushed!) – Rick Riordan • If the sun were made of hamsters, the earth would be incinerated. – Michael Schumacher • I’m done with men. I have a hamster. That’s all I need. – Janet Evanovich • It’s fine to be on the hamster wheel, running and running, trying to grab the brass ring or whatever you define as success, but your relationships, that’s really all that matters when it’s all said and done. – Katie Couric • It’s for the hamster that I’m gonna buy! This is so perfect! (after opening a hamster wheel at Christmas) – Gerard Way • I’ve lived here … my whole life. It’s where I lost all my baby teeth. Where tiny hamster, gerbil, and bird skeletons lie in rotted-out cardboard coffins beneath the oak tree in our backyard. Also where, if some future archaeologist goes digging, they’ll find the remains of a plush toy: a gray terrier named Toto I buried after the accident. – Jennifer McMahon • Lissa knelt down, compassion on her face. I wasn’t surprised, since she’d always had a thing for animals. She’d lectured me for days after I’d instigated the infamous hamster-and-hermit-crab fight. I’d viewed the fight as a testing of worthy opponents. She’d seen it as animal cruelty. – Richelle Mead • Most of us are animal lovers. We insist that we love all animals equally – the hamster, the weasel, and the zebra – but if pressed, we will admit to being either a cat person or a dog person. – Nicole Hollander • New Rule: Gay marriage won’t lead to dog marriage. It is not a slippery slope to rampant inter-species coupling. When women got the right to vote, it didn’t lead to hamsters voting. No court has extended the equal protection clause to salmon. And for the record, all marriages are “same sex” marriages. You get married, and every night, it’s the same sex. – Bill Maher • No matter if you’re a man, woman, cat, hamster, you will get lost in Matt Bomer’s eyes. I don’t know what they are made of outside of dreams and rainbows and amazingness but it truly doesn’t matter. And when he sings. It’s like God gave with both hands and then grew a third hand and graced him with more. – Channing Tatum • One of my producers said this business is like a hamster on that little wheel thing that goes around and around. You may have a great day and get great ratings, but then you’ve got another show to do – whatever moment of success or happiness you have you’ve got to keep grinding it out for the next day. – Sean Hannity • Privately, I consider religion to be a load of bollocks, but when you have a sobbing five year old wanting to know what happened to her hamster, you develop an instant belief in anything that dissolves some of the heartbreak off her face. – Tana French • Some of my best friends are Venture Capitalists, but let’s face it, a hamster with Alzheimer’s could make those kind of numbers. It’s great work if you can get it. – Scott Adams • Some Poor grad student pressing on the flanks of a hamster and out comes a doctorate on the other side – Robert M. Sapolsky • Sung to the tune of O Christmas Tree O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree, But it was eaten by a newt, And now I have no cuddly fruit, O woe is me, O woe is me, I used to have a hamster tree! – Clive Barker • The hamster called. He wants his home back. – James Patterson • The Hamsters really kick ass – Slim is one of your greatest guitar players – Walter Trout • The kid makes you sick. He looks the part, he walks the part, he is the part. He’s six-foot something, fit as a flea, good-looking – he’s got to have something wrong with him….Hopefully he’s hung like a hamster! That would make us all feel better! – Cristiano Ronaldo • The real slums are another matter. The bad parts of Tondo are as bad as any place I’ve seen, ancient, filthy houses swarmed with the poor and stinking of sewage and trash. But there are worse parts – squatter areas where people live under cardboard, in shipping crates, behind tacked-up newspapers. Dad would march you straight to the basement with a hairbrush in his hand if he caught you keeping your hamster cage like this. – P. J. O’Rourke • The thing is, we have to let go of all blame, all attacking, all judging, to free our inner selves to attract what we say we want. Until we do, we are hamsters in a cage chasing our own tails and wondering why we aren’t getting the results we seek. – Joe Vitale • The wheels are turning, but the hamsters are all dead. Make it idiot-proof and someone will make a better idiot. I learned long ago, never to wrestle with a pig, you get dirty; and besides, the pig likes it. – George Bernard Shaw • The world’s tragedy is that men love women, women love children, and children love hamsters. – Joanna Trollope • We sometimes feel like hamsters on a wheel, covering the same musical ground we did 20 or more years ago. – Bent Saether • Well, I’m an uncle now … don’t know if I’m a good one. My nephew asked me the difference between a hamster and a gerbil and I told him I thought there was more dark meat on a gerbil. – Bobcat Goldthwait • What if hamsters fought in the American Revolution? – Colin Mochrie • While I liked hamsters, too, the Habitrail cage was expensive. Even I could see that the interconnecting boxes, tubes, and spheres could easily bankrupt a family and lead to addiction later in life. Because, how would you know when to stop? How could you stop? An entire city could be built with a Habitrail. – Augusten Burroughs • Why shouldn’t it be that way for the rest of us? Why not just go with it? Just walk the dog and send the tweets and eat the scones and play with the hamsters and ride the bicycles and watch the sunsets and stream the movies and never worry about any of it? I didn’t know it could be that easy. I didn’t know that until just now. That sounds good to me. – Joshua Ferris • With boys you always know where you stand. Right in the path of a hurricane. It’s all there. The fruit flies hovering over their waste can, the hamster trying to escape to cleaner air, the bedrooms decorated in Early Bus Station Restroom. – Erma Bombeck • Wondering where Ranger was now, when I needed him. Why wasn’t he here, insisting on locking me up in a safe house? Now that my hamster’s cage was clean, I’d be happy to oblige. – Janet Evanovich • Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. I’ve never met a Daimon yet I couldn’t take. (Wulf) Guess again, little brother. You just met one, and trust me, he’s not like any you’ve ever met before. He makes Desiderius look like a pet hamster. (Acheron) – Sherrilyn Kenyon • You ignorant little slug!” the Trunchbull bellowed. “You witless weed! You empty-headed hamster! You stupid glob of glue! – Roald Dahl • Your Mother was A Hamster and you Father Smelled of elder berries. – John Cleese

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jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'i', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_i').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_i img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'o', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_o').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_o img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'u', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_u').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_u img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'y', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '4', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_y').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_y img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); );

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equitiesstocks · 4 years

Text

Hamsters Quotes

Official Website: Hamsters Quotes

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling]

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samanthasroberts · 6 years

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5 Things You Grew Up With (Your Kids Will Think Are Insane)

At this very moment you are living in the future that your ten-year-old self was pretty sure was going to be up to its nuts in robot butlers and cyber ham. Unless you’re ten right now in which case what the fuck? Your parents let you read this? I could literally start talking about dildos at any moment. I hope you go to them with any confusing questions you may have so they can assure you I’m not real and there’s no reason to take anything I say seriously. That aside, you’re also living in a time when today’s ten-year-old will have no idea what you went through to get to this point. Just look at all this non-dildo stuff that has been lost to history.

Phones Used To Buzz Into Your Earhole When Nobody Was On The Line

You have a phone, right? There’s a good chance you’re reading this on your phone. There’s a better chance you use your phone as a phone far less than you use it as a device to type and read making it kind of bizarre they bother to call it a phone when that’s probably third down the list of things it does. No one calls a cat a “sand shitter,” even though that happens more than you use your phone as a phone. But pooping in sandboxes aside, remember dial tones?

You probably haven’t considered this in a while, and if you still have a landline phone, maybe you still have a dial tone? I wouldn’t know, I don’t have a landline phone. But I know I don’t have a dial tone and legit haven’t heard one in years. Now imagine the kid born after 2010 who while vaguely aware of the concept of phones that have squiggly, pig-tail wires attached to them would have no idea why the damn thing drills a ceaseless robo-fart into your ear every time you pick it up. If a kid picks up a phone today and hears a dial tone, they’re going to assume it’s busted. Like bad busted, too, because it’s never made that sound before.

In days of yore when everything had to be plugged into something, the dial tone was a friendly reminder that your phone worked, because there was literally no other way to know your phone was working. It didn’t do anything. There wasn’t anything to look at or charges to adjust or battery life to keep an eye on. It was an ugly-ass lunch box with a plastic half brick you pressed to your flesh. The dial tone was the phone saying “Hey friend, why don’t you give grandma a call? Also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!”

Those days are gone now and they never need to come back. The next generation is not just going to be unaware of a dial tone, they’re going to have to Google the term because it means nothing.

Credits Meant The Movie Was Over

When I was a kid, nothing sucked more than watching a movie on TV and waiting for the next show to start as the damn credits rolled. Nothing. Not war or famine or Full House. You watched the credits only because you wanted to see what was on that channel next and were too lazy to leave the room or, you know, live a life. If you’d rented a video, you pressed stop as soon as that first name started to scroll up because credits were how you knew the movie was over. Did all those people work hard to make this film? Sure, but I don’t know them or anything, they don’t need me to read their names. Your parents didn’t stick around to watch the school play after your part was over, they threw their beer cans on the floor, yelled at you to get off stage, and went the hell home.

Nowadays, thanks mostly to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, if you see a film in the theater you’ll notice that just about half the room stays as still as statues when the movie ends. For any comic-book or action-type film, and even some comedies, you want to stay put because surely there’s a post-credit bit of awesome, or some sweet bloopers running through the credits. The movie isn’t over when it’s over, it’s just dribbling away like those last vexing droplets of whiz after a night enjoying gimlets at the bar.

The future is going to be rife with movies that make you five minutes later for everything you do thanks to this phenomenon. Kids are going to be expecting it all the time and they will wait, reading the names of each and every gaffer, best boy, and second-unit caterer from Quebec where they filmed all those Bigfoot-takes-a-forest-bride sequences. I showed my niece The Goonies and she asked me to turn it back on after I stopped the Blu-ray so she could see the final scene. It’s in their heads and there’s no getting it out. But also, don’t you wish there was a post-credit scene in The Goonies and it was just Corey Feldman singing “Ascension Millennium” with Chunk and Sloth? Because I wish that.

Phone Anxiety

There are two kinds of teenagers in the world. There’s the kind who are self-assured, know everything, and are featured in PSAs on how to be awesome — drag-racing and smoking that reefer. And then there’s the kind I was. I can’t speak to that other kid in his varsity jacket and five-o’clock shadow, which, in retrospect, might be just the memory of a few high-school sex comedies I saw in the 80s and not a real thing, but never mind that. I can speak to the gut-butt-fucking fear I felt as a 14-year-old calling the girl I liked from French class and having her mom answer the phone.

I can’t even think of the last time I called any individual and got anyone else answering the phone. If you called someone now and someone else answered, your first instinct is either their phone was stolen or they’re dead. The days of having a house phone are drawing to a close and even if you have a landline, you probably have a cell phone anyway and that’s how people call you. No high-school kid is calling their friend’s house and getting stuck chatting to Mrs. Friend’s Mom.

In a reasonable world it wouldn’t matter if you had to talk on the phone to a person’s mom for 30 seconds, but that’s not the world a teenager lives in. Getting mom or dad on the phone is psychologically on par with being caught masturbating. It’s harrowing and earth shattering in ways that are hard to account for and the children of tomorrow have no idea how lucky they are that human interaction is so limited now. You don’t have to talk to the pizza place if you don’t want to, you don’t have to go to the bank to pay your bills, and you never have to talk to that hot girl’s mom knowing full well that she knows you’ve been staring at her daughter’s exposed bra strap in the back of second period every goddamn day.

The kids of tomorrow are losing a healthy sense of fear and self-loathing that previous generations were saddled with. That illogical and fear-born sense of inadequacy that plagued you at every turn because you were sure someone was judging you, even if you didn’t know why. Now everyone’s that varsity jock just high on their own sense of unfettered phone confidence, calling people left and right and only talking to them like some kind of majestic phone barons of a future telecoms utopia.

Late Fees

In the realm of gaming, look at what the Go-Gurt gobblers of tomorrow are missing out on. When I was a kid, I had to go to Blockbuster to rent a new Playstation game and so help me God if I was late bringing that thing back, lest the dreaded late fee be put on my bill. Try to explain that to a kid in ten years, that there was once a time when you not only needed to go to a business to rent a piece of physical media which is probably going to not exist in a decade’s time thanks to streaming and online gaming, but my playing the game meant someone else couldn’t play it. Some poor schlub had to wait for me to bring it back and if I was late, Blockbuster charged me again because Jimmy Guntstubb was desperate to play Battletoads and I fucked up.

Basically, gaming in any practical form, for any kid whose parents weren’t rich enough to buy every new game on a whim, was a community endeavor. Everyone had a tacit agreement to work together for the joy of the game, or the whole system was fucked harder than a Fleshlight thrown into a prison yard.

There was literally no way to see gameplay outside of a commercial unless you caught an episode of Video Power with Johnny Arcade, so renting was the best way to test the waters and see if you were up to the challenge of Contra. You and every other kid had to be orderly and patient. You rented that game, you put in your time, and you took it back. Every late asshole threw the whole system into chaos.

The very idea that you couldn’t play a game or watch a movie today because the kid down the street’s parents refused to vaccinate him and now he has polio is damn near absurd. Why should someone else’s shitty punctuality affect your gaming? It shouldn’t. But dammit, it did. The struggle was real and the only defense that existed against it was Blockbsuter’s unshakable adherence to the rule of late fees, the most strict punishment and deterrent they could muster.

If A Game Failed, It Was Likely Your Fault For Being A Filthy Slob

Obviously technology today is a hell of a lot different than tech from the 80s, or 90s, or from about 5.27 seconds ago. Rest assured technology in 2027 is going to be full of brain-wave-activated toasters that can give you a hummer while making Pop-Tarts for you, the way Edison intended. But that doesn’t mean toasters won’t exist in the future. There is, however, a good deal of stuff kids are never going to get to see or experience. It’s not evolving or getting updated, it’s simply been rendered obsolete.

The big issue with physical media is the general maintenance and upkeep. If you had a VCR you probably remember the thrill of adjusting the tracking when your video inexplicably just started oozing down the screen and tweaking like it hadn’t had a drink since this morning. Or how about that VHS copy of Splash you watched too many times that eventually became so worn out and static-riddled it was like watching garbled porn on a cable station you didn’t get (which is another thing your kids will never know about).

Gamers went through this, too. When I bought vanilla World Of Warcraft back in the day, I think it came on five or six CDs because the idea of actually downloading the game was as silly as the idea of eating a ham sandwich with no bacon on it. If even one of those fuckers got scratched, you were screwed. Or let’s say you installed it just fine, but in the middle of a big boss fight, your mouse suddenly spazzed out, and the cursor shot up to the corner of the screen. That old style mouse had a ball and rollers in it. A little, grey ball that sucked up desk-based schmutz like a magnet. You’d have to pop the bottom of your mouse, pull the ball out, swab off the layer of dog hair, dust, and dried tears on it, then do the same for the tiny little wheels inside. That’s a lost art now, like polishing your monocle (the real way, not the euphemism for sticking Pop Rocks in your pee hole).

The point is that the game failed because you failed. You took such poor care of the components, it crapped out. Already today that can be circumvented thanks to a having a hard drive to store games, and in the near future, companies like Sony and Microsoft will just drop the idea of physical media altogether so you have one less thing to get sticky with your Mountain Dew. Because, as we all know, true gamers Do the Dew. Everything will exist in the cloud, and if a game failed, it’s not on you — it’s all them.

No more discs means no kid in the future is ever going to have that moment when they take a scratched copy of Earthworm Jim and try to rub peanut butter across the bottom of it because someone somewhere once said that will repair surface scratches … even though I’ve never actually met anyone who got that to work and it mostly left my Final Fantasy VIII smelling like a middle-schooler’s sandwich from back when middle-schoolers were allowed to have Final Fantasy VIII sandwiches.

Source: http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/05/09/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/

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adambstingus · 6 years

Text

5 Things You Grew Up With (Your Kids Will Think Are Insane)

Phones Used To Buzz Into Your Earhole When Nobody Was On The Line

Those days are gone now and they never need to come back. The next generation is not just going to be unaware of a dial tone, they’re going to have to Google the term because it means nothing.

Credits Meant The Movie Was Over

Phone Anxiety

Late Fees

If A Game Failed, It Was Likely Your Fault For Being A Filthy Slob

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/173719664232

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allofbeercom · 6 years

Text

5 Things You Grew Up With (Your Kids Will Think Are Insane)

Phones Used To Buzz Into Your Earhole When Nobody Was On The Line

Those days are gone now and they never need to come back. The next generation is not just going to be unaware of a dial tone, they’re going to have to Google the term because it means nothing.

Credits Meant The Movie Was Over

Phone Anxiety

Late Fees

If A Game Failed, It Was Likely Your Fault For Being A Filthy Slob

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/5-things-you-grew-up-with-your-kids-will-think-are-insane/

0 notes