#he exists to kill maim harm and destroy. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tangent101 · 2 months ago

Text

Actually, I think that the A Life to Paint ending says something significant about some of your comments here, and I'm not sure you are going to like this interpretation of events here... but it also explains why two of the characters don't make an argument that you felt should have been made.

Specifically? The beings in the Canvas are not sentient, they are constructs. While Alicia/Maelle and Renoir might claim otherwise, if I remember correctly Aline does not ascribe to this viewpoint. And she is the one who created the humans in the Canvas.

I state this because the Gommage did not seem to affect Verso's creations in the story, just the humans of Lumiere. The two oldest creations of the Canvas, Verso's best friends, were untouched by Renoir's efforts to wipe out the eldest creations of the Canvas - creations that his wife created, not Verso.

So then, let us consider Lune and Sciel arguing that Maelle should be allowed to stay, but does not argue about how they deserve to live. They don't even consider this argument because they are in fact not real and are only defending Maelle's desire to remain in the Canvas because Maelle does not want to leave. We may love the people of Lumiere, we may love Verso's creations as well, but they are just painted imaginings of Verso, his mother, and later his sister.

Why do the people of Lumiere seem so real then? It's because of escapism. Aline created Lumiere and all of its people so she and her new family could live there and she could pretend that Verso never died, that it was only Alicia who was harmed. (Why have Alicia burned at all? Because Aline hated that Alicia "killed" Verso, ignoring the fact that it was the Writer who did the attack who murdered her son and maimed her daughter.)

Actually, that last point also suggests that Clea is the one with the right idea. Her "lone battle" against the Writers makes sense when you look at how Alicia is horribly scarred... but the wounds look far worse than they are. Alicia was scarred across her face, she lost an eye, and yet she can still move. She can draw breath without massive amounts of pain. She is not relying on morphine to just exist. Hell, she can even "paint" a voice, though that voice sounds quite childish, more that of a 13-year-old child than the girl of 16 that so many people assume Alicia to be (reflecting Maelle's own age).

The maiming of Alicia was a warning shot fired across the bow. The person who sought to save Alicia was the real target - and it probably wasn't Verso who was supposed to die, but Renoir, who considered Alicia to be his favorite child. And the fires were meant to torment and maim, but not kill Alicia. Ironically enough, this whole situation with Verso's Canvas likely distracted Renoir from being drawn into a battle in which he would again be targeted by the Writers.

Is Renoir (and copy-Verso) violating Aline and Alicia's agency in their efforts to destroy the Canvas? Well let's look at it from another perspective: did Alicia violate copy-Verso's agency? If he is not sentient and just a construct, a creation of Alicia's, a doll, then no. He has no agency. She is playing with her toys and can do what she wants. And as such the destruction of the Canvas is not horrific, it is just putting to rest the remnants of a dead man's soul.

Now let's take this one step further. Is Renoir (and copy-Verso) violating Aline and Alicia's agency? Yes... but. And the but is a big one. Is it violating someone's agency to prevent them from abusing drugs by destroying those drugs and preventing that person from getting more drugs? Yes it is. And yet it can be necessary because the alternative is the person overdosing and dying.

The Canvas is a pretty drug. It is a simulation that is so realistic that the people using it ignore their life. They stop eating, they stop drinking, they just exist in their Second Life until they die. And do note: Copy-Verso only chose to destroy the Canvas when he couldn't convince Alicia to leave, pointing out that she can visit. The game does not need to be her entire life. She can grow beyond it, use it to relax and to cope... but not ignore what is going on outside. She refused this. She needed her fix. She couldn't stop.

One last point here. Let us assume that the peoples of the Canvas are in fact alive and sentient. Well then, the people of Lumiere are already dead. Renoir wiped them all out. While Maelle might be able to craft new life that is nearly identical to what was originally there (given that Aline likely created the people of Lumiere), Maelle's recreation of these two is based off of her perception of them rather than what Aline or even Verso had created prior.

A Life to Paint hints that Maelle is living in one day, over and over again. That suggests then that she doesn't create new life. She just paints a memory and lives in that memory. After all, she can do what she wants. This is a 16-year-old girl, not including however many years Alicia lived (while it's assumed she's 16, I get a feeling she might be younger than 16 and there's no verified age for Alicia by the developers). She doesn't have her mother's imagination or experience in crafting worlds. Hell, she might have tried and failed to recreate Lumiere... and retreated into a single memory that she could succeed in crafting... in ways, a still-life. One moment.

It's not a happy ending. But it's a realistic ending. Alicia was a girl who dabbled in Painting but didn't do very well according to Aline's standards (and Verso himself only ever created one Grand Canvas before he chose to go into music instead of Painting). She retreated into reading... a habit that ultimately doomed her and her brother. How would she be able to recreate everything Aline crafted? She can't. There's no going back.

tl;dr - The inhabitants of the Canvas are not real even if Alicia and Renoir might pretend they are. Their deaths are not genocide as a result. If they were real... then all Alicia is doing is creating new life to replace them as they already were slain by Renoir, and she lacks the skill to replicate what Aline created prior to Renoir's wiping the board.

I think one of the unintended consequences of Clair Obscur writing falling apart completely in Act 3 is showcasing just how effective propaganda can be and just how many people can be made to be okay with attricities by using nothing but simple narrative framing and some emotional manipulation.

It reveals how many people are willing to ignore the horrifying and grotesque atrocities and justify them just so they can feel better emotionally about their choices — ironically an opposite message than the game attempts to present.

It doesn't inspire hope for humanity for me but it does shed some light on responsibility an author has for the themes in their story and why it's important to figure out those concepts first and foremost.

Figure out your endings and thematic conclusions before you even start to outline, people. Or you'll end up like this game.

#clair obscur spoilers #clair obscur: expedition 33

38 notes · View notes

gotyouanyway · 2 years ago

Text

here’s my personal ideal version of what should’ve happened with c’rizz instead of what did happen which i didn’t like

sorry this is so long lmao my brain is broken

so. background bc it was unclear/bad and i’m fixing it:

the church of the foundation believes all things must die. they preach that death = total absolution, salvation, and entrance into the next world. so they kill people who need to be saved whether it’s spiritually (i.e. those that need to be absolved of sin) or more literally (those that need to be saved from danger, illness, etc.). they decide who needs saving and when so yeah they brutally murder people and they’re aware they’re murdering people. killing = killing = saving. but to them it’s necessary and even good. ok. that’s it. no secret projects relating to immortality or building a vessel for dead souls. forget that.

so c’rizz was raised by his father in the church of the foundation and became a monk. a combination of his upbringing, some kind of telepathic sensitivity related to being chameleony, and moderate to severe mental illness lead him to be extremely devout. not only does he believe in the church wholeheartedly, he sometimes hears voices of people asking to be saved and he obliges them (mental illness + church brainwashing) and once he starts killing people he keeps hearing their voices afterwards (telepathic sensitivity, like he does kind of absorb their minds in a chameleon way, but only impressions. they’re not actually there inside him). maybe he (and the others in the church) BELIEVE that he’s saving souls within himself in some way, but not literally. anyway because of this ~communication with the dead, and his devotion and the church/his father’s influence, he becomes the super mudermonk they turned him into. the absolver.

later he meets l’da and all of that stuff happens, she “returns him to sanity” or whatever he said. all of that can stay. now he can draw a line between saving someone and killing them in cold blood (as that IS a difference that exists for him), but he still gets confused sometimes when the delusions flare up. and he still hallucinates. and mostly, he’s happy to use his religion as an excuse to maim people he hates, as a matter of personality. like, he still has his faith, he’s just more mentally stable about it. so much more in touch with reality than when the church was constantly getting up in his head and encouraging his delusions

so then basically everything up to his death can stay the same but within the context that when he says he’s saving someone, he DOES mean in the spiritual or physical sense of rescue and not “saving their soul inside the reliquary of my body”. and, just to reiterate, with the full sound-of-mind understanding that he IS killing and murdering people. like, he always knew that in canon i just can’t put too fine a point on it w/r/t his sanity. his delusions weren’t that he was saving INSTEAD of killing people. his delusions were about who needed to be killed/saved. and he didn’t even experience MANY delusions like that during his time with the doctor, he was more or less stable and just angry. so he leaned back on his faith when threatening and injuring people who harmed him, just bc that’s the way he is as a person. ok uh. um

SO HIS LAST STORY goes something like this -->

1. they land on that planet with all the lost/trapped souls crying out to be saved. c’rizz hears them and oh man he can’t just let them stay trapped, he’s the absolver. he has to save them. 2. he teams up with the guys who are trying to destroy the citadel (or whatever was happening) because he plans to just kill (save) everybody on both sides. the telepathic onslaught makes him start losing it for real 3. the doctor and charley find out what he’s doing. big dramatic scene blah blah blah he finally explains all that ^^ to them. it’s all very intense and they’re kind of horrified and concerned 4. the nature of religious trauma and mental illness are delved into 5. the destruction is immanent, but c’rizz can stop it. it’ll kill him though 6. he does not, at this or any point, turn into any sort of devil creature 7. otherwise the end is the same. the doctor convinces him that he doesn’t have to do what the church programmed him to do and saving their lives is better than “saving” their souls or whatever by killing them 8. he sacrifices himself and dies just the same, but this time with a more satisfying character arc 9. done. easy. someone hire me

#i can't do my job but i can sit here and write shit like this for an hour #p

11 notes · View notes

rw-art · 3 years ago

Text

Ice Pick Joe & what he represents

People are saying it a lot that Ice Pick Joe is an overlooked character and I have to agree. Honestly he is one of my favourite characters in Goncharov, and while his story is sometimes played for laughs, it's really impactful. It's a classic Scorcese portrayal of the cycle of violence- this is a huge theme in Goncharov, and I think it's at its most concentrated in Joe's story line. His life has been destroyed not only by the ravages of mental illness, but the poor quality of treatment on offer to him. He can never get better because the system he exists within seeks to cause him harm rather than truly help him (they literally try to put an ice pick in his brain).

This concept of oppressive systems harming those within is echoed elsewhere in the film, such as with the implied romantic story lines between Katya and Sofia, and Goncharov and Andrey - they are unable to express their true feelings and selves because of the society they live in. To go meta, the film itself holds back on explicitly showing same-sex romance because of the environment it was created in (70's Hollywood). And so we see that another overall theme, oppression and violence on a societal & systemic level, is also at it's most succinct within Joe's story.

Joe seeks vengeance for all the wrongs that both society and individuals have perpetuated against him by focusing on a single person, Amarro. This is perhaps because Joe sees Amarro as the source of all the evils he experienced in mental health treatment. Amarro is the originator of the worst possible outcome for Joe, the lobotomy, something that Joe knows many others just like him have already been subjected to. In some ways, we can see Joe's mission to kill Amarro, the creator of his misery, as an allegory for man's struggle against God- the source of all misery and punishment in life. As it is with battling against a divine power or a huge and powerful system as a lone individual, Joe's struggle with Amarro is ultimately fruitless. He successfully kills Amarro, but he was just one man. There are thousands of doctors still performing lobotomies & mistreating the mentally ill, and Ice Pick Joe will never be able to take them all out, no matter how hard he tries.

And along the way to killing Amarro, Joe himself has been well and truly absorbed into the cycle of violence, killing and maiming ruthlessly throughout his life. His behaviour has all but destroyed any relationship with his son Paolo. We see both Paolo and later Andrey wearing an eye-patch just like Joe's, symbolic of how Joe's violence is passed on to those around him. Lying to Valery about having killed Lucia, Joe seeks to finally end the cycle by taking the fall for Andrey. This is a futile gesture, as instead of breaking the cycle, it results in not only his own death, but also Katya's murder of Valery. Ultimately, he surrenders to Valery and is killed by his own beloved ice pick, a very final comment from Scorcese and JWHJ0715 that eventually the violence you perpetuate will be your own end.

So although Ice Pick Joe is very easy to write off as an almost cartoonish villain, I think he is a very important, tragic figure in Goncharov, and he'll always be a favourite of mine.

#goncharov #ice pick joe #unreality #martin scorsese #goncharov (1973)

11 notes · View notes

subpar-ghoulfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Pea

Villain!MicxReader

tw: yandere themes (kinda), breaking and entering

You hadn't been sleeping well since the attack last week. Every time you began to doze off another worry would pop in to focus. How long will UA be closed for repairs? How were the students? Was Aizawa awake yet? And most often you'd ask yourself, how could he? He referring to Present Mic, of course.

You've tried telling yourself that he isn't Present Mic, that Present Mic had never really existed. And that man certainly was no hero. Heroes don't go around destroying schools or maiming their coworkers. Coworkers who were supposed to be his friends.

Present Mic - no, Yamada - had been collecting information from the prestigious school ever since he was a student. Beginning after the incident. To him, the school system was to blame for all the harm done to his friends. As if four years of mediocre training could prepare literal children for fights they didn't stand a chance in. He had tried, truly he had, to convince himself that things were changing for the better. That more steps were taking place to protect the children. He thought he was going about it the "right" way. Until he got in to an argument with All Might, Nezu, and even Eraserhead. Nobody was listening to him about how much they hurting the students, about how traumatized these children had become. Apparently the students had to learn the hard. So Mic was done with pretending to enjoy the system, he was done trying to overlook the crimes of the hero system, and he was done not being listened to.

But you listened.

Any time he would be in a fit of frustration he would come in to your office and vent. You never judged him. You never questioned what he felt. You told him you understood.

And Mic knew you really did. You weren't saying those things just because you're the schools counselor.

///

Finally giving up on sleep, you crawled out of bed. The sun was barely starting to rise and the air was still cold. Maybe a walk would do you some good.

You stopped at the farthest point of your walk from your house. Back still hurting from the attack, you decided to stretch before returning. As you were finishing up you heard a whistle but found nothing when you turned around. A shiver ran down your spine. It was easy to convince yourself it was nothing; your hearing was still a bit messed up as a parting gift from your former friend.

The whistle noise reappeared when you got home. No harm in looking around, just to make sure everything is still how you left it. But as you rounded the corner to your room you ran into something. No, someone.

"Did'ya miss me, songbird?"

You covered your ears reflexively, "Mic?"

The blonde grimaced, "Maybe let's not use that name, sweet pea. Zashi still works though. How's Shota?"

How's Shota? He actually has the nerve to ask you how the man he put in the hospital is. One would think that All Might would get the brunt of the now-villains anger, but no, it was his best friend.

Everyone knew you cried when you got too overwhelmed or angry, and right now you were both.

The man sighed and knelt down next you, "I didn't plan on hurting him but he kept coming after me and his quirk is a real pain. When it comes to fighting without quirks he's always been stronger than me, but I'm faster. Once he got knocked out I left him be. Now I was surprised that you tried to fight me."

"And because of you I nearly lost my hearing," You hissed and pushed past him.

Mic couldn't help but laugh. You really though he had little control of his quirk? If he wanted to burst your eardrums he would have. He debated staying where he was, eventually you'd have to go to your room for something, but then he remembered he was a fugitive and probably shouldn't let you out of his eyesight.

"Why are you being so dramatic," He teased. "And what are you looking for?"

You had several drawers open in your living room and were rummaging through them like a starving raccoon.

"A taser," You hissed. "Get out of my house, Yamada."

"Oh, a taser, kinky."

All but pulling at your hair, you glared at him. "Get out."

You pulled out your phone, finally having the wherewithal to call... someone. And with that your intruder's jovial attitude dissipated. He lunged for your phone and you two began a terrifying game of keep away. As soon as you broke out of his grasp, you sprinted to your room. Your heart was pounding in your ears and you felt like throwing up.

"Okay, sweet pea, here's the deal. You call anyone and I'll kill them when they get here," He slammed on the door. "I'm giving you the chance to be a good girl and unlock the door."

Why was he doing this? You knew he could bust through the door without much effort. He was just getting off on scaring you. But you also didn't doubt that he'd follow through on his word if you called for help. So instead you threw your phone on the bed and opened the window.

Then Mic tumbled through the now-broken door.

With you hands protecting your ears you tried to be as quiet as possible. You were pressed to the very back of your closet, praying that he believed you got out of the house. If he was was faster than Aizawa, you knew he'd have no problem catching up if you tried to run.

You could hear his footsteps tracing around your room. The window was shut, and then locked. Crap, he knows you didn't run. He was whistling again. He picked up your phone and tried to unlock it a few times before dropping it on the floor. The glass made a crunchy sound when he stepped on the screen.

"Songbird, I didn't know you liked hide-and-seek."

He would treat this like sadistic game.

As if you were a toddler, Mic present to look for you under your bed.

"I doubt you left the room, so where could you be?" Continuing to mock you he knocked on the closet door.

You chose to close your eyes when the door slid open. This must just be a bad dream. Jerking you out of the closet gasped in surprise.

"I found you!"

He pulled you in to the tightest hug as a needle pierced your skin. After only a few moments of struggling you felt your body begin to fall, until Mic hoisted you in to his arms.

"I think that's enough games for today. Get some sleep now."

#present mic #yandere #villain!mic #mha x reader

109 notes · View notes

mbg159 · 4 years ago

Text

honestly i think i’ve come up with a guideline to determine what actions will and won’t be accepted by fandoms at large: the coffee shop au test. it reads as follows:

- if the story is turned into a modern-day AU where the characters are normal people working at some mundane activity (going to high school, managing a storefront, playing a small-time band, etc), with supernatural, highly improbable, or world-changing events removed or altered considerably, but the personalities and overall relationships of the characters stay the same, did the character still do something that makes them unlikable?

think about it. eating souls. bombing cities. blowing up planets. supervillain shit like conquering the universe or destroying it. these are all things that people tend to be 100% okay with when it comes to liking a character, and they are completely impossible in the framework of a coffeeshop AU. some of them may exist in real life, but they’re not seen as mundane. you have to go far in reinterpreting them, like turning them into spree-killers or retired war criminals or something along those lines and that doesn’t really work because those kinds of things are still a significant divergence.

on the other hand, actions like overt sexual harassment, prejudice against real groups, infidelity, or even just being hugely annoying? those are things that exist in real life. mannerisms and opinions that are just as at home in reality as in fiction with little, if any, modification are very hard for a character to earn fans with. and in a coffeeshop AU, you can generally keep those things intact.

the king of this is child abuse, which is both a universally abhorrent action and something that you can usually keep 100% the same and it still works in that kind of setting. child abuse is very much rooted in reality, and it’s usually crucial to the survivor’s development and their relationship to their parents. the motive for it might change or vanish entirely, but since many abusers have no rational motive to speak of, it doesn’t affect the core of what makes it bad.

to give an example: fire lord ozai was a murderous warmonger responsible for countless deaths who figured that just flat-out burning a whole continent to the ground was not only acceptable, but the best possible outcome. he was also a maliciously terrible father who maimed his son to teach him respect, among many other acts. people remember the second sentence a lot more than the first. and you can have a coffee shop AU where ozai is just a wealthy, overbearing patriarch who has never killed anyone, but as long as his personality and relationship with zuko is intact? ozai is still a horrible father, at bare minimum.

that isn’t to say that any of the opinions people reach through this is wrong, mind. and there is a lot of definite gray areas. but it is kind of interesting to think about, and a good way to view why some actions stick when others don’t, despite one action seeming objectively more harmful in-universe.

#cw: abuse mention

31 notes · View notes

undignifiend · 4 years ago

Text

AU alliance between Morgana and Gunmar (short scene)

Years ago, Morgana fled to the Wildwood; a tactical retreat from a broken and fearful society, and a near-blind rush into uncertainty. But it was hard to fear uncertainty over the false peace of Camelot.

Arthur had little patience for theory and risk, but he could yet be shown a better way. He would understand it, he would want it, if only it could be proven possible.

It would take many sacrifices, of course, but if she could make it real, she had to.

So she went to build that better way with her own two hands.

+++++

Einarr held Morgana tightly as he raced to the treeline, her blood soaking the front of his jerkin. She clutched the severed end of her left arm in an instinctive attempt to stem the bleeding, feeling as if she was watching it all from a distance. Behind them, she could hear Faldron and Dezoka screaming in fury and hatred as they fought to buy time for their Queen to escape.

Somewhere behind her, Arthur called her name. She could hardly recall his expression before Einarr had swept her up and Tessa whirled in on a storm of darkness and deflective shards, doubled in magnitude by Lunn’s symbiotic augmentation magic. There was a crackling flash as Dezoka changed into her troll form, taking advantage of the temporary shade.

Morgana jolted under a surge of agony that seemed to barrel through the air like a tide, and for a moment, she wondered if the trees had all splintered under the force of it. Impossibly, they did not even shake. Einarr gasped, falling to one knee and gritting his teeth as his eyes watered.

The air pressed down on them, sharp and heavy like a row of teeth, radiating from a source too enraged to stop or alter course. Morgana felt him thundering toward them now, trampling the underbrush, the pounding of his hearts echoing in her own chest.

“It’s Gunmar!” Merlin shouted. “My King! Run!”

There was no time to get out of range. Einarr shuddered and grew into his trollish form, curling around Morgana and cradling the back of her head in a hand the size of a water-pail. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, frantic, offering the only protection he could. The ground quaked. “I’m sor - ”

All of existence plunged into a caustic roil of terror and wrath. Beneath that, was something like watching the surface of the ocean above grow darker with an anchor welded to her bones. And almost worse, an inexhaustible strength and hunger, a pitiless obsession, to never stop reaching anyway. Far below, something impossibly vast and unfaceable writhed.

Gunmar roared past, carrying his monstrous ocean with him.

“To the horses!”

“Hold, Tessa, he’s not after you!” Dezoka snarled, holding her side and leaning on her spear. “Keep your shadows on the Underlord! Give him a path!”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up!” Tessa called back.

“They have the Dark Prince, hold as long as you can!” an unfamiliar troll shouted. Gunmar’s entourage caught up, cloaked and armored trolls swarming past Einaar’s huddled form and onto the shaded battlefield.

Dezoka spat a curse in Trollish as she launched off her forward foot and joined the chase. “Lunn, give Tessa everything you’ve got!”

Morgana touched Einarr’s jaw. “Let me up.”

Einarr rallied himself and obeyed, drawing his axe as he helped her stand, and hovering close, keeping three wary eyes on the Gumm-Gumms.

Morgana trudged back out of the treeline, glimpsing her brother, his soldiers, and her former mentor riding into the distance. Too far for even Gunmar to catch, and shielded from psychic harm. Tessa’s reach could only extend so far without growing unstable, so she chose caution, leaving the Underlord pacing at the very edge of the shadows. His howl reverberated off the forest edge and the cliffs, sounding more like an open gateway to Hell than a troll.

Morgana took a deep breath of the cool dark, and extended her own, overlapping Tessa’s shadows to shelter the trolls. “I have it, Tessa. You can let go.” Both her apprentices sank to their knees as they obeyed, winded and leaning on each other. Morgana rested her remaining, bloodied hand on Tessa’s shoulder, and Tessa covered it with a shaky hand of her own.

Lunn wobbled to her feet. “Master, please, let me.”

Morgana nodded and rested the bleeding stump of her forearm across Lunn’s hands. Veins and arteries began to re-route and seal, but Lunn was still an apprentice, and it would take much longer to close more flesh than that.

The Gumm-Gumms moved, and when Morgana looked, it was like watching a wave recede. Gunmar towered among them as he stormed back toward the trees, silently ordering his soldiers to regroup in the forest. Morgana only knew because the order brushed her mind, too; a broadcast made imprecise by barely contained rage, every bit as sharp and swift as Excalibur had been.

As if drawn by pain, Gunmar regarded her with his lone, cold eye, and strode toward her. Dezoka, who had been trailing him in helpless awe on her way back to her Queen, balked before continuing. Einarr stepped forward to shield Morgana, even as he trembled.

The air around Gunmar no longer hurt when he tread close, looming above them, but Morgana sensed that he had only reined that horrific mantle in tight around himself. If he was at all winded after charging like that, it did not show. He might as well have been a statue freshly brought to life for all the unnatural control in his movements, and the way his eye followed things as if watching through some other, hidden layer of reality. All hands of his primary and vestigial arms clenched, and the cruel scythe-like limbs emerging from his back seemed to float above his horns, high and tense. Faced with him, Morgana felt a little absurd, possessing only one hand now.

Gunmar’s eye flicked to the bloodied stump. “Camelot has until nightfall,” he growled.

Morgana had known from the beginning that her project, now grown into the hidden fortress-community of Annwn, would require sacrifice. All of which would be worth it to save lives on both sides, and hopefully, Arthur from himself.

But as the years passed, Arthur kept charging into the woods to kill trolls and destroy their villages, to hunt her apprentices as witches, and threaten everyone - trolls, half-trolls, changelings, and humans alike - that she had sworn to protect. She could no longer pretend that there was any getting through to him. Maiming her, she could resent on her own time, and possibly forgive one day in the distant future. But if Arthur truly had captured the son of her most dangerous and unpredictable ally, her silence would be unforgivable. If she did nothing, she would fail the very ideals she had founded Annwn upon, and Gunmar would raze both false castles to rubble and ashes in his son’s name.

Knowing that Arthur wanted her dead would not make placing him on the altar any easier. Morgana’s throat tightened, but she refused to shut her eyes. “They don’t even have that long.”

#toa au #Morgana still loses her hand but she survives #Eldritch!Gunmar #Protective Dad Mode #some minor ocs #Morgana runs to the Wild Wood and founds her own community #still not settled on 'Annwn' (ah-noon) for the name...#short scene

18 notes · View notes

thanksjro · 5 years ago

Text

Zero Point, a Last Stand of the Wreckers prose story- I Sure Hope You Like Eye Imagery

Ooh, an artsy start to our prose this go around.

This story takes place after the events of Last Stand of the Wreckers, with our dear friend Springer well into his Overlord-induced coma.

Roadbuster is a gentle soul, when he’s not busy ripping people’s spines out.

Roadbuster’s been put in charge of the Debris station since Springer’s out of commission. It’s boring. He’s bored. He has a routine he follows, but there’s only so much grave-visiting/security-checking/weapon-building/eyeball-cleaning a guy can do within a 120 hour day before it becomes less of a routine and more of a compulsive habit.

Springer’s eyes are a specific shade of blue known as Matrix Blue- supposedly a marker for being Matrix Compatible. Considering that Senator Shockwave had to go and get multiple guys some nonconsensual plastic surgery to make sure they could actually fit the Matrix, I’m going to go ahead and say that that’s some bunk someone made up to hype up the mysticism of Primehood.

Springer’s obviously in a bad way, and it’s not looking like things are going to get any better. You can tell, because this is the point where his internal monologue kicks in, reflecting on just what it’s like to die, and his past. Sure hope they don’t have any vats filled with corrodia gravis on this space station.

Back before the war was The War, Springer was young and naive, but his boobs were just as awesome as they are now.

Springer became slightly disenchanted as his time on the front lines went on, thinking that he needed to do more to help the Autobot Cause. He decided he wanted to join the Wreckers, though he knew next to nothing about them at the time, and everything that he’d heard probably should have sent him running in the opposite direction. Decepticons caught by Impactor and friends would kill themselves in the middle of the street if they managed to escape.

But we’re dealing with a mind that’s been shaped by a civil war, now aren’t we? Impressions are warped for Autobots, because Decepticons are evil, and therefore they deserve that sort of thing, now don’t they? Nobody is immune to propaganda.

Springer first met Impactor at Sherma Bridge, where he saw him punch through a ship’s windshield, spear the driver’s head with his drill-hand, and then land the thing in front of a memorial statue. Gee, what a guy.

Springer, even though he’d seen all this and was feeling a little wary about this whole situation- which is a very valid reaction to witnessing a murder, no matter who’s been killed- decides to get put on the list of reservists for the Wreckers.

It’s amazing they even bother with Rung at all, isn’t it?

Springer’s interview is a violent one, because this is the Wreckers, and we don’t ever go half-mast on anything- Impactor falls out of the fucking sky in the middle of a huge battle and tells Springer that he’ll be coming with him. And that was that.

Oh hey, it’s the IDW2 eating chairs. And hello, Kaput, it’s nice to see you again.

Kaput’s diagnosis is as bleak as it is cryptic- Springer’s probably for sure going to die. Kaput seems to only exist to tell people they’re dying or dead, unless they’re the once and future Optimus Prime.

Kup’s pretty bummed out about this whole thing, pacing like a 1950’s father in the birth and delivery waiting room. Kaput doesn’t seem to notice, or is too lost the the medical sauce to realize that him going on about how they fixed that weird humming noise Springer’s legs used to make is making folks anxious.

Roadbuster asks just what exactly’s wrong, if they fixed everything from his ripped-off face to his weird humming legs. Kaput doesn’t like confrontation, so he blathers on for a bit before admitting that they haven’t found the zero point.

Roberts, how many times are you going to do this to Kup? First Rodimus, now Springer- did Kup bully you in primary school? I’m starting to get concerned.

That was six months ago, and while Roadbuster had been polite about it at the time, all the nothing that’s happened since has made him feel a little less kindly toward Kaput.

Okay, who’s ready to find out why doctors and mechanics aren’t the same thing on Cybertron? Because I sure am!

So they have to account for the soul, is what you’re saying. Is this about having some sort of bedside manner, because the mental aspect of healing has to be taken into account? Or is it more to do with the bizarre implications of the soul being physical as opposed to metaphysical, and therefore capable of being destroyed? The ethical conundrum that the spark presents is fascinating.

If a break happens between these two nerves, it can cause the energy of the spark to be redirected away from the points it’s meant to go, like a heart with a hole in it. Yes, the blood is still inside the body, but it’s not inside the veins and is therefore useless, and in fact is directly harming the body.

Roadbuster, after reflecting on the grim reality Springer is currently living, breaks out Wreckers: Declassified. This isn’t reading for personal enjoyment or ego-stroking however- Roadbuster actually greatly dislikes reading about himself in Fisitron’s datalogs. No, this is more of a last-ditch effort to save Springer’s life.

Roadbuster learned to read to act on a theory brought up by Rung- he and Kup are friends, on account of both of them being very old- that the spark is psychosomatic in nature. It can be influenced by intense emotional responses to potentially heal the physical self. They’re willing to try this, because nobody really knows how exactly a spark works, so Rung’s guess is as good as any.

Story time for the evening picks up on a chapter in a story called “The Wreckers’ Air Attack”, getting right into where Megatron’s about to shoot Impactor in the back of the head. But not without pontificating first.

This is so over the top, so romantic- and I’m talking Romantic as in the literary style. I don’t even know what to say here. Luckily Impactor does.

Fisitron may not know what this whole scene is about, but we as the reader do. The hardcover trade edition of Last Stand was published roughly a six months after “Chaos Theory”, where we got THIS exchange:

If this is what Megatron’s poetry is like, it’s no wonder Impactor isn’t a fan. Purple prose out the wazoo, incredibly flowery imagery- I’m sure there’s an audience for all that, but I doubt Impactor’s a part of that crowd.

Megatron is distracted just long enough for Springer to descend upon him on the sky sled, like a murderous Santa Claus, jumping off so the sled can slam into Megatron and send him careening down the side of the mountain.

That’s taken care of. What next?

It’s at this point that Roadbuster checks what chapter they’re on, because he’s really not the biggest fan of Fisitron’s writing style. Guess he isn’t one for fanfiction, or adverbs. Turns out, each of these datalogs are less blog posts and more fully-fledged books. Every single one of them.

Roadbuster’s feeling kind of hopeless at this point, and it’s not hard to understand why; there hasn’t been any sort of response from Springer at all in all the months he’s been reading to him.

He considers the contents of the only datalog he hasn’t cracked open yet, outright skipping over it every time- #113, the one about Pova. He doesn’t ever read it because it’s full of false information, as was made very clear in Last Stand #5.

Springer joined the 17th iteration of the Wreckers, after a hazing ritual so brutal, it required the addition of an amendment to the Misuse of Weapons Act. Horrifying. None of the original members of the Wreckers had survived the war by the point Springer had been brought on- except for Valve, who does not count because he left the Autobots to go be a Decepticon, a fact which will never be expanded upon, much like Eugenesis Skywarp having been an Autobot for some friggin’ reason.

Springer, once on the inside, realizes that maybe the Wreckers are a little too dark a shade of gray for him to be able to sit comfortably with- the battering of POWs just a little too enthusiastically, the bending of the rules a little too sharply, the blatant disregard for the Tyrest Accord being smoothed over with an “oopsie doodle!” It’s looking like the Wreckers aren’t completely on the straight and narrow; shocking, I know.

Still, he doesn’t really see the point in arguing with it, instead just trying to make sure that he’s not the one doing the maiming and such. Complicity is not the answer to this sort of behavior, Springer.

When Squadron X came onto the scene, Impactor was so upset at the perceived slight- because obviously if Squadron X was the Decepticons answer to the Wreckers, and they were a bunch of murderous assholes, what did that make the Wreckers?- that he made it everyone else’s problem. The Wreckers WOULD destroy Squadron X. It was his new goal in life.

This went exactly where you’d expect such a singleminded hate-boner to go.

After the execution of eight POWs who should have been let go due to being on sovereign territory, Springer decided that enough was enough and called the cops on Impactor. High Command had been itching to get this guy back under control, so things moved pretty quickly after that.

Springer resigned from the group afterwords, but then everyone started coming out of the woodwork, pestering him to come back and LEAD them, because they were worried about being shut down. The likes of Roadbuster and Whirl don’t exactly make for good executives. After thinking about it, and after the trial, of course, he agrees to come back on as the leader of the Wreckers. So began a new era.

Back in the real world, Roadbuster’s trying to read the falsified account of Pova, but just can’t go through with it. He decides to tell Springer the truth, if only so he won’t die with a bunch of bullshit bouncing around in his brain.

Springer did so many drugs in Eugenesis, he BECAME drugs in Last Stand.

So Springer is apparently the greatest hype man to ever live, as he pumped everyone up so much about getting Squadron X, they just went completely feral the moment they saw their ship. Squadron X wasn’t even doing anything, and the Wreckers were frothing at the mouth.

When this lead to the inevitable, and Springer was trying to break down the door to prevent Impactor from racking up eight war crimes in under two minutes, Roadbuster and Whirl had a little moment. They knew what had happened, they knew that they couldn’t stop it, they knew that Springer couldn’t stop it, and they were pleased as punch about it.

Once Impactor had been arrested, the other Wreckers were worried that they’d be the next to get ratted out. To try and prevent this, they created a false narrative to lure Springer back into the group, placing him in a position of leadership to soothe his worries about the others having been complacent in the murder of Squadron X.

Roadbuster finishes off this horrifying admission with a non-apology, complimenting Springer on being a good leader. Then he notices that Springer’s got a tear in his eye.

That’s a [ tair ] , not a [ teer ]. It took me a second, too. English is a nightmare of a language.

He tries to buff the tear out, manually peeling back Springer’s eyelid to do it, only to find that maybe Rung wasn’t completely full of shit after all.

#transformers #jro #last stand of the wreckers #zero point #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #prose writing #wreckers trilogy

64 notes · View notes

phantomphangphucker · 5 years ago

Text

Ectober week Darkness/Poison - Sinners Are We Chap.2: The Prince Of Poisoned Hope And The One Lurking In The Shadows

Even monsters can make a family. That’s no reason for the world to get its hopes up though.

History books will always show you how one simple change can change everything. Alter the course of History forever. And while that was true, today’s history books didn’t have much to tell. The universe had fallen to ruin in a matter of years after all. There were some who would say that this was the best possible outcome though. Even wrote books on it. That if it had been just one or the other, instead of the two of them together, that there wouldn’t be a universe left standing. Because together they changed one another, gave each other something other than obliterating things to focus on, and a heightened interest in the future.

The universe watched those two walk out on stage vengeful and angry, sadistic and carefree. One acting out of a twisted version of retribution and spite, the other who was more just a destructive force of nature. And as their show went on, one became more uncaring and unbothered by her past and the other grew even fonder of the idea of ‘irony’. The two former arch enemies in the eyes of anyone who knew of how they were before, now coupled together and encouraging each other in different was.

Their wedding was a Zone-wide and universe-wide celebration. Not because anyone was happy for them, no, because not celebrating might get you killed. Those two were incredibly flaky over who they would and wouldn’t kill, maim, or torture now-a-day’s. But it was also officially a holiday. Because the king and queen were to be wed.

The King Of Ghosts and the Queen Of Mortals. And though the latter hadn’t actually been a thing until her, no one was about to oppose. Lest she sic one of her metal machines on you or came after you herself. If she was in a mood, maybe he would come after you instead. Which while promising a likely quicker death, also would likely get everyone around you killed or maimed too.

The living were overall more fearful of her but would rather suffer at her hand than his. Something similar happened with the dead. A ghost didn’t care much about the collateral around them, and loved chaos. So while they feared him more, they’d take his destructiveness over her torture any day. And arguably, when it came down to it? They fulfilled their conquered roles well. When he wasn’t running amok destroying areas of Zone, the place flourished and they had a leader that was feared. That meant a lot to those of the dead. Being feared was their bread and butter. And the places he destroyed, if he left them alone long enough, reformed better than before. Like a fire had raged through it and the new growth was coming back stronger. Similar went for her, her existence alone deterred crime and planets simply couldn’t survive without other planets help due to all the destruction and loss. The living were more connected than ever and better behaved. And the living and dead hardly harmed each other anymore, because doing so was a great way to get the two tyrants' attention. Which was very seldom a good thing.

Of course there were plenty who were genuinely loyal and fond of the pair. Often working as assassins, knights, or subordinate rulers under them. In fact, anyone with large amounts of power or sway could reasonably be considered at the very least sympathisers. Not that anyone could do anything about that. Most people just busied themselves with survival and enjoying every day as much as they could, it very well could be their last day at the drop of a hat after all. Though everyone paid attention and gaped when the firstborn Gray-Phantom was announced. One Russet Julius Gray-Phantom, the middle name wasn’t recognised for the warning that it accidentally was. Most actually genuinely celebrated because maybe, maybe, this would take up more of their time and attention. Maybe the kid could be a positive influence on them. Be a poison that could dissolve the ice and hatred around their heart and Core. Maybe they’d actually consider their own kids' opinions and wants; they didn’t care about anyone else’s after all.

At the same time though, lords know how fucked up this kid might be or get.

The second-born Gray-Phantom, one Orrin Jasper Gray-Phantom, being announced only four years later gave everyone genuine hope that maybe the two’s focus had genuinely shifted to building a family. That they would stay with their family and exist more in the shadows of the two Realms rather than tormenting them on the forefront. Which could be good or very very bad. The realms could end up with a whole family of violent psychotic monsters. With generations of them. A lineage of brutality. And yet at the same time, both realms had gotten used to the king and queen. The dead didn’t want their king to lose his touch, his fearsomeness; and him destroying things was a reason to socialise with each other more, they might need to stay at another ghosts lair after all. The living worried that crime might increase or that they might start nipping at each other’s throats; she had made the living more inclined to violence and survival of the fittest yet more tight-knit community wise.

Then the elder prince went and ripped a bunch of the living apart limb from limb while laughing like a mad man at thirteen years of age. The boy was an absolute demon child, and his parents had no interest in leashing him. Heck, those two probably enjoyed it. But this incident was also when the Mortal Realm learned halfas were a thing. In suitably dramatic fashion when the human-looking elder prince transformed directly in front of the police force before shooting into the sky cackling. Which was news that spread through the universe at breakneck speed, faster than any poison, both for the oddity of that and the impossibility of that. Plus, gossip surrounding the high royals always stirred up interest. Out of morbid curiosity and pure survival.

At least they knew what the elder prince looked like as a human now, so they wouldn’t be caught so easily by surprise. Which did result in him getting attacked by ghost hunters in human form once, which very noticeably pissed him off... and got the hunters killed. But people understood why they tried, it was a test to see how strong the teen was. Which was to say he was definitely not as strong as his father or as smart as his mother; and he had very little in the way of tenacity. Which was good for them, meant he could be easily deterred; running off to huff like a petulant child.

The younger prince was more of an unknown, an uncertainty. But those that did run into him or spot him from afar said he looked at people like he was judging their worth and made them feel small. Like they were staring into a black smokey void, So he was clearly intelligent. Him leaving an area, especially to ghosts, felt less like he was running off and more like he had decided that the place or person could be useful to him. But for the most part, he stuck to the shadows, or maybe just seldom left Phantom’s Keep. It was quite possible he hung around in his human form, if he was a halfa too; no one would know after all. Though there were rumours that he went and stopped some war in the Ghost Realm at some point. No one was sure if that meant he had been peaceful or just went and obliterated both sides. The second being more in line with the behaviour of the rest of the family. Regardless, both the living and dead preferred the younger prince. He wasn’t actively dangerous to them and seemed less wild. But considering the king’s and queen’s history, the fact that they had both been heroes and champions for good once hadn’t disappeared into forgotten history; the younger also made them more nervous. Russet’s motives and feelings were obvious, if you saw him you knew he was up to something that would get someone hurt or make him stronger; it was obvious by the time he hit adulthood that he was power-hungry. By twenty, everyone was pretty sure he would have tried to off his parents for the throne if they weren’t in a totally different league than him in the power department. The king and queen seemed to enjoy mocking him for that and were gleeful over him trying to make himself stronger. They viewed that as them trying to push him over the edge, push him even further into violent darkness. At least that distracted the man some.

While Orrin, even at sixteen, was still effectively a mystery. Based on him ageing the same as his brother everyone decided he was definitely a halfa too. For a short while they tried to pin down his mortal form, but even the dead had no luck with that. As a result the amount rumours about him were almost endless. The most popular was that he was a thief and trickster. That he would pop up randomly in houses and lairs, scaring or creeping people out and then something went missing. That might have been born out of the fact that Russet clearly didn’t get his father’s humorous side, so maybe Orrin got all of it.

So one was like a poison that ran around destroying things and causing mayhem; even a couple societal collapses. While the other stuck to the darkness and no one really knew what lurked in that darkness.

And then, the third Gray-Phantom was born. A little girl they named Dove Jay Gray-Phantom. Just like her brothers, she was born looking like a six-year-old and she caused a stir. Because she was beautiful. Many of the more poetic types likened her to a rose blooming in a field of thorns. Of course, roses had thorns of their own; but she literally looked like the feeling of innocence. The living were as relieved as they were willing to let themselves feel when it came to the high royal family, but the dead viewed her as a possible weakness. And so they went to ‘test’ her, or more accurately ‘attack her’ while the king and queen were busy dealing with their handful elder son.

But that’s when Orrin’s protective side came out and the realms got to see his thorns for the first time. Russet lashed his thorns around like an animal full of pride, but when Orrin’s burst out from the shadows everyone immediately knew who the stronger bother was. He completely annihilated the ghosts that went after Dove with a straight face and seemingly without effort. Dove, meanwhile, seemed clueless and reportedly hummed softly the whole time.

The younger prince and princess weren’t seen for a while after that, and the elder prince seemed more volatile than normal. It could be because Dove hadn’t protected herself, which for a Gray-Phantom was absolutely unacceptable. They were supposed to be God’s amongst men whose reach seeped into every facet of the universe after all. And the elder brother was likely foaming at the mouth over being shown up by the younger. Most of the realms honestly hoped that maybe the adorable princess would change things, doubtful. But images mysteriously leaked of her wielding a sword with puffed out cheeks inspired more hope than worry.

#ectober #ectober week #ectober week 2020 #danny phantom #phandom #dan phantom #valerie gray #dark gray #implied/referenced murder #ghost king Dan #mortal queen Valerie #villain! Valerie #altrernate tue #fan fic #phan phic #my writing #have a fic suck my dick #phantomphangphucker #me taking the prompt and stretching it as far as it will go

23 notes · View notes

firelord-frowny · 4 years ago

Text

honestly like!

i HATE!!!! the very CONCEPT of guns. and i’m theoretically SO fundamentally opposed to violence.

but that opposition is based on an idealist assumption that no one is doing anything that they need to be stopped from doing.

and there are obviously a fucking hell of a lot of people doing a fucking hell of a lot of vile shit, and no amount of ~peaceful protesting~ or litigating or campaigning or Reaching Across The Aisle is going to stop them, and it’s fucking RIDICULOUS that anyone at all thinks people should just wait patiently for The Powers That Be to spontaneously manifest a conscience and finally quit trying to maim and murder people For Funsies.

i would LOVE it we could just hug them into submission and invite them over for tea and chit chat and take their ugly ass hand and smile at them and show them that I’m Just A Normal Person Like You and have them finally decide to stop wanting me to die. and honestly, some people REALLY CAN be reached through those kinds of methods. and i don’t think people should stop trying to do that. and if anything, i think MORE people need to be trying to do that.

but i ALSO think that more people need to start punching some bigots in the fucking face.

if self proclaimed conservatives and right wingers and proud wimpy boys get to go around committing terroristic acts against other peoples, and if the politicians and ceos they stan for refuse to take any actions to stop them at best, and at worst go out of their way to FACILITATE the suffering of all but bigoted, well-off white people....

then we should get to punch them in the fucking face and not have anyone say WORD ONE about it.

they wanna be all big and bad and parade around threatening and committing violence against teachers and health care workers and black people and asian people and jewish people and indigenous people and women of all backgrounds, then they should be fucking tough enough to cope with a goddamn punch in the face every now and then. they should WELCOME every fist that ever collides with their flesh.

if they want a fucking fight, we should GIVE THEM A FIGHT! and make sure they fucking lose. make sure the pathetic little ~civil war~ they’re begging for is HUMILIATINGLY short. chase their fucking asses into the most barren, useless parts of the world where they can be vile all by themselves.

bc i SWEAR TO GOD, the only reason why these people have any power at all to impact anything or anyone is because people LET THEM. not because they’re soooo smart, or they’re soooo dangerous, or there are sooooo many of them. it’s STRICTLY because an enormous majority of bare-minimum-decent people care more about Taking The Moral High Ground than about actually doing what’s necessary to disable evil people from doing evil things.

This is a hella problematic way to put it, buuuut

black people know not to do or say certain things to a cop because we’ve been conditioned to fear the consequences of even the most benign ~infractions.~ We swallow our fucking pride and whip out those “yes sirs” and “no sirs” and we move slowly and we try to keep our hands visible at all costs because we’ve seen, over and over again, for DECADES (centuries, really) what those people might do to us if our hand isn’t totally visible for a fraction of a second. And sometimes it doesn’t even work. Sometimes we do everything in our power to demonstrate that there’s no need to hurt us, and we get murdered anyway.

WOULDN’T IT BE NICE if those wack ass bigots could learn to fear the consequences of being disgusting out loud and in public?

Imagine if, over the last several decades, malicious bigots were met with SWIFT physical consequences every time they did some fucked up shit.

do you think they’d be so bold now?

i don’t.

i think if they thought for one second that whoever they pull a gun on might pull one out back at them, then they would keep their fucking mouths shut and behave. i think if they LEGITIMATELY thought that they’re actual lives and their actual freedom were at stake, they wouldn’t say SHIT. Because they know that whether or not they have to wear a mask or get vaccinated or whateverthefuck has absolutely NO real impact on their place in the world. there is NO. WAY. that they would be all up in arms over something so fucking absurd if they thought anyone would actually try to hurt them in response.

they don’t think anyone is going to show up at their dumb lil protests with tear gas. they don’t think an angry BLM activist is going to shoot up their country club in retaliation against the oppressive policies they support. they don’t think anyone is going to stop them on the street and start screaming in their face and threaten to kill them. they don’t think they’re going to lose a damn fucking thing. they think they’re literally going to just waltz into some of the most secure buildings in the world and wreak havoc, and that NO ONE is going to do shit about it.

that’s the problem :) :) :) :) :) :)

the problem isn’t that these people exist. i mean, it fucking sucks that they exist and if they could somehow cease to exist, whether by alien abduction or some sort of freak simultaneous lightning strike or WHATEVER, i would be THRILLED. but just existing doesn’t hurt anyone. Having a stupid belief doesn’t automatically make someone dangerous. It just makes them a shitty person.

But to have a stupid belief and to feel SO ENTITLED to acting upon those beliefs???

those motherfuckers need to fear for their safety. those motherfuckers need to be SO PETRIFIED that they dig themselves underground and bury themselves alive and NEVER resurface.

i don’t understand how, at this point, with over half a million people DEAD because of the actions of these assholes, and with thousands of people CONTINUING to drop dead over it every day, the so-called “good guys” still don’t see fit to resort to drastic measures to render these people INCAPABLE of causing further harm.

so many people have died. not just in the time of covid, but decades before that. so many people are murdered in the name of carrying out the pettiest whims of the most wretched people on earth. People get injured. People get poisoned by their own water supply or the very air they breathe. People get sick because they’re forced to live under unhealthy circumstances, and then they DIE because they can’t afford treatment for the illnesses they developed because of the unhealthy circumstances that made them sick in the first place! Children starve. Global warming sets people on fire and drowns them and destroys homes and lives and landscapes.

literally, at WHAT point does it become acceptable to finally just declare war on these fucking demons? WHEN do we meet them where they’re at and start punching back instead of just curling up and trying to survive the attack?

i KNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW that there are groups out there who are taking direct action in some form or another. but CLEARLY it’s not enough.

and i ALSO know that there are MANY PEOPLE who have the actual skills and resources to stage a legitimate countereffort, and they’re just. not. doing it.

we’ve got all these vile-ass ~ex military~ types boasting about their arsenal and how they intend to use it to reign terror upon innocent people. these fuckfaces who are LITERALLY HOLDING PUBLIC OFFICE and saying Out Loud that they want to attack us. and their peers exalt them for it.

you CANNOT tell me that there are 0 ~ex military~ people who are sympathetic to the cause of resisting these malicious bigots. you CANNOT tell me that there aren’t people in public office who know that something MUST be done, and who have the POWER and ACCESS to do something - even if it’s “unlawful.”

but they’re not doing it. :) because they’re weak. :) and they fear for their lives in a way that ~the right~ has NEVER had to contend with. A democratic state senator knows someone might hunt them down and try to kill them if they say anything ~too radical~. a republican state senator is confident that he could literally call for the public execution of someone and be met only with a pathetic verbal reprimand from some spineless liberal congressman who bends over backward to be Respectful And Fair as they gently try to explain why it’s not okay to facilitate mass death in every demographic but their own.

can somebody with the actual power and means to do so PLEASE start doing ANYTHING to terrorize these people back to the bland, tasteless, spiritually bankrupt cesspit they congealed in? When one of these american terrorists brandishes a gun in someone’s face, can someone PLEASE brandish their own gun right back at them? THEY should be the ones who are too terrified to speak up. Not us. THEY should be the ones compelled to look over their shoulder.

im so sick of a world where mass suffering and exploitation are accepted as Just The Natural Order Of Things. instead of a harrowing dystopia that should be burned to the ground quick, fast, and in a motherfucking hurry.

1 note · View note

tatooineknights · 6 years ago

Text

Whumptober 16th: Pinned Down

Vader was thrust to the ground, a mechanical groan exiting his mask as he heard the cybernetic prosthesis he called a hand tumble off into the reactor below. There was barely any pain - just a frustrated roar of agonized defeat. The boy towered over him with venom in his eyes, golden fire encircling blueish hues reflecting his own sorry sight. It had been a long time since Vader saw such disgust in himself - to get to where he was now.

Luke crumpled to the floor of the catwalk, his own blood-curdling scream still echoing around the vast expanse. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his lightsaber deactivate and fall into the chasm with what used to be his hand. The immediate pain was excruciating but it was the dull ache that followed that made him want to vomit. The Sith Lord stood over him like a looming angel of death, his scarlet saber pointed right at him. His own reflection looked back at him through that dark husk of a mask.

He had lost control over his son. The goal was to lure him into the Dark Side just enough that they could both strike the Emperor down. This sick and twisted relationship he had with Palpatine was dominating and ruined him, it wasn’t a path he wanted for his child. Luke’s lips were trembling and his hands shook as the green weapon inched closer to his chest. If his death was at the hands of his own son, then it probably wasn’t the worst way his life could end. After all, what father wasn’t proud of his child becoming greater than himself?

The boy couldn’t stop cursing at himself in his head, replaying the events in his head over and over. If he had just kept his eye on Vader and not glanced at that floating panel, if he had kept both hands on the lightsaber instead of letting go to balance himself, maybe he would still be fighting. Maybe he would still have a lightsaber. “There is no escape. Don’t make me destroy you,” hissed Vader. All he could feel was disgust - disgust at his own failure and disgust at this monster that had taken from him everything he had ever lived: a master, a father.

If only Luke could avoid the Emperor. Vader recalled how easily his tormented heart was broken and shattered, how he feared the lengths Palpatine would go to ruin his child. “Your hate has made you powerful,” the Emperor grinned, his gleeful goading hurting Vader all the more. He hated the Emperor - he hated him for what he did to his life. Why did his inevitable betrayal still sting so much? Senator Palpatine was once like a father to him, where Obi-Wan was his brother. The chains and bindings within whatever remained of his heart labored as he once did on Tatooine. The cycle would repeat it itself once again, with Luke replacing him as the guardian knight of darkness. “Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side.”

Distance. That was all that mattered to the wounded Jedi. He had to create as much artificial distance as he could, anything to free him from a moment’s torment. “If you only knew the power of the Dark Side,” Vader warned, his left hand extended into an almighty fist. Luke knew all about that terrible power - how much it could easily corrupt and twist someone into another being entirely. “Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father,” the Sith Lord finished, hinting at some greater truth. This infuriated Luke. How dare he bring up his former master, the man he murdered? He could feel his brow furl and his lips turn into a sick grin as he decided to challenge his statement: “He told me enough. He told me you killed him.”

“Never,” Vader finally heard from above. The green haze ahead of him slowly dimmed away as Luke deactivated the weapon. He gasped as his son threw the lightsaber to the ground, the sound of it rattling against the solid metal filling the void of silence between the three men. The fool! He had warned Luke of the great powers that the Emperor possessed - even with a lightsaber, the boy was little threat to him. Without one and he was essentially asking for a death sentence. What was he thinking? His child walked away from Vader and toward the Emperor, his small frame heaving as he approached certain death. He realized that Luke had spared him: after all the pain he had given him - torturing his friends, maiming him, luring him to the Dark Side - his son chose forgiveness. “I’ll never turn to the Dark Side. You’ve failed, your highness. I am a Jedi. Like my father before me.”

“I am your father,” he said. What? What could that even mean? His father was a brave Jedi Knight, one of the most heroic men in the entire galaxy. Words of denial escaped his dry lips, heaps of disdain and horror spilled out with each breath. His father couldn’t have killed his own master and friend, he couldn’t have ordered his aunt and uncle murdered, he couldn’t harm his own child. But a moment of total clarity suddenly flooded into Luke: he could suddenly see the eyes underneath that mask and saw his own eyes reflect back. The vision in the cave. The truth. Bubbling tears that Skywalker had tried so hard to hide away were streaming down his face - all he could do was let out one final cry of despair as the truth sunk down his soul to the pit of his stomach.

Vader was never more proud of his son.

Luke wanted to forget his father ever existed.

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #16 #Luke Skywalker #Darth Vader

87 notes · View notes

hitchell-mope · 5 years ago

Text

(Third film. After “goodbye”. 23 years ago. The afternoon after the isle was set up. Olympus. Zeus is milling about the throne room excessively drinking in celebration. The marble floor cracks. From them vines fly out and form a Venus fly trap. The mouth opens and out steps a figure in a dark verdant hooded cloak. They send vines in Zeus’s direction which wrap around neck)

Zeus: WHO ARE YOU!!!!

Persephone (removing the cloak): who the fuck do you think it is your “majesty”

Zeus: eurghooh uh. Lady Persephone. To what do I owe the pleasure

Persephone: oh stuff it you old sot. You know what you did!!!!

Zeus: I assure you. I have no idea whatsoever as to what you mean

Persephone: my husband and my two week son where missing when I woke up this morning.

Zeus (feigning concern): really? That’s horrible

Persephone: he did it didn’t he? Adam. He set that, that horrible god awful prison up

Zeus (dropping all pretences): I’m happy to say he did. Now all of those, ahem, people, for want of a better word, are where they belong and can no longer harm us. Oh don’t look at me like that my girl. This is a good thing. Now you’re no longer bound by that pissy little contract he forced you into. You can rejoin your mother here on Olympus and all is as it was a should be before my idiot little destroyed your life

Persephone: if he destroyed my life I wouldn’t be here defending him you stupid slut. Nobody gets it. Nobody has ever seemed to have gotten it. I went through that fissure. I approached the skull throne. I threw myself at him. Being up here was a fucking snooze fest of banality. So I took the first out I could find. And I could not have been happier of what my life has become. The only reason the contract exists is because my mother threatened humanity’s livelihood should I stay there. If it were up to me I would’ve never have come back. I had to sign that to save the mortals

Zeus: how can you possibly be happy in the worlds basement

Persephone: hades is a good husband and provider. He respects my boundaries. He’s never strayed without my consent. And unlike you. He’s never purposefully killed anyone.

Zeus: and what of what he did to my son?

Persephone: ok. I shan’t defend him for that. Because he doesn’t defend himself for it either. He knows he did something disreputable. But he’s more then made up for it. Among other things he paid for and officiated the boys wedding

Zeus: where the Helios was I in all this?

Persephone: you were wine drunk, literally swanning about and harassing anyone and all naiads that stayed still long enough for you to approach them

Zeus (fondly): ah yes, good times, good times. Wait. Where are you going

Persephone: I’m going back home. Pain and Panic are good babysitters. But when Persey cries she tends to burn their limbs

Zeus: who cares. They’re the help

Persephone: they’re family.

(She leaves the way she arrived. On the isle. It’s dark, cold and barren. Hades (John Barrowman) is unconscious. There’s a large green and yellow bruise on his left temple. He’s woken up by the sound of crying)

Hades: hey kiddo. It’s alright. We’ll be ok. I tbini. We just have to get to shelter

(A very large very angry dragon jumps out of the fog. End of flashback. Underworld. Present day. Persephone is at her desk on her laptop)

Persey: see ya ma! I’m going out

Persephone: goodbye dear. Wait. Where are you going?

Persey: Auradon. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard? Chad Charming’s gone postal, stole Verna’s wand. Ben’s missing and Lonnie just sent out the batsignal.

Persephone: oh my goodness. Wow. Do you need me to help?

Persey: just look after our home.

(They disappear a wisp of steel grey fire. Outskirts of Auradon. Elsa’s unconscious on the ground. The girls have found her)

Lonnie: oh my god

Jane: your majesty

Dizzy: we’re off to a great start

Jane: your majesty wake up. Please wake up

Dizzy: the bazooka use the bazooka

Jane: right yes of course

(She squirts ends with the bazooka which instantly wakes her up)

Elsa: ouch. Use that sparingly dear. We may need it more than you think. Could somebody help me up please. Thank you Lonnie

Lonnie: what happened?

Elsa: I teleported here and then I hit something

Jane: it’s a barrier. She put up a barrier around Auradon

Dizzy: ohhhh she’s good. I mean she’s an evil psychopathic bitch. But she’s clever

Lonnie: how do we get inside?

Elsa: Jane?

(Jane makes confused questioning noises)

Elsa: if you would be so kind as to assist me in getting past the barrier?

Jane: ohhhh. Yeah sure let’s do it

(The ice queen and light fairy use magic to create a hole in the barrier. As they do so a flaming comet zooms down and crash a few feet away from them)

Elsa: what the hell

Barrowman!Hades: Name's Hades, Lord of the dead. Hi, how ya doin'?

Jane: fuck

(Elsewhere in Auradon on the school grounds Mal and the others have just touched ground. Mal’s a human again doubled over in pain)

Mal (groaning painfully): urgh. FuckDAMMIT!!!! Jesus I’m not made for this

Hadie (worriedly): are you alright

Mal: I will be. A minivan I am not.

Hadie: was this the first time you’ve carried this many people?

Mal: yeah. Normally it’s just Ben. And even then it’s only if he asks.

Hadie: really.

Jay: let’s just say he wouldn’t watch GOT for the political intrigue

Carlos: or HYTTD for the animation

Evie: or merlin for the story line

Hadie (knowledgeably): ahhh, he’s a scaly

Core four: yep

Harry: can you let me go now?

Jay: uhhhh. Nah

Harry: why?

Mal: because we may yet need a human sacrifice. And you’re the only schmo who fits the bill.

Harry: huh?

Carlos: Gil and I are loved by everyone. I’m the kings adoptive son. He’s the kings brother. You’re the ground people use to scrape gum off their shoes

Evie: that’s an insult to shoes gum and ground. And scraping

Carlos: my apologies. To shoes gum ground and scraping

Harry: I hate you all.

Jay: don’t expect us to lose sleep over it

Harry: besides. I’m the last person who should be a sacrifice

Evie: that specific criteria has been discontinued

Harry: huh

Jay: people like you can be scarified now

Harry: shit

Mal: oh no. Oh no no no no no. This is not good

Evie: they’re all asleep. DOUG

Mal: BEN

Gil: LONNIE

Evie: please pickup please please please pickup.

Mal: nonononononono. Gah. I miss you

Gil: please be safe

Jay: Jane isn’t answering either.

Mal: ok ok ok. So. The king. His major-domo/regent. And both their regents are missing. All the remaining students are asleep. It’s only half past two in the afternoon but I already want to take a brandy bath. Because Auradon has no leader. So we’re all screwed to fuckery

Jay: well that’s not entirely true is it. Hadie could you summon the three little bitches. Cause I really really want them to see this

(Hadie makes Uma, Harriet and Cj appear via grey smoke)

Uma: what the hell’a going on?

Harriet (very confused): we were still on the bridge and what’s all that funny coloureds stuf on the ground?

Jay: you three are gonna hate this. You, Uma, especially are gonna hate it. (In his announcer voice) NOW PRESENTING. MALEFICENT BERTHA. THE ACTING QUEEN OF AURADON

(He bows to Mal, closely floored by Carlos Celia Gil and Hadie. Evie is pulled to her knees by Carlos. Mal looks like she was just clipped by a car)

Uma: what?

Jay: well after the wedding she’ll be queen legally. But for now she’s just the regent. It’s wonderful don’t ya think?

Hadie: it’s marvellous. Now bow heathens

Harriet: fat fucking chance.

Jay: oh but Harry’s bowing to the one true queen

Harry: Celia bent my spine

Celia: it was my pleasure

Uma: I am not bowing to that.

Jay: oh you act as if you have a choice

(He uses magic to make the three pirates kowtow to the dark fairy)

Jay: there ya go. Isn’t that better?

(Mal takes a swig of her hipflask and disappears into purple smoke. Everyone stands up again)

Gil: where did mal go?

Jay: I think I know

Evie: then tell us ohhhh. Yeah. Sounds about right

Hadie: where is she. I’ll go to her. Me Evie and Harry

Harry: I don’t fucking think so

Hadie: she’s family. We have to help her

Harry: I’ll bring the coughing

Evie: if that’s going with you then mal will probably commit a sin on sacred ground

Hadie: where is it that she’s gone to?

Jay: you’ll see

(He moves his lower arm around creating a cloud of gold smoke that surrounds Evie and Hadie. When it clears they’ve disappeared. The smoke deposits them on stone steps. Hadie’s clutching Harry’s arm)

Harry: I hate you. I honest to mmmmother hate you

Evie: feelings mutual. Come on let’s go

Hadie: where are we Evie

Evie: where the king was crowned a year and a half ago

(They enter the cathedral . Only Mal is now where to be seen)

Harry: well she’s not here let’s go

Evie: up bup bup. There is one way to lure her out of hiding. Hadie the dagger please

Harry (having flashbacks to when he was 14): no Nono don’t you dare dont you fucking think about it. FUUUUUUCK! She did it

(Evie uses the dagger to slash Harry’s shin. He falls down in pain. Mal pops up from behind the pulpit)

Mal: I heard Scottish screaming (realises she was played) aw crap I shoulda known. I hate it when you do that

Evie: it’s a tested tried and true method. Plus it’s fun to maim him

Mal: yeah...(she heaves a sigh and sits down heavily on the stage) I’m queen. “Yay” I want Ben. Is that pathetic? It sounds pathetic

Evie (sitting down next to her): no. I want Doug. Does that make me ok pathetic?

Mal: no. It’s a change though. Did you ever think two years ago we’d be wanting our boyfriends here protecting us?

Evie: two years ago I wanted to sink my claws into a prince. Now I have the perfect man

Mal: no, the perfect man bypassed you and asked me out. But Doug’s a close second though

Evie (cackling): bitch

Mal: sister. Older by a day

Hadie: May I scoot in if we’re sharing things?

Mal (making a space for him between her and Evie): sure. What do you want to talk about?

Hadie: I never knew my mother. And before you say “don’t rub it in”. I wasn’t born on the island. I’m an Olympian by birth. But when Adam set the isl...you know what, let’s just call it what it is. When Adam created the prison he convinced our beloved uncle Zeus to put our dad there first. Theory was that if Satan could be subdued by a human. Then other “undesirables” would be easier to round up. So when I was two weeks old, Zeus and Hypnos used their combined magic to put him and I there. I have never known anything else. And the next year Hook uh “hooked up” with a street walker, Harriet. And uh

Evie: not a lot stuff to do over there

Mal: well you know except

Evie: don’t. Please. Don’t. It’s bad enough I’m related to that thing on the floor. But having to imagine THAT happening. Gah...it crosses a line

Mal: thanks for the nightmares

Evie: you started it.

Hadie: I’m a hedonist. A disciple of Dionysus to be precise

(Evie looks at him with her mouth agape)

Evie: well that took a turn

Mal: what is a “disciple of Dionysus”?

Evie: it’s basically some sort of cult. Mostly guys. Girls are there as well. I had the unfortunate honour of delivering a flyer to one of their clubhouses last month

Hadie: sorry about that. I told them to be a little bit more discreet after that

Mal (overjoyed): no

Evie (slightly sick): it can’t be

Hadie: I was eighteen and bored. What else was there to do but set up a club

Evie: try to find us.

Hadie: whenever I wasn’t with my friends or our dad I checked up on you. One time you were trying to puncture the barrier with magic. And another you were crying in an alleyway Mal. I even tried to make a wig for you when you were in the market place with a buzzcut Evie.

Mal: that’s actually quite sweet.

Hadie: I just want to tell my mother “don’t worry. My life wasn’t completely terrible. I’m happy”.

Mal: when this is over I wanna tell Maleficent “fuck you, you giant living accessory, fuck you”

Evie: I want to tell Grimhilde. “You were wrong. Princes are not for me, Doug is perfect for me and I eat what I want when I want”

Hadie (wistfully) and Mal and Evie (vengefully): I cant wait to see the look on her face

(This is when “hey look ma, I made it happens. At the school Gil has a peace offering)

Uma: what the hell are these?

Gil: berries. They’re amazing. Blueberries, blackberries, strawberries, fun fact, never get in a strawberry eating contest with Mal. You will lose. And need your stomach pumped

Uma: this is this supposed to make up for what you did? You betrayed me. Abandoned me for this. No amount of whatever this shit is is gonna erase that

Gil: I didn’t leave because I wanted to hurt you Uma. I left because it was best for me. You know as well as anyone that the island is an awful place for people like us. So, yeah, I left. But that’s what you wanted. I did what you wanted. Just not how you wanted it to happen. The fact of the matter is Uma, you scare me. I still love you. But you scare me. All I could think of at the dance when you were attacking the ship was “this is what I get for trying to be happy”. I still have nightmares about it. If you care so much about getting kids off the island why were you so mad that I left. Irrespective of who I left with. Shouldn’t you be happy I got away at all?

Uma (standing up to her full height which just barely reaches Gil’s chin): you left me. To go galavanting off with them. You may not think it. But a lot of sins are never forgiven. So no. I’m not “happy that you got away” because you betrayed my loyalty to do so

Jay: Gil, buddy, leave her to stew. She’s not worth it.

(Gil leaves heartbroken and joins Carlos and Celia near some of the sleeping students)

Uma: lemme guess. You’re his bit on the side? Or is he your chippy?

Jay (chuckling sarcastically): oh Uma. He’s with Lonnie. I’m with Carlos. He and I are not together. But he’s done so well here. He’s great at chess and tourney and R.O.A.R. He’s set up a book club. Every month he goes to the isle and hands out flyers and food and blankets and weathers the hate he for it. He’s a good guy. And him “disrespecting you” wasn’t malicious. Because here’s the thing. You seem to be belabouring under the impression that this is your story. It’s not. It’s ours. It’s always been our story. Mal and me and Carlos and Evie. You don’t even get a look in until way way after this whole thing started. It is not about you. It has never been about you. I’m just sorry you still think that after all these years.

Uma: you don’t deserve to have people celebrate you after what you did.

Jay: what about what you did. You set Harry on Carlos five years ago. You kidnapped Ben and tried to murder him to get under Mal’s skin. Face it “Captain”, you say that what you do is for the island but it’s not. It never has been. What you did was for you. To make yourself feel less worthless than you are

Uma: so what now? You gonna kill me?

Jay: no. Not today. Not while Mal still feels guilty about the shrimpy incident. But I want you to know something. I would’ve done it you know. I would have murdered you if you murdered Mal and Ben. And neither Evie Doug Carlos or Dizzy could have stopped me. Because that is what you get when you mess with my family. And I would’ve made that thing that follows you around like a fixed mutt clean up your remains. Just bear that in mind next time you try to wrest control from my queen

(At the cathedral Harry’s trying to bandage his leg. Hadie sits down next to him and heals him with magic)

Hadie: there you go. All better

Harry: I guess I should say thank you.

Hadie: nah. Don’t expect you to. But I do wanna show you something.

Harry: what?

(Hadie flicks his wrist and there in a darkened bedroom. A baby’s bedroom. It’s filled with roughshod burlap sack stuffed toys hand stitched and fraying. A makeshift mobile of various coloured glass hangs above a safe looking but old crib)

Harry: where are we.

Hadie: where you should’ve been for the past nineteen years if I hadn’t panicked and took you to the Jolly Roger.

Harry: this is my room? At the wherever it’s was you lived.

Hadie: our room. At the lair.

Harry: holy shit. You two. You two wanted to

Hadie: yeah. Dad wanted to keep you. But I was four. You got stuck on the way out. I thought I broke you.

Harry: yeah well, a lot of people would say that there is as nuffink you coulda done

Hadie: I could d waited for dad to wake up. I could’ve asked her what to do.

Harry: like you said you four. When I was four I went down to the docks to try and get rid of ol leftie here. Thought it’d get dad to like me

Hadie: I know. I heard the story. Tick-Tock wouldn’t go for it.

Harry: why settle for the after mint when you can have the rotting steak? You can still see the scar. Look.

Hadie: is that why you carry the...

Harry: the hook? Yeah. That and added protection. For some reason people don’t really like me. Might be the skull face. I dunno

(Hadie laughs. Evie enters the illusion)

Evie (drolly): how sentimental

Hadie (brightly): hey sis

Evie: I mean I haven’t been this choked up since got a chunk of moussaka caught in my throat

Mal (also crashing the conversation): Doug made her laugh at a state dinner eight months ago.

Harry: well I’ve seen him. He doesn’t have to do much.

Evie: have you ever had a telekinetic wedgie?

Harry: no

Evie: oh. Then we’ll be in for a treat then

(Her eyes glow briefly, the illusion breaks and Harry’s lifted ten feet in the the air by the back of his underwear yelling in pain all the while)

Evie: you know, I’ve been thinking. The ember is defunct because calamari thee it in the bay. So we need to reignite it. And correct me of I’m wrong but hades has a massive temper problem?

Hadie: not for years but yes.

Evie: and Hook is the angriest person I know. So. If he by some twisted non miracle gets his hair set on fire while he’s holding the ember then it can work again.

Hadie: don’t appreciate the word phrasing. But I understand the general idea

Harry (bored): so how’re you gonna do it. Beat me up. Conjure up my worst fears.

Evie: talk to you. I’m just gonna talk to you. Believe me. It’s gonna hurt me a lot more then it hurts you. At least not physically

Harry: like I give a shit. Just get on with it so it can be over. Who’s got the pebble

(It conks him on the side of his head)

Mal (sarcastically): oops

Harry: ok first off. I hate you and your carcass needs to be burned with you still breathing.

Mal: immune to fire.

Harry: I meant iron.

(Mal lunges are him it Hadie holds her back)

Evie: now where was I? Oh yes. Breaking your spirit. You realise of course everyone hates you. Your father, us, Jay, Carlos, Ben. Hell. Even Gil only hung around with you out of pity. And Uma. The first chance she got she dumped you like yesterday’s trash. Because that’s what you are Hook. Trash. Useless rotting disgusting trash. Nobody loves. Nobody cares about you. Nobody wants you around.

Harry (nervously): Uma

Evie: threw you away and branded you traitor the minute you questioned her judgement. She never wanted a first mate or a, whatever it was you were to her, she wanted an easily malleable, easily swayed, lapdog. That’s all you were to her “Icarus”.

Harry (voice brittle): Harriet

Evie: lied to you for nineteen years. To save her own skin.

Harry (weakly): stop. Please. Stop

Evie: sorry for what I’m about to say Mal but it’s necessary. (Turning back to Harry). Did you stop when Carlos begged you to stop chasing him in the market that day. Did you stop when dizzy asked you taking all the money from the till? No? Then why the hell should I stop now? Face it Icarus. Nobody wants you. Nobody likes you. Nobody loves you! You mean nothing to anyone. You were born useless. You will die useless. So stop wasting everybody’s time and just do it. Die like the dog you are!

(Harry roars and lunges at her. She evades him easily and he crashes into the stage. He stands up. The verbal beat down worked. His eyes are glowing blood red. His hair on fire in the same colour. The ember has reactivated)

Harry: now it’s your turn

(He shoves his palm out and Evie’s thrown into the wall. Brass candle stands wrap around her neck and starts to dig into her skin. Evie screams hits and kicks at the air. Mal calmly walks up to Harry, uses the sceptre to stab him in the back and pulls out his heart)

Mal: put her down gently. Good. Now lie down like the bitch you are. (She notices Hadie looking at her in horror) what? Did you really expect me to touch him with my bare hands? Here you go (she swings the aorta over to him). You can put it back. You alright E?

Evie: yeah I’m ok. I’m just going to stomp on his face with SPIKED CLEATS!

Hadie: that horrible experience worked. Now we gotta try to make it work for all of us

Mal: how. And don’t say what I think you’re gonna say because I am not working with him

Hadie (sane time as her): we need to work together as a family

Evie: fuck

Mal: how’d you propose we do this then.

Hadie: friction. I think. When I got us out of the isle I rubbed the ember

Harry: and covered it in your own blood

Hadie: yes. So if we replicate that. Then maybe. Just maybe. We’ll all be able to use it.

Evie: good plan. But again. How do we all do it. Cause in case you haven’t noticed. There’s three of us. And one ember.

Hadie: Harry’s here as well

Evie: I know. I intentionally left him out. To me he doesn’t count.

Hadie: well dear you’re going to have to get into his headspace.

Mal: my Scottish accent is legally classed as offensive

Evie: it’s true. Absolutely fucking horrendous

Hadie: heh?

Mal: one time in class we had to put ourselves in the shoes of evil we hate most.

Evie: all four of us chose Harry.

Harry: now ya see what I gotta put up with?

Hadie: indeed I do.

Mal: gargh! Fine. We’ll do what you think is right. But only because I need to stop Maleficent. Ok.

Hadie (smoking giddily): ok

Evie: urgh fine.

Harry: whatever it takes for me to get away from these two twigs

(This is when “friction” happens)

#disney descendants #zendaya!mal

8 notes · View notes

angieschiffahoi · 6 years ago

Text

Reasons why Terminator Dark Fate is a worthy sequel of T2

It wrapped up a stale story and respected its predecessor’s finale

Skynet is dead, long live Skynet. Yes, there is no fate and Sarah was able to kill Skynet, but Skynet wasn’t a product of only its time nor an incident made by rogues: Skynet was a warning of what would become of people if they were too arrogant. It’s a tale of hybris. Men get too self-reliant and create something that will bring about their downfall: they become God, but by becoming God they commit a sin so big, they will need Jesus Christ (John Connor or James Cameron, if you will) to save themselves. I mean, if you don’t see the correlation between the Virgin Mary and Sarah Connor (Sarah is also the wife of Abraham, the quintessential mother in the Bible), y’all are blind (she gets inseminated by an “angel” sent to protect her, by her own son, ergo God). Terminator Dark Fate didn’t become woke, it did what T2 started to do, it de-christianized its message for a wider audience (Hollywood doesn’t pander to white christian americans anymore in 2019, go figure). In both movies, Sarah isn’t the Virgin Mary anymore, she’s the mentor, she takes action and she changes her own future and that of billions of people: she becomes the saviour. In the sequel to TDF she obviously was supposed to be the mentor to the new saviour. By killing John, it gave the story back to Sarah and a new hope for the future, taking out some of those harmful tropes where women are only good to “birth” the father of the resistance and not be them. John Connor was never a character you were going to be satisfied with, because he’s an ideal. You liked the teen version, because he was a rebel-ish punk who did everything he wanted, had a motorcycle and a pet robot. You were never going to like the gritty future version of a man destroyed by everything and also he was never supposed to become that. All of Sarah’s struggles the moment she found out she was pregnant were to protect her son from that future. Hadn’t they killed him off in 1999, he would’ve just been a 45 year old drunk - that’s where his character was going after defeating Skynet.

It isn’t contraddictory to have another AI replace Skynet.

Skynet and Legion are a cautionary tale, they are false gods, Frankenstein’s creature and the devil. It’s not repetitive, it’s not something that can be prevented in full, because humanity IS on that path. Humanity wants to play God and Sarah and John’s effort to stop Skynet was silent, it was secret (despite Sarah’s efforts to have people believe her, nobody did). Do you really think it would be so difficult to imagine another company, working on a similar project, at the same time in the late 90s - early 2000s? The only weak point is the implication that Legion would occupy terminators and the same tactics as Skynet, but I’m guessing if Sarah has been killing Terminators in the past for 30 years, Legion could’ve “read” something about it and developed itself to fit the past or got inspired, I don’t know. It’s not that far-fetched to have another AI use the same tactics.

It introduced a new scary terminator, who is perfect for 2020

The Rev-9, like its predecessors, is an inflitration model (and that’s the only reason they cast a latin actor) who is built to hunt the same way the first two were, but it does it better: because 2020 is a scary time. The T-800 had to look on a phone book and kill three Sarah Connor before getting to the right one. This one? It needs a working internet connection.

Also, to all of you saying that politics should stay out of movies,

- the T-800 was an intimidating male hunting a defenseless woman

- the T-1000 was a cop hunting a supposed “crazy woman and criminal”

- the Rev-9 is an immigration officer hunting a defenseless immigrant.

not that hard to spot the similarities.

It answered the question “what happens to terminators when they fulfill their purpose?”

Arnie is old and that’s what made it so much more believable for me.

People keep using this quote from The Terminator to say how terrible writing and what a huge plot hole it was to make the T-800 a dad: “That Terminator is out there. It can't be reasoned with, it can't be bargained with...it doesn't feel pity of remorse or fear...and it absolutely will not stop.Ever. Until you are dead.”

Here’s a few reasons why their reasoning is biased:

First, off screen reason: this is the first movie, Cameron had no idea what would become of its own sequels. He hadn’t predicted Arnold would have such a following and I’m sure a re-programmed Terminator wasn’t in its plans. The first movie was about the horror of the terminator, we weren’t supposed to feel anything for it but fear, because its purpose was to scare us and nothing else.

Second, in-character reason: Kyle Reese is a soldier in the future. He has only seen these machines kill and maim and knows that, just because this one has skin and hair and muscle on its endo-skeleton, it isn’t less machine than the ones he has been fighting all of his life. He only knows this one’s worse: because he has a single purpose.

Third, non canon reason: Cameron from TSCC. Nobody was offended when she started to develop feelings for John in that series, why is everyone so offended by Carl now? Yeah. But it’s not canon, so let’s go to the last reason.

Fourth, canon, on-screen, in-character reason: THE WHOLE EFFING MOVIE YOU LOVE SO MUCH. Terminator 2 is all about the differences between the T-1000 and the T-800. Yes, it was re-programmed, but it wasn’t programmed to get attached to John, to learn from him, to almost act as a surrogate father, to give him a sign of their relationship as he was lowered to his death. It has been established machines can feel. Even the Rev-9, who’s still fully on mission, has a personality, the same way Patrick’s was. They exist, therfore they are. They have their own thoughts, their own doubts and that means they can develop a conscience and get attached. Carl says he doesn’t love his family the way a human would and it shows, the same way the T-800 from T2 didn’t love John like a Kyle Reese would have.

It gave us a new found family dynamic and used old tropes to tell new stories

Dani, Grace and Sarah have an amazing dynamic. Adding Carl to the mix was a bonus, because it created tension, but at the same time it gave us back that soft T-800 everyone of us fell in love with at 10-13 years old.

It did what TFA tried to do but better, imho. Star Wars fans were starved and when Disney made that movie, it still was considered a good producer of excellent content (now, not so much). TDF was produced by a variety of studios, because nobody wanted to take full responsibility after the disaster that was Genysis (and who could blame them?). Nobody praised TFA for its attempt to start a new saga, re-using ANH’s storyline with new characters and then build from there a new story, but it’s because they didn’t do it right. TFA doesn’t give you time to care about the characters, it’s a messy introduction of what could’ve been a very good trilogy if only they tried harder.

TDF, in my opinion, did try harder. It gave us a simple hunter-hunted storyline, where all of the cast is in the same place at the same time. This way, you can care about the development of their relationships. You care about Grace and Dani, not because the movie told you to, but because you can see Grace’s affection and ammiration from the very first scenes and, by the end, you see the affection Dani has for this stranger who’s sole purpose it taking care of her, when she’s so used to be the one to take care of others (see the first few scenes with her brother and father). You care about Dani and Sarah, because the whole movie builds up to the mentor storyline without telling you. You care about Carl and Sarah, because of all the build up from past movies, but also because of the little things (”I’m never f* calling you Carl” to calling him just that a few scenes later or Sarah calling out the Rev-9 by telling it, “we’re not machines”). Everything it did, it did without telling us what to feel and that’s rare in a world where franchises are constantly telling you who you should like and why, instead of writing a good story and letting you figure it out by yourself.

-----

It is not by far a perfect movie. Having 3 producing companies and six writers didn’t help, the same way it didn’t help that Tim Miller was basically ghost-directing for the ever-too-busy James Cameron.

It could have been better in many ways: firstly, by using smaller scenes and a smaller budget and maybe a little less CGI and a little more practical effects. It was too ambitous and fans hadn’t yet forgiven this franchise for Genysis, because fans are butthurt babies who only want things to be they way they want them (I hated Genysis, don’t get me wrong, but I decided if this movie was going to be worth it once they said it wouldn’t be a sequel and watched a couple of trailers, it isn’t that hard). Another reason it bombed, beside the active boycotting, was the close to absent promotion except for a couple of lines.

Anyway, this messy post is just to explain the reasoning why I believe it is a worthy sequel and, in my opinion, without the nostalgia goggles on and taking out of the equation the “originality” factor, I dare say it’s perfectly on par with The Terminator.

#terminator dark fate #terminator #terminator spoilers #spoilers #angie rants #ignore #personal #long post

11 notes · View notes

intothestarkerverse · 6 years ago

Text

The following does contain Endgame spoilers! It is also going to be have more than one part because I’m a long winded bitch, okay? This also took on a life of it’s own ridiculously quickly so it may deviate a teensy bit...

The Time of Our Lives (Pt 1)

Read on AO3

It began with a dream.

Peter had not been sleeping well since he returned from dust and watched his mentor die saving the universe. There were so many things left unsaid, so many regrets, and so much that he felt he had missed out on in his absence. He was surviving on a cocktail of energy drinks and melatonin that kept him awake when needed and lulled him into a deep sleep when he found his own fatigue was too great to withstand any longer.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a dream that wasn’t a pulse pounding nightmare that left him dripping with tears or sweat when he finally pulled himself out of the terrors his own sleeping mind created. This night, he found himself facing something completely different than his average night terrors and, at first, he had trouble even differentiating it from the real world.

“Mr. Stark?”

The lab felt cold, as if the a/c was cranked to its highest setting. The lighting was too dim, the shade too warm. It smelled…wrong, almost clinical. There was no smell of warm metal and oil on the air. Peter paused, searching the room for his mentor. The moment his eyes landed upon him, Peter dropped his backpack, heavy with textbooks and homework and rushed forward, eager to begin whatever task Mr. Stark had for him that day. Instead, he came to an abrupt stop, staring at the man he loved so dearly.

Tony Stark was standing completely still, staring at Peter but not moving, not so much as breathing. It was so unlike the man that it was freaking Peter out. “Uh…Mr. Stark? You okay, Sir?”

The man blinked, finally, gaze slowly moving to lock with Peter’s and the teenager shifted uncomfortably under the weight of it. There was something wrong with his eyes. They were not the deep brown that Peter remembered, instead they shone a shifting hue of gold. “Our sincerest apologies for the nature of this meeting, Peter Parker.” While the voice sounded like Tony, there was a lack of warmth to the tone and a stilted nature to the words that reminded Peter of a poorly developed computerized voice from some non-Stark AI.

Peter’s eyes widened at the strangeness of his mentor’s behavior. “M…Mr. Stark?”

“No. We have assumed a form we know to be important to you, Peter Parker, but we are not Anthony Stark.”

“Then what are you?”

“The singularities. The Gems. The Stones of Infinity.”

“Wait…what?” Peter looked around at the lab, realizing now why nothing seemed exactly right. It was a dream. It was all a dream. While Peter wasn’t an avid lucid dreamer, he did become self aware in dreams with enough frequency to relax somewhat at the truly outrageous nature of what he was experiencing. Speaking with Infinity Stones wasn’t as terrible as most of his nightmares. He’d heard that overdosing on melatonin caused vivid and often nonsensical dreams, clearly he was going to need to drop his dosage. “Thanos destroyed the Infinity Stones.”

“The mind of Anthony Stark considered you a man of science, Peter Parker, what then does the first law of your thermodynamics teach you?”

Peter chewed his lower lip momentarily, he knew exactly what his dream was referring to, but he didn’t like what it was implying. “The law of conservation of energy. It can be transformed or transferred but it cannot be created or destroyed.”

“And what are the Stones if not energy, Peter Parker?”

Letting out a long sigh, he scored a hand through his hair. “Okay…so the Stones changed into a dream vision of Tony Stark? That seems…unlikely.”

“No. We lost our physical form. Our energy is no longer contained. It is spreading throughout space and time. Soon, it will reach the Heart of the Universe. When this occurs, your world…and every world, will cease to exist.”

Peter froze, his mouth falling open. Scratch everything he’d thought before, this was worse than any of the nightmares he’d had yet. “Okay…let’s say…let’s just say I believe you, why are you talking to me? You know I’m just a kid from Queens, right? There are like…gods and aliens and geniuses and people way better qualified to keep the universe from imploding or exploding or just plain ploding than me. Why enter my dreams…what’s the point?”

“We have an intimate knowledge of three minds, three souls. Thanos. Bruce Banner. And Anthony Stark. It was Anthony Stark’s sacrifice which impressed us most. Through the Vision, the Mind Stone was able to gain access to his brain patterns, his thoughts. He was a worthy hero, and of all those with whom he interacted in his lifetime…it was you, Peter Parker, in whom he had the greatest trust, hope, and faith. That is why we seek you out and why we ask you to aid us in saving ourselves and all that lives and exists in your plane.”

Peter blinked at the thing that was wearing Mr. Stark’s face, using his voice. He was the one that Mr. Stark trusted most? Him? His mentor had a strange way of showing it. “You must be confused…”

“There is no confusion. We require your assistance, Peter Parker, and we believe based upon our knowledge of Anthony Stark that you will not refuse us…and for the task that we require completed, we believe you are the least likely to fail.”

Peter didn’t know what to do. This was by far the strangest dream he’d ever had, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to wake himself up. “You have enough power to snap away half of the universe, me included, why can’t you just create your own bodies?” Picking apart the logical discrepancies in his dream seemed his last avenue towards wakefulness.

“We cannot wield our power on our own and you are not strong enough to wield us collectively without perishing as Anthony Stark did.”

“Okay…let’s just say…let’s say I’m going to help you. What…what do you need me to do if you don’t want me to make you bodies by snap?”

“There is a device in Anthony Stark’s memories. A ‘prototype’ that was created by his father. With modifications, it can be used to collect our energy and confine it much in the way the Stones did.”

“So you need me to get the device? I can do that. Tell me where it is…”

“It was destroyed.”

“Can I make another one?”

“No. Anthony Stark did not see the plans for this device, neither does he know how to recreate it without them. They died with Howard Stark.”

This was incredibly frustrating. “Okay…so…what do you expect me to do, then? I can’t snap. I can’t get the device. I can’t build it. What good am I to you guys?” Peter pressed his fingers to his temples, trying to combat the headache that was building behind his eyes. “You’re not making any sense.”

As if sensing the frustrations of the boy in front of them, the figure shifted. “We have been attempting to save you from distress, Peter Parker, but we are failing to connect with you through methods of the Mind. It is imperative that you assist us and we will use any means necessary to gain your allegiance. Allow us to attempt the use of Soul.”

“What?” Peter was about to try scaling the building and jumping off the roof to try to utilize the falling sensation to wake up from his dream when he saw the change in the figure’s eyes. Gold to orange. But it wasn’t just the eyes, it was something else, the way the figure was standing, the life behind the eyes.

“Kid…”

Peter froze, his hands beginning a small but noticeable trembling at his sides. “Muh…Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah, Kid.”

Peter surged forward, throwing his arms around the man, forcing himself not to hold on too tightly lest he literally crush him in a super powered embrace. Hot tears formed in his eyes and he could feel them falling down his cheeks. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to do, but all he could manage at the moment was to ask a simple question into the now damp fabric of Tony’s shirt. “Soul. Using Soul means using your soul?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Tony squeezed the kid back and Peter no longer had any desire to wake up ever again. “Look, Kid, we don’t have a lot of time here…You leave REM sleep and the window of communication is gone without potentially harming you with the Infinity Stones. As much as I want to make this more sentimental, we don’t have time.” Tony rested his hands on the kid’s shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze as he pushed him back to look him in the eye. “You can’t wield the Stones together, but they can allow you to use them separately and for simple, isolated tasks within reasonable intervals. With the power spreading through the universe, they don’t have enough backlash to kill or maim you…they don’t even have enough power to make this job easier for you, just enough to get the job done.”

“But what job, Mr. Stark? What…what am I supposed to do?” As much as Peter wanted to relish being close to Tony once more, he understood the urgency and forced himself to return to the task at hand. He really didn’t want to fail Mr. Stark now, not after everything they’d been through.

Mr. Stark gave him a sad smile. “You’re going to go back in time to a point before the device was destroyed. Steal it…and bring it back here where we can modify it and save the universe one more time.”

“B…back in time?”

“Yeah, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean it is…paradoxes and all that jazz, but I did it and nothing terrible happened. Your odds are pretty good not to muck this up. I’m just sorry they won’t be sending anyone with you.”

“I’m going alone?” Peter didn’t know when he’d gone from believing this was an elaborate dream to absolute truth. Well, no, he did. It was the second he’d actually started talking to Mr. Stark. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I do.” Tony gave him an apologetic half smile. “You’re going to a gala at Stark Industries in 1992. There’s security, but it won’t be a match for Spider-Man. You get in, you get the device, and you get out. The Stones will return you to the present and I will try to help you determine how to modify the device through your REM sleep cycle. Simple.”

“Simple.” Peter scoffed. “Whatever you say, Mr. Stark. I don’t even know what it looks like…”

“Like this.” Tony stepped back, holding out his hand before a metal object, roughly the size of a retro lunchbox, materialized in it. Peter studied it. It wasn’t much to see, really. Small and angular with moving parts, what appeared to be gold and crystalline components and a very rudimentary circuit board. They did say it was going to need to be updated. “It was going to be destroyed the following business day, so you’ll find it in the company’s incinerator.”

“Of course, I will, and I can’t go get it before it’s in a giant furnace?”

“No, security will be too tight.” The object in Tony’s hand vanished again and he reached out instead to cup the side of Peter’s face. “Pete, you can do this. I hate to ask it of you, but there is no one else I trust. You gotta do it.”

“Fine.” Peter sighed. “Fine.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Tony’s eyes glowed again, this time taking on an emerald green color, flashing red, purple, and blue periodically before the world went black.

The first thing Peter became aware of as his dream faded was the sound of a string quartet and the low murmur of voices all around him. Blinking open his eyes, the teenager was assaulted by several things all at once.

He was no longer in his bedroom in Queens.

Instead, he was standing in the middle of an ostentatiously decorated foyer of what appeared to be Stark Industries headquarters…on the west coast…and not in 2023. Hair, makeup, and fashion was all reminiscent of very old 90’s movies and in a very unfortunate way. Struck by abject terror, he looked down at himself to make sure he was not wearing the over-sized Iron Man t-shirt and boxers he’d collapsed in the night before. Instead, he was both relieved and shocked to find that he was now dressed in a tuxedo complete with bow tie and shiny black dress shoes. He smoothed one hand over the jacket and wondered idly what the rest of him looked like. If only there was a mirror nearby so he could see. His gaze swept the room, finally noticing the mirror behind the temporary bar they’d set up for the gala. Peter was going to head in that direction just to satisfy his own curiosity, when he drew up short in the middle of the room looking far too conspicuous and neither noticing nor caring.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

All he could do was stare.

—

Tony Stark had a reputation as the kind of young man who enjoyed a good party, probably a little bit too much…but unfortunately for him, this was not a good party. He swore he could practically taste the Ben-Gay, Old Spice, and cigar smoke in the air, the aroma was so strong. Everywhere he looked there were old men and their gold-digging wives. Every conversation was about business, stocks, politics…it was mind numbingly boring. There wasn’t a worthwhile scientist in the bunch, so there was no hope for intelligent conversation at all…and the only people at the party that he found even mildly attractive were the caterers. Tony had parked himself at the bar, drowning sorrows in expensive Scotch and doing his best to avoid the sycophants who hovered around the youngest Fortune 500 CEO in history, anxious to curtail some kind of favor. Maybe he should have let Obie run the company a little longer? Or, at the very least, be his ‘face’ at events like this one. Clearly, one of the first things Tony needed to do now that he was in charge was hire some younger, more attractive people into the upper echelon of the business.

He was in the process of flirting with the bartender, the guy wasn’t half bad. He was no male model, but Tony could at least pass the time with the guy… Then, something far more interesting caught his eye.

It wasn’t that the kid looked out of place. Well, no, he did. He totally and completely did. He was by far the youngest person in the room and Tony could have sworn he hadn’t seen him an hour ago, nor had he ever seen him before. He’d remember this one.

Tony drained his Scotch and tapped absently on the side of the empty glass as he leaned against the bar and observed.

The kid was standing with his eyes closed. That alone seemed a little strange. His reaction when he opened his eyes was just as peculiar. He looked…startled? Not just by where he was, but by his own tuxedo. Tony found himself laughing softly at the way the kid examined his clothes as if he hadn’t put them on himself just a few hours ago. Then, his gaze was sweeping the room and he was heading in Tony’s direction.

Maybe Tony’s luck was about to change?

They locked eyes across the room and Tony had trouble reading the expression in those captivating doe eyes. He looked…frightened, surprised, perhaps even overjoyed. He could work with all three of those emotions, actually. They’d make for a delightful cocktail later.

The bartender had returned with Scotch to refill his glass but Tony waved him away without taking his eyes off the kid who was now frozen like a young buck on the highway. “Two flutes of champagne.” He held out his hands for the objects, determined not to break eye contact lest the kid get away. He really didn’t want to let this one get away.

When the crystal flutes were pressed into his waiting hands, Tony started across the room. He broke eye contact but didn’t look away from the kid. Instead, his gaze raked over the boy. Slimly muscular. He looked…elegant in his tuxedo. Lovelier than any of the women in their evening gowns. His hair was styled with just enough gel to tame what Tony hoped were usually unruly chestnut tresses that would look deliciously attractive after he’d run his fingers through them, mussed them up, and given them a good tug.

Tony was only a few feet away from the boy when the kid seemed to snap out of his trance and looked as if he was going to make a break for it. The young CEO of Stark Industries rushed forward the last few steps, holding out one of the flutes of champagne with a lascivious grin. “Don’t even think about it, sweetheart. I didn’t come all the way over here to watch you walk away…although, I’m sure that’s a sight I’d enjoy.” The boy’s eyes had grown ridiculously wide at the statement. Somehow, he managed to both pale and blush at the same time. Tony found that absolutely irresistible. “Go on. Take it. Something tells me your nerves could use a little alcohol.”

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

Tony laughed, “I won’t tell if you don’t, baby.”

The boy’s adam’s apple bobbed noticeably with a gulp as he took the flute of champagne and stared at it as if he was uncertain about what do with it.

“Go on. Put it against your lips, sweetheart. Open your mouth. Swallow. I promise, you’ll like it.”

Damn. The kid almost dropped the glass. It was only Tony’s quick response and the hand that had lingered within the boy’s personal space that kept the glass and it’s contents from hitting the floor. His cheeks were absolutely on fire now and Tony was loving every minute of it. “You want me to keep calling you by pet names, beautiful, or are you going to tell me your actual name?”

“Peter. Peter Parker.” Tony pressed the glass back into his hands and guided them up to press the lip of the glass against his mouth. Peter took a small sip, his nose crinkling at the bubbles and probably the taste of the champagne.

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“Seventeen…” His answer was lost in the glass as he drained the contents on his second drink.

Tony glanced at his own glass and held it out to the kid. “Go on, baby, I’m nothing if not a generous lover.”

Peter coughed but took the glass and swallowed it’s contents in another quick gulp. Now holding two empty champagne flutes, he looked around nervously for something to do with them, and Tony graciously took both only to deposit them on a caterer’s tray.

“Who am I going to have to promote for bringing you here tonight, Peter? I thought this was going to be a complete waste of my time…but here you are like a princess from a fairy tale ready to bring a little magic to my night. I want to make sure your fairy godmother is adequately rewarded.”

“Does…does that make you Prince Charming in this scenario?”

“That is what I was going for, yeah. And don’t think you can avoid answering my question by distracting me with my analogy, dear. Who brought you?”

“No one. I mean…well…” Peter was stuttering and Tony was enjoying the hell out of it. Really, the kid couldn’t be any more adorable. He was ready to lead him to the executive elevator and blow off more than just this party. “No one you know? I…kind of…I’m crashing, I guess. I wasn’t really invited. Someone I know…kind of snuck me in.”

“Well, I consider myself a very lucky man then, Peter. Since you’re not here with anyone, it means I can steal you away without anyone noticing you’re gone.”

Peter was staring at Tony’s lips as he wet them with his tongue in a less than innocently suggestive way. He’d bridged the distance between them and slipped an arm around the boy’s waist with practiced ease, steering him towards the elevator bay. Peter allowed himself to be directed for several steps before he gave a little start and tried to pull away.

“I can’t. I have…something I need to do.”

“Something you need to do at a party you weren’t invited to?”

“Yeah? I mean, I didn’t just crash for shits and giggles, Mr. Stark.”

Tony stepped backward, clutching as his chest with both hands. “Did you just ‘Mr. Stark’ me? C’mon, beautiful, what the hell did I do to deserve that? Do I look like a Mr. Stark to you? Really? So many things I want you to call me tonight…that is not one of ‘em. Now, stop playing hard to get and let me show you a good time…I promise you won’t regret it.”

“No, Mr. Stark,” Again with that hideous moniker. Tony might have thought it was an innocent blunder, but there was a new fire in the kid’s eyes that had him a little surprised. “I have things I have to do…and you’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

Tony’s brows rose in surprise. The kid had spunk. God damn, that only made him want him more. “Oh, I don’t know, I think I’m pretty damn charming…”

“Not surprising.”

Tony cocked his head at the kid. “I’m digging your idea of foreplay, sweetheart, keep it coming.”

“What?!” Peter’s voice rose in octave and volume and several nearby people turned to look at them. Tony didn’t care, but Peter seemed to because he dropped his voice and stepped a little closer to Tony. “It’s not…it’s not foreplay, Mr. Stark. Geez…I have important things to do, okay? Way more important things than flirting or making out or…whatever you have in mind. I have to go and you have to leave me alone. You really, really have to leave me alone.”

Tony held up his hands in mock surrender. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me, I’ll let you go.”

“I don’t want you.”

“You’re looking me in the nose, Peter.”

“UGH! Why do have to come on so strong?! It’s so exhausting. Give it a rest. Gosh. Too much. It’s all too much. You’re too much. You’re not at a freaking night club. You know, I never understood how you got your bad reputation…but I kinda have to say that I’m seeing how the whole playboy thing came about and I gotta say…it’s accurate. I…I like the other you better.”

“Other me?” Now Tony was intrigued. “What ‘other me?’”

“Scientist, for one.”

Peter wanted the scientist over the playboy? Tony frowned. Damn. If Peter thought that was going to turn Tony off, he was dead wrong. The pretty package, the hard to get, the apparent love of science…Tony had no intention of letting this one get away. Peter was only succeeding in turning mild interest into full on infatuation. “Whatever you have to do can wait until after I’ve had my way with you in the elevator. The party’s not going anywhere.”

“The party’s not, but I am.” Peter’s tone was full of his exasperation at Tony and the situation. Turning around, he practically shoved his way through men that could have bought and sold entire American towns on a whim.

Tony was left chuckling to himself. Oh, his night had gone from boring to one of the best he’d had in ages…and he had no intentions of letting Peter Parker get away from him that easily.

This was going to be fun.

He loved a good chase.

@geekymarvel

#starker

111 notes · View notes