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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Risk”

Welcome back, everyone! I have a lot of mixed, complicated feelings about today's episode and I'm already sure this recap will miss a great deal that should be said. There's a lot to digest, we need some time to do that, so until things have settled I think that the one, entirely confident claim I can make here is that our writers weren't BSing the fandom on twitter. The last few days have seen a number of big claims made regarding "Risk" —

— and whatever else we might have to say about the episode, it certainly delivered in terms of shocking content. From confessions to reveals to a new plan in place, there's a lot to unpack.

So let's get started.

Our first shot is a problem.

I don't want it to be! But I've got to work with what I've got. We open on Salem's flying monkeys — or gorillas, if we're being technical — and my immediate thought is where in the world they came from. I mean, obviously I know where. We ended Volume 6 with the post-credit scene of Salem adding wings to an army of Beringels, Hazel commenting that she'll lead the invasion herself. When Salem arrived at the end of Volume 7 and we picked up where we'd left off in Volume 8, the fandom was obviously expecting an attack led primarily by flying, transformed grimm. That didn't happen. For ten episodes the plot forgot that the Beringels existed, focusing instead of the Hound, the grimm soup, then the Whale, then the ground grimm the Whale was producing. Months back I encountered a number of posts asking, "What happened to the resource we know Salem brought to this fight?" and those questions are partly what inspired the "Introducing new grimm that are then quickly abandoned" spot on the bingo board. Now, suddenly, the Beringels have re-appeared and that is a good thing. Though it's too little, too late, as is so often the case with RWBY. Getting something you expect has a sour taste when it arrives months past when it was needed, especially when that something only exists for a second on screen.

This is doubly true given that we saw Oscar eliminate the grimm last episode.

At least, I thought he had? Pretty much everyone I've spoken to thought he had. This last week's discussions have centered around RWBY nerfing the stakes, taking out a whole army of grimm in one, magical blast. That's far from great. Yet now we see that we were apparently wrong. Atlas remains overrun with grimm, this problem remains a problem... so, yay? But we're once left with a tradeoff. RWBY has no longer eliminated the stakes with a deus ex machina as we had originally thought, but in its place we're left with a badly executed scene last episode and an assumed problem that is "fixed" with an enemy we should have been dealing with since the start of the volume. The road to the Beringels has been messy indeed and all they've done so far is fly across the screen.

Which reminds me: if this army of grimm still exists — and absolutely existed prior to Oscar's blast — how come not a single one is attacking the Schnee manor? This opening is in Atlas, the skies are overrun, we've seen a few grimm show up to help out the Hound, yet miraculously nothing bothers the group while they freak out at the dining table, or freak out as Penny tries to leave. That's a whole lot of grimm and a whole lot of negativity... yet somehow these two things never meet in a way that would inconvenience our characters. While from a writing standpoint I can understand not wanting to interrupt all these conversations and feel good moments, the show can't simply ignore the rules of its world whenever it's convenient. If anything, given that Atlas' population is currently hidden beneath the city, Schnee manor should be even more of a hot-spot than it normally would be. There is one (1) group of people out in the open for them to target.

Yeah, we're a single shot into this episode. It's a doozy.

Moving right along, those Atlas citizens (and, let's not forget, a large number of Mantle evacuees too) are still huddled in the tunnels, listening to Ironwood's insane broadcast. They're obviously terrified, as are those down in Mantle who are staring execution in the face. Fiona bursts into tears.

It makes me wonder why we didn't get the airship subplot now. As I've mentioned extensively in the past, that decision didn't make much sense and I think the writers knew it didn't make much sense because they chose not to reveal what Ruby and co. planned to do with the citizens once they were on board. The point was never to come up with a feasible plan, something the audience would put to the test, but rather to just make it seem like the group was doing something Smart and Heroic before Ironwood inevitably derailed it. Don't look too closely at the man behind the curtain. Normally, I'd comment that yes, it's damn hard to come up with a brilliant plan to save others in a situation like this — our characters can only be as smart as our authors! — yet that sympathy dissipates when we hit this episode and are given a scenario where airships would have been great. Ironwood has threatened to nuke Mantle. Suddenly, it is imperative that the civilians leave the safety of the crater as soon as possible (whereas before it was not). So Whitley remembers that they have access to these ships and the group hatches a plan to sneak them down while Ironwood is distracted, get everyone up into Atlas so he can't use Mantle as a bargaining chip anymore. Then they're spotted, the plan revealed, and Ironwood shoots their ships down, leaving them devastated that their attempt to help the citizens has literally gone up in flames. We're still left with the problem of why Ironwood wouldn't just allow a continued evacuation now that Salem is briefly out of the mix and the Schnees have provided extra resources — the writing really took a sledgehammer to his characterization — but the group trying to get people to Atlas to avoid death by bomb at least makes more sense than them trying to move the citizens to an undisclosed location, for unestablished reasons, when they were already relatively safe. The bomb is what makes those airships a necessity.

It really makes me wonder how much editing goes on and how much time the writers have before they finalize scripts.

Regardless, we cut from terrified people to Ironwood himself, accompanied by Winter. The animation has some nice parallels going on here, what with the same black, white, and blue color scheme, hands behind their backs, the need for robotic accommodations, and steps perfectly in synch. As we're about to see though, Winter is very good at looking the part of a loyal soldier while actually bending the rules.

However, are we really going to ignore that she betrayed Ironwood last episode? Betrayal from his perspective, that is. Winter was given a direct order, disobeyed that order, pissed off Harriet in the process, and wasn't able to give a good explanation for her actions — she was too busy being creeped out by Ironwood's reaction. For all intents and purposes she should be considered disloyal right now. Or at least under suspicion, yet Ironwood acts as if everything is fine. We've skipped over any meaningful fallout between them, or a reason why Ironwood would dismiss her betrayal. This ties into something I'll bring up later in the episode: namely, that RWBY introduces too much too quickly and doesn't have time to satisfyingly tackle — or tackle at all — the plot points they've introduced, simply because there's always a new one to focus on. We dropped the "Winter went against Ironwood at great personal risk" plotline to make room for the new "Ironwood has randomly threatened Mantle" plotline, which likewise doesn't do Ironwood's characterization any favors. I don't just mean the obvious "Omg he's willing to murder a whole city now" issue. Ironwood used to be smart, yet his unfounded trust in others makes him look foolish now: first trusting Watts, now Winter. Alongside that, the story and fandom have both pushed the idea that Ironwood is paranoid, yet that "paranoia" has only ever been attached to justified threats. If he were actually paranoid then Winter's actions would have caused him to mistrust all of the Ace Ops now, labeling everyone near him a disloyal enemy, despite evidence to the contrary (especially when it comes to Harriet). Yet across two volumes Ironwood has continually been "paranoid" only in regards to things like Cinder and Salem — proven threats — while simultaneously trusting known villains and ignoring when his subordinates straight up say, "She let our enemies go free." There’s little rhyme or reason to any of his decisions here.

Still! A nice, meaningful shot lol.

As Ironwood and Winter get closer we see the Ace Ops discussing the threat. "Of course he's not going to do it," to which Marrow pushes back with, "So what? He's bluffing with a whole city?" This is a really, really important moment that I don't think the writers realize is important. See, everyone is shocked when Ironwood reveals that he intends to go through with the threat. The Ace Ops, Winter, Robyn, our heroes... everyone grapples with the idea that this is actually happening. Everyone has some moment of, "It's just a bluff, yeah?" and I don't think that's just denial. The characters' shock tells us that Ironwood normally wouldn't be a man who'd do something like this. Ever. That shock has to stem from something, such as an ingrained understanding that Ironwood is a protector, not a murderer. Note the difference between the fandom and the characters' reactions. Whereas a good chunk of the fandom went, "Of course Ironwood means it. We all saw this coming! Remember how he..." and then proceed to list various things — persuasive or otherwise — that prove he was always a bad guy in the making. Yet no one in the RWBY world is inclined to use those moments as evidence. Winter doesn't go, "He's not bluffing. I saw him shoot the councilman just for speaking up" and the Ace Ops don't go, "Oh, he'll do it. This is the man who destroyed his arm to take down Watts. He'll stop at nothing." After everything they've seen — the same things we've seen — there's still some instinctual, nebulous knowledge that goes, "No. Ironwood wouldn't. He's one of the good guys." We can certainly talk about real life people getting swept up in horrible institutions, unwilling to admit how bad things actually are until they hit a specific line they can't cross... but I think this is less a comment on some sort of bystander effect (RWBY isn't that deliberately nuanced lol) and more an unintentional acknowledgement that until the very sudden and entirely unexpected shooting of Oscar, Ironwood actually wouldn't have done this. The Ace Ops are reacting to a man who absolutely existed until the writing erased him and they believe the core of that man still exists. To my mind, he should, but because our show can't actually have Salem as the main villain right now, she's conveniently blown up and Ironwood takes her place.

So we've got some loaded implications there, as well as Vine's comment that he hopes "the kids" see sense now. I am begging RWBY to pick a lane already. Are they kids, or are they adults? Because that answer makes a big difference and we can't continue to have it both ways.

Ironwood and Winter arrive were Ironwood orders that she prep drones with the "payload." That's the moment Winter and the others realize he's serious. Cue that shock all around. The revelation is the last straw for Marrow, prompting him to start yelling some excellent points about how Ironwood is doing Salem's job for her. See, this accusation works. Telling a guy threatening to blow up a city that he's as bad as their villain is accurate. Having Oscar tell that same guy that he's as bad as their villain because he wants to save a city full of people... is ridiculous. Totally different setup here and RWBY got it right this time. The only line that didn't work for me was Marrow asking the Ace Ops if they believe in anything. Uh... yeah. They believe in saving Atlas + all the Mantle evacuees they got. That's pretty well established. I swear, most RWBY speeches are padded with generic, heroic-sounding lines that don't actually mean anything, or are outright falsehoods we’re meant to ignore.

We'll see more of that with renora.

Marrow attempts to leave and his eyes go wide as he hears the click of Ironwood's gun. Remember I said that Winter is good at playing the obedient soldier? It's after Ironwood aims that she tackles Marrow.

On the surface it looks only like she violently disarmed him, but in reality she got him out of the bullet's path and kept Ironwood from firing at all. She saved his life, choosing to play up how she'll “take this traitor to the brig” where he belongs, rather than watching him die. A really nice moment in terms of strategy and one of the few lately where I've actually felt like I'm watching smart characters.

However, I cannot deny the uncomfortable implications in this scene. Smart or not, necessary or not, it hasn't escaped anyone's notice that one of our darkest characters was a) nearly killed by a white man and b) beat up by a white woman. To say nothing of Marrow's status as a faunus. I was cringing during his line about loyalty: “I used to wear this rank with pride. Now I see it for what it really is: a collar."

Honestly, I don't have the qualifications to unpack all that, so let's just acknowledge that the scene, while good in some respects, was massively insulting in others. I’ll let others in the fandom defend or damn it as they see fit.

We get a shot of how shocked the Ace Ops are that they nearly watched their team member get executed for speaking up against a bomb threat. It once again highlight's RWBY's strange depiction of violence and when it's deemed appropriate. Harriet has threatened people a couple of times now — here telling Marrow she'll shut him up herself — yet her reaction tells us that she never would have killed him as Ironwood nearly did. Threats, then, mean little... unless Ironwood is making an exaggerated comment about shooting Qrow. Then it's evidence of evil intent that's bound to come to the surface eventually. So does that mean Harriet will be trying to bomb cities herself someday? If so, it once again leaves our heroes in an awkward position, considering that Ruby started the fight Harriet wouldn't, Weiss stuck her weapon in Whitley's face, etc. If it says something awful that Winter would punch a minority — even to save his life — what does it say about Qrow that he would punch a child in anger? Outside of the easy to label actions like Ironwood's bomb threat and shootings, there exists this gray space that asks, “When are you justified to use violence? When is a threat forgivable?” The problem is, the show keeps coming up with contradictory answers. I bring this up not because Winter's punch or Harriet's threat are the most significant examples of this that we've seen, but because the themes of forgiveness and violence take center stage at the episode's end... and RWBY completely drops the ball. Keep these complications in mind.

Before that though, the group is crowded into the dining room and no matter what else "Risk" might give us, I'm reminded that I really like the design of the Schnee manor. I'm glad the episode found an excuse to show us this room again.

My initial thought upon entering the scene was, "Are we going to talk about Penny's hack? The silver-eyed grimm? Ozpin's return?" and to RWBY's credit it touches on all of these, though I stand by my point about plotlines coming too quickly. Any one of these should have been given the space to grow, not fighting for space against the potential destruction of Mantle. If you don't acknowledge these things in "Risk" you've lost your chance (much like how "Oscar is kidnapped" replaced "Oscar has to deal with Ozpin's return," resulting in a scene where Oscar was just... randomly okay with Ozpin again. We lost the chance to deal with the first conflict introduced because we barreled into the second), yet if you do spend episode time on these issues, it feels like the characters aren't dealing with the immediate threat. Questions of silver eyes, what to do about Penny, and Ozpin's return needed to be given their due before there was an hour time limit resulting in thousands of deaths. Now, you have to wonder why Yang and Ruby are talking about their mother when a city's safety is ticking away. Where were these questions and reassurances years ago?

I think this is why this episode — maybe even this whole volume — simultaneously feels too full and too boring. We're being introduced to lots of Big Things, but then putting them off to focus on other, smaller stuff, and by the time we circle back around it's no longer the right time. We're constantly focusing on the least interesting, least important thing in the room. Why is the group sitting around with their tea when we could have moved the Hound plotline up and started this groundwork earlier? Which means we're doing that work now instead of worrying about Mantle or Penny. All of which is connected to Salem herself being here, yet Ironwood is our villain instead... We're just introducing new idea after new idea, dropping each to focus on something else when the viewer is already emotionally invested in the last conflict. It makes the show feel overly packed with problems we don't have time for while simultaneously having too much time in which the characters do nothing of importance. We're never dealing with these issues at the right time. Talking about a silver-eyed grimm while Salem is here feels like Too Much and having the girls unpack that now, with Mantle’s life on the line, feels like Too Little. Stop sitting around while you've got less than an hour to save half a kingdom! We needed this conversation in a different episode, one not already driven by a problem that’s objectively more important.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. We're in the dining room and the group is listing all the stuff that has gone wrong lately. Blake mentions that Qrow and Robyn are still in custody, because we definitely want Blake remembering that Qrow exists, not one of his nieces. Ruby, meanwhile, is having a meltdown. "So then it's impossible!" she yells, head in her hands.

Emerald sneaks in an insult: “See? If Ms. Hero here with all the answers doesn’t have one..." and the others, of course, jump to Ruby's aid. But Emerald is right! It's entirely Ruby's fault that Atlas didn't get the chance to escape with those they had. Her actions and lack of a plan led to where they are now. I'm not saying she's responsible for Ironwood's insane decisions — that's like saying he's responsible for Qrow's in relation to Clover — but Ruby indeed played the part of the hero who had all the answers... without actually having any answers. Now that things are worse than how they started, her only answer is to say it's all "impossible" and throw up her hands. Ruby is an absolutely terrible leader right now and someone should indeed be calling her out on that, it's just too bad it's Emerald, someone technically still presented as an untrustworthy figure for the next couple of minutes. (More on that later.) Any and every criticism of Ruby is dismissed out of hand. Don't believe Ironwood because he's crazy now. The Ace Ops? His boot lickers. Yang has things to say, but once Ren agrees with her she does a 180. Now Ren is heading towards an extra special apology for daring to doubt Ruby. May calls her out, only to also change her opinion the next episode. Now here's one more person, but she's a bad guy. The show has never once encouraged us to treat these criticisms seriously — never allowed them to stick, let alone lead to change — and at this point I'm done with everyone falling over themselves to absolve and praise Ruby. By making Emerald the criticizer and having Ruby throw herself a pity party, the writing ensures that the conversation goes from, "Yeah. You messed up big time and now have a responsibility to fix things" to "Aww, don't be so hard on yourself! We won't let mean Emerald insult you anymore."

Ruby makes herself the victim here. She gets so upset and acts so defeated that all anyone can do is reassure her. The focus turns towards her, a focus centered around hiding against the table, or cowering on a staircase, so that it feels cruel to call her out on her deadly mistakes when she's so clearly upset. But they still should have, especially since cowering and tears have never protected anyone else from the group's criticism. Ozpin is proof of that.

What I'm getting at is that Ruby runs away. She's faced with the consequences of her actions, is informed she needs to help come up with a solution, and instead of braving that decides it's "impossible" and literally runs from the room. While they're on a time limit. Keep this moment in mind for just a bit longer. These choices become doubly important later.

So Ruby can't handle the responsibility she violently ripped from others and the group goes out of their way to comfort her in this. Especially since the writing again decides to conflate Emerald and Ozpin through a comment of Oscar's, demonstrating that it still has no decent sense of what "responsibility" or "villainous acts" means. These scenes are three years in the making and every step getting here was dogged with problems, so the fact that the end result is a mess isn't exactly surprising.

We (thankfully) leave Ruby for a bit and instead turn to Jaune. He's amplifying Nora's aura, but admits that he can't get the scars to go away. That makes sense. After all, they're scars. His semblance helps people heal, but at this point Nora has already healed. Those scars are the result of that.

She says it was “Just another ditzy move from Nora” and I'm glad we're acknowledging that, even if it is all framed through the lens of Nora being incorrect in that assumption. Once again, the writing continually makes statements about characters, but fails to have their actions reflect that. Nora wanted to do more than just hit things with her hammer without thinking them through... and we showed that by having her hit a door with her hammer without thinking it through. Was it heroic? Absolutely. Did it lead to any growth? No. I'd much rather someone acknowledge that yeah, she did the same thing she always does, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Nora's impulsivity is a part of her and, given the talk of teammates here, she could have gotten reassurance that she'll always have people around to help her temper those impulses. Instead, we're (again) told that she shouldn't do A anymore, watch her do A anyway, the writing presents it like it’s B, Nora admits that she did A, and everyone rushes to assure her it was actually B. Just let these characters make mistakes for once, especially mistakes made in an effort to help someone. This should be the easiest and kindest way to criticize the group and RWBY can’t even manage that.

Which brings us to Ren. Ren, I am so sorry. You deserved better than this. Nora rips into him, saying, “We were supposed to be a team, but that didn’t matter to you! You shove people out so you don’t have to feel things that are hard!" and again we have RWBY making grand statements that are meaningless. Did Ren keep things bottled up in Volume 7? Yes... and no one tried to help him with that. Instead, Nora decided to bypass his problems completely and try to kiss it better. When that (shockingly) didn't work, Ren was finally forced to open up at Yang's insistence and was abandoned for his perspective. That's what that was, literally and metaphorically: they walked away from him and made it clear that so long as he believes these things, he's not welcome. What were those things? We've made mistakes, Ruby made mistakes, we're not ready for this stuff. That's it! "We were supposed to be a team" makes it sound like Ren betrayed them in the worst possible way, when in reality all he did was acknowledge that they're imperfect and that things are a mess right now. But of course, that is the ultimate betrayal for this group: acknowledgement that they’re not perfect. Everyone can call themselves out to generate sympathy — Nora does it, Ruby does it — but as soon as someone else agrees and implies that they should make changes, they’re dismissed.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: the refusal to question Ruby makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Is this as bad as Ironwood shooting someone who questions him? Of course not, but that doesn't make it good. The group has made it clear from Ozpin to Ren that if you put a toe out of line, that's it. You're gone. You are not a part of the group until you are willing to back the group 100%, no matter what horrible things they might be up to. That Nora yells at Ren for questioning and Ren learns to keep his mouth shut, apologizing to both her and Jaune for speaking his mind is... well, it's horrible. That's not friendship. I know the fandom doesn't want to hear that given how much we otherwise love these relationships, but it's not. If you can't question and voice concerns without about serious topics like this without the threat of abandonment — literal or otherwise — then that's not a friend group you should be sticking with. Ren’s "biggest failing as a teammate and a partner" is that he didn't agree with the others and didn’t immediately change his mind when they demanded it. There are awful implications attached to that, especially since Ren’s perspective was a good one. He’s not out here slinging horrific views like, I don’t know, homophobia at the bee’s non-relationship. He just went “We made mistakes” and the group responded “Absolutely not. Absurd. Fuck you.” They didn’t even consider that position, which speaks to both a lack of respect for Ren and a level of arrogance that keeps getting them into trouble. But these issues are easily overlooked given everything else that surrounds them. Outside of Ren's apology, I quite liked the renora moment. We got a detail about Nora's backstory! She called Ren pretty! We got an "I love you"! He booped her nose!! It's all very cute and wholesome... and soured by the knowledge of what Ren had to do to get here.

Outside of these generalized responses, there are three other points I wanted to make about this scene:

Yes, more obligatory humor to ruin an otherwise serious moment. Jaune could have just smiled softly and slipped out. Or have him leave before the conversation started (because Ren shouldn't have been apologizing to him in the first place...) Instead, we got multiple seconds of him being awkward, including a bunch of funny sound effects.

I'm legitimately happy we got that "I love you" — outside of the problems since arriving in Atlas, I've always enjoyed the ship — but coming on the heels of last week's episode, it makes the bee's forehead touch look even worse. Renora has been confirmed multiple times at this point, but we still can't get something overt for our one, queer ship.

On the one hand, I really like that Nora set a boundary here — a surprisingly mature conversation for RWBY — but I'm confused as to what exactly the boundary is. She says she needs to figure out who she is without Ren, but what does that translate to on a practical, day-to-day basis? Normally, when a couple needs to figure out who they are they separate, but renora can't do that. They're still on the same team, stuck in the same war, presumably off to do the same things they've always done together. It sounds great on paper to say that Nora is going to discover who she is without Ren, but unless they separate again I don't see how that can happen. More likely, we'll get a volume or two of them looking and acting exactly as they always have, but when it comes time for relationship drama again, Nora will insist she's a different person who is now ready to be with him. That she's changed. But change requires, you know, making a change, so is renora actually going to look any different moving forward?

While these two confess their love but also decide to be separate (is that what happened?), Qrow and Robyn have knocked out some guards and retrieved their weapons. Robyn watches four security feeds, whispering, "He's... really gonna do it." See? Even Robyn, someone who never liked Ironwood and considered him dangerous from the start, is in shock that he would go this far. Qrow doesn't want to talk moral downfalls though, he's all action: "Not if we stop him first."

You know, at least Qrow is doing something. What he's doing is stupid, particularly given his motivations, but with the volume we've had I give him props for coming up with a plan and sticking to it. That's more than many of the others have done.

Yet then, suddenly, Robyn doesn't want to kill Ironwood. ...Since when? Robyn has been the most trigger happy of the lot while Qrow initially wanted to talk. Now they've switched places for no reason I can see, with Qrow all murder happy and Robyn cautioning restraint. Which admittedly isn't uncommon. Remember how Nora was all about protecting Mantle and then randomly decided to help with Amity instead? Remember how Yang was critical of Ruby and then decided to defend her to Ren? Remember how Hazel was pro-Salem until he saw a blue naked lady and decided to defect? At this point, characters just do things at random.

Robyn says that Qrow isn't trying to kill Ironwood because that's the right thing to do, only because he wants revenge. A true enough assessment. But then she follows it up by claiming that Qrow is a better huntsmen than Clover because he does the right thing. Without rehashing all my arguments regarding how Clover was not the devil incarnate for refusing to let two potential criminals walk free — especially after they attacked him — we're really playing the dead guy card now? Clover was murdered. Robyn and Qrow were participants in that murder. Now Robyn is making sweeping claims about who is the better person when Clover quite obviously isn't here to defend himself? That's all kinds of messed up.

Before they can bash the dead guy anymore though the elevator arrives. We see Qrow and Robyn's shocked expressions at whoever is behind the doors, presumably Winter and Marrow. It seems likely that Winter didn't really intend to take him to the brig. They're defecting and have now found two more allies to help them. Robyn wants a plan other than run upstairs and stab Ironwood? Winter will likely provide one.

We return to Ruby who, as established, is wallowing in the most dramatic position on the staircase. Obviously things are legitimately horrible right now and if Ruby had been given a storyline different from what we've seen since Volume 6, I'd feel sorry for her. As it stands, it's just frustrating to watch her look like the maiden of a Victorian novel while Mantle's time ticks away.

The conversation between her and Yang is great though. At least, it is for the first few sentences. I love that the show remembered they're sisters and have them talking again. I love that Yang tries to cheer Ruby up by saying she outshines her big sis in regards to the Hound. I love that she nevertheless acknowledges that the Schnees were a part of that defeat, giving them their due rather than putting all the praise on Ruby. We establish that Yang has learned what the Hound really was. This conversation is going strong...

...but then.

"That's what happened to mom."

Really? Really? In eight episodes we went from, "Lol just because the Hound spoke doesn't mean Summer was secretly made into a grimm. That’s a crazy theory" to "Summer was absolutely turned into a grimm. That's canon now!" Except because it was made canon by Ruby just announcing it one day, we can expect for an even bigger "twist" in the future: Summer is still alive. Why wouldn't she be? The Hound was untouchable outside of silver eyes, so we have little reason to think anyone has defeated her in the last 14 odd years.

I'll admit the timeline works out better than expected (I think) with Salem killing SEWs during Maria's time before switching to experimentation, but there's no emotional weight to this. I just don't care and frankly I don't think the fandom cares either. Oh, there's plenty of excitement over the reveal, but that's all for the version of Summer Rose people have built up in their minds for the last eight years, not anything that exists in the show. If you strip away all the headcanons and fics, Summer isn't interesting because she barely exists. We know nothing about her as a person and therefore we have no reason to care that she's likely another Hound. Worse — because maybe this could be smoothed over if we just care since Ruby cares — everything else surrounding this reveal was badly done. Summer, as said, has been a non-character for this whole series. Yang only just remembered two episodes ago that Summer is her mom too. The only evidence of experimentation we've seen is on other grimm, not people. There was more mystery surrounding why Tyrian was interested in Jaune, not why he'd kidnap Ruby (Big Bads always want to kidnap heroes). We have no idea who this silver eyed faunus was. We have no idea why Salem would randomly start experimenting when she doesn't need additional weapons. We don't know why she would keep these weapons to the sidelines when she’s apparently had them for over a decade. I don't even buy that Ruby, someone who we never see thinking about or questioning any of this, suddenly put all these pieces together to hit on the revelation.

None of this adds up because it wasn't planned. Summer was dead, added to the series purely because having a dead mom is interesting, and she was treated as dead for seven years. Not just by the characters, by the show. Then, suddenly, the narrative raced to remind everyone that she's supposedly a Very Important Character so we could get this twist. It’s awful. Not because the idea itself is horrible, but because it was shoved into a story that wasn't prepared for it and certainly doesn't need it. The group has Salem herself attacking the kingdom, Ironwood threatening destruction, three Relics still to discover, not to mention all the other personal conflicts going on — Emerald walking around the mansion, Ozpin is back, Penny is being controlled, Oscar has finite magic now, Nora is still recovering — but we're going to introduce another subplot to deal with? RWBY acts like it's terrified that if it doesn't add something new and flashy every third episode, its viewers will jump ship. Despite its hiccups, there's a reason why the arcs of Volume 4 worked well overall: characters were given the time to explore specific problems, like Yang's PTSD and the destruction of Ren's village. Now, in episode 11 of 14, RWBY reveals that two of the characters' mom was turned into a literal monster, but there's only time for a tiny bit of comfort because Penny is escaping and they have less than an hour now to save Mantle. There is way too much going on and we're not devoting enough time to any of it.

Hell, even the conversation can't afford to stay on the Summer reveal for more than a few sentences. Ruby segues back to her self-chastisement, saying that she wasted time on Amity. She did, but not because people didn't come. She never should have made that terrifying, nonsensical announcement to begin with. But just like Ruby never thought through the pros and cons of telling the world about Salem, she apparently never thought about the logistics of getting help. She's written the world off now — so you just know help will appear in the finale — yet she never considered how long all this would take. Our timeline is (supposedly) two days, so how long would it take a kingdom to digest the information she gave them, decide on a course of action, get people and resources together, then fly all the way to Atlas? After Ruby used most of the first day just to send the message? As I and others have pointed out, the answer is “way longer than the group has.” It shouldn't be possible, yet neither Ruby nor Yang realizes basic facts like, "What's the flight time between Vacuo and Atlas?" Like Qrow blaming his semblance rather than his decision to team up with Tyrian, Ruby blames the world for abandoning them rather than her terribly thought out plan. Both have reached the right emotion — regret — but not for the right reasons.

Also, Ruby says that Amity fell. Are Pietro and Maria okay??

Yang talks about blind optimism vs. no optimism at all, something I could really get behind if the group hadn't been governed by blind optimism this whole time. Also if what the rest of what Yang said made sense. She fires back with, “And in case you didn’t notice, my plan for Mantle didn’t work either." Uh... what plan? As far as I recall there was no plan. They just went down to do any tasks that needed doing: supply runs and grimm killings. What plan is Yang talking about?

This conversation is a disaster. We circle back around to Summer with Yang saying she also took a risk (the title is very obvious this episode) but "she's still my hero." Is she? Because the only thing you've ever said about Summer is that she baked great cookies. Regardless, Yang lays her head on Ruby's shoulder and they cry some more.

Then Jaune hurries down the steps because Penny has woken up and broken through a window.

Again: how were they planning to deal with this? Did anyone discuss it? Because it looks like Klein said, "Hey, that friend of yours powered up and could have hurt us," Nora said, "Hey, Penny was fighting some sort of control," and Whitely said, "Yeah, she wanted to open the vault and then self destruct" and everyone just left her alone in some room, deciding they'd worry about that later. If Penny had just snuck out a little more quietly the group would have been screwed.

What I do like though is the teamwork to keep Penny from flying off. It feels like we get so little teamwork nowadays, which makes everyone piling on others' range weapons, or Jaune boosting Weiss' glyphs, really enjoyable. Even Emerald gets in on the action because apparently they gave her her weapons back!

We're going to talk about this nonsense in a second.

For now, Ruby implores Penny to fight it, which is exactly what I said we'd get. Penny insists Ruby kill her though, saying that if she does she'll ensure that the power passes to her. I find this to be a weird priority. Does the group really care about who gets the Maiden powers right now? The threat here is that Penny will successfully open the vault — which shouldn't even be that much of a worry. Just let Ironwood leave instead of trying to destroy Mantle! Keeping him here has made things worse! — and that Penny will self-destruct. That feels like the biggest worry: that Penny will die. So they're going to prevent her death by... killing her themselves? Priorities and motivations really feel shaky this week.

Luckily, Ruby remembers that Penny is A Real Person and tells Jaune to amplify her aura. The fact that she has a soul keeps the virus from overtaking her. Hurray!

That's like saying my sense of self will beat off rabies. Just believe that you're your own person and nothing can touch you. They go so far as to say, “That’s who you are. Our friend, not a machine” and that feels like such an erasure to me. Penny is a machine. She is! And that was great back when this was accepted as a good thing, not something to ignore. Remember this?

You think just because you've got nuts and bolts instead of squishy guts makes you any less real than me?

Here, Ruby acknowledges Penny's difference and reaffirms that she still has worth. Now, the group denies Penny's difference in order to prove that she has worth. She has worth because she's supposedly not a machine and supposedly can't be controlled like one... even though she is a machine and is being controlled. It's only Jaune's semblance that keeps her from going under again. The concept of Penny's personhood is now connected to her ability to resist a machine-based virus and she has failed to do that. This doesn't confirm Penny's humanity, it tells Penny (and us) that humanity is distinct from the machine parts of her, rather than a concept that includes it, and the moment she is too influenced by that machinery she ceases to be a person. The group isn't accepting her here, they're encouraging Penny to ignore and deny the parts that make her Penny.

If you want an example of how to do an arc like this far, far better, go watch The Next Generation with Data. He's what Penny could have been.

Regardless, the virus has been held at bay, at least so long as Jaune has aura. Which seems to be endless given that he was exhausting himself in the whale, but is now boosting Nora, Weiss, and Penny without any difficulty.

At least that's a minor concern in the grand scheme of things. What we're about to get? Not so much. Honestly, I'm 7k into this recap and I just don't have the energy that these two scenes deserve. Which scenes? The one where Emerald is welcomed into the fold with laughter and Ozpin has to grovel for forgiveness.

Emerald first. Last week I said:

“However this fight ends, we could really use someone like you, [Emerald.]” That’s it then. Discussion over. We knew as soon as it started that blindly trusting her was being presented as the “right” thing to do and now here we are, deciding that conclusively, despite Jaune and Yang’s complaints. By the time the group reaches the mansion, Oscar is defending Emerald from Ruby. We’re supposed to just accept that she’s a part of the group now, only minimal pushback allowed.

and I was right. Over the course of the last week I spoke with a number of friends, many of them working under the belief that this was just the start of an arc for Emerald. Obviously the show wouldn't instantly have the group trust her after all this. They'll need to warm up to her first. She'll need to prove herself. Well, I was far more pessimistic, arguing instead that I thought this was it. She was already being presented as a perfectly trustworthy figure. I'd briefly thought I'd been mistaken when the group turned on Emerald for her comment to Ruby, but then suddenly she's been given her weapons back. It's not even a matter of "You should be able to defend yourself, but you're still not trustworthy" (which would still have problems, but). No, she makes a comment about "switching sides" and that's it, trust achieved. That's all it took — nothing at all.

Now, some shows do function on a second chance policy. We can name hundred of stories where heroes instantly forgive antagonists and there's nothing wrong with that. The problem is that RWBY is very much not that show. In the exact same scene Ozpin apologizes to the group and begs that they try to trust him again:

“I’ve failed all of you. I should have trusted you with the truth and I should never have run the day you discovered it."

This is complete and utter bullshit. Sorry, I'm not mincing words for this one. Two years we waiting for the group to come around, hoping that there would be apologies on both sides, but there wasn't. The group doesn't physically or verbally hurt Ozpin anymore — they do accept his request — but it's done with expressions that say this is what they are owed. You’d better apologize.

I could rehash all the arguments I've already made about how atrociously they treated him, how Ozpin had no reason to trust a bunch of teenagers, how important it was that both sides admit their mistakes, but if you're reading this recap you're likely already familiar with all that. Rather, what I want to emphasize here is that our opinions on Ozpin don't even matter here. Even those who take his apology at face value — fully believing he did fail them, he should have told them everything from the start, and that him leaving was "running away" rather than being driven off — even if we accept for just a moment that Ozpin is as guilty as the show says and heinous as the fandom claims... surely he's not as bad as Emerald? In roughly chronological order she has:

Tried to ally herself with Adam along with Cinder and Mercury

Helped to attack Amber, resulting in injuries that would have killed her if Cinder hadn't gotten to her first

Helped kill Tukson

Pretended to be a transfer student and Ruby's friend for the rest of the semester (that’s a lie that would breed mistrust)

Tricked the world into thinking that Yang had attacked Mercury unprovoked

Uses her semblance on Pyrrha, causing her to unintentionally kill Penny

All of this was in service of the Fall of Beacon, an event that destroyed a school, killed an unknown number of students, killed Pyrrha, and lost Yang her arm

Participated in the attack on Haven which, beyond the intent to further Salem's goals, nearly got Weiss killed

Came to Atlas to assist in the next attack

Went after Penny, Pietro, and Maria — two of whom might still be in trouble depending on if Amity literally fell out of the sky

Listened to Oscar being tortured, hemming and hawing for a while before realizing that, if the whole world is in danger, she's in danger too

Finally jumped ship

Emerald is one of the bad guys. All the sad looks over the years doesn't change that. Yet somehow an antagonist we've had since Volume 1 is considered more trustworthy than Ozpin, a man who hasn't intentionally helped kill their friends and who has been helping and apologizing for months now.

Yang "Aww"s when Emerald speaks. Just sit with that for a second. The woman who went through all of that horror because of Emerald, who just last episode was correctly saying they can't expect her to forget all that, is going "Aww" after... Emerald helped hold Penny for two seconds? This is ridiculous. These are the faces of the group when talking about Emerald's trust

whereas these are their expressions when talking about Ozpin's

It’s not a matter of who deserves trust or not, here it’s purely a matter of comparison. Emerald should not be more quickly forgiven than Ozpin.

Now toss in the story Ozpin tells. Unsurprisingly, it's another fairy tale — we've gotten a little heavy-handed lately — about a young girl who flees the consequences of a choice and, having never learned from her initial failure, spreads even more trouble. That's Ruby. That is Ruby to a T in this episode and the last three volumes. She is literally a young girl who has caused staggering consequences, literally ran away from the conversation about those consequences, and is now poised to continue making those mistakes because everyone keeps reinforcing her flaws. That's Ruby, yet somehow the show thinks it's Ozpin. He positions himself as the young girl here, as if he didn't face his consequences generations ago when he left the cabin, didn't learn from his mistakes by keeping Salem's secret, and hadn't been driven away by the very people he's asking for a second chance. This scene has everything backwards and while normally I'd grab hold of the possibility that maybe things will right themselves later on... we're done. This is the ending of that arc. After two years of saying, "Maybe, maybe, maybe," Ozpin has been taken back into the fold after begging his way back in. There's no more time to correct things. RWBY missed its chance. Weiss says that "Trust is a risk" and that's how Ozpin is forgiven. They have taken the risk of trusting him again after months of reflection, life-saving actions, and apologies. Emerald is granted the risk of trust in under an hour. I’ve heard so many people say they’re dropping RWBY this volume and scenes like this are precisely why.

Ugh. Heavy stuff, folks! I feel like I need to lighten the mood. Here, let's take a moment to acknowledge that the Schnees and Klein only marginally know what's happening.

Someone help them.

That is, to all intents and purposes, the end of our episode. Ruby has some sort of epiphany about actually handing Penny over — "That's actually a risk we haven't considered" — and Ironwood will no doubt fall for whatever plan they've concocted because he's stupid now. He receives a call from Ruby saying they agree to his terms, Watts is attempting to get communication of his own up and running, and Neo arrives to do... whatever she intends to do. Idk, I have assumed she wanted Ruby, but Cinder obviously doesn't have her yet for a trade off. Regardless, Neo is ready for a fight while Cinder just smiles. Team up 2.0?

As for bingo, I'm using my free space for "Worst redemption arc I've ever seen," with an honorary nod to Hazel too, and Ozpin's square gets blacked out in exes because that was just #bad.

This bingo board is a mess. Appropriate lol

Three more weeks, everyone. Hang in there! 💜

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #rwby risk #mymetas #rwby recaps

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sapphire-innit · 3 years

Text

DRISTAAAAA TIMEEE

VOD: TommyInnit Speaks To Dream’s Sister AGAIN

(rp): Drista!! I love this chaotic child and am looking forward to seeing the children bully each other lmao. I especially love the mythos around Creative mode, and that the most benevolent god on the Dream SMP is just as likely to ban you as hand you a shulker box lol.

I do wonder how in character cc!Tommy is going to be able to stay during this stream: on one hand he’s a master at staying in character even during lh moments, and on the other Exile arc is some Dark Shit and Dristas like what, 14?? Overall I expect this to be one of the lighter streams, with a smattering of moments where we remember that, oh right, Tommy’s pretty actively suicidal at this point and he sees this as one of his last hurrahs.

Speaking of our boy Tommy: it's very clear we are getting closer and closer to the infamous pillar. He switches rapidly between Fight and Fawn reflexes and has mostly internalized Dream’s treatment and conditions at this point. The one stand out moment being him calling out Dream killing Mexican Dream last stream, and pointing out he was changing his story even when Dream tried to lie and say he died of “a drug overdose [...] or natural causes”. I’m curious if Tommy is going to bring it up again, and even more curious if he eventually believes Dream about it; something to watch out for, for sure. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this moment of rebellion happened right after he had someone both stand up for him and spend time with him that wasn’t actively hostile or going to end (supposedly, at least by intention)

Hey we didn’t start off drowning for once!! cc!Tommy was also singing, though that could have been mostly out of character as well. Still, remarkably in a better mood, he even mentions having an appetite! You love to see it, and it's clearly because he’s looking forward to Drista’s visit

He’s building a log tower and on one hand, Tommy building Towers is a natural state of being, and on the other…. I know the pillar is coming and I am scared

A mention of the Anti-Dream hole… I still worry about when exactly and how Dream is going to find it. Still, I’m glad it exists, both for Tommy having a space for things important to him, as well as what it represents about his mental state re:not giving over completely to Dream

DRISTA!!!! LOL she was already online we didn't even see her join LOL. CHAOS GREMLIN she just flew over in creative mode and started wrecking shit, as is her right lmaoooo

“You massive jer--, (quieter) whats a nicer way…, YOU MASSIVE DICKHEAD” oh, Tommy..

I like how he tries to punch her even when shes CLEARLY IN CREATIVE MODE ADSADASD

The violence inherent in fourteen year olds,,,, adsfsadfsdfds

I hate this conversation why is this the conversation asdffdsfsd TEENAGERS

DREAM YOUR NOT EVEN A TEENAGER WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING THE SAME LOGIC

Well SHE can destroy the obsidian asdfsdfds She just Spleefs

“What would Dream do” Probably worse lets be honest

Is he actually gonna go back to L’manburg?? I don’t believe it but I also want :(

Again with the stabbing

AND DOWN HE GOEEEESSSS

“I have the fork, but I'm also killing you” afsafsdfdsf Tommy why are you wearing your good shit omg

Lol cc!Dream trying to defend his character for mocking Tommy’s accent adsfsdfds “I would NEVER” in the totally not believable tone lmaoooo

DID SHE REALLY GO AT HIM WITH A FORK I'M FUCKING DYING DSAFDADSFDS

“I will take it from you and I’ll kill him”... I have so many thoughts about how this works in lore. Is Drista possessing Dream? He can kick her out clearly, but she still has God Powers…

Lol and now SHES mocking his accent lmaoooo (... is it bad she sounded pretty close to me? lol)

Adsfdsfswd casual chaos Drista just broke the Nether Portal

Asking Drista to stop destroying things is a big ask to be honest lmaoo. Also she seems to be at least somewhat informed that ‘Dream is not supposed to be nice to Tommy’ or at least seemed hesitant to do /weather clear

GOD THE LAVA BUCKETS AND THE POTION OF HARMING adsfsdfsdf

“Tommy [beheaded him] actually… and killed Mexican Dream” Dream you motherfucker

“How to Sex 3” THE PANIK!!!!!! From Both cc!Dream and Tommy!!! This server is Not Child Friendly lol (Doesn’t…. That not even include sex things…. afasfsd)

Honestly I can’t stop smiling this is so wholesome somehow even with all the cursing and violence

Pigstep IS a bop, Tommy is right

“Just let him, just let him this one time” :(

“Tommy I still have the Fork” Drista totally willing to stab her brother to visit L’manburg

HE TOOK THE FORK ASDASDAS

Yes, closing your eyes will totally protect you from Forks lol

“I don’t need school, I dropped out” Is this Lore Crumbs, is this Lore

HEYYYY ITS THE BEDROCK, the one piece of bedrock he has lol, I think he still has that in current day right?

Drista is writing her name in BEDROCK adsfsdfds “I’m not going to be able to get rid of that actually” “That's the Point”

LOL SHe also recognized the burrito as from Mos lmaooo

Somehow “I really want to go to the other place.. I don’t know why he won’t let you” hit hard… it was def ooc, and she doesn’t have the full context, but still… its just someone else wanting and asking for Tommy to be able see L’manburg…

Afsdfsd the Small Gasp when she spleefs herself omgg

HES THERE!!! HES THERE!!!!!! L’MANBURG!!!!!!

Punz!!! WHY!!!! Were you there bc Drista might let Tommy through, was this a safeguard for the LORE. Also he’s currently working for Dream directly right, as a merc?

Drista trying to save Tommy!!!! Punz why are you winning a fight with someone in creative adfsadfsd He’s too good lol

They have negotiated a visit… I’m so emotional I wasn’t expecting this…. No one told me we got a real L’manburg visit !

BIG Q SHES FOURTEEN!!! Omg they didn’t tell him it was Drista. BIG Q!!! BIG Q DON’T SELL HER DRUGS

“He was Naked” good for you Drista, good for you. There’s something so hilarious about Drista just stabbing Quackity over and over again cause she’s uncomfortable lol (as is her right)

LOL THE FINAL KILL WITH MAGIC WHEN HE’S ALREADY DROWNING IM

Wha --- what video was it????? What is this Tommy picture on the Technoganda???

….”are you sure I’m allowed here” Dream’s conditioning is strong :(

“At many minute I could get mugged” To be Fair Tommy, that was true before

Did Tommy just suggest spawning in a Wither asdfsdfds

DRISTA DOG ARMY!!!! Aww and Tommy has one too~

THE BENCH!! THE HOUSE!!! Aaaaaaaaa He’s sitting on the bench nature is HEALING

AAAAAAAA A BLAZE!!!! Pfffft

…. Who destroyed the front of Tommys house?

,,,,Drista what are you doing with that soULSAND

“OK we'll turn on him” adsfsdfsd

OH HEY TECHNO!!! Lol “Oh god he meant me” fucking mood big man

……. Tubbo hallucination……… fuck

LOL HE COMBAT LOGGED “YOU CALL THAT COMBAT” I'M

To be fair, logging against a /kill is probably the only way to get away lmao

…...F

“Getting thrown off a cliff is literally how Theseus died!!” lol its also hilarious to me that Tommy def does not remember being called that. Personally I don't think it fits him super well anyway, but I do like it as something Techno calls Tommy, that shows how much he misjudges Tommy's character and intentions. No heroes here, just a kid trying to do good by their friends and what they care about

Techno actually looking up how to kill someone in creative mode

…. :( I just want my actual clingyduo content this is meeeeannn

OH HEY TECHNO …. You fucker he would and it would be HILARIOUS (get mad if Drista opped Techno that is lol)

….

IS THIS WHY THEY’RE BEDROCK BROS????? BECAUSE THEY BOTH HAVE DRISTA BEDROCK??????????????????????????

HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS ???

LOL TRUE DUO SUPREMACY TUBBO’S GOT TECHNO'S BEDROCK

Oh F Techno got him with the Obliterator lmaoooo

“I have 114 levels PLEASE” asdfdasfsdf

LOL Tubbo with the TNT there's our nuke boy, I'll take my crumbs where I can get them

THE SHULKER HOLY SHIT

“Don't let someone get it!!”” ADSFDSAFSDFDS they all tuRN CC REAL QUICK WHEN THE SHULKER BOXES COME OUT

Awesamdudes like: MORE PLEASE AFDASFDSF

Techno immediately snitching about Elytra and dRISTA GETTING THE ACHIEVEMENT

EVERYONE SNITCHING IN CHAT I'M!!!! DREAMS REACTION ASDFSDFDSF

Drista being the chaotic giver of illegal gifts is so fucking good I'M THRIVING

THE RUN ON PUNZ !!!! omg

Also can we just take a minute to appreciate Tommy being allowed around people <3 <3 This is so wholesome and good and chaotic as all hell

“I thought I was Tom Cruz for like a whole week” ...TOMMY??

LOL SHE BANNED TECHNO OMG

Dristas on a banning Rampage afsdfsdf

BAN GOGGY OMGGG

Omg shes actually making a wITHER DASDASDFAS

Oh no poor Tubbo I didn’t know he was liVE

319k viewers jeezus

Awwwww Techno hyping up Wilbur's song :) that's so sweet actually

…………….Fuck you Dream :( saw the chance to Twist the Knife in c! And TOOK IT

LOL THE FUCKING FORK IS THE BEST BIT LOLLLL

Lol ironically the Bedrock bros song is the oNE COPYRIGHTED ONE, god why did Minecraft ever copyright Pigstep what a shit move honestlyyy

Pigstep fucking goING TO TECHNO LOLLLLLL “this is the most powerful item on the server since it DMCA’s people”

LOL PUNZ TRYING TO STEAL ANOTHER SHULKER

Poor Sam he actually has to BUILD give this man a SHULKER

Lol Everyone wants a shulker so much

….aww he tried to toss the pigstep disc lmaooo DRISTAS LITERALLY HOLDING IT Scaaaaaammmmed

Drista “I NEED IT ON HAND” So committed to violence !!!

The fucking creepers on the way out omg fuckign PERFECT

LOL TOMMY WASN’T READY FOR THE TURN AROUND ON CURSING LMAO You can tell he's always been the youngest who people aren't sure how much they can curse around lmao He's so soft honestly he talks such a big game and then CRUMBLES when called on it lol

Asfdsfs she fell through the same hole again afsdfsdfsd

Drista has been introduced to a Weapon and she’s gotten ATTACHED lmaooo

Wait HOLD THE PHONE Dream has multiple sisters??? Lol

“Yeah I like Shit” Dream: “whAT???”

Bye Drista it’s been nice!!! I hope she had a good time, she seems like a good kid (who is definitely not a content creator lol though she keeps up admirably)

Drista’s one of the few people who can make Tommy speechless lmaooo he looks actually shocked lol

Also first mention of GhostInnit…. cc!Tommy…..

Keep preparing…. Was his original plan to rush Dream even if (maybe especially if…) he died? Fuck man

Also holy shit was this stream right before Quackitys? ? amazing

This was honestly such a BLAST and a really good time, and I can see why its viewed as one of the few breaks we get during Exile :) I feel so refreshed and it was so so nice to have Tommy hanging out in L’manburg having fun with his friends (even if Tubbo was stuck being a Hallucination and Also Banned lol) No deeper insight, I just haven’t stopped smiling for an hour and a half <3

#dream smp liveblog #dsmp exile arc #tommyinnit #drista #technoblade #dreamwastaken #the shulker man the SHULKER #Ive been hearing about that for AGES glad to see the actual footage

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epicspheal · 4 years

Note

Hi again! Just wanted to know your opinion on the Pokemon villains, especially towards a chance of redemption. I think the only villains that kinda got redeemed was Archie and Maxie, learning that what they did was a mistake ( a little too late tho) and maybe Colress ( being the true neutral he is), through the Alola games. But yeah, what's you're opinion on them?

Hi Ihopethisendswell!

I’ve been sitting on this ask for a bit just trying to gather my thoughts. To be honest, the Pokemon Villains are some of my least favorite aspects of the games, mainly because in my opinion they’re rarely handled well (except for original Team Plasma and Team Skull, those guys are amazing and I except no slander of either)

I’ll start with Team Rocket. They have a very basic but realistic evil goal (especially in a setting as fantastic as the world of Pokemon). I honestly can’t say I dislike them. I would like to see more teams using their concept of just taking advantage of Pokemon for profit and selfish reasons rather than trying to tie in some philosophy (because to be honest in my opinion most of the teams who try to use philosophy to justify their extremism just end up looking really stupid for the most part). I like Kanto Team Rocket better than Johto’s plot and Rainbow Rocket was only good for the “what if” aspect and adding to the new multiverse lore. As far as redemption...I don’t think Giovanni or the grunts really deserve it.

For Team Aqua and Team Magma, I actually like them in a “so bad it’s good” type of way (definitely nostalgia based as even though I got into Pokemon during the original anime, I didn’t get to play a main game until gen 3). Like the idea of having two separate evil teams competing against each other to see who can enact their plans first is a super cool concept in my opinion but wasted on the idiocy of the “expand the land/expand the sea” goals. I will say I enjoyed their Emerald enhanced plot and ORAS’s expansion on them in the Delta Episode. I think the Emerald clash of Kyogre and Groudon was the most logical conclusion to their schemes. As far as redemption goes, I do think Maxie and Archie should’ve served some jail time like Chairman Rose because their plan was just as catastrophic if not more so.

For Team Galactic, ugh. They’re my second least favorite. They were just boring and made an already painfully slow game even more intolerable. This is where I give the Pokemon Anime credit, they made them more interesting in the games and I actually really loved how it was adapted (proof that when they want to the anime can have some really solid writing). Redemption for them? Nope, you literally tried to rewrite the world. Even with Cyrus’ tragic backstory...still nope.

Now for Team Plasma. This is how you do an evil team. Easily one of my favorite teams to actually go up against in game. I like that they actually tried to tackle an ethical question with Pokemon in Team Plasma. N was a fantastic antagonist and I’m glad he saw the light at the end and he definitely deserves the redemption. And all of the Team Plasma grunts who actually believed in N’s goal deserve redemption. I really enjoyed what they did in BW2 where they had the Plasma House with the misguided former grunts and the confrontation between the old team plasma and Neo Team Plasma about how ostracized the reformed grunts are. Although I don’t like Neo Team Plasma as much (although the outfits are 100 times cooler), it does make sense that the ones still loyal to Ghetsis would try for another attempt. Also it took me a second runthrough of White 2 to really appreciate Colress and his “this is for science” mantra but you know what, I love him. Him and N are really awesome and deserve the redemption. Ghetsis can go jump in a fucking volcano though, him and his followers (: As for Team Flare, they suffer a lot from not getting a sequel or third version. But like Team Galactic the anime adaptation did a lot of good for them. Team Flare is like Team Aqua/Magma for me in that I think they’re so bad it’s actually good. They actually had some funny dialogue bits and there was actually a lot of potential for them storywise if we had of gotten another Kalos game. The Great War, and AZ all had a lot of potential. Plus having an Elite 4 member working with them? That was more of a twist than Lysandre being the boss. And the Xerosic post-game plot was heartbreaking. Redemption wise though, it’s kind of hard to do with a group who literally tried to nuke the world.

Team Skull. I love these guys. I love them so much. This is another example for me personally of an evil team done right. I really liked how they weren’t even evil, just frustrated youth who were failed by Alola’s tradition. Like I could seriously go on about how toxic the Alolan community really is if the fact that a child failing the island challenge (a coming of age journey) somehow makes them feel so down about themselves and feel like rejects to the point they join a literal gang to find some sort of belonging (this is of course not talking about the origins of Team Skull being from a disgraced Kahuna who incurred the wrath of the tapus). Like I feel so sorry for them and I wanted to yell at the Kahunas in game for them not recognizing that their traditions were creating the Team Skull problem. Team Skull definitely deserved their redemption as they reformed in the post game

Aether Foundation though, ugh. Easily my least favorite. I really disliked the Aether Family as a whole as I felt they were invasive to the plot and that the focus should’ve been on team skull and how traditions while important can have harmful consequences. I will say it was nice to have female antagonist and I vastly prefer SM Lusamine to USUM Lusamine. USUM Lusamine was more redeemable but she was less interesting and USUM really screws up Lillie’s development which I dislike (which is saying something because I really can’t stand Lillie).

Team Yell was a disappointment. Honestly there was so much potential because like Team Skull they are a very grounded team (as you can see, I like the grounded in reality teams more so than the philosphical extremist ones). Like I can totally understand why they would form considering how dilapidated Spikemuth is. The issue is that they aren’t given a chance to do much actual evil. Even though Team Skull wasn’t really all that bad, they still did bad things. Which is realistic given their desperation. As desperate as Team Yell was to get Marnie to become champion I was expecting more sabotage and outright hostility. Which while being bad, would be realistic given their situation. That and the fact that no one really calls out the fact the irony of their sabotage actually delegitimizing Marnie’s strengths as a trainer. Like is Marnie truly one of the strongest trainers from the gym challenge or were their people who could’ve beat her who got targeted by Team Yell and ultimately dropped out? Not to mention the implications of ongoing beef between Team Yell and Chairman Rose. Again so much potential wasted. If they had of just made them just a tad more hostile and had someone point out how they were unintentionally making Marnie look bad, they’d easily be one of my favorites.

Macros Cosmos. I think this was the team most screwed over by the plot, and the controversial anime adaptation did them only a few favors. I’ve said this before, but the royal twins historical manipulation plot was more interesting than Rose’s “I’m going to start the Galarian Apocalypse to save Galar” plot. And the sad part is Rose could’ve been a very compelling antagonist. I’ll say that if they really wanted to make Rose an antagonist, they could’ve taken away the Eternatus plot and just used his poor communication skills to cause problems for the gym leaders and champion. A bad boss with impatience and crappy communication skills is something many people can relate to, and I think would’ve been a more interesting plot than trying to force philosophical extremism on to him because.

And lastly the Royal Twins. Man I hated them, but also they’re some of my favorite antagonists. I think people at times look solely at their goofy hairstyles and entitledness and forget how dangerous these two actually were. They had a whole network of spies loyal to them? Imagine a game with them as the main protagonists where it gets to the point you can’t trust the NPCs because who knows which one supports them. Also their historical revision plot is something so relevant today with textbooks being written in a way to minimize horrible atrocities such as the trans-Atlantic slave trade. Granted their plot in game left a lot to be desired, but they had so much potential and honestly a better reasoning to want to awake Eternatus than Rose did. As you can see I prefer the more grounded teams such as Rocket, Plasma, Skull and Yell (in theory) and the Royal Twins given how their goals relate to the real world. I also think in many ways Gamefreak does better with those plots wiriting wise than the philosophical extremist teams.

#team rocket #team aqua #team magma #team galactic #team plasma #neo team plasma #team flare #team skull #aether foundation #team yell #macro cosmos #sordward and shieldbert #ask epic spheal #ask me anything #thanks for the ask!

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whumperooni · 3 years

Note

I'd love to be mutuals with you but now really sure how to approach you off-anon.

I've been holding off on answering this one because I'm not quite sure how to respond without coming off as rude or bitchy or grouchy or stuck up or just straight up ridiculous

So pretty please take this as a general answer for everyone wanting to be moots and not just you, okay? I promise it's nothing personal (specially since you're a nonny and idk who you are anyways)

tldr; I'm a bad moot and if you wanna be a moot it has to happen naturally

But

I'm a terrible mutual, tbh. My online presence is flaky at best and I rarely look at my dash. I'm happy to chat with my moots if they reach out and I'm happy to interact with them...but I don't really approach them and I go through long periods of time where I miss their content because a) I'm too busy to be on tumblr, b) my fixations have shifted and I don't wanna interact with stuff that's not centered on them, c) I'm feeling particularly tired and/or angry and I'm off tumblr because I know I'm going to lose my temper and lash out at someone.

I try to be nice to people and I try to keep an open mind and I really try to let people do their own thing even if it bothers me. But the thing is?

I'm not a super nice person. I have a minimal tolerance for bullshit and I have a problem with general fandom fuckery. (Like across all fandoms- not just here)

I get angry at fandom and I get angry at my dash and I get angry at myself and, honestly, my presence in fandom is more like a stray cat that wanders in when they're bored or hungry and leaves when I grow bored or irritated by whatever drama is going on that day. I'm selfish and standoffish and, honestly, jealous of a lot of things and people too.

They're not awesome qualities to have in a moot. They're not awesome qualities to have as a person. I try my best to maintain a more positive vibe but, really, it's not always strictly genuine.

And the thing is? It gets tiring trying to pretend that I'm not rolling my eyes at every post on my dash. I'm too old and tired to pretend to like people that get on my nerves. I don't follow those people. I try not to interact with them. I blacklist their tags and I'll block them if they really get under my skin.

I monitor my circle and I do it in a way that's strictly selfish. I refuse to follow someone who sends me into a rant every other day and I'll absolutely dump a mutual if seeing their posts starts to get under my skin. I've done that before and, honestly, it hurt to do that because I did enjoy their content a lot and I thought that we could actually be good friends....I just didn't enjoy them or entertain those daydreams anymore once they decided to dump me like a hot potato.

I've been on all the sides of being a moot- bestie moots, enemies to friends to moots and back to enemies, casual headcanon exchanging moots, the moot that's been dropped because the other found more popular friends + more clout, and the moot that's dropped the other because they started shit talking about things that are Extremely Personal to me and I wasn't about to deal with that.

It sucks being a moot with someone only to find out they've dumped you. And, honestly? That's a veryyyyyyyyy likely possibility when it comes to being moots with me? Which I hate because people don't deserve that and hurt feelings suck and I don't want to upset anyone if I don't have to. But the thing is? I have to monitor my experience on tumblr or I will spiral and become miserable and nuke my chances of being welcome in fandom during an inevitable, public meltdown.

And that means....well that means that things just have to happen naturally?

(God, I'm so sorry I'm rambling but I'm trying so hard to explain myself)

Like. If you come to me and you're like "I wanna be mutuals with you. I wanna be friends" then I'm going to recoil- especially if we've never interacted before. For one, something like that is supremely uncomfortable to me. How can I say no without coming off as a bitch? It feels like a trap- even if it isn't, even if it's purely just enthusiastic and sincere- and I'm a prickly, hermetic person by nature who literally talks to one person irl on a daily basis...who also happens to live with me and is my boyfriend.

I don't seek out friends. I don't seek out relationships. I don't try to make something happen when it comes to people? It just...idk man I have to let it happen naturally or eventually it's gonna blow up in my face because I will feel restless and trapped and resentful. (Even if you literally do nothing wrong. Please understand that I'm a kinda shitty person, I work two jobs and I'm always stressed, and I'm bipolar and unmedicated. Please understand that I try and I'm not using these as excuses but just stating facts- my mental and emotional state are often shit and I lash out at people once my stress becomes too much...which is often these days. That this has happened to me before and I know myself and I'm trying to be truthful and not set up any rosy expectations just to disappoint anyone)

Like...if you still wanna be a moot, all I can say is to just...interact with me? Maybe I'll check out your blog and vibe with what I see????

But there are layers and layers of why I'm Not a good moot and there are layers and layers of reasons I'm not going to follow just anybody just because I'm asked.

I...I don't know. I don't know how to end this and I don't know if this makes any sense at all or if it's too much explanation or not but...

Just...don't have any expectations when it comes to me. I'm making no promises to anyone and I'm trying to be transparent.

I won't be mutuals with someone just because they want me to be. It's gotta happen naturally or it won't happen at all.

And I am sincerely sorry if it causes hurt feelings or if it comes off as rude or mean or bitchy or something. Rejection fucking sucks, you know?

But I have to look out for my mental and emotional health and, unfortunately, that means setting boundaries and limits and monitoring my experience very carefully.

So...yeah.

I'm sorry. I know this is probably super unsatisfying and I'm deeply apologetic over it.

But...yeah. That's that and I'm going to shut up now.

(Sorry)

#uh sorry about this answer #and sorry if it doesn't make sense #please don't hate me #i'm really just trying to be honest

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hansolmates · 5 years

Text

vernon; blossomed (m)

feat. tattoo artist!vern x flower shop fem!reader based on nonnie’s big brain

genre/warnings: flangst, lang, wild generalizations of how tattooing works, gratuitous love for side characters, mild drinking, phineas and ferb references, mild foreplay

word count: 12k

Vernon called you his Rose.

Not exactly his Rose, because you were definitely not anyone’s property and he wanted to give you nothing but your full autonomy, but it’s because he’s never had the chance to ask for your real name.

But when he first spotted you in the little lavender and honey colored flower shop across the street, you were tending to the rose bushes at the front entrance. You were cutting roses and you didn’t look utterly graceful, in fact you stabbed yourself more than once with the thorns. He couldn’t help but laugh when you laughed when your co-worker had to hand you a new bandage every minute.

He decided then that he liked you, even if it’s not wholly sexual or romantic, he liked you.

Or maybe he just liked the idea of you, the way you’d lounge around in the canopy swing with your boots tucked under the seat, fluffy yellow socks wiggling out in the sun. Sometimes you’d read a book, sometimes for well over an hour. He liked how you soaked up the heat and created your own little world, happily unproductive.

It was only a seven meter walk from the flower shop to the tattoo parlor, but the view from his front window required zero walking distance and a sure-fire lack of ever bumping into you.

“Vernie’s got a crush on the Flower Girl,” Yoongi sing-songed, chugging along a box full of random-ass materials that Vernon was supposed to clean in the morning.

Vernon scowled, and swatted away the older one’s hand when it dived in front of his face.

Yoongi whistled like he was an old-time animation, singing the day away. “Vernie’s stalking his crush.”

“I’m not stalking,” Vernon snapped, swiveling around in his rolling chair. “that involves shit like literally following her around, photography, I dunno, being a weirdo?”

“You definitely qualify for one of those.” Yoongi replied tartly, and he fought the urge to grin when Vernon finally turned back to the window, only to narrowly miss your form. The swing was now unoccupied, the only thing remnant were your working boots lined up against the entrance. “It’s been what, two weeks? Just ask her out already.”

“You think I would’ve done that by now if there wasn’t a reason why?“

Soooo you were dating someone. Some super tall, super handsome guy would stroll up to the flower shop every morning, coffee in hand. Before you’d take your proffered coffee, he’d pucker his lips for a good-morning kiss in repayment. Vernon looked back to Yoongi, who was staring right back at him and confirming his suspicions that yes he was being a fucking weirdo for paying attention to things like that.

Yoongi pressed his lips together, puffing his cheeks out in slight irritation. “So you’re stalking a taken girl,” he whistled lowly, “should I regret hiring you?”

“Not funny.”

“As repayment for effectively creeping me out,” The older one slipped his hand into his electric yellow windbreaker to twirl Vernon a ring of keys. “You’re closin’ up for tonight.”

The brunette’s jaw dropped to his lap, and he got up from his spot by the window. “What? What happened to Minghao?”

“Sick,” Yoongi shrugged.

Closing up meant that Vernon had to stay until 12AM, at the very least. The area was off a college town and that meant a lot of young lucrative artists would stop by pretty late, hence the closing time. Usually Yoongi and Minghao were the night owls, but tonight Minghao was supposed to fly solo because Yoongi landed a last-minute recording gig. “C’mon, can I at least close early?” Vernon whined, “it’s summer. No one’s here.”

“What, ya gotta date or something?” Yoongi smirked, swinging the entrance open. Halfway out the door, he added loftily, “don’t forget to water Patricia. It’s been two weeks.”

The door slammed and Vernon was left alone. He spared a glance at the window, only to see that your boots were now gone from the patio and only one light was on in the shop. Vernon turned to his company for the night, their jade succulent, aptly named Patricia Planty.

With Patricia Planty watered and a stomach full of Wendy’s nuggets in his body, Vernon busied himself up for a grueling five hours. Thankfully he brought in his laptop, as if he were expecting Yoongi to pull a fast one on him tonight. He drew some random things on his tablet: rockets, stars, the occasional squirrel, and roses. When he was tired of drawing, he’d blast the speakers off the joint and mess around with some of his music programming. When he was tired of doing both, he’d vegetate on the couch and read Reddit articles.

It was past eleven when the first customer of the night stumbled in. Vernon fought the urge to groan, putting down the pen of his tablet on a particularly intricate constellation.

“We’re closed!” He yelled through the office door. A white lie, but who would know?

“Google said you were open until 12!” A voice yelled back, sounding slightly strained.

Crap. Vernon lowered the volume and pushed away the swivel chair, swinging the office door open. With a rough clear of his throat and hoping not to look like too much of a jerk, he faced his customer, “Welcome to Nu ABO—”

It was you. Cheeks ruddied, and your eyes glassed with a fresh glaze of tears. Your lower lip worried into a wobbly frown. Vernon’s Reebok’s glued to the concrete of the parlor, effectively stopping him in his tracks. The smell of mulch and a mixture of flowers penetrated his nostrils, but it did nothing to distract the utter hurt etched on your face.

“Um, hey,” his voice was gentle, yet unsure. “What are you doing here?”

You just looked at him, incredulous. Vernon could have sworn he saw your left eyebrow twitch. Of course, you’ve never met him in your entire life, yet Vernon felt like he knew you since the beginning of your summer work. “Gettin’ a tattoo.” You replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, rubbing away a stray tear.

He didn’t want to say it, but Vernon sighed and reasoned, “But it’s just that, ya kinda look—”

You brushed past him, going straight into the artist room and plopping on the worn leather chair meant for customers. It was still high up because Vernon was cleaning the underside of the metal, so you had to do a little hop to get on. “I don’t care what kind of design. I looked up your Yelp online and everything looked pretty good.” And you then proceeded to unbutton the top of your blouse.

“Holy shit,” he bounded over to you, grappling his fingers between your shirt before you could undo the rest of it. His breath was probably hot and heavy, compared to yours which was fresh from the cool summer air. Your faces were so close, closer than he ever fathomed. He didn’t think you two would meet this early in the year, as he was emotionally preparing to visit your flower shop at the end of the month, making up some spiel on how he needed to purchase real roses to replicate a commission. Not now. Now was a spontaneous episode, where he was trying to refasten your shirt and ignore the petal pink lace of your bra baiting his eyes.

When he sensed that you would in fact, stop taking your shirt off, he backed up. “It’s just that, after eleven we don’t really apply tattoos. We just take consultations.” He tried to sound defeated, rubbing the back of his neck. Again, another lie. But Vernon wasn’t about to ink you on the spot, especially when you looked like this.

“Is it because I’m upset?” You cried, “because I assure you, I’m in the right mind!”

He winced, lolling his head back and forth. “That’s debatable.”

You frowned, “C’mon, I have money. Just do me this one solid.”

“What? No, you don’t even know what you want!” Vernon was exasperated. Not that he imagined the first time meeting you would be a walk in the park, but at the same time he wasn’t expecting to argue with you.

"Don’t you want to be part of my spontaneous young life? Give me a tattoo that I’ll think about with my children 30 years from now?” He would laugh if you didn’t look like you were crying a river ten minutes ago. “As long as it’s not a tramp stamp, because I don’t think I can pull that off—"

"Did you break up with your boyfriend or something?” Vernon blurted out before he could regret it.

Your face morphed into something Vernon couldn’t understand. Pain, for sure. But a sort of relief knowing that you didn’t have to hide it. “Damn,” you give him a tired smile, “does the whole town know or something?"

You cried again. This time, Vernon reacted quicker. Pulling out a Wendy’s napkin from his flannel pocket, he proffered it to you. He was thankful you didn’t question whether it was clean or not (it was!) and you proceeded to cover your snot and tears all over it.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You sniffled and blew a particularly large chunk of snot before you shook your head.

"Do you… want fries?” He gestured to the small table in the room, which had some leftover fries from his combo. “I can heat ‘em up in the microwave."

Due to the fact that you ran out of tissue room, you rubbed your face with the entirety of your sleeve. You peeked out mid-rub, and replied with a soft, "hell yeah I do."

His heart twitched. Even betwixt your teary expression, you were so freakin’ cute. He shuffled back to the office, nuking the leftovers in the microwave until they were piping hot. Vernon waited a bit for them to get cool, and fiddled with the music so a soft R&B playlist bounced off the walls. He couldn’t believe you were here. Scratch that, he could, because you were bound to run into him one day due to pure proximity.

But he didn’t imagine you’d be plopped in his artist room at 11:32, bleary eyed and shoving potatoes in your mouth.

Vernon busied himself with his phone, and typed a hasty you wouldn’t believe what just happened… to the employee group chat.

[June 11, 11:33PM]

Bo$$ man: dont tell me u put aluminum in the microwave AGAIN

Hao hao: the chinese mafia came for me, didnt they? good thing I called out

Jeonghan is a prick: use your resources! sharp items are everywhere :) emergency money is under Patricia’s table

Bernie: tf is wrong w all of you

Bernie: SHES HEREEEEEE

"M'sorry,” you mumbled with a mouthful of fries, breaking Vernon from his mid-text crisis. He felt his phone buzzing like hell as he shoved it in his pocket, but ignored it for the sake of you. Your previous high of emotions has long worn off, and now you were looking a little embarrassed as you fixed your gaze on the empty container of fries. Your face is blotchy and red, and you’re especially puffy due to the salt you just consumed. “I should go home."

He didn’t want to be intrusive, but the look on your face showed it was clear that you didn’t want to go home just yet. Drumming his fingers against the metal table, he casually suggested, "Why don’t I do your back?"

You looked at him like he was crazy. "You still wanna tattoo me? After I cried like an idiot and ate your fries?"

"You’re not an idiot for being upset. And I offered you my fries.” He pulled out an ink canister, and a thin needle. “This is temporary ink we use to practice, or for customers who wanna test out the look. Lasts one to two weeks. And y'know, it’s a nice distraction."

You looked skeptical, unsure of his kindness. "Why my back?"

He shrugged, "It’s the biggest canvas. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it."

Still, you’re not convinced. There was something strange about him, something almost too sweet. While your schema may be marred by television and movies, the man in front of you didn’t seem like he quite fit into this little shack. He’s full of color, in his eyes and in his stature, his words clean and pure as he tries to soothe your aching heart. And as much as you tried not to check him out, you spotted no tattoos on any viewable part of his body.

"And it’s kind of cathartic, really.” He watched your lips quirk up in a smile at the word usage. Not only sweet, but probably smart. Your first smile all night. Cheeks effortlessly heated, he continued, “you kinda just let go into the feeling. And it’s always fun to not know what’s been drawn until the very end."

You’re curious. There’s excitement in your vision as he gestured to the available cot, inviting you. "Alright. Ink me up."

Vernon grinned, and started preparing the workspace. Handing you a medical gown, he quickly shuffled away to prepare the ink and needles. He didn’t really work with the clients as deeply as this, he was really just a glorified secretary that took care of the consultation. While he washed his hands, he heard the faint rustle of fabric, definitely your shirt and bra. He turned up the temperature of the water, acutely aware of how hot his hands were getting.

"Um,” your voice is muffled from being pressed up against the cot, your face presumably propped with pillows. “So are you Yoongi?"

"Nah, I’m Vernon.” He wheeled over a cart full of supplies, the metal clanging against the concrete. “’M usually the guy who wipes the sweat off his brow."

You hummed your own name in response, resting your cheek in the plushness of the cotton pillow. There’s a number of sounds paired with the R&B in the background. The smack of Vernon putting on gloves, the click of the needles and the slickness of the balm Vernon has applied on your back. His touch was warm, as his palm crescents across your back to soothe the balm into your skin. He then wiped it down with a paper towel until your skin was smooth and dry.

"Any ideas yet?” He asked, and from the corner of your eye you see him switch out a needle for a new ink pen.

“Maybe, stars?” Your voice is muffled against the cushions, as you’re hugging them close to your body. “And maybe something inspired by Spiderman? I liked that new one with Miles, he’s a cool one."

You could hear the smile in his voice, "I liked that one, too."

You stuff your own smile in your pillow, how embarrassing could it be that this stranger can make you feel better so fast? Mingyu would be groveling if he saw you now, topless, letting a man ink you up in however way he wished. "Will it hurt?"

He chuckled at that, "Nah. The ink will sit on top and sink in, I barely have to apply any pressure. Just relax."

Under the discretion of Vernon, who offered you fries and liked Spiderman, you relaxed. The first stroke of the needle and you were a goner. You closed your eyes and let him do his thing, You couldn’t tell what exactly was going on through his mind as he was painting your back, but you could tell his art was rather cacophonous: stiff pokes here and there, smooth strokes, and wide breaths of ink staining your back. The ink melted into your skin, bonding to your cells under Vernon’s careful control.

It was almost 1AM when he finished. He tapped your back, urging you up. Tired, and slightly dazed, you sat up. You realized a little too late that you’re only wearing a thin hospital gown, the straps having fallen midway through the process. The air was cool against your skin.

Vernon totally would’ve gotten a complete view of your sideboob if he wasn’t blushing like a maniac and looking away, and you respected that. His arm is punched out, fisting your button down. You hastily snatched it away, and turned around in order to look decent.

“The ink won’t show up fully for another six hours, so until then let me know how you like it.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled gratefully as you do the last button of your blouse, and pulled out your phone. “Do you accept Venmo or Cashapp?”

“Oh, yeah.” He accepted the proffered device, and put in the necessary charges.

Once he gave back your phone, you added a sizable tip to the price he typed up. “The time really flew by,” you noted the time on the corner of your phone, 1:07. “It was really, an experience like you said.”

He shrugged, and threw you an easy smile. “I try.”

"Can I get a real tattoo from you someday? Y'know, when I’m ready?"

"Ah, no. I’m not really under the apprenticeship.” He looked bashful when he said it, as if he were caught doing something wrong. “I just work here for the part time money. I do art on the side, though.”

You had the urge to ask what he doesn’t do on the side, but it was late and you were probably holding up the poor guy for your trivial questions. “Regardless, I’m still thankful it was you that did this for me.”

In three strides, he opened the small door for you. “My pleasure. Have a good night. Or, morning. Or if you’re one of those people who don’t consider it morning unless it’s light out, then good night?”

“Good night,” you giggled, “get home safely.”

“You too.”

The screen door slammed shut behind you, along with the main door. Your car is parked in the grass patching of the flower shop. You jogged over, and the summer air made you shiver, your back still raw and warm under Vernon’s touch.

You couldn’t wait until the flower shop closed.

If Wonwoo noticed that you moved the porch swing relative to the placement of Nu ABO, he hasn’t brought it up. You weren’t spying on Vernon, no. But your skin was starting to itch with curiosity and in your haste to leave last night, you didn’t even ask what he designed on your back.

“Are you stalking the tattoo guy?”

Despite the voice being petal soft, you flinched. Assistant Manager Joshua Hong with a bouquet of boat lilies, was accusing you of stalking. His Converse tapped rhythmically against the wood paneling, looking down at you like a guilty child.

“What?” you floundered, waving around the florist magazine in your hands. “Josh, I’m studying! And the sun was in my face so I moved the swing.”

“You’re studying,” Joshua flickered his eyes to the run down shack across the road. “The tattoo guy?”

“I already said I wasn’t!”

“Then you’re telling me you spent all last night doing that,” he reached over to tug at your starched work collar, “all by yourself?”

Your hand flew to your neck, as if you were trying to hide Vernon’s hard work. “I just wanna see what he did, all right? And I’m trying to be very patient until closing because if Wonwoo sees me going there,” you jerked a head none-too-gracefully at the direction of the parlor, “he’s gonna tell you-know-who.”

Joshua frowned, because he already knew. After all, he stayed in the back room with you all last night, wiping away your tears. “Well, whoever did it is truly an artist,” he said genuinely, “it’s beautiful.”

Joshua finally left you alone, and you suddenly felt emptier than before. Sure, the breakup with Mingyu was conventionally bad, but why were you so conflicted with your feelings? You didn’t want Mingyu to know you were hanging out with other guys, but you wanted to let go of him. Maybe you were trying too hard too fast.

But Vernon made everything so, so easy.

No, you are not letting him be a rebound. The inner conflict in your head was giving you a massive headache, you couldn’t tell if the vibes you were feeling last night were because of the recent breakup or just an authentic spark.

The storm door shuttered boldly, and you jumped. Wonwoo stepped out, and gave you a weird look. “You alright?”

“Me? Yeah, fine.” You gripped the collar of your shirt and pretended to fasten the buttons.

He was unconvinced, either that or the pinched look he was sporting was an indicator of a bad day. “Listen, I know things are gonna be weird because my best friend is your, y’know,” he trailed off, painfully trudging through this conversation as easily as trudging through quicksand. “He’s gonna stop by a couple more times during the week, doing me a few errands. So if you wanna take the week off, recalibrate before the the month ends, just let me know. ”

“Won, please,” you wanted this to end, “we don’t have to talk about this, alright?”

He awkwardly twirled around his car keys. “Alright.” As simple as that, he threw himself in his sedan and drove off, dirt brushing the pavement.

You glared at the dust cloud until his car was far from your sights, the mustard color blinding your vision. “Honestly,” you said to yourself, finally hopping off your swing into the direction of the shack, “he thinks I’m five and never experienced heartbreak.”

“Welcome to Nu ABO!” this voice was different, and you slowed your steps. It doesn’t quite have the husk that Vernon’s voice held, but definitely matched the energy. The boy stepped out, and his eyes sparkled in recognition. “Flower Girll,” he said to himself, and you suddenly felt like you got caught, “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

"We haven’t,” you replied warily at the pet name, “where’s Vernon?"

"Oh, he’s around.” The guy waved noncommittally to the air in the room, crouching his head to look down at you. He stuffed his hands in his black overalls, which covered a painfully bright rainbow tye-dye tee. “Curious to see Vern’s ink though. He’s only ever done small stuff.”

“I thought he wasn’t an apprentice.”

He flicked his wrist around to show you a beautiful line of Chinese calligraphy. "Keep the secret between us, ‘kay?” He winked.

“Minghao, leave her alone.” Vernon stepped out of the small bathroom hidden in the artist room, a white towel behind his neck. You took in his disheveled appearance. His face was red from washing his face, and he wore the same clothes from yesterday. “Hey.” He said.

“Hi,” you replied, “did you sleep here last night?"

"Uh, yeah.” Vernon rubbed at his neck again, and stuffed the towel in his backpack. “I usually do the morning and afternoon shifts, I covered for this guy last night,” he jabbed his fist in Minghao’s shoulder, “but still had to do my day shift.”

“So,” Minghao rocked back and forth in his boots, “why are you here?”

You suddenly felt self-conscious, and gripped your phone between your two palms. A little part of you was disappointed that Vernon was not alone, but another part of you was relieved. It helped slow down the pace of your feelings (feelings?) that was heading in a direction you were not anticipating. “I wanted to say thank you again for last night.” You coughed, and Minghao grinned wider at your explanation. “And I was wondering if you could take a picture of my back? I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”

He beamed, and you could tell he was happy that you wanted to document his work. “Oh, of course! I completely forgot last night.”

Vernon moved to grab your phone, but Minghao swiped a hand in front of him. “Can I take your photo?” He asked you, although the look in his eyes said that you didn’t have much of a choice.

Your cheeks burned at the sudden intrusion. “Huh?”

“I mean, have you seen this guy’s Insta?” Minghao scoffed, albeit playfully as Vernon mirrored your flush.

“What are you talking about?” Vernon exclaimed, thoroughly insulted, “my profile is tastefully abstract.”

“It looks like it was tastefully done by a three year old.” Minghao pulled out his iPhone, and adjusted the filters. “I’m doing you a favor here, Flower Girl.”

You looked warily at Vernon, who slumped in defeat, “If you’re going for that e-girl vibe, I guess Hao’s a better photographer.”

“Better than your pictures coming out blurry.” Minghao shot back, holding the camera to your face. “There’s no light in here,” Minghao glared at the singular window in their tiny studio, the sill decorated with a single jade succulent. “Got any ideas?"

Vernon shrugged, "You said I have the taste of a three year old, so."

With Wonwoo gone for the day, you realized that you did have an idea of where you could take a tasteful picture. The thrill excited and terrified you. You only wanted a simple picture to see what it looked like, but Minghao looked as equally as excited to see your ink. Maybe it was the fact that the art was fleeting or that Vernon was really that talented, but it encouraged you to offer the setting up.

"I think our greenhouse has plenty of light,” you gestured out the studio’s only window, which was in perfect view of the flower shop. “We should be closing up soon, so it’s free."

Minghao nodded approvingly, "We can try."

And with a hasty "be back @ 4:20!” sign taped on the front door to Nu ABO, the three of them walked across the street to the greenhouse.

You went in first, nearly bumping into Joshua who was bent over, pot in hand.

“Hey Josh,” you grabbed the keys from the front desk, “borrowing the greenhouse."

"Hey Josh,” Minghao and Vernon mimicked, who found it amusing that you just brushed by without an introduction.

You rolled your eyes, hearing them exchange pleasantries and bro fists. The plexiglass doors to the greenhouse unlocked with a turn of your key, the smell of heat and grassy rain hitting your nostrils. Joshua placed the pot somewhere, following suit as the boys were right behind you.

“Awesome,” Minghao exhaled, stepping further into the greenhouse. It was a small one, but comfortable enough for a couple patrons to browse around. “I’m gonna move around some plants if that’s okay, I gotta vision.”

Joshua looked a little frazzled watching Minghao talk to himself and start moving the settings around (“The hydrangeas don’t go there, are you crazy?”) and started helping Minghao move the pots and placements around. You and Vernon hung around the entrance, giggling to yourselves.

You tried to bump his shoulder, which didn’t even reach his. “So, what’s your Insta handle?”

He quirked his brows at that, “Why, so you can judge my aesthetic too?”

“No,” you replied, faking your shock. “I would never insult your taste!”

With a roll of his eyes he said, “Speaking of taste, since your shift is over and my shift is over,” Vernon rocked back and forth on his feet. “Wanna grab a bite?”

Something’s fluttering in your stomach, and you stomp it down. It’s an innocent invite, yes. Unfortunately it was not-so-innocent in your twisted mind knowing that you are still fresh from a breakup, yet your backed is marked with Vernon’s work. “You must be tired though,” you tried to reason, “you should get some rest, I don’t wanna bother you.”

“Not a bother,” he said immediately, “besides, I wanna ask you something.”

That got you curious. Before you had a chance to ask, Minghao was ushering you over, telling you to stand in front of a bundle of orchids. They’ve bloomed a Canary yellow, encasing you in a golden ring of flowers overlooking the terrace. The new friend has gestured for you to undo your shirt and he turned away in respect. It’s different with an audience and an expectation. You made haste to undo the buttons of your blouse, then your bra, throwing it aside. You felt the warm, moist air kiss your back, and you heard a low whistle coming from Minghao.

“Beautiful,” Minghao exhaled, “Vern, you’ve outdone yourself."

Beautiful. Vernon made you beautiful.

Your body was simmering, and you could do nothing as you let Minghao photograph you. You focused your eyes on a puddle dripping from a faucet in front of you, counting the seconds between each droplet.

“And, done.”

You shoved on your clothes, and felt extra awkward as you fumbled to reach for the straps of your bra. You nearly slipped on the puddle as you walked back to the boys, who were busy over Minghao’s shoulder.

“Super awesome,” Minghao handed you the phone brightly, “so much texture and feeling.”

The screen showed a halo of foliage that surrounded your bare back, blush orchids kissing the frame with color. Your work shirt bundled under your hips, and fell under your elbows to reveal a city sky. You were breathless, zooming in to capture every detail of the ink. A navy sky, blanketing buildings across your back in a diagonal, splaying from the bottom right to the top left. On the bottom, skyscrapers reaching for the stars.

If you zoomed in enough, you could tell that the stars were shaped like roses.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve said thank you in the past two days,” you started, causing Vernon to grin widely. “But thank you, I’ve never felt so beautiful.”

Vernon scoffed, “I didn’t do anything, I’ve only enhanced your beauty. That’s our shtick.”

You handed Minghao back your phone and thanked him. He then rushed off, saying he had to stay at the parlor since Yoongi was coming soon. Immediately, Joshua began putting back the plants in their rightful places. You and Vernon followed suit, starting with the smaller ones.

“So,” Vernon picked up a tray of succulents, “are we still on for dinner?”

Wide-eyed Joshua crept in-between the foliage, laughably appearing under a series of hanging plants like a madman. “Dinner?” he asked, looking between you two.

“Yeah man,” Vernon reached to pull Joshua away from the plants, “wanna come?”

Simultaneously disappointed and relieved, you let out a subconscious exhale. Joshua was coming, which meant that there would be no possibility for feeling weird (or catching feels), being awkward or fighting any oncoming feelings with Vernon.

"On Thursdays there’s this really good half-off sushi deal by my place. We can take out and eat at my apartment?” Joshua’s kindness was palpable at the offering of his home, and the both of you smiled gratefully.

Not more than two hours later, the three of you are bundled away in Joshua’s two-room, empty boxes of carryout stacked high. The television was playing reruns of Full House, the only source of light in the dim space.

“Are you gonna go home soon?” Vernon asked, and turned his head to the corner of the room. Joshua is cuddled up in the single couch, tucked in a wearable blanket with the armholes.

You shrugged, “I dunno. Usually I crash here for sushi nights,” you patted the couch lovingly, “This is my second bed.”

Vernon chuckled, tucking his feet under his thighs. It made him look impossibly small in comparison to how tall and lanky he actually was.

“So, what did you want to ask me?”

Vernon looked between his legs, as if he were trying to piece his words together. “Long story short, I got waitlisted at my top graduate school option,” he then pulled up his phone, revealing the picture of your back that was taken that afternoon, “but I was thinking that if I made a portfolio of this kind of art, it would really tip my application over the edge. Originally I was thinking of just sending my usual art, but it just popped in my head today while we were doing it.” He looked up through his eyelashes, wisps of copper looking expectantly at you. “If you’re comfortable with it, would you be my canvas?”

“Live art,” you surmised, “honestly, I’m honored that you would want me to be a part of something so big. You think I’m that good?”

No, you weren’t doubting Vernon’s art one bit. The fact that your back would be out on display for a bunch of strangers was unnerving, to say the least.

“Are you kidding?” Vernon zoomed out of the image, revealing the curve of your back and the generation of life reflected in the greenhouse. “This is wicked. You’re stunning. We’d make a great team!”

You felt your body heat at the statement. His presence was almost too refreshing, and you wanted to return the favor of helping you out last night.

“Lucky for you,” you shot a quick text to Wonwoo, “I’ve planned to take this week off.”

Over the course of the week Vernon wanted to do an artistic timeline of sorts, adding and retouching the already existing ink on your back until the canvas was full. It felt fulfilling, letting yourself become a vessel of success for someone. The following day, Vernon shot you a text revealing his portfolio, and said how excited he was to see you.

You met in the shack after his shift, and Vernon let you into the office and locked the door. You can hear the rap being played in the artist room where Minghao and Yoongi were working with a client.

The artist was muttering to himself as he invited you to sit at the couch. Something about whether he wanted to start from the “top-down” or “bottom-up.” Instead of contributing to his madness, you turned away from him and started shedding your shirt. Today was a plain cotton shirt, and you shucked it off and balled it in your arms.

No less than five seconds was Vernon’s hands on your back, and despite the warmth radiating from his fingertips, you couldn’t help but shiver. Vernon had explained that while he did a large portion of your back the first time, there was still room for growth and he wanted your back filled by the end of the week.

“Do you mind if I,” his hand hovered over your bra.

You shook your head, and with his thumb and forefinger he flicked off both your bra straps with ease. Your hands flooded themselves in the fabric of your t-shirt, which silently accepted your death grip.

“Sorry, do you feel weird?” He definitely sensed your lack of vocality, and put one strap back in case.

“I’m fine,” your voice is light, what else could you say?

“Whatever you say,” he hummed, and resumed his work.

You opt to take in the sounds. Minghao laughed about something in the other room, coupled with the zing of the needle. The music pulled to a stop and boomeranged back into a smoother arrangement.

“I think we’ll start from the bottom-up and build from there,” he then placed his hands around your waist, poking at the dive between your waist and your bottom.

There’s an unmistakable heat that pooled within you, which caused you to wring your shirt harder. It was going to be a long week.

By Wednesday, he was in your apartment, working on the sides of your waist. The day after every session, Vernon would take a picture of yesterday’s work and show it to you. A gummy grin would always take over his face, either proud of himself or happy that you loved the new addition.

Despite the fact that the only thing covering your body was a thin gown medical taken from the shop, every pore of your body felt unbelievably hot. You really shouldn’t be mixing alcohol on a Wednesday night, but Vernon was excited that he was halfway done with the project and it was time to be “poppin’ bottles.”

You felt a little drowsy as a result of that, but nothing terrible. Like he said, the feeling was cathartic.

“Aren’t you drunk too?” you murmured into your navy blue whale plush, “what if you accidentally stab me?”

Vernon laughed, and it shook the couch. You couldn’t see his face as he sat on the floor, getting in the crevices of your skin. He poked at your skin a little harder than usual, as if he were testing the possibility. “That’d still take a lot of strength.”

“You’d be surprised,” you sighed, “those little sticks florists use to keep the babies upright? Flat as a thumb and I still manage to impale tomatoes with them.” He doesn’t respond to that, and you’re left drowning in your own answer. You wondered if he truly thought you were a crazy tomato-killer, or was concentrated on detailing a particular patch of skin. “Can I tell you a secret?” you blurted, “honestly, I think flowers are beautiful, but I really hate working at the florist. The only reason I’m doing it is because Joshua really needed the help and he knew I wasn’t going to do shit until my city job starts in September.”

“Huh,” Vernon stopped, resting the heel of his hand on your back. “That’s funny. Explains all the cursing when you’re cutting roses outside.”

“You’ve watched me outside?” you grinned into your cushion, “creepy much?”

“Do you wanna know a secret?” Vernon blurted, evading your question with one of his own, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you since you came by in May.”

You tensed, and if Vernon noticed, he didn’t react. He kept on doing his business, marking your back with baby’s breath. It had to be the alcohol talking. If he drank at all, you couldn’t even tell because you couldn’t get up and he was strikingly coherent. All this time, and you didn’t even notice?

“You don’t have to answer,” he said, as if he knew you were strung speechless. “I just, wanted to say it. We’re cool.”

And you agreed, pretending to fall asleep.

Friday was around the corner before you knew it, and Vernon wanted to photograph the final piece where it all started. The greenhouse was devoid of human life at the crack of dawn, unless you counted Joshua who was asleep on the counter because he was the only one with a key that knew of your recent escapades with Vernon.

Vernon was just as tired as you are, but he was adamant about having the photo taken at dawn, as the first picture was taken in the late day. There was some contrived symbolism attached to it that you didn’t really understand, but you trusted his vision. Besides, your panda eyes wouldn’t be revealed in the photo, so you could master the art of sleeping upright while he took photos.

“Alright,” Vernon set up his camera. He was dressed in a university zip up and matching sweatpants, like he just rolled out of bed. “Everything’s set up, whenever you’re ready.”

Likewise with you, and you pulled off your hoodie, not bothering with a bra. Despite the fact that the room was temperature controlled, the cold morning air still managed to worm its way to your bare top. You quickly rubbed down your gooseflesh with your palms.

You two engaged in a comfortable silence as you tested out your poses and he adjusted his frame. After a couple of practice shots, the air seemed calmer.

“Cold?” Vernon asked casually.

“Anything that isn’t under the sheets of my bed is cold as hell,” you muttered, trailing your fingers delicately across your waist.

“That’s a nice pose,” Vernon said to himself, “we’re almost done. Then you can go to bed for the rest of your day. Unless you’re down for breakfast?"

You two still haven’t spoken about his little confession the other day, but in all honesty there was no reason to bring it up. Your lives were going in different directions, and you knew Vernon deserved more than a halfhearted summer fling.

"I think I’m down for bed and breakfast,” you replied wryly.

“Smart girl,” Vernon chuckled, “can you change your pose for me? Like, pretend that you’re stretching.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, so you ended up flexing your arms in different directions.

“No, we’re not doing yoga.” He let his camera swing around his neck as he rushed over to you. The sun was a soft white, the antithesis of golden hour as you two rushed to make the magic happen. He grabbed your arms from behind, twisting the left wris in an unusual angle.

"Ah, Vernon!” You jerked around to face him, now fully awake. “I’m not a Barbie doll, you can’t just move me like that."

Vernon doesn’t respond. He let go of you as soon as you screamed, eyes blown wide and pupils a thick black. His stare is frozen to yours, and his hand is in mid-air, a centimeter away from your bare breasts.

"Oh,” you said, “did I whack you with my boob when I turned?"

"Yeah, you boobed me.” Vernon looked afraid to stare anywhere but your face. “I’m so sorry."

"It’s okay,” you bit the inside of your lip, “I don’t mind if you touch me there."

Now, Vernon looked terrified.

It’s been a long week. A long, surreal week. You wanted to tell Vernon about your conflicted feelings, you wanted to ask about his little crush, and what on earth did he find appealing about you. You wanted to tell him how much you trusted him with your body, and how you wanted him to do more to you than just ink.

It’s then, the gaping boy shook himself together. His hands encircled your neck, haloing at the finishing piece of his work, an echelon moon. Vernon’s fingers trailed to cup your face, and you felt your whole body warm in anticipation. Patient, you waited for his carmine eyes to flutter shut, and you smiled, finally closing yours—

"The fuck is this?"

In an instant, the air was sucked out of you like a blackhole, and Vernon immediately shielded you, throwing his jacket across you like a towel.

"Mingyu,” you said shakily, clutching the cotton coat tighter around your form.

It’s then that a no-longer bleary-eyed Joshua stumbled into the greenhouse, seconds too late.

Mingyu threw down the sack of fertilizer he hauled on his back, black dirt smattering the floor. “Its been barely a week and you’re fucking someone in the greenhouse, of all places?” Mingyu was angry, plain and simple. “I thought we agreed on a break."

"You agreed on a break,” your thighs were numb from leaning on them, but Vernon’s hand on your back encouraged you to get on your feet. “I agreed that two years was too long to wait."

"And who are you?” Mingyu squinted his eyes at Vernon.

“He’s none of your business,” you stepped in front of him, tugging his hoodie closer around your frame.

Mingyu’s face fell in realization, and he looked between you two with forlornness that made your stomach churn. “C’mon baby,” your nails embedded themselves in your palm at the jab, “can we go outside and talk about this?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” your voice was paper thin, but loud enough for Mingyu to hear across the room, “I’d prefer you leave us alone, and do not talk to me ever again.”

It took all your composure to turn around, and you glared a hole into Vernon’s chest. You felt your body bleed goosebumps around your arms and legs, not out of weather, but out of anxiety. You hugged yourself to shut the prickly feeling down. You heard Joshua do the only helpful thing this morning and it’s his soft utterances that finally pulled Mingyu out of the greenhouse. ,

What’s left is the drip of the hose, and the two of you, unmoved.

Thankful for the silence, you looked up at your companion, who was speechless. Vernon’s lower lip was puckered out slightly, face contorted as if to say I’m sorry, that kinda sucked. The tell-tale signs of emotional overload began to prick at your eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you wiped your face. Since when did you start crying? “I’m so sorry that I let all of this happen, and I let myself let this happen, and I’m such a mess and I’ve been trying to hide it all this time, but I’m selfish and I just wanted to see what would turn out of it.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Vernon tried to lighten up the mood, and offered you an easy smile and reached for a hug.

“I’m sorry because I don’t know if I like you or not!” you outburst, and pushed him out of arm’s reach. “I feel so fucking guilty I just got out of a relationship and I can’t tell if I like you or I like your attention, honestly. And it isn’t fair because you’re just so sweet and kind and easy to love. Either way at the end of the summer I’m moving into the city for my full-time job. And I, I, I don’t know!”

Vernon forced his way into your space, barely a foot apart. He didn’t touch you, but his warmth still emanated from the jacket you were wearing. He didn’t seem upset, then again you were probably upset enough for the both of you.

“Hey, I offered to do your back because I knew you needed a distraction,” Vernon said softly, “no strings attached, ever. You do you, right? Focus on yourself.”

You wished he was mean about this. It would’ve made it easier. “What if this is the last time we talk? What if I want to ignore you for the rest of the summer?” you murmured, already knowing you. should enjoy these final moments.

“We’ll live,” he shrugged, and finally broke the space between you. His lips planted themselves between your forehead, melting away the lines that marred your brows apart, “and we’ll heal.”

The city was daring. The city was unforgiving.

You tugged your scarf closer around your neck, which constricted your airflow but also prevented any possible windchill from slicing your neck. In your other hand you were hauling a week’s worth of work in a luggage that had once packed your things in August and sent you to this very career path.

As much as you loved your new life, you wished things would be a little more boundless. The box of your workspace, the box of the elevator, and the box of your goshiwon apartment were starting to feel particularly stifling this weekend.

It was Friday (or FriYay, as your co-workers dubbed) and that meant a weekend vegging out with a comfort meal and a new movie. There was a Burger King and a Gongcha under your apartment complex, both calling your name.

Boba and burgers, the perfect way to end a week.

You munched on your fries as you scanned the Gongcha menu, craving something sweet to contrast with your salty meal.

It is then a low, sultry whisper sauntered in your direction (in a Gongcha, with children) and you almost choked on your fry. “I would know that back anywhere,” the offender drawled.

What a strange pick-up line. The paper bag crinkled in your grip, and you turn around to see a familiar perky face in a scarlet Adidas tracksuit. Of all the places, he was here.

“Hey, Flower Girl.” Minghao greeted, wiggling his fingers in a wave. He was on a tall stool, long legs splayed out and a cup of oolong milk tea hung lazily in his grip. His cup was at least 50% ice, and he was shaking the cup like a rattle every ten seconds.

“Normally, people would start with a simple hello,” you replied wryly, ushering him over to wait with you in line.

“Normally,” Minghao shrugged, and slipped an arm around your shoulders as if you were long lost friends, “how have you been doing? Planting gardens for the spring?”

“Please,” you scoffed. To Joshua and Wonwoo’s chagrin, you’ve forgotten a lot since the summer. “I can’t even make a corsage anymore, my brain’s on overload. What about you?”

It looked like he was waiting for you to ask that. You barely got your order in before he started spitting out his story. “Didn’t you hear?” Obviously you didn’t, and he didn’t give you a chance to answer. “Two letters. RM.” Again, nothing. “The RM? The hottest rapper in Korea? Anyway, he was one of our clients in August—he got a sick design of a koala and an alpaca, cooler than you think—and gave us a massive tip on his Instagram story. We were famous overnight! We were getting crazy clients left and right—fuckin’ Sana wanted a little heart on her sternum, hottest thing.”

“So you were able to relocate the parlor to the city?”

“The big push was when Yoongi dropped RM his demo,” he shook his cup furiously, ice clanging, as if he never got tired of this story. “Like, I didn’t even know they were texting! I’ve been running the parlor mostly, I’ve always wanted to live in the city, but RM funded a lot of it and is helping Yoongi make his mix.”

In the back of your head, the question of an aspiring grad student was niggling in your brain, but you pushed it down. “So, if Yoongi’s working on his demo and you’re supposed to be running the parlor, why aren’t you there now?” you asked.

He stared at you as if it were the most obvious choice. “Because I’m here, drinking boba with you.” Minghao then grabbed your finished drink from the employee’s hand, ushering you out the door. “And now you’re going to follow me, because my break was over fifteen minutes ago.”

“What?”

“I have your boba,” he’s already out the door, waving your precious beverage like a fish to its line. “Hurry up, now I’m sixteen minutes late!”

You groaned, lugging your suitcase full of work and now cold french fries back into the freezing weather. The wheels of your suitcase are cracking in exhaustion, mirroring yours. You just wanted your damn milk tea, hot fries, and a Netflix catch-up. What was the point of following Minghao to Nu ABO, when there was no reason to be there other than …

“Oof!” your face slammed into Minghao’s back. The light was red. “Did Vernon move here too?”

“Duh, who else would be covering for me?”

“You’re trying to set me up!” You cried in betrayal, jabbing him in chest with your finger. “Y'know what, I’m just going to get another boba. You keep that.”

You two glared at each other. Minghao looked relentless, ignoring whoever was bumping into him on the streets. His eyes suddenly glinted to your rolling luggage, and he snatched it from your grip, running into the streets.

“Can’t replace your work, right?” He laughed, forcing you to chase him down the block.

You felt sweat start to develop on your back, contrasting with the icy weather. Your work blazer and pinstripe loafers were not suited for vigorous activity. Minghao has an unfair advantage, being tall and athletic, and you had just finished half a bag of Burger King. Damn him.

Minghao stopped in front of a sunken in building, with stairs leading downwards to a neon-lit parlor with the name glittering in electric periwinkle font. Flustered, you gasp at the cold air, finally able to stop. Despite having lost your breath ten meters ago, you managed to tell Minghao you’re proud that they have a real parlor.

Your heart was beating in your ears, and you can’t tell whether it was because you haven’t worked out in months, or because Vernon was behind that door.

Minghao dumped your luggage behind the reception area, and went straight into the artist room. This new parlor was much bigger, so when Minghao disappeared into a hallway he was out of your sight. You wait around, letting yourself sink into the familiar hip hop playlist. There are pictures littering the walls, all covered with a clean black frame. You see Yoongi and the supposed RM, sporting his koala and alpaca ink (which actually did look sick) and some photos of Minghao’s work, all of his designs being simultaneously colorful and graceful.

It’s then in the epicenter of this wall is a long black frame that cut across the horizon, seven images of a woman with flowers and stars inking her back.

Your back.

“Beautiful, right? I’m sure it takes you back.” Minghao was over your shoulder, flicking his fingers between the photos. “Lots of customers have requested these designs. He never makes them the same way, though.”

Instead of answering, you followed Minghao down the hallway and into the artist room. Vernon had just finished with a client. Poking in head first, you saw him ticking off protocol off a printed list, speaking concisely. The client was listening intently, and you see he has an arm sleeve with peonies. It’s then he noticed Minghao intruding once more, and frowned.

“Dude, you got milk tea without me?” Vernon said, affronted.

“Ya didn’t ask.” Minghao vigorously shook the ice in your tea like a baby rattle.

“You didn’t mention it, therefore I couldn’t have asked.”

“You’re so smart, Hannie,” he beamed at him like a proud parent complimenting his son, “that’s why he’s going to grad school.”

You let yourself in fully, and you felt shy as Vernon’s lips parted slightly upon realizing who his second guest was.

“Hey,” Vernon exhaled, and gave you a small smile. He looked happy, content. As handsome as ever, he ran a gloved hand through his hair, soft curls bouncing as he shifted around the parting. “This is uh, a surprise.” his eyes flickered to Minghao, who held his arms out in a passive shrug. “A good one to end the week.”

“Hi,” you bit your lip, feeling shy, “so, you decided to get certified and you’re going to grad school? I missed out on a lot.”

“That’s okay, we got time.” Vernon assured, “besides the fact that I got a project due tomorrow morning that I’ve barely started, and then I have a field trip I gotta go to on Sunday—”

Before it could drag on any longer, Minghao hacked out a very loud, and very fake cough. You broke out of the rêve, and muttered a “gimmie that” before snatching your precious bubble tea out of Minghao’s hand.

Vernon mirrored the cough, more out of embarrassment than annoyance. “Lemme finish up with this client, yeah?” And he jerked his head back to the patient, going on about safety.

Minghao led you out of the room, whispering a “you’re welcome” in your ear that taunted you for the rest of the night.

Vernon finished at 5, just like he did back in the little shack at university square. He came out in a 2XL neon green hoodie, leading the client out the door and telling him to “take it easy”. As soon as the client’s gone, he comes over to you. You’re still staring at your pictures, as if you couldn’t believe that you were on display, looking like a tasteful nude model.

“Hi again,” he said, dusting the imaginary dirt off his pants.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling tingly at the sound of his voice. Did you really miss him that much?

"Um, is it cool if I hug you?"

It certainly has been awhile. You nodded, unsure if you could form a coherent response because you could tell Vernon was blushing and he was being too damn adorable for you to handle.

Upon permission, he brightened. The warmth of his cotton hoodie enveloped you like the way hot chocolate feels after a cold day. You breathed in his scent, realizing how much you missed the scent of fresh laundry, especially on him.

"How are you?” He asked casually.

“Uh, m'okay.” You answered softly, “a little cold nowadays."

He hugged you tighter in response. With one more squeeze he let himself go, but kept you at an arm’s length. "Wanna get dinner?"

You looked at him funny, "didn’t you say you had a project due tomorrow morning that you haven’t started?"

Without missing a beat he altered, "Wanna get takeout? I’ll do work and eat while,” his eyes darted to your luggage, “you do work?"

While you wanted to say that it was Friday (FriYay!) and you weren’t planning to open Pandora’s Box until Sunday night, you obliged and followed him to his place.

On the way over, Vernon got his well-needed milk tea (and your second round) with two matching cartons of jajangmyeon. You trailed behind him rather than next to him, due to the fact that he was also lugging a Joshua-sized canvas on his back. In fear of being knocked out or ruining his work, you settled for walking a meter apart.

Vernon lived on the second floor of his complex. You imagined a sizable one-room similar to your goshiwon, but you’re in awe when you see a fully furnished living room and kitchen. You smiled at the singular jade plant decorating the windowsill, one you remembered as Patricia Planty one session months ago. The hardwood was so shiny you could see your reflection in them. Kicking off your shoes, you stumbled over the kitchen countertop, reveling at the onyx granite.

"I’ve never seen this much granite in my entire life!” You cried, spreading your hands over the cool rock. It was so well polished, you could see your reflection. He was certainly living the high life this year.

Vernon shook his head, setting the take out down and pulling out the containers. “It’s RM’s old place. I rent it out with the guys."

"God, this is ten times better than my place! Your kitchen is bigger than my apartment!"

He flicked your bowl of jajangmyeon over to your side of the countertop, the sauce and noodles premixed for you. "Eat up, babe.” He stuffed a radish in his mouth, now working to mix his own noodles, “we got a lotta catchin’ up to do."

Whether it was your hunger or the casual use of the word "babe”, you abandoned the granite for now and did as told.

An hour later, you’re flipping through their mounted TV, taking full advantage of their Disney+ subscription as Vernon is laying on the floor.

“I thought you were working,” you chastised, letting yourself sink further into their couch. It was like resting on a big, fluffy marshmallow. You never wanted to leave.

Vernon is splayed out like a starfish, papers and watercolors spread around him. His large body stood out against the white linoleum floor, his neon green hoodie reflecting on the shiny surface. “I am.” he replied blandly, “I’m waiting for lightning to hit me with a burst of inspiration."

"Grad school’s biting you in the butt?"

"Big time."

Another bout of silence hit the two of you, and it was surprisingly nice. You finally started to notice that Vernon is picking up some art utensils and is doodling something. (He still is on the floor and hasn’t sat up properly, but progress is progress.)

It felt oddly domestic, but you didn’t mind. There was no need to ask about the past, Kim Mingyu, or any other silly drama you two entrapped yourselves into last summer. What mattered now was the warmth of each other’s presence on this chilly night.

Your eyes are heavy and fighting against the long day, and before you know it, you’re asleep just as Rapunzel escapes Gothel’s tower.

You haven’t awoken to the morning sun in a long, long time. While the notion sounded awfully depressing (because it was), you really didn’t have much of a choice because the goshiwon was closet sized, and closets had no windows. But today, the sun blasted you, forcing you up. This was accompanied by the the tell-tale sounds of breakfast, which was weird because you only ever ate cold food in your room, because there was zero ventilation. The scent of dark roast muddled your senses, forcing you awake. You twitched at the sudden stench, and snapped your back straight. Were your walls always this pristine white?

"Didn’t know you were this early in the game, Flower Girl."

You never went home. While Vernon was long gone and probably off presenting some haphazard art, Minghao and Yoongi (for the first time, in the flesh!) were watching you from their marbled island, while you rubbed the crusties out of your eyes. "Usually, encroaching on a significant other’s apartment is reserved for the 5th or 6th date.” Minghao teased, waving his Nutella toast in your face.

“Oh, shut up,” you glared at Yoongi, who was slowly chewing on his own toast. There’s was black spark in his eyes, like he’s relishing on whatever has unfolded. “And you, you. I know this is the first time we’ve met and you haven’t said a word. But shut up too. Your thoughts are awfully loud.”

You’re embarrassed, and you pull up your hands to mediate your fired cheeks. Instead of your palms, you feel worn cotton dabbing at your face. You wiggled your fingers under the neon green hoodie. Vernon put on his clothes for you to wear. You were in a very uncompromising position, and his roommates were reveling every second of it.

Yoongi shrugged, throwing you a flippant grin. “Whatever you say, Flower Girl.”

Contact emerged in the form of texts and images. You wondered how Vernon managed to keep things casual in light of how sudden your meeting was, but you relished in the way things fell naturally.

[February 19, 2:10PM]

Vern: Is this still your number

Vern: If so, here’s what i submitted for my project

Vern: IMG.934

Vern: if not, pls enjoy this picture of a pink platypus. the medium was watercolor nd if you’re curious, i got the idea from sunsets and phineas and ferb. Enjoy your day

You: hey look, there’s perry

Vern: nice

Vern: wait, this doesn’t confirm if ur u or a stranger

Vern: are u just a perry enthusiast

Vern: evidence pls

[February 19th, 6:08PM]

You: IMG.48

[February 20th, 12:22AM]

Vern: ooh

Vern: look cute in my hoodie

You’ve toggled with the idea of just cutting straight through the bush and asking him out the next time you see him in person. A little part of you liked the chase, however. That feeling where you’re tugging between friendship and something more, and you can’t help but feel like you’re fifteen everytime his name popped up in your messages. You self-dubbed it the-honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase.

[February 27, 5:34PM]

Vern: what are you up to

You: it’s hour 32. I’ve been under the covers and have survived solely on celery and honey-butter chips. currently binging all netflix comedies. debating on whether to send for help otherwise i may never get up

Vern: that’s the spirit

By the time two weeks passed, you felt confident enough to ride off the mutually weird text messages and constant contact to meet with him. By then, you’re knees deep in the honeymoon-to-the-honeymoon phase. You’re languidly floating in that river, hoping you’re not rushing it by agitating the waters.

[March 8th, 10:10PM]

You: hey

You: you up?

Vern: nah. mastered the art of sleep textin

You: just wanted to ask if you could help me pick out a tatt that would fit me

You: if you were available. I’ve heard from the mullet-monster that you’re a hot commodity drowning in appts and deadlines

Vern: wait forreal?

Vern: i can pencil u in. tomorrow night @11?

You: so soon? What happened to being busy

Vern: not for u. Already have an idea in mind

By the time you arrived Saturday night, Minghao was slapping your back across the door, gabbing on about a “major banger” they were missing uptown. He looked the part, the only person you knew that could fill out an all-studded denim fit. Like a disco ball at a rodeo. He barely said good-bye before he hopped in a Lyft, cheering for freedom.

You poked your head into the artist room, and saw Vernon playing on his phone. His fist dug into his cheek, carob pupils glazed over. You almost felt bad for wanting his attention this late.

“You usually do the day shift,” you commented quietly, holding up a bag with two milk teas in hand.

Vernon looked up, illuminating in a half-smile. “Y’know me, always covering. Just for the hour though, this shouldn’t take long since we’re just looking at ideas.”

He slapped a hand on the client chair. This one was much better than the cot they had in their shack. This one was pure leather and gleamed high quality. You placed your drinks on the countertop and eagerly bounced onto the seat. “Comfy,” you murmured, and wriggled your sneaker-clad feet.

“Good,” there’s a sharp snap from the plastic seal and Vernon is sipping into his milk tea seconds after you put it down. He’s chewing on a particularly large gulp, gnawing on pearls like no one’s business. With his rolling chair, he slid over to you, seamlessly reaching for your wrist.

If he noticed that you’re wearing a particular neon item, he doesn’t comment. He turned on the overhead lamp, letting a soft white light bathe your form. When he finally spoke, he chanted your name in a sing-song, tapping your wrist in beat. It’s as if he were envisioning the color blooming on your skin.

You let him do his thing, and he pulled out his phone, scrolling through his gallery. You see pictures of his friends, some of his family, and digital art. He scrolled slower at the myriad of images: a colorful orca, lavender constellations, and budding roses.

You were seeing a lot of flowers nowadays, with the burgeoning of spring and the recent ending of Valentine’s. It’s only now that you notice how apparent the theme is throughout the parlor, particularly in Vernon’s affinity.

“Why don’t you call me it?” you asked softly, peering over his form to see him mulled over a picture of periwinkle lupines.

“Huh,” he’s distracted, and has now swiped back to the colorful orca image.

“Flower Girl,” you uttered, “they call me that, but you don’t.”

Vernon clicked his phone down, the lupines flicked away. He peered at you through his lashes, the white overhead making his eyes appreciably bright. “Before I knew your name,” he started slow, making faces to himself as if he were debating on whether to tell you, “I’d call you Rose. You were always by the rose bush planted outside the shop.”

“Avoiding work,” you crinkled your nose, however relished in the endearment, “being named after a rose is too big a compliment.”

He snorted, “That’s what they said. Hence, Flower Girl was born,” he’s easy about it, but now he’s put his phone down and is rubbing circles in your wrist. You wonder if he felt how clammy your palms were getting from the minute intimacy.

“You know what flower I’d compare to you?” you asked, “freesias.”

“And what do those mean?”

“Thoughtfulness,” the pad of his thumb still lingered on your skin, his grip painfully apparent. “And renewal.”

“Why renewal?”

“Because,” you swallowed, “you make me feel renewed. And this time I’m sure it’s because it’s you.”

Vernon looked like he wanted to smile, trying so very hard not to embarass you whilst you poured your heart out with delicacy. His coral lips were tucked in a thin line, teeth biting at his lower lip. Drop by drop, he was going to accept that dew with as much care as possible. “Only me,” he inquired, pressing into your pulse.

Your mouth was sand dry. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled a breath long clutched in your throat, hot air fanning into Vernon’s face. He paid no mind, and (to no avail) was still trying to hold in his smile. “You’re dimples are showing,” you whined, poking the little dip in his cheeks with your free hand. “Use your words.”

“Like?” he elongated, playing dumb. You supposed you earned his brand of torture, after all, seven months is a long time to make up for.

“Like how we want the same thing?” you tried.

“How do you know I want what you want?” he feigned, furrowing his thick brows. Acting could’ve been another career possibility for him, portrayed by the way his eyes were blown with confusion, his mouth parted like a kitten.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Forget words!” you broke, nearly shaking from the nerves.

It’s then that Vernon finally gave you a concrete response. His grip on your wrist was near painful as he eagerly tugged you closer, kissing you. There’s enthusiasm in every action from the way he pulled you closer, large hands melding to cup your cheeks. A little part of you is both breathless and invigorated at the energy stinging the room, and you can barely keep up until Vernon spilled kisses down your neck.

He threw up the armrest holding him back, tucking his knee between your legs as he lapped you up, kissing you fully. The chair was much too small for the both of you, his large body pressing you further into the cushions.

He sat up a bit, bumping his head on the lamp. He paid no mind. “By the way, I like you, too.” Vernon puttered cheekily, rubbing his scalp. Just as swiftly, he latches onto your neck and sucks at a sensitive spot. You can feel his teeth showing from the smile in his kisses. His thumbs rubbed lazily over your jaw, enjoying the feel of your soft skin under his rough palms.

“Really,” you exhaled, relaxing against the headrest as Vernon’s wandering hands traveled lower. “Had no idea.”

“But I’m happy,” Vernon is fumbly and sweet, mumbling in the crook of your neck while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your sweatpants, “happy you’ve healed, and happy for us.”

He’s excited, almost too excited. The space between you two was warm, the lamp beating under your skin, awakening something between you two that was left behind that summer. It’s as if winter left him dormant, and you were the fresh flower waiting to be bloomed under his touch.

“Are you always,” you gasped, two fingers already worming their way inside your panties, “talkative at this part?”

“Not if you wanna talk,” and the ever-zealous Vernon Chwe gets to work, sticking out his tongue in surprise when he finds that you’re already drenched. “Shit, you’re so beautiful,” he holds onto that word dearly, and pressed his forehead against yours, “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to hold you like this,” he reached for your delicious bud, and you felt your senses flower into pleasure.

He makes a noise, low in his throat as he watched you melt against the seat. “I like you like this,” he said thickly, his voice matching the slick sounds emitting from yourself. “Comfy, relaxed. You always looked so stuffy in those work suits,” you feel wholly undeserving of this worship, as he licked a long strip from your collarbone to your neck, “would love to help you chill out a lil’ more.”

A whine bubbled from the back of your throat, your eyes rolling shamelessly as you feel the pads of his fingers working circles between your folds. “Ah, I’ve—I’ve fantasized about this,” you confessed, “every time you’d ink my back. At one point we just stopped covering myself with those stupidly thin gowns. All you had to do was turn around.” Vernon blinked rapidly, mental pictures ticked like film in his pupils. His hands stuttered across your slick, inserting two fingers between your folds as you continued. His pace was slow, yet purposeful as he made sure you felt him with every thrust. Rings adorned his fingers, and the cool sensation surprised you. You shivered in pleasure. “Mm, I’ve imagined us kinda like this in that little shack, hard against the cot overlooking the shop,”

“Dirty,” he said, as if recalling the weather.

“And ah—wondering what kind of tattoos you have,” and in your haze you reached for him, your hand gripping firm at his gunmetal belt buckle. You tucked your fingers between the button of his light wash jeans, palming the telltale signs of something hard, “please? You’ve done too much for me, lemme return the favor.”

“Not now,” he pressed his forehead to yours, “you can guess my ink on our way home.”

“Wha?“ You’re dazed, feeling warm with affection and drowned in the moment. You feel his fingers, slowly pumping out of its rhythm and resting on your thigh. You groaned at the premature end, his shiny digits resting on your fleece sweats.

“They’ll kill me, this is new leather,” Vernon said, “and now we can afford security cameras, which are so small even I can’t find them.”

“Unbelievable,” you laughed. You’re not frustrated, only endeared.

“Besides, I’d rather have our first time somewhere private. Undisturbed,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead, "somewhere where there’s lots of granite."

You melted, pulling at his collar to pepper kisses on his nose. The mention of coming home to his pretty kitchen was icing on the cake. "You know how much I love your granite."

(After your granite fantasy was fulfilled, you spent the rest of the weekend huddled in Vernon’s room. You’re living off take out and mutually satisfied with the unhealthy means. When you’re not eating or watching movies, the two of you are drafting your first piece.

Freesias and pink roses.)

(His tattoo was also very cute.)

#vernon #vernon fic #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #vernon smut #vernon fluff #seventeen fluff #vernon fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #seventeen scenarios #kpop #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #blossomed

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searchingforstarss · 4 years

Text

you held your pride like you should have held me

by @searchingforstarss for @irondad-is-cannon-bitch, written for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange - i took your argument prompt, added in a little whump and here we are! i hope you enjoy this <3

rating: teen

relationships: peter parker & tony stark, peter parker & tony stark & james rhodes

characters: peter parker, tony stark, james rhodes, bruce banner

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

read on ao3

“What’s our game plan for tonight?”

“Our what?”

“Our game plan.”

“Kid, I don’t think I’ve ever had a game plan in my life,” Tony says as he tips blueberries into the blender. “I kind of just… do.”

He looks up towards where Peter is perched on the benchtop, letting himself be distracted for a moment. Almost the entire punnet of blueberries ends up in the blender and he curses, reaching in to scoop a handful back out.

“I was talking to FRIDAY earlier-”

“Oh, were you now?”

Peter nods his head, completely ignoring Tony’s snark. He’s learned to let it all roll off his back by now. “Yeah, she was telling me all about the guys we’re going after and well, I was thinking that since I’ve seen Chitauri tech up close and all - not that you haven’t, with the whole New York thing-” Peter cuts his ramblings off, stopping short when he realises that was probably the wrong thing to bring up. Tony’s leaning up against the bench, watching him carefully. His face remains carefully schooled, but Peter’s quick enough to catch the slight wince that flashes across his face for a second. The two of them don’t really talk about New York. That day was distressing enough for Peter, being separated from May and Ben in the midst of the panic, let alone for Tony who flew a literal nuke through a hole in space. “I, uh, anyway,” Peter resumes awkwardly, “what I mean is since I’ve seen what they do with the weapons, surely that means I should go in first and scope out the-”

Tony turns around. “No.”

Before Peter can open his mouth to speak again, Tony switches the blender on, the room filling with noise.

Okay. Rude.

“What do you mean, no?” Peter asks as soon as Tony turns the blender off again. Tony turns to him, a tired expression settled into the lines on his face like he’s been expecting this argument.

“When I said you could come along, I meant to get a feel for what’s going on. Get a little bit of field experience under your belt. But from a distance. I don’t want you in the middle of anything.”

Peter tries to school his features into a neutral expression and not let them fall into the petulant frown he can feel coming on. “How is it field experience if I’m stuck outside the whole time?”

Tony’s been hesitant about letting Peter come along on these types of things, so when he finally agreed to let Peter tag along with him and Rhodey to bust an illegal Chitauri weapons ring, this wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. He can be useful, he knows he can - especially since he’s seen these weapons up close, he knows what they can do.

“You gotta learn teamwork, kid. We always need someone out there watching our six.”

Tony turns to get a couple of glasses out of the cabinet above him. Peter slips off the counter and steps closer to him. “But I can do more than that! I'm practically an Avenger!”

“An honorary one at most, maybe. More like the team mascot.”

Peter frowns. “You did offer me a place on the team, you know, just in case you forgot.”

Tony tenses almost imperceptibly. “Yes, we are forgetting. That was irresponsible of me and I’ve since retracted said offer. My terms are that once you finish high school, then we’ll talk Avengers. You know this, Pete.”

Peter sighs. He knows that Tony worries. The older man is still meticulous about making sure he picks up Peter’s every phone call and insisting that he pops into the tower to check-in after each patrol (okay, maybe that one only came about after Peter tried to hide a broken arm for a couple of days but he really did have it all handled), even though it’s almost been a year since Toomes.

They’re closer now. Peter always thought the closer they got the more trust Tony would have in him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not qualified to save the world until high school has provided me with the necessary skills, like reciting the entirety of Shakespeare’s discography and knowing how to list everything in my backpack in Spanish, got it,” Peter grumbles.

“Did you just refer to Shakespeare’s plays as his discography?” Tony looks incredulous, his eyes widening almost comically, but Peter just groans again, tipping his head back in frustration.

“Of course that’s all you got from that. I was trying to show you that high school is pointless in the grand scheme of things, Mister Stark. I could be useful! You know I could.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Pete. You finish school, get the piece of paper and let me take at least a dozen photos of you wearing one of those stupid-looking graduation caps. That’s my price for putting in a good word for you with the Avengers.”

“You basically are the Avengers.”

“I’m sure the others would be very offended to hear you say that.”

Peter shrugs, unbothered. Tony takes a moment to turn around and divide the smoothie up between the two glasses before speaking again. “Look, I’m going to be totally honest with you right now, okay Pete? This is something that Rhodey and I are doing for SHIELD, and-”

“You can’t not let me come,” Peter interjects. It’s taken him months of wheedling to convince Tony that he’s finally ready for the big stuff. Peter twists a few fingers into the fabric of his hoodie, suddenly nervous that Tony might change his mind completely.

Tony sighs. “I’m not going back on my word. I just don’t want you involved with SHIELD before you have to be. Which means for a little while, you’ve just gotta lay low and watch and learn. I need you to trust me on this one.”

Peter knows that it’s time to drop it as soon as he sees the pleading look on Tony’s face - pleading with Peter to just listen to him. He gives Tony a small smile. Tonight, he’ll just have to try and show Tony that he can be useful. That he can listen to directions. That he’s worth keeping around.

“Plus, if I let you get hurt May will probably kick my ass all the way from, where is she with her college buddies this weekend? Ohio?”

“Oregon, Mister Stark,” Peter corrects.

“Exactly. That’s what I meant. Now drink up,” Tony says, pressing a smoothie into Peter’s hands. All the purple from the blueberries has been lost in amongst the green from the spinach and kale that Tony undoubtedly shoved in there when Peter wasn’t looking. It’s disappointingly healthy-looking. “Oh, don’t look at it like that,” Tony chastises good-naturedly. “You need your energy for tonight.”

“I’m not even doing anything but sitting there.”

“You’re gonna keep an eye out. That’s an important job, kiddo. Real high stakes.”

“Oh, sure.”

“Just count your blessings it’s not a school night, otherwise your ass would be doing nothing apart from sitting at home.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re the lamest person on the planet?”

---

“And you’re both totally sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

Tony shoots Peter a sharp glance. Peter thinks he hears Rhodey stifling a laugh.

“We’re sure,” Tony says firmly.

Night has fallen to give them a cover of darkness as they stand in front of the warehouse. In Peter’s opinion, he’s not sure it looks particularly like a dangerous criminal hideout. This whole place looks like nothing more than a regular old warehouse district, the type that you would never look twice at when driving by on the highway.

“We shouldn’t be any longer than half an hour, kid,” Tony promises. He eyes the run-down looking side door they’re standing in front of. “All we have to do is get the weapons out of here, and I don’t think we have a whole lot of security to contend with.”

As if proving his point, he takes aim at the rusty lock and chain over the door and blasts it with his repulsor. The whole thing unravels and falls to the ground with a dull clunk.

“I was right. As usual.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes, but his military instincts keep his eyes trained firmly on the door, watching in case something - or rather, someone - that they’re not expecting comes to greet them. Tony, on the other hand, is much more relaxed.

He turns to face Peter, “You know what to do?” he asks.

“Yep. Watch the perimeter. Tell you straight away if I see anything sketchy,” Peter answers, repeating what Tony drilled into him on the way here.

“And?” Tony prompts. Peter groans.

“Stay out of trouble.”

“That’s right,” Tony nods, satisfied. “We’ll see you soon.”

“Be careful,” Peter says after them, “and good luck!”

Tony shoots him a cocky grin. “Always, kid. And keep your luck, I don’t need it. Never have. I’m Tony St-”

“Get your ass in here, Tony,” Rhodey calls over his shoulder, voice echoing from where he’s already disappeared into the warehouse. Tony’s smile widens and he turns away from Peter, ducking through the doorway.

Peter watches them as they disappear into the darkness of the building. The door creaks shut slowly behind them, and for a split second, he considers following after them. They won’t notice, especially if he’s as quiet as possible. Plus, if he manages to take down a few of the arms dealers then Tony could never be mad at him for not listening. It would be awesome.

He lets himself revel in the glory of his daydream for a moment longer before he shakes himself out of it. He’s being stupid. He knows what his mission is. It’s to keep watch - nothing else.

He shoots a web up towards the roof of the building before he can change his mind and swings himself up.

---

Peter tries his hardest to patrol diligently for the first thirty minutes.

He paces the roof back and forth, watching out for any suspicious activity, but the warehouse district remains empty. The most exciting thing he sees is a racoon walking along the fence line. He jumps to alert at one point as a metallic sound catches in the wind and echoes through the night, but it just turns out to be a stray soda can being blown across the concrete.

A small part of him almost hopes that a nefarious looking figure slinks out of the shadows and tries to take their raid down just so that he can do something. How is he ever going to impress Tony if all he can say he’s done is hang out on a rooftop and watch cars go past on the Long Island Expressway?

---

After forty-five minutes, it all starts to get a bit dull. He’s not sure what’s taking Tony and Rhodey so long.

He tried to count the cars whizzing by on the expressway briefly, but all the bright lights gave him a headache after a while. He practised a few of the new web-shooter combinations that he and Tony dreamt up last week, and then once there’s webbing sprayed across a section of the roof he spends a good ten minutes with solvent trying to dissolve it all just to give him something else to do.

Now, he’s resorted to having Karen help him practice for his Spanish quiz on Friday just to pass the time.

“How would you describe your family, Peter?” Karen asks him. Peter kicks at a bit of gravel mindlessly as he walks along the roofline, thinking.

“Uh,” Peter pauses, “Mi familia es pequeña. Mi tia se llama May. Mi tía es muy… amable? La quiero mucho.”

“That’s right, Peter,” Karen praises, but he’s startled out of his practice by his comms crackling to life in his ear for the first time tonight.

“Peter?” It’s not just Tony checking in like Peter guessed it might be, but Rhodey instead. His voice is tense and Peter’s on alert immediately. “Come in, Peter. Are you still outside? We-”

“Of course I’m still here, ” Peter rushes out, almost offended that they thought he might ditch. “I’m on the roof. What’s happening?”

“We need you to get down here.”

Peter pauses. Is this a trick? Some kind of test? They told him to stay out here, to keep watch. But Tony wouldn’t do this to him, surely?

“But, Mister Stark said-”

“Tony is not in a position to be calling the shots right now,” Rhodey says firmly.

“Is he-”

“Peter. Please,” Rhodey says, more steel in his voice than Peter has ever heard from the man. “Just get in here.”

Okay. No more questions.

He can do that.

“Got it.”

Peter vaults off the roof, jogging around to where he vaguely remembers the entrance being. Anxiety buzzes through him. Tony is not in a position to be calling the shots right now. What does that even mean? Peter’s brain runs away from him before he can help it. What if Tony’s been hurt? Images of him lying on the ground, bleeding and broken, flash through his mind but he tries to shove them down as he heads inside.

The warehouse is just a series of vast empty rooms, high ceiling and rickety walls which don’t look very structurally sound. Peter makes his way through a few of them, each one just as deserted as the last. He can hear hushed voices though, Tony and Rhodey, so he follows the sound.

They’re arguing, Peter realises when he steps into the room. They’re backed into a corner, neither of them looking in his direction. Rhodey’s back is turned and Peter can only just catch a glimpse of Tony from over his shoulder. He looks like he’s standing upright, which instantly lays some of Peter’s anxieties to rest.

“I’ll burn you if I repulsor it off,” Rhodey hisses. “Just wait for Peter to get here.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on that. Peter shouldn’t even be here in the first place, you know he’s safer outside where-”

“He was on the roof, Tony. He would have been just as screwed as you and me.”

“Uh, hey, guys?” Peter says cautiously. As he makes his presence known, he sees Tony’s eyes whip up towards him, face paling significantly at the sight of him. “What’s going on?”

Peter isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting to find when he was called in - but as Rhodey sidesteps slightly, finally giving Peter a proper view of Tony, he realises it definitely wasn’t the Iron Man suit in a heap of metal on the floor, and Tony handcuffed to a drainpipe.

What the fuck?

He hurries over to their sides, trying not to feel sick at the sight of the thick metal clamped around Tony’s left wrist. He can’t stop staring at it though. For someone who apparently never needs a game plan, Peter’s pretty sure this wasn’t how Tony intended the night to go.

“How did this happen?” Peter blurts out before he can stop himself.

“That’s not important right now. You can’t be here.” Tony turns to Rhodey. “I told you, he can’t be here. I need you out of here, Peter, please.” The panic in Tony’s voice sends an uncomfortable shiver down Peter’s spine, despite how dramatic it feels. He’s not that incapable - he’ll be fine.

“Is anyone still here? Do you need me to go after anyone? Who chained you up? How did they even do that to the suit? What-”

“Peter,” Tony cuts him off sharply.

“You can't just expect me to walk in here and be totally cool with the fact that the suit is smashed up and you're chained to a wall,” Peter stresses, voice pitching slightly higher with confusion and maybe just a little bit of hysteria.

Tony huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Look, there a few of the guys running this place were still hanging around when we got in here. I split off from Rhodey and they caught up with me before I could even get a goddamn look at what sort of operation they’ve got going on. They told me to get out of the suit-”

“And you did?” Peter interrupts Tony incredulously, looking towards Tony. He never parts with his suits on missions like these, never.

“They had weapons - all their Chitauri shit would have fried the suit in a second - in fact it did,” Tony snaps, gesturing with his single unchained hand to the pile of charred metal. “It’s not exactly like I had a choice. And then they chained me up here while they made a getaway with all the illegal weapons we were supposed to be getting out of their hands.” Tony’s face crumples into one of defeat. “There you go. You’ve had your story. It's time for you to run along and put yourself to bed. Rhodey and I have got this handled, trust me.”

“Yeah, except you left out the part about the present our charming friends left us,” Rhodey deadpans. “We’re wasting time here, Tony. We just need Peter to give it a crack and then we’re out of here.”

God, there are so many things for Peter to unpack right there in that sentence. He focuses on the first thing that caught his attention, that makes foreboding simmer in his gut. “A present?”

Peter follows Rhodey’s eyes towards the centre of the room, noticing something that he hadn’t seen when he first walked in. It looks like a hunk of metal at first glance, a mess of wires snaking across the surface. It’s emitting an uneasy blue glow with Peter instantly recognises as Chitauri, the timer strapped to it flashing in the same hue.

It’s a bomb.

Tony’s earlier panic suddenly seems a lot less like dramatics and more so grounded in a situation that, in Peter’s mind, has grown very serious very quickly. He watches the numbers tick down.

3:03… 3:02… 3:01

Three minutes.

“Can’t we just... move it?” Peter asks. The suggestion sounds sort of stupid even to him because surely that would have been the first thing they thought of - but three minutes is more than enough time to get it far away enough that when it detonates, none of them will be in the hot zone.

Rhodey shakes his head grimly. “There’s no way to tell whether it’s rigged to blow if it’s moved. It’s not worth the risk.”

“What do you need me to do then?” Peter asks, suddenly hyper-aware that their time is dwindling with every second that ticks by.

“He doesn’t need to do anything,” Tony growls. “I told you, just repulsor them.”

“I’ll burn your damn hand off, Tony. I’m not doing that.” Rhodey turns to address Peter. “We just need you to try and pull the cuffs off. I couldn’t get it, but with your strength, if you can get them off then we’ll all be home free.”

No pressure then.

“I do not need Peter’s help, I need him to get the hell out of here,” Tony repeats. He sounds more frantic now but Peter just ignores him. Tony’s insane if he thinks he’s going to leave him here, cuffed in a room with an active bomb.

“Tony, you’re literally chained to a drainpipe. I don’t think we have any other options,” Rhodey says, before addressing Pete

“So I’m just your last resort? Jeez, thanks for the confidence boost guys, means a lot,” Peter mutters, joke falling flat as he takes a few steps closer to Tony, Rhodey moving out of the way to let him. Up close, Tony doesn’t look too banged up, or like he even put up a fight at all. The only sign of struggle at all is a pale bruise, just beginning to bloom underneath his right eye.

Two minutes.

Peter wraps one hand around Tony’s wrist - stomach twisting at the sight of blood from how furiously he’s been trying to get himself free - and the other around the chain of the cuffs. Tony eyes him warily. The only thing Peter can hear from this close up is Tony’s unsteady heartbeat and erratic breathing.

He yanks at the chain not yet quite daring to use his full strength out of fear of hurting Tony. It’s not enough. The cuffs don’t budge.

Peter tightens his grip on the metal. He pulls again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” Peter instructs Tony.

“You hurting me is the least of my worries right now,” Tony forces out.

Gritting his teeth, Peter channels as much of his strength into his arms as he can and he pulls and pulls and pulls.

Nothing. The chains don't budge or give even just a little. Peter’s not strong enough.

The realisation hits him like a freight train. He can’t do it.

“Vibranium,” Tony mutters darkly, “of fucking course.” The only metal Peter wouldn't be able to pull apart with his bare hands. Tony yanks at the cuffs as Peter steps back, guilty, embarrassed. The chain rattles against the metal of the pipe, echoing around the room.

There’s silence for a moment.

The resolve on Tony’s face breaks. He looks defeated, shaking his head to himself. He knows what’s coming for him. “I need you two to go. Now. Please. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“We’re not leaving you.”

“Rhodey. James,” Tony’s voice is desperate now, pleading. “I need you to take Peter and go.”

The timer ticks over again.

One minute.

Peter makes a decision. The only one there is left to make.

Even in the suit, he knows that Rhodey can’t move as quickly as him, and Tony, well, he can’t move anywhere at the moment. It has to be him.

As Tony continues to plead with Rhodey, Peter makes a few tentative steps towards the device, holding his breath - Rhodey’s words echoing in his head. There’s no way to tell whether it’s rigged to blow if it’s moved.

Two more steps closer. The timer continues, numbers flashing threateningly up at Peter. Fifty-one seconds. Fifty-one seconds left of all the rest of their lives if he doesn’t act now.

Peter’s hands are shaking as painstakingly slowly, he leans down to place a hand on the outside of the device. It’s hot to the touch, but the timer just continues counting down. Nothing happens. Tentatively still, he scoops the device up towards his chest. It doesn’t explode.

He’s got a bomb in his arms. His heart thunders against his ribcage.

“Just shoot the cuffs with it, you complete-”

“Uh, I think I’ve got a better idea,” Peter offers, “turns out it doesn’t explode if you move it.” Both Tony and Rhodey’s eyes widen, turning towards him. “I’ll see you guys in a minute.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony gasps. “Don’t you dare. Put that down. Right now.” His voice shakes with pure fear in a way that cuts right to Peter’s core. He yanks against the cuffs again, this time in Peter’s direction.

The metal of the bomb is growing hotter in Peter’s arms. He shakes his head.

“Peter,” Tony grits out, "no, no, no." He’s shaking uncontrollably now - whether from fear or anger, Peter’s not sure - as he turns to Rhodey. “What the fuck are you doing, just standing there? Get that thing off him.”

Forty seconds.

Peter’s eyes widen. Without a second more hesitation, he turns on his heel.

There’s an anguished yell from behind him, the distinct rattling of metal Peter’s gotten so used to over the past few minutes. He wants so desperately to turn around and tell Tony that it’s okay, that he knows what he’s doing, that he’s just trying to protect him.

But he doesn't have time.

He sprints.

Peter was always the slowest kid in class at elementary school. His asthma never helped - all the times that he was doubled up after running a couple of laps of the track didn’t exactly earn him many status points.

Since the bite, that’s never been a problem. Now Peter has to play down his abilities in gym class. He doesn’t play them down right now though. He can’t afford to. His legs move rapidly beneath him as he weaves through the rooms he distantly remembers coming through on his way in here, feet pounding against the concrete.

He’s outside now. Night air fills his lungs as he gasps for air, desperate for enough oxygen to sustain him at this pace.

He needs to keep going.

Warehouses, ones that he distantly hopes are unused, blur past him. He’s not far away enough yet. He knows what damage these weapons can do, he’s seen them with his own eyes. Tony isn’t in the suit. He doesn’t want him to be hurt.

He’s got to do this.

He doesn’t know how much damage this thing will do when it goes off. He needs to keep running. Peter pushes harder, further.

Twelve seconds.

He slams to a halt in the middle of what looks like an empty parking lot. Maybe companies used to keep trucks here. If they still do, they won’t for much longer anyway. Not as Peter lowers the bomb down onto the ground just as carefully as he picked it up. Six seconds flashes up at him.

He turns and runs.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The countdown in Peter’s head finishes. He’s early. For a split second, there’s silence. Blissful silence.

Then, it's shattered by the inevitable arriving with a sharp bang from behind him, piercing through the night air. It’s a horrifying, deafening sound, one that’s punctuated with the sound of splintering metal shooting outwards through the air. The heat from the vivid orange flames that dart up into the sky engulfs him.

The force hits him not even a split-second later. It knocks all the air out of his lungs, throwing him through the air.

The warehouse he can see in the distance, hazy through all the smoke and debris, is still intact.

If Mister Stark is okay then all of this is worth it - he’d do it a million times over.

He’s unconscious before he can even hit the ground.

---

“-Peter? Kid? You have to hang on, buddy. You think you can do that for me?”

A voice. It floats vaguely around Peter’s periphery but his ears are ringing and he can’t work out what they’re saying. He thinks maybe he recognises the voice. He tries to turn himself towards it but his whole body screams in protest at the movement.

It hurts. Everywhere hurts.

“God. No, no, no, don’t do this to me. Peter. Peter. I need you to stay with me, please.”

The voice sounds upset. There’s a hand holding his. He thinks he can feel it but he can’t squeeze back. He doesn’t have control of his body.

He’s in pain.

Everything is on fire.

He doesn’t want to stay. Not here. He slips back into the darkness.

There’s no agony in the darkness.

---

Peter’s head is throbbing when he wakes again, every muscle in his body aching. He cracks his eyes open to try and figure out where he is, what’s happening, but the bright light that slips through his eyelids feels like it’s burning straight into his skull. He whines, burrowing into the pillows behind him as though that will allow him to escape it.

His head is pounding. Why is it pounding?

He lets his eyes slip shut again to alleviate some of the relentless pain and tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. He casts his mind back as far as he can.

The illegal weapons ring. The warehouse.

The drain pipe. The vibranium cuffs.

The decimated Iron Man suit.

The bomb.

Mister Stark.

Peter shoves himself upright suddenly, his ribs protesting and sending a sharp jolt of pain through his chest. Instinctively, he sucks in a gasp of air, but all that does is exacerbate the pain more. He’s hardly concentrating on that, though.

He’s in the MedBay, he realises. He recognises the white-washed rooms and sterile scent like the back of his hand by now.

Tony. He needs to find Tony.

His eyes dart around until they land on a blurry figure propped in a chair at his bedside. He blinks a few more times, his eyes finally adjusting to the light.

Relief. Some of Peter's panic eases. It’s Tony.

It’s not an uncommon sight, Tony at his bedside. It’s almost concerning, maybe, the fact that Peter wakes up in these situations so often that he’s no longer fazed by it. What is unusual is the fact that Tony isn’t looking at Peter. His eyes are glazed over slightly, focused down on where he’s picking at the corner of a stark white bandage on his wrist - his left wrist, the one that had been cuffed, Peter realises in his hazy mind. The image of Tony chained to that drain pipe, skin bloodied from the way he’d been yanking at those cuffs, works its way to the front of his mind and burns itself there.

“M’ster Stark?” Peter struggles to raise his voice to anything above a rasp. At the sound, Tony looks up, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. His expression is impassive, but there’s something brewing behind it that Peter can’t quite work out.

“You’re awake,” he says simply. There’s no fussing. No rearranging of the pillows, or gentle one-armed hugs or are you okay?’s

He just reaches for the call button on the bedside table instead.

Peter’s still struggling to connect himself with reality, but the feeling that something isn’t right floods through him. He’s slightly less blinded by the sharp ache of pain now, so when he Peter looks at Tony, he sees things he didn’t notice before. He sees how tightly hunched his shoulders are, the deep lines in his face - only exacerbated by the harsh overhead lighting, eyebrows furrowed, drawn into a scowl.

But he’s okay. He’s breathing.

He’s alive.

Peter opens his mouth to say something - what exactly, he’s not sure - but he’s cut off by a voice that disappointingly, isn’t Tony’s.

Peter and Tony glance up at the same time to see Bruce passing through the doorway and crossing the room to Peter’s bedside. “Good to see you awake, Peter.” Bruce places a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter realises that he’s still hovering at the same awkward angle he had been when he shot up to look for Tony. He lets Bruce push him back towards the pillows behind him. A tiny breath of relief puffs past his lips when the pressure is taken off his aching chest. “You gave all of us a pretty nasty scare.”

All of us. That must include Tony as well, who has returned to resolutely not looking at Peter.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean to,” Peter croaks out. His throat is horribly dry, but Bruce seems to be prepared because he pushes a glass of water into his hands. Peter grips it carefully, trying his best not to let his hands shake - with what he’s not sure. Anxiety? Pain? Leftover adrenaline? He tucks the straw in-between his lips and takes a sip just to try and alleviate some of the awkwardness he feels, not saying a word and pretending not to see the probing looks Bruce is sending Tony’s way.

“It’s okay. I’ve learnt to expect the unexpected when it comes to you, Peter,” Bruce tells him. Peter watches warily at the way Bruce’s eyes flit between him and Tony. He feels like there’s something unspoken going on that he hasn’t been let in on.

“How long have I been out for?” Peter asks, suddenly noticing the light filtering in through the darkened windows.

“About fourteen hours,” Bruce tells him. “It gave your healing a chance to give everything a good crack. It’s three-thirty on Saturday afternoon.”

Peter swallows. The last he remembers clearly is the panic etched so deeply onto Tony’s face as he sprinted from that warehouse, bomb cradled in his arms. Everything after that is a bit of a blur, a haze of freezing night air and the darkened sky above him and then fire, the reverberation of the bang, being tosses backwards like he weighed nothing - like he was nothing. That’s what people are to those kinds of weapons. Destructible. Nothing.

Peter couldn’t have let it go off anywhere near Tony. That was never even an option.

“Mister Stark, I really wasn’t trying to-”

Tony shakes his head, the movement sharp and jerky. “Just let Bruce do his job, Peter.” Peter barely recognises the tone. It’s not warm, or smooth and reassuring, the one that he’s gradually taken on as he spends more and more time at Peter’s side. This is cold and impersonal, the type of tone that makes a shiver run down Peter’s spine involuntarily. He hates it immediately.

Bruce shoots Tony a confused look, “It’s okay, I can focus just fine with you jabbering on. I’m used to dealing with the two of you.”

Tony doesn’t budge, just giving another shake of his head. “We’ll talk afterwards,” Tony says, letting himself sink back into the chair again instead of sitting ramrod straight. The movement is less relieved and more defeated. Exhausted. Worn down.

Bruce looks taken aback for a second before he regains his composure and focuses his attention back on Peter. “Are you in any pain?” he asks, feeling around Peter’s ribs. He’s gentle, but Peter flinches back anyway as he brushes over a particularly tender spot.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees Tony’s eyes dart up to fix on him at the movement. Concern flashes across his face but it’s gone as quickly as it came. By the time Peter can turn his head to catch Tony’s eye properly, the man is staring out the window, stony expression set back in place.

The knot of discomfort in Peter’s stomach grows.

“I see your healing hasn’t quite gotten the whole way there yet,” Bruce hums. “You broke five of your ribs,” he explains when he sees Peter’s thinly-veiled quizzical look. “A few second-degree burns on your arms. You’ve got a pretty nasty head wound as well, but with a few stitches, it will be as good as new in no time. You’re lucky that’s all it is. It looks like you took a pretty big hit when you landed.”

Peter winces, noticing for the first time the thick white bandages covering his upper arms. He’s used to this, listening to Bruce reel off a laundry list of injuries that he’s had to tend to for him. But this seems bad - even for him. He reaches up for the back of his head, feeling around. His fingertips brush over the stitches and he hisses before Bruce can wrap a hand around his wrist gently to tug him away.

“Is it bad?” he mumbles.

Tony scoffs almost inaudibly at the question. Bruce just gives him a softened smile. “Nothing a few days in bed won’t let your healing take care of.”

“A few days? But I feel-”

“Don’t argue with him,” Tony mutters, speaking up again.

That’s more than enough to shut Peter up. He bites down on his bottom lip, chewing on it anxiously as Bruce bustles around Peter for a few more minutes. He gives Peter another dose of pain meds when even shifting against the pillows makes the angry aching in his ribs flare-up, makes sure that he’s got enough liquids to keep him hydrated and checks all of his vitals once more.

“Are you going to be okay if I leave you to it?” Bruce asks once he’s finished. He’s looking directly at Peter but before Peter can even open his mouth to answer, Tony nods stiffly. “We’re fine.”

Bruce glances back at Peter, conflicted, but Peter keeps his mouth shut. He needs to grow a pair and just explain himself to Tony.

As Bruce closes the door behind him, Peter realises all of a sudden that he actually would have quite liked Bruce to stay. Especially as Tony turns to him properly for the first time since Peter’s woken up. His face is still set firmly, emotionless, but there’s a new fury that’s been let loose, burning behind his eyes.

Peter can only hold eye-contact for a few moments before he ducks his eyes away. Neither of them speaks for a minute.

“Care to tell me what the hell you were thinking?” Tony asks lowly.

Peter looks up again cautiously. “The bomb... I, I had to get it out of there.”

“And you had to do that by running out of there with it like a football?”

“I didn’t mean to get hurt, or get in the way, I promise,” Peter rushes out quickly, trying to make Tony understand. “But you were stuck and that thing was going to go off and I know I’m faster than Rhodey in the suit, it had to be me, it had to.” Peter watches as Tony sucks in a sharp breath at his words. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“Trying to be helpful?” Tony repeats incredulously. “Is it lost on you how completely reckless you were? I don’t give a damn about what you were trying to do, not when your own actions end with you in a hospital bed,” Tony growls. “Do you know that Rhodey had to be the one to come out and find you splayed out on the concrete like a fucking ragdoll after the bomb you were carrying imploded in your arms? Or that I had to sit there, holding your hand wondering if you were about to die on me in the back of a medevac, of all places? Does any of that even matter to you?” Tony stops and sighs, burying his head in his hands for the briefest of moments. Peter wonders what he’s trying to conceal. “God, Peter. I just wish you’d put the tiniest bit of value on your own fucking life for once.”

“Of course it matters. I care about my own life” - just maybe not more than yours. Maybe I’d rather die protecting you than live with the guilt of not being able to save you - “and I was careful, I promise.”

“I don’t care how careful you were, Peter. My problem is with the fact that you picked up the damn thing in the first place. It’s the first rule of bomb safety. You don’t touch it. Ever.”

“I was never taught bomb safety,” Peter mutters, for no real reason apart from the small spark of satisfaction of talking back. He can feel his hackles rising a little as he’s dismissed so carelessly. He was just trying to help. That thing would have blown Tony to pieces.

“You shouldn’t need a fucking SHIELD standard bomb safety course to know not to pick up an active bomb and run with it. What if the bomb had gone off when you picked it up, huh? How did you know that wasn’t going to happen? Then all of us would have been done for. Even if we’d somehow survived the blast, the building would have collapsed on us. Did you think of any of this?” Tony accuses as if he thinks that in that moment, Peter had room for any other thoughts in his mind apart from the constant chant of, keep Mister Stark safe, keep Mister Stark safe, keep Mister Stark safe.

“I had to take that risk!” Peter snaps, voice raised as he loses his cool slightly. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement, shoving his chair out backwards to stand, suddenly towering taller over Peter.

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what you think I would have done. You are not me.” Tony paces, back and forth at the foot of Peter’s bed, releasing some sort of frustrated tension that’s emanating off of him. “I let you come along because I thought I could trust you to listen to me, Peter.”

I thought I could trust you.

The words hit Peter harder than anything else. Tony can trust him. He wasn’t purposefully trying to go against orders. He was trying to save his life.

“You would have died,” Peter says, the words soft as he struggles to force them out. All his anger has disappeared now, replaced with the memory of fear pulsing through him as he remembers what went down in the warehouse. Tony would without a doubt been blown apart if someone hadn’t gotten that bomb out of there. He really, really doesn’t want to think about that. “I don’t know what I would have done if you-”

Tony shakes his head, dismissing Peter’s weak attempt at building bridges between them before he could really even say what he needs to. The movement is sharp enough that Peter’s mouth snaps shut, words dying on his tongue.

“You’re a kid, Peter, Tony thunders, the word kid flying out of his mouth with more vitriol than Peter has ever heard it from him. He’s used to the word escaping Tony’s lips when they’re pulled in a warm smile, reserved just for him. It’s not like that today. It’s the furthest away it could possibly get. “I don’t need your help. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I thought you’d be able to work that out for yourself but apparently I have to spell a few things out for you. You’re not an Avenger. I just want you to survive goddamn high school - and it seems like even that’s too much to ask of you.”

Peter can feel tears burning in his eyes but he blinks them away desperately, willing himself to not let them spill down his cheeks. He’s already being spoken to like a child, he doesn’t need to give Tony any more reason to believe that he’s nothing more than that.

“I think you’re being a bit harsh, Tony,” a new voice says firmly.

Tony, clearly having been so engrossed in his tirade, jerks around to face the door. Rhodey is standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. Tony’s scowl just deepens.

“Shut it, Rhodes,” Tony snaps. “If he can handle a live bomb then I think he can handle hearing the truth.”

“You’re not going to do this. Not right now. Peter’s hurt.”

A ghost of something unreadable crosses Tony’s face. A tiny bit of the fight eeks out of his posture and his shoulders slump. His voice still has the same hard edge to it though, as he says, “I’m very aware of that, funnily enough.”

Rhodey steps forward and wraps a firm hand around Tony’s elbow, despite the protests, and all but hauls him from the room. He halts in the doorway and turns around for a second. Peter eyes him hesitantly. “It’s good to see you awake, Peter,” he says. It’s solemn but genuine.

Peter nods. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s run out of words. The two of them disappear out the door, leaving Peter alone.

Peter thinks he’d rather have just stayed asleep. At least this way the ache of his bones wouldn’t be competing with the void of regret growing inside of him.

He was just trying to protect Tony - but now all Tony sees him as is an incapable kid, and worse than that, someone that he can’t even trust.

---

The room stays empty all afternoon.

Maybe a little naively, Peter keeps waiting for Tony to reappear.

He doesn’t.

The closest he gets to any affection is from Bruce, who gives him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as he ups his dose of painkillers before he goes to sleep.

Tony doesn’t come in to say goodnight either. FRIDAY tells him that Tony is still awake. She asks Peter if he’d like her to tell Tony that he’s asking for him.

Peter shakes his head, curling up under the blankets. “I, uh, no, no thank you, FRIDAY. I’m okay. Totally fine.”

He goes to sleep trying to believe his own words.

---

By the next morning, Peter’s head has stopped giving him grief completely, and according to Bruce, the stitches have dissolved. The burns are on their way to healing as well. The pain in his ribs is the only thing he’s really still contending with but he’s still not allowed to leave the MedBay.

Bruce hangs around for a while, listening to Peter’s weak arguments about how he feels great and how he’s sure that he’ll be totally fine if Bruce would just discharge him to go home. Tony must have told Bruce that May is away for the weekend because that particular request gets shot down extremely quickly.

After all, Peter knows Bruce doesn’t believe a single word that he’s saying, and isn't even considering his arguments for a second - but he’s indulging him anyway. It’s his way of keeping him company, at least for a little while, without making Peter feel pitied. It’s nice.

Especially since it’s the only human contact he gets for the morning - if you don’t count FRIDAY. He spends the rest of the morning scrolling aimlessly through his phone, chatting to her. Peter thinks maybe he can count her as human contact. She’s always felt real enough to him anyway, such a source of comfort in times like these that it almost feels like an insult to think of her as any less.

By the time the afternoon rolls around, Peter tells himself that he hasn’t just spent the entire morning tentatively hoping for a visit from Tony.

He was stupid to even think about it. Of course, he was never going to show. Peter learnt that yesterday.

---

A few hours later, as Peter’s making his way down his Instagram feed for what feels like the hundredth time today to try and keep his mind off everything, there’s a voice in the doorway.

“Hey, kid.”

Peter’s head shoots up at the familiar words, hope blooming in his chest for a moment before his eyes meet the person’s in the doorway. Rhodey. The hope withers and dies.

He forces his lips into what feels like the barest shadow of a smile. He doesn’t know why he thought it might be Tony. Of course it isn’t him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Unlike yesterday, where he appeared briefly to all but haul Tony out of the room, Rhodey appears to be intent on staying this time. He crosses from the doorway to Peter’s bedside and sinks into the chair that Tony had been occupying yesterday.

“How’re you doing?” he asks once he’s settled, watching Peter carefully like he’s trying to pick up on any tells. Peter attempts a smile again. If this was Tony he might be worried about his poor acting skills giving him away, but it’s not. As much as he likes Rhodey, he doesn’t know him like Tony.

(Not many people know him like Tony.)

Peter shrugs. His ribs have been aching all morning and he’s got a splitting headache that just won’t leave. It’s probably too much phone time. Tony would tell him to put it away and let his eyes rest if he was here.

“M’fine.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

As Peter shrugs again in answer, Rhodey seems to cotton on to the fact that Peter doesn’t feel much like talking about his ailments, so he changes his tack. Peter’s grateful - it means he doesn’t have to think too much about his own issues. He’s sick of feeling sorry for himself.

So they talk about nothing for a little while. Rhodey’s last deployment that Peter hasn’t caught up on. How Peter’s doing at school. What he’s been working on in the lab.

But eventually, Peter just can’t help himself. He chews on his lip for a second, before he bites the bullet and just hopes the answer isn’t something that he doesn’t want to hear. “I, uh, do you think Mister Stark might come down today? I get he’s probably super busy and, y’know, mad at me, but I just thought… maybe...”

Peter knows what the answer is going to be as soon as Rhodey’s facial expression folds into one of distinct regret. “Tony’s a little busy today, Pete,” he says, before pausing. Peter can tell he’s thinking on his feet, trying to cover for his friend. Peter curls further into the blankets he’s lying under. “He had a few meetings come up. You know how it is.”

That’s exactly the problem. Peter does know how it is - and it’s not like this, whatever this is. Tony will drop anything business-related in a second to take care of the people he loves. That’s who he is, Peter’s discovered, after months of texts and dropping by and late nights in the lab, chipping away at his walls.

Peter doesn’t know which is worse. Tony telling Rhodey to lie to him about where he is, or Tony actually deciding that meetings are higher on his priority list than Peter as he lies alone in the MedBay.

He hates me. He hates me. He hates me.

Rhodey obviously sees the look on his face that Peter’s trying so hard to hide because he sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m sure he’d be down here as soon as possible if he could.”

Liar. He wouldn’t. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.

“He hates me now, doesn’t he?” Peter asks, voice small and resigned. He doesn’t want to hear the answer, not really. Not when he’s pretty much already accepted that he knows what it will be.

Rhodey’s eyes widen. He flounders for a second, looking lost. Peter’s once again reminded that he’s not Tony. Kid doesn’t sound the same when he says it. He doesn’t know how to settle Peter when anxiety wraps itself around his chest, all-consuming. He doesn’t know that a hand run through Peter’s hair will make him go soft and that if you scratch right behind his ear he’ll lean into the touch automatically.

Tony knows all these things.

“Absolutely not, he doesn’t hate you,” Rhodey says, finding his voice. “He’s just busy, I-”

“I know you’re bullshitting,” Peter mumbles. He knows it’s rude. He knows he shouldn’t talk like that to Rhodey - Rhodey’s just trying to help, he’s here, which is more than anyone else. But he’s tired and sore and frustrated and god, he just wants someone here to love him. “He hates me. He does. Otherwise he'd be here."

“Tony could never hate you, Peter,” Rhodey says. “I’ll talk to him, okay? He’s just having a tough time.”

"All I was trying to do was help. He didn’t have the suit. Otherwise, he was going to… he could have…” Peter trails off, the words lodging themselves in his throat.

Rhodey doesn't seem to have an answer for this. He knows as well as Peter does what would have happened if Peter hadn't gotten that bomb out of there. The two of them fall into quiet.

Even still, Rhodey doesn’t budge from his bedside for an hour or so after that. It’s company, it’s something, but it’s not the same.

Peter will take what he can get.

---

May phones that night when he’s alone, again. The room is swathed in darkness, lit only by the glow of the TV. There’s an old rerun of Jeopardy! playing that he isn’t watching.

Peter shifts in bed, trying to make himself more comfortable as he answers her call. His chest aches as he props himself further up the pillows. Bruce has told him it’s totally normal to expect some discomfort as they heal but it’s been getting steadily worse all throughout the afternoon - maybe speaking to Rhodey took it out of him more than he thought. In the back of his mind, he reminds himself to call Bruce down for another dose of painkillers before he goes to sleep tonight.

He has FRIDAY put May on speakerphone. This way, her voice echoes around the room, filling the empty space that’s been threatening to suffocate him all evening.

He tries to ask her how her trip is going, but apparently, she’s not so interested in pleasantries tonight.

“You want to tell me why I had to wait for a call from Colonel Rhodes to let me know that my nephew is in hospital?”

Peter swallows. “Technically it’s just the MedBay,” he offers weakly.

May makes a slightly unimpressed sound at his answer. “Peter,” she says, “I’m serious. You can’t just, not tell me these things.”

“I dunno,” Peter says, shrugging even though she can’t see him. “I was going to eventually, I promise.”

(He does know why he didn’t tell her. She’s having a nice getaway with her friends. She doesn’t get many of those, not with Peter around. He doesn’t want to get in anyone else's way this weekend.)

“Is Tony okay? I was so worried about you I didn’t even think to ask, which I feel terrible about but-”

“He’s fine,” Peter interjects. “Totally fine. It was, uh, mainly just me.”

“Is he with you? Can I speak to him?”

Peter casts an eye around the room, almost like he’s looking for the man that he knows isn’t here - it just feels like he should be. Peter lying in the MedBay alone feels wrong. “He’s not, actually. Not right now.”

“He has been though, right?” May asks, though there’s no worry in her tone. She says it like a given. Like there’s nowhere else Tony would be rather than at Peter’s side, especially when she can’t be there herself. She trusts Tony to look after him.

He wonders whether she would understand that Tony can’t stand to be around him if he told her what happened.

“Yeah, he has been…” he says, hoping the uncertainty in his voice doesn’t give him away.

“Good. I'm looking forward to seeing both of you. I’ve booked the first flight home, I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”

Peter shoots upright, ribs twinging. “No, no,” he rushes out, suddenly feeling extremely guilty. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh hush,” May tuts, “I want to, don’t be silly.”

Peter opens his mouth to refute her again but he finds that he can’t. He wants her here. Now more than ever.

May keeps talking and Peter lies back and closes his eyes. If he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that he’s lying sprawled out on the couch back in their apartment and May’s just in the kitchen, somewhere nearby where she could step over and give him a hug as soon as he broke and admitted that, god, he really needs one right now.

Only almost, though. Because the room still smells sterile rather than of May’s favourite cedarwood reed diffuser and the sheets underneath him are soft, too soft, so unlike the worn, slightly scratchy fabric of their own couch.

He lets himself drift off pretending anyway, clinging to the daydream of comfort.

---

By the time Peter’s let May’s voice lull him into a deep sleep, he’s completely forgotten that he didn’t call Bruce in for any more painkillers.

---

It’s dark when Peter wakes next, and he can barely breathe.

He has no idea what the time is. He can barely remember where he is.

All he knows is pain.

It burns from deep inside his chest, emanating everywhere, cutting right down to his bones. His breathing is coming in heavy, painful pants and every gulp of air he sucks in sends a jolt of pain through his ribs. He doesn’t know what’s going on - he’s still stuck in a half-asleep daze but he feels like he’s dying.

It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.

He screws his eyes shut. It wasn’t like he was seeing much anyway, his vision blurred with tears and the room spinning dangerously around him.

Someone whimpers. It’s whiny sounding, like a wounded animal. Peter hates it. He tucks his knees to his chest - more pain - and buries his head in his knees to try and block out the sound. It doesn’t work.

A few minutes later, still curled up in the same cramped position, still lost inside his world of pain, Peter’s hazy mind comes to the conclusion that it’s him whimpering.

Pathetic. Pathetic.

He needs his pain meds. He needs something to numb this, to numb everything. In the back of his mind, he distantly remembers that he needed to ask Bruce for more. He doesn’t think he did. Or at least, he doesn’t remember the man ever coming to administer them.

It’s your own fault, Peter.

Something else to add to the list.

He twists in agony as another strike of pain hits, his ribs flaring up again. He could ask FRIDAY to get Bruce for him. He knows that she’d wake him up. But he doesn’t want to disturb him. If he needed his meds he should have remembered to ask at a reasonable hour.

You’re already in everyone’s way. Mister Stark hates you. Bruce has been having to deal with you all the time.

Stop being a baby.

Mister Stark doesn’t want a kid on the team.

Prove it to them. Show them that you can be strong.

He tucks his limbs closer to his chest, curling up tighter. Everything hurts, and he can feel tears starting to burn in his eyes. He feels a few hot tears drip down his cheeks before he can contain them and he shifts a hand up to wipe them away.

“F-FRIDAY?” Peter starts, quietly. He stumbles over the word, voice hitching.

“Yes, Peter?” FRIDAY replies. Her voice is soothing, and Peter wants to lean into its familiarity.

"I..." Peter falls silent. He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He just wants.

---

Peter's not sure how much time has passed when he hears footfall outside his door. He thinks maybe he’s imagining it. The pain is ebbing now, rising and falling like the tide, returning every so often just to crash over him and drown him in it.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light falling across the room. Peter’s breath chokes in his throat

I’m fine. I’m fine, I’m fine.

Don’t make a sound. Don’t be a bother.

Don’t get in the way.

“Peter?”

That’s his name, spoken in such an unsure way and shielded behind a cold demeanour. Peter immediately knows exactly who it is. His breathing ratchets up because oh god, it’s Tony and he sounds exactly the same way as he did last time they spoke. Peter’s meant to be showing that he’s strong, that he’s capable. And yet here he is hyperventilating and trembling in pain under the covers. He stays as still as he can, eyes screwed shut. Maybe if he lies here for long enough, Tony might leave.

He doesn’t want Tony to leave - not really. But there must be some mistake. Tony can’t mean to be here. If he meant to be here, surely he would have been a whole lot earlier.

“Do you need something? FRIDAY said you were in pain.”

Oh. He doesn’t even mean to be here. FRIDAY called him down. Peter doesn’t remember asking FRIDAY to fetch him.

“Peter?” Tony questions when he doesn’t reply, voice now less hostile and laced with confusion.

Peter doesn't know what he needs. But he knows he wants someone to stay.

“H’rts,” Peter mumbles before he can stop himself. “Please make it stop.”

And then before he can stop himself, he’s crying, embarrassing loud, ugly sobs because he’s so sore and so lonely and Tony is just there, only a few feet away and yet he feels so impossibly far away. He wants someone to hold his hand and push the strands of sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. He wants someone to tell him he’s going to be okay because right now all he knows is pain, burning through his veins, and he can’t see the way out.

He wants May. He wants Tony.

He wants someone to hold him.

Quiet footsteps tread towards his bedside. Peter doesn’t dare open his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony soothes, and the way he speaks so gently only makes Peter sob harder. It’s hard to breathe with the lump in his throat and crushing ache of his ribs. He gasps out without realising it, and then tries to quieten himself. Tony’s still there though. He hasn't left. Peter feels him lower a warm hand down onto his back, rubbing in circles gently.

“Shh. Breathe, Pete, you just gotta breathe. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Why is he being so nice? Suddenly, Peter wonders if he deserves it. He can’t even remember if he apologised to Tony.

“‘m sorry, I tried not to get in the way but it hurts,” Peter whines. He sounds pathetic but he can’t help it. “I can’t breathe. M’ster Stark, make it stop, make it stop, please.”

“You need to talk to me, buddy. What hurts?” Tony asks. His voice is quiet and reassuring. Peter likes this Tony better than angry Tony. He lets his eyes slip closed. “No, no, I need you to look at me. Just for a second, okay?”

Look at him? At Tony? Peter can do that, he thinks. He blinks his eyes open, eyelids heavy. He wants to close them again so badly, but Tony’s got this concerned look drawn all over his face while he’s looking at him, which Peter’s so confused about. The last time he saw Tony, the man had looked like he thought Peter was the worst person on the planet. Like he hated him.

Tony grabs the medicine chart off the clipboard above Peters’ bed and Peter watches through tear-blurred vision as he scans his eyes over it. “That'll do it. Your ribs are probably throwing a fit since you haven’t had any meds since midday, Pete, that was well over twelve hours ago” - Peter tries to do the math to figure out what time it is, what ungodly hour he’s dragged Tony out of bed to run around after his sorry ass, but his brain is too addled to figure it out - “didn’t Bruce dose you up before bed?” Tony asks. He knows the answer. He has the chart in front of him. Bruce is meticulous, he never forgets to tick these things off.

Peter gives a pitiful shake of his head, a barely noticeable movement. “M’fault. Didn’t ask.”

Tony sighs, biting down on his lip like he wants to get into it but he knows he can’t. Peter’s glad. He doesn’t have the energy for any of this. He feels like his brain is still trying to play catch up. Every time he blinks, Tony is still there when he opens his eyes, standing in front of him, concern pulling his face down in a frown.

“Well, I’m gonna dose you up now.”

“The good stuff?” Peter mumbles, turning his face into the pillow to try and hide a wince as another wave of pain arrives, lapping at his toes before surging forward to wash over him. Tony doesn’t miss it, and his movements grow hurried as he fumbles to pull out a dose of Peter’s pain meds.

His fingers are gentle as he takes Peter’s arm in his grip to keep it steady. Peter didn’t realise how badly he was still trembling - from the panic or pain he’s not sure. Tony slips the syringe into the IV catheter and plunges down slowly. Peter watches him lazily, eyes cracked open. He’s seen Tony do this so many times, hell, he’s even seen the man do it to himself. He trusts him.

“Yeah, bud, the real good stuff.”

The familiar sensation wraps Peter in its hold not long after. He lets his eyes flutter closed, but tries to blink them open again when he hears a voice above him. “Yeah, there we go… no, shhh, close your eyes.”

Peter does as he’s told because the voice is gentle and he trusts it. He doesn’t think it would lead him astray.

“There we go. Nice work, kiddo.”

The room floats away, but there’s a pressure against his scalp, a hand running through his hair, grounding him to reality. It’s nice. A much nicer reality than the one he was trapped before. That seems like such a long time ago. Maybe Peter dreamt it?

“‘m sorry I didn’t listen,” Peter mumbles out. He turns, pressing his face into the palm of Tony’s hand like a starved animal seeking out the barest scraps of physical attention. Tony curls his fingers gently, blunt nails scratching against the tufts of hair around Peter’s ear.

“You’re okay, bud, you’re okay. We can talk later when you’re not so loopy. Just try and get some sleep.”

Talk… later? What if Tony leaves again? What if there is no later? Peter wants to talk now. Ben always used to tell him that you should never go to bed angry and he and Tony have broken that rule the last two nights now - he doesn’t want to do it again. But whenever he tries to open his mouth, his tongue feels too heavy to force out any of the right words.

“Sleep?” Peter slurs out quietly.

Tony nods. “Yeah, all you need right now is a good night’s sleep. I’ll be right here in the morning,” he says, words soft and genuine. Peter believes them - but he makes sure anyway.

“Right h’re?”

Tony nods again, settling further into the chair he’s sitting in as if to physically demonstrate to Peter exactly what he’s saying. “I promise.”

That’s good enough for Peter. Sleep does sound pretty good, on second thought. There’s a floaty feeling flowing through Peter now, dissipating the pain. He’s comfy, and the weight of Tony’s hand against his cheek where he’s still scratching at his hair feels so nice. He rolls over, trapping Tony’s hand there between the pillow and his cheek. He can’t leave now, even if he wants to.

---

Hours later, Peter only remembers a few things from the night before when he surfaces from his sleep, memories blurring together in the back of his mind.

Burning pain and then nothing. Someone by his bedside maybe? A hand in his hair. A quiet voice.

Close your eyes, you’re okay.

Peter knows that voice. It sounds so achingly familiar, even as it echoes through his thoughts.

You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay.

Peter rolls over onto his side at the sound of an exhale from beside him, the smallest of yawns like someone trying their best to be quiet. It’s Tony, he realises, the comforting words whispering through his mind suddenly making much more sense. He clearly managed to get his hand free from underneath Peter’s cheek last night but he’s still here anyway, in the chair by his bedside, the one that’s remained largely unoccupied over the last couple of days. He’s dressed in an old t-shirt and faded jeans - Peter dreads to think what important lab work he pulled the man away from last night.

“Hey, bud” Tony mumbles. His voice is rough with sleep and he stretches his arms out above his head, poorly hiding a wince as he does.

A rush of shame floods Peter almost immediately. He can’t believe that Tony had to spend the night down here last night just because he kicked up a fuss about a little bit of pain.

He stares stupidly for a moment, willing the words to work their way out of his exhausted brain but he doesn’t know what to say. Tony shouldn’t be here. He probably doesn’t want to be here.

“You can go,” is the first thing that works its way free from Peter’s mouth. Tony raises his eyebrows.

“Good morning to you too,” Tony says, looking equal parts bemused and a little taken aback by Peter’s greeting. “Am I allowed to at least ask you how you’re feeling before you kick me out?

“I’m not kicking you out,” Peter mutters, the slightest bit defensive. He doesn’t know why Tony would think that he’s the one that wants him gone. He’d love Tony to stay - he’d have loved Tony to stay the second he woke up in the MedBay and they had their blowout. But it’s not about him. He doesn’t want Tony to stay if he doesn’t want to. He’s just making it easier for him - he’s made it abundantly clear that spending time with Peter isn’t exactly at the top of his priorities list, after all. “I, just, uh, I’m sorry you had to come down here. I don’t really remember much from last night.”

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me, you were pretty out of it,” Tony says easily. He shifts in his seat, but he seems to be making himself more comfortable than preparing to get up out of it and walk out the door again. The longer he sticks around the more it’s going to hurt when he leaves.

“I know you're mad at me and I know you don’t really want to be here. You can go, I won’t mind or be offended or anything, I promise,” Peter says, words catching as he says them because of their mistruth. He does mind. He does want Tony here.

But not if he doesn’t want to be.

“I think this means we need to talk about the other day, huh?” Tony says simply. Peter’s brows furrow together in confusion. He wonders if Tony is expecting an apology. He didn’t exactly give him one the other day - didn’t think that saving someone’s life warranted an apology. But obviously he went wrong somewhere along the way because if he hadn’t, maybe Tony might have stuck around.

“I’m sorry, Mister Stark,” he starts, a little nervous. He doesn’t know what he’s expected to say. What do you say to make someone want to stay? “I promise I wasn’t trying to not listen, or put any of us in a dangerous situation, or-”

“You don’t need to do the apologies, kid,” Tony says with a wave of his hand and a strained expression on his face as he listens to Peter’s words. Peter snaps his mouth shut.

“But I really am sorry,” Peter tries again after a beat of silence that Tony doesn’t fill. “I was just trying to protect you, that’s all. You were trapped and the whole place was going to blow and I couldn’t let anything happen to you… I couldn’t.” Peter watches Tony’s face carefully - he’s struggling to read his mix of emotions. “I’m only apologising for not thinking it through. I’m not apologising for trying to protect you,” Peter finishes determinedly. He won’t say he’s sorry for trying to save Tony’s life. Never. He’d do it over and over again in a heartbeat.

“That there, Pete, that’s the problem,” Tony says. He scrubs a hand down the side of his face roughly. “I can’t handle the idea of you protecting me, it’s-”

Peter frowns, a tiny stab of betrayal shooting through his chest. Despite the last few days, somewhere deep down still, he really thought that Tony still believed in him, at least a little bit. Maybe that was stupid of him.

“You let me come to Germany and let me loose against Captain America and the Winter Solider and now suddenly you don’t even trust me to protect you against a few guys with guns and explosives? I handled it, Mister Stark, and I know you think what I did was stupid and reckless, but I handled it.”

Tony shakes his head. “You’ve got a couple of things a little twisted, not that I can exactly blame you, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly the other day,” - he huffs humourlessly. Peter thinks there might be regret in his eyes. “I know what you can do - I’ve known that since before I even really knew you. You’re capable of dealing with what you did the other day, you showed us that.”

“So what’s changed?” Peter asks. He knows he should keep the edge of frustration out of his voice but he can’t. If Tony really trusts him as much as he claims to then why won’t he just accept that Peter is capable of so much more? “Why did you freak out the other day?”

“What’s changed is that now I do really know you.”

Peter’s confused. This whole conversation feels like a roller-coaster of emotions that he’s a little too tired and dozy from the residual drugs pumping through his system to process. “I… what?”

“Now I know you,” Tony repeats. “When I took you to Germany, I didn’t know any more than Spider-Man, really. But you’re still a kid behind the mask, buddy-” Peter scowls weakly, “-and I know you’re gonna tell me that you’re not a kid and all that, but you are and I know you’d guard my life with your own if you’re given the chance and I trust you but that right there? That’s the damn problem.”

“The problem?” Peter repeats incredulously. He’s grown up watching movies and reading comic books under the bed covers with a torch after his bedtime, enamoured with the idea of the action hero choosing to do the right thing - even at the expense of themselves. He’s always thought that laying your life on the line for someone is the most selfless thing you can do for someone and that’s what Tony’s upset about?

“It’s… oh, I don’t know,” Tony mutters. He pauses, thinking for a second. “I was the one who screwed that mission up in the first place. I let my guard down and those idiots got a hold of me. My bad-”

“That wasn’t on you,” Peter says firmly. At this point, it’s becoming unclear who’s trying to comfort who.

“Uh, uh, I’m not done,” Tony chastises. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. And not just because your Aunt would skin me alive. I’ve, uh, I’ve grown kind of fond of you, kid, I don’t know if you can tell. And the idea of anything happening to you - anything at all, let alone something happening because of me doesn’t sit particularly well.”

Oh.

That makes more sense than Peter was expecting. He suddenly feels bad about even rising to the challenge of Tony’s argument in the first place. He knows that Tony tries to cover up the way he feels with a mask of sarcasm and sharp words - Peter just never thought that he’d be on the receiving end.

“I didn’t know I scared you,” Peter says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Tony admonishes with a half-hearted scoff. “I don’t think I’d go that far.”

“Sure,” Peter says conspiratorially. He shifts closer to the edge of the bed, closer to Tony. Tony brings an arm up to rest on top of the bed, brushing against Peter’s leg under the covers. It’s nice - the sort of grounding they both need right now. The sort of contact they’ve both been sorely missing.

“Okay, so maybe I was a little worried,” Tony concedes. “I’ve never really been one for kids, never thought I would be. But with you, I just, I don’t want you to grow up too soon. And if I know you half as well as I think I do, then I know that you won’t be hanging up that suit for a long time. Just do both of us a favour and stick to giving old ladies directions for a while, maybe? You’ve got all the time in the world for all the traumatising, hardcore stuff, I promise you.”

“So… you're saying I should skip the traumatising stuff and just stick to traumatising you instead?”

“You’re already doing a pretty damn good job of that, kid.”

---

“May’s on her way from the airport,” Peter says distractedly, later that day as he types out a reply to her text.

Tony is still by Peter’s bedside, his legs kicked up on the bed as he scrolls through his StarkPad. Peter looks up when Tony doesn’t reply. “Hey, Mister Stark?��

“Huh?”

“May’s on her way. Happy just picked her up.”

“Okay, good.”

“What’re you working on?” Peter asks, abandoning his phone as he wonders what’s got Tony so distracted.

“Just going through Rhodey’s report on the other day. Adding in the details, trying to make myself sound cooler, all that good stuff.”

Peter laughs. “Can I help?”

“Pete-”

“You said you trust me!

“Well, this is paperwork, it’s boring-”

“I want to learn! I could help!”

Tony lets out a long-winded sigh. “You really like to make me suffer, don’t you?” He turns fully towards Peter and raises his eyebrows expectantly. “So, hit me then. What’s your take on how the other day went down?”

Peter looks up towards Tony, the beginnings of a grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, I saved the day for starters, it’s really important that you put that in there.”

Tony’s face twists in conflict for a second before it smooths out again. He gives Peter a smile, tired and a little worn but genuine all the same - “yeah, yeah. Sure, kid. We’ll work it in.”

#my writing #irondad #irondad fic #the friendly neighborhood exchange #today on 'hayley doesn't know how to stick to a word limit': this fic #oops #when will i ever control myself

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 years

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Tomorrow Should Have Died

So i was planning on reviewing The Tomorrow War because it’s a new film and i like new films i can watch without having to brave the plague. I saw a preview for this thing a while back and had real low expectations for it, figured it’d be dumb fun like Independence Day. Imagine my abject horror when it turned out to be so much worse. Okay, first things first, the good stuff. Chris Pratt is good and so is J.K. Simmons. Betty Gilpin and Yvonne Strahovski work miracles with what little they have. The sound design is exceptional, probably the best thing about this sh*t flick, and the actual effects are on point. The problem with the movie is the script. It’s f*cking terrible. Oh my god, so much dumb! Here’s a list of sh*t that made me irrationally angry, in order of plot progression.

Eleven minutes in and i hate it. How are you losing a war to anything if you have mastered the ability to traverse space-time? How the f*ck is your technology so advanced, that you have found a way to exceed the light speed limit and literally break physics, but lose to a bunch of rabid, interstellar, komodo dragons? This is the dumbest f*cking contradiction I have seen all year and i am offended that whoever decided to make this film, is asking this of their audience. Sh*t is patently absurd. These f*cking things don't even have written language, man, and you really expect me to believe they have pushed a human race that has harnessed the power of time, to the brink of extinction?

Eleven minutes, bro. Eleven f*cking minutes.

Seriously, you can create a time machine, you should conceivably have the ability to harness gravity or one of the other fundamental interactions. Why the f*ck haven't you designed a miniaturized rail gun that uses modern tech or materials to build? You have worked out the science in the future, go back to the past and build miniature or handheld doomsday devices for use in the field. Why isn’t everyone running around with f*cking Megatron fusion cannons on their arms? Why the f*ck am i fighting aliens with ARs and Glocks?? The fact that there is an active time machine built from tech on hand from thirty years into the future, means cats could have spent their time building actual weapons to kill these f*cking things instead of betting the literal human race on a time displaced draft. This movie is dumb as rocks.

The way they describe how their time travel works is dumb. I mean, it isn’t, but i can guarantee this sh*t is going to be a problem later. I can feel it in my bones. They are definitely going to contradict this sh*t because multiverse theory is the only way to make movie time travel work and they are trying their damnedest to not do that.

This f*cking thing is over two hours long and the first drags. I hate when cats attempt to develop characters and they just fail at it. I'm sitting here trying to figure out why I should care about any of these people and i still don't have an answer after half the goddamn movie is over. Like, why should i care about Chris Pratt? He’s the main character and the writing has done nothing to endear him to the audience in a whole ass hour.

Also, the reason he’s so mad at his dad is stupid. Dude did right by his kid by bailing because he would have been a terrible father. Pratt’s character would have known that as a father himself. He didn’t have to like it and, of course there’s animosity there, but you’re an adult. Your dad knew he was lousy. He did you a favor by walking out. It wasn’t like he didn’t help support you or make sure you went without. As far as i can tell, dude was there in every way by physically. Because he couldn’t. Because he was f*cking shell-shocked from fighting in Vietnam. Where they raped innocent women and set babies on fire. Holy sh*t, this cat is an unlikable protagonist after this one scene. Which brings me to my next thing...

Pratt f*cking abandons his family?? Word? After that entire scene with his dad and the very obvious trauma he has suffered, he turns around and abandons his own kid because he lost his job?? Word? Like, for real? You expect me to believe that the Chris Pratt who cussed out his pops, was willing to go on the run from his future conscription, abandoned his own family because he lost a teaching job?? What the f*ck, movie? Do you want me to like this asshole or not? More than that, how the f*ck you mess up your character so bad in what i imagine is just five pages of actual script? Nothing we know about this character would ever even hint at him doing this to his family, to his daughter, so why the f*ck would he? Why the f*ck would you, as a write, believe we, as the audience, would just accept that sh*t as a forgone conclusion?

You got ropes on a Queen and you don't kill it? How the f*ck you make it that deep into the hive to even do-si-do the b*tch to the surface? We just watched these things tear through Miami to the point that they needed a whole ass bombardment just to survive and you not only go into their hive, their home, with no heavy ammo, but you somehow lasso a queen and drag her to the surface. Alive. If you can do all of that why not just drop a nuke down there and blow them the f*ck up? Why do you need a live Queen for your science? Shoot the b*tch, take the juice of her corpse, and end this sh*t! Why is all of this stupid recklessness necessary??

Okay. Okay... F*ck everything i just said, right? Why the f*k did you bring this Queen b*tch back to your base? You don’t have a different offsite lab to do this sh*t? You gotta bring her to your stronghold? Isn’t this a military operation? Why aren't their security protocols and sh*t in place to stop this stupidity? You don’t bring the enemy home. You take them to black sites for sh*t like this, not to the goddamn Pentagon!

All of a sudden, the aliens understand science? We spent this entire movie establishing that they are mindless beasts with teeth, eating the human race into extinction but now, because the plot demands it, the Queen one understands what the people are doing? That the green sh*t they made is plague that can murder them all? How the f*ck she even know what science is? They don’t even have language, dude! How the hell she know they made a death plague for her people?! F*ck it, whatever, bro. Next you're going to tell me she let them capture her just to get inside the lab or some sh*t because these rabid f*cking animals, who have demonstrated no military command abilities or even the barest of higher cognitive functions, are tactical geniuses.

Okay, so the Queen b*tch is a tactical genius. So, in the initial future drop, the team was murdered by a bunch of these things because they were sent to a lab where they were trying to make the death plague. Now, hat i am about to say is all assumption on my part because none of this, and i men NONE of it, is ever confirmed by the movie. So, they get to the lab and everyone is dead but the green per-plague is still there. That mean they had a Queen there. It’s established after this that Queens can call for backup and the Males will lemming their way to her. I deduce that’s how this lab got overrun; Queen got loose, called for her boys, and they ate everyone. That happened. That was the first thing we see in the future. This b*tch does the same f*cking thing on the home base lab so now the males are overrunning The Pentagon. You motherf*ckers knew this was a thing because it literally already happens. Why the f*ck would you do it again? AND it gets worse... Home base, The Pentagon, is the f*cking rig where they house the goddamn time machine! You brought a hostile enemy leader, still alive and coherent, to the heart of your resistance operation, to the core of your time travel operation, knowing that at any time this b*tch can scream and have your whole ass base overrun with teeth and poison darts? Look, if the future is this stupid, they deserve to die, okay?

At least they commit to multiverse theory, even if it contradicts the entirety of their already established time travel rules.

Okay. Okay... So they create this toxin to kill all the monster things and send it back in time to be mass produced Put that sh*t in bullets and send it back to the future or whatever. But, because of the aforementioned stupid, that plan is bunk. Time machine go kablooey. And now we are at the "all is lost" moment at the end of the second act." Solution to the problem in hand, no way to save the future because the only way back to the future was a casualty of idiocy. Right. So... just wait. F*cking just wait. You know when these assholes show up, you know how to kill them all, you even have a plague ready to be mass produced right now. You have thirty f*cking years to refine that formula, to make it cheaper to mass produced and develop variants just in case immunities start to crop up or something. There are people from the future, stuck in the past, because of the egregious future error. They have all of that intel and they are just alive. The second this dude got back to the past with that antidote, the future was saved. The war is over. Like, even if you don’t know where the ship is, you have a sure thing that will murder these white f*cks and three decades to produce, weaponize, and store that sh*t. The war is won. The Prime timeline is absolutely safe at this point. Because that's how time travel works. You have the nuclear option, right now, to averting the end of the human race, ready to be mass produced. Yo have the knowledge from the future on where these things will first appear. You still have all the future tech brought over from the beta timeline ripe for reverse engineering in order to improve the weapons of the present. There is no scenarios where we lose this war, the second Chris Pratt plops back into the present with that plague. None.

Why is everyone so dejected?? Why are there f*cking riots all over the world?? None of this makes sense. How can you assume the world ends and the war is lost just because the communication with that version of the past is cut? Wouldn’t you expect that sh*t? You just altered the entire timeline by sending Pratt back with the antidote. That future is effectively gone. How can you communicate with a place in space-time that doesn’t exist anymore? Hell, even if it’s because the time machine broke and everyone over there is dead, you have the f*cking antidote now! Multiverse theory, bud. The fact that those time displaced assholes didn’t disappear, means multiverse theory is real and you have the opportunity to Future Trunks this sh*t so why panic? Why are there no leaders n television assuring their people that this is a thing? Why are there no scientists publishing papers about how sh*t is going to be fine? Bro, I'm just so tired...

How these cats just fly into Russia on a big ass cargo plane and not get shot down? This is 2022. Putin still hates us. This sh*t would cause a World War.

So you find this ship and you don’t tell anyone where it is? You decide to just kill them all yourself? Motherf*cker, what happens if you die? Did you back up the enzyme formula somewhere or did you bring all of it with you on this stupid f*cking mission? Did you leave notes or even text your location to anyone in authority, just in case haphazard attempt goes sideways so someone else can make a more organized attempt? Or just drop a nuke on the site from orbit? If one asshole denied you funding for your mission, why didn’t you ask someone else? Why didn’t you ask f*cking Putin? Because governments are bloated down with bureaucracy? My dude, people from the future came back and interrupted the world cup to tell you that aliens are going to exterminate the human race in three decades. If you tell anyone in a position of power that you know where these little sh*ts are, they’re going to listen. Especially since everyone decided to riot because the future changed/we lost the time war/ the timeline imploded.

Why would a terrestrial saw work on an intergalactic star ship? That doesn't make any sense. This f*cking thing survived a crash landing into earth intact and a goddamn circular saw cuts it open? Fine, whatever. On to the next stupid thing.

Bro. Bro, they just blow the f*cking thing up. Motherf*cker spent the entire movie, time jumping form the past to to the future and back to the past, just to get this plague to kill them all, and a bunch of C4 just blows them all up while they sleep. Why the f*ck was everything even f*cking necessary? At this point, when the dude comes back with that claw the first time, the future is saved. Analysis on that one claw gave up the location of the hidden spaceship where these things had been in stasis for millennia. Which was blown up with C4. No plague needed. No goddamn time draft needed. No casualties needed after that first wave. The second that dude brought back that claw, it should have been under a forensic microscope so actual f*cking scientists could figure out what a high school kid id in a matter of minutes. I hate this movie so goddamn much.

I hated this goddamn movie so much. It’s f*cking boring and the dumbest thing I've seen all year and i watched Army of the Dead. It’s pretty and the performances are decent, but there is absolutely no substance to any of this sh*t. It wants to be Independence Day and Edge of Tomorrow and The Great Wall. all in one, while infusing time travel family drama but it’s so f*cking confused trying to juggle all of that, it drops the ball on the most important part; The script. This thing must read like a fever dream induced by peyote because, in execution, it’s a wet fart. This f*cking thing is all over the place with no regard for any insular universe logic. It contradicts itself from one scene to the next and it’s goddamn offensive. I’m sure there is someone saying that i am overthinking this sh*t and that it’s just supposed to be dumb popcorn fun. I get that. However, i can’t just turn my f*cking brain off and mindlessly drool over sh*t that insults my intelligence the way this movie does. It’s dumb as f*cking rocks, man, and i want those two hours of my life back!

#The Tomorrow War #Some ol' bullsh*t

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eleanor-devil · 3 years

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Boruto: Sacrifices [Remade] | Chap.9 - Race Against Time

Written by: Eleanor-Devil & @mirage-05

Naruto stopped abruptly as Konohamaru sprang to his feet, not drawing out a weapon yet but on his guard in any case. A look from the Hokage told him to stay put. "Orochimaru..." the blond frowned, it was clear that the serpent man was angry, he had reasons to be... "Please... let me take him back to the village, he needs help...!" "Oh? You noticed that?" a thick layer of venomous sarcasm coated his words as the sannin felt his hatred bubbling beneath the surface. "Where were you when he was being beaten to death then? Why was there only my son out here, fighting these rogues off alone?!" Naruto didn't know what to say... Orochimaru was right, he hadn't been there when Mitsuki was attacked... The Hokage's silence only served to prove his point. "I am going to get him the necessary help, and that is not going to be from that wretched village which abandoned him in his time of need." The blond man tried to gulp as he kept staring at Mitsuki, the amount of blood... Through his lifetime, he had seen too many scenes like this, but seeing a child in this situation... and what had caused this to happen...it was hard to see, and he knew the Sannin had more than enough reasons to take his son and leave now, but… he couldn't - no, he wouldn't let the boy go away to an almost certain death!

"I accept full responsibility for what happened to Mitsuki," he said, almost in a whisper, his voice too strained. "But blaming won't help him now! He needs to be taken to a full-fledged hospital which is easier and quicker to reach..." "I have more than capable disciples who can and will take care of him. We do not need your charity." "Charity?!" His voice now came stronger, urgency and anger filling it. "Do you even know which hideout Karin is in?!" "None of your concern." "It IS my damn concern!" the Hokage yelled finally. "Are you out of your mind?! He is dying...!" "You are not going to talk to me like this...!" the black haired man yelled, furious as he leaned forward in an attack position. "I am taking my son out of here!" Konohamaru tensed at Orochimaru’s words but he wasn’t ready for Boruto’s panicked, incredulous voice rising from behind him. “What?! No, you can’t take him!” “Boruto!” the jounin hissed, his eyes on the black haired man as he turned around. He moved another inch, blocking his team completely from view. And it was maybe a good thing - with blood all over him, the snake sannin did pose a very formidable sight. Not that in any other case there would be a reason for Konohamaru to trust the man… he was suddenly very conscious of the one fact he had never forgotten. This man… he had killed his grandfather when he was still a kid… And killed all those innocent children in the orphanage like it was nothing… There hadn’t been any other nuke ninja from Konoha that did - and still does - this amount of damage to the village, and considering all that, it sounded like a tasteless joke that he should be so livid right now… It was all Konohamaru could do not to give into his instincts and attack the Sannin right there and then. Although he was unsure if it would be a fight he could win. But… there was something - someone infinitely more important right now. As unbelievable as it was, the sannin’s insatiable fury was justified in its own right - they had to rush Mitsuki to the care he needed. “And who is going to stop me?” Orochimaru hissed, snapping the young man out of his thoughts. Of course Boruto couldn’t see the Sannin around his sensei, but there was no mistaking the hostile tone. “I…” he started but his voice faltered, clearly intimidated. His hesitation, though, was only for a second, he refused to sit aside and watch as his best friend was taken from him to an unknown fate. His voice gained volume as he countered. “I am.” he said stubbornly. “I can’t let you take him to God knows where.” There was a very brief pause before Sarada, with an equally determined voice, spoke. “I can’t, either.” The Sannin’s eyebrows furrowed and in the next second, he was a flash that the jounin’s eyes couldn’t follow, standing right behind him, facing the kids. Naruto moved to rush towards them while Konohamaru turned himself but was stopped short when he suddenly found the cold edge of a sword against his throat. Boruto and Sarada gasped at the sight, their eyes going wide. Mitsuki tried to say something but his voice was barely heard, he was too weak. “And why do impudent children like you care about what happens to him?” the Sannin spoke with a raised eyebrow, otherwise remaining motionless. “B-Because…” one had to give it to Boruto, despite the fact that he was obviously scared, he was still gazing defiantly at Orochimaru while trying to hold back tears. “Because he is my best friend!” “Just let us take care of him…” Konohamaru’s voice was tight with his jumbling emotions, a mixture of desperation, panic and thinly veiled discontent. “Give him a fighting chance for heaven’s sake!” Maybe it was the choice of words, or the already thin line of the sannin’s patience, but Orochimaru’s muscles suddenly tightened, and the sword moved- “FATHER!” Mitsuki seemed to find his voice right then, trying to yell in an attempt to make his voice heard. But the strain made him cough up more blood, and his vision blurred as he wheezed and slumped back in Boruto’s arms. That was too much. "Would you stop being selfish and think about him for a moment?!" Boruto yelled, squeezing his friend's good hand. "Do you intend for him to die?! If you care so much about him, let him be taken care of properly!!" “You will remain by his side,” Naruto said, sudden realization dawning on him. “I grant you permission to enter the village.” For a moment it looked like the Sannin might have a say about that… But then, without a word and lightning fast, Orochimaru dropped the sword, knelt beside the kids and took Mitsuki’s bloodied body in his arms. He gave one last glare at the Hokage before he jumped towards the trees and disappeared. “No!” Boruto shouted and jumped to his feet, but his sensei’s voice stopped him. “Patch it up you two, we are heading back to the village!” He didn’t know for sure that the sannin was heading to Konoha, but his best bet now was that Orochimaru would heed to the Hokage’s promise. Naruto quickly looked at the two men they had caught and made a snap decision. "Kurama!" he yelled, and the fox appeared beside him. Kurama had watched from inside the Hokage, so he knew exactly what the situation was. He took a quick look around, noticed two bound men, and a few feet away from them... A bloody mass which looked unidentifiable, lying in pieces... "What is it that you need from me?" he asked the Hokage. "Take the prisoners to my office," Naruto said, nodding to the two men who were still alive. "Tell Shikamaru that I'm personally going to be there for the interrogations." … His steps, albeit quick in pace, felt like they grew heavier and heavier as the sannin made the dreaded sprint back to his old village. He did not expect to be... so outrageous, not after so many years, so many experiences and so many... Changes... His gaze wandered down to the biggest change in his whole existence, as if to check he's still there, protected in his embrace. Protected... His blood began to boil and signs of regret etched itself into his golden orbs as he took in Mitsuki's, his boy's, already fair skin color getting paler and paler by the second, creating an ugly contrast to the gash on his abdomen and the burn marks across his chest. If only he was there sooner... If only he spent more time with him... Naturally, there were the times he sneaked into the village just to check on the boy. He should give it to him, that young man, Naruto, was actually a decent person, he did let him see Mitsuki from time to time... It had not been enough. Feelings like he never experienced before threatened to overcome him as he looked at his son's eyes... his eyes. Mitsuki was glancing carefully up at him, and it literally hurt the sannin to see the light slowly fading from his irises. When his boy was little, Orochimaru liked to compare their eyes. His own was more like the cold, imposing gold, while Mitsuki... his eyes were warm and bright, like... the sun. It gave him physical pain, the thought that his sun might go out... His hold tightened only slightly and a new vigor hastened his pace. He would get him the necessary help. And then... there will be consequences. He felt a faint grip on the front of his shirt, and through the suddenly very still air, a weak whisper reached his ears. "Father..." He immediately looked down. Mitsuki blinked slowly once, trying to maintain his hold as his hands shook. Orochimaru felt his heart skip a beat, but he tried to keep his calm. "Preserve your strength. We are almost at the border." The blue haired boy parted his lips slightly once again, and his father had to lean a bit over him to hear him properly. "Please... spare... the village..." Orochimaru drew back slightly, taken aback by the words. "What...?" "Please... promise..." Mitsuki murmured, the words coming more strained as his breathing hitched. "Not their... fault..." He had his doubts about that. He wished to tell him that they were going to pay. They were going to pay dearly for putting his boy right in the middle of danger, not even thinking twice. He wanted to say that he would snuff the fire of will from Konoha, just like how they made his sun sink. Looking into those eyes, though, the words simply did not form. Instead, his fury drowning in the compassion he felt for his child now, he found himself whispering. "I will leave them be. I promise." He felt Mitsuki relax in his arms as a very small smile lifted the corners of his lips gently. His next word was so faint that Orochimaru wasn't sure if it was a trick of the wind. "Thanks..." Pale fingers slid from the shirt as the young boy completely slacked against his father. The sannin watched, horrified, as the sun set with a sigh of breath. "Mitsuki...?" he whispered, unable to comprehend what was happening in front of him, and the world came to a standstill. "Mitsuki!!!" ... When he heard the Sannin yelling his boy's name, Konohamaru immediately came to a stop, his heart racing, and his head turned to Orochimaru. 'No...' he thought as his heart skipped a beat. "Don't stop now!" came Naruto's voice, he was still able to sense Mitsuki’s chakra, despite it being very weak, urgent as he realized everyone in the group coming to a sudden halt. "We need to hurry!" His words were enough of a reassurance and the group sped up again, the gates looming closer... The Hokage prayed with all his heart for the child to keep fighting... Naruto didn't know whether he felt glad or panicked when he saw a familiar black-haired figure standing right out of the gates. Seeing the Hokage, Uchiha Sasuke rushed to him. "Naruto, what business did you have with my daugh-" Sasuke stopped mid-sentence when he then saw the other people in the group. "Papa...!" murmured Sarada with her eyes still red from all the crying and panic of seeing Mitsuki that injured right in front of her. "What the hell is going on here Naruto...?" Sasuke carefully asked as he approached his daughter and pulled her closer to him but his eyes never left Orochimaru and... the bloody, unconscious child in his arms, he was so pale...if Sasuke wasn’t a sensor type then he wouldn’t know the boy was still alive... "I'll explain later but first we need to take him to the hospital!" said the blond with an urgent look, sweat dripping down his face as he too looked at Mitsuki. The Uchiha narrowed his eyes. "Fine, but you know he..." He looked at Orochimaru again, "...can't go in the village." "If that is your main problem then allow me to solve it." said the Sannin sarcastically as he managed to adjust his son's body against his chest before raising two fingers and a smoke surrounded him. Once it disappeared, it revealed his disguise, almost the same one that he had worn when he pretended to be the sensei of the three Sound ninjas, back in the Chuunin Exams when Naruto and Sasuke were his son's age, except that now he wore the Konohagakure headband. Before Orochimaru said anything else, the group found themselves surrounded by a dark wave and in the blink of an eye, they were standing only a few feet from the hospital's entrance. The hospital was in a full alarm situation, all of the experienced medic teams staying for the shift. Sakura herself didn't have the night shift today, it was Tsunade's call, but after Kiba came... she decided to stay too, she had a bad, very bad, feeling about this... Her fingernails bit into the skin of her crossed arms as a cool wind blew around them, raising the hair on their arms. A cool wind that was almost unusual for Konoha's spring... They waited out of the hospital, just the three of them, her, Tsunade and Kiba. Each passing second made them grow uneasy, restless... And then suddenly, the Inuzuka sniffed the air and went very still, his eyes widening slightly. "They're here!" he called to the two women who were standing a little behind him, and without waiting for a reply, he rushed to the entrance of the hospital. "Bring the stretcher!" Tsunade called the medics standing just inside the hospital building, as she and Sakura followed Kiba. Although he knew how bad the situation could be thanks to his strong sense of smell... Nothing could prepare Kiba for what he saw when he met the group. "Holy..." he whispered, staring at the blue haired boy, the terrible wounds all over his small body... Sakura had to cover her mouth with her hand at the horrific view... the child's state was... oh god she couldn't even come up with the words! It was awful... What happened, who could have done this to a child, she wanted to ask... but time was ticking for Mitsuki so she didn't say anything. Tsunade approached the group with two other medics that were bringing the stretcher and almost froze at the view. Sure, she had overcome her fear of blood but this did not mean she was ready to see a child in this horrifying state... Carefully she took the child from the man's arms and the cold hands in contact with hers made her shiver... they seemed familiar but the blonde didn't say a word as she put Mitsuki on the stretcher as carefully as she could, as if he were made of glass. "Take him to the surgery room!" Orderly chaos ensued as they entered the building, seasoned medics trying to keep their professional demeanor when they saw the situation. Running beside the stretcher, the previous Hokage was also doing a quick check-up to see what had happened... And the things she found out sent chills down her spine... "I need two chikatsu teams inside, and three medics to help us with the minor wounds," she said crisply. She had gotten over her initial shock - the emergency of saving a life taking over. Her eyes flickered for a moment to the man who had carried the child here... She knew it was him. There was no way she would mistake it... Words weren't needed between them, she watched as the golden orbs of the man moved only for a moment from the wounded child and looked into her hazel ones. Tsunade couldn't say it out loud because of the many people that clearly did not know who he really was but the sadness in Orochimaru's eyes were so clear that she needed to reassure him... so she moved her lips and simply mouthed the mute words, in hopes he would understand them: 'We'll save him...' Sakura ran ahead of the stretcher and led the way to the surgery room but before the doors closed she heard something. "Mitsuki!!!" yelled the Hokage's son. "You just hang on, do you hear me? Don't you dare give up on us! Don't ever give up! Mitsuki!!!" As the doors of the surgery hall closed on his face, Boruto came to a dead stop, losing his voice. He just stood there, gaping at the doors behind which his best friend just disappeared, and tears began running down his cheeks. Then he felt two strong arms grab him, and unconsciously snuggled into Naruto's embrace. ... "Oh God, that's a lot of blood..." "They practically flayed the boy alive..." "Who could do such a thing...?" As Mitsuki was connected to a number of machines, Sakura tried her best to tune out the comments of her colleagues. It was already unsettling, seeing the child who was so perfectly healthy the other day, so full of energy and life, broken and badly hurt in front of them... As the heart machine caught up and the steady beeping filled the hall, Sakura let the calm feeling it brought take over as she approached Tsunade. "What's his general condition?" she asked, professionally keeping the trembling out of her voice. "This can go wrong in so many ways in a very short time," Tsunade said, and although she was a little more composed, she too was clearly shaken. "We need blood, he had lost about a fourth..." Sakura gasped at that. "And the kid has type O..." "Then I can donate him!" "No... We need you here. I already organized one Chikatsu team for the sword wound on his stomach, but... I need your help with the burns..." "Burns?!" "There are huge burns caused by electricity across his chest, that’s gonna be the hardest to handle... This is gonna be a very difficult surgery." "On his... chest...?" Sakura asked weakly. Tsunade sighed. "I hope whatever kind of monster who caused these burns rot in hell... They are too close to his heart... We are gonna have to be extra careful..." "Tsunade-sama... Do you think we will..." "If we get these and his chakra loss under control and his heart stays strong enough, the others are more or less trivial!" Tsunade said, looking at her. As unlikely as it was, she found herself almost wishing she could use her old teammate’s expertise right now. "Izumo is already working on his arm, and we can deal with the minor burns and his ribs after we got the hardest part out of the way." "Just how much did the poor boy suffer...?" the pink haired medic asked numbly, and her mentor sighed again. "One thing is for sure... They really intended to kill this child..." Sakura didn't know what to say to that. And then they heard quick, chaotic beeping sounds coming from the heart machine. "Sakura-san... Tsunade-sama..." one of the medics called out, but Sakura was already hurrying over. To her astonishment, and shock as well... She found Mitsuki with his eyes slightly open, trying to move around on the stretcher, but his movements were weak. And then he crumpled his face... ...in pain, Sakura realized in horror. "The drugs?" she asked sharply, looking up at the medic who was in charge of that. "Half a minute until they take effect..." the man replied feebly - they didn't expect him to regain consciousness. An immense feeling of mercy overpowered Sakura as she kept looking at Mitsuki... ... He didn't know where he was... Wasn't he supposed to be dead already? He was so sure of it when darkness took him in his father's arms... Yet death shouldn't be so painful, right? His chest hurt so much that it felt like someone had lit it on fire... And the constant, annoying metallic sound echoing in his head was not helping, if not making things more unsettling... Why was this happening...? He felt someone grabbing his hand gently when he tried to bring it to his chest. He opened his eyes just barely enough to see a beautiful, pink haired woman looking down from a haze of light at him, an eternal look of mercy on her face. Was she... an angel...? "Sssh, Mitsuki, it's okay baby, it's gonna be alright..." The woman's voice echoed, and for some reason, the boy felt himself trusting her, just like that. "Stay with us now, baby, we're gonna patch you up and everything will work out..." Mitsuki blinked slowly, and hoped that she would get his message... That he trusted her... "Now count down from ten for me, can you do this?" The boy blinked again, slower. He heard the angel start to murmur a soft melody, something he remembered from a long time ago... Something a mother might have been singing to her baby... "Little child, be not afraid, The rain pounds harsh against the glass Like an unwanted stranger, There is no danger, I am here tonight..." Mitsuki felt waves of calmness engulf him and pain completely ebbed away as he thought of a mother he never had... ... "Little child, be not afraid, The storm clouds mask a beloved moon, And its candle light beams Still keep pleasant dreams, I am here tonight..." Sakura tried to keep her composure as the beeping sounds calmed down and Mitsuki relaxed, his eyes closing as the drugs finally took effect. She leaned over, softly kissing the boy on the forehead, sending a silent prayer as she did so. 'Please... please let us save him...'

#boruto:sacrifices #boruto #mitsuki #sarada #boruto fanfiction #naruto fanfiction #tw:blood

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veinereastath · 4 years

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Far Cry: New Dawn was a disaster, and here’s why.

Okay, just to be clear - this is my personal opinion, not pure, cold facts that I’m trying to push down people’s throats. I just felt the sudden urge to break down piece by piece my utter hatred towards this game. So, let’s go. What exactly went wrong with it, and why Far Cry 5 was way better? I will try to present my ramblings and point of view by putting both of these games side by side. So, when reading every sentence in this... thing, add in your head a “it’s vei’s opinion” bit to avoid misunderstandings. Thanks in advance! First thing, to make everything clear - Far Cry 5 was not a perfect game. No, actually, it was far from so; there are many games much better plot-wise, with more entertaining gameplay, bigger world, more interesting side quests and so on. But, one thing for sure, this game has a spirit, an unique aura that makes many people want to come back to it and replay it over and over. The way Ubisoft portrayed Hope County is absolutely fantastic - the music, the landscapes, the characters. It was something new, something fresh, and despite quite a lot sceptical voices when the first trailers came out, it turned out really well, and in general, people really liked this game, or loved it even. Yeah, some people hate the endings, the fact that every single one of them is bad one way or the other and that you can’t basically win (I always thought this was fantastic, because, hey, you can’t be a perfect hero every time - even so, I love how this game, Seeds especially, mock the “hero attitude” that protagonist tries to have). But even so, Far Cry 5 was mostly a success, right? And the canon ending when the nukes get dropped seemed to leave a perfect opportunity for a sequel. So, what could go wrong? Well, about that...

1. How long is this game? New Dawn is short. It’s fucking short, because I installed it right after it became available (fun fact, this was the first and the last game I ever pre-ordered, so imagine how excited I must’ve been), and started playing it as soon as I could. In my case, it was around 2-3 am. I had a break then, woke up at 7 am and continued playing. I was playing it slowly - completing the side quests, because I wanted to know what has changed in Hope County, and, of course, I was looking for some easter eggs regarding the Seeds (surprised pikachu - there weren’t any, Old Compound, John’s bunker and Ranch are too obvious). Took me around 5 hours to move on and actually start playing the main story. I was pretty sure that it will take me at least 10-15 hours to complete it (why was I thinking so, don’t ask me, I guess I still have way too high expectations after what Witcher 3 expansions have shown me). Again, surprised pikachu! I finished the whole game in 16 hours. Sixteen. Including liberating all the outposts (1 star in each, didn’t bother to get 3) and finish all side-missions + driving around the County just to look around. The hell? And it wasn’t a DLC? Just for a little comparison, because, yes, FC5 can also be completed pretty damn fast if you rush it, but my 1st playthrough of it, with all the quests and admiring the landscapes took me 33 hours. Which leads us to the next point on this god forsaken list, and that is... 2. The map.

The next reason why I am shocked this game wasn’t a DLC - the heckitty hecck they did with the map in New Dawn. Radiation zones? Sign me the hell up, they make sense, are cool and stuff, but adding them just so you could bite off half of the original map is stupid, and extremely lazy thing to do. Okay, you can take off some parts, but if you’re doing so, add something new - some new paths, caves, mountain routes, something. And no, expeditions don’t count. To make it worse, the parts that were deleted were one of the best parts of the FC5 storyline. Faith’s Gate, Drubman’s Marina, Jacob’s Armory, Wolf’s Den, and the fucking Veteran’s Center. The opportunity to make this a haunted location with an entertaining quest in it was HUGE and it was absolutely wasted. It’s not like they couldn’t done it, we’ve got the mission in old Joseph’s statue, and the crocodile pikachu in Inquisitor’s Grave (which, by the way, shouldn’t actually exist - this bunker was blown up to pieces, but it seemed pretty decent in New Dawn, there are barely any sings of explosions, not to mention that “The Confession” room is untouched!). You bought this game with an intention to actually go back in time and find out about something that FC5 didn’t tell you? Kekus maximus, you don’t. Have some photographs instead (which are a nice addition, but seem lazy). To give this post even more personal hatred - I really don’t like the Henbane River region, so you could literally hear my heart breaking when I saw that we got 50% of the River, 80% of the Valley and 10% of the Whitetails, which were my absolute favorite. So fun!

3. The Villains. I must admit, in the trailers, back when the hype for this game was insane, Mickey and Lou seemed to be quite interesting. Even though back then it was obvious that Highwaymen won’t have that kind of depth that Eden’s Gate had, it was still something I was looking forward to, even though those vibes aren’t really my cup of tea; but most of my excitement was born from my love for Far Cry 5, so if course I had to try out the sequel. So yes, the trailers were quite nice (just not the live action one - that was a fucking disaster, and killed my hype for a few days afterwards).

Mickey and Lou were quite fun, but to little extent, sadly. I liked their sister-sister dynamics, they really seemed close, and it was nice that shey were so different from each other - Mickey was more calculating, while Lou was living for the action and brutality in itself. The Highwaymen as a faction in itself wasn’t really that great for me, because their only purpose was to cause mayhem, and I simply don’t like something like this. But the sisters were something different, right? No, they weren’t, and that’s the point. I felt like there was little to no depth in their actions - it was all for fun, and I find this just boring and pointless (pr maybe I’m the boring one). I know that this is often how the world works - people take and destroy simply because they can and because it’s considered cool. We suck as a species, that’s official and well known, but I expected something more entertaining from a videogame. Maybe I shouldn’t, but I did. And Mickey and Lou were literally Highwaymen members with a VIP crown above their heads and nothing more. They left their mother? Okay, that is something that could lead to other interesting things. They killed their father for power? Huh, alright, I can work with that. The point is, it didn’t give them that much depth, their main purpose was to plunder everything. Which would be all good and nice if they were some kind of a side-faction. But this was The Villains™, and I wanted to feel something more towards them. And to be honest? I didn’t even hate them. I felt absolutely nothing, they just existed and I didn’t care, because they didn’t make this game interesting. What I will say now may sound brutal, but I will say it: I don’t consider two young people (they were around 19/20) just wanting to blow everything up “for lulz” a good villains. I fucking don’t. It was a huge downfall after what FC5 has given to us. I was just so bored when fighting the Highwaymen, because they were shallow, and their personalities were only focused on one thing.

Of course, there is also Ethan. Yes, I hate him (he even has a very punchable face, what a coincidence!), but I admit he was somehow a nice touch in this game. Yes, he was a prideful, irritating kid, but while I was just utterly bored by the Twins, Ethan actually managed to make me hate him. The only thing that I’m quite bothered by is that I don’t believe that he’s actual, biological son of Joseph. To put it shortly, and say it louder for the people in the back - The Twins were just meh. Boring. How was the situation in FC5 better? Oh boy.

Putting their obvious... Attractive physical appearance aside, and focusing purely on their personalities, because that’s what I’m trying to explain - they were something else, and something new. Ubisoft took a risk with creating four villains for a single game, because it’s extremely hard to give each one of them the screentime they deserve, and make them interesting and unique. Did FC5 succeed? In a way, yes. I’m not saying that Seeds are absolutely perfect villains (they aren’t), but they can eat Twins for breakfast and still stay hungry. To show you what I mean, have some short descriptions: JOSEPH: Cult Leader, “The Father”, a person who claims to hear the voice of God himself. Someone from a broken family and difficult life, who was in prison (according to song dedicated to him), lost one job after another, lost his wife, killed his daughter, and then formed a religious cult. JACOB: military veteran suffering from PTSD, with a massive knowledge about history and psychology, someone who literally brainwashed nearly half, if not more of the County, and manages to combine religion (something he clearly isn’t really fond of) and personal, darwinistic look on life. JOHN: former lawyer, a person skilled in adapting to any environment, charismatic manipulator abused as a kid, forced to spend most of his life pretending to be someone he hated to be, battled with addictions, emotionally unstable and with sadistic outburts. FAITH: young woman devoid of purpose in life, also battling with addictions in the past, probably on the verge of suicide at some point, who was manipulated (and quite possibly drugged) in order to comply; a broken girl hiding her pain behind lovely smiles. Sounds pretty diverse, right? And I bet that at least one member of this family was somehow entertaining for everyone. Now, here’s what New Dawn has given to us: MICKEY: the more calculating sister; young girl who followed her father and chose brutal life, creating entertainment for herself by making others suffer. Shows some kind of regret when you defeat her by the end of the game. LOU: the more brutal sister; young girl who followed her father and chose brutal life, creating entertainment for herself by making others suffer. Doesn’t show any regrets towards her actions.

And honestly, that’s it. I really tried to write something more for the Twins, but I couldn’t put my finger on anything. That’s all we know. And yes, I know that there is a major difference between them and the Seeds, which is the age gap - FC5 villains are simply older and have more life experience, but honestly, this doesn’t make it better. Mickey and Lou could have much more depth and be far more interesting despite them being young. Age is not a problem in such a case. I suggest to compare Mickey and Lou’s descriptions with the Faith one, since she’s just few years older. There is a difference, isn’t it? And even when playing both of these games, the Seeds just seem to be better developed than the Twins. Ubisoft did something weird, because they managed to focus on four villains and make each one of them interesting in their own way, but made just two main villains flat, and nearly identical. 4. Radio calls. This is a continuation of the point above, because it’s also something I wanted to point out and is connected to the villains of both games. The things you can hear directly from The Twins can be mostly described as “hey rabbit, you’re pissing us off a bit”. Same with the things they say at outposts and direct them to the Highwaymen - it’s always about the same thing, and there isn’t a single line that I found interesting or worth remembering (okay, my bad, the fact that Mickey and Lou seemed to be dissapointed after Nana chose to stick with the Captain rather than them was a nice touch). Meanwhile, I can recite most of the dialogue lines from the Seeds from my memory, and it’s something I could do after 2 playthroughs. They seem to be on a whole different level - and yes, it is true that to some point, the “rabbits” thing is similar to “the weak” theme of Jacob, or “the sinners” in case of John, but it didn’t seem to be that much tiring to hear about. Faith’s radio calls were interesting, because with each one of them you could hear her demeanor towards the Deputy changing - in the beginning, she was friendly, but after you destroyed Joseph’s statue, she was scared, and at the final confrontation - maliciously hostile. Jacob started his radio calls history with a threat towards you, and kind off keeps that all the time, but the closer you get to the final meeting with him, the more... Okay, how the fuck do I describe it in a non-thot way amused (I guess we can call it this way?) he sounded. He was still far from friendly, you still didn’t have any doubts he’s your enemy, but there was something in those radio calls, something that suggested he actually sees the Deputy as something more than just enemy, as a tool he crafted all by himself and he was proud of it. John welcomes you with this cheesy ad at the beginning of the game, and as time goes on, he goes even more obsessed with making you atone and confess; not to mention his absolutely fantastic reactions to stealing his house and destroying his sign. His calls are something unpredictable, because once he’s all official and charismatic, but suddenly he switches to this ominous mode that actually makes you want stop for a bit and look around you, as if he was lurking somewhere. To sum it up, this game made you feel like if you were actually developing some kind of a relationship with each one of the family member. But the radio calls from the Twins seem to be always the same, it’s all about “rabbits” and “problem solving”. Yes, it might've been better if only one sister was all about it, and the other one had something else on her mind, but making them nearly identical was a lazy move. 5. Landscapes.

Far Cry 5 was amazing, because every region was different and had something else to offer. Henbane River was full of Bliss, which created weird hallucinations, Faith dancing around you was also pretty interesting addition, and The Pilgrimage was also a nice touch (I recommend going with it, it’s a really nice experience, actually). Holland Valley was the pure definition of Montana countryside, and it felt fantastic to walk around and see those little farms, cows, windmills and so on. Whitetail Mountains were also something unique, with less open spaces, a huge amount of wildlife, combining massive mountains with deep forests. And even though the colors of this game could be simply described as beige-green, I didn’t really feel bored when wandering around. New Dawn had a cool concept, actually - makind the post-apocalyptic world colorful, instead of making it a grey wasteland was something new and I was excited. And, honestly, I really liked how it all looked like during the first 2 hours of playthrough. After that... I was just so done. The pink colour in itself wasn’t bad, really, but the way they added it everywhere made me feel sick. Those flowers were nearly everywhere and they were always the same. And while I love screenshoting landscapes in games, New Dawn didn’t really felt like something I wanted to spend time on. I like to admire the views of FC5, but not in ND. Combining the small as hell map with nearly the same flowers on your every step was a bad solution. 6. Other. To mention other things - well, I guess we could mention the music, but I feel it isn’t fair, actually. Both games did this well in some way, FC5 songs are certainly something unforgettable, and I mean both the cult ones as well as the OST. New Dawn did what it could - gave Highwaymen music that fits them. The OST, however, isn’t that good. Maybe because it just doesn’t feel unique to me, while the different type of music in each region in FC5 is, for me, unforgettable in many ways. I won’t really talk about The Deputy >> The Judge metamorphosis, because everyone sees it in a different way. I personally don’t consider it as a bad thing, it’s quite a nice plot twist, and I like it (even though I went with a totally different path with my deputy OC).

Okay, I think it’s time to get to the main point. Why I consider New Dawn as a disaster? The Villains were devoid of any depth and felt exactly the same, the map was small as hell, the story was way too short (and these two things should be enough to make this game a DLC, not an actual installment of the franchise), the landscapes were repetitive, 90% of what was left from FC5 (locations, for example) didn’t get a chance to shine. Just imagine how much more entertaining this game could be if we would find some old recording of the Eden’s Gate songs somewhere. If there were mentions of some terryfingly huge wolves roaming around, if the members of Prosperity actually mentioned something about John Seed (which house they are living in!), if we could visit the remnants of the Faith’s Gate, hear the ominous “Only You” when approaching the Veteran’s Center and read some old notes about experiments that were happening in there, and so on. Basically, the main opportunity that got wasted was focusing on continuating FC5 legacy in a more respectful way. The things I mentioned above seem like small details, but they really could make the experience something else entirely. So, yeah. I hate New Dawn, in case someone didn’t notice. :)

#listen I wrote it between 12 pm and 2 am #I couldn't sleep because of this #and I bet I forgot about something important #but whatever #I just needed to get it out of my system #fcnd #far cry new dawn #far cry 5

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lilaclovestowrite · 5 years

Text

Arcade Chaos (Katsuki x Cheerful!Reader)

“ Bakugo oneshot with cheerful!reader at arcade plz? ”

Type: Request from Quotev

Words: 2556

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki x Reader

Genre: Hint of fluff, lots of Katsuki rage lol, and mainly humor

Summary: Somehow, you’re able to drag your crush, Katsuki Bakugou, to an arcade for the day. Of course, this creates chaos, since the Bakusquad happens to be there as well. But maybe, after all the chaos, you’ll finally be able to confess your true feelings to him!

Warnings:

None

💥💥💥

“Why the heck are we in this lame place!?” questioned an irritated Katsuki.

“Cuz arcades are fun!” I answered, leading him in by the hand. He was very resistant—but he was no match for my nonexistent strength.

“Fun? This place is for nerds who live in their mom’s basement. Just like stupid—”

“Deku, yeah, yeah,” I finished for him with a blasé attitude. “I’ve heard it all before. Why don’t you just focus on something else besides Midoriya?”

“Pfft, like what?”

“Uh, something that actually matters. Video games, obviously.”

“I’m leaving.” Just as he tried to escape, I pulled him back.

“Get yer hands off me!” He flicked his wrist away from me, and huffed as he scanned the arcade’s interior.

“Come on, please stay with me for just an hour? PLEEEEEAAAASSSEEEEEE~!?” I forcefully smiled, holding my hands together in a purposely pathetic pose.

“Well, you already kidnapped me so—whatever. And what’s the difference between these games and the ones on my phone? Only geeks play these chunky, 8-bit fossils.”

“Trust me. You’ll see,” I vaguely left as an answer.

After I dragged Katsuki around the building, I asked him if anything caught his eye. “So, do you know what game you wanna play?”

“’Nuke the Zombies’ didn’t look too trashy, I guess.”

I blinked once. “Uhh, how about something more child-friendly?”

“Fine. How about ’Blow up the Bunny’ then?”

Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

“Let’s not.”

But what we didn’t know, is that our other friends happened to be here as well! Eijiro, Denki, Hanta, and Mina approached us all at once.

“Wow! Hey, guys! Nice to see you here,” Eijiro greeted.

Hanta laughed. “Didn’t really expect to see you two here. . .specifically, together.”

“The heck you mean by that!?” Katsuki nearly erupted, but I held him back.

“Oh, y’know—just figured you’d be at home plotting your revenge for Midoriya or something.”

His response only earned him a snarl from Katsuki. But Mina, on the other hand, decided to push all of Katsuki’s buttons without thinking.

“Maybe they’re on a date!!” she gasped. “WAIT, ARE YOU—”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!! This isn’t a heckin’ date!” Katsuki debunked. “She bugged me nonstop about coming to this trash hole, and finally got on my nerves, so I came.”

By the smug look on my friend’s faces—they were obviously not buying it. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have minded it if were a date. Considering I’ve always had a thing for Katsuki. People may have thought I was crazy for liking someone so spastic with anger management issues—but there was more to him than just his atrocious personality. He had a lot of admirable qualities like uh, well, I’ll think of some later.

“Alright then~” Mina giggled.

“Guys, when can we play some games?” asked Denki.

“Right now!” Eijiro made an immediate beeline for Whac-A-Mole. “Bakugou, you gotta try out this game! I used to play it when I was younger, and it’s so much fun.”

“The heck is it?”

Katsuki stormed over and studied the attributes of the vintage game, while Eijiro explained the rules of it to him.

“And when the mole thing rises up, you just hit it with this mallet!”

“Pfft, sounds like a baby game. Pass.”

“Aw, c’mon!” I joined in, trying to convince him to try it out.

Hanta agreed, “Yeah! Don’t be such a wet blanket, man.”

After all our nagging, he eventually gave in and reluctantly picked up the game mallet. “Gross, a thousand brats probably got their diseased germs all over this thing.”

“They’re not as diseased as your attitude, that’s for sure—”

“COME AGAIN, KNOCK-OFF PIKACHU!?!”

“Hey, hey,” Eijiro tried calming. “Just try one round at least!”

“Ugh, fine.”

Once the game started, the plastic moles slowly rose up from their holes, and each one was hammered by Katsuki. He displayed his obvious boredom through stance and expression.

“This game is about as fun as watching paint dry.”

“Oh, it gets harder,” I snickered.

“This is about as hard as using Deku as a football.”

But he was soon showed otherwise—as the game’s difficulty increased. The moles now only stayed up for half a second now, and even Katsuki was having a hard time keeping up.

“C’mon, dude! Whack them!” Eijiro cheered.

“THIS STUPID MALLET ISN’T WORKING!!!” he screeched, causing the rest of the people around us to stare. It was a bit embarrassing. But that’s my penalty for going out in public with Katsuki. “DIE, RATS, DIEEEEEE!!!!” So, he dropped the mallet, and just started exploding the moles with his hands.

And of course, the result was he melted the arcade machine. All the moles were now nothing but liquefied plastic, which was totally uncalled for compared to the games standards.

I walked back to my friend’s table with Katsuki by my side.

“Alright, I just called Katsuki’s therapist and he was able to, er—scream out his issues. So, I think we’re good!” I informed with a thumbs up.

“My therapist can bite rocks.”

I let out a sigh of disappointment at his rude response.

“Hey, (Y/N)! Did you see any games that caught your eye?” Hanta wondered.

I answered with, “Hmm. . .well, I did wanna play Whac-A-Mole. But now it’s melted into the flooring, so. . .”

“It wasn’t even fun,” Katsuki downplayed. “I have more fun beating Deku. Wait—they should make a game called Whac-A-Deku. Now, I’d play that.”

We only stared at our friend, mildly disturbed.

Hanta said, “Pac-Man it is, then.”

After playing a few more games, we headed to the eating area. We ordered some pizza and soda, so we just chatted as we ate.

“You guys, what do you think is better? Pac-Man or Ms. Pac-Man?” asked Mina.

“They’re the same thing, Raccoon Eyes.”

“NO, PAC-MAN IS A MAN, AND MS. PAC-MAN IS A WOMAN.”

I awkwardly nibbled on my pizza, watching the conversation between them take a nosedive for the worst.

“Guys, is butter a carb?” Katsuki asked us.

Denki replied, “I don’t know—I don’t watch Gordon Ramsey.”

“Whatever, I’m getting cheese fries.” He launched his pizza in the trash can (which he carelessly missed), and headed back to the ordering station.

Just as Katsuki got out of earshot, Mina immediately began interrogating me.

“So. . .ya sure you two weren’t on a date~?”

I went red with total shock and embarrassment. “What? No way! He doesn’t like me like that.”

Hanta chuckled. “He liked you enough for you to literally drag him here. That’s like, a deathwish for most people.”

I knew he had a point.

Eijiro said, “Plus, he needs a girlfriend. He needs someone to keep him fairly sane.”

All their talking had me blushing. Yes, I liked Katsuki a lot—but I never thought it’d go any further than that. However, you never know about these kind of things.

“So. . .should I ask him out or something?” I hesitantly questioned.

“Go ahead! I mean, there’s not a line of girls trying to date him, that’s for sure.”

I took it into consideration. Maybe today, I should try to make a move. I mean, YOLO, amirite?

“Alright, I’ll try next time I see him,” I gulped.

They all smiled uncontrollably, but instinctively stopped once Katsuki returned to the table.

“Why’re you idiots all staring at me like a bunch of idiots?”

“Oh, uh—well. . .” I mentally prepared myself for rejection. I knew all my friends were bursting at the seams, waiting for me to confess my feelings to Katsuki. But it was just so awkward. So, I chickened out. “I uh, wanted to know if you were gonna share your cheese fries with me.”

“What does share mean?”

I could hear Eijiro facepalm. So, I ended the awkwardness with, “Nothing! Just eat your fries—”

Later, we all continued searching for what else to play.

So, I cleared my throat to get everyone’s attention. “Ahem. How about we do something that’s multiplayer?”

“You mean like a competition?” Katsuki wondered, a psychotic smile forming on his face once the idea of winning first place entered his mind. Now, we were all scared.

“Uh, you’re smiling like a psycho again—I MEAN, uh, yeah! We just need to find a game that allows two players. . .and one that isn’t taken.” As I examined the room and every one of its consoles, I found one that caught my eye.

Dance Dance Revolution (DDR).

“Hmm, I know! That one!” I excitedly pointed to the one I was referring to.

“OMG, that one is so cool! I used to play it when I was younger!” Mina beamed.

“Oh, great. Dancing? I thought you’d pick something that would actually hold my interest. Like no-scoping zombies or something.”

I crossed my arms and said the thing I knew would make him do what I wanted. “What? You think you can’t beat me? Think I’m gonna win instead~?”

“Pfft, in your dreams. I’d beat you at any game at any time of the week. You’re a lame gamer.”

“You think so, eh? Well, let’s just find out!” I skipped over to the DDR machine and patiently waited for the two children to finish up their round. However, patience wasn’t an idea Katsuki could process in his arrogant brain.

“Hit the road, punks! I’ve got a game to win!” He shoved the two kids off, and cleared the platforms for both of us. I tried mouthing an apology to the two schoolboys, but they had already escaped to find their parents.

Katsuki extended his arms and stretched out his fingers. Eijiro and Hanta approached me, asking if I was sure this was a good idea. I knew Katsuki was unhealthily obsessed with winning, but that only made it more fun being his opponent, at least in my opinion! (Plus, seeing him fail was ten-times funnier).

“Go easy on her, dude,” Denki tried helping out.

“No way, Calamari. I’m not a braindead loser like you.” Finishing up his mini exercise, he stepped onto the dance platform. “What’re you waiting for, girly?” Katsuki snarked at me with a confident smirk.

I stepped on mine as well, and scrolled through the list of songs to perform. “We could start with easy mode,” I offered.

“No way. Go for the hardest mode you can find.”

Someone was going to break their legs, and it wasn’t going to be Midoriya this time around.

“Oh. . .well, uh—alright!” I landed my finger on this Vocaloid song called The Disappearance of Hatsune Miku, which was apparently the most challenging one on this menu. “Alright, there’s the modes: Beginner, Intermediate, Pro, Master, and uh, Death.”

“Choose Death then.”

With a cloud of anxiousness looming over my figure, I pressed that option. I didn’t know what to expect—but I was scared.

“How bad can it be?” chuckled Eijiro.

Oh, but it was pain. It was the most torture I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.

When the gameplay started, it wasn’t too hard in the intro of the song. But when the fast part came, it was like we were dancing to save our lives. People in the building came to spectate us and our anguish—but our friends cheered us on the entire time.

“REEEEEEEEE, END MEEEEEEEEEE!!!” Katsuki screeched as he barely managed to touch the flashing tiles on his platform.

I felt as if I was jumping across a room full of nails sticking straight up. I could barely keep up with the beat of the song, and I was already exhausted. But we weren’t even halfway into it.

“BEATING ALL FOR ONE IS EASIER THAN THIS TORTURE MACHINE!” roared Katsuki.

“You’re almost to the beat break!” Hanta reassured.

Finally, the first verse of the song ended. So, our legs could take a break for a few seconds. Katsuki and I were desperately trying to regain oxygen, since it was such a rush. When we looked at our current scores—I saw that I was luckily five points higher than Katsuki.

“WHAT THE HECK!? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE!?” he raged.

“HA.”

Everyone cheered for me at the moment, but Katsuki wasn’t having it. He was more than determined to beat me now.

When the gameplay resumed, we continued to push ourselves to dance on the correct tiles. Our scores were nearing closer together, and it was only a matter of time before one of us passed each other for good and won.

“ALMOST THERE,” Katsuki spoke to himself, as he glimpsed at his own score.

But just the moment before it was all over, Denki accidentally activated his Quirk due to the hype building up in his system—and it shot out at the DDR machine, causing it to short-circuit and die.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” Katsuki bellowed out, as he fell on his knees and placed his hands on the now black screen. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU, STUPID PIKACHU!!!”

However, it was pointless because Denki already fried his brain and went dumb. “Wheyyyy~”

Eijiro couldn’t help but laugh hysterically, along with Hanta and Mina. It only made Katsuki’s blood boil—and frankly, I couldn’t help but giggle too.

“I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS PAIN.” Katsuki stood up and stalked out of the arcade. Of course, I followed him.

“Katsuki! Don’t be upset. It’s only a game.”

“I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING!” he fumed. “I COULD HAVE BROKEN THE STUPID RECORD—”

“Shh, just relax! They’ll probably fix it, and we can always come back later.” I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, which he surprisingly didn’t flick off.

“Hmph. I’m never playing that demon game ever again.”

I laughed softly. “Well, there’s plenty of other games. But other than the fact Denki shut off the game—did you have fun?”

He turned his head to me, and for I moment, I swear I saw his eyes soften by a fraction. “Maybe a little—but not that much.”

I’ll take that as a yes, coming from him.

But now that we were together with no other distractions, I decided to take a risk and slide my hand into his. He widened his eyes—since affection was probably a concept far removed from his unfriendly mentality.

I looked down at the floor and smiled, saying, “I was thinking, Katsuki. Would you uh, would you consider being my Player Two?”

I didn’t even care how cheesy I was being at this point.

“The heck does that mean?”

Our friends screamed from a distance, “SHE’S ASKING YOU OUT, GENIUS!”

Katsuki stiffened up, since he was struggling to find a riposte to throw back in my face. But it was relentless. Instead, he let out a sigh and told me, “That’s the sappiest and most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard—but sure. You’re not as annoying as the others.”

I strained my cheeks from smiling so much, and I threw my arms gleefully around Katsuki. The others were probably afraid he’d blow up or something, but thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he returned the favor by awkwardly rubbing my head.

“They’re so cute together~” sighed Mina.

“Yeah, Bakugou better not screw it up,” Eijiro added with a smile.

“It’s Bakugou, he screws everything up.”

“True.”

Maybe coming to this place was a good idea after all~

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

drawing new lines, chapter ten (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

past chapters here on ao3 | word count: 3594

AN: Already time for the penultimate chapter. Thank you all SO, so much for all the kind words, the sweet reviews, the tumblr asks, everything. I know this ship isn’t in its heyday anymore due to the new season but the fact that you still care enough to read and show some appreciation is the nicest thing, and is so encouraging as a writer. So thank you for all that YOU guys do for me, too <3 Writ beta’d this, of course, and continues to be the best, of course.

Of all the places that Brooke has ever wanted to get blackout drunk, a wedding shower is the last place she’s expected from herself.

It’s not that she wants to be messy, because she really doesn’t. She just wants the entire thing to be wiped from her brain in the near future, because so far, it’s absolutely nauseating.

Everything is just so fake. The ’congratulations’ banners that hang from every wall, the napkins and cupcakes and party favours and plates that are inscribed with N and B because Nina and her fiancé are somehow still together, somehow looking nauseatingly happy on the outside, even though Brooke knows the truth about how Nina’s been questioning her decisions. All of the fake happiness isn’t real, none of it is real when the two of them are probably going to break up a few years after getting married, when they’re not in the honeymoon phase anymore. It’s stupid.

So maybe Brooke’s jaded. A little bitter. But she’s allowed to be.

“You’re missing a riveting game of ‘pin the dick on the dude’, especially ‘cause someone just pinned one on his face.” Detox slides into the seat next to Brooke, a mimosa glass in each hand.

“Somehow, this is a version of pin the tail on the donkey that I don’t care to miss.” Brooke really doesn’t understand straight women. She doesn’t. Pinning a paper dick on a poster of Nina’s fiancé on the wall isn’t exactly high on her to-do list.

“Just wait ‘til her bachelorette party. The amount of dicks that are going to be involved? Oh boy.” Detox snickers, tapping her fingernails on the counter.

Brooke wrinkles her nose. “Are those really necessary?”

“As official bachelorette party planner, yes. All the dick decorations.” Detox wiggles her eyebrows. “Or should I say, dickorations-”

“Gross.” Brooke groans when Detox lets out a snicker. “If it’s on a dude, I don’t want it. Especially if that dude is Nina’s fiancé.”

“Is that why you’re sitting here all grumpy?” Detox hands Brooke one of the mimosas, and she doesn’t hesitate in taking a sip from it. “‘Cause of pin the tail on Ben’s crotch?”

“Is this not just so…convoluted to you?” Brooke trails her eyes around the room as she tries to come up with words to explain. But it’s hard, especially because everyone seems to be having fun. But what’s the point?

“What, party games?”

“No, everything else. Like, celebrating two people about to get married. As if half of marriages don’t end in divorce, anyway.”

Detox’s eyebrows raise to her hairline. “Woah there, wedding Scrooge. This is one of your best friends who’s about to get married, you know that, right?”

“Right,” Brooke sighs, “sorry.”

Detox shrugs. “Hey, don’t apologize to me. As long as you don’t spill to Nina about how you don’t like her schlong-related party games, I think you’re safe.”

“At least she’s happy.” Brooke looks over, sees the way Nina is giggling in delight while taking a sip of her drink.

Is Nina happy, though, when a couple of weeks ago she had been a mess over the same guy?

Brooke figures she has a chance to find out when the wedding shower ends and the guests head home, as she sticks around to help Nina tidy up the mess. It’s nice, as they clean up in tandem, Nina babbling about her dress and her wedding photographer, both of which make Brooke’s eyebrows rise when Nina tells her the costs.

“The venue is so nice, B, it’s gonna be by the lake and next to a winery, which means so many pretty pictures! We’re going on another tour of it in a few weeks and I can’t wait to start thinking about decorations and colour schemes and the flowers, all of the flowers. Will flower crowns for the bridesmaids be too much, you think?” Nina lets it all out in one breath, twirling the garbage bag in her hand as they clear up all the empty plates and cups.

“I bet it’ll be fine.” Brooke tries to be delicate with her words, not outright ask what she really wants to because maybe it’s a little bit rude, but-

She can’t help it.

“Nina?”

“Hmm?” Nina, sweet Nina, looks over at her with her eyes alight, a smile on her face, as if her drunk breakdown in the bathroom a few weeks had never even happened.

“So you guys are good, then?” Brooke supposes that they must be, for Nina to be back to her regular level of excitement about the wedding planning. Because what else could even explain it?

Nina tilts her head, her eyebrows in a gentle furrow. “What do you mean?”

Christ. Brooke doesn’t want to have to spell it out. “It’s just…a little different from how you were feeling the night of Detox’s birthday, that’s all. When you were slightly panicking over whether this was the right choice.”

Brooke’s curious, that’s it. Because how could Nina have jumped from the two extremes so fast? It makes no sense. How do you decide on someone just like that, after being on the fence for so long?

Nina shrugs. “It’s not me settling, if that’s what you’re wondering. Sometimes you just gotta go with what you have, y’know? He’s good enough, and I’m happy.”

Is she?

“Are you? A few weeks ago you were crying in the bathroom into a toilet bowl.” Brooke doesn’t mean for it to come out so bluntly, but it’s true, especially when Nina had looked more lost than Brooke had ever seen her before.

“I was also drunk, B.” Nina gives Brooke a look as if she should know better, and it makes her want to scream.

“But they always say that drunk words are sober thoughts.” Brooke knows she’s pushing into territory that she shouldn’t, that she should be happy that her friend is happy, but-

“Why do you care so much?” Nina turns towards her, leaning an arm against the counter and Brooke has to stop herself from shrinking under her gaze. “I was in my feelings. Relationships fluctuate, it’s normal to second guess decisions, even if they’re the right ones. I know you’re blissfully happy dating Vanessa, but not everyone is in a permanent honeymoon stage like you two.”

Brooke’s heart trips at the mention of Vanessa’s name. She’s been doing so well, trying not to think about her and pushing all feelings about her away. She’s been dealing, she has.

Because she has to.

“I’m-” Brooke pauses, because the tightening in her chest is pulling just a little too hard, making her forget any words that she can use to explain because…

Vanessa. Her smile, the way her eyes flutter when she sleeps, the way she loves snuggling with Henry, the way she yells at the TV.

But Brooke needs to scrub her brain of the memories, because Vanessa isn’t hers and won’t ever be hers, even though the entire world fucking thinks so because they had been such good actors.

Brooke’s always been good at nuking herself.

“You’re what?” Nina raises an eyebrow as she waits for her to continue, her face a little softer, less defensive. Brooke wants to laugh, she really does, at how Nina’s spun the focus onto her now. She’s good.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Vanessa and I.” So what if Brooke scrubs at the counter a little too hard, trying to get rid of an imaginary stain that’s not even there in the first place?

Nina lets out a little laugh. “What, that you’re perfect with each other? The cutest couple? Yeah, we know.”

Brooke lets out a huff, because Nina doesn’t get it, no one gets it. “It’s not like that, we’re-”

“Doing great? Just fine, so you’re trying to make me question my own relationship instead?”

“We’re not together, okay?” Brooke’s voice breaks because of course it does, and she forgets how to breathe for a second because not keeping it inside anymore somehow feels wrong, against the rules.

Those arbitrary rules, the ones that left Brooke more of a mess than she wants to admit.

They’re not together. They’re not. Brooke’s always known that. So why is it suddenly hard to draw air into her own lungs?

“You guys broke up? When?” Nina’s face softens as she drops the garbage bag in her hands, her expression shifting to one of sympathy and Brooke hates it, she does, because she doesn’t need it. “Brooke, I’m so sorry-”

“We never were! This, all of this… It wasn’t real. None of it was fucking real.”

None of it was real.

Not the kisses, not the cuddles, not the constant texting, none of it.

Brooke’s known it since the beginning, she had signed up for it willingly with Vanessa. She had been ready to fool everyone, they both had been.

So why does the reminder hurt so damn much?

“What?” Nina’s eyebrows are raising higher and higher, and Brooke can see the cogs slowly turning in her brain. “What do you mean? How? What?”

“Haven’t seen you look this lost since we went to that French restaurant and the menu wasn’t in English.” Brooke tries to offer a little smile, because maybe if she stops now, doesn’t think about it, she can still get through this unscathed.

Though Nina has other plans.

“Stop deflecting, just…what? What do you mean it wasn’t real? The two of you being practically glued to each other, the way you looked at her like some light was shining out of her head…that wasn’t real?”

“I didn’t do that.” Brooke mutters it under her breath, because she didn’t. No way.

“Shit, Brooke. From the way you both looked at each other, I thought you were starting to like, fully fall in love. I’ve never seen you so smitten. Ever, actually. That had to be real.” Nina doesn’t believe it, Brooke can tell, from the disbelieving scoff in her voice.

Brooke almost wants to share the same denial.

“She asked me to be her fake girlfriend so that she could win a bet. Literally all it was.” Brooke doesn’t mean for her voice to sound so hollow, because it’s true.

That’s all it had been. All they both signed up for. Nothing more than that.

Is that why Vanessa had pulled away?

Brooke’s heart had started to take over by convincing her that maybe, maybe, there had been more between them. But there can’t be, not when the twisting in her chest feels way more painful than any scrape, any muscle soreness from a workout class. It’s too much, the fact that one person has the capacity to make Brooke feel like this, even when she’s not physically present and breathing in front of her.

Brooke’s not sure when Vanessa had first twirled her way into her soul, pushing aside any doubts and fears in her mind without either of them even realizing that she’d done so. It’s disconcerting, to look back now and realize how much of an exception Vanessa had been to Brooke’s ironfast rules. She’d been someone that Brooke could talk to, tell anything to. Someone that Brooke had felt comfortable pulling in close to her, someone that Brooke had invited over - not for sex, but to meet her pets. Make dinner with her. Someone that Brooke had gotten closer to without even realizing, someone that Brooke still cares for so damn much-

But she can’t. It’s not worth it, not when Brooke feels like she can’t breathe anymore because she misses Vanessa so much.

“No wonder you agreed in the first place.” Nina’s voice is soft as she reaches out, squeezes Brooke’s shoulder. “You never used to date.”

“Still don’t.” It’s a bitter laugh, the one that leaves Brooke’s mouth. Because she doesn’t. And won’t.

No fake dating, either. Not when it ends like this.

“But are you telling me none of that was real? Wait, let me finish-” Nina holds up a hand when Brooke begins to protest, shushes her, and Brooke has to stop herself from letting out a huff. “You’d light up like a Christmas tree, telling me about your dates and little things about her because you liked talking about her so much. And at the holiday party you guys fit so well together, you looked at her even when she didn’t notice with this tiny little smile on your face and before you call me weird for remembering that, it’s ‘cause you’re my best friend and I’ve never seen you look smitten before. Like, ever.”

“I’m just a really good actor.” It’s fruitless, not when Brooke doesn’t believe it herself, not really. “But now that you say it, it’s weird you remembered that, Nina. Sure that’s not a bunch of bull?”

Nina gives her a look. “Please. I lie to you about how you look good in magenta, not about shit like this.”

“Wait, what is that about magenta-”

Nina waves a hand. “Point is? You had something, Brooke. Maybe you still have it, I don’t know. You gotta tell me more. But is it worth not going after just because it didn’t start out that way?”

“Maybe it isn’t. Maybe I don’t want it.” Brooke doesn’t. Not if it makes her feel this shit.

“I’m calling bullshit on that. Not when you look so happy with her.” Nina’s looking at her like it’s so easy, like being with Vanessa is something that can happen without any complications whatsoever. She doesn’t get it.

Brooke sighs. “It’s not that easy.”

If only it could be. If only she had the option of just reuniting with Vanessa and smoothing everything over, having their previous expectations give into something else, something realer. But she doesn’t even know if Vanessa feels it either, if she’s on the same page.

Hell, Brooke doesn’t even know what page she’s on herself anymore.

Vanessa shouldn’t do something as stupid as going and calling Brooke.

She shouldn’t.

Who’s to say Brooke’s going to pick up, anyway? Not when Brooke had made it clear that they’re done, that whatever existed between them was done. That she never wants to see Vanessa again.

Quite frankly? Vanessa deserves it.

Except that Vanessa misses Brooke so fucking much.

She thinks back to her last breakup with Aquaria. It had been pretty amicable on both sides, the two of them letting each other go because they just knew that they weren’t a fit. That they’d be happier off separate from one another, and that constant irritations and bickering weren’t exactly an ideal setting to build a relationship upon.

Vanessa had healed from it. Sure, she’d allowed herself a little bit of shade, a little jealousy, but as far as breakups go, it hadn’t been devastating to the immediate world around her. She had been fine.

Brooke hadn’t even been Vanessa’s actual girlfriend, but this? This feels worse.

She can’t stop picturing Brooke on her couch, Brooke reaching for her hand without even realizing it. They way they have (had) so much in common, talking about all their fears and hopes and dreams because it had felt safe. Right.

And now that the friendship is gone-

Had it been a friendship? On paper, yes. They had been partners in crime who became fast friends. But then it had been more under the guise of faking it and sure, they had been faking it in front of their friends and on social media, but then there had been so much that they hadn’t shown to others. That had just been for them.

That has to count for something, right?

Vanessa opens their text chain for the twentieth time that day, biting her lip because the unanswered message really hurts, even though she had done the same thing to Brooke a few days before that. But she has to try, she has to try and reach out to Brooke again because if she doesn’t, then she’s not going to be able to live with herself-

Incoming call from Brooke Lynn Hytes, 8:12 p.m.

Brooke needs to hang up, she can’t do this, she shouldn’t do this, she-

“Hello?”

Breathe, she needs to breathe, maybe this was a bad idea, maybe she should hang up-

“Brooke? Are you there?”

God, she needs to say something before Vanessa thinks she’s a creep or something. She’s already written notes on what to say, for god’s sake, she just needs to get it out. Except that the words are trapped in her throat, wrapped up in layers of self doubt and second guessing and maybe this is a bad idea, going with her instincts and just calling without psyching herself out of it.

She can’t.

“I can hear your loudass breathing. Imma talk, then.”

Brooke’s not a loud breather. But maybe it’s better if Vanessa takes over, because she can’t talk, not right now.

“I’m sorry I iced you out. I didn’t know what else to do because I liked it so damn much. Spending time with you and doing things and just being with you and telling you everything and I started fucking catching feelings for you and I know that’s bad, I’m sorry, ‘cause I know you’re not interested and not into that shit and it’s fine, I can tamper it down I promise even though the bet is kinda done, I just don’t wanna lose you because this last little while has been shit without you ‘cause you’re the first one I wanna tell everything and the only one I wanna turn to and it’s fucking hard-”

“I love you.”

“What?”

Brooke doesn’t mean for it to come out, and shit shit shit, it’s too much and she needs to never open her mouth again because she’s gonna keep fucking up everything around her-

“Brooke?”

Brooke doesn’t know what dying feels like but maybe it’s akin to this, because her heart has never beat so fast and the living room around her is a little hazy, a little out of focus. The clock on her wall ticks loud enough to make her flinch, adding a slow drumroll to the way the blood is rushing in her veins.

There’s no taking it back now.

Maybe Vanessa will hate her. Maybe Vanessa won’t want to see her again. But she can’t keep living like this, not anymore.

“I fucking love you, and I’m sorry.” Brooke’s sorry because it’s going to keep messing everything up, Vanessa just has a few feelings and now Brooke’s gone and said this, but she’s not taking it back, not now. She can’t.

“The hell are you sorry for? Saying that? ‘Cause I love you too, so fucking much that it hurts and I miss you so much, B.”

The way that Vanessa’s voice breaks on the phone makes Brooke’s heart drop, because she doesn’t want her to be hurt anymore, to feel upset and Brooke can’t do this over the phone, she needs to be where Vanessa is in person because it’s too far, they’re too far.

“I’m coming over.”

Brooke is five subway stops too far from Vanessa.

The pattern that her fingers tap out on her thigh is reminiscent of her workout playlist, too fast and frantic but she’s going to implode if she doesn’t have the chance to move at all. The subway ads are only interesting to read for so long, and the bored commuters on the train are a stark contrast from her, some with their eyes closed, some with their noises buried in books.

Brooke wishes she could know the secret as to how they’re all capable of shutting off their minds just like that.

Maybe it’s easier for everyone else on this train because none of them are going towards Vanessa, because no one else has so many unspoken things to let out for once and for all. Because no one else on this train knows what Brooke is feeling, the jolt that’s now been sent to her heart after realizing she’s been changed by another person and never wants to go back.

Brooke wants Vanessa’s hand in hers, drawing soft circles while the warmness of her palm acts like an anchor, pulling the frantic beating of her heart back enough for her to breathe.

The ding and announcement of Vanessa’s stop is a relief, feeling like a weight lifted because now Brooke can move again, up the station stairs and even though her muscles are straining and she’s out of breath it’s better, because at least she’s doing something, making some progress. It feels strange, walking - no, running - through these familiar streets knowing what’s coming, knowing how different everything is going to be.

And Brooke wants it, welcomes it, for once in her life.

Of course Vanessa lives on the top floor, of course Brooke has to watch the floors climb ever so slowly, people coming in and out of the elevator as if they don’t have any cares in the world, as if they don’t get it, but it’s okay, it’s all okay when Brooke reaches the 20th floor and it’s Vanessa’s and she’s only one hallway away from her.

One hallway that shrinks into a handful of steps, a catch of a breath, a quick fiddle with her hair before Brooke knocks. Because Vanessa’s on the other side with wide eyes that sparkle, tugging Brooke inside by her wrist and going on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her lips that Brooke immediately deepens, and it’s worth it.

Because the kiss is real.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #office au #drawing new lines #holtzmanns

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Text

A quick (and well intentioned) response to those who are confused by fans thinking Ironwood might have survived:

“Ozpin presumably died off screen. I mean, the characters seem to think he’s dead. Cinder murdered him. I guess RWBY just didn’t want to show that outright. He’s gone for good.” Nope, nm, turns out he reincarnates into new characters.

“Qrow is suffering from a very powerful poison and the group isn’t anywhere near help. He’s dead.” The group is unexpectedly found by patrolling ships.

“Weiss got stabbed through the abdomen without aura. No one survives that!” Jaune suddenly unlocks his semblance to save her.

“Cinder was frozen solid and dropped off a ledge. Her story is done.” She just unfreezes next volume and goes on her way, pretty unbothered by it all.

“Penny died on screen. We definitely saw that. 100%.” Yet now she’s back, her body fixed and her memory restored without a single drawback.

“Okay, but Summer is absolutely dead. That’s her whole thing! She’s the dead mom trope. She was never even alive on screen to begin with.” Nah, now she’s likely a living grimm monster that might be cured before the series is out.

“Omg, Yang just died! She fell into the void!” Of course she isn’t dead. The whole team fell so it’s fine.

“Clover is dead though, right? Like, we saw him get stabbed and mournfully say his goodbyes to Qrow. So why is he in a hospital room rather than the morgue? Why the blanket and bandage on his chest?” Clover was indeed dead, but there was some confusion.

“Was Ironwood attempting to kill Oscar when he shot him? On the one hand, he couldn’t have known Oscar would unlock Ozpin’s magic. On the other hand, we’ve seen these characters performing landing strategies from incredible heights like, say, a floating city.” Again, a lot of confusion about what’s survivable.

“Is Hazel dead? The group acts like it, but there’s no body. The blast couldn’t have hurt him because it didn’t touch anything that wasn’t grimm-related. So what, did he just burn to death instantly in the time between speaking to Oscar and his blast decimating Salem? And his body disappeared when we return to the group, presumably all standing in the place where the fight just took place??” I guess? He’s dead until the show decides he’s not.

RWBY is a sci-fi/fantasy story that plays fast and loose with its own rules. Not only do we have a story where literally anything is possible (there’s advanced tech and non-magic and real magic!), but is also written by writers who frequently retcon or just don’t provide information, leading to confusion about the presumed limitations of this world — if they exist at all. How could Ironwood have survived? Because the writers say so. That’s it. He swims to the surface. He hides in the vault. He unlocks some random magical ability to save himself. Raven was there the whole time and portals him out for unestablished reasons of her own. It doesn’t even have to be logical because our basis for “logic” nowadays is “Character has a grimm nuke in their back pocket they never mentioned.” Why not give Ironwood a Handheld Atlas Teleporter in his back pocket he never mentioned? The bar for this stuff is not high.

Things just happen in RWBY so no, no one is “obviously” dead until you see a body and even then it might be a fake-out (theories about Clover), a resurrection (Penny), or just an entirely new writing decision (Summer). A falling/flooding city can’t stand in the way of the writers’ ability to just say, “Let’s bring him back.” (Neither, for the record, can a locked room with a fire.) Ironwood could show up in Volume 9 with a growled, “My semblance ensured I survived” one-liner and half the fandom would praise RT for this amazing semblance “reveal” and the other half would be pointing out that this isn’t possible because his aura broke and none of it would matter because the writers just... do things. At this point, especially after Summer, Penny, and theories of a spirit world adventure, I don’t 100% believe any character is dead-dead until the series is finished. A crash landing and a flood? You think they can’t write their way around that, no matter how stupid the explanation? RWBY doesn’t function under realistic rules and it certainly doesn’t follow the fantasy rules it’s established — or the implications of Cameos. I’m not saying Ironwood will return someday, I don’t want him to return, but I am saying the expectation that the writers will follow the logic of the scene they wrote or even keep to implied promises on social media isn’t something to bet on. If at any point they have a reason for bringing Ironwood back — from “It’ll get people interested again” to “It’s a great twist” to “It’s just cool” — then they can. In a show like RWBY, a little thing like a collapsing building or water isn’t going to stop them.

#rwby #mymetas

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twoidiotwriters1 · 5 years

Text

Starcrossed Losers VIII (Josh Wheeler xReader)

A/N: Listen, I’m not saying my heart hurts every time I write their shitty talks, but I really need a hug right now. I’m too soft. Also, you guys prefer short chapters or long chapters? cause I have a 6k draft and idk if I should divide it into two parts or post it like that lmaoo

Words: 3,782

Warnings: Uh, sadness and we get a sort of graphic death scene. Alex has a gun to get rid of ghoulies so that’s also a thing ig?? The fluff might suffocate you.

Previous chapter // Next chapter

I bet you’re not surprised. This whole story started with me telling you that my life changed because of Josh. I guess is not a shocker to find out I didn’t leave the mall. Although the circumstances must’ve been surprising right? No? Okay then, party poopers. I’ll keep going with my narration:

“Where is he?”

“Still on the carrousel,” Angelica tells me, “he’s been there since last night”

“You keep giving him the slime?”

“Yes, I also make sure he eats it”

“Well, at least he’s eating something,” I sigh, “I don’t get it, where do you found her body again?”

Wesley coughs, he’s laying on the couch in front of me, so I can’t see his face but I can hear his voice:

“The middle of the street, close to a parking lot”

“Close to Cheeramazon territory?”

“No, no one lives there.”

“What was she doing there?”

“Maybe she was looking for Josh,” Offers Angelica, “you and Josh were loners, Sam could’ve been one too, only that she wasn’t lucky”

“Maybe”

I think about it for a moment, Sam and Josh were sorta dating when all this happened, they fought and she wants to fix things but she’s alone and things get out of control. It’s an awful thought, yet possible.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you got back?” I ask them, “you seemed okay when I talked to you...”

“You were happy to see us back with the medicines,” Wesley retorts, “we didn’t want to ruin your mood. I know we did it anyway the next morning but at least you got to sleep better that night, right?”

“I suppose,” I sink further in the bed.

That afternoon I tell Angelica that I’ll take the slime to Josh and a small cup of the instant chicken soup I had on my bag. He’s laying on the floor, his eyes are closed, however, I know he’s not sleeping. I know cause I’ve seen the way he looks when he sleeps.

Okay, that sounded creepy. Ignore that I said that.

I walk up to him and kick his leg softly. He opens his eyes and looks over at me.

“Time to eat,” I put the bowl with slime next to his head and the chicken soup next to it, then I sit on his right. Josh gets up and takes the first bowl between his hands.

“I’m getting real’ tired of the taste,” His voice is low, hurting.

“You should’ve thought of that before cutting off your finger” I reply.

“I was preoccupied thinking about not becoming a Ghoulie.”

“Right,” I smile softly, “how are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” He looks at me briefly before putting his attention back on the slime, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay,” I change my position so I’m facing him completely, “I just want you to know that I get it. You don’t have to tell me anything but I know how you feel.”

He looks up again and this time his eyes remain on me, curiosity pouring through them.

“Your sister?”

“My sister, my parents, my best friend...” I sigh, “it’s all the same at the end if I’m honest”

“What do you mean?”

“My sister...” I explain, “I didn’t know exactly how old you had to be to turn into a ghoulie, so part of me was expecting to see her fine. Once I lived through that nightmare, everything else just felt... numb.”

------------------------------------------

“You sure this is the right hall?”

“Yes, Alex. Now stop talking before another horde of Ghoulies run our way.”

“That was one time and it was an accident!”

“Everything bad that happens to us because of your impulsiveness is always an accident according to you,” I reply sternly, “here...”

I point to the door on our left, my hands shaking.

“You ready?” Alex asks, holding the door’s handle.

“No,” I yelp, “I have to do it anyway...”

“Should I?”

“Open the door.”

Alex complies. It’s too dark to tell if there’s someone inside the dorm, I step in, with the boy following suit, too scared to talk. I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight.

“...Katie?”

Something moves under the covers of the bed. We jump back and the light trembles thanks to my own nerves. I decide to reach for the bed.

“Y/N...” Alex whispers beside me, “I don’t feel good about this.”

“Shh!” I look back at him, annoyed, “Maybe she’s hurt!”

I grab the covers tightly. For the first time in ten years, I want Alex to be wrong.

“It’s me, Vinchi,” I whisper at the figure, “Katie..?”

There’s a loud screech, then all I can see it’s a bloody face over mine with a set of familiar brown eyes. Katie scratches my arms and face, she pushes my head up so my neck is exposed and bites me. Hard. I scream and twitch under her, crying in pain. Then I hear a loud thud and her body slams against the bed’s frame.

I straighten up and put a hand over the bite, she didn’t get to tear off skin, but there’s plenty of blood and it’ll leave a scar. Katie is standing up again when Alex helps me to get on my feet.

“She’s gone, Y/N,” He tells me, but I can’t bring myself to believe him.

“No, not her. She’s young,” I insist, fighting to get out of his grip, “she’s just scared!”

“Look at what she did to you! She’s dangerous Y/N, we have to leave!”

“I can’t leave her!” I scream, “She’s my sister, I can’t leave her like this!”

“We can’t take her with us, she’s a Ghoulie!”

Katie attack us again, but this time I kick her before she gets to touch us. She crashes against the desk and the chair falls beside her. Katie’s on her knees when I jump into action and grab the chair, lifting it up and hitting her head with all my strenght.

“Fuck!” I tear up, “Why you?!”

I hit her at least twelve times. I was crying the whole time, the bite in my neck was pulsating and my hands felt stiff and soar from holding onto the chair like my life depended on it. I was angry and devastated, I just wanted all to be over soon.

I couldn’t recognize her face afterwards. I thought that was good, cause then it wasn’t her. Unfortunately, my brain didn’t have the same opinion. I do know that was my sister. I can’t forget.

------------------------------------------

“Although I did forget her last words,” I tell Josh, “actually, I think she turned into a Ghoulie in her sleep and I don’t know if that’s the reason why she wasn’t talking but I hope so, cause I don’t remember if she say something before I killed her.”

“Shit,” The soup is probably cold by now, but he’s not really paying attention to what he’s eating, “Do you really have... uh, you know, where she bit you?”

I pull the collar of my shirt to reveal the scar.

“I’m not self-conscious about it,” I say before he even asks, “if anything, this is sort of like the last thing I have left from my sister.”

“That’s a pretty dark thought,” He replies with worry.

“Is it?” I tilt my head, “yeah, I think you’re right.”

“You must’ve bled a lot... How did you get out?”

“I wasn’t alone, remember?” I let go of my shirt so my scar is covered again, “Alex was there”

------------------------------------------

“We need to get somewhere safe so I can help you with the bite,” Alex rasps as he pushes a Ghoulie down the main stairs.

“The blood will attract them, Al. You have to leave me.”

“No.”

He grabs my arm tightly and practically drags me outside the building towards our car. It’s surrounded by Ghoulies but he pulls out his gun and shots as many as he can reach on his first try.

Alex didn’t know how to use a gun before the nuke, he learned fast cause the circumstances were asking for it. He quickly became accostumed and I made sure to always have enough bullets in case of an emergency.

“We need to leave now!”

I get inside the car, holding tightly my wound. Alex drives back to town as fast as he can, none of us has said a word, Katie’s body still present in our minds.

“There’s bandages on the back seat.”

“I know,” I reply without moving, “I told you to leave me behind.”

“You’re my best friend, I can’t do that”

“What if I turn into a Ghoulie?”

“We saw how Phillip got bitten and he was okay afterwards.”

Alex stops near Glendale when he offers a new plan.

“What if we don’t come back?”

“What?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex turns on his seat to look at me, “we have nothing but crappy memories of this place, we could make a whole new life outside... together”

I stay silent for what it feels like ages, my friend waits uneasy.

“Y/N?”

“That’s a bad idea,” I open the door and get out.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting my stuff,” I open the back door and grab my two bags, “I’m leaving”

“Where?”

“Home.”

“You wanna go back?” Now he’s also out of the car, “To Glendale? The shittiest town you could live in right now?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the shittiest”

“You know what I mean,” Alex grabs my wrist softly, but it’s enough to further my annoyance, “we could travel, never settle down in one place... and there’s literally no adults to tell us we can’t”

“That’s all you can think of?” I ask in rage, “our parents where also part of the adults, our families just died. I- for fucks sake, Alex, I just had to kill my sister!”

“I know that!” He replies in the same tone, “I was there! Both times! And both times I got you out of trouble!”

“Jesus, thank you so much for shooting my dad in the face, Alex. I don’t know why I never thanked you for that.”

“That wasn’t your father anymore,” He lets go of me, “ Why are you so upset about it, I saved your life!”

“Because they were my fucking parents!” I drop the bags on the floor, “It’s not my fault if you don’t care about how yours are probably eating european kids right now, is not my fault that your parents left you alone even before the explosion!”

I see how his expression changes and I don’t deserve to feel sad cause I did that on purpose, I couldn’t stay with him after what I had done. To me, that whole experience had taught one thing: Staying with someone would only increase the posibilities of dying or killing against my will. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do that a second time. Besides, nothing felt right anymore, I wasn’t the same, my life wasn’t the same, I didn’t want to get hurt or to accidentally hurt someone innocent. I had to remain alone.

We had ran out of chances. We simply weren’t a good team anymore. Forcing ourselves to work it out cause we didn’t have anyone else was cruel and unfair to both of us, it would only slow us down.

“You know what?” Alex steps back, his eyes colder than ever, “You’re right. I don’t have to waste my time trying to convince a coward.”

Two could play the same game, I thought as my heart stung at his words, I deserve what he’s telling me. I am scared, I am a running away. I’m a coward.

“Leave me alone,” I reply, picking up my things and walking away.

“Have a good life, Y/N.”

You’d think that when someone means something to you for a long period of time the goodbye has to be something epic. Their last words won’t be dull and you’ll get to hug them one last time.

It didn’t happen at all. I walked back to Glendale while he drive away and that was it. I was permanently broken, staying with him would’ve been a constant reminder of how nothing would ever work out the way I wanted.

So I just let him go.

------------------------------------------

“And back in Glendale where I had no one,” I exhale, now both of us laying on the floor, “I had one place to stay. I knew the jocks had taken over the school so I got in without being noticed. Mona Lisa never questioned how did I get there but since I never caused her problems she let me stay and used me as some sort of janitor.”

“And you let her treat you like that?”

“She didn’t mistreat me,” I frown, “I guess she couldn’t care less about me. There were bigger targets to fry. That’s when they started to kill kids.”

“And you decided to live on your own,” Josh states.

“My parent’s house was still in one piece and although their bodies were there, it was easier to just drag them out than to look somewhere else to live,” I add, “it was hard at first, but once I got the hang of it I never thought about going back with the Jocks or with my old friends.”

“And why did you leave that place?”

“It got destroyed. The mutant dog, a giant...”

“A giant pug,” He finishes at the same time.

I turn my head, staring intently.

“The pug attacked you too?” I smile.

“I had this dope mansion at the other side of town,” He replies with nostalgia, “it was great. I went back one night and found the pug in the garage. It wasn’t safe anymore, so I couldn’t stay.”

“Stupid pug,” I shake my head, “we should go out one day and hunt it.”

“My dad showed me how to hunt, you know?” Josh mentions, “all the survival things I know...”

“Is he..?”

“Yeah. It happened before the nuke,” He turns his head to me, “the same day, just hours before the explosion.”

“Really?”

“Shitty, right?”

“Life tends to be like that,” I feel the back of his hand against mine. I fight the need to inch closer, “we learn from it, I guess”

“What could we learn from something like that?” He frowns, “that no matter what we do, people we love is always going to die?”

“They way I see it, it’s all for a reason,” I reply calmly, “if my sister hadn’t turned into a Ghoulie, right now I’d be traveling around the country with Alex and her. You and I wouldn’t have run into each other, and maybe you would’ve died after cutting your finger. That would’ve sucked, right?”

“I... guess. Yeah,” He stares at me intently, “that would have sucked.”

I feel a familiar warmth creeping up my chest and I try to push it down.

“Or maybe not,” I squeak, “maybe we’re just randomly running around like headless chickens and I’m bullshitting you just to make you feel better and-”

He pushes a strand of hair away from my face and I freeze.

“You ramble a lot,” Josh smirks, “either way, it kind of worked. I think.”

“You think?” I ask, “you’re easy to cheer up”

“Or I just really like talking to you” He jokingly offers.

“Who wouldn’t? According to you, I’m the coolest loser in town,” Josh snorts at my comeback.

“You definitely are a loser,” the boy agrees.

Before I can help it, his hand is holding mine, he gives it a light squeeze.

“You should stop being so caring, though,” He continues, “I’m running out of ways to thank you”

“I’m curious to find out how creative you can get, to be honest,” I grin, “you’ll have to start giving me offerings”

“What, you’re naming yourself the goddess of the mall now?”

“Bitch, I might,” I straighten up, still holding his hand, “I think I would do a great job as a deity.”

“Hey, losers-” Angelica stops talking when she sees us laying on the ground, “Oh, come on. Wesley! Josh’s depression got to Y/N and now both of them are moping!”

“I’m not moping,” I counter, standing up and letting go of the boy’s hand, “we were just talking. And I was about to leave, anyway.”

“You were?” Josh asks, sitting up hastily, “Now?”

I stare at him in confusion for his outburst, until I realize he thinks I’m talking about leaving the mall for good.

“Not the mall,” I correct nervously, “I’m not leaving. I mean, at least not right now. I’m just leaving this hall.”

“Oh,” His shoulders relax, “when are you leaving the mall, then?”

“Yeah, Y/N?” Angelica smiles knowingly, “When?”

“Undecided,” I glare at the young girl, “I figured this place isn’t so bad after all and you guys need me. I’m safe. It’s better if I don’t go.”

“That’s cool!” Josh smiles, “I’ll get you a notebook...”

I laugh, starting to walk away with Angelica.

“Whatever you want, Wheeler.”

As I’m walking, I feel Angelica’s stare burning holes in me.

“What now?” I sigh, stopping in front of her.

“Nothing,” She shrugs, “I was thinking”

“You do that all the time,” I cross my arms, “Is this about your crazy idea of forming a new tribe? Cause you can forget it, I’m not staying for that long.”

“You and Josh...” She mentions innocently.

“Me and Josh, what?” I ask harshly.

“You seem to be getting along.”

“We’re the only ones in this mall that never got on our nerves, you mean,” I reply sarcastically, “don’t even try to talk me into your crazy plans.”

“I’m just saying,” She gives me her best, innocent smile, “he was in a better mood! It’s clear that you have chemistry...”

“You just found Sam’s body,” I reply in a hurried whisper, “Josh is grieving and I’m only trying to help him cope. You’re out of your mind if you think this means I’ll try to get in his pants.”

I turn around to leave, Angelica surely is frustrated cause I decided to not listen to her insinuations. Josh and I are not a thing. Simply cause I say so.

Nighttime is upon us and I’m on the second floor killing time, going left to right on my new pair of skates to loosen them up so I feel comfortable in them. I have earphones on and the music distracts me from the annoying silence that falls on this place when no one is up. Or when I think no one is up.

Soon enough, I’m proved wrong by Josh. He walks straight into my practice and all I can do is lessen my speed before I crash against him.

“Shit!” He catches me with his injured hand and holds to the railing with the other.

We end up in this ‘prince-charming-catches-the-damsel-before-hitting-the-ground’ position that is more embarrassing than romantic. I try to stand up on my own but the wheels keep making me trip and Josh holds my waist firmly, pulling me up and helping me stay still.

Seriously?

How many times are we gonna fall into each other’s arms like it’s a soap opera?

Josh says something but I signaled him to stop and I take my earphones off.

“Uhm, thanks for catching me. Sorry for almost killing you this time. What were you saying?”

“I said that you need to start watching where you’re going,” He snickers.

“Rude,” I scoff, “but really, you needed something?”

“Oh, I-uh...” He plays with his bandages, lost in thought. I want to stop him cause it could ruin them, "The things you told me today... I know it's hard to talk about it. I appreciate that you trust me and I... I keep thinking about this thing, and I wanted to ask you something about Alex"

“Oh,” Oh. Do I give myself away that easily? “What about him?”

“You had a thing with him, right?” Fuck. Give me a break, won’t you?

“I, uh-I mean, I never really...” I ramble, then I notice that he’s holding back a shy laugh and I just shake my head miserably, “it’s a long story”

"Well, I don’t get it,” He sits on the bench next to us and pulls me with him so I sit with him, “Why didn’t you say yes? He offered you a new life to do whatever you wanted, Why not going?”

“Cause I didn’t want a new life. I wanted the old one,” I shrug, “after the nuke I understood that no amount of freedom would ever give me the peace that being on my own could give me. It was better. That way I don’t exist for the rest of the world.”

“Sorry for ruin your plan,” He passes a hand through his hair in an anxious manner, “I didn’t know...”

“Exactly, you didn’t. So don’t apologize for something you didn’t do on purpose”

We stay silent for a second, then Josh speaks up again, this time with a shy demeanor.

“You exist for me now,” He replies in all honesty, his eyes have a strange gloom on them, “and even if you leave, you’ll exist in my head. I don’t think I’ll be able to forget about you this time. You're the girl that saved my life after all.”

That is the sweetest thing someone’s said to me in a long time and I can’t believe it had to be Josh Wheeler the one saying it. How dare he?

“I only wanted you to know that you’re not alone, so I told you my story. Sorry if it made you uncomfortable or...” I start to apologize, but he quickly interrupts me.

“It didn’t. Things didn’t go as planned but you’re right. I think they’re going to get better... eventually, I hope.”

“If you ever want to talk about your dad... you don’t have to,” I nudge him gently, “but if you ever want to talk about him or someone else, I’m here. I’m with you.”

“I know,” Josh smiles softly, “I’m with you too. And I’m glad I crashed into you in that alley,” He jokes.

I don’t know what to answer back. Am I happy or am I resentful because he dragged me into this madness? Was my life going as good as I’m trying to picture it? I honestly don’t know.

All I know is that I like being friends with Josh Wheeler and he’s glad he met me. Nothing else. No romantic feelings at all from any side. Just as it should be.

Taglist.

@letsbloodmagic @hollywaterpls

#twoidiots writing #josh wheeler #josh wheeler xreader #wesley fists #angelica green #eli cardashyan #ms crumble #daybreak #daybreak fanfic #netflix

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