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conquerthenight · 3 months

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Platonic or romantic Ich, Maxim and Frank. You choose! I just want them all to be happy, so make it as fluffy as you like.

The second half is slightly NSFW, you have been warned.

The sound of yet another knock on Ileana’s door caused her to jump out of her skin. She had told Bea that she’d join the others downstairs in a few moments, but for some reason the wig for her costume absolutely refused to stay pinned to her head, try as Clarice might to keep it still, and she couldn’t have it falling off in front of the guests. What sort of impression would that make? And she so wanted to make a success of the first costume ball she was to host. “I think we’d best go without it” She said to Clarice, deciding she couldn’t keep everyone waiting. Maxim would no doubt understand that she had copied the portrait of Caroline de Winter without the wig. Ileana couldn’t wait to reveal the surprise to him.

“Yes, madam. It’s proving more trouble than it’s worth” Clarice said, gingerly placing the wig onto the bed before putting the white hat onto her head to complete the ensemble.

There was another knock. “Ileana, is everything alright in there? The first people are pulling in” Frank called through the door.

Oh, Frank. Ileana loved him dearly, but she couldn’t have him seeing her costume, for she hoped to surprise him just as much as Maxim. It wasn’t exactly the done thing to love two men at once, but then again, it also wasn’t the done thing for two men to openly love another, and Maxim and Frank had welcomed her into their relationship with open arms back in Monte Carlo. She wouldn’t change that for all the riches in the world. “Just a moment, love. I don’t want to spoil the surprise” She giggled to herself.

Oh, to see the look on their faces. Ileana knew they’d be so pleased.

Frank opened the door and entered anyway, wearing a sailor’s getup, complete with an eyepatch and pirate hat. Ileana could see his eyes widen, and she could tell that his reaction was not the kind of shock she’d hoped for in the least. “You can’t go downstairs in that, dear” He said after gathering his bearings.

Ileana just looked at him with confusion. “Why not? Do you not like it?” She asked. If that was the case, at least Frank was being honest about it. They were quite similar in the fact that they wore their hearts on their sleeves, unlike Maxim who tended towards keeping his distance.

“No, it’s not that. It just that…well, Rebecca copied the Caroline de Winter portrait for last year’s ball” Frank explained, mortifying Ileana.

Everything seemed to come crashing down in that moment, and she told Frank everything. Mrs. Danvers had said that portrait was Maxim’s favorite. She had taken the suggestion at face value without even stopping to think that the housekeeper’s behavior had been suspicious. She had been so cold to Ileana ever since her arrival at Manderley. How on earth could she have been so stupid?

Frank just smiled and tapped her shoulder. “Well, there was no harm done. At least you found out before anyone else saw it” He said, chuckling a little.

Ileana had to admit, it was a bit funny, even if Mrs. Danvers’ intentions had been to humiliate her. She laughed a little as well after a moment. “You’re right, I should change out of this. Could you step out for a bit?”

Frank obliged, but not before giving her a quick peck on her lips. “I’ll tell them the dress didn’t fit. They’ll never know. Maxim will probably thank you, he won’t be the only one in normal evening wear this year” The door shut behind him.

As Clarice helped her out of the white gown and into a blue evening dress, Ileana let out a long, relieved sigh. She had come so close to causing a terrible crisis. Luckily Frank had been there to prevent it.

As Frank had predicted, Maxim wasn’t at all disappointed by the turn of events. He had merely asked what had happened to the costume she ordered, and the white lie slipped out with no further questions asked. “Next year, you ought to tell me what you’ll wear in case the shops screw it up again” His comment was only half joking, but Ileana was glad he seemed in a good mood.

“Don’t worry, darling. When that time comes, you’ll be the first to know” She was not joking at all, having learned from her close call earlier.

She spent the night dancing, mostly with Maxim and Frank, acquainting herself with the guests, and even had a glass of wine or two. For just a few hours, the shy girl Ileana had been seemed to vanish, replaced by someone livelier, though she did still find herself struggling for words a few times.

By the time the guests had all departed for the night, Ileana was very pleased with how the night had gone. Her beloveds seemed of the same mind, and the three of them adjourned to Maxim’s room to do a little celebrating of their own.

“I have to say, darling, I hadn’t expected you to pull this off as well as you did” Ileana wasn’t sure if Maxim’s words were meant as a compliment or condescension. She decided to take it as the former when her husband kissed her with a passion that she hadn’t seen from him since their honeymoon.

Frank ran his hand through Maxim’s hair, giving him a playfully scolding look. “Maxim de Winter, I hope you were talking about the ball” He said.

Maxim then kissed Frank in a similar manner to how he had kissed Ileana. “Does that answer your question, my beloved?” He teased.

“Very much so” Frank smirked, lightly slapping Maxim’s ass.

Maxim grimaced. “You’d best be on your guard. I just might take my revenge for that” He rolled his eyes. “But in all seriousness, I hardly recognized our shy little wife tonight”

Ileana couldn’t hold back a deep crimson blush, though it really didn’t signify because the room was completely dark. “I’m just glad I managed to get through it, what with the mishap with the dress and all” She immediately covered her mouth when the words slipped out.

“Something wrong, darling?” Maxim asked.

Ileana shrugged her shoulders, figuring she may as well let Maxim in on what happened. “I was planning on copying the portrait of Caroline de Winter. Mrs. Danvers mentioned you loved that painting so I thought it would be a fun surprise, but a certain someone told me that Rebecca did it first” She turned to kiss Frank on the cheek, partly to thank him, and partly to put off seeing Maxim’s reaction in case he didn’t take the story well.

Her moment of worry was for naught, as Maxim laughed at what Ileana had told him. “That’s our Frank for you, darling. Saving us all from disaster” He said. “By the way, I wouldn’t trust a word Danvers says” Maxim was most definitely mocking her naivety in taken the housekeeper’s suggestion, but Ileana was in such good spirits that she didn’t care.

Ileana could feel the two men each wrap an arm around her, and she felt that this was absolute heaven. It occurred to her then that telling Maxim the rather amusing story was the only time she had thought of Rebecca since it happened. Maybe that’s how it should have always been, and she vowed it would stay that way from here on out.

“So much for taking revenge” Frank said with a triumphant smile.

Ileana grinned, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Maxim’s wrath” She laughed once more.

Maxim looked at them both with mock offense. “As if I would ever unleash my wrath on you, Ileana” He placed his hand on his chest.

“You have done and you know it” Frank retorted.

Ileana knew he was right. She hadn’t forgotten the cupid incident, or the boathouse a few weeks ago, but Maxim had yet to snap since then, and she felt he was more than forgiven, especially after how he had just pleased her and Frank. “Water under the bridge, darling” She assured.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good, Ileana” Maxim brushed his hand against her cheek. “But if you like, I could always beg you two for forgiveness”

“Well when you put it that way…” Frank began, his impish tone clearly giving away his desires.

Ileana hardly slept that night, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

#sorry this took so long #i had way too many ideas for this prompt and couldn’t decide #frank crawley has the brain cell in this ship #we love him for it #proud de winter shipper #frankxim #de winters/frank #polyamory #i can’t write smut for my life #so i hope innuendos will do #rebecca das musical #daphne du maurier #short ficlet

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fiveraccoonsinatrenchcoat · 2 years

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Romeo And Juliet (Or Some Other Romantic Shit Like That) Ch. 7

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Series Description: The Saturday night slot at The Hideout is open, and Corroded Coffin thought they were a shoo-in. When it goes to a different band, however, Eddie becomes more than a little distracted by their pretty bassist.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Description: In the wake of the fight with Tonya you spend the night with Eddie, who's getting real sick of all these dramatic reveals.

Warnings: language, period-typical homophobia, angst, mentions of alcohol abuse, just lots of emotions in general

Word Count: 2660

It was gone.

Nearly ten years. God knows how many hours. Boxes and boxes of bandages wrapped around bleeding fingers. Countless noise complaints from the neighbors. Nights of Jessa’s parents being incredibly (honestly, probably overly) permissive and understanding.

All washed away with the floodwaters.

You were in crisis mode, you could tell. It hadn’t properly hit you yet. You were crying, you were upset, sure, but you were oddly okay. You knew that you’d wake up the next morning and it’d properly hit you that your life’s work had been ripped out of your hands. The passion you held oh so close to your heart for as long as you could remember had just packed up and walked out on you, and what was there left to do now?

Warm clothes. That was step one, you thought, and you made quick work of finding the sweatshirt and pajama bottoms you’d tucked into the bottom of your backpack (walking through the dark parking lot of The Hideout in Kermit the Frog pj’s was embarrassing, but much safer than your usual onstage getup). You changed without uttering a word because even though Eddie was with you and you’d just sobbed through the shoulder of his W.A.S.P t-shirt, your brain felt alone. Not in a depressed, lonely, nobody-understands-me kind of way, it was more of a literal, practical thing; you didn’t have enough thoughts in your head (or maybe it was too many thoughts?) for you to really be able to pay attention to the fact that Eddie was there with you.

Okay, warm clothes are on, so there’s step one. What’s step two? Probably pack up the rest of your stuff, right? You took a quick glance around the room, only to realize that, with the exception of what you’d just pulled out of your backpack, Harriette must have already packed up your things for you. That was nice of her. Harriette was always nice.

Okay, step three then. Step three, logically, was ‘go home’. But you couldn’t go home, because Jessa was there, and Jessa would look at you with the same face her mother would give the pair of you when you were kids, and if you saw that face, saw her eyebrows begin to knit in the center like they always did, you would probably explode just a little bit. So, no. Step three can’t be ‘go home’.

You hadn’t had a chance to drink anything that wasn’t the traditional pre-show shots you’d shared with the girls, and now, after crying out what seemed like most of the water you had in your system, you began to realize just how dehydrated you felt. Alright, new step three: glass of water. Glass of water should be easy enough.

Sometimes you were sure Eddie could read your thoughts because, as you were standing in your cloud of fog in the middle of the green room, you felt Eddie (oh yeah, he was there with you) grasp onto your shoulder and place a bottle of water in your hand.

You chugged the whole thing as fast as you could.

“Hey, woah, slow down,” Eddie muttered. “Please don’t throw up.”

That bubbled a laugh out of your chest, though it didn’t feel very genuine.

Well, even with the replacement of step three, you still had to leave at some point. The Hideout was closed and Rhonda probably wanted to go home for the night; it was nearing two o’clock in the morning, and you’d already kept her back long enough.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” Eddie suggested as he hauled your bag and instrument over his shoulders. Ever the gentleman.

“I can’t. . .” you trailed off. “I don’t think I can be around Jessa right now.”

Eddie let out a small sigh and the look of pity that flashed across his face made you want to crawl out of your skin. He paused, weighing his options before he spoke again.

“Alright, come on,” He said. He pulled open the door, and nodded for you to go first. You had expected a little more pushback to your statement.

“Where are we going?” you questioned him.

“I’m taking you back to mine,” he said. There was something coating his voice, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. “You can get some sleep and we can deal with this tomorrow, okay?”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be-”

“It’s okay, I promise,” Eddie interrupted. You only nodded in thanks.

The pair of you drove in relative silence back to his place. It gave Eddie too much time to think.

He had never been all that good when it came to handling emotions.

He’d been an angry kid. He was angry after his dad left, he was angry after his mom got sick, he was angry at the whole world. Most of that anger had subsided as he grew up; he’d been dealt a shit hand and there was nothing he could do about it. Every once in a while it would rear its ugly head once again, but as long as he played his music loud enough and drank enough bottom shelf, plastic bottled vodka, it would slink back into the dark corner it emerged from and he’d wake up the next morning with a hangover at worst.

What he had yet to find a remedy for was the guilty sadness that stuck around after the rage had come and gone.

The music would just make his head hurt. The booze would just make him sadder. All he really wanted to do was turn off the lights in his room, crawl under his bedsheets, and dissolve into a pile of dust on the mattress. Piles of dust didn’t have to worry about the electricity getting shut off. Piles of dust didn’t have to think about whether or not they should’ve just dropped out, or where they’d be now if they had.

Piles of dust didn’t have to think about all of the reasons their dead mom would be disappointed in them.

It was odd, though, this time. This time it was the sadness that came first. It made his chest feel like it was filled with lead and that whole pile of dust idea had been sounding pretty good all night. Now though, as he pulled up on the gravel driveway, the anger had firmly settled itself in his lead laden chest. It was a hot, volatile anger that melted that lead and spread it like lava through his whole body. The kind that’s sticky and thick and makes it hard to breathe. It made him want to punch through a wall.

He parked, and when he looked over at you and your startlingly expressionless face, the anger only increased.

Eddie’s crisis mode looked significantly different from your crisis mode. He couldn’t think straight at all. He wanted to break something. He wanted to break Tonya. Slash her tires, and smash her windshield, and-

He knew that his hotheadedness would only make the whole thing worse. It already had made it all worse. So, instead of destroying anything, he helped you inside. He quickly changed the sheets on his bed (honestly they needed to be changed anyway). You asked if you could use his shower, so he found the least threadbare towel he could, and made sure to mention how you have to push in on the door to get it to lock properly. He did a quick inventory on what food he had to offer (cereal, pbandj, or canned soup) and tried to figure out what he’d say to Wayne in the morning.

He knew his uncle wouldn’t be angry. He always took in the strays when they needed it. Hell, Eddie had been one of them. Wayne wasn’t particularly fond of Eddie bringing what he had dubbed ‘Hideout Girls’ back to the trailer, but you were definitely much more than just a wannabe groupie or one night stand.

He heard the water turn off, and a few moments later, you came out of the bathroom in the same Kermit the Frog pajamas you’d changed into. He could see how tired you were in the way your shoulders sagged as you walked.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked you from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. “I can heat up some soup for you if you want.”

“Honestly, I think I just want to go to sleep,” you muttered. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you said it.

“Are you sure? You really should get something in your system.”

You only nodded in response.

“Okay,” Eddie relented. He led you down the short hallway to his room. “I, uh, made up the bed for you. I can take the floor if you want.”

“What?” you asked. “Why would you think I’d want you to sleep on the floor, Eddie? I mean, it’s your bed.”

“I, just,” Eddie stuttered. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

“Eddie, you’ve slept next to me in my bed more times than I can count,” you said with a small smile. A real one, this time, and Eddie felt a swell of both affection and embarrassment in his chest.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he responded. The thought hadn’t really crossed his mind to be honest. You were correct in saying that you two had shared a bed a million times before, but that was pretty much always after you’d had sex. This felt very different to Eddie than the sexual bed sharing he’d experienced in the past. Actually, if he thought about it, he couldn’t pinpoint a single girl he’d slept next to in a strictly romantic setting, and though tonight had been far from romantic, there was a domesticity to seeing you wrapped up in cozy flannel pj’s under his covers that made his chest ache.

He crawled under the blankets next to you, but instead of splaying yourself across him like you normally would, you instead curled into the tiniest ball you could muster and tucked yourself up against the wall. Maybe you were just trying to keep yourself from taking up any space, Eddie’s bed was smaller than yours, but it crushed him just a little bit.

The next morning when he woke up, Eddie’s arms searched for you across the old bedsheets, only to find them devoid of you. He wasn’t exactly sure how you’d gotten out of bed undetected, seeing as you had been sandwiched between him and the wall all night. He heard the hiss of the ancient coffee maker in his kitchen. It was too early for either of you to be awake considering how late it had been when the two of you had fallen asleep, and Eddie wondered just how long you’d actually been awake, if you’d slept at all.

He pulled himself out of bed, the joints in his shoulders and spine cracking as he did so. He wandered out into the kitchen and saw you sitting at the small table tucked next to the door.

“You should’a woken me up,” Eddie said with a yawn and a stretch. “I would’ve been able to- wait, are you crying?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and quickly back down again at his question. He moved to sit in the chair opposite you.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, yeah?” Eddie reassured you, worried you’d stall up on him again like you had last night. There was a silence between the two of you for a moment before you spoke again.

“I’m just really fucking embarrassed,” you uttered. You were still staring down into your lap. “And you’re being really cool about all of this, and I think that’s somehow making it all feel worse.”

“I’m sure Jessa already has a plan on what to do, okay?” Eddie said. He could feel that pit in his stomach once again. “And Harriette, too. They’ll figure something out, and-”

“Not, that, Eddie,” you interrupted him.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of your’s, huh?” Eddie said, prompting you to finally look up at him with a scowl. You didn’t say anything, just shook your head and averted your gaze once more. Eddie scooted his chair so he was sitting next to you, knees bumping, and took one of your hands in his. “Hey, you can tell me, I won’t judge. You know that.”

“Most of my ex’s have been less than receptive to finding out their girlfriend had secretly been a queer the whole time.”

Eddie’s stomach dropped. All of a sudden, the implications of last night’s bombshell hit him like a truck; if that argument had happened in front of the wrong crowd, you could’ve been seriously hurt, or worse. Some of the anger bubbled back up to the surface.

“Oh, my god, no, I-” Eddie began. “Have you been called that before?”

“Worse, usually.”

“I promise you, I don’t have a single problem with any of that,” Eddie had to fight himself to keep the incessant anger down, if only to keep you calm. He thought out his words very carefully, knowing just how thin of a tightrope walk this conversation was for you. He paused for a moment, silently debating what to say next, and decided to just go with his gut. “Seriously, you can ask my ex. He’ll tell ya.”

Your eyes, wide and glassy, shot straight up to his the moment you heard it. You and Eddie shared one last look of mutual understanding, and it felt like the weight of at least three entire worlds had been lifted from your shoulders. It was all finally out in the air, you knew exactly where the two of you stood, and that was that. You didn’t have to sit with that anxiety anymore. No more worrying, at least on that front.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice shaky. Eddie just nodded.

“You want breakfast? I’m starving. There’s cereal, I don’t know if there’s any milk though,” Eddie quickly changed the subject and stood up from the rickety metal chair. “Or I could make you scrambled eggs, or. . . not-scrambled eggs. My culinary acumen kind of begins and ends with eggs, actually.”

You laughed, finally able to scrub the tears from your face.

“Some not-scrambled eggs would be lovely.”

Eddie gave you a wide, crooked smile.

“Not-scrambled eggs, coming right up!” he said with his typical dramatic flair. He pulled a carton of eggs and a small tub of margarine out of the refrigerator. “Can’t promise you I won’t break the yolks, though.”

The small kitchen was only a little bit of a train wreck by the time the eggs were done, and Eddie was just grateful to see you smiling again. The two of you were talking and laughing just as you were used to. Eddie was in the middle of regaling you with the story of a very embarrassing opening set he and his band had performed a few months back when he heard the sound of a car pulling up on the gravel outside the trailer. You sent a worried glance his way.

“It’s just my uncle getting off work,” he said. “We might have to barricade ourselves in my room, but we should be fine. He’s pretty understanding.”

You nodded, and Eddie got up to clear away some of the mess he had made. He heard the key turn in the lock, and as the door creaked open, a voice familiar to you both echoed through the space.

“Eddie, dude, where the hell were you last night? Jeff’s dad let us use his truck, and-”

Oh, goddamnit.

Eddie heard Gareth’s voice behind him, and he heard it cut off, no doubt at the sight of you sitting at his kitchen table. He turned around, bracing himself for the conversation ahead of him.

He was getting real sick and tired of all these fucking dramatic reveals.

Tiny Little Taglist: @wickedslashdivine @youareadistraction @bubbles-is-my-thing @music-is-my-only-reality @heavenkiss @aedicn @grungegrrrl

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yandere-sins · 2 years

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The Carnival Collaboration

My first piece (1 of 3 lol) for The Carnival Collaboration by @demonlamb666! I couldn’t fit my idea with any fandom character so I used my lovely boy Rhys for it and definitely had a lot of fun! ♥ I always forget how fun OCs are until I write for them! He got a bit of a development here to fit his role better, so I hope you guys will still like him! Please enjoy!

Warnings: SUGGESTIVE CONTENT/LEMON, Yandere (in the later parts), Reader has a midlife crisis, PDA, Lots of touching and body contact, Wordcount: 3428

Chapter I - Distraction

Carnival—a place to fulfill all your desires!

Well, most of them at least. As you made your way through the stands left and right, you took in the sweet smell of candied nuts, churros, and cotton candy hanging in the air. The excitement of the kids screaming and running from one attraction to the next was prickling on your skin as the memories of your childhood spent at this carnival warmed your heart.

It wasn’t every day you got to go home to your parents and relive something you’ve been enjoying a lot as a child. Now an adult, you moved away, started your own life, studied, got a job. You moved on from naive pleasures, as were these events. Friends would invite you out to have fun every now and then, but it rarely was something as exciting as the carnival you still remembered from the past.

Booming voices welcomed you closer to their games, which - at your age - you knew were rigged and barely winnable. Still, you looked at the operators of the stands, smiling from ear to ear in their fun getups as they reeled in paying customers. Most of the time, it were the parents of the excited children who spent money, but you also saw couples trying their best to win prizes for each other and teenage friend groups discussing what to do next. It seemed like every kind of person was hanging out here, making you feel less awkward, alone, and seemingly out of place as you were.

Truth be told, when you heard the carnival was back in town, you laughed about it, thinking it was just a silly kid’s thing. Still, the longer the evening at your parent’s house went on, sitting on the couch and watching boring television shows together, the more you felt the urge to do something. Get out, be on your feet, explore. Really get your mind off things.

After all these years since you last visited the carnival, it was pretty impressive to see they were still doing well. A circus had joined them, as well as many other new attractions. They even had a small Ferris wheel now and bumper cars. Nothing that was drawing you in, but people were queuing up in front of the rides, and you felt happy for the carnival people to have a lot of traction.

With a heavy sigh, you reminded yourself not to think so transactionally. Your mind immediately slipped into dangerous territory as you tried to hypothetically figure out how well business was going for them. Your job was one of the reasons that you decided to come visit your family, rarely ever getting the chance to these days. You knew it was normal for children to leave home, move away, start their own families and work, but just last week, you sat in your office, looking at your work computer, when you realized you hadn’t even called home in months. These days, everything was only about numbers and profit, and you were sick and tired of it.

Life had become a drag, you couldn’t deny it. Get up, brush your teeth, drink coffee, work, come home, have dinner, sleep. All the hobbies you once had, passions and dreams, were neatly packed up in your moving boxes still. You never even opened them since you moved to the big city. Back then, you had become incredibly busy trying to build your life. You imagined that things would change once you settled, opened yourself up to new job opportunities, and organized your free time. But instead of the bright, sparkling future, you envisioned, you felt trapped between responsibilities and your job. You hadn’t met new people in years! And the old ones were slowly forgetting about you since you never had time to go out with them.

Before you knew it, you were burned out, craving things you couldn’t have and pitying yourself for it.

Even when you came home, one of the first things you heard was how proud everyone was of you for making it. For getting a good job and working hard so you could afford a - small, and a little moldy - apartment in the city. How could you break the news to them that your visit wasn’t a planned family reunion, but you, trying to flee from your depressing life for a while? That you were, in fact, not happy at all about the measly salary you had to live off on and that you’ve been eating the same kind of recipe for weeks to no end?

No, you couldn’t do it.

Admitting that what you chose to do wasn’t fulfilling or exciting you as much as you always thought it would was hard, no question. Almost as hard as sitting next to your dad on the couch, watching boring ass shows, and having him point out that the people depicted on the television weren’t as much of a big deal as they thought. Actors - or creative jobs in general - had no worth in your small-town, hands-on kind of family. They weren’t too happy when you decided to leave the town to pursue greater things, preferring if you had stayed and taken over the family’s craft store. But here you were, back in town after finding nothing but disappointment in the city, unwilling to admit that maybe they had been right.

Taking a deep breath, you held back some tears as you stood in the middle of the long pathway between the stands, leading up to the circus and around the carnival site. People were walking by, laughing, enjoying themselves. And then, there was you: a complete downer. You came out here to have fun and get your mind off things, not to be more miserable than you were in the city or at your parents’ place!

Surprisingly, the only sound that could break through to you in the cacophony of voices and jingles was a whistle. Not the shouting of the stand owners around you. Not the squeals of delight and screams of the children who had too much sugar. No, it was a simple whistle calling for your attention, short and directed at you, that made you lift your chin, looking around you.

“Hey there, Cutie,” someone called out to you, and your eyes locked on the face behind the voice, your body twisting into the direction. A young man who couldn’t be older than you waved at you, his lips turning into a grin as your eyes finally met. Brown curls framed a pretty face, a red, round clown’s nose glued to his real one. He was standing behind the counter of one of those throw-a-ball-at-cans stalls, inviting you closer. You had already passed by it while in thought, but now you noticed the stand was barely visited by other people. That, and the random person calling out from it, intrigued you. Not least because his gentle, yellow eyes were beckoning you closer as if he was just as captivated by you.

Looking side to side before turning, partly checking no one was planning on going to the stand, or you’d run into anyone, you stepped closer, curious. Watching you approach with a sense of satisfaction, the man ducked down briefly, pulling up three heavy balls used for the game and placing them on the counter before you. He presented them to you with an inviting gesture, still smiling from ear to ear now that he had your attention.

“It’s bad manners to whistle at people,” you reminded him, glancing behind him at the rows of cans neatly stacked. No doubt the bottommost ones were drilled into the board underneath them to make it impossible to win big prizes from this stall, even though they tried to hide the scam. Not that you wanted to win anything. You didn’t even want to play. But you also didn’t know what exactly the man wanted from you, other than play his game.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend, but…” Taking a seat on the counter next to you, the operator leaned towards you, and the smell of cologne wafted from him, earthy and warm. Like wood and spices. You couldn’t help taking a deep breath, the scent enveloping you gently, drawing you towards him, as the guy continued. “You looked a bit upset standing there. I thought you could need some distraction.”

Giving him a half-hearted smile, you looked between him, the balls, and the cans as he invited you with a broad gesture of his hand to throw one. He didn’t even ask you to pay up, but perhaps this was just a way to draw in more customers if they saw you play or kill the boredom of not having any customers otherwise.

“And you think hitting tin cans will help make aaaaaaall my worries go away?” you questioned sarcastically.

The man’s lips parted, showing his teeth as he grinned, hearing your reply, seemingly amused by your feistiness. Picking up one of the balls, he threw it in the air a couple of times, catching it in the same hand before holding it out to you. “Did for me. My tin cans solved all my problems. They might do the same for you?”

Even though this was definitely a strange situation, you took the ball he gave you. By all means, you appreciated the distraction, even if it was some stranger and you, playfully bickering and throwing balls at tin cans. Aiming at the center of the cans, you focused your throw, hoping to perform well despite it being just a kids’ game. It was good to know you hadn’t lost your bite yet when it came to challenges. You sure loved the tin toss when you were a kid, always wanting to win the biggest stuffed animal possible. But now, believing in the reality of never being able to win since it was rigged, it was kind of silly how easily excitable you still were.

There was just something about this stand that really got to you.

Just as you expected, you were able to knock off the top one and one can in the second row. But while the pyramid tumbled a little, nothing more happened. It was silly. Silly enough to get a little upset about it. Looking back at the guy, you noticed his eyes never moved from you, even when you were focused on the game, the corners of his lips curling higher as you looked back at him, now a little flustered that he was watching your fail so intently.

“I actually feel worse now,” you admitted, trying to laugh off the embarrassment.

“Oh, don’t,” he purred somewhat comfortingly. It felt like he was absolving you of your embarrassment, reminding you it was not that big of a deal. All of a sudden, the man lifted his legs over the counter, letting them hang down next to you before jumping to the ground. Standing on your level now, you noticed how tall he was, looking down at you with a mix of gentleness and… something you couldn’t determine yet. He was much more handsome than you had noticed at first glance, strong arms with defined muscles, giving his body a tender but muscular look. Wearing only a vest instead of a proper shirt, you could see the outlines on his chest before he suddenly disappeared behind you. Those big, strong arms wrapped around you just a second later, and you tensed in surprise, unsure what to make of the situation.

“See, there’s a trick to it, Sweetheart.”

Before you knew what he was doing, he pressed another ball back into your hand, guiding that hand upwards with his own. His chest pressed up to your back, your hips snuggly sitting against his. With the other hand, he pinned your free hand to the counter, urging you to lean forward a little as he lifted your throwing arm into the air and in position.

Not only were you completely enveloped by his body, but the scent of his cologne was also stronger now, tickling your senses again. It was hard to breathe in anything but this man, alongside the warmth of his body against yours, making you melt. His touch was gentle but no less assertive than the rest of his body, sending goosebumps over your skin, all while you felt his muscles move with your body as he directed your throw. This was more contact than you had with anyone in a long time, the years of not dating since college now showing you exactly how needy you were for this. You felt incredibly greedy for wanting more from this stranger, but he probably wasn’t aware of how strongly you missed being so close to someone. It was weird that you were so willing to get riled up by this stranger, but at the same time, it was exactly the distraction you had wanted. What was life without a bit of fun, right? Nonetheless because his scent was slowly turning you on with just how tempting it was.

When he said, “Now!” your body didn’t question his instruction, reacting instinctively to him, letting go of the ball in your hand, and… hitting all of the cans. The crashing sound of the tin cans falling to the ground while you stared in disbelief was only drowned out by the chuckle in your ear as the operator closed the distance to praise you, “Now that was an excellent throw, Darling.”

You instantly felt weak in the knees, hoping he couldn’t feel your body relying on him for support. Thankfully, your ears were covered by hair as you felt them grow hot after he whispered the sweet praise for the throw into them, rendering you flustered. It made you feel like a teenager again, flirting with the cute upperclassman. “Feeling better already?” His voice - a honeyed mumble - was still coming from right beside your ear. But you could hear the grin on his face all while you felt his body grind against yours from behind as he waited for your reply.

Taking a barely hideable deep breath, you hoped you wouldn’t stutter as you turned your head in his direction, glancing at him from over your shoulder. It had become quite obvious that he was enjoying this, so it was only fair if you teased him right back. He watched you squirm in his hold, feeling it as you pressed your buttcheeks against his crotch challengingly, first surprised that you’d play along, then grinning knowingly.

“That went really fast. I think I need another demonstration?” you purred innocently, all while brushing up against him with obvious intention.

“Of course, Sugar,” he agreed, wasting no time pressing you against the stall’s counter, making sure there was not an inch of space between your bodies. While you took a sharp breath, he ran his fingertips along your arm and down to your hands, both of his hands gripping yours from above suddenly, lacing your fingers. “Pay attention now,” he ordered assertively, teasing you with his voice ringing through your skull.

“Lift.” He stretched your arm high in the air, bringing it up and behind his own head, your shoulder close enough to his lips that you thought he was going to kiss it. Instead, you felt the vibration of his voice against your skin, making you tense as budding arousal made itself known between your legs. For a moment, he remained in this position, feeling your bodies breathe against each other, you so perfectly pinned between him and the counter.

“Focus on where you want to throw.” How? you wondered, his voice being the only thing that was captivating you right now, stealing all the focus as you wished he’d murmur it more into your ear. All you wanted was to lean in further to him, a complete stranger, and feel more of his body all over yours. This was less of a demonstration of how to throw balls than it was a demonstration of how good his body fit against yours.

“And throw!” Saying that, he directed you to lower yourself into your knees, ground his hips against yours, and jolted your bodies upwards until you were standing on your tiptoes, leaning over the counter. The bulge in his pants fit right in between your ass cheeks, letting you feel the delicious length you were dealing with as you let go of the ball at his command.

Unsurprisingly for you - even after the thorough instructions - you didn’t hit the cans as planned, the ball bouncing off the back of the stall, while the man let out a teasing, “Oh… That’s too bad,” clearly still smiling as he said that. Placing his hands on your hips for a moment, he pulled you back against him while your breath hitched. You felt like you were on a rollercoaster of emotions, pressing your legs together tightly to somewhat get a hold on yourself. “I’d have loved to reward you for that throw, Buttercup.”

Letting go of you, you whipped around, holding on to the counter behind you as the guy laughed, putting his hands in the air innocently as he walked to the side of the stall, letting himself in through the door again. “But alas,” he sighed, leaning down to collect the balls you threw and putting them away.

“All I have for you is this rose.” Pulling forth one of the cheapest prizes, a plastic flower, he slipped it behind your ear, leaning on the counter, supported by his arms. “But I’m sure I at least got your mind off things, right?”

With your heart still racing, you tried to keep the eye contact, the brilliant, citrine glow of his not being subtle about how much he enjoyed this too, as it drilled into you. You could tell he was a terrible tease, but you had to admit he wasn’t wrong. At least for a little bit, he made you forget about your worries, even if you found it hard to admit. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Tin Toss Boy?” you challenged him, keeping your chin high and proud, his smile growing wider with excitement.

“It’s Rhys. But if my little demonstration wasn’t enough to help you with your worries, feel free to drop by again tomorrow. I’ll be here aaaall weekend, happy to help.”

Winking at you, you couldn’t help but laugh for the first time since the exchange started. When you told your parents you’d be going to the carnival, this wasn’t what they thought you were doing. In fact, it wasn’t what you thought you’d do that day either. Chuckling, you took the rose from behind your ear, twirling the plastic stem between your fingers.

“Maybe I will, Rhys,” you made an open promise to him, turning to walk away as you heard him take a sharp breath before letting out a small, pleasurable grumble. You could feel his eyes on you, scanning you from head to toe, and it made you feel even hotter, hearing and feeling that he liked what he saw.

Looking back over your shoulder, your eyes met as you heard him say, “God, I hope.”

When you returned home, your parents had already gone to sleep, the house quiet and dark. You were still holding the rose in your hands, twirling it before your nose again, still faintly smelling his cologne on it. A draft of the scent and your body instantly remembered how his chest felt against your back, the vibrations of his voice in your ear teasing long-forgotten desires inside of you, and most of all, the hard resistance in his pants as you pressed against his crotch.

No matter how strange and intrusive this stranger had been, you couldn’t help that he set off a lot of neediness inside you, making you ache for him between your legs and even deep inside your core. You had never clicked with someone like Rhys before. Someone confident, eager, and dominant with what he wanted. It flattered you beyond imagination that he wanted you of all people; certainly, he’d have enough options with his dashing looks. But you remembered the hunger festering in his eyes as he looked after you, the thought better than sex itself. Maybe he was bored, perhaps just a little weird, but you’d be damned if you didn’t return for another taste of adventure you had with him the next day.

However, that night, you could only dream about what he’d demonstrate to you next.

#Rhys #Rhys Aspen #yandere oc #yandere!oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #OW

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cooliofango · 2 years

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Ciao! I saw your requests were open and I have a request. I was hoping we could get a platonic Jesse McCree imagine with a gender neutral young adult reader (around Hana’s age) where the reader was sort of emotionally neglected in their younger years, so they hold onto any little bit of praise they get. Then Jesse compliments the reader on their performance in the field or while they’re training one day, and it almost instantly puts the y/n in a good mood for a while since they secretly really look up to Jesse.

Thanks 🙏🏽❤️

[Platonic] McCree x GN! Reader

Summary: An emotionally touch starved trainee about Hana’s age in Overwatch who secretly looks up to Jesse, gaining praise from her favorite hero.

This seems like a super cute idea and I’d love to do it! Thanks for sending in the request! I apologize ahead of time if this comes out late due to me being a distracted dumbass ;-;

—————

“Aim a little higher. No, not that high..!” Your mentor spoke gruffly in your ear as you struggled to hit the moving targets. You were a new recruit for Overwatch, getting personally training from a guy who you were assigned to. It was your dream to fight in Overwatch and it has been ever since you were saved from getting caught in the crossfire by Overwatch’s Blackwatch team.

You remember the night like it happened yesterday, though it was really 8 years ago. You were about 12 at the time, Blackwatch was infiltrating Venice, more specifically Rialto where you lived. It was night and you were heading home late after spending time at the beaches along the coast with your friends and had lost track of time. You had just turned the corner when gunfire had spit past your ears, cutting through the air at high speeds. It surprised you, leaving you frozen in shock. There were men in suits shooting at you.

No, not at you. You realized this when you were suddenly pulled out of the way by one person from the group of people who were getting shot at. It was a man in about his teen to young adult years. He, like most of the other people in the group, was mainly dressed in black. His getup reminded you of some cowboy from a movie about the west and heists, though what only furthered your accusation was his thick country accent. “You know, it’s getting pretty late for a kid like you to be out here. I’d recommend taking the long way home.” A slight chuckle slipped from his lips as he gazed back out to the group. The gun fire had stopped and they were continuing their infiltration to get to Bartalottiz.

At the time, you only caught a glimpse of the symbol signifying his affiliation with Blackwatch. You didn’t even know that it was Blackwatch as you ran off. Not until a few months later when you saw the group go public and then again two years later when Overwatch was officially disbanded. It had upset you greatly. Overwatch was always a group you looked up to, even with being in the dark about Blackwatch and what had happened after the omnic crisis.

Your mother always resented Overwatch after the omnic crisis. Your father was a soldier at the time and died in battle during it, even when your mother insisted that he didn’t go and that he should come with the two of you when you moved to Rialto. But he said it was his duty to fight in the war and did just that. The only problem was that he didn’t return home. The grief left your mother to shut everyone out, including her child. You were left to care for yourself for the most part because of it. Though despite that, you don’t hate her for it. It’s helped you become stronger. Strong enough to become a new recruit when the recall was sent for your father, going in his place with Winston’s aid.

“Focus..!” Your mentor snapped you from your thoughts, causing you to jump in surprise. “R-right.. sorry.” You nodded, rolling your shoulders back to help relax your muscles and to get back on track. It was.. a lot harder than it looked. For her anyways. Trying to hit the targets felt like trying to hit the needle in the haystack. And this was a moving haystack.

“Don’t be so hard on the kid. It’s only the first day.” A thick country accent hung in the air from the entrance as the door opened. It struck a cord within you when hearing it. It had sounded so familiar. This prompted you to turn and look at who it would be, only to be met with a familiar face. The cowboy from 8 years ago. The one who saved you from getting caught in the crossfire back in Rialto. The difference from then and now was that he looked older, hair longer and thicker. He wasn’t wearing all black like before, having more brown and red tones to the color pallet. And one of his arms were replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic. You wondered how that happened.

“Why don’t you take a break? I’ll handle the kid for a while.” He walked further inside the room, your mentor watching his every move as he contemplated his answer. Maybe a break would help calm his nerves. A heavy sigh left the commander, shaking his head. “Alright. I’ll be back in ten.” He turned to walk out the door, a hand raising to rub at his temple with the door to shut behind him on the way out.

McCree let a chuckle leave his lips at the sight. “Commander Lester was always such a stick in the mud.” He turned to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t let his attitude get to ya. He’s that grumpy with everyone one.” His tone was reassuring and calm, easing her mind a bit. “R-right.” You nodded with your single word response before looking at the moving targets. He too looked at them, slipping into thought for a moment.

“Try hitting one of those targets.” McCree gestured to the moving cardboard people, targets drawn on their bodies to help the one practicing figure out where to shoot. You were always told headshots were the most affective so you’ve been aiming for that. But it’s clear that you haven’t been able to hit them. Even now as you try to hit the targets’ heads, missing once again and instead hitting the wall behind them. “Alright, alright. That’s enough.” McCree held up a hand as a gesture for you to stop, in which you did.

“The problem is clear as day.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Aim for where they’re going to be, instead of where they already are.” His arms crossed over his chest, watching your face’s expression change to one of confusion. “Aim where it’s going to be…” You murmured to yourself, carefully watching the targets movements. You didn’t have to do so for long, of course. Being in here for so long, it was easy for you to memorize the movement patterns. Raising your gun you waited to fire at the right time. Aim for where it’s going to be.

The sound of the gun fire was followed by the sound of the layers of the cardboard being broken with a pop-like sound. It didn’t hit the center of the head like you initially timed it for, more to the left actually, but you actually hit it! “There you go..! Nice shot, kid!” He patted your back with a grin. The sound of the door opening made him look back to see Commander Lester walk back in. “Keep it up and you’ll do great.” He gave a thumbs up before turning to leave. I mean, he did have his own work to do after all. He just saw a familiar face in need of help and decided to take a small stop to do so.

“Alright. Let’s get back to it, cadet!” The commander barked his order just like before. The only difference from then and now was that you weren’t as nervous as you were before. Actually, you felt a bit more confident than usual. The praise you received from someone you deemed as your hero made you feel better. That and receiving help from him instead of your grumpy commander helped to calm your nerves. Target practice went smoothly the rest of that day. You’ll have to thank McCree later on.

#one shots #oneshots #requests #requests open #reader insert #gender neutral reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch #overwatch mccree #mccree #jesse mccree #cole cassidy

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violetstar-writes · 3 years

Text

More things that happened in Kingdom Hearts that I rarely see people talk about:

Pete dressing up as a superhero then proceeding to almost run over a young man with a kart

Minnie Mouse then sends Pete to the void for attempted murder and being rude

Disney’s The Three Musketeers except instead of Mickey Mouse being saved from drowning by Donald Duck, he’s rescued by Donald, Goofy, AND some anime boy

Lady Tremaine, Anastasia, and Drisela were blown up and incinerated by a monster and Aqua was just. Okay with that because they were mean

That one time Ventus shrunk down to the size of a mouse and Lucifer (the cat) tried to eat him. Also Cinderella found this abnormally small boy and treats/talks to him like all the other mice? Even though he still very much looked human?? What???

That other time Terra had to fight Zack Fair from Final Fantasy 7: Crisis Core because he was being possessed by Hades, Lord of the Dead

Scrooge McDuck being very in-character as an adventurer by being fully aware of all the other disconnected worlds and even traveling to two of them with Merlin's help

Scrooge McDuck being very in-character as a billionare when he opens up an ice cream shop and later on an entire restaurant, each in two separate worlds just so he can expand his fortune

Oh and Scrooge hired Remy as the restaurant's chef, whom I can only assume is in Twilight Town because Paris was obliterated by darkness

After Stitch stole the spaceship like in the original movie, I guess he started flying around from world to world for fun and casually helped the residents of Hollow Bastion/Radiant Garden fight off a horde of Heartless for a bit

Stitch is also the reason why Sora, Donald, and Goofy got sucked into a computer (well it was mostly Donald, but he did start it)

After the first game, Disney villains are oddly irrelevant to the plot. Which is weird because aside from Xehanort, they were one of the catalysts for nearly plunging the worlds into eternal darkness

In Big Hero 6 world, there's 2 Baymaxes now. One of them is the Baymax from the movie that sacrificed himself to save Hiro. So I guess that means it's kind of canon like the Pixar worlds???

While most of the Disney villains died the same way they did in the movies or died after failing to control a Heartless that came to their aid, Scar, Mother Gothel, and Hans decided to take it a step further and turn into giant Heartless for some reason

General Shang got curbstomped by Riku (who was only 15 at the time mind you)

Sora befriended Tron then watched him die after being brainwashed by Clu. Honestly the saddest I've ever felt when seeing a disney character interact with a...quite frankly out-of-place square enix character

Judge Frollo called Sora disgusting and a gypsy just because of his anime getup

The fact that Pinocchio’s world WAS supposed to appear in 358/2 Days, but it scrapped due to the low space of the DS. It was supposed to have the circus setting like in DDD and Pinocchio was fully human at this point as well, leaving Xion and Roxas to question their existence as Nobodies and wonder if there was still hope for them to be human too (gdi i love you DS but why did you have to be so weak that we couldn’t get such a compelling world idea, this could’ve developed Xion and Roxas SO MUCH MORE)

The fact that only Carpet inexplicably recognized Roxas as Sora in 358/2 Days before Riku did

#kingdom hearts #ddd #358/2 days #bbs #kh3 #there’s so much that happens in this series man #these are just things that stuck out to me #extremely difficult to remember everything #though the pinocchio bit is relatively new. i did not know about that until today

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mst3kproject · 2 years

Photo

Devil Girl from Mars

This movie qualifies itself for MST3K by the robot alone. I don't think anybody involved with it ever made it to the Satellite of Love– in fact, most of the cast had made real movies in the past and went on to make more of them. But Devil Girl from Mars has a dumb title and a terrible robot, and anybody who’s seen it will agree that’s all it needs.

It's a dark and stormy night somewhere in Scotland when Robert, an escaped convict, shows up at the isolated pub where his ex-girlfriend Doris works, hoping she'll help him hide from the police. She agrees, though it's obviously going to make both their lives far more complicated... but not as complicated as the arrival of Naya, a Martian who lands her flying saucer just metres from the front door. It seems Mars had a war between the sexes, which ended in the near-extermination of the men. That's right, it's another movie about aliens coming to Earth looking for breeding stock. Can one jailbird and the staff and guests at a Scottish pub possibly stop Naya in time?

Someday when humans have left the Earth behind and set out to see the galaxy, I rather suspect it'll be us visiting random planets and saying things like, “hey, we're all out of males, can we borrow some of yours?” And it won't be because we've actually had some kind of reproductive crisis, it'll be because we're bored and horny and we want to fuck some aliens.

I guess I'm going to start with the things I like about this movie. It's a short list. Naya explains that the reason she was forced to land so far from her destination of London is because Earth's atmosphere was denser than she'd expected. This kinda makes sense – the atmosphere of Mars is extremely thin and creatures adapted to that might have a hard time believing life forms could survive in air as thick as ours. It's about the only nod to actual science that the script ever makes, so that's nice.

The other thing I like is how the movie treats Naya. The 'we've run out of potential mating partners' trope, as manifest in things like Fire Maidens of Outer Space and Cat-Women of the Moon, is usually an excuse to have a hot alien babe fall in love with a thoroughly dull and unremarkable Earth man. Devil Girl from Mars never even considers this idea. Naya is always and only ever a threat. The humans are nothing to her but specimens, and none of them ever even mention the idea that she could be considered physically attractive. Actress Patricia Laffan, in platform shoes that make her as tall as any of the men, never portrays her as even unintentionally sultry or sexy, only as cruel, arrogant, and increasingly fed up with these insects who believe they can oppose her. The only person who considers Naya a sex object is the costume designer, who was definitely jerking off when he came up with that Sexy Darth Vader getup she wears.

Other aspects of Naya's behaviour, unfortunately, are terribly inconsistent, particularly her technology. She demonstrates early on that she can hypnotize and control humans to do whatever she wants – so why doesn't she just force the men to come with her while leaving the women behind, instead of letting them wander around and plot against her? In another scene, she vaporizes a guy leaving nothing behind but his glasses. There's no reason why Naya as presented to us wouldn't do the same to any human she deems less than useful. We wouldn't have a story if she just did the most efficient thing, of course, but the movie never even tries to come up with an excuse. I think the writer just hoped we wouldn't notice.

Then there's the robot. It looks like a fridge on legs, and is a step up from the robot that fought the Aztec Mummy only because it has an approximation of knees. It appears in a single scene, clumping around at somewhat less than human walking speed and vaporizing a couple of things before thumping back into the spaceship never to be seen again. Enough time is spent on this and the impression it makes on the human characters that it seems like it ought to be setting up for the robot to do something really cool at the climax... but it doesn't. It's only there to have a space robot in the movie.

The robot is truly hilarious. It's supposed to be this huge threatening hulk but the only thing I would be afraid of is that it might topple over on me. My Mom remembers seeing this movie as a kid and told me even then she wondered why they didn't just push the robot over. With its noodly tube arms there's no way it'd be able to get up again. Sadly, the robot is a good eighty-five percent of all the actual entertainment value this film has to offer.

Devil Girl from Mars is based on a stage play, and you can kind of tell – almost everything that happens does so in a single room in the pub, with only brief (and sometimes dialogue-less) excursions to Naya's flying saucer and a couple of other rooms in the building. Furthermore, very little of it counts as 'action'. Most of the movie is just people talking to each other and drinking. I can tell what the script is going for. We're meant to feel a sense of claustrophobia, of being trapped and impotent while the world falls to pieces all around us (an annoyingly relatable situation, really). Unfortunately, it never quite gets there. Rather than biting our nails wondering what will happen next, the audience just wishes the movie would get on with things. A couple of times the characters come up with a plan to kill or capture Naya but these never accomplish anything but annoying her further.

The odd side-effect of this is that the character who is easiest to empathize with is actually Naya herself. She's stuck here until her spaceship is repaired, so she's killing time and getting irritated with these people who are not what she came to see. That's us! We're stuck watching this movie that we hoped would have cool space stuff in it, but it doesn't, and now we're just waiting for it to be over!

I guess the characters are supposed to have arcs. The major one is the little love story between Ellen, a guest at the pub, and Mike, the reporter here to cover the odd events unfolding in the area. She has been unlucky in love and has come to this remote place to hide from the world, not wanting to let herself get close to anybody for fear of being hurt again. He went through hell in World War II and now finds solace in alcohol and being an asshole. Supposedly the situation strips both of them of their pretensions and lets them see each other's vulnerabilities, but we never really feel that. The entire thing is talked at us rather than shown.

Then there's Robert and Doris, who are introduced as if they ought to be the main characters. Unsurprisingly at this point, they're barely in the rest of the movie. Their situation, with Doris wanting to help but knowing she shouldn't, and Robert on the run but with no long-term plan yet, is very much the most interesting thing going on here, even more so than the whole 'Mars needs Men' a-plot. I kind of want to see a movie just about the two of them trying to figure out where to go from here. As it is, their story isn't so much part of the plot as it is interrupted by it, and the ending doesn't solve their problems but merely renders them irrelevant.

Other characters are fairly useless. The Professor (of course there's a Professor in a movie like this) is only here to say sciency shit and explain to the rest of the cast how to destroy Naya's spaceship. The Cute Kid (also an inevitability) is here to gush about how cool the spaceship is and so that Naya can take him hostage. And the old couple who run the pub are our collective nemeses, the comic relief characters who are never actually funny. The joke is that Mr. Jamieson would be an alcoholic if only his wife would let him drink. Mrs. Jamieson putters around clucking over everybody and telling them to put their trust in the Lord, which has always struck me as an odd reaction to an alien invasion.

I think the biggest reason why Devil Girl from Mars feels so unsatisfying is because we never get the idea that this story means anything. The specific reason why Naya has come to Earth is basically irrelevant to the events that unfold – it only matters that she's there and must be gotten rid of, or more Martians will follow her. She could have come to Earth for specimens, for water, for gold, or for Professor Maki's super-advanced rocket fuel and this story would have happened the same way. The 'war of the sexes' is referenced and then dropped.

I dragged a bunch of other 'aliens need mates' movies at the beginning of this review but they all at least tried to do something with the concept. Generally such movies advance the idea that neither men nor women can exist without the love of the other. This is an unpleasantly parochial statement, but at least it's a statement. Devil Girl from Mars doesn't seem to have a statement. Maybe Robert redeems himself, since he's a convict on the run and all... but he doesn't seem to need redemption, since he insists the death of his wife was an accident, not a murder. Perhaps he is redeemed in the eyes of those who believed he was a murderer, but we don't see that, since the movie ends pretty much right away after the spaceship blows up. There is no reward for sitting through all this.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #devil girl from mars #50's #we're running out of plots #tobor is robot spelled backwards

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years

Note

Family member anon, here I go.

S/o visiting with Ron and they friend bob for chaotic day, only some peoples have a ability to break the fourth wall including Ron and bob but Ron s/o have the ability to escape this game to visit irl. During totality not stealing bob and bossip place during Ron talking about want to escape this “game” Ron s/o felt bad and didn’t know Ron feels, after Ron song is over s/o decided to bring Ron with them. Before Ron hit by a car ron s/o teleport with Ron to escape this “game” and saved Ron from a random car, Ron is happy with s/o and finally in peace until returning the “game” to invite bob for a relaxed time

Ohh I love this! Ik Ron's dialogue at that part is all jokes but I can make angst out of that :)

..........

"So lemme get this straight-"

"I'm totally straight, haha."

"Would you be serious for ONCE in your life?!!"

"Bob, be nice."

"...fine. Anyways, you got fourth-wall powers like us?"

"Yeah, and then some." You shrugged at the white blob, smiling.

It was true. You were among the few individuals who were self-aware of the fact they're in a popular rhythm game called Friday Night Funkin', especially the mod universe. But you hailed from the outside world, where it was only seen as a game and nothing more.

Despite this barrier you've made a lot of friendships, and found love in the folderhead, of all people.

When you realized him and Bob infiltrated a mod called "VS Bob and Bosip" and turned it into a "Bob's Takeover" update, you decided to visit them.

You've met the stars of the original mod before the update, learning they were also self-aware as they tried getting to The End of Minecraft and ended up in this game instead.

After mentioning them, Bob had a plan to rap battle the pair, joking about wanting to earn the rightful title of "Bob". And he wanted Ron to accompany him for unknown reasons, but you didn't mind. You figured they moved past their rivalry from Bob's own mod.

So you hung out at a different section of the park, finding some other people to sing with.

One of those ended up being Keith and Cherry, but you still referred to them as "Boyfriend" and "Girlfriend" often. They didn't possess the level of self-awareness that you did, but Keith wanted to challenge you and you happily obliged.

It was an easy battle for the most part, but the moment you finished, Cherry noticed two figures rapidly approaching:

Bob but in a yellow shirt with the word "Gloopie" on it and a blue wig, and Ron wearing attire similar to Bosip's, a spiky yellow wig included.

As they recognized who you were with, they began acting unusually out-of-character, with Bob spewing violent threats to Keith and forcing him into another rap battle. Ron looked traumatized, as though he didn't get a choice to put on this outfit.

You wondered what was wrong until he finally broke down when Bob finished singing.

"You know me, right? I'm Ron. I was featured in the mod "Literally Every FNF Mod Ever"...VS Bob? You gotta remember that, right?!" His hands shook as he stared at the blue-haired singer, who seemed clueless.

"Ron?" You were worried, assuming he was having some sort of existential crisis. "You okay?"

"I was murdered..and stabbed. My body was used for satisfaction by Bob..and....I-I was tortured for years on end." He stammered over his words as he turned to you with tears in his eyes.

Unfortunately your suspicion was correct. According to Ron, he truly did die in that mod, only to be revived by real-world forces and used as a "puppet" for likes and fame. The fact he couldn't live a normal life with you and was trapped in this stupid game felt like an eternal punishment for him.

You had no idea he felt this way all along, or how he came to be self-aware on such an extreme level.

Had you known sooner....you felt so guilty.

"I can't do this..I CAN'T!! GET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING TORTURE!!" Ron pulled at his wig, which to stuck to him like real hair. "[Y/n]..I-I can't take this..GET ME OUT OF HERE!!" He grabbed your shoulders, panicking and sobbing. "I CAN'T KEEP LIVING LIKE THIS!!"

"Ron, Ron...it'll be okay." You hugged him closely. "I overheard Bob and Bosip say they had to sing to get out of this game. How about we try that, hm?"

Sniffling, he nodded and muttered an "okay", perking up as he spun around to face Keith. He seemed wildly concerned about both Ron's odd speech and sudden mood swings, but forced a smile upon seeing that he was about to be challenged.

"Rap battle?"

"Okay."

As bizarre as Ron's song was, it was quite catchy and amusing to say the least. Though even with all his craziness, he remained no match for Keith.

"Unfair! I didn't have a 4th-wall break meltdown for nothing!" Ron threw his microphone to the ground in defeat as the music stopped.

"You did your best, though." You tried staying optimistic, but Bob just snickered and Keith just rolled his eyes and left with his girlfriend.

A few moments later Ron stormed out into the middle of the street in a fit of anger, and your eyes widened as you saw a car speeding down the road.

"LOOK OUT!!"

"Huh?"

You decided to use your powers and take his hand, teleporting you both out of the game seconds before the car could hit either of you, leaving a Bob-disguised Bob all alone.

"..where the fuck did they-"

...........

"Oof..where are we?"

"Uh...my room." Helping Ron stand up, you smiled and pointed to your computer. "See? Your icon on the mod's main menu is blank. You're outta there finally."

He stared at the screen for a second, perplexed by what just happened. But then he looked all around your room as the realization finally hit him.

He was in your world. Actual reality.

Finally free.

"FREEDOM AT LAST!!!" He spun around and embraced you, his smile stretching to the edges of his head. "This is so pog, oh my god oh my god."

You chuckled and hugged him as well, relieved that you were able to save his life and bring him to your world. After hearing what he's been through, you knew he needed this.

"So now that we're outta there..can I ask what's with the whole Bosip getup?"

"Oh..right." He blushed as he stepped back and looked towards a nearby mirror. "I thought it would make me look cool and distract me from the agony of my own self-awareness. Sorry if I scared ya back there."

"Don't worry, I understand. You look cool in any outfit." You chuckled, before another thought occured to you. "By the way, Ron?"

"Ye?"

"After Bob calms down maybe we can...go back in the game and fetch him so he can get a taste of the real world, too."

"..........."

"....you can do that?? We should probably find Little Man, while we're at it."

"I don't think he's as self-aware as his dad yet-"

"Oh don't worry. He's 27 so he knows."

".......wait he's almost THIRTY?!!"

#clanask #family member anon #fnf x reader #friday night funkin x reader #fnf ron x reader #ron x reader

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written-beyond-the-grave · 3 years

Text

Mikaelsons Black History Month

First off, I’m starting by saying that even though it is no longer Black history month it will always be melanin everyday and black people every day. And everything else under the sun, and if you don’t like it then the exit is to your left. Everything you own in the box to the left

Being part of the Mikaelsons is very fickle business and be some bs. Like really, you’re here with supernatural beings who are over 1000 years old. Who have traveled the world, gained endless knowledge, seen a lot of bloodshed, but you know what they haven’t seen? Their token human (black ofc) being ignant for black history month, I mean who even fully celebrates? How does one even celebrate?

Granted, they’re not racist. But with the writing Julie Pleck did she was playing honestly. That was the worst writing I've ever seen since who knows when. Maybe the nine lives of Chloe king or something? But in my originals universe they were probably racist in the beginning to an extent then grew out of it.

Anyways, they never met someone who celebrated until they met you!

Now repeat after me: I’m black y’all, and I’m black y’all. And I’m black and black and black y’all! FYM

Now…. picture this: A moderately quiet day in the Mikaelson household. Kol is minding his business for once, Rebekah is trying to find the perfect pics for her next instagram post, Elijah is enjoying a good read, and Klaus is organizing his art materials. But then here comes you, the human, opening the door and walking right in like you pay bills (none of them do but you get the picture) in the midst of the most deadly people. Walking in and greeting everyone, walking in with the most hotep, Dr. Umar bullshit getup they ever seen. Coming to America headass.

They recognize your footsteps from a mile away, so when you walk into the kitchen and no one really looks up at first it’ll be a sight to see a whole ass pelted lion on your back. The kente cloth hat (no idea the actual name for it, sorry babes), a saber tooth necklace (for my mans T’Challa), and the red stiletto nails with the afro out here banging.

SHEEEEEEEEESH

Once Elijah is done with his page he looks up to greet you, but then stops… Bitch, fuck is you wearing? This was worlds away from the sweats, and skinny jeans you wore on the daily.

“Greetings Y/N you look…. Fashionable.” Mans didn’t know what to say. Did he miss something about your Africna roots? Was there a holiday he hadn’t heard of, doubt it, but what else was there?

“Thank you Elijah.” You fluff out your lion pelt for added effect, if there was ever going to be one time you outdo the Mikaelsons’ especially Elijah in being dramatic with a coat or cloak of somesort, it would be now.

At this point the Kol and Rebekah have already looked up and were confused. Why are you dressed like that?

Kol is the first one to speak up “Darling, Rebekah likes a fashion show more than anyone, but why do you have a lion… on your shoulder.”

Lifting up your large ass shades you supplied an answer: “Black History Month”

They all looked at each other… they didn’t get it. Like they know what it is, but never actually understood how to celebrate and all that nor did they ever actually give it mind. When you saw that they weren’t making a connection, you started phase 1.

“Alexa, you know what to do.”

And there goes their manor playing: NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA NIGGA I’M ONE HUNDRED PERCENT NIGGA

LMFAOOOOO you got the white people shook. Klaus just dropped one of his expensive ass bottles of art sealants and is vamp speeding to the kitchen to figure out what the hell is going on. Elijah having a mid century crisis on how tf they even found you and deemed you worthy of being in their presence so casually. Kol is having fun in the back, still laughing at your get up. And Rebekah wishes she went to the mall instead, she wanted a girl bestie and got you instead rip

“WHAT IN BLAZES- Y/N WHAT ARE YOU DO- WHAT ARE YOU WEARING! ALEXA STOP THE MUSIC-” And the big bad wolf has arrived. You put your finger to Klaus’ lips which stuns him bc… you’re still HOOOMAN like damn, death wish much? And you look this man, straight in his mit and say “Looks at, look at me” and pause for dramatic affect, “I am the captain now”

Room silent as hell till Kol starts cackling

You’ve made Dr. Umar proud, the ancestors are shining on you once again

With that you lead into a whole speech about the black struggle and black history month, bottom line: REPARATIONS. Because being the only nigga in the Mikaelsons (we don’t claim Marcel) is exhausting, white people shit everyday that you complain about in their faces

TBH at this point they’re indulging you in this escapade.

First victim is Elijah, you ask for his wallet. He gives you a look, I mean he does technically give you what you want and whatever (when y’all dating, refer back to my dating Elijah post), so he ask you why. Reparations sis why, but then you stop yourself. This man gives you his wallet every other day, half the time you not even asking. What could you rob this man of…. Ah. You ask him for the deed of one of his estates in Prague, why? Because you bitches can’t even spell Prague. And under section S line 45 subsection Y it does state that estates are eligible for reparations. Fuck 40 acres and a mule, you got 300 acres, some stallions in the back, a quite possibly haunted mansion, and a heavy dicked (yeah I said it, a sis been trying to reality shift) original who will turn you out by the end of the day and the end of the month…. Wait till women's history month boo

We know his pockets figgity fat, and it would be figgity wack to not get some

Ngl you take Kol with you so he can buy you food. Granted, he knows what you’re doing, but if he’s going to spend money on anything it will be thawed and it will be music. However, one thing leads to another and you’re both at Wal-Mart waiting to find a parking spot. You stole one off a white minivan trying to move in. Not thinking anything of it because who in this small ass Mystic Falls ass, clown ass town really about it? Apparently Karen.

But you know who else what about it? Kol (tbh mans had nothing but time, and he claims you so why tf not.) he out here NY stomping on her and coming at her for badly glued extensions. Cheap ass bitch, ain’t even blend in correctly.

After that Kol and you left with some groceries, a new story to tell, and a chopped cheese.

With Klaus, he frfr wasn’t finna do shit. Being ordered my a human? Lmfao, go find another simp sis. But… once you suggest that his art skills may not be up to par on what you have in mind as a new family room piece for your house he’s all ears. He knows what you’re doing, but… he still wants to prove you wrong. But anyways, you give him a theme… reverse racism. IK y’all, it’s not a thing, but mans has ideas. And he outdoes himself. That and the recreation of the moorish chief bc that man...mmmmm that man was giving.

Ok so Google wanna hoe me, but there was a painting of a black man in a kkk cloak and behind him were white people being hung from a tree. Say what you want, but that photo was fire. If any of you seen it please share it below.

Anyways

Rebekah tbh wants no part in this, but I feel like she’d gave when you ask her to give you all the finest dresses bc it’s an excuse to exhaust Klaus’ money.

Through the month you give the Mikaelsons a run for their money, and maybe sanity. Klaus is in the back trying to research who tf Dr. Umar is and why is he your inspiration

They had to pull you back when the sheriff asked you for your ID. You ask why you needed white man paperwork!

You are pleasing the spirits, what bonnie could never do lmfaooooo. The powers of you enemies aren’t prospering this month nor next month.

You’re not poor this month, anything you poor of is pouring a little more (bars nigga)

LMFAOOOO imaging asking the fam to go to paris, like, they not invited it’s a self trip funded my the Mikaelson Y/N Trust Fund of Public Decency ™

Klaus would be the first one to speak because this man is TIRED, “Love, why do you need a trip to paris? What’s in Paris?”

Knowing better, you look to Kol to answer the question, “I don’t know, Kol, who’s in Paris?” Niggas b. Niggas in paris…. Lemme chill

LMFAOOO enjoy

#klaus mikealson x reader #klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd x reader #the originals #black reader #black!reader #poc!reader #poc reader #niggasbelike

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makeste · 4 years

Note

I just wanna enable you to talk more about Katsuki so. top 5 (or 10, or however many you feel like) Bakugou romantic ships? not like number 1 will be a surprise but hey ;p

ah, shipping. the perfect topic with which to take a breather from leg puns and the quirkless!Bakugou debate. nothing controversial about ships lmao.

disclaimer: these are literally just my favorite Bakugou ships, as asked. I have few to no NOTPs, and I’m not anti-anything, nor do I have any opinions on whether or not any of these will or should become canon (as it really makes no difference to me, since I ship them all platonically as well). basically I have no skin in the “shipping somehow has winners and losers” game. I’m just here for the emotional energy and the lulz and the character development.

anyways this is a top six because I couldn’t bear to leave either of my two favorite rarepairs out whoops.

BakuDeku - like you said anon, not a surprise lol. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; for me, these two are the core of the series. honestly it sometimes strikes me as ironic that this ship is so often written off as abusive or unhealthy or toxic, because I often find myself thinking that roughly 90% of all of Bakugou and Deku’s problems could be sorted out just by them communicating with each other. and I don’t mean just their own specific relationship problems -- I mean all of their problems. Bakugou is having an emotional crisis about something? have him talk to Deku. Deku’s overwhelmed by a problem and way overthinking it? have him talk to Bakugou! they balance each other out, is the thing. when one of them veers off course, the other is the compass to steer them back on track. that’s the power of rivals!! and aside from that, this relationship is just so complex, and I am weak for absolutely all of it. it’s just this perfect blend of push and pull and friction and trust. it’s the type of ship where the two of them have such a strong connection that it’s like gravity; they can’t help but orbit the other, even when that orbit is sometimes unsteady. it’s just such a powerful bond and just... guh. I have way too many emotions about it so I am just going to STOP NOW and move on to the next ship.

TodoBaku - so by now we have reached a point where pretty much everyone in class 1-A is an expert on handling Bakugou, and ngl, it’s my favorite thing ever. but what makes the TodoBaku relationship so especially appealing is that Shouto is completely unafraid to just step right up and declare his friendship to the entire world. Todoroki “I’m calling it like it is” Shouto, who, after giving the matter careful consideration, correctly judged himself and Bakugou to be the closest of friends, and thus decided that they should intern together and he should introduce him to his family and get his sister to cook his favorite foods. and the entire time, Bakugou is all “please no one listen to this delusional freak, we are not friends at all,” even as he proceeds to get himself involved in all of the Todoroki family drama, and saves Shouto’s brother’s life, and learns all of his sister’s recipes, and presumably cries himself to sleep at night wondering how he could have let this happen.

Kacchako - what I like about Ochako’s relationship with Katsuki is that she’s one of the few people who’s not afraid to call him out on his shit. she’s not just warmly tolerant of him like some of the others; she has expectations of him, and will unabashedly express her sound disappointment if he fails to be the person she knows he’s capable of being. I feel like Ochako has no patience for him taking his sweet time with his character development, and is just “goddammit young man, just sort your shit out with Deku already and go back to being best friends like you both so clearly want, and while you’re at it please try to treat other people less like garbage”, and various other things that are all true but that he of course hates to hear, but TOO BAD lol. anyway so I love that, and I love that she’s just as stubborn as he is. and I also love that there’s genuine, mutual respect between the two of them as well. never forget that Katsuki is the one who first brought out Ochako’s homicidal badass side. anyway so they basically complement each other very well, and I have my fingers crossed that one of these days Horikoshi will decide to actually have them interact with each other again because damn.

KiriBaku - Kirishima, on the other hand, is warmly tolerant of Bakugou, and openly admiring of him even, but it tends to be in a way that brings out Bakugou’s best qualities. Kiri just has this way of bringing out Bakugou’s confidence in himself. like, he’s very good at saying precisely the right words to make Bakugou grin that smirky little grin of his, the one that’s all “oh yeah, that’s right, I’m a badass.” and seeing as Bakugou, for all his pride and bluster, is surprisingly prone to having mini crises of confidence, this is a valued skill that I’m very grateful to Kiri for having! and what’s nice is that Bakugou is very good at returning the favor, since Kiri is prone to crises of confidence as well. the little flashback right before Kiri unveils Unbreakable for the first time is one of my favorite moments in the series. when this ship is firing on all cylinders they really bring out the best in each other. and also they are both dumb bros which is an extremely undervalued dynamic. I love it when Bakugou is all “HEY KIRISHIMA LET ME BLOW YOU UP A BIT” and Kiri is just like “YEAHHHH!” heh.

KamiBaku - and now for the first of the two rarepairs! first of all I would just like to state that I absolutely cannot fathom why KamiBaku is a rarepair to begin with, unless it’s simply because everyone is already too obsessed with the previously mentioned ships. but at any rate it’s a damn shame, because the cuteness of this ship is off the fucking charts, and right now it’s all just going to waste. what I adore more than anything about this ship is the way Bakugou tolerates every single fucking thing Kaminari does and LETS HIM GET AWAY WITH IT. he lets him call him “Kacchan.” he lets Kaminari manhandle him into various getups (the A Band shirt; the Santa outfit) on multiple occasions while putting up absolutely no fight. he basically allows him an almost unprecedented level of closeness, which Kaminari proceeds to BLATANTLY TAKE ADVANTAGE OF at every turn seemingly unchecked! and he is the all time champ at tricking Bakugou into participating in social interactions (tying the ribbon to his foot during the Christmas gift exchange, telling him he won’t get any food at the New Year’s feast if he doesn’t help cook, etc.). he just loves him and wants him to be included. honestly this one of the most adorable relationships in the entire goddamn series and I am tired of it being slept on. the people deserve more KamiBaku dammit.

IidaBaku - last but not least, a relationship between two people who I’m pretty sure have only actually interacted with each other a handful of times, and most of those times involved them shouting at each other! ah, yes. the stick in the mud and the delinquent. god’s natural enemies. except that in this case the “delinquent” is a star student who tutors other kids and goes to bed every night at 8:30, and the stick in the mud once hatched a legitimate plot to kill a man. what I am trying to say is that these two are actually WAY more alike than they would ever care to admit, and I’m kind of obsessed with it?? this is one of those ships where all it would take is one well-applied trope and the possibilities are endless. you could literally just pick one out of a hat. fake dating, roommates, only one bed, undercover as lovers, WHATEVER. and not only does this have the potential to be the most hilarious ship in the history of time, but it also has potential to be disarmingly, shockingly sweet, I shit you not. there are a couple of little moments in the light novels that I absolutely adore, where they’re each taking care of the other with the other having absolutely no idea. Iida makes about four attempts to tuck Bakugou in during the forest training camp arc because his covers have fallen off and he doesn’t want him to catch a chill, and Bakugou unknowingly returns the favor by preventing Iida from stumbling across the preparations for his own surprise birthday party before the others are finished getting ready. by shoving Iida into an elevator and ordering him to go back to his room with absolutely no explanation given lmao. anyway, but the point is the potential is definitely there for cuteness and chemistry and mutual respect while arguing nonstop like an old married couple.

so there you go! honestly Bakugou somehow has chemistry with just about everyone in his class, which is super impressive for someone with the personality of a rabid wolf spider. god bless him.

#bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #todobaku #kacchako #kiribaku #kamibaku #iidabaku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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ig-hazlovesdraco · 4 years

Text

drarry designer store au

okay so after the war Draco can't get a job anywhere since no one took their NEWTs and he wasn't invited back for his eighth year, right? so he was really good at potions so he brews himself an new polyjuice that was super expensive and only available to the week connected — it only changes one's face, which he drinks because body changes are too hard for him to balance in, he'd tried. and he creates a new identity. he goes to work in a designer clothes store, and he's the employee that helps out people by picking their clothes and giving opinions.

then one day, a man walks in, who's completely lost, and draco does his job - he offers to help.

"how can i help you today?"

"erm, i need new dress robes and a tie, and a formal shirt — er, the whole getup really. it's for a gala"

and draco gives him a suit that flatters his build and a plain white shirt with a blue tie, and the man asks why blue, and Draco explains that the blue is designed to match his eyes magically as long as they're the same shade. the man shifts awkwardly and requests a green tie of the same type, which confuses Draco, but he acquiesces. the dude comes out of the changing room with an utterly messed up Windsor knot, and Draco spends thirty minutes trying to teach him how to do it before he gets exasperated and says, "you do realize there are other knots right??"

and the man blushes and laughs, and says, "you remind me of a person i used to know, but in a nicer way."

and Draco arches an eyebrow at that, because, "Nice? Not something anyone would use to describe me."

and after that, the man keeps coming in, at first weekly, but sometimes even thrice a week.

and of course, the man is harry, similarly under polyjuice. they start dating, but they don't call it that, because they're both worried commitment with the identity crisis. this goes on for a while, and once Hermione and Ron come in, saying a friend had recommended the shop, which Draco found suspicious but he shook it off. Really, they were scoping out Harry's new boyfriend that Harry literally doesn't shut up about.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy starts talking to Harry during his weekly parole visits — and is he flirting with him? Draco keeps being nice and joking, and Harry starts seeing him in a better light, but it's just weird, right? Out of nowhere?

the reveal comes in the form of harry noticing the faded dark mark on draco's arm, and he immediately is shaken and leaves with a horrible excuse.

he thinks about it for a while, cries, and decides to discuss it with Draco. Needless to say, it doesn't go well, and ends in a huge mess — Draco tells Harry he knows he has his own secrets, but he doesn't pry, and Harry gets mad because this is a bigger deal.

Harry realizes it's Draco — he'd always reminded harry of the blond boy, and he was also the only death eater alive who wasn't in Azkaban. Draco ends up apologizing and talking after he feels like shit all week, and the second he walks into Harry's flat, and Harry whirls around, not under polyjuice, his eyes bug out.

"YOU'RE Henry?" he all but yells.

"Draco I'm—"

"Save it. You're still a pathetic hypocrite. I can't believe I ever loved you." he turns to walk out, but harry apparates in front of him.

"You love me?" He asks breathlessly, and Draco glares venomously. "Wait, no, I love you too! I still do, and I hated it because only you ever make me feel so fucking alive and I feel like I truly matter, more than ever, with you. I just thought you might have been, like, still a muggle hater and thought hey, let me play a little game with the muggle born! since I said I was one. I'm really sorry, I didn't want to hurt you at all and I love you so much, please take be back—"

and Draco, whose expressions had ranged from pissed off to closed off to neutral to the current fondness, just grabs his face and kisses him, and Harry just melts because everything is finally right again.

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qwertyfingers · 3 years

Note

we know that bobby only watched ds9 and dean watched the tos movies for sure which implies he's seen tos as well (plus he calls jack spock). so what do you think everyone's favorite trek is? sam is without a doubt a tng fan first and foremost. i think out of all tos movies cas prefers the wrath of khan because he Feels Things when kirk and spock do the ta'al through the glass. charlie has definitely seen some trek (we've seen her llap), do you think she's into tos first and foremost? anyway let's talk about star trek nights in the bunker.

OKAY SO I HAVE. MANY MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS. SORRY THIS IS SO LONG.

like. like of COURSE bobby only likes ds9 of course he does i could have told you this without the show becuase like. bobby is That Bitch. i think rufus will have watched TOS at least because leonard nimoy worked hard on linking jewish faith and practices into the vulcan lore and i think that would mean something to him. bobby will catch rufus smiling at him sometimes while they’re watching ds9 and ask him what all gruffly and rufus will smirk at him and say something about sisko with jake and bobby with dean and bobby will just cough and take a swig of whiskey and rufus will raise his eyebrows but let it slide. rufus definitely makes a comment once about dean&cas being like jake&nog that totally flies over dean’s head but bobby is all knowing eyebrow raise about.

i think cas and jack would really like discovery. while it has some issues with inconsistency, pacing, being a little dark, it also does better than the other TV treks at utilising the nature of film as a medium to instill a sense of wonder, at space and the world, and that’s something they’d really appreciate. i have my own issues with disco, but an obol for charon is as close to the central core of trek that disco ever gets. cas and jack also like that one in particular because they like listening to all the different languages being spoken. they all love michael (everyone loves michael). cas’ faves are stamets and reno because they’re mean and gay, jack’s fave is tilly because she’s excitable and bright and he latches onto that. dean likes reno because she’s got spunk. sam’s fave is airiam and he will never forgive them for killing her off. sam, cas and dean all feel an uncomfortable kinship with both ash and culber - they’ve both been the one with monster teeming under the surface, controleld by something not themself, but they’ve also all spent that time in hell/purgatory, separated from everyone they love.

thinking about episodes that would really get to them all, darmok is. THE ONE. i have a whole unfinished essay about darmok as the platonic ideal of star trek; the perfect distillation of everything trek is SUPPOSED to be about. it doens’t always get there but by god it tries! that speech michael gives in the disco s2 finale - “There's a whole galaxy of people out there who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you and reach for them.” - that’s what darmok is about!!! it’s all about a situation where real communication seems impossible, where everything we know about talking and learning has broken down. and picard says, okay, i will find another way. i can’t relate to you, you can’t relate to me, but by god i’m going to try. we all meet people we have trouble communicating with in our lives, and often, those people will not care about changing their own ways to accommodate us. for people with autism, adhd, psychosis, the list goes on, this is a very common occurrence. it’s exhausting and frustrating and alienating. darmok is all about crossing that barrier. about reaching for someone through a world of difficulty and learning how to talk. learning how to share something with someone who seems out of our reach. it’s beautiful, it’s heartwrenching, it means more to me than i can easily put into words!

anyway i think the bunker fam would experience a lot of emotions watching it together. there’s defintiely a lot of hugging eachother, sam cries a lot and won’t look at anyone until after the episode ends. jack just asks a lot of questions and talks about his progress learning sign language with cas. dean snakes his hand into cas’ halfway through and doesn’t let go. doesn’t show the emotion on his face, but he clutches harder at the emotional beats. cas runs his fingers through jack’s hair and thinks a lot, and decides not to say anything unless dean talks first. its just a Lot for everyone.

dean def makes them marathon all the TOS and TNG movies. it’s an experience everyone needs at least once. i think you’re right about cas and TWOK with the ta’al through the glass, but also ‘this simple feeling’ and the hand hold would make him feel crazy. bones being the one that spock entrusts with his katra DEF makes dean feel some type of way because as much as destiel is kirkspock-coded, dean IS bones, and seeing spock trust bones so completely despite how at odds they were when they first knew eachother would dig deep into dean’s psyche and make him more than a little bit nutso. the movies are way too long for jack so he mostly sits and plays animal crossing while they watch and looks at the screen when everyone else gasps or when something exciting is happening that holds his attention for a while. sam’s fave is nemesis precisely because it’s terrible and he loves how camp it is.

dean has definitely seen all of trek. i refuse to believe someone who watches as much tv and films as dean wouldn’t sit and watch the whole shebang. i think he’s probably seen TOS and the TOS movies more than the others because its easier than sitting through 7 seasons, but i think rather than that being his favourite he’d just have really strong opinions about the best episodes of each one? like if you asked him what his favourite is he’d say you can’t answer that because they’re all so different from eachother

VOY - bride of chaotica, non seqitur, macrocosm for the favourite episodes. seven, janeway and tuvok would be his favourite characters. he think toms a bit of a knob but also feels a kinship with him for the similar brand of bab dad-ism but he wouldn’t be able to put that into words. he’s also a fierce defender of threshold being a good episode (he’s right for that)

DS9 - our man bashir it’s our man bashir. he doesn’t dislike ds9 but its very plot heavy and he didn’t care for it when he was younger. rewatching it after living through multiple supernatural wars he’d probably appreciate it more. i know for a fact he cries every time there’s an episode about sisko being a good dad. jadzia and garak are his faves

TNG - he LOVES q. he also absolutely will not be caught dead referencing how much loves q after cas comes into his life because sam will do the little brotherly knowing eyebrow raise at him and he will die of embarrassment. he regularly references ‘there are four lights’ because he’s a fucking nerd. he has made cas watch elementary my dear data and fistful of datas a half dozen times each at LEAST. cas KNEW how dean was going to be about the cowboy hat he’s defintiely got into full cowboy getup at home just for watching movies and in cas’ head star trek is fully to blame.

TOS - oh there are so many good TOS eps to choose from. obv he loves most of the series becuase TOS has MANY banger eps, his favourites are probably like. mirror mirror, amok time (baby dean defintiely had some kind of crisis watching it for the first time; i know the rituals are intricate). i know deep in my bones that dean watched the conscience of the king (introduction of the tarsus iv massacre) once and then spent his entire teenage years writing fic about that in his head, whether he posted it or not. dean related too much to those experiences of shared hunger. city on the edge of forever is one of everyone’s faves for a reason (and i’m STILL mad we never got a closer take on that episode in spn it could have been so fun).

ENT - he definitely thinks enterprise is stupid and he’s not wrong but he has also definitely watched it and been very repressed about the whole thing. mans was like oh i feel a kinship with malcolm reed the obviously repressed queer man. i will never examine this feeling ever again thank you <3 he also makes fun of archer for being obsessed with, of all sports, water polo. shran is his favourite character because he’s a little shit and makes him laugh, and t’pol, because t’pol is a badass and he’d appreciate that. i can’t remember the title of a single episode off the top of my head though lol.

i can see what you’re saying about sam being a TNG stan. i’m conflicted though, I feel like TNG’s generally the favourite of 1) obnoxious nerds who think knowing trivia facts makes them smart, 2) men desperately trying to seem masculine and 3) people who’ve watched it three times and have extremely complex thoughts on the personhood and rights of robots. i could see sam fitting into the third group, but people who are in it for the robot feelings are a coin flip between voyager and tng being the fave, and i just have a feeling that voyager would be his favourite. i know kid sam is getting gender envy watching voyager in shitty motels while dad and dean are out, trying to find the words for it. his first semester at stanford he talks a friend into giving him the janeway haircut and rides that high for months. sam’s favourite characters are seven and EMH.

sam and dean have definitely had dozens of long drawn out debates about philosophical topics in star trek. do the holograms deserve rights and if so which ones. are the romulans and vulcans still meaningfully the same people. was spock right for trying to foment reunification by going undercover on romulus. can the borg be redeemed. etc etc.

i haven’t seen any of picard at all so i can’t comment. i also think sam and dean probably read a lot of the trek books? they’re pretty common to find in secondhand bookstores and cheap, would have been even cheaper back in the day. sam probably doesn’t care for them much, dean has a few solid faves though. i’ve only read the disco books so i can’t comment anything specifically (besides the fact that i think dean read dead endless and cried like a baby), but some of the TOS and DS9 books are gay as hell and i know dean was eyes emoji-ing that shit.

#spn #spn fic #tfw 2.0 #treknatural

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makaylajadewrites · 3 years

Text

Origin

Summary: Bria Monique was an entity created from lonely nights, complex textbooks, and an abnormal fascination for makeup. She creeped out of the mind of a boy suffering from an identity crisis at the young age of sixteen, but said boy was in a division all his own anyway.

Potential tws: N/A

Bria Monique was an entity created from lonely nights, complex textbooks, and an abnormal fascination for makeup. She creeped out of the mind of a boy suffering from an identity crisis at the young age of sixteen, but said boy was in a division all his own anyway. Still recognized as a child yet more intelligent than most adults, he was living on the cusp of childhood and adulthood, and he didn’t know who he was. He had stumbled upon drag by mistake, really. The LGBT alliance at Caltech had been messing around in one of the theaters, and while sitting somewhere in the empty rows, waiting on a lecture that wasn’t due for another few hours, Spencer was entranced by the performance, even if it wasn’t meant for his eyes to see.

“Work it, honey!” A voice called, filled with positivity and encouragement, as an individual in a rather extravagant getup strutted across the stage and posed for the nonexistent audience, a smile spread across their painted lips. Young Spencer didn’t know what to think, because his mind quickly supplied that the individual was in fact a man but with every aspect of femininity taking over his existence. He was gorgeous, whatever he chose to identity as, and Spencer briefly wondered if he could look like that too. The individual was powerful in their own way, and the sheer confidence they expressed in the simplest of movements was enough to make Spencer somewhat fascinated. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, but it had his attention, and he settled in then and there - he wanted to try. Spencer ducked down slightly to avoid being seen as the individual crossed the front of the stage, and fortunately he wasn’t, but as soon as he got home that evening from riding the bus, he walked to the nearest drugstore, compelled by his own curiosity to test out what he had saw; an experiment of sorts.

He picked out a small tube of peach lipgloss, a pink and green mascara, and a shimmery pink powder - he didn’t know what it was for, but it was eye-catching, so he wanted to try it and see if he could be that confident in himself too. When he made it home, Spencer discovered that Mom was having one of her episodes. He got her to bed with a bit of stubbornness on her part, and once he was sure she was asleep for the night, he found himself in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and just pursing his lips slightly, quick to point out many of his own flaws. His nose was too small, his cheeks were too gaunt, his forehead was too big, his lips were too feminine, his brows were too bushy… Everything was just wrong and he found himself avoiding his appearance quite often.

He glanced down to the three articles of makeup on the marble counter, swallowing nervously and reaching for the mascara first. Luckily, he had seen Mom apply it before, so he knew vaguely how to put it on without gouging an eye out. He pulled the wand out of the tube with a little pop and stared at the black cosmetic with a tension in his jaw before setting it down again and sighing heavily, his head falling.

Was he really about to do this? Was he really this low?

Yes, yes he was.

Spencer looked up again with a newfound sense of determination, and slowly and carefully, he swiped the mascara on his top and bottom lashes, realizing that they were a lot longer than he originally thought. He batted them several times, and he realized he already looked a bit different from his usual state. He then picked up the powder, overlooking it critically before swiping his index finger over it and patting it across his cheekbones. He turned his head from side to side, seeing how the light reflected over the applied powder. It was somewhat subtle, but definitely noticeable, and it seemed to accentuate the structure of his face. He did the math in his head of symmetry, and since most symmetry enjoyed a center point, he dabbed a bit of the powder on the tip of his nose too.

But he wasn’t done just yet. He was really liking the makeup so far, as sparse as it was, but the lipgloss was what did him in. He swiped the fruity-tasting gloss over his cupid’s bow and across his full bottom lip, and the person he saw in the mirror was no longer Spencer Reid. He didn’t know he could look like this, and when he saw his reflection smiling back at him, he actually felt pretty. He cupped his cheek in one hand, overlooking every fine detail and realizing that makeup could do so much for him. His fascination spiraled from there.

When he was eighteen, he entered into his first drag show. He was fresh meat, but he had two years of experimentation under the belt that definitely helped him when it came to makeup and wardrobe choice. But he didn’t have a name like most queens - that was the most difficult part for him.

One day walking across campus, to and from class, he saw a poster taped to the wall that said Be Unique and he knew then and there, that it had to be close to that. Bria Monique was the result, and although it wasn’t exact, it was close, and it held meaning to Spencer. That was all that mattered, after all. Some drag names were funny, clever, and others were normal. Spencer didn’t need his name to be something extravagant. It was important to him and the very birth of his drag persona - that was crucial.

His first show hadn’t been easy by any means. He had never performed before, and he was new, but fortunately the other queens held his hand through it and gave him a whole new support system that he hadn’t known existed before. So, when he came off of the stage with tears in his eyes, believing he had made a fool of himself, they were there to tell him that he did good, and that this was just a stepping stone for him and his development as not only a drag queen, but a person. He was empowered, more than he had ever been, and it quickly became an important piece of his life.

It was never something he broadcasted, but he didn’t necessarily keep it a secret. Drag queens didn’t often come up in conversations between FBI agents, so he never really had to disclose it to anyone. It wasn’t relevant in his work life, and he never thought it would be until he had gone and practically revealed himself to others. The first mistake of forgotten nail polish all the way to fixing Penelope’s makeup — they were both slip-ups, but they happened and it was too late to take it back now. Besides, his team supported him regardless, and even though they most likely saw him in a new light, he was not judged or treated any differently. The brilliant Dr. Spencer Reid, who happened to enjoy the extravagant hobby of drag, was not viewed any differently than he was before. His input was still just as valuable and his work was still credited to him and him alone.

He was the same person, just with an alternate persona he used for performing, and his team’s acceptance was probably the greatest form of support he could ever hope for. He had struggled through many hardships in his life, and he was just happy to know that the revelation of himself to his peers was not one of them.

Derek’s support alone was enough. He had told that man just about everything there was to know about him, from the emotional and physical abuse at the hands of his father and schoolmates to taking care of his mother from the age of ten to eighteen. Their relationship didn’t sway because of Spencer’s origin; the hardest part of all was accepting that he found someone who loved him for him, and he didn’t think he would ever get over that.

<-Part 6: The Performance | Part 8: What a Woman->

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds writing #spencer reid #derek morgan #Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid #moreid #drag queen Spencer Reid

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

walk me home | q.b.

Summary: Being the lovechild of Tony Stark and May Parker has its perks. For one, you have Spider-Man as your favorite little cousin who you’re chaperoning for on his field trip. For another, you have Tony Stark as a dad. Or... had. You’re losing a lot of things in the wake of the battle, and with Quentin Beck back in your life, you’re facing a lot of shit, too.

WARNINGS: FFH spoilers kinda, swearing, a bit angsty, Quentin and reader are both MESSES with a lot of feelings (that are real) but its a happy ending :) Pairing: Quentin x fem!Stark-Parker!Reader Word Count: 6.0k

A/N: This is for the writing challenge hosted by @waiting4inspiration! My prompt was “I’ll walk you home.” GIF not mine!!

“Quentin Beck, huh,” you snort, unimpressed. Your arms crossed over your chest, you watch as the man goes on, playing his little game. Multiverse bullshit. But the Elementals, that’s the thing you’re afraid of, and even if Quentin Beck can make up lies like they’re wishes to his fairy godmother, you need to know if this threat is containable or not. It’s really the only reason why you haven’t kicked his ass yet. “You expect me to care about Quentin Beck?”

“Know him?” Hill taps away on whatever she’s working on, and you lean against the pillar. You arch an eyebrow when he sends you a meaningful look before looking away, disinterested.

“Exponentially, apparently.” Letting out a disgusted sigh, you stand up straight and squint at the orange holograms. “Look, I really wanted to actually chaperone my cousin’s field trip like we’re still an actual family, and if you could tell Fury to fuck off—”

“No.” Hill sends you a dead-eyed glance before resuming her work, the orange glow of the screen casting her face in a warm light. “Once these Elementals are done with, you never have to deal with him again.”

“Keep my family out of it.”

“Parker is the only Avenger we have on call.” Hill’s words cause whatever retort, whatever witty comeback you had building up in your throat die. It crumbles to ash in your mouth and for a moment, she stops typing to let out a sharp breath. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not like I’m standing right here or the fact that Pete never wanted to be an Avenger, right?”

“Well, your dad—”

“My dad made him one in a time of crisis. Excuse me if I think he’s still just a kid.” Your hand fits against your forehead as you close your eyes, trying to figure out how field trips always turn to shit in your family. First Washington, then the one from MOMA, now this— “Look, pull him out. Convince Fury to pull him out. I’m right here.”

“Stark made a protocol for you,” a new voice interrupts and you turn to see Nick Fury standing there with Quentin and Peter. You roll your eyes with a lofty sigh and pull your shoulders back, unimpressed.

“Newsflash, I’m twenty-nine. Dad made that protocol for me when I was, like, eight, so I’m very much a possible alternative for a sixteen year old.” Meeting Peter’s eyes, you press your lips together. “And Dad only did that to keep me safe. He wanted me to stay with Mom. Which is what I’m trying to do for you, Peter. You know, keep you alive because everyone’s fucking dying around here.”

“Ms. Stark... may I call you Y/N?” Your eyes drift over to Quentin Beck, who has that easy-going, comfortable vibe going on with him, before you blink. Is he really trying to talk to you? God.

“That is my name, isn’t it?” The squirming feeling in your stomach doesn’t cease as you can almost spot something in his gaze. Something that lights up at how much bite is in your bark. Fuck that. “Look—”

“Did I say I wanted to hear from you, Mr. Beck?” you ask coolly and you shake your head. “This is great. Elementals are coming to destroy us all, but what I don’t need is for you to drag my sixteen-year old cousin into an Avengers-level situation.”

“I’ll respect Parker’s choice, so long as I hear it from him.” Fury turns to your cousin and a tick of impatience flares inside your heart. Somehow, you really doubt that.

“I just want to enjoy my summer. Mr. Beck seems like he has it all handled,” Peter says with a shrug, gesturing to the outrageously garbed Quentin Beck. You breathe out a small sigh of relief and you stand up straight, nodding curtly to Fury.

“Goodnight.” Brushing past, you head for the entrance of the hideout as Peter walks after you. He looks more concerned than anything else, and you’re quite sure that if you were a cartoon, smoke would be fuming out of your ears. Peter looks at you like that, anyway.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asks quietly and you pause at the lip of the tunnel. Turning around, you note that no one’s followed either of you and paste on a smile, opening your arm for Peter. He slinks towards you and your arm lands comfortably around his shoulders as you nod.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were being a bit more…” He searches for the right word and you eye him with a narrowed gaze.

“Bitchy?”

“I was going to say overprotective or tense. One of those,” he corrects and you smile down at him, fingers running through soft curls. “But yeah.” Chuckling, you look up at the dark inky sky, the warmth of the summer wind caressing your cheeks.

“Happens sometimes, kiddo. Gotta protect who I’ve still got.”

A steady fall of footsteps catches your attention and you turn to the tunnel where Dmitri comes out of, a stoic expression as ever upon his face. You return your gaze to Peter, and send him a smile.

“You gotta head back to the hotel, alright?” you order, but it sounds more like a request, and he nods. A genuine smile comes upon your face. He’s such a good kid, and hell if you’re going to let Nick fucking Fury lay his hands on him.

“What about you?”

You squeeze Peter’s shoulder. “Be there in a minute.”

Dmitri climbs onto the boat with Peter who sends you an uneasy look. You don’t blame him. The guy is pretty intimidating if you let him, and although Peter’s no chicken, you cannot deny the fact that Dmitri looks like he can snap any man in half with a flick of his fingers. You hide your chuckle behind your smile, the engine purring to life in the water as you step closer to the water. Waving to your cousin, you watch as he becomes a spot in the distance and wait until he disappears completely before turning around.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the wind playfully tugging at the free-hanging strands around your face. Climbing up the steps, you walk through the streets aimlessly, a sort of boundless energy putting an unshakeable urge to do something in your legs. You cross bridges and pass fountains, climb steps and buildings before you settle on top of a flat-roofed ice cream place that’s next to some taller residential building. Maybe you can find some fucking peace and quiet.

“Nice kid.”

Nope.

The sound of his voice can still send shivers down your spine, and you fucking hate it. You whip around to see him standing there and you swallow. It’s not fair for him to be here.

“Why’d you lie?” you ask softly, the first question out of your mouth. The wind carries your words through moonlight, and you turn around again to see him there. He’s still wearing that ridiculous suit and you wonder how on Earth he’s managed to get up here in that thing. The cape looks rich to the touch, and all you want to do is run a hand over the smooth metal of his chestplate. “You’re not from some Multiverse.”

“People need a sob story to believe in,” he whispers and you take a step back for every step he takes towards you until you’re pressed flush against the stone.

“Well, I’m sure Fury wouldn’t have a problem with you just trying to save our world, period.” Your heart quivers in your chest and you inhale sharply as his hand reaches for your wrist.

“You know the Multiverse is real, Y/N. What’s one tiny lie?” The scent of him is intoxicating, and it floods your senses like nothing else as you swallow. He smells like river water and sweat and smoke, blue eyes darkened by the shadow the moonlight casts behind him.

Pressing your lips together, you shake your head. “Let’s say I keep your tiny secret. Are, at least, the Elementals real?”

You need to know. Quentin draws back for a moment, as if surprised, and you jut out your chin defiantly. You step away from the wall, walking around him until he turns around to face the moon. When the light glares into his face, the shadows no longer cut his face in a mysterious way and that hypnotic aura melts away. In fact, it makes him look all the more ridiculous in his getup and you can’t help the smirk working its way onto your face.

“Is that what you ask? Really? After seven years?”

You scoff and throw your arms up in the air. “You want to talk about this now?” You cannot believe him. “You want to talk about this right now?”

“No!”

“Then, answer the question!”

“They’re as real as I said they were,” he spits. You play with the necklace hanging around your neck, the pendent containing all the nano parts you need to form a full suit as you run his words over your head.

“Real as in…?”

“Y/N.”

“Quentin, you broke up with me over a text, okay? I get to be as skeptical as I want. Just be glad I didn’t rat you out to Fury.” You don’t dare look at him as you stand on the edge of the building, feet wide apart and your arms crossed over your chest. You hug yourself against the soft wind, eyes angled up at the moon as pebbles shift underfoot. Quentin comes to stand beside you but you refuse to look at him. You think it’s the Stark pride coming in, but you know Parkers have their fair share of being petty. Or you could be the black sheep. Dad always said…

Dad.

“Look, I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Shut the fuck up, you hated my dad.” You sigh, feeling something inside you unwind. You don’t know what it is, but this vacation is turning out to be a hell of a lot more stress than you bargained for. “But, if you mean it, thanks.”

“I do. I only care because you cared about him,” he murmurs. His gaze burns into your cheek and you close your eyes for a moment, your heart skipping beats as you try to fix the dam that’s been broken ever since your dad left. “I really am sorry for your loss.”

“Yep, well, it’s what happens when your dad’s fucking Tony Stark.” You force a painful smile that digs too deeply into your face like you do whenever you think about how your dad is… was Tony Stark. It was always such a strange concept to you. Yeah, you were Tony Stark’s love child but you grew up in Queens, with your mom who eventually married Ben, and they decided not to have kids because Tony Stark and May Parker’s kid was enough for three families over.

And you had a normal life.

Your normal was Tony Stark picking you up from school sometimes and talking to DUM-E as you tried to help make your dad’s newest suit. Your normal was dinner in a small apartment in Queens with your mom, and dad, and Ben, and eventually Peter too.

Your normal was hanging out with Earth’s mightiest heroes, working at Stark Industries, and kissing Quentin Beck in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty, until it wasn’t.

Until Siberia.

Your whole life shattered.

“Y/N—”

“Why are you here?” you ask flatly. Your eyes drift off, taking in the view of the city and his gaze rips away from your cheek. “If these things are real, how do you know about them?”

“One showed up in Ixtenco.”

“That’s where Fury found you.”

“It’s where I found out how to kill these things.”

“Okay, how?” You turn to him at last, training your gaze on him. He meets your eyes steadily as you continue, “Wouldn’t it be better if we all knew how to kill these things?”

“Magic.” You arch an incredulous eyebrow at him, and he shrugs. “Would you believe magic tomb?”

“No. Try the truth.”

“I’m serious.”

“Shut up.”

“I really am!” he laughs into his words then, and you feel the smile flickering onto your face before you can stop it. Your knuckles hit his forearm in a gentle slap before you know it and you angle your head to look at him. The moment your eyes meet however, the smiles fade, and you’re left reminded of the one text. The two words. Exhaling, you back away from the edge of the building and turn back around to where you know the hotel is. “Y/N… maybe we should talk about it.”

“I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

“C’mon.” He trails after you, the subtle brush of his cape indicating as much as you leap to a nearby building. Some of these places are close enough to leap from roof to roof. You wonder how far you can make it to the hotel before you have to use your thrusters. “Y/N!”

“Don’t wanna hear it!”

“Come back!”

His voice echoes in the night as you land on some pizza place that was a much higher drop than you’d anticipated. Pain lances up your bones and you walk it off, shaking your leg every few steps. Quentin still follows you, remarkably floating and you eye him warily as he catches up to you.

“Look, sweetheart, I can chase you all day,” he says, arms presented in a shrug-like you choose gesture and you roll your eyes, “but I don’t want to.”

“You used to have fun chasing me way back when,” you retort and he blinks at you as if he cannot believe you said that. You smile smugly, triumphant that you’ve got the jump on him as he lands softly on his feet before you. Your gaze flickers up and down his visage, and you can’t help the fact that although the getup is completely, irreversibly ridiculous…

Quentin Beck makes it work.

“Let’s say magic tomb sounds possible,” you say and he smirks. You can’t help the small smile that fits onto your face perfectly — like it was always supposed to be there. You wipe it off before it becomes too comfortable. Focus. We have a situation at hand. “So, how does it work?”

“I think the Elementals are chained to the type of magic in the tomb.”

“So, you woke them up.”

“Honey, I’m not an idiot.” He lands softly on his feet. “There was a magic barrier. I’m guessing the Aztecs used to… reinforce it? But it hasn’t been visited in a while, since the Aztecs were killed off in the 1500s.” His palms up, he gestures as he speaks and his eyes drift off, as if recalling the memory to mind. It’s almost endearing. “It was like a vault, and it leaked. I was down in Ixtenco, taking samples from La Malinche when I found a cave near the volcano.”

“Right.” You nod slowly, unsure what to believe. “Hill said Elementals are visible in all kinds of mythologies. Are they all going to be like that water elemental? I’m not going to see a giant fire lizard patrolling the area, right?”

Quentin chuckles. “No. If we destroy the Elementals, they won’t come back as a lizard or otherwise.”

“How do you know? They could just sink back into the Earth, hibernate a couple of years…” You trail off meaningfully and your eyes meet his. “You’re not gonna be here the next time these things might come back, Beck.”

“Are you terrified of the thought, Ms. Stark?” he asks and your lips press together as you try to hide your smile.

“Starks aren’t afraid of anything.” Searching his gaze, you frown when you find dark shadows lurking in his eyes. The man shouldn’t be so easy to read, but he is to you. Somehow. Like he’s letting you in. Like he cares what you think. He shouldn’t.

“Well, I can only learn from you. I am terrified of the thought that I might not make it,” he confesses. “It has to be me, though, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t have to do it alone. Fury’s here, and Hill, and I guess you have me, too.” You hold up a finger as he takes a step towards you and he pauses. The smile freezes on his face as you add, “But you don’t have Peter.”

“Fury already let him go.”

“And I know he doesn’t sink his claws into someone only to let them walk.” You shake your head. There’s something so terribly wrong about this situation that you can’t put your finger on it. You need to call Sam and Bucky back at the compound as soon as you get back to the hotel. Digging out your phone from your pocket, you frown at the 5% displayed. So you need to charge your phone, too.

Walking past Quentin, you fiddle with your phone to send a quick text to Peter to let him know you’re going to a bit later than you’d thought and slip the device back into your pocket.

“I see how you care for the kid. I’ll try to convince him to let him go.”

“It’s Nick Fury. He doesn’t change his mind easily.” You sigh, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear before turning around. “Quentin, did you know I’d be here?” You need to know. This can’t be a coincidence that he’s working with a super-spy and recruiting your cousin when there’s a whole bunch of superheroes still alive back at home.

His gaze, the shade of blue jays and sapphires and oceans, rakes over you, like he’s drinking you in, like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he needs to stay alive. A warmth ignites in your stomach. So there’s my answer.

“No.” Liar. “But can I say how glad I am that you are?” His words sneak their way into your soul, like he’s a siren playing to your deepest desires and you nearly wilt as he towers over you. His presence casts you to the edge of an abyss, one he left you to rot in seven years ago, and you can’t help but stay. No matter how hard you try to build up walls, he comes in like a wrecking ball.

“Quentin…” This is not how Starks behave. You are a Stark and you’re not one to think your dad fires people for no reason. He may have never let you see the file but you know there must’ve been a good reason and never pushed it. You thought you’d get the story out of Quentin himself. You got the text instead. Your expression hardens, your voice like stone. “Don’t think you can somehow convince me that I’m not angry. I’m really, really fucking angry. God, I deserved more than two words and you can’t just strut back in here, pretending like everything’s okay.”

He pulls away instantly, as if you’ve stung him, as if you’re the one broke up with him and a lick of annoyance seeps into your words. His eyes widen but yours narrow as you double-tap on the necklace. This was stupid, coming here. Entertaining the thought that I could ever still stand you.

“Y/N, you don’t get what I was feeling!”

Nanotech spreads across your collarbones, cold against your bare skin as your legs are encased with the suit.

“I was apparently not given the privilege to know,” you snap, taking one step off the building. Your thrusters ignite automatically as you continue drifting through the air. “Look, I’m gonna head off. It was nice seeing you, but I really need to sleep this day off.”

“I’ll walk you home,” he blurts out all of a sudden and you freeze, his words banging around in your skull. Did you hear him right? You spin around to see Quentin standing on the edge of the building, looking like he wants to follow and you can’t help the warmth in your stomach from growing. Fire licks at your insides as you lower yourself onto the street, watching as Quentin floats down after you. “I meant that I can walk you home, if—”

“If I wanted to?” you finish dryly, the suit retracting into the necklace again as you turn to glance up and down the street. There’s no one out in the middle of the street at night, and you brush hair away from your face when a fly flits around your face. “No, thanks.”

“Y/N. Please?”

“Why? Because you want to get back together again?” You hope your words chew off every bit of his conscience, pull him apart. The rage you’ve repressed for seven years comes spewing out of your mouth as you storm up to him, shoving your face into his space. “Screw you, Quentin. You might’ve been going through a hard time, but so was I. Do you know where I was when I got the text?”

His eyes widen, his hands float around your arms like he wants to pull you back or touch you or something but he’s too scared to try. Internally you smirk, externally, your lips are pulled back in a snarl.

“Siberia, with my dad and no one was taking us home.” You can still taste the blood in your mouth as Steve dug his shield into your father’s chest. The winds that bit at your tears as you helped your dad sit up, helped him home.

Your eyes sting but you swallow your tears, whipping around to walk out into the main street. You know, sooner or later, your internal compass will bring you to the right place. As you walk, your heels clicking against the stone, you hear the shift of his boots, the weight of his armor and stop. Your eyes closed, you clench your jaw hard enough you’re sure your teeth will crack.

“Stop following me.”

“Honey—”

“Fuck off, Beck.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Try harder!” Your scream pierces the night air and you almost reel at how it echoes in your chest. You kick a loose pebble with the toe of your boot and it scatters. The sound weaves into your ears as you turn around. “Do you even remember what you said?” The two words that would’ve broken you if it weren’t for the fact that your dad was just betrayed by Captain fucking America. You had more important shit than a breakup to deal with at the time. The two words that linger in your head once in a while. The two words that are the reason you swore off relationships.

“I’m sorry.”

“Wrong.” When he doesn’t answer, perhaps stunned silent by the effigy of fury you are, you cannot help but tap your foot impatiently against cobblestone. You want to hear him say it. You want him to dig up his memories, rip him apart, thrash him with his guilt. You want him to hurt, you want him to care enough to say them.

God, you want him to love you, still and you hate yourself for it.

“Honey…”

“You got one of two words correct! Good job!”

“Stop. Please. You know I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, somehow I struggle to believe that.” You can’t even look at him anymore. You turn around, breaking out into the main street that’s washed with lamplight. Your heart feels like it’s turning to ash in your chest as you suck in a breath. You stuff your hands in your pockets, feeling the phone your dad gave you the day you became head of Stark Industries.

“Happy birthday, Matilda. Figured the best gift would be a new phone, coupled with a promotion.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“It has a channel for emergencies, only. I don’t want you to use it whenever Pete— uh, I mean—”

“Dad, it’s okay. Thanks.”

“What would convince you?”

“If you had the guts to give me the ring.”

There’s an eerie silence that fills up the street. You can hear the flies buzzing around the lampposts, a moth flickering along the yellow light, the gentle rush of the water running beneath the Floating City as you let out a bitter laugh.

“I knew about the ring.”

“Who told you?” His voice, hoarse and deep, trembles and you turn around to see red-rimmed eyes. Tears. You’d laugh again if it didn’t feel like your heart was going to burst.

“You suck.” Your voice twists as a flat smile works its way onto your face. “You’re awful, you know that?” Your fingers run over your eyes, trying to plug the tears as you paste on that fake smile of yours. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met aliens and killer robots, and people who have bombed the U.N., so it’s actually quite an achievement.”

“Y/N, honey, god, no.” He’s a stumbling mess and you bite your lip, wondering if this is some sort of act, some sort of cruel joke. The universe has served you the man who has left you and presented him on a silver platter. “Honey, please, I was a wreck. I’m sorry. I want to marry you.” You ignore his ‘want’. You can’t tell if it’s on purpose or if he’s slipped because you don’t know which makes you angrier. Your jaw aches as you paste on a twisted smile. “I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?”

“You think?” Your lip curls in disgust or maybe you’re trying to hide your tears. “You’re so clueless. God, how could you be so clueless? Dad never fucking wanted to fire you, you know? He knew about us.” The words burst from your mouth, violent and dangerous and full of fire that does not touch Quentin’s shattered face. His eyes shine in the lamplight and you think he might care enough. “God, he fucking knew about us.”

“How? I - I kept it a secret,” he begins but you laugh, run fingers blindly over your face as you feel your heart try to stitch itself together from a broken heart. If something’s gotta heal properly, sometimes you’ve gotta break it again. “I thought he fired me because he found out! He said he fired me because I was unstable, and irrational, and because you said something—”

Your eyebrows struggle to meet your hairline as you try to grasp words that might fit in a sentence and fail spectacularly. “You think I would’ve fired you? Who do you think I am?” Crossing your arms again, your fingers dig into your biceps as you rock back onto a foot, hip jutting out. You glare daggers into him and hope he bleeds. “One, I was twenty-two and Dad didn’t even consider me for head of Stark Industries until Pepper suggested it to him after the Blip or whatever the fuck they’re calling it. Two, why would I fire my fucking boyfriend? God, I loved you, more than anyone I’ve ever loved in my entire fucking life. You were supposed to be the one! That’s how my dad knew, okay? Because I told him I wanted to marry you.”

Something bleeds into your tone that warps it into a high-pitched mess and the tears come freely now. When did you ever sink this low to yell at someone in the middle of the street? It may be night, but the silence haunts you more than a full crowded street ever will.

“You think my dad would care if I loved you? Wanted to marry you? You think he didn’t want me to be happy?” you ask achingly.

“I think your dad would care if he thought I was bad for you.”

Warm Venetian wind fills the space between you two, a space that’s too big and too small and just right. Your eyes do not move from Quentin’s as you try to catch your breath. Your lungs struggle against your tears as you wipe them away furiously. How many nights have you spent gazing into that soft blue, touching and scratching that scruff along his strong jaw. His hands could pry you open like a book, and some deep part of you wants to know if he still can. It’s silly, and you squeeze yourself harder to try and wake yourself up. You can’t do this right now. Not on Peter’s field trip.

But still, words slip out and your curiosity gets the better of you.

“Are you?” Whispered words float like butterflies across the chasm between the two of you, and Quentin’s mask slips off for just a moment. You can see him — the real him, not this Mysterio, but Quentin Beck — and your heart nearly weeps. You’ve missed him so much. Maybe too much.

Maybe if you didn’t have to focus on the Sokovia Accords, you could’ve grieved being tossed out like week-old milk, but now you’re here and Quentin’s here, and you’re grieving now. There were certainly days you wished you could’ve asked him why, asked him for an explanation, but you were always busy.

But now you aren’t and seven years of annoyingly tragic heartbreak is catching up to you.

Quentin’s next words come out hoarse, troubled. “I don’t know.”

Your lips part and your lungs fail desperately. You don’t know how, but your legs have a mind of their own as you reach for his shoulders, neck, his jaw. Some part of him, you don’t know. God, all you want to do is touch him. You can feel his warmth, you’ve felt him ever since you’ve seen him, like your body tunes into his, and now all you want to do is run your hands through his hair, pull him apart, destroy him the way he’s destroyed you so many times before.

Your stomach twists into a wildfire, as he steps closer. Your hands tremble against his cool skin as he presses his palm over your knuckles, encouraging you to touch him. As if you are scared, as if you are afraid.

You had lied earlier. Starks can be afraid, but they aren’t afraid of men or monsters. Starks are afraid of mutually assured destruction.

God, maybe you do have a reason to be scared.

“I don’t trust men who broke my heart,” you whisper achingly, the words burning across your lips. His smile is the only thing you see as his hands trail down your arms, tracing your figure through your zipped up windbreaker and a quivering sigh passes through you.

“Then, trust the man who can fix it.”

The burn of his beard, the shadow that passes over your eyes as he leans down — it’s all so familiar that before you even recognize he’s leaning to kiss you, you’re reaching up to kiss him. Your eyes close. Your hands along his neck slide to loop around his neck and you pull him closer. His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you flush against him as his other tangles in your hair, and then there is nothing. The abyss is there again, wide and gaping and you stand at the edge with him holding your hand.

Together, you jump.

The night is so blissfully quiet that you cannot help but think that this is what romance movies are made of. This moment. Moonlight kisses the apple of your cheeks as you kiss him back, kiss him hard and kiss him fast. There is no time for soft or accommodating or gentlemanly. A Venetian tryst is alive with passion and fire, and you will be damned if you don’t get your money’s worth.

Smoke and river and wind all tangled between the two of you, you cannot help but sigh as he presses a bruising kiss against your mouth before trailing down to your jaw. He peppers your neck with tiny, nipping kisses before returning to your lips.

His mouth, plush and fulfilling and so fucking familiar, knows every trick to make you melt and your hands card through his hair, fingers pulling and snagging as your eyes close and the only reason the two of you part is that even you cannot breathe through another’s lungs.

You barely whisper his name, don’t even know if it passes your lips as he smiles, kissing your tentative grin in a gentle, soothing kiss. Although your makeout session was full of lips and tongue, and that alone can make you smile, your grin cannot help but grow at how soft the gesture is.

He cups your face, thumb brushing over your lips as your fingers, locked behind his neck, push him insistently down towards you.

“What if I said I want to try again?” he asks, lips brushing yours with every word. You press your forehead against his, eyes closed as you let his words sink into your skin. His voice calms the adrenaline in your heart. You swallow, trying to regain your breath as his hand on your waist squeezes meaningfully. His lips catch the tear stains along your cheeks, kiss them away. “What if I still loved you?”

“Beck—”

“You’re the only Stark I don’t mind,” he whispers and you sniff, standing flat-foot again. Your hands sit on the juncture of his neck and shoulders, and your fingers play with the threads of his cape as you pretend to ponder.

“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind Morgan. She’s the cutest little sister ever,” you whisper weakly. Growling playfully, Quentin pecks your lips and nuzzles against your neck. Your arms shooting around to hug him tight, he lifts you up. Your legs clamp around his waist and you let out a squeak as his warmth engulfs you, drowns you.

Silver light washes over his skin, sculpts him handsomely. His eyes catch the moon as he spins you around, cape brushing against your calves and you lean down to kiss him quickly, just to remind yourself that he is still real, not some marble statue, not some mesmerizing god. With one arm around his neck, the other stroking his bearded cheek, you can’t help but wonder what your dad would think. Your smile crumbles away and you close your eyes. The smile falls off Quentin’s face and he lowers you back on the ground. The coolness between your thighs causes a shiver to dart up your spine.

“I’m sorry for everything. I just…” He fumbles with his words and you nod. You don’t forgive him, not yet, but you know. That’s all. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”

“You know, I fucking hate you, right?” you ask even though you don’t. All you want to do is try again, too. Seven years isn’t enough to heal your heart of Quentin Beck and you’re not sure anything ever will be.

Besides, maybe this is enough to convince Fury to let Peter enjoy his field trip if Quentin chooses you for the mission. The thought alone comforts your frantic heart. You take a step back, hair falling over your face and you rake it back with a hand before sticking out your other for Quentin to take.

“You can remind me of that every day, honey,” he says as his fingers weave together with yours. His soft, gentle smile douses your anger, leaving nothing but the Quentin-shaped hole left inside you. You squeeze his fingers, and it’s almost as if it begins to fill again.

“I might just take you up on that.” You tuck your chin in, eyes on the stone and finger rubbing over that golden ring he wears. He grins, pulling his fingers free. He pulls off the golden band and takes your left hand, slipping it carefully on your thumb. It doesn’t fit like it should, but it’s the intention that matters.

“I don’t think I’ll stop loving you, Stark.” He kisses hand, lips whispering against supple skin and you smile. It doesn’t feel as sad as it once did to smile at a man. “I’ll get you the real thing once it’s all over.”

“Walk me back to the hotel?” you ask and he nods.

“And you can tell me all the ways you hate me the whole way,” he promises and the two of you set off into the Venetian night.

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