#there r other marvel kids who i could have added but these 3 have been around the longest

[all-things-fic]

Country Lane | Divorce Harry III

Thank you all for waiting for this one. Massive middle finger to tumblr for screwing the post up! Divorce Harry III is finally here!

Shoutout to my lovely ladies who taking time to read this for me @harrytheehottie, @harryfeatgaga, @haute-romance-quotidienne and of course @waitingfortwilight. Also, thank you to all my lovely anons and those of you who come off anon to talk about this, I’ve really loved the general chit chat about the series <3

Without further ado, enjoy! Lots of love and happy Saturday! x

*~*

You had no idea where you were. 

Surrounded by nothing but overgrown grass and the odd wooden fence. If you listened carefully in the distance you could hear the traffic of what you thought could be the A34 road and you were pretty sure that the last sign you had seen before your car cut out had been for Congleton. 

Rubbing your hands down your fresh face, your spa retreat to Mottram Hall for the hen-do of one of the school Mum’s entering her second marriage, was nothing more than a distant memory. As you sat freezing, in your car, looking out onto the harsh autumn weather of October, you were far from relaxed and rejuvenated. 

Worrying your bottom lip with your top teeth, you juggled your phone from palm to palm. You knew you had to call him, you effectively didn’t have any choice. Especially after you’d pulled your way through your glove compartment and you hadn’t come up trumps with your breakdown cover documentation. 

Part of you was cursing in that moment at how you’d handed the piece of paper which held all telephone numbers and car insurance policy account numbers over to your son to scribble upon during one particularly long car session, just to keep him quiet. You were actually sure it was now stuck on your fridge with a lovely drawing of what you presumed to be Marvel characters all over it. 

The worst of it all was that you knew whatever had happened to your car was bad. You knew simply from the way the car had spluttered and started to grind before almost seizing up and stalling to a halt.

Unlocking your phone, you scrolled through your contacts and landed on his contact card. Clicking on it you saw when the last time you had called him was and recalled the soft FaceTime he’d had with your eldest son, who wanted to tell his Daddy about how he’d been picked for the schools first rugby team, taking him out of reserves and off the bench. 

Breathing deeply, you ignored the ache the fond memory began to cause and tapped Harry’s name. The dialling tone that greeted you filled the pit of your stomach with knots as you tried to relax in the leather seat of your Range Rover.

Again, you started to worry your lips at the fifth ring, before the line clicked and you heard his warm voice. You froze at how friendly he sounded, his voice held an edge of laughter to it and you heard shuffling faintly in the background, followed by chatter, before it was shut out.

On the other end of the line, Harry had found himself dodging his way around people in his Mother’s kitchen in Cheshire, before leaving the room and catching your call before it cut off.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’,” he spoke an unnecessary apology, probably because of how long it had taken him to answer, as you remained quiet on the other line.

You blinked harshly at the sound of your name being spoken. “Are you still there?” Harry asked, pulling the phone away from his ear to see that the call was indeed still running. 

“Ye- yeah,” you stuttered, partly due to a soft tremble to your lips from being cold. 

“Everythin’ alrigh’?” He asked, a concerned edge to his question, as you dropped deeper into your car seat. 

Another small amount of silence. 

“Not really,” you responded, honestly. “Where are you?”

With a small frown, he answered, “‘M at Mums. ‘S her birthday this weekend, remember?”

Shit. You’d forgotten.

Heavily breathing in response, you said, “It slipped my mind. Sorry.”

There was a chuckle at the end of the line.

 “Not like you tha’,” he playfully jostled, causing the pit of your stomach to fall through again. You hated how he always managed to make any conversation between the two of you not seem as if you were in the middle of a prolonged divorce. “Usually got everything colour coordinated on our kitchen calendar.”

And he still did that so smoothly too, spoke about things as if you still did them together. The use of ‘our’ and ‘we’ was second nature and so naturally fell off his tongue in a velvety way that was soothing but left you shivering if caught by your touch in a different way. 

As if he could read your mind, before you’d thought it, he said, “Don’t worry. I added everyone’s names to the presents so she thinks they’re from all o’ us.” 

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re busy,” you responded without feeling, starting to pull the phone away from your ear and back to thinking about how you could get in touch with your breakdown cover. There had to be a way, surely.

“Hey, no,” he was urgent. “Don’t hang up, ‘s fine. I’ve pulled myself away. ‘S okay- please. Don’t hang up on me, something’s not right ‘ere. ‘S okay to still need me sometimes, y’ know?” 

“It’s okay, I can sort it myself-“ you flung your car door open. “Can you just tell me know how to pop the bonnet up on this car, cause it’s been so bloody long since I last had to do it-“

“Pop the bonnet? Why’d you need to do that? Have you broken down somewhere?” His questions were clipped as he asked. 

“Don’t get arsey with me-“ 

“‘M not,” he replied, quickly cutting. He really was. “Are the kids wi’you?”

“‘S alright for me be stranded on the side of the road on my own when it’s about to get dark-“

“Did I say that?” Again, he words were clipped. “Are you trying to wind me up?”

“Why have you not told me how to raise the bonnet?”

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking the short distance in his Mother's hallway to lower himself, slowly, down to sit on the stairs. 

“Underneath the passenger side there’s a lever,” he paused his softer tone, giving you time to find it. As he spoke you trampled against the grass closest to the passenger side and opened the door. Looking down at a red lever, which had clearly made itself known to you now that it had been brought to your attention.

“Found it?” he asked, hearing you hum. 

You shut the passenger door of your car and stared at the slightly popped up bonnet, Harry’s voice filling your ears again. “If you feel underneath the bonnet, between the E and the R there is another little lever. Squeeze that and it’ll release the bonnet-“

“Where’s the little thing to keep it up?”

He breathily chuckled, “‘s on hydraulics so keeps itself up.” 

Again, you didn’t respond and he was met with silence. Harry rested his chin against his palm waiting for you to speak, eyes looking towards the dimming light as night began to approach. 

“Wha’ can you see?”

“Not a whole lot, it looks fine to me.“

“Darling, just let me come to you.” 

“But this is why I pay for breakdown cover,” you snapped. 

“Where are you?” He asked, voice deep and to your annoyance laced with concern that he should no longer hold. 

You stammered trying to figure out some sort of excuse to bullshit him with, eyes taking in the country lane and the vast greeness around you. 

“Last time ‘m askin’,” he harshly cut in. “‘S gonna get dark soon, so jus’ tell me where y’are.”

“Somewhere near Congleton.”

“And wha’s the matter wi’the car?”

You noted his voice on his last question was a bit pinched, probably from focusing on another task like pulling on a pair of trainers to bring him to you. He clearly wasn’t playing along anymore. 

“Well, I think I’ve had an oil leak but none of the lights have come on to officially let me know whether I have or haven’t. The only thing is the nasty black marks that are on the driveway at home, but ‘s nothing that couldn't probably be jet washed off-“

As you rambled about cleaning the oil from the drive of the Hampstead home, Harry zoned out beginning to list the things he would probably require to bring with him. He was sure some of it could be found in Robin’s old garage, knowing that boxes of tools were still piled in the far corner. 

“Send me your exact location via text.”

“Harry-“ you sighed.

“‘M not askin’, ‘m telling,” he abruptly responded. 

***

People say that Googling symptoms is never a good thing, you suppose the same could be said for a car. 

Were they symptoms though? You couldn’t quite coherently think of another descriptor for them as they brought up search after search at how you quite possibly could have ruined your car.

You tried not to dwell as the sky around you began to get darker while you sat in the safe passing place on the country lane. It wasn’t like you had much choice but to stick around. 

Cold, and dithering slightly, you had taken to throwing your coat over your body like a blanket as simply wearing it wasn’t keeping your entire body warm enough. 

Car doors locked and eyes closed, you tried to find some solace in your waiting. You didn’t have much avail, as you were interrupted by the harsh white lighting of LED headlights breaking through the dimming dusk sky.

You frowned, eyes squinting as the light got closer and pulled in behind you. A sense of uncertainty filled your body at the new arrival, along the otherwise desolate road.

A figure of a male jumped out of the car behind you, causing you to still all of your movement in your car seat as you tried to make out any features to you that would make you comfortable in knowing it was Harry. 

The blinding lights made it far too difficult to see anything and you were beginning to think that the person behind you had left them on, on purpose. Unless they were those annoying ones that slowly turned themselves off. 

Staring out you vaguely were able to make out the figure approaching you and as he got halfway you relaxed.

It was Harry. 

He rapped his knuckles gently at your driver's side window and then smiled to himself as he realised how you wouldn’t be able to open it due to your inactive engine. 

“Open the door for me,” he spoke, his voice slightly muffled as it came through your car window. He watched as you reached for the door handle inside and pushed the door ajar ever so slightly. “Could you have picked anywhere more hidden away?”

You didn’t respond straight-away, deciding instead to take him in as he stood with his left arm leaning up against the doorframe of your car. His right arm taut as he held the car door open and away from you both, not wanting it to cause any obstruction. 

Underneath his khaki parka you could faintly make out a worn Versace tee as it hung open, unzipped. You internally rolled your eyes. What kind of person wore Versace to fix a car and possibly get covered in oil in the process? 

As you rested your head back against the seat behind you, you silently enjoyed the way he looked down at you. It was always quite frustrating, even more so now you weren’t together, how magnetising he was. 

“Do me a favour?” He broke the silent stare, “Lean over and pull the lever for me? Don’t quite fancy walking around the car and possibly going down a ditch.”

“My parking isn’t that bad!” You chastised, watching the way his lips twitched. “I’m being courteous of other cars on this tiny lane, given them extra room near the passing place-“

“You got miles of space this side of the dotted line,” he spoke cutting in, eyes wide and filled with humour. “Surprised you didn’t drive down the hill bank the other side to be extra courteous.”

“Can pull the lever yourself now, hope you break your ankle-“

“No you don’t-“

“I’d just leave you here, you know? Take the keys out of your pocket and go.“

“Don’t need to resort to petty crime,” his voice was a bit weaker now but still just as cheeky. “Could’ve just asked for ‘em.” 

Your eyes moved towards the glinting keys that he held loosely by the key ring after quickly retrieving them from his pocket. Tauntingly wanting you to reach out from them.

“You’re just going to pull them away, if I grab for ‘em.”

“‘M not,” he stressed with a slight laughter. “You’re always so cynical and defensive. Not even thanked me for driving out to come and get you.”

You didn’t respond, instead you gently reached for the keys, feeling him slightly shift them from your grip as he enjoyed the determination on your face. 

Fingers filled with want, you still grabbed for them, successfully but having to be halfway out of the seat and door of your car in order to fulfill your achievement.

When your feet met the ground beneath you, you quickly shifted around to pull your coat on properly. As you moved from the doorway, you watched as Harry dropped his chest onto the driver's seat and reached across the width of the car to pull the lever without needing to walk around the car to do so.

Putting a bit of distance between you, so you didn’t fall foul of staring too long at his bum in his blue jeans, you stalled yourself as he pushed his body up to standing and flipped through a book in his hands. 

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He said, flicking through what you now knew to be the car’s manual that he must’ve also grabbed from the glove box while inside the car. When you didn’t reply he tore his eyes away from the pages and over to you. 

“You’re a good man.”

The honesty in your voice, knocked him. “‘M not, but ‘m trying t’be.”

The two of you stared at each other in the dimming darkness and you knew your gaze matched his sad one. 

Clearing his throat, he threw the manual against the driver’s seat. “Anyway out m’ sight, leave the men to the work an’ all tha’. ‘S got heated seats an’ all, if you’re into tha’ sorta thing.”

***

You felt bad watching him out in the cold and dark, a light hanging from the bonnet the only source around him that you imagined was keeping him going. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, you let your eyes roam around the black interior of his car that was incredibly spacious and so suitable for your barrage of children. 

Your attention turned to outside again as you saw Harry move around from your car and walk up towards his own. His forearm came up to wipe across his mouth, bringing your attention to his facial hair that seemed to be getting thicker and thicker. 

Without needing to be prompted, you pressed the button to lower the driver's side window and watched as he pressed his forearms into the resting place you had created for him now there was no window blocking his way.

“Can you get me one of them shammy cloths from out o’the boot please? Jus’ need to double check the dipstick.” 

You nodded as he continued, “Would do it m’self but-“ he paused, opening out his hands and showing how dirty his fingers were to you. 

“It’s fine,” you said, leaving the car and joining him. “I feel a bit useless anyway,” you admitted. 

Both of you remained silent when he joined you at the back of his car, two sets of eyes easily spotting what you were looking for. You opened the packet of two cloths, a horrible peach colour, and passed him one before swapping places with him.

You moved to stand at the side of the car, watching him drop his head inside the boot to see if there was anything else he needed while he was at the other car. 

“Since when did you become one of them?”

“One of who?” He asked, his head popping around the side of his car and out of the boot to look at you.

“Your lights on this car are far too bright.”

He rolled his eyes, remaining quiet as he turned back to the contents of his boot. He wasn’t going to respond to your unnecessary nitpicking.

“It’s really nice inside though. Single about me did well then,” you found yourself saying the comment in a biting fashion, unable to hold your tongue. 

“Which one?” He bit right back, a clanging heard from the boot, “I asked you if you wanted a credit, you said no.” 

You clammed up. He hadn’t taken what you said as a joke. A bit of light humour, you thought, for the road. It was your own fault. You’d become that sort of annoying person you often could get when you found yourself awkwardly doing nothing with yourself. Your delivery of your joke didn’t help either. 

“Think I preferred you when you stayed sat, quiet, in the car,” Harry said, head moving out from the boot again so you could read his expressions. Raised eyebrows and twitching lips. 

“Piss off,” you glared at him, slowly turning to walk away. 

Now it was Harry’s turn to think you were joking, as he shouted after you. “Really gonna be like that after I turned up to save you. That’s twice now I’ve had t’remind yer.” 

“You insisted-“

“I know I did,” he spoke around a chuckle. “Now where’re you off to?”

“‘M walking home-“

“Don’t be so fucking ridiculous,” he shouted after you, a frown jarring through his light features when he moved from the open boot to walk closer to you as you turned back around to face him. 

***

He managed to coax you to sit back in the car not much longer after you’d stormed off in a huff. Not without a fight, but this was one he was willing to back down on just to get you to stop storming off. 

Looking back on it now, the scene was probably quite funny to some passerby or outsider, or it would’ve been if you weren’t so secluded. A female dressed in the most fetching of clothes - sarcasm noted - arguing in the middle of a street. Like some five year old in need of a nap. 

Speaking of naps, your eyes shot open wide at the loud bang of your car bonnet being shut. You hadn’t realised that you’d begun to doze until you were abruptly woken. 

Bleary vision was quickly erased with a rub of your eyes, as you moved to face the front and pushed your hair from your face.

You were met with Harry busy fiddling with the wires of his lamp. His face dropped down and hair falling so easily into his eyes. He kept walking rather than look into the car to see if you were still with him. Instead, he dropped everything that was in his hands into the boot and proceeded to annoyingly continue to subconsciously show off by pressing a button to close his boot automatically. 

Staying wrapped up in one of your kids car blankets, you curled your legs underneath your body and rested your right cheek against the headrest. You continued to be silent as you started to wake up, eyes blinking slowly as you watched Harry in the dark pull open his car door.

He swung his body into the car with an almighty groan, one that caused you in your sleepy haze to softly smile. He looked shattered as he relaxed in his seat and rested his head backwards.

With eyes closed he sighed heavily, letting you take him in without a care. You’d noticed that at some point since your nap he’d removed his coat and now he sat in just his t-shirt and jeans. Both, of which, now looked like they had seen better days.

His brow had begun to perspire as he entered the warmth of his car, the quick switch from the Baltic (slight over exaggeration) temperatures outside to those more welcoming inside the G-Wagon could do that to you. 

“Don’t think it’s fucked completely,” he said to break the silence, wiping his face and sweat with the back of his hand and wrist, to try and ensure his oil covered fingers didn’t leave any other stains on his skin.

You enjoyed the way he used the back of his hand, wrist and forearm to wipe at his now slightly clammy skin. Stupidly it emphasised how defined his upper body had become. “Dipstick wasn’t as dry as I was expecting,” he continued, “Just topped her up and ‘m ‘oping she turns over and sounds as good as new.” 

Again, silence. His eyes staring straight ahead of him, yours enjoying his profile. God, he had a fantastic nose. It was definitely something that your daughter had inherited and you wondered if it would be a feature that a loved one in her life would sometimes admire in the next generation. 

“Got any baby wipes wi’ you?” He cut his eyes to yours from the corner of his vision, taking in the way you were curled up in the passenger seat wearing the car blanket of your eldest son. 

His eyes lingered on your shape for a while, dropping down and enjoying the way you had curled yourself up and presented to him in such a cosy vision. It meant you felt relaxed around him and that was all he ever wanted. 

It was a nice contrast to the emotive happenings between the two of you that had almost become commonplace of late. A foreign feeling that was so simple, but so exciting. 

Without verbal response you reached from your handbag that was in the footwell to have a look inside at the contents. 

“Don’t wanna leave this car, been a bit spoiled over the last hour or so. Could do with an upgrade myself as they’re all getting older and need a bit more room,” you spoke as you rummaged around, movements still slightly sluggish.

You were successful in finding what you needed, the rustling of the plastic packaging jarring to your ears. Quickly pulling at the cover overlay, you swiftly pulled out a couple of wipes with such a mom-like finesse that had you balancing them on top of the now closed packet as you turned to face Harry. 

“Don’t even think about making it a clause in the divorce,” he joked, eyes looking up at you from underneath his brow. His eyebrows snapped up in shock as you snatched at his hand and abruptly pulled at the baby wipes you’d retrieved from inside your handbag. 

The two of you fell silent as you wiped at his left hand first, watching the black of the oil slowly leave his fingers. Breathing was heavy in the empty space as you didn’t dare raise your gaze higher to look into his eyes, that you knew were watching you. 

“It’s so attractive, how much of a Mum you are,” he dared to say what he really thought as his humoured expression fell away. “Cleaning my hands up nicely, like ‘m your child that’s made a mess of m’dinner.” 

“Harry,” you sighed his name, fidgeting softly in your seat. He chuckled in such a husky way that you found yourself softening regardless of the way it riled you. 

Releasing his left hand, you reached straight for his right. Seeing the way he caught himself and stopped it before it fell against his lap. He smoothly reached for you, brushing your hair behind your shoulders as it began to curtain across the right side of your face.

“Last time m’hands were this dirty, you were licking and sucking ‘em clean.”

You felt your face begin to heat up from his brazenness.

“Are you blushing for me?” He whispered, his left hand moving along your jaw, to tilt your head upwards. He had a hold of your jaw, slightly rougher than before and while your face played ball, your eyes did not. “‘S been ages since you blushed fo’me.”

Again the sound of breathing filled the car, Harry’s gaze all over your features before his other words punctuated the air, “Look a’me.”

As your eyes moved sharply to the right, you looked at the way he’d lolled his head back. His thumb slowly pulled at your bottom lip, watching the way it softly bounced from his touch, before he lifted it to trace faintly over your Cupid’s bow.

“Missed your lips,” he admitted, enjoying the light puffs of breath that bounced against the pad of his thumb. Before you could think, you’d taken his thumb inside your mouth, an appreciative groan leaving his lips.

You felt the way his fingers cupped under your chin, gently stroking at your skin, silently caressing. Teeth nipping playfully against the skin of his thumb as you pulled away. 

“How much?” You asked, lips turning to ghost against the inside of his hand. 

His eyes lingered as you watched him nudge his chin up slightly, silently asking for you to come to him. 

You sucked in a heavy breath as you leaned into him, the dimming ceiling light of the car slowly allowing darkness to swallow you both. A faint smile nudged your lips as your nose fell against his top lip.

He scooped you under his arm - lining you up better - hands trying to hold you as near to him as he could as you leaned over the centre console of the car to be closer to him. 

“Enough,” he husked, before adding, “Your nose is cold,” in a passing tone, lips against your temple now. Breathing deeply through your nose you let him pull you even closer, unable to believe that you weren’t close enough. Muffled apologies left your lips, about how your nose was cold. 

The soft drag of his lips to yours pulled you under a haze that swept away your apologies and into a tender reacquaintance. His lips were slightly shaking against yours and you weren’t sure if it was to do with the cold that he had found himself in or if it were due to his nervousness. 

Regardless he was steady. Knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted. Pulling kiss after kiss from you in the slowest fashion that you felt yourself beginning to warm up. 

“‘S nice to have a little kiss,” he gently spoke against the corner of your mouth. “Missed you treating me to ‘em.” 

“I think you just know exactly what to say,” you murmured as you allowed him to continue ghosting his lips over yours. “Know exactly what you're doing.”

“‘F you’re suggesting that I’m trying it on,” he murmured against your lips, “I absolutely fucking am.”

“Would never have guessed,” you looked at him with heavy eyelids, head now nudged back slightly to enable you to see his entire face. He smirked at you, eyes blinking slowly as he willed you to him once more.

His hand was secure around the back of your neck, fingers messily woven through your hair. His other hand gently massaged at the top of your back, over your fetching loungewear that you had chosen to drive home in.

“‘S it working?”

“What do you think?”

Harry’s eyes dropped in a slow blink as he felt the way your hand lowered down his chest and abdomen, which was wavering slightly from his nervous anticipation. 

Dropping your head down to his chest, you left a kiss to his pec as you mumbled and felt the button of his jeans giveway to your fingers and thumb. “I am grateful, you know?”

“Yeah?”

The ruffle of your hair against the cotton of his tee filled the car, him recognising it as you nodding. 

“Me too,” he assured. 

And he was. Grateful.

For the life he’d had with you up until this point.

The family the two of you had created. The one you were so fiercely fighting for. Messily and viciously, all from a good place. The best place. 

He licked at his dry lips, leaving his mouth to hang open slightly as he watched you descend down to his semi that was hidden in the confines of his jeans.

“Both of us need warming up,” he mused, his hands sliding from your hair and down your back, slowly and gently to your slightly raised bum from how you had placed yourself over the center console. “In’t that right?”

A dull slap of his hand against your leggings-clad bum had you rocking back as you felt his hands slide under the waistband to massage at your cheek.

Swallowing heavy, Harry tilted back his head and even through his hooded eyes he caught his blissed expression in the rear view mirror, as he felt you take his balls into your mouth and gently suckle.

He rasped your name as he basked in the dirty licks, heavily laden with saliva from your watering mouth before you took him into your throat. Obscene sounds from your actions wove between his heavy breathing and quick pants. 

“Fuck me, darling.” 

With his hand that was still against your bum, he pulled you closer. Hands desperate to have purchase of something as you gently but messily sucked and licked, desperate to feel the tickle of his pubic hair against the tip of your nose to know you’d successfully taken him all the way down.

His breathing was shaky, a quick hiss leaving his lips as he felt the way your nails dug into his denim clad thighs from his previous movements to try and hold steady. The position wasn’t ideal, but the feeling of your shaking breath against his wet cock as you nosed against his jeans had him smiling.

As you turned your head slightly to look at him from the corner of your vision, you noticed the way he was looking down at you. How powerful he seemed in that moment as you were slightly beneath him. 

The thought changed though with the way his hand came up to your face, his thumb against your wet lips for the shortest time before he cradled the back of your head to help pull you back up and avoid any mishaps. 

He tugged you forward to crush his mouth to yours with pleased hums as he tasted himself on you. Lips smacking as he pulled kiss after kiss from your mouth, smiling at the eagerness of you both.

His hands joined yours as they pulled at his jeans, his hips lifting in the seat and his arms strong as he pushed the denim and underwear down to sit closer to his knees. 

“Mm,” he hummed, as his bare bum cheeks met the heated seat beneath them. “Put the seats on fo’me.”

“Don’t say I don’t ever treat you nicely.”

He huskily chuckled as he brought your lips back to him again. “Nice an’ warm,” he lazily spoke, acknowledging the heated seats. “Jus’ for me.”

And he knew every bit of his words meant the double entendre that you had caught,looking on as you pulled away to sink back into your own seat 

Looking over at him, you noticed the lust behind his eyes as he slowly pumped his hand up and down his wet and aching cock when you sunk back into your own seat and watched his head loll against the headrest once more. His nostrils flared as he bit down on his bottom lip and nudged his chin up, getting you silently to come to him once more when he’d seen your movements in removing your own bottoms had ended.

“Wouldn’t do this for anyone else, y’know that?” You said around your messy kiss as you raised your legs and felt his hands guide you to straddle him. Hands splayed across your lower back and the top half of your bum as he secured you to him. 

“Should bloody ‘ope not.” 

As you sat above him, you could feel him there. Sprung back and wet. Your mouths rested against each other, heavy and open. Eyes moving to and fro over each other’s.

“Been at this too long to start sharing now.”

Your hips moved forward at his words, with the smallest of motions but it was enough to make his cock glide between your lips. His expression was one of immeasurable pleasure regardless of how little the touch.

Deep down you knew you didn’t have time for this sort of behaviour. The kind where you revelled in the nudge of him against your clit, and the way it caused you to gasp lightly while your brow creased and forehead fell against his. 

“Take it,” he encouraged as you rolled your hips on him. “Let me in.”

Heavy breathing and shaking hands, you held Harry’s eyes as you reached behind you to take him in your hand. 

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you raised yourself, feeling him shuffle down slightly  in his seat to help ensure you didn’t bump your head as you lifted. Fingers gave way when he lined up nicely, slipping only his tip inside of you.

This stretch was one like no other. A burn that you savoured as much as the expression that welcomed you from the desire felt by the only man who had ever made you feel this way. His one hand crawled up your back, to cup around your neck, anchoring you to him. 

When you were fully seated shaky exhales bounced against each other’s lips. Every tremble of you above him felt so vividly by Harry. The way your thighs shook from the small confines you found yourself in, to the quiver of your fingers against his neck and jaw. 

“You’re so big,” your moan was feeble. Embarrassing in many ways. Especially given the amount of times you’d done this with him. 

“Mm,” he agreed. “‘S cause ‘m so hot for you. Got me so hard. Always have.”

“Always will-“

“Always will,” he confirmed.

Your moan was thick as it left your throat, his words enough to get you to roll against him and have you clit drag pleasing against his pelvis.

He groaned, knowing that’s what you were doing too. Having been in this position so many times before. No one had ever had you this way, and you knew no one ever would either. A pleasure this giving was one of familiarity. Aided so deeply by feeling. 

When your mouth met his again the only word to describe your kiss was sinful. His tongue waiting to meet yours, flicking so easily and far too filthily for those on the cusp of middle age. 

But he still had it. 

The gleaming boyish gaze and curling smile. Could charm his way into any heart and into any pair of knickers. But the ones he had chosen time and time again were yours. Regardless of their sexiness at times.

“Yes,” you gasped, pulling away from his mouth and feeling his hands encourage the knocking of your hips against his. 

You were close, nowhere to go and not wanting to go anywhere. How you had made it here so quickly, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was the surroundings, how you potentially could get caught. Maybe it was because your partner - husband - just knew you so well. 

His eyes didn’t want to leave you as they admired the flushed skin you were beginning to show and the gleaming, plush lips that you were rolling into your mouth to hide your pleasure. 

“That’s it, fuck me,” his voice was hushed, quick in its delivery. “‘S wha’ it’s all about,” he hummed, as you rocked your hips over his. Knocking his head back against the headrest once more.

As he looked down his nose at you, he watched as your eyes fell to your navel, taking in each roll of your hips. Your expression dropped with realisation, slightly pained. “What’s wrong?”

Looking up at him, you wish you hadn’t. You wished you’d kept your eyes down to see the ripple of his abdomen each time your body flexed around him. That way it wasn’t doused in emotion, it was just raw pleasure that lived in your mind.

“We shouldn’t be doing this anymore. Needs to be the last time.”

A mix of a breathy laugh and scoff left his lips as he urged you to restart your hips that were starting to stall above him, “Bit late for tha’ now, don’t yer think?” 

Falling against him, you hid your face feeling his lips over the shell of your ear and against your hair. His hand gently stroked at your hair, lips moving to your temple and pressing affection kisses that did nothing but make you feel worse.

“Do you want t’stop? Mm?” He asked, feeling your hips so tight against his, but your core so open that he hoped you would say no. Widening his thighs he pressed his feet into the footwell, seeking momentum to meet your hips with his own.

“‘S okay to love me still,” he groused, feeling your chin tremble from his words. “‘S okay to let me love you still. This is okay, us just doing this is okay.” 

It wasn’t okay and he knew. He also knew everything he was saying - every single word - was just a way to satiate you. 

So, you let them. Swallowed the lump in your throat and inhaled deeply. 

His words were cut short as he groaned, “Sit up for me, fuck me properly.” 

Sitting yourself up, you felt the way Harry’s hands moved so that the backs of his fingers were smoothing against your lower stomach. Sweaty palm turned, he pressed it gently down your stomach and let his thumb finger your clit.

The softest frown hit your brow, as his thumb slowly rubbed in a downwards motion at your sensitivity. From his actions you felt a warmth pool around both him and you, Harry groaning appreciatively as he felt it too.

“Yeah,” he stressed the word as you gripped at his t-shirt which sat against his stomach. Cotton in handfuls as you scrunched the fabric. “‘S tha’ nice- good?”

You nodded.

“‘S it enough?”

You nodded with more fervour. Eyes holding his as you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth and scratched along his right forearm as he continued to gently swipe at your wet clit.

The abruptness of the rock to your hips showed itself as the warmth within your belly grew. Eyes now hooded, you were unable to stop them from closing as your mouth parted to desperately say, “Don’t stop.”

And you didn’t know who you were talking to; yourself or Harry.

Harry responded with a moan so deep that you clenched down around him, causing his free hand to reach up and squeeze harshly against your hips. 

“‘M going to come so hard for you ‘f you keep doing that,” he gritted, breathing shallow as he felt his chest constrict. “Like tha’, just like that.”

His words were low, and like just moments before you weren’t sure if they were for him or you, but they had you moaning his name. Head dropping against his, his hand gripping at the back of your neck. 

With one hard roll of your hips, you cried out, forehead against his chin and mouth fallen. His hand squashed between your bodies as you shook and convulsed. 

Pliant for him, you were too dazed to move as you felt his arm wrap securely around your back and hold you to him, tight.

A merciless and repeated smack of his hips upwards, which you were sure would have the car rocking, made you aware of him seeking his release. He moaned your name, as he pulled you down to him, his orgasm shooting into you.

His heavy breathing was hot against your sweltering skin when you finally came to, his grunts melding into your neck as your core continued to flutter in the aftermath of your own release. 

His hands somewhat selfishly and most definitely greedily moved you against him, both crooning at the sensitive rush that met you before he lifted you to aid himself with slipping out.

Cold air met his sensitivity, as he nuzzled against you. Hand crawling up your back, under your shirt and feeling your damp skin peel away from his own as he moved his hand up and down. 

“Want to try out the back wi’me after this,” he hummed, brushing your hair off your face with his other hand. His words were heavy as they pressed into the skin of your cheek while he still tried to catch his breath.

As much as you knew you should, you didn’t even try to stop yourself from nodding.

***

Looking forward to hearing all of your thoughts! x

[fandomshatelgbtqpeople]

On Loki (or I take too long to get to the point but I promise it’s a good one)

So, I saw someone on my dash claiming that people shipping Loki/Sylvie were invalidating genderfluid people and that anyone who disagreed with them or continued to ship it was “ignoring the voices of genderfluid people.”

Let me get this out of the way, I really don’t give a shit whether you’re okay with Loki/Sylvie. Literally could not care less. And while some of the points I’m going to go over while dismantling this person’s argument overlap with the reasons I personally don’t have a problem with it, that is not what this post is about. We will not be having an argument about whether “selfcest” is okay on this blog. I do not care whether or not you’re into that.

But, as another genderfluid person, their argument made no sense and the fact that they were lambasting anyone who pointed that out as being fluidphobic pissed me off, so I’m going to use it as an example of something I’ve been wanting to talk about for a while. And to be clear, people can feel how they feel personally and I’m not saying anyone should go tell this person that how they personally feel is wrong, but feelings are often irrational and if they’re going to claim that something is invalidating to genderfluid people as a whole, there needs to be some logic there.

On Loki and genderfluidity

Making the point I want to make requires me to explain the thought processes a non-genderfluid person could use to dissect this argument.

This person’s argument was that shipping Loki and Sylvie invalidated genderfluid people because it reinforces the stereotype that a genderfluid people become a different person when their gender changes. Here’s why that doesn’t make sense to me:

There’s actually no evidence right now that Loki and Sylvie even are different versions of the same person.

Even if they are different versions of the same person, they’re two distinct characters as opposed to “our” Loki as a man and “our” Loki as a woman.

As far as I’m aware, that is not actually even a widespread stereotype about genderfluid people. This was literally the first time I’d ever heard of that idea.

Starting with #1, we don’t know enough about Sylvie or any of the other Lokis’ origins to know whether they have any kind of genetic relationship. For all we know, the Odinsons adopted a completely different kid in each of these universes. The different ages and races of the variants suggest something like this (unless they all turn out to be a shapeshifted Tom Hiddleston, in which case we’ll have other, more important things to talk about). My point here is that we just don’t have enough information to know whether they’re different spins on the same person or completely different people altogether. Sylvie also might not even end up being a Loki. There’s all kind of people in Marvel pretending to be other people. All I’m saying is that you have to make a lot of assumptions to get to “they are different versions of the same person” in the first place. A non-genderfluid person is just as capable of recognizing that as a genderfluid person is.

To address #2, we’ll accept for a moment that all the different Lokis are different versions of the same person. Even if that’s true, the characters are not one person who’s gender fluctuates or changes like a gender fluid person’s does. They’re two separate characters with different genders, one of whom has been confirmed as genderfluid. If we accept that treating these characters like two different people invalidates genderfluid people--which again, I strongly disagree with--then it’s not shipping them together that’s invalidating. It’s the fact that they interact at all. Romantic relationships are not the only kind of relationships that require multiple participants. This would also imply that any story where parents from one universe adopt a son and the same parents from a different universe adopt a daughter would invalidate genderfluid people if the narrative acknowledges them as different people.

Finally, a character being two versions of the same person has never stopped fandom from shipping them regardless of gender (see: the Onceler, the Doctor, mirror-verse Star Trek characters), so trying to make this into something that’s only happening because they’re different genders is kind of ridiculous, and once you lose that, you lose the connection to genderfluidity. Again, you don’t have to be genderfluid to recognize that there’s a difference between two characters with different genders and one genderfluid person.

#3 is the only point that I’ll acknowledge is easier to understand if you’re genderfluid. Genderfluid people are just more likely to know what the stereotypes are. That said, if you’ve been involved in conversations about queerness in media for years and someone is telling you a character reinforces a stereotype you’ve never heard of before, run a google search! See if you can find anyone other than this one person discussing it! To double-check myself, I ran a search on genderfluid stereotypes and didn’t find any mention of the idea that a genderfluid person becomes a different person when their gender changes.

Now, it’s entirely possible that someone in the OP’s life does have that misconception. That doesn’t mean it’s a widespread negative stereotype that media or fandom have a responsibility to avoid. The Half of It probably reinforces somebody’s mom’s idea that lesbians can only be friends with boys, but that doesn’t actually mean there’s anything wrong with it. It’s impossible to avoid every potential misconception, especially since we have no way of knowing what all of them are. The OP may very well legitimately feel invalidated by the whole thing, but that doesn’t make it invalidating to the group at large (and it also doesn’t make it objectively wrong).

So what’s my actual point?

You know all those posts starting to go around about how “listening to marginalized voices” doesn’t actually mean “take everything every marginalized person you come across says as the gospel truth,” how that’s actually dehumanizing and forces marginalized people to do all the work for you, and at some point you actually have to use your own critical thinking skills to decide what you believe in? Every time I look through the notes of those posts, there’s tons of people going “I don’t know how tho” or “I’m afraid to be wrong.”

This is a simple example of why it’s important (another example is all the people who were mislead into attacking artists over various lesbian flag designs in 2018-19), and hopefully this post is an okay explanation of how to get started.

Start with what you know. These are the points we started with here. You may recognize some of them from other common bad arguments floating around:

This argument is premised on an issue I’ve never heard of despite being in a position to know about it. -> “I’ve been in and out of nonbinary spaces and helping run a blog about queer representation in media for years and I’ve never heard of anyone thinking genderfluid people become a different person when their gender changes. I did some research and it doesn’t look like anyone else has heard of it either.”

This concept doesn’t mean what this person is saying it means. -> “The OP is saying a ship between two different characters is fluidphobic because they have different genders. That doesn’t make sense.”

This person is relying on assumptions without evidence that they’re accurate. -> “This argument relies on Sylvie being (1) a Loki, and (2) a different version of ‘our’ Loki. Either of these things could easily not be true.”

This position is internally inconsistent. -> “How does shipping two characters imply that you think of them as different people in a way that, for example, referring to them as brother and sister doesn’t?”

This position conflicts with information you know to be true independently. -> “The OP is claiming that shipping two characters means you think of them as different people but I’ve personally witnessed multiple popular fandoms spring up around shipping a character with themselves,” and “This argument relies on a widespread willingness to accept that a person can have multiple personalities, but people with DID (at least in the US) actually struggle with a widespread perception among both laypeople and psychologists that multiple personalities don’t exist.”

Following this logic to its natural conclusion leads you to a position that’s ridiculous -> “If treating Loki and Sylvie like two distinct people is fluidphobic, that means any story where a family adopts a son in one universe and a daughter in the other is fluidphobic unless they’re treated by the narrative and fandom like the same person” and “If treating genetically identical people of different genders as distinct people is fluidphobic, wouldn’t that also make Orphan Black fluidphobic for treating the clone who was a trans man like a distinct character, since he’s not the same gender as the others?”

This person is making proclamations about how other people think and feel without evidence. -> “The OP is assuming everyone who ships Loki/Sylvie must be taking the position that they’re distinct people because OP personally would never ship anyone with themselves.”

This person is generalizing how they feel about something to how everyone feels. -> “OP leapt to the conclusion that shipping Loki/Sylvie invalidates genderfluid people in general because it hits on their own insecurities as a genderfluid person.”

This person is throwing accusations and ad hominem attacks instead of engaging with legitimate counterpoints. -> “Multiple people pointed out that the OP was relying on several assumptions that might be wrong. Instead of responding to this point, the OP called them ‘weirdos’ and accused them of ‘speaking over genderfluid people.’” (This is not the same thing as making a post and then not engaging with the notes at all. That’s a legitimate choice.)

There is a motive to mislead the reader. -> “The point OP is making isn’t actually about genderfluid people and is in fact, ‘You’re a bad person for shipping Loki/Sylvie.’ Not liking the ship seems like a clear ulterior motive to make this argument, and I’ve definitely seen fandoms weaponize representation issues during ship wars before.”

That’s a lot of flags! All of these are reasons you should be skeptical of an argument and seek out other points of view or other people with the same point of view who are willing to address these concerns, but the last two are major red flags that, combined with any yellow flags, signal the person you’re listening to is not speaking in good faith and is not a good source of information. 

Listening to marginalized voices means making an effort to seek out the perspectives of marginalized people on issues that affect them and taking those perspectives into account in shaping your own opinion. It does not mean taking every post made by anyone who is (or says they are--people lie on the internet) x identity as the gospel truth and never doing any thinking of your own. Hopefully these tips will help all of you prevent yourselves from getting dragged into and used as a mouthpiece for positions that make no sense after a few minutes of thought.

Edit: Apparently Loki is canonically genderfluid now?? Anyway, I think I got all the references to him not being genderfluid removed. Sylvie may or may not be but we’re not getting into that here.

[smolbeandrabbles]

364 Days To Go - Director Keller x Reader (Captain Marvel)

Holiday Fic 4! 🎄🎄

GIF Credit: X 

@wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

Author’s Note: This Holiday season belongs to the less popular boys and honestly I’m all here for it! Keller was the last one I came up with and it was just because I put all my Christmas music on shuffle and I was like “whoooo... could I use this for?” And then thought hard on it and came up with a kinda cute Keller scenario. Also he deserves more love!!

Really, by the title alone, this should be the post Christmas fic, but, oh well! 

Disclaimer: Captain Marvel Characters Not mine / gif not mine / lyrics not mine / usual stuff, different fic!

Premise: December 25th may almost be over, but you can both still have a little fun...

Words: 1431

Warnings: The setting is Christmas day, although Christmas is not mentioned by name / drinking / if you squint there is the tiniest of sexual references

____

Wrapping paper everywhere Stacked up dishes, but who cares They can wait until tomorrow now It's you and me, and this old couch

The Christmas tree in our living room Fills the room with pine perfume And colored lights dancing on the walls While Nat King Cole sings "Deck The Halls"

Thanks for my robe, no that's ok It looks better on you anyway What is it about this time of year That makes our troubles disappear 'Cause don't you get the sense tonight That for now the world is right And as another Christmas ends My mind drifts and once again I'm thinking like a six year old Only 364 days to go

We can't avoid it No way around it Before too long we'll be Either back to work back to school Or just back to reality

Don't you get the sense tonight That for now the world is right And as another Christmas ends My mind drifts and once again I'm thinking like a six year old Only 364 days to go Be here before you know it

---

The house was filled with the sound of holiday music. Although, without putting a damper on things, the holiday was almost over. Well, the main part of it anyway. But neither of you were thinking about that. In fact the music was the only sound, as currently you were both nestled on the couch together, your head on Keller’s chest. There was plenty of reason to move, you supposed. Remnants of brightly coloured paper still littered the floor, a stack of dishes by the sink that - if you were really cognizant - you should probably get started on. But, there was always tomorrow… This was the very last day of the year you would ever have had your partner working on. Even if it wasn’t work work.

Besides, you were both currently stuck in a food coma, and snuggled on the couch was the only place to be; drifting in and out of sleep with the heat on high and his arms around you. You were surprised that he hadn’t even taken one glance at his pager today. You would understand for any other Agent (heck, you’d hurled yours across the room the second you’d got in last night, where it’d clattered against the wall. And even upon Keller’s insistence, you hadn’t gone to retrieve it yet - and, didn’t see him doing it for you), but not the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D… Keller constantly told you that, for him, there was always something going on. Which meant today should be no exception. He was doing this for you, you knew. But you were glad he was taking respite for once; he deserved it. You knew how important his position was, but Keller always worked so damn hard. You thought it was about time he got some recognition for that - even if it was in the form of a quiet moment on the couch with you. Running your fingers gently through his steel grey hair, Keller didn’t really stir; his grip on you loosened slightly, and that sleepy content hum made you do nothing but smile. You pressed a kiss gently to his forehead and cheek before you stole away from his arms. It was about time to get yourself back in your pyjamas you thought! Hurrying quietly from the room, you halted and turned back to his gifts. A little smirk formed on your face; on second thought… *** By the time you returned to him Keller was awake but still looked a little drowsy; head in his hand, propped up by his elbow on his knee, as he held open a book with his other hand. As you shuffled into the room he looked up and then immediately laughed. “Oh, I see you’re wasting no time stealing my clothes, huh?” To be honest the robe was almost a joke gift, you’d had it embroidered with ‘Director J. R. Keller’ across the left breast and then kidded with him that no one was going to be able to take the J off this.  You brought your shoulders up as high as they could go and tucked yourself into it, “It’s very comfy, I gotta say.” Then made a motion to take it off, “Would you like it back?” “No… No…” He waved his free hand, “It looks good on you…” Keller continued to stare at you for a moment before smiling, “Go on, give us a twirl.” “Ah!” You gave him your very best and then posed, “What do you think?” “Yeah.” He almost said it flatly, “Gonna look so much better on you.” Before he placed the book down and opened his arms, “C’mon…”

You eagerly crossed the room, and back into Keller’s welcoming embrace. “I love you so much.” “I got the idea… yeah!” That only made you giggle again as he captured your lips with his own, rubbing his hands over your arms as if to warm you up. “PJs too? Man, I missed the memo…” Keller was still in a nice shirt and pants. A little more relaxed than his usual suit (and sleeves rolled up, as you would have requested; his forearms were something to behold), but no less easy on the eye. “Time to get comfortable.” “Just seems like a typical non-work day for you, then.” You gasped, pretending to get offended and smacked his arm, “Don’t say the ‘W’ word!” “Oh, geez, I should have guessed that was banned too.” “Are you trying to be humorous?” He quirked an eyebrow, amused, and you tried to hold your serious face for all of 3 seconds before you snorted, “Okay. You win this round, Mr. Keller!” He allowed you to steal a series of short kisses, before he settled you back on the couch alone; turning the music up a little, he poured you both a glass of mulled wine. Handing your glass over to you, Keller didn’t sit back down. You wondered if he was attempting to stretch his body out after the confines of the couch. “Hey, don’t get any of this over my robe now.” “Oh my god…” You shook your head at him, “Just tell me if you want me to take it off-!” He smirked through his sip, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” You rolled your eyes, and for a minute it went quiet before you studied him a little closer. He wasn’t even really looking at you, more surveying the decor of the house and paying attention to the songs, but Keller still knew what you were doing; “What?” “Just making sure that pager of yours isn’t on you!” He scoffed, “So you can yell at me today of all days of the year?” He took another sip before he placed his glass down and held his hand out for you. You took a bigger gulp of wine than you thought was necessarily, and you watched his face try to remain stoic and not even a little disappointed in you for doing so, before you took the hand he offered and let him pull you off the couch. Keller spun you into his arms and held you close, letting you lay your hand flat against his before you laced your fingers together, and he swayed you gently to the music. “Oh? You want to dance with me when I’m not even dressed appropriately?” “I’ll forgive it.” He chuckled, but then took a more serious breath, “You know that I don’t care, right?” “I’m just teasing you-!” Although you couldn’t help but blush gently; you knew he would take you any way you wished to present to him. That was just the kind of man that he was. You weren’t sure that anyone in the world deserved him really, but you weren’t about to argue with the look of love on his face today. Instead you’d simply bask in it, honoured that Keller chose to give it to you. You continued to sway slowly to the music as song changed into song, changed into song… and both of you once again surveyed the room, and tried not to think of everything you’d have to do tomorrow. The darkness had drawn in, but there was still something magical about it today, instead of gloomy and depressing. You couldn’t help but grin as you looked back into his soft blue eyes, it might have almost been over, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t still have childish excitement about next year. “Only 364 days to go!” Keller gave an encouraged nod of agreement, “And imagine what can happen in that time-!” Only he added a mysterious little wink, causing you to narrow your eyes; “OKAY what is going on at work!?” His look was of pure innocence, “Nothing! Well- No, maybe something, but I can promise I don’t know!” You tilted your head, “To be honest, I’m surprised. Your fingers must be itching to click that little button.” Keller shrugged, “100% honesty? I haven’t really thought about it.” And he really did mean it, although he laughed, “But I’m sure I’ll wake to a million messages tomorrow-!” “Any way I could persuade you to collect another million more?” “Not check tomorrow?” Keller paused your swaying for a second, sucking his breath in between his teeth and pretending to think hard on it, “Just try it…” “Mmm. Think I will.” You winked, before removing your hands from his and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull Keller into a deep kiss. 

364 days to go, maybe… But if it was 364 days filled with kisses like this, you wouldn’t mind waiting one bit.

---

Thank you for reading! And as my last fic before Christmas, Happy Holidays!!! 🎁🎅🎄

[metalbvcky]

2020 Fic Year in Review

I’m waiting for my Sims game to finish updating, so I thought I’d do this since I saw @kalee60‘s post about it :) 

Total number of completed stories: 

14 (15 if you include a short 1am-oneshot I orphaned haha) 

Total number of words: 

111,575 (and that’s not including stuff I scrapped/haven’t posted omg) 

Fandoms written in:

Marvel/Stucky but also Supernatural (on my main) just a tad because haven’t posted anything yet but I’m including it anyway haha 

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

Oh, absolutely! Heck, I never thought I’d write anything when it comes to fic because I’ve always kept quiet about my writing. (And I’ve been doing it since I was like 12 and it all started with my Club Penguin phase pffft)  But my interest turned into an obsession rather quickly and I honestly can say, without a doubt, that @buckybees​ is the whole reason why I even got the courage to post my first fic! I’m so glad I did because writing fic has given me a new perspective on fandom in general. And it makes me appreciate fandom/fanon even more. 

What’s your own favourite story of the year?

Pretty much all of them but Bucky's Got a Bun in the Oven? holds a special place in my heart. Not only was it my first published fic, but I never thought I’d write something like that. I go back and re-read it frequently since it’s so short. 

No lie: Sometimes I look back at that fic and it makes me wanna write a series of short oneshots with Pregnant!Bucky. Like, just Domestic Steve/Bucky living in the modern day with a baby on the way. Bucky shopping for baby clothes, decorating the nursery, having snack parties with Natasha, taking care of the baby after the birth, those sort of things. Oh, I think I just talked myself into another idea. 😂 

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Ehh, not really? However, I did write a series of crack oneshots lol. Some are crazier than others. 

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

Apple Pie Crumble Cake - This is my #1 goal. It’s a Bakery!AU Kid Fic that I’ve been planning for months. It’s gonna be multi-chaptered, and at least 50k. I have 10 chapters outlined and there are still more I need to get to, but probably won’t until I start writing the darn thing lol. 

I wanna start posting some smut oneshots on my secondary pseud, I have some done but I don’t think those will ever see the light of day since they’re just for practice- most of them were thought of on the spot without any outlining. I’d like to keep anything (totally) nsfw separate from my default pseud, just to be organized lol. And yes, this asexual read/writes smut. 😏 (my personal rule is as long as it doesn’t involve me, I’m good!) 

I thought long and hard on this in the past week or so, and originally I thought I’d join the Shrunkyclunks ‘21 Bang but the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to do it. It’d be my first bang, and while I have an idea, it’s just a little intimating to me lol. Soo, I’ll pass this year. Instead, I’m gonna look out for a Bingo whenever a new one starts up, since I’ll prob be more comfortable with that :) 

(Does this short lil Beach!AU count even though it’ll be done in 2020 but will be posted next year?? lolol) 

On my main, I’m writing a Supernatural + Spongebob crossover fic. Sort of like the episode, Scoobynatural. And I have a feeling that it’s gonna be turned into a series because I’m latched onto this idea- that started as a joke. 

Most popular story of the year.

Are we talking hits or kudos?? Hits, Buchanan Medical. Kudos, The Case of Bucky’s Wisdom Teeth. Eitherway, I’m so happy those two made it as my most popular stories. Buchanan Med is close to me on a personal level, and Bucky’s wisdom teeth fic is something I’ve always wanted to read but never existed :3 

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

I think @kalee60​ explained it perfectly when it comes to fics ‘flopping’ (I see this a lot on r/fanfiction) People will see it, they might like it, or won’t like it. And that’s okay! Not everything is for everyone, neither are tropes/genres. I know myself, I’m not a fan of A/B/O and the same could go for someone else who likes my personal favorite genre, hurt/comfort. And sometimes it’s kinda like an age old Tumblr saying: A post that took time and effort can get little as 10 notes but a spur of the moment post can get thousands. (Okay so, I made that up on the spot pffft) 

Most fun story to write.

Buchanan Medical, but Mercury In Retrograde was super fun since I added the whole ‘space puns/pickup lines’ aspect to it. They basically share the same AU, but they’re totally different and that’s why I love them.  

Most unintentionally telling story:

The entire Buchanan Med series. I wanted to explore Steve having asthma in a modern universe (because I too suffer from it- my whole life) and I really, truly, bled a little bit of my personal experience with the disease into the series. Having Bucky there, taking care of/treating Steve? It felt really comforting to me. And hey, write those self comfort fics!!! 

Biggest disappointment.

I hoped to finish the last oneshot of Buchanan Med this year but sadly, my motivation for it just tanked. I write hurt/comfort best when I’m in the right mood for it, and I’m still waiting for it to come back to me, whenever that may be XD. 

Biggest surprise.

The amount of reception I’ve gotten overall, the people I’ve met, the friends I’ve made, and new fandom experiences I’ve gotten to experience myself! Seriously, never in a million years did I think I’ve ever call myself a fanfic writer. But here I am, and I couldn’t be happier <3

~~~

My Sims game finished updating on the fifth question but I kept on rambling because I love taking about my writing!!! It made me realize that wow, I really did do a lot this year when it comes to fanon- especially since it was my first time delving into the world that is fanfiction writing <3 I have many hobbies, video games being the longest one, but I think I’ve spent more time writing/reading than playing games this year. My teenager-self WOULD NEVER believe that! But as the legendary Reggie Fils-Aimesays once said, "If it’s not fun, why bother?” 

I’m gonna tag you guys if you wanna do this! @buckybees​ @justice-for-plums​ @hbalbat​ @its-tortle​ @captainjanegay​ @greyhavensking​ @snarky-drabbles​ @joharvele​ @musette22​ @mysterious-marvel​ 

[escxpiism]

( olivia holt, 23, she/her ) * hey, i’m looking for the office of ALICE ADAMS. they’re the EMPLOYEE who’s known around the office as THE MASK if that helps ? not to be a gossip, but i’ve heard that they’re ADAPTABLE but JADED, is that true ? i also heard that they’re the one who CATFISHED DAVID HASSELHOFF. anyways, here’s the coffee they ordered.

hi y’all !! i’m may ( 21 // est // she/her ) and i am super super pumped to be here !! i’m also very much writing this against my better judgment ya girl’s running on four hours of sleep and has the option to sleep more but......... is not tired ?? so i do apologize if my mind is secretly tired and makes this intro,,,, even worse than it would be fahouedn. on with the show !! anyway anyway!! feel free to like this if u wld like 2 plot and i will hit u up!!

( also, for some vibes if you so choose to read, here’s the link to her playlist ! )

----------------------------------------------------

QUICK FACTS:

full name: alice audrey adams

date of birth: october 26th, 1997

*will not perfectly reflect the zodiac big three below because that’s.... math.

zodiac big three: scorpio sun, virgo moon, taurus rising

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

sexual orientation: bisexual

education: ged, bachelor’s degree in film — pratt institute

enneagram: 4w3

mbti: enfp

temperament: sanguine-melancholic

label: the mask

various inspirations: “nutshell” - alice in chains, “santa monica” - everclear, “polly” - nirvana, “jennifer’s body” - hole, “creep” - stone temple pilots, kate wallis ( cruel summer - shhhh ), heather davis ( crazy ex-girlfriend ), satana hellstrom ( marvel comics ), bojack horseman - without the amount of problematic ego ( bojack horseman ), eddie huang ( fresh off the boat ), the great britney spears evolution ( temporarily stopping at circus era )

BACKSTORY:

triggers in order: toxic family dynamic, grooming (nothing super in-depth), kidnapping (? like it was ‘willing’ but no. see next trigger for why), toxic “relationship” (and 11yr age gap w/ a 16y/o we hate it), straight-up captivity, very brief mention of suicide + heroin (very!)

*would like to quickly preface that this isn’t just Dark for the sake of being r/im14andthisisdeep but that’s for a later time **(also! i have markers for where the grooming + Super Dark parts begin and end! -- also, the Super Dark part is all very public knowledge. had articles. media frenzy. first thing that comes up if you google her name) *** also. if u need it then a tl;dr is below this section hfkldsa

alice audrey adams was born to the type of family that names all of their children alliterative names ( however, they sadly didn’t get their own kardashian-style show )... alexis adams (working name, utp if taken as a wc)... alfie allison adams (working name, utp if taken as a wc)... born to anna adams and allen adams... we hate it here.

as u can see... all of the kids were basically named after allen... they all had ‘al’ names.... extremely confusing 

plot-twist: THAT’S the darkest part

the adams were very concerned with public image. as a family in the upper echelon, they simply had to be! a narcissist father, a distant mother, put in competition with her siblings — there was no truly healthy dynamic in the household. but they looked good. they went to church every sunday, a ‘wwjd’ sticker on the back of her mother’s car. they did just enough activities and took just enough trips together to get the image across. they threw parties. they attended parties. they were the picture perfect american family — they even had two cats in the yard! life used to be so hard! 

of course, in reality, this all left ms alice quite the lonely gal. but don’t worry! she didn’t turn to hedonism! lord no! instead, she turned to other people. a lot of friendships — couldn’t tell if they were real or #fortheclout — but at a point, did it matter? 

grooming tw: it all came to a screeching halt when she met luke johnson, the son of their neighbors. he came back from california to georgia to visit family, care for his ailing father. oh, he was a good man! sure, he was ‘somewhat’ older than her — 27 when she was 16 — but he was such a good, handsome young man! and they were all still calling him young man, after all. 

alice ‘began’ a torrid affair with luke after about a month into his visit. although she saw no immediate wrong in it, he insisted she keep it a secret ‘for the time being’ — which really just made it all the more exciting! he made all the storm clouds that hovered disappear.

one day, the levee broke for alice (still figuring out what exactly happened because i don’t wanna go too dark since this is already extremely dark, but trust that it had something to do with her parents and was just enough to push her over the edge). convinced luke was the only safe person, she turned to him. knowing their small community would catch on and essentially exile him, he took that opportunity to convince her to go back to santa monica with him where they could ‘start anew’ after his father’s death.

there are a few details i plan on adding regarding like. how legality playing into it. but i may just reserve those for an official bio lhakfsdfj

**BEGINNING OF SUPER DARK** for a while, there was the question of whether they should consider it a kidnapping or not. she went with him willingly, but she was still underage (and… you know, that age difference… the power dynamic... gross y’all). the adams insisted that it was (bc it basically was lbr) — primarily because it would make them look far better — but the community still questioned the logistics and legalities of it all… ugh. did the police really wanna deal with that? ugh. 

in any case, on the other side of us america, autumn was nearing. alice would have the very occasional inquiry over how school would work (very occasional! don’t worry, luke!), over the logistics of her new life… and, after receiving multiple calls from various friends (in addition to her siblings) that sounded genuine, began wondering… if she’d made the right choice. questions about him.

when she began bringing up the idea of going back — at least for the school year!! — he would continuously remind her that she was not old enough to buy herself a plane ticket (and he was not about to do that). she also couldn’t rent a car yet (and he certainly wouldn’t let her take (one of) his car(s)!). but most importantly? he loved her. and she loved him. (what a creep!)

so, for a hot second, it seemed like she was stuck. damn legalities!! damn love!! you know, until she texted her older sister back with all of the problems that only being 16... and “in love”.... caused. her sister offered to fly down, buy her a plane ticket, and fly back with her. 

when luke saw this (with all the unrestricted access to her phone he had so he could block, delete, and manipulate as he pleased), he confronted her. things went awry. she wound up in his budding wine cellar (which he soon emptied, of course… those merlots :( ….). he messaged back and, as her, said it was actually all good!! luke had figured out the logistics and she could call whenever she wanted!!

and those calls became frequent! because she would pick up when luke held it up to her! because she was pretty sure luke would kill her if she didn’t!

she wasn’t sure how long it was until she was officially Found. it took what was ruled a suicide by luke, a shot to the head and heroin in his system, to finally get any authority’s attention. all she knew was that she went to santa monica in mid june and she stopped seeing regular daylight by late july. so some time in august to some time in april… **END OF SUPER DARK + GROOMING**

she was returned to georgia shortly after and everything was different. from herself to her friends. but everything was also the same. from her room to her family. it was all… teasing. she began going to therapy, but she really sucked at it?? so she just let her therapist rely on various articles that covered the event. because it had been a media circus. good enough, amirite?? 

she didn’t have the will or patience to put on that peppy facade she’d had before, but there were still a few things she found a smidge of joy in. music (although her taste had… slightly altered and wow! it’d been almost a year since she’d picked up that bass!), videography… just those small things, you know?? 

for the first half of the ~ 2014 fall semester ~, she attempted actual school. really was not working out. with, for probably the first and only time, her parents’ approval and understanding, she dropped out and studied for a ged -- shorter and self-led -- instead. 

she passed with a pretty decent grade... but it’s been argued that she really shouldn’t have gotten into pratt institute (she was at least realistic and didn’t apply to, like… cornell), but she did. national news helps. 

while in the concrete jungle where dreams are made of, she learned of masters. she submitted an application as a joke — because her grades sucked!!!!! — but guess who got a job?? oh, she could pretend it was because her selected portfolio was actually genuinely good… but, man… we all know…

fun fact: my uncle applied to harvard as a joke. some twenty-five years later, we still haven’t heard back :\

she… continues to suck. like… she kinda wants the place to eventually burn down?? figuratively speaking (or is it…) but ya, for all the monopolizing she has seen turn people Evil?? but the hell can she do about it… just gotta make sure she keeps her in-house videographer job… maybe she can do something about it when she like… is capable. fuaihoelwdjkn

she sees an in-house therapist and i’d say ‘good for her,’ but it was mandated l m a o 

doesn’t talk about herself all that much!! but that might not matter for some people, yk?? ugh journalism <3 

y’all im so bad at ending intros.

TL;DR:

(consult above trigger list): bright kid in a super rich and toxic family because obviously. everything they did was just to look good <3 also they all had ‘a’ names which is the biggest tragedy of all :( ‘fell in love’ when she was 16ys/o with a 27y/o who was visiting to care for his father in his final days. had a torrid affair. creep. creep (luke) basically made her ‘fall in love.’ she thought creep was the only safe person at one point and creep was like ‘wanna go back 2 santa monica w me?’ and she was like ‘yes.’ and everyone was like ‘was this kidnapping... we cant tell....’ then he became even more possessive when she started questioning him and some logistics. when she finally found a way she could go back to georgia for a spell, he was like ‘no u can go in my wine cellar btw i will be taking all of the wine out.’ he kept her there from august to april and... only reason he didnt keep keeping her was bc he was Caught so. back to georgia where the devil went down. everything was Worse. even the things that were the same. but hey, the sob story that landed her in the news plenty of times got her into a college she shouldn’t have gotten into and gave her a leg-up in a joke application for a job at masters (in-house videographer). really bad at doing her work but like... fuck the man i guess?? 

PERSONALITY + HEADCANONS:

has no time for Fake Nice (which, as a born southerner, she’s really good at sniffing out!). has no time for arrogance. kind of makes her at odds with the nyc upper class...

on that note, still got a lil bit of some georgia twang

she lets herself indulge in various vices, but has left a previous hedonist status. weed and alcohol are still pretty common, but everything else is kept at arm’s length.

also, while on that topic, she Does Not drink wine. being trapped in a cellar... kinda makes u averse. like. literally despises it. will go on autopilot and make it KNOWN if offered wine.

also ALSO while on that topic, after looking it up and seeing she fits the new york city requirements, she has a medical marijuana card <3 the one good thing, if u ask her, to come out of therapy/psychiatry <3 will not show it off unless absolutely NECESSARY bc then it gets personal or <3 will lie about why and say it’s like for epilepsy or sumn unless ur rolfe but <3 she has it <3

at odds with herself. enjoys the company of others, definitely has a history of being an extrovert, but has become very selective with the company she keeps. 

VERY private person! has had enough public standing! 

...has occasionally used her story to advance her tho bc it’s her national newsworthy tragic story and she can exploit it if she wants <3

when good charlotte said “i don’t wanna be in love”?? she felt that. her last ‘relationship’ ruined that for her <3 save her <3 

used to be really into pop! bc pop is fun! she loved some britney (i mean... she still does... how can u not!)! but. her taste has changed drastically. rarely listens to pop. has traded britney for like.... hole and the like.

her parents didn’t use this as the basis for her name but,, 2 me,,, she’s named alice for a reason <3 gotta luv alice in chains <3

y’all i found a youtube comment on a video called ‘nirvana - half the man i used to be’ (the song was, in fact, ‘creep’ by stone temple pilots) and it’s <3 her music taste <3 click here for it <3

the above said, dresses like she’s in seattle in the early 90s. 

her rumor is true btw she DID catfish david hasselhoff and she will proudly tell u. it’s her best accomplishment.

completely stopped talking to her parents and got cut-off a while back ago so now she’s livin like the Prols

which is how a rich kid one of my profs once advised referred to his classmates.... hilarity ensues.

the above in mind, her parents say she’s testing the waters as a ‘normal person’ to save face. they can’t have anyone knowing their family isn’t perfect <3

she has a pet turtle whom she named “dr. turtle,” although he’s constantly referred to as “doc” or “the doc.” he has his own youtube channel and tiktok account.

she has a wall full of evidence that courtney love did not kill kurt cobain... it makes sense, believe me.

became a vegetarian...... partially because it was different from her original life and a way to control something, partially because this commercial made her feel SO BAD.

literally her default mode is stoned like... a totally sober alice is rarer than a nessie sighting

when she was 18, before she could ‘hold her liquor’ as well as she can now, she got a lil too drunk and now has a portrait tattoo of courtney love on her forearm. but it was done well at least!!

kind of ironic considering her career, but RARELY posts on any social media site except twitter. after the media circus in 2014 and All Eyes On Her, she’s just..... so tired...... of ppl seeing her face and being like ‘omg ur that wine cellar bitch!’

(drugs tw) has become more and more Addicted to playing around with fate. j chill on a ledge, talkin to some pals, but deciding it’s a good idea to swing her legs on the wrong side of ledge? totally! mixing a lot of alcohol with opioids which she is not accustomed to? DEF!! (end tw)

more to come!!

CONNECTION IDEAS:

i have two (2) queued up!! but while we wait for them to post, i’ll just… link them over here: 1, 2

muse u <3 the other half of her subplot from the main <3

her older sister!

her younger sibling!

some of the basics!! you know: close pal, roommate, drug buddies (but she gotta hit them up), fwb, ons, frenemies, enemy

ppl who recognize her from the 2014 luke johnson articles and have either brought it up or,,,,,,, act Awkward™

cld be fun 2 just have like. a jam bud. someone who plays any instrument and they j. jam sometimes.

ppl she sells. some of her medical marijuana to. bc yk what weed may be legal in nyc now but,,,, she’s still found a way to be broke she will accept anything. and also it just became legalized THIS YEAR so!!

i have a budding wc page @ https://escxpiism.tumblr.com/wcs (and when i say budding, i MEAN budding) so feel free 2 check it out!!

more to come!!

[joe-maristopher]

«WandaVision»: 3. Wanda, dear, do we have a problem?

Boom! We have a mention of Pietro, Ultron, Shakespeare (ah, Vision's an ntellectual), neighbors with a slight horror in their eyes, unjustified speed of events, as well as the subtext "Wanda in her world is a king and the god". And yes, that awesome soap ads! The slogan is a reference to Wanda's newfound abilities, I think. I keep my eyes on Agnes and prepare an invitation for her to go to the evil characters' bench. You can't be sure of anything, but who knows, she is able use the situation for her own purposes and be a helper of Mephisto.

Let's talk about the kids and the speed of everything.

I've never been a fan of Billy and Tommy in the first place. I don't understand all the excitement associated with them, and I remember that everything ended after their appearence... badly. Besides. I've always wondered why Wanda rode into the magical wilds and didn't think/want to solve the problem any other way. Adoption, for example. Donor sperm. Something else. Why was it necessary to create such problems, taking pieces of Mefisto´s soul, and thereby laying a huge dynamite under her family?

Let's say, our Wanda goes with a different vector, without the insane desire of a crazy momma-wannabe, but the children are still demonic? Playing with Mephisto's shadow isn't for nothing, is it?

I can't help but notice that Wanda's pregnancy in the comics also appeared suddenly. I might have forgotten something, because I was laughing so hard while reading the pages, but it was like this, the quotes are not accurate.

Wanda: I WANT A REAL FAMILY WITH KIDS. WANTWANTWANT!

The magic poof!

And Wanda is on the eve of her confinement. I don't remember Vision's reaction...

Our Vision was as surprised as I was, because in normal life, it does not happen, even if you are a synthesoid (five points to Marvel for mentioning this term! Finally! We waited for the long time!). I felt like I was watching the Sims with their woohoo and three-day pregnancy. It was all very fast, and I couldn't even blink. I didn't like that part, honestly. Something is missing. I also don't like that Marvel didn't focus much on Wanda and Vision, and instead our characters existed for fast-paced development, plot tools for introducing the twins, and Geraldine-Monica's "deportation" beyond the bubble. In other words, long periods of time are reduced to the limit.

A small question. The child is already doing magic (and Wanda calmly allows)?

Creepy moment. Let's talk about Vision again.

I thought that my screen glitched or the cat walked on the keyboard, so I didn't notice... Wanda, we have a real problem... And a new question. In the opinion for the first two series, I posted a list of the questions and now it gonna be expanded. We're still walking in the fog.

So... Vision is an illusion? Highly likely! Who would give us a resurrected Vision, right? Marvel won't let us be happy, and neither will Wanda.-_-

But if Vision was an illusion, controlled, a Wanda's puppet, then why did he even begin to think about what was happening, to understand that something was happening? Why? And how many times has this actually happened, off-screen? Fic-writers, let's go! And I'm probably going with you.

I also remember Vision's face when their dinner went wrong. So what are you, Vision? And by the way, how much control do you have? The feelings are your own, aren't they? Yes, Marvel?! Don't mess with me here. Don't make the shippers angry, they're already traumatized by the comic book versions of Wanda and Vision.

A lyrical digression.

There is one more thing that I want to touch, connected with all above. A certain Twitter user previously guessed or knew the names by which Wanda and Vision will be in the series. Before the release of the series, I ask you to note. I'm talking about Illusion and Glamour. Back then no one took it seriously, but after the release of episodes, the account began to be studied almost under a microscope. There is a long history with the renaming of acc, creating new acc with the same info, it's not the point. The same acc wrote that what we see isn't Vision, but Wonder Man, who thinks he is Vision..

I have a confession. I can't stand Wonder Man and everything that goes with him, including his shenanigans with Wanda. I just hate this stuff. Who doesn't know: Wonder Man and Vision have a connection in the comics, Wonder Man's brainwaves formed the basis of Vision's, correct me if I am wrong. So, technically, they're kind of brothers. Difficult, you may say? It's comics, kids! In short, if it really turns out to be so — I will consider it a personal insult. I'm sorry, but I love Vision and I watch the show with him, not with someone else.

Also, in general, Marvel owed us one moment, and it's good if they remembered about it and give a serial explanation: for all the years of Endgame, you did not try to do anything with the Vision's body? Where is it? In what condition? Tony forgot and didn't remember Vision?

Screw it!

Okay, okay, I've calmed down. I return to the subject and stop burning with righteous anger.

Illusion or not, we know from the trailers that Vision will posibly receive an information about his death. I see how it can go: It turns out that Vision learns the truth, Wanda is not there to stop him, he decides to find out everything from Wanda, but the moment is not very good, because the agents of S. W. O. R. D doing their job, and Wanda is already in the berserk mode... And it ends badly.

Creepy moment. A sad moment. Give Wanda some cocoa and a warm blanket. Please.

That was full of pain. Wanda could try and run from her memories, or force herself to forget them, but they are coming back with suspicious questions from a stranger, with jewelry on someone's neck. Wanda's upset, the neighbors ara glitching (to Vision´s concern), and under the iceberg of family life with two newborns and a lullaby for them, there are the abyss, hiding... Creepy and painful.

I am kinda dissaponted with the 3rd episode, but still enjoyed some moments and still want to save Wanda from this darkness.

[straightouttaneptune]

It girl pt. 1 - Recruited

Pairing: Mentor!Natasha Romanoff x Mentee!Reader, Platonic!Avengers x reader, Peter Parker x Reader (In the future)

Warning: Swearing, I think that’s it.

Summary: Natasha had once joked about picking a random new recruit trainee to teach all her skills since Tony had recently become Peter’s mentor. Fury sees this as a legitimate idea, and asks Natasha to choose her protège, code name: “it girl”.

Prologue Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

———————————————————————

“Nat, Nat, Nat! I think I found the perfect girl for you.” Tony ran up to Natasha, stopping her before she went back to her room in the compound. He still had a smudge of ketchup left from the omelet Thor made this morning.

“So, hear me out. A genius from Ohio, 12 years old. She got a scholarship from Cornell University.” Tony’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, even though Natasha thought she was impressive, she wasn’t what she was looking for. She saw an interview of this girl a while back, and her entitlement and selfishness threw her way off Natasha’s ideal standards.

“No. I already got my eye on one girl already. I’m going to do a little more stalking.” She paused and thought about Y/N Y/L/N, at one glance she might not seem like anything special, but she was so much more than that. She was worth much more than one glance.

Natasha could see your potential and that something that pulled her to you.

“Come on. Cornell University!” Tony threw his arms up as Natasha walked away, grinning and shaking his head. He knew that whoever Natasha would choose, this it girl would be one hell of a human being.

After stalking you to your school, she noticed that you went to the same high school Peter Parker goes to. Maybe it was something about this school that keeps on producing Avenger-material kids.

By 11AM, she had tracked your house down and knew all the names of your family members. She introduced herself to your mother as a secretary of Tony Stark, and that she visited to recruit you into the Stark internship. Basically the first cover story Natasha could think of.

From an insane amount of stalking, she found out that you excelled in debate and decathlon.  "We look for these excellent talents in young students, so of course, we had to get back to Miss Y/N. She is accepted into the Stark internship program." Natasha said innocently, clapping her hands together and adjusting her fake glasses. 

So as soon as you opened the door, instead of the usual "Dinner's ready in the kitchen, sweetie!", you were greeted with "Y/N! Y/N! You were accepted! Why didn't you tell me you applied?" 

Your brows furrowed in confusion, dropping your backpack in the hallway as you made your way to the living room. And when you saw who was sat politely on your couch with a warm smile, you almost passed out. It was none other than your childhood idol and Avenger, Natasha Romanoff.

"Yeah! I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise, you know?" Your brain spun to create a believable excuse, chuckling for the added genuine effect. Lies rolled off your tongue easily, almost too well. Natasha narrowed her eyes and smirked wider. You were a natural. 

"Can- can we talk in my room, Ms. Romanoff?" You tried your best but still couldn't hide how star-struck you were. You led her into your small, minimalist room, all giddy with excitement. 

As soon as the door shut, you couldn't help your words from shooting out. "Ms. Romanoff. Ms. Widow. Black Widow. Oh my gosh, why- uh, what's going on?" Your bright eyes locked with her mischevious ones, smiling warmly as you babbled. 

"Natasha's fine. And, uh, you did that?" She pointed at your closet door, where a big red Black Widow logo was painted on. Your face reddened with embarrassment, noticing the minimalistic room brought out the logo even more. 

"Yes..." She chuckled at your red cheeks, and felt a swell in her heart from flattery.

"I like it. And, whoa." She looked to your desk, where books of deduction and logic piled on top of another. “The Art of deception, How to lie with statistics? Logical self-defense, Human reasoning, Natural Deduction?” She set the books down one by one, reading out every title and feeling how heavy each book was.

“Jesus, Y/N. I thought you were a high-schooler. I love it. I get why I chose you.” She looked around your room a little more, raising her brow when she found another book: ‘Formal Logic’ open by your bedside table.

But she also saw your teddy bear on the corner of your desk and a pile of hoodies ditched on the floor, noting that you were indeed, a kid.

She liked that.

You sat on the edge of your bed watching your hero rummage through your room, when something tugged onto your mind. “I am so sorry if this sounds rude, but... what do you mean by chose me?”

Natasha looked up and towards you, taking a seat in your chair. “First rule, don’t apologize if you don’t need to. Your question is valid, and I did choose you.” You nod, listening intently as she paused for a second.

“Y/N, how would you like to train with me?”

Your brain must’ve not heard that right. Because it sounded like Natasha Romanoff was inviting you to train with her. Like an Avenger.

“What?!”

“I’ve been looking into you for a while now, Y/N. You have some promising qualities. I would love it if we started out with sessions after school, nothing crazy.” She crossed her legs and leaned in towards you, choosing her words carefully as she explained.

Your brows almost shot up to your hairline as you frantically nodded, eyes locked on and never leaving Natasha’s. She giggled seeing your positive reaction to the proposition, she could tell that this was going to be good.

Next chapter: Part 2

Taglist: @mindset-jupiter @fangirlingisajob @theadventurousqueen @gwenmxnstacy @ballerboobitch @the-lady-cersei-lannister @golden--rain @dollofbucky @sakuranomegami @elizabeth-santana-98 @anne2cold @eyeballtoes @marvel-is-a-mood @roseryss @redqueenstorm @orchideax @huntersociopathavenger @petertinglessss @marv-ells @hopefuloperaangelnerd @je11yfishwriter @iloveyou3000morgan @kewl-r @missmulti @grace-barnes-13 @samarcher79 @slow-dance-in-the-dark

[stereostevie]

The Rap Grammy Nominations Are Weird As Hell | Nov 25, 2020 11:12 AM BY TOM BREIHAN

The very first time that the Grammy Awards recognized rap music, it was an utter fiasco — a clear case of an aging pop-music establishment failing to understand this vital new youth music that had sprung up and rewritten the rules. For the 1989 awards show, the Grammys added one rap category, Best Rap Performance. DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince won it for “Parents Just Don’t Understand,” beating out LL Cool J and Salt-N-Pepa and Kool Moe Dee and JJ Fad. The show didn’t deign to recognize Public Enemy, N.W.A, EPMD, Slick Rick, Big Daddy Kane, Eric B. & Rakim, or Ice-T, all of whom had released classic albums within the voting window. The award wasn’t televised, and most of the nominees, Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince included, skipped the show, attending a “Boycott The Grammys” party instead.

Since that night, the history of rap at the Grammys has been a series of baffling, embarrassing decisions. It’s Steely Dan winning Album Of The Year over The Marshall Mathers LP. It’s Gretchen Wilson winning Best New Artist over Kanye West. “It’s weird and it sucks that I robbed you.” It’s also a history of rappers getting angry over the Grammys: “I never let a statue tell me how nice I am,” “You think I give a damn about a Grammy?” In 2019, Drake showed up to accept Best Rap Song. In his acceptance speech, he talked about how the Grammy voters weren’t necessarily the right people to define rap success. The broadcast cut him off mid-speech. Earlier this year, Kanye West, a man who once cared more about Grammy Awards than anyone else not named Neil Portnow, tweeted a video of himself pissing on one of his Grammys. (The Grammys still nominated West this year, for Best Contemporary Christian Music Album.)

Yesterday, the Grammys nominated Freddie Gibbs and the Alchemist’s Alfredo in the Best Rap Album category. That’s great! Freddie Gibbs is a great underground rap success story, a guy who bet on himself and kept doing great work in his own lane even after multiple major-label situations fell apart. Gibbs has never made a hit song in his life, and he’s gotten himself into a position where he doesn’t need to make hit songs — where he can just follow his instincts and keep his own style intact. Alfredo isn’t my favorite rap record of the year. (Even in the field of Alchemist-produced 2020 rap albums, I’d give the slight edge to Boldy James’ The Price Of Tea In China.) But the nomination for Alfredo is still a very cool surprise, the kind of thing that I would’ve never expected to see from the Grammy nominating committee.

And yet Gibbs’ nomination doesn’t exactly announce a new golden age of Grammy rap consideration, a time when Recording Academy voters are finally figuring out how to approach the genre. Instead, his nomination points toward something else: An institutional recognition of middlebrow, middle-aged, respectable rap music.

All of this year’s Best Rap Album nominees are Black men between the ages of 35 and 47. The oldest nominee is Nas, who is now on his fifth Best Rap Album nomination and who has never won the award. (The Best Rap Album Grammy didn’t exist in 1994, when Nas released Illmatic, but there’s no way in hell that Nas would’ve won it anyway. The Academy would’ve given the award to Coolio’s It Takes A Thief or something.) The youngest nominee is D Smoke, a former high school Spanish teacher who is also the brother of the TDE R&B singer SiR. D Smoke made his way into Grammy contention after winning the first season of Rhythm + Flow, the Netflix rap-competition show. (Two of the three judges from Rhythm + Flow, Cardi B and Chance The Rapper, have won Best Rap Album themselves. T.I., the other judge, has been nominated three times and never won.)

D Smoke isn’t exactly a revered or popular rapper, and I have’t seen anyone calling his perfectly-OK album Black Habits a masterpiece, though the man has certainly done better than anyone could’ve expected from a rap reality-show winner. But D Smoke raps exactly like a diet version of Kendrick Lamar, so his nomination works as a clear indication that the Grammy voters really, really wish they had a Kendrick album to nominate. D Smoke is also up for Best New Artist, alongside fellow rappers Chika, Megan Thee Stallion, and (I guess) Doja Cat. Presumably, Megan’s Good News would also be nominated if it had come out early enough to be eligible. Meanwhile, Chika hasn’t released an album, and Doja Cat is nominated in the pop categories, not the rap ones.

Instead, then, we’re looking at five guys hovering around the age of 40, all of whom are respected technicians with boom-bap inclinations. Jay Electronica, who’s nominated for A Written Testimony and who should probably be considered the front-runner, is technically a New Orleans native, but nobody thinks of him as a Southern rapper. (Jay-Z is all over A Written Testimony, to the point where anointing Jay Electronica feels a bit like throwing awards love to Jay-Z in a year with no Jay-Z album.) All the albums up for Best Rap Album are, at the very least, solid. A couple of them, Alfredo and A Written Testimony, are very good. But this is still a remarkably stodgy list — one that shows that the whole middle-aged respectability fetish that’s long plagued the Grammys is now embedded in its rap voting wing.

Freddie Gibbs and Nas and Jay Electronica and D Smoke and Royce Da 5’9″ are all gifted rappers who have done great work. Most of them could justifiably be considered legends. But none of them really show the world where rap music is, let alone where it’s going. By recognizing those albums, the Grammys have pointedly elected not to recognize something like Lil Baby’s My Turn, which is probably 2020’s most popular album in any genre and which is also a fine example of the 808-heavy depressive melodic-goo rap music that currently dominates the genre’s mainstream.

Other hugely popular, artistically important albums are also absent: Lil Uzi Vert’s Eternal Atake, Roddy Rich’s Please Excuse Me For Being Antisocial, Polo G’s The Goat, Gunna’s Wunna, Rod Wave’s Pray 4 Love. Instead, the rap albums getting nominated are the 2020 equivalents of the Steely Dan album that famously beat Eminem. That’s not an indictment of the nominated albums. It’s an indictment of the stuff the Recording Academy values. It’s also a cautionary look of how things might look if the Recording Academy ever gets its way, if rap comes to rely on accepted ossified skill-sets instead of its current state of constant, furious stylistic evolution.

As someone who’s around the same age as this year’s Best Rap Album nominees, I’m not all that amped to see emotionally troubled, pill-gobbling 20-year-olds dominating rap music. But those kids are crucially moving the genre past whatever old men like me might want it to be. Fortunately, there’s at least one Grammy category that has done a pretty good job capturing where things are right now, and that’s Best Rap Song. The list of nominations there — Lil Baby’s “The Bigger Picture,” Roddy Ricch’s “The Box,” Drake’s “Laugh Now, Cry Later,” DaBaby’s “Rockstar,” and Megan Thee Stallion’s “Savage” — isn’t necessarily perfect, but it’s a fairly accurate representation of the kind of rap that moves people right now. I don’t know why the division between the Best Rap Album and Best Rap Song nominees is so stark. Maybe it’s a signal that the album is increasingly irrelevant. Maybe it reflects two different voting bodies. Either way, it’s striking.

Look, the Grammys are weird. They are always going to be weird. Fiona Apple’s Fetch The Bolt Cutters should’ve been the biggest lay-up in the world, but it isn’t up for Album Of The Year. Instead, the Academy’s voters went for Coldplay and Jacob Collier and a deluxe edition of a Black Pumas album that didn’t even come out in the eligibility period. “Rockstar” and “Savage” are both up for Record Of The Year, but Post Malone’s Hollywood’s Bleeding is the only album that’s even rap-adjacent that’s nominated for Album Of The Year this year. I thought for sure that Lil Baby’s My Turn would be the token rap album that would inevitably lose to Taylor Swift. Instead, we didn’t even get one of those, and My Turn got snubbed even in its own category. Nothing makes sense.

But this year’s Best Rap Albums nominations still show a weird alignment between Grammy Voters and a certain streak of real-hip-hop rap conservatism. Watch out for that. Nothing good, except maybe a Freddie Gibbs Grammy win, will come out of that.

FURIOUS FIVE

1. Roc Marciano – “Downtown 81” It’s not on streaming services yet, but Roc Marciano’s new album Mt. Marci is out in the world now, and it is marvelous. (I can’t tell you whether the digital download is worth the $40 that Marci is charging on his website. Make your own financial decisions.) Right now, the only song out for general consumption is one of the few that Marci didn’t produce himself. (It’s a Jake One beat.) But otherwise, “Downtown 81” is exactly the sort of laid-back, intricately worded deadpan splendor that you can expect to hear on the LP, whenever it goes wide. So maybe that’s worth the price of a full tank of gas.

2. Meek Mill – “GTA” (Feat. 42 Dugg)

Meek Mill released his Quarantine Pack EP on Friday, and the track currently getting the big push is the downbeat Lil Durk collab “Pain Away.” But the real thrill here is in hearing Meek and 42 Dugg getting bracingly urgent over a Detroit-ass bassline.

3. Chief Keef & Mike Will Made-It – “Status” Sosa and Mike Will have evidently chosen to name their new song after this column. Gentlemen, I see this tribute, and I appreciate it. I love you too.

4. Willie The Kid & V Don – “Mother Of Pearls” (Feat. Eto) This is pretty.

5. Statik Selektah – “Play Around” (Feat. Conway The Machine, 2 Chainz, Killer Mike, Allan Kingdom, & Haile Supreme)

Once upon a time, maybe 13 years ago, I was apparently such a recognizable and influential part of the New York rap press that Statik Selektah noticed me at an MOP show, introduced himself, and tried to get me to listen to his mix CD. All these years later, Statik is a globally acknowledged boom-bap specialist with enough juice to put three of the world’s greatest middle-aged rappers on a track together. I’m proud of Statik. I bet he gets nominated for a Grammy someday.

[ohblackdiamond]

the end of the world tour (kiss/endgame crossover, r) (part 1/4)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

Or,  four washed-up former rockstar superheroes don the spandex of old in a last-ditch effort to save an already half-gone world. They just need a little support from a billionaire who's not too keen on KISS interrupting his private life. Somewhat Endgame compliant.

Notes: Most of this probably goes without saying given the general content of this tumblr, but in case anyone MCU wanders in-- KISS has been a part of Marvel Comics since 1977, and, in fact, starred in Marvel’s first full-color, magazine-sized comic book from that same year (in an infamous publicity stunt, the band members added their own blood to the ink of the first issue). Their characterization, history, and powers vary from run to run, and to be honest, it was easier just to pull from KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park and a bit of Scooby-Doo Meets KISS for powers, and actual band history for most of the rest. (Pulling from comic history, well, would have entailed messily trying to make canon ’70’s teamups with Spider-man and the Avengers work out with MCU—impractical at best!) Mistakes are mine.

Intimations of your typical usual suspect pairings, but nothing explicit.’

Looking back, the signs had been there all along. The KISS memorabilia starting to spread out like a fungus to all parts of the mansion they’d moved into five years prior. The cold cream that had found its way back to the bathroom counters.

The abrupt shift in mood of half the household.

The gloomier half. Except that wasn’t much of a specification. Ace tried to be upbeat, but he spent the bulk of his time alone, tinkering with the fifty-year-old remnants of his spaceship, though each assurance that he was going back to Jendell (“you guys’ll come with me, it’ll be great, we’ll just stay there forever”) seemed hollower with every passing year. Gene had put on an incredibly gutsy show in public for the first several months after the decimation, donating millions to clean up efforts around the greater New York area, only to falter in private. Paul had only started recovering enough to shave regularly over the past six or seven months.

Peter wasn’t in great shape himself. He knew it, too. But he was surviving. They were all doing that much. They had a daily routine down, one they stuck to as strictly as cloistered monks. Cooking duties divvied up; chores divvied up. Shopping divvied up. They could’ve hired help easily. The battered remnants of the KISS juggernaut were still enough for generations to live off of, like a bastard version of the Vanderbilts. But doing the chores themselves gave everything a sense of purpose. Meaning.

They weren’t doing poorly for four widowers. Coping a whole lot better than most guys their age who’d lost everyone but each other.

Deep down, Peter knew they couldn’t have made it any other way. They would’ve all been driven out of their minds with grief. Just cracked up. Especially those first few months after moving in together. In a sick kind of desperation, they’d spent that time sleeping in the basement together, the four of them, on a pair of pull-out couches. The prospect of waking up alone was just that awful. The craving for normalcy just that deep. Waking up to Ace’s morning wood (Christ, the guy was sixty-eight; his ability to maintain a hard-on had to just be alien biology at this point) had become a strange, nostalgic kind of comfort.

They were still sharing rooms sometimes. It felt really juvenile, at least to Peter, crawling into one of the other guys’ rooms at night, like a kid with a nightmare, but it helped. Touch helped. Living together brought them some focus beyond themselves. Forced them to look out for each other. Keep each other from doing something stupid. Funny how without any contract or tour bullshit to worry about, they could stand each other again.

Sometimes a little more than that. Sometimes a lot.

But Peter really didn’t connect the dots for awhile. One morning, he stumbled downstairs to see Paul making pancakes from scratch. He hadn’t made any pretenses of being a chef in years, but there he was, even tossing chocolate chips and strawberries into the batter.

“I decided every day was a good day,” he said, shrugging, when Peter asked him about it.

“He got laid,” Ace had called out from the living room. Peter, staring from an abashed Paul to an oddly-silent Gene, hadn’t asked for any elaboration, figuring he had a fair idea. Well, whatever. If they wanted to go back to fooling around with each other at this late a date, at least there was plenty of Viagra and K-Y to be had.

A few days later, Gene bought about three gallons of ice cream, an exorbitant amount of toppings, and a stash of his Moneybags signature root beer and they all spent the afternoon making and devouring sundaes and floats. Nobody bitched about lactose intolerance. Then they’d sat around and watched Godzilla movies on DVD and played each other on the old KISS pinball machine. It was like old times—really old times.

Peter had just figured things were finally starting to settle into a new normal. A devastating normal, sure, but they were all learning to cope.

He had no idea the coping methods they’d picked involved a lot more than self-help platitudes and dairy products, and a lot less Viagra.

Not until about a month later, on his assigned day to do the shopping—though they were all more flexible on who did the shopping than any other aspect of their chore board. Paul still hated to go anywhere by himself, invariably dragging someone else with him. Usually Gene, sometimes Ace. On his own days, Peter usually tried to invite Ace along, just to get him out of the backyard, even though Ace’s penchant for Arizona Green Tea still far outstripped the supply at the closest grocery store, and Peter would still have to make a dozen weird maneuvers around the place just so they’d avoid the liquor.

This time, though, Peter went alone. Stuffed the old Porsche full of a mix of canned and dried goods, mostly. Still the easiest, cheapest stuff to find, with or without the world half-gone. Almost bizarre to see things start to get in demand again. The first few days—the first few months, after, the grocery store had been hell to go to. Just the smell of all that food rotting for want of people to buy it. The look of it, mold everywhere, flies buzzing, maggots crawling—and not as many as all that.

A fifty-fifty split in all forms of life. Existence was just a coin toss.

He’d pulled into the driveway and gotten out, lugging a couple grocery bags out with him as he headed toward the door, pushing the doorbell with his elbow. No answer.

Another push. Nothing.

Ace was probably out back somewhere. Paul and Gene were probably upstairs, too close to deaf to have heard him away from the main floor. Goddammit. Peter sighed and set down one of the grocery bags, digging through his pockets for the house key, pulling it out and unlocking the door, only to be greeted by an odd, clinking sound and a low groan as he stepped inside.

“Gene?”

Peter dropped the grocery bags and hurried towards the noise, mouth pursed. No panicking. He couldn’t afford to panic. Still, it could be anything. Gene never had taken care of himself that well—sure, he’d never done drugs, but he had the diet of an emancipated six-year-old—prime candidate for a heart attack, for sure—

“…. What’re you…”

“Peter?”

Gene was lying on his back on the kitchen tile, mostly-obscured by the girl straddling him. She was leaning forward, blonde hair like streamers over his face as she kissed him, his hands clasping her wrists, holding them above his head, against the floor. Her white dress was bunched up enough it was obvious there was nothing beneath.

It was a scene Peter had first witnessed out of Gene around 1974, and it hadn’t gotten any more appealing in forty-five years. Just a lot more curious. No, fucking bewildering. Normally, Gene was—had been—infamous for stripping off as few clothes as possible in his rush to get to the main event. It was like the man thought a groupie couldn’t wait for him to get his jeans more than five inches past his hips. But this time was beyond bizarre. Gene wasn’t in his usual jeans and cowboy boots and button-down. He was in costume.

More specifically, he was in every ignoble inch of his Destroyer costume, except for the codpiece. His black leotard was hiked down to the tops of his scaly, silver monster boots, chest armor stretched over his torso, black leather gauntlets on. The last time Peter had seen any of that particular outfit, Clinton was still president.

The blonde gave him a brief look, then Gene, who whispered something Peter couldn’t quite hear. Then she started rolling her hips against his again, Gene dropping his hold on her wrists to cup his hands around her face, her hair sweeping over them both, preventing Peter from getting a great look at either of them. Peter just stared, unsure of whether his eyes could afford a closer vantage point.

“Really, Gene?”

“I’m—ngh, doing my duty as an American citizen here.”

“Your duty?”

“FER. Federal Emergency Repopulation.” Gene paused, glancing at the blonde. “If he’s bothering you, we can take it upstairs—"

“Jesus Christ, Gene, you’re seventy years old! And why the fuck are you in the costume?”

“Well, that aspect wasn’t really up to me.”

“Gene, sit the fuck up and look at me.”

“Peter—”

Gene raised up a few inches as every bit of color drained out from Peter’s face.

He looked better than he had in forty years. No, that wasn’t right. He looked like he had forty years ago. The Demon makeup couldn’t obscure it. The lines around his eyes and forehead were gone. The fullness that age and weight had left in his face and neck and chest had vanished utterly. He looked healthy. He looked young, terrifyingly young.

“Gene, what the hell did you do?”

“I—"

Before Peter could manage a single syllable, a loud, shrill cry from upstairs interrupted everything.

“Paul?”

“Oh, shit. Let’s not continue this upstairs.” Gene’s attention was back on the blonde, who rolled her hips up against his invitingly. “Better check on Paul, Pe—ohh, fuck, yeah…”

Peter darted upstairs, yanking open the door to Paul’s room to find almost the exact same scenario. One he hadn’t seen in decades. Paul, halfway in costume, rhinestone-covered black jumpsuit hanging somewhere around his hips, with a girl up against the wall, her bare legs wrapped around his waist. Three hip replacements, two knee replacements, and at least one rotator cuff replacement and yet Paul didn’t seem to be having any issues holding her there. Or plowing her.

Probably because he, too, looked to be about forty years younger.

---

Half an hour later, both girls were gone and Paul and Gene were back to a semblance of normal. The makeup had, weirdly, lingered when they’d reverted back—Peter couldn’t remember that ever happening when they were actively in the superhero business—though neither of them seemed particularly surprised by that, just a bit disappointed. Paul had darted over to the bathroom to get some cold cream and washcloths, like that would head Peter off at the pass, before returning to sit down at the table with Gene and Peter.

Peter was still fuming.

“Look, Peter, I can explain—” Gene started.

“You don’t need to. It’s obvious. You used the talismans.”

“Well, yeah.” Paul looked about as apologetic as a kid who hadn’t been caught until after eating the entire bag of Oreos.

“I didn’t know they could do that.”

“We didn’t, either.”

“Bullshit, that’s the only reason you were fucking—”

“No, really! We got them out for old time’s sake a couple months ago.”

“It makes sense, I mean, mystical artifacts from Victor Von Doom’s mom, supposed to reveal the true self of the holder…” Paul trailed.

“True self, my ass. Your true self is a bottle of Aquanet.”

Gene was starting to smirk. Paul elbowed him in the ribs.

“So you decided you were gonna use the talismans of Khyscz to make yourselves younger so you could fuck random girls. Christ. I knew you didn’t have any dignity, but—” Peter paused, unsure of how to even state the rest of his tirade. For once.

It was just too damn bizarre. They’d left that shit behind years ago. Decades ago. Their last real superhero stints had been in cancer wards, letting kids with lymphoma and leukemia jam with them from their beds and wheelchairs. Their first had been—well, they’d caught some burglars in the Bronx and Queens a couple of times, between band practice, before they were even signed to a record company. Once they’d started touring, they’d tried to keep the double lives up, and for awhile, it had worked to their advantage. People didn’t know whether seeing KISS on the street meant a concert was coming to town or a gang was about to get busted. And the merchandising…. Christ, what a frenzy. The public had eaten it up. Lunchboxes and the pinball machine had only been the beginning.

The biggest criminal they’d ever stopped was some amusement park tyrant, Abner Devereaux. Naturally, they’d turned it into a movie a year later. Hadn’t even been allowed to put most of their powers on display for fear of wrecking the sets and camera equipment. Paul couldn’t fire off any laser beams; Ace’s teleporting barely got a mention. Peter was lucky they didn’t try to trim his claws down. Even Gene’s fire-breathing had to be faked for the camera. He’d had to swill kerosene in his mouth and just spit at the torch like he was from the circus.

Really humiliating, looking back, but they hadn’t quite realized it. The movie had seemed like a natural next step. They were giving the fans what they wanted. A superhero group that could do anything, be anything. Role models. Rockstars. Sex symbols. Entrepreneurs. The four most recognizable faces in the world, faces of a corporation worth a hundred million. Not bad for 1978. Not Stark Industries levels, but not bad.

But the movie had started the blowback. No one under twelve even watched the damn thing. The press was coming out with hit pieces on the daily. Headlines like “Shilling Superheroes” and “Crimefighting Doesn’t Pay—But Capitalism Does” started dotting the supermarket stands. When they retreated back into making records, the bottom had already dropped out. KISS didn’t come off as superheroes or even musicians anymore, just a bunch of guys out for a quick buck. No amount of charity work—and certainly not a long stretch of tail-between-their-legs touring in Australia and Europe, where their superhero antics weren’t as big a part of their mystique—could’ve brought them back from that.

Peter had left KISS before things completely crashed. Been fired, more accurately. What that’d mean for the dwindling state of their superhero gig should’ve been obvious, but looking back, Peter couldn’t remember thinking about it or anyone even mentioning it when he’d left. Ace hadn’t talked about it when he quit the band a couple years later, either. KISS still performed with the outfits and makeup for awhile after. But the crimefighting was over. Any superhuman powers were done with. Gene ended up having to spit kerosene to breathe fire onstage for the rest of his career. The talismans just wouldn’t work without the four of them as some kind of unit.

Apparently, their current living arrangement counted as some kind of unit. Good enough for the talismans. And apparently, the talismans didn’t even care whether Paul and Gene were using them for the right reasons. Peter shoved his hands through his hair before slamming his palm against the table. True to form, Paul and Gene didn’t even blink. Gene, in fact, took it as an opportunity to continue.

“We thought it’d be a better sell to FER if we could offer them something a little more exciting than—”

           “Than a bunch of old assholes.”

           “More or less, yeah.” Paul rubbed at the star on his eye with a dollop of cold cream, carefully. “It’s not any kind of PR stunt. Just makes for better lays and healthier sperm.”

           “We’ve had 53 successful pregnancies just over the last two months,” Gene offered. His phone buzzed, and he picked it up. “Make that 54.”

           “54? Was that mine or yours?”

“Mine. That was, uh…” Gene scrolled up on his phone. “Tori Friedmann. Remember, the one with the tattoos right around her hips?”

“Gene, I didn’t see her anywhere near naked.”

“She had her hair dyed green. It was in ringlets.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah…” Paul trailed, before turning his attention back to Peter. “We’re really helping things out.”

“Helping things out?” Gene snorted. “Don’t be modest. We’ve got the best track record for pregnancies in the entire state of Connecticut. Eighty percent success rate after four sessions or less. Amazing.”

“Who’s supposed to be raising—” Peter started, but he was cut off almost immediately by a laugh.

“Seriously? The government’s paying the girls out the nose. Prenatal up through college. All we had to do was participate.” Gene shifted, pushed his washcloth into the jar of cold cream, and started wiping off his face. “Of course, FER pays the guys doing it, too, but it’s not our main motivation.”

“Why the hell aren’t you jacking it into a cup? What’s so wrong about artificial insemination? Is FER Catholic?”

“This world’s starved for the human touch. Sex drives are lower than the Dow right now.” Gene cleared his throat, tilted his head as if he were about to start on an interview-worthy set of sound bites. “Now, what we’re offering is only what KISS has always offered, an escape, a fantasy. But we sell it better than any fucking band before or since. We lift those girls up.”

“Yeah, I saw Paul lifting that girl up—” Peter started. Paul looked only a tinge embarrassed. “You could’ve been her grandfather, for Christ’s sake.”

“Hey, they know exactly who they’re getting with,” said Gene. “We aren’t pretending we’re a tribute band. And we cheer them up, Peter. Some of them haven’t slept with anyone in five years. Some of them haven’t touched anyone in five years. They forgot how to even be alive. We’re reminding them.”

“You’re selling your sperm, Gene, don’t act like it’s some grand gesture.” Peter paused. “Is Ace in on this, too?”

“I think Ace got in about four lays, but then he felt bad about it…”

“Because he’s got a conscience?”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“No, because he’s an alien. I mean, the girls kind of got off on it, I think, but…” Paul shrugged, finding a clean corner of his washcloth, patting away the traces of cold cream. “He thought Earth ought to be repopulated by regular humans.”

“He didn’t care about that when we were touring.” God knew how many girls Ace had knocked up with half-Jendellian spawn back in the seventies. His kid with Jeanette, Monique, hadn’t ever exhibited anything weird that Peter had seen, but then again, Ace was pretty good at keeping his own alien oddities under wraps. At least in public. Online tabloids and shit still said he was a normal guy from the Bronx that had just watched too much Star Trek in high school. If he hadn’t toured off and on with the guy for years, and if the remnants of his spaceship weren’t currently in their backyard, Peter might’ve believed it, too.

“Yeah, but when we were touring, the world wasn’t in an apocalypse.” Another corner of the washcloth and Paul was wiping off his eyeliner. “I dunno. I told him if they didn’t care, he shouldn’t, either. It’s not like his dick is any different.”

“He’ll change his mind. Probably.” Gene set down the washcloth, face reddish but bare. He looked so appallingly confident that Peter almost wanted to punch him. No, he did want to punch him. Clearly, the repopulation gig had been Gene’s idea. Paul was far too depressed these days to be such an opportunist on his own, and Ace… Ace, clearly, just had gone along with it. Neither of them had ever been half as desperate for a lay as Gene, either. Peter settled for pushing back his chair and leaning over the table, yanking Gene by both arms.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Pete—”

“Don’t you even remember what we were supposed to use the talismans for?”

“Sure. Saving the world.” Gene tugged his arms out of Peter’s grasp. Utterly unmoved. He didn’t even have to stand up in order to wrench him away. It just made Peter all the more incensed. The blitheness of it. Shit, Gene used to care. Paul used to care.

“Fucking girls for some government program isn’t saving the world!”

“Then what the hell do you suggest? We’re a little fucking limited with half the population gone.”

“Fixing this mess!”

“How?” Paul started to laugh. “If the Avengers aren’t touching it, what makes you think we should?”

“When did that stop us before, huh? We were there before they even existed!”

“Most of them,” Gene put in dryly. “Captain America’s old enough that he could’ve even fathered you, Pete.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Peter rattled off. “Fuck both of you. You’ve finally got a real opportunity here and you’re too damn sorry to take it.”

“A real opportunity? You’re telling us about opportunities?” Paul snorted. “I should’ve known all you’d do was bitch and whine as soon as you found out. Mr. Misery never did fucking retire. Can’t let anybody else be even a little happy—”

“You’re not happy, asshole!”

The sound of the backdoor swinging open swallowed up any other comments. Ace, standing there in a ratty screenprinted Betty Boop t-shirt and jeans, looking sweaty and vaguely perturbed.

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I’m still not deaf.”

Peter spun around to face him.

“Ace! You knew what these bastards were doing this whole time and you didn’t tell me!”

Ace raised his palm in what might’ve been surrender, then shut the door behind him. He didn’t cross over to the dining room where the others were seated, surprisingly—just headed straight for the kitchen.

“Sit down, Pete. ’M gonna get us some water.”

Peter sat down. He wasn’t mollified, not in the slightest, but he stayed quiet until Ace returned, four water bottles in hand. Gene and Paul didn’t say anything, either. The only real sound was Paul screwing the lid back on the jar of cold cream.

Ace pushed a water bottle towards each of them before sitting down next to Peter. Peter eyed him warily. It felt like a band meeting, the tension thick as concrete, only for once, they weren’t arguing over solos or setlists. And Bill Aucoin, of course, wasn’t there to make sure they shook hands and shared a joint by the end. Not quite the kind of nostalgia Peter craved.

“Okay, so,” Ace started, conversationally, “I get why you’re pissed off, man.”

“You should’ve told me—”

“I tried! I told you Paul got laid! But you didn’t wanna hear anymore.”

“That’s because I thought he was back to fucking around with Gene!”

“I did not—" Paul’s face was going from pallid to pink to red at an alarming rate. Beside him, Gene was rubbing his forehead with a wince. “Look, let’s just address the issue at hand.”

“You’re right,” Peter snapped back. “Ace, listen. What they’re doing’s fucked-up.”

“Peter, we’re all still in kind of a bad place right now, I dunno if it’s the time to—”

“It’s not the time to be trying to repopulate like—like tigers in the zoo.” Peter exhaled. “Not when we could be doing a lot more. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you assholes.”

Ace unscrewed Peter’s water bottle before opening his own. He took a long swallow, then let out a sigh.

“Just wait. I’ll be getting us to Jendell in another three months, easy. Then we won’t have to worry about any of this shit.”

“That’s been your answer the last five years, Ace! You can’t fix your ship! We all know we’re not getting off this planet!”

“I mean it this time! I really got it cracked. Three months or less.” Ace took another swallow of water. “It’ll be great. My ma—aw, man, you’ll love her. She’s great. I tried sending her our records once we got big, I still had this little portable, y’know, for shipping off small stuff, don’t know if she ever got it…”

“Still having family must be great, Ace.”

Ace flinched visibly.

“I haven’t seen her in fifty years, man, I don’t know for sure. We’re all in the same boat there.”

“We’re fucking not, Ace. You just proved it.” Peter swallowed thickly. It was a lower blow than he’d meant to take. But he couldn’t help it. Fifty-fifty shot, and they’d all managed to lose. All that grief the sickest, saddest equalizer. Gigi had beaten cancer. Monique had been clean for a couple years now. Gene’s kids had careers… Paul’s youngest three weren’t out of elementary school. All of them a million times more deserving of being alive than they were. Peter’s gut roiled, and he grabbed his water bottle, forcing several gulps down just to quell the lump in his throat. He still had to take a few more breaths before he was half-positive his voice wouldn’t quaver too much, and by then, Paul had already begun talking again.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say we wanted to do something. Where would we even start? What would we even be fighting against?”

“I don’t know.”

“Exactly. Now—”

“I know where we’d start.”

Pete’s gaze shot over to Gene. He couldn’t keep the bare, hopeful note out of his voice.

“Where?”

“Avengers headquarters. That or Stark’s place.” At Paul’s indignant glance, Gene shrugged. “What, it’s obvious. And it’s only a hypothetical. For all we know, they could be working on the solution right now.”

“They’re not doing a damn thing,” Paul insisted.

“How do we know that, though?” Ace said it slowly. “I mean, really. They haven’t given everything up. The Hulk’s still around… you get reports of some of the other guys sometimes, taking down drug cartels, that sort of thing…”

“So it’s worth a shot!”

“Peter, c’mon, you’re saying we should just waltz right in to their place and tell them what, exactly? ‘Hi, we’re KISS. We haven’t done anything heroic in forty years, but—’”

“I wouldn’t say we haven’t done anything heroic in forty years. We all got married.”

“You know what I mean, Gene.” Paul paused. “You really think they’re gonna buy that? You really think they won’t laugh in our faces?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Paul let out a long sigh and gave Gene a look of utter betrayal Peter hadn’t fully witnessed since the disastrous Reunion Tour about twenty years back. The I-kept-this-band-alive look. The why-don’t-you-ever-listen-to-me look. The I-told-you-KISS-condoms-were-a-bad-idea look. Gene just shook his head in return.

“It’s worth a shot. The worst they could say is no.” Gene took a swig of water. “And if they do, so what? My ego can take it. We can go back to helping with repopulation efforts here in New Haven.” He paused. “Actually, we could probably introduce the Avengers to the program, I’m sure the country could use some super-sperm to—”

“God, no.”

Ace started laughing. Really laughing, that awful, unsettling, but infectious cackle that used to embarrass the rest of them during interviews. Peter caught sight of Gene’s lips twitching and then he lost it himself. Totally helpless. Paul had his hand over his mouth, but Peter was pretty sure he was laughing behind it.

It had been so long since they’d found anything funny. So long since they’d had any kind of idea in mind beyond surviving from day to day. Sure, Paul wasn’t sold on it, and Peter wasn’t sure if Ace was, either, not exactly, but—they were getting there. There was energy there, buzzing through his veins, making him feel fidgety and anxious and alive, really alive, for the first time in five years. He knew it was the same for the others. All the four-who-are-one superhero mysticism they’d tried to blow off as bullshit as tempers had flared in the studio and onstage and in their hotel rooms—shit, there was something to it. There had to have been or they wouldn’t still be together now.

“All right, fine, we won’t advertise it,” Gene finally said, once the laughter had died down. “If they went on the market, we’d probably be out of luck. But if we head to Manhattan… that’ll take us, what, couple hours if we drive, depending on how many highways they’ve finally cleaned up…”

“I’m not driving,” Peter said flatly.

“We could teleport,” Ace offered. “If you got better coordinates than just Manhattan, anyway.”

“Right, yeah, we could—” Gene considered. “Actually, I think we might be better off heading to Stark’s directly.”

“Why?”

“Because he holds the purse strings. And because he’s the one person out of all of them I’ve actually spoken to.” Gene was nodding to himself. “I don’t think he lives in the city anymore, but I’m sure we can—"

“I didn’t agree to any of this.”

“Paul, c’mon. It’s not hurting anything.”

“It’s been forty years. We’re gonna be laughed out of town.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been laughed out of town since we started. ’S fine.” Ace looked over at Paul, mouth uncharacteristically pursed, on the verge of dissolving into giggles again. Peter could tell by the way Ace had his hand cupped around his thigh, underneath the table. He couldn’t remember the last time Ace had done that to him. Peter reached out to put his hand on top of Ace’s, absently tapping against the rings. Ace crooked a slow smile, and half-spoke, half-warbled, “Y’know, we’ve got nothing to lose…”

“That song was about anal, not stomping up to the Avengers headquarters asking for a job application.”

“Same difference. Well, one’s a little sexier.”

“This isn’t a joke, Ace. It’s just stupid.” Paul exhaled, staring at each of them in turn before shaking his head. “God, why the hell am I even still entertaining this shit?”

He started to get up, only for Gene to grab his arm before he’d done much more than push his chair back. Paul sat back down, glare fixed on his face.

“Paul, c’mon. We can’t do this without you.” Gene hadn’t let go of his arm yet, but Paul wasn’t relaxing into the touch. “What’s the real issue here? Are you that afraid of being turned down?”

“Let go of me,” Paul rattled off impatiently, brushing at Gene’s arm. “And no, I’m not. I—fuck, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“What if you’re wrong? What if they aren’t trying? What if busting up drug cartels is all the Avengers are good for these days, too?” Paul tried to laugh but couldn’t seem to manage it, coughing, then draining the rest of his bottled water. “Nothing to lose—like hell we have nothing to lose. If we go over there, and we find out this world really is all we have left, no… no do-overs, no—saving anybody, no bringing anyone back… then that’s it. We’re done. We’ve got nothing anymore. Not even hope.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Peter watched as Gene reached over again, clasping Paul’s wrist before, almost hesitantly, taking his hand. Paul winced, but didn’t pull back. “We’ve got something left. We’re KISS. We’re family.”

“Gene—”

“And that’s not going to change, all right? Don’t get me wrong. It’ll hurt like hell if they say there’s nothing that can be done.” Gene paused. “But that doesn’t make it true. Look, whatever life ever had in store, we’ve kept going. We’ll keep going regardless.”

Paul didn’t say anything for awhile. Long enough that Ace had stopped just resting his hand on Peter’s thigh and started actively trying to pick the lint off his slacks instead. Peter batted his hand away, then, before Paul finally spoke back up.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. I’m in, I’ll do it.” Gene was still holding Paul’s hand. Neither had let go yet. “But don’t get too excited. And don’t think we’re just gonna pop over there tomorrow.” Paul finally tugged his hand away, but not until after a brief squeeze.

“We’re not? Oh, c’mon, Paulie, if I get some coordinates, I know I can teleport us there!”

“Because,” Paul said, grinning almost wolfishly, “we’re gonna train first.”

[aspiestvmusings]

THE MASKED SINGER: SEASON 2 [SPOILERS]: MY THOUGHTS & GUESSES

I was gonna do a full guesses post for the shows second season, but then I realized... I might be on to something (because I guessed 50% of the first double-episodes masks) & I don’t wanna ruin it for so many, so I am only giving my HINTS of the my guesses, not the names or anything. But still...

SPOILER WARNING!

I didn’t watch during S1, but I saw the clips over summer & have watched the first few shows this season... 

During the first week I knew one of the reveals. The other I did not know, because I'm “old” & am just not familair with current young generation idols and stars... And the more I think about my guesses (I did just google each of my guesses..fast, and many things I read match with the character clues I suspect they play on this show, so...) 

CHARACTERS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER 

1. The Black Widow =  before I heard her & could make my own guesses that weren’t guided by others opinions, I heard other peoples guesses & now can’t see/hear anyone else...besides the ones others suggested. Yet I am not sure which of the possibilities it actually is. I’m torn between two ladies - R. & A. ETA on Oct 17th: After tonight’s ep clues it’s basically conformed - that’s miss R.

2. The Butterfly =  before I heard her & could make my own guesses that weren’t guided by others opinions, I heard other peoples guesses & now can’t see/hear anyone else... besides the ones others suggested.  Yet I am not sure which of the possibilities it actually is. ETA: After the Oct 17th episode it’s pretty much confirmed that it’s miss M. (the singer, not the actress) 

3. The Eagle =  HAVE NOT HEARD HIM PERFORM YET, but based on the outfit & first clues it is a big “rock” star from the “past”.  Yet I am not sure which of the possibilities it actually is. ETA: Well, this one was pure character play - he was the “weakest link” of the episode. Not a singer. He was the one unmasked. It was... SPOILER. And since I’m not from US, he’s one of the stars I did not know & hence would’ve never guessed. 

4. The Flamingo =  before I heard her & could make my own guesses that weren’t guided by others opinions, I heard other peoples guesses & now can’t see/hear anyone else... besides the ones others suggested.  Yet I am not sure which of the possibilities it actually is.  ETA on Oct 17th: After tonight’s ep clues it’s basically conformed - that’s miss A. 

5. The Flower =   HAVE NOT HEARD HER PERFORM YET, but based on the clues  it can only be one person. An actress. The clues that reveal it’s her are: There are a dozen (read: 12) reasons...; She blossoms in every field she plants herself in. Also...the number 314 was seen at one point (which in this case is not P = 3.14, but stands for something other). These three clues alone tell us who she is.  Miss M. The doctorate clue also points to her. But... then there are clues & things that say the opposite. EDIT: And after seeing & hearing her... I’m torn...cause now it seems that it’s someone “legendary”, cause of that voice!  ETA: It was miss P.L.

6. The Fox =  The clues strongly suggest this is one of the Marvel superheroes. Since I haven’t heard him perform yet, I cannot be sure who. But based on the looks (his posture, movement...), and the clues so far it sounds most like Mr. J. EDIT: But... after hearing him it sounds more like mr. W (who I originally considered for Thingamajic) - he worked with actors, who were hinted at the clue section. Yet... I still think that despite what he sounds like it actually is someone, who plays a superhero on TV/in films, and I’m still leaning towards MCU actor. But I have to re-listen to make a better guess. Cause the clues suggest different MCU actors than I initially thought based on the previews... Yet it could also be someone else, who has been in film industry.... But based on the voice it’s most likely mr. W. 

7. The Ladybug =   before I heard her & could make my own guesses that weren’t guided by others opinions, I heard other peoples guesses & now can’t see/hear anyone else...  besides the ones others suggested. Yet I am not sure which of the possibilities it actually is. It does sound a lot like miss K. based on the voice, and the clues, though. ETA: Yes, it was K.O.

8. The Leopard =  The clues point to several possibilities, but based on the voice alone..my first guess (and so far only guess based on that voice) is Mr. S. Most clues also fit him. A few clues don’t fit that well, but his voice to me sounded most similar to the man known by the artist name different than the one he’s portraying. And all the lines mentioned by/about him on stage were direct references/quotes/titles of his hit songs etc. The other clues hint more towards a stage presence of a more colourful persona though, so other peoples guesses that it’s B. or R.  or R. or J. or D. are good, too. I’m just unfamiliar with some of their voices, so cannot agree/disagree. Based on his behaviour I’d say it’s mr. J. The personality seems more like J. (a known “prankster” with amazing voice & talent), or R. (he’s worn leopard print outfits that made into headlines, he’s British, has had hits...only thing is that to me the voice doesn’t match the characters...though great singers can mask their voices, too...). 

The clues: British Elizabethan dress/costume; the “British accent”, the newspaper headlines in the clues segment: Crazy game ends with win for the Leopard + Out of Hits & Out of Time + The Runaway; adaptable & can survive anywhwhere - even under harsh conditions; knows what it’s like to be at the top; has had many hit songs (he’s been a heavy hitter);  “scandals” & “celebrity culture” - people/fans more interested in the celebrity aspect & rumours etc... than in his music/talent; he really doesn’t care what they about what he’s wearing...or about his relationships; clock hand on number 9; J’adore; “Don’t stop”; DIVINE: "Leopards can be fierce, and yer so divine”; playing with the hosts/Nick's tux/suit; Kiss(ed by) from a Leopard; “from the jungle”; “piercing green eyes”; ready for the spotlight; “ready to move mountains”; “spectacular performances”; "The Secret Service”; “Spotted with the presidents”

ETA on Oct 17th: After tonight’s ep clues it’s confirmed - that’s mr. S. Almost no chance it could be anyone else... Oh, darling...that gave you away. And even though several clues fit also mr. T.D., the song title references to me confirm my first guess. 

9. The Penguin =   I HAVE NOT HEARD HER PERFORM YET

10. The Rottweiler =  The voice and several clues say it’s well known singer Mr. C. (who lost to miss K.M.), but the clues are also very fitting to a singing actor Mr. S. (who co-starred opposite the same miss K.M. on a certain show)…but though I know he has a great singing voice, based on many things I’m currently leaning towards my first guess. Both fit several of the clues..in several ways, though! All the (fantasy) football, abs/six pack (and most likely coming clues that claim he’s a comic book fan & supports his wife...publicly, is a proud + great father)... clues fit both of them - these two men have quite a lot in common. Both are also born in the same year & both had/have a big birthday this year. The voice seems so much like the singers, and the clues fit so well (everything from the football to roses to the “beauty salon setting” and the LIVE fit this great voice, who has had hits on radio). At the same time almost all clues & much more suggest it’s the actor with a good voice (whose old band had the word dog in it, whose been in a boy band, whose done musical theatre, and who might have found bigger fame on tv/film, but to those who know him... he’s always been a great singer & performer, he’s even been in a band that was a “warm up act” for N’Sync tour once. He’s a multi-talent, who studied to be a structural engineer... and even though he was working on one big project this summer, I do think he would’ve had time to also do this). 

For me the greatness of the voice + the hair salon and one specific line in the clues suggest it’s the singer & the on-stage-presence and backwards hat suggests the actor. Everything else fits both! So it all depends on if the chose the “hip hop” look as a disguise...cause the singer is not known as hiphop artist, or if the hip outfit is more his style...which would mean it’s the actor. If I’d figure out the dog’s (that’s god backwards) height, I’d know which of the two he is, because one of them is 172cm and the other 182cm & the taller one is also buff-ier (he’s all muscles!..and the dog seems quite small under the costume) - The Rottweiler seems to be about the same height as the host Nick (he is 183cm) - their shoulders seem to be about the same height, so this would tip the scales to the actor. But after a re-watch it now seems to me the dog is shorter than the host, so that confirms the singer. Even the fact that they’ve always had the lead roles (on screen, in bands...), but they’ve also both lost to someone else...is similar.   If they’d include numbers as clues, then number 5 would suggest the singer & number 425 the actor. If the blue roses symbolise a tattoo, its the singer, if the blue & purple symbolise something else (HD), its the singer... 

Only thing I can’t directly connect to either of the two is the gold chain... That seems to suggest at the third option... or maybe it was added just to make the two parts of the costume blend in better together...not be so obvious)  But then I’ve also heard some great guesses from others & though I am unfamiliar with Mr. B.W.’s voice, several (dog) clues fit him, too.  He’s done music with canine titles, and he’s talented + he’s also known to wear gold. Plus I am also kinda suspecting (based on the great voice) that it might be a certain Canadian even though I cannot fit most clues to him... But in my minds if it’s not one of the two I suspect, I will be very surprised. It would also be a great and fun “promotional” trick, if the dog would be the spider-kid T.H., who is the voice of a dog in an upcoming film (he even posted a pic of his charcater with the same words the dog used “This dog’s bark is just as good as his bite”. But it cannot be either him or his screen-dad mr. R.D.J, cause while they both match the height, they dont match the voice or the clues. Based on the costume choice it’d be the funniest if it was one of the (hiphop) artists, who use a canine name: Snoop Doggy Dog, Pitbull... but the voice and clues match others better.

The clues: The hair salon/beauty salon style setting; the vinyl record with the title/name LIVE playing; “grooming” shaving the dogs “body hair”; “touched the pigs skin under the friday night lights” (pigs skin = football) = Friday Night (Lights); preparation is key; blue roses; (being a) hungry competitor; rising to fame (by being a competitor)... almost overnight;  Fantasy (Football) Champion (ring); was bitten by a dog/rottweiler as a kid; “it’s not over”; gold chain around his neck; the big (golden) wrist watch; (golden) bowtie; the (backwards) baseball hat;  the fashionable look and the sneakers;  “this pretty pup’s got chops”;  “take a bite out of this competition”;  just “wait and see”;  “get up on our high lanes”;  “he’s there to be the best in show and his bark is just as big as his bite”;  he’s a total perfectionist; “he’s gonna work his tail out to earn your puppy love”; the fashionable hip-hop look of the costume; roses are blue - violets are red (a poem by Patrick Star?), “rockin’ a furry 6-pack”, = the six-pack! (abs)

If the next clues say that he has strong arms it’s the actor, if they say that he wanted to become the iNext Michael, but didn’t..it’s the singer. Either way...all eyes are on the Rottweiler...  ;) And since the height & the song clues pretty much confirm it’s the singer....the song choice makes sense, too. He has actually performed with Hall & Oates. I’ve heard him sing “Out of Touch” with the band/duo. So, while I still wish it could be the actor... there are clues that pretty much confirm it is the singer... the height alone does that. Yet... the dog is holding the mic in his left hand... and I’ve only ever seen the singer hold the mic in his right, when he performs, but the actor switches hands (ambidextrous while holding the mic), so...  I really need to hear and see some more to solve this mystery, cause I keep going back & forth... ETA: It is mr. C.D. 

....

11. The Skeleton =  If this is not some known comedian/host/comedic actor, I will be surprised. Based on the voice alone I can’t really guess. Based on the stage presence the character reminds me of Mr. M.’s character on a certain streaming services show, - there was/is a storyline about him doing musical theatre, and this stage presence + voice to me looks so much like that characters stage presence. Only thing throwing me off is that though that actor is also shorter & older, it doesn’t really seem to be him (the appearance). But… actors can be good at disguising themselves… Also..the clues apparently fit him… so well! I do not read gossip magazines (usually), but I just googled him to see this latest projects, etc...like I did with all the names that I suspect are hiding behind the masks...to check the facts for this post) and the headlines about him this year match the skeleton’s clues…quite well, so now I'm not sure. But I still think its someone a bit younger than mr. M.). 

12. The Thingamajic =  The stage presence screams tall athlete (basketball/baseball player). The clues give us a possible birthday and from the people born on that day who can sing (read: who I am aware of that can sing)  Mr. V.  fits most of the clues + what can be seen & heard. It could be some other tall athlete, or non-athlete. Like mr. J (who  has played a character, who was a huge Chewbacca & SW fan), who is tall...though I remember his natural voice being different. But..since the show likes to trick us, I’d say that the person inside the costume is not as tall as the outfit suggest, so I would guess more based on the voice than by the height alone.  So.. it could also be Mr. W., who is not 7 feet tall, but whose voice (to me) seems very similar to this characters (many clues fit him extremely well). For me its either V. or W. ETA: It is mr. V.O: 

The clues: The height (7 feet tall with the costume); backstage dressing room style outfit closet; plaid/tartan shirts; karaoke style subtitles during the clue segment; rhyming text during the clue segment; puzzling/puzzles; gentle giant, feather (feathery kind of gentle giant); portfolio case with wings; a magic case (magic ticks); keep up the pace; triangles; old school style microphone stand; loves to sing...but isn’t necessarily known as a singer; silhouettes of people & palm trees...; he’s more than fashion shoots and dreams; sneakers; “walk the line” - rope walking;  magnifying glass,  number 4 (on a cupcake), colourful glasses frames, dressed in plaid, rip/tear in the costume on the “thigh”, his eyes are actually at the height where the costumes mouth is. He’s ALL the things we see (in the clue package & more), “I’m easy like a Sunday morning", ON AIR 31-33-41-43, in need of a dentist, he’s kind of a big deal, “welcome to my kingdom”, his puzzling persona, he’s literally unlike anything like you’ve ever seen or heard before, He’s not Chewbacca...though they do celebrate together. ETA on Oct 17th: After tonights ep clues it’s conformed - that’s mr. V. 

13. The Tree =  before I heard her & could make my own guesses that weren’t guided by others opinions, I heard other peoples guesses & now can’t see/hear anyone else...  besides the ones others suggested. Yet I am not sure which of the possibilities it actually is. I wish it was an actress, who also sings - miss Z. She’s done Christmas films/music... but that voice is not really hers, so...

EXTRA: If I am correct in guessing their identities, then two of the male singers behind the masks have worked together on a special musical project in 2016. 

ALREADY BEEN REVEALED

1. The Egg = Johnny Weir (He was the only one I guessed based on the clues + his on stage performance & presence + voice)

2. The Ice Cream = Tyler “Ninja” Blevins (The kids may start to know the popular names amongst todays next generation, but I am “old”, so his name & persona were completely unknown to me)

3. The Panda = Laila Ali (I should’ve known based on the letter the baby panda wrote to her daddy panda, but I didn’t guess immediately & decided to watch the reveal right away… not giving myself time to guess some more)

4. The Eagle = Dr. Drew Pinsky (radio host) 

5. The Skeleton = Mr. SPOILER 

NOTE: I am new to this show, but since I love music, and I love puzzles, I have decided to follow this season. And since i did’t watch last year (just watched clips etc later...), and am unaware of how things are done on the show, but... based on the two shows I’ve now seen... it kinda seems to me that they are hiding clues about the contestants in other contestants parts. Like... if we’d use last season as an example... they’d say “this person has felt PAIN... a lot” for someone else than the Monster character. Or “he’s a KNIGHT in shining armor”...for someone else than the Bee character. I just had this strange sensation when listening to/watching the clues that the things they alluded to weren’t always about the character whose segment was on. 

Also: I do not think the comments that the “judges” say are pointless. I do think that they’ve chosen very carefully which ones to keep. Like I think that “I don’t think its an actor on a tv show” is meaningless. The little, seemingly random lines often seem to me actually like clues. 

For those, who are familiar with showbiz and people in showbiz the show is/should be really easy. The voices + the clues combined make it too easy... but none of us are familiar with every “celebrity”, which is why not all masked singers are guessed correctly. But yeah, I would say that the clues are often too easy. Like...if the Flower, Fox, Leopard, Rottweiler turn out to be who I think they are... they are still making it too easy. They are literally telling you who it is. Including song titles/words and film/show titles and/or character names, or sports team names...literally... in the dialogue/voiceovers.... 

But...the thing is that some of the clues are actual helpful clues, and some seem to have been added as “red herrings” - to muddy the waters, and make it more confusing. Also... many of them do seem to mask their voices & not reveal their real voice right away, so that is also a distraction method... making it harder to guess. 

So... this is all for show, because there is no way the “judges” don’t recognize some of the voices & think of certain people as possible options for specific characters. This year it’s specifically means that there’s no way they did not hear & consider certain singer being the leopard...as the voice just sounds like his...even if its an act (someone is mimicking him). So this alone tells me that the panel is putting on a show - they’re directed to not say the right name right away..if they know/guess it... to keep the suspense longer. And/Or the show is edited so that if someone guesses some character too fast...that part is cut out..and/or saved for later (they do add audio from the panel...at times...when they’re actually showing the artist, so it also seems to me as some editing has been going on... to mix different moments...) 

[ultradeliciousstudentworld-blog]

You can’t keep a good character down in Hollywood — even when that character has spent most of its existence as one of Marvel Comics’ most notorious villains. The Venom movie based on the popular Spider-Man spinoff character has an action-packed new trailer showcasing the film’s wild alien effects, and now the movie has a few new posters, too.

MORE SUPERHERO MOVIE NEWS

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Directed by Ruben Fleischer (Zombieland) and set to hit theaters October 5, Venom

will feature Mad Max: Fury Road and The Dark Knight Rises star Tom Hardy as Eddie Brock, a journalist who becomes the host of a powerful, symbiotic alien that gives him superhuman abilities. The movie’s

supporting cast members

include Michelle Williams, Riz Ahmed, Jenny Slate, and Woody Harrelson.

Here’s everything we know about the movie so far.

ALL TEETH AND TONGUE

Just a few weeks before the film’s premiere, Sony Pictures released a set of new posters for Venom that puts some of its titular star’s most memorable features front and center.

View image on Twitter

What big eyes you have, What big teeth you have, What a BIG TONGUE you have. What a big screen @IMAX has for all of the #Venom

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New poster for #Venom has been released.

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These posters were preceded in July by a new, Japan-specific poster for Venom that just might be even more terrifying than any of the footage released so far.

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日本発ポスター解禁 これが #ヴェノム だ！ ヤツらには＜最悪＞が良く似合う。 11月2日（金）最も残虐な悪、誕生。#venom

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From the multiple rows of teeth to the tentacle-like tongue and dripping saliva, Venom is looking as scary as ever in the Japanese-language poster.

VENOM … FOR KIDS?

Throughout much of development and production on Venom, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that Sony Pictures would follow the example set by Deadpool and make the violent character’s solo debut an R-rated feature. That conclusion proved wrong, though, when the film’s official rating was confirmed to be the more kid-friendly PG-13.

#Venom is officially rated PG-13. Hearing from studio sources the reason is so that Venom and Spider-Man can face off at some point down the line. If the movie is R, it’s hard to do that.

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Rumors first began circulating in August (via Variety) that Venom probably wouldn’t be Sony’s first R-rated film based on a Marvel Comics property.

“Some members of Sony’s brain trust believe that the film should push the very limits of PG-13 without crossing over into a higher rating,” stated the report, which cites unidentified studio sources.

A BIG CAMEO?

The rumor machine shifted into high gear in January when a Collider host reported that Tom Holland’s Spider-Man — the star of Spider-Man: Homecoming and the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s youngest star — might show up in Venom.

Damn @JonSchnepp dropping bombs and saying he knows that Spiderman will be in #Venom on #collidrmovietalk Tom Holland's Spiderman!

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The report was denied by various official sources in the months that followed, but the shared status of the Spider-Man character — who became part of Marvel’s cinematic universe via a partnership with Sony Pictures — kept the report from being completely dismissed. The rumor regarding a Spider-Man cameo resurfaced in August when Venom director Ruben Fleischer gave a conspicuously noncommittal response to questions about the character appearing in the film.

“I honestly don’t know what I’m allowed to say,” Fleischer during an interview with The Los Angeles Times. “I mean, I know the answer — I’ve seen the movie. But I don’t want to get in trouble for saying something I’m not supposed to.”

And just like that, the rumor mill began turning again.

A LATE ARRIVAL

The end of filming didn’t stop the flow of casting news, with Luke Cage and This Is Usactor Ron Cephas Jones announced as one of the actors making an appearance in Venom just a few months before the film hits theaters.

The Hollywood Reporter made Jones’ presence in the film official, but his role in the feature has yet to be revealed.

NEW TRAILER, NEW SYMBIOTES

Another trailer for Venom (see above) arrived online July 31, and it offered the most action of any preview of the film so far. Along with showcasing quite a bit of Tom Hardy as Eddie Brock and his symbiotic alien alter ego, the trailer also offered a peek at some of the other symbiotes and their hosts — including a shot near the end of Hardy and Riz Ahmed’s characters engaged in battle while enveloped in their respective alien partners.

The trailer also debuted some of the footage that was shown at Comic-Con earlier in the month, finally providing everyone who couldn’t make it to San Diego with a peek at the much-discussed preview.

VILLAIN (AND MORE) REVEALED

Sony confirmed quite a bit about Venom during the studio’s Comic-Con panel in July. Not only did the studio show off some new footage from the film, but it also confirmed that Venom would face off against another alien symbiote named Riot in the film.

Ruben Fleischer confirms the other #symbiote seen in the #SDCC2018 footage was Riot. "He has a unique trait. You don't know where Riot is going to turn up." #Venom #SonyAtSDCC

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Ahmed’s character will reportedly be the human host for Riot, but that could change, given the alien’s ability to shift between hosts.

Although the footage that debuted during the event hasn’t been released online, The Hollywood Reporter has a detailed description of the clips, which include a scene that depicts “Venom’s head stretching out of Brock’s body to have a conversation with him, similar to what might happen in the comics, and Venom making axes with his own hands.”

Sony also released a new image of Venom on Twitter.

View image on Twitter

We are #Venom. #SDCC2018 #SonyAtSDCC

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LIFE AND SYMBIOTES

The character played by Rogue One actor Riz Ahmed was also confirmed — with some new details — during Sony’s Comic-Con panel.

Ahmed will portray Dr. Carlton Drake, a billionaire inventor and head of the Life Foundation, who believes humanity’s future lies in outer space. His interest in cosmic exploration brings him into contact with the powerful alien symbiotes, and Ahmed confirmed that he would end up becoming host to one of the shape-shifting creatures.

It appears certain now that Venom will be a tale of two (or more) symbiotes.

CONSIDERING CARNAGE?

The film’s high-profile cast got substantially bigger with the addition of two-time Academy Award nominee Woody Harrelson (True Detective, Natural Born Killers) late in 2017.

The initial report of Harrelson’s attachment to Venom didn’t identify the role the veteran actor would play in the film. Variety simply indicated that he would play “a henchman of sorts,” but now the actor himself has offered some clarification.

Speaking to Collider, Harrelson revealed that his role in Venom will be a small one — but will likely increase significantly in the sequel.

“[It’s a] roll of the dice, because I’m just … I’m in a little fraction of this movie, but I’ll be in the next one, you know?” he said. “So I haven’t read that script, but anyways, just rolled the dice.”

It’s unlikely that Harrelson would play the traditional, lower-tier henchman role in any film these days, and rumors have suggested that he might play Cletus Kasady, a serial killer who became the villain Carnage in Marvel Comics lore. His description of the role as a small one and indication that he’d be in a sequel suggests that his character could be introduced in Venom before becoming the primary villain of the second film.

First introduced in a 1992 issue of The Amazing Spider-Man, Carnage is an offspring of the Venom symbiote that bonded with Kasady and lacks any moral foundation whatsoever. One of Spider-Man and Venom’s most dangerous, unpredictable foes, Carnage is a superpowered psychopath who wields all of the same powers as Venom and embraces — rather than fights to control — the bloodlust brought on by the alien symbiote.

Whatever role Harrelson plays in the film, it will be a reunion for him and Fleischer, who directed Harrelson in Zombieland.

ANIMATED HOMAGE

It’s not officially sanctioned by the studio, but a video making the rounds online offers a decidedly different spin on the second trailer for Venom.

YouTube user Darth Blender posted a remix of the trailer that replaces the live-action footage with clips from the popular 1990s television show Spider-Man: The Animated Series. The result is a surprisingly well-synchronized version of the trailer that should evoke some serious nostalgia for fans of the early incarnations of Spider-Man’s famous foe (and occasional ally).

We are Venom, indeed.

AT LONG LAST … VENOM!

After the first, Venom-less trailer for Venom received a less-than-stellar reception, Sony Pictures made up for past mistakes with a second trailer that went all-in on the fiendish black symbiote.

The trailer debuted after the studio’s presentation at CinemaCon in April, and it reveals quite a bit of the story that will connect Hardy’s journalist character, Eddie Brock, with the sentient creature that turns him into the powerful antihero known as Venom. Most importantly, however, is that the trailer offers the first good look at Venom in toothy, tongue-curling action.

The trailer was accompanied by a new poster for the film that depicts Eddie Brock in mid-transformation to Venom.

FROM WAKANDA TO SYMBIOTE CITY

Sony Pictures has reportedly recruited a prominent composer to provide the musical component to Venom’s solo feature. According to Deadline, Black Panthercomposer Ludwig Goransson will score the Venom movie.

The arrangement will be a reunion of sorts, as Goransson previously scored Fleischer’s 2011 comedy 30 Minutes or Less. Goransson is best known for his recent work on Black Panther and his frequent collaborations with that film’s director, Ryan Coogler, having scored both Creed and Fruitvale Station. He is also a frequent collaborator with actor-musician Donald Glover on his Childish Gambino music albums.

FOOTAGE, FINALLY!

After promising that something big would debut February 8, the studio followed through with the very first teaser trailer for Venom, offering audiences a sneak peek at the tone of Tom Hardy’s spin on the popular character.

The teaser (see above) features Eddie Brock (Hardy) prominently, but doesn’t reveal much of his lethal alter ego. There’s a scene depicting the squirming, black symbiote that — in Marvel Comics lore — bonds with Eddie and gives him his powerful abilities, but that’s about it as far as any look at the film’s namesake.

FIRST POSTER

The first, official poster for Venom was released February 7, and the image — which features the character’s iconic white eyes against a black background — was accompanied by a tease that something big will debut “tomorrow” (meaning February 8).

View image on Twitter

Tomorrow. #Venom

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THAT’S A WRAP

In late January, Hardy posted a photo on Instagram to announced the conclusion of filming — for him, at least — on Venom.

PICTURE PREVIEW

The first official photo from Venom was released by Sony Pictures in January 2018, offering an early look at Hardy as Eddie Brock, complete with his reporter notebook.

Posted on IGN, the photo was accompanied by a video from the Venom panel that was held during the Brazil Comic-Con Experience in December. The video features a look at the set of the film with some commentary from the film’s director and cast.

Hardy posted a few additional, behind-the-scenes photos from the set of the film in recent weeks on Instagram, often showing the film’s comics-inspired promotional art on his clothing or members of the film’s creative team.

POSTERS, WE PRESUME?

Some of the first promotional material for Venom appeared to have finally gone public in early December 2017, with Collider and Argentinian fan site MarvelFlix both posting photos from the Brazilian convention Comic-Con Experience (CCXP) of promotional images for Venom posted at the Sony Pictures booth there.

Primeras promo a de #Venom me gusta el logo che

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There was no official confirmation from Sony that these images are officially tied to the film, but the “in theaters soon” line certainly gives them some legitimacy.

CAMERAS ROLLING

Given how long it took for the Venom movie to make any forward progress, it’s understandable if some people didn’t believe it would actually arrive in theaters until they saw some photographic evidence of production.

Well, that’s exactly what the film’s Twitter account provided on October 23.

View image on Twitter

Day 1. #Venom

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Captioned “Day 1. #Venom,” the photo features Hardy looking on as production begins on the film. Appropriately enough, it’s also the first post on the movie’s Twitter account.

CHARACTER QUESTIONS

First announced as the star of the film in May 2017, Hardy confirmed his involvement in a photo posted on Twitter by Sony Pictures.

View image on Twitter

Tom Hardy is Eddie Brock in #Venom, the upcoming film from Sony’s Marvel Universe releasing October 5, 2018 – production starts this fall.

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Along with teasing Hardy’s attachment to the film, the photo also revealed which incarnation of Venom the actor will bring to the screen: Eddie Brock.

In Marvel Comics lore, Eddie Brock was a photographer who became the host of the alien entity known as Venom — which imbues its host with powerful abilities but also increases its host’s bloodlust and violent tendencies. Its previous host, Spider-Man, realized the danger it presented and managed to separate himself from it after a struggle both psychological and physical. Over the years, the character has spent time outside the traditional villain role and even went through a period in which he acted as a vicious, criminal-chasing vigilante while bonded with Brock.

Venom’s first big-screen appearance featured Topher Grace in the role of Brock, who bonded with the alien in director Sam Raimi’s 2007 film.

SUPPORTING CHARACTERS

Along with Hardy in the lead role, the cast of Venom also includes four-time Academy Award nominee Williams, who is expected to portray the film’s female lead.

According to a September 2017 report from Variety, Williams will likely play a district attorney and possibly the love interest of Hardy’s character. Also attached to the film in supporting roles are Slate and Veep actor Reid Scott, with Mully actor Scott Haze also rumored for an unidentified role. Slate is rumored to be playing a scientist in the film.

DARK AND DISTINCT

Although Spider-Man: Homecoming was firmly set within Marvel Studios’ cinematic universe, Venom will reportedly be set in its own, separate Sony Pictures universe, despite the character’s ties to Spider-Man. The script for the film was penned by Scott Rosenberg (Pain & Gain), Jeff Pinkner (The Amazing Spider-Man 2), and Kelly Marcel (Fifty Shades of Grey).

The notion of distancing Venom from Spider-Man and the Marvel Studios universe came as a surprise to fans when it was first rumored in March 2017, and continues to be the subject of much debate among comics fans and movie industry pundits. Given the critical and commercial success of Spider-Man: Homecoming and the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe up to this point, there is plenty of incentive to tie Venom to those films, but all signs point to Sony positioning Venom as the first film in a new cinematic universe based on Spider-Man spinoff properties.

Updated September 17 with new posters for the film.

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Two ideas puzzled me deeply as a child growing up in Brooklyn during the 1930’s in what today would be called an integrated neighborhood. One of them was that all Jews were rich; the other was that all Negroes were persecuted. These ideas had appeared in print; therefore they must be true. My own experience and the evidence of my senses told me they were not true, but that only confirmed what a day-dreaming boy in the provinces—for the lower-class neighborhoods of New York belong as surely to the provinces as any rural town in North Dakota—discovers very early: his experience is unreal and the evidence of his senses is not to be trusted. Yet even a boy with a head full of fantasies incongruously synthesized out of Hollywood movies and English novels cannot altogether deny the reality of his own experience—especially when there is so much deprivation in that experience. Nor can he altogether gainsay the evidence of his own senses—especially such evidence of the senses as comes from being repeatedly beaten up, robbed, and in general hated, terrorized, and humiliated.

And so for a long time I was puzzled to think that Jews were supposed to be rich when the only Jews I knew were poor, and that Negroes were supposed to be persecuted when it was the Negroes who were doing the only persecuting I knew about—and doing it, moreover, to me. During the early years of the war, when my older sister joined a left-wing youth organization, I remember my astonishment at hearing her passionately denounce my father for thinking that Jews were worse off than Negroes. To me, at the age of twelve, it seemed very clear that Negroes were better off than Jews—indeed, than all whites. A city boy’s world is contained within three or four square blocks, and in my world it was the whites, the Italians and Jews, who feared the Negroes, not the other way around. The Negroes were tougher than we were, more ruthless, and on the whole they were better athletes. What could it mean, then, to say that they were badly off and that we were more fortunate? Yet my sister’s opinions, like print, were sacred, and when she told me about exploitation and economic forces I believed her. I believed her, but I was still afraid of Negroes. And I still hated them with all my heart.

It had not always been so—that much I can recall from early childhood. When did it start, this fear and this hatred? There was a kindergarten in the local public school, and given the character of the neighborhood, at least half of the children in my class must have been Negroes. Yet I have no memory of being aware of color differences at that age, and I know from observing my own children that they attribute no significance to such differences even when they begin noticing them. I think there was a day—first grade? second grade?—when my best friend Carl hit me on the way home from school and announced that he wouldn’t play with me any more because I had killed Jesus. When I ran home to my mother crying for an explanation, she told me not to pay any attention to such foolishness, and then in Yiddish she cursed the goyim and the Schwartzes, the Schwartzes and the goyim. Carl, it turned out, was a schwartze, and so was added a third to the categories into which people were mysteriously divided.

Sometimes I wonder whether this is a true memory at all. It is blazingly vivid, but perhaps it never happened: can anyone really remember back to the age of six? There is no uncertainty in my mind, however, about the years that followed. Carl and I hardly ever spoke, though we met in school every day up through the eighth or ninth grade. There would be embarrassed moments of catching his eye or of his catching mine—for whatever it was that had attracted us to one another as very small children remained alive in spite of the fantastic barrier of hostility that had grown up between us, suddenly and out of nowhere. Nevertheless, friendship would have been impossible, and even if it had been possible, it would have been unthinkable. About that, there was nothing anyone could do by the time we were eight years old.

Item: The orphanage across the street is torn down, a city housing project begins to rise in its place, and on the marvelous vacant lot next to the old orphanage they are building a playground. Much excitement and anticipation as Opening Day draws near. Mayor LaGuardia himself comes to dedicate this great gesture of public benevolence. He speaks of neighborliness and borrowing cups of sugar, and of the playground he says that children of all races, colors, and creeds will learn to live together in harmony. A week later, some of us are swatting flies on the playground’s inadequate little ball field. A gang of Negro kids, pretty much our own age, enter from the other side and order us out of the park. We refuse, proudly and indignantly, with superb masculine fervor. There is a fight, they win, and we retreat, half whimpering, half with bravado. My first nauseating experience of cowardice. And my first appalled realization that there are people in the world who do not seem to be afraid of anything, who act as though they have nothing to lose. Thereafter the playground becomes a battleground, sometimes quiet, sometimes the scene of athletic competition between Them and Us. But rocks are thrown as often as baseballs. Gradually we abandon the place and use the streets instead. The streets are safer, though we do not admit this to ourselves. We are not, after all, sissies—that most dreaded epithet of an American boyhood.

Item: I am standing alone in front of the building in which I live. It is late afternoon and getting dark. That day in school the teacher had asked a surly Negro boy named Quentin a question he was unable to answer. As usual I had waved my arm eagerly (“Be a good boy, get good marks, be smart, go to college, become a doctor”) and, the right answer bursting from my lips, I was held up lovingly by the teacher as an example to the class. I had seen Quentin’s face—a very dark, very cruel, very Oriental-looking face—harden, and there had been enough threat in his eyes to make me run all the way home for fear that he might catch me outside.

Now, standing idly in front of my own house, I see him approaching from the project accompanied by his little brother who is carrying a baseball bat and wearing a grin of malicious anticipation. As in a nightmare, I am trapped. The surroundings are secure and familiar, but terror is suddenly present and there is no one around to help. I am locked to the spot. I will not cry out or run away like a sissy, and I stand there, my heart wild, my throat clogged. He walks up, hurls the familiar epithet (“Hey, mo’f—r”), and to my surprise only pushes me. It is a violent push, but not a punch. A push is not as serious as a punch. Maybe I can still back out without entirely losing my dignity. Maybe I can still say, “Hey, c’mon Quentin, whaddya wanna do that for. I dint do nothin’ to you,” and walk away, not too rapidly. Instead, before I can stop myself, I push him back—a token gesture—and I say, “Cut that out, I don’t wanna fight, I ain’t got nothin’ to fight about.” As I turn to walk back into the building, the corner of my eye catches the motion of the bat his little brother has handed him. I try to duck, but the bat crashes colored lights into my head.

The next thing I know, my mother and sister are standing over me, both of them hysterical. My sister—she who was later to join the “progressive” youth organization—is shouting for the police and screaming imprecations at those dirty little black bastards. They take me upstairs, the doctor comes, the police come. I tell them that the boy who did it was a stranger, that he had been trying to get money from me. They do not believe me, but I am too scared to give them Quentin’s name. When I return to school a few days later, Quentin avoids my eyes. He knows that I have not squealed, and he is ashamed. I try to feel proud, but in my heart I know that it was fear of what his friends might do to me that had kept me silent, and not the code of the street.

Item: There is an athletic meet in which the whole of our junior high school is participating. I am in one of the seventh-grade rapid-advance classes, and “segregation” has now set in with a vengeance. In the last three or four years of the elementary school from which we have just graduated, each grade had been divided into three classes, according to “intelligence.” (In the earlier grades the divisions had either been arbitrary or else unrecognized by us as having anything to do with brains.) These divisions by IQ, or however it was arranged, had resulted in a preponderance of Jews in the “1” classes and a corresponding preponderance of Negroes in the “3’s,” with the Italians split unevenly along the spectrum. At least a few Negroes had always made the “l’s,” just as there had always been a few Jewish kids among the “3’s” and more among the “2’s” (where Italians dominated). But the junior high’s rapid-advance class of which I am now a member is overwhelmingly Jewish and entirely white—except for a shy lonely Negro girl with light skin and reddish hair.

The athletic meet takes place in a city-owned stadium far from the school. It is an important event to which a whole day is given over. The winners are to get those precious little medallions stamped with the New York City emblem that can be screwed into a belt and that prove the wearer to be a distinguished personage. I am a fast runner, and so I am assigned the position of anchor man on my class’s team in the relay race. There are three other seventh-grade teams in the race, two of them all Negro, as ours is all white. One of the all-Negro teams is very tall—their anchor man waiting silently next to me on the line looks years older than I am, and I do not recognize him. He is the first to get the baton and crosses the finishing line in a walk. Our team comes in second, but a few minutes later we are declared the winners, for it has been discovered that the anchor man on the first-place team is not a member of the class. We are awarded the medallions, and the following day our home-room teacher makes a speech about how proud she is of us for being superior athletes as well as superior students. We want to believe that we deserve the praise, but we know that we could not have won even if the other class had not cheated.

That afternoon, walking home, I am waylaid and surrounded by five Negroes, among whom is the anchor man of the disqualified team. “Gimme my medal, mo’f—r,” he grunts. I do not have it with me and I tell him so. “Anyway, it ain’t yours,” I say foolishly. He calls me a liar on both counts and pushes me up against the wall on which we sometimes play handball. “Gimme my mo’f—n’ medal,” he says again. I repeat that I have left it home. “Le’s search the li’l mo’f—r,” one of them suggests, “he prolly got it hid in his mo’f—n’ pants.” My panic is now unmanageable. (How many times had I been surrounded like this and asked in soft tones, “Len’ me a nickle, boy.” How many times had I been called a liar for pleading poverty and pushed around, or searched, or beaten up, unless there happened to be someone in the marauding gang like Carl who liked me across that enormous divide of hatred and who would therefore say, “Aaah, c’mon, le’s git someone else, this boy ain’t got no money on ‘im.”) I scream at them through tears of rage and self-contempt, “Keep your f—n’ filthy lousy black hands off a me! I swear I’ll get the cops.” This is all they need to hear, and the five of them set upon me. They bang me around, mostly in the stomach and on the arms and shoulders, and when several adults loitering near the candy store down the block notice what is going on and begin to shout, they run off and away.

I do not tell my parents about the incident. My team-mates, who have also been waylaid, each by a gang led by his opposite number from the disqualified team, have had their medallions taken from them, and they never squeal either. For days, I walk home in terror, expecting to be caught again, but nothing happens. The medallion is put away into a drawer, never to be worn by anyone.

Obviously experiences like these have always been a common feature of childhood life in working-class and immigrant neighborhoods, and Negroes do not necessarily figure in them. Wherever, and in whatever combination, they have lived together in the cities, kids of different groups have been at war, beating up and being beaten up: micks against kikes against wops against spicks against polacks. And even relatively homogeneous areas have not been spared the warring of the young: one block against another, one gang (called in my day, in a pathetic effort at gentility, an “S.A.C.,” or social-athletic club) against another. But the Negro-white conflict had—and no doubt still has—a special intensity and was conducted with a ferocity unmatched by intramural white battling.

In my own neighborhood, a good deal of animosity existed between the Italian kids (most of whose parents were immigrants from Sicily) and the Jewish kids (who came largely from East European immigrant families). Yet everyone had friends, sometimes close friends, in the other “camp,” and we often visited one another’s strange-smelling houses, if not for meals, then for glasses of milk, and occasionally for some special event like a wedding or a wake. If it happened that we divided into warring factions and did battle, it would invariably be half-hearted and soon patched up. Our parents, to be sure, had nothing to do with one another and were mutually suspicious and hostile. But we, the kids, who all spoke Yiddish or Italian at home, were Americans, or New Yorkers, or Brooklyn boys: we shared a culture, the culture of the street, and at least for a while this culture proved to be more powerful than the opposing cultures of the home.

Why, why should it have been so different as between the Negroes and us? How was it borne in upon us so early, white and black alike, that we were enemies beyond any possibility of reconciliation? Why did we hate one another so?

I suppose if I tried, I could answer those questions more or less adequately from the perspective of what I have since learned. I could draw upon James Baldwin—what better witness is there?—to describe the sense of entrapment that poisons the soul of the Negro with hatred for the white man whom he knows to be his jailer. On the other side, if I wanted to understand how the white man comes to hate the Negro, I could call upon the psychologists who have spoken of the guilt that white Americans feel toward Negroes and that turns into hatred for lack of acknowledging itself as guilt. These are plausible answers and certainly there is truth in them. Yet when I think back upon my own experience of the Negro and his of me, I find myself troubled and puzzled, much as I was as a child when I heard that all Jews were rich and all Negroes persecuted. How could the Negroes in my neighborhood have regarded the whites across the street and around the corner as jailers? On the whole, the whites were not so poor as the Negroes, but they were quite poor enough, and the years were years of Depression. As for white hatred of the Negro, how could guilt have had anything to do with it? What share had these Italian and Jewish immigrants in the enslavement of the Negro? What share had they—downtrodden people themselves breaking their own necks to eke out a living—in the exploitation of the Negro?

No, I cannot believe that we hated each other back there in Brooklyn because they thought of us as jailers and we felt guilty toward them. But does it matter, given the fact that we all went through an unrepresentative confrontation? I think it matters profoundly, for if we managed the job of hating each other so well without benefit of the aids to hatred that are supposedly at the root of this madness everywhere else, it must mean that the madness is not yet properly understood. I am far from pretending that I understand it, but I would insist that no view of the problem will begin to approach the truth unless it can account for a case like the one I have been trying to describe. Are the elements of any such view available to us?

At least two, I would say, are. One of them is a point we frequently come upon in the work of James Baldwin, and the other is a related point always stressed by psychologists who have studied the mechanisms of prejudice. Baldwin tells us that one of the reasons Negroes hate the white man is that the white man refuses to look at him: the Negro knows that in white eyes all Negroes are alike; they are faceless and therefore not altogether human. The psychologists, in their turn, tell us that the white man hates the Negro because he tends to project those wild impulses that he fears in himself onto an alien group which he then punishes with his contempt. What Baldwin does not tell us, however, is that the principle of facelessness is a two-way street and can operate in both directions with no difficulty at all. Thus, in my neighborhood in Brooklyn, I was as faceless to the Negroes as they were to me, and if they hated me because I never looked at them, I must also have hated them for never looking at me. To the Negroes, my white skin was enough to define me as the enemy, and in a war it is only the uniform that counts and not the person.

So with the mechanism of projection that the psychologists talk about: it too works in both directions at once. There is no question that the psychologists are right about what the Negro represents symbolically to the white man. For me as a child the life lived on the other side of the playground and down the block on Ralph Avenue seemed the very embodiment of the values of the street—free, independent, reckless, brave, masculine, erotic. I put the word “erotic” last, though it is usually stressed above all others, because in fact it came last, in consciousness as in importance. What mainly counted for me about Negro kids of my own age was that they were “bad boys.” There were plenty of bad boys among the whites—this was, after all, a neighborhood with a long tradition of crime as a career open to aspiring talents—but the Negroes were really bad, bad in a way that beckoned to one, and made one feel inadequate. We all went home every day for a lunch of spinach-and-potatoes; they roamed around during lunch hour, munching on candy bars. In winter we had to wear itchy woolen hats and mittens and cumbersome galoshes; they were bare-headed and loose as they pleased. We rarely played hookey, or got into serious trouble in school, for all our street-corner bravado; they were defiant, forever staying out (to do what delicious things?), forever making disturbances in class and in the halls, forever being sent to the principal and returning uncowed. But most important of all, they were tough; beautifully, enviably tough, not giving a damn for anyone or anything. To hell with the teacher, the truant officer, the cop; to hell with the whole of the adult world that held us in its grip and that we never had the courage to rebel against except sporadically and in petty ways.

This is what I saw and envied and feared in the Negro: this is what finally made him faceless to me, though some of it, of course, was actually there. (The psychologists also tell us that the alien group which becomes the object of a projection will tend to respond by trying to live up to what is expected of them.) But what, on his side, did the Negro see in me that made me faceless to him? Did he envy me my lunches of spinach-and-potatoes and my itchy woolen caps and my prudent behavior in the face of authority, as I envied him his noon-time candy bars and his bare head in winter and his magnificent rebelliousness? Did those lunches and caps spell for him the prospect of power and riches in the future? Did they mean that there were possibilities open to me that were denied to him? Very likely they did. But if so, one also supposes that he feared the impulses within himself toward submission to authority no less powerfully than I feared the impulses in myself toward defiance. If I represented the jailer to him, it was not because I was oppressing him or keeping him down: it was because I symbolized for him the dangerous and probably pointless temptation toward greater repression, just as he symbolized for me the equally perilous tug toward greater freedom. I personally was to be rewarded for this repression with a new and better life in the future, but how many of my friends paid an even higher price and were given only gall in return.

We have it on the authority of James Baldwin that all Negroes hate whites. I am trying to suggest that on their side all whites—all American whites, that is—are sick in their feelings about Negroes. There are Negroes, no doubt, who would say that Baldwin is wrong, but I suspect them of being less honest than he is, just as I suspect whites of self-deception who tell me they have no special feeling toward Negroes. Special feelings about color are a contagion to which white Americans seem susceptible even when there is nothing in their background to account for the susceptibility. Thus everywhere we look today in the North, we find the curious phenomenon of white middle-class liberals with no previous personal experience of Negroes—people to whom Negroes have always been faceless in virtue rather than faceless in vice—discovering that their abstract commitment to the cause of Negro rights will not stand the test of a direct confrontation. We find such people fleeing in droves to the suburbs as the Negro population in the inner city grows; and when they stay in the city we find them sending their children to private school rather than to the “integrated” public school in the neighborhood. We find them resisting the demand that gerrymandered school districts be re-zoned for the purpose of overcoming de facto segregation; we find them judiciously considering whether the Negroes (for their own good, of course) are not perhaps pushing too hard; we find them clucking their tongues over Negro militancy; we find them speculating on the question of whether there may not, after all, be something in the theory that the races are biologically different; we find them saying that it will take a very long time for Negroes to achieve full equality, no matter what anyone does; we find them deploring the rise of black nationalism and expressing the solemn hope that the leaders of the Negro community will discover ways of containing the impatience and incipient violence within the Negro ghettos.1

But that is by no means the whole story; there is also the phenomenon of what Kenneth Rexroth once called “crow-jimism.” There are the broken-down white boys like Vivaldo Moore in Baldwin’s Another Country who go to Harlem in search of sex or simply to brush up against something that looks like primitive vitality, and who are so often punished by the Negroes they meet for crimes that they would have been the last ever to commit and of which they themselves have been as sorry victims as any of the Negroes who take it out on them. There are the writers and intellectuals and artists who romanticize Negroes and pander to them, assuming a guilt that is not properly theirs. And there are all the white liberals who permit Negroes to blackmail them into adopting a double standard of moral judgment, and who lend themselves—again assuming the responsibility for crimes they never committed—to cunning and contemptuous exploitation by Negroes they employ or try to befriend.

And what about me? What kind of feelings do I have about Negroes today? What happened to me, from Brooklyn, who grew up fearing and envying and hating Negroes? Now that Brooklyn is behind me, do I fear them and envy them and hate them still? The answer is yes, but not in the same proportions and certainly not in the same way. I now live on the upper west side of Manhattan, where there are many Negroes and many Puerto Ricans, and there are nights when I experience the old apprehensiveness again, and there are streets that I avoid when I am walking in the dark, as there were streets that I avoided when I was a child. I find that I am not afraid of Puerto Ricans, but I cannot restrain my nervousness whenever I pass a group of Negroes standing in front of a bar or sauntering down the street. I know now, as I did not know when I was a child, that power is on my side, that the police are working for me and not for them. And knowing this I feel ashamed and guilty, like the good liberal I have grown up to be. Yet the twinges of fear and the resentment they bring and the self-contempt they arouse are not to be gainsaid.

But envy? Why envy? And hatred? Why hatred? Here again the intensities have lessened and everything has been complicated and qualified by the guilts and the resulting over-compensations that are the heritage of the enlightened middle-class world of which I am now a member. Yet just as in childhood I envied Negroes for what seemed to me their superior masculinity, so I envy them today for what seems to me their superior physical grace and beauty. I have come to value physical grace very highly, and I am now capable of aching with all my being when I watch a Negro couple on the dance floor, or a Negro playing baseball or basketball. They are on the kind of terms with their own bodies that I should like to be on with mine, and for that precious quality they seem blessed to me.

The hatred I still feel for Negroes is the hardest of all the old feelings to face or admit, and it is the most hidden and the most overlarded by the conscious attitudes into which I have succeeded in willing myself. It no longer has, as for me it once did, any cause or justification (except, perhaps, that I am constantly being denied my right to an honest expression of the things I earned the right as a child to feel). How, then, do I know that this hatred has never entirely disappeared? I know it from the insane rage that can stir in me at the thought of Negro anti-Semitism; I know it from the disgusting prurience that can stir in me at the sight of a mixed couple; and I know it from the violence that can stir in me whenever I encounter that special brand of paranoid touchiness to which many Negroes are prone.

This, then, is where I am; it is not exactly where I think all other white liberals are, but it cannot be so very far away either. And it is because I am convinced that we white Americans are—for whatever reason, it no longer matters—so twisted and sick in our feelings about Negroes that I despair of the present push toward integration. If the pace of progress were not a factor here, there would perhaps be no cause for despair: time and the law and even the international political situation are on the side of the Negroes, and ultimately, therefore, victory—of a sort, anyway—must come. But from everything we have learned from observers who ought to know, pace has become as important to the Negroes as substance. They want equality and they want it now, and the white world is yielding to their demand only as much and as fast as it is absolutely being compelled to do. The Negroes know this in the most concrete terms imaginable, and it is thus becoming increasingly difficult to buy them off with rhetoric and promises and pious assurances of support. And so within the Negro community we find more and more people declaring—as Harold R. Isaacs recently put it in these pages2—that they want out: people who say that integration will never come, or that it will take a hundred or a thousand years to come, or that it will come at too high a price in suffering and struggle for the pallid and sodden life of the American middle class that at the very best it may bring.

The most numerous, influential, and dangerous movement that has grown out of Negro despair with the goal of integration is, of course, the Black Muslims. This movement, whatever else we may say about it, must be credited with one enduring achievement: it inspired James Baldwin to write an essay3 which deserves to be placed among the classics of our language. Everything Baldwin has ever been trying to tell us is distilled here into a statement of overwhelming persuasiveness and prophetic magnificence. Baldwin’s message is and always has been simple. It is this: “Color is not a human or personal reality; it is a political reality.” And Baldwin’s demand is correspondingly simple: color must be forgotten, lest we all be smited with a vengeance “that does not really depend on, and cannot really be executed by, any person or organization, and that cannot be prevented by any police force or army: historical vengeance, a cosmic vengeance based on the law that we recognize when we say, ‘Whatever goes up must come down.’” The Black Muslims Baldwin portrays as a sign and a warning to the intransigent white world. They come to proclaim how deep is the Negro’s disaffection with the white world and all its works, and Baldwin implies that no American Negro can fail to respond somewhere in his being to their message: that the white man is the devil, that Allah has doomed him to destruction, and that the black man is about to inherit the earth. Baldwin of course knows that this nightmare inversion of the racism from which the black man has suffered can neither win nor even point to the neighborhood in which victory might be located. For in his view the neighborhood of victory lies in exactly the opposite direction: the transcendence of color through love.

Yet the tragic fact is that love is not the answer to hate—not in the world of politics, at any rate. Color is indeed a political rather than a human or a personal reality and if politics (which is to say power) has made it into a human and a personal reality, then only politics (which is to say power) can unmake it once again. But the way of politics is slow and bitter, and as impatience on the one side is matched by a setting of the jaw on the other, we move closer and closer to an explosion and blood may yet run in the streets.

Will this madness in which we are all caught never find a resting-place? Is there never to be an end to it? In thinking about the Jews I have often wondered whether their survival as a distinct group was worth one hair on the head of a single infant. Did the Jews have to survive so that six million innocent people should one day be burned in the ovens of Auschwitz? It is a terrible question and no one, not God himself, could ever answer it to my satisfaction. And when I think about the Negroes in America and about the image of integration as a state in which the Negroes would take their rightful place as another of the protected minorities in a pluralistic society, I wonder whether they really believe in their hearts that such a state can actually be attained, and if so why they should wish to survive as a distinct group. I think I know why the Jews once wished to survive (though I am less certain as to why we still do): they not only believed that God had given them no choice, but they were tied to a memory of past glory and a dream of imminent redemption. What does the American Negro have that might correspond to this? His past is a stigma, his color is a stigma, and his vision of the future is the hope of erasing the stigma by making color irrelevant, by making it disappear as a fact of consciousness.

I share this hope, but I cannot see how it will ever be realized unless color does in fact disappear: and that means not integration, it means assimilation, it means—let the brutal word come out—miscegenation. The Black Muslims, like their racist counterparts in the white world, accuse the “so-called Negro leaders” of secretly pursuing miscegenation as a goal. The racists are wrong, but I wish they were right, for I believe that the wholesale merging of the two races is the most desirable alternative for everyone concerned. I am not claiming that this alternative can be pursued programmatically or that it is immediately feasible as a solution; obviously there are even greater barriers to its achievement than to the achievement of integration. What I am saying, however, is that in my opinion the Negro problem can be solved in this country in no other way.

I have told the story of my own twisted feelings about Negroes here, and of how they conflict with the moral convictions I have since developed, in order to assert that such feelings must be acknowledged as honestly as possible so that they can be controlled and ultimately disregarded in favor of the convictions. It is wrong for a man to suffer because of the color of his skin. Beside that clichéd proposition of liberal thought, what argument can stand and be respected? If the arguments are the arguments of feeling, they must be made to yield; and one’s own soul is not the worst place to begin working a huge social transformation. Not so long ago, it used to be asked of white liberals, “Would you like your sister to marry one?” When I was a boy and my sister was still unmarried, I would certainly have said no to that question. But now I am a man, my sister is already married, and I have daughters. If I were to be asked today whether I would like a daughter of mine “to marry one,” I would have to answer: “No, I wouldn’t like it at all. I would rail and rave and rant and tear my hair. And then I hope I would have the courage to curse myself for raving and ranting, and to give her my blessing. How dare I withhold it at the behest of the child I once was and against the man I now have a duty to be?”

[aescapisms]

under the same sky (3)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: author really doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about

word count: 1,804

 m a s t e r l i s t 

Everything was great they were constantly communicating with each other. Y/N doing everything in her power to always get the privilege of phone hours. Which means that she can call Sebastian for two hours per week. Sebastian loved hearing her voice. He can almost feel as if she was with him. They would laugh the whole time that they are talking to each other. He would tell her about the movies he was casted in, especially the one where he had to play the best friend Captain America. He told her that she was the reason why he wanted to do it in the first place. Because she was his Captain America. It was their story. “I am so proud of you Sebby.” She said. And that was all he needed to hear.

“I’m proud of you too. When you come home we’ll have a movie marathon.”

“Only if we’ll have cheese popcorn.”

“Whatever you want. Just come home.” Come home to me.

After the call Sebastian would sleep with a smile on his face. Not knowing the horrors that Y/N has faced.

It has been like that for fourteen months until all of the communication from Y/N stopped. Sebastian was worried, and scared. What if something bad had happened? What if she died? Or worse being held as a prisoner of war? But when he opened his apartment door  that he had shared with her. Yes, he never left. “Welcome home, Sebby.” She was standing in the middle of the living room, wearing his oversized shirt with her hair tied up in a bun. They way she used to tie it before.

He ran straight into her arms and cried. “I’ve missed you so much. Oh god. I was worried sick—You didn’t write to me. You didn’t tell me you’re gonna go home. I thoug—“

“I won’t die on you. I promise.” She said still not letting go. “Besides, I wanted it to be a surprise. Of course I wouldn’t tell you that I’m here.”

“This is the one surprise that I’m okay not having. You have no idea the things I’ve imagined that had happened to you.” Sebastian let go of the hug and decided to look at her. She looked older but had grown more beautiful. He noticed the cuts on her neck and some on her face. She noticed him staring so she had explained that those were shrapnels of the glass from a mission.

“Also, Sebby why are you so big. Like, you’re very very very muscular.” She said looking at his biceps then he laughed. Jesus Christ, he’s still very much in love with her.

That night they had built a fort and had a Marvel movie marathon. There was a noticeable flinch every time that there are gun shots. Those times Sebastian just held her hand and she was thankful for that.  Sebastian took a picture of her and posted it in his Instagram, and captioned it “Finally back home after serving overseas. The first thing she wanted was a movie marathon with cheese popcorn.”

When he told her about it she just laughed and told him he should’ve taken a better picture. The only think that he could think about was every picture becomes perfect every time she’s in it.

As it turned out, she wasn’t there for good. No, life wasn’t about to give him that kind of satisfaction.

After 3 weeks she received a call in the middle of dinner telling her to turn the news back on. A military base was ambushed and a few people were taken hostage. She was needed. Desperately.

“Yes sir. I will be in the airfield in 30 minutes.”

She’s leaving now? Don’t they have a couple of other people that they can turn to? “They don’t. I’m an Alpha member. The first team. That’s why they had to call me in.” He looked at her confused. Did he say that out loud? “No you didn’t. But I can tell from your face that’s what you’re thinking.” She sighed “I have to go get my things.”

Sebastian got up and followed her. She was already in her uniform when she opened the door, her bag already on the bed. So that’s why she didn’t bother unpacking.

“I’ll call you when I can and I’ll write letters.” She hugged him tightly and kissed him on the cheek. “I have to go now, okay?”

And then she left. A car was already waiting for her downstairs.

She called him before boarding the plane. “Sebby, I’m here at the airfield. I’m going to miss you. Soldier hurry up. I have to go now—“

“Wait—“

“Goodbye, Sebby.”

And then she was gone.

She didn’t keep in contact for the first few months but he still kept on sending her letters despite her not answering back. He never missed a letter. Not a single one.

It was ten months later when he finally received news. He was in the middle of lunch at the set of Civil War when Dean stopped by. “Hey, it’s been a long time.” Dean greeted him. “Can we talk somewhere in private?” He had a bad feeling about this.

“She’s alive.” Dean said as soon as they both sat down in Sebastian’s trailer.  As soon as he heard those words it felt like the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders. “Oh thank god. What happened. Where is she?”

“She’s in the hospital. Far from here. Now what I’m about to tell you is confidential but you have to know.” Sebastian nodded “The van they were in on the way to save some kidnapped civilians were ambushed. It seemed like there was no way out of it but well, she managed to get out of the crossfire and take as many civilians to safety as she could. Some of them got to safety but others didn’t make it. She suffered a lot of damage. Blood loss from the gunshot wounds.”

Sebastian cried hearing what Dean had to say. “When—When will she come home?”

“She won’t be coming home. Y/N still hasn’t woken up. Doctors said it could be months before she wakes up, maybe years. As much as I would want to take you to her I can’t. But rest assured, she is fine. Her doctors didn’t say anything about brain death so we’re still hoping for the best. I’m so sorry Sebastian. I know how much you loved her.”

“I haven’t told her yet. What if I never get the chance to tell her?”

“You will.” Dean told him, but Sebastian could tell that he didn’t believe his own words.

“So Sebastian, you’ve been raising a fundraiser for people who got bullied?” James Corden asked him during the interview with the cast of CA: Civil War.

“Yeah.  I’ve been helping in every way that i can to help people who suffered or is suffering from bullying.” He smiled as he shared the initiative. “Its just you know— I’m pretty sure everyone know that I was bullied when I was a kid and yeah I want to help other people who are out there alone and scared, I want to let them know that someone cares.” The people in the audience clapped. Sebastian started planning the initiative a few months ago, it had always been a plan and he was supposed to wait until Y/N comes home from the war. But he figured that he wanted to put it up now so that he could surprise her with it when she wakes up.

“Wait, this is news to me. You were bullied?” James asked in disbelief. Other people “awwed” in the audience.

“Yeah, I was” he laughed. “I was a fat and the new kid in school so they did. Until my best friend, Y/N dealt with them.” He rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath before continuing his story. He can’t cry. Not here. Not now. “And I’ve always been thankful for her for doing what she did. She was the one who stood by me through it all. She supported me in every way possible. She helped me realize my dreams and how to achieve them.”

“I take it, Y/N is very special to you since that was the longest sentence you spoke in the duration of the show.”

“Oh…” he laughed as the blush crept through his cheeks. Evans laughed with him.

“You have no idea how special Y/N is to Sebastian. I haven’t met her but I feel like I’ve been friends with her for a long times because of the things that I know about her.” Robert added. The fans in the audience screamed. Sebastian and Y/N had been everyone’s OTP. (Whatever that means.)

James nodded, then asked “Where is Y/N now? Is she watching?”

Sebastian’s laughter died down and looked at his hands. “Yeah, she is.” His smile did not reach his eyes. “But she’s been very busy you know from all the things that she does. She’s in the military actually.”

James told him something about how heroic Y/N is to be protecting the country. And then he told him to say a few words directly to her in case she’s watching the show. She isn’t. Sebastian wanted to say. She can’t.  But he smiled and did it anyway. Because that’s what actors do.

“Hey! Y/N, Stay strong. We’ll be waiting for you when you get back. I—We miss you so much. Be safe.” then he blew a kiss to the camera hoping that it would reach her.

The fans, of course, decided to research about Y/N. That was the first time that Sebastian talked about her in National Television most of the things they have were from the things Sebastian says in magazines but never in a live TV. Everyone decided to dig deep into Sebastian’s past to get pictures of him and Y/N. There weren’t that many but for the things that they had found they always tagged Sebastian in it. And he was thankful. Some of those pictures brought back memories that he didn’t want to let go of. As he scrolled through the tags he decided to post one of their own. It was the day when they decided to celebrate Christmas before she was deployed. They were both wearing Santa Claus outfits and was pointing at each other. “This is when we celebrated the holidays early because we won’t get to spend it together since she would be deployed in two weeks. This is Y/N, my best friend. She’s in overseas serving our country. I hope you include her, and the thousands of soldiers risking their lives for our country, in your prayers tonight.”

part four

[tokupedia]

How to invest in Tokusatsu Part 2: The List

Toei Co. LTD

Ticker #: TYO 9605

Dividend (Late 2017): 0.45 USD per share

Dividend Yield (Late 2017): 0.05%

Price: $105-106 USD (Late 2017)

Licenses: Super Sentai, Kamen Rider, Metal Heroes, various heroes created by Shotaro Ishinomori, Sailor Moon, Pretty Cure.

Toei is massive in terms of what cards it has on the table. Name a popular anime in the past 10-20 years and there is roughly a 7 out of 10 chance it came from this studio’s animation department.  Even Gen X American childhood favorites like Muppet Babies came from this studio’s animation department. Aside from that, they are the film and TV production company of Super Sentai, the original source material for Saban’s Power Rangers series, as well as Super Sentai’s older sister series Kamen Rider. Both are beloved staples of Japanese pop culture that make Toei some serious bank. If not for people like Shotaro Ishinomori, this company would not be known as the crown jewel of Japanese superhero media.

The downside is Toei isn’t cheap for some, 105 bucks is a lot to ask for. But it is justified as it is one of the most successful international animation studios outside of Disney and has made cult live action hits like Battle Royale.

The company as a whole has: Real estate, animation and live action film and television production, movie theaters, home video distribution (V-Cinemas and Hyper Battle Videos being an example), internet streaming content distribution, film studios for developing movies for clients, a high tech film R&D department, a Feudal Japan theme park (which many period piece shows or scenes use for filming). They also hold art exhibitions, stage shows and have a global marketing firm so people like Mr. Saban can get Toei licensed properties for international television.

Toho Co. LTD.

Ticker #: TYO 9602

Dividend (Late 2017): 0.11 USD per share

Dividend Yield (Late 2017): 0.73%

Price: 33 USD (Late 2017)

Product: Godzilla, Mothra and various popular Kaiju characters. The now defunct Chouseishin series.

The House of Godzilla is a proud company that dates back to the early 20th century and one of the most respected Japanese film studios in Hollywood thanks to being one of the studios that supported the projects of film legend Akira Kurosawa.

As far as what it does, Toho has its own chain of movie theaters, an animation studio division that makes popular hits like My Hero Academia, a TV production company, Real estate, a movie studio, a theatrical play production studio and film production and special effects studios. They also hold the film distribution rights to many popular anime such as the globally beloved Pokemon series which gives them a slight edge on the competition. In recent years, Toho is adapting to the times in a good way by reviving Godzilla on the big screen and expanding into the market of online streaming/sales distribution. This has resulted in great financial growth in the past 2 years that could go on if Godzilla’s box office takes for both the Japanese and US film series continue and further expansion into the internet through digital distribution and partnerships with licensing to companies like Netflix. Proof that the King of Monsters can still pack a mighty roar!

Bandai Namco Group

Ticker #: TYO 7832 

Dividend (Late 2017): 0.11 USD per share

Dividend Yield (Late 2017): 0.62%

Price (Late 2017): 34-35 USD per share Lowest price in 2017 was 27 USD

Owns: Digimon and various video game franchises, has partial ownership of Ishimori Productions though absorbing a large money sharehold of that company in 2007 (Ishimori Pro is still family operated though through Akira Onodera). 

Toy Licenses: Seemingly Almost EVERYTHING UNDER THE SUN. Star Trek, Marvel, DC, Ultraman, WWE, Dragon Ball Z, Kamen Rider, Super Sentai, Metal Heroes, Sailor Moon, Gundam etc.

Easily the largest behemoth in Japan’s toy industry and now owner of the company that made Pac-Man among other things, Bandai is only spared from being compared to a maniacal corporate super villain in terms of power by having its global competitors live in harmony with it. 

It produces in toy manufacturing of various types including model kits, DX toys, card games, premium collectibles, stuffed animals, Sofubi, electronic toys and video games. It also owns a few theme parks, manufactures arcade game cabinets, makes movies, TV and music, owns a trucking company, has a bakery to sell seasonal food stuffs online to customers, gashapon vending machines, clothing...They also own the famed animation studio Sunrise and have their own media distribution network. Yeah, Bandai is scary big! 

However, that large amount of corporate product diversity and business means potentially that Bandai is stable and safe in most situations. If one falters, another could spring Bandai’s finances back on its feet. Bandai has recently expanded its global operations by opening a Premium website in the USA to sell adult collectible toys directly to customers online. So there is definitely growth potential!

Tohokushinsha Film Corporation

Ticker #: TYO 2329

Dividend (Late 2017): 0.14 USD per share

Dividend Yield (Late 2017): 2.52%

Price (Late 2017): 6.79 USD

Product: The Garo Series

Tohokushinsha Film Corporation or TFC for short is the distributor of the Garo Series. While Garo creator Keita Amemiya has his own studio, Crowd Inc., to produce the show, it is a private company with no stock investments. So the best way to invest in Garo is to support TFC. While Garo is the thing they are most proud of, TFC’s core business is being a film dubbing house for Hollywood movies, taking the dialogue and translating it so the moviegoers in Japan can understand what the heck people like Harrison Ford are saying in their own language. Its other core business is film archiving and storage.

Owning TFC includes these sectors: TV/film production, special effects studios, Marketing firms, TV commercial ad companies, Cable TV (red flag!), Supermarkets, a furniture store chain, a beauty salon chain, a brewery, anime production, moichandising sales and home video sales. They also have a licensing firm in Los Angeles, CA called Cente Service (which presumably is how Kraken Releasing got the rights to those shiny Blu-Rays of Garo Season 1!). 

TFC is cheap compared to the others. But cheaper stocks below $10 always have higher risk in some capacity depending on company performance, so be careful!

Shochiku LTD.

Ticker #:TYO 9601

Dividend: 0.26 USD per share  (Does not make payments quarterly)

Dividend Yield: 0.35%

Price: 150 USD

What you are Toku investing in: Ultraman films

Shochiku is the toughest of the film studios in Japan, as it has been around since 1895!  Don’t believe me? This one Kabuki theater company turned film studio has survived the following: the end of the Meiji Era, World War II, US occupation, several earthquakes, changing technology, and stared down a near bankruptcy without even flinching. You know you have something special when a 122 year old company is still profitable and still growing. While they now focus on movies and media, Shochiku did not abandon their heritage as the Kabuki theater company that built it is still in operation, now expanded to doing other stage plays. Their core film business is Samurai movies, dramas and action/crime dramas

Shochiku owns movie theaters, a music record company, a film studio, an anime production unit, several stage theater companies including a costume department, real estate, restaurants, home video distribution, TV broadcasting etc. They also hold the rights to film distribution of the Ultraman movies.

Stock is a bit pricier, but it has had decent growth the past 3 years. 

Takara Tomy Co.

Ticker #: TYO 7867

Dividend: 0.12 USD per share

Dividend Yield: 0.72%

Price: 16 USD per share

Owns: The Tomica Hero series, Transformers (co-partnership with Hasbro), Tomica toy cars

Takara Tomy is a famed toy brand thanks to the popularity of its products like Transformers and Beyblade. Recently, the company threw their hats back into the TV tokusatsu ring by making the magical girl series Idol x Warriors Miracle Tunes to compete with Bandai/Toei’s Pretty Cure Series.

While beloved, the grim shadow of Japan’s declining birth rate is making investors wary of Takara Tomy as their target demographic is younger kids. This leaves them in a very vulnerable position if Japan’s birth rate screeches to a complete halt, as no new babies means no future toddlers or preschoolers to ask parents to buy their products like PlaRail. Another blow to them recently is the loss of their long running Pokemon toy license to a rival company which will start selling their own toys in 2018. 

Some meanspirited money men are even speculating Hasbro will just buy out Takara’s ownership of Transformers and ditch the remains if they sink. However, not all is gloom and doom as things seem to be doing better this year. Time will tell if this toy company, one half of which is one of the oldest toy manufacturers in Japan, will endure. In the meantime, give it some love so maybe we can get the Tomica Hero series back! (holding a large amount of stocks gives you voting power over who leads the company after all!)

Takara Tomy’s main business is of course toy manufacturing. It also deals in the making of baby products, children’s books, video games, gashapon toys, candies and various other youth marketed goods and apparel. 

Sony

NYSE Ticker: SNE

Price: $44.81 per share (11/4/17)

Dividend: 9 cents USD

Yield: 0.40%

Owns: Funimation, therefore indirectly owns the distribution rights to the Garo anime.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Sony? Well, yeah. Given a very recent event, this counts. See just a week ago, Sony officially bought Funimation. And Funimation had a deal with MAPPA to buy the streaming rights to the Garo animes. Plus, Funimation was in the middle of simulcasting Infini-T Force when it happened! In addition, the company is a major partner with Bandai and Ishimori Pro in making Kamen Rider video games for its Playstation family of game consoles like the hotly anticipated Climax Fighters game.

The company is often overlooked for bigger tech stocks like Apple, but they are so much more than a video game company. In addition to consumer electronics, the Sony corporation has a movie studio (which is debated in merit due to the quality of some of their productions) a TV studio in LA that produces shows and beloved TV game show staples Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, an animation studio and that is just the visual media part. 

They have semiconductor manufacturing plants, record labels and music distribution, Networking, medical firms, insurance, banking, telecommunications, advertising....In short, Sony is one of the most diverse businesses in the entire world and a worthy addition to a portfolio.

And now one NOT to invest in...

Fields Corp.

Ticker #:TYO 2767

Dividend: ???

Yield: 2.62%

Owns: Part of Tsuburaya Productions, the company that makes Ultraman. Also has a stake in HEROS, the manga magazine that distributes the Infini-T force, ULTRAMAN and Kamen Rider Kuuga manga.

As of this year...this stock is not worth your time. Fields is in trouble right now as the reports of its financials indicate a hard time. The company has lost a big chunk of its yearly income. It is in the negative in terms of debt in some areas and it is reporting major losses. Its primary business is Pachinko machines.

Figures, a company that invests on gambling would go down this year!

So there you have it, places you can support tokusatsu in the world of finance!

I know this was probably boring, but I promise the next post will be fun! 

Note: This data is from November of 2017 and may not reflect future financial data. 

[81scorp]

My top 9 movies of 2019

Originally posted on Deviantart Jan 26, 2020)

Hey kids! Its that time again, when I talk about the movies I`ve seen in the cinema and rank them according to my own personal taste and bias. Why 9? Because I`m not a professional filmcritic who has time to see most of the movies that came out this year and sometimes other duties got in the way. So I only had time to see 9 movies in the cinema. And yes, two of these movies came out 2018, but they didn`t come to cinemas in my country until 2019, so they still belong on this list. M`kay? M`kay.

9: Destroyer (2018) Erin Bell (Nicole Kidman), a former undercover police officer arrives on the scene of a John Doe murder and informs them that she knows the identity of the murderer. The victim is a man from her past.Raw. That`s the simplest way to describe this movie. This is a crime movie, a type of movie genre that has a very broad appeal but it is also very unstylized, it`s the kind of movie that Michael Bay wouldn`t do.I have to admit that the biggest reason I saw this movie was because I wanted to see a film festival movie (I usually don`t go to film festivals.) and because it was highly praised by critics. Probably mostly because Nicole Kidman plays a character very different from the kind of characters she usually plays. She`s not even wearing glamorous make up, that`s when you know that an actress means serious business! Jokes aside, Kidman delivers a good performance. It also had a little twist at the end that took me by surprize. It`s a kind of movie that is easy to praise but hard to recommend. In some places it may be a little to raw for it`s own good, like a scene where Erin does something R rated on a bedridden former criminal in exchange for information. Still a good movie and I`m glad I saw it.

8: Alita: Battle Angel Dyson Ido, a White man with a japanese surname finds a female cyborg warrior in a junkyard with amnesia. Hijinks ensue. I feel bad putting it this low on the list, I wish I could have placed it higher but I also wish that it could have been better. Too many ideas squeezed into a movie not long enough to give these ideas enough room to stretch their legs and develop properly. It feels very sequel begging, is burdened by it`s high ambitions and Christoph Waltz`s character is stuck with a lot of expositional dialogue. On the other hand, Rosa Salazar delivers a good performance and the CGI on Alita is impressive. It takes a risk and commits to what it does and that is admirable. Who knew that you could make a good live-action manga adaptation by not pissing all over the source material? Even if it has some irritating flaws that a competent screenwriter could`ve avoided, I would like to see this get a sequel.Let`s hope that this is not a swansong.

7: Captain Marvel A digitally de-aged Samuel L. Jackson finds a female warrior from space with amnesia. Hijinks ensue. Standard MCU movie quality. It`s not better or worse than the average kind of MCU movie that we`re used to. This one was almost a tie with Alita, it gets a better spot because it has a better structure. It knows how and when to setup future sequels without intruding on the main story. 6: Ralph breaks the internet (2018) Unnecessary and necessary at the same time.Unnecessary in that the first one was such a self contained movie that said all that it could say and there really wasn`t much (if any) material left for a sequel. It felt like a believeable development for Ralph that he, after not having had a real friend for years, would be so possesive of Vanellope. But it feels like he got hit in the head with the dumb-dumb stick for the sake of the plot. His neediness could have started small and subtle in the beginning and then grow bigger and more noticeable as the story progressed. (There`s one scene in the first act that bugs me where Vanellope`s sad and Ralph could have been more empathic.) Necessary in that it has a good message about how friendship doesn`t have to end just because you live further away from each other. The princess scene was still funny even after Disney had shown almost all of it in the trailers. Personally I like this movie. I have a weak spot for movies that gives me the feels and this movie gave that to me in a scene where I felt it was earned. It`s good but not as good as it`s predecessor.

5: Shazam! Funny and silly in the right places and serious when it needs to be. An inellectual property, known for being silly, combined with the style of a director known for making horror movies creates an interesting result. This is how I wish the Superman movies from the 1980`s could have been. It has jokes in it like they did, but it also has heart. Heck, part of me wishes that Man of Steel could have been more like this. Casting Zachary Levi in the title role was a smart move, he knows how to balance comedy and heart. Glad it made money but it could probably have made more if Avengers: Endgame hadn`t come out so soon after it. 4: Missing link Sir Lionel Frost, a struggling investigator of mythical creatures comes in contact with a lone sasquatch who wants to find more of his own kind. Like Alita: Battle Angel I wish that this could have done better at the box office but unlike Alita I don`t wish that this movie was better, because it is already really good.(Maybe not quite as good as Coraline or Kubo and the two strings, but still.) And thats the tragedy of this movie, great quality but seen by very few people. Maybe someone should have started the Missing link challenge.At least it won a Golden globe for best animated feature. That`s always something. 3: Avengers: Endgame Avengers 4, or as I like to call it: Avengers 3 part 2. The impressive juggling act continues, now with time travel! Why not? they`ve had viking gods, shrinking superheroes and talking racoons in space, it was only a matter of time before they got to time travels.This time the impressive juggling act is much less about the number of characters and more about how the movie uses the time travelling to affect the characters and their inner journeys while also escalating the conflict in a way that feels natural. All leading to a satisifying, climactic third act battle. You did good Marvel, you did good.You can rest now Tony. 2: Frozen 2 The first Frozen felt (not unlike Wreck-it Ralph) like a self contained story that didn`t need a sequel. But unlike Ralph breaks the internet I was more welcoming to the idea of a sequel to Frozen. Why? Because when Frozen was made it had a very hectic production and there are traces of that in the finished movie. I felt that it could have been better. Now, the message is great but it`s narrative flow suffered. This time they had more time to make their movie. Personally I like it... a little bit more than the first one. Wouldn`t call it better than the first one but I wouldn`t call it worse either. On one hand it adds more material to a finished, self contained story, like in Ralph breaks the internet. On the other hand it does one thing better than the first Frozen: it saves it`s best part for second last instead of peaking in the first act, and "The next right thing" is a much better eleven o`clock number than "Fixer upper". Like it`s predecessor it`s stronger in the music department than in the story department. And like I`ve mentioned earlier, feels are my Kryptonite and this movie gave me the feels in a scene where it felt earned. And now, drumroll please, my number one pick for 2019 iiis... 1: The Lego movie 2: The second part Unapologetically silly in the best way possible. It really takes advantage of being a movie about toys that you can take apart and rebuild. Yes, it didn´t have that wow factor that the first one had with that twist at the end, but personally I didn`t expect it to be more twistier than the first one or even have a twist at all. At least not a big one.So, why is it so high on this list? 1: Because feels. 2: Because in the sea of jokes, silliness and a song that`s really gonna get stuck inside your head there was one character who added a little extra depth to a film based on a toy. Rex Dangervest, the "Cool guy" who shows up in the story is like a dark reflection of Emmet. He is the image that small boys and insecure, adolescent guys have in their heads of what type of person they should aspire to be. Rex says something about toxic masculinity and superficial maturity. Better than the first one? Debatable. As good as the first one? Maybe but certainly not worse. You can still feel the passion in the finished movie.

Maybe not as impressive as Moana or Coco, finding a clear winner this year was a little trickier than previous years, then again, since I only saw 9 movies this year I most likely missed out on a few gems. Maybe the winner in next years list will be easier to pick. And that`s my list, feel free to disagree.