#he literally. a hammer is his weapon. he beats so many men with it

[skoulsons]

We can go wherever you want. Where do you want to go?

I don’t know.

thanks @shinhatism for recommending this movie to me! <3 love to feed that brainrot

#we all know how much I loving going insane with this trope #brutal and extremely traumatized man who saves kids (girls) from traumas of their own #but he gets attached to one (1) and kills. a lot of people to find her. #all while being eaten alive by what still haunts him #HES SO GENTLE WITH HER #he literally. a hammer is his weapon. he beats so many men with it #and then when it’s her #he. #he checks her for injuries and gives her a towel and hugs her back and holds her and #yea anyway. WILD and very cleverly shot movie #if you’re queasy like me then there’s a few scenes to be mindful of which you can see coming #except for that last one 🤠 #but yeah!! movie was p good and super super deep #you were never really here #joaquin phoenix

[lettersnorth]

Prompt #26: Break a Leg

In the breathless moments after the gun had gone off, snarling and leaping in her hand like a wild thing, Aislinn wondered what it was like to be one of those people that believed violence was never the answer. That could trust that an equitable and reasoned solution to any situation could be found if one was patient and calm enough. It was a strange place for her mind to go in the tense moments before all hell broke loose but there it was. She’d like it if those people who spouted such platitudes had to come down and live a day in Ul’dah’s slums and then be forced to reevaluate that lofty sentiment. 

Because it sure was nice to say violence was never the answer. Until you were backed up against the proverbial and literal wall with a friend at your feet scream bloody murder, clutching his broken leg. 

She had gone in search of Kikirifi after his 5 minute smoke break had turned into 15. He said he’d wanted to get it out of the way before diving into the lengthy repair work they were facing on one of the cartel’s extractors. When U’Rahna had been alive she had always emphasized smoking outside the warehouse. Too many accidents waiting to happen when a lit flame met any number of the materials the cartel was handling. 

Aislinn had never taken to smoking but seeing as Sterling and Kikirifi both had, she was well acquainted with the dusty back alley that had long ago become the designated smoking spot for the crew. 

“Hey Kiki, how long…” She trailed off as she popped out into the sweltering alley, the thought dying on her tongue. 

Three men currently filled the narrow alleyway. Not just men. Hulking walls of muscle. So cookie-cutter and alike, anyone with any sense would have recognized enforcers when they saw them. These were the men more powerful people sent along to convey a message. Usually peppered with intimidating lines such as ‘do what we tell you or else.’ 

One of them had Kikirifi held up by the scruff of his neck, dangling in an undignified manner several fulms off the ground while a second had his leg in a vise-like grip. Aislinn didn’t understand the scene playing out before her at first. 

“I can pay. I can! I just need more time!” Kiki pleaded, a terrified pitch to his voice as he flailed.

“Not good enough.” The man ground out, twisting the leg he held until Aislinn heard the sickening crack of bone snapping with a heart-hammering jolt. 

What happened next, happened so fast. Kiki let out a blood-curdling scream of pain. Aislinn shouted, quickly drew the pistol at her hip and fired. Blindly. Though to be honest, the targets were large enough and close enough there wasn’t much aiming to be done. Even so, with her hand shaking so much her bullet merely grazed one man’s shoulder, leaving him uttering a sudden curse and clutching at the burn. 

Stark Oak had shown her how to fire the pistol and she’d spent plenty of time practicing down at the old train depot but she’d never fired at anything other than the depot’s weather-worn posts. In the shocked aftermath, one of the men was the first to move, barreling towards her with a yell. Her body jerked into action, half a beat too slow. She twisted the gun away from his seeking grasp but missed the follow up, the back of his fist that hit her hard enough across the face to send her sprawling to the ground. Ignoring the shrapnel of pain that exploded behind her eye, she moved to raise her weapon only to have his boot fall heavily on her wrist, grinding excruciatingly down on the bone.

He leaned down to pry the gun from her hand as she struggled like a fish on the end of a hook. “Lemme show you how to use this little toy, girly.”

One minute he was there. Then next he wasn’t. Shoved back flat on his arse by Stark Oak who’s sudden appearance was heralded only by the grunt of effort it took him to heave the bulky highlander back. But he hadn’t arrived alone. Snaking around him in the tight confines of the alley, rangy Cooper wielded a thick length of scrap wood he had surreptitiously found in the alley, bringing it down against the man’s head with a stomach-churning crack. Laid out like a sack of popotos, the man wasn’t getting up anytime soon. 

There was a pause in the brutal violence as the other two men remeasured the odds. 

Cooper took the moment to absorb the scene in the swift, assessing way a cartel leader should be able to; the sprawled out Aislinn, the whimpering Kikirifi cradling his broken leg, and then let out a low whistle. “They really send three of you to handle one deadbeat lalafell?” 

“Your friend’s run up a debt of over quarter of a mil of gil at the Jack.” One of the roegadyns growled. “Dijar’s sick of waiting for it. This is just a bit of business.” 

In the shelter provided by Stark Oak and Cooper’s solid forms, Aislinn slid back and slowly pulled herself up, gun still gripped tightly in her bruised hand as the pain radiated across her face. She shot Kikirifi a dark look. They all knew Kikirifi had a gambling problem. But the Jack of Spades was a notorious gambling hell run by the equally notorious Majar Dijar. What on earth would possess the lalafell to get in for a quarter of a mil to a man like that? 

“Breaking him so he can’t work ain’t gonna get him his money any quicker.” Cooper snorted, the broad scrap of wood now resting over one shoulder. 

“Problem out here?” As though summoned like the others by the sound of the gunshot, Sterling had appeared from out of the shadows of the warehouse’s interior, leaning against the weathered door frame with his icy gaze on the interlopers, hand resting idly on his belt of knives.   

Now that was four against two. Forcing the men, again, to reevaluate. 

“I’ve got a warehouse full of ‘em.” Cooper promised, seeing the flicker of hesitation in their faces and grabbing hold of it. “Grab your friend here and move out. Next time, you boys do your research before rolling up to handle business right in front of the Sehko’s house.” 

The two men shared a glance but decided taking Cooper’s offer was better than what would have followed, if he was telling the truth about standing on the Sehko cartel’s property.

And just like that, the violence was over almost a soon as it had began. No more than a punctuation in their day. 

When they were gone, Cooper let out a breath and tossed the scrap of wood off against the side of the building. “Thal’s balls, Kiki. The fuck you’ve gotten yourself in to Dajar for that much gil?” 

The lalafell could only whimper in reply. Cooper shook his sandy-colored head and eyed Sterling. “Go get the doc. Kiki here might as well be a dead man walking but he ain’t dead yet.” 

Sterling nodded and, after a swift glance at Aislinn, disappeared back into the shadows of the warehouse.

“Yer going to have to handle the extractor on yer own.” Stark Oak noted as he peered at the bruise beginning to blossom across Aislinn’s face.

“I gathered as much.” She said with a sigh.

#ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv rp #prompt 26 #Break a leg

[sineala]

Hey Sineala, how are you 💐 I have come across many Tony Stark blogs and many are focusing on Tonys self-loath. It is pretty clear he is suffering from self-criticism, I can’t help but wonder why? I read his wiki page and it seems like from a young age he tried filling the void with alcohol, women and risky sports but does it all stem from the fact he feels guilty of weapon manufacturing? Thank you!

Hey, anon! So this is one of those areas where 616 actually differs a lot from MCU, because the answer to your question is that weapons manufacturing is eventually a thing Tony feels a great deal of guilt about, but it's not the origin of his self-loathing -- or even his superhero identity -- because he hated himself long before he started manufacturing weapons, and he actually continued manufacturing weapons for quite a long time after becoming Iron Man.

(I don't know MCU well enough to speak to whether Tony hates himself there, but he definitely hates himself in 616. It just has very little to do with weapons manufacturing -- or at least, while he is certainly capable of regretting his days as a weapons designer, it's not the root of all his problems or his drive to become a superhero. He's a superhero because he wants to save people, independently of whether he also wants to make weapons that kill people. Yes, it eventually occurs to him that these are two conflicting desires.)

The character of Tony Stark was created in 1963, and that was a time when attitudes toward the military-industrial complex were generally more positive than they are now, and definitely more positive among comics readers than they later became. Basically, Tony was a defense contractor and nobody had a problem with that. He was exemplifying the American dream! He was the best and most wonderful boss that anyone could be! He was, essentially, a fantasy of ethical capitalism. He was the guy who had it all. (And of course he was also Extremely Tragic because of his secret hidden disability, yes, so he really didn't have it all like everyone thought he did, but only he knew that.)

But then, Real Life happened, and the Vietnam War kept happening, and it kept getting more and more unpopular, and the people who read Iron Man comics started to not enjoy the fact that Tony kept making weapons. So Marvel changed that. In the mid-70s, Marvel ran an Iron Man arc involving Tony meeting a woman named Roxanne Gilbert, a pacifist who convinces him to stop making weapons. He changes the company name from Stark Industries to Stark International to reflect his new commitment. Iron Man v1 #78, from 1975, is the key issue you want to read here; it mostly consists of Tony thinking back to some of the horrors he saw in Vietnam and resolving that he's going to be a better man now and dedicate himself to peace.

It’s very touching, actually.

Keep in mind that this is 1975, so this happens more than ten real-life years after Tony debuted as a character. It took him a while to stop making weapons, is what I'm saying. (And even after then, people still try to force him back in -- this is in fact what Nick Fury tries to do to him in Demon in a Bottle, which is one of the things that leads to Tony’s massive drinking binge.)

When we see Tony talk about his weapons-manufacturing days at the beginning of Extremis (Iron Man v4 #1), he says that he doesn't intend to die as a weapons designer:

That entire interview sequence is definitely worth reading -- or even watching, if you prefer, since they made the Extremis arc into an animated cartoon -- if you want to see a modern take on Tony's approximately-current feelings about his weapon-designing days. Basically: he regrets a lot of things.

In fact, we know that one of the worst things that can happen to Tony these days is when people take his technology and use it as a weapon. And we know that because, well, that was the point of Armor Wars. Justin Hammer stole his tech and sold it to villains, and that's what started the whole catastrophe rolling there. And Tony, as you can see, is more than willing to beat himself up about it, here in Iron Man v1 #225:

And much later on, in The Five Nightmares, it is, literally, Tony's nightmare coming true when Zeke Stane uses Tony's repulsor technology to hurt people, as we see in Invincible Iron Man vol 1 #1:

(For MCU fans, I should point out that Zeke Stane is Obadiah's son looking for revenge, but also that, though 616 Obadiah Stane was very possibly the worst villain Tony ever faced, he is absolutely not the same as MCU Obadiah Stane and has very little in common with him.)

So, yes, he hates that this all happened, and he blames himself -- but it's not why he hates himself. Because Tony was sad and miserable long, long before he was Iron Man.

If you ask me -- and, hey, you did ask me -- I personally would be inclined to blame Tony’s self-loathing on the fact that Howard Stark was a horrible parent and was both emotionally and physically abusive toward Tony, and also was pretty much explicitly responsible for his alcoholism. Howard's shitty parenting continues to haunt Tony to this day. Sometimes literally.

(Incidentally, if anyone has a source for this one, could you tell me? I've been looking for it for years.)

So the Greatest Hits of Howard Stark, setting aside the part where he tried to sell Tony to Dracula (setting it aside because Tony is too young to remember that himself, and, yes, I swear this is canon), include such winning moments as That Time He Got Really Angry At Dinner And Was Clearly About To Get Violent, in Iron Man v1 #285:

(There is an issue somewhere in Fraction's run where a flashback shows him grabbing Tony's arms and Tony telling him he's hurting him, but I always misplace that panel, alas.)

Iron Man v1 #286 gives us the famous "Stark men are made of iron:"

In Iron Man v1 #287, we find out that Howard sent Tony to boarding school to toughen him up, because he was "sensitive" and "a coward;" you can see that Tony frames this as being "a disappointment" to his father:

And then there's Iron Man v1 #313, in which Tony recounts how he first started drinking as a child in an attempt to impress his father:

Yeah. So. I could go on, but you get the idea. Howard Stark really, really fucked Tony up. I mean, maybe Tony would have ended up hating himself anyway even if he'd been raised by a father who actually loved him and didn't do... anything like that. We can't know. But looking at the childhood he did get, this seems like a great way to raise a kid and ensure that they have massive, massive problems with ever feeling good enough, or loved enough, or, well, a whole lot of things.

So I think that's where all the self-loathing really comes from. It's not that Tony doesn't feel bad about having been a weapons manufacturer, or finding himself in a situation where things he invented are used for harm -- because he definitely does -- but that's not why he hates himself, deep down.

#Anonymous #replies

[moontheoretist]

Notes from tie-in MCU comics:

Part 1:

[DISCLAIMER: I was making those notes without actually writing down from which comic they come from, so now I am... well... confused about the proper placement of them, but I tried to discern them anyway.]

CAPTAIN AMERICA THE FIRST AVENGER:

Lol, Zola was developing exo-skeleton looking like Iron Man suit and Vanko's suit in 1934. I kind of think part of Steve's dislike of Iron Man was because of that exo-suit. Also, Steve just saved the guy in a suit.

"The chain is only as strong as its weakest link" said twice to Steve, once by military doctor and second by Schmidt.

Poor Erskine, his family was taken as hostages.

Howards says "carefully open the casing". Steve does smash instead.

Oh no, Red Skull said that weapon can always be taken from you so you have to become the weapon. It echoes the sentiment behind the creation of Iron Man too closely.

Lol, Roosevelt ASKED for Howard PERSONALLY.

"Car is bulletproof!" "and a convertible!" is a funny joke xD

Lol he has bulletproof car because of cigarette's girls angry boyfriends.

Ok, so Howard joined SSR because he HAD BEST FUN IN MONTHS.

Howard has rockets in car and "leaves best toys for himself".

First Steve saves a Nazi from a tank, now he obliterates them with said tank. Pick a side, Steve. I know guy in the armor was helpless, but c'mon. You either don't kill or kill. You cannot just willy nilly choose. BTW does it echo saving Iron Man or smth?

Call back to floating car by a joke about floating tank.

Aw, no, Erskine's family died in concentration camp from typhus. (Those camps were awful, but are not shown in the comics. You better believe that they weren’t very nice places to live even without being overworked and killed by the Nazis).

Oh no, Bucky was nearly killed by SSman! But Howling Commandos stopped him.

Bucky doesn't like his name lol. Also no Jimmy nickname for this guy.

Ok so Howard Stark was based on Hughes and Tony was based on someone Howard hated - Oppenheimer.

Ok, now Phillips made a foreshadowing for Cradle in the AoU. It even looks similar to Project Rebirth.

Oho my theory that Erskine heard Bucky talk to Steve and that doctor knew Steve lied is proved in this comics. They knew, they had a file on him and Erskine just picked him, saving his stupid ass from consequences.

Cap just threw a knife.

IRON MAN 2:

In the comics it looks more as if Obadiah sold Vanko instead of Howard, because Howard looks so surprised at what Vanko did, that it is impossible to assume that he was the one who sent the agents after Vanko. He looks surprised at the whole incident, Vanko betraying him and agents being there to apprehend him. One agent acts as if it was Howard's idea all along, but that line could be also read as just informing a bystander that they will deal with the issue instead.

Tony projected a drone which could clean whole desert full of mines with 100% accuracy and 0% detonation.

Also comics confirm that Tony cannot even have 12h break without Howard coming at him and demanding him to work when he is just a goddamn teenager.

Tony was just fighting for 19h, got a shower and has to go out again.

"If I hear of another innocent being put in a harm's way just to advance some pointless military agenda... there will be consequences" sounds like call back to Hulk.

Hm, Tony made 12 people work on one job? Also Natasha hates being called Nat and she drugged Samantha (the actual PA which applied for Stark Industries) to take her place.

 [As of now those comics confirmed to me that Captain America joined army out of selfish reasons and that Tony was overworking himself as Iron Man and when he wasn't he was either partying, probably to relax in that way, or making new tech which saves lives.]

Lol, Coulson was so excited to look for Captain. Nick even made a joke about finding his fav action figure.

Lol, World Security Council wanted to get Tony's weapons and nearly fired Fury for trying to make Avengers.

Fury is like Tony. He hates his superiors. He will do as they say but won't stop doing what he does.

Lol, Fury got a call Tony will be dead and he jumped out of his goddamn bed asap.

Fury was actively stopping Stern from getting Iron Man by scheduling his meeting with Department of Defense "when Stern is busy" xD

Lol Fury says no to Ross before he hears what he wants. This is so funny.

Ok, so Fury got Lithium Dioxide for Tony, asked if it could be made into permanent cure, how sweet of him, but also learned that it could INSTANTLY KILL HIM instead and still made Natasha basically inject Tony with it WITHOUT CONSENT! So I dunno if he really cared about him when he asked about permanent cure or it was just more optimal for his plans. Also he got the cure during Tony's and Rhodey's battle at the mansion, so we cannot say he had a cure and didn't give it right away when he could.

"Don't blow your cover unless Stark is going to kill himself". Hm. So he wants him alive.

And yeah, he ordered Natasha to stick him with lithium dioxide when he distracted him.

Lol, Fury yelled at Coulson for letting Tony leave the mansion xD

THOR??? (I got lost in my notes, I didn’t write which comic was which)

LOL CLINT CANNOT EVEN TAKE VACATION. Also the speed with which he responded to possible alien crashsite, epic. He jumped and went as if it was Christmas, aww Clint.

Why Clint is giving money back to some store which suffered due to their operation? I mean it was nice and all, but who will give the money back to Clint? Fury?

So it was Hawkeye's idea to let Thor loose.

In the meantime Loki was on scene and tried to get Mjolnir but it didn't respond.

AVENGERS PRELUDE:

Oho, poor Fury, didn't sleep in a few days.

Oho, Fury yelled at Natasha.

"Do not let Ross take Banner, dead or alive". How cute of you, Nick, to confirm that you do not care.

Blonsky is suicidal. Going at Hulk and kicking him in the face? That's a death wish.

Ah so Blonsky is enhanced.

Hahaha, joke about lifting a hammer but applied to the Asgardian sentinel, lol.

Ross literally accessed SHIELD databases.

Natasha was raised in Stalingrad lol.

After seeing Hulk, Abomination and The Leader Natasha finally says it is too much to handle for SHIELD.

Oho, so making Tony finish Howard's project was an objective, not saving his life. He wanted it for Tesseract.

I dunno if he is lying or really was doing this whole shit for the Tesseract. Also points for sticking in WSC's face that Ross nearly destroyed New York thanks to them.

Shield has whiplash suit and it's arc reactor!

THEY ACTIVATED THE SENTINEL AND THEN THEY WANT TO DISMANTLE IT AND MAKE DOZENS SMALL ONES!

Huh, implication that Natasha may beat the whole bunker of SHIELD agents up, because they're men, lol.

So Selvig used the element Stark invented to kick-start the Tesseract after all.

"Good for a laugh from time to time" lol. Clint the comedian.

Why that machine holding a Tesseract looks like Arc Reactor?

Huh so Selvig was Loki and he made a comment about Tony being strange for "badassium".

BLACK WIDOW BACKGROUND IN ONE OF THE COMICS, DUNNO WHICH:

Natasha talks about her cover personalities like vtubers about their avatars.

Fjodorov knows something about stolen bootleg technology of Tony Stark which he managed to acquire?

Natasha really likes narrating her story. Time slows when you have a training? Like roller coaster on first ridge?

"With some small regret, I bid farewell to Tatiana. She's outlived her usefulness" thinks Natasha after she took off her wig and no longer plays Tatiana. "If she were real. She'd be dead". "It's nice though, to pretend while it lasts... that I was ever as innocent as her".

Natasha really likes playing those roles.

Haha, Natasha holds one mission over Coulson's head forever even though he never failed as her control again.

"Part of the reason why I am so good at the undercover work is that I actually like being other people. There is a lot I've done that I regret. When I leave that other identity behind, whether I slip out from underneath it voluntarily or it's ripped away from my grasp, it always hits me like a shock. Like being awakened from a deep sleep, back to who I really am". "It's good to be home". Is she speaking about her slip into Black Widow again as home or is she referring to Russia?

Natasha left a guy dangling from a building and said it could be worse, he could be naked.

"Good man" says Natasha as if she was training guys to obey her will.

Oho, Natasha is interested in someone who wants to be her.

Also she is narrating that police in Russia would not suspect Tatiana to be so resourceful.

Natasha wants to save that girl from herself, because nobody did that for her when she was in the same position.

I mean, Natasha killed some people that day already so I don't get the point of her not killing those guys and saying that she changed, when in the club she killed a few of the goons already and later too. Where is the point of her change if she kills anyway? What is this change about Black Widow - Natasha Romanoff if she kills people but just not always? She cannot claim to change for the better just because she didn't kill two goons. And Sofia should see that not killing all of them doesn't mean she doesn't kill at all. But I guess leaving so many alive still counts for Sofia as Natasha going soft.

Coulson, you idiot, I am happy you came to save Natasha, but Sofia thought those guys were Natasha's back up. It all wouldn't happen if not for you making them appear there. You fucked up everything for Natasha, Coulson.

Uh, Natasha has the same weird shtick Tony does. She blames herself for the decision of her superior? Yeah, she enabled him to make that decision, but it was still his decision to send those men to find Natasha, so their death is on him, not on Natasha.

Huh, so Natasha's model persona Konn feels empty when nobody looks at her, because her whole life was being the centre of attention? It's kind of sexist cover.

She is a hand model and this guy is disgusting. Natasha I agree with those YUCK.

Natasha doing tehee is so weird.

Also playing a "he sent me here so hours would fly by" is so gross, but inner Natasha voice says nothing yet.

Lol the guy just assumed she is stupid, because she made tehee sounds. Like, goddammit, men are so easy to fool. Condescending little creep indeed.

Ok, so Natasha doesn't have any computer knowledge to say what those lines of code are, but she knows Stark can.

Ugh, Natasha, that line about telling his friends that they did something he imagines is so not feminist of you. It just enables creeps like that to objectify women more and treat them like idiots and fucktoys.

Sofia killed the agent even when Natasha gave her what she wanted.

Natasha wants to save lives and often fails at it too.

She jumped off the yacht to save the guy even though she knew he is dead? I mean shot in the head usually means instant death.

She doesn't get lines of code but can upload tracking device on it. Good. Also she wanna kill Sofia now.

"When I go in for the kill, there's no one I'd rather be than who I really am".

Ah so they had a targeting software for the copy of the Jericho missile manufactured by Hammer.

So they were moving Jericho in parts around the world. They should be happy Tony didn't notice. (Because then they would all just go boom and be dead lol).

"Berserk bots a girl's best friends!"

Frampton wants to have space tourism.

Ten Rings again.

Why Frampton wants to strike Korean DMZ?

Aha, global destabilisation for Ten Rings, gotcha.

Oho, so the info about Natasha busting the trafficking ring comes back. It turns out she accidentally trapped the girls inside when she busted the place. She basically says she didn't know they were there but even if she did she wasn't nice back then.

So Natasha says that Sofia was more her than she ever was, meaning the Black Widow, meaning that Natasha always had softness in her which Sofia didn't have and that Sofia got her just reward for wanting to be the perfect Black Widow.

Still sexist move to make a victim of sex trafficking ring become a morally corrupt murderer who would destabilise world for free if she could, but does that for money, because money is nice addition to her new hobby of fucking humanity up.

"Some people are not worth saving" Not so long ago plenty would say that about me".

AVENGERS:

Oho Stark Tower is the first fully clean-energy powered skyscraper.

Pepper thinks inside the box and Tony thinks outside the box.

Oh, so Tony still says that Rhodey had stolen the suit, but then he admits that it could give him heart attack, because it was not calibrated for him, so I wonder if he really wanted Rhodey to have it or never wanted Rhodey to have it at all.

"I got them to agree that all starktech remains proprietary to you as long as War Machine is on loan to the department of defense".

Lol wow, War Machine was an insult? Anyway he means that Rhodey won't be using Mark II because Tony has new suit for him.

"I am not Iron Man" people yell Iron Man at Rhodey "Ah, forget it" xD

How is Tony saying that he couldn't find anything to go after Gulmira when he was literally busting Ten Rings in Iron Man 2 tie-in comic?

Hahaha, Rhodey wanna get a publicist so people would recognise he is War Machine, not Iron Man.

Rhodey is so vicious. "I could have taken your hand with it but not doing it is more fun".

Oho so Tony THREE MONTHS after Tony was putting S on Stark Tower there is Battle of New York and Rhodey is in Hong Kong.

Incoming call: Martini, seriously? You call Tony MARTINI?

Also for some reason this Tony has blue eyes.

Rhodey is so cocky lol. "I haven't seen anything that can take me down".

"When am i gonna learn to keep my mouth shut?" xDDD Rhodey cursed himself.

So after Iron Man 2 Tony realised that he couldn't be iron solder alone anymore and made Rhodey an armor? Still, trust was a huge factor here.

Lol did he just make a joke about being so beat up as after clubbing with Tony to a commanding officer? Rhodey, you vicious little shit lol xD

"Battle tank that's about to make me street pizza! But only if I stand and take it, which I have never done in my life". That's useful info. It gives me some insight into who was protecting who at MIT. Rhodey never was taking a crap of other people, so he probably was used to fighting bullies. And I can imagine him standing up to bullies who targeted a kid - Tony Stark.

Rhodey chooses to fight smarts with smarts.

DID HE JUST MAKE HIS WAY OF LANDING A FRIGGIN MISSILE STYLE? XD

His commander asks if he is crazy. He definitely friggin is lol.

Rhodey just gave his superior a scare when he let a tank run him over. They thought he died.

OMG Ten Rings assumed War Machine is easier target to get tech from and Rhodey feels offended, but happy they know who he is.

Rings had stark tech in that tank, oh no. Tony will be pissed even if those are old black market stuff.

AWWW RHODEY WAS WORRIED ABOUT TONY WHEN HE DIDN'T RESPOND!

"Don't do this to me, man". "Holy...! That was SOME situation" says Rhodey when he saw chitauri flying whale dead. Ok so Avengers met Rhodey in that shawarma place.

Pepper decorates according to feng shui?

So Ten Rings scanned Rhodey's armor with any scanner available and collected a lot of data on the armor anyway.

#mcu critical #mcu #steve rogers critical #mcu comics #tony stark #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #thor #rhodey #hawkeye #avengers

[amydancepants-peralta]

65. “Help me find my shirt” “‘You know, as much as I want to…I don’t want to.” please hehehe xxx

Yesss!  Here we go 💕 this is set during the ep Johnny & Dora, and is canon divergent but still ends up in a good place because I COULD NEVER.

Hope you enjoy! 

my sleeping heart woke, my waking heart spoke 

“C’mon, help me find my shirt.”

If you discounted everything that had happened at the restaurant, and the moment that his partner Amy had pushed Jake against a tree and smashed her lips against his, tonight’s mission had been relatively normal.  The only real downside had been when the buyer decided to call their bluff on their pointed service weapons, making a run for it and forcing the detectives to chase him through the dimly lit park.  In a show of skills that only someone like he could possess, Jake had managed to take what he thought was a shortcut - but was actually a pathway into a shallow pond in the middle of it all - and landed face-first into the water with a pathetic yelp and a splash.  

His intention, once they got back to the nine-nine, was to head straight to the men’s locker room and wash off the mysterious pond goo that was quite literally dripping from his shirt.  But one whiff of Scully’s footwear - the stench of which had in the space of an hour completely permeated every inch of the interior walls - and Jake had run out, gagging.  

Rolling her eyes, Amy had dragged him into the women’s locker room, standing guard by the doorway to forewarn any approaching female officers the presence of one Naked Jake. 

Now he stood before Amy, wearing only his jeans and sneakers, with a towel draped around his neck.  And he was doing everything he could to not remind himself of the fact that the woman that he used to have a crush on, but now was completely infatuated with, was standing across from him while he was shirtless and post-shower. 

AKA, the woman whom he had kissed tonight.

Twice.  

Amy’s standing there facing him, this oddly reflective look on her face, and as much as Jake wants to find out what she’s thinking he’s also very aware that he’s not fully dressed, and so he turns to begin his search.  

The women’s locker room is oddly quiet, and the layout is basically the same as the men’s but still he feels uncomfortable - almost voyeuristic - to be doing anything other than dressing and getting the hell out of there.  Boyle had mentioned, as Jake and Amy had headed towards the shower room, that he was going to grab a spare shirt and leave it out for him - and while Jake was certain that it was going to be beige in colour, he genuinely didn’t have any other idea what he was looking for.  There were a couple of bags sitting on benches, and many lockers with doors slightly ajar, but for the life of him Jake couldn’t see any spare clothes waiting for him.

Turning his head slightly to the left, Jake glances over towards Amy, knitting his brow in a mixture of annoyance and confusion when he realises she’s standing in exactly the same spot as before, hands clasped in front of her as she watches him move tentatively around this unfamiliar territory.  “Ames?”  He prompts, crouching down to check underneath the bench and trying his hardest to suppress the groan that bubbles up when his knees scream in protest.

Her response is quiet, and for a brief moment Jake is certain that he’s misheard her.  “I don’t want to.”

He looks up, raising one eyebrow and lowering the other.  “Huh?”

She almost looks nervous, and that doesn’t make any sense at all, but it would definitely account for the way her fingers keep twisting around each other.  It’s a Classic Santiago Sign of nerves, and it’s not something that he’s seen her do a lot but that’s definitely what the hand wringing is all about.  Still, it makes zero sense, and just as Jake’s about to press for more information, Amy gives him the tiniest of smiles, and shrugs.

“You know.  As much as I want to … I don’t want to.”

Jake’s eyes begin to roll as he lifts himself back up, left hand resting on his hip as the right runs through his still slightly damp hair.  Realistically, he probably should have expected this.  “Oh, okay.  I get it.  There’s some kinda ridiculously hideous shirt in lost property that you’re going to make me put on, isn’t there?”  Amy cocks her head to the side, and Jake continues.  “I bet it’s really tiny, isn’t it.  Some sorta crop top situation.  Probably got some of those sequins on it that change colour when you move them.  Luckily for you, I still look after my manscaping.  How long are you gonna make me wear this thing?”  Jake shakes his head, waving his hand towards the surprisingly still silent Amy, and continues.  “You know what, it doesn’t matter.  Lets just get this over with.”

The sides of Amy’s mouth turn down slightly, and her hands seperate as she moves to fold her arms over her front.  “You know, I know this isn’t the first time I’ve said this, but … I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

There’s a retort that gets stuck in Jake’s throat (something along the lines of jokes on you - I’m gonna make those sequins WERK) and he falters, sputtering out a few nonsensical vows before matching Amy’s crossed arms with his own.  “Well I have no idea what you’re talking about then.”

Amy’s bottom lip disappears slightly as her teeth dig in, and her step is more of a shuffle as she moves closer to Jake.  “Do you hate that I kissed you tonight?”

“Do I … uh, what?”

“Do you … hate.  That I kissed you.  Tonight.  In the park.”

He pulls together an unconvincing version of a careless shrug, and replies.  “It was all part of the cover, Amy.  It’s fine.”

She nods, looking down to the right for a moment before returning those ridiculously soulful eyes back to him.  “So … you didn’t hate it.”

“It’s fine, Santiago.”

Another nod, and she shuffles closer.  “And at the restaurant.  Did you mean what you said?”

His hands return to his hips, and suddenly the floor seems like the most interesting thing in the world to train his eyes on.  “You know I did.”  It had nothing to do with Amy knowing Jake as well as she did - he was her partner, after all - and everything to do with the fact that she was literally the smartest person he’s ever known.  If there was anybody that could see right through his lies, it was Amy Santiago.  

She’s silent for a beat, and Jake lifts his head to catch her eye, both desperate to see the look on her face and terrified of what she might be thinking.  Her thumb is skimming over her fingernails, and he genuinely can’t tell what this expression she’s giving him means.  And then, she nods.

“Good.  Because … so did I.  And when you kissed me earlier, I was surprised, but …” she lets out a quiet huff of air, taking a heavy swallow and tucking her hair behind her ears.   “I also kind of, maybe, reallylikedit.”

Jake watches the blush grow on her face, a delicate pink beginning to colour her features and in all honesty, he hadn’t expected her to be any more beautiful than she already was, but there she goes, blowing his mind again.  His heart has taken on an erratic rhythm and his brain finally begins to catch up, and he clears his throat.  “I thought … ”  His head shakes, and he runs one hand along the length of his forehead.   “Wait.  You liked it?”

Amy nods quickly, and lord knows he can’t help it because suddenly, Jake is beaming.  His response is simple, but words are getting a little hard to say right now.  “Me, too.  I mean, it would be better if we weren’t getting interrupted by criminals, but … yeah.  It was kinda great.”

If anyone were to walk into the locker room at this very moment, all they would find would be the two of them, grinning like idiots at each other but still standing so very far apart.  There are a myriad of instincts running through Jake’s mind right now, most of which start and end with KISS HER YOU FOOL, but his feet suddenly seem to be cemented to the ground.

Her voice cuts through the silence, and this time Amy steps forward with deliberate intent.  “I know I said that my new rule was no dating cops, but … I don’t know that I’d thought everything through when I made it.”

Without any warning, Jake’s heart suddenly relocates itself to the base of his throat, hammering wildly as he looks over at Amy, completely unable of gazing at anything other than her eyes.  He can see it all - the nerves, the curiosity, the anticipation of it all pushing them further together until suddenly she’s right in front of him, so close he can touch her, and that’s all he wants to do until the end of his days.  Somehow, he manages to speak.  “You didn’t … think everything through?”

She smiles, so soft and tender, and shakes her head.  “There’s just one thing I need to try, first.”        

Her hands feel so small and gentle as they slide along the base of his neck, tucking underneath the towel still hanging there and moving upwards slightly until the tips of her fingers are toying with his hairline.  If this is some kind of fever dream brought on by a concussion he didn’t know he had, Jake already knows that he is never, ever going to want to wake up.  

And then her right hand rests against his chest, two fingers landing on the towel and the rest onto his bare skin, and this is the most vivid dream Jake’s ever, ever had and truly, he could stay here forever.  His hands are trembling a little, but they move of their own volition until they’re resting on either side of her waist.  Her blouse is softer than he’d anticipated, and he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s purely because of the gentle nature she radiates so effortlessly.  (She’s a badass, but gentle in her badass-ery - the kind of woman who could kick your ass, and you’d still end up saying thank you to.)

He’s tugging her closer before his mind catches up to his actions, and then her head is tipping upwards slightly and he’s leaning down and suddenly they’re kissing, and it’s everything that he’d always imagined it was going to be, and yet somehow so much more than he could have dreamed for.

Amy’s lips slide against his, her breath warm against his skin as she lets out a soft sigh before returning back for more.  It’s a harder press this time, similar to when you taste something for the first time and realise that it’s the only thing you want to taste for the rest of your life.  Her fingers are carding through his hair now, nails scraping gently against his scalp as their lips part and Jake’s tongue sweeps against Amy’s, and the only thought running through his mind is finally.  

Finally.

How he’s survived so long without this, he’ll never understand.  

It’s not until they hear the squeak of someone’s shoes on the hallway outside that either of them pull away, and as Amy’s hands slide down his chest Jake suddenly remembers that still, he doesn’t have a shirt on.  He never found the one left behind for him, because he partner didn’t want to help him find it, because she wanted to kiss him instead and truly, this was the greatest day ever.  

He knows it sounds ridiculous, but right now Amy’s eyes genuinely look like they’re sparkling, and the sight of it makes Jake’s heart skip a beat all over again.  His mouth has reset to a smile again - it appears that it has become his default setting, whenever Amy is around - and with his hands still circling gently around her waist, he speaks.  “So … how’s that rule of yours looking now?”

Amy’s thumbs circle slowly against his skin, brushing against the towel and nudging it further away with every pattern.  Forget what he said before, her eyes weren’t sparkling - they were on fire, and they were trained directly on him.  “I think …”  Her hands leave his chest, moving back up again until they’re cupping his face.  “I think we need to get this paperwork done, and get out of here.”

“10-4, detective.”

#mine #tumblr prompts #s2 PINING #b99 fic #b99 fanfic #title from Joanna Newsom #peraltiago fanfiction #sorry if this is different from what you were expecting Emma but I hope you love it! #Jake x Amy fic

[nadiya-ffxiv]

Bounty Call: Ghost Ship

BOUNTY DETAILS || A ship has been spotted drifting around the waters of Vylbrand, paying no mind to the other vessels it crashes into in its passing. Through the day on deck the ship appears empty but at night the true crew reveal themselves, freezing and possessing those who attempt to board their ship. The ship does not move during the day but at night it glows eerily, the spectral crew mates appear and fend off intruders as the ship continues on the waters. Slay the ghosts that haunt and drive the ship through the seas, allowing the vessel to be returned to the people of La Noscea.

LOCATION || Last rumored to be halted near the Bloodshore when the sun set.

REWARD || 40,000g for the spectral cloth of each ghost on board.

BOUNTY ROULETTE || (6) Unexpected Aid! A nearby adventurer chanced upon your hunt and helped at a critical moment.

As the residents of Costa el Sol returned to their homes, the golden hue of dusk slowly faded into the dark blue of night. The distant clicking of giant sand crabs could be heard over the gentle rush of the ocean waves, and the subtle crooning of a nearby seagull disturbed the otherwise peaceful night air. A single droplet of rain splattered against the wooden deck overlooking the shore, followed succinctly by several more until the entire beach became enveloped in a heavy rainshower. A quiet observer sat along the deck’s edge; an unassuming if not entirely ordinary looking individual if it hadn’t been for the wild mane of untamed curls whipping around her head. That and, of course, the pair of bunny ears protruding from the crown of curls, marking her as a Viera and generally an uncommon visitor to these parts.

“‘Scuse me, Miss,” a voice said from behind her. “I’m about to go on me break, but I can get ye a drink or sommin’ before I do?”

The Viera glanced over her shoulder at the barkeep. She gave him a small smile that did not quite seem to reach her eyes, and shook her head, “No… thank you.”

He gave her a curious look and shrugged his shoulders before disappearing to the other side of the circular rotunda. She heard the quick strike of a match and the strong aroma of cigarette smoke. It won’t be long now, she thought to herself. 

As her eyes fixed themselves on the horizon, the young Nadiya Wolt was reminded of a great many memories. Life aboard a seaship hadn’t been a natural transition for the Viera. The majority of her young life had been confined to the security of the forest, after all. Even in the comfortable stillness of her bed in the Goblet, she could sometimes feel the soft ebb and flow of the ocean glide across her body like a long lost lover returning home. It was about the only thing Nadiya truly missed about that life. Then again, it hadn’t been a life of her choosing from the start.

Suddenly, the seagull from before squawked unpleasantly and flapped its wings in a mad dash to fly away. Nadiya watched the bird fly inland, brows knitting together expectantly, before spotting an unearthly glow beginning to form on the horizon. Its greenish hue permeated the dark blue surrounding it, until the shape of a ship materialized from the shadows. Her expression darkened as she verified what must surely be her target creep closer towards shore before eventually stopping several malms from the coast.

Nadiya narrowed her gaze. She took the next few moments to mentally prepare herself. The ship sat unnaturally still, its beckoning glow an ominous warning to all who witnessed it.

From the other side of the rotunda, the barkeep perked up at the sound of something falling into the ocean waters. He peered around the pillar he was leaning against, surprised to find the quiet stranger no longer sitting at her perch. He glanced around curiously, shrugged his shoulders again, and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Nadiya’s head broke the surface of the ocean waves as they raged around her. The wind had picked up, making the journey all the more difficult, but it hadn’t been an all too unfamiliar situation. She paddled onward, taking large strokes as she swam toward the glowing vessel. The waves, strangely enough, seemed to carry her there… as if the ocean itself wanted to aid her in her efforts. And as Nadiya closed the gap, the sheer size of the ship rivaled any vessel she had seen previously.

She paddled to the hull of the ship and gripped at its wooden beams with one hand, using her other hand to unhook a small blade from her thigh. In one swift motion, Nadiya stabbed the hull with the blade above her head, using it to hoist herself up and out of the water. She struggled to keep herself up, fighting to keep her grip on the slick boards, made even more difficult by the added weight of her wet clothes. Above her head was a small perch with a doorway leading to inside the ship. She would need only be able to reach the landing… if she could just keep from slipping.

With gritted teeth, Nadiya stretched an arm as far as it could reach and gripped the space between two boards. Lifting by her fingertips, she managed to hoist herself up enough to plant the heel of her boot on the hilt of the blade and push up, flattening her stomach to the wall of the ship. She took a moment to breath, eyes glaring at the landing overhead, before promptly leaping sideways with outstretched arms. By a narrow margin, her fingers found the edge, her legs flailing wildly as the ship lurched too and fro. Nadiya grunted as she heaved herself up onto the platform and slumped onto her side, the rain relentless in its pursuit of making this mission more difficult.

She suddenly regretted not having that drink from before.

Inside the ship, Nadiya couldn’t detect anything afoul. In fact, she couldn’t detect anything at all, which was perhaps even more unnerving. The door had opened up into what must be the captain’s quarters. A desk was stationed at the far end of the room with what looked like a bed adjacent to it. Approaching it, Nadiya sifted through pieces of parchment haphazardly strewn across the desk, attempting to find any clue that might shed some light on the mission. One in particular caught her eye: A sketch of a Roegadyn male, faded from water damage, with giant swathes of ink crossing out his features… as if someone had angrily marked out his face. Nadiya thumbed through several more, finding nothing more of any interest, and proceeded to a narrow staircase on her right.

There was a door at the top of the stairs. Nadiya quietly pressed a palm against it and peered through the crack as she eased it open. Her eyes widened at what she saw.

Clambering across the deck were over a dozen men. But what made them truly horrifying were their pale, ghostly complexion… their eyes hollowed out to an empty blackness and their expressions seemingly frozen mid-scream.

Wait… literal ghosts?! Nadiya thought. She hadn’t thought this would be an actual ghost ship. When she had accepted the bounty, Nadiya fully presumed that this was nothing more than a seaman’s tall tales. That what some were calling a ghost crew was merely fantastical ramblings of men imbued with too much corrupt aether. It quickly dawned on Nadiya that she was woefully unprepared for this. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t get the time to back out, as one of these ghostly men suddenly blocked her view from the door and thrust it open.

Nadiya jumped back and stared up at the figure, his empty eyes burrowing down at her with the weight of a hundred lost souls. She froze, unable to think of anything to do, when her instincts took over and she kicked a foot out toward his chest. It made contact, surprising herself, and he was sent careening backwards onto the deck.

Nadiya sprinted out and leapt over him, teetering sideways as the ship swayed angrily back and forth. The commotion she had caused caught the attention of the other crewman, their gaze shifting toward her. She pivoted in a circle, realizing she was surrounded, and backed into the ship mast. Her feet bumped into a fallen broom and she quickly scooped it up, brandishing it as a weapon. Nadiya felt insurmountably foolish, but what good would her pistol do against ghosts?

One of the men came at her and she made a wide swing at him with the broom, making a loud crack against his jaw. Nadiya squeaked, eyes wide as she watched him stumble backward. A beat passed, and then she promptly dropped the broom and unholstered the pistol from her hip.

Several rounds went off, each one a direct hit as they came at her. When one would attack, she would shoulder him in the chest, firing at another as he came on her opposite side. Even in close quarters, Nadiya could be a deadly shot, made evident by how she ducked, twirled, kicked, and swung the barrel of her pistol. Nadiya scaled the ladder leading up to the crow’s nest, giving herself the high ground to pick off each crewman as he tried to grab at her ankles. When the bodies of each crewman laid strewn across the deck, one lowly individual stood at the helm of the ship.

“You know…” she began as leapt from the ladder, her boots making a wet thud against the deck. “For ghosts… you all are a very corporeal bunch.”

The man’s back was turned to her, but Nadiya could clearly make out he was the captain of this ship. She stood her ground, pistol raised to aim at his back, and said, “Any last words before I send you back to a watery grave?”

The captain was motionless, his arms crossed over his chest. The rain pelted them relentlessly. For a moment, Nadiya assumed he would keep his silence, and so she cocked the hammer back at her pistol and readied her finger on the trigger.

Then, he began to laugh.

As he did, the bodies of the crew began to rise from the ground, each one shuffling back to his feet. Nadiya watched in silent horror as they did, and quickly tried to think of an escape plan. Before she could throw herself overboard, a voice called from overhead.

“What did I tell you about playing in the rain?!”

She looked up just as a man fell from the sky, a rose lanner circling overhead.

“Nikolas!” Nadiya exclaimed, suddenly glad to see a friendly face.

The Midlander landed behind her. Without hesitating, he threw out his arms wide and a blinding light beamed out from his chest. Nadiya had to cover her eyes, but could just make out the dark silhouettes of the crewmen disperse into ash as the light enveloped them. They opened their mouths to scream, but no sound escaped them. And as the light faded from sight, so too did their fleshly bodies, leaving nothing but the dirty garments in their wake.

Nikolas turned to Nadiya, raindrops scaling down his face as he smiled. “You’ll catch a cold, my dear Nadiya…”

Nadiya smiled a wide, toothy grin. “I’d kiss you if you’d actually like it, you know that?”

Nikolas grinned wryly, “Yes, yes… and though you are quite the beauty, dear, you lack a certain masculine aura that I personally find most alluring.”

Nadiya grinned back at him before promptly returning her gaze to the one remaining crewmember. The captain faced them now, his seaworn face twisted into an angry grimace.

“I follow your lead,” Nadiya said and gripped Nikolas’ hand. “My aether is yours.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand in his, and held up his palm to face the captain. As the light grew from his hand, the captain let out a colossal scream. The dark hollows of his eyes and mouth persisted in the light before they too faded into dust, leaving nothing but the clothes on his back on the ground. Nadiya approached the heap, picking out a cloth bandana and holding it out in front of her face.

“That’s 40k… and more if you can find any others,” she said to Nikolas, plopping the spectral cloth in his hands. 

“Not bad… though, I expect to split the pot 70/30 now…seeing as I did all the work.”

Nadiya scoffed, paused, and then moved toward the helm. “Make it 60/40, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

Nikolas grinned a cheeky grin and went to retrieve any more spectral cloths. “Can’t say I don’t love me a good deal,” he mused, pocketing what he could find from the scraps of clothing.

Nadiya rolled her eyes and shook her head. She placed either hand on the wheel and called out to Nikolas behind her, “Let’s bring this beauty back to Limsa, eh?!”

FIN.

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ffxiv coeurl rp #ffxiv crystal rp

[imagines-of-the-unknown]

Love is War [1]

Thor x Fem!Reader

WARNING: Probably not as good as I would like it to be. But it has been quite a long time since I‘ve written. Most likely cringey at best

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Might make a playlist

Tags:  @appreciating-chase-brody

Thor smiled to himself as he swung his hammer into countless enemies.  But miraculously as he got a chitauri head clean of its shoulder a beautifully armored figure walked by in the distance.  With a squint he was able to see the figure clearer. He's seen the plated armor before, although it's only a distant memory now.  It's clearly royal as it was well polished with golden details of fauna on the shoulder pads and chest plate.  With the way the woman held her head up high with a walk that commented the stoic expression, confidence.  She emitted pure confidence as she held no weapon only a simple shield no bigger than her torso.  A shield maiden.

An ear piercing deep shriek rumbled from the right of him as one of the Leviathan’s seemingly swam through the air targeting the woman.  He wanted to run up to her side and help but his legs weren't cooperating.  All he felt he could do was watch as the woman stood strong in the center of the street holding he small shield in front of her.  The moment the leviathan made contact with the shield Thor was holding his breath.  The woman shouted something before fire and lighting ignited from the shield and quickly engulfed the entire beast.  Despite it being cooked alive the alien pushed harder and harder against the shield yet the woman continued to stand her ground as her heels literally dug through the road until almost a minute later did the beast finally fall.

With a simple shrug and sigh the woman turned around and looked around her for any other chitauri or leviathans- there were none.  Only then, did their eyes connect.  Thor felt the electricity in his body come alive and tingle every single muscle.  

As if it was planned, the beautiful, cinematic moment came the an abrupt stop as a chitauri with a red and white shield came flying past his face.

"There's no time to be standing around!" Steve shouted as he jogged to retrieve his shield.  Thor was broken out of his trance when the Captain walked passed breaking contact with the stranger. "Sorry, it's just that there was..." Thor looked back up to the charred leviathan to find the intriguing woman gone.

For weeks that brief moment in time kept replaying in his mind.  He had asked his father about the armor and its details, only to be returned with 'It could be anyone.' and nothing more.  With each passing day Thor's need to go back down to Midgard grew and grew in desperate need to know who that person was and how were they able to perform such magic.

It took Thor only over two months to finally grow annoyed enough of the unknown and travel back down to Midgard.  Thor was lucky that there were civilians around to film the same event he saw but despite the fact that Stark had the technology to find every single detail on someone and pinpoint there location, he could find the woman no problem.  In fact they even worked for SHIELD and all their information was on there- except specifics.

Name: (Y/N) (L/N) Age: Early 30's Family: Unkown Allies: Prince Alvar of Skorri Birthplace: Earth Places of residence: Earth, Skorri

He knows that name somewhere.

The Avengers watched the clips that were attached where the woman was interviewed 10 years ago.  Thor absorbed every word that she spoke in casual a manner.

"Basically the King thought I was betrayed him or some shit like that by attempting to murder Alvar. Blah blah blah. I was called a war criminal."  The woman laughed recalling the memory. "And then they just went 'Well then go find a planet out of our system otherwise we'll kill you.'"  She said in a funny voice and continued to laugh. A S.H.I.E.L.D worker asked another question off screen.  "Oh, Alvar! Ehh, well he wanted to tag along I guess. So you know, that's good for me. I get the lucky title of 'Kidnapper of the Prince' even though I'm the one that was made his guard because of my loyalty."

"This sounds like a bad movie." Stark said confused. "Like it sounds fake-" "She's real. The Shield Maiden is real."  Thor said sternly as he stared intently at the calm face on the screen. "I know she's real. I'm just saying that-" "How do we bring her here?" Thor interrupted.  He was desperate to talk to the woman. "At least I have an actual excuse to throw a part now!" Tony got up from his chair ready to pour himself a drink.

That night the Avengers party went into full swing early on in the night and by 8 there was still no sign of the Shield Maiden.  Thor was growing bored quite quickly and he was running out of his Asgardian ale that he kept in a flask.

Many men and women had come up to him to flirt with him.  He played along with them but turn them down if they took it too far for him at that point.  Thor sat down on the large couch allowing his tiring body to sink into it.  He closed his eyes as he let out a groan as he felt bones crack and muscles stretch. Maybe he should just call it a night.

"Long time no see." A nurturing voice said with a chuckle.  He felt the couch shift as someone sat next to him.  Thor cracked open his eyes to see the Shield Maiden sitting next to him in a simple black dress that seemed casual enough- compared to what most of the women are wearing.  As quick as his lighting Thor sat up puffing out his chest.  He coughed and smiled.

"It's good to finally see you again Shield Maiden." He said confidently, which was not how he was feeling as she let out another chuckle. "'Shield Maiden'? Haven't heard that one before, I'll added it to my list of titles." She quipped. "I assume you're Thor?"  The smile she gave him shared the same warmth that the sun provides on a beautiful winter morning.  It made his heart stutter.  Speechless Thor could only study her face, from barely noticeable lack of make up- the small scars that decorated gave it away, the way the eyes sparkled and crinkled in the corners to the way her smile pushed her cheeks up with a blush that merely dusted her cheeks.  Unfortunately the more he stared the less she smiled.  “My apologies for disturbing you. I’ll leave you now.” The Shield Maiden stood up and bowed ready to looking for someone.

He didn’t want her to go.  He wanted her company.  She seemed fun.  She was a mystery he wanted to solve.

So he stood up.

“Wait. Shield Maiden!” Thor’s voice boomed over the crowd’s chatter. The party goers around them paused their conversations to watch the god look around confused as the woman had disappeared yet again. The god had cursed to himself and fell into the couch with a frown and heavy heart. When he let his hand rest on the couch he felt a piece of paper under his palm. He picked up the card and looked at it curiously. There was an symbol on it... no magic circle. It had an odd purple shimmer to it. Then he turned the card over to see a handwritten message.

‘Call and I shall come. Emergency only. - Shield Maiden’

His heart beat became erratic at the message. He hopes their paths will cross soon.

#thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #marvel x reader #avengers x reader

[thecomicsnexus]

THE ULTIMATES #7-13 SEPTEMBER 2002 - APRIL 2004 BY MARK MILLAR, BRYAN HITCH, PAUL NEARY, ANDREW CURRIE AND PAUL MOUNTS

SYNOPSIS (FROM MARVEL DATABASE)

Hundreds are dead after the 'Hulk incident', and Janet Pym is in the hospital after getting sprayed by bug-spray and stampeded by hundreds of ants controlled by her husband, Hank. Bruce Banner is in isolation, so depressed by what he did, but no one even knows Banner is the Hulk. A doctor tells Banner that the Hulk cells are not leaving, and never will. Cap is greeted by Gail and Bucky Barnes, after the memorial service. Now that all the Ultimates know that Hank did it, Cap is in a rage, since he has feelings for Janet. Fury is calling on Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton to complete a mission. Cap calls a transport to Hank's location.

To introduce the new team of Hawkeye and Black Widow, the two go on a mission to kill a whole building of enemies. After a energetic battle, Hawkeye is almost killed but Black Widow saves his life. That night, Nick Fury has all the the Ultimates together, and with the new members; Black Widow and Hawkeye. Nick brought all the heroes together to tell them that an alien force, the same Nazi alien force that Captain America had to deal with in World War Two, is back and is wrecking havoc. Nick tells them that they think the aliens are preparing for a global annihilation. Meanwhile, Captain America is in Chicago, where he goes to meet Hank Pym, for personal reasons.

Captain America has just tracked down Hank Pym, and is with him, to teach him a lesson after Hank beat up his wife. Cap goes with the physical route, hitting Hank in places not too severe, but to make Hank need to increase his size. After Hank, having been hit numerous times, finally increases his size, Cap has a little fun. First, Cap goes to a higher floor to get a higher jump on Hank, and literally jumps on Hank's face, and pulls his head down, smashing it into a construction site. Hank tries to fight back, but Cap is too fast, dodging every swing by Hank. Cap finishes the job by dropping massive bars on Hank. S.H.I.E.L.D. came right after to clean the mess.

Back at the Triskelion, Bruce Banner, who hates Hank Pym because Pym previously stole Banner's job, is now happy to hear that Cap broke Hank's jaw. Betty, who is now with Bruce more than before, is telling Bruce about the possible upcoming alien invasion. The Chitauri have spent decades infiltrating Earth, and have been subversively planning a gradual "stealth invasion" ranging from sabotaging nuclear programs and (bizarrely) having children implanted with microchips. Banner questions how SHIELD is going to fight back. Betty explains that based on SHIELD's psychics they have examined the dead brain tissues of Chitauris leading to a "big push" that is planned for Micronesia. Importantly Micronesia possesses a hidden base containing a large number of alien soldiers and a wide selection of doomsday weapons, which means Nick Fury plans on invading Micronesia with a large invasion force. Amusingly, Banner explains that since the Chitauri's last invasion attempt in World War Two there were fifty or sixty of the aliens that remained on Earth. He then asks how there are more of them in to the present. Betty smugly reply that they have spent time reproducing.

Cap goes to Wasp's hospital room to see her, but Wasp is furious at Cap for what he did to Hank, even if Hank abused her. Wasp tells Cap to leave. Later, Nick gets his team together, and they head for Micronesia, a place rumored to be the alien's base.

In a flashback to 1944 Poland. As Captain America hangs from a train engine as his enemy Herr Kleiser taunts him for failing in his mission in intercepting a load of parts for the Nazis' super weapon, and allowing many of the Allied hijackers to die. However, Captain points out to him that he and the others didn't came to hijack the train but to "blow it up". Shocked, Herr Kleiser commands his men to shoot Cap but he manage to jump off the train before it explodes, killing everyone and presumably Herr Kleiser on board.

Twelve months later in Marrakesh, Morocco; Steven Rogers is briefed on the Germans of being ahead in their nuclear weapons program (again) and that their development is based from the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, bringing the possibility of a nuclear strike on either London, New York, or Washington D.C. Cap questions if Herr Kleiser, in which rumors has it that he is alive, ever have any connections to the nuclear program in which General Eisenhower states that the alien has everything to do with anything, and also points out that Kleiser survives anything.

In the present, the Ultimates and S.H.I.E.L.D. forces heads to Micronesia via helicarriers. Nick Fury notice something wrong with Cap. Rogers only replies that the mission that they're undergoing is hauntingly similar to his last mission in Iceland. Nick assures him that this time he is "coming back."

Back at the Triskelion, Janet Pym notice that everyone in the sick bay are absent. She then finds several staff workers and questions them that she has been trying to call anyone for a drink but receive no answers. One of the staffers escort Janet back to her room and assure that everything is alright. As Janet turns her head around she notice a staffer dragging a body. Knowing something wrong she shrunk herself and avoiding a gunshot as it kills one of the staffers, who are revealed to be Chitauri agents. Janet quickly flees into the building's ventilation system.

Meanwhile, the helicarrier fleet arrives in Micronesia as the Ultimates and S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers storm the Chitauri facility. However, Thor and Iron Man, who were ahead of the fleet, informs that they have scoured the entire place and find it entirely deserted. Despite this Nick Fury orders an entire sweep for any clues and weapons.

Back at the Triskelion Janet desperately attempt to contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Ultimates that they are in a trap.

In Micronesia Captain America immediately notice something is wrong and calls out Iron Man. In the facility a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. soldiers find a nuclear bomb and it is immediately detonates engulfing the entire island and destroying the helicarrier fleet.

At the Triskelion, a defeated Janet talks to one of the Chitauri who admits that he has manipulated S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Psi-Division into giving false information to the organization in killing their enemies. He then informs Janet that he has blocked all her communications and sealed all the vents, and advise her to "sit tight". In the last panel the 'man' reveals to be Herr Kleiser.

With all the heroes and soldiers dead thanks to the Chitauri, Herr Kleiser goes after the Wasp, who is in a locked room. Kleiser easily captures Wasp, and puts her in a test tube. As Kleiser walks with Wasp to a helicopter, he elaborates about how and what people will think and know about all the deaths and what's to happen. He says that the Ultimates' story was that they died in a plane crash, or possibly a terrorist attack, and the soldiers did sign a contract which risked their lives. Kleiser then tells Wasp that parts all over the entire universe has some alien beings like them, who are just 'cleaning' the universe.

After they fly away, they land in the Arizona Desert, where the main site is for the attack. Another alien introduces Wasp to some 'gamma-butyrolactone', which suppresses humans thoughts. He says that by the end of the decade, not even one person will be able to form one independent thought. Wasp then asks why all the Chitauri have German names. Kleiser tells her that in that past a human named Kleiser was one of the many who surrendered themselves to the aliens. He tells Wasp: "One must consume to become, you know..." He gives Wasp a hint that he will be her soon.

Out of nowhere, partially damaged Chitauri spaceships enter from the atmosphere, startling everyone in Arizona. Many other huge ships, hundreds of times bigger than a jumbo airplane, are flying over Arizona. Kleiser goes to see the 'head' alien. He asks why the Chitauri aren't using cloaking devices. The alien tells Kleiser that it doesn't matter anymore, because the entire Chitauri race is being fought back at from every part of the universe by their enemies forcing themselves to retreat to Earth's solar system (derived as the "backwater" part of the universe), so there is no time to 'harmonize' Earth, only to blow it up and retreat in "the lower fourth-dimension". Wasp yells at Kleiser that he can't destroy the world, and Klieser responds by correctly telling Wasp they are going to destroy the entire solar system. Suddenly, another Chitauri drone inside the Triskelion tells Kleiser that they picked up something from Micronesia. A bolt of lightning comes out of nowhere at the Arizona base, killing some Chitauris. Kleiser goes to get ready (freeing Wasp in the process), as the Ultimates, and hundreds of SHIELD soldiers appear from the smoke. It is revealed that Iron Man's force field helped saved many of the soldiers and Ultimates from the nuclear blast, allowing Thor to transport everyone all the way back to Phoenix with his hammer, Mjolnir. Cap tells Iron Man and Thor to go into the sky, attacking the Chitauri ships. Nick Fury tells everyone to cover Cap, as Cap runs into the enemy forces. Cap sends a message to all of the Army, Marines, Navy and the Air Force, to fight for their lives and country. Cap pushes an alien out of a plane, saying: "Your country needs you."

Thor and Iron Man are causing chaos destroying every alien aircraft they can see. Herr Kleiser tells Captain America from a communicator to start the fight. Cap agrees, and drives a jet into Herr Kleiser, ejecting out of the plane before the jet and Kleiser smash into some oil tanks. A huge explosion erupts, and Cap immediately gets bombarded by Kleiser, and they start fighting. Cap starts to get the upper hand right away, slashing Kleiser with his shield across the head. Kleiser attacks back, hitting Cap several times before Cap can finally get free. Kleiser starts to rant, annoying Cap, forcing Cap to lose focus and just try to hit Kleiser. Kleiser again gets the upper hand, kicking Cap's head into the ground.

Meanwhile, Hawkeye is shooting at Chitauri soldiers from a humvee, when his car is hit by a smashed alien aircraft. Hawkeye yells at Iron Man for the alien wreckage raining on the ground. But Iron Man says it's Thor, who's just swinging his hammer around, destroying everything randomly. Thor tells Iron Man to get low, so Thor can blast a dozen spaceships in one time. All the ships drop to the ground, as Thor continues his attack.

Nick Fury sees Kleiser beating Cap down with debris. Fury calls S.H.I.E.L.D. to activate a invisibility sequence. As Kleiser beats down Cap, Fury shoves his gun next to Kleiser's eye, shooting, and dropping Kleiser. Kleiser again gets up, with a huge hole in his head, which heals, and Kleiser starts to beat down on Fury. Meanwhile, a huge ship is falling straight down over Phoenix, and there is nothing to do. Suddenly, Iron Man comes in the picture, flying under the ship, and bringing the ship away from the city. Unfortunately, Tony Stark has lost all his power, and his confidence. As U.S. army soldiers help Tony out, Tony continues to tell the soldiers that he can't be Iron Man anymore. That he can't do this anymore. A soldier replies: "Well, if you can't, who will? Tony thinks about it, and decides to continue. Using a power grid from a nearby street light, Tony recharges, then flies back into the action. Underneath everything, Wasp and Black Widow are killing Chitauri deep inside the base, and are trying to figure out how to stop the Chitauri's bomb. But when they realize: The instructions are in alien language.

Above ground Kleiser is strangling Fury, and then he pushes Fury away. Kleiser focuses again on Cap, telling Cap he should surrender already, because he can't win. Kleiser wants Cap to tell him to surrender, and this enrages Cap. Cap head-butts Kleiser, then hits Kleiser in the head, while grabbing his shield. Cap gets over Kleiser, screaming: "SURRENDER??!!", and stabs his shield into Kleiser. Cap pulls out the shield from Kleiser's chest and walks away with Fury. Fury contacts a soldier in a helicopter to traumatize Bruce Banner (who is also on the chopper), and the soldier begins to beat down on Banner, hoping to turn Banner into the Hulk, so Hulk could help above the chaos. Banner tells him that he put so much antidote into his system that he could never turn into the Hulk even if he was paid a "million bucks" to do so. Fury tells the soldier to go to "Plan B", and the soldier throws Banner out of the helicopter.

Banner is dropping hundreds of feet from the air, in hopes to turn into the Hulk. Cap orders the soldiers to fall back, as their Weapon of last resort is about to be dispatched. Banner screams, and he smashes into a warehouse, creating a huge explosion. Out comes the Hulk. Cap tells Nick to get out of the area, as Hulk charges in. Kleiser is again alive, and prepares to attack Cap, but Hulk gets to Cap first. Hulk gets ready to kill Cap, remembering that Cap previously kicked Banner in the head. Cap tells Hulk that the "naked guy" (Kleiser) was cheating on Hulk with Betty while Banner was in isolation. Hulk throws Cap away, and attacks Kleiser. Hulk throws Kleiser at a truck, and Kleiser picks it up, throws it into Hulk's face, but only in making Hulk even angrier.

Wasp and Black Widow are wondering what to do about the bomb, when the Black Widow comes up with the idea that Iron Man, the smartest man on Earth, must know what to do. Wasp calls Iron Man, but Iron Man says he can't help, because he and Thor are the only ones helping with the air support. However, the Air-Force arrives along with a fleet of SHIELD Helicarriers, providing the needed air support.

Hulk is punching Kleiser down, beating him senseless. Kleiser gets beaten until his camouflage is gone, and his alien self is shown. Kleiser gets ready to congratulate Hulk, when Hulk tells him to "shut up" and rips his head off. Cap and Fury go into a helicopter, and fly over Hulk, who is eating Kleiser's remains. Cap tells Hulk that the alien spacecrafts told Cap that they think the Hulk is 'sissy'. Hulk goes crazy, and attacks the Chitauri ships.

Iron Man doesn't know what to do either about the bomb, so he gets Thor to send the bomb to another dimension. Thor comes in, and smashes his hammer into the bomb, creating a blast of electricity. Everything is dark and raining, as Thor comes back and explains that he sent the bomb to the dimension homed by his enemy Fafnir the Dragon. A ripple is felt from the bomb's blast.

Meanwhile, Hulk is still destroying everything. Hawkeye is in the air, getting ready to shoot the antidote into the Hulk. While Hulk is running, he destroys an American helicopter. Hawkeye comes in with another helicopter, and gets ready to shoot. He shoots the Hulk, but the Hulk doesn't stop. As the Hulk jumps into Hawkeye's position, Hawkeye closes his eyes in fear of being eaten. Banner lands into Hawkeye, unconscious. With all the Chitauri dead, the heroes and the army celebrate. Banner is again in isolation, having to remember the Hulk eating Kleiser. Now that the Ultimates are world-famous heroes, and everything is back to normal, except that Kleiser might come back if he heals again from Banner's digested food, everyone gets ready for a party at the White House. Hank Pym finally gets the courage to call Janet, but Janet hangs up on him. At the party, Steve and Janet are dancing, and the two finally kiss. Fury watches, stating: "Well, ain't that nice? I thought that guy was never gonna get some." Fury then goes into the Oval office, telling the guards to pour a glass of champagne for themselves, "Ain't every day we save the world."

REVIEW

I wonder how french people feel about Americans letting them know that WWII only got worse after they lost. I mean, I guess such a comment makes sense from this Captain America... but the rest, I assume should have forgotten that.

I also feel some toxic masculinity, but because it is coming from Hulk, I guess is justified. (Captain America tells him people are saying he is a sissy and this angers Hulk, who screams he is straight). On the other hand, it would make sense for Hulk to have this kind of personality.

The one thing I wasn’t really excited about was Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch. They are working in the shadows, so well, you only see them twice (and not during the climax of the series).

This second part of the volume wasn’t as emotional as the first. Perhaps because most characters already know each other. And adding Natasha and Clint doesn’t really change the dynamic that much.

Another thing that I found pretty odd, is that it took two years to finish these issues. I am not sure what happened, my guess is that Mark Millar was busy setting the foundation of Millarworld, but it could have been a delay from Hitch as well.

I give these issues a score of 9

#marvel comics #comics #review #2002 #2003 #2004 #modern age #bryan hitch #avengers #black widow #thor #quicksilver #scarlet witch #iron man #captain america #hawkeye

[thorne93]

Something There (Part 2)

Prompt: You and Loki have long been rivals. The two of you fight side by side in battle, when the unexpected strikes.

Word Count: 2124

Warnings: language, blood, gore, violence

Notes: Written for @girl-next-door-writes Disney Birthday challenge. Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes. Brainstormed with @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo and I literally could not have done it without @arrow-guy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That’s it, men!” you encouraged. “Only two to go! Come on now!” you shouted over the icy winds as Thor swung his mighty hammer, Hogun ran up the beasts back, and four more attacked his legs.

Suddenly though, you heard something. A rumbling of sorts. You frowned, you and Sif turned to the noise, frowns on your faces.

“What is that?” you asked, trying to peer through the mist and fog. You didn’t see anything but you knew something had to be there.

“I... don’t know.”

You lowered your weapon, ready to walk into the fog to see what it was, but something stopped you. A wall of darkness emerged from the mist, revealing skeletal forms headed towards you. Flesh rotted from their bones, as they held swords and shields, marching towards you and your men.

With a shout, you warned your soldiers of the oncoming threat. Forty of them stormed the area and began to fight the skeletons, ten remained on the two beasts. Thor and Volstagg stayed with the beasts as their braun would be needed. Loki and the rest joined you in the battle against the undead.

“Didn’t really plan this out, did you General?” Loki mocked as he stood only five feet from you, using his daggers expertly. He beheaded body after body, smashing skulls together with great ferocity.

“Why don’t you give it a rest, Loki?” you pleaded. “How was I supposed to know these things were here?” you asked before kicking a body back, and slicing through another.

“A little bit of research would’ve told you that the beasts that dwell here are protected,” he remarked with a quick glance to you.

“If you knew so much--” You hurtled over a sword, landing on another body “--why didn’t you tell me?”

“And ruin the look on your face when they showed up? I think not.” He let out a small laugh, a wicked, cruel laugh that he reserved for you. Your downfalls always gave him great pleasure, too much pleasure.

“Loki, I--On your left!” you shouted as he stared at you. He backed away from the oncoming blade, before using his dagger in the rotting stomach of the body and slicing it wide open. “You really ought to be more careful,” you noted.

He rolled his eyes and made his way across the dozens of undead. You went the opposite direction. The numbers on their side was dwindling, quickly, thankfully. Thor and Volstagg had finished off the beast, and were dealing with the last one now.

Fandral had attacked a creature that was coming up behind you, and you had ripped one off of Sif. The battle had gone on now for hours, and your energy was waning.

“Thor! I really need that last beast killed!” you shouted, shoving a body away from you with an agitated gunt.

“Working on it!” he called back, his own voice showing signs of struggling as he climbed the beast.

A few more minutes passed, and finally, the final beast fell to the ground with a hard thud. But the battle wasn’t quite through yet. “Everyone, to the portal!” you commanded. “We leave these things here!”

The soldiers began retreating, fighting off what they could. You were the farthest back in the group, making it so you would have to get through twenty beings before you could even clear the group and try to make it back with your army. Your eyes quickly scanned your environment, checking for anyone you needed to get out of there. Sif was making her way out, Hogun was nearly out, most of the King’s men were out of the fight. Thor was on the other side, trying to fend off the undead from following. Fandral was almost out of the thick of it…

Loki… where is Loki? you wondered as you looked around.

Finally, your sights set on him. He was behind you.

“Loki, didn’t you hear me?” you called, watching him fight off the horde coming towards him. His black hair was going in all directions. “Get out of here!”

“I’m doing just fine, General, thank you,” he remarked.

“Loki, get your ass out of here and get to that portal!” you stated as you marched towards him, fighting off undead bodies as you went.

He spun to face you with fire in his eyes as you stood only a few feet from him. “You aren’t the boss of me, you never were! I’ll leave when I feel like leaving!” he snarled.

“You--”

But you didn’t have time to warn him. You jumped forward and shoved him hard out of the way. He stumbled and fell, but at least he was safe. That was all you could think before the pain hit you though.

White hot pain seared your mind, your vision went white for a split second as the sharp edges of the enemies sword hit your stomach. Your mouth fell open, ready to cry out from the pain, but nothing but blood came out.

In an instant, Loki kicked the being’s feet out from under him, and he dug a dagger deep into its beating heart, killing it. He stood up and ripped the sword from your stomach quickly, catching you before you could fall.

“We need to get you back to Asgard,” he said in a calm voice as he looked at you. All you could do was nod. Your knees felt entirely too weak. He wrapped your arm around his shoulders and began leading you out of there as quickly as he could, stabbing and fending off what he could. In response to all the movement, you winced and cried out, holding your stomach. Thor saw you and asked if you were alright. You nodded and he offered to help carry you. Thor called the portal.

“Alright, let’s get you in first, you’re wounded,” Thor encouraged, trying to take your hand and lead you into the bright light.

You glanced back to the creatures.

“No, get the others out first,” you insisted weakly.

“Y/N,” he said in a chiding voice.

“Thor, I mean it. The others first. A General never lets her men get left behind. I need to make sure you’re all safe,” you stated firmly. “Now go! They’re coming!”

He nodded and ushered everyone through the portal, including himself, leaving you and Loki, who was still holding onto you. The two of you stepped forward, just about to go into the light when suddenly -- it closed. It was gone.

“What the hell?” Loki asked. “Where did it go?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know… Call Heimdall?” you suggested.

“Heimdall! Open the gate!” he called, glancing back to the army that was still advancing.

Nothing happened. Nothing but wind, snow, ice, and mist swirling around you two.

“I don’t understand this,” he said, starting to sound panicked. “We just saw fifty people go through there. What the…”

“Loki, cast an illusion. Please. Make about a dozen of yourself. Buy us time until the portal opens again.”

He nodded, looking down at you. He cast out his hand, but nothing emitted from it. No green light. No illusions. Nothing.

“What in the hell?” he growled, looking at his hand.

“Loki…” you groaned. “Please tell me you know a secret way out of here,” you begged.

He shook his head. “I… I’ve only been here once when I was a child. I.. no. I don’t know of another way out.”

“We’re trapped here?!” you nearly shrieked, the motion causing your stomach to move and bleed some more. “Agh!” you cried out, holding your stomach, the blood rivering through your fingers.

Loki let your arm go. “Rest here in the snow.”

“What? Why?”

“Until we can figure out a way to get out, these creatures need killed, and clearly, you’re not up to the job.” With that, he stood and went after the last thirty monsters on his own. His daggers flew and his fists collided with bodies. He wasn’t always very hand to hand or “barbaric” as he liked to put, but desperate times… You watched on helplessly as he single handedly beheaded and stabbed heart after heart. Finally, the last body dropped.

“So now what do we do?” you asked, getting irritated. “Dead bodies all around us, no way home, and I’m bleeding out…”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shaking his head.

“What a shocking surprise,” you muttered.

“Did I not just slay an entire army to protect you?”

“Oh please, you did that to protect yourself,” you said, starting to get up.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Away from you.”

“Oh for Norns’s sakes. Sit down,” he demanded.

“No! Why should I do as you say? You never listen to me!” you argued, spinning to face him.

“That’s preposterous.”

“Is it? If you had left, when I told you to, I wouldn’t have had to take a sword for you.”

“Well no one asked you to do that!”

“It’s my job! Unlike you, I look out for other people, your highness,” you hissed, marching towards him and pointing a hard finger into his chest. “Maybe one day you’ll learn the value of being selfless!”

“Selfless? Me? How many times have I covered you in battle because you can hardly wield a knife?”

“Never.”

“I’ve covered your poor excuse for swordsmanship more times than I can count.”

You threw up your hands. “This isn’t helping! How do we get out?!”

“If I knew how to do that, I would’ve done it already!” he screamed, his voice growing from low to insanely loud. His voice echoed off the mountains surrounding you two.

You shook your head. “This is insane. I’m going to find shelter until Heimdall opens the portal. Until then, stay away from me.” You turned and began marching away, your fists closed tightly as your jaw clenched. Ugh! What an ass!

“Y/N… Y/N wait, you can’t go!”

“Oh yeah? Watch me?” you challenged just before you collapsed in the snow, a bright red stain in the white powder beneath you.

Loki rolled his eyes and jogged up to your side.

“You’re wounded, you massive idiot. You can’t travel far… And I can tell a storm is coming. It’s best we wait right here…”

“And then what?” you asked, getting up on your elbows.

“Then we hope they open the portal,” he tried.

He helped you rest against the base of a black mountain, leaning up so that you were more comfortable. As comfortable as you could be in snow. It was then that you realized the men had taken all of the prepared packages you ad made, except one. Looking over, you commanded Loki grab the lantern and bag.

He lit the lantern, and you sifted through the bag. You found a salve, mainly used for frost bite, but used it to cover the wound, to at least slow the bleeding.

A few more hours passed, no words were said between you two. Loki looked up ever so slightly to see the sky. It was growing dark, quickly, and the wind was picking up while the temperature dropped. He looked at you and noticed the snowfall had started to cover up the sides of your legs. He instantly knew that you wouldn’t last the night if you had to lay in this.

In a moments notice, he began searching, scanning the area for any sort of hut, shelter, building. Anything with a wall and a roof. Finally, after squinting, he saw a castle, nestled in the mountain off to his right. If he could get you to lean on him, and carry you up there, at least the two of you would be warmer for the night.

“Y/N?” he softly said, nudging you. It seemed as if you’d fallen asleep. Truth be told, you guessed you had.

“Hmm?” you hummed in a sleepy response.

“Y/N, you can’t stay down here. We’ll die in this blizzard tonight. The snow is only getting heavier and you’re already nearly covered.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” you asked.

He pointed. “Up there. A castle. It might be a long trek, but it will get us out of the elements.”

You glanced at him and then the castle, then back again. You wanted to argue, to say you needed to stay down here, but he was right. This storm was only getting worse, and you were nearly frozen.

“Alright, I’ll carry the bag, you carry the lantern,” you stated as you got to your feet, wincing with every slight movement.

Loki bent down and you put your arm around his shoulders. The two of you set off towards the castle, hoping that you could make it there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[shellheadtmarc]

| BASIC INFO

During the First Era (1E), the social landscape of Tamriel was a different place.  Dragons dominated the Nords of Skyrim, spurring the creation of the Tongues who learned to battle them in their own language, the Thu’um.  The Nords were at war with literally everyone, being transplants from the frozen-over continent of Atmora.  Races such as the Dunmer and Imperials didn’t quite exist just yet, in their stead and leading to them the Chimer and Nedes.  And there were more groups of elves, the most mysterious among them the technologically advanced and atheistic Dwemer.

They made their home in Dwemereth - later called Resdayn and then Morrowind - and spread outward from there, as far as Skyrim and Hammerfell.  While most elven races are drawn to magic and given to looking to some higher power - be it the Aedra, Daedra, an avatar (such as the Silvenar), or to the later Tribunal, the Dwemer made use of magic, of course, but spurned the so-called gods, convinced they were nothing but ascended mortal beings themselves, and that anyone, with the right combination of things, could also become a god.

In fact, that was the Dwemer endgame.  To wake, as they said, from the dream of living, to end the dream, and to become part of a giant brass god, with the intention of using the earth bones - literally - to do that.  Chief among attempting this was Kagrenac, the Chief Tonal Architect, who possessed tools with which were intended to manipulate the Heart of Lorkhan.  Whether he succeeded or not is up for debate, but one thing is certain:  Every Dwemer on Nirn, without warning, disappeared.

Some say Azura, angry with them, spirited them away to a secret place in Oblivion, to sit and rot for eternity, never to be a part of Nirn again.  Some say Kagrenac succeeded, and they all joined as one with their brass god, achieving their goal.  There are as many theories as to what happened to them as there are questions, and no one particularly has weight over another.

What is known is that the Dwemer were a race of squabblers who failed to agree on much of anything but the waking from the dreaming.  A decades long war broke out over the rare mineral Aetherium, which possessed incredible magical properties.  Displeased with the First Council between the Dwemer and the Chimer, the Rourken Clan left Resdayn to settle elsewhere.  Legend states that Hammerfell - Volenfell in Dwemeris - was founded when the leader of the Rourken Clan threw his hammer Volendrung, and built the Dwemer city where it landed.

Not everyone was keen on waking from the dream of mortal life, however.  There were those that opposed what Kagrenac was attempting to do, and sought to stop the tools from being used on the Heart.

Tnathas is the son of a former Chief Tonal Architect, and a talented one in his own right, outshining his father in nearly every way, yet entirely too eccentric to be the next in line gunning for Kagenac’s job.  Unlike most Dwemer, who were incredibly secretive and secluded from the rest of Tamriel, he’d had itchy feet and a rebellious streak in his youth (that he never truly outgrew), at first sneaking his way to the surface to the outside world, and then brazenly flaunting it, disappearing for weeks from any Dwemer city, instead spending his time with the Nedes and Nords and Aldmer and Chimer and all the other hodgepodge of peoples that lived on the surface.  While creation was his passion, and he excelled at it, sometimes an elf has to do more than sit in a forge all day.

However, once war broke out between the elves and Nords of Skyrim, he found himself in a bad way, injured in a battle he wasn’t even supposed to be present for and destined to die a slow, agonizing death, until chance brought him to a shard of Aetherium, and skill and innate genius formed that shard into something that kept his heart beating and him steady on his feet.  It’s here he finds his It - that life-changing thing that shifts his focus from self-absorbed creation and hedonism to something more altruistic (and uncharacteristic of a Dwemer) and decides that if no one else is going to call Kagrenac out and stop him from the insanity of the brass god, it’ll have to be him.

So - as the supposition that the Dwemer had learned to open pocket planes of Oblivion is a correct one - he installs himself a lab in one, shuts himself in, and gets to work.

When he exits again, it’s the 4E, the city under the Velothi Mountains on the eastern border of Skyrim has fallen to ruins, and there’s nothing to be heard but the chug of sick, aged machinery and steam hissing from punctured and degraded pipes.  All the Dwemer on Nirn, not long after he has his epiphany, vanish.  And there isn’t a single clue as to how or where.

| APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

Tnathas is of average height for a Dwemeri:  Dwarf is a misnomer, as Dwemer were of average height, comparable to the modern Dunmer, Breton, or Imperial.  Dwemer itself is a Aldmeri word, translating to either “Deep Elf” or “Deep Folk”.  The Dwemer, in truth, referred to themselves as the demeed or as a duuma.  While shorter than Nords, Orcs, and Altmer, he’s by no means small.  They are, for all practical purposes, of the same strain of mer (literally “folk”) as the Chimer/Dunmer, and it’s speculated that they might actually be branches of the same group of elves.  Mention that at your own peril.

Elves, obviously, possess physical differences from the races of men, and Tnathas is no exception.  He’s a physical mishmash of everything you’d expect from any type of elf, from the pointy ears to eyes that echo the Ashlanders with their black sclera (though his irises are golden - something of a common Dwemer eye color).  They are also longer lived than the races of men, though for Tnathas, time has passed incredibly differently, from the time he spent in his pocket plane of Oblivion.  He’s still on the uphill climb to middle aged for a Dwemer, though he’s closer to the crest of that hill than he probably wants to admit.  

Unlike most Dwemer, however, he’s not overly fond of billowy robes and elaborate hairstyles and facial hair.  It’s a habit from all the time he’d spent playing adventurer among the other races of the 1E.  He keeps his hair short, his beard short - sporting only three golden beads hanging from braids - and as his flavor of being a tonal architect favors a more hands-on approach, and he’s never, in any part of his life, been a rare figure in a forge - it serves a practical purpose, as well.

In truth, he looks a lot like a blend of Altmer and Bosmer characteristics, minus the height and the antlers, and it’s incredibly easy to convince yourself he’s either an exceptionally short Altmer, or an exceptionally tall Bosmer - and one that doesn’t follow the Green Pact, at that.  He doesn’t necessarily volunteer the fact that he’s a Dwemer, as a little poking around once coming topside has shown him that doing that is an incredibly bad idea.  

The most notable feature, however, is the inset of some strange, glowing blue disk in a housing of the tell-tale golden Dwemer metal that sits in this chest.  It itself is made of Aetherium, an incredibly rare mineral found sporadically in the deepest reaches of Dwemer ruins - most easily in Blackreach - also known as Fal’Zhardum Din (literally “blackest kingdom reaches”), an underground hub connecting several Dwemer cities.  It’s magical in nature, incredibly hard to work with, incredibly volatile, and it’s part of what’s keeping him alive, thanks to an injury received during the war with the Nords in Skyrim during the 1E.

As a Dwemer, he also possesses a trait called The Calling.  Practically useless now except as a method of interfacing with the animunculi that still toil in the ruins of Dwemer cities, it is something of a psychic hivemind or link all Dwemer can tap in to, something of background white noise in the mind unless one focuses in.  Useful, for a race as secretive as they were, and good for use in a loud forge, but now?  When you’re the only Dwemer left standing, it’s just another reminder that your people are gone, you failed to perhaps stop Kagrenac, and you are, for all practical purposes, the only Dwemer left - possibly in any plane of existence.

| SKILLS

Blacksmith:  As stated before, Tnathas is a gifted blacksmith, preferring to do his own work in the forge rather than leave it to apprentices, and also with using his own two hands to see his designs from drafts to finished products.  This has, since coming topside and to Nirn once more, been an incredibly useful talent to have, as it means he can find work when he needs to that isn’t of the stabby variety.

Mage:  Like most tonal architects, he’s skilled in some forms of magic, such as the schools of destruction and conjuration, as well as the use of musical tones to control machinery.  Mostly used for engineering and assistance with the machinery the Dwemer were famous for, he can use it for combat in a pinch if pressed, though he prefers the bow and light, one-handed weapons.

Aminunculi:  As a Dwemer, he’s probably the one person left walking Nirn that won’t be attacked in a Dwemer ruin - at least by the constructs left behind.  Someone wishing to explore those ruins (though it had better be a good reason, and certainly better than money, if they expect him to take them into the ruins) couldn’t ask for a better person to watch their back, because with Tnathas, it’s probably safer than walking through Whiterun.  He can also repair and reconstruct constructs, as well, and has a modified construction spider that accompanies him nearly everywhere.

| QUIRKS

It should be stated outright that Tnathas is an atypical example of a Dwemer and should be seen as an outlier.  He’s talkative, he’s loud, he’s brazen, he’s arrogant - but not in the ways one expects an elf to be arrogant.  He’s social and has no issue mingling in and out of crowds of different people from all over.  In short, he’s a bit of an oddball when held up against the rest of the Dwemer, who were secretive and closely guarded every secret they had.  Where they were somewhat amoral, he has a moral compass that drives him, and he will, as best as he can judge, try to do the right thing.

He ends up in jail a time or two because of this, and because he can’t keep his nose out of things.

He’s something of a dry-witted jokester and a straight-forward plainspeaker all at once, which is evidence of his mingling Dwemer socialization and being immersed in cultures other than his own for long periods of time.

He tends to refer to places by their old names, before he gets a handle on the new ones, because those are the ones he knows.

Markarth was a bit of a nasty shock the first time he stepped foot inside.  He’s used to it now, but he can remember when it was still a Dwemer city that would have never allowed the hodgepodge of people inside that live there now.

He can navigate through Fal’Zhardum Din blindfolded even in its current state of disrepair.  No he has no idea how that dragon got in there, don’t bother asking.

His ultimate goal when discovering the Dwemer are gone is to find out why and where.  Eventually he’ll get sucked into other causes to champion or oppose, but at the onset, his biggest driving force is to track down every scrap of information from the 1E that he can.

He has no permanent set lodgings, at least not for a while.  Instead he moves from place to place while he hunts down information that’s still extant on what happened before the Dwemer disappeared.

He is available as a companion for a dovahkiin!  Probably not a good one, he’s a smartass, and he’s kind of eh on most factions.  And he’s a loudmouth and shouldn’t, under any circumstances, be taken to Windhelm.  And he can’t be romanced by slapping on an amulet of Mara, you gotta actually work for it.  But he’s a companion nonetheless.

| FACTIONS

The only real faction or group in Skyrim he’ll be interested in becoming a member of himself is the Dawnguard.  Vampires are always a menace, and destructive, and while a cure would be preferable, if it’s vampires or the people of Tamriel, the people of Tamriel win out every time.  He’s not much of a team player, even now, but he can make an exception for Isran and his little group in Fort Dawnguard.

Factions he’s fairly neutral to cool on are the Thieves Guild and the Companions.  He has no real strong opinion the Companions, other than it looks like a whole lot of muscle, not a lot of brains, but you really can’t expect more than that from a fighters guild, really.  The Thieves Guild...Well.  It’s right there in the name.

The College at Winterhold does have a nice library.  He’ll give them that.  He also stans Urag gro-Shub.

And he’s not a fan of the Dark Brotherhood at all.  Or the Morag Tong.

As for the civil war, he has no horse in that race, and won’t get involved unless he has to.

And it goes without saying in general once he knows all about the Aldmeri Dominion, they are free at any point in time to kiss his supposed to be extinct ass.

#temp new dwemer verse tag #long post #// long post for ts #// this one got really long too whoops #// anyway #// a thing

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of Marvel: Week of April 10th, 2019

Best of this Week: Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #5 - Tom Taylor, Yildiray Cinar, Nolan Woodard and Travis Lanham

Spider-Man has always been a hero ruled by his emotions. From becoming a hero after failing to save his Uncle Ben, to giving up his costume out of frustration, to feeling so much sorrow that he gives up his marriage to save someone else's life.

Right now is another one of those pivotal moments as Peter and Aunt May sit across from each other, her having broke the news that she’ll need to go through chemotherapy. Cinar absolutely nails the scene, showing the utter sadness in Peter’s face and the ever present look of hopefulness of Aunt May, knowing that she can beat the cancer.

Peter of course, tells her that he can’t make it to her first chemotherapy appointment and proceeds to run away from his problems, though he says otherwise. In his grief, he runs to clear his head and hears police sirens, alerting him to a chase in progress. He stops the chase and in anger, breaks the assailants wrist before recognizing him as a homeless kid that hangs nearby. The kid tells him that the only reason he stole the car was to get away from his mother’s abusive boyfriend.

So Peter, relating to kid’s need to get away, starts the car and proceeds to help him evade the cops. Tom Taylor really sells the idea that Spider-Man helps out those in his neighborhood. He didn’t have to help this kid and there are always bigger threats to handle, but he cares about his city. Spider-Man can swing across the city and even lift cars, but in a cool - COOL move, uses his webs to fling the car into the sky, making the cops think it disappeared. He doesn’t want to see this kid get hurt and knowing that he broke his wrist only makes him feel worse and he seeks the help of Doctor Strange.

Strange makes the homeless kid a cast and has a little talk with Spider-Man, noting his unusual recklessness. Peter unloads what he has on his mind and thinks about asking Strange to help her, but the good Doctor jokes about making deals with demons and says that sometimes things just have to run their natural course. The conversation does feel a little bit limp, especially after the emotional roller coasters that we’ve had to go through in Hunted, but also appropriate for the feel of the book especially as Peter shows up to support Aunt May with coffee and trash magazines.

These final pages hit me with how much Peter loves and supports his Aunt for all of the love and support she's given him. He knows it would have broken her heart just a little if he had missed it and her smile upon seeing him almost made me cry.

There’s something even further I want to dive into in regards to Aunt May and either direction this story can go. Do we need more of her? She’s been around for almost 60 years acting as Peter’s moral guide, support system and one of Marvel’s most powerful characters since her creation. She’s had many amazing storylines about her, around her and there are definitely many more that can be told. At the same time, because of One More Day, I’ve questioned why she’s lived this long.

One More Day is one of the more ludicrous, craptastic ways to prolong Peter’s “youthfulness” by having him give up his marriage to Mary Jane in a deal with Mephisto to save a dying Aunt May. Being married made the Peter seem more adult, more able to take care of himself, gave him a confidence that could have been better expanded on, but noooooooo. He had to get in his feelings and make a literal deal with the Devil to save a character that had already served her purpose in raising that boy.

I also think back to the emotional, powerful last moments of Spider-Man PS4, when Aunt May sacrificed herself so that New York could have the cure to Mr. Negative’s plague. Not only did it give Peter another bar to reach, it gave closure to an absolutely wonderful character. It allows for new stories to be told about Peter or new people being able to take her place as Peter’s guide with new, different perspectives.

I do think it’s time to let Aunt May rest and be with Uncle Ben. Maybe let Peter have a little bit of closure with one less person to worry about as she goes peacefully. She’s lost her husband, her charity foundation and now she’s losing her health and it’s time to stop hurting Aunt May. High recommend.

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

Parting is such sweet sorrow.

Runner Up: Dead Man Logan #6 - Ed Brisson, Mike Henderson, Nolan Woodard and Cory Petit

Since 2015, a year after Logan 616’s death, we've had a multitude of Wolverines. X-23 took up the mantle for a few years, Jimmy Hudson made his way from the Ultimate Universe in X-Men Blue, heck, even Sabretooth filled in the role of Wolverine as the badass good guy who occasionally killed people for a while, but none have been as great as the Old Man Logan from Battleworld.

During Secret Wars, Old Man Logan was reintroduced as part of the Wasteland on Battleworld and fought his way out, eventually landing in the repaired 616 Universe. His initial arc focused on him trying to stop his future from happening, but between an Amadeus Cho Hulk and his own apparent death, he realized that things were different and he adjusted accordingly.

After many adventures involving saving his resurrected wife, Mariko, to joining a new Weapon X team alongside Sabretooth to defeating a POWERFUL Maestro twice, Old Man Logan has more than justified his existence in the world. However, with his failing healing factor and his longing to return to his world, Logan's been searching for a way back home and thanks to Maestro and some fixing from Forge, there's a time machine waiting for him.

This issue was just a bunch of goodbyes. He apologizes and says goodbye to one of the best men he knows in Steve Rogers, saying that he was blinded by his past with Mysterio when he attacked the Avengers a few issues ago, thinking they were villains. Steve forgives him and wishes him well. He says a final goodbye to Mariko, asking her to take care of the young kid that would be his wife some fifty years later.

The best one… THE BEST GOODBYE, is the one he makes to himself. I'd wondered when or if it would actually happen, but Old Man Logan finally meets his younger, also resurrected self and they have a beer. In a heartfelt scene, Old Man Logan wonders if he should tell his younger self anything about the future. Logan surmises that it does, in fact, go terribly and Old Man Logan just tells him, “Never stop fighting. Because the moment you put those claws away for good, that's when you lose everything that matters.” a bar fight breaks out and the two decide to have a little fun, resulting in a BEAUTIFUL shot by Mike Henderson of both Wolverines with their claws popped.

The final goodbye is to the X-Men, of course. Jubilee, Glob and Forge and I think a few others and at this point I almost want to stop reading.

It's been a roller coaster of a ride with this character and there have been a thousand teases of him returning, but now it's real. Back to the hell of the Wasteland after what I can assume in Marvel Time has only been weeks or months for him. A world where Thor's hammer serves as a grim reminder that there's no hope as people futilely try to lift it, a world where people like Doctor Doom still live and force people to fight monsters in gladiator arenas, a world where, according to Old Man Quill, has a religion of nihilists ready to annihilate planets on a whim.

Welcome back to The Wasteland, Logan. Welcome back to hell.

#comics #marvel #marvel comics #spider man #peter parker #aunt may #may parker #tom taylor #yildiray cinar #old man logan #logan #wolverine #ed brisson #mike henderson #nolan woodard

[new-blog-new-things-blog]

Are you kidding me?! Part 6

Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1900 Warnings: Swearing? Slow burn af

The next test was quite similar to the previous one, although it seems I had started some form of friendly competition between Nat and Bucky. Well I think it was friendly anyway, it mostly consisted of Nat throwing insults and taunts at Bucky trying to get a reaction from him that she didn’t get apart from a cocky, lopsided smile which got her more agitated.

This test varied in time as it was about seeing how long they could covering their tracks when hacking stuff or something like that, Thor was out almost instantly but didn’t seem to care. He seemed like not a lot bothered him, he kind of reminds me of a puppy who just gets happy at the most random things. Steve got ‘found’ next to his dismay, followed by Sam then Clint.

Tony looked bored as he tapped away at the computer, Bruce had a concentration face but didn’t look too complexed at his screen. Everyone knew they could do this for as long as they needed so it came down again to Nat and Bucky.

Natasha didn’t look away from her screen, brows knitted together, anyone could tell she is starting to find it difficult but really wants to beat Bucky. I watched her for a moment and smiled, a woman that could probably kill anyone she wanted within a matter of seconds stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth when she was focused on a computer.

Glancing over at Bucky I found him already looking at me, he looked like he was playing with Natasha, like he was having any trouble with task at all. He peered down at his computer again, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I seriously need to get a grip.

Sam came up behind me putting his hands on my hips, he whispered in my ear a moment later.

“You seem to have started something Lady”

I huffed a laugh, leaning back against him.

“You think I don’t know that, all this over who I put my faith in, a silly bet.”

Out of the corner of my eye I recognise Bucky watching the interaction with me and Sam.

“I would do a lot more than computer tests for you to put your faith in me.”

Sam continued squeezing my hips, looking at the floor I couldn’t help the blush that spread across my cheeks.

“Charmer.”

I retorted with a smile, Sam opened his mouth to reply but got cut of by Bucky standing up, letting loose a string of obscenities. I guess that meant he lost, Natasha got to her feet quickly, hands raised in the air in victory. It almost sounded like he growled at her but then his eyes snapped to myself and Sam, eyes narrowing at us. I stepped out of Sam’s grip, taking a step forward towards Bucky but he was stalking towards the door.

“Looks like I was wrong, it was misplaced shifter.”

The words out of Bucky’s mouth were flat, his shoulder hit mine as he passed me making me take a step back. He didn’t even look back as he strode through the door, confused was an understatement. Gone was the shy man thanking me for breakfast, it was pure agitation on his face just then.

Steve quickly appeared beside me, another apologetic look on his face. I wonder how many messes Steve had to make right for that man.

“Sorry about that Y/N Bucky is a pretty sore loser, he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

I nodded as Tony and Bruce called a truce on the programming. Apparently that was it for today, the weapons training and hand to hand combat would come tomorrow. Tony asked J.A.R.V.I.S to order food for everyone from the Chinese down the road. Everyone was at dinner with the exception of The Winter Soldier, who had done a disappearing act.

After dinner I took a stroll to the library to find a good book to read, deciding to spend the rest of the evening in my room. Turning the corner I walk into Bucky, I mean literally walk right into his broad chest. It was like walking into a brick wall, I lost my footing, falling to the floor landing right on my butt.

Great, awesome, just what I needed.

Bucky froze, as if he was assessing the situation so I decided to speak up from the floor.

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

I started to get up off the ground when a hand appeared in front of my face, grabbing it Bucky helped me to my feet.

“You should watch where you are going.”

His tone was still pretty flat, maybe Cap was wrong, maybe it was personal. But what could I have done so suddenly for him to be like this?

“Yeah um yeah I’m sorry dude, just heading to the library but you didn’t ask that and yeah so I’m gunna go now. Sorry again.”

Jesus, why does this man make me feel so goddamn nervous? I rush around him, heading straight to the library without looking back. It takes me a few minutes to chill out when I first get there, but I find a book pretty snappish and head back to my room for the rest of the evening.

Everyone met in the range just after noon the next day, time to learn about weapons I guess. Looking around at the varied weaponry around the room my eyes were instantly drawn to the crossbow, stalking over to it I run my hands over the metal.

“I want this one!”

I announced to anyone who was near enough to listen, not surprisingly Clint was the one who answered me.

“A woman with good taste, stick with me and I’ll sort you out.”

He walked over grabbing the bow and quiver next to the crossbow, without warning he drew an arrow and fired without looking. When the thud sounded a second later I whipped my head round to see that it had perfectly imbedded in the centre of the target at the far end of the room. I hadn’t even realised I had taken my bottom lip between my teeth.

Why are all these men so hot?

I can’t deal with them all.

A sudden gunshot rang out startling everyone, all eyes were on Bucky who slowly lowered his gun which was pointing at the same target Clint had hit, his eyes on Clint and me. I gaped when I took in the arrow that was now split in half.

Holy shit he just shot the fucking arrow in half!

“Don’t be a show off Buck, come on everyone let’s get to work.”

Steve spoke before anyone else could get involved, making his way over to a weapons rack. Bruce didn’t attend the gun and hand to hand combat training so he wasn’t here right now, Thor also wasn’t around either because apparently his hammer was too powerful to be used indoors. Slowly everybody made their way to a booth with their weapon of choice, starting to go through their own drills and what not. I slowly walked down the line watching each other them, noting all the different styles of guns each of them had picked.

Nat told me as I passed that the guns she was handling were Glock 26’s, which to her were the best weapons because they were well balanced. She offered one for me to hold, it was lighter than it looked. I handed it back to her with a smile, taking a step towards Sam who informed you that Nat was talking bullshit and the MAC-10's were the best guns to use. He started to show off, not looking at the target but at you when firing. He hit the centre ring of the target but not the tiny black dot in the middle, patting his shoulder you moved to Tony who didn’t have a gun in his hand but had the hands of his suit on firing his thrusters. Figures, I guess he wouldn’t need a gun if he has his suit.

Steve wasn’t overly fond of guns, or so he told me but it was still useful to know how to shoot. Apparently Glock is the make for super heroes as he was using a Glock 17, just one though unlike the others who prefer duel wield. For someone who doesn’t like to use guns he seems very at ease with one, a natural really, was there anything he wasn’t good at?

Next stop was the one that I really wanted to watch, Clint and his bow! It was just breath-taking to watch, since I could remember I have always loved bows, I have even done some archery before and was pretty good before money got tight meaning I had to stop. I don’t know why I never started it up again, starting to regret that now. Missing the feeling of having a bow in my hands I got brave and asked the question.

“Can I have a go please?”

Clint looked round at my question, brows raised in question.

“Have you ever used a bow before?”

“Yeah I did archery for about 3 years when I was younger but had to stop, please I won’t hurt your pretty bow?”

I did my best pouty face hoping he would have pity on me and let me shoot, he smiled and stepped out of the booth handing me his bow and I yelped in excitement. Damn this was a beautiful bow, taking a moment to get the feel of the weight I notched an arrow in place. Pulling back the string a couple of times to readjust myself to the feel of it. My sight went to the target in front of me. I let out a breath, pulled the sting back, aimed and released. The arrow struck the middle circle but not dead centre, reminding me of Sam’s shot. Damn I will have to do better than that! Grabbing another arrow I let it fly quickly, then another, then another.

The 6th arrow hit home, dead centre, middle dot. I couldn’t contain the grin, twisting to Clint to see him watching me curiously.

“God I love bows! Can I get me one of these please?”

Clint took the bow back from my outstretched hands, putting an arm around my shoulders.

“I’ll find one for you, you and me will practice some more at some point okay?”

“Oh my days yes! I would absolutely love that!”

He retook his place from me in the booth as I move hesitantly to the final booth. Bucky doesn’t even look around from his target, he had some sort of machine gun looking thing.

“Hey Bucky.”

He stopped firing at my words, looking round at me before turning back a moment later to continue to fire. Sighing I just stood back and observed him open fire on the target. His precision was unparalleled, there were only a few holes in the sheet of paper where his bullets were hitting the exact same spot.

“What kind of gun is that?”

I decided to try and talk with him again, against my better judgement I move slightly closer to him. Abruptly he puts the gun down, muttering as he walks passed me.

“It’s a M249 Paratrooper SAW.”

Then he was gone.

Part 5                                                                            Part 7

Tags: @projectxhappiness

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #James bucannan barnes #bucky x y/n #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #sam wilson #sam wilson x #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x you #tony stark #Iron Man #bruce banner #The Hulk #thor #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #black widow #The Avengers #civil war #Avengers #avengers x #avengers x reader

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24Leaders #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental justice #environment protection #environmental health #Youtube

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

Error Notification 1/?

I started writing this awhile ago in response to a prompt. I’ve lost the prompt, but I know @sineala and I were fiddling with it about the same time. Do you remember where the original prompt ran off to? 

This prompt by @hellogarbagetime

Mind the cut. :D

Static flickered around him, breaking the world up into nauseating flashes of sensation in between bursts of static. Falling, twisting, over-and-over: sky [#C1CDCD]; city [#D3D3D3]; sunlight [#FFD700]/[#FAFAD2].

He hit the ground with so much force that he couldn’t even feel it as an impact, just pressure like being squeezed by a giant fist. Everything went black [#000000], all sensation ceased. Just his luck that death was floating in nothingness with no sensation for eternity. Lovely.

Rebooting…

Tony watched the reboot sequence flicker orange over the blackness and heaved a sob of relief. His sobbing made no noise, and he had no sense of drawing in breath, or the beating of his heart. He would have thought that he’d gone through every possible scenario of what it means not to have a heartbeat, but surprise. There had been at least one left.

Loading memory…

Tony sucked in a breath, and the world flickered back in. For several seconds he just saw code, and then infrared, and finally the colors condensed down into understandable shapes. There were people leaning over him – two, three, five. Three men, two women. Blond, blond, blond, red, brunette. Text floated around them; hair, eye color, projected weight and height, weapons (lots of weapons). Flashing at the bottom of his vision was a single line of text in bold orange print: MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

“Woah,” Tony said, and was surprised when it came out as actual sounds. “For a wet dream, you lovely people are wearing way too many clothes.” He tried a smile, and thought that it translated okay.

“Jesus, Tony,” one of the blonds said, bracing his hands on his (massive, like wow) thighs. “You scared me. Again.”

“Huh,” Tony said. He reached up, feeling for the release for the faceplate, except he wasn’t wearing a helmet. He picked up his head and looked at all the beautiful people kneeling over him with worried expressions, and found the helmet in the brunette’s lap. She had her hands wrapped around it, slender fingers incased in black gloves that matched the rest of her black and yellow leather suit.

MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

“Huh,” he repeated and tapped at the side of his head with two fingers. “Ow,” he complained when he managed to hit himself harder than he’d meant to.

“Tony?” the same blond asked. He had weirdly (beautifully) symmetrical features, very blue eyes, and expressive eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

Tony thought about it for a second and the scrolling text let him know that he was not okay, but he was working on it. Repairs were running for three bone breaks, several internal bleeds had already been staunched, but were still leaking very slowly into his abdomen, and he’d suffered a severe concussion – hence the reboot.

“Um. Yes?” Tony tried. “Mostly. Will be soon as long as I don’t move. You know this is going to sound weird, but I don’t actually remember you guys?”

Silence fell heavily around him and stretched from a few seconds to an uncomfortable minute while everyone exchanged increasingly worried glances. The redhead leaned over him and shined a light in his eye. He knocked her hand away sharply, and then apologized.

“Concussion,” he explained. “Damage is being repaired. I know that I’m supposed to know you, but I don’t actually remember who any of you are. So.”

“How do you know that you’re supposed to know us if you don’t remember us?” One of the other blonds asked (short hair, messy, potentially intentionally, but just as likely bedhead. Dark blue eyes, kind of a cute button nose, pockmarking well concealed along his jawline giving him a rogueish appearance).

“Well,” Tony said slowly, “I have a line of text at the bottom of my vision that says ‘memory file corrupted,’ so I assume that means that there is a memory file in the first place and I just can’t access it. Do… do all of you have floating text in your vision?”

A round of headshakes went around the circle, and symmetrical-man said, “That’s Extremis, Tony.”

“Right,” Tony said. At the word, a memory file launched and he remembered Extremis and the way it ran his brain and nervous system. “Can you say your name and maybe it will trigger the file?” he requested, locking eyes with symmetrical-man.

“Steve,” he said readily, but the crease between his brows got deeper.

MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

“Nope,” Tony said. “Sorry, Steve. Can someone help me up, please? The spinal column cracks have been sealed, I should be stable to move.”

Looks went around the circle again, growing somehow even more confused and worried. They might not have had Extremis, but they must have been telepathic, because they seemed to be communicating silently. He groaned and tapped two fingers on the big blonde’s knee (long hair, electric blue eyes, strong jaw raised to the power of ten, cape (really?) and great big hammer).

“You look like the big strong type. Can you get me on my feet?” He really wasn’t enjoying the idea of being on his back, being helpless, the strange weight on his chest. [Memory file: Afghanistan] kept flashing across his eyes. He tried to lever himself up despite the sharp pain in his low back, reaching out blindly for something to grab onto. None of the people surrounding him reached out to help, and he had a brief moment of uncertainty – just because he had a memory file somewhere about these people didn’t mean they were friends. He remembered falling before the blackout and reboot – how had he fallen?

Steve put a hand on his shoulder and gently pressed him down. “Just relax, Iron Man. You took one heck of a fall and you were out for almost an hour. We didn’t want to move you in case…” He made a vague gesture down the length of Tony’s body. “Did you say cracks in the spinal column?”

“I said the cracks have been sealed,” Tony stressed. “I’d really like to be not on my back anymore.” He looked around the unfamiliar faces again and MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED kept flashing across his eyes like a strobe. He waved irritably, trying to push the words away. There was a way to disable error notifications, he knew, but he was having trouble access the directory. He felt trapped in his suit, in his own skin, and the error message was making him nauseous.

“Okay,” the rogueish blonde said, “That’s enough of that.” He pushed Steve out of the way and grabbed Tony’s wrist. He pulled Tony’s arm behind his neck and worked the other arm under Tony’s shoulders. He counted to three and pulled Tony slowly upright while the brunette with his helmet held her breath and made tiny distressed noises, and Steve hovered with his brows deeply furrowed and lips pinched together.

Tony didn’t make it completely upright before his back gave a sharp spasm and he sucked in a startled hiss of a breath. His helper freed himself from Tony’s arm and then slid around behind him. He let Tony come to rest against his chest, which couldn’t have been comfortable with the armor, but he didn’t complain.

“Better?” he asked.

Tony nodded weakly and checked the status of his spinal cord. The cracks had been sealed but they were still too weak to take any weight. He let his head rest on the strong shoulder behind him and closed his eyes in hopes of blocking out the incessant MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED message flickering over his sight whenever one of his audience’s faces came into view.

“Nice traps, my friend,” Tony breathed out as the pain in his back faded to a deep warmth that he understood was Extremis repairing the damage he’d done by sitting up.

“My name is Clint,” his helper offered, and then added with a smile that Tony could clearly hear, “And I do have nice traps.”

Tony didn’t open his eyes, but he had a general sense of everyone’s position and felt it when Steve got up and walked away. Without making a conscious effort, he found his hearing tuning out the close noises and trying to follow Steve’s progress. He was worried about how he’d ended up on the ground and who these people were. They seemed genuinely concerned for his wellbeing, but they would be if they’d tried to kidnap him and accidentally almost killed him in the process. Steve only moved a few feet away and paced for a few seconds before he started talking.

“Iron Man is seriously injured. We’re going to need crowd control now that Graviton is out of the area.”

When Steve was quiet for several seconds without any response, Tony realized that he must have been on the phone. He reached out with mental fingers and snagged onto the cellphone. He felt the connection as a buzz on the back of his neck.

-Status? The other voice asked. Immediately, memory file: Hill, Maria rose to the surface and he let out a relieved sigh. Not all of his memory files had been corrupted, but that left him uncertain of exactly how much of his memory had been corrupted and how he was supposed to repair the damage.

“He seems stable, physically – at least he says he is. Spinal injury, and a concussion that Extremis is dealing with, but he’s experiencing some kind of memory loss,” Steve answered.

Bring him to SHIELD medical and we’ll see what we can do, Hill suggested.

Alarm bells (literally) went off between Tony’s ears and he almost managed to muster up enough adrenalin to get him out of Clint’s supporting (restraining?) arms, before Steve firmly answered, “Not going to happen. There’s no way he’d ever be comfortable with SHIELD playing around in his head. We’ll take him back to Avengers’ HQ and assess from there. Anything else?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, but Hill finally said, No. SHIELD agents will be on site in ten minutes for crowd control. Let us know if you require further assistance.

The line disconnected after a terse thank you, ma’am from Steve, and Tony let his connection to the phone go. More aware of his body again, he felt Clint shifting slightly behind him, and the minutest sense of weight on his armored thigh where the brunette bumblebee girl had put her hand.

“I just need 312 more seconds to repair damage and I can get up. Promise this time,” Tony said. He still felt nauseous and his salivary glands were working overtime. There was some minor inner-ear damage that was low on Extremis’ priority list under propping up his spine and sealing up the internal bleeds.

“I’m going to start counting,” Clint warned him playfully. He moved his arms down so they were wrapped around Tony’s midsection rather than his chest.

Steve returned a moment later to crouch at Tony’s side. “That was SHIELD,” he said, addressing the group. “We’ve got crowd control incoming, but it’ll be another ten minutes. In the meantime, we’ve got some civilians getting pretty bold with their cellphones, and they’ll probably be taking selfies with us before SHIELD can get a perimeter set up. Thor, Wasp, Widow – I’m going to need you on civilian-sitting duty until we can get Iron Man out of here.”

The three of them nodded and Tony guessed that Big Blonde with the cape was Thor, and Bumblebee girl must have been Wasp, which left the redhead as Widow. He filed away the aliases in a new memory file and judiciously tested his back again. He was going to be sore as hell in the morning, but as long as no one smacked him with a steel pipe (or a firm pillow) for the next few hours, he should be okay to move.

“Okay, should be good now,” Tony said, patting Clint awkwardly on one knee.

“You sure?” Clint asked skeptically, “We’re only at 300 by my count.”

Tony blew out an exasperated breath and rolled his eyes. He counted aloud down from 10, and Clint had him on his feet by 1. Steve stepped into his side to ease a shoulder under Tony’s left arm, and Clint slid around to the right while Tony cautiously tested his weight on his legs. His left ilium had gotten a nice spider web of cracks as a souvenir from the fall, but they’d been small and were already 85% healed. All the same, he left his arms over the other men’s shoulders as they moved slowly out of the street to the sidewalk.

Tony had a scary moment when he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to lift his foot high enough to get over the curb, but the actuators in the suit kicked in to lift his legs for him. He slumped gratefully against the suit and let it carry his weigh instead of trying to move it under his own muscle power. As they approached the corner, a gunmetal gray van rocketed around the corner and screeched to a halt.

Another spike of panic shot through his chest, but he saw the stylized “A” stenciled on the door before he could direct the armor to escape. [Memory file: Avengers] presented readily, but half of it was missing – chiefly the roster, charter, and of all the strange things, the file marked ‘chore calendar’ was corrupted and wouldn’t launch.

“How is this my life?” Tony asked no-one in particular, but Clint laughed anyway.

The driver’s door opened and a man threw himself out, leaving the door open behind him as he rushed to them. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed and his eyes darted over Tony in quick, precise sweeps, assessing.

“Rhodey,” Tony breathed in relief.

Rhodey nudged Steve out of the way and slid under Tony’s arm. Steve hovered for a second before breaking away and jogging to the van to get the sliding door open and the ramp folded out. Tony frowned at the side of Rhodey’s face, noticing gray hairs and lines on his face that weren’t matching what Tony was expecting.

“You’ve gotten old,” he blurted out, realizing the problem. The memory file was incomplete, and what Tony was remembering was a cocky twenty-one year-old James Rhodes in his thick MIT hoodie, and his tightly maintained fade, with his bright eyes and his textbooks cradled in his arm. This James Rhodes with the lines inscribed deeply between his brows and in the corner of his eyes, and the speckling of gray hairs at his temple was a virtual stranger.

“You and me both, buddy,” Rhodey said, the frown lines deepening around his lips. He adjusted his grip on the armor over Tony’s ribs and tucked in closer to Tony’s side, even though the armor was doing most of the work of supporting Tony’s weight. “Exactly how much are you fibbing about your injuries?” he asked, but he kept his voice low.

“Not that much,” Tony defended as damage reports scrolled off to the side of his vision – with the life threatening injuries downgraded to merely ‘severe,’ he was left with a list of pulled muscles, sprains, contusions, and warning levels on resources. He needed water and calories in a hurry, and then he could see to solving the laundry list of minor deficiencies.

Rhodey pulled him away from Clint’s side to help him onto the ramp just as a pack of civilian bystanders and reporters made it around the corner, and broke into a collective run for the van. Startled, Tony’s vision momentarily shifted into binary, and then flickered back into full color. The electronic controls for the ramp lift practically sang to him, and he reached out to automatically to get the lift moving while Rhodey and Clint tried to head off the crowd.

The door closed automatically once Tony had been pulled into the dark interior, and it was a matter of a breath to access the van’s computer and turn the engine back on. He could have driven the vehicle from the back seat, and for a few seconds he seriously considered doing exactly that. Maybe if it hadn’t been for Rhodey, he would have. The driver’s door opened and Rhodey climbed in, quickly slamming the door shut before a reporter could get his camera into the van.

“Can’t go anywhere without making a scene, can you, Tones?”

“Scenes are my scene,” Tony answered distractedly. All of the cameras and cellphones crowding around the van were clamoring for his attention. He knew that he could fry all of them with a spare thought if he applied the attention to it, but his head was starting to fill up with cotton and he was having trouble just keeping his eyes open.

“Stay awake, Tony. You have a concussion.”

“I don’t think that applies to me,” Tony mumbled. “I need to shut down.”

“Tony, you don’t shut down, you’re a person,” Rhodey stressed, but he sounded alarmed. He twisted around in the seat just as the passenger-side door opened, letting in a flood of clamoring voices and the flash of several cameras that exploded across Tony’s eyes like miniature freight trains. He reached out with quick snapsnapsnaps to fry the cameras responsible and immediately regretted it. Fireworks went off somewhere in the back of his head, and he activated the emergency shutdown procedure.

~*~

Rebooting…

Rebooting wasn’t exactly like waking up. It wasn’t stepping out of a lesser form of a consciousness, taking stock of where the pillow was or how the blanket was falling on the bed, sometimes noticing scents first, or temperature, or the way the light hit the window, or the complaints of the joints, or that one cold spot on the shoulder. Rebooting was an exact step-by-step cascade of processes that engaged functions in a specific order. An error report scrolled up behind his closed eyelids, and every third line or so read MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

Error report compiled, Tony’s consciousness expanded to include his surroundings – two cellphones, a StarkTablet that was powered on, and one that was in sleep mode, and –

Good morning, Sir, Jarvis greeted.

Morning. Tony yawned and opened his eyes. He was in his bedroom, the suit was down in the workshop, his connection to Jarvis was just as strong as ever, and someone was sitting at his bedside reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on the tablet.

Tony turned his head and found the blond with the symmetrical face [memory file: Steve] sitting in a chair with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. He had the StarkPad propped up on his knee, one thumb periodically tapping the right corner to advance the page. According to his text size and the frequency of his taps, he was reading at just over a thousand words a minute. At 257,045 words, this Steve guy could get through the book from cover to cover in a little over four hours.

“Quick reader,” he said.

Steve glanced up at him, the pad tipping forward to rest on his thigh. His eyes were sharp where they flitted over Tony’s body, but he wasn’t even taken off guard by Tony speaking. “Good morning, Tony. How are you feeling?”

“Memory files are still full of holes like Swiss cheese,” Tony reported, “And I need some carbs, water, and vitamin A, but otherwise fine. Injuries are clear.” He almost asked how long he’d been out, but Extremis helpfully informed him that he’d been shut down for 12:47:16. “Also I need to piss.”

He pushed his blankets back and swung his feet around to the floor. Steve hurried to his feet, his arms hovering up at chest level like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Tony irritably waved his hands away and stood up. There was a sharp stab of pain low in his back, but it faded to a sullen ache once he was upright.

“My memory has holes in it, I’m not an invalid,” Tony grumbled on his way to the bathroom with Steve standing awkwardly at the bedside.

Steve was striking him as a hover-y sort of guy, and Tony was not appreciating it much. He shut the door firmly behind him, made use of the toilet, and stepped into the shower. A ping of a notification showed up on the bottom left-hand corner of his vision and he swiped it open to see that his bedroom door had opened and then closed. Steve must have left. Good.

Idly flipping on his music – Green Day, why not? – he sorted through his emails and text messages while he scrubbed shampoo into hair. The further he went through day-to-day minutia, the more annoyed he got with the incessant MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED popping up in response to the contents of his daily life every few minutes. The majority of his memory loss seemed to fall in the last ten years, but it wasn’t consistent. He had no memory at all of the latest camera upgrades sent to him for approval from R&D – which the email assured him were corrections based on his recent comments – but he clearly remembered having a frittata for breakfast the previous morning.

He flipped his right hand over, brought up the controls for the shower, and swiped the temperature down sharply. Cold water smacked him across the chest and made his skin lift in gooseflesh across his entire body. He sucked in a startled breath and turned quickly under the water, letting the tiny shocks of chill dance over his skin, and then clapped his hands together. The water turned off, leaving Tony very awake. He shook hard, flicking chilly droplets against the foggy glass.

Jarvis, can you bring me up to speed on this camera from R&D?

Without asking why, Jarvis brought up the schematics and walked him through the evolution of the newest camera upgrade for the next StarkPhone while he got dressed.

Wow, these guys are idiots, he said, laughing out loud.

You said much the same when the initial schematics were proposed the first time, Jarvis replied. Shall I approve the latest version for a prototype build?

Tony paused with his shirt hanging open, and blinked twice to bring up the latest schematics. He went through a quick mental exercise of building it out into a 3D hologram projected into the middle of his field of vision. There’s going to be a latency issue, he said.

Most likely, Jarvis agreed.

Then why would we let them build this out to a prototype? Tony asked with his eyebrows drawn together. He buttoned his shirt mechanically while the hologram rotated in his vision.

To quote your last response to this conversation, sir, “how else are those idiots going to learn?”

That doesn’t sound like me, Tony protested, tucking his shirttails into his pants and threading his belt through the loops. The buckle was deep gold with red enamel on the inside and outside edges, the leather supple and glossy with precisely outlined grooves every twenty centimeters to give the illusion of armor plates. The marketing on me is phenomenal, he decided.

Indeed it is, sir, Jarvis agreed. In regards to your previous comment, I can assure that it is an accurate quote. If you wish, I can replay the conversation for your benefit.

Tony hesitated, but finally shook his head. Send it back and tell them to fix the latency issue.

The product will likely be late to production, Jarvis warned. Ms. Potts will not be pleased.

Pepper? She’s scary, I’ll grant you that, but I don’t think my PA’s opinion of production deadlines is –

[MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED]

– relevant, Tony finished lamely. He dropped his tie around his neck, took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why is Pepper’s opinion of my production deadlines relevant?

An incomplete file loaded and Tony made another frustrated sound. He perked up. Have I stored memory backups with you?

No, sir. You specifically forbid any copies from ever being made of your memory in case the system were ever to be hacked.

Tony rolled his eyes, and picked the ends of his tie up and let his fingers run down the silky surface. Of course I did. Tell me then. Pepper?

You promoted her to CEO, though you retain controlling interest of the company.

Tony thought about it for a second, and humph’ed. He pulled the short end of the tie across the long end. That also sounds unlike me, but in a really… unexpectedly good way. Way to go, Past Me.

Turning his attention to his tie, and barely held in the shout of frustration when [MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED] popped up across his vision. He let the ends of the tie go, and concentrated on just counting his breaths for 120 seconds.

Load me a YouTube video on how to tie a tie, he requested wearily.

~*~

“That’s an interesting tie,” Wasp greeted with a bright smile. She bounced across the dining room and scooped the end of it up with two fingers.

Tony took a hasty step back from her, the tie sliding out from between her fingers, [Memory file: Obadiah Stane] flickering over his consciousness. Her expression shifted immediately, eyebrows curling upward and lips tugging downward. She clasped her hands in front of her chest and took a step backwards.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and then forced a giant smile. “I forgot that you don’t… remember me.”

[Loading memory file JVDBD12] A pretty girl with a heart shaped face and brunette hair in curly pigtails. She had big eyes and a bright smile, and a smear of birthday cake frosting on her cheek.

“That’s a very nice tie,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her very fashionable brown plaid dress with faux sued patches on her shoulders and elbows. The dress came to just above her knees and she was wearing thick white tights with glossy black Mary Janes. She rocked back and forth on her heels the longer Tony remained quiet. Mustering up an even brighter smile, she tried, “Thank you for coming to my birthday.”

“Sure,” Tony muttered, kicking at the ground. Dad had made him stand in front of a mirror for almost two hours knotting that stupid tie until it was imprinted with sweaty creases, saying again and again that you could tell everything you needed to know about a man by the way he tied his tie, the shine on his shoes, and the strength of his handshake.

“It’s okay you don’t remember me,” the girl said. “We were only five the last time, at the Christmas party.” She thrust her hand out, and Tony absurdly noticed that she was wearing a bright pink bow in her hair, and she had dirt underneath her immaculately painted fingernails. “My name is Janet van Dyne, but you can just call me Jan, because Janet sounds like an old lady name.”

Tony smiled at her and shoved the brightly wrapped box into her arms. “Jarvis picked it out,” he said, “It’s a Barbie Doll.”

She wrinkled her nose, but smiled at him and said, “Thanks! I like to make clothes for my Barbies.”

Tony glanced back behind him where his dad and mom were making schmoozey faces at the other adults. He pulled his backpack off his shoulders and angled his back to block Dad’s view in case he happened to look over. “I brought my erector set,” he said, opening the pack to show her. “You wanna go play with me?”

“Sure!”

Tony gasped, and abruptly the memory file [doublewinsorknot] loaded. He reached up to yank the knot of his tie apart.

“Janet van Dyne,” he blurted out. His eyes screwed shut and he pressed the base of his palm to his temple to soothe the bright burst of pain. “But call you Jan because Janet sounds like an old lady’s name. We played with my erector set behind your house for your twelfth birthday, and you got mud all over your dress. Your mom was furious.”

Jan clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, I’d forgotten all about that – I hated that dress! You know I fell in the mud on purpose? Mom dragged me up to my room and made me change in the middle of the party, but she missed the dirt smear on my cheek. She commissioned an artist to repaint my birthday portrait to get rid of it!”

Tony felt a smile stretch across his face. “My father tanned my hide so hard I couldn’t sit right for three days.”

“I knew you couldn’t forget me, Tony Stark,” Jan said, lightly smacking his chest. She reached up for his tie. “Here, let me get that for you.”

Tony gently nudged her fingers away. “I can do it,” he said, and his fingers slid through the tie with the confidence of more than thirty years of repetition. He smoothed his hand down the length of the red silk and let her straighten out the triangle of the knot against the collar of his shirt.

“I still don’t remember anything about you past your twelfth birthday,” Tony warned her, but she didn’t seem upset about it in the least.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said confidently, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You always do.”

#ladyshadowdrake writes #stony #memory loss #extremis

[cagedbirdsong]

pearls, chapter three

hey guys! so i’m not even going to try to make up an excuse for why my beloved pearls hasn’t been updated in approximately seventeen centuries, but here ya go! lord knows it’s been long enough. 

catch up on chapter two here!

really hope you enjoy this one! as always, feedback is welcome, encouraged, and appreciated! 

III. This is the Army, Mr. Jones

Four and a half weeks and Jamie Fraser had not so much as seen an airplane. The excitement (and impatience) seemed to build with each day, working him up to the point where a knot sat just below his ribcage. It dissipated overnight, his childish wonder replaced by steadily increasing disappointment.

Ian groaned across the table, rubbing at his shoulder. “At this rate, Jamie, I wonder if we should pack our bags and join up wi’ the army boys,” he grumbled around a mouthful of powdery eggs (“Get you boys used to real food!” the cook had said, laughing at their horror. “No time to scramble decent eggs when shit’s running down your leg and you’re crouched in the mud in some unnamed fucking ditch!”). Jamie gave a small grunt of agreement, eyed his own fork with distaste, and swallowed with a grimace.

“Ye think they make everyone wait this long, or are we just beyond helping?” Jamie put down his fork, one eyebrow quizzically raised, and leaned forward to rest his head on his forearms on the table. “A month and then some and I couldna even tell ye how ta open the damned cockpit.”

Ian raised a mug of stale juice in mock toast, muttering something under his breath along the lines of “at least we still have clean toothbrushes.”

But neither of them really knew how long that would last, either. First their shower privileges, then powdered eggs… next they’d be prohibited from brushing their teeth with anything other than the brush they used to polish their shoes.

Jamie began to wonder if perhaps the glorious life of a pilot was a fairytale after all.

All of his wonderings were proven false the first time they dropped him behind the wheel in the cockpit of a beat up, but still shiny Mosquito NF. He fit in the seat like he was made to be there, despite the clammy palms and nervous sweat on his brow.

“Now,” Weinstock’s voice boomed from Jamie’s left, “I trust that ye’ve all been using your time wisely and becoming accommodated with our birds.” Two months into this hellish endeavor and the first taste of what actual piloting must be like. They had first been shown a plane three weeks ago, and spent hours every day after PT and mealtime to become familiar with the layout and the way everything worked. Jamie and Ian had spent quite a fair deal of their free time on the tarmac as well, and it wasn’t something that Weinstock hadn’t noticed. Hence why Jamie was currently the first student perched inside the Mosquito’s belly, in a puddle of his own sweat and his heart hammering incessantly in his chest. He could practically feel Ian’s nervous excitement from the crew seat behind him. “-Fraser and Murray here will demonstrate that. I trust you all to pay close attention, and maybe learn a thing or two.” Jamie hadn’t even realized Weinstock was still speaking, and swallowed quickly, swiping his palms discreetly on his pants as the older man’s face appeared at the side of the cockpit.

“Captain,” Jamie greeted with a dry tongue.

The man almost smiled. “Fraser.” He turned his head to peer back at Ian. “Murray.” A moment of silence. “You boys are up for this, ain’t ya?” Jamie’s grin and Ian’s enthusiastic nod spoke for themselves. Weinstock sucked his teeth. “Mm. Thought so. Right, you’re all well and good out here, our strip boys have made sure the old girl’s not quite too old. There’s a full tank and everything out here’s all sealed up. How’s she look inside, boy?”

Jamie cleared his throat and turned to inspect the plane. All gauges set to zero. All rudder pedals and trim switches in the proper positions. Receiver unit turned on and set to the air captain’s frequency. He didn’t look back up at Weinstock when he replied. “All good, sir.”

“Good. Murray, you make sure this hothead here doesn’t do anything stupid. Keep an eye on those gauges boys, take her up too fast and you’ll be coming back down even faster. Your guns will shoot blanks, but go ahead and give her a few test shots while you’re up there, get a feel for how she flies, alright?” He didn’t wait for an affirmative before closing the hatch and banging a hand on the glass. “Start her up, Fraser.” His voice was muffled and his breath momentarily fogged the window, but Jamie couldn’t miss the hint of a smile on his face.

He took a deep breath, glanced over his right shoulder at Ian, and started the engine.

It sputtered for a moment, not quite roaring or purring to life like he had expected, and then started with a clank, the plane suddenly coming to life. The needles on the gauges jumped, the lights flashed on in unison, and the propellor kickstarted with a whir.

“Alright, Jamie,” Ian’s voice came through his headset, slightly garbled and out of time with his mouth, but steady and reassuring. “Maybe try not to bring us down prematurely?”

Jamie wanted to laugh, but just swallowed thickly and nodded instead, hands taking the yoke and guiding the nose of the plane forward and right towards the strip of asphalt they would be taking off from. In his mind, all of the formulated steps he had studied for how to take off melted away. On instinct, he pushed the yoke forward and the engine hummed in agreement, the aircraft steadily picking up speed as it bounced down along the pavement.

Towards the end of the strip, Jamie’s heart whispered a prayer - Hail Mary, full of grace - and he pulled the yoke. The plane jumped, skittered forward a few feet, and then the nose lifted and he felt the wheels lift off the ground.

And they were flying.

Ian let out a small whoop of excitement and Jamie grinned, releasing out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he looked at the dials, slowly bringing the plane up to altitude. When he leveled it off and gave the bird back its nose, she flew straight and steady, the contented rumble of the engine seeping into his bones.

The radio crackled in their headsets, and then the smiling voice of Captain Weinstock trickled through. “Well done boys, well done. Give us a loop around to the right and give those guns a fire.”

Ian answered for him, and Jamie rolled right, the wing of the plane easily dipping to carry them in a graceful arc. He moved his thumbs to the triggers on the yoke, and fired as they came out of the turn.

Ian clapped his shoulder in excitement, and Jamie’s hands momentarily trembled with nervous thrill. He gave off another few shots, and then let Ian have a go with the secondary weapons. As they turned in another wide loop, Jamie was able to look down and see the crowd of men gathered on the tarmac, many with their hands pressed to their ears, and many with their hats in their hands, waving in excitement.

Jamie grinned, and turned to meet the beaming face of his best friend.

The next few months flew by. Literally. The boys were up in the air twice a week at first, rotating flying shifts with the other recruits. When they weren’t flying, they were sitting in hot, close quartered lecture halls, listening to one of the corporals yammer on about the plane, the war, the whole bloody ordeal. The further into the training they progressed, the less Jamie seemed able to believe it. It was like sitting in a locked room, watching the chaos happen outside the window. Germans invaded Poland. France declares war…

On a cool morning in September they received the news.

“Boys, we are now at war with the Germans.” Major Hammond was pacing back and forth in front of the room, hands clasped behind his back. It was quiet enough that Jamie could have heard a pin drop. A few murmurs sounded from the back of the room, but everyone fell silent as Hammond turned to face them all. “We expect it won’t be long before the Americans follow suit. Looks like we’ll be having another world war.” A hush fell over the room, broken only by the harsh sound of someone breathing. “You best see your assigned officers, find out where you’ll all be headed.”

Hammond wrung his hat between his hands, and looked at each and every one of them as his eyes passed over the crowd. “Good luck to you, men. And may God have mercy on your souls.”

Continue reading here...

#cagedbirdsong #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #a string of pearls #outlander #pearls chapter three #this is the army mr jones #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie x claire #my writing

[coldalbion]

Norse Readalong Week 2: Feeding the She-Wolf

I’m not gonna recap this week, just air my thoughts on major events and themes. Siggeir’s revenge really requires Volsung to show up - to genuinely assume that the fellow is trying to repair the web of reciprocity and kinship. Volsung probably has suspicions, but this is Volsung, one of the greatest hardasses there is. He’s got his men, his sons, and is the wronged party here.

By all the rules of propriety, the disrespect Siggeir paid him by legging it early from the wedding celebration is huge. Not only that, but he tried to buy the sword As others have remarked, there is a complex fertility angle regarding swords/hammers and brides. This is not just about having kids, though obviously that’s part of it - the weapon is a symbol, imbued with potency, which benefits the wielder, but also his line. I’ll just stick this quote here: “Thus it was possible to transfer an ancestor into a sword blade. If we consider the possibility that a famous warrior after his death had his cremated bones transferred into the symbol of power par excellence, the sword, his strength, spirit and luck was passed on to that weapon and it became personified. The meaning of named swords suddenly takes on a new significance.” 

- Lotte Hedeager, Iron Age Myth and Materiality: An Archaeology of Scandinavia AD 400-1000 (2011)    

Later in the saga, we’ll find out how important this sword is, because it crops up again and again along the male line of the Volsungs, and actually gains, or has originally, a name. As we see above, the personification of such a weapon has multiple layers of meaning. It’s interesting to me, then, that Signy tells Volsung not to take Siggeir up on the offer, because her/their kinfylgia  warns her that  disaster will follow. Whether the kinfylgia is an actual spirit which is tied to the family line, or merely that luck-destiny-power which follows and/or emerges from the actions, deeds and circumstances of a kingroup (I’m inclined towards both myself) is immaterial.

Something is trying to warn the Volsungs that this is a bad idea, and it’s manifesting to the female line. This part of the saga, and next week’s, are sort of about emphasising how freaky things get in the Norse magical milieu and in a sense, show that despite its patriarchally structured society, the magical is all about interconnection, intertwining and blurring of the lines - even the supposedly hyper-masculine male Volsung line is constantly and cyclically initiated into Odinic strangeness - just as the saga itself is cyclic, in a sense. But Volsung, being Volsung, overrules his daughter - he points out that if they dissolve the marriage and don’t show, they break the agreement, and thus can’t bind Siggeir in alliance, he won’t trust them, and would do them as much ill as he could in revenge. The honourable thing, and hence the necessary thing is to follow the thing. A word about honour: Many people think that for the folks in pre-Modern societies were all about honour, because honour is all about macho chest-beating and silly rules. That’s a pretty shallow take though. Imagine, instead that you live in a world without a central authority - or at least one so distant as to make law enforcement and enforcement of social mores and social contract a local concern. In a society bound (and there’s that word again) by reciprocity, social currency is paramount - there’s no centralised bank saying what money or goods are worth, what a fair day’s pay is etc  (And even when there was, like Rome or other empires, messing with currency can cause major problems. When your currency gets debased, Legions start revolting.) Imagine then, that one’s honour is kind of a social credit rating and that kin-groups or families are like corporations today. Personal honour is your personal credit rating - it measures how much people trust you, what you can ask for, how much people will come to help you. It also contributes to the credit rating of the entire corporation.  This doesn’t just last one generation, either. The trading power and ability of what becomes the Volsung dynasty derives first from Sigi, the outlaw son of Odin. He’s a rulebreaking mofo like his spiritual father, and yet he still manages to create a kingdom from scratch. What’s more, Odin gains kudos from Sigi - when you’re the god and patron of a king, your cult is going to benefit by gaining more prominence. Rerir manages to survive murderous kin, is still a king worth note but is infertile. Frigg and Odin fix this by application of handy “wish-maiden” - magical female Odin-related powers infused into the line. So magical in fact, that Volsung has his freaky birth, and then marries the same magical girl, doubling down on the dual streams of godly power in the line.   The line is potently fertile - the nameless siblings, and Signy and Sigmund. Just as they’re about to do another fertility related thing - who shows up but the Cosmic-Shit-Stirrer aka Stabby McOne-Eye, The Murder Hobo, who as @edderkopper noted, may actually be performing a wedding ritual, but in a way that makes Odin the groom.

The fact that in that rite, it’s the groom’s sword and that Sigmund pulls it out, suggests, not only that Siggeir isn’t really the proper groom,  but that Sigmund is, to the saga’s audience at least, kind of an Odinic-stand-in,  and also receiving an ancestral weapon.   Thus Odin has, (if I read between the lines correctly) in his own particular way, once-again asserted that these people are mine. He has claimed all the Volsungs, even going so far as to symbolically also take Signy as his bride. Thus, Odin, the rest of the magical milieu and the Volsungs become even more tightly entwined through a series of ritualised interactions that would be hard to miss, to the saga’s audience. The Volsung Dynasty stock has gone through the bloody roof, but it means next to nothing if they gain a reputation as dealbreakers. The positive bits of their strange history become liabilities if people think they can’t be trusted. The name would become associated with negative social capital, and that in turn, would reflect badly on the names of their ancestors by whose deeds they ended up with large amounts of kudos in the first place. The honour of the family as a whole, reaches back and forward through time - a descendant can redeem an ancestor, just as an ancestral name may redeem a descendant despite harsh circumstances. We see this isn a sense, in Rerir’s earlier utiseta. The mound-wisdom enables the fertilising apple - the dead connect to the living. So, is Volsung being an arrogant shit? Or is it that plus the fact he’s actually stuck between a rock and hard place here? If they don’t go, they gain reputations as deal-breakers, don’t get the alliance which would bind Siggeir to them, and thus lose something which will probably benefit the kingdom and family as a whole? Perhaps Volsung, with his experience, has started to regret the match, but he’s confident - he has enough numbers, social propriety on his side, and a good alliance to make. So the whole party ups and heads over to Gautand. Siggeir is planning to straight-out butcher the whole lot of them with an unbeatable army. Signy warns her kin, begs them to go home, but as Volsung says, he made a vow never to flee,  and if he flees, the damage to his reputation, to the entire family’s would be nigh irreparable. Whatever happens to them, he says, she should go back to Siggeir. I suspect Volsung’s thinking here is close to what happens eventually. Any children Signy bears will be of the line of Volsung, and even if they lose, that name will be untarnished because it is the Volsungs who are being betrayed. Those children can theoretically take revenge and rightfully unite both kingdoms. The Volsung name is enhanced either way, and as to paraphrase the Havamal, the only thing that lasts are a man’s deeds and reputation, and hence the glory and social capital his kin gain via the family name. This is such an odd way of thinking to many modern folk; that it it is not only the individual that matters, but how their deeds affect those around them - almost transpersonal in a way.   But back to the saga:

Siggeir wants to slaughter the whole bunch, but Signy convinces him to save her brothers for humiliation purposes, and so they’re put in stocks out in the woods, to die of exposure (a death which even Siggeir admits is harsh). Here’s where it gets odder, and in many respects, the action switches over to the ladies for a bit, and if you suggest that Signy might have been kind of spaewife, or seer, given the kinfylgia appearing to her, what you might call a sort of indirect magical war occurs. Each night, a she-wolf appears and devours one of the imprisoned Volsungs, while Signy works out what to do. This is interesting, because in Norse lore she-wolves are often associated with witches and giants (See Fenrir). When Sigmund, after nine of his brothers have been eaten, and with help from his sister, manages to rip the she-wolf’s tongue out  with his teeth (thus, in a sense, being more of a Wolf than she, eating her) Siggeir’s mother drops dead as the wolf dies, indicating that she was a shape-shifter. Sigmund flees deeper into the woods, becoming an outlaw. In this, he returns to the family’s “area of origin”, echoing Sigi. He lives in an earth-house - a prince living like a common poor person, but also with the potential implied meaning that he is “like the Old Men of the Forest”  by which Odin refers to burial mounds in another lay. In a sense, Sigmund has “gone back to his roots” freed after nine nights bound by the stocks which Bycock’s translation notes, are made from one “great trunk”. While not literal, it’s fairly obvious that the skald was playing on Odinic motifs here - and perhaps the themes might reflect some echo of an Odinic cult.

Sigi sends her boys to Sigmund, each in the hope that they can be used as weapons  to kill her husband, and both are not “stouthearted” enough - twitching at a wyrm, or living thing in the meal. They do not have the guts to do as ordered, so Sigi tells Sigmund to kill them both. Of the two twins, as we shall see, in chapter 7, Signy seems the more horrific trainer of children, but it’s she who levels up in the vengeance stakes, breaking a taboo, or performing a supremely magical act, given the way IE cultures seemed to feel about twins - regarding them as somewhat divine or supernatural. It’s interesting that in their own way, none of the female figures in this saga are shrinking violets. They’re all pragmatic, hardcore people - even Volsung’s mother is hardcore enough to survive pregnancy for six years for goodness sake! While there are obvious gender differences in the way things are done, Signy is no princess-in-a-tower. It is she who masterminds the vengeance of the Volsungs on Siggeir. She who takes Siggeir’s heirs and attempts to fashion them into weapons. She’s a terrible mother.  But a damn good Volsung.

#norsereadalong #week 2 #volsunga saga #norse polytheism #black bird magic

[madluv]

CHOKE / a jarley fanfiction

Written by Lemily @madluv

NSFW Fluff/Smut

Harley Quinn’s jealous streak gets the better of her and Joker is going to pay!

She was red hot fury. Veins burning with a potent, vile rage, that had her fingers trembling, her heart hammering. She had screamed, cried, smeared her once immaculate make-up, thrown her favourite bottle of perfume and let Bud and Lou feast a frenzy on his extensive collection of footwear. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to wreck havoc on his and her belongings, pent up in the penthouse alone and stewing. She needed to see him – hurt him – just as he had been hurting her.

She didn’t believe it at first. The newspaper article, the photo print, of none other than her puddin’ stirring chaos in the city. And if she hadn’t been admiring him so, she would of missed the most important detail, the thing that had made her blood boil and her jaw clench tight. As beside him stood a woman civilian, red-headed, red-lipped, wrapped up in his free arm, awfully, dreadfully, close to her one and only. And Harley squinted, further studied the photograph, donned her glasses, and had spotted then, how her puddin’s hand was around the wench’s wrist. How they were together admist the carnage. Together. How the snapshot had caught him in the act.

The lyin’ cheatin’ sleazy good fer nothin’ son-of-a-bitch!

Harley tried to tell herself briefly, that it was purely coincidence. That the circumstance must have been different. It was funny if you’d been there – that kinda thing! To save herself the heartache. To try and stop the floods of tears that were prickling behind her searching eyes. It’s not what it looks like, she told herself – not what it looks like MY ASS – and she couldn’t stop her imagination running away, just like J had clearly been doin’ with his HUSSY, parading around the town as they would do. Probably having taken his new squeeze to their local haunts too, kissing under neon lights, just like their kiss, arm in arm, once upon a dream. And captured in the lens, it was undeniable evidence! Not dissimilar to the many clippings that donned the wall of their bedroom. Harley’s loving memoirs. HA HA HA. She seethed.

A few hours had been spent solely dedicated to tearing up said bedroom, since he was absent and she couldn’t tear at his STUPID FACE. She’d screamed and screeched and sobbed so hard that it had pained her. Her chest splitting and heaving with anger and grief. She’d thrown herself onto their bed, only to throw herself back off again, and had fought with the sheets like a rabid animal, in the throes of her despair she had decided, there was no better time for revenge.

She couldn’t let another minute pass by, leaving him to think and gloat on how he’d fooled her. Harley was no idiot, and she was going to prove to J just how quickly she’d caught him at his little game. And so, clad in nothing but a thin nightdress, mascara running, tiny heels, she took his favourite car and sped recklessly, dangerously, stupidly to his bar, accompanied by a small ball-hammer placed delicately upon the incriminating newspaper in the passenger seat.

Harley parked (horrifically) with no care in the world of who or what she damaged, bumping three other vehicles and scoffing at the sound of paint peeling under pressure. She inched the car crunch-crunch-CRUNCHING into it’s space. J loved that car. She loved J. Fortunately cars were much easier to fix than broken, battered hearts. And soon to be broken, battered bodies. She got out, SHATTERING the windscreen with one grand and gratitious SWING! Laughing through hysterical tears, Harley stormed towards the back door of his club. Her heart bled, and his would too before the night was done.

The doorman, dressed like a clown, looked less of a fool than she was feeling. And she glared at the goon from behind watery eyelashes, demanding simply, “where is he?” Her tone was low, and with a fist around the handle of her hammer, had him stammering.

“Ahh – hey Quinn, you know – Jay don’t want no visitors tonight –"  his gloved hands were up in surrender to the scorned woman at his station.

“Why, is he fuckin’ her?”

The clown’s brows raised high at the question, the facepaint couldn’t hide the confusion. But Harley didn’t need clarification. He was fuckin’ her. Just as they would do in the private intimacy of his office, when the simple order would circulate: Do not disturb.

“He is fuckin’ her ain’t he?”

“Woah – what? Look, Quinn, no offence to ya’ really, you know we love ya’, but this ain’t the first time you’ve come knockin’ with questions like this. This is Jay we are talkin’ about here–”

What was his point? Yeah it was J she was talking about. Who else other than the cheatin’ back-stabbin’–

“Look, Harley, I’ll do you a favour and let you inside, but you can’t tell the boss that I did.”

So, Harley’s most beloved was screwin’ around on work time (quite literally!) couldn’t this clown see she had more pressing problems to deal with, than his career concerns? “It’ll be our little secret,” she told him, barging through.

The thrumming of loud, steady music, the murmer of the punters, dancers, criminals and celebrities alike, ebbed through the brickwork and through to the back. Harley weaved through the narrow corridors, manned by all manner of lackeys, recieving nods of recognition and respect. This was, after all, just as much her place now, as his. They’d been together long enough that every door, every meeting, every nook, every cranny of Joker’s nightclub was open and accessible to none other than the notorious Harley Quinn. It was their empire. No secrets. Or so he’d said. FUNNY GUY. Real funny.

Though anger spurred her onward to his office on the third floor, a feeling of utmost dread weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t prepared for the scene she was conjuring, and it bought with it more tears, more pain. So much pain! If the scarlet harlot was in there, with him, legs at his hips and back pressed against the desk – there would be a crimson crescendo before Harley was done.

She booted the door, one bold, brave move. Her breath hitched, crying, cringing, tensing for the moment her heart would be torn wide open. Her hammer poised to strike rested at her cheek and Harley charged into his office in one rapid movement, a manical mess spilling forth.

What Harley saw then, shocked her more than all of her impure imaginings. The Joker, her Mister J, the light and love of her life, sat, alone and contemplative. And he smiled at her, gladly, despite her unexpected entrance. A single brow raised as he noted her attire (or lack thereof) and cocked his head curiously at the weapon she was wielding.

“Harley, baby!”

He went to stand, arms wide and beckoning but Harley ignored him, bewildered, eyes darting the room, desperately seeking what she had been certain to find. Where was he keeping his floozy? Had the men given him time to usher her into a hidin’? Had he been warned? Prepared? Were there accomplices in this bitter and twisted betrayal?

“Looking for something?” Joker asked, and watched as she pulled open his wardrobe, tugging each and every suit jacket off of it’s hanger and onto the floor. “Baby?”

“I’m lookin’ for her!” She snapped, turning to shove the newspaper clipping into his face – “where are you hidin’ her huh? You think I wouldn’t find out?” Harley’s breath was ragged and she shook with fury as he surveyed the article, squinting at the image therein.

J sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not this again –”

“Well?” she wanted an answer, or would find it herself! And took to pulling out the contents of his glass cabinets, knocking down vintage drinks and shattering tumblers. She began to work around him at his desk, unsheathing every drawer and emptying every last sheet of paper, every pen, every paperweight.

“Who do you think I’m hiding Harls, Tinkerbell?” He barked a laugh, but she could tell from his tone he wasn’t amused. Funnily enough – neither was she.

Harley turned her warpath onto him – THIS AIN’T THE TIME FOR JOKES – and threw her hammer onto his desk, freeing her hands up to grapple at his throat. She took J by surprise and pinned him instantly, easily, pressing hard upon his adam’s apple.

“Harls –” he choked, “sweetness, it’s not– what you think!”

“Sure, it ain’t Mister J!”

“I don’t know – who she is!” His voice was high and cracking under the tightness of her grip. “Honestly – I was just – gonna kill her.” It sounded like something J would say, it sounded a lot like somethin’ he’d do too.

“Gonna?!” Harley searched his humoured features, even with her crushing his windpipe, he still smiled for her. “Is that before or after ya’ decided to fuck?”

He blinked. “What? No – I didn’t get to kill her – cause of – cause of the Batman.” He gave a limp (g a s p ing) shrug.

Funny. She had wanted to question his swollen lip and busted brow, and the purple, yellow hues that clouded around his bloodshot eyes. Her hold on him eased slightly, and her temper faltered.

“C'mon Harley, you know – I’ve only got eyes for you!”

How many times had she heard him say those words? And yet, every time, her heart skipped a beat. It skipped a beat now, no matter her anger, her hurt or embarrassment. She sniffled, and drew away from him. “Y–you really mean it?”

He ran a hand through the tangled matt of her hair, wiping a fallen tear with the soft pad of his thumb. “Harley, Harley, Harley,” he tutted, “what am I gonna do with you?” He spoke with a soft endearment no matter her behaviour. He seemed to have some idea on what to do, however, planting a firm kiss upon her cracked lips.

She melted, despite herself, despite all her doubts and displeasures. Harley could not resist his gentle eyes and gentle touch. When he was with her, like this, in a way he was with no one else, she could not fight her endless and insatiable love for him. Anything goes.

Harley’s wrath turned to wanting, and she flung herself into his arms, reciprocating his kiss with a fiery hunger. She was already fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, and he, his belt. Hell, maybe he could fuck the mania out of her. And could keep on, keep on, trying.

Neither of them bothered to get undressed, Harley’s nightgown ridden up to her belly, as J swung her around and onto the desk, a cold hand pressed against the liquid flesh between her thighs. She gasped, giggled, and guided his palm against her pussy. She twitched, involuntary, as he slipped away two fingers and she rode against the curve of his wrist, having known, enjoyed always, the uncomplicated manner of their love-making.

His lips were at her ear, at her neck, and sent tingling pleasure to the tips of her toes, and she turned her head aside to give him more skin to traverse. He took a nipple in his mouth and shocked her with a sharp nip of his teeth. Harley thighs tensed, and she pulled him closer with the wrap of her legs. And he left small, peppered apologetic kisses all along her throat.

His fingers curved inside of her, a slow and deliberate motion, both frustrating and fulfilling, as she teetered on nearness of an orgasm. But it didn’t come, she didn’t cum – and she grinded harder, pressing on his hand with her own and eager to reach that level of ecstasy. PLEASE –

J removed his hand then, to fuck her instead with his cock. The sudden change of rhythm, sensation, fulfillness, sent her reeling from her first climax. She took a fistful of his hair and tugging. And he winced, but he did not stop, hooking one of her legs up and over his shoulder. Harley gasped against his open mouth, urging him to kiss her as deep as he was fucking her. Please just love me.

His hands were careful with her, compliant, calm. Cupping her face and kissing with a practiced tenderness. Harley, however, was fervent beneath him, clawing at his shoulders, she savoured every slightest touch.

When he was mad, he fucked like a madman, left bruises and marks in his wake, but when he was placid, he fucked with a deliberate, conscious care that was far more torturous, more delightful, more dangerous. And he refused to quicken his pace, or match hers, no matter how much she squirmed and rocked against him. He drew her pleasure out and out, until she were about to explode. That her pussy would ache with want even though it had got. That she would ride on the edge of climax after climax, until the extent of her pleasure turned into delirium, and all her thoughts were of fucking, of how good it felt, and how it was never going to end.

She just wanted him to choke her, slap her, do somethin’ to wake her up from her haze of endless indulgence. And her body was shaken, shaking, from a countless string of orgasms. He muttered quiet nothings against her chest though she was too far gone to hear them. And Harley moaned in her many defeats beneath him.

His breath was ragged, rough, hot air against sore cheeks. His mouth lingered over hers, rewarding each of her long and lingering kisses with tiny pecks of his own. She was driven mad by the sparing contact, that only her pussy was being plowed, forcing her wave after wave, despite exhaustion, the agony, to cum.

Her thighs were slick with her own juices, and she clung to J as though her life depended on it. She wanted to stop – not to stop – to keep goin’ – for him to let her go – her back arched and she pulled him inward, felt his cock nudge the tender hilt of her cervix. Fuck.

With her free leg, Harley trapped him, tight as she could against her hips, so that each thrust, deep or shallow, hit the same sweet spot that had her pussy soaking. She desperately wanted him to kiss her further, flick a breast with his tongue, or suck on her neck but he deliberately ignored each and every one of her erogenous places, except for her neck, and obviously her pussy, and a thumb gently teased from her clit, another painful (perfect) orgasm. She groaned for him to cum – PLEASE – she couldn’t go on.

He fucked Harley harder, nudging her once to keep her from slipping away and into a state of total sensory overload. But she couldn’t keep focus – another orgasm had her lower body rigid – and it hurt, so good, she cried out for him, her voice cracking.

She wasn’t conscious when he came, and her limbs were limp and useless. Though J kissed her into rousing and helped to get her cleaned down and coherent. They both drank deep from a bottle of Jack, the only bottle she hadn’t yet smashed. And luckily, since her thirst was immense after their intense bout of sex.

“You’re the only one for me,” he hushed against her hair, and after some time for decompression and many a softly spoken reassurances, J sent her on her merry way again. Face flushed and vibrant having had the fury fucked out of her system.

And a month passed by, another honeymoon period, after another, after another. And Harley sat, clacking away at her keyboard, browsing the internet, online shopping, and quickly reading the news – just in case she’d got a mention or two – and there, illuminated on the screen of Gotham City Network, was another photo of her Mister J, suited and booted, with a gun pointed to an older woman outside a large and lavish jewellery store, a dashing smile etched across his face. And Harley pondered, for a moment, the image infront of her. And had to stop, think, and quell her instant jealousy. This time she knew – just knew it was harmless. But was there also any harm in making sure of that? She turned to the ball-hammer on her left, and his office keys beside them, pressed print on the article and prepared for another round.

#harley quinn #joker #joker x harley #my harley #eventually maybe my stories will show up in the tags #jarley #my writing