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#arnie speaks
dizzyizzyhands · 2 years
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hey yall i did it
neanderthal-poetry --> lesbianmichellemallon
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cockati3l · 3 months
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i was like wow the nidhogg fight music sounds so much like that one song in barbie rapunzel but then i realised one of the ff composers worked on barbie animated movies too
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a-rat-with-adhd · 9 months
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I Absolutely Adore This Trio!
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BONUS PHOTOS OF "WholeWheat.Exe" & "BirWheat"
(Terrible Ship Names I Know Lmfao-)
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ispyspookymansion · 10 months
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can stephen king stop writing boy besties that are gay as fuck or is that just out of his wheelhouse
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ontarom · 1 year
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I'm re-watching "Christine" and holy shit, the gay subtext is a lot stronger than I remember. This jock is SO in love with his nerdy friend it's unreal
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cahrolinehasmoved · 10 months
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i really think that alice....was 100% sarcastic towards caroline each year at camp nightwing lmao.
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jendoe · 1 year
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Where was my 🫅 Lola during the vice cases that Cole was on? 😳😌
still recovering from her lil hostage situation during the homicide desk cases 🙈 and she needs to rest up because arnie's going to drag her into his and jack's playdate like hiiii ex wifey i've got a favor to ask ❤
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xtremeservers · 7 months
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SummaryWe speak to Arnie Jorgensen, Co-F... https://www.xtremeservers.com/blog/ace-of-the-belfry-how-stoic-is-developing-towerborne-to-be-an-epic-action-rpg-with-a-focus-on-fun/?feed_id=88687&_unique_id=64e6bba33313d&Ace%20of%20the%20Belfry%3A%20How%20Stoic%20is%20Developing%20Towerborne%20to%20be%20an%20Epic%20Action-RPG%20with%20a%20Focus%20on%20Fun
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arnesia-a · 1 year
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You ever get like So annoyed/ upset with everything that you get annoyed with the sound of your own breathing? And like the sound of yourself breathing is too much and then you try to not breathe so you hold your breath but then you get painfully aware of your breathing and everything worsens and you just want to not have the sensory stimulations etc of your breath cause its just too much
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Episode 2 of What If Season 2 poked the Peggy hornet’s nest and did exactly what I thought it would. 
So, for context, in this reality Yondu actually handed Peter Quill over to Ego when he was supposed to, and within just 6 months Ego was able to corrupt his son into a conqueror, so they invade Earth together. Peggy is director of SHIELD at the time, and she and Howard work together to assemble a proto-Avengers team to stop them. The team consists of Hank Pym, Bill Foster, T’Chaka, Thor, Wendy Lawson (who I think is from Captain Marvel), and… wait for it… the Winter Motherfucking Soldier. 
Yes, for real.
And because I know you’re thinking it, the excuse given is that he is in the hands of the Russians during this time, so Peggy and Howard couldn’t possibly have known about it UwU. Anyway, when they see him there’s a super drawn-out moment where they both think they recognize him (and it’s while he still has the mask on, so while this probably wasn’t intentional I actually read that as yet another middle finger to Steve, as Peggy could apparently recognize Bucky even under his disguise while Steve couldn’t). And then, Howard says, I shit you not: “I'd heard the rumors, but even if they’re true, the man we knew is long-gone, Peg, and we have bigger fish to fry.” And then later in the episode, with no segway from that to this, there’s a scene where they’re all together and the Winter Soldier has his mask off, and actually speaks. 
So, at least in this universe, Howard and Peggy are 100% aware that Bucky Barnes is in fact the Winter Soldier. Later on in the episode Howard attempts to get through to him, but only when it becomes a necessity to save the world (because he is about to kill Peter Quill while Hank is trying to convince him to turn on Ego), but it’s still pretty damning. And then at the end of the episode, rather than trying to rehabilitate him, they just let him go. Like, it’s not the same situation as Steve where he was out cold and unable to do anything, they could have taken Bucky in and tried to break his programming, but they didn’t. It’s left ambiguous what will happen to him after that, so it’s not like they sent him back to Hydra, but Hydra is still out there in this universe, so my hopes aren’t high.
TLDR; this episode attempts to handwave away the very strong possibility that the Howard and Peggy of the Prime Timeline knew what was happening to Bucky, but in doing so unintentionally made them look so much worse.
I don't... I can't even... WTF did I just read? (not you of course, I mean, what is wrong with Marvel?) 🤦‍♀️
So they use Bucky while brainwashed and/or still with Hydra's BS in his mind, and they don't even care to help him out after? They see a victim and they use him and then turn away from him, not caring about his well-being? And, I assume, Howard and Lady Brexit are still framed as good guys? And how are they any better than Hydra in that story?! The absolute nerve...
Once I read the spoilers a few days ago and saw they were going to have her as Director of SHIELD, I just knew they were going to absolve her of everything and never have her answer for any of her actions. And of course the only one who says he had "heard rumours" was Howard, not her. She's an angelic glorious being incapable of doing anything wrong. What in the absolute narrative protection is this...
Howard and Miss Brexit couldn't possibly know about Bucky... yeah, right. Except for the fact that they knew what Zola had done, because Steve told them, and they still willingly worked alongside him, even gave him a nickname. Oh Arnie, my beloved, wasn't it fun when you tortured Steve's best friend? Let's have some beer. I don't see how Miss "I shoot innocents when I'm jealous" Brexit could have recognized Bucky considering she didn't give a damn about him after Steve risked his own life against her wishes to save him, but apparently in this she can tell who he is even with a mask on? Damn girl, did you inject the serum in him yourself?
And I'm sorry but what is this... “I'd heard the rumors, but even if they’re true, the man we knew is long gone.” Excuse me? Oh, good enough to use but not good enough to save? How is the everloving hell is that even a line?! Oh my god, Marvel, just say you hate Bucky and go. I don't get it, what, he's the guy who ruins their beloved Steggy nonsense and they can't help themselves, they have to drag him through the mud for daring to be more important to Steve than Miss Brexit here? (And I say that as a non-shipper but holy crap, this is nuts.)
Not even in another timeline are these two somewhat redeemable. And Bucky is fucked up no matter what. Typical.
So the Infinity Saga had Stark as their golden boy and now it's Agent Brexit's time to shine... Will the Hero Cinematic Universe ever provide any heroes of narrative protection or are they going to choose the bad ones only? Oh, you're a soldier kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed? Go ahead and make amends, you monster. Oh, you willingly worked for the TVA and tortured and killed because you wanted to? Poor you, let us frame you as good and pat you on the back, you sweet thing.
Wow, I got mad in this one. Sorry. I have the Bucky feels right now 😜😂
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dizzyizzyhands · 2 years
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oh thank god i reloaded and my xkit is back
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slymewitch · 1 month
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Slyme’s stats
Hp: 65
Attack: 12
Defense: 17
Magic attack: 23
Magic defense: 18
Speed: 10
STR:+1 DEX:+1 CON:+2 INT:-1 WIS:+1 CHA:+1
Skills: Persuasion, Investigation, History, animal handling, arcana,
Slyme’s equipment
Mana Arnis, upgraded mechanical body (cannon, rockets, and blowtorch, rune slots), spellbook, coat, glasses, blue tophat, backpack of holding, journal,
Slyme’s inventory
a gold dreidel with gears spider legs and a tank of red liquid, weed, slime dye kit, cute pink bunny themed armor, flask of Sybjorn's Wonderful Brew of A Thousand Effects, empty gun, a bucket, popsicle, 18 healing potions, vampiric shield, arcane halberd, ring of heat metal, bracelet of druidic illusion, monocle of sigils, stareater dragon nest map, strange pendant, GAU-8 minigun, luck crystal necklace, 4 slime potions,
Slyme’s spells
Fireball, slyme’s water slash, minor healing, shield ward, levitation, summon light, speak to goats, bubbles, Tueux’s soap of persisting bubbles, gather experience, summon duskbolt, summon burgerbarian, water ward, speak to plants, lesser control, lesser lunar blast, summon raven familiar, lesser control magma, summon leafcrest, lightning bolt, water sphere, ice blast, electro orb,
Slyme’s recipes
Sybjorn's Wonderful Brew of A Thousand Effects, spirit sight potion, gorgon’s brew,
Slyme’s team
Golbat: level 24
Misdreavus: level 34
Joltik: level 29
Lapras: level 35
Level: 5 (next level 160 xp away)
Lives: 654
Gold: 0
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loveinhawkins · 1 year
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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 ao3
Joyce drops off Will, El and Mike with more homemade food after they’ve had dinner, which makes Steve smile. 
“Tell your mom I’m not gonna have enough space to put all of this in the fridge.”
“You can just eat some of it and then you will have space,” El says, matter-of-fact, “like what Eddie is doing.”
Eddie pauses in his eating of Koogle chocolate spread straight out the jar.
Steve laughs loudly.
Eddie sighs, leans into the melodrama of it. “Damn, right for the jugular. Haven’t I suffered enough?”
El makes a show of thinking in response. Eddie watches her with infinitely growing fondness, how she fights to keep a straight face, unable to stop her smile from breaking through. “No.”
Eddie slumps against the counter like he’s just received a fatal blow.
“Hey, person without a cast,” Steve says dryly, “help put some stuff away, this isn’t a hotel.”
“I dunno, Harrington, you seem like the type to have monogrammed dressing gowns and shit.”
The tips of Steve’s ears turn a damning red.
Eddie pounces on the sight with a delighted grin. “Oh dear god.”
“Eddie—”
“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers, like he’s found the Holy Grail. “I was just talking out my ass man, but. You do.”
“Only ‘cause Robin—it was one joke Christmas present, all right?”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”
They all make short work of putting the food away, but the kids linger in the kitchen, like they don’t want to say goodbye just yet.
It’s funny, Eddie has distant memories of Hawkins characterising Will Byers as a quiet little kid when he went ‘missing’, but there’s hardly any of that shyness now. The only slight hint of uneasiness Eddie can discern is that every so often, Will’s hand will rise up as if to scratch the back of his neck, like he’s hardly aware that he’s doing it; he spots El catching his hand in hers once, gently pulling it back down—does it in such a way that it never draws attention.
If anything, Mike is the quiet one, which is tripping Eddie up; he’s so used to his vocal commentary at Hellfire. He can’t tell if it’s just general post-nearly end of the world exhaustion or—something else. He doesn’t know what.
From the way Mike is standing, shoulders occasionally hiking up to his ears, Eddie gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to be asked about it.
Will does the majority of the talking, spends most of the time making references to what went down in California that Eddie can barely follow, revels in teasing Dustin about Suzie—
“Wait, Henderson’s girlfriend is real?” Eddie says.
Dustin glares at him. “Hey!”
Steve nods seriously. “I know.”
Dustin spins around, pokes Steve in the side. “Hey.”
Bizarrely, this prompts Will into an enthusiastic rendition of NeverEnding Story, which makes Dustin groan as if he’s been plagued with it for centuries. But there’s a celebratory sound to all of it, to the way Will sings cheekily, even the way Dustin is rolling his eyes—like they can’t believe they can afford the time to just be silly.
Under the cover of the kids’ laughter, Steve leans forward in his seat, catching Eddie by the wrist.
“Hey, later could you—would you mind helping me up the stairs? I wanna…” He pushes back his hair, grimacing. “Got, like, a sink wash in hospital, but it wasn’t that great.”
There’s a self-conscious air to how he speaks, how he keeps fiddling with flyaway strands of hair.
“Yeah, man, no problem,” Eddie says, matching Steve’s lowered volume. Still look good to me.
They wait until they’re alone—Dustin leaves in Joyce’s car, too, with a firm, “I’ll be back,” flung over his shoulder; Steve snorts, “Sure thing, Arnie.”
Once they conquer the stairs, Eddie’s shoulder aching from Steve needing to lean on it, Eddie optimistically believes that the rest will be plain sailing from here.
Steve’s set up on a stool, and Eddie’s standing in the bathtub, about to see how far the shower-head can stretch.
Steve is in the middle of saying, “Oh, just watch out, don’t think I changed the temperature from when I last—”
Eddie’s elbow catches on the dial. He shrieks as he’s immediately hit with a blast of cold water.
“Jesus Christ,” he wheezes, finally managing to switch the shower off. His hair is sopping wet. “How am I the freak? What kind of monster takes a cold shower willingly?”
And Steve laughs so hard that he nearly falls off the stool, as if the light-heartedness of the kids earlier has lifted his spirits, made him giddy.
“You look,” he says, through a raucous fit of giggles, “like a drowned rat.”
“Excuse me? Oh, tread very, very carefully, Harrington,” Eddie says, raising the shower-head in warning.
Steve raises an eyebrow coolly. “You’re bluffing.”
Eddie is, in fact, not bluffing.
-
“Oh wow.” Eddie makes a low whistle, like he’s just discovered a rare antique. “Why isn’t this behind glass? This shit is history; it should be preserved.”
Steve blinks, gives him a sardonic look from where he’s lying on the bed, leg propped up with pillows. “Pretty sure I’m not the only person to own a Hawkins Phys. Ed T-shirt.”
Eddie scoffs, shaking out the shirt with a pointless flourish before putting it back in the closet. “Yeah, but you, like, wore it.”
“Oh, sorry, I misunderstood you, man. So I’m the only person ever to wear a Hawkins Phys. Ed T-shirt.”
“You know what I mean, asshole.”
Before Steve got round to actually washing his hair, they had spent a lot of time just goofing around, trying to soak the other. While attempting to ensure that it was a fair fight, that Steve didn’t overbalance on the stool, Eddie ended up nearly braining himself on the tub’s faucets—but maybe he really did suffer a head injury, he reasons, otherwise there’s no excuse for what he says next.
“You made it part of your whole thing, you know? Like, yeah, people wear clothes, but you wore outfits.”
Steve laughs, rolling his eyes. “Shut up. You’re making me sound like a sitcom character.”
“Oh, but you were,” Eddie says, grinning with the knowledge that he’s about to be very annoying. “Did you see yourself in the school corridors? You walked like you had your own theme music, man.”
“Says you,” Steve retorts. “I think a laugh track would’ve helped your cafeteria sermons.” And before Eddie can attempt a theatrical gasp of offence, Steve points at a baggy sweater in the closet. “Hey, gimme that one, it’ll do.”
Eddie actually puts some effort into properly aiming the shirt when he throws it, but Steve almost drops it. Eddie turns, ready to tease him, because Steve Harrington is hardly known for fumbling a catch, but stops when he sees the stricken look on Steve’s face.
“What is it?”
“I just—I just remembered,” Steve stutters out, eyes wide. “Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry. Your vest.”
Eddie stares, uncomprehending. “Come again?”
“Your vest. Damn it, I didn’t even think to ask for… they must’ve cut it off me or—”
“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie says, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He shakes his head to try and clear it of the awful image they must’ve cut it off me conjures up then says, with fervour, “Steve. Don’t worry about it. Like, honestly, truly? Do not worry about it. I really can’t stress how much I don’t give a shit.”
Steve frowns, clearly still unhappy about it.
“I’ll just steal one of your polos and call it even.”
Steve smiles weakly; Eddie still counts it as a win. “Mm, I have it on good authority that the Phys. Ed T-shirt is highly sought after.”
“Damn, what idiot said that?”
Eddie turns while shutting the closet, glancing over at Steve as he does so. That’s when he sees it, sees Steve’s bare skin as he takes his shirt off, about to change into the sweater—
There’s no bandages wrapped around his middle anymore. They have healed faster than any normal wounds should, but that fact doesn’t diminish the way Eddie’s stomach lurches at the sight: the gouges in the skin from the bats, and several deep, ragged claw marks. There’s a sudden ringing in his ears; the wetness of Steve’s blood on his fingers…
He feels his knee slam against the bed frame distantly, like it’s happening to someone else. Then Steve’s hand is wrapped around his wrist, and he’s thrown back into his body, and he tilts—
“Hey, hey, you’re all right,” Steve says, and he pulls Eddie down to sit on the bed.
Eddie sways, tries to stand up again—but that just makes the sudden faintness worse.
“Woah, take it easy,” Steve murmurs, and Eddie blinks and blinks until his face swims into view, eyebrows drawn in concern. “God, you feeling okay? You went white.”
“You were bleeding,” Eddie says stupidly. He squeezes his eyes shut, tips his head down and just breathes.
And then he feels Steve gently guide his hand to rest over the wounds. Places it there, puts his own hand on top.
“Not anymore,” Steve says simply.
Eddie traces the marks. They don’t feel overly cold which helps. His hand rises and falls with every breath Steve takes.
Steve keeps his eyes on him, doesn’t let go of his hand until Eddie can stand again.
-
Steve has already drifted off to sleep on the couch when the phone rings.
Eddie picks it up with a quiet, “Hello?”
“E-Eddie?”
At first, Eddie doesn’t recognise the voice on the other end. It’s only when his name is repeated that the realisation hits.
It’s Mike.
Eddie has never heard him sound so uncertain, not even when he was first invited to sit at Hellfire’s lunch table.
“Hey, Mike,” he says, can’t stop a note of anxiety bleeding through. “What’s up?”
“It’s… it’s Nancy,” Mike says. He starts off almost reluctant, as if he’s worried about breaking some sort of sibling code by mentioning her, but the sound of his true fear quickly overrides that. “She—she left, and she told me she was gonna, um, call you, or something? I don’t know, but she… she’s not back yet and I… I don’t think she did. Call you.”
“She didn’t,” Eddie confirms, grabs a piece of his hair and pulls.
Mike’s voice pitches a little higher; he sounds very young. “I don’t know where she’s gone. Eddie, she didn’t even take her car.”
“Okay, okay.” Eddie’s eyes dart about the room, land on Steve’s car keys. “Hey, Mike? It’ll be okay, man. I’m gonna go get her.”
He heads for the door in a mad dash, one arm through his leather jacket. Before he goes, he takes the time to write Steve a note—if he wakes up, Eddie figures that there’s no point in him just sitting there alone, worrying, so he settles for something that will hopefully make him laugh instead.
Back soon. Totally not stealing your car. Cross my heart. On an unrelated note, I took your car keys. -E
-
He finds her at the trailer park, of course. Sitting right by his and Wayne’s place, in the spot where…
She’s hugging her knees, pressing the side of one cheek into them. Her boots are muddy again.
Eddie gets out of the car with more noise than is strictly necessary, so she’s not startled by his approach.
“This wasn’t the deal, Wheeler,” he says mildly, sitting down beside her.
She’s shivering.
Eddie tries very hard not to look at the trailer; it’s just a shell now, it’s just…
“Sorry,” Nancy says, too quiet. “I was… gonna call but. Lost track of time.” She sniffs, mumbles into her jeans, “Had enough of driving.”
“Why?” Eddie asks carefully.
“Because.” Nancy sniffs again. “I had to drive Jason Carver around town.”
For a moment, Eddie forgets how to breathe.
“What? Why the fuck would you even—? He could’ve—”
He stops talking abruptly as Nancy shakes her head, looking scarily calm about the whole thing.
“No. He would’ve killed you immediately. Not me; he’d have to think about it before he… It was… a calculated risk, I guess.”
Eddie barks out a sharp, fearful laugh—remembers Steve saying that him and Nancy were too similar and thinks yeah, no fucking kidding.
“Wheeler,” he breathes, “that was a stupid move.” It feels inadequate for what he actually means, which is some panicked stream of We’ve come too close to losing people, but the terror cuts down his words, makes them small. Stupid.
“He had a gun,” Nancy says, voice flat. She hovers a hand over her side, and Eddie doesn’t need to see it to know that there’ll be a mark there, from where the gun was pressed into her skin.
“Jesus Christ. Are you—”
“I’m fine. He didn’t…” Nancy sighs. “He didn’t do anything, really. I did most of the talking. Just… drove around. Stopped in a parking lot, right where one of the cracks… It’s still visible, only a little bit. Then I just. I asked him.”
“Asked him what?” Eddie says hoarsely.
Nancy’s smile is grim. “If he believed it,” she says. Her voice is as cold as steel. “If he could honestly sit there and think that a boy, that you could have done all this. And I could tell from his eyes that he didn’t, but that he was in too deep. Too cowardly to…” She seethes, spits out the next words: “I told him he could go rot.”
“Wheeler,” Eddie whispers. “God, please tell me he didn’t hurt you.”
She reaches for his hand. Squeezes. “No. I promise. He’s… everything’s being dealt with. It’s bigger than you,” she says, not unkindly. “Plus there’s—we’ve got some, um.” A tiny smile, a proper one. “Unique resources. It’s getting buried, Eddie, I swear, everything to do with you. I’m—we’re working on it. We just. The idea is to, um, replace one paranoia with another, that’s how we sell the—not a full lie, just…” She sets her jaw. “I don’t want you to be looking over your shoulder, ever again.”
Eddie has countless replies on his tongue, namely, What the fuck does all that even mean?
Is this why he’s hardly been given a second glance in the street?
Out loud, he says, “That… sounds like a helluva lot of work. You—you don’t have to—”
“I needed to.” Nancy smiles weakly. “That was the whole plan, right? Find Vecna, kill him. Clear your name.” Her smile falls. “I don’t like… I don’t like things being left… unfinished.” She sighs, repeats, voice small, “I needed to.”
It sounds different this time. Like if she didn’t have that objective, she’d fall apart.
It throws Eddie. How can he be that important? But he looks in her eyes and can tell she means it with all her heart. 
“Eddie, I…” She looks down at the ground. Briefly presses the back of her hand to her mouth. “I need to apologise to Steve. To you.”
Eddie stares at her. “No, I’m… kinda confident that you don’t.”
“No, you.” Her hand starts to shake in his. “You don’t understand.” She looks at him, eyes filled with tears. “I saw it. I saw everything. When he—when Henry showed me… there was so much of it, and it was so fast, and I. I just convinced myself that I was wrong. But then, when I saw you driving. And Steve. There was… this look on his face. And I knew—I knew he was going to die, because Henry… he showed me what he was going to do.”
Eddie can feel himself pale. Nancy withdraws her hand, turns away from him.
“I’m sorry. I thought I could stop it, if I just kept it in my head, it wouldn’t… oh, God.”
“Wheeler. Wheeler, look at me.” Eddie waits until she does, her face wet. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it.”
She moves forward, trembles in his arms. “God, Eddie,” she says, distraught, “it was awful. The whole thing.”
“Yeah.” Eddie leans his head against hers, shuts his eyes. “Fucking sucked.”
“You wouldn’t stop screaming,” Nancy whispers. She jerks her head over to where Eddie parked Steve’s car. “You fell there, and I—I was so scared you wouldn’t get up again. I told you that you had to let h-him go, and it. It was like you couldn’t hear me, and a-all I could think was I’m going to lose them both.” 
Eddie inhales. Exhales. She’d gotten him out. Time for him to return the favour.
“Nancy. Come on.” He gently guides her to stand up. “Time to go home, ‘kay?”
Mike’s waiting outside when Eddie drives up to the house; the headlights illuminate him, his too short dressing gown, his gangly teenaged vulnerability.
Nancy fumbles with the car door handle. Sighs through a sob. “Oh, Mike.”
Eddie watches them embrace, how they cling to one another. He sees Mike raise his hand while still holding onto his sister, sees him mouth Thank you.
Eddie doesn’t pull away until they’re both safely inside.
The fact that he’s driving Steve’s car helps him keep it together for the rest of the drive: the thought that he cannot be seen in public having a breakdown in it.
And then he’s back at Steve’s, and Steve is still asleep, thank God, and there’s an uncontrollable tremor to his hands when he sets Steve’s car keys on the table.
Shit, is he going to throw up? He might.
Oh no you don’t. You’re not waking Steve by upchucking onto the rug, get it together.
“You’re fine,” Eddie says, tugging harshly on his hair. “You’re fine, you’re fucking fine.”
He forces himself to breathe in and out as the wave of everything crashes over him, until he no longer sees the trailer park flash across his vision, like a ghostly afterimage.
When the worst of it is over, he perches on the arm of the couch, then carefully hovers his hand near Steve’s face, just so he can feel him breathing.
See? He’s right here, you’re not… not back there. Not anymore.
Steve stirs very slightly at the movement.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, still catching his breath through the remnants of panic.
Steve makes a soft, questioning noise. And then Eddie feels a finger, tracing letters on the back of his hand.
OK?
Eddie smiles tremulously. “Yeah, I-I’m… I am now.”
-
Eddie stays up all night.
It’s not so bad, not when he gets to see Steve wake up for his early morning meds, taken so he can have breakfast with the upcoming dose in a few hours.
“Huh? You’re never…” Steve yawns. His hair is soft from being air dried last night, falling into his eyes. “Never up this early. Not normally.”
“First time for everything,” Eddie says, which is easier than my heart was beating too fast to sleep.
Steve doesn’t call him out on the obvious dodge, still drowsy, growing even more so after he takes the pills.
“You bored? Can put something on if you want, but Dustin might’ve left a… a tape in the, um…”
Oh, there you go, Eddie thinks fondly, and watches as Steve falls asleep mid-sentence.
Some time later, he’s not sure when, the sun starts to poke through the curtains. It’s a dull kind of brightness, but still bright enough to make his eyes blink a little more… and more…
-
He’s been moved to lie on the inside of the couch. Eddie turns his head, feels the warmth of someone next to him. Steve.
“Hi,” Steve says, looking down at him with a smile. “You want some breakfast? Dustin dropped off doughnuts.”
There’s sugar at the corner of Steve’s mouth, like glitter.
Eddie hums, low and lethargic. “Maybe later. Just… mm.” He goes to rub at his eyes, but his hand stills then falls away from his face, a lassitude to his movements. “Five more minutes. Gotta… rest my eyes, just for…”
“Sure,” Steve says, and there’s affection in his teasing when he says, “You go ahead and ‘rest your eyes’ for a few more hours.”
“Mm…”
“Nance called,” Steve says, soft as anything, like he doesn’t want to wake Eddie if he’s already fallen asleep, but still wants him to know. “She’s okay. She says thanks.”
Eddie reaches out, eyes closed, pats Steve’s knee clumsily. “S’good.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet. Eddie can feel him smoothing hair off his forehead, tracing his finger down his nose—makes it impossible for him to even try opening his eyes.
He barely catches it, nearly drifting… But he swears he hears Steve murmur, as if to himself, “You’re so good.”
“You’re warm,” Eddie mumbles without really meaning to.
Steve chuckles, so gently. Keeps stroking that soothing pattern, from Eddie’s brow down to his nose. “Am I now?”
Oh, you don’t know, Eddie thinks, and everything’s fading now, the world going all soft and indistinct, like cotton wool. You don’t know what it was like. I never want to feel you be that cold again.
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paperpocalypse · 2 years
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case 254.
50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader Word Count: 1,591 words Warnings: Swearing, violence
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You are, by all accounts, married to your work.
And you are a loyal lover. The briefcase is your certificate, the bullets your vows. You keep them close wherever you go. Twenty-four years in the Commission is nothing to sneeze at, and you have never – not once – been unfaithful.
… Not in action, at least. Recent thoughts of retirement have begun tempting you to the point of an emotional affair.
(You’d get married, maybe. To a person, not a job. Live in a one-story home with a pond in the backyard and not too far from the nearest Walmart, adopt a little dog that you and your spouse spoil to bits. You’d die peacefully in your sleep instead of bleeding out in an alleyway somewhere.)
“Shit.”
Coughing, you spit and wipe your mouth with the cuff of your sleeve. Damn Arnie made you bite your own tongue.
“The police will be here any minute!” he yells through the walls, and something clatters to the ground. “You can’t make me go back!”
“I’m not making you go back, Arn,” you call back, exasperated. “I got an order to kill you.”
“Oh, fuck off!”
You chuckle and stumble back to your feet.
Arnold had been a loyal employee of the Temps Commission for twenty years. He specializes in 18th century weaponry, his kill count is in the hundreds, and he relies on cigarettes in the same way you rely on coffee. He is also a friend of yours – or the closest thing a Temps assassin can have to a friend – and that’s probably why the Board sent you to kill him.
They had given you two days. You had promised one.
It’s been three.
“You shouldn’t have tried to sell your briefcase to the military, Arnie!”
Arnie doesn’t reply. The squeal and slam of a door grates on your ears, and you swear aloud, rushing to the bathroom.
You break the door open and don’t hesitate to fire in quick succession, just barely missing a shoe slipping from the windowsill.
Clicking your tongue, you pause.
“Dammit.”
Something small and cylindrical is lobbed through the window, bouncing and rolling to a stop at your feet.
“Dammit!”
You book it out of the bathroom, rounding a corner and diving to the ground just as the grenade explodes. The floor shivers. You cover your ears and hold your breath.
If people had ignored the ruckus beforehand, they certainly can’t now.
Panting, you scrape yourself off the floor, reaching back to pull your Glock out and heading back to the bathroom. “Son of a bitch …”
Smoke and burst pipes and rubble are all that remains of the bathroom. Your heart drops to your stomach when you recognize the guts of your Commission briefcase among the rubble. This has got to be the second-worst fumble of your career; you should’ve thrown the briefcase out first and then run out. Your rifle is a lost cause too.
Shaking your head, you approach the gaping hole in the wall and slowly clamber down the side of the building. Arnold couldn’t have gotten far, not with a concussion and the bullet in his leg. Thank goodness. You don’t have as much stamina for high-speed chases as you used to.
The same moment that you land on a patch of broken bricks and dirt, the sound of a gunshot resonates behind you.
You immediately whip around, firing a shot into Case 254’s head before you can even register that his back had been facing you.
Arnold collapses, dead, onto the ground a few meters away from you. Your lips part. You quickly look back up and keep your gun poised.
A man points his rifle back at you.
“Got him before you did,” he tells you, voice low and gruff.
There’s a briefcase at his feet.
“Did the Board think I couldn’t handle this one?” you ask, aiming between the man’s eyes. You like the way he speaks, even though it pisses you off. He’s confident. “Or do they think I defected too?”
“Did you?” he challenges.
Not in ways they can punish. “If I did, Arnie wouldn’t have tried to blow me up with an MK3.”
“… Humph.”
Sirens are getting ever louder. The two of you lower your weapons; you’re no longer wary of this fellow assassin, but the glare he’s fixing you with makes you want to rile him up.
“Tell me your name, hotshot,” you say, walking over to Arnold and rummaging through his clothes.
He grunts sourly. “Why would I tell you anything?”
“To make conversation.” You find some loose change and a coupon for a tanning salon – alright – but what you’re really interested in is the copy of the briefcase’s blueprints. You pocket everything. “It stimulates the mind. I think you might need that in your old age.”
When you face the man fully again, he rolls his eyes.
Then he literally disappears into thin air.
You blink. The dots connect as quickly as the flaring lights of police cars shine around the corners of the building, and a frenzied laugh escapes your lips.
“What a gentleman.”
Guess the rumors were right – the Commission’s new darling, Five, is a genius as well as an asshole.
On the other side of the apartment complex, the detective tells officers to surround the building. You quickly put your gun away and take off before they reach the back.
“I heard someone running! Over here!”
You run until you reach a chain-link fence, locating a spot where the mesh had peeled away from the post and slipping through with gritted teeth. The air inside your mask weighs on your skin, hot and thick from your heavy breathing. Your feet already hurt. You should’ve invested in those gel insoles Arnold told you about before he decided to defect.
“Stop! This is the police!”
You hold back a groan. You’re getting too old for this shit.
But you keep going anyways. You keep running, turn a corner and cut through back alleys, knock out the few people you pass who are unlucky enough to be out at two in the morning. And for some reason, they keep pursuing you, getting closer and closer –
You hear something like a muffled pop of air. A hand grips your arm and drags you into an alley.
You scramble for your Glock, but as soon as your fingers brush its handle, it disappears. Five pushes you down behind a dumpster and shoves a hand up your mask to cover your mouth. It takes everything in you to keep from gagging when you land on a trash bag way too wet-sounding for your liking.
“Quiet.”
You huff, tearing his hand away. Your arm is pinned against his sternum, your head much too close to his. His breathing is quiet, measured, and slow.
(He’s used to this. Used to running, used to hiding, just like you.)
Five runs warm. You like it in the same way that you like the way he speaks.
Footsteps hurry past your hiding place, then fade into the distance.
After waiting about ten more minutes, you let your head knock back against the wall. “Shit.” You chuckle. “I owe you one, Mr. Five.”
Five doesn’t acknowledge your gratitude. Instead, he pushes himself away from you and drops your Glock into your lap, then grabs his briefcase and stands up. Though you resent the loss of heat, you join him with a more appropriate amount of space between the two of you.
“I’ll take you back to headquarters,” Five states, sounding as if his teeth are about to be pulled.
“Thank you kindly,” you reply. “It must be my lucky day, getting my hide saved and escorted by the Commission’s rising star.”
“I’m sure.” His tone is dry.
Sirens wail as you tell him your name.
“I know,” Five mutters, unclipping the briefcase. “You were mentioned in the kill order for your pal back there.”
Ah. You nod, smiling a bit tightly, and put your hands on the briefcase as well. “Of course.”
A flash, and you’re both back in 1955, the sun too bright and the air too stale. You feel the beginnings of a headache.
“Still hate time travel after twenty plus years,” you comment, letting go. “Did using your powers have the same effect?”
Five regards you silently, lips pursed. “Hard to recall,” he finally says, snapping the briefcase shut.
“The lab’s developing some meds for the side effects. Apparently, they’re doing trial runs soon.”
“That so.”
“Yes.” You squint up at HQ, brush off your suit, and exhale loudly. “Anyway, I better get going. See you later, Mr. Five.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Just Five is fine.”
“See you later, Five,” you emphasize with a grin. “Maybe we’ll be able to team up in the future.”
All he does is cast you an unimpressed glance before disappearing through one of his teleportation portal things.
You stare at the now empty space and sigh, putting your hands on your hips. Well, the apocalypse doesn’t exactly make one a good conversationalist. (Either that, or he finds you insufferable.)
As you stroll into the Commission building to turn in the briefcase blueprint and procure another briefcase, you think of your life so far. You think of your marriage to your work, of the sleepless honeymoon stage and the bitter taste of the past ten years. You think of that dark alley, of that moment of companionship, one-sided though it was.
And maybe you find yourself just a little more unfaithful.
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Hot take but the more I think about it the more I reckon they should've left the Russian aspect out of the Winter Soldier in the MCU. 
I know it's a part of the comics, and the name is meant to evoke the Cold War (Russian, Winter), but IMO it better suits the ‘Gitmo Army brat’ Bucky of the comics than the ‘Arnie Roth’ Bucky of the MCU; it doesn't fit with the MCU's specific backstory parameters. (Plus conflating Russian/KGB with SHIELD/Hydra just muddies the waters, for no particular purpose.)
Examples:
If Bucky was tortured by Nazi doctors in Russia it would've been under Operation Osoaviakhim, not Paperclip.
It doesn't make sense that Russians would name him after an American's quote about America. That's the exact opposite of what Russians would do.
Whereas it’s exactly what Americans would do if he was in American hands when the WS was created (ie. from early on). If comics!Steve can quote Mark Twain it doesn’t make sense that people don’t recognise a Thomas Paine reference in-universe. 
It doesn't make any sense, logistically, that the WS is tortured and operated on by Zola, who is in America (and stays there until he dies), unless the WS is also in America from early on.
(Per Agent Carter) It also doesn’t make any sense that the man who created the WS mind-control techniques -- Doctor Fennhoff/Faustus -- is working for the SSR in America, with Zola, if the WS himself is not also in America when those techniques are implemented. 
(And we know that that tech stayed in America, not Russia, because in the Black Widow movie the Red Room had to go undercover in Ohio just to steal it, and this was in 1995!)
It seems significant that we only see the WS in Siberia a mere 10 days before the Dissolution of the Soviet Union (and Howard Stark knew about him / recognised him instantly, and called him Sergeant Barnes, like Zola did.) 
It doesn't make sense that the WS is shown being conveniently stored in a local urban bank vault in Washington, DC... but was previously shoved hundreds of miles out of the way, in the Siberian wilderness, where it would've been a massive pain in the ass for any American Hydra to get hold of him. (And if they did, for some reason, want to massively inconvenience themselves just for a cold-name’s sake, why not Canada or Alaska?) 
It doesn't make sense that MCU WS is shown exclusively speaking English to the American Hydra agents who have control of him in the present day... but then all his control-words were in Russian and suddenly he speaks only Russian to handlers before this... And yet, he’s back to speaking English again in the flashbacks from TFATWS?? 🤦‍♀️
IMO it would've just been simpler and more straight-forward if it was just Nazis who found Bucky at the bottom of the ravine, not Russians (might even explain why he didn't escape, post-fall but pre-brain damage; he would've been thinking he'd get repatriated pretty soon, when the war's over... and he's kinda right 😭). 
And it would ram home the 'we were the ones doing wrong' horror of CATWS, if Bucky had just been on US soil the entire time and nobody good knew.
Possible scenario: 
The Russians who found Bucky wounded in WWII handed him over to the Americans, since the war wasn’t over yet and the two sides were ‘officially’ still allies. (And/or because they didn’t realise what they had, and/or he was part of some POW exchange deal.)
By the time Stark, Carter & Phillips found out, they had already hired Zola and Fennhoff. 
They intended to use Bucky to reboot the eugenicist supersoldier program and also experiment in the field of mind control (a la Project Artichoke, MK/Ultra etc.) Which they knew people would object to, so they kept Bucky’s recovery quiet from the other Commandos, his family, etc. 
SHIELDra had Bucky in America all along, and the whole Russian Boogeyman / Russian weapons thing was just a cover so that Hydra Demagogues could blame every WS hit on the USSR, and thereby drum up convenient anti-Communist hysteria during the Cold War. 
(After scientists were sent there to work under Operation Osoaviakhim, Hydra grew slowly in Russia -- with the rise of (anti-Communist) capitalism, and with Fascism being typically the resort of anti-authority criminal classes. Hydra ideology flourished much more quickly in the US (where it would be conformist-authoritarian, not anti-authoritarian), because the US was already capitalist, and had already been doing Hydra eugenic science like Project Rebirth, back in WWII.)
Being a greedy liar and a thief, Howard Stark decided to take advantage of the end of the Cold War by selling the WS to the Soviet branch of Hydra, just days before the Dissolution of the Soviet Union made it moot, and stealing the WS from the Pentagon to patent it himself. 
He sold Bucky complete with the Red Book, which the Russians either translated while reading aloud, re-wrote in Russian for their own purposes (explaining why an American organisation’s supersoldier appears to have Russian trigger words; perhaps he doesn’t, they would work in any language?) and why Zemo read them aloud in Russian.
(And/or, maybe the Americans really did use Russian trigger words on Bucky, to perpetuate the ‘definitely-not-American’ Boogeyman mythos?) 
The Russians realised they had been double-crossed by Stark, and sent the WS after him and his wife in retribution, and to steal the WS serum back (which Stark may or may not have also promised but failed to deliver.) 
The other US intelligence agencies failed to look into it more closely because, once they discovered the sale of the WS, and the theft of the serum, they considered Stark and his wife traitors / double-agents, and thought it was best for PR if the whole thing was hushed up.
Despite now having a mind-controlled super soldier of their own, the Russians didn’t have the secret of creating new mind-control. This explains why they couldn’t control the other Winter Soldiers (despite them being Hydra ideologues before serum), and why the Red Room had to go undercover in America, to steal the secret of mind-control from SHIELD in 1995. 
Why would they have to go to America to get that intel, if it was already in Russia?
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tadashisdisaster · 1 year
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𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐩_𝐀𝐫𝐧𝐲 𝐱 (𝐟𝐞𝐦)𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫  - 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 part 1
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CWˏˋ°•*⁀➷     idk if there’s gonna be smut here, suggestive humor, college life, breakups, toxic relationship, college boy/girl curiosity
AN ~ arny is so JJGSJIISOJAMAHJSJSISH IDFK. also comment below if u have an addiction to coffee? I do☕️ vanilla mocha latte🤍or just plain coffee with a medium amount of creamer and 3and a half spoon fulls of sugar. 😌Yus pls.
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You slam your door and chuck your shoes off to the side. “FUCK.” Arny peeks his head through the crack of his door. “Um, so…how’s your day been?”
You and Arny have been roommates for a full year now. You two have grown really close over the past few years, and so have feelings that remain one sided. Arny has been your friend since high school. Sure you had your ups and downs but that’s what make you two so compatible.
You rip open the fridge and snatch 3 strawberry milk boxes and flop yourself on the couch. You peal the straw off the box and stab the top of the box with the bottom of the straw. ‘SIIIIIPPPP’ you sigh and place the box on the coffee table and lay down.
Arny (who had been watching you practically rip the fridge door off and murder a milk box) finally opens his bedroom door all the way and shuffles towards you.  He places his hands on his hips and look down at you.
“Rough day huh?” You don’t look at him as you quickly click through your anime series, selecting one and letting the remote slip from your hand to the floor. “How’d you know?” Arny raises his hand, pointing to the fridge. “You literally-” you roll your eyes and respond again without looking at him.
You knew that if you looked at him you would bawl your eyes out, but you wanted to stay mad. You wanted to wallow in your own self pity. 
“That was a rhetorical question….doof.” Arny lets out and over exaggerated gasp and puts his hand on his chest. “Well I never…in a million, trillion, billion, years have never been so insulted in my life.”  You snort and hide your face in the pillow you had stuffed under your head. “Leave me alone, Barney.” Arny, being used to the old high school nickname, let out a chuckle, “So, that’s how it is…” he climbs on top of you, tickling your sides.
“A-arny…” you try to breathe, “s-stop!” Not really paying attention to the not so innocent position you two were in at the moment, you wrap you arms around his neck, tossing your head back as you continued to laugh.
Arny looks at you, unwanted thoughts creep into his mind. Watching you laugh made his mind race. He subconsciously leans his head to your neck, his nose softly brushes against the your beating pulse, making you jolt.
“Um…Arny?” You hold you hands together at you chest as you shyly look away at the floor. Arny backs off you and quickly licks his lips out of nervous habit. You two sit in silence wait for the other to speak up and break the thick tension.
Arny clears his throat, “Ehem, so, a-about you day?” You fidget with the ring on your finger. His gaze was soft yet intense, making you take a quick glance at your concerned friend then quickly look away. He smirks at how shy you’ve always been, even after 5 years of friendship.
Arny sighs and gets up, “Well if you really don’t wanna talk about what happened then I guess i’ll just have’ta-” you grab his pant leg pinched between your index and thumb. You haven’t bothered to lift your head, afraid to show your flushed face, “He…he cheated on me.”
Your hand fell to your lap. Tears stung the corners of your eyes. All he could do was look at you with utter frustration and confusion, wondering why a girl like you, would decided to go with that douche, Damion, instead of him, who obviously cared so much about you.
Arny ran his hand through his curls and sat back down on the couch. After a few more seconds of silence he clears his throat, “Well…” you look up at Arny, his arms open wide as he looked away from you, his cheeks a tinge pink. You crawl across the sofa and into his arms.
You sobbed into his chest. “Why Arny, why?” Arny knew he couldn’t answer. There were so many answers but only one spoke louder, “I-I don’t know.” He stroked your hair planting a small kiss to your temple. You had the tendency to fall for toxic guys, making you and your life miserable. You would get upset (angry) whenever he would tell you “He’s not that great of a guy y/n, if you would just-” you’d end up arguing and the fight always ended in “YOU’RE NOT MY FUCKING DAD, GOD, GET THE FUCK OF MY BACK ARNY!”
You had avoided Arny until your boyfriend either left, cheated or did other things to you that made you leave the relationship, only then would you find your way back to him and cry your heart out. “I don’t think I wanna date anymore.” You blankly state as you look at you fuzzy duck socks.
Arny hums at your response knowing that your “statement” wasn’t going to last that long. You said that every time your heart got shattered to a million pieces, then (with Arny’s help of course) put the pieces back together and then hand the not fully healed heart to another.
You get up and walk towards your room. “I’m gonna go shower…and wash this,” you do a circular motion with your pointer finger around your mascara covered face. “l’ll see you for dinner. Or maybe order something, I might even cook if i don’t feel tired, you know how I get after a good wash.” You awkwardly chuckle walking to your door. Just as you grab the knob Arny stops you.
“When did you get-”
Arny’s hand was gently placed on yours preventing you from continuing to turn the door knob. Maybe you were too busy rambling about dinner, that you hadn’t  noticed him get up and walk behind you, but the way his warm chest brushed against your arm sent goosebumps up and down your spine.
“Y/n, I…” you blush waiting for him to finish his sentence. His face was dangerously close to yours making you yearn for more contact. “Y/n I love you.”
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To be continued…..
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