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hawkeyeslaughter · 2 months

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a comprehensive list of songs and lyrics that remind me of hawkeye pierce ( either about him / his perspective ) ( will be updated )

angst / sad

— johnny cash , hurt — “ what have i become / my sweetest friend / everyone i know / goes away in the end “

— jason isbell , white elephant — “ there’s one thing that’s real clear to me / no one dies with dignity / we just try to ignore the elephants of now “

— todd snider , too soon to tell — “ and dear lord if you’re up there / you sure got some nerve / seems like even the wicked / they get worse than they deserve “

— warren zevon , hasten down the wind — “ she’s so many women / he can’t find the one who was his friend / so he’s hangin’ on to half her heart / he can’t have the restless part / so he tells her to hasten down the wind “

— boy genius , afraid of heights — “ when the black water ate you up / like a sugar cube in a teacup / i got the point you were making / when i held my breath ‘ till you came up “

— surf curse , freaks — “ i am just a freak / my head is filled with parasites / i dream of you almost every night / hopefully i won’t wake up this time “

— dandelion hands , i could have sworn you were dead — “ i could have sworn you were dead / but i saw you in a dream last night / there were flowers growing out of your head / and it made me smile “

— todd snider , carla — “ leaving me was one thing carla / why’d you have to leave so slow / i didn’t mind you walking away / what hurt was how you walked so slow “

— willie nelson , angel flying too close to the ground — “ and i patched up your broken wing / and hung around awhile / trying to keep your spirits up / and your fever down “

fun

— bruce springsteen , born to run — “ together wendy we can live with the sadness / i’ll love you with all of the madness in my soul “

— todd snider , ballad of the devil’s backbone tavern — “ life’s too short to hurry / life’s too long to wait / too short not to love everybody / life’s too long to hate “

— hozier , someone new — “ i fall in love just a little oh , little bit / every day with someone new “

— mgmt , me and michael — “ in every scene , it’s me and michael / imaginary bombs raining down from the clouds / so it seems / the danger will never let the feelings die “

— billy joel , only the good die young — “ we might be laughing a bit too loud / oh , but that never hurt no one “

— alanis morissette , hand in my pocket — “ i’m sad , but i’m laughing / i’m brave , but i’m chicken shit / i’m sick , but i’m pretty , baby “

— aha , take on me — “ take on me ( take on me ) / take me on ( take on me ) / i’ll be gone / in a day or two “

— crosby , stills , & nash , love the one you’re with — “ well there’s a rose / in the fisted glove / and eagle flies / with the dove / and if you can’t be / with the one you love / honey , love the one you’re with “

love songs

— r.e.m , at my most beautiful — “ i found a way to make you / i found a way / a way to make you smile “

— john prine , iris dement , in spite of ourselves — “ in spite of ourselves / we’ll end up sitting on a rainbow / against all odds / honey , we’re the front door prize “

— arctic monkeys , baby i’m yours — “ baby i’m yours ( baby i’m yours ) / and i’ll be yours / until two and two is three “

—the cults , always forever — “ you and me / always forever “

— coldplay , sparks — “ and i know i was wrong / but i won’t let you down / oh , yeah , yeah , yeah i will / yes i will “

old songs

— etta james , one for my baby — “ i could tell you a lot / but i know you got to remain / true to your code / just make it one for my baby / and one more for the road “

— elvis presley , love me — “ treat me like a fool / treat me mean and cruel / but love me “

— frank sinatra , i get a kick out of you — “ some , they go for cocaine / i’m sure that if i took even one sniff / that would bore me terrifically , too / but i get a kick out of you “

— dooley wilson , as time goes by — “ you must remember this / a kiss is just a kiss / a sigh is just a sigh / the fundamental things apply / as time goes by “

— frank sinatra , in the wee small hours of the morning — “ when your lonely heart has learned its lesson / you’d be her’s , if only she would call / in the wee small hours in the morning / that’s the time you miss her most of all “

i have no explanation for these i honestly can just imagine him liking them . or singing them . obnoxiously .

— the gourds , fossil contender — “ well , how would you feel / if i dug up your head ? / well i wouldn’t want to be answerin’ any of your / loaded questions , no “

— counting crows , mr . jones and me — “ mr . jones wishes he was someone just a little more funky / when everybody loves you / oh son , that’s just about as funky as you can be “

— don mclean , vincent — “ and when no hope was left inside on that starry , starry night / you took your life , as lovers often do / but i could have told you , vincent / that this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you “

— warren zevon , werewolves of london — “ you hear them howlin’ around your kitchen door / better not let ‘em in / little old lady got mutilated late last night / werewolves of london again “

— queen , bohemian rhapsody — “ mama , ooh / i don’t wanna die / sometimes wish i’d never been born at all “ ( i’m sorry but you guys know he’d fucking love this song . idk what to tell you . )

— weezer , buddy holly — “ whoo - wee i look just like buddy holly / oh , oh and you’re mary tyler moore “ ( sorry . again . but we know it’s true )

unfortunately i am under the opinion that hawkeye would know all of the pitch perfect songs . there is nothing you can do to sway me from this opinion .

#ignore that there’s a disproportionate amount of folk songs on here #everything remind me of him . actually #this isn’t even close to being a complete list . lnfoab #mash #m*a*s*h #mashposting #mash 4077 #mashblr #hawkeye pierce #hawkeye

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i-used-to-wear-the-fedora · 1 year

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Amalthea "Thea" Munson

"So, have you thought of any names yet?" Steve asked as he pushed the cart down the Walmart aisle. The baby in Eddie's arms looked around the store with wide eyes. Eagerly taking in her new surroundings with the quiet joy, only a child could have.

"A few. You think Amalthea is a mouthful?"

"Amalthea? What kind of name is that?"

"You know, The Last Unicorn?"

"Oh! Yeah, I've seen that movie." Steve had taken Julie Wilson to see it sophomore year, but he barely remembered anything about it. They were busy doing...other things. "I mean, she's your kid. You can name her whatever you want. But you could call her Thea for short." The kid looked like a Thea.

"Thea...yeah." Eddie smiled as he ran a hand through the girl's hair. She let out a content gurgle in response. Thea really was a cute baby. Steve didn't say anything, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who the mom was. He remembered going to Nancy's house and Mrs. Wheeler bringing out the family photo album, much to his ex-girlfriend's dismay. The many, many baby photos of her as a baby with similar light brown hair and chubby cheeks.

Steve couldn't blame Eddie for having a crush on Nancy. She was strong, smart, and beautiful. He hadn't dated her in almost a year now and he still couldn't stop thinking about her. Honestly, he was surprised he wasn't the one who ended up with a wish baby. But that wasn't any of his business. Snapping out of his thoughts, Steve turned to see Eddie looking at the cans of formula that lined the metal shelves.

"Similac, Enfamil, Fred Meyer...Jesus there's so many brands. How do I know which one to choose?" The metalhead asked exasperated. "They're all so expensive."

"Don't get Enfamil." Steve reached over and grabbed two containers of Similac before tossing them in the cart. "Nancy showed me this news story about the messed up stuff Nestlé does to babies in Africa." Steve watched Eddie for a reaction to Nancy's name but there was nothing.

"Hey, you know more about this stuff than I do." Eddie admitted. Steve saw the way his eyes lingered on the items' price tags. Baby stuff was expensive. Steve could afford it, but he couldn't imagine trying to raise a kid alone on his salary from Family Video in a cramped trailer without anyone to help take care of the kid. Sure, he had his uncle, but Eddie said he worked all the time. Steve doubted he would be able to do much. At least he could help him get started.

Diapers, baby wipes, assorted onesies, and a car seat were near the top of the list. They were about to turn into the next aisle when a voice called out.

"Holy shit, Harrington, is that you?" Steve froze at the familiar voice calling out. Turning around only confirmed Steve's fears as he came face to face with Tommy Hagan.

"Damn it." Steve muttered under his breath loud enough to make Eddie turn. "Hey, Tommy." Steve managed to grit out as his former friend sauntered over to the duo. "What do you want?"

"What? I can't say hi to an old friend?" Not when they hadn't talked to each other in over three years because Tommy was a total dickhead. The last time they even said anything to each other was back when hus former best friend attached himself to Billy Hargrove to mock him about Nancy Wheeler. Steve watched as his eyes drifted over to Eddie. "Jesus Steve, are you seriously hanging out with Munson?" Steve saw the way Eddie visibly stiffened at the use of his last name. Steve watched his former friend's eyes widen when he finally registered the baby in Eddie's arms. Tommy looked between him, the baby, and Eddie before letting out a loud laugh. "Oh, I get it now."

"Get what?" Eddie snapped but he visibly tensed up as he spoke. Thea noticed her father's reaction, squirming in the blankets as she started to whine.

"You knocked some chick up and came begging to Steve for some cash." Tommy rolled his eyes as he turned to Steve. "Seriously, dude? I know you tried to impress Wheeler with whole "nice guy" act, but wow. You know he probably killed people, right?" Steve frowned as Tommy smirked at him. People around them stopped moving to listen in on the group. Eddie glared at the other jock but bit his lip. At this point, Thea was full-on crying as Eddie tried to comfort her. It made Steve angry as he let go of the cart and walked over to Tommy until they were almost nose to nose. Steve barely stopped himself from grabbing the guy and instead settled for jabbing a finger in his chest.

"Listen Thomas," Steve knew damn well, no one except for Tommy by his full name except for his mom when she got angry, "I don't care what you think. And I know you're probably not up to date on current events, but they proved Eddie didn't kill those people. Even if he did, I'd rather hang out with him than you because at least he talks about things that aren't himself or the girls he fucked. So how about you do us all a favor and leave before you make any more babies cry with that sad excuse you call a face."

"I, what the hell-?" Tommy sputtered for a moment as he went red in the face. He looked ready to fight, but with everyone staring at him, he started to back away. Muttering something under his breath as he stalked off. Steve internally winced, memories of the way he acted in high school, especially towards people like Eddie, came rushing back. He was only brought back to reality by a hand on his shoulder.

"Damn Stevie." He turned back to see Eddie grinning at him. Thea had calmed down and was now far more interested in the length of Eddie's hair she was currently playing with. "Thanks for the save, not gonna lie, I was just gonna punch the guy...probably not a great example for Thea. Who knew you could use school bully tactics for good."

"Hey, I learned from the best. You should see my mom and aunts passive aggressively fighting each other at our Christmas parties."

"No thanks, one Harrington is more than enough for me." Steve didn't notice the way Eddie stared at Thea when he said that.

#thea #stranger things #fanfiction #stranger things au #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #au #wish baby au #wish baby #amalthea munson

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maladjust3d · 3 months

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Hey, you wanna know something kind of curious and weird?

I had an extra tooth taken out of the roof of my mouth! It functioned like a canine, and looked like a canine, but it just came from the roof of my mouth. Plus, there's a large chance that more might form as my life goes on.

Weird, right?

That sure is weird! You know what?! I bet you could get some cash showin’ it off on that one wacky radio show they do down on Skid Row!

My girl Audrey likes that one a whole lot. Can’t remember what it’s called, “Wacky Wilson’s Weird Shit” or somethin’ like that. They talk about all kinds of freaky stuff there. Last week, they had a guy on who liked eatin’ chrysanthemums! How weird is that?!

If you ever get another one of these mystery teeth, gimme a call. I have a certain fascination with bizarre cases.

#orin scrivello #little shop of horrors

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andydrysdalerogers · 2 years

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Aurora ~ Part One

Pairings: Andy Barber vs Lloyd Hansen; Andy Barber x OFC Aurora "Rory" Thatcher

Summary: Rory has opened a new bakery in town. And the local mafia boss has taken an interest...

Work Count:4.6K

Warnings: Mafia! Andy Barber, assault, fluff, mentions of parental death, this is a multi-verse of mixed characters

This work is 18+ only. Please heed the warnings and walk away as this story does get violent as it goes on...

Banner by @justawriterand

Mood board and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Welcome to Newton. A sleepy town outside of Boston. Where kids can play with their friends and shop owners advertise with signs on the street. It’s a quiet town. An unassuming town. A town where one-man rules and no one forgets it. This town, Newton, is Andy Barber’s town.

Aurora Thatcher wiped the sweat from her brow as she placed the last table in her shop. Her shop. The bakery that Rory always dreamed about. The Sweetest Things. It took two years, one loan from her grandparents but it was here. The décor was Parisian, black, white and pink. The displays would be filled with her treats. The checkerboard floor was polished, the white tables and chairs ready for customers to sit and enjoy their treats. Rory smiled. Everything was perfect.

The bell over the door rang, startling you from your thoughts. A man with dark hair, scruff on his shin stood in the doorway. “Miss Thatcher?”

“Yes? Sorry, we are closed.”

“I know Miss Thatcher. My name is Nick, Nick Fowler. I work for Mr. Barber.” He offer what she assumed to be a gentle smile, trying not to scare her.

She froze. Mr. Andrew Barber, the notorious mob boss. He ran this town and everyone in it. She had been made aware of this early on and while Rory knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she still feared him. “Hello Mr. Fowler. How can I help you?”

Nick Fowler smiled at the pretty young thing standing in from of him. She was petite, with dark hair pulled into braids and a bun, large doe eyes that alluded to the innocence of her. She was beautiful but she also didn’t realize it. Her shirt was tight to her body covered by an apron. Nick licked his lips at the girl, adjusting his jeans subtly, not wanting to scare her. “I’m sure you are aware Miss Thatcher that there is a certain, let’s call it, leasing fee, that comes with owning a shop in this town.”

Rory gulped. “Yes Mr. Fowler. My landlord made me aware.” She shuffled to the register and pulled the envelope full of cash for him. “I was advised the leasing fee was two.”

Nick opened the envelope full of $20 bills. He looked up at her with a smirk. “To start Miss Thatcher. Depending on how profitable you are, that may change. Do you understand?”

Rory nodded, trying not to cry. She watched as Nick sniffed the air. “You got any samples?” She nodded again and moved to package up some treats she had made. A couple of croissants, some Danishes, cookies, and her signature red velvet cupcakes. Nick pulled out his wallet to pay but Rory waved him off.

“If you like them, you can just send customers my way.”

“Thank you, Miss Thatcher. Have a nice evening.”

Rory watched him leave and then sag against the counter, the tears she fought so hard to hide finally falling.

Nick walked back into the office, munching on one of the heavenly cookies Rory had given him. He swallows as he saw his boss reviewing some documents, his third in command, Sam Wilson, reviewing the monitors for the casino. “Hey Boss!”

“Fowler. How’d it go?” Andy never looked up from what he was reading.

“Smoothly. The owner was ready for us.” He tossed the envelope on the desk. “She was sweet but scared. Killer body. Amazing baker.” He put the box of treats down carefully.

“Good to know my tenants warn the new people.” Andy looked up at Nick with a smirk. “You have something,” pointing to the side of Nick’s mouth, a smear of chocolate on his lip.

“Shit, sorry boss.” He took out a napkin to wipe his face.

“Was that from the baker?” Andy looked at the box.

“Yeah, Miss. Thatcher. Sweet thing. She gave them to me. Said that if we liked them to send her customers. By the way, I will. She’s that good.”

“Hmm, red velvet. My favorite.” Andy plucked the cupcake out of the box and took a bite. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped his mouth. “Fucking Christ, that’s good.”

“Told ya. Wilson, you have to try these.”

The men munched on the treats as Andy put the money away. “So, Miss Thatcher was amiable?”

“Very. Wouldn’t mind going back and visiting with her. Get to know her… personally.” Nick smirked at the thought.

“You will do no such thing Nick.” Andy frowned. He had never met the girl, but he knew Rory’s grandparents and was doing them a favor by charging such low rent. “She’s innocent. So just do your job and that’s it.”

A couple of months had passed, and the bakery was a hit on the block. The rate of growth left Rory happy but unsettled. Nick has been back as promised, once a month to collect rent. He could see the growth but didn’t charge her more. Every time he stopped by Rory had a box of treats for him, especially saving a couple of red velvet cupcakes after Nick mentioned that Mr. Barber liked them.

It was nearly closing time when the doorbell rang. Rory looked up from her sweeping to see a gruff dark hair man enter with a lankier man. She went to the register and smiled. “May I help you?”

“I’ve come to collect the rent,” he replied. She paled.

“I’m sorry, M-Mr. Fowler already came by to pick it up. I’m sorry.”

The man leered at Rory. “Stupid bitch,” he growled. “This is my block.” He came around the counter. Rory froze as he stalked towards her. “Guess, you’ll have to pay me another way.” He twirled a tendril that had fallen from her ponytail, the smile on his face sadistic.

Andy was in desperate need of caffeine. After wiping the blood from his bruised knuckles and taking care of the issue with the casino behind the antique store, he heard his stomach rumble. “Work” had left him tired and hungry. He spotted the new little bakery and decided to visit and meet the Thatcher’s granddaughter. He walked across the street and peered in the window. He watched as a young woman pushed Rumlow away from herself and Rumlow reach back and slap her, the force pushed her to the floor. He raced into the shop. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Brock looked up to see his boss standing in the doorway with a look of fury. “Mr. Barber, sir, I’m just collecting…”

“I told you, I already paid Nick two days ago,” Rory whispered from the floor, holding her cheek.

“Rumlow, she’s on Fowler’s list. Leave now and never come back here again.”

“But sir…”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Brock scurried like the rat he is and left, taking Ward with him.

Andy walked around the counter and kneeled beside Rory. “Are you alright?”

Rory was still holding her cheek, a single tear falling down her face. “I’m fine.”

Andy’s heart cracked. “No, you’re not.” He stood up and went to the back. She heard the freezer open and close. He returned to her with ice wrapped in a towel. “Here,” he gently pressed the towel to her face. She winces and he brushes a strand of hair from her face. “My name is Andy.”

She knew who he was. “Rory. Uh, Aurora,” she whispered. He could feel the tremble through her body.

“That’s a beautiful name.” She maintained her eyes casted down. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he reassured. He could still see the fear in her posture. Rory refused to look at him, keeping her eyes casted down. She didn’t want to make the mobster mad, but Andy studied her. She was beautiful, even as she was covered in flour, tear tracks and a red mark covering her face.

Rory’s voice quivered as she spoke. “I’m sorry Mr. Barber. I didn’t mean to talk to your man that way or shove him.” She stood up. “I – I can pay if you need me too.” She went to the register, still refusing to meet his eyes.

The buzz of the register brings Andy out of whatever trance her body had put him in. “If you say you paid Nick, then I believe you.” She nodded. But Andy wanted to see her face. “Look at me.” She froze, her heart begins to pound. She was sure he can hear it thumping against her rib cage, wanting to escape. “I said, look at me.” He grasped her chin and tilted her head to meet his eyes. Their height difference was significant. He was easily over six feet while she was just over five. Soft brown eyes meet his blue green ones, and she was lost. Rory could see every line in his irises, like a map that she wanted to study.

Andy tried not to lose himself in her eyes. “You are under my protection. No harm will come to you ever again. Do you understand sweetheart?” Rory nodded, unable to let go of his gaze. “Good. Now, what time do you close?”

“In an hour and then I have to prep for tomorrow,” she whispered. She never took her eyes off of him. She took in the rich texture of his suit, the dark blue complimenting his eyes, his full beard accentuating his full lips. But then she saw it. A speck of blood on the collar of his white shirt. She locked eyes with him again and she swallowed.

Finally breaking the stare down, Andy looks at his watch. “I’ll be by in a couple of hours to take you home. I’ll send Nick to watch over you.”

“You don’t have to do that Mr. Barber. I can take care of myself.”

“No, I do.” He gently caressed her cheek. She closed her eyes at his touch. “Finish up sweetheart. Go on. I’ll wait for Nick.”

Rory offered a small smile as she went back to her cleaning and organizing. Andy called Nick over and five minutes later the man himself strolled in. “Hey Rory! Any cookies left?”

“Hi Nick. Yeah, in the back. Help yourself.”

“Hey boss.” Nick nodded to Andy. “What’s going on?”

“Rumlow was here, claiming to be collecting the rent but I think he was after something more.” His eyes moved to Rory as she wiped down the ovens.

“Shit. Ok, what’s the plan?”

“I want protection for her at all times. Get Parker or Lang to watch her. I need to take care of somethings with Barton but I’ll be back. We’ll discuss how to handle Rumlow later.”

“You got it boss.”

“And Fowler, if anything happens to her, I’ll consider it your fault.” Andy turned and found Rory stocking ingredients. He observes her as she straightens the boxes and bags, her curves more defined when not hidden by her apron. He wants to run his hands over her back and down her backside to grasp the globes of her ass while he holds Rory tight to him. He clears his throat to bring his mind back from dirty thoughts and catch her attention. “Sweetheart, I have business to finish but I’ll be back. Please, don’t go anywhere without Nick.”

“Yes, Mr. Barber.” Rory chewed on her lip.

Andy took a few steps towards her. He cupped her chin and using this thumb pulled to release her bottom lip. “What I wouldn’t give to bite that lip,” he whispered. Rory sucked in a breath and closed her eyes. “I hope I get that chance soon,” he breathed in her ear and placed a small kiss on her cheek, the whiskers of his beard tickling her face. “Soon, beautiful.” And then he was gone.

Rory took a moment to calm herself. Having never met the man before today, the emotions and attractions were new. Andrew Barber was sex walking in her eyes. His height was perfect, allowing her to still study him when she locked eyes with him. Those eyes, the eyes that allowed you to get lost in the deepest of oceans and yet still see the sky. His face, after it let go of the fury, was kind. He looked at Rory, not with anger, but with longing or dare she say it, lust. Rory’s body clenched at the thought of Andy’s hands on her and she shook her head to clear her thoughts. Rory went back to work and chatted with Nick.

“You ok cupcake?”

She tilted your head. “Cupcake?”

“Would have called your kitten but I don’t think the boss would have liked that,” Nick replied as he leaned on the door frame. He was no slouch either, with his blue sweater bring out the blue in his eyes.

He seemed angry earlier. Rory got on her tip toes to get a canister onto a higher shelf. Nick got behind her to help, placing the canister with ease.

“Boss doesn’t like it when an innocent is hurt.” Nick tilted her face to see the small bruise forming on her cheek. “Rumlow crossed a line. Did you put ice on this?”

“Andy gave me some.” Rory blush at saying his name. It felt good to say his given name. But then the thought of Rumlow entered back into her mind. “He isn’t going to come back, is he?”

Nick clenched his jaw. “Not if we have any say. Rory, you are on my list so your protection is my responsibility, and the boss will make sure of that. Don’t worry cupcake. We’ll take care of you.”

Rory and Nick continue to work, she was prepping and Nick finishing the cleaning. As she placed the last of the doughs in the fridge, the bell tingles again, making her jump and coward behind the shelf, her breathing becoming more rapid. This little piece of metal was now making sounds that terrified her. Rory sinks down to the floor, wondering what was happening to her.

“Sweetheart? Are you here?”

The sweetest voice calls for her. Rory stood up and peek her head around the shelf. “Hi.”

“Rory? What’s the matter?” Andy can see her body is tense, her eyes round with fear. She shakes her head, knowing she was being ridiculous. She headed to her office, but Andy stops her. “Talk to me.”

“The bell.” Rory looked down. “I don’t like the bell anymore. It scares me,” she says in a small voice, ashamed that the offensive, non-descript piece of metal is messing with her psyche.

Andy gathered her in his arms, holding her tights. “Won’t let anything happen to you. Promise.” He let go and followed her into the office. Rory grabbed her bag and keys and walked out with Andy and Nick. Nick cleared his throat.

“So Rory, I have a friend who is looking for work. Good kid, hard worker. Maybe you should hire him to help you out?”

Andy hid his smile, knowing what Nick was doing. Planting Parker as a worker would be perfect.

Rory smiled. “I could use the extra help. Send him my way.”

Andy took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, and he walked to the car. Nick opened the door and Andy helped her in. “Where to?”

“I’m about ten blocks away but I can walk, really.”

Andy cocked an eyebrow towards her, and she stopped. Nick pulled into traffic and a few minutes later they were parked in front of her building. Andy stopped her as she climbed out of the car. “Have dinner with me.”

There was no point in trying to refuse. This was Andy Barber and he always got what he wanted. Rory nodded. “Ok.”

“Tomorrow night. I’ll be by.” He kissed her hand and let her go.

When Rory woke up the next morning, she could have sworn that last night was a dream. Andy Barber did not ask her out on a date, that Rumlow guy hadn’t attacked her. She got up and got ready for the day. She saw a dress that she had purchased on a whim. It was white with blue flowers, empire waisted, boat neck, sleeveless. The dress fell to her knees. Maybe it wasn’t a dream. She pulled the dress out along with some blue heels, just in case. Rory grabbed her bag and headed out into the crisp morning. She missed the sedan that was following her.

Rory got to the shop and there was a young man sitting on the stoop. She froze and he jumped up. “Hi, are you Miss Thatcher?”

“Yes?” She looked at him warily.

“My name is Peter. Peter Parker. Mr. Barber and Mr. Fowler said I should come by about a job.”

Rory swallowed hard. Yesterday was not a dream. She remembered everything. Nick and Andy promised to take care of her. Peter could see the hesitation. “Oh sorry. Here.” He handed her a note.

Cupcake,

This is the guy I asked you about. He’s a good kid and a hard worker. Call me if you have any questions. He’s also there to protect you if you need it.

In your service,

Nick

She looked at Peter. She offered him a smile. “Hi Peter. It says here that you are a hard worker.”

Peter smiled, his face nothing but positive. “Yes ma’am, ready to learn and help where I can.”

“Ew, don’t call me ma’am.” Peter let out a chuckle. “Its Rory. Let me show you inside.” She got him an apron and walked him through the store. He was a quick learner, and his strength helped a lot. He got all the tables set up and straightened, the heavy coffee pots moved and set without a sweat. Nick was right. Peter was strong and it helped calmer her nerves, you know, just in case someone unsavory showed back up to the shop.

About an hour before closing, Nick strode in with a box. “Hey cupcake!”

“I see we are sticking with the nickname.” She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Hi Nick. What’s with the box?”

“Boss asked me to install a new security system for you and close the shop. But don’t worry, the only thing I’ll take are any leftovers.” He winked at her.

“But…”

“No buts. He said, and I quote, ‘I need my sweetheart to have time to get ready.’ So out with you. Parker and I can handle this. You’re closed tomorrow anyways so no prep.” Nick took her keys from her. “Wilson will take you home.”

“Wilson?”

A kind looking man was outside. He turned at the sound of his name and nodded at her. Nick handed Rory her bag and guided her outside. “Wilson, this is Miss Rory Thatcher. Take care of her.” He turned to you. “Have fun cupcake.” Sam led her to the car and started to drive.

“How do you know where I live?”

“Mr. Barber told me.” He pulled in front of the building just a few minutes later. “I’ll be outside, on watch.”

“Ok.” The thought of someone watching her building was enough to send her in a panic. Rory locked the door after rushing in and sank to the floor. How was this your life? Was it wise to go on a date with Andy Barber? Her thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. She smiled as she read the caller ID. “Hi Nana.”

“Hello my darling! How are you?”

“I’m good Nana. Business is booming.”

“That’s wonderful my darling. Any plans this evening.”

Rory hesitated. She might as well come clean since it would probably get out sooner than later. “I’m going to dinner with Andrew Barber.” The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. “Nana?”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No! He helped me with a difficult… umm… customer and then he asked me to dinner. He was a perfect gentleman.”

Her grandmother was in a peculiar state: quiet. She was concerned at Rory’s defense of the man. “Rory, just, make sure the man is respectful.”

“I will Nana. I have to get ready. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have fun my darling.”

Rory hung up and got ready. A shower, hair done, makeup on, she pulled on her dress, stockings and heels. As she was sliding earrings on, the doorbell rang.

Andy has always been a confident man. Nothing has ever made him nervous or scared. Until he looked into her eyes. Her big, innocent, doe eyes, the beautiful color enrapturing him to his very soul. They were eyes that could see right through him, haunting him as he tried to sleep. How had he not made the effort before to come and see her? No matter. Now he was standing on Rory’s stoop, a bouquet of pink roses in his hands, waiting for her to open the door. Andy never felt the need to have a partner in life after Laurie, a wife to make his queen. Until he saw her.

When she opened the door, Andy was at a loss for words. Her innocence shined through in her appearance and yet his thoughts were of nothing but how to get her naked as fast as humanly possible. “Sweetheart, wow,” he said. Then he heard the sweetest sound...

Her giggle.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” Rory’s cheeks faintly pink, eyes cast down.

“Andy, sweetheart. Call me Andy.” He offered the flowers to her. I” thought these would match your beauty, but I can see now that only you are that beautiful.”

Rory blushed again. “I’m sure that’s not true but thank you.” She kept her eyes downcast.

Andy grasped her chin and tilted her head to force her to look at him. “If I say something, I mean it. You are gorgeous Miss Thatcher. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.” Her submission was surprising. She moved to put the flowers in a vase, her mind racing. She always considered herself independent, self-sufficient, in need of no man. But here she was, submitting to Andy Barber without thinking twice. How did he have a hold of her so quickly. His deep commanding voice brought her out of her thoughts.

“I thought dinner and then a stroll, my dear. Is Chinese ok?”

“Yes, I love Chinese.” She gave him a genuine smile and it warmed Andy’s heart. He offered his arm after she closed her door. He guided her to the car and once in, his driver pulled away.

Once at the restaurant, she waited for her door to be opened as Andy had gripped her hand when she went to open it. She saw Nick approach the door and open it, “Hi Rory.”

“Hi Nick,” as she climbed out with Andy’s helps. It was dawning on Rory that this was how Andy was treated when he was out and about in his city. He was treated like the King he is. As he climbed out, Nick gave him a subtle nod, as if answering an unasked question. Andy placed a hand on her back and guided her onto the restaurant. When she looked around, the place was deserted save a man holding a bottle of wine. “Andy?”

“I don’t want people to know my business until I am ready for them to know. So I bought out the restaurant for the evening.” He had the hostess lead them to a table. It had fresh roses and little tea candles. Rory looked around and saw that the entire restaurant was glowing from candles. Andy pulled out a chair for her to sit.

The waiter didn’t ask but immediately poured wine into the glasses. “Plum wine to start miss, sir. Pairs well with the moo-shi appetizer.” Another waiter brought out a plate of food.

Rory picked up the chop stick to start eating and she notice Andy was struggling, frowning and frustrated. “May I show you?”

Andy snapped his head up as she rose from her seat. Rory stood behind him and placed her hand over his, her face close to his. He was enthralled. He could smell her perfume, the scent of her shampoo. He could almost taste her skin, the creaminess entrancing him. Her small delicate hand was soft but firm from years of kneading dough. She softly formed his fingers into the right position. As she withdrew, her hand grazed his knuckles ever so gently that it raised goosebumps. “There,” she pronounced, “try it.”

Andy tried and succeeded grasping the food. Rory smiled and moved to sit when Andy grabbed her hand. She gasped at the sudden movement, a tremble moving through her body, Andy could feel the fear racing through her. He gently pulled her hand and brought it to his lips. He placed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

She blushed at the gesture. “You’re welcome.” She sat back down.

“Tell me about yourself.” Andy wanted to know everything about her.

“Well, I grew up a few blocks from the bakery. My grandparents took me in after my parents died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok. I was ten when that happened. I started baking as a way to meet friends and it just grew from there.”

“I do have to complement your bakery. That red velvet cupcake is divine.”

Rory giggled. “That’s my specialty. It’s my favorite flavor.”

Andy looks at her with adoration. “Mine too.”

The conversation flowed for the rest of the mean with Andy asking question after question, absorbing everything he could. Turns out, pink roses were Rory’s favorite. She toys with her wine glass. “So, will I get to learn more about you Mr. Barber?” Her tone is flirty.

The question took him back. He signaled the waiter and paid before leading her out. “Let’s take a stroll.” He walked next to Rory, contemplating what to say. He cleared his throat. “I built my standing from the ground up. The people in this town needed protection from a devil of a man. I did everything in my power to first, protect my neighborhood and then eventually the town. I did have a woman, Laurie and she had my child, Jacob.” His eyes had sorrow at the mention of his son. “But they both died in an accident many years ago when he was just a baby. Since then, I focused on my business. I made it strong, brutal even. I had no reason to look at life differently. Until I saw you.

“Me?”

“You. You were like a breath of fresh air. So beautiful, so innocent. I just… I just wanted to know you.”

“I’m no one special Mr. Barber. Just a girl trying to make her way in the world.” Rory stopped to look at the sky. “It’s so pretty here.”

Andy stood behind her, running his nose by her neck, hearing her breath hitch in surprise but noting how she closed her eyes, as if she was holding back her desire. “It’s because you are trying to make your way in the world that draws me to you.” She looked back at him. “May I kiss you Miss. Thatcher?” She nodded and he pressed his lips to her.

His lips are full, soft and sweet. One would think that his beard would be harsh but it’s not. It’s soft, brushing against her face. He pulls back and sees her slightly swollen lips, her eyes still closed. He smiles but kisses her again, a little harder this time but not forceful. Her lips meld to his, heating her very core.

Kissing Andy Barber has to be her new favorite thing in the whole wide world.

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #andy barber #lloyd hansen #andy barber au #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans au #andy barber fiction #andy barber fanfic #lloyd hansen fic #andy barber smut #aurora #Andy barber vs Lloyd Hansen

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brsb4hls · 8 months

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Adding to the Loki 2 reactions (with spoilers), slightly critical:

*I still like the aesthetic, the set design is great

*trying to figure out if Loki does not quite feel like Loki, because he actually is out of character or because he's in a completely different environment. I mean, he basically went from period piece-like drama and fantasy to SciFi

Plus he actually gets to built connections with other people here (outside of his family), because the show makes room for it, so that's kinda new. And has to be acted out somehow.

*Regarding those connections, I still feel Loki is a bit too emotional and touchy. Might be on purpose to make him more relatable.

(The "she'll be fine" comment after the car crash though felt Loki-ish)

He is more human in the TVA, which is connected to him not having access to his powers there.

I don't have much hope, but it would be neat to see a shift in his and Mobius' interactions once he gets to use his powers more again.

*On Mobius. Intriguing character, still don't completely buy into the buddy vibe. Mobius does care about Loki in a way and there might have been time to built somewhat of a friendship (I don't know, how much time actually passed in season 1).

But imo Mobius still treats Loki a bit like an asset. Their interactions in 2x1 are more about managing. Mobius maneuvers Loki around to keep him out of an unclear situation and in order to get information. He also needs Loki. As an Loki expert Mobius is fully aware how capable and valuable for a fight Loki is. Loki also knows more about what's happening to the time line, so Mobius has to keep him stable and work with him.

I still don't feel he takes him completely seriously. It all seems a bit patronizing.

Otoh Mobius takes a great risk to keep Loki. Might make sense given the overall situation, but is a bit inconsistent.

They should not have forced the buddy comedy imo. I would have enjoyed enemies reluctantly working together way more.

But Loki needs a friend so I take what I can get I guess. And at least it's Owen Wilson.

(I still would love to see Mobius nearly shitting himself over a display of Loki's true power. He is way to nonchalant, which comes with his position and experience of course, but well...)

*Yeah yeah, we all love OB, that's a given

*does time travel in the MCU work like this? Idc, it was funny. The simultaneous conversation with past and present OB was a nice touch, funny and well done.

*was the time slip a one ep kinda deal? Trailer indicates it wasn't. We'll see.

*Hunter B15 being the moral compass, important.

*That TVA council seemed a bit all over the place. What's the course of action apart from finding Sylvie? But yay, Liz Carr.

*So Sylvie thinks Loki's dead-dead? Makes sense, that she would try to built an actual life after everything. The post credit scene was a bit anvil on the head, but I get it in regards to Sylvie's journey.

Btw my guess is Loki will make a sacrifice in the end, but that will probably be leaving Sylvie and Mobius behind so they can have an actual life.

And Loki will be alone again.

It would fit. It would be dramatic enough, but Disney would still keep the character alive just in case. Loki's a cash cow after all.

#loki #loki spoilers #loki disney+#loki season 2 #slightly critical #but I still like the show #hope ep 2's a bit smoother though #ep 1 felt a bit clunky #feel free to argue #I desere it #I'm overly critical lately #maybe tv show oversaturation or smth lol #oh should probs add #anti mobius #just to be safe

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circusgoth-dotcom · 7 months

Text

The Most Annoying Man I've Ever Met

Ship: Wade Wilson x Gabriel MacHammer (Rival Mercenaries AU)

Word Count: 1217

Summary: Deadpool and Black Death have the same target in mind when it comes to making some cash. CWs for suggestive themes throughout, Wade being Wade, alcohol references, violence, brief blood/gore mentions, murder.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife

It was Masquerade Night at the Black Rain Nightclub, and as badly as Gabriel had wanted to dress elaborately, he had dressed practically and appropriately for his job instead. He supposed his “uniform” still technically fit the event's theme, as he hid his identity behind a mask modelled after that of a crow’s skull, but that was beside the point.

Given the choice, he would’ve gone all out. Alas, he had a contract to fulfil tonight, and something lacy and alluring would’ve only gotten in the way.

He was watching his target from the opposite side of the club, fiddling absently with one of his pockets, when he suddenly sensed a presence to his left. Subtly glancing over, he spotted a familiar black and red suit.

“Deadpool,” Gabriel acknowledged respectfully. The merc whipped his head around as if he hadn’t purposefully stood beside them and gasped.

“BD!!” He squealed excitedly and threw his arms around them, to their slight disgruntlement. “What brings your cute little ass here??”

“I could ask you the same question, minus the comment about my-slash-your ass.” They coolly pried him off of them, returning their gaze back to their target.

“Awhh, you know you love my ass. Anyway, maybe I’m just here because I wanted to get a discount since I’m always in maskerahd.” He indicated his mask as he emphasized the word masquerade in a poor, vaguely French accent. Gabriel glanced at him again.

“Unlikely, considering you’re armed.”

Deadpool silently laughed at their observation before sighing dramatically. “Okay, fine, since you so easily saw past my brilliant ruse- is that one of your superpowers?? Anyway, I’m chasing a bounty.”

“What a coincidence, I’m currently pursuing a contract.”

“No way, that’s nuts. Hey, maybe it’s a sign! Can I get you a drink, my fine gentleman?” Deadpool winked and bowed, gazing eagerly at Gabriel with his empty white voids.

“And have my identity leaked to the public when I ultimately have to take my mask off to drink it? Thanks, but I’m not falling for it.”

He groaned. “Oh, you’re no fun. If you don’t want a drink, how about we just skip to it, then?”

“Skip to what…?”

He then leaned seductively against the wall. “How does you, me, a pizza, and a kingsized bed on Friday night sound to you, schnookums?~”

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment. “You don’t strike me as a man who even owns a kingsize bed. You have an extra large twin mattress at the least.”

“If I stole a bigger bed would you do it??”

"I'd rather go at it alone."

"I mean, hey, that's cool, I don't judge what gets people off. Can I watch?"

Gabriel scoffed, restraining himself from slapping his fellow hitman. "Gods, you're worse than a gnat. I always see you and I can't do anything about it. The answer is no, Deadpool, and it will always be no."

They turned back toward their target, who had begun to walk away from the bar. "Shit!"

"How do you know I'm not devilishly handsome under this mask?!" Deadpool called as Gabriel sped off, quickly following him.

"Piss off, you'll blow my cover!"

He looked over Gabriel’s head and toward the man they were now both chasing. "Hey, that's my bounty!"

Gabriel's eyes widened behind his mask. "No, that's my target! I was hired specifically to execute him!"

"Well, I guess a couple of people want him dead because I just saw an advertisement and wanted to claim some cash! No interview necessary!"

Gabriel growled in annoyance as he followed his target out the backdoor of the club, Deadpool hot on his heels.

“I’m getting the money.”

“I’d let you have it if I didn’t need to pay off several months' worth of rent! Besides, aren’t you like the golden child of the mercenary world? Your dad can pay you what you’ll be missing out on.”

“It’s my responsibility to carve out my own path, now. He wouldn’t pay me shit, he’d just be disappointed.” With that, Gabriel removed his fold-out staff from his belt, extended it, and gave Deadpool a hearty jab to the stomach, briefly slowing him down. As they moved forward, he crumbled, coughing and rubbing his midsection as he tried to keep up.

“Hey, wait!” He wheezed, “I-I’ll suck you off if you let me have this!! Please!!!”

Gabriel didn’t bother responding, too far ahead now and too close to securing his contract. He was following his target down an alley, now, and halted when he came to a sudden stop. They ducked behind a dumpster as he removed a box of cigarettes from his pocket. Their fingers twitched at the sight. Holding their breath, they snuck forward as the man stopped for a smoke. It was now or never--

A shot rang out, missing the man by several feet and causing him to run. Gabriel hopped up, looking back at the encroaching Deadpool.

“You useless fucking assmuncher, now neither of us are going to get paid!”

“I wouldn’t have missed if you hadn’t hit me with that metal stick!”

“It’s a staff and I should be shoving it down your throat right now for what you’ve cost me!”

“God, that’s kind of hot… bad Deadpool, focus! Well don’t let him get away!”

And off they were sprinting again, though it was much harder to catch up with a target that knew he was in trouble.

“I know a shortcut!” Deadpool announced happily as they reached the main road, barely glimpsing where the man was running next.

“So do I,” Gabriel responded less joyfully as he ran a large dagger through the back of the mercenary’s head. He knew the wound wouldn’t last long, but it would at least keep him from progressing too quickly.

“Motherfucker!”

Swiftly removing the blade from his skull, Gabriel continued after his target, climbing up the fire escape of a nearby building to get a better view from its roof. It didn’t take long to find the man attempting to hail a cab. Leaping across buildings, Gabriel began his strategic descent until he was practically on top of the man.

“Hello Moto,” they greeted with sadistic amusement before leaping down onto the sidewalk and wrapping their exposed hands around the man’s neck. He gasped for air and attempted to pry them away, but the moment their skin had made contact with his, it was over. Black, spidery veins pulsed up and down his neck as the colour drained from his face and his mouth contorted in a silent scream. When they released him, he fell like a brick. Breathing heavily and slightly sweaty from the adrenaline rush, Gabriel retrieved his phone and his personal copy of the paper contract he had signed. He placed the paper beside the man’s head and took a photo, texting it to his client, before pocketing his items and looking up and down the street. Seeing no bystanders, he slipped into a nearby alley and took off his mask, gratefully inhaling the cool night air.

“Wow, you’re even sexier without that mask.” A highly unwanted voice had reached his ears. Deadpool had caught up with him, a profusely bleeding hole still closing between his eyes. He giggled in a loopy manner. “Same can’t be said for me, unfortunately.”

#self shipping #self shipping community #self insert #self insert x canon #self x canon #self insert oc #oc x canon #gay self ship #trans self ship #self ship au #💣Bulletproof Boys💣#🔫🖤.s/i [Rival Mercenaries AU]#circus scripts

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years

Note

Fluff and nsfw

While steve was out with bucky and sam one of them introduced a girl to him . Shes abit familar as if she was from his dreams ....Spoiler alert shes a succubus and she also has seen what lies inside him beneath that Beefcake theres that sweet little guy that she met . They are alone in an area and he admits he likes her and she blushed rare to see on a succubus like her (her type is the new kid in a way just spying in dreams) she did admit to being In his dreams both having dejavu now but they like eachother. Few dates later and mr gentleman here asked the demoness to be his s/o she giddly agrees . The smutt hahah the one time he sees her vaunerable is when she needs to feed as he may know bit of that after an encounter with dracula (reffrence: avengers assemble cartoon 2012) both doing fondue while y/n demon form with tail w horns hes got her in a doggy possition while fucking her he holds her sensitive tail both are rough and loving

KICKING OFF FANTASY FRIDAY

First THE FLUFF! No warnings except zero editing and I'm saving some of the succubus/demoness specifics for the other two portions of this 'mini-mini-series.'

Steve knows this is different when Sam jumps out of the crowded bar area to announce, "Steve, I'd like you to meet somebody."

He didn't say a simple "this is whoever" or "so-and-so would like to meet you," no. Sam Wilson said that he wanted Steve to meet the person squeezing through the throng behind him, and Steve is intrigued until...

He knows your face. He recognizes you, but from where? It's...right there on the tip of his tongue. No name comes to mind. He can't picture the background, the circumstance of when you met before, but...he knows that he knows your face.

"So when this lovely lady told me all about how her friends dragged her here and parked her alone at the bar once they all found--" Sam coughs "--someone for the night, I thought 'gee, she's got a lot in common with Steve.'"

Steve smiles kindly, noticing your sinking but wry smile, and he leans forward. "He's got his eye on one of your friends, doesn't he?"

"Rogers, don't ruin this for me," Sam grumbles, getting close to Steve's ear so you can't hear. "She's cute, man. Just try."

Sam's right; you are cute, standing with your hands wrapped together, feet in heels with the toes almost touching, nervous. Steve hates to make people nervous without intention.

Your giggle at Steve's insight is finally dying out, and he knows that sound, too. Still, nothing specific comes to mind, and it's going to haunt him that he's forgotten a face, especially your face.

Sam slips away, and conversation is surprisingly easy when you start out both joking at Sam's expense. He means well. He's a good wingman overall. He has enough confidence to fill the room (while suffocating everyone in it). He was right to think you two would get along.

Steve remains completely content to talk all night, even after a few drinks, even after Sam finds his way 'home' (but to whose home, Steve's not sure), and even after you step up to the curb to hail a cab. He doesn't want to be creepy or forward and insist on getting you to your door, but he wants to. He offers you his number because he doesn't want to ask for yours. That might be too presumptive. He also doesn't want to wait one extra second should you want to talk more.

You don't pull out a phone. You...don't have a purse.

Steve never saw you pull out cash or a credit card, and in concern, his eyes scan your skirt in search of pockets, making sure you have money to get home. The thick waistband sits high and then juts out in layers upon layers of tulle fluff. It, like you, is very cute and colorful. The fabric swishes in the breeze...even one so faint that Steve doesn't feel a thing.

Shit, he's staring, and directly at your ass of all things. His face flushes in embarrassment, and he rubs at his neck, muttering something about wrangling Bucky, who's still inside, to head out themselves.

If he weren't so ashamed of being caught ogling, he would have seen you safely into a cab, but instead, he simply turns around at the bar door.

You're already gone.

He's even more embarrassed when he finally realizes where he knows you from. It's a dream, a dream he had a while ago after a very stressful mission, and he has it again the night he truly meets you.

It's...it's really very stupid, he has to admit. You're just...he simply walks along a beach with you, hands wound together as you idly meander the ocean's edge. Conversation is just as easy in his dream, and that's stupid, right? He's being stupid--and creepy, which is exactly what he was trying not to be.

Nonetheless, Steve has never awaited a call so eagerly, but one never comes. Instead, Sam is meeting your friend again--your roommate, it turns out--so Steve invites himself to join...if you'll be there.

Sam is flabbergasted. Bucky nearly falls out of his chair.

"I'm sorry, punk, what?!"

Steve shrugs and desperately fights to keep the heat out of his face. "It's not that big of a deal, Buck. I just...wanted to see her again and--"

"Stevie's got a crush," Sam sing-songs, throwing his arms up and skipping all the way down the hall to his room before shouting back, "be ready at six, bud. Don't make me late."

Bucky just blinks, reading Steve's expression like a book, like he always could. After a long moment of silence, his friend nods.

"Good for you," he mumbles, an approving, slightly smug grin blooming across his stubbled cheeks, and then good ol' Bucky returns to his food.

You're old school, too, as it turns out. No phone of your own. Steve remembers what that was like growing up, and it brings back a nostalgia he never thought he'd feel again.

No phone means you make your next plans at the time you see each other, and you keep those plans. No phone means that if he wants you to know something before that next meeting, he writes it down--and if it's long enough until he sees you, he mails it. He never thought those simple things would feel completely archaic and inadequate, but they do.

For work, the team has a steady supply of burner phones, cheap little things that don't do much but do far more than nothing, so Steve gives you one with his real and regular number programmed in already. Then he can text you. Then he can call you. Then you can call him, and you do.

You mostly listen, and for some reason, Steve's never been so chatty in his life. It's nice to feel heard, though, and it's even nicer to feel like he doesn't have to talk solely about avenging. Silly, average dude stuff is his favorite. Modern contradictions are a close second.

On the subject of contradictions, however, Steve feels like one. He still has dreams about you, and they're so vivid that sometimes he forgets what he's told you in real life versus in dreams. Thank goodness you haven't noticed him slip up yet, but it's only a matter of time.

"I have something I want to tell you, and I don't want you to freak out," he starts over a casual dinner one night about two months after you met.

"Oh," you chirp, "I have something I need to tell you, too."

"Um, sure, but let me--" Steve wipes his palms down his pant legs "--get this out first, ok?"

You smile and give that cute nod of encouragement he's grown so fond of...addicted to, really.

"I...I dream about you. I mean," Steve stammers, "you're in my dreams. A lot. And it feels like I'm obsessed, but I swear I'm not trying to be. We don't--we don't do anything in the--oh no, that sounds wrong, but--it's 'cause I like you so much."

He expects shock, maybe a few thoughtful sips on your water, and another fair few questions about exactly what you actually were doing in his dreams, but instead you reach a hand out for his.

"Steve, that's..."

Your nose twitches while you gather your words. He can practically see your mind shuffle them into proper order; he just really hopes the words aren't 'good' and 'bye' and 'weirdo.'

"That's right. That is me. I'm in your dreams."

He blinks.

"I am in your dreams because...I'm not human, Steve. That's one of the things I do." You scratch at the wide headband across your hair, a signature piece of your look, along with those poofy skirts. "And I'm sorry if you felt it was invasive before...the time before we met, but I sorta wanted to see what the mind of a hero was like..."

You've released his hand by the last part, picking nervously at your fingernails.

Slowly, the words order themselves properly inside Steve's brain.

"You did that?"

You nod.

"On purpose?"

You nod again.

Steve leans forward to whisper, "what did you find?"

Now, you beam back at him, whole face aglow with the same affection Steve thought he could only dream of--until just this second--and you sit up straighter.

"A good man. A man--" you clear your throat "--worth getting to know in person."

He should ask who or what you really are. He should hesitate. He should think it all through a lot more logically and thoroughly than he has been.

Instead, he smiles back, blue eyes blazing in excitement.

"So if you're not human...is it still alright if I call you my girl?"

This pairing has a Part 2 and a Part 3!

Thank you for reading and participating in this Fantasy Friday. Replies, reblogs, and likes always appreciated. Find more on my masterlist.

#Fantasy Friday asks #steve rogers #fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve x you #fluff and feels #fluff and romance #succubus!reader #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #drabble #ro answers

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thestarsarecool · 1 year

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Paul McCartney Interview in Q Magazine: Cash for Questions. January 1998 Issue.

Hi, all! A photo of one page of this has been around on tumblr for a while (here), but I’ve always wanted to read the full thing. Some lovely soul on Google Groups in 1997 decided to transcribe the full interview (here), so now I’m uploading it so you can read it. Hooray!

Q. When you first wrote a song with John Lennon, did you realise you would play one of the biggest parts in rock 'n' roll? (Michael McConnell, Crawley, West Sussex)

A. Obviously not. But even with all the so-called "historical" events that followed, you're just too inside it all, too busy doing it to realise anything's "historical". You just get on with it. I'm not a great ponderer. Some people would say that's a mistake but it's just the way I am. It's quite cool not to always get the overall picture because it leaves something to be found out. The musicologists get paid to discover the differences between me and John. I'm only just beginning to see it now, based probably on their analysis. So John is often one note, I'm often more melodic. (McCartney is thinking especially of Ian McDonald's book Revolution in the Head, where he describes the ace partnership in contrasts: Lennon's method is "harmonic, dissonant", McCartney's that of the "natural melodist".) It might sound amazing but we never spotted that when we were writing. We just did our thing. But it is kind of apparent when you bother to analyse it.

Q. If John Lennon could come back for a day, how would you spend it with him (Mark Wilson, Deeside, Flintshire)

A. In bed.

Q. Were you ever envious that Brian Epstein didn't fancy you? (Nick Gibson, London)

A. No, I didn't mind. We just used to go to these clubs at night and wonder why there were so many men. It was OK. Brian was very cool about his side to things. I think the nearest any of us got to it was the John-going-to-Spain thing (it inspired the movie, The Hours And The Times) and I'm not sure what the strength of all that was. I think it was power play on John's part. But Brian kept his private life aside. He kept it out of our faces (pause, possibly for effect). He kept it out of mine, anyway.

Q. What were the last records you bought? (Chris Timms, Harrogate)

A. The Prodigy's The Fat Of The Land, Radiohead's OK Computer and Chopin's Nocturnes.

Q. How do you feel about all the animosity between you and Oasis right now? (Christina Vellano, Syracuse, New York, USA)

A. There is none as far as I'm concerned. What happened was I'd said, Good group, good singer, good songwriters. But people asked me about it so much that one time I decided to take it further and say that they don't mean anything to me. I am not related to Oasis. I wish them good luck and everything. But my kids mean something to me, John Lennon means something to me, but Oasis ....

Q. Who would you pick to play with in your dream six-piece band? (Alan Thatcher, Essex)

A. Dream? So we're into fantasy, aren't we? Ringo, John, George, that's three. Me. Jimi Hendrix. That makes lots of guitarists, so Little Richard on keyboards.

Q. With Wings, did you feel pressurised to live up to The Beatles? (Andrew Williams, Neath)

A. Yes, it was a case of "follow that!". Impossible to do. Looking back on it, it's a lot better than I thought, though some of it is just not PLAYED as well as The Beatles. My son (James, co-worker on McCartney's last pop album, Flaming Pie) plays a lot of Wings, so I'm re-listening, and there's good shit that I'd forgotten about. A lot of the lyrics were off the wall, drug stimulated. Things like "Soily - the cat in the satin trousers says its oily". What was I on? I think the answer is stimulants.

Q. Do you still support the legislation of cannabis? (Grahame Woods, Northwood, Middlesex)

A. I would make a distinction between legalising and decriminalising. I'm in favour of the latter. The problem is that jails are stuffed full of kids doing what a lot of people do. Why stuff the jails with young kids? Plus it's one of the best places to score. I remember when I got busted in Japan, nobody made the slightest effort to rehabilitate me (laughs). Just stuck me in a box for nine days. Obviously you come out and you are fairly resentful.

Q. Do you roll a wicked joint? (Steve Kline, Bury)

A. I have nothing to say in answer to that question, m'lud. I wasn't even at the venue.

Q. The critics have been harsh on your solo work. Did this ever discourage you? (Robert Hemauer, Madison, Wisconsin, USA)

A. Yeah, sure, but you don't let it kill you. It's a difficult one, because it's never cool for someone to tell you you're shit. Many people through history were damned by the critics of their own time - Cezanne, Van Gogh, Stravinsky, all great painters! Ha ha!

Q. We'd like to see your paintings but can't get to the exhibition in Germany (McCartney unveils his work for the first time in Siegen, Germany, next year). Any thoughts about putting your paintings on "tour", or publishing a book of them? (Kathy Goodman, San Diego, CA, USA)

A. A difficult one. If you're a so-called celebrity - like Bowie, Anthony Quinn, Tony Curtis - and you exhibit any art, inevitably, people are not going to think of you as a real painter. Gallery owners come up to me and offer to give me exhibitions. I say, You haven't seen my pictures, and they say, It doesn't matter. Well, it does to me. Otherwise, it's just trading on the name. However, this guy from Germany came over, looked at all my paintings, seems to like them. He's telling me what they're all about.

Q. You've done so many things - classical, films, music, art, drugs - is there anything left you might have a go at? (Tim Bowler, Swansea)

A. The thing is how reluctant I've often been to have a go. I think we were brought up pretty repressed. Brought up to be seen and not heard, to stay in your place, particularly a working class thing. And I think - I hope - with The Beatles, we got rid of a lot of that. With the painting, for instance, it was Willem de Kooning who liberated me. I used to go to his studio, took in one of my paintings, said, Hey Bill, I hope you don't mind but can you tell me what it is? (Affects American drawl) "Oh, looks like a couch." Well it looked like a purple mountain to me. And he says, "Well, whatever." Here's one of the greats, his works go for one million, and it was great to see how little bullshit he was bringing to it all. It's really important to explode these myths that surround the arts, music, painting. It's Wizard of Oz time - so many myths, and it's often just a little man behind the screen. The paraphernalia that surrounds them gets in the way. Often you meet leaders in their field and they have none of that. I remember asking a great painter - Peter Blake, maybe - for some advice once, and he said "Just paint a lot". Similar to my approach to music.

Q. How do you know when a song's finished? (Joyce Slavik, Palatine, Illinois)

A. It's full up. You've answered all of your questions. Normally, I start following a thread: "Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice ... " The thread might come out of nowhere, and I follow it and complete it, like a crossword puzzle. When the crossword is full up, the song is finished.

Q. What's more embarrassing: writing Hi Hi Hi or Say Say Say? (Tien Vu, Costa Mesa, California)

A. (Weighs up pros and cons). Say Say Say.

Q. Why did you give such extensive interviews for an authorised biography (Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now) instead of writing an autobiography? (Deena Hochberg, Southampton, Pennsylvania)

A. I don't think I'm a writer. I've never been moved to do it. You have to have a pretty big fire in the belly to do something as big as that. I fancy music more. I'm happier writing in songs rather than in prose, or poetry. Though I wrote something that was never published about the time I got busted in Japan - for my kids. Because I knew one day they'd say, "Hey dad, what was it like, nine days in a Tokyo jail?". So I had a mate of mind, who did all our printing, knock up a few copies, one for each of the kids.

Q. I'd like to know if Sir Paul sings in the shower, and if so, what does he sing? (Jennifer Nash, Bursville, Minnesota)

A. It's normally the bath. I prefer a good bath. And the answer's Firestarter - "I'm a firestarter, de-de-de-de-dera."

Q. As a kid you used to play pranks at school by throwing balloons filled with something "worse than water". If you had one of those balloons right now who would you like to hit with it? (Brett Yuskiewicz, Leipzig, Germany)

A. Jonathan King. He's a prat from way back.

Q. Which football team did/does each Beatle support? (WC Chan, Maryland, USA)

A. None of us were big footie types. We weren't very sporty, unlike other groups who were always having knock-arounds. My dad was an Everton fan, which I was most of my life. But then Liverpool started playing well, and Everton didn't, so I took the unprecedented move of supporting them both. It's not allowed, I know, but there you go.

Q. For years, you've claimed it's you in the Walrus costume in the Magical Mystery Tour film. But watching the footage shows that for it to be you, you and John would have had to exchange all your clothes. Are you winding us up, or have you not watched the film in 30 years? (Dorothy Northcutt, Tucker, Georgia)

A. The big one. Very good question. I tell you what it was. In the stills we had taken, I was the one with the Walrus head on - in the film it's different. So John then immortalised it in Glass Onion, "I've got news for you all, the walrus was Paul". Obviously at the time you don't care, it's just a Walrus head. You don't realise years later people like our friend from Georgia will analyse it.

Q. What is the quality of each of the other Beatles that you like(d) the best about? (S. Breggles, Richmond)

A. All of them - musical talent. All of them - honesty. Ringo -funny, and kind hearted. George - straightforward and open. John - witty with a soft centre, or maybe hard with a soft centre.

Q. Do the copulating beetles on the sleeve of Ram (1970) stand for F**k The Beatles? (Luc Van de Wiele, Wemmel, Belgium)

A. It happened to be a picture Linda had taken. We couldn't resist it just because of the way it looked. She'd caught these two beetles f**king, and then the significance hit us. We saw that pun, yeah, thought why not?

Q. Was there ever a third Lennon song for Anthology 3? (Jake Lennington, Rush City, MN, USA)

A. There was, but George didn't like it. The Beatles being a democracy, we didn't do it.

Q. I have a Beatles t-shirt which I bought from The Grapes (celebrated Liverpool pub). I was told the band are pictured in their favourite seats - adjacent to the Ladies where you would often catch a glimpse of the girls changing for an evening at The Cavern. True? (Alan Tomkins, Goring, West Sussex)

A. I hope so. It SOUNDS true. Had there been an opportunity to spot the girls changing, I'm sure we would have sat there.

Q. If you hadn't been a musician, what do you think you would have been? (Tony Carter, Manchester)

A. The only thing I could have probably qualified for was teaching. So I might have been an English teacher.

Q. Does it do your head in - stuff like the handwritten lyrics to Getting Better selling for $249,000 at Sothebys? (Peggy Robinson, Trinant, Gwent)

A. It's the price of fame - literally. You scribble them on the back of an envelope, and it gets to be famous. People want it, so it becomes a desirable object. Like Mozart's bog paper, which is another highly desirable object, apparently. More valuable obviously if it's been used.

Q. What is the inscription on the ID bracelet you wear? (Rachel Hyland, West Harford, Connecticut)

A. It says Paul - for when I forget who I am.

Q. How does it feel to have a star named after you (the christening courtesy of American astronomy fans)? (John Sales, Barry, Glamorgan)

A. Really cool. The good thing is that as you get on, your fans get on too. And some of them are pretty swotty. Like the people who started Apple, they were just Beatles fans, hence the name. You don't sit around looking at the sky, trying to find it, but it's like getting a very nice birthday present. I'm not religious, I don't believe in any one system - I sort of think the universe is basically benevolent and we f**k it up - but I am spiritual. I saw Stephen Hawking on TV the other night, and he was saying that we are made of the same stuff as the stars. Which is great. We are all stardust, luv.

Q. What do you want written on your gravestone? (Tom Mangold, Exeter)

A. Here lies Gracie Fields. Anything to keep people away.

Q. Hey, is it true you are dead, and if you are, what is it like? (L.A. Patterson, Hamlet, North Carolina)

A. Yes. And it's very interesting. It's a very interesting afterlife.

#my quotes #my articles #paul mccartney #lots and lots and lots of thoughts #obviously the 'in bed' in quote is ridiculous #but the 'John Lennon means something to me' bit is also of interest #the way he talks about Brian is fascinating #and the way he says 'John-going-to-Spain-thing' is very amusing #My favorite part of the interview is when he says he was probably on stimulant when he wrote some of the Wings stuff #'What was I on?' indeed #I wish he said 'yes I roll a fantastic joint thank you for asking'#my life goal is to smoke a fatty with paul mccartney #him saying he was brought up to be seen and not heard?? hmm #ok why are either of those songs embarassing #ok maybe this is a cultural thing but why was he still taking baths #him just straight up calling out Jonathan King is very ???#I wasn't sure if it was the same guy but @lennons pointed out to me that Paul wrote an open letter calling him stupid in 1990 #here: https://twitter.com/JohnFLyons2/status/1503719188321472521?s=20&t=m3KkkYTjSS5L23CIAthuww #the letter is awesome by the way #Dorothy from Georgia coming through with a 'you and John would have had to exchange all your clothes.'#I feel like I remember him denying the RAM beetles thing in the past so it's nice to see him admit it #of course he sees no problem with watching girls changing #like gross but I think it's funny that he's like 'lmao I hope so haha yeah I would have definitely done that'#love the beatles democracy reference. petty king #ok maybe the most fascinating thing for me here is the gravestone bit #that he would like people not to know where he's buried #he would like people to stay away #hmmmmmm #and for some reason 'it's a very interesting afterlife' made me sad #AND scene

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twoidiotwriters1 · 1 year

Text

Copycat: Genesis —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: I wanted Wade to be in more chapters and talk more but he’s a danger and I don’t trust myself with his power -Danny

Words: 2,020

Phase Six Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Vigilante Shit’ -by Taylor Swift

xxvi: White, Red, Blue, and Black

Kurt got to punch her after all, and she got to punch him back a few times as well. Wade videoed the process. "I'm going to play this at your Avenger's graduation ceremony," he said.

"You'll never be inside an Avenger's compound if we can help it," she put her cloak on.

"Why didn't you call Yelena instead of this clown?" Kurt seized a pair of handcuffs.

"I did," she let him put the handcuffs around her wrists. "Wade answered."

"I took her phone," the mercenary explained, unwrapping a lollipop and lifting his mask up a bit to eat it. "She was taking all of my employers."

"Well, if you were trustworthy they would hire you and not her."

"I meant she's killing them," Wade clarified.

"Oh," Kurt grabbed a second pair of handcuffs and Cat helped him put it on. "Have you considered working for the government? I mean it's basically the same as the mafia but at least they give you a retirement plan."

"Ha! I don't plan on retiring unless is to the lovely hands of Lady Death," Deadpool smirked. "Are you?"

"Not anytime soon," she nodded at his phone. "What did Russo say?"

"He's waiting," Wade laughed, he sounded a little crazy. "This will be fun."

"So you're like a good mercenary now, or..?" Kurt inquired, stepping closer to the man and handing him his blaster.

"He helps whoever likes best at the moment," Cat replied as Wade put their weapons in his Hello Kitty gym bag.

"She said you'd pay me with Stark Tech," Wade added as he towards the door.

"I never said that."

"Okay, one million's more than enough."

"I see why you're friends," Kurt teased her.

"I hate to say this, but quit the talking!" Wade left the lollipop in his mouth and turned to them. "Time to look unconscious."

Cat sighed. "The dumbest plans are always a success, the dumbest plans are always a success..." She muttered, allowing Wade to carry her over his shoulder.

"Coming through!" Wade was making a show of himself, swinging the bodies as he walked into the villa. "Where is my pretty boy, Krueger? I got his chew toys!"

Cat heard a guard speaking through his coms, someone approached and took her vitals. She kept her eyes closed, dangling like a ragdoll. "The babies are napping," Wade continued. "This one was already blue when I found him."

"Let him through," a voice ordered.

"Thanks! I'll take a Dr. Pepper on the rocks. Send my dinner upstairs, Alfred."

Someone muttered just how much they hated Wade, but she was thankful for his presence, the louder he was, the less they would pay attention to her and Kurt. Deadpool took them to the second floor, and then to the office on that level.

"Hi, boss, has anyone told you how ravishing you look this evening?"

"For once keep your mouth shut, Wilson," the man replied rudely. "Let me see them."

Wade threw them onto the carpet. "She doesn't look like the Gorgon I remember, but Bob said she was..."

Russo rolled her sideways to examine her face. "Those scars... I did those."

"Cute," Wade said indifferently. "I'll take cash."

Russo got up again. "Over here..."

Cat felt Kurt stirring and she kicked him lightly, they had to wait. She heard Billy shuffling a few papers, then gave Wade a thick envelope. Wade weighed it on his palm and turned to leave. "Later, handsome!"

The mutants heard Russo grabbing something else as Wade walked out and closed the door behind him. A familiar beeping echoed and ignited the fly-or-flight reaction in her. Cat's eyes snapped open and she kicked the inhibitor out of Russo's hand as he crouched over her.

She teleported and hit his head, Kurt teleported to the door and opened it, Wade had just stabbed the guard standing outside. The mercenary cut Kurt's handcuffs in one quick action and tossed the blaster at him.

The guards downstairs heard the commotion and called for backup, running up the steps in Wade and Kurt's direction. Wade grasped his katanas and went to town, Kurt closed the door again and approached her and Billy, both of them still fighting, and held his blaster up with a menacing air.

"You're coming with us."

Billy reached for an ashtray on his desk and tossed it. Kurt dodged it and struck Russo in the face with the butt of his gun. Cat broke her handcuffs in half, they could hear men arriving at the scene outside the office. Wade was clearing their path of escape by cutting off limbs and impaling torsos.

She seized her spear and split it, turning on the taser mode. "You got new toys?" Billy laughed dryly. "Kraven will have fun with them."

"He's not here to help you now, so I guess I'll have my fun with you," she snarled.

Billy seized the gun on his belt and she hit his wrist with one of her batons, the touch shocked him, but it wasn't enough to take him out. Cat seized him by the throat and dragged him to the ground, Kurt kicked the door open and lifted his blaster ready to shoot whoever got in their way.

"You belong to me!" Billy barked at her wildly, and her eyes flared up with anger.

"Who does, William?" She kicked his face. As she did she shifted so her hair changed from silver to red. "Katrina?"

She didn't know how many men Russo had, but she guessed it had to be more than a hundred, and they would continue to come the more time they spent in that place. She picked the man up and pushed him towards the door, Kurt and Wade were already halfway down the stairs, trying to take down Russo's men.

She tried to kick him again but Russo stopped her foot and pulled it forward, she stumbled but punched his jaw as she went. "Who belongs to you, Billy?" She pressed in outrage, once again shifting to her original looks with brown curls and dark eyes. "C.C. or Cat? Copycat and the Gorgon? Who is it?"

"Call Kraven!" Billy shouted to his minions. "Tell him they're here!"

"You've been waiting for me?" She pushed forward driving him to almost topple over the railing of the second floor. "Missed me much?"

"Ardently," he sneered, trying to regain his footing. "Couldn't wait to gauge your eyes out myself."

She growled, quickly passing the sharp edge of her baton over his thigh, he was still strong enough not to cry out in pain. The fight had moved to the lower floor, where Deadpool was taking most men by himself. Kurt was shooting here and there, they hadn't brought ammunition for the blaster, so he was keeping count.

Russo kicked her, he hit her shin, and when she doubled he elbowed her, slipping away from her. He jumped at Kurt and they both fell down the stairs, it wasn't a hard fall, but Kurt landed on his back, and his gun slipped out.

Russo tried to take the blaster, but Cat threw one half of her spear and pierced his hand with it, she pinned it to the ground. He shrieked in pain and anger, seizing her weapon and pulling it out. Kurt rolled over, punching the man in the process, he crawled away and teleported. Two men ran in their direction shooting like crazy, and Kurt showed up behind them and took their guns.

Cat summoned the spear's half by pressing a button on the one baton she still had in her possession, the half flew to her the whole thing stuck back together, forming the spear again. She jumped off the railing in front of Russo, who had Kurt's blaster and was now shooting at her. Cat covered herself with the jaguar cloak, and a blast of light coming from her right shot the weapon out of Billy's grip, Wade was using her blaster.

"GET OUT!"

As he ran out of sight he tossed her the gun and she caught it. Russo saw a glimpse of the logo on her back as she pushed the cloak back in place, and he laughed cynically. "An Avenger? Is that what you think you are?"

"What I am is none of your business," Cat said, returning to her mutant looks. She pointed at his face with the blaster, then pressed something in her gun and a blueish light ignited from a side. "None of me belongs to you."

"If my people in New York don't hear from me, Mr. Keener will die."

"I don't negotiate with terrorists," she shrunk her spear and hung it on her belt. "Where is Kraven?"

Russo pressed something in the inner pocket of his suit, explosions came from every corner of the house and threw her and Russo out through the wide windows behind her. Cat's suit and cloak protected her from the blast and shielded her from falling on the rough pavement. Kurt teleported mid-blast and he was now over her, checking her vitals.

"Mimi—"

"I'm fine," she coughed out a bit of blood but it wasn't serious, she'd bit her tongue. Cat squirmed at the taste. "Jerk had a proper welcome ready for us..."

"Wade's inside—" he said frantically. Cat laughed, then coughed again and responded. "He'll be fine."

"The whole place fell down on him!" he insisted.

"He'll get over it," she spat out blood before pushing him away. "Don't lose Russo."

The aforementioned man was stumbling towards a vehicle, she had to admit he was resilient. Kurt picked up her blaster and shot two times at the car, ruining its tires. He lifted the blaster a third time, but Cat pushed the blaster back down.

"Wait," she said, weirdly quiet. "Let me have this."

Kurt nodded. "I'll look for Deadpool."

She took the blaster from him. "Be careful."

Cat got up and walked towards the man, Russo was trying to get away as fast as possible as injured as he was. She drew out her spear again and without a second thought, she extended it, turned on the blades, and flung it to the man's leg. Russo screamed in pain and tried to pull it out, but it had gone too deep, it had pierced through and stuck to the pavement.

He looked back at her, pale and sweaty, there was nothing left of the handsome man he'd once been. Cat raised her blaster and pressed the button on the side once more, then pulled the trigger. A projectile came out, but it didn't pierce Russo's skin, instead, it wrapped around his throat releasing a discharge strong enough to make him kneel, ripping the muscle where the spear had cut through.

"Not nice, is it?" She got to him and shrunk her spear to release him. "I know."

Cat shot him again, this time aiming at his crotch. Russo fell with foam coming out of his mouth, she looked at the scene with a crooked grin. His suit was torn apart and covered in blood, dirt, and sweat, it was a gross sight. She could even smell a bit of urine after the shock on his crotch.

"Here's what's going to happen, Willy," she crouched, pulling the wire off his neck roughly. "You'll tell New York to drop the mission, and then..." she pressed the blaster's barrel against his left eyelid. "You'll give me Kraven."

He stammered, eyes red, and nose bleeding. "He-He'll kill you before you can g-get to him."

Cat pressed the blaster tighter against his face. "I would love to kill you..." she grabbed him like he used to do to her, squeezing his face tightly with one hand, her claws making him bleed. "But that would give the impression that I fear what'll happen if I let you live."

The mutant pulled the gun out of the way, hung it back under her cloak, and stared at him with cold eyes. "I'm not afraid of you," she held onto his face tighter, and blood flowed slowly down her fingers. "I'll kill Kraven, and you... what's that thing you said to me before?"

The mutant grabbed her baton while still holding him in place and pressed the taser against his ribcage, she let go of him and turned the weapon on to its highest level. Billy Russo let out a contained scream, his jaw too tense to let out proper noise. He fell, barely conscious.

"Justice at last," Cat's gaze was hungry. "I won."

Next Chapter—>

Taglist.

@mikaelsonwhxrebae @ieatpanicattacksforlunch @jesuswasnotawhiteman @siriuslysirius1107 @greengarsstuff @itsyagirl01 @23victoria @espressopatronum454 @jkthinkstoomuch

#twoidiots writing #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel original character #copycat fic

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hannahhook7744 · 2 years

Text

Dr Jiminy part 3;

Summary; in which Jiminy Cricket has a show like Dr Phil that also does parentity testing. Trigger warning; child abuse, guns, death threats, and a broken marriage. Swearing. Part 1 can be found here and part 2 can be found here. Requested by @idontliketomatoesleavemealone and @cleverqueenchild . Hope you enjoy.

🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️🏴‍☠️

Dr Jiminy: Hello, all my crickets. Today we have two very special guests. Mulan.....and SHANG!

*Mulan and Shang enter from behind the curtains and take a seat on the couch*

Dr Jiminy *shakes their hands* How ya doing Shang? Mulan. Lovely to see you again. Now it's come to my understanding that you want to do a DNA test on your youngest, Lonnie?

Shang: That's right.

Mulan *nods*

Dr Jiminy: May I ask why that is? You both seem rather calm about this considering most people only come for DNA tests when the topic of cheating is involved.

Mulan: Oh no, we're not here because he thinks I cheated.

Shang: Which, for the record, I don't believe.

Dr Jiminy: oh?

Mulan: Yeah, we're actually here because we want to shut down the rumors and weirdness around people not believing that Shang is Lonnie's father.

Dr Jiminy: O-oh. *mutters* Well, that's a new one. *speaks up* Well, I have the results right here in this envelope. Are you ready?

Shang *grumbles* as ready as I'll ever be.

Mulan: More ready than I have ever been for anything else in my entire life.

*picture of Lonnie in her pjs in the kitchen, smiling pops up*

Dr Jiminy *opens the envelope * In the case of 16 year old, Li Lan-Lei (Lonnie), Shang.... you.. ARE THE FATHER!

Shang: I KNEW IT!

Crowd: OOOOOOOOOH!!!!!!!!

Mulan: WE TOLD YOU SO!

Crowd *looks sheepish*

Dr Jiminy: Lady Tremaine, is it true that when you found out your grandson, Anthony, was dating Harriet, you called him a moron and her a hussy?

Lady Tremaine: It is and I would do it AGAIN!

*crowd gasps*

Harriet* runs out from behind stage* SAY THAT TO MY FACE, YOU BITCH!

Dr Jiminy: Uh oh. SECURITY!

Harriet *lunges*

Anthony *back stage, mortified and covering Dizzy's eyes* Note to self, never invite grandmother to Holiday gatherings.

Dr Jiminy: Now, Queen Aurora. King Philip. What do you have to say against the accusations that have been leveled against you by your daughter?

Philip, defensive: Okay, so we weren't the most attentive parents but we aren't neglective!

Aurora, quiet: Neglective is a rather strong word for it.

Dr Jiminy: Then what would you call *checks notes* only seeing your daughter during holidays and big royal events?

Philip *dryly* Being a busy royal.

Crowd *starts booing*

Philip *stands up* WHY ARE YOU BOOING ME? I'M RIGHT!

Aurora: She was with family!

Dr Jiminy *looking disappointed* that doesn't make you any less neglective for not playing a bigger part in her life. She's your only child.

Crowd *booing louder and start throwing things*

Dr Jiminy: Mr Clayton. Is it true that you shot at your son six times last month?

William Clayton: He's being a baby! It was only 3!I wouldn't waste that much amo on him in a month.

Clay *yelling from behind stage* You shot at me six times in one day once!

William: BECAUSE YOU WERE BEING ANNOYING! EVEN YOUR YOUNGER BROTHERS AREN'T THAT ANNOYING!

William's sister, Lady Waltham, busts out from behind the curtains: YOU WHAT?! I'LL KILL YOU!

William: oh shit *bolts*

Lady Waltham *chases him*GET BACK HERE AND TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT LIKE A MAN!

Dr Jiminy: Oh dear.

Cash Clayton, 10: Should we stop her? Could we even stop her?

Clay, 18: GO AUNT MANDY! GO! KICK HIS ASS!

Wilson 'Will' Clayton, 12: I'll take that as a no...

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

Text

Countervailing power

It’s hard not to feel powerless. The rich are getting richer, the middle class is disappearing, and poor people are evermore exposed to labor abuses, predatory finance, police violence, and food-, fuel- and housing-insecurity. Our cities are increasingly segregated into the haves and have-nots, and the haves hoard the parks, schools and clean air:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/06/us/economic-segregation-income.html

The rich don’t just own all the good stuff, they also own the political process. The now-classic 2014 paper “Testing Theories of American Politics: Elites, Interest Groups, and Average Citizens,” finds that “ordinary citizens… get the policies they favor, but only because those policies happen also to be preferred by the economically-elite citizens who wield the actual influence.”

https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/perspectives-on-politics/article/testing-theories-of-american-politics-elites-interest-groups-and-average-citizens/62327F513959D0A304D4893B382B992B

How do material wealth and political power relate to each other? Well, on the one hand, it’s obvious that if you have more wealth, you have more to spend on lobbying, both to the public and to lawmakers. As the leaks in Propublica’s IRS Files show, just having a lot of money can scare off regulators and legal enforcers, who know you’ll be able to hire more lawyers than they can.

https://www.propublica.org/article/irs-now-audits-poor-americans-at-about-the-same-rate-as-the-top-1-percent

But the secret to oligarchy isn’t (just) outspending the rest of us. Oligarchs wield a far more important weapon: class solidarity. There is so much solidarity among billionaires, centimillionaires, decimillionaires and even ordinary millionaires, who may jockey with one another for the right to financialize your rent and suppress your wages, but come together with admirable discipline when their collective interests are at stake.

Take taxes. In a major new Propublica IRS Files story, Paul Kiel and Mick Dumke document the behind-the-scenes spending that defeated Illinois’s state referendum on a progressive state tax comparable to the system in 32 other states:

https://www.propublica.org/article/ken-griffin-illinois-graduated-income-tax

Led by the hedge-fund billionaire Ken Griffin of Citadel (the richest man in the state) the ultra-rich of Illinois unleashed a blizzard of money on deceptive ads that ultimately defeated the measure. That spending was a bargain! Propublica calculates that Griffin’s $54,000,000 contribution saved him $51,000,000 per year thereafter (the IRS Files show Griffin’s average income to be about $2.9 billion per year).

Griffin led the “investment” in starving Illinois’s tax coffers, but he had a lot of co-investors: there’s Richard Uihlein, the billionaire behind Iline, who kicked in $100k. Uihlein’s a shrewd investor in political corruption, having spent $20m on Ron Johnson’s campaign, only to have Johnson insert a last-minute amendment to the Trump tax cuts that saved him $215m in the first year alone:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/11/the-canada-variant/#shitty-man-of-history-theory

Sam Zell, whose leveraged buyout of the Chicago Tribune led the newspaper into bankruptcy, kicked in $1.1m and got $1.6m/year in savings every year thereafter. The Tribune now operates out of a windowless cinderblock bunker the size of a Chipotle:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/16/sociopathic-monsters/#all-the-news-thats-fit-to-print

Patrick Ryan gave $1m to realize a return of $2.1m/year. Richard Colburn’s $500k nets him $5.5m/year. He told Propublica that the spending was an investment “to limit the temptation on me to relocate.” Donald Wilson gave $250k to get back $3.5m/year.

Richard Stephenson, who made his nut with a chain of for-profit cancer hospitals and was executive producer on two Ayn Rand film adaptations (you literally can’t make this shit up), gave $300k through his trust.

Another trust spend came from Philip M Friedmann, who cashed out his family’s greeting card business by selling to private equity looters. Friedmann’s trust is a “personal” one, which makes his $25k investment illegal, according to three tax experts that Propublica consulted.

The campaign to raise Illinois’ 5% flat tax to an 8% tax for the richest people in the state was a rare example of billionaire-on-billionaire violence. Democrat Governor JB Pritzker — scion of the Hyatt Hotel fortune — won office by promising to raise taxes on the rich. This sparked a political bidding war, pitting former GOP governor Bruce Rauner (another private equity looter) in a race that ultimately cost more than $250m.

Though the billionaire low-tax coalition lost the battle for the governor’s mansion, they won the war, thanks to $63m in ads that convinced the people of Illinois that they would see higher taxes as a result (the vast majority of Illinoisians would not have seen their tax bills go up).

While Pritzker is a rare class traitor, he still maintained some loyalty to his cohort, continuing to milk his grandfather’s fortune through a system of secret trusts typical of dynastic wealth, which seeks to ensure that merely emerging from a very lucky orifice guarantees you the power to impact the lives of millions of people who lost the orifice lottery:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

When even the “good” billionaires favor the eugenic proposition that being descended from someone who made a lot of money makes you suited to leadership and influence, it’s no wonder that this proposition is so durable in our political system.

Now, it’s obvious why rich people would favor a system that increased and perpetuated their wealth and power, but self-interest alone doesn’t explain the rock-solid solidarity of the oligarchs. The other crucial element is in their numbers: when your bloc is small, it’s easier to come to agreement on how it should mobilize.

This is how monopolies rot our society and politics. When an industry is composed of hundreds of companies, they’ll struggle to agree on the catering for their annual meeting. Reduce the number of firms until all their CEOs will fit around a board-room table, and they’ll be able to agree on far more ambitious issues, like whether to raise prices in unison and blame “inflation”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#overinflated

Collective action problems are some of the hardest challenges we face as a species. Solving collective action problems are why we build institutions: from the Mafia to the Catholic Church, from trade unions to federal governments, from the UN to the Cali cartel, organizations exist to find ways to let groups of people coordinate their activities to do more than any individual could do on their own:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_the_firm

Oligarchs benefit from having a lot of money to spend, but even more important is that their numbers are so low that they can agree on how to spend it. Every time the rich figure out how to coordinate better, they clean up. Take this NBER working paper that shows that when giant funds become company shareholders, worker wages go down:

https://www.nber.org/system/files/working_papers/w30203/w30203.pdf

Once the power of the wealthy is gathered into the hands of a few fund managers, they’re able to direct that power to pick managers who’ll endure the internal strife from slashing wages, benefits and staffing levels. Workers, by contrast, are atomized and can be divided and pitted against one another.

Now, obviously if real wages are declining, then there must have been a time when forces drove them up, when workers were able to hold the line against the power of the owning class. The most familiar tool workers used to exercise this power was unionization, which is why oligarchs hate unions and spend millions to keep their workers from organizing.

Though unions are having a renaissance, they are still far weaker than they were during the period in which workers built and expanded power — and oligarchs are far stronger (richer, more coordinated). Oligarchs have built a flywheel, where more power gives them more money which gives them more power.

To brake the flywheel, we have to come up with our own virtuous cycle of systems, laws and tactics that build one atop another. “Countervailing Power” is a new series from The American Prospect and The Forge that systematically explores how to build that system:

https://prospect.org/topics/countervailing-power/

The debut article is “Laws That Create Countervailing Power,” a discussion between ACORN’s Steve Kest and Benjamin Sachs and Kate Andrias, facilitated by Robert Kuttner:

https://prospect.org/power/laws-that-create-countervailing-power/

The discussion is framed by “Constructing Countervailing Power: Law and Organizing in an Era of Political Inequality,” a Yale Law Review article by Sachs and Andrias about laws that can be used to build, fortify and expand worker power:

https://www.yalelawjournal.org/article/constructing-countervailing-power-law-and-organizing-in-an-era-of-political-inequality

They propose that there are six categories of law that build countervailing power:

Laws that “grant collective rights in an explicit and direct way to create a frame that encourages organizing”

Laws that “provide for financial, human, and other resources,” including money, but also “information that helps direct the work of the organization and inform its leadership”

Laws that create “free spaces in which movement organizing can occur, free from surveillance and control,” both physical and digital

Laws that “remove barriers to participation both by protecting people involved in organizing efforts from retaliation and also by removing material obstacles that make it difficult for people to organize”

Laws that “provide organizations with ways to make material change in their members’ lives” by “creating ways to engage in bargaining with private and public actors that actually correspond to the way political and economic power is organized”

Laws that “enable contestation and disruptive collective action” including “strikes and protests and other kinds of disruptive activity”

The article and the discussion give good examples of all six, but I’m more interested in how they play into one another — like how the New Deal electrification co-ops created enduring institutions that organized people, incubated leaders, and turned into telephone co-ops. Some of these are around today, providing blazing-fast co-op internet (AKA, the “free spaces” mentioned above) to poor people:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

I was recently on an organizing tactics call about the housing crisis, and we got to talking about the wicked panoply of problems that drive people to oppose affordable housing. With the elimination of unions — and thus work — as a path to social mobility, we’ve told working people that everything depends on their house appreciating.

Unless their family home goes up in value, they will not be able to afford retirement, their kids’ college education or emergency medical bills. They certainly won’t be able to put down a deposit for their own kids’ homes.

https://gen.medium.com/the-rents-too-damned-high-520f958d5ec5

All of this drives people to want to limit the supply of housing, and also to hoard the benefits of housing, supporting nakedly inequitable policies like funding schools through local taxes, so richer neighborhoods get better schools.

It also drives people to with homes to favor policies that make life worse for people without homes. The worse things are for tenants, the more landlords can extract from them, and the more all houses are worth, because everyone is bidding against landlords who can raise rents, evict, and pass on maintenance costs.

On the one hand, this is dismal, because maybe it means that we can’t improve our housing system until we fix pensions, student debt, for-profit healthcare, and tenants’ rights.

But on the other hand, you can think of each of these issues as a loose end in the gnarly knot of housing dysfunction, a place where we can start unpicking the problem. Like, if we fix student debt, a major part of the reason to favor anti-tenancy policies will disappear (the parents who want to use home equity to send their kids to college also realized that their kids will be tenants, after all).

In other words, the entanglement of all our social problems means that any battle where we can eke out a victory produces tactical benefits for all the other fronts in the war. It means we can build victory upon victory. It means we can tear apart the countersolidaristic coalitions (say, homeowners) by addressing the material conditions that lead people to fight against the human right to shelter.

Uncoupling a dignified retirement, or a decent education, or lifesaving medical treatment, from the need to immiserate others is a powerful tool to build up countervailing power — to create coalitions like the ones that suppressed oligarchy from the New Deal until the Reagan Revolution.

[Image ID: A mountain village that is being trampled under the feet of a tailcoat-wearing giant. The giant is about to be felled by a giant fist made out of the combined raised arms of hundreds of ordinary workers and farmers. The meta-fist is haloed with an aura of red light.]

#pluralistic

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calciseptinefic · 11 months

Text

somebody comes and hits you with an ooh la la la, ooh la la la, ooh la la la, ooh

Marvel || Wade Wilson/Peter Parker || Part 4 notes: Title from 'Mad Sounds' by Arctic Monkeys. Many thanks to babygato for her beta on this chapter. this fic is also available on ao3 warnings: none

← previous: Part 3

The bagel shop is three blocks east and one block south of Wade's apartment. It doesn't have a name; there is simply the word 'BAGELS' in huge block letters on the front window, the paint old and flaking. There are no hours posted on the door, just an askew white-and-blue sign that can be flipped to declare 'OPEN' or 'CLOSED'. When Wade steps inside, a few bells on a rope clatter against the glass, signaling his entrance. A bored teenager with an acid green crop of hair glances briefly up from their phone, while the old man behind the counter greets in Polish,

"Wade, you ugly son of a bitch! Welcome once more to my shop! It is lovely, simply fucking lovely, to see you on this fine Wednesday morning. What can I get for you? On the house, of course, for once saving my shit terrible cat when he climbed the telephone pole and refused to come the fuck down!"

Or at least, that's what Wade interprets it as. His Polish was never good; he spent a grand total of four days in Gdańsk while he was special forces, and all he learned was how to swear, order alcohol, and ask someone if they knew where the library was.

"Mikolaj!" Wade returns warmly in English, spreading his arms wide. "It's good to see you too, buddy! How's the Grzegorz? Still scratching innocent men in the jugular?"

Mikolaj says something that is decidedly not directions to the public library and lobs a bagel at Wade's head with scary accuracy and speed. Wade catches it before it makes contact with his face and—wasting neither second nor glance—he takes a huge bite. He groans, a borderline pornographic sound, as he registers the combination of flavor and texture. Mikolaj truly makes the best bagels in all of Queens, from the vaguely crispy exterior to the wonderfully chewy interior.

"I'm gonna need an assorted dozen of your delightful creations, Miko my man," Wade says around a large mouthful of mushed up bagel. "And like, two tubs of cream cheese. Got a cute boy at home, you know? Gotta let him know I can provide."

Wade winks. Mikolaj continues to talk in rapid Polish, his round face becoming steadily more red, even as he grabs a large waxed bakery bag and randomly grabs bagels from the wire baskets behind the counter. Wade mentally translates:

"A cute fucking boy at home? How wonderful for you, Wade! I was a young man once, and fucked my way through most of Eastern Europe, before meeting the love of my life and settling the fuck down. Oh, what wonderful times! I hope you too can meet the one who makes your cock the most happy. Fucking fuck shit fuck damn bitch!"

... Or something similar. As mentioned, Wade really only knows the naughty words.

By the register, Mikolaj slams the bag and a couple tubs of cream cheese down on the white formica counter. Then he leans over, pointing one of his big, fat fingers at Wade, the blunt tip less than an inch away from Wade's nose, and growls something that makes his enormous mustache quiver.

"Dziadek says he doesn't want you to come back," Orel drones, barely looking up from their Twitter feed as they translate. "He says it upsets Grzegorz."

"Pretty sure he said that if I come back he would chop my balls off with a rusty spoon. Which, like, joke's on him, testicular cancer already took one so he'd have about half the satisfaction."

"I didn't need to know that," Orel says drolly.

Wade fishes his wallet out from the back pocket of his jeans and takes out one of the crumpled twenties. He extends the cash to Orel, but Mikolaj slaps Wade's wrist sharply before he starts yelling again, meaty arms thrown heavenwards as he thunders.

Orel faithfully translates, "Dziadek also says your money isn't good here."

"Not to like, question your fluency or anything, but I distinctly heard the phrase 'dirty fucking money'."

"Paraphrasing." Still on their phone, Orel shrugs. "I'm not allowed to swear while I'm working."

"You poor sweet child," Wade sympathizes, taking another twenty out of his wallet and shoving both into the tip jar. "Please take this humble offering as compensation. And another tip, though non-monetary: unionize. Demand better work conditions. Do you even get paid vacations or sick leave?"

"It's a family business, Wade."

"Tough luck." Wade clicks his tongue and grabs his items off the counter. Then, "Same time next week, Miko?"

Mikolaj, who has wandered back over to the wire baskets, grabs another bagel and chucks it. This one is rosemary and sun-dried tomato, a favorite of Wade's, and—as he is currently holding a dozen bagels in one hand and two tubs of cream cheese in the other—he jumps and catches the edible projectile with his teeth so it doesn't smack him directly between the eyes. Successful, he steps back and gives Mikolaj and his grandkid a jaunty, wordless bow-and-salute combo. Orel golf-claps around their phone but Mikolaj's swearing becomes more prominent, so Wade beats a strategic retreat.

Outside, the cold, early spring air nips at Wade's face and ears. No one pays much attention to him, as they scurry down the sidewalk, and he chews happily on his bagel as he meanders down the block. Then, halfway between Mikolaj's bagel shop and his apartment, Wade steps out from the ever-present flow of pedestrians and turns into one of the less smelly alleyways. There aren't any big dumpsters to duck behind, but there is a recessed back entrance halfway down. Wade stops there and leans against the steel door. It doesn't hide him, not completely, but he doesn't need invisibility, just a little privacy. Quickly, Wade assesses his surroundings and—when he finds that all windows are closed against the unseasonal chill—he moves his acquired breakfast into one arm so he can dig his phone out of his jacket pocket.

One passcode and two taps later, and the phone is ringing gently in Wade's ear.

And ringing.

Wade has to call three times before Weasel finally picks up.

"This had better be fucking good, Wade," Weasel snaps in lieu of a hello. His normally nasally voice is sleep rough and agitated. "Do you even fucking know what time it is?"

"Ten thirty-seven," Wade supplies helpfully.

"Ten too-fucking-early, dickhat," Weasel corrects. Over the line, Wade can hear the shuffle of fabric as Weasel moves around in his bed. "What part of 'I run a bar that caters to a specific clientele' makes you think I want to be woken up before midday? And—shut the fuck up—"

Wade's mouth clicks shut.

"—that is a rhetorical question, because the answer is I do not want to be woken up until the clock is once again single digit post meridiem."

This time, Wade cannot physically stop himself from saying, "It's not a rhetorical question if you have an answer."

"What I'm saying is I don't want an answer from you," Weasel snaps. "Just tell me what you did so I can fix it and get the fuck back to sleep. Some of us have real jobs with real obligations that require real sleep schedules."

Wade bites down on a retort about beauty sleep and ugly faces. Not because he cares overmuch about Weasel's feelings—his friendship with Weasel has been built on a bedrock of mutual ribbing—but because he actually needs Weasel to do something for him, and insulting him tends to make him contrary.

"Well," Wade begins. "I am delighted to let you know that I am neither in jail nor am I being held up in a safe house like Davy Crockett during the siege of the Alamo—"

"Oh my god, please tell me you're not trapped in a shipping container again," Weasel all but groans.

"I am not and I'll thank you not to remind me of my terrible experience with the Russian mob. God, those guys are dicks." Wade knows that he's lucky to be alive after botching that particular job but a) he's proven to be strangely unkillable over the years, and b) he's never been one to dwell on past experiences. Learn from them, yes, but mull over? Wade reserves his angsting hours for more personal matters, like why he never got a chance to meet Bea Arthur or why he's apparently unlovable. "No, it's weirder. Someone broke into my apartment last night."

"And what, you need help with the body?" Weasel snorts. "Yeah, tell me another."

"He's alive," Wade clarifies. "It was an accidental break-in. I fired a few rounds at him, he dodged, then I made him pancakes."

Weasel sounds pained as he says, "Please tell me that's not an extended metaphor."

"I wish I could have extended his metaphor." Wade thinks wistfully of Peter's lean body and wry smile. It's no wonder he's already married; if Peter were single, anyone within a ten foot radius of him would immediately try to lock that down. "But no. I think he might be in trouble."

"And?" Weasel says dryly.

Earlier, after Wade had spent the better part of an hour researching parallel universes, he decided that it didn't matter what the truth was. It didn't matter if Peter did actually come from another dimension or if he was a delusional genetic experiment on the lam. Either way, he needed Wade's help, and Wade was going to give it. And the best way for Wade to help Peter is to gather as many details about the situation as possible in the most discreet way as possible. It's just that the most discreet way possible is by bringing Weasel into the loop.

"You're not going to believe me," Wade begins, "but the man who broke into my apartment might be a spider-themed superhero from an alternate universe. Or a genetic experiment on the run from the government."

Weasel is surprisingly silent as Wade tells him about Peter: his abilities, his story, his cute little upturned nose. Said aloud, it sounds more fantastical than it felt while it was happening, and once Wade brings Weasel up to the present moment, there's a short pause as Weasel processes everything Wade just unloaded on him.

"He's fucking cracked," Weasel finally says. "Superheroes? Alternate realities? What the fuck is this shit, the Writer's Guild of America strike circa late 2007?"

"Yeah, I would have thought that too," Wade confesses even as his shoulders sag with relief. Weasel doesn't sound like he believes Wade, but at least he's not questioning Wade's sanity. It's an important distinction. "But the crawling on the ceiling bit made it harder to deny."

"Sounds like all that hanging upside down has made blood pool in his brain. Christ. And all your blood is pooling in the wrong head." Weasel makes a gagging noise. "God, why do you make me think about your dick on a fucking Wednesday morning?"

"Hump day, baby," Wade croons. "Also, I didn't make you think about my cock, you did that all on your own. I get it. Señor Discostick is unforgettable."

"Unforgettably small," Weasel retorts, though as comebacks go, it isn't his best work. Then, switching back to their original conversation, Weasel continues, "I'll look into Schrödinger's twink for you, but I'm putting it on your tab. I don't do this shit pro-bono."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Text me when you have the deets," Wade says. "Oh, and Weasel?"

Weasel grunts. It sounds very much like his ‘fuck you very much’ grunt, the one he uses when he’s starting to tune Wade out, but Wade is deadly serious about Peter’s potential safety, damnit.

"I've only had Peter for half a day, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone responsible and then myself." Wade deepens his voice and enunciates, the consonants sharp off his tongue. "So no matter what you find, this stays between us. I don't care how many zeroes are attached to this. If someone's out there looking for Peter, you know nothing. ¿Comprendes?"

"Lo comprendo, comprade." Then, a split second before he hangs up, Wade hears him mutter, "Christ, there better be a fucking free bar at the wedding."

Click.

The dull roar of silence. Beyond it, the ever-present bustle of the city. Wade doesn’t know if he wants to laugh at the unintended irony in Weasel’s statement or shoot something in frustration. Peter isn’t his. Peter will never be his. Peter belongs to another person—another dimension—and the sooner Wade accepts that, the easier it will be to let him go.

Caught between the two emotions, Wade does neither. Instead, he stands there, phone still pressed to his ear, and tries to feel nothing at all.

When Wade returns to the apartment, forty minutes after he left, he finds that Peter has migrated from the kitchen island to the couch. Wade's laptop has been set on the coffee table and Peter is hunched over it, his spine curved at a near unnatural angle, comforter dragged around his shoulders like a particularly fluffy cocoon. He's gnawing on his lip and his mug is empty.

"Find anything?" Wade asks. He kicks off his sneakers before walking over and peering over Peter's shoulder.

"Sorta," Peter answers, straightening. The website opened on the screen depicts a man standing in front of a machine with too many wires. He's tall, probably in his mid-forties, and the set of his shoulders and his mouth scream 'entitled fuckwad'. Even the article title is pretentious: 'Dr. Reed Richards' Quantum Computational Analysis Strikes Gold—Again'.

"Looks like a douchebag," Wade comments.

"Another multiversal constant," Peter drawls. He looks away from the screen and at the large waxed bag in Wade's hands. "Oh thank god, I'm starving."

Peter lets the comforter fall down around his waist as he reaches for the food with both hands, making a little happy noise as the smell hits him. In the time it takes Wade to brew another pot of coffee, he consumes three bagels and half a tub of cream cheese. There are crumbs all over his lap when Wade returns, a refilled coffee mug in each hand.

"Good?"

"Amazing."

Wade hands Peter his mug before sitting down, leaning against the cushion and slinging an arm over the back of the frame. He cannot resist the temptation to sit close. Not touching—not quite—but close. Peter smells vaguely of sleep and Wade's shampoo.

"So what's up with Dr. Douchebag?" Wade asks, blowing on his scalding coffee.

"In this reality he's a quantum physicist at MIT." Peter leans forward and clicks into another tab. This is a faculty page for MIT and the picture is at least ten years old; Richards doesn't have any white in his hair in this photo, and the lines in his face haven't begun to form. He also isn't wearing reading glasses, as he was in the article. "He does research in quantum information science, which tries to apply principles of quantum mechanics into real-world application. It's kinda vague about what he's trying to apply it to, but... it's a start." Peter shrugs and chooses another bagel from the bag. Asiago.

"And your other leads?" Wade prompts.

"Well, one of them was a complete bust," Peter admits. "I told you about Tony last night, right?"

"Infinite probabilities guy, yeah."

"Well, he's pretty famous in my universe. His company—Stark Industries—used to manufacture weapons before it turned to other stuff. Renewable energy. Cellphones. Anyway, Tony's super smart and he's one of the original Avengers... which I realize you have no context for but it's, uh, it's impressive."

Peter's right. Wade has no frame of reference for anything he's saying, but Wade doesn't mind because he likes watching Peter's face flit from one emotion to another. It's probably a good thing the mask he wears while in costume covers his entire face; Wade can read an entire novel in the turn of his mouth and the angle of his eyebrows. Whoever Tony is to Peter, Peter admires him immensely.

"Is Tony a superhero too?" Wade asks.

"Yeah." Peter nods. "Iron Man. He builds these armored suits that utilize the repulsor technology he developed."

"And what is he, in this universe?"

"A mechanic. Runs a garage upstate fixing vintage cars. Apparently he's pretty well-known in certain circles." Peter licks some cream cheese from his fingers before pulling up a social media account on the laptop. "He's the guy with the sunglasses."

The photo is of two men on a tropical beach, standing side by side in swim trunks and Hawaiian shirts. The man on the left is shorter and older, with dark hair and a goatee. He has a neon pink drink in one hand and is smiling hugely. The man next to him—taller, blonder, buffer—has hauled him in close, with an arm around his waist and a possessive hand on his hip. His face is soft and completely adoring.

"And the other guy?" Wade prompts.

"Steve," Peter answers. "He and Tony got married four years ago."

It doesn't take a genius to realize that the happy couple in the picture are not happily together in Peter's reality. Peter's eyes are glued to the image, brow furrowed, chewing absently on his breakfast. It's like he's trying to solve an equation that he knows all the variables for, but can't make sense of the answer.

"Bad blood?" Wade hazards.

"An understatement, though... honestly? I didn't even know Cap was anything but depressingly straight," Peter answers. "He's another Avenger. The first, actually. He and Tony had a huge fallout awhile back that affected the whole super-powered community." Another pause. "This would explain a lot."

Wade snorts. "Are you saying that all they needed was to fuck it out?"

"All I'm saying is that it makes a lot of sense in hindsight!"

Wade laughs at Peter's tone, high and defensive. In retaliation, Peter elbows him in the side, the bony point of the olecranon hitting Wade exactly between two ribs. Once again, Peter forgets his strength, and Wade's sound of pain is only slightly exaggerated. Peter doesn't seem to notice, however, his attention immediately returning to the two men on the screen. He doesn't seem upset necessarily, simply melancholy.

"Apples and oranges, baby boy," Wade reminds him gently, verbally nudging Peter out from the spiral of his thoughts. “Tell me who else you’ve stalked while I’ve been gone.”

“Only you could make a basic investigation sound so sketchy,” Peter mutters as he exits out of the tab, the picture of Steve and Tony winking out of existence. His face is no longer pinched and Wade mentally congratulates himself on successfully diverting Peter’s attention from the strange what-if he found. “I’m literally stuck in an alternate universe.”

“Honestly, I would use this opportunity to play the most epic pranks on my friends and loved ones. And by that I mean Weasel.” Wade wiggles a little on the cushion with the sudden realization. “Wait, have you looked up your friends and loved ones? And if so, do you think we could pull some multiversal shenanigans?”

“No and definitely no,” Peter answers, slashing his flattened hand back and forth in an ‘absolutely not’ gesture.

“Ahhhh,” Wade whines. “But Petey Pie, think of the absolute mayhem!”

“I almost did," Peter admits quietly. He reaches for his coffee mug again yet doesn't drink; he just folds both hands around it, the small action performed more for the movement than anything else. "But that picture of Tony and Steve was really jarring, and I'm not even that invested in their personal lives. I mean, I don't have a lot of people, considering my line of work—"

"What, you're saying vigilante grad students don't have a lot of free time?"

"Shockingly, no." Peter puts the mostly empty mug down again. Absently touches his wedding ring and twists the band around his thin finger. "It's just you, and Aunt May, and MJ. Everyone else is a professional acquaintance at best."

You.

Aunt May.

MJ.

The wife, Wade realizes. Peter hasn't mentioned her since drop-landing in Wade's apartment, but Wade makes a living drawing conclusions from incomplete data and patterns. She's on the list of the most important people in Peter's life: other Wade, Peter's crime-fighting partner, Aunt May, the solitary relative, and MJ, the woman he married. It's in the way Peter says her name, the way he unconsciously touches his ring. Wade watches Peter's hand as he fidgets, hating the way jealousy rises in the pit of his stomach, a bubbling ball of acrid bile, making him sick, making him seethe. It's an odd sensation, as he's never been a particularly jealous person; he had never been upset even when Vanessa turned tricks, which she did for most of their relationship.

That's because Vanessa was yours, the rational, if vaguely mocking part of Wade's brain whispers. And Peter isn't.

Peter closes his eyes and leans back, head bumping against Wade's forearm, still slung across the back of the couch. Wade forces himself to focus on the way Peter's brown curls look against the maroon of his hoodie, loose and soft. He wants to run his fingers through the mass but knows he cannot; he stares instead, and mentally puts his useless longing into a mental cage. Mentally locks it, then dissolves the mental key in mental acid. Mentally.

"Anyone else that can help you?" Wade asks, trying to maintain a cheerful façade while he directs their conversation away from more emotionally charged subjects. "Another mad scientist, perhaps?"

"I do have one other big lead," Peter answers. He inhales deeply before returning to an upright position, head lifting from Wade's arm. "My best lead, actually."

The page Peter pulls up on the laptop does not look promising. It depicts the total wreckage of some luxury car, flipped upside down into a ravine; the frame is crumpled from a long fall and broken glass spread across the weed studded dirt. It doesn't look like the kind of crash that most people walk away from.

"Our universes must have very different definitions of 'best lead'," Wade comments.

"In my universe, this car accident was the catalyst for a man named Dr. Stephen Strange to quit his job as a surgeon and become Sorcerer Supreme," Peter explains. "It's promising because the exact same things that happened to him in my universe happened to him here."

" 'Sorcerer Supreme'?" Wade repeats. The word 'magic' escapes from the little 'Shit I'll Think About Later' box Wade stashed it in last night and he grimaces. "Please tell me that he's more Penn and Teller than Harry Potter."

Peter looks at Wade and gives him a small, regretful grin.

"Sweet Dumbledore," Wade mutters, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. He's been operating under Peter's mental assumption that he's from another dimension, only returning to his genetic experiment theory when necessary, but interdimensional travel and magic? Peter is really testing Wade's ability to suspend his disbelief.

"There is another tiny problem," Peter says after Wade reopens his eyes.

"Which is?"

"Strange's accident happened over five years ago and, within a year, he resigned from his job, sold his house, and disappeared. I think I know where he might be, but..." Peter once again twists his ring around his finger. "How do you feel about a little exercise?"

Part 5

#spideypool #wade wilson #peter parker #deadpool #spiderman #fandom: marvel #pairing: wade wilson/peter parker #rating: m

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ifridiot · 1 year

Text

I posted 8,089 times in 2022

70 posts created (1%)

8,019 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wambin

@tabakabhangigkeit

@jawnwicks

@grassfire

@rainbow-smite

I tagged 442 of my posts in 2022

#tagged for me - 27 posts

#luce writes - 23 posts

#tyler bait - 13 posts

#frank castle - 10 posts

#uuu - 10 posts

#wade wilson - 10 posts

#cable - 9 posts

#nathan summers - 9 posts

#cablepool - 8 posts

#deadpool - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#or they tell you you're remembering your own life wrong because the story you tell 'couldn't have happened to a child that young'

My Top Posts in 2022:

I believe with all my heart that he can do this

29 notes - Posted August 5, 2022

For the mini fic: Cablepool, with the prompt 'noise'

Noise

There's a noise Cable makes when Wade does something just right, and call Wade a sucker, but he can't get enough of it.

It's not (shockingly) a sex thing. Or at least, not strictly. Wade can get Nate to make the sound when they're in bed (or on Nate's couch, or in the kitchen, or wherever else clothes happen to come off), but it's just as likely to happen elsewhere.

It's an approval sound, low and throaty, somewhere between a grunt and a hum. With Nate's growly Charlton Heston voice, it's a sexy sound, even when the moment isn't right for sexy things.

Just a little sound, soft even, but Wade loves it. He finds himself, on his best behaviour – or at least his most useful behaviour – going out of his way to make it happen.

39 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

Cash-strapped sexy writer seeks YOUR wallet TODAY!

Home repairs are hell and I’m trying to get out from under a doozy of a bill I’ve had to put on credit. If I can pay my tab before April 30th 2023, I won't owe any interest, which would be rad. Unfortunately, disability pays like shit. SO.

Would you like to buy a series of commissions? Now's your chance. How about a backstory for your new OC? Wham. Want to read some niche porn? I've gotcha there too.

What’s on offer:

Original fiction (includes erotica) – 10c per word

Fanfiction (includes erotica) – 5c per word

Editing (fiction, non fiction, essays) – 5c per word

Copy writing for websites, flyers, etc. – 10c per word

I’m willing to write for basically any fandom, or even OCs if you provide me with character details. However, if you want me to do lots of research (watch a show, read a book, study a wiki about your obscure fave), I have to charge for my time.

Opening five slots a month, starting today!

OCTOBER

1. TAKEN

Examples of my writing are HERE

Venmo (@Ifridiot) or PayPal accepted

GOAL: 000/ 375 month

TARGET AMOUNT: 1081/$3000 by April 2023

170 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

Hey all, so I finally found a good therapist who doesn’t think that lupus can be cured with positive vibes and veggies, and although he’s only charging me 40$ a session, I’ve now got to find an extra $160 a month on top of the utilities, student loans and the other fun shit that I barely meet each month. I also need to get my cat groomed and vaccinated this or next month, which was planned for until the electric company decided to double my usual bill.

I’m a disabled trans writer. I write gay erotica, angst, and monster fucking, both in fanfic and original work. I’m willing to write for most any fandom, or even OCs if you can provide me with character and plot detail. However, if I’m being asked to do extensive research (watch a show, read a book, study a wiki about your obscure fave, learn the nuance of your OC), I will need to be compensated for time.

I’m doing at least 500 words per $12 spent. This means you are GUARANTEED 500 words, but likely will get something more like 750. The more money you spend, the more words I write you. Spend more, get more words, easy peasy. Max commission at this point is 5000 words guaranteed ($120).

Please talk to me first before paying for a commission, in case what you want is something I can’t or won’t write. Hard no’s include but are not limited to: incest, bigoted anything (no racism, trans/homophobia, ableism), gratuitous violence against animals or minors, pedophilia.

Email me (fixyouupnice @ gmail) or send an ask to discuss what you’d like written.

I’m currently opening six (6) slots to start!

1. @eritela

2. @formlessvoidbeast

3. @eritela again

If you can’t donate or don’t want to commission, please help by reblogging.

Paypal is HERE

Examples of my writing are HERE

UPDATE: the electric bill has been paid! I'm still working on the medical debt. Unfortunately, I just got stuck with another 500$ bill on top of the 230$ I owe for various blood tests and imaging stuff. Help is still very much needed and appreciated!

387/730$

407 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Nobody's stopping you from taking 4 tablespoons of butter, melting it in a pot, and adding two tablespoons of minced garlic. Nobody's stopping you from letting that garlic saute for like two minutes, or from then adding in two tablespoons of shaved parmesan. And nobody will stop you from stirring half a pound of al dented pasta into that buttery mess, cracking some pepper over it, and feasting on the garlicky spoils gained from such labours.

Nobody's stopping you. The cops can't even arrest you for it.

33,223 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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