#let him be the local jackass but goddamn he’s still human as much as he wants to deny it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fekst-fucker · 4 years

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Could I request Habit and maaaybe EJ or Tim with a ghost hunter s/o? And maybe in habits case they travel a bit and try to get him to come along although we already know how he feels about traveling ksnckskxks, and like how they'd react if s/o ended up getting a bit hurt by a ghost or smth during a 'hunt'? And s/o might be spooked during them but always tries to make them fun too

FUCK YEAH BEEN WAITING TO ANSWER THIS ONE ALL DAY LONG 😤😤

@creepy-bi-day, @the-cryptids-way I know you’ll enjoy this

Habit

- actually, traveling with him via car trips isn’t bad. He crashes out during the long ones but he’ll take the wheel when you need to sleep

- Just be prepared to buy him a ton of shitty fast food and beer 🙄

- He reaaaally can’t be bothered at first. He’s all “oh they’re lower levels” “oh they’re not worth our time” “oh who cares let them kill people”

- But he fell for some of your stubbornness and tenacity so when you just shrug and say “okay, bye then” you’re suddenly irresistible

- He either rolls his eyes and goes “fine, let me come with you so you don’t fucken’ kill yourself” or he pretends not to care and then sneaks out to follow you on your missions

- At first he was super unhelpful, just laughing and scoffing when you asked questions to the spirit box or recorder

- Which is annoying because his voice registers as a ghost so it fucks with your hunts >:/

- But during one particular hunt that had lots of promising evidence he suddenly went rigid and started growling at the corner

- At first you were like “haha, very funny, habs” but he said “no there’s something right there” so you scrambled for your camera and sure enough there was an FBA

- It was a strong enough presence that you started suffering because of it, sputtering and coughing, and you had to drop your camera and clutch your throat to be able to breathe

- Habit lost it, he started snarling and just swiping at thin air, he’s never grown claws before but you swore to god his nails were longer than usual

- Whatever he did worked, because there was a hiss and you were suddenly able to breathe

- You had to sit out for the rest of the hunt, but Habit and any crew you might have took care of it

- Now he absolutely won’t let you leave by yourself again, he makes fun of you for “being attacked by such a weak fuckin’ thing” but he’s still shaken up. He couldn’t lose his mate :(

Jack

- once again, Jack stubbornly doesn’t believe in ghosts

- “You’re a de-“ “I’m a demon, I know, I know, but ghosts aren’t real, that would require an astral body or some gaseous form and consciousness can’t take a gaseous form the closest thing we have is spores and-“

- ᴰᵘᵈᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᶦⁿʰᵃᵇᶦᵗᵉᵈ ᵇʸ ᵗʰᵉ ˢˡᵃᵛᶦᶜ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿᶦᶠᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵃˡˡ ᵉᵛᶦˡ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵉᵃᵗ ᵏᶦᵈⁿᵉʸˢ

- Even so, he adored horror while he was still human, so he’s more than excited to come on freaky adventures with you

- He has to stay more in the shadows, since he’s visibly not human he might scare your crew or people who are leading you around

- Sometimes he’ll put on full covering clothes and stay by your side, but only when his instincts flare up and he feels like something bad might happen

- His presence also messes with EMFs/video surveillance, and he’s dead and therefore cold so you have to keep thermal cams strictly away from him

- He knows not to be an annoying shit and talk while you have any boxes or voice recorders going at least, unlike another fuckhead demon we know 😒

- Jack’s not an antagonistic demon, even his energy and presence seems kind of dead, he’s very calming so ghosts and other supernatural presences don’t get unnerved or aggressive with him

- He can still sense them though, he’ll snap his fingers at you or slide something into your foot to alert you

- It is imperative you learn sign language to understand what he means, because otherwise he’ll just be furiously pointing in like a million different directions

- He’s careful and he knows how not to get caught but there have been some really close calls

Tim

- he has a camera, he’s a human, he was hunted by a ghost-ish thing, close enough to be a ghost hunter!

- He’s your go-to camera man, he’s experienced, not scared of shit, and so over any bullshit

- You’ve been to so many allegedly haunted locations that are just,,, rats in the walls or local kids causing mischief and every time he’s just banged on the wall and gone “get out of there, jackasses!” and a dozen tiny children come scrambling out of the walls like bugs

- Which is disappointing in the moment but also really funny

- The only thing that scares him is sudden noises right next to his ear, if you jump scare him or yell BOO during a tense moment he will screech and jump

- Not recommended though, the last time you did he was crouched by a wall, breathing deeply and shakily trying to light a cigarette for like three minutes

- Like dude maybe if you didn’t smoke so much you could b r e a t h e

- You’ve gotten in trouble for leaving cigarette butts around abandoned asylums/mansions/parks etc

- Tim is always FURIOUS because these places are filthy and “how the fuck did they find one goddamn cigarette butt on the ground! Sure, leave all the rat shits all over the fucking place and fine us for leaving a cigarette butt on the filthy fucking floor! Jesus Christ…”

- The fine was like. $25

- “iT’s ThE pRiNcIpAl oF tHe tHinG”

- He’s 100% down to break into places. Not like he actively goes looking for places to trespass but if you’re like “shucks we can’t get in there :(“ he’s already scaling a wall with a totally straight face and breaking a window

- And then after a few seconds he leans back out with cigarette and goes “are you coming?”

- Oh so you can scale a wall with barbed wires but have to take a breather when I yell BOO in your face 🙄

#hun im SO sorry this took me literally all day long 😭😭😭#yall theres so many asks and im gonna be takin them a little slower ope #habit x reader #emh habit #emh #everymanhybrid habit #everymanhybrid #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #masky x reader #masky #tim wright #ghost hunter

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moodysnowflake · 4 years

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First of all, gigantic

SPOILER ALERT

'Cause everybody shoud say it before starting.

Sure, it's not really a spoiler by definition, 'cause it's been 23 years, but still.

It's almost like with Harry Potter. Who read the books knows, and if you just started, it would be a really mean and dickish move to say anything.

Just because you've played FFVII, it doesn't give you the permission to rob the experience from new players, if they try not to get spoiled. Even if the game has been out there for two decades.

It would be like if, knowing the actual plot by Nomura-san himself, I will leak it you, old player.

You wouldn't like that very much now, would you?

Also, please let's keep it human and reasonable, this is just a stream of consciousness and my personal thoughts, I'm not going to insult anyone, nor players, nor Square Enix, so I would appreciate the same respect. Thank you.

I've already written stuff so far in order not to reveal, and if you, knew player, are insisting on continuing...well, what can I say? You've got a big storm coming; you just decided you didin't care, I'm not going to be responsible for ruining your experience. I warned you, you've spoiled yourself, and I'm sorry for that.

That being said.

This is exactly what it looks like, a huge steam blow, to get all my convoluted trains of thoughts out of my head, and see if someone else is perceiving the same things as me or, if not, is able to discuss it in a civil and constructive manner.

What I think about FFVII:R story and ending.

To start, I will be referring to the gameplay's events as timeline 2, and the original as timeline 1. You'll get why.

I think that, despite the dubious ending, we've all been already played, and what we think being the first destiny's divergence, a.k.a. Zack's survival, is actually a flashback of timeline 2. So yes, something that already happened in the actual game and influenced the story so far.

Why is that?

Let's start from the beginning. Or the end, depends on how you look at it.

Aerith.

'Not Sephiroth?' you might ask.

Nope. Not Sephiroth. Aerith indeed.

In timeline 1, she died, and become one with the Life Stream. We know it. That's okay, I'm not trying to argue with that.

I'm considering it for its very meaning. Aerith became one with the planet, so one with destiny itself.

Let's try to look at this perspective: if you were given the power to change destiny, anywhere you want, for everyone you know...Would you really not give it a try? If you were ever given the chance to save the person you love, and everybody who died because of your fuck ups, would you not even consider to change things? Not even once?

Aerith has always been energetic, sometimes naive, so full of life and hope, especially HOPE, despite everything, even being afraid of freedom and the unknown, but giving it a go anyway. So why couldn't she have tried? I can see that happening.

It wasn't Sephiroth who destroyed the Whispers of Midgar in that shiny, golden, big-ass explosiong which knowcked Zack off of his feet. It was her.

Zack was not supposed to reach Midgar, and Aerith interfered, saving him...for what time we're allowed to see until the end of the game.

Being the Whispers a sort of "defence line", I don't think that she got rid of them for good, because they're part of the very backup system of Gaia, so I'm more inclined to think that she just managed to temporarly shut them down.

Hoping to give Zack more time...but, in my opinion, not that much.

Let's be real; Zack's death has been one of the most tragic and emotional ones of the compilation, because Zack Fair is as near as you can go to the definition of Best Boy and everybody should love him. Yes, he was not immune to the SOLDIER's madness, because he was obsessed to become a hero, to be able to save someone.

But we have to thank him if Aerith decided to sell the flowers; if it wasn't for him, Aerith and Cloud would never have met (in every timeline).

He was the reason of the Seventh Heaven's name. He's the reason of that goddamned squatting minigame (yeah...you didn't think about that, did you?).

And naturally, he's the reason why our adorkable Cloud Strife not only is still alive, but also the source of his combat abilities.

Sure, Spike was trained and filled up to the brim with mako, but where do you think he was pulling all of his batshit crazy stunts from, if not Zack's memories?

e.g.: the very first landing in Crisis Core is e x a c t l y the same movement, the only difference being Zack touching the ground putting the weight on his right side while Cloud did it on his left. The only reason I can think about is because Zack wasn't holding the Buster, and that is how you would handle your balance if you were rigth-handed.

First digression done...it's gonna be painful...

Nobody is forcing you: don't like, don't read.

Feel free to stop whenever you like, I'm not gonna get offended.

So, Aerith tried, because she is the ultimate cinnamol roll and she wants to believe. She's fantastic and hopeful, and she firmly believe in trying to change destiny, saving as many people as she can. Why wouldn't she?

So she tried (why not from his mother's death? She could have tried, but Ifalna migth have said she didn't want to be saved. Who knows. I definitely don’t.), but it simply didn't work, because Zack had to die anyway, the Whispers de-bugged themselves and everything spectacularly backfired.

The question is how he's gonna die. If Crisic Core’s death was the worst, how could it go more bananas? I have some alternatives:

- Cloud (by Sephiroth intervention) killing Zack with his own hands without realizing it until the very end, Zack accepting it and trying to comfort him while drifting away [the less likely one for me];

- Zack dies again (maybe in the sewers?) because of Cloud's fault, either giving him the Buster to defend himself (remaining disarmed) or because he physically shields Cloud from a bullet shower or an explosion (something has to get rid of Shinra's troops to let Spike escape);

All of these theories imply that Zack still dies like a hero and knowing it.

- Let's go Cruelty: Full Cowling. Let's shatter even that one joy, the most important thing Zack managed to accomplish in his mad chase, reaching for his dream: die a hero. He could have managed to hide Cloud, giving him the Buster, running in the opposite direction and getting captured instead of insta-killed. Returning in Hojo's nightmare, this time dying a slow, agonizing, dark death. What if the bastard, in Zack’s very lasts moments, will deceive him, telling him they found Cloud, even if they haven't, just to mess up with him? That would be devastating: Zack would die feeling completely useless, absolutely worthless, even if he's not. He's still a hero, but he will never know.

This is where Sephiroth might come along.

Specifically, Advent Children's Sephiroth.

Who, at some point, gave/activated/infused/whateverisgonnabe timeline 1 Cloud's memories into him. Because Cloud has friggin’ Jenova's cells within him, so Sephiroth can do what the heck he wants and toy with the guy as long as he sees fit. As he has done throughout the game.

When could we see it?

- "I've killed you with my own [hands]...": Sephiroth is doing a vibe-check, to see how much Cloud remembers, and simply goes masterfully along with it, starting to fuck with him right then; he needs for Cloud to be as mentally unstable as possible, because of Black Materia reasons. He is one of the best manipulators in the game, after all. If not the best one.

- "But that is then, and this is now." Criptic af, could be interpreted as both Cloud canonically remembering in a modified timeline 1, or timeline 2 innest. Being Sephiroth, the jackass could be referring to both of them, just becasue he can.

- "Promise you'll come and save me" scene. Timeline 1 Cloud shouldn't remember it at that point in the game. Also, this wouldn't lead to the heart to hearth with Tifa right after. If it's not a modified timeline 1, to show that spiky boi is not a total socially awkward blond artichoke.

- Aerith's death and Holy's flashes. What could possibly confuse you more than that, together with a blasting migraine? I think this is Sephiroth not-verbal way to say "You're not gonna be able to save her. Ever. You didn't succeded then, you're not gonna make it now, not even if she knows it. It's gonna happend anyway."

- At the Edge of Creation, when he asks for Cloud's help, Cloud has a blink-moment in which his right hand seems to move towards him, an uncoordinated gesture, but still there (memory of timeline 1...when he sort of did it)

*What about Zack's name being said in Emerald Park and nothign really happening to Cloud? Well, if you have been innested another timeline's memories, things would be pretty screwed up in your head, wouldn't they? That could be why Cloud had just a crippling aneurisma hearing it: his brain was probably trying not to melt in a puddle. Also, Aerith could have been interfering with it (but I'm explaining that later), blocking his possible messed up recollection, because that would have been quite the situatuion both for Spike's sanity and the players'.

Advent Childrend's (AC) Sephiroth? Why not another one? Come on, we've got plenty of evidence of it during the gameplay (I'll be referring to both English and Japanese [coming from the Italian adaptation, which is the closest one {yep, I’m Italian, but I think the English adaptation is still the best in terms of localization and conversations’ management}]):

- The very first thing he says to Cloud, when he blabbers "You're not real...You're...dead.", is the trolling (and perfect) "I am?"...I mean...has he ever really been? Cloud's words implies (because this is Japanese) that you might also read it as "This is just my PTSD fucking with me, you're a memory".

- Aaaand which line hits you like a truck? "I will never be...a memory." (last line of Sephiroth in AC before smiling and disappearing)

- Last Sephiroth's line of the cutscene, which in English is a very uncospicuous (but very menacing, almost Itachi-like) "Hold on to that hatred.", in Japanese is "Never forget me." That's pretty different.

- Aaaand which line hits you like a wrecking ball again? Never forget me..."I will never be...a memory."

- While you, old player, are still wondering what the fuck just happened, 'The Promised Land' (AC soundtrack) starts playing...

If all of this wasn't enough to let your plot bunny run like it was on a carrot high, let's talk about the scene in Hojo lab's corridor, when Cloud, seeing Sephiroth materializing, yells in pain and grips fiercely at his left arm. Which happens to be the very same arm that is gonna get Geostigma (Sephiroth's lovely life-threatening plague-ish gift to humanity in AC).

And the three glowy whispers in chapter 18? Have you noticed that they move like Kadaj, Loz and Yazoo, and have the same weapons (one-handed sword, a gauntlet and two guns, respectively)? With a lot less whining, fortunately. Colors' scheme seems to make sense as well: Kadaj should be Sephiroth's hatred and rage (red), Loz his strenght and speed (yellow) and Yazoo the coldness and detachment (blue/green).

I’m leaving the last variable at the end, ‘cause this way I don’t seem a complete paranoid, even if it has been there all the way: the black feathers. The flippin’ black feathers. Which Sephiroth has ONLY at the end of FFVII: Advent Children. Then, and just then. Not everywhere else. Nowhere.

They’re there from chapter 1, joyfully swaying in the wind, Cloud sees one and it doesn’t seems to have that much of a significance, like for new players (meanwhile old players are screaming for their life, looking for cover), and they keep coming up, up, up, up, all over the place. And at the very end, the player sees that gorgeous black wing and they think “Oh! Holy crap, he has been there the whole time.”...and the old players yells “Fuck! He’s AC Sephiroth? We’re screwed. We’re done. This was his plan from the very beginning. Crap, crap, crap.”

This is the game tellying us “Shall I give you dispair?”

All the other interactions could easly come from timeline 1 events, up to the end of the game, and that's okay, because they make you realise that Sephiroth knows shit he's not supposed to have knowledge of at this point. He’s in total control, he has been through the entirety of the game, the sexy bastard.

So yeah, after making his last elegant and terrifying threat to AC's Cloud, our favourite one-winged angel decide to go back to the first checkpoint and retry in Critical Mode.

Fancy meeting timeline 1 Aerith there, in timeline 2, already fucking shit up in his stead. I can see him in my mind's eye, witnessing her intervention and thinking "This is actually really nice!". Since destiny has to be restored, he would have destiny itself playing by his side; he seriously couldn't ask for more.

Do I think part of Aerith is coming back from future too? Yes, she behaves like she knows too much stuff:

- "It's good for nothing at all" when you met her after projectile-crashing from the upper plate; if Zack dies like I hypothsized, this line would get all the more meaning, having her failed to save him;

- When Cloud is on his merry way of vivisecting Reno precisely in half, in English she yells "Stop!", but in Japanese she actually says "No, it's wrong!". How could she possibly know that Cloud shouldn't kill the Turk?;

[short digression over Cloud murderous behaviour towards people (a.k.a. Johnny and Reno) compared to the original game: why not, since he’s been bombarded by splitting headaches, seeing the man (who was his hero and destroyed his life) he killed with his hands very much real (to him but not to anybody else) and messying around, driving him cracker day by day. Anyone will lose their cookies.]

- On the highway, she and Sephiroth have an educated banter, in which she clearly knows something's up with the Sephiroth who's standing in front of them. He's the wrong one. But, at the same time, he's the true one too; He's not a projection channeled by Cloud Jenova's cells, nor using a copy to be seen by the others. So he's not using someone else from timeline 2, he's not part of timeline 2, that's why he's wrong. Not just because he wants to, you know, eradicate life from the planet. Despite him being his true self, the last one existing, he's from timeline 1, so he doesn’t really belong in timeline 2. That's the biggest hint we have about Aerith coming from whatever happens after, together with the next point;

- When asked how the heck she knows about destiny’s crossroads, she answer with a nice "I'm not really sure.". She's not really sure...anymore, due to the Whispers trying to reset her consciousness and memories back to square timeline 1. She says she loses something everytime they touch her.

I imagine the scene of Aerith feeling Zack's death, again, while she's at home, at night, among the flowers, feeling useless, realizing she couldn't do anything in the end: that is gonna be nerve-wracking.

Sephiroth would appear, maybe using Marco's body (or maybe even his own body), emerging from the darkness of the alley. They would look at each other while he slowly walks down the wood stairs and glides over the surface of the pond, speaking while never breaking eye contact, both knowing where and when they really are from. He would probably say, in his soft velvet voice, something along the line of "I told you it was not meant to work. You're playing with powers you're not able to control, and you're destined to fail. I'm going to ruin him (Cloud) and everything else you cherish. You will experience what true despair means (because why not, let's throw another AC reference, shall we?)." A very Sephiroth way to say "You did such a good job. Here, let me help you screw this up more, Aerith."

He would lift from the pond, silent and tall and silver and monstrous, smiling with his jade eyes pinning hers down, stretching his black wing out, towering over her, before folding it around himself and disappear (like in AC), leaving only Marco behind to collapse over the bed of flowers.

That would be a heck of a war declaration.

Last, and least, the final confrontation at the Edge of Creation, a.k.a. Sephiroth ultimately fucking with our sanity.

Paraphrasing his first senteces, ”I’m not gonna die and I won’t let you die as well”, should be the very final hint which shows he’s AC Sephiroth, as he used Cloud’s memories of him to create a core indipendent from the Life Stream (this is how he managed to bounce back); he needs Cloud to remain alive in order to exist himself. That’s why he feels (to the very confused new players, and the grumpy old ones who think Remake Sephiroth is not coming from the future) so obsessed with Cloud now; he wasn’t in timeline 1 until the last part. This would make sense for now to be timeline 2, because he understood how important it is to keep Spike alive and as insane as possible.

Cloud tries to open Sephiroth up like a can using Omnislash, the original killing blow, and Sephiroth parry and deflects it. Smirking, probably thinking “Nope, I’ve already seen this happening before, not gonna fool me twice.”

The bloody "7 seconds till the end. Time enough for you...perhaps. But what will you do with it? Let's see"

Which in Japanese is - 7 seconds remaining until the end. But you're still in time. The future is in your hands...Cloud -

The flippin’ end. Which one, Aerith or Meteor? I personally think it’s Meteor.

The future is in his hands because he was the one shutting down the Whispers with the final blow? Are they really gone this time? I don't think so. The future might be in Cloud's hands, but Sephiroth is gonna make sure to have his strings tightly wrapped around them.

The fact that he appears way more in the remake makes sense because of what he’s doing (at least what I and other people think he’s doing), and it doesn’t make him less dreadful. Not one bit. Cloud’s reaction seeing him for the first time should set the mood for the new players (I don’t know who this big-ass silver tree is, his voice is so soft it’s disturbing, his eyes are making me really uncomfortable and apparently he should be dead, but still scare the main badass character shitless, so I should watch out for him as well) as much as the old ones (Holy fuck, what the heck are you doing here, Seph?! How? It’s impossible [you do realize you and Cloud had the same emotional response, yes?{Chadley pun perfectly intended}]).

Anxiety is not resolving during the game; he’s still intimidating and scary as fuck whenever he comes out of fricking nowhere, creeping all over you.

I think the only one who knows what's up is him, and he's not gonna give anything away anytime soon. He's just gonna smile, drop an emotional bomb whenever he can and flutter away, leaving behind utter confusion and sheer panic.

Is Aerith gonna die? I really hope so. Don't get me wrong: I love her to the very bottom of my heart, but FFVII is not only a story about love, courage and fight against destiny, it's also about loss, suffering and death. As much as I would really like for her to survive, she shouldn't.

Like Sephiroth, she's a singuarity too, and at some point, she will have to met her fate, regardless of what’s happening.

Did they really have to show Zack? Everybody was secretly hoping to see him, nobody could make me think otherwise. And again, this is another surprise effect, recreating that same impact that old players got: “who’s this guy that looks like Cloud and has his sword (and he’s probably the guy Aerith is talking about)?”, while we are freaking out looking at him dragging spiky boi, limping towards Midgar, criminally handsome and very much alive.

New players don’t really need to know more, because that’s exactly what we knew back then.

As for Sephiroth’s presence in the game. In the original, he appears way later. Here, it’s conceptually the same; he’s there because of Cloud (mind, body/cells, memories) and the copies. He’s the real, complete one only at the very end, that’s why One Winged Angel is playing only then, and it’s just a faint presence here and there, merged in previous tracks (interestingly, it’s also the very first musical phrase we hear in the gameplay, and I think that’s because Aerith sensed him coming from somewhere. It wasn’t because of the whispers, I think it was because of him).

Same for Sephiroth’s backstory, which is none existent, for new players: that’s okay. you see him, you get that he’s unhinged and awfully strong. He’s a cold, collected bitch and he’s clearly plotting something.

That’s okay, it’s enough for now, they’re gonna get the rest in the next rounds. And boy, do I dread that day, ‘cause that’s gonna hurt.

Am I forgetting about Stamp? Of course I am. Not.

Barret stated in chapter 5 that Shinra changed the breed for the military propaganda, and that’s okay. We saw his graffiti, and he’s a beagle. In Zack’s scene, an empty chips bags flies around, clearly showcasing a different Stamp, a terrier of some sort. With a big-ass “Original“ claim in the top left corner. This might mislead you to believe that you’re looking at a different timeline.

Well...too bad the very same bag is laying on the table of Jessie’s parents...

The hint has always been there: Original. Barret said they changed the breed form the original one...so, yeah, this might prove Zack’s scene is a flashback.

Is Wedge alive? Probably yes.

Is Jessie alive? Probably yes.

Why Bigg's still alive? I don't know.

But I know that you don't build characters up that way to let them live a long life and die peacefully. Someone in this story is really good at giving hopes and then crushing them in the blink of an eye...

The Remake, as it has been said, is incorporating The Compilation, and it’s evident througout the gameplay, from Before Crisis all the way to Dirge of Cerberus and the novels (Leslie and Kyrie come from those. Still waiting on Evan).

I don’t think it has been made to rewrite nor modify FFVII, but to create a definitive end which organically weaves within it.

The story is still alive, kicking, and is the very foundation of the remake. You still have to play the compilation to have the ultimate understanding, because that is the destiny trying to be defied by Aerith and Sephiroth.

You can’t try to change fate, if you don’t have one to mess up with in the first place.

Lastly, if Zack will ever be playable at some point, I hope with all of my heart and soul to find myself beating the ever loving crap out of someone with a white and blue parasol.

*End Of Rant*

I'm forgetting something for sure, but well, this is the majority of the stuff that I needed to get out of my system.

If you managed to reach this point, thank you for dealing with me and my madness.

If you want to share your thougths you're very welcome to do so, as long as you can articulate your opinions in a civil discussion.

Have a good day/night.

Finger crossed for 2023.

#ffvii remake #ffvii #ff7 #ffvii compilation #ffvii theories #let's see #this may hurt #like really bad #ffvii spoilers #i warned yall

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mysticmysterywrites-blog · 5 years

Text

Prompt #6

Hey, so this prompt ended up being over 2000 words. I'm telling you now, you absolutely do not have to match it. Like, you can choose to. This is something you can choose to do! But I'm not going to force you to, because I'm 9/10 not gonna match this fuckers length again for a good long time.

Anyway!

I'm kinda hoping for a male character as a reply? The character I'm writing is like, 100% homo of the sexual, and he absolutely fuck with your character a few times while they're traveling. That said, if you really want to play a female character, I'm not that hard to convince (being the massive fucking gay that I am). But also, might end up needing to wipe the romantic aspect from it!

At least w/ Kimon, anyway. His brothers fair game to all genders.

Real fast. Kimon and Thales are human twins, the first being a bard and the second a wizard. They have darker skin, with red-brown hair and brown eyes. Kimon keeps his styled a bit shorter, and sticks to wearing lots of blacks and greys like the emo fucker he is. Probably best known for playing fantasy My Chemical Romance in the middle of the night. Thales keeps his hair down to about his chest, and dresses up in robes and a barrage of colors and patterns thats insulting to anyone actually trying. He's actually p happy, as a person. And you know, the necromancer.

When he's 5 he trips and cuts his leg on the pointed ocean stones, the sea salt slipping into the wound with each lap of the water

He cries and cries and cries, letting the tears replace the ocean mist on his face. His mother eventually notices his screams and comes rushing over to check on him, but his brother watches the way the blood falls from his wound, eyes wide in facination, hand gripping his in an attempt to comfort him.

The memory is eventually forgotten with time, but the fascination is not, and the two of them take very different paths in life.

He starts learning the piano when he's 7, takes fascination in the way that it sounds and feels. Every touch of a new key is a new feeling of wonder and excitement, Eventually, he takes excitement in the way that the lights around him glitter and dance, turning to the tune of the piano. He gets caught like that, playing to lights that shouldn't be there.

His mother is hesitant, of course. Bards are well known for their love of travel, for never standing in one place. Their father was like that. Always wanting to travel and move, always wanting to explore the world. It got him killed, and screwed her leg up, and she didn't want that for her baby boys. She wanted them to live a comfortable, cushiony life. Something boring. Something safe.

However, eventually she relents. He's not a particularly happy child (and hell, even as an adult is admittedly not the tellitubbies sun.) But playing against the piano always made him smile, and she loves when he smiles.

Over the years, He learns to master the piano, and then the violin, then the flute, then the guatar, and even the harp. Always falls back to the piano, but finds just as much enjoyment in every other instrument he learns. Violin offers him the most mobility, however, and mobility eventually offers him places amongst parties of adventurers or caravans.

His brother studies book after text next to him, humming along to the songs he plays time and time again, and eventually is rewarded a stave for his troubles.

They leave home when they're 16.

It's a hard choice to make. Admittedly, they have a rather comfortable life. Their mother has money and resources. Earned her place amongst nobility, rather then born. She knows who to talk to, and how to talk to them, and as a result they all live comfortable lives.

But he wants to travel, and his brother is running out of books to study from. He craves knowledge, craves digging deeper into magic he shouldn't have access to. He doesn't understand it, at the time. He, personally, just wants to tell stories. Learn other people stories. Wants to learn stories that have been passed down time and time again, and pass them onto other people.

But his brother wants knowledge, the kind hidden behind lock and key deep in temples and forgotten cities.

And forgotten cities have some pretty damn kick-ass stories to tell.

When they're younger, there's this tiefling girl that comes to their house a lot.

Her names Laelia, and she has this absolutely gorgeous purple skin, and big horns that crook and curve down, following the curve of her back and curl of her black hair. Her eyes are a bright green color, and fingers and teeth are sharp and shinning. She scares his brother, at first. But, Their mother welcomes her with open arms, speaks curses of the girl's parents and their dismissal. Sometimes, she stays for months on end before her parents remember she exists, come and claim her once again.

But she always end up back at their house, and their mother teaches her how to stalk around in the shadows, how to take full advantage of the smallest blade. Her sons might have been magic users, but the girl becomes her daughter, and she gladly passes on her techniques to her as she would a child of her own blood.

She travels with them for a while. She grows close to dying three times, then meets a small group

Her last words to him weren't a goodbye. She didn't believe in goodbyes, whatever that meant. She believed that the word was "Kimon, watch out for your brother," she'd tell him, placing her hands on his shoulder and glancing over at him, "he's getting into some things that are far outside his payroll, if you get what I'm throwing down."

He raised an eyebrow, and at the time he didn't understand. She could see that, he thinks. So, she just sighs and mutters.

"Its- nevermind. Just focus on keeping yourself safe, babe," and then she'd smack him on the back of the head, and turn to walk away. ~~

They find the first book in a temple hidden away, seemingly lost to time itself. Its made of stone and gold, the shine of the metal seeming to dance through the cracks of the stone. Light struggles to make its way inside, and Thales lights their path with a small flame, just in front of the two of them.

Theres a skeleton in the middle of the floor, a body as forgotten as the temple, and stains that even sink into the cracks of the floor. They ignore it, and go about shuffling through the books and notes the deceased wizard had left behind.

Thales thumbs through it with fascination glinting in his eyes and mouth opening and shutting about every now and again. "It's powerful stuff," he mutters, mostly to himself, "I don't know if I've ever seen anything like it."

They spend over a month there, as his brother copies spell after spell down. He doesn't mind, because he's spent three months in towns writing down stories and local fables. But it still worries him, the way his fingers linger over the necromancy books for so long.

There's this girl they meet.

She's beautiful. Hair large, curly. Pure white against a nice tan. She dresses in pinks and whites, carries around a hammer larger then she is. Her skin is callous around her fingers, eyes are brighter then ocean water, and she has a laugh he thinks he could play a song to.

Kimon likes her well enough. Thales falls for her immediately.

The sound of her spine snapping is somehow both memorizing, and sickening.

His cat brings him a little dead bird one day. It's feathers are pulled out and it's guts are destroyed, and the little bastard looks so pleased with himself over it. He grumbles and goes to clean it up, but his brother snatches up the job before he has the chance. Whatever. He's always been a fucking weirdo.

He doesn't think much of it. Wizards were just kind of like that. Maybe he needed the bones, or the feathers. Maybe it was some rare kinda bird, or maybe he just liked the look of the thing. He wasn't one to judge, he supposed.

He comes back three days later, holds up the bird, fluttering and chirping and as happy as could be.

"Kimon," he tells him, hope barely stinging through his voice, "I think I could bring her back."

His brother leaves in the middle of the night, one night, and he doesn't bother coming back. Doesn't leave a note, doesn't say goodbye. He just fuckin' leaves, like the goddamn jackass he is. His anger is replaced by worry only when, two years later, he hears stories of a necromancer causing trouble on a snowy mountain.

There's a few times where he's wrong

There's a few times where he joins a party chasing after a necromancer, only for them to stumble across a cult, or some other dumbass wizard in over their head on the concept of their own power. He doesn't feel bad, helping to bring their end. He doesn't have a connection to them, doesn't feel the pain they do. But it's disappointing everytime. He wants to find his brother, wants to know hes okay.

But he almost always ends up jumping from the party, after they're done.

He meets up with Laelia's party again, travel with them to some sea side town he knows he's been to but doesn't remember the name of. He doesn't tell them about his brother, knows the looks Laelia gives him when he asks are knowing and worried.

They stop at a little in, one thats run down and near abandoned, but has maybe some of the best fries he's tastes in years. He preforms for them to snag them a free room, and thats where he meets them.

They're different. He doesn't know why, but they feel different. He lingers around for a bit, listens to the way they speak and the tales they spin. It might be eaves dropping, to a small degree, but he finds himself so inticed by their words that he doesn't care.

He only approaches them after they tell the tale of a necromancer they've taken down, and how they plan to hunt down another one sometime soon. "I hear you're going after a necromancer," the words feel foreign, sour on his tongue, despite the fact that he's said them time and time over, "Up north, right? How much are you paying?"

And then he separates from Laelia's party once more, to fall in line with them.

He sleeps with them about three times, overall

The first time was excusable. They were both drunk, and he was admittedly touch starved. Every moment their hand lingered against his arm, it shot a feeling of euphoria up into his side, made him see lights he didn't know existed. He tried to play his instrument that night, but the cords were sloppy, and tune was off, and all he succeeded in doing was making them laugh. And hell, their laughter was gorgeous. Waking up the next day curled into their side hadn't been surprised, but he found he couldn't care as much as he should have with a hang over.

The second time wasn't as easily excusable, so much as it was stupidity. Theres this dance they go to, you see. Need to get all dressed up for it, know how to slow dance and eat finger foods and shit. They need to get in and steal a book from the man running the party, something of an easy task. They're talking in private, somewhere quiet, more like arguing, when the doors open. He thinks too fast, doesn't think through his plan. All he knows is that they have papers, books that they shouldn't, and that could be anyone. He slams his lips down onto theirs, lets them linger as the intruders startle, then pass. Flustered, but not knowing any better as to what they've obtained. And they don't bother separating, at least for the night. They're both touch starved, both angry.

The third time? There was no excuse. Nothing he could blame it on. They'd been sitting out by the camp fire, as he plucked gently at the strings of his instrument and played a quiet tune. It was just the two of them, party members be damned. It was cold. They were both tired, both hungry. They'd move closer together, quietly- gratefully- taking in the warmth of the other body heat. He'd bitch at them for ruining the tune of the song he was playing, and they'd laugh at him for it. He'd place his head on their shoulder, place his violin down. Move closer. Kiss them.

They end up in his tent, and he ends up with cricks all up his back, and half a regret from the night earlier.

He tells himself not to get too attached to them. They're a means to an end, nothing more, nothing less.

But Dammit.

He likes them

Theres tubes, filled with green liquid he can't really see through fully, but can see enough through to make out the form of a person.

The basement becomes colder, especially as he hears familiar humming deeper in it.

He would have slept with them more, is the thing.

But despite being a bard, he can't seduce to save his fucking life, and they always shuffle away when he gets close. So he doesn't, and they move on with their lives.

There's this little cabin tucked away in the mountains that they stumble across. While it appears abandoned at first, it's worn and well loved on the interior, Ash and dust having collected, just as much as footsteps and food have. There's evidence of someone living there, but not evidence of there currently being someone THERE.

They find a door under a rug, and that's where they hit gold.

They travel together for at least a year.

They have a tendency to get, well. Sidetracked, is the thing. A small quest here leads to a bigger quest there, and suddenly something that should have only taken three months at most is taking a year to get done. Its an easy pattern to fall into. They're the first person he's felt compelled to stay around in a while, and he doesn't mind getting dragged off to do the next big thing.

Still. He worries what will happen, in the end.

He makes a choice he decides not to regret.

He changes his target.

He's always been good at adding buffs. He plays on the defensive, prefers not to get hit. But it's hard. It's hard to concentrate on protecting both teams. He doesn't want his brother dead, and his brother doesn't want to die, which makes him terrifying. Thales always had a good grasp on magic, and watching him use it against them turns his heart cold.

He could tell that his brother, at least, was picking up on something being off, the way he noticeably double takes at him. His mask covers only the base of his face, but his hat covers the rest of it. But he knows his play style is unique, knows his brother has watched him cast spells with his magic almost his entire life. He notices, about half way through, how Thales backs off. Opens his mouth to say something. Gets himself knocked out as a result of it.

The shriek of the violin stops the battle in it's tracks, and he's turning his heel as his brother falls to the ground. Passed out, he tells himself. He's hurt and bloody and tired, but his brother is only passed out. He looks over the eyes of the person he's been traveling with for over a year now, the person that sweeps his feet out from under him and plays with his heart.

He's not sure if what he feels is love, or lust, but it doesn't change the fact that he's pointing a knife at them.

"Let me make this very clear," he raises the bow of his violin up, something he liked to think was a little more threatening due to the curve of the end being sharpened, due to them having watched him fight time and time again, "If you touch him, any farther, I- I will kill you. Even you can't be /that/ fuckin stupid. Step OFF."

#Cherubplay #Dungeon and Dragons au #Original Character

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years

Note

hey do you want to sell the arthur movie to someone who loved bbc merlin, couldn't stand it after a while, and refused to watch the ending bc the death of camelot always angers me (and makes me cry a bit, usually, if I'm being totally honest, but mostly I get really annoyed) and I avoid it whenever I can?

Well first off, if you got far enough for watching the ending to even be an issue, you lasted longer than me, because...like, listen. There’s only so far you can push Plot-Mandated Idiocy before I lose my patience with it and I burned out at the end of Season 3 (partway into Season 4?) with Merlin and its Plot-Mandated Idiocy on the part of Arthur and every other living human in Camelot. I have Some Complaints about that show but the whole magic thing is first on the list.

BUT ANYWAY.

Legend of the Sword is amazing! It is wonderful! It is about the rise of Arthur to the throne and therefore does not actually deal with the fall of Camelot at all!

Here are some things that I think are major selling points!

The Premise

So, traditionally, Arthur is smuggled off to be raised as a nobleman’s foster son after the usurpation of Uther’s throne. In LOTS, it presumes that Uther’s throne is usurped by his brother Vortigern (PSA: Mordred shows up in a wildly nontraditional fashion but like it really worked for me? especially since I hated Mordred in Merlin?), but Arthur’s escape with Ygraine is botched. Uther and Ygraine are both killed trying to save their son, and Arthur is sent downriver alone as a very young child. He winds up in Londinium, where he’s saved and raised by a group of prostitutes. This means that instead of being raised as a foster son of a noble, Arthur grows up mostly on the streets, where he learns to fight and protect His People from Vortigern’s corrupt regime. A lot of the plot is driven by Arthur’s need to help the women who helped him when he was younger, and that’s ultimately what pushes him out of Just Trying To Get On With It into picking up Excalibur and taking up arms against the usurper king.

Not gonna lie, I was dubious at first? But like, FUCK, the plot works out phenomenally well, it's creative and gripping and in tune with itself, and all the characters are smart as a whip--which, after the Plot-Mandated Idiocy thing I talked about above, was an incredible relief. The word ‘chivalry’ is never dropped, but the narrative is driven by this dictate that the strong use their power to defend and help and support or die trying, and that’s my shit. This movie is King Arthur by way of Robin Hood, which is everything my deepest id could ever have craved.

The Soundtrack

Listen, LOTS is by Guy Ritchie (he of Man From UNCLE and the RDJ Sherlock Holmes movies) so I can tell you a couple things. First of all, the man knows his way around a goddamn montage, there’s a montage of Arthur growing up and I might actually need a separate post to talk about how magnificently efficient it is--about three minutes of montage gives you all the major points about how Arthur gains all his moral stances and combat/leadership abilities.

More to the point, though, the soundtrack is the most goddamn amazing shit I’ve listened to since maybe Fury Road? Like, the Wonder Woman theme is magic, of course, but I love the soundtrack of LOTS so much I’m actually just listening to it on loop right now. It’s all drums and bells and strings and heavy driving beats with just enough of an electronic thread to sound like folk music from a world very much not our own. This music makes me want to go on a fucking quest, catch me stealing a horse and looking for a fucking dragon to slay. Here is the main theme, if it doesn’t inspire the desire to go on a heroic quest I just can’t help you.

Arthur’s Character

Right, so, like...here is a controversial statement for you. I am exhausted by the Hot Edgy Take of Arthur being a jackass. I’m just. I’m tired of it. It hasn’t been Interesting And New for like minimum a thousand years. I stuck it out in Merlin because...like...I guess I thought Arthur was going to improve? And he does! Like, he becomes a reasonably competent king! But part of the thing that broke me on that show was that he wasn’t exactly Golden Age Of Camelot levels of generous/compassionate/wise. Largely because of that Plot-Mandated Idiocy thing. But he’s still kind of an arrogant, self-centered, spoiled asshole.

And I’m fucking sick of that take.

You know what I like? Arthur who's confident in his abilities because he knows himself and his skills inside-out. Arthur who has a sense of humor that hides a knife-edge of intelligence. Arthur who knows that however good he is, the world is a big place and he needs to always strive to be better. Arthur who would rather die than see someone who trusts him hurt, and who makes that clear. Arthur who can go from fighting a war to saving a scared kid in a heartbeat. Arthur who believes in quick and efficient reparations for a wrong done to someone under his care, but who isn’t too hotheaded to make an ally when he has the chance.

I like King Arthur to be clever and kind and ruthless and honorable and good, like, if your Arthur isn’t through and through a good man who knows that the people begging for coins are just as worthy of protection and good treatment as a king in his castle, I don’t want to hear about it.

And my guys. LOTS delivers.

The Magic

Let me put it to you this way. That $175mil budget for this movie? It wasn’t exactly going into hot wings at the local KFC. The magic is beautiful, and elaborate, and an excellent part of the world. Nothing is really explained in depth, it’s just “Okay, here’s what’s happening, check the kaiju-sized war elephants and if you’re okay with that you’ll be fine so buckle up.” And like...hell yeah I’m okay with kaiju-sized war elephants, sign me the fuck up. I’m a big believer that either you have to explain everything or you have to just call it a flux capacitor and pretend that those words go together in the English language and hope that your audience catches up. LOTS does a great job with their flux capacitor. The Mage never explains what she’s doing or talks about how things work, she just sets up shop with some herbs and an asp and a really excellent cloak and starts getting shit done.

Excalibur is also really fantastic (like, listen, your magic sword should do some magic shit when wielded by its destined master) and they deal with something I’ve never actually seen before, which is the idea that it’s not the stone that’s enchanted but rather Excalibur itself. So you could theoretically stick Excalibur into a reasonably large tree stump and the stump would petrify and only a Pendragon would be able to draw it. And it’s cool as shit. I was so disappointed with how little Excalibur appeared in Merlin (Plot-Mandated Idiocy strikes again I guess), so having a version of the Arthur story where the sword is fucking awesome made me very happy.

(Addendum: listen. LISTEN. I recognize that the council has made a decision about the Mage being Guinevere but the Mage is obviously Merlin. Like. Obviously. She helped Uther woo Ygraine and forged Excalibur and knew the Lady of the Lake of old and now she has a king who’s not a king, a king who grew up in a brothel, and she’s exhausted by everything Arthur chooses to be, but...he’ll do.)

The Vibe

King Arthur should feel like King Arthur. It should feel vaguely otherworldly. It should boil over with magic. It should have knights errant and loyal companions and clever courtiers. It should have terrible wickedness and stubborn light and people who die for both. It should have an Arthur whose knights love him, and who loves his people, and who never makes enemies when he can make friends.

And Legend of the Sword feels like King Arthur.

#legend of the sword #king arthur #arthuriana #y'all i'm very serious about this movie #movie rec #like listen all movies have problems and this one is no exception but FAR AND AWAY this is my favorite visual adaptation of arthur #honestly this doesn't even cover all my reasons that you should watch this movie but it's a start #relatedly i like the idea that MAGGIE is guinevere #i'm SUPER serious about that #i'll tell you all about it if you want to hear it but yeah no listen #the movie apparently did not do well enough to get a sequel and as such i am within my rights to Do What I Want #and what i want is the mage to be merlin #god i want to write fic for this but i have no idea what i want to write #oh and fair warning there are EXACTLY 52 english language fics on ao3 for this movie so sorry about that #i read most of them this week #some of them are pretty killer one has the mage as nimue instead of merlin and i have Some Questions but it was well executed so whatever #oh and the lady of the lake appears in this movie and she's AMAZING #i love her #i want to jump into the lake of avalon and have her carry me away in the billows of her dress #BUT YEAH TLDR WATCH LEGEND OF THE SWORD #AND THEN COME TALK TO ME ABOUT IT #anyway here's wonderwall #idiot teenagers with a queue #aethersea #asked and answered

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cescalr · 6 years

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Fic idea: musical Stalia AU

Y E S

with like, drummer/guitarist Stiles and singer malia who wants to learn how to play an instrument like - I dunno, drums do seem her style, and like - yes yes.

Or musical, as in musical show? with Stiles and Malia playing the lead roles or Stiles playing a lead role/mal paying a lead role and they start something behind the scenes and the other has to fret about the main having to pretend feels for someone else (Lydia, Scott) ??? y e s

Snippet idea:

Malia has a gig coming up in a few weeks, and she -

Well, okay. Maybe she lied, a tad, about knowing how to play the drums. But this band she's in - it had been her one chance at something bigger than singing at Kylie's birthday party, and though Malia loves her sister - truly - Cora, well, she's a good bio-cousin, and she put in a word with some guy called Stiles, who put in a good word with some girl called Erica, who got her a spot in a band she sort-of manages. Her boyfriend Boyd plays bass, aparently.

Unfortunately, Malia had just found out that her spot was mainly drumming and a little singing - which, fine, except Malia hardly knows how to play the drums and she's a singer, first and foremost. So that's a thing.

"Stiles knows a thing or two," Cora had told her. Erica had repeated much the same sentiment. "He's not part of a band, really, just substitues in for drummers and guitarists on occasion as a favour to me." Erica says. "As an apology."

Apology for what, Malia can't say. Anyway, Kylie's friend Hayden's boyfriend Liam's mentor/personal lacross coach Scott is best friends with Stiles, so he's driving her round to Stiles' on his motorbike.

Man, if her dad knew. He'd go balistic.

Anyway. Malia hears the knock at the door and breezes on past her mother, who winks and smiles in a way that says 'I won't let your dad know, go have fun' because apparently her mother is great. Nice.

Her dad's been a little overprotective ever since that scare a few years back when the roads were icy and the car crashed into a tree on the side of the road. Luck had it that they weren't injured - nobody was in the front passenger seat - and they laughed it off, however uneasy they felt, because - well, they were fine, really.

Malia still hadn't gotten her driver's liscence, but - well. That's a whole other thing entirely.

"Hi, you must be Malia." the guy she assumes to be Scott says. "Yeah," Malia replies. "That's me."

Scott grins at her, nods in the direction of the road out from her house. Living in the middle of the woods isn't bad, really, except for shitty wifi, shitty road access, and it being really cold, like, all the time except for when it's unbearably hot.

Malia rather thinks of herself as a little cold blooded. It's only the tail end of summer, but she's already in autumn clothing - a tank-top, longsleeve shirt, hoodie, jacket. Leggings and shorts and boots and argyle socks.

Malia has her own kinda style. So what if Lydia's a little snide about it sometimes? Malia can deal with the Queen Bee so long as she keeps tutoring her. Not that Lydia would ever let her tell anyone she tutors Malia, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, Lydia spends most of her time with the new guy in town who was forcibly resigned from the army after suffering some severe injuries from an explosion. It was all over local news a little while back, but as it stands - Malia hasn't heard gossip about the guy for a while. He works at the Station, even if he isn't an official deputy - Malia thinks it might be pity, but she's not sure. Either way, the Sheriff makes sure he gets a paycheck.

Malia thinks this Stiles guy - who's home from college for the summer, as is Scott and Lydia (Malia goes to the local community college, mostly because her dad would freak if she didn't. Either of her dads.) - is the Sheriff's kid. Cora thinks he's alright (they were a thing a while back, back in high school) but Malia reserves judgment.

"Come on then." Scott says, cheerful and bright - Malia knows why some of her friends gush about him; he's like the fucking sun given human form or some other such poetic bullshit. Kind of her type, but not quite, and besides - he's dating Allison, even if she studies in France. She's learning to take over the family buisness, as far as Malia knows; they're weapons dealers for the government, the Argents, and Malia thinks you need to know quite a lot about guns and the rest to be any good at that. Because - well - the govenment. Fucking hell.

Malia hasn't seen Allison around this summer. Malia sometimes wonders - in that gossipy way teenagers always wonder - if there's a strain on Scott's relationship with her, because Scott's always around this Kira girl and Allison spends a lot of time with this Isaac character, but Malia knows very little, so she can't really say either way.

Malia nods and follows the other young adult (eighteen - he's almost a year younger than her; Malia's one of the oldest in her yeargroup) out onto the dirt path. She takes the offered helmet and mounts the bike behind Scott.

"Hold on," He advises, and they're off.

Malia isn't sure how much she likes motorbikes, really. They're cool to look at, and all, but it feels like you're always a hair's breadth away from crashing and being crushed to death, so Malia rather thinks she doesn't like them - but then, there's the rush of wind on her face and the sheer speed you can get to (although they are staying safely below the legal limit) and there's the fact that they can get places easier than cars can, and Malia returns to being wholly uncertain.

Once they're there, Malia dismounts and returns the helmet. She pats down her hair and says "Thanks," to which Scott nods, grins like he's fucking sunshine personified and says "No problem." Malia's almost glad when he's gone, because goddamn. You could get blinded by that shit.

Malia turns and walks up to the door - and then, she's suddenly nervous. She doesn't really want to seem like a utter idiot, but then Malia did lie about being able to play the drums so quite honestly she kind of is, but it was one of those lies you blurt out and immediately regret but will defend 'til your dieing breath.

Malia steadies herself and knocks. Whoever this Stiles guy is, she hopes he's not like some of the other drummers and gutarists she's met - the freelance ones who generally stick to only indie bands and have that god awful over-one-eye emo fringe haircut and about ten death metal t-shirts they switch between regularly, but likely have never actually listend to the bands or songs printed across the front.

Thank fucking god, she thinks when she first register's the appearence of the about-her-age guy who answers the door a few moments later. The next thing she thinks is fuck, he's good looking, because Malia isn't adverse to these sorts of thoughts. Malia doesn't and has never seen why registering a person's level of attractiveness in your own head before anything else could be considered rude - she rather thinks its a compliment (if you think they're pretty, that is) - but whatever. It's not like you're gonna share it immediately anyway, so what's the harm in a little appreciation?

He's a pale guy, but not in the I-never-leave-the-house-wow-so-emo way, more the naturally pale, mole-speckled skin kind of pale. His hair is gelled, because of course it is - Malia doesn't know one guy in Beacon Hills that doesn't do that when their hair is long enough (aside from Liam - but again, the kid is still that; a kid. He'll do it eventually) it's kind of weird - and it's not a bad look, quite frankly. He's got a fairly strong jaw and a lean but - well - strong build, and Malia definitely gets why Cora smirks a lot when she talks about him.

Damn. She's a lucky lady, her cousin.

(They broke up more because they didn't want to have to deal with distance and besides, they weren't the kind of relationship that wanted to last beyond high school. Cora was Stiles only girlfriend, as far as Cora's aware, but she wasn't the only person he'd been with in one way or another.)

"Hi," He says - belatedly, Malia realises he's on the phone. "Hold on - Theo, yeah, man, I get it, your sister's a bitch sometimes, yada yada, this is literally always your fault she's an actual sweetheart - go apologise you ass - Look, there's someone at the door, I gotta go. Bye, dude."

He hangs up and smiles awkwardly at her, rolling his eyes. "My friend's a bit of a jerk sometimes," He says amicably. "Sorry about that. You're Malia, right?" "Yeah." Malia nods. Cora's not the only one Malia knows stories of Stiles from - Heather's an infamous oversharer and Erica was never much better (neither was Catilin, for that matter... but, then, that's what Malia gets for having no tact herself) - but Malia wants to make her own judgment of this guy.

Then again, he is friends with actual saint Scott McCall, (Malia's heard of him saving kittens from trees and volunteering at the hospital and working at the veterinary clinic), so he can't be that bad of a guy.

But then, Malia's pretty certain Theo is Theo Raeken, and Stiles is right; he can be a total jackass. So Malia will hold judgment until she gets to know the guy a little better.

"Come on in," He jerks his head to the side slightly as a gesture for her to follow, then turns and walks inside. Malia enters and closes the door behind herself, before following him upstairs and into his room. It's a little messy, but not that bad, and a lot of the space is taken by his drum kit, while some of the space on his wall is taken by his guitar.

"Make yourself comfortable. It's drumming you need to learn asap, right?" Stiles asks, and Malia nods. "Yeah." "Alright then." He claps his hands and grins at her, infectious. "Let's get started."

#stalia #generally-fantastic-things #ask-answer #fic idea #!!!#fic prompt #ideas #fanfiction #stalia music au #i l o v e this idea

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neoyi · 7 years

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For the ships: Queen Knight and Fem!Propeller ; Mr Hat and his hats ; Judgement and the Jackal ; Plague and Mona and Drifter and Guardian.

*cracks knuckles*

Queen Knight/Femme Propeller (this applies to masculine King Knight/Propeller Knight, too, BTW.)

Who’s more dominant: They’re both dramatic peeps, so they’d both be at it. In the bedroom though, Propeller would totally be more experienced.

Who’s the cuddler: Propeller, she’s such an affectionate person.

Who’s the big spoon/little spoon: Queen because she’s bigger, so she gonna spoon the heli-captain.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Fashion shopping spree!

Who cooks: Queen has servants who do it for her. I could see Propeller baking sweets the best; she’d make cute crowns and scepter-shaped cookies.

Who comes home drunk at 3am: Propeller. Probably because they’d be the type who would have a kickass party and go nuts.

Who kills the spiders: Queen, but only via servants.

Who falls asleep first: They’d both be deep sleepers in like a super comfy bed.

A head canon: *Their first time was an embarrassing moment for Queen Knight, she had never personally…done it. She was expecting derision and mockery from her partner, but Propeller gently wrapped her arms around Queen and told her everything would be alright. They’d take it slow, they’d communicate their needs, and they would both stop if Queen grew uncomfortable. Propeller spoke with no judgment in her voice and Queen believed for the first time that Propeller truly was as kind as the captain’s crew members always vouched she was.

Their relationship summed up in a gif:

Mr. Hat and his hats

Who’s more dominant: Well, ya know, Mr. Hat. Gotta keep those hats on his head like the boss ass dude he is.

Who’s the cuddler: Those hats are the ultimate head cuddlers. XD

Who’s the big spoon/little spoon: “Oh, hats, how I love thee.” Mr. Hat would say as he spoons his latest favorite headgear in bed that night. Whenever he told his employees this during work, they were suitably creeped out.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: None of what he does with his hats are sexual to begin with man, he just emotionally loves his damn hats. Some of the things he does is wear hats, examine hats, write blogs about hats, steal hats, dance with hats…

Who cooks: Mr. Hat when he wears like a chef’s hat or something.

Who comes home drunk at 3am: Mr. Hat when he doesn’t get a hat he wants. The bottle is soothing in such trying times.

Who kills the spiders: Mr. Hat. With his foot. Because he’d never slam a hat down at a spider.

Who falls asleep first: Mr. Hat because hats don’t sleep.

A head canon: Sometimes, he can stop talking about hats to talk about *GASP* coats! Or shoes! Or gloves! SCANDULOUS.

Their relationship summed up in a gif:

Plague Knight and Mona

Who’s more dominant: Pfft, Mona. I like to think she’s a stone wall. They can only conjure enough potions that makes the kaboom before she has to put her foot down. “Plague, we need a rooftop.” She would respond in that deadpan tone of hers. Indeed, their headquarters is a far more dangerous zone when it is Mona who is deep into her work. Plague would never stop her because he’d be too mesmorized with her genius to care if another part of their home lost a wall. They can always rebuild.

Who’s the cuddler: Plague. He never tells this to a goddamn soul.

Who’s the big spoon/little spoon: It goes without saying, honestly.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Potion brewing, of course! Schemes, antimony, and boom-booms! oh, and dancing, of course. ;)

Who cooks: Neither, they order take out. Too busy doing science, but pizza is forever.

Who comes home drunk at 3am: Neither. Plague and Mona aren’t heavy drinkers. They substain on whatever they can brew that’s edible and unhealthy glugs of energy drinks at the local food market.

Who kills the spiders: Both…then they collect the spiders as part of their ingredigents.

Who falls asleep first: Sleep? Who the freak needs sleep when both have science to do? (Mona sometimes puts a blanket over Plague when he’s hunched over on his desktop after a hard day’s work.)

A head canon: Mona never wanted kids, so she feared the day when she had to tell Plague, not knowing if he wanted those wretched little spawns. Their wedding day was approaching and damn it, why did she put this subject off for so long? It’s only an important discussion that pertains to them as a couple!She approached the shorter man, took a deep breath, and spoke with a hammer-like blunt, “Plague, we’re getting married and I love you. But kids are awful and I don’t want them.” Plague stared at her, then sighed in relief, “Oh thank God, I don’t want those ungrateful brats either.” And that was that.

Their relationship summed up in a gif:

Drifter and Guardian

Who’s more dominant: Drifter. Once they are comfortable with someone, their stoic personality and suppose “neutral” stance fades, revealing their true self as a passionate nerd gremlin who also has little patience for morons and jackasses.

Who’s the cuddler: Oh my GOD, Guardian. He is a big, fat softie.

Who’s the big spoon/little spoon: Guardian is the big spoon because I draw him as a gargantuan man of 6′8.

What’s their favorite non-sexual activity: Studying. They are big on history, particularly ancient cultures and society. Often, they travel to various destinations throughout the world to check out old ruins and mysterious objects left by their ancestors. Discussions and debates are routine in their daily conversations.

Who cooks: Because they wander so often, Drifter cooks whatever they hunt. Guardian has drifting experience, but he largely had a home and access to a kitchen. He would be the chief chef of whom Drifter would eventually learn from.

Who comes home drunk at 3am: Drifter. Guardian is far more responible.

Who kills the spiders: Both of them, but while Guardian would attempt to send those poor little things outside, Drifter steps on them with the callous gaze of an assassin.

Who falls asleep first: Guardian because he wakes up earlier because he used to be a farmer’s boy (he still often grows vegetables in his backyard) and 5AM is a norm for him. Sometimes he’s a teacher to Central’s one-building school (Central is a small town, of course), also requiring a certain time to wake up. Drifter would sleep in all day (sometimes Guardian has to wake them up) if they didn’t have things to do and with Central relying on Drifter’s skills, they always have things to do.

A head canon:*Their favorite meeting spot was the fountain in Central. With multiple books in hand, Drifter would approach Guardian and slam it in front of his presence to really get his attention. “See! I was right all along, the Hullys civilization DID use parchments to write instead of stone!” Then they’d wait for Guardian to admit he was wrong and bask in their little frail ego. And Guardian would apologize, but in that Guardian way; with a nice smile and a calm, “Oh, guess I was mistaken then.” Drifter would get a bit ticked that he took it so well, depriving them of the victory they won. This would repeat over and over with Drifter always a tad irritated that this man could be so good-natured and take in their blunt exaggerations with dignity.But Guardian is only human and even his patience runs thin. A very bad day unhelped by the gloomy clouds in the sky, Guardian slovenly approached the fountain where the blueskin awaited. Drifter and Guardian had Yet Another Debate, this time of all things a show they watch on their companion bots. “And that’s why Lina shouldn’t have killed Dimo! It goes against her character and the rest of the plot gets super convoluted and oh my GOD I hate that scene so much! It’s a GARBAGE SCENE!” Guardian let out an annoyed sigh and simply said, “You know, maybe I just like the tension. What, am I a moron for liking it? Because you’re making me feel like an idiot here.” And Drifter would stare in shock at the slight force in his tone, then stammer, “I…I didn’t mean to make you feel like a moron. I…yeah, of course you can like it for what it is.” Then they’d sit and talk and Drifter would confess that they don’t often know how to properly speak to someone. Then it started to rain and the both of them had to run to the library where Drifter worked and lived (for the time, they claimed; to get enough gearbits for their next journey.) Can’t get these books wet, of course. Drifter brewed them tea and the two of them eyed the heavy rainstorm from outside. “I like rain.” Drifter tried to force a conversation. Guardian smiled, “So do I.” They would still debate over the mysteries of the Mavi Culture that presided 500 years ago or the lore of their favorite fantasy books over the years and little by little, they’d communicate and set boundaries for each other.

Their relationship summed up in a gif: Summed up in this YouTube vid. XD

youtube

Um, I’m gonna personally decline Judgment/Jackal. The latter may be a God-like entity (maybe, who knows), but they’re still a dog and I’m not comfortable thinking anything romantic with a dog, even if it’s with an ominous black blob.

#lyxine #neoyi talks #hyper light drifter #driftguard #shovel knight #SK body swap #plaguemona #whew this took WAY too long

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tisfan · 7 years

Text

Doom’s Day Scenario

Part Three of that IronDoom fic that nobody asked for.

NSFW, contains smut, identity porn, blow jobs, and Reed Richards being an asshole.

To Victor goes the Spoils A Stark Reminder

New text from Unknown: Grand Hotel, Stockholm. Friday night 9pm local. Ask at desk for Mr. Alil.

Tony’s phone nearly spilled out of his hand, he was shaking that hard. Twenty-thousand, six hundred and fifty two minutes since he’d heard anything from Rabun, and Tony had been an absolute terror. Even Pepper had given up trying to coax him into some semblance of civility, banished him to the workshop rather than make clients and partners work with him, and even refused to let him even attend the board’s semi-annual meeting.

Being in the workshop hadn’t helped. He’d yelled at DUM-E so often that the bot was sulking in his charging station and refusing to hear Tony’s apology. Tony hadn’t been able to create. He hadn’t been able to do anything useful. He’d just sulked, poked at a few old ideas, drank breakfast, forgot about lunch, slept through dinner. Tony Stark, fully capable of sleeping anywhere except in an actual goddamn bed, and his back wasn’t thanking him for that, at all.

And suddenly the ache in his chest was eased, enough that he filled his lungs with air, it felt, for the first time in days. He became aware of how hungry he was, and for that matter, the fact that he smelled of unwashed sweat and motor oil. He checked his phone; the message hadn’t disappeared. That would be a nightmare, and he knew that for a fact because it was one he’d had. That he’d gotten a call or a text or anything, and woken up a few minutes later to find out that nothing of the sort had happened.

Wednesday? How had it gotten to be Wednesday already? Okay, Tony supposed if you were thinking in terms of hours and minutes, days of the week sort of faded out to unimportance.

[more below the break, you can read from A03, mobile users]

But it gave him some time. Food first, then shower, and then… he was pretty sure he could finish that improvement to the suit’s power conversion system, to eke another six percent out of the repulsors.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?” The AI sounded relieved, which was somewhat annoying. Tony Stark was a grown-assed man, he could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much.

“Set an alarm for me, I absolutely need to be in Stockholm by 6, local time. Get a hotel room, and --”

“Are you flying, sir, or flying?”

“Smart ass,” Tony muttered, looking for his multitool, he was sure he’d left it around here -- aha! There were problems with either answer. Tony Stark’s private jet was not what one would call discreet, although it wouldn’t be the first time he just randomly up and went someplace. On the other hand, the Iron Man suit was waaaay beyond incognito and everyone noticed him. One of these days, he really needed to build a stealth suit. He made a note in one glowing screen in front of him and flipped it into his ever-growing honey-do list. He certainly wasn’t flying commercial.

“I’ll take the jet,” he decided. Easier to explain that he’d gotten himself a craving for fläskpannkaka or something and gone out for dinner. “But don’t let me be late.”

“Of course not, sir,” JARVIS said, “provided you actually heed any of my reminders.”

“That’s it, you’re going off-line and I’m going to break you down for spare parts to run my GPS.”

“I tremble in fear,” JARVIS responded.

“You should,” Tony said. “I threw the last GPS out the window; it kept telling me to make legal u-turns as soon as possible.”

“If you would not persist in driving in the wrong direction --”

Tony held up one finger and JARVIS shut his synthetic trap, which was good, because Tony thought he finally had a handle on that oscillating quantuum pulse phenomenon. He jotted that down, tagged it, and sent it to the correct file, letting his fingers fly over systems and notes and wireframes and designs without hesitation, fully back in his zone for the first time in weeks. It was wonderful.

What started as a chess move in the game of figuring out what the hell was going on inside his head and heart had ended with a crate of advanced biological water filters. The technology was decades ahead of most; the various clean-water crises that developed across the globe (Flint, Michigan, Burkina Faso -- where less than thirteen percent of the population had access to clean water -- or Chad, which had an even lower population, and a brutal rate of water-contamination related deaths) had driven the Morocco to push funding toward clean, sustainable water supplies.

Latveria was an enforced monarchy; the one law of the land was that Doom would provide.

For all that, in essence, Doom’s country was under military guard all the time, that speaking out against his leadership was a crime punishable by death, and that no one was allowed to enter, or leave, the country without his express permission, Doom took care of his people.

In theory.

Doom summoned his court advisor. Did the man even have a name? Doom couldn’t remember. He’d been so busy with dreams of world conquest, with fighting endless battles with the Fantastic Four (more like Fantastic two, one jackass and an ambulatory wall) that he’d been neglecting his duties.

The advisor, a wispy-looking sort, who bowed so deep that his head brushed against the floor, was trembling to be called into Doom’s presence. That was no good.

Doom ran his fingers under the jawline seam of his armor. No one, save Tony Stark, had seen his face in decades, not his servants, his enemies, not even his people. No one. He wondered what the man thought was below the Doom mask. Perhaps… the scar had not bothered Tony, had not been anything but a mild curiosity. Tony’s fingers had touched Doom along the scar and the world had not ended. For such a small thing, Doom had hidden his face, kept himself free of human entanglements and a simple caress had changed… everything.

Doom sighed. He was not ready.

“Report on the state of Latveria,” Doom commanded. “Honest. Doom requires knowledge of the problems of the people.”

It had taken rather a lot of Doom’s most tactful words -- and he did not have a ready supply of them -- and persuasion to get the adviser to speak to facts. Even as the man had done so, he’d been shaking the entire time.

Doom couldn’t decide if he required a new adviser, or if his adviser was in dire need of a sedative. Probably both.

In the end, Doom had to bring in outside consultants, and the first reports that they brought in were not favorable, although they were less dire than perhaps they might have been.

Most of Doom’s people were homed, which made his rate of poverty slightly above global norms, but part of that was because policy had dictated that the homeless persons were not to bother the sight of their beloved rulers, so those who could not find stable housing were either incarcerated, or worse, executed.

Fortunately, as a monarchy, Doom didn’t have to press laws through a congress or house of lords, but he still had to notify each and every single one of his enforcers -- although many of them were Doombots and therefore a simple software update was all that was required -- there were still some remote villages where the local enforcement were all too human, and all too used to having their own way.

He’d had to stomp down firmly on one incident, but in the end, Doom gathered all those who were not currently housed and put them to work. Machinery was brought in to clear the grounds; for the first time in centuries, a new town would be founded. Trees were uprooted, the area cleared. Everyone who could work was put on the task.

Now, Doom just needed housing. He’d taken the opportunity while abroad to look into the technology that other nations were developing and Sweden had some pretty good ideas, including easily fabricated housing. The materials were weather-proof for both heat and cold, kept rain and ice out, were easily adapted to whatever sort of foundations were available, and came with solar panels and ventilation air cooling, that they would not be a drain on a country’s already strained resources.

Perfect. Doom booked travel, that he might speak with the production engineers there, under the name of his travel alias, Rabun Alil, a business investor. He’d get the contracts set up, have the materials shipped into Latveria by air -- it would take some small amount of time, since the one airport was decades old and not large, but there were so few routes into and out of his nation. Doom and his ancestors had been very interested in keeping the population isolated, but that was not going to go well anymore. The world was too small for that.

He purchased a burner phone as soon as he was outside the borders and sent Tony a message. He would be in Sweden for the week, but there was no reason he couldn’t combine a little pleasure with business.

He sent the text, then crushed the phone in one metal-enclosed gauntlet. He would never use a phone twice; that made him much too easy to track. Doom removed his suit and dressed, for the first time in decades, as merely himself, as Victor, and boarded a plane in Hungary, bound for Sweden. A few days work and he could, perhaps, look forward to seeing Tony for the week’s end.

The desk clerk had an envelop for Tony when he asked for Mr. Alil. Out slid another card key and a note with the same impeccable, decorative handwriting.

The room was empty when Tony entered it, no warm, welcoming smile greeted him. Tony put his overnight bag down and prowled through the room. Rabun had left a bag, a laptop computer, some brochures, and a plate of chocolate dipped fruit, along with a bottle of champagne that was slowly sinking into the bucket of melting ice.

Tony made himself at home, drank a sparkling water from the mini-fridge, and helped himself to some chocolates. He was a bit tired; the renewed energy he’d gotten from the text had been burned into his work, a rather lengthy apology to Pepper, and then the Avengers had called on him for a little bit of saving the world. All in all, he’d barely managed to sleep before he was on the jet and headed across the ocean.

Tony stretched out on the sofa and stared at the mural that had been painted on the ceiling, all pudgy angels and depictions of God giving life to the earth. Tony let his eyes drift shut.

A heavy, warm hand came down on his shoulder some unknown time later. “You don’t want to sleep here, love,” a familiar voice spoke. “You’ll hurt your neck.”

Tony mumbled, tried to roll over and found himself blocked by a muscular chest. He managed to pry open his lids, saw a beautiful mouth that turned up in a warm smile, familiar amber-hazel eyes. Then the smile vanished and Rabun leaned in to kiss him.

A touch of lip to Tony’s. Only that, and the world shifted under Tony, rocking uncertainly. Tony reached up, touched Rabun’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his scar. “Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, voice still sleep-muzzed.

“Sorry I’m late, beloved,” Rabun said, and he ran one hand down Tony’s shoulder, traced the line all the way until he gripped Tony’s wrist, rubbing his thumb lightly against the pulse point.

“What have you been doing?”

“Investing,” came the evasive reply. Rabun kissed Tony’s cheek, then lifted him as easily as if the genius was a doll. “Come to bed.” The sheer, physical power of Rabun was exciting, hot. The way he cradled Tony to his chest in a possessive manner. Rabun pressed his mouth to Tony’s as he crossed the room, tasting and challenging, like a dare that Tony wasn’t quite certain he was strong enough to handle, and yet, Tony had never yet backed down. He returned Rabun’s kiss with energy, the feel and taste of his mouth was beyond sweet. Dangerous and tempting, nothing like the current of kisses he’d experienced before, but a great undertow that would suck him down and drown him in desire.

Tony circled his arms around Rabun’s neck, held on while the world tumbled away into nothingness. Tony had tasted Rabun’s mouth a dozen times or more, and still, the mere memory of the touch of his lips kept Tony awake at night, restless, dreamless. Sweet like sin, dark like coffee.

Rabun met his kiss headlong, mouth pressing tight to Tony’s, his tongue curling in tempting dance, the feel of his mouth heated with wanting.

Secured in Rabun’s arms, Tony was still dizzy, like falling, like flight. He wasn’t sure where he was going to land, and he didn’t particularly care. In the back of his brain, a small voice murmured of danger, of foolishness, but Tony shoved it aside. What good were warnings when he was already drunk on Rabun’s kisses? What need was there of caution, when he’d already thrown it to the wind? He let Rabun bear him down onto the bed, stripping him out of his clothes as they consumed each other in the fire of their passion.

New text from Unknown: Mandarin Presidential Suite, Tokyo, Tuesday

Crap. Tony stared at his phone in dismay.

I can’t, baby. How long will you be there? He thumbed as quick as he could. Rabun’s phones never lasted long, the number was often out of commision within an hour. Paranoia, Tony had accused him, but they didn’t talk much about it. There was a lot they didn’t talk about, despite the hours they spent laying in each other’s arms, speaking of everything else under the sun.

Rabun was formally educated, a fan of Western literature. The faintest trace of his accent put Tony in mind of Romania, or another one of those small, eastern European nations. They watched British sports together -- Rabun was in particular fond of cricket and he thought American football was the second stupidest thing in the world, immediately after synchronized swimming.

In the last several months, Tony had found himself dragged to the opera a few times, which became a lot more sexy with Rabun leaning over and whispering translations of German, Italian, and French in his ear. Tony didn’t need the Italian, but he didn’t bother to mention it, liking the feel of Rabun’s body draped over his.

They explored various cities together; Rabun’s business, whatever it was, kept him travelling. They seldom met in the same country more than once. Rabun was an adventurous gourmet, willing to try just about anything, but always vocal when he didn’t like a thing. To Tony’s shock and eternal amusement, Rabun hadn’t had much experience with sweets; things like chocolate and ice cream were novelties, and Tony had spent a lot of time dragging the man to various confectionaries.

New text from Unknown: Not long enough. Beijing in three weeks. I’ll miss you.

Fucking Senate hearing. Tony wanted to scream. He’d tried dodging them before, and that had been more trouble than it was worth. Tony was the public face of the Avengers, taking all their PR slack and turning their actions into legal activities. If he missed the hearing, Fury would have Tony’s head on a platter. Not that Tony was afraid of Fury, but honestly, Fury just made his life harder when thwarted.

Yeah, miss you, too.

Beijing had been a shit show of epic measure.

The Skrullz had gotten up to some ridiculous plot in the midwest, of all places, so by the time Tony showed up in China, he was exhausted from three days of fighting and then another day of dodging the press; one of whom actually had a photograph of Tony with some unknown man in Germany and wanted to know who Tony’s new sweetheart was. That had taken some clever dodging.

And then when he finally got to China, there’d been a mix up with the hotels, and Rabun wasn’t where Tony had expected him to be. By the time he got a second text with the new direction, Tony was beyond dead on his feet.

When Rabun had finally found Tony -- who’d checked into a random hotel just to get off his fucking feet -- Tony had been cranky, underfed, uncaffeinated. They’d almost had a fight. God knows, Tony had been trying his damndest to pick one, because it was starting to feel to him like he was at Rabun’s beck and call.

“I have obligations, my darling,” Rabun had said. “It is not mere business that takes me ‘round the globe. There are people depending on me.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony sulked, “it’s not like you don’t know where I live.”

Which Tony did not know about his lover, not even what country the man was from. When asked, Rabun had said little, except that his home was empty, and too large. Tony could sympathize with that, he’d been in Stark Mansion a few times after his parents’ death and the huge home seemed cold without another living soul in it. Tony’d had the place shut down and rarely visited.

“You know we have to be careful,” Rabun said. He pulled Tony into his lap, nuzzling at his neck.

“I just feel like you’re not prioritizing,” Tony complained. “That… I don’t mean as much to you -- I drop everything to come see you, all the time. You don’t even keep the same phone long enough for me to have a conversation.”

“I don’t exist in your world, Tony,” Rabun said, heaving a great sigh. “I would put you at risk, terrible risk, if we were found out. We meet like this because it is all that I can have.”

“You know who I am,” Tony pointed out.

“I do,” Rabun said. “I have made a great study of your Avengers. I know your capabilities. Now, will you believe me when I say, this puts you at risk. I do not underestimate your abilities, nor do I overstate the threat. I am working, even now, to change things, that it will be different, but those events take time to set in motion. It may be years before we can… have anything other than this. Will you not… do you not want to give me the time?”

Tony closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Rabun’s neck. “Whatever you need. I’m sorry, I just… I’ve missed you.”

“And I, you,” Rabun said, carding his fingers through Tony’s hair. “Truth, each day seems an eternity that I am not with you. My plans. So much has changed, since we met. My life was empty and I did not even know it.” He nipped at Tony’s mouth, coaxing and gentle until Tony couldn’t stand the light touches any longer and threw himself into the kiss with as much heat and passion as he could.

“I didn’t mean to interfere with your life,” Tony said, teasing.

“Yes, and how dare you,” Rabun responded, licking at Tony’s neck, tempting him out of his clothing. “You have ruined me with your mouth and wrecked me against your body; you have changed me forever, that I might never want another, but you.”

“Oh, this is all my fault now?” Tony had his hands under Rabun’s shirt, those fine, taut muscles and silk-soft skin luxurious under his fingertips. “I’ve what, been throwing myself at you and you’re just --”

“Giving in to your wiles and seductions,” Rabun said. He yanked Tony’s slacks open, pushing the fabric down Tony’s thighs. “Overwhelmed by you.”

“Well, I am pretty amazing,” Tony said. They weren’t going to make it to the bed this time, Tony could tell. That was all right, he was just as eager to get his hands on his lover, to touch and kiss and caress. To feel Rabun’s mouth; the man had a damn talented tongue and left bruise and bite marks on Tony’s neck that he’d sometimes had to hide with makeup, just so he didn’t look completely debauched at stockholder meetings.

“You are,” Rabun said. “perfection.” The fire was back, driving Tony to distraction. He got his hand inside Rabun’s pants, rubbed at the hot length and groaned with appreciation as Rabun threw his head back and cried out with need. God, the man was beautiful, from the silver tips of his hair, down amber colored eyes, a firm, fine mouth and determined chin. He was scarred here and there, had been shot at least three times that Tony could tell from old wound-marks. Not that Tony’s body told a much different story.

Sometimes it seemed that their clothing melted away, other times it was impatient, frustrating work getting down to bare skin. That night was a dream, peeling away the layers and taking their time, touching and caressing, not in such a hurry, knowing they’d get there, finally, finally.

Rabun’s mouth on him was a blessing, the sweetest sin and Tony arched into it, the head of his cock slipping into that plush, wet mouth. He raised his hips off the sofa and Rabun tugged his pants the rest of the way down, hands smoothing the way. Nudging at the back of Rabun’s throat, it was so good, so slick, and if Tony didn’t concentrate on his breathing he was going to disgrace himself by coming inside two minutes. That would never do. And yet, Rabun wouldn’t back down, wouldn’t slow, just kept his head moving as Tony thrust up and god, that was --

“Shit, shit, shit,” Tony chanted, and Rabun pinned his hips down, holding him so tight he could barely move, couldn’t do anything but submit to the wet pull of Rabun’s mouth, the tantalizing tongue. Tony’s body arched and twisted, he had no control, was totally enthralled by what Rabun was doing to him, how good it felt, how necessary. He lost any sense of what he was doing, just needed, needed to feel. His hands twisted against Rabun’s hair, the short, silken locks sliding between his fingers. Lower still, and Tony’s fingers sank into the hard shoulders, nails biting down as he held on for dear life. His blood was rushing in his veins and pounding in his head. Everything was shaking, his legs, his belly tightened. “Oh, god…”

Rabun didn’t stop when Tony came, didn’t even give him a chance to catch his breath. He just snagged the bottle of lube and started prep, his mouth still working over Tony’s oversensitive and slowly deflating cock. Tony squirmed, almost struggled, too jittery to relax. He cried out, more than once, as Rabun worked a finger into him, and then a second. His cock ached, too much, too hot, and finally, almost in self-defense, grew hard again.

“There you are,” Rabun said, finally pulling his mouth off, and Tony heaved for breath, tender and throbbing.

“Well, it’s pointless to stop now,” Tony said, petulant.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Rabun said. He dragged Tony’s thighs up, hooked them over his shoulders. “Can I --” he stopped, gazing up into Tony’s face “-- without?”

God, that was… Tony shuddered. Trust, on both sides. He knew he was clean, a benefit of having one’s own personal doctor. Ever since Afghanistan, he’d been wary of hospitals and he had never been a big fan of medical care even before that, but the arc reactor had made it necessary. “I’m clean,” he said. “If you are.”

Rabun slicked himself and breached the ring of muscle. Tony wriggled, feeling his body giving way, slow and sensual, burning ache and stretch. Slowly, the faint pain faded, the pressure eased, and his muscles let go, letting Rabun in. Rabun leaned down, pressed in further, touched his mouth to Tony’s and as Tony twined his arms around Rabun’s neck, to pull his lover closer, the excitement and need came back. Rabun worked in him, slow, almost too slow, and Tony groaned. “Come on, come on,” he said, urgent, his fingers tightening on the back of Rabun’s neck.

Rabun thrust into him, again, and again, and Tony’s body moved without his direction, matching stroke for stroke, crooning encouragements and need into Rabun’s ear. Like some transcendent experience, he was lifted up and dropped

“So gorgeous,” Rabun was murmuring in his ear, and Tony could barely hear it, so wrapped up was he in the movements and the feelings and the thick, sensual slide of Rabun’s cock, and…

“Oh, my… god.” Tony twisted his hips.

“Yes, love, I’ve got you,” Rabun said, and then he ducked his chin, groaning as he thrust one last time into Tony. “That’s… exactly. Right.”

Tony drifted, hazy on the cloud of hormones and bliss. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to, how safe and warm and perfect he felt. He patted one hand on Rabun’s shoulder. What had Rabun said? It seemed important somehow. “Love you, too.”

“What?”

Tony groaned, leaning back in his desk chair. He didn’t want to be talking to Reed Richards. Richards annoyed the shit out of him, if for no other reason that the man was almost as smart as he thought himself to be. Arrogant, annoying, and with the personality of a cheese grater. And when Tony was feeling generous, probably Tony’s equal, just in an unrelated field. But like all geniuses, Richards was convinced that his field of expertise was the most important, that his intellect was the most keen.

Which, obviously, it was not.

“We think Doom’s gotten his hands on some of your tech,” Richards said. “Not sure what, or what he plans to do with it. Since I can’t make heads or tails of your spare parts, Sue thought you should come with us.”

“You’re going to Latveria?”

“Doom’s been all over the world, recently, but the last movement we had on him, he was home. Come with us, we’ll knock on his door and Ben can beat the tar out of him for a while.”

“Does that actually work?” Tony sighed. It was going to create an international incident, to raid Latveria without any sort of evidence. Although, knowing Doom, there would be something shady going on there. They could probably make it work.

“Talk to Fury, get him to issue an edict or something,” Tony said, waving a hand, forgetting that Richards couldn’t see him through a speaker phone. He pulled out his cellphone. Maybe, maybe this time…

You there, babe?

New text from Unknown: Yes.

Gonna be near Hungary in two days, if you want to meet me for a change.

New text from Unknown: Why?

Superhero shit. Petty dictators. I don’t think they have good hotels in Latveria, tho, so I’ll find someplace else to go for the night. I’ll let you know.

Rabun didn’t answer, but that wasn’t unusual. Tony would see if he texted back later, from yet another new number.

Doom stared down at the burner phone. He’d forgotten to destroy it, so wrapped up in Tony’s declaration of love.

Fuck.

Doom was in so much trouble.

TO BE CONTINUED

(please don’t kill me)

#IronDoom #fic #victor von doom #tony stark #Tony x Victor

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