#nick fucking off even harder than glenn ever did

[bulletsgirl]

the fact that the kids all grew up to be so so so so fucked makes perfect sense for the extremely traumatic circumstances they went through but makes me want to PUKE anyway

#lark never being the same after being affected by the card henry pulled from the deck #sparrow not carrying through with his loving mentality when it came to his own son #grant doing exactly what he was doing in the realms (killing to feel something) and hiding it from his husband and son & feeling so ashamed #nick fucking off even harder than glenn ever did #terry becoming a stepfather who isnt equipped to connect with his stepdaughter despite the fact that he had the same struggle w ron #actually that being said it seems like terry got the less shitty hand dealt but im 100% positive that anthony is going to dunk that in the #fucking trash the moment we get to scarys next interaction w him #literally like oh my god..... they were 12 last week and now this #12 last week for ME bc i only just thereabouts finished s1 #crazy and sick in the head

[lovelyirony]

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home. 

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing. 

Thank god they were almost home. 

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed. 

A metal arm. 

Huh. 

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here. 

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct? 

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow. 

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were. 

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around. 

His eyes widen. 

“You--what?” 

The voice is surprisingly American. 

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising. 

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward. 

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk. 

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch. 

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.” 

“What--huh?” 

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?” 

“I do not know what you are talking about.” 

His eyes get cold again. 

“Who are you?” 

“I am the Asset.” 

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is. 

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle. 

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs. 

- 

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside. 

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?” 

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.” 

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.” 

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?” 

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?” 

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.” 

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out. 

- 

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes. 

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it. 

Merry fucking Christmas. 

- 

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t. 

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones. 

And this is where it hits him. 

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over. 

Yeah, you’d need a bit more. 

Like a fucking super soldier serum. 

- 

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock. 

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps  Model-T.) 

- 

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick. 

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch. 

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks. 

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue. 

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?” 

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him. 

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it. 

Fury yells at him for two hours. 

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours. 

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--” 

“He’s retired,” Tony says. 

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.) 

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks. 

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people. 

Tony grins. 

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?” 

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.” 

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows. 

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there. 

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school. 

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.” 

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor. 

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious. 

Then, there’s the attack on New York. 

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah. 

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies. 

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh. 

- 

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills. 

“You know about Winter Soldier?” 

“Barnes? Yeah.” 

“You know who he is?” 

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.” 

Steve overhears. 

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset. 

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.” 

“Why is that the phrase you use?” 

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?” 

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew. 

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad. 

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD. 

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people. 

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals. 

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.) 

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor. 

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him. 

-

Helicarriers go in the water. 

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all. 

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt. 

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.” 

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.” 

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.” 

“Is everything a joke to you?” 

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?” 

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.” 

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?” 

“With toasted bread?” 

“I’m not an animal, Steve.” 

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts. 

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines. 

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.” 

“Fuck.” 

- 

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure. 

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.” 

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.” 

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida. 

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?” 

“Multitask, Sir.” 

“Oh, true.” 

- 

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip. 

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much. 

“We have to wait,” Tony says. 

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows. 

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous. 

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically? 

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.” 

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.” 

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.” 

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.” 

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?” 

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.” 

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Will do.” 

- 

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.” 

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.” 

“Do you care what he thinks?” 

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice. 

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...” 

“Shared history?” 

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.” 

And then he jumps off a balcony. 

A fucking balcony. 

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session. 

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa. 

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.” 

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.” 

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?” 

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.” 

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.” 

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.” 

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?” 

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.” 

“Got it. And Tony?” 

Her voice is soft. 

“Yes, dear?” 

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same. 

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

- 

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices. 

Steve texts him. 

bucky’s back. holy shit 

be back in a week. radio silence. 

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink 

:(((( 

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.” 

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise? 

Maria was...Maria was different. 

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate. 

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable. 

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it. 

So yeah. 

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable. 

So he flies back to New York. 

- 

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is. 

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.” 

“Ah, there’s that.” 

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.” 

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response. 

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t. 

“Jail would be more fitting.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.” 

“Who the hell is that?” 

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.” 

“Why a cannibal?” 

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.” 

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.” 

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.” 

-

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life. 

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip. 

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling. 

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty. 

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.) 

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made. 

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen. 

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?” 

Shit. 

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche. 

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?” 

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?” 

“We can break it down over coffee.” 

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.” 

Tony blinks. 

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.” 

“I still killed your parents.” 

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.” 

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.” 

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.” 

Bucky’s face blanks. 

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.” 

“I...I want to make it up to you.” 

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.” 

- 

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries. 

Bucky smiles. 

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it. 

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more. 

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games. 

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail. 

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”  

Tony laughs. 

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.” 

“Just observation, no armor required.” 

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?” 

Bucky smiles. 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll need feedback.” 

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.” 

- 

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back. 

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases. 

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.” 

Tony laughs. 

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.” 

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky. 

- 

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest. 

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.) 

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions. 

(They both know that’s not it.) 

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups. 

- 

Steve calls them out on it. 

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.” 

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts. 

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?” 

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.” 

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.” 

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient. 

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.” 

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.” 

“Technically, Tony surprised me.” 

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.” 

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers. 

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.” 

Tony snorts, smiling. 

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.” 

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.” 

#lovelyirony writes #holy shit this was longer than expected #thank you to angel for this inspiration #winteriron #avengers as a family #personally i like the fact that thor and bruce are doing avengers unsolved and have to force different avengers on #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #thor #bucky barnes #tony stark #howard stark #maria stark #sally the therapist

[foundthe8wing]

I know exactly what I mean when I say “the dndads team is endangering minors in their spaces,” but I think from the outside, seeing that sentiment repeated, it’s easy to interpret it as rhetoric or as something like “if you’ve ever mentioned the existence of sex you’re a danger to children” when that isn’t the argument here at all. So I want to do my best to lay out why we call it dangerous.

CW: discussion of grooming (a bit more specifically than in previous posts of mine)

For context, these are the rules for the dndads patron server, at least as of October 4:

[ID: a discord message from Freddie:

In order to keep this a safe and welcoming community, we have some rules and guidelines everyone must follow.

If you need help or if anyone makes you uncomfortable (in chat or in DMs), the mods are here for you! You can ping them in the chat by using @/moderator, message the group using @/ModMail, or if you’d prefer to discuss a matter privately 1-on-1, you can also PM the community manager @/Ash or moderators directly.

Listen to the mods! They enforce the rules. Infractions are handled on a case-by-case basis. Breaking the rules will result in you being muted for a duration determined by severity and infraction history. 

We’ve enabled nicknamed editing on the server, so please feel free to append your preferred pronouns at the end of your username.

Always remember these basic guidelines:

This is an 18+ space. Per Patreon’s policy, you must be 18+ or have parental permission.

Keep conversation polite. NSFW content is not allowed!

Stay on topic! If you find yourself drifting off topic, move to another channel. When in doubt, go to #shoot-the-breeze or #shoot-the-breeze-2 /End ID]

You’ll note the policy against NSFW content, but damn, I don’t know what kind of world they live in where linking kink tests and writing erotica are SFW activities. Definitely wouldn’t fly at my job, I’ll tell you that. Anyway.

I’m not saying that everyone who’s ever discussed sex in the presence of a minor is a predator, or that these discussions are always, definitely a slippery slope to kids getting groomed. But I’m saying that when the cast says things like “Grant has never jerked off in that house” and “there’s so much sexual tension between Bella and Dr. Cullen” and “Glenn definitely looks through Nick’s porn history,” among other things; and when they then allow people to regularly discuss sex acts and share kink test results and erotica in their server (yes, even if it’s meant as a joke), they’re making it much easier for predators to approach minors, and much harder for those minors to then be able to tell when lines are being crossed. 

You know the saying about how you can boil a frog and it won’t hop out of the pot as long as you heat it up slowly? The server is getting uncomfortably warm, and it makes it that much easier for someone to turn it up a few degrees in private. It contributes to things like, for example, 9th grade me not pushing back when a then-20-year old made comments on all the “sexual tension” between me and one of my classmates (in response to me telling a story from when we were eleven). 

I believe that if a 14-year-old in a position like the one I was in said “hey, this person keeps asking invasive sexual questions and I’m uncomfortable,” the mods would do something (though whether it’d be handled well is still questionable), but I don’t feel confident that that hypothetical kid has a good reason to believe that’s the case. If I was in a similar situation, I can’t cite anything that would make me feel like I’d be supported and have my concerns addressed, or that would validate my discomfort with the situation, and I can actually point to a lot of things that send the opposite message. 

Because if that kid takes a look around the server and sees that plenty of adults here are bringing up sexual topics in this all-ages space anyway, that no one in charge is objecting to users sexually discussing 13-year-old characters, that Anthony considers “why, did the podcast make you nut” a perfectly acceptable thing to say unprompted . . . it doesn’t give a great impression that whoever they approach will take them seriously if they ask for help. It doesn’t give them a good basis for trusting their instinct that something is off with the way they’re being spoken to. That piece is vital, and it’s where the cast, community manager, and moderators have failed over and over and over. 

Simply saying “if anyone makes you uncomfortable (in chat or in DMs), the mods are here for you!” isn’t sufficient when it’s not coupled with a direct statement that adults approaching minors about sexual topics isn’t okay. It’s not cool for adults to be having explicit conversations with or around minors. There is no good reason for an adult to be asking or speculating about a minor’s sexual behaviors, or discussing their own sex life with minors, or sharing/discussing explicit media with them. Make that clear. It’s not the kid’s job to automatically know this; it’s your job to tell them. 

(Which isn’t to say that an action has to definitively cross that line in order for someone to express discomfort-- “these things aren’t okay, and if you’re unsure, you can reach out anyway” would be a good approach in my book, but the second part on its own isn’t enough.)

Right now, if a teen in the dndads server is being groomed, all of the responsibility is placed on this teen to:

Identify the fact that they’re uncomfortable (and then choose to examine that discomfort rather than immediately downplay it)

Articulate why this is bothering them

Convince themself (and, potentially, whoever they approach about it) that it’s a big enough deal to bring up at all

Speaking as someone who’s been there: it can be really fucking hard to do. But it’d be a hell of a lot easier if the cast said anything to the effect of “hey, adults shouldn’t be initiating this kind of conversation with you,” or if they made any effort to rein in the “spicier” conversations in the server. 

Adults detailing their kinks in the presence of kids isn’t cool, even if none of those kids say they’re uncomfortable. I need an indication that a single person managing the dndads patron server understands that and is taking it into account. 

Nobody wants to be the killjoy who says “hey, I’m not comfortable.” Especially not in an environment where there’s a pattern of such concerns getting dismissed and belittled. Double especially when the behavior is coming from some of the most influential members of the community. It’s not fair--and not safe--to foist all of that pressure onto an uncomfortable kid, and it’s absolutely crucial that the people with power get ahead of it and take on the responsibility of calling out and shutting down unacceptable behavior.

In order to be effective, “reach out if you’re uncomfortable” needs to also be coupled with an apology for the way they’ve been conducting themselves. Because if they don’t apologize for things like the examples I listed above, for the ways their content and actions have contributed to harmful ideas about consent and about sexualizing kids, for allowing the server to exist in this state for so long, then they’re implicitly saying either that those things were okay, or that they’re above those standards. Not a great look no matter how you slice it.

TL;DR: allowing this level of sexual discussion around minors, especially in the absence of any type of messaging or warning regarding grooming, makes it easy for those minors to get preyed on. And saying “we’re here for you if you’re uncomfortable” doesn’t on its own count as actually making the server a safe or comfortable environment. 

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #cw grooming #cw sexualizing minors #8wing

[looselucy]

July

I was unpacking everything from the boot of Zayn’s car as he lingered by the side with his phone pressed against his ear, trying to ring Harry, who had text him a while earlier saying he and Mike had arrived and already set up camp.

The evening before the festival had gone as expected. It mainly involved the women in my life going light headed and swooning over Zayn, which he completely lapped up and also, provoked. Zayn was an absolute pro when it came to flirting, I just didn’t get to see it very much because he didn’t often set his sights on girls. He just took things as they came. But seeing him flirt with both my mother and Katie proved he was an expert. Katie got so drunk just trying to deal with him, she ended the night with sick in her hair. “Bro, where are you?” Zayn asked as soon as Harry had answered. “Under the flag with the marijuana leaf on? For me? Flattered, man. See you there.” We were both laughing when he put the phone down, spotting the exact flag in the distance. My belly flipped. I had been constantly in touch with Harry in the two months we had spent apart. Not a day had gone by without at least a text, yet the thought of seeing him in person again was sending my stomach into an absolute frenzy. I stared at the flag he had described, put there so separate camp areas could be differentiated, and I could picture him clearly underneath it, all green eyes and curls and dimples and low voice and fuck. Every day I was becoming more and more aware just how attracted I was to him. Zayn nudged me, since I hadn’t helped unpack the car for a good few minutes whilst I was lost in thought, so I quickly got involved again before he questioned my lack of presence. I slung my giant backpack over my shoulder and tried not to fall face first into his boot thanks to the weight of the thing, then grabbed my tent and my camp chair, Zayn grabbing all his things at my side. When our arms were full, we stared with dismay at the five crates we had purchased, knowing there was absolutely no way in hell that we were going to be able to carry those too. “Fuck that.” Zayn tutted. “We’ll come back for them.” “But I’m really gunna wanna crack open a beer as soon as my tent is up.” I sighed. “That is true... We’ll just nick some from Harry.” “Good idea.” With that, Zayn slammed his boot shut and we began making our way onto the site, surrounded by people, all around our age or slightly older, going into the festival site too, their arms full and their wristbands on. At the entrance, our bags were checked by security, and then they wished us well. Zayn had told me the night before that security didn’t play much more of a part than that throughout the weekend, since it was such a small thing. It was an arts festival, really. Local bands, art stalls and vintage clothes stalls too. I wouldn’t be seeing a single band I knew, that was for sure, but it didn’t matter. As soon as we were in there, the vibe was noticeable. Everyone was happy, chilled, completely at ease in that field. There were people drinking and dancing around their tents already, and it was barely 10am. The distant sound of music coming from the actual festival grounds played sweetly through the campsite, and even though I was in the middle of some random field, it had the feeling of home. I loved it already. I people watched and looked around at all the anarchy as we wandered over to the flag, and I was glad I was too preoccupied with my surroundings, because I didn’t have time to over-think how things were going to be when I finally saw Harry again. We heard them before we saw them. “LIKE A RHINESTONE COWBOY!” The two of them sang together. “RIDING OUT ON A HORSE IN A STAR-SPANGLED RODEO, duh duh duh, LIKE A RHINESTONE COWBOY, dah dum dum, GETTING CARDS AND LETTERS FROM PEOPLE I DON’T EVEN KNOW!” We followed the sound of the two idiots singing their terrible acapella version of the Glenn Campbell classic, and soon we saw them, two tents set up in our camp space, beers in hand as they side stepped and clicked along to their efforts, before they spotted us, and thankfully, the singing stopped. Mike dropped his beer and bolted to me, as Harry went to Zayn. I dropped everything I had been carrying on the floor, because I knew Mike never half arsed a hug. His hugs were always intense, and I had never gone that long without seeing him. I knew I was in for something special. I squealed as soon as he reached me and lifted me off my feet, and that took me so bloody high off the ground I felt unsafe. I wrapped my legs around his stomach and continued to squeal with my arms around his neck as he span us round on the spot, stumbling a little but managing to keep us both upright, thankfully. “Mike! You’ll be the bloody death of me!” I cried when he wouldn’t give up. “Alright, alright I’ll put you down.” As soon as my feet met the floor, he bent down to hug me, kissing my cheek first. “How’ve you been? How’s your summer going?” “Yeah, really good.” I sighed, pulling from the hug. “Better than I thought it would be.” “So things are all good with your mum and stuff?” He asked, concerned. “Yeah, really good.” “And your dad?” “Uh, not so much. Not worth mentioning.” “LETS DRINK!” Mike turned around and ran over to the crate of beers he and Harry had already attacked, grabbing one for me as my eyes darted to Harry and Zayn. Harry had his giant bear paw slapped across Zayn’s cheek as he asked about his wellbeing and all the rest, and as Mike came back to me with a can of Fosters, my eyes were still glued on the two boys. Well, one of them in particular. Harry’s eyes then moved to me. I smiled to him. There was no point me trying to look the other way so he didn’t know I was staring. It would have only made it more obvious. He gripped Zayn’s face a little harder before he walked over to me, and my stomach was on the damn floor, my voice-box nowhere to be found as he came and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tightly. “O’reyt, Pip-Squeak.” He greeted. “You good?” “I’m fine.” I gulped. “Are you?” “I’m sick, thanks.” With that, he pulled out of the hug, and took a swig from his can. For some fucking reason, it felt like a punch in the fucking gut. What the hell was I expecting? Did I really think he would run over, cry about how much he had missed me, declare his love for me, sweep me off my feet and we would gallop off into the sunset together? He gave me a nice hug and asked how I was, like any friend would. Why the fuck did that have to feel like such a kick in the teeth? I was truly sick to death of my feelings. “Oh my god.” Mike whelped, a hand on his heart. “The crew is back together, and I for one, am thrilled.” “Who else is coming?” Harry asked Zayn. “Louis.” “What about Tally?” I cried. “Shit, yeah. She copped out.” He tutted. “What do you mean she copped out?” I continued to wail. “She text me last week saying she couldn’t make it.” “Why?” “Dunno.” He shrugged. “I didn’t ask.” “Tally doesn’t just drop out of things like that. There has to be a reason. Oh my god, is she okay? Did she sound okay?” “I dunno! I didn’t study the text that much.” With that, all the lads took a swig of their beers and began catching up, and all I could think about was Tally, hoping she was okay but knowing if I text her from the festival, she would only feel guiltier than I knew she already did. Not that we had any damn signal, anyway. I would have to spend the weekend wondering. I then realised, it would just be me and a bunch of boys. One of them I used to sleep with, and one of them I really wanted to. Brilliant. In a way, it was rather brilliant. I loved all of them dearly, but female company was something I basked in. My life did feel like a bit of a joke, quite often. By the time I came back round from my thoughts and joined in the conversation again, Mike was beginning a story. “I slept with a girl who looked like Grace.” He said miserably. “Shit.” Harry gawped. “How did that treat you?” “Not so good.” He replied after another swig. “She was like, a shit version of Grace. And literally, the only reason I slept with her is because she looked like her.” “That’s heavy shit, man.” Zayn nodded. “Is that something boys do?” I quizzed. “I’ve done it.” Zayn admitted. “Me too.” Harry nodded. “Only when I’ve been drunk, like. But sometimes when you see someone who looks like someone you’re infatuated with, even if it’s just a small similarity, it just triggers something.” “Exactly!” Mike clicked his fingers. “I was like, drawn to this girl. It was bullshit.” “Do you speak with Grace?” Zayn asked him. “Sometimes. Always feels… pretty horrible though. Like we’re… missing out on something. So I struggle.” Sometimes, I blended in with the boys I had lived with so much, I think they often forgot that I was actually a girl. They would talk openly about these things and not worry about their masculinity at all, which was something Zayn never did, but I knew for a fact both Harry and Mike did, no matter how hopeless Mike was. Sometimes they just spoke about things like I wasn’t there. But it was nice, it answered questions about men I didn’t even realise I was asking, and I knew they felt just as grateful when they asked me questions about girls and I could answer them. “I don’t get why you aren’t just together.” I breathed. “Life is in the way.” He shrugged. We all drank again, thinking about Mike’s statement, and I wondered how long life was going to get in the way of people who clearly should be together, and make it so they just weren’t. Mike and Grace were the perfect match, and it was something they both wanted, but the big bad wolf that was life was holding them back, and life wasn’t something you could ever put on hold. I just thought maybe they should combine their lives, so that it wasn’t something that could get in the way, it was just the norm. Sometimes, normal was the most appealing thing imaginable to me. “ANYWAY!” Harry yelled. “I’m sure at some point this weekend, we’ll all be so off our tits that we’ll love talking about depressing shit like that, but Zayn and Pip haven’t even put their tents up yet, so let’s cheer the fuck up. Look what I brought.” He fished into his back pocket and pulled out the largest bag of white powder I had ever seen in his possession, flipping it between his fingers smugly. Within seconds, Zayn slapped the bag straight out of his hands. “No!” He pointed a finger harshly at Harry. “WHAT?” He yowled. “I got this for you, bro! This is your birthday present!” “Not this weekend, man.” “We’re at a fucking festival.” He groaned. “This is literally, the ideal time to take a shit load of drugs. I bought coke and MD for this.” “Well save it, man. I don’t wanna do it. Their off limits to us this weekend.” That was obviously fine with me and Mike, since we weren’t really as into that whole scene as Harry and Zayn were, but it was a little surprising to hear Zayn turning it down and saying it wasn’t something he wanted to do whilst at the festival. “Why?” Harry complained. “Because it’s so chill here, man. I wanna be, y’know, actually here. I wanna be present and enjoying it for what it is. Please don’t do it.” Harry exhaled his dismay, and rolled his eyes once, maybe he tutted too and I didn’t hear it, but then he shrugged. “Course.” He spoke again. “I’m only here for you, and because of you. I can go without. But I swear, we’re taking all this shit on our first night in the new house.” “Deal.” Zayn grinned. The two of them shook hands and that delved into a hug, whacking each other’s backs and smiling. It didn’t take Harry long to get over the fact he would only be on alcohol all weekend. I would definitely prefer it that way. I put my can of beer on the floor, balanced against my backpack and grabbed at my tent, because the sooner that thing was up, the better. I was terrible at constructing them anyway, never mind if I was half wrecked whilst doing it. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a pink tent.” Harry gawped. “Of course I have a pink tent!” I smiled, unzipping the bag and dropping all my needed equipment onto the grass. “That’s the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” He laughed. “You’re just jealous.” Zayn began working on his tent, across from me in the small circle we were beginning to create, Harry’s tent next to Zayn’s, then Mikes, which was next to mine, and Louis’ would nestle between mine and Zayn’s. “You want some help, man?” Mike asked Zayn. Before he even got an answer, Mike was helping out, because one thing worse than putting a tent up, was doing it alone. I smiled cheekily to Harry. “I will take no part in putting a pink tent up.” He said with his arms folded. “Your masculinity is so fragile.” I tutted. I expected a laugh from him, but I didn’t get one. What I got instead, was Harry literally, visibly, biting his tongue. Out of nowhere, I had hit a nerve. He huffed, but came to help me. As we worked, rather unsuccessfully on my tent, all I could concentrate on was Mike and Zayn chirpily chatting and laughing together, and the bitter silence that swilled in the small distance between me and Harry. It had been literal months, since me and Harry had nothing to say to each other. It wasn’t like us. It was unnatural and uncomfortable. I thought I had made a joke but for some reason, he just wasn’t having it. I wondered if it was something else, if something else was bothering him and I had just said one little thing that made him flip. He wasn’t yelling or anything, but he clearly wasn’t impressed. It was only when we were on the final stages of the tent that I plucked up the courage to speak. “Have I pissed you off?” I quizzed. “No.” He replied bluntly. “Well you could have fooled me.” I tried. “That’s because you’re easy to fool.” I didn’t know what to say to that snotty comment, so I decided to take the high ground, and not say anything. It wasn’t really something I was used to, especially when it came to Harry, but with the drastic change my feelings had gone through since we became friends in February, I could barely think of anything worse than arguing with Harry. Finally, the tent was up, and I decided to move all my crap in there ASAP, because there were already clouds blooming overhead. I was just praying it wouldn’t rain. I shuffled into my new home and crossed my legs as I organized my things on the free side of the two person tent, kind of wishing Tally would soon be climbing in with me, but also, glad I wouldn’t be sleeping with my bag on my feet. I’d say it was only a few minutes into my efficient unpacking, that Harry appeared in the entryway to my tent, crouched down to my level. I turned my head to him, gulping loudly. I expected an apology thanks to the sombre look on his face. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I dunno what happened. I was just being a dick. Sorry.” “S’okay.” I whispered, still trying to figure him out. “Stop being boring. Come and drink with us.” They had gathered in Mike’s tent, wary of rain, and the fact that Mike had brought a four-person tent all to himself made it the ideal spot. “I’m unpacking.” I choked. “Yeah, and that’s boring. C’mon.” He offered his hand out to me, a small, unreadable smile on his face. And all I could do was take it. + + + Louis had arrived late, with a fag in his mouth, three crates of cider balanced between his hands and his chin, and not much else. It seemed he would be sharing Mikes tent for the weekend, which Mike seemed utterly distraught by, until he realised that Louis was quite small and wouldn’t take up that much room. Besides, they had cuddled once before, which had gone relatively well before Ed threw up on them. So in the end, he had welcomed him with opens arms. We were waiting for the festival gates to open, so we could finally get into the arena, our tents up and at least five beers down. But we’d moved steadily throughout the day, and the alcohol hadn’t hit any of us quite yet. I stood in the centre of the four boys as we slowly shuffled forwards in the oversized queue, and I couldn’t help but overhear the girls behind us, giggling and pointing and talking about which one they thought was my boyfriend. Mike put his arm around me at one point, and they made their decision it was him. Leaving them to pick which one of them would go for Harry, Louis, and Zayn. The bloody lads were too busy talking to listen to the fact they were literally being picked out by the wolves behind them. I really wanted to turn around and give the girls daggers, and see if the one who had chosen Harry was as drop dead gorgeous as I was imagining she was. But I didn’t. I mean, I really wanted to, but I didn’t. As always, by the time I actually began to ignore them, and join the conversation with the people I was actually there with, Mike was half way through a story. “So then I was like, mate, if you want to buy a puppy, go ahead, but I will never, ever, eat spinach with you.” I bolted my head up to him with a very confused look on my face, wondering if I should even bother asking what the hell he was talking about. I figured he would just start from the beginning, and I loved Mike, but he didn’t often tell the most entertaining or informative stories. So I just kept quiet, still trying to figure out what the hell that story could have been about. That was when the girls decided to pounce. “Hey!” One of them jumped in between us. “Would you guys mind if we joined you? Even up the numbers of boys and girls?” Before we could even answer, Zayn answered on behalf of all of us, an answer I was grateful to hear. “Uh, m’sorry, but it’s kind of a personal thing. Just wanna keep it mates.” I literally wanted to leap to him and hug him, but he and the other lads would have no idea why, and I would basically start digging myself a more obvious hole, so I just smiled down to the floor instead. The girls caved back to their spot behind us, and their whispering became more intense. I was beyond grateful by the time we were finally through the entrance after they checked our wristbands and bags, and we began our journey. Zayn had told me the night before, that the first time he came to this festival, he was 2 years old, his mother young, free and happy, carrying him around in a pouch all weekend. You could tell, straight away, because Zayn opened his arms and breathed in the atmosphere like it was his home, eyes closed, head towards the sky, and his lips curving to the sun. Out of nowhere, Louis went and jumped on his back, to which Zayn reacted quickly and linked his arms round his legs, laughing and grinning. I fucking loved seeing him like that. Zayn was always happy, but this was something else. Zayn fucking belonged there. “So where we going, lad?” Louis asked, kissing his cheek. “To the Working Men’s Club!” Zayn chuckled. “It’s the best place to start.” Mike grabbed the festival pamphlet out of his pocked and began talking about the band that were opening the Working Men’s Club in ten minutes time, and Harry came and snaked himself next to me, glancing over his shoulder just once before he spoke. “I reckon that girl fancied me.” He marvelled. “Hm.” I shook my head. “Is there a girl in the UK who you think doesn’t?” “Only the insane ones.” He shrugged. “You’re so conceited.” I laughed. “And gorgeous, no?” “No.” I scoffed. “I can’t believe you’ve kissed someone who you don’t think is gorgeous.” He shook his head. “Shh!” I hit his arm. “I did it out of sympathy anyway.” “You’re such a liar.” Then he jumped so he was in front of me, facing me, bringing us both to a stop. I looked up to him, my eyes fixed on the dimples that pricked at his cheeks, drawn to him in the most predictable sense imaginable. “What?” I breathed. “I just, I need to say something. To lay some ground rules, if you will.” “Okay...” The dimples disappeared and he stepped a little closer to me, checking over his shoulder yet again to see that Mike, Louis and Zayn were still on their way towards the desired area, before he looked back at me. “The flirting is fine and everything, but I think this weekend we need to... y’know... not... do what we do... sometimes.” I knew exactly what he was referencing. It seemed mine and Harry’s sexual encounters were suddenly something he struggled talking about openly. “Okay...” I trailed again. “I think Louis still likes you, to be honest. And I was hoping by the time we move in together in September, things won’t be this complicated. We could start that now.” It was what I had been hoping for, really. Keeping my distance from Harry, the two of us not returning to that place, being that way. It was what I wanted, what I needed. But at exactly the same time, it was the complete opposite of what I wanted. “Good idea.” I lied. “Yeah?” “Of course.” I was lying through my teeth. “I was going to say the same thing.” “Good.” He grinned, genuinely happy. “Okay, let’s go.” He placed a hand on my back and then pushed me so I was ahead of him, pinching at my shoulders just once before shoving me forward again, even further from him. It was becoming a more regular occurrence that I would refer back to my lectures about body language, and I cursed myself for it every single time. Because suddenly I was reading into Harry playfully shoving me forward and thinking it was like he wanted to distance from me. But what if he did? He’d basically just said he wanted to keep his distance, but that was a literal distance, and I honestly was not a fan of it. There had been enough distance between us in these few months of being at home. Now he was choosing to create more and I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. Of course I got the logic, but me and Harry had never stuck with our logic. Logic had never been our strong point. I was kind of hoping he would see me after our dry spell, and not be able to take his hands off me, never mind choosing to keep his hands off me, never mind literally pushing me away from him. My head was all over the show. A complete wreck. I sped up in order to distance myself from him even more, to catch up with the other boys, and silently praying that I wasn’t the only one of us who would read into such benign things as distance. I really hoped Harry was questioning why I was running from his grasp. Not that he held much of a grasp on me. I reached the other boys pretty quickly, Louis still shelled on Zayn’s back, and Mike being the affectionate sod he always was as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, Zayn pointing out the tent we were heading to. “OH MY GOD!” Mike cried from nowhere. “I’M SO EXCITED I MIGHT DIE!” The whole place was colourful. I was almost sure the sky wasn’t actually blue, it was just the way my heart felt being there that made it appear that way to me. There were pinks and oranges scattered everywhere, in the flags and the artwork and graffiti that disordered and completed our surroundings. Then as soon as we walked into the Working Men’s Club, we were back in the real world, a world we were familiar with. It was a funny contrast, really. We went from being in a colourful wonderland, to being in a tent that resembled every single pub in my hometown. There were wooden stools and dull, lifeless greens and reds everywhere, an unenthusiastic woman stood behind a makeshift bar, real ales on tap. “Holy shit. I love it.” I chirped. “Thought you might.” Zayn smirked. Louis jumped off his back and bounded towards the front of the stage, which was at the opposite end to the bar, watching eagerly as the band set up in front of him. Harry skipped to his side as Mike bought us a round of drinks at the bar, asking where which ale had come from, which to be honest, I don’t think he really cared about, he was just enjoying the phlegmatic Yorkshire accent the woman spoke with. “Thanks for this.” I hit Zayn’s arm softly. “Thank my mum.” “Well, I will next time I see her.” I smiled. “You look happy.” “I am happy.” He nodded. “I’ve got my best mates, I’m in the place that I love more than anywhere else in the world. I’m more than happy.” “Good.” The smile on my face was so wide and real, so much so it might have given me a headache. Or maybe that was just the beers. “One two.” The man on stage spoke into the mic. Automatically, Louis started clapping. We were the only people in there at that point, and his mic check obviously wasn’t worth a round of applause, but that was what made it so funny, and that was exactly why he was doing it. The men on stage stared at Louis, a little disorientated as he continued to applaud them. “WOO!” He hollered. “C’MON LADS! WHAT A SHOW. WHAT. A. SHOW.” I knew it wouldn’t be long before Mike joined in, then Harry followed swiftly after, cheering and whooping and crowing to the band, who were finally catching on, and chuckling down to the floor. Soon after that, the tent filled out, and the band began playing, Zayn and Louis bringing out the northern soul dancing yet again, Mike and Harry concentrating more on their beers, and then me, watching them all with heart shaped eyes. + + + There was a thick, heavy, stomach churning bass coming from somewhere, but as I lay on the grass at the back of the main arena, eyes closed, facing the sky, I couldn’t quite figure out exactly where it was coming from. But it didn’t really matter to me. We had been politely asked to leave the Working Men’s Club a few hours earlier, when Mike had decided it was a good idea to unzip his pants, pull out his dangling balls, start swinging them around, and hitting a man’s arm with them. We were escorted out pretty quickly after that. Now, the night was old, and we were watching the final band of the evening. The boys were at the front of the crowd, but I had needed a bit of a breather. The main stage area was actually quite large, compared to everything else there. So the breather I was having felt needed. Also, I was totally fucked. The atmosphere of the festival was so stupidly friendly, there wasn’t a single part of me that was worried about the fact I was laying there on the floor with no one around me, not in the right frame of mind at all. But I wasn’t paranoid at all, and no one was giving me a reason to be. I could see why Zayn loved it there so much. “OI! Are you awake?” I heard above me. When I opened my eyes, Louis was there, floating above me, his smile growing once my eyes had opened and he had confirmation that I wasn’t dead. “Tommo!” I greeted. He sat down next to me, tucking his knees up to his chest and staring out to the rowdy crowd, who were still dancing, despite the fact it was the early hours, and everyone must have been as drunk as I was. With a hiccup, I sat upright next to him. He lit up a cigarette, offering me one, which I rejected, my eyes closing themselves as we watched in admiration. I knew Louis quite well, though I often forgot, and I knew this place was his idea of heaven too. “Do you like it here?” I asked him, though I knew the answer. “It’s sick. I love it.” “Me too.” I sighed drunkenly. I couldn’t help but flop my head onto his shoulder, trying my very best to keep my eyes open, but once again my body was failing me. The warmth of Louis radiated to my skin, and it only made me feel more exhausted. “I need to clear the air.” He mulled from nowhere. “Mm.” Was the only response I could summon. “Harry had words with me earlier.” Suddenly, he had my attention. The mere mention of Harry caused my eyes to shoot open in a way they hadn’t been capable of all evening. I wondered how that was even possible. “About what?” I gulped, moving my head from him. “He seems to think I still have feelings for you. I hope this doesn’t come out the wrong way, but, I don’t. Sorry.” He chuckled. Well, I knew that anyway, but what really had my attention about it was the fact that Harry had mentioned that to him. I needed to know the circumstances. “What? Wh-why did he even mention that? Was he like... I dunno. Was he telling you to go for it?” “No.” Louis shook his head. “He just asked me.” “And what did you say?” “I told him that it just wasn’t like that with us anymore. I also said I would always have a bit of a soft spot for you, but that’s normal.” “Definitely normal.” I agreed. “And I might always have a bit of a soft spot for you, too.” “N’awh, thanks Pip!” He giggled. “But what about you?” “What about me?” “You like anyone?” “Me? No.” I sputtered. “Pip.” He scalded. I knew then, he knew, but if I was lying to myself constantly, then I could definitely lie to Louis, and be convincing. Or at least I thought. “What?” I whelped. “Harry!” He told me. “Harry what?” “C’mon, Pip. Don’t bullshit me. I’ve seen the way your eyes go when you look at him. I know those eyes. They used to do it for me, but just… never that intense!” Louis could tell I needed to talk about it. He just knew it. He could see it eating me alive and he wanted to ease me of some of my pain. I also managed to forget that Louis Tomlinson knew me quite well, too. And out of everyone I knew, all my friends, even my family, it turned out Louis was the only person I felt comfortable talking about Harry with. “I really like him.” I finally admitted out loud. And I had said things similar before. I had spoken with Ronnie, briefly with Ringo, and even that random girl in the toilets of Jax. But never had it come out quite as honestly as that. “Does he know?” He asked me. “Does he fuck.” I snorted. “I can’t tell him.” “Well, why not?” “Because it will ruin everything!” “What if he likes you too?” He tried. “Do you get that impression?” I asked with glistening eyes. “I don’t know him that well.” Louis shrugged. “That means no!” “It does not! It means I don’t bloody know him that well!” I often forgot that boys like Louis weren’t quite as cryptic as girls like me. He genuinely meant what he said. The two of them got on well enough, but Louis genuinely did not know Harry that well at all. “He kisses me sometimes.” I admitted. “Really? Have you slept with him?” “No. But I think he knows that he could if he wanted to. He just obviously... doesn’t want to. I dunno. It’s complicated, I think. I dunno.” The band onstage disappeared briefly, and the crowd began roaring for an encore. I flopped my head back onto his shoulder as we stared out ahead of us. I felt completely deflated. I hated being so pessimistic, but all the answers were there in front of me, and they weren’t the answers I had wanted. “You should just tell him how you feel.” Louis tried again. “No. “Why? What’s the worst that could happen?” “We could move in together and everything could be so awkward that we can’t even be friends anymore, then Zayn will live with Harry in third year and I’ll have to get a house on my own which makes me so depressed that I fail my final year of uni and end up with no friends and no job and dying alone.” Louis slowly turned his head to me, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. A predicted reaction to my manic mind using my mouth as a filter. “That is pretty bad.” He gulped, before heaving out a laugh. “Exactly.” I personally, couldn’t laugh. “Or, he could say he likes you too.” Louis pointed out. Now this, wasn’t something I had ever really considered. I had thought about every possible outcome, but never the one where things worked out. Never the one where he was to say he liked me too. It just seemed so implausible. “He’s just... He’s so confident.” I stated. “I just think if he felt it… he would have said it.” Louis tilted his head so it was gently laying on top of mine, breathing heavily and tutting once as the band came back on stage and the crowd went totally wild. “I guess,” He sighed. “Some things just aren’t that easy to say.” + + + I fell on top of my tent before I fell into it. Though, I fell onto the tent all my own, and Zayn had to help me fall into it. My head crashed onto the blow-up pillow in my tent, and I was aware of Zayn laughing at my state behind me, but too tired and too drunk to care. “G’night, Pip.” He whispered. “NIGHT ZAYN!” “Get in your sleeping-bag.” “Meh.” I ignored his orders, and began drifting off into a peaceful sleep when he zipped up my tent for me, somehow managing to ignore the singing and chattering from other campers, and the lumpy floor beneath my tent, and began falling into the most calm, peaceful sleep imaginable. I was mere seconds away from being dead to the world when the zipper sounded again. I shot one eye open to see Harry crouched down in the entrance, smiling sweetly to me. “Can I come in?” He whispered. “Mhm. But I might fall asleep on you.” He came and lay down in the middle of the tent, since I took up one side and my mountains of crap took up the other. I had my stomach flat on the floor and my face turned his way, trying to keep my eyes open because he was a vision that I never wanted to miss. He stayed quiet for a while, and I think he was trying to prove something to himself. He was trying to prove, that even though I was so tired, and so drunk, even though my eyes were closing and I desperately needed to visit the land of nod, that I would stay awake for him. It pained me, forcing my eyes to stay open and watch him, forcing myself away from slumber, but I did. I stayed awake for him. Like he knew I would. “I saw you talking with Louis earlier.” He finally hushed. “You seemed pretty cosy.” I would have rolled my eyes if my body had the capability to. I turned my body so I was facing him too, and I must have shaken my head a little. “Very cosy.” I smiled. “We were talking about how we don’t like each other.” “Oh. Really?” He quizzed. “Yeah. You were off the mark.” I yawned. “I guess I was.” Things went quiet again. The way he watched me was pretty intense, I noticed, like he was waiting for me to say I was lying, that I had these hidden feelings for Louis that I had never told him about. I had nothing to admit. Well, maybe I did. But it wasn’t that. “I’m falling asleep.” I spoke, painfully quiet. “I’ll leave you to it. But, just so you know… I think Louis is mad, for not liking you.” Without saying anything else, he got out of my tent, zipping it up behind himself and then, I imagine, going across to his own little blue tent and getting a good night’s kip. But after hearing him say that, my mind was in such a whir, it wasn’t possible for me to sleep as comfortably as I was about to before he came into my little pink tent and fucked with my head.

#FESTIVAL TIME #BB32 #1DFF #Harry Styles #enjoy!!!!!!!

[mst3kproject]

K18: The Million Eyes of Su-Muru

I've never seen this one as an episode, mostly because I can't find the damn thing, even on YouTube.  The Wiki has a capture of the title card, but it looks terrible – I did my best to clean it up in photoshop, but the result was still so ugly that I didn't want it on my blog.  Instead of the MST3K version with the English title and the silhouettes, you guys get this one captured from a bootleg copy with the German title: Sumuru – die Tochter des Satans.

The dastardly Su-Muru has a plan!  I'm... not totally sure what that plan is.  It might involve having her agents marry the most powerful men in the world so they can run everything behind the scenes, or she might just plan to kill all the men and continue the human race by cloning.  I guess one could be a stop on the way to the other.  Her plan does not appear to involve freezing the world's oceans, so at least she's more practical than Fu Manchu.  However she gets there, the desired end result will be “a world of peace and beauty, ruled by women.”  Given that men have had thousands of years to rule the world and this place is still a fucking mess, she might actually have something there.

However, she has reckoned without smug jerk Nick West and his idiot friend Tommy Carter.  They are drawn into Su-Muru's web of deceit through a ridiculously convoluted series of events that end in West being taken to her private island near Hong Kong and blackmailed into facilitating the assassination of the lecherous Boong, President of Sino-Asia – I didn't write the movie, okay?  The assassin chickens out and escapes, leaving West to take the blame for her failure.  His only hope is that Carter can bring the military in for an all-out assault on Su-Muru's fortress of evil.  Or for one of the women to decide she'd rather fuck him before she kills him.  Or for a volcanic eruption.  How about all three? All three is good!

The tone of this movie is really weird.  Su-Muru and her followers seem to behave as if they're in a serious movie, even if some of what's going on – like their petrification guns – is ridiculous. West and Carter, on the other hand, apear to think they're in a comedy, even when they're finding a corpse in their hotel room.  Both men crack jokes that occasionally poke at the fourth wall, to the point where the Wiki claims Joel had to chastise the film for riffing itself.  It all feels like the guys aren't taking the threat to world security very seriously, and makes it very hard to be interested in their fates when they're so flippant about everything.  The Million Eyes of Su-Muru really needed to pick a genre, either spy thriller or self-aware comedy, and stick to it.

It also needed to pick a plot.  It was quite difficult to write that summary, because most of the time I had very little idea what was going on.  The movie was written by Sax Rohmer and produced by Harry Allen Towers, just like The Castle of Fu Manchu... was confusion just a feature of one or the other's work, or of both in concert?  The entire first half of the story seems completely irrelevant to what eventually turns out to be the main conflict, and a lot of it has nothing to do even with anything else in the first half.  Take the opening, for example, in which the heirs of the 'richest man in the world' are killed at their father's funeral.  What's that got to do with anything?  Nothing at all.

What about the bikini girl who gets drowned on the beach?  She must be the one Su-Muru was talking about in the previous scene, who has been blacklisted by the sisterhood for falling in love with a man. Is she the same person as Colonel Medika's murdered secretary? Neither he nor President Boong seem particularly upset about her death – Medika talks about it mostly in terms of the threat he believes it represents to Boong himself.  If either of them had been her lover, surely they'd show more grief.  Maybe she wasn't the same person... but in that case, why were we shown her murder if it's not related to what we see later?

Then we finally get something reasonably relevant, as West follows the ambulance that has kidnapped Colonel Medika.  Su-Muru's agents at the hospital try to drug and kidnap West as well, but he gets rescued off-screen and we learn almost nothing from the entire incident. There's no sense of this all figuring into somebody's master plan. It's more as if the movie has two or three false starts before it finally figures out that it's going to be about the assassination attempt on Boong.

But who, exactly, is President Boong?  Su-Muru wants him dead because he's a womanizer who goes through girls like he goes through cigarettes, never keeping a single one around long enough to let her influence him.  That actually makes more sense than most things in this movie, but we don't know anything much about Boong or his imaginary country, so his life or death don't mean anything to us.  You'd think we would at least find out what his policies are, since that's what would matter to Su-Muru, but we don’t.  I'm honestly not even sure if we're supposed to like him – I think he's supposed to be 'charmingly eccentric in a foreigny kind of way' but the way Klaus Kinski plays him teeters on the edge of 'camp gay'.

I'm also somewhat confused about whether Boong and Su-Maru are supposed to be East Asian.  Boong is played by a German actor in some kind of unflattering brown makeup, while Su-Muru is blue-eyed Shirley Eaton without even that.  I started to write something here about how 'Su-Muru' is probably not her real name anyway, but then I realized I was thinking about this way harder than the stupid movie deserves. As in Castle of Fu Manchu, the plot would have been racist regardless of the casting, so it's probably not worth the headache.

If we're gonna talk about actors and characters, we have to come eventually to our so-called hero, Nick West.  Apparently no matter what movie George Nader was in, he always played the same oily misogynist.  Roy in Robot Monster?  “You're so bossy you ought to be milked before you go home at night!”  Glenn in The Human Duplicators? “Here's one I wouldn't mind having under surveillance!”  And now here he is in The Million Eyes of Su-Muru. “I'll take twelve of each!”  Was he just typecast that way, or was he actually a smarmy asshole in real life?

While Boong is played kind of gay, George Nader actually was gay, which you'd think would be an advantage when trying to take down a female supervillain who works by seduction.  Too bad The Million Eyes of Su-Muru portrays a world in which heterosexuality is the only option.  In a movie so steeped in the male gaze you might expect there to be a few hints of lesbianism even if only for eye candy, but there's nothing.  Su-Muru monologues about how woman's only weakness is her susceptibility to falling in love with men.  Another woman claims she cannot resist 'the physical presence of a man' and apparently she means it, because despite the fact that she caught West sneaking into Su-Muru's compound, she makes out with him rather than shooting him or turning him in.  I think that's supposed to be a joke, but I'm not so certain about the bit where Su-Muru also has sex with West, and claims that as a woman she needs to be dominated.

All this implies that a woman's instinct is to bow to male authority, at least sexually, and that they are incapable of resisting the temptation to do so when it is offered.  On more than one occasion West or Carter's life is saved when a woman who hasn't seen a man in months just can't keep herself from jumping his bones before killing him.  Imagine the trouble Su-Muru could have saved herself if she'd just issued vibrators to her all-woman army! This also, of course, makes the women out to be indiscriminate, willing to sleep with any man they come across – but I'm gonna give the movie a pass on that because all the men are the same way. West, Carter, and Boong each have multiple partners over the course of the story, and all are willing to sleep with women they know are their enemies, because boobies.

I have to say, for living on an island where there are no men, Su-Muru's agents sure wear a lot of sexy miniskirts and midriff-baring blouses, and devote an awful lot of time to sultry smoking and lounging around.  Their initiation ritual requires the new recruit to be topless, and the traits that make one eligible to join include youth, beauty, and health, which are all listed before a vague reference to 'giftedness'.  Some of the women must be brilliant scientists, to create things like those petrification darts, but even they appear to have had their looks taken into consideration.  That's why I described this movie as 'steeped in the male gaze'.  Sax Rohmer did not bother to think about how women would conduct themselves as they plotted to take over the world in an environment with no men (I'm guessing there would be way more pajama pants and way less shaving), only how they could look totally hot while doing it.

I guess this movie isn't quite as bad as The Castle of Fu Manchu.  I still don't know what the characters want or what's going on, really, but I'm not actually angry at it for wasting my time... maybe that's just because my standards are getting lower. The Castle of Fu Manchu kind of felt like somebody wrote an outline and they just made the details up as they went along.  The Million Eyes of Su-Muru comes across as slightly more polished, as if it got to the 'first draft' stage but nobody ever went back and made sure the beginning fit in with the rest; it still sucks, but at least it did more preparation.  I guess that's gotta count for something.

#mst3k #reviews #the million eyes of sumuru #60s