#would plummet but yeah here's stacy :)

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Along Came a Spider

Fandom: Marvel, Spider-Man, Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker, Andrew Garfield!Spider-Man Word Count: 4132

TW: Experimentation, Pain, Transformation, Needle, Trauma, Loss

Notes: 3rd Person Reader who resembles Gwen Stacy

Peter had been in this strange new universe for more than a day now. Everything seemed so familiar yet so different at the same time. And ever since he arrived, he had been having this feeling that he was supposed to find someone. Someone who needed his help. But it wasn’t until a magic portal opened up in front of him and he met MJ and Ned that he understood why he was brought here. Their Peter Parker was going through one of the worst moments of his life, a moment he himself had also experienced. So, after comforting the younger kid (the one they had dubbed Peter 1) along with the older Peter (who they called Peter 2), the three Peter Parkers headed down off the roof to start trying to work on cures for everyone.

As they reached the ground, Peter 1 paused. “Wait, I need to go grab someone.”

He turned and hurried down a side alley. Both other Peters exchanged a look but followed after him. When they got to the end, Peter saw a girl in a dirty, tattered jacket standing with her back to them. But as soon as she heard them approaching, she turned around and Peter felt like he had just been punched in the gut. Because behind the soot brushed over her cheeks and the tinted goggles obscuring her eyes, he would recognize that face anywhere.

“Gwen…” the name passed through his lips a mix between a whisper and a prayer.

Her eyes snapped to him immediately, a look of recognition passing over her face. But instead of the joy or astonishment he expected to see, he watched in surprise as she tensed up, crouching immediately into an attack stance. He reeled back as she hissed menacingly in his direction, revealing a set of sharp fangs. She stalked furiously through the alley and just as it looked like she was about to charge at him, Peter 1 jumped in front of her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s okay, calm down! He’s a friend! He won’t hurt you, I promise.”

She hissed again loudly but didn’t try to come any closer. “He already has. He’s the one who did this to me. He’s been trying to hunt me down and kill me for years.” She tried lunging at Peter, but Peter 1 held her back.

Peter looked at her confused, stumbling forward towards her. “No…I don’t… Gwen, I would never..”

“Who the hell is Gwen and why do you keep calling me that?” she growled angrily, baring her sharp teeth.

“But you’re…” the realization suddenly dawned on him, and his heart plummeted. “You’re not her, are you? Yo-you look just like her but you’re from a different dimension.”

She loosened her stance slightly at this suggestion, slinking just a few inches closer but without as much malice as before. She pulled off her goggles to get a better look, revealing a pair of soulless black eyes. Quirking her head to one side, she stared intensely at Peter’s face. Finally, she eased into a more relaxed position. “And you’re not him. Or at least, I don’t think you are. He’s tried to fool me before.”

He gave a soft, bitter chuckle. “No, trust me, I’ve never seen you before. I would have remembered the eyes and the teeth. My Gwen did not have those.”

She glared at him once more before ducking her head as a grimace of pain flashed across her face. After a moment, the grimace softened and she looked back at Peter, her eyes now the identical color to Gwen’s. “Yeah, well I didn’t always have ‘em either.” She tensed again as a shiver ran down her frame.

Peter 1 looked at her concerned. “Are you okay?”

She nodded slightly as she straightened to her full height, seeming more controlled, more human than she had a few seconds ago. “Yeah, for now. It comes and goes but it’s getting worse again.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out soon.” Peter 1 placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she gave him a small smile. But as soon as her eyes darted back to Peter, they narrowed and flashed black for a split second.

Peter 1 gave her shoulder another squeeze before turning to the other two. “Guys, this is Recluse. She’s been helping me try and save everyone else. In her universe she was infected with their version of what gave us our powers, but it wasn’t compatible with her system. So…”

He trailed off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence, but Recluse finished for him. “So, I became this monster. A creature that’s not fully human anymore.” Her voice was full of disdain and Peter watched her fighting to hold back something within herself as she stared daggers at him. He’s the one who did this to me. He’s been trying to hunt me down and kill me for years. Could it be true? Could her Peter Parker really have done this to her?

She finally dragged her gaze from Peter and turned to Peter 1, her expression softening immediately. “How are you doing? You know, with everything?”

Peter 1’s face cracked for a second but he nodded. “Better. These guys helped me come to terms with some stuff and I realized that May wouldn’t want me to give up on any of you.” He hesitated before adding gruffly. “Even Osborn.”

Recluse gently patted his shoulder. “She would be proud of you. I only knew her for a few hours, but I could see how much she loved you.”

Tears started trailing down Peter 1’s face and she gathered him into her arms. Peter watched as this woman who looked so much like Gwen comforted the other Peter and he couldn’t stop thinking back to when Gwen had held him like that. He turned away, fighting back his own tears, and wondering if there was a universe out there where he and Gwen had found a way to be happy together.

Once inside the lab, the three Peters split up the tasks and got to work. Recluse moved between Peter 1 and Peter 2, helping out in any little way she could. At first, she avoided Peter like the plague, not even glancing in his direction. However, as time went on, it seemed like she became curious about what he was working on, and she started drifting a little closer to his table. He tried to act like he didn’t notice, in the hopes of not scaring her off again. And it seemed to work, because soon, she was peering over his shoulder at the cure for Dr. Connors he was finishing up.

As casually as he could, he asked, “Could you hand me that beaker over there please?”

She hesitated before reluctantly passing it to him. He smiled as he took it from her, but she just turned and walked away. Peter 1 and Peter 2 had been watching the entire interaction with interest and they exchanged a look as she hurried off.

After a moment of awkward silence, Peter 1 cleared his throat and held up a slide with some blood on it. “Well, guys, I’ve been trying to figure out a cure for Recluse all day, but the formula is really different from the one from this universe. I can probably figure it out given enough time but….”

“We don’t have a lot of time to spare.” Peter 2 finished for him. Peter 1 nodded.

“Let me see.” Peter walked over, took the slide from Peter 1 and examined it under the microscope. “It’s not exact, but this is really close to the formula from my universe. I worked with it pretty extensively while looking for a cure for Harry so I should be able to figure something out here.”

Recluse once again turned back to Peter, but this time instead of anger there was a spark of hope behind her eyes. “Really? You think…. I mean..”

“I can’t make any promises, but I can sure give it a try.” He gave her his most reassuring smile and she gave him just the smallest one in return. But it was a start.

While Peter started organizing his supplies, Peter 2 asked, “Um, Recluse, if we’re going to work on a cure for you, it might help to know a little more about how you got like this. You said something about your Peter Parker doing this to you? Do you mind telling us what happened?”

“Um, sure…If you really think it would help.” She shifted nervously and with a sad sigh, she began, “My Peter was my whole world. We’d been together since freshman year, even before he got his powers. And afterwards, I gave up everything to be with him, but it still wasn’t enough. He kept pushing me to become stronger, more powerful. He wanted to use the spider venom that gave him his powers on me, but I kept saying no. I had seen what it did to other people who had tried it and I was scared. Peter claimed he understood, but it was a lie, and I should have known better.

“He waited one night until I was asleep and injected me with the venom. I woke up screaming in agony, my whole body trying to reconstruct itself into something it couldn’t handle. When he saw it wasn’t working, he gave me some transfusions using his own blood. Apparently, his DNA held the secret to getting the formula to work, but it was too late. It stopped the venom from destroying me further, but the damage had already been done. I was left like this.” She wiggled her fingers, drawing attention to the claw-like nails once again protruding from the end of each one. “I’ve learned to control it for the most part, but when I get really emotional, either scared or angry or hurt, it takes over.”

Peter 1 spoke up softly, “What happened to your Peter afterwards?”

Recluse hung her head, picking anxiously at her nail beds. “He was disgusted at what I had become. He could only see me as a failure, a mistake after that. So, he threw me aside to fend for myself. I didn’t know how to control it yet, and I had a lot of people after me because they knew I was connected to Spider-Man….. It was a rough few years. Then, once I started coming into my own and fighting back, he didn’t like that either. He framed me for some horrible crimes, made me public enemy number one. I’ve been on the run for the past year. So, when I saw you”- she looked at Peter - “I thought he had followed me here to kill me. Sorry about the mix up.”

Peter shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. I probably would’ve thought the same thing in your position. In fact, I kinda did when I thought you were Gwen.”

She nodded. “Good point. I guess it’s one crazy coincidence, us ending up here together.”

“I guess so.” They stared at each other for a long moment before Peter glanced back down at the microscope, clearing his throat. “So, uh, I think I might be able to come up with something. Just give me some time to run some calculations.” And with that, everyone turned back to their respective projects.

Peter was making surprisingly good progress with the formula. He kept jumping from the computer to the microscope to the chemicals back to the computer. And the whole time, he was muttering calculations and equations softly to himself. After a while, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Recluse sitting on the tabletop across from him, smiling broadly.

“What?” Peter asked with a small chuckle.

She shook her head softly. “God, you remind me of him….Like the old him, before he got his powers. He was the sweetest, smartest guy I had ever met. Dorky, and funny, and awkward in the most adorable way.” She laughed, staring off into space, back in time. “His smile, his laugh….They would just brighten my day, no matter what had been happening. All it took was one look, and everything was better.”

However, all the joy in her face soon drained away as her thoughts shifted to less happy memories. “And then he got bit. At first, everything was great. He was the hero I always knew he could be. But over time, he changed. He became too mesmerized by the power and the opportunities it provided him. It happened so gradually by the time I realized something was wrong, it was too late. I woke up with a needle stuck in my neck.”

Recluse began to shift on the table, kneading her hands together roughly. Peter watched her claws start to emerge once again, and he gently laid his hands over hers. She flinched in surprise, but soon under his touch all the tension slowly leaked out of her body. She gave him a small smile of appreciation. “Thanks. No one’s ever…most people just get scared when I start shifting like that.”

“It’s okay. I trust you not to hurt me.” Peter smiled back at her.

Her smile widened before she glanced away. “Sorry, it’s just…hard…looking at you sometimes. Trying not to see him.”

“Trust me, I get it.” Peter sighed.

“Oh yeah, your Gwen, I keep forgetting. I’m really sorry. I guess me being here probably brings back some bad memories too.” She tried to pull her hands away, but Peter kept a firm hold on them.

“Yes and no. They’re not all bad memories. And it’s getting easier, you know? The more I get to know you, the less I see her. And I’m glad you’re getting a little more comfortable being around me.”

“Yeah, well…. You make it hard to stay mad at you.” She nudged his shoulder playfully. “Now what can I do to help?”

It took a long time, but the two of them finally came up with a potentially viable cure for Recluse’s….condition. As they worked, she had let more and more of her walls down and Peter started to see the person behind all the pain. The person she was before she had been betrayed by the man she trusted most in her world. And he liked this person he was seeing. A lot. More than anyone he had met since Gwen. Every laugh, every accidental touch, every exchange of glances sent a small shiver down his spine. But he had to keep reminding himself that they were from two different worlds. Literally. And when this was over, they would each have to return to their own home, alone once more.

But before any of that mattered, they needed to try and cure her. As she settled into the chair, nervously fidgeting with the armrests, he hovered above her with the syringe.

“Listen, are you sure you want to do this? I’m pretty sure it will work, but there’s still a good possibility that it could make you worse or even kill you.”

She nodded. “I understand. But I can’t live like this anymore. If this is my only chance to be myself again…. I’ll risk it.” He nodded back and started to hand the needle off to one of the other Peters, but she grabbed his hand. “Can…can you do it?”

Peter was startled by the request, but said, “Uh, yeah, of course. But are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you not to hurt me.” Recluse gave him a small smile of encouragement.

So, Peter took the syringe and gently inserted it into her arm. He pressed down on the plunger, injecting the serum into her veins. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, her body jerked sharply, her back arching violently as a scream tore from her lips. Her hands clutched wildly at the arms of the chair as her nails grew longer, sharper. Her teeth extended farther, becoming more fang-like than ever before. And her eyes turned black once again, but this time, the darkness seeped out into the neighboring veins, sending inky black lines crawling across her face. Peter placed one hand firmly on her shoulder and the other on her wrist, trying to calm her in any way but she didn’t even seem to register his touch.

With one last, almost animalistic howl, she collapsed back into the chair, unmoving and no longer breathing. However, as she lay there motionless, her nails and teeth began to slowly retract back to their normal lengths. And even though her eyes were closed, Peter watched as the black veins around her eyes faded and disappeared. But even once she had returned to normal, she didn’t stir.

Looking down at the still body in front of him, Peter couldn’t help but feel as if he had killed Gwen for the second time. Yet another girl had put her complete faith in him, and he had once again let her die. But then, Recluse let out a powerful gasp, bolting upright as her eyes flew open. They were clear without a hint of the blackness present. She looked down, staring in wonder at her now normal looking fingers. Slowly, she raised one to her mouth and ran it gently across her teeth, noting their perfectly ordinary length.

She gazed up at Peter, tears filling her shining eyes. “Thank you.” The words came out barely more than a whisper, but Peter could hear the joy and relief contained within them. She reached over and pulled him into a deep hug.

Peter was startled for a moment, but soon hugged her back. And just like this new universe, the hug felt so familiar yet so different at the same time. It felt sort of like hugging Gwen, but more than that, it felt like hugging Recluse. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the difference was, but it just exuded her energy. And for the first time since Gwen, he allowed himself to take comfort in the arms of another.

He could have stood there holding her forever, but the sound of the other two Peters shuffling behind him brought him back to reality. Pulling away, he cupped her face in between his hands. “Are you okay? Do you think it worked?”

She nodded emphatically, a single tear rolling down her cheek which Peter brushed away with his thumb. “Good. I’m so glad.” He hesitated. “I have to go, but I need you to stay here with Ned and MJ.”

The smile dropped from her face, instantly replaced by one of confusion. “What? No, Peter, I can help!”

“I know you want to, but without your powers…it’s just too dangerous. You have to stay here where it’s safe.”

“I won’t just abandon you three! Not after everything you’ve done for me. I need to help you!”

“No! Listen, I know we just met but I can’t……Recluse, I can’t…” He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and his face crumpled in an unspoken emotion.

He felt her hands gently reach up to caress his face. “Hey, Peter, it’s okay. I’ll stay. Okay? I promise… but..” Now it was her turn to hesitate. “I know how you feel. I can’t either. So, I need you to be careful. Okay? Please. Just… come back in one piece. I’ll be here waiting for you.”

He nodded into her hair, not trusting himself to speak at that moment. Peter 1 approached and gently nudged Peter’s shoulder. “Look, I’m really sorry, but we have to go.”

Peter sighed and pried himself away from her embrace. And as he walked out the room, he glanced back one last time to see her sad smile wishing him luck.

Peter stumbled slightly as he looked around at the damage caused by the preceding fight. He was currently standing on what was left of the newest addition to the Statue of Liberty with Peter 2 sitting a few feet away, cradling his wounded side. It had taken a lot out of them all, but they had managed to cure each and every one of the inter-dimensional travelers. Which just left Peter wondering what happened next.

“Peter!”

He whipped around to see Recluse running towards him and he hurried to meet her. As soon as she was close enough, he swept her into his arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to stay at the school?”

“The Lizard chased me through the portal along with Ned and MJ, but I stayed out of the way of the fighting. But, oh god, are you okay?” She was trembling in his tight embrace.

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Never better.” He tried to laugh it off, but he was still slightly shaken from saving MJ earlier. A weight he hadn’t really realized he had been carrying had been lifted off of him, and for the first time since Gwen had died, he truly felt like himself again.

Recluse pulled back to examine him thoroughly. “Are you sure? I saw you take some really hard hits.”

“Yeah, I’m great. I’m just so glad to see you, Recluse.” He could feel himself smiling brighter than he had in years.

And Recluse returned his smile with just as much enthusiasm. “Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”

“Y/N”, Peter breathed, loving how her real name felt on his lips.

She lightly brushed his hair out of his face as she ran her hand down his cheek. Leaning forward, her face was just inches from his when Dr. Strange landed next to them, interrupting their moment.

Strange looked disheveled and stressed, but when he spoke, his voice was strong. “I don’t have much time. The spell was freed and people from all universes are trying to break through into this one. I need to reverse the spell now and send you all back.”

Y/N blanched as she grabbed his arm and pleaded, “Please, don’t make me go back there. Without my powers, I won’t be able to protect myself. I’ll be dead the second my Peter finds me.”

But the wizard just shook his head. “I’m so sorry, but based on the construct of the spell, you can only go back to a dimension that you are a part of or have a connection to. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”

“My blood.” All eyes turn to Peter. “I-I had to use my blood in the cure. It should still be in her system. It connects her to my dimension so she should be able to come back with me. Right?”

Her eyes sparkled vibrantly as she turned back to Dr. Strange. “Do you really think that would work?”

He considered for a moment. “Possibly. This spell has been altered so many times there is really no telling what might happen. But if what he says is true, there is a chance.”

She and Peter exchanged an eager glance before Peter asked. “So, what do we need to do?”

“When I activate the spell, hold onto each other tightly. The closer the contact, the better chance you will both end up in the same world.” Dr. Strange began to leave but then hesitated. “For what it’s worth, I wish you luck.”

As he flew into the sky, Peter turned to her nervously. “So, uh, what do you think? Want to come back with me?”

Her face was a jumble of joy and hesitation. “Peter….I’m not your Gwen and I never will be.”

“I know….and I’m not your Peter.”

“But would you be okay with that? Or every time you look at me, are you always just going to see her?”

He thought for a minute, trying to find the right words to express how he was feeling. “I’ll admit, at first I did. Whenever I looked at you, her name was the one in my head. But when I saw you running towards me just now, all I saw was you.”

She beamed up at him. “Me too. When I saw you were okay, there wasn’t any resentment or anger like I normally had. All I felt was relief that you were okay. You, not him.”

Peter wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her close to his chest. She leaned into his embrace happily. But after a few seconds, she pulled her face away to look at him.

“Peter…do you think…If this doesn’t work, I want to know at least once…” she stared longingly at his mouth.

With a smile, he bent down and as a brilliant golden light enveloped them, he pressed his lips firmly yet tenderly against hers.

#sfw repost #fic #spiderman #spider man #spiderman x reader #spider man x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker #andrew garfield #tobey maguire #tom holland #spiderman no way home #spider man no way home #no way home #spiderman nwh #tasm #peter parker 3 #peter 3 #nwh

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Susan Banks (the cat)

I see that I’ve picked up a couple of actual followers — which is honestly a development that I never expected. Sorry that you just happen to have jumped on when I decided to hit pause on these for a couple of weeks. (I will be resuming soon though, I promise!) In the meantime, let me regale you with the cute story of our very cute cat, whom we named after a not-especially-cute Days of Our Lives character. This is Susan Banks.

She looks like this (and this picture doesn’t really do justice to her crazy novelty teeth) and speaks in the most comedically broad southern accent you’ve ever heard. Despite being EJ DiMera’s mother (the E is for Elvis!) and having a couple of other fairly grounded connections to fairly serious characters, she really gives the overwhelming impression of being a sort of throwaway joke. Because, in addition to the accent and the teeth, she’s a psychic. Mind you, this is the show that became infamous for its devil possession storyline in the mid-90s. So much so that they revisited that storyline with many of the same characters in 2021-22. Which gave Susan, despite her strong “12:50 sketch on SNL” energy, something to do in the story. So she was around a lot when I first started watching. Side note: Susan has always been played by the same performer who plays Kristen DiMera. That used to be Eileen Davidson, and is currently Stacy Haiduk.

When Stacy assumed both roles, she reportedly sat herself down in the makeup chair next to the guy who plays EJ and said “I’ll be playing your sister and your mother.” Which absolutely delights me.

So. Yeah. When the Devil came back to Salem for another crack at Dr. Marlena Evans’ immortal soul, Susan Banks caught on pretty quickly, being, as she was, a psychic. So Satan, using his Satan powers, sidelined her by transforming her into a small cat. No, seriously.

The incident in question only lasted about one episode, but Susan managed to bring it up regularly for months afterwards. You know that ol’ devil, she’d say in that hilariously awful accent, he turnt me into a li’l kittycat! This became one of those things we’d repeat from time to time in our household. (Don’t pretend you don’t have things like that in yours.)

Last December, they killed off Susan Banks. Well. Maybe. We never actually saw her body and I’ve read enough comic books to know what that means. But she was in a car that plummeted off a cliff and I’m almost certain the stock footage they used to depict this was the same footage they frequently used in Toonces, The Cat That Could Drive a Car sketches.

Also last December, we adopted this tiny kitten.

(Not pictured: the fact that she’s missing one of her back legs. I completely forget this most of the time, but you might notice it in subsequent pictures and wonder what’s going on. So I’m telling you: it’s that. She has three legs.)

It did not take us long to determine that, even though she wasn’t the same kind of li’l kittycat, Susan Banks was the perfect name for this little fellow. It would also be an excellent tribute to the now-definitely-for-sure-dead character from Our Stories.

Here are a couple of us together.

And here she is with the dumb picture of Stefano DiMera we put in our living room.

Sadly, we snapped that picture a few seconds too late, because she actually had per paw up on it briefly. Almost like she knew. (She doesn’t. She’s a cat.)

#Days of Our Lives #DOOL #soap opera #Peacock

[zombriekid]

The Devil Takes Care of His Own 3/?? [Alastor/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hazbin Hotel

Chapter Name: Checking In?

Chapter Summary: you’re faced with a dilemma as the happy hotel opens its doors to you

Text from: The Boss

“WHAT. THE FUCK. DID YOU DO, NEWBIE?”

Oh no...

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Fuck... oh fuck, oh god no, please.

“WHY ARE SO MANY OF MY CLIENTS COMPLAINING ABOUT YOU?!”

The drop of your stomach echoes with a fluttering impression, while a surge of heat, abrupt and uncomfortable, licks at the lining of your throat all the way up to your jaw and it bleeds into your ears; the burgundy walls all around you begin to shrink.

“SOWBELLY SAYS YOU BROKE SOME SHOT!”

“*shit you broke some shit”

“AND THAT COFFEE SMELLIN HIPSTER FUCK SAYS-”

With a resounding clack, your phone slips from your grip and plummets to the sturdy countertop below, a noise that makes the three people around you flinch (you notice distantly), but your brain- your outermost awareness- doesn’t even bother. Because your entire world is now summing up to the blurbs of rapid fire notifications assaulting the LCD screen. Message after heated text message just filled to the brim with expletives and threats and perpetual capslock until this massive wall of verbal abuse blurs your vision; makes your head throb in sync with the increasing thump-thump of your heart.

The device vibrates against the bar and its screen lights up with another message alert, this one demanding your immediate response before declaring you a “useless piece of shit”, and then not long after comes a voice mail about a minute in length.

You’re not gonna listen to it though, you’re gonna grovel.

A tap from your right middle finger brings the digital keyboard to the glass, and your digits begin dancing across the letters to formulate what you consider to be a heartfelt apology, and you beg forgiveness for your transgressions as a lowly delivery person.

But three paragraphs in your hand forces a sudden stop; typos in need of amending due to the constant use of the backspace key, an entire sentence underlined by red squiggly lines with no break between the nonsense letters, and without realizing it at some point you accidentally pulled up the emoji list and now thirty percent of your sniveling is made up of a bunch of cartoons. It’s an odd sensation, you think as you stare back at the jargon, a backlog of muscle memory for modern technology yet you can’t even design coherent text messages in order to save face.

In order to save your fucking job.

All because your goddamn useless hands won’t stop fucking shaking.

Suppose it’s a futile effort at this point- your ass is one hundred percent absolutely and totally fired now.

Meaning no money for bills, no money for food, for utilities, for clothes... Here comes your eviction notice- goodbye lumpy mattress, and a fine greeting to the filthy streets of Pentagram City. A steep price for your compulsive philanthropy, go figure that that’s how things operate down here. How bass ackwards.

But that’s alright, that’s okay, you’ve been through worse you think- you’ve been- you’ve...

You’ve suffered through worse before. Homelessness? Ha, nothing compared to the shit you’ve seen willingly, a temporary setback, maybe a coworker will let you sleep on their couch. The new girl, what was her name? Stacy? Yeah, she’s pretty eager she’ll let you crash with her- it’ll give her more of an excuse to “befriend” you but that’s alright. Sacrifice comfort for survival, right?

“Newbie.”

Not the first time, definitely won’t be the last; life in a concrete jungle is such a fickle bitch, especially here in-

“Newbie!”

-here in Pentagram City.

Present time. Post death. Hell. The here and now.

Impossibly small hands are pulling the apples of your cheeks into fleshy bulbs, folding your lips as a pout, and the darkened corners of your vision dim until Niffty’s lone ocular takes precedence in sight; a triad of quick blinks help anchor your focus.

Oh. How wonderful. Yet another episode... how many does that make today? Certainly way more than usual.

You blame the stress.

“Newbie, you okay?” Niffty asks with a tight throat, and a bob of your head delivers your response.

“Just havin’ a... moment. But I’m alright now.”

She glances down to her right in the direction of your phone, still glaring at you from the grainy surface of the bar, and it’s as if you can literally see the gears in her brain start to rotate. You’re fairly certain that she’s about to put two and two together and get four.

“That’s just my own bossman, Mr. Terry. Well, pretty sure he’s my former boss now.”

“Is it cause of today? When you helped me?”

Your knee-jerk reaction is to mindlessly blurt out a response that would confirm her suspicions, but luckily whatever humanity remains in tact notices her pitch- not necessarily concern rather something akin to it paints the undertone- and it clamps your mouth shut with an audible click of your teeth. Because what you were about to do, what you were about to say, be it directly or indirectly that was going to shift at least some of the blame on to her, and that would be completely unfair. The fault doesn’t lie with her. It’s entirely your own. First off the little lady didn’t even ask for your help, she didn’t beckon to you she didn’t plead for interception, you swooping in to “save the day” was your body’s reflexive need to act, to just do something instead of perpetuating the stereotype of morbidly curious bystander. Second, the manner of which how you saved her was incredibly, stupidly sloppy- a path of damage shadowing your trek and all you left behind was a substantial cost of repairs and replacements. Since when was charging through a line of stores ever a good idea?!

No, you made the decision to do something about Niffty’s situation, so you could’ve found a better way to engage it- actually you should’ve found a better way, but your lapse in judgment cost some people tools, resources, products, and even some clientele, thus costing you practically everything, and now Hell is demanding its pound of flesh from someone’s hide.

Don’t let her believe that it may come from her.

“Nah, I accidentally pissed off some clients recently,” you say as you gently take hold of her hands and remove them from your face. “No need to worry about it, kiddo.” Which none of that is a lie in any capacity, sometimes your cleverness does in fact shine through.

Niffty doesn’t seem to think so, though obviously there’s no way for her to know without some form of mind reading, regardless her face falls into a displeased frown complete with round, bulgy cheeks. “I’m not a kid, Newb. Besides you’re younger than me!”

Oh, she’s so friggin precious, you’re gonna miss this youngen. “In terms of dates, sure. But my, uhh, ‘departure time’ so to speak-” you decorate this with air quotes “-gives me some years on ya.”

“Yeah, by a few at most.”

... No? By, like, ten-ish years? Are you missing something?

“Dude I’m pretty sure I died somewhere in my twenties.”

“Okay? And?”

Okay, yeah, you’re definitely missing something. The tingles on the back of your neck prove this.

She’s not a child, is she?

“... Niffty, how old were you when you bought the farm?”

“Twenty two.”

Alright, okay, that’s dope- how long until the next extermination? That’s a thing you’ve heard about, and you’d really love to volunteer yourself to be first in line right about now. The sooner the better, really.

From pit in his stomach comes an eruption of raucous glee, such an intense reaction that it forces Angel Dust- long forgotten until now- to bend until he’s bracing himself with two hands on his knees, the other pair clutching around his heaving abdomen, as he cry-laughs at your expense.

Meanwhile, the feathered feline fellow manning the bar makes a sound in the back of his throat loud enough to reach your ears, and when you give him your attention he deems the conversation relevant enough to glimpse at you from the corner of his amber eyes; there’s a deep green bottle entrapped in his massive paws and with a tip of the neck he takes a hearty swig before he finally mutters whatever is on his mind. You catch a whiff of the unmistakeable odor of bitter, cheap booze.

“Didja really think Niff’s a kid?”

...

Ten minutes.

Ten whole arduous minutes spent enduring rigorous taunting and not-so-light-hearted ribbing from all three demonic compatriots; statements such as “not so bright are ya, smooth talka?” ala Angel and “no wonder you’re so weird” courtesy of Niffty force the tips of your ears to sear with your cheeks quickly following the same trend.

In your defense, Niffty’s rather small stature and youthful disposition makes her seem much younger than she actually (apparently) is, and sincerest apologies to the court but she’s the most humanoid individual you’ve encountered downside- other than Charlie, of course- so how were you to know that she wasn’t a child in danger solely based on the information you were given? It’s not like you had the time to stop and ask!

And if this trio of assholes would take a few moments to consider your perspective then maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to jump straight to mockery, so until they do they can just suck your bits.

____________________________________

Some time passes, you’re unclear on how much for you refuse to even so much as think of your phone right now, and though you’ve yet to receive anything further from Mr. Terry- no more text messages, no more voice mails, no more notifications- and though the hotel’s three residents have retired from their cruelty and are seeking entertainment elsewhere- Niffty on a dusty painting, Husk at the bottom of a bottle, and Angel Dust... doing whatever in another room- still you find no peace.

No respite from this fuster cluck of a situatio.

And you don’t know what you’re going to do about it.

But you gotta do something, can’t let this continue to fester, so take a deep breath: one, two, three, four- and let it out: five, six, seven, eight- and repeat. Clear your head. Think about this logically.

The first step should be an apology, of course, but your gut tells you that a simple “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to, won’t happen again” just wouldn’t suffice- not for a group of pissed off demons at least. And your employment with Mr. Terry is a measly two weeks young, nowhere near enough to build up some sort of history of positive work ethic, so starting with him is practically a fool’s errand already.

After all, your enigmatic boss isn’t known for his mercy.

... maybe...

Maybe you’re on to something with that assessment.

Maybe you shouldn’t apologize to him first but rather save him for last. Work up the list of priorities instead of down.

Starting with the demon you pissed off first: Mrs. Sowbelly.

Two pokes at your back.

A delicate, graceful exclamation of “FUCK!” comes bellowing out of your mouth as the abrupt shock nearly sends your ass careening to the floor, your hands scrambling upon the bar in order to hook stability.

Mere seconds later and you find Charlie over the slope of your shoulder with her right index finger pointed in your direction; the look on her face suggests that your squawking startled her. In this moment your mouth works much faster than your brain and an apology is already leaping off your tongue... that is until you notice the person standing next to her.

Now, not to be rude about it, but there’s nothing inherently striking about this individual; gray tinted skin, long white hair pouring down the length of her spine, a few inches shorter than the blonde at her side, and a large pink eye staring straight at you with something like irritation. For the most part, she looks human- not humanoid like Charlie and Niffty, but like you.

Human.

And that’s why she’s stealing your attention.

“Hey Newbie, I want to introduce you to the Happy Hotel’s manager and my partner, Vaggie.” Charlie says with a somewhat forced smile, likely residual from your outburst.

With your eyes trained on the gal in question, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Howdy, pleasure to meet you.”

Vaggie doesn’t say anything back.

Luckily, however, Charlie keeps the conversation rolling.

“The two of us actually wanted to talk to you about something important. Is... is that okay?”

For your anxiety? Anything that even remotely parallels “we need to talk” is a near guarantee to sending your heart to the racetrack, so no it’s not okay in that regard. That being said, given her response earlier, before Mr. Terry battered you with derisive texts, and the fact that she called the manager/her girlfriend over is... well, you’d be lying if you said that you aren’t intrigued. Skeptical, maybe even paranoid, but intrigued. So you give your consent.

“Cool beans! So, umm, I think I’m just going to cut to the chase here,” she clears her throat, “we want you to stay here. At the Happy Hotel. To be rehabilitated.”

...

....

“I’m sorry, fucking what?”

The question is out before the rest of your body has time to process Charlie’s words, but even when you fully digest the information you’re still left feeling perplexed. What does she mean “rehabilitation”, what all does that entail, why did she have to call her girlfriend for this?

And, oh, how her patience seems to know no bounds for the smile that curls on her lips is soft, and her brow pulls together in what you can only call generosity. Like she understands your confusion; makes you wonder how often she goes through this schtick.

“Allow me to explain our predicament since you’re still new.”

And she does, in great detail, weaving a copper-scented tapestry with threads dyed the shades of suffering and heinous sin. In less pretentious terms, she regurgitates material you’ve only heard in passing. Hell is bursting at the seams with its substantial over population issue, one that only grows more exacerbated with each newcomer, and with limited real estate and even more limited resources the powers that be reached the conclusion long ago that a percentage just... has to go. Enter the exterminators, a team set out from the tippy topside whose sole purpose is to literally slash some numbers in half once a year.

Charlie doesn’t like this, in fact her exact words are “it kills me inside knowing that my people are being systematically annihilated” and honestly they kinda make you equate this to that of a speech from some representative- an authority figure, someone with power, which makes sense if this is her hotel. It’s pretty, the way she feels about the annual genocide, but you’ve yet to hear her alternative solution if she has any to begin with.

As the saying goes, actions do speak louder than words.

That’s when she genuinely explains the hotel’s purpose: to purge the demons of their vices, purify their souls, make right their wrong doings from when they were alive so that they can walk through the pearly gates as a reborn person, faultless and whole. Redemption. Rehabilitation. Because a hotel is only a temporary pitstop between two destinations.

The idea... makes enough sense, you guess.

“I mean, that’s neat, super admirable, and the whole idea of reforming demons instead of just- ya know- offing them sounds way better in comparison. But uhh- what does this have to do with me?”

“Well,” Charlie looks over at Vaggie before advancing her explanation, “you’re new. You haven’t regained your memories yet, your body hasn’t adapted yet, you still have your humanity- I mean you helped Niffty out of a tight spot without any expectation of a reward!”

“Nah, I just did what felt like the right thing at the time.”

“Exactly! We need someone like that here!”

Ah.

Now the picture has clarity.

What Charlie said earlier, “... if I can help just one demon find redemption here then everyone else will believe too!” that was merely another way of saying “we haven’t succeeded yet.” And judging by the way the hotel’s current residents, this motley crew of friends(?), they’ve been trying with people who have been here a lot longer than you have- you, a newbie that hasn’t gone through “the Change” yet, hasn’t full acclimated or been assimilated into the disgusting system of eternal suffering. Like they have. If redemption can be had here it’s more likely to be found with a newcomer like you, and if you can be saved then it’ll prove possible for anyone else.

At least that’s what you’ve surmised from the situation.

It doesn’t sit right with you though.

You did something topside to warrant your arrival here, or maybe you did a lot of things, or maybe you didn’t do enough, you don’t know and that’s the point. You don’t remember. There could be a mountain of skeletons shoved into your closet that you’re completely unaware of and until further notice that’s where they’re going to remain if they even exist.

You. Don’t. Know.

There are way too many unknown variables regarding your past- no, you’re very identity, and though you’ve been reassured on numerous occasions that that’s actually the standard here for newcomers... that doesn’t mean you deserve a second chance. Because who you were may not deserve it.

So don’t waste the room on a potential lost cause, is what you tell them.

“All the more reason to try it now before your memories can influence you.” Vaggie says in a firm voice, the very first you’ve heard her speak. 

And admittedly the logic is sound, you’re not trying to dispute that, it’s just... 

Not you- a clattering racket against the bar top- anyone else may deserve this opportunity- disrupts the conversation- but not you- and it takes all of two seconds to determine the source. It’s your phone, probably Mr. Terry announcing you officially dead to his business.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Still Vaggie.

As of right now, no, you really don’t.

“Residents can board here for free, you just have to stay clean- no sinning, at least as best you can.”

That’s not too bad, you think. Maybe you should-

No! No, one “good deed” doesn’t merit a shot at atonement. It’s not going to negate whatever it is you did to topside to leave you downside.

...but you’re more than likely out of a job now, one that barely paid enough to cover expenses to begin with, and losing your apartment is trailing not that far behind.

“What do you say, Newbie?”

“I-” the sudden dryness in your throat drags forth a minor coughing fit. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Sacrifice comfort for survival, right?

You take a deep breath. “O-okay. Where’s the check-in sheet?”

____________________________________

a/u: mental health has been a bitch to deal with so i’m sorry that this took longer than i expected. i have half a mind to scrap this and redo it again but i’ma do this funky fresh thing where i stop overanalyzing it and put it out there for y’all to read. still no beta, and still no al yet, but we’re definitely getting c l o s e r, got this bitch all planned out and everything. y’all know the deal by now: like, reblog, and comment; the engagement makes my lil queer kokoro go doki doki

tagged: @kryptum-one @itz-kira @peachesandkats (i’m in love with all three of y’all, just letting you know)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor x you #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfic #writing

[milkcartom]

Girl Crush

Pairing: Peter x reader x MJ

Summary: Inspired by The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Word count: 1,843

———

Those eyes. Those gorgeous, brown eyes. Smitten would be an understatement, for you were completely and utterly intoxicated. You couldn't blame yourself, though. Those eyes held a lot more than they let on, and you wanted nothing more than to figure them out like a puzzle. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, you just couldn't stop staring. That was, until they caught your gaze.

Blinking away to train your eyes on the half empty lunch tray, you fight the urge to squeal as they approached. Peter and MJ walk over to where you sat, hand in hand, making it harder for you to refrain from rolling your eyes at the disgusting sight.

"Hey, Y/N." Peter chirps, causing you to snap your head up and throw a bright, fake smile.

"Hi." You manage to squeak out, clearing your throat right after.

"You're still coming over later, right?" Peter asks, and you nod almost instantly, "Would you mind if MJ came along?"

At his words, your heart almost plummeted from your chest. The mere thought of them being all lovey dovey in front of you while you did all the schoolwork wasn't how you imagined to spend your Friday night. You'd rather spend the whole day with Flash if it meant not having to witness your crush snuggle up to their significant other in your presence. But you still shake your head.

"N-no, I-I don't mind." You stammer, pressing your lips into thin-lipped smile, earning an even wider one from the couple.

"Great! See you later." Peter waves a hand goodbye before walking off, MJ not even giving you a second look.

You frown, heaving out a sigh as you rest your head on your palms and watched as their figures become smaller and smaller. You narrow your eyes at the blue sweater he wore, wondering where he got it and if you had something similar. It looked a bit loose on his frame, so you figured you’d borrow one of your dad’s sweaters to match. That’s what you were going to wear tonight.

But in the meantime, lunch was already over, and you grin cheekily at the next class you shared with Peter; Woodwork. You head straight to the classroom, no time to stop by your locker, and spot the boy hunched over the work table with an empty seat next to him. Normally, he’d be paired with his best friend, Ned. But you managed to snake your way in between and convince Ned to partner up with Betty, instead. For one project, at least. This meant you’d get to spend a few hours working elbow to elbow with Peter fucking Parker.

“Hey.” You greet, filling the stool and pulling the apron over your head.

Peter returns your smile, offering to tie the apron for you from behind, to which you accepted. As he did so, you could feel your heart race, his fingers brushing over your back every so often and you shudder.

“All good.” He says, handing you the pair of goggles on the desk.

“Thanks.” Is all you say as you take it and put it on, grateful for his genuine kindness despite your awkward demeanor.

Peter knew you admired him, a little bit more than acquaintances, because that’s how obvious you were. The first time you sat next to Peter during class, he mentioned Star Wars once and you stayed up all night watching the series so you’d have something to talk about the next day. When Peter wore those stupid science-punned shirts, you just had to get some. But of course, you’d hide them under a sweater or have them tucked under your skirt to look more pleasing to the eye. And when you found out he was in the decathlon team, lead by MJ, you worked your ass off for weeks just to be able to get in. You weren’t naturally smart, so this was possibly the hardest and stupidest thing you’ve done for a crush.

But these didn’t stop you from being friends, because Peter was nice about it. He didn’t treat you any different, and he never made it awkward between you two, to your liking. He didn’t mind the attention. In fact, he secretly loved it, but he couldn’t tell anyone that. Especially not MJ.

———

The hour of the day you were dreading came rolling in quicker than you thought. Before you knew it, you were laying flat on Peter’s bedroom floor with papers scattered all over as you tried to solve as much problems as you can. Peter, on the other hand, had MJ glued to his side, snickering about God knows what and you’d bet a hundred dollars Peter wasn’t even halfway with his task.

“Babe, stop.” MJ utters, shoving Peter to the side and you almost gag. At that moment, you hoped your eardrums collapsed or that your vision blurred.

“You good, Y/N?” Peter asks you, noticing the grimace on your face.

You nod, pretending that you were having a hard time with a topic, “Yeah, no, I’m fine. You- you almost done?”

Peter takes a look at his stack of papers and shakes his head, “Not really.” He chuckles, tearing his gaze away to look at his girlfriend, who was currently helping him solve some questions.

You roll your eyes and begin to type rather angrily on your scientific calculator. You couldn’t take one more look at the stolen kisses they tried to sneak when they thought you weren’t looking, or the small laughs they’d share as though you weren’t in the room. It made you sick to your stomach.

It was dreadful, to say the least. Until your ears perk up at the sound of your guardian angel texting you.

Flash

party at my house. wru y/n ?

These were one of the few moments you loved Flash. Sure, he was a dick, but he was also your friend. Sometimes, anyway. But right now, he was better company than the other two.

You spring up to your feet to type in a reply, catching the attention of the couple.

“Are you leaving?” Peter asks with a touch of excitement in his tone, and you had to hold back a scowl.

“Uh, yeah,” your nod, slipping off the blue sweater to reveal a tank top that paired nicely with your high-waisted bottoms, “Flash’s party,” you tell them as you gather your things. You didn’t want to leave them and have the image of them getting it on right after you walk out the door, but you also didn’t want to stay. So you choose the next best option, “You guys should come.”

“I don’t know—“

“Come on,” you tilt your head to the direction of the door and flash them a charming smile, “It’ll be fun.”

———

It was as though you could finally breathe again. The aroma of sweat and alcohol filled your lungs as you entered Flash’s house, greeting a few of the people you knew. You even got some stares and whispers sent your way when you walked in with Peter and MJ, to which you rolled your eyes in response.

A shrill squeal erupted from the crowd before a preppy blonde came running in your direction to throw her arms around you. You laugh and wrap your arms around your closest friend in Midtown High, Gwen Stacy.

“You came!” She beams, pulling away to hand you a red cup with her favorite drink.

“Of course,” you say, taking a sip, “Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else tonight.”

“That bad, huh?” Gwen purses her lips, remembering how excited you were for tonight’s “study date”.

“Mhm. That’s why I’m here.”

“I don’t think Flash would be happy to see them,” she gestures to the two people behind you, cocking a brow before winking at you, “But at least you are.”

You slap her arm and conceal the growing smile on your lips, “Shut up, Gwen.”

“Come on, we’re playing truth or dare,” the blonde says, grabbing your hand. But before she leads you to the room upstairs, she calls out, “Peter! MJ! Follow me!”

Soon enough, the four of you step into a bedroom with seven other people inside, including Flash. You notice Peter stiffen at the sight of him, and the way Flash eyed the poor boy like bait, so you take a seat on his right to shove his head to the side.

“Nice to see you too, Y/N,” he deadpans, scooting over to make room for four more people in the circle, “I see you’ve brought guests.”

“What?” You raise your brows at him, “We were studying and I wanted a brain break.”

“Sure.” Flash scoffs at you with a smirk as Peter takes a seat next to you, followed by MJ and Gwen.

“You all know how truth or dare works,” Brad Davis announces, grabbing the attention of the small group as he sets down an empty beer bottle in the middle, “Whoever this points to should choose between truth or dare and—“

“We get it, let’s play!” One shouts, earning a glare from Brad before he spins the bottle.

This went on for about half an hour, boisterous laughs echoed and stupid dares were done. Secrets have been spilled and some even shared their own personal struggles in life. You began to loosen up, and so did Peter and MJ, until the tip of the bottle lands on you.

“Dare.” You sucked in a breath in anticipation of the task, an unsettling feeling pooling in your stomach at the way Brad smirked at you. You knew you’d either be scarred for life or be the talk of the school the following week, and you hoped for the latter.

“I dare you,” he taunted, his eyes darting from you to the boy on your right, “to kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

‘Oooh’s and ‘oh shit’s were exchanged as everyone around you except Peter, MJ, and Gwen laughed, already assuming who you’d choose.

“It’s just a dare, MJ.” One laughs, earning a middle finger from the girl herself.

“Pucker up, Parker.” Another teases, and you notice the state of shock Peter was in. He froze, looking at you with panic laced in his eyes as his cheeks turned a bright shade of pink.

“Come on, Y/N, do it!”

You let out a shaky breath before leaning closer to Peter. Closer and closer until you pass him, locking eyes with a beautiful pair of brown ones. You hesitate for a split-second before closing the gap between you and MJ’s soft lips.

The whole room fell silent and everyone’s mouth fell agape. But you were too engrossed with the feel of her lips to notice. And to your absolute liking, MJ kisses back. You were about to move your lips until she pulls away, both your breathing becoming heavy. Peter’s eyes almost bulge out of their sockets, his chest heaving up and down as he stared at the two of you,

“What the fuck?”

#tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fanfiction #peter x mj #peter x reader #peter parker fic #tom holland #tom holland fandom #fanfic #mj #michelle jones #reader #spiderman #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #mj x reader

[slamsams-blog]

A View To A Kill - #24WeeksofBond

This week’s feature is 1985′s “A View To A Kill”.  This would be Roger Moore’s 7th and final Bond performance, and judging by Moore’s appearance in this film, it really was for the best.  Man, am I torn with this one.  I know as a self-proclaimed “Bond Expert” I should hate this movie...take a look at any Bond ranking blog out there and you’ll find the usual suspects rounding out the bottom 5, this film included.  While it definitely has its faults (no pun intended), there is just something so unique and charming about this Bond adventure.  Maybe it’s the horses, maybe it’s the unforgettable May Day character, maybe it’s the Christopher Walken effect, or maybe it’s the way Bond cooks up a killer Quiche...whatever it is, I just can’t help but enjoy myself when I watch this movie.

It all starts with a fun ski chase scene where Bond is out trying to find the body of a missing 003...he finds him and discovers a microchip in his locket.  He must have been on the hunt for Zorin before Bond took over.  Not sure, I may have missed it, but eventually the ski chase scene boils down and Bond picks up a board from his snow mobile that got shot down.  This leads to “California Girls” playing while Bond snow boards his way out of a pickle.  Watching this now - it’s utterly ridiculous and doesn’t quite fit the vibe of the rest of the scene, but when I watched this as a teenager, I absolutely LOVED it and it still brings me back to when I was a kid watching these Bond films for the first time.

We are then treated to a bad ass tune by Duran Duran.  This song is one of my favorites.  When I think of this movie, 2 things pop into my head right away: that California girls scene, and the Duran Duran song.  So far this movie is hitting on all cylinders. 

But before we go on with the plot...let’s talk about the elephant in the room, shall we?  Bond is so uncomfortably old in this movie.  It’s a shame really, this movie has a wonderful plot with amazing characters, incredible action, and a killer score, but the only thing a lot of people take away from it is how old Moore is.  I don’t blame them, Moore is definitely a week past the sell by date here and he is still managing to get intimate with a few women.  Eh, I really hate to say it, but it was a different time I guess.  If Roger Moore had been a little younger or if Dalton had taken over this one...I think this movie would be towards the top of Bond lists everywhere.

Onto the plot...

It turns out this microchip is a copy of a Zorin Microchip that are designed to withstand a nuclear blast.  So Bond is set to find Max Zorin (Christopher Walken) and see if there is anything suspicious.  Well turns out his horses are really good...that’s enough to get a green light from her majesties secret service.  Bond goes to meet some weirdo at the Eifel Tower to talk all things Zorin, but the weirdo gets killed by a poison butterfly toy.  That’s funny to write.  Anyways, now Bond is really on a mission...

The movie continues with Bond going under cover as a super rich and bossy horse buyer with another man from MI6 who is a horse expert.  This part of the movie is just light hearted and fun.  We see Bond bossing “Tibbit” around and schmoozing other party folk, and getting to know all the evil bad guys along the way.  This is where we find out that Zorin inserts these microchips into the horse for an added boost during races.

Not only do we get to admire some beautiful horses, but we also get our first glimpse at Stacy Sutton (Tanya Roberts) who will go on later to be Bond’s helping force in taking Zorin down.  She is seemingly getting a big pay off, for what?  We don’t know yet.  But instead of Bond getting information from her, how Bond usually does, in a steamy hotel on a moonlit night.  Bond finds himself in bed with May Day, and the audience finds themselves uncomfortable with seeing old Moore naked in bed with naked Grace Jones.

Yeah....soooo anyways....

Like with most Bond movies, the plot always starts out rather simple but ends up being something bigger.  Yes, Zorin is cheating to win these horse races, by steroids and microchip injection...but then we also find out that Zorin is an ex-KGB who is now doing his own thing.  And apparently that thing is to destroy Silicon Valley, taking control of the microchip industry.  We never really find out why he needs this, other than having a monopoly.  But, why do you want a monopoly on the microchip business?  Seems rather lame in my opinion, but it’s Zorin, and he’s got his reasons.

We really don’t deserve a Christopher Walken here, but we get him and its wonderful.  Here is something I’ve never picked up before...apparently the old evil guy Hans Glaub was a nazi scientist who experimented with steroids in pregnant women in the concentration camps.  The women who gave birth, gave birth to kids with extremely high IQ’s but were psycho paths, leading Bond to suspect Zorin was a product of that.  NEVER KNEW THAT BACKSTORY UNTIL TONIGHT!  CRAZY! 

Well that definitely explains Walken’s performance.  Christopher Walken does a fantastic job of playing an extremely charming, highly popular public figure, but also a completely sadistic, ruthless killer who finds killing people “neat”.

On top of having Christopher Walken and Grace Jones as the evil tandem, we get to witness some wonderfully absurd action.  We have a Horse riding obstacle course that Bond must complete with 10 guys trying to knock him off; we have a Fire truck chase scene with Bond hanging on the ladder as it’s swinging through on coming traffic; and of course, the final boss battle on top of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Some pretty awesome stuff here...but man is Roger Moore old.

Not only is this Roger Moore’s last Bond movie, it’s also the swan song for the best Moneypenny ever...Lois Maxwell - who had served as the Bond flirting secretary to M since the very first Bond movie.  Lois had a wonderful career in the Bond series, but she too was getting old.  It only seemed fitting that she and Moore go out at the same time to bring in some young blood.

Despite Moore’s age, and yes I know I’m beating a dead horse (that was an intended pun), but this movie does all it can to make up for it.  There are so many memorable scenes in this film where I simply cannot in good conscious give this movie a bad review.  I would definitely put this movie in a solid place in the middle of the pack, but not bottom 5, I mean come on, Christopher Walken alone moves the movie up 6 spots.  

This really was fun to watch tonight.  What did you all think?  Let me know!

Reviews from Friends:

Dan Perch

Bond as St. John Smythe has to be my favorite fake name😂 Walken and Grace Jones were such a cool team to watch!

My Mom

Omg Sam this was the best bond movie and a fantastic write up on your blog. I laughed so hard at your commentary. You have the makings of a professional critic. You just have to fix that “anyways” habit. I can now see how you boys got addicted to Bond. I would put this brisk and boisterous film way up near the top. My gosh you should at the very least give it another half star. I loved it.

Andrew Albertsen

This was always one of my favorites

Jake Benrud

I had some of the same thoughts about this movie! "California Girls"? Really? I also don't think that Bond's knees could take those jumps at his age. It does make it kind of a fun scene though. I have had the "A View to a Kill" song stuck in my head all week. It's one of my favorite Bond songs as well. I also enjoyed the twang of the electric guitar with the 80's version of James Bond Theme song in the action sequences. Grace Jones as May Day was great. It was kind of funny to see the death by the poison butterfly on a fishing pole. I must have missed the connection on how the Nazi scientist who did experiments with steroids in pregnant women ended up being a father-figure to Zorin. Also, how did he become a KGB agent if he was the product of a Nazi experiment? I guess he could have jumped ship to the next "evil empire." Walken played the part well. I liked his laugh just before plummeting to his death.

24 Weeks of Bond will return next Monday with - 

Goldeneye

#24WeeksofBond #roger moore #christopher walken #a view to a kill #james bond #grace jones

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 8 - SOMETHING OLD SOMETHING NEW

WARNING: LONG RANT INCOMING

I got two very nice comments from The Evil Author on FFN and wanted to reply but couldn't cuz he's got the PM feature turned off. So, here are my replies. They contain info that you all would probably like to see.

First of all, thank you for reading and reviewing!

Second, yes, there are discrepancies between the canon and this fic, and I won't claim that this fic is set in canon. I misremembered some information from Spiderverse when writing this fic, before Netflix posted it. Three major differences come to mind:

1. In the movie, Miles was at Visions Academy for at least a couple months before Gwen showed up. In this fic, he shows up at roughly the same time that she does. Changing this element to make it canon would affect little to none of the plot.

2. In the movie, Kingpin's collider is at the basement of his penthouse, and the Alchemax facility is located a considerable distance away. It doesn't hold a collider. In this fic, the Alchemax facility is where the original collider is, and it's considerably closer, only about twenty minutes away as the spider swings. (The new one will be at Kingpin's penthouse.) Changing this element to make it canon would affect the plot pretty significantly. (E.g. how would Gwen know to be at Alchemax at the time at which Miles and Peter B. are there?)

3. In the movie, the spiders recognise each other upon first glance, or even when they are near each other, like when Gwen is at her locker and Miles passes behind her. (This is, however, not incredibly consistent, as the B-Team doesn't recognise the others until after their introductions are over.) In this fic, Spider-Pete doesn't recognise Gwen as a fellow spider when they meet face-to-face. Changing this element to canon would probably affect the plot.

And finally, I shall never abandon this fic. It will be completed, come hell or high water.

Thanks to everybody who has bore (beared? borne? boreded?) with me through these past few months. I hope the schedule slips haven't impeded your enjoyment of the fic. As always, enjoy!

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Gwen looked down at the two startled spidermen, sizing them up.

SOMETHING OLD SOMETHING NEW

That could mean any number of confusing, conflicting things. She decided to judge them only on the basis of what she could see.

The spiderman on the left was dressed in the exact same style of suit that Spider-Pete had worn. However, he was wearing sweatpants and no shoes and otherwise looked considerably less dignified. (Of course, that could have been because he was trussed up like a snared insect.)

The one on the right was smaller and younger-looking. He wore a cheap Spiderman costume and basketball shoes and had dark skin. Could he be Miles?

"Gwanda?"

Yep, definitely Miles.

"It's Gwen, actually."

The guy on the left spoke up. He sounded like Spider-Pete, except his throat sounded like it was filled with sand. "Oh, so you know her. That's cool."

"Long story short, we met in school."

"The long story can wait. Are you gonna let us down?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I don't know, would you rather stay here?"

"Okay, enough sarcasm. Let us go."

She obligingly leaped to the higher branches and yanked the weblines free. Anti-Spider-Pete and Miles both plummeted to the ground.

It couldn't hurt to show off a bit more.

She tossed the computer to Miles, then dove backwards out of the treetop, intending to shoot a webline and slowly descend to the snowy surface.

JAMMED FINGERS

Rats. She'd forgotten to repair her webshooters last night.

Of course, both of Gwen's gloves misfired, and she plummeted headfirst to the ground. Served her right for trying to show off.

"You okay, man?" asked Miles, handing the computer back to Anti-Spider-Pete.

"That was completely intentional."

Anti-Spider-Pete nodded. "Sure it was."

Gwen smacked her gloves against her leg and dusted the snow off of her suit. "Let's get going before Alchemax shows up with bigger guns. Where are you guys headed?"

Anti-Spider-Pete shrugged. "Uh, I dunno, someplace where we can make another goober?"

Gwen blinked, then nodded. It was best to just play along. "Okay, I'm coming with."

"I, uh, I like your haircut," said Miles, his eyes looking anywhere but at her haircut.

Gwen furrowed her brow. "You don't get to like it. C'mon, let's go."

She took off, Anti-Spider-Pete hot on her heels.

Miles muttered, "How many other spider-people are there?"

"Save it for Comic-Con." Anti-Spider-Pete webbed the back of Miles' shirt and yanked him along for the ride.

What was Comic-Con? Was it like DashCon?

"Where are we headed?" asked Gwen.

"The bus station. We gotta find a lab or something."

Gwen was not opposed to the idea of taking the bus instead of using her dysfunctional webshooters, but she didn't know why Anti-Spider-Pete would do so.

"Why the bus?"

"'Cuz it's less exhausting. Plus, Miles isn't too good at this spider business."

Miles, still dangling from Anti-Spider-Pete's webline, nodded reluctantly.

Gwen nodded. Her suspicions were correct. Miles had gotten his powers very recently, possibly after she had arrived at Visions Academy. No wonder her spider-sense wasn't triggered as strongly by his presence in the beginning.

Speaking of which, there was a constant faint buzzing at the nape of her neck. Was it just because, as was repeatedly said, Anti-Spider-Pete and Miles were like her? Or was something more sinister at play here?

There was only one way to find out.

The bus station wasn't far from Alchemax. A small concrete terrace with a glass roof stood 80 yards from the parking lot. Anti-Spider-Pete and Miles ran to pick up two coats that had been unceremoniously discarded on the ground not far away.

Darn it. Gwen had left her street clothes in Alchemax. Well, it didn't matter at this point. She still had the school uniform at Visions, at least.

They all pulled off their masks and boarded a bus. Miles dumped a handful of spare change into the farebox. The bus driver muttered something about "nutty cosplayers".

Serendipitously, the bus was nearly empty, aside for the bus driver and a half-asleep middle-aged man at the front.

Was Anti-Spider-Pete actually named Peter? He looked enough like him, except he was older. Much older. Definitely a lot worse for wear. His nose looked like it had been broken and re-healed at least a dozen times. He also had a fading black eye and a five-o-clock shadow. At least his hair was brown. That was normal.

"What's your name?" Gwen asked.

"I'm Miles," said Miles.

"I know your name. I don't know his." Gwen gestured to Anti-Spider-Pete.

"My name's Peter B. Parker."

"Specifically with the B?"

Anti-Spider-Pete shrugged. "Yeah. The B stands for B-"

"You know what, it doesn't matter," Gwen interrupted. "Nice to meet you."

"You too. What's your full name again?"

"Gwen Stacy."

Peter B. blinked, and his smirk vanished. Coincidentally, the bus passed into a tunnel.

Why had her name turned his countenance so sour? Was it… wait. That was the same reaction that she had had upon seeing Spider-Pete for the first time.

Gwen decided to lighten the mood. "Or, if you're my dad when he's angry, it's GWENDOLYN MAXINE STACY, GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT AND EXPLAIN WHY YOU WALKED IN HERE AT MIDNIGHT WITH TWO BLACK EYES AND A LIMP!" Gwen switched to the best impersonation of her dad that she could manage.

Miles laughed. Peter B. cracked a grin, though he still seemed uneasy, even wistful.

"What was it like?" asked Miles. "I mean, like, what was it like back in your dimension?"

"Well, uh, I've been Spider-Woman for the past 2 years."

Gwen mentally facepalmed. She was Ghost Spider now. Old habits were hard to break.

"And yeah, normal superhero stuff happened. Saved my dad. Joined a band. I don't know if that's normal, but still. But…"

Gwen hesitated. She needed to mention the really important moment, the moment that had truly kicked off her superhero career. But she couldn't bring herself to talk about it. She was supposed to forget about it! She couldn't just… tell people about it!

"... I couldn't save… my best friend. So, now I save everyone else. And I don't do friends anymore. You know, to avoid distractions."

Gwen parenthetically wondered if "everyone else" included herself. No, she was too far gone. She was a ghost. But back to the story.

"Then I got sucked into this portal, and it sent me here. I got blown into last week. Literally.

"Long story short, I got arrested, broke out of jail, beat up a gang, found my way to Visions Academy, impersonated a Russian, stole government files, broke into Alchemax, got sedated by Doc Ock, broke out of Alchemax, got a new haircut, broke into Alchemax again, broke in a third time, and now I'm here."

Miles and Peter B. stared at her.

"Could you say that again, but slower?" asked Miles.

Gwen facepalmed. "Okay, long story even shorter, my spider-sense told me to go to Visions Academy. Then I met you there."

"Oh. That's cool."

"So, uh, Peter, how 'bout you?"

She was genuinely interested in hearing about Peter B.'s experiences. Maybe he would hint at why her name made him so sad.

Peter B. sighed, as though he was sick of telling his origin story. "Where I'm from, for the past 22 years, I've been the one and only Spiderman. Pretty sure you know the rest. I saved the city, fell in love, saved it again, got married, saved it some more, maybe too much. Had some marital issues, made a couple dicey money choices. Never invest in a spider-themed restaurant.

"Then you know, typical superhero stuff over the next few years, kept saving the city, broke my back, a drone flew into my face. I buried Aunt May. My wife and I split up… but I handled it like a champ."

Peter B. started blinking hard to suppress his tears.

"Did you know that seahorses mate for life? I mean, can you just imagine being a seahorse and seeing another seahorse and making it work?

"She wanted kids. I… It scared me.

"Well, all of a sudden, I got pulled through this real weird portal thing one day. And weird things happen to me a lot, but this was really weird. Like, really. What was even weirder was that here, I was dead. And blond. Dunno why. Maybe I should dye my hair."

Miles chuckled a little. "Hey, wait a minute. What if Spiderman from here had dyed hair? I mean, think about it. He dyed, and then he died. You know?"

Gwen and Peter B. blinked.

"Yeah, that wasn't funny," said Peter B. He leaned back and rested his feet on the seats on the other side of the aisle.

"Okay, maybe a little. Good try," countered Gwen. "So, uh, what's your plan now?"

"We're gonna make another one of these," said Miles. He lifted a broken flash drive out of his pocket and held it out. "It's an override key, for the collider."

"A goober," corrected Peter B.

A what?

"Yeah, a goober, whatever. But Peter broke it."

Gwen examined the flash drive. "He did?"

"Yeah, but keep that between you and me." Miles switched to a confidential whisper. "He's embarrassed about it."

Gwen could have heard Peter B.'s eye roll from three counties over. She chuckled.

RELATIVE CHAOS

"Hang on, I think I know a place where we might be able to get help." She handed the "goober" back to Miles, who stowed it away.

"To make another goober?"

"Yeah. I hope so. Probably."

Gwen pulled out her notebook and flipped through it until she found Mrs. Parker's address. She tore out the page and handed it to Peter B. "This is the place."

"Neat. Then here's where we'll go."

After a minute of slightly awkward silence, Miles said, "Uh, I'm... sorry about your friend."

"Don't worry about it," Gwen replied. "But thanks."

That was nice of him. Miles seemed like a nice kid. Awkward and goofy, perhaps, but nice. Confused and weirded out by his powers, for sure, but nice nevertheless. Quite the opposite of herself. At least he had help. The poor kid deserved help.

"I know how hard it is, having to figure all this stuff out on your own," she said.

"Yeah, it's nice not being the only spider-person around."

"Definitely."

Miles hesitated before continuing. "You… wanna take a selfie or something? You know, two spider-people from different dimensions chilling together? In the same dimension?"

Gwen grinned. "Yeah, why not?"

She lifted her phone. She and Miles smiled for the camera.

"Wait, can I-" Peter B. started to say.

The camera clicked.

"C'mon! I wanted to be in it!" groaned Peter B.

"I mean, you're in the selfie. Just not your face. And, you know," Gwen smirked. "That might be a good thing."

Peter B. heaved a sigh. "Teenagers are the worst," he muttered under his breath.

"So now, like, how are you gonna get the picture to me?" asked Miles. "Can… uh… can I have your number?"

"Uh, I dunno if that'll work. You know, this phone's from another dimension and all that. So… huh." Gwen pressed her hand to her forehead and thought.

"Just air-drop it to each other," said Peter B.

Miles and Gwen exchanged a look. "What's air-drop?" they asked simultaneously.

"You're Gen-Z-ers, and you don't know what air… right. Different universe. Here." Peter B. sighed and sat upright. "I'll show you how it works."

Gwen hadn't realised how embarrassing it was to be taught how to use technology by a guy who was probably old enough to be her dad. Spoiler alert: it was very embarrassing.

Miles hesitated for a moment, looking back and forth between the photo on his phone and Gwen. "Uh, if you ever want to do friends again, I'll keep a slot open."

Gwen froze.

She wasn't going to open up to Miles. Not so soon. Not here. Not now. Not yet.

At the same time, she did get lonely. Not that she would ever admit it.

He was a nice guy. He wouldn't make a bad friend.

No. Not a chance. Gwen wasn't going to open up just so she could get hurt again. Or hurt someone else again.

"I'll... keep you posted."

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#spidergwen #spider gwen #spider-gwen #gwen stacy #ghost spider #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #fanfiction #fic #fanfic #stranded #stranded fanfic #long post #marvel #writers on tumblr

[wearebadcode]

‘What lies ahead’

An Apocalypse!AU one-shot inspired by Frank Turner’s ‘Brave face’ and ‘21st century survival blues’ songs. I might expand it at some point -prequel(s) inclusive 😊 Hope you like it!

Oh. If you wanna expand this into a vivid whole experience, you might wanna go to @icarli profile to check this AU aesthetic. It’s awesome!

Autumn had already set in. The always colorful Atlanta was now painted in a bright yellow, orange, red and brown chromatic color scheme. The fall sunlight reflected over the bright woody colors, filling the air with some kind of orange, red sky lights. Soaking in Atlanta's fall colors by walking through the streets of the wooded city was quite an experience. Streets were flooded with trees leaves and roads got foggy as temperature plummeted.

But it was on that autumn when the spooky atmosphere vibe was spookier than ever. The spookiest Chloe remembered since the outbreak.

The city, the state, and supposedly the whole country -maybe the whole world by now- collapsed to their core when this weird and contagious epidemic virus began spreading. The virus was lethal and its consequences, ruthless and savage. Fever, followed by delirium, was the first symptom for the virus to appear. Then and once the blood and internal tissue got infected, the quick and aggressive degradation process of the body began. Rotting was what awaited the bodies in the virus' final stage. Dead tissue. Body decomposition. Death. But a living one, quite paradoxically -which was even worse than death itself.

The first corpse Chloe ever saw was a year and a half ago, on the Atlanta tv news, at their home at Barden campus. When it all began. When they were all still together. When all of them were alive.

But that was then. This was now. What was left of them. Their now. A savage world that became a constant and raw reminder of the things they had to left behind, the family who was no longer by their side. A world in which they had to keep living, reminding and honoring the(ir) fallen ones. That was their ultimate goal: survival.

It was early morning now, the sun was rising. Chloe was sitting on a roof of a house in the middle of nowhere -fog and trees surrounding it. She was now focusing on some corpses who were sleep-walking here and there. The sounds those things made were disgusting -guttural, throaty; as if something inside of what was left of the corpses' vocal chords had ripped. The smell was indescribable.

Chloe, then, heard a sound behind her -she had always her guard up due to the nature of the actual world. The redhead turned her head then her body, prepared to drive her waist-knife into whatever creature. But she recoiled as soon as she saw a familiar figure approaching towards her.

"Hey, sleepyhead" Chloe said, smiling. "I didn't wanna wake you up, so I figured-"

"-you'd be up here by yourself, yeah. I figure that out, too" Beca said softly as she smiled and placed a kiss on Chloe's forehead, before she sat down by the redhead's side. "Couldn't sleep?".

"Not really" Chloe whispered as she placed her head over Beca's left shoulder. "I keep having nightmares now and then. It's been such a rough month...".

October began just like every month. They weren't all alive, they're fewer then -but they're still six of them left alive: Stacie, Flo, Emily, Aubrey, Beca and Chloe. Things were quiet for a while, but they eventually lost Flo and Stacie, who got bitten. A herd of corpses surprised the two women when they're scavenging a few miles away from the house they all were set. 

Flo was caught by the herd. Stacie was close -she got bitten trying to get Flo out, but she couldn't do anything. So the tall one ran out instead and eventually made it to the house. By the end of the month, only four of them were still alive -they had to put Flo out of her misery, rejecting the idea of seeing her friend turn; and Stacie pretty much rejected that idea too when she asked their friends to end her due to her fatal infection. Emily, Aubrey, Beca and Chloe were the only Bellas left alive.

"I've always hated October, but dude... This one's been by far the most hateful... Oh, I brought this in case you were wanting to cup under it?" Beca asked, as she began unfurling a blanket.

"Mmm" Chloe nodded in response. Once they were covered by the blanket, both women looked at each other and shared a smile.

"It only takes me a couple of seconds to forget all of this apocalypse situation by looking into these bright blue eyes of yours, you know that?" Beca said, smiling broadly at Chloe, who was doing the same. The redhead's response came as a kiss on her best friend's lips, who brought her left arm around Chloe's shoulders to brought her closer.

"Yeah, this apocalypse totes sucks" said Chloe, as soon as their kiss broke. Both women rested their foreheads against each other's for a while.

"Come here" Beca whispered tenderly, leaning Chloe towards her; who resumed her position and placed her head back over Beca's left shoulder -the redhead's right arm around the brunette's waist.

"Look at these things... Rotten inside and out... Who would ever want to live like that?" Chloe asked, rhetorically, after a minutes of silence.

"I know. I still have their faces on my mind... I-I just can't un-picture them. It isn't fair that some of us get to live and some of us have to live like... that..." Beca said, pointing to the sleepy-walking corpses. "It isn't fair that we have to keep watching our friends die and then kill them by droving something into their brains, and keep seeing their rotten faces, and keep dreaming about it... It's-"

"-exhaustingly raw, I know. But none of this is fair. It's not fair we have to keep living like this. As if none of us had these tremendous burdens to bear, such as knowing only two of our friends are left alive... Nothing of this is fair at all. To none of us".

"Dude, how did we get used to all of this? Losing friends, losing a part of ourselves every time we had to watch them die... I've never been the crying type, but I feel like I got no tears left to cry. It's... weird".

"I was thinking about that just when you came up here... I guess it's due to how things are now. This world... Everything's rotten, everything's... There's no hope left. We can't think about anything nice nor nicer, because-"

"-nothing is" Beca mumbled with a shadow in her voice.

"Every day is a repetition of yesterday. We keep circling around. On an endless loop. But hey, we gotta keep trying, Bec".

"Keep moving, keep surviving. Yeah, I know the deal. It's just difficult".

"We're gonna stand up at some point, you'll see. We got Emily and Aubrey. And... we got us" Chloe said, as she squeezed Beca by her waist.

"What I see is how this shitty apocalypse is making you braver, tougher and stronger" now was Beca the one who squeezed Chloe's shoulders.

"Oh, but someone had already taught me how to be that strong through the years..." Chloe winked while looking into Beca's eyes.

"You mean Aubrey?".

"Oh, totes!" Chloe joked, and she and Beca chuckled -they'd been keep treasuring these rare, unique and intimate moments for themselves only; the only thing it keep them from falling apart with the world. Then, both women leant into each other and shared a soft, intimate kiss. Once the kiss came to a natural end, they both stared deeply at each other's eyes -getting lost into them, smiling broadly to one another.

"I'd have fallen apart months ago if we weren't... You know..." Beca then whispered.

"I also thought about that, you know? When you found me here I was just thinking about the things we all lost, but also... This had me thinking about the things we have now. Our now. Us. I mean, it probably is the highest price to pay for us to finally be together but I-I'm happy?".

"I'm happy too, Chlo -if we are even allowed to say that... Good thing we stayed up that night, huh?".

"Definitely. I mean, don't misunderstand me. I'm really happy Aubrey and Emily are here with us, and you know that I'd do anything to bring back all the Bellas that couldn't make it, but the truth is I-I-"

"-just need you" Beca and Chloe both said in unison. They kept smiling as they remained in silence for a while, until Chloe broke the ice.

"You remember what you said to me that night? When we first heard about the outbreak?".

"Every single one of them, but which one are you referring to?".

"The one about everyone's need to have an anchor? Which was pretty cute, honestly".

"Ooh. That one, yeah..." Beca blushed a little.

"You're sooooo cute when you blush. What I meant earlier is you were right. Everyone needs an anchor, especially in a post-apocalyptic shitty world. I know that now, 'cause I also know I'd rather turn into one of those things than be alone out here. Without you".

"Aw, Chlo. Be careful, 'cause if my heart explodes I'll be the one who turns into one of those things...".

"Oh, shut up".

"You're right, though. No one who's alone in this would ever survive, because what's the point in surviving if you're just surviving alone. Right?".

Beca and Chloe, then, hugged one another and resumed their positions so they were all cuddled up under the blanket, holding one another into the cold autumn morning while the sun was setting. They faced the horizon ahead of them, looking through the city they once considered their home. Looking at the unknown that lied ahead and beyond -hoping for a new normal; wishing, maybe, for some kind of a new hope.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #apocalypse!au #what lies ahead #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect #pp2 #21st century survival blues #brave face #frank turner #frankturner!universe

[queenmabscherzo]

DVD commentary - Targeting, Ch. 26

this is the second part of the chapter. i didn’t want to do all the post-game interviews and stuff, i mean, that is what it is. but i really like talking about the boys :’) so for the anon who requested chapter 26, here’s most of it:

Winning is a hell of a drug. And the crash? That's apocalyptic.

It starts during the trip to the hotel, the mundane reality of a bus ride that reminds Steve—it's not Hollywood, here. (obv this is a reference to big sports movies, which would end with the championship or whatever, but also any time i can make an MCU reference and like tap on the 4th wall, that’s fun.)

It all feels so big when you're standing in the middle of the stadium, in the middle of 70,000 fans and 4000-watt LEDs (i looked up “stadium lights” btw, which is one of those dumbass things that you feel like you have to research and then reread it a year later and ur like “oh ok lmao”), but when you drive away, when you watch the horizon and the dark night sky swallow that stadium right up, it doesn't feel as big anymore. It already feels like two lines of text on the NCAA Wikipedia page. (the best moments always go by too fast, don’t they, Steve) (luckily he’s got more best moments yet to come)

And now that his mind is reeling back to the dirt and the desert, all Steve can think about is Bucky's glassy eyes. He wracks his brain, running through their conversation over and over so he won't forget: something about hurting Steve, something about forgetting phone numbers, checking on Sam Wilson, (bucky rly cared a lot about sam, ngl. Protective Bucky Barnes made it a personal goal not to let freshman phenom Sam Wilson get hurt IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER)

I love you.

Steve taps his foot incessantly through the drive to the hotel. (in retrospect i should have made a parallel between this bus and the high school bus hnng) The rest of the bus rocks with three different group chants and a tuneless rendition of "We Will Rock You" that the white boys must have started. (mannnnn i remember sports buses ……. I remember in middle school one of our fav bus songs was “stacy’s mom” …)

Steve texts Bucky a simple You okay?, but doesn't expect a response and doesn't get one.

When they finally reach the hotel, Steve's internal systems are going haywire. The euphoria of victory has nosedived, but he started so high in the atmosphere it's becoming hard to breath—the imbalance of oxygen—all the meters in the cockpit spin out of control—(speaking of mcu references) he just wants to know if Bucky is okay. He just wants Bucky to be okay.

So Steve's pretty much delirious when they enter the hotel, split into groups, and go their separate ways. He drifts onto an elevator with Sam and the Bradleys. When they reach their floor, Steve turns down the hall for his room on autopilot—then stops in his tracks.

There is a man in black leaning against his doorframe. The corridor is empty except for this dark motionless figure with a duffel bag strapped to his back. Steve is suddenly very conscious of his breathing.

(in early drafts of targeting, i sent bucky to the hospital at the end of the game. Not like in a Serious way, just in a precautionary way. he just hurt his head so they might as well get it checked out, right. in the early drafts, i had steve and his teammates visit bucky IN the hospital. i considered Rumlow being there, or pierce being there. I also considered Steve punching Rumlow for being gross. But yeah. Hospital. That lasted in the drafts for a long time, actually. It’s not a bad idea, but it’s logistically hard wrt getting him out of the hospital, and like, has more serious implications than necessary. I’m all about hurt/comfort but i didnt wanna beat bucky up too bad.)(and obviously the hotel room is ……. GREAT)

A voice sounds from behind Steve: "Did Eli lock himself out again?" (AGAIN!!!) (I wanna know that story lmfao)

Steve's friends all laugh. (steve does not laugh. He knows who it is already. nerd.)

"I'm right here!" Eli protests from the back of the group.

"That's not Eli," Steve whispers, pace accelerating—heart accelerating. He breaks away from his teammates and strides down the hall, like tripping, like falling, like pointing the nose of the plane straight toward the earth. Like plummeting forward and just barely catching himself with every step. (one time i had a coach describe “running” as “falling forward and catching yourself” and idk how i feel about that metaphor in practicality but it sure works right here lmao)

The dark figure looks up as Steve approaches, but doesn't move.

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky's waist and kisses him on the lips. (we all KNEW who it was right? It’s one of those surprises u know is gonna happen but you still can’t wait to see it)

Numbness starts to creep up his limbs—probably from the buckets of adrenaline careening through his bloodstream, a fire and flood (thank u @ vance joy) every fifteen minutes since the game started. But God, his heart is so big, right now, so loud and so real. If any heart could take it, it's Steve's.

What kind of kiss.

Steve has never kissed anyone like this. A direct line to all the empty spaces in his chest.

(this is the third time they’ve kissed, now. The first time being when bucky was freaking out in his hotel room a couple weeks ago, and pretended it didnt happen. The second time was in millenium park, aka steve’s christmas present to bucky lol. And of course, a lot happened between that kiss and this one. I’d like to think they both changed, as people, even.)

(have you ever been caught off guard by an incredible kiss when you were the one giving it???? Maybe that’s just me, because i’m so casual and careless at all times. But have you ever gone in for a kiss and Meant it, but still the other person doubles down and gangs up on you somehow? That’s this kiss. That’s this kiss for steve. Steve is like, “there’s nothing left to say, i just have to show him”; and bucky is like … still kind of thinking every kiss with steve could be his last. So he gives it all he’s got. I guess. Idk if i’m describing it v well but. What kind of kiss.)

All of Bucky is so strong: (OH YEAH that’s also rly important, i cannot stress how fucking Strong bucky is and how much i love him for it) (besides the fact that he’s been through so much and survived it all …. He’s still GOOD.) (STOP im gonna cry about bucky barnes for a bit) Steve can feel it under his lips and under his fingertips, the molten resilience warm and dormant under Bucky's skin. Steve presses harder and leans closer. He can't get close enough. His hands press into Bucky's spine, and he still can't get close enough. He opens his mouth and Bucky sighs and draws him in and he still can't get close enough.

One of his teammates whistles. Steve and Bucky don't let it stop them, this time. (oh don’t worry, i did not forget about the other boys, those poor poor babies. Isaiah is probably like :o and Eli is probably grinning and like smacking his brother on the arm until it bruises. Sam is prob the one who whistled.)

Steve's body systems are all rebooting. He can't feel anything that isn't in contact with Bucky—which is fine—that's perfect, he doesn't need anything else—

Then Bucky touches him, and Steve sucks in a sharp breath through his nose. (have you ever kissed someone and just forgot they had hands until they USE THEM??) (anyway) Bucky's hands come to rest on his face, leaving fingerprints on Steve's jaw, like lavender and cirrus clouds. His hands slide behind Steve's neck, and his fingers thread through his hair. He finds the dimple at the base of Steve's skull and whimpers.

Steve has no idea what his own hands are doing. (LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!) (they on bucky’s butt!!!!!!! I’m joking, they’re WHEREVER YOU WANT THEM TO BE.) He can't focus on more than one thing, and right now, that one thing is the feel of Bucky's bottom lip under his own.

He can't get close enough. He presses in for more contact, from knees to navel to sternum. He backs Bucky into the wall, and he can feel the jolt when his fingers are trapped between Bucky's jacket and the wallpaper. (a jolt!!! He prob was a little forceful …………… *eyes emoji*)

Bucky breaks the kiss and hisses and presses both hands to Steve's chest.

Horror washes over Steve. "What's wrong?!"

Bucky grimaces. "Sorry," he pants, eyes fixed on Steve's mouth.

"What—no, don't be—what's wrong?" He steps back, but keeps his hands on Bucky's waist in case he needs—anything. Support? What's wrong?

"Sorry. It's…" Bucky swallows. His eyes flicker. Steve can see the faint green of a lingering bruise near the bridge of his nose. "Dislocated shoulder." (in early drafts, this was a collapsed lung. In retrospect, that’s prob because it might have required the hospitalization. I think the shoulder injury is more … symmetrical, tho.)

Beat.

"You—you have a dislocated shoulder?"

"Wait, you what?" That would be Eli, stepping closer, eyes wide. (athletic trainer eli!)

"Well." Bucky looks down again. "It's relocated now." (thanks buck. Thank you for that elaboration.)

"When did it happen?" Steve asks.

"That—when me and Wilson went up for that deep pass. And landed on top of each other."

(“Bucky and Sam both go up for the ball; it twirls off their fingertips; they tangle in mid-air, and they both go down hard. Steve jogs toward them, heartstrings strumming dominant chords in his bloodstream.

Sam Wilson gets up first, moving stiffly, both hands on his lower back. When Steve offers him a hand, he waves it off even while he winces. Steve glances downfield. Bucky's teammates are helping him to his feet and stuffing his shoulder pad back into his uniform.”)

Steve wracks his brain. "On the last play?"

"No," Bucky says. His eyes dart between Steve and each of his teammates. "Before. We were winning. It was a go route."

It's all kind of a blur in Steve's memory: images of Sam Wilson in deep coverage, Bucky lining up as a safety, zone reads, go routes, post routes, slant routes. He can remember Sam tumbling down on the sidelines, and something occurs to him: "Was it the fight?"

"No," Bucky answers, and Sam speaks at the same time: (<3)

"No," Sam says, staring at Bucky, a nauseated expression curling his lip. (because that play was … A LONG time ago) "No, it was in the third quarter. Right after halftime," he clarifies, and everyone knows he is right.

Steve begins to feel a strange, localized ache in the hinge of his jaw. "You played the whole second half with a dislocated shoulder?"

Bucky shrugs. And then winces. (he’s sO CUTE. and dumb. BUT CUTE.)

"Holy shit," Isaiah breathes.

"I mean, we popped it back in, first," Bucky backtracks.

"Still," Eli hisses, then leaps into action. "No wonder it hurts—Steve Rogers and the kiss of death, over here." (tbh i thought of this joke before i even decided on an injury lmfao.)(i am not funny.)

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Eli talks over him. "Come on, come inside, I have a couple ice packs in the freezer." (ELI IS SUCH A DAD™!!!!!) Eli fumbles with the key-card and shepherds Bucky into their room. Once they're inside, he relieves him of his duffel bag—working carefully around his left shoulder—and shoves it at Sam without looking, then guides Bucky onto the end of a bed. Once he is settled, Eli turns to rummage through their mini-fridge. "Steve, grab me one of our hand-towels, yeah?" he orders.

Steve does so. When he returns from the bathroom, he stops in his tracks. Bucky is perched on the edge of Steve's bed, a little wide-eyed, but calm. Eli hovers over him, inspecting Bucky's shoulder. Sam sneaks the duffel (i only included this fucking duffel bag so bucky could sneak his Secret Documents into Steve’s room lmfao)(and so Sam could make the “overnight bag” joke tbh.) next to the TV, then catches Steve's eye and shakes his head, clearly trying not to smile.

The entire tableau punches all the air out of Steve's lungs. (same) (obv i really wanted steve’s friends to accept bucky, and i’m nothing if not Dramatic. so. Here we are)

Steve eases onto the corner of the empty bed. Eli doesn't even acknowledge him, his focus trained on Bucky. "They check you out?" he asks as he prods the left side of Bucky's back with well-trained fingers.

Bucky nods. He gazes at Eli the way you might gaze at someone who speaks to you in a different language, but nevertheless does so very earnestly. (i mean it’s safe to say bucky NEVER expected a reaction like this, not only because his own coaches/staff aren’t this nice, but also bc like, these guys are his rivals, lmao) (and he also is prob thinking about what a dick he was to Steve a week ago)

Eli tugs at the collar of Bucky's windbreaker and asks if he can remove it. Bucky lets him help without speaking and without moving his left arm much. Once the jacket is gone, Eli has better access to Bucky's torso.

"Hospital?" Eli asks.

Bucky shakes his head. (LOL)

"Broken ribs, too?"

Bucky nods. (ok ok ok . i worked very hard not to let eli fall into a trope where he just existed to “take care of bucky”. Because i wanted him to rly be the character who cared about sports medicine and … about PEOPLE. So i established it earlier, with steve, with sam, with his major, with his brother, with his kids, everything. And he really knows what he’s DOING. he sat down with bucky for like a single minute, and could tell he had loose tissue and broken ribs around the relocated shoulder. And he’s made something of himself, here, of caring about people. He’s cared about his brother for years, when no one else cared, and now he’s gonna make a living taking care of hurt athletes. I also think it … kind of fits with comics!eli, who was such a sweet bean and just wanted to be a good superhero and live up to his grandpa. I rly rly rly absurdly love eli bradley, guys.) (also contrast him with steve, who wants to take care of people but has no idea what he’s doing; isaiah, who has a good heart but isn’t good at showing it; and sam, a good friend who’s a big goof.)

"Did they scan you?" Eli goes on, and doesn't wait for an answer. "There's loose tissue, I think. Can you lift your arm?"

"Not really," Bucky says, and proceeds to lift his arm (LMAO YOU ASS). He almost makes a ninety-degree angle.

"I mean, I haven't seen the scans or nothing," Eli says, and sounds genuinely sorry for it, "But I think there's some kind of tissue damage. Maybe not torn, but ... Can't believe they didn't take you to the hospital."

"We have doctors," Bucky says dumbly.

Eli dismisses that with a wave. "Did they give you anything?"

Bucky blinks.

Eli beckons for the towel, which Steve hands over. "Any drugs?" Eli clarifies.

Bucky huffs, a small sour sound that could be laughter. "You'll have to be more specific."

Steve, Sam, Isaiah, and Eli all stare at Bucky.

Steve thinks back to the NAC Championship Game. "Pump me with enough drugs, and even I can't tell I'm injured." It could mean so many things. Even at American State, players take shots to stave off the pain long enough for a football game. Sam Wilson comes to mind, and his small doses of painkillers and muscle relaxants to alleviate the back spasms. (if you’re into that kind of thing, meaning semi-unpleasant-medical-commentary, look up “toradol shots” and “football” and some articles are more biased than others but yeah, it’s sketchy either way.)

But Bucky sounds so angry. It's the tone of voice that draws Steve's imagination to dark places.

Eli is the first to recover. He holds up the ice pack, now wrapped in a towel. "I mean anti-inflammatories," Eli explains, "or something to knock you out overnight."

Bucky accepts the ice pack. He turns it over between his hands. He looks thoughtful. He picks at a stray thread on the towel. He doesn't speak.

Sensing the toxic discomfort in the room, Steve is about to step in when Isaiah clears his throat.

"So his arm's not gonna fall off or nothing?"

Eli blinks, then ducks his head. "I mean, he said it hurt," he says sheepishly.

"You ain't have to assault him and force him to strip," Isaiah points out. (isaiah is really a big sweetheart, he just doesn’t express himself well lol.)

"I don't mind," Bucky mumbles.

Sam interrupts, then. "So what do we call you?" (and sam is ……  sam.)

Bucky and Steve both stare at him, mouths open.

"You know," Sam explains. "Do you go by … James? Or Barnes? Can I call you Bucky, or is that like a pet name? 'Property of Steve Rogers' or whatever?" Steve blushes. "Or do you prefer the Winter Soldier?"

"Anything but that."

"Bucky Bear?"

Bucky snorts. "Nice ring to it."

"But really," Sam says, smiling now. "I'm gonna hack into Steve's phone and steal your number so I can send you a ton of pictures of me with the trophy. (this is true, and definitely definitely happens.) (except the part where sam hacks into steves phone. He just gets buckys number. Hes not shy, pls.) So. What name do I save you under?"

"... Bucky's fine," he replies with a bemused half-smile.

Steve gazes at him. There is a perfect ache in his chest, like too much color bursting inside and not enough space.

"… out of it. Earth to Steve Rogers." (ISAIAH!!!!)

He snaps back to the present when he hears Isaiah speaking. "I'm—what?"

Sam cackles, which Steve thinks is pretty unfair, since it's his fault Bucky just knocked all the air out of Steve's lungs.

"Maybe we should go," Eli says gently.

"Hell yeah it's time to go," Sam says, rubbing his hands together. "We're going out, right?" He grins at Steve. (sam …… is too young to legally drink. I’m crying. i mean not that it’s hard for young people to get alcohol but he’s literally 19 and asking to go out. He’s so full of life and he’s so RIDICULOUS!!!!!!!!!)

Everyone in the room stares at him, shifting awkwardly.

"I don't think they're coming," Eli says.

Isaiah takes Sam by the elbow and steers him toward the door. "We can still go out."

"Wait." Sam plants his feet. "Steve, you …" (like sam’s not CLUELESS here, he just saw them make out for crying out loud. He’s just got so much energy and they just won a BIG GAME okay, it just takes him an extra second to process things. Which, i mean, is relatable.) He looks at Steve, then—looks at him—and seems to see something new; then he looks at Bucky, then Steve again, back and forth. "Oh."

"Sam—" Steve tries, but Sam interjects.

"Holy—okay, okay, I mean, he did bring an overnight bag and shit," Sam says, gesturing towards Bucky's duffel.

Bucky's face turns an impressive shade of crimson. "What." (he most certainly did not. Well, staying-overnight wasn’t the primary function of the duffel bag. He was maybe hopeful. maybe.)

"Sam—"

"I think you just took their relationship to the next level," Eli cuts in with a sly look.

Sam, on the other hand, has gone from mortified to elated in the span of about four seconds. "What's in the bag, Soldier?"

Bucky levels him with a scowl to match the nickname. "Toothbrush and a box of condoms." (LIIIIIES. There’s only like 3 condoms. And they’ve been in there for months. but still.)

Beat.

Sam is the first to laugh; Steve joins in, but it's weak because he's reeling with embarrassment. And distantly, definitely turned on.

"Right. We're leaving," Isaiah says pointedly. (poor frikin isaiah puts up with SO MUCH!!!!! His roommates are so ridiculous and horny and he never asked for this except he totally moved in with them and knew full well what he was getting into and is maybe into it, but anyway, anyway.) (housewarming didn’t come out of the blue that’s all i’m saYINg.) (isaiah’s BLUSHING.) Sam Wilson is laughing too hard to protest.

After a small commotion ("There's Advil in my bag!" Eli says, just as Sam calls, "Always use protection!"), and the hotel door latches with a heavy bang. Steve can still hear his teammates in the hallway, but they are muffled and unintelligible, and they fade away fast, leaving Steve alone with Bucky.

Neither of them speaks right away. Bucky is still sitting quietly on the end of Steve's bed, staring, unfocused, into the middle distance. Steve takes the opportunity to look at him. Properly, and all, without sticking his tongue down his throat or bashing his injured shoulder into a wall.

(fun fact: the following transition is a fucking bitch. I don’t think it’s great but i’m an awkward loser, so i was like ok, how do i get them to say i love you and fuck already? Like in a Realistic Fashion. Realistic for dumb jocks.) (rolls eyes forever)

Bucky is in black sweatpants and black Nikes with red soles. The back of his white T-shirt has a list of dates—probably a catalogue of Southeast State National Championships—while the front bears the Southeast logo: a red elk skull with wicked hooked antlers. (check out the “targeting art” tag, a couple people have drawn this and i love them for it) (what else would make a “tundra” logo”...? idk) His face looks better than it did a week ago. Just a little swollen. Steve probably wouldn't even notice if he didn't know to look. There's a string of bruises on Bucky's arm and his knuckles are tore up and there's still dirt clinging to his nails, but all that's just standard football wear-and-tear. He's got a couple days' worth of stubble, and there's a little crescent patch on his jaw where nothing grows; a small white scar from God knows where, God knows when. His lips are parted. Steve wants to kiss him again. But between the corridor and now, this moment with silence and an ice pack wrapped in a crisp white towel, it doesn't seem so easy, anymore.

"You doing okay?" Steve asks.

Bucky's eyes snap back to life and he looks at Steve. (bucky is so spacy lmao awww) (honestly bucky is a lot like me. I think of all the characters in this story, he’s the most like me.) "Yeah." Just yeah.

"You want to use that ice pack, or stick it back in the freezer?"

Bucky looks down at the bundle in his lap, like he forgot it was there. His chest rises and falls.

"Here," Steve says, and stands up slowly so he can slide onto the bed next to Bucky's bad shoulder. He gently takes the ice pack and folds it against his arm, the outside of the ball-and-socket joint, right along the seam of his sleeve. "Good?"

"I dunno," Bucky croaks. "You don't have to—I should probably go." (like seriously, second guessing wild, impulsive decisions? Assuming people don’t care as much as you care? That’s just relatable, man.)

A knot twists in Steve's stomach. He presses into the ice pack a little harder—not too hard—just enough to feel present.

"Why did you come, anyway?" Steve asks.

Bucky's eyes track to his duffel bag, (he came because he wanted to bring steve those documents that incriminate Pierce. He came because he wanted someone to validate him. To validate how bad he felt. To validate the abuse he’s gone through. To tell him he’s not imagining things. He came because he likes steve and he misses him. He came because his sex drive is wild. He came because if he stayed in his hotel room, he would lose his mind.) then back to Steve. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm sorry I hit you," he mumbles. (and he came to say that, too. he’s been feeling bad about that for a long time.)

Oh.

How ridiculous, Steve thinks. What a small, silly thing, now. He's sitting here with an ice pack to Bucky's mangled shoulder, counting the bruises up Bucky's arms and his face, and that's just the ones Steve can see. He's sitting here in good health and a golden haze of victory, and Bucky is apologizing to him. How absurd. "Oh—Buck, don't worry about that."

"No, look, I'm obviously … messed up and all," Bucky launches into a stammering speech. "I'm sorry I hit you, and yelled at you, and … kissed you. (sorry about the mixed messages, to be specific) I guess. I'm—I just—I want you to know I didn't mean all those shitty things I said. And the game today, I didn't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm fine," Steve assures him. "I promise."

"Right." Bucky cracks his knuckles. He doesn't look convinced. "Anyway. I've been fucking with you for weeks now, (by “fucking with you” he means stringing steve along and then pushing him away. Toying with him. Which is how it looks, from certain points of view. It’s not how steve felt, but it certainly could be read that way.) so it's cool if you don't believe a word I say." (bucky was 100% lying in chapter 23 when he told steve “I was messing with your head” [with regards to kissing steve]. At the time, he was in a really dark, messed up place, and he was really angry with steve, and thought they would both be better off apart. They couldn’t mess each other up anymore if they were apart.)

Steve gapes at him. "Buck … You were mad. You had a right to be mad." (for the record, i PERSONALLY don’t condone bucky punching steve. But steve is more forgiving than i am, and more deeply [and unhealthily] attached to bucky)

The look in Bucky's eyes is so specific. Such a localized pain. From a distance he seems hard, and strong, towering marble, but if you look from the right angle you can see the anguish buried in the rock. The fear and sorrow in David's eyes, despite the calm repose of his limbs. (as in michelangelo’s david. I kind of get michelangelo vibes whenever i watch TWS, the scene with bucky in the bank vault.) (but i knew him.) (from the right angle, David looks very scared. And it’s the same with bucky, i feel.)

"I'm real fucked up, Steve." He sighs quietly. "I should go."

Bucky lowers his shoulder to wriggle out from under the ice pack. Steve lets it fall to the bed—instead, he grabs Bucky's knee.

"Don't go."

"I shouldn't have come. Steve ... I don't want to keep hurting you."

Steve has never been able to deny Bucky anything, but this—he read this wrong, before. (when he just let bucky go after hitting Steve) Bucky begged Steve to leave him alone, and Steve has let him go too many times. He'd thought he'd been doing what was best for Bucky. All this time, Bucky thought he was doing what was best for Steve. (isn’t that kind of the point. Of the story. Of them.)

"You won't hurt me," Steve promises. "You haven't hurt me. None of that was your fault."

"I hit you."

"You think I can't take one lousy punch?"

Bucky snorts; he doesn't smile, not quite, but he looks amused, and Steve counts it as a win. "Wasn't lousy. (BUCKY IS BIG) I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for. You were hurting too." He pauses there, feeling sober again, and he braces himself. "Bucky, can I ask you something?"

"What."

"Who gave you the black eye?"

He scoffs. "You were on the field. You saw. Wasn't it Creed's elbow?"

"Bucky," Steve scolds him gently. "I mean last week."

He ducks his head and doesn't answer.

"At my house," Steve prods. "Bucky?"

"It's not a big deal."

"Was it Rumlow?"

Bucky laughs, low and bitter.

"It was, wasn't it?" (steve has probably been thinking this ever since he saw it, considering he also overheard rumlow being an ass in bucky’s hotel room a few weeks ago)

"No. It … wasn't Rumlow."

Steve's not sure he believes him, (did you guys believe him?) but doesn't press the issue. He owes Bucky a little privacy. Just asking is what matters, for now.

Bucky looks up at him through long, long lashes; the same way he has always looked at Steve, (LIKE ON THEIR BUS IN HIGH SCHOOL) a bright blue, the hottest part of a flame.

"Quite a pair, aren't we?" Steve says through a watery smile.

"What's that mean."

(means we’re both selfless shits and we both know it. means no matter how bad we’re hurt, we both still want to take care of other people first.)

"Means I'm here for you, Buck," he says, soft and insistent. "I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky shakes his head. There might be a smile leaking through his granite mask.

Now or never.

"About what you said," Steve says carefully. He squeezes Bucky's knee and rubs small circles into his thigh. "You know, after the game?"

Bucky cringes. "Oh, god. I'm sorry about that too." (NOOOOOO--)

"Don't be sorry," Steve whispers—begs, even. Please don't be sorry. Not for that.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Bucky says. The muscle of his thigh twitches under Steve's grip. "I was caught up in the moment, you know, and it just came out, and it was totally wrong-place-wrong-time, I'm sorry."

"Did you mean it?" Steve breathes, almost inaudible, because he can feel the cracks under the surface.

Bucky covers his face with both hands. "It's—yeah, Steve, yeah I meant it. I just … shouldn't." (FUCK SPORTS AND TOXIC MASCULINITY AND HOMOPHOBIA AND FUCK IT ALL and give bucky a hug 2kforever.)

"Oh, Bucky."

When he looks at Steve again, his eyes are red. "You don't have to say it back."

"Are you kidding me?"

Bucky blinks. "Um."

"Listen to me, Buck." Steve sinks to his knees between Bucky's feet and looks up at him. It's dizzying. It makes his head ache just to think of it: all the years, all the football games, all the doodles passed back and forth in class, all the times Bucky treated Steve's injuries with ice and stupid jokes. He reaches up to take Bucky's face in both hands. "Listen to me," Steve says again. "For as long as I can remember, every single day of my life, you were the most important thing in it. The best thing. Bucky, I was in love with you before I even knew what that meant."

"Steve—"

"And then you were gone. Just gone, and I felt so … much. There was so much, and I didn't know where to put it all." Bucky is crying openly, now, his nose red and his eyes shining. "God, I don't want to feel that way ever again," Steve whispers. "So yeah, I do have to say it back." He smooths the tears from Bucky's cheeks. "I love you," he says. He says it out loud for the first time in his life as he looks into Bucky's eyes, the eyes he has known and for years, for decades, for centuries upon centuries. "I love you, Bucky."

(i practiced that love confession during my Long Commute for months before i ever published it.) (such a balancing act, making it sound like something a person would say, and also make it very very meaningful. And like ….. Adequate for these 2.)

Bucky's lips blossom for him, parting like the gentle pink petals of morning. At first, all that escapes is a sob. He blinks, hard, and tries again:

"You're a punk." (bucky’s response was not a balancing act and did not take nearly as much effort, it’s the most in-character thing i’ve ever written lmfao)

Steve grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You are such a punk."

There is water gathering in the creases of Steve's palms. "Is this okay?" he asks, wiping away more tears.

"This is the worst." Bucky sucks in a breath, and then grabs both of Steve's wrists and squeezes. "Yeah it's okay."

"Okay," Steve says. He feels his own throat growing hot. They're both going to end up crying, probably. He gazes at Bucky's lips, the chapped creases and the swollen spot where he always bites down on it. Steve smiles. "I'm kind of afraid to kiss you again."

"Afraid."

"Well, yeah, Buck, it always seems to go wrong. (I MEAN HE’S GOT A POINT!) I try to break your arm, or you end up puking everywhere—" (a stranger whistles at us in millenium park--)

"Shut the fuck up," Bucky demands, and pulls Steve in for a kiss.

It is stiff at first—more overwhelmed than anything—their noses and their lips crushed together because they need it so bad. Because if they didn't kiss right now they would probably both erupt into color and flame and leave a crater behind in the Arizona desert. After a moment of desperate contact, after the reassurance that this is real, this whole night has been real, Steve relaxes. He strokes Bucky's jaw and parts his lips. (i wrote this sex scene between a dress rehearsal and a concert. A pretty major gig actually with a big symphony in a decent-sized city. I don’t LIVE in that city, so i had nothing to do between the rehearsal and the show, so i sat in a philly cheesesteak bar and wrote smut.) (i was also very anxious about the gig at the time.)

Bucky's hands are restless. They flutter like sparrows from Steve's wrists to his face and his elbows and finally, the fabric of his shirt, where they cling tight and pull him closer. He drifts back, stretches onto the mattress and pulls Steve on top of him. Not that it takes much coaxing. Steve goes hungry and willing. He wraps an arm around Bucky's waist and helps him shift farther onto the bed. Steve nudges a knee between Bucky's thighs, and that doesn't take much, either; Bucky's legs spread easily, (*eyes emoji*) and draw Steve in, and how absurd is this, now. It's phenomenal, the goosebumps that break out at the base of his spine and sweep straight to his skull.

Bucky kisses like an ocean. Writhing and fluid and breathless, pulse as natural and magnetic as the tide. He wraps Steve in white foam and surges against him. (this metaphor, for example, gives me vivid deja vu for that restaurant where i wrote it.)

Steve's left arm is trapped between Bucky and the mattress. With his right, he gropes for Bucky's hand and tangles their fingers together. Bucky's heel hooks behind his knee and he smiles, but doesn't break the kiss.

Steve grinds against Bucky's hip bone. That earns him a delicious groan.

Bucky gasps softly as he breaks the kiss. "I should probably be careful, you know," he whispers.

"You—? Oh," Steve says, scrambling up onto his elbows. "Sorry! Are you okay? Does this hurt?"

"No, not really," Bucky says, adjusting his left arm. (a resounding “yes” if i ever heard one) (he’s fine tho, he’s fine. just. you know.)

Steve can't imagine—just—at all. He just can't imagine. He can't picture hurting until it doesn't matter anymore. He wants to fix it so much. He wants to take away all of Bucky's hurt. "Is—? We can take it slow, if you want. I'm sorry. Is this—"

"Steve." Bucky spreads his fingers through Steve's hair and smiles. "I said careful, not abstinent." (if you could not tell after reading targeting, i really wanted to attack the stereotype where bucky is a wilting flower who needs to be coddled by Everyone. including but not limited to their Bedroom Activities)

He leans up to plant a soft kiss on Steve's chin.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"I'm not trying to pressure you though," Steve shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. (but also, i mean, steve is very very very sweet and i love that about him. It’s not offensive. it’s seriously fucking sweet.) "We can stop if you want."

"Steve Rogers, so help me, if you fucking stop now, you'll—I'll—I will … I'll do something. I can't think. But I'll do something. And you won't like it." (tbh i couldn’t think of something clever to say, and you know what? that seemed like the most accurate depiction of bucky’s state of mind)

Steve couldn't argue if he wanted. "Oh yeah?"

"Fuck."

"You don't want me to stop?"

"I don't want you to stop."

(at this point, i was picturing like, bucky hasn’t actually Had Sex in awhile. Like a year, even. he’s probably made out with someone in the dark corner of a bar or maybe fooled around in a bathroom at a frat party. which, getting a half-assed hand job 2-3 times a year is nice but it’s not exactly intimate. actually, it’s not even nice. anyway. bucky might be .. even more sensitive than usual. Especially since it’s….. steve.)

Steve leans in for a kiss again, a rich slide of lips against teeth. He tugs gently at the hem of Bucky's shirt and drags his fingernails across the ridges of his stomach.

The noise Bucky makes is sunset and surf and sin. Steve kisses that sound. He slides his left hand out from under Bucky's back and into the front of his pants. (STEEEEEEVE!!!!!!! GET IT STEVE!) That's a good reaction, too: Bucky's hips jump, as if jolted by an electric current.

Steve wants to know every single one of Bucky's reactions, wants to learn every perfect way to make Bucky squirm. He fumbles with Bucky's waistband, and that is fingernails against Steve's scalp; he wraps a hand around Bucky's dick, and that is a hiss of air through teeth; he strokes once, up and down, and that is a low whine in Bucky's throat. He tightens his hold, and that is Bucky's hand slipping into Steve's pants, grasping him and caressing him in return, which—damn, you know. (YEAH DAMN!!!)

Steve trails kisses along Bucky's jaw until he finds the soft spot under his ear. Bucky's pulse speeds up, his breath speeds up, and his hand speeds up.

"Oh, God, Bucky," Steve groans.

That's all it takes. Bucky arches his back, spilling over Steve's fist, gasping for air. (bucky came SO fast in this scene lmfao i’m dyin. I still am not sure if it’s like …. TOO fast. Like unrealistically fast. Or … unkind of me. But i just. he hasn’t done this in awhile, he’s with STEVE, steve just confessed his LOVE, all the game day adrenaline--yeah i mean, at the end of the day? same, bucky. same.)

As Bucky spirals back to earth, his grip on Steve's cock tightens and his pace quickens. Steve grinds down into his hand, desperate and fevered, and it doesn't take long for him to come, too. (i mean i guess it’s been a few months for steve too……...lmao ….)

And that—God Almighty—that doesn't feel like a small thing. That feels like a great deal more than two lines of text on a Wikipedia page. (SWEETHEARTS!!!!) (they’re so corny. STEVE is so corny.)

Steve tries to catch his breath, panting hard against the hollow of Bucky's shoulder, leaving a warm, damp patch in the fabric of his shirt. Bucky twitches under him. Static currents and shallow breath. The dappled violets and whites and yellows of the sea at sunset.

Steve is careful not to crush Bucky underneath him. Even in the dense fog of sex and happiness, he is so, so conscious of Bucky's hurts. If anything, Bucky is more delicate, this way; supine and pale and fragile under the tips of Steve's fingers.

Steve traces the lines of Bucky's abs—Jesus—he would count them if he could see straight. He wipes his hand on Bucky's hip bone and asks, "You want to clean up, or anything? You're welcome to use the bathroom."

"You hinting?"

"Am I—? No, it—I just—"

Bucky is grinning, though. (if you know me at all, you know i can’t write a whole sex scene of like, ocean tides and starlight and fragile hearts or whatever. There’s gonna be a joke about a condom or like, the realistically gross follow-up. I AM WHO I AM.) His stomach shakes with laughter, and Steve gapes at him—miles of smooth skin, threads of cum shining on his stomach. It's terrific and terrifying and it's obscene. (terrific AND terrifying!!! Steve, sweetheart!!!) Steve can't even think in words.

Bucky pokes him, hard, right near the collarbone. "You want me to clean up?"

"… I don't ever want you to leave this bed again," Steve breathes. (STEVE, on the other hand, is a much bigger sap than me.)

Bucky just laughs some more.

"What are you giggling at?"

"I ain't giggling." (oh texas boy)

"Oh yeah?"

"I don't giggle."

"What do you call it?" Steve says, running a fingertip from Bucky's sternum to his bellybutton, a slow, subtle trail.

Bucky covers his eyes so all Steve can see is his smile and the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

He can't get enough. He drinks Bucky in like a drug, every detail, every little meaningless deed. The way one side of his smile is higher than the other; the fine hair on his arms; the mess on his stomach, drying and tacky and glistening in the lines that define his abs; the way his knee sways back and forth; the T-shirt bunched up under his armpits.

"I don't giggle," Bucky repeats. Then he uncovers one eye to look at Steve. The tip of his tongue peeks between his teeth. Steve wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss it all.

"Okay," he whispers. "You don't giggle." He kisses Bucky's elbow, which is the nearest thing within reach.

It must tickle, because a noise escapes Bucky's lips. A noise that is absolutely a giggle. (i don’t think he’s laughing because he’s ticklish, at least not 100%. ;) ) "Shut up," he says before Steve can even open his mouth.

"Not a word."

#dvd commentary #targeting stuff #anon #my fic #pay no attention to the writer behind the curtain

[glamrock4ever]

    Faster Pussycat is an American glam metal and sleaze metal band with some punk rock mixed in formed in Hollywood, California in the 1980s during the explosion of Glam Rock on the Hollywood Strip. Faster Pussycat’s band make-up has been Taime Downe (vocals), Greg Steele (guitar), Kelly Nickels (bass), Mark Michaels (drums), and Brent Muscat (guitar). After Nickels was in a motorcycle accident just before the release of Pussycat’s first album, he was replaced on bass by Eric Stacy. Later, Nickels resurfaced in L.A. Guns. The band derived its name from a 1965 movie called “Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!” where three go-go dancers on a spree of kidnapping and murder in the California desert. First, they dance at a club before racing their cars across the desert (the go-go girls, that is). When Taime Downe sings the line, “Living in L.A. is so much fun!” He knows what he is talking about!  Followed by the line in their hit song, “Bathroom Wall:” “Boy, you is ugly and your girlfriend weighs a ton!” HA

     Faster Pussycat still tours in as of this date- had only three big-time album successes in: Faster Pussycat (1987), Wake Me When it’s Over (1989), and Whipped (1992). In 1987, Faster Pussycat appeared in the Rock Documentary The Decline of Western Civilization Part 2 -The Metal Years.

     There has been lots of drama and name-calling in the past between Downe and Muscat. You can read about it in blabbermouth.net. It started in 2007 over the right to use the name Faster Pussycat. Here is an account from the web:

In February 2007, Brent issued this statement on his My Space blog:

“In 2000 Taime made an awful remix cd. It was not until Greg Steele and I threatened him with legal action that we were paid and invited to join our own band. In 2005 I was diagnosed with oral cancer. The band which I had been part of for 20 years all of a sudden replaced me and lied about my condition. I was very hurt that Taime never bothered to call me once. As a result of Taime’s drunken and erratic performances, the price for Faster Pussycat live performances plummeted and fans have voiced their displeasure. I decided I would attempt to reunite the band to commemorate our 20th anniversary. I invited both Greg and Taime, (which is more than he did for me) but neither responded.”

       Holy Crap remember My Space? What a waste of time, but not as much as Facebook! But ahem, I digress!

     In July 2007, Muscat dropped his attempt to use the name of the band. Downe played at Rocklahoma in 2007 and went on a tirade against Brent, and then left the stage without playing most of the band’s hits.

From the band’s website, read here a more accurate description of the band’s beginnings:

From the depths of the mid 80s LA Glam rock scene, a bunch of attitude driven, misguided youth brought to the surface their brand of alley cat rock. Not glam, not punk but somewhere in between, with an attitude and swagger all their own. Fronted by the king of sleaze himself, Taime Downe, Faster Pussycat was his baby assembled piece by piece, that would, not unlike Frankenstein, rapidly grow into a monster and take the scene by storm, whether it was ready for it or not!

  Before they knew it, this rag-tag team of miscreants consisting of Taime Downe (vocals), Greg Steele (guitar), Brent Muscat (Guitar), Eric Stacy (bass) and Mark Michals (drums) scored a record deal with Elektra Records and released their debut self-titled album produced by Ric Browde (Poison, Ted Nugent, etc.) who was also instrumental in securing the deal in the first place. The debut record featured instant classics “Babylon”, “Bathroom Wall”, “Cathouse” and “Don’t Change That Song” , the latter of which, birthed their first music video directed by none other than “Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!” director Russ Meyer! Source: http://www.fasterpussycat.com

  We also love this bio shot from Brent Muscat on the band’s beginnings:

Born in Monrovia, California, the youngest of three sons, Muscat’s first instrument was the trumpet; but in his teen years switched to the guitar. It was still in high school where he met Taime Downe, Greg Steele, Eric Stacy and Mark Michals and formed Faster Pussycat. Part of the Muscat lore involves the band members showing up for Muscat’s high school graduation in full glam regalia.

Source: http://www.brentmuscat.net

“High school graduation in full glam regalia” Hell YEAH

  Current tour dates for Faster Pussycat:

December 29, 2019                         Hollywood, CA                   Whisky-A-Go-Go

February 8, 2020                               Fort Lauderdale, FL          Monsters of Rock Cruise

March 12, 2020                                 United Kingdom               Hard Rock Hell Festival

ROCK and ROLL to the MAX, Glam Rockers! 

  Glam’s Killing it with Faster Pussycat   Faster Pussycat is an American glam metal and sleaze metal band with some punk rock mixed in formed in Hollywood, California in the 1980s during the explosion of Glam Rock on the Hollywood Strip.