Tony woke slowly, alone in his bed, because last night hadn’t been a date night with anyone.
He kind of enjoyed it, the few nights he got to sleep alone, because with everyone home now it didn’t happen very often.
So he took a long minute to stretch and scratch his hair and sprawl his legs out–
–and kicked somebody.
“What the hell?” He sat up and stared sleepily at the curled up form of Natasha, just red hair peeking over a stack of blankets. “Widow, what are you doing in my bed?”
“Like you don’t know Stark.” She mumbled and scooted closer against him.
“And you’re cuddling? You’re not a cuddler. Come on, your date night isn’t until Thursday, everybody else will get mad if we break the rules.”
“I’m not breaking any rules.” She yawned and sat up. “I just wanted to say happy birthday.” She leaned into him for a long, slow kiss, then pulled away to squeeze his hand. “I bought us ice cream but figured you didn’t want that in bed with you. Happy Birthday Tony. I can’t wait for tonight.” Then she climbed out of bed and he had just a split second to admire her legs in those tiny shorts before she slipped out the door.
Maybe it was a little unsettling that she had been able to sneak into his room and lay there for who knows how long with out him knowing just to kiss him good morning, but he grinned anyway because he loved it.
Our Spot A/N: This is my first attempt at a fic. It sort of takes place between episode 5&6. I felt like I wanted to fill some things in and try for a more organic start. Let me know what you guys think, because I have a bunch of ideas for other Jughead fics.
TO: JUGHEAD: 8:48PM Are you busy?
TO: BETTY: 8:49PM Not currently, what’s up?
TO: JUGHEAD: 8:51PM I just need to get out. I feel like I’m going crazy. Everything is just too much. Can you meet me?
TO: BETTY: 8:51PM Sure, where?
TO: JUGHEAD: 8:52PM Our spot.
TO: BETTY: 8:52PM On my way
Jughead stopped short of the edge of the clearing. It was bordered on one side by the back of a hair salon, a small cafe, and a disused alleyway. On the other three sides, a dense forest, the same one that surrounded the entire town of Riverdale and separated it from the rest of the world. Once upon a time the tower at the edge of the clearing was a fire watch tower, but the years had rendered it forgotten to all but he and Betty Cooper. Actually, truth be told they had forgotten about it too, they just stumbled upon it when they were looking into town planning for the Blue and Gold, and decided it would be the safest place to talk openly.
What do you get when you cross Stephen King with cocaine,
AC/DC, and Hot Wheels? You get MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE, the most fucking
awesome B-movie of the 1980s and a highlight of King’s career that he is
incredibly ashamed of. Sure, it’s trashy, cheesy, and absurd, but it’s a damn
fun time! Why does he hate this movie so?
This is based on one of King’s own short stories, so the man
himself decided to take the director’s seat and deliver his vision to the world…
and yes, he was indeed high on coke by his own admission, and, to be honest, it
kinda shows considering how ridiculous this film gets. But the ridiculous
nature of MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE is what makes it so silly and charming. You
would have to be one of the most hardcore snobs ever to be able to resist the
dumb, fun charms of MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE, what with its rocket launchers, killer
trucks, and hilariously awkward title drop.
And now for the plot summary of MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE: A
meteor or some shit (it’s later revealed to be aliens or some shit at the epilogue)
is making all of Earth’s tech come to life, from ATMs and soda machines to lawnmowers
and, yes, trucks. A group of people get trapped inside a diner that’s
surrounded by trucks, including one with a Green Goblin head on it. Can they
defeat the 18-wheeled menaces that lurk outside, or will they end up roadkill?
This movie is ridiculous, which is precisely what makes it
so awesome. Imagine Christine amped
up to 11 and way cheesier and this is about what you’d get. It really feels
like a classic B-grade horror/sci-fi film from the days of old, just a silly
premise with enough action to keep you entertained between ridiculous dialogue
and the utter absurdity of killer trucks.
There’s at least one thing in this movie everyone can agree
is fucking awesome on purpose: the AC/DC soundtrack. AC/DC makes everything
better, so it’s no surprise they help make this movie kick al kinds of ass. “Who
Made Who” and “Hell’s Bells” and so much hard rock is sure to get you amped up
while you watch the mechanical carnage before you unfold.
Of course, there are downsides, the biggest one being the presence
of Yeardley Smith, who you likely know much better as the voice of Lisa
Simpson. Much as she’s the most obnoxious character on The Simpsons, she’s the most obnoxious character in this movie, and
you WILL wish a truck would run her
over by film’s end. She apparently considers this film an old shame, but
considering she voice acts an obnoxious political soapbox character who makes
Brian Griffin look tame it’s pretty easy to just take her opinion and put it in
the trash where it belongs.
It’s harder to do that with King’s opinion, but hey,
everyone is wrong sometimes, and artists are always hardest on their own work. This
movie ain’t perfect by a long shot; it’s ridiculous, it has corny acting, it
has quite a few special effects failures… but like any good B-movie, that stuff
just makes it all the more endearing. It helps the premise of the film is
somewhat unique; there aren’t too many “technology comes alive and tries to
kill humanity” movies that just involve regular appliances and machines. If you
go into this movie with the right mindset, you’re gonna have a good time. If
you’re some snob who requires every film to be some deep meditation on the
human existence, you’re going to be pretty disappointed. It’s just a fun, dumb
action/sci-fi/horror film, with explosions, trucks, and big rigs over-the-road
racing across hapless humans. You gotta give the film props for having a scene
where a soda machine kills a dude followed by a kid getting his head smushed by
a steamroller. MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE is a badass and trashy cult classic that isn’t
so bad it’s good; it’s SOFUCKING DUMB IT’S EPIC.
FRIDAY None of these pages hold the promise that there will be no more crucifixions. The ones on the hillside never called this day ‘good.’
Oh, by noon, the sky churns with gray and black, and there is nothing left for us to do but walk home. Some of us have endured more than others.
But all hands are heavy, sorrowful with blood, either our own or that from some neighbor’s veins. Whether from drawing or staunching is not our business.
The tearing of the veil is a B-grade horror movie effect and what is to be seen behind it is little more than a disappointment to us today. There is nothing there.
Go home, take your arms full of selfish sorrow and pride-laden guilt, take your heads full of woe and weakness and lay them down on your pillows. We are heavy and would sleep.
I am heavy and would be alone to study my wounds, which I thought I saw given from behind the clouds, nails in his grasp. I know Hamlet’s speeches too well.
The hill is littered with crossbeams and I know the faces of those lifting them high, know the bloody hands smearing clean wood with scarlet. How will I stay here with them?
SATURDAY Saturday is the cruelest day, suspended between the sun and the moon. It is far too long - a full, thick day of noon-to-three. Each thread of the veil snapped one at a time.
I slept too late. I move in order to survive - to hold my faculties in place. I am mindless and dumb and my wrists hurt.
Saturday is the cruelest day, a whole day spent holding my breath. And held breaths carry no words. As far as my lungs are concerned, there is no one to pray to.
The clouds yet hold water. My eyes are yet dry. My lips are yet faithless.
Numbness begins to feel like wellness. Suspension begins to feel like steady ground. Perhaps I will make it through today, if today never ends.
SUNDAY None of these pages hold the promise of any more resurrections - not in this particular situation - and while the crosses are propped in pride on the lawns of neighbors
(they are empty, empty, empty as an unpainted canvas, as a cup running over with air, only air), and while the closed halls of this house ring with cries
(they are not mine but, God, I wish they were), there is light streaming through these windows and puddling, unsympathetic, across my feet,
a dog that can’t be driven away in its enthusiasm, as if it can’t understand this ‘no’ in the lines of my body and the gingerly flinching of my hands away from it
because the idea of warmth and hope is close to blasphemy against this exhaustion in my bones, and because I don’t want it, this resurrection meant, they say, to cheer me
or at least to keep me going through a Saturday that lingers in the shouting noon of the third day when all I want is this fourth, this next, this new day
when no one weeps but no one joys the air, either, with the overflow of unrestful happiness I can’t partake of (selfish, selfish, empty, empty, empty) -
and the golden stain creeps up over my ankles as does a tide coming in and everyone is happier or sadder or angrier than I can measure up to and so all there is to comfort me about this day, about You,
is that You made your move drained of blood and energy, pinned where You had to be, as if you had to be bound to stay there, kept down to keep You from fleeing (and how could I blame You when my feet are so fickle),
and when You finally came back to me it was after a long day of touching the souls of Hell, with their cries louder than those I have ever heard,
and something in this frame has to believe you were just as tired as it is now - more tired, weary from the rips and tatters of that place, crying out as I do for
rest, only rest, a silence, a place to lean my head against Yours, bloody fingers interlocked, and to know that it is finished.
I Took One For The Team was actually the first song to be written.
When Lin Manuel Miranda starts writing his introduction for
the playbill, he ends up talking about Betsy Greenberg, former WWII USO
showgirl, the coolest old lady in their neighborhood and Hollywood actress, though,
alas, Betsy never made it past minor supporting roles
and hilarious B-grade horror movies.
Also, Bets might have been involved in certain hush-hush shenanigans
that involved Peggy Carter and what would eventually become S.H.I.E.L.D.
Honestly, the fact that she was Steve Rogers’ first kiss was the least interesting thing about her, but hell, the way she told the
story never failed to make Lin laugh.
“He was a darling,
make no mistake about it, but I figured out pretty quickly he was completely
gone on Barnes.”
“Well, it was illegal
back then, wasn’t it?”
“There were some
things people were stupid about then…. and still are now, to be honest. But I always thought it weren’t anyone else’s
business who you choose to fall in love with and so I sat little Stevie Rogers
down and gave him some solid dick – you stop that laughing, young man, it meant
something completely different back then!”
Nope, it wasn’t working.
Lin was still dying of laughter.
“You could say that I
took one for the team. Barnes better be
This wasn’t the first time an attempt was made to bring Captain America to Broadway. There was one that was all too obviously
based on the comicsversion of Cap instead of the real life
Steve Rogers and it only ran for one painful week.
But to be honest, Lin kind of fell in love with little
Stevie Rogers, in much the same way as he fell for Betsy and her sister USO
showgirls and he could hear it already, the hints of ragtime and blues and jazz
and swing, dance halls and the Lindy Hop and the more familiar sounds of the
twenty first century – hip hop and rap and rock and roll and metal and before
he knew it, he was done with the first song and on to the second.
a/n: This is for @mclffxrd for winning 3rd Place in my giveaway! I hope you like it, man! Writing childhood headcanons is fun!
Though he acted haughty to those near his age
and older, he acted like a big brother to children younger than him.
He was (and still is) very good at board games involving money. To this day, no one has
ever beaten him at Monopoly.
He was difficult to work with in group activities
because of his headstrong personality, so he would either act as the leader, or
finish the job on his own.
Even back then, he was really possessive of his
belongings. If a toy belonged to him, nobody
would ever touch it.
He and his sister once had a huge fight that escalated
so much, it made him destroy her stuffed bunny in anger. Feeling guilty about
it afterwards, he secretly practiced sewing and mending the bunny every night. When
she disappeared from the orphanage one day, he didn’t have the chance to return
the (patched-up) bunny back to her. He still keeps the bunny in hopes that he
could give it back to her one day.
He was a really picky eater, and he would absolutely refuse anything with so much
as a single green pea in it. Lol he’s still picky.
Though he hated losing, he loathed cheating even
more. To him, it was better to win through his own efforts than to resort to
He didn’t like eating dinner at his own house
since his parents were almost never home. He would always eat in his own room
because the dining room was too empty whenever he ate there.
He would always
take the lead role in almost anything, be it games, skits, or plays.
He was a very popular kid. He was always the center
of attention no matter where he went, but he has always (secretly) felt lonely
because no one would ever voluntarily choose him for partner projects or lab
works. He never had a best friend till
he met Soryu.
“So, what is Le Cinéma Marinette featuring tonight?”
Marinette had decided that they were both in dire need for a movie night. Exams were approaching in school, and Chat Noir seemed stressed as well. So, on Saturday, while her parents were spending the night in the country with some friends, she locked up the store, bought five bags of popcorn (extra buttered, the way she knew Chat liked it), made a large pot of hot chocolate, and dragged the guest mattress up her stairs, which she then laid on the floor in front of her computer and piled it with blankets and pillows.
Summary: Saitama tries to explain the obvious to Genos about why it’s generally a bad idea to fall for a B grade horror flick
is the house.”
house that all those people died in.”
correct, sensei. The children passed away quite young from a mysterious
illness, the mother from apparent suicide by leaping from the fourth-story
window—though there was some controversy on whether it was truly a suicide due
to the way she had fallen; several servants died or were grievously injured
from accidents on the property and others went missing; finally, the master of
the house met his tragic end from a heart attack…although the pathology was
quite strange. There were some autopsy reports that indicated some strange
markings on his skin that, judging from the wounds, were postmortem. His
face had also been contorted hideously, as though he witnessed some unspeakable
horror before his ultimate—”
heard you the first time Genos.”
we get going, sensei? It will be dark soon and the property is vast. It will
take some time to survey the entire area.”
we should also search separately to cover more ground.”
would you prefer, Sensei? The property or the manor itself? If you search the
property, it may be more time-consuming as the forest also outlines the land.
On the other hand, if sensei searches the manor, it may become too dark for
sensei to investigate what’s inside.”
“I’d prefer not to—wait, what about your sensors!? Why
do we need to go in there?!”
been trying for the past several minutes but something appears to be
interfering with my scanners. As of now, I cannot scout anything past my normal
field of vision.”
perfect opportunity to train myself without aid from the Doctor’s technological
advantage, I agree sensei!”
defeated sigh. “Right.”
shall we begin? Sensei may take the flashlight with him to the manor while I
scout outside. I am not with complete handicap as I still have my
am not going in there.”
sensei prefer the—”
am not setting one foot in that B grade horror movie waiting to happen.”
sensei! We’re assigned on this mission!”
but why not? You’re the most powerful being in this world—you defeat every
enemy with the ease of a single punch! I’ve never known you to hesitate from
“…” Saitama shook his
head, all color drained from his face from the moment Genos started cataloguing
the place’s body count. From behind the rusted wrought-iron gates where Saitama
stood, it didn’t take a genius to ascertain or special Spidey-senses to feel that this decrepit mansion of death, tragedy,
and more death just screamed HAUNTED.
Then again, Genos was
always a little… special. “…?” The cyborg
cocked his head to the side in confusion at his sensei’s silence.
He gave a
long-suffering sigh as sudden storm clouds smothered the last of the twilight
and an ominous flash of lightning cracked against the blackened sky. Fucking perfect.
And here Saitama was,
trying to tell his student just why this was a
bad idea overall.
can’t punch a ghost.”
Really short, but this is actually a one-shot I hope to make into a
full story one day~ But that will be well-over my target word count ^^; So have
this snippet instead :’D
There’s a boy on the bed that should be Claire’s. Or rather, the ghost of a boy; he’s ever so slightly translucent, his body hovering a centimetre or two above the covers, though the book he holds in his insubstantial hands seems real enough.
‘You’re Kevin,’ she says, and the ghost-boy yelps, the room’s other contents shaking in the poltergeist-breeze of his shock.
‘Shit!’ he says, and in the split second it takes for his dropped book to hit the floor, he vanishes and reappears a little to Claire’s left. This time, he’s standing, one hand rubbing sheepishly at the back of his neck.
‘Sorry about that,’ he says. ‘You snuck up on me. You’re Claire, right?’
She laughs. He’s not even the weirdest thing she’s seen this week, and besides, Jody said he’d be up here.
‘Yeah, that’s me.’ She slings her duffel off her shoulder, nods at the now-vacated bed. ‘You mind if I crash?’
‘Hey, it’s your room.’ He steps aside to let her pass - an unnecessary courtesy - and Claire nods in thanks, dumping her bag on the chest of drawers before flinging herself on the mattress.
It’s not a big room, but it’s clean and fresh, and there’s enough space on the shelves that she can spread out her meagre possessions without feeling cramped. It’s more than she’s had in a long time, and a part of her wants it so badly, it hurts. It’ll do, she tells herself.
For now, it’ll do.
‘Being a ghost must suck,’ she says idly, crossing her arms beneath her head. There’s a bunch of old glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling, though whether they’re mapping out any real constellations, Claire doesn’t know. Maybe she’ll look it up later, if she’s feeling bored.
‘Not so much,’ says Kevin. Apparently taking the comment as leave to stay, he stop-start flickers his way to the tiny wooden desk, pretending to lean against it. ‘I mean, yeah, ordinarily, you die, you stick around, you eventually go nuts and live out the rest of your unlife as a B-grade horror movie villain until or unless you get salted and burned, but me?’ He grins, the expression wry and sharp. ‘I died when Heaven was closed for business. Couldn’t go up, couldn’t go down; nobody could. It was kinda unprecedented.’
Claire blinks, surprised. ‘And that made you special or something?’
‘By ghost standards, yeah. I can interact with things -’ he leans forward, poking the sole of her shoe just hard enough that she can feel it; Claire sticks out her tongue in response, ‘- and control the whole disappearing act, but best of all, I stay coherent. No mental-spiritual disintegration.’
‘Cool,’ says Claire. ‘Go team ghost. That happen to all of you?’
‘The ones who stayed behind, yeah, but the others I was trapped with, they’ve mostly moved on now. Once Heaven reopened, a bunch of psychopomps came for us -’
‘They’re a type of angel,’ says Kevin, somewhat apologetically. ‘Specifically, a type of reaper. They escort the souls of the dead from point A to point B.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Claire bites her lip, heart twisting at the memory of her mother. ‘Are they nice?’ she blurts, hating the word even as she says it. Nice. Like anything to do with Heaven is nice. ‘I mean, I know most angels are dicks, but I’m willing to grade on a curve.’
‘They’re okay, I guess,’ says Kevin. He shoots her a shy smile. ‘Kinda preachy.’
Claire makes a sound which is hopefully closer to laughter than tears. ‘I’ll bet they are. So, what - you didn’t like the sales pitch?’
‘Pretty much. With everything going on down here, I figured Heaven could wait. Plus, you know.’ He ducks his head, scuffing a spectral sneaker against the edge of a faded rag-rug. ‘I couldn’t leave my mom.’
Claire shuts her eyes, squeezing them against the threat of tears. ‘Yeah,’ she says,voice suddenly hoarse. ‘I get that.’
Kevin falls silent, and Claire takes a moment to get herself under control - a moment which, seconds later, is broken by a triple-rap on the doorframe.
‘Love what you’ve done with the place,’ drawls an unfamiliar voice.
Scrubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, Claire sits up, and finds herself staring at a pale, dark-haired girl wearing charcoal sweats and a red tank.
‘Alex,’ says the girl, by way of introduction. She’s peering at the room like she’s never seen it before, which is clearly bullshit, as this is her house, but the smirk on her face says she knows exactly what she’s doing. ‘You’re Claire, right? The angel-baby?’
‘And you’re the vamp-bait,’ Claire snarks back. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
Alex laughs. ‘I like her,’ she says to Kevin. ‘She’s got spark.’
Kevin rolls his eyes in a way that could generously be termed affectionate. ‘I’d tell you two to just lay ‘em out and measure, but I’m not sure that works with boobs.’
‘I’ve got an angel sword,’ Claire says, smiling. ‘We can measure that.’
Alex laughs again - genuinely, this time - and flashes her two thumbs up. ‘Welcome to the wayward daughters’ club,’ she says. ‘First rule: always bring your own weaponry.’
‘Noted,’ says Claire, who grudgingly thinks that Alex might be maybe okay. ‘Anything else I should know?’
Alex grins. ‘Dinner’s at six,’ she says. ‘And if you play nice, I’ll fill you in on the rest of our noble sorority. Spoiler alert: we’ve got three baby hunters, Donna Do-Good and a hot werewolf. We’re quite the motley crew.’
And with that, she turns and saunters out of the room.
Claire watches her go, then raises a brow at Kevin. ‘Is she always like that?’
He sighs. ‘Pretty much. But you get used to it. Oh!’ He straightens. ‘Shit, I almost forgot - I’m meant to tell you my mom’s going to take you to get a tattoo tomorrow.’
‘Get me a what?’
‘An anti-possession tattoo,’ says Kevin, patiently. ‘You know, like Sam and Dean have? So demons can’t enter your body and control it?’
Claire perks up. ‘Awesome!’
‘Also, uh -’ he glances at the door, lowering his voice, ‘- I’m not really meant to mention it yet, but you should probably know, there’s a series of books about the Winchesters, like an actual gospel about their lives, only instead of, like, holy scriptures, it ended up as a bunch of pulp urban fantasy novels. They have a fandom and everything.’
Claire’s mouth hangs open. ‘Are you shitting me?’
Kevin grimaces. ‘Really wish I was,’ he says, then hesitates. ‘You, uh. You’re in them. Because of the whole, uh, Castiel thing. It’s kind of a major plot point. And I just, I thought - Charlie Bradbury, you know, she works with Sam and Dean, we email sometimes and she sent me digital copies of them all, and I thought that maybe, one day, if you wanted, you could, uh. Read them. See how it all went down. If you wanted.’
Claire thinks of Sam, who got to know his dead mother later in life; Dean, who’s both a minigolfing doof and a murdering Knight of Hell; and Castiel, who wore her father’s body to save the world. The whole world, apparently, though that seems impossible. She’s pretty sure Dean was exaggerating to make her feel better, but if there’s really a way to find out the truth -
‘Claire!’ Jody calls up the stairs. ‘You wanna come down, let me give you the tour?’
‘Coming!’ she yells back, and swings her legs off the bed. She looks at Kevin, studying his face. ‘The books are really true?’
He makes a face. ‘Luridly so.’
‘Then yeah,’ she says, and smiles. ‘I think I’ll give them a try.’