On the roof, you asked me whether Frank Ocean was a prophet. That was a lifetime ago, back in July when we wore sweat like a second skin—
When I looked up, I saw bombs bursting over Chelsea in between scarlet fireworks. I will always associate you with those bombs, and with the muggy stickiness that clung to my legs as I perched on the edge of my roof, and you read to me: I thought I was dreaming when you said you loved me It started from nothing I had no chance to prepare I couldn’t see you coming
I should have known what you were going to say next, and that you’d read those lyrics to give me a millisecond to prepare. A gift. And yet I stayed oblivious, plucking mosquitoes off my skin and dangling my feet seven stories above the world until you asked me, again, what I thought. And in the same breath, you prayed, “I love you. Leave her.”
Six months later, my knee has been sliced into an angry scar from where I skinned it escaping the roof. Sometimes I pick at it, and feel weak.
It was times like these where you just wanted to curl up in bed and cry or scream into the cotton feel of your pillowcase. When the house was as silent as the library you used to confine yourself in during university, where you first met the young man that’d soon become the love of your life, the father of your child. Where he was right now…..well, of course you knew. He was at work- making a living to support you and your son, Jaemin.
But that’s exactly why you wanted to scream: it wasn’t supposed to be this way. You weren’t supposed to be spending nights alone, you weren’t supposed to be sleeping by yourself while the other side of the mattress grew cold from lack of body warmth. You weren’t supposed to be reading to Jaemin every single night, for your child wanted his father to read to him as well, it was an activity that was meant to be shared.
Jaemin. You weren’t supposed to be making empty promises to him that Wonwoo would come home tonight. You weren’t supposed to be looking into those innocent brown eyes and reassuring him that Wonwoo loved you both. No. That wasn’t how a family was supposed to work.
Essential Avengers: Avengers #113: Your Young Men Shall Slay Visions!
So. I guess Vision is super dead this time.
And he was killed by young men. There was no need to take him down. I said, young men. Pick that synthezoid off the ground.
Gotta give Englehart this, he sure knows how to change one word in a bible verse to make it into a title for a comic book.
Anyways, Wanda is going to Avenge him. And then she can date Lil’ Vision.
Just a heads up, this is kind of a weird issue. Not incomprehensible. Just eyebrow raising.
We start off before Vision is super dead. The Avengers are repairing the Statue of Liberty after Gog tore it up in Astonishing Tales #18. I guess Damage Control doesn’t exist yet.
Its good to see the Avengers uncausing some property damage for a change. And just look at Vision and Cap recapitating Liberty.
Not that they’re actually good statue repairers. The torch hand falls off and falls toward Scarlet Witch but Vision flies down to intercept it and lets it break across his back.
Guess Liberty is a southpaw now.
He also leaves Cap holding the entire crown but I guess Cap has super-strength or something now.
In the heat of the moment and grateful that nothing bad happened to anyone that wasn’t a statue, Wanda and Vision start making out.
This happens to be in public where everyone can see. And it causes a bit of a to-do.
Although what causes more of one is that Cap loses his grip on the crown and Iron Man barely catches it before it smashes into the ground. All while Wanda and Vision continue to make out, oblivious of the outside world or the people that almost died.
We were eighteen and had begun to love life and the world; and
we had to shoot it to pieces. The first bomb, the first explosion,
burst in our hearts. We are cut off from activity, from striving, from
progress. We believe in such things no longer, we believe in war. ―
Erich Maria Remarque,
All Quiet on the Western Front
Your lips were on his again, hot, hungry, passionate. The two of you were by no means an item, but were definitely not adverse to spending infinite time together. All too soon you broke apart, the two of you panting for breath.
“The car will be here to pick me up soon.” you breathed, staring into his eyes.
“You don’t have to go, you know. You can stay here, with me. You can be my personal assassin.” he muttered. “My ruthlessly gorgeous killing machine.”
You backed away from him, sighing and retrieving your bags from the sofa. You’d been working on a particularly difficult sequence of assassinations and tortures with Moriarty for the past six months, and it seemed that the two of you had become overly attached.
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me, Jim. I warned you. I’m not in a profession that allows for that sort of thing, because I never know who will require my services next. For all you know, you could be lying dead tomorrow and it’ll be me that did it.” you said quietly, making your way towards the door. “Good bye James. I hope, for both our sakes, that I never see you again.”
Two Weeks Ago:
Another file landed on your desk as you looked up from your laptop at your secretary, raising an eyebrow. Without saying a word she left, leaving you to flip through the file alone. Just another name, another person for you to discreetly dispose of for someone willing to pay a large amount of money. You opened the cover and your breath caught in your throat as your eyes sought out the name on the top of the paper.
You walked quickly and silently through the roomy apartment, the familiarity of it all slapping you in the face, more brutal than any other job you’d ever had to take on.
You heard his voice before you’d even entered the bedroom, sharp, cutting and intoxicating, conversing with someone on the phone. Cocking your finger on the trigger you tried to breath evenly, reminding yourself to remove emotion from the situation, that this was just another job you had to do. Stepping silently into the room, you lifted the gun to head height, biting your lip as you came face to face with his suit clad back. As you aimed, his voice broke your resolve.
“Well, Y/N. Never thought I’d be the one staring down the barrel of your gun.”
You started slightly at his words, and swallowed, trying to make your voice project as casually as possible.
“I told you, Jim. I told you not to get attached to me, because of what I was, who I was.”
Your voice wavered and the hands gripping your weapon began to shake.
“Are you going to shoot me if I turn around?” he asked, voice as calm and collected as ever.
“Don’t make this harder for me than it needs to be, James.” you whispered.
Regardless he turned slowly, and as soon as your eyes met his, cold and yet so inviting at the same time, you lowered your gun slightly, knowing you wouldn’t have the guts to pull the trigger.
“Fucking hell Jim, I have a job to do! Why do you have to go around here infecting me with your feelings?!” you growled, and he smirked.
“Not my fault you’re so bloody gorgeous darling.” he said smoothly.
“I told you James, I can’t do this.” you said. “You know I can’t.”
“Why not? You know I love you, Y/N, my ruthless little assassin.” he replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow.
“Jim for fuck’s sake, stop it! Stop getting inside my head!” you yelled.
“But darling, that’s what I do best, remember?” he took a step towards you and lifted his hand, trailing a finger down your cheek.
No one except James had ever managed to make you feel this weak, this vulnerable, and you hated how much you loved it.
“I can see inside you, Y/N. I see all the cogs whirring away, how you’re just like a ticking time bomb, waiting to burst. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.” he whispered, and you whimpered slightly.
You felt your fingers go weak and you struggled to maintain the grip on your weapon as you concentrated on breathing evenly. In training, you’d been prepared for all kinds of psychological torture. But nothing could prepare you for James Moriarty.
“Say it Y/N. Tell me what you’re thinking. I can see your thoughts, they look so pretty. I want to burn them.” he whispered, and you swallowed, exhaling slightly.
“I think I’m in love with you, Jim. And that scares the crap out of me. I’ve never been so scared in my whole life.” you said, voice thick.
“Fear isn’t a bad thing. In fact, at times it’s very convenient. Such as now, when I know that you’re too scared to shoot me if I kiss you.” he drawled, and at once crushed his lips to yours.
Jim was never the most tender of kissers, and now was no exception. His hands roamed your back, and he moved his lips against yours to the point of the most euphoric pain you’d ever felt. You pulled away from need of oxygen, and looked him in the eye.
“I hate how much I love you. I fucking hate how weak it makes me.”
And your lips were together again, feverish and hot, until somehow he was on top of you on the bed, breathing heavily as his eyes searched your face.
“You’re like a drug. Like a drug that I need and I can never get enough of.” he breathed.
“I love you.” you whispered.
“I love you too. You burnt the heart out of me, and I intend to do the same to you.”
“And I intend to enjoy every minute of it.” you chuckled.
“My ruthless, coldblooded killer. You’re mine. I don’t share.” he murmured.
“Oh darling, you won’t need to.”
“You’re just like a ticking time bomb, Y/N. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”
Happy fanfic Sunday! <3 I remember having a plan that I was going to do a mistletoe prompt for all the universes for Christmas. There goes that idea, LOL. So it’s late, but I still wanted to write the octo!Dario one. Hope you like!
you should see how people are overhyping the upcoming if it's even a bomb in the first place then people will turn around and get mad because people called all the episodes filler.
honestly even before i knew about SU critical blogs i hated the bomb format. like, the first bomb was exciting, but now we’ve had five and its so tiresome. sitting down every week or so to watch a new episode of a cartoon is a fun rhyhtm to get into, but we get months of hiatus just so CN can hype up each release? and each bomb is usually a burst of sudden plot episodes (out of this world, week of sardonyx) which means actually watching every episode in a row as a new viewer ruins the pacing because you have a bunch of filler episodes, a sudden onslaught of plot and then back to filler like nothing happened, sometimes not even addressing what just went down. i’m just uuuuugh how can anyone get excited for bombs anymore?
okay, that story about your roommate and the spaghetti squash sounds intriguing.
okay this story falls under the ‘sarah is bonkers & has to make everything she does way more difficult than it should be’ category of life decisions
so this happened when i was an undergrad, & i lived in an apartment with this other girl in the same town my parents live in, which was actually an ok setup because i could borrow their car & get free food without having to listen to my father snore or play james taylor’s christmas album. my mother belonged to this farming co-op thing where she’d get a bunch of weird ass veggies & stuff once a week from local farmers (& i grew up in arizona so like. sometimes it was weird shit). & i often got all the extra weird food my parents didnt want to bother cooking because i was a poor college student & didn’t complain about it.
so one week my mom picks up her veggie order & gets this giant monstrous spaghetti squash, its HUGE. my mother HATES spaghetti squash for whatever reason. hates it. naturally she offers to give it to me & i’m like ‘yeah ok sure’ & she’s all ‘sarah i can walk you through how to cook this but i don’t want it in my house i hate these things but tell me if you need help cooking this’ & i’m like ‘MOM i can cook a fucking squash it’s fine i’m 20 years old’
& i become VERY DETERMINED to cook this damn thing because my mother had implied that i didn’t know what i was doing & was helpless & just floundering my way through life. how cooking a giant evil orange oblong squash was gonna prove this i can’t tell you but that’s what i thought. i think i wanted to demonstrate that i was RESOURCEFUL and HEALTHY and ATE ADULT FOOD SHE DOESN’T LIKE.
naturally it was NOT FINE.
i bring the damn thing home & decide it’s too big to really do anything with so i’ll cut it open before i cook it because that’ll be easiest. i DID NOT read any directions on how to cook a spaghetti squash because i was determined to DO IT MYSELF LIKE AN ADULT WHO EATS SPAGHETTI SQUASH AND NEEDS NO HELP FROM NOBODY.
so i pretty quickly realize that i’m pretty unable to actually cut the squash open. it’s massive & has a thick rind & i can’t get a knife into it. i spend probably twenty minutes sitting on my kitchen floor with the squash in my lap trying to stab it with every knife in the kitchen & i can’t even get it fucking started. if i’d owned a fire ax i probably would’ve taken a fire ax to it. & naturally the situation evolves from simply a test of my adulting abilities to a TEST OF MY HONOR AND STRENGTH. I’VE GOT A 4.0 i tell myself I CAN OUTSMART A SQUASH but i can’t because i can’t cut it open. i have a bit of a meltdown at this point because my self worth, which is fragile & bewildering on a good day, is being torn to shreds by a stupid fucking orange gourd.
the logical thing to do at this point would have been to give up because i’m not all that wild about spaghetti squash anyway but i CANT ADMIT DEFEAT I HAVE TO OWN THIS STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!!
so i decide to stick the squash in a giant pot & boil it for a while until it gets soft enough to be cut open. brilliant. i’m a genius. i’m so pleased with myself. everyone in the entire world could have told me this was a bad idea. if i’d called my mother to ask for her help she would have probably had a heart attack but i didn’t do that because i’m DETERMINED TO WIN.
so i stick the damn thing in the biggest pot i have, put it on the stove, & feeling very pleased with myself go to take a nap because i’ve fought a battle that i am winning
my roommate gets home maybe an hour and a half later, drops her stuff off, sees me sleeping on the couch and walks into the kitchen. and naturally, as soon as she walks into the kitchen the vegetable bomb that i planted in a pot of boiling water on our stove goes the fuck off which is what happens when you put a large round semi-hollow object in a pot of very hot water so steam builds up inside and then forget about it. so roommate walks into the kitchen
and the squash TAKES FLIGHT.
because, surprise, when you let an incredible amount of steam build up inside something shaped like a bomb it will BURST A HOLE IN THE SIDE AND FLY INTO THE AIR LIKE A RED HOT GOURD PROJECTILE
it sounded kind of like someone firing a cannon in our living room so i wake up thinking someone is SHOOTING AT ME, vault over the couch screaming to see the squash launch out of the pot of water straight up into the air. it misses my roommate’s head by maybe a half a foot. she screams and i scream and we both hit the deck and the squash smacks into the ceiling and then to the ground, splattering squash insides all over us and the floor.
needless to say i had a lot of apologizing to do because i almost murdered her with dinner, & i then had to tell my mother that i’d completely failed in making my point about being mature & self sufficient, but had discovered that spaghetti squash work really great as weaponry if the situation ever arises.
i think she laughed at me for forty five minutes.
so there you go, that’s the story about how i almost accidentally committed squash bomb homicide
Monster cloud rising over Hiroshima, over the world—monstrous, mushrooming thing, sign of our age, symbol of our sin: growth; bigness, speed: grow, grow, grow—grow in a cancer, enlarge a factory, swell a city, balloon our bellies, speed life, fly to the moon, burst a bomb, shatter a people—explode the world.
So it rose and I shrank in my cot, I who had cringed before the body-squeezing blast of a five-hundred-pound bomb, hearing now this strange cold incomprehensible jargon of the megaton.
Someone had sinned against life, and I felt it in my very person. But then I, too, sinned.
Suddenly, secretly, covertly—I rejoiced. For as I lay in that hospital, I had faced the bleak prospect of returning to the Pacific and the war and the law of averages.
But now, I knew, the Japanese would have to lay down their arms. The war was over. I had survived. Like a man wielding a submachine gun to defend himself against an unarmed boy, I had survived.
So I rejoiced.