Things I really loved about Guardians of the Galaxy Volume 2 in earnest
1. Yondu’s “I’m Mary Poppins y'all!” after Peter says he’s cool. Because yes, it’s a hilarious line, but it’s also such a DAD thing. Like, who can’t say that their dad wouldn’t be so proud to be considered cool by their son and it’s so unexpectedly sweet because of it.
2. The fact that Baby Groot cries like an actual baby once. Because it’s like it’s stabbing you in the heart, but it’s so effective because you really forget that he really is a baby with all the things he can do until then, and that brings you right back.
3. The symmetry in Yondu’s redemption. Yondu is damned because he brings Ego’s children to Ego and his planet to be sacrificed, and he’s redeemed by sacrificing himself to save Ego’s child (who really is HIS child) and bring him away from Ego’s planet.
4. Drax’s interaction with Mantis, especially him holding her while he drowns in Ego’s planet. Because Drax is like this big murderous comic relief character, but his screen time with Mantis was this lovely way to remind the audience that Drax has this soft side and this tragic past without shoving it in your face. Drax might laugh at your pain, but he’d also try to save you even as he was drowning, and it’s a perfect way to frame his character.
5. Ego’s “For the first time, I am truly not ALONE!” and his alieness in general. Because don’t get me wrong, Ego is absolutely a non redeemable wonky bonkers genocidal jerk off, but he’s got this great alien quality to him that I feel this series really needed. It’s not in how he looks, but his motives and how he acts. Ego is a millennia old being; a god in a world of mortals. His view point of the world and his actions are so very true to that idea that we almost can’t relate because no one can imagine what it must be like to be that old or that powerful. But when he yells that one line out, we really get it. Ego, for all his power, is just like us; he just doesn’t want to be alone. Coupled with his god like alien superiority, his ego - get it? ;) - he sees the expansion as the way to answer that feeling. If everything is him, after all, then he can’t be alone, see? What makes him a great villain is that he actually had the real answer all along - love, family - but he chose to destroy it because he felt it was beneath him; because of his subconscious disgust at his own desire to be “just like the rest of them.”
6. Nebula’s “You wanted to win and I just wanted a sister!” And how it turns the tables on how we view her relationship with Gamora. Because Nebula is clearly set up to be the ‘bad sister’ to Gamora’s ‘good sister’ and that one line really throws that on its head and shows that neither one of them are good or bad. I also love how it’s Gamora that ends up apologizing to Nebula, after everything, and Gamora who finally returns Nebula’s offer of sisterhood after all of those years.
7. “You shouldn’t have killed my mom and squished my Walkman!” Like, this line right here; the essence of Peter Quill in 10 words. Perfection.
8. The batteries as they relate to the parallel of Yondu’s and Rocket. Because them as a parallel is basically smashed over our heads, but I liked the subtle batteries parallel in that Rocket steals batteries he doesn’t need and Yondu steals Peter, who is used as a battery by Ego. It’s just a little thing but I found it really neat.
9. Rocket’s “I can only afford to lose one friend today,” line and how although it’s clearly framed to be about Peter, it’s also possibly about Yondu. Because no matter what, Rocket is losing a friend and it’s a great line to add to his character development from a guy who started trying to push his friends away to a guy who can’t lose them.
10. The contrast between how Peter reacts to the death of Ego and Yondu. He holds both as they die but he’s just silent and unaffected by Ego and he’s distraught and trying desperately to save Yondu, trying to pull off the suit to give to Yondu and save him instead. Can you say tears?
11. Don’t even talk to me about the Ravager funeral.
12. That the movie really was truly about family. Drax and his family and Mantis, Gamora and Nebula, Rocket and the Guardians, everyone parenting Groot and Peter realizing that the dad he’d wanted all along was actually the one he’d had. Often these superhero movies pull the “we’re family” card and it doesn’t feel earned, but man it does in this one. This movie is like Marvel’s “The Fast and The Furious IN SPACE” and it’s just great.
(Celebrities) It pains us to say it, but Misha Collins has stumbled eight spots to No. 15. What will it take to get him back up? We’ve already had so many Mishapocalypses.
(Television) With all the hubbub about Wonder Woman, no one is paying attention to Supergirl (No. 13). She fell eight spots in one week. That’s not nearly as bad as The 100, a show that fell a record fourteen spots in a mere seven days.
(Ships) Bellarke (The 100’s Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin) fell eight spots, but lands at a still impressive No. 11. The same can’t be said for Evak (Skam’s Even Bech Næsheim and Isak Valtersen), who is barely there at No. 20.
ok I'm not usually the one who ask without giving in return, but damn it needed a try: your art is breathtaking (literally) and I especially love the tall bendy with hooves you drew time ago, standing and crying so elegantly, I wonder if you could make him as being comforted by Henry or when he's back into his little cartoon form :D
Actually I thought about this comic before and now you asked me XD (I have the motive to finish this)!
had an idea that adrien finds a stray kitten on the way home from patrol one night and brings it home to keep it out of the winter cold and maybe give it a place to rest for the evening, since it’s obviously without a mother or any sort of protection/way to feed itself
he tells himself he wont keep it; that he’ll bring it to the vet in the morning and have it checked out, then bring it to the animal shelter so it can be adopted
but overnight the kitten falls asleep on adrien’s chest, and it purrs and stretches out its tiny paws, and oh no, it’s too cute, too cute, abort, ABORT
so he tells himself he’ll bring it to his and ladybug’s next patrol to let her say hello, since she once mentioned something about loving cats, and only after that he’ll do something about it
but when this little angel clings onto his shoulder and seems to enjoy the ride across the rooftops, and is so darn sweet to ladybug (who smiles very big in return), adrien knows he can’t just get rid of this precious creature just like that!
one week, he tells himself. one week with this kitten and then he’ll find her a home
one week turns into three, and three turn into eight, and suddenly adrien’s got a cat of his own that he brings to every patrol and lets sleep on his chest every night while simultaneously doing his best to hide her from his father who probably already knows because let’s face it you dont just see a
€500 cat condo in your son’s amazon order history and think nothing of it…but hey he’s just glad his kid found something to keep him happy
so adrien has a cat. a cat who he invites all of his friends over to see, including marinette, who can almost swear she’s seen that kitten before, on someone else’s shoulders…but hey, it’s just a coincidence, right? lots of cats have similar markings!
(bonus points if adrien names the kitten Buginette/Bugaboo)
Genre: Angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au
Pairing: Reader x Hoseok
Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.
it’s not the first time kara’s said it, but lena feels her cheeks flush anyways. she focuses on the road in front of her, the feel of the steering wheel underneath suddenly sweaty palms.
“alright, dear.” lena takes a chance side-glance at her girlfriend and finds kara all soft smiles, something secret and intimate brewing between the two of them.
“alright,” kara repeats. she turns, palm under her head and elbow on the door as the open breeze whips her golden curls around. the moment feels new, feels real. lena turns up the radio and smiles, wishes for time to come to a standstill.
“i’m gonna marry you.”
kara’s breath is hot against her ear and lena can feel their heartbeats syncing as one. she breathes deep through her nose, runs her fingers through damp hair. kara lounges on her chest and seems content to just lie there forever - and lena doesn’t really mind. kara is made from the stars and lena holds the universe on her chest.
“and i’m gonna marry you.” lena whispers this into the night air, the room still sticky with heat. there’s a hitch in kara’s breath, slight, subtle, but a hitch nonetheless.
“i look forward to it.” a wet kiss is placed below lena’s jaw then, followed by a trail of more hungry ones, and lena holds onto broad shoulders, wonders what salt tastes like on a hungry tongue.
“i’m gonna marry you.” kara says it like she’s going to make a stop at the grocery and is asking lena what kind of milk she wants.
this time, there’s no surprise, only the warmth of familiarity that seeps through lena’s veins at those words of endearment.
“i know,” lena jokes. she doesn’t look up from the email that she’s typing up. “tmz is doing a countdown for the big proposal.”
across the living room, kara sticks her tongue out at her and rolls her eyes. lena continues to type and for a while, the only sounds of the apartment are the click clack of a keyboard and the shuffling of kara’s papers.
“you’d still say yes, right?”
lena looks up momentarily. “what?” she asks.
there’s a hesitancy to the slope of kara’s shoulders. “you would still say yes, right? if i asked to marry you?”
lena lets out a soft laugh - nothing intimidating or loud, just soft - and sits back in her chair, catches her girlfriend’s honest gaze with her own, “my dear, i’d follow you to the ends of the universe and back, you know that.”
this seems to soothe kara, who returns back to her books at hand. “alright,” she says as she pushes up her glasses. “just checking.”
“i’m gonna marry you.”
kara is crying, big, uncontrollable silent sobs down her cheeks. lena feels her own eyes well up in return; seeing kara in all her sadness never made for a dry eye between the both of them.
kara lies on the deo bed under sunlamps. and lena luthor is a child prodigy, a genius billionaire, a nobel peace prize winner and a forbes 30 under 30, but she will never understand the deepness of kara’s sorrow, the cuts and the space that kara’s mind occupies where no sunlight can reach. she tries. lena tries hard, and it’s times like these where she can only do so much but hold kara’s hand a pray for the sunrise to come quick.
lena’s mouth is dry when she speaks. “you’re gonna marry me,” she whispers, urges, promises, “you’re gonna marry me, and i’m gonna marry you, and you’re gonna have something steady to call your own.”
kara cries harder at this, tears streaming and silent heaves, but it’s enough. it’s enough for now, and it’s a promise of forever.
“i’m gonna marry you.”
and kara does. kara and lena exchange vows under a setting sun with matching bracelets on their arms and a song in their hearts and kara and lena marry each other when the world is turning into a new day and their beginning is just reaching the first page. lena marries kara and they sit on a rooftop at the end of the night, look into the constellations of stars and eons and legends and they find a home among the infinite, a peace among the unknown.
and alex has gone after her in that damn pod. sure, getting the thing to space wasn’t a problem - reentery however was where things were going more than a little screwy. in no seconds flat alex finds herself in a falling deathtrap with her unconscious sister draped mostly uncomfortably across her.
this pod was not meant for two.
nor, apparently, is it meant for rouge humans hijacking and then flying it, poorly but still functionally, into space to save their superhero little sisters. yet, alex had done it anyway.
and now, well, with the planet rapidly rising up to meet them, alex realizes the steering is gone. realizes that the best she can hope for is sending out some sort of signal and hoping that wherever they landed…the deo finds them first.
too bad it was going to be a water landing. which, god, that wasn’t what alex wants. any type of crash landing would probably kill her on impact, but at least crashing into some sort of land might ensure kara’s survival. kara who is still unconscious.
alex knows she has seconds left to come up with a plan. she’s feeling a little ill, the pod spinning around and with one arm holding kara to her chest, alex is left to crane her neck over her little sisters shoulder just to look at the console.
her eye catches a red button.
under the console, hidden from the normal line of sight - alex has to wonder if red buttons hold the same meaning on every plant. alex has to wonder why she never asked.
[to be fair, it’s an obscure question, but god, alex wishes she’d had the foresight to see this coming]
what she doesn’t see coming are the clouds, the fog that seems to be way too high in the atmosphere, plunging the pod and the danvers sisters into a grey half light.
There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it’s actually there. No one has ever returned through it.
There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. Their friend followed after.
One did not.
The story did not begin there though. It began long, long ago, in the tales and songs of ancestors long gone; passed from mother to daughter and father to son. They did not fade through time, starting anew in each beating heart of the family line.
They reached a young girl with olive skin and hair like raven’s wings. Her dark eyes would shine as her grandmother wove the tales by the fireside.
She spoke to the girl of a woman with fiery hair and burning eyes, who spoke with flames and held infernos between her palms. Perhaps that sparked the love in her for all things she should not, and she strove to make the embers dance, like the one with fire in her hands.
Her grandmother knew in her old, wise bones that this child needed the tales more than most. Their family had always been aware, trusting their intuition had never led them wrong.
So when the girl came to Elsewhere, (For where else could she have gone?) Everyone steered clear (The school gave up on roommates before very long.)
Perhaps it was because of her reputation of playing with fire, or perhaps it was simply fate, but her chemistry professor paired her with a boy who loved to play with ice. They became unlikely friends, she with her burning salts and he with his liquid nitrogen.
“Call me Pyrra.” she said.
“Frozone.” He grinned, white teeth gleamed against his dark skin.
He told her of his girlfriend back in Louisiana who was pregnant with his child: “It’s too soon to know the gender yet.” And she would just smile.
She told him of her grandparents and their small, simple home that stood alone on the reservation and of the wild horses that would thunder by.
They knew what everyone would say, how unwise it was to share so much about themselves, but they were chemistry majors—those rarely got taken.
The two were closer then blood and they both forgot one very important fact— being Taken isn’t the only way to Vanish.
It had been an accident. Frozone hadn’t been paying attention. He had forgotten to count the doors, as he stumbled to his history class after a long night in the labs. No one probably would have known if a fellow student hadn’t seen him stepping through the door—too late to stop his fate.
Pyrra was the first one told, the RA’s decided to wait till the end of the term before notifying his family. They knew it was a futile hope, but anything beat having to make that call.
Pyrra wouldn’t accept this though. She gathered up her craft, and armed herself with salts to burn. She dressed herself in her tribe’s garments and war paint on her face—there is power in being claimed—and set off for the history building when the moonless night was at its darkest.
The door gave way before her and she crossed into when; not where, her friend had gone. She travelled far until she found where the Little People were gathered round. They vanished as she drew near, but she was unshaken by this or fear.
“I have come to bargain for my brother of heart.”
“What will you give?” They whispered in reply.
“A story like none other.” She called bravely into the night.
“There is no story to match his fate, for his return we will need something great.”
Pyrra paused before standing straight.
“Then I will take his place.”
“Is this your choice?”
She thought of her grandparents, sitting at home, they had only gotten electricity a few years ago.
She thought of Frozone’s sisters, all so young and alone thriving off their brother’s hope to give them a better home, on the income of the degree the scholarship would to them all. She thought about his girlfriend, who worked two jobs by day, and attended a community college to get her art degree by night. With that her mind was made.
Frozone stumbled in, lost and confused as if it had only been an hour instead of a day. He caught onto what had happened more than quick enough.
“Pyrra, you can’t do this! Please! It’s my mistake to pay.”
“Call my grandmother and ask for my name, give it to your daughter and your debt shall be paid.”
That was all the time they had, before he was gone and she had stayed. The Little Folk drew near her now; intent on Their new pet, but she held up her hand, she wasn’t Theirs quite yet.
“I have another bargain to make.”
“What now?” They grumbled, discontent and bored.
“My story for my freedom, I chose to stay, but not to be yours.”
“Fine.” they hissed “But the bargain is this: you must keep us entertained till dawn or to us you will belong.”
What choice was there left for her to make? The sky was at it darkest—the hour before dawn. But how that hour stretched on and on!
She dared not tell her family’s tales, or sing to Them their songs, so she told them what she had, her science close at hand.
She told them how a star was born and how precious gems became; all the while between her hands she wove the tales with flame.
When that never nearing dawn finally broke upon the sky, They praised her skills, and kept their deals; blessing her all the while.
Fire-tongue they called her; Flame-speaker, They would say. They kissed her eyes and painted her lips, dressing her in flame.
She smiled and simply said, “That is not my name.”
For she had a new name now, one that no one could ever Take, now that she had given her old name away.
Frozone made it back and tried to keep his word. He called her grandmother who patiently greeted him and told him Pyrra’s name, only requesting that in return he send her things and bring his daughter by some day. She waved him off when he explained that the baby was still too small to tell, whether it was female or male.
Years passed and soon it was time to graduate. Everyone assumed that Pyrra’s grandparents came for Frozone. No one expected Pyrra to appear and collect her diploma as if she had been there all along. Then again, no one mentioned how her eyes were embers now or how her hair had turned from raven black to crimson—so she very well may have been.
A few decades later a new student comes—a chemistry major that loves to play with fire. She wears a white smile; which is near blinding against her dark skin. She claims she came to prove that her father paid his debt. She won’t say anymore than that. But sometimes she would leave the dorm shortly before dawn on moonless nights with a string of fireworks in her hands. She would always return the next morning, humming ancient songs as she wrote an email to her father.
During her time a new tale whispers its way into campus lore.
It’s breathed into the ears of distraught students—those with the courage to try and reclaim the Taken Ones are the only ones to hear the advice.
“Come to the edge of the woods on a moonless night, just before dawn and set off fireworks of every color—then wait.”
The ones who listen return with tales about a woman in smoldering garments, blazing red hair, and glowing embers for eyes who would test their resolve. To those who passed she would gift them with words or song, depending on their need, she might even gift them with her fire.
Regardless of what you get, it is always enough to get them back.
Except no one can remember what it was she gave them. They could never remember the tale itself, just that she gave them one; the songs she granted would dance just beyond memory’s grasp; the image of a mesmerizing flame leaving a ghostly impression inside their eyelids. There was only one thing anyone remembers her saying.
“My name is Story—”
There is a door in the history department. It never looks the same twice and is always cracked open when it is there. No one has ever returned through it.
There once was a chemistry major that went through the door. His friend followed after.
She did not.
“—and I create myself.”
A/N: I know the Gentry come off a little strange in this. It’s mostly because Pyrra is Navajo and thus the stories she knows are of the Little People; but at Elsewhere, the Gentry are for the most part from Great Britain, Ireland and thereabouts. I tried to blend these two cultures. I’m not gunna lie, I didn’t do great. I haven’t done much with Navajo mythology in a long while. I feel it came off pretty shoddy in this. I’m not trying to offend (I’m part native American myself). Also, I love Chemistry but I suck at it which is why I didn’t go as into depth as I would have liked. (My grammar sucks too, so apologies there as well.)
summary: “For Nat’s sake, Y/N, will you pretend to be my girlfriend?” words: 1038
Bucky had heard once that if it’s meant to be, it’s going to happen. His mama lived by those words. Maybe that’s why she fought every battle with bright eyes and a smile. It’s why there was never anything she couldn’t do.
There were several times in his life when he questioned the validity of those words. When Sarah Rogers died, he wondered if it meant that he was always going to be responsible for Steve. When Steve liberated the 107th, he wondered if maybe it had always been the other way around. The words lost meaning to him when fell of that train.
When he looks at Y/N, though, with her naked body curled up against him, eyes closed and soft snores escaping her nose, he can’t help but remember them.
He wonders if she remembers anything from last night. He knows he does. He remembers every last word he said, the exact number of times she whispered his name, the expressions on her face of bliss and hurt and anger and desperation. He remembers his own matching desperation, how the only thing on his mind had been bright red hair and sea green eyes and how somehow, somewhere along the way, suddenly all he could think about was Y/N. He remembers how he did what he did to deal with his own misery, like the selfish bastard he is, but how at some point it became something else, something more.
And even now, in his fully conscious and sober state of mind, when the feeling of her skin touching his is supposed to be wrong, it isn’t. He can’t move; He doesn’t want to move, and that scares him. If it’s meant to be, it’s going to happen.
She stirs beside him, and his breath catches in his throat because he wouldn’t be caught dead staring at her at his most vulnerable, especially when he knows exactly how she’ll react waking up beside him: with a red face, mumbling “this was a mistake” and rushing out of the room as if he’s hurt her.
(And he has, he realizes.)
When she only flips over and falls back asleep, Bucky lets out a breath of air and his lungs can function properly again. He decides maybe it’s best if he goes to take a shower. He’s not sure he could handle himself being beside her when she does wake up, anyway.
They’re at a club, and it’s when Bucky’s sitting between Steve, Sam, Wanda, Sharon, and Y/N, loud music pounding in his veins, that he realizes that if anything, Y/N deserves an Oscar. She’s avoided him expertly for days, and he hasn’t done much on his own part to seek her out either. It’s little things that he’s slowly registered: that she needs space, that he’s probably going to make a bad situation even worse, that this whole dynamic is toxic. For him too, but especially for her.
But this woman, oh god. She’s sitting with the others right now, laughing and talking as if nothing’s wrong at all, and the only reason Bucky can tell that something is off is because he’s concealed his own emotions for years. It’s like someone’s flipped a switch, and Bucky’s not sure why or how, but he’s become aware of how selfish he’s been, to ask someone to leave their whole life behind just so he can deal with his own crushing self worth.
She excuses herself from the group, saying something about getting a drink and winking at Wanda, who laughs in return. He notices her empty glass, and how everyone else has barely had any to drink, and he feels his eyebrows furrow in concern.
He watches her as she sits at the bar, watches how she down a drink quicker than he’s ever downed one, watches how she orders another, then another. And he knows what she’s doing, because drinking to forget? He’s tried that so, so many times.
“Oh my god, Bucky. You’re obsessed with her.” It’s Sharon Carter who finally gets him to look away and tune back into the conversation, and he realizes that everyone’s grinning at him. So he flashes his signature smile, laughs along with the others, when really, it feels like he’s only just noticed her.
Slowly, everyone disperses to their own activity. Wanda goes to the dance floor, Steve and Sharon head out to grab something to eat, saying they’ll be back, and Sam disappears to who knows where?
Bucky stands his ground for a while, until even the bartender is giving Y/N looks of concern. Then he gets up and walks over to the bar, standing beside Y/N. She doesn’t say anything when he gently takes her glass out of her hand and sets it to the side, only looks up at him with hollow, emotionless eyes that make his own throat tighten.
“That’s enough,” he says, but he can barely get the word out of his mouth. He sends Steve a quick text, then slips his arm around Y/N’s back to help her off the bar stool and onto her feet. “Let’s get you home.”
She’s quite as he guides her outside and hails a cab for the two of them. She just stares straight ahead, emotionless, not acknowledging anything. It isn’t until they’re on their way back to the compound that she speaks.
“Bucky?” She says his name so softly he has to strain to hear her. “Why– why me?”
And all Bucky can say to that is “I’m sorry.” He wants to say he’s sorry that she’s hurting, that it’s not at all her fault, that he owes her the biggest apology in the world, but the only words that he can manage to say through his constricting throat are “I’m sorry.” Over, and over, and over.
She doesn’t cry or yell at him like she should. She just goes back to staring outside quietly, leaning her head against the window. Eventually, he sees her close her eyes, and he thinks that maybe she’s asleep, but then she opens her mouth to speak again and the words she whispers make Bucky’s heart clench and his breathing stop.