#pastichemuses

[harriedwritings]

    // @pastichemuses // closed

Harry’s public image (by which he meant his social status, his rep, what his fellow students at Midtown thought of him) was paramount to his sense of self-worth. That was the predominant driving factor when it came to making most of his social decisions, the only exception being when a select few individuals were involved, whereupon they took priority. It was important to remember this.

    Even when the world was shit and he was shit and shit was shit, at least he knew that his peers didn’t hate having him around; he took great care in maintaining this, and damn if that didn’t mean smiling at people he didn’t want to be around. On the plus side, that was a point in his popularity’s favour. On the negative side, he had to smile at people he didn’t want to be around.

        Michelle, however, was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise vapid cesspool of sycophantic ingrates, otherwise known as teenagers. All in all, she didn’t make him want to scream into the void whilst gouging his eyeballs out with a rusted spork and doing an enforced macerena. Loosely translated, she was pretty chill.

    “-- Is it just me or does it seem like with every day that passes, more and more people clump together?” he asked in a languid fashion, leaning against the locker next to hers with one shoulder to it and his long legs (6′3 life yo) crossed at the ankle. “-- Like, it’s like there’re dozens of tiny cults popping up all over the place.”

[graysongraysoff]

@pastichemuses replied to your post: well i’m back

yaaayayyyyyyyyy no more garbage house!!!!

may it rest in bloody, bloody pieces

[liisacastlea-blog]

@pastichemuses ♥’d for a starter (Jack)

Twilight was falling and not many people were still roaming the sidewalks in this part of New York City. Only the ones who could handle themselves and the stupid ones. Lisa preferred to categorize herself in the first group. The kid with the camera, on the other hand, didn’t look like much. She’d been watching him from where she was sitting-a bus stop bench for a route that had long past stopped running. Lisa wasn’t there for him, but while she was waiting for something to happen, she let her curiosity tempt her into staring at the stranger.  She wondered what the camera was for. Did he work for someone? Was he a tourist? It was hard to tell in the dark if he was a tourist. Though it seemed odd for him to be this far away from the more picturesque parts of this place. She waited until he got closer when she called out, “I’d be careful taking pictures out here. People might think you are up to no good. Scare the other people that are up to no good.” 

[stellarobjects]

Study Date (CLOSED)

It’s risky and stupid and all thing’s Peter excels at, but when faced with the latter choice, it’s all Peter can do to don the Spidey mask and set down swinging the streets of New York.

It was either this, or face the wrath of running late to his study session with Michelle.

He’s already five minutes past and the pouch Tony made in his suit for his cell is burning hot. “I am almost there, woman, damn it.” He may be running about thirty minutes late, but who else was going to save that cat from the tree? Certainly not the Avengers. Nope, just good ol’ Peter Parker, best boy extraordinaire. 

He swoops past the NYPL and gives a startled yelp before twisting back and onto the roof. Okay, okay. You can do this, Pete, just shimmy on down that drain pipe and into the alleyway and you’re almost there. Wait, super suit. Did he strip on the roof? What if someone flying overhead saw, or what about a drone?! He settled on ducking down to throw his clothes on over the damn thing, maybe not the best idea in the middle of New York’s hot summer, but what can you do?

Next comes the mask. He gets a good look around the alley to make sure no one followed him before bolting towards the front steps, not caring one bit if he’s rocking the mask hair (and yes, it’s a thing, damn it.) “Pleasepleasepleeee-”

He bursts through the front door like a god damn sweaty madman, drawing everyone’s attention his way, including that of a very pissed off Michelle Jones, standing front and center and about to leave.

“Heeeeeey!” He grins then. “I’ve uh, b-been looking for you! When did you get here? I was here HOURS ago! Big place, right?”

He’s cut off (thankfully) by an aggressive librarian with a penchant for shushing her way through her whole shift. 

[tokillabarton]

pastichemuses replied to your post.

this whole post is mood tbh

you know what pisses me off more than jeremy r*nner’s clint and horrible fancasts for barney? THE EXISTENCE OF LAURA BARTON IN THE MCU LIKE WHERE DID SHE COME FROM WHY IS SHE EVEN THERE WHY WOULD THEY BRING CLINT’S FAMILY FROM THE ULTIMATES UNIVERSE WHERE SHIT’S FUCKED UP ALREADY AAAAAAH

[observcnt-blog]

      ❝     you’re kinda weird . i like you . wanna hang out with me ?      ❞

&.  @pastichemuses  »  jack  /    one-liner starter call  !

[cameoutofabottle-blog]

@pastichemuses

Steph was beginning to get to the point where she was no longer sure whether she was waking in the small hours of the morning due to bad dreams or if it was an eagerness to sit with Bruce. It’d become something of a ritual with them of late: the pair of them having nightmares and shuffling out to the shared living space to sit and settle their troubled minds with good company and hot chocolate or soothing tea. She had begun to enjoy getting to know him during those quiet morning talks. He was so smart, but he didn’t talk over her head when he spoke of his work. Bruce had a way of connecting and a soft kindness to him that was so unlike what one might expect, considering his alter ego. Steph liked him. A lot. And she liked to think that maybe those early morning moments were helping him as much as they were helping her.

This morning, it’d been a nightmare for sure. Not the worst she’d ever had, but it had been enough to wake her with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead. Steph had been up for just under an hour with a cup of tea in hand and a second cup waiting to be made in the kitchen should Bruce join her. The scream that erupted from the sleeping area down the hall nearly had her spilling her tea all over herself. But Steph was on her feet in an instant, mug set on the table, and had leapt over the second couch as she took off down the hall for Bruce’s room. 

“Bruce!” she breathed as she blasted through his door. “It’s okay. It’s okay, it’s just a dream!” She closed the door behind herself and crossed the room to his bed, unconcerned by the possibility of him taking a swing at her if she startled him out of the nightmare. “I’m here,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bed and took his face between her hands. “It’s Steph, Bruce. I’m here. You’re okay. Wake up. Wake up, Bruce. Shhh.” She brushed the fingers of one hand back through his hair to push the dark strands from his face.

[harriedwritings]

        // @pastichemuses // closed

Lucky was barking.

    Clint was unaware of the barking dog due to being napping.

Lucky licked his face.

    Clint’s eyes cracked open.

Lucky, upon hearing a ‘mhph?’ made a beeline for the door, then returned to him.

    Clint blinked.

“-- ...Someone at the door, Luck?”

Lucky stared at him with his one eye, then turned heel and went over to the door, where he sat down, staring at him.

        ...He’d take that as a yes.

It was with a disgruntled groan that Clint forced himself upright, grabbing one of his hearing aids and rendering it functional with little ceremony. What the fuck time was this? Who the fuck was that? Why the fuck was this. Whom.

He yawned extravagantly, stooping to pet Lucky, then opened the door. ...Oh. Whoops?

“-- Hey, Nat.” He wandered back into his apartment, leaving it there but turning on the coffee maker, then turning back to face her in case she was going to tell him what he’d undoubtedly forgotten to do.