Info for Faith In The Future World Tour MARYLAND HEIGHTS, MO - JUN 9 2023
With special guests THE ACADEMIC & SNARLS!
Important Times:
5:30 PM - Doors Open
7:00 PM - Snarls
8:00 PM - The Academic
9:00 PM - Louis Tomlinson
Times are all approximate and subject to change.
General admission (pit tickets):
Heavy traffic advisory: heavy traffic and extra congestion will be present due to show at @hollywoodampstl. We strongly encourage you arrive early.
Subject to change. Check the venue’s socials for updates!
⚠️ HYDRATION REMINDER ⚠️
Hydrate before the show, while waiting in line and during the show
For optimal hydration drink something with electrolytes such as Gatorade or LiquidIV
Wear sunscreen!
Eat well!
Here are important policies:
The venue is CASHLESS! Pay with major credit or debit cards except Discover.
Food & drinks special info here
Heavy traffic advisory: heavy traffic and extra congestion will be present due to show at @hollywoodampstl. We strongly encourage you arrive early.
Parking: parking available on site for $10 ($25 premium parking) cash/card. Info and map here and here
ADA info here and here
Cameras: Small personal, non-professional "point and shoot" cameras are allowed. Professional cameras with detachable lenses are not permitted. Audio recorders, video recorders and digital cameras with video capabilities are prohibited during all events.
Water: 1 sealed and unopened water bottle or empty plastic bottle, max 20oz is ALLOWED (link)
NO Outside food and/or beverages
NO Cans, Metal/Glass/Plastic Containers, Bottles or Flasks
NO Illegal drugs or substances (zero tolerance on this)
NO Incendiary devices, flammable liquids, aerosol cans, permanent markers
NO Weapons of any kind
NO Strollers (exceptions made for collapsible ones that fit under seat)
NO Banner sticks, poster tubes and flag poles
NO Items whose content cannot be inspected (wrapped gifts, etc.)
NO alcohol
NO smoking (except on the South side of the plaza area (behind the seats) by Casino Center Drive)
NO Aerosol sunscreen/bug spray
NO Laptops, personal computers, two-way radios, tablets, iPads
NO Flashlights, laser pointers, flares, fireworks, confetti
NO Nose making devices (air horns, whistles, bells, vuvuzelas, etc.)
NO Balloons, balls, projectiles, optical illusions
NO Skateboards, segways, scooters, roller blades, bikes, hoverboards, helmets
NO Coolers, ice chests, folding chairs, pointed-tip umbrellas
NO Seat cushions or booster seats: cannot have zippers, pockets or concealable areas
NO Masks, chains, studded belts or bracelets
NO Drones
NO Animals or pets (accomodations will be made for trained, harnessed, and housebroken service animals)
NO Unapproved pamphlets, handouts, ads, flyers
NO Clothing, garments, or signs displaying explicit language, profanity, derogatory characterization
There is NO RE-ENTRY!
VIEW VENUE MAP
VIEW SEAT MAP
For more details click here
Bag Policy:
Bags must be no larger than 12" x 6" x 12"
Oversized bags and backpacks are not permitted
Diaper bags must be accompanied by a child and are subject to inspection
Exemptions will be made for medically necessary items that require a bag larger than the 12" x 6" x 12" limit and are subject to inspection
Banners, signs and flag policy:
Banners, signs, flags, posters of any kind will not be allowed inside Saint Louis Music Park.
NO signs displaying explicit language, profanity, derogatory characterization
Contact:
For additional questions please call the venue at 314-451-2244. You can also access their website. Message them here. Check their twitter here and IG here for updates. Venue: Saint Louis Music Park. Address: 750 Casino Center Dr, Maryland Heights, MO 63043
The most recent thing I posted before tumblr. It was on Choerry's birthday, and I am proud of that.
Tags: TheLounge, Loona, Choerry, male reader insert, it's her birthday!, 100% butt stuff, I ate a thesaurus
~~~~~
It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you get there?
Well, moments prior, you were sitting next to Choerry at your small dinner table. She’s always insisted on sitting as close to you as possible in order to enable near-constant snuggling. It’s gotten a little annoying here and there, but you can’t help but concede to her innocent demands whenever she smiles.
Of course, and not that you’ve ever complained about this, that’s not to say that her demands aren’t always entirely innocent. Most of the time they are, but not always.
That day, for example, you woke her up with breakfast in bed. It wasn’t tradition, but you were just getting her back for the last time she did it for you. And what better day to present her, prone, with a pancake, pulverized potato, and porridge parfait platter… with toppings… than her birthday?!
It can be hard to tell if Choerry is acting or not at times, but you’d like to think that her cartoonish level of enthusiasm for the treat was entirely real. She carried that sunshine throughout the rest of your day, skipping through the park, greeting everybody on the way to, inside, and on the way out of The Lounge, at the surprise party that you helped all of her members get her with, and when she dragged you to her room.
Not a drop of alcohol had touched her lips that night, so it was all the more surprising when she shoved you onto her bed and stated matter-of-factly-but-also-vaguely that she wanted you to put a thing in her butt. Her words came out of her mouth like shimmery soap bubbles.
You had to pause for a moment to process her words. You were certainly up for some sexy times with Choerry. You had anticipated it was going to happen when she put your hand down her pants near the end of the birthday party with no attempt at subtlety. But her exact word choices had you rubbing your temples out of exasperation, even as she stripped herself down to her ridiculously cherry red lingerie.
Your chance to admire that rare view was lost to history, however. She removed the lingerie from her body while she claimed your lips. Your disappointment at not getting the opportunity to remove it yourself quickly faded when she popped back up though.
Her breasts were as perky as her attitude, and also your dick. She was quick to notice the latter and made quick work of your clothes too. She sighed satisfactorily at the sight of your sword and stooped to supply it with a suck and some slickening slobber, so you suspected the sex was starting summarily; more swiftly than standard, it seemed.
Concerned for her well being, you made sure to ask if she had lube available. Again, you weren’t going to complain about her gusto, but she lacked the anal experience that some of your mutual friends had, at least you assumed. Sure enough, there was a bottle mere feet from her reach in her drawer. She grabbed it and jumped back on top of you, pouring it generously over her ass crack and your cock with surprising accuracy for someone so engaged with a hot and heavy kiss.
You were sure you had something to say on the matter. Perhaps some additional words of caution, maybe some other words of encouragement. It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you-- come back around to the exact same thought that the story began with?
“It’s okay, right?”
You attempted to blink away your stupefaction. “O-okay?”
“Mhm! For me to… you know!” She leaned in and whispered directly into your ear, “Put your penis in my butt.”
Ah, yes. The demand that you had nearly forgotten in her flurry of kisses, now slightly reworded to include your dick in the equation. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Just checking!”
“We’ve… done this before.”
“I know!” Choerry swooped back in to continue kissing you, implying that she had no intention of expounding further. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, massaging the whole length to ensure that the lube had maximum coverage.
Your breath caught as you felt her readjusting you, tapping you around between her legs as she tried to match you up with her intended target purely via exploration. Your cock was ground between her ass cheeks, the tip slid over her clit, and dipped briefly into her pussy. A groan was the only complaint you could give to only being given a half second of her fantastic heat.
You didn’t have to wait long to get it back. Her ass opened up to the pressure she applied against it with your dick, but exceptionally slowly. Choerry released a series of little exclamations into your mouth as she pushed. She tossed the lube bottle to the side and snatched your hand, curling her fingers into your palm.
Finally, the last pop came, and was followed by a short slide. With no more manual guidance necessary, she grabbed your other hand as well, which promptly slipped out of her grip considering the amount of lube present.
Choerry released you from your kissy bliss to look at her slippery hand, a mixture of anger and amusement on her face. She tried a couple more times to hold your hand with it, but you liked this look. You easily slithered your hand out from under hers every time she slapped down. It was like watching a cat trying to catch a laser pointer.
It was just another reminder that no matter how deep inside Choerry you may physically be, she’ll never stop bringing a goofy-ass smile to your face.
Finally, you relented and entwined your fingers with hers, locking your knuckles together so you wouldn’t fall apart. She glared down into your eyes, but a grin still crept through. “Thank you,” she said, lips tight and nose scrunched up.
With you fully in her grasp, Choerry straightened herself up, allowing you the opportunity to look up and down her sublime figure. Though her movement caused her to cause you to penetrate her a bit further which caused her to flinch slightly, she kept herself aloft on her knees to not go too far all at once. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths there, as calmly as if she was meditating.
As much as you wanted to go ham on her ham, you didn’t want to hurt her, so you contented yourself with watching her chest rise and fall. “Happy birthday…” you whispered.
“You’ve already told me that today,” Choerry intoned, eyes still closed like she was drifting off into her own little world.
You laughed. “I was saying it to myself! Have you seen you?”
She smiled again, and said three words in a voice that made it seem like she was speaking to an audience on the edge of their seats, “Okay, I’m ready.”
Her fingers constricted around yours, so you questioned if she was, in fact, ready. But you wouldn’t be the one to stop her.
Choerry’s tight tush trucked its way toward the top of your tower twice to tighten her take on the task at the time, before torturously trending testicle-ward. She temporized without taking your entire tool.
So hypnotized were you with her graceful movement that you didn’t even notice the frustrated moan coming up your throat until it was too late.
Her eyes popped open. “I’m sorry!” She sounded like she meant it, too. “This is… tough.”
“Take your time,” you said, straining your voice for comic effect.
“Could have used that four paragraphs ago,” she said, continuing her extremely slow descent down your shaft.
The odd statement distracted you just long enough for Choerry to finish her drop. No longer did space separate your pelvises. You grew concerned again when she winced and bit her lip from the inside.
“Choerry, we really can do something else. Don’t hurt yourself please.”
She gave you an exaggerated, indignant gander. “Rhetorical question: Who gets to choose the cake on her birthday?”
You held in your “cake” joke.
“It’s me,” Choerry’s voice was far too chipper to make this talking-to sound as stern as you were sure she wanted it to come across as. “As birthday lady, I get to pick the cake, and I get to feed it to you if I want to.”
You held in your “cake feeding” joke.
“And tonight, the cake I pick is my bum.”
You opened your mouth to comment on her most excellent selection of the word “bum” in the midst of a scenario where your cock is fully inside of said bum, but you instead gasped a sharp breath.
Choerry ground forward, pulling your dick with her and anointing the lowermost part of your stomach with the juices being lightly sprinkled from her clit.
“Besiiides,” she continued, re-angling her hands to she could tickle the backs of yours, “We have all the lube! Even some that’s got a certain special flavor to it!”
“Just some?”
“Yeah, ooh,” she crooned, apparently quite enjoying the grind back down your pelvis, “I didn’t get it all at once. Now guess the flavor!”
You waited for her grinding to pause again to be able to think straight, “Does it start with a ‘C?’”
Her smile grew. “Yes!”
“Is it a fruit?”
“Yes!”
“Is it… cherry?”
“Failure!”
“Wha--”
“It’s coconut!”
If you weren’t so established in your hand holding with Choerry, you’d have palmed your face. Thankfully, thoughts of how she could have possibly expected you to guess that were pushed to the back of your mind as she resumed her removal of your breath with a series of fanciful body rolls.
Finally fucking her fanny felt fictional. For while not the first foray there, far-fetched was the philosophy that it was fielded often, the front being the favored fornication fissure for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, you could make this an especially special session.
But woe was unto you. Choerry had the upper hand(s) figuratively as well as literally. But, perhaps, you thought, this was exactly what she wanted and you could wait your damn turn to take control.
And you liked letting her anally probe herself this way, so, you know, what were you to do but enjoy the ride?
Over the course of her self-imposed ravaging, Choerry’s meditative breaths became ragged. Her eyelids fluttered at regular intervals. Through it all, she held her phantasmagorical demeanor. A couple of times she reached for the lube bottle and shotgunned it somewhat inaccurately between her legs, but it did the job. You were happy to see that she was still considering her own comfort.
In fact, to your surprise, her mouth opened wide in a silent shout. Her core trembled anticipatorily. Her hands held yours with a colossally increased lewdness. And those two mystical words trickled from her tongue with a high-pitched susurration, “I’m… cumming…”
Choerry’s grinding came to a grinding halt. Her body jerked and she fell onto you. Your cock sprang free of her ass in, and as a result of, the same motion.
You untangled one of your hands to stroke her back in the most adoring fashion you could muster. After chewing on a thesaurus for the prior hour, you were sure neither of you really needed any more words.
She stayed there for a spell, and you were happy to let her. It was so late it was nearly no longer her birthday, but her birthday it still was. She deserved the rest, along with the rest of your undivided attention.
Her whole movement consisted of her back going up and down as her lungs attempted to revive her fighting spirit, and her thumb lovingly shifting over the divinatory lines on your palm. You wished she would do something about her hair plastered on your chin, but ninety-nine percent of paradise is paradise enough.
You were disappointed when Choerry rose once more, slimily straddling your stomach. She detached her hands from yours to give the hair on either side of her face a good backward flick over her shoulders, and she sighed with contentment.
It was a shock to hear her speak again after such a prolonged reticence, but her unerringly cheerful voice was entirely welcome nonetheless.
“More please.”
You couldn’t then, and you still can’t help but concede to her innocent demands. Her smile just touched the corner of her lips. Sure, some of her demands aren’t so innocent, but… How did you get here again?
Inspired by this super wholesome post I read ages ago
More parts~
~~~
Youngbin:
super short fur, big eyes
by that I mean huge, wide open, almost terrified eyes
sits and observes
but if someone has food for him he WILL nyoom over within a second
in general a fast cat, but doesn’t really showcase it
sometimes you wake up at night and feel incredibly watched - it’s just him sitting up straight at the foot of your bed, making sure nobody breaks in at night and steals you
a very strange cat at times, but mostly silent
you’ve heard him meow maybe once in the past year
doesn’t really relax when he sits in peoples’ laps, he prefers getting comfy on your shoulders
has a strong build, becomes a cat-blob when he lies down somewhere though
confused
tilts his head sideways a lot
it’s hard to get him to play with you, because he will just watch you trying to get his attention until you feel like an idiot
doesn’t really react to most cat toys, instead he likes playing with your socks
or stealing your socks
hoards socks under the couch
Inseong:
smart cat with short hair and a pink pointy nose
gets anywhere, and I mean anywhere
especially knows how to get to places his owner doesn’t want him to get to
will stare you right in the eyes and then very sloooowly push that vase you saved and repositioned so many times off the counter
in general he likes throwing stuff off tables/cupboards/etc.
then acts as if nothing happened
it’s clear who’s the one owning who here
hates the vet, will pee on him every single time you have to take him there
doesn’t really use his claws or teeth on others, he’s the passive-aggressive type of cat
if you try to put a collar on him, he will get rid of it within the next few hours
good luck finding that collar
likes catching birds that seem too big for him and then proudly presenting them to you in a half-dead state
freezes and makes the funniest face when he gets startled
will take apart any kind of curtain or tablecloth he can get his paws onto
will let you pet him for exactly two minutes before he starts getting irritated
loves rubbing his butt in your face
Jaeyoon:
sweetest cat ever, beautiful middle-length fur
gets mats a lot and becomes irritable if you don’t regularily remove them
loves roaming around outside, but will spend most of his time in your garden if you have one
likes bird watching but rarely ever tries to catch them
gets stuck on the same tree over and over again
super cuddly cat
will hide and then meow at you out of nowhere to get your attention
only when you look at him he’ll come running to you, rubbing against your legs
loves sleeping in the sun more than anything
very picky about food though
eats with his paws
will jump on your lap a lot and start treading even before you’re petting him
super loud purring
the long fur on his cheeks makes his head look a lot bigger than it is
will rub his whole face against you if he likes you
pet him once and you’re his best friend
Dawon:
small, loud and playful
gets very wild when playing so he might accidentally scratch you
is in general far too hyper
sleeps less than normal cats
please let him out or your living space won’t survive him
sometimes when he’s nowhere to be seen you will find him sitting in a closed cupboard in the kitchen, wondering how in the world he got in there
eats everything
whenever you eat something he’s right there to watch you and your food
if you don’t pay attention for a second, he’ll steal it and run off with it
gets stuck on the weirdest of places
will sit on top of open doors or high furniture and meow at you until you come get him down
you wonder if he actually can’t get down by himself or if he’s just being a jerk
loves getting petted but don’t touch his belly
loves playing with everything other than actual cat toys
his favourite toys are your shoelaces, earrings, the drawstring on your hoodie,... really anything that’s attached to you in some way
will start licking your hair to “groom” you
sometimes snores in his sleep and his feet start running in the air when he has an exciting dream
sleeps in the weirdest of positions
can sense if you’re having a hard time or a bad day and will come to sit and purr in your lap more often during those times
Zuho:
chill long haired cat
looks majestic on photos, is actually just a lazy derp on four legs
sleeps
like... he sleeps all the time and everywhere
a big cat that likes to be carried around while occasionally drooling on your shoulder
put something on his forehead and he won’t move for a solid 5 minutes, all while derping and his eyes moving around trying to assess the situation
in general he sometimes just gets stuck in the middle of an action and doesn’t move for a few seconds
likes spreading out on your keyboard or your notes and textbooks when you’re trying to study or work
won’t leave you alone unless you give him a good belly rub
but he falls asleep during good belly rubs and will wake up to jump back onto your things as soon as you try to put him elsewhere
demands all your attention only to fall asleep on you as soon as he’s comfortable
doesn’t really play much
sometimes he eats with his paws - that’s when you find small pawprints of his food all throughout your house/flat
likes sleeping in the washing machine especially
sometimes meows loudly at something that’s not there for a good 30 minutes
throws up hairballs a lot, but somehow always manages to do so in places where it’s convenient to clean them up
sometimes you find him sitting in the sink, licking water drops off the faucet
actually loves water
jumped into the shower with you more than once
then he‘ll drink the shower water running down his head
Rowoon:
skinny, active cat with very short fur
attentive
you can actually teach him tricks (if you bribe him with enough snacks)
wags his tail constantly
very friendly towards strangers
doesn’t really like to be picked up, but will let you pet him for hours
a good hunter
will frequently leave lizards on your doorstep or the remains of a mouse on your pillow
very graceful
is an absolute idiot around female cats
very social, but gets himself punched a lot because he tends to get too close to other cats too quickly
loves dogs
loves children
i mean he loves anyone who gives him attention
if he had enough of it he will just walk away gracefully
never gets aggressive ever
very behaved even at the vet
likes trying to steal chocolate and grapes and other snacks that aren’t good for him (pls don’t feed those to your cat)
once ate half a bowl of popcorn and threw up all over the living room shortly after - that’s when you learned to watch your food at any and all times
is crazy about catmilk
Taeyang:
super soft and smooth fur, two different colored eyes
loves eating and watching fish more than anything
actually sucks at fishing though because he hates water
will hunt anything and everything - that’s why you never have flies in your house
will even hunt spiders for you (won’t eat them though so he’ll just hoard anything he catches in his corner)
once caught a poisonous snake and you had a heartattack when he came back with it (fortunately he killed it before it could hurt him)
exceptional reflexes
loves watching tv and trying to catch whatever’s on screen
will get bored if you don’t think of new methods to play with him frequently
more into playing than being petted, but if you tire him out properly he’ll come to cuddle with you
a brave cat that almost never gets scared, but he’s terribly afraid of the vet
you have to feed him snacks to keep him calm whenever you really need to take him there
likes sleeping in your bed with you (he sleeps in the middle of it)
if you try to push him away he will somehow cooperate, but might end up sleeping on top of you
will wake you up by sitting on your face because he wants to be fed
in general he will bug you a lot until you finally feed him - leaves after eating three bites
doesn’t really care about other cats, but will whine if anyone takes away your attention for too long
hates dogs with a passion and will try to scratch their eyes out
Hwiyoung:
small, skinny kitty
the cats around the neighborhood don’t like him so he frequently gets into fights with them
has a chunk bitten out of his ear from a fight he lost at an early age
doesn’t really go outside much anymore
he prefers sleeping inside anyway
stretches out on the floor where the sun shines on his belly
doesn’t like having his paws touched
will often walk past you, grazing you with just the tips of his fur
meows a lot to communicate with you
weary of strangers and other animals
will warm up to humans who give him the time he needs to get used to them though
the sweetest cat once he’s taken a liking to you
his biggest hobby is watching you do whatever - be it studying, cooking, doing laundry, playing something, etc.
will never get in the way when you’re trying to do something and gently moves aside if you need more space
speaking of laundry... he likes sleeping on freshly dried sheets when they’re still warm (and getting hair on them)
sheds a lot
protest-peed on your shoes once, but felt super bad about it and avoided you for a whole week after in shame
other than that he’s a chill cat
likes playing with the laser pointer
even when playing his claws are almost never out
when he wants your attention he will put his paw on your arm or leg and softly meow at you
Chani:
smol and angery
will bite you
sometimes runs around the house like a maniac for like five minutes, then walks off as if nothing had happened, glaring
glares at visitors
glares at the birds outside of the window but never actually wants to catch them
glares at the food bowl when it’s half empty because he cannot live like this
the kind of cat not only kids are scared of
when he trusts you he actually loves you though
will come cuddle with his owner/use his owner as his own personal throne (god forbid you move while he sits on top of you)
will sometimes even let his owner pet him
secretly loves chin scratches
prefers to sleep in really high places
hates other cats
is surprisingly good with dogs
hates children and anything that’s loud
his meows are pretty loud though
makes weird noises randomly and you’re not sure if he’s angry at something or someone or just being weird
likes stealing your shoes and putting them on places that are too high for you to reach
if you stand there long enough he will sometimes throw them off
overall he steals anything and everything
you need to be careful he doesn’t see you when retrieving what he stole or he will let you know he’s not happy about your behaviour in one way or the other
not picky about his food at all, but prefers eating when nobody sees him
for @demibuckybarnes what is a birthday? a miserable pile of presents given two days too late
heart emojis
The strange thing about Gotham was how it affected your sleep pattern.
You could simultaneously sleep through a bomb going off a few blocks away, and wake up at the slightest rustle outside your window.
The quiet and reserved citizens slept at night, the rowdy and bloodthirsty slept during the day, and the wise rarely slept at all. With all the smog, sometimes it was hard to tell the difference anyway.
Champ slept a devil’s slumber, deep and dreaming, unbothered by guilt or fear, every time they remembered to sleep. Their bunker had no windows. They were not asleep right now. They were creeping through the dark parts of the city, dodging the troublesome elements of the streets easily enough and slipping past the criminal element. It was the daytime, all the criminals awake were either rich or desperately poor. Neither were something they could put a stop to.
They sidled closer to their goal, scarf wrapped warm and thick around their face, warm knit cap pulled down over ears and nearly over eyes. Their fingers were bared by the ratty gloves. The door’s bell merrily announced their presence to those inside. They ambled to the door with grim purpose, a look of fierce determination in their eyes.
“Hello,” they said cheerily, “I’ve come to pick up an order?”
The bored man behind the counter nodded.
“Name?”
“Pennyworth.”
He grunted, then disappeared for a moment. When he returned he had a white box. Placing it on the glass counter, he flipped the lid up for a moment before quickly, delicately placing it back down.
“Wasn’t easy, gettin’ it done like that.”
They hummed, an acknowledgement.
“You were paid well enough, weren’t you?”
He grunted, his own acknowledgement.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get your tip.”
The man’s dreary countenance brightened somewhat.
“Be careful lugging that thing around. Don’t want anything.......destroyed.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” they delicately took the package into their own hands, nodded at the man, “These are some of the most careful hands in Gotham.”
The man merely grunted again, and tactfully made no response to that. Truthfully, he had none. With the gait of an altar boy, holding something holy and delicate, they made their way out of the shop. The man watched idly as they began their journey, before grunting again to himself and flipping his magazine back open, once again settled into his boredom.
Meanwhile, Champ made their way down the street, hands cautiously continually readjusting themselves. Too tight, and it could cause a problem. Too loose, and they could drop it, and cause a REAL problem. Too shaky? Another potential problem. They had a ways to take this haul, and mostly on foot. Champ couldn’t deny the weight of the responsibility on them, but running errands for either of their fathers came with risk.
They nudged their ear with their shoulder, muttering into the comm unit.
“Jason. Package obtained. Delivery in progress.”
There was a muffled crackle in their ear before a reply.
“Acknowledged. Eyes are on the target. They don’t suspect a damn thing.”
“Easy, J-man. Let’s not get too cocky.”
“This from you?”
Champ let out a short harsh laugh, still cautiously maneuvering down the street.
“This isn’t our usual gig, Todd.”
“No,” came a terse reply. “This isn’t.”
“Wow,” came an unexpected third voice, “You guys sound so intense. What is this, a Bruce Impression Contest?”
Champ groaned.
“Tim, how can you even say that? On this, of all days.”
A cackle came through the line.
“Figured you could use the levity. I’m on the roof, by the way. To your left. See me waving at you? I’m here to take care of any distractions.”
Champ carefully eased one hand from the box to flip off the roof.
“Other left.”
Champ sighed.
“This is why I work alone, Tim. You’re the distraction.”
“Oh so this IS a Bruce Impression Contest?”
“How’d I do?”
“Needs a bit more bass.”
“My voice can only go so low, would more gravel suffice?”
“Guys,” Jason interjected, “Focus. Besides. My Bruce Impression is way better.”
Twin scoffs came through his ear piece.
-
Allison was having a very strange day.
That in itself was not so unusual, life in Gotham was strange even if you didn’t have vigilantes crawling through your windows at all hours of day and night.
And they rarely remembered to wipe their feet.
It was the vigilantes themselves that were making today unusual. Notably, the absence of them. Most days, she couldn’t wake up without someone crashing their way through the kitchen, or snoring on the couch, or -god forbid- bleeding in the bathroom, trying to stitch themselves up with dental floss.
(Why dental floss, when she had asked Champ, had been answered with to keep their flesh wounds minty fresh. She had thrown a bar of soap at them and called Alfred to take them home.)
Today, when she woke up, it was to a clean and empty apartment. It was unsettling.
More unsettling when she came into the kitchen and found it, not only un-ransacked, but cleaner than when she had fallen asleep. There was a plate on the table, held under a cloche. Curious, she lifted it to find an assortment of breakfast, as well as a small note.
‘The first of many gifts. A.’
There was a small flower laid in between the cutlery and the orange juice. She lifted it up, touching the soft petals.
“Huh,” she muttered.
A knock came at the door, suspiciously soon after she had finished her breakfast and put the dishes in the sink.
It wasn’t a surprise when she opened it to find Dick waiting. It was a surprise that someone had actually knocked.
“Is this a parallel universe?”
Dick frowned, head cocked to the side.
“Don’t think so. Why, has anyone tried to homoerotically recruit you? That’s usually my tell.”
“That happens to you in this universe.”
“Beauty is a curse.”
“What’s going on, loser?”
He grinned.
“Can’t tell, or secret snipers will kill me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“No, really!” He walked the the small window in the kitchenette and waved cheerfully at the top of the adjacent building. A small red dot appeared on his shoulder. Allison opened her mouth to ask more, then firmly closed it lest she say something inciting.
Are we okay, she mouthed.
Dick winked.
Jason. Laser pointer.
Allison groaned, then shoved his shoulder while he laughed.
“I was really worried!”
“So am I! He still might really shoot me, it’s Jason.”
The laser made it’s way from his shoulder to his head, blinking playfully. She rolled her eyes.
“What are you doing here, anyway?”
His grin went loose and lopsided, entire body relaxing into it. He gave a short, theatrical bow.
“I’m here to escort you through the day.”
“You’re gonna walk me to work?”
His face filled with sorrow.
“I regret to inform you that you are very sick.”
“I’m what?”
“You’re extremely, contagiously ill and you therefore cannot make it into work today.”
“Dick-”
“In fact, we’ve already called ahead and told them. You forwarded them your doctor’s note even.”
“Jesus.”
“No, it was Barbara.”
“Dammit, Dick, what’s going on?”
He practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on his toes like a child.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises!”
“I know,” he lilted, before grabbing her hand and coaxing her to the door, “So we’d better hurry up and get through it all so we can get the surprise part over with!”
Groaning, she relented.
-
When they finally made it to the house, Alfred ushered them in through the back door.
“Dick’s dragging her all over town doing touristy shit,” they reported dutifully, “and I got the package here unharmed.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That,” he chided, though not unkindly, “Remains to be seen.”
Flushing under their scarf, they placed the box on the table. Gently, the butler lifted the lid. Champ and Tim’s breath was caught in their throats. Alfred looked nonplussed in that exact shade of unbothered that meant he was two seconds away from a heart attack. With the easy precision of a man well acquainted with weapons, he eased it up and deftly set it away to inspect it’s contents. Champ’s heart hammered in their throat. He sighed, and they felt their body freeze.
“I’m s-”
“It’s perfect.”
They paused.
“What?”
“Perfectly well done, dear. Not even any smudges along the edges.”
They let out a proud cry of delight, jumping up and down happily before grabbing Tim in a hug and dancing him around the kitchen. Alfred watched patiently at the two laughed and spun. Bruce ambled in nonchalantly, eating an apple and nursing a black eye.
“Take it the cake got here alright?”
Alfred nodded.
“Hmm.”
He sunk back into the shadows.
They spent the rest of the day preparing the mansion, hanging decorations and hiding presents and bothering Alfred while he cooked until he chased them off with a wooden spoon so they would go and clamber on Bruce instead. Midway through the afternoon Jason showed up, informing them all that they had another hour.
By the time Dick sauntered up the steps with Allison in tow, the entire house was dark and still. This is and of itself was unnerving, as lately the place was usually crawling with extremely loud and energetic people.
“Is anyone home?”
Dick shrugged, grinning.
She creaked open the back entrance. The house had several entrances, the back one being the entrance into the kitchen, originally designated for servants and food delivery in such a way as to be discreet. Now it was merely the family entrance. And also where the food delivery happened. The more things change the more they stay the same.
It was dark, and quiet, and Alli got a sudden impression that it was filled with unseen life. Before she had time to be scared, the lights turned on and loud noisemakers came from everywhere. Champ grabbed her around the waist and twirled her around in a happy hug.
“Dude, did you think we’d forget your birthday?”
Alli laughed.
The whole family was there. Clark smiled politely from the table. Bane was tucked into a corner, glowering calmly with a small but very brightly colored party hat that suggested he was here at Champ’s insistence and determined to enjoy himself. Talia leaned against him. Bruce sighed as the robins all flitted around the room with noisemakers being as loud as possible. Jason grabbed Allison from Champ and gave her his own spin. Dick silently slipped his own party hat on from his pocket, standing next to Alfred with his hat. The house was instantly transformed into a bright and colorful whirlwind of warmth and laughter and food. Allison laughed, steadying herself against her friend.
“Thank you all, for this. Thank you.”
A round of raucous cheers and kazoo noises greeted her.
“But there’s something I have to say, and please know that nothing will change what you’ve all done for me.”
An anticipatory hush fell over the crowd.
“I love you all so much, and this means more than I could possibly say.”
Jason hid his grin behind his hand.
“But my birthday was two days ago.”
A stunned silence rushed the room. It was broken by Jason’s loud laughter.
“They were so sure,” he wheezed out, “They were so proud of themselves I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell them.”
Superheroes often find themselves in situations they’d much rather not be in: Hanging upside down over a vat of acid and radioactive sharks; being hounded by adoring fans (this one isn’t relevant to you, but it is for other, better heroes); listening to a lecture on the Paleozoic era from Professor Paleontologist. Situations that you’re going to want to make hasty yet graceful exits from. Which means you need a lesson in escapology.
As we all know, the best defense is a strong offense, so the best way to escape any situation is not to get caught in it in the first place. Idiot. Do you know how much of my time I spend not dangling over a vat of acid sharks or dealing with adoring- wait. Whatever, it’s almost all of my time. Not getting stuck in dicey situations is so easy I basically do it in my sleep. In fact, I do it in my sleep! I wake up almost every morning not in a precarious or dangerous or undesirable situation. Only once did I wake up tied up in the back of what has come to be known as The Sentient Murder Van, but that was a fluke and I try not to make a regular habit of it!
If, like a loser, somehow, like a loser, you’ve, like a loser, gotten yourself into a sticky situation the first thing you need to do is take stock of your surroundings. An expert escapologist knows that the world is just a jumble of oddly shaped keys. Glass table shaped like a warthog? That’s a key. An entire ham? That’s a key. Framed oil painting of an elderly turtle? That’s two keys. Frame and painting baby! Frame. And. Painting. (Escapologist tip: A skilled artist can take a canvas and, using the paints they no doubt keep in their utility belt, can create an image so realistic they can use it to get out of anywhere. Paint yourself still in bonds so the bad guys don’t look for you while you escape their lair. Paint yourself getting sick so the guards rush in to make sure you don’t die and then, when they realize they are looking at a painting, kick them in the head and steal their keys. The possibilities are endless!) So take a gander at the keys around you. If you’re a real pro you’ll already have plenty of escapology accoutrements in your utility belt or on your person: Lock picks, laser pointers (that shoot real lasers, don’t use these during your PowerPoint presentations!), a variety of animal whistles that can summon helpful beasts to pick locks or shoot lasers for you. If you’re versatile and forward thinking enough, you’ll find that you can pick your way out of any jam. (There’s a sweet spot between forward thinking enough to not get captured in the first place and being so bad at forward thinking that you left your lock pick set on your kitchen counter and that’s where you’re going to want to be operating.)
Your costume will often times be the greatest key in your arsenal. There are lots of ways to build a keen ability to escape anything right into your everyday dress. For starters, as our follower @agasar1412 pointed out on one of our posts last year, gauntlet spikes are a godsend. Not only can they be used to cut bindings that have been placed around your wrist, but in a pinch they can be used to pick some locks as well. Once your wrists are free you’ll find that freeing the rest of you is a piece of cake (escapologist tip: three out of every five cakes contains within it a nail file that you can use to break out of most prisons on the continental United States). Another way to ensure that your wrists are always one fancy trick away from being free is to wear very bulky gauntlets. Supervillains, because they are dumb, will often just slap any wrist restraints on to a hero over their gauntlets, meaning all you need to do to break free is to just, y’know, remove your big gloves. That’s it! Plus there’s always the time-tested trick of wearing butter-bracelets. These are, of course, bracelets with buttered up insides that make your wrists very slippery, allowing you to slip off nearly any kind of cuff bad guys can throw at you. Then, with your hands free, you can undo or dismantle any other restraints on you.
If you find yourself tied up and hanging from your feet over something nasty like many jagged rocks or a mosasaurus or a big target that says “losers land here” written on it and you would like to exit that situation before you are dropped no problem! All you need to do is cut any ropes around your arms using your gauntlet blades or wrist mounted laser pointer and then, using those sick stomach muscles you’ve built up from doing millions of crunches and sit-ups every day, swing yourself, like a pendulum away from the danger zone. Then, once you’re swinging precariously through the air, use your laser pointer or blades to cut the ropes around your feet and whatever is keeping you suspended. Odds are pretty good that you’ll land somewhere safe, just tuck and roll to make sure you don’t hurt yourself on the fall. (Escapologist tip: Always keep the remnants of whatever binding or traps you find yourself destroying during your daring escapes, these things can be used as keys for future escapes!)
Even your very own human flesh body can be used as a key! (Escapologist tip: tattoo a map of any building you need to escape directly onto your body! This way, if you get lost while you escape, all you need to do is get undressed and find a mirror!) Being able to pop your shoulders out of their sockets or otherwise lightly maim or disfigure yourself are invaluable skills to have if you want to be a master escape artist. Most villains assume that heroes are not going to horribly injure themselves just to get out of listening to a monologue. Those villains are obviously very stupid. Of course you’d rather break your thumbs to avoid having to listen to another story about why this villain just has to merge all of the world’s mountain lions together into one giant mountain lion because as a child they were bullied by a girl who had a mountain lion sticker on her shirt. You’ve heard that story like a dozen times already from eight different supervillains. Yeah, this little girl got around folks. Being bullied by this small child is the 59th most common reason for becoming a supervillain. (Number 15 is being thrown a surprise party they didn’t want but number 68 will really blow you away!) So start practicing dislocating any joint you can. Even if it won’t get you out of your shackles or cell, this trick can get you out of parties or social gatherings that you do not want to be at! (Escapologist tip: Even your teeth can be used as keys under the proper circumstances! Teeth are the hardest part of the human body, so next time you find yourself trapped in an abandoned nuclear power plant filled with evil henchmen and without any of your weapons, rip your teeth straight out of your gums, tie them around your knuckles with your shoe laces and viola! Homemade brass knuckles! Sort of! {don’t worry about not having teeth, they’ll grow back as long as you’re a baby.})
Superpowers are, of course, the best keys you can ask for. Depending on your powerset, and your skill level, you can use them to escape from any number of restraints, manacles and door- and windowless rooms. So if you ever find yourself trapped with other superhumans, you all need to be upfront about all of your abilities. Even your most embarrassing superpower can be crucial to escaping captivity. Use your glitter projection to blind guards, your ability to grow exactly one inch taller or shorter to escape from straight jackets or other tight restraints, your ability to talk to worms to set off motion sensors to distract your guards. (Escapologist tip: worms are always a useful backup plan for any escape. You see, they eat dirt, which means they’re always in the middle of some sort of daring Shawshank-esque prison-break. Keep a few in your pocket and drop them on the floor when you find yourself thrown in a cell. If you can’t find a way out, you can take solace in the fact that eventually your wormy pals will dig you a way out.) The possibilities are endless when you learn to think like an escapologist.
Life is just full of situations we’d rather not be in and that goes even more so for superheroes who have plenty of people who would love nothing more than to capture them. Just remember that the world is your toolkit and your lock pick and you’ll be fine! In fact, as a good prep exercise, take a look at everything around you. How can you use the items you use in your every day life to escape fiendish traps?
For @ishipallthings, some ace Nat and aroace Bruce because she’s a fantastically wonderful person who flails about the same things I do and knows the potential of the ship and where it could’ve gone.
Warnings for crass language, internalised aphobia, brief thoughts of suicide, and Bruce Banner’s generally messed up brain.
Bruce Banner’s first girlfriend cheated on him.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a monotone. Snot dripped out her nostrils, caked the foundation on her upper lip. Red-rimmed lids peeked behind mascara-thick lashes. “I’m really sorry.”
This probably wasn’t heartbreak. Fifteen though he may be, Bruce was peculiarly well acquainted with this conflagration of emotion – humiliation that scalded his skin red, made his bones shake – rage deep and banked, eating away at his gut, springing bile from his throat. The impulse to hurl was sudden and overpowering, though he couldn’t tell if it’d be last night’s chicken parma or the invective he’d borne and swallowed during it: Brian Banner’s ugly words cast new shape in his own voice box.
This wasn’t heartbreak
(click below to read more)
“I wasn’t thinking.”
How lucky for you. Teenagers weren’t built for this kind of viciousness, Bruce thought, finger nails gouging bloodless lines on the insides of his wrists. His frame, short and weedy, shook with it like a rattling plastic bag, too brittle to hold the hatred hostage for long. It would rampage through his body, eventually tearing itself out – and what would he do then?
“He was…offering. And I didn’t know how to say no.”
The injustice of it rankled the most. Which was strange in its own right, because Bruce had never grown with the ideals of good and bad, the world as a perfectly fair, balanced scale and destined to stay that way, pre-established in his head. But it still, frustratingly, rankled; not six months had gone by since she’d pressed and he’d reluctantly agreed, not six months till he’d gone about losing his virginity as a stuttering coward would. And still, instead of asking: why would you do that to me, he found himself with why wouldn’t you just do this earlier.
“I.” Holly gnawed on her lip, hazel eyes running over him in a terrified flitter. “I feel terrible. And this is going to be a dick thing to say, but.” He’d liked her for that, when they’d first gotten together. For saying the dick things. His dad called him a pussy every morning, it seemed a match made in heaven. “I didn’t think this would…matter to you. That much.”
Bruce had never put much stock in heaven, himself. “Sorry to exceed expectations.”
Holly laughed, a little burble of distraught, amused sound. Such a dick. “You were always so nice. It never seemed to translate to caring, though.”
Bruce didn’t contradict her. “I trusted you,” he said.
“Yeah.” Holly breathed, blocked nose clearly audible. She knuckled at the base of it, and Bruce wondered if it was supposed to make him feel nostalgic, or bitter. It accomplished neither. “I suppose you did.”
~
She’s pretty. It was as one might feel, distractedly coming to a stop at the sidewalk and admiring the house up by the turn of the road. Absent musings, worth much of nothing.
It was the most, and the least important thing about her. Bruce could only muster an abstract, almost contemptuous regard. She’s pretty.
Natasha Romanoff blinked prettily at him, the barrel of her gun only slightly off the midline of his throat. She probably didn’t need point-blank range to get a shot in. Still, at this distance the arterial blood would catch her in the face, bright red to match the sweat-sodden hair tucked behind her ear. Frothy too, if she also managed to nick his respiratory tract. Sure, all that mess could be avoided if she adjusted her angle a bit, came in from the front…though that wasn’t guaranteed, especially if the bullet got deflected by his thyroid cartilage – maybe crushing in the trachea, maybe shredding the carotid sheath–
She raised a hand to her ear, nail scraping down the lobe, bumping the ear piece on the way. “Stand down. We’re good here.”
Kolkata shuffled around them, the rustle and clicks of a squad of men disarming drowned in the din. The gun lowered.
Ah, life. The constant balancing act between murder and suicide. Bruce smiled. “Just you and me, huh?”
~
“Banner!” Barton bellowed, even though he was barely twenty metres away and sprawled on the common room’s shag carpet like an overly spoilt pet. “Come, educate the ignorants on spin the bottle.”
“I claim privileges of token straight Avenger.” Bruce tried not to let his lips quirk, but it was inevitable with the camera-worthy splutter Cap had just executed over the lip of his beer bottle. With Tony and Barton on the team, he rarely ever elicited this kind of reaction – it was hard not to feel a touch of self-satisfaction. “Considering present company and the four in five chances of kissing a guy, I’d prefer not to join in, thank you.”
“Codswallop.” Came the dramatic declaration from the couch – Tony rolling over onto his belly to suit the motion. “You’re in a house with Barton’s arms,” An empty beer bottle used efficiently as laser pointer to emphasise the words, Barton flexing his biceps helpfully to assist, “my butt, and Capsicle’s abs. There’s no way you don’t have a queer boner in your body.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how the idiom goes.” Cap pointed out lightly, upper lip still shiny with spilled beer; but gave himself away a second later when his chin dipped, eyes glancing down at his own abdomen with a flush rising to his cheeks.
“Do I not have any desirable physical attributes, Stark?” Thor was squatting on the carpet too, but with a kind of leonine grace that made even the crosslegged pose look regal. His eyes glinted, like he wasn’t really expecting any kind of slight on his looks, but wouldn’t be affected if it came all the same.
“Well, hair.” Tony shrugged loosely, bottle rolling out of his grip to fall to the floor with a muted thunk. “But that isn’t gendered, so.”
“And abs are?” Bruce stiffened as a shadow fell over the counter he’d propped his back against; Natasha leaning in from the other side, newly poured scotch gleaming in a tumbler set by her elbow. Her chin rested casually on folded knuckles, her lashes gold-tipped in the lighting.
“Just saying that some confused youngin’ could delude himself into straightness over lush rivers of gold-spun locks.” Tony’s fingers reached out to tug at said locks as if to illustrate, immediately retracted at the sight of Thor’s toothy don’t-you-even-think-about-it grin. “Rogers’ rock-hard plateaus are a bit more in-your-face in that respect, y’know?”
Natasha wrapped two fingers around her glass, her silken sleeve whispering against the granite counter as she raised the drink to her lips. No reply seemed forthcoming; the comment had too obviously been made for Cap’s benefit anyway, who looked keen to migrate straight out through the doorway he’d been leaning against all night. Poor man, probably hadn’t anticipated the level of sexual harassment involved when assuming leadership of a superhero team.
Poor man, blessed with preternatural good looks and a serum-perfect body. Bruce didn’t censor the faintly bitter thought. Sometimes you had to make compromises, to ensure ugliness of this kind wouldn’t spill over his lips into the real world.
Internally caught up as he was, he couldn’t stop the errant flinch when soft tones spoke not far from his ear. “Straight, you said?”
Bruce looked back. Natasha had the scotch glass comfortably cradled in her palm, not a hint of a smudge visible on the rim, the russet mouth hovering inches above it flawless. It was uncanny.
“It isn’t nice to whisper.” He said it before he’d fully thought the words out, but there was nothing for it. That was Natasha for you: always faintly jarring, setting off prickles along the skin no matter how much she tried to put you at ease. Or maybe it was just him. “While talking in a group, I mean.”
“Sorry, were you going to participate?” For the words being what they were, Natasha’s tone was spectacularly even-keeled. Like she was asking a genuine question.
“I was participating.” The conversation had already picked up again behind them; Bruce’s jaw tightened by a fraction.
“How long have you had that line you just said to Clint stored up in your head?” If Bruce were the bristling kind of person, that sentence would have definitely set him off. She wasn’t even looking at him as she said it; eyelids fluttering as she took a casual sip of her drink before pale green eyes drifted up again to regard him calmly.
Because that was her chosen form of approach, with him. With Tony it was all coy smiles, sharp barbs and riddles galore, with Cap it was open eye contact and as much sincerity as was permissible. This…this quiet regard where she didn’t taunt, didn’t sound mocking, just watched as if waiting to see how long he’d keep playing the part – was reserved especially for Bruce.
He was coddled by the world that would still interact with him, with the exception of Natasha Romanov. And Tony freaking Stark, but at least Tony freaking Stark’s motives were transparent. Misguided, but transparent.
Tony wanted a science partner, and a friend. Natasha…most of the time, Bruce didn’t know what the heck Natasha was playing at.
But if he’d been that easy to rile, the world would’ve gone to hell in a handbasket a long time ago. “Fine, you got me.” Gentle, mild self-derision – he pulled it off well. “It would’ve taken me at least another five minutes to screw up the courage to say something else.”
“I don’t know if it’s to do with courage.” And that was startling in of itself, Natasha Romanov beginning a sentence with I don’t know. Another ploy of some sort, inevitably. She wasn’t looking away, irises steady. “I think you just don’t like talking to people that much.”
And you’re seeking me out for conversation – why? Bruce dipped his head to his collarbone, a gradual motion, not quite a nod, and said nothing.
Natasha wouldn’t relent. A sip of scotch, an ingenuous blink. “So, straight?”
Bruce held back a sigh. From the rabble, Thor and Barton appeared to be comparing bicep sizes, Tony gleefully presiding over the proceedings, with frequent asides to a distinctly amused looking Captain America. Yeah, no help from that quarter. “Functionally, sure.”
Bruce half-expected an arched eyebrow. It seemed like the sort of urbane, inscrutable expression ex-Russian spies would sport. Natasha greeted him with another blink. “Now that’s a qualifier I haven’t heard before.”
“I’m not too…interested in that side of things.” Nice and non-committal. Nothing to do with how even the idea of having someone that close, breath hitting skin, was enough to send Bruce’s heartbeat skittering. “But if I…uh, hypothetically were, then it would…”
“Be in someone of the feminine persuasion.” Natasha completed, eyes straying back to the drink as if in concluded thought. Probably adding the fact to the file. Bruce would hesitate over giving her yet another tool to technically play him with, but she’d never needed tools to do damage.
“You’re bisexual.” It came out as a blurt, too late to pull back and hanging awkwardly; probably because Bruce wasn’t halfway as good at the ‘make incisive assumptions about people and quote it to them like life-truths’ thing that Natasha did so well. Not that Bruce wasn't fairly certain about this little bit of trivia, he had –
Natasha laughed. It lasted for a second, a rise and fall of low-pitched sound. And the murmur that followed in its wake was interminably amused. “No.”
(So that flushed ‘fairly certain’ right down the drain. Unless she was lying to him, because it was easier to discern why she would lie to him, than why she wouldn’t.)
It took a few seconds of perplexed staring for Bruce to realise the drink set down by his elbow now was unattended, and that she was walking around the counter, inexorably approaching his side. “I said it wrong before.”
That particular combination of words from her mouth did not help in the least, not with how spectacularly unmoored Bruce was feeling. This conversation was evolving too fast for him to keep up with. Natasha came to a standstill, a few scant inches away, lips still upturned. “As nice a line as ‘functionally straight’ makes at parties, Dr Banner – have you considered that maybe you just don’t like people in general?”
“…right.” Bruce pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, fingers suddenly itching. It did nothing to obscure the sight of unswerving green eyes.
Natasha’s lips pressed in on themselves, gaze growing bright. And before Bruce knew it – there was a hand darting up to weave through the curls at his hairline, mussing it slightly before patting it down, there and away in an instant.
Did. Did she just…ruffle my hair?
Unmoored wasn’t quite the word to describe it, anymore. Flabbergasted, maybe. And he wasn’t the only one – before she wiped it completely, Bruce caught a distinctly discomfited expression on Natasha’s face, almost wide-eyed; like stage seven of some elaborately hatched plan had gone Very Wrong, and regrouping was required, stat.
“Um.” Natasha stared at the slightly depressed portion of Bruce’s hair for a couple more seconds, before her eyes jumped to the far end of the room, face perfectly composed. “Have a pleasant evening, Bruce.”
And off she went, crossing the room in a deceptively small number of steps and politely excusing herself through the same doorway Bruce was sure Captain America was going to use as an escape hatch not so long ago. Also – the ‘Doctor Banner’ thing had apparently been deliberate.
Not important right now, Bruce told himself firmly – though it was yet another blip in a conversation that had been a raging spike from baseline. They were on first name terms, the way people who were adults and co-workers and weren’t the rest of the Avengers were on first name terms; unfailingly cordial and non-passive-aggressive. There was an undercurrent though, to their talks. Some form of…if not hostility, then at least unease. Had been from the very beginning.
And yet now there were repressed smiles and amused eyes and hair ruffles – a softly enunciated ‘Dr Banner’ that was nothing like the way Bruce addressed Barton by his last name, that was almost…playful? He wasn’t used to this; the Natasha he knew had every move planned ages in advance, paid attention but always from behind shielded eyes. And that was how Bruce approached their talks, always guarded and wary, but this…
This. Bruce stared bemusedly at the half-empty tumbler of scotch on the counter, lone and deserted. This was altogether inexplicable.
~
It was probably more traditional to let the water keep beating down on his neck.
Instead, Bruce turned the shower off, knob squealing under slippery fingers. The cold prickled on his skin, droplets trickling uncomfortably down the line of his back. He stood till his frame trembled with shivers, air drafts chilling on wet skin.
Had they figured it out yet? Probably; he’d given them the clues himself, felt the words ricochet emptily in the dry expanse of his mouth. Staring at a corpse, made of shattered gold light.
“Ultron could've assimilated Jarvis. This isn't strategy, this is...rage.”
The back of his head thudded against tile; he felt nothing. The team only saw Ultron’s swift talking, the casual assumption of knowing what was best for the entire world. And Tony made it so easy too…with his derisive laughter, distracting aggression. All attention focused solely on him. Maybe it was deliberate, maybe an unconscious reflex – Tony could be a self-sacrificing fool like that sometimes.
But a propensity for banter and warped futurism weren’t the dangerous things that Ultron inherited. They didn’t drive him towards wiping out the planet of humanity. Rage did.
And Bruce knew where he got that from.
By the time he stepped out of the cubicle, his teeth were chattering. The towel was too soft against his skin; he dried himself with rough, cursory strokes. The only clothes he had were tossed carelessly on the floor of the room he’d been assigned, and they’d have to do; borrowing from Barton while they were already intruding on his privacy like this felt out of question. He secured the towel about his waist mindlessly, and stepped out bare foot on the room’s linoleum floor.
“I would’ve joined you, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”
A prolonged exhale. He pulled his eyes up reluctantly from the floor’s checkered patterns, up to the figure leaning by the door. The outline was a little blurred sans glasses, but unmistakable.
Natasha slipped in. Drew close, step by increasing step. Paused just at the outside edge of personal bubbles, then stepped right through.
The tilt of that uplifted chin was…enchanting, Bruce could admit. Their very breaths seemed aligned, push and pull, ebbing and flowing in eddies. But it came accompanied by a butterfly touch: a light-fingered hand skating up the line of his collarbone, and Bruce’s mind whited out.
No.
The angle of her chin grew more prominent, her entire face tilting to the side. As gently as it had come, that light touch whispered away. Natasha watched him, soft-eyed. “Not even for comfort?”
“It.” The word struggled in his throat, rough and ungainly – and for all that Bruce made a practice of loathing himself, it rarely overcame him so completely. “It wouldn’t be…comfortable. For me.”
A few seconds more of silent watching. “Good.” Natasha said, and withdrew; nimble feet padding over to the bed, the frame creaking as her weight settled on the mattress. She crossed an ankle over the other, green irises clear. “I’m asexual.”
Bruce blinked rapidly. Conversations lapsed ages ago shot across his brain in a blur: that quiet laugh, the firm denial when he’d literally accused her of bisexuality. His mouth worked uselessly for moments, before words started spilling out, ill-hewn and incoherent. “But you just…why would you…”
Even her shrug was elegant, a little loop that her shoulders described in the air. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m not sex-repulsed; just indifferent to it.” Her lips curved, ever so slightly. “And with how tied up physical intimacy is with…other kinds of attraction, I guess it just seemed easier.”
Other kinds of attraction. And quick on the heels of it, the old memory still playing: “have you considered that maybe you just don’t like people in general?”
His expression was a little too brittle. “Lucky for you I’m a bit too much of a coward for sex, then.”
He was anticipating any number of answers. Maybe a delicately drawled, lucky? does that mean this is a yes? To which he’d have replied, a thousand times.
But Natasha’s lips only flattened, gaze implacable. “Have you thought not wanting to do something might not be the same as being a coward?”
I wasn’t talking about you. Just me. Bruce smiled, resigned and dark. “Never been able to tell the difference before.”
~
“What’s your favourite book?”
Bruce supposed the expression on his face was more than a little sceptical, because Natasha kept watching him, patient and unblinking. There was never any sulking, or pouting, or plaintive ‘come ooooon’s with Natasha. Just out-waiting the silence.
He cracked. “I’ve never decided on just one.”
The swing frame creaked, clods of dirt disturbed as heels skimmed against the earth. Quite impressive really, that she managed to maintain eye contact despite all that. Bruce sighed.
Four weeks after Tony had driven off into the distance ‘forever’, he came roaring back into the Facility: new car, new glares and loudly demanding new upgrade requests. After a few seconds of silence, during which the New Avengers all looked at each other awkwardly – Natasha asked for a swingset.
(“Didn’t know you guys were already there, but anywho – I’m a bit of a virgin with sex toy design.”
“Outside.”
“Kinky.”
.
“…ohh.”)
Tony continued to assume it was all still a joke, Natasha remaining unruffled as only one who’d made a career out of profiting from people’s assumptions of her motives could. (Bruce didn’t try to much, anymore. She spoke, and he listened: an honest exchange. A bit of a revelatory experience for the both of them.)
But anyway – schematics for a swingset arrived at the Facility within a week, extravagant enough for a Disneyland ride. Natasha scratched the entire thing out and sent back a poorly rendered doodle of something more suited to a children’s park. Now fully committed to the ‘joke’, Tony sent handymen to the facility with the crayon drawing in hand. Natasha directed them to the meadow behind the east wing.
And now they were here: Bruce motionless, tailbone pressed against the wood of the swingseat, even as the chains for the adjacent seat rattled next to him. Natasha’s back curved into the motion as she propelled herself further, the swing describing an arc that stretched farther and higher with every gentle whoosh.
The sun was glinting in his eyes; Bruce plucked off his glasses and reflexively began wiping them on his sleeve, finally slipping the frames into his shirt pocket. The world and his vision was still overcome with gold spots; Natasha must be positively blinded at that height. He wondered how she bore it. If he helped.
“What’s yours?”
The swing continued to creak – Bruce kept watching. The lobes of her ears peeked behind a mass of riotous, poppy-red waves; she probably hadn’t combed her hair since morning. There was a spring leaf caught just above her hairline.
“The Kite Runner.” Her voice was borne on the breeze, quiet and fleeting. “Afghani writer, Khaled Hosseini.”
There was a beech tree twenty metres to the left of them, thick trunk and towering foliage; the sunlight strained through its leaves, casting dappled shadows on Natasha’s face. Light and dark and clear and bright. Bruce breathed. “I thought it might be something you might’ve read when you were…growing up. Can’t imagine Russian fairytales to be the cheeriest, admittedly.”
“Fairytales aren’t supposed to be cheery. They’re supposed to introduce you to life-truths, in a format you can handle as a child.” Any other person might have called her tone detached. To Bruce, Natasha sounded contemplative. Like her emotions worked best when they were separated from her. “Parents die, you have to leave your home, there is always someone in the world that means you harm.”
Here there be dragons. Her feet made perfect ballet points as she swung back, the leaf escaping her curls and drifting down to settle on the grass-covered ground. “Of course, they also sell you ideas that make it easier…possible, to live in the same world as those truths.”
“True love.” Bruce’s lips were moving, he didn’t make an effort to still them. “Soulmates.”
“Yes.” Whoosh. Those eyes strayed skywards, where cloud-wisps were being buffeted about by the wind, ephemeral white on blue. Natasha’s lips curved. “And freedom.”
Quiet. Bruce waited her out, unspeaking.
“The Kite Runner sold me on the idea of redemption. No matter how far man falls, how despicably he stains his hands. There’s always the hope of washing it all away.” The arc was shortening, the swing beginning to creak to a stop. Natasha’s heels skimmed the ground. “I suppose it was my fairytale.”
The swing trundled, slowly, before coming to stillness. Bruce turned his head to face her, palely green eyes meeting his own, calm and peaceful.
“I didn’t like those stories much. The notion of true love.” When Bruce breathed deep, he could smell the grass under his feet. His heart lumbered under his rib cage, slow and steady. “Maybe because I …don’t like people in general.”
It was barely visible, which was how he knew it was genuine – the curve of Natasha’s smile.
“I thought it made me selfish. Coldblooded.” His mouth felt strange, trying to shape itself into an expression that didn’t contain derision. “The antipathy towards sex didn’t help either.”
“I.” And it caught in his throat again, but Bruce breathed. Again and again, and Natasha waited for him through all of it. The words were ineloquent, but they were finally there. “I don’t know why you’re still here.” With me. “Maybe you’ve been a spy too long. Maybe the other person has always been more invested in the relationship than you have.”
“Maybe I don’t feel sexual or…. romantic, attraction.” Maybe I’m not a selfish coward. Bruce’s throat was dry, but his words were clear. “Maybe you think that means you can’t hurt me.”
There’s a holly tree he could glimpse, beyond Natasha’s head of hair, far off into the grounds. “You’d be wrong.”
I care. I always have.
Natasha met his eyes, like she could hear the words. Like she had instilled them inside his head, with incisive comments that were never taunts, with calmly knowing gazes, with a patience that spoke volumes to the…adoration, she felt. Her own eyes looked content. “I know.”
Tips while Having a Laser-pointer for Presentation
Some tips and high power laser pointer can help you a amazing deal to deliver an effective and practical demonstration. Let's test them.5. Do not use laser
pointers of beam that is solid. A powerful beam can irritate the crowd. Find out which laser pointer will be suitable for the
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the presenter will be currently emphasizing. So expand the font size to improve.4. Construct a specific slide for every point that
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you'll find it more easy for you to remember which part to emphasize on each slide.Creating the very best usage of laser pointer
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currently highlighting. Then they may eliminate the concentration in that which you state, should they strive hard to find out
what you're working to highlight. Therefore make sure slides and your laser-pointer not divert your audience.There are several men
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the outcome you anticipate from your laser pointer. Be presentation pointer or it office laser tips, you have to use it all
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Inch. Make sure you limit your own movements. In the event you move a lot, your laser beam will get distracted. So audience will
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concentrate on what you're currently trying to find out using a laser pointer.
