a flicker, a flare

hi all! this is a multimuse blog corralled by para. mun is 30+, and I mostly write muses from Marvel, DC, Stranger Things, Grishaverse, and Arcane, though who knows who else is hiding.

I’m selective in who I follow, so if I follow or follow back it means I’d love to interact! memes are your best way too start something, though I love to plot. just let me know who you’re most interested in.

my blog runs on queue most of the time. if you’re wondering where your post is, feel free to nudge nicely. I do have a tendency to gravitate toward posts with friends or plots I have interest in, so please just be patient. sometimes the heart wants what it wants.​

LINKS

carrd / rules / memes / verses

so this is a post I've had to really, really think about because I'll be honest with you all? the past few months haven't been kind. so much bad has happened in a short time that when I went through the worst heartbreak I've ever gone through, I just couldn't take it anymore. when you're hurt and being here reminds you of it, well, it's hard to come back.

I'm ok. ish. mostly. (if you know you know, and if not well, it doesn't really matter anymore, though I welcome new friends <3.) I'm working hard to get to ok ALL the time, and one of the things I've had to do is take a step back from here and evaluate how I want to proceed.

at the end of the day, right now, I'm taking a permanent step back from this blog. I'm going to be working at coming back, on my terms, and with a focus on what makes me happy. but I can't guarantee anything right now and I'll be honest, there are too many ghosts here for me to make a decision.

I've moved discords and I will be moving blogs if I return. I won't be advertising where I'm going, but I will be more selective in what I put my energy into, to safeguard myself.

if you've wanted to interact and we never have, I apologize. if you still want to interact, the best way to reach me right now is through tumblr im. please be patient with me right now as it might take me awhile to answer.

if you have my new discord, you are welcome to reach out; I do sometimes write on there. chances are, I'm feeling guilty about going silent and am nervous to reach out first.

thank you everyone for the good times I've had here. you helped me through some dark moments that I likely didn't tell you about, but appreciated your presence during immensely.

Sun filtered in gently, careful as the dawn threading its way through the city and through the patterned glass over the top part of the window that kept the light out of her eyes. Matthias suspected there was more to those beautiful panes than just the rainbows they cast in the afternoon. But spells and curses and wards were not things he studied, merely survived. And whatever they were, they made the kitchen feel both comfortable and cozy in kind. He looked at them every morning as he stepped in and felt at peace, knowing that for the fifteen minutes he wasn't here they were.

Still, his eyes sought her out. Not having to look far, for the sound of dough and smell of flour always hallmarked which station she was at today. The loaves had long since gone in the oven, but were coming out now. Crust still waiting to crack and beautiful flowers and vines on the loaves still glistening with cooling egg wash. Clary moved as she always did in here, with a gracefulness that came with a sense of purpose. Concentration so deep on her face that Matthias was fairly certain it had worn itself into the bone itself.

For a long moment he watched her. Letting the wolf in him simmer down, Trassel giving him little more than a bored look before brushing past to find his spot on the window bench. Shaking off the morning round to wait for the sun to break. Matthias spared him a glance, though it was Clary (always her) that had his attention. New to all this or not, even he knew that he'd stumbled into an unknown here. A skill set he couldn't parce, a circumstance he was still trying to get his bearings on, a personality that had sunk in and he was having trouble fully dislodging from thought.

She was dangerous. Matthias knew that much.

Rain had been plinking at the windows half the day. Plink-plink-plink of droplets, each one driving in the fact that the fall weather was turning and there'd be snow soon. Perfect study weather, but also the siren call to a last good night out. A fact that had been nagging at Foggy all day, through the four classes on his schedule and right up to then and there, in the dorm room he was currently taking up his half of in good fashion. Sprawled on the bed, notebook half filled with information he could only pray he'd remember come the mid-term tomorrow.

Across the way, Foggy could hear Matt shifting. Studious as ever, and if there weren't a restlessness winding its way through Foggy he'd have appreciated it. The guy was quiet, for sure, but pleasant enough and though they were perhaps not best of friends, it had been nice to at least call someone friendly enough to potentially BE a friend. (Foggy's list of those was depressingly small.) There was hope there. Foggy believed that, honestly and truly.

But the future didn't come about without action now, and while Matt was certainly a bright point in college so far there were other things on Foggy's mind. The rain had long since stopped, but the gossip overhead at the library plink-plink-plinked against Foggy's brain. Rumor of a party - everyone would be there. And wasn't he - weren't THEY - everyone?

muses eddie munson billy hargrove robin buckley clint barton barney barton

test muses jesper fahey matthias helvar jonathan byers (not on carrd, request only)

verses dbd verse (eddie, robin, jonathan) modern/marvel verse (eddie, billy, robin, jonathan, clint, barney) grisha verse (eddie, clint, barney, jesper, matthias) occult verse (eddie, billy, clint, barney, jesper, matthias) 80s monster/monster hunter verse (eddie, billy) soulmates verses (picky) 

She was still somewhat confused why he was there, and how he actually knew she was home. Usually this went the other way around and she showed up at his place, with food and alcohol of some flavour in tow. Silently, she appreciated that he was there, if for no other reason than the fact that he brought food, and a beer. Lucky was always a nice perk too, such a good dog. 

But she would never say that to his face. Bobbi had gotten really good at keeping almost everything locked away, and she tried hey best to keep her emotions in check at all times, so they could never be used against her. Even in their marriage, she tried to compartmentalise everything. though now that she looked back on it, she knew it’s because she was scared of fucking it all up if she let herself get swept up in it all. 

She snickered for a moment before she took a long swig of her beer. “Yeah, I think SHIELD should just give us a pizza budget every month.” She was kidding, mostly Bobbi would need more than just pizza, but she did not pick up cooking as a hobby, so she can really make basics like toast, and maybe eggs now and then, but don’t trust her to use an oven. 

“Garbage Man? Are you kidding me? That’s so bad…” What ever happened to the creative names, huh? She sure missed those days. 

She sighed when he brought up getting old. “Barton, I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, so if you think you’re getting old, then I definitely am.” She knew that she was likely just jaded about a lot of it now. All these young kids thinking they can come in, and change what a good villain is like.

“Bobbi, not once in our years together have I ever thought you were older than me in anything other than taste in cheese.” And maturity, emotionally and socially. That was left without saying though, if only because there’d been enough looks and talks of that nature in the time before they separated. He didn’t hold it against her. They’d both said - hell, he’d gone a step further and done - stupid shit. A part of him missed the times before all that, though, and it was perhaps in part because of that nostalgia that he was here. A loyalty to what they’d been, even if he knew they’d never be that again.

Giving her a pointed look all the same, Clint clinked his bottle to hers in a sort of salute before finishing his own off. “Guess I can’t really judge too hard, considering what we used to run around in.” His knee bumped into hers at that, a fondness there that he couldn’t keep out of his voice. A thousand ways to tease, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not tonight, not when she was already doing her best to not slide into a mood Clint knew all too well. (Nonetheless, if she did, he’d be here waiting for her on the other side.)

Hey, two could play at this game; Phil narrowed his eyes at Clint as he slurped, the sound going right through him to grate at his nerves. Still, he supposed he couldn’t blame the agent for his reaction; to be mandated to choose a file was irritating, but so was having to pass the mandate down. “The World Security Council has decided, in their infinite wisdom, that your quota should be expanded.” Like they didn’t all have enough to do as is? “They’re not all sit and watch gigs; this one, for example-” he shuffled a couple of the folders aside to tap a finger on the top of another, “-involves potentially destroying an entire building. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” His tone was sardonic, the very edges of his mouth turned up a little in a grim parody of amusement, but he was genuinely trying to sell this extra workload. “Come on, Clint. Play ball, pick a file.”

                             "YES, KATHLEEN SLUKA,“ he agrees, suddenly excited, but that’s his default emotion whenever someone who usually isn't an art nerd like Steve recognizes an artist. "I’m sure there will be a new exhibition sometime, and then we can totally visit it.” Steve can already picture them, fuck, he can also picture them looking at the Perseids together, and that’s very romantic, right, stargazing? Even if it would be space stones falling down to the ground instead of stars, but who cares, really, Steve definitely doesn’t, and he also had a drink or two too many already and no dinner yet, and the buzz beneath his skin makes him say stupid things like: “We should go. We will go, Bruce, why not? Let’s watch the Perseids together once we’re back home stateside, and after, I’ll take you to get some goddamn New York pizza. It’s a date.”

                          The nice thing about the English language is that he could both mean a rendezvous date or a normal-meeting-between-friends date, it's Schrödinger’s Date, so to speak, and neither of them would know what it really is until they open the box and peer inside. Steve cackles into his beard at that thought, and he’s almost compelled to tell Bruce about his line of thought because he surely appreciates the scientific background of it, but fortunately, Steve is not that drunk yet. Even if that could change rather quickly because the bartender puts the third ordered Guaro Sour in front of his nose, and it distinctly smells like he put a bit more alcohol inside this time. Steve thinks yolo and takes a huge sip, which his stomach counters with an audible grumble. 

                              "How about we head to dinner now,“ Steve suggests after his eyes flicker to the clock above the bar. 6:30 PM — the hotel’s buffet just opened, and Steve’s grandpa body demands punctual feeding. He slides off the stool, staggers briefly, and then has to clutch at the counter. "Wow, I definitely should eat something now, or I’ll end up absolutely hammered, Bruce.”

Leave it to Steve to know who exactly he’s talking about. There’s a brain underneath the brawn, something that the papers gloss over with headlines and that the museum hides behind propoganda. It catches Bruce off-guard every time in a way he’s a bit embarrassed about; he’d always considered himself above the pull of such common held conventions and perceptions. But it’s a pleasant little surprise nonetheless that he enjoys, along with the bright smile that blazes onto Steve’s face like the star wipes of those educational videos the government mandated he do. “A date, huh?” And that’s something he hasn’t heard asked of him in, well, a very long time.

In him, Hulk chortles, but there’s a weight to the word that has Bruce glancing down, finger tracing the rim of his glass. Biting his lower lip like he’s trying to solve an equation. The air suddenly feels humid and sticky warm, and he’s loathe to admit it’s because of the pink on his cheeks. “Perseids do only happen once a year. Would be a shame to miss them again.” Last time it was because he was hiding out in a cave in northern India. But they didn’t need to go into details on why, not when the mood was good like this. Still, even then Bruce had at least known what was going on. Here, on vacation, somewhere far away from tandoori ovens, open fires, and sheltered whispers as gunfire sounded? Bruce felt more unsure of himself.

“Or I give you too much credit.” Amara flicks her fingers towards the fire, aiming for the bit licking at his heels like a puppy. The flames burst higher, almost to his knees, and she knows that it’s not going to hurt St. John, but she feels that it adequately expresses her annoyance with the situation. They can both control the fire — St. John seems to enjoy letting it run free more than keeping it contained. There was a time and place for fire to run free, and Amara didn’t think it qualified when their (her) friends were nearby. “Please.” Amara scoffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. There are certain people that one shouldn’t find themselves attracted to, and an exuberant pyromaniac topped her list. “Just because I want to make sure you don’t die doesn’t mean that my heart is all — how do you describe it in your books? aflutter? — for you. It just means I don’t want to be responsible for cleaning up your messes.”

The flames tickle and normally he’s not one to give a reaction for the sake of giving in. But Amara is the right amount of sass wrapped up in putting up with his shit. And if a second life has given St. John anything, it’s the wisdom to know that one didn’t necessarily push too hard when you found someone like that. So with a dramatic roll of his eyes, entire face going with it, he steps away from the flame. Giving Amara a put upon expression to go with. “Rude.”

         it’s  honestly  refreshing  to  hang  around  someone  who’s  not  from  the  legion  of  barbie  dolls  with  pom-poms  or  the  people  she  was  supposed  to  be  with.  the  crowd  laura  pushed  her  to  be  with  for  nearly  a  decade  of  her  life,  a  superficial  hive  mind  all  about  image.  chrissy  wanted  more  than  that,  and  this  year  she’s  choosing  herself.  not  the  girl  on  top  of  the  pyramid  everyone  expected  her  to  be.  chrissy  is  living  her  life  now,  and  she’s  still  learning  what  that  is.  getting  to  rediscover  herself,  create  herself  and  experience  life  in  hawkins  as  she  pleases.  getting  used  to  having  a  choice.  eddie  seems  to  trust  robin,  and  chrissy  thinks  she  seems  really  nice.  even  kind  of  funny  even  though  chrissy  knew  she  wasn’t  trying  to  be.  “what  does  your  ring  look  like?”  chrissy  wasn’t  too  bad  at  finding  things.  “i  can  keep  an  eye  out  for  it,  if  you  remember  where  it  went  missing.”  a  kind  smile  curves  at  rose-pink  lips.  “life  isn’t …”  a  clock.  the  strawberry  blonde  still  feels  a  chill  surge  through  her  as  the  eerie  antique  image  looms  in  her  memory,  something  she’d  rather  keep  out  forever.  she  blinks  a  few  times,  lashes  fluttering  and  she  follows  the  rest  of  her  thought.  “life  isn’t  on  a  time  schedule,  you  know?  it’s  okay  if  some  things  take  you  longer  than  most  people.”  a  sip  of  the  sweetened  coffee  helps  chrissy  to  relax  and  shifts  her  to  a  more  pleasant  mood,  easing  her  mind  which  surprises  her,  considering  the  espresso.  “actually…  i  think  i  know  what  you  mean.”

“As sure as you are for wanting t’ let a guy in who’ll probably get y’ ghosts in your toilet and who the fuck else knows visiting your living room at all hours of the day only t’ leave mucous all over your carpet along wit’ its ‘orrible news ‘bout the end of the world. Not joking, by the way.” It felt a bit necessary to well… emphasize that last part just in case. Just to be absolutely sure he did indeed hear that right, since it wasn’t like he had ever exactly hidden what was considered the package deal here.

Well… sort of, anyways. There were still things John didn’t want Clint in on for very good reason and then some.

And maybe he was selling himself short enough to make Clint double think this on purpose. John definitely was self-aware. He knew he could be difficult to live with, lord knows he wasn’t good to Kit in that regard and he was pretty sure the frayed strings of the memories with Dani weren’t kind in his favor at all. Not to mention the things he was pretty sure Nick still haunted him for from beyond the grave as well for a number of other offenses…

But was he really willing to risk all of that for—well, whatever the hell this is?

“I don’t got anything for me anywhere these days.” Apparently so, mulling over a few thoughts in his head with the last of his food. “Chas has gotten on without me for time on end and everyone’s used to me disappearing without word. Not like they really care all that much anyways, many more would just be glad to get rid of me. Sure, I got London, but she’s survived without me as well.”

“I got as many good memories here as I do bad like I do back home, so it wouldn’t even be much of a change. Difference really ‘s just what side o’ the pond I’m on. And I’d be on this side with you.” There was a stop, ducking his head to shake it and laugh a little. “God, think this is more I’ve spoken in a while.” More than to memory, at least, and for a moment John couldn’t help but idly wonder if this was just something that Clint seemed to bring out of him.

A comfortable sort of something that honestly scared him a little, but in a good way. A way he thought laid forgotten but… maybe it’d be worth it? There was only one way to find out.

“… Anyways, if y’ think about it this would also mean I don’t gotta y’know… go back just yet.”

There’s a stumble of Clint’s expression at that, oscillating between confusion and uncertainty. Features two-stepping over the myriad of images that very long, convoluted sentence seems to try to conjure, all of them stacking more or less into something messy and weird. Which, could honestly be the defintion for them both. Messy and Weird. A hell of a couple name, and Clint made a mental note to float it by Kate; she was always better at these things. 

Though that in of itself was another whiplash of a thought as well because, well, things were starting to get a bit real. And Clint knew what happened when they got that. A whirlwind that ended in destruction across the Midwest and two sides that never quite forgot the path left from the twister.

They’re both dancing around that fact. Clint isn’t as stupid as he likes to let on, and he isn’t as clueless as he plays it up to be. It’s almost reassuring that the uncertainty isn’t just...him. But there’s a fierce little competitive streak in him that screams up at the thought of being challenged. And that may not be what John is doing here, but it suddenly is easier to see it as a challenge than as fighting for a sliver of happiness.

(He’s not ready to ask himself if he’s ready for this kind of happiness.)

So he listens, and he nods and for a long moment Clint looks as if he’s literally chewing on words as he tries to find something that isn’t sappy and isn’t off-brand reassuring. Because they’ve both heard a million versions of it and they both know neither of them are wired for ordinary.

“I make stupid choices.” It bursts out of him like a confession, and in a way it is. There’s a laugh with it, but it’s not the self-deprecating guffaw he usually pairs it with, there’s no wink, there’s no roguish tilt of his head. Clint’s hand, warm from the soup container, rubs awkward circles into the back of his neck. Blue eyes glance over and the chuckle is bordering on nervous, bitten back by catching his lower lip. “Not that...you’re one?”

Smooth, Clint, smooth.

“Just, I get involved in shit over my head.” Which does draw a bit of a bitter laugh. “I knowingly put myself into shit way over my pay grade. Dumb, stupid shit that I should let go because it’s not going to cause me anything but trouble with a capital T. But I do it anyway. And I’ve got a thousand psychologists that would love to tell you why.” The reasons tick off on his fingers as he glances across the roof tops, watching a bird alight onto a concrete brick. “Reckless, inferiority complex, problem with authority, overzealous, overconfident to the point of idiocy.”

muses eddie munson billy hargrove robin buckley clint barton barney barton

test muses jesper fahey matthias helvar jonathan byers (not on carrd, request only)

verses dbd verse modern/marvel verse grisha verse occult verse 80s monster/monster hunter verse soulmates verses (picky)