#I suppose he hasn’t necessarily had to do that as Iron Man because Iron Man doesn’t really have his own traits beyond being a good hero

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #33

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Okay but I would LOVE to here your heretical opinions on Padame if you ever want to share them or any of your other views on star wars prequel characters. Your character analysises are INCREDIBLE and really fun to read <3

Oh boy, are you sure about that? Well, the ask has been made so here, we, gooooooooooooooo!

Padme’s one of those strange characters who appears as one thing but in actuality is quite different. Because she appears as the first thing, and it’s something people really like, most people accept that at face value and if she’s not always consistent--well, she came from a series of screenplays written by George Lucas.

Padme comes across as a very noble, kind, and courageous character who is also quite politically savvy. At fourteen, against all odds, she saves her planet from invasion when the Senate did nothing, secured herself an ally in the chancellor (nevermind him being secretly Palpatine), and even after relinquishing her title as queen remains a major player in the senate for years and is seen as enough of a threat to warrant several assassination attempts (one so bad she has to be guarded by Jedi and sent home to Naboo for several weeks). 

And I’m not saying she’s not any of these things. Padme is very courageous, is one of those odd politicians who... believes she stands for what she believes in (more on this later), and has a remarkable political career.

However, she’s also romantic to the point of being completely and utterly delusional, self-centered, and frankly a little nuts.

(Yeah, you knew you were waiting for me to say something terrible, WEREN’T YOU?!) Right, so what’s wrong with Padme?

Well, if you look closely at a few of her choices, the ones that never seemed to make much sense, then you can look at her other choices and... Well, it all sort of comes together. 

That’s right, I’m talking about “Attack of the Clones” and “Revenge of the Sith”.

Attack of the Clones we have the very lackluster and strange romance of Anakin and Padme.

On Anakin’s end, his infatuation with Padme makes a lot of sense. She was part of the party that rescued him from slavery, she was very kind to him, and was the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life. Ten years later, always having harbored a crush on her memory and keeping it alive through whatever news he hears of her, she’s grown into a very beautiful woman and Anakin is by chance introduced back into her life. I get why Anakin falls head over heels for Padme, I’ll get more into this later and how their relationship has some major issues (aside from the obvious), but I understand why he marries this girl out of nowhere even when it could get him thrown out of the Jedi. (As an aside, since this is more of a Padme post, I think Anakin was spurred on in part also by the death of his mother and his massacre of the Tusken Raiders. Anakin’s life was flipped upside down in a very short amount of time, one of his great emotional ties is suddenly gone, and I think he has this internal crisis that culminates in him deciding to marry Padme. Without this, he and Padme may have become lovers, but I don’t think he’d marry her).

On Padme’s end... it’s a little less clear. Anakin has grown into an attractive young man, yes. Take out all of George Lucas’ dialogue, and maybe Padme finds Anakin very charming. However, Padme secretly marries a Jedi she’s known for three weeks. Now, I’d be a bit more forgiving of this, love is love and we can’t always think rationally, but there’s some other things.

Unlike Anakin, Padme hasn’t been spending the past ten years romanticizing her memory of Anakin Skywalker. When they met in Phantom Menace, Anakin was not only five years younger than her, he was nine-years-old. To fourteen-year-old Padme, Anakin was not then dating material and was instead this poor boy in slavery. Which means while Anakin has build up justifying this rapid romance, Padme really doesn’t. What this means is that her romance with Anakin reads a lot more like a romantic fantasy. Cute dashing bodyguard shows up, saves her life, through contrived circumstances they’re sent back to beautiful Naboo where they spend time together, only cute bodyguard is a Jedi and can’t marry, which makes their love excitingly taboo! 

Everything Padme does, before and after this point, lends itself to this overdeveloped sense of romance. Padme wants to be whisked away, wants to have this secret unsustainable marriage with a man who cannot be married, she’s in love with the idea of being in love. Given how little time she spends with Anakin, how little they really know of each other, I’d say she’s more in love with the idea of Anakin than Anakin Skywalker himself. And this isn’t a bad thing necessarily, or at least not a grievous flaw, however, that’s not all. 

Padme chooses to marry Anakin knowing he murdered an entire village of men, women, and children. She marries him almost immediately after the massacre of the Tusken Raiders. Note, she does not learn about this later and have to come to terms with it, she is right there. She is on Tatooine with him and sees him go to do it and then return. 

Padme doesn’t take it... particularly well, that said, she also seems to shove it under the carpet immediately. She, first, marries Anakin within days after this event. She second, never really has a “holy fuck, Anakin” conversation with him. And worst yet, she never confesses to anyone else. Padme is a hypocrite and willing to sacrifice everything she believes in, albeit I believe unwittingly, for her romantic fantasy.

She tells no one about what happened. An entire village was brutally massacred, those who are already poor and oppressed and have no voice, by a man who is supposed to be a protector of all people in the galaxy. I’m sorry, Anakin, but if Padme was who you think she is then she would have to tell the Jedi Order at the very least if not the Republic. Instead, there are no consequences, only Anakin’s descent into guilt and madness as three years pass with it festering in the back of his mind.  Padme does not stand for the poor, for the people, or for justice. She only does so when it does not conflict with her own interests, i.e. her actions regarding the invasion of Naboo. More, I do not believe Padme has the introspection to realize this about herself, she never realizes that not narking on Anakin was very very very bad. Three years pass and she lives the whirlwind romantic fantasy that she and Anakin both want. They’re secret lovers/spouses, meeting up at the oddest hours of the day and... This is three years of this ridiculous affair. Three years to come to terms with the fact that something must change. And then the kicker, Padme gets pregnant, and this is where the extra delusional comes in.

The child should have been a signal of the end. There can be no more secret now. Padme is having a child, presumably out of wedlock, and even if space is very very very different from our society I imagine this would be quite the scandal that could even get her thrown out of the senate. I believe Padme mentions as much to Anakin. More, Anakin is no longer a lover, he is now a father. What’s supposed to happen now? They raise this secret child, instructing them that Anakin is only a father in private, never in public?

Anakin and Padme briefly flirt with the idea of Anakin leaving the order. Anakin even wants to do so, but it... never happens. Now is the time it absolutely should happen. Yes, Anakin’s a big part of the war effort, but he could at least start talking to the Order and they could decide if it’d be a slow or fast exit. 

My theory, Padme’s too in love with the fantasy. Anakin leaving means he’s no longer a Jedi, it means he’ll come to Naboo, be unemployed and be around. Anakin visiting will no longer be this romantic, fraught with the danger of being found out, passionate, short lived event for Padme. It’ll become real life. He’ll be a real, ordinary man, she’ll be a real, ordinary, woman, and that spark of romance will be gone.

I don’t think Padme wants that. 

Which is why, even with the child on the way, we see Anakin and Padme continue to play out this ridiculous secret lovers fantasy. And then, of course, Anakin goes insane off screen.

Padme is told that, once again, Anakin has murdered dozens of children. Of course, this is a terrible thing to be told and she can’t process it. She needs to find Anakin and confront him, but people always criticize Lucas here and feel it’s out of character for Padme to have run to Anakin in sobbing hysterics with no plan of enacting vengence.

Frankly, I think it’s very in character. She did nothing about the Tuskens, remember? I think at the end of the day, the murder of the Jedi children means very little to her. What hurts Padme the most is that the fantasy of Anakin she married is not real. The Anakin she married would never murder the Jedi children, betray the Republic, or do any of what he’s done. And I think Padme only has that strong, iron, will when she knows the world she’s in. With the Trade Federation, her stance was obvious. Her people were being oppressed, butchered, and invaded. In this case, the world she knew no longer exists.

The Republic is gone, perhaps hasn’t existed in thirteen years, as it turns out the senator who had always been her biggest supporter was a Sith Lord. The Jedi are gone, children murdered by Anakin while those in the field are picked off by their own clone soldiers. Padme’s world has fallen apart, and I think that makes it much harder for her to be the girl we saw in Phantom Menace. In time, perhaps, she would have joined the rebellion but... I do think Padme might have also given into despair.

So, yeah, that’s Padme for you.

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 1

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. 

Chapter 2

Read on FF.net or AO3.

Helloooo, beautiful people. I’m so excited about this story! This is now the official first part of the series, so it’s a prequel to the three oneshots I’ve already posted. If you haven’t read them, no worries, you can read this just fine. If you want to, just know they all have an established relationship and will reference the past, so you may possibly get spoiled. 

I plan for this to have five or so chapters, so buckle up, and as always, happy reading!

You’ve been expecting more.

Maybe that’s the wrong perspective to have. It’s still the military, and it’s still your first day and sure, that’s exciting and all, but you’ve heard stories. People always describe their first day of training as absolutely terrifying, but life-changing. They say that the first day is the day all the baby-faced cadets realize they’re in over their heads. It’s an introduction to the rest of their lives. At least, that’s the case for the people who stay. If one can’t handle a verbal beating, how can they stand any chance against the titans? The first day changes everything.

This, however, isn’t life-changing. It’s not terrifying. It’s rather...dull.

To be fair, the man in front doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it either.

You’ve heard of him, of course you have. Even back within Sina, people talk. A newcomer, a gift from the walls, humanity’s savior. Recently joined the Survey Corp and yet already a lieutenant, a definite shoe-in for the next available section commander position. Apparently his origins are a bit of a mystery, but he’s either the long lost son of a rich merchant or he’s come from outside the walls themselves because it’s just impossible that any common person can possess the skills he’s rumored to have. You’re not sure you believe all of it - apparently he’s so fast that the titans can’t even see him coming? yeah, sure - and yet there’s just something about him that gives off a truly well-earned confident aura. That’s been the most exciting part so far, the chance to see him up close, to see that he’s actually real.

Still, since he began talking, Lieutenant Levi hasn’t once raised his voice. He hasn’t screamed at them all for being the weakest pieces of shit he’s ever seen. He hasn’t even told them about how they’re going to train to become snacks for the titans. It’s disappointing. You’ve been ready to stand your ground, to show you’re made of some tough stuff. That can’t happen when your trainer won’t even bother to strike fear into your heart. Where other people may be relieved, you are mourning this loss of the traditional military experience.

At the very least, he’s not the actual trainer. He started his speech with a complaint that their actual instructor was sick for the day so now he had the absolute pleasure to welcome dozens of new fucking brats to their new home and occupation. His words drip with venom and boredom - clearly, he didn’t join to do any of this. It’s beneath him. All in all, Lieutenant Levi seems rather...arrogant. Maybe it’s well-deserved. But you don’t have to like it.

As he walks up to people at random who shout out their bare identities, the lieutenant snaps out comments that seem like they’re meant to bully rather than to frighten.

“Your posture is shit.”

“Oh wow, I bet the titans will be real scared of your noodle arms.”

“And here I thought these villages would send their best and brightest. Instead they sent you.”

But you’re not one to let things get to you so easily. You have your fist balled to your chest proudly, ready to serve humanity. You’ve fought to get where you are, and now you’re really, actually standing here, with your new comrades besides you, and you couldn’t be more proud. A bright smile settles on your face. You will make the best out of this, no matter your humanity-saving trainer’s dour mood. 

Unfortunately, said humanity-saving trainer takes notice of your smile, and with his gaze locked on his new target, he walks up to you, eyes narrowed in irritation.

“What’s your deal?”

You straighten your back, snap to attention, and look directly ahead as you know is appropriate. “Cadet (F/N) (L/N), sir, from Stohess District!”

His expression doesn’t throw you off, despite it looking like he’s never been so irritated in his life. You know you haven’t done anything wrong (at least not yet), so him looking that pissed off must be an internal issue, nothing to do with you. You’re not any different than any of the other cadets that have introduced themselves.

“Cadet (F/N) (L/N),” he says as though he’s testing out a brand new curse word, with just a hint of mockery in his voice. “I didn’t ask for your name or where you were from. I asked what your deal was.”

Well what in the holy hells is that supposed to mean?

Is what you want to say, but instead you simply furrow your brows and ask curly. “Sir?”

“What the fuck are you so happy about?” he clarifies, annoyance displayed clearly on his face.

Well damn, no need to be so edgy. You aren’t necessarily required to be as serious as everyone else here, and smiling isn’t a crime last time you checked. But this is obviously Lieutenant Levi’s thing, to be snarky and mean, and the sooner you answer, the sooner he’ll move on and find a new victim. “Just happy to be here, sir.”

Your smile stays right where it is.

“Oh, is that it?” He stares at you, deadpan. “You like the thought of being eaten? Does the idea just make your day? Do you fantasize about it at night? Let it lull you to sleep?”

Your smile grows a little strained.

Passion aggression is nothing new. You grew up in Stohess, you’re used to your fair share of cattiness. The lieutenant must take lessons from the tea-sipping high class ladies you’d basically grown up with, because he reminds you of them vividly. Ironic, considering you thought the military would be an escape to a life that was real and included less passive bullshit. It’s that frustration at the similarity that makes your polite mask crack.

The response slips through your lips before you can stop yourself. “No, sir, but last night I did happen to dream of a trainer that was tough enough to handle one of his subordinates smiling.”

You can be catty too. 

The grounds become more silent than they already were. It’s as though everyone is suddenly holding their breath at this new confrontation, just waiting to see what the newly dubbed hope of humanity will do if someone matches his sass. The loud silence is what finally makes you just a smidge nervous - surely, they won’t kick you out on your very first day just because of a smart comment, right?

Impatient and a bit anxious, you finally allow yourself to look directly in his eyes, and you’re suddenly stricken by how grey they are. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone with grey eyes. They’re damn gorgeous. And there’s a hint of...something in them, and to your surprise it’s not rage. He looks calculatingly gleeful, as though he’s just been waiting for someone to say something back to him. He appears cruel and delighted all at once, and the contrast of it along with the striking silver hue is more personality than you’ve ever seen in someone’s eyes before.

It’s a breathtaking sight. You move in just a millionth of a centimeter to get a closer look -

And then he moves, lightning fast, reeling back and swinging his leg around to sweep your legs from under you. With a gasp, you hit the ground hard, head ringing and vision blurring for a few seconds. Your hair, which was loose around your shoulders, flies across your face, some of it entering your mouth. From above you, grey eyes are triumphant, looking down on you as though to ask whether or not that’s tough enough for you. You’d love to answer, but your head is throbbing and you can only let out a pathetic, confused noise that causes titters to spread throughout the room.

What the hell just happened?

You move to get up, but he’s quicker, slamming his foot down on your leg and holding you right where you are. For someone with such a short stature, he looks pretty damn tall from down here. Maybe this is the sight that the titans barely get to see before he slices through them. 

Everyone is watching, even if they’re not turning their hands. This is their entertainment today, and the fool has just made its move. The fool being you, of course. They’re all hungry to see how this will play out.

Your cheeks glow bright with embarrassment, but you are not going to waver. Not on the first day. This is what you wanted, right? You wanted someone who’d be a hardass, who’d strike fear in you and make this a day you’d never forget. Well, Lieutenant Levi is your wish come true.

“Please remove your foot, sir,” you muster as politely as you can, looking up at him icily.

He digs the heel of his shoe into your thigh to make a point, and maybe to see if you’ll cry out in pain. But you look him in his strange grey eyes and you only blink, a small smile returning to your face. Will he kick someone who’s already down?

The moment seems to last forever, and you briefly entertain the fantasy that time is freezing for him as much as it is for you.

And then it’s all broken - he takes his foot off and walks right by you, and the only words you’re spared after being humiliated are, “Tie your hair up, you look ridiculous.”

Thus goes your first meeting with Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

____________________

Dinner that night is filled with chatter. It seems people have found their loyal companions pretty fast, and cliques are forming faster than a speeding bullet. 

Luckily, you don’t need to worry about making friends. Besides the fact that you’re charming and perfect (according to everyone else and definitely not just you), you joined the military with your best friend from childhood. Millie Shackel is every bit the Stohess lady you are, the Rose to your Maria, the jelly to your butter. It’s amazing how much two girls can bond over a shared hate for the lack of activity happening within their stuffy town.

You gnaw at the bread on your plate, squeezing your eyes shut in pain after a particularly hard bite makes the back of your head throb. Not for the first time, you place your hand gingerly on the back of your skull, confirming that there’s no blood pouring out.

“Shouldn’t have mouthed off,” Millie quips from across the table, looking at you amusedly.

“Thanks,” you mutter bitterly, abandoning the bread for now until the soreness goes away. “Didn’t think one stupid comment was going to make him go berserk on me.”

She laughs, confirming you sound every bit as stupid as you feel. “I don’t think that classifies as berserk. That was a superior putting you in your place.”

“Suck-up,” you accuse, eyes narrowed. She only rolls her eyes, and you bring the cup of water to your lips and begin simply guzzling it down when someone claps you on the back, making you choke.

You turn to glare, still coughing up water, at two guys behind you. The one who nearly killed you is tall, with hair the color of bananas, and he’s grinning with no regrets, the shameful bastard. The other one behind him looks apologetic, red-haired with pretty green eyes. He whacks his friend on the arm. “You idiot, you nearly sent her to the infirmary!”

“Oh, come on.” The tall guy slides next to you without permission, slinging an arm around you as though you’re the closest of chums. Back in Stohess, you’d have called for his execution or some shit. “Surely the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi can handle some water going down the wrong way.”

Millie does not look pleased at the intruder, and looks even more grouchy when his friend sits down next to her, albeit keeping a much more respectful distance. When you finally stop coughing violently, you shove the guy’s arm away.

“A-asshole, what the hell’s your problem?” 

“There’s no problem, kid.” He nudges your arm with his elbow. “I just wanted to see the balls on you. Guess it was overexaggerated.”

“Obviously,” you snap, “I just talked back, I didn’t hop over the wall and kill a titan.”

“Regardless, good job with the way you handled it. The others are talking about you.”

Millie gives you a stern look. “Hear that? Now we’re the troublemakers.”

You shrug apologetically, and decide to take another crack at eating your bread. This time, it goes down easier, with only a light sting to remind you of the lieutenant’s cruelty. 

“I’m Stephen,” the redhead says with a shy smile, extending his hand. You shake it, then turn your gaze questioningly to the one next to you. He grins cockily, waiting for you to ask. You don’t.

“This is Ricky.” Stephen spoils his fun, sounding exasperated. 

“I assume you two are close.” Millie wrinkles her nose distastefully. You bite back a laugh - there’s that Stohess bitchiness that you love about her.

“We met this morning,” Ricky responds, and you can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

The two of you warm up to the boys soon enough. Ricky is rather friendly when he’s not trying to steal your food thinking you won’t notice, and Stephen is downright sweet, his emerald eyes brightening when you ask him where he’s from. He goes off on a ramble about his village which is somewhere smack dab in the middle of the land within Wall Rose. Apparently their local stew is the best there is. You privately disagree; nothing quite tastes like the stew they make in the Orvud District, least of all this bland loaf of bread in your hand.

Ricky, on the other hand, is from Shiganshina, which is apparently an outer city of Wall Maria (so the two boys really had just met that morning). 

“So, I’m guessing it’s the MP for you two?” Ricky says. Millie looks offended.

“That’s not right for you to assume!” She deflates a little. “But yes, it is.”

“Hey.” You shoot her a scowl. “It’s the MP for you. I don’t have any intention of hurrying back to precious Sina.”

Millie gazes at you with her we’ll talk about this later look like she has every time you’ve brought up that you have no intention of returning to fucking Stohess where nothing ever happens. Before she can say anything, Ricky ruffles your hair fondly. 

“Should’ve known you were made of tougher shit than that. So what, you like playing hero?”

You shrug. “No, I just have a sob story. Dead old Dad was a Scout, and then he was titan chowder.”

Stephen looks disturbed at how bluntly you say it, and even Ricky is a bit thrown off. You chuckle at their expressions, waving a hand nonchalantly. “It’s fine, it happened a while ago. I barely remember him. But you know, what better way to connect with your dead dad than to align yourself with the people who let him die, right?”

Ricky’s mouth hangs open as Millie snorts. “You can laugh, she’s making a joke. Get used to her sense of humor, it’s always this bad.”

“I resent that.”

“So you don’t care about getting into the top ten?” Stephen asks carefully - scoping out the competition, you realize.

“Couldn’t give less of a shit,” you answer coolly, “but Millie obviously does.”

“I’ll get into the top ten, it’s not about that.” Millie says confidently, shaking her head as though it’s ridiculous to even imagine that she wouldn’t. After all, you two were raised to be perfect. “The real goal is to be first.”

Ignoring the madly ambitious look in her eyes, you focus on Stephen. “So what is it for you? The Scouts?”

He winces bashfully. “I’m...undecided.”

You laugh out loud, a bit meanly. “What, undecided like you’re going to some top university in Mitras? This is the Training Corp, Stephen, you’re not gonna get to try out a bit of everything. Just choose whether or not you wanna be shipped off to a pointless death, and then you’ve made your decision.”

Stephen frowns, shaking his head. “If it was that simple, then what would be the point of choosing?”

Who in the holy hells asked for his philosophical wisdom, that’s what you want to know. Rolling your eyes, you turn to Ricky, who is chewing on your bread, abandoned after your taste buds just wouldn’t adjust without the butter you were used to. With his mouth full, he answers easily. “Scouts.”

You nod. At least he’s sure.

____________________

“That wasn’t right,” Millie says later, right as you’re about to lie down on a scratchy-looking bed.

“What?”

“What you said to him. He can take his time deciding if he wants to. And it’s just rich, coming from you.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. “You’re just pissed because I don’t wanna take on the most boring job in the world.”

“Grow up,” Millie hisses, venom laced in her voice. “Not everything’s about your entertainment.”

Turning around, you see your best friend with arms crossed, giving you a disapproving look that reminds you of your mother. How odd. What’s that old saying about people becoming what they most hate?

“You’re gonna lecture me now too? Hit me with some philosophy, maybe?” You raise your brow, daring her to say more. “Or do you wanna knock me over again? Maybe I’ll get a concussion this time.”

Millie scoffs, sitting down on the bed she’s claimed. “You know what, it was nice. Seeing someone put you in your place like that.” Her lips quirk under your hard gaze. “Maybe he’ll teach you a thing or two about taking things seriously. Give you some actual goals to achieve.”

The only thing Lieutenant Levi will teach you is to never get distracted by something like how beautiful someone’s eyes look ever again. Even now, you can still picture him, the way he stood in front of you, startled you, threw you off. The way his eyes were filled with more duality than you’d ever expected to see in a person.

Pretending like you didn’t just fantasize about his pretty grey irises, you roll your eyes and flop down on the bed next to her’s. “He’s not gonna teach me jack shit. He’s not even our trainer.”

Millie hums, whether it’s to you or to herself you don’t know, and when you look at her again she’s closed her eyes, clearly wanting to end what was a very long day. It’s not long before you join her.

“(F/N).”

“Yeah?”

“I miss home.”

You don’t, but you keep it to yourself.

The last thing you think of before you fall asleep is how cold the lieutenant had looked when he humiliated you, and your cheeks burn angrily.

____________________

Two weeks pass by in a blur. Once training starts, there’s not much time to think about something like goals, because everyone’s goal is simply living until dinner each night. Avoid getting yelled at, attend classes, study hard, and for the love of all things holy don’t fall on your face when you’re balancing in the practice ODM gear. 

It’s a rush, and you actually find yourself enjoying it. The food still tastes stale and the bed is still too hard to be comfortable, but there’s an easy routine that’s so much more than sit still and look pretty. While you’ve never been a fan of routine, this is different. There’s a purpose to this, even if everyone has different things they’re working towards. Whether they’re trying their best to show what they’re made of and get into the top ten like Millie, or pushing themselves because they get starry-eyed at the thought of saving humanity like Rashad, or simply staying out of trouble to avoid getting meal privileges taken away like Clara, everyone is working towards something, and it’s thrilling to be in the midst of it, to be a part of something meaningful.

You and Ricky are fast friends - he’s surprisingly not too insufferable and he shares your enthusiasm for not taking things so seriously. He also seems like he’s looking for a partner in crime, someone to partake in the oh-so delightful task of slacking off with. Millie is throwing herself into perfecting everything, and Stephen, while not as crazy as she is, is more nervous about losing respectability in front of their trainers and comrades. So the two of you naturally gravitate towards each other, because jeez, at least a few people here need to remember that life still exists outside of all of the training and military drama. 

Today is the first time they’re letting you practice hand-to-hand combat, and while that’s obviously ridiculous since you’re training to fight titans (or just bully people, if you’re joining the MP, but Millie didn’t appreciate you voicing that out loud), it’s also a chance for you to show off a natural talent. 

You’re flexible. And fairly fast too.

Sure, you’re no fighter, but back home you were put into dancing lessons since you were a wee young thing, so you have a much higher tolerance than most of these chumps. You can take a few hard punches here and there, and you’re fluid with your movements, so you’re giving as good as you get. Even combat is a dance in a certain way, it has all the same elements at any rate. Everything comes down to the placement of the feet, and every other body is an accessory that has to be utilized perfectly to do any damage. 

Unfortunately, Ricky’s fought, like actually fought - fucking peasants from Maria and their street fights - and so as much as you put up a damn good fight, he eventually gets you in a hold from behind. You squirm in his grasp as he laughs, digging his fingers in your side. You try to protest, but it’s hard when he’s tickling you so hard.

“H-hey, hey!” Your giggling only gets two octaves louder when Ricky doesn’t let up. “Stop!” Ricky’s laugh mixes in with yours, until he’s lifting you off the ground. Your breathing becomes painful as you struggle against his grip, clawing at his hands. “Ricky! Let go!”

Finally, he decides to show mercy, dropping you. He regrets it pretty soon, though, because then you’re on him quickly, throwing a hard punch against his shoulder. He groans, letting out a pained, “What the hell, (F/N)?” but you’re not done. You grab the collar of his uniform, and tug it forward briefly to give yourself some momentum to shove him back as hard as you can.

Ricky stumbles on his feet, catching himself before he falls at the last second. There’s a determined expression in his eyes, not quite competitive but suddenly eager to show off.

“So, think your dainty dancing is gonna give you the advantage here?” he challenges, balling his fists in front of his chest. You do the same. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s not how that works.”

“Beat me, then. Properly.” You smirk, planting your feet firmly. Let him throw the first punch, you decide. “I have to be on the ground for you to win.”

Ricky’s clever too, knowing you intend to use his size against him. He lowers his arms, extending them as though he’s going to let you take a free shot. Yeah, you’re not that stupid. You stay right where you are, raising an unimpressed brow. The two of you stare each other down, trying your best not to break into smiles. 

“Hit me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Because you know your punch will be too weak?”

“How’s your shoulder, Ricky? Should be feeling fine, since my punch was so weak.”

He barks out a laugh, rolling his shoulder back experimentally. “Like getting hit by a feather.”

Okay, trash talk isn’t part of the combat training that the trainer, Instructor Grumman, has assigned. But it’s still fun, and it’s about a thousand times more preferable than actually fighting. Fighting is painful and pointless. Trash talk is entertaining and doable. 

Still, you hunch your shoulders. If Ricky really won’t move, you’ll come at him with full force. Digging your heel into the ground, you give yourself a boost and run towards him with a burst of speed. His eyes widen, and his first instinct is to hold out his hands to keep you at bay. But with the close proximity and his lanky figure, it won’t be enough. You’ll have him on his back within seconds if you ram into him in one, two -

You don’t make it.

You don’t make it because you’re suddenly flung into the air. You let out a frantic shriek and bring your arms up to shield your face. The ground approaches with dizzying speed and you hit it with a sickening thud. Your hands are suddenly covered in scratches and you open your mouth to furiously ask Ricky what the fuck he was thinking and how did he even do that and did he have to throw you so high -

But when you look up, it’s cold grey eyes that meet you.

Fuck.

The glare that was supposed to be for Ricky is now aimed at him, unadulterated hate coursing through your veins. This is the first time you’ve seen him since that day. Just what in the actual fuck is his problem, and just what had you done to deserve being thrown over his shoulder and up into the sky like a fucking ragdoll? You hadn’t mouthed off this time. Hell, you didn’t even know he was there, so just what the fuck was he punishing you for?

“People who don’t take their training seriously usually end up looking up like this,” he hisses. His glare matches yours, which is ridiculous, because he’s the one who knocked you down. Why is he pissed off? “‘Course, they’re usually looking up at a titan, but we don’t have any of those on hand for me to demonstrate.”

Yeah, he’s far from a titan. Fucking shrimp.

“I was taking my training very seriously, sir,” you say with gritted teeth. “In fact, I would have defeated my opponent had you not stepped in and shot me up in the air.” Your hands would also have significantly fewer bruises. 

He snorts, actually snorts, like you’ve just told a hilarious joke. “A real opponent isn’t going to let you run that mouth of yours before they come at you. You’d be dead in two fucking seconds.”

People are looking now. Everyone remembers that first day, and they all look as though their favorite stage actors have come to town to perform a show. They’re all waiting to see just what the girl who talked back to Lieutenant Levi will do now. A circus trick, perhaps? They don’t know what you’re made of - no one is going to see you crack. And definitely not because of this insufferable man.

“You don’t know that, sir.” You say it with a poisonous smile, wanting him to know that it’s not meant to be respectful. “I might just make it. Maybe I’ll even make it longer than you.”

There are hushed gasps all around you, but the lieutenant pays them no mind. He looks amused, as if you’re just a stupid little girl, an arrogant brat who somehow thinks she’s somehow stronger than him. You’re not an idiot, you know that he’s an excellent soldier who will probably make captain soon, and you’re a lowly cadet who doesn’t even know the basics yet. But once you’re trained up, once you have experience, you think you could take him on, and you could possibly win.

Lieutenant Levi leans down, crouching on his legs before leaning in. He grabs your shoulder harshly, and leans in to whisper in your ear. “I’ll be waiting, (L/N).”

You almost feel respected until he adds, “Waiting to see the day that fucking smile gets wiped off your face.”

With that, he stands up and turns. Turns to walk away. Turns as though you’re not still on the ground. Turns as though your comrades aren’t snickering around you, convinced that he just put you in your place a second time. Turns as though he didn’t just single you out for no damn reason - who even fucking asked him to watch? Who asked him to interfere in your business? Why didn’t anyone else demand his attention? You weren’t the only one goofing off. Hell, there were some people who were actually just lazing around! Where was their punishment?

Furiously, you speak before your brain can catch up.

“Why don’t you fight me, Lieutenant?” you say loudly as you get to your feet.

He stops.

Ricky, who is safely standing a few feet away now, gives you a wide-eyed look, silently asking if you’re brain damaged. But you pay him no mind, your eyes focused on the back of Lieutenant Levi’s head, probably burning a hole in him with your gaze by now. Immediately, the crowd changes sides again, hushed oohs spreading around. It’s not enthusiastic, no one actually believes you’ll triumph, but they are enthusiastic that you have the balls to try.

He turns, giving you the driest expression you’ve ever seen, and you half expect to be dismissed. To be told that you’re too weak to even think about fighting him.

Instead, his stance changes, his fists are raised, and he’s accepted your challenge.

You know you can’t win. That’s not the point. The point is to hold out. For a whole minute, at least. Half a minute. Was twenty seconds too generous?

There’s a small part of you that regrets mouthing off this time.

Lieutenant Levi doesn’t have to waste any time staring you down. He has no need to debate in his head about who should throw the first punch, and nor does he grant you the courtesy of devising a strategy in your head first. In half a second, he’s approaching you with dizzying speed, fist reeled back, about to knock you over for the second time today.

But you’re sick and tired of these fast maneuvers. 

You duck down just as he closes the gap between you, and you go for his legs. He grunts in surprise as you make contact, clutching tightly. It may look pathetic. Your arms are wrapped around his thighs, which you basically just dived into. Your face is squished against his hip. Your feet have left the ground, as you’ve thrown your entire body at him. At this moment, you look absolutely ridiculous.

But it’s worth it.

The lieutenant loses his balance as his feet slip from under him. You can feel him falling down, down, down, with a gasp that is just fucking music to your ears. This is turning out better than you’ve ever hoped for. You’ve proved everyone wrong, even yourself. He’s going to hit the floor, and you’re going to win. You’ll win.

Or at least, you would have.

You’re both hurtling through the air for one glorious moment. Then, recovering from his shock in an instant, Lieutenant Levi spins the two of you in midair, and despite all your efforts and quick calculations, it’s your back that hits the floor again with a loud crack, air knocked clean out of your lungs. You gasp for breath. His knees are digging into your neck, you’re going to choke -

He takes no time to recover. He’s up and on his feet in a second, brushing the nonexistent dirt off his pants, and you’re left panting with your hand on your throat, trying to recover what little dignity you have left as laughter erupts around you. Dizziness and confusion overwhelms you, as does something else. Just a few minutes ago, you’d been looking at him hatefully. Well, you from five minutes ago had no idea what hate was. You could kill him right now, this arrogant, pompous, cruel jerk. 

How dare he look so unperturbed? Like this is just a normal weekday for him?

A hand yanks you up by your hair, nails digging in your scalp painfully. You’re brought to your knees with a heaving gasp. He tugs your head up until you’re looking at him properly, and he has the nerve to smirk. It’s slight - perhaps he knows a full blown smile would look creepy on him - but it’s there, mocking you.

When he speaks, it’s just a little louder than a murmur. “I thought I told you to tie your hair up.”

Then he releases you, and your buckle over in pain. The position literally has you bowing down to him. White hot anger seeps through you. Consumes you. When he starts walking away, his every step thunders in your head, echoing a million times. He had no right. 

No right at all.

It seems like Millie’s wish has come true. You have a goal now. A goal that Lieutenant Levi has so graciously given you.

You’ve decided. No matter what happens, you’re going to get revenge on Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. He’s going to fucking pay.

____________________

You’re pacing out in the field later that day, muttering under your breath, the events from earlier replaying in your head on loop. Millie’s decided to give up on getting you to come study with her, and she’s blatantly refused to participate in your little quest for revenge, citing it as “pointless and foolhardy.” Well, this whole thing is pointless and foolhardy. The Training Corp is just a way to produce more dead bodies every year. But Millie didn’t agree with your line of logic and has left you to brood on your own.

Realistically, what are your options? It’s not an easy task to take on. Humiliating a man who is now so respected and admired will be difficult when his ego soars sky high. Something heavy will be needed to bring it down. Now you have no intention of ruining him for life, nothing major or extremely dangerous. If you did have such an intent, it would’ve been rather simple, just a letter back home to your mother to spread the word of what humanity’s hero was really like. Not that she’s inclined to listen to your demands nowadays, but it’s a doable plan that would work one way or another. But you want to embarrass Lieutenant Levi the exact same way he embarrassed you. You want to knock him flat on his back, while everyone watches, and you want to stand triumphantly as he kneels down to you.

Someone listening to your thoughts right about now would think you were having a vivid sexual fantasy. You groan, slumping down against the bark of a tree. It’s going to be dark soon. You have a curfew that you’re inclined to obey. But you simply can’t go back without thinking of a plan. He deserves it. He deserves to be utterly humiliated. Punishing you is one thing. Beating you in a fight is only natural. 

But holding you up by your hair like you’re one of the fucking spoils of war only to have you kneel to him - that’s sick. He’s sick, and probably perverted. You wonder if he’s always been like that, or if the glory has gone to his head. And you wonder why he’s chosen you to play this game with. Because of a smile and some cheek? That’s no excuse. 

Maybe you’re just the prettiest one here, and he has a crush.

Even the cocky thought can’t distract you enough from your frustration. You can’t possibly beat him. There’s a reason he’s getting so much attention. It’s because he can fight like no other, and it’s all natural talent too. Frankly, you call bullshit, no one is just that good without any practice, but whatever, not the point right now. Who could possibly make you capable enough to beat the lieutenant in a fight? Who could possibly know all his weaknesses? 

Probably only him.

Your eyes widen.

____________________

The sun shines brightly the next day. You feel the warm breeze from the open windows kissing your cheek as you run through the base. Most people passing by pay you no mind, although a few give you questioning looks. But they don’t say anything, probably figuring you’re just a lost newbie who’s inevitably going to get yelled at when you show up late for class. But they’re mistaken, you’re not lost at all. You’re running with purpose. And well, you might be late for class, but it’ll be fine, you know Stephen takes detailed notes that he’s willing to share, and even if he feels like being mean, this is much more important.

Originally, the plan was to go all the way to his office, the path pieced together from directions you’d gotten from Instructor Grumman who believed you were going to apologize (for what?). Hopefully, he won’t actually double check if you went through with it, because you have no intention of apologizing for a single damn thing. Your aim is far more sinister than that. Today is the first step of a plan that will take you a long while, but it’ll pay off eventually. You’re going to achieve your goal. 

That is, if he agrees.

The universe is on your side, because you don’t even need to go all the way to his office. There he is, in the flesh, talking to a blonde man you recognize as Captain Erwin Smith and a woman who you haven’t seen before. Maybe if he hadn’t been so callous yesterday, you’d have waited until he was away from his comrades before approaching him. It’s too late to care about appearances now.

You step up to the three of them and salute, clearing your throat.

He looks at you, and his eyes harden when he sees a smile plastered on your face yet again. 

“Can we help you?” Captain Erwin says gently, but there’s just the slightest edge in his tone. Clearly one is not supposed to just approach this dream team. Your bad.

You open your mouth to answer him, but Lieutenant Levi beats you to it, looking bored as he does. “She’s lost, Erwin. Classes are on the other side of the base,” he says dismissively, waving a hand like he’s swatting away a fly.

“I am not lost. Sir.” Your spine is still straightened and your fist is still balled against your heart. You’re not sacrificing it just yet, but you’re certainly sacrificing your pride here. “I have a request for you. After you pointed out my obvious flaws yesterday, I realized that if I don’t get help, I’m going to fall seriously behind.”

Captain Erwin shoots him an exasperated look, already having figured that his best friend (or whatever they are to each other) must have done something to you. Meanwhile, the woman cackles, nudging the lieutenant’s shoulder. 

“She’s being proactive! You appreciate that, don’t you, Levi?”

He doesn’t answer. His attention is now exclusively on you - you nearly feel special. 

“So what do you need from me, Cadet?” You ignore the way your stomach flip-flops violently from the way he stares at you, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a light smirk. Something in him clearly enjoys the idea of you needing him for something. Something else to lord over your head, something else for him to be cocky about. “You want me to find someone to give you private lessons?”

“Close,” you say, mustering the brightest and happiest fucking expression you can, “I’d like you to give me private lessons. I want you to train me.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flash upwards. 

Your hair is neatly tied up in a tight bun.

Y’all have no idea how weird it is to write “Lieutenant Levi.” I loathe it.

Also, this is my first time writing in second person. Lots of firsts here, folks.

Please review, your comments are my source of life.

[the-desolated-quill]

WandaVision: ‘Subverting’ Good Television - Quill’s Scribbles

(Spoilers for the first five episodes)

Hey everyone! Well... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I wrote a proper review or Scribble, people still thought the COVID crisis would be over within a month. The poor saps. But I thought that as a special way to mark this year’s Valentines Day, we could take a closer look at the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s shittiest power couple in their new Disney+ show WandaVision.

The first of many MCU spin-off shows that nobody asked for, broadcast exclusively on Disney’s totally unnecessary streaming platform, WandaVision is about everybody’s favourite whitewashed Nazi experiment and her red sexbot boyfriend as they try to fit into a suburban sitcom neighbourhood without arousing suspicion.

Yes, you read that correctly. The MCU has a sitcom now. My life is now complete.

Sarcasm aside, I was legitimately curious about WandaVision because of its unusual setting. And considering one of my most common criticisms of the MCU is its total lack of creativity, anything that’s even a little bit subversive is bound to attract my attention. Of course ‘subversive’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good.’ I could hand you a canvas smeared with my own shit and call it subversive. That doesn’t necessarily make it good art. And that’s exactly what WandaVision is. A canvas smeared with shit.

So lets split this critical analysis/review/angry bitter rant into two distinct chapters. The first focusing on the plot and setting, and the second focusing on the characters. Okay? Okay.

Chapter 1: Bewitched

Critics seem to be utterly enamoured with the whole sitcom gimmick, and it is a gimmick. As far as I can tell from the episodes I’ve seen, the sitcom setting serves no real purpose whatsoever other than to make the show ‘quirky.’ Which I wouldn’t mind, believe it or not, if the show was actually funny. There’s just one problem. It’s not.

Now in some ways describing why a sitcom doesn’t work is often futile because comedy is largely subjective. What I find funny, you won’t necessarily find funny and vice versa. With WandaVision, however, I won’t have that problem. I can demonstrate to you precisely why WandaVision, objectively, isn’t funny. And it all comes down to one simple thing. The stakes. Or rather the complete and total absence of stakes.

The show makes it very clear from the beginning that none of what we’re seeing is real. The cheesy theme song, the era appropriate special effects (mostly. It’s actually very inconsistent), the joke commercials, and, in the case of the first two episodes, which are in black and white, the appearance of red lights and objects in Scarlet Witch’s general vicinity. (Gee, what a mystery this is).

Basically Wanda has brought Vision back from the dead and created this sitcom world for them to inhabit. I’ll explain the stupidity of this in Chapter 2. The point is none of this is real, and that has a negative effect on the comedy because the very nature of comedy is suffering. Take the plot of the first episode. Wanda and Vision have to prepare a dinner to impress Vision’s boss. If they fail, Vision could lose his job and the couple could be exposed as superheroes. If this were a normal sitcom, it would work. The stakes are clear and it would be satisfying to see the two struggle and overcome the odds. But here, we know it’s not real. If it’s not real, it means there’s no stakes. If there’s no stakes, it means there’s no suffering. If there’s no suffering, there’s no comedy.

It would be one thing if the unfunny sitcom stuff lasted for like the first ten minutes or so before making way for the actual plot, but it doesn’t. Oh no. It doesn’t even last for the first episode. Out of the five episodes I’ve watched, four of them are almost entirely about these unfunny, objectively flawed sitcom homages, each set in a different time period. The fifties, the sixties, and so on. And what’s worse is that nothing that happens in them is plot-relevant. That gets relegated to the last five minutes of an episode. So you’re forced to sit through twenty five minutes of boring slapstick and puns in order to catch even a whiff of actual story. Which begs the question... who is this for exactly? It can’t be entertaining to Marvel fans, who have to slog through all this pointless shit so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Comedy fans may get a kick out of the sitcom pastiche at first, but after four episodes, surely the joke would wear thin. So why is it in here? Clearly someone in the writer’s room absolutely fell in love with the idea of doing a Marvel sitcom, but nobody put in any time or effort to figure out how it would work in context.

I cannot stress enough how bad the plotting of this series is. As I said, the vast majority of a thirty minute episode is about shitty sitcom plots that aren’t funny and don’t have any impact on the story, only to then tease you with a crumb of actual plot in order to keep you coming back for the next instalment. Admittedly it’s an effective strategy. I was more than ready to quit after Episode 2 until that beekeeper showed up out of the sewer (don’t ask. It’s not important). WandaVision essentially follows the Steven Moffat school of bad writing. String your audience along with the promise that things might get more interesting later on and that all the bullshit that came before will retroactively make sense by the end. Except, as demonstrated with BBC’s Sherlock, that doesn’t work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t justify wasting the audience’s fucking time. And that’s what the majority of WandaVision is. A waste of time.

The only episode that doesn’t follow the sitcom format is the fourth episode. Instead it basically exists to explain all the shit that happened before. The shit that the audience, frankly, are smart enough to figure out for themselves. Wanda created the sitcom world as a way of coping with the loss of Vision, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we got it. Thanks. It doesn’t advance the plot or anything. It’s just a massive info-dump. But by far the lowest point was when Darcy (by far the most annoying character in the first Thor film and is just as obnoxious here) was sat in front of the TV, watching the sitcom and asking the same questions we were. Not even attempting to look for answers. Just reiterating what the audience is thinking. Like this is an episode of fucking Gogglebox.

In the end it becomes apparent why the series is structured the way that it is. It’s to hoodwink people into subscribing to Disney’s stupid streaming service. If you think about it, there was no reason for WandaVision to be a TV series other than to lure gullible fans in with a piece-meal story buried in a mountain of crap. This isn’t a TV show. It’s what is cynically known in the world of big business executives as ‘content.’ They’re not interested in entertaining the audience. Instead they crave ‘engagement’, which isn’t the same thing. Watching WandaVision is like staring into the void, waiting for something to happen, while Disney charge you for the privilege.

Chapter 2: I Love Lucy

So the plot sucks balls. What about the characters? Surely if Wanda and Vision are likeable at least, it’ll give us something to cling onto.

Well as I was watching the first episode, it suddenly hit me that I couldn’t remember anything that happened to them in previous films. I knew Vision died, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you significant plot details or their personalities or anything. Not a great start.

See, up until now, Vision and Scarlet Witch have been little more than background characters. So already there’s an uphill struggle to get us invested in their relationship, especially considering we haven’t actually seen that relationship develop. In Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Scarlet Witch is killing people because she’s pissed off about Tony Stark killing people (you work that one out) until all of a sudden she stops and joins the good guys because the script said so. Vision meanwhile is introduced as a convenient deus ex machina to beat Ultron and gets no real personality other than he’s a robot. Captain America: Civil War comes the closest to giving Wanda a story and personality of her own as it’s her actions that cause the Sokovia Accords to come into effect, but she never gets any real growth or payoff as the film is heavily focused on Cap and Iron Man’s penis measuring contest. And as for Vision, all he does in the film is accidentally cripple War Machine. No real character or arc there as such. And then we have Avengers: Infinity War, where Wanda and Vision are now sporadically in love and on the run until that pesky Josh Brolin, looking like a CGI cross between Joss Whedon and a grumpy grape, comes along and rips out Vision’s Infinity Stone to power up his golden glove of doom, and the film treats this like a tragic moment, except... it isn’t. Because we haven’t really had the time to properly get to know these characters and see their romance blossom. So instead it just comes off as hollow and forced.

WandaVision has the exact same problem. Apparently Wanda was so distraught about Vision’s death that she broke into a SWORD base, stole his corpse, brought it back from the dead... somehow, and then enslaved an entire town of people to create an idyllic lifestyle for her and her hubby while broadcasting it as a sitcom to the outside world... for some reason. Putting aside the dubious morality of it all, it’s impossible to really sympathise with Wanda or her supposed grief because we’ve barely spent any time with her. Had the Marvel movies taken the time to properly explore the characters and show us their relationship grow and develop, this might have had more emotional resonance. But no, it just happens. In one film they barely speak to each other and in the next they’re a couple. No effort to explore how they feel about each other or any of the problems that may arise trying to date a robot. It just happens and we’re just supposed to care. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t care. You’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that I’m afraid. What’s worse is that, thanks to the whole fake sitcom thing, it’s impossible to really become invested in Wanda and her plight because the show has to constantly keep us at arms length at all times in order to keep up the pretence that this bullshit is somehow mysterious.

Looking through the WandaVision tag, it amuses me how many people say that she’s acting out of character. And yeah, her actions are a bit of a head scratcher. Why would an Eastern European’s ideal life be an American sitcom? Why a sitcom? Why kidnap an entire town? Why keep changing the decade? None of it makes sense, but you’re wrong for thinking that Wanda is behaving out of character for the simple reason that Wanda has never actually had a character. In fact, ironically, Wanda mind controlling an entire town and forcing them to do her bidding is probably the one consistent thing about her as she did this in Age Of Ultron. In interviews, Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany described how they used actors like Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick Van Dyke as influences, which is really funny because they’re straight up admitting they don’t have characters and even now they’re still not playing the characters, instead emulating the work of far better actors.

As I was watching the show, it became abundantly clear that not only do Marvel not have the faintest idea what they wanted to do with these characters, but they also straight up don’t give a shit about these characters. Wanda in particular has had a rough time under the tyrannical regime of the House of Mouse. First they cast Elizabeth Olsen, a white woman, to play a Romani character, then systematically erasing her Jewish roots, even going so far as to put a cross in her bedroom in Civil War, and now the character is being butchered even more by forcing her into an American sitcom housewife role that she apparently willingly chose for herself, which is laughable. I mean say what you like about Magneto in the X-Men films, at least they actually depicted his Jewish culture. At least they recognised his Jewish background was important (though not important enough to cast a Jewish actor apparently). Wanda’s steady cultural erasure over the years is incredibly insidious and judging by Olsen’s comments in interviews, where she called Wanda’s comic book outfit a quote ‘gypsy thing’ unquote, it seems nobody has an ounce of fucking respect for the character or the culture she’s supposed to be representing. (and to all those kissing her arse saying it was a slip of the tongue, she has been repeatedly called out for using the slur in the past, so at this point I’d describe her behaviour as wilful ignorance)

If you want further proof of how much Marvel doesn’t seem to care about Wanda, look no further than her brother Pietro, aka Quicksilver. At the end of Episode 5, Wanda brings Pietro back from the dead, except it’s not Pietro. It’s Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver from the X-Men films played by Peter Evans, who coincidentally is not Jewish or Romani either. So Quicksilver has the dubious honour of not only being whitewashed three times, but also twice within the same franchise. But should we really be surprised at this point? It’s Marvel after all. The same company that whitewashed the Ancient One in Doctor Yellowface and claimed it wasn’t racist because Tilda Swinton is ‘Celtic’. But now I’m going off topic. My point is that this isn’t a simple case of recasting an actor like Mark Ruffalo replacing Edward Norton as the Hulk. WandaVision actually acknowledges the recast in-universe, which makes no sense. Why would Wanda bring back her brother, only to make him look like a different person? We the audience may be familiar with this version of Quicksilver, but she isn’t. That would be like me bringing my Grandad back to life and making him look like Ian McKellen. He’d be perfectly charming, I’m sure, but he wouldn’t be my Grandad. 

If Marvel really cared about the characters or narrative consistency, they would have brought Aaron Taylor Johnson back. Instead, now they have absorbed 20th Century Fox into the hellish Disney abyss, they use X-Men’s Quicksilver as a means to keep viewers from switching off and so that people will write stupid articles and think pieces about whether the rest of the X-Men will show up in the MCU. It’s like dangling your keys in front of a toddler’s face to distract them from the rotting corpse of a raccoon lying face down in the corner of the room.

And it’s here where I decided to stop watching the show because fuck Disney.

Epilogue: One Foot In The Grave

You know, I am sick and tired of the so called ‘professional’ critics bending over backwards to praise these god awful films and shows when it’s so clear to anyone with a functioning brain cell how bad they truly are. WandaVision is without a doubt one of the most cynically produced and poorly structured TV shows I’ve ever seen. Its riffs on classic sitcoms are pointless and self-indulgent, the writing is terrible, the characters are unlikable and unsympathetic, and it’s entirely emblematic of what the entire MCU has become of late. And it’s only going to get worse as Disney drowns us with more ‘content’ to keep the plebs ‘engaged’. In short; pathetic.

[gainaxvel3o]

Fixing Teen Jon Kent

I was enjoying Superman Son of Kal-El for the first few issues. However, as the series went on, it’s gotten more criticism for it’s mediocre handling of Jon and awkward discussion of social issues that the book was perported to be fighting against. The DC Pride story featuring Jon hadn’t helped much either, as his “Pride is a party” thing only brought him more infamy- or antipathy- depending on your point of view. 

Some people clamor for him to go back to being a kid, but I don’t think that’s necessarily the answer. The main problem is that Jon is boring; He is the son of Superman, but he hasn’t had time to develop a fleshed out personality or interesting opponents during his tenure in Tom Taylor’s run on the character. For all that he’s supposed to be the Superman that tackles issues, most can agree he iisn’t living up to his full potential. Unfortunately, I think I can agree with that... one with major exception, but I’ll get to that later. I’m proposing some potential fixes

The obvious first step would be to get some LGBTQ writers to start having a go at him. So long as none of them are Devin Grayson, I think a good writer along those lines could bring some fresh perspective on the character that’s sorely lacking, as Tom Taylor has had the bulk of Jon’s comics run not exploring Jon’s sexuality as deeply as he could do. That seems right.

It’s ironic though, because Taylor’s writing of Jon in the annual actually did show a way he could be made more interesting:

The Jon presented in this annual is cocky. He is intelligent and clever, but there’s a bit of spunk to his attitude even as he’s trying to convince Lex to do the right thing. As one can see, Clark never plays Lex, but Jon takes advantage of the fact Luthor underestimates him to win and rubs it in a little. In a sense, you see he has as much of Lois’ genes in him as he does his dad’s kindness. Play this up more, have the son of Suerman have a reckless confidence that he can change the world, then give him problems that challenge that ala the New 52 incarnation of his father. Make him frustrated that he isn’t doing the changes like he wanted. Give him a mischevous side where he feels like he can troll with bad guys (like the way he took down the L on Lex’s building in the annual), and build stories on how that can bite him in the butt. Mostly, I think it would be great to have a rival or villain that brings out some of his moew flawed side. Give him a drive, and maybe stop having him ruin Pride parades, I think Teen Jon could get more fans.

I’m not sure I’m the only one that thinks that either. While the show’s treatment of him wasn’t perfect, Superman and Lois’ take on Jon also has a bit of that cocky streak I was talking about, and could serve as a basis for the character in the future. Jordan Elsass’ performance was able to provide balance of being a sweet, suffering older brother who’s always there to help his family, and a sometimes mean little shit who messes with Jordan, an energy that helped ground this take on the character even as Season 2 didn’t give him the best material to work with. More than a few people prefer him to be Superman’s successor over Jordan, so perhaps giving Comics!Jon more of this personality would be for the best.

Also, he should probably get a really big win in the near future. As of this moment, Clark Kent is off to liberate War-World from Mongul’s grasp, while Jon is strugling against a single man running a dictatorship. With that comparison in mind, it might be best for Jon to do something appropriately epic to show that he is worthy of the Superman name and deserves to be at the head of that legacy on Earth. Otherwise, too much mediocrity will drown out any other potential he possesses.

[lovelyirony]

morgan doesn’t have to be a hero. she just has to know the family that was. 

(or me ignoring everything about infinity war and endgame) 

Thinking about how Tony doesn’t tell Morgan everything about Iron Man. There are books, of course. A couple of children’s authors and illustrators thought it would be nice if the kids could see heroes on something else other than a news source that also talks about casualties and how much they actually lost. 

It’s nice for Tony, too. 

No one saw the wormhole. No one illustrates him falling out of the sky, body plummeting and seeing what the future would be. 

It’s Morgan’s favorite book, seeing the team defeat the “mean aliens.” Her eyes follow each hero. She likes Hulk the best. She likes tracing along the pages, asking “whozat” every two minutes or so. 

She finds the old armor in the garage when she’s in her “investigation” phase, and correlates it to the book. 

She doesn’t think that Iron Man is that cool. She wants the armor to be pink and green, so dad loses out on “cool points.” 

She finds the armor that he’s building for Pepper, because he’s still paranoid and worried and he wants her to be safe. 

He survived one house of his falling, and he’s not sure he’ll survive another one. 

Morgan asks about the picture at the kitchen, the one where Tony and Peter are posing for Peter’s official internship. 

“That’s...that’s your family,” Tony says, because he can just picture how excited Peter would be at having a little Morgan around, crawling everywhere. “His name is Peter.” 

He never refers to Peter in the past tense. He doesn’t know if it’s for Morgan’s benefit or his own. 

He tells her all about Spider-Man. “Spidey” becomes easier to pronounce, so they go with that. 

Sometimes mom finishes those stories while dad goes to get juice pops. 

(And look at the photo for a bit too long.) 

Morgan asks him where Spidey is, once. More than once. But the first time it was...it was painful. 

“Where is he?” Morgan asks. 

“He’s...” 

Tony doesn’t know what to say. He’s not gone. No, fuck that. Peter isn’t gone. But he’s not here, and Tony doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t know where anyone is. 

“He lives far away, so he would have to take a long time to get here,” Pepper says, smiling. “But now, we are going to travel for the kitchen for lunch! The menu today is carrots and celery with hummus, and some fresh fruit and a sandwich. What do we think?” 

“Is the fruit seasonal?” Tony asks, voice thready. “Points off if it’s out.” 

“You’re a nerd,” Pepper says. “Yes, it’s in season. Would you mind turning the washer on? I forgot to.” 

Tony nods, and Pepper grabs his hand, squeezing. 

He was so lucky to have her in his life. 

- 

And then the Avengers are reforming. Scott Lang, aka Ant-Man, aka the weirdest superhero name he’s ever heard, has a theory. 

About time travel. 

He said he didn’t Back to the Future think about it, but he totally Back to the Future thought about it. 

The problem is that it works. 

That’s not the real problem. No, it’s not a real problem at all. He thinks about everyone returning and it’s happy and good again, and- 

He’ll have to leave. 

He hasn’t forgotten Strange’s statement. 

Only one situation where this doesn’t fail. Where we don’t fail. 

And it has to be him. 

You don’t come back from something like that. 

Usually, anyway. 

Tony’s determined that he’s coming back. That everyone is coming back. 

The whole plot of Back to the Future goes as such: Marty’s life sucks, his parents’ lives are boring, and they’re not supposed to change the future. 

They do anyways. 

And it works. That’s the thing. Out of every single “time travel is dangerous” trope, Back to the Future still shows that sometimes some changes don’t affect the future badly, it just changes it. 

Tony knows that that can be done. It has to be done, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to leave Morgan. He already pinky-promised her that they’d make a picnic for her fifth birthday, and pinky-promises are the most binding contract he’s ever been a part of so far. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it can’t be done. 

- 

He has to go with Steve to get a stone. He doesn’t necessarily like that because neither of them are subtle and they’re going to see his dad. 

Which is just gonna be a ball of a time. And Tony looks like Howard, just a few slight changes, but it’s undeniable. 

As long as no one connects the dots, he’ll be fine. 

They’re both like bulls in china shops. Neither has ever been out of the spotlight, and neither have been trained very well in the art of subterfuge. 

“What, SHIELD just decide to set you loose?” Tony hisses as they’re making an escape. 

“Oh and you didn’t have any time to learn?” Steve snaps back. “Let’s go.” 

- 

Natasha almost doesn’t return. Almost. Tony’s terrified to think of what would have been happened had she still been there. 

“Dumbass,” Clint mutters. “Thinking you could jump and we wouldn’t have done shit about it. You’re stupid.” 

Natasha just has a graceful smile on. 

“You’re not allowed to be the stupid Avenger all the time, Clint.” 

“Okay I accidentally blew up a microwave one time and suddenly-” 

Tony laughs. 

Genuinely laughs. 

It’s been a while since they’ve functioned like a team. Been a longer time since they’ve been one. 

- 

They get the stones. 

Hulk gets everyone back. Bruce gets everyone back. 

He’s confusing. 

But there he is, Peter. 

Tony hugs him, and he tears up, and god he’s so glad that Peter’s back. That everyone is back. 

It feels nice. 

But they still have a fight to finish and a glove to play hot potato with. 

- 

Thanos is still formidable. He’s still skilled, still has an entire army. 

Well...they’re not outmatched for long. 

Dr. Strange opens portals, leading a whole new mass of people to help. And Tony sees Danvers, which he has yet to talk to Rhodey about. God, Rhodey had been right about her being alive. 

But that’s not important. 

- 

He’s fighting one-on-one. 

Thanos is confident that he’s going to win. 

See, that’s the thing about Tony: he may not have been trained in subterfuge, but he knows all about flouting expectations. He knows that everyone had expected so many things of him that when he did anything out of the ordinary, no one paid attention. 

This is just like that. 

Thanos snaps, only it’s not enough this time. 

It’s not going to be like last time, with Peter panicking and people screaming and tragedy lining the news for years. 

No this time? It won’t work. 

Because this is the time where the hero wins against all odds and there’s a happy ending. He’s going to make it so, no matter how much of a toll this takes. He’s getting back to Morgan and Pepper no matter what it fucking takes. 

- 

Thanos is gone. His army dissolved. 

And he is satisfied. He’s tired, but happy. And he’s fairly sure that the glove has taken its toll on his body, but he hopes to god that he’ll be okay. 

Pepper is running her hands through his hair, telling him it’ll be okay, and asking anyone for help with transportation. 

There’s one person important that didn’t get blipped, and luckily, she’s a personal friend: Helen Cho. 

Sure, it’s time-intensive. 

Yes, Morgan is mad that daddy can’t read her a bedtime story. 

But...she gets to meet Peter, torture him with forty questions a minute, and Tony gets the use of his arm back. 

So it equals itself out. 

- 

The world, for now, doesn’t need a lot of superheroes. Everyone’s still settling down, no one wants anything but normal. 

This means a lot of superheroes have no idea what to do. 

But Morgan does. 

When dad gets back and is up for playing again (which took forever), Morgan asks to see the team. 

If dad is Iron Man, then it only makes sense that he knows all the other ones. And she has a lot of questions. 

The Avengers are a...a team. God, that’s about the only thing they can call themselves now. They used to be a family but everything’s changed and stilted and awkward. 

Morgan knows none of this. 

So ergo, she decides the most amazing thing ever for her fifth birthday party is to have a picnic with the whole team. Writes them invitations and everything, makes her mom trace out the words she wants to write so that it looks “extra fancy.” 

Tony’s never been one to deny Morgan something she really wants. 

“You sure you wanna handle this? You and Steve aren’t exactly on the best of terms, and I don’t think the team has actually talked.” 

“Well, no time like a five year old’s birthday party to get to catching up.” 

- 

It’s...something. 

Morgan is blissfully unaware and everyone makes so that she stays unaware. 

This involves some...awkward conversations. 

But mostly just making peace with the fact that life happened. 

And Natasha finally has another niece, even if she’s not named after her. 

“You still should’ve,” she jokes. 

“We were thinking about it, honest,” Pepper remarks dryly. “But hey, thanks for coming. Morgan’s very excited to learn how to ‘be a spy’ in her words.” 

Natasha grins. 

“I’ll have her taking out government officials in no time.” 

“Or just teaching her how to disarm dangerous people, thank you very much,” Tony says hurriedly. 

“Didn’t peg you to be the helicopter parent, Stark,” Clint says. 

“Oh trust me, he barely left the house when she was born,” Pepper says with a laugh. “And he would check everything. I had to convince him that Morgan did actually need to sleep in her crib.” 

“She would’ve been fine by us!” Tony defends weakly. “And besides, you said you did want an office space!” 

“Working in the sunroom is fine enough,” Pepper says. “And you forget that you offered to build me one, which is an offer you still haven’t done.” 

“I saved the world, you know.” 

“Oh, did you?” 

Tony grins, popping a grape into his mouth as he sees the scene unfold. 

Morgan’s having great fun showing everyone her little hideout, and where she goes on walks. 

She’s made friends with Peter and introducing him to her stuffed animals. 

Yeah. 

Life is good. 

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part Two)

Ron Speirs x Reader

When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initally thought.

WARNINGS: Some overthinking handsome deathwish prince, some potty words, he makes you nakey but it’s to save your life so NOT SMUT YET KIDS BUT SOON

The shot the doc had given you only confirmed what the SS prisoner had tried to communicate to Bull in broken English- the nazi’s were giving their footsoldiers amphetamines as stimulants and aggression boosters.

Ron supposed that he should feel some comfort in that- that it hadn’t truly been poison or some aneurysm of some kind that had left you this trembling and sick mess on the mattress before them.

But you still were hurting, still sick and trembling and miserable despite Doc insisting that the drugs he’d given you ensured that you weren’t in any discomfort. He knew better than to fully believe that- sure, you may not be getting violently ill at his feet anymore, but that didn’t mean you were anywhere near okay.

When you’d stumbled from the building he’d thought at first you were drunk, your steps staggering and your knees buckling like some crumpling marionette. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so pale, and the haunted, terrified look on your face made his heart turn to stone in his chest when he’d caught it. 

He may not have known you and been your friend as long as Bull or Nix or Grant or even that squirrelly kid Christenson, but the idea of something taking you away from the world had become unacceptable somewhere between New York and Normandy. 

Your friendliness with Grant and Nix had brought you existence out of Ron’s peripheral and into his direct line of sight, and when you’d masterfully articulated the most effective way to refit the Allies-issued rifle with stolen parts from the German’s more advanced weaponry, you’d made it clear that you were not to be looked over just because you were easy on the eyes.

Which you were, and as much as Ron hated to admit it he had caught himself admiring you from across a classroom a time or ten while in Georgia. He just was better at hiding it than all of the other idiots who you would catch gaping at you.

You were easy to like, even for someone as prickly as Ron knew himself to be- strong and sincere and friendly and so fiercely loyal to the group of idiots you affectionately called ‘your boys’ that, even when he actively tried to dislike you, he couldn’t seem to manage it.

Not that he’d ever told you as much. Obviously. That wouldn’t do.

Or, it wouldn’t have done— to be more accurate.

Until now, he was fine with your strange friendship of comfortable silences and shared looks of reassurance and private jokes followed by even more private grins. You just seemed to fit, not like you’d filled a missing space, but more like you just seemed to...complement him.

And he was content to just remain that way— a dark and brooding shadow to your beautiful, blinding light. 

But now, having had a taste of what it would feel like to have your brilliant light nearly snuffed out? He felt ….threatened, something you had once teased was the most dangerous weapon the battalion had at its disposal. 

“God help the son of a bitch who ever cuts you off in traffic, Ron Speirs. If science can ever figure out what makes you tick, they should bottle it and sell it for profit….”

The memory seemed horribly ironic now.

You, you’re what makes me tick.

Even as you’d laid there shaking like a leaf, he’d been unable to see you as anything other than beautiful- a wounded Nike in army green.

Well, you had been in green— after about an hour of rest you’d sweat through your jumpsuit and in order to cool you off Ron and Roe had had to cut your layers away until you were left in your sweat-soaked undershirt and underpants. 

Of course, the perspiration on your skin had instantly cooled and sent you into a violent fit of shivers that only ceased after Ron got sick of watching you suffer and he’d forced the young man to help him carry you to the closest source of hot water and clumsily held you in a warm bath until your shivering subsided to an occasional twitch of your hand or foot.

Ron had never sat in a bathtub with another person before, but he figured that if he were going to it, it may as well have been for you. 

Your head had been heavy on his shoulder has he’d held you against him, the only sign of your wakefulness being your occasional grumble of Is it raining? or if you’re going to kill me just do it already or Ron I’m sorry I fucked up.

Roe had said nothing about how Ron rocked you in his arms whenever you tensed or shivered, nor did the medic seem to give off the impression that he found your symptoms surprising for someone in your situation, which filled Ron with relief.

“Y/n’s body hasn’t come into contact with methamphetamine before, if i had to guess. A lot of what we saw was her body doing what it’s supposed to do in order to get it out of her system….doesn’t look good, but it all this means everything’s doing exactly what it’s meant to….”

At least you weren’t dying. 

Each day that passed brought them one day closer to going home, closer to getting to go home where he didn’t have to worry about his friends and brothers getting killed the moment he let his guard down. Ron wasn’t sure if he believed in destiny, but he’d decided long ago that you and he were going to survive this whether you wanted to or not.

You were fucking with his plans, getting yourself hurt like this.

If he didn’t know how badly you were going to beat yourself up about making such a mistake, he probably would've been angrier about the whole thing.

But here, now? Ron couldn’t find it in himself to feel anger, not for you.

Never for you.

Roe had left him to watch you after your temperature had stabilized and the two of them had dressed you in some of Bull Randleman’s cleanest boxers and undershirt. You’d only stirred a few times since the initial injection and when you did Roe had made it clear that you were to be hydrated.

So there you were, back on the lumpy mattress in between Ron’s legs with your back against his chest, sipping from his water canteen while you apologized for maybe the hundredth time for something that wasn’t your fault (and even if it had been, he wouldn’t have blamed you for).

He watched you with soft eyes as you lowered the canteen and took a deep breath, another wave of something unpleasant washing over you that he couldn’t see, couldn’t ease for you.

“Do you need to get sick?” he asks quietly, but you’re shaking your head before he can finish.

“No, no. Just dizzy.”

Your tired gaze finds his face over your shoulder and you seem to study him for a moment, chapped lips parting a few times as if you want to say something, but the words seem to die on your tongue.

He lets your eyes trail over his face, taking a moment to take in your closeness as well.

“They’re gonna think we’re sleeping together.”

Your words surprise him, the amount of apology in your tone making his chest ache. You sigh again, looking at his canteen in your hands and working your jaw.

“The replacements, no matter what company…..they said it about Nix in Toccoa and Bull and Grant since Normandy. It’s….I’ve gotten used to it, but—”

“Let them.”

You freeze at that, and when he whispers your name he swears he’s never seen you look so shy.

Ah hell, he’d done stupider things than tell a girl he liked her. 

And if anyone deserved his honesty, it was you.

He shrugged casually, taking the canteen from your hands and leaning over to set it on the floor. The action brought his face closer to yours, and when you didn’t flinch away or look unhappy he gave you a look he knew you’d be able to see as genuine, even if to anyone else his stern expression hadn’t changed.

“Ron,”

“Y/n.”

You look as if you’re about to argue more, but with one more look at him you nod slightly.

He’s not sure what you’re nodding for,and he isn’t sure that you know either, but it feels as if you’re agreeing to something he’d been hoping you’d say yes to.

“I’m scared I won’t wake up.” you admit quietly, and when he pulls you back against him you follow so beautifully he almost kisses you. Almost.

He settles for tucking your head under his chin, and when you relax against him he feels privileged. 

“I won’t let that happen. You’ll wake up—”

“Why?” you ask softly, and Ron hopes that this is the final wave of exhaustion your body has to endure. 

He knows you aren’t just asking about why he won’t let you die in your sleep, and he has to think for a moment before finally the answer comes to him as easy as breathing.

“Because, I just do.”

You fall asleep shortly after that, your fingers laced with his in a light hold that he was reluctant to break.

 When Bull and the Doc come by a few minutes later, they find the two of you curled around each other like ivy and both sound asleep.

The two men stare at the scene before them for a few moments before Roe makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat. “Well, I’ll be….I didn’t necessarily see this coming.”

Bull barks a laugh, too relieved that you’re looking so much better to share the man’s stunned awe. With an approving nod, he nudges Eugene with his shoulder.

“C’mon, Doc. Let’s let em have an hour, unless you wanna be the one to wake up Sparky over there and let him know you approve—?”

Roe is out of the room before Bull can finish the offer, and with a grin the large man pops his cigar between his teeth,

“Good for you, kiddo.” he says under his breath, a grin on his face as he quietly shuts the door behind him.

An hour wouldn’t hurt.

(WOO HERE IT BE, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RAMBLINGS AND I LOVE YOU GUYS)

TAGLIST: @itswormtrain 

[regrettablewritings]

If it’s okay. Can I please request some LOVE headcanons with Jaskier, if it hasn’t already been requested?

Dang . . . We almost got an entire set here with Jaskier 👀

Who said “I love you” first?: You know it was Jaskier. Not only because you’d spent the entire time leading up to that point desperately trying to stifle your newly-found affections, but also because everybody knows that the loudest mouth on the continent has to have the first word. However, given that it’s Jaskier, you don’t buy it at first. For one, the man throws the word “love” around as, well, a bard throws around cheesy prose. Who’s to say that his dramatic gesture of spreading his arms wide and crying out gloriously, “Dear (Y/N)! I have determined that you! Are! The! One!!” wasn’t just another show for him? For another, as much as a part of you wanted to believe otherwise, a much larger part just couldn’t believe the possibility that someone like Jaskier could like someone like you romantically -- in whatever way “someone like Jaskier” could be taken. You initial reluctance to accept the bard’s confession left him a husk of a man, pouting and frustrated as he ranted to Geralt in the secrecy of a rented room at a tavern. All the while, the latter could only bluntly state that it’s Jaskier’s fault for having taken everything without much seriousness to it. His actions got him into this mess, he surely couldn’t expect for them to get him out of it. So he had to go the other way about it. You were very concerned when Jaskier got quiet. He’d already been acting strange for the last while or so, fumbling over his words and even struggling to babble on whimsically to jostle up songs. You had half a mind to assume that the poor fool might’ve been falling sick! But when he insisted he wasn’t, and that you still accompany him to the small plot of gardening land beside the tavern, your curiosity led you to oblige. You simply had to see where this was going. Hopefully to an explanation as to why he’d been acting so funny lately. In hindsight, the silly boy had probably scoped the area to find the most romantic spot. Admittedly, there’s not so many romantic associations one might have with raspberries, but there was a rock large enough to sit upon nearby where they were growing, which Jaskier apparently decided would have to do. It wasn’t a bench or a charmingly rustic fountain, but he still took it upon himself to treat it as though it were just as special. You wordlessly (if confusedly) followed suit, perching yourself on it per his request. Though, the temptation to leap right off of it struck the moment he took your hand into his own and locked eyes with you. You’d never heard Jaskier speak so calmly, so seriously, yet without a hint of graveness in it. You waited for him to reveal that it had been a joke, that he was using the moment to harvest some sort of song fodder from your response. But it never came. He just kept kneeling before you, awaiting your response, the hope in his eyes dwindling bit by bit in the moonlight the longer you went without saying anything. “Oh,” he finally spoke. Your heart could’ve shattered with the hint of trembling in that single syllable. “I, um . . . I suppose it is a bit -- it was a poor choice to -- I shouldn’t have -- ” No sentence sounded right to him in his moment of embarrassment. He tried getting back up, unlocking your hand from his, but your reinforced grip gave him pause. You shook your head, your heart beating so hard and fast that it hurt. And yet, the pain of it dulled when in comparison to the relief and bliss you felt.

What are their primary love languages?: Being the attention whore that he is, it would only be suitable that Jaskier reaps love and affection through words of affirmation and quality time. Yeah, he’s also a very sexual being, but he’s an entertainer down to the bone: It’s simply in his nature to desire your attention. When you spent quality time with him and give him praises meant only for him, you simply must be paying attention to him! And even beyond that, it provides the both of you means to communicate and get to know one another. (Well, more than you would already have to, given that you’re on the road all the time.) But for as arrogant as Jaskier is, that bardic nature goes both ways: It’s also in his nature to appraise everything to the highest and most flowery degree, as well as to throw that attentiveness to physical appeal right back at you. He loves being able to be physically close to you in any way that he can, especially sexually. And if he can make sweet and attentive love to you while also (literally) singing your praises? Worshiping your looks and your responses to his ministrations? It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven, a la le petit mort!

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: Frequently, when the opportunity provides it. Of course, cuddling is difficult to do when one is on the road. And even though the ground isn’t necessarily the most ideal bed for it, being spooned can certainly help alleviate the dread of having to sleep on a floor that could become muddy soon enough. But that doesn’t stop the two of you from engaging in physical forms of affection whenever you can. You’ve never really been one especially for public displays of affection, but something about holding Jaskier’s hand as the two of you trail behind Geralt and Ciri just feels right. His hold is soft and warm, with only trace amounts of callousness due to his constant strumming on the lute. And when the group takes a break, you could think of nothing more refreshing than being able to sit at the base of a large tree and tuck yourself into the crook of your significant other’s arm as the both of you rest in silence, just enjoying the ambience. Sometimes, if you’re in an especially bubbly or affectionate mood, kisses wind up exchanged with no care on if Geralt or the child see you. There’s nothing shameless about giving your beloved a kiss on the cheek or even a quick peck on the lips, is there? Besides, the real shame should fall on Jaskier for always taking it too far by trying to kiss a line up your neck. It just gets taken up to an 11 when you actually have a proper bed to sleep on: The spooning increases, the not so sneaky caresses along the sides make an appearance, and the not-even-trying-to-hide-it attempts at lovingly groping your lovely bits are made because at least now there’s some privacy. And if you’re in the right mood and not too tired from your travels, you don’t mind indulging.

What are their favorite things to do together?: It depends on where the two of you are, but the one consistency is chatting and flinging jokes at one another. Jaskier fancies himself a man of wit so when you prove not to be afraid of playing along or hucking jokes right back at him, he takes it as a game. One of the competing sort. No matter how you may try, that game is going to turn into the two of you trying to make the other laugh or blush with some crude or colorful remarks. (And you can pretend you’re above it all you want, you’re clearly enjoying it.) He also likes how much inspiration your talks can give him, from you recounting the places you’ve seen to the people you’ve encountered (though you insist it’s nowhere near as impressive as he tries to make them sound in song form).

Who’s better at comforting the other?: As observant and intuitive as Jaskier can surprisingly be, this doesn’t always mean that he’s the best at using what he’s learned to calm the situation. If anything, his skittish and overly talkative nature can only drive you further into frustration if he’s not too careful. You know he means well, but Jackie can still be a bit overwhelming if one is already not in the best mood. But when it comes to calming him, you’re one of the best there is. At the very least, you’re able to distract him enough or praise him enough to where he’ll become a little less catty. He may be pouting as he rests his head against your breast, but he’s (not so) secretly eating up the proximity, how your fingers gently card through his hair, how warm your chest feels as it vibrates with your words . . . Words that are, of course, telling him what a talented minstrel he really is, especially compared to that hack of a troubadour, Valdo Marx. The moment you feel him smirking is the moment you know he’s let go of all pretenses of being upset — he’d felt good as new long ago. Still, you let him stay there.

Who’s more protective?: I suppose Jaskier, though the more fitting term would be “possessive.” Jaskier isn’t a very competent fighter (read: He cannot fight at all) so when it comes to physical well-being, he isn’t much good for keeping you any more guarded than however fast you both can run away from the problem. He’s more of a guardian when it comes to the heart or a person’s mental well-being. As embarrassingly idiotic as he can sometimes be, he isn’t so completely unaware as to not notice toxicity in other people. Unfortunately, he’s ironically not very good at vocally communicating this. As a result, he can come across as clingy or annoying. Which he is. But also, he doesn’t want you hurt and has your best interests in mind. Meanwhile, you care plenty for his physical well-being but also know you’re not much of a fighter, either. Besides, Jaskier’s gotten by on the road by himself far longer than you’ve known him -- apparently, he knows how to at least keep his head still attached to his body.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Both. As a stereotypical bawdy bard, he loves giving it, and as a humanoid peacock of a man, he loves receiving it. Let him lay his head in your lap while you stroke his hair and tell him what a wonderful performer he is, and how his voice makes you weak and yet empowered with desire --

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: It may seem a bit rough to apply a song to such a musical man, but quite a few do come to mind: “Sweet Talk” by Saint Motel, “Put Your Money on Me” by The Struts, “Fall in Love” by Bad Rabbits, “Hands” by Barns Courtney . . . Now, if you take the time to listen to these or even look up some of the lyrics, you’ll notice a trend: A man pining for a woman who’s always just ever so slightly out of his reach. Or a man singing his delight for a woman who seems altogether unimpressed or at least hesitant to take a chance on him. Or the girl is just elusive. Which makes perfect sense, given that you’re one to guard her heart when in the face of the minstrel while Jaskier is the one putting his own entirely out there for you. But don’t be dismayed: Jaskier loves a good chase. His type is best defined as “someone he shouldn’t have or must at least bust his ass to acquire”, as one can assume from his interactions with concubines, higher-standing nobility, mothers, warriors, Geralt . . . But if you have a taste for something more optimistic or lighthearted, fear not: There’s always “Easy Way” by For the Foxes or “Undone” by The Bird and the Bee. What makes a song like “Undone” unique, however, is that it’s more for your point-of-view. Your feelings for Jaskier are complex yet so simple. He knows you’re not exactly the best at emoting, much less when it comes to your affections. But sometimes, you think that’s a good thing: If you were even half so brave or careless, the poor man might’ve died from your more frequent desire to kiss him to death (not that he would mind dying in such a pretty way). You can put on a calm expression all you want: Inside, you’re a storm of thoughts. You want to impress him, you want him to think you’re witty and bewitching, you want to be his yet one definite thing, you want to be the one who, well, can make him come undone with just a kiss. And it just takes you aback sometimes to realize that the very man, known for his philandering, already sees no wrong in you, and that he wants nothing more than the very same. With you and only you.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: It startled you to learn one day that you’d been calling him a nickname the entire time. In hindsight, yeah, it made sense: “Jaskier” was unusual as a given name. But you had grown so used to it and how it fit him like it was bespoke, that learning his real name was Julian just . . . It felt weird. Still, that didn’t erase the fact that, yes, Jaskier was technically still a nickname for him that you’d been using, knowingly or not. Though, every once in a while you would make an attempt to refer to him as something else: “Baby Eyes”, you realized, had some unusual sticking power to it.It’s normally used in an almost pouty tone, usually to accompany the pouting Jaskier’s already doing when you say it. Not in a taunting manner, but as if to extend sympathy. You hadn’t even meant for the name to keep reappearing but it just rolls off the tongue, especially whenever Jaskier looks at you with those blue eyes, fixed in a puppyish pout. He also seems to respond well to names that suggest his talent or genius, but we would be here all night running through the specifics due to how ridiculously and pointlessly long they are. The length of Jaskier’s names had actually become a bit of a problem even when in reference to you: It’s not really a nickname when your lover wants to refer to you as “Stunning Little Starling of the Northern Sky” or “Darling Daffodil of the Valley” and so on. He’s had to shorten quite a few down to “Starling” or “Darling” or “Daffodil” or “My Muse” or “Exquisite One, Conqueror of My Heart, Goddess of My Sleeping Hours, Patron Saint to My Loins --”.

Thank you for your patience!

[ellewritesathing]

Faith and Forgiveness    I

Summary: Faith was tricky, fickle. When you've been trained your whole life to do awful things, you have to have faith that your misdeeds will be worth it in the end and trust that your faith hasn't been misplaced. The Weeping Monk wasn’t so sure that he was capable of that trust.

Masterlist   Part 1

Word-count: 4.6k+

A/N: hey so originally this was supposed to be a single part fic but it was like 10k words and i needed validation so i split it up!! hope you like it anyway💕

War was a tricky business. The business of making rich men richer and starving the rest, burning the rest. Not the business of honest men; war was the business of liars and thieves, and you had to leave pieces of yourself behind if you wanted to survive. 

You had to survive because you were one of the last ones, even if you were just a watered-down version of the original. The Moon Wings were one of the first clans to be burned, but you were one of the lucky ones to only be taken prisoner, blessed enough to be chosen to be saved from damnation. 

Stubborn enough to escape from the bastards and vow to rescue anyone else who was unlucky enough to be forced into your position. 

But saving people was a tricky business. The business of making righteous men into enemies and prolonging the tragic lives of the rest. Not the business of honorable men; salvation was the business of the broken and the damned, and you had to leave pieces of yourself behind if you wanted to survive. 

Salvation was also very costly, which is why you left Squirrel in the trees and promised to take him to Nemos when you had the money to get him there. The knights of Pendragon were ridiculously oblivious targets, just like their king, so it was supposed to be a quick beating and stealing. 

Unfortunately, a few stray fey folk here and a couple of Red Paladins there had ruined your perfectly good plan. Perhaps none ruined it more so than the Weeping Monk. 

He was good, you had to admit. A truly skilled fighter, even though he was a pain in the ass. Most of the fey had gotten away while you fought with him, but so did your knights and their gold. You didn’t have time to dwell on your loss, though, because the Weeping Monk threw you against a tree and pressed a knife to your throat. 

“Stop talking or I’ll cut out your tongue,” he said under his breath. His words were tinged with danger and mint, and it was the first time he’d spoken during your one-sided verbal and double-edged physical sparring match. 

Ignoring the few drops of blood that trickled down your throat, you moved a few centimeters closer to his face. “If it made you smile, I’d bite it off myself.” He pushed you back into the tree, bits of bark digging into your back as you laughed. 

The knife dug into your throat but not enough to aggravate the wound, but it was enough to cut your laugh into an amused smile. You were about to ask if you’d struck a nerve when the first arrow flew through the air. 

Ordinarily, the Weeping Monk never would have been hit by an arrow like that, but his attention was on you and not the assailant in the dark. The arrow landed in his lower back and was met with an annoyed groan rather than a cry of pain. 

He spun around, pulling the knife off your throat to knock away the next arrow. He stalked further into the woods and your eyes caught on something shiny to the right of him. The knights had circled back and they were hungry. 

Sure, the Weeping Monk could take out an entire banner of knights by himself, but that was when he didn’t have an arrow between one of his kidneys and his liver. 

You knew that if you left him to be killed in the woods that you would probably be saving countless fey lives, but a very annoying voice in your head reminded you of a promise you made to the ashes of your village - a promise to save anyone from an unjust killing. 

To be fair, you hadn’t known you’d be saving the Weeping Monk when you’d made the promise, but Moon Wings weren’t ones to break promises and neither were you. So, against your better judgment, you followed him into the woods. 

He seemed to be doing fine on his own, though you’d expect nothing less from the Weeping Monk. He did, however, have a knight that was about to stab him in the back. The Weeping Monk turned just in time to see you knock the knight out with the hilt of your blade. 

He was about to say something, most probably not thank you, when blood spilled from his lips and he collapsed.

After your brief shock, you dove to check that he was still alive. His pulse was fading but it was, frustratingly, still there. You took your hand off his neck and grabbed a fistful of his cloak to pull him up. Looping your arms underneath his shoulders, you started dragging him somewhere safe. 

The Weeping Monk was heavier than he looked, proper deadweight in his unconscious state, but you managed to get him to the caves in one piece. He was a quick healer, too, considering that he woke up before you’d even applied the salve. 

Feeling venomously playful, you wiped the salve off your knife and moved the blade to his throat. “Don’t talk or I’ll cut out your tongue,” you warned in a rushed whisper. 

Surprisingly, the Weeping Monk didn’t fight you. He looked at you as best as he could from the position on his stomach, and asked in a voice far more venomous than playful, “What are you doing to me?” 

You took your knife off his throat and sat back down with a sigh. “I’m trying to save your life,” you said. “You’ve got a nasty wound on your back but I’ve got something to fix it. It’s going to hurt when I take the arrow out and burn after.” 

He dropped his gaze to the floor. “Just leave me in the woods to bleed out.”

“I didn’t just drag you all the way in here to drag you out there again.” As you spoke, you wrapped one hand around the arrow and grabbed hold of his shirt with your other. “Just lie still and-” 

He moved so quickly that you thought the Weeping Monk was going to kill you, but all he did was catch your wrist. Not rough enough to leave a bruise, but enough to shock you to let go of his shirt. “Don’t.”

“You’ll die if I don’t,” you said. Your voice wasn't necessarily confrontational, but it told whoever was listening that you weren't willing to back down. “You’re one hell of a fighter but it looks like that’s what made it worse.” 

“I don’t care.” Maybe it was the way sound echoed in these caves, but he sounded so resigned to his fate that it tugged at your heartstrings. 

“Well, I care,” you told him. You repositioned your hold on the arrow. “Now hold still.” You tore the arrow out of his back before he could argue.

His screams echoed off the walls. It was painful to hear and even more so to watch his entire body writhe the way it did, but soon it was over and you were pressing a wad of his cloak to stop the bleeding. 

“There,” you murmured, lifting a hand to move some hair off his sweat-soaked forehead. Seeing him covered in sweat and blood did a funny thing to your chest; you’d been stabbed in your chest before but this was something else. “There. The hard part is over.”

“Maybe for you,” the Weeping Monk said quietly. He met your eyes and suddenly you realized what that feeling was: heartbreak. At that moment, all you wanted to do was fix how broken he seemed. 

Slowly, before you could do something stupid like befriending him, you pulled your hand away from his face and let it fall away from him. In a voice small enough to fit how small the cave had become, you said, “This next part will sting.” 

The Weeping Monk clenched his jaw and looked away from you again. If he noticed the sudden lack of air in the cave and space between you, he didn’t mention it. “Just get it over with,” he said. 

You flexed the hand that had touched his face and took a deep breath. Blood seeped through his cloak and onto your other hand, so you moved to focus on the wound instead of the Weeping Monk’s frustratingly imperceptible face. 

The salve was on the edge of your knife and you set the wadded up and bloodied cloak to the side to apply it. You lifted the edge of his shirt with one and hand and folded it up to assess the damage to the Weeping Monk’s lower back. For a moment, the cave lost all its air again as you took in the constellation of scars. New and old crossed over one another, marred by bruises and scabbed over lashes. 

You took a breath and reminded yourself that at least some of these scars had to come from fey that he’d killed. With new-found resolve, you glided your knife over the wound to apply the salve and watched the black smoke rise from the wound. You rubbed the salve into and around the wound as you whispered an old prayer that hadn’t escaped your lips in years and ignored the Weeping Monk’s quiet curses. 

All this work to save a man that you weren’t sure could even be saved. Ironic.

It was quiet for a long time as the two of you sat in the cave, him too busy trying to heal and you too focused on your an internal crisis. You knew he had eventually passed out again when the whimpering stopped. His back still rose and fell with his breathing, so you decided it was safe enough to leave him alone and find something to eat before both of you starved. 

The woods were quiet and dark, but nighttime was when the Moon Wings thrived. After a few careful words to the night birds, you had a small but decent-sized assortment of berries and nuts. One of the birds even stole some roast off someone’s fire. Plenty enough to see you through the night. 

Though you weren't gone for very long, you found the Weeping Monk awake, leaning heavily on the cold stone walls of the cave, and holding a knife in your direction. 

You muttered a curse and tilted your head at him. “This is how you thank the person who saved your life?” 

“Where did you go?” he asked. He looked frantic, still covered in the same cold sweat but his eyes were wild. No, his eyes were determined. The Weeping Monk didn’t drop the knife, but at least he didn’t try to stab you. 

“Getting food.” You lifted your bag and shook it around so he could hear the food bouncing around inside. “If you lower the knife, I might even share.” You moved closer but he waved the knife slightly. You came to a stop and your final footstep echoed. 

“Why are you helping me?” he asked. “It’s not going to help you find salvation.” 

Truth be told, you didn't have a very good reason for saving him, but he didn't need to know that. “I don’t need salvation," you told him instead. "I know I’m damned.” 

You lowered your bag of food and closed the distance between you after you reminded yourself that you could open his wound in a single kick if he tried to stab you. 

“I could kill you.” The Weeping Monk watched your every move, but he lowered the knife. Oddly enough, his eyes were filled with more curiosity than suspicion - only a small trace of the determination to kill you remained.

“Like in the woods?” You set the bag of food down and sat across from him. “I was doing pretty well for myself out there.”

“I had you pinned against a tree with a knife to your throat.” 

“I had a knife under your ribcage. One move and I could have torn open your heart, assuming you have one of those.”

The Weeping Monk gave you the ghost of a bitter smile but he didn’t say anything. Instead of looking at him, you opened your bag and did a quick inventory of the food. Water was dripping somewhere in the cave system and it was the only sound as you divvied up the food, very aware of the Weeping Monk’s eyes on you as you did.

You slid his portion over to him without a word and leaned back against your side of the tunnel wall. After a brief staring contest, you started eating. He ate in silence. You did, too, mostly. Or at least, you did until he cracked a nut under the hilt of his blade and the sound felt too similar to the sound of a snapping bone. 

You took your eyes off the knife to look at his face. “Do you have a name?” 

He looked up for a moment. “No.” 

“Do you have something else I can call you?” 

“No.” 

“Well, the Weeping Monk is a bit of a mouthful so-” you let out a breath and broke up the nut in your hand “-Sunshine it is. Since you’ve got such a chipper personality and stellar conversation skills.”

The Weeping Monk watched you carefully, probably wondering if it was too late to cut your tongue. He chose to return his attention to his share of the food instead of dignifying your taunt with a response. For some reason, his silence bothered you.

Since asking for his name had gone over so well, you decided to try an even heavier topic. “Why do you kill people?” You were careful to keep your voice level as you popped a berry into your mouth in an effort to seem disinterested. 

The Weeping Monk looked up at you again, eyes catching yours over the small fire he’d managed to get going while you were gone. “I don’t kill people,” he said. “I kill fey.” 

“Do you truly think that’s any better?” Your voice betrayed you by sounding too concerned; his face betrayed him by looking too vulnerable. His walls dropped for only a moment, but it was enough for you to see the pain behind them. “Oh, you do, don’t you?”

“I don’t need pity from a fey mercenary.” His words were laced with venom and blood. He threw the mixed nuts he’d been crushing to the side and they clattered against the uneven cave floor. 

“Well, you need it from someone,” you said, determined not to take his jab personally. Still, your hands clenched tightened into fists in your lap. “I don’t see any of your Red Paladins giving a damn about you.” 

“They are my brothers.” 

“Only in name.”

“Don’t,” he said, voice cautionary. It was dangerously soft and full of emotion, but you couldn’t figure out exactly which emotion. Fear? Apprehension? Determination?

You put your hands to the side and leaned in closer to him. “If you’re their brother, then why haven’t they come for you?” 

For a moment, all the two of you did was stare at each other and wait for the other to break. His breath was shaky where yours was calm. Both of you were calculating, you how difficult it would be to subdue him and him how easy it would be to slit your throat in your sleep. 

When minutes passed without either of you breaking, you sighed and leaned back against your wall. “It’s going to take some time for that to heal. Since we both know I’m not going to kill you, you should sleep first. We can go our separate ways in the morning.” 

“I’d like nothing more,” he said bitterly. 

Though he laid down, his hand still clutched his sword and his breathing never deepened. You didn’t speak to him again. It was clear that every word he spoke to you was against his will. Pretending to sleep was easier, and he was probably hoping it would lull you into a false sense of security. 

When he passed out earlier, he looked so full of pain. That pain wasn’t visible now and, even if it was just pretend, he looked peaceful like that. His face was expressionless, his muscles were relaxed. You wondered if he was always pretending or if he actually slept in the camps. Those Paladins might not care about him, but they would never dare harm their precious soldier. 

He didn't sleep around you because you were a threat. Even though you’d probably shown the Weeping Monk more kindness in an evening than the Paladins had in his lifetime, judging by those scars on his back, you were still fey. Still a threat. If Paladins weren’t a threat, did he sleep around them?

“What kind are you?” he asked, snapping you out of your musings. You hadn’t realized that he’d opened his eyes until he spoke. His voice was less angry now, but that didn't mean he wasn't still planning on slitting your throat the first chance he got.

“Moon Wing,” you said, looking up from the blade in your hand. “We were among the first to burn.” 

He watched you carefully as you put the sword to the side. “How did you survive?” 

“It was before the Paladins had a taste for blood. Instead of killing us all, they took a few of us who passed for humans to sell,” you said. His face remained cold and expressionless. “I was the most human-looking, so they kept me as their trophy, their symbol. Their warning.” 

The water punctuated your words. Each drop made your words more sinister. 

“They said terrible things when they cut off my wings and transferred them to some other group of Paladins. I think Father Carden still has them on display somewhere but I’m not sure.” You looked over to your sword again, just to get away from those unflinching hazel eyes of his. You shook your head and finished your story. “That night, I waited until they were asleep and cut out their tongues. Then I ran.” 

Drop. Drop. Drop. 

“They call you the Angel of Mercy,” he said. He’d been watching your sword before but now his eyes were fixed on yours. 

“I didn’t choose the name.” 

“Father Carden says mercy is a virtue we can’t afford.” 

“Father Carden says a lot of things.” You were determined not to look away. “I wonder what he’ll say to God for all his sins.”

“And to which of your gods are you referring?” he asked, angling his face up slightly. Confrontational, but he seemed more curious than venomous.

“Whichever one you’d like, Sunshine,” you said with a smile. His mouth turned up slightly, not in agreement but out of amusement. “It’s not about knowing which one exists, is it? It’s about doing good and trusting that it’ll be worth it later on. That’s faith, isn’t it?” 

He was quiet. He looked away first this time. “I suppose it depends on your definition of doing good.”

Even if he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him. “My definition is pretty basic. Good is not killing people when you can help it.” 

The Weeping Monk set his jaw. He was doing his best not to snap at you again - that was progress, at least. Maybe he wasn’t defending them because he knew he could never win you over, but you liked to think that it was because you were getting through to him. 

Converts were a dirty breed, or so you’d been told. Always more righteous than the born-believer. But what did the Weeping Monk believe? Was he born believing it or just trained to? 

You knew you would regret it before you even knew what you were doing, your hands moving on their own as they unclasped a small pouch on your belt. You rolled the quill back and forth between your thumb and forefinger, admiring how bright the feather was even in this darkness. The white reflected in the Weeping Monk’s eyes. 

You leaned forward and placed the feather on his sword, the edge barely touching his hand. It was the closest you’d gotten to him since you touched his face and saw his scars. 

“What’s this?” he asked. 

Your voice was devoid of all confrontation when you spoke again, softness taking the place of anger. “All that’s left of my wings.”

“I don’t want it.” He lost his softness and the venomous defense returned, but his hand still twitched to hold the feather. Progress.

“Then burn it,” you said. You shook your head and leaned back to your side of the cave tunnel. “I can’t keep carrying it around.”

“Why give it to me?” he asked. “You could sell it - you might even get some silver for it.”

You shrugged. “You’re the only one that knows where it comes from.” You watched each other for a second, neither of you saying anything. Then the silence became suffocating and you glanced to the mouth of the cave. “Dawn will break soon. I’m going to sleep, but know that if you kill me then I will come back to haunt you.” 

Without another word, you slid down the wall and curled up. You used your arm as an uncomfortable pillow, more used to sleeping in trees than pretending to sleep in caves, and held onto your knife. 

The Weeping Monk was quiet for a long time after that. He must have thought you were sleeping because his hand curled around the feather and you heard him move. Instinctively, you gripped your knife in your hand and waited. 

More movement muffled with the burning-out fire and dripping cave water, and then something covered you. His bloody cloak, you realized. 

“I get the feeling you’ll be haunting me either way,” he said softly. 

With considerable effort, he made his way back to his side of the cave and winced as he lowered himself back down to the ground. He might have gotten some real sleep after that for all you knew, but you didn’t. You weren’t sure if people like you ever got real sleep anymore. 

You counted down every water droplet until the sunlight started filtering through the cracks in the rock. The Weeping Monk hadn’t moved since he covered you and you stole a look at him with the sunlight on his face. He was pretty like this, not the same way that people were attractive but in the way a like a painting that was alluring as long as it didn't burn. 

Instead of waiting for him to burn, you reminded yourself that he’d need water when he woke up and that you needed to get off the cave floor before your muscles petrified. 

As quietly as you could, you got up and followed the sound of the water droplets. You ran your hand along the mossy rocks and swallowed big gulps of air to wake up.

The water trickled down the moss and dropped onto the floor, only a tiny pothole where the water dropped over the centuries. Every drop splashed out of the miniature pool. You knelt and held your canteen under the moss until there was enough to grace each of you with a few sips. You capped it and started heading back to the Weeping Monk, wondering if he would be awake and threatening you with a knife. 

Your wonderings were unfounded; the Weeping Monk was gone when you got back. He’d taken his cloak and any trace he’d ever been there with him, even the feather. Wherever he went, you knew he wouldn’t be coming back. 

So, you sat down in front of the remnants of his fire, drank his share of the water, and ate what was left of his share of the food from the night before. When that was finished and you’d caught your breath, you set off to meet Squirrel in the trees. 

You’d told him how to get to Nemos and to leave if you didn’t come back the next night, but Squirrel was a stubborn kid. He’d found you in the woods after his village burned and he escaped, babbling about how he had to find Nimue. His sister, you thought, but he didn’t say. All he said was that he needed to find her. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was probably dead, so you told him you’d take him to a place where he might find her. 

Still, Squirrel wouldn’t go there until you came back for him. And he was probably bull-headed enough to come looking for you, too. 

While you were thinking about Squirrel, a twig snapped. You froze, readying yourself for a fight. It might have been an animal, but you doubted it. The only safe animals came out at night while the Red Paladins slept. 

There were more of them than you expected, too many for you to run away from and too many for you to subdue. You were going to start killing them when one of them caught your arms and shoved you into a tree hard enough to crack a few ribs. 

“Stop struggling-” the Weeping Monk pushed you into the tree again when you tried to get out of his hold “-Or I’ll cut out your tongue.” 

“Don’t-” You twisted out of his grip, ignoring the pain in your wrist “-tell me-” you kicked him in the stomach “-what to do.” 

You took a breath in the moment that the two of you stared at one another.

The kick must have hurt, but you both knew that his wound had healed by now so the kick wouldn’t have caused any real damage. The Weeping Monk snapped out of the moment first, and you ducked his blow. You managed to land a few of your own before the other Paladins caught up with you.

They bound your wrists and ankles and threw you in one of their damned carts to rot. The Weeping Monk took your weapons, but he didn’t look at you or speak to you again. You were both thinking the same thing, though: you saved his life only to have him sacrifice you to Father Carden. 

The Paladins may have bound you but they hadn’t gagged you, and you were determined to make it their problem. You cracked inappropriate jokes at their expense and yelled obscenities when that didn’t give you the reaction you wanted while you struggled to undo the binds that held you.

One of the Paladins had a shorter temper than his friends, or perhaps just less afraid of overstepping his boundaries with the Weeping Monk, because he cursed and kicked the bars of your cage. “We didn’t take you for your damned mouth,” he said harshly, “so shut up or I’ll burn you myself.”

“No one is touching the Angel,” the Weeping Monk said over his shoulder. His face was ashen and angry, without a single trace of what happened in the cave - though, for some reason, you still found yourself intrigued by him. He turned to look ahead when the Paladin had drifted from your cage. With his eyes fixed ahead, he added, “Without Father Carden’s consent.”

All the harsh words in the world lay on the tip of your tongue but you couldn’t bring yourself to breathe them to life, not because you weren’t angry enough but because you had to focus on something else instead. Squirrel was stubborn enough to come looking for you, but he wasn’t stupid enough to go straight into the heart of Paladin territory. 

At least, that’s what you hoped. 

Part 2

[jbk405]

So here’s my more detailed thoughts on Black Widow

It was pretty flawed.

It started strong.  It really did.  Opening on seemingly-happy suburban life in Ohio actually covered a lot of ground right away.  It establishes that the two girls are normal girls, no matter what we see later in the film, and it also answers a lot of those minor nitpick points I saw fans crying about in the earlier movies (”Why doesn’t Natasha have a Russian accent?!?!?!” Apart from the fact that accent coaches exist, now we see she actually spent some of her formative years in the USA and picked up local habits).  Some of the people I see on tumblr also got really into The Americans recently so I couldn’t help but giggle a bit as well.

The gunfight escape was a little unnecessary, especially Natasha having to pilot the plane which was just odd, but still I call it a solid opening sequence and it made me excited for the rest of the film.

Unfortunately it went downhill pretty quickly.

The action throughout the rest of the film was over-the-top in ways that don’t make sense for the “normal” or “grounded” character of Black Widow.  She’s supposed to be a baseline human being who does what she does through skill, training, and gadgets.  Here she takes more damage and physical punishment than Steve Rogers does, and yet is never disabled or impaired for more than a few seconds of limping.  She falls out of buildings, gets hit by cars, is caught in explosions, and yet just gets up and keeps walking.

The threat is practically sci-fi.  A conspiracy of assassins with mind-control technology operating from a flying fortress.  Yes, we know this all exists in the MCU, but so far each character’s films has had them dealing with threats and concepts appropriate to their character.  Ant-Man never fought a sorcerer in his films, his plots revolve around Pym technology.  Iron Man didn’t fight the Kree in his trilogy, he dealt with geo-politics and corporate exploitation.  The Guardians of the Galaxy never came to earth, they stayed in space.  So why is Black Widow, ‘the spy’, so far outside of her wheelhouse?

And I am not saying “She’s not good enough to do this!” since she’s crossed over in the Avengers films and the Captain America/Iron Man movies she appeared in, I’m saying this concept shouldn’t have been used for her standalone movie.

The plot was a weird rehash of previous MCU films, and this honestly confuses me the most.  Primarily Captain America: The Winter Soldier.  Discovering the existence of a powerful secret conspiracy that’s been operating from the shadows, a conspiracy that you thought you had destroyed years ago, with an implacable enemy with personal history as the main enforcer of the bad guys...these story points are almost identical.  The climax was beat for beat.  Destroying Dreykov’s sky palace standing in for destroying the Insight Helicarriers, Natasha trying to break through the brainwashing of Dreykov’s daughter standing in for Steve trying to break through Bucky’s brainwashing, etc.  I tried to be generous to call it an ‘homage’ but these points are so numerous that it just seems lazy.

These story beats, apart from just being copies, also lack any of the oomf of CATWS because we haven’t seen any of this history that they’re referencing.  “Dreykov’s daughter” was mentioned once by Loki in The Avengers, literally nine years ago, and hasn’t been explained or discussed since.  We had an entire film of Steve and Bucky together before Bucky became The Winter Soldier, plus callbacks afterwards.  Internally, the characters don’t have this connection, either.  Sure, Natasha has been haunted by 'killing’ Antonia all her life, it’s her greatest regret and the action she’s trying to atone for, but Antonia doesn’t know her.  They weren’t childhood friends, they didn’t train together, to Antonia she’s just the person who blew her up.  That’s if Antonia even thinks of her at all, since she’s actually under mind control the whole film.  Not even “brainwashing” like Bucky was, but actual mind control, so her body is completely under foreign control.  Meaning that ultimately all of Natasha’s pleas and attempts to stop the fighting do absolutely nothing because Antonia literally isn’t in there, so she just has to spray her with the anti-mind control spray.  And once she does that it ends, so all the pleading was pointless after all.

Stepping back a bit, for all Dreykov’s speeches (And I don’t know if the issue was the writing or the acting, but Dreykov could not pull off these speeches) we never learn what he was doing.  What is he using the Widows for?  ‘Power’ and ‘Influence’, yes I understand, but how?  Is he selling their services as assassins to the people in power around the world?  Is he threatening these men with his army of unstoppable killing machines to bend to his will?  Did he have the brainwashed young women seduce people for blackmail purposes?  The movie never says.

The movie never says a lot, actually.  Like why was Aleksei in jail?  He says Dreykov betrayed him for no reason, but there must have been some reason.  Not necessarily a good one, but something.  When he was ranting about the betrayal of it all, why didn’t Natasha say “Oh, please, you were trying to sell him out to SHIELD” or “You stole his favorite car for a joyride” or anything at all.  If he didn’t go rogue because his conscience got to him, or he got too greedy, or he messed up on a mission, then what did happen?  Why did Dreykov sideline what was apparently a skilled and powerful asset?

And how did Dreykov escape Natasha’s assassination attempt way-back-when?  Was he rebuilt by Project T.A.H.I.T.I?  Did he have an android duplicate decoy?  Was he just not there and Natasha just screwed up because she was so desperate to get him that she wasn’t thinking straight?  The movie never says, nor even gives any hint.  Natasha comes into the movie believing she killed him, Yelena says “Really?  You actually believe you killed him?” and then that’s it.  He’s alive after all.  There was so much lack of an explanation that for much of the film I believed he was dead and somebody else was posing as him, maybe even his daughter who was actually the one to survive.  Nope, he just...didn’t die.

I wanted to like this movie, I really did, but it was poorly thought out and a mashup of concepts from other, better movies.

[katherinemallory]

#2 The late-night date with James Bond

You can read the previous chapter here.

I could feel the increasing heart rate in every inch of my body. I have already learnt a few important facts about my new mission and I’ve been going home in order to find out more. I was so curious I even wanted to open the files Mallory had given me earlier while I was still sitting in my car, but my professionalism didn't allow me to do it.

When I arrived home, I could barely think straight. My black double-breasted coat felt like it was made of lead. I was probably way too sensitive for this job... I knew I needed a bath to be able to relax and look at the files once again with a clear head. I put a kettle on, because a huge cup of Earl Grey would always do the trick, and went to the bathroom.

After at least ten minutes (I wasn’t sure how much time I had spent in the bathtub, but honestly I couldn’t care less...) I went to my bedroom and changed into more cosy clothes. I chose a velvet turquoise track suit, and then tied my short hair as I headed to the living room. I sat on the sofa, looking at the files with a cup of Earl Grey in my right hand.

What I had found inside didn't surprise me at all. I would meet 005 tomorrow. Standard procedure, I thought. The man we had to observe in Geneva used to collaborate with a crime syndicate from Milano, but Italian intelligence lost the track of his links to the criminals after the assassination of one of the secret agents involved in the investigation. Such an unusual beginning to the mission that would require the involvement of two field agents... I started to get pretty sarcastic, as I was reading the details. The operation seemed like it was just another undemanding mission, and it didn't excite me at all. Maybe a secret mission shouldn’t ever get you excited, but I always felt that a bit of positive emotions wouldn't hurt that much. In that case I couldn’t spot *anything* to look forward to...

Nevertheless, ironic way of thinking wasn't the right one either. In order to change my indifferent attitude, I kept recalling what Mallory had said about the mission earlier, and, to my surprise, I couldn't focus on the information properly. The only image I had in my mind was the one of my supervisor looking incredibly dashing in his suit. I tried to forget his mysterious green eyes, as I continued to browse the files and photos of Abbruscato and his friends.

I got both bored and hungry really quickly. I didn't intend to eat much, because I remembered I would spend the upcoming evening with James Bond. Sure, he mentioned only "a drink", but I predicted he wouldn't like to spend the whole date having just one drink. I’d lie if I said I didn’t expect a fancy dinner.

I started to dress up as 8 P.M. got closer (Bond was supposed to pick me up one hour later). I wasn't sure what kind of outfit would be appropriate, because it all depended on Bond’s views on the character of our date. If it was just a drink, an evening dress would be definitely too much, and I didn't want to end up as overdressed for the occasion. On the other hand, it was more or less obvious that Bond would wear one of his favourite suits - maybe not one of his most luxurious ones, but it would still be a suit.

I didn’t see that coming, but I ended up wearing a violet suit myself. I guess that regardless of his views on the matter, I needed Bond to understand the message. I wasn’t interested in anything else than just a one-night date (not to be confused with a one-night stand)... I didn’t care if he wanted to get to know me better or if he only intended to spend one night with me. My intentions remained the same.

However, it didn’t necessarily mean I looked ordinary. Just the opposite. I found some time to do my hair the way it suited me best, and chose one of my favourite diamond earrings (I bought them years ago after my first pay from the SIS). As usual, I refused to do my make-up (I didn’t even know how to do it... I always preferred my natural look).

When I was ready, I looked in the mirror for one last time, just to make sure my outfit was right. It definitely was. The delicate colour of my suit contrasted my dark brown layered hair. My hair was short and wavy, exposing the diamond drop earrings. It was a deadly look, both powerful and feminine.

I enjoyed the view for a few seconds and out of the blue an insane thought came to my mind: how would it feel if Mallory was gazing at me right now? Would he enjoy the view as much as I did? What would he say...? I closed my eyes and imagined my supervisor sitting behind his wooden desk, as I entered to his office just before going on a date with him. There was a combination of astonishment and delight in his sight when he undid the top button of his deep blue shirt and run his fingers through his hair to seem more attractive.

Such vision turned me on really quickly. I got a chill, and then I suddenly realized I shouldn’t have been fantasizing about M. He was my supervisor after all and I was dead sure he wouldn’t reciprocate my interest. And apart from that, he was probably married... Oh, come on. M wouldn’t comment on my look. He would just instruct me to stop smiling so foolishly and focus on the mission.

It was only a few minutes left until 9 P.M. I looked through the window and saw Bond’s silver Aston Martin DB10 parked outside. He might be a bit annoying if you focus on his enormous ego, but this guy’s got style, I thought. I was ready, so I locked my apartment and went down.

Bond was standing next to his Aston Martin, looking like a million dollars in his grey suit. Or maybe the suit was silver, just like his car. I couldn’t tell because of the night’s darkness.

“Evening, Targett,” he said with his hands still in his pockets. “We meet again.”

“Evening, Bond,” I replied, trying to form a smirk on my face. “Impressive. You already know my surname. And I wondered how you knew where I lived...”

He smiled.

“Did I just surprise one of our best secret agents?”

“Not so loud! I thought you were more responsible than that,”, I sighed.

He came closer to me and murmured into my ear: “I thought so too, but it seems your presence affects me so much... I lose my mind easily.” He looked me right in the eye as he opened the car door.

...

That Aston Martin car was really *something*. I’ve never even *seen* such an expensive car in my life, so I didn’t feel truly relaxed riding shotgun. When Bond started the engine and tried to look at me, I avoided his sight, turning my head to the right window. I felt a bit ashamed. I observed the city streets as we travelled into the night. London seemed quite peaceful in the evening. Me and Bond were both quiet and after a few minutes I heard a tender melody. It matched how I felt inside. At first, it felt kind of weird and uncomfortable to listen to the song, as I wondered if the words had some hidden meaning.

... but I can’t see a thing in the sky I only have eyes for you...

I turned to Bond.

“This song really does create an atmosphere,” I stated.

“It’s the Flamingos,” said Bond. “One of those really old songs I happen to enjoy.”

“Oh,” I teased him.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked and you could observe a small sign of concern at the corner of his mouth, even though his voice sounded as overconfident as usual.

... maybe millions of people go by But they all disappear from view And I only have eyes for you...

“Just the opposite. I love it,” I laughed loudly, and then realized I had absolutely no idea where we were going. “So where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see. I do not plan to ruin the surprise,” Bond answered immediately, catching a glimpse of me. Another double-meaning song came from the speakers.

... I don't have plans and schemes And I don't have hopes and dreams I don't have anything Since I don't have you...

...

It turned out Bond had invited me to his own apartment. It was pretty small and unarranged, as he probably didn’t spend a lot of time there. But honestly, it didn’t matter at all to me. I instantly forgot where I was, because Bond did everything he could to make me feel truly special.

“Can I offer you a drink?”

I decided to use my best weapon: a joke.

“Isn’t that the purpose of my visit here?”

He laughed. “This is the exact reason why I like you, Targett. The sense of humour which doesn’t allow you to take everything people say too seriously.”

“Is that the *only* reason to like me?” I teased him again.

He showed that *famous* Bond smirk and refused to comment on my question. “So, what is your pleasure?”

“A glass of dry red wine will do.”

He poured me a glass and let me sit behind the table. It took him a while to serve me a dinner, which, to my surprise, he had prepared himself earlier. I still can’t remember what we have eaten, but it definitely was delicious.

“How was it?” asked Bond with curiosity in his eyes.

“Do we really have to talk about work?” I replied, being clearly disappointed with the topic of our conversation.

“We don’t, but actually I have one question for you,” he insisted.

I agreed to hear that one question. A forced smile appeared on my face.

“Shoot,” I said.

He laughed at me again. “I have to admit I didn’t expect a different reaction from someone whose name’s *Targett*,” he said and looked me directly in the eyes. “This is a name for the job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah”, I replied, still faking the smile.

“So,” said Bond after he took a sip from his glass, “which of the numbers has been assigned to you?”

“Assigned?” I faltered. “It hasn’t been assigned to me, I have chosen it.”

“Oh, really? Tell me,” he requested.

“You know, when I came to M’s office earlier today he passed me a list of spare double-0 numbers. Then he ordered me to pick one of them and I had no doubts...”

“Interesting,” interrupted Bond, and continued to talk, as he noticed my confused face. “Mallory’s never allowed anyone to pick their number before. When there is more than one number to choose from, he does it himself and you just get informed about his decision.”

I was still a bit surprised and I didn’t know how to react.

“That kind of special behaviour,” added Bond, “means Mallory truly likes you.”

His last sentence left me speechless. Putting my thoughts into words wasn’t easy.

“Okay, you’re just confusing me now,” I confessed after a few seconds of silence. “Probably he just respects my previous work and for some reason...” I couldn’t finish the sentence and got a bit annoyed. ”You should stop looking for whatever you’re looking for,” I added, and immediately felt it sounded a bit too harsh.

“His reason is totally understandable,” said Bond calmly. “I would have let you choose your own number anytime... Especially if you looked like that,” he commented, then paused for a while and looked deeply into my hazel eyes. “That violet shade does suit you well. You’re a very attractive woman and you are aware of that.”

I blushed as if I had been caught naked. I couldn’t deny that his words had pleased me, but he didn’t know the reason behind my reaction. The truth was, I imagined that this implicit special treatment from Mallory had been really caused by both my skills and beauty.

“Thank you, James,” I said, realizing I called Bond using his first name for the first time.

“It’s the truth, Katherine,” he replied, refusing to call me by my surname as well. “So...” asked Bond, “... which one’s your number?”

“It’s double-oh-two.”

“Why?”

“It’s a very personal story. I do not think I can tell you right now.”

“All right,” he said and it seemed like he had really understood. “I noticed that you said *double-oohhh* instead of *double-0*. Does it mean anything?”

“Yeah, it means you are interested in only one thing,” I said and started to laugh at him.

...

Later that evening, probably around midnight, Bond ordered a cab for me. He wanted to make sure I got home safe, so he went with me, holding my hand for the whole time. I was fully satisfied with the way our date had gone and I even enjoyed his confident, but gentle touch... However, I couldn’t articulate my feelings when we got out of the cab.

“It was a lovely evening and...,” I struggled with words again that night. “I don’t know how should I thank you for this. I really enjoyed it.”

“A simple kiss would do,” he replied, looking at me with his cold blue eyes. I could tell he was hoping for the prize.

“Thanks, James,” I whispered into his ear and placed a kiss on his right cheek. After a few seconds of silence, I asked: “Is James Bond disappointed?”

“Not at all,” he said, but I didn’t believe him this time. “I’ll have to earn it, I suppose.”

I didn’t answer, I just gave him a smile and then turned around.

...

Even though I knew I had to wake up early and report to Q, I kept wandering around my apartment. Ironically, I was pretty tired, but couldn’t sleep because of the intense emotions I had experienced during the day. First of all, I met my new supervisor and received my first double-0 mission. Then, I went on an *actual* date with James Bond, which had gone better than I could possibly imagine. For a moment I wondered if I began to fall for his charms.

I needed to distract my mind with something, so I checked my e-mails. It seemed like I had received a new one. It was sent at 10 P.M.

002,

Meet me in my office tomorrow after the medical. I will introduce you to 005.

See you there at 11 A.M.

Yours sincerely,

M.

I wasn’t sure if M had mentioned this during our meeting earlier today. It was a long day and in the end the details didn’t matter that much. Wow, I thought. Was he really still working at 10 P.M.? And can you be more specific than him? What a man.

I looked through the window and observed the stars. Peace. Nothing needed to be done until tomorrow. The next day would be full of new experiences. Time to meet both Q and 005, then.

And see Mallory once again before I leave for Switzerland.

***

To be continued.

[hi-its-tutty]

Happy. And Robot. And Real.

pairing: hinted intrulogical!

wc: 1270

tw: mentions of blood, and death, and i believe that’s it! (though please let me know if you find anything else!)

summary: Logan is a robot. Logan does not like being a robot. (Songfic based on "Flesh and Bone" by Joe Iconis!) 

masterpost! or, if you’d prefer, read on ao3?

Logan was a robot.

That was simply a fact of his life. He was a robot made from scraps of metal found in a junkyard. He had thimbles acting as ‘eyes’, allowing him to see his surroundings, and his head (for lack of a better word, he wasn't sure if he could use the word cranium would suit his head, since he didn't possess a brain other than a spark plug that was prone to busting up) was made of an old tea kettle. He was a robot made up of metal and stone. He was not supposed to have emotions. He was not supposed to have "dreams." He was supposed to be completely logical. His thinking was based on a system of 1's and 0's. He was programmed to act and think completely logically. 

But if that was the case, then why he desperately want to dream? 

It was completely illogical. He knew that. But he would give anything in his life to be human. To be flesh and bone. To be able to feel anything on his skin, and be able to have human experiences. Love. Anger. Joy. Anything, really. 

But no. He was a robot, with robot experiences. And the robot-like lack of emotions. 

Logan sighed (not necessarily, since he couldn't breathe, but he assumed that this was an appropriate time to sigh if he were human) as he roved through the park. He didn't exactly have legs, so roving on wheels he was. 

Then, he saw him. Logan didn't know why, it was completely illogical, but Logan couldn't help but feel captivated by him. The man was dressed in a black and green ensemble, and he had a small mustache. There was a small grey streak in his hair. Logan couldn't help but want to smile (but the small speaker acting as his mouth couldn't exactly morph into a different shape). The man was extremely attractive, in Logan's objective opinion, but Logan knew anything couldn't happen. The electric spark that emitted from his chest made that clear. He was a robot. A machine. He wasn't even supposed to be able to feel, how could anything happen between him and an absolute stranger? 

Logan quickly moved away from the path, letting the man walk by without any interference from Logan. He moved underneath a tree, relaxing (as much as he could, anyway) in the shade. He was just about to wheel away and go to what acted as his place of residence, but some kids, teenagers by the looks of it, ran up to him. 

"What are you?" One of them asked. 

'What are you?' It echoed throughout Logan's head. What was he? He was a robot. A machine. An appliance, especially next to the all too human children. 

Logan just turned away and sped off. He couldn't stand the judgment that he would undoubtedly face. He couldn't stand being there, next to the teenagers. The human teenagers. The people that Logan could never be.

The people that Logan so desperately wanted to be. 

But no, he had to rely on a battery to give him strength. He had a speaker for a mouth, he had wheels instead of feet and thimbles for eyes. He couldn't rely on himself for energy, he could never consume sustenance or food to allow him life. He wasn't even sure if he was alive. If he was real. 

He probably wasn't even real. He was a robot, never, ever human. How he wanted to be human, how he wanted to be able to feel. Emotions, sensations, anything. 

At one point, he tried to open up, figuratively of course, to a person. He so desperately wanted to know what genuine connection felt like, to have even a resemblance of what it felt like to be human. To even be able to imagine what his life would be like if he wasn't in his terrible body. His cold, soulless, metallic body. But, he ended up busting up and short-circuiting from the effort it took. 

He hasn't since. It was too painful to even think about talking to someone about his lack of emotions. His complete lack of human traits and emotions. It was horrible really, his life was completely devoid of everything that made life worth living. Was he even living? Even if, on the off chance, he could truly have emotions, would he ever be living? 

Logan hated everything about his situation. He hated having to, for lack of a better word or phrase, ‘keep everyone at an arm's length’. He hated that phrase. His arms were completely terrible. Made of iron and a mixture of metals and the opposite of what he wanted to be. What he so desperately wanted to be. 

Logan, through his terrible thimble eyes that should've been filled with tears at this point, if only he was human, they would be filled with tears, if only he was anything but a cold, soulless, emotionless robot--

He noticed his hands. There was blood all over them. He hadn't even noticed the weather. He was so caught up in the thoughts that he wasn't even sure he was able to have that he had made such a careless mistake such as that. He was bleeding--no, he was rusting up. He was rusting up in the rain, and his joints were soon going to be unable of moving. He was soon not going to be move and he was going to be cut up for spare parts, but since half of his parts were made of iron of some kind, they wouldn't even be able to use his body. He was going to go back in the junkyard and completely lose consciousness, and he wasn't even going to be able to experience "life after death" that humans theorize about so much because Logan wasn't even sure if he was alive and--

Logan stopped. If he was able to breathe, it would probably stall at this moment. That, that right there, it wasn't logical at all. It was logical for him to notice the weather, but he didn't. It was logical for him to immediately take shelter, but here he was, standing in the rain, letting himself rust. It was logical for him to approach the situation calmly and with a lack of emotion, but that, what he just experienced.

He was sure it was panic. 

Logan. Was experiencing panic. He was, for lack of a better term, freaking out over seeing himself rust up. He was experiencing emotions! Him! He was experiencing emotions that were definitely not programmed into him! 

Logan laughed, and it may have come out of his speaker, and it may have been completely flat and sounded extremely robotic, but he was laughing. He was laughing, and experiencing what seemed to be joy! 

He was feeling joy. 

He was feeling. 

Logan may not be flesh and bone, but he was more than junkyard metal. He was more than a mere appliance. He was feeling emotions. He may not be able to feel the rain pouring on him, but he could hear it hitting him. Hitting his metal skin. His skin. 

He almost felt human.

 No, he didn't almost feel human.

He felt like himself. Like a robot. Like a robot that could feel and live a life. A robot that was alive. 

He was alive. 

He was real. 

And, even as he stayed there, frozen, in the rain, staring at the red on his arm that was steadily growing, he couldn't stop himself from laughing. He was happy. 

He was happy, and robot, and real.

thank you for reading! and i promise i write something other than song fics, pfft. if you’d like,  check out my ao3 or, you could drop me a request in my inbox! i'd absolutely love to have one! and if you like what i do, maybe drop me a ko-fi? it'd mean the absolute world to me! thank you, and i hope you have a wonderful day! <3

[littleredlie]

Lieutenant - Part Two: 1943

Series Masterlist | Master Masterlist

Marvel x black!OC, Bucky Barnes x black!OC On her trip to the Stark Expo, Jackie is reunited with Steve and Bucky, but ditched by her husband. How is she supposed to juggle the negative feelings she harbors towards her husband and the romantic feelings she has towards a man that she’s not supposed to love.

5.6k+ Words

Featuring: Jackie Johnson, Bucky Barnes, David Wilson, Andre Wilson, Steve Rogers (mentioned), Connie, Bonnie, Mama Gloria Johnson, Jordan Johnson, Freddie Johnson (mentioned), Felicity Johnson, Howard Stark (appears) Warning: Cursing. Mentions of cheating. Domestic abuse. Racist Microaggressions (I don’t remember if it’s this chapter or next) A/N: Let me know how you like it! The chapters just get longer and longer. But Bucky and Jackie are 🥺

Part One: 1943

______________________________________

Despite having a dark skin tone, Jackie could see a purple bruise inhabiting her left cheek where her husband hit her yesterday afternoon. She noticed it when she first woke up that morning and had tried her hardest to hide it any way she could, but her attempts weren’t going anywhere. It was the night of the expo that Bucky invited David and her to, but she was dreading to go. Bucky and Steve were always protective of her; being a young black girl in the only black neighbourhood of Brooklyn, she tended to get in a bit of trouble. They assigned themselves to be bodyguards and it hadn’t changed as they grew up; so, with the bruise on her face and the obvious tension Bucky observed between the husband and wife yesterday, the soldier knew who the culprit would be. 

“The expo is gonna start soon,” David snakes an arm around her waist, settling his chin on her shoulder. She tenses slightly and he notices. “I’m sorry about that, I really am.” She doesn’t answer, because she doesn’t know how to answer.

“It should be gone by tomorrow,” her monotone voice brings a frown to his face and he pulls her closer to his body.

“Let’s try to make our last few days together remarkable, starting tomorrow.” At his words Jackie turns around and leans against the counter, her arms folding across her chest. His eyes are sincere and there’s a small grin on his face. And it was small  moments like this where Jackie remembered why she loved him. He wasn’t always short-tempered and bad, but the two did get married five months after they had met; so, maybe Jacquelin didn’t know who her husband was all too well. She gives him a soft grin right back.

“Why not start today?”

“Well,” he now puts his hands on her arms leaning a little closer, “tonight, we are joining a bunch of white men to a ridiculous expo and I do have to finish some things before I ship out. But after tonight, we can leave Andre with your mother and enjoy a few days to ourselves.” David gives her a soft kiss and places his forehead on hers.

“You’re leaving early?”She pulls away a little, obvious confusion sitting on her features.

“Yeah, but I promise that I am all yours until we leave for duty.”

“Well, you can’t necessarily abandon your son before you’re gone for who knows how long.”

“I know that, woman,” He chuckles and Jackie joins him. “On our final day, it’ll just be us.”

“Just us?” Jackie is skeptical for a moment. They haven’t had a day with only the family since Andre was first born.

“I promise.” David kisses his wife one more time before stepping away to start getting ready. Jackie was already dressed since she had to take Andre to her mother’s house. The baby was sleeping in his crib already dressed for his day at his grandmother’s. After double checking his baby bag, she scoops him up.

“I’ll meet you there okay?” She plants a soft, but hesitant kiss on David’s cheek and leaves the room without waiting for an answer.

It was warm outside, the sun was sitting on the horizon allowing for a bit of sunlight to guide her to her mother’s. A few neighbors greet the mother and sleeping baby, a lot of people noticing the bruise but not commenting on it. There were rumors of David that when he was a little too drunk or Jackie was a little “out of place,” he would lay his hands on her. Some said every night and some would say not very often. No one knew the truth, but they knew the type of man David was even though the little family had only been in the little apartment for a little under a year. He had high confidence and the means to prove how much of  a man he was, and ironically, that’s what attracted Jackie to him in the first place (and of course the fact that she couldn’t really have who she really wanted).

  However, last night was the first time David put his hand on her with such force, he usually gripped her too tight and said things that crushed her spirit to nothingness, but never before had he put his hand on her. She knew what her mother was going to say, but Jackie couldn’t leave him. He was the father of her son and in semblance, she loved him.

It doesn’t take her long to get to her destination. Her knocks on the door are answered by her little brother, but he doesn’t open it for her. He greets her with a quick, and sloppy hug before running off.

“Jordan!” Jackie exclaims and he turns around momentarily.

“I’ve gotta go!” He waves back and then continues running down the sidewalk. Jackie shakes her head before stepping into the quaint townhouse stacked between two similar townhouses.

“Ma!” She shouts through the house, taking off her shoes at the door and pushing herself through the space. The house looked the same, the only thing knew was the vase of flowers adorning the coffee table.

“Jackie, you’re here already?”

“Yes mom, the expo starts in about an hour, David’s already headed down there.” Jackie continues walking until she makes it to the kitchen. “I just brought you your favorite grandson.” Jackie places Andre into the crib that was in the kitchen, trying to hide her cheek from her mother.

“I won’t tell Frederick you said that, he already thinks I spoil Andre more than his girls.”

“Well of course you do, ma. Freddie moved himself down south so all you have now is my baby. If he has a problem with it, he can move back.” Jackie tucks the blanket around her son, her face still turned around from her mother. She places a kiss on Andre’s head and smooths out his curly black hair.

“Why hasn’t David shown himself around here in a while?” Ma’s stirring the pot, but her eyes are on her daughter’s back.

“Guess he’s just been busy.” Jackie shrugs. She is so preoccupied on her fussing son that she jumps when her mother places a soft hand on her arm.

“Rumors spread around fast here Jacquelin. And you don’t wanna talk to me, so I always be assuming the worst.” 

Jackie slowly turns her head towards her mother and a quick gasp escapes the lips of the older woman. The bruise is hidden partially under the makeup applied, but Gloria can still see it on her daughter’s dark skin. She touches it and the new mother winces, the pain still radiating.

“He laid a hand on you?” Gloria whispers, not believing the sight that was in front of her. A tear escapes out of Jackie’s eye and she rips her face out of her mother’s grasp.

“It’s not as bad as you think.” Jackie pulls her jacket closer to her body. “It was an accident, entirely my fault.”

“I don’t know what that monster has been pouring into your ears, but don’t you dare defend him! He does not have the right to put his hands on you!” Her voice rises as the words spill out from her throat, concern, worry, and anger coating them as well.

“And you don’t have the right to get into our business!” Jackie yells back.  

“I am your mother!” Gloria spits back, glaring at her daughter, who was unrecognizable.

“I told you, it wasn’t his fault. It was an accident.” Gloria is shocked by Jackie’s words, her feet taking a few steps back and her hand grasping the baby crib.

“Jackie Ann, stop lying to yourself. Everyone sees it, when will you?”

“You think I don’t see it, mom?!” Jackie hisses, but her voice begins to tremble. “I know that when he’s with me, he’s not with me. His mind is off floating to his little side piece as he neglects loving me and loving his son. I see his anger all the time and it scares me, because he is not the same man that I married. I see that more than anyone.” Tears have fully escaped Jackie’s face, the makeup around her eyes becoming slightly smudged.

“Then why are you staying with him.” Gloria puts a hand on the crying woman’s unharmed cheek, curiosity obvious on her face.

“Mama,” Jackie grasps her mother’s hand and holds tight. “Andre deserves to be brought up right. I will not be the reason that his father disappears from his life. After Papa died in the war I saw how you struggled with the four of us and I saw how much Freddie has changed since he doesn’t have his pops anymore. I don’t want that for Andre.”

“You shouldn’t put such expectation on yourself. You can’t control the world. You and that bastard ared both soldiers in this war and you know you can’t change the outcome.”

“I will try my hardest.” With those parting words Jackie grips herself from her mother’s hands and proceeds to exit the house. She was glad that her small heeled shoes slipped right on, she didn’t want to spend another second in that house. 

Jackie notices her youngest sibling sitting on the stairs that sat in front of the door. 

“Don’t go.” Jackie’s knees weaken due to her sister’s eyes. Although she wants to immediately leave, she knows that she can’t leave Felicity like this. The older sister kneels in front of the younger one.

“Hey, everything’s gonna be okay,” Jackie caresses Felicity’s chin and forces a smile on her own face. “It’ll all be okay, promise.”

“It doesn’t seem like it will be. You and Frederick are going off overseas. Rumors about David are going around the neighborhood. It just doesn’t seem alright.”

“Freddy and I will make it back. And don’t listen to those rumors, David and I are just going through a rough patch. When this war is over and we come back home, everything will be okay,” Jackie rises and gives her a comforting look before leaving.

The sun had already set when Jackie made it to the destination. Everything that had happened earlier that day seemed to escape her as she took in the bustling crowd that floated around. Despite the sneak looks that many whites gave as they moved, Jackie could tell that it was going to be a good night.

“Hey Bucky!”

The exclamation causes Jackie to turn her head to where it came from. She sees two young white women standing off beside a statue, the brunette has her hand raised in a wave to someone approaching them. Jackie follows the trajectory and notices Bucky and Steve. She makes her way over, nerves clawing away at the insides of her stomach and a sense of security rising around her as she happened to be a lone black woman in a crowd bustling with those who didn’t want her there. 

The nurse catches up to the group and Bucky immediately notices her. “Jacquelin!” He says, wanting to take a step towards her to embrace her, but Steve and the blonde lady stand in his way.

“Evening James.” Jackie grins and then looks to her other friend. “Steve.” Her hand brushes his outer arm slightly as she finally sets her eyes on his small frame. “Thank you again for inviting us.” Her eyes quickly sweep over the group before landing back on her intertwined hands.

“Where’s David?” Bucky asks, something familiar to hope dancing in his eyes.

“He said he was making his way here. I just arrived.” Jackie forces herself to look everywhere but at him, especially when that brunette lady was stuffing herself beside James like he was hers to claim. She didn’t know where this ferocity came from, just yesterday she had told herself that he couldn’t possibly be hers, but seeing him in another woman’s arms did something to her beating heart. The brunette’s actions forcibly stopped Jackie’s heart a few times and Jackie couldn’t bear that feeling. So she rips her eyes away to look for her husband.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Steve answers and that brings a smile to the black woman’s face. Something he was always able to do.

“Thanks Stevie.” The nickname slips out of Jackie’s lips as a quiet whisper which only Steve could hear and he nods. 

“Jackie!” James says as if to bring Jackie’s attention back to himself, “this is Connie and Bonnie.” He points to the brunette and blonde respectively. “Girls, this is Jackie. A friend.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Jackie smiles, holding her hand out to shake, and they all greet each other. The group all begin walking deeper into the convention, time passing by around them.

“Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow. A greater world. A better world.” exclaims of a Mr. Stark begin to rise from the surrounding crowd.

“Oh, my God! It’s starting!” Connie exclaims, giggles spilling out of her and her friend’s throats. Connie grabs James’s hand and pulls him toward the grand stage that sat in the back of the large hall, Bonnie follows along while Steve and Jackie are left behind, walking together.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Howard Stark!”

“How’ve you been Steve?” Jackie asks, the two of them getting closer to the group of three in the front.

“I’ve been better.” He shrugs and Jackie nudges him with her body, a small smile appearing on his face.

“I heard you’ve been trying to enlist. I’m sorry that that isn’t working out for you.” They finally stop behind the trio. She places a hand on his arm and he looks up to her. “I know that you’ll find your calling. James’s trying to prove that the whole universe can’t keep the three of us apart.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she smiles a full smile and then grabs a piece of popcorn from the bag he is holding. “And you know what, I kind of want him to prove it wrong.” She shrugs and at the mention of his name Bucky looks back at his two best friends talking. Jackie feels his eyes on her and she looks up at him, giving a loving grin. He absolutely adored how easily she could bring a smile to Steve’s face and he missed the bond the three of them used to have. She averts her gaze from him and finally pays attention to the man on stage who just placed a kiss on the female announcer. 

“Ladies and gentleman,” Howard begins. Steve offers popcorn to his ‘date,’ which she silently refuses and turns her face back to the front.“What if I told you that in just a few short years, your automobile won’t even have to touch the ground at all?”

“It’s okay,” Jackie pats Steve’s shoulder. When the small white man settles himself back beside her, Jackie looks around for her husband, who she can’t seem to find. It shouldn’t have been hard to find him, she seemed to be the only black woman – black person – in the crowd. 

Mr. Stark continues showcasing his invention, but Jackie’s mind is somewhere else as she begins to think about where her husband could be. But she knew.

A slam brings her attention back to the stage up front and the vehicle seems to be spitting out smoke. “I did say a few years, didn’t I?” Stark says and the crowd begins applauding, Jackie’s hands joining in claps as well but she wasn’t really paying attention.

“Hey Steve, what do you say we treat these girls –” James turns and trails off when he notices that Steve has disappeared from Jackie’s side. He looks to the short black woman, whose gaze is off to the side, tears beginning to brim. “Jackie?”

She slowly turns her head towards him and notices the look he’s giving her. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” He looks as if he is going to wipe the tear away from her cheek and his hand raises, almost making its way to its destination, but Jackie beats him to it and wipes it away.

“Are you o–”

“Where’s Stevie?” Jackie interrupts him and he forces a sigh out. It was always one step forward but ten steps back when it came to the relationship between the two of them.

“I’m not sure. Wanna help me look for him?” Jackie nods and begins walking away from the stage as James turns to sas something to the other two girls. 

Jackie doesn’t make it too far when James reaches up to her. She doesn’t spare him a glance, because surprisingly he hasn’t noticed the bruise peeking out from under her makeup. His attention was probably focused on the beautiful brunette and bimbo of a friend.

“I’m sorry that your hus–”

“Please don’t James. It doesn’t matter.” She shrugs dejectedly, her eyes now looking for Steve and not her husband. “I just wish sometimes that we can go back, you know. Back to when we were children sneaking out of the house so we could play some made up game at the park.” She gives out a sad sigh, her hands swinging by her side which would occasionally swipe against James’s warm one.

“I do too. But then you wouldn’t have your son.” Jackie slightly nods at his truth. “And I wouldn’t get to see how beautiful you’ve become.” Jackie chuckles shyly at that and shakes her head. She finally glances up at him and he shoots her a smirk, but then spots it. The bruise. His hand comes up to her almost at a superhuman-like speed and it stops her in her place. Jackie notices what is happening and tries to step away, but James’s hold is firm.

“James, let me go.” She quietly hisses and his eyes roam on the purple mark. The makeup was accidentally smudged by Jackie so now it was more prevalent on her dark face.

“Did he do this to you?” He hisses back, taking a bit of a step closer. She doesn’t answer and Bucky pulls her around a corner that is secluded from the rest of the crowd. Here he can finally place a hand on her cheek. The touch brings a heat to Jackie’s body and if it weren’t for the current situation they were in, she would keep his hand there. It was gentle and genuine, something that she hadn’t felt in a long time and the fact that it was him touching her, made it more special. But for now she just wanted to step away. “Jackie, what happened?” His tone changes into a softer one and his thumb softly grazes her skin, a chill swimming down her spine. She didn’t know how a man so much larger than her could soften himself up just to make sure she was okay.

“James, it is none of your concern.” She couldn’t bring herself to spill some lie to him, he would see right through her. 

“Why not? He put his hands on you!” His other hand now cups her other cheeks and he is looking into her eyes, sincerity and care swimming in them. “Was it because I stopped by yesterday?” When Jackie doesn’t answer, he chokes out a tortured sound and his eyes close. His forehead rests on hers and she closes her eyes with him.

“James,” she chokes out and he opens his eyes, leaning back a little. “I promise you don’t have to worry.”

His eyes glaze over her face, noticing the dried tear streaks on her face. Jackie’s eyes are still closed so it allows for him to finally look at her, without her shying away. “When are you gonna understand that I am always going to worry about you?” 

“But you can’t James. You know you can’t.” She then opens her eyes and lets them linger on her friend. Softly, she takes his forearms and leads them back to his side. Her hands then hesitantly slid off of him.

“He’s lucky he didn’t show up.” The fury is still present in his eyes, his hands now balled into fists as his thoughts wander to Jackie’s abusive husband. 

“And that would cause more problems that neither of us could deal with.” She steps back and leans against the wall that was beside them. “Besides, you don’t see me causing any trouble with that girl you brought.” This leaves her mouth nonchalantly, but it puts James on alert.

“Really Jackie?” He scoffs before putting himself beside her. “I brought her and her friend to cheer Steve up and I really didn’t want to watch you and your husband smooching and whatnot.”

“Well I guess David didn’t get the memo.” Jackie pushes herself off the wall and begins walking toward a recruitment building in the distance.

“Jackie, you’ve become a little unfair since the last time I saw you.” He cups her elbow and slows her down a bit.

“Well James, it’s not like we can travel back in time to relive our glory days, or go to a different dimension where we can be together.” The two of them pass a photo booth and James stops for only a second to address the photographer within one side.

“I know that, I know that you believe that that's the easiest way to address...us and maybe it is.” He stops walking and so does she, taking just a moment to look at his beauty. “But for just this second, before we resume looking for Steve and before we have to go our separate ways, let us not think that way.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” 

James lightly takes her hand and begins walking backward, pulling her toward the photo booth that remained ready for them. There’s a teasing smile on his face and Jackie rolls her eyes, but honestly she was taking this carefree moment. It was like they were teenagers again and there was no one around that could possibly bother them. For once Jackie didn’t care what was going on around them.

James leads Jackie into the booth first and then he steps in behind her, his hand finding its way to her waist. He marvels at her innocent beauty, something she always tried to put to the sidelines as they grew up but he always noticed. And now the only thing that disrupted it was the purple bruise on her cheek.

“I’m sorry about what he did to you. You don’t deserve it.” He whispers, the space between them small. The hand that isn’t lying on her waist delicately traces her cheekbone and its sending chills throughout her body.

“It’s okay.” She says back. The tension building in between them was too much for her to handle so she turned her face to the camera. “Are we just going to smile?” 

When Bucky doesn’t answer, she faces him only to find that his eyes never left her. A lazy grin decorates his face and Jackie chuckles, removing his hand from her face and turning his face to the camera just in time for it to flash. “That should be a good picture, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, should be good. But let’s take one more.”

“James, we have to look for Steve.”

“Just one more.”

James’s hand returns to cup Jackie’s cheek and he pulls her forward, his lips almost touching hers. And he wants to, but he sees the hesitance in her eyes and he would never put her in a difficult situation.  His lips turn up to show his happiness and Jackie lets out a hesitant laugh. It’s that moment when the second flash goes off, but neither of them really notice.

“Can we go find Steve now?”

“Yeah, I guess we should.” But he doesn’t move and if Jackie wasn’t married she would’ve kissed him that second. But she was a good person, too good of a person. And she was a black woman in 1940s America, she didn’t need anything to be harder for her.

“Bucky, we have to go.”

“Now you call me Bucky?” He rolls his eyes before grabbing her hand and exiting the booth. When they make it out of the little space they created together, Jackie pulls her hand out of James’s hands and  into a position in front of her body.

“It seems to be the only thing that can get you out of whatever trance you were just in.” 

“Fair enough,” he shrugs with a grin. “I bet Steve’s in here.” He leads her into the very same recruitment building she noticed minutes ago. The crowd around them bustles with movement, no one seeming to notice the short break they took from reality. The white soldier and the black woman. Oh, how she yearned for a time where the didn’t have to hide. 

When they make it inside, it isn’t hard for her to find Steve. She grabs James’s forearm and pulls him toward their smaller friend.

“Come on. You’re kind of missing the point of a double date.” Bucky shouts to Steve and it takes everything in Jackie not to roll her eyes. “We’re taking the girls dancing.”

Steve looks between the two of his friends. Trying to comprehend what could possibly happen tonight especially with an abandoned Jackie and an accompanied Bucky. “You go ahead,  I’ll catch up with you.” He brushes them off instead so that he can fulfill what he wanted to.

“You’re really going to do this again?” The uniform clad brunette says when it finally dawns on him what Steve’s gonna do.

“Well, it’s a fair. I’m gonna try my luck.” Steve answers back and Jackie tries to comfort him by stepping closer and placing a hand on his arm, as if to ground him.

“As who, Steve from Ohio?” Bucky grimaces, and Jackie tries to place herself between them while hoping that no one’s attention would be on them. “They’ll catch you. Or worse, they’ll actually take you.”

“Steve, you need to be careful. Bucky can bust you out of all of things, but jail isn’t one of them.” Jackie’s hand grip Steve’s forearm tighter, as if it were a warning.

“Look, I know you guys don’t think I can do this.”

“That’s not what I’m saying Stevie.” Jackie says simultaneously with Bucky’s answer.

“This isn’t a back alley, Steve. It’s war.”

“I know it’s a war.”

Bucky speaks before Jackie can say anything, and she pulls herself closer to Steve. “Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs.”

“What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?” Steve rebuttals, annoyance and a little anger minimally hidden in his words.

“Boys, let’s not cause–” Jackie tries again.

“Yes! Why not?”

“I’m not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky.” Bucky says something again, but Jackie’s attention is on the people around them. “Bucky, come on.” Steve exclaims and both Bucky and Jackie stop. “There are men lying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.”

“Right. ‘Cause you got nothing to prove.” Bucky nods, annoyance obviously on his own face.

“James, that’s unfair.” Jackie says, standing right beside Steve and looking up to the soldier in front of her. He looks down to her, his jaw clenched. She shakes her head at him to stop him from saying something he’d regret.

No one can speak up again because Connie’s voice arises from behind. “Hey Sarge! Are we going dancing?” something changes in James as he turns around to address her and it pisses Jackie off. This time she doesn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes. Steve catches it and gives her a little chuckle.

“Yes, we are.” He turns back to Steve and shakes his head, before addressing Jackie. “You coming?”

Jackie looks from him to the two ladies behind him, her arms crossing in front of her body as if to shield herself. “No thank you, I think I’m just gonna head home early.” She doesn’t really look at him this time, and those few intimate moments they spent with each other seemed like it was nonexistent. Bucky shakes his head in disbelief before making his way to join the two white ladies.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” He says to Steve.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” The joke causes a laugh to explode from Jackie’s chest and she quickly places her hand over her mouth, looking down to the ground.

“You’re a punk.”

“Jerk.” Bucky walks back towards Steve and envelops him into a hug.

“Be careful.” He then steps to Jackie and grasps her hand in a little, secret hold.

“Make it back, okay?” Jackie whispers and James softly grins. 

“I will.” He whispers back before beginning to back off. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come?”

“I don’t have a dance partner.” Her eyes finally flick up to meet his and she gives him a sad grin. He understood.

“Don’t win the war till I get there.” Jackie nudges Steve and he nudges her back. James salutes and his face finally disappears from the two’s view.

“Steve, you are an absolutely crazy man. But I understand you, I do. I wouldn’t have joined the Army if I didn’t. Being a black nurse during these times isn’t easy, but I wanted to do my part. And nothing was gonna stop me, now look at me.” Jackie is still looking at Bucky’s receding back. Sad that this was how they parted. She turns to the shorter man. “Please don’t get yourself caught. Or killed. Cause Steve, I know you’re meant for great things.” She pulls him into a quick hug as if to say goodbye and walks away in a different direction.

Jackie doesn’t stop by her mother’s house to pick up her son. She instead walks into her empty home and sits in the dark living room. Her mind wanders to the events of her day. Her husband’s false promises. Steve’s urgency to join the ear. Connie and Bonnie and their quest for a good time. And Bucky.

Glorious Bucky.

James Buchanan Barnes.

A man Jackie forced herself to move on from because there was no place for the both of them. They didn’t have the power to create a world for them both. That’s the real reason she left and disappeared and didn’t appear back into his life for another year. She couldn’t deal with the reality that she couldn’t have him to herself. And now she was married to a two-timing bastard working to the bone to become the perfect wife. But if she could hold Bucky close, his hand in hers and on her waist and dance with him to some irrelevant background as the only thing keeping them grounded would be each other.

It really was a shame. And Jacquelin sat there as it went over her mind, over and over. Even as she tidied around the house and put her things together. Even until her tipsy husband stumbled through the front door a little past midnight. She only thought of her and Bucky, and the life that never could be. 

Jackie just watches David as he makes it into their home, he looked to be having a headache. When the door is locked and closed, he walks over to the couch Jackie was sitting on and places himself beside her. He tries reaching for her hand, but she yanks it away and settles it on the arm of the sofa.

“You let me look like a fool. A damn fool. Just so that you can go mess with some...bitch that can’t keep her legs closed.” Before he could react, Jackie pushes herself up and paces to the other side of the room, creating some distance between the two of them. “I don’t care that you are backing out of the vows that we made 18 months ago even though I have been faithful to you. Took care of you. And loved you. And you go out and shame this family, humiliate me, put your hands on me.” Her voice has risen, but it trembles with tears. Her throat stiff as she tries to keep her composure. David stares at her, his jaw becoming stiff and his brows becoming furrowed. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

“I have only kept up with your bullshit for our son! Our son! A boy that doesn’t even recognize your touch! Doesn’t know your voice or your eyes! How sad is that?” Jackie stops pacing, hands on her hips, and looks at her husband. She takes her wedding band off and throws it at him. It clatters to the ground and lets out a small chime as it settles on the wood floor.  “I will only be your wife when it concerns our son.” Her voice had become menacingly low. “And if you do anything that will jeopardize the happiness of that dear boy, I will leave and he will never know your name.” Again Jackie doesn’t give him a chance to answer, he can barely get himself off the couch as she quickly grabs the bags that sit right next to the door.

“I’m gonna go stay with my Ma. You try and fix yourself up so that you can properly get to know your son.” With those final words and bags in hand, Jackie walks out of the small townhome and towards her mother’s home.

__________________________

Part Three: 1943

[rex-shadao]

The Failure of Rey Nobody

I haven’t done a Star Wars analysis or review in a long time.  But with the recent release of Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker and the subsequent details being revealed, I feel it’s a good time to go over what happened in TROS and how it affects the rest of the saga.  Oh, there’s a lot to go over, but I’ll stick with one particular topic that I have an ax to grind on ever since the post-TFA release...

The topic of Rey’s parents and heritage.

As I’ve stated before, this is going to involve MAJOR spoilers from TROS, so please don’t continue reading if you don't want to be spoiled. Let’s begin, shall we?

So it turns out that Rey is actually related to someone important in the Saga.  While parents were nobodies just as Kylo Ren said, her grandfather is not.  And no, it’s not Obi-Wan Kenobi.  It’s Sheev Palpatine.

That’s right. Emperor Sheev Palpatine of the FIRST Galactic Empire aka Darth Sidious aka the BIG BAD of Prequel and Original Trilogies... is the grandfather of Rey.  And here I thought Harry Potter and the Cursed Child revelation was dumb but at least there I can understand how Lord Voldemort could have a child since he at least has a fanatical lover known as Bellatrix Lestrange.  But Palpatine is never shown to have any mistress, not in the films or expanded media.  And his characterization indicates that old Sheev only cares about power and immortality.  Why does he need to produce heirs when he has a powerful Darth Vader and his more powerful offsprings, Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa, to groom for the throne?  That is if he ever wants to give that up.

Regardless of that fact (that’s for another topic), the fact that Rey is revealed to be a Palpatine completely undermines the argument that Rey Random/Nobody advocates preached for the last three years or so.  That making Rey a nobody with unremarkable parents would send a stronger message for the audience and kids.  That making her a Skywalker would somehow imply that you could only be a hero and a Jedi if you came from Force royalty bloodline.  And that revealing that Rey is unrelated to anybody is a “great” subversion of the Luke, I Am Your Father trope.

I don’t know about you, but having Rey be related to the Lucifer of the Force, the most evil man in the galaxy, and the mastermind behind the Empire and the First Order, that is anything but a nobody.  It’s pretty much making her a Skywalker except with none of the actual Skywalker relationship benefits like good family members (Luke, Leia, and Padme) and a dynamic with Kylo Ren that isn’t Reylo.  Oh, I can see all of those TLJ defenders being pissed off about TROS retconning the Rey Nobody reveal and blaming JJ Abrams for “caving” to the angry fans... but honestly, this was inevitable.

Rey Nobody was doomed from the beginning.

Why? Because it offers no real narrative after the revelation.  It’s a meta-subversion that went after a short-gain that wasn’t needed to begin with.  Here are several reasons:

1) The idea of a Nobody becoming a hero or a Jedi is not new in Star Wars.

If you only see the films on a surface and don’t pay attention to the EU material, you’ll be left with the impression that the Skywalker family are the only people who have the Force due to their ancestor, Anakin, being literally born from the Force in a virgin birth.  But if you think about it for a moment, you would know that the Skywalkers were an exception to the rule.  Jedi were celibate and they were not supposed to have families.  How Force-sensitive people were found were dependent on luck, and Anakin himself came from a lowly position of a slave in a backwater planet of the Outer Rim.

So by default, potential Jedi always came from random people scattered across the galaxy.  Their parents were almost always muggles, and there’s no great mystery about them beyond what happened to them.  And for a Jedi, their story path lies ahead, not behind unless there is something about the past that they should know.

Story-wise, the default explanation for Rey’s origins is that of any Jedi.  She’s a nobody born to a bunch of nobodies and lives on a backwater planet with a greater future ahead of her.  The idea that is somehow a revolutionary concept in Star Wars is almost laughable.  It’s the same as making a big surprising revelation that Mulan is a woman in an army where every other soldier else are women as well.  People can accept Rey Nobody from the beginning like every other Star Wars character introduced in the Saga.  It’s only when you imply there’s more to the character than meets the eye...

2) The Mystery Box Hype

The Mystery Box is designed for one thing only.  To make you generate hype and investment into something that has very little to show.  It’s a great ploy to draw in an audience and see where you can take the story that would please the most people.  But the Mystery Box has a critical weakness.  Sooner or later, people would want to know what’s in the box, and they have spent money and time for that box.  The last thing they want to hear is that they paid for an empty box.

This is the undiscussed part of the Mystery Box factor.  People would rave about how Steven Spielberg created suspense and true terror by not showing the shark when it attacked people in the film.  But what they don’t talk about is that Spielberg nearly destroyed himself and his production trying to get good footage of the shark in its full glory.  Spielberg knew that the audience wouldn’t forgive him if he never showed them the actual shark that he hyped up from the beginning.

This was a critical flaw in Rey’s Mystery Box heritage.  As stated before, Rey started off in the film as a nobody.  That was no mystery.  So to imply that there is something hidden from the audience, something that vague enough for Han and Maz to get lingering shots about her identity, creates higher expectations.  It’s not necessarily about her parents but rather her role in the story.  All of the Skywalker Saga visions, Anakin’s Lightsaber, Luke being her destination, etc.  They seem to hint that Rey is important to the Skywalker family, whatever that reason may be, and it’s something that no other Force-sensitive person could do except her.  Of course, the big reveal in TFA is that she is Force-sensitive (as if that is surprising) but TFA didn’t clear up on Rey’s parents.  No faces, no names, nothing.  They are still a mystery that needed to be resolved despite what Maz Kanata states otherwise to Rey.  So we have two mysteries regarding Rey: Her connection to the Skywalkers and the starship leaving Rey on Jakku.

These two mysteries could be connected but not necessarily so.  But they had to be addressed in some way or some form.

And did TLJ address these two mysteries?  No.  It didn’t.  The best answer for the Skywalker connection is Snoke’s “The darkness rises and the light to meet it,” implying that Rey was destined to rise and combat the evil that is Kylo Ren.  Which is a generic answer that doesn’t explain why it has to be her and not someone else (remember, she didn’t choose to be the hero when those TFA visions happen).  The other mystery, her parents, is a non-answer.  Instead of revealing why the starship left Rey, TLJ focuses on the identity of the parents and reveals them to be filthy, deceased junk traders who sold their daughter for money.  It is clearly a meta-message to say that Rey has no place in the story and that she must forge her own path as Rey Nobody... except it answers nothing.  

It’s the same status quo that Rey was in from the very beginning of TFA.  She’s a nobody who would become the next Jedi hero and her parents are unimportant for the story.  Most reveals like Darth Vader being Luke’s father or that Bucky killed Stark’s parents are effective because they move the plot further and gives us something to look forward to as we wait for the sequel to answer the questions from the reveal (like how would Luke face his father, how would Cap and Iron Man repair their relationship, etc.).  But with Rey’s mysteries being revealed as something we would already be accustomed to, there is nothing for the audience to wonder for the next film.  Why should we care about the ship in the flashback if it’s just Rey’s parents selling Rey off for drinking money?  Why should we care about Rey’s connection with the Skywalker Family if she is not part of their story?

3) Meta-Narrative over In-Universe Reason

If you hadn’t noticed already, I’ve made a big emphasis on how Rey is assumed to be a Nobody at the beginning of TFA.  That is no mistake.  Because in-universe, Rey has no reason to believe that her parents or heritage were anything special.  She doesn’t believe that she is a Skywalker or a Palpatine.  She’s just an orphan lost in a world that has abandoned her.  She would be glad to find a new purpose in her life and resolve her parental abandonment issues.  This is Rey’s character at the end of TLJ.  It hasn’t changed since the end of TFA.  She learned nothing about herself except the confirmation that her parents were indeed nobodies.  Despite what Rian Johnson may say, that is not the worst thing Rey would hear as an answer.

Luke was content with his father being just a spice freighter navigator, and he was delighted to hear that his father was really a powerful Jedi Knight.  The answer that broke his spirit wasn’t Anakin was “a filthy junk trader” who gave him away to Uncle Owen; it was learning that Darth Vader, the evil man that he hated for killing his father and Obi-Wan, was his father Anakin.  To be related to an evil mass murderer who now wants you to join him and take over the galaxy together can traumatize any orphan who longed for a family, including Rey.

But Rey Nobody doesn’t offer that emotional narrative.  Rey Nobody was the starting status quo of TFA and TLJ offered nothing for Rey’s character beyond a “romance” with her archenemy.  The mysteries surrounding Rey have been answered with the starting status quo in an attempt to send in a meta-message that was unneeded from the beginning.  In short, Rey Nobody renders Rey to be a static character as everything about her was already answered in TFA.

Now compare that with Rey Palpatine.

Rey Palpatine, as dumb as it sounds, actually raises the stakes for her.  She is now related to the most evil man in the galaxy, and that evil man wants her to join him (or inherit the throne).  Rey must confront her grandfather and is now faced with the prospect that she would turn to the Dark Side because of her Palpatine blood as well as the moral dilemma of getting the family she wanted at the cost of knowing they are part of the most hated lineage in the galaxy.  There is tension, there is a personal conflict badly needed for her after TLJ...

And all of this could have been done with Rey Skywalker.  Rey Skywalker would have a lot more personal stakes, tensions, and weight considering how the films are billed as the Skywalker Saga.  It would have been perfect.  Instead, we get Rey Nobody... which didn’t offer JJ Abrams the conflict he needs for her in Episode IX thanks to the last two episodes playing around Mystery Boxes, so he retconned Rey as a Palpatine instead.  A Morton’s Fork at work, congratulations!

If you wanted Rey Nobody, you should have started her as Rey Nobody and then build up her character to make us care instead of surrounding her in mysteries that may not be satisfied.

[lovelyirony]

162. “They told me you died. And I screamed. I screamed until my lungs hurt too much to continue.” Pepperony? ty!!

When Pepper was twelve, her aunt introduced her into the world of romance books, movies, and television shows. Pepper generally liked them, although some of the historical-fiction-romance books were a bit too corny for her taste. 

Throughout all of these, there is one message that has been repeated: You Will Do Anything for Love. 

She thinks it’s...well. It’s not something that necessarily makes sense to her. Like sure, she would go to the grocery store at eleven at night to get ice cream for her partner, or she would help them with a project. 

But dying, sacrificing yourself? She can’t imagine that. She can’t imagine doing whatever you have to for love. 

Until Tony. 

A lot of people are under the impression that Pepper is “dealing” with Tony. That she has these long-suffering sighs, that Tony is a man-child who can only handle so much and she handles the majority. 

That is far from the truth, although he still doesn’t know his own social security number and forgets dates of things. 

But Tony is fun and he surprises her, and he’s so soft when he wants to be. He knows when she needs to have some sort of snappy commentary, when she just needs him to sign things and pour some nice wine for a night in. 

Iron Man is something that she’s afraid about. Because maybe she’s being selfish, but she hates how much Tony goes out and fights the good fights. She wants him to come home and not wince when she kisses the bridge of his nose, not grimace as he puts weight on a leg that got hit pretty badly. 

And being inside of a suit of armor doesn’t mean he’s safe. He doesn’t have super healing, he doesn’t have any of the advantage of the others. He’s human, and that’s all he is sometimes. It terrifies the shit out of her. 

-

It was supposed to be a routine mission. One he’s flown a thousand times, one that he always complains about as a “waste of time, honey, honestly. I would much rather be sleeping in with you-” 

- 

He’s lost, they say. Pepper wants to deny it, because how could you lose someone like him? 

But people have been asking that question for centuries about those they love. And she knows that you can lose anyone to anything, and you have to deal with it. 

It’s not quiet, at least not in the house. 

She screams and cries and barely eats anything until Jarvis has to remind her to eat anything, just something that will her up even halfway. 

Her voice is hoarse. She can barely use it and she hates the world for still turning, but it does. 

That’s a comfort to some people. That life still continues on, that people have continued on. But it is not a comfort to her, it is bitter. To see people find new love all the time, to have friends over, to still be living. 

It’s a curse, she thinks. 

She doesn’t come into the office for two months. She doesn’t have to, and most everyone is too scared of her to tell her to do anything. 

No one’s sure exactly how Stark Industries will do without Tony. God knows they’ve planned for it. Pepper had, ever since she discovered the suit of armor and Tony’s been planning since before that. 

He had told her once when they were both getting drunk on a patio on a late summer evening, and he told her that he wasn’t sure that he should have kids. 

“I’m the world’s biggest fuck-up,” he had said, laughing at himself. “Why would I subject anyone to another generation of that?” 

That was before they were together, and it was when Pepper was dating someone else who was very...safe. 

Pepper’s learned since then that she’ll never like safe. She tried to convince herself of that, but she can’t. Not since she loves Tony as much as she does, not since she can’t look away from the news. 

- 

Three months in. 

Three months in, and Pepper gets an ad. 

This isn’t necessarily suspicious. 

But the thing is, it’s one of Tony’s funny little things that he does; he makes little ads for her throughout the day so that her day doesn’t suck as bad. Usually it’s for outlandish tourist traps that they’ve never visited. 

This time, it’s for the largest ball of twine, somewhere in Kansas. 

Come unravel the truth for yourself! the ad blinks, flashing furiously fast for something that was made so recent. 

She would expect that ad in the early days of the internet, when everything was flashy and people thought that was the only way to grab your attention. 

The phrasing is...odd. Why would you go there to “verify” it for yourself if it was already something they thought? 

And why for somewhere so far away? 

She doesn’t want to be one of those desperate, sobbing partners who refuse to admit the truth, search frantically for something that might not be there, is literally almost guaranteed to not be there. 

But fuck it. What else does she have to lose? Her sanity? That’s not exactly something she’d miss. 

- 

She starts by having Jarvis look through her entire computer. 

He finds one anomaly. An anomaly that shouldn’t be there, because Tony is the one who everything-proofed her computer, and he’s the only one who should be able to send the questionably-sourced advertisements. 

Jarvis picks up a very faint signal. 

- 

Pepper finds out that she gets her own suit. 

She scolds herself inside her own head as she feels a thrill race up her spine. 

She’s bringing him back, her heart sings. 

The problem is that she hasn’t told anyone. She doesn’t want anyone to know, doesn’t want anyone to see him if he’s...gone. 

So she touches down at an abandoned warehouse and her heart thrums, and then she’s surrounded. 

“You know, I was told that he had new tech,” the man says, sneering. “I just wasn’t aware it came with such a pretty woman attached.” 

“It also comes with three different bullet varieties to test out,” Pepper says sweetly, the darts coming out of the shoulders. “Would you like to test out how well they cut through you?” 

“Oh, we’re about to have fun.” 

It’s not as much fun as this guy predicts. He’s an old colleague of SI, as it turns out. Got fired about five years before Pepper got hired for some “misconduct” that was quickly swept under about a million other press releases. 

He’s very good at underestimation. 

Pepper is blasting through any attack he might have had, and the system in place for the armor--Friday--is adapting quite well, considering the circumstances. 

Fighting still takes a considerably long time, however. She’s starting to get frustrating, and then she gets asked a question: 

“You currently have lasers at your disposal, Miss Potts. It would help the situation, although it can be a mess. Would you like to use it?” 

“...how bad of a mess?” 

“I can aim for nonlethal areas.” 

“Shoot for the stars, Fry.” 

“As you wish, Madam.” 

There is lots of screaming. She wishes there wasn’t. She wishes she could be a better person, but she can’t. Not when Tony is so, so close and not when she loves him as hard as she does. 

- 

He’s tied up, thin, and more bruised than he’s been since...since he came back from the desert. 

But he looks at her, and she knows that they’ll make it out. 

“Did you...you got the ad, right?” 

“I got the ad.” 

“Good. I wasn’t sure...” 

“Sh,” she says, putting her hand to his face. “We got it. We got it. Did they take your armor?” 

He thinks for a moment, and she feels terrible. But she knows how much it would help him, how much he cares for his creations. 

“In the briefcase. It needs a secondary DNA signature if I hit distress.” 

“Is Rhodey the secondary?” Pepper asks, panic rising in her voice, because she wants to get out of here, get to a safe place, fall together again. 

“No. You.” 

She visibly sighs in relief, and smiles. 

“I love you.” 

“The only piece of knowledge that got me through,” Tony says. “That, and the promise of pizza when we get back.” 

Pepper rolls her eyes affectionately. 

“We’ll debate when we reach home. Where’s the briefcase?” 

“Two rooms over, on the left. I think.” 

- 

The other people who are left in the building don’t put up a fight. They’re all untrained in combat, and one comment from Tony leaves them well-aware: 

“This is my partner. She’s pissed. Do with that information what you will.” 

-

His suit goes on, and Pepper can see stress bleed away from his body. 

“Go home,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his helmet. “I’ll meet you there.” 

“I’m sorry if you didn’t want the suit,” Tony says. “I’m really, really sorry. But I figured it could make you safe, I didn’t want...I didn’t want you to ever have to use it.” 

“You know me better than that,” Pepper says. “And I...I don’t mind this, honestly.” 

“You don’t?” Tony asks, confused. “But the whole getting-rid-of-the-suits-on-Christmas?” 

“...I’ll make it up to you.” 

Tony smiles, and she’s missed that. 

- 

The flight home is much better. She can enjoy some of it, and Friday even puts on a bit of music for the trip home. 

Tony is already lying down, and people know the news. She lets the team run through, getting confirmation. So long as Tony allows it, so does she, although she does take a bit of liberty and cut off public visiting hours at nine p.m. 

He’s exhausted, already asleep. 

Pepper still sits, still looks at him with all the stars and promises that can be held by one earth in her eyes. 

"I’m happy you’re here,” she says. “Because I would’ve ended the earth to get you back again.” 

[calamity-bean]

Reddie Fic Recs: Canon Divergent

Comprising stories that substantially alter the events of canon — typically so that Eddie survives the final showdown with Pennywise, because that’s the kind of content I crave. Includes ones set during the events of the film(s) as well as ones set in the future that use the premise that Eddie didn’t die. For stories in which Eddie dies like in canon but doesn’t necessarily stay dead, check out my Canon Compliant recs.

This is a mixture of complete works and WIPs, of various ratings and lengths, mostly recent (like, posted since the release of Chapter 2). If part of a series, I’ve listed only the first work. More possibly to be added at any time I feel like it!

the anatomy of a joke by crescenteluce

He trails off and Bev raises an eyebrow. ‘So, you being in bed together fits in there how exactly?’

‘No, Jesus, Bev.’ Eddie says and Richie, horrifyingly, feels his cheeks heat under Bev’s suspicious look. Something needs to be done, so he plucks Eddie’s phone from his hands.

‘I am appalled by your implications, Beverly.’ He says sternly, trying to ignore the blood still not quite done rushing to his face. ‘I would have you know that I’d never defile Eddie like that, the poor man’s 40 year old and still a virgin and if I’d have the honor of-’

He’s cut off by Eddie trying to wrestle the phone away from him as Bev cackles delightedly.

and they read off our names by liquidsky

Eddie survives.

Part 1 of that ends well to end up with you

Button Up Your Overcoat by stitchy

“It’s just a gut check, there is no gun to your balls here,” says Richie. "But if you were gonna be a dad... what do you think you’d like about it?”

Eddie glances at the dog, who just looks back at him like, I dunno, man, he didn’t clear this with me. I thought we were just hanging out and watching some Treehouse of Horror tonight.

Call It What You Want by hannahberrie

They’re just staring at each other in the middle of a crowded New York train station, and it’s almost midnight. There’s supposed to be a thunderstorm tonight, according to the forecast, but Eddie can’t really remember that right now.

In which, after separating from Myra, Eddie goes to stay at Richie's place in Manhatten.

Cards on the Table by jendavis

Ben had kissed Bev, and it had brought her back from the deadlights. Eddie tries the same thing with Richie. Richie comes out of it knowing how to kill it, and knowing that he'd just seen Eddie die.

He's kind of a mess. It's kind of Eddie's fault.

Part 1 of Writing on the Wall

Cruel Summer by actuallymaxie

Richie used to call it an itch. Eddie makes him feel like it’s something else. It’s one thing to feel it. It’s something else to be able to say it out loud.

Or: Eddie doesn’t die. That doesn’t mean there’s a happily ever after. Not right away, at least.

for better, for worse by kaspbrak_kid

Eddie's done a fucking lot of brave things in the past year and a half. He did a lot of brave things in Derry, and then left his wife and started therapy and came to Ben and Bev's wedding even though he's been in love with his best friend for somewhere between six months and thirty years. Even though he knew it'd be fucking hard. He's not sure how many brave things he has left in him.

hoping to be found by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)

When everything in Derry is said and done, Eddie really doesn’t know what the fuck to do. He goes back to New York, alone, because he doesn't have any other immediate options - and he heals.

i am easy to find by zach_stone

Or, 25-year-old Richie Tozier doesn't know why he can't remember his childhood, or why he has nightmares about yellow eyes looming in the dark. Then he finds an old photo of friends he can't remember, and things start to change. A "what if Richie and Eddie found each other again during the 27 years" fic.

If You Believe by websters_lieb

What if Eddie held on just a little bit longer? What if the losers figured out how to kill it just a little bit earlier? What if Eddie made it out of Neibolt, injured and barely holding on, but alive?

When Eddie emerges from the cavern to see Richie floating, he just about shits himself.

Part 1 of The Ever After

In Case Of Emergency Contact E.Kaspbrak by stitchy

It wasn’t immediately obvious to the Losers that something was wrong with Richie after the Deadlights. After all, his eyesight had always been shit.

in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang

There’s a heatwave in L.A., the first time Richie sees Eddie naked.

or

One very hot year in the life of two idiots in love, working shit out.

In This Cold Heart by pineapplecrushface

The future Richie sees while he's caught in the deadlights gives him a chance to save Eddie. In the year afterward, they both try to follow Stan's advice.

it’s about time that you just unwind by fuckener

“It sucked to tell people,” Richie said suddenly, tapping a finger on his glass. He was avoiding eye contact again. “Like - it just really fucking sucked. I’m old. I’m like middle-aged. You’re this old and you just start telling people you're gay, they think, ‘Jesus! That dude’s got issues.’ Because they’re right, and you do.”

“It must have come as a real shock to our friends,” Eddie said, staring. “That you have issues.”

it’s coming out backwards by banksoflochlomond

The problem is that he’s known it his entire life. Or at least as long as Eddie started sputtering after Richie’s “your mom” jokes. As long as Eddie, with his small delicate fucking body, muscled up to him and told Richie he was gonna get herpes from licking the swingset. As long as Richie’s known his button nose, still nice as shit after twenty-seven fucking years.

But Richie’s never said it out loud. Never let himself feel it, except when he had to. Maybe that’s why Richie was so good at forgetting Derry. He never wanted to remember. Never wanted to deal with the albatross he’d pretty much surgically attached to his back.

He’s got to, though. Say it out loud. Say it to Eddie.

(Or, Eddie survives. The road for Richie isn't any easier, though.)

it’s time the kid got free by zach_stone

But now he remembers his childhood, and the fierceness of all the emotions he felt back then — love most of all. Love was a blood oath, it was Bev handing him the fencepost that could kill monsters, it was what made him throw that fencepost into Its gaping maw to save Richie from the deadlights.

When it comes to what love feels like for Eddie, it’s always been — different, with Richie. He loves all of his friends with all of his heart, but Richie has burrowed in deeper, somehow, and if Eddie were a more dramatic or poetic man he might say he loves Richie in his bones, in his soul. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t say that, even if he maybe thinks it a little bit and feels ridiculous.

just be still with me by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson)

Eddie Kaspbrak is 38, working as a driver in New York. Richie Tozier is a stand up comic who comes to New York on a one way ticket to audition for SNL, and his agent has hired Eddie as his driver. There's something familiar about Richie, though Eddie knows they've never met. While Richie insists on sitting in the front seat and making something more than small talk, Eddie struggles to maintain professional distance.

Basically - what if Eddie and Richie did forget, and didn't see each other for 25 years, but they fell in love anyways.

Part 1 of i can stare for a thousand years (you wouldn't believe what i've been through)

The Kids Table by stitchy

For the most part Richie and his sister have a doctrine of mutually assured destruction. They could obliterate each other with their parents given the slightest provocation. To keep things at an even keel, they steer clear of each other as much as possible every other day of the year, but on Thanksgiving? Kids Table is like their NATO.

A series of Tozier Thanksgivings, from '85 to '19.

last ones out by gayingenue

Richie wonders if it’s always been this hard for him to touch Eddie. It hasn’t; they were incredibly touchy as kids, falling all over each other, gangly limbs intertwined. Even as adults, a few days before, Richie had barely been able to keep his hands off of him. Eddie almost dying did something, though. Chipped away at something deep within Richie. From the bed, Eddie laughs.

Like Pulling Teeth by  stitchy

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered. Maybe there was a curling iron around here somewhere he could electrocute himself with. He scrounged a few safety pins from the counter and passed them to Bev without looking directly at Richie. He knew he was being a little bitch, but he could not let on how jealous he was. Their friendship barely survived the Christmas Richie got a Sega.

- In which Eddie mistakes wanting to be ON Richie for wanting to BE Richie -

Love It If We Made It by areyoureddiekids

Eddie lives. Richie stumbles through being in love with the man who used to be, and could still be, his best friend, and maybe something more. This is how they find each other again as adults, in the aftermath of finally killing It.

men who are afraid of the light by beepbeep (aceface)

Eddie survives.

“Well,” says Richie. “I wanted to fuck Paul Bunyan and nothing turns you off your homosexual urges like a murder clown filling his mouth with dagger teeth. Can you imagine those wrapped around your dick? Worst blowjob ever.”

Missing the Boat by stitchy

About a year after Derry, the Losers plan a cruise to Bev and Ben's destination wedding. Cross country travel being the bitch it is, Richie and Eddie miss the boat and get stranded until they can catch a flight out to Hawaii. It's a blast from the past Good Time TM, but Eddie wants to know- why has Richie been so distant?

Part 1 of Missing the Boat 

My Four Leaf Clover by pineapplecrushface

After Derry, Eddie starts dreaming, gets his shit together, and figures out how to live.

New Page, Same Old Book by Rend_Herring

He thought he’d hidden these feelings from himself, stowed them away in some dark corner and learned not to think about it. But the second Eddie peaked in from around the corner at the Jade and looked at Richie with those big, limpid pools of Christmas Orphan meets Bambi, and started rambling about gluten and cashews, it all came flooding back into focus. Richie has loved Eddie so long that it’s become an ache that goes beyond reason.

no sense of living without aim by Anonymous

Eddie had been on grindr for all of two days and in that time he’d already seen more dicks than he had in the nearly forty years of his life. He’d gone methodically through his messages and blocked all the catfishes, the possible serial killers and the bores, and eventually settled on a promising ‘37. DTF. I'll make u a drink after’ (637 feet away).

Or, sometimes your long-lost childhood crush is the anonymous hook-up you meet along the way.    

not quite young by saintsrow2

Richie was sitting in a chair in front of a dressing table, looking into the lit-up mirror while he sipped a glass of amber bourbon. He looked up when Eddie walked in and then there were no words; neither of them had thought this far ahead. Eddie stood awkwardly in the open door, feeling very much like he was still waiting for the big prank to be revealed, for there to be machinations behind all of this that he couldn’t understand. “Hey, Trashmouth,” he said, eventually. “Hey, Eds,” Richie said. “You know I always hated being called that,” Eddie said. “Not when it’s me.”

An AU in which Richie and Eddie meet before Mike calls them all back to Derry, the affair that follows, and the consequences both of them want to ignore.

Richie and Eddie Outrun the Devil (in Richie’s Rental Car) by sofia_estrella

“If It’s trying to kill us, I don’t want to get on an airplane.”

“Air travel is statistically safer than—”

“Eds, please. I don’t think I can handle a cross-country flight by myself right now. There isn’t enough Ambien in the world.”

Eddie snorts. “What are you gonna do then?”

“Drive, I guess.”

“You’re gonna… drive… to L.A.?”

+ alternate title: An Evil Clown Can’t Kill You If You Drive Fast Enough

(Stand-Up) Routines & (Engagement) Rings by cajungirlkye

2 years after the events of IT: Chapter Two, Richie brings Eddie out on stage during one of his stand-up performances in order to ask a Very. Important. Question.

sweet as cherry wine by pearlshop

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, teeth chattering. He’s soaked to the bone, a cornflower blue polo clinging to his small shoulders. It’s the only thing he’s wearing besides a pair of khakis that are also soaked through. Richie is suddenly very sober. “Eds?” or: Eddie leaves Myra and shows up at Richie's door.

Things that Happen after Eddie Lives by IfItHollers

In a world where Richie manages to save Eddie from It after the deadlights, they still have problems on their to-do list. Featuring everything from Derry to Los Angeles—Richie Tozier's murder trial, Eddie Kaspbrak's divorce proceedings, bedsharing of the platonic and non-platonic varieties, an investigation of magic, a truly disgusting séance, the quintessential morosexual road trip, and OH MY GOD THEY WERE ROOMMATES.

Part 1 of Things that Happen After

we're f***ing killing it, babe by thenewlondoner (muleumpyo)

Richie has been back in Derry for three days and murdered an Eldritch horror-esque monster from space or possibly from some weird meta-verse, who knows, and faced both of his childhood fears of clowns and his own death, as well as the possibility of losing his first love just as he remembered they fucking existed, he’d like some slack cut for him on the emotional front, thank you!

OR

Eddie is dead, but the Losers carry him out of the house on Neibolt anyway. Which is good, because Eddie is not dead.

we were always here at the right time by fuckener

Eddie’s eyes were getting heavy again. Richie helped him back down to the pillow.

“It’s always kind of like this, isn’t it,” he mumbled.

Richie didn’t move. He was still holding Eddie’s hand, his shoulder.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“You and me,” Eddie said. What else?

what doesn’t kill me (makes me want you more) by beautifulbane

Eddie survives. He goes back to New York and divorces Myra, but a part of him is still unhappy. It isn’t until he sees Richie a year later at Ben and Bev’s wedding that he realizes why.

you're already gone by ameliepoulain

You can never get enough, Robert Smith cries over the static, and Richie turns around wearing that dumb smile again.

All Eddie can think is: soon, all this will be gone.

You’re So Stupid by StilesBastille24

“Hey,” Richie greets brightly.

Eddie looks over, one hand reaching for the remote to turn off the tv. “They said their letting me out today,” he says, eyes narrowed as he peers over Richie’s shoulder. “You know, Derry’s hospital doesn’t even make the rank of top hospitals in Maine? I’ll be lucky if I’m not back in here from a fucking blood infection in two days.” He braces both of his palms against the mattress and tries to push himself further upright.

Richie swoops in before something horrific like split stitches can occur. “Cool it, Evel Knievel, or your going to be bleeding all over these perfectly white sheets, and then they’ll definitely think twice about letting you out of here.”