#but then immediately had to pivot to all the ways this happens in america too so she didn’t get her nationalistic feelings hurt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

traincat · 3 years ago

Note

I feel like I've read a ton, but I'm honestly still pretty new to comics rn. That being said... What is one more day? Ik we don't like it and it happened a while ago, but that's about it [,=

Time for Spider-Man History With Traincat: Highly Controversial Storylines! And that feeling is totally normal with comics with huge canons -- you can read a ton and still have some fairly big blindspots in your understanding of the total picture. That being said, this is kind of a big one, both in terms of Spider-Man history/canon and in terms of how Spider-Man fandom functions. I would say probably no other storyline has had quite as much impact on how the fandom views and interacts with the source material as One More Day/Brand New Day. It's been the Wild West out here ever since it happened. (Which was in 2007, so like, yes, fairly long ago, especially when you look at how Spider-Man canon has evolved since, but in the grand scheme of things, also kind of recent. One More Day is not old enough to rent a car.)

So when people talk about Spider-Man's One More Day, they're usually actually talking about two related arcs: One More Day and Brand New Day. For the sake of simplicity, I'm going to be covering both. For the sake of transparency, I am going to admit that I think One More Day, as a self-contained story, is good, actually. This is controversial! I admit that! But I stand by my stupid opinions on this blog, for some reason. I think One More Day when you examine it on its own, by which I mean you ignore the decade and a half worth of canon that came after it, as a Spider-Man story and as a PeterMJ-centric story holds up under scrutiny and that people who don't like it don't like complicated love stories and might actually throw their own mothers under buses. No offense to the OMD haters. Little bit of offense to the OMD haters. Brand New Day, which is the continuation of One More Day, on the other hand -- largely bad. Very largely bad.

But let's backtrack. One More Day is a four issue crossover storyline that takes place directly after Civil War, during which Iron Man and Captain America got divorced and divvied up the superhero community and Spider-Man made some startlingly bad decisions and made a fugitive out of himself and his family in a manner that got Aunt May shot, and Spider-Man: Back in Black (Amazing Spider-Man #539–543) which examines Peter's actions immediately after Aunt May is shot and ends with him humiliating the Kingpin in front of an entire prison. One More Day consists of Amazing Spider-Man #544 -> Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man #24 -> Sensational Spider-Man v2 #41 -> Amazing Spider-Man #545. In One More Day, Aunt May is dying, all of Peter's efforts to save her have thus far failed, and, consumed by guilt, he is rapidly running out of time. Approached by Mephisto, a literal demon from hell, Peter is offered a deal: Aunt May will live -- and Peter's identity, which was previously revealed to the world at large during Civil War, will once again be hidden from the memories of all but a select few -- if Peter trades him his marriage to Mary Jane. Peter and Mary Jane struggle with this, but eventually both agree to the deal. The clock strikes twelve, the deal is done, and Peter and Mary Jane's marriage fades into history.

(ASM #545) A reasonably simple premise for a story that caused so many problems -- most, I would argue, not actually the original story's fault. So obviously, this was an unpopular move -- Peter and Mary Jane had for a long time been a fan favorite Marvel couple, and in a fictional universe where most relationships are doomed as soon as they begin, the enduring Spider-Marriage was sacred ground. And then, with a snap of its fingers, it was gone: Peter wakes up in Aunt May's house, no longer married, with Mary Jane out of the picture. (She would not return to the book on any sort of consistent basis for over 50 issues.) In the wake of One More Day began Brand New Day, which is basically what it sounds like: a promised "brand new day" of "exciting" Spider-Man content and a publishing schedule where Amazing Spider-Man came out three times a month. (Which sounds good on paper but I think in practice caused more problems than it created good storylines.) Peter, newly single again, had new love interests! And also Harry Osborn was alive again for some reason! I generally like Harry's post-BND stories so that part's fine with me.

But overall? Brand New Day is a mess. It knows it wants to tread new and exciting ground with Peter -- tell new stories! ensnare new readers! make them fork out for a book three times a month. -- but it doesn't know what those stories should be. Readers who were invested in Peter and Mary Jane's relationship -- a major facet of Spider-Man comics for decades at that point -- felt rightfully betrayed that the marriage could be so easily traded in and that Mary Jane herself, perhaps the second most important figure in Spider-Man comics after Peter, could be tossed aside. From a personal point of view, I think Brand New Day fails in large part because it abandons what has always made Spider-Man such a compelling series, and that's the mix of Peter's personal life with his vigilante life. BND sees Peter with new friends, new jobs, new love interests, etc -- it is very much a brand new day! But it isn't a better day compared to the stories that came before it. I do like some post-BND stories, especially American Son (ASM #595-599) and Grim Hunt (ASM #634-637), but compared to pre-BND where I think the majority of canon is good, it's a very lacking body of work that is hurt by the way it divorced itself from the PeterMJ marriage as Spider-Man's central relationship.

"But Traincat, I thought you said you liked One More Day?" Yeaaaaah. I do. This is why I keep saying I like One More Day on its own merits, and not on the merits of the stories it opened the doors for. I like a good romantic tragedy in fiction, and the way Peter and Mary Jane's final scene in One More Day plays out is beautiful. I like the idea of Peter caught in this impossible situation, being asked to choose between two women he loves more than his own life. A really common criticism I see leveled against One More Day is that Peter should have chosen his relationship with Mary Jane over May's life, which is -- okay, I think it's weird that people keep insisting on this, not in the least because by asking Peter to sacrifice his aunt's life they're essentially demanding he commit a callous, out of character act in order to further his own interests. It's also weird because the thing is, Peter already chose Mary Jane over May -- that's what gets them into this situation. It's literally in the scene where May is shot:

(ASM #538) When the gun goes off, Peter's spider-sense kicks in, and he covers Mary Jane, leaving May in the path of the bullet. He does choose Mary Jane over May, regardless of whether he realized what he was doing. And that's why he can't make that choice a second time. His actions in One More Day do make sense for him as a character, whether or not any individual reader likes them, and Mary Jane's actions make sense, too -- after all, she's the one who ultimately tells Mephisto that they agree to the deal when Peter can't bring himself to voice it.

A lot of people also like to nitpick One More Day by going, well, why could (x) or (y) with life saving powers save Aunt May which is like -- yeah, I guess, but if we're going to ask that about this specific comic book near death setup, you kind of have to do it with every single one, and I'm not going to stake every single moment of comic book drama on whether or not that gold kid from the X-Men was busy at the time. Comics are soap operas in flimsy paper form: serialized longform storytelling that relies heavily on melodrama. Sometimes you have to go with things. Sometimes you sell your marriage to the devil. Stuff happens. That in and of itself doesn't make One More Day a bad story -- and while some people blame the Spider-Marriage's dissolution entirely on One More Day, I think that's a little shortsighted when you look at the history of Spider-Man since the turn of the century. It's clear -- and Marvel themselves have been perhaps a little too open about this -- that Marvel in the past few decades has had trouble with the direction they want to take Spider-Man. They WANTED Spider-Man to appeal to a distinctly youthful audience that they didn't think they were actually reaching -- understandable, considering that Marvel nearly went bankrupt around 2000 and was saved by Ultimate Spider-Man, an out of main continuity series which retold Spider-Man from the beginning and focused heavily on Peter as a teen -- but the problem was Spider-Man in the main continuity was at that point in canon a happily married man who was pushing the dreaded 30 whether or not they wanted to admit that. This is also why Marvel has continually pivoted away from Spider-Man having kids, because they feared that making him a dad would age him too much and make him unrelatable to their coveted audience of Teens. (This is also why almost every new Spider-Man property, especially the live action movies, perpetually stick him back into high school, despite that occupying a very small slice of 616 canon.) So around the year 2000, they started trying things in relation to the Spider-Marriage, which was viewed as a major problem -- after all, what's more adult than being married and liking your wife. First, they had Mary Jane presumed dead. Then, they had Mary Jane and Peter separate. Then, when Mary Jane and Peter had only recently gotten back together, One More Day struck. If One More Day specifically hadn't gone the way it had, it's pretty clear that the Spider-Marriage was going to go one way or another -- it's a little bit of a shame it happened when it did, because OMD is the end of J Michael Straczynski's run, and JMS wrote a really beautiful Peter and MJ relationship. But Marvel as a company and especially editor in chief at the time Joe Quesada viewed Peter and Mary Jane's relationship as a major problem in how they wanted to portray Spider-Man and thought that striking the relationship from the books would allow them more freedom in their portrayal of him as younger and more relatable to their Desired Audience of people who I guess really wanted to see Peter sleep with characters who weren't Mary Jane.

(ASM #546. Younger! Fresher! Less attached! Kissing random women in the club!)

The problem with One More Day has always been in the follow through -- from the content of Brand New Day to the pacing of events to the fact that Marvel withheld key information for such a long time that it allowed misinformation to thrive. After all, what does it MEAN to trade Peter and Mary Jane's marriage to the devil? It altered the events of canon in Peter and the majority of other characters' memories so that the marriage didn't exist, but it left people wondering -- did the relationship as they remembered it existed? How much of Spider-Man canon was altered? And the answers didn't come for over 100 issues of Amazing Spider-Man. One Moment In Time or OMIT (Amazing Spider-Man #638-641), which revealed that while Peter and Mary Jane never got married in the altered canon they did continue their long committed relationship up until just after Civil War, was published in 2010, so essentially readers were hung out to dry without answers for three years. That's a long time to string people along, but not as long as it took Marvel to confirm that the popular fan theory that Mary Jane retained her memories of the original timeline as part of her own deal with Mephisto was also true, which happened this year. I would say, at least from my perspective, a lot of the frustration doesn't come from the individual One More Day storyline so much as how Marvel has continually dragged out the aftermath, using the promise of a Spider-Marriage return to keep fans on the hook. Which is why One More Day continually comes up in discussion of current Spider-Man, because Spencer's run has relied very heavily on imagery from that period with a serious question of whether or not there actually was going to be payoff, something which is still up in the air.

This has been Spider-Man History With Traincat, brought to you by anonymice like you.

#traincat talks comics #long post #*replies

60 notes · View notes

aoitrinity · 4 years ago

Text

The “Me Too”

DISCLAIMER: I am about to put forth further speculation about a major Destiel-related event from this season, specifically the confession scene in 15x18. This is 100% pure speculation and I do not claim to have any insider knowledge AT ALL. If you are not in a place to read such things, please go take care of yourself instead of reading this. Do not cause yourself any additional pain.

If you are here to be an asshole and call me delusional...uh...I mean, go for it, but like I really don’t get what that’s doing to make your life better? If shitting on people’s desire for understanding a TV show brings you joy then uh...that says more about you than it does about me?

With that out of the way...read below the cut for my theory about the “me too” line.

I know I just unloaded my theory about the finale on all of you the other day, and that I should probably give you all a break in between my bouts of theory-dumping, but I had to get this out here tonight.

If you somehow haven’t seen it yet these last few (painfully exhausting) days, there is a rumor going around of a cut in episode 15x18 of a specific line--a “me too” that Jensen supposedly recorded during the 15x18 sequence, which would have given us all textual validation not only that Cas is in love with Dean, but that Dean is in love with Cas. Various people have been trying to confirm or deny this rumor since it surfaced. We all figured it would have happened during the final scene, with Dean crying, alone. It would have been there in place of the crying, and we hypothesized that Jensen had to dub it over with AMR of his sobs. It was an interesting thought, but we had no real proof it ever happened. I, for my part, started to assume it was entirely false.

But then tonight, on the Latin American CW, we apparently discovered that in the Spanish-language dub of 15x18, they had taken Dean’s last line to Cas, “Don’t do this Cas,” and dubbed it as “yo a ti”--translated to “me too,” seemingly confirming to us that the line did exist!

I watched the clip of the dub excitedly, hoping for some secret new shot that we had been robbed of in the original episode, but the “me too” was simply dubbed over Dean’s line of “Don’t do this Cas,” which is definitely something Dean very clearly said in the original recording. That wasn’t a dub, Jensen said that line.

So what gives? Where the heck did the “me too” come from?

Well, as apparently I am wont to do recently...I talked @winchester-reload‘s ear off and was eventually hit with a stroke of realization.

I don’t think the “me too” went in the crying scene. I think Dean said it to Cas’s face, and we were robbed of it.

Before I go any further, I want to again remind you that this is PURE SPECULATION. PLEASE JUDGE FOR YOURSELF AND ALWAYS BE SKEPTICAL.

So.

The original end of the scene runs as follows:

Dean: Why does this sound like a goodbye?

Cas: Because it is. I love you.

Dean: Don’t do this, Cas.

*a longing exchange of looks, with Cas smiling through his tears even more broadly than he was earlier*

*the Empty appears and Dean starts to panic*

Cas: Goodbye Dean.

*Cas throws Dean out the way, smiles at him one last time, and is taken*

Now that always struck me as a sort of weird exchange because...I mean, Dean can tell Cas not to “do this,” but whatever he was going to do that would get his ass taken by the Empty, he had clearly already done. But I originally handwaved it as Dean begging Cas not to go and leave him again by dying, even though it was too late, because I was too entranced with the beauty of the scene and of the performances to imagine anything otherwise.

However, after this Spanish-language dub story broke this evening, I started to wonder if the exchange had initially gone a little bit differently.

What if the “don’t do this, Cas” was pulled from earlier in the scene?

I would have originally imagined that it actually went between the “Because it is” and the “I love you,” but in the leaked shots of script we got a few days ago, there doesn’t seem to be any line there--Cas goes straight from his “because it is” to the “I love you.” Thus I conclude one of two things: either the line it was adlibbed or added by Jensen on the spot, between the “because it is” and the “I love you,” or it was dialogue that originally came earlier in the scene.

Either way, what matters is that I think that line, “Don’t do this, Cas,” was moved to after Cas’s “I love you” in the final cut and replaced the “me too.” I think the initial episode probably followed the Latin American dub instead, and went like this (with the one line inserted where I feel it best fits, though again, it could have come from earlier):

Dean: Why does this sound like a goodbye?

Cas: Because it is.

(Dean: Don’t do this, Cas)

Cas: I love you.

Dean: ...me too.

*a longing exchange of looks, with Cas smiling through his tears even more broadly than he was earlier*

*the Empty appears and Dean starts to panic*

Cas: Goodbye Dean.

*Cas throws Dean out the way, smiles at him one last time, and is taken*

Well.

Doesn’t that all hit a bit differently now? Doesn’t it now make sense why, after Dean’s line, Cas starts smiling more broadly than he was during the entire rest of the scene? Doesn’t it make sense now that when Dean turns to look back at the Empty emerging, there are way more tears in his eyes than there were in the prior shot? Doesn’t Dean’s body language line up better between shots if we read it this way? Doesn’t it make Cas’s sacrifice hurt both more and less at the same time, because he could go to the Empty knowing he was loved in return? That he had the one thing he wanted most?

To me, at least, it does.

Unfortunately, I think that, similar to what I speculate happened with the finale...they were told by the network that they had to cut Dean’s reciprocation because the CW panicked about coming off as too gay at the last moment. You can read all about that in my other post.

Anyway, here’s more food for thought. Remember @oceaxe-ifdawn’s post about how she had spoken with a cast member about how the script for the finale was being frantically rewritten in March, the weekend after they finished shooting for 15x18? Why would they suddenly have to start tossing out their own ending in MARCH? TWO WEEKS before they were supposed to start filming the finale?

What if it was because that was the moment when the network started to pivot? If their contacts on set told them how very beautifully homosexually gay the scene was, and that was the moment that the CW decided that they couldn’t risk losing a very specific (conservative, heterosexual) part of their fanbase and needed to start toning down the gay before it got out of hand? And since they couldn’t obviously go back and reshoot anything for 15x18, given everyone then immediately went into quarantine for COVID, they had to remove Dean’s reciprocation from the script and replace it with another, earlier shot, that could have FEASIBLY gone in its place. But they couldn’t take Cas’s confession because it was entirely necessary to the whole plot of the season (and that, I think, was a fucking genius move by the writers to at least get us this much--god bless you, Bobo).

And this way, the CW could actually have their cake and eat it too--they could claim they were still being accepting of queer people (look, we let Cas confess his affection for Dean!) while avoiding the potential loss of their favorite cishet male audience (whom they really want to transition to Walker after all of this is over because MONEY) that they might suffer if that audience discovered that one of their two “traditionally masculine” lead characters was in love with another man this whole time.

The only reason they didn’t carry it all off is that, when they needed to send the script over to the Spanish-language dubbers for recording, there was some sort of screw-up. They somehow forgot to have the dialogue swapped out back in March and the lines were never replaced in the dub script.

And that is how we got the “me too” line from Dean in Latin America tonight, a line that we had heard rumors existed, but had no actual evidence of... until now.

I’m sorry to have pulled you guys into this theory with me, but... It just lines up too perfectly. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, yes, but sometimes that cigar is actually a dick. A big, beautiful, gay dick that your stupid homophobic TV network executives are censoring because they are afraid of the reactions of their more conservative viewership.

On the plus side, I think that this more than ever confirms that Destiel is and was always canon. Textually. Reciprocally. 110%.

And the CW fucking robbed us of it.

#supernatural season 15 #spn finale #destiel #destielgate #speculation #fuck the cw #trust the story #we were robbed #i hate that I keep having to sound like a fucking conspiracy theorist in order to make sense of what happened #god forbid they had just KEPT TO THE FUCKING PLAN THE WRITERS HAD SO BEAUTIFULLY SCRIPTED #that would have made too much fucking sense #and been too beautiful #and too perfect #no #we had to have some fucking executive fuckery #i hate it here

178 notes · View notes

shini--chan · 4 years ago

Note

1p (yandere) allies or axis The (country)reader gives them love and affection, because she knows they in love with her. They have a relationship, for few months. One day they come home and in the private office are really important documents missing. And they see the reader in the next meetings not (for years?). One day they see her again, what would they do?

Yandere Allies

America

He grinned menacingly at the sight of you. Anger was already slithering through your veins, the harsh snap of it causing his mind to fall into a familiar calculating state. He had fantasied about this moment for a long time, yearned for your touch for a long time, desire to crush you for your transgressions for a long time.

Maybe he was a moonstruck fool that simply couldn’t let go for feeling his heart palpitate upon the sight of you. Or he was just plain sadistic by the blissful way his blood rushed upon seeing you pale with fear.

Running away wouldn’t work at this point, since Alfred would be dead set on obtaining you and making you repent for your sins. He wouldn’t take espionage lightly, especially since you represented a honey-trap. All the memories he would have about you would be pleasant ones, and he would reflect back on those times where you were so perfect fondly. America would aim to recapture those moments and mould your persona to his liking.

He may or may not meet you again by chance, or he would have been actively hunting you down. If there is anything that can enrage America, it would be being bested – something you would have somehow accomplished with frightening ease. And something you would have to pay for. In Alfred’s eyes, it would just be fair play.

Canada

One moment you were calmly going through the aisles of the store, the next you were staring into indigo eyes. There was a smile on Matthew’s face – the soft, considerate kind that didn’t reach his eyes. There, an icy glint lingered, dangerous and subtle like frostbite in the bleak mid-winter.

Internally, you knew that was far more deadly than the usual temper tantrums, that people throw once they are betrayed. By the likes of it, you had made a fatal error in your calculations.

If you thought you’d be facing a flimsy little wallflower that has no backbone, then think again. Matthew’s anger is ice, and therefore he isn’t as blinded by emotions as others would be. Sure, deep down he would still love you (or rather be obsessed with you), yet that doesn’t mean that you would be off the hook.

No way in the whole world would he let you get away with what you did. However, with his kind words and sugary tone you wouldn’t be aware of the full extent of his rage. Unluckily for you, Canada is a hunter and he would know exactly how to pin you down and ensure you wouldn’t be able to escape until he would have his justice.

China

“It has been a very long time, hasn’t it, my little rabbit?”, a silky-smooth voice inquired behind you. Startled, you whipped around, nearly spilled the champagne that you were delicately holding, and stared him in the eye.

The amber was cat-like, just like the tight smile on his lips. Feline as he was, no doubt he had all intentions to play with his prey. The music being drawn from the piano would be the requiem of your pride, and the other guests to the gala the audience to applaud the abrupt turn of your fate.

“When you went away, you broke my heart. I was struck by betrayal and I couldn’t keep my thoughts off you.

“Often, I would fantasize about you – what I would say, what would you say. But in the end, that is all irreverent. I’m simply a victim of the circumstances, here to set matters straight and you have gone ahead and set the stage. I am most touched”, he drawled, genuine hurt in his light tone.

The other people had started to look and whisper, the impending fall from grace too delicious to pass up. Such negative attention made you clutch the fragile stem of the flute even tighter.

Glass shards could never evoke as much pain as Yao’s sharp tongue.

China would be smouldering with rage underneath the artfully crafted theatre mask. First of all, he would angry at himself. Due all the experience he has under his belt, he should know better than to fall for the tricks of some young fledgling. Still he did and the implications infuriate him. Nonetheless, the whole affair would be analysed and carefully catalogued in his mind to prevent you from ever having the upper hand again.

Secondly, he would be upset with you. Did all those kind words really mean nothing to you? All those tender moments, all those affections – a magnificent lie? He’d hope that deep down you had sincerely fallen in love with him. Through he wouldn’t be so foolish to act on that assumption. As old as he may be, he isn’t senile.

Try as you might to wriggle out of it, he wouldn’t let you. In an indirect way, you would have brought disgrace to his name by making him look like a fool. That means he wouldn’t hesitate to thoroughly humiliate you in public. Then he’d ensure that you would wind up in his gracious custody – with no means of ever leaving him. Having then isolate you, he would use that precious time with you to re-educate you. Whoever did it before he entered your life evidently did a measly job.

England

When you switched on the light to your living room, you nearly tripped over your own feet in shock. Malice danced like fae fire in the pair of eyes that scrutinized your every move and drank in your terrified expression like it was whisky.

Eventually overcoming the initial shock, you seethed: “What are you doing here. Decent people knock on the door and don’t simply invite themselves in!”

“Strange for you to say that. Even hypocritic, if I may remark”, Arthur lightly said, words slow as if he was weighing every word against gold. No doubt he was barely holding all the insults back.

He gestured to the armchair opposite him. “Have a seat. There all a lot of things we need to talk about, and loose end to tie up.”

Out of all the nations, England would be the most volatile. When your relationship would have started, he would have been cautious, even suspicious to a degree. His paranoia would have been well-founded, especially with how many times he’d been backstabbed in the past. That he had invested his trust in you only for you to abuse it would reaffirm his belief that it would be best to keep his hackles raised. Never tiring, he would hunt you down, constantly torn between the desire for revenge and how he would yearn for your love. That mixture would be potentially lethal.

Arthur might kill you with the justification of “if I can’t have you, no-one can” or also “a fitting punishment for your crime. However, that option would just be further down his list. If you act polite, then he would largely reciprocate the favour. If you lash out or even just insult him then he would rain fire and brimstone down on you.

The conversation would be like an interrogation, with only a thin veil of civility leaving room for something else. Should you beg for his forgiveness, then he would be pleased and even a bit lenient. That doesn’t mean that you’d evade the punishments he’d have instore for you.

France

You saw Francis before he saw you, a lucky thing on your part. Your former lover looked lost. Not that it was the initial impression that a random pass byer would glean from him, but you knew him better.

For a brief moment your thoughts darted to the documents you had leaked to your government – damaging, condemning information if it were to land in enemy hands, which was exactly what happened. If you didn’t know better, then you would pity poor France for the travesty that happened.

You prowled forward to him. Such a sappy fool, you could probably convince him that you still loved him. Maybe you could glean some more information from him.

Your hubris would really be the end of you. Naturally, France would be overjoyed to see you and immediately welcome you back with open arms and a giddy smile. Just remember that love, or rather obsession in his case, isn’t harmless. The limerence he would have with you would entail that he would squirrel you away and hoard you.

In the beginning, you wouldn’t even fully notice where the whole matter would be heading, either blinded by your own false pride or by Francis’ suave manner. Either way, if you wouldn’t wake up to his counter machinations fast, then you’d have all the information you could wish from him but no means to reporting it to your superiors. Your foolishness would land you in a gilded cage.

Russia

Once he reached the top of the hill you noticed him. Ivan was strolling down the same path that cut through meadows and forests, just a few metres ahead of you. Of all times to meet him, you had least expected it to be during your evening stroll.

You halted in your tracks, contemplating if it would be better to wait until the danger was far away or to immediately turn around and head back home. Russia ended up making the choice for you, and it was neither of the options you had in mind.

He must have somehow sensed your presence, for he glanced over your shoulder. Recognition flashed over his defined visage and it evoked a sense of dread in you. Especially when he pivoted around and approached you.

With some difficulty, you swallowed your fear, because you knew that Ivan was like a wolf that would mangle you if he whiffed weakness. Meticulously, you adored your lips with a picture-perfect smile, a painter adding the finishing touches to their masterpiece in your own right.

“It is a wonderful evening, eh?”, he asked you, in that soft voice you were so well acquainted with.

Russia would first play on pleasantries. However, don’t be fooled. He can hold a grudge and once in his grasp, he would shy away from making his displeasure known. You’d have to be very lucky to escape him and more to permanently evade him. The chance would be slim, yet it would be there. And don’t think that he would be stupid enough to point it out to you.

Your betrayal would have been a smarting blow to him, even if he would have half-expected him. And to him, petty little information thieves are surprisingly worse than cold-blooded murderers. The threat you would represent wouldn’t be obvious, yet that wouldn’t stop with from curbing all those bad habits. He’d miss the person you had displayed yourself as when you had been wooing him and he would do his best to build you to be that person in reality.

#yandere hetalia #yandere allies #yandere america #yandere england #yandere france #yandere canada #yandere china #yandere russia #yandere hetalia x reader #x reader #spy! reader

145 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Fuckin’ Legit

Pairings: Reader x Bucky Barnes Summary: Follow up to Fuckin’ Teamwork, based off this ask. A/N: More silly shenanigans. Dumbass reader :) 2.1k words

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

Bucky watches from a distance as you hurl through the air and land right heel-first on the training dummy, knocking its head off and making it bounce off the floor with enough force to lodge itself into the ceiling. The room of SHIELD recruits clap and cheer, and when the dummy’s head flops back down you kick it like a hacky-sack at Maria Hill.

“Great demonstration,” Hill catches the head and tucks it under her arm. “Are you interested in teaching a course in hand-to-hand combat with a focus on aerial recovery? Legitimately?”

“Only if you promise not to fall in love with me.” You send a wink at her and then, as soon as you see Bucky’s bewildered face through the other side of the glass, you leap after him. He’s convinced you’re dumber than a bag of rocks, but you’re not deterred by it—especially not after Maria Hill’s validation. Puffing your chest, you skip forward, “Hey, Buck! I’m legit!”

Immediately, you trip and face plant into the nearest surface. The room collectively hisses in discomfort.

“I take that back.” Maria hurriedly ushers the recruits out before they can witness anything else.

Bucky slips through the door and roughly yanks you up by your elbow, wincing when your nose reveals a line of blood dripping into your mouth. “Legit, my ass. Come on. Stark called for us.”

The air in the conference room is stagnant and overwrought with a million unsaid—unscreamed—expressions. Tony pivots on his lifted heels, finger jabbing toward the big screen where a dark and grainy image is projected.

“Care to explain this? Friday pulled it from a broadcast coming from the cell.” He narrows his eyes at you as you slump down into the swivel chair until only the top of your head shows. “How about you?” Tony gestures to Bucky.

Tony has a laser pointer in his other hand, and he shines the red spotlight on the picture where Bucky’s knees are bent and planted to the ground. The dot trails over his thigh and then over the smaller frame beneath him.

You’re there, arched upward into his torso, legs hooked around his tapered waist, heels digging into his spine. Four of his thick flesh fingers are shoved inside your mouth, pulling your cheek open, and the dim light catches a sliver of your wet tongue. His other forearm is pushed onto your sternum, holding you down.

It looks bad.

It looks like Bucky is dry humping the daylights out of you in an abandoned Hydra facility.

Sam erupts into a screeching laugh when he finally pieces it together, pitching forward until he’s flattened against the wood table. “Ho-Homygod--- This is the best day of my life. Is this the cyanide incident?”

Bucky is red from head to toe.

Natasha rolls her eyes and slides away from the table. “Tony, she ate two cyanide capsules. Barnes was wrestling them out of her mouth.”

Tony stiffens for a moment as he ponders the truth behind her statement. Then, he quirks his head like an owl, flares his nostrils, and stoops beneath the table to find you resembling a boneless pile of flesh.

“Everyone is dismissed.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “I wish I could fire you.”

A quiet whimper escapes your lips, the most pathetic noise to ever come from a human being. “But…” You whine pathetically, “I’m legit.”

A few nights later, you find yourself sneaking through yet another dusty old hideout. Surprise, surprise, Hydra is bad with maintenance and loves asbestos.

Steve made you an outline of all your tasks on his mission, written in all caps, folded neatly, and shoved it into your back pocket before departure. You skimmed over it on the plane before crumbling it up. The first bullet point had glared: NO CANDY.

Tightass.

You easily clear the wing and dispatch your status to Sam who is waiting patiently in the jet, fingers on the console. Bucky is patrolling the perimeter and you are taking the east side while Redwing zooms through the west.

There have been trip wires (newbie shit) and also surprisingly advanced attempts at entrapment so far (motion sensors, temperature regulated alarms). They’ve all been expertly pulled apart and rewired and you are taking a short break fucking around in the hallway, peering at dusty paintings of – some old dead bald guys. You take a picture of one and send it to Tony, labelled it’s like looking into the future.

Chortling, you continue down the corridor aimlessly until you hear a creak.

The knife in your hand is blade-first and coming down hard on the body sneaking up until— “Oh Barnes!” You cry happily, tucking it back into the strap on your wrist. “Good. You’re here! There’s only one more room—I’ve been crushing it.”

Literally two seconds after you say that, you turn the corner and run face-first into the door. Bucky pauses as if he doesn’t quite register what just happened before slowly reaching forward and gently applying pressure to the handle.

It’s written all over his face: you’re an idiot. You are seriously lacking some brain cells.

He leads the way carefully, swatting cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and taking stock of each corner, rifle pointed forward and alert. Behind him, your boots thump noisily against the floor and a chair is tipped over when your arm crashes into it.

Bucky spins on his heels and catches the chair before it can fall on top of what looks like a very obviously placed … box.

It’s a box.

A giant red box is on the floor, outlined with a square of white tape. Two abnormally unsoiled items in a room made almost entirely out of forty-year old dandruff. Your hands are already on both sides of it before Bucky can knock you out of the way.

“Don’t!” He screams because fucking anything could be under there!

A wild animal! A toxic chemical! A bomb! Snakes, for fuck’s sake! His eyes widen at the fading shadow cast on the floor as you lift the top away. Then, his heart stops beating.

It’s a slice of cake. And a cup of tea. A single slice of vanilla sheet cake neatly decorated with a blush-pink rose and two perfectly piped green leaves. The faint smell of jasmine wafts into the air.

Bucky barrels into you before you get the chance to lick your lips.

“Wilson!” He calls into the comm as you push his face away with an offended yelp, “They’re in the east side��set a trap for us! Get over here and bring your stupid bird too! I swear to God—NO! DO NOT!”

In the hovering Quinjet, Sam Wilson leaps to his feet and swoops out of the cabin, wings folded as he dives. “Come again?!” He taps on the comm wedged inside his left ear, “Barnes!?”

“-- fuck-- gonna—fucking--- stop BITING ME!”

A furious row of explosions blare in Sam’s ear as he banks a sharp left and lands on two feet, tearing his way inside the facility, checking on his wrist all the while. Redwing’s camera is glitching, but he can make out flashes of gunfire and what looks like at least five bodies, not including his two teammates. Bursts of white erupt on the screen and Sam’s heart picks up a tremendous pace before he kicks the door down, pistols out and aimed.

A silence smothers the room before grunting and screaming erupts again over Sam’s shout of, “What is going on in here?!”

“And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the exact moment I came upon my fellow Avengers,” Sam pauses, waving his hand with a bow at the image projected on the conference room screen.

Friday pulled another image from the broadcast before Sam shot out all the cameras in the facility.

It seems that the previous video of you eating cyanide had been intercepted through a bounced signal from the original recording’s output and those on the other end decided you were enough of a proper imbecile to be tricked by something as simple as a slice of cake.

They weren’t wrong.

Tony’s laser is in Sam’s hand and he points the dot in flashes five times, “Dead dudes. Check.” The dot moves on, landing on two splayed out legs before it runs up the side of Bucky’s body pressed to the concrete. “Barnes. Check.” Bucky shuts his eyes and slams his head into the table. “And… here we have this.”

Sam points to you, bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you lurch forward, one hand outstretched and smeared with frosting while the other holds your torso barely an inch from the ground, paying no mind to the two elbows digging into your stomach. Sam points again to where your crotch is pushed right into Bucky’s face.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve mutters, flushing red, “I wrote you directions for a reason…”

“Excuse me,” You huff, “Cake is not candy.”

“Really?!” Bucky snaps, “That’s the hill you’re going to die on!? You ran into the door! You knocked over a chair! You looked at the one thing that did not belong in the room and you picked it up even after I told you not to!”

Steve jumps back into the grilling, “And if you would have read the rest of the list—NO FOOD AT ALL was number two!”

“Oh yeah!?” You’re near hysterical now, shrieking at the top of your lungs. Stupid men ganging up on you. “What was number three? No fun!? I’m Captain America and I’m such a tightass--”

Bucky cuts you off, throwing his hands up into the air, “Number three was get the blueprints!”

“Oh.”

The room falls silent as you tuck your hand into the pocket of your pants. “Why didn’t you just say so? I nabbed ‘em as soon as I got in there. Marked off the locations of all the cameras and security alarms—not like that matters since Wilson shot them and I disarmed the rest in the east wing. Also, there were corridors and secret entryways not in the file. It’s on here now.”

Carelessly, you chuck the flash drive from your pocket at Steve and it smacks him in the chest. Sam crosses his arms and cocks his head at you, “Shit. Didn’t know you were all that.”

You frolic to the door, “See ya later!”

Three men watch on in shocked silence as you prance down the hallway, banking a sharp right towards your room. Steve stares from Sam to Bucky and then to the flash drive in his hand.

Sam clucks, “You know what… All things considered… the girl is legit.”

He calls your name, bangs on the door with a hard fist and when it cracks open, you peek your head out with tired eyes. “Sup, buttercup?”

“Why are you like this? The cyanide? The cake? You had the flash drive the whole time!”

You shrug off what sounds like an accusation, “I dunno. I’m good at my job.” Bucky crosses his arms. “Barnes!” You scold with a growing grin, “I’m legit! I just… you know. Why put all the pressure on myself when you’re around?”

You snort a little, scratch your tummy underneath an oversized shirt absently, and shrug your shoulders repeatedly like you’re dancing. Bucky narrows his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re an idiot because of me?”

“Yeah, Buck. I know you’ll take care of me.”

He freezes. Feels a sudden swell of heat rush from his chest to the top of his head. Bucky opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out. He closes it. You give him a sleepy grin, leaning on the door and swinging it wide, faltering against the knob with a yelp.

Swiftly, and true to his character, Bucky catches you with one arm.

Hanging from his hold, body twisted around, you look up into his blue eyes. They’re strangely tender, dancing over your face with an inquisitive glimmer.

The moment shatters when Bucky’s gaze stops at your neckline. “Is that—" he frowns, “Is your shirt on backwards?”

You nod. “Uh huh. Inside out too.”

His eyes slip shut. With a sigh, he drops you flat on your back and turns around. “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

Down the hallway as he stomps off, cursing the moment the thought you were cute or something… he hears your voice calling.

“I’m an idiot— but I’m legit, right? And I’m your idiot, right? Bucky? Bucky!”

Bucky holds back a grin. Flicks you off behind his back. Legit or not, he would never give you the satisfaction of knowing.

perm taglist @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216 @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs @pinknerdpanda @xoxabs88xox @imsoft-barnes @momc95 @typicalangel @wretchedgoddess @readeity @iwannasail

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #fanfiction #reader insert #crackfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #humor

2K notes · View notes

singtotheskiies · 5 years ago

Text

a single word // bruce banner x reader

request: Nothing would make me happier than a Bruce Banner X reader. He doesn't get nearly as much love as he deserves and he is adorable and smart and one of the many loves of my life. If you can make it a soulmate AU it would be even better and you would be my very bestest friend. But you don't have to write this if you don't want to.

summary: your soulmate’s emotions are written on your forearm. sometimes it’s only a single word—anger—and a news feed of New York being destroyed starts you on a mission to find him.

words: 2301

warnings: slight angst, but otherwise lotsa fluff:)))

a/n: i’m so sorry for the delay in writing! i was sick for a few days and found it really difficult to write. for that reason, this imagine may not flow as well or have as detailed writing as others, but i still hope it’s enjoyable!!

✖️✖️✖️

Your soulmate’s emotions were—complicated, to say the least.

Most people had multiple words on their arm based on what their soulmate was feeling at the moment—it wasn’t uncommon to see entire forearm-lengths of words like curious and fearful and hopeful. Sometimes your arm had a normal, long list like that, but over the past few years, things had begun to change.

Sometimes, the writing on your arm would fade away to one word—ANGER.

It was menacing—red and in all caps. Sometimes it would only last a few seconds, your arm flickering from ANGER to fear or attempted calm. Sometimes it stayed for hours before fading to confusion and regret and self-hatred. Your heart went out to your soulmate, mourning their seeming lack of stability. Sure, it was more interesting than a typical soulmate bond, but it seemed as if they had a hard time dealing with life and controlling their emotions. You hoped that if you ever met them, you’d be able to provide a much-needed constant of calm.

For your whole life, though, you were left clueless as to who it could possibly be. Someone who had such blindingly intense emotions was surely one of a kind—but no hints presented themselves until the attack on New York.

You were working like any other day when your coworker suddenly barged in, babbling about something horrific and otherworldly that was happening on the East Coast. Standing up in alarm (and, quite frankly, slight disbelief), you grabbed your phone and quickly opened your news app only to have your friend’s story confirmed. You clicked on a news feed, watching in utter shock as entire city blocks were torn down by what looked like otherworldly spaceships. They twisted through the air grotesquely, resembling some sort of worm or insect. Clearly, they were not from Earth.

A reporter was attempting to interview a shaken citizen—a young woman who seemed to be on the point of crying. The reporter wasn’t having much success, as the young lady’s voice was too choked with tears to get much out. However, after several painful moments, the woman’s face changed as she looked up. The camera pivoted wildly to show a small group of individuals making their way purposefully down the street. As it zoomed in, you got a closer look—the people looked intimidating and like they had a purpose.

All except one. The camera was slightly fuzzy and the chaos going on around it didn’t help, but you could tell a few details about this odd one out. He looked to be shorter than many of the others, with curly salt-and-pepper hair and a look of terrified confusion. He was unarmed with any weapon or armor, dressed only in work clothes. Your arm itched and burned as you looked at him, and you looked down at it in surprise.

Unsure, afraid, determined, disbelieving.

“No way,” you breathed, and your friend looked at you sideways.

“I know! Who are these people? I have no clue what’s going on anymore.” You didn’t have the energy to tell her that you were most stunned by the fact that the seemingly unarmed man may very well be the soulmate you had waited your whole life to meet. Although you did agree with her that you wanted to know who he was.

Before you could get a better look at the group of people, your maybe-soulmate spoke to one of the others and turned around to fight. However, as he did, he grew several feet taller, huge new muscles bunching together as his shirt ripped away to reveal—green skin? You couldn’t believe your eyes, staring at the screen in almost catatonic shock. Your arm started stinging again, and as you looked down at it, it shifted into that all-too-familiar word: ANGER.

“I have to go home,” you told your friend, packing up your things in a rush.

“Are you okay?” she asked you.

“Don’t feel well,” you said. Several other people were heading for the doors. You figured a disaster of this scale would cause more than a few changes in schedule.

Getting home in record time, you turned on your television and sat, not even bothering to toe off your shoes. You watched in utter astonishment as New York continued to be trashed by an otherworldly army. The news feeds gave as many updates on the team attempting to fight the aliens off as they could. Your eyes were peeled for any flashes of green, and you were occasionally rewarded with a few seconds of whoever-he-was fighting off creatures singlehandedly. Was this beast of a man the same timid person who had walked with the other fighters at the beginning? Maybe he was possessed or something. Hopefully he wouldn’t die fending off the alien attackers—possibly finding your soulmate and then having them ripped away from you on the same day was something you’d prefer not to happen.

After hours of battle, all the attackers had been taken out and the cube of energy—the Tesseract, it was called—had been taken to a government facility. You hadn’t seen any more of your potential soulmate, but the words on your arm had gone back to small black words: exhausted, relieved, frightened. He was still alive, thank goodness, but your only hope of finding out who he was was through news of some sort, so you kept your television on and scrolled through news websites as you ate dinner. After an hour or two, you began to feel a little hopeless—you couldn’t find anywhere that was listing the names of the group who had fought back—the Avengers, as they were being called. Eventually, you gave up and decided to call it a night. Maybe you’d find out more in the morning.

To your surprise (and relief) there was an article titled “Just Who Are the Avengers?” that seemed to list a few names. It was scant information (unsurprising, since they seemed to be spies or government workers of some sort), but it was something. The name that you were looking for seemed to be Bruce Banner—the Incredible Hulk. You felt a surge of adrenaline as you typed his name into your phone, pulling up multiple sources about your potential soulmate.

You discovered that he was a top scientist, a man who had underwent a freak gamma radiation accident that caused him to turn into the Hulk when he didn’t have control over his emotions. He now worked to understand radiation as well as countless other fields of study—the man had seven PhDs! He seemed to be quite the extraordinary person, and the pictures available of him painted him out to be quite the handsome man as well.

You looked down at your arm and sighed. Terror and hopelessness. Judging by the blue ink, he must be having a nightmare. You set your jaw and resolutely looked for some way to contact him. Yes, he had just saved America, but you had a feeling he needed some actual good things in his life. You wanted to help if it were at all possible.

The best you could do was find an email address, so you started a draft and stared at your screen wondering out loud what to say.

“Hi, I’m your soulmate—probably. Saw you turn into a big green guy on TV—that’s something else! No, that’s stupid. Uh—you seem to have a lot of trauma going on, maybe I could hel—no, I’m not his therapist. C’mon, think!”

You eventually settled on a message that stated your awareness of who he was, an admiration for how bravely he had fought, and the possibility that you may be each other’s soulmates. Breathing deeply, you sent the message and left your laptop open for easy refreshing.

It took him almost 36 anxiety-ridden hours to respond back, but his response made you smile.

Dear (Y/N),

I was so surprised to hear from you that I nearly dropped my phone—in a good way, of course. I appreciate your compliments, and your description of what happens on your arm would certainly be a good match for me. You seem to be a wonderful person, and while I would love to meet you right away, the rest of the team and I have a few post-battle things we need to take care of. Does coffee about a week from now sound good? Let me know, and we can work out the details.

Sincerely, Bruce

You emailed him back saying that coffee sounded wonderful, including your phone number because texting would be a little easier, you thought. He texted you about a half hour later, giving you details to a coffee place that was far enough away from downtown to be safe. Can’t wait to see you there, he said, and you grinned as you sent back a similar message.

Putting your phone down on your kitchen table, you hummed in satisfaction—finally, after waiting for years and years, you were meeting your soulmate.

✖️✖️✖️

You were a little nervous, to say the least, but it was tempered with a great deal of excitement. As you neared the coffee shop, you touched your hair almost self-consciously, but then took your hand away quickly. All you could do was hope for the best—if the two of you were really meant to be, things would go well. Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the door and went inside.

You found him almost immediately, and he stood up as if by instinct when you entered. He was at a small corner table, and his eyes met yours with a look of astonishment and admiration.

“(Y/N)?” he asked with near disbelief.

“Bruce,” you beamed, and without thinking, you threw your arms around him in a hug. He returned the gesture, arms wrapping tightly around you.

“I—I can’t believe you’re here,” he spoke into your hair. “I mean, really here. I always thought—“ he trailed off and you pulled back, looking in his deep brown eyes again.

“Of course I’m here, Bruce. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling softly, and said “Shall we?” as he pulled out your seat for you. Thanking him, you took a seat and began studying his face as casually as you could. He had a strong jaw, full lips, lovely brown eyes, and the same curly brown-and-grey hair you had seen on the news. You had a very strong urge to reach out and slip your fingers through it, but resisted somehow. He noticed your eyes on him and cocked his head at you, a slight, sweet smile on his face.

“What?” he asked, his voice grinning along with him.

“Nothing, you’re just—really handsome,” you said, blushing. “I think you’re wonderful.” He blushed with you, and you smiled at each other for a long moment before discussing what you would order. After settling on a few things, you placed your orders and began chatting right away. He told you about his work in the science field (he shocked you with his intellect), while you told him about your job. You shared little facts about each other, and as you talked about your interests, he watched you intently with awestruck, loving eyes. It gave you more than a few butterflies, and you could still hardly believe that you were there with your soulmate.

After you finished your drinks, Bruce offered taking a walk outside. You nodded enthusiastically, wanting to spend as much time with him as you could. There’s a park nearby, fairly large for a city, with lots of pretty flowers and trees to enjoy. As you walked, you continued talking about all sorts of things.

Eventually the topic of his alien-fighting experience came up, and something in his eyes shifted. Looking down at your arm, you saw the words nervous and hopeful and worried etch themselves into your skin. You furrowed your brows in concern, and without thinking, took his hand. His fingers moved nervously under yours, but latched on with clear relief.

“I’m sorry,” he nearly whispered. “I just feel like—well, I can’t offer you normalcy, dependency, consistency. Sometimes he just takes over. I try, I really do, but I’ve still got a long way to go before I learn to control or even coexist with him. I could hurt you, I could break things, and it scares me, (Y/N). You’re very likely the best thing to ever come into my life, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Bruce,” you answered, tears welling up in the bottom of your eyes. “I don’t need consistency or perfection or anything close to it. All I need is you. We’ve been put together for a reason, and I’m going to fight for you, no matter what tries to stop us. I’m here for you now, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

He really did whisper now, your name softly under his breath. As his eyes met yours, you began to move a little closer, head tilting towards his as if magnetized. He raised his other hand to brush across your face gently, a question, and you smiled in response. With a soft tip of his head, your mouths fell together, eagerly gentle. Your hand came up to ruffle through his curls, and they felt just as lovely as you had imagined. The two of you stayed that way, together, touching, for several moments. As he came up for air, he rested his forehead against yours, kissing you again until your smiles outgrew the spaces between you.

“Thank you,” he murmured again, and as you looked into his blissful eyes, you noticed your arm—only a single word was on it, different from the one you typically saw by itself.

Smitten.

#bruce banner #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner imagine #bruce banner x you #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #the hulk #the incredible hulk #the avengers #mark ruffalo #mark ruffalo x reader #mark ruffalo imagine #fanfic #imagine

215 notes · View notes

fightevilandthengetblownup · 3 years ago

Text

FIC: SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE III

—

PART ONE

PART TWO

“Now, you need to make your eyes really wide-” Jo’s ears perked hearing the false whisper from somewhere behind her as she worked at the stove. Biting down on the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling, the blonde continued to work on the pancakes for breakfast - using her squeeze bottle to pour the batter out into the shape of a batarang before spelling out her boy’s name inside before flooding the middle as she listened to the talk. “Nice and big like that, yeah. And then what do we say to Mommy?”

“Mommy, can we have blueberries too?”

“That’a boy.” Jack’s whisper disappeared in favor of the warmth in his tone as he smiled down at the boy. Jo glanced over her shoulder, catching the amusement in those blue eyes for a moment before looking back at her pancake. “Let’s go, huh?”

“Yes!” Billy’s voice was high and excited, and Jo schooled her face into a look of surprise as she flipped over the current pancake and then looked down at her son when he tugged on the hem of her sleep shirt. “Moooommy!”

Blinking a few times, Jo smiled down at her sweet boy before answering. “Yeah babyboy?”

“Mommy, I… Umm..” Jo fought down a laugh watching the sudden look of confusion swallowing the young boy’s face, Billy’s eyes blown wide and worried before he held a hand to his lips in thought. Glancing up, she could see Jack’s shoulders shuddering with concealed laughter, before the tug of Billy’s hand caught her attention again. “Mommy, can… can we have blueberries too?”

The way his finger tapped against his bottom lip and his green eyes were big and open and pleading, Jo knew immediately that she was absolutely screwed dealing with him going forward ever saying no. Puppy dog eyes added to that soft pleading tone was just too potent and she let out a small whine of frustration realising just how screwed she was.

“Oh darling boy, of course you can.” Kneeling down as she turned the temperature of the pan down lower in her off hand on the way, Jo leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead with a loud ‘mwah’ noise. “You get Jack to help you grab them out and wash them proper, alright?”

“Yes Mommy!”

Sending a tiny, pretend scowl over her son’s head towards the smirking man, Jo turned back to the pan and checked the base of the current pancake before sliding it out and onto the boy’s black and red plate before starting on the next pancake for the other adult. Slowly drawing out a spider followed by its web, she flooded the gaps between as she kept one ear out for any trouble from her men as she carefully made Jack’s pancake, and then a cutesy looking mallet for her own pancake design; Jo bit down on a chuckle hearing her love explaining carefully how to rinse and then dry the blueberries and pile them into a little bowl to share on the table. Looking over her shoulder as she flipped her pancake, she looked on fondly as she watched the little blond boy carry his bounty of blueberries onto the table like they were something special.

“Alrighty boys, who’s ready for pancakes?” She chirped happily as she flipped her pancake out onto her own plate and turned off the burner for now, picking up all three plates carefully before carrying them to the table herself. “I know I am.”

“Me me me!” Billy cried happily, clambering into his seat and kicking his feet joyfully, before letting out an excited squeal seeing his little batarang pancake. “Batcake! It’s a Batcake!”

“Now, is that what Batman eats for breakfast?” Jack replied curiously, pressing a kiss to the little boy’s head as he sat a sippy cup of juice in front of Billy before placing a glass of the same down for himself and another for Jo with another kiss to the crown of her head that made her tingle all over with how right this all felt. “Oh!” The surprised noise made her smile as she looked over to the look of pleased surprise on his face at seeing his own pancake design. “Jo…”

“What? Only the best for my boys!”

The chuckle she got in response was cut through by the shrill sound of a ringtone from the end of the table where their mobiles were kept in a basket, keeping technology out of family meal times at a suggestion from Jack’s that made Jo feel so special and focused on when that was first suggested. The sound cut off pretty quickly, and both adults rolled their eyes, whoever it was would be called back later. As soon as it stopped though, it started again. And then the other phone was going off as well. And then the duller sound of the singular landline from the front hall chimed in as well.

“What the fu-” Jo cut off her swear with a glance at her son, the need to cut down on her swearing around the last year really having become prominent after a few too many comments from his daycare teacher, but found it hard not to finish as all three phones quieted and then started ringing again. “Okay, rule break?”

“You help Billy with his bluebs, I’ll check what’s up.”

“Thanks, hun.”

Jo let out a soft sigh as Jack set his utensils down and stood up to fish his ringing phone out of the basket and answer it, as well as taking her distractingly ringing phone, out to the hall while she refocused on breakfast.

Billy ate not only his first batarang, but another two full pancakes and almost the whole bowl of blueberries through the meal, sipping his juice and asking with those big green puppy-eyes to go to the playground that afternoon; and Jo got through another pancake all her own as well as her juice and a cup of matcha before their missing member finally reemerged. Followed unexpectedly by Ellen and Bobby, still in their shoes and holding Billy’s overnight bag.

“Nanny! Bobby!” Billy screeched happily, flinging himself away from where Jo had been getting him to help her with unstacking the dishwasher while they’d awaited Jack’s return. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Billyboy, we thought you might like a weekend sleep over?” Ellen said happily as Bobby had bent down to scoop up the excited, wiggly boy. “We missed you so much, and you haven’t been over in ages.”

“Mom, you babysat last week-” Jo started with a frown at the unexpected arrival, glancing at the clock and fully surprised to even see her step-dad so awake and focused at such an early hour, let alone dressed and at her own house. “What’s-”

“Jobug,” her mother spoke softly, as Bobby turned towards Jack to double check on any extra toys to pack for Billy’s weekend, as she’d come up to wrap Jo up into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you didn’t mean this to happen-”

“What to happen?”

“You just talk to Jack, okay Jojo? You take the whole weekend, my darlin’ girl, you take the love you deserve okay?”

“Mom?” Jo was beyond confused, wide eyed and uncertain as she received a kiss to the forehead from both her parents in a whirlwind of quietly spoken words between the other three adults that made no sense to her before her son was whisked off to his grandparent’s place amid happy cries of adventure leaving her bewildered and confused as to what just happened. “What-”

There wasn’t even time for her to vocalise her questions - what happened, what was going on, what was wrong, was everyone okay - before she was pulled into and wrapped up in loving arms and felt a strong hand gently soothing over her hair and down her back.

“Jo, love, I’m so sorry.” Jack’s voice was rough and hoarse, and as she looked up at him she could see something swirling in his eyes that troubled her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve protected you, I should’ve known, I’m sorry.”

“Wha- what is going on, Jack?” She asked firmly that time, staring up at him and feeling her face twisting into a scowl at the sympathetic sadness flashing across his face chased along by some guilty look. “Jack fuckin’ Grey, you tell me right fuckin’ now what’s goin’ on!”

The quiet that followed on from her growled words echoed in the quiet space of their home, and Jo felt uneasy at how cautiously the other looked at her - his hand still gently rubbing at her back as the other held her steady - as he chewed his lip before saying softly. “The article came out… And I think you should read it with me.”

—

THE FUTURE MRS. GREY?

The Modern Fairy Tale Inside The Wedding Of The Year

By Chuck Shurley

Just off the main shopping district of the West Side there is a place where fairytales begin. Inside a deceptively worn building there was the start of many stories that are shaping the news of tomorrow - and I was fortunate enough to uncover the true Cinderella story that was unfolding in secret behind all the cameras and spotlights on the wedding of one French aristocrat-turned-investor Ian Essaim and socialite Shada Grey.

As all good fairy tales must start - this story started once upon a time…

Once upon a time, there was a new American Sweetheart in the form of the beautiful so called Shada Grey. She portrayed a version of herself to the cameras that was viewed as bubbly and perky, with a love for eclectic fashion. Those who knew the woman that would become this girl would say her acting skills were wanting for all she did was play herself on the silver screen - just with a wardrobe founded by and crafted by a studio and their stylists rather than the money from her brother’s pockets. The sister of famed and elusive artist, Jack Grey, who has shied away from the spot light after what was described as a ‘manic depressive episode’ by some - Shada Grey has captured the imagination of those who strive for the women of Golden Era Hollywood wrapped up in a pair of Louboutins and Prada. The Darling of America and the fairy tale princess having a fairy tale wedding.

However, there was another woman who has the capability of capturing the hearts of the country who will be standing five steps back from the princess on her wedding day.

…There was once another young woman with a wedding on the horizon. Joanna Beth Harvelle was getting married to the love of her life, an idealistic captain in the Marine’s called William Mark Reynolds. A pivotal moment in any woman’s life, and the same type of event that I have been lucky enough to be covering for the aforementioned Essaim/Grey wedding this year. But this story could not be further removed than that story - this story is of loss and love instead.

Miss Harvelle and Captain Reynolds were married from the court house, the only photo of their day a Polaroid taken by the bride’s mother on the steps outside. The bride wore a white dress from the bargain bins, and the pair spent their wedding night bidding one another farewell in preparation for the groom’s deployment two months later. In contrast, Miss Grey and Mr Essaim’s wedding is being held at an undisclosed location costing seven-figures, the bride will be wearing a custom Vera Wang and the whole wedding is being documented by not only print media such as myself but covered in depth by Miss Grey’s television show in a ten-episode special season and by most other media outlets.

But as fairy tales go - there must always be an early loss. Hansel & Gretel their abandonment, Rapunzel the pricking of a finger upon the spinning needle, and for our Cinderella was the loss of her love. Captain Reynolds was killed in action six months after his wedding, leaving a pregnant widow behind to receive his Purple Heart and put the pieces of her life back together. When speaking with Joanna, known affectionately by most as Jo, about that point in her life - the clear sorrow is still evident in her voice and the listing of her husband’s achievement. However those clouds passed quickly with the birth of their son, William Dean Harvelle who is nearly five at the moment of writing and has a love for frosting sugar cookies, and her “other baby” as the blonde would say.

Metallicake has become an icon in the city over the four years of operation from the old warehouse building just off the beaten track. According to it’s owner, many souls have found their way to her door through word of mouth and the scent of baked goods on the air. One particular soul was, indeed, drawn there out of the rain and drawn back time and time again as anyone who has tried the baked goods from this modern day Cinderella’s kitchen would attest - coming back is inevitable. According to Ms Harvelle, her ties to the Wedding of the Year began almost three years ago when Jack Grey returned to her bakery and subsequently fell in love with the flour-coated princess.

Entering the building you will see exactly the impact of this diamond in the rough woman who carry’s a purple, bruised heart for the loss of a national hero. Ms Harvelle has drawn not only the eye but the artistry out of the most elusive and most revered artist of his time in the country to her walls among other things. Those who visit Metallicake are greeted with an ever changing mural designed, refined and painted painstakingly by the famed Mr Grey. From the photos provided by the baker herself, and a subsequent valuation by several esteemed art buyers - the walls of the bakery itself are worth more than the cost of the elaborate wedding the bakery will be producing a mammoth cake for and then some. The tattoo parlour next door, owned by a man known as the ‘Doctor Badass of Tattooing’ Ash Miles, shares equally in Ms Harvelle’s fortune with not only signed art work on display but also the unique privilege of being the only authorised tattoo artist of such artwork. This work, as well as his own, is on display not only in INKED magazine and this publication, but upon the very body of Ms Harvelle so far.

Being a muse and accomplished baker does not appear to be the extent of this Cinderella’s ambitions though. Listening to the way Ms Harvelle would speak of love and marriage - a self-proclaimed realist who expects little more from her life, supposedly - and her joy for both bride and groom to be, one cannot believe to suspects she’ll long be a widow rather than to take up the name almost as soon as American Sweetheart Shada Grey surrenders it.

When sent to the small converted warehouse to cover the baking and artistry connected to the creation of what will be an extravagance on-top of the already fantastically over designed and over quaffed wedding, the preparation was to hear about the difference between genoise and chiffon sponges, the merits of fondant and buttercream, and inevitable discussion about the endless creation of edible flowers. And that is what was covered, and yet so much more.

Ms Harvelle has a skill with words and with applying them to the work she does. She is an artist in her own right, but with shaping the perceptions of those around her. She can talk at length and display great skill with the multiple display cakes that were crafted and recorded in a special behind the scenes look hosted on Rolling Stones website at time of publication. However she can also draw others into her theology on the connection between her work and the world around her.

“People are like cakes,” Ms Harvelle said. “And everyone pairs with someone else perfectly. Take Shada for example - she’s so sunny and bright and vivacious. Full of spirit and life and carefree. She also has a little bite to her when protecting those she loves, but is simply so versatile and beloved it’s hard to remember she can be sweet and sour.” In this journalists time spent with the bride and bridal party so far, this interpretation appears to be true, though perhaps only just from the magic weaved by Ms Harvelle rather than any truth. “And Ian is so grounded and down to earth despite how he may appear, he too is versatile and always there for people. He’s a genuinely kind man, and they both work so well together. Sunshine and earthiness, but altogether sweet.” Ms Harvelle weaved her story together in her cake baking, and the slice of lemon chiffon cake with a blueberry and basil frosting that was served up as a demonstration of the couple was phenomenal not only in tasting, but in the craftsmanship of the story telling.

When asked about herself, the widow is far less vocal and considered. “Me? I’m just flour!” The lack of concern or thought evident, but the nature of her choice showing how pivotal her role in the creation of not only the physical cakes to be loved and adored, but the metaphorical cake of life and her underappreciated value is.

Watching Ms Harvelle work and seeing the creations coming out of her small kitchen, one would believe there was an army of bakers behind the scenes crafting the wide array of baked goods and speciality items which fill the counter of not only the storefront but several other establishments around the city. But instead, there is a one-woman powerhouse working diligently, day in and day out.

On the week I followed Ms Harvelle through her daily routine as she developed, trialed and presented the socialite couple with their wedding cake options, the true meaning of hard work was on display.

The days started before the sun rose three days out of five, and Ms Harvelle was always wide awake as we met at her bakery. From there I witnessed the whirlwind that was something out of a movie scene itself. Her world feels like a montage of beeping alarms, constant tray movements, and endlessly creaming butter and sugar. The tireless Cinderella toiling away that has no time for anything but baking, cleaning and yet sings as she works without a single mouse around to lend a hand, before closing shop as the sun would go down and she would head home before doing it all again.

One would be mistaken to think she had time for nothing else but the extravagant cake that would need to be presented at the end of the week, but life goes on.

A lengthy photoshoot for INKED magazine on one day, and a day’s shopping for dresses with the rest of the specifically chosen bridal party to reflect that ‘down to earth’ narrative of the wedding couple were somehow sandwiched in between the tireless work to create fondant ruffles, edible floral arrangements and all sorts in between for the discerning eye of America’s Sweetheart to dissect by week’s end.

And yet on top of these inconveniences - of which Ms Harvelle never had anything less than a smile and a warmth when speaking of completing these tasks for her friends and loved ones - she still has a life.

Her Prince Charming in the form of the aloof Mr Grey would visit the bakery each day to bid her well wishes, steal a kiss and perhaps walk her home to the brick townhouse Mr Grey bought twelve years ago and according to sources moved his soon-to-be fiancé and son into two years prior. Her role as a mother is still needing to be completed each day, and watching mother and son interact - there is no question that this Cinderella finds time to be both baker and mother to her fullest. And her role as bridesmaid and friend seems to be never ending either, with the beauty taking the bride out for lunches and always having time to fend off frenzied, worried phone calls and provide the soothing voice of reason among the socialite crowd on display regularly throughout the week.

Perhaps it is naïve to believe in fairy tales and magic in today’s age where romance is a fabricated story pumped out through television and movies, where women compete against one another for the so called Bachelor, and a woman playing herself had caught the imagination of the country.

And yet, in this story where the bride and groom met over a coffee in the small kitchen of a tiny bakery, perhaps the true Cinderella story does exist and the real Cinderella doesn’t need any saving by a prince - she’s happy with the flour, cocoa and soot on her face - but instead will bring her prince back to the fire with her.

---

Hollow. That was the word to describe how she’d felt with every word of that reading. Absolutely hollow.

What she’d expected after the confusing appearance of her parents to whisk away her boy and the unreservedly supportive hold that she’d been wrapped up in as Jack’d guided her through to the lounge and onto the couch to read the beautifully presented and laid out article on his laptop. The cover photo was beautiful - the gorgeous three layered mock up with the gentle sunlight catching the glimmering gold specks on the fondant photographed so beautifully - and as he’d brought the article up Jo hadn’t even read the title as she’d initially excitedly pointed at the embedded video at the top and focused on wanting to watch that before reading any silly words. Jack hadn’t stopped her, and had rubbed her shoulder and quietly reiterated how lovely her work looked and how amazing a baker she was and how lucky his sister was for her to work on the masterpiece for her and how well she discussed the techniques and design choices as they’d watched the video. That she had finally registered the title of the article halfway through the video below it changed the sweet taste of maple syrup still lingering in her mouth to something bitter tasting like bile as she smiled and nodded through the remaining minutes of the video before she couldn’t stop herself reading the article.

Hollow, and wide open. As if she was a pumpkin carved out and put on display. A cream puff full of air and such a flimsy shell of existence without the filling to stablise her if left in this condition. Like a meringue - fragile and likely to collapse in on herself if the oven door was opened too early.

That photo - her pregnant and haunted in the illfitting black dress shaking hands with the man who’d sent the other to war and brought him back to her in a coffin - was in there. The one she’d asked not to. Right beside a picture of her tugging on her new love’s scarf and their smiling and in love in her sacred kitchen space.

She’d felt torn open and like her skin had been peeled off and displayed for anyone and everyone with each cut into the private bubble she’d been living in broken open within the writer’s words. She hated it.

And worst of all, Jack’s hands had rubbed at her comfortingly, and he’d spoken gently that it wasn’t her fault for being trusting, and that he was sorry she had this happen to her, and that he loved her and supported her just made her feel all filled up with love and support all over again even as she was left open and empty he was there to comfort and helped to fill the void left behind by those black and white words. And she’d broken down in a way she hadn’t for years - she’d actually found herself crying at the fresh loss of that protective scab that had kept her intact all along now she had someone to let her deflate like a forgotten souffle.

Once she’d finally stopped crying - babbled words between the gasps as she’d tried to explain what she was crying over of ‘sorry’ and ‘so long ago’ and ‘not like that’ - Jo was surprised to see the love and concern pouring out of the other’s blue eyes as he watched her carefully, not at all guarded the way she’d expected at finding out about her hiding yet another big secret from him. Hiding her history yet again.

“Here,” His voice was soothing as he’d held out a tissue to her, the box moved to his knee as he continued to rub her back gently with his other hand. “It’s okay, Jo, it’s alright.”

“How can you say that?” She gasped the words out hoarsely, voice rough and tired from her crying. “I-”

“You did nothing, Jo, you didn’t do anything.”

“I lied-”

“Did I ever ask?” He asked gently as she was getting worked up again, hands fidgeting and picking at each other and brown eyes wide and panicked. Jack’s hands covered hers, holding her gently like she was something to be handled carefully. “I didn’t ask, you didn’t have to tell until you were ready. And I’m sorry that the choice was taken from you.”

“I shouldn’t’ve-”

“You’re an open heart, trusting person - it’s what’s so sweet and endearing about you and something I love so dearly, Jo. Don’t apologise for being you.”

“I...would’ve told you. Eventually.” She mumbled the words out, hands shaking even despite the comforting squeeze of his over hers. She would have. One day. Probably that mythical moment she’d thought about when they’d be curled up in bed and he’d have said something about their future and wanting life together and asking if she’d wanted to get married some day eventually, and she’d have told him the truth then and in much simpler words than the bullshit that the journalist had flourished her story with. She had felt that day approaching, but they hadn’t quite gotten to talking about the future further than plans for a vacation next year before Billy started school. “I… I can’t believe this- Oh fuck! What about Shada?!”

There was a second before Jo noticed the look on his face shift from concern into something closer to surprise for a moment, before his mouth twitched into that soft loving smile that made her stomach flip. “Shada’s okay. She was the one who was calling - she is… not happy with that asshole journalist.”

“Oh… Oh, should I step down?”

“What?”

“I’m ruinin’ the weddin’ - a distraction - should I step out-”

“Jo!” The smile she got then was practically blinding, tugging her in for a tight hug as Jack laughed gently. “Shada’s worried about you! She’s upset for you, not because of you. She’s already screaming about getting a new writer in and getting lawyers to sue or something if you want to. I mean, she’s thinking to for defamation for herself-”

“As she should!” Jo cried back, letting out an awkward giggle as she curled into the warmth of his chest. “That was so mean and wrong for what was said about her. That asshole-” Jo’s eyes blew wide as she thought about how nice and friendly the reporter had seemed, how he’d seemed to care what she had to say - that she’d been tricked and manipulated into telling her story when all she’d wanted was to make a good cake and share her love for her dark haired friend. She felt the sharp stab of betrayal in that, and shivered slightly to think that she’d have to meet with the reporter again sometime soon. He was due back to write about the flowers, and Shada’s dress, and so much more - the idea of facing him after such a humiliating manipulation made her stomach twist. “-oh I hope he’s fired! He should be! What is her manager doing? Does Bobby know? Oh, what about-”

“Jo, my love, it’s fine.” His voice was calming and soft as she’d started to work herself up again, breaths sharp and short and caught up on the edge of panic and mania filling her mind as she thought about just how much she’d misjudged and maybe ruined the whole of her dear friend’s special days. “Bobby’s already got the shows lawyers onto it, and Shada said her manager is already demanding a retraction of the article and it to be suppressed online until they can determine the legal ways forward-”

“Good!” She seethed quietly, feeling queasy and responsible and guilty all in one at how much the words written must had hurt the other woman to read. Every other sentence was a backhand compliment, a knife designed to dig and cut and hurt the poor girl, and that Jo’d been used to do that to her hurt too much to consider. She’d have to bake something as an apology as soon as her legs felt strong enough to support her weight. And something for Bobby. And the show team. And Ian and Ombre. And for Jack. The thought of her boyfriend brought her mind whirling into how nasty the reporter’s words, the focus on who Jack was and what he had been that had to have hurt too brought her into herself with a gasp; brown eyes wide and focused onto her boyfriend’s face with a distraught look. “Oh and you! You should sue too! For what he said ‘bout you-”

“Nothing written in there was wrong when it came to me, Jo.” Jack’s eyes were that darker blue, the shadowed look that always showed up when he was serious about whatever he was talking about. “I’ve got no issues with it about me.”

Jo shook her head, tucking into his chest with a sigh as she felt a shiver run down her spine. “It wasn’t- It said that we… that you were- that we’re going ta be-”

“I mean, I was hoping to ask on our anniversary next month, so if you can wait until then…”

She froze at his words - the warm, bemused tone rumbling in his chest she was pressed up against - and felt like that hollow feeling was suddenly gone as quick as it had arrived. Replaced with a stomach-flipping surge of happiness she hadn’t even felt the first time around, her whole body felt like it was on fire and her heart felt like it couldn’t be held in by her chest it was so full and light. Her head was spinning, and pulling back a little, she blinked in confusion as she looked back into the flushed but openly smiling face of the other. How could he be so open, so honest, especially to her when all she had ever done was hide things from him?

“Wh-what?”

His eyes lit up and the edges of his lips pulled up into an amused grin as his hands moved from her back to hold her cheeks, thumbs stroking over the top of her cheekbones gently. “Do you not want to wait til then?” His voice was quiet and she strained to hear him over the thudding of her heart filling her ears. Jack’s smile got softer as he shifted one hand back over her ear and into her hair gently. “Do you want me to ask now? Because I will. I’d ask in a heartbeat if you wanted me to, Jo. I’d ask it every day if that’s what you want or what it took.”

“You… Wait-” She paused a second, heart beating out of her chest and her eyes drinking him in as if she’d never really seen him before. Like she could finally see all the colors that made him whole - the blue of his eyes brighter, the pink of his lips more soft and kissable than ever, even the dark purple under his eyes from their late night movies and early morning starts - after having lived with some filter on. Living in a glass box to protect her from hurt again, and him from being cursed like all the others that had had her heart so far. Swallowing thickly, Jo blinked repeated a few times before shifting closer into his lap, prompting his other hand to drop around her waist and support her gently instead. Support her like he had ever since they’d become an us not two separate entities. There was a pause that he just looked at her, before Jo found herself leaning in closely and that thudding in her ears entirely disappearing into the background as she heard herself speak from her heart before her brain could stop her. “Will you marry me?”

That pause drew out longer - every tiny noise from the ticking of the clock on the wall to the buzz of the muted television to the muffled sound of the world moving outside without them was like thunder as they stayed in their quiet, frozen bubble - before there was a surge between them. Like a bolt of lightening sending energy into both of them had her lips smashed against his, and his hands gripping her tightly as she pulled him into her all the harsher.

That she’d asked and that he hadn’t answered didn’t matter, the fact was this was right in a way that it’d never been right for her before. This was what she’d been waiting for. This was who she’d been waiting for. She might not be a blushing bride like his sister, but she was who he’d been waiting for, and he was who she’d always meant to find. The safety and feeling of home and support she’d been missing even before she’d been left alone before, before she’d said her vows to a man she loved but more as idea than a man, before she’d thrown her roses on the coffin as a child. This was the support she’d been craving and needed - the love she’d searched everywhere for and then glassed herself off from when it didn’t show up when she wanted it. Even if it was a few years late.

---

Her hands were steady and forceful as she continued to roll the fondant thinner and thinner, to the longest roll it could before fluting it gently as she cut the thin strip in half and laid the ruffle down across the nearest baking tray with all the rest. These ruffles were the thinnest she'd ever made, and there was only six more to make before she'd have to start assembly. Or start the gentle paintwork of dusting the edges like an ancient book with gold dust. Or maybe she would do a third crumb coat on the cakes. Just to make sure.

Jo's mind was working seven steps ahead of herself and she had to pause at the trembling in her fingers. This was the most important cake she'd ever made. It had to be perfect.

Nervously working on the next set of ruffles, she felt herself having to pause and try the deep breathing exercises her therapist had taught her months ago. The exercises to calm her down from spiralling into an absolute destructive frenzy. She'd been struggling with keeping herself balanced for months now, ever since that article shook her core, and she was so thankful she had the support around her to work her way through it.

The weeks following that article had been some of the hardest of her life but nothing except for her seemed to be changed. Nobody except for her few newest friends had learned anything they didn't already know. And aside from a bone crushing hug from Shada every time they met for a month, and the gentle coaxing from Jack to remember everything was fine, nothing changed aside from her. Her whole world had tilted the wrong way but no one else seemed to notice it.

It had taken up until the week of crafting the extravagant and beautiful wedding cake for how hard she was struggling to really hit her. The only time she felt in control of herself and happy that week being the long hours she spent in the bakery - perfecting batches upon batches of buttercream and the fillings for the cake, the sheets upon sheets of cake baked and cut to an unusual and beautiful geometric diamond rather than the traditional circle, the hours after hours of sugar work in vibrant purples bad shimmering golds and silvers along with the delicate edible flowers to match the bride's overflowing bouquet. That week she'd devoted more time than ever to her work and it was the only times she felt happy and normal and like herself didn't really sink in until the night before the wedding.

Jack had been waiting up when she'd finally decided it was done and got home at two in the morning despite having to be up in three hours to start the bridal party work. He'd held her close and been all things supportive, and that she'd cried all three remaining hours and somehow functioned and floated happily beside her future sister-in-law the whole day through was probably more to do with running on fumes than her genuine excitement she had for the beautiful bride and her husband. It was probably more to do with the appointment booked for the following week for her to finally talk to someone and start working through her issues instead of hiding from them.

It was how she'd found herself reflecting on how important that cake had been for her - it had represented all of her guilt over her life becoming something new all again, her desire to please and her want to be part of something bigger than just her and her boy again - and the unexpected amount of stress that had come along with the entire process that was how she’d been convinced to speak to someone. Seeing her work splashed over news sites for weeks, and the months leading up to her sister-in-law’s wedding from that horrible article all the way through that while not always a focused part of the story, that her life was splashed across the media and her motives dissected as much as her work was had sent her spiralling in need of help. That her fiance was beside her the whole time - praising her work, encouraging her and protecting her and her son from the worst of it - helped soften the blow that she wasn’t as strong as she’d always made out to be. And that despite pouring every bit of love she had into that beautiful purple wedding cake had been enough to keep her solid until it had been delivered.

Placing the last of the delicate ruffles she’d made to the side, Jo pulled a ball of sunshine yellow fondant towards herself to work on instead. The next crumb coat could wait. Instead, she rolled that fondant out into thin strips again - however rather than rolling the edges thinner and thinner until they fluted into soft ribbons, the baker collected the delicate piece of lace she’d collected from the trimming of her dress and pressed it flush against the fondant. Rolling over the fabric and then peeling it gently off each strip of fondant, the beautiful lace design embossed into the yellow sugar confection to mimic what she would be wearing the next day, before moving each stripe of fondant onto another baking tray to be stored away until they were needed later. It was a rhythm, one she was used to, and working slowly she kept up her calming breaths as she tried to sink into the pattern. It was just any other cake, after all.

Where she’d poured so much thought and weeks of consideration into balancing the meaning of ingredients, the personalities of the bride and groom, and the early summer vibes of the wedding into the beautifully tiered cake she eventually crafted for Shada and Ian’s wedding - the creation she was making now was somehow so much less thoughtful in her mind. She didn’t spend hours testing different cake types and deciding on the main flavors before deciding on something that perfectly matched like berries and lemons - she knew it would be a chocolate cake from the moment she’d even tried to consider what to make, and she’d known that there would be a hazelnut filling based off of the brownies her love begged her to make the most. She didn’t spend her time crafting different decorations trying to balance the extravagance of the event, the importance of those getting married and to make something both timeless, classic and modern and fashion forward - she knew that it would be a simple white cake with minimal color but the buttercup yellow and gold to balance the classic, stark white elements. She didn’t worry about trying again and again to push the extremes of what she could achieve, even as that had excited and thrilled her to surprise everyone with such a decadent and beautiful creation unlike any other - she knew the small single tiered cake would be more than enough for her loved ones, and there was no one she needed to impress or thrill more.

The sound of an alarm brought her out of her thinking as she finished the last few yellow fondant decorations, turning to pull the brownies out of the oven and replace them with the waiting tray of cupcakes. The baking of all the other treats that she intended to fill the small trestle table for desserts with the next day was in itself another thing entirely - delicate tiny pastries with perfectly presented lemon tarts and tiny chocolate brownies, cream puffs and mille-feuille, chocolate eclairs and marzipan treats, treacle tarts and miniature cherry pies - each carefully selected and decided upon based on their family and friends favorite treats.

But when she pictured the table in her mind it was with the simple white cake on it’s pedestal surrounded by a bounty of treats and the tiny bouquets of baby's breath that would tie into her bridal bouquet and the flowers that Billy would throw before her and would be tucked into the lapel of her love’s jacket as they said vows she believed in again now. It was full circle and fully ready - the image of a day unfolding as she moved onto the final little dessert decorating, that she’d never had before. The day she’d dreamed about that never happened the last time, that she didn’t fantasise about before like she was now, the way she wanted every little step to be just so where before she’d never pictured herself walking down an aisle, and exchanging vows, and wearing white, and holding flowers, and staring into loving eyes, and making promises she fully intended to keep, and exchanging rings that she wouldn’t then take off, and celebrating with everyone she cared about not sharing a pepperoni pizza and counting down days on a calendar, and knowing that Sunday morning she’d wake up happy and fulfilled and the person she’d not yet become the last time, the person she hadn’t realised she was meant to be. It was her dreams coming true for once. And her being her own dream.

---

#au stories #bakery au #jopov

3 notes · View notes

arcticdementor · 4 years ago

Link

[This is the fourteenth of many finalists in the book review contest. It’s not by me - it’s by an ACX reader who will remain anonymous until after voting is done, to prevent their identity from influencing your decisions. I’ll be posting about two of these a week for several months. When you’ve read all of them, I’ll ask you to vote for your favorite, so remember which ones you liked. If you like reading these reviews, check out point 3 here for a way you can help move the contest forward by reading lots more of them - SA]

What went wrong in the 1970s? Since then, growth and productivity have slowed, average wages are stagnant, visible progress in the world of "atoms" has practically stopped - the Great Stagnation. About the only thing that has gone well are computers. How is it that we went from the typewriter to the smartphone, but we're still using practically the same cars and airplanes?

"Where is my Flying Car?", by J. Storrs Hall, is an attempt to answer that question. His answer is: the Great Stagnation was caused by energy usage flatlining, which was caused by our failure to switch to nuclear energy, which was caused by excessive regulation, which was caused by "green fundamentalism".

…

Before reading this book, I thought flying cars were just technologically infeasible, because flying takes too much energy. But Hall says we can and have built them ever since the 1930s. They got interrupted by the Great Depression (people were too poor to buy private airplanes), then WWII (airplanes were directed towards the war effort, not the market), then regulation mostly killed the private aviation industry. But technical feasibility was never the problem.

Hall spends a huge fraction of the book on pretty detailed technical discussion of flying cars. For example: the key technical issue is takeoff and landing, and there is a tough tradeoff between convenient takeoff/landing and airspeed (and cost, and ease of operation). It’s interesting reading. But let’s return to the larger issue of nuclear power.

Nuclear power started off well; “the cost of nuclear plants was decreasing by about 25% for each doubling of capacity in the 50s and 60s”. Then, in 1977, Jimmy Carter established the Department of Energy. Costs immediately skyrocketed, and never came back down. It’s hard to briefly convey the regulatory issues because it’s death by a thousand cuts.

…

Why is regulation so crippling? The public is wrongly terrified of nuclear energy, but they shouldn’t be. Radiation killed 0 people at Fukishima; the radiophobic evacuation killed >1000 (“Some 1600 of the evacuees died from causes ranging from privation in refugee camps (notably loss of access to health care) to suicide”), and the tsunami/earthquake killed >10000. Hall quotes an estimate from the Guardian that Chernobyl - by far the most serious nuclear disaster - killed “approximately” 43 people.

Why are people so terrified? Hall says we were a victim of our own success from World War II. Before the War, America was an individualistic nation. Then came the Depression, the New Deal, and most of all the War. America won the war with a “completely centralized bureaucratic government structure” - and it was a huge success. And for a while, that worked: the generation forged in the war had a “cooperative “same boat” spirit” that “[made] the centralized corporate structures work.” But then it didn’t. Hall blames the hippies:

“The Baby Boomers—my generation—split into two cultures which, as far as I can see, not only didn’t agree on values but which fundamentally couldn’t even understand each other. Ask any Boomer what was the greatest, most pivotal event of 1969. Half of us will say the Apollo 11 moon landing. The other half will say Woodstock. Both sets, hearing the other’s opinion, will emit an honestly uncomprehending “Huh!?!?” From the Fifties to the Seventies, the average American followed the lifecycle of Sinclair Lewis’ Babbitt from conformity and cooperation to non-conformist rebellion in a search for personal meaning. The corporate state worked with the cooperating, self-sacrificing Greatest Generation. It didn’t work so well with Aquarians.”

His theory, basically, is that the next generation - the Baby Boomers - got spoiled. Automation had come into its own, and people didn’t need to struggle for survival anymore. America was on top of the world, and there weren’t enough real challenges to work on. But people need challenges. So they made some up.

Hall says the most damaging strain, still common today, is “green fundamentalism”, the idea that human agency over nature is fundamentally bad. An early example is Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, which got DDT banned on the grounds that it was causing cancer; in reality the cancer increase was from smoking, and from technology improving living conditions (the healthier you are, the more likely you’ll survive long enough to get killed by cancer). “The Green religion has essentially superceded Christianity as the default religion of western civilization, especially in academic circles”. Hall is dismissive of climate change, citing an estimate that it will cost only a few percentage of GDP by 2100 even in the worst case. (This is something that always confused me; there’s such a big gap between quantitative economic estimates of climate change and qualitative ones. My impression is the quantitative ones are way too optimistic. Hall does not agree with me). Anyway, he says, climate change is all the more reason to embrace clean nuclear power and flying cars (highways use a lot of land; if flying cars replaced highways, that land could be returned to nature).

The upshot is there is strong intellectual skepticism about increasing energy usage. As government has taken much more centralized power, “we have let complacent nay-sayers metamorphose from pundits uttering ‘It can’t be done’ predictions a century ago, into bureaucrats uttering ‘It won’t be done’ prescriptions today.” As a result, “a lot of inventiveness and engineering resources got shifted from doing new things, and doing things better, to doing the same old things, usually not as well, but using less energy.” Our machines use less energy, but they don’t work any better. Is single-mindedly improving efficiency really the best use of our time? And anyway, the efficiency gains - while real - are basically on the same trendline as they were before all this regulation. The difference is that we used to have efficiency *and* more energy every year; now all we get is efficiency. The twin tragedies are that so many talented people went into activism instead of engineering, and that the activism was so often opposed to progress.

…

Hall blames public funding for science. Not just for nanotech, but for actually hurting progress in general. (I’ve never heard anyone before say government-funded science was bad for science!) “[The] great innovations that made the major quality-of-life improvements came largely before 1960: refrigerators, freezers, vacuum cleaners, gas and electric stoves, and washing machines; indoor plumbing, detergent, and deodorants; electric lights; cars, trucks, and buses; tractors and combines; fertilizer; air travel, containerized freight, the vacuum tube and the transistor; the telegraph, telephone, phonograph, movies, radio, and television—and they were all developed privately.” “A survey and analysis performed by the OECD in 2005 found, to their surprise, that while private R&D had a positive 0.26 correlation with economic growth, government funded R&D had a negative 0.37 correlation!” “Centralized funding of an intellectual elite makes it easier for cadres, cliques, and the politically skilled to gain control of a field, and they by their nature are resistant to new, outside, non-Ptolemaic ideas.” This is what happened to nanotech; there was a huge amount of buzz, culminating in $500 million dollars of funding under Clinton in 1990. This huge prize kicked off an academic civil war, and the fledgling field of nanotech lost hard to the more established field of material science. Material science rebranded as “nanotech”, trashed the reputation of actual nanotech (to make sure they won the competition for the grant money), and took all the funding for themselves. Nanotech never recovered.

Flying cars didn’t have the same issues; they were being developed privately. But regulation doomed them. Harold Pitcairn was almost successful in developing a flying car, but then in World War II the government nationalized his helicopter patents (they promised to give them back after the war, but reneged) and he spent the rest of his life in court. He won, 17 years after his death. Bruce Hallock had a promising design, but he sold a plane to a missionary group in Peru and was arrested as an “arms trafficker”. Robert Fulton had a successful prototype, “however, Fulton’s financial backers had become discouraged with the seemingly endless expense of meeting government production standards, and they withdrew their support.” Molt Taylor “was actually in serious negotiations with Ford as late as 1975 to have the Aerocar mass-produced. The monkeywrench was thrown into the negotiations by the FAA and the DOT. Taylor already had an airworthiness certificate for the Aerocar, granted by the CAA (predecessor of the FAA) after a delay of 7 years from its first flight. He claims that the agencies turned thumbs down on the Aerocar ‘because everybody would have one, and we couldn’t handle the [air] traffic.’ Airplane regulation has only gotten stricter: “The entire F.A.R. / A.I.M., which every airman is responsible for knowing, is 1085 pages long. At least it was in 2013; a new one comes out every year.” So in the end, we have none of these technologies. No flying cars, even though they were prototyped almost a hundred years ago. Some nuclear energy, but crippled, aged, feared, and hated. 3D printing, but no nanotech. No level 5. Because the state needs legibility, and progress is not legible. The bureaucratic incentives are to calcify. If no one does anything new, no one will do anything wrong.

…

The book is 550 pages long, so there’s a lot I didn’t cover. I thought the political/social analysis was its weakest aspect, basically a strongly worded but conventional version of the libertarian case against regulation, although I appreciated the detailed examples of how regulation harmed flying cars and nanotechnology (And I’ll admit I haven’t heard the libertarian case against funding science before!). I’m more convinced than ever that not embracing nuclear power was one of humanity’s worst mistakes (partially because I’m more afraid of climate change than Hall is). I found the book most valuable as a statement of “definite optimism” - a concrete vision of attainable yet extraordinary technological progress. I recommend it on that basis.

#read the whole thing #book review #where's my flying car?#j storrs hall #substack

6 notes · View notes

cutieodonoghue · 4 years ago

Photo

dark gray (16/17)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on Tumblr!

///

Sixteen

Christmas Eve

Killian somehow finds himself more nervous than Smee is as they drive away from the Portland airport on their way to Storybrooke.

Smee mutters to himself, driving roughly ten under the speed limit because he’s nervous being on American roads. The effort is costing them time, but Killian knows it wouldn’t do him any good to ask Smee to push any harder than he is. The man had practically had a breakdown on the plane before they took off.

“Do you think Emma will be there?” Killian asks.

The question has plagued him for practically the entire trip. While it makes sense that she would be home, in Storybrooke, another part of him knows that this is an uncertain mission. She might be somewhere else entirely.

“Well,” Smee replies thoughtfully, “it’s Christmas Eve. I would think she’d be home. Wouldn’t you?”

Killian takes a deep breath, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He holds in his hand the address Smee had been hiding from him, chicken scratch on a bright yellow post-it note.

He hasn’t given much thought to what his new life would look like. Maybe it’s for the best that he hasn’t been able to. When he makes it to Storybrooke, and he’s reunited with Emma and Henry, he imagines it will all fall into place.

Hopefully, that would happen sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know.”

Smee glances over at him very briefly a few times. “If she isn’t, we’ll just keep looking. I’m sure there will at least be someone who might know something… we’ll follow the trail until you’re with her again. I know how much she means to you.”

Killian looks out his window, teeth digging into his upper lip. “But does she know?”

Smee doesn’t have an answer for him, but Killian doesn’t need one.

His anxiety about seeing Emma again is something he hopes is without basis. They’d spent far too much time apart, but no one was to blame for that.

There would never have been a way Emma could have found him, unless she was able to get in touch with Smee. Smee, who still only uses a landline because he worries the cell phone will damage his brain cells- or something like that.

It would have been impossible. Or, at least, very nearly impossible.

Sighing, Killian stretches his legs out as much as he can in the cramped front seat. He closes his eyes, focusing on something hopeful: soon, he’ll be with Emma and Henry again.

“Do you feel alright? Do you need your medicine?”

“No, I feel fine.” Killian opens his eyes, looking at Smee. “Thank you. You didn’t have to stick with me all that time, and coming to America on an uncertain quest…”

Smee smiles. “That’s what friends are for.”

Storybrooke is not on the map that they’d found at the airport. It’s not even on the map at the first few visitor’s centers they stop at.

Thankfully, they’d been able to find someone at a gas station who gave them a general direction to move towards. After that, it had been a game of watching the road signs until they finally spotted one that claimed Storybrooke was twenty miles away.

The town is sleepy. Covered in fresh snowfall, the evening sun has colored the skies a soft orange and pink. The buildings lining Main Street sit idle, with hardly anybody moving to and fro. It’s calm and quiet, a solace he hadn’t thought he’d find.

“Where should we go first, do you think?” Smee asks nervously. “Is that a diner up ahead?”

Killian spots the neon sign that reads “Granny’s Diner” shining at them from the side of the road as if it’s an oasis in the desert.

“I know we should probably go to the address there, but, I’m starving, Jones.”

Killian nods. “Aye. Let’s pull off for a meal. Perhaps while we’re there we can ask for directions. I think I remember Emma saying this was her favorite place to eat.”

Smee hums thoughtfully. He pulls into a parking spot across the street from the establishment and Killian stares out at it, nervousness tickling at his belly.

“You alright?”

He turns to his friend, nodding. “Aye. Just… really hoping she’s in town.”

Smee offers him a gentle smile. “Like I said before. We’ll find her, even if this is just a stop along the way.”

Killian nods. “Thanks, Smee.”

Even with Smee’s support, Killian hesitates. He finds himself nervous to leave the car, to step into the future and his new life.

“I would bet she’s here.” Smee says, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I don’t get the feeling that she’d want to stray… you know, staying put so it’s easy for you to find them.” His friend smiles. “C’mon. Let’s go get something to eat. We can worry about finding Emma after. One step at a time, yeah?”

Smee pats him gently on the arm and then turns the car off. The immediate loss of heat from the air vents forces him to join Smee in opening his door.

It takes a minute to climb out of the car, and when he does, he leans back against it, chest tight as he catches his breath.

The air is frigid, but being in Storybrooke feels the opposite.

He’d heard Emma tell stories about this place for weeks. The aged brick of the buildings… the bare trees lining the streets… the banners on the light posts… it’s all as she’d described.

As he turns his attention to a nearby car with a Storybrooke bumper sticker, Smee comes alongside him, a wry smirk on his face.

“What’s that look for?”

His friend nudges his head toward the diner without saying a word.

Killian follows Smee’s gesture and finds himself staring directly inside the building through the glass door at someone so familiar that it makes his heart drop directly into his belly.

Emma.

He’s fast on his feet, practically running across the street toward the diner. Suddenly, every ache and pain he’d been feeling falls away. All he sees and knows is Emma.

She opens the door, a bell tinkling in her wake, and she doesn’t look up, typing something into her phone. He stops, wanting her to notice him, but she crashes straight into him instead.

“Oh!” She gasps, almost slipping as she struggles to keep her balance. She catches onto his arms and grips tightly. “Sorry. That’s the second time that’s happened to me in under an hour, if you can believe it.”

And she finally meets his eyes.

In a heartbeat, everything changes.

She shakes her head slowly in disbelief. “Killian.”

Emma wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly. He grunts slightly at the brute impact, but returns the hug, eyes squeezed shut.

“Emma. Emma.” Killian catches his breath, his grip on her tightening. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

She threads her fingers into his hair for a few seconds before pulling away to look at his face, thoroughly this time, which gives him the chance to, in desperation, study everything about her.

It’s only been a month, but it feels like it’s been an eternity.

Her hair curls in waves down her shoulders, the tops of her ears covered by her beanie hat, and she looks exactly as he remembers, though this time, she’s far less upset.

They laugh, still holding onto each other, and Emma shakes her head. “I can’t believe it. You’re here!”

“Aye, love.”

God, he loves her.

He opens his mouth to say as much, but she cuts him off with her lips on his, just as desperate and passionate as it had been the last time they’d kissed. This time, though, he holds on tighter knowing that they’d never need another tearful goodbye kiss.

When she pulls away, he leans into her, swaying slightly at the intensity of being here with her. He’d dreamed of this moment dozens of times, but never once did he think that it would feel like he could fly.

“I love you.” Emma says with absolutely no hesitation.

His heart skips a heavy beat. Killian can’t help but smile when he meets her eyes again. “I love you too.”

Selfishly, Emma tells Killian to wait out by the dock for her so she can get some time with him before introducing him to her parents, who still sit at their table at Granny’s finishing up their meal.

With Henry still in her lap, Mary Margaret meets Emma’s eyes first thanks to a little wiggle Henry gives at the sight of her.

“I thought you were going back to the house.”

For the life of her, Emma can’t wipe the dumb grin she has on her face. Killian is here. He’s here and everything is changed, for the better. She feels like she can see clearly for the first time in a long time, no longer burdened with grief or loss.

“I… was thinking I could take Henry from you. Maybe take a quick walk.”

Her mother narrows her eyes. Clearly, she’s being far too obvious that everything is more than okay again.

“Okay…”

She collects Henry, taking time to dress him to go out into the cold.

“Are you sure you’re alright, honey?” David asks. “Just a few minutes ago you were ready to drive up to the airport and leave town.”

Emma peers up at her father, nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine.” She looks at her mom, who still seems unconvinced. “Seriously. I’m fine.”

Mary Margaret grabs her tea and has a sip. Then, as Emma puts Henry in his stroller, she says, “You know… there’s a nice view outside from here.”

Emma hums, unwilling to budge on telling them that Killian’s currently in Storybrooke until they’ve had a few minutes to themselves. There’s a lot that they need to talk about.

“Yeah. It’s pretty out there.”

Her mother hums back at her. “One might say it’s mistletoe weather.”

David seems confused, tilting his head at his wife. “What…”

“I’ll meet you guys back at the house, okay?” Emma smiles at them both, trying to move as quickly as she can so she doesn’t leave Killian out in the cold by himself for much longer.

The minute Emma can see Killian sitting in her favorite spot, Henry giggles as if he can recognize him.

“Henry!” Killian grins, pivoting with his arms held outward.

Emma smiles happily when the two embrace, Henry squishing Killian’s face between his two hands so he can give him sloppy baby kisses.

“Oh, thank you. I’ve missed this.” Killian laughs, gently moving Henry away from his face to instead sit in his lap.

He meets Emma’s eyes briefly and she sits down beside him. He extends his arm to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“I would’ve come after you right away, but...”

She squeezes his hand where it rests over Henry’s belly. There will be time for explaining later. Right now, she just needs him to know that she’s here for him.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.”

They sit in silence, watching the boats on the water, and Killian sighs, sitting upright. Emma joins him, turning so she can see him again.

There are so many things she wants to ask him. Stories she wants to hear. People he needs to meet, and places he needs to go. But she needs one answer more than the rest.

“Are you going to stay with us?”

Killian raises an eyebrow, laughing like she’s crazy. “Where else would I go, darling?”

Emma searches his eyes, not feeling soothed yet. “The island was your home. You built it up with your brother…”

She doesn’t mention the losses of Milah or their child, knowing that their graves are on the island, too.

Suddenly, all she feels is guilt. He shouldn’t have had to follow her here.

The weeks she’d spent aching and yearning for him to come here to her were so selfish. If anything, she should’ve poured more time into finding him, in being there for him, and staying by his side no matter what.

Especially now, with the knowledge that their lives are going to be entwined in such a powerful way, it feels as if she’s failed him. Emma isn’t sure how she wants to tell him about the baby, but she can’t do it yet. Not until things slow down again.

“You didn’t have to come here.” Emma whispers. She closes her eyes with remorse and pulls away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you if you weren’t ready to leave.”

Maybe it’s her past abandonments coming back to give her one last swift kick to the gut, but she has a hard time believing that he’d actually be here because of her. That he’d want to be with her so much that he’d leave his entire world behind to live in hers.

“Emma.” Killian reaches for her hand again, warmly interlocking their fingers. “I’m not supposed to be here right now. I was concussed. I have four broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. I have an almost upsetting smattering of other smaller injuries.”

The bruised and healing features of his face are more pronounced in the silence that follows. He’d been through hell. This much is clear.

“I wasn’t pushed to leave,” he says, holding her gaze intentionally. “I very much want to be here. So much so that I dragged Smee across the ocean so that I could be with you for Christmas day.”

The weight falls off of her shoulders and she closes her eyes in relief.

“Smee is terrified of flying, by the way. That was... fun.”

She can’t help but laugh at the tone of his voice.

They both turn their attention to Henry. He plays with Killian’s zipper, content in his lap, happily babbling with his head tipped upward.

It hits her then that this is her family. No matter what happened, if she’d gone after him or not, if he’d stayed on the island or not, they would always be a family.

Killian takes a moment to stare at her. “You were right. I didn’t want anything to interrupt my life… but I needed you to.” Her breath catches at the honesty of his words. “You and Henry are my home. Don’t doubt that, Emma.”

She sighs and slides closer to him on the bench, her cheek finding his shoulder blade. He smells just like she remembers. And he’s oh so warm.

Emma can’t help but think ahead of what’s still to come. He has to meet her parents, her friends… find a job here in town. And she still has to tell him about the island’s parting gift to them: a baby.

There’s one thing she knows he definitely has to do today, and it’s far and away the most terrifying of everything else.

“Are you ready to meet my parents?”

When she pulls away from him, there’s something anxious she finds in his gaze.

“I'm nervous about how they’ll look at me. I’m not a hero by any means. You know that better than most.”

Emma frowns, tilting her head to the side a little. “You are a hero, though, Killian. Look at what you did to protect us.”

He clenches his jaw and adjusts his grasp on Henry. The baby starts to cry, probably getting a little too cold, so Emma takes him from Killian and settles him in the stroller.

“He’s cold,” Emma explains. She starts to feel it herself, the cold air nipping at her cheeks and nose. A chill runs through her body. “Mom and Dad are at the diner. We can go there, or we could go home. You’ll have to meet them either way, though. I don’t think I can hide you from them forever.”

Killian stands, joining her. He seems hesitant, maybe a bit bashful, tucking his hand and blunt wrist into his jacket pockets. “Let’s go meet them at the diner. I’m hungry.”

Emma nods, smiling at him. “I’ll protect you if they make it too weird.”

He chuckles and plants a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, love.”

Walking with Emma and Henry back up the sidewalk toward the diner again, Killian feels anxious.

It’s different, being in the place she’d spoken so fondly about, about to meet the people she’d longed for the most during her time with him on the island. He imagines she’s told them about him, but isn’t sure what exactly was shared.

“Do they know that we…”

Emma meets his eyes, laughing a little. “Yeah. Um… I told them we’re together.” She pauses. “But I… it was only a few days there at the end, so maybe we can back off on it until we’re settled in more and can be serious?”

Killian can’t help but smile wryly. “Well, darling, I don’t usually tell people I love them if I don’t intend to be serious about it.”

Her answering blush is sweet.

“I do, you know,” he adds, “I do love you.”

They slow to a stop just outside of Granny’s Diner, Emma turning to him with her pretty green eyes sparkling ever so slightly. She presses her palm against his chest and pushes up onto her toes to kiss him, ever so chaste.

“I love you too.” Emma turns toward the diner, taking a steadying breath. “Okay. Let's do this.”

The bell above the door tinkles when they open it, and once they’re inside, he’s brought back to his childhood, when he and Liam would venture out to a corner cafe. The smells of coffee and grease, mixed with the fresher Christmas scents, like vanilla and peppermint, fill his nostrils. Christmas music plays over the radio speakers.

The diner isn’t very full. A waitress at the bar cleans while a few patrons talk in quiet tones scattered throughout the small space.

Emma leads him to the back of the room, to a booth in the back corner. He’s surprised to find a familiar face in Smee, who chews eagerly on a cheeseburger beside a stranger.

The stranger, a woman with dark black hair and bright eyes, seems to notice him first, a smile filling her lips in the kindest way.

Emma pushes Henry into a position where he can see the people at the table. “So… um… I guess you already know.”

The man sitting opposite the pretty dark haired woman perks up, turning to look at Killian without saying anything.

Emma tilts her head, smiling at Smee. “Hi again, Smee.”

“Miss Emma. It’s nice to see you.”

Emma takes a breath. “Mom, Dad, this is Killian.”

Emma’s mother immediately gasps excitedly and pushes out of the booth, clamoring to get her arms around him as quickly as possible. He can’t help but laugh at the gesture, finding the woman as endearing as anyone he’s ever met.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” She pulls away from him, meeting his eyes with intention, her smile wide. She has kindness in her eyes. “I’m Mary Margaret, Emma’s mom. And this handsome charmer is my husband, David.”

Mary Margaret turns, gesturing to the man who now stands beside them. David, much like his wife, smiles at him with kindness in his eyes. He holds out a hand to shake and Killian obliges.

“It’s good to meet you. We can’t thank you enough for being there for Emma and Henry.”

Killian shakes his head. “It was a privilege they found me when they did.”

David hums. He pulls his hand away and gestures to the booth. “Sit. Are you hungry?”

“Actually, I am. I’d like to eat if it’s not any trouble.”

“None at all.” Mary Margaret insists. She’s off in a flash, going to get something from the waitress at the bar.

He and Emma sit together, Emma having grabbed Henry again from the stroller. David slides in opposite of them, next to Smee.

“They flew in just a few hours ago,” Emma shares with her father.

“Portland?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious.

“Aye. Yeah. It was an interesting trip.”

Mary Margaret arrives at the table then, handing him a menu. “Here you go. Granny said she’ll be out in a few minutes to get your order.”

“Much obliged.” Killian smiles. He sets about studying the menu, nervous to be sitting in silence with Emma’s parents.

“You’re here in time for Christmas!” Mary Margaret says happily. “That’s wonderful. It’s the best holiday of the year. We have a lot of traditions we can share with you.”

“Oh, Mom,” Emma speaks up before Killian can say anything. “Can you tell your cousins to come some other day this week? I don’t think we should have a crazy full house this year.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widen. “Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll send them a message right now.”

“Most of the presents are for Henry,” David says. “Just preparing you, Emma.”

Killian stares at Henry, the little boy happy to play with a little noise-making toy that he shakes. His heart squeezes fondly, joyful that he’s able to be here with them again.

Emma laughs. “I know. Henry deserves it. It’s his first Christmas.”

The light conversation continues for a while. It’s easy to talk about Henry and about the weather, or about the best things to order off of the menu. But that’s not what Killian finds himself the most nervous about.

Once he places his order with Granny, he keeps his left wrist and right hand beneath the table, anxious to show his blunted wrist off too much to Emma’s parents. The hook had been taken from him, and the hospital had tried to get him fitted with a mechanical hand, but he hadn’t wanted it.

“So, what happened all these weeks, Killian?” David asks. “Emma told us there were pirates.”

He hesitates. This is what he’d been nervous about. This, and sharing why he wanted to be on an island by himself.

“They took me,” Killian admits, looking at Smee because he’s really the only one who truly knows what happened. “Held me hostage. I’m sure you can guess that they beat me, by the look of me.”

He feels Emma’s hand on his arm beneath the table. Looking over at her and Henry, he takes a breath.

“I only survived because I kept thinking about how I needed to get back to them.”

Emma smiles ever so slightly. He imagines that hearing about what he’d been through isn’t the most pleasant thing, so he decides to keep his answer at that.

He turns back to her parents and adds, “I don’t know what Emma told you about me and my time as the lighthouse keeper, but, I’ll just be honest with you and say that it was a hard time in my life and I wanted to be alone on that island. And then, there was Henry, and there was Emma, and suddenly, everything I thought I wanted was changed.”

Mary Margaret gives him the most gentle smile. “It seems you were meant to find each other.”

Emma rubs Killian’s arm and he looks at her. She’s so pretty. He loves her so much.

“So much happened to get you there at exactly the right time,” Mary Margaret says wistfully. “It’s kind of amazing, isn’t it, David? We almost didn’t go on that trip.”

“I know.” David nods in agreement. For whatever reason, Emma’s father seems to be a little wary of him, even though he’s put it all out on the table for them. “So you’re in Storybrooke now. What are your plans?”

“Dad…”

“What? It’s a fair question.”

“Killian’s had a long day.”

“It’s alright, love,” Killian smiles at Emma. Turning to David, he thoughtfully considers his next words. “I’m planning on taking it one day at a time, but I thought I’d get a job in town.”

“And how do Emma and Henry factor in?”

“Dad. Honestly.” Emma shakes her head in disapproval. “How about we let him settle into his new life here and once we know what’s going on, we’ll let you know?”

David sighs. “I just want to know that you’re not here for the wrong reasons.”

“I assure you, I’m not.” Killian promises.

The silence is almost deafening. Smee perks up, having cleaned his plate.

“Would you folks happen to have a spare bedroom or two?” Smee wonders. “I hate to ask, but I spent quite a bit of money getting here, so...”

“Oh, of course you can stay with us. Both of you.” Mary Margaret smiles, looking between him and Smee. “We have a guest bedroom and a pullout couch.”

Smee grins. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Nolan. I promise I won’t stay long. Can’t say the same for Jones, though.”

Killian takes a deep breath, looking at Emma. Henry has captured her attention, having curled his fingers into her hair. Laughing, she meets Killian’s gaze after a second of detangling his fingers.

He’d kiss her smile, but doesn’t want to embarrass her in front of her parents. After all, they’re still trying to figure this whole thing out.

“How long are you staying?” she wonders, clearly teasing.

Sighing playfully, he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I was thinking… maybe forever?”

Emma grins at that. “Good.”

#cs ff #cs au #cs fic #captain swan #dark gray #my writing #i've edited this chapter a zillion times #i really hope it's good

33 notes · View notes

nellie-elizabeth · 4 years ago

Text

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: New World Order (1x01)

Watching this show is going to be strange for me because I genuinely ship Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson with one Steve Rogers... so basically I just want to watch them sitting around being sad about him being dead the whole time. But I'm open to the possibilities, here, I really am...

Cons:

Positioning the bad guys here as... well, as communists who want a world without borders, and then making them into terrorists... let's just say I'm side-eying this pretty hard. You have that twist at the end, where the United States brings forth a new symbolic hero, a new Captain America, and my brain immediately started spinning forward as to where this is going to go. See, we've got anarchist baddies who want to destroy all the flags on one side, then we've got this pretender to the throne on the other side. But the issue won't be that there's something inherently flawed with the whole concept of a militarized heroic folk legend for Americans to idealize... it'll be about how it's the wrong man carrying the shield. At some point, in a moment of triumph, Sam will take the mantle on for himself, and then we can safely and comfortably cheer as our hero takes down the big bad commies who don't love 'Murica enough. I want to be wrong. I want them to mix things up, to challenge things, but all I can see is that the ultimate heroic conclusion is going to be "government control of Captain America is Bad, but Captain America himself, and what he stands for, specifically America, is good."

While I know this episode needed to set up a lot of puzzle pieces, I did think there were moments of somewhat clumsy exposition with both Bucky and Sam's story-lines. We've got Sam who's worried about his sister and her kids losing the family home and boat, and going to get a loan. There were some good moments in here, but it was a bit paint-by-numbers, and some of the dialogue fell into that "as you know..." trap where characters were having a conversation, then needed to stop and tell us it's a conversation they've already had a million times before. They're having the talk for our benefit as the audience only. That's a tough needle to thread, and they didn't quite thread it. The same thing happens during Bucky's therapy appointment. First off, the whole waking up out of a dream thing, cut to a therapist talking about nightmares... another cliché. And then we have the therapist walking him through the three steps, and restating them for the benefit of the audience, even though in the ordinary course they wouldn't lay it all out like that again, since Bucky would already know. It's a small thing, I'm nitpicking, but there were some rough aspects to the start of the show.

Pros:

First off, let's just acknowledge that the show looks great. That whole opening action scene with Sam rescuing the guy, flying around, helicopters blowing up, the base jumping tech... damn. It felt like I could be watching an action sequence on the big screen, in any standard MCU movie. Maybe not the climactic fight, but one of the shorter, introductory ones for sure. And that's what this was, wasn't it? A strong, exciting, high-energy start to the show.

I really love Sam Wilson, y'all. There's something so incredibly powerful about watching a show like this with a black man in the leading role. He's such a good person, he's charming and funny and bad-ass but compassionate. He's a little cocky but nowhere approaching an asshole about his power and fame. He's stubborn but that just shows that he really cares. The movies don't have a ton of screen-time with Sam, if we're being honest, but I already really liked him, and here I'm seeing the chance to flesh out the details and let Anthony Mackie do his thing on the silver screen. It's all really working for me so far.

I like the side characters we're folding in here - his sister seems like an interesting character with a lot to offer, and I love that Sam has these nephews in his life to care for, something to anchor him to the world in a way that Bucky, who I'll talk about in a second, kind of doesn't. It provides a nice contrast between them. I also really liked Torres, the man who helps teach Sam about the Flag Smashers (ugh, that name) and seems like a solid dude who wants to make a positive difference in the world. I hope we see more of him too.

(Also, while I'm sure Rhodey was just a brief appearance in this first episode, it was so good to see him too! I'll miss him in the MCU, if he doesn't keep popping up.)

The last thing I'll mention on Sam's side of the story is that bank loan scene. It was such a punch in the gut to see Sam denied the loan, and one of the reasons being "you don't have any income for the past five years." Well... Sam didn't exist. He got Thanos snapped. This feels so realistic to me, that the system would not pivot to adapt to the new situation, but instead leave more and more people out in the cold. Then you have the bank employee trying to get selfies with the Falcon, all excited to meet an Avenger, all while denying him and his family the money they needed to make ends meet. It was such a devastating scene, and you could see so much hope draining out of Sam's eyes. I'm anxious to see where this goes.

And then you've got Bucky Barnes... let me just say, that despite the fact that he's a super assassin, whenever I see Bucky on the screen I just want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from all harm. When I saw how Sebastian Stan was debuting on the show, in a flashback to his Winter Solider evil days, I literally said out loud, "oh no, poor Bucky" as if I wasn't watching him murder a bunch of people in cold blood. I have such an intense desire for him to be okay, so seeing him not being okay, but trying in these small ways to atone for his past actions, makes me so proud of him already.

Despite my undying belief that Bucky Barnes is deeply in love with Steve Rogers and that nobody will ever take Steve's place in his heart... I thought the date scene was actually very cute. The flowers, the board game, just chilling in the restaurant... I don't know. I hope that woman is in the show moving forward. I want Bucky to be happy. I want him to make new friends, forge connections in the world. I also really liked the stuff with Yuri, and when the reveal happened about Bucky having killed his son, it was a severe punch to the gut. Maybe I was supposed to have guessed it before the show told me, but I didn't, and when I realized why Bucky had befriended this old grumpy man... oh god. It's all too tragic.

On the one hand, it makes me a little nervous that there are only six episodes in this season, and in the first one we didn't even see Sam and Bucky interact. On the other hand, it's a pretty smart move to keep us waiting, at least a little, for the duo to emerge and develop a rapport. I can't wait for the fun banter, as I think Sam and Bucky are both funny, snarky people albeit with different attitudes and ways of expressing said snark. And I also can't wait for some more serious content between them, as they ruminate on all they've lost in the wars they've fought, on how hard it is to be suddenly missing five years of your life... and on Steve Rogers, a great friend (*ahem* boyfriend *ahem*) that they've both recently lost.

They're also holding back on Sam taking up the mantle of Captain America. I wonder if that will be a point of contention between Bucky and Sam. Bucky was there, Bucky gave his blessing, honestly, when Steve handed over the shield, and it was the only thing about Steve's ending in Endgame that didn't make me insanely furious. I want this to be a point of conflict with them, I want them to argue about the best way to honor Steve. So much juicy material here! And I'm intrigued by this "new Captain America" concept, even though I'm wary about where they're taking it, in terms of theme... we shall have to see!

All in all, this was very standard Marvel fare. I like the characters, the action is creative and enjoyable to watch, there are some emotional gut-punches and some funny lines here and there. Nothing mind-blowing, nothing so innovative and fresh and new, but just more of the same... a same that I've come to really love over the past decade or so.

8/10

#review #falcon and the winter soldier #falcon and the winter soldier review #fatws #fatws review #the falcon and the winter soldier

6 notes · View notes

iwantutobehapppier · 6 years ago

Text

Gym Time

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You just got a job at the Stark Tower in New York’s legal department. After a late shift you go to the company gym hoping not many are there but you do find one certain Avenger there looking to work out as well. Maybe you two can work out together?

Warnings: Oral (for you), unprotected sex, dirty talk (Steve naughty) and cursing in general. 18 an older only, do not read if under the age of 18. This isn’t for everyone, if any of these situations bother you please read no further.

Word Count: 4,153 *I’m too wordie ugh*

A/N: Okay guys so you if you saw my posts earlier I didn’t want to go to the gym but I needed to which made me think about going to the gym and working out with Captain America. Ta-dah! A one-shot was made and THEN I went to the gym like a grown up. Enjoy!

You huffed for what seemed like the tenth time since you came back from lunch to find reports on your desk with a follow up e-mail from your boss stating it had to be done today as it was end of the work week. You weren’t getting anywhere on them and you could feel the tension radiating from your shoulders and down. It was tempting to call out for the rest of the day but you could hear your mother’s voice in the back of your head reminding you what a big opportunity it was to get a job with Stark Legal department right out of law school. Shaking your head you turned your attention back to the work at hand, determined to meet the deadline regardless of the creeping tension headache.

It wasn’t until the florescent in the large open office became the main source of light that you realized it was getting late. Glancing down you blanched at the time, it was almost eight?! At least the work was done you sighed out while attaching the needed information in an e-mail and addressing it to your slave worker boss, almost signing the e-mail ‘You ever indentured servant’ but knew it was a piss poor decision. Rolling your shoulders back you could feel the muscles pull and strain at the stretching after being static for so long. You knew you needed to go to the gym today, having not been since last week but given the time it seemed so daunting, your bed, pj’s and Netflix seemed much more inviting.

Squaring your shoulders you compelled yourself to go, after all the gym in the Stark Tower was state of the art and given the hour it wouldn’t be nearly as busy. Not giving yourself another out you quickly gathered your purse and work bag heading straight to the elevator; after all you had wanted to build some muscle after all the chaos following the Alien Invasion in the City. You knew you couldn’t fight off an army but the desire to be able to defend yourself one on one at most became important to you following the events.

The gym was practically empty by the time you go there, a few people in the cardio area on the elliptical and treadmills but no one was in the weight training area, you could feel yourself getting giddy at having the whole area to yourself. You were doing your warm up stretching when you heard heavy steps come your way a little upset you lost your solitude you decided to not let it sour your mood moving into a standing hamstring stretch, crossing your foot over the other working to loosen the muscles for the grueling work out you were planning to give them.

You made you way to the Lat Pull-Down machine when you caught a glimpse of who it was that had taken up your area. Your steps falter for a moment but tried to play it cool as you sat down at the machine now facing the Steve Rogers while he did an overhead shoulder stretch. You began your reps trying hard to not ogle the clear definition of muscles that rippled with each new stretch he did. You knew a few of the Avengers either frequented the Stark Tower but you had never expected to see any of them in person, let alone the Captain America. You couldn’t wait to tell your dad you worked out with Captain America, he would be practically green with envy and demand you get a picture. However you weren’t going to invade his privacy regardless how happy it would make your dad.

You felt warmth pool between your legs watching him start to bench press an insane amount of weight, the sweat glistening off his face and arms was almost too much. The grunts he made were damn near pornographic and you swore you caught him staring when you moved to the row machine passing by him on your way. It was like this for the next almost hour, the two of you moving to different locations to work out, his eyes trailing along your body when you’d pass by and you nearly drooling as his grey tank top grew dark spots with his sweat. It wasn’t until you were both at the free weights that either of you verbally acknowledged each other.

“Your work out is rather impressive, trying to prepare for anything in particular?” Steve’s voice was rough and smooth, much more different than you imagined it would be in person, his persona on T.V. always so charismatic and damned loveable.

“Just want to have enough muscle built up that I can defend myself. Normally I do Jui-Jitsu but given the hour don’t think they’d have any classes going.”

“That’s smart choice of fighting style, using the opponent’s weight against them versus depending on your own.” You both began bicep curls, his weights you noted, together were beyond your own personal weight.

“I wouldn’t think you’d know about Jui-Jitsu,” you tried to keep talking, distracting yourself from the fact that he could easily lift you up could mean for a rather enjoyable time together.

“The internet has certainly helped me catch up; rather imperative to know what the newer fighting styles are. I’d hate to go into a situation where someone came at me and I was unable to size up the situation to defend accordingly.”

You nodded your head at his explanation, watching the bead of sweat move down his temple, slipping down his chin, trailing around and down his Adam’s apple to disappear below his shirt. You began breathing through your mouth that warmth you felt before in your work out leggings returning with ferocity; he was sidetracking you from working out. You weren’t sure how many reps you had done but you took a large drink of water and moved to your next work out with the free weights. The silence fell between the two of you standing in front of the wall mirror checking your form, you trailed your eyes to Steve’s and immediately caught him staring right at you, slow smirk slid over his lips and the twinkle in his eyes making you nervous.

“Well I could always be your partner,” You didn’t even realize his spoke at first, the two of you not breaking eye contact.

“Partner, what, huh?” you half got out, before looking back at yourself in the mirror correcting your form. You had been too entranced in his eyes to really understand what he meant.

“A sparing partner for tonight, I don’t know about you but these are not doing enough to get that good work out I need.” You dared to look at him again that smirk still on his face, as if daring you to say no.

“Um,” you paused, fighting Captain America even if just sparing seemed intimidating and preposterous to even imagine you could win that. He chuckled as if he could read your thoughts, your eyes narrowed at him, what all did that serum do to him again?

“I’ll go easy on you, though given that fire I’ve seen all night working out you may give me a good run for my money.” His compliment whether true or not did boost your confidence enough to agree.

Steve Rogers or Captain America was facing you on the blue gym sparing mats a small smirk playing at his lips again, it was taunting almost and you could feel the desire growing to wipe that smirk off his face, regardless of how fucking sexy he was.

“We’re about to spar and I don’t even know your name how rude of me,” He broke your concentration with formalities; he reached his left hand out in offering. “Steve Rogers,” You smiled at him and gave your name, reaching for his hand with your opposite hand. When his smirk turned into a full smile at hearing your name you knew this was an opportunity. Using the other hand you gripped his left triceps of the same arm and before he knew what was happening you pulled his arm across himself and dropped. Wrapping your opposite leg around his left you shoved your hip and chest against his leg locking it out sending him to the ground and you quickly pushing your head against his stomach and then moving up against his body, until you were ear to ear your leg between his legs. He looked surprised and let out a deep chuckle.

“Well then, guess we’re starting.” He started and in a flash he had you pinned below him, sitting on your lower abdomen but not giving his full weight while holding your hands down to the mat. He could only get out a word before you moved one of your legs outside of his bent leg bending both your knees you shoved your hips up dislodging him from on top of you, you crawled back and stood up, waiting for him to stand up, keeping yourself light on your feet. He stood up, his height towering over you but you kept your pep up determined to hold your own but you could feel the tiredness of the working out before setting in.

You two grappled, threw fists and blocked for a few minutes. It wasn’t long until you two were back on the ground of the mat; you knew you had to keep him low else he’d use that upper body strength. He was between your legs, hands holding your shoulders down this time. You could feel his warm through his sweat pants and your leggings, you tried not to think about what appeared to be a growing boner push into you. You pivoted your upper body to the right, raising your leg up into his arm pit wrapping around his back taking the other leg you pulled it to the other side of the arm your other leg sat under and shoved him to his back taking his arm with both of your hands, holding him in an arm bar. Your outer leg over his face other braced over his chest trying to keep him down.

You looked at him holding his arm tight between your breasts trying to look triumphant but uncomfortably aware of his hot breath on your leg. His free hand gripped the inside of your thigh, while he gently began kissing up the calf at his face. Your eyes widened in shock immediately feeling the heat in your cheeks from a blush and not just the redness form physical exertion. When he felt your grip slacken he moved to sitting on his knees pulling you to him without any effort into his lap, your legs resting on either side of him, chest to chest with one arm wrapped around your lower back. His display of strength made you aware of just how easy he was taking it on you, this had been purely foreplay.

Experimentally you pushed your hips down on his hard cock and he groaned deep. He gripped the back of your head and pulled you into a rough kiss, lips, teeth and tongue clashing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair with one hand. He continued running his tongue long your mouth, committing it to memory, when he finally pulled away you two panted, breath moving from one to the other.

“Tell me you want this too,” His voice was a lower octave than before and it made you roll your hips into him, in response he gripped your hips stilling your movement growling out your name between gritted teeth he looked you in the eyes. “Tell me.” His tone desperate.

“I want this-” you barely finished the last word when his lips were on yours again, controlling your hips to roll against him as he raised his hips up. You could feel his throbbing cock against your heat and you couldn’t even find yourself worried about having sex at your work’s gym. All your thoughts focused on getting him naked you trailed your hands up under his shirt, bunching it up above his pecs.

He pulled his lips from you once more “Wait, wait.” You whimpered at that, grounding your hips down against him causing him to groan out in response. “Not here,” he continued but you didn’t care anymore. There was a fire growing inside you and it had to be put out, only one super solider could extinguish it. You began kissing down his chin to his neck and bit down on the bulging muscle between his neck and shoulders, he gripped your shoulders almost painful. He pulled you from him and you whined at him with a pout.

A soft chuckle came out, “There’s rooms up on the top floors. Just hold on for me doll.” Your face brightened at the nickname. He pulled the both of you up to your feet, setting you down he gently cupped your chin tilting your head up. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of that sweet needy pussy of yours.” Your knees went weak at his words, pressing your palms to his hard chest to steady yourself. You could not believe Steve Rogers, Captain America was talking like this.

You both quickly grabbed your items, ignoring the two people left in the gym making way to the elevator.

“Top floor,” Steve smiled down at you innocently as if he hadn’t said such nasty things a moment ago. “Top Floor, Clearance Approved, welcome Steve Rogers.” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied and the elevator took off at its accelerated speed to reach the top quickly. You stumbled at the momentum, Steve’s arm shot out around you pulling you to his side. You looked up at him, his face already turned down to you he leaned further down and locked your lips to his once more. The kiss passionate once more, his tongue sliding along your lips demanding entrance that you welcomed. The hand around you slipped down to your ass, groping and with a gentle smack, you moaned into his mouth. Your noises spurring him on, he slipped fingers between your cheeks gently tapping your pussy. You gripped at his tank top in desperation, you dropped your bag and gave to thought if you damaged your company laptop with the loud clang the bag made on the elevator floor. He pulled himself from your lips long enough to grab your bags with his free hand when the elevator doors opened and led you to wherever he wanted to take you. You were well pass caring.

He sat you down on a couch, you barely noticed the bar across the way or the beautiful view that the ceiling to wall windows certainly provided. You could only see him; you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as he peeled his tank top off. You followed his lead pulling your work out tank off and tossing it aside, he watched with hooded eyes when your breasts spilled out of your sports bra next. Once you had tossed that aside he fell to his knees between your legs, pressing his face to your breasts his speech muffled you pulled his head back and looked at him curiously.

“I knew you’d be perfect.” You blushed at his words, lowering your head to your chest feeling very shy all of a sudden.

“You kept pushing yourself as you worked out and I couldn’t stop staring. I didn’t even care if you saw me; you were insatiable working out down there. I wanted to see that same passion focused on me.”

Your eyes widened, he had been trying to get you here that soon? You had thought it was only from the sparing. He didn’t allow you to think any longer, taking a nipple in his mouth he rolling his tongue around the nipple before gently taking the nipple between his teeth and gently pulling. You cried out, your hands gripping his head, legs wrapping around him pushing yourself into him for some much needed friction. He kissed his way to your other breast distracting you from his hands moving between your legs. The loud rip of him pulling the seam of your leggings apart gave you a startle. He gripped the underwear revealed underneath and ripped them off with barely any resistance to his strength.

Before he could do more your feet began to push his sweat pants off, taking your clue he pulled them down to his bent knees, pulling himself up a bit you could see his cock. You idly thought he should really go into porn with how thick and long his cock was. The size was intimidating and you swallowed loudly you wanted it so bad but feared it would hurt.

“Steve I don’t know if” he shushed you and kissed your lips softer than he had before.

“Don’t you worry at all. I’ll make sure you can take every inch.” You stared up at him with wide eyes his tone cocky and self-assured. He began to trail his fingers up and down your lips, then pulling them apart a full face smile took over his face, he looked so satisfied at what he found.

“Is this all for me? You’re soaking wet doll.” You meekly nodded your head, his dirty talk make you unable to think and talk back.

He devoured you whole, his tongue diving into your pussy, the slurping noises only proving his previous statement. You were soaked and certain he wanted to drown in you at his actions, you came up off the couch moaning out when he wrapped his lips around your engorged clit and began his torturous menstruation on you placing a hand over your lower abdomen keeping you down.

“Now now, don’t interrupt my meal.” His eyes twinkled with mischief you weren’t sure you were capable of handling anymore. He experimentally inserted two fingers and groaned feeling your tight heat around his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Gonna have to stretch you out a bit.” He looked back up at you. “That okay doll?” You couldn’t even respond before he attached his lips to your clit again and began to push his fingers in and out of you, pulling them apart to stretch you. It wasn’t long before he added a third finger, you were a little uncomfortable at this stretch, his fingers so big. He noticed your discomfort and began to hum sending vibrations through your clit causing you to cry out and flood his fingers. Feeling the smirk around your clit he continued to thrust his fingers into you, curling then slightly pressing on your g spot.

Your hands slammed against the couch, and if not for his arm holding you down you would have shoved him off, thrashing your head back and forth you felt the telling sensation begin to pool in your abdomen.

“Steve, Steve,” you chanted as the sensation continued approaching, he added a fourth finger and you felt yourself spin out of control calling out his name. When you regained your sense you saw him licking and sucking his fingers clean. His eyes caught yours and the sinful smile that he gave you was downright illegal. You shuddered with a whimper, leaning forward your wrapped your hand around his cock, satisfied at the hiss he made when you began to stroke him up and down.

“You gotta stop that or I won’t last much longer.” He pulled your hand off him and pouted.

“Now don’t look at me like that.” He pulled you down the couch a little bit more, lining his red flushed cock with your entrance. Slowly he began to press himself into you, throwing your head back at the feeling of him stretching you, it felt so good that you began to press yourself towards him but his hands stilled you. “Gotta go slow, else I’ll hurt you doll.” You looked at him, his eyes soft trying to get you to see reason within your lust haze. How was he able to be so in control when you felt like every part of your being was on fire?

He stopped half way and began to circle your clit with his thumb; you bucked against him moaning out his name.

“I know, I know it feels so good doesn’t it?” you whined out, your hands gripping at his waist and legs wrapping around him tightly trying to pull in more but he only moved a little bit at your movement.

“I want more,” you begged and he chuckled. “You’re such a greedy little thing.” He responded by pushing himself in further, you bit your lower lip as you breathed out heavily he was stretching you in ways you had never felt before. It was almost cruel at how good he felt inside you. Impatiently you rocked against him slowly moving more and more in. Catching on to your schemes he put both his hand on the couch either side of you and thrust himself the rest of the way in. You cried out gripping his forearms and throwing your head back. He stayed still, panting heavily above you trying to restrain himself, his calmness gone as he felt you wrapped around him entirely, squeezing him tightly.

“You feel so good,” he gritted out between his teeth between controlled breaths. “It’s almost too good.” You whimpered out and contracted yourself around him, his eyes shot open and both hands went to your hips. He took in a ragged breath as he tried to steady himself but you were having none of that, you swiveled your hips as much as you could within his grip. He looked down at you with grim smile, suddenly not so sure pushing a super solider a good idea anymore but it was too late.

Holding you in place he began to piston himself in and out of you at a steady pace. His groans mixed with your moans and whimpers, both of you lost in the feeling of each other. When his rhythm became staccato he suddenly pulled himself completely out of you grunting and panting, his eyes closed tight.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, trying to regain some composure. “You make me feel like a teenage boy again.” You felt pride swell in your chest at his words but the empty feeling between your legs took over and you tried to pull him back to you with your legs around him.

“Just a moment doll,” His breathing was forced as he tried to calm himself down any way possible. He pulled you up to stand with him and walked you back until you felt the cool glass pressed up against you. He smiled down at you before tasting your lips once again in a kiss. He pulled one of your legs over his hip gripping your ass and rubbing himself against your stomach as you continued to kiss. When you pulled away you spoke up.

“From behind,” you was all you could muster to say, shy about you request. His eyes shined with pleasure and nodded his head vigorously.

“Oh fuck yes, turn around, quickly.” You did as he commanded and he gripped your hips once more but from behind, pulling you slightly from the window he lifted you up barely off your toes, you laid your arms against the glass as he pushed forward shoving himself all the way back in bending your back down he curled into you. You cried out and he groaned into your neck begging to swing you back and forth on his cock.

“Look at yourself.” You looked at your reflection in the glass, your flush face lips parted and eyes dark was entrancing. You had never looked at yourself in this state before. “You’re so gorgeous taking my cock,” he caught your eyes and pushed you against the glass side of you face and breasts pressing against it as he started to push and pull at a fierce pace. Your moans and cries fogging up the glass as the coil began to tighten again within you; he panted and let out groans each time he was fully in you.

“I need you to come on my cock,” He groaned out as his pace became frenzied. You felt the release crash over you as if his words governed your body, wailing out at the intensity of it you felt him freeze inside of you and pulse. The feeling of him flooding your insides made you whimper out. Steve kept himself inside you stumbling back until he sat on the couch you on top of him, his cock nestled within you as it slowly softened.

It was awhile before either of you could catch your breath. He broke the silence.

“Time for a cool down stretch?” You popped his thigh with the back of your hand as you laughed at his absurdity.

#steve rogers x female #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain America #marvel #Steve Rogers smut #captain America smut #fanfic

1K notes · View notes