#i do think he might have to inclination to gloss over some stuff when they reconcile but hey that’s showbiz baby | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weepingvoidpenguin · 4 years ago

Text

One of Your Favorites

Jealous Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have an objective. Get Rumlow to confess. Simple enough, right? No. Aside from his usual condescending attitude towards you, Bucky has made it extremely apparent that he doesn’t think you’re capable of - well, anything, but especially not handling Rumlow. And yet, he is the biggest challenge of this entire ordeal.

Warning: T R I G G E R WARNING!! ATTEMPTED SA, DRUGS, language, light smut. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ IF SA WILL TRIGGER YOU.

Word Count: 8.3k

“We have good intel stating he’s working as a double agent for HYDRA. Selling information, exploiting tactics, even going so far as to tell them where we’ll be and when.” Natasha scanned the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention during the briefing.

You slouched back in your swivel chair and twisted to-and-fro slightly with your hands gripping the arm rests on either side. It took all of your willpower to act engrossed in her words. And you meant every single drop. You’d been paying attention, sure, but the only issue was the dominating presence two seats to your right and directly in your line of sight to Natasha. You rolled your chair to the left to clear the path for the third time, only for him to block your way without missing a beat. The growl that left your mouth was nearly involuntary. Nearly.

How long would this man act like a child? Despite his graceful and seemingly unsuspecting movements, you were fully aware his placement was intentional. This was not the first, nor did you doubt that it would be the last, time that Bucky acted impudently toward you. Frankly, you’d grown bored of his behavior. It was the same thing everyday. He would act a nuisance during the briefings, speak over you whenever he had the chance, steal the limelight from you and invalidate any concerns or thoughts you shared. The whole charade grew tiring and he had been dancing on thin ice for months now.

You averted your gaze from burning holes through the freshly washed, brown locks and switched your attention back up to the redhead. Thankfully, too, because you managed to catch the end of her sentence just as she locked eyes with you.

“And that’s why Y/N is going to be the one to extract the information from him,” she finished.

You blinked, “Wait, what?”

Bucky straightened his posture and threw a quick glance your way, “Yeah, what? She’s got no heat, couldn’t toast marshmallows if we gave her all day. She shouldn’t lead this, she wouldn’t know how,”

“Well, tonight might be a good time to start learning, then,” Steve chimed in, throwing a wink your way. You smiled and appreciated his aid, not because you needed it but because at this point, you were seething and if you opened your mouth to defend yourself this meeting would go south, quickly. Luckily, Steve always believed you were capable of a great deal of things and knew you strove for more experience so any opportunity to lead or expand was one he thought you should take.

“Besides,” Tony spoke up, twirling a platinum pen between his fingers from across the table, “our little double-agent has always had the hots for Y/N so unless you’re gonna be the one to bat your eyelashes at him and get him alone in a room, Mr. Barnes, we have to use his own flaws against him.” He turned to face you and held up a hand, “Not to say that liking you is a flaw, you’re great Hot-Stuff but exploiting him is our best option indefinitely,”

“Do I have to seduce him?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow towards Nat, trying your damned hardest to avoid the unmistakable glare the brown-haired super soldier was sending your way.

“The only thing you have to do is extract any information on him that you can. Get him a little drunk, catch him in a slip-up or two, take note of any inconsistent stories and be on your merry way,” she reassured, “How you manage to do that is up to you,”

“Ooh, extortion,” Clint chirped up from the far back corner, his hands rubbing together maliciously around an arrow he pulled from his sheathe, something you noticed he did a lot when he was uninterested; be it a person, mission, or conversation.

“No. Not extortion,” Steve shut it down and you chuckled at how Clint’s countenance fell into one of disappointment.

“Not yet anyway,” Natasha mumbled and you sighed as she walked around the room and handed each of you a folder with your individual objectives inside.

“But he’s such a pervert,” you grumbled.

“All the easier,”

The rest of the day was drudged with Nat while she taught the pertinence of body language (both yours and theirs), verbal ruses, and overall ensnarement. You bat your eyelashes until you were certain you would catch enough wind to fly away, smirked enough that your cheeks began to ache and raised your eyebrows ‘til you felt the impending wrinkles on your forehead. By the end of the drill you weren’t sure you were even going to make it to the company party from the migraine creeping its way on.

“How’s the bait coming along?” His voice alone caused you to roll your eyes but you paid no mind while you rubbed at your temples and stood up alongside Natasha.

“She’s not gonna be able to lie to me any time soon but she can flirt her way to whatever she wants,”

“Benefits of targeting a narcissistic misogynist, they don’t think anyone can fool them.” Tony belted as he sauntered into the room with strawberries, offering them out to you while he munched on one.

“She’ll still mess it up,” Bucky countered, “Make someone else do it,”

You plucked the fruit off Tony’s tray and examined it, trying to figure out whether you were going to consume it or use it as a weapon.

“I really appreciate your words of encouragement, James. Unfortunately, they’re not wanted, nor are they needed.” You bit into the fruit and glided towards the door, looking over your shoulder at the super soldier, “So unless you actually have something to contribute, I suggest you stay the hell out of my way while I get the job done,”

Nat walked out behind you and handed you a tiny, skin-colored device meant to conceal itself and you placed it in your ear.

“The conversation is gonna be recorded so we can catch any inconsistencies. We’ll all be able to hear what you’re saying so tread on delicate waters but don’t be afraid to shake mountains if you have to,”

You nodded and opened your door for her to enter your room knowing she’d want to help you get ready for the event. Natasha, shocking as it turns out, enjoys company while preparing for events. She would much prefer to be surrounded by people than be alone. You never had gall to ask her why that is. Or maybe you respected her too much to ask.

An hour had passed, maybe two, but you enjoyed the silence between you both. There was no need to fill the empty quiet when it was so comfortable and welcoming. You two spoke without words at times and that was probably your favorite personal skill. Eventually, there came a knock on your door and you opened to find Wanda with her flat iron and make-up bag in tow. It’d long since been decided that your room was the gathering center.

Wanda helped you finish touching up your outfit and you waited on your bed while they finished getting ready. Nat occasionally quizzed you on certain situations and how you should act depending on the tones and moods of the conversation. You tried to explain that you didn’t have difficulty reading a room but Nat tested you all the same.

“And if he puts his hand on your thigh?” She called out from your bathroom.

“Then he loses it,” you practically sang in response.

You were met with a flying hairbrush and laughed at the onslaught.

“You’re not the only one with that mentality,” Wanda called out as well, her iron glossing over thin strands of hair.

“Nat knows I can handle myself.” You sat up on the bed and went over to your closet to collect your favorite pair of shoes to go along with the formal attire Nat selected for tonight. “What a coincidence that we happen to have a company party the same night we have to extract information,” you hollered over your shoulder, moving aside terribly worn shoes while you scoured for the pair you had in mind.

“This objective has been in the works for weeks now,” Nat released the tendril of hair from around the barrel and pinned it to her head so it could cool.

“Wow, thanks for the heads up, then.” You gripped the desired pair and placed them beside your nightstand for later.

“The plan wasn’t solid until we knew for a fact that Rumlow was coming. It’s a company party so it’s not mandatory but once he heard you were making an appearance, it didn’t take very much persuading,”

You rolled your eyes and plopped back down on your mattress, “He’s so annoying, I doubt I can hold much of a conversation with him,”

“Take a shot or two to ease your nerves, if he sees you drinking it’ll put him at ease too. He’ll be more inclined to drink,” Natasha recommended. “But don’t act too out of character. If you were always curt and short with him and suddenly you start acting over-friendly, he may get suspicious. He’s an idiot but he’s a paranoid one,”

You nodded, taking a mental note to have a half-empty bottle in your grasp when Rumlow arrives. If he thinks you’ve already been drinking, he might also consider catching up.

“Y/N? Not uptight for once?” Wanda sarcastically questioned. “I can’t picture it,”

“Oh, fuck off,” you grumbled and in turn received laughter from the two girls. “Besides, of all of us I’m by far the least uptight. Barnes takes the cake for that one,”

There was a beat of silence that you didn’t register before you were met with a response.

��Ya know, he’s not as bad as you paint him out to be.” Nat unpinned the curl from her head and moved on to the next section, “He’s got some serious loyalty and always willing to volunteer first for everything,”

You lifted your head to stare at her reflection through the mirror, “What are you talking about? He’s annoying and irate and lacks a filter,”

“Mmm, irate isn’t the word I would use,” Wanda countered, looking over to Natasha.

Nat shook her head in response, “I’d lean more towards . . . over-protective,”

“Much better,” Wanda agreed.

You squinted your eyes at their image and felt the corners of your lips turn downwards, “Over-protective? Since when are you two defending Barnes?”

“We’re not defending him, per say.” Wanda glanced over to Nat, “We’re just trying to give you a fresh perspective,”

“You could give me a brand new pair of eyes and I’d still see him the same,” you retorted, now leaning on your elbows due to the strain on your neck.

They ignored the comment, “And he’s only annoying to you,”

“You’re telling me he doesn’t annoy you at all?” You asked, an eyebrow raised.

“More like . . . he doesn’t go out of his way to mess with us.” Nat applied a nude color onto her lips.

“So you agree that he goes out of his way to irritate me,” you stated rather than asked.

“That’s been made very apparent,” Wanda responded. “But you have to wonder why,”

You huffed a little and sprawled back out on the bed just to result in staring at the ceiling above. If you looked hard enough your mind would create pictures from the chaos of the cracks and shapes began to form. Sometimes, when the night lay still and life seemed to dwindle at the edges of your reality, you could swear a familiar face fashioned together and your imagination ran wild with the images you’d see. Some that brought a warmth to your cheeks even now.

You shot up out of bed and shook the memories from your vision. Ugh. He haunts you even when he’s not actively tormenting you. How he’s managed to crawl his way so deeply within your skin you had no idea but you fought for control of your thoughts whenever you caught them slipping into that hellhole.

“Or slipping into euphoria,” Wanda chimed in.

“Wanda!” You scolded, crossing your arms, “Euphoria my ass,”

“Yeah, he thinks so too,” she continued and you chucked the abandoned hairbrush back their way.

“Stay out of my head,” you jokingly sniped at her but was met with a low chuckle.

“I didn’t even have to be in your head to know what you were thinking of,” Nat defended and caught your weapon of choice.

“Are you guys done yet?” You rolled your eyes and stretched yourself out before swiping up the pair of heels you’d chosen and sliding them onto your feet.

“Why? Are you in a hurry to see a certain someone?” Natasha teased and Wanda let out an eruption of laughter.

“All right, I’m done.” You made a beeline for the door and threw it open, “Lock up when you’re finished!” You bellowed over your shoulder and made your way to the top floor of the building where all the parties are typically held.

You didn’t run into anyone on the way up and you used that time to calm yourself, prying inch by inch away from the invasive thoughts that called for you in the darkest hours of the night. But, then again, maybe those tormenting thoughts weren’t that bad? You mean, he certainly IS handsome, very much so actually. And he has the most knee-wobbling smirk you’d ever come to know, not to mention those little tricks he does with his knives always manage to entrance you. God, did he know how to use a knife.

On more than one occasion had you caught yourself staring at how his hands encapsulated the hilt of the blade. How they clenched and relaxed, drawing out some of the more prominent veins on one of the extremities; of course, you were even more so enticed by the hand he hid as well. You’d imagined what it felt like to have such strong hands grip onto your thighs and coax you into spreading them open with just a few teasing touches here and there. You couldn’t fathom the front you’d put up would last very long, he was stellar at pulling reactions from you. He’d see you break under his caresses and he’d degrade you like he always did but this time it’d emit a different response from you, one that made you whimper and shake. At that, he’d probably call you a good girl, he definitely seems the type to switch between degradation and praise, and would press his mouth up just where you wanted it the most. You’d try your hardest to be quiet but damn the way that tongue moved against you and the way he’d pull you harder against his face at each sound of pleasure you let slip past your lips. He’d enjoy it, too. Eyes closed as he devours you, he likes to put on a show for you to watch. Give you a memory that’ll slick your thighs later that night if he hadn’t fucked you into a coma by then. He’d make you watch him and if you dared to close your eyes you’d earn a firm, cold smack on your ass. He knows you like when he uses temperature play. He growls a little too, he can’t help his innate behavior. Then, just as the accumulation is coming to its apex he’d pull away abruptly and kiss you straight on your mouth so you can taste yourself and that’d earn him another whimper which would result in another smack that leads to that cold metal trailing its way to your core and just as he pushes the tip of his finger inside-

You cough and straighten your posture as the elevator door opens. When had you leaned up against the back wall of the elevator? Oh Gods, you could feel the slick at the apex of your thighs and you squeezed them together as inconspicuously as you could in fear that you were producing a . . . scent that would be rather difficult to conceal. But the slick only grew worse when you locked eyes with the person stepping into the elevator.

Fuck.

“That’s what you chose to wear?” He asked, a certain venom in his tone that immediately calmed the ache in your heat.

“And what would you have me wear instead, Barnes?” You quipped back, your body facing forward as he took his place beside you in the cramped space.

There was a beat of silence. Then another. “Not that,” he responded.

“Well I’ll make sure to ask you next time since you have such impeccable taste,” you retorted, your eyes yet to abandon the sight of the closing doors.

You weren’t sure of all the effects of the Super Soldier Serum that had been injected into Bucky and all that it heightened but you prayed to any God that would listen that his hearing wasn’t one of those things. You were too preoccupied with attempting to settle the hot pulse beating between your legs to worry about how loud your discomfort came across.

“What do you look so nervous about?” Bucky’s gruff voice prodded. “You can’t possibly be nervous about the mission considering how big-headed you are,”

You took a deep, long breath and held it to soothe you. Had you not been so previously preoccupied, you’d have given him hell for the insult. “I’m not nervous about that,” you sniped and rested back against the cool wall to satiate your burning skin before lifting your gaze to him only to find him already examining you.

“Of course not, I just said that,” he retorted, bringing a gloved hand to his face to rub along his jaw, “there’s obviously nothing for you to worry about,”

You scoffed, “And why is that, Barnes?” Cue the dramatic crossing of your arms.

“You’re smarter than Rumlow and significantly better trained. Overall, he really doesn’t hold a candle to your ability,” He paused for a second, his whole frame tensing until he remembered to relax, “But that’s not really saying much considering it’s Rumlow,”

You hadn’t noticed you raised your eyebrows until you felt your face fall, “Ah, there he is. You had me worried there for a second, Barnes. Thought you might actually try something new and display common decency for once,”

A corner of his mouth turned up subtly and he shook his head. You trailed your gaze down to his hidden hand and stared long enough to burn a hole through the fabric.

“If something’s bothering you, Dollface, go ahead and speak up,”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to say anything, especially knowing how touchy the subject was for him but the words left your mouth anyway, “I don’t know why you insist on hiding yourself,”

He lurched his head back, your statement seeming to have a physical affect on the man and you mentally slapped yourself for saying anything.

“I’m not hiding myself,”

“But you are,” you interrupted, your thoughts coming out in pools of candor, “you aren’t your hand. You aren’t your past. You are you. Presently. You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. That’s not even the same hand you had back then. It’s not tainted and neither are you. I say drop the gloves,”

“And why would I care about what you say?” He growled, his eyebrows furrowed together and his neck tight in potential restraint.

The elevator dinged and you looked towards the opening doors, “You don’t have to but they don’t look right with your suit either.” You walked through the exit and sauntered over to the others who had already gotten the party started, leaving Bucky dumb-founded behind you. “I need a shot,”

“Already ready,” Tony quipped up, holding the small glass in the air for everyone to behold before bringing his cheek to yours in mock welcoming, “This’ll up your tolerance for the next hour, try to get all your drinking done within that time-frame,”

You pulled away with a warm smile after faux kissing his cheek, “Finally!” you displayed and threw the liquid back in one swift motion, your face scrunching together against your will.

“Yeah, she’s got a kick to her,” he mumbled and handed you a fruity drink to chase it down with.

You went around and said hi to everyone as you recognized most of those present. You made small chatter with those lesser known and drank the liquid in your hand significantly quicker than you’d like to. You excused yourself after you finished the drink and walked over to the bar, scanning the room as you were handed another glass. No Rumlow in sight.

You headed towards the foosball table and gripped the handles after setting the beverage down on the counter beside you. You flinched as a reflection of light caught your eye and at first you thought your glass was the source. Until your eyes fixated on the reflection’s actual origin. To your far right, and up a few steps you found Bucky conversing with Steve, a dull light emitting from his hand. Not a glove in sight.

“So, where’s your boyfriend?” Sam inquired when he filled the opposing spot.

You rolled your eyes, “Bucky’s not my boyfriend,”

“Bucky?” Sam’s tone chirped up teasingly, a knowing look wearing on his face.

Your grip tightened around the handles and you slowly pulled away to throw the little white ball through the circle, your hands immediately twisting the miniscule players around. Your eyes shot back and forth, your sight never leaving the darting sphere. Sam still managed to win the first point.

“Ha!” He shouted in triumph, bringing his finger up as if to scold you, “Don’t think you got away with that comment either, Y/N,”

“What comment?” you questioned and gulped most of your drink before slamming it back down on the table.

You heard your earpiece come to life with quiet static and you tried to keep your face masked. Rumlow had entered. Not a surprise either, the party was finally starting to pick up now.

Sam threw the ball in and you turned the players meticulously this time, brute strength hadn’t helped you earlier so maybe you should take it slow. Steve made his way over to the table and threw his drink back, the liquid trickling down the side of his face before he wiped it away. Sam won the second point.

“I play winner,” Tony chimed, standing beside Steve.

You made a point to catch up and now you two were tied at three each.

“Best out of five?” You proposed, quirking an eyebrow at Sam.

“If you didn’t want to play anymore you could’ve just said that,” he teased and you smirked at him as Tony made a subtle show of handing you another drink and you finished your second. “Loser takes two shots?”

“Deal.” You nodded, knowing you didn’t have much of a choice as a small crowd began to form around you two. Rumlow amongst them.

Your jaw dropped when Sam shot the ball directly into your goal as soon as he’d let the ball go.

“What the fuck?” You shouted, “No fair! That doesn’t count!”

Thor erupted in laughter to your right and you blinked slowly, staring at the gargantuan man.

“It most certainly does,” Sam shouted back, his grin practically touching his ears.

“Sam, take it easy on her,” Bucky muttered from beside him, quickly averting his gaze from yours and his expression loosened, “The brat hates losing,”

“Brat?” You snarled.

Bucky took a swig of his beer, watching you the entire time and you reeled back the fire beginning to form in your chest just to bring your drink up to your lips and chug the entire thing down. You handed it over to Tony who left to replace it.

“Last point,” Sam stated, “It’s not too late to quit now,”

You shook your head and blinked away the feign distortion you were supposed to have. “Just play the ball,”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teased and threw the ball in.

You wanted to win. Desperately. But you had a character to play tonight and she was supposed to be drunk. So you hit your hand against the corner of the table just as Sam happened to make the winning point. You grumbled and threw him a glare when Tony broke through the crowd.

“Coming through,” he shouted, handing two small glasses to you while you gripped your knuckles in pain. “Noooo, you’re not getting out of taking these. C’mon, take your punishment,”

“Yes, Daddy,” you grumbled and cringed at your own words when the realization hit you. Whatever. You were supposed to be drunk, anyway.

“Daddy?” Tony quipped and pulled the drinks back towards himself, “Maybe you should be cut off,”

“What?” You argued, leaning slightly on the table with your hand and snatching the drinks from Tony’s hold, effectively spilling some on yourself. “See?” You lifted up the half empty shot glass, “This barely counts as a shot,”

“I’ll get her a new one,” Rumlow offered and disappeared before anyone could argue.

“She really doesn’t need another-” Bucky tried to interject and take the shots from you but you twisted around and chugged down the one full glass.

Water.

You looked up at Tony and his smirk was barely noticeable. But you could tell. Bucky nearly ripped the other drink from you but Tony blocked his path and you exaggerated your next drink as Rumlow broke back into the crowd, shot in tow.

“Here.” Rumlow’s calloused hand held the drink up above you and you stared at him with a questioning look. “Open,” he ordered and the fire burning in your chest fought to destroy everything in its vicinity. You bit your lip in refrain but tossed your head back and opened your mouth.

Static broke over your earpiece. Don’t drink that! Wanda’s voice erupted.

Your eyes widened as the liquid made its way down but you coughed hard to stop whatever you could.

Why? Steve’s voice came through right after.

You choked on the liquid and shut your eyes at the way it burned its way down. You reached your hand out to grab someone’s drink to ease the burning and grasped a tall glass and tossed it back. The burning didn’t ease up and you felt a hand rest on your back.

“Are you okay?” Rumlow’s voice rang out and your skin nearly recoiled from the contact, “How about we get you some water?”

You looked up at him when the burning subsided minimally and nodded your head, letting him lead the way to the bar. He parted the crowd and someone took step right behind you to follow when the presence suddenly died out abruptly. You turned around to check who it had been and found no one.

Why? Steve asked again.

Where’s Wanda? Bruce broke through.

You lifted your head and flitted your gaze around the room until you found the familiar Sokovian on the couch, laying down with her eyes closed. You pulled away from Rumlow but his grip on your hand tightened and his steps grew in haste. You whirled your head to yell at him but the way the room swayed with the movement cause you to shut your mouth in surprise.

Didn’t Tony say you would have a higher tolerance?

“Couch...” you muttered, pointing over your shoulder just in case your target was curious enough to ask but the message was delivered.

Rumlow hoisted you up onto the bar stool and stood on your open side, using his body to keep you from falling over. Or to cage you in.

“I don’t feel good,” You rested an elbow on the countertop and held your head up.

“I can’t imagine you would. You’ve been chugging those drinks like they’re water.” Despite that, Rumlow motioned to the bartender and asked for two more.

You giggled and your head lulled forward with the action. You let Rumlow catch you from tumbling over. Why did your body feel so heavy? Not to mention the way everything around you dazed about. You couldn’t catch a single action, let alone attempt to read Rumlow’s body language. But you did happen to notice the way his eyes searched the room before coming back to you.

“You okay?” You rested your forearm against his chest and pushed slightly to allow yourself a better view of his face.

A small smirk, “Am I okay? What about you?”

You smacked your lips and brought the ice cold glass to your lips. That’s not water. “I’m doing reeaalllyy good,” you drawled.

Rumlow chuckled and pushed you deeper into the chair, “I can tell.” He took a sip, his attention never faltering from your body, “Just be sure to pace yourself from here on out,”

You made a show of cocking your head to the side and letting a smile sprawl onto your face as you studied him.

“What?” he questioned, a curious lift in his brow.

You shook your head gently and kept your gaze on him over the brim of your glass, “You’re just . . . not what I was expecting,”

“And what were you expecting?”

Don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. “Worse,”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he jeered, his attention once again cast throughout the room before centering back on you.

You followed his action but quickly came to the conclusion that moving any pace faster than a sloth was going to make you nauseous and you could barely keep a thought together. Your stomach began to rise in your chest and the fear seized your throat shut. Why couldn’t you hold onto a thought for longer than a second? It was like you were aware of your lack of consciousness but could do nothing about it because any thought or bout of panic phased through just as soon as it arrived.

“What are you so tense for, Rumlow? You know you’re not currently on the clock, right?” You teased, your head leaning on your shoulder as you spoke.

He brought his drink up to his lips and finished it off in three gulps, “I’m not tense. It’s just hard to turn it off sometimes,”

You nodded slowly and pushed your drink towards him, “Relax. You know everyone here,”

He shook his head and placed your drink back in front of you before asking for another beer.

“And two shots!” You shouted to the bartender, throwing two of your fingers high up and instantly regretting how fast you’d done it.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” He asked you, a side smirk beginning to form.

You placed your finger over your lips and hushed, “Shh, I won’t tell if you don’t.” You dragged your lower lip down and his eyes fixated to commit the scene to memory. “Besides, I always feel dumb if I’m the only one drunk,”

He motioned to the rest of the party, “Believe me, Sugar, you’re not the only one enjoying yourself,”

“But are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Enjoying yourself?”

Your skin crawled when he placed his rough hand on your barren thigh, “Absolutely,”

Don’t forget what you’re here for. Don’t let the objective slip. Gods, how the fuck were you supposed to retain anything when you were so sleepy? And why was it so warm?

“Hot,” you mumbled, fishing around in your glass for an ice cube to rub on your face.

“Thank you,”

You threw your head back in laughter and nearly earned yourself an up-close and personal view of the floor had Rumlow not wrapped an arm around your waist and held you steady. Once he was certain you weren’t going to toss yourself onto the ground, he parted your legs and stood between them to keep you rooted to your seat.

All the movement had you spinning and you white-knuckled Rumlow’s cotton shirt to keep yourself grounded to something, anything. Red warning lights were firing up in your chest and you tensed with the way your body buckled to the panic coursing through you. Your heart pounded in your ears and danced across your skin, lighting it on fire and making the room too stuffy to bear. Please, no. Not now. Focus. Snap out of it. Come back, stay back. Your breathing hitched and you looked down at the sensation crawling its way up higher on your thigh. Too hot. Everything was too hot, if you didn’t get out of this now you would never-

“Vision!” You cheered, happy to see your friend.

The presence on your thigh recoiled slightly.

“I’m taking Wanda to her room, seems she’s had a bit too much to drink,” Vision informed and you’d only just then noticed the body in his hold.

“Wanda!” You smiled, admiring her peaceful features as she slept in his arms. You poked at her cheek then jerked your gaze back up to Vision. “What? Wanda doesn’t drink,”

She’s not acting, Sam’s voice erupted in your ear and you flinched at the sound.

Vision’s eyes went from you to Rumlow then back to you slowly, “Y/N . . . are you okay?”

You beamed at him and slowly brought up your thumb. “Good,” you responded.

You followed Vision’s gaze back up to Rumlow and smiled at the agent beside you. You guess he’s kind of cute. In a strange, unsettling way.

“She’s had a lot to drink, so we’re just trying to slow down the pace. Aren’t we, Y/N?” Rumlow looked down at you.

You nodded fervently, “Yup!”

Vision hesitated but knew he didn’t pose much of a threat with Wanda in his arms unconscious, so he quirked a smile and walked towards the hall.

Someone get to Y/N, something’s not right, Vision ordered and you lifted your head up to find him. You could have sworn he just left.

“Here.” Rumlow handed you a glass, “Drink this, it’ll cool you down,”

You stared at the glass in his hold and looked up at him, “You drink it first,” you slurred, holding your finger up at him.

He cocked his head to the side but took a swig of the drink and you watched it go down his throat. You shrugged and grabbed at it.

Do not drink that, Nat ordered from somewhere and you looked around in wonder at who she was yelling to.

Bucky, Sit down! Steve growled.

Like hell, responded a voice you knew all too well.

Your smile grew and you looked through the crowd, “Bucky!” You feverishly called, completely expecting to see him before you. Rumlow’s head lifted instantly, his eyes scouring the area.

“I’ve got this, Pretty Boy,” Tony hastily spoke, “How ya doin’, Hot Stuff?” He interrogated and you reeled at the tone.

“Quite well, thank you,” you responded tenaciously and attempted to take a swig of the drink in your grasp.

Tony’s hand shot out and covered the top, slamming the cup back down on the counter and effectively getting the drink all over your dress.

“What the fuck?” You tried to shout but the words came out heavy and required too much energy to speak.

“You’ve had enough for tonight,”

“It’s just water,” Rumlow defended but Tony paid him no mind.

Your jaw dropped open and you glared at the older man. Who the hell did he think he was? Tony’s stare burned through your skull and despite your irritation, you couldn’t help but wonder why he was so pissed.

“Are you mad at me?” You drawled, lulling your head to the side.

“No,” he responded curtly.

“Am I being too loud or something?” You pushed. You couldn’t imagine you were any louder than any other drunken bastard at this party.

“No,”

Get her out of there or I swear to God I will, his voice hissed into your ear.

Your eyebrows rose slightly in excitement, “Mmm, Bucky,” you smiled and Tony nodded.

“’Mmm, Bucky’ is right. Wanna go see him?” Tony offered, sticking out his hand for you to take.

You fell forward into Rumlow’s chest but shook your head furiously none the less, “For what? So he can tell me I’m horrendous at my-”

Oh shit. Your job. The job.

If only your body didn’t feel so heavy and your mind so light.

You pushed off Rumlow’s chest and glared at Tony, “I can handle myself,” you insisted, a new sort of sober tone making its way through that caused him to do a once-over. “I know what I’m doing,”

“How many drinks have you had?” Tony challenged and you fell silent.

Then you felt a tap, and another and a few more.

“Six,” You said, hoping you’d counted right.

Tony, don’t you even fucking consider it, Bucky threatened.

“You could at least change, recuperate and then come back,” Tony offered and you sighed a breath of relief before nodding.

“Deal,” you agreed, “I’m hot anyway,”

Tony gave you one last glance before turning around and blending into the crowd on the other end of the room.

You looked up to Rumlow who’s gaze was still locked on the sea of people, “Don’t you wish you’d taken that shot now?” you tried to jeer, every last word bringing you deeper and deeper.

“Are they always that intense?” He questioned, not turning his attention to you.

“They can be over-bearing,” you admitted, hand grabbing the water from earlier and pressing it up against your forehead, “They consider me the baby so they’re always criticizing and suffocating until I just wished they’d disappear.” You took a gulp, “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the family and I like that I have a cause but . . . they don’t let me do anything. It’s exhausting,”

You let out a long breath and smeared the condensation from the glass onto your chest. Rumlow studied you then, not just your body but your reaction. He was watching how you dropped your shoulders at the confession and how you faced your back to them to block them out.

You plastered your torso on the countertop and tried to slow your heartrate down. You couldn’t be the only one here unfathomably hot.

“Why is it so fucking hot?” You questioned, fanning yourself weakly.

“There are a lot of people around,” Rumlow offered, “how about we go somewhere else? Tony did say you had to change,”

You peered up at him through half-lidded eyes and meekly groaned in compliance. “Fine,”

You lifted yourself away from the counter and gently placed your feet on the floor. You’d touched the ground faster than anticipated. Had the ground always been so close?

“Don’t worry, I gotcha.” Rumlow threw an arm around your waist and helped you trudge towards the elevator.

Where the hell are you going? Bucky yelled and the sound of shuffling could be heard from his end.

We can’t let you leave with Rumlow, Y/N. We’re not even sure you’re acting anymore, Sam stated.

Rumlow pressed the button when you couldn’t muster the strength to do it yourself. The level that your room was on lit up and the doors began closing. You thought you saw Rumlow wave at someone but the mock smile on his face didn’t make it seem like a warm good-bye.

Your legs had all but given out by the time the elevator reached your shared floor.

“Heavy,” you muttered, letting Rumlow carry your weight fully.

“I know, Sugar. We’re almost there,” he soothed and you conceded to the fatigue wearing you down.

Your head hung low and your arm dangled uselessly at your side. The familiar sound of your door sliding open caught your attention but you did nothing. You couldn’t.

“How . . . know . . . my room?” You questioned, each word causing you to pull from an empty well of energy.

“I’ve been here before.” Rumlow tossed you onto the bed and sprawled you out.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to turn on to your side but strong hands gripped down onto your ankles.

Rumlow sighed and slipped the heels off your feet, examining the pair like he wanted to wear them. You extended your feet until you felt every muscle in your leg stretch to its capacity and let out a groan of pleasure at the release. Those shoes hurt so bad.

“You seem . . . intelligent, Y/N.” Rumlow dropped your shoes onto the floor and slithered to the side of your bed, standing beside it with his hands tucked into his pockets.

A bead of sweat trickled down your forehead, “Hot . . .” you croaked and he nodded.

“You’re right. It is getting kind of hot.” He brought a hand up to his neck and ripped off the tie hanging around it.

Get the fuck out of my way, a growl erupted in your ear.

We’re going with you, Buck, Steve responded before knocking something over.

“So, what I have a hard time understanding is. . . why you’re here?”

You groaned a weak ‘huh’ but even that didn’t sound right.

“You’re good at what you do, you finish every mission successfully and yet you’re underappreciated.” He took a seat at the foot of your bed and placed one of your legs into his lap, “Why do you allow them to treat you like that? We wouldn’t,”

The shuffling in your earpiece halted.

“We?”

He began to massage your calf and brought your knee up to his lips, peppering light kisses on it. “We could use someone with your skillset, babe. We’d take real good care of you,”

The shuffling started again.

Rumlow had made his way onto your thigh at this point and you let out an involuntary moan when he skimmed over a delicate part on your inner knee.

“Ya like that?” he questioned but didn’t wait for a response. He brought a hand up to his temple and grabbed the earpiece. You figured he just hadn’t taken it out from his earlier shift but when he pulled it apart, you understood why he always kept it on him.

“Flash . . . drive earpiece?” Your weak tone tilted a little. “W-why tell . . .”

“I figured I’d give you the option to leave since you seem so . . . suffocated. If you said yes tonight then I would remind you tomorrow. If you didn’t,” he chuckled, “well, you wouldn’t remember anyway.” His hands trailed to your mid-thigh and you squeaked. “I’m impressed though, I’ve never given anyone else as much as I’ve given you tonight. The drug usually works so quickly on others, but not you. It’s kind of hot, actually,”

Sick fuck, Natasha growled through a ragged breath.

The world around you was slow or maybe it was you that was slow? You couldn’t tell, honestly. But when Rumlow moved as if he could predict your actions before you could make them, you wondered whether you were moving at all.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon,” Rumlow sighed.

You shook your head, or thought you did but despite the way your body was live-wired, it remained still against all desire.

Fight. Move.

You managed to push your legs shut but his hand slithered between and spread them open similar to opening a door, but this required much less force.

“Kill,” You threatened and the sinister smile that crawled its way onto Rumlow’s face was vile enough to sink your heart into your stomach.

“Kill is fucking right.” Someone snarled and your door was ripped from its hinges.

Rumlow’s hand jerked away from your body and Bucky seized his open palm, intertwining their fingers and pushing Rumlow’s so far back that they touched the back of his own hand. The cracks were sickening onto themselves but had you not been so weak you would’ve turned from the sight altogether. You really couldn’t fathom how his fingers were still attached at all.

“Lay another hand on her and you won’t be able to use it again.” Bucky spit.

Despite Rumlow’s pain, the sinister smile remained sprawled on his face, “You should’ve heard the noises she made,”

Bucky’s grip tightened and the bones in his palm broke next, “I did,”

Natasha flew in right behind Barnes but completely dismissed the two and headed straight for you with a needle in hand. Your eyes shifted from the needle to Nat’s face and back again until she stabbed it into your upper arm. Ouch.

“Wha-”

“Shh,” Natasha hastily hushed, “Keep your strength, you should be back to normal soon,”

Steve came behind Nat and scooped you up to lead you out of the havoc going on in the room. Nat turned her focus to Bucky and reached over to grab the earpiece from Rumlow. Who knows if his nose will ever heal back normally. You held one finger in the air as Steve stepped over the splintered door.

“Goddamit, Y/N,” Steve huffed, jogging towards the elevator and pressing the floor that led to the infirmary.

“We won,” you croaked out, a small smile on your face and Steve shook his head.

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,”

Steve looked you up and down for bruises but couldn’t find any and you promised you weren’t lying to him when you told him Rumlow did not get very far in his ‘advances’ at all. You had to swear the mid-thigh was the worst that it came to.

Bruce was the one that took a few blood samples and made sure everything was reversing back to normal. Apparently, as soon as Rumlow took you to the bar Tony handed Banner the shot glass that Rumlow gave you and Banner ran analysis on it. The cure was pretty easy to find.

After being given strict orders to lie down for the next hour or so, it had been decided that Rumlow was to be turned in considering all the evidence required to make the arrest was in the flashdrive and everyone was to gather together for a ‘family night’. Whatever the hell that meant.

You were in the middle of debating which movie to pick with Steve when the infirmary doors flew open.

“Where is she?” Bucky nearly shouted upon seeing Bruce.

“That’s my cue.” Steve stood up just as Bucky rounded the corner, “If you need anything me and Banner will be right over there,”

You smiled and thanked him then turned your attention to the super-soldier who just arrived at the foot of your bed.

He didn’t say anything for a while, just looked at you. No, not really. Not at you but through you. A few painstakingly slow seconds went by that way.

“You owe me a new door,” you joked, a half-smile on your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, finally registering your presence.

You nodded slowly, “I am,”

Then a few more seconds.

Bucky turned his gaze down to his hands, both of them barren and on display for the world to see, before shifting his weight between either foot, “Did he- did he touch you?”

“Not really. Just really liked my legs for some reason,” your attempt at another quip didn’t reach Bucky. He stared back up at you waiting for an answer, an honest one. You sighed, “The damage is more mental,” you admitted, now you were the one not able to look up, “I didn’t like being in this altered state of mind. It’s invasive and . . . scary. He could’ve done things, much worse things but it never got that far or that bad. It was more realizing that I wasn’t completely conscious or present and having that state of mind be taken advantage of, that mostly frightened me. Ya know?”

“More than anyone,” he answered immediately.

You looked back up towards him, finally making eye contact, “But I’m fine now, really. Just a little spooked. Steve wants to do a movie night tonight and I would actually prefer that over being alone.” Your eyes fixated on the way his hands clenched and unclenched on the bar by your feet, “If I’m alone then I’ll get stuck in my head about it. Besides, I consider this a hard victory with a few bumps in the road,”

He chuckled, lulling his head a bit, “You’re too stubborn for your own good,”

You shrugged, “Maybe. How’s Rumlow?”

Bucky hissed and moved over to the side of the bed where he took a seat, “He’s unconscious. And has a hand that he’ll never be able to use again. But other than that, he’s fine,”

You chuckled and Bucky watched how the laugh met your eyes. He liked that look on you. It was one of his favorites.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You questioned once it fell silent between you two again.

“You called me Bucky earlier,” he remembered.

You scoffed, “I call you Bucky all the time,”

“Not to my face,”

“Not to your face,” you agreed, a teasing smile dancing on your lips and Bucky had one that mirrored yours.

“It was nice. Hearing it, I mean,” he admitted and a wave of warmth made its way to your face.

“I see your hands are exposed,”

He looked down as though he weren��t aware that he’d taken off his own gloves, “These bad boys? A friend of mine reminded me that I’m not my past. I’m my present. Why hide my growth?”

You twiddled your thumbs together, “She sounds smart,”

Now he scoffed, “Oh, it wasn’t a girl, it was some old buddy of mine.” He quirked up a brow, “Unless the person being a girl would make you jealous because in that case it was most definitely a girl,”

You fought against the natural tug at the corners of your mouth, “Is she at least pretty?”

“Stunning,”

“Smart?”

“Genius,”

“Good at her job?”

“Amongst the best,”

“Then consider me jealous, Barnes,”

Bucky chuckled and you watched how the laugh met his eyes. You liked that look on him. It was one of your favorites.

1K notes · View notes

babygirl06301 · 4 years ago

Text

When Did Dean Fall In Love With Cas?

tl;dr: S11

I’ve wanted to talk about this since the show ended and the Spanish dub that broke Tumblr came out. So, when did Dean Winchester fall in love with Castiel?

This is entirely my opinion of course, and I know there are some people that will say it was right away or that it never happened at all, but I wanted to put my thoughts out there so other people could tell me their thoughts, too. I’ll probably get off on some tangents here and there, so feel free to send me any Destiel thoughts you’ve got.

Also, it’s worth noting that, to me, there’s a difference between falling in love and actually being in love. I mean, if you’ve fallen in love with someone, every point in your relationship has been a stepping stone to that point, so I guess it’s all abstract, but still. Hence, S11 being my answer to this question.

Keep in mind I’m doing this without the benefit of a recent rewatch, so I may miss some behaviors from Dean that would change a few things.

Warning: sappy stuff ahead; read at your own risk (also crappy images).

S4-5

I don’t think it’s that big of a secret that Dean attached himself to Cas, like, right away. I mean, the dude never talks about his emotions, and yet, it took eight episodes of Cas being around for Dean to break down in front of him and talk about his fears. It’s almost like you could say that’s because they were always meant to fall for each other.

However, I don’t really the think the process of falling in love with Cas had started yet. I do think that Dean cared about Cas, but I don’t think it was anything extremely special. Reason being: it was the literal end times and Dean didn’t have that type of time. That, and I think there’s something to be said for being raised a certain way and believing certain things about yourself that affects how long it takes for you to notice that something has changed. So, yeah. I don’t think Cas had been around long enough at this point for Dean to start feeling anything more than kinship with him.

That’s not to say, though, that Dean didn’t subconsciously find Cas hot or get the warm fuzzies sometimes because:

I mean, come on.

S6-7

So, this era is weird because I do think something had begun to change in how Dean saw Cas, but I don’t think he got to fully begin the process of falling in love with him because: a.) Cas betrayed them and b.) Sam’s head was broken.

I’m gonna say something rude now: I think a lot of the Destiel moments in the beginning of S6 were born of Dean needing Castiel’s abilities as an angel and not of needing Cas. For example, Dean calling on Cas to help with the Staff of Moses or with Soulless!Sam. He was usually pretty demanding and sometimes curt with Cas and got irritable when Cas couldn’t help.

However, I think that Cas always being there despite his battle in Heaven began to shift Dean’s feelings toward him. I do think this change was almost imperceptible, but you can see Dean showing more and more concern for Cas as S6 progresses. Like this:

This is the primary reason I think Dean got so defensive of Cas when Bobby and Sam started suggesting that Cas was working with Crowley. It’s also why he got so hurt when he found out that Bobby and Sam were right.

Here’s my super abstract and vague take on it: he’d started feeling romantic emotions for Cas, but as soon as Cas’s betrayal was revealed, it got replaced with pain. Basically, Dean almost started to fall for Cas in S6, and then the Purgatory storyline interrupted it.

And then Cas died. Which didn’t help.

Here we enter S7, which has fuck all for Destiel content beyond the first two episodes—until Cas comes back. I know some people are going to say not to gloss over the trench coat thing, and fair enough. I think the keeping of the trench coat was akin to Dean trying to hold onto what he did feel for Cas, obviously not consciously. Almost as though Dean could tell he’d lost something special when Cas died, and not just in losing Cas, but in losing part of himself, a part that he didn’t know existed yet. I don’t consider the trench coat to be a sign that Dean was falling in love with Cas but a sign that he was about to or that he could’ve. Is that weak? Whatever.

Now, I do think that some shit got shaken loose when Dean saw Cas again because, for all intents and purposes, he should’ve been pissed. But instead he was... whatever this is:

I still, more or less, think that he was too preoccupied with Sam to really begin falling in love with Cas. I think that’s clear to see in how he treated Cas after he came back into the story for the final battle with the Leviathan. He did give the whole “I’d rather have you” speech, but all the stuff before that was more along the lines of “Nobody cares that you’re broken, Cas! Clean up your mess!” So, yeah.

Okay, so this is where the Purgatory stuff comes in. In the words of the great John Mulaney, “we don’t have time to unpack all of that,” but this is where I believe Dean started falling in love with Cas.

Dean told Sam that Purgatory felt pure because he could only focus on the fight at all times... but he still had the emotional availability to worry about and search for Cas, so...

If I had to pick an exact moment, I’d say somewhere around here:

And thus, rather than just keeping a trench coat when he lost Cas, Dean literally rewired his own memories because he would rather think that he left Cas behind than think that Castiel chose to leave him.

From here, we can start seeing Dean paying attention to Cas more, noticing when he’s not being himself, and more than that, worrying about him in a more personal way. For instance, when Dean insists that Cas talk to him about what’s bothering him in “Hunteri Heroici.” Not to mention, Dean becomes a lot more emotionally vulnerable regarding his feelings for Cas. One example would be when he insists that he didn’t abandon Cas in Purgatory. Another would be, of course:

I would also mark this season as the season Dean’s prayers to Cas become more emotional and, at times, cathartic, as though he’s confiding in Cas. In “Remember the Titans,” for example, Dean prays to Cas to ask him to look out for Sam; the scene reads like Dean is asking for help but is, in equal measure, asking for Cas. This is also the first season an adversary pokes at Dean and Cas’s relationship in a way that specifically targets Dean and his feelings about Cas rather than Cas’s feelings about Dean as it had been before; this would be when Naomi says “You’re hoping Castiel will return to you.”

S9-S10

Well, these seasons are complicated to say the least because of Gadreel and the Mark of Cain. I don’t think, at this point, Dean ever stops feeling what he’s feeling for Cas. However, I do think that a lot of the hiccups throughout S9 and S10 made Dean step away from those feelings.

Of course, Dean is still stressing about Cas 24/7 in the beginning of S9 what with Cas being human, Cas being hunted, Cas dying, Cas working at a Gas-n-Sip—you know, drama. I think when Gadreel said that Cas needed to stay away if Dean wanted Sam to be healed, Dean had to let what he was feeling for Cas go—not that that means he stopped feeling it, mind you. No, I don’t think Dean consciously went, “Well, guess I’m done falling for this dude,” but I think he knew somewhere in his heart that it wasn’t the time.

Now, the Mark of Cain. The storyline that put the characters down on the page once and left them stagnant and unchanging until it was resolved. Now, as you might imagine, slowly turning into a demon that wants nothing but death would put a damper on any relationship. Finding Destiel in the B season for S9 and throughout S10 is hard. Especially on Dean’s end.

There are moments when you can tell that Dean’s feelings for Cas are still there, and I would say, developing slowly, like the cheeseburger date. Probably the biggest Destiel moment in the entire Mark of Cain stretch is when Dean nearly kills Cas but resists, despite the Mark’s hold on him.

That’s really it, though. No backwards movement, but barely anything trending the opposite way, either.

S11

This is the Big Season™, the one I believe Dean fell in love with Cas in. Now, obviously, it isn’t like Dean lost the Mark, and boom, fell in love with Cas. Plus, there’s the whole pull-to-Amara thing. However, I don’t think falling in love necessarily has to be a big moment; I think it can just happen, and I think that’s what happened with Dean. At some point between the start of this season and Cas being released from Lucifer’s possession, Dean fell in love with Cas.

That being said—if I was really reaching for a moment—I wouldn’t say it happened during a happy scene. I’d say Dean fell in love with Cas when he lost him.

I know that sounds weird, that Dean didn’t fall in love with Cas completely until he realized Cas had been possessed by Lucifer, but in my head, it fits. I think it’s because Dean is so emotionally closed off and tries not to let his emotions show if he can help it that it took knowing that Cas was gone for that last switch to flip in his heart.

So, now Dean is in love with Cas, but Cas is Lucifer. I’d say this has something to do with the fact that, even though Dean is supposed to be attached to Amara, he still calls out for Cas even though Amara is right in front of him.

Considering the fact that Cas comes back in the literal last episode—at least, that’s when Dean realizes he’s back—there isn’t a whole hell of a lot of time to see how being in love with Cas has changed Dean. We do get the “you’re our brother, Cas” scene, but seeing as how that’s pretty inconsistent with everything that comes afterward, let’s just chalk that one up to bad writing and/or Dean being dense.

S12

Alright, so my post should be done, yeah? I’ve answered the question I’ve set out to answer. However, there’s still more to talk about here. When did Dean first sense that what he felt for Cas was different? When did he have an inclination that it was romantic? When did he know for sure?

That’s why we’re here in S12. Now, S12 is the most Destiel-heavy season in the entire series. In my opinion, while it does have many of the best Destiel scenes, it doesn’t have the best Destiel scene. However, as far as number of moments, S12 takes it.

This is where we really get to see how being in love with Cas has changed Dean. Realistically, I think this has a lot to do with S12 being the beginning of the Dabb era because this era marked a change in tone for both Castiel’s character and his relationship with Dean. Dean began to worry about Cas a lot more frequently and, as a result, got mad at him a lot more, too. I see S12 as the season that Dean moved away from simply being worried about losing Cas to being terrified of losing Cas. And that translated into anger any time Castiel put himself in danger. For example, killing Billie. Any other time, the threat of losing Cas translated itself into fear, like when Cas nearly died from being stabbed with the Lance of Michael.

Of course, the mixtape is also in this season, which is another example of how being in love with Cas has affected Dean. I could probably make an entirely seperate and very long post regarding Destiel in S12, but the general idea is that Dean’s newly found love for Cas made a big difference in how he treated Cas.

S13

Alright, S13 stands outs to me because I believe this is when Dean first realized that Cas meant something more to him than a friend and that he felt differently about him than he did about his family. Again, I don’t think that Dean actually thought those exact words, but I think his heart knew them to be true even if he mind didn’t. Reason being: Cas had just died. Which is the first time Castiel has died since Dean fell in love with him. Dean knew he needed Cas, in a way he hadn’t really realized it before. Which is why he demands that Chuck bring him back.

Then Cas comes back, and it’s like Dean forgets what hopelessness and misery are because Cas is his “big win.” After this, honestly, there isn’t much else by way of emotional development for Dean regarding Cas, but I see that as a good thing. It’s a sign that, though Dean hasn’t realized it yet, being in love with Cas is comfortable for him. There are still expressions of concern for Cas’s wellbeing throughout the season, but mostly, we just get to see Dean be content with Cas.

S14

Alright, S14 a.) mostly saw Dean’s feelings much in the same place as they were in S13 and b.) just kidding because Dean tells Cas that he’s dead to him in this season.

To be fair, if we’re talking Destiel, there’s more of it on Castiel’s end this season than there is on Dean’s because Dean is dealing with Michael. There are a couple moments that stand out to me as moments where Dean’s love for Cas comes through: when Cas asks Dean if his plan to trap himself in the Ma’lak Box means that they’re supposed to say goodbye and when Dean confides in Cas about how he’s handling keeping Michael trapped. In the former scene especially, I think it’s clear to see how much the idea of saying goodbye to Cas affects Dean.

And then we get to “Absence,” which is the episode where Dean tells Cas that he’ll be dead to him if Jack killed Mary. Now, going off on a tangent here to explain how this ties into Dean being in love with Cas, let’s talk about when Dean gets mad at Cas.

When Dean gets mad at Castiel, it’s always out of pain. I think that’s a very unique effect that Cas has on Dean that no one else does, and I believe it’s because Dean gets so overwhelmed with the emotion of betrayal that all he can do is push Cas away. Why a feeling of betrayal? Well, in this case, it’s because Cas knew something was wrong with Jack and didn’t say anything. I think that, as Dean fell more and more in love with Cas, his expectations and feelings for him grew, and because of that, when he feels like he’s been let down by Cas, it turns into rage.

When Dean walks away from Sam, it’s usually because he’s either worried or angry. With Jack, he walked away because of anger, maybe even disgust. But with Cas, it’s always pain; it’s always because Dean feels like he’s been personally betrayed in a way that has nothing to do with worrying about Cas and everything to do with wanting to hurt Cas back. It’s almost a selfish sort of anger, which is actually a positive for Dean’s character since he rarely puts himself first.

To me, the way Dean gets mad at Cas—especially in S14—is so personal and unique that it serves as proof as to why Dean is in love with Cas. So, even though the “then you’re dead to me” line is so damaging, it’s still a result of Dean loving Cas.

S15

Last season. The hardest season by far, for a lot of reasons. I’m not going to get into the lack of closure the ending of this show gave us in terms of Dean and Castiel, and I’m not going to talk about this final season in conjunction with the Spanish dub—just what I, as an English speaker experienced in canon since that’s what was intended in the final cut—but I will talk about everything else. There’s three episodes/points I’m going to hit with this season, and I’m sure we all know them: “The Rupture,” “The Trap,” and “Despair.”

I’ve already discussed why Dean’s anger points to his being in love with Cas, but I think the important thing to note with “The Rupture” is that Dean still didn’t want to lose Cas, even in the moments when he was hurting Cas and pushing him away.

There’s still a couple questions I’ve asked that I haven’t answered yet, and one of them will be answered with “The Trap.” I think this episode—and really, the moment Cas told him he heard his prayer—marks the first time that Dean considered that his feelings might be romantic. I don’t know how clear those thoughts were or if Dean told himself he was wrong afterward, but I do think that that scene was the beginning of possibility for Dean and Cas. Had they had enough time, they would’ve decided to be together, and that scene is where they both really felt it for the first time—even if they didn’t believe the other felt the same way.

I’ll be honest: I really don’t want to talk about “Despair” because it’ll just make me sad. Alas, there is one question that still needs to be answered: When did Dean know that he was in love with Cas?

When it was already too late. Much like in S11, I think it took Dean losing Cas to realize how he felt about him. The difference here is: I think Dean would’ve realized it regardless; hearing how Cas felt about him and then losing Cas just forced it. Had Cas not died, I don’t believe it would’ve been too long before Dean realized it naturally, and that’s the most frustrating thing about this scene is that Dean didn’t have to learn how he felt through the trauma of losing Cas.

I’m not trying to diminish this scene because, had there been closure—and proper editing—I’d say this scene was the perfect avenue for Castiel’s character to go down because it would mean that, when he came back, he could be with Dean.

Again, I’m not getting into the semantics of the final couple episodes or how they handled Destiel because it’ll just make me mad, but I think Dean realizing he was in love with Cas was just as big of a factor in him seeing himself differently as Cas’s speech was. I think Dean wanted to honor Cas by being the person Castiel saw him as; I think Dean wanted to live as a man worthy of being loved by the man he fell in love with.

Anyway, that’s my take on when Dean Winchester fell in love with Castiel based on what canon gave us. As someone who had been very realistic about the possibility of Destiel over the years and had never truly hoped for it in canon because I knew better, I have never been more convinced that Dean is in love with Castiel as I am now, after the show has ended.

I don’t think I can say I believe he was in love with him all along, but I believe that his story, their story, of falling in love is real and true, however long it may have taken. I’ll never say goodbye to these two, but I’m happy that I can at least walk away from this show knowing that they found each other in the end, even if their ending didn’t do justice to their legacy.

Let me know when you think Dean fell in love Cas or vise versa. I’m curious to know what you see in their relationship. I don’t think I’ll be making a post like this for Castiel because, in my opinion, Cas fell in love with Dean rather quickly—his journey was just realizing what that meant. Anyway, thank you for reading this, and thank you for being a part of this twelve year long love story that is Destiel.

#destiel #casdean #cas x dean #dean x cas #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural

166 notes · View notes

terramythos · 3 years ago

Text

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 17 of 26

Title: The Other Wind (Earthsea Cycle #6) (2001)

Author: Ursula K. Le Guin

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Third-Person, Female Protagonist (Kinda)

Rating: 5/10

Date Began: 7/8/2021

Date Finished: 7/12/2021

The sorcerer Alder is haunted by a recurring dream. Every night he stands at the border of the afterlife, and the dead call to him from the other side, begging him to free them. Fearing that he may unleash evil upon the world, Alder seeks out Ged, a living man who once escaped the land of the dead. Alder finds himself central to a vast mystery; the origin of the afterlife and how it relates to mankind’s ancient connection to the dragons.

“I think,” Tehanu said in her soft, strange voice, “That when I die, I can breathe back the breath that made me live. I can give back to the world all I didn’t do. All that I might have been and couldn’t be. All the choices I didn’t make. All the things I lost and spent and wasted. I can give them back to the world. To the lives that haven’t been lived yet. That will be my gift back to the world that gave me the life I did live, the love I loved, the breath I breathed."

Content warnings and spoilers below the cut.

Content warnings for the book: Death, suicidal ideation, references to child abuse, reference to misogyny, mentioned animal death, mention of slavery.

Man oh man do I wish I enjoyed this book more. It’s not horrible, and there’s stuff I liked, but I found it really hard to get through at times. The Other Wind feels different than anything else in the Earthsea series— to its detriment. There are three main issues I have with the book, all of which I’ll get into. But ultimately I consider it a mediocre conclusion to an otherwise great series.

First, this book has unusual pacing. The Earthsea books are generally slow, with a gradual buildup and gratifying conclusion that ties the themes of the story together. The Other Wind is more like a reverse bell curve; it has a great beginning and finale, but the middle meanders and stalls. The novel is split into five chapters, roughly the same length, and the middle three are a slog. There’s the barest whisper of an interesting plot, but not a lot happens— and what does happen isn’t very compelling.

The closest thing to a story in the middle is a subplot involving Seserakh, a Kargish princess. She’s sent to King Lebannen’s court with the expectation he’ll marry her to secure an alliance. A stock idea to be sure, but I can see how it might provide political intrigue. But it’s just aggravating. Tenar is in this storyline for some reason, and she feels contradictory and out of character. She wants to live a simple life and leave palace politics behind— but she also wants to push the literal king into a marriage he doesn’t want. Lebannen gets framed as The Absolute Worst because he (1) doesn’t want to get married to a woman he’s never met, and (2) is distracted by other stuff. There’s an implication that the match is a great choice, yet Seserakh and Lebannen don’t have a conversation until near the end. Of course Lebannen falls madly in love with her the moment they talk. No need to… develop their relationship? Normally I can gloss over a weak subplot, but since so little happens in the middle, that’s impossible here. It’s irrelevant to the main story, so it’s a shame Le Guin spent so much time on it.

There’s a lot of talking in this book, but little action. Dialogue-heavy characterization isn’t necessarily bad. Le Guin is usually great at that kind of writing. But here, it emphasizes my second problem with the book: there’s too many major characters. Previous books focused on 1 or 2 people, allowing for intimate connection and character growth. LeGuin clearly tries for that here, but there’s so many people and relationships that everyone is underdeveloped. Perhaps this would come off better with a single perspective character, but Le Guin instead chose a shifting POV between 5+ characters. An alternating POV isn’t inherently bad, but it wasn’t a good fit for such a short book. I found myself wishing for focus on Alder (the protagonist!), who’s a genuinely compelling character. Alas.

My third problem with The Other Wind is exposition. This book resolves several plot threads from previous entries. Obviously, there needs to be some context from the series to tie everything together. But the sheer amount of recap is unreal. So many scenes boil down to a character explaining something that happened to them in a previous book, then connecting it to the current plot. It’s not subtle and sometimes happens with the same event multiple times. It genuinely feels like Le Guin didn’t trust the reader to infer ANYTHING on their own. Having just read the rest of the series, this was especially irritating. I can cut a little slack here; this series began in 1968, and perhaps some returning 2001 readers wouldn’t recall key events. But regardless, The Other Wind is one of the most over-explained things I’ve read in a long time. It’s especially odd because the previous books aren’t like this.

There are things I genuinely like about The Other Wind. On a prose level, Le Guin's a great writer. Even the plotless parts of the book are full of interesting writing choices and philosophical observations. One nice thing about Earthsea is the characters age over the course of the series. Ged started A Wizard of Earthsea as a young boy, but as of The Other Wind is a seventy-year-old man. It’s cool to sit back and see just how much each character developed over time. Earthsea itself changed with them; each book’s events have serious repercussions for the world as a whole. And this book has the most significant change of all.

When the The Other Wind’s plot is relevant, it’s one of the most interesting in the series. I think it’s a fascinating way to tie up two disparate plot threads. As much as I love The Farthest Shore, it does present a glaring conundrum regarding Earthsea’s core themes. True immortality is only obtained through death— not because of an afterlife, but because the dead become one with the rest of the world. So why does the Archipelago have an afterlife at all? Why is it so bleak and depressing? Why are there no plants, animals, or dragons there? Speaking of, there’s the revelation that dragons and humans were once the same species. Tehanu introduced this idea with various folktales, and the eventual reveal that Tehanu/Therru is a dragon. This idea is newer to the series and thus more malleable, but I like the idea of an entity being two creatures at once, and the mystery behind that.

I think the integration of these two ideas is interesting. Dragons and humans were once the same, but decided to split into two species to pursue different goals. They formed an ancient bargain to rule different aspects of the world. Fire and air represent the dragons’ realm, freedom— and water and earth represent the humans’ realm, ownership. But some humans learned magic and broke that covenant, binding everything to its true name. This established a form of freedom— immortality via one’s name. The afterlife is a result of that; it shouldn’t exist, which is why it feels wrong. Everything links back to the desire for immortality without change as introduced in The Farthest Shore. On a meta level it’s weird that none of this came up in that book; the explanation that dragons suddenly remembered this great wrong is a little retcon-y. But I understand Le Guin probably never intended to expand on these ideas, and it’s nice to see the contradiction of Earthsea’s afterlife resolved in the end. I went into this book expecting the titular “other wind” to be the other side of Earthsea, not another plane of existence; and I think that surprise is pretty cool! I like the metaphysical aspect of this other realm and how it connects to the dragons.

Even though I didn’t love the book, I do think it works as a series conclusion more than Tehanu did. Tehanu drops such a huge, unresolved bombshell in its ending that I’m surprised Le Guin intended it to be the final book of the series. The Other Wind does create some open-ended mysteries, but they’re the kind that don’t need a resolution.

Despite that, I find myself wondering if this book was necessary. The Other Wind ties together some threads, but I wasn’t a fan of the execution overall. If the dragon and afterlife plot was a heavier focus, maybe I’d like the book more. Instead there’s a bunch of filler and extraneous detail. The book feels forced, like a novella stretched into a full novel— yet also like something’s missing. Perhaps The Other Wind works better on a reread, but I’m inclined to skip it in the future.

#5/10 #taylor reads #2021 reading challenge

7 notes · View notes

cinaja · 4 years ago

Text

The road to peace

Summary: The meeting at the end of acowar, told from Jurian's perspective. (It`s like, 50% just the Fae getting roasted, really)

Note: I am extremely annoyed with how the humans are being treated in acotar in general and this is basically just me venting (with a bit band of exiles and some stuff with Jurian, Miryam and Drakon thrown in because I love all of them). I think Feyre and Rhys are... not handling the situation well, so this fic won't cast either of them in a favourable light. I am not tagging either of them and anyone who is really into them probably won`t like this.

Disclaimer: The exchange in the end is taken directly from acowar, chapter 80.

----

The meeting does not begin well. For some reason that goes right over Jurian`s head, the Night Court decides that they should hold the meeting in some destroyed manor over an hour away from the camp, yet they fail to take into account that not everyone can winnow. Meaning the humans have to walk. By the time they finally reach the manor, they are already late and Jurian had to talk Grayson out of turning around five times already.

“I put you on opposite ends of the room”, Feyre Archeron tells them.

She seems to consider it to be a favour, but it feels like an insult. Like they need to be separated from the other participants. Something tells Jurian that it`s not for their comfort, but because Feyre doesn`t want them close to her family and friends.

Jurian doesn`t bother with a reply. Neither does Grayson. They just exchange a quick glance and stride into the meeting room, heads held high. Jurian does not look at anyone in particular as he walks through the room and takes his seat. Only then does he allow himself to look around the room.

The room is crammed with people, but somehow, his eyes still go straight to her.

Miryam isn`t looking at him. Both her and Drakon appear deep in conversation with one of the High Lords – Tarquin. She looks so much like in his memories. Only her clothes are different. During the War, she always made sure to be dressed as elegantly as the Fae royals, even when she despised the dresses and jewellery – like she wanted to proof to them that she might be but a child by their standards, but she could still play their games. Now, she wears a simple tunic that makes her look like she either came straight from her camp without having time to change, or like she purposefully dressed to keep attention away from herself. If it`s the latter, it fails miserably.

Tarquin says something and Miryam smiles in return, tugging a strand of hair behind her ears. Her smile is still the same. It´s like a punch to the stomach.

Jurian doesn`t know how to feel, what to think. Just looking at her is enough to make the memories rise. Miryam smiling at him from across the meeting room. Leaning against him as they sit by the fire with his soldiers. Frowning as they study a map. But then, there are the less pleasant memories. Her crying, and the sinking feeling that it`s because of him. Shaking her head and backing away. I think I should leave.

The worst part is, Jurian can`t place the memories. He isn`t even sure if they are all real. And the only person who could tell him the truth will probably never speak to him again.

“I don`t know what impression you`re going for”, someone says from next to him, “but if you keep staring at your ex like that, it`ll be firmly in the “creepy” territory.”

Jurian forces himself to look away from Miryam and turn around to Queen Vassa who sits down on the chair to his right.

“Your Majesty”, he says and inclines his head.

“General”, she replies.

Before Jurian can tell her that he doesn`t think he holds this title anymore, Feyre Archeron steps forward to welcome them. Then, she tells her story. She talks of years in poverty, of the trials under Amarantha and how she found love in Prythian. Jurian honestly wonders what part of the story is supposed to reassure the humans. The one where she got kidnapped, tortured and killed by Fae? Or maybe how her Fae lover locked her up and how she only managed to find acceptance as a Fae. And how is her relationship drama even relevant to this meeting? Well, maybe she just wants to humiliate her former lover, who is stone-faced by the wall. Jurian smirks at the male, who growls softly in return. Jurian can`t say he pities him. After all, he knew his father during the War and he`ll only believe that the son is better when he sees proof.

By the time Feyre finishes her story, Jurian is barely listening anymore. He immediately jerks to attention, though, when Miryam and Drakon step forward. It seems like they`ll be the next speakers. Jurian isn`t sure what he hopes for. He supposes if they do tell the story, he`ll be the next to be publicly humiliated. But no matter how unflattering the story might be, at least it would give him something to sort his memories by.

As they begin to speak, though, Jurian quickly realize that, unlike Feyre, they don`t tell the stories of their lives. They gloss over anything personal, mention what went down with Jurian only in passing and instead tell a story about the seemingly impossible work of uniting their people. They talk of unforgivable crimes, amends that were made and the long road towards peace. Neither of them so much as looks at Jurian as they speak.

He supposes he should have known. In Prythian, it might be considered normal to let the personal bleed into the political, but rules are far stricter on the Continent. Even if Miryam and Drakon chose to settle matters between them, they would never do it during an official meeting. Besides, Miryam was never overly fond of telling the world her story.

When they sit down and Helion takes their place, Jurian makes himself listen to what the High Lord says. He doesn`t want to be like poor Grayson, who keeps staring at Elain Archeron with longing and fury written equally on his face whenever he thinks no one will notice. No, thank you. He very much plans to get through this meeting with his dignity intact.

Helion and a few others talk of the War and the friendships they made, too. Jurian considers getting up as well, but decides against it. He is still trying to sort through his memories, muddled by five hundred years of torment, and he isn`t entirely sure he could give an accurate account of anything. Or if he could manage to get through telling his story without breaking down.

Soon, the first humans step forward and begin to talk of the crimes the Fae committed against them. Entire villages slaughtered. The Treaty violated again and again. (Jurian could have told them of worse things – and he knows those accounts would pale against anything Miryam might tell – but this meeting is supposed to lead to peace, so he remains silent.) But then, the Fae begin to counter the human tales with ones of their own, about humans who treated them with mistrust. And somehow, these pointy-eared bastards manage to make it sound like their grievances are equal.

After a while, Jurian has had enough.

“Right”, he says, just loudly enough that every Fae in the room hears him, “Because humans trying to defend themselves against Fae is just as bad as Fae slaughtering entire human villages for fun.” He snorts. “If you want to get this to work, maybe you should start treating our lives as equal to your own.”

The humans nod along. Most of the Fae shoot him disapproving glances.

“I`m not surprised that you would say that”, one of the Fae hisses, “We all know your stance on Fae. The matter with Clythia -“

Jurian flinches at the name. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard not to think of her.

“Jurian merely stated that human and Fae lives should be treated equally”, Miryam cuts in, “Surely you don`t mean to contradict that.”

The Fae opens his mouth, then seems to consider who, exactly, he is speaking to. He squirms in his seat and quickly averts his eyes. Jurian grins. He tries to catch Miryam`s eye, but she refuses to look at him.

“Perhaps”, Rhysand says smoothly, “we ought to return to the true purpose of this meeting. The Wall is gone and it is up to us to find a way to shape this world.”

Jurian rolls his eyes. He wonders how Fae considering human lives and grievances to be unimportant is not relevant to the future of their world.

The discussion begins raging in earnest. Grayson outright refuses to trust the Fae on their word alone – the Treaty, he says, has been violated far too often, even with the Wall in place. Queen Vassa nods and adds that she is not about to leave her people at the mercy of any Fae who decide to make a meal out of them. It is a perfectly valid concern, yet somehow, half of the Fae manage to take offence at it.

It doesn`t take long for the first person to suggest another Wall.

“Might be hard”, Helion drawls, “Without being sure how the first one was created.”

Jurian can`t help it, his gaze flickers to Miryam. For the first time since the meeting started, she, too, is looking at him. Jurian smiles slightly and dips his chin. She nods back, then returns her attention to the discussion.

Drakon begins to explain why another Wall won`t solve their problems, just delay them. Patiently, he describes how they can only achieve lasting peace by having humans and Fae develop a way to life together and that dividing them will only make hate fester and, ultimately, lead to another war. The only way to overcome prejudice, he says, is by having people interact and teaching them about the other side.

Not everyone agrees with him. A few High Lords argue that a Wall would be the better alternative. They talk of security for the humans, but all Jurian hears is that they don`t want to bother with working for peace.

He promised himself not to, but Jurian still finds his gaze drifting over to Miryam, Drakon and their people. Drakon is frowning slightly and keeps flaring his wings in annoyance. Next to him, General Sinna, the commander of his Seraphim legion, keeps whispering with a human man who as far as Jurian knows is their armada`s commander. They both look torn between annoyance and amusement. Miryam`s face doesn`t betray anything, but she keeps scanning the room.

“I think we can all agree”, Feyre Archeron finally says, “that both sides have made mistakes. But it is time for all of us to move past them.”

For a few heartbeats, silence reins. Jurian finds himself staring at her open-mouthed. He can`t believe what he`s hearing and is about to say as much when Miryam beats him to it.

“Both sides have what?”, she asks softly.

Even after five hundred years, Jurian recognizes the look she gives Feyre. There is no mistaking the way her eyes seem to glow. In spite of the serious situation, Jurian grins. He once fell in love with Miryam for her kindness – but damnit, things get entertaining when she stops playing nice.

Feyre seems to realize that something is not going the way she planned. “I was just saying that both sides are to blame. No one is really innocent in this.”

“Then would you kindly explain to me”, Miryam says, and now, there`s nothing remotely friendly about her tone, “how I or any of the other fifty thousand slaves in the Black Land were to blame for what happened to us. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of slaves in different territories, or the millions who came before us.” She sits up straighter in her seat. “Honestly, I`m curious. How did we deserve being beaten and tortured and killed? What was our crime? Beyond being born human, that is.”

Feyre suddenly finds her the sleeve of her dress in dire need of inspection. She begins fiddling around with it, looking increasingly uncomfortable. But of course, her mate jumps to her defence.

“You`re being unfair”, Rhys says.

Jurian nearly jumps from his seat, Drakon flares his wings so hard that he almost hits Tarquin in the face. It takes Jurian half a heartbeat to decide that Miryam won`t be happy at all if he punches that prick of a High Lord in the face. Across the room, Drakon seems to come to the same conclusion. He tugs his wings close to his body again and mutters an apology to Tarquin.

Rhys continues, “That`s not what Feyre meant and you know it.”

“Then perhaps she should choose her words more carefully”, Sinna hisses. She gives Rhys a look that usually sends her enemies on the battlefield running. Nephelle puts a hand on her arm.

Miryam looks around the room, nailing each person into place with her gaze. “I want peace, too”, she says, “I have only ever wanted peace. But just choosing to forget everything that happened is not the way to achieve that. The past still affects the present and pretending it doesn`t is stupidity. Especially for people who live as long as the Fae do.”

“Forgive me, Lady”, Kallias says. Jurian wonders if he`s purposefully using the wrong title, or if he genuinely does not know that it is common on the Continent for women to hold leading positions, and for married couples to rule together. Sometimes he forgets how annoying Prythian can be. “But did we not fight for your freedom in this very war?”

Jurian snorts softly. As if Hybern hadn`t invaded Prythian before it ever approached the human lands. They were fighting for themselves at least as much as for the humans.

“Yes, you did”, Miryam says, “And I know some of you fought in the War as well.” She pauses. “But tell me, High Lord, who do you think built the palaces you live in? That goes for all of you. Whose hands built your palaces and temples, whose blood paid for the gold in your troves?” She looks around the room. “Every single court in Prythian once owned slaves. Yet, no one ever so much as considered an official apology – not to mention paying reparations to the descendants of the people your ancestors exploited.” She shakes her head. “I`m not saying any of you are bad people. But if you truly believe that you deserve applause for not wanting to enslave us, then perhaps you should consider that you may be setting your bar a little low.”

“Thousands of years of history”, Thesan says says, “you cannot expect us to-“

“Who is talking about a thousand years?”, Grayson asks. Seems like he stopped staring at Elain Archeron long enough to focus on the conversation. “Ever since the Wall was built, Fae have been illegally crossing it and slaughtering humans. I`ve seen entire villages reduced to rubble. Yet not a single Fae lifted a finger to help us.”

“Nothing new, there”, Jurian supplies, “I have yet to see a Fae being punished for ending human lives. After the War, all these Loyalist commanders got away unscathed. Amarantha”, he nearly chokes on the name, “had every single one of her slaves killed, yet no one cared enough to see her punished.” He snorts. “Really shows how much you value our lives.”

At least the Fae now seem somewhat ashamed. Some of them are shifting around on their chairs, refusing to look at the humans. Feyre Archeron is still fiddling around with her dress. Unfortunately, she does not choose to remain silent.

“I, too, was once human”, she says, “I understand your struggles because they were mine as well. But hate and fear are not the way towards peace. We need to move past these things.”

Queen Vassa crosses her arms. “Didn`t you just tell us during your nice little story time that you started out hating Fae and only began to trust them after you saw proof they were better than you thought? And now you just expect us to do the same in one evening, without more than your word to go on?”

“That`s not what I`m saying at all”, Feyre snaps, “But humans, too, have their prejudices. As a human, I experienced first-hand the way the Fae treat us. But I have seen equal amounts of prejudice on the human side. I have seen the hate, the iron walls and ash arrows.”

Grayson lifts his chin and mutters something under his breath. His voice is too low for Jurian to make out words, but the tone makes it clear enough what he is saying. A reply is burning on Jurian`s tongue, but he swallows it. He knows how the Fae see him – his word would probably not help matters.

Again, it is Miryam who replies. “You`ll forgive me for saying this, High Lady”, she says, “but your experience with the Fae must have been pleasant indeed if you believe this to be a fitting comparison. You talk of prejudice. Well, I watched thousands of humans be slaughtered for no crime other than existing. I saw children get beaten to death just because they spilled a drop of water they were supposed to serve – and those were the lucky ones. When someone did something truly bad, you know, like stealing some rotten bread from the trash because none of us had eaten in five days, they drew out the punishment over hours. I…” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Drakon itches a bit closer, the movement barely noticeable. When Miryam continues, her voice is calmer. “I want peace as much as you do. Truly. I have spent most of my life working for it.” She turns back to Feyre. “But I won`t stand here and let you disregard thousands of years of human suffering.”

For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, Rhysand lets out a soft growl. His power rumbles through the air. “Don`t you ever”, he says with cold command in his voice, “speak to my mate like this again.”

Drakon arches an eyebrow at him. Sinna leans in to Nephelle to whisper something into her ear, making the smaller female laugh softly. Jurian just leans back in his seat. This is about to get entertaining. Maybe he should have brought snacks.

“I spoke politely and I will continue to do so”, Miryam says, completely unfazed, “Since I am not one of your subjects, though, I would appreciate you not giving me orders.”

Rhysand`s power flares so hard that a few of the humans flinch back and one of the windows begins to rattle. Jurian rolls his eyes. If that is the Prythian version of politics, he can only hope for their sakes that they don`t ever go to the Continent. He can`t think of a single Continental ruler who would tolerate that behaviour.

“Are you having trouble controlling your power?”, Miryam asks softly, “In that case, taking a deep breath usually helps.”

Rhysand opens his mouth and closes it again. A few of the Fae are now trying to hide their laughter. Jurian grins. He hasn`t had such fun in… well, in a while.

“No”, Rhys finally growls and reins his power back in.

Silence follows. A few of the Fae exchange uncomfortable looks.

Finally, Mor laughs, perhaps a bit too brightly, and winks at Miryam and Drakon. “Well, seeing how difficult this meeting is, I`m twice as impressed that you got things working on Cretea.”

Drakon grins back. “If that`s any consolation to you, it took us quite a while.”

“And I can assure you”, Sinna mutters, “that we did not run around blaming the humans for being scared or try to make ourselves into the victims.”

A few people laugh. Most don`t.

“Having our people learn to live together”, Drakon says, much more seriously this time, “is the only way towards lasting peace. But every one here should be aware that this takes work and that the work will be mainly for the Fae to be done.” He inclines his head towards the human side of the room. “Humans are afraid, some angry, and rightly so. But that is not the problem we are facing, it`s the consequence.” He turns to the Fae. “Because the problem is that many Fae consider humans beneath them and have committed unspeakable crimes against them without punishment. This is what needs to be addressed and it`s why it`s up to us Fae to prove that we, as a people, have changed. Not through words, but action.”

“We now fought two wars for the humans”, Rhys says, “I`d say that`s plenty of action.”

Jurian considers banging his head against the wall. “Yes”, he says slowly, “Because your… brethren first enslaved us and then went to war to do it again – if this skirmish can even be called that.”

“And if you`re looking for actions you can take”, Vassa says, “then how about you start by stopping your people from entering our territory and killing us. Might be a good first step, you know.”

“Another Wall”, Thesan says, “would solve this problem.”

Drakon puts his head in his hands. “No”, he says, voice muffled through his fingers, “it would not.”

Jurian grins. He still isn`t entirely sure how he feels about Drakon (after all, he spent the most part of the last five centuries hating the male`s guts and is only now beginning to remember that there might have been a time when they were friends), but on this, they are in agreement.

“And how can you be so sure of that”, Beron drawls, “Suddenly became a seer?”

“No, but through the magical power of having studied these things, I can predict what consequences certain actions will likely have on society. In this case, though, I wouldn`t even need to have studied it, because it`s literally what happened last time.” Then, almost like he can`t help it, he adds, “Which I tried to warn you about back then already. So we can either try to get it right this time, or we`ll all meet here again in a few years.”

This, Jurian supposes, is where the argument might have ended. Had they been in a reasonable company, they now might have begun discussing how to actually solve these problems. Unfortunately, most Fae are not overly reasonable. So instead, another argument breaks out.

By the time Feyre Archeron finally declares the meeting to be over, Jurian has rolled his eyes so often he fears he may have pulled a muscle. She thanks them for their time and everyone gets up.

“That was fun, wasn`t it?”, Vassa asks, grinning broadly.

“Absolutely”, Jurian mutters. He stands up on his toes.

“She left already”, Vassa says, “By the way, constantly staring at your married ex-lover is kind of weird.”

Jurian glares at her. “It´s not like that. I just want to talk to her.”

“Do it, then. What`s the worst that could happen?”, Vassa asks. She frowns, then laughs. “Well, she could try to kill you again, I suppose.”

“She didn`t want to kill me”, Jurian mutters.

Vassa laughs and says, “Well, then you guys have a really strange way to discuss your break-up.”

Jurian feels his face beginning to burn. “It wasn`t about our relationship at all”, he says with all the dignity he can muster. Unless his old friends really changed in the past centuries, they would not react like this to a personal problem. But with him putting their people into danger… “It was about me sending Hybern after them.”

When he made the split-second decision to name revenge against Miryam and Drakon as his price to Hybern, he hadn`t considered what that might mean for them. The people who might have died if Hybern had managed to track them down and sent an army after them. Not to mention what might have happened if Miryam had been dead, as he first believed, and Hybern would have brought her back.

No, Jurian does not blame her and Drakon for being angry at all. And he still hasn`t figured out a way how to explain. He isn`t even sure he can put into words how he`s feeling about… well, everything.

“Well”, Vassa mutters, “I guess they can count themselves lucky. At least they didn`t get turned into birds.” Her tone is light, but there`s a bitterness underneath.

Jurian winces. “I never apologized”, he says, “for the role I played in that. They didn`t tell me what they had planned – I would have tried to stop them otherwise.”

Vassa waves him off. “You just did what you had to. I don`t blame you.” She winks. “I mean, I don`t think you are the traitorous piece of shit I first considered you to be.”

In spite of himself, Jurian laughs. “Well, thank you for the flattering compliment.”

“You`re welcome.” Vassa grins, then sobers up. “But there was something I wanted you to talk about. My general did not survive this battle. I have to find a suitable replacement before I have to… leave again.”

Jurian blinks. “And you`re asking me?”

It seems ridiculous. Why would anyone want him around, much less in a position of power? He isn`t even sure if he`s in any state to lead again.

“Who`d be better suited than the most legendary General in human history?”

“Oh, I…” Jurian hesitates. “Thank you.”

Vassa smiles again, but he doesn`t look happy at all. “You`ll look after my people, won`t you? When I`m gone.” She stares down at her fingers like she expects them to turn into claws again any moment.

“Is there no way to break your curse?”, Jurian asks.

She shrugs. “I had hoped Feyre Archeron might be able to help. That was before I found out that she got her title as Cursebreaker by solving a riddle, though.”

“I could ask Helion to look into it”, Jurian says, “He has over eight hundred years of experience. We knew each other during the War and as far as I know, he doesn`t hate my guts, so I might be able to get him to help you.”

“That would be great”, Vassa says.

“And you might want to talk to Miryam.”

“Why? Want me to put in a good word for me?”

Jurian groans. “First of all, don`t you dare. And no - she`s good with spells and doesn`t know the word impossible.”

“I might as well give it a try”, Vassa says. She sounds like she`s trying hard to not get her hopes up. “It`s not like I have many other options.”

Before Jurian gets the chance to reply, Lucien Vanserra appears next to them.

“Quite the meeting, wasn`t it?”, he says and nudges Vassa in the side. “I have to say, watching our dear Lord and Lady Night get their asses handed to them was quite enjoyable.”

Jurian nods his agreement. Looking around the room, he finds that they are now almost alone in the destroyed manor. Most of the others have left already.

“Do any of you know where Grayson and the others vanished to?”, he asks.

“Left already”, Lucien says.

“Oh, charming”, Jurian mutters. It seems like Grayson was so desperate to get away from Elain Archeron that he`d forgotten that they had arrived together. “I should probably go after them.”

He waves goodbye to Vassa and Lucien and makes for the door. However, he finds Feyre Archeron standing in the doorway, looking out into the dark. He is about to push past her when she says, “Where do you go now?”

Jurian pauses besides her and stares into the darkness, trying to make out Grayson and his men.

“Queen Vassa offered me a position in her court”, he says, not really willing to discuss this with Feyre.

“Are you going to accept?”

Jurian shrugs. He doesn`t know where else he would go – it`s not like he has any place he belongs anymore. And the offer was certainly an honour. But still-

“What sort of court can a cursed queen have?”, he asks, “She`s bound to that death-lord – she has to go back to his lake on the continent at some point.” And he knows what that would mean, what she`d expect. He just isn`t sure if he can lead the humans again after everything that happened. It should be someone else – Vassa herself, preferably. “Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.”

“Too bad indeed”, Feyre mutters.

Jurian grunts in amusement.

“Do you think we stand a chance?”, Feyre asks, motioning in the dark to something Jurian`s human eyes can`t make out. “Of peace between all of us?”

Not with attitudes like the one you displayed at that meeting, Jurian thinks. But she looks so hopeful, so young, that he doesn`t say it. Besides, does he truly think that they don`t stand a chance?

He thinks back to the meeting. The humans who came in spite of the history and held their own against the Fae. Miryam, Drakon and their people who already achieved what they are now trying to do five hundred years ago. And if he`s being honest, there were several Fae who were willing to try, too. They might have argued, but at least they took the first step towards peace.

“Yes”, he answers softly, “I think we do.”

After all that suffering, they would certainly deserve it.

----

Another note: What I've written is canon compliant, but I've added certain things. Some of the implications I make about characters fit with the story I'm writing about the War (although everyone gets along significantly better back then, and Rhys is not that much of an ass yet)

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas @sunsummoner

#jurian having fun watching shit go down #the Fae are being bashed #rightfully so #miryam and drakon are done with everyone's shit #everyone in prythian is horrible at politics #miryam may not be overly fond of Jurian but she likes entitled Fae assholes even less #jurian #miryam #drakon #vassa #band of exiles #grayson

118 notes · View notes

ilguna · 4 years ago

Text

Metanoia - Chapter Four (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 4k

Warnings; swearing

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You reach over, grabbing a hair tie off of the counter. You gather all your hair into your hands before tying it back as tightly as you can manage. In the mirror you check to make sure that it’s straight. When you realize that it’s not, you pull your hair on one side to even it out.

Satisfied, you take a look at yourself from a distance. It’s not a bad look, the whole outfit that they’ve given out for training this year. You’re a big fan of the sports bra option--like you being allowed to wear it all by itself. Of course, you’re sure when the private session comes along, you’re going to have to wear something a little more modest.

But for now, a sports bra and a pair of yoga leggings is definitely something you wouldn’t mind training in. It’s easy to move around, you’re not showing too much skin, and you look good. It isn’t the main goal to look your best, however showing off that you are in good physical shape is a good threat in itself.

It means you’ll be able to handle anything that comes your way. Someone tries to overpower you, you got the muscle to take them down. You could kill one of the tributes just by choking them to death with their thighs. What a way to go down, suffocating in a career’s thighs.

You laugh to yourself as you skip out of the bathroom and head to the main room. Brutus has been waiting for you to be ready. You were about to leave before, but realize that you needed to get your hair up and out of your face if you want to take this entire thing seriously.

You have to draw in other tributes. Get literally anyone confident enough to request you as an ally. It doesn’t even have to include the other three--Brutus, Gloss and Cashmere--if they want just you, you’ll consider. Neysa might have told you to knock the idea of going solo out of your head, but you’re not as stupid as she is.

You’re the one inside of the games. You know what’s best for you. And after all that thinking last night, you’ve come up with a few game plans. The first is that it’s completely possible to make Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus think you’re in on the alliance, but totally bail whenever you feel like it.

You could take at least one of them down before you go. Gloss or Brutus preferably. Sure, Brutus is a district mate, and you should be wanting someone else to take him down, but he’s not a friend. Merely an acquaintance that will get you to where you need to be. Which is hopefully the final ten or less.

What you will not be doing, is creating another alliance in the meantime. You are no idiot, if you’re serious about flying solo. Well, it’s called solo for a reason. One person, only you. You, your special favorite weapon, and maybe even some sponsors if they see that you’re still worthy enough.

You don’t have your mind set on anything just yet, you have plenty of time to make that decision. Five and a half days, to be exact, which is counting today. Half because the morning of the games will most certainly count, up until you get into the arena.

“Took you long enough, for a second I thought you’d died.” Brutus says.

“You’re funny.” you say, “Let’s go.”

“Not yet.” Neysa objects, “I have good news and bad news, which one do you want first?”

She’s sitting at the dining room table, a mug of coffee in her hands even though it’s noon. You would say that it’s ridiculous, but she has the right idea… kinda. She’s going to get wired up on caffeine, which is dumb as fuck. But coffee in District Two is so expensive, and here, it’s for free. She can drink as much as she wants.

The only thing is it’ll come back and bite her in the ass later on, when she realizes that she’s actually addicted to the stuff. Not your problem though, you don’t really care.

“You finally realize that your teeth are turning yellow?” you ask, giving her a cheeky smile when she deadpans, “Good news first.”

“Your necklace was approved, Amias is holding onto it so she can include it in your interview outfit. As for the bad news…” She trails off.

“Spit it out.”

Neysa gives you a smile and a tilted head, “You’ve got your first formal request to have you as an ally.”

Suddenly, it’s your turn to deadpan, “You’re kidding.”

Brutus starts laughing.

“Finnick--”

“Tell him I say no.” You say.

Neysa’s eyes land on Brutus next, “He’s very thorough.”

“I’ll pass.” Brutus says, “Mainly because I don’t want to get on (Y/n)’s bad side. Do you know if he asked Cashmere and Gloss’ mentors too?”

“Probably.” Neysa says.

“Is that it?” you ask.

“Yeah, make friends.” she gives you a pointed look, before going back to whatever she was doing.

You and Brutus leave the apartment, heading over to the elevator. The ride down is quiet, and it’s brief since you guys are so close to the training floor. The doors open, you two step out and take the short walk down the hallway, and into the room.

You’re almost overwhelmed at the new sight of everything. It’s definitely new, you’ll give it that. The weapons are shiny, polished and unscratched, which will definitely change by the end of these three days. The concrete floor isn’t scuffed. The entire room smells of plastic, brand fucking new.

“Where to start…” you trail off, looking around the room to see who’s here.

Johanna Mason, she’s got her hands on an axe, you’ll skip over her. Cashmere and Gloss are working together at some station. Your eyes concentrate on it more to see that there’s something orange that’s moving.

“What the hell--?” you leave Brutus behind as you start over to where Cashmere and Gloss are.

As you get closer, you can see that the orange things are people. There’s a beam on them, tracking them as they move. It isn’t until you’re right in front of them, when the word clicks.

“Holograms!” you gasp, the trainer standing nearby smiles widely and nods.

“Yes, new technology was installed. Would you like to try?” she asks, moving aside and motioning to the station next to her.

You make a face, “I’d rather do hand-to-hand combat right now, I’ll swing by later after lunch.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” she says.

Brutus comes over, standing next to you. Cashmere and Gloss finish up what they’re doing, and when they turn to look at you guys, they’ve hardly broken a sweat. It looks like you’re not the only one in amazing physical condition.

“Welcome.” Cashmere looks you over, obviously hesitant, “Nice to see you again.”

“Save the bitchiness for someone who cares.” You say, “Unless you’re trying to get on my nerves again.”

“I’ll tread lighter, then.”

Gloss glances over you very briefly, as if he’s trying not to be insulting. When his eyes land on Brutus, they do the whole guy thing. You’re bored of it, and spend some time looking over the room again.

Plenty of stations to work with, but your mind is suddenly settled on working on the uneven ground, with a man that is clearly dressed for fighting. Without a word to the others, you leave them behind.

Wiress and Beetee are here, working at some fire starting station. One over sits Cecelia all by herself, you have no idea what she’s doing. She gives you a look as you pass, clearly not knowing what to think of you staring. All you can think about is how easy it’ll be able to kill her and her district mate. They’re out of practice, too old now.

One last look before you make it to the guy in black gear tells you that Finnick is here with Mags, but they’re in two different places. Mags is at some podium that’s a white light, moving her hands. Her eyebrows are drawn together seriously as she focuses. As for Finnick, you can clearly see the rope in his hand. He sits on a cement bench, legs spread with his elbows on his thighs. Just as focused as Mags is.

Enough with the ogling.

You pick up a staff, spinning it in your hand, looking over the man, “We practice?”

“Yes.” he says, picking up his own black staff.

“Are you actually allowed to hit me?” you step onto the first blue block, but get a look at all the rest, trying to memorize it so when you’re walking backwards, you’ll know where to step.

It’s not a bad design, it’s actually fairly realistic. You never know when something will drop off into a hole. What they should’ve added is slopes too, because that would have been the absolute worst. There’s nothing like having your footing slip, and even falling because you weren’t standing properly.

You’re all for realism.

“I can tap you, and that’s about it.” he tells you.

“Well, I expect you not to go easy.” you turn to look down at him, spinning the staff around in your hand a final time, “Otherwise, you will find yourself on your ass.”

There’s a moment of silence between you two, as you slam the pole onto the blue blocks to get it to stop moving, “Challenge accepted.”

He swings first, which is an easy block. Two hands on the staff, you shove him backwards when he connects with yours. To give him a fair chance, and to test out your memory, you begin to back up. There’s a dip behind you--correct. You shuffle your foot back again, it should be going up--correct.

He gets up while he cans, and you try to take him down with the chance you got. You swing in from the right, making sure he’s paying attention, before you half-circle, and nearly slam the staff on his helmet. He catches you just in time for it not too be bad, you’re sure that move would have made him see stars.

With an attempt to push you back that fails, he swings at your ankles. Another incline behind you--correct. You jump onto it briefly to get out of the way, and then get back down. You’re not sure if it’s against the rules or not, but you slam your foot against the square of his chest.

He stumbles back, and since it’s a decline, he falls.

It’s like a turtle on its back, he almost can’t get up. You sneer, dropping down the couple of steps as you offer your hand for him to take. You pull him up and onto his feet.

In the short time of your fighting, there’s been newcomers. District Nine’s very own drunk is puking at the entrance. Peeta is standing next to Brutus, making conversation, and Katniss Everdeen is giving you a look up and down.

You raise your eyebrows at her, then turn back to the guy to give him a pat on the arm, “I told you not to go easy.”

“How was I supposed to know you’d donkey kick me?”

“Pay more attention to the areas you leave open.” you tell him, “Although, I would have kicked the staff too. But that’s neither here nor there. Wanna go again, or do you need a moment?”

“Definitely need a second,” he says, sitting on a block.

In the meantime, you get up and onto the blocks, swinging the staff around in circles with one hand. You’ll stop it, try different positions to fight with. Having your back to the higher and lower blocks is a fun challenge to work with, but the high ground is an unfair advantage. You wonder what would happen if he tried it instead.

You don’t get the chance to ask.

“So what did you tell your mentor?”

You roll your eyes before you even see him, “You’re impossible to get rid of.”

You take a seat on the block you're standing on, which is conveniently the highest one. With your legs dangling over the side, you could kick Finnick in the face if he got close enough. You kinda hope he tests fate with that idea.

However, he must be a mind reader, because he takes a couple of steps back. It could very well be because he wants to be able see your entire face. No matter how far back he stands, though, he’ll never be eye to eye with you. To you, he just gets smaller and smaller. You wish he’d trip over something and embarrass himself.

“What have I ever done to you?” Finnick asks.

“Nothing, thank god.” you look him up and down, “Your existence is enough to set me off.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Life is unfair. Not everyone has to be pleased with your presence.”

Finnick smiles a little bit, “Oh, I know.”

“I don’t know why you’re so insistent with me in particular. There’s other girls for you to try and swoon.” you motion, “Johanna, Cecelia, Wiress, Katniss.”

“Katniss is seventeen.”

“Has that ever stopped you before?” you ask, tilting your head.

You remind yourself of something again. A fairytale character this time… what is his name--annoying personality. He’s cryptic, which is an opposite for you. But nobody really likes him, do they? Purple, an animal…

The cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. Yes, that’s right. You only know about him because it was one of the stories your mom used to read to you before bed as a child. One of your favorites. The cheshire cat was the one that brought you in the most. As well as the Queen of Hearts. You’ve always had a thing for villainous characters.

“I don’t associate with minors, (Y/n).” Finnick says.

“That’s right, because you have a girlfriend.”

His face darkens at the mention of her.

You decide to avoid that conversation, because you have a staff in your hand, and you’d certainly be able to hit him hard enough to give him a concussion, “Back to your original question, no, I’m not going to be your ally.”

Finnick looks relieved at the topic switch, “Is it because of your distaste for me?”

“You really could have anyone in this room be your ally, and yet you choose me. Why is that?” you ask, “Is it because I’m mean or difficult?”

“I’m just curious on how well the alliance would be able to hold up in the arena.” Finnick tilts his head, mirroring your own, “How fast you would try to kill me.”

“Immediately.”

“You’re telling me that I haven’t grown on you at least a little, now? After all the conversations we’ve had.”

You hold up three fingers on your left hand, and use your right index finger to push on them one at a time, “The first one, I called you a cynical prick, the second I was forced to apologize for being too mean and hurting your crybaby feelings, and you’re telling me that this one isn’t any better?”

“Crybaby feelings?”

You make a mock sad face and voice, “So you didn’t run off to cry to your mentors?”

“You did try to hit me, after all.” Finnick says, straightening his head again and shrugging, “They wanted to know what happened.”

“Right, sure.”

Finnick smiles, “You’re cute, you know that.”

You can feel a button pressed instantly, because your body begins heating up in a bad way. You’re not embarrassed, you’re infuriated because he’d associate a word like that with you. You’re not cute.

Finnick must’ve recognized his mistake with how red your face is. It feels like it’s on fire, and you’re suddenly glaring at him, “Listen, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down before you send the staff flying at his abdomen, “I am not cute. No matter the way you mean it, I’m not a cute person, and I never will be.”

Finnick nods, “I guess what I should have said is that you’re funny.”

“Funny how?” you ask, “Funny because I get mad so easily?”

“That and the fact that you also think you’re unlikable. Here’s a newsflash for you: you’re not.”

“People pretend to like me because they know what happens when they don’t.” you lean forward, “I’m sure you can take a solid guess on what I mean.”

“What, you threaten to kill everyone you don’t like?”

“You’ve been on my list for a pretty long time now.” you say, “I’m lucky that I finally get to fall through on that.”

“Who else is on your list?” he asks, “Genuine question.”

“Everyone who has ever done me wrong.” You say simply.

“Give me an example,” he says, and then adds, “Besides myself.”

“For starters--” you turn to where Katniss is sitting with Wiress and Beetee, you’d noticed that she went over there a while ago. She’s making allies while she can. She’s lucky, she’s got a clean slate and no enemies or friends in here, or so she thinks, “--her.”

“What has she done?” Finnick looks amused.

You smile a little bit, “I’m not one to fight for spotlight, but this year is different.”

“Because you think you’re going to win?” Finnick looks a little more serious now.

“I know I am. And it’ll all work out once I get rid of the only threats. You can identify those on your own, right?” you ask, rolling the staff back and forth over your thighs, “I didn’t volunteer because I thought I could win. I volunteered because I know I can.”

Finnick doesn’t look too pleased with what you had to say, but that’s fine with you. As long as it finally sinks into his brain that you’re not messing around. He should stop trying to treat you like a toy and more like an enemy.

However, he could be trying to reel you in to make you like him in hopes that you’ll space some sort of mercy on him when you do come across him in the arena. He’s stupid if he is thinking that route.

“So, you, Cashmere, Gloss and Brutus in an alliance?” his eyes drift over to them, you give a glance over your shoulder yourself, curious on what they’re up to.

They’re staring at you guys all the same. There’s a smile on Brutus’ face, and you can practically hear him teasing you now over this, ‘oh, I thought you hated him, change your mind?’. As the other two morons will probably ask if this means that he can be invited to the alliance as if they really want him in.

They’d probably ask just to irritate you.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“I wonder where my invitation is at.” Finnick looks at you now.

“You think we’re going to invite you, when you’re clearly going to drag in Mags? Yeah, you’d be just as bad as Peeta.”

This is new to Finnick, his eyebrows skyrocket upwards at the statement, “What?”

“Peeta is practically dead already, look at how useless he is.”

Peeta is with Johanna now, Johanna is still swinging her axe around, but Peeta stands at a distance, talking to her. You have to admit, he’s got good taste in picking people out as friends. But they’re smarter than he is, they’ll know not to pick him. He’s got no useful skills. He brings nothing to the table.

“Does he even know how to fight?” you laugh.

“Big talk.” Finnick says, his body is halfway turned to stare at Peeta.

“No, just common sense.” you say, “What about you, Mister Cynical, any alliances?”

Finnick looks at you now, you’re assuming it’s because of the nickname, “No, not yet. I was hoping you’d accept my offer to kickstart it.”

“I doubt that you don’t have any alliances by now. No Johanna or Blight? Or are you teamed up with Katniss and Peeta?” you study Finnick’s face to see his reaction, “Or perhaps, both?”

“Stop that.” he snaps at you.

It’s your turn to be surprised, you lean back, sucking in your bottom lip with a smile, “Both it is. It’s nice to know who to look out for and avoid. Now I’ll know that where one goes--the others will follow. I need to know one more thing though, before I end this conversation.”

Finnick looks up at you again.

“Were you inviting me into the alliance because you want me to fight alongside you guys, or because you wanted to trap me and be able to take me out first?”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, you two stare at each other for a long moment. You know you’re not going to get your answer, so you push yourself up, using the staff as a helper.

“Hey, you don’t have to answer, I’ll be finding out soon enough, eh?” you swing the staff between your fingers, “I will be keeping this convo to myself, though. So don’t worry about it.”

You slam the staff into the block again before turning yourself around to go and get the trainer guy back on his feet. He’s had more than enough time to recover from his tumble.

“I’m ready to go again.” you tell him, “Get up higher than me.”

The man stands, taking his staff and going up the uneven blocks. The problem now, is that he’ll be fighting both you, and the ability to navigate the terrain. The only advantage he has, is that he’ll be able to get you from better angles, and you’ll be working with experimentation moves.

You start with slipping the left side of the staff between his feet, then quickly push with the right. When his foot goes up, you reach over with your free hand to pull his knee out.

He looks like he’s about to buckle, kicking your face in the meantime, but you dodge it, and he catches his footing. After that, he swings at your head from the right, making you duck. The two of you go back and forth for a while. You’ll swing, he dodges, and then vice versa.

It isn’t until you’re about twenty minutes in, when you start to break a sweat from it. You’re on a good streak, until you get distracted by everyone else moving towards the bow and arrow area. Because of this, the man swings too hard and catches you in the side of the head.

You stumble, placing your hand on the area, but brushing it off when he tries to apologize. You’re interested in something else now. You tell him that you don’t want medical attention, getting down the blocks and shoving the staff into the holder.

Brutus lags a little when he sees that you’re going to join them, “Katniss is firing arrows.”

“Huh.” you jog up, “Is she any good?”

“Take a look for yourself.”

Basically everyone who’s attended training today, is here. Mags and Gloss stand up close. Brutus is to your right, Seeder stands behind you, Chaff is behind Johanna. While to your left is Cashmere, Wiress and Beetee. Behind them stands Peeta.

And beside you? Finnick Odair.

There’s a big enough gap between Mags and Johanna, allowing you to see right through. All of Katniss’ movements are smooth. The way she moves around the mat, how quick she is to pull arrows. She knows where the holograms are going to be before they’re even there.

Deadly.

“So,” Finnick starts, “Still want to be allied with them?”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair metanoia #metanoia #metanoia chapter four

92 notes · View notes

ktheist · 5 years ago

Text

maybe, maybe

a series of coincidental meet-ups lead to an unlikely relationship between two people.

characters: smiley jeon jungkook word count. 4.8k genre: college au / slice of life au

It couldn’t have gotten any cornier than this.

A girl bawling her eyes out on the bench in the dark, letting out sobs that may or may not be the cause of the park being named ‘weeping willow’. There isn’t a willow tree and though Harry Potter is an evergreen series that lives on in every millennial, that is not the reason for the park to be named that. It’s a place where people - girls, boys and non-binaries alike - go to bawl their eyes out because assignments and exams are taking up college students’ time so much so most, if not all, doesn’t have the time to socialize.

Tonight, you are one of those weeping college students.

You don’t need to worry about it being weird. It’s an established fact that if anyone heard someone crying while passing the park, they would go on with their life. Not everyone likes to be comforted, especially not by a stranger and though yes it’s a good gesture but it really is unnecessary. Most people who came here just want to bawl their eyes out and trudge back to the library and continue their work.

So yes, you’re 99% sure no one was going to look at you as though you’re insane even though the bench you’re sitting on is right by the walkway. Nobody’s passed here for the last five minutes, you think you might be able to get another five in and be done with it.

But as it turns out, for a reason only known to the cosmos, someone asked, “Um, excuse me?”

At first, you think you’re imagining it but after thirty-seconds, you look up with puffy red eyes and possibly some snot running down your nose. You suck it back in.

“Y-yes?”

He’s quite good-looking but that may be because the closest lamp post is three feet away and it’s situated right behind him, hence the rather attractive shadow cast over his face. At the present though, you’re fuddled by him smiling at getting your attention as though help has come.

“Hi, I’m here to send some stuff to my sister but I’m a little lost, could you maybe point me in the right direction to Alpha Pie?”

“Phi. Alpha Phi.” You stare him dead in the eye, uninterested, as though you’ve been cut off just before a good orgasm because the guy didn’t know a girl’s anatomy.

He echoes the words correctly this time with a smile you didn’t think could get brighter but it did. Standing up and wiping the tears (and ugh, you really did have snot on your face) off, you gesture for him to follow you.

The campus is lit by the same kind of dim lamp post that accompanied you awhile back while you bawled away. Some students passed you by and you can somewhat understand the hollow look in their eyes and silently acknowledge the mutual feeling of being tired and wanting to go back and lay on your comfortable bed.

“So, you live on campus?” He breaks the silence with - now that you’re actually looking at him - a dimpled smile.

“Sometimes,” you answer shortly, not giving any indication to elaborate further - whoever his sister is, you can only hope she’s not crying her eyes out in her room because of assignment season.

Other times you spend your nights at McDonald's or some bar that opens till 6.

Silence sets in again and though it may not be wholly comfortable but it’s preferred - by you at least. But it’s short lived, it seems as you hear another question come from him.

“Any reason why you were crying just now?” The corners of his lips are curled cutely and he’s looking at you as though he’s asking to make small talk which he possibly is and don’t really care about the reason.

You don’t really mind either as you shrug, eyes still puffy but you’re halfway to looking like you didn’t just cry at the Weeping Willow.

“The usual. Assignments, datelines. We’re here.”

He seems to be satisfied with the answer and the both of you seem to have arrived in front of the sorority-looking building with the alphabets ‘Alpha Phi’ written proudly on top of the entrance.

“Thanks, I couldn’t have found it myself now I’m five minutes early from the time we bet I would show up.”

You don’t particularly care.

“No problem.”

And with that, you wave a hand as in to dismiss the fact that he’d taken up the 5 minutes you could have gotten to continue crying.

You almost forgot you helped a stranger find his way when you met the aforementioned stranger again as you walk out of the wooden doors of Alpha Phi. He’s donned in a crisp white button down with the cuffs of the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbow and his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, we meet again.”

It takes you half a minute to register who he is and you’re surprised he remembers your face what with the baggy clothes and unkempt hair the other day. Not to say that you’re looking any better today but your eyes are lined and winged and your lips are glossed - that’s as far as you’re willing to go to look presentable during the daylight.

“Yeah and I’m assuming you manage to find your way without bothering a crying soul this time - I hope.”

He laughs, the dimples more prominent in the light and you confirm your suspicions that he wasn’t good-looking because there was not much lighting that night - he really is, simply, good-looking.

“You live here.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement - an affirmation to his question from last time.

“Sometimes.” The corners of your own lips upturn as you repeat your previous answer.

“About the other day -”

You wave a dismissive hand, this time really meaning it when you say, “Don’t mention it.”

“No, I was about to ask you to coffee but you left so fast and I was worried I’d get lost again if I went after you and you happen to turn my advances down. Where else would I get a guide?”

That manages to make you smile wider. Alright so he’s chill.

“What makes you think I won’t turn you down right now?”

He shrugs and only then do you realize how his sleeves wrap around his arms nicely.

“Maybe in the light I look less like a creep?”

“Maybe.” You echo though he looked nothing like a creep then and he looks less than a creep now, “but I’m good.”

The tiniest stretch of his smile tells you he’s surprised but he keeps it on and nods.

“I understand. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

That day, you go to class with the same amount of concentration and determination to pass and graduate. You’re in your third year and third years either make you or break you - as what the people a year above you have said.

“I hardly think this is a coincidence anymore.” At this point you can recognize the playfulness in the tone and you whirl around to see the same man whose offer for coffee you turned down.

“I’m meeting a friend,” it all comes together quite easily and you wiggle your hand in front of him with the same level of playfulness in his tone, “Sooyoung is your sister.”

The second year isn’t as close to you as she is to your roommate, Seulgi, but on one fine night when you just got back and she was hanging around in your room, she had implored you to go to this coffee shop which chocolate chip cookies - as she claims - are to-die-for. It’s not as odd anymore why Seulgi had plans and couldn’t accompany her and she sent you the address instead of going with you since you’re both going the same direction from the same sorority.

He whisks past you and places an order before turning to you, inclining for you to place your own order. You do and it turns out the place doesn’t sell cookies and it’s actually famous for its muffins.

“I hope everything’s well.” Though his tone is light as the night you thought he was making small talks when he asked why you were crying alone, you realize now that it’s genuine concern.

He’s just that type of nice guy that gets his sister into getting her best friend’s roommate into go to a coffee shop just because he wants to make sure you’re okay.

“Really, when you saw me, I just had a lot and needed to let it out. It’s not that deep but I appreciate you checking up on me.”

His eyes twinkle a bit as he takes his first sip of Americano, “it’s not easy - it’s gonna take a lot of tears but you’ll get through it someday.”

Raising an eyebrow, you scrutinize him through your lashes with a twitch of your own, “I might be wrong but did you really not know your way or did you just not want me to be crying alone but also didn’t want to look sympathetic so you asked for directions.”

“I really was loss.”

Not that you care so much so you lean back against the chair and take your first bite out of chocolate chip muffin.

Jeon Jungkook. He told you his name and you subtly noted that Sooyoung’s family name rhymes with mark but they could be half-siblings or step-siblings. If the two occasions (including this one) of meeting him in button downs and black or navy blue pants didn’t tell you, then he’s telling you now that he’s working for a company. From the looks of it, he seems like he’s able to come and leave anytime he wants but you can’t.

It’s not disappointment that crosses his face but it’s the kind of smile that looks like he knows you’re going to up and leave, if not the moment you see him, then half an hour into enjoying your coffees.

“Student council, director of the magazine club. I understand.”

“What else did Sooyoung tell you about me?” You raise an eyebrow, this time genuinely curious about what a stranger - maybe he qualifies as an acquaintance now - knows about you that you haven’t told him.

“She didn’t tell me, I saw your picture on the board when I was heading to Prof. Kim’s office.”

Judging from where Prof. Kim’s office is and his possible connection to the aforementioned professor, you squint your eyes, curiosity piquing by the second.

“You went to Yonsei?”

The wink he gives is uncalled for and paired with that cute smile, is a deadly combination. You almost want to sit in this coffee shop longer with him just to know more - enough to satisfy the curious cat within you before you erase him from your memories because you really can’t afford to get distracted right now.

“I’ll tell you if you agree to go to dinner with me.”

Though he’s a tad more cute and a little bit interesting than the men you’ve been on coffee dates with - back in your freshman days, now you barely have time to sleep - the fascination ends here. If you were going to fall for dimples and smiles, you would have been with Professor Kim’s son, Namjoon by now.

“Some other time then.”

“Meaning never.”

You almost look like you’re caught off guard but you mimic his curled lips and wonder if all the smiles that got your heart melting each time was a facade but coming from a man who looked at you like you were a person instead of a wreck back at the park, you somehow believe that his smiles are sincere, though sometimes they look sad.

“Here’s my number.” You hand over the poorly scribbled handwriting of a napkin to him and for once, wrote the digits correctly without intentional amendments.

He takes it between his index and middle fingers, waving it in the air as though he’s saying he accepts the treaty.

On the way to the group meeting - the essential reason you couldn’t stay long - you curse yourself out for leaving with a ‘see you later’ instead of a - as he mentioned - ‘maybe never.’

“Someone’s calling.” Namjoon nudges your elbow and true enough, the screen lights up and vibrates with a sequence of unfamiliar numbers which may not be of grave importance at the moment unless if Namjoon brought it to your attention because it’s distracting him from studying.

You have a tendency to not pick up unknown calls which to this day have proven to be equally advantageous and disadvantageous but you never learn.

“I almost thought you gave me the wrong number.”

There’s this urge to smile at the playfulness of the voice.

“Why would I?”

He lets out a short laugh as though not believing it completely but whether he places his trust on you or not is not particularly your concern. His omission to answer clearly says he and you share the same understanding of why people give fake numbers but it’s pointless to talk about that.

“Where are you now?”

“Studying.”

As though he expected the generic answer or perhaps maybe it’s just a conversation starter to get to his next point, you will never know.

“Come out. I’m at the bench from that night.”

Though odd and rather unlikely for him to be there right at this moment, you tread down the walkway, more curious than excited if he’s telling the truth of his whereabouts.

You don’t know why you thought he was lying at the first place but it would be a lie if you say you’re not surprised to see that familiar flock of dark brown hair on the same bench you spent bawling your eyes out two weeks ago. He waves at you when he sees you and pulls out a paper bag that’s been on his side to sit between the two of you.

“What is this?” You ask even though you have a sneaky suspicion already.

“Stusket. Study basket. Except it’s in a bag.”

The pride in his eyes when he mentions the first word is overly adorable so you opt to pay more attention to the items inside the bag instead of that smile. The bag comes in two hot Americano, a muffin, a bundle of colored pens, energy bars and a neck pillow which surprisingly fits all that.

“I was buying one for Sooyoung but I figured I should get two. Another one for you.”

You’re a little disappointed that you’re just an add on but it’s only a given that his someone as familiar as family comes first. You don’t know when you even started caring.

“I appreciate this but are you setting me up to fail because there’s no way I can stay awake with this.” You laugh as you put on the neck pillow and note how it’s the softest suede you’ve ever touched and also the fluffiest.

He shrugs, the sleeves fitting as nicely as usual around his arms and you realize his pink lips turn into a skin-colored hue under the lamp post.

“But really, thank you.” You say and you really mean it.

He waves a hand in the air in a familiar fashion which is confirmed to be yours as he echoes the words you once said to him, “don’t mention it.”

“What’s that?” Namjoon eyes the bag with an arched brow, wondering how you went out with only a ringing phone in your hand and came back with a bag.

It doesn’t take much for him to know what’s in the bag and who it’s for.

“Someone gave me a stusket. Study basket. Except it’s in a bag.” You echo Jungkook’s exact words and recall the twinkle in his eyes.

“I never knew you got a boyfriend.” Namjoon emphasizes on the last word but there’s something in his tone that sounds like an insult - just because you were busy doesn’t mean you couldn’t find a potential love interest even though that is completely and 100% true. And Jungkook isn’t a boyfriend -

“He’s Sooyoung’s brother.” That somehow doesn’t sit right, “A friend.”

Now, that doesn’t help at all and if there’s anything Kim Namjoon is good at, it’s reaffirming your words which more often than not manage to make it sound more ridiculous as you try to elaborate.

“You’re friends with your roommate’s best friend’s brother?”

This time, you really can’t say anything else because you are nowhere close to your roommate’s best friend let alone join any functions with her that would require for her brother to be there with her. But the facts are there and what are you if not friends?

“Yes.”

“____, my brother texted me to tell you he wants to see you.” Sooyoung bursts into your room at midnight in her yellow duckling pajamas and a sheet mask, you almost didn’t recognize her from the frequency of people walking around in sheet masks and printed pajamas if not for the mention of a certain brother.

“Why doesn’t he text me?” You check your phone, eyebrows almost knitted together at the absence of any text from him.

“There’s this thing called knocking.” Seulgi throws her alpaca plushie and Sooyoung surprisingly manages to catch it.

“I don’t know girl, but get your ass down there before one of the sis notices I’m up here in your room and not talking to my brother!” Are Sooyoung’s last words before she throws herself at Seulgi despite the latter’s desperate protest.

You slip a cardigan on before closing the door on the two girls who are starting a pillow fight on Seulgi’s bed with your pillow as Sooyoung’s weapon.

That dimpled almost has you skipping like a little girl.

You shoot him the same question you did with his sister as you gesture for him to follow you and away from the sorority. Before you get far, the hood covering part of your head pools at the back of your neck and a grinning Jungkook is standing just a few inches behind you, no doubt the culprit.

“Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

“I just prefer to have my hood on.”

He sees through your lies and chuckles - whether he knows the exact reason for you reluctance to be seen with the same man more than once on campus besides your usual set of friends, you’re not sure.

Though you love the sisterhood you share between the girls of the sorority, you can’t deny that there are ears ready to eavesdrop and it’s never good when someone outside of your circle knows about anything especially if it concerns you and a boy. All this time, it’s established that you feel absolutely nothing for the male specimens that often become the talk of the house. If they knew - God help the overboard ‘support’ your sisters are more than willing to give you.

“How was your day?”

“Good.”

There’s a familiar silence that’s more comfortable than whatever it was the first time you walked him to the house.

“I was scared to text you. You might not come.”

He says out of the blue and so out of character, you have to pause and look at him to make sure he even said anything in the first place. His gaze is already on you and you can’t help but take a moment to digest that someone as composed as Jungkook would have fears and because of you for that matter.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

This time, there’s no tricks or games. The answer might have been obvious but it isn’t for you and the corners of Jungkook’s lips curls as he nods to himself as though he’s coming to terms with himself and realizing there was nothing to be afraid of.

“I get nervous texting the girl I like.”

Jungkook has texted you three days later and asked you if you were free Thursday night and you have no choice but to turn him down. Not that you want to but most of your days are planned out and are subject to your timetable. Though, this type of ‘no’ hasn’t let you sit well through out the day.

If you would be a little be more honest, you daresay you want to see him.

“Why didn’t you say yes?!” Seulgi cries and you have to toss a pillow on her face to remind her to lower her voice in case anyone hears.

You thank the universe that Sooyoung likes to keep to herself which is why you get along with her even though you don’t share her passion for cute bras, cats and male phallus - a quirky combination but you’re not about to kink shame. Seulgi on the other hand knows what to say and what to keep from people’s business - the two of them together makes an unlikely friendship which if you look closer, seems just right.

“You know I’m too busy for boys.”

Seulgi throws you a look which warrants an eye roll. You already know what she’s about to say.

“He’s not a boy, he’s a man.”

You’re not going to admit the significant difference between the two categories because 1) you’re not going to give her any room for more innuendos and 2) you’re not ready to face Jungkook after nodding and responding ‘cool’ to his confession.

Then your phone vibrates.

For a solid 5 second, you and Seulgi are at a stare off before she leaps across the five feet gap between your bed and hers - and in an attempt to shield yourself from a human cannon ball, you try to roll off the bed but alas, the human crashes right into you.

You take a moment to register whether any bones have been dislocated before reaching for your phone which is too late by the way. The damage has been done and as you know it, the blue text on your part has already agreed for another day which is Saturday.

For a moment, you debated correcting your statement by telling him the truth but when his smile flashes at the back of your head, and you decide against cancelling the plan.

“You’re choosing a guy over finishing up a paper you need to submit two days from now.” Namjoon states in-a-matter-of-factly.

“Chill, I got like two days more.”

You almost squirm under his scrutiny because he’s the one person who’s been with you through your lowest, been your pillar of strength and sanity when you need a word of advice. The one week he wasn’t here, you almost lost your mind which was the reason you ended up breaking down at the park.

So if there’s anyone who knows you would be freaking out because the date line is nearing, it’s Kim Namjoon, your childhood friend slash study buddy who doesn’t even need to study but waved a dismissive hand at you when you told him he didn’t need to accompany you at the library till it closes almost every night.

“5 years from now, are you going to regret not going on a dinner with some guy or handing in a possibly imperfect paper which you could have perfected and bump your A to an A+ if you didn’t go to the dinner with the guy?”

The paper isn’t written yet but you’re halfway into your research and you can finish up with the important points later after dinner assuming it ends before 10 and your journey would only take about an hour or so to get back. Apparently, it’s transparent that you don’t want the dinner to end early which before you know it, you’ve already gotten the answer to Namjoon’s question.

He shakes his head and packs up his things. You thought he was disappointed at you enough to ignore your presence altogether but he looks at you again and you find yourself holding your breath.

But he doesn’t say anything and you watch as he leaves the library. In that moment, everything comes crashing in - your life plans, your college goals. None of them includes Jungkook but if his inclusion means the distraction of your goals, then, Jeon Jungkook is just an insignificant part of your life.

You stop in front of the diner so sure that you value your friendship with Namjoon more than a man you known within just two months. With that, you send Jungkook a text that you’re outside. He struts out in a matching navy blue tuxedo with a black button down underneath, that cute smile on full display. His eyebrows arch when he sees you in an over-sized sweater, shorts and this time, kept hair. You pride would be scarred if you showed up any less presentable than this but you’re here for one reason and that’s to properly tell him you’re not going to entertain him anymore.

“You’re here.” He comes to a stop in front of you but just when he was about to gesture for you to go inside, you speak first.

“Here is fine.”

He accepts your decision with a nod, hands pocketed as though ready for what you’re about to say.

“Did something happen along the way?”

“No, nothing happened.”

The look of relief on his face makes it harder to stand your ground. Showing up severely under dressed to a five star restaurant is already disrespectful as it is but he’s more worried that something might have happened to you that warrants you unable to don a suitable dress for a dinner.

“You must be hungry, let’s sit and talk. At least have some water.” He adds when you’re about to protest.

With the last part, you relent and the dimple smile carves its way to his lips as though your compliance is enough for him.

He places two identical orders and dismisses the other as his extra plate but it would be embarrassing to have two sets of servings for himself. When the food does come, he doesn’t even touch it. In fact, his eyes never left you as though your presence is more appealing than a medium rare steak prepared by a Michelin chef.

“How was your day?”

“Good.” You shrug.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

If the dimple wasn’t enough, you start to wonder if his eyes have always crinkled when he smiles.

“I can’t stay.”

“You never seem to be able to.”

For a split second, his lips are set in a thin line but then he smiles but it’s not the same smile you’ve been receiving until now. It’s the kind of smile that makes you want to take back your hostility and swallow your pride but you wouldn’t be you if you did that so instead you swallowed the water the waiter set aside for you.

“I have assignments to finish and exams to prepare for. I have to go.”

He stands up a second later than you, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“I’ll send you back, let me settle the bill first.”

The cosmos must have hated you from the moment since you were born and it’s all unraveling right now as you yearningly take a last look at the untouched steak and how much of a waste it was because the extra platter was just a facade because Jeon Jungkook was too nice to let you watch him eat or let you stand outside in the cold while you two talked.

“There’s really no need to send me back, I can walk. The campus is really close.”

He thwarts your last ditch attempt to leave with, “I have something to pass to Sooyoung too. My car’s in the workshop so I’ll walk with you.”

“You just said you were going to send me back which implies you have a car. So it just suddenly transferred itself to a workshop?” You eye him suspiciously and without any effort to hide it, he chuckles, head dropping.

“Yes, if you believe in magic.”

You don’t expect him to entertain questions to an obvious answer the way he always didn’t. It only adds to the feebleness of the whole situation. So you opt to walk in silence and struggle to either remain a step in front or behind from him. If he notices your diligence, he doesn’t mention it until you’re at the Weeping Willow and his fingers suddenly wrap around your wrist.

He takes a step closer and another until you’re only a hair’s breadth away. You’re staring at his eyes and he’s looking at your lips. Just before he kisses you, he pauses and meets your gaze but this time he catches your lingering stare on his lips.

“If you say no now, I’ll leave and I won’t ever show up in your life but if there’s a smidgen of chance that you’re acting like this because you’re not good with handling emotions -”

So you kiss him.

You kiss him with all and every emotion that you have, the butterflies, the zoo, the anxiety, the fear and the excitement.

note: woooo so first fic after years of not writing, i’m a little rusty and i just finished this in one sitting. i have the most fun writing this, but my apologies for the errors and typos - i shamefully admit to not rereading this because i just want to quickly finish this and get it out there hahahah

credit goes to: before we get married drama (go watch, it tests your principles, and the characters all have their shortcomings which balances out the story line - but please for those who have watch the whole series don’t give spoilers i’m only on my 5th ep!)

and blackpink reference yooo :D

#jeon jungkook #networkbangtan #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook x you #bts x you #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagines #bts imagines

444 notes · View notes

bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

Text

I really encourage people who have legitimate gripes with something I say or express on here to like.....either just DM, @ me directly or if you’re going to pop into my inbox to debate something with me, like, do so off anon, even if you ask that I don’t publish your ask and just respond to you in private. I always abide by that if people ask me to do that, and I’m 10000x more likely to treat your complaint or disagreement with dignity even if I completely disagree with it, than like....if you go on anon with it.

Because dunno if you’ve noticed, lol, but there’s kinda a tendency with people who pick fights with me on anon or who @ me in general with some form of “LOL I can’t believe you’re so dumb as to believe this thing [that you don’t actually believe or else is not at all actually what I’m framing it as being],” to like.....only really do so in an attempt to trip me up, expose me as a hypocrite or pull some kind of ‘Gotcha!’ So, realistically, it just is not possible for me to give most anons who disagree with me the benefit of the doubt or for me to assume they’re at least coming from a place of actual honest disagreement rather than just....playing games, which I fucking despise and I refuse to respond to with respect.

I sound ridiculous in nine out of ten of my over the top responses to people giving me shit, because of...deliberate intent on my part. *Shrugs* Because I personally consider it to be extremely ridiculous, how often I have people trying to poke holes in things I say, by.....poking at stuff I never even say, lol.

I don’t actually always believe I’m right about everything, but I fully understand how my tone can convey that I do think that in a lot of these back-and-forths, because.....the one thing I do pretty much always think I’m right about is what it is I’m actually saying or believe. And thus, I really do not care for people trying to tell me I said otherwise, when I have a looooot of proof to point to how even when I’m being like, King Ridiculous in how I say or phrase something....nobody ever seems to have trouble comprehending my points on pretty much any topic across the board......until it happens to be a point I make on a matter they take issue with.

So just a general PSA, do with it what you will, but like. I’m just saying:

I know I’m contentious, and I don’t actually want people to just automatically 100% take everything I say as fact or just never disagree with me, since that’s like....the polar opposite of pretty much my entire belief system or view of life and how to go through it lol.

Buuuuut it honestly is exhausting constantly being hit up by people in bad faith, and who prove over and over again that they are perfectly comfortable saying or doing anything with no loyalty to even their own arguments, as long as it nets them a ‘win’ in arguing with me for the sake of arguing or whatever the fuck their motivation might be, I honestly do not care, lol. And I’m just......long past assuming that someone who is approaching me on anon to argue or contest something I’ve said or a position I’ve taken, is doing so in good faith instead of just as part of a twelve step plan wherein they disingenuously go about trying to lay some kind of convoluted ‘trap’ to lure me into. As though any of this is worth that fucking effort in the first place. LOL.

So by all means, disagree with me, contest me, put the screws to something I say and force me to defend my point further.....but like.....just be fucking honest about it. Or be willing to put your URL/name to it when doing so, even if you ask that I keep it out of public view, so that at least I know you’re not one of my half a dozen hate-following Regulars who habitually pop up on anon pretending to be someone brand new until three messages later when they’re like “Surprise! You thought I was just some rando, but here I am with the same receipts I’ve been claiming to have for the past half a decade!” (Oh no, much shock, mortification, oh unknowable plot twist, who could have ever seen that coming). LOL, y’know what I mean? Like, if you’re off anon or if you at least @ me with something approaching at least SOME modicum of respect, I’m soooooo much more likely to not just dismiss anything and everything you say from the word go, just because the sheer novelty of that approach is gonna be more engaging to me than, like, Me Vs Some Rando Whose Opening Gambit Is “Well Actually.....*proceeds to argue against points several galactic light years north of anything I’ve ever actually said ever*”: Round Fifty Two Bajillion.

Like yeah, I’m rude as fuck in a lot of the arguments I get into on here, because I’m not a big fan of turning the other cheek and also I’m not gonna gloss over the ugly in something someone says just because they couch it in ‘civilized, well-mannered discourse.’ So I’m not at all offering some carte blanche guarantee or a secret password for how to go about saying something vile to my face without me responding by verbally ripping your head off, lol, I just mean like.....you ever have some free time to kill, go back through my archives to my earliest posts on this site. You can literally WATCH the slow expiration of my Give-A-Fucks in real time. I usually position myself to be the Reactive part of an argument on this site deliberately.....I don’t go starting things unless I’m weighing in on something that crosses my dash and already is looking ugly as hell, and for the most part, 90% of the fights I get into on this site are people approaching me to begin it, and y’know.....I don’t owe it to anyone to treat them or their position with more respect than they approach me with. LOL. And also, I don’t owe it to my own reading comprehension or that of anyone else who is similarly not an idiot to treat the ‘faux-respect/politeness’ people are addicted to on here as anything other than rudeness couched in the additional insult of assuming I and others are too stupid to see the subtextual disdain. Like. Nope. Miss me.

Bottom line is just, I’m not looking to be yet one more person giving people who are legitimately questioning things they’ve been told or led to believe, like, reason to be too intimidated or afraid to actually question these things rather than just keep to their personal status quo in an effort to avoid confrontation. But I’m always going to be trying to balance that with being equally not a fan of enabling people who play-act at being too fragile or delicate to face up to their own behavior or the ugliness of their own opinions or stances if its delivered to them in ways that inspire them to cry-type about how like, its not their fault society told them it was okay to shit on entire groups of people as long as they could safely get away with it.

There’s a line there and I’m no tight-rope walker so no, I don’t have all the answers and am not actually trying to pretend I do, and believe it or not, I put a lot of thought and introspection into constantly self-evaluating not just my own stances and beliefs, but the why’s of them, and the how’s of how I go about interacting with others because of them, or talking about them, or anything of the like.

But because I do put a lot of effort into that myself, I am aware of like....there not really being an excuse for others not being similarly willing to do the same with their own behavior, beliefs or approaches to others, so.....meet me halfway, is all this really comes down to. To anyone who genuinely does find themselves at odds with things I say or troubled by viewpoints I espouse or even just flat out confused as to how to reconcile something I brought up with contradictory beliefs they’ve long held or been instilled with and are just trying to figure out which actually sounds more right to them now.

I do not want to be the bogeyman who is just so intimidating that even when he says something that makes you go ‘huh, maybe this thing I thought was wrong, but I’m not sure,’ you’re afraid to follow-up and explore that further in a back-and-forth with me. But I’m similarly disinclined to be used as the strawman/patsy/etc of people who are just interested in trying to manuever me into some conversational position they feel they can use to discredit me in front of their own followers and thus cement their own bullshit position that way.

I just happen to get a lot of the latter, and that kinda plays directly into why I so often end up defaulting to the former. That’s not actually an excuse and so its more than fair for anyone to think that’s no reason to change their mind about me, a thing I’ve said or a way I’ve said it. But if fair is actually a thing you’re interested in, then please consider factoring all of the above in when deciding how or why or in what ways you approach an argument or disagreement with me, if you find yourself inclined to do so in the future.

I would appreciate it, and even more importantly, I promise you it will be far more productive in encouraging me to actually argue or debate a point with you. As opposed to just making light of anything you say to me, much like I feel most approaches to me make light of the things I say, and thus.....my tendency to default to variations of LOL, you got some dumb on your face there buddy.

ANYWAYS.

Thank you for your consideration in this matter,

The Extremely Tired and Over It Management

#sorry to be keeping it so heavy this week guys #but like #it remains heavy and thus I remain....keeping it?#idk its 1 am my brain went on break hours ago and I think maybe its just not coming back at this point #whatever #ANYWAY I do not mean to be boring but am I fed by the energy people direct at me and so much of it lately seems to be boring #and thus boring I in turn seem to be #idk basically that's just my spin on you are what you eat #and thus if you come at me like a walking bag of dicks Im gonna tell you to go eat a bag of dicks #*Shrugs*#my eloquence #it abounds

7 notes · View notes

clunelover · 5 years ago

Text

I’m going to attempt a cut because this may be my longest ever post

Okay here is the long post I’ve been writing and rewriting and adding to in my head:

I love my BFF. She’s wonderful and giving and insightful and funny and we’ve been through some Real Shit together, such as me getting evicted from our college apartment and dropping out of school due to my then-blossoming mental illness. Her realizing she is bisexual and trying to figure out what that meant for her life going forward, and then finding her now husband and planning a wedding while he had a mental health crisis and had to go to treatment (same as what I did but like up a level in intensity). At times she and I have been possibly too enmeshed. Okay. So, current challenges are based on a lot of backstory, some of which I’ve posted about on here before but not all:

Her now husband has been in treatment for mental health twice. Once around Thanksgiving before last, and he is there again now. Last week he stepped down after like four weeks inpatient, and now is onto the day program like I did, only currently it’s all from home on video.

When this was all going down the first time, their wedding was 6 months away. I struggled a lot over how much to say, and ultimately told her I thought she should at least postpone, maybe cancel. And when he came out of treatment that first time, he even said he wanted to postpone! She declined, citing social pressure and embarrassment and save the dates having gone out. I think an unspoken part of it was that she wants a baby real bad, so she thought they should just push through, get to baby making, deal with whatever fallout later?

But in between finishing treatment and the wedding, he continued to mess up - he does a lot of avoiding (including of work) and when he’s ashamed, his first instinct is to lie. So she kept having incident after incident of “discovering” that he’d been lying about going to work. Or hiding some additional debt (and also not paying on it). At this point I think I told her, just financially speaking, you should not tie yourself to this person. She did not like me saying that, and eventually I said I could not hear any more about his fuckups. Because she kept giving him ultimatums, but never followed through on them, and I just could not go on that roller coaster. That was a tough moment in our friendship. Conversation became very strained because so much was happening that I had opted out of hearing about. I still don’t know if that was the right thing to do. I tried to support her emotionally but that was difficult under that boundary I set.

Then they got married last May. After lots of talk with my therapist I decided that I should still go to the wedding and be matron of honor and stuff, because I was doing it out of love for her. And I do actually like him a lot too! Just had and have a lot of concerns.

After the wedding things seemed pretty good, he got a job at a dog daycare and seemed to really love that (or maybe before wedding, who can recall).

BFF was officially game on, full court press for baby. I’m 34 which means I think she’s 35 and turning 36 soon.

Sometime in fall he got fired from dog daycare for badmouthing the owner and then getting into a shouting match (!) with them. In January he got a new job, as an assistant manager at a grocery store. I did not say this to BFF but my initial thought was “if he can’t hack dog daycare how can he assistant manage a busy grocery store?”

I think he lasted a month at grocery store. Then he started punking out and calling in because his “feet hurt.” BFF freaked out because she assumed he was going to lose another job. She apparently had some very firm conversation with him about how she wasn’t happy and almost none of her needs were being met. A couple days later he told her he’d been feeling suicidal and needs to go back to treatment. OH and somewhere in there things also went off the rails with trying for baby. I think he has performance issues in addition to low libido, AND the thought of becoming a dad was triggering. For instance, he was supposed to give a semen sample for analysis but freaked out just being in the clinic for it and left. When BFF told me all this she kept asking “is this okay” and “is this too triggering for you to hear” and at first I thought she meant because of how I also was having a flare up in mental health symptoms due to stressful job, but then later I realized it was because of my previous “can’t hear this stuff anymore” edict. But honestly, I feel totally different about that now! They’re married. The disaster (in my view at least) that I was trying to prevent did happen. So nothing feels urgent or painful to me now, other than sadness for her.

While he was inpatient, BFF had been driving his car because it’s nicer than hers, and then it got reposssed so like she came out one morning and it just wasn’t in the driveway. She knew he’d been very behind on payments, like to the point he had a small claim against him, but she thought he’d finally dealt with that and set up a payment plan. When she called him to say what was going on his inclination was to drop out of treatment and come home early to “deal with it,” which he was eventually talked out of.

So THAT is just to get caught up on past events! Sheesh, this is so long. So my current agitations (some of which are serious and some petty) are:

I’m worried that when his back is against the wall he claims mental breakdown to evade responsibility. This feels very mean of me to think, and also he’s been assessed by experts who presumably can tell when someone is making it up, so...I know he really must not be! But this still feels like the pattern.

Another petty thought is that I too have some heavy duty diagnoses and childhood trauma, but I’ve got it together and manage my mental health very avidly to stay as healthy as possible, so why can’t he. ALSO NOT FAIR! I know that. But it keeps popping into my head. It’s shitty that I can relate to him so well and yet it almost makes me LESS sympathetic. Something for me to work on.

I also worry that the instinct to lie is something that’s hard to get rid of. I know because I have it! I think I have stopped listening to it but it still comes up. And how can you have a good marriage with someone who regularly lies about important things. I don’t think you can.

BFF’s current line is that she’s going to wait til he finishes treatment but then she wants to go back to intense trying for baby. And that if he doesn’t want to, or says he needs to wait, she might want to get divorced. She says she’s put a lot on hold for him and can’t wait anymore. So, yes, she has. And there is the matter of age that is also a consideration. But this feels so mixed up to me! Like, the time for strict ultimatums and maybe splitting up was a couple years ago! Now he is working on some serious mental health stuff and it seems unfair, and possibly undermining of his progress, to say “well I’ve waited long enough so impregnate me now or else”...but also I do think it seems likely and possibly for the best that they’d end up divorced, so what do I care if she rushes that process along?

Big picture though, I don’t think he’s ready to be a dad or maybe doesn’t even want to be. I feel so sad for BFF because he was her first real boyfriend and she was kind of desperate for this to work, so she has just always grilled him about his desire for marriage and kids or what his timeline is, and has taken any vague affirmative response as total agreement. Like they were at the mall and Gymboree was going out of business so he suggested going in and buying a onesie. So, you know, proof positive that he really wants a baby ASAP too!! 😞 ...so, again, even though it feels somehow unfair to me that she’d start pushing on him now, I suppose it’s better that it come out sooner rather than later if that is the case

She also just totally steamrolls him, see getting married even though he asked to postpone, so I really hope she doesn’t steamroll him into having a baby if he doesn’t want one...

She’d never say it, but I get the sense that deep down she thinks let’s just have the baby and if he’s in a bad way I’ll just do all the work. She’s kind of a control freak so she may feel like she’d prefer that! But I think she overestimates how much harder it would be to have a baby while the other adult in the house can’t help you, won’t get a job, etc. than to just DO it alone for real.

I think she is also glossing over how having a baby and the attendant sleep deprivation can make mental health issues get much worse. Like when I was pregnant with Edie, my psychiatrist strongly recommended I just not even try to breastfeed, so that Jeremy could take night feedings because of how crazy I could go without enough sleep. I did not listen but she may have been right! I did go pretty fucking crazy, with both kids.

Oh! And she also has this big plan that he’s going to get on disability. I have all kinds of feelings and opinions about this. Like, rightly or wrongly, I don’t think he’d meet the criteria for this. Also she keeps saying “well he lost his last three jobs due to mental illness” but...does getting fired for screaming at your boss and telling them “you’re terrible” count as losing job due to mental illness?? But she’s so sure this will work and I have trouble engaging with it and being supportive because it feels delusional to me. It’s also making her view all issues of disability through this lens. Like, my stepmom is anxious and as a result very scatterbrained and inarticulate, and she’s also not worked in a few years partly due to health concerns (but like, complications from gastric bypass...not a disability) and BFF keeps saying “why doesn’t stepmom get on disability?” And I’m like “UMMMM because she’s not disabled??” I did finally tell her to stop saying that to me. But yeah, it’s just hard because again, it feels delusional, but she’s going ahead with it so what’s the point of me being harsh about how much I don’t think it’ll work?

Okay last one - she likes to source opinions and experiences from other people to help her think things through. She’s always been close to my stepmom, who had to divorce my dad because of how bad his drinking got, and my dad is also disabled (for real!) so she spent a lot of time as a caregiver. So BFF has had a lot of long phone conversations with stepmom about all that. I also have another friend whose husband is too mentally ill to work (but not on disability! Which BFF also keeps bringing up). He’s been out of work for years and they have two kids and to be fair, their life does seem crazy to me from the outside, but that friend seems to have her eyes open about everything and feels it’s working for her for now. Anyway, that husband has ALSO done the program that BFF’s husband and I have done, so when he first went in BFF wanted to have a chat with this friend about her experience, so we all met up to chat. She was very up front and blunt - “if we didn’t have kids we’d be divorced” and “we haven’t had sex in years”...but now, BFF basically uses this friend and my stepmom’s relationship with my dad as sort of justifications in her mind - “well I’m not THAT bad!” which I hate. Especially wrt to friend whose husband doesn’t work - “I’d never let it get that bad. I’d have left before now. I’d say he had to get a job or get on disability” etc etc. This drives me craaaaazy. Like, remind me not to introduce you to people to have a heart-to-heart if you’re just going to use them as your mental worst case scenario. Also, bitch, you wouldn’t “let it get that bad?” YOU ARE ON THE ROAD TO “THAT BAD” RIGHT NOW! Your husband lost three jobs in as many years. You also don’t currently have sex. How do you get to years? You start with weeks and months.

Okay, that’s it. It’s just been building and rolling around in my head. If you read it all, um, congrats? Also, this maybe makes our friendship sound bad, but other than most aspects of her marriage I have no issues with her and we get along great!! It’s been hard because prior to me telling her not to get married we’ve seen eye to eye, or close to, on everything important.

9 notes · View notes

traincat · 6 years ago

Note

I was wondering if you could explain Peter and Tony Stark's relationship in the comics. I was reading something along the lines of that they are friends but that Peter did in fact look up to Tony as a father figure once but after Civil War they remained as friends. I don't think Peter ever saw Tony as a father figure but I could be wrong although I do doubt it. Can you help? :)

Sure, I can do that, especially with Endgame Eve upon us and the inevitable return of my gritting my teeth every time someone refers to Tony as Peter’s father figure within comics continuity as well as in the MCU. First things first: I have to say that when I talk about this relationship, I’m speaking as someone who has read far more Spider-Man than Iron Man, and as someone who is far more interested in Spider-Man than Iron Man, although when I first got into Marvel I did read quite a bit of Iron Man-focused things.

That being said, a lot of times when this conversation comes up among people who are fans of Peter Parker in the comics (and who are not fans of what the MCU has done with the character and how they chose to tie him to the Iron Man franchise) it takes on a comics!Tony bashing tone, which is not something I’m interested in doing because I’m not interested in breeding bad feelings between different factions of Marvel fandom – and because I don’t dislike Tony Stark as a character. So my goal here is not to paint Peter as The Good Character and Tony as The Bad Character in some sort of conflict, but to break things down and illustrate that Peter as a character has always been his very best when he’s independent, and that this dynamic wasn’t, ultimately, good for Peter – I suspect it also wasn’t good for Tony, but the fallout from Civil War was a trip for everyone, because Civil War was a very manufactured event that had its characters act in accordance with the plot instead of shaping the plot around the characters. Comics! Anyway: this is a bashing free zone on my part when it comes to the comics, with the exception of Marvel themselves. Marvel, I’m gonna insult. That being said, this is probably going to look lopsided, first because I have to discuss Civil War, because the area around Civil War is where most of this relationship exists, and second because I think the fallout of this relationship is important to discuss and Peter is very, very angry during the fallout.

First things first, and this isn’t exactly the place for this because it’s a much larger topic, but I think both pop culture and fandom have a big problem lumping a whole host of older man/younger man dynamics together: mentor/protege, boss/employee, team leader/team member, and father/son are not all the same dynamic and shouldn’t be treated as such. If I had a dollar for every time “he’s his dad” cropped up in relation to characters (not just Tony and Peter but in general) who just have, like, an age gap between them, I would be sunning myself on a private yacht right now. Not every older man is every younger man’s father, figurative or otherwise, and especially not once both characters are into adulthood. That’s not how relationships work; to simplify them like that removes nuance. In the interests of transparency, there are a few panels where Peter and Tony banter and joke: when Tony is telling him about the features in the new suit he’s building him, Peter jokingly whines “dad c’mon” (Amazing Spider-Man #529), and at one point I believe he makes a joke about wanting to borrow the keys to the car. But these are, you know, clearly jokes coming from a highly sarcastic character who is prone to these kind of wisecracks. There is one panel off the top of my head from One More Day where Peter says Tony was “like a father to him”:

(Amazing Spider-Man #544) As you can see, it’s not a happy scene. I should note this is after Peter has broken into Tony’s home, punched Tony in the face, webbed him up, and forcibly wrenched his faceplate off, if we’re going to talk supposed filial piety. Personally I’ve never liked this line, in part because it doesn’t make sense – this is part of what I was saying about conflating different dynamics with a certain power dynamic at play and then labeling them all father/son. Peter certainly, in the events leading up to Civil War, trusted and respected Tony. He certainly let Tony lead him. There was definitely a mentor/protege thing happening, with Tony doing things like taking Peter to Washington DC with him. But to put it simply: in 616, Tony Stark is simply not old enough for Peter Parker to view him as a father figure. Like with how Peter Parker is often thought of as much younger than he is in fandom, Tony Stark seems to be thought of as older. (This is probably because of either the mustache or the MCU.) Realistically, there can’t be more than a decade between them. Older brother, if we’re going to go the familial feelings route, would be more appropriate than father. It’s also a bit ridiculous to think that Peter, who is a married adult who has lost his own child and has lived through events like his own father supposedly coming back from the dead, would be desperate for a father figure at this point in his life, especially when he wasn’t interested in having one from the superhero set in his teen years. That being said “you were like an older brother/very young uncle to me” doesn’t pack the emotional punch we’re conditioned to register with “you were like a father to me” and I suspect that’s why this line is here for the reader. Alternatively, from a characterization standpoint, if you are both very angry and very desperate and you need someone to do you a large favor even though they won’t be inclined to at that point in time, you might want to pull out the big emotional manipulation guns, and while it’s not stated as such that that’s what Peter’s doing deliberately on the page, if I wanted to reconcile the line with who Peter is in canon, I could buy it. As it is, it just kind of sits there allowing for people to claim that Peter honestly viewed Tony as like a father to him in comics by denying greater context. I’d say if the comics wanted me to buy that Peter honestly felt Tony was like a father to him, they should have done more work, but the problem is that this event happens with decades of characterization behind Peter, and looking at the big picture I just don’t see it happening even if they had put in more work.

(As a person concerned with the integrity of the overall Spider-Man character and narrative, I should say I’m very anti-father figures in Peter’s canon – not only does it erase Peter’s independence, a key component of the character, but it tends to gloss over May as Peter’s primary parental figure, and it warps the narrative around Norman’s twisted desire to have a Perfect Heir in the form of Peter. That being said, if we’re talking about father figures in Peter’s life: shortly before Peter joins the New Avengers, he encounters an older man named Ezekiel who also has spider powers and who tells Peter he can tell him much more about his own powers. Though he’s incredibly enigmatic, Peter develops a fondness for Ezekiel and grows to trust him. Then Ezekiel tries to sacrifice Peter to further fuel his own spider powers. So Peter shouldn’t have much of a taste for father figures at this point in time anyway.)

This got exceedingly long! More under the cut.

Let’s backtrack to the early days of Spider-Man. I’ve mentioned before that independence is very important to Peter, but that doesn’t mean he’s never tried to join a team. In Amazing Spider-Man #1, after all, he tried to join the Fantastic Four – until he learned they didn’t pay. Similarly, in Amazing Spider-Man Annual #3, some years later, the Avengers try to decide whether they should issue an invitation for Spider-Man to join their ranks, and ultimately decide to test him. Peter is unsure whether he really wants to join the Avengers, although he is tempted by the idea of financial security and the public’s respect. His temper’s still pretty hot at this point, and he doesn’t react all that well to the notion of being tested:

In the end he goes along with the test, passes it, but then decides to pretend like he didn’t because he didn’t care for the actual test. There’s not a whole lot of interaction between Peter and the Avengers for a while in general, beyond the occasional team-up – I’m partial to the one with Jan Van Dyne in Spectacular Spider-Man #105-106. Peter’s got a particularly vibrant supporting cast of his own, and they tend to outshine his hero teamups. I was trying to think of any Iron Man and Spider-Man content I could remember around this point and while they’re probably is some other stuff, what comes to mind is the fight from Amazing Spider-Man Annual #20:

For the record, this isn’t Tony Stark, but Arno Stark, the Iron Man of the future. Peter, however, does not know that; he definitely thinks he’s punching his native Iron Man. (First law of Spider-Man’s aggression: is it an adult man? Peter is willing to punch him in the face. Captain America? Done it. His own clone? Tried to choke him out. It’s just how he is.) So nothing really is sticking out for me re: Peter and Tony specifically having any type of relationship at this point in time. Peter does at one point become a reserve Avenger, although he voices doubts about whether it’s really for him:

“Maybe I oughtta reconsider my reserve Avenger status!” (Amazing Spider-Man #357)

On the subject of Peter and other heroes, I like this panel from Marvel Knights Spider-Man #2, where Peter talks about how Mary Jane says he has a bad attitude around other superheroes:

This is admittedly after he broke into Avengers Mansion ostensibly for help but just ended up fighting and arguing with them, so, she’s not wrong. (I pulled this up because I went to reread this scene because I couldn’t remember if Tony is in it, but he’s not.)

So here we are, north of the year 2000, and I would say Tony and Peter don’t really have much of a relationship. There have been times they’ve found themselves in the same battle, and I wouldn’t say either of them dislikes the other, but I don’t think they really think of each other much, either. Peter’s closest superhero connections are, at this point, as they traditionally have been, Daredevil and the Fantastic Four. So what happened?

The answer is simple. In two words: Event hell.

If you’ve spent any time in comic book fandom, you know people have Feelings about events – those big company wide storylines involving every other character and their butler that used to happen every so often and now are basically nonstop. Mostly negative feelings. Events disrupt the flow of individual books, can screw up already in progress storylines, and somebody’s always totally out of character. I’m actually not an event hater in theory; I think they can be done well. On the other hand, these ones I’m about to discuss really suck for Spider-Man, not even in terms of characterization at the time but in terms of getting the ball rolling on what I personally think led us here, to the worst Spider-Man characterization period I have ever seen reading comics. And it starts with Spider-Man becoming a real, full time Avenger.

During a story called Avengers: Disassembled, the Scarlet Witch has a breakdown and as a result kills several Avengers, including Hawkeye and Ant Man. The Avengers disband as a result. Six months later, a supervillain prison breakout brings together a collection of heroes including Captain America, Iron Man, and Spider-Man. Steve and Tony reform the Avengers, and this time invite Peter to join them. Thus, Peter becomes a headliner on the New Avengers title, along with Spider-Woman, Wolverine, and Luke Cage. I’ve said before that I don’t think Peter functions well on team books, and for one reason: he gets underused. With the New Avengers, you had your smart guy (Tony Stark) and you had your strong guys (Luke Cage and Wolverine – even though, in practice, Peter is much stronger than Luke, and has pummeled Wolverine before). He’s not even the only spider-person on the New Avengers lineup. Moreover, New Avengers was written by Bendis, and as much as it pains me to say this about the most vocal Marvel writer supporter of a canonically Jewish Peter Parker: I don’t think Bendis writes a good 616 Peter. The jokes take over. His dialogue lacks his particular 616-ish steel. In short, Bendis writes Peter with too much bark and far too little bite. It’s very noticeable during this period if you compare how Peter is written in New Avengers to how he is written in his own solo, Amazing Spider-Man, which at the time had JMS, who writes an absolutely incredible Peter, on it. Even the way JMS has Peter interact with the other Avengers in ASM is leagues ahead of Bendis on New Avengers:

(Amazing Spider-Man #522)

A lot of stuff happens at this point that further binds Peter to the Avengers and, with the Avengers, Tony: an ex-classmate of Peter’s turns himself into a military science experiment gone wrong and burns down Peter’s apartment as well as Aunt May’s home in Queens. Tony then invites Peter, Mary Jane, and May to move into Avengers Tower, which they do. When Mary Jane is caught going into Avengers Tower late at night, a tabloid story starts circulating that she’s having an affair with Tony. Also around here Peter eats a psychic vampire, “dies”, molts, comes back, did I mention he ate a psychic vampire? But nobody ever mentions that part. And at this point, we hit the road to Civil War.

(Amazing Spider-Man #529) I mean, I think you could argue that the Avengers on the whole are like a family, but sure, whatever. I’ll be honest: I think the comic itself at this period in time uses words like “family” in order to foster a sense of a longer relationship history that doesn’t actually exist, although at this point in time Jarvis and May were dating, so I guess that could make things a little in-law-y. It’s also, in story, being used to get Peter to agree with what Tony is pitching him. Anyway, I probably don’t need to explain Civil War but the cliffnotes: big superhero-caused explosion kills a bunch of children, a law is proposed that would make superheroes register with the government the superhero community becomes divided between two sides. There’s the pro-registration side, headed by Iron Man and also by Reed Richards, which favors cooperation with the government. Then there’s the anti-registration side, headed by Captain America. Peter originally starts out on the pro-registration side, swayed by the opportunity Tony presents him to finally unmask to the public and buoyed by his claims that with this movement they can keep Peter’s family safe, which is the reason Peter has kept the mask on all these years – concern that, should he take it off, Mary Jane or May would pay the price. (Wait for it.) Through Tony’s directive, Peter unmasks himself and reveals his identity during a live television press conference. Tony had also made Peter a new, more high tech suit called the Iron Spider, which in addition to being in the Iron Man colors of red and gold also has several golden mechanical spider’s legs.

This alliance between Tony and Peter is shortlived. Peter becomes disillusioned with the pro-registration side and defects, but not before he and Tony have a showdown:

(Civil War #5) You can see how I might have issues with how the MCU has reworked this particular storyline for their movies in regards to Spider-Man’s part in it. It’s not that I think anyone, including Peter, was written to their best during Civil War, but I think it’s disingenuous to take this storyline and attempt to remake it into a father/son dynamic, not only because it severely undermines Peter’s independence, something that marked him as very original as a teenage hero.

So Peter joins the anti-registration side, there’s a big superhero fight, etc etc. Things come to a close when Captain America surrenders, and so the pro-registration side is, technically, victorious. This leaves Peter a fugitive, and Mary Jane and May, who had been hiding out in a motel, his accomplices. Their stint on the run is short; with their safety no longer protected by Peter’s secret identity, his enemies do go after his family. When an assassin targets them, Peter manages to cover Mary Jane before she’s shot – but the bullet hits May as a result. Which brings us back around to the first panel I posted, in the scene where Peter does say Tony was “like a father” to him. With May on life support in the hospital and Peter and Mary Jane unable to reveal her name, Peter goes on a rampage looking for killer. This is actually one of my favorite Spider-Man storylines, called Back in Black, and it takes place between Amazing Spider-Man #539-543, which some absolutely stunning Peter characterization. He’s also incredibly angry at both Tony and at himself during this period.

(Amazing Spider-Man #544)

(Avengers: The Initiative #7)

At this point, Tony and Peter go separate ways. Peter sells his marriage to Mephisto for May’s life (comics), and with that deal his secret identity is restored among the general public and Peter continues with his daily life, becoming engrossed in his recently resurrected best friend Harry’s affairs and fighting crime. Tony, iirc, becomes Director of SHIELD, and later deletes his brain (comics) to keep the database containing the identities of other heroes from falling into Norman Osborn’s hands when Norman Osborn essentially takes over the government following his killing the Skrull queen during the Secret Invasion event (comics).

Since then, Peter and Tony have worked together and been on teams together (as much as I would like Peter’s Avengers status to never crop up again because the character simply wasn’t built to function on this kind of a team and nobody seems to know what to really do with him on it except have him crack jokes, with the MCU’s influence I don’t see that happening any time soon) and can get along.

(I do not have the issue number for this panel! But it’s from a fairly recent Invincible Iron Man series.)

I wouldn’t call them close. They’re not going to be the first person either of them calls on in an emergency unless there’s something specific to one of them that the other needs. I definitely wouldn’t call them familial, or say that, in current comics canon, Peter considers Tony to be anything close to a father to him. They’ve been teammates, I’m sure they’ll be teammates again, and at best I think you could call them friends, albeit not especially close ones. And in my opinion, that’s fine; not every character has to be best friends with every other character, and sometimes superheroes are just so far apart in how they operate that they don’t mesh well together, even though they’re both smart guys. I did not mean for this post to get so long, but I hope it helped!

tl;dr: the idea that Peter Parker viewed Tony Stark as a father figure is the byproduct of a very brief period of canon that was necessary to maneuver the characters into the roles they were going to inhabit for the Civil War event – which ultimately went very badly for both of them. The dynamic – or any genuinely close relationship between them – didn’t exist before that, and did not continue to exist afterwards, and it’s my personal opinion that saying Peter looked up to Tony as a father rather than as a mentor is taking the words on the page slightly too literally.

#peter parker #marvel comics #*replies #long post/#traincat talks comics

110 notes · View notes

dictionarywrites · 7 years ago

Text

Brought To Justice: Chapter 4

Odin gives Loki a choice when he is brought back to Asgard: imprisonment, or execution. When Loki chooses the latter, Odin increases his punishment twofold, and Loki is sent back to Midgard in order to repay his debt. Bound by his own magic and forced to obey whatever order Steve Rogers lays out for him, Loki is forced to attempt a redemption he neither wants nor deserves.

Ao3 link. Steve Rogers/Loki. Slowburn. 25k. Rated M. WIP.

Send requests. Tip jar.

June 3rd, 2012

“C’mere,” Tony murmurs, and Pepper leans in, smiling as she leans her hands against the table between them, her breath warm and scented with coffee where she puts her mouth over his. Pepper kisses him, and Tony tastes the caramel shot she took in her drink, cupping her cheek and smiling at her with all the warmth in the world. It’s a great morning, the sun shining brightly in through the window, and in front of him Tony has a spread of folders, all focused on the Avengers Initiative.

SHIELD has been into him today, with Fury talking to him about taking over the Initiative from SHIELD… Fury had been more than reluctant to let Tony just take up the Initiative for the team, but with Steve pushing it through, it’s down to him, now.

And Coulson…

He’d sent flowers to the cellist, offered to fly her in, but she’d said no. Poor girl.

“How’s business?” Tony asks, his hands on Pepper’s hips, and she smiles at him, her lips plump and glossy. She’s using some kind of new stuff – gloss, lipstick, Tony doesn’t know – and it makes her even more beautiful than usual.

“How’s heroism?” she replies, and Tony groans, gesturing to the folders.

“It’s a lot like business.” Pepper laughs, patting his cheek and taking up her own spread of folders, her coffee in her hand. “You got meetings?”

“Until four. How about you?”

“I’m driving out to X-Mansion today, probably gonna take the wunderkind with me. And I think Clint and Nat are coming, too,” Tony murmurs, running his palm over his beard as he thinks about it. Pepper frowns, tilting her head slightly.

“Clint and Nat? Why?”

“I think ‘cause there’s space in the car,” Tony says, and Pepper lets out a short, huffed laugh before he continues, “I dunno. They’re kinda up in the air at the moment – they don’t want to take their normal jobs ‘cause they’re both into the routine of the Avengers thing, I think. Neither of ‘em has ever been part of a team like this one before, and they’re excited to get into it.”

“That’s good,” Pepper says, and Tony nods his head, slowly.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it is. I’m just worried about two hours in a car with Loki on one side and them on the other.”

“He’s not going to say anything,” Pepper murmurs, and Tony sighs.

“It’s the silence I’m dreading.” Pepper pats his shoulder, leans and presses a kiss to his head, and then she walks away, running to catch her eight o’clock. Tony sighs, pushing his meeting notes together, and he glances at his phone.

Henry McCoy, 07:25 Mr Stark, you’re new to running a heroes team. Please, don’t worry about the meeting at all – we’ll talk you through it and get you up to speed, and we even have some resources from older iterations of the Avengers. None of us is expecting you to have the whole world planned to the letter.

They’re not expecting to see Loki exactly either, Tony thinks, but hey. Coming from a guy who’s worked on and off with Magneto, Loki almost seems like a walk in the park.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“So you can speak any language, pretty much ever, and read any language, but you can’t sign?” Barton demands, and Loki stares at him from the other side of the limousine. Why, precisely, Stark insisted on this method of travel, Loki is uncertain – it strikes him as mildly obscene, particularly when they’re going to a boarding school of all places, but then, Loki doubts Stark has spent much time in a normal automobile.

“Why would I be able to speak any Midgardian sign languages?” Loki asks, arching his eyebrows. “It’s called the Allspeak, Mr Barton, not the Allsign.” All of them are rather dressed up for this occasion: Romanov wears a black dress that clings to the lines of her waist and chest, accentuating an easy hourglass figure; Stark wears a pressed suit, and Barton wears a purple shirt that has a collar and everything. Loki hadn’t known the man had it in him. Loki himself wears a lilac shirt tucked into white trousers, a floral tie around his neck, and Stark had groaned when he had seen the outfit, but then complimented Loki thrice, so he would guess it’s fine enough.

“Yeah, but if it’s magic—”

“What about languages with clicks and whistles?” Romanov breaks in.

“They translate just fine. Some words don’t, of course – words for specific fruits or vegetables, materials, et cetera. But the Allspeak… It translates the meaning more so than it rewrites the words as I’m hearing them. When I hear any of you speak, I hear English, but the meaning is translated in my own head, I suppose. Which means I can still be aware of connotations, names, et cetera – it’s a sort of telepathic magic. If someone talks about, say, finar in the Fon System, even though I’m not familiar with finar itself, I would get the impression of the scent, the sight, of the grain.”

“If that’s the case, then you should be able to understand sign languages just fine,” Romanov says, slowly. “Loads of languages include gestures as part of them, and if it’s a telepathic element, an impression, then sign language should be no different.”

Loki brings his index finger up to his chin, then brings it outward: True.

Barton nearly yells, burying his face in his hands and letting out a garbled sound of frustration, and when Loki grins, he shows all of his teeth, laughing. Romanov is shaking her head, letting out short chuckles, and Loki glances to Stark. Stark is looking between the three of him, his lips quirked into a smile between his obscene patches of sculpted facial hair.

“You spoke ASL this whole time, huh?”

“It’s called the Allspeak,” Loki says, not unreasonably, and Barton groans incoherently in his direction. Loki had been worried the journey would be much more uncomfortable than it is, but Romanov has been making polite, measured conversation with Loki, and it is Barton that has brought the levity in the situation with his humorous over-reactions.

“Why do you lie?” Barton demands. “There’s no reason to! We don’t speak sign language in front of you anyway, so we wouldn’t risk it – there was nothing to gain! You just, you just lied, for no reason!”

“I didn’t lie for no reason,” Loki replies. “I lied so you could enjoy unravelling my deception. Through logic alone.”

“But that’s— Why that? We could just play a game!” Loki clucks his tongue, disapproving, and Barton looks askance to Romanov, now speechless, but Romanov just smiles, shoving the archer in the side.

“I don’t play games.” Loki leans back in his seat, turning to look at Stark once more, and Stark leans in toward him.

“Here,” he says, holding something out, and Loki takes it, staring down at it. It’s a mobile telephone, much like Stark’s own, and Loki stares down at his reflection in the polished, black glass. “So your cell number is on the card stuck to the back, and this is yours now. It’s charged, and I’ll give you the charger when you’re back at the building – it’s a pretty standard smartphone, texting, calls, internet, camera. I think you should start an Instagram or something.”

“Instagram?” Loki repeats, and he frowns, staring at the screen. “Mr Stark, that hardly seems very secretive.”

“Well, we’re ironing out your paperwork now. Soon, SWORD is gonna give you your alien-on-earth papers, and you’re gonna be a real, fake citizen of the US of A. Besides, Loki,” Stark murmurs quietly, “It’ll look better if you’re… You know. Integrating. It’s great to do like, Wikipedia stuff—”

“So many of the articles are so badly written—”

“It’s a community encyclopaedia, your highness, I don’t know what you expect,” Stark says, shaking his hand for Loki to close his mouth, and Loki does, feeling the weight of the phone in his hand. “But you know, even just Facebook, or Twitter… Shit, even if you made some kinda weird blogging site or something.”

“If there’s some sort of injunction,” Loki murmurs, holding the phone in his hand, “You want there to be tangible, documentable proof that I’m accepting my place on Earth.” It makes complete sense to Loki, and yet the social media of Earth… It is not something he is entirely comfortable focusing upon, not something he thinks he would be naturally inclined to. Perhaps merely something private – that is an option, isn’t it?

“Exactly. It’s not an order – me and Steve talked about it, and we’re not gonna like, make you do social media or anything. Hell, Cap won’t even let me give him a phone yet. But you need to make some kinda presence. Loki, there’s a reason we’re taking you with us to the Mansion – people are gonna find out eventually that you’re one of us now, and we can’t really risk trying to keep it a secret.” Loki draws his thumb over the phone’s smooth, cool touch screen, and he looks at the screen that comes up.

“I’m going to have to take this apart,” Loki murmurs. “Make some improvements.”

“I slaved over that phone for you, Loki—”

“Interesting choice of words.” Stark’s eyes widen, his lips parting for a second, and Loki smiles before pointing out, “I did it to the laptop.” Something changes in Stark’s expression, some sort of irritation bubbling to the top – he doesn’t like the implication that he may not be the most competent engineer in the room, Loki thinks, and it might amuse him were it not so patronising.

“You took my laptop apart?” Stark asks, lowly, and Loki raises his eyebrows.

“You said it was my laptop,” he says mildly, and Stark presses his lips together, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning away from him.

“Look, Loki, no offence, but you’re not exactly an engineer. You can’t—” Loki turns away from Stark, looking to Romanov and Barton. He meets Romanov’s gaze, looking into her deep eyes.

“Is this mansplaining?” Loki asks. Beside him, Stark splutters, irritated and indignant, but Romanov just slowly nods her head. The limousine comes to a stop, revealing the open grounds of the manor, and Loki reaches for the door, sliding out. “Read my file, Stark,” Loki advises, and he holds the door open for Barton and Romanov.

It is a beautiful summer’s day, shining down upon the green grasses and the gravel road, and when Loki looks up to the windows of the mansion, he can see that the children who are meant to be in their classes are all pressed up, looking down to see what the visitors might possibly be here for.

When Stark exits the vehicle, many of them get very excited indeed, hopping up and down, and Loki smiles slightly, pushing the limousine closed. There are a group of people gathered before the doors of the house: Charles Xavier, Ororo Munroe, Henry McCoy and Scott Summers. Loki recognizes them all, at a glance.

“Professor Xavier,” Stark says, taking a few steps toward the house’s doors, and Xavier, an older gentleman in a wheelchair, shakes Stark’s hand. Loki has read about him and these marvellous X-Men, of course, and he looks at Xavier where he sits in his wheelchair, looking anything but infirm. His eyes are alight with intelligence, and Loki is almost wary to come forward and shake the man’s hand himself, so he hangs back as Romanov and Barton step up, with Stark introducing them. “What, you shy?”

“No,” Loki says, and he steps forward, coming away from the car and coming closer. As he does, he can see the beast-like blue figure’s yellow eyes widen, see Munroe’s expression turn cold, but Xavier’s remains quietly paternal, a slight smile on his face.

“Loki, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, Professor Xavier,” Loki says politely, putting out his hand to shake: the others make no movement to reach for his hand as they did for the others, but Loki says nothing.

“How are you settling in?” Loki can feel the impact of his telepathic energy against his magic. I wouldn’t advise that, Loki presses onto the air itself, and Xavier’s lips quirk into a deeper smile, his old face a map of wrinkles, showing the years that have passed him by. The depths of Loki’s mind are not easy for telepaths to grasp at, as a rule, so full to the brim are the banks of Loki’s memories, so strongly felt are his emotions, and he feels Xavier draw back.

Wouldn’t you? he replies.

“Quite well, thank you,” Loki says aloud. “Of course, I have a debt to repay.”

“You’re damned right,” says Summers, and Loki looks at him. The sun shines off the plastic-rimmed glasses he wears over his dangerous gaze, as Medusa with her bloodied blindfold, and Loki smiles, wanly, before giving a polite bow.

The others begin to make their way inside, Xavier moving up the ramp at the side of the trio of steps as the others move up into the house, but McCoy remains. He steps forward, and he puts out his right hand to shake: the hand is brightly blue, the palm rubbery and soft, and the back of his hand is thick with fur. Loki takes it, surprised, and shakes it well. McCoy’s hand is warm, surprisingly so, but Loki’s impassive expression as he surveys McCoy’s waistcoat and patterned trousers must unsettle him somewhat.

“What? Never seen a man like me before?” Loki looks at him for a long few moments, then allows the glamour over his skin to fall. Of course, he keeps the eternal masking over the scars on his mouth, his eyes, and around his neck, but he feels the tingle over his flesh as his skin turns as blue as McCoy’s own, showing the rough indentations on his skin, the redness of his eyes.

“I’ve seen something like him,” Loki replies, aware that his Jötunn voice has a breathier, raspier element to it, as the tongue itself is longer than that of the Æsir, and thicker. McCoy’s yellow eyes flit downward, taking Loki in from head to foot, and then he smiles, genuinely. He has sharp teeth, Loki can see, feline in their make-up.

“Welcome,” McCoy murmurs, nodding toward the steps, and Loki falls into step beside him. McCoy does not wear shoes, instead leaving his fur-covered, hand-like feet to tread upon the ground. As feline as McCoy’s face is, his hands and feet resemble – in shape – the chimpanzee, and Loki notes this with curiosity, resisting the natural urge to reach out with his magic and feel for McCoy’s biology. “Stark didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“This is something of a trial run, if my information is correct,” Loki murmurs, walking alongside McCoy into the house. “My… Service to the Avengers is not yet public knowledge.” A few children pass them by, peering up at Loki and McCoy with evident curiosity, but none of them stop to speak, and of course, none of them recognizes Loki.

“The people are going to hate it,” McCoy says outright, turning left and coming down a corridor, and Loki nods his head, slowly. “What was it? Mind control? Debt? Villainy?” Loki inhales, slowly, and then says,

“Desperation.” McCoy hums.

“Yes, that’ll about do it,” he says. The man has a pleasant voice, sounding like a kindly, American academic, and Loki doesn’t say anything when he realises they are going down corridors they oughtn’t – when he realises the others are on the other side of mansion, some way away. McCoy leads him down a set of stairs, then opens the door inward, revealing… Quarters.

Loki glances about the humble living room, and when McCoy gestures for him to take a seat at the dining table, Loki does. There are windows allowing in bright light despite the fact that this level of the mansion is subterranean, and when McCoy holds up a kettle, Loki nods his head to the offer of coffee.

“You know why you’re here?” McCoy asks, lowly, as he presses the mug toward Loki’s hands. He knows, instinctively perhaps, that Loki doesn’t take sugar or milk, or perhaps he simply doesn’t care.

“You don’t want me near the children,” Loki murmurs. “I understand. I didn’t realize Stark hadn’t told you until I exited his ridiculous limousine.” He brings the steaming brew up to his lips, and he feels it settle on his tongue, bitter and dark. It’s a rich blend, Moroccan in its origin, and he lets out a quiet sigh. He doesn’t often drink coffee, unwilling to allow himself the treat every day as many of the Avengers seem to – the caffeine content is simply not something Loki is used to, and he prefers to stay away from even the mildest of chemical imbalances.

(“I didn’t realise you were gonna be so… Fastidious,” Rogers had said, paging through the list Barton had compiled of things Loki refused to eat, and Loki had stood there, embarrassed, until he realised every refusal was being taken into account, and added to a file to keep him from being served that which he wouldn’t eat.

“So you’ve said before,” Loki had replied. He had known not what else to say.)

“You have children?” McCoy asks, and Loki inclines his head. It is strange, to look down at his hands and see that his fingers are blue, his fingernails hard and silver-tipped, circular markings coming down even to his wrists and the backs of his hands.

“I used to,” he says. “You’ve read the mythology, I take it, Doctor McCoy?”

“We read all sorts to the children here,” McCoy answers, finally settling down at the table himself, and he puts a set of biscuits upon the table, but all of them are sugary-sweet, and Loki politely keeps his hands to himself. “I’ve read a few versions of most of the world’s myths at this point.”

“Some of it is more correct, some of it is less so,” Loki says. “Six children. All mine. I wouldn’t hurt them, Doctor McCoy – but then, my assurances don’t mean much.”

“You know the death toll for New York, Loki?” McCoy asks.

“Thousands,” Loki murmurs.

“You feel guilty?” Loki smiles, looking at McCoy and examining him, his head tilting to the side. McCoy is a kindly gentleman, from what Loki has learned in reading about him – kind, and warm, and firm, when needs be.

“The blame is upon me, Doctor McCoy,” Loki says delicately. The coffee is hot in his throat, so strange in this skin he is ill-used to, and he feels it bubbling in his belly, at odds with the natural homeostasis of the Jötunn form. “The deaths that occurred, occurred. The horrors I caused, I have caused. This link with the Avengers… I believe Captain Rogers has called it a rehabilitation. I will do what I can.”

“You think people will forgive you?” McCoy asks.

“No,” Loki replies. “Not unless the peoples of this planet are more foolish than once I thought.” McCoy opens his mouth to go on, but there is a knock at his door, and McCoy moves to open it, standing in the doorway.

“Professor Xavier said to come get you,” says a quiet voice. “And the other guy. Who is he?”

“Thank you, Mr Jenkins,” McCoy replies mildly.

“Yeah but—”

“Goodbye, Harry,” McCoy murmurs, and he turns to look to Loki. “We should—” Loki stands, and the light bleeds from his body all at once, leaving him entirely invisible. “Oh. That is convenient.”

“I do try,” Loki replies, and he sets his mug down on the ground. McCoy touches his shoulder as he comes closer, rather surprising Loki with how comfortable he is navigating invisibility. “You believe in redemption, Doctor McCoy?”

“I’m afraid I do,” he replies quietly, and allows Loki to follow him out into the hallway.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

Tony taps his nail against the desk. He sits with Clint on his right, Natasha to his left: across the table, Scott Summers stares him down. “You wanna tell me where my guy is?”

“Henry has taken him aside,” Xavier says, quietly. “I thought we’d discuss a few things without him in the room. For example – why is he here?”

“He’s one of us now,” Tony says breezily. “What, you got a problem?”

“With someone who killed a thousand people in three days? Yeah,” Munroe says, smacking her palm against the table. “We have a problem.”

“Isn’t your guys’ whole thing about rehabilitating super villains?” Clint asks, arching his eyebrows and looking smoothly between Summers, Munroe and Xavier. “’Cause no offence, I know he doesn’t live here, but Magneto—”

“That’s complicated, and you know it,” Summers says, bitingly. Tony knows without knowing that he says it just to protect Xavier, whose lips are quirked into an infuriatingly knowing smile.

“This is complicated too,” Tony replies. Xavier looks at him for a long few moments, and Tony wonders if this, this is what telepathy feels like, if Xavier is reading his mind right now and it doesn’t feel like anything at all. “He won’t hurt anybody – he can’t. There’s, uh, a Harry Potter life debt situation kinda going on. Magic, shmagic, whatever. But Loki isn’t why we’re here: we’re here to talk about sharing resources, and mobilising teams. And I want him here, at this table, or we’re leaving right now.”

“Have one of the students collect Hank, Scott,” Xavier says mildly. “He’s in his quarters.”

“You can send a message, Prof, just—”

“Scott,” Xavier says delicately, and Summers turns on his heel, stalking from the room and out into the corridor, the door slamming behind him. Xavier wheels over to the table, leaning back in his chair to look at Tony from across the table, and he says, “We’re more than willing to share resources with you. It’s useful for there to be a network between teams. Is this new initiative still headed by SHIELD?” Tony frowns, looking between Xavier and Munroe, but both of their expressions are completely impassive, and he slowly shakes his head.

“No,” Tony says. “No, they’re not. The initiative is under my management now, and Captain Rogers is gonna lead the team in the field.” Xavier and Munroe share a small glance, and then Xavier nods, setting out a few files upon the table.

“Very well,” he says. “Let us negotiate, then.” Tony frowns, trying to put the SHIELD thing into context in his head, but it doesn’t come.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“Jesus Christ,” Clint says beside him, and Tony turns to look at Clint at first, then follows his gaze. Beside Henry McCoy, there’s a tall man with shining black hair, loosely tied at the nape of his neck, and his skin is soft blue, his eyes thick with a protective, red lens. There are even horns growing from beneath his hair, just beginning, and it isn’t until Tony’s gaze drops lower, taking in the white pants, the tie decorated with flowers, that he realises what he’s looking at – who he’s looking at.

“My apologies,” Loki says, his skin already turning back to pale white as he takes his seat beside Natasha, his hands neatly folded in his lap. “Doctor McCoy and I were bonding over our shared aesthetics.”

“Colour schemes,” Xavier says warmly, seeming full of humour. “What a thing to bond over.”

They return to negotiations, discussions. Loki remains in place, utterly silent, and doesn’t say a word for the rest of the time they’re there.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“Best that I take on the Jötunn form, whilst I am here,” Loki murmurs in Stark’s ear, and Stark turns to glance at him. Is it fear on his face, Loki wonders? Is it disgust? Throughout the discussions, Loki had remained quiet, and despite Stark’s words – that the word must get out somehow, that Loki’s status cannot remain secret, he feels vulnerable, and uncomfortable, with showing his face about children who might know to be frightened of him. It is weak of him, perhaps. Certainly, it is.

“That— That’s real?” Stark asks.

“That’s what I look like, yes,” Loki murmurs. “For a shapeshifter, Mr Stark, the reality of one’s true form is ever debatable, but that is my base form, if you will. It unnerves you… You thought the Jötnar were as the Æsir and Vanir, outwardly resembling humanity.” Loki’s illusion bleeds away once again, leaving him as what he is, with some small adjustments. “I hate to disappoint you.”

“It’s not that,” Stark murmurs. “It’s not that you look like an alien, just— You said you didn’t know you were a Jotunn, not until a few years ago. So, what, you didn’t know you looked like that?”

“Odin’s magic sealed it from my knowledge,” Loki murmurs. “I knew so much as suspected.” There is disgust on Stark’s face, now, curling his lip and twisting his nose, and he puts his hand on Loki’s shoulder: his hand is warm.

“You take whatever form you want,” he murmurs, tone firm. “And Odin— God, what a fucking monster.” He spits out the words, astounding venom crossing over his lips, and Loki finds himself staring at him for the longest few moments, astonished. Never has someone criticized Odin so freely to him, so easily – and with such language…

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and he follows Stark as they make their way into the main part of the building, taking the seats in the living room. Stark takes a seat in a winged armchair, ever needing to put across control, and Loki settles on the lefthand arm, his back straight, one ankle crossed over the other. Romanov is speaking with two younger mutants Loki recognizes not – an extremely tall man, seemingly crafted of steel, and a smaller, dark haired girl that leans against him as they speak – and Barton is speaking in rapid, easy sign with Xavier, who is nodding and speaking occasionally. Even Stark looks at home in the strange room, lazily sending a few texts before engaging McCoy in conversation, and Loki stands, quietly excusing himself before moving outside.

His hands in his pockets, Loki takes a slow, easy walk down the path of the Westchester grounds, reaching up and drawing the ribbon out of his hair, so that it settles loosely on his shoulders, brushing against his upper arms.

(“You don’t braid it,” Rogers had said. “Isn’t that a big thing, for vikings?” Loki had considered correcting him, but Rogers had a little smirk on his face, and it was plain he was jesting.

“I never liked braiding my hair,” Loki had replied. “The Jötnar don’t, you know. It is considered bad for the growth and shine of one’s hair to tie it up in knots, and they hate the idea of looking like the Æsir in any way.”

“Huh,” Rogers had murmured, and then nodded his head.)

Loki rolls the shirt sleeves up to his elbow, feeling the heat of the waning sun on his skin. They had arrived some time past one o’clock, and it is now late in the day – the traffic had been rather bad today, and he supposes it will be somewhat better on the way back… He hopes, at least. He walks at least a mile over the lightly sloping fields of green, green grass, and it feels… Freeing.

When he reaches the treeline, Loki stops, glancing over the grounds the X-Mansion is settled on, farther up the hill. Paths run off in each direction, and Loki knows there are miles upon miles of grounds for the young children to play on, and for X-Men to train upon, but he hardly wishes to explore. He had merely wished to be outside.

There is something cathartic about being out in the dying sun, feeling the evening breeze upon his skin: Loki smells summer blooms and wild fruits on the air, and the scent of freshly mowed grass is thick in his nose and upon his tongue. Being here, amongst nature, is so much more comfortable than the bustling cities of New York, and for a second – a bare second, that is all he will allow himself – Loki lets himself imagine he is back in Asgard, out at the edge of the great wood in which he and Thor had played as children.

There is a vibration in his pocket, and Loki removes the phone.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 19:16 its tony. u okay?

LOKI, 19:16 Yes. I am out upon the grounds – my apologies, I merely needed the air.

UNKNOWN NUMBER, 19:18 dw abt it. We r heading out in like, t-10

LOKI, 19:18 Very well. I’ll begin my return.

Out here, in Westchester County, there is hardly any worry about being seen, and so to speed his promenade he takes upon the air, his footsteps touching upon it as easily as they might ground or stair. Loki has Skywalked since he was a child, and it is his most basic, intrinsic magic, even before his illusions and his shapeshifting – strange, that this should equally be the magic he finds the most exciting.

He climbs the invisible stairway up into the air, until he is surveying the X-Mansion’s sprawling grounds from far above, taking the bird’s eye view. The grounds are beautiful, and Loki even sees a lake on the other side—

(“Skywalking, huh? What’s that?”

“Like flight, but more controlled. I walk upon the air, as it were.”

“Huh.” Rogers had murmured, and made a note on the page.)

He begins his descent, and when he comes into sight of the entrance hall, everyone is gathered on the steps once more.

“You can fly?” Summers barks out.

“As well as you can see, I should wager,” Loki replies. “I might not see your eyes, Mr Summers, but that does not mean I disbelieve their existence.”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr Summers,” Loki says, taking Summers by the left shoulder and forcing his hand into his, shaking it firmly. Summers seems surprised at having someone come so easily into his space, leaning back, but loosely shaking Loki’s hand nonetheless. Munroe is watching him, her dark eyes focused on him, and Loki gives a low and princely bow, his posture perfect – isn’t it always? To think, that there is so much royalty to be found in this strange city, and yet—

Perhaps she embraces her blood. Perhaps not. Who is to say?

“A pleasure to meet you, your highness,” he murmurs, and Munroe’s lip twitches before she offers him her hand. He takes it, feeling the warmth of it, and most of all, feeling the storm within her – her energy is not dissimilar to Thor’s, and for a second, Loki’s very heart leaps in his chest.

“Good to meet you too,” Munroe murmurs. “You going to be good?”

“I’m going to try,” Loki says.

“Tony tells me you’re going to make a Facebook,” McCoy murmurs, taking Loki’s hand in each of his own, and he says, “You should add me.”

“Should I?” Loki asks, surprised by how so insignificant a gesture should mean to him, and he inclines his head. “I will, Doctor McCoy.”

“Call me Hank.”

“Henry,” Loki assents, and McCoy’s laugh is low and resonant. His hands are so warm on Loki’s own, and yet it is nothing to the genuine warmth the other man radiates, wave by wave, easily. “Thank you,” he says, surprised by the genuine feeling in his own words, and Henry pats him on the shoulder before turning and making his way into the house.

We should have a talk, says a voice at the edge of Loki’s mind, and he turns to Xavier, meeting his gaze. You sure you don’t wish to stay the night?

Is that a proposition? Loki replies, and he moves, snakelike, toward Xavier’s chair, leaning and putting one hand over each of Xavier’s, his head tilting.

“Hey!” Summers says, but Xavier laughs, and he reaches up, patting Loki’s cheek. Henry is already drawing Summers away, clucking his tongue and shaking his head: for an old man, growing infirm in his age, Xavier doesn’t seem upset by Loki’s mockery.

“You know very well what it was,” Xavier replies, and Loki chuckles himself, leaning back and standing properly before Xavier.

“I do,” Loki says. “You are hungry for knowledge, Professor, that you do not have. You have touched the minds of ancients and immortals alike, and yet you crave more. Easily might I comprehend a feeling I have long-since nursed within me. You know as well as I do what would happen if I gave you what you wanted – your mind would turn to slurry, and bleed from those ears as liquid.”

We should have a talk regardless, Xavier says, his lips smiling, and unmoving. You’ll give Henry your phone number? Loki nods his head, slowly, and he reaches out, taking Xavier’s hand once more.

You and Henry share a fatal flaw, Loki thinks, even as he turns away from Xavier and holds the door open for Barton, Romanov and Stark, allowing each of them to get in before himself. Xavier’s gaze remains on Loki, his intelligent eyes unblinking.

Oh?

You know the truth, and yet you choose to hope instead. Why is that? Loki slips into the limousine, closing the door shut behind him, and yet he feels Xavier’s presence there beside him nonetheless, feels his energy, hears his voice.

Because we’re human, Loki. Will you join us in that, I wonder? Loki closes off his mind, the energy at the edge of it clouding over, and he looks out of the frosted glass of the window as the Westchester countryside passes them by.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asks, looking at Stark, and Stark nods his head.

“Did you?” The question confuses him, annoys him, and so he ignores it. Stark lets him.

-----✪-✪-✪-Ⓐ -✪-✪-✪-----

“May I?”

The words play in Steve’s head like a litany, and he feels the heat in his arms as he brings himself down to the ground again and again, pushing up and away from it. Jesus Christ, it’s been two fucking months of being alive again, and his girl is dying in a hospital bed, stuck with IVs, dying of old age; all of Steve’s friends are dead, and the city itself is different around him, and he says May I?

He’s in the same boat as you, you know, says a low voice in the back of his head, a voice of reason: it sounds like Abraham Erskine, accent and everything, and Steve feels a burning nausea settle in the belly. No? You don’t think so? Alone in a foreign city, deaths behind him, regrets?

Our situations aren’t the same.

No, they aren’t. You can choose to leave: he can’t. Steve jumps up from the ground, and he begins to rail punches down on the steel-reinforced punching bag Nick Fury had sent over: he’s replaced the chain twice today already, and soon, he’ll need to replace it again. Steve punches it again and again and again, feeling the sick burn in his knuckles, feeling the bile in the back of his throat.

Loki’s lips, freezing cold against Steve’s own, and Steve remembering the cold again, the ice! He punches the bag so hard that the casement bursts, and bent steel cuts the back of his fingers to the bone, making him hiss out a sound and come away from the punching bag, reaching for some kitchen towel to stem the bleeding.

He shakes his head, walking up the stairs toward the main halls, and it’s just as Tony’s returning from Westchester.

“What’d you do to your hand?” Tony asks, and Steve just groans, shaking his head.

“Got a bit aggressive with that punching bag. Punched straight through the steel. Loki!” he calls down the hall, gripping his torn fingers a little tighter and ignoring the pain. “How were the X-Men?”

“They were great,” Tony admits, shrugging his shoulders. “A little, uh, apprehensive about him at first, but— You haven’t met Henry McCoy, but the guy’s got a soft spot for people like Loki. And Xavier…”

“I know Xavier,” Steve says lowly, and he turns to Loki, who is looking at him with uncertainty on his marble features. “Can you heal this?” Loki looks down at Steve’s hand, and for a second Steve thinks he’s going to try to refuse, say something like I can, and try to walk away, but he takes Steve’s hand in his palm, magic tingling over his flesh and repairing the cuts.

“You should let me make a punching bag,” Loki says softly. “One you can use – one I could use. It would take me some time, but I—”

“Do it,” Steve says, nodding his head. “That everything?” A shadow passes over Loki’s face. Turning on his heel, he walks away without another word, and Steve watches him go, his lips pressed together. Tony is staring at him like he just kicked a damn puppy, and Steve says, “What?”

“Steve,” Tony says, “You can’t just do that. You didn’t even thank the guy.”

“I’m not gonna have this conversation right now,” Steve says, crumpling up the towel and throwing it into the trashcan at the side of the kitchen. “Tell me about the meeting.” Tony seems hesitant, as if he wants to chew Steve out for not wanting Loki near him right now, but he backs down, and he talks shop.

It’s great stuff, all of it, even if Steve doesn’t trust Charles Xavier, but Tony seems unwilling to ask about that either, and Steve wonders if he’s really that much more perceptive than his father, or if he trusts Steve that little. They talk for an hour or so, and Steve knows there’s a lot more to go over, but for now…

The X-Men are gonna give them resources, government contacts, links to other superhero teams, even trade-offs when teams don’t work out. It’s all good, and yet… It doesn’t feel like enough. As Steve walks away, he thinks about the punching bag downstairs, thinks of the blood on the leather.

He’s knocking on Loki’s door before he knows it, and the door opens. Loki looks at him, his expression completely impassive, expectantly. After a long pause, he says, “No orders, Captain?”

“What happened to Steve?” he asks, and Loki moves to shut the door in his face, but Steve’s hand catches it before he can close it shut. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t know,” Loki says archly. “It’s hardly my decision, is it? Mr Stark owns what paltry possessions I might foolishly lay claim to, and you possess me. Why should you ask me such a question as can you when you know that you can?” Loki walks away from Steve, moving into his rooms, and Steve shuts the door behind him as he follows Loki in.

“That’s what it was about, huh?” Steve asks, “What, you try to mount a seduction so that I’ll order you around less? That what you want?”

“No,” Loki says. He says it emphatically, singularly, and says nothing else.

“Did you think I wanted it? Was your magic trying to get you to anticipate some—”

“No.” Loki is holding his hands in front of him, and his thumb and forefinger rub into the muscle packed onto his slim hands, the anxious movement serving to send blood flush into the pale skin.

“Did—”

“Please,” Loki says. “Stop it. I was wrong to make such an advance: you soundly rejected it. Let us move on.” He looks like an animal, trapped in a cage, and Steve takes a slow, careful step forward: Loki steps away from him. Steve takes another step forward, and another, until Loki is backed right against the fake window of his bedroom, and he is trying to keep his gaze on the ground, trying to ignore Steve’s stare, until Steve pushes him in the chest and Loki has to look up.

“You can’t do that,” Steve says, very quietly, and then says, “Do you know why? Do you need me to tell you why?” Steve doesn’t wait for Loki to reply, and he says, “Because you can’t really say yes, or no, to me. Because if you don’t want something, you couldn’t say no.”

“So?”

“What the Hell do you mean, so? You want me to make you do things you don’t wanna do?”

“You already do,” Loki says. “What’s the difference?” Steve stares at him, stares at him, and he sees only genuine confusion, bafflement, hurt in Loki’s face, and Christ, that’s just not normal. He turns away, putting his hand on his head, and he swallows the bile that rises all the faster in his throat.

“They’re different, Loki,” Steve murmurs. “Me making you save lives, be an Avenger – that’s for a greater good. I’m not ordering you around because I like it, or because I want it: I’m doing it because it’s what I have to do. “I don’t want to order you to…” he trails off, shaking his head.

“I believe the point is that you’re not ordering me,” Loki murmurs. “Others in your position would jump at the chance to—”

“Yeah, well others aren’t in my position,” Steve snaps, and Loki stares at him. His fingernails are digging the meat of his hand, now, so deeply they leave crescent marks in the skin, and Steve reaches out to pull his hands apart before he can draw blood. Loki lets him, his wrists limp in Steve’s hands. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Steve murmurs. “Don’t do that, Loki.”

“Captain Rogers—”

“Loki,” Steve interrupts him, emphatically. “You can call me Steve, if you want.” Loki’s Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.

“Captain Rogers,” Loki continues in the smallest of voices. “They’re all just so young. But you—”

“What?” Loki’s lips part, his eyes shining for the barest second, and then the illusion comes right back, and Loki pulls his arms protectively over his chest. “What?”

“I don’t belong here,” Loki murmurs. “Much as you are unwilling to admit it, Captain Rogers, nor do you. They waited until they needed you, and they broke you out of that ice, to use you as a tool – as much as me.” Steve sets his jaw, staring down at Loki. It’s surprisingly perceptive, some of the shit he says, and especially given that it’s coming out now, when Steve knows he isn’t saying it to manipulate him. “How does it feel?”

“Shitty,” Steve replies. “How about yourself?”

“Much the same.”

“I can walk away, Loki,” Steve murmurs. “You can’t.” Loki laughs, shaking his head.

“Of course you can’t. Just because there isn’t magic binding you doesn’t mean you truly have a choice. You are in the debt of a Cold War operative who has yet to realise his war is over; you are in the lap of a new century. You are a soldier for a country that no longer exists, not as it once did. If you think you have any more choice than I do, you are a fool as much as you are a patriot.” It should piss Steve off, to hear Loki talk like this, to hear him take him to pieces just to lay him out with labels on the page, like a diagram in Loki’s stupid notebook, and yet… “And even if you had a choice before, you don’t any more. Here I am: your final shackle.” Loki reaches up, and his hand touches Steve’s cheek. His hand is freezing cold, as if a statue has touched him, but before Steve can say anything, Loki draws his hand away, and Steve’s face is cool on one side, flushed with heat on the other.

“It’s different, Loki,” he repeats.

“I believe you,” Loki says, and he begins to undo his tie. “Good night— Steven.”

“Nobody calls me that.”

“I do,” Loki replies evenly, and Steve stares at him for a second, then smiles, grimly. “Mr Stark says I’ll get my papers this week.”

“So?”

“I don’t know what name to write on the form.”

“Loki?”

“They want a surname. I have two to choose from: Odinson, Laufeyson. Which brush do I tar myself with?” Steve frowns, pressing his lips together, then takes a few steps back, moving toward the door.

“Pick something new. It’s your name, after all.”

“Really? I believe someone informed me my name belonged to him.” He’s asking me permission, Steve realizes, all at once, and he feels guilt churn in his chest – hasn’t he got enough guilt to deal with? Does he really need more?

“Sounds like he was just pissed he’d been backed into a corner,” Steve replies. “Real dick, that guy.”

“Oh, I agree,” Loki says, carefully undoing the cuffs of his shirt. “Good night, Steven.”

“Good night, Loki,” Steve replies, and he pulls the door shut behind him – and promptly presses his face against the cool wood, smelling the varnish, smelling the new paint, now dried against the door. He takes out the phone he’d taken from Pepper that morning, and he types in a text.

Steve Rogers, 21:43 You wanna go for a drink?

Sam, 21:43 Thought you’d never ask.

#frostshield #shieldfrost #brought to justice #fanfic #dictionary writ #marvel

2 notes · View notes

saunterfics · 7 years ago

Note

picture this: dadsona jumping in craig's shower after a workout 👀👀👀

(I’m gonna answer the asks I’ve gotten these past two weeks in this post so it’ll be under the read more. I apologize I’m terrible at responding bc I always think I want to respond with more specific things to requests but maybe I shouldn’t keep hoarding asks…)

Craig would be so surprised lbr. But if you’re implying shower sex, then yes. Somehow instead of smexy I can only think of…angst…? Like 1) Craig might actually be annoyed bc he’s always so busy and he has a lot of work and stuff to get to after a shower so like, please, don’t? or 2) he does indulge in you and damn that was HOT but then he realizes he spent too much time there and starts to criticize himself for leaving River alone for too long, etc and blames himself for not being disciplined enough now that he allows himself to relax and actually be with you…? He’s someone who probably thinks too much bc he’s trying to set the bar so high and seriously. He needs to chill.

Anon said: Will you write more Ddadds fanfics? Maybe something dirty, rough, fast with Robert? Or include some kinks, like chocking (with your hands) or rimming with any other character?

Yes…maybe? I should? I just got really busy and haven’t been playing the game and then started losing the inspiration? I also usually browse tumblr on my phone, which doesn’t have blacklisting, so I’ve been avoiding it tbh because I am into Craig and also Robert, and tbh I like consuming content about Robert more, but I’d noticed quite the increase of Joseph/Robert stuff in there and I’m really not comfortable with that pairing so I’d rather not chance seeing it. Idk, the extent of my distaste for that kinda hit me all at once so…sigh. It just also feels very fetish-y too so that really nags at me.

Anyways. Choking? Seriously? Hell yeah. Holy shit. I’m not into rimming myself, and I’m just indifferent to it so I don’t think I have the abilities to make it good. And something rough, fast, and dirty with Robert will most likely be when Dadsona is just “a tad” tipsy and he’s riling Robert on with dirty talk and esp calling him “daddy” and Robert just growls and holds you down but you’re just smirking up at him and continue to tempt him and he just. Can’t fucking handle you Jesus fucking Christ. (I also like someone’s hc I saw a while back about how Robert doesn’t actually enjoy sex all that much seeing as if you ever have sex with him he just chucks you out the window and all) so I like the thought that Robert slowly gets into sex more because he’s into you and it’s fun and Robert likes games and he quite likes the control play that you guys get into.

Anon said: Concept – Robert getting hella excited to show dadsona his whole knife collection and the story behind each one ,,, what do you think

I think it’s cool…? But I personally would be more like “uh okay” tbh (I’m not a good partner to have let me tell you straight)…I’m not creative so I can’t think of what the cool stories would be behind his knives? Especially if there isn’t much to go off of on why he has them? I also don’t understand the notion of collecting things so…i’m sorry.

Anon said: SO EXCITED FOR MORE KNIFE DAD, the first time dom robert stuff was super hot and endearing but i am so ready for FEELINGS, i can’t even tell you. (also don’t worry about the roseph requests, your writing should be for you first and foremost ❤︎)

I’M SORRY IF I’VE DISAPPOINTED YOU IN NOT PRODUCING MORE KNIFE DAD IN A WHILE. Anyways, thank you?? First time Dom!Robert will always be super cute in my heart. I had a lot of feels earlier this month but then it kinda got…knocked down several levels because of the Roseph stuff and how uncomfortable it made me? Like, it came as a shock with how much it affected me. I’m still kinda shocked, to be honest. So thank you for understanding that I want to avoid that.

Anon said: I literally need an crave more Robert with a daddy kink

Lol same. Sorry, but I don’t really have inspiration for it right now? Unless you can give me a more specific scenario?

Brooo, im so glad u made that post abt roseph, some1 had to fckin say it 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

;n; It’s good to know that some people feel the same way. I really don’t like abusive relationships especially under the guise of hot hot BDSM (there’s a reason why I specifically say that I do not write hate!sex, which is a distinction from rough or angry sex). It’s also intriguing to me that most of the people I know who identify as male similarly want to indulge in Dadsona/one of the dads instead of pairing the dads together. I mean, I can’t say much because I try not to interact with the Roseph shippers, and I don’t really look into the other dads, but it’s another reason why it feels fetish-y to me bc why is Roseph hot…? I don’t really want the answer to that I’m just rambling bc someone is on my perspective.

Anon said: i respect and understand your interpretation, but i personally feel like joseph/robert (roseph) are heavily implied to be exes? like, joseph kind of breaks robert’s heart because minor spoilers: there isn’t really a happy ending with joseph’s route - it always ends with him running away and using mary for an excuse. actually, something quite interesting happens if you date robert twice before going on joseph’s third date - a confrontation of sorts.

Thanks…? Sorry if I’m curt in my reply, but are you trying to voice your opinion in this discussion, or is this a justification on why you ship Roseph…? Because I’m taking it the latter way, and my response will be under that impression. The immediate response I had was, “So what?” because I did express that I don’t like certain implications that Robert was still involved with Joseph, etc. in addition to separate issues that I have with the fact that there’s no way Joseph/Robert can be in a healthy relationship whatsoever, unless I make Joseph a more mature man (than he canonically is, given that he leaves Dadsona in the end regardless, in his route). The fact that they’re implied to be exes means nothing other than add to the fact that Robert is emotionally wounded on many levels, and that he has so much to heal from. It only makes me sad, because this man already seems to be the type who is hard to open his heart, so then you’re telling me that he did open his heart to Joseph, only to have it broken terribly with the lame excuse of “I love you, but I don’t have the balls to leave my wife, whom I have a deteriorating romantic relationship with and that we are not attempting to repair” which implies “you’re still only second place to me, at most.” Not to mention the implications of what it would mean if Robert was previously involved with Joseph, and still is best buds with Mary? Was he still best buds with Mary when he cheated with her spouse? So you’re saying that it’s possible that Mary doesn’t know any of this, and Robert is hiding something this big from her? How much of a burden is that on his shoulders? (Although tbh, I’m more inclined to believe that Mary knows all this shit - she’s not a moron, she’s quite the intuitive woman - and she bonded with Robert over the fact that Joseph is a shit and really, I don’t think she and Joseph are in love anymore. They definitely still care, but the “in love” aspect of romance, that’s not there anymore. But the fact that there are also fan content that depicts that Mary knows and just kinda glosses over the issue by not reacting makes me uncomfortable, as well.) So basically, even if Joseph and Robert are exes, that doesn’t change anything imo. It only solidifies my belief that Joseph needs to man the fuck up and deal (and the fact that I think the game writers really failed in, in terms of representing the complexities of a relationship. They seemed to be on the right track, and then it turned to shit with the only excuse I’ve heard being “why would you want to be a homewrecker” and that’s not valid given that they gave Joseph a route). But anyways, about Joseph, that’s what it means to be an adult - relationships are complicated and there’s no black and white. You’ve got to work with that and keep moving.

#anon #replies #dream daddy #craig cahn #robert small #ddadds #Anonymous

10 notes · View notes

comics-mostly · 7 years ago

Text

the party - a short story (written 06/19/2016)

Saturday, 9:30pm

I’m standing still. Stuck. I can’t move... but I can’t say that I necessarily want to, either. Time feels as though it’s standing still as I stand here, my eyes glued on her.

Enchanting.

It’s really the only word that comes close to describing how she looks in this moment, and yet, somehow, even that doesn’t seem to do her proper justice. Those ruby red lips and dark eyes enrapture me, and I let them. I let her take my gaze, as well as my heart, once more. The jet-black dress she wears hugs her body almost as closely as I used to.

I miss holding her.

I still can’t move, but now I want to. I want to move through this crowd of people towards her. I want to grab her and hold her like I used to. To look deeply into her dark eyes, stand at the event horizon, and have them suck me into her like black holes.

God, how does she do it? How, with just her presence, does she erase all the work I’ve done in my attempt to move past this? To move past her. How? How does she turn me to stone without even so much as a single glance – leaving me with my heart dancing around in my chest and the neurons in my brain firing erratically trying to make sense of it all.

What happened to the party? Where is everyone? All I can see is her. It’s like we’re in a different place, a different time, a different plane of existence. But even here, she doesn’t notice me. Her eyes are elsewhere, but I’m okay with it. I’m okay with just looking at her, even if she’s not looking at me. The half-smile she has upon her lips, the way her hair is tucked neatly behind her ear, the way she just stands there, radiating beauty…

Reality begins to slowly eat at the illusion I’ve created. I become more aware of my surroundings once again. The half-smile she has on her lips is directed at a friend of hers. With the introduction of her friend I watch as another person materializes, and then another, and suddenly I’m back, standing in the middle of a party, full of people chatting and dancing as the music plays in the background.

How long have I been staring at her? Too long, I’m sure. Have people started to notice? Perhaps, but I don’t care. Let them stare at me as intensely as I’m staring at her. Let them see how much I long to be with her. To hold her. To kiss her.

A tap on my shoulder is what finally pulls me out of my reverie.

“Babe?” she says.

I turn to the young woman I’ve come here with. She’s beautiful, honestly. But she’s not her. How could she be? How could anyone? She is light personified, and any other woman, by default, pales in comparison.

“Sorry, I just got distracted for a moment.” I offer a false smile that’s meant to reassure her, and it does. She returns it with a genuine one and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. Her soft lips feel good against my skin, but only serve as yet another reminder that she is not her. The kiss lingers just a moment too long, with just a little too much lip-gloss left on my cheek afterwards. I don’t fault her for that, though. She can only be who she is, and that should be enough for me. It should, anyway.

She grabs my hand and heads towards the outside patio where her friends are waiting. My eyes turn to her and I hope that she sees me, that she returns my gaze; that the look in her eyes mirror the look in my own, one filled with passion and yearning and love.

That does not happen.

She’s with her friends and they have stolen her full attention. She looks happy, and while I know in my heart seeing her happy should make me happy, it has the opposite effect. A part of me dies inside, seeing her so happy without me by her side.

I notice one of her friends staring at me as I am staring at her. I wait, hoping that she says something; that she tells her to turn around; that she tells her that I’m looking at her.

Please. Do it.

She doesn’t.

She instead turns her gaze away from me and continues her conversation with her and I continue to let my date lead me towards her group of friends. We arrive and I say my ‘hello’s’ and ‘how are you’s’ and they dive deep into their own conversations.

She and her friends gossip over mundane topics that fail to hold my interest; make-up, and alcohol, and boys, and people they dislike, and broken hearts. I find myself more inclined to listen to that last portion of the conversation for a moment, until I realize the woman talking is speaking flippantly about the topic. About how she and her ex-boyfriend, of a week, who she claimed that she loved, split up because he initially seemed to be more interesting than he actually was. That the experience has left her so, “hurt” and “broken-hearted.”

Anger bubbles up inside of me and I want to chime in, to say that she has no idea what loss is; to say that her brief, superficial “relationship,” was nothing. I want to tell her that she hasn’t the slightest clue of what it really means to be in love with someone, or to feel the raw, indescribable pain one feels when that relationship ends... regardless of who ends it. I fight the urge to yell at her for how stupid, and vapid, and narcissistic she sounds. I know that I cannot say those things. Not just because she’s friends with the woman I came here with tonight, but because once I get stared I know they’ll be no stopping me.

So I tune them out and allow my mind to wander to other places. I look to the stars, which are few and far between, hidden by the aura of the city lights. I can make out a few of them, and I even feel as though I am able to see a constellation, whose name I cannot remember, up there as well.

I think about how she used to love looking at the stars. How, for her birthday last October I took her far from the city, into the mountains so she could see them clearly. I remember how she spent hours pointing out different constellations to me and telling me the story and meanings behind them. How hearing the happiness in her voice filled me with a happiness of my own. And how when she got tired of talking she made use of her lips in a different manner when she placed them upon mine. I remember how happy she was – how happy we were there together, in love, under the stars.

I’ve lost myself in yet another memory. How much time has passed? I look at the woman I’ve come with and she’s still conversing with her friends. I stare at her, wanting to feel something more than I do. Wanting to feel for her, the way I know she feels about me. It was clear when I asked her to come to this party tonight that she was thrilled, even though she tried to hide it. She’s not as masterful as hiding her feelings as I am. She’s had feelings for me for years now, and while she’s so beautiful and wonderful, she’s just not her.

Where is she? What is she doing? Who is she with? I look over my shoulder to see if she is within sight, only to see the space she inhabited when I arrived occupied by someone else. Where did she go? Did she leave?

I need to find her.

Perhaps I can offer to get drinks for them, or say that I have to use the restroom. Something. Anything. I have to get away from this situation. I have to find her. I have to find out if, perhaps, there is still a part of her that loves me the way that I still love her.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell my date.

She looks concerned and asks me, “is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I tell her with a smile, “I’m just really thirsty.”

“Oh, have a sip of my drink,” she’s holding a cup of orange liquid. When did she get it? Was I so caught up that I didn’t notice someone bring her a drink? She puts the cup in my face and I can smell the liquor. I want to take a sip, but I know better. I’ve sworn off the stuff... at first for her, but now for myself.

“I’m good,” I tell her, “I’m just going to get myself some water.”

“Oh, okay,” She seems disappointed that I denied her offer, “then let’s go get you something to drink.”

Oh, damn. She wants to come with me. I didn’t expect that. She doesn’t seem to want to let me out of her sight. I should have gone with the restroom excuse, but then she might have offered to try and show me where it is.

“No, it’s okay. I can go by myself. Just enjoy your time with your friends.”

“But I didn’t come here for them. I came here for you.” She smiles. She thinks this is the right thing to say – that it will let me know that she cares for me. With any other guy, it would probably be effective, but not me. Not right now. I don’t care about that right now; all I want to do is get away from her for a moment.

“I know, and I appreciate that.” I hold her hand in mine and bring it close to our faces. Her eyes light up, and I can feel her friends staring at us. It’s awkward, but I continue, “but you and I are going to have the rest of the night together. I’ll only be gone a moment. Okay?”

She bats her long eyelashes and nods her head. I let go of her hand and turn away.

I wish that I didn’t have to do that. Play on her emotions like that, but I couldn’t have her come with me. Not right now. I need to find her. I need to know.

Is there any hope? Do you miss me? Do you want me?

Do you still love me?

I make my way through the crowded room, still a sea of swaying bodies dancing to the melody. It seems like even more people have shown up since I first arrived. It’s completely likely that she’s gone. She never did like large parties.

I remember the time I brought her to my house for the first time. It was to celebrate my dad’s 50th birthday. There had to have been about seventy people crammed into our little backyard that day. She was fine at first, as she was one of the first people to arrive. She met my mother and my father and, much like myself, they immediately fell in love her with her. But as the party continued and more and more people arrived, she became increasingly anxious and uncomfortable.

I remember her telling me that she needed to go to the restroom and I waited for her to come back. People began asking where she was, and when I found out she wasn’t actually in the restroom I went searching for her. It turned out she wasn’t anywhere in the house or the backyard. I went out to the front of the house and found her sitting in the bed of her truck, staring off into the night sky.

I went to her, filled with a mix of confusion and anger, and asked her what happened. I had already had a few drinks in me so it was less me asking and more so me yelling.

We argued for a few minutes about it, and then made up. I remember that night so vividly because that was the night that I told her that I loved her for the first time – as we sat in the back of that old pick-up, outside of my house, and star-gazed.

Damn it. Where is she now? She has to be here.

I search each room, even going up the stairs and stumbling upon a couple making out in one of the bedrooms. Thankfully it wasn’t her.

After searching the entire house, I realize that I need to come to terms with the fact that she is gone. The party probably became too overwhelming for her. Or maybe her friend, the one that saw me, suggested leaving so that she wouldn’t run the risk of seeing me. Or maybe she found someone else and left with him. I don’t know. I suppose I wouldn’t want to know.

Damn it.

She’s gone and with her, my last opportunity to tell her how I feel. I’m sure. I mean, I could always call her but... but maybe this is for the best. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be. If it had been, she’d still be here, right?

At this point I realize I actually am thirsty, so I decide to do what I said I was going to do in the first place and find myself something to drink. I walk into the kitchen and find that the ice chest is only filled with beer. It looks appealing, but that’s not what I’m here for.

I see a group of people conversing and drinking an assortment of different alcoholic beverages.

“Where are the waters at?” I ask one of them.

“Oh shit, are we out?” he takes a look at the ice chest, “Damn, sorry bro.”

Of course they are. I let out a sigh, “It’s all good. Thanks anyway.”

I turn to walk away when he says, “Bro, I think there may be one or two out in the fridge in the garage.”

I turn around and see him pointing in the general area of where the garage is located. I nod and say, “Thanks, man.”

“Sure thing bro!”

He turns back around and takes another sip from his red, plastic cup. He tells a joke that I cannot hear, and a couple of them laugh louder than they would have if they were sober. I can tell that they’re having a good time, and a small part of me envies them for that.

I walk towards the garage and, in the corner of my eye, I see my date with her friends. In the thick of the crowd she’s unable to make me out, but I’m able to see her clearly as she’s looks around, obviously searching for me. She searches for me as I searched for her.

Just another moment and I’ll be there.

I navigate through crowd, once again, until I find the door that leads to the garage. I open it and walk inside. It is cold in here, more so than it is in the rest of the house. As I walk in and shut the door behind me the sound of music softens; the beat dampened and the lyrics were reduced to an unintelligible murmur through the walls.

I see the fridge immediately and walk to it. Upon opening the door, I see that it’s filled to the brim with different assortments of alcohol. From Heineken to Vodka – there was enough alcohol in there to get a humpback whale buzzed.

“So much for there being water,” I say to myself.

Just as I reach to shut the door, I see them. Two water bottles snuggled in the refrigerator door. Perfect. I grab one and then, after a quick second, decide to take the other just in case I get thirsty again later. I take one in each hand and then use my foot to shut the door. I turn to make my way out of the garage, back to the party, back to my date and her friends, back to the rest of my night...

That’s when I see her.

Not across the room, not in the memories I’ve been having of her all night, no, here she is, alone, standing right in front of me.

I want to say something. I want to say everything. But I can’t. I’m frozen again. My brain is overloaded with thoughts, my body riddled with emotions, and my heart is pounding so loud that I can’t hear anything.

What do I do? What do I say? I had something. I’m sure of it. Something noble and poetic and beautiful. Something that would make her love me. What was it? I can’t think of it.

Damn it.

It’s as though my mind is a hard-drive and the sight of her just wiped everything from it. I’m looking in her eyes but I can’t process it. What was I looking for in them? Love? Pain? Sadness? Happiness? Whatever I’m looking for, I’m not finding it now. Maybe they really are little black holes; maybe this is the Even Horizon and I am being sucked in.

No. I can’t let that happen. Not now. I can’t fall apart at the seams here. I have to say something. Something. Anything.

Damn it.

She beats me to it.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey,” I reply.

#the party #a short story #short story #short stories #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a story i'll never write #excerpt from a book i'm writing #novels #stories #Welcome to The WHY #The WHY #a Blog #Stories from The WHY

2 notes · View notes