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hockeyboysiguess · 5 years ago

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Countdown

a/n: what’s up everyone? i’m new in town because i found one stupid hockey boy which led me to another and you know how it goes. let me know if you want me to continue writing!

warnings: some swearing, a little bit of drinking.

Your feet were killing you, and you’d definitely had a couple more than you set out to have when the night started, but it was New Year’s Eve, you told yourself. It was the kind of night you could have a little too much. You rocked a little forward on your heels, trying to relieve some of the pressure on the arches of your feet, but it threw you off balance. Luckily, Mat was there with a steady arm to keep you to your feet. You could’ve done without the chirping that immediately followed the incident.

“You know, you could just take the shoes off if they’re bothering you that much,” he said, with a laugh edging at each word as he spoke.

“I’ve definitely explained this to you before,” you sighed. “You look at the shoe, you look at your feet, you tell yourself that your shoes and your feet are married tonight and nothing in the world will separate you. You can’t get divorced after two hours, would look bad for my next husband.”

“You are more committed to those shoes than you were with your last boyfriend,” Mat retorts, never the one to stop the banter first.

“He couldn’t support me like these babies can.” You point your toes and jut one foot out for emphasis, “He didn’t make my legs look this killer either.”

Mat rolled his eyes at you and laughed, a constant combination in your friendship that had become one of the most crucial in your life this past year. You’d met him towards the beginning of the year, and you got along instantly due to your identical senses of humor. Your friendship solidified with his willingness to try practically every restaurant in New York City with you and the fact that you always let him be the DJ whenever you were together. You tried to go through the timeline of your friendship, trying to find the moment something shifted and he stopped being your friend Mat and started being the reason you said no to dates with other guys when they approached you and why you refused to let any of you other friends set you up with anyone. You glanced over at the clock to distract yourself from your thoughts, 11:50pm. Ten minutes to midnight.

“Hey, I was just thinking about the day we met,” Mat told you, a smile on his face carrying over to yours as you remembered the first time you met him.

Ten.

- Months ago, you were at a party pretty similar to this where everyone was a little less dressed up and the alcohol was a lot worse. You were standing with two of your friends, debating on if you wanted to stay longer or head out to the bars when a ping pong ball landed in your cup.

“Hey! My buddy needs a partner for pong. Can you play? Doesn’t matter if you’re shit; he’s probably worse.”

You shrugged, said, “Why not?” and stepped up to the table next to him. You set your cup down on the table and turned to your new partner for the evening, “If I have to carry this team, now’s the time to let me know that you’re dead weight.”

His face was a little taken aback for a second, but then a wide smile formed across his face. He nodded softly.

“I like you,” he said. “You’re right, I am totally about to be dead weight. My name’s Mat by the way.”

You introduced yourself to him and proceeded to win the next two rounds of beer pong with Mat making three cups the entire time. You made fun of his accent. He pretended to be upset that you got away with breaking the elbows rule because you had boobs and they distracted Tito, but the distraction was to his advantage so he said he’d let the rule breaking slide as long as you promised to be his pong partner for the night. You agreed to take him on as charity case for the night if he tried a Thai-Greek fusion brunch with you tomorrow morning that none of your other friends we’re willing to go it. He took the deal and your friendship began.

Nine.

“– seasons of How I Met Your Mother? Jesus, is this even going to be worth it?” Mat complained

“Get the popcorn, sit down, and shut up,” you told him. “I cannot believe you haven’t seen this before. It’s a classic.

“Friends is a classic,” he sighs as he sits down on the couch, dropping the popcorn bowl between you. “This is a cheap imitation. Besides, I thought you would hate this. Isn’t Barney like very anti your whole super feminist thing or something and doesn’t Ted just suck?”

“If you don’t realize you have to take everything in this world with a grain of salt yet, then you are beyond help, Barzy.”

You binged it in under three weeks. While you’d lived the last episode premiering live with your family, you didn’t think you’d ever seen anyone as pissed off at the ending of the show than Mat was. Your sides hurt from laughing so much at his insane ranting about how they could have possibly done that to him, with all of the time he invested in this show. He took it personally and swore he’d never watch another episode again. You still couldn’t bring it up without making him start a whole diatribe. It was your party trick together even though Mat wasn’t quite in on the joke.

Eight.

- Days in Spain in June. Mat insisted on you joining him on his post season tour of Europe. By tour he meant never leaving Spain but going on a lot of wine tours and pretending he knew a lot about wine even though he couldn’t tell the difference between a three-hundred-dollar bottle of age merlot and a bottle of Barefoot if his life depended on it.

“Oh, isn’t this a fabulous red vintage?” Mat said to you, doing an impossibly bad British accent in an attempt to sound fancy. “I can taste floral,” he sipped the wine again, smacking his tongue against his lips loudly, “and citrus notes in this one. You’ll quite like it, madam.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out,” you sang softly to him as you noticed the daggers he was getting from your tour guide.

Mat slung his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in tight to him. You could feel his muscles tense under his thin t-shirt, and your breath caught in your throat. Some part of you had known he was attractive this whole time; you’d just never been forced to pay attention until this exact moment when you were pressed up against him. You pushed the thoughts to a far corner of your mind. This was your friend Mat and you didn’t need anything more than that from him. You didn’t want it, you told yourself.

Seven.

- Seconds left on the clock. You were pretty sure you hadn’t breathed for the last 5 minutes of the game and you were gripping your seat so hard that your knuckles were starting to go numb. The Islanders were down by one going into the last two minutes against Tampa Bay. Tito had scored to create a 3-3 game with just over a minute on the clock to play. You didn’t want this to go into overtime and neither did the guys. They wanted to complete the comeback win here and now.

You watched as Mat shifted the puck side to side on the ice. You saw him glance up at the clock for a brief second, then he looked back towards the net and he saw his shot. He took it without any hesitation. You were on your feet before the puck hit the back of the net. Mat was immediately engulfed by his teammates, swallowed up in a sea of blue and orange jerseys. His games practically gave you a heart attack, but you’d never turn him down if he asked you to come and he asked you to come a lot.

“Hey there, superstar,” you said, the smile in your voice obvious as you met Mat in the tunnel after he’d finished up his interviews and changed.

“Hey there,” he laughed, giving your shoulder a little shove

You looked around as you walked out with him. He was walking you through that final shot, second by second, but you couldn’t focus on his story. You saw the girlfriends, fiancées, and wives of the other players greeting their respective partners and for a split second you let yourself imagine that with Mat. You hadn’t really thought about it before, but as soon as let that wall down and the flood gates opened, and your feelings for Mat hit you square in the stomach. You wanted to be like them, have what they have, and for a split second, you let yourself want that with him. You wanted him to look at you like the other guys looked at their girlfriends and wives.

“Um, hello?” Mat’s large hang waving in front of your face pulled you out of your moment.

“Oh, sorry. Can you start over? I got a little sidetracked.”

“You okay?” he asked, concern coating the words and his brows furrowing.

“Super-duper, superstar. Try me again.”

Six.

“-Entrées is way too many. Look, I know you’re practically a championship level competitive eater for fun, but this feels like an exercise of your skills we don’t need to practice.”

“Two things. One, calling pancakes an entrée is a little much. It’s just pancakes,” you retorted, “and two, they serve six different kinds of pancakes here, so I’m getting six kinds of pancakes. Join me or get the hell out.”

Mat’s nose scrunched up as he laughed at your response. God, you loved his laugh. You loved it most when you were responsible for it, not the girl he met at the bar last night who was definitely responsible for the marks peeking out from under his shirt. Seeing those when he sat down made you felt like all the air had left the room. You shrugged off your thoughts as best as you could. Mat wasn’t yours to be possessive of, but that didn’t make the pit in your stomach settle either. You took a sip of your orange juice as Mat’s laughter slowed.

“God, how do I still think you’re cool even though that was super lame?” he asked you, stealing your water since his hungover self practically chugged his when he arrived

“Barzy, some things in the world are magical and they’re better left unexplored and unexplained.”

“Like all women,” he said proudly, like he’d discovered something profound.

You rolled your eyes at him. Even when he was an idiot, you still wished he was your idiot and not some girl at the bar’s idiot, but you wouldn’t risk this. This friendship was too important to you to jeopardize for your stupid middle school girl pinning. You put your feelings back in the box they’d let themselves out of just as the pancakes arrived.

Five.

“You think you’d had five drinks tonight?” Your eyebrow is arched as you look back at an incredibly hammered Barzy. You knew he had to be at least eight deep, more like ten, but instead you said, “Are you sure it’s five?”

Mat nodded profusely, looking more like his bobblehead then himself in that moment. You turned your palms up at him and shrugged a bit, giving him a look of complete disbelief. He proudly put down his beer and yanked his sleeve up to show you his wrist. On his wrist were five incredibly smudged tally marks of various lengths. He hadn’t even managed to realize you were supposed to cross the last one across the other four for every set of five, so there were just five incredibly crooked lines drawn on his wrist in Sharpie.

“See? Five tally marks, five drinks,” he told you, like you were the idiot in this situation.

You nodded in fake understanding as an incredible drunk Mat reached for you. He was significantly touchier with you when he was drunk, his large hands always finding your skin and making a series of thoughts you shouldn’t have run through your brain as your heartbeat picked up in your chest. His hands rested on your upper arms this time as he lined himself up with you, forcing you to make eye contact.

“I’m fine. Don’t you worry about ol’ Barzy here,” he slurred.

“You’re twenty-two,” you laughed. “Hardly makes you an old man, my friend. Come on, I called an Uber. Let’s go.”

You took on of his hands from your arm and held it, dragging him slowly out of the party. He had the attention span of a golden retriever puppy when he was drunk, so it was a good thing you had some practice with this and started your journey to the car ten minutes before your Uber was supposed to arrive. By the time you made it outside, it was already waiting for you. You gave him one small shove and he practically fell right into the car.

“You know,” Mat told you as the car started to roll away from the party, “you’re a really good friend, ya know.”

You smiled at him but turned your face away quickly as you felt the tears start to sting in your eyes. Maybe it’s the few drinks you’d had yourself, but Mat calling you a good friend was definitely supposed to feel good, but all it was make your heart clench inside your chest. It confirmed everything you were feeling. You and Mat were friends, good to great friends even, but that’s how he saw you, his friend. You never wanted to be the kind of person that complained about someone not liking them back, but you finally understood where everyone else was coming from. This feeling was awful in a way you couldn’t quite describe. It was like a hand had reached into you, found the place where your feelings for Mat where, and squeezed hard, except that hand wasn’t actually all too careful to target that one spot and instead squeezed everything inside your chest until you could barely catch your breath and the tears were rolling down your cheeks. Thank god that Mat had way more than five drinks and was already asleep against the opposite window because you couldn’t keep it together the entire ride home.

Four.

“You really want four dogs at once?” The disagreement coated Mat’s voice. “That’s a lot of dogs at once. I think you need to reconsider this part of your life plan.”

“Four is a very reasonable number,” you replied, not even bothering to look up from your phone. “And this is my twenty-year plan here, Mat, not yours. You don’t get a say.”

“I’m your best friend. I deserve a say here if I think you’re going to screw up part of your life,” he countered. “You’re going to be beholden to these creatures. And you’re gonna have four of them! They’re going to need you constantly. You’re not going to have time for anything else.”

“I do plan on like, having someone around at some point,” you reminded him. “Step nine of this plan was to find that man, finally, and one of the key criteria is that is likes dogs, so he’ll help share the workload.”

“And then you really only have two dogs,” Mat mumbles under his breath as he start to nod in understanding. “Okay, okay, I concede. You’re right, four is the correct number of dogs.”

You laughed in response to his agreement, “Now I’ve just got to find a man and convince him like I convinced you.”

“Took you all of a minute to get me on board with your plan here. I’d sign up to co-parent four dogs with you. You’re gonna be a killer pet parent. I’m sure you can get some other schmuck to agree with you. He’s not going to be as hot as me though, so that’s going to be a downgrade for you right there.” You didn’t let his words sink in. You let them flow right out of your head as soon as they came in. It was for the best, you told yourself.

Three.

- Hours into your co-worker’s engagement party and you were about ready to scream. If one more platter of engagement cookies with their initials and faces came past you, you were going to explode. The only reason you’d make it this long was Mat and the fact he tipped the bartender big time when you got your first drink, so he was making you doubles and triples when he was only supposed to pour singles at the open bar.

“This sucks,” you sighed to him, taking a swig of your drink.

“This party is fucking pathetic,” he said to you. “How are people this boring before they’re thirty? I just don’t understand. If I ever get engaged to someone who wants to have cookies with our faces on them at our engagement party, please shoot me.”

“I expect you to do the same if I ever think that’s a good idea,” you laughed as your spoke.

“You know what,” Mat paused only to down the remaining third of his drink in one go, “it’s time to blow this popsicle stand.”

“Jesus, Mat, they haven’t even made a toast yet or anything. We can’t leave yet,” you tried to remind him, even though it was completely half-assed since you might have been more miserable than him.

“Oh, come on, be irresponsible. Let’s go do something actually fun,” Mat said, leaning into you as he spoke. “You’re in a killer dress. You look incredible. There’s this cool bar down the road I’ve been wanting to try, and we’re dressed for the occasion.”

You scrunched up your nose as you thought. You wanted out, but you also really didn’t want to be rude since you’d have to show up to work on Monday regardless. Mat took your drink from you as you thought, taking care of the rest of your glass with ease even though the bottom quarter was definitely straight vodka due to how slow you’d been drinking. He looked at you, his eyes softly begging for you to get the hell out of here with him. You sighed and grabbed one of his hands, making your way towards the back exit. You couldn’t see the smile on his face, but you felt his fingers slide between yours as he gave your hand an appreciative squeeze.

Two.

- Times that you’ve almost told him how you feel in the last month. The holiday season had you feeling particularly emotional in general due to a combination of Hallmark movies and the holiday parties’ people were having were giving you a few too many opportunities to be drunk around Mat. Drunk you was a little looser lipped than sober you. Both times started and ended the same way.

“Hey, Mat, can I talk to you for a quick sec?”

You placed your hand on his shoulder as he spoke, pulling him slightly so he’d turn to face you. Each time he agreed and followed you away from the crowd, tucked away in a less traffic area of the party.

“What’s up? Are you too drunk? Do you need to head out? I can call an Uber. Or should I call a Lyft?” he asked in rapid succession.

“No, no,” you shook your head. “I, uh, I wanted to tell you something actually.”

“Okay, shoot,” he replied instantly. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Your mouth went dry as the desert and your carefully rehearsed speech dissolved in your mind. You looked at him, his eyes dark as his traced over your face, trying to figure out what could have been important enough for you to pull him away from the party. Your eyes danced across his face, his strong jawline, his kind eyes, his soft lips. You wanted him. You wanted him so badly it hurt, but the idea of losing him from your life kept your mouth shut both times.

“You know what. Actually, it’s nothing. I figured it out myself. Let’s go get another drink.”

One.

You snapped back to the current moment, pulling your head out of the past. You watched the clock turn to 11:59pm.

“Sorry, I zoned out there,” you told him.

“It’s alright. Tito dropped in when you faded off, so no hard feelings,” he laughed as he spoke, “Um, actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about and I guess, why not start the new year off with a bang?”

You took a deep breath in as you looked over Mat’s face curiously. He was nervous. His hands were fidgeting with his cup. He was shuffling from side to side, foot to foot, transferring his weight with each movement. He looked down at the ground, unable to meet your eyes and mumbled something you couldn’t hear. The countdown for the last twenty seconds had already started, so there was too much background noise to catch his words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you?” You had to shout to make sure he heard you.

“I like you!” he screamed back. “Fuck that, I’m in love you with and I really, really fucking don’t want to see you kiss anyone else at ten seconds because I’m pretty sure it’ll break me at this point.”

Ten. Your mind was racing. Nine. Mat wanted to kiss you. Eight. Mat liked you like you liked him. Seven. No, Mat loved you. Six. He took a step closer to you. Five. He was so nervous, nervous he’d just ruined everything because you still hadn’t said anything. Four. Your feelings burst out from the box you’d put them in, running through your body, making your heart rate kick up in your chest. Three. Mat leaned his face closer to yours. Two. Your eyes locked with his. One. You rocked up on your toes and pressed your lips against his.

His hands found your hips, pulling you desperately closer to him, practically crushing you against his chest, but his lips were soft and gentle against yours. The room exploded into cheers around you, everyone celebrating the ball drop and the new year, but you barely noticed them, until you pulled back from Mat. His eyes scanned your face, trying to figure out exactly what you were feeling.

“I love you too, Mat.”

“Thank God,” he chuckled to himself as he leaned down to kiss you again, “and happy fucking New Year to me.”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine

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thoughtsofanexcitedspacechild · 4 years ago

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Kataang: An In Depth Analysis

Hello again! I apologise for the inactivity. It’s been a busy month as far as school goes for me, so let’s just say I’m a lot busier solving chem equations and working on stuff for AP art. Don’t get me wrong though! These analysis and essay format posts are my favorite and I wish I could do them more often! Seriously, it’s the only thing that keeps me wanting to write! I’ve also decided that I’m going to make these little intro paragraphs separate to the actual essay, because while I’m at this, why not kill two birds with one stone and practice writing essays for my actual AP Lang. class? I mean I’m obviously not gonna turn them in or show them to my teacher, (unless this gets 1000 notes or more, in which case I’ll show this to her ;)) but this is a good way for me to work on formatting a thesis and developing arguments, all while doing and talking about something I love! Speaking of which, let’s dive right on into today’s topic; the much debated, and thoroughly analyzed ship: Kataang. (Buckle your seatbelts hotmen, because this is gonna be one hell of a sky bison ride) I got inspired by a creator on Tik Tok that I follow, Amanda Castrillo, to write this. Her username is @theamanda2d and I highly recommend you go check her out and give her a follow. A lot of the arguments in this are my own, but I also sourced a lot of information and arguments for Kataang from her series “a case for Kataang”, which I highly recommend you go watch. I’ll insert her quotes directly so you know exactly where her points are coming from as well as mention where I elaborated on a point she made but didn’t directly quote her. I’ll also be sourcing a lot of information from the show and including exact episodes and scenes that support my case. So without further ado, here is my *unofficial* case for Kataang.

In our lives, there’s usually one point at which most of us make a choice. That choice is to love someone. Yes, you heard me right. You make the choice to love someone. Of course, the feeling that most people know as love, but is really just sexual or romantic desires, tends to be confused with real love. Authentic love that comes from the choice to love someone. This kind of love persists through even through the darkest times. This kind of love truly does burn brightest in the dark.

It stems from a strong base of mutual understanding and friendship first, and doesn’t rely on a spark of passion to keep burning although it can fuel the flame that already burns strongly. There are many great examples of this kind of love, both in our own world and daily lives, but also in literature. One of the greatest examples of this, is the relationship explored between the fictional characters Aang and Katara from Avatar: the Last Airbender. (Oh, what? You don’t think Avatar is a legitimate form of literature? Pity, you must not have read my previous posts or even watched the show at all, because it IS.)

From the time I first watched the show, I was rooting for them to end up together. Right off the bat, Aang and Katara have this instant connection. Within the first episode, they already become friends, and not only that, they act as if they’ve been friends for years, almost like they were meant to meet each other. Aang finally getting together with Katara just feels right, but there’s more to their relationship than the feelings that Katara and Aang both experience and the feelings that we the audience feel seeing them together. Throughout the series we see them both make the choice to love each other, not only as lovers, but as friends too. Their relationship thrives, and we’re able to see them both grow as people and better themselves because of each other.

Firstly I want to address the counterargument that many people bring up and that is that Kataang, in and of itself, is one sided. Fans (often Zutara shippers. More in depth analysis on why this ship DOESN’T work out realistically to come) will argue that Kataang is forced and one sided, and that Katara doesn’t share Aang’s feelings. Although I can see where this is coming from from a first time viewer’s perspective, this argument can be extinguished by looking deeper at Katara’s actions and intentions towards Aang. We see them bond as friends very early on in the series, but the earliest hint at a romantic relationship actually shows up in season one episode four, when they go to Kiyoshi Island. Katara acts snarky and jealous when Aang gathers quite a fan club of little girls.

Nevertheless, when this fan club fails to stick around for Aang’s encounter with the unagi, Katara’s the one that’s there making sure he’s okay. (S1, Episode 4, The Warriors of Kiyoshi) This is ultimately foreshadowing for their relationship as a whole. Although his role as Avatar lands him many friends, and in this case fans, the only person that truly stays with him the whole time is Katara. She’s the one who shows up and has his best interests at heart. Most of her intentions are in fact platonic in this episode, but the hint of romance comes out when we see that Katara doesn’t like the idea of Aang with another girl.

After half way through season one, specifically the Fortune Teller episode, we do see that Katara does in fact have feelings for Aang, albeit complex ones. In this episode we see her pester Aunt Wu for information about her future husband and she’s informed that he’s a very powerful bender. She doesn’t consider Aang until Sokka mentions that it freaks him out how powerful of a bender Aang is while Aang protects and saves the village from it’s demise by an erupting volcano. Her hopes were set high on a muscley, extremely strong looking bender, and I’d like to imagine that before her realization, Katara was probably picturing someone more like Haru or even post redemption Zuko as her future husband. For the first time, that image is replaced by Aang, and she doesn’t mind it. (S1, Episode 14, The Fortune Teller) We see these new found feelings develop further in the Secret Tunnel episode, when Katara is finally forced to confront the romantic feelings that she’s pushed down while trying to sort them out. At this moment, Katara finally acknowledges her romantic feelings and attraction to Aang. (S2, Episode 2, The Cave of Two Lovers) The creators intentionally showed us the story of the two lovers for a reason. “Avatar is a very smart show,” says Amada Castrillo, Avatar fanatic and creator of the Tik Tok and youtube series “A Case for Kataang,” “and we’re never told or shown anything for no reason...A war was keeping them apart maybe not physically, but romantically.”

Later in the series during the season finale of season two we see her absolutely distraught when Aang nearly dies and she does everything in her power to save him. We see her almost break. Only when he wakes up does she feel better, and start to be happier again. She doesn’t care about anything else but making him feel better, and even when he does wake up, she still focuses mainly on healing him. Here we see Katara make the choice to love Aang both in sickness and in health. (S2, Episode 18, The Guru/The Crossroads of Destiny and S3, Episode 1, The Awakening) She of course would have done this for any member of team avatar, but the way in which she treats Aang when he’s nearly taken away from her points to the extreme love and affection that she carries for him every day. This happens multiple other times throughout the series, with many of the occurrences being in book three. When Zuko joins the Gaang, she flat out tells Zuko that if he were to hurt Aang, (not Sokka, not her, not Toph, but Aang specifically) she would personally see to his demise. (S3, Episode 11, The Western Air Temple, 23:30) (Some Points taken from, but not directly quoted from Amanda Castrillo’s “A case For Kataang Part Nine: Text and Subtext”) This is why the assumption that Kataang is one sided can be proven wrong.

Two other arguments stem from the previous argument, one being that Aang is a simp, and/or that Katara is a trophy. First of all, the later argument is easily disproved by the fact that Katara is not a prize to be won. “Katara is, and was never a prize for Aang,” says Castrillo, “And to say that she was, grossly mischaracterizes and undermines her as a character.” (Amanda Castrillo, (@theamanda2d) “A Case for Kataang: Chapter 2, Katara the trophy) Katara is shown multiple times throughout the series being able to speak up and defend herself without Aang’s, or anyone else’s help.

Aang, although viewed as a simp, is not. Yes he respects Katara, and all other women for that matter, but he doesn’t fawn over her. He allows her to defend and take care of herself. The definition of the word “simp” is the abbreviated term “simpleton”, meaning “a silly or foolish person.” Although Aang is silly at some points, he’s also not foolish. He’s a smart and capable individual that many fans fail to recognise as legitimate because of his innocence and softness. So no. Aang isn’t a simp that bases his entire self worth on his status with Katara.

Another point that must be acknowledged is the fact that Aang and Katara are actually complementary characters. Although many people would bring up the argument that Air and Water aren’t opposite elements, the type of bender they are doesn’t necessarily tend to point to the exact type of person they are. The creators aren’t dumb, and the characters in this franchise are so well developed, that there are many sub personalities in each type of bending, and all of them can be analyzed further than the type of element they bend. Judging a character solely by the element they can bend is like judging a person on the color of their skin or a book by it’s cover, and when diving deep into each of their personalities, we can see that their personalities are actually complementary. Katara is high strung and anxious while Aang is usually calm and collected. Aang is very good at regulating his emotions while Katara is not. This aspect extends further than their personalities as well. Katara grew up in a very family oriented and close family while Aang only had one parental figure in the form of Gyatzo and occasionally a few friends. Katara is also more grounded and a home body while if he could, Aang would probably continue to explore whatever corner of the earth that he could. (Some points taken, but not directly quoted from Amanda Castrillo (@theamanda2d), “A Case for Kataang: Chapter 10, Balance”)

Another thing that I found is that when looking at color theory, Aang’s signature orange toward the end of the series and Katara’s signature blue are actually complementary colors. I’d like to think that as Katara develops and explores her feelings for Aang, Aang’s color palette changes slightly. It goes from being red and yellow in the beginning when Katara didn’t know she had feelings quite yet, to eventually shifting to orange when we see her feelings start to fully become clear. I thought this was a super interesting detail and despite it being a bit far of a stretch, I think it must have been planned. If you consider the time when we see Katara start to develop feelings, it’s about the same time that Aang’s outfit choice shifts to orange. Of course, this piece of evidence is mostly based on my personal observation and knowledge of color theory, but it’s a detail that I personally found super compelling.

Kataang also works because of the extremely well executed communication and dialogue that happens between them. There are multiple different examples throughout the series and as their character’s develop, we’re able to see a beautifully efficient and respectful form of communication between them. We see Aang clearly express his feelings of anxiety to Katara, and in return, Katara is able to help him and offer advice on what he’s feeling. Katara also is able to confide in Aang in return and oftentimes he’s the one that she’s most comfortable being vulnerable in front of. We see her almost mother Aang alongside Sokka in the first season, but her relationship with him changes and shifts to one where both her and Aang feel comfortable and contribute and receive equal care from each other.

One issue in particular also comes to mind when talking about this ship, and that is the issue of boundaries. Counter arguments against Kataang often bring up one scene in particular, specifically in the Ember island players episode about halfway through when Katara confronts Aang on the balcony. (S3, episode 15, the Ember Island Players) Episode Aang is understandably upset with the way that he and specifically he and Katara’s relationship is portrayed in the play. He obviously has feelings for her and at that point we know that Katara also has feelings from a few episodes prior when they kiss before the invasion. That kiss was mutual, and she kissed him back, meaning that from that point on, both of their feelings towards each other are very clear. The night of the play on the balcony, Aang does cross a boundary that had been established. The kiss before the invasion made sense, and Katara didn’t do anything to stop him from doing it, and Aang had her consent in this case. Aang’s kiss on the balcony was a mistake, and in this case it was uncalled for, but many people misread Katara’s feelings of confusion. When Katara mentions being confused, she’s not saying she’s confused about her feelings for Aang. Since season one, we’ve seen her show multiple forms of affection towards Aang, and not only that, she was usually the one initiating the many hugs, cheek kisses, etc.

She’s not confused about how she feels about Aang. She’s confused about the timing and if it’s a good idea or not. (Some points taken from, but not directly quoted from, Amanda Castrillo (@theamanda2d) “A Case for Kataang Part 7: The Camelephant in the room)

Regarding the consent for the kiss, yes. That was Aang’s mistake. He’s human, and he did mess up there. But his intentions weren’t meant to harm anyone. He, like so many of us watching at home, read Katara’s confusion to be about him, and wanted to see what she really felt. Afterwards, he knows he messed up, and feels bad about it. “...[Aang’s] very self aware. He knows how he feels about Katara, and he’s said it multiple times...Aang is human. He f***s up. He says the wrong thing. He makes mistakes. And he was just as confused as Katara at this moment.” (Amanda Castrillo, (@theamanda2d) “A Case for Kataang Part Seven: The Camelephant in the room)

Lasty, I want to acknowledge the visual and audio parallels portrayed in the show and how they can effectively work towards supporting Kataang. If you observe the angles at which characters are shown as well as the framing, it visually sets up and can represent how two characters feel about one another. First let’s consider the framing of a scene from the very first episode after Katara breaks Aang out from the ice. Aang is lying down and katara is directly positioned above him. When he wakes up from being trapped in an iceberg for 100 years, her face is the first that he sees.

This positioning and framing is shown multiple more times throughout the series, establishing their strong connection. So is this one:

(For a better visual reference please see Amanda Castrillo’s video “A Case for Kataang Part Four: Parallels) “Its built up and set up for us time and time again. Their interactions aren’t framed like that for no reason. Scene framing matters.” (Amanda Castrillo, “A case for Kataang Part Four: Parallels.”

There’s also the fact of the score and what specific music points to what character or what mood the creators were trying to enforce with the music. Avatar’s score is genius and every song and note was hand crafted to set the tone for each scene and help explain what’s happening. (This is one of the many reasons Avatar would translate well to be a musical or even a ballet. Post/informal rant on this later to come.) There are many great examples, like how Azula is represented by a clash of chords, (To quote my previous post: “I love how Azula is just represented by a pair of clashing chords and when you hear it you know that she’s about to f*** s*** up.”) or that Aang has a lively flute melody that plays when he gets really happy/excited, but perhaps the best example of the use of music in the franchise is the use of the “Avatar’s Love Theme.” It’s my personal favorite song from the show, and it’s used extremely effectively and efficiently throughout the show to provide a very specific and recognisable feeling: romantic love. When you hear it play, Aang is ALWAYS with Katara. Go back and listen to the times where it plays, and it’s always when he and Katara share a special moment together. We only hear part of the melody for the majority of the series, but in the final episode, right towards the end when Aang and Katara are left alone on the balcony looking above the city by themselves, we hear it play again, and this time, we hear all of it. The kiss between them also happens right at the crescendo and peak of the music, emphasizing and establishing that Aang and Katara are officially canon. The music plays a huge part in this story, and all musical elements as well as visual point to Aang and Katara being a team, and not just that, but a romantic couple.

In conclusion, Aang and Katara are a couple that was meant to happen. Throughout the series, their love is shown through their undeniable chemistry, complementary characters and personality, and the visual and musical elements set up for us within the show. Aang and Katara love eachother very much, and although their feelings were often being confused by looming threats to their lives or tainted by the war they were both fighting, in the end they’re able to fully and completely allow themselves to love each other. Despite their romantic love, they are ultimately friends before they are lovers, and don’t rely on a spark of passion to be able to keep their love for one another burning. They love each other wholly and in so many different ways, and that my friends, is why Kataang works and will always work.

#avatar: tla #kataang #katara #aang #atla

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ariyadaivaris · 4 years ago

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- christ i hate smug mma dudes more than anything on this earth. you're a man doing mma what do you have to be excited about? washing out of ufc and having to resort to a dying professional wrestling company? the systematic oppression of women? the paul brothers? i'm putting nails in your shoes

- the rare and coveted tshirt ariya. phwew he's really uh. he's very. twirls hair. he's kinda

- ariya using a rose metaphor for himself teehee i love being very smart and always right about everything

- "i guess you don't think tony can do it on his own aye" is soooooo so so far from anything that has ever happened between tony and ariya that it's LAUGHABLE. ariya deserves to laugh in his face. cringe and fail broadway-musical-rock-of-ages-male-lead-understudy looking little man. no i'm gonna argue with the kayfabe enemy actually the WHOLE THING up to this point has been ariya trying to prove himself and the subtle tension of tony becoming champion where ariya never has, the only the ONLY time ariya has ever not believed in tony is when he had a full on spiral breakdown towards the beginning of the year when they were questioning splitting them up again for some fucking reason and then it got retconned because DUHHHHHH why would you ever split tony and ariya up just for fun or a giggle when they;ve got the most complex relationship on 205 if you re*you walk away knowing all of this already because you have heard this every week for the last three years but you can still hear me talking in the distance, talking and talking though no one is there...*

- obsessed with this promo actually...ariya's mannerisms are so good he's SO...FUN. i LOVE watching him. he is so self-assured and so charming and there is so obviously so much frustration buried like, an INCH deep beneath all of it. it takes grey pushing him ONCE for him to lose his verve. im SO interested in this

- the thread here is, of course, "you think tony can't do it on his own?" which, as i've stated, is so far from true or what ariya thinks that it's comic. when ariya spits, "of COURSE tony nese can do it on his own", there are a lot of factors at play. when he concedes that maybe instead of going out there, he WILL stay backstage, there's a lot going on there!!! there IS!!! *voice of an unwell person* there IS a lot going on - tony doesn't need to prove he can do it on his own, because he already has. ariya's storyline...like i mentioned, he had a weird moment at the beginning of the year, when it seemed like maybe he and tony were going to be split up. that was very much a moment of "okay the writing might change so it's time to set something up" of course but i think it's interesting to think about as a character impulse. ariya is working to prove he can do things on his own. this has BEEN his thing. he and tony are a team again, but ariya's tried to win with other teams and he's tried to win alone, and though he's successful more often than 205 would have you believe, he's still very shaky. tony has been allowed to work outside of the orbit of other people, and ariya hasn't gotten that chance as much. and, besides that, tony doesn't CARE about it in the same way ariya does. tony...when he gets intense, it's about interpersonal stuff. drew, buddy, cedric, akira, swerve. tony competes with people! ariya competes with himself. does that make sense. i know what i mean. its fine ariya...is on edge. he likes tony and he likes working with tony, but he hasn't been a competitor like tony is. tony's been very accomodating, stepping back or supporting ariya's feuds and allowing him to do What He Needs To Do, which means ariya can try to work alone without going completely rogue and sabotaging shit. when he tried to cut himself off from tony, it was...well it was retconned. but. that's what he's done before and this time it didn't work because ONE it's just tony and ariya, there's no exacerbating force, and TWO, tony and ariya are, after all, friends. tony wants to be friends with ariya and it is hard work to be friends with ariya but he will do it. so they work it out. and ariya is left feeling very very weird about it, and very very aware of how much he kind of depends on tony, when tony doesn't depend on him, at all. ariya tries to protect tony and gas him up and keep an eye on him to make up for All That He's Done Before and to feel like this friendship is two-sided (which it is, of course, friendship is more than a strategic advantage but that's how ariya's always approached it and it's a hard habit to break), but he doesn't have the wins to back up the feeling of being Worth It as a friend. it's...i feel like i just sound out of my gourd saying all of this lol and i am. but when ariya bitterly says, "of course tony nese can do it on his own." it's not just the anger at grey being a dickhead towards tony. it's also ariya being painfully aware that tony can do it without ariya's help. there's a threat in that statement, that question that doesn't need to be asked. there's an irony to it. its...think about it this way: if tony was talking to grey about watching ariya's match, grey wouldn't snark about if tony thought ariya could do it. you know?

- that doesnt make sense. whatever <3 im free

- wow love seeing kushida defending the title. imagine if that happened.....on.......205 live

- ariya literally getting successfully talked out of watching tony's match because he wants to show he believes in tony :( i'm hurt...i'm so hurt. so fucked up and twisted. by GREY too, ariya has kind of a BIT with grey huh. him cheating to pin ariya and then going noooo cheating is wrong against all other opponents. the way grey is super hypocritical and shitty to him and then to no one else. ariya almost respecting him for what ariya understands as Someone Who Gets It and then revealing oh no i just really don't like you and want to piss you off. this one dude who keeps targetting ariya specifically in all the ways that most drive ariya into a frenzy and he managed to hit him where it hurts the most enough to drive him into hiding. oughhhh aughhhh - everyone on 205 being a hater for no reason and seeing ariya trying to deal with his Issues(TM): hm. i can make him worse

- SUNFLOWER JACKET!!!!!!!! SUNFLOWER JIRO. PRECIOUS AND BELOVED. KING AMONG ALL CRUISERWEIGHTS. I DONT KNOW WHO ARIYA IS

- the exaggerated "BOO!""YAY!" cheers for jiro. who am i to say he doesn't deserve them. he DOES. we LOVE jiro. jiro is allowed to homewreck gold standard if he wants to i'll pretend not to see

- UNBREAKABLE!! AUGHHH HE'S SO COOL AND FUN AND HIS MIND IS SIMPLY BEAUTIFUL. jiro has such a fucking bonkers sense of like...dragging a move out. that man can MAKE a sequence! he gets the upper hand and he holds onto it for ages and the entire time its never dull. always with the momentum! always with the visualization of everything around him and how to make it into a show. i just simply think that jiro kuroshio

- HE'S DYINGGGGGGG NOOOOOOOO JIRO. TONY NESE YOU'RE A DEAD MAN. he looks great at this angle though love you weirdo. oh NO your jacket is NOT cool enough to pull this off fkshsdskd - jiro injecting some MUCH needed humor back into 205 thank you so much

- tony's stupid joth uniform next to jiro's sunflower pattern is SO good. fuckin goth v prep diagram dynamic. creamsicle blogging moments

- OH I LOVE A GOOD PIN. we LOVE a good pin don't we. that kick to tony on the apron ROCKS

- clearly you don't own an air fryer...

- OH HIS FORM IS FUCKING UNREAL. WHAT THE HELL!!!!!!!!!! JIRO KUROSHIO BABEY

- i REALLY like this match. this is 205 to me

- IS THAT A 205 CHANT??? IS THAT A 205 CHANT I HEAR??? OH????? WORM????? ITS BEEN LIFETIMES....................

- ooohohohoohohHOOO tony's recovery from the moonsault. that was. dare i say. Epic

- JIROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- jiro treating mister nese like a little football. sorry anthony. perhaps you should just be cooler <3

- THAT WAS SO FUN......what a meaty episode this week. harkens back to 205 of old.............i love it. im loving this energy. jiro kuroshio you are going to save 205 i believe it

#205 lb #meta tag #long post -#sorry

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shhhlikeme · 5 years ago

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“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #6

———————————

A/N: 1 word, 5 letters: D R A M A

Pls peep the vote at the end! I know there are not very many of you who read this so I want to make it enjoyable for y’all 🥰 it’s sooo important to me that I write what makes me happy

OUTTAKE 5 WAS POSTED HOURS BEFORE THIS ONE SO CHECK IT !

‼️THIS IS THE 10TH PART IN A SERIES READ THE OTHER PARTS BEFORE THIS ONE: ‼️

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

Hours After You Noticed Aone For The First Time And Had Lunch Together! 🤫🥩

With a very discreet bounce in his step, Aone Takanobu walked into the Date Tech boys volleyball team changeroom after exchanging numbers with you after school.

“AONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Upon entrance, the entire team jumped him, tackling him to the ground while shouting praise and acclamations of joy loudly!

Aone was actually grinning, shoving the boys off of him to pretend that he was annoyed.

But anyone could tell that this mountain man was on cloud 9!!!!

Futakuchi reached out his hand to help Aone up and the mountain man took it. They shared a look that only Aone knew meant his best friend was happy for him. Proud of him.

Actually, Kenji’s look was one of happiness and pride, yes, but it was also full of nerves for his friend’s potential heartbreak. But Aone was too overjoyed inside to pick up on that.

“So Y/N finally knows your name!” Koganegawa yelled as he jumped on Aone’s back.

Shrugging the big boned setter off, Aone blushed. He has never been happier in his entire life and it was kind of embarrassing that the whole team knew why that was.

“I’m very happy.” Aone nodded at his team who smiled brilliantly back at him. “But please, do not get your hopes up. I’m trying with everything in me not to get mine up, in case Y/N decides she doesn’t like me. She and I are just going to start talking for now. And for that I am grateful.” Stomach in knots, Aone bowed to his team in thanks for all the encouragement and praise.

“But Aone-senpai, Y/N asked you to lunch! We all watched you guys, she looked ecstatic talking to you and she even glared at these other girls in the hallway because they were checking you out!”

Aone’s heart dropped. “She did?”

Kenji smiled, patting him on the back. “Saw it with my own eyes too, big guy.”

Aone felt like he was so happy he could sing, but he knew how odd that would look coming from such a big and serious guy like himself.

“Oh. Well... that’s quite nice.”

What a turn of events! This morning, Aone was going through another day with a heavy heart because the love of his life would never like him back. Then, it only took him defending you against the class snitch for everything to change......

✏️ Earlier That Day ✏️

Aone was sitting in class like any other day, doing his work, listening to the teacher intermittently and your daily conversation with your friends. The teacher excused himself to run a club errand for 20 minutes, trusting the class to stay quiet and complete their homework. Like most typical high school classes, the volume raised as soon as the teacher stepped out. Aone glanced over at your talkative self for the 15th time that period and noticed how much you were glowing because your team had returned last night placing second at Regionals. You looked radiant, absolutely stunning with your brighter smile and louder angelic laugh.

In Mountain Man’s daydream, he imagined telling you that you looked beautiful today followed by a congratulations for placing second. You would rush over to him and kiss him in thanks then start ripping his clothes off so that you could—

“Y/N! I am sick and tired of you and the rest of the popular kids not listening to the teachers instructions! What part of ‘stay quiet’ is hard to understand in that pea brain of yours!?!??!”

To Aone’s left, sitting in his row, he looked for the yelling voice. It was who everyone (except Aone) called ‘the class snitch’ and school mascot: Tsume Lian.

Also known as Y/N’s arch nemesis.

Seating looks like:

Y/N glared at him.

“Tsume, no one was talking to you.”

“I know that, dork!” He fumed. “BECAUSE WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE TALKING! I’m trying to do my homework as asked, and you and the popular crowd just ignore everything the teacher says and it’s disgusting! I’m tired of it! I want you expelled!”

Aone noticed Y/N’s startled expression at the prospect of being expelled, because he knew from overhearing your conversations that your parents were this close to sending you to Seijoh to get your grades up and live on campus there. According to your gossip last week, if you failed another class or got another complaint from a teacher then your parents would under no circumstances allow you to cheer again.

Aone clenched his fists tightly around his pencil because he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing Motomu or Kindaichi drooling over you at his enemy school.

One of Y/N’s friends who Aone knew as Kusa, spoke up in defence of Y/N. “Oh shut it, Tsume. Us chatting isn’t bothering anyone else.”

“I don’t care! You cheerleaders think you can do anything you want and that’s that!! YOU WILL face repercussions if I can help it!”

Kusa feigned fear. She turned her entire body toward him in her seat, meaning business. A bitch had time today.

The entire class gave this drama all of their undivided attention when they witnessed that move, ready for the show like:

“Oh yeah?! And why are you just snapping about this now, huh? Why not before?” Kusa snapped. You put a hand on your friends arm, silently trying to tell her he isn’t worth her energy.

“Because I realized just how selfish, inconsiderate, and deplorable you good-looking, popular women are! You don’t deserve to be bowed down to like I thought! You should be treated like everybody else!”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N interjected. “No one treats us like that. Even if they did, we don’t ask them to nor do we ask to be popular and we especially don’t ask for special treatment, Lian. Why are you so mad??? Get your life.”

COLLECT HIMMMMMM 👏🏾👏🏾

Aone smirked to himself. In all his years of crushing on you he has never seen you look so fierce and he too put his pencil down to enjoy what was a different and fiery side of his crush. It made him want to fuck the shit out of you, you looked so sexy. Aone found he liked every side of you.

“I did have a life. I was a mascot and—“

“—And you were spending too much time looking up our SKIRTS instead of hyping up a CROWD, making the first years uncomfortable and borderline stalking Y/N so badly she asked that we terminate you! You are lucky she kept that to herself for so long! 🤬 And THAT’S why you’re mad!”

The class collectively gasped. Some whipped their phones out to snapchat the gossip. Aone widened his eyes in silence, since he was in between, he was looking back and forth at the fight like a tennis match.

Hahahaha 🎾

Live footage of the classes reaction when Kusa READ TSUME FOR FILTH:

Tsume went red with anger, but anyone could tell that he was guilty guilty guilty !!!!

“When the teacher returns, I’m telling him and the principal the truth that you Y/N are a bully and you constantly disrupt the class! Who do you think they’re going to believe?! Their best student? Or their worst?! Say hi to AobaJohsai summer school for me!”

You frowned, scared out of your mind because Lian was right. The teacher’s believed everything he had to say and ever since you exposed him for sending you creepy messages and inappropriate pictures from a fake account that you knew was his, the class snitch has had it out for you. Even if the cheerleaders had your back, your parents would just think they are trying to protect you and never believe it! Tsume Lian was smart and dead set on planning your demise. It was unfair. You wanted to cry. Kusa whispered something to you in encouragement but you could feel the back of your eyes warming due to impending tears.

Meanwhile, with Mountain Man - Today was a day of firsts in his ‘Crushing on Y/N’ book. It was the first time he’s ever seen you glowing because of the Regional results, it was the first time he’s ever seen you so sassy, and now............. Aone notes that today is also the first time he’s ever seen you on the verge of tears before.

Unlike your glowing and your sassiness, Aone decided that he hated the last first more than anything in the world.

It consumed his emotions, how badly he didn’t want to see you cry.

“You really are slimy, Tsume. Wait until Katana hears this.” Kusa spat, rubbing her hand up and down Y/N’s back to soothe you as you willed your tears not to fall.

Seeing you so sad, Aone’s heart clenched.

He knew what it was like to be hurting but he never ever wanted that for you—not ever.

“Hey Y/N-chan, why don’t you show me that video your mom got of our reaction to us placing second yesterday?? I’d love to see it.” Kusa has accurately distracted you because she texted Katana what was happening and Katana knew just what to do until she got there.

You smiled, thinking about the overwhelming happiness from yesterday when your team placed second. You whipped out your phone and showed Kusa, smiling and giggling in a matter of seconds as it played.

Aone was glad you seemed good.

He turned to look at Tsume, who seemed to be raging inside. Shooting daggers at the two cheerleaders because they weren’t crumbling under his threats. They were laughing, in fact. Ignoring him as if he didn’t matter. Aone could tell Tsume was a ticking time bomb with how mad he was. His anger toward you looked severely unhealthy.

You let out a rather amusing laugh with Kusa as you two pointed to your screen and Aone’s heart skipped a beat because he loved that laugh so much. God, he is so fucking whipped.

When you laughed like that though, it sent perverted-snitch Tsume over the edge, bubbling over in anger like a piping hot kettle.

Aone watched him with studious eyes as Tsume took a deep breath to say something else that Aone was sure would stop your harmonious laughter that he adored......

“Y/N—“ Tsume started, but without warning, THE AONE TAKANOBU, DATE TECH MIDDLE BLOCKER, OUR MOUNTAIN MAN, interrupted him! Stopping all speech in the class with his simple, deep-voiced command:

“Leave her be. She’s having fun.”

The class:

The class went silent because they’d never really heard Aone’s voice before. :S

Still riled up, the class snitch took one look beside him (he was too distracted before) as to locate the voice. Once his eyes set on the verrrry muscular and verrrry mountainous man sitting between him and Y/N, he decided it would be smart to not be riled up anymore. A drop of sweat leaving his hairline, Lian scanned Aone’s gigantic body with his eyes, seeing that the volleyball player just barely fit in his desk—he gulped.

Aone had a relaxed expression, meaning to say what he said nonchalantly, but one needs to remember that Aone’s relaxed expression looks like this:

Needless to say, the ex-mascot almost pissed himself.

Is that Y/N’s b-b-boyfriend now? Tsume wondered to himself in panic as several more drops of sweat ran down his face.

“O-o-ok-o-o-oka-okay-y....” Tsume stuttered out as he turned back to his school work.

Five minutes later when the teacher came in, Tsume had nothing to say. He only had a sweat damped stack of homework to give him before he fled, not waiting for the bell of dismissal.

Did I frightened him? Aone thought.

He didn’t mean to. Sincerely. He was as gentle as giants come (except in bed if you rile him up enough or when someone is bothering you).

The class went back to normal and Aone continued working too.

But one person didn’t—no, couldn’t go back to normal:

You.

You sat in your seat still slack jawed because someone you didn’t know came to your rescue and quite possibly single handedly stopped your expulsion. How have you not noticed him before?! He is gorgeous!

Tall, muscular, handsome. Shiny white hair, beautiful lips. And he came to your defence.

In your opinion , he was a FINEASS mountain man! 🏔🤤

Yes ma’am!!!!

Anyway, while everyone was talking, working and minding their own business—including Aone—you slid out of your desk and bounced over to his happily.

“Hi! Thanks so much for defending me a little while ago!”

Bitch, this was you: ☺️😊😄

lost ass

Aone raised his head to look at you, jumping back slightly because he never even heard you approach. He stared up at you with a heart that stopped beating, absolutely speechless.

WHAT IS HAPPENING? He thought. YOU WERE TALKING................TO HIM? You were NOTICING..............HIM?!

😱😳🤯

You reached over to touch the handsome giant’s arm in his sweater, smiling at him endearingly.

“I’m Y/N! It’s nice to meet you!”

yeah you lost af, bitch 😐

Aone wanted to say something, he did. But he was just too shocked that the girl he thinks about nonstop, the girl he wishes was his, the girl he just had a wet dream about last night, was talking to him and only him for the first time.

Unexpectedly!

Takanobu always thought you two would first speak because of Futakuchi or the teacher but not because of him.

Aone couldn’t fathom the fact that HE made this happen! HE was the reason you were over here!

Aone: 🤯🤯🤯

It was ALL. TOO. MUCH.

He couldn’t speak.

You removed your hand from his arm, silently chastising yourself because you shouldn’t touch people without permission.

Not that Aone minded. That boy would want you to touch him anywhere, on anyday, at anytime that pleased you.

“Sorry.” You looked down shyly, then met his serious expression again, wanting to be sure he knew how grateful you were for his help.

“Um.... you probably don’t know this but you getting that pervert to leave me alone is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. And you did it for a stranger like me, no less.”

A/N: RUB IT IN THAT YOU DONT KNOW THE MAN MORE, WHY DONT YOU ?! 🤬

You tucked your hair behind you ear while holding his gaze. Aone could only nod because his throat was dry. You looked so incredibly perfect up-close and he wanted to make sure he remembered this. He just couldn’t speak.

Feeling a little awkward now because you just tried starting a conversation with this FINEASS classmate of yours to only get a nod in return, you laughed timidly.

“Okay, well I guess I’ll...” you turned on your heels so you could make your way back to your desk with your L. “....see you later.” You finished, telling him over your shoulder.

Much like when he defended you against Tsume, Aone didn’t know what came over him then: maybe it was all the memories of him feeling heartbroken that you’d never notice him or return his feelings—maybe it was the promise he made that he would do something toward pursuing you if you would just notice him first—or maybe is was because his best friend Kenji would have his HEAD if Aone told him he let you walk away right now without trying....... after TWO YEARS.........that compelled him to respond to your “see you later” bravely, FINALLY UTTERING WORDS TO YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE:

“When?”

^Asked Aone, just as you were walking away from him.

You stilled, feeling excitement in your body because he answered. You spun around and jumped back in front of his desk. You gave him a questioning look.

You responded, “When, what?”

Even though he was melting under your attention, Aone couldn’t give up now. He had to shoot his shot. This may be his only chance.

“When is later?” He elaborated.

Huh? You thought.

You blinked at the stunning classmate. What is he—OH, does he mean.....

“As in...when will I see you again?”

Aone nodded at you, holding his breath.

You massaged your chin, thinking 🤔.

You can admit you wanted to know more about this gorgeous man who came to your rescue. There was something about him that made you feel safe and warm. You couldn’t quite place it. You’ve never wanted to spend time with anyone outside of cheerleading more than this guy—so you owed it to yourself to explore that small feeling, right?

“Okay. Well, how about now? Lunch is after this period. Would you want to have it with me?!” You asked cheerily.

Though he didn’t show it, inside, fireworks went off in Aone’s mind, heart, and stomach...!

Actual footage:

Aone nodded quickly. Way too quickly for someone who did not want to come across as the most eager beaver in the world.

But he was...... and you noticed. It made you smile.

“Okay. So when the bell rings you can walk me to my locker and I’ll put away my stuff, then we’ll go to yours....then we can go head to lunch together. Sound good?”

Aone nodded quickly again!

You gave him the big smile that made him become a simp for you in the first place and you took your seat again.

Takanobu was so excited he literally almost stood up to spin the hand clock that hung up beside the door himself so that time could go by faster. He couldn’t even move to text Kenji because he knew his hands would shake.

He just sat there, his mind whirling mad until the bell finally rang. You said bye to Kusa and watched as this blonde hottie stood up from his seat, towering over you.

God, he was so freaking HOT! You wanted to jump him.

At the same time students filed out of the class, Aone turned to you as he collected his things then slung his bag over his shoulder.

“May I carry your books for you, Y/N?” Mountain man asked sheepishly in his stern voice.

Your heart fluttered by how cute and sweet he was to ask!

“Umm, sure! Thank you so much!” You smiled and handed your heavy books over.

You two walked beside eachother and Aone held the door open for you. You didn’t know why he was being so nice but you couldn’t lie that you felt very charmed.

“Y/N.”

You looked up at the handsome giant with curious eyes after he called your name.

“My name is Aone Takanobu by the way. You introduced yourself before, but I did not answer. I’m sorry. Either way, I knew who you were already. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Your smiled widened as you bounced on your feet while walking. “Very nice to meet you too, Aone Takanobu. I’ve actually heard of you before.”

Aone’s eyes lit up like 👀

“Wait r-really?”

Omg precious bby 🥺🥺🥺

“Yes. At a cheerleading sleepover. All good things, don’t worry. It’s just funny because I said that night how hopefully I’ll meet you and now here we are!”

Aone chuckled as he held open another door for you. When he did and you two walked down another hall, he caught sight of two very conspicuous volleyball players (one looked eerily like Justin Bieber, the other looked big boned) hugging eachother and slumping down to the ground at the sight of you and Aone. Aone rolled his eyes, thinking that they were lucky you never noticed your surroundings.

“Here we are.” Aone repeated, shooting a secret thumbs up at his friends who were on the verge of crying.

***

Nearing the end of an enjoyable lunch for both of you where you spoke a lot and Aone listened with heart eyes: he pulled your chair out for you, he was responding, he was chuckling, and overall hanging onto your every word, never wanting your time together to end. You became rather smitten.

***

“The bell is gonna ring soon, Aone. I just want to thank you again for buying my lunch and spending this time with me! I know it was super random!”

Aone got lost in your eyes as you said his name, because he’s never taken a moment to analyze how nice it could sound if it was caressed by your voice. Also, he’s never heard his name said by someone so beautiful (when it wasn’t being said in a question). He was BATHING in joy.

Although Aone didn’t answer and he’s maintained his stoic expression the entire lunch, deep down you felt that this man had a thing for you. He was very intense so it was quite obvious. But since you enjoyed the lunch so much and you were starting to have a thing for him, too, you wanted to confirm:

“Also, Aone-san, I’m happy to know that you can say more than 4 words 😲! I asked my friend earlier and she said you basically never speak.” You exclaimed, fishing.

Aone smirked, feeling the need to defend himself on that front. “It is true that that is the consensus of the majority of people who come in contact with me. However, that is because there exists few people, that I feel inclined to speak to.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Your eyes twinkled at his words. He looked like a jock but sounded so eloquent! You loved it:

“Oh wow well you spoke a lot to me today so I guess I must be a little special then, huh.......?” You twirled your hair around your index finger as you asked, causing Aone to almost drool.

listen, you...kind of..... wanted mountain man.

And you were only flirting minimally okay.....minimally, so don’t judge

You just wanted to know if your suspicions were right that he had a little crush on you or if he saw you as a friend

Aone looked down at you, thinking of a way to respond to you asking if you were special to him.

A/N: 😣🤞🏾AONE DONT CREEPY 😣🤞🏾DONT BE CREEPY 😣🤞🏾DON’T BE CREEPY 😣🤞🏾

“This is our first time speaking. So I am not entirely sure if you’re special yet...” He started.

You quirked your eyebrow attractively, anticipating how he would end that sentence.

“...But I hope that even after this lunch ends I can take you out again a few more times, Y/N-chan—somewhere nice and off-campus, perhaps—so that I can truly decipher whether you are or not.”

You quirked your eyebrow even higher, impressed by the smooth way he told you he wants to keep seeing you!

WELL SIS HES ONLY HAD 2 YEARS OF PRACTICE I MEAN—

“I’d love to.” You accepted, making Aone smile.

He was absolutely stunning when he smiled, it was almost unfair.

The bell rang.

“Mind walking me back to my locker, Aone?”

Aone stood on internally shaky legs that he willed to be normal. “Of course.” He took both yours and his tray and dumped it out before escorting you out of the cafeteria.

✏️ Back in the Locker Room ✏️

“We are happy for you, Aone.” Kenji patted his large friend on the back.

“I had your voice in the back of my mind, Kenji-san. I owe this happiness to you and your support. I know you’re worried that I’ll get my heart broken and be crushed but I’m thankful for you supporting me anyway. You will forever be my brother.”

———————————

Taglist: @crushzone @galagcica

Outtake #7: CLICK HERE

THE VOTE! ☑️

Upcoming outtakes (NSFW):

Losty Aone answering Kenji’s call while you’re having sex. He told you to please wait but...um....no. Hang up, buddy 😈

When you tease poor Losty Aone during class and make him want to f*ck you hard

You telling Aone that you’re horny before his game knowing you’d be cheering next to him the whole time being suggestive

Sending Aone a nude for the first time

First Kiss (In which Aone gets his first urge)

Discovering Aone’s ear kissing kink

Upcoming Fluff outtakes:

Aone on your first birthday as a couple

The official confession

Aone Embarrassingly telling Y/N about the things he did when he was crushing on you :/ (cupcake, donation, wet dreams, hoping to be your tutor, etc!)

When Aone fills in at one of your cheer practices!

Aone having to save you from your annoying admirers

Send me an ask/message/comment below with the number(s) of the outtake you really want me to write and the ones with votes will be done

Say “Losty Aone Story nsfw number ___” or “Losty Aone Story fluff number ___”

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human-trash-fire · 5 years ago

Text

Shot Through The Heart: CH4

I couldn’t wait to share the next chapter, so you beautiful humans are getting it early! As always mad shout-outs to everyone who is following along/ RB/ liking this fic <3 I can’t tell you all how fucking grateful I am for all of you.

special thanks to @highqueenofelfhame for previewing the fic and making me feel like it’s worth it to write!

As always the fic is available in its entirety on ao3 glam_reaper2

** IMPORTANT NOTE: The header image is 100% what Rowan imagines when she takes a shot even though it definitely didn’t go down that way.**

******************************************************************************** Aelin:

Two weeks had come and gone since she had hauled the giant box full of goodies to the post office. Fenrys told her that mail was always delayed but that he was both excited and grateful they had sent them something. She made him promise two things: one, he wouldn’t tell the rest of the cadre that a package was coming. Aelin knew that they mentioned sending the boys something, but she didn’t want them to know when. And two, they had to open their care packages ‘Yulemas style’ all sitting around, on Skype, so Lys, Elide and her could watch their faces/ get a chance to finally talk to them face to face.

During those two weeks they continued their flirty conversation when he wasn’t on mission and away from his phone. She woke up nearly every morning to a text, and fell asleep texting him each night. After the first few days they had moved their conversation off twitter, they iMessaged back and forth and had exchanged Snapchat information so they could send each-other little videos and such. Talking to Fenrys was comfortable. He found a way to brighten almost any situation, and she found that anytime she was irritated recently he could always cheer her up. She kept most of her past private, and though he volunteered more intimate details of his life he never pushed her to share hers. It was nice, if she was being honest, even if this went absolutely no where she was so glad to have met him.

Fenrys told her stories about his friends too, Aelin got the impression that he was kind of like their glue. He was the youngest at 27 (apparently Connall was born 3 minutes earlier and had lorded that fact over him for as long as he could remember). Vaughn and Gavriel were both 28, Rowan was 29, and Lorcan (Elide’s new project) was 30. He and Connall had enlisted when they were 18, they attended training in Perranth and ended up qualifying for special forces at an unheard of 19. That’s when they met the others, the Cadre. Aelin laughed so hard when she found out that’s what they’re known as in the military world, she had thought she was just being cheeky when she’d called them so in their video. That’s also how Connall had met Vaughn. Apparently, he spent 4 years pining after him.

>> So how did they end up together?

<< It was so obvious they were into each other but too ‘bro’ to say anything. Worried about “team dynamic” or whatever, because Gods know we didn’t give a shit if they’re together. Then one day we’re taking shots at a bar, Con is talking to some dude, I think he was honestly trying to get over his feelings. Vaughn sees this and gets mad jealous, slams a double shot of Johnny Walker, mutters ‘fuck it’ and storms right up to them. He grabs other dude by the shoulder, shoved him out of the way, and right as Con was about to say something he kissed him. We cheered, we all got entirely too drunk, and now here we are! It’s been 4 years and I’m so happy for them.

>> That’s fucking amazing, and honestly romantic! <3

The Cadre as it stood now had been the most elite team for 8 years, running blackops around the world. And tonight was the night she and the girls would get to talk to them for the first time. Aelin was so excited she could barely contain it, there was nothing more fulfilling than giving someone a gift in her opinion.

*********************************************************

Rowan:

They finally had some down time. Command had promised them 2 days, which was more time than Rowan had expected. They’d been running themselves ragged ever since they discovered Maeve was in country. There was talk about an intel operative gathering more information on her plan, but so far they hadn’t gotten the call Rowan had waited 5 years for. He wanted a green light. He wanted her dead. He was stuck waiting on orders, and had spent 2 weeks seething while they ran, in his opinion, bullshit missions up and down the sector.

It had also been two weeks since Rowan had woken up to two instagram notifications. He had, in all honesty, forgotten he had the app. Work was his life, and he was never big on social media, but there they were. It was 0330 and he reached over, seeing the notifications he clicked and his jaw hit the floor. Aelin Galathynius had not only followed him but liked one of his pictures… The oldest picture there. What the fuck? He thought as he stared at her name right below the picture. This has to be an accident, but why would she be looking this far back? He didn’t really know how to feel about it. She was stunning, she was famous, and she was Fen’s date. She shouldn’t be liking his shit on instagram. She should even know who he was.

He clicked her name.

There were hundreds of pictures, her with her friend’s, her with her dog, her with nearly every famous young person in Orynth. There were red carpet photos and vacation photos, little videos from different movie sets and links to fundraisers for various social causes. He didn’t realize he’d been scrolling through them for so long until Fenrys yelled at him for sleeping in. He quickly shut down the app and hurried off.

For the next two weeks he found himself going back to her instagram more that any healthy person should. There was something about her eyes, there had always been something about her eyes, since the first time he saw her on screen. They swallowed him whole, it was like drowning in an ocean of fire and- what the hell is wrong with you? Get your shit together Whitethorn. He chided himself. His mind was all over the damn place. Fenrys, as expected, hadn’t kept to his “no talking about her ever again” end of the bargain. Being his spotter he was with him nearly 18 hours a day, the boy never shut up. Apparently they hadn’t stopped talking, and Rowan caught him sending stupid snapchats or typing furiously with a shit-eating grin on his face nearly ever moment they were back with their phones. Everytime his face lit up, or he said something like “Aelin was saying…” he found himself clenching his jaw. He had no idea why, he was happy for Fen, this was his dream come true.

Rowans jaw hurt.

*********************************

“Wash up boys, and try to look presentable, meet me in the office at 1700. Don’t fucking be late,” Fenrys said to them after training. It may be down time, but they all still met at the base gym for a few hours of PT in the afternoon.

“What the hell for?” Lorcan grumbled. Fenrys just winked and sauntered towards the showers.

1655 on the dot Rowan walked into the office, followed by Connall and Vaughn. The others were already there, Lorcan and Gavriel looking just as confused as he felt, and Fenrys with that insufferable grin plastered on his face. He had showered, brushed his hair, and put on possibly the tightest shirt he owned with a pair of black joggers. Rowan caught his eye and lifted a brow.

“Alright you grumpy bastards, grab a chair and come here,” Fenrys instructed while pointing towards the projector they used for movie nights. It had a camera attached to the top for more official calls with command, and they often used it to Skype their families back home. Skype was pulled up now, and they all found their seats in front of the screen. Rowan sitting towards the center chair that was left open for Fen. Vaughn and Connall had taken the two to his right while Lorcan and Gavriel brought up the other end.

Fen was dragging a giant box out from beneath his desk when the familiar ringing began to echo through the room. He immediately dropped it in front of his chair and scrambled to answer the call. “Hello gorgeous,” he purred as the image on the screen in front of them came into focus. Once again, the cadre was floored.

“Hello handsome,” Aelin winked. “Gentleman” she nodded to them all and stepped back. Alongside her sat Elide and Lysandra, smiling and waving at the screen. The men sat up a little straighter, and awkwardly waved back.

“Is it ready?” Aelin practically squealed.

“Yeah! Should I open it?” Fenrys asked, and Rowans attention shot back to the moving box in front of their chairs. No way, he thought. They had mentioned the possibility of sending them something but he didn’t honestly believe it would happen. Agreeing to come to the ball was already unbelievable, but a care package? The box was so big it easily could have fit a body.

“One second. Okay so Hi, I’m Aelin, obviously, and these are my girls.” She gestured beside her. “It’s so nice to officially get to talk to you all! We’ve heard so much about you from Fen.”

Fen, she says. Like they’re close. Rowan’s jaw clenched again. He shook his head and crossed his arms, then uncrossed them because he realized he probably looked rude. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and was so busy trying to look nonchalant he was startled when he heard his name.

“Whitethorn!” Fen yelled, it clearly wasn’t the first time he’d called for him. “Say hello to the women and try and remember your manners.”

“Oh,” he cleared his throat. “Hey... I’m Rowan.”

“We know,” Aelin smiled, and Rowan was momentarily stupid.

“Okay, as much fun as official introductions are, Fen can you open the box? Inside it are smaller boxes with each of your names. Enjoy!” Aelin chimed. As Fenrys ripped open the box Elide and Lysandra started asking each of them questions. At the same time Aelin reached past the camera to grab 3 shot glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker. Jealous Rowan thought. That was his favorite drink. Of course she would drink it, she looks like that, and shoots whiskey. Gods have mercy...

Fenrys passed him a large box, and when they each held their own he spoke again. “This is like Yulemas Ace, thank you! Can we just tear them open or do we go one at a time?” Ace? How adorable. Rowan’s eyes found Aelin’s again, and it felt like she was looking at him, but it was a giant screen and that was nonsense.

“Oh, tear in! Fen told us a little about each of you so we tried to go with things you might like. I hope we guessed right!” Aelin’s smile was like the sun, as he looked down to begin opening the package on his lap Rowan felt a rare smile grace his own lips in response. With a loud cracking noise 6 boxes popped open, and the room was filled with “NO WAY”s and “ THANK YOU”s as the cadre tore through their gifts.

On the top of each box was an Orynth Bane Jersey, they were all Ashryver jerseys (obviously) and stitched in the pro style. As he unfurled his he realised that the entire team had signed the jerseys for each of the men. He began shaking his head, this was already more than they could have ever asked for.

“The boys wanted to say thank you as well! Aideon and Ren got you all, and us, some front row, 50 yard line-” At that Elide made an unladylike snort, Aelin choked, and Lysandra glared. The Cadre was clearly missing something. Aelin cleared her throat in an attempt to recover, “50 yardline tickets. Whole VIP experience for the Adarlan game in November!” She finished, and that statement was met with cheers from all of them. The Bane was their favorite team, and while they had seen a couple games they never could have dreamt of what she was talking. Granted her cousin was the starting QB and “Ren” was his best running-back. This is insane he thought.

With the jersey, and tickets out of the way Rowan looked back into the box. Sitting right there was a bottle of Johnny Walker black label, 3 expensive cigars, a cutter, a lighter, and a shot glass that read “SSG Whitethorn reporting for Booty.” He didn’t know when he had started giggling like a school boy, but he was entirely sure he looked like an idiot.

He looked up with his shot glass in hand, and stared at the screen. The others still had their heads in their boxes, but he was looking at her. “Classic,” he wiggled the shot glass “Thank you so much Aelin.” She smiled a soft smile, and nodded.

He glanced around and saw his friends had all received a bottle of their favorite liquor as well, Connall and Vaughn were already lighting a cigar each while digging through the rest of their boxes. The smoke was sweet, and the room smelled of vanilla and burnt sugar. The girls were currently taking shots on skype and clapping when something new was unveiled or explaining why they included certain random things.

“Salvaterre!” Elide shouted. The tiny woman’s cheeks had begun to flush, she was clearly feeling the shots she had taken so far. Lorcan’s head shot up and she giggled, he sat up a little straighter, and she leaned into the camera. “There’s something a little special in there for you, you’ll know it when you see it. That’s from me. You’re welcome.” She winked and Rowan swore his friend blushed. The rest of the men had seen it too because everyone began laughing, and he made a note to try and figure out what exactly she’d sent that made him act that way.

The next thing he unpacked was a pair of super lush running shoes, Fenrys clearly had given all their shoe sizes to the women because he was holding a $200 pair of black sneakers. It was beyond too much but Aelin looked so excited when they all started trying them on, the desert ruined your shoes. The last items in the box were something else entirely. A small stuffed hawk sat in one corner, it wore a nametag: Buzzard. He raised it and an eyebrow to the screen and Aelin started laughing. “Buzzard?” he asked.

“Indeed sir. Can’t tell you why though, it’s a secret.” She slammed a shot back “You each got a little stuffed animal to keep you company on the long nights. Since you can’t have puppies in the desert apparently.” He shook his head laughing, this girl was too much. Next to where the Hawk had been laying was a wrapped package. He lifted it up and was about to tear it open when she half screamed, “WAIT! Okay so, wait. This is my favorite gift.” She had everyone’s attention now turned to him. Fenrys was laughing, apparently he knew what came next.

“Oooookayyyyyy.. I’m a little nervous,” Rowan admitted. He didn’t like the spotlight on him like this.

“Well here’s the thing, as you can see everyone got their favorite sweets,” she made a sweeping motion at the camera. “Candy is an important food group, but Fen said you don’t like sugar or something. Which by the way is blasphemous. Anyways, I asked what your favorite food was and he said-”

“MEAT ON A STICK!” The entire cadre chorused, along with all three women on screen. They were all laughing like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

“But I couldn’t send you a kabob, so I figured this would be the next best thing!!”

He tore open the package in his hands. Sitting there were 8 bags of beef jerky and a packet of skewers. He started laughing so hard, tears were streaming down his face, “Thank you!” he croaked between fits of laughter.

After the gifts were all opened, cigars were lit and shots were poured. The group drank and laughed for hours. At one point the girls started playing music on their end, and the Rowan found himself singing along with everyone to Bohemian Rhapsody and watching Aelin dance on her kitchen table. It was the lightest he’d felt in years. Lorcan and Elide had exchanged numbers and he could see the girl texting him from the screen. Connall and Vaughn were in the corner in matching jerseys kissing and dancing to the music on the speakers.

They eventually said their goodnight’s, and another round of heartfelt thank you’s. As Rowan half stumbled into his bed he found himself still smiling and holding the small stuffed Hawk that smelled of lavender and embers.

***************************************************************

TAG LIST <3

@http-itsrebecca

@highqueenofelfhame

@feyrethedarklady

@someonemagical

@thebitchupstairs

@over300books

@starseternalnighttriumphant

@musicmaam

@blueeyes425

@clockworkgraystairs

@nalgenewhore

@illyrianbeauty

@dazzlinghazee

@randomtogacotar22

@westofmoon

@forest-magic6

@nerdyclementine

@la7sorcellerie

@yikesitsmaddie

@tswaney17

@fourshizzle149

#stth au #tog fic #ao3fic #rowaelin fic

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crystaljins · 6 years ago

Text

When the ice melts

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 10.8K

Synopsis: They say never meet your heroes, and never has that been truer than when you meet your idol- former figure skater and two time Olympic athlete, Park Jimin. But maybe you can turn things around...

Sports!au (Figure skating) + prompt: “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Notes: Here is my entry for the btsboulangerie August prompt! I will say, the only things I know about figure skating is from hours of watching Yuzuru Hanyu skate and let’s be real, he inspired a lot of the plotline to this fic. Do yourself a favour and look up the following things on youtube before reading: Yuzuru Hanyu’s performance at the 2014 Cup of China, his performance to Notte Stellata, and Mao Asada’s performance to Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 2 (I can send you the links to all of these if you PM me ;).)

Huge shoutout to @yoongi-sugaglider for her inspiration and encouragement while writing this fic.

EDIT: Now with bonus drabble found here.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, bits of angst and fluff, a few scenes that a bit suggestive but not explicit, mentions of hooking up at a club.

You’re sceptical from the moment you set foot into the club.

“Are you sure he’s here, Jungkook?” You call out urgently to your friend, struggling to keep up with him amidst the mass of pulsating bodies. You’re surprised he hears you over the heavily thumping bass.

“This is the kind of place you’re always going to find Jimin in. At least since his accident, that is.” Jungkook answers ominously as he continues to plough carelessly forward. He is nowhere near as uneasy as you are in such a place. As he loves to remind you, he has actively engaged in a social life outside of the ice rink you spend most of your waking hours in. In fact, after high school he actually lost most of his interest in being on the ice, despite his former status as a talented and well-loved hockey player. Instead he now focuses his attention into his degree in sports science. He still works at the ice rink your father owns part time, however, and it was during one of his shifts that he let slip that he personally knew your hero and idol, Park Jimin.

It was that fact that had led you to your current location. Park Jimin, two-time Olympic gold medallist and possibly the most skilled and talented figure skater in the history of the sport, had dropped off the ice-skating radar just two years prior. Such a fact had not deterred you from viewing him with the adoration and eagerness that only a loyal fan could understand. And so, the revelation that your good friend Jungkook knew him personally could only have one possible outcome. You had demanded that he introduce you to your hero. You’ve been a fan of Jimin since his first gold medal win at the tender age of 16, while you had been a starry-eyed 12-year-old taking figure skating lessons in the ice rink your father owned. And after much pestering and begging, Jungkook finally agreed to arrange your meeting.

Had Jungkook more tact and emotional sensitivity, he may have possibly taken you aside and reminded you of the sobering fact: One should never meet one’s hero. He does no such thing, however, and you are so busy in your eager plotting of how you could ask Jimin to coach you that you don’t even pause to consider the fact that you might be disappointed.

As it stands, you nearly collide with Jungkook’s sturdy back when he halts without warning before a plush booth built into the wall of the night club. Your heart nearly skips a beat- this is it, you realise, as you lean ever so slightly to peer around your friend’s back. This is the pinnacle of your career. From the moment you first laid eyes on Jimin’s skills, you have eagerly awaited this moment. His poster has been on your bedroom wall for nearly ten years at this stage. You’ve never been fortunate to see one of his routines live- this is the first opportunity you have ever had to see your role model up close. You inhale deeply as you focus your eyes on his figure.

Only to find him otherwise occupied. He is engaged in a fierce lip-lock with a young woman who seems very comfortable seated upon his lap. Immediately you are mortified and straighten, allowing Jungkook to once more obscure your view of Jimin. It is not like you expected much from his meeting, or that you had anything more than the sort of crush a schoolgirl might have on a celebrity, but it is still, for some reason, crushing to see him in such a way. Your intentions in meeting him had been entirely innocent- you just want him to choreograph your next routine for the competition you have coming up. You had been recruited for the national team on the Olympics just 6 months earlier and this will be your last solo competition before you begin training with the national team for the Olympics which takes place in just one year. A chance to work with Park Jimin would be a tick on your bucket list. Still, your visceral reaction is also due to the realisation that perhaps Jungkook had not warned Jimin that he had arranged your meeting. Which means your request could be entirely unwelcome.

Jungkook seems undeterred by Jimin’s activities and folds his arms. He clears his throat loudly. The music is quieter here and normal conversation is possible, but Jimin does not immediately detangle from his… friend and so you think that perhaps he hasn’t heard Jungkook. But Jungkook merely waits and eventually Jimin pulls away with a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m busy.” Jimin snaps, and these are the first words you hear from your hero. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“I only agreed to meet you here and not in a coffeeshop because you promised you wouldn’t pull this kind of stunt. You’re being rude to my friend.” Jungkook complains. Jimin smiles apologetically at the girl in his lap, who seems unbothered by the interruption and merely gets to her feet and vanishes into the crowd without a word of greeting. Jimin stares after her for a long moment before allowing his gaze to settle on you and Jungkook. You suddenly feel exposed beneath his stare- you should have dressed more nicely, more impressively. Isn’t appearance so important in the sport you have chosen? The unimpressed expression upon Jimin’s face as his eyes slide passively over you certainly confirms that.

“Hello,” You begin with an awkward smile, ducking your head politely. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you! I’m (Y/N) and I wanted to ask you if you’d-“

“This is the girl you were telling me about, Kook?” Jimin interrupts. Up close, he is beautiful in a way that cameras and youtube videos cannot portray. His face is smooth and sculpted and there is a chilling beauty to the detached way he regards you. There is also a subtle disgust to his gaze that mars his handsome features, however. And its directed purely at you- beneath its intensity you feel your gut roll and you battle the urge to empty the contents of your stomach before his neatly polished shoes. “Her?” He repeats for emphasis. “In the Olympics?”

Jungkook, ever the loyal friend, looks like he may actually leap to your defence. But you are quicker. Though you have always been on the quieter side, too preoccupied with your sport to focus on much else, you have never lacked a backbone. And if there’s one thing you are confident about, it is your skill on the ice. Suddenly you feel anger. How dare Jimin, legendary ice skater or not, evaluate your skill and worthiness to be in the Olympics without even having glimpsed your ice skating? How dare he be so shallow as to think your outward appearance is in anyway indicative of your passion and joy in your beloved sport?

“How dare you.” You snarl. Jimin looks mildly amused at your anger and watches you through narrowed eyes.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He mocks. He leans forward and rests his chin idly in his hand. His hair is pushed up and carefully done and it is no wonder that women would fawn over him in such away. He is unfairly handsome in his white button down and well-fitted black trousers. “Do you think you’re special? Do you even know what it takes to get to the Olympics? Because I do, and,” He looks you up and down, your frumpy sweater and messy hair. He wrinkles his nose. You’d come straight from the rink because Jungkook hadn’t told you Jimin would be at a club, and so you look completely out of place. “I don’t think you have it.”

“You haven’t even seen me skate.” You retort hotly. You had never imagined you would one day address your idol with such contempt. But he has proven to be anything but the man you used to worship. Jimin seems surprised at your vitriolic interruption. You look at Jungkook, who looks apologetic and inhale deeply. “I was going to ask you to coach me, and honestly, I would have walked away without a complaint if you’d just said no. But you don’t get to judge my worthiness to be on the ice without even seeing how I skate. I bleed, sweat, and cry on that ice. You don’t get to scoff at me before you’ve even seen what I can do.”

You cannot, for the life of you, give a reason behind your next action. But fuelled by your anger and indignance, you reach into your bag and pull out a crumpled flyer, with the address and directions to your father’s ice rink printed across it. You hold it out towards Jimin who, after a moment of hesitation, accepts the piece of paper.

“I’ll be here practicing tomorrow, if you change your mind and want to see what I can do.” You say quickly. “If you want a chance to be part of something big, then I guess I’ll see you there. But if you want to sit here and get drunk and reminisce about when you had what it took, then be my guess. Have fun watching me perform at the Olympics and knowing you could have been there with me.”

And with that, you stride off, leaving Jimin alone at his booth with an impressed Jungkook in tow.

“Wow, ice queen,” Jungkook calls, when you’re outside the club and able to converse at a normal volume once more. “I never thought you had it in you.”

You don’t pause your hurried walking, however, until you are sure you have left the club well behind.

And then you promptly crumble to the ground, hands shaking and eyes wide.

“Did I… did I really just say all that?” You asks breathily, dizzy now that the adrenaline and anger has fled your system. “To the Park Jimin?” Jungkook laughs and pulls you to your feet with a hand around your arm.

“You absolutely did.” Jungkook declares proudly. “And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you skating tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t have said all that!” You lament, and Jungkook laughs.

“As much as I love him, Jimin has needed a kick in the arse ever since his injury and he needs more in his life than just alcohol and girls. You did a good thing. Now come on, I’ll drop you home so you can get a good rest before showing Jimin how it’s really done.” Jungkook reassures you, dragging you off before you can freak out any further.

And you placidly follow, now filled with dread at what is to come.

The sun is too bright and the inside of Jimin’s mouth tastes worse than a men’s urinal. He’s hungover and grumpy and your irritating words ring in his head. And the absolute icing on the cake- he wakes up alone in his bed, instead of with the hot girl he’d been on the verge of going home with before you showed up. He’s going to kill Jungkook. He should have known from the second that Jungkook offhandedly mentioned he had a friend good enough to be in the Olympics that last night was going to suck.

So then, why the hell does Jimin find himself gazing with disgust at the ice rink you had mentioned you’d be practicing at, not an hour after that awful wakeup? He can still vaguely taste vomit in the back of his throat and the sunglasses he wears aren’t big enough or dark enough to lessen the stabbing sensation from the sun. He shouldn’t have drunk nearly as much as he did last night but he’d needed to forget. Your voice and your face and that look in your eyes. The spark, as you had talked about your skating. He’s seen it before- he used to see it every day, when he looked in the mirror before leaving for early morning practice. That spark has long since died- it’s been gone since the moment the doctors told him he would never skate competitively again.

It’s not too late- he can still leave. Pretend he never saw you and that your words didn’t burrow frustratingly deep beneath is skin. He could go back to his life of partying and drinking and struggling to forget a life he cannot leave behind. But he doesn’t want to. He needs vindication- he needs to see how bad you are, so that he can close up the gaping wound you’d reopened. So many old feelings of hurt and bitterness and agony have suddenly been dredged up and he needs something to seal it over. To ignore the ragged, ugly scar on his heart, and this time all the alcohol and drugs and women in the world will not smooth the rough edges. So he sips aggressively from the cheap coffee he’d picked up on the way which tastes like garbage and doesn’t even bother to remove his shades as he steps into the ice-skating rink.

At this hour, there is no one present but you. He’s momentarily taken aback to see you, alone in the centre of the rink. You look different to the uneasy, poorly dressed young woman from last night. You had looked like a geek desperately in need of a makeover from a cheesy teen movie, but the lone figure in a sapphire blue dress ice looks… different. He can’t find the words but something foreign heats in his veins as he is overcome with something other than the nausea and disgust that he usually feels when presented with any aspect of his past.

Music startles him as it crackles in through the speaker. His heart leaps into his throat as he recognises the tune- Notte Stellata. You don’t even know he’s there, yet it can’t be a coincidence that that is the song you have chosen to practice. You extend your arms slowly in a delicate pose as the opening strains filter slowly through the air and he sees your shoulders raise in a gentle inhale.

And then you are gliding across the ice. If the spark he had seen in your eyes last night was enough to plague his thoughts for so many hours, it is nothing compared to the way you smoothly cut through the rink. Perhaps, he thinks, you were not born. Perhaps you were carefully crafted with a loving heart to soar on angel wings formed from thin silver blades. You lift into the air in a triple lutz and land with the lightness and grace of a swan and then you extend your arms outwards.

You’re beautiful. But suddenly it is not you or your performance that Jimin is seeing. Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, another figure that dances over the smooth pool. The figure cuts across the ice with an impressive power and grace- that figure brought tears to the eyes of people who knew nothing about figure skating. That figure was him. People called him the Swan, because of his grace and beauty on the ice. Magazine articles had described him as an artwork as intricate and valuable as the Mona Lisa or Van Gogh’s starry night. It was to this very song that he had stood on a podium at the Olympics and proudly received his first gold medal.

He squeezes his eyes shut before he can be greeted with what happened to that beautiful, mysterious figure. For it had all evaporated like a dream- the kind you awaken from with tears on your face without fully understanding why. His entire life had been ruined in one go. Just one year after his triumphant second gold medal win, he had been in a car accident. His body, carefully trained to float with ease over the ice, to make powerful, jaw-dropping manoeuvres seem as simple as inhaling and exhaling, had refused to obey him. A broken leg, shattered in a way that would never heal properly enough to allow him to competitively skate again. No amount of physiotherapy or surgery or desperation would allow him to shine in the Olympic rink again. There would be no third gold medal win. Every single moment of hard work throughout his entire youth was gone in a single accident.

And when he opens his eyes, only you remain on the ice, hauntingly beautiful in the way that he had thought only ice can be. Lonely and cold yet majestic. Figure skating is about conquering- about overcoming the harsh, unwelcoming cold and holding your ground through gravity defying flips and tricks. Constantly, the sport strips you of warmth and comfort and familiarity and requires gruelling work and pain and blood and danger. It takes something special to make something so ugly and painful look so beautiful. And that it what you have just done on the ice. Tears pour down his face and he is thankful for the way his sunglasses hide the agony that no doubt lingers in his expression. It’s been two whole year and yet the grief is as fresh as if it were yesterday. Somehow, despite the pains such a sport brings, his happiness was on that ice and it was been cruelly torn from him before he could even fathom what its loss would mean.

He clears his throat and covers his face by taking a long sip from his coffee cup as you are startled from your finishing pose. You were completely unaware of his presence and somehow that makes your performance more startingly beautiful- even alone, just practicing, there is such emotion and power in your skating. He now understands, why you were so offended when he brushed you off based off of a cursory glance. You are amazing- better even than he had been, perhaps. And now he understands what you are- a chance to be part of something he had thought he had been removed from. He’s never been able to cut the love of figure skating away from himself- he would have better luck sawing out his own heart. And you have presented him with a chance to relive that joy- through you.

“A week,” He calls. Your hand is clasped over your heart, absolutely stunned by his presence. It is charming, that despite inviting him, you genuinely do not seem to have expected him to come. But he has come, and he’s going to take out all his fear and pain on you. He’s going to take you to the Olympics, and you have no one to blame but yourself. “Give me a week to work out a routine. You’re going to get a gold medal in this comp.”

And he can’t resist a parting shot as he leaves, before he takes his leave. Just one petty phrase, for the sake of his ego.

“Your landing for the double axel was too heavy and uncoordinated.”

And yet somehow you watch him go with an excited smile on your face.

A week later you arrive at the ice rink, your entire body pulsing with nerves. You had not thought Jimin would agree to choreograph your performance, and yet here you are. You can’t help but feel a bit of pride- your skating had clearly won him over, somehow. And so ,with your blood roaring through your veins, you take a step into the ice rink, feeling the familiar way cold air fills your lungs and settles into the base of your chest. You’ve always found the sensation enlivening- never are you more alive than when you are on the ice. And while you have your reservations about working with Jimin, especially after his rude behaviour, you cannot kill the flame of excitement that flickers deep in your stomach. This is a dream come true.

Jimin waits alone in the centre of the ice-skating rink. At your arriving footsteps, he turns slowly and watches your advance towards him with a curious look to his eyes. It’s an intensely probing stare, like he is evaluating every step of your body, measuring the weight that lands in your skates against the ground with each footstep. And then he slowly smiles and your heart flutters. Jimin is beautiful in an inhuman way and that he should ever look at you in such a way is more than your delicate heart can handle. You swallow deeply before stepping onto the ice and gliding towards him with a practiced ease you hope conveys grace and beauty.

Jimin tilts his head and keeps his arms folded across his chest as you stop before him. As you do you register the sombre, heavy tune of a piano concerto crackle through the speakers of your father’s ice-skating rink. It starts slow, with dark chords ringing through the air and climbing in intensity. Gradually the melody crests and builds until the piano erupts in a complex and powerful virtuosic passage, given weight and power by a grave string accompaniment.

“This was his second concerto.” Jimin says, instead of offering you a greeting. “Rachmaninoff’s, I mean. His first ever concerto was met with heavy criticism. It was an extremely challenging piece to write- it took him ten months to write and yet his efforts were spat on. And in the three years that followed he was depressed from the backlash and unable to write anymore. This song is his return after three years of darkness, and it brought his career back from the dead. This,” He informs you. “Is the song you will perform to at the competition for your free program.”

You stare wonderingly at Jimin for a moment and shut your eyes as the mood of the piece shifts to something lighter and freer. The piano bounces along and the orchestra follows behind yet hints of the initial darkness still linger despite the bright tone. You can hear it- the composer’s pain, his determination to clamber back from the pits of despair. You want to dance to this song. An intense longing fills you.

“Can you do it? It won’t be an easy piece to skate to.” Jimin asks, and you peer back at him with your jaw set in determination. The expression wins a slight smile from him.

“I can.” You reassure him. He nods and walks forward. He is not wearing skates- instead he wears heavy boots on the ice. Likely, the instability in his ankle means he cannot balance in skates without significant pain. And you are his chance to overcome that, you suppose. You will do for him what he can no longer achieve.

And thus begins your gruelling practice. You’ve pushed yourself hard before but never in the way that Jimin pushes you. Jimin, much as you suspected he would, has very little patience and his little experience with teaching means he gets frustrated easily when you do not pick things up in the way that he assumed you would. You are soaking in sweat as practice goes on despite the fact the ice-skating rink is kept at such a low temperature.

“Extend your leg further.” Jimin urges, combing a hand through his hair in frustration for what is probably the fifth time. “The pose looks messy if you’re all loose and floppy like that.” You wince and attempt to follow his instruction once more. You’ve been going for hours by this stage. “Once more from the triple lutz.” He snaps, stepping off the ice to give you the room to launch into such a complex and difficult leap. But your body is exhausted from such intensive exercise and from the second you catapult yourself in the air you know you’ve done it wrong. You lift unevenly into the air and though you clench your core and attempt to right yourself, it is too late. You come down at completely the wrong angle and wince as your ankle takes the brunt of your weight. Pain lances up your leg as you crumble, and your body continues to slide.

When you lose enough momentum to begin picking yourself back up off the ice, Jimin skids to a halt, sending up a spray of ice chips. He’s clearly carelessly sprinted across the ice to get to you and he throws himself down beside you without a thought as to his wellbeing. You hadn’t thought him capable of such concern for someone other than himself.

“Are you ok?” He cries out in alarm, wrapping his hands around your outstretched ankle. Despite the low temperature of the room, his fingers are somehow still warm, and you had not realised how chilled your body was until you feel the heat encircle your leg. Carefully, he rolls the ankle you had landed on back and forth and around, scrutinising your face for the slightest hint of pain. It is tender, but you know tomorrow you’ll wake up and not even remember what ankle you had hurt.

“I’m fine.” You wave him off with a smile. “Let’s try that again.” You say, about to get up, but a firm hand against your shoulder keeps you down.

“No.” Jimin almost growls, and there is a sternness and barely repressed anger to the glare he gives you that pins you in place. “It was stupid of me to push you this hard. Let’s get dinner and we can pick it back up tomorrow if you’re feeling ok. We’ll get some ice on this too.”

Despite your protests, Jimin decides to take you out for dinner that night. You almost succeed in wriggling out of it, but a growl of your stomach has him urging you to come along with renewed determination. And to make it more embarrassing, as soon as you arrive at the restaurant, he drags over a second chair and makes you rest your injured leg on it, placing the ice pack over your tender ankle with a gentleness that makes you uneasy for reasons you cannot understand.

“That’s more than enough for today.” He scolds you. “You need to take care of yourself after an injury or you won’t make it very far.”

He settles opposite you and orders you both food.

“My coach used to always take me out for hot soup afterwards. Said we had to warm ourselves up after being in the cold so long.” He remembers fondly as the two of you await your meals. He seems so different from the asshole you met in the club a mere week ago and you still aren’t even sure what made him change so drastically. “He was the best coach in the world. I only made it to the Olympics thanks to him.”

“Are you trying to follow in his footsteps?” You ask in an attempt to subtly determine his motive. Jimin shrugs and shakes his head as the waitress sets down two steaming hot bowls of soup before you.

“Who knows.” He admits. “Even I’m not sure what I’m trying to achieve. A week ago, all I cared about was getting drunk enough to forget what the Olympics were.”

He watches you curiously as you lean forward and raise a spoonful of salty broth to your lips.

“Why did you come, then?” You say, finally asking the question that has been itching at you since you received the text asking you to come to the ice rink. You can probably guess the answer, but you want to hear it from him. He’s made a drastic change after his awful first impression and you aren’t entirely sure he’s someone you can trust yet.

Jimin doesn’t answer for a long moment. Instead he takes a long sip of his soup and fidgets with the noodles that float in the broth. Finally, he raises his eyes to you and there’s a look to his eyes that you can’t seem to interpret. Somehow it is a gaze filled with sadness and yet he looks so peaceful at the same time.

“I love skating.” He admits. “There was a time where it was my whole world. To have it taken so suddenly, with no warning…” He sighs and shakes his head. “I felt like I had nothing yet. But I believe that sometimes we are given second chances, and that’s what you are. My second chance. I want to see you in the Olympic rink. I want the entire world to shed tears because they’ve seen true beauty. And I can’t convey that beauty anymore, but you can. I know you can.” He confesses, and to his credit, his ears are only tinged the slightest bit pink. You stare at him, completely gobsmacked. How can you even fathom such high praise? “But now it’s my turn, to ask you a question.” He admits, his eyes sharpening with interest. You wince, a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but you know it is necessary.

“Ask away.” You say, because you suppose that as your coach, he has a right to know about you to at least some degree.

“Why me?” He finally asks, after a moment of hesitation. “Where’s your coach? Why are you even entering this competition if you’ve already been selected to be on the Olympic team?”

The silence between the two of you stretches out for a long moment. You take the opportunity to shove a few mouthfuls of soup into your mouth. It’s not an unexpected question. In fact, he probably should have asked the question long before agreeing to coach you, to make sure he wasn’t stealing someone else’s athlete, and the fact that he hasn’t asked you before now means he probably senses it’s not a question you are ready to be asked. But with the atmosphere between the two of you warm and comfortable, now is the best time for him to ask.

“She died.” You say nonchalantly. The soup suddenly tastes bland, but you continue to eat it. It provides you a distraction from the heaviness of the conversation. “Six months ago. It was cancer. I had just gotten scouted to be on the national team and we realised she wouldn’t make it to the Olympics, probably. So this was our compromise. She was fighting so hard because she wanted to see me skate one last time and… she… she didn’t get to. She died a week later.”

Jimin stares at you in dismay, speechless. Perhaps he had suspected you’d had a falling out with your coach, or that you needed a new one now that you’ve been selected for the national team. He probably never could have guessed the horrible reality.

“(Y/N)…” He says softly. You shake your head and offer Jimin a slight smile.

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’m doing ok. My parents have been really supportive and have even been trying to find me a new coach. But I wanted you. I just thought it would be nice for my first comp after she… passed away. To this day, the routine you did to Notte Stellata brings me to tears and so I thought if you were the one choreographing, then I’d give a performance worthy of her legacy. One that she would have been proud to see.”

Jimin’s expression scrunches up at your words. You don’t shed a tear throughout the whole story even though it all feels so fresh. It still feels like she’s going to ring you and scold you for not being at practice or not following the strict diet regimen she always set for you. Somehow six months of grieving doesn’t feel like enough to get back on the ice, yet at the same time you are itching to go back out there. For her. She had been like a second mother to you and the fact that she didn’t get to see you skate one last time is a scar you know will never fully heal.

Jimin is a bit of an enigma, and you never know how he will react to something. Perhaps this is why his reaction to your story is such a surprise. He stares at you like he’s in pain. A single tear wells up in his left eye and rolls down his cheek, tracing down the smooth contours of his handsome face as it goes.

“Thank you. For that honour. I… Thank you. And I’m sorry for being harsh today. I’ve never been a teacher before and so I don’t know your limits or mine. But if you keep with me and tell me when I’ve gone too far, I believe we can do this.” He admits, and his voice is slightly raspy . “I… After I stopped skating, I didn’t have a purpose or goal in life. I’ve just kind of been… existing for so long. But… thank you. I think I finally have a purpose- I want to take you to the Olympics. I’d decided earlier that I want to go to the Olympics with you but I never actually asked you. Will you do it? Will you go to the Olympics with me?”

And Jimin is mean and harsh and awkward. He’s a drunkard and a loser and a shallow jerk. He’s not even qualified to be a coach and such an ambition with an inexperienced mentor could lead to the destruction of your own career. It would be foolish, to agree to go to the Olympics with him.

And then you recall, being a young teenager skating for the first time and watching his comps. Being lonely as you entered highschool with no friends and rushing home to watch his Olympic performance live. Following his rise to fame and shedding tears because his skating held a beauty you could not put into words. And therein lies your answer- it is thanks to the man sitting before you that you even dared to dream of the Olympics. Your dreams will always feel incomplete if it is not him you go to the Olympics with.

“Yes.” You say. “Let’s go to the Olympics together.”

After that first day, Jimin is softer and far less harsh. Every day he grows in patience. He remains a stern and difficult coach and choreographer, though. He pushes you far past what you think you can handle. But he never pushes you past what you can actually handle. He’s constantly vigilant, for signs of fatigue and always ends practice before you can go too far. And so, each night you go to bed and sleep deeply, satisfied with the work you have done. His choreography is technically difficult and extremely advanced and yet designed specifically with you, your capabilities and your strengths in mind. If you master it, it will carry you to a gold medal without any doubt.

It’s exciting. Who could have ever thought that one day it would be Park Jimin coaching you on the ice? Despite his inexperience with coaching, he knows figure skating really well and you find yourself improving drastically beneath his tutelage, as the months go by and the competition date approaches. He really could have a future as a coach if he was ever inclined to do so. If maybe he learned some people skills, that is.

“Extend your leg further,” He orders from behind you, placing a hand on your knee to prevent your instinct to fold it as he uses the hand wrapped around your ankle to lift your outstretched leg a bit higher. His hands are almost hot on the skin of your legs. You hadn’t realised how much your body had chilled beneath the air-conditioning of the gym you are currently in. You wince as he begins to hit the limits of your flexibility and wobble just the slightest bit.

His eyebrows shoot up, and he shoots you a glare.

“Was that a wobble?” He asks, his tone venomous. Your eyes go wide. Today is one of the days you practice off the ice- one foot is placed in the centre of a balance ball while Jimin adjusts your posture. Despite the ways in which you two have grown quite close, he still comes across as very menacing when he enters what you call “coach mode”.

“N-no.” You stutter as you lie. He releases your leg and you know he expects you to maintain the position. You do, though not without a slight fluctuation. Jimin’s sharp eyes catch the movement though and he walks around so that he is facing you, hands planted intimidatingly on his hips.

“A wobble could cost you your career.” He reminds you, and this is the third time he’s lectured you about this in the past three days. “All it takes is for you to launch yourself airborne from just slightly the wrong angle and you could break a leg.” He scowls, and he steps in close. You drop your outstretched leg and hop off the balance ball. You roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest, refusing to cower at his ‘angry coach’ vibe. And maybe you would have gotten back on the balance ball obediently if it weren’t for the muttered, irritated comment that follows: “How can a figure skater be so inflexible?” He laments.

“Excuse me?” You blurt, eyes wide in outrage. “I am flexible!”

He winces, probably because he didn’t intend for you to overhear the comment, but also because he’s now quite familiar with the certain buttons he should never push while coaching you. For the most part, you are a reasonable student, one who follows his instructions diligently and practices hard. But any time the slightest comment is made about your skill or ability as a figure skater that isn’t constructive or contributing towards your improvement, you go slightly beserk. And this is one of those moments.

“I’ll prove it to you!” You cry, striding over to the yoga mat laid out in the corner. You almost throw yourself down on your back and glare at him. “Do the stretch! The warm-up hip one.” You order. He almost groans in irritation- the stretch in question is one he had suggested at a different practice to help keep your hips loose. But you had been too embarrassed to try it due to the intimacy of the positioning and so he hadn’t pushed you. But now, your pride has been hurt, and you are going to prove him wrong, embarrassment be damned. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, scolding himself for his slip up, before kneeling over you and locking his ankle over one of your outstretched legs. He then wraps his fingers around your other leg, placing the flat of one palm against the heel of your foot and the other over your knee, before slowly lifting one leg towards your head.

“Tell me when.” He says with a sigh, his tone resigned.

“I won’t.” You reassure him petulantly. “You’ll see how flexible I am.”

And really his comment was quite unnecessary, because flexibility is a vital skill as a figure skater. A fact which is demonstrated as Jimin continues to push your leg towards your head. You wait eagerly for him to admit that he was wrong as it reaches the point where you are almost doing the splits, but it never comes. Instead, Jimin has gone oddly quiet from where he kneels between your leg. Puzzled, you tilt your head to meet his gaze to find that his stare has gone oddly misty. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyes are fixed on where his hand presses to the heel of your foot.

“Jimin?” You call. It rings out oddly loud in the quietness of the section of the gym you are in, like a gunshot. Jimin flinches like he’s been punched in the stomach. His eyes land on yours and they are oddly wide. The expression reminds you of the face a child might pull if they were caught in the middle of stealing candy from a jar. Wide and panicked and a little bit glazed.

“I…” He says slowly, and his voice is a little bit croaky. He clears his throat and moistens his lips with his tongue before trying again. “I…”

You don’t get to find out what he was planning to say though, because in the next moment you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out.

“Special delivery!” He cries. Jimin drops your leg like he’s been burnt and scrambles away like you have rabies. He takes a moment to frantically smooth out his clothes and run his hands nervously through his hair, before turning to face the intruder who strides quickly towards you. There is a wide grin on Jungkook’s face, and he waves a large package wrapped in brown paper towards the two of you. You sit up and watch curiously as Jungkook prances forward. Jimin, oddly, still has a lot of nervous energy and gives off an oddly frantic air and when his gaze lands on the package in Jungkook’s hand, it seemingly worsens.

“Jungkook!” Jimin cries, eyes bugging out of his head and his face almost going purple, so severe is his blush. “How did you get that?”

Jungkook skids to a stop between the two of you and beams cheekily.

“You had it delivered to the rink.” He says coyly, wiggling the package playfully in front of Jimin’s eyes. Jimin makes a hasty snatch at it and grabs it out of Jungkook’s hands. It’s a fairly bulky package. “But I knew you two were here, so I thought I’d use my lunch break to come visit the two of you and deliver the package.”

By now you are standing, and you move in close to examine the package.

“What is it?” You ask curiously, and then it’s shoved unceremoniously into your arms by a surprisingly flustered Jimin.

“It’s for you.” He says quickly, his head turned determinedly in the opposite direction of you. “I ordered it online- I thought you could wear it for the comp.”

You blink a few times, confused. But then you peel away the brown paper wrapping to reveal the contents within. It’s a figure skating dress. The skirt is a deep, midnight blue though the torso is something icier and paler. They mix together in a gentle gradient and jewels scattered over the bodice glint like starts as the catch the light above you. The sleeves and décolleté are nude- when you wear it, it will look like you are painted in the night sky. Your throat goes hot and sticky and you find yourself battling tears at the thoughtful gesture.

“Jimin,” You say softly, genuinely touched. He smiles and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“It’s nothing… it was on sale and I thought it would look nice on you.” He admits sheepishly. “I was just going to leave it in your locker later today, but I guess someone had other plans.” Jimin shoots a meaningful but venom-filled look at his friend, but you are too preoccupied with examining your new outfit to notice. You clutch it tightly between your fingers.

“I have something for you too.” You announce suddenly. “Wait right here. It’s in my locker.” You urge, turning around and sprinting across the gym. A few people at the cycling machines pause their exercise to watch you go.

Jimin uses the opportunity to whirl on Jungkook.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Jimin snarls, and Jungkook laughs and dodges a swipe from Jimin. “I didn’t ask for a personal delivery!”

“Of course I did.” Jungkook cries mirthfully. “Did you think I’d pass up an opportunity to see you actually be nice while sober? Her reaction was so sweet, wasn’t it? Don’t you just wanna hug her and kiss her and stop being a douchebag 90% of the time? Oh man, I’ve never seen you go that shade of red before. Totally worth the drive over here.” Jungkook wipes at amused tears that are pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I mean, I also came over because there’s a sushi place next door that is to die for and (Y/N)’s father is treating me to lunch, but this has been a great little adventure. Thanks for the show, Jimin.” Jungkook says, waving his friend goodbye. Jimin aims another whack at the back of Jungkook’s head, but his reactions are quicker, and he merely darts off. He whistles a cheerful tune as he goes. Jimin is about to follow after him and give Jungkook a proper piece of his mind, but you arrive back beside him before he can do so. You’re slightly out of breath from your quick sprint, but you quickly straighten and beam.

“There’s a bit of back story behind this.” You explain, stretching out your hand and uncurling your fingers to reveal a long, thin box that fits easily into your hand. Curiously, Jimin accepts it and is about to remove the lid but you hastily place your hands over his to stop the movement. Your fingers are slightly cold, and his eyes catch on the contrast of your skin against his. “I bought this for you right after your second Olympics win.” You confess, and you drop your gaze from his. There’s embarrassment in your expression and it’s oddly endearing. Jimin feels an odd, fluttering feeling just beneath his sternum. But then your words register and he’s a bit confused.

“I didn’t know you then, though- that was 3 years ago.” He reminds you and you shake your head and smile.

“I’ve been your fan since I was 12 years old though!” You exclaim. “I bought it because I was going to mail it to you to show my support. And I never plucked up the courage to do it until my coach managed to get me a seat at one of the comps you were supposed perform at. I was going to throw it onto the ice after you performed. But you… you never got to perform.” You say softly, and Jimin feels himself tense just the slightest bit. He knows the competition you are talking about- it was one of the few ones in his hometown he still competed in. But then the accident had happened, and he’d cancelled his registration. “But I kept this all these years because I still wanted to meet you. Even if you couldn’t skate anymore, you were and are still my hero. And I found it again the other day and realised that I finally have the chance to give it to you.”

Slowly, you release your grip on his hands enough that he’s able to pull the lid off the small box. A thin silver chain rests in it and in the centre against black velvet lies a tiny pendant shaped like a cat. He blinks at it a few times in confusion.

“You always talked about your family cat growing up in interviews. The fat tortoiseshell one. You said she was your inspiration because of her calm approach to life.” You recall fondly. “And fans always through cat plushies onto the ice because of that and I guess I wanted to set myself apart a little.”

Jimin just stares incredulously at the little trinket. It should be offensive, to have such a reminder of how his life has gone wrong resting in his hands. And as a gift from you, no less. But it isn’t offensive, for some reason. It’s touching. It’s flattering. Slowly a smile grows on his face and his hands start to tremble. There’s a warm, full feeling in his chest. What an honour, to have someone like you be such a loyal fan. To have kept this reminder of his golden years despite the fact that you’d never even met him. And your skating is so beautiful and with enough time will outshine his own, but it’s thanks to him. He inspired that beauty in you, and to know that is an honour and joy and privilege that he will carry with him throughout the rest of his life. And this necklace symbolises all of that.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly. He raises his eyes off the pendant to look at you. Your eyes are slightly round and a little uneasy, but when he responds with gratitude a smile splits your face. “But I can’t accept this.” He tells you with a smile. With careful fingers, he plucks the necklace from its box and comfortable bed of velvet, and steps towards you. “This necklace is yours.” He says. You seem to sense what he’s trying to do as he steps in close, because you raise your hair off the back of your neck to allow him to put the necklace on for you. It clasps shut and falls to rest safely against your collarbone.

You stare up at Jimin and you don’t really understand the tenderness in his gaze, or the ensuing ache in your chest in response. You just feel… happy. Warm. Excited. There’s so many feelings racing through your chest and while you don’t have the time to process them now, you know that things will go well. Instead of pulling away after fixing the necklace in place, Jimin leans in close so that his lips almost brush your ear. You feel your face heat.

“Take it to the Olympics for me.” He whispers softly.

The day of the competition dawns bright and sunny. Jimin is gripped with a fluttery kind of nerves. It’s a thrilling sensation though, one he hasn’t felt since he’d been able to skate. So much of his time has been spent in darkness, spiralling deeper and deeper away from the sun and suddenly today he feels a warmth and brightness he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

You nail the short program in the morning and are all smiles and jitters as you come off the ice. You’re leading with your point score and if you follow the routine for your free program well, then you’ll take the gold medal home for sure.

“Did I do well?” You ask breathlessly, the second you step off the ice. You stumble a bit, shaky from the adrenaline, and Jimin steadies you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“She’d have been so proud.” He reassures you warmly and the resulting beam you give him makes him think that nothing could drag him down.

There is something that could drag him down, though he doesn’t know it in that moment.

Typically, there is a break in the middle of the day, where skaters are allowed to have a warmup on the ice before the afternoon program starts. Jimin is a little hesitant to have you out on the ice, though he can’t really put into words. He writes it off as just nerves though, and sees you off onto the ice with a smile. He doesn’t really focus much on your warmup- you know what to do. Instead, he scans the seating section where he knows Jungkook is. It doesn’t take much time to locate him and Jimin quickly darts up into the audience section towards his friend. Jungkook is waving a little paddle pop stick with an unflattering image of you stuck to the end and watches the figure skaters warm up with his mouth slightly ajar.

“She’s really good, huh?” Jungkook admits aloud, as Jimin takes a seat next to him. Jimin grins and nods.

“She’s got this one in the bag.” Jimin brags, and Jungkook offers him a strange smile.

“She really did a number on you.” Jungkook says suddenly, with a laugh. “To think, just a couple of months ago you’d be angry and hungover at this time of day. And now you’re smiling and laughing. I really think that (Y/N) is the best thing to happen to you.”

Normally, Jimin would deny it. Maybe flush a little and frantically discourage Jungkook from such a sentiment. But for some reason, he can’t bring himself to do it- probably because he can’t deny the weight and truth of such a statement.

“She is.” Jimin admits softly. Jungkook’s jaw drops in response, but a ruckus on the ice distracts him from whatever response he may have given.

Puzzled, Jimin directs his gaze to where medics are suddenly rushing onto the ice. And then, like two magnets clicking together, his gaze lands on you. You’re sprawled out on the ice, unmoving, with one of your competitors similarly collapsed. She, at least, is sitting up, looking slightly dazed and confused, but you are unmoving. Jimin’s heart leaps into his throat as he realises what has happened- there’s been a collision.

He leaps to his feet, but Jungkook’s hand around his wrist stops Jimin for rushing straight for the ice. Two medics help you to your feet and lead you off the ice.

“Wait.” Jungkook calls. “She’s ok- she’s standing up. Don’t get in the way of the medics. We can go to her after they’ve done first aid.”

Jimin glares at Jungkook, long and hard. His friend merely stares evenly back until Jimin reluctantly lowers himself back into his seat. He watches desperately as you are able to groggily step off the ice. Even at this distance, he can see the way blood streams down your face. Once he sees the dreadful crimson staining the ice, he can sit still no longer, and he gets to his feet and dashes off before Jungkook can say a word in response.

In the kiss and cry area, a crowd has gathered around you- some are medics, some are camera crew and some are your fellow competitors. Jimin shoves them carelessly out of the way, forcing himself forward until he is face to face with you. Your eyes are slightly out of focus and they’re in the middle of bandaging your head, and when you look up at him, your eyes fill with tears.

“Jimin,” You cry, choked. They haven’t cleaned up the blood yet - it has dripped down your neck and stained the misty blue of the outfit he had bought you. Jimin crumples to his knees in front of you.

“Is she ok?” He demands of the medic trimming a bandage for you. The medic winces and evaluates you.

“We think it’s just a minor concussion. She’ll be fine with some rest- but maybe she should skip the free program. Maybe if you take her home-“ The medic suggests tentatively, but you cry out in response.

“No!” You almost shout. The crowd buzzing around you goes silent at your outburst, but you don’t seem to notice. “I have to skate. I have to compete.” You cry, begging the medic, begging Jimin, begging anyone who can let you go back on the ice.

“(Y/N)…” Jimin calls quietly. “It’s ok- there will be other competitions. Your health is more import-“

“There won’t be.” You argue vehemently. “I promised her, Jimin. I promised her.” Tears are really streaming down your face now, mixing with the rivulets of blood that pour from the cut on your chin. You’re wearing the cat necklace and the silver is marred with angry droplets of red. You gently push the medic away and struggle to stand upright. You wobble a little, but you keep upright. It’s only minor injuries, but Jimin highly doubts you’d be able to skate properly like this. And if you take another fall, things may only get worse. Skating now could cost you your career. Blind panic rises in his chest and makes him nauseous- it reminds him of a darker time just two years ago, when he had been informed that he would never skate again. You’re so small and fragile and it’s something that could just as easily happen to you, but before you’ve even gotten the chance to compete. He can taste sour fear in the back of his throat.

But when Jimin looks into your eyes, he comes to understand something. As much as he wants to take you to the Olympics- as much as you yourself probably want to go to the Olympics, this takes priority. He remembers how important his coach had been to him during his career, and how he would have reacted if anything happened to him. He can’t imagine what you must have gone through- what it must have taken, to get back on the ice, just six months after her death. You have to do this, and though his heart aches with fear and agony at the thought of you endangering yourself again, he knows that you will never forgive yourself if you don’t do this. You are skating for her and he doesn’t have a right to stop you.

“Finish the first aid.” Jimin requests of the medical personnel, before turning and dismissing the crowd. They quickly dissipate under his intimidating stare, but not without a few surprised mutters of isn’t that Park Jimin?. And then he turns to you. He’s only just met you in the last few months and you’d given him so much hope that now dangles precariously on a thread. But he doesn’t want hope or purpose or ambition if that’s not what you want. “Whatever happens out there, she’ll be proud.” He reassures you, and then you’re smiling with relief through your tears. You reach out and wrap your fingers around one of his hands.

“Thank you.” You say, and somehow the weight of your gratitude now means more to him than any Olympics medals you may win- heck, more than the medals he’s won. He finds himself smiling despite the dread that sits deep in his stomach.

“No wobbling out there is allowed.” Is all he tells you.

Amidst the silvery glow of the white ice, you stand as a lone figure. Jimin remembers when he first saw you skate, all those months ago. This reminds him of that time, although this time your head is bandaged, and your hands shake as the opening piano chords ring sombrely through the arena. There was a lot of murmuring when you first stepped onto the ice but it has all gone quiet as you wait patiently in the centre, raising your arms delicately above your head. Then the piano erupts fiercely, notes scattering and spilling across the ice in the same moment that you take off. There is power as you launch yourself across the ice.

The strings pad the rich sound and climb in intensity as your first jump approaches. Jimin holds his breath as he sees you brace one leg before you push outwards. You spin through the air and he couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to. But you land at the wrong angle and your leg skids out underneath you. You’ve missed your first jump.

You aren’t deterred though. Quickly you scramble back onto your feet and begin to skate across the ice as the piano melody grows more and more complex and urgent. This next jump is your hardest. But again, you miss- you’re dizzy and you miscalculate the angle you must land in. Still, without hesitation, you clamber back onto your feet even though Jimin can see the way frustrated tears are starting to pool in the corner of your eyes.

What comes next is a spin, as you extend your leg outwards, your speed varying and changing as you adjust your position- you hold your leg out in the pose he had been constantly trying to get you to replicate and you execute it perfectly. You raise your leg above your head as your spin becomes more rapid. The music becomes more delicate and thoughtful and so does your skating. You glide across the ice and yet there is a carefulness that isn’t normally there- he can see the way you must concentrate, the way you desperately fight off the waves of dizziness that you are experiencing.

The pitch climbs into something brighter and hopeful and you once more attempt a desperate jump. You land badly again and actually end up on all fours. For a second, he thinks you may not be able to get up and the music threatens to leave you behind. The whole crowd holds its breath collectively. Suddenly your eyes meet his. It’s quick- you just so happen to be facing towards the wall he’s standing behind. But your expression changes, and so does the music, just in time for you to send yourself soaring with your arms outstretched behind you like the wings of a swan.

Suddenly, Jimin remembers why your skating has him to encaptivated. With the brighter music, you suddenly erupt with a brightness and grace that is entirely unique to you- you dance and skip over the ice rapidly. It’s because no one else can skate like this. No one can translate beauty into movement on the ice like you can. You have another leap coming up and this time when you launch yourself up, it’s with a determination and confidence that you didn’t have before. You land perfectly and Jimin’s heart skips a beat. You’re instantly flying again, soaring towards your grand finale. The music slows to another climax, slow and grave but with the brightness from before carried in the dancing piano melody and your feet bounce with the notes- a triple toe loop, a double axel. Gradually your confidence grows, and the music builds again for one last final climax as you enter your last spin.

The music fades and you are left, in the centre of the rink, gasping for breath. There are tears pouring down Jimin’s face. Somehow, despite all the flaws and errors, it is the most beautiful and moving performance he has seen in his entire life.

It’s in the moment that Jimin realises something. He doesn’t just want to take you to the Olympics. He wants to see you all the way through. Every loss, every triumph, every high-point and low-point… He wants to be there beside you for it all. He’d been in darkness for so long and he’s suddenly found his light. It’s you.

You meet his gaze as the crowd roars with applause and people pelt bouquets onto the ice. And your eyes are red rimmed and teary, but you smile, and it is the most heart-stoppingly beautiful smile he has ever seen in his life. It’s only been a few short months, and yet…

And yet he loves you.

Your coach would have been so proud.

You don’t end up taking home the gold medal. Despite your admirable determination to skate in your injured state, there were too many technical slipups for the judges to overlook. Still, with your awesome score carrying over from the short program, and your impressive recovery in the second half of your free program, you land an impressive second place.

Jimin likes the colour on you better anyway- as you walk along side him, the silver medal around your neck bounces against your chest and catches the light and it matches perfectly with the delicate silver chain and silly cat pendant that dangles at your collarbone. But none of it shines brighter than your smile.

“You did really well.” He reassures you, as he follows you out of the rink, towards your car.

“I know.” You say smugly. Your tone is at odds with the banadages around your head and on your face and the medal that glints silver instead of gold.

“She would have been proud.” He informs you, and your answering smile is even more smug.

“I know.” You answer cheerfully, and it brings a smile to his face.

“I’m proud.” He tells you, and you shrug nonchalantly as the two of you arrive just outside his car.

“I know.” Still, you are smug and Jimin is gripped with the sudden and cheeky urge to see what you don’t know.

“I love you.” He tries, one final time, and the smile slides off your face and is replaced with something shocked. Jimin grins as he gets into the car, and it takes you a moment to recover from your shock and slide into the passenger seat.

“I… didn’t know that.” You finally say, and Jimin laughs. He shrugs. You open your mouth and close it a few times before you attempt at last to respond sincerely. “I… I like…. no, I love y-“

“Save it for the Olympics.” He cuts you off, and your eyes go wide in a comical way that makes him laugh. “You can say it when you get the gold medal.”

Your eyes harden with the challenge and you petulantly fold your arms across your chest in answer.

“Just wait and see, then.” Is your answer, your pride provoked, and honestly Jimin wouldn’t have it any other way. Perhaps he should feel uneasy, or desperately need to hear that you reciprocate his feelings. It’s a risky gamble, to not just wait for your response for something that might not even happen, but to delay it. But see, that’s the thing. He knows it’s going to happen. He has all the time in the world, now, and he can absolutely afford to wait for the Olympics.

Because you’re going to take home his third gold medal for him.

#jimin x reader #btsboulangerie #park jimin x reader #jimin angst #jimin fluff #monthly prompt #writing

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blurhawaii · 4 years ago

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yuletide 2020

dear yuletide writer,

hello and happy yuletide! i’m pretty sure my letters get longer and longer every year and yet i’m still terrible at putting what i like into words. just know that the prompts are just suggestions--if you’ve got something else in mind, go for it. and sorry this is so disjointed.

likes:

dysfunctional relationships eg. codependency, messed up father/son dynamics, enemies to lovers, power imbalances.

vulnerability in men, uncertain intimacy.

UST, slow burn, first times.

magical realism/cosmic horror. weird hints of it in an otherwise normal universe.

redemption arcs.

found family.

big loyalty kink. love it when trust is earned and kept.

praise kink.

open and honest communication between partners.

polyamory. it’s the journey of them getting together and making it work that interests me the most. or how a couple goes about bringing in a third person.

stories set in canon. or a divergence of canon. fix-it fics.

dark/bleak fics. don’t be afraid to drag characters through the mud. happy endings are welcome but i like the struggle.

i’m fine with anything from gen to porn but would be happiest with something in the middle.

canon typical violence is fine and to be expected from some of my choices.

characters and their relationships are more important than plot for me.

dislikes:

AUs that are completely disconnected from canon e.g. high school, coffee shop AUs.

established relationships

crossovers

genderbending

feminisation of male characters

fics that are entirely fluff

A/B/O fics

PWP

mpreg

first person fics (i have no problem with second person fics tho if you think that could work.)

The Departed (2006) *Billy Costigan *Sean Dignam

one of my favourite films ever. i request it every year so you can't really go wrong with this as i'm just thirsty for anything.

most of my love is for dignam and his tough love attitude towards his job and the undercovers he's responsible for. i am endlessly endeared by his wild card quality, expletive fueled speech and hair trigger temperament. the father/son relationship with queenan that’s contrasted against billy’s father/son relationship with queenan. his complete disregard for everyone else in that office, especially sullivan. and how despite all of that, it's obvious that he cares. i don't think you could do a job like that and not care, and it’s those few and rare moments where we see him soften around billy --we need you, pal-- that's what i would like to see more of. that juxtaposition of good cop/bad cop coming from the same guy. shipping fic is preferred but whatever you are comfortable with is fine. due to the nature of the film i am perfectly comfortable with violence and the screwed up relationship they are bound to have. the friction born of the situation vs the fact that they need each other to get through this is what i am all about.

things that really get me with these two: codependency, power imbalances, the enemies to lovers trope, vulnerability, the whole constructing intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men thing they have going on, as seen in the gif above.

fics where billy survives are my usual go-to. i'd love something that explores the angst of billy's ‘where the hell were you when i needed you’ reaction towards dignam following queenan’s death all the way up to the ending, and beyond that assuming billy lives.

i’ve spent far too much time thinking about the line --why don’t we just meet up, sweetheart, let me buy you an ice cream. the jokey seriousness of it just kills me. if you can somehow write that happening in a believable, in character fic you would earn my eternal respect. whether that’s a clandestine meeting during billy’s undercover period or some kind of post-film scenario where dignam makes good on his promises, i have no idea.

daemon au - very curious how this would impact going undercover. daemons expressing feelings that the characters otherwise can’t. the intimacy of touching/comforting each other’s daemons.

soulmate au - either having their names on each other or their first words. this is admittedly a longshot but interests me for the same reason the daemon au does, because i’d love to see how this would work in a universe where you’re undercover.

time loop/groundhog day fic where things go better. or worse, i guess.

Godless (TV 2017)

*Roy Goode *Bill McNue *Alice Fletcher

i’m a massive fan of westerns. the harsh way of life, the violence, the isolation, drawn out revenge plots, the murkiness of good vs evil or sheriff vs anti-hero, the importance of honour and heroism and how that differs for men and women, especially in this universe and its town full of widows. having said all that, i’m still very much a sucker for cool cowboys in a shallow female way.

my favourite thing to do is turn every love triangle into an ot3. so i’d love a fic post canon where roy comes back once he realises his found family is just as important as his real family. i imagine bill would try to do the gentlemanly thing of bowing out and letting roy and alice be together but i’d love for alice to have the agency of choice, getting to have her cake and eating it too by choosing both roy and bill. however you jigsaw them together my main thing here is that i don’t want bill to get left out.

i feel the roy/bill aspect in particular could be explored a lot more. i love the earned mutual respect and how easily they move around each other during the gunfight at the end. (bill’s deteriorating eyesight side plot fascinates me, how it goes with his loss of purpose and comes back when teaming up with roy to defend the town.) the usual ideas of western masculinity get all twisted around when roy and bill are in the presence of alice and they both seem kind of subby towards her, which yes please. the way alice kisses the scar she gave roy and the fact that he simply lets her is *chef kiss*

i’m actually very okay with letting them be soft with each other after all of their tragedy.

honest communication between partners could work wonders here.

Locke (2013)

*Ivan Locke�� *Donal

i honestly think this film is an underappreciated masterpiece. a hour and a half long car ride that's totally compelling, and it's all down to tom hardy and his welsh accent that's not even welsh. of all the relationships broken down, strengthened, or tentatively started, it's the one between ivan and donal that interests me the most. you're given just enough background to know there is a history between these two. whether donal is his right hand man on the project or is just an assistant that effectively gets promoted because he's the only one still there willing to take ivan's call. either way, there's trust there, on top of the shared knowledge of donal's capacity to get drunk on the job --this has clearly been a problem before-- but ivan still trusts him enough to get his baby of a building built when he can't be there personally, and that fascinates me.

the film ends very much in a lurch and i can't bring myself to see the ending in a positive light. a baby with a woman he doesn't particular like is not a recipe for a fresh start and i honestly can't see ivan not following up on the progress of his building.

i have this image of ivan sleeping on donal's couch because his wife won't take him back, bethan realises she just wants the baby and not him, he's lost his job and he has nowhere else to go and so he's just backseat driving this buildings construction through donal’s position. you've got this man who's lost everything and an alcoholic just wallowing together, maybe clinging to the idea that with this buildings success, they can fix themselves.

i also ship it and if you manage to take it in that direction i would be totally into that too. i guess i'm just looking for something post film with these two.

i don't know anything about concrete farming tho so feel free to fudge that as much as you need to.

The Boys (TV 2019)

*Billy Butcher *Homelander

what i like about this show is that it’s dark, it’s violent and the relationships between the characters are about as fucked up and convoluted as you can get. i am specifically interested in the relationship between billy and homelander and how the power is constantly shifting. i’d love something that just takes into account every horrible reason why they want to kill each but also all the reasons why they haven’t. ship fic is more than welcome.

details that interest me the most:

all the bizarre family dynamics - their shared bad relationships with their fathers. loved the scene where billy learns about homelander’s childhood and how that tiny humanising moment might affect his view of the man. especially in season 2 where we see them both interacting with ryan. love the inverse of homelander trying to be a good dad and billy wanting absolutely nothing to do with the kid. i wish we could have seen more of the dynamic immediately following the cliffhanger at the end of season 1. what happened between that moment and billy waking up somewhere else. maybe some kind of bizarre hostage situation family in this small suburban home.

i am fascinated by the idea of having the buffer of both becca and ryan between them. not being able to kill each other at the end of season 1 because of the deal becca made, and then again at the end of season 2 with homelander not wanting to be seen as a villain in front of ryan. maybe billy doesn’t ship ryan off at the end of season 2. maybe he thinks he can keep him safest by raising him himself and you get this weird co-dadding situation where the kid is the only thing keeping them from killing each other.

the public cleaning of the slate post-season 2 with billy not being a wanted man any more and homelander having to appear as a united front with the seven. would love something with billy pushing things in public because homelander can’t do anything about it.

homelander’s desperation to be loved. the potential of obsessive one sided relationships.

thank you writer and best of luck.

#yuletide #yuletide 2020

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ju-liberty · 6 years ago

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Clint & Natasha

(Or, the deeper approach into their psyche and love)

Turns out that Endgame hit me harder than I could ever have prepared myself, and I don’t like what I have read from other perspectives about their platonic relationship very much, so I’ve decided to write my own. At this point I don’t even need to fight anyone to prove anything, what they are to one another up until now have already far exceeded any ordinary relationship in the entire cinematic history.

There are some fatal plot holes that are hardly dismissed as a writer myself but I’m going to be a good person to ignore all of them and even pretend to forgive the ridiculous five-year period that made no sense to the character development and motivation.

1. Firstly, let’s talk about Natasha’s roller-coaster emotional ride.

Natasha in the last piece of the Avenger series was, as Scarlett has said herself, ‘hardened’ by all she had lost, and simultaneously softened and vulnerable in a way we had never seen her before.

She loved so hard and so deeply that if before we didn’t dare acknowledge it, now it was pouring all over her facial expression as though she didn’t even bother to hide it anymore.

Okay, please give me a specific number of times you have seen Natasha Romanoff with a breakdown. With tears? Except for the time when she thought Nick Fury was dead. There was only one time under Wanda in AoU that she was off her game, then again we all know who was there in half a second later to look after her.

This time, though, this was different. Nobody knew how to handle her the right way, and nobody was there anymore. The perfect timing of Steve’s appearance was so precious and realistic I can’t appreciate it enough. Steve was not Clint, probably hadn’t seen Nat at her worst the way Clint did, but he was there at that precise moment to stay with her through the misery. What could be more fulfilling in a friendship? Your friend was there, burdened with his own misery and could not ease yours but he was there nonetheless. If we take a careful look at the predicament, we could see that Clint, in this case, was the very source of her distress instead of her comfort. And if you have seen the way she grieved, it’s so blindingly obvious that he was more than just a friend to her. He was family. The one that she had lost.

It wasn’t like Natasha would need Rhodey to give her the precise location of Clint Barton—we have seen the way Clint found her in the most unbelievable circumstance in their own classic way in AoU—she had always known where he was, she must have been keeping track on him, and yet she chose to stay away and pretended she didn’t see what he was doing anyway, because she believed she could not give him hope. The way she went straight to him and took his hand bravely felt like she had always known where he was in all her life and all it took was just a sparkle of hope.

And then there’s the arrow necklace, oh yes, that was fucking thrilling. We grown women do not wear jewelries to honor our siblings or close friends, and let’s not ignore the Godly timing that the necklace first made an appearance was actually right after her breakdown for Clint. Listen, if you have spotted 40+ ester eggs all over the movie, you must have known by now that there was no such thing as a coincidence in every scene, for example her ballet shoes in a corner or the sandwich that was cut diagonally. So if she wore the arrow necklace over a black t-shirt instead of a white one in a dozen of close-up shots with one of the most breaking expressions on her face, there was a reason for it. I suspect it had something to do with her breakdown and the necklace was possibly the symbol of her determination to set things right (to find her partner and to bring him back) now that they had found a way out of their failure.

That didn’t happen just once. She wore the same necklace when they went to Bruce. And what’s more terrifying? She wore it in the same room with Clint in the most comfortable atmosphere between them as though she knew that he knew and they both knew what it meant to them and were completely okay to show it. That could mean she didn’t take it off until Vormir, or not ever. Whether it really had something related to Clint or not, do interpret it in your own way, I don’t care, facts will always remain facts.

And then there’s that mind-blowing moment when Clint was back from the time-travel and she was up there in a second like their life depended on it. There was so much love radiating from her when she went all of her way out to articulate the word ‘family’ when there was not a single one of the team had dare mention before, and so much love for Clint that she didn’t bother to conceal it. Either family or friendship, her love had already gone way beyond those with a simple touch of her hand on his face and that look on her.

Just—that look.

2. And Clint Barton, the most underappreciated character in the MCU history.

One of the things Jeremy has shared about what he enjoyed the most about his character was that Clint Barton was just a normal guy. He has no super power or physical enhancement and yet he chooses to fight alongside the heroes with his partner. He is normal, and despite everything that he has been robbed from the insane story line, he as a character still has grown so much through each movie. He is human, he lost, and he grieved.

I’m not going to pretend the family didn’t exist because they did (and it was a pleasure seeing they got dusted) and their disappearance did pull a string or two on this new side of Clint and his newly introduced skill sets that I super enjoyed. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him going vigilante given his background of a master assassin and the darkness of his personality and PTSD, and the five year time skip that had been done poorly in the movie did nothing to ruin his perfect characterization.

Since a lot of articles have been talking about Thor’s stages of depression that should not be taken lightly as humor device, remember that Thor wasn’t the only one who suffered from mental disorder and please also don’t compare the kind of loss they all had to confront alright? Each person had to go through different kind of manifestation of mental illness, and for a former agent like Clint to go into hiding and killing as coping mechanism was completely acceptable. Don’t give me the morality bullshit, we are talking about fictional characters here, thank you.

Even though the five year excuse was unfair, why should we pay too much attention about it when we could have all we should have and Natasha was still the only one who could come for Clint? You can’t possibly forget the way she held out her hand and he immediately took it without hesitation like five years of distance between them never existed. That display of vulnerability and utter trust that he only showed in the presence of Natasha was pure gold. He knew she would find him as much as he knew once she did, he would be willing to come back with her.

Did he still grieve, though? Intensely. Did he want to die? More than anything else. Did he also have to live? Yes, yes, and yes.

Ever since the beginning to the end, he never stopped grieving. Have you noticed the way he wore his eyes in almost every scene? It’s a tortured look. Clint Barton had come such a long way from the first time he was introduced as a sassy, witty archer to this broken, quiet man with a constantly tortured look. And every step of this journey, Natasha was there with him.

Did he let himself heal? Also yes. In those little moments like when they sat next to one another discussing the plan to get the stones, or when the whole team were getting ready for the mission and he sneaked a glance at Natasha at the other side of the room, or in the spaceship when he initially brought up Budapest with a laughter in contrast to the first time it was mentioned by Natasha in the first Avenger movie. He was allowing himself to heal only because Natasha was there.

Clint and Natasha didn’t act that comfortably around anyone else but each other, and only with one another, they were able to heal themselves gradually.

3. Then Vormir happened. Their journey to the end.

From now on, I am talking about their love and how it was manifested through Endgame.

The parallel cinematic wasn’t just about Natasha finding and bringing Clint home in contrast to how he had made a different call in the past, it was their entire journey with little things, like the hand holding: if Natasha first took Clint’s hand to take him home at the beginning, Clint was the one who took her hand at the end of their conversation.

It was the extended bargain that had started from the first conversation between Natasha and Loki until Red Skull: the world was still on the balance and their bargain was still (forever will be) ultimately for one another.

I see hundreds, hell, thousands of wishful thinking for the Vormir scene to be more than just a forehead touch. Like, you wanted more? Was it even possible to be more? God no. Please look up infinite intensity. Romance didn’t even fit here. It was deep-rooted emotional intimacy, I would call. Like, you want to scale them down to an ordinary couple in a romantic movie who confess their undying love for each other and then kiss and make up and walk towards the horizon holding hands? Look, Disney fairy tales are always available all over the world except here - we are not sugarcoating a single fraction of a second they had here - not that way, never, okay?

What can you ask for more really? The man was fucking married and lost his family, and yet he literally spent almost every second of his scenes putting Natasha ahead of every single other people of his life including himself in all movies (and interview but we are not even talking about that, damn), exactly the way she had done for him. They were each other’s priority without a single discussion. What more could you actually imagine them to be? They didn’t just fight alongside one another. They literally fought against each other while calling each other idiot and a pain in the ass, just to die for one another.

That, was blatantly, blindingly, obviously fucking love.

Since Clint had been grieving and this was not a fairy tale, admittedly, he wanted to die. The way he recklessly threw himself into relentless massacre, as shitty and underdeveloped as it is, the way he volunteered as an object for a possible one way trip (again, shitty choice with the farm as if it was the fucking symbol for a life of a master assassin), it was clear that he had been suicidal. Natasha could be his anchor, but at the first chance he got, he immediately relapsed into his suicidal intention. He chose to die because he wanted to, and he believed it was as best as life could get.

And then something changed. The moment he realized what they would do in this circumstance was manifested in the way they looked at each other, it was heartbreaking and beautiful.

But they knew each other without a word and fought on an equal ground. They knew they were each other’s dearest person, this they knew without a single banter or discussion. That was when the self-loathing was replaced by love - whatever the fuck kind you want to interpret - it was love and not guilt or responsibility or debt anymore. Because guilt could not earn them the soul stone. He wanted to keep her alive even more than he wanted to die. Everything that remained in that moment as the world did cease to exist, was love.

Do you remember how many times Clint had called her Natasha? Each time was different, and yet none was like this one, because he knew this was it, this was the last time, so he said it with a smile so understanding and agonizing and most of all, so damn loving.

With the mere look he gave her when he called her Natasha, let me tell you, even if they gave him 10 more families all over the world with a hundred of children, Clint Barton sure as hell would still put Natasha Romanoff before every single one of them without a second thought and love her enough to die for her as many times as it took.

This. look.

And the look Natasha gave Clint when he ran over the edge and when he held onto her hand, as much as gratitude and fear, the only thing that had been constantly staying there, was love.

4. What’s left

We grieve that she wasn’t among those in the final battle, that was such a sick joke I agree, however come to think of it, Clint wasn’t, either. That went back to the beginning when they were spies, not soldiers. They were the best with their skill sets when sent on specific missions. Taking out all other characters, if you squint, you probably could see that this really was their own journey to go back to the way they used to be in the old days with just the two of them, either fighting alongside one another, or just fighting for the other. Tragically, Natasha did not come back, then again you did not see Clint as a whole person ever again. She wasn’t in the final battle and neither was Clint (except doing his side job for a few minutes), because they were meant to fight together or not fighting at all.

Natasha deserved to live. Of course she did. Do you know who understood it the most and fought for her life harder than anyone else? Clint Barton.

But living isn’t that simple as black and white, and if you turned the ending upside down in which Natasha lived and Clint didn’t, imagine the life she was going to live without her partner, best friend, soulmate. It wasn’t because she had no family that she deserved less to live, no, it was exactly because death was the easier way out than enduring the trauma, which by now Clint was shouldering for her.

Think of it this way: It wasn’t the family reunion we were seeing, it was Clint looking at those loved ones he was supposed to save and only seeing his other half spilling blood and losing life for them to live. Like the way it was supposed to be him. Like the way he kicked off the gauntlet after the reversing snap and treated the stones like ‘a goddamn thing’ instead of feeling thankful for them for bringing his family back. Clint was never going to get over it, to be honest he was never going to truly live anymore.

A life where you constantly grieve and loathe yourself, do you think Natasha would have deserved it? What Clint was shouldering in her place wasn’t a second chance at life nor another debt on his ledger, it was a downright bloody punishment.

So again, hello to Disney fans. If this was one of the fairy tales, if AoU did not happen and the only one they had was each other, there is no doubt that they both would die together. Screw the world, end of story. However, what made their love so intense and so much more painful than that ideal scenario was when Clint realized as much as he wanted to jump after her (oh trust me he longed for it), he wasn’t allowed to let Natasha’s sacrifice go wasted. See, this is the difference between a romance and a bond so deep it overruns everything else - he had to make it worth first, and then he would punish himself later - which already happened immediately, all of his emotional catastrophe and enormous anger. Clint was punishing himself badly and he would not stop. Ever. If losing his family already hit him that much, imagine how quickly he was going to abandon his life without Natasha. Remember how easily he let go of the gauntlet and the stones - the family and the world might be let go in the same way without remorse.

While we are saying a proper funeral was a better display of gratitude that Natasha should have deserved, can we take a look again at how most of Clint and Natasha’s battles were like? Against their inner demons. Behind the scenes. That was how they operated through the years. That was just what they were. And remember, Clint chose to share his lasting grief with Wanda who had lost her other half, not with his family.

As lacking as the ending was, simultaneous it was a given that the two of them were manifested in the right way. Clint and Natasha were spies not soldiers. It was not fair, it was terrible, but when we learn to live with what we got and twist it around to make it work, life becomes acceptable.

5. Last but not least

Clint and Natasha. What these two had for each other was the love so intense and profound it went beyond boundaries of common relationship and left them devastated for the rest of their lives. And that, I tell you, is fucking magnificent.

To wrap it up, do I hate Endgame? Not at all. Simultaneously do I want to rewrite it? No, not in 14,000 possible ways except one in which the farm family somehow would get erased infinitely, accidentally, magically, whatever, and Natasha would live.

Wishful thinking, but why not?

#clint barton #natasha romanoff #clintasha #avengers endgame #marvel #mcu #too late to say this much #but I couldn't sleep well for over a month #needed to let this out once and for all

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occasionalfics · 6 years ago

Text

Not Such A Long Shot

main masterlist | thor masterlist | taglist | ko-fi | ao3

For: Me. But also all of you, because I feel weird not having posted something in what’s probably weeks but feels like months.

Pairing: Alpha!Thor x Omega!Reader

A/N: You absolutely did read that pairing tag right. I almost never write a/b/o because it’s just not really my thing but I felt like alpha!Thor was vastly underrated (except by @spacelabrathor who’s a god damn MASTER at it) and wanted to remedy the issue.

I’ve been working on this for at least two weeks. Probably more. It’s not edited, probably not my best work, definitely not really finished. It was meant to go on longer than it currently is but I’ve forgotten the direction I was going to go in and decided to just post this and write more later if I remember.

I don’t have a beta reader and didn’t want to read through 25 pages of this before I posted it. I’m sorry about that. I hope you like it anyway.

Honestly I’m so tired today I couldn’t even be bothered to fix the italics formatting throughout this whole thing in one sitting. Maybe I’ll fix it later, maybe I won’t. Does it make that much of a difference when you read it? (I legit would love responses!)

Warnings: SMUTTY SMUT (just one section, but still), NSFW/18+ CONTENT AHEAD. Not a super confident Reader, but she knows what she wants.

Words: 10,177 (like I said, 25 pages)

You feel like one of the most pathetic Omegas to have ever lived.

Most Omegas find their Alphas and go straight into bonding, but you? You had always made things more complicated for yourself.

And the walking embodiment of such a reminder has absolutely no idea that you exist.

You don’t blame him. The last five or so years have been extremely difficult for him, and for most of that time, you were nothing but a tiny, run of the mill SHIELD Agent. Even now, as just...an Avengers Agent, you still blend in with the crowd.

It’s...kind of the job of a spy to do so.

But for an unbonded Omega? One who, at some point over the last five or so years, imprinted on an untouchable and uninterested Alpha?

It’s torture.

Thor comes back to Midgard and tells his friends about Ragnarok. He and Bruce relate all of the relevant details, and they somehow trickle down the chain of command to you. Your ears perk up when you’re notified that Thor’s back, and without thinking, you head for the residential floors.

You’ve memorized where Thor’s apartment is. You’ve never gone in, knowing what kind of boundary that breaks, but you’ve gone to the floor, stood in the hallway, and nearly cried yourself dry on particularly bad nights of your last few heats.

You can’t help it.

Your body decided, long ago, that Thor was the one. The Big One. Your heart and mind haven’t really caught up to your biology and it fucking sucks, but it’s the reason why you’ve abandoned your work station and head upstairs.

Remain calm, you remind yourself. He doesn’t even know who you are.

You think of the countless times you’ve tried to mate with another Alpha before. And each time since you imprinted, every one of those Alphas have told you how terrible you smell. So you’ve gone home alone too many times, unable to even see the man you’ve been physically pining over for years, knowing he has no idea who you are, feeling like the scummiest, most useless Omega in the entire universe.

You don’t deserve him. He works so hard to keep everyone save, pulls so much of the weight of the team when he is around that you wonder how they ever manage to work without him. You just keep quiet, fill out paperwork, and go on the occasional mission when your skills are required and relevant.

But he doesn’t make you feel so bad about your job when you find him in the common area. The Valkyrie is sitting next to him, drinking beers from glass bottles, feet up on the table in front of them while they watch the local news.

When Thor sees you, he smiles. “Hello there,” he calls, raising his beer.

You give a small wave. He nods to one of the seats beside the couch. “Come, join us!”

He doesn’t even know you, but he’s acting like he does.

The Valkyrie looks at you, her expression unreadable. You’d say your jealous of her, but she’s an Alpha, too. You can smell it on her, feel the guarded and dominant energy flowing off of her. She’s not competition, though. That much you can tell right away.

You do as Thor had offered, taking the chair right next to him.

“Waiting for Stark?” he asks.

You shake your head, unable to look at anything else but him now that you’re so close.

You wonder if he can feel what you feel: the sun falls over his glorious face in waves that make your stomach churn; his smile is bright and makes your chest tight and fluttery; his one remaining eye - that you’d just noticed - is a deep, earnest blue that might cause slick to pool between your legs if you were in heat.

At least the Gods had mercy on you there. For now.

“I, uh,” you say. Instinct wins over, despite the logical parts of you screaming not to say what you say next: “I heard you were back.”

If he did feel what you were feeling, his smile wouldn’t be falling like it is. He must not be imprinted like you are. It’s unfortunate, but you know it happens sometimes.

You don’t like what people have said about the Omegas with unrequited imprints. This isn’t faring well.

“Just wanted to say hi,” you say. You remember that he doesn’t know you, despite you having been in the background of his story for the last few years. You try not to hold that against him while you hold a hand out toward him, attempting a softer smile because you don’t want to scare him away. You don’t want to be one of those Omegas. “I’m (Y/N).”

You don’t deserve him. He’s too kind. His smile comes back as he leans toward you and shakes your outstretched hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he says.

And if he feels anything more than what one normally feels upon first introduction, he doesn’t show it.

“This is my friend,” Thor says, pointing now at the Valkyrie. “We call her Val.”

She nods. “My friends call me Val,” she corrects. “Everyone else calls me Valkyrie.”

You know it’s meant for you. Clearly it is, since neither of them know you. Gods you plead in your head why did I come up here?

“Don’t mind her,” Thor says, maybe, just possibly picking up on your anxious energy. “Her bark’s much worse than her bite.”

“My bite is plenty horrifying, thank you,” she jokes, and Thor laughs with her.

You want that. To laugh and be at ease around him. To know him.

But since you’ve known of him, your crush has been exclusively on the sidelines. You imprinted on him from across a room, when he hadn’t even been looking at you. Your schoolgirl feelings for him had just...mounted and climaxed, and then you were suddenly attached to him chemically, without his permission or knowledge.

Sometimes - actually, make that most of the time, you hate being an Omega. This kind of shit only happens to Omegas who don’t settle down and pick a good mate that they’re realistically worthy of before it’s too late.

This is ridiculous. This was always ridiculous. Why did I come here?

You go to stand, but before you can, Thor clears his throat and turns the television off. You can’t tell if you’re relieved that he’s leaving the room or not.

“We were just about to head out for karaoke night,” he says. “Would you like to join?”

For just a moment, you wonder how he has time for karaoke when his entire kingdom lives in your backyard now, but you don’t question it.

Your crush dictates that you simply smile gratefully at the offer and accept.

At three more beers in, the Valkyrie ran off with a Beta she’d met ten minutes prior. Thor’s other friends - the Avengers, the team you’d worked under for years and barely ever met personally - are sprawled around the bar, some dancing, some drinking, some talking. Bruce is letting loose with a wildly off-key rendition of “I Think We’re Alone Now.”

But you haven’t left Thor’s side all night. You’ve got a respectable distance between you, and you refuse to drink more than you should. Closing that space seems...wrong. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t know how you feel. Doesn’t know that you physically cannot help but be drawn to him.

You swirl around your second drink, the ice long melted intentionally to dilute the alcohol. You watch Bruce with a smile, trying your hardest to ignore the suffocating heat of the Alpha beside you. He smells like...rain and wind, like the beach and a forest all at once. You want to lean back into him, let him hold you and touch you and smell you, but you know that wouldn’t be right. Or fair.

So you slump forward and focus harder on Bruce’s shoddy footwork.

“Not having fun?” he asks from behind.

You can’t tell if he knows you’re holding back or if he genuinely just thinks you’re a depressed drunk.

“I am,” you say, attempting your best smile and convincing voice. And acting is a huge part of what you do when you go on missions, so you think you’re pretty successful now.

Except that Thor’s smile turns somewhat sad. “C’mon,” he says, and then one of his hands is placed at the small of your back.

Your eyes widen as you ask, “Where?!”

He nods at the dance floor. It seems weird that there’s a dance floor for karaoke night, but you doubt anyone drunk enough truly cares.

“Let’s go dance!” he says, and he sounds so light hearted and genuine that you find you can’t deny him. You can’t even question him anymore.

You slide out of the booth, then wait for him. Thor follows you out, and when he turns back to face you, he takes one of your hands in his.

Something in his face twitches, but you swear you imagined it. In no time at all, he’s back to smiling and pulling you out onto the floor behind him. He finds a place he likes, between two other couples and a handful of single women dancing with their glasses raised. Some of them look back at Thor, but his eyes never leave you.

You don’t see that much, though. All you focus on is his one hand on your hip, the other holding your hand out beside you. Your free hand grips his shoulder as he sways you out of time to the music, neither of you appearing to care.

There’s something electric between you. You know you feel that, but can only hope that he feels it, too. It’s more than imprinting. It’s more than a crush. It’s...connection, you think. He smiles down at you and you smile back and follow his lead through the dance because it’s all that you can think to do. You never want this moment to end.

But then it does, with the song, of course.

Thor lets go of you, except for your hand. You try not to laugh giddily at the thought that, if he didn’t want to be holding onto you, he wouldn’t be. Somehow, you’ve been blessed by the Gods.

He brings you to the bar, orders two more drinks, and then makes sure you’re comfortable on your stool before he sits on his own. You’re not sure you want to keep drinking, but then Thor doesn’t even seem to care about the glasses placed in front of you when they do come. He holds his in his free hand, sure, but his eye is zeroed in on your reaction to him and nothing else.

“I don’t want this to sound weird,” he starts, “but you smell...so familiar.”

You shrug. It’s not that weird, you know. Scents are how everyone distinguishes themselves.

“I’ve been...around. In the background, I guess.”

“What- the whole time?” he asks.

You nod, picking up the drink to take little sips. It’s not too bad that way, thankfully. A simple drink, with plenty of tropical flavoring to make it bearable.

“Well somebody’s gotta keep an eye on day-to-day stuff around the city,” you tease, flashing a smile at him because you really can’t make your face do anything else. Even when you drink again, your cheese are still puffed into a rather gleeful expression, because just being in his presence is enough to light you up.

The feeling leaves you thinking about how pathetic of an Omega you are. But it also...makes you think about how close he is. How he chose to invite you, to dance with you, to drink with you. He could have any Beta or Omega he wants...and he’s looking at you.

He keeps looking at you. The whole night, actually. The only time he’s not really looking is when, four drinks later each, you’re straddling his waist in a corner booth and his hands are roaming the curve of your hips. His one eye is shut, but you can only tell because there’s no flutter of eyelashes on your cheek.

You don’t care, though, because your tongue is tangled with his, and he noises he’s making fill you with warmth and electricity that makes the hairs on the back of your neck and along your arms stand up. The sheer Alpha energy wafting off of him is consuming you beyond comprehension, pushing you closer and closer to a point of no return, but you don’t care.

Five years of pining and it only took introducing yourself to get him in your clutches. You laugh at the thought.

He pulls back, dipping his head to the side because your lips drag to follow his. His eye barely opens, but you’re so close that it doesn’t matter. He can easily see you right where you are.

“What’s so funny, Little One?” he asks, using a name he’s just taken to calling you moments ago.

You bite your bottom lip lazily and shake your head. “Absolutely nothing,” you tell him, breath heavy as it falls across his face.

You’re just about to dive right back in when someone clears their throat. Your body wants you to ignore them, but your mind, as gone as it is, knows better. The authority in the person’s voice screams Alpha, and despite them not being your Alpha, you still heed their warning.

Looking over your shoulder, you find the Valkyrie standing, watching, arms crossed. Possession in her eyes like a bright fire.

You’d thought she wasn’t competition, but maybe you were wrong.

“What happened to your friend?” Thor asks from below you.

“Sent her on her way,” the Valkyrie says. “You should, too.”

Your face drops. Your heart skips a painful beat as you realize...he’s going to listen to her. She is competition, despite being an Alpha herself and despite having had her own source of fun earlier in the night.

Without hesitating any longer, you slide off of Thor’s lap, twisting to sit before pushing yourself out of the booth. He calls your name, and you can’t help but stop, but you don’t turn to face him. You look at the Valkyrie, see the fire still burning in her irises, and scurry away. Out of the bar, onto the street and down a block without thinking twice.

You’re lucky that you’re able to hail a cab without a hitch. You know how lucky you are, but you don’t really feel lucky.

Really, you feel even more pathetic now. Thor had brought you up so high over the course of one night, but a single glower from the Valkyrie and you were reduced to embers, the dying bits of a fire burned long into the night.

You manage to keep it together until you reach your apartment. The second your door is locked, the tears come. You slip out of your shoes and tear your work clothes from your body before shakily managing to get in bed. The covers come up over your head, and only then do you let out a room-shaking sob.

How you could have read the room any differently than to know the Valkyrie would never let you have him, you can’t say. Something about the whole situation didn’t make sense, but the feelings of shame and embarrassment wash over you so strongly that you don’t care to think the night through.

Your little crush would be the end of you. Unrequited Imprinted Omegas, more often than not, became old maids, never mating, suffering through heat after heat until, one day, their bodies aged and decided they no longer needed to bear babes. Then, they were useless to anyone.

Everything hurt as you acknowledged your future.

You don’t cry beyond that night. Knowing that your crush is entirely one-sided meant acknowledging that you couldn’t just imagine yourself into mating. You wouldn’t let yourself get lost in the fantasy of being Thor’s Omega anymore.

So, you avoid him. It’s not too hard, since your department is well below the residential floors and no one really comes to visit much. You have work to keep you busy, and plenty of books and television to catch up on at home.

You hate that your biological systems have decided that, if you can’t have Thor, you won’t have anyone. But until you know whether or not this Imprint will fade, you have to accept the possibility that you may end up alone. It wasn’t ideal, but it happened, and you know it does.

A week after karaoke night, you see a doctor. You tell them, reluctantly, about your Imprint. You tell them that you’re certain the feeling is unrequited, that there’s no possible way he formed as quick a connection as you had. You ask to be put on suppressants, so that you won’t have to suffer as much pain during your heats, since you’ve convinced yourself you’ll be the only one getting you through them until you don’t get them anymore.

They give you a higher dose than they normally would for someone who’s never been on suppressants before. But they tell you that they want to help with the emotional impact of an unmatched Imprint. They say the medication will dull the ache, will cloud the thoughts and memories of the person you’re imprinted on. This specific dose and brand of suppressant will make it easier for you to function on a daily basis without falling into depressive spirals.

Within days, you can tell there’s a difference. You’re not anxious about going into work, not constantly thinking about running into Thor again. The image of the Valkyrie’s smoldering eyes doesn’t haunt your dreams as much.

You feel...almost normal. Still a little pathetic, but you’re getting there.

On occasion, when the rest of the team is already on mission, you’re recruited for your special abilities.

One of those abilities is flight. Meaning that you have your pilot’s license, so sometimes Tony Stark himself asks if you’ll captain a jet for some of his friends. You almost never turn him down - you can’t remember the last time didn’t eventually regret turning Tony Stark down for anything.

You wish you had this time. You’re stuck on a ship with Bruce Banner, the Valkyrie, and Thor. Their camaraderie distracts you as you attempt to fly the jet, but more than that, Thor’s scent completely engulfs you and doesn’t let you go for a second.

Not even when you’ve landed the jet and let them off to fight whatever Hydra group they’ve found this time.

The longer the smell of him lingers, the more frustrated you become. You try to hold it together, remember that you’re on suppressants and nothing is supposed to happen to you. If you hold your breath and close your eyes, you can actually calm down a little, you think.

But then you take in a deeper breath and you’re filled with him all over again.

“Fuck,” you mutter, shutting your eyes as hard as you can. But that proves to be a bad idea, too, because the second you rest your head against your seat, all you can see is him. You can practically taste his tongue on yours, as if you’d only been kissing him the night before and not nearly a month ago.

You whimper, and it’s the single most lamentable noise you’ve ever heard.

Heat settles in your belly. Slick gathers between your thighs. Blood rushes in your veins so hot and heavy and fast you’re sure you can hear it.

You need release. It doesn’t make sense because you’re not due to be in heat for a week and it shouldn’t feel this intense while you’re on these suppressants, but you don’t think about that right now or, really, even care.

You look over the back of your seat. There’s no noise coming in from the dropped walkway at the opening at the back of the ship. The three of them only left a little while ago, so they won’t be back for some time.

Reaching forward to your control panel, you turn up the volume on your comm, just in case, but also shut off your mic. You can hear them if they call you, but they can’t hear you.

The zipper to your tac pants is too easy to slide down. You roll up your sleeve, reach below the fabric of the pants, and find your folds already drenched. You gather slick on your fingers and reach your clit, rubbing in slow circles at first.

Your eyes shut and all you can see is Thor. All you can smell and feel and taste is Thor.

Your mind wanders. You dream of Thor touching you like this, teasing and pleasing you, beaming when he knows how wet you are for him. You hear imaginary praises that set butterflies free in your stomach, and the taste of your name on his tongue is so real and glorious that you whine as loudly as possible. Your back arches against the metal chair uncomfortably, but you keep going.

Two of your own fingers reach down and enter you, but you almost convince yourself that they’re his. That he wants to see you beneath him, stretching for him, preening and keening for him. You know he’d be bigger than you are, but you are all you have to work with.

You move quickly, hitting your spot before long, pushing against your chair and moaning out into the world as if you’re in your own bed. You clamp your free hand over your mouth, just in case you hit a button or someone comes back without announcing themselves.

The last thing you need - the last thing you could even handle - is being caught in this act.

You clench around your fingers and come messily, but thankfully, entirely alone. It’s the first time, maybe ever, that you’re glad to not have any company.

After giving yourself ample time to calm down, you rush off to the restroom to clean yourself up. Now that you’ve taken care of yourself, you don’t need two Alphas and a Beta to board the ship and immediately know what you’ve done in their absence.

It rains for three days straight after that mission. It wasn’t a hard or taxing mission in particular - or so Bruce had explained upon returning to the jet - but something about it had affected Thor enough for him to keep a continuous storm hanging over the city.

You don’t dare ask him about it, though. It’s not any of your business how he feels and what he does.

But then, on a late night after work, he shows up at your apartment. He has the decency to knock, and even more to ask for permission to enter your space.

An Omega’s home is a sacred place. A safe space. So many parts of being an Omega in a large city are dangerous, and a home is meant to be somewhere to escape all of that.

So when an Omega lets an Alpha in after that Alpha has submitted to their will? It’s… huge.

You and Thor both know that. The remarkably surprised look on his face when you allow him into your living room tells you that much.

He looks around as he enters, taking in the picture frames of you and work friends, you and childhood friends, and you and your parents. His mouth hangs open, even and especially when you tell him to get comfortable and take a seat wherever.

You immediately think you shouldn’t give him so much power in your space, but you actually don’t regret it. You offer him a drink and try not to take it personally when he declines politely.

He seems pleased when you set your own glass of water on the coffee table in front of the couch. You sit with one leg bent so you can face him, and you smile without even having to think about it.

“So. What’s up?” you ask him.

He sighs and wrings his hands out. “I think I owe you an apology.”

You wish that were true, but you can’t, for the life of you, figure out what it is he should be sorry for. You’ve gone over everything in your head since that karaoke night and you’ve never once found anything to blame Thor for.

It wasn’t like he knew you. Wasn’t like he owed you an explanation or anything.

You shake your head. “No, Thor, it’s okay-”

“But it’s not. I have so much to say and...I don’t think I know where to begin.”

In the silence that follows, you think about how weird this is. Your feelings for Thor are intense - or were - but you still don’t really know one another. One night of drunken making out does not make a solid foundation for any kind of relationship. He shouldn’t feel like he has anything to apologize for.

You’ve been keeping yourself in check with reality this whole time, you realize. And it’s been helping and hurting - more of the former, thankfully.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he is in your space, working up to some kind of apology for...what, abandoning you? It’s not really like he did that, either, and it was long enough ago that he shouldn’t still feel so sorry.

He’s an Alpha. An extremely good looking Alpha with the appeal of a pirate and the gentle touch of an Angel (which you know from first hand experience now). He could have any Omega or Beta he wants - and you know that’s not the first time you’ve thought so.

More than anything, you kind of want an explanation. But who are you to demand such a thing from him?

He laughs at himself, bringing you back to reality for you. “You’d think in my quest to find you, I would’ve thought of what to say.” He shakes his head and looks down at his lap. “It’s just… Since that night, I haven’t...stopped thinking about you?”

Despite ending the statement as a question, Thor still can’t bring himself to look at you.

You sigh a little sadly and tell him, “It’s been weeks since that night. And we were just on a mission together-”

And he nods, effectively cutting your thoughts off at the root. “I know I’ve disappointed you. I could tell on the jet. I hesitated to come out here, to you, because I know I’ve done wrong by you.”

Something inside you yells out to take his hand and comfort him, but you fight the impulse. It wouldn’t be appropriate, despite your nature telling you otherwise.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been granted the leisure to have thoughts of this nature, (Y/N). That’s no excuse to mistreat any unbonded Omega, but it’s true in any case.” He smooths out the denim of his jeans, but doesn’t say more.

So you grip the back of your couch for a little grounding of courage before asking him, “If you’re so concerned with treating unbonded Omegas right, why did you buy me drinks? Invite me to dance? Let me…” Despite your best efforts, a lump forms in your throat. You try to push past it by clearing your throat, but can’t manage to finish the last question. You go on with, “Why let all of that night happen the way it did if you were already taken?”

At that, he finally turns back to you, his brow arched in a question over his one eye. “What do you mean, taken?”

“Why hide it, Thor? The Valkyrie is clearly better suited to your needs.” You think only of preparedness for battle when you say it. “Who am I to keep you away from her?”

“What are you talking about?” he asks, as if he hasn’t a clue.

Anger bubbles in your stomach, but you try to keep it contained when you say, “She’s the one that came over and separated us. She told you to get rid of me. What other explanation is there for that?”

“(Y/N),” he says softly. So softly that you can’t not look up at him again. “Val and I are not bonded. We’re not together. Neither one of us is taken by each other, or anyone else for that matter.”

“But she-”

“Was looking out for you. I don’t know if you remember much about our...tryst, but I was far too close to...well, to be frank, taking you right there in that booth.”

You are...stunned. This is not what you expected at all. And you have nothing to say - your mind is, inconveniently, blank as you try to process his explanation.

“Val is hard to read. I can see where you might’ve come from to think otherwise. She only wanted me to release you to keep you safe, in a very public setting, with Alphas all over the place.”

“And I ran-”

“I regret not going after you, at least to make sure you made it home safely.”

The sincerity in his voice is echoed in his eye. You now feel a little bad, since you’re still keeping a huge secret from him when he’s given you every explanation you could need. But...how do you tell an Alpha like Thor that you’ve only recently been suppressing your longstanding feelings for him, and that those longstanding feelings are more than just feelings?

You decide you won’t. Or can’t. Not yet. His thinking of you, of seeking you out, is not equal to being Imprinted. Telling him now will not help anything.

Besides, your meds are helping. Even with him so close you could touch now, you still don’t feel the same dread you had before you’d approached him the first time - dread caused by anxiety over a possible rejection.

You can’t set yourself up for that so early on.

“Is...that all you wanted to say?” you ask. If he gets up and leaves now, then you know it’s done and over. You’ll do what you have to in order to move on.

But if he stays…

You wait, and eventually, he shakes his head.

“It’s not.” He shifts to face you like you’ve been facing him and clears his throat. “I’d regret leaving you now if I didn’t ask if you would like to show me around town one night. My friends are sometimes helpful but mostly have their own haunts, so I’ve mostly only seen a handful of the same bars.”

You take him to Times Square, just for the hell of it. You take him to see Wicked and he cries through intermission, drawing the wary eyes of more than a few other Alphas. But he hardly seems to care.

You take him to a 24-hour diner after the show and down coffee and hashbrowns and pancakes galore, and you laugh and talk and enjoy his presence like you had at karaoke night. He’s cordial and kind, not like many other Alphas you know. You’re more surprised that you’re the only Omega you know that’s Imprinted on him than the fact that you are still Imprinted on him.

How are you the only Omega not willing to let this moment pass?

When he brings you back to your apartment, you don’t want him to leave. You try to invite him in, but he shakes his head, though he doesn’t appear to be able to stop smiling at you.

“I won’t repeat my mistakes from the bar,” he says, only moving through the motions of attempting to pull his hand from yours. But there’s no real effort there. No muscle behind his actions.

You know if he really wanted to leave, he’d have no problem pulling you off of him.

“Just come in. We can talk, that’s all. I just don’t want this to end.”

“And neither do I-”

“Then come in,” you say, really, truly trying to get him to budge.

He doesn’t. But he does smile, even laugh at your attempt. “I’m not going to move this too quickly. I told you I don’t believe in mistreating Omegas.”

“You’d be mistreating me more by leaving now.”

He seems to pause at that, and you take the opportunity to tug on his hand in yours. You must take him by surprise, because he’s jostled over your threshold and into your living room. He laughs at that, too. You shut the door and lock it - but the lock is simple and on the inside of the door, so you both know he’d be able to unlatch it if he truly wants to leave.

When he doesn’t do anything other than stand up straight again, you move closer to him.

“We can just...watch a movie. Have some popcorn or something,” you say.

“It’s so late,” he tries. And it is, but there’s a distinct lack of emphasis behind his words.

“All the more reason for you to not be wandering the streets of New York, all alone and unfamiliar with the grid system, as you are.” You smirk up at him, knowing that, since he’s already here, you’re going to win this debate. “Nothing has to happen. And...if it does-”

“Which it won’t,” he says, eyebrows raising nearly up to his hairline.

“We just won’t let it ruin this.”

“But nothing is going to happen. I’m only going to stay if you agree to that.”

He drives a hard bargain, you think. And while half of you wants something to happen so badly, the more logical part that’s been bringing you back to reality over the last five years reminds you that his worry is legitimate. That just because nothing is going to happen tonight, that does not mean something won’t happen eventually.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “I accept your terms.” And then, before you can convince yourself otherwise, you stretch up on your tiptoes to press a small kiss to the soft hairs of his beard, right along his cheek. When you set back on your heels again, you smile and tell him to get comfortable. “My movies are in the rack next to the TV. Pick one and I’ll be right back with a snack.”

It nearly breaks your heart when he tells you he won’t spend your next heat with you.

You waste five whole days in bed, rolling back and forth, eating ice cream and cold pizza when you’re not weighed down by an entire wholesale-sized pack of Icy Hot wraps around your abdomen. It’s honestly not your worst heat, so you’re finally glad you’re taking suppressants.

All you really want, though, is Thor with you. Holding you, caring for you in every way an Alpha is meant to during heats. Sometimes you dream about him so viscerally that you search for him when you first wake up, but quickly remember his gentle but firm rejection when you’d asked him to stay.

At the end of the fifth day, you clean everything. Every surface in your apartment shines and sparkles and has no trace of a heat whatsoever before you even dare to call him.

He comes over for breakfast the next morning. You’ve got two more days off from work - a preliminary statute to all Omega contracts under Stark Industries - and since you’re sure your heat is over, you and Thor both agree it’s safe for him to come over.

But you’re quiet. Unusually so. From the moment he shows up, you’re not yourself. He’s so used to holding your hand now, to you cuddling up against him, and he knows something is wrong.

When he asks as you’re preparing eggs, you let out a deep sigh.

“I just… I really wanted your help over the last couple of days. That’s it.” You know there’s no use in lying to him, especially not on top of the secret you’re still keeping.

No, you still haven’t told him about your Imprint. It’s too embarrassing to think about now. Maybe there will be a good time to talk about it, but you don’t think it’s now.

He doesn’t say anything until you finish with the eggs. When you bring them to the table and immediately turn around to continue cooking, he stands up and gently grips your hand. You try to keep going, but he calls your name so softly, you nearly melt back into him. But you stop yourself before you fall too far.

“I have one strict rule for myself and many, many smaller, more specific rules follow it. First and foremost, I protect those who cannot protect themselves.” He tugs on you gently, clearly wanting you to face him, but you stand your ground.

“It wasn’t your protection I needed, Thor.”

“No, you’re right. You needed to be protected from me.”

He must’ve known that would get you to look at him. He seems to be anticipating the incredulous, offended glare you send at him.

“One of those more specific rules I’ve set for myself is that I do not share a bed with an unbonded Omega, for the first time, during their heat. I will not stoop to the level of the majority of Alphas, who only seek out their own pleasure.”

“So you’d rather let me writhe in pain for days instead.”

He sighs, practically growls from deep in his chest, but he doesn’t look or smell or feel angry to you. Frustrated, perhaps, but to be fair, you are too.

“Of course I don’t want that. Of course I wanted to be there for you. But what kind of man - what kind of Alpha would I be if I took advantage of that pain? What happens to this-” he holds your intertwined hands up in front of your face - “if I act selfishly on your discomfort?”

On the one hand, you want to tell him that it isn’t as if you weren’t begging for his company. But...on the other, you kind of get it. And you’ve known Thor long enough now to really hear what he’s saying: that this isn’t just about his comfort, but yours. That he wants to take this courtship at your comfort speed, not his.

You don’t think you were wrong to ask him to help you. But at least now, you’re not really upset with him for turning you down, either.

You have a lot of important, heavy conversations in succession. You draw lines and create boundaries, come to compromises and agreements over a series of weeks and long, drawn-out dates.

And after each one of these dates, you feel so much better than you have since he’d come back from Asgard. Or with what was left of Asgard.

Thor doesn’t think you’re a pathetic Omega. He thinks you’re attentive and sweet, affectionate and maybe a little over eager. But he likes that. He’s told you, often, that he likes seeing you light up when something excites you. He reminds you how long it’s been since he’s been able to focus on taking moments like those in, and he appreciates every one of them.

You know pushing off telling him the Big Secret will only complicated things later on. And with how open you’ve become with one another, you don’t really want to continue keeping it from him.

You wait until after a movie ends, then turn to face him, practically curled into his side on your couch. You tell him that you have something to say, something important. He bends the arm across the back of the couch and rests his forehead against his fist, one of his clear signs that he’s listening.

“So...that day, when I just showed up in the common area?”

“Yes?”

You want to get the words out. They struggle to fight against the lump in your throat, because saying this is…weird and you know it. You manage to get out, “Well, I didn’t just show up.”

He laughs at that. “I assumed as much, (Y/N). I never took you as one gifted with teleportation.”

And you know it’s a joke, but it doesn’t sit well in your tumultuous stomach. You try to brush off the sick feeling that threatens to take over, knowing it’ll only get worse the longer you drag this out.

“Before you left after Sokovia, I was hanging around the tower. I think...I think it happened at that party, before Ultron showed up.”

You can’t meet his eye. He must feel the nervous energy flowing from you now, because he pushes hair behind your ear, then lets his hand make a slow trail down your arm until he can hook his fingers between yours.

The warmth of his palm reminds you that this is necessary. That, for this courtship to work the way you want it to, you have to be honest with Thor. Ask for forgiveness for not being open about it before, but don’t keep keeping it from him.

“I...don’t know. I saw you at the bar at some point, talking to Steve and Natasha. I guess you looked over at me or just...in my direction or something, but the second you glanced my way, I felt it.”

His lack of response, lack of question, makes you wonder if he’s following. If he is, and he’s this quiet, you think that can’t be a good thing.

But you have to get it out. The exact words, feelings.

“It was like I’d gone fishing and my hook caught in you but you wouldn’t come when I pulled or let the line go. Like every light in the room shone on you and you alone. And- Gods, this all sounds crazy, I know.” You force yourself to look at him again. His expression is blank, but attentive. “But I did- I Imprinted that night. And I- I hoped it would go away. I’ve read about Imprints that fade over time. And you left Earth for two years, so I waited, day after day, for that...tethered feeling to just go away.”

“It didn’t,” he says.

Slowly, you shake your head and smile sadly at him. “So that night, I thought I might try to do something about it, you know? See if I could, I don’t know, get it to go away if I looked at you or something. Never actually heard or read anything about that working before, but I thought Hey, why the hell not? But, Thor, I just wanted you to know that, through it all, I never once let myself believe it was mutual. I-”

“Why?” he asks.

You’re stunned for a moment. You stare at him, dumbfounded and confused. “Wh-why?” you ask back.

“Why would you convince yourself it wasn’t mutual?”

You blink. And blink. And blink again.

“I-I mean. You’re...Thor. And I-”

“You’re (Y/N),” he says as simply as it is true.

“Well, did you Imprint that night too?” you ask him, eyes widening in curiosity and possibility. You even lean a little further into him, hoping for a specific answer but knowing it’s probably not what you’re going to get. The Gods don’t like you that much...do they?

Thor sighs, but his smile returns. “It’s not...quite the same for Alphas, I believe. If what Stark says about him and Pepper is anything to go off of, of course.”

You don’t really know that much about an Alpha Imprinting, now that you think about it. So you wait for him to explain with bated breath, heart stopping every few seconds to skip an anxious beat.

“From what I know, it’s less of a tethering on our end and more of...being tethered. We feel the pull, but more so as a need to protect. A desire to provide for the Omega who’s chosen us. The whole...system, I think, is meant to pull two people together. Sometimes it’s not perfect, but sometimes,” he drifts, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. He kisses the soft skin there, never breaking eye contact with you. “Sometimes it works out.”

“But what about all that time between when I Imprinted and karaoke night? There’s no way I was on your mind for...years like that.” You didn’t mention that he’d famously courted another Omega before you, and that sometimes, even now, Stark employees asked about her when he was around.

“I told you, it’s been so long since I could even consider this.” His hand squeezes yours gently. “I always felt a calling to return to Midgard. Maybe after that night, you were a part of that call. When you found me and Val that day, it was like...like I’d been given answers to questions I didn’t even know I had to ask. Your presence made sense. And that need to protect you only got stronger after you ran that night.”

“Did you know then?” you ask him. “You’d said you hadn’t stopped thinking about me after that night. Was it because you knew I’d Imprinted?”

He takes a second to think, then shrugs. “Maybe. I think I had an inkling, but more than that, I was just following my instincts. Waiting for that tug to come, to help me find you and see you again.”

The more you think on it, the more you realize that this is just...how Thor functions. He’s not a normal Alpha, so why would anything about your relationship with him be normal? He’s told you many times how lonely he’s been the last few years, how unavailable he’d been to Omegas like you before now. How being back on Earth, back with the Avengers, is really what’s given him the time and energy to focus on things outside of the care and safekeeping of his kingdom.

Because, really, they’re not a Kingdom anymore. It’s a whole complicated mess full of legal and international political jargon that you don’t like bringing into your home, so for now, you put that thought to the back of your mind, knowing you’ll come back to it later.

“So, to be clear,” you finally say to him, relaxing against his side again. “You’re...not mad at me for keeping this from you for so long?”

He chuckles. “Why would I be mad? Honestly, I’m rather flattered.”

You’d turn to face him fully, only you’re far too comfortable where you are now. The validation of your feelings blooms a new affection for Thor deep within you, and you silently thank the Gods for giving him to you.

Bashfully, you tell him, “Some Alphas think Imprinting is just a myth. A lie Omegas use to tie them down and force them into bonding.” You know that’s not how Thor operates, but he asked. “I didn’t think you’d be one of those Alphas, but I was still nervous and, honestly, kind of embarrassed to admit it. It’s not...easy to admit that I didn’t really get a say in picking you.”

Without letting go of your hand, he wraps you up entirely in his arms. Thor is warm and huge and so fucking comfortable. He smells, frankly, to die for, and he’s...all yours. Somehow. At least for this moment.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” he asks softly, lips in your hair now.

“Of course not. I just, really, didn’t want you to think I was making it up, using Imprinting as a trap or something.”

“I’d never.”

“I know. If I regret anything, it’s not telling you sooner.” You tuck your face into the safe, inviting little nook between his shoulder and jaw.

The two of you are just a tangle of limbs and two steady heartbeats. The only other words spoken between you for some time are a whispered, tiny, “I forgive you,” from Thor, but you can tell from the scent he gives off and the kisses against your hair that he doesn’t really think there was anything to forgive in the first place.

Thor is the single most patient Alpha you’ve ever met, let alone been with. He waits for you to come around, to ask for things other Alphas might just demand of their Omegas. But he’s different, and you know it’s because of the whole not having been able to think about romance in a while thing he constantly brings up.

You like this little transition of power. It’s nothing, really, not in the grand scheme of things. But in your home, it’s kind of...everything at the same time.

By Thor letting you make the moves, he’s consistently telling you that you make the rules. You decide when you’re comfortable letting him in, staying the night. He trusts that you’ll respect his status as the Alpha, and in that trust, he gives you something you didn’t even really know you were missing.

Freedom.

It’s almost chilling to know that. But instead of running from something so gigantic, you run toward it.

You woo him by ordering his favorite food one night, ply him with just a little bit of the ale he likes from the corner store (not like it can get him drunk anyway), and sit far too close to eat when there’s a perfectly good chair across the table from him. Neither of you care, though.

Normally, you two sit on the couch and watch movies after dinner.

Not tonight.

You lead him by the hand to your room, ignoring the couch and the television and everything in between because none of it is important. When he asks where you’re taking him, you don’t answer other than to giggle and open the door to your bedroom without a second thought.

You have no doubts. No second guesses. You are absolutely certain you want this.

So you don’t hesitate to pull him into your room. Thor stops short after you’ve shut the door, but he just looks around your space. Wonder and curiosity line his eyes, and his hand loosens around yours as he takes everything in.

If an Omega’s home is sacred, their bedroom is the most protected place in the home. It’s a place only those an Omega trusts fully get to see. So you let Thor take in everything - the dark blue-gray walls, the golden star stickers placed in cascading patterns all around the room, the matching blue and gold bedding, your desk against the far wall with just a stack of papers, your computer, and a lamp on it - and feel proud that he seems to be in awe.

You might never know if you moved closer to his side or if he pulled you against him, but suddenly, you’re practically clinging to his torso. He looks down at you and smiles, baby blues shining like an afternoon storm.

“This all…” he gestures to the room at large, “feels very you.”

“You like it?” you ask, chin against his shoulder as you look up at him.

He shakes his head, but it’s his unwavering smile that keeps you from worrying. “Love it,” he whispers, lowering his face so his lips barely touch yours.

Your mind wraps itself around the true meaning of his words. The energy he’s giving off is electric - excited and relaxed and warm and a little frantic - and you melt into it. You press your lips up to his, and he breathes you in deep.

In what feels like an instant, he hooks his hands under your knees and lifts you until your knees are at his sides. He walks you both to the bed and turns to sit on the edge of your mattress with you in his lap, calves against the sides of his thighs.

You start to pull back and take in the position he has you in because...it’s so...not Alpha behavior. Everyone Alpha you’ve been with before has pinned you down and taken you their way, and you’ve been just fine with that. There’s nothing wrong with following one’s nature, you know, as long as everyone involved consents.

But this...you on top…

You almost move to lay on the mattress yourself, because the idea of being nearly crushed by Thor’s weight is so enticing.

But then his hands slide up and around you. He pulls you closer, until your chests are pressed to one another with no space between them. His fingers dig into your back a bit, just to be as close to you as possible, and your breath gets caught in your throat.

The feeling you get when you’re beneath an Alpha - a feeling of trust and comfort and being protected - fills you. It deepens when you, slowly, reach out and wrap your arms around Thor’s broad shoulders. His scent clogs your brain, and you whine needily because of it.

“You okay?” he asks breathily, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you carefully.

You nod. “Just...not used to this, I guess.”

“You want me to-”

“No,” you whisper. Your hips stutter to make your point. “No, I like it.”

His smile broadens somehow. “Good,” he responds. “Me too.”

You let yourself think that he’s unlike other Alphas one more time. And then you lose yourself in the best fathomable way.

Your clothes are gone in a flash - before you can even recognize how - and your skin gets hot, almost like you’re in heat when you’re not. You know you’re not because there isn’t an inherent, desperate desire for Thor within you that springs forth painfully. Every sensation of lust and want and admiration is totally normal, coming from a place of trust, knowing you’ve both earned it from one another.

He was right to want to wait for this. There’s no pain at all, actually. No annoying nagging of your internal clock reminding you that you’re of ripe reproducing age.

There’s just you and Thor and heat and fun and freedom. And that combination makes his touch all the more sweet, all the more intense against your back.

Maybe you’re not in heat, but you’re still positively drenched for him. He’s long and wide, but still presses into you without much resistance. Your walls are tight around him, and you feel every inch of his cock stretch you out, delicious seconds of tension fading until you’re seated fully on him.

When you’re able to look him in the eye again, all you see reflected in his one shiny orb is a culmination of all the things you’re feeling, too. Words you can’t say yet, only partially because you’re out of breath. Things you’re saving for another day, because right now, all that matters is Thor’s hands on your hips, raising you up off his lap and back down again.

You like being in control of the position, you realize, but you also like when he takes the lead and pounds into you, rendering most of your body useless and totally at his mercy. He’s rough without being aggressive, just tight fingers and loud moaning and tense teeth against your own. He’s, truly, not like any other Alpha you know or have ever known.

Pressure builds within you, increases when one of his hands slides down your body until his fingers find your clit. He rubs small circles into your wet, sensitive skin, and you pull your mouth from his because kissing is nearly impossible when your chest feels this tight. Breathing isn’t coming easily, but you’re not complaining because you’re positive that you’re ascending to another plane of existence.

A gate breaks open. Pleasure - hot, enormous waves of it - washes over you, engulfing you like Thor’s arms do. Everything is him and this lovely, dirty, star-shattering feeling inside of you. You cry out his name. His teeth find your shoulder and dig in - not too far from where he might leave a mark one day, you briefly think - and the pain adds to the lofty, intense sensations rolling through you.

Your walls squeezing him bring Thor over - his knot swells, despite not being in a rut. He fills you with his cum, which you know won’t do anything until you’re off the blockers. For now, for once, you’re kind of grateful for them.

He goes into Total Alpha mode when you both calm down. Thor turns you both, lays you on your comforter, and kisses you tenderly to distract you before he pulls out. The distraction only works so much, but you only whine because you already miss the feeling of him inside you. You relax beneath the satisfactory gleam in his eye, one that seems to promise that he’s not going anywhere, that that feeling will return soon enough.

You whine again when he backs off the bed, but he only chuckles at the sound, shaking his head as he heads to your bathroom. You listen as he rummages around, turns the sink on and off, and finally returns with one wet washcloth and one dry one.

“Is this you calling it a night?” you ask, a little weakly because your body’s more exhausted than you’d like to admit.

He gently presses the wet washcloth to the spots along your thighs were your release has mixed with his and spread. “We have work in the morning,” is his response.

You don’t really like it, but he’s right. If you’d had the next...day or two off, you’d keep going, never leave the bed if that was what Thor wanted. It’s absolutely what you want.

But it’s already kind of late, and indulging on a work night doesn’t entirely seem smart.

“But, just for the record,” you try again, unconsciously spreading your legs further for him, “we could go again if we wanted to, right?” You bite your bottom lip, but that doesn’t hide the downright smirk you’re giving him.

His matches yours. “Of course.”

You let him clean you up in relative silence, satisfied with that answer. You almost...wish you were in heat - the both of you could call out of work and stay here, go as many times as your body required. But you know his rule - his only rule - and you don’t regret sticking to it.

When he gets in bed beside you, you realize that you won’t be needing the comforter below you. His skin his scalding, and he insists on holding you as close as he can get you. You’re still sticky from earlier sweat, and you know more is to come if he’s going to be so close all night, but you somehow don’t seem to mind.

A little while later, before your eyes start to feel too heavy, you sigh and finally tell Thor, “I’m on suppressants, you know.”

He nods. “I do.” When you give him a questioning, confused look, he shrugs. “I found them on the counter one night. I wanted to ask about them, but…”

You face him and scratch the tip of his chin with a single pointer finger. “But?”

“You have every right to choose to be on them or not, (Y/N). And I couldn’t fathom a way of bringing up the subject with you that didn’t innately make me sound controlling.”

“So you’re okay with me taking them then?”

“I…” He takes a second, but seems to fight a war with himself. You can’t stop your heart from sinking in the stretch of his silence. “I’m an Alpha. I try not to think of medications like that in this way, but it does almost feel as though you take them to keep me at arm’s length.”

Maybe at first you think. But not for the reasons you’re considering.

“No,” you whisper instead. “No, I started taking them when I thought Val was your mate. When I thought I was just some dumb Omega with a biological crush on you but had no chance of ever getting- well, where I am now, I guess.”

“And now?”

You can’t help but frown because your answer is...not as meaningful as you’d wish it was. “Now I just-” You sigh. “They’re just a habit now. And I have to say, they were kind of a godsend during my last heat.”

You know you didn’t say that to make Thor feel worse, but his own frown deepens anyway. You shake your head.

“I just mean that fighting the pain alone was nearly impossible before. But last time, it was bearable. Doesn’t mean it has to be that way every time, though.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You give him a small, hopeful smile. “I can be persuaded to stop taking them. They were just a way to protect myself when I thought you were already taken.”

Something stirs in him so quickly, you nearly miss it. But it’s not fleeting, and you can tell by the slow buildup of something against your leg. His smile returns, stretching out across his glorious face at the same pace.

“Funny how those things work themselves out, isn’t it?” he asks.

#thor x reader #alpha!thor x omega!reader #alpha!thor #thor fic #thor odinson x reader

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rachelthompsonauthor · 5 years ago

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Hi, everyone! It’s time to venture back out into the world which is a little scary, right? That’s where we are in Northern California – like turtles starting to stick our heads out just a little bit. We’re starting to visit family, actually going to the grocery store, and getting haircuts for everyone – a good thing since we’re all looking a bit like muppets.

Though with the latest numbers in California, who knows where we’re headed. It’s terrifying. Masks, masks, masks, wash, wash, wash.

In case you missed the last two installments of my blog posts, you can catch up by clicking here for week one and here for week two.

This week I’m thrilled to share an insider look into the mind of author Barbara Delinsky, who just dropped her latest hot read, A Week At The Shore, which immediately hit the New York Times bestseller list – her twenty-third novel to do so.

Both Pip and I enjoyed A Week At The Shore immensely.

Full disclosure: Barbara is one of my BadRedhead Media clients (and I’m supremely grateful for that!). I handle her social media, street team, blog and book review optimization, and a good deal of her book promotion.

After finishing the book (which I loved), I had a few questions for Barbara about her writing style, so I emailed them to her and she was kind enough to respond.

A Week At The Shore by Barbara Delinsky Interview

Q: I notice you don’t only use ‘she said’ for dialogue, which I personally love, though as I’m sure you know well, it’s a DEBATE.

A: I’ve actually spent a lot of time thinking about this. I don’t use half as many other words (“she exclaimed,” “she intoned,” or “she declared”) as much as I used to. Yes, there’s something to be said for simple and real. That said, the constant monotony of “she said” gets boring, so I try to find a comfortable balance. This actually ties in with your next question.

Sometimes, the sub for “she said” can express emotion, as in “she cried,” or “she dare say,” or “she whispered.” So it does add something. Still, though, not quite the “show, not tell” rule (see more on that below).

Q: Also, the ‘show, not tell’ rule regarding feelings. You sometimes say what emotions Mallory {Ed. the main character} feels (at times). If I wrote that in my creative writing classes, my teacher would’ve jumped out a window, yet it works. Again, love. All this ‘do this, not that’ advice can be confusing for writers, regardless of genre, myself included.

A: Yes, it does work at times, at least, for me. But then, I never took a creative writing class, so maybe I just don’t know how to show rather than tell. Here, too, I think you have to be guided by common sense. If by “show,” you mean having a character “start to huff and puff,” to show upset, rather than simply to “cry in alarm,” I’d opt for the simpler.

The image of huffing and puffing will distract the reader from what you’re saying. IMHO, the “show, not tell” rule applies to larger things, like rather than saying “her husband could be nasty,” saying something like, “her husband could see her scrubbing the dinner dishes and tell her she was made for this.” So, it’s really giving an example of what you’re saying in summary. Does that make sense?

Q: Yes, absolutely. Also, you write about the past in the present tense – I do this with memoir and blog posts, and prefer to read books or even blog posts/articles written this way. It’s more immediate. When I work with writers in my workshops, they tend to write in the past tense. I haven’t read all of your other books, so I wonder if you do this with all your books?

A: I’m actually not even aware of writing about the past in the present tense, unless it’s a bonafide flashback, in which case it would be in the present. I’ve been experimenting with different tenses book to book. My last book, BEFORE AND AGAIN, was in the first-person past tense, A WEEK AT THE SHORE is in first person present tense.

The latter took some getting used to. And it’s possible that I botched the flashback tenses simply because I’m not ultra-experienced with first-person present. My editor didn’t catch or change anything, though. I agree with you. There is an immediacy to first-person present tense that is nice. That said, the new book I’ve started is in first-person past tense.

Q: Basic skills – I get it. This is how new writers learn. You aren’t new (after writing hundreds of books and stories), so you break rules – is that it?

A: I’m not “schooled” in writing, so I don’t know I’m breaking the rules!!

Q: You’re so skilled, Barbara. Your characters are intricate and layered. This book is a CLASS in writing. Do you ever think about young writers reading your work and learning from you?

A: You are too kind, Rachel. Seriously. I’m just muddling along, basically doing what works for me as a reader, since I have no formal training. Truly. Now I’m just enjoying it.

Barbara has written a few articles for me on my biz site about breaking the writing rules, which I hope you’ll read. She’s a true writer’s writer. I hope you’ll read her books and articles. She’s also an avid reader herself and does weekly book reviews on her blog.

What I’m Reading Now

I’m now reading the third book in the Discovery of Witches series, The Book of Life, and it’s fabulous, just like the others in this series. I’m not going to spoil it for you if you haven’t read these. Harkness is a wonderful writer, and she weaves history, passionate love, and the supernatural together in a way that carries you into other worlds. Even though it’s vampires, witches, and demons, it’s not glowy, corny vampires and evil witches on broomsticks. Harkness’ stories are wholly imaginative.

When I found out Sundance made the first book into a series, I paid for the app ($5.99/month – totally worth it) and watched the entire series in one day. SO GREAT. Perfectly cast, well-acted, leaving me yearning for more. I’m now re-watching it.

What Else I’m Watching

I never did see Being John Malkovich so I watched it with my daughter. Weird flick. Good, but super weird. Definitely takes the, ’15 minutes of fame,’ motto and turns it on its head. Speaking of heads, I’ve never seen such horrible hair in any movie.

Have you seen it? What are your thoughts?

Space Force just came out on Netflix and it’s hilarious. If you’re super conservative, you may not like it, so beware (though they poke fun at both parties). If you can laugh at the ridiculousness of government, please watch. Carrell is great, as usual, and the relationship dynamics are brilliant (and there’s John Malkovich again – great, as usual).

Vanderpump Rules I mentioned previously that this is the one reality show I watch with my 20-year-old daughter, Anya, and we watched the reunion shows – all three of them. I know, ridiculous. Jax is such a joke (his blatant homophobia disgusts me, though he says he supports gays – what?), Jax and Brittany together are just ugh, and Max makes me want to vomit (breaking news – he just got fired – ha!).

And honestly, could Vanderpump be any more white? We’ve been saying this for years.

SO much has happened since last week – wowzers. They’ve fired four people as of this writing for making racist remarks. Either the show will be retooled or canceled. I’m sad to see the epitome of white-girl whiteness Stassi gone – she was at least honest about her privilege. What do you think?

I’d be pretty much done with this show if it wasn’t for my daughter begging me to watch with her (we do watch movies and other shows as well). I’m glad Pumpy fired their asses, otherwise, I’d be done DONE.

Compassion

What’s missing from most reality shows is compassion, which is why I don’t enjoy watching them. We see (and hear, loudly and repeatedly) the negativity, toxicity, and the worst in people because that’s what the editors and producers know will keep viewers coming back – drama.

There are flashes of compassion, e.g., when dealing with the death of a loved one, coming out, infidelity, or mental health issues. I appreciate when Bravo, for example, handles these issues well. I don’t appreciate it when they have not – and they have not in many cases. An overall lack of compassion appears to be missing from many of these people’s lives; however, using The Four Agreements, that’s an assumption on my part; we don’t see behind the scenes or when the cameras are off.

I do have compassion for the casts of these shows who have decided money is worth more than their privacy. They are adults making decisions about their lives, and all that comes with it, as any celebrity does. Now, they’re dealing with the fallout.

“Make good choices!” as Jamie Lee Curtis’s mom in Freaky Friday admonishes a young Lindsay Lohan’s Anna (and we all know how that turned out). Oh, Lindsay. Honestly, she’s such a product of dysfunction, it’s truly sad, but that’s a whole other post.

If only people would listen to their Hollywood movie mothers…

Products Supporting Black Lives Matter

In no particular order, here’s what I’ve bought and am loving:

YUBI: The original fingertip makeup brush is amazing. Worth every penny. How did I not know about this?

Pat McGrath Real Makeup: I’m a sucker for a great eye shadow palette. McGrath’s are pricey but fab-u-lous. Why so spendy? All her products are highly-pigmented so you don’t need much; they’ll last a good long time. Here’s the one I purchased on Amazon. For when, ya know, I actually have somewhere to venture out to.

Body Butter Lady: Lip stuff and of course, body butter. Affordable, smells amazing, and will last a good, long, time.

LipBar: Lips for days, tons of colors and textures to suit anyone.

LipSlut: Awesome colors, and 50% of all proceeds go to support women and children’s charities all the time. Right now, they’re supporting Black Lives Matters. 50% towards charity, 100% against tyranny. Cruelty-free, Vegan.

Their newest shade, F*ck Trump on pre-order, will support civil rights organizations specifically targeted by the Trump organization – I mean, administration. Oopsies.

Here is my current personal selection (F*ck Kavanaugh is a favorite – a pretty brownish-red that wears well):

***

So that’s it for this week. Would love your feedback on COVID-19, books, movies, shows, makeup, racism, or whatever you want to discuss. Thanks for stopping by!

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

The post Venture Out Of Quarantine With Me appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

#IFTTT #Rachel Thompson

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ruffiorocks · 6 years ago

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Supergirl Season 2 episode 1 review. The Kara and James relationship. (Or lack of) FYI. Long Post and NOT James friendly!) In this essay i will.... actually write an essay!😅

OK so the parts in bold are what i deemed the most important parts of James and Kara non relationship in this episode. In case you don't want to read it all!

2.28 into the episode and Kara sees Mon El for the first time. (IF i was a Karamel shipper i would say this is where James went out of the window. But one look at at an unconscious guy and falling for him is super creepy! )

3.55 in and Kara is over enthusiastic and rambling about her date with James. While the whole time Alex looks awkward as hell.

4.14 in and Alex is telling Kara she is doing that thing where she is super over eager which means she really isn't but she's trying to convince herself that she is.

4.20 in and Kara is trying to convince Alex that she is excited but seems to be trying to convince herself more than Alex. Alex just isn't buying it.

7.27 in and Kara is rushing to get ready.

7.35 in and Kara is struggling to find the correct outfit.

7.43- There’s a knock in the door and Kara looks in the mirror, takes a breath and looks like she is mentally preparing for this.

7.58 - Awkward ‘do you want to come in or go out?'

8.03 - James produces Pizza and Pot stickers, Kara snatches the food and honestly looks more excited about the food than she has about James the entire episode so far!

8.10 - Kara says pot stickers and Pizza are her favorite. To which James replies ‘Which i know about you!’ Well why wouldn't he know that? They have been friends for a whole year, is this supposed to be impressive?

8.17 - James is surprised Kara isn’t watching the Venture launch because ‘I know how into the Space program you are’. TWICE! Twice in the last 6 minutes he felt the need to point out to Kara two things he knew about her. Who are you trying to convince here James?

8.25 - Kara puts the TV on, seemingly more interested in the food and it than James. She’s way more excited James said she could put it on than she has been about their date so far.

11.22 - Kara shows way more excitement about seeing Clark than anything she has shown in regards to James and her date.

11.37 - Kara shows more excitement and joy in teaming up with Clark than she has ever shown in regards to anything about dating James. This here is what real excitement looks like.

12.43 - Winn shows more excitement and heart eyes in meeting Clark than Kara has EVER shown towards James.

13.29 - Alex, who in a few episodes will realize she’s gay tells Kara ‘your cousin smells terrific’. Alex the soon to be lesbian shows more interest in Clark than Kara has towards James.

14.19- Winn tells Clark he looks fantastic. (I ship it!)

15.28 - Clark is telling James that everyone at the Daily Planet has missed him, and he says he missed them to but he likes it in National City. He says this while glancing at Kara who is nervously touching her glasses and looking really awkward. Thankfully Cat rescued Kara from this situation.

16.44 - James and Kara have another awkward chat about their rushed date, Kara rambles on about how it isn't OK and it was an important step for them and how they will make a plan, execute the plan fully. Even James says ‘that sounds errr. romantic’. Kara is clearly over compensating here, she doesn't want to do this.

17.15 - Kara says she wants it to work, James does to aaaaaand cue another interruption.

18.50 Kara meets Lena

19.02 - Lena turns around and makes eye contact with Kara.

19.06 - Lena smirks at Kara and asks who she is.

19.09 - Kara is having trouble remembering her own name!

19.37 - Clark tells Lena her name isnt Smith its Luthor. Cue Kara glancing at Clark and giving him a curious look, like ‘Come on, thats not fair’.

19.44 - Lena tells her back story, but she tells it directly to Kara, not to Clark.

20.12 - ‘Im just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside her family, you understand that?’ Kara ‘YES!’ Lena's already showing she has more in common with Kara than i think James has ever had!

20.33 Lena ‘Just give me a chance Mr Kent, im here for a fresh start, let me have one’.

20.38 - Clark tells Lena to have a good day, while in the back ground Kara nods approval at Clark’s answer. Almost as if to say, good job for not being harsh on her again.

20.52 - Kara asks Clark what he thinks about Lena, he says he's learned not to trust what Luthors say.

20.59 - Kara tells Clark she isnt a reporter but she kind of believed Lena.

21.17 - Kara asks Clark how he does it all, the Supergirl part of her life is clear but the rest of it isnt.

20.32 - Clark says You mean Jimmy?’ Cue Kara’s utter (and quite frankly odd) surprise that he knew about this.

22.22 - Clark tells Kara to trust her heart and if things are right with James she will know it. Kudos to Clark here, he didnt try to push her towards James. (Like Alex will later do with Mon El)

25.59 - Kara saves Lena and the helicopter and tells Lena she is safe.

26.13 -back at Cat Co Kara runs into James stating she’s been looking for him, cue more Kara rambling (i swear this is the most rambling in a single episode we have see so far). She goes on about how nothing is getting in the way of their date. All the while James is looking so done with this situation. While Kara is suggesting Italian and she’ll even fly there he interrupts her.

26.26 - James says its OK, and asks her to just admit that something has changed for her.

26.30 - Kara gets as far as saying ‘James’ before she is rudely interrupted by him saying ‘dont tell me im wrong, or im imagining something because i know you, i thought its what you wanted’. Ignoring the fact that this is the third time in this episode alone James has felt the need to tell Kara he knows her or something about her. He isnt even allowing her to speak.

26.39 - Kara finally stops trying to convince herself she want to be with James.

26.53 - Kara says she doesnt know what she wants.

26.54 - The smile James had is now gone, even though he was the one who told her from the start of this conversation to admit something is different. Kara does him the curtsy of doing what he just asked her to do and his response is ‘ Well thats honest at least’ and then he walks off, leaving her in the middle of Cat Co. Dude!! You can’t tell people to admit something is wrong, then act all butt hurt when something is in fact wrong. Instead of acting like a mature adult and not a teenager, he doesn't try to discuss it further, no he walks away butt hurt and wounded like she owed him something.

(honestly if Kara hadn’t realized James isnt what she wants already, then this should have been the thing that convinced her. I would say she doesn't want to be dating a man child, but we all know what she ends up doing later this season!)

28.06 - Cat Grant tells Kara to dive!

28.57 - Cat tells Kara they are used to their comfort zones, but in order to live they have to keep daring and diving. Im curious, does this mean that James was simply a comfort zone for Kara? If she had gotten with him would she have been settling?

30.29 - Kara is comfortable enough with Lena to walk to the naming ceremony with her and Lena is already confiding in Kara.

31.30 - Lena is attacked (again), James is at the naming ceremony for some reason. I still dont know why, all he does is ‘save’ someone by helping someone stand up who was already about to do it anyway. Then we dont see him again here. Was this some Guardian foreshadowing? If it was it was s**t!

31.57 - Alex saves Lena from Corbin.

33.22 - Lena returns the favor and saves Alex from Corbin when Kara couldn't. Lena is already showing she is more useful than James has been this whole episode. First she handed over the flash drive, then she saved Alex’s life.

33.36 - Far from looking pissed at Lena for shooting someone, Kara looks impressed.

33.49 - Alex says ‘ nice work Supergirl’ Er.... Alex? are you forgetting that it was Lena who just saved your ass and she is still standing right there?!! Kara ‘i had help’ she says while looking at Clark in the sky! Err... Kara? again Lena is stood right there! You may have saved the building but Alex is alive because of Lena. This right here unfortunately is just the beginning of Lena saving lives and the world and it either being under appreciated, ignored or Kara getting the credit. A trend that has lasted all the way up to the current season.

33. Back at L Corp, Lena thanks Clark for writing about how she shot Corbin, Yes Clark! At least you noticed and gave her the credit she deserved! Clark even says he was wrong about Lena. A lesson that will take James a lot longer to learn, while using Clark’s experiences as his reasons. Ironic that Clark was cool with Lena by the end of the first episode.

34.18 - Lena looks at Kara in THAT way and flusters her once again. She essentially tells her she should be a reporter. Kara in response looks like she just had a religious experience.

34.31 - Lena. ‘I hope this isn't the last time we talk?’ Kara still flustered ‘ I hope not either’.

34.40 - Literally the next scene and Kara is telling Cat she wants to be a reporter. Lena, a woman Kara met that day told her she could be a reporter and suddenly she wants to be one.

Ironically, James spent the whole episode telling Kara all the things he ‘knew about her’ while getting no where. Yet Lena says she thought she was a reporter and suddenly Kara is ecstatic and wants to be one. Lena, a woman who doesn't know Kara, knows Kara better than James does!

35.20 - Cat gives Kara her CV, it has ‘Reporter’ written across it. Wow.. Cat and Lena had the same realization about Kara the moment they met her! Clever women! Yet Kara’s family, friends and the guy she is about to date were NO help at all in this situation. (Well Clark was a bit! )

36.11 - Cat tells Kara that she inspires her and she sees the hero in her. Lena will later say the same things to both Kara and Supergirl.

36.53- Kara meets James on the Cat Co balcony. She tells him that back on Krypton she would be a spinster, something to lighten the mood. But instead of appreciating this, or even acknowledging the fact that, joke or not, Kara just shared some Kryptonian heritage, James is still butt hurt and sulking and he IGNORES her! This prompts Kara into saying she knows she should have things figure out but she doesn't. Last year was about Supergirl, and now its time to figure out who Kara is.

37.22 - Kara tells James he was right, something has changed. She wanted them together but now her heart is telling her they are best as friends. (and you know what? Thats OK! you can have a failed date with a friend and realize you should stay friends).

37.41 - James, finally realizes that he has lost this battle and his sulking wont change that, he tells her that they will always be friends and gives her shoulder a squeeze. (Weirdly he does the same shoulder grab/squeeze on Lena’s bare shoulder, but that time is super creepy!)

37.49 - Kara tells James shes’s off to see Clark and invites him to join her, James obviously still sulking says no, but tells her to say hi to Clark for him. Wow... mature James, mature.

38.03 - Winn is invited to become a permanent member of the DEO. Alex even requested his help at the start of the episode. Id like to take this opportunity to point out that James will NEVER be invited to join the DEO. He simply turns up there and people tolerate his presence. Alex only ever acts annoyed and puts up with James at the DEO, and pissed at the Guardian nonsense. Winn she wanted there. Even Lena is invited to come and help at the DEO and is welcome there. Why? Because she is actually useful!

39.00 - Clark says he likes it want Kara talks about Krypton. A fact that went over James’ head earlier who didnt appreciate that at all.

OK! That was a lot. But ive concluded that throughout this entire episode Kara did NOT want to date James. She tried to convince herself she did and that is not good, even Alex noticed this immediately.

Kara rambled and didnt look comfortable with James at all!

Kara had more chemistry with Lena than she did with James the entire episode (or the previous season). She even showed more interest in her than anything James had to say.

Kara didnt deliberately mess up her time with James, but he acted like she did. She didnt ask to have the whole Venture, Lena, Corbin emergencies. She even went out of her way to try and fix this. But it was ALL about him.

James even told Kara to admit there was an issue, he didn't let her speak before going on at her again. Then when she respected him (something he hadn't done) enough to do as he asked, he got butt hurt and walked off like the mature adult he is.

The writers really went out of their way to destroy whatever spark had been there huh? they couldnt even drag it across two episodes. I have to be honest. I never liked that ship anyway. It took me a while to even remember their ship name!

#kara danvers #anti james olsen #lena luthor #alex danvers #supergirl #supercorp #superman #clark kent #winn shott

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shatteringzimmermann · 7 years ago

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hello yes hi i got bored here’s part one

Shitty found him leaning heavily on the kitchen sink, the coffee pot beside him gurgling quietly.

"You okay?"

Jack glanced over his shoulder at his roommate. "Had another weird dream," he said. "I was-" he waved his hand in front of his face and he turned to lean against the sink. His eyes were shadowed and bloodshot. "-blind. Stumbled around for what felt like hours, bumping into shit and nearly breaking my ankle falling off what must have been a curb or a rock." He cursed quietly. "There were other people there too, loads by the sound of all the voices. All blind and bitching about it."

Shitty hopped onto the island counter. His ass was a little closer to the corner than he had intended, but Jack's reoccurring-but-not-exactly-the-same dreams had been happening for months.

"And remember how I had that dream where everything was black and white until I met someone and then everything was in color?"

Shitty nodded. That was three months ago, and not even the first dream Jack had told him about.

"It was the same idea, but I guess I bumped into the right person and suddenly I could see." Jack frowned. "There was a lot of trash littered all over the place.” The crease between his eyebrows deepened. "I was wearing mismatched sneakers."

"Brah," Shitty said. "But what did they look like? Did you see them this time?"

The coffee pot chirped and Jack pulled two mugs from the cabinet. "No, but I'm starting to think it's a man," he said.

"Any reason why you might think that?"

Jack handed Shitty his Harvard Law mug and wrapped his fingers around his own Falconers one. "Just a feeling."

"Is this a...good feeling?"

Jack's right eyebrow rose.

"You know what I mean, man."

Jack hummed. "Yes, Shitty. It's cool that this mysterious person who may or may not be real but that I keep dreaming about may be male. I’m well aware I haven’t publically dated someone of any gender in years but I’m still okay with this dream person being a dude."

"Asshole."

It made Jack smile and when he glanced out the window over the sink again he saw a flash of honey blonde hair before it disappeared in the rush of the morning commute sidewalk below.

"Tell you what," Shitty said. "Start writing this shit down and I'll have my girlfriend paint you a book of these bizarre-ass dreams."

"Girlfriend? When did that happen?"

"Get that shit-eating grin off your beautiful face. It's the girl I told you about weeks ago."

Jack hid his smile behind another sip of coffee. "Eh. She needs to pass the bathroom test."

Shitty's mustache dipped into his light coffee, leaving the hairs looking like a paintbrush dipped in dirty water from a too-much-white canvas. "The fuckin what?"

"Bathroom test. Marty told me he started doing it with his girlfriends over the years and his wife was one of the few who passed."

Shitty frowned. "This isn't some sexist shit is it?"

Jack shook his head. "When she comes over for a long weekend, how much of her girly crap takes over your bathroom?"

"Literally none of that matters," Shitty protested. "She can do whatever she wants to feel good about herself. Why even do something this stupid anyway?"

Jack rinsed his empty cup and tucked it into the top shelf of the dishwasher. "You're right, overall it doesn't matter. But you're not the kind of guy who wants a super high maintenance chick making him late all the time cause she’s still getting ready. You're more of a 'sorry we're late, we got stoned and were halfway through a box of donut holes before we realized the time.'"

It made Shitty chuckle, but he shook his head. "While that last part may be true, I don't give two shits if she wants to use fruity body wash or wear makeup."

Jack shrugged. "It's not a pass/fail text, eh? Just something to notice."

Shitty hummed before pouring himself another mug. He’d decided, way back in high school, that relationship tests were stupid. A decade and a degree-and-a-half later, he hadn’t changed his mind. Jack, sweet, stupid Jack, hadn’t sat through entire semesters of Women’s Gender and Sexuality classes. Maybe there was a book Shitty could get Jack, maybe something comparing women’s rights from the American Revolution to modern day. It wouldn’t be as educational as having to sit through many classmates’ personal stories that still clung to his mind and changed the way he treated everyone around him, but maybe it would open the door for more conversation.

It was barely a week later when the next dream happened. Two days after that, another. Then another and another and- Matching birthmarks, coincidentally identical tattoos, first words memorized by longing hearts. Palms that warmed when held by a soulmate.

The dreams didn't bother Jack, per se, but the way he felt after was enough to pull him from bed and turn on the bathroom light. Dark shadows had been lining his eyes for most of his life but these dreams made it harder to pretend they weren’t there. It wasn’t sleeplessness that caused the shadows, either; Jack had always been too close with the ache in his chest. Sometimes he could keep it at an arms-length away. Sometimes it grabbed him by the waist and held him tight no matter how much Jack fought.

Jack sat up, sheets falling to his waist, and buried his face in his hands. Breathing deeply for a few moments, Jack focused on the things he could feel and hear to ground himself in reality. He switched on the light when he finished. A history book titled 1776 sat on his nightstand and Jack pulled it off, opening it to his marked chapter.

The words blurred after a few pages. He sighed, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids.

He was Jack Zimmermann, the first out bisexual NHL player. He’d never had to go a day without food or shelter and had gone to the most expensive rehabilitation center in Montreal after his accidental overdose. His parents ended each twice-weekly phone call with a we love you and we are so proud of you. And Shitty, who ran into Jack in a bar bathroom after a Falconers win talking himself through the beginnings of a panic attack, had quickly turned into his best friend. He was a good roommate too, prompt with the meager rent Jack charged and ready for a snuggle when Jack’s anxiety climbed to a suffocating level. Jack could hear him snoring from across the condo; the noise had been one of the things he’d used to center himself in the now.

Jack dropped his book back on the nightstand, tossing his bookmark on the cover and turning off the light before turning away. He grabbed the extra pillow from the other side of the bed. He hugged it against his bare chest, squeezing tightly until his lungs reminded him to exhale. The cool fabric sent a ripple of goosebumps down his back and arms. Pulling the covers over his shoulder helped, but that coldness had settled into his chest a long time ago and no amount of distant lovers, platonic snuggles, and proud parents had ever been able to warm it. They stopped it from getting worse, from every ounce of his insides turning into a deadly winter storm like the ones he weathered inside a warm home, but sometimes…sometimes his feet were too numb to walk toward the laughing brunette at the cookout Marty had over the summer and his fingers were frostbitten when he thought about reaching out to the tan-skinned man with the sweet smile at the last Pride Parade.

The morning summer sun found Jack wearing thick sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt, eyes open and body shivering underneath enough blankets to melt ice.

When he finally emerged from his room, still wrapped in one of the blankets, Shitty poured him a coffee and slid it across the island.

“What was it this time?”

Jack held the too-hot mug between his palms. “No dream,” he said.

Shitty’s eyebrows rose as they drank in silence.

“My last class is over at 12:30 and I could be back by 1:15,” his friend offered.

“I thought you were hanging out with your girlfriend?”

He spread his arms wide. “Brah. You come first.”

“Bros before hoes?”

“Yes, that’s right, brothers should always come before gardening tools.” It was a familiar banter. Jack’s shoulders lowered a few inches.

“Hang out with your girl. I have meetings all day anyway.”

It wasn’t a lie. He just had an hour and a half between his three meetings. Maybe he could manage a nap in the team room after morning skate.

His skin prickled the second he locked the condo door, body unhappy with the lack of thick clothing in the hallway air conditioning. The few minutes he spent getting into his car and then out of it again at the rink was the only time he felt relatively warm.

Jack’s teammates were familiar enough with his not-very-god days that no one bugged him about his sloppiness on the ice. He showered and changed quickly after Coach called the end of practice. His first meeting was with some journalists from Samwell, the college his mother went to. If he’d gone to college, Jack imagined he would have gone there. A couple of their guys had been drafted in recent years so clearly they were of elite caliber. Johnson and Oluransi, if he remembered right.

The journalism students were nice; professional and understandably nervous. Jack made sure to chat with them for a few minutes before the interview started. Idle chit chat to get them used to him, to the way he spoke, to get over the fact that on my god that’s Jack Zimmermann. Their questions were ranged: everything from how he managed to still be drafted six years ago despite missing a full year of competition, to the charity he started in Providence.

“So much of my life has been obsessed with hockey. I wanted to create something that had nothing to do with it. This Colorful Home is about finding safe, long-term foster families for queer youth. No one deserves to become homeless or forced into unhealthy and dangerous living conditions because of their orientation or identity. I was raised by amazing and supportive parents who love me, not despite my mental health issues or my sexuality, but including them. They are the majority of why I'm still alive today. And-and the thought of children not having the same support system because of who they are-” He shook his head. “It's unacceptable.”

The students were all leaning back in their seats, faces paler than earlier. Jack huffed a quiet laugh. After a silence that had Jack reaching seven before anyone spoke again, there were a few more questions until the students were finished. He made sure to take photos and pass out signed t-shirts.

When they left Jack retreated to the team room. There was no one else around to notice when he stopped hiding the way his hands shook. No one saw him go through his grounding routine or press the heels of his palms in his eyes. He'd gotten good at making people believe his anxiety was well-controlled and easy to live with. It's part of why he almost always agreed to interviews; the more normalized he can make bisexuality, the more people will realize he’s not a walking petri dish of STIs. The more normalized he can make anxiety, the less it will involve silent, life-long struggles. Maybe he could keep someone else from overdosing, someone who doesn’t have a teammate to find them before it was too late.

He was back to his media-ready façade for his next interview. It’s with a reporter from the local newspaper, an older woman Jack respected more than most people who got one-on-ones with him. Her questions always required more than the blanket “Well, we need to get the puck in the net” kind of responses. She never looked annoyed when he took too long to respond. Hopefully she wasn’t just pretending to be fine with it but calling him an idiot in her head.

Jack didn’t tremble as much after this interview, but it’s easier to handle a smaller chat than one with a bunch of people he didn’t know. There was still no chance of a nap. He sat on the overstuffed couch again, lights off, and did enough deep breathing that he got lightheaded.

His last interview was to brainstorm ideas for his upcoming You Can Play campaign. A few other guys in the league were out – Oluransi being one of them – and Jack wanted to do something with all of them. For starters, they’d all been using pride tape for every game. The tape company had even started making more color pairings for more sexualities.

That’s where Jack had gotten the idea for the name of his charity. Most non-LGBTQIA people didn’t realize the amount of colorful flags made for specific orientations. Jack had googled them and scrolled through for nearly two hours, reading the descriptions and history of all of them. So many colors, so many people, choosing to celebrate themselves. Jack had bought a bisexual one immediately.

His sticks were always wrapped in the blue, purple, and pink tape made especially for him. Trilman, a forward on the Schooners, used it too. Oluransi used the rainbow as did four other players. The Devils’ goalie used a black, purple, and white tape for asexuality.

By the time Jack dumped himself into his car a lose plan had been formed: This summer, post-Cup, all the out players would go on a US and Canada tour to speak to youth teams. Jack wasn’t sure how much it would help, to speak out against homophobia, transphobia, and racism in sports, but he had a list of colleges and junior teams to call over the next few weeks. It was a start.

Shitty found him less than an hour later, curled up on the couch in the blanket Jack had left there that morning. Jack wasn’t asleep – far from it- and his eyes ached as Shitty wrapped himself around Jack. He smelled faintly of weed and hot wings and cheap beer. When Jack could finally feel enough of himself to speak again his voice was hoarse.

“How as your date?”

“Fun. You’ll like her. She’s cool as hell.”

“Hell is hot.”

Shitty patted his cheek with a condescending touch. “It’s a good thing you’ve got that wonderful hockey ass,” he said, smiling.

Jack hummed, wishing he could rub his eyes but Shitty was latched on too tightly. “I think my baby cup pictures negate any attractiveness.”

After a pause Shitty rearranged himself so he straddled Jack’s lap, weight carefully held off of the knee that had been plaguing Jack for several years. Holding Jack’s face in his hands, Shitty told him, softly but firmly, “Everyone is embarrassed by shit they did as a kid. Your brain likes to remind you about it more than the non-mentally-ill person’s brain, yes, but what you did as a baby- or even something you did last week- doesn’t detract from your attractiveness.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest but Shitty continued. “Brah, you didn’t kill anyone or steal candy from any babies. And while we are definitely going to have a talk about that stupid bathroom test you’re not any less attractive or less worthy of love because of the struggles you’ve gone through.”

He felt the immediate tension in Jack’s jaw. “You’re my best friend, and nothing is going to change that.”

Jack had to pull his face away. Shitty pressed his hands on Jack’s shoulders instead. The pressure was enough for Shitty to feel the way his friend’s heart was pounding in his chest. Jack’s expression wasn’t one he recognized though; years of friendship and all he could tell was that Jack’s heart was breaking, and he didn’t know why.

“Brah,” he said, squeezing his hands gently. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Jack kept his mouth firmly shut but nodded. His gaze was hard, directed over Shitty’s shoulder. The only thing for him to stare at there was a blank section of the wall. Maybe he would put his next photo print there.

Twenty minutes later Shitty was sitting beside Jack, watching Netflix with Shitty’s legs draped over Jack’s lap. The blanket was spread over them, jostling every time Shitty laughed.

Jack was asleep before the end of the third episode.

#when i finish i'll post it on ao3 #omgcp #check please #cp #zimbits #yes i made jack an asshole there on purpose #he didn't go to college and therefore doesn't get the education canon jack gets #he'll learn to be better in this story i promise #i wanted to work on character growth #anna is lame #omg check please #eventual zimbits #soulmate tag #or is it

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