#ironically enough ive never been hit by men

[autumnrainwrites]

A Blade Discarded

Durrest, 896 VAE/VC, Late August, Night

She moved carefully even now, stepping cautiously through the copse of trees as her ears caught the distant staccato of gunfire and the occasional burst of spell or rocket overhead. The crescent moon left only a bare trace of light to see by, augmented with the occasional burst from those loathsome rockets, yet she stepped surely and with purpose. Her prey was close, and her mechanical body and mind knew what was required. 

Her partisan’s steel head was their only warning. It caught her first target in the torso, parting maille links and cleaving porcelain and sinking into the machinery of the core below. The poor thing never knew what hit it.

Three against one became two against one. Still risky, but Nettles had surprise on her side. The doll with a caliver in their hands fired at where she had been half a second earlier, letting panic overcome purpose just enough to matter. Nettles already had her harpe in hand, drawing the sickle-sword from its sheath with a flourish even as she lunged for the halberdier doll. Up close, the short blade had the advantage, yet her strike met only the hard wood of the haft. 

Silently, Nettles stepped in, grabbing ahold of the other doll’s coat with porcelain fingers, turning to keep her between Nettles and the reloading gun-doll. The scuffle didn’t last long. Where a halberd is too unwieldy, a knife can be of service. When the bodies parted, Nettles came away with a crippled left arm. The other doll didn’t rise again.

There was no time to bask in success. The last of the enemies raised their firearm just in time for Nettles to bat it aside with her blade and step in for the kill. In all, three dolls of Vistria fell slain by one of Beldavia in a quarter of a minute.

Another rocket lit the sky for a glorious incandescent moment, and Nettles took stock. Her left arm hung limp and useless, the ball joint at her shoulder cracked bad. She wouldn’t be able to use her partisan, even if she could get it unstuck from the first of the dead dolls’s body using just one hand. With no other choice, the harpe she held would have to suffice.

She left the trees, moving even slower now. There were others about, friend and foe, dolls and men. In the open, alone, down here at the bottom of the escarpment, she would be easy prey. 

The day had started off… not well, but as expected. An enemy army atop the slope leading to the pass, an allied army in the town at the base. And naturally, Queen Greta had insisted upon where to commit her regiments. It was a defile, a shallower slope cutting the escarpment. An easier climb than the one facing the rest of the left wing, but the host arrayed in that narrow way were not humans or their kin like the rest of the battle line. No, Queen Greta IV, the Grasping, the Witch of Tyranny, self-proclaimed Queen of All Witches, meant to reclaim her country’s rebellious lost toys. 

It was a simple plan, and relentless. Successive waves, alternating between her mortal battalions and combat doll companies, would hammer the little band of free dolls at the top of the slope. When the mortals grew tired, the dolls would swoop in to cover the retreat and inflict the real damage. Human meat was only meant to dull the blade.

Nettles had been in the second wave, one of sixty-eight combat dolls rushing to the relief of the Glenrood Militia who bore the honor of first assault. A tricky maneuver, charging into battle in loose formation straight through a battered force of tired and frightened men with their axes and harpe swords and long stabbing spears, and at the end she crossed steel with hostile dolls for the first time, all under the cover of magic and missiles from both sides.

A friend, a doll she had shared tea with, took an iron bolt from some kind of field artillery right through the core.

A stranger in a black uniform that matched her own reeled back against her, its arm shattered to nothing just a few inches below the shoulder. 

An enemy, a pretty thing in their navy blue uniform, rolled screaming on the ground as green flames consumed it, hurled by the Royal Kinswoman commanding this wave. 

The enemy had magic of their own. A witch-doll peeked out from behind a low stone wall, raising a blue crystal stave in hand, and smote the Royal Kinswoman to the earth in a crack of lightning. But she did not die from that. She rose again, cackling, her body scorched and ward runes forming around her as she conjured phantom snakes that bit dolls on both sides with a poison of the soul even they could feel. Again and again the witch-doll hammered the Kinswoman with lightning and fire and wind, eroding her defenses just enough for an archer-doll to sink a rowan shaft into the witch’s royal throat.

And then the Padureni Highlanders hit the line, wild men with falxes flying, and Nettles and sixty-one other dolls fell back under witch-fog and cannonade.

Three more times, she made the ascent. It was not the same mortal brigades each time. And there was fighting elsewhere. All along the escarpment, from the steep north where the defile lay down to the shallower southern slopes, men of the armies died. In the south, the flames of a burning orchard lept so high that they could be seen from across the battlefield, as the maddened witch Duchess Chirmoneptas gyrated in hellfire above and her kin of sundered lines of a proud Imperial house butchered each other amid scorched roots below. 

Greta gave orders that attacks would continue through the night. They never got the chance. At sundown, when all battle ceased save for in the defile and the orchard, the dolls of Vistria charged after their fleeing foes.

Nettles had not been supporting that wave, and felt glad for it. As dusk settled over the slopes, the men of Stremt and Harlen fell back as planned, yet even as the covering screen of dolls maneuvered through their ranks the somber silhouettes atop the crest surged down upon them. At the sudden onset, the mortal men broke, fleeing down the defile in blind panic. The relief company, caught in the onslaught, fell back in disarray, and the battle moved from the slope to the camps below.

Now, night lay heavy over the town of Durrest and the woods and fields at the foot of the pass. Chirmoneptas burnt herself out shortly after sunset, and the pyre of the southern orchards slowly dwindled. Shadows hunted shadows: dolls and witches and men grappling in the darkness. 

After the Vistrian charge, others followed, units of light infantry from the mortal contingents of the defenders, lightly armored men kept in reserve throughout the day to act as raiders or as rearguard as the situation demanded. It was a small band of these that Nettles came upon next in her own hunt. Five of them, a couple lightly injured, with bows and hatchets and short spears. Unguided by purpose and with inferior night sight, they would be easy prey for the combat doll.

And sure enough, they were.

As she cleaned her harpe of the men’s blood, a strange dark light fell across her crouched form, illuminating the blood on cloth, steel, and porcelain in a horrid greenish glow. 

Nettles looked up sharply, searching for the source, and almost gasped. In the night above, she saw an angel.

The winged woman wore a cruel smile and a long dark gown, and in her hands she held a bow whose string glowed purple in the night. That same unsettling violet shade formed a halo behind her head, its intricate designs entwined in runes of bondage and sorcery. Slowly, the angel’s eyes scanned the field, until finding what she sought. Then, with a casual perfection born of purpose, she drew back a bolt of that same strange black light and shot into the distance. 

Nettles felt the angel’s eyes upon her, and could only hope that her black uniform and sickle-sword stood out enough from the navy blue and broadswords of the enemy dolls. That must have been enough, for the angel’s attention turned elsewhere.

She was about to start the search for her harpe’s next victim, when the night lit up like a fiery day.

The dark angel fell from the sky, entangled with an angel whose leathern wings burned golden, whose arcane halo hung over draconic horns. The toys of warring goddesses tumbled down to the rocks, the crash rolling over the field, drowning out the sound of rockets and cannons and spells. 

And darkness returned.

An hour later, Nettles neared a trio of men crouched over a body. Red cloaks, black bows, harpes through their belts. 

“Rangers,” she said, voice soft. “What word?”

They turned to her sharply, hands reaching for hilt or arrow, but relaxed as she stepped openly into the moonlight. The nearest nods to her and said, “The queen lives, as of half an hour past. We came from her with orders to find General Clementine and, if practicable, eliminate her. Have you word of the general?”

“Not this one, no. This one has been hunting the raiding parties up and down the slope and through these fields, in accordance with its witch’s last order.” 

The man grunted and shrugged. “Very well. Carry on then. May the hearth goddess see us all home.”

Nettles nodded in response and faded back into the shadows. 

Hours passed. She could feel her springs winding down. She’d been tended to shortly before the sunset assault, but a night of heavy combat left her in need of another rewinding. So, as grey twilight heralded the end of the long night, she made her way across the stony fields in the direction of the Beldavian camp, and her attention slipped just enough.

The arrow’s steel head was her only warning. Only a lucky turn of her body as she stepped over a corpse saved her, the arrow catching the maille rings of her battle uniform at an angle and lodging itself there.

Nettles turned, harpe raised just in time to parry the sabre of a Vistrian doll, its face impassive and its hair scorched and burnt. Winding low and with her left arm crippled, and fighting two against one, it took no time at all for her to know that she wasn’t getting out of this. But she could at least take the sword-doll with her-

Another doll appears from the side. How did she not see them? They were already in motion, halberd swinging on a wide arc. 

The heavy blade took Nettles in the midriff, shattering porcelain through maille and padding, smashing the delicate machinery below. She toppled back, little chain links falling away as she landed hard upon her back. Her core screamed, her mind blank of all except white hot agony. Then she could see again, through the pain, as the halberdier doll loomed above, point raised to finish the job they started… and then something crossed their face, something Nettles could not identify, and her would-be-killer disappeared from view.

She could not stand. She could not move anything but her head and right arm. And her mainspring was almost spent. There was nothing to do but lie still and wait.

Figures shuffled through the growing light, battered survivors of the night assault. Dolls with missing limbs, men carrying each other as they stumble from the bloodloss, trained wolves whose mistresses lay dead somewhere on the field…

As the red-gold sun rose over the mountains, Nettles saw two delegations approaching under white banners.

The larger of the two delegations came from her own side. Elite combat dolls, members of the Cotillion of the House, flanked the party. Within stood witches, and a handful of bureaucrats, an armored knight, a frightened comfort doll, and the queen herself: Greta IV.

Opposite them came just three dolls, each in a blue jacket with silver decorations and swords at their hips.

Two stepped forwards: the queen and General Clementine. 

And Queen Greta bowed as low as her stiff back would allow.

“The field is yours, general. You… have the best of us this day.” The queen’s voice is hard, choking back rage. Nettles wondered if she had even been so humbled, but set the thought away as improper. “And by our count, eighty-three of my own Royal Kinswomen lay dead upon the field. I have come before you to… to beg for leave to retrieve our dead and our wounded and return home.”

A few seconds only of silence, and General Clementine smiled. “Very well, Queen Greta. The battle is over, and we must both tend to the fallen.”

The general turned to leave, but the queen stood there a moment longer, seething in anger. Then, she turned back to her party and took hold of the comfort doll. The poor thing merely whimpered as its mistress forced it to its knees and pushed down upon its faceplate until the porcelain cracked and its polished eyes popped out, but the general flinched and gave one last look back. 

Nettles herself could not bear to watch.

Morning sun shone down upon the fields and the defile, where so many lost their lives. Nettles had barely anything left to give. She conserved the last useable energy of her mainspring for when the salvage teams reached her. It would not be long now.

At last, a team reached where she lay, a handful of support dolls and a common witch leading. She raised a hand to wave, and the witch approached.

“Designation and status?”

“Nettles. Under Miss Sylvain until she died in the second wave, then Miss Tessa until she died just after moonrise. This one is… damaged to the left arm and the core. Can’t move its lower body at all.”

The witch pondered for a moment, then shrugged and said to her crew. “Leave it. Not even worth salvaging. It’ll take me so long to repair, I might as well start from scratch.

Nettles wanted to protest, wanted to beg for another chance, but her energy was wholly spent now and the crew was already moving away. Time began to distort around her as her mainspring finally ran out, time passing by faster and faster. Sounds became a low constant drone to her ears. The last thing she saw before her sight became a mere blur of colors was a face smiling down at her, blue sky behind it.

And then, from that terrible entropy of slow panic, the world returned to Nettles in the form of a rocking wagon.

She was nude now, her undecorated and badly damaged body exposed. Someone behind her turned the key winding up her spring once more. She could move again… at least her head and right arm. The rest of her was still just as useless. Even if her limbs were replaced, she could feel the crack in her gyroscope. Until that was repaired, she knew she’ll barely be able to walk without falling over.

“Almost done,” a soft voice said, and that bright face reappeared, peeking out from behind her. It was another doll, smiling at her. Wavy blonde hair framing gentle porcelain features, set with polished hazel eyes, and her accent was strange. With a start, Nettles realized that this doll is of Vistria.

“I- You’ve made a mistake. This one-” 

“That one is quite alright,” the foreign doll said, finishing the final turn and gently pulling the key from Nettles’s back. “You were abandoned on the field, but this one saw that you were not dead.”

Glancing away a moment, she added, “Actually, I was told that you were there, by one of the soldiers. They weren’t willing to just let you die for no reason, and this one… and I agreed to check. I got there just as your salvage teams were leaving.”

Nettles said nothing, rattled by the news. It sat there, still and thoughtful, gathering what was left of itself together. Finally, she asked, “Is this one a prisoner then?”

“Yes, for now. But once you can move again, you’ll be free to leave. We… we don’t keep dolls who want to leave, not unless they’ve done something wrong.”

“This one fought… killed…”

The foreign doll raised a finger to Nettles’s lips, silencing it. “This was war. But if you feel so guilty, a magistrate can hear your case when you are well.”

They rode in silence a bit longer, in a wagon piled high with weapons, supplies, empty vessels of the slain. Finally, the other doll spoke again. “This one is named Marjoram. I’m a civilian assistant to the magistrate overseeing the army. What are you called?”

A pause, then, “Nettles. This one’s name is Nettles.”

“Nettles? What a pretty name.” 

Nettles never thought her name was pretty, but if Marjoram said so, she was going to trust that. She said nothing else then, but sat in stillness, leaning slightly on Marjoram’s shoulder. The other doll didn’t seem to mind.

Cast:

Nettles (She/Her, It/Its): A combat doll from Beldavia.

Queen Greta IV (She/Her): A cruel witch and ruler of Beldavia.

General Clementine (She/Her, They/Them): A doll general from Vistria.

Marjoram (She/Her): A doll acting as assistant to a magistrate of Vistria.

Various dolls, witches, rangers, and soldiers.

Author's Note:

Another dollfic, but this one is not tagged Empty Spaces because it takes place within a broader fantasy setting this one has been working on, called the Patchwork Lands. It is maybe not the most original of names for a fantasy world, but this one is rather fond of it. It hopes to write more in this setting soon. Meanwhile, it will also continue to post other dollfics, as well as some things it wrote about things other than dolls.

[sshireens]

2, 6, 8, 12 👉👈?

THANK YOU YINNIE 💓💓💓

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

this requires me to narrow down my favs, which is so much more difficult than i ever could have expected. yin if i don’t answer the ask quickly this was why. catelyn tully would never top because ned lays pipe and she’s a freak like that. saw a ss of a reddit post that was like ‘my wife likes to get blitzed and then come home and have me fuck her brains out’ and thats her. brienne is never bottoming and jaime is never topping because jaime has some kind of reversed gender thing going on that makes him want to be a girl but not to another man. and brienne lives to serve. she literally is a sword. and thats a penis metaphor as we all know. margaery is never topping men because despite being the first ally in westeros she thinks thats weird. these are compelling arguments to me! daenerys stormborn is NEVER. NEVER NEVER NEVER. never bottoming because A). thats the prince that was promised B). jon likes to get dicked down C). i personally believe that being sold and traded will lees her to discover (amidst her several trysts with irri jhiqui and doreah (bc u cant tell me otherwise. irri is canon first of all)) that she, as the breaker of chains and mother of dragons and khaleesi of the great grass sea, is not inclined to experience things at the whim of others but rather the opposite. is that appropriate to say.

6. which ship fans are the most annoying?

oh god. SORRY PLEASE DONT SHOOT ME EVERYONE! daemyra (this might be biased bc i just dont like daemyra) some sansan ppl really get under my skin…. LUCEMOND JESUS CHRIST. almost forgot about them (was almost free). wow sorry lucemond shippers first place for annoying. its not that im an omegaverse toxic incest yaoi anti its just. Its the people it truly is i cannot even enter that circle. there is a blog on here though i can’t remember the url of that makes cute sfw art that doesnt frighten me and ive been known to browse, even hit like once or twice. lucemond still stay away from me please

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

daenerys is not going to be queen of the seven kingdoms NOR SHOULD SHE BE. if daenerys takes the iron throne the whole series is pointless

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

what qualifies as unpopular. also what do we consider like. because i consider like as in ‘this is a fun character to see interact with the world’ and NOT!!!!!!!!! ‘i support this guy’. just to clarify for any other viewers at home. a character ive seen a lot of people Dislike but i think deserves to be heard out is criston because he’s funny and thats it thats why everyone should like him. but i dont consider him unpopular? hmm tough tough …… will i get flayed if i say larys like i mean he’s just sick i love wondering what is going on in that head. in regards to characters i think are not given enough attention: jaehaera targaryen. ‘she’s a little girl shes a non-character’ SHUT UP. she’s a little girl exactly. she didn’t get the chance to be her own person she is alicent’s pain helaena’s pain and her own. GOD MY BABY GIRL….. she names her dragon death…… AUGH DONT EVEN TALK TO ME DOONNTTT EVEN. um also rhaella, daughter of rhaena the lesbian AND! mother of daenerys. bc first of all rhaella and aerea switches thats true. so like. rhaella septa rhaella wondering if that was meant to be her. wondering if maybe it would have never happened if she hadn’t traded places. is it kinder to force her twin into the faith or to let her die? Augh. also daenerys’ mommy just… why dont we know about her i need more people on here like me willing to band together to make up canon. i guess thats not really a reason why people should like them. ALSO SHIREEN BARATHEON I DONT KNOW IF YOU CAN TELL BUT IM THE BIGGEST SHOOTER FOR SHIREEN THATS BABY THATS MOTHER THATS THE PRINCESS THATS MY DAUGHTER THATS ME I LOVE HER SO BAD OH NY GOD SHIREEN PEASE COME HOME THE PEOPLE MISS YOU. and i know everyone dgaf about baby boy bowl cut brown boba eyed broken bran. but i gave birth to him. and thats why you should like him.

i don’t consider myself a targ girlie and then it comes to questions abt asoiaf and i can only answer in reference to them 😔 tried to be diverse 🤞

[thepulta]

Everyone knew there was coal at the foot of Hawk’s Peak. Waste heaps were strewn across the valley like oversized ant-mounds and ancient cart tracks wore deep ruts back to the Marena lowlands. Drifters liked to set up camps, but they never lasted. Too dry. Too rough. And coal hadn't been valuable anyway until some boy figured out how to make iron harder. Then John Greystone came to Hawk's Peak with his wife and his shotgun and gold from the bank.

Gin Reiner was a drifter with a small pit there and his own mules. John shot Gin Reiner on a spring morning. When Gin's boys approached him after the service- Well, nobody had seen the boys after that. But rumor had it they tailed it back to the lowlands. No use staying where there wasn’t ready money.

But John Greystone stayed, and his wife Ellen. With his loan from the bank, he laid down gleaming steel rails that wound through the narrow gorges back home. Men came on the railroad; some women, but not many, and at the prime age of 28, Ellen Greystone had two boys.

The eldest son had a good head on his shoulders; went back to the lowlands to get a piece of paper for machines, and he married a girl from the hills with coal in her blood. The youngest worked the mine. He was quick with his hands and quicker with his boss’s whistle and by the time John Greystone died, there were over one thousand people in Ellenville covered in coal dust when the day-whistle blew.

Once the eldest brother had his own John – John the III – the brothers knew about the ironstone in the hills just north of Ellenville’s valley and the town bloomed. It all became John III’s empire to run.

John III took a wife from the lowlands, a sweet little thing who loved the hills and wanted to escape the flat planes. However, she found the mountains of Ellenville to be dry, heartless, and her new husband too obsessed with building the Greystone legacy to worry about homemaking, or the homemaker; so Mrs. Martha Greystone found herself with three children and a mostly-empty manor. She named them John the IV, Rachel, and Mira. When they were old enough, John was set to the ironstone shafts. Rachel and Mira were deemed nimbler on the mostly-mechanized coal slopes.

The coal pit had grown like a canker on the south side of town. The first John Greystone had called it the Pothole Mine. They dug down 1000 feet in an open pit until the miners hit 50 feet of useless slatey rock and the coal vein dove deep into the earth. John III planned to dig after it eventually, but growing the pit west and east was easier and much more profitable. They stoped the sides of the pit, steam shovels biting fifty-foot staircases from the rock walls. Stoping was more an upgrade than feature inherent to the mine since men with picks had done the initial work, but it was important to keep the walls of the pit from collapsing. John II had emphasized it before he died. He had planned the stopes the whole length of the valley; fifty-foot steps were enough to keep the walls steady.

But he’d never considered rain, because it didn’t rain much in the Ellenville valley.

It rained three days and four nights until the valley smelled like wet silt and dirt and the water poured off the crusty ground into the Pothole mine. The pumps to keep water out of the mine bottom filled with cobbles and rubbish and had to be cleaned out with half a dozen steam shovels, day and night.

“Too much water,” Mira kept hearing the men say as they struggled into their galoshes for day shift. They hissed through their teeth when they looked out the window.

Usually, Mira and Rachel went with the shovel manager and sat with him for half the day, but Mira found the new steam shovels arriving on the train much more interesting. She stayed with her father, looking at the bright steel workings and checking off the parts on the list.

She remembered feeling the rumble underneath her feet before the bone-aching crack hit her ears. She remembered the boys and men at the shop turning a sickly olive color too – her father included. But John III did not turn green after they checked their shop stability; not when the day shifters returned with hollow faces and a few pieces of the bodies. He didn’t turn green when a boy Mira knew from across the street, her age, was brought up headless. He didn’t even turn green when what was left of Rachel was brought up, crushed against mangled machinery remains.

They buried her that Saturday, sky still weeping and half the town weeping with it. Six feet, no casket, because her body was half-engine.

The rest of them were Rachel’s ghosts, floating about the house with pale faces and red eyes. In her late-night waifish wander, Mira looked in her father’s office and saw his green face looking over the quarterly profits.

So the day of the rockfall was the last time Mira remembered being dressed in color.

[astradrifting]

This is kind of inspired by this recent ask I sent to @esther-dot about Jon’s characterisation and Jonsa shippers’ apparent disregard for it, because it made me think of another part of Jon’s characterisation that is really integral to who he is. Mainly, that Jon really loves his brothers. Especially Robb. His rival and best friend and constant companion. Jon envies him, competes with him, buried a formative traumatic memory where he was deeply hurt by him... but ultimately loves him. Complex relationships with his brothers, both the Starks and his Night’s Watch brothers, are a running theme in Jon’s chapters.

Speaking of Jon’s brothers...

Aegon VI and Robb have a lot of potential parallels, actually. The “Young” moniker, red-haired counselors who are also their parents, trained to be the heir to a great kingdom from a young age, the barely younger half-brother Jon borne of their father’s dishonour of their mother… one that they might both have a good relationship with despite that?

The show tried to play with Jon ‘accepting’ his Targaryen lineage through the jonerice romance, very unconvincingly because it was simultaneously undermining it at every opportunity, in what was maybe a half-assed attempt at Pol!Jon (”They’ll all come to see you for what you are” isn’t anything but a threat in all contexts).

Jon will ultimately choose the Starks over everything else, that’s not really a question. But if Jon were to genuinely connect with another Targaryen, it’d likely be easier for him to find kinship with a half-brother than with an aunt - he has a basis for positive relationships with trueborn half-brothers, while the only aunt figure he’s ever known about is a) long dead and b) actually his mother. I think it’d both make more sense and be more compelling for GRRM to leverage Jon’s existing complex relationships with brotherhood by having him interact with and build a relationship with Aegon, than a rushed and out-of-character romance with Dany. 

Jon also is already primed to believe that Aegon is the real deal, that he was saved as a baby, because he’s already done the exact same thing himself - he swapped out a baby of royal blood who was in danger for a common-born boy, and then sent him halfway across the world for safety (side note: if Septa Lemore is Ashara, and if the baby was actually Ashara’s son as theorised here by @agentrouka-blog, that would just strengthen the parallel, because it would be his body double’s mother caring for him, as Gilly has to do for Mance’s son).

They’re definitely going to come into conflict first - politically, Jon will likely be in a position of power in the North by the time they meet, maybe as the KitN through Robb’s will or regent for Rickon, and probably will fight for Northern independence, while Aegon is fighting to be king of the Seven Kingdoms, not 6. Personally, it will be hard to get past the fact that Jon is the direct result of Rhaegar dishonouring Elia, plus that the Kingsguard who should have been protecting her were all stationed in Dorne, guarding Jon’s mother (in whatever capacity). But these interactions, a conflict and eventual friendship/brotherhood between them, would all be a lot more layered than jonerice can really offer. If a relationship between Jon and Dany was truly all that GRRM has been building up to, then there would have been no need for R+L=J - it adds nothing to that storyline, it doesn’t even make it a forbidden romance, because aunt-nephew is hardly the worst incest the Targaryens have engaged in.

It’s almost inevitable that Da*nerys is going to kill Aegon VI/Young Griff in the books, likely by burning him with dragonfire, in the Second Dance of the Dragons. The weird Dragonpit meeting in the show was very contrived, but it does make sense for Dany to meet the ruler on the Iron Throne at least once in a semi-peaceful context. In the show, she used her dragons only to intimidate Cersei, but she didn’t have a personal grievance with her. Aegon is in much more danger during such a meeting. After all she will think he is a pretender, and she doesn’t much care for the rules of safe conduct, as she showed to the envoys from Yunkai.

Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan's tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. 

[...]

"You swore I should have safe conduct!" the Yunkish envoy wailed.

"Do all the Yunkai'i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss." She wrinkled her nose. "You've soiled yourself. Take your gold and go, and see that the Wise Masters hear my message."

(ASOS, Dany IV)

"Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen," said Hizdahr zo Loraq. "Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire."

"Only his tokar was burned," said Dany scornfully.

(ADWD, Dany VI)

So Dany will burn the Blackfyre pretender, and everyone will be happy and cheer to see the rightful queen, the last Targaryen, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Chains, Insert-The-Million-Other-Titles-Here. Right?

Except how would she prove that he’s an imposter? She can’t exactly roll up with an Alt Shift X video pointing out that Illyrio has said some weird things about Aegon. Is Varys going to have an attack of remorse and explain his whole plot, complete with Blackfyre family tree? Or maybe she’ll explain that she went on a vision quest in Qarth and Aegon totally matches up with the vague symbolism that a bunch of drugged up warlocks told her before she set them on fire?

I don’t think it’s going to matter if Aegon is fake or not, and we might never find out either way. The mystery of his identity isn’t his main narrative, and all of his significance to the story and to multiple other characters is removed if he’s proved to not be Aegon VI. Him being proved fake would just make this plotline a weird, unnecessary digression on Dany’s journey to being the righteous and true queen, his death just another #girlboss moment for her. That’s definitely going to be her perception of it, but once she reaches Westeros we won’t have to rely on only her POV of her actions. History is written by the winners, and no one’s going to miss that it’s a lot more convenient for Dany if the boy with a stronger claim than her turns out to have been fake all along. Arianne and the Dornish are definitely not going to take it lying down, and neither is Jon. He’s not going to fall in love with the woman who murdered his brother, especially by burning him alive. ADWD has plenty to say about how much he hates death by fire.

“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though … do you see the candle, Gilly?”

She looked at the flame. “Yes.”

“Touch it. Put your hand over the flame.”

Her big brown eyes grew bigger still. She did not move.

“Do it.” Kill the boy. “Now.”

Trembling, the girl reached out her hand, held it well above the flickering candle flame.

“Down. Let it kiss you.”

Gilly lowered her hand. An inch. Another. When the flame licked her flesh, she snatched her hand back and began to sob.

“Fire is a cruel way to die. Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him. You saved your own boy from the ice. Now save hers from the fire.”

(ADWD, Jon II)

Funnily enough, the same fire as a kiss imagery from Dany burning the envoy’s tokar appeared there too, also used as a threat. 

If he is not a kinslayer, he is the next best thing. [...] What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive?

(ADWD, Jon IX)

So Aegon’s death is not going to be a triumphant victory for Dany, after which everyone proclaims her the true queen. It’s likely to just solidify opposition to her, from every corner of Westeros. If it happens during a summit or negotiation, it’d be even more of a tragic parallel to Robb and the Red Wedding; the young king murdered off of the battlefield, at an event where he was promised safe conduct. Featuring Dany in the role of Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister. Tywin’s already died a very undignified death, and Roose Bolton looks to be on his way too.

I think the tragedy of Aegon’s death would also hit harder if we see it through Jon, as a main POV, or at least the aftermath of it. Jon was integral at the Dragonpit meeting after all, and probably would be at a peace summit or negotiation between the leaders of Westeros and the invading force.

In ASOS, there’s a curious lack of Jon’s reaction to Robb’s death. We see his initial reaction to Bran and Rickon’s supposed deaths when he gets back to Castle Black, but he doesn’t even know about Robb’s death until Stannis arrives to defeat the wildlings, and we’re not shown the moment he’s told about it. He barely even thinks about it, not even a mention until he meets with Stannis on top of the Wall:

“Your brother was the rightful Lord of Winterfell. If he had stayed home and done his duty, instead of crowning himself and riding off to conquer the riverlands, he might be alive today. Be that as it may. You are not Robb, no more than I am Robert.”

The harsh words had blown away whatever sympathy Jon might have had for Stannis. “I loved my brother,” he said.

(ASOS, Jon XI)

And that’s literally all we get that is specifically about Robb’s death - the rest of Jon’s chapters, his guilt and grief is about the loss of all his siblings, and the idea of stealing Winterfell from them. It doesn’t really make sense for him to not think about it at all, considering how close they were. This reminds me of how he has a non-reaction to Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion as well, as talked about in this post by @agentrouka-blog. Part of this could be Jon’s tendency towards denial and suppression of all his feelings, but it also points to GRRM explicitly obscuring his reaction - perhaps because he’s going to explore it in the wake of another brother dying a very similar death? One that this time he’ll be there to witness?

[wanderinginksplot]

Hiya, I was wondering if I could please request 3 (Echo) with B+O (Injury/sickness recovery + first kiss)? I don’t really mind who’s in recovery or whether it’s 501st echo/bad batch echo, I just thought these prompts would lead nicely into a confession between our two main characters; also I just want to say I love your writing!! ❤️

Aww, thank you so much for the request and for being so kind, Anon! Sorry this took forever, but I’ve been stuck in an idea block for a week or two, and I ended up writing about four different versions of this. You’re very sweet, but you probably shouldn’t be nice to me, because apparently, it makes me write one-shots that are way too long. So here’s a 2700 word one-shot...

Also! It ended up being a tad spicy toward the end. Nothing anywhere close to M-rating, but more than I usually write in one-shots.

Echo + Injury/Sickness Recovery + First Kiss

The first time you met Echo, you didn't like him very much.

You were in the medbay for a sickness that was taking Coruscant by storm, hitting nat-born GAR members especially hard. As a nat-born intelligence officer, you had been ordered to the GAR's main medbay, which had been sub-divided into large bays full of cots. Almost every cot was filled with GAR personnel who needed treatment for the same sickness.

It wouldn't have been bad if you had been able to take the meds right away and start the healing process, but you had been on a dangerous mission and fought the sickness off for longer than you should have. It had worked and you had survived your mission, but you were severely dehydrated. The medics - all clone troopers, by that point - had ordered you to stay until you were fully healed and they could get your fluid levels back where they should have been. Faced with no other options, you had agreed.

And then the 501st had arrived. 

Through your IV, you had gotten through half a bag of a liquid you preferred not to think too hard about. The medics promised that your meds would be kicking in soon, and you would feel much better before the day was over. For the moment, you felt nauseated and every part of your body ached, especially your head.

When the troopers came in, their white armor painted with blue accents in various styles, they were so loud that the rest of the medbay went quiet. 

One of the medics, his hair shaved short to show off a set of intricate tattoos, hurried up to them as he pulled off his gloves. You could hear his hissed question from your bed on the other side of the large room. "What are you idiots doing here?"

One of the men beamed at him. "We're in trouble!"

You scoffed to yourself. You had no difficulty believing they had gotten on someone's bad side. 

The tattooed medic rubbed his temples. "Hardcase… what did you guys do now?"

You had heard stories about the rowdy 501st from other operatives. They were supposed to be a nightmare to work alongside, all explosions and heroics without any grasp of subtlety. 

One of the other men stepped forward and seemed to be offering an explanation, but he did it in a voice pitched low enough that you couldn't hear him. You were grateful for that, and did your best to fall asleep.

It wasn't to be, however, as one of the 501st made his way down the row of beds in your direction. He chatted with some of the other patients, laughing loudly at their responses. By the time he reached you, you could have cheerfully put a blaster to the 5 tattooed on his temple.

"And how are you doing today?" the trooper belted out. 

"In a lot of pain, actually," you snapped at him, a visceral response to the effect his voice had on your roiling stomach. "Can you please talk more quietly?"

There. A please. You were being polite.

"If I'm quiet, does that mean I can stay over here with you, pretty lady?" he asked with a wink, settling onto the foot of your bed.

You eyed him stonily. You felt revolting from the effects of the sickness, and you were wearing a GAR-issued medical gown besides. ‘Pretty’ was an attempt at flattery, and not even a believable one.

"Fives," the medic with the head tattoos admonished, stepping up to your bedside as well. "Stop. She doesn't feel well and she doesn't need you hanging around, making it worse."

"Me?" Fives asked, sounding both shocked and offended. "We both know I only make things better, Kix."

You sighed and wished with your whole soul that they would both go away. You just wanted to sleep.

"Besides," Fives continued, "We were ordered to help in the medbay. You wouldn't want me to disobey orders, would you?"

From the look on Kix's face, he had lined up a scathing retort that you were dying to hear, but you needed to make a brief announcement. "If this conversation continues right here, I am going to vomit."

You had never seen two grown men move so quickly. You would have smiled if you didn't feel so rotten. 

"Echo," Kix called softly with a worried glance in your direction, beckoning yet another trooper over.

This one had no tattoos, but you vaguely recognized him as the only trooper you hadn't been able to overhear earlier.

"Get Fives away from here," Kix ordered. "Keep him productive and occupied, but don't let him talk."

Echo nodded and gave you an apologetic nod. "I'm sorry about him," he said, indicating Fives, who looked deeply offended.

"Please," was the only response you could muster, cradling your head delicately in your hands. From the bit of your peripheral vision that wasn’t blocked by your palms, you watched his shoulders slump slightly as he towed his brother away. When you finally fell asleep, your dreams were full of Echo’s disappointed face along with strong feelings of guilt.

The second time you met him was only a few hours later. You were having fever dreams. The medication had apparently worn off and no one had noticed. In your dreams, you had called a medic over a dozen times, but you always woke to find that you hadn’t said a thing, and fell asleep again before you could.

It was one of these shallow, fitful dreams that Echo interrupted. “Hey. Hey! Shhh, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

Thoroughly confused by the world of the surrounding medbay, you squinted up at him. “Echo?” He nodded and you launched right into the speech you had prepared in your sleep. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. I just… my head hurt, and you guys are loud, and-”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Echo assured you, crouching by your bedside to put himself on your level. “The 501st - and Fives in particular - is very loud. It’s our best quality.”

You snorted at that and Echo’s kind face broke into a warm smile. “You should get back to sleep. It’s really late. Or early. I’m not sure which, but everyone else is asleep, and you should be, too.”

“I think I need some meds, actually,” you admitted. “I feel like death.”

Echo frowned and reached up to brush his fingers over your forehead, flinching back almost immediately. “Kriff, you’re burning up! Hang on, let me grab a medic for you.”

You nodded, but grabbed his wrist before he could leave, “If you bring me some water, I’ll love you forever.”

It was just a childish hyperbole, something you and your family had said whenever you had asked for a favor, particularly a minor one. Echo didn’t seem to have the same connection with it, based on the way he had frozen in place and was staring at you with wide eyes that flashed between your face and your grip on his wrist.

Clearing your throat, you released him and corrected yourself. “I mean, please? I’m very thirsty.”

Echo turned around a moment later and you sighed, hoping your hot face looked like the flush of a fever.

You were half-drowsing when Echo came back with Kix in tow. You jumped a bit when Kix said your name, and Echo was quick to soothe you. “Easy, easy. It’s just us.”

He handed you the biggest glass of water you had ever seen and retreated halfway across the medbay before you had chugged half of it.

The next day, you were actually feeling better. Granted, ‘better’ was a relative term, but you didn’t actively want to die any more, and that was something. The only thing messing up your day was the lingering awkwardness between you and Echo. Every time his circuit around the room took him past your cot, he would avoid your eyes. 

From your calculations, he looped around the gigantic medbay room every six minutes or so. On his next lap past, you softly asked, “Echo?”

You had meant to be subtle and quiet, but you were still a bit less hydrated than you should have been, and it came out as a horrifying croak. If someone had called your name in that voice, you would have immediately run away, but Echo just turned slightly and looked your direction.

“I’m sorry for last night,” you apologized.

“You already said that,” Echo reminded you gently. “The 501st is loud. I understand why you weren’t happy with us.”

“Not about that,” you forced out, half-wishing you could just let him think you had been delirious with fever and thus not responsible for anything you had said or done. “I mean that I’m sorry for saying the whole love you forever thing. It was a joke, but I feel like it landed poorly.”

“There’s no need, really,” Echo told you. He smiled then, a small sad smile. “We clones don’t get to see much good in the universe. Not with this war going on. Even though you were joking, it was nice to hear something like that.”

You stared at him, trying to keep the poker face the GAR had hired you for.

“Besides,” Echo said with a laugh, “if you want to see how a bad joke really sounds, hang out with Fives for a few minutes. You’ll have plenty of opportunity to see the difference!”

You chuckled at that and the smile he gave lit his whole face as he continued his patrol. You watched Echo leave, thinking hard. It was ironic that this was the conversation where your heart had melted just a touch. It wasn’t love, not yet, but this third exchange left feelings that were inappropriate considering that you had known him for less than a day.

That night, you couldn’t sleep, betrayed by all of the napping you had done during the day. Echo was patrolling the room again and noticed you on his fourth lap.

He crouched by your bedside once again. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope,” you admitted with a sigh. “Can you?”

Echo frowned. “I can, but I’m on watch right now.”

“On watch,” you repeated skeptically. “For what?”

“Someone has to make sure the patients are doing okay while the medics sleep,” he explained. “It’s a very important job.”

“Your brothers are all playing sabacc in the corner,” you pointed out. “Go join them. Or, better yet, get some sleep. I haven’t seen you take a break yet.”

“You were unconscious for over half of the day,” Echo reminded you. “I could have been on break then.”

“You weren’t,” you told him confidently. “Because you wouldn’t have known that I slept the whole time.”

Echo frowned. “You’re too smart to work for the army.”

“Intelligence officer,” you explained simply. 

Lifting his eyebrows in exaggerated shock, Echo leapt to his feet and gave a dramatic salute. You pretended to aim a kick in his direction and you both dissolved into muffled giggles in an attempt not to wake any of the other patients.

“If you won’t try to sleep, at least sit down?” you requested, indicating the foot of your cot as you struggled to sit up so you could move out of his way. “You’re stressing me out. I can’t be expected to get better if I’m stressed.”

“We can’t have that,” Echo teased. He helped you sit up before he did anything else, but the awkwardness of the position left him hauling you up by your armpits. You were thankful that you had found the strength to walk to the sonic shower that day, at least. “Not like I can get sick from you, anyway.”

Echo sat talking with you for hours, even after his brothers had all drifted off at their sabacc table. Before you fell asleep again, he brought you another giant glass of water. You accepted it with a smile. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

He nodded and left so you could get some sleep. By the time you had finished the glass, he was on the other side of the medbay and couldn’t hear you mutter, “Love you forever.”

For the next few days, Echo lived by your bedside. The conversations you had made you laugh so hard that you went into the occasional coughing fit and got the evil eye from Kix. So, you were less pleased than you had expected to be when Kix told you that you could be discharged the following day.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Getting your sleep pattern back under control was going to be the biggest struggle, you reflected, staring at the massive beams supporting the ceiling.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Echo teased, walking up. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You waved a hand around dramatically. “I’m trying to commit these beautiful surroundings to memory. If I’m leaving tomorrow, I’ll need to remember the enchanting way the dust clings to that wall over there.”

Suddenly serious, Echo asked, “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

You nodded, and couldn’t tell if it was your imagination, or if he really looked disappointed. Still, he mustered a smile. “I’m glad.”

With a falsely offended gasp, you replied, “You’re glad I’m leaving? That’s rude!”

“No, I mean-!” Echo sputtered, grimacing at you when you started to laugh. “I’m glad you’re getting better. Even if you’re just as mean as the day I met you.”

“Yeah, I’m terrible,” you agreed with a grin. 

“You are not,” he countered immediately. “You’re sweet and funny and- I’ll miss you. Selfish, huh?”

“I’ll miss you, too,” you admitted. “I guess we’re both selfish. But, hey, you’ll finally get some sleep now!”

“I suppose I will,” Echo said with the ghost of his usual smile. “At least we can have one last overnight conversation. Unless you’re too tired?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Sit down, Echo.”

The two of you talked for hours that night. The medbay steadily got more silent and your eyes began to ache. Try as you might, you were still recovering from your illness and the point came when you couldn’t fight it off any longer. You fell into a light doze as Echo was talking.

You were dimly aware as he finished his sentence and waited for a response, but you couldn’t make yourself say anything. Echo gave an amused sounding hum and stood from your cot. You immediately missed his warmth, but felt like he was still standing by you.

Soft lips pressed against your forehead and left as Echo started to move away. “What was that cop-out bantha dung?” you asked blearily. 

Echo jumped a bit and stared down at you, but you were half-asleep, impulsive, and you knew what you wanted. You sat up to grab his shoulders and brought him back down to you, kissing him with as much fervor as an extremely tired person could muster.

He kissed you back, opening his mouth to release an almost-soundless groan, and you were suddenly wide awake. With both of you actively participating in your embrace, it didn’t take long for the pair of you to get carried away. 

When you finally broke apart, it was only because someone had cleared their throat sharply. 

Echo pulled back, bracing on his forearms to look up at Kix while you peered at the medic from under Echo’s chest. When had he gotten on top of you? His hip brushed against your upper thigh and you abruptly didn’t care anymore.

“I take it you’re well enough to be released from here?” Kix asked, a raised brow accentuating his smirk. 

You glanced around to find that half of the medbay was awake and staring at you and Echo with expressions ranging from bleary bewilderment to amused approval. Some of Echo’s brothers were awake as well, though their faces ran heavily to outright shock.

“Uh, yeah. I’m ready to go home,” you agreed, glancing up at Echo. “Wanna come with me?”

Echo nodded and glanced up at Kix. The medic shrugged and looked at the ceiling. “No, I have no idea where Echo went. He worked several around the chrono shifts and then he disappeared. I assume he went to get some well-deserved rest. Sign here.”

The last part was directed at you and you obligingly scrawled your name on the datapad he was holding out in your direction. 

“Your personal effects are in the front room,” Kix informed you. “Drink some water now and then, would you?”

“Of course, thanks,” you said absently, attention already stolen away by the fascinating blush creeping up Echo’s cheeks. You slipped out from under him and grabbed his hand to tow him behind you. “C’mon. You’re gonna love my apartment.”

---

A/N - ahh, why did this end up being such a novel? Sorry about that! If you want to read similar works, check out my masterlist or make a request based on this post (or make something up and I’ll do my best!). Thanks for reading!

[nyctophilin]

Fake Affection | II

Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Epilogue

Description: Han Jisung has been rejected by the girl he likes one to many times. He decides that he has had enough and is set on making her want him back. What could possibly make her want him more than seeing him with her rival after she boldly assumed he can’t find anyone better. That way Jisung and Y/N are stuck in a fake relationship until Jisung’s crush falls for him. Or he falls for someone else.

All rights reserved © nyctophilin 2020. Re-posting, copying and translating any of my works is prohibited.

Pairing: Han x fem!Reader, Hyunjin x fem!Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: College!AU, Fake dating!AU, Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

Warnings: swearing

A/N: Remember when I said this will only have two part? Well, I’m a big fat liar. The drama kind of started this chapter and I’m excited for it. Also, thank you so much for for the huge support I got for the last part. I’m really grateful for that. I hope you like it, hehe. Feedback is very much appreciated.

      Y/N was sitting in Script Interpretation class trying to go over the script they were going to discuss that day once more. Her concentration was interrupted by a pile of books being slammed into the table way too close to where her hand was resting. Lifting her head to look for the culprit she locked eyes with Hayoon. A shiver went through her body.

      “Hey, girl. How are you doing?” Her voice was abnormally high and she hated how she couldn’t hide her feelings in front of her best friend. She really fucked up this time.

      “Oh, don’t you ‘girl’ me! Can you explain to me what the fuck is everyone talking about?” She wasn’t screaming, her tone calm. Way too calm. It was making Y/N way more scared than she should have been.

      Y/N lifted the script she was previously holding. “ Angels in Ame…” Hayoon hit the table with her palm and lowered herself to watch Y/N in the eyes.

      “Don’t you bullshit me Y/N. Why is everyone talking about you and Han Jisung being in a relationship?” Hayoon’s face was dangerously close to hers and she could feel the daggers that her eyes were sending in her direction.

      She gulped visibly before putting her hands on Hayoon’s shoulders and slowly pushing her away from her. “Well, we are in a relationship.” She didn’t dare look her friend in the eyes.

      Annoyance was embracing Hayoon’s facial features. She clicked her tongue before exhaling loudly. “And why didn’t I know? And most importantly, when the fuck did it happen?” The girl’s voice started to rise in volume.

      “Ok, please calm down! I’ll tell you everything at the end of the class. The professor is supposed to arrive any minute.” Y/N had a pleading face on, grateful for the fact that they didn’t have a free period. She hoped that maybe during the class Hayoon would calm down even a little. She really couldn’t deal with her friend when she was angry.

      Like it was on cue, the professor entered the classroom and greeted everyone. Hayoon threw Y/N a look that meant they were not done there and focused on the professor.

      Throughout the class, Y/n couldn’t focus on what they were talking about. She was thinking of what to tell her friend so she believes her and Jisung are deeply in love or at least very horny for each other. She was told by more professors that she is one of the best actresses they have at the moment but in front of Hayoon, she felt just like a kid who’s done something bad for the first time.

      The time flew ridiculously fast that class and when the bell rang Y/N felt like she could have used some more hours to prepare for the talk she was about to have with Hayoon. Her friend got up and when they both finished packing their things she grabbed Y/N’s bicep as a method to prevent her from running away. 

      Hayoon led her outside of the campus and they sat down on a bench at the front of the university. That was the moment when she let go of her friend's arm. She made herself comfortable on the bench while Y/N was fidgeting nervously.

      “You can start talking” She tilted her head to the side waiting for an explanation.

      Y/N let out a shaky breath. “What happened is that he sat next to me in Canto class and then when the class was over he asked me to talk. He asked me out and now we are dating.” She said all that in a breath hoping that maybe Hayoon didn’t hear her.

      “Just like that?” The other girl’s voice filled her ears. Y/N looked at her confused. The girl rolled her eyes. “You started dating him just like that? Just because he asked you? What happened with ‘He’s a loser’, ‘He never takes shit seriously’, ‘He has a stupid face that I hate’? Weren’t he and Mina dating?” The flood of questions took her by surprise.

      “No, they are not dating. And he’s actually kind of nice. He has his bad parts but don’t we all?” She tried explaining without stumbling over her words which she succeeded in doing. Thankfully.

      “But what if it is some kind of bet or trick? You know who he is friends with. You should have thought better before saying yes.” She shifted her position closer to Y/N and put a hand on her forearm protectively.

      She was right. The whole thing was just a trick but she wasn’t the victim. She kind of felt bad now but the whole thing was actually harmless. They were just trying to make Mina jealous and if it didn’t work in a month or so, she would break up with Jisung. She turned her head towards her friend, tears stinging her eyes.

      “Yes, I know his friends but it’s not like that. I really do like him. Why can’t you be happy for me? Is it that hard to believe that a popular guy would like me?” A single tear fell down her cheek and Hayoon hugged her hurriedly, stuffing her face into her chest.

      “No, I’m sorry! Of course, he can. I’m sure a lot of popular guys like you! I was just worried!” Y/N sobbed a little and Hayoon hugged her tighter, rubbing her back soothingly.

       “It’s ok. I know you mean well.” Y/N hated having to use the fake crying on her friend but if they wanted that to work no one should know they were faking their relationship.

      The bell rang signalling the end of her last class. She gathered her things and waited a bit for Hayoon before leaving the room. Just as she stepped outside the classroom a hand snaked around her waist and she was pressed to a body.

      “Hey, babe.” Jisung said next to her ear before giving her neck a kiss. The girl jumped at the contact before relaxing upon realising that it was Jisung.

      “Hey.” She made eye contact with Hayoon who was sitting awkwardly to the side. She got out of his lock only to hold her friend’s hands and bring her closer. When she turned she noticed Hyunjin and Chan standing close to Jisung as well. “She’s my friend, Hayoon.” The men all greeted her.

      Hayoon gave them in return a smile that was visibly fake before turning to Y/N. “I have to go. See you tomorrow, ok?”

      “Yeah, see you.” She watched her get lost in the crowd before turning back to the boys.

      “She’s nice.” Jisung said ironically, rolling his eyes.

      “Give her time. She just doesn’t really like you.” Hyunjin and Chan held in their laughter as Jisung’s face turned into a hurt one.

      “But you like me, right babe?” His voice was as if he was talking to a child as he placed his hands on her hips bringing her closer.

      “You might have to give me some time as well.” The men finally let out their laughter as Jisung’s expression turned into an annoyed one. “What are you doing here, anyway?” She asked her head tilted to the side to show confusion and to distance herself a little bit from Jisung, who didn’t seem to have a problem with showing her affection.

      “I came here to wait for Jeongin and they came to wait for you.” Hyunjin smiled as he spoke. She smiled back at him feeling happiness invade her body.

      She turned her head towards her pretend boyfriend raising an eyebrow. “Did you want to tell me something?”

      “I actually came to take you home. I and Chan have to meet Changbin somewhere and your house is on the way there.” She felt a warm feeling in her stomach at his words. That was actually really nice of him considering the fact that they were not actually dating.

      “Jisung sweetie, you don’t know where I live yet.” Hyunjin snorted loudly, biting his lip to prevent himself from laughing. Jisung glared at him before looking down at Y/N.

      “Ok, I don’t know if your house is on the way there but we were going to drop you off.” 

      “That’s really sweet of you but I actually have the first meeting with the crew for the short movie I’ll play in. I can’t leave yet.” She finally got out of his arms as she wanted to turn around and leave. A pair of strong hands placed themselves on her biceps and stopped her from moving.

      “Easy there. You almost hit me. We still have 15 minutes until the meeting starts.” Jeongin explained as he went past her to greet each of the men individually.

      “I’m sorry!” A pinkish colour dusted her cheeks, embarrassed by her negligence to where she was walking. “We? Your crew is meeting now as well?” The innocence in her voice made Jeongin chuckle.

      “Y/N, we play in the same movie.” Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth fell agape at his words. Hyunjin and Jeongin giggled at her reaction.

      “Seriously?” Her question had Hyunjin rolling his eyes.

      “You say that like you haven’t been together in every single play since last year.” He was right but she didn’t remember seeing Jeongin at the auditions. “Now, let’s go or we’ll be late.”

      “You play in it as well?” Her expression became even more shocked if it was possible.

      “No, I don’t. I’ll just come watch.”

      “I don’t think you are allowed to.”

      “Oh, please! Mrs. Bae loves me. I’m sure she won’t have anything against it.” Right after he finished talking he hooked an arm around Jeongin’s neck forcing him to follow his lead. When he got next to Y/N he did the same taking the girl by surprise.

      She regained her composure fast telling herself that Hyunjin is just a social butterfly. She lifted her hand and waved it ‘Goodbye!’ at the boys who she couldn’t see because of Hyunjin’s grip on her neck.

      Jisung watched as the three of them were heading for the auditorium. Taking another look at Hynjin’s arm around her neck, he scoffed. He had been particularly annoying since lunch and something told Jisung it wouldn’t be the last time.

     As long as he didn’t interfere with their plan to make Mina jealous, he didn’t really care what kind of relationship Hyunjin was trying to push with Y/N.

      “I can not wait to get the script. Cursed be the printer for breaking down today of all days!” Y/N chanted for the nth time in the last 20 minutes.

      The meeting went fairly well. They mostly talked about the concept of the movie more in-depth, met the other actors that they didn’t know thanks to them being from different majors and discussed about each character individually so they know how to prepare for the roles. The only thing that upset Y/N was the missing scripts that they were supposed to receive. She was so excited about the movie and she could not endure another day without knowing the entire story.

      She was currently walking home with Hyunjin and Jeongin. Despite being well past 7 PM the sun was still in the sky probably preparing to set soon. The spring breeze had her clutching her jean jacket to her body trying to get rid of the goosebumps covering her skin.

      “You’ve only told us that a thousand times in the last couple of minutes.” Hyunjin said being unable to suppress the smile that was tugging at his mouth upon seeing how excited she was.

      “Can you blame me? The concept of Hell and Heaven, the forbidden love, the action, the drama. Everything is so, ugh!” Y/N was making wide gestures with her hands as she spoke, having the men trying to avoid them in order not to get hit. Jeongin grabbed one of her hands stopping her ministration.

      “I have never seen someone so excited about a school project. Calm down! We’ll get the script tomorrow.” Her mouth formed into a pout at his words. The two men let out chuckles at her action.

      Taking a look around her she noticed a familiar coffee shop on the other side of the road. She cleared her throat as she stopped at the crossroad. 

      “My apartment is actually that way.” She used her index finger to point the direction of the coffee shop. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

      “Actually, I’m going that way as well.” Hyunjin said, pressing the button of the traffic lights.

      They said goodbye to Jeongin before crossing the street. There was a comfortable silence between the two of them for a few minutes.

      “I still can’t believe that they let you stay.” Y/N said, remembering how he sat behind her and Jengin the whole time. He would make short comments about the plot and characters from time to time, making her giggle.

      “I told you Mrs. Bae loves me. She’ll do anything for her favourite student.” He said matter of factly.

      “I just don’t understand how she can be such a bitch to everyone but you. She acted like you were her son, I swear to God.” She trembled as she recalled how the professor would talk to him in a baby voice and how she offered to give him her chair so he could sit comfortably.

      “Not everyone is as handsome and amazing as I am.” Y/N laughed shortly and shoved him slowly.

      Another minute passed before Hyunjin decided to speak.

      “You know what I don’t understand?” He asked, looking at her side profile.

      “What?” She made eye contact with him.

      “Now, I don’t want you to get offended, cause that is definitely your choice. However, why date Jisung? You could have had any boy on campus. Someone that’s actually mature and nice.” Hyunjin let his teeth sink into the flesh of his bottom lip. 

      He knew what he was trying to do was not ethical. Jisung was one of his best friends but he had to know. If he couldn’t get Mina, which everyone could, how did he convince someone of Y/N’s calibre to date him?

      “Perhaps you think too highly of me. I assure you, I couldn’t have had any boy on campus.” She let a breathy laugh leave her lips. Boys barely talked to her and every time they did they were very awkward and distant.

      “I’m afraid I have to disagree with you. A lot of guys like you. You are smart, talented, friendly and, please excuse my language, hot. You just seem unapproachable because…” He stopped in the middle of his sentence contemplating whether he should say it or not.

      “Because…” She encouraged him to speak.

      “You might have a resting bitch face sometimes.” He noticed she wanted to say something but cut her off. “AND. And there is this guy that claims to have confessed to you last year and he said you completely humiliated him.” He bit the inside of his lip.

      An irritated breath left her nose. “I swear to God. I knew that guy would do something like that. All I did was tell him I want to focus on school for a while and he literally started crying. When I told him he could ask me again in a few months he called me a bitch and stormed out of there.” She paused for a bit to regain her composure. “If he’s the reason no guy approached me all this time I’ll find him and give his ass a beating.” She declared clenching her fist in front of her face.

      Hyunjin chuckled at her action. “Ok, but let’s go back to Jisung.” That was a phrase he never thought he would say to a girl.

      “Ah, yeah. I don’t know. He was the first one to ask me out. He is kinda handsome and nice, I guess. I mean, he does that thing where he likes to make fun of people for no reason that absolutely drives me mad.” She exclaimed the last word clenching her jaw. “But he has been nice to me since we started dating. It has been only a day and a half but he knows that if he does something wrong I’ll dump him faster than he can rap.”

      “Hmm, interesting. So this is all it takes for you to break up with him. In that case, I want to let you know that he has been rude to me today before we came to meet you.” Y/N laughed and hit his chest softly. Hyunjin laughed as well, but his laugh wasn’t genuine.

      Y/N stopped walking and put her hand on his forearm. “This is where I live. Thank you for walking with me. It was fun spending time with you today.” A bright smile enveloped her features.

      Hyunjin took a look at the apartment complex behind her trying to figure out at what floor her apartment might be. Quickly, he shifted his eyes on her and without realising he patted her head smiling.

      “I had fun as well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rub into Jisung’s face the fact that I found out where you live before him.” He said and turned on his heels to leave.

      Y/N noticed Hyunjin going in the same direction they came from and confusion settled inside her.

      “Hey! Where are you going?” She shouted after him.

      Hyunjin turned towards her and a smile tugged on his lips. “Actually, I live two streets behind.”

      Her eyes widened at his words. “Oh my God! Why didn’t you say so? I made you walk all the way here.”

      “I couldn’t let such a pretty lady walk alone at this hour.” His response came to her panicked rambling.

      “But it’s still really bright outside!”

      “Ok, you got me. I just wanted to spend more time with you.” A smirk appeared on his lips. “Hey! Don’t tell Jisung!” He winked at her before turning around and sprinting down the street.

      She casually walked into the complex and made her way to the third floor where her apartment was located. She fished her key from her bag and unlocked the door entering the residence. 

      When she found herself in the safety of her apartment she let her body slid down the white door. A rosy pink was covering her cheeks and she bit her bottom lip. What was that stupid feeling inside her chest? She needed to calm down. 

      Y/N got up from the floor and went into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and snatched a water bottle from the fridge door. She downed half of it in one go and used one hand to prop herself against the wall.

      “Mina, you bitch. Hurry up and fall in love with Jisung.” She mumbled pressing the cold bottle to her exposed collarbones.

      “How much more should we sit in silence?” Changbin whispered looking around at the people occupying the table.

      “Shhh. Be quiet! They’ll both rip your head off if you disturb them.” Hayoon spit in a barely audible voice.

      Changbin threw her an annoyed look. Why did Y/N’s friend have to sit with them as well? He glanced at Y/N and Jeongin who were seated across one another. Their eyes were scanning over the pages of the thick scripts they had in hand for the past 20 minutes, forcing everyone else around them to be quiet.

      “Whoa, what an ending! I knew I could trust our senior.” Y/N finally exclaimed, startling some of the people at the table.

      “Tell me about it. I can not believe you have to do that.” Jeongin said, placing the script next to his tray.

      “Don’t be sad, lover boy. I promise I’ll take good care of you in hell.” She winked at him before stuffing the script in her bag.

      “Do I sense some steamy stuff coming up?” Felix wiggled his eyebrows at Jeongin.

      “Nah, just a kiss. But like, fucking finally!” Jeongin exclaimed, taking a bite from his food for the first time since he sat down.

      “How did we manage to be in so many plays together and not kiss once? That never happens. It started to worry me. Finally, the universe is in order again.” She joked pretending to wipe away sweat from her forehead.

      Jisung rested his elbow on the back of Y/N’s chair and leaned close to her. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve wanted to kiss Jeongin for a long time now?” His tone was meant to be teasing and intimidating but Y/N felt like laughing at his efforts to seem like a possessive boyfriend. She rolled her eyes visibly.

      “Don’t worry, babe. It’s just acting. No real feelings involved.” Her words carried a lot of meaning, one which only the two of them could understand.

      “Really?” His voice lowered an octave and using one finger he turned her head towards him capturing her lips in a slow kiss. 

      From the corner of his eye, he noticed Mina looking at them. She was seated a few tables away with her friends and a few guys from her major. He felt like smirking when she clenched her jaw and scoffed in their direction.

      He broke the kiss and proceeded to lick his lips tasting Y/N’s strawberry lip balm on them. He curled one hand over her shoulders and brought her closer. Upon placing a kiss on her temple, the sound of metal hitting metal ringed in the cafeteria. Mina abruptly got up from her table and left the cafeteria leaving her friends to clean up her tray.

      Minho let out a prolonged whistle rolling his eyes in the process. “Looks like someone is in a bad mood. I wonder why.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, the reason for Mina’s sudden outburst being well known at the table.

      “You snooze, you lose.” A smirk was plastered on Jisung’s face. “I think a year and a half was a good amount of time for her to figure out her feelings. I wasn’t gonna wait around for her my entire life.” He declared nonchalantly playing with a strand of Y/N’s hair.

      Y/N bit back a laugh at his bold statement. What he said wasn’t entirely wrong. He didn’t wait around for her but he sure as hell wasn’t over her like his tone wanted to make it seem like. She lightly patted his thigh under the table as a form of saying ‘Good one!’.

      “That kind of makes it seems like you are using Y/N to get over her. I’d be more careful with my word choice next time.” Hyunjin said in a stern voice, throwing Jisung a cold glare.

      “No one needs your fucking opinion. Why do you even care?” Jisung felt annoyance overwhelm him. Hyunjin has voiced a lot of his opinions regarding his relationship with Y/N ever since they’ve announced it. Most of them in private when she wasn’t present.

      “Cause I don’t want you hurting my friend. She’s been nice enough to date you. I feel like you should be grateful.” Hyunjin was clearly irritated by Jisung’s attitude.

      Y/N watched as the two men were throwing daggers at each other. The same fuzzy feeling from the day before started spreading in her body. She kept repeating to herself that Hyunjin was just being nice. All he did and said the day prior was just him being nice. Some of his words started playing in her head when she remembered the previous day. ‘I just wanted to spend more time with you. Don’t tell Jisung!’ He was probably just joking. Just some playful rivalry between the two.

      “It’s ok, Hyunjin. I didn’t see it like that. I’m fine.” She mumbled and started playing with her fingers under the table. She tried controlling her laboured breath.

      Jisung threw Hyunjin a victorious smile. Noticing a change in her demeanour he took a look at her. Cheeks dusted with the faintest of pinks and fingers playing nervously under the table. A smirk acaparated his face as he remembered the conversation he had with her the other day on the bench. She definitely had a crush on someone.

      The sound of a key turning in a lock was heard in the empty apartment. Y/N entered the residence and abandoned her bag on the hanger near the door. Taking off her boots, she made her way to the window in the living room to close it, the air in the apartment being way too chilly for her comfort. She picked up a plate from the coffee table that she abandoned there in the morning before leaving and took it to the sink in the kitchen before going to her bedroom.

      The space was fairly clean excepting her desk that had all sorts of assignments and books sprawled all over it. She took off her clothes and discarded them in the laundry bin before going to her closet to pick something comfortable to wear. She settled for a pair of burgundy sweats and a black hoodie, perfect for that spring weather.

      Just as she finished putting on the hoodie she heard her phone go off signalling that she got a message. Throwing herself on the bed she grabbed her phone that was on the nightstand next to her bed.

[Jisung,15:36]Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s go on a date! :D

      Y/N pursed her lips after reading his message. She has planned to do research about her character for the movie the next day. Her fingers moved fast in typing a reply.

[Y/N,15:39]Is Mina gonna be there?

      She had no reason to go on that date if Mina wasn’t going to be there. It will be just a waste of her time. Her phone emitted the same ringing sound like earlier and she unlocked it to check his response.

[Jisung,15:40]Of course. Why else would I ask you on a date?

      His message had her rolling her eyes. She would bet all her money that he had a smug expression at that moment. Probably thinking that he did something. She was getting annoyed just thinking of it.

[Y/N,15:42]Time and place?

[Jisung,15:45] 6 PM. Text me your address, I’ll come pick you up.

      She sent him her address after a few minutes of contemplating insisting to meet there. She locked her phone and turned the silent mode on putting it back on the nightstand. Jumping out of bed she made her way to her desk prepared to start working on some of the assignments scattered on it.

[mrsjadecurtiss]

What do you think of Robert? What are your opinions on him, do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

I think Robert was fundamentally not made to be a king - He has the charisma and the looks and is an able warrior, but his negative character traits are indulged and enhanced by his position and led him down an almost unavoidable path.

Robert is someone who above all wants to enjoy and live an easy life:

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. [...] Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat.[...]" The king laughed happily. Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. - Eddard I, aGoT

"Robert wanted smiles and cheers, always, so he went where he found them, to his friends and his whores. Robert wanted to be loved." - Sansa IV, aCoK

He has just enough of a moral understanding to at least know when he is doing wrong and to even feel bad about it at times, but not enough to actually change anything about himself.

The rage was gone from him now; in his eyes Ned saw something sad and scared. "I should not have hit [Cersei]. That was not … that was not kingly." He stared down at his hands, as if he did not quite know what they were. - Eddard X, aGoT

Robert desires to have an easy life, he wants to be loved, he wants to have fun, but he does not want to deal with the hard and unpleasant things. In times of crisis, he wants to take the easy way out, and he prefers to avoid uncomfortable truths.

Lord Tywin stared at him as if he had lost his wits. "[...] When I laid those bodies before the throne, no man could doubt that we had forsaken House Targaryen forever. And Robert's relief was palpable. As stupid as he was, even he knew that Rhaegar's children had to die if his throne was ever to be secure. Yet he saw himself as a hero, and heroes do not kill children." - Tyrion VI, aSoS

"Well, now I know Jaime's dark sin, and the matter can be forgotten. I am heartily sick of secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned." - Eddard II, aGoT

"Most likely the king did not know," Littlefinger said. "It would not be the first time. Our good Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see." - Eddard IV, aGoT

He feels most comfortable when he is surrounded by people who love him and know how to handle him/want the best for him, and steer him onto the right path in a way where he can still feel good about himself.

"These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace." - Eddard I, aGoT

In an environment that works against him, or goes against his wishes even if it is for the better, it creates a destructive energy in him. He cannot stand dissent to his wishes because it robs him of a pleasure he desires, and creates unwanted conflict. He also cannot handle constructive criticism because it makes him confront unpleasant truths - he always wants the easiest path with the least tension. If he is presented with a situation that strains his limits as there is no amiable solution to a difficult/disturbing problem, his reaction is a toxic one; turning to rage and violence even towards his own child.

Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. - Eddard II, aGoT

He may act against what he knows is right, because it is the easiest route; like when he has the wolf Lady killed to please Cersei:

“A costly pelt,” Robert grumbled. “I want no part of this, woman. You can damn well buy your furs with Lannister gold.” [...] "We have a wolf," Cersei Lannister said. Her voice was very quiet, but her green eyes shone with triumph. It took them all a moment to comprehend her words, but when they did, the king shrugged irritably. "As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it." - “Robert, you cannot mean this,” Ned protested. The king was in no mood for more argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more." - Eddard III, aGoT

"I am sorry for your girl, Ned. Truly. About the wolf, I mean. My son was lying, I'd stake my soul on it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And when Ned reprimands him about Daenerys he will not hear dissent, even though he knows deep down that it is wrong:

He gave the king a long cool look. “Would [the man who spared Barristan] were here today.” Robert had shame enough to blush. “It was not the same,” he complained. “Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard.” - “Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl.”

[...] “Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?” - “No, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Have you?” - “Enough!” the king bellowed. “I am sick of talk. I’ll be done with this, or be damned."

[...] “I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to  it.” For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. [...] “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.” - “I wish him every success.” Ned [...] laid [his badge of office] on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.” Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “[...] Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!” - Eddard VIII, aGoT

“Gods have mercy,” he muttered, swallowing his agony. “The girl. Daenerys. Only a child, you were right . . . that’s why, the girl . . . the gods sent the boar . . . sent to punish me . . .” - Eddard XIII, aGoT

Robert is a man who always wants it easy, he wants his demands to always be fulfilled, to be loved and have fun without dealing with the bad things; but an important theme that is repeated over and over in asoiaf is that you can only act good if you are willing to face the bad that may come with it, and if you cannot live with the consequences, your action might not be justified.*

Bran thought about it. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" - "That is the only time a man can be brave." - Bran I, aGoT

"Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice." - Davos VI, aSoS

"The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die." - Bran I, aGoT

Ned stood, gently disengaging himself from Sansa's grasp. All the weariness of the past four days had returned to him. "Do it yourself then, Robert," he said in a voice cold and sharp as steel. "At least have the courage to do it yourself." - Robert looked at Ned with flat, dead eyes and left without a word, his footsteps heavy as lead. Silence filled the hall. - Eddard III, aGoT

This is why putting him on the throne was poison - all the power in the world, and noone who would dare go against his wishes. It indulges all of Robert's worst traits, and buries anything he had inside him that was salvageable.

Ser Barristan Selmy spoke up. "Your Grace," he said, "it is not seemly that the king should ride into the melee. It would not be a fair contest. Who would dare strike you?" - "Ser Barristan is right. There's not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who would dare risk your displeasure by hurting you." - Eddard VII, aGoT

I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king had insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. - Eddard IV, aGoT

And Robert knows it - he knows being a king isn't for him, that he doesn't enjoy the actual work that goes into governing, that he doesn't have the personality for such politics or to deal with the people involved, and that he would much rather spend his time enjoying life and doing what he loves...

"Look at what kinging has done to me. Gods, too fat for my armor, how did it ever come to this? [...] I swear to you, I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne, or so dead as now that I’ve won it." - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people … there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell … and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but …" - Eddard I, aGoT

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave." - Eddard I, aGoT

"Let me tell you a secret, Ned. More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me." - Eddard VII, aGoT

And yet he doesn't do anything about it and keeps staying at the position he hates - he does not want to deal with the uncomfortable consequences that would come with upsetting the status quo, or making changes to his own personality and going through growth, or confronting ugly truths about himself in a productive way, etc etc.

He does make a talk of changes at times during aGoT, and seems to have a sense of responsibility about his Job, but as it is his desire for changes came too late, and what responsibility he felt mostly served to paralyze him in place.

"The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?" - Eddard VII, aGoT

"I'm still young, and now that you're here with me, things will be different. We'll make this a reign to sing of, and damn the Lannisters to seven hells." - Eddard VII, aGoT

In a way Joffrey is to Robert what Ramsay is to Roose: an exploration of the inherent flaw in their way of life, demonstrated in the most extreme case. In Joffrey's case, it shows what happens to give someone unlimited power with noone daring to oppose them.

Do you think that if the war never happened that he'd still go down this self destructive path?

It's a little unclear which war you mean, so I will briefly touch on several points:

There could have been ideal circumstances where he might have worked out as a king, if he was surrounded by people who know the perfect way to deal with him and make him work past his flaws (intuitively doing the work of a modern therapist), but the average life is not ideal and grrm shows the realistic fate of a man like Robert.

I think by the time Ned arrived it was sadly too late to change - maybe if the Lannisters didn't exist, or this or that event hadn't happened, but Grrm shows that most of what lead to Robert's downfall was in the end caused by himself. Cersei kills him because she came to despise the man he was, and for good reason as he abused her during all her marriage - and while he has some scenes of feeling bad or even apologizing for it, he never made any attempts to actually change the terrible way he was treating her.

If Robert's Rebellion never happened, he would have probably made an able enough Lord of Storm's End; delegating his "boring" administrative duties to his advisors and maester, enjoying the privileges of highborn life, and having just enough responsibility to feel like the alpha male of his society yet not enough to do as lasting damage as he did for the throne. He would not have been the best Lord, but sadly there are many worse in Westeros, since the entire dynastic ruling system is inherently flawed. If he would have been a better person depends on who he is surrounded with, if circumstances would have motivated him to change, or if perhaps his position of power and outward influences would still just have indulged him into the man he was in aGoT. Ultimately, there are a lot of butterfly effects leading to different results that i’m sure have been explored in many fics.

"Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature." - Eddard IX, aGoT

This was the boy he had grown up with, he thought; this was the Robert Baratheon he'd known and loved. If he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran, prove that they had murdered Jon Arryn, this man would listen. Then Cersei would fall, and the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would smash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so clearly. - Eddard VII, aGoT    

What do you think of Robert?

Since i am someone who frequently enjoys morally grey and villainous characters, despite his many negative traits i have a fondness of Robert; I think he is an interesting character and very human in his flaws, and there is a lot of melancholy to his story that makes me somber about him even if it obviously does not excuse his bad actions. I also think he has a great character design that's fun to draw and some fun boisterous scenes, and some of his positive qualities remind me of people i know.

*Stannis is an interesting character as Robert’s brother, as he is the opposite to him in this regard, as well as in many aspects of their personality and even their outward presentation (like how Stannis crops his beard short to contrast Robert’s wild one)

[queenaryastark]

Actually, hear me out before you stop reading. I think it would be pretty neat if Arya WERE sent to kill Daenerys, but watched her and met her and saw how she treats others and sees how Daenerys ISNT her father and is a good queen / person and decides against it and joins her cause. I’ve read fics like that and they’re pretty neat! I think it would be interesting storytelling.

Whenever I go over the speculation of the FM sending Arya to Dany, I debate this exact thing. Sometimes I think someone might put out a hit on Dany leading to Arya being sent to kill her, as you do, while other times I feel that Arya’s time in the HOBAW is preparing her for something different than her instructors are claiming. Either way, I believe there’s a strong chance Arya and Dany’s stories will collide since they’re both in Essos and both their arcs are heavily influenced by Braavos.

Here’s what we have so far that could be foreshadowing their eventual colliding in some way: 

Dany’s repeated call backs to her lost childhood in Braavos where Arya is currently living and training.

Dany is of Valyian descent and Braavos was founded by slaves who escaped the Valyians.

Despite the Targaryens being of Valyrian descent, Fire and Blood Vol I shows that they had a working relationship with Braavos.

Arya is training with the Faceless Men, who are teaching her about their origins in Valyia and how they brought about the Doom that Dany’s ancestor’s escaped.

The Braavosi are anti-slavery, which comes up in Arya’s chapters, while Dany is the head of an abolitionist movement in Essos.

The Targaryen descended Black Pearl makes a couple appearances and is described in depth in Arya’s chapters.

The Iron Bank of Braavos has the power to make and unmake monarchs. At the moment, they are willing to back Stannis and their negotiation with the Lannisters has just been ruined by Arya in the Mercy chapter.

And, of course, Arya’s famous line on seeing the dragon skulls for the second time while escaping from the Lannisters: “They seemed almost old friends.”

All of this seems to build up to Arya and Dany coming together with Braavos being involved. 

An idealistic option is for the government of Braavos, the Iron Bank, and the Faceless Men decide to consider backing Dany’s claim to the Iron Throne since Stannis is a crap option and their relations with the Lannisters are ruined. They could decide that sending Arya as a spy to take her measure before making their official decision. But that might be too neat.

Your take on Arya being sent to kill Dany only to realize she is a good person and refuse could be foreshadowed by Arya’s experiences with the dragon skulls in AGOT. 

First, when she sees them, Arya is afraid:

By the time she had reached eighty-seven, the room had begun to lighten as her eyes adjusted to the blackness. Slowly the shapes around her took on form. Huge empty eyes stared at her hungrily through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. She had lost the count. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and sent the fear away. When she looked again, the monsters would be gone. Would never have been. She pretended that Syrio was beside her in the dark, whispering in her ear. Calm as still water, she told herself. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. She opened her eyes again. The monsters were still there, but the fear was gone. Arya got to her feet, moving warily. The heads were all around her. She touched one, curious, wondering if it was real. Her fingertips brushed a massive jaw. It felt real enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver. "It's dead," she said aloud. "It's just a skull, it can't hurt me." Yet somehow the monster seemed to know she was there. She could feel its empty eyes watching her through the gloom, and there was something in that dim, cavernous room that did not love her. She edged away from the skull and backed into a second, larger than the first. For an instant she could feel its teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door. -- Arya III, AGOT

Throughout this initial encounter, Arya is fearful, wary, curious, and then terrified again. She knows the skulls are dead, yet she can’t help seeing lifelike aspects to them that are frightening. The dragon skulls appearing to have living qualities, something which appears in Tyrion and Ned’s chapters too, is likely foreshadowing for Dany waking the dead dragons from stone. 

The next time Arya sees the skulls shows her viewing them more positively since they are connected with her way of escaping Lannister captivity:

This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they were turning to watch her pass. "Dragons," she whispered. -- Arya IV, AGOT

The fear Arya felt in the first scene is completely gone here. Instead of being frightened by the skulls, she seeks out the room they’re in so she can escape her true enemies, the Lannisters. Referring to them as “almost old friends” could hint at a possible alliance with the Targaryens later in the series. In that way, these two encounters could foreshadow your theory that Arya and Dany will be pushed together as antagonists with Arya being sent to complete a hit on her only to see that Dany is a good person who doesn’t deserve to be executed. Since their interests would align in wanting to remove the Lannisters and Arya will no longer have a reason to go to the Wall when she hears about Jon’s murder, they could travel to Westeros together.

It’s also interesting to note that Arya goes by the skulls and takes the sewer exit they lead to twice so far. As is proven in Dany’s ASOS arc, a sewer can be used as an entrance as well as an exit. Given the rule of three, Arya could use this sewer again, possibly while working with an actual, living dragon in the form of Daenerys.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

I'm lurking in people's ask boxes today, making them horny. Marvel Boomer fandom mass insanity? More likely than you think.

Bonus gif in the comments once you reply to this. Tumblr doesn't let me add 😡🤬

"Come on, try and make me angry," Banner grits out, an arm thrown around your neck. You can feel the bulging of his muscles, the tension of his veins. He's barely holding back the force of the Hulk. "See how you like that!"

You want to laugh. You want to laugh in his face, and in Tony's, because they are just mortal men. Intelligent, capable, but at the very core of it, very simple human men.

"I'd listen to the Mean Green if I were you," Tony, of course, throws in a mocking remark. You've never experienced the joys of a quiet Stark.

"Well, mark me down as scared and horny," The look you give Tony and his suit is pornographic. That's your final decision: they will reap what they sow. You'd been minding your business, not hurting anyone - in fact, you've been having nothing but positive reviews, but for some reason, humans just couldn't comprehenda peaceful co-existing with a different species. "I've been alive longer than you, your fathers and your grandfathers combined. Why is it that human men always seem to think they deserve to have the veto power?"

Banner briefly stills behind you; you knew they'd assigned him to the task because his self-control is impeccable, almost good enough for him to be unable to be seduced. Tony's there for the opposite reason: someone had believed a good lover may make you inclined to surrender peacefully. Both of them, of course, were wrong. Neither satisfaction nor submission is in your nature.

"Well, we can't have demons just running around and sucking the souls out of civilians," Tony supplies conversationally.

You groan and then palm your face, not really struggling against Banner's iron grip. "I'm not a demon," For the millionth time in your long life, you spit out the acidic words. "I am a succubus. We do not kill or harm humans," You explain, feeling Banner's apprehension morph into stunned confusion. "That lie was invented by the Catholic church because it was easier to blame repeated infidelity on us rather than hold unfaithful men accountable," You spit out louder than you intend to; being a succubus, things like gender and sex didn't really concern you, but seeing how much it impacted the humanity, it had made sense to spend most of the time in your male form. Only the few past decades you've reacquainted yourself with the female form and the joys of being a woman still were few and in-between. Except the actual physical act of...

That's how you end up in Stark's and Banner's shared lab, wearing one of the former's oversized shirts with an IV and a neat little device that seems to be scanning all your vitals simultaneously. The technological babble is lost in you; instead, you focus on holding back the hunger that grows within you minute by minute.

"Are those numbers looking normal for your species?" Banner asks you, thrusting a tablet in your lap, eyes focused on a whole different set of screens. He is, by far, the kindest man of science you have ever met. Perhaps that's why you agreed to invasive testing.

"No," You can't help but sound grouchy. "I'm hungry," Predictably, the man blushes crimson. You'd explained, in uncomfortable detail, how exactly the feeding process goes down. Dr. Banner was nothing but polite and professional during the small interrogation; now, after the extended time spent in your presence, he seems to grow more and more susceptible to your natural charms.

Or, perhaps, your growing hunger is making the reigns to your self-control to be slippery. Banner accidentally catches your eyes and you see it instantly: the beast, the hunger of his own is doing the same thing. It's pushing against the rails, demanding to be released.

"I can't," He breathes, standing statue-still. "I'll hurt you," With every passing second, you feel the air in the cool room heat up and thicken.

"No, you won't," You're sure. "You can trust me," Neither of you notice how close your bodies are; one moment and his face is inches away from yours, his green-rimmed browns boring into your eyes that undoubtedly have adopted the deep crimson color of hunger by now.

The rest is a rush; his hands, holding you by the shoulders as he gives into his lust, his lips - surprisingly soft - and the noise of the buttons of his shirt hitting the cold tiled floors. There's no finesse, no time for proper foreplay as your hunger bleeds into him, fuels the fire to his all-consuming need.

It's been ages since you've felt someone resist you so strongly, so stubbornly, and it's delicious.

"M'not gonna last," He mumbles, unbuttoning his pants with one clumsy hand while the other noses at your soaking core. You look down on his thick fingers and gasp in surprise: they're big and tinted a fluorescent green, two of them enough to give a delicious stretch once they enter you.

Your face shoots up, finding the previously reserved man smirking in self-satisfaction. "Fuck, that's not... I need more," Is it the casual display of power or the rapid flip of attitude, you don't know, but it's doing it for you. The hunger pangs dull.

Banner's lips and teeth attach themselves to the crook of your neck as the unusually tinted arms drag you almost completely off the table and onto his cock; it's thick, veined and hard as a rock. You let out a squeak - something you considered previously to be above you - as he bottoms out in one single, sharp push of his hips.

"That good enough for you?" His voice had dropped a whole couple of octaves too. Green is steadily crawling up his neck. Your combined sweat stains his friend's t-shirt.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your experiment," Said friend, does, in fact, interrupt, but Dr. Banner only growls. You feel the smile he hides in your skin; you know the boys are just getting started.

After all, as a succubus, you're used to getting what you want.

What even... this is the first thing I’m reading in the morning. Well fuck 🥵

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Old Wounds, New Scars (oneshot)

PAIRING: Bucky x Reader WARNINGS: brief description of injury, surgery-related ptsd, comfort fluff, talk of therapy, smut NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy​. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. Image credit. 18+ only.

Bucky’s terrified of doctors. Anything that comes with the smell of antiseptic and the glare of bright lights on white walls and metal tables is a significant trigger. He’s a little more comfortable when you go with him, but his fight-or-flight instincts skyrocket regardless.

This appointment is a little more invasive than usual. When he’d had his old arm, he’d apparently fought to claw it out, gouging deep into his own body around where it was attached to his shoulder and pectoral. The injuries had left him with deep scars that, over time, healed into long, raised marks that he hates to touch or even look at. To add to his discomfort, the battle with Thanos two years before had resulted in his vibranium arm taking a bad hit from an explosive. The metal, of course, was unaffected, but the bone joint of his shoulder has gotten too painful for him to ignore. 

The only option for remediating both of his afflictions is surgery. That means doctors, which means Bucky’s scared.

He’s in a private room at New York Presbyterian, pacing back and forth with his arms folded across his chest. The doctors have given him a gown to dress in, but he feels too exposed, especially with the four security cameras constantly monitoring him. The room is reinforced, meant to house enhanced individuals with various abilities. Knowing that he’s trapped in a room he can’t escape only makes him more anxious.

“Buck.”

He glances towards the sound of your voice, sees you perched on the edge of the bed. You’ve been watching him the whole time, barely able to do anything but brace for an explosion of panic. It’s three forty-eight, and the doctors are due to collect him for surgery promptly at four. The minutes are ticking down and he’s only getting more scared.

“Yeah?”

You pat the bed next to you. “Come here.”

“No.” He shakes his head, glancing up at the clock for the upteenth time. “I need to walk.”

“You need to settle down.” Your tone might sound firmer than it needs to be, but Bucky’s reached the point where simply being his kind, gentle wife isn’t going to work. “Come here and sit. Hold my hand.”

He shuffles over, lowering himself onto the stiff mattress. The restraints hang from the steel posts, thick cuffs reinforced with iron buckles. They’re strong enough to hold him, and he flinches at the idea of being tied down.

You gather his vibranium hand into yours and reach up to thread your other fingers through his hair. He leans in, resting his cheek on your shoulder with a deep sigh.

“I hate it here.”

“I know.” You kiss his forehead soothingly, tone growing softer. “But this isn’t HYDRA, baby. They’re good doctors who wanna help you.”

He swallows. His flesh hand fists in the rough fabric of his hospital gown. “How long will it take? I forgot.”

He hasn’t forgotten. He just wants to hear it coming from you. “The doctors said two hours, tops,” you reply. “And when you wake up we’ll be going home, okay?”

He nods slowly, closing his eyes as the clock continues to tick down the seconds. Finally, just when he’s relaxed into you with his nose buried in your hair, the buzzer on the heavy metal door creaks open and he jerks his head over his shoulder so fast you’re sure he’s given himself whiplash.

“Easy.” You reach out to steady him with a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Two hours and it’s over, Buck.”

He eyes the doctors as they ease into the room with a surgical gurney. Restraints identical to those on the bed hang from the handrails. 

“Don’t leave me,” he says, voice low and quaking. 

“I’ll go as far as they’ll let me,” you assure him. “And when you wake up I’ll be right there.”

You hold his flesh hand as he climbs onto the gurney. His eyes never leave yours as the doctors fix the restraints around his wrists and ankles. It’s just a precaution, just to prevent him from trying anything between here and the O.R.. With your hand still clenched in his, you walk by his side towards the doors to the operating room. He heaves a quick sigh as the attendants come to a stop, and you bend low to kiss him. 

“Two hours,” you remind him, “and then we can go home.”

He swallows thickly and closes his eyes as the attendants wheel him through, and the moment he’s out of sight, you hurry back to the recovery room, tugging your phone from your bag. 

You’re going to need backup.

***

Sam gets down to the recovery room an hour later. He’s got two cups of Starbucks with him, and you gratefully take yours when he extends it.

“How long has be been in?” He asks, lowering himself onto the bench next to you.

“Just since I called,” you reply, sipping your drink and closing your eyes. “He was terrified.”

Sam nods in agreement. “I didn’t expect it to be easy for him. You afraid he might snap?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh heavily. “The doctors said the anesthesia could affect his memory slightly, but it’s Bucky… he’s a strong guy, but all it takes is the right triggers and he’ll…”

Sam rubs a palm against his jeans. “He’ll be all right. It’s been six months, he’s been goin’ to therapy, he’s been doing everything right.”

You remain silent, unable to do anything but swallow the emotion that wants to break free.

True to the surgeon’s word, Bucky’s out of surgery in just an hour and thirty two minutes. The scar tissue was an easy cosmetic fix, and the injury to his shoulder only required a simple adjustment to fully realign his shoulder joint with the vibranium socket of his prosthetic. He’ll have to take it easy for a couple of weeks, but overall, he should be just fine.

He’s placed back in the recovery room to wake up from the anesthesia on his own. You and Sam watch him sleep through the thick panes of glass as the doctors work around him, checking his vitals and recording notes in their logs. He looks peaceful, but you know that when he wakes up, it’ll most likely be a different story.

You’ve just reclined back on the bench when a loud crash echoes from inside Bucky’s room, closely followed by an anguished yelp. 

“Who are you!? Get off me!”

He’s writhing on the bed, straining at the heavy restraints that bind him. One doctor is clutching his wrist to his chest; Bucky had evidently caught it in his vibranium grip. You reach for the doorknob, but Sam pulls you back. 

“Y/N, he’s not balanced,” he warns, “let them calm him down—”

“He won’t calm down,” you protest, tugging out of his grip, “they’ll only hurt him more.”

You storm through the doors, kicking a stand of instruments out of your way as you rush towards his bed. One nurse attempts to hold you back.

“Ma’am, we have this under control, you need to stay back—”

“I’m his wife, damn it!” You shove past them as Bucky lets out a panicked yell, his struggle growing more and more violent. “Bucky! Baby, hey…”

He jerks away from your touch, eyes lit with a combination of fear and rage, but when you bend low, holding his face against your shoulder, he freezes. He can smell your jasmine perfume and feel the texture of your hair on his face. 

It’s not HYDRA. It’s just you.

The sob he lets out almost breaks your heart, and you reach down to grip his flesh hand in yours. His breathing is heavy and ragged in his throat, and you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes at the sound of his distress. 

“Shhh,” you soothe him gently, fingers running through his hair. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

You lift your head, nodding at the doctor with a syringe full of sedatives. Quietly, she steps forward and injects the medication into Bucky’s IV. Within seconds, he goes limp, head falling back against the pillow. Gently, you wipe the tears from his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead.

“We’ll be home soon,” you promise quietly.

***

Bucky wakes up in your bed at home. The sun’s shining through the sheer curtains, casting shafts of light onto the light bedspread. He’s been redressed in a pair of gray sweats, and the bandages from his operation lay thick and heavy on his left shoulder. He can’t move his vibranium arm without feeling an ache. 

“Hey, he’s awake.” 

He glances to his right. Sam’s sitting in the heavy chair, a Men’s Health magazine in one hand. “Hey,” he croaks back. “What time is it?”

Sam checks his watch. “Just past nine. You’ve been out a long time. You feelin’ okay?”

Bucky gives a tentative shrug. His shoulder aches, and he feels a taut well of emotion filling his throat. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Kitchen,” Sam replies. “Told her I’d keep watch while she made breakfast. She’s been up all night makin’ sure you’re good.”

Bucky swallows. His throat’s dry, and he’s having a hard time keeping his voice steady. “Can you get her, please?”

“Yeah. I gotta head out, but I’m just a phone call away, you got that?” Sam waits for his friend to give a short nod before he pats his uninjured shoulder and walks out of the room. A minute later, Bucky hears your light footsteps on the carpet. You slip into the room, not bothering to close the door as you beeline for his side of the bed. 

“Hey.” You cup his face gently and peer into his eyes.

At the feeling of your smooth palms on his cheeks, Bucky gives in to the knot in his throat. Tears blur his vision, and he wants nothing more than to pull you into bed with him and hold on tight forever and ever. “I don’t want to do that ever again.”

You let him cry, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “You don’t have to. It’s going to be okay, baby, you’re home.”

Bucky wraps his arm around you, fingers clenching tight into the fabric of your tee-shirt as he lets go of a shuddering breath. You feel his tears wet on your shirt, and all you can do is hold him and allow him to show this sliver of emotion.

You wait until he’s calmed, his breathing resuming its usual slow, deep rhythm. “Do you want to call your therapist?” 

Bucky swallows thickly. “I can’t leave the house.”

“You can do a video call.” You pull back to run your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears that fall. “I’m making breakfast, do you want me to bring you something? We can find something to watch and just stay in bed.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

***

You spend the rest of the day in bed. He’s calmed by the scent of jasmine and the feeling of your body tucked against his. Around five, Bucky’s stomach growls, and you break away to let him finish an episode of The Great British Bake-Off to whip up something for dinner. When he’s able to stand, he shuffles slowly into the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face. He’s just turned the tap off when he looks up into the mirror.

God, he looks awful. Dark circles under pink-rimmed eyes. Pale skin. He’s let his hair grow long again, and it looks wild and scraggly… he needs a trim, and soon.

He starts the shower and lowers the wooden bench. Ordinarily he’d stand, but he’s still tired and it’s easier to reach the handheld showerhead. It only takes him a few minutes to lather his hair with shampoo and scrub as much of his body as he can with his good arm. Luckily, he manages to avoid getting his bandages wet, and he dries himself off before retreating back to the bedroom. 

By the time you bring dinner, he’s dressed in a simple pair of boxer briefs and gotten back under the covers. He sighs appreciatively at the smell of spaghetti and tomato sauce, and he cradles his larger bowl (he still has a supersoldier appetite) on his lap, biting into large forkfuls of pasta until only a few swipes of red sauce remain. 

“Good?” you ask jokingly, setting both your dishes on the bedside table. 

He smiles. “I feel much better. Thank you.”

“Mm. I love cooking.” You lean in to kiss him. “Especially for my husband.”

“I thought women didn’t like doing that stuff anymore,” he jokes.

You giggle against his lips. “Women like to do whatever they want.”

Bucky smiles and loops his arm around your waist, dragging you closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You can’t help but blush when he scrapes his teeth over the pulse point on your neck. It’s something he only does when he’s craving intimacy. “Baby, are you sure?”

He nods slowly. “It’s been a rough couple days. Could use the release.”

With a soft sigh, you slide one leg over his hips. Bucky lets out a soft huff against your mouth; due to your schedules, it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been intimate, and he’d be lying if he said it hasn’t been bothering him. 

He’s dragged from his thoughts by the feeling of your warm hand sneaking into his briefs, stroking his shaft until he’s hard and throbbing. He lifts his hips enough for you to get the thick waistband down, and you slip your panties off before reaching up to strip your shirt over your head. 

“Damn.” Bucky traces his thumb over one nipple and gazes up at you. His eyes flutter closed when you rub the tip of him against your warmth. His hand floats down to hold your waist, fingers digging into soft flesh. 

“Just relax,” you whisper, “lemme do the work.”

Bucky hums, sucking in a deep breath as you lower yourself down. His lips part, and when he feels your slick, wet heat fully wrapped around him, he can’t hold back a loud moan of pleasure. You watch, palms braced on his chest as he gathers himself, cheeks flushing pink. 

“Feel good?” you ask playfully. 

He nods quickly. “Yeah… God, you’re so warm.”

He gives a little push with his hips, and you take his hint, settling into a slow, steady rhythm. He follows the steady rocking of your body, emitting little gasps and groans as waves of pleasure swell and recede. You don’t ask for more, just give him what he needs in silence. 

When he decides that the simple teasing isn’t enough, he slips his hand down between your legs, pressing his thumb over your sensitive nub. You tense, squeezing around him, and he smiles when you let out a soft whimper and grind against him a little faster. 

You climax together in a single explosive moment, bodies shuddering and clenching as Bucky pours into you, a low moan leaving his throat. He clutches at you, holding you down tight until he’s given you everything and your rapid contractions have subsided. 

“Hey,” he pants, gazing up through half-lidded eyes. “You all here?”

You nod and slump down on his chest, lifting your head to meet him in a kiss. “I think we needed that.”

“Me too.” He chuckles and runs his hand down your back. “Baby.”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for not…” he swallows, “y’know… thinkin’ less of me.”

You frown. “Why would I think less of you, Buck?”

“Dunno.” He sighs. “Just… for a little bit, I thought you might be getting fed up with all my crap.”

“Don’t say that.” You run a finger over his lips. “I’ve known about your issues for the last three years, Buck. When we got married, I said ‘in sickness and in health,’ you remember that?”

He closes his eyes. “I just thought… I dunno. Must be my head gettin’ away from me again.”

“I’m never leaving.” You brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “This was just a rough spot. We’ll get through it, we always do.” 

He smiles and kisses you again. “How did I get so lucky to find a girl like you, hmm?”

Your cheeks flush hot. “Guess you were just in the right place at the right time.”

If you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

MARVEL TAGS: @acf2510 @beefcakebarnes​ @breezy1415​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ 

MUTUAL TAGS (if you wanna get on my tag list or don’t want to be tagged please let me know): @suz-123​ @nacho-bucky​ 

[frickyeahfanfic]

prompt: “I don’t want to hurt you”-”you won’t.”

pairing: general hux x reader

summary: you are a medic aboard the Supremacy and General Hux comes in one chaotic day for you to stitch up his wounds. (PRE TROS) 

EDIT: want some backstory? check out RESIGN

word count: 1746

warnings: a little intense, you gotta take care of his owies so

__________

White coats darted past you as you made your way down to the entrance of the medic wing of the Supremacy, your datapad balancing carefully in your palm. It was a particularly busy day; more than enough stormtroopers and officers had made their way to seek medical attention. You barely had time to figure out what was going on outside of the sterile haven, but you knew something had to do with the resistance fighting against the First Order.

You datapad chimed happily despite the chaotic setting. Someone was requesting medical attention, and only high ranking officials had the authority to contact you, the lead surgeon. You had to push oblivious nurses and doctors aside to avoid crashing into them, knowing that whoever was behind the door was seriously injured, or needed attention quick.

Just before you could take a step closer to the entrance, General Hux stumbled through.

The General looked awful. His face was bruised, lip and nose bleeding profusely. The orange hair on his head was disheveled, but you could see a spot that was matted down with blood. His greatcoat was torn almost in half, and gashes were visible on his back as he staggered past you.

“General!” You gasp. His head snapped to you and he placed a gloved hand on you for support.

“Take me to your next available room,” He snarled through bared teeth.

You snap your fingers and a medic standing by scurried over and stood by Hux for support, following you down the hallway to an operating room. The medic left Hux’s side and helped you prepare the room, and scampered out when the General was on the table. Without speaking, you hooked him up to an IV, administered some basic medication to and started examining the damage.

“What was it this time,” you say, typing on your datapad hurriedly.

“Same as last time,” he muttered, tugging on the IV mischievously.

You nodded and put the device down, reaching for a syringe on a cart beside you.

“Flip over.” You demanded, a finger twirling in the air indicating the command in case Hux didn’t understand. As he was adjusting his body you noticed the intensity of the wounds on his back.

“Shirt, off.”

“Would you quit bossing me around, Doctor?” Despite his complaint, he unfastened the clip on his waist and stripped off his shirt. He held the bunch of clothing with one hand as the other hit a button to recline the hospital bed.

“Would you quit getting beat up, Sir? I’m kind of getting tired of always having to stitch you up.” You retaliated, taking the garments from his hands and placing them on the counter behind yourself.

He placed his forearms underneath his face to cushion his head, and so he could still talk to you clearly. “This is your job, isn’t it? I could very quickly relieve you of your position…”

“We both know you could never do that. After all, sir, you don’t trust anyone but me to do surgery on you,” you reminded him, a domestic tone engulfing your voice.

He humphed, a sound of defeat.

In the medic wing of the ship, you were the general. You commanded your fleets of nurses and fellow doctors. You ordered and directed the chaos that was your job, your life. And in your territory, the General was submissive. It brought you so much pleasure knowing that, besides Kylo Ren or the Supreme Leader or whoever was above him, Hux was at the mercy of your decisions. It was an eloquent balance, and a trust bond was built between the two of you. General Hux learned very quickly that in order to keep you around for his own sake, he had to actually be nice and learn to respect you. He trusted very few people in the galaxy, but you had saved his ass enough times to earn the confidence of the General.

You waved a syringe of something in from of his face, that was sure to knock him out cold for a few hours. “I’m gonna drug you. You’ve got a lot of damage on your back and stitches will have  you out and about in no time.”

He propped himself up with one arm. “No, I don’t have enough time for that. The Supreme Leader needs me to go back immediately, I can’t have my men without a leader while the Resistance re-coups. Surely they are planning something devilish.”

“They won’t have a leader if you’re too busy in pain. I’ll put you out for a bit-”

As you moved the syringe closer to his neck he grabbed your wrist tightly. “No.”

“But,”

He didn’t let go of your arm, instead, he squeezed it tighter. A warning. “That’s an order, Doctor.”

You withdraw your hand and place the hypo back onto a tray. As you fumbled with the organic thread used to sew wounds and gashes, Hux clutched the pillow he put underneath his head. He was going to fight the pain.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You hesitated when you saw his chest rise and fall faster than most of your patients. You hadn’t recently operated on someone conscious since your time as a field surgeon, the graphic scenes and messes you had to clean up scared you to the point of resigning and taking the position as lead surgeon.

“You won’t. Just do it quickly. I have work that needs to get done.”

It would definitely cause a great amount of pain to Hux, especially because any shock had been worn off and the numbing meds that you gave him surely wouldn’t cover the excruciating torture that a needle and thread caused.

And it would definitely cause a lot of pain to you. Not physical, just emotional. You didn’t like seeing people in pain, that’s why you because a surgeon to operate on sleeping people.

You quickly grabbed a sterile rag and ran it over the gashes, and he shuddered, knuckles going white on the pillow he was grasping. After applying some antiseptic, you began the tedious work. Stitch after stitch, the General hissed and groaned, face pressing deeper into the cushion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered several times in the procedure, especially after tugging the thread tightly over deeper areas.

In reality, the only way he made it without passing out was the gentle grace of your fingertips, brushing softly against the skin on his back. And the way you muttered under your breath while you worked was like a song lulling him to sanity while enduring the pain. Yes, you had occasionally given him a bandage or administered some sort of antidote to him, but he had never experienced the true beauty of your labor consciously. Yes, it was painful, but it was peaceful.

It was finished sooner than Hux had anticipated. You slathered on some gel, presumably bacta, and wrapped gauze around his back.

You tapped him gently on the shoulder to stand, but he was already sitting up, knowing that the gauze was the final step. As you take off your gloves that were marked with Hux’s blood and remove the scrub cap and mask on your head, he stood up and wandered to the pile of new clothes on the counter that a nurse had delivered during the procedure. As grabbed the undershirt you froze.  

“Wait, Hux,” you said, quickly placing a hand on his arm before he lifted his arms over his head.

He stopped, raising an eyebrow at the slip of professionality. “Yes, Y/l/n?” He responded, dropping protocol.

You take his undershirt from his hands and bunch it up carefully, pulling at the collar slightly. “Let me help you.”

“I’m not a child,” he objected, but bowed his head so you could slip the shirt over his shiny orange hair. You circled him and continued pulling down the shirt carefully so that it didn’t take off any of the bandages.

He slipped the buttoned shirt over his sleeves and you stood in front of him, buttoning up the front carefully. It was tedious work, wiggling the buttons just right so that the extra flap of fabric hid the details, but you’d rather him not do it. The less movement he had to do, the better.

As you fumbled with the top buttons, Hux was transfigured on your face. He had been watching you as you dressed him, and had no problems with the proximity of your body to his. As you smoothed the starched collar down, you caught his gaze and quickly avoided eye contact, fluster evident in the warmth of your cheeks.

He caught your chin in his hot fingers faster than your brain could process. The heat felt like a hot rod of iron pressing against you, no doubt the warmth was caused by the clenching of his fists during surgery. Hux’s hand firmly, but not harshly, pulled up, forcing you to crane your neck and look into his eyes.

“Thank you, Doctor.” His breath tickled your lips. Your eyes darted back and forth between his, searching for a reason behind his behavior. Yes, he was acting like his normal, dominant self with his hand gripping your chin, but the words that tumbled out of his mouth were soft and gentle. “I know you know better when it comes to medical care, but,”

“You’re irrational. I know General.”

The names you called each other reflected poorly the intimate moment of the two of you standing so close. His face was inches from yours, your hands still pressed on his collarbone.

“I need to get back to the deck. Ren is most likely having a fit,” he whispered, but making no effort to move away and out the door.

“It’s probably chaos in the emergency wing, I haven’t checked there all day,” you replied casually.

“I’ll see you around then, Doctor,” he muttered.

“Guess so-”

Your reply was cut short by Hux closing of the distance between your lips. The kiss was desperate, fueled by the tension the moment. His hand slipped to your cheek and then to your neck, tugging you towards himself.

There wasn’t enough time to continue. He needed to get on his way. Hux pulled away forcefully, leaving you to stumble forward from the loss of contact.

“Be safe,” you said, glued to the disinfected tile as he started towards the door. He stopped at your words and turned slightly on his heel, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

Hux smirked. “If you are going to be the one to fix me up, maybe I won’t.”

[iam93percentstardust]

Can you do kiss prompt #39 Stony? I love all of your stories, and would love to see you do this one; especially if there was whump involved.

I am incapable of writing anything without a happy ending but hopefully, this still has a good amount of hurt.

(Send me a prompt from this list)

39. Kissing tears from the other’s face.

“Steve, it hurts,” Tony whimpers.

“I know,” Steve says, desperately trying not to wince as Tony’s hand clutches even tighter. “I know, sweetheart.”

He avoids looking at the rebar going through Tony’s leg, pinning Tony - and the armor - to the ground. The armor’s strong, supposed to be capable of withstanding anything but it had shredded under the weight of the rebar like tissue paper. Steve can’t see past the mess of blood and metal but he prays to whoever might be listening that the armor isn’t digging into Tony’s leg. Please spare him that at least.

“You’re doing so well, honey,” Steve assures him, brushing sweat and dirt off of Tony’s face. “Clint says the medics are almost here.”

“Okay,” Tony agrees quietly, face white as a sheet.

They’ve taken worse hits before - Tony has taken worse hits before (the thing with the dragon comes to mind) - but he’s never seen Tony cry like this before. Tony doesn’t cry (Stark men are made of iron), not even when the dragon had nearly cooked him alive in the armor, but even so, the tears are rolling down his cheeks. Steve squeezes his hand comfortingly, wishing helplessly that there’s more he can do.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Steve promises him. It’s true, it has to be, because - because Steve doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he loses Tony too. He bends down, kisses the salty tears away from Tony’s cheeks.

There’s a commotion nearby. Steve doesn’t turn to look but it doesn’t matter because the commotion comes to them. SHIELD medics push him out of the way to begin working on Tony. It tears at Steve’s heart to hear his love cry out like this and it’s all he can do to say reassuring words as Tony is lifted onto a stretcher and flown out.

~

“Captain Rogers?” the nurse asks. He blinks blearily at her, exhausted from long hours in the medbay’s waiting area. “He’s asking for you.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, climbing to his feet. He’d known already that the procedure to remove the rebar had gone well. The last couple hours have been spent waiting as Tony rests in Dr. Cho’s Cradle as it rebuilds the torn muscles and skin. He looks at the team, still seated. “Are you-?”

“Nah,” Clint says casually though he still appears worried. “You go first.”

He follows the nurse down the hallway. “He needs rest,” she tells him. “You should be the only visitor he has tonight.”

“The team won’t like that,” he warns.

She smirks as they stop in front of a plain grey door. “I can handle that.” He’s left alone to open the door and step inside.

Tony is laying on the bed, leg elevated to continue the healing, IV hooked up to his arm. It’s a lot better than the times when Steve’s been in here and Tony’s been connected to numerous machines and tubes that Steve couldn’t even name. The arc reactor is whirring softly under his gown, reassuring Steve that his love is okay.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Tony brightens up immediately. “You came!”

“Of course I came. Did you think I wouldn’t?” Sometimes, Tony’s insecurities get the best of him but Steve had thought they’ve been together long enough to not have to worry about this at least.

“I did. But I thought maybe I’d be asleep.” His head lolls back on the pillows. “I’m tired.”

Steve sits down beside him, gently removing Tony’s phone from his hand so he can hold it. “You should get some sleep.”

As if on cue, Tony yawns before nodding sleepily. “I’m on so many drugs, Steve.” Steve laughs and leans over to kiss Tony’s cheek, taking pleasure in the fact that it no longer tastes of salt.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’m here.”

[365days365movies]

January 20, 2021: Taken (2008)

Well, I know one thing about this movie. He’s gonna find ‘em. And he’s gonna kill ‘em. And also, Luc Besson didn’t direct this movie! Yeah, my bad, he wrote this movie. But, then, he also wrote Leon, so I wasn’t entirely wrong. Anyway, 2008!

I remember this year well. Obama was elected the first Black president of the United States of America; the Olympics took place in Beijing, months after a massive earthquake in Sichuan; the Large Hadron Collider was totally gonna make a black hole; and, of course, the most important news event of that year: Iron Man and The Dark Knight came out.

And of course, the film Taken came out, creating what is arguably the most repeated film meme ever. Or, at the very least, it’s WAY up there. It’s a 12-year old meme at this point, but lemme tell ya: this thing was HUGE in 2008. Not the movie itself, just the meme. And I could lie and tell you that I’m watching this movie because it’s another French action thriller, and it’s fitting, but…

...it’s the meme. It’s 100% the meme, I’m not gonna lie to you guys. So, uh...yeah, Taken, let’s do this. SPOILERS AHEAD!

Recap

Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson) is dreaming of his daughter and wife. In the modern day, he brings a birthday gift to his daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace), and his bitter ex-wife Lenore (Famke Janssen), who is married to a very wealthy man, Stuart (Xander Berkeley). Bryan, meanwhile, is a recent and comparatively poor retiree, whose friends come over for a night of drinks.

Retiree from what, you ask? Well, it’s likely the CIA, given that his friends refer to military missions and Langley. They invite him to join security detail for a pop star, Sheerah (Holly Valance), In the process, he saves her from crazed fans, including a knife-wielding assailant. Not sure why that guy wants to LITERALLY STAB HER, but somebody needs to look into that guy!

Out of gratitude, Sheerah gives Bryan some references to give to his daughter, who wants to be a singer, apparently. However, when he sees her and Lenore the next day, all she wants from him is permission to go on a trip to Paris with her friends. When he shows his doubts for her safety, she’s upset, and his wife berates him for...government and military service? I mean, that stuff breaks up marriages, of course, but GODDAMN, Lenore’s bitter about it! Whoof.

Bryan’s definitely being made to be sympathetic, while Lenore’s the opposite of that. And Bryan’s understandably worried about his daughter’s safety, as she’ll be abroad. And we get the idea that Bryan’s a bit of a helicopter parent, but...c’mon! He’s underage daughter is asking to go to Paris with her friends! It’s cause for a parent to be worried, and yet Lenore is like, “She needs to be freeeeeeeeeee!” And that’s made even WORSE by the fact that both of them lie to Bryan, a father who clearly loves his daughter, because she’s actually following U2 on a music tour around Europe!

Which...really? U2? Who the hell can stand that much Bono, for their ENTIRE EUROPEAN TOUR? Anyway, what I’m saying is, Lenore sucks, and I’m not Kim’s biggest fan either. But I get the feeling that, given the one thing I know about this movie...Bryan’s gonna be proven right. So Kim and her friend, Amanda (Katie Cassidy) go to Europe, alone, despite Bryan’s understandable misgivings. 

They IMMEDIATELY get hit on by Peter, a French boy who gives them a ride. He invites them to a party, Amanda accepts for them, and this is OBVIOUSLY A BAD IDEA. That’s even further confirmed by Peter making a mysterious call, telling the other person about the girls’ location. Kim doesn’t call Bryan, as promised, and Amanda is clearly a TERRIBLE influence. Looks like Bryan was completely right to be concerned, if his daughter’s gonna be so irresponsible. Oh, also because they’re about to get kidnapped.

Luckily, Kim had called Bryan just before, after realizing that he had called her, and he guides her through the upcoming kidnapping. With his help, although she gets kidnapped, Bryan is able to figure out that the kidnappers are Albanian, and that one of them is a six-foot tall bearded man with a moon and star tattoo on his right hand DAMN THAT’S OBSERVANT. But still...she’s been Taken.

Someone picks up the phone...and he says the speech.

Had to do it, folks. It’s the most iconic scene in the film. Time for action! Bryan calls a friend with Langley connections, then goes straight to Lenore and Stuart’s place, who find out that BRYAN WAS FUCKING RIGHT GODDAMMIT HOW DO YOU FEEL NOW 

 Having COMPLETELY FUCKED UP, Lenore asks Bryan to get her back safely. They actually figure out that the men who kidnapped her are professional sex-traffickers, who specialize in kidnapping travelling women and putting them in prostitution. But they tend to disappear...within 96 Hours. That’s how long Bryan has to find her, as well as being an alternate title for this film!

The time limit, by the way, is a common construct for the action-thriller. You know, “she has 12 hours to live,” that kind of deal. Thrillers are going to be peppered throughout this year, and there are a few coming up as well, so might as well start with this one, right?

Bryan flies to Paris, then makes his way to the apartment, tracing Kim’s steps up to her kidnapping. He also finds her destroyed phone, alongside an SD card with photos. From this, he gets a blurry look at Peter. I get the feeling that his face isn’t about to look much better. Speaking of, Peter’s playing his old tricks at the airport, and is caught by Bryan. Painfully caught. After Bryan fights off another guy, and chases Peter up a road, Peter also gets caught by karma.

80 hours left. Having exhausted options, Bryan meets an old contact, Jean-Claude (Olivier Rabourdin), who tells him where the Albanians hang out. He hires an Albanian translator, then heads for a prostitute-heavy area. He harrangues a prostitute until her manager comes out, whom he puts a small microphone on. With the translator’s help, he discovers that they’re having “merchandise problems” at a construction site. 

Following a hunch, he makes his way there, and sees several drug-addicted young women in a makeshift brothel. Also there is his daughter’s jacket. The prostitute that has it, however, is not exactly cognitively sound at the moment. So...she’s Taken. By Bryan, who fights his way out of the brothel and construction site, with gunshots, explosions, and car chases along the way.

Bryan brings the girl back to a hotel, where he somehow gets ahold of an IV and medicine, and detoxes her in the room. Which, given the time frame and other factors...seems like a very large risk to take for testimony that, let’s be honest, right not exist. Still, as this is happening, he gets a call from Jean-Claude, asking to meet.

56 hours left. After 7 people dead, a destroyed trailer, and 3 people injured (and probably stolen medicine from a hospital, let’s be honest), Bryan isn’t exactly the best friend of the French government. He escapes police custody and heads back to the hotel, where the girl is cogent enough to remember where she got the jacket: from Kim herself, at the house with the red door on the road of paradise. No, really.

Bryan gets to the house, and poses as Jean-Claude...badly. He apparently passes his bluff check, and takes advantage of a corrupt police system, and makes them give him protection money. Over the course of the conversation, he figures out that one of them is Marco. Which means that he found him. And he said that when he found him…

After that spree is done, he searches the facility and looks for Kim. He doesn’t find her...but he does find Amanda. And sadly, he’s too late for her. Turns out, though, that he didn’t kill Marko (Arben Bajraktaraj), the leader of the group. And of course not! He has some questions.

Bryan tortures Marko using electricity, and he reveals that Kim’s been sold quickly, as she is a virgin. She’s been sold to Patrice Saint-Clair (Gerard Watkins), although Marko doesn’t know where he is. And so, Bryan fulfills his promise, and electrocutes him. He then makes his way to meet Jean-Claude at his home. And, uh...that’s when he crosses a line.

...Um. Bryan shot his wife. And yeah, Jean-Claude’s clearly not on the up-and-up, but he’s not directly complicit in the kidnapping of his daughter. And yeah, he’s in Bryan’s way, but JESUS CHRIST DUDE. He officially loses the moral high-ground here for me, even if his cause is just. Jean-Claude concedes, and Bryan gets the information that he’s looking for and leaves, knocking Jean-Claude out in the process.

Bryan goes to the Saint-Clair residence, where an auction is taking place for various young women. The last of these is, of course, Kim. Having barged into a booth of one of the buyers, he forces him to buy Kim (ew). Unfortunately, he’s caught and chained to a pipe, where Saint-Clair’s henchmen are about to kill him. But, of course...

Bryan escapes and kills Saint-Clair in the process, but not before finding out that Kim’s been Taken to a boat. He obtains a car, and after a length (and seizure-inducing) car chase, gets onto the boat, which is owned by the Sheik, a man of unknown Arabic origin. And yeah, in case you were wondering, this feels very...VERY...wrong. It’s brief, yeah, but...you gave a rich Arabic guy multiple wives obtained through illegal means and made them the main villain? FUCKIN’ OOF BRUV

Anyway, as expected, Bryan kicks the asses of everybody on the boat, and finally rescues Kim, killing the Sheik in the process. The two have a tearful embrace, and Bryan NEVER LETS HER OUT OF HIS SIGHT AGAIN PROBABLY. THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT BONO. THIS IS ALL YOUR GODDAMN FAULT.

Well, Bryan wins the I WAS RIGHT ALL ALONG GODDAMIT award, Kim gets to go home and meet that singer from before, Lenore gives Bryan some consideration as a human being for once, Stuart stepfathers, and that’s Taken! Also, WHERE IN THE HELL ARE AMANDA’S PARENTS, A GIRL IS DEAD

Epilogue soon!

[honeyhan-123]

Say Thank You IV

Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.

Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.

Chapter Warning: Kidnapping and drugging. 

Word Count: 1.9k

I. New York II. Madrid III. The Apartment

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

IV. The Trip

‘So Stevie, where’d you disappear off to last night? I thought you said you were headed back to the hideout but you didn’t get back ‘till what? Two in the morning?’ Bucky looked to Nat as though asking her for confirmation about Steve’s night time practices over breakfast the next morning. 

‘Nah Buck, I reckon it was more like three when he finally came in.’ The red head locked eyes with Bucky over her coffee mug. ‘I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d wanna say Steve was out at some booty call’s last night coming in at that time. I know I always like to get a fix after a mission.’ 

Steve could feel the blood start to rush to his face as he tried to remain passive in front of the two super spies. He wasn’t ready to tell them about her just yet, they would try to convince him to change his mind but it was too late. Preparations had already started. Instead he lied, despite knowing what a dangerous game it was to lie to highly trained spies, yet he thought he might be able to swing it.  ‘God Nat, I can’t believe you would even say that. I was just out at a little bar down the street, getting a drink.’ 

Steve thanked the powers at be as Nat’s phone started ringing, signalling their conversation had come to an end. 

‘Oh wow. Thanks for the invite Rogers.’ She rolled her eyes as her finger swiped across the screen and hit the speaker button, letting Sam’s voice fill the room. ‘Hey Bird Brain, how’s it going in Sokovia?’ 

‘Yeah we’re good here. Just calling to let you guys know that Chekhov is on the move, we think he’s headed up to a facility in the north, it seems to be pretty heavily guarded. Wouldn’t mind some assistance with this one, it looks kind of intense.’

‘Yeah sure, we’ll be there in the morning, we just finished up with Alejandro last night so we’re good to move out.’ 

‘Actually Nat, I think we should stay here for a little longer, or at least one of us. We want to make sure all of Alejandro’s men are gone.’ Steve’s eyes met Bucky’s as the latter spoke, and he knew he hadn’t even remotely fooled his best friend, Bucky clearly realised something was up with him but he also knew that Bucky wouldn’t push him, not if he wasn’t ready to share. 

‘Yeah I think that’s a good idea Buck, we really don’t want any of these guys hanging around. How ‘bout you and Nat catch a flight up to Sokovia tomorrow and I’ll meet you there or back in New York after I make sure it’s all clear down here.’ Steve was quick to set his plan in motion, grateful that the others pretty much always agreed to whatever plan he came up with, this way he would be able to easily extract y/n using the quinjet instead of picking her up from the airport in New York and have to deal with bystanders maybe getting in the way. 

‘Sounds good to me. Wanda and I probably don’t need all three of you anyway, I don’t think Chekhov will be too hard. I’ll probably just see you back in New York Cap. Stay safe guys and see you tomorrow.’ Sam signed off the call and Nat put her phone back in her pocket. 

‘Well Barnes, looks like we got some packing to do.’

+

The week passed far too slowly for Steve’s liking, every minute felt like hours and the hours felt like days. Anticipation flooded through him every time he caught sight of you, he just couldn’t wait to have you back at his house in New York, back at his mercy. 

The only upside of the week was he now had more time to watch you. In the mornings he would accompany you on your morning jogs, following slightly behind, appreciating the way your ass jiggled with every step and then sneak into your apartment while you were showering, learning everything he could about you from your living space. Then, he would head back to his hideout and have a shower of his own, his cock in his fist, dreaming about what would happen in mere days as he came, his seed spraying over the tiled walls of the shower, slowly sliding down before pooled at his feet as it disappeared down the drain, his breaths shallow and frequent as he came back after his orgasm. 

Post shower he would spend his days at the cantina, following you with his eyes as you served the customers. It seemed you were working more than normal and he figured it was probably to make up for your trip away, to cover your expenses as he had overheard a conversation between you and the elderly woman who owned the cantina. It was cute, watching your fret over finances while he knew that soon you wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than minding your manners around him. 

He tried to get your attention whenever he could, coming up with reasons to talk to you but due to the air conditioning and the promise of a refreshing drink the cantina was often packed, filled with tourists and locals alike, trying to refute the summer heat, meaning that you often had little time for him, once again filling Steve with memories of double dates with Bucky back in the forties. Of trying to get their attention which was always focussed on Bucky instead of scrawny little Steve. But soon enough, he promised himself, you would be all his. Real Soon.

+

The days passed slowly for you too, despite you being so busy with work and preparing everything for your trip but finally, at last, it was your last day working at the cantina - for the meantime at least. 

‘I’m sorry Señor, but we’re closing soon, can I get you anything before we stop taking orders?’ You asked the strange American who had been coming to the cantina everyday recently. You frequently wondered why he was in Madrid if all he was going to do was sit in the cantina but he tipped well and was nice enough to look at if you had a moment in between customers. 

‘Trust me Sweetheart, there’s a lot I want from you but for now I’ll just take another Americano thanks.’ A chill crept down your spine at his sinister smile, although he may be attractive there was something wrong about this man and you barely managed to smile back as you walked away, the hairs on your neck standing up. 

You avoided the American as best you could for the next half hour before the cantina closed, but being the only one still working made it hard as you still had to serve him. Thankfully, the clock hit ten and you managed to kick him out quite easily except for his promise to ‘come back soon’. You made sure to lock the door behind him, looking out into the night as he walked down the street. There was definitely something wrong about that man, but at least you wouldn’t have to worry about it for the next two weeks. 

You made your way to the back of the shop, most of the cleaning already done as you waited for the man to be finished with his coffee. Knocking on the door to Mariana’s office, you entered slowly, finding her simply reading some book. 

‘Mariana? I just wanted to come say goodbye before my flight tomorrow, it’s pretty early and I don’t think I’ll see you before I leave.’

She smiled and walked around her desk, wrapping her arms around you. ‘Querida, I’m so glad that you’re going through with this. I think it will be very good for you, going back to New York. I only ask that you send me a postcard, something touristy.’

You laughed into her shoulder, not wanting to break away from the biggest maternal figure you knew. ‘Anything for you Mariana.’ 

‘Be careful querida.’

‘Always am Mariana, don’t you worry about me.’ With one last smile you left her office, heading upstairs to your apartment. 

As you unlocked the door and made your way through the small loft, your mind was so busy running through a last minute checklist for everything you still had to do that you didn’t notice that the window you had locked that morning was now open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. You also didn’t notice the figure waiting for you in your bedroom, hiding in the shadows until his arms were wrapped around you in a vice like grip, one hand covering your mouth as the other held something against your neck. There was a soft prick, and slowly you felt your eyes getting heavier, closing on their own and the whole room faded to blackness. 

+

You slept so peacefully on the quinjet as he flew you over the Atlantic that Steve almost never wanted you to wake up. He knew that it would be a while before you were this calm in his presence again but he could wait. He was a patient man after all. He landed the quinjet just outside of the city, somewhere hidden where it wouldn’t be found and gave you another shot of sedative before transferring you to Natasha’s car. If he had known that he would see you again in Madrid he wouldn’t have ridden his bike out to the landing pad. 

It was a real pain being on the run from every government, it meant doing their job was becoming increasingly hard but the team - or what remained of it - never complained, they each stood by their choice to help Steve against Tony. Ironically enough the best place for them to hide at the moment was actually in New York, one of the biggest cities in the world and the last place Ross would think to look for them, plus if he ever did, Tony always covered for them, claiming a fake sighting in another country, because while he was still hurt but Steve and the other and wasn’t quite ready to forgive them, they were still his family and he would never turn them over like that. 

When he finally made his way back through the city, back to his brownstone in Brooklyn, Steve was kind of shocked that he had actually managed it, he had actually gotten you, right where he wanted you. A smile came over his face as he carried you down to the basement, the modifications he had requested had been made perfectly while he was away. While the room had always been a guest bedroom, he had to make sure that you wouldn’t be able to escape and that he could always watch you, especially in the first few weeks. The new thick, metal door would be enough to keep even him trapped down here and if he didn’t know exactly where to look, the security cameras were almost undetectable. He lay you on the bed, tucking you in, under the soft light grey covers, and pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking away and locking the door behind him. As much as he wanted to stay and watch you all night, there was still a lot he had to do before you woke up.

+

Tags will be added in a reblog

V. The Basement 

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

An Ephemeral Eternity in Seven Parts - Steve Rogers x Reader.

MASTERLIST Warnings: Gifs aren’t mine. My English. Word Count~ 3.3k.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

PART V

How ephemeral life was? How was it that its fleeting beauty meant more as her life came to an end? Why hadn't she stopped to look around her before? Why had she been troubled with thoughts of suicide? Why did people come to value their lives just before they die? She felt so small in such a huge universe, she never liked being a pone to someone's game. But there she was; she would be their downfall. He had expected her to flee - he had planned everything so no one could ever leave. For the first time, she thought of herself as stupid enough not to have seen through. She hadn't question herself, she hadn't used her powers, she had listened to her mind and it turned out to be the stupidest of things. Never again, she thought but chuckled lightly. It wasn't going to be a next time. She wasn't worried she was going to die - maybe the opposite, really. She was worried about them. She knew they would all come, she knew what he wanted to see - an empire fall, he had said. All the years with Madam B. and HYDRA seemed to offer nothing now. She had already given up. If there was one thing she could wish for, that would be for her father not to over-react when he would found out. But she knew that it was just wishful thinking.  " If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep. Did you really think I wanted more of you?" Zemo's cold voice pierced through the speaker and her entire body tried to stop the chills. They were here already. They didn't realize it was a trap, she thought.  "What the hell?" Bucky said confused but she tried to get his attention with a muffled scream. He turned his head towards the direction but saw nothing. It was too dark.  "I'm grateful to them, though. They brought you here... Well, she plays a huge part too" his arrogant voice informed them while he appeared in the control room and illuminated one of the capsules with her inside, tied and muffled. Three pair of eyes were staring at her in terror. Steve hurled his shield to Zemo but it flied back. Tony tried to blast the capsule but it remained perfectly untouched.  "Please, Captain. The Soviets built this chamber to withstand the launch blast of UR-100 rockets" he remarked, making her blood boil and little by little regaining fragments of her powers. She needed time to recover from whatever he had injected her with. "I'm betting I could beat that" Tony said without taking his eyes off of his daughter. "Oh, I'm sure you could, Mr. Stark. Given time. But then you'd never know why you came" he went on, stalling them on purpose. She had to break free before he played the damn video. Concentrating every bit of her power to one sole thing - she had to break the capsule if she wanted to help them. She heard the video playing and she realized it would be now or never. For better or for worse, it was now. They heard the explosion and saw a purple color piercing through the room. The moment she got out, it was already too late. Tony lunged towards Bucky but Steve stopped him. She run towards them hoping she could help, but she just made it worst.  "Dad, stop" she tried to calm him down. He seemed happy she was okay but he was too lost in his own little world. He looked at Steve, with tears glistening in his eyes.  "Did you know?" he simply asked. How was she gonna tell him she knew too? "I didn't know it was him" Steve tried to smooth things over but he wasn't having it. Steve moved towards her, something that aggravated Tony even more.   "Don't bullshit me, Rogers! Did you know?" he demanded again. She whispered a no but she wasn't heard.  "Yes" Steve answered truthfully with remorse in his eyes. Tony stepped back, his chin was jutting upwards twitchy. He reengaged the Iron Man helmet and punched Steve to the floor while deflecting gunfire from Bucky, disarming him. He grabbed Bucky and flied him across the chamber. "Tony stop, stop. He wasn't himself" she was screaming but her words meant nothing. An angry answer came back to hunt her. "You are not my daughter" he said coldly as he slammed Bucky onto the floor and proceed to jump on his arms. Steve's shield hit him and she used her powers to put some space between him and Bucky by pushing him away. A blast from Tony sent her flying across the room, hitting her head and causing her to remain down.  

Steve barged him backwards, Tony shouldered him to the floor and shackled his ankles. Bucky punched Tony, who just lifted him and slammed him against a machine. Tony raised a fist but Bucky twisted it. She got up, trying to regain her strength and decided to wait, just a moment. She had hoped that they would behave like grown up men, not like children, but no one was stopping. She didn't know if someone was to blame, but Tony wasn't making things easier. Neither was Steve. Bucky pushed them both from the walkway,  while Steve jumped into them to deflect their fall. Bucky landed on a platform while Tony and Steve landed on the concrete floor besides an opening in the wall where snow drifted in from outside. She followed them, using her powers to mild the fall.  "This isn't gonna change what happened" a bloody and messy Steve offered for the last time.  "I don't care. He killed my mom" Tony answered as if he was ten.  "What about my mom, huh? And what about my dad, Tony? What about me?" she asked him, out of the blue, distracting all of them with her wounded appearance but fierce eyes and jolts of power rushing through her veins, creating lightings in her fingertips. Steve looked at her as if she was God. One look like that could ruin or rescue, depending on which fairy tales they read, but she had never believed in them. Eyes like those could never lie, he thought, so when he looked at her, he saw all the devastation he would cause in her name, and all the inevitability of their demise, and all the people who chose peace over passion. To hell with peace. She felt like a hurricane or a lightning strike. Love should leave no survivors. He made a silent promise to her. If they got out of there alive, if they ever saw each other again, he wouldn't let her go. She saw that in a single glance.  "You chose your side when you slept with him" he simply barked at her and she felt all the anger in the world building up in her.  "You don't get to talk to her like that" Steve threatened him. They traded punches but Tony ended up pinning Steve down. Bucky picked up the shield and leaped down to help while he told her to get out. Tony managed to zap Steve who was thrown back into the wall and blow away Bucky's metal arm. Tony raised his left palm ready to fire but Bucky grabbed his leg and Tony spun, kicking him in the face. Steve grabbed Tony  and lifted him over his head, throwing him down, punching him and bashed his mask off with his shield before striking down hard on the suit's core. Tony looked horrified and glowered fearfully at Steve who panted for breath. Both had blood spattered across their faces.  She couldn't stand it anymore. Every time she tried to push them apart, a blast sent her down. She took a deep breath and let out a cry of anger and agony, releasing every bit of her powers as Steve was sent flying away from Tony, with the concrete walls cracking from her powers. They looked at her in terror and awe. Steve's shield was stuck in the center of the Iron Man Suit. Looking at her, as if he was asking permission, Steve took hold of the shield, gripping the edge and pulling it free. She stepped closer to Bucky who was there, bloodied but conscious. She mouthed an apology but he was just looking at her, never wanting an apology from her. There was nothing she could do about it anymore. She knew things wouldn't be the same. But she had things to say before each took their separate ways. 

"You are all children, punching and throwing down one another because you cannot use your minds. How mature and heroic you guys are... Guess what Tony...  you're not the only who lost a mother but you don't see us running around looking for revenge now do you? I am sick of this. You have disappointed me and let me down with your stupid decisions. You were right, I am not your daughter, Tony. And Steve, I am not your girl. You had to fight for that, not fight my father. And Bucky, I am sorry" she poured her final thoughts and left them trying to understand how was it that she had become the wiser of them all. 

With nothing but an idea, she walked away, never even daring to look back to what she might have lost. Her mind was empty but her heart was squeezing in a painful way that made her want to get rid of it all together. But she knew that they needed time and she was wiling to remove herself form the game if that meant they would come to terms with the past. She also knew, deep down, that they didn't have the time they needed but she chose not to say anything. Her powers were sensing a greater threat but her mind was always trying to help the situation already before her. She had to be the one to step back because no one else would. And it was too much watching her family fight one another. She felt the desperation sinking in. The darkness and the cold taking over. No one would tell her fairytale. Of how girls can be dangerous and still win. This world, she thought, is only capable of digesting the stories where girls are sweet and kind and reject all sin. Maybe it was terrifying, a tale about a woman who knew exactly what she was doing when she invited the wild in, a story of a powerful individual knowing when to retreat and when to attack. She smiled at the thought of Steve promising her a future just with his eyes. But the universe never promised her this would be easy. She knew it because she was the hero of her story. And heroes were meant to be forged golden from the blaze. She would rise again from the shards her family left of her. She would take on her demons and kill them. She would break all the chains that had been brutally placed on her. And she would do show while showing everyone else that she was the person they thought she would never be. She wouldn't  give up on herself, ever again. She was made out of steel. 

It had been months. She hadn't received any calls from Tony, not that she expected to. She kind of hoped that Steve would reach out but it hadn't happened. It was easy for her to hide in plain sight and nothing was quite new. Last month a weird looking guy had offered her to help her tame her powers. Ironically enough his name was Strange. She had nothing to lose and so she had agreed. It wasn't that bad, he was so tense all the time but other than, she didn't mind. He provided her with anything she needed and she was free most of the time to go outside Sanctum Sanctorum. She had to be honest; having the time-stone keeper to teach her how to master her powers had been helpful, showing her there were more to it than she believed. She had understood the origins of the powers, found out that she was just a host to them but somehow those ancient forces of nature liked her enough to let her use them. She understood Wanda's powers as well. 

She was strolling around the streets with a beer in her hand, trying not to think about them; it was just before midnight and the night was cold but she didn't really care. Why was it that difficult not to think of him? Why were his eyes constantly messing up her mind?  "Damn you, Rogers" she whispered to herself, but destiny had another plan. "You're right" a soft but ragged voice came behind, making her forget everything she ever learnt. She just froze, believing she would never hear that voice again. She didn't turn. "I am so sorry. Please, come back" his voice was softer and more broken this time as she finally turned to face him. It might have been dark but she would find his eyes even without her sight. He was different. It had cost him a lot.  "I like the beard" she commented shortly after. He offered her a small smile but his eyes were burning with one question while taking her figure in. She had changed to. She nodded to him to follow her as she disappeared into an abandoned building, one that she had found out it existed when she was looking for any relatives from  her mother’s side. He did, without asking why.  It was an old, aristocratic mansion, with elegant and delicate furniture. Everything seemed to be in place, like nothing had been moved in ages. She saw his puzzled eyes and smiled. How easy was to fall for him again? She climbed the huge, marble staircase to the attic. They didn't talk, not even a word but his eyes hadn't left her. He felt like they were invading, something she noticed.  "Don't worry, no one is gonna come here. You can sit wherever you like" she offered as she plopped down the bed. He carefully sat down too, so close to her, he could smell her perfume.  "We are not supposed to be here, are we?" he asked while he was still taking in his surroundings. Everything felt as if the owners were about to return from a walk in the park. She looked deep in his eyes. He was her Steve. She took a sip from her beer, offering the bottle to him. He gladly drunk.  "Well, the grandmother died a while ago, the mother was murdered and the daughter is right in front of you. So technically, I am exactly where I am supposed to be" she honestly told him, tired of hiding herself from the one person she wanted to talk to for hours. He was left looking at her in complete amazement. She chuckled at his perplexed expression and before she could think about it too much, she reach out and caressed his beard with her slender fingers. It was the luck of breath and the electricity that caused her heart to beat a bit too loud and his eyes to travel to her lips before settling on her eyes.  "Walking away was one of the hardest things I have ever done, Steve. How can I ever come back?" she finally told him, her hand still cupping his cheek. He glanced at her and all it took was one god-damn look for them to feel even more desperate the burning need. He gave in - her eyes were too intense for him, too honest.  "In my dreams, I am kissing you and you're whispering 'where have you been?' and if I try to answer you disappear. I know that it will be hard for you to come back. I know that what I am asking is selfish and by asking you to come back with me you would be against Tony. I never got the chance to apologize for the overwhelming amount of pressure I placed upon your arms which caused you to act like you did when Bucky found you. I am sorry for every scar I have caused" he rambled on and on. She knew he was stressed and she also knew that it wasn't his fault. They were so close, his breath falling hot upon her face, his new, darker look made her weak at the knees, all the time she spent trying to get over him meant absolutely nothing now that he was in front of her. He let down the bottle and played with strand of her hair. It was longer. "You know that I nearly missed every word you said?" she whispered, leaning in just a bit. She wasn't doing anything on purpose. His breath became deeper.  "And why is that?" he questioned, already knowing the answer, as he too leaned towards her. She knew it probably was stupid but she didn't really control herself that moment.  "I was wondering if it has change" she faintly said, out of breath with her heart hammering in her chest, loud enough for him to hear. His eyes were roaming her face, trying to carve every detail in his mind. She was still the person he first fell in love with, only stronger. Her eyes held secrets he knew that hurt her. He couldn't muster the strength to ask her 'what', he just mouthed it. His hand was already wrapped around her waist, bringer closer to him, heat and power radiating from her body.  "The way you kiss me" she replied before their lips collided into a battle of agony and lust. It had changed, she thought. They were more desperate, more needy, more angry, more passionate, more fierce. There was a burning anticipation in his tongue that slipped through hers and went right to her heart. They craved each other more than before and it took her by surprise how gentle but strong he was. To hell with peace, she thought.  His hands roamed her body, slowly undressing her - before he removed every piece of clothing, he looked at her for permission. It had been a long time since that night. He didn't want to rush things, he wanted to treat her exactly as she deserved but she wasn't having it. There was a burning need to feel him, to be with him, to hold him and love him. Her bones craved him. He hadn't planned it; he wasn't even sure she would talk to him. Seeing her for the first time in months was too much. She wore darkness and gold and she looked like the Goddess of the Underworld, like Persephone, with roses in her hair and magic in her veins. She was nor a God, neither a monster; she had indeed told him the truth that day, she was a monstrous God. With every kiss and every bite, every scratch that left behind a map to their bodies, the night gave its place to another morning, which for a while at least, was peaceful. Right before they fell asleep, she whispered five small words that would never leave his heart. Ever. And he said four in return but she was already asleep. "I think I love you". "I know I do".

Taglist: @accio-rogers @coffee-with-orion @moli1497 @stydia-4-ever @smilexcaptainx

[magic-marvel]

I Love to Hate You

Chapter 8

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Pairing: Peter Parker/Spider-man x Reader

Summary: You don’t know what it is, but seeing him breathe makes you want to punch him in the throat.

Word Count: 1280 (sorry its short ive had such bad writers block)

A/N: im a hot mess yall but i got a surprise coming along with this chapter

WARNING: talks of parental death

“So you gonna give me your evil backstory or what?”

You were strapped back onto the bedpost of the expensive looking bed. Even more so strange, you were bleeding and sweating all over a very expensive looking duvet. The people periodically taking care of you didn’t seem to mind you dirtying the sheets, let alone really caring how frantically you pushed and shoved the wooden post. Scratches and splinters littered the finely polished finish, making a once beautiful peace of woodwork look like something out of a high school woodshop class.

The man in the white suit, which you dubbed “The Voice” since he has yet to give you his real name, was in your room. He sat in an armchair at the corner of the room with his legs crossed and his hand on his chin. He had turned the chair towards you, keeping a scrutinizing glaze on you through his metal framed glasses.

“Oh no, no no.” He kept nodding his head, driving his point further. “This isn’t up to me.”

The Voice waved his hands in the air, signifying the entire situation is not his doing. It was odd, seeing as that he seemingly ordered the men around here. He even walked around the place as if he owned it, so who exactly is really behind this?

“But, my dear, I’ll tell you this,” He pauses, getting up and walking uncomfortably close to your side. He smiles down at you with a much too wide grin, the yellow of his teeth peeking through artificial whitening. “I do enjoy seeing your father suffer.”

He suddenly grabs onto your face, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces your jaw open. You squirm, kicking as far up as you can reach but fall short of actually hitting him.

“You know, you are a spitting image of your mother.” He turns your face, eyeing different angels as you shout and spasm. None of this deterring him in the slightest.

You began to kick more, forcing your back and legs into uncomfortable positions to even graze him with the toe end of your shoe. You hated how loosely he talked about your mother, as if he knew her.

“You know, despite everything that’s happening, I’m not a complete asshole.” He released your face, backing away before you can flail at him once more. He no longer smiled as he spoke, merely focusing his gaze out the tall window next to the bed. “Your mother was a wonderful woman, shame what happened to her.”

You said nothing.

It hurt, hearing this man tore into your father’s character over and over again, only to have a sudden soft spot for your mother. What she went through was horrendous, a public debacle that ruined your childhood and all memories you had left of her. The person you are now is different than who you would have grown up to be had your mother still been alive. And here this man is, talking so casually about a woman as if he is going you a favor.

He is a complete asshole.

“Well, time is almost up. Let’s hope your father doesn’t make the same mistake twice. It’d really be something if he lost both of you due to his own incompetence.”

He left the room, simply whispering a quick “two hours” to one of his henchmen before closing the door. The sound of the lock clicking was enough to send all the tears falling, choked sobs finally forced themselves out as you attempted to create a now hazy picture of your mother in your head. You couldn’t remember how her nose contoured, how thick or thin her eyebrows were. You barely remembered the curve of her lips, remembering vividly the red of her lipstick.

You were alone, losing the very memory of your mother’s image. It hurt more than any punch or kick you received while under The Voice’s care. Almost hurt as much as losing her that day.

Almost.

--

“I can’t risk it, Rogers. That’s my kid in there.”

Peter stood by Tony, listening to all the Avengers plan out how they are going to deal with the hostage situation. Everyone was suited up and ready to go in a moments notice, not a single zipper unzipped or lace untied.

Except, for Tony.

“We don’t know what they want with you, what if they kill you!” Steve argued, hoping to change Tony’s mind.

“And what if they kill her.”

The room was silent. No one wanted to consider that outcome, especially with the severity of your physical state in the video. It was a very real possibility and no one in the room wanted to voice it.

Peter had said nothing so far, only listening to everyone argue about what to do. It was very unlike of them to be so divided in their plan of action, especially since they worked so well together that planning never really took more than an hour or so, merely to go over formalities.

But as of right now, everyone has been up and running for 10 hours straight trying to come up with anything that everyone can agree on. The frustration was really beginning to show, especially on Steve’s face. For being team captain, no one really cared for his ranking for who’s plan is best.

The only thing everyone could agree on, however, was that Tony should wear his armor.

He did not agree with that sentiment.

“Listen, I get you want her out the safest way possible, but how are we expected to trust some guy to promise to keep her safe. He hit her on camera without a second thought and yet ‘promised’ her safety? It doesn’t add up.” Natasha chimed in, trying to convince Tony that he shouldn’t keep up his end if they aren’t keeping up theirs.

Peter tapped at his thigh; the metal gauntlet of his Iron Spider suit made a quiet tick tick tick noise against his leg. He didn’t even notice the noise, but then again, no one in the room noticed much when there was a much more pressing matter on their hands.

“I’ll get her out, I’ll even bring out some heads for you to bowl with later.” Bucky spoke up, full war getup. The tick of his upper lip and deep furrow of his brow was a tell that he was holding him back immensely, but Bucky Barnes was willing to let The Winter Soldier out if it meant that you would get home safely.

“That’s a hard no from me, Barnes. We got no info on the inside or security measures. If you go in alone, you might not come back out.” Sam reasoned, reminding the group that there was safety in numbers.

“I need to be the one to go alone, get my girl out and we can go from there.” Tony tried once more to convince the group, but various groans of disapproval shut him down quickly.

Peter was tired. He heard enough from everyone trying to solve this with little to show for it. He felt as if the only way to actually get anything done was to have one person go in quietly and get you out. No one finds out you even left, and no one gets sacrificed.

So, Peter got up from his seat and left the room without turning a single head. F.R.I.D.A.Y. inquired as to why he was leaving the building, but he had Karen hold her off as he set off into the first rooftop. He memorized the address and had a GPS route mapped onto his HUD.

He’ll get you back before they even finish arguing.

Chapter 9

I Love to Hate You Taglist:

@1dforeverandalwaysfan @sugakookiessss @embrace-themagic@zseonlydavinci @marvelous-musicals @4-a-m @spideyshoe@chemiste @lolidubs @missaubreychase @dust-finatic@pinkfairyfluff@honeyicouldntthinkofaurl @1enchantedfantasy1 @meoodle@sugakookiessss@peachysuris @imarockstar45 @pansexual-and-a-geek@hedwigthelegend@didanyonesaybuckybarnes @blossomingstan @pitubea1910@smileyhollander@deafeningnerdkitten @loricwizardbluetoastedcake@feelingsareharddd@hellsmischievousangel @agentsinstorybrooke@localizedtrashcan@thenerdyrebel @toastedside @stevieboyharrington@fosteringmermaids@donkeysblog @greekdemigodwannabe @black-glitter-blood @ritivos@lilaqueenquinn  @sanniegirl1214 @huntermichelle@adorablyparker@maroongoon @bibegone @thumper-darling@alexlikescookies@seabassobrien @miguelstilinski24 @coolbonnieblr@lucislilangel@sickenlngdesire @magmas @srrymydood @ciellovesweets@hiddenaurora@abearindisguisecosplay @spideynblackcat @awspidey @carry-on-ms-believer@thefandomplace @hi-im-a-haley @littlemsrantsalot@bethanystan @ukulele-tea-and-ocean @bloodysleepy @sleeping-beau@itsellasinfinity@vampireloveandfun @jordmac @sundaewithacherryontop@pamplemousse-m@shortpplareclosertosatan @literallyjustnatalie@hawaiiantozier@tomsspideysenses @baconlover001 @alexisdemers03@highlady-ofthe-summercourt @peter-prkers @radicalmeghan@ultradangerouspie@straya4lifemate @tonifrances297 @basicmarvelbitch@kawaii-girl-101 @dontstopxx @sleepyeugene @lubrielx @obsessedmaggiemay@alienadvocate @accidentalrevolution @katielbowen @metermarker @lexi-laz@hbmoore1986 @lemirabitur @chloe-geoghegan1 @lunearius @spn-worm @asgardianinslytherin @imdoingathingmom @chil-ls @distantsmiles@hurricanejeffords @sweetheartparker @pastel-colours3@stupendousladydinosaur @unbornbabygod @thegirlalmightey01@southsidefandoms @dreamingofbluehair @steelfeather @tom-hollands-eyelash @gaythanosfanfiction @tcnyparker @obsessedwithrogertaylor @oas-sis @siriuslyinlovewithnico @irxnspxder

Permanent Taglist:

@rose-coloured-me @sunflower-anna @classiccollectionavenue@memyselfandmaddox @teeterparker@peachllobotomy @emaywhyayy@sander-fander-sides @dystosiims @well-this-is-just-awkward @purpstraw@its-obrosey-bitch @voidjillybean@drinkingteandfangirling@stevieboyharrington @jacquelinebeam @sam-maerell @sassmastermaria@scarlettsoldier @floodinginstars@mackenziesmarvelousgalaxy @infinitytoms@sterolinelover13@loricwizardbluetoastedcake @unicorn-sparkles123@lafayettes-baguettes-1@queenofallslay @foursetsofcoursets@tomhollandsmouthfr0g@miraculouspaladins @fangirl–of-everything@plurisignificativoblog @potato-galaxy @popluckbih @awkwardnesshabitat@skelkitt @spiderdudeparker @determinedpines @mindset-jupiter@newsienewsie @alt-wildflower@0captain-marvel0 @buck-ets @ink-and-tea@stranger-marvel @who-the-buck-is-stucky @ironspideyboy @httpmcrvel@missaubreychase @johnmulaneyslut@lxstneverfound @classicmarvelavenue@daisyjeongguk @baby-hunny-bee@fucking-reddie @thumper-darling@vjrobine @w0nderr @fightmebub@ouatandsupernatural @disdainful-words@leggo-lass @supremetoaster@cynicallystiles @bluedogsatmusicians@vjrobine @marvelnerdxinfinity@losersunitetonight @intoxicatingloki@minyoongay-jungcock @for-my-mind@sorceressandy @thekidsofneibolt@junewisterias @nrx7 @francesdominique@not-sebastian-stan @yuukyuu-no-uta @saltoids @ailynalonso15 @laurfangirl424 @thefallenbibliophilequote@super-flamin-hot-cheetos @embrace-themagic @hedwigthelegend@ironspiderguy @lostandafraiddepressedgirl @greekdemigodwannabe@theshortegg @kawaii-girl-101 @signed-potato @thedaughterofdawn@dangerousluv1 @minnie-marvel @etudaire @rosegoldpavi@thefallenbibliophilequote @celestialparker  @galaxy-parker @tomzfrog

Peter Parker Taglist:

@me-a-hopeless-romantic @tomsspideysenses @planetquill @i-am-a-sinner-666 @meliketozier @ukelele-tea-and-ocean @chaoticrichie @meoodle