#ive given this book so many chance and every read i just kind of drop it? not that it's bad lol

[capinejghafa]

Giving Angels' Blood by Nalini Singh a fifth chance. I will say I does get better about 50% of the way so all hope is not lost.

[andywritingstuff]

Nanami Kento is the type of man that cares for you, but that's a given, isn't it?

What you don't initially expect is how much he cares about you. Some call it pathetic, he calls it devotion. From dropping you off to picking you up wherever and whenever, texting you throughout the day to assure that you're okay, to ask if you need anything, to just remind you that he's just one call away, no matter what. Doesn't matter if he's fighting a curse, doesn't matter if he's teaching, doesn't matter anything.

He's there for you. Always will be.

With just one glance he already knows if your legs are about to give out from pain, or if you're upset about something. His big, beefy arms wrap around you - the arms he uses to impart violence to violent creatures such as curses hold you dearly against his chest, making you feel protected and secure and loved.

He's the kind of man that would - and has - picked you up and just started walking with you on his arms because your legs or your back hurt too much. He always carries a second pair of shoes in his car so you have something to change whenever you decide to wear uncomfortable ones.

Kento is the type of man that, even if he's not tired, would comply and lie down with you for a while on your shared bed, a book in one hand and the other busy with rubbing your shoulder and hugging you against his side. Of course, wearing his reading glasses and the most comfortable pair of pants, checking in on you to see if you're asleep yet because his arm definitely is (still, he doesn't dare move it).

Kento is the type of man that double checks if you've taken your daily medication, to remind you to drink enough water. Kento is the type that, in low energy days, would either order in your favorite take out place or cook you your favorite dish, and clean the house because he wants you to start fresh tomorrow - a clean, organized canvas for you to go on about your day. A new chance.

Kento is the type to give you surprises when you least expect it. You mentioned once six months ago that you wanted to learn how to create pottery? He got you classes. You want to learn programming? That's so funny, he just sent you a link to a group of programmers that offer free classes every Thursday. You mentioned you want to go to a museum to see the archeology finds of some recently discovered dinosaurs? Woah, he just happens to have tickets for that very same exhibit! Art museum? It's a date. Whatever you mention goes straight into his mental note list with a whole lot of other things about you.

He just wants to see that shine in your eyes. That big smile that warms his heart and, even if he can't make you forget about your pain, much less cure it, he wants you to feel cared for. He wants you to enjoy your life, just like he enjoys it when he's with you.

a/n: little drabble to cope with a new arthritis diagnosis :( wishing nanami was real. sorry for being so inactive here! too many ideas, so little time and energy ughh!! ive got like 3 fic ideas but haven't had time to write anything. let's see if i can do something over the weekend :b. NOT PROOFREAD!!

[jeonfiles]

better left unsaid - jjk

genre: angst, rebounds

pairings: jungkook x reader (ft. namjoon)

warnings: arguing, alcohol, profanity, break ups, light smut, use of drugs, jungkook is a fucking dick, jungkook has major attachment issues, toxic relationships, oc cries a lot, namjoon has a heart of gold, unrequited love

synopsis: you knew you shouldnt have given him that second chance, not the third or the fourth either. no matter how much you try he always slithers his way underneath your sheets, arms wrapped around you.

word count: 2.7k

music: into your arms, so it ends?, you will fade, thinkin bout you, julia, my insecurities not yours, fuck u, goodluck, my dear i will think of you

note: uhh ive never written a y/n fic so bare with me, if u listen to the music you’ll be able to feel the story a lot more so yeah if u have time u should, not proof read

Light coming through the cracks of the blinds, making you squint your eyes when the daylight beams into your eyes, head resting on the kitchen island Looking up, you saw the clock ticking on the wall, 11:32 am.

You had stayed up till 5 am, waiting for him to come home, but seemingly, he never did. Reaching for your phone, you saw 4 missed calls from the one and only,

Jeon Jungkook, saved in your phone as “Koo <3″, Rows of messages too, all from the same contact.

Koo <3 [05:34 am]

baby pkck me up pleseee

im so wsated

Koo <3 [06.46am]

dont be mad at me jsut pick me up

i dont knw hewere the fuck i am

i love you

Koo <3 [07:31 am]

i got a rde home i’ll be home by 12

i need to talk to someone frsit

im sorry if i woke ypu dont be worried

You took a few moments to collect your thoughts, but there wasn’t much to collect. This whole thing, was a routine by now.

Standing up to make yourself a cup of coffee, you could literally not feel your own backside, you were so sore from the barstool you had been sitting on all night, and it made you groan in pain.

Two coffee cups right beside the kitchen sink, which you couldn’t bring yourself to clean up, because it was from the last time you had coffee together, which was 2 weeks ago.

The inside of the cup had a coffee crust at the top, and both your lip tint marks on the outside.

When you finish your cup of coffee while watching a bad telenovela, you go sit in your favorite chair and pull out a few books from the backpack hanging on the chair next to you, getting ready to get some studying done.

For a few seconds you imagine Jungkook hanging over your shoulder laughing at the way you write your A-s and R-s, or the way you always sign your homework at the bottom of the page.

And when you open them, there’s no one there. The only sound is from the refrigerator, making refrigerator noises.

You had met Jungkook 3 years ago, when you were at college orientation, senior year of high school. He also wanted to attend Yonsei, just like you.

And when he whispered to you about how bored he was, you couldn’t help but giggle, and then you got yelled at.

It was worth it though, because everyone was jealous of you afterwards,the  Jeon Jungkook had talked to you.

Jungkook was an all-rounder as they called it; great physique, intelligent, charismatic and great at sports.

And god, he had a beautiful face, and such a filthy mouth, and it didn’t go long before you gave in to his seductive ways and slept with him. The morning after, he wasn’t in bed with you, and your heart sank.

Luckily, he was in the kitchen making you breakfast.

It was all bliss from there, showering you with love, gifts and kisses for two years, and you even ended up moving in together.

And now? You barely remember what he sounds like, smells like and is like.

A distant memory, just as distant as him.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted as you heard 3 knocks on your door. The exact same way he had always knocked when he had forgotten (or lost) his keys.

And even though you should have let him suffer a little, you rushed to the door to open it, and in front of you, was your biggest nightmare.

It was your love, crying his eyes out, bleeding from one of many cuts on his face, looking nearly dead. He collapsed into your arms, and you could only utter a few words, along the lines of:

“How could you do this to us?”

As he was laying curled up in a ball on the couch, face plastered up, ice bag on his knee, wrapped up in a blanket, you realized. this was your que to cry.

So, you did. You cried in silence, sitting across the room from him. You weren’t mad at him for coming home late, or getting in another fight, probably the 5th just these past months, you had gotten used to that by now.

There was a whole other reason that made you cry.

He smelled like Victorias Secret Bombshell, you recognized the scent because it used to be your favorite,  however, now you’ve moved onto something less sweet, and more elegant, like Caroline Herrera.

He smelled like someone who wasn’t you, his girlfriend.

He smelled like another girl.

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe because the Jungkook that had come home to you that morning wasn’t your Jungkook.

Your Jungkook was varsity jackets, star of the american football team (which your school was known for), selfless and humorous, and he would always take care of you.

Your Jungkook was not ungroomed hair, cigarettes and worsening grades. He was not cold and lifeless, and he would never make you cry.

Despite this, you were carding your fingers though his hair, thumb wiping away the blood on his lips while he was sound asleep as you slowly fell asleep next to him.

Maybe it was time to let him go. 

Maybe.

You woke a few hours later from your phone vibrating.

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:01 pm]

Hey Y/N! Have you started working on the statistics assignment?

If you haven’t, would you be interested in meeting at the library tomorrow? You’re really smart and i’m kinda struggling ://

You [07:03 pm]

i finished it yesterday, but if you buy me coffee i’ll come help you hehe

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:04 pm]

You’re the best, I’ll bring you a machiatto!! :D

Maybe it would be nice for you to get out of the house, even though you hate the thought of it, and you would much rather just swim in your own sorrow.

But you did go out the next day, and you helped Namjoon get a decent grade, enough to pass with good margines, he thanked you by taking you out for ramen at a convenial store not too far away.

You thanked him for the ramen with a trip to the museum, and he thanked you for the museum trip with a picnic in the park at night, which led you to crying over Jungkook in his embrace, telling him every single little detail.

He made you realize it was time to let Jungkook go and make room for new people to enter your life.

You went home that night, and you found Jungkook passed out on the couch, and you could genuienly feel your chest tighten. Soft features which stood out under the moonlight glow, disheveled brown locks which hung down in his eyes.

He was gorgeous, until you saw the credit card on the table next to three bottles of soju and an empty beer can on the floor. And you knew what he had used the credit card for, though you didn’t want to say it out loud.

You cleaned everything up, and you threw the residue of the white powder right in the trash can, and you recycled his bottles and cans before finally, nudging him to wake up.

“Jungkook, wake up.” You spat coldly, or at least you attempted to.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes before opening his eyes, and s huge smile on his face. “Y/N, you’re home!” He reached to kiss you, but you backed away.

“Y/N?” Jungkook questioned, he didn’t quite understand what your intentions were.

“Don’t try anything Jungkook. This was your last chance, and you fucked it up, again.” The room turned ice cold. “I’m getting you help Jungkook, you need help. And then...”

He understood what kind of help you meant, and since he had now sobered up, he agreed, nodding. “And then...?” 

“And then.” Your words were ludged in your throat. “And then I’m leaving you.”

His whole face dropped, smile turned into the frowniest frown you had ever seen, and it was all silent before his lower lip starts trembling, and his eyes start turning glassy.

“It’s alright. Sorry for burdening you.” Was all he could say before tears rushed down his cheeks, and he started shaking.

So you did what you always had done, and you wrapped your arms around him, head resting on your chest as he sobbed.

“Is there anyone else?” he cried out before another wave of sobs hit him.

This exact question made your stomach hurt, and your throat burn. You really had no idea.

Or you did, but you didn’t want to.

You loved Jungkook so much, but you couldn’t be with him in this state. So you did what every rational person would do in this situation.

“Yeah.”

You lied.

“Oh ok. I don’t have the right to be mad do I?”

You shake your head no.

“I love you Y/N. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“It’s ok.” was all he said before he fell asleep in your arms again.

That night you slither your way out of his embrace and you pack your suitcase in the dark, bringing all your essentials, trying to be as quiet as possible so you didn’t wake Jungkook.

Packing enough for two weeks or so, you make the bed and leave your t-shirt “accidentally” in the bathroom, and you make sure all his clothes are folded, and then you sort his pencil case, throwing out old pens and worn out erasers.

You leave a grocery list on the counter, and you tuck him in good under the blankets after you took his jeans and socks off so he could sleep comfortably.

You placed his vitamins and medicine by the refrigerator so he’ll see it when he goes to grab something to eat. 

Puffed up pillows, a pair of sweatpants, t-shirt and underwear is now placed neatly on his bed. Then you walk into the kitchen again, and you see Jungkook still sound asleep, sniffling a little still.

There’s one last thing, and it makes you cry. It makes you sob so loud you cover your mouth and muffle the sound you make. Sinking to the floor, your whole body is in contact with the cold tiles.

Only a year ago you could never imagine yourself even shedding a single tear over something as small as this, but here you were, on the edge of a panic attack.

Two worn out, matching couple mugs still placed by the counter. one if the first things you two had bought together, as well as the necklace hanging around your neck.

Finally, you stopped crying and started cleaning the mugs, lip trembling as you dried them and placed them in the back of the cabinet.

You unhooked your necklace and laid it down on the counter, and the biggest lump formed in your throat.

Actually, there’s a little detail you forget. 

You kiss Jungkook on the forehead and leave a note on the coffee table.

“Dear Jungkook,

If you want to make this up to me (this does not mean a new chance!!) you call the number at the bottom of the page. No matter what happens, I’ll always have room for you in my heart. You even have your own little VIP lobby in there. And - if it’s urgent, call. I still care for you, and I always have. You were the best boyfriend I’ve had, but good things always come to and end, don’t they? Anyways, I’m tired so this letter fucking sucks, but deep down you know how much I love you. Remember to get groceries, shower, get fresh air and study. If I forgot something you can keep it, as long as you call the number and tell them you’re my friend. They’ll help you love. Try and get a part time job too, your student loan and your dad’s money won’t last forever. Good luck Koo. Hwaiting!!

-L/N Y/N <33″

You cringe when you think of the letter’s contents, before you roll out your suitcase out of the front door, whispering a faint “Goodnight Love.” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Standing by the elevator, you cry again. This time, louder, but you still reach for your phone and type out a text to the newly edited contact in your phone.

You [02:13 am]

coming outside now, im a crying mess and im super cold, is your car heated?

sorry for making you wait btw :((

Joonie <3 [02:13 am]

dont worry about the crying part, i’ll hold you. and yeah car is heated, so waiting here wasnt all that bad. you ready for this?

You  [02:14 am]

i have no idea but i cant stay here any longer and i trust you sooo

lets start our new chapter. eh?

4 months later...

He had been good to you, great even.

You had been on expensive dates, picnics, had heart to heart conversations, and he’d been so understanding.

Today, it was your 2 month anniversary, and he had asked you on a magnificent date, which he had planned every second of.

At the end of the day, you told him how you don’t love him. He said it was alright. Namjoon loved you, so much, yet he understood you needed time.

You went to sleep that day, warm in Namjoon’s embrace, wondering how Jungkook was doing. 

You felt bad, but you missed Jungkook.

You were both with someone new now, and you knew he was in good hands with someone stable enough to care for him.

Before your eyes closed shut, you shed a few quiet tears and hoped that you’d fall in love with Namjoon soon, and deep down you knew you would.

[oswednesday]

could we possibly get an update on your tmasona :3c i feel like maybe some things have changed, or i'm just getting confused...

omg yeah i need to update their art ref! ill get to it, i have to finish up some other stuff first! omg yeah ive been adjusting things as i go, making themes clearer i guess! or w/e fits the setting better a i listen again, omggg thank you for asking, also im so rendered playdough soft that youre keeping track enough to feel confused like,o mg ;x ;, okay so updates!:

-theyre born in america to a beholding cultist group, their parents are like Teachers With Doctorates, they have six other siblings (who also all go different ways) the upbringing is like zero privacy 100% authoritative, they live on the compound which doubles as like a high end Alternative Schooling, i imagine they would have called their parents ma'am and sir more than mom and dad, its competitive family dynamic and theyre being Trained to take the archivist position on the off chance that gertrude dies of old age (i think given that a branch in china had a guy lined up thats a reasonable thing to assume the cult does as a whole?), they attend like a compound boarding school with other cultist children (like, america has A LOT of cult compounds,, so i think it would be def a thing for dread god followers, and since tmi has like Some kind of academic standing, with american culture there’d be some kind of accredited legitimacy to the school)

-they go to whatever fancy university for a weighted accelerated library sciences program that their family has a connection to, with like the smallest bit of experienced freedom they also take art classes at a Less Nice For Profit liberal school thats just a block or so away from the other as it tends to be in small american cities that are designated college towns, theyre like so paranoid about being caught and watched and judged that they go through the whole trouble of fabricating a whole entire different person to be for the other school which does not check anything ‘cause theyre getting paid, which like the money dries up a bit enough for them to start up some Fraud, i think the very start of like the identity theft is the End, but before that they would keep track of everything like taking notes about different places different selves needed to be, keeping track of lies the best they could, theyre the only one of the siblings left who havnt made it Super clear theyre with a different patron, so they feel the obligation to keep it up, i also think there’d be a lot of, wow no one can ever know anything about my terrible fucked up monster life so no one can get close, i cant even get close to me, vibe going on with all that

-this is the lead up to the psychotic break they have, and it Looses them up enough to experience the spiral, during the break down they find a book that Feels Familiar and its like, transcribed recordings of children in therapy conversations accompanied with art from the patient , it probs has a Misleading title like “my wonderful changing body and me!” like one of those youre going through puberty and instead of helping you emotionally im going to toss a book at you and leave the room kind of thing

-so they get lost a while, read a book in peace, break a mirror in a way thats v symbolic, like a representation of their sense of self becoming fractured, they use their blood to mark where theyve been, its all very trans formative and dramatic, (like they def arnt using they/them before this, they embrace the multiplicity of it all)

-their Purpose is to lead victims through, they create and maintain narrative mazes for people to get lost in and lead them to madness (so, like the metanarrative function of pyramid head, or like the bartender+delbert grady in the shining, or like the night clerk in the first downfall game? i guess the second one too but the first one has that vibe im going for and is less symbolic over all), this also means they like vacuum up after a messy meal

-the title that old fashioned people use is the minotaur, but stuff about their role within the cult as a concept is like jaws of madness, the teeth, the porter, doorman, caretaker, maid, whatever nondescript jobs victims see them having

-happening simultaneously to that metaphysical stuff, their physical self drops out of everything and a distant aunt offers to take them in which their family is Fine with cause their a disappointment and all, but it turns out their aunt is a house that like uk buzzfeed and travel blogs calls the mouth of madness, its like a winchester house, m takes it over and converts it to a bed and breakfast tourist spot for the income and it just, becomes a legit hotel business (but i think thats after the great twisting fell through)

-so timeline wise its, breakdown, impulsively marrying the physical embodiment of the lonely,the great twisting, hotel

-like cause they had no place of their own there was no place for them to go after the twisting fell through so they went no where, it was real upsetting tho

-things that not every minotaur had but some could do so this is like personal quirks! is they can move the understanding of physical things to create obstructions as long as its repetitive,so making mazes and labyrinths! and sometimes their fabricated spaces are like noticeably fake, they also cant balance a lot of victim plots and make new space like the first purpose comes first even when the second function would benefit

- they look however you expect them to look whatever that means for you but they also have a static like base self that they can like, replace with other selves

-like seeing the pure concept like how the distortion is that weird long fuckhands thing, their True shape is like a vitruvian man in constant motion like a photographic blur, you could probs see how a leg could be a tail and how shifting heads and shoulders could be horns and how weapons held by many hands are hooves of a beast

-there’s not always time for any of that so sometimes they have to just lock someone up, let their mind fill in the blanks and do them an insanity, box cutters have a nice sound but power drills are more appropriate for quick jobs

-they can fully Check Out of their physical body and just leave it there, they eventually have to go back and get it tho, it can do its own thing but its primarily customer service auto pilot

-their dreams are like realistically mundane, with the occasional interruption of something that catches up with them (like if they cut their hand off irl itll be fine but theyll eventually have a normal dream where their hand gets severed) (they also do a lot of work in dreams but they like differentiate between like im consciously doing stuff in the dreamscape and im a victim here dreams but theres no real, difference, thats not really their thing to be in control of)

-i think the sum of their personality would be like someone who exclusively talks in customer service voice and when theyre not working theyre a nervous wreck, they hide behind stuff when ever they can and feel more comfortable with something between them and other person like a wall or a magazine or a counter desk, that sort of thing

[choices-betch]

Lost on You (Mona x MC): Chapter IV

Book: Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance Pairing: Mona x MC Warnings: None. Just some cursing. Chapter Quote: “I wasn’t scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future, and maybe that’s why it happened right there and then, that strange red afternoon.” - Jack Kerouac, On the Road Notes: So I surprised myself and actually finished this in four parts! I almost wrote two different endings, and it took me a while to finish this one because I was really sold on the other one...but ultimately, this felt better. Thank you again to everyone who read, reblogged/liked, and commented on this series! Hope it wasn’t a total waste of your time, haha. Tags:  @maxwellsquidsuit @scarlet-letter-a0114 @whoinvitedalx @zoe6111 @pauclaws @desiree-0816​

Song: easily - bruno major

Chapter IV: Lovefool

Mona stood outside the Philadelphia District Attorney's Office, shuffling the gift box between her hands as she took in the full height of the building. She couldn’t believe she was about to voluntarily enter a criminal justice building; it gave her the shivers.

Mona walked in, requesting directions and taking the elevator to the fifth floor in search of her destination. She peered around the corner of the office door, relaxing as she saw it was empty, sans a few boxes left to unpack.

Mona set the gift on the desk, running her fingers across the top before leaning against it, her arms folded across her chest as she glanced around the room. Movement in the windows caught Mona’s attention and she watched her walk toward the door, eyes glued to a file. Mona rolled her eyes. Still oblivious as ever. Mona took in her appearance as she rounded the corner into her office: black pencil skirt, deep green blouse and black stilettos, her hair pulled back in a bun but bits of hair had fallen…Mona bit her lip as her attraction grew, her mind wandering to the moments she had grasped handfuls of that same head of hair...

Lexi looked up as she saw another pair of feet and gasped at Mona’s presence, dropping her file as her hand went to her heart in shock. Mona snickered, earning a glare as Lexi bent down to pick up the file and assorted papers that had fallen out.

“Why can’t you ever make an entrance like a normal human being?” Lexi huffed, closing her door and moving to pull the blinds down over the windows for some privacy.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Lexi gave her a pointed look and walked behind her desk, sitting down and leaning back in her chair with crossed legs. She stared at Mona in silence, a pensive look on her face.

“What are you doing here?”

“What a greeting,” Mona scoffed. Lexi cocked her head to the side, continuing to look at Mona expectantly. “I came to congratulate you, what with getting promoted to assistant DA and all. Obviously,” Mona added, nodding toward the gift box. Lexi shifted her gaze to the box, her eyes widening slightly in surprise as she became aware of the gift.

“Thank you,” Lexi started slowly, her eyes back on Mona. “While I appreciate that...why now?”

Mona ran her tongue across the back of her teeth; a soothing method of sorts. She scratched her neck, squinting a bit as she looked away.  There wasn’t much of an easy explanation she could give. She sighed and rolled her eyes, mostly at herself, shifting her weight awkwardly.

“It was time.”

—-

3 years ago...

Lexi woke up on the bathroom floor, slightly disoriented as she took in her surroundings. Memories from the night before flooded her mind, making her already swollen eyes burn again. She turned to lay on her back, her palms pressing into her eyes to stop them from welling over. With a sigh she hoisted herself upright, went pee, and looked at herself in the mirror. She cringed; her face was red and puffy, she had crusted drool on her cheek, and her hair was going every which direction. A real looker.

After washing her face and taking some time to make herself look alive, Lexi sat cross-legged on her bed, lost in thought. As much as she would have liked to say she wished she’d never taken Mona up on her invite, she knew she’d do it all over again if given the opportunity.

Probably why she doesn’t want you. Desperate ass.

Lexi grunted in frustration, pounding her fists on her mattress as she questioned when she’d stop making the same decisions repeatedly, before getting up and heading to her closet. She was not going to do this again. She had to be a fucking adult about this and move on. As she rifled through her clothes she came across the black dress she wore to the club, and her mind wandered to Jordan. Her stomach dropped; she’d been a real jackass toward a completely innocent person, as unintentional as it had been. She knew she owed Jordan an explanation, and she had definitely promised her one. Lexi got dressed and shot a text to her classmate Joel after realizing she had absolutely no contact information for Jordan. After getting a response, she grabbed her belongings and headed out the door.

She was going to make this right.

—-

Lexi sat at an umbrella table, two coffees resting on the table top as she glanced at the people milling around, waiting for one particular familiar face. Within a few minutes Jordan walked out, laughing with a few other people. She saw Lexi quickly, saying goodbye to her friends before heading over to the table.

“I asked Joel where you worked. And what your favorite coffee was. Hopefully they got it right, I didn’t know if you wanted—“

“What are you doing here?” Jordan asked, seeming genuinely confused with a hint of amusement. Lexi sighed, visibly deflating. She wasn’t good at these kinds of conversations and she didn’t know where to start.

“I wanted to apologize,” Lexi started, picking at her pants. “I was shitty. A few times. I'm not normally like that, I swear. I’m really, really sorry. I just...wanted to explain, if you’ll let me?” Lexi motioned to the empty chair and coffee, a pleading expression on her face. Jordan stared at her for a moment before taking a seat, helping herself to the drink and humming in approval.

“So,” Jordan started after a moment of silence, her eyebrows raised to urge Lexi on.

“So,” Lexi responded, sighing heavily. “I...I have a...weird history, for lack of better words. I got involved in some stuff when I turned eighteen and...I met someone. My first love, first...everything, really. It didn’t last long, mostly because we got caught. She got hurt and needed a hospital, so it was either bleed out or turn herself in.”

Jordans eyes were wide in shock, clearly not expecting to hear what she’d just been told, but she stayed silent as Lexi continued.

“She...saved me. She got shot prying the gun away that was meant to shoot me. And then she went to prison, still protecting me so I could go to school, have a life. I didn’t deserve....” Lexi swallowed hard, getting emotional as she continued, but shook her head and cleared her throat to snap out of it. “Anyway, I...had a hard time letting go. I wrote to her the whole time she was in prison, she never responded except on my birthday. But she got out recently, and…”

“And...she’s back?”

Lexi nodded slowly, biting the inside of her cheek as she picked at the table top.

“Is that why you took off that day?”

Lexi nodded again with a sigh, then met Jordan’s gaze. “I didn’t know she was out. I thought I was losing it. I had thought I’d seen glimpses of her a few times before that.”

“I see.”

They sat in awkward silence, unsure what to say or do next. After a moment, Lexi cleared her throat and broke thetension.

“So…yeah. I promised you an explanation, and you deserved one. I’m really sorry for how I’ve treated you. I did the same thing to you that was done to me, and you don’t deserve that.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” Jordan responded genuinely, “but what’s going on with the girl?”

“Nothing. She made that very clear.” Lexi raised her eyebrows and laughed bitterly, folding her arms over her chest unconsciously. “Just gotta move on. Again.”

Jordan shook her head, her brows furrowed as she took a sip of her coffee. Lexi’s eyebrows mimicked Jordan’s, sitting a little more upright.

“What?” Lexi asked indignantly.

“I just don’t get you.”

Me?! What the...great, I get rejected and somehow it’s my fault.

“If this is still something that affects you so deeply - and clearly it does - why would you let that go?”

“She doesn’t want—”

“Bullshiiiit,” Jordan interrupted, leaving Lexi with her mouth agape. “You and I both know if that were true she wouldn’t keep being all stealth master about it.”

She was right. And that’s what kept Lexi hanging on. Maybe she was too scared of pushing, too fearful of putting herself at risk of continued rejection. But what else did she have to lose? Her life had felt like it had been on pause all these years, always questioning what could have been if only…

At least if Mona really meant what she said, Lexi would never regret trying one last time; if there was the slightest chance for his to turn out well, she had to take it. What was stopping her besides herself? And not knowing where the hell Mona was, of course. But Lexi knew where to start.

*

Lexi’s gaze fell on her immediately; not many people were at the bar in the middle of the afternoon. She second guessed her choice the moment they made eye contact, terrified of rejection yet again, but she knew she had to give this a fighting chance to finally let it go. She exhaled heavily then marched confidently to the bar, slamming her things down on the table top and plopping down on a chair.

“I have some things to say, and you’re going to listen. And if you try and leave, I will tie your ass to the chair.” Mona raised an eyebrow as Lexi reached in her bag and pulled out a long silk tie, her eyes going between the tie and Lexi’s face repeatedly before smirking. Lexi rolled her eyes. “Evidence from a mock trial, calm down.”

“Hey, you’re the one barging in, threatening to tie me up and have your way with me. I’m just drinking a beer.”

“Can you please be serious?” Lexi was already irritated. Why did she want to do this, again?

Mona sighed, setting her beer bottle on the table with a soft thud. “I don't see what’s left to say.”

“You’re full of shit. We could start with present time or go back a few years, either way there’s a lot to figure out. But that doesn’t even matter right now, I just..”

Lexi stumbled over her words, frustrated at how she couldn’t ever form coherent thoughts or sentences around this woman. Mona always had known when she needed to shut up, though, so she stayed quiet, allowing Lexi to figure out exactly what she wanted to say.

“You’ve chosen for me every time. But this time I’m not letting you. I’m choosing to fight for this, Mona. For you. I’ve let you run every time, but I can’t again. Not without giving it a final shot. This is stupid! We’ve been playing this song and dance for six years. Aren’t you tired?”

Mona’s face betrayed nothing. She sat, watching Lexi with a careful expression. Lexi took that as a signal to continue.

“There’s a reason after all this time I can’t let you go. There has to be a reason I’m still in l—“ Lexi caught herself, her cheeks reddening at her flub. “That I still want you,” she corrected, her sense of desperation back.  “We’re connected, and whether or not you want to admit it, you feel it too, otherwise you never would have come.”

Mona stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. It felt too dangerous to open up, to really allow herself to delve this deep into her feelings. She didn’t like doing that nor did she have any desire to in the middle of a bar. But she knew deep down, Lexi was right. She felt the same, but she didn’t know what to do with it. She didn’t know how it could possibly do either of them any good.

“What are you so afraid of?” Lexi demanded, exasperation evident in her voice.

“I’m not afraid,” Mona snapped, her eyebrows furrowing as she took an aggressive gulp of her drink. She wasn’t fucking afraid. She wasn’t… “I just...I don’t know how to settle down, okay? It’s never really been my thing. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think anybody really knows what they’re doing,” Lexi argued. “That’s not a good enough reason not to try.”

“I can’t be everything you need me to be, Lexi,” Mona said harshly, her eyes flashing with such intensity it made Lexi uncomfortable for a moment. “I don’t understand what you aren’t getting about that.”

“You don’t know that,” Lexi refuted, her voice growing louder. “You don’t know what I need, and I don’t know why you keep thinking you get to choose for me, Mona. I am a grown ass woman.”

“Yeah, you are, Lex,” Mona agreed, her eyes softening as she looked on at her sadly. “You’re a grown ass woman with a whole lot of potential that shouldn’t be stunted by who you’re with. I don’t have a future. I have nothing to offer. All I would do is hold you back, and you know it’s the truth,” Mona added, cutting off Lexi’s attempt to argue.  “Don’t waste your life on me.”

Lexi swallowed roughly, saddened at how little value Mona placed in herself. Mona had many faults, but more than enough positive qualities to make up for the negative, and so much potential to do more. Maybe Lexi was a complete fool to still hold onto the good in her after all they’d been through. But hadn’t Mona done the same with her?

“You’re wrong,” Lexi finally said, shaking her head. “But that...I don’t have all the answers. I-” Lexi sighed heavily, flustered. “I know this isn’t logical, nothing about us has ever been logical, but we can figure it out. I know we can. I just need you to be in this with me. I need you to stay.”

Mona stared at her, conflicted. She couldn’t see this ending well. She didn’t know how to stay put. She didn’t know how to care for someone and let them care for her. She didn’t know how to be in a relationship. She didn’t know how to exist on the other side of society. Didn’t know, didn’t know, didn’t know…

Mona was brought back to the present moment by the jolt of heat she felt in her body, triggered by Lexi sliding her hand over Mona’s. She stared at their hands in silence, feeling her resolve crumble and trying desperately to fight it. But...why? Because I’m scared.

Mona gulped, reality setting in. She was scared of failing. Scared of being vulnerable, because that’s just asking to get hurt. Scared of letting herself get more invested just for it to fall apart. This sort of thing had never worked out well for her. But then again she’d never had someone willing to fight for her, much less someone she was willing to fight for. What did she really have to lose? My whole identity…but again, where had that gotten her?

“I can’t promise you I won’t be a nightmare,” Mona finally said, eyes still on their hands. Lexi’s heart leapt to her throat, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her body.

“As opposed to…?” Lexi teased, a smile cracking despite Mona’s attempts at keeping a straight face.

“And you gotta move. That place is a doghouse.”

“Hey!” Lexi protested with a laugh, “that doghouse has gotten me through rough times.”

“I can tell,” Mona retorted. “It served its purpose. Time to go.”

“You know you’re gonna have to tell me your real name, right?”

Mona snorted, shaking her head with a lazy grin. “Not on your life.”

“Is it Mary? Judith? Alice...no, Bethany! Definitely Bethany.”

Mona snorted, beer flying out of her mouth as Lexi continued to call off random names with an amused grin on her face.

“Don’t change the subject. Move.”

“I am not moving unless it’s out of state,” Lexi argued with a laugh, finishing off her drink. Mona smirked, finishing hers as well with a satisfied sound.

“Say the word.”

A slow smile spread across Lexi’s face, and despite Mona’s typical aversion to smiling, she found herself mirroring Lexi.

“Oh, I will.”

*

2 months later…

“Babe?” Lexi called out, eyes still glued to the email maximized on her computer screen. Mona made an affirmative noise as she popped her head out of the kitchen, her mouth full as she had just taken a bite of a sandwich. “Lets go.”

“Go…?” Mona asked in confusion, wiping crumbs off her face as she walked toward Lexi, a curious expression on her face.

“Yeah. I’m saying the word. Let’s go.” Mona paused her steps for a moment, taken aback; Lexi had a real knack for catching her off guard. Noticing Lexi’s attention hadn’t strayed from her screen, she continued toward her, reading the email over her shoulder as she took another mouthful of sandwich.

“Blah blah blah, thank you for your interest...lots of candidates...” Mona muttered under her breath as she scanned the text, “...would like to formally congratulate you on being selected for a clerkship with the Philadelphia District Attorney’s Office?!” Mona was practically yelling as she met Lexi’s gaze. A slow grin spread across her face as she swallowed her bite and tossed her sandwich on the desk, taking Lexi’s face in her hands and pressing a loud kiss on her mouth. Lexi laughed, savoring the little kisses being pressed all over her face.

“Philly?” Mona asked, still cradling Lexi’s face in her hands.

Lexi nodded enthusiastically, her hands resting on Mona’s wrists as she kissed her again. “Philly.”

—

Present Day

“Time…?”

Mona rolled her eyes teasingly. “Yes, time.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a great surprise. I just assumed we’d talk about it first.”

“Eh, you know I act on impulse,” Mona replied cheekily, half shrugging. “Grand gestures and all.”

Once Lexi got the clerkship, they’d essentially concluded that anything not-quite-kosher Mona did would have to be discreet and away from home, have no expectation of permanency, and Lexi would be kept in the dark to protect her career...which meant Mona was mostly in the dark about hers.

In all honesty Mona had kept it pretty clean over the years, mostly because she didn’t want to mess anything up for Lexi, but also because shockingly, she quite enjoyed finding other interests that utilized her skills and knowledge without the propensity of getting her tailed by the law. And she still quite enjoyed her freedom. If she hadn’t kept her name out of peoples mouths and networks, she never would have set foot within 100 feet of the place. But as she was doing some general upkeep on her car one day (her form of therapy), she realized she was tired of keeping their lives separate in any capacity, and there was no need for it anymore. So she went to a store, got her a congratulatory gift (for old times sake), and ended up in Lexi’s office for the first time.

Mona walked over to Lexi, pulling on her wrists until she was standing upright. Her hands fell to rest on Lexi’s waist, fingers rubbing the fabric of her blouse between her fingers. “Don’t worry. I’m good. You’re good. Relax.” Mona’s gaze ran up the length of Lexi’s body, pausing on her mouth before meeting Lexi’s eyes.

“I’m relaxed. Can I help you?” Lexi asked breathily with a teasing tone, still amazed at how her body continued to respond so easily to her after all these years.

“You can help me with a lot of things looking like that,” Mona said lowly, wiggling her eyebrows as she slowly backed Lexi against her desk, hands resting on the wood on either side of her. Lexi’s eyes fluttered closed as Mona leaned in closer, anticipating Mona’s lips against hers. After a few seconds of no contact, Lexi opened her eyes, meeting Mona’s wide brown eyes.

Mona reached up, pushing one of Lexi’s loose strands behind her ear. Her fingers trailed down Lexi’s cheek softly, down her neck and the middle of her chest. Lexi’s breath became labored. Not in my office...right?

“What?” she asked, craving contact desperately.

“You’re just so damn beautiful,” Mona murmured, her thumb brushing against Lexi’s lips. “Dunno how I lucked out so hard in life, but I won’t argue with it.”

Lexi smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to Mona’s thumb before taking it between her teeth. Mona bit her bottom lip; damnit, why’d she have to be so sexy? Mona removed her thumb quickly and kissed Lexi roughly, though her hands cradled Lexi’s face with a tenderness that didn’t seem fitting for Mona even over the years. Lexi melted against Mona, completely willing to give in to her, just as she always had been. Mona pulled back despite Lexi’s protests and smiled softly at her.

“I should go,” Mona said, straightening herself out.

“Probably,” Lexi replied begrudgingly. “But you should definitely make this a regular thing.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Mona joked, shooting her a wink as she headed toward the door. She paused after opening the door, turning to look at Lexi as she leaned against her desk with a grin. Never in a million years did Mona think this was how it would end up. If someone had told her even five years ago that she’d finally be willing to give up the only life she knew for the girl that ultimately got her thrown in prison then would become an assistant DA, she would have told them to fuck off. But here she was all these years later, still lost on Lexi just as she always had been.

Mona grinned back, possibly bigger than she’d ever smiled in her life. Lexi’s heart skipped, still in awe of how strongly she felt for Mona in spite of time and everything they’d gone through. Mona wasn’t always one for words, but her gestures spoke volumes, and when she committed to something she didn’t back down. They struggled at times, but at the end of the day all they cared about was staying together and they stubbornly figured out how to navigate their firsts.

Mona glanced around the office one last time, her eyes landing on Lexi again. “I’m feeling crazy fucking proud right now,” she said, “which is kinda new for me and I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Lexi laughed to avoid being a crying mess, overwhelmed with emotion. “But you deserve it, hotshot.”

“You’re my favorite.”

Mona smirked, tapping the door frame a few times before heading out. “I’ll see you at home.”

Home. Such a foreign concept, even still. Like good ol’ lesbians, they moved in together immediately. Mona had done a smart enough job hiding her money before she was arrested, so she had a good amount to contribute in order to get her way and move somewhere more suitable, plus do some odds and ends jobs for a while to contribute to recurring expenses. But Mona recognized it wasn’t the house itself that made it a home; it was her. Lexi always felt like home. She made Mona feel like a better person, like maybe one day she could be deserving of what she had. But even though she wasn’t there yet, Mona knew one thing for sure: as long as Lexi wanted her, she was there. Always. 

[the-foxes-fangs]

I Wish I Was the Moon Part IX

As always, tagging the wonderful @louveau​ and @you-mass-effect-my-dragon-age​ <3 extra tag for @otomediary who has been so patient <3

Part I//Part II//Part III/Part IV//Part V//Part VI//Part VII//Part VIII

Warnings: Angst, otherwise sfw

***

He had left her regretfully, slipping away in the dead stillness of the winter night, the cold stealing her warmth from him and leaving nothing but a dull tired ache behind. He wished that he could taste her, could know her scent, could burn it into his memory the way that the texture of her skin and the feeling of her hair slipping through his fingers stayed with him, and would for far longer than he wanted to admit to himself. 

Changing back into his usual clothing in the icy light of dawn made their time together feel even more like a fading dream, already receding into an unfathomable distance. There were moments, few, but vivid, that divided his life cleanly into what had been before, and what came after. He could feel the demarcation like a prison door slamming closed. He had only himself to blame for making it a ragged tear and not a clean cut. 

He found Kyubei waiting for him as agreed, and greeted him with a nod. 

“As you predicted, my lord, the former nun is one of Kennyo’s, but she was paid by someone else.” He said as they rode astride. 

“Those monks have just as much reason to hate me as Nobunaga, but I don’t see him having the patience for fighting by eliminating the Oda vassals one by one.” Mitsuhide answered, too tired to be indirect. 

It had been unlikely that the attempt on Nobunaga’s life had come from peasants plotting a rebellion but part of him had hoped that there was an outside chance that he could clean up the mess without blowing the embers of war into a conflagration. There were simple, straightforward reasons for a peasant rebellion-- concessions could be made, needs could be met.

But the tangled warp and weft of personal pride, loyalty, spite, ambition and vengefulness that drove those higher in the hierarchy was impossible to satisfy by its very nature. The ghosts of Mt. Hiei and Tanba castle wouldn’t be laid to rest so easily. 

The day was still and gloomy, the town barely stirring as he rode toward the castle to make his official return. A crust had frozen over the snow that creaked under the hooves of his horse, and made every pace sound more reluctant than the last. He caught a glimpse of someone in green beside the castle wall, before they vanished with a speed and skill that marked them as a spy. 

Guards greeted him ceremoniously, as did his retainers, lined up as neatly as archers on the battlefield, and like archers, it was impossible to tell just which one had an arrow nocked for him. 

He arranged for a council to be called by mid-day, and spent the rest of the morning examining intercepted correspondence and interrogating them in the guise of casual conversations. He relied on instinct as much as experience to keep from overplaying his hand, to keep his true loyalties a question that became a trap. The field narrowed itself as the day dragged on and he began to assemble the various bits of information into a cohate pattern. 

Staff filed in and out to answer the same handful of questions during the council-- questions whose answers were less relevant than the reaction they elicited from from those being asked and those watching. 

She finally filed in dutifully behind the other seamstresses, attempting with moderate success to stem her habit or boldly studying people. She was an object of curiosity in her own right by now, drawing gazes that ranged from lecherous to calculating as she approached the dais. 

“Since you’ve only recently joined us, I have no questions for you.” He said, feigning as much disinterest as was possible. 

She kept her face down, but he caught the most fleeting glimpse of amusement in her expression before she composed herself, bowing lower than she ever normally would’ve and addressing him with more formality than she had used since the night they had met. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” 

Perfectly polite to everyone watching them and outrageously mocking just for him. He kept his usual smile fixed on his face, but he was fighting laughter. It was hard to believe that she was the same wide-eyed, terrified woman that had emerged from the fire acting as if she had only just fallen to earth that same night. Whatever her unfamiliarity with the mores and customs of the upper class, only a fool would deny that she had more than enough grit to make up for it. 

By the time he made his way to her in the night he had a reasonable outline of the conspiracy and its participants, and had formulated a loose plan. She was asleep, and he sat down beside her, her face illuminated in a circle of winter moonlight, as soft and cold as the hand he laid upon her head. She stirred and blinked sleepily at him before she sat up with a yawn. 

“I had given up on seeing you tonight,” she said, her voice thick with sleep, yawning again and adding “my lord,” sardonically. 

“My but you’ve grown bold. Wherever has the little mouse who was afraid to look me in the eye gone?” He answered, as he felt along the floor for the hiding place he knew was there. 

“I wasn’t afraid of you, as much as I was afraid of your mind-reading abilities.” She said offhandedly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

He loosened the floorboard and left the letter detailing the names of the conspirators in the hole below. 

“Now I wonder why you’d be afraid of me reading your mind?” He asked, returning to sit next to her and smooth out her bedhead. 

“Not everyone wants their barely restrained lust to be an open book a few days into meeting someone, naturally.” She answered, leaning against his shoulder comfortably as he draped an arm over her. 

“Oh is that all? You did a wretched job of hiding it.” He replied, pulling her closer. 

“I have no regrets.” She said with a soft laugh. “Did you know that you always, always smell like gunpowder?” She asked as she leaned into his chest.

“I suppose I do.” He answered, flatly. “You’re taking too many pages from my book, my dear. A normal person would’ve asked me what I just hid away.” 

“I’ve never once claimed to be normal. But I do have enough pattern recognition to realize that you’ll tell me what you want, when you want, if you want. I’m not here to change you.” She answered, looking out the small window into the clear frozen sky. 

“How fortunate for us both, since I lack both the capacity and desire.” 

He looked down at her face, and tried to pick out the shadows there from the night. “If something should happen to me, find Kyubei and tell him that I left a letter for the Oda forces there. He’ll get you back to Azuchi.” 

“I guess we’re both a little unusual tonight. You’re being very direct.” 

“I’m just telling you what I want to, little mouse.” 

“I’m guessing that means that you’ve got an idea of who sent the haori?” 

“Your commitment to not asking questions faded fast.” He answered, looking into her searching eyes. 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she said, quirking a brow up at him, and adding “but satisfaction brought it back to life.” 

He stretched languidly and slid down into the warmth of her bedding, head on her lap as if it belonged there. There was no calculation in her expression, only honest concern. “I have a good idea. Although I think I saw an Uesugi spy rather far from home this morning, so the ravens may truly be circling.” He said, as she ran her fingers rhythmically through his hair. 

“I had the impression that Kenshin Uesugi was too direct for an assassination attempt from sitting in on war councils.” She said, tracing the line of his jaw with a feather light touch, as if memorizing his face. 

“He keeps rather shifty company, I’m afraid.” He said, and reached up to fold her hand in his. 

“I don’t expect any details, Mitsuhide. But I hope that you aren’t planning anything reckless.” She said, concern on her face and in her tone.

“Have you confused me with Masamune?” He asked with a low laugh at her expense, a cheap cover for the way his heart lurched at the care on her face. Unearned, undeserved. 

“You’re too good at being yourself for me to confuse you with anyone else. But for all your planning, you don’t seem to care much about yourself. You don’t eat, you don’t sleep. That’s a kind of recklessness too.” 

“And here I thought you weren’t trying to change me.” He said, reaching up to twine a strand of her hair around his finger idly. 

“I’m not. Just making an observation. Even your plans can fail, good as they might be, and it frightens me to think that you come in last in all that calculation.” 

He dropped his hand and sighed. “What was it you said? Something to the effect that one person’s life can’t outweigh a hundred or a thousand others.” 

“I said it and I believe it, but you can’t live by that idea alone. It’s not always clear what the greater good is. Thinking that any one person can decide that on their own is what leads to massacres.”

He froze in place for a moment, stiffening under her hands, mind flooded with memories of smoke and gunfire and blood in the air. She was too far under his skin. Too close to the unforgivable truth. 

“No retort? Did you fall asleep in the middle of a conversation with me?” She asked, softly, nearly to herself. 

“Your childish philosophy is far too amusing to put me to sleep, little mouse.  What if I said that I had a massacre on my head? Would I not be serving the greater good to die for that?” He asked, fighting to keep his voice level. 

“Alright, I’ll play along.” She said, and brushed his hair out of his face. “I think I can safely presume that you had a plan that didn’t involve killing innocents.” 

“I’m not sure why the presumption matters-- what someone intends is far less important than the outcome they create.” He countered, bitterly. 

“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t follow that your death is a good outcome.” 

“Why it almost sounds as if you, earnest lover of peace and freedom, don’t believe in justice.” 

She looked down at him with sadness in her eyes that drove the knife he’d put between his own ribs deeper. 

“Of course I believe in justice. I just think...” she paused thoughtfully, and continued, “no matter what you’ve done, the only way to atone for it is to live and try to save as many people as you can. All of us will die some time, so why not live while you can and try to do what good you can?” 

“And if my idea of good just results in more bloodshed?” 

She cupped his cheek gently and laid her other hand over his heart, and he hoped she couldn’t feel it pitching in protest at the sensation of being wounded by her kindness. 

“You have an uncanny mind, Mitsuhide, but you’re not a god. Your best is good enough.” 

The moonlight was moving away from the window, leaving them in deeper darkness and a heavy silence that hung between them like a chasm. 

“We’re never going to agree, little seamstress.” He said, at last. 

“Even so--” she began, with a sigh, cut off as he sat up to kiss her tenderly. He pulled her into his lap, arms wrapped around her, his cheek pressed against her hair. 

“It will be over soon enough.” He murmured, and felt her shudder, reached up to feel the heat of a tear as it ran down her face. 

Her voice was raw and low as she recited-

“Winter has frozen its double-edged breath   and blows it down from the icy heavens,   like a dry fire coming apart in threads,   like a huge ruin that topples on soldiers.   Snow where horses have left their hoof-marks   is a solitude of grief that gallops on.   Snow like split fingernails, or claws badly worn,   like a malice out of heaven or a final contempt...   This violence that splits off from the core of winter,   raw hunger tired of being hungry and cold,   hangs over the naked with an eternal grudge   that is white, speechless, dark, starving, and fatal...    Soldiers are so much like rock crystals   that only fire, only flame shapes them,   and they fight with icy cheekbones, with their mouths,   and turn whatever they attack into memories of ash.”

He felt the sting of every word as if she had slapped him. Felt her grieving for the things she wanted from him that he did not have. 

“You were bound to hate me.” He whispered at last. 

“That’s the hell of it, Mitsuhide,” she answered, voice hoarse and heavy, “I don’t hate you. I never could. I love you so much it hurts. I know that it’s one sided, I know that I’m nothing but an amusement to you, and I don’t care about that.”

He closed his eyes against the razor edge of her words and felt her draw a ragged breath. 

“You treat yourself with such cold indifference. As if it doesn’t matter whether you live or die, whether you’re in pain, whether you’re lonely or sad. But until the day we part, and even after that, for the rest of my life-- I won’t think of you like that.” 

Her tears fell on to his sleeve and it would’ve been so much less painful if she were weeping for herself, if she didn’t see him through such clear bright eyes.

***

Oof sorry this took 20 years to update! I hope to get back to updating regularly <3 Thanks to all of you who are still reading this. 

This chapter’s poem is  “The Soldier and the Snow” by Spanish poet Miguel Hernandez

[therealandian]

Spoilery as hell essay about Tony Stark I did for my English class:

Please do not read it if you haven’t seen ENDGAME, because everything is spoiled. EVERYTHING!!!

This essay explores how Tony Stark is a tragic hero more than anything else.

The Tragedy of Tony Stark

The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) is a titanic movie franchise spanning more than a decade with over 20 movies to its name. As a franchise based off of comic books, it has its share of wacky characters, witty one-liners, and ridiculous costumes. But as a movie franchise, it also has its share of dark, profound plot elements. One such element is the tragedy of Tony Stark.

Tony Stark is no ordinary hero. He is, as he once boldly proclaimed, a “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” (The Avengers). Beyond that, he is Iron Man, legendary hero in his personal weaponized suit of mechanical armor. But this is only scratching at the surface of the man who has carried the entire MCU since its infancy. During this time, he has been beaten down and betrayed, has suffered and struggled, and has been abused and ignored. Despite all of his achievements, Tony is much more of a tragic hero than he has ever been just a hero.

A tragic hero is defined in the dictionary as “a great or virtuous hero…who is destined for downfall, suffering, or defeat.” Commonly, they’re set in dramatic tragedies, such as Oedipus Rex or Hamlet. Although the MCU doesn’t quite ring true as a “dramatic tragedy,” the “hero destined for suffering” part perfectly describes Tony, who struggles against foes far more powerful than himself, only to lose a piece of himself in the process. Jennifer Wallace puts it best when she states “The source of a tragic hero's greatness is also the cause of his destruction. The overriding desire for honor that motivates tragic protagonists also results in their shame and demise” (Wallace). This also describes Tony very well; many of Tony’s enemies are of his own making, and people tend to get hurt when he takes matters into his own hands and attempts to solve the problems himself.

Almost everything that happens throughout the MCU involves the tragedy of Tony Stark in some way. He is a walking, breathing catastrophe who can barely hold himself together. He is guilt-ridden and anxiety-plagued, yet everyone still expects him to be Iron Man. When he snaps and lashes out at people, or otherwise ignores their requests for assistance, everyone tends to be surprised. One of the most clear examples comes from the most recent MCU film: Avengers: Endgame. After Tony had just returned from almost starving to death during his month-long space trip, the other Avengers immediately want to talk strategy with him. He’s still hooked up to an IV while they discuss all the things he’d predicted was coming long before they ever came to pass. He snaps at Steve Rogers, saying “I got nothin' for you, Cap! I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options! Zero, zip, nada. No trust—LIAR!” (Avengers: Endgame). He collapses shortly thereafter, completely, utterly defeated.

In a world of supersoldiers, monsters, aliens, and supervillains, Tony is a bit of an odd man out—he’s still human. “The Tony Stark character is memorable in that he was someone who could readily comment on the insanity around him” (“First-of-its-Kind…”), says the Targeted News Service. Rather than being a supersoldier, ultra powerful gamma monster, or highly trained assassin, Tony is just a “man in a can” (Iron Man 3). He has only his intelligence to aid his hero’s journey, and he carries the burden of it with him everywhere. In every movie after the first Avengers film, Tony struggles with the knowledge that something like the attack on New York will happen again (Iron Man 3; Avengers: Age of Ultron). His greatest fear is losing everything because he failed to do enough, and it shows the most in his most vulnerable moments. Even worse, his fears become reality before his very eyes (Avengers: Infinity War).

Further setting the burden of tragic heroism on Tony’s shoulders is the sheer amount of villains he’s created. Justin Hammer, Ivan Vanko, Aldrich Killian, Ultron, and Adrian Toomes are all directly linked to Tony and his bad decisions. Killian is ignored by Tony completely after he makes a promise to meet him, Hammer attempts to replicate the Iron Man armor for military use and personal gain, Vanko gets Tony’s personal advice on how to make his weapons more efficient, Toomes loses his job because of Tony’s handling the aftermath of Loki’s attack on New York, and Ultron comes into existence because Tony let his fears control him (Iron Man 3; Iron Man 2; Spiderman: Homecoming; Avengers: Age of Ultron).

Tony’s ego is certainly one to blame, but so is his carelessness. He often lets the situation dictate his response, rather than forcing his actions to dictate the situation. In other words, Tony is a reactionary character. This can be seen best in Captain America: Civil War (CA:CW), when he reacts to the death of his parents, and in Avengers: Age of Ultron (AoU), when he experiments with Loki’s scepter to streamline the creation of Ultron.

Tony also faces two life-shattering betrayals and several smaller ones, further placing him in the “tragic” category. In his debut movie, Iron Man, he learns that the terrorist group called the Ten Rings was hired to kill him by Obadiah, his trusted friend and mentor. Obadiah later paralyzes Tony and physically rips out the one thing that keeps him alive—his arc reactor. Tony manages to survive on an older model, but is almost killed in the ensuing battle. He even resigns himself to death and forces his personal assistant to blow the reactor beneath them. He fortunately survives, but his former friend does not (Iron Man). In this movie, not only does he survive a torturous three months in Afghanistan, but he comes back to almost immediately die at the hand of one of his closest friends.

In CA:CW, Tony learns that his parents were murdered by Bucky Barnes, who is unfortunately standing next to him at that time. He’s understandably distraught, but becomes enraged when Steve reveals that he already knew about the murder and never told him. This moment is especially ironic given Steve’s line in AoU, when he tells Tony in frustration that “sometimes my teammates don’t tell me things” (Avengers: Age of Ultron). Tony attacks the pair, who proceed to nearly beat him to death. At one point, Steve rips off Tony’s face mask, then stabs his arc reactor with his shield. They then leave him, beaten and alone in Siberia, with Steve having chosen one friend over the other. Tumblr user @teamsharoncarter notes that “Tony Stark lifted up his arms, covering his face when Steve was going to hit him with the shield, subtly showing that Tony is used to anyone he trusted to betray him and try to kill him” (“Tony Stark…”). While this point could be debated as mere headcanon, it is true that Tony is betrayed often. It’s fascinating to see a side-by-side comparison of Tony’s facial expression when he discovers the two major betrayals.

Tony also deals quite a bit with mental illness. It becomes most prevalent in Iron Man 3 (IM3), and looms on the sidelines in other movies. Given at the start of IM3, he has been kidnapped and tortured (Iron Man), has nearly died of radiation poisoning (Iron Man 2), and has flown a nuclear missile into a wormhole to kill an alien army with no hope of surviving (The Avengers), it’s a wonder PTSD isn’t a major topic prior to it. Much of IM3’s secondary plot revolves around Tony’s mental state post-Avengers, and he never quite resolves it. Later on, he begins a multi-million dollar project to help “clear traumatic memories” by recreating them in a pseudo-physical format and altering them as the user wishes (Captain America: Civil War).

Tony tries again and again to do the right thing, yet he somehow makes everything worse in the process and loses something very dear to him. These attempts and subsequent failures are the most telling mark of his tragic heroism. He saves his life with the arc reactor, but it winds up poisoning him with radiation (Iron Man 2). He enters the clean energy market to make up for his company’s history of weapons contracting, only for his building to be partially destroyed during the Battle of New York (The Avengers). He tries to be better to his girlfriend, only for her to be kidnapped and tortured after their home is blown up because he ditched someone on a roof in 1999 (Iron Man 3). He tries to build a peacekeeping A.I., but it turns murderous and tries to drop a city out of the sky to wipe out humanity. He winds up losing much of his certainty, Bruce Banner, and J.A.R.V.I.S., his personal A.I. based on a childhood friend (Avengers: Age of Ultron). He signs the Sokovia Accords to try and redeem himself, but according to Rogers, it is the moment he signs it that he destroys the team (Captain America: Civil War). He tries to retire from being a hero and settle down, but he winds up lost in space with half the universe disappearing from existence because someone wanted to spare his life (Avengers: Infinity War).

It is rather fitting that when Ultron asks him if he’s come to confess his sins, he answers with “I dunno, how much time you got?” (Avengers: Age of Ultron).

Yet no one stops him from doing anything, and it often ends in disaster. And then when he tries to right these wrongs later on, his former teammates turn on him and abandon him in the cold of Siberia, halfway beaten to death by two supersoldiers. His contributions to the team and efforts to protect it are overlooked and forgotten the moment he signs the Sokovia Accords. Clint Barton says “you better watch your back on this guy. Chances are he's going to break it” (Captain America: Civil War), despite having fought alongside him only a year before during AoU. Even Tony’s plan to take the fight to Thanos, rather than returning to Earth, backfires and results in the loss of the Time Stone to the Mad Titan (Avengers: Infinity War).

All this being said, there is no denying that Tony is a hero. Incredibly, despite everything he goes through, he still keeps being Iron Man. As pointed out by Marvel Comics editor Axel Alonso, “he perseveres because of his winning combination of brains and heart” (”Iron Man Insider”). Tony himself even proclaims “I shouldn't be alive, unless it was for a reason...I just finally know what I have to do. And I know in my heart that it's right...there is the next mission, and nothing else” (Iron Man).

In almost any story that’s called a tragedy, the protagonist(s) dies at the end. Take, for example, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and The Fall of Icarus. Unfortunately for Tony Stark, this trope still applies. The final nail in the coffin for Tony’s tragic-yet-heroic narrative is his battle against Thanos in Avengers: Endgame. After having survived wave after countless wave of attacks against both himself and his planet, Tony is forced to make the ultimate sacrifice, despite having finally achieved all but one of his goals throughout the MCU: “Peace in our time” (Avengers: Age of Ultron; Avengers: Endgame).

Despite everything, though—all the pain, suffering, torment, betrayals, and losses—he keeps getting up and coming back to fight the bad guys in a bid to make the world a better place. And perhaps this is the most tragic part about him. It’s not that he keeps losing, it’s that he keeps believing that someday, somehow, he’ll get his happy ending. And now that we know how Tony’s character arc ends, we also know that he never truly finds it.

Works Cited (for things that aren’t the movies)

“First-of-its-Kind Course to Examine ‘Universe’ of Cinematic Storytelling, Perspectives in Ongoing Marvel Films.” (2014, Sep 16). Targeted News Service.

“Iron Man Insider.” Discover, vol. 34, no. 4, May 2013, p. 23. EBSCOhost.

@teamsharoncarter. “Tony Stark lifted up his arms, covering his face when Steve was going to hit him with the shield, subtly showing that Tony is used to anyone he trusted to betray him and try to kill him.” Tumblr, http://teamsharoncarter.tumblr.com/post/144019313080/tony-stark-lifted-up-his-arms-covering-his-face.

Wallace, Jennifer. (2012). “The Tragic Paradox.” Comparative Drama, 46(4), 545-548,581.In almost any story that’s called a tragedy, the protagonist(s) dies at the end. Take, for example, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and The Fall of Icarus. Unfortunately for Tony Stark, this trope still applies.