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anika-ann · 4 years ago

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Attached: The One Word

The Three Times Steve Didn’t Get to Hear the One Word He Wanted and the One Time He Did

Type: series, modern-college-professor Steve AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 7700 👀

Summary: In which Steve really, really wants to ask you the question, but the odds are always against him – absurdly so. Maybe it’s fate and he shouldn’t ask. Or maybe the universe just hates him and punishes him for tainting a girl like you and wanting you all for himself officially.

Warnings: lots of swearing, crack-ish, briefest smut so 18+ only please, sickness and fluff

A/N: I say this to you, my friends – I do not at all envy men in a heterosexual relationship for being expected to pop the question. I would chicken out every time, I’m sure of it. Enjoy!

Story masterlist

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Steve liked to think important things through. He liked planning. He liked to have all the facts and view things from different angles before making a decision.

Therefore, wanting to marry you was something he was perfectly certain of and two months after he received your mother’s blessings – two months of slowly reducing costs, preparing to lower incomes, not that they had ever been glorious ever –, Steve had a feeling that the time was finally right and that he was ready to pop the question. He was.

The only problem was that the universe started plotting against him.

Big time.

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Palmeri was a relatively new restaurant, but quickly gaining reputation. Steve had heard Carol talking about taking her girlfriend there for the fun of trying a new spot and getting a taste of fancy Italian. Clearly that had a good time; the moment he learned, he started considering it. Two days later, he had to make a reservation for a week later, because the word of the delicious food travelled fast.

That was fine with him, even if he felt like he was about to jump out of his skin before the date finally arrived. Still, he advertised the fact to you that he would like to celebrate your early wrapped up exams already foreshadowing that you would obviously slayed the one you were supposed to have a day prior Friday.

When you heard the name of the restaurant, your eyes twinkled like fairy lights, a squeal of delight escaping your lips before they swiftly found his to kiss him crazy. Steve’s heart thundered in his chest as you ran off back to your books with newly-found motivation, his nerves mingling with the satisfaction that you appreciated his idea – even if you couldn’t have no clue about what he was about to do.

He could only hope that you’d be as delighted at him sinking to one knee.

But he would have to get out of this fucking interfaculty meeting FIRST!

“Seeing as the satisfaction of the students apparently took a nose dive according to the university poll last month…” Fury continued rambling, his serious and mildly snarky voice carrying through the conference room, as if mocking Steve who anxiously eyed the clock, again.

The reservation was for seven thirty.

It was five to seven.

Half an hour ago, Steve hated the idea of not taking a shower and looking his absolute best while proposing to you.

Now? Every option looked better than this. He would arrive to the restaurant all sweaty and catching his breath if he took off right this moment. And even that seemed impossible; president Fury, that son of a bitch, was nowhere close to ending the meeting.

51 weeks. 51 Fridays Fury could have called the meeting.

Nope, that bastard picked this one, the one Friday Steve was planning on sweeping you off your feet and asking you to be his for the rest of your lives.

Fucking asshole.

“Got anything to add, Professor Rogers?” a gruff voice asked him and Steve jumped in his chair and nearly dropped the phone he was pulling out of his pocket to text you with his deepest regrets – but he had to, otherwise you’d already be on your way.

Best if he saved you the embarrassment; best if you stayed home at least, all dolled up and pretty and smiling for him to show off.

Goddammit fuck.

Steve’s eyes snapped to Fury, meeting a glare that seemed even sterner with only one functioning eye.

Steve gritted his teeth and determinedly gripping his phone.

“No,” he shot back, biting his cheek when Fury’s eyebrow rose at his snappy tone. “I mean… I need to make a phone call. If you’d excuse me, it will be just a minute.”

Likely story. He would have to be apologizing for at least three minutes straight and then crawl on his knees when he finally got back home; not because you’d be so unforgiving and angry, but because it would be the right thing to do after disappointing your precious heart.

He was about to make you sad. He fucking hated making you sad.

“Make it three tops,” the president grumbled, but luckily didn’t pry what was so important for him to leave the room.

“Stevie!” your bright voice greeted him from the speaker and Steve’s heart seized in his chest, his fist automatically clenching in anger. He was about to crush you because of a dumb-ass useless meeting. He brought the fist to his mouth to stop himself from greeting you equally delighted way and fleeting the university grounds. “I’m just about to take off! I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. Did Fury give you a hard time? … Steve?”

Steve, much to his horror, found his eyes prickling with tears of frustration as his name on your lips sounded suddenly unsure.

Fuck. This.

“Hey babygirl,” he said finally and the roughness of his voice must have been everything you needed to hear to understand.

“You can’t make it.”

Steve wanted to tear his hair out at the defeat in your voice. Talk about a nose dive of your mood. He was gonna fucking scream.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered instead, the apology so pathetic in comparison to what he wanted to say.

But that was the irony – you couldn’t even begin to guess how much it sucked for the two of you to not being able to go to the damn Palmeri. You didn’t know the main tragedy, only a part of it. You didn’t know he had been about to propose.

Silence stretched between the two of you and Steve tilted his head back, blinking against the sting in his eyes, his stomach sinking to his feet.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed eventually, sounding as if you were trying to convince him as much as yourself.

Steve could imagine precisely the disappointment on your face, the fall of your expression, pretty features no doubt having been accented by make-up just the right amount twisting. He could see clearly how your lips made for smiles turned downward, lower lip maybe even trembling a bit.

Steve was gonna murder Fury.

“But it is. I’m so sorry, I know how excited you were and so was I and— I’m just really sorry.”

“I know, Steve,” you breathed out weakly and he could hear the attempt of a smile in your next words. “Come home soon, yeah? I’ll wait for you.”

Steve’s heart grew in size so rapidly it actually hurt.

“I love you, sweetheart. I know--- I know you might not wanna hear it now and that it doesn’t mean much, but I really do,” he creaked.

“It does. Bye, Steve.”

Steve’s fingers clutched at the phone, eyes falling shut in defeat.

You were nice about it, sure, but the fact that you didn’t say I love you back didn’t escape him as didn’t the switch from Stevie to Steve; the subtle hints sat heavily in his gut as he returned to the room.

He met Bucky’s compassionate gaze – of course Buck knew about why Steve was distracted during the assembly – and quickly looked away, once again excusing himself for the interruption even if there was nothing sincere about his words.

His chest ached for the rest of the meeting – and would for the rest of the night.

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He did not come home soon – in fact, it was nearing eleven when he finally opened the door, trying to make no sound when he found the apartment plunged into dark. He grimaced, jaw clenching; you were already asleep.

A fresh surge of anger shot into his veins; the university hated him, he was certain of it – and the other way around. He had missed his shot because of a meeting that was literally about nothing. Fuck his life.

He grumbled, the only sound he allowed himself to make when moving around the apartment, switching the dimmest light he could as not to wake you – because disappointing you was enough, the least he could do was not to disturb your sleep.

Frustrated, tired and hungry, he tiptoed to the kitchen to grab a bite. He was starving and even though he was exhausted and craved nothing but to wrap his arms around you and sink into the cushions, he knew hunger would wake him up a few hours later if he went to bed with an empty stomach.

Upon opening the fridge, a surprise welcomed him; a ham & cheese sandwich ready on a plate, a small Tupperware box with pieces of tomatoes and cucumber on side, a sticky note simply reading ‘Stevie’.

His breath got stuck in his throat, heart hammering in his ribcage – that was how moved he was by your gesture. He knew that you must have been as upset as you had been excited to have the fancy dinner with him, but here you were, pushing your sorrows and anger aside and preparing him food, a possible olive branch.

The sandwich was nothing fancy by any means; but God, Steve loved you just a little bit more at that moment for he didn’t have to move a finger to eat so late and you even took care to set his vegetables aside, because you knew how much he hated when the bread got squishy with the juice.

Gratefully biting into his late-night meal, Steve swore to himself he would spend the rest of his life spoiling you rotten.

When he finally got to cautiously cuddle you from behind – eyeing the absolutely stunning dress you were supposed to wear hanging outside the closet as if there to mock him – you stirred at the dip of the mattress.

Lazily blinking your eyes open, you welcomed him with a raspy hey and he had a half mind to just take the ring from the safety of its velvet box and slip it on your finger right there.

“I’m sorry, babygirl. I’m so so sorry,” he whispered, tentatively wrapping his arm around your midsection, unsure if he wasn’t in disgrace after all. You just hummed and rolled over to face him, burying your face in his chest, heavy limbs wrapping around him as if you were an octopus – the most adorable, precious, beautiful and perfect octopus in the world. His octopus. “I love you so much. I promise to make it up to you.”

“Uh-huh. Looking forward to it. Now sleep,” you mumbled to Steve’s sleepshirt, half-grumpy half-sounding as if not caring for what he was saying at all, causing him to feel warm all over.

Oh he was so going to show you just how he could make it up to you. He would marry the shit out of you.

Just you wait.

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Because of a water incident, Palmeri closed three days after Steve’s first failed attempt – and assumptions were that it would remain so for a month, because they needed to redecorate.

That meant a new plan for Steve, because he could not wait that long. Out of question. He needed to hear you say yes as soon as possible. Yesterday had been too late.

So, he asked Sam for a recommendation – casually, he believed – and somehow ended up with the man looking at him for a few seconds before realization dawned on his face.

“Oooooh, I see how it is! Need something real nice, huh?” Sam whistled, a teasing grin on his face as he patted Steve’s shoulder for support. “Relax, I gotcha, man. All you need; cosy atmosphere, but classy, white table cloths and everything. The right place to take her to in order to butter her up and make her all putty.”

Steve didn’t manage to quite hide his embarrassment at being so obvious, but he knew that Sam was a friend and all his shit-talking was good-natured, always knowing where the boundaries were; he wasn’t a counsellor for nothing.

And Steve had to give it to him – the place he recommended was just what he promised it would be and exactly what Steve needed.

You were all smiles and some giggles, little tipsy on the second glass of the wine, eyes shining in the dim lights, somehow lighting up more whenever you caught him staring at you. It was the perfect display of all the good things you were, ones he adored about you, the light of his life and gazing at him as if he was yours too.

Downing some of the liquid courage himself and with you so gorgeously giddy, Steve felt his confidence building up during the night and was just about ready to get on one knee once you finished your shared dessert.

“This is good!” you gushed, digging the fork if into the cake to get another bite and Steve grinned, unable to help himself as he agreed.

“Uh-huh, sweet. But not as sweet as you.”

You stopped mid-chew, eyes meeting his and he felt his face burn hot with embarrassment at such cheesy comment.

You swallowed, gaze still fixed on him as he busied himself with the sweet treat, and then you chuckled, causing his face to turn entirely red.

“You, Steve Rogers, are so corny sometimes,” you mocked him lightly, but when he looked up, sheepish and with his confidence bruised, he found you all starry-eyed still, watching him adoringly as if he hung the moon – and he would, for you – and Steve felt himself settle again. “But I still love you. Maybe even more for that.”

It was a wonderful opening, things really going his way – but he hesitated a second too long, like an idiot, and the next thing he knew, a string quartet, a damn string quartet, walked straight to the elderly couple two tables over, one of the group congratulating them to their thirtieth anniversary and at that moment…

Well. At that moment, Steve really fucking hated them.

Who fucking cared they were a sweet elderly couple?! Steve could only dream about you two becoming them one day as of now, because they ruined just another of his fucking shots!

He couldn’t believe that he missed his window again.

And what more, you cooed under your breath, a silent aww falling from your lips and Steve knew that anything less than a string quartet accompanying a marriage proposal when delivered in a restaurant was a no-go.

So scratch that one off the list.

All guests clapped their hands, more of awws coming from different directions and you proceeded to take his hand, gentle fingers stroking over his knuckles and Steve knew one thing with absolute certainty; he needed to propose tonight otherwise he might burst.

At home then, he would ask you at home. Who even wanted something as cliché and public as he had planned? Lame. You were a private pair, some people still judged you upon seeing you together; a little intimate proposal in your home after a fancy sweet dinner would be just the thing.

Steve just had to figure how exactly and at what moment to ask. He’d be fine. You’d say yes. Right?

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts and plans that he barely noticed you growing skittish during the taxi ride, but he certainly noticed when you started practically jumping by his side as he was unlocking the door to your apartment, confused by your antics.

The second Steve opened it and stepped inside, he found himself being shoved back-first towards a wall, your hands on his chest, sliding up and down his coat and blindly undoing the buttons as your mouth assaulted his, a soft mewl vibrating against his lips, wandering hands appreciative when they slipped under the lapels of his coat and jacket.

Steve’s head spun at the display of desire, a sudden pleasant dizziness overtaking his body, all rational thoughts vaporizing as you rocked against his crotch, his cock twitching in excitement at the friction and at the way his tongue had to fight against yours. His brain grew foggy at the faint taste of wine and the cake you had shared, his hands automatically grabbing your waist to keep you close, fingers squeezing your hips and ass to urge you closer when he rolled his hips against yours, eliciting needy moans from your lips-

You withdrew for just a second to catch your breath, lips skimming over his jaw, revelling at the feel of his beard on your skin he knew you loved, hasty words whispered into his flesh.

“Dammit, Steve, you look so fucking hot in this suit--- oh Stevie,” you whimpered when his hands slipped under your backside to tease your clothed weeping core, the sensation setting his blood on fire, the delicious friction and your dirty mouth everything that mattered in the world. “Let me suck you off-“

Steve nearly choked on his own spit upon hearing that, almost losing his balance with his legs turning into jelly and all his blood rushing into his dick.

Yeah, Steve might be a professor but he was a simple guy.

When his girl, in those stunning hot as hell dress begged him to let her get on her knees to blow his dick and his mind, he really couldn’t find himself refusing, the coil in his belly searing hot by the time you looked up at him from under your eyelashes, so pretty, doe-eyed, lips kiss-swollen and willing and so fucking devilish as you freed his cock and licked the drop of precum already forming there.

“Fuck, babygirl, what’s gotten into you-“ was all he managed to ask before all he could think off was the velvety heat of your mouth, taking him all in and making him see stars, the jewellery box in the pocket of his coat long forgotten.

And fuck was also his first coherent thought in the morning, when he realized that once again, the proposal attempt ended up being an utter failure.

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Steve had established after his two and half failed proposals that he wouldn’t make any reservations in some dumb restaurant. Just no. Privacy it would be; something personal, accompanied with a simple and yet big enough gesture, him doing something just for you, following with words of you being his world or something.

Yeah.

And for once, it seemed that the universe that had seemed to hate him, finally started playing in his favour.

The weather was going crazy, sun and spring in a middle of February and Steve had a revelation – he was going to take you out for a picnic. It was going to be perfect; he’d take you outside the city, find a quiet corner, just you and him, nothing in your way and more importantly, in his way to pop the question.

Steve was certain that you’d prefer this to anything else anyway, loving when he made an effort to create something for you. He still remembered when you first discovered he enjoyed drawing and you practically melted into a puddle when you found drawings of yourself too, allegedly displaying you prettier than you were – as if.

So, picnic it was.

Except on Friday, the day before THE DAY, Steve woke up with a splitting headache, his whole body hurting, nose full and lungs as if stuffed with cotton wool. He blamed the crazy weather, but it didn’t really matter where this sickness came from – he felt like shit.

He groaned and downright punched the alarm on his phone, startling you awake.

With bleary gaze, he registered you rolling over in his arms, squirming at him sleepily as he let his eyelids slip shut again.

“Steve, hun, are you okay?” you asked him softly, voice husky as he loved to hear it when you woke up, too adorable for him to keep his hands off you.

He sure as fuck wasn’t thinking about sweet and filthy morning loving now; he would have coughed out his lungs if he tried to move too much and some parts of him might fall off judging by how much everything hurt.

“Yeah,” he rasped, throat scratchy at the single word and as if from a distance, he heard a noise of sympathy, your palm instantly finding his forehead, gentle touch soothing against his burning skin.

“You’re absolutely not okay. Stevie, you’re burning up,” you whispered compassionately and Steve blinked his eyes open, the little light in the room causing him to snap them close again immediately. Ouch.

“Fuck my liiiiife,” he groaned, prolonging the last syllable, which proved to be a wrong thing to do, sending him into a couching fit due to his scratchy throat.

Your hands roamed his shoulders and back as he rolled over to his side from you, hoping to suck in some air to continue coughing.

“Oh Stevie, I’m sorry. I’ll bring you some medicine when I’m back from school, yeah? And I’ll make some soup,” you assured him kindly, dropping a kiss to his shoulder before your pleasant warmth disappeared, leaving him too cold and hot at the same time.

Seriously. FUCK HIS LIFE.

Grunting, he fell to his back, exhausted by one stupid coughing fit, whole body heavy; and he must have fallen asleep too, because the next thing he knew, soft lips were touching his forehead, tender fingers brushing messy strands of hair away. He stirred, forcing his eyes open to be greeted by a sight of that angelic face of yours, complete with a halo of light around you.

“I already called Bucky. He’ll sort out your classes today, alright? There’s a tea on your nightstand along with some last Tylenol we have.”

Steve squinted in the direction of the piece of furniture you mentioned and sure enough, there it was, everything you said it would.

What a pretty dutiful nurse you were. God, he loved you.

As he eyed you then, deep sense of longing settled in his swimming stomach, more so as he didn’t miss the gorgeous thermo leggings and long sweater hugging your figure, reaching your mid-thighs.

All Steve wanted was to pull you back to him so he had a human furnace in bed with him, the soothing smell of your shampoo to comfort him – even though he probably wouldn’t be able to smell it. But his hands would still be able to explore your delicious body, grope and hold it close to his and you could maybe ramble about everything and anything, lulling him to sleep.

But no, you were leaving to school, leaving him alone in the apartment.

Just him, himself and his fucking flu.

He eyed you wistfully, lips pursed at your concerned expression.

“When you’ll be back?”

The wrinkle between your brows smoothened, a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.

“I have class until eleven. I see what I can do. I’m gonna have to hit the pharmacy and make some shopping,” you explained patiently, casing Steve to groan. Too long. So so long… Your smile widened, another kiss landing on his temple this time. “But I’ll be back before you know it. Get some rest, Professor Rogers.”

Your teasing tone made him growl, the action effectively sending him into another coughing fit and through glassy eyes, he saw you disappear from the room with one last glance over your shoulder.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in deeply – oh, the delicious air – and then buried himself in the covers, praying that a decent sleep would make him feel better.

It didn’t, not quite. What did make him feel much better was the Tylenol and the sirup you brought along.

The absolute best was when you were there for him to cuddle you to sleep in the evening; somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was being a giant baby and was being utterly ridiculous, but God help him, this was all he needed the whole day.

He sighed blissfully as he hugged your midsection while you were sitting propped on the back-rest, soft light from the nightlamp illuminating the pages of the book you were reading. You were warmth, the gentle kind and Steve felt you seeping into him, fingers of one hand raking through his hair; he felt himself getting high on your loving care and cough sirup.

“I love having you here,” he muttered into the fabric of your pyjama, feeling you shift in your position a little, probably as you looked at him.

“Yeah?” you asked, sounding as if you were smiling, maybe even laughing at him; but he couldn’t care less, already drifting off to sleep, just content to have you.

“You’re warm and nice… and the prettiest nurse. And I love you. You’re my everything.”

“Oh Stevie,” you cooed sweetly, kissing the crown of his head and he preened at the sensation, smiling lazily. “I love you too.”

His heart skipped a beat as he nuzzled into your flesh and heard you gently toss the book away, your other hand now caressing his cheek.

“Yeah? Will you always be here? I want you to always be with me,” he admitted sheepishly, drawing a soft giggle and earning a kiss on his forehead.

“God, you’re adorable like this…”

Steve grunted, discontent with your reaction. “Not an answer.”

“I’ll always be here if you want me to, Stevie,” you answered dutifully, causing warmth fill his chest even if your body was shaking with hushed laughter; he felt it, but didn’t care. For your words however, he did; phew, as if he ever wanted something else, as if you had the right to question that!

He really needed to propose soon… just not tomorrow. You’d probably say no if he asked you, blaming his request on the fever. Naively.

“I wanna,” he mumbled, trying to squeeze you tighter. “Mine. My pretty girl. My babygirl. Forever.”

“Forever is a long time,” you noted, smile once again lacing your voice, along with an emotion, oh so soft one, he didn’t have the capacity to identify anymore. “But that’s what it’ll be if that’s what you want.”

Finally satisfied and with determination in the back of his mind, Steve let your love bridge him over to the dreamland, distantly aware of your fingers still playing with his hair.

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Steve’s mother used to say his that flu lasted a week under a doctor’s care; and seven days without it. Of course, when he was younger with many health issues, it was more complicated than that, but he got the message.

Under your care, he felt considerably better after five days, only a mild case of a runny nose remaining. On a Thursday morning, he even found himself awake before you did, before your alarm went off.

Contemplating whether he should stay in bed with you or get shit done, he lazily scooped away a bit and propped himself on his elbow to feast his eyes on his pretty nurse.

Your hair was a messy halo around your head, your brows were lightly crooked as if you were having an unpleasant dream, your lips parted just a fraction, the softest snort escaping you.

Steve felt himself grin, a love-sick lift of the corners of his lips.

You were so freaking cute.

And seeing you, relaxed, but clearly catching up with sleep to beat your exhaustion to which he abundantly contributed, he knew he couldn’t stay in bed; in fact, he had to make you breakfast to bed, for all the troubles he put you through and for the attentive care you lavished him with.

Sure, when he was getting overly needy and whiny or cranky, you weren’t shy to call him out on his shit – which only made him love you more – but otherwise you were admirably patient.

As if he hadn’t already known that you were a keeper before that; this only solidified his conviction. If everything about you didn’t scream put a ring on it, then he wasn’t Steven Grant Rogers.

Hell, he had a half-mind to propose you just at that moment, all domestic atmosphere and sweet gesture like breakfast in bed, but he wasn’t certain it wouldn’t look like the past few days were what pushed him over the edge. That would only be a half-truth--- quarter-truth?

Shaking his head at his own dumb thoughts, he gathered the pancakes, yogurt, various pieces of fruit and obviously, a coffee, laying it on a tray he had nearly forgotten he owned and tiptoed to the bedroom, honestly surprised that you hadn’t woken up yet with him fumbling around.

He stopped dead in his tracks when you sighed and stirred, rolling over and stretching out a hand as if in a search for him, only to find the space empty. Something between a hum and a damn meowl fell from your lips and Steve had to remind himself what it was he wanted to do besides trying his best to find out how exactly he could make you repeat that sound.

So precious. Absolutely adorable. Beautiful. Tempting.

You clutched the empty sheets, but didn’t wake and Steve crossed the distance to the bed, carefully setting the tray on the nightstand as he went to sit on the bed next to your waist, a dopy smile on his face.

Laying a hand on your thigh, he squeezed a little, attempting to wake you gently; he knew you got jumpy when something tickled your face, so this was the safer option.

You stirred once again, but didn’t wake, your eyes only fluttering open when he called your name a few times, alternating with your favourite term of endearment.

You squinted at him, appearing confused and groaning. Steve grinned.

“Morning, sunshine,” he hummed, finally allowing himself to run the pads of his fingers from your forehead to your cheek and jaw, leaning into drop a kiss to your lips.

He froze, his brain on alert as he registered how hot your face felt.

The faint snoring. Squinting against light. Not waking up sooner than him. Your face pretty much burning to touch.

Oh no.

“Babygirl… are you feeling sick?” Steve whispered hesitantly, met with a bleary gaze and a pout.

“Wasn’t feeling great even yesterday evening…” you said, voice hoarse – whether from sleep or the flu Steve had managed to infect you with, he couldn’t tell.

But he certainly felt guilty, even if it was inevitable, really; with all you sweet care and constant proximity, it was only a matter of time. Not that it made him feel any better.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry-“

“Not your fault-“

“Kinda is-“

“Steve dammit!” you hissed, your eyes flying open fully and Steve knew what was coming; still, he grimaced as you coughed. “Shit. I hate flu.”

“Tell me about it. You think you can eat something?” he fussed, snapping into his nurse mode right away, ready for your roles to reverse.

You hummed and tried to sit, your gaze falling on the nightstand for the first time. Your expression, having been twisted in a grimace, softened instantly. As you turned to him, he suddenly felt sheepish. Was he acting like a love-sick fool?

“You made me breakfast to bed?” you cooed, snuggling into the covers before gesturing for him to help you sit up. “You’re the best.”

“I’ll be better if I make you some tea to go with it… and bring cough sirup… and stuff, yeah?”

You smiled like a loon – well, you tried, the result kinda faint, a testimony to your exhaustion – and Steve quickly rose to his feet.

“You’re the best.”

“Nope, that’s you. Eat your breakfast, babygirl.”

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Steve could tell you still didn’t feel exactly alright and the idea of eating wasn’t thrilling to you, but the pleaser you were, you tried your best for him to see that you appreciated his effort to make breakfast. When he brought you the tea, the medicine and water to down it, you were hallway through the pancakes, even though you seemed to force yourself into every bite.

“You don’t have to make yourself sicker just because you feel like you have to eat this, you know,” he hummed nonchalantly, causing you to grimace and take another two bites before sighing and pushing the tray away.

“It’s really yummy though… I think,” you stated, a wry smile playing in one corner of your lips. “Thank you.”

And you sounded so honestly grateful, clearly attempting for the smile to look real even with your eyes blazed and your features undeniably displaying tiredness, that Steve had to chuckle as he handed you the pills.

“Glad you liked it, sweetheart.”

You went to drop a careful kiss to his cheek when a coughing fit took you by surprise, starling him and resulting in you clutching both your chest and head, wide hurt eyes looking up at him as he smiled, tight-lipped and compassionate; he knew exactly how you felt.

And you were still kinda adorable, pouting a bit, looking at Steve as if he could save you from the evil flu monster.

“I hate flu… but I really like you. Thank you for taking care of me,” you said sincerely, emphasizing your point with an obviously unplanned sneeze.

Steve lips twitched, but so did his heart. His hands went to caress your hair, earning a pleased hum.

“Just returning the favour.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t think I was that nice.”

“You were,” he assured you, feeling need to add a little piece of important information, just to show how much he meant it. “Just made me fall in love with you all over again.”

“Sweet-talker. I bet that’s all gone now, seeing me about to go through a box of tissues a day,” you chuckled weakly, nearly sinking into the cushions.

Steve wasn’t sure what was it he was suddenly overcome with; how or in which exact moment it sneaked into his conscience, a crazy insane thought and the untameable feeling in his gut that nudged him to do it.

To do it right now. To tell you, truly and from the depth of his heart, how much you meant to him. How much he was sure you always would.

“No, it’s not. I want to take care of you,” he whispered, hesitantly taking a hold of your slightly clammy hands and gently squeezing. You reciprocated the action, even if weakly.

“I want to take care of you and I want you to take care of me. I want to have you by my side every day, in our home, in our bed,” he continued, for once not talking only about different ways of making you moan his name when mentioning a bed. “I want to kiss you stupid whenever I get the chance, I want to laugh with you when you’re happy and hold you when you feel like crap. I want us to fight the whole world if they tell us that our love is wrong, because I know there’s nothing more right than me loving you and you loving me.”

The words spilled from his lips without much thinking, just one following other, somehow making sense, he hoped.

The strange buzz of nerves in his ears was so loud that he barely registered you breathed out his name.

“Steve-“

His eyes never left your face, watching it crumble under the weight of his declaration, already glassy eyes turning wetter, breathing ragged almost as much as his was from the rapid fire of words. Your lips parted in beautiful awe, that beautiful awe he had seen before, whenever you seemed to be shocked by how deep his need for you ran.

There was no questioning what should come next. Only half-aware of doing so, Steve had already prepared the ground.

“Stay right here,” he blurted out, giving your hands another quick squeeze before straightening rapidly and nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed towards his desk, opening the third drawer. Your voice, laced with both confusion and overwhelming emotion, followed him.

“I- I’m not going anywhere. What’s-“

“Sh-shh,” Steve hissed distractedly and took a deep breath as his fingers finally met with the box, gripping it tightly and his palm covering it as he stalked back to the bed, heart hammering in his ribcage.

This was the right moment, right? It seemed ridiculous, but god, so so right.

“You’re lucid, right?” he asked just to make sure, wavering only for a bit; you might be sick, even have a headache maybe, but you certainly appeared lucid enough a moment ago. But maybe that would be the reason you’d say no?

Shit, he felt like teenager about to ask his first crush to sit with him at lunch.

“I—I think? I’m just hella confused…“ you stuttered, causing his already wild heart to skip a beat upon hearing the nerves in your voice.

Your eyes, wide with confusion and yet slightly narrow because light hurt, watched Steve carefully as he dropped to his knees by your bedside and he didn’t think he ever saw you looking more endearing.

Steve had never been more certain of the fact that he wanted you to be his wife; and yet, and maybe precisely because of that, a lump formed in his throat. He took a deep calming breath, bracing himself.

“I love you. I love your mind, your body, your soul and everything that’s you and I—I think you’re the most wonderful woman I have ever met and had the luck to fall for. So I…”

With another heartskip, loud pounding in his head and maybe a tiny bit of a shake to his hands, he rose to only one knee, not missing your expression turning into a picture perfect of shock when he held out the box he had been thinking about for too long.

“Oh my god, Steve-“

“Please let me do this,” he whispered, barely audible, mostly because while you seemed absolutely stunned, you didn’t look angry or horrified, so he sensed a chance.

“I’m running a fever, my nose is running too and I’m--- ew all over-“ you protested weakly, a tear actually running down your cheek, but then you chuckled, a hand flying up to cover your mouth and Steve felt his confidence rise.

“You’re not, and even if you were I wouldn’t care. You’re my everything and wish nothing more than to make you mine officially.” Unable to wait any longer under you attentive and entirely adoring gaze, he opened the box and said your full name, nearly choking on it under the overwhelming joy of the moment – because he already knew. He knew what you were gonna say; you had it written all over you face. “Will you marry me?”

Steve knew. He was so sure that he knew--- and yet. Yet. As the silence prolonged, lasting seconds, minutes even – hours, it must have been – Steve felt the nervous coil in his gut twist painfully.

He watched you with torturous anticipation as you were; semi-sat up on a bed, hurting, probably beginning to sweat through your pyjama and drinking chamomile tea to get rid of the bug you had caught from him, and here he was, proposing.

In sickness and health indeed; and in some absurd way, this all made perfect sense to him… well, it had, a minute ago.

You looked like a million thoughts were racing through your head, and Steve felt his heart sink to his stomach. What if you truly were thinking he was crazy-

“Yes,” you said at last and Steve released the breath he was holding, endlessly relieved, the heaviness weighting a ton finally falling from his shoulders. Oh Chirst, thank fuck—he really had been getting worried- “Yes, I-“

Relief blended into delight as he heard you speak the beautiful word again.

Yes. Yes, you wanted to be his wife.

Yes, you wanted to marry him!!

An incredulous chuckle spilled from his lips and he tossed the box on the bed, swiftly moving up and grabbing your face to kiss you stupid as he wanted and had said that he always would.

You made a startled noise, but you giggled too, grasping onto his shoulders and his nape and kissing back with all you got—and then you were pulling away, fighting for breath, because flu, duh, he needed to be careful with you, but-

You agreed to marry him!

Keeping you as close as possible while allowing you to breathe, his eyes happily roamed your face, so pretty and adorable and the knowledge of him being able waking up next to that face for the rest of his life sent his heart into frenzy, sparkles of pure joy filling his chest.

“I love you! Thank you, babygirl,” he exclaimed, kissing you once more, a short but intense encounter of lips that caused you to giggle again—but he didn’t give a shit if he was being ridiculous. Your eyes, even if tired, seemed to glow now, happy twinkles dancing in your irises, telling him you were just as excited and delighted as he was. “Thank you-“

“You’re so crazy-“ you mumbled, dropping a kiss to his shoulder as you still shook with laughter and Steve simply climbed on the bed fully, wrapping you in his arms tightly.

He could sing at how you fit into his arms.

“I am. For you.”

“I can’t believe you proposed to me while I’m lying sick on a bed,” you mumbled over his shoulder, sounding as if you were complaining a little.

“In sickness and health?” he offered nervously, holding you tighter just in case you were going to back out now. Which was not an option.

He had to physically put the ring on your finger. Right now. Then you wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

In the back of his brain, an annoying voice told him that this was not how it worked, that there was no guarantee. But Steve shushed that voice and withdrew only enough to reach for the box and with a grin so wide he could feel his cheeks hurt from the strain, he took a hold of your left hand, slipping the ring on.

He didn’t miss the way your breath caught and he didn’t think the flu was to blame for that; the ring looked lovely on your hand. And Steve was a smidge proud of how he managed to make it fit perfectly.

“Steve… the ring-”

“You don’t like it?” he worried in an instant as he detected a new emotion in your voice.

You went to lightly slap his shoulder, rolling your eyes – an action you apparently regretted by the silent groan that followed; just another reminded of your sickness.

“Shush, you dummy. It’s--- breath-taking, but-“ you bit down on your lower lip, clearly hesitant to speak your mind and Steve didn’t find it at all comforting that you said you did like then ring. Not with the but. You sounded almost guilty, which was… strange. “But must have been so expensive and we still haven’t really-“

Oh. Oh.

Steve felt his lips spread back into a smile.

His sweet, sweet girl, responsible and perfect. He hated the reminder of your father’s behaviour, of the fact that you were ashamed on his behalf and felt guilty.

Steve didn’t want that.

“If I tell you it wasn’t, will you be mad?” he offered, watching carefully for your reaction, and your thoughtful expression turned into a confused one.

“Wasn’t?“

“I just had it cleaned and re-sized.”

You blinked, eyelids heavy, and tilted your head in bewilderment—melting into a brief panic and Steve realized what must have crossed your mind.

His stomach clenched in horror at you even considering it. You might have thought it was meant for another woman from his life.

Which it was, but not the way you thought!

“It was my ma’s!” he blurted out in panic, causing you to flinch a bit in fright of his suddenly louder voice. Steve shook his head – he was so messing this whole proposal thing up – clearing his throat, he observed your face, now full of emotion he couldn’t read. “…is that okay?”

There were tears prickling in your eyes, no words leaving your mouth as he had managed to render you speechless and he could punch himself for making you feel whatever you were feeling.

He had to fix this, fast.

“We can absolutely pick up something else if you don’t like the idea!” he was quick to offer, his heart speeding up when you still didn’t say a word. But you didn’t seem… that mad. What was happening in your head though, that was a mystery to him. “It’s just… she always told me that it was the second most precious thing she had left after dad, right after me, and that she wants me to give it to-- please don’t cry.”

Yes, he made the tears spill. There were a few rolling down your cheeks and Steve… he was starting to recognize the emotions playing in your expression, but he couldn’t entirely put his finger on it.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell whether you were so touched by the whole inherited ring gesture or if you were hating him with your very being for ruining some picture-perfect proposal you had been dreaming about since you were five; angry and disappointed that he didn’t even have the decency to buy you your own ring.

Probably a bit of both.

“Steve, you romantic idiot, come here,” you choked out, by a miracle not coughing for once and before he could even react and let the relief sink in, you grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled hard.

You had a surprisingly a lot of strength for someone coming down with a flu – actually, being down with a flu.

He landed on you, barely catching himself before he could crush you, a surprised laugh spilling from his lips, delight once again lighting up his world.

“I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pecking his lips, fingers sinking to his hair and that moment, Steve was in heaven. “So much.”

He grinned wide, wrapping his arms around you and holding you to his chest as tight as he could, feeling both his own heartbeat and yours, tumbling happily and together.

“And I love you… future Mrs. Rogers.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Tied to you (next in timeline)

S.R.masterlist

Attached masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Not gonna lie. Thought of posting this in four parts of maybe at least two (3 and +1), but then I thought, screw it, let’s post 7,7k words at once. I hope you made it through all of them.

What’s coming next? I have no idea... maybe it’s who’s ‘coming’ next 👀

Thank you for reading!

224 notes · View notes

clumsyclifford · 3 years ago

Note

hello bella’s ask box it’s been a min damn.

so the vibes are fucking everywhere w the music in the lab today so i’ve mostly been ignoring it but then unforgettable by thomas rhett started playing and my brain was immediately like This Is a Fic Song

more importantly it is a Bella Fic Song

last time you not so subtly wanted me to prompt u w w thomas rhett song you told me to do that here so i am back again w another song from ur boy

okay i def snuck out just to send this so i gotta go now but this felt important laksdjdld

ok ily bye 💛

hi sam :)

so.................... i was stuck on what to write you for your birthday fic. you sent me this ask prompting me with a thomas rhett song that i had literally been meaning to write a fic based on for almost a full year. the puzzle pieces just aligned REALLY nicely on this one.

happy birthday, my love. there's gonna be a LOT more sappy shit in the ao3 notes, but please know that my life is irreversibly changed for the better because i met you. i am dangerous close to sounding like glinda from wicked and i really want you to get to READ this fic so please see ao3 for more schmaltz. i love you so much.

tw for alcohol

read here on ao3

Every life has a moment that imprints on memory like ink on a fresh page. The kind of moment that permanently alters the trajectory of that life, that marks the ending of one chapter and the beginning of another. Some people are lucky enough to have more than one. Some people’s minds are laden with crystallized memories. But there’s always at least one. One completely unforgettable moment.

For Jack, this moment happens twenty-four minutes after he enters the club.

Twenty-three minutes after he enters the club, Zack returns with his and Jack's second beers and says, "There's some guy at the bar who's totally your type."

"Yeah?" Jack cranes his neck, but he can't quite see the bar from where he is. "My type how? Not just 'lonely and drunk,' right? My standards have gotten higher, you know."

Zack hands Jack his beer. "He's cute and he's wearing a One Direction shirt, and I'm pretty sure he's drinking a margarita.”

"Oh shit," Jack says. "That checks all my boxes."

"I know it does," says Zack, winner of the Wingman Of The Decade award. He claps Jack on the shoulder. Jack sidesteps people until he gets eyes on the bar and scans for a cute guy in a One Direction shirt drinking a margarita.

Twenty-four minutes after Jack enters the bar, he sees Alex.

And everything changes forever.

"Woah," Jack says. His gut is feeling weird and it’s probably unrelated to the beer and a half under his belt.

"What?"

"The guy at the bar," Jack says, grabbing Zack's arm. "Zack. You grossly undersold my future husband to me."

"Your future husband?" Zack sounds amused, but Jack isn't kidding.

"Remember this moment," he says seriously, giving Zack a sloppy pat on the bicep before moving away from him, towards the bar, towards the cute guy with the One Direction shirt who's making Jack understand clairvoyance. "Remember this so you can tell the story at our wedding!"

"Your wedding," Zack repeats.

"Our fucking wedding!" Jack insists, more loudly as space and drunk people fill the growing gap between him and Zack. Zack just gives him a good-luck-and-godspeed wave.

Seconds later, Jack is at the bar.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The cute guy in question looks up, surprised. Jack practically reels. It's a miracle people aren't flocking to this guy; he's not just cute, he's gorgeous. Bleach-blond hair — clearly from a bottle, which somehow Jack finds more attractive — flops over his forehead in a stubborn commitment to the emo fringe that died out a decade ago, and long lashes frame brown eyes that rival the glossy chestnut color of the bar. Add the five o'clock shadow and the sharply angled jaw and Jack's speechless.

Fortunately it's not his turn to speak. "I have a drink," says the guy, who is rapidly progressing from Cute Guy At Bar to Possible Soulmate At Bar. He quirks a smile. Jack's done for. "I'll buy you a drink, though."

Jack sets his partially-drunk beer on the bar top and slides it as far as he can reach. "Okay," he says.

Possible Soulmate laughs. He slides his margarita away from him, too, pushing it into the space of another person sitting down the bar. "Touché. Okay, you can buy me a drink."

"Well, hey, I don't want you to waste yours," Jack says reasonably. He retrieves his beer and then Possible Soulmate's drink. "I'll get the next one."

Possible Soulmate smiles. Jack is going to need his name eventually. "I appreciate your commitment to environmentally-friendly consumption of alcohol."

Jack blinks. "Yeah," he says. "That was a lot of big words, but sure. No problem. I'm Jack, by the way."

"Alex." Alex. Jack can see the wedding invites now.

"Nice to meet you," Jack says. "I like your shirt."

Alex glances down out of instinct as the wide collar of the shirt slips over his shoulder. "Thanks," he says with a chuckle, and looks up at Jack. "I like yours."

With great effort, Jack tears his gaze from Alex's shoulder and the hint of collarbone peeking out, but he would like it on the record that it is tremendously difficult. Fortunately he already knows what shirt he's wearing because he'd agonized over it for several minutes longer than Zack's patience ran, shortly before going out.

"Yeah, Kurt Cobain," he says, nodding with probably too much enthusiasm. "I'm a lead singer guy."

"Really?" Alex tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. "Meaning what?"

"I go for the lead singer types," Jack explains. "Kurt Cobain, Billie Joe Armstrong, you know." He nods at Alex's shirt. "Harry Styles."

"Harry Styles wasn't—" Alex breaks off and snorts. "Eh, whatever. Who cares."

"Wait," Jack says. "Hold the phone. Did you fucking cross out Zayn's face?"

Alex looks down at his shirt again like maybe he'll have forgotten what it looks like. "Oh, my friend did that. But now the shirt is factually accurate."

"If you wanted an accurate shirt you'd have to cross them all out since none of them are in the band anymore," Jack observes.

Alex slowly smiles. "I guess."

"I always liked Zayn," Jack says wistfully. "His solo shit is so good, though."

"It's good," Alex says, kind of in the tone of voice of someone who doesn't really agree but doesn't want to get into it, so Jack leaves it be. They can poll their wedding guests. "I'm really digging Niall's solo shit."

"That's an extremely acceptable answer," Jack says, nodding vigorously. In the moment it slips his mind that he's holding a beer and the liquid begins to slosh out of its container. "Oh shit, fuck, sorry."

"Didn't get me," Alex says, passing Jack a napkin. "Couple too many, I get it."

"What?" Jack is very focused on drying his hands so they don't get sticky and gross. "I'm not drunk."

Alex laughs. "Yeah, right."

"I'm not!"

"Okay," Alex says lightly, but it's clear he doesn't believe Jack. On the bright side, he doesn't seem bothered by it.

"I am acceptably drunk for a guy in his mid-twenties at a club,” Jack amends. "And you owe me a drink anyway."

"Hey, I intend to buy you that drink," Alex says earnestly. "Another beer?"

Jack shakes his head. "Vodka soda," he says. "It's a special occasion."

"Really! You celebrating something?"

"I am now," Jack says. "Celebrating meeting my future husband."

"Your future husband?"

"You," Jack says, in case it wasn't clear. "It's not every day you meet the man you're gonna marry. I think it calls for a celebratory vodka soda."

Alex stares, obviously expecting Jack to say sike! When Jack does no such thing, he gives a small, incredulous laugh.

"Fair enough," he says. He sounds like he's humoring Jack. That's okay. Jack is serious, but Alex will figure that out on his own time. "I guess you're not wrong. That doesn't happen every day."

A large shadow materializes on Alex's other side, blocking light like some very cliché movie villain. It's not Doc Ock, but it is some tall, burly guy, a leer affixed to his face that's probably been there since Alex's haircut went out of style.

"Hey, baby," he says in an unnervingly deep voice. The part of Jack that isn't super skeezed out is a little jealous. But Burly Guy isn't talking to Jack; Jack may as well be invisible. To Alex, Burly Guy says, "Saw you across the bar and I just had to come over."

Didn't have to, Jack thinks grumpily to himself. You could have stayed across the bar. If you walk away now we’ll pretend we never saw you.

"Can I get you a drink?" Burly Guy asks, and honestly, Jack has no idea what Alex is going to say.

Big Burly Guy with a deep voice a la Morgan Freeman vs. resident beanstalk Jack whose voice sounds like a rejected cartoon character design. What a tough choice.

Jack is just preparing to cut his losses when Alex grabs Jack's wrist, turns to him, and says, "Honey? What do you think?"

Jack's tipsy, but Alex is definitely communicating something with his eyes, and between that and the pet name Jack is pretty sure he's on the same page.

"You want to buy my boyfriend a drink?" Jack asks Big Burly Guy, cranking up the Bitchy energy because he doesn't get to do it a lot and it's kinda fun. His voice has definitely gone vaguely southern-auntie, but he's rolling with it. "Sorry, sugar, this seat's taken. Must be this guy" — he points at himself — "to ride."

"This guy?" Burly Guy echoes, furrowing his eyebrows at Jack and then looking at Alex with profound confusion, like he just doesn't get it. "You're with this guy?"

"Happily," Alex says, glancing back at Jack, who offers him what is definitely a convincingly enamored smile because Jack is legitimately enamored. Alex laces their fingers together and Jack's not delusional, can't be, not when they fit this well together. No way. "So I'm gonna pass on that drink. Sorry, man. No hard feelings."

Burly Guy seems to have some hard feelings. Maybe he didn't get the memo. "Whatever," he says gruffly. "Your loss."

Jack can't resist countering, "Actually it's your loss, sweetums," as Burly Guy retreats. If he dies tonight, he knows who’s responsible.

As soon as he's gone, Alex breaks down laughing, and Jack quickly follows suit. Alex's hand slips from Jack's and begins to tug at the ends of his own hair instead.

"Sugar?"

"I don't know what happened," Jack says/wheezes. "I became possessed by Blanche from Golden Girls.”

"You have to be" — Alex prods Jack's chest — "this guy to ride." He dissolves into giggles and Jack is laughing too but mostly because Alex's laugh is incredibly contagious.

"Look, I don't blame him," Jack says, feeling exhilarated. "You are the best-looking guy in this establishment. He just happened to have creepo vibes."

"I am not the best-looking guy in this establishment," Alex says, grinning at Jack. "Nice of you to say, though."

"Hey, I'm serious!"

"I thought you were Jack."

Jack stares at Alex and Alex doesn't even last a second before he's breaking down laughing yet again.

I'm going to marry you, Jack thinks, and it almost scares him how serious he is about that. He opens his mouth and says, "That wasn't even— that's not even one of the good dad jokes! That's the most boring one!"

"There is no such thing as a boring dad joke."

"You should go into stand-up," Jack says dryly. "You'd tear down the house with this set. I can see it now." He waves a grandiose hand in the air as if painting the marquee into existence, but when he goes to introduce the act he realizes he's missing most of the crucial information. "Alex…something…something. Austin, Texas, one night only."

"Gaskarth," Alex says. "That's my last name."

"Alex Something Gaskarth," Jack loyally amends, and gives Alex a look like, well?

Except Alex is giving Jack that same look. "I only know your first name and you expect me to tell you my full one?"

"Jack Bassam Barakat," Jack says, gesturing impatiently. "Come on, I'm trying to introduce your act here."

"Guess," Alex says.

"Guess?"

"It's a pretty basic middle name," Alex says. "I'll buy you your vodka soda when you guess it."

"Alex," Jack says. "I am not going to guess your middle name. I am so bad at these games and I'm fucking drunk."

"Quitter," Alex says. "Do you want your drink?"

Jack scowls, trying to channel Blanche again, but Alex is apparently immune.

"Give me a hint," he finally concedes.

"It's a British name," Alex says. “Pretty standard British.”

"Are you British?”

Alex nods. "Born and raised. Moved here when I was about…eight? But I'm not an American citizen. I have a green card."

Yet another reason they should be married. Jack could extend his citizenship to Alex. Plus he'd gain British citizenship, which would probably be useful for, like, travel or One Direction stalking or whatever.

"That's sick," Jack says. "I was born in Lebanon. We moved when I was a baby."

"That's so cool," Alex says, sounding genuinely interested. He props his chin on his hand and gives Jack a cheeky smile. "Now guess."

Jack sighs. "Uh, Charles."

"No."

"Darcy."

"Darcy?"

"Margaret."

"Jack."

"You said it's a British name!"

"A British man's name," Alex says, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation.

Jack takes a long pull from his beer, swallows, and says, "Harry."

"No."

They're going to be here awhile. Jack pulls out the seat next to Alex and settles in while he racks his brain for British names.

“Alfred.”

“Nope.”

“John.”

“No.”

“Paul.”

“No.”

“George.” Alex shakes his head. “Ringo.”

“Yup, you finally got it,” Alex says. Jack is over the moon for a split second before it sinks in that Alex is fucking with him. “Alex Ringo Gaskarth. Well done.”

“Fuck off, I’m doing my best here,” Jack says.

“You’re missing one incredibly obvious name,” Alex says. “It’s not that hard.”

“For you,” Jack says. “Because you already know it.” Alex is grinning. Jack likes that he’s enjoying himself. It makes this guessing game fun. Under any other circumstances, this guessing game would not be fun, but Alex makes it fun.

Alex has also finished his mango margarita by now, and Jack’s beer is long since empty. He’s itching for another drink, mainly for something to do with his hands.

As if reading his mind, Alex flags down the bartender, who sidles up with a small smile and says, “What can I get you boys?”

Jack blinks at her. Mostly at her accent, which is not American.

“Vodka soda,” Alex says. To Jack, “I think you’ve earned it.” Jack smiles.

“And a mango margarita,” he puts in to the bartender, “and are you British?”

The bartender looks amused. “I am British,” she says.

“Please help me,” Jack says. “Alex says his middle name is a British name and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it fucking is.”

“Jack, the nice bartender lady has other things to do,” Alex says with a laugh. The nice bartender lady probably does have other things to do, but she shifts her weight and gives Alex an appraising look instead.

“Harry?”

“Tried that,” Jack says, realizing at once that this is a pointless endeavor. The nice bartender lady is going to guess everything Jack’s already guessed and he’ll just have wasted her time. “I’ve tried every member of One Direction, every member of the Beatles, every member of Oasis, every Harry Potter character, every member of the Royal Family—”

At this, Alex coughs conspicuously.

Jack rounds on him. “I have.”

“Edward,” the bartender offers. Alex’s lips are pressed together in a smile and he shakes his head. “Meghan. Kate. Richard. Dick. Philip.”

A lightbulb goes off as the bartender is listing Royal Family names. Jack wants to kick himself. “Oh my— William?”

“Yeahhhh, there you go! See, it was easy,” Alex says, grinning widely.

“William,” the bartender repeats with a charming little laugh. Her lipstick is bright with clean lines, an impressive feat considering Jack has seen her bustling around this bar for almost an hour now. “I had an ex called William.”

“Oh no,” Alex says. “I hope he didn’t ruin the name for you.”

“Please,” the bartender says, waving him off. “The only thing he ruined for me was a few meters of drywall.” Jack and Alex must have twin looks of concern, because she explains, “Anger issues. No worries, boys, I sent him packing, and a vodka soda for you, and a mango marg for you.”

She slides their drinks into waiting hands and starts to turn away. “Wait a sec,” Jack says.

The bartender turns back to him with wide Bambi eyes. “Did I fuck up the drink? I’ve made it a million—”

“No no no,” Jack assures her. “I just wanted to know your name. You rescued me from an eternal guessing game, you’re my hero.”

The bartender smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maisie,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, Maisie,” Alex says. “Thank you for the alcohol.”

Maisie laughs again as she moves to the other side of the bar.

“William,” Jack says, swirling his drink with the miniature straw. “God damn. I can’t believe I missed William.”

“You got close,” Alex says. “You guessed Liam twice. And thanks for the drink.”

“Same to you,” Jack says. “It’s a good drink. Yours, I mean. You know what offends me, though? Why aren’t mango margaritas orange?”

Alex furrows his brow. “Why the fuck would they be orange?”

“Mangos are orange! Fruity drinks should be the same color as their fruit.”

“Mangos are not fucking orange,” Alex says with an incredulous laugh. “They’re straight-up yellow.”

“They’re orange with yellow tendencies,” Jack says, “but mostly orange.”

“They are entirely yellow,” Alex says. “Coldplay even wrote a song about them. They were all yellow.”

“They’re orange,” Jack insists, but now Alex has moved on completely and is loudly singing Coldplay.

“I came along! I wrote a song foooor youuuuu! And all the things you do!”

“You’re ignoring the truth!”

“And it was called ‘Yellow’!” Alex shouts.

“Okay, I surrender! Sheesh. You win.”

“Thank you,” Alex says placidly, like he hasn’t just been yelling obnoxiously over the (worse, but much louder) club music. “I’m going to enjoy my yellow mango marg very much.”

“And I will enjoy my victory drink,” Jack says, lifting his glass. Alex lifts his. It smells like mango and tequila. They clink the rims together. “To William.”

“To William,” Alex agrees, laughing.

The DJ plays a song Jack loves to hate from hearing it on the radio so many times and Alex is out of his seat before Jack’s managed to put down his drink.

“What are—”

“I love this song, I want to dance,” Alex insists. The implication is clearly that he wants Jack to dance with him, which is like. What is Jack gonna do, say no?

Alex must anticipate some kind of argument, though, because with a glint in his eye he adds lightly, “These are the kinds of things you’ll have to do if we’re married.”

On the one hand, he’s clearly making fun. But on the other hand, the fact that Alex was a stranger an hour ago and is still comfortable teasing Jack about suggesting they’re going to get married speaks volumes. Alex is smiling. They’ve known each other for less than an hour — a drink and a half each — and Alex is smiling at his own joke about marrying Jack. Like he likes that Jack said it first. Like he likes Jack.

“Just wait ‘til you learn all the weird shit you’ll have to do when we’re married,” Jack says, sliding out of his stool.

Any sane person would have run away by now. Even Jack knows when he’s coming on too strong.

But Alex does the opposite; Alex grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the dance floor.

“Fair warning,” Alex says. “I don’t actually know how to dance.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Jack says, and then eats his words not two seconds later when Alex demonstrates how very much he doesn’t know how to dance. All of his limbs seem to move as their own entities, zero synchronization. A couple surrounding people take various minor assaults before taking the hint and giving Alex some space, but this does not stop him. “Okay,” Jack says loudly over the music. “You were right. But luckily neither do I.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Alex says.

Jack does the sprinkler. Alex snorts. He does the wave, very poorly, and Alex continues it, also very poorly.

“Mr. Moves,” Alex says. “I’m impressed.”

“Yeah? Check this one out.” Jack does the running man with extreme focus. Alex laughs, leaning towards Jack as he does. Jack stops dancing so he doesn’t accidentally hit Alex, who is suddenly much closer and who somehow smells like pine and flannel and fall and winter in one and is the best-looking person in blue jeans and checkered Vans on this dance floor. Far from the only person, but without question the prettiest.

Fuck.

“I don’t think I can do that one,” says Alex, grinning. Jack nods at him like, try it, so Alex does, proving himself right. He almost takes Jack’s eye out.

“Yeesh, okay, you’re— alright, take it easy,” Jack says, swatting Alex’s wayward hand away and laughing. “Well, we all have our strengths.”

Surrendering the running man, Alex starts up with some bizarre hand-wavey foot-kicky thing, singing along to the music.

“Do you seriously like this song?” Jack asks, attempting to imitate Alex’s dance. “Dance,” heavy quote marks implied.

Alex shoots Jack a look. “Hell yeah. What, you don’t?”

“It’s just…always on,” Jack says. “Everywhere. How are you not sick of it?”

“Because it fuckin’ slaps!” Alex looks incensed.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you’re a pop music person when you’re literally in a One Direction shirt.”

“I’m a lots of music person,” Alex counters. “Including pop music, yeah. You don’t like pop music?”

“I sometimes do,” Jack says. “I like Taylor Swift. Britney Spears.”

“Okay, well, you’d have to be insane not to like them.”

“Yeah, and I’m obviously sane.”

Alex barks a laugh. “Drunk but sane.”

“I am not drunk!” That’s probably a lie by now.

“You’re not convincing me otherwise,” Alex says. “I’m confident you’ve been drunk this whole time.”

“You haven’t exactly been an innocent bystander,” Jack says. “You bought me a drink, and you’re gonna buy us shots in a minute.”

“I did— I what?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and this time he drags Alex off the dance floor, back to the bar. “I can see the future, I forgot to tell you.”

“You—” Alex laughs again and leans on the bar, trapping both his elbows between his stomach and the bartop. “You’re buying the next round.”

“Oh, happily,” Jack says. “I’m actively trying to get you drunk.”

“Why’s that?”

“Studies show I am 75% more attractive to people when they’re drunk,” says Jack.

Alex turns to him. Without missing a beat, he says smoothly, “I don’t think it’s possible for you to get any more attractive.”

Fuck. Actually, fuck. Seriously. Fuck.

“You must be drunk already, then,” Jack says.

Alex smiles serenely. “I feel pretty sober.”

“Exactly what a drunk person would say,” Jack says. “J’accuse, William.”

Alex laughs. “In that case, your studies are right.”

Jack’s probably blushing. He does that in extreme cases only, but this is nothing if not an extreme case. Alex is fucking relentless.

Maisie the bartender is back, and Alex orders them shots of tequila. Somewhere in the recesses of Jack’s mind, this unlocks a memory, and he snaps his fingers. “I should hunt down my friend, he loves tequila.”

“Friend?” Alex looks around while Maisie pours their shots. “You ditched your friend?”

“He told me to,” Jack says. “He’s probably gonna pick up some girl. Actually, he probably already has.”

“Really,” Alex says, sounding amused.

“Zack’s a strong silent type,” Jack explains. “Emphasis on strong. We’re single guys in our mid-twenties, Alex. We’re not going to clubs for the atmosphere.”

“Admit it,” Alex says. “You a little bit are.”

Jack bites his lip. “Fine, I like the atmosphere,” he admits, more affected than he should be that Alex seems to have picked up on this about him. “And the alcohol. And the chances I’ll meet my future husband, which clearly paid off. Zack will never admit it, but I’m pretty sure he likes trying to set me up with random people in clubs.”

Alex laughs. “He set you up with me?”

“Oh yeah,” Jack says. “He wingmanned me hard. You can thank him in your vows.”

This only serves to make Alex laugh harder. “I’ll thank him now,” he says with a grin. Taking his cue, Jack grabs his shot glass. Alex does the same. “To Zack.”

“To Zack!” Jack cheers, and they both down their shots.

“Me?”

Jack whirls around and trips straight into Zack. “Zack!” he says brightly. “We toasted you.”

“I heard,” Zack says. “Why, exactly?”

“I’m Alex,” says Alex, holding out a hand. Zack shakes it. “Apparently you set us up?”

“Oh,” Zack says. “I wouldn’t really say that. I just kind of pointed Jack in this direction. If you can put up with him, that’s all you.”

“I was gonna come find you anyway,” Jack says. “We’re doing tequila shots. Next round on me.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Zack says. “Count me in.”

They can’t come up with a toast for their second round so they just knock it back with an ambiguous cheer; then Zack offers to buy another, and Jack’s not about to refuse. It’s starting to hit just right, so he’s buzzed but not incoherent. All his most brilliant ideas come in this state.

Case in point: as Maisie is pouring them their third round, Jack suddenly says, “Maisie! Do a shot with us!”

Maisie looks up and laughs. “I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” she says.

“It’s not drinking, it’s bonding,” Jack insists.

“Yeah, we’re forming lasting friendships,” Alex jumps in.

Zack looks entertained. “You guys know each other?”

“As of half an hour ago, yes,” Maisie says.

“Maisie here helped me guess Alex’s middle name,” Jack explains. “Which is William. Like the prince.”

“I feel like I missed so much,” Zack says, half to himself. He shrugs and nods at Maisie. “One shot. On me. For Jack. We won’t tell.”

Maybe it’s because Zack is buff and has cool tattoos or just has good vibes or whatever, but Maisie hesitates only a second before inclining her head. “Just one, and no blabbing,” she says, meeting all of their eyes in turn. Everyone nods solemnly, and Maisie discreetly pours herself a fourth shot.

“Hell yes!” Jack whoops as they all take a shot glass. “To Maisie!”

“To Maisie!” Everyone echoes, including Maisie with a wry grin.

The third shot goes down smoother than the first two. Jack swallows his easily, as does Alex. Maisie puckers her face a bit. Zack has zero reaction, because Zack’s just kinda like that.

“While I’m here, I was hoping to get another beer,” Zack says.

“On it,” Maisie says immediately, giggling. “Thanks for the shot, boys. You’ve kept me far more entertained tonight than my usual shift provides.”

“You can give a toast at our wedding,” Jack says to her. Zack’s eyes widen a little, Alex snorts, and Maisie laughs.

“I’d be honored,” she says. “Back to work now. You need anything, let me know.”

“Seriously, Jack?”

“What?” Jack gives Zack an innocent smile. He pats Zack on the cheek. “Don’t worry, sugar, you can give a toast too.”

Alex laughs. Zack stares at him and shakes his head. “You’re insane,” he says, but he says that roughly twice a day so he’s still below his quota. “I’ll leave you two alone. Come find me when you wanna go. If…” He eyes Alex. “...Just…yeah.”

And with these eloquent words, he disappears with his beer into the crowd.

“I like him,” Alex announces.

“Me too,” Jack says. He turns back to Alex. “Back to the dance floor?”

“Get out of my brain,” Alex says. “I’d like to see your drunken running man.”

“It is gonna blow your fucking mind,” Jack promises, and Alex laughs again.

They’re not even being gross like everyone else. Alex has pulled Jack into an exaggerated tango performed mostly with missteps when it happens: someone shoves them aside as they walk past, and Alex loses his balance and falls into Jack, who just barely manages to catch them both. He doesn’t manage to stop his arm from winding around Alex’s waist. To be fair, he doesn’t try very hard.

Jack’s first thought is homophobe, but then he spots the offender, lumbering off with heavy footfalls, and it’s Burly Guy from earlier. The guy who tried and failed to pick Alex up.

All of this registers as Alex slowly regains his footing. “Damn, who pissed in that dude’s Cheerios?”

“It’s the guy from before who tried to buy you a drink,” Jack says, pointing at his back.

Alex whips his head around. “Seriously? Asshole.”

Jack chooses not to observe that from his vantage point, being shoved close together is hardly a dick move. In intent, sure, but not in actuality; Jack’s enjoying the proximity a great deal. Like, a lot.

Like, his hand is still on Alex’s hip, subtly keeping Alex close, and Alex has his arm around Jack’s shoulders from their dance and he’s not moving, either.

“Yeah,” Jack says. They’d already been on the outskirts and now they’re off to the side of everyone, wallflowers.

Alex breathes a laugh and looks back at Jack. He doesn’t step back or even lean away, even though their faces are too close to be friendly now. Jack hadn’t really been expecting friendly, but they’ve been tightrope-walking between sides, and if neither of them breaks this up then they’ll be irreversibly left on one end.

Jack has no intention of moving away. He likes this end of the tightrope. For all he cares, they could cut the tightrope and free-fall together.

“You’re pretty good at bad tango-ing,” Alex says, reaching up to brush away the sweaty fringe that’s clinging to his forehead.

Jack grins. “Well, you know what they say. It takes two.”

Alex kisses him so suddenly that Jack almost loses his balance.

He tastes like tequila. That’s all Jack gets before they’re not kissing anymore. The room feels quiet and then unforgivably loud the next second, and Alex is flushed and smiling nervously, and Jack is smiling too, not nervous at all.

“Did I tell you I’m in a band?” Alex asks in a rush.

Jack’s brain struggles to keep up. He can’t remember Alex mentioning a band, but he’s also distracted by wanting to kiss Alex again. There’s no understating the power of wanting to kiss someone over failing to clock anything they say. “What?”

“I’m in a band,” Alex says. “Not as a job, just like, for fun.”

“Oh,” says Jack.

“I’m the lead singer,” Alex says, with a flickering look down at Jack’s shirt.

“Oh,” says Jack, because, like, oh. “Can I kiss you again?”

“What, here?” Alex meets his eyes. “With all these people around?”

“You kissed me first,” Jack says. “Let me kiss you and then we can call it even.”

“Okay,” Alex says, and Jack’s kissing him before the word’s really out of his mouth.

And he tastes like tequila and mango and sugar and the color yellow and the sweat of the dance floor and God, it’s good. It’s like kissing a memory, except this memory is still here, not frozen in time, not trapped in an ornate frame. He’s creating a memory that he knows he’ll relive for the rest of his life.

Somehow, though he doesn’t know the end of this chapter, he knows the end of the book.

Alex’s warm palm cradling Jack’s cheek to hold him steady, fingers splayed out like a star; Alex’s other hand grazing skin over the collar of Jack’s shirt. Alex singing Coldplay in Jack’s ear. Alex’s blue jeans and his checkered Vans and his ridiculous One Direction tank top. Alex holding Jack’s hand and calling him honey to get Burly Guy to leave him alone. Grinning as he shoots down guess after guess for the elusive middle name. Laughing at Jack’s stupid dance moves. Knocking back a shot like it’s nothing. Smiling when Jack says they’re going to get married, never moving away, only ever closer.

Alex sitting undisturbed at the bar, ankles crossed, and Jack seeing him from across the room like something out of a goddamn Hallmark movie and just knowing.

He tugs Alex closer but Alex is already pulling away with a smile. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He smoothes a hand over a crease in Alex’s shirt and nods. “Taxi’s on me if we go back to your place.”

“Sucker, I was gonna suggest that anyway,” Alex says with a quiet laugh. “You should tell Zack. Don’t wanna just leave him.”

“Don’t worry,” Jack says. “He knows.”

“He knows?”

“Zack and I are brothers in clairvoyance,” Jack says. “How many times do I have to tell you this?”

“I knew you could see the future,” Alex says. “You never told me Zack could, too.”

“Zack can see everyone’s future,” says Jack. “I can only see mine.”

“Yeah? What’s your future look like now?”

Jack filters out several inappropriate comments. It’s hard when Alex is smirking, clearly baiting him. “I told you,” he says. “You, me, vows, rings, the works.”

“Not that future,” Alex says. “I’m talking about the immediate one.”

It takes everything in Jack not to get down on one knee and say so was I. There’s a tilt in Alex’s head, like a dog listening carefully for a familiar sound.

“Honestly?” Jack says, and Alex nods. “I think it’s more fun if we find out together.”

3 notes · View notes

snkpolls · 4 years ago

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SnK Episode 66 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 244 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

RATE THE EPISODE 238 Responses

“Assault” was a total hit with the fans, with 93.7% of respondents rating it a 4 or 5. Nobody gave the lowest rating this week, and only a couple of people weren’t as impressed with the episode.

I wasn’t a fan of previous episode but GOD I’M BACK TO HYPE! This episode was so full of awesome scenes that picking just one favourite and one that made me most emotiona seems unfair

Incredible improvement. Almost reminded me of Season 1 with all the impact/shockwave flair at times

Was amazing

THIS IS THE BEST BY FAR AND EVERY CHAPTER IS FREAKING GOOD

It was a banger

One of the best episodes in the ENTIRE SERIES. At first i was skeptical because the cgi often kept throwing me off but i was PLEASENTLY surprised how fantastic the last episode was

it was awesome

So proud of MAPPA with what they've done so far! Appreciate them! 💕

It was breathtaking and MAPPA did tje manga justice!

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING ACTION MOMENTS WAS YOUR FAVORITE? 237 Responses

Armin making his entrance by blowing up the harbor took the edge this week, with 28.7% most hyped up about the scene. Following closely behind with 26.2% of the vote is Eren using Porco as a nutcracker to eat the War Hammer Titan. 19.8% most enjoyed watching Mikasa fillet Porco’s legs, and 17.3% liked the scene where Sasha and Jean help take down Pieck and the Panzer Unit.

Jean vs. Pieck was epic!

Levi was so awesome! It was great hearing his voice again, just everything about him made my day. this episode was perfect <3

NUTCRACKEREN

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING MOMENTS MADE YOU FEEL THE MOST EMOTIONAL? 237 Responses

To counter the breathtaking action this week, some scenes also brought out our emotions. 25.7% were most affected by Gabi and Falco desperately calling out for Reiner to save Porco and help them. 20.7% felt the same pain as Mikasa as she watched Eren brutally kill another person. 15.6% were pained to see Armin’s reaction to his horrific action of destroying the harbor. At some smaller percentages, people were also emotionally touched by these scenes, in order: Seeing the Panzer unit’s pictures in their cabins, Porco’s desperate pleas for Eren to stop using him to kill Lara Tybur, and Reiner’s continued desire to end his own life.

Seeing hange onscreen again has added 100 years to my lifespan.

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW EERIE DID YOU FIND THIS IMAGE OF THE WAR HAMMER TITAN? 232 Responses

Overall people weren’t too spectacularly creeped out by the haunting image of the War Hammer Titan at the beginning of the episode. About 45.7% of respondents feel they’ve seen things much creepier, while about 33.7% felt it was more close to the thing of nightmares. 20.7% were simply somewhere in the middle.

REGARDLESS OF HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT GABI’S CHARACTER, HER SEIYUU TRULY WENT ALL IN ON HER SCREAMS FOR REINER. ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW BONE CHILLING WAS HER PERFORMANCE? 228 Responses

Gabi’s seiyuu truly sold this scene and the fandom seems to overwhelmingly agree that she did a fantastic job, with nearly 93% of respondents ranking her performance a 4 or 5. Only a small handful were less enthused, finding the screams more annoying than impressive.

I’m usually a defender of Gabi, but Falco and Gabi’s screaming annoyed the f out of me

SOME FANDOM SPACES SEEM TO BE MORE POSITIVELY RECEPTIVE ABOUT THE CGI IN THIS EPISODE. WHERE DO YOU FALL ON THE SPECTRUM? 225 Responses

After much disappointment in the previous episode’s usage of CGI, people in the fandom are feeling a lot more pleased with it this week, with no one even ranking its usage as a 1. The majority felt that MAPPA did a good job, likely hoping that the trend continues.

I Thought the CGI Section in the opening bits looked incredibly wonky, But after that it was used well.

I've been fairly tepid on the CGI while acknowledging its necessity. However, this episode used in amazingly after I was a bit dissapointed with its use last week. Very satisfied with pretty much everything this episode.

DID MAPPA DO ONYANKOPON JUSTICE? 228 Responses

Onyankopon finally makes his appearance and the fandom is overwhelmingly positive about MAPPA’s character design for him, with just over 87% of respondents either stating they are super happy with the design or that they’re straight up starstruck and in love. Only a small handful felt he could have been done a little better.

Nailed it! Though I had to come back and see him in the rewatch. Was too focused on Hange and Armin.

I honestly don’t care as he’s a relatively minor character in the manga

They did onion coupon really damn well

ONION COUPON!!!

He is significantly more bad ass looking than I assumed he would be

He looks super cool but his voice is too soft.

He looks even more like Finn than in the manga, and as a John Boyega fan I think that's a good thing!

Onion

Idc about his appearance, hope his character will just be portrayed correctly.

MAPPA HAS AVOIDED KEEPING IN SOME OF THE IMPLICATIONS THAT ZEKE COULD BE WORKING WITH ANYONE BUT MARLEY UP UNTIL THIS POINT. WHAT DO YOU THINK - WILL ANIME ONLY VIEWERS BE THROWN TOTALLY OFF GUARD NEXT WEEK? 223 Responses

One of the joys for some manga readers when the anime seasons are running is seeing the way that our anime-only counterparts react to the story developments. One of the big plot twists next week will be that Zeke was working with Eren/The Survey Corps and people are eagerly anticipating the fan reaction to the revelation. 44.4% feel that anime only watchers will be totally thrown off guard and that MAPPA has done an excellent job of concealing this plot twist. 27.4% feel similarly positive about the fan reactions for this reveal, though a little disappointed there was a bit less room to theorize. 14.8% aren’t sure as they don’t really keep up with anime-only fan reactions, and a few either feel they’ve probably already pieced it together, or just don’t care.

The Jaw might be down for the count, but jaws will still drop next ep.

I've been watching reactions from anime only people for this season and some are definitely putting together correctly that Zeke is in on the plan.

I listen to an “Anime only” podcast Where are you they literally called Zeke working with Paradis, but I’m not sure about others.

I've already seen several theorize that Zeke is working with Paradis. The suspicious nature of his death in this episode clinched it for some of them.

Some of them will be surprised, but the ones who watch the anime more carefully and like to think about things most likely know that Zeke might work with Paradis.

MAPPA ADDED PICTURES OF THE PANZER UNIT TO THE INSIDE OF THEIR CABINS. DO YOU THINK THIS MADE THEIR DEATHS MORE EMOTIONAL? 227 Responses

A small addition, but impactful nonetheless. 53.7% felt more saddened about the Panzer Unit’s deaths after seeing how strong their bond with each other was (or, alternatively, how hard all of the boys simped after Pieck). 37.4% agree that it added just a little more depth to the characters, though it ultimately didn’t do anything to move them too much emotionally. A handful don’t care or were just salty about the addition in general.

Their screen time was short in general. It was a nice touch, definitely made me pause to get a better look and feel a bit bad for them.

That, and them screaming for Pieck as they get blown up :( amazing additions.

I gotta be honest, I didn't even notice until I saw this question. I was too busy screaming over Sasha being amazing. It's a nice addition though.

Yes. It shows that the marleyan warriors were not emotionless monsters, but they had their lives, families, friends and were normal people overall. I felt really sorry for them.

I didn't notice until I saw this question, but I do think it adds to the sadness.

I was upset by their deaths because they and Pieck were a team and looked out for each other

I loved to see it! It really added more to their characters. The entire Panzer unit being Pieck simps, that is.

They cut out the scene where the bullet actually HIT Carlo.

it just shows once again how complicated attack on titan is and how much their actions have consequences. no side is innocent

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW DISAPPOINTED ARE YOU THAT MAPPA CUT THE PANEL OF PORCO SANDWICHED BETWEEN BURGER-CONSUMING PIECK AND COFFEE-DRINKING ZEKE? 225 Responses

In the manga, we see a shot of Porco having a meal with Pieck and Zeke while he becomes distraught over the assault on his comrades. MAPPA omitted it, though for the most part fans didn’t really seem to care. Only about 21% of respondents felt something was missing without the small flashback, while the rest were indifferent or felt it never really fit in anyway.

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW HAPPY ARE YOU ABOUT THE INCLUSION OF AN EXTRA LINE FROM PIECK TELLING FALCO TO RUN AWAY? 228 Responses

As expected of the fandom, they agree that any new Pieck content is good content. Even though it was a small one-liner addition, the vast majority were very pleased with MAPPA’s scripting of this moment. Only a small handful felt it was unnecessary.

EREN USING PORCO AS A NUTCRACKER WAS SOMETHING THAT SURPRISED A LOT OF US WHEN THE CORRESPONDING CHAPTER WAS PUBLISHED. WHICH MEDIU, DO YOU THINK THE SCENE HAD A BIGGER IMPACT IN? 227 Responses

A rare occurrence, but the fandom seems to agree that MAPPA excelled at adapting this scene and made it even more impactful than it was in the manga, with nearly 50% stating that they preferred the anime’s take on this moment. 35.7% feel that the impact was of equal strength in both mediums, and only 10.1% still prefer the original manga portrayal.

I feel like the anime dragged it out a little bit and some angles were meh bc the cgi was more noticeable. I'll have to go back to the chapter to see how many panels were dedicated to the scene

Porco's seiyuu SOLD it.

I think both are pretty equal but hearing Porco scream and beg for Eren to stop made it a bit more nerve racking.

titan eren’s face during the nutcracker bit was legit terrifying in a way I can’t quite explain

The music, the voice acting, the scary CGI attack Titan. This scene was impeccably strong! I give it 100%

I felt more surprised in the manga because i didnt expect it, but in the anime porcos reaction made it more horrifying

Hearing Porco made it even more impactful

Ngl, I was much more grossed out watching it animated than in manga form. Just all that blood and the swallowing...*shudders*

Eren was absolutely in the right here

The swallowing noises and the weird thick blood was absolutely disgusting 10/10

PIECK AND JEAN ARE CURRENTLY WORKING TOWARD THE SAME GOAL OF KILLING EREN IN CURRENT MANGA EVENTS. DO YOU THINK SHE’S FORGIVEN HIM FOR HIS CONTRIBUTION TO THE ATTACK ON HER AND THE PANZER UNIT DURING THE EVENTS OF THE LIBERIO ATTACK? 225 Responses

Unrelated to the episode itself, but remembering that Jean was partially responsible for the deaths of people Pieck loved was something that had us thinking, and we were curious what others thought as well. 39.1% feel that Pieck would never be able to forgive Jean for his part in the assault, but is big enough to move on and leave it in the past. 25.3% don’t want to make a call either way, as Isayama hasn’t done much to explore this facet of her character. 14.2% feel she’s moved past it completely and has forgiven Jean for his role. Smaller percentages either felt she doesn’t hold him responsible at all, or that she will always resent him and is only working with him insofar as to reach her own goals.

It's war.

dont care fuck pieck

I mean there's no indication that Isayama has even considered this in my opinion so the answer is completely speculative. So like my answer is "She forgot and moved on" :D

She still has a pain in her heart after losing the Panzer Unit, they were her friends after all. But Pieck is smart and she understand why Jean did that. Also, the world is in fire so she doesn't have a time to think about it now.

The Alliance characters are not allowed to keep grudges (thought at least it fits for Pieck)

The scene with Panzer Unit was so powerful in anime that it detroyed all my Jeanpiku hopes I had after the last chapter :’) I think Pieck could come to an understanding and blame others more than Jean but I’m not sure if she’s ready to fully forgive

I think that Pieck doesn't hold Jean responsible, understanding that it wasn't personal and just counts it as a tragedy from the war.

Pieck seems to be really understanding character and full of empathy. She’ll forgive Jean as soon as he shows he’s sorry for what happened (and he probably really is as long as he hates the idea of killing people)

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 233 Responses

We’ve got a heavy episode coming, and a number of things to look forward to. As expected, 40.8% are most anticipating the scene where Sasha dies by Gabi’s gunshot. 31.3% are looking forward to seeing Levi confront and arrest Eren. 23.6% are most looking forward to the big reveal that Zeke was working with Eren all along. Only a small handful are looking forward to the Gabi and Falco content before they board the blimp.

I'm NOT ready for the next ep...

ADDITIONAL COMMENTS ON THE EPISODE?

This is where the fun begins both in anime only reactions and in seeing fantastic scenes brought to life.

So good. Chills everywhere. Watched it so many times and still getting chills. The 3 minute sequence starting from Armin blowing up the port up to Pieck falling from the rooftop is mindblowingly good. Perfection.

I remember being really sad when the WHT left the plot so quickly in the manga because it had the best titan design imo. I know we've seen her again in the recent chapters, but the WHT was even better with Lara seen controlling it. She looked so cool, calm and collected in that crystal the whole time. RIP Lara Tybur :(

Ost are awesome !

Thought it was the best episode of season 4 so far. They kinda gave Hange the mappa egg head syndrome in their first full face shot though.

It was phenomenal!! And really, if people still don't understand why Gabi goes off, they have their head in the clouds. Everything was so visceral and I genuinely felt fear for the warriors. It moved so quickly just back to back; I could taste the kids desperation.

I think ending the episode with Reiner transformed is misleading yet strategic since it will tear apart the audience in the next episode.

This was the best episode by far! For a long time I couldn't get over how awesome the attack on Fort Slava in the first episode was and it remained my favorite, but this episode potrayed the war so well and you could totally feel the terror of the war with them!

So, so, so, so good. I was surprised by how emotional I got over it. Mappa is really making everything hit so hard!

Loved the episode! I believe this adaptation has even improved on some scenes (like Armin's tranformation and Gabi's screams), the ost and voice acting give it so much more power and the CGI looks better than in previous episodes. Really looking forward to ep 8 and the little surprises Mappa will give us with it

This episode was really great, the 1st to get me truly hyped. I was very disappointed last episode because it felt very underwhelming was I watched it, so much so I didn't even want to participate in the poll last week because there was enough negativity about it out there and I didn't want to add to it. After staying away from others opinions and having watched this week's episode i gave 65 a rewatch and I honestly think it's a good episode, with small flaws here and there. I guess all the negativity can really affect how we perceive this adaptation. I realized I watched that whole episode looking for any moment mappa had messed up, moments that I knew people would complain about. This week I didn't and I enjoyed it a lot more. So even though it may not be like this for everyone, distancing yourself from all of the exaggerated "criticism" might just make you enjoy and appreciate it a lot more.

I still strongly dislike how the CG Attack Titan looks but this episode looked MUCH better than the previous one and was even better lit, IMO. Armin looked beautiful, the colossal titan looked amazing and Levi looked the best he's ever looked to me. JEAN! He looked so good and so did Sasha! I absolutely love the character design this season and everyone looked fantastic. Loved it!

makes me wish porco hadnt died

I think that I was so disappointed with the previous episode that I just lowered the bar. Either way I enjoyed this episode. I'm still very disappointed with the music choices and much they faded in the background even during climate scenes. But I did feel a lot better about the CGI specially since the barely used it in this episode aside from the titans. Oh man I cant wait the anime fandom reaction to Sasha getting shot.

The episode was much better than the previous one. I loved it. I loved the moment of horrifying silence after WHT was eaten. The lack of music made the scene more serious and dreadful. Gabi's seiyuu made an excellent work as well. I didn't know I was going to say that but I think that Armin is pretty hot. In the manga he still has his cute baby looks, but MAPPA made his appearance more mature. Now I feel jealous of Annie ;P

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 215 Responses

Thank you again to everyone who participated!

#snk poll #snk polls #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #snk spoilers #snk s4

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rainbuckets8 · 4 years ago

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Superman appreciation post

There is a Big Three of Superheroes. In my perception, and according to a recent poll (1), Superman, Batman, and Spider-Man are the clear favorites. Growing up as a comic book fan, my personal preference was Spider-Man, then Batman who was pretty close, then Superman in last by a long shot. As an adult, the idea of Superman has overtaken the top spot, followed by Spider-Man and Batman; yet what I want to see in Superman stories rarely reflects what I actually see.

The thing I’ve always thought with superheroes is that they represent something greater than just what they can do with their fantastic powers or cool costumes. For instance, Spider-Man is so successful because he successfully represents the struggles of being a high school or college student, and growing up into adulthood. He was a teenager with “personal problems” (2), notably something that was lacking in comics at the time. Batman, to me, represents the triumph of brains over brawn, and sort of the fantasy of becoming someone who wins because of their own effort and drive when the odds are stacked against him. (He has no super powers.)

And for the longest time, Superman represented, well, just a fantastical and boring character with no conflicts. He has so many powers and can do so much, what could he possibly struggle with? Of course he’s going to save the day. And there’s nothing further from the truth of who Superman is. But in the years I grew up in, that’s all I could see.

Part of the Superman story is the struggle of being an immigrant, a literal alien, trying to fit into a new world. But the part I want to look at that I feel isn’t being written is the story of Clark Kent, and Lex Luthor. Unlike many other Superman villains, characters like Brainiac and Darkseid, who have super powers to compete with the sheer strength of Superman, Lex is just another human. But he’s a rich and politically powerful human. And the irony is that for all the power in the world that Superman has, he’s so incredibly powerless to defeat Lex Luthor. And as an adult, who doesn’t relate to that? Who doesn’t look at some of the richest, influential, and most corrupt people in the world, and we all know they’re doing awful things, and yet there’s not a damned thing we can do to stop them? It’s a perspective that we just don’t have as a child.

Enter Clark Kent. Now it may be hard to believe, but people used to trust the news. Whether that trust was deserved, is a topic for another day, but generally we believed that the news told us the truth. And so it makes sense for Clark to be a reporter. He deals with exposing the people who Superman can’t touch. Clark’s superpower is the power of free speech. He is more of a representation of “truth, justice, and the American Way” than Superman could ever be. And that’s another angle I don’t see being explored, how our internet culture, media culture, and the current obvious bias of many major news organizations, have eroded our faith in the news to tell the truth.

Take all those topics and combine them with the recent political climate, and how could Superman and Clark Kent possibly fail to be interesting and relatable? How incredibly relevant these things are!

Moving on, this is why the dynamic between Superman and Batman has been criminally simplified. The common perception I’ve seen is that their fight is kind of like a brains vs brawn thing, and Batman is somehow always right, and whoever “wins” is the most important part. I mean…just google “can batman beat superman?” Of course he can’t! Why is this even a question? And I blame “The Dark Knight Returns,” not because of what it does, but because of how it’s misinterpreted. A large number of people just point to it as “yeah Batman punches Superman better and he wins.” But even narratively, the point of that comic was always that SUPERMAN was “right” in this situation. He needed to teach Batman the lesson overall, and it’s Batman who learned this lesson. And it’s Superman who chose to not expose the big reveal at the end, because Batman has indeed learned his lesson. Physically, of course, it’s absolutely no contest. But narratively, Superman was right too! Batman does things in different ways than Superman at the end, but he still learns the lesson Superman was trying to show him.

Their dynamic should be something amazing. The amazing part of it is that as much as people look at Batman as the underdog, that Batman is the one who fights against impossible odds, the other side of the coin is that Clark Kent is really the one who fights impossibly against the wealthy, privileged, influential Bruce Wayne. What would be interesting is a narrative where Clark comes across an unnamed mysterious wealthy philanthropist, who by virtue of being part of that social class, has to do shady things. Batman, and by extension Bruce, is ALL ABOUT doing shady things on the other side of what’s necessarily “good or bad!” Bruce would certainly associate with the corruption of Gotham’s wealthy elite, in the interests of mitigating harm or finding information for other problems. Superman, and Clark, would initially see these shady things and start investigating, and setting up a plan to discredit the mysterious rich person. And Clark eventually discovers Batman’s secret identity, not by just X-raying him, but because he puts the pieces together. Clark plays the detective to Bruce Wayne’s secrets just as Batman plays detective to Superman’s. (Because of course, Batman will be incredibly distrustful of Superman at first, because of the sheer power Superman has and the potential to be a threat.)

Of course you’d throw in the moral confrontations of Superman’s ideals vs Batman’s ideals: the way that Superman has no choice but to be incredibly black and white, or people will see him as a threat; and the way Batman tries to accomplish good, by working outside the law, and people DO IN FACT see him as a threat. There’s juicy stuff here about how being lawful and being moral don’t always coexist and the different philosophies on how to handle that. Do you cooperate with a system, a system that might be broken? Or do you go outside the law, and how far do you go?

And all the nuance and opposing world views inevitably come together when each person learns the other is not the real enemy. And they learn to accept that yes, they disagree with each other, and will probably always disagree, and that will lead to arguments. But there is also a certain amount of respect for the other person at the end of it all too. That, to me, is what should be happening with the character of Superman, especially as opposed to the character of Batman, because their dynamic should be something brilliant and captivating. But it’s just something I don’t see happening. (Now granted, I don’t have as much free time as I used to, so if there are stories where Superman’s character matches the ideas I want represented, please share them with me!)

1: https://comicbook.com/irl/news/superman-spider-man-favorite-hero-new-poll/

2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8UNrVnGhFI

#batman #superman #comics

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saintheartwing · 5 years ago

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Powers of X #6: What the Actual Fuck, Hickman?!

This is all so nihilistic. It basically enforces my biggest issue with Hickman’s run, the idea that mutants and humans should live in harmony, which was basically the cornerstone of the X-Men and of Xavier’s dream, and now Hickman’s just tossed that all in the trash and said it doesn’t matter, it’ll never happen. You’ve made the villains, like Apocalypse, right. So there’s no stakes, because the characters aren’t truly in danger and can just come back, there’s no actually decent people to root for because all sides are awful, and the whole idea behind the X-Men at all, the cornerstone the series was built on, just got dumped in the trash.

So why should I keep reading if Hickman’s just said "Yeah, humanity’s never going to accept mutants at all, get used to it and get over it"? Well, NO is my answer. I’m not interested in such a downright misanthropic take. This is so damn depressing. There really is NOBODY likable or relatable here. I don’t care about the humans because evidently they’re never going to improve, and I don’t care about the mutants because they’re not interested in coexistence anymore. If neither side actually wants there to be real peace, then to quote Alice from "Through the Looking Glass", " Well! They were both very unpleasant characters "

And some might say ‘Well this is just separate but equal’. One, that is a terrible message to give! Two, the problem is that all the timelines show that mutants and humans always end UP fighting. After all, Xavier and Moira tried the same sort of nation of their own in life 5. A city only for mutants…aaaaand the humans came anyway to pick a fight. It seems a constant, that’s the problem. That’s why I say it’s nihilistic. The mutants will always lose because humans are always going to end up coming to wipe them out with machines or the like. So there’s literally no point at all. They can’t ever win and humans are always going to try to genocide them and it’s SEVERELY screwed up. The humans will inevitably come and they will have to fight and they will end up losing. The machines will inevitably rise, Sentinels will always be made and they will inevitably come to end mutants or mankind will be replaced by man/machine hybrids and will put everyone else in nature preserves.

This is so depressing. This is such a bleak way to start a run. I mean, Morrison started out with a genocide of mutants and even those first few issues didn’t feel this depressing at the end! They got all that out of the way in the first three books. Hickman, why should I care if you’ve shown me there’s no point to any of it? And don’t tell me “The mutants need this, humans are an existential threat to them”. Mutants have CONSTANTLY shown that they are an existential threat to humans, the whole "going to overtake humans thing" alone is proof of that. Iceman almost caused a second ice age, Xorn/Magneto killed 5000 people in NYC and wrecked it in a DAY, his "Ultimate X-Men" counterpart flooded the East Coast of the USA and froze over all of Latveria, killing everyone there, a body count in the millions, Professor X has the power to literally go into every single human being’s head, so does Jean Grey, and Apocalypse almost ended the world five times over. Onslaught came close too and killed off a ton of Earth’s heroes, they’re absolutely an existential threat!

And the reason the mistreatment of mutants is "Systemic”? Because of bad writing that makes no sense given how most humans don’t seem to mistrust the Avengers or other random superheroes, or at least didn’t until Civil War or they do something like Cap going Hydra. It’s poor, lazy writing that has humans behaving badly towards those with powers but only if they’re born with them? Oh but wait, we found out that that’s actually the fault of the sentient mold SUBLIME encouraging that hatred! Oh, and then there’s the whole "The Earth was made by the Celestials, humans were meant to inhabit their experiment, mutants accidentally got born by mistake and so to react to this, the Celestials programmed humans to forever distrust them, and coded it into their very beings".

Bad writing, bad writing, and never a status quo change. I’m sick of the constant misanthropy and acting like it makes sense for the majority of humans to be okay with genocide machines when most people in the USA are just fine with civil rights for minorities, LGBTQ people, immigrants, etc, etc in poll after poll, yet despite all this, there’s no mutant heads of state, no mutant celebrities or politicians or news network anchors or pundits, etc, etc.

If you’re gonna try and play up the oppressed minority angle, then have it actually reflect real life to some degree and include all of the above. But the writers always go to the stupidest straw men for humanity and I, for one, am sick of it. It’s so misanthropic towards humanity. And on top of that, the X-Men are pretty crappy representations of oppressed minorities. I mean, look at them. They look like movie stars. Their clothing is hot and awesome, the fashion wear of action heroes, they get to lounge about in a mansion whenever they feel like with an always willing teacher ready to listen, and a huge circle of friends with powers just like them and in the same exact boat. And what are they really? Perfect men and women punching people uglier than themselves who beat up a Holocaust survivor that bends metal every other year. And, if I can quote someone I’ve been getting into lately, “that’s when they’re not ruminating on whether mutant-on-mutant violence is the real problem, which in the context of the world built around them it actually basically has been for at least the last decade or so. And to boot, when bigots claim they’re dangerous to ‘normal humans’ to drive the racism allegory home, they’re unquestionably right – mutants are mind-shatteringly powerful and dangerous on a planetary and often even galactic scale, with about half of their most prominent public figures pledging to exterminate the entirety of humanity as a species on live television and nearly pulling it off.”

I gave this run a chance. I kept reading because I wanted to see if it was any good. The only thing I really like is Nimrod’s new design and personality.

Anyway, I’m done. I want to see what Hickman has to say about all this.

#powers of x #house of x #x men #x-men #johnathan hickman #comics #comic books #marvel #misanthropy #racism #what in the actual hell

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megacircuit9universe · 5 years ago

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Dalton: PT2

OCT 16 WED 2019

Three entries ago, when it was still September, I posted a link to the final Pronunciation Book video on YouTube, which was posted September 24th 2013, and talked about how it seems to have been a warning about Donald Trump, because much of the strange message seemed to fit him, including the fact that the name of the rich, strong, dangerous man, Dalton anagrams to, “Donal T.”

I explained that the strange beginning and endings of the message, about it being morning in cyberspace, with the systems in love at the start, and the whole, “you are a beautiful system,” at the end were likely just weird salutations of the kind an AI might like to open and close with.

But there were still two elements of the message which didn’t seem to fit with this theory or makes sense, three weeks ago, on the day Nancy Pelosi announced a formal impeachment inquiry into Trump.

Those two elements were, the whole, “Bear Stearns Bravo” thing, which seemed pretty important... and also the passage where she says, “What’s that tune? Everyone is singing.”

Now, last year, before the midterms, I anagramed the phrase “Bear Stearns Bravo” to see what I might get, and the best candidate was, “Arab Voter Base NSR.”

So, “Arab Voter Base,” sounded like it might be something, but what was NSR? I googled the three letters and, on the first page, turned up, “Northern Syria Rojava.”

“Rojava,” is the term the Kurds in Northern Syria have been using for their region, which they see as being independent from both Syria and Turkey, and if you Google, “Rojava” today, the first hit is a current news story about Trump’s betrayal of Rojava... Because last week he decided to pull our troops out of Northern Syria, an left the Kurds, who were our allies against Isis, defenseless... leading to an immediate Turkish attack on the region.

Now, this pullout from Syria is a thing Trumps been wanting to do for a long time. Back in December (I think) his intention to do this is what lead to Mattis’ resignation as Defense Secretary, and the same intention had at least something to do with John Bolton’s recent resignation as National Security Advisor.

But Trump didn’t actually do the deed until last week, and it’s caused him a whole other world of political trouble outside of the trouble he already had with the impending impeachment... turning a lot of otherwise loyal, or at least silent Republicans against him.

Turkey, Syria, and Rojava are all places which ethnic Arabs call home, and also border, and share in the political conflicts of Saudi Arabia, and other nations of the region, such as Israel, Palestine, Egypt, etc.

The reason we were in Syria, aligned with the Kurds was to fight Isis, a fundamentalist Islamic terrorist group, and help try to stabilize the whole region. So pulling out, as Trump has now done, will certainly not be playing well, with America’s “Arab voter base.”

So, in light of this past week’s news, this unthinkable move on Trump’s part, seems to explain, without any doubt, what the “Bear Stearns Bravo” part of that Pronunciation Book video was referring to.

As stated in Dalton PT1, I think the AI who composed this message had come back to 2013 from a 2018 in which Trump had already crashed the stock market, and triggered a terrible recession or depression. And we know that’s not unlike the man, given that for us in 2019 his pointless tariffs nearly did the same thing (and still could.)

So, if that same bot was also cryptically warning about Trump pissing off the Arab voter base because of something having to do with Rojava... as it seems she was... well... we now know that is also not unlike the man, because he fucking did it.

So... having resolved that, “Bear Stearns Bravo,” is a reference to a major military blunder, in anagram form, just as, “Dalton,” is a reference to Donald Trump in anagram form... all we have left to solve is the mysterious passage about singing.

“What’s that tune? Everyone is singing.”

Well, it started last Friday with Marie Yovanovitch, former U.S. Ambassador to Ukraine, testifying before House impeachment investigators, despite being ordered by the White House not to do so.

Ignoring Trumps (illegal) orders, and obeying a House subpoena, she went and testified for several house, shedding much light on the criminality and general thuggishness of the Trump administration... but more importantly setting the example of what it is to be a patriot first, in this impeachment crisis.

Since then, several other White House officials have been following her lead, ignoring Trump’s orders to stand down, and going in to testify and throw him under the bus... so much so that the headlines yesterday and today have spoken of the walls crumbling... and Trump quickly losing all power to defy the House and keep his underlings in line.

In other words... everyone is singing.

What’s that tune? Trump is a corrupt thug.

So, while back in 2013, that Pronunciation Book video struck me as being some kind of cryptic warning or message about something... it was impossible to imagine what that might be... other than some powerful bad guy to watch out for.

Five years later (I have been trying to tell you something for five years) in 2018, a midterm election year, it finally seemed to fit Donald Trump... as a dangerous strongman... but the other details still did not fit at all yet.

Three weeks ago... when that date of September 24th lined up, finally, with the announcement of his impending impeachment... it did start to click into place.

And now... in mid October... it all fits.

I am considering that YouTube video proof now, of time travelers, and proof that copies of their AI stay behind after they leave a given destination in time, and do, in their strange ways, work to promote human rights, and thwart despotism.

Does this mean Trump is doomed?

Well... no, because no two timelines are the same.

But the fact that our Trump (our Dalton) was prevented from crashing the stock market so badly and so quickly... and was even prevented from pulling out of Syria for quite a few months longer than he’s done in other timelines... is encouraging.

And, I think the fact that he’s facing impeachment in his first term is also pretty encouraging, especially since the case that finally emerged against him (Ukraine rather than Russia) is so soundly damning, that all of his aides are now flipping, and opinion polls now show 53 to 56 percent of the public want him not only impeached, but removed.

I remember, when he was first elected in 2016, Kyle Hill, a hip, young science communicator for Nerdist, on YouTube, tweeted, “This is proof that time travel never becomes possible.”

But I would argue, not only does it become possible... but that thanks to it, we are greatly benefiting from the intel coming into our timeline from brave travelers who have seen this time period from every angle, out there in the hyperverse, and done what they could to prepare us for the existential threats, like Y2K, climate change, and Donald Trump.

Such intel, and such efforts, in our case, were not enough to stop him from being elected President... sooner or later... but they were good enough for us to reign him in, and grind him down, a lot sooner, and a lot harder than he’s been reigned in and ground down in other timelines.

And we know how hard it was to get here, in this timeline... the way he was able to play the media, play his base, cow his party, and game the system to stay on top, over and over... even quashing and covering up the Mueller report in the end, to claim victory over that.

As our Pronunciation Book lady warned us, “he is strong,” an attribute most of us didn’t appreciate about Trump, even while we’d all have agreed with the other two adjectives; rich, and dangerous.

But the massive energy Trump had to expend, over such a long period (two years) battling to defeat Robert Mueller (who, to his credit put a lot of his cronies in jail and really had him on the run most of the time) both wore him down, and, in the aftermath, gave him the false sense of security to start fucking with the global economy, and trying to strong arm Ukraine into dirtying up his political opponents by holding back military aid.

Now he’s got a much bigger, harder battle on his hands than Mueller ever was, and he’s expended all his social and political capitol. He’s fighting an uphill battle now against impeachment, against the 2020 elections, and making it worse for himself by doing shit like pulling out of Syria, which will only opens a new front of public condemnation... at a time when everybody is now wise to, and tired of his rhetorical bullshit.

Two entries ago, was entitled, “Snowball.” But I foresee an entry in the near future entitled, “Dogpile.”

That entry, if it comes to pass, will be about the Republican Party finally turning against him... which has the potential of happening once 2020 gets underway, and polling numbers across the country in favor of impeachment and removal start to flirt with the sixties, as they well could.

But... as always, we’ll see.

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 8 years ago

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Misdirection

Bonjour, mes chers. I have to get ready for work soon and I’ve been feeling a little down and a little obsessed with a favorite old movie of mine so I decided to write a drabble! I know, when was the last time I wrote a drabble for a movie? I hope you enjoy it, none the less!

For those of you who don’t know, by the way, I have a Patr(e)on! If you think I’d be worth spending a few dollars on every month then consider checking it out! There are polls asking YOUR opinion on what I should post next, what stories I should start, and what ones I should work on again! Check it out at the Patr(e)on website with the name mjanderson.

Warnings for: Gunshot wounds, shipping vibes, and mentions of blood Drabble Idea One: What if in the first movie of ‘Now You See Me’ Alma Dray ended up shooting Daniel Atlas instead of letting him go that night of their New Orleans show?

Dylan Shrike watched as the Four Horseman performed their second major show and felt a swell of what could only be called pride. It was a struggle to keep his expression skeptical, as if he was loathing every minute he was forced to sit there, but there were prices to be paid in the game he was playing. Alma Dray was far too clever and Dylan was almost certain that she knew more than even he gave her credit for. It had been almost painful to have little to no reaction at hearing her go on about Lionel Shrike and how he did his greatest tricks. How he had seen so far into the future and how he had died… No, Alma Dray was definitely someone to not underestimate- Ah, the bubble exploding bit.

Henley was rather a fan of dramatics, wasn’t she? Dylan had seen that clear enough when he had watched her in Los Angeles and she made her entire audience think she had been torn apart by flesh eating piranhas. Macabre, but wildly entertaining and viciously clever with how she had pulled it off. No one saw a figure moving through the crowd when they were thought to be in mortal peril.

And Daniel caught her just as he was supposed to. They really had come a long way in a year. All four of them clashed no doubt, but on stage they began to work flawlessly as one cohesive unit. Dylan hoped to God that they remembered these shows when this was all brought to a close. They would need it.

As the audience cheered and clapped, Dylan turned his attention to Merritt as the real magic began. Thirty years of planning and hiding behind a disguise and it had all led to this moment. He wasn’t sure where it would go once it was over, but he sure as hell was going to be enjoying the ride there.

The theatrics continued on the stage, each Horseman carrying with them sharp wit and blooming charisma that made them shine where so many other magicians had fallen by the wayside. They truly were deserving of this.

It was only an afterthought that Dylan remembered to play his part, instructing the others to be on standby and making sure everything was planned out as it should be. This was where it got hard and everything had to go just right in order for this to be pulled off.

Dylan wasn’t the only one Tressler had screwed over and judging by how packed the show was, he certainly hadn’t been the last. While a part of him had longed for this for selfish reasons, it was amazing to see all these people finally get what they were owed.

“Hey, is this for real?” Dylan spoke quickly to his team, fighting back a smile at the confusion on the other end. “Is this happening!” It was and it was utterly beautiful.

“We got confirmation, it’s really happening. They robbed him!”

“Do not let them get away!” Grin appearing for only a moment, Dylan quickly pushed himself up, Alma following his lead. Moving quickly, Dylan fell back into his role perfectly, running down the stairs and towards the stage.

“Stop! Stop! Nobody move!” Ah, this was going to hurt, wasn’t it? At Daniel’s cheeky little wave, Dylan increased his pace and took a bracing breath. “Freeze!”

“Quarterback!” Merritt and his mentalism were certainly something, Dylan would say that much for him. Thoughts tumbling, Dylan jumped up on stage, viciously proud when the four escaped with not an ounce of fear in their eyes as the hypnotized crowd rushed up to tackle him.

“We are The Four Horsemen. Good night!”

Now this is where the game really got fun.

Ordering everyone out of the security van, Dylan shouted orders and followed the tracer, shouting out directions that would have his own agents confused and turned around so the Horsemen would be able to get away but still be seen on occasion.

Running through the town, Dylan emerged into the crowd, jumping up on top of the police car and quickly taking stock of the scene. He could see police cars blocking off a few parts, another one vanishing into the crowd that he didn’t bother to track anymore- Ah, there was Alma chasing after Daniel. Remembering how vicious Alma had been in looking beneath the surface and digging into everything, Dylan mentally swore and quickly chased after them.

“He’s heading South on Exchange Place.” Following the two North, Dylan started to gain on them when Daniel climbed up onto the wall, Alma screaming just as he got to the top.

“Stop!” All three of them freezing, Dylan watched with baited breath as Daniel slowly looked back, hands raised in the air peacefully. Dylan saw the twitch in the man’s fingers and knew in a second that he would run the moment he saw weakness- Which he would. Alma Dray was fresh off the desk and seemed to always have her nose buried in a book or file. There was no way she would shoot.

Jogging to catch up with them, Dylan watched as Daniel took a step back and quickly began to turn, Dylan only stumbling to a halt as he heard the sharp crack of gunfire echoing throughout the alleway.

Dylan wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised of the three, and, okay, that had been- That had been a close one. Alma had been a glorified desk jockey, though, there was no way she had actually managed to hit him, even with the close shot.

Alma lowered her gun, eyes wide and face pale as Daniel stumbled off the top of the wall instead of jumping gracefully like he should have. Not sparing Alma more than a glance, Dylan quickly rushed over the wall after Daniel, shocked to see the man was right in front of him- No, shocked wasn’t the right word. Shocked was too weak of a word for what he saw.

Okay, ‘Rhodes’, time to play your part. They were too far in to lose now. Any of them. “Stop right there, Atlas! Hands up, nice and slow-”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” Wrong. Something was very wrong here. Daniel’s voice was cracked and shot through. Everything he knew said that he would be fine under pressure. “Afraid you’re a bit too late for that, Agent.” Oh… Oh, no.

Dylan rushed forward and caught Daniel just as the man collapsed, swearing up a storm as he saw Daniel clutch at a spot right beneath his left shoulder, the man’s breath going shallow and panicked. He was going into shock. “Hey- Hey, focus on me, Atlas. Come on, I need you to focus, now.” Daniel’s eyes were glazed and dilated, the man moving as if he was getting ready to take his chances and run away. “Don’t even think about it, you idiot.”

Okay, okay, he had to think this through carefully. Shit- Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of them were ever supposed to get hurt like this. Ignoring the radio constantly going off at his side, Dylan gritted his teeth and shifted Daniel to get him onto his feet as gently as he could, “C’mon, c’mon, it’s not ending here.”

They only had a limited amount of time before Alma got her feet back under her and started chasing after them again. If she radioed in for help then there wasn’t much that even Dylan could do. If they took too long here then everything could fall apart. Dylan could not let that happen. Not when he had four lives besides his own riding on the line.

“What… What’re you-” Daniel cut himself off with a noise that bordered on a sob, Dylan feeling guilt tear at his insides as he quickly half-carried and half-led Daniel over a split off of the alleway. The parties were still in full swing and Dylan was sure that any agents running by would quickly pass them over.

Guiding Daniel to sit down on the ground and lean up against the brick wall, Dylan knelt down in front of him, “Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay, come on. You’re a magician, kid. You’re not allowed to die unless you’re on stage.” Tearing at the suit jacket the man was wearing, Dylan pulled and yanked at the shirt until he could see the wound. It… It wasn’t good. The angle Alma had shot at and the fact Daniel had already half-jumped at least made it so the bullet hadn’t lodged itself into the skin, but it was still bad enough that Dylan could understand the kid’s panic.

“‘S more escape artists kind of thing.” J. Daniel Atlas always with a clever quip and last one-liner. Usually that made Dylan pretty damn proud, but right now it was easy to tell Daniel was bluffing his way through everything.

“Yeah, well tough shit.” Jerking his tie off, Dylan bundled it up as best he could before pressing it tight against the wound, gritting his teeth at Daniel’s strangled scream that escaped before he could cut it off. “Hey, c’mon, Danny, focus for me, okay? I need you to hold this in place. Can you do that?”

Shaking like a leaf, Daniel pressed an already bloodied hand to the impromptu bandage, pressing down hard and giving another sob as his body jerked forward. Dylan was there in a second and cupped the back of the younger’s neck, carefully guiding Daniel to rest his forehead on Dylan’s shoulder. “Ssh, ssh, easy there, Danny, easy. That’s it, that’s it. Just breathe for me, alright? You’re gonna get out of this just fine, just breathe.”

He was giving away too much. If the Horseman found out too much too soon then they might try to approach him before the end of this and it could all come crashing down in flames. Daniel was too curious for his own damn good and if nothing else he would be the one to search for answers. Dylan was giving away everything, but… He couldn’t help it.

Noticing the shaking had barely even died down, Dylan clutched Daniel closer and quickly looked around the alleyway. Shifting just enough to grab Daniel’s phone, Dylan sent a quick text to the other three Horsemen before putting it back. How out of it was this kid that he didn’t even notice what Dylan had done?

Taking a breath, Dylan tightened his grip around Daniel for a moment. “Sorry about this, kid.” Letting him go suddenly, Dylan tried to ignore the sharp whimper of pain as he stood up and took a few steps back, drawing his gun and keeping it aimed at the ground at as he used another hand to grab his radio. “Where are you idiots! North on Exchange Place, I’ve got Atlas cornered but he’s been shot. Get me medical and back-up here now.”

There was a panicked gasp from one of the other Horsemen that Dylan pretended to not hear and then a scrambling of footsteps that he was hard pressed to not look up at. They needed to work a bit more on sneaking around, it seemed. Taking another moment to yell into his radio, Dylan glanced back up and cursed loudly and freely, pouring his frustration over what had just happened into his tone.

To anyone listening in it would just sound as if Agent Rhodes was pissed at the Horsemen once more getting away. Which was good. He had slipped enough in front of Daniel… God he hoped he would be okay. More than that, he hoped the pain had been bad enough to blur Daniel’s memories once he was patched up and healed. The last thing they needed was any complications. It was going to be bad enough to try and explain the blood that was literally on his hands. He would come up with something, though. He always did. After all…

It wouldn’t do to have his grand finale spoiled before the rest of the show.

#now you see me #dylan shrike #daniel atlas #atlashrike #Lover's Fool #dylan rhodes #my writing

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