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liujinhee · 3 years ago

Text

[ Kyuhyun/Reader ]

plotting an us (working title)

Word Count: 2,622

Summary: Art student y/n, theatre student Kyuhyun one shot

Uh, so this was supposed to be a y/n fic, but I think I gave the character so much personality that they qualify better as an OC? Haha... im sorry guys :')

There was little use in trying to reason with yourself why you travel two hours every weekend to the Penguin Ice cafe. Cafe menus were unreasonably expensive, and Penguin Ice was located in the heart of the city, where the population was far too saturated for your liking.

Then you hear the familiar voice saying the words Welcome to Penguin Ice cafe, and you know you'll be coming back next weekend regardless.

You walk straight up to the counter—even if you had a crush on one of the part timers, it didn't mean your judgement was clouded enough that you'd drop by during rush hour just to see him. At 4pm, the cafe was quiet, a few patrons scattered in different corners.

When Kyuhyun's gaze falls on you, his professional smile softens into one you now recognize as warm. “Single scoop of matcha and vanilla with sprinkled topping, having here?”

“Got it in one.” You return the smile, hoping it isn't too wide. The way your feelings tend to write themselves on your facial features has never done more good than harm thus far. Digging into your pocket, you hand him the bill; never the exact amount, if only for the selfish reason of wanting him to drop the change onto your open palm.

And he does. “Here's your change,” Kyuhyun sings in that merry tune you know by heart.

“Someone's in a good mood.”

He makes a show of scanning the bar, which currently only has him manning it, before leaning forward. He's not close enough that you feel his breath, but still close enough that your heart rate picks up as he tells you in a hushed whisper that fails to contain his glee, “It's payday.”

You snort at that, even though you already had your suspicions. Kyuhyun simply gives you a cheeky grin and wags his brows, seemingly pleased to have shared that little tidbit. Your hand twitches with the instinct to reach out and ruffle his hair, something you're not quite able to do to someone you can barely call an acquaintance. So you settle for a Congratulations, to which he bows dramatically, My heartfelt thanks, before twirling away to prepare your order.

He may be majoring in theatre, you think. Or at the very least, hold an interest in it. It's not the first time the two of you have exchanged words in such a manner, nor do you believe it'd be the last. As you watch him drop a generous scoop of ice cream into a cup, you wonder if you should ask him today. Something like, What school are you from? What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Do you want to catch the next musical that comes?

But they all feel like questions that'd make your existing dynamic awkward. In a way, you already consider Kyuhyun a friend, despite not knowing anything about him other than his name, which you got from his name tag, and that he only works on weekends, which is written on their blackboard under the Shifts section.

Once again, you spend too much time overthinking, and your order is ready before you come to a decision, Kyuhyun extending the cup to you with a gentle hum. Your mumble of thanks matches the tone of his hum, and your feet bring you to your usual seat, empty as it always is. Customers aren't the biggest fans of seats by the entrance, after all; the constant opening and closing of the door can get annoying. It doesn't bother you, however. As much as you dislike crowds, you find comfort in the buzzing of human activity.

And, well, if the seat provides you a good view of the bar where Kyuhyun busies himself with cleaning up, that's just a really big bonus. Once you're satisfied with the angle of your chair, you bring out your pencil and sketchbook, flip to a fresh page, and begin sketching.

It's not always Kyuhyun. Scenery fascinates you, and you've long since lost count of the cityscape, the parks, the rivers that you've drawn from memory and imagination. But it's always when the imagination starts that Kyuhyun joins, somehow making his way into the scenery.

This time, you’ve sketched him barefoot by the beach, laughing as he splashes seawater up a silhouette with his foot. It’s an imagery that comes easily to you; Kyuhyun with his friends out having fun together. He seems like the type of person who is able to get along with everyone, and you're near certain he is.

You scribble down the date and your signature like you do on every piece of art, leaving out your name. The ripping of the page is quiet, barely audible over the music; the edges of the paper imperfect, but they always are.

As you rest the paper under the now empty cup, you can't help but imagine how Kyuhyun would react to the sketch this week. He hasn't shared his thoughts on your sketches since that first time nearly three months ago, when you'd come to Penguin Ice with your friends for a birthday celebration.

I like the way you sketch, Kyuhyun had told you as he served the tray of sundaes ordered by your table. Art student?

Yeah, you'd answered after a moment of shock, watching how the man's eye was trained on the lines of your sketch. Understanding that it was genuine praise. Your eyes had fallen to his askewed name tag, committing his name to memory. And, um, thanks. He'd tipped his head in acknowledgement, set down your orders, and returned to his post.

Looking back, it might've seemed like nothing. But to the you back then who had been dealing with self doubt, the words of a stranger had been everything you needed to hear and more. While your friends chit chatted and ate, you'd done up a quick sketch of the cafe, and left it on the table with a short thank you note addressed to Cho Kyuhyun.

The next time you'd come, it had been because another friend was curious after seeing your post about the cafe before. Even then it had been Kyuhyun who took one look at you and went, Ah, the art student! Right? The memory of that moment still makes you chuckle now. It's in his recognition that Kyuhyun started becoming more than a part timer at a cafe in the city for you.

Now, as you wait for Kyuhyun to turn away and busy himself with cleaning before sneaking out of the cafe like a protagonist in a cliche romance drama, you wonder if this plot will ever advance, or if this is but a draft that will not live to see a happy ending.

It doesn't really serve as a surprise when you come across Kyuhyun at a local arts festival you are a participant of. You've thought about it, the what if. What does surprise you, is how you come across him.

There's an event pamphlet, of course, but you're also not the type of person who focuses on details like the musical cast names. It's not like any of them would ring a bell, since they're students. Except one of them does. You don't connect the dots at first, too tired from hours of live sketch after live sketch for customers. Then you hear it, his My heartfelt thanks, and the thought is formed.

Can it be? You reach into your back pocket for the pamphlet and flip to the musical lineup for today. Sure enough, printed in bold is the name Cho Kyuhyun along with a photo of him. Gods, does he look cute in casual wear. You're staring hard at his photo when he rips your attention back to him with his vocals.

While you wouldn't go as far as to call yourself a theatre enthusiast, it's not like you haven't been to musicals. You have, and you enjoy them when you do. Paid hundreds of bucks for a good three straight hour sitting of a show that'd live in your memories for decades to come. And when Kyuhyun sings, goosebumps rising along your arm midway through the first line, you know that's the kind of level he'd belong on in the near future. That's how good he is.

You're in awe, then you're in wonder, and then maybe, just maybe, you're falling in love with the theatre student and part time ice cream man Cho Kyuhyun. The sudden realisation startles you, but you accept it just as quickly. Little as you may know, it's enough for you to have developed feelings for him, and you feel it growing stronger every passing second in your mind. Your fingers itch with the need to capture this moment forever in the form of a painting.

Then the musical comes to an end, the cast coming together, hands joined as they bow their thanks while the audience reciprocates with thundering applause. Your eyes are still on Kyuhyun as the curtain falls, but you're certain he hasn't seen you in the dark. Nor would he know or have reason to be looking out for you.

You're out the moment you're able, zigzagging through the night crowd back to your post in a rush. It's not that you're late to return, nor will your neighbor mind even if you were. You simply need to pick up a pencil right now and bring to life the visuals buzzing in your head. It's been a while since you've felt this adrenaline rush under your skin.

This is going to be a masterpiece.

You drown yourself in the canvas, skipping your weekly visit to the Penguin Ice cafe for the first time. There's only one reason for it: you don't want to override the memory of seeing Kyuhyun on the stage. A side you've never seen before, a temporary skin he wears so well one may be fooled into thinking it is his own.

There's a moment when you wonder if you'll ever finish the painting—each time you think you're quite about done, the paint setting for the last time, there's something new to add or to revise. You want to make it perfect, but in art, nothing ever is. Still, it is through willpower that you drop the brush for good, stepping back to take a good look at your painting.

It's… well, there’s no other way to say it: it's the man you saw on stage that night. It’s as close to what you wanted to express as you think it can get. The desire, the urge to convey your admiration for Kyuhyun grows overwhelming, and you rush to hold down on the power button of your phone. It’s 7:12pm on a Sunday. Which means there’s a good chance Kyuhyun will be there. They close at 10pm on weekends… can you make it?

It's worth the risk, you decide. You've got to be stupid at least once in your life (or many, but that's not how the saying goes, see). You wrap up the canvas carefully, yelling to your parents that they don't need to buy your share for dinner later, and rush out the second you feel presentable enough for public appearances.

Kyuhyun stares at you unblinking, and you do the same. It's easy to get lost in the reflection you see in them—and he blinks, light returning to his eyes.

“Hey,” he greets, but behind it you sense the question.

“Hey,” you return between pants.

“We're closing,” he says slowly, as if you can't tell from the flipped chairs and cluttering of washed utensils, “But if you're okay with on the go, I can bring out the tubs.”

You shake your head wildly before Kyuhyun can go grab said tubs. “That's not why I'm here.”

When you don't elaborate, he nods once and prompts, “Okay… So you're here to…”

“Pass you something. I can wait till you're off work. If you don't mind, I mean.” You're babbling, and you just know your face is a deep shade of red from nerves and embarrassment. To his credit, Kyuhyun doesn't judge despite his wrinkled brows, and gestures in the direction of your usual seat. So that's where you head. And you wait, your mind too crowded and thoughts so jumbled that you blank out until someone taps you on the shoulder.

“I'm done here,” he says, but now your brain short-circuits for a different reason. Kyuhyun in a plain t-shirt and shorts with a bag slinging across one shoulder shouldn't be anything worth ogling over, but it is. Even more so than the photo you'd seen on the pamphlet. You struggle to remember how to string words together and give him an answer, digging into your backpack for the thing you're here to hand him but can't quite remember what.

Then your fingers brush against the cloth holding your canvas, and you're reminded of your purpose. Right. With your heart slamming against your chest, you carefully pull out the painting you spent a week on, all while watching for any changes in Kyuhyun's expression. He has that cute frown that suggests he's confused, and you bite back a smile as you extend the canvas in an offering.

“For me?”

The laugh breaks free from you as he accepts it with a cautiousness you've never seen. “

“Is there… something here?” He wonders aloud, gesturing between the two of you. His question is innocent enough, but then you see the way he's nibbling on his lower lip, the way he's peeking at you from under his long lashes—why are they so long anyway, you briefly wonder.

“An empty space,” you quirk, still somewhat afraid to take the leap, but unwilling to leave his question hanging in the air.

Kyuhyun is instantly right by your side, the sleeves of your t-shirts brushing against each other, his body heat radiating off him this close. You feel yourself stiffen before you relax, easily growing used to this new lack of distance.

“So that's fixed,” Kyuhyun says after four beats of silence. “Anything else?”

“Hmm,” you hum to stall time as you think of other quirky answers to give, but it seems that isn't something Kyuhyun is willing to take a second time. His steps grow wider as he makes to stand in your way, forcing you to look up at him. He isn't exactly tall per say, perhaps a 1.8, but you're simply leaning toward the other end of the spectrum.

“Hey.”

He smiles, small and shy and hopeful. “It'd be really embarrassing if I'm reading this wrong, but are you interested in me the same way I'm interested in you?”

And now it's you who's worrying your lower lip, question after question clogging up your mind about all the things you can say that will ruin any possibility of the two of you—Then you look at Kyuhyun again, and realise the man’s likely feeling the same, to some extent.

Licking your dry lips, you decide to go for it. “If by that you mean—” you swallow before you're sent into a coughing fit because of your salivary glands, “—The I want to hold your hand on a date kind of interested… then yes.”

“Who said anything about dating?” he teases, and before your brain even registers the words for you to feel disappointed, he continues, “I think we should start with self introductions first, shouldn't we? After all, I still don't know your name.”

“Okay then.” Kyuhyun clears his throat, his posture tall and grand before he gives a graceful bow, hand extended. “Would you do me the honor of exploring the potentials in this budding relationship?”

It seems like the plot is moving forward, after all.

#sj #sjlong #kyuder #sjau

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afoolforatook · 4 years ago

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On fandom and tragic romance tropes, from someone who's lived it.

Okay, this is kind of…. Idk a very specific vent and tbh one I feel kinda bad about because I genuinely don’t want to make people feel bad for liking reading/writing romantic angst or tragedy and it’s really less of an individual issue than an overall attitude in fandom.

Like, it’s absolutely okay to like not happy endings, and angst doesn’t have to just be for cathartic relief. Angst isn’t only acceptable if it’s to process trauma, you’re allowed to like it just because that’s your taste.

But at the same time…. I can’t help but have very personal feelings about how a lot of fandom spaces treat tragic romance tropes…

(this got really long but... it's something I've wanted to address for a long time)

I'm far from secretive with the fact that when I was 20, my girlfriend Emma (19) was killed in a car crash, along with her younger brother, mother, and aunt, and that a lot of my art and writing is purposefully about processing and accepting that grief. Fandom has been a very important part of how I’ve gotten through the last five years, which I’ll get into a bit more in a minute, but tbh it’s also been a lot harder navigating fandom and especially anything ship-related since Emma died, because of how people tend to romanticize a character tragically losing a partner.

And honestly, it’s not just fandom, it’s media in general. And mainstream media focus on tragic sob stories, shock factor, and BYG tropes is definitely a big part of the problem.

But as much as fandom pushes against mainstream overuse of such tropes, there is a good portion of fandom that falls into the same type of issue. And not just ‘fandom’ in the usual sense, but literary communities, poetry, etc…

The amount of times I see stories or prompts about characters tragically losing their partner, and that being the climax of the story, and then next to nothing about that character actually navigating their grief or being able to eventually start a new relationship or just be happy is just…. It makes me feel physically ill.

Like, people saying how tragic love stories are more interesting than happy endings. Or seeing a post about tragic pairing prompts and people saying things like ‘or they think it's unrequited but then A dies and B finds a letter confessing and they really loved each other but now it's too late’ and more people being like ‘YES YOU GET IT THAT'S THE GOOD STUFF’

Just… really, honestly. It's okay to like angst, even really tragic angst. I’m not trying to guilt anyone out of that.

I just….. Most of the time people just talk about it like ‘oh yeah I love some of that good tragic love story shit’ and the stories focus on the build-up and the shock/trauma of the death as it happens and then the excruciating reaction of the survivor and then maybe a time jump to show them happy again.

But very rarely do people take the time to actually handle the grief. People like the good cry of a character mourning their partner, but the vast majority of creators and fans rush through or skip over everything after the initial drama and aftermath. The ‘tragedy’ is the only part they focus on, and then the story ends and they move on.

And like. Shit. I liked that stuff too, I wrote some of it, years ago. And I’m not saying you can’t ever just leave it there, or that if you want to write tragic romance you always have to explore all the long-term emotional consequences.

But try to have it in mind, to consider what message countless grief narratives that end after the funeral, or maybe a few weeks or months later, teach people about real-life grief. This goes for any kind of grief narrative, but the one I see most, the one I used to ‘enjoy’ most myself, is romantic.

But, after having actually lived it? And knowing I'll have to live the rest of my life as the part of the story that usually isn’t told? It turns my stomach the way it’s often handled.

Like seeing people gush about how angsty a fic/idea is, and ‘OH MY GOD SO SAD CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW TRAGIC HOW DARE YOU. I LOVE SEEING/PUTTING THEM THROUGH SO MUCH PAIN’ gets a bit uncomfortable.

Not because there’s something inherently wrong with ever reacting like that, but because most often I can turn around and have the same people not know how to react when I tell them about Emma, not know how to handle the same grief they were just gushing over in fiction, when it’s real.

Grief is isolating enough on its own, but then it just doesn’t feel great when the worst thing to ever happen to you is a huge trope that people gush over, while very rarely fleshing out the actual reality of what it feels like to go through that or how to respond to someone actually dealing with grief, and eventually having to deal with your own grief.

Tbh it’s why I really just kinda have an aversion to the word ‘angst’ in general, and don’t really like to refer to my own writing as angst, even though I know plenty of people might think of it as such. So much of fandom's handling of ‘angst’ has come to feel like voyeuristic tourism of the grief I deal with every day, and will for the rest of my life.

Just, I know people are always going to like tragic angsty romance, and that’s fine, and honestly, it's not even an issue of individuals, but of how fandom in general treats it.

And again, I really don’t want to make anyone feel bad for liking it, and it has its purposes. And even when it’s not for catharsis, it's okay to just like sad stories just because.

I just… I wish more people would keep in mind that it’s not just a tearjerker story trope. People really go through this. And they then often end up feeling very isolated because people around them don't know how to react to their grief, because their grief makes things awkward and a mood killer.

Like, if you love this kind of angst (and not because you personally relate to it or find it cathartic, but just because, just for fun) but then feel awkward around people talking about their real-life grief, maybe spend some time with that, and think about the topic as a real-world trauma and not just a dramatic story trope. (this doesn’t just go for grief. Any kind of trauma you don’t personally deal with, if you love reading/writing it but avoid actually listening to people talking about their real-life experiences with it, think about why that is.)

I just hate seeing loss and initial dramatic grief responses being this shock factor/tearjerker trope, without ever really seriously addressing long-term grief. Especially when it doesn't even do a time jump or anything, and just ends on the surviving character being forever destroyed; when it focuses on the idea of how sad it is for your favorite character to have to spend the rest of their life alone.

And that’s not even folding in any kind of BYG/queer tragedy tropes in canon or fandom spaces.

And like… on a much more individual, less practical point, I just… there’s nothing wrong with angst but honestly (and especially for characters whose canon is in no way tragic) every time I see it I just want to scream WHY…. Why do that to them!? I’m not saying you have to stop, or that you’re not allowed to write trauma you don’t deal with personally. But I will never not cringe a bit at the ‘painful enjoyment’ of a character going through the traumatic loss of a partner. And it’s a sentiment I don’t really see people being okay with in regards to any other kind of trauma.

I don’t have actual numbers, but it sure feels like fandom treats stories about romantic grief very differently than most other traumas. Other trauma, even other kinds of grief, like a close friend or a sibling or parent, etc. tend to at least try to touch on a theme of recovery, or that the emotional turmoil being covered isn’t just a fun angsty trope to spend a little time in and then move on. And of course, this isn’t universal and plenty of people don’t handle these other traumas respectfully or as anything more than dramatic fuel, but this is the trend I’ve personally seen in over 10 years of tumblr fandom. And to that point, even when traumas aren’t respectfully handled I’ve at least seen people try to bring attention to that, with posts about how to respectfully handle disability or addiction or mental health or abuse. I can’t remember off the top of my head a single post like that about grief, let alone specifically romantic grief. It seems to be commonly accepted that while most kinds of trauma can be explored, but still handled respectfully, the death of a partner can just be done for the Drama. People tend to try to learn about abuse or addiction experiences before attempting big angsty stories addressing that. But doomed romance and a grief-stricken lover (it feels like, in my experience) are much more likely to happen on a whim.

Generally, it feels like other kinds of trauma, while still part of ‘angst’ also keeps a sense of awareness of how that narrative reflects real people’s experiences. It’s not just heavy because it’s big dramatic fictional angst, but because it’s grounded in real-life trauma that everyday people who come across it might relate to. Like... I just feel like a lot of fandom spaces treat ‘major character death’ and tragic romantic trope tags as just filters, like they’re needed because ‘not everyone likes angst, it’s just not their thing’ without really acknowledging that it’s a real trauma that everyday people deal with, where (again, often, but of course far from always, and certainly not in mainstream) other tws and tags like assault or substance abuse, people understand that people they interact with might really deal with those issues and they try to not just use them as dramatic fodder and to portray them respectfully.

But grief, especially romantic grief, seems different. The number of people who will come across a fic or edit or piece of art about a tragic love story, and will have had that personal experience of losing a partner, is much lower than people with real experiences with abuse, or addiction, or mental illness. That’s not a bad thing. I wish none of you ever have to know what that feels like.

But because of that, tragic romance ends up seeming like this distant thing. Like it’s only in dramatic tv shows or movies or literature, or lives solely in angsty fandom spaces as a way to get out a good cry. It seems grand and Tragic, off in its own world of dramatic emotional story tropes.

It’s solely pretty dark edits put to song lyrics, or striking art, or beautifully written prose that rips your heart out. It’s Tragic Romance.

And there’s nothing wrong with that inherently. But for many people, it seems like that is what it becomes: fiction. An angsty trope.

I genuinely hope that’s all it ever is for all of you. I wish I could ensure that that good angsty hurt will only ever be a trope you visit when you need a good cry.

But it’s not just fiction.

It's not just angst for sake of drama or fun or poetic storytelling. It’s not grand or romantic or beautifully tragic.

It’s unbearable. It’s physical pain.

That’s not exaggeration or metaphor. It sneaks up on me out of nowhere and it literally feels like someone is crushing my chest. I’ve nearly broken my hand punching a wall because I needed to make something hurt more than this thing in my chest that isn’t even actually there but it hurts so much.

Tbf I think a lot of my attitude towards this really stems more from fandom trends from when I was younger, and I think a lot more people actually try to flesh out grief more these days. But I just remember so much tragic romantic fic and fandom love from when I was a teenager that didn’t go deeper than ‘look how heartbreaking this is it’s so sad, I wanna make everybody read it and cry and it’s just fun and a story, oh my god I couldn't live with that’

no, of course I don't have a few specific old fics or posts from like superwholock days in mind, that I used to gush over too, and now just the idea of makes me feel actually sick

Idk… like I said. I don't at all want to make anyone feel bad for liking that type of angst, and I feel kind of bad for criticizing it. It just…

It hurts seeing basically your exact situation on angsty prompt lists with people gushing about how good it hurts. Especially when the same people would be (and have been) deer in headlights when they find out you’ve lived the same thing. (Again, this goes for any kind of trauma trope, but most others I’ve seen at least some kind of discussion about before)

Just please, try to be mindful of not just how you write stories about grief, but how you talk about death angst in general. (again, certainly not everyone, but more and more) People know to not just romanticize abuse trauma or addictions or mental illness, and to research, and ask for advice to try to be respectful.

And it’s much more common for someone in fandom spaces, in their teens or 20s or 30s to deal with those sorts of trauma than having experienced losing a partner.

But we exist. And while there is plenty of media out there showing tragic young romance, there is very little (in my experience, after nearly five years of desperately looking) real-world acknowledgment and support, or proof that you’ll be able to survive that kind of loss and still be happy, and even less so if they’re queer.

In a couple of months, it will have been five years since Emma’s death. From day one I have not been private about my loss, whenever possible.

And in five years of saying “When I was 20 my girlfriend died.” to new friends, classmates, potential dates, fandom spaces, therapists, grief support forums, etc… do you know how many other people have told me that they also lost a partner as a young adult, whether queer or straight, by accident or suicide or illness?

Zero.

No one. I’ve had people say how they lost a best friend or a sibling or a parent. And those losses, those kinds of grief are certainly not any less traumatic than the loss of a partner. But even in real life, they’re different. Losing a partner, especially at a very young age when it’s likely your main romantic experience, has different emotional effects, and can be harder to find people who directly relate.

Five years. Zero people dealing with the specific facets of grief as me.

The ONLY times I have ever heard about stories like mine in real life are either the rare article or essay or celebrity story, of which I can probably easily count on two hands.

All the other representation I’ve found is in mainstream fiction and fandom.

And of those stories, those fics, that art, the vast majority have had the partner die in the last half, probably closer to the 75% mark, of the story or arc.

If I’m lucky, that last 25% will focus on the immediate aftermath and grief (especially in fic, while a lot of media might give you a few scenes, and then move on to other character arcs).

If I’m really lucky they’ll show some kind of time jump, to say ‘see, they’re still haunted by their lost love but they’ve tried to move on or can pretend to be happy’.

And so much fandom reception is centered around ‘it’s soooooo SADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD MY POOR HEART IT HURTS SO GOOD. LOVE ME SOME ANGST’, or romanticizing the idea of being unable to live without them, and if they can, it’s often never really putting focus on all the pain it took to process their grief.

Again, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this individually, or that you shouldn’t gush and scream over fic or art or prompts that hook you because of angst. But it adds up really quickly, especially when, even when getting good genuine support from people, you still see no one else actually living with that feeling like you. The only place you find it is stories, and then you see people mostly excited over just how beautifully sad it is.

And that just feels… I can’t explain it honestly.

Just, think about how you react to or talk about fic or prompts or art about a character crying over their partner’s body, or attending their funeral, and think about whether you’d feel appropriate doing the same if instead, they were dealing with abuse, or addiction, or self-harm.

Again, that’s not to say you can’t ever gush or key smash or such, but is it all you do?

You don’t have to stop enjoying angst and tragic romance. But think about how I just said that.

Enjoy.

Do you only ever act like you ‘Enjoy’ it (and yes, this includes the ‘I’m such a masochist I just love to cry over them, it’s emotional release that doesn’t trigger me’ reaction), and romanticize it?

It’s fine to, sometimes. But do you also appreciate it, and try to understand the real-world weight of it? Do you know what you’d say to a friend if they told you they’d lost a partner?

That ‘love me some good angst’, Dramatic grief, being the main fandom attitude doesn’t just hurt me or others who have lost people close to them, partners or not.

A big part of fandom, and of just society, has no idea how to deal with grief, their own or others. It’s not a light conversation topic, it makes people feel awkward, or walk on eggshells around you, or tell you how they can’t possibly imagine having to go through that (btw, y'all don’t say this to people. About grief, or trauma, or disability or anything like that, just don’t. I’m begging you. And a rant about that kind of thing is for another day but... )

And then, when people inevitably face some form of major grief themselves, they feel ashamed for not handling it ‘right’.

It hurts, to try to find some acknowledgment of your grief, and only ever see stories that show just the first few weeks or months; the feeling of it never possibly being anything but constantly excruciating. Stories that end on ‘they were alone and sad and that is what their story, their love, will live on as; Tragic’. Or, that skip all the work and the doubt and the backsliding, and just show years down the road, when they’ve got a whole new life, and that grief, that love, is just a sad memory that they have ‘moved on’ from. Just a tiny trinket call back.

It feels impossible to survive, to ever be happy again, when you never see grief being treated as more than a tragic story point. And then, as you try your hardest to keep going, to process and heal, and connect to new people, while not forgetting the person you love, not letting them just become your tragic backstory, you see people gush over tragic love stories, over how romantic it is, over how characters loved each other so much they couldn’t live without them. (Thankfully a good bit of fandom seems to be pulling away from this, but it’s still common)

And, if that’s what it is to lose a partner, your soulmate… then… then how am I able to keep living? Even as painful as it is? If true love means not being able to live without the other person, does that mean I didn’t, I don’t, actually love them enough? Am I selfish for still actually wanting to live the rest of my life, even with this pain of the person I love being gone?

Would people read my, our, story and ‘enjoy’ it? Would they find this romantic? Would they scream over a prompt based on the worst event in my life, and have a good cry, and then move on, thinking how sad and beautifully tragically romantic that story would be? Would this person I love and miss more than anything, become just a Tragedy? Just an angsty sob story to gush about how wonderfully painful it was? Would it become about only my pain and heartbreak, and not about the cruelty of this other complete, unique, independent person who was robbed of their entire future?

Maybe that seems melodramatic or putting too much weight on tropes, or fandom. But remember.

Five years.

Zero real people saying ‘I’ve been there too’.

The only places I have seen my grief reflected (beyond a rare celebrity interview, or article) is in fiction, and mostly in fandom.

For over a decade I’ve seen people key smash and gush over angsty ships in fic and art, and I was one of them for a long time.

And then, when it became real life for me, all too often (not always, of course) people wouldn’t know how to handle my real grief. Even when I didn’t want to grieve, but wanted to remember all the reasons I love Emma. My real-life moments of ‘fluff’ that I cling to, become uncomfortable when they know the ‘angst’ to come.

And I don’t blame them. I’m not angry at them for not knowing what to say, for walking on eggshells. They’re not cruel for that, they’re not unsympathetic, it’s not that they just don’t try.

Because, if I’ve found so few real-world stories about this kind of grief, after looking so hard for so long, how can I expect them to have had much more luck?

If the only places I find stories about grief never focus on the reality of life after the funeral, and the process of not moving past, but learning to handle grief, then how can I expect broader fandom to know how to be comfortable around the ugly, boring, repetitive, not at all romantic parts of that grief?

Just, yes. Write, read, love your angst. But please just remember that ‘tragic love story’ happens to people, and while plenty of people might not want to read it because it’s just not their thing, or too depressing, there are those who see those dramatic prompt scenarios, and personally relate to them (I quite often say the events around Emma’s death read like a heavy-handed soap opera, or Queer Tragedy movie, and had had plenty of people agree, even before hearing all the details. And I have literally seen multiple prompts of ‘best friends secretly have feelings for each other, and then finally confess, only to get a short bit of happiness before one dies tragically’)

Write, read, love your angst, your tragic love stories, just please, be as respectful of grief (in any form, but this is mostly a shipping issue in my experience) as you would be (or should be) of other major trigger warnings. Gush and scream about the big dramatic ‘romantic’ tragedies, but don’t then ignore the raw, uncomfortable, vulnerable, cathartic explorations, or the real people dealing with real loss.

Because damn y’all, I’ve seen ‘I just love a good romantic tragedy trope, yes please rip my heart out’ said so many times, with the same tone as saying ‘That fake dating trope, that’s the good stuff’.

I’ve seen people gush over how much more interesting and beautifully cruel it is for young love to end tragically.

And I promise you. It’s not. It just fucking sucks. It’s not romantic or tragically beautiful or poignant. It’s devastating. And it goes on for so much longer than that last quarter of the story.

My grief is more than an angsty prompt. Our relationship, my love for her, is more than a dramatic sob story, more than just awkward sadness that kills the mood. Emma’s life, her memory, is more than my tragic backstory.

I want to be able to find my story in more than just fiction, I want to be able to get support from people who live with similar grief.

But I also want to see grief in fiction, in fandom, become more than a final character arc or Tragic love story; used for dramatic effect; grand and huge for a moment and then never fully processed, or mentioned again; just tragically romantic and heartbreaking and soooo good and angsty.

Grief is one of the only things we will all have to face throughout our lives.

I’m not just asking you to respect my grief or the grief of those around you. But your own future grief. I don’t want you to get there and feel like your grief is wrong, or means that you didn’t love someone ‘enough’ because it doesn’t manifest in a certain way.

Learning to accept grief; to be comfortable around raw, unpoetic, grief; to not hold up certain expressions of grief as Romantic or Poetic, but just honest, will eventually be personally useful for all of us, as much as I wish it wouldn’t.

I want my grief, everyone’s grief, to be seen, and understood, not just romanticized and dramatized.

My love story, Emma’s love story, isn’t beautifully tragic. It isn’t more interesting or poetic than a happy ending. The pain that I will carry with me for the rest of my life is not romantic.

But it is important.

#mine #my writing #tw #grief #death #car crash #fandom analysis #romantic tragedy trope

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fandomn00blr · 4 years ago

Note

for the writers asks: 1 (I just wanna hear you talk about Morrigan, mkay?), 2, 7, 16 and 17, and 38!

1. What’s your favorite character(s) to write for?

I know I already answered this here, but I will not turn down a request to talk more about Morrigan! ❤️

Where to even begin, tho? I played DAI first (of course), so I was just kinda “meh” on her character. I mean...she’s hot, right?...and I love a smart goth lady who knows what she wants and has little patience for the rest of us. There was just so much else going on in that game, and I hadn’t really figured out the whole Flemythal thing.

It wasn’t until my second playthrough of DAO, after DA2, on the tenth anniversary of the game, when I was playing an Amell romancing Leliana that I really fell in love with Morrigan and her story and her whole...deal. I try not to take any of that edge or prickliness away from her, because I think people develop these ways of interacting with others for reasons (which I, of course, love to explore in my writing). And also, she’s really funny! Even Alistair has to admit that (before he realizes he, too, is in love with her ten years later). I eventually got impatient writing my “definitive” playthrough fic for my Amell and just skipped ahead to post-game, Morrigan having just given birth and Alistair being a mess about it, and that’s how Kieran happened...lol.

I always hated the whole “oh, being a mother softened you” shit they tried to pull with her (if she has Kieran with her) in Inquisition. First of all, children aren’t just plot devices for making us ‘better’ or more complete people or whatever. I mean...this witch knows how to turn into a fucking bear and her kid, in my world state anyway, has the soul of an Old God! So, like...I forgot my point. But grrrrr (personal baggage activated)! Still, in spite of that, and in spite of the less-than-ideal example of motherhood she got from Flemeth, she is a good mom, and I wanted to show that she could be without some kind of huge fundamental shift in who she was or whatever some people think she needs to be palatable (these are theoretical people I’ve never actually met that I am fighting in my head, mind you...).

Another thing I love about writing her is that she’s smarter than me. I write a lot of chaotic dumbasses. But Morrigan knows more than I do, and she’s very savvy (I am not), and that’s a really fun challenge to work with. I’d be lying if I didn’t also take just as much delight in occasionally revealing to her where her own blindspots are, but to be honest, even then, she usually surprises me.

2. What character(s) do you find the most difficult to write for? Why?

So my previous answer was Jadzia Dax, but I’ll go ahead and add Anders Dragon Age here, too. I love the guy. I love writing about him. I love writing other people thinking about him. But writing as him is really hard for me (and yet I still try)!

I recently played a monster hunter TTRPG with some friends in which I played a sort of Anders-like character just to be Like That (“you’re just playing yourself!” they cried, and let’s not think too much about that). I thought it’d be easy, but it was not (I mean, I still ended up with the grumpy broody character in the end, but... 😉).

7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of?

I still love my currently-sort-of-on-hiatus Lost and Found series, and that’s probably because I realized Fenris is writing the whole damn thing (with some input from a few others along the way). I am proud of that little conceit, even if it hasn’t really come into play yet (the big reveal is like, 40 years away in the timeline!) in what has actually been published. The whole series is a sort of break-it-then-fix-it for the events of endgame DA2 and I just...kept running with it.

16. What fanfic tropes do you avoid writing for?

lol...avoid? Me?! Not very many. I like to play with tropes, combine them, embrace them, twist them, turn them inside out and upside down...but I also don’t mind just writing a straightforward trope-filled drabble when the mood strikes (give me bed-sharing and enemies-to-lovers in a soulmate coffeeshop AU and I will WRITE THAT SHIT!).

Ok, fine, so you probably won’t see me writing any A/B/O fics anytime soon (doesn’t mean I won’t read it!). And I tend to avoid things that glorify abuse of any kind, sexual violence, and/or rape/non-con.

17. What fanfic tropes do you gravitate to writing for?

I write a lot of fluffy found family and parent fic, because a lot of my favorite characters are just assholes trying their best to not fuck up their relationships or their kids. I’m sorry. I promise I try to keep it spicy, and maybe sometimes a little bit too realistic for some people. I wouldn’t call any of my writing ‘dark’ or disturbing, but there are a lot of underlying anxieties to it I think that make some people uncomfortable. But this is cheaper than therapy, soooo...

38. What story of yours are you surprised that people liked as much as they did?

My only non-DA story...lol, a Seven Deadly Sins (anime) fic, called Walls Tumbling Down, focused on Jericho and her time with Ban and King between some major events in the show (see, even talking about it like this makes me giggle nervously because these are not characters I have ever engaged in discourse about!). I’m not part of the fandom, so I really had very little to go by other than my frustration with how the character was treated in the source material (in this case, just the show, because I never even read the manga!). But it was one of the first pieces of fan fic I ever sat down and started to write and share. It’s also my most popular fic to date on AO3 (I should probably take a hint, huh?). This was probably supposed to be my lesson in the differences between fandoms and audience reception, wasn’t it?

#funkypoacher #dragon age #morrigan #f00b rambles about her love of Morrigan #tropes #anders #my writing #fanfic writer asks

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cuthian · 5 years ago

Text

Starting Over Chapter One

Welcome to the second-to-last installment of this series (probably, honestly, I didn't mean for there to be as many parts as there are already)!

This fic is focused on both Thor and Steve's journeys, and sets the scene for the main fic, the one that follows this one, the one you've all been waiting for :) There are two chapters fully focused on Thor's journey, so should you wish to skip those, check the notes at the top of the chapter! I'll definitely mention them :)

I expect I'll update this once a week (it's fully written) and hopefully will be able to upload the final installment after I've posted the final chapter of this one!

As always, much love and gratitude to my lovely Juulna, who dragged me through all of this, and kicks my ass into gear when it's needed.

Let us know what you think!

Love, Annaelle

Starting Over

Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t letting go, but rather starting over.

—Nicole Sovaugn

Chapter One

RUMORED CELEBRITY COUPLES WE ALL *HOPE* ARE REAL

The celebrity rumor mill is always churning. While it is mostly tittle-tattle, there are certain romance “news” items that, in our heart of hearts, we’re dying to be true. From co-stars with unbelievable chemistry to sure-to-be-legendary duos, here are the pairs we have our fingers crossed for.

10. Nikki Reed & Ian Somerhalder

[...]share a common interest in playing vampires—with Reed’s Rosalie in Twilight to Somerhalder’s Damon in The Vampire Diaries—but also have several common friends. Both are close with Nina Dobrev—Somerhalder’s ex-girlfriend—and Ashley Greene[…]supposed reports of their developing relationship since July, and they have adopted a horse together.

[…]as of yet no official confirmations have been made.

[…]

7. Natasha Romanoff & Steve Rogers

[…] Rogers and Romanoff have been spotted out together on several occasions, ranging from coffee runs—such mundane activity for such extraordinary people—to trips to Coney Island and Avengers Tower[…]The outings have set many tongues wagging, implying a scandalous relationship between the Captain and his Avengers co-worker, despite official, repeated statements that Captain Rogers is still grieving his former life and is not interested in forming romantic attachments.

[…]Captain was also linked to former Army Captain Rebecca Barnes, before she confirmed her own relationship—see No 2 on this list![…]whatever is going on between Captain America and the women in his life, one thing is certain: we would all like to be rescued by this star-spangled man with a plan!

[…]

5. Zac Efron & Leah Michelle

[…]big surprise for everyone! These two have known one another for several years, but have recently been photographed packing on the PDA on a yacht in Italy in July[…]possibly nothing more than a summer fling, but a reliable source told E!online that Efron likes that she is laid-back and he can relate to her. He is, apparently, attracted to her great attitude, and they understand one another.

[…]

2. Rebecca Barnes & Thor of Asgard

This surprise couple accidentally got caught on camera in a picture posted to Tony Stark’s Twitter account on the 4th of July last year[…]emphasis on “accidental”, considering the couple was only barely visible in a corner of the picture that featured almost all of the Avengers.

[…]lo and behold, it clearly showed Rebecca Barnes, seated on a barstool next to who appears to be Captain Rogers, wrapped in an intimate embrace with none other than the Prince of Asgard, looking real cozy together. Gotcha!

[…]picture remained on Tony Stark’s Twitter account without further comment from any of the Avengers for 72 hours before a press conference was held to confirm the relationship between the two, though insistences were made on their relationship remaining casual for now. “They’re having fun, they like each other, but neither of them wants to be in a serious relationship right now.”

Casual seems to be working for the couple though, because all appearances point to them still being together two years after their first press conference!

[…]only confirmed couple on this list!

—M.S. Sura, E! Magazine, « Rumoured Celebrity Couples », July 2013

————————

Washington D.C., United States of America

August 9th, 2015 – 5:19 AM

Steve

Steve liked going for a run in the morning.

When he and Becca had first moved to D.C., he had felt at a loss—he’d never really lived anywhere but in New York, and D.C. had felt like an unknown entity, nothing like the city he’d been born and raised in. It was… It was quieter, in a way, less crowded and less intense than New York had been, and Steve had both hated and loved it with equal measure during their first few weeks there.

Running in the morning had been something Karen the therapist had suggested when he’d originally confessed to feeling antsy and cooped up when there were no missions to be done, and no bad guys to fight.

It’d become a way to blow off steam, to get rid of the horrid feeling of inactivity, and to get to know the city he’d be living in for the foreseeable future. Becca hadn’t really understood—nor had Steve expected her to, considering it would’ve involved leaving her bed before she absolutely had to—and though Thor, bless him, had done his very best to give it a try, he really didn’t understand the appeal of running without chasing something.

Steve, however, loved it.

Running was one of the very few activities where he could let go of all restraint and just go, without having to worry that he was going to hurt someone, or break something irreparably. Running allowed him to test the very limit of the serum without truly having to worry, and it was a feeling so incredibly freeing it made him feel dizzy the first time he’d realized.

He’d learned to appreciate D.C. for its own merits, over time. He loved New York and he would always consider Brooklyn home in a way nowhere else could be, but here… Here he could walk down the street without getting pulled aside for selfies and autographs constantly. He could run for hours without paparazzi not-so-subtly trying to sneak pictures of him.

He could visit Peggy, who had—very reluctantly—taken up residence in a care home close to his and Becca’s house, after a nasty fall that broke the femur bone in her left leg in two places.

New York was not so very far away either, and when they wanted to visit Tony and the others, the flight there usually didn’t take them very long. Steve felt more settled here, and much less anchored in the past, than he had in New York, although it had taken him a long time to admit it.

Of course, it wasn’t like Steve loved everything about their life in D.C. He’d initially loved the job, and the way it gave him a sense of purpose in his life, but the intensity of some of the Agents put him off, and he decidedly disliked the way everyone had had set expectations of who and what he was supposed to be—both as a leader in the field and as a person.

He loathed the way Fury treated him sometimes, for that matter, like he was some dumb kid who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. He hated when Fury sent him on missions with people who had their own missions, when he was expected to lead people who had their own agendas and their own timetables.

He especially disliked the agents that Fury had set to tail him at all times—he wasn’t supposed to know they were there, but it seemed they’d all conveniently forgotten he was good friends with the Black Widow and Hawkeye, and that he lived with Becca Barnes, who had the uncanny ability to spot agents, no matter how well they disguised themselves.

He hated them, but, over the course of the past four years of living in the 21st century, two of which he’d spent working with S.H.I.E.L.D., he’d learned to pick his battles. There were bigger things going on in his life than trying to figure out which hapless idiot they’d sent to try to tail him on his run today.

There was, for instance, a new guy—not an agent, Steve thought—running on his preferred route.

Steve didn’t tend to run the same route every day, because he’d get bored and probably run into a tree or something, and he didn’t quite fancy the idea of having to explain to Fury—or worse, Tony—why there were gossip rags with the headline “Captain America Can’t Handle Morning Wood” or something equally ridiculous.

Also, by changing up his route regularly, he was able to figure out how long it took S.H.I.E.L.D. to figure out where he was. The longest it had ever taken them was fifteen minutes, and Steve was pretty sure they’d only figured him out because he’d stopped to take a phone call from Becca.

This route, though, starting at the World War II memorial, crossing Inlet Bridge and going past the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, was one of Steve’s favorites to run. It took him past his favorite sites in the city, and ended whenever he ran past the cute little bakery a few blocks from the Holocaust Memorial Museum with the best croissants he’d had on this side of the Atlantic. There weren’t usually a lot of people around at this time of morning, because Steve could admit that he was slightly overzealous when it came to running in the morning—as in leaving before the sun was up, and not coming back until at least two hours later—and it was easy to notice when there was a new fellow maniac who liked to exercise before dawn.

Steve let his eyes trail over said new maniac’s back appreciatively.

He definitely looked good.

He felt a pang of guilt—much less debilitating than the stifling sense of dread and guilt and horror it had once been—and shook his head, pushing himself to run a little faster, to pass this new, cute, unknown entity and leave him behind, because for all that Steve was doing pretty well, he didn’t think he was ready to acknowledge when he actively thought someone was cute.

It was different than when he went on dates because Natasha set him up. Those were nearly always women, and much as Steve appreciated Nat’s effort, they were never into him for him.

That, in itself, was enough of a turn off.

The fact that they were absolutely never his type was just an easy excuse to give Nat when there were, inevitably, no second dates. This, though, he thought as he caught up to Cute Fellow Maniac… this felt different.

“On your left,” he bit out as he ran past New Cute Fellow Maniac, barely allowing himself a glance to look at the other guy, refusing to see, because that would mean he actively liked someone who wasn’t Bucky, and he wasn’t sure he could do that.

He’d talked about that with Karen-the-therapist at length too.

After he’d seen Thor make an effort to let go of his promise to only ever love Loki, to give his relationship with Becca an honest chance, he’d wondered, because he’d been convinced that Thor was the only person Steve had ever met that understood.

He’d understood why Steve just… couldn’t.

Why the very thought of being in love with someone other than Bucky made him feel sick to his stomach, like he’d be betraying everything he had shared with Bucky, like he’d be making a mockery of Bucky’s memory if he did allow himself to move on. Going on dates with women had been much easier than this, because… well, they were women.

For all that Steve was hopeless when it came to flirting with them—or even just talking to them—they didn’t run much of a risk of reminding him of Bucky. It wasn’t so very hard to not give them a chance.

He knew it was poor manners, to give a lady hope where there was none, but… it got his friends off his back, and it was easy to let it all wash over him.

Men, though…

He knew Bucky would hate that Steve felt that way, and that he might even be insulted to learn Steve hadn’t tried to fuck his way through the 21st century in his name yet, because Bucky had been nothing if not a realist (and also a horny bastard), and whereas Steve had been—still was—optimistic enough to believe he could spend his entire life loving just the one person, Bucky had… Bucky had said things that made Steve think—now, in hindsight—that he’d never really believed he’d make it out of the war.

Maybe he’d always known Steve would, eventually, have to move on.

Steve sighed and slowed down, eyeing the split in the path that came up ahead of him contemplatively. The left branch would loop him back to roughly where he’d seen Cute New Maniac, and might give him a second chance.

The other…

“Come on, Rogers,” he told himself firmly. “Make an effort.”

He took the left path.

————————

Washington D.C., United States of America

6.03 AM

Steve

Alright, so maybe he hadn’t stopped to talk to Cute New Maniac right away.

He watched, slightly amused, as the other man limped his way to a patch of grass and collapsed back against a tree, wheezing a little. Steve felt a little bad—just a little—but then, he hadn’t made the other man try to race him.

Honestly, after the third time Steve had lapped him, Cute New Maniac should really have realized that he wouldn’t actually be able to keep up with Steve even if he did try.

Which he did.

It hadn’t really gone his way.

“You need a medic?” he blurted before he could think about it, moving towards where the other man sat with a grin that was probably just the right side of smug. Steve felt a little gratified when the other man laughed, shaking his head a little before he replied.

“I need a new set of lungs.” He laughed and pushed himself up a little, glancing towards Steve with a smirk. “You just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

Steve grinned a little.

It wasn’t like he could come right out and say he looped around four times with the express purpose of seeing Cute New Maniac again, so he shrugged, putting his hands on his hips in a way he knew accentuated the contrast between his broad shoulders and narrow hips. “Guess I got a late start,” he quipped cheekily.

“Really?” Cute Maniac laughed. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You should—you should take another lap.” Steve couldn’t stop grinning, cheeks burning and heart pumping fast with exhilaration, even as the cute guy looked away for a second, before he looked back and rolled his eyes.

“Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve outright laughed at that, shaking his head a little before he gestured to the dog tags that had slipped from underneath the guy’s sweater. “What unit were you in?”

He saw the minute stiffening of Cute Maniac’s posture before he relaxed again, and felt momentarily bad for asking, but before he could take it back, Cute Maniac replied, “58th Pararescue. But now I’m working down at the V.A.” Before Steve could do more than nod, Cute Maniac held out his hand, wiggling his fingers insistently until Steve grasped it in his and pulled him to his feet.

“Sam Wilson,” Cute Maniac—Sam, a voice in Steve’s head that sounded suspiciously like Bucky insisted—offered, smiling when Steve floundered a little.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve finally said, grinning shyly. This was usually the point where people either freaked out and started treating him like… well, like Captain America. Steve hadn’t hoped someone wouldn’t this badly in quite a while.

“I kinda put that together,” Sam grinned, fingers lingering on Steve’s for a second longer than strictly appropriate, and Steve’s stomach swooped. “Must’ve freaked you out,” Sam continued, and Steve’s stomach sank, because he knew what those next words were going to be before Sam even said them out loud. “Coming home after the whole defrosting thing. “

Steve heaved a sigh and shrugged. “Took some getting used to.”

He swallowed thickly against the disappointment that curdled in his stomach and shot Sam a small, insincere smile. “It’s good to meet you, Sam.” He turned away before Sam could say anything that would make Steve’s stomach ache harder than it already did, becauseof course, the one time he decided to take a chance, the guy turned out like everyone else.

“It’s your bed, right?”

Steve stopped, turning around with no small sense of bewilderment as he looked at Sam. “What’s that?” he said cautiously, eyeing the other man nervously. He wasn’t sure if Sam was being dense, or if he was blatantly trying to come onto Steve, but it made him feel off-balance, and Steve hated feeling off-balance.

“Your bed,” Sam repeated, raising both eyebrows. “It’s too soft. When I was over there, I’d sleep on the ground, use rocks as pillows.” Steve turned towards Sam fully, now intrigued and a little relieved, hoping he might’ve misjudged. “Now I’m home,” Sam continued, “lying in my bed, and it’s like…”

He shook his head, apparently at a loss for words.

“Like lying on a marshmallow,” Steve finally finished for him. “Feels like I’m gonna sink right through to the floor.”

Sam smiled a little and nodded.

It was a cute smile too, damn him.

“How long?” he asked, eyeing Sam carefully. He figured he could get away with asking something similar to Sam’s earlier question, and it wasn’t that he doubted that the other man had served, but…

It just felt different knowing.

“Two tours,” Sam answered curtly, although he didn’t appear all that put out by the question.

Steve swallowed and nodded tightly. Though Sam hadn’t specified, from what Steve understood, two tours could mean anywhere from a year to eight years total, and Steve couldn’t imagine being out there for that long, even with a break in the middle, without losing his mind. It’d baffled him during the war too, seeing European soldiers of various countries that had been fighting for literal years without stopping, refusing to give up.

He’d both admired them and felt incredibly sorry for them.

“You must miss the way things were,” Sam finally said, cautiously, as though Steve would explode if the past was mentioned. If this had been three years ago, Steve might’ve. He would’ve put on a brave face, but the reminder of the life that had been torn from him would’ve sent him spiraling and heading for the hills to lick his wounds in private, and he was mature enough—now—to know that.

As it stood, Steve had been in intense therapy since his breakdown four years ago, and he’d learned to deal with his grief in far more healthy ways.

“It’s not so bad here,” Steve shrugged. “Food’s so much better. I need to eat a ton, because—” he gestured towards his body sheepishly and blushed when Sam smirked. “Back then, getting enough calories was horrible. We boiled everything, and the stuff that did have what I needed was barely edible at all.” He grinned and added, “Internet’s great too. Super helpful. Becca showed me how to use it back when I first woke up. Definitely read that a lot, trying to catch up.”

Sam nodded, raising an eyebrow. “Becca’s the roommate, right? Your guy’s grandniece or something, right? Freaked out every gossip rag from here to L.A. when you two moved here, to D.C., together. Big scandal.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “I remember. Ridiculous. Becca’s one of my best friends. Currently dating one of my other best friends.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, because much as he loved Thor and Becca, he really didn’t like to think too much about it. He’d walked in on them one time too many to still be casual about it.

“Yeah,” Sam smirked. “I remember seeing that revelation around too.”

Steve winced a little.

Everyone remembered that particular Fourth of July. Tony still felt bad about it.

“So,” Sam said, smiling lightly, “You doing anything fun today?”

Steve saw it for the change of subject that it was and grasped at it eagerly—maybe a little too eagerly. “Hopefully you,” he blurted, blanching when his brain caught up with his mouth, wincing at Sam’s slightly stunned expression. “I mean—that’s not—I wasn’t trying to—”

He gave up on his spluttered explanation when Sam burst into laughter, hiding his face—cheeks burning with an increasingly embarrassed blush—in his hands. He didn’t look up until Sam reached out and put his hand on Steve’s arm, gently pushing it down so Steve would be forced to look at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam grinned, winking when Steve dared to look directly at him again. “I mean, you should definitely buy me a drink first, but it’s good to know I wasn’t imagining that you were flirting.” He looked momentarily confused and then asked, “I wasn’t, right?”

“No,” Steve admitted breathlessly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the idea that he’d actually managed to ask someone out—sort of—and that said someone had actually returned his interest.

What the fuck.

Stuff like this didn’t happen to Steve—he was the hopeless single friend.

Willingly.

Sam smiled—a real, bright smile that made Steve’s stomach do another funky flop—and bit his lower lip. “Well then. You gonna ask for my number, Rogers?”

“Right!” Steve blurted, fumbling to get his phone from his pocket without accidentally tossing it across the damned park. Sam took it from him with an indulgent smile, and Steve was pretty sure his face was stuck somewhere between bewilderment and soppy admiration, and he wasn’t sure…

Well, he wasn’t sure what to do now.

“There,” Sam handed his phone back and raised an eyebrow. “You better call me, Rogers. I ain’t one for getting stood up, even by a superhero.”

Steve nodded eagerly. “I will, definitely, I just—” His phone buzzed in his hand, and he frowned when he recognized Nat’s S.H.I.E.L.D.-issued number. Nat only used that number to call him when they were being called in for a mission.

“Duty calls,” he said ruefully, wiggling his phone at Sam. “I’m sorry. Thanks for the run though.” He grinned and winked, “If that’s what you wanna call running.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Sam exclaimed indignantly, although there was no real heat to his words.

“That’s how it is.”

“O-okay,” Sam chuckled. “You better call me when you get back.”

Steve nodded dumbly, not turning away until he heard the familiar engine roar of Nat’s favorite Corvette—because of course she’d tracked his phone instead of waiting for his reply, damn those spies—grinning sheepishly at Sam’s raised eyebrow. “Can’t run everywhere.”

“No, you can’t,” Sam agreed, smirking when Steve awkwardly tried to fit himself into the small seat—he swore that was at least half of the reason Nat always picked him up in this thing.

“Hey fellas,” Nat grinned, baring all her teeth with a predatory gleam in her eye as she looked at Sam.

“No,” Steve said firmly, before she could do or say anything that would make Sam realize Steve was a goddamned disaster and he should run while he still had the chance. He frowned at her, and when that didn’t have much of a visible effect, he pouted.

Her expression softened, and Steve barely managed to keep from grinning.

Worked like a charm. Every damned time.

“I’ll call you,” he told Sam, offering him a quick smile, before he turned back to Nat, putting thoughts of Sam and the conversation and the potential date in his future out of his mind, focusing entirely on the folder Nat had tossed onto his lap and resolutely ignoring her attempts to pick apart what little she’d seen of his interaction with Sam.

“What do we have?”

————————

EXCLUSIVE: CAPTAIN AMERICA MOVING IN WITH DEAD BEST FRIEND’S GRAND-NIECE?

Captain America, also known as Steve Rogers, and Rebecca Barnes—granddaughter to Rogers’ late best friend’s little sister—aremoving in together, but they are most definitely not in a relationship, despite an absurd tabloid report.

Gossip Cop can exclusively correct the story and report that it’s completely false.

According to OK!USA, our favorite supersoldier is moving out of the Avengers Tower to follow Barnes to Washington D.C., where they’re “on the hunt for a love pad”. An alleged insider tells the magazine that Thor and Barnes, who were recently accidentally ‘outed’ by Tony Stark, have split up because of the “deep, intense feelings” between the Captain and the youngest Barnes.

“They’re both so attracted to one another,” says a supposed source, who further contends that the other Avengers and the Barnes family “aren’t surprised Cap is following Becca to D.C. and that they’re looking for a home together.”

The outlet’s premise is flat-out ridiculous.

Just last Sunday, Thor joined Barnes and Rogers for dinner at Rebecca Barnes Sr.’s home.

The idea that Rebecca Jr. has dumped him for Captain Rogers is ludicrous. Additionally, the tabloid’s article is based on claims from an anonymous and untraceable “source,” but Gossip Cop reached out to Rogers’ spokesperson, who tells us on the record that it’s untrue. Despite what the magazine’s so-called “insider” claims, a rep qualified to speak on the Captain’s behalf assures us he and Barnes aren’t a couple, and the relocation is funded and requested by S.H.I.E.L.D., where both Captain Rogers and Agent Barnes are employed.

[…]gossip media is constantly trying to create new milestones in the relationship between Captain Rogers and the females in his life, despite their relationship being friendly and professional. […] Last week, we busted another bogus report alleging the Black Widow might be pregnant with Rogers’ baby.

Earlier this week, Gossip Cop also shot down a phony article claiming that the Avengers were split between Barnes and the Black Widow, picking sides in a vicious fight for Rogers’ affection.[…]

This latest article involving the supposed lovers house-hunting together is yet more fiction.

—A. Shuster, Gossip Cop, « Captain America moving to D.C. with Rebecca Barnes?», August 2012

————————

Indian Ocean

11:08 PM (UCT+6.30)

Steve

He listened intently as Rumlow briefed them, eyeing the specs intently. Natasha stood beside him, brow equally furrowed in concentration, while Becca fiddled with her gloves, alternating between looking at Rumlow and the screen. Normally, Steve would try to scold her into paying attention, but by the time he and Nat had gotten to H.Q., Becca had already been debriefed and had several plausible plans ready for Steve to review once he’d been briefed on the jet.

He’d learned to value her insights on cases like these, because there was a reason she had made it to the rank of Captain in the Army at twenty-two, and he knew how hard it was for her to stand still.

“Any demands?” he inquired when Rumlow finished identifying the target and outlining the situation.

There hadn’t been when they’d left D.C., but that had been mere minutes after contact with the Lemurian Star had been lost—two and a half hours ago.

“Billion and a half,” Rumlow nodded curtly, facing Steve directly, preparing for the questions he likely knew were coming. They’d worked together quite a few times over the past few years, and Rumlow had learned to anticipate what info Steve needed to effectively plan a successful mission in minutes.

“Why so steep?”

Demands were all good and well in hostage situations, but no agency deploying simple satellites would be able to afford quite that much money on such short notice.

Rumlow looked surprised, for a moment, before admitting, “Because it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s.”

Steve barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, quietly cursing Nick Fury in the back of his mind, and glanced towards Nat. “So it’s not off-course.” That’d been one of Becca’s theories; an attempt to explain what the ship would be doing this far out of international waters; why they’d been vulnerable to pirates in the first place.

“It’s trespassing,” Becca agreed, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning.

Rumlow looked like he wanted to say something—probably something derogatory that would make Steve want to punch him regardless of his professional competence—but Nat stepped in before he could. “I’m sure they have a good reason,” she offered, smiling winningly at Steve.

Steve did roll his eyes this time. “I’m getting real’ tired of being Fury’s janitor.”

He could’ve been having lunch, at home, right now. He could’ve asked Sam out for breakfast, could’ve tried to figure out if he could try dating without wanting to throw up at the mere thought of it.

Why did Fury always want him to clean up his own damned messes?

He turned back to Rumlow and gestured to go on. “How many pirates?”

“Twenty-five,” Rumlow replied immediately, pulling up several profiles of well-known international fugitives. “Top mercs, led by this guy.” He pulled up and enlarged a picture of a built man with a buzz cut and a dead-eyed expression Steve had seen in too many men in the service before.

“Georges Batroc,” Rumlow continued, “Ex-DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-six kill missions.” He looked Steve dead in the eye and frowned. “He’s got a rep for maximum casualties. It’s why they wanted to get rid of him in the first place.”

Steve nodded curtly. He wasn’t sure what a man like that would want with a S.H.I.E.L.D. vessel, but he was sure it couldn’t be anything good. “Hostages?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rumlow faltered, and Steve frowned, because that couldn’t be a surprise question—they’d been sent specifically to rescue said hostages. “Uh...” Rumlow stuttered. “Mostly techs. One officer.” He nodded towards Steve. “Jasper Sitwell. They’re in the galley.”

Steve knew of Sitwell.

He wasn’t terribly high up the chain of command, and certainly didn’t have security clearance as high as Steve and Natasha, but he wasn’t just another grunt worker either. From what Steve knew, he was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s top mission handlers.

He dealt with junior S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that went on lesser undercover missions—had dealt with Becca’s undercover mission too, until Nat had unceremoniously usurped him. Steve had no clue what he’d be doing on a satellite launch platform.

“What the hell is Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” he mused, more to himself than to either Nat or Becca, before he shook his head and pushed the issue from his mind. Honestly, it didn’t matter what Sitwell was doing on the ship, it just mattered that Steve needed to get him and the techs off of it.

Safely.

“Alright,” he said briskly, glancing to his core team briefly. “I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you kill the engines and wait for instruction. Rumlow, you sweep the aft and find the hostages, direct S.T.R.I.K.E. as you need them. Just get them to the life-pods, and get them out.” He glanced towards Becca and grinned. “Barnes, help Rumlow get into the galley and then cover my six.”

Becca grinned back and cheekily saluted him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.”

He followed Becca and Nat to the hold, taking the communicator Nat held out with a grin. “Secure channel seven,” he said into the communicator when he’d attached it to his wrist.

“Seven secure,” Nat replied, sidling up beside him with a smirk that predicted little good things for him. Usually conversations that started with Nat smirking at him like that ended with dreadfully boring dates with lovely dark-haired women that bore suspicious resemblance to both Bucky and Peggy.

“So,” Nat drawled. “Who was that positively gorgeous specimen you were talking to when I picked you up?” She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Were you flirting, Steve?”

Becca popped up from behind one of the S.T.R.I.K.E. agents, her expression bordering on gleeful, and Steve barely repressed the urge to groan. He’d hoped to keep Sam to himself a little longer, at least until he had decided how he felt about the whole thing.

He should’ve known he would never be able to keep it under wraps with these two in his life.

That not mean that he wasn’t going to try, though.

“I’m not talking about this now,” he said firmly, shooting a glare at Becca when she had the gall to pout at him. Thankfully, the pilot’s voice interrupted the two women before they could pester him more, warning him of the drop zone coming up.

He ran his hand through his hair one more time before he pulled the helmet on, moving towards the loading bay as he did.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Becca piped on from behind him, snatching him by one of the straps on his suit and pulling him back with surprising ease—to everyone but Steve, who’d hoped she would let him get away with it this time. “Put on a fucking parachute, Rogers,” she bit out, shoving aforementioned parachute in his hands.

“Come on, Becs,” he wheedled. “I need to get in stealthily. The ‘chute ain’t covert. It’ll slow me down.”

Becca didn’t seem particularly impressed by his reasoning. “I’m not letting you jump out of a goddamn plane without a parachute, you moron.”

“You let Thor do it all the time,” Steve pointed out, smiling winningly, sneakily pushing the parachute into a hapless S.T.R.I.K.E. agent’s hands, stepping in front of the man to make sure Becca wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing.

Becca threw her hands up in exasperation and shoved at his shoulder, even as Steve moved back to the loading bay. “Thor can fly, Steve, he doesn’t need a parachute.”

Steve grinned at her over his shoulder, and winked at her. “Neither do I.”

He jumped.

————————

Lemurian Star, Indian Ocean

11:14 PM (UCT+6.30)

Steve

“Hostages en route to extraction,” Rumlow’s voice alerted Steve. “Barnes is on her way to you. Romanoff missed the rendezvous point, Cap. Hostiles are still in play.”

He didn’t have eyes on Batroc anymore, and the entire ship had fallen suspiciously silent following his attempt to smash Batroc’s skull in with his shield. Of course, they did have standing orders to subdue the man, not kill him, but Steve had seen an opportunity and he’d taken it.

He’d rather be scolded for taking out a terrorist than risk the man getting out again.

Steve cursed under his breath before he replied, voice hushed, “Affirmative. Natasha, Batroc’s on the move. Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.” There was no reply, and worry coiled in the pit of his stomach. He stopped, distracted, and lifted his arm to speak directly into the comm unit.

“Natasha?”

He didn’t see the attack coming.

He didn’t have time to do anything other than parry the volley of blows that came at him, faster and harder than anyone he’d fought in recent history. He was bowled over by the sheer viciousness of the attack, and before he knew it, his attacker had knocked him on his back, giving him no time to recover.

All Steve could see when he straightened up was the boot flying right at him, and he barely managed to move just enough so said boot landed on the floor instead of on parts of Steve’s anatomy he’d really rather keep intact—especially with the possibility of a date in the near future still in the back of his mind.

Batroc—because of course it was Batroc, Steve hadn’t expected anyone else—froze for a heartbeat, as did Steve. The stillness of the moment was over as soon as it had begun, and Steve didn’t spare much thought to technique when Batroc attacked again in a violent flurry of movement, punching and kicking so fast Steve couldn’t do anything but block, at first.

It only took a few moments before he spotted a pattern in Batroc’s attacks though, and then, instead of concerning, the fight became fun.

Batroc was a good fighter, and while he was certainly no match for Steve, he was far more of a challenge than anyone but Thor had been able to provide since he’d gotten the serum. Even Schmidt, for all his bluster of being the perfect man, had had shockingly little fighting technique and had mostly relied on brute strength alone.

Batroc, on the other hand… Batroc fought like it was an art, and Steve loved it.

Steve did not, however, have time to relish in the fight. Batroc was getting cocky, likely spurred on by Steve’s insistence of blocking and not punching—because he did have orders to bring the man in alive, and if Steve would punch him with full strength, he’d probably punch right through his skull.

It was too easy, really, to shove the man back with the shield, tossing him several feet.

It didn’t slow Batroc down though, and Steve was grudgingly impressed. The man had to be highly trained to be able to shake off a hit like that, and even when he attacked again, and Steve punched back, with his fists and the shield, Batroc got back up.

Steve was a little impressed.

“Je croyais tu étais plus qu’un bouclier,” Batroc sneered when he’d gotten back on his feet, and that… the implication grated, even though Steve knew, he knew Batroc was goading him, he knew Batroc knew he couldn’t beat Steve… But it stung nonetheless.

Before he knew what he was doing, he holstered his shield, keeping his eyes on Batroc as he undid the chin-strap on his helmet. “On va voir,” he said evenly, and he was itching for this fight, itching for a reason to beat this guy into the ground, regardless of how well he fought—

He and Batroc both flinched and spun around when a loud gunshot rang out across the deck, and before either of them could react further, Becca appeared, shooting Batroc twice, without hesitation, with the stun gun they had designed specifically to take hostiles in alive.

The man dropped like a sack of flour, and Steve was left staring between Becca—who looked positively furious—and the third man there, laying face-down in a pool of his own blood, a gun lying slightly beyond his outstretched fingertips.

“On va voir?” Becca hissed, stepping over Batroc’s prone body with an expression so infuriated Steve was almost afraid she’d set him on fire with just that look. He’d seen her angry before, but… shit, he’d messed up. “On ne vois rien! What the actual fuck, Rogers?!”

“Okay,” he said slowly, raising his hands in surrender, because Becca was still holding her stun gun, and she was not lowering it. “In my defense…”

“In your defense?” Becca shouted, stomping forward, shoving him in the shoulder hard. “There was no in your defense! You put away your main defensive weapon! You took off your helmet on an active mission with hostiles still in play! Jesus Christ, Steve, you knowbetter!”

Steve opened his mouth, but Becca waved her gun around angrily and he snapped it shut again, because he might be a supersoldier and if she shot him, he’d survive, but it’d still hurt like hell, and he wouldn’t put it past her to shoot him just to teach him a lesson about how close to death his body could take him.

“He had a gun on you,” she hissed. “He was waiting to take the shot, damn it! He would’ve blown your fucking brains out, Steve, and it’s not like you have any to spare!”

“Hey!” Steve exclaimed indignantly, glaring at her. “That’s not fair.”

“Try that again when you didn’t put away your main weapon in front of a hostile!” Becca shouted, poking her finger so close to his face, Steve was worried she’d boop him on the nose and make him laugh, because he knew laughing at her now would definitely make her shoot him.

“Okay, look,” Steve tried, backing away a little, because he was no fool, and staying within arm’s reach of an angry Barnes was never a good idea. “My entire body is basically a weapon. I mean—”

“Well, this is awkward,” Natasha interrupted.

Becca and Steve spun around to find her sitting cross-legged on Batroc’s back, securing his wrists with heavy handcuffs that could probably hold even Steve. Steve’s cheeks flamed, because Natasha was smirking in a way that meant she had heard all of the conversation that Steve would have rather kept between him and Becca.

Of course, he’d rather have not had the conversation at all, but he wasn’t that lucky.

“Where were you?” he bit out angrily, desperately grasping at the only thing he could to change the subject, glaring at Nat when she just raised her eyebrow. “Rumlow needed you with the hostages.”

“He’s fine,” she waved a hand dismissively. “I…” she paused and her eyes darted between him and Becca, who was still steely-eyed and angry, but at least not shouting anymore. “Fury gave me a secondary mission,” she admitted, holding up a hand to stave off the angry tirade that was already itching to burst from Steve’s lips. “I can’t talk about it here. Later, Steven.”

“Fine,” Steve bit out. “Fine.” He pointed to Natasha menacingly. “But you’re coming back to our place later to explain.”

Nat raised an eyebrow. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

————————

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions: (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

#IHWSBY sequel #Starting Over #stucky #Stucky fanfiction #Steve rogers #Bucky barnes #Rebecca barnes #thor #tony stark #Natasha romanov #sam wilson #avengers family #my writing #Lisa writes

0 notes

avani008 · 8 years ago

Note

Please do the whole OTP question meme with Amarendra and Devasena ^.^

(Also requested by the fabulous Anu/ @livinthefandommlife, for questions 4, 23, and 27! But posting together because I’m lazy. Thank you both, this was fun! :D)

Who is the most affectionate?Openly? Amarendra, I think; he’s not at all shy about staring at Devasena affectionately whenever she’s around, while she’s at least a little more circumspect.

Big spoon/Little spoon?

Amarendra prefers to sleep on his back, Devasena on her side curled up next to him. Until the later stages of her pregnancy, when they switch.

Most common argument?

I’m going to go with the boring answer and say it’s a remix of the public argument they have at the baby shower: that Devasena feels Amarendra deserves better than the way he’s being treated and needs to fight for it, while Amarendra, while aware that she’s right, also realizes that rocking the boat at this stage is just going to get them into worse trouble. I know complaining about Sivagami or the customs of Mahishmati might also be expected, but I feel like Devasena usually goes out of her way not to do so unless outrageously provoked, out of consideration for Amarendra’s feelings. (Bhalla, though, is always fair game.) But overall I just don’t see them fighting very often, other than mild exasperation on Devasena’s part when Amarendra teases her; they have so much external drama to deal with that I picture them having very little interpersonal drama.

Favorite non-sexual activity?

There is a reason I tagged one of my early reblogs for them “just a couple of archery geeks in love” (and why “Amukha” features that archery scene)! But even otherwise, I can pretty easily picture them discussing politics, economics, or just nothing in particular. Heck, even on the short part of their wedding night we see, they’re just hanging out talking.

(I’ve found this usually tends to be my criteria for shipping OTPs, though. If I can’t imagine them happily spending a lazy Saturday afternoon together without resorting to a sexual or saving-the-world activity, I have a hard time seeing them living happily ever after.)

Who is most likely to carry the other?

Amarendra. I mean, to be fair, he is the super-strong one! (But I mean, if you want to jump over to Mirchi and one of my favorite subversion-of-a-trope scenes for a minute, Anushka can apparently boost Prabhas up for a minute if she has to, so Devasena probably could, too.)

What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Amarendra’s is easy: definitely her eyes. It’s pretty clear in her introduction - he can see she’s beautiful through the curtains of the palanquin, so that’s not it, and he sees her stab the guy and just looks amused/impressed, but it’s the passion and fire in her eyes that makes him stagger back and fall immediately in love.

I’m not so sure about Devasena, though. His hands, maybe? (given all the handholding, more on that below.)

What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

In Amarendra’s case, it was literally like, five seconds after he laid eyes on her, so um, nothing? And as far as Devasena is concerned, that is pretty much what “Pravesaka” is meant to cover (my answer there was intended to be not that much, except she comes to grips with the fact that she’s ready to leave Kuntala and follow her stranger –but that’s not because of her feelings for him, but a long-standing desire to do more than stay in Kuntala all her life.).

Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

I had this discussion with Prajna on AO3 about what Devasena would actually call Amarendra, and all I could come up with is pretty much that she follows the tradition of not taking his name directly (see: her conversation with Kattappa at the baby shower). That said, a few minutes later, when she’s too angry to think about it, she clearly calls him “Baahubali,” so I guess that’s how she thinks of him, I guess. I could be convinced, though, to accept “veer/veeran” as a term of endearment, which is what she calls him both in Hamsa Naava (actually more in Orey Oar Ooril) and during the defense of Kuntala.

Amarendra pretty much always calls her Devasena, because I’m a sucker for the “your name is way more meaningful to me than any term of endearment” trope. Or yuvarani if he’s trying to give her a hard time.

Who worries the most?

Amarendra, though Devasena’s more vocal about it. But Amarendra’s more likely to try and pretend everything’s fine. One thing I appreciate, though, is that he doesn’t really try to hide his feelings from Devasena, who’s probably able to read him like a book anyway – even at the baby shower, when he turns to look at her, he gives her this split-second look of sadness before trying to cheer up, and during Dandalayya, he lets her share in his grief at missing Sivagami instead of pretending he was fine. She’s pretty much the only person he doesn’t laugh off his concerns around; he even does it with Kattappa!

Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

They both do!

Who tops?

When it comes to their private life, I figure the prelude to Hamsa Naava when Amarendra has no problems with Devasena walking over him, and the kiss with Amarendra pulling back a little just to get Devasena riled up are probably the most indicative scenes, and that’s all I’m saying about that.

Who initiates kisses?

We know this from canon! (It’s Devasena.)

Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Amarendra, as per canon -- and can I just point out how much I love all their hand-holding? (It’s important enough, IMO, to their relationship that when I look back at them, all my ship-focused fics all have random hand-holding scenes featured) It’s particularly noticeable when you compare them to the other romance, Shivudu/Avantika, who are supposed to be the younger, sexier, less constrained by decorum pair, but hardly ever really touch or even stand that close to each other except in Pacha Bottesi! And meanwhile, Amarendra/Devasena are falling into each other's arms, and shooting arrows all wrapped around each other, and have a significant hand-hold, all before we even hit Hamsa Naava....

Who kisses the hardest?

They…both do? (aka, I honestly have no idea.)

Who wakes up first?Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

So while writing "Pravesaka," I came up with the headcanon that Devasena wakes up at ungodly hours that make my coffee-clutching-at-9AM self shudder. There’s honestly no canon proof for this except that when the Pindari attack, literally everyone else is awake (Amarendra, Kattappa, Kumar Varma, Jayavarma), except Devasena is clearly asleep when the warning alarm rings. So probably she gets up first, while Amarendra prefers to sleep a little longer (though neither of them sleep very much.)

Who says I love you first?

....I have no idea! Is that terrible? Well, Kattappa announces that Amarendra’s in love with Devasena, if you want to count that, but in terms of either of them announcing their feelings to the other, it actually never happens? Except look at their precious faces during the archery hallway scene: they don’t have to be told, they just know.

Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

I struggled with this one, and I couldn’t figure out why until I realized it had to do with my answer to the previous question: I don’t see them actually being into actually being into stating their love for each other, and instead favoring quite little actions instead. But if we’re talking more in terms of sweet dorky gestures, I think they’d both equally do little things like that.

Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Well, Kattappa knows like, five minutes into this relationship, so Amarendra, I guess.

What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Devasena’s family is delighted! Amarendra’s family, on the other hand....*hollow laugh*

Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

...Amarendra, maybe? (I don’t picture them dancing, really.) But Devasena is obviously the better dancer.

Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Well, “Nidhana” has established that my headcanon Devasena is a terrible, terrible cook. But in her defense, as Mahendra explains, she’s usually needed multiple places at once in the village, on top of lacking the patient temperament needed to taste and see exactly how much of a particular spice is needed or let a particular dish simmer. Plus, as a royal princess, she would hardly have needed to learn to cook, anyway; I reckon her sister-in-law might have tried to teach her how to supervise a kitchen, but that was one of the lessons Devasena skipped to practice her archery.

Amarendra’s a functional cook, who can pretty much make the sort of battlefield rations that are healthy but very simple and not at all fine cuisine. (Yes, poor Mahendra’s taste buds probably go into hibernation by the age of two as a matter of self-preservation.)

Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Amarendra. Unquestionably.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Devasena, surprisingly, especially when she’s annoyed and feels the need for petty revenge. She’s good at it, too, an absolute master of the straight face.

Who needs more assurance?

With regards to their relationship? Neither - I can’t see either of them being jealous or doubting that the other loves them, they’re just so rock-solid secure.

What would be their theme song?

Well, their theme tune is Devasena’s introduction : it, or a slower version, plays in all their major scenes, including the last time they see each other. Or Hamsa Naava! That’s their big love song in canon.

In terms of American songs, ummm, “King and Lionheart?” It’s such a fandom cliche, I know, but I love it, and “they should worry”[because they’re going up against us] sounds like exactly the sort of thing Devasena would think/say.

Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Devasena, obviously.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Anu’s answer to this is so perfect that I’m just going to say “ditto!” and tell all of you to go read her answers for the meme because they are all amazing.

one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Amarendra was far more worried about Devasena’s labor than he let on. A childhood spent with Bijjaladeva had hardly let him forget that he killed his own mother in childbirth, and for all Devasena irritably reminded him that more women than not did perfectly well, there were always the stories of the mothers who died, and the children, too. He had lost his throne, his home, his mother, all without complaints; but this loss he wouldn’t be able to bear. Please, he prayed, let her live. Take me instead, if you must have a life.

(When the news came that Kattappa had been captured, his first reaction was guilty relief for the distraction.)

one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

After the midwives have gone and Devasena’s ladies-in-waiting dismissed from their vigil, after baby Mahendra has been carefully laid into his cradle and Devasena finally succumbs to her exhaustion, Amarendra watches them both with a sense of faint surprise. He’d had a family before, but had always had known that he was an outsider in their midst, that all of them had closer ties to each other than they did to him. But now, for the first time:

“Mine,” he whispers, and doesn’t have to wonder if he belongs.

(THAT IS TOTALLY WHAT HAPPENED, HUSH.)

#baahubali #askbox #otp of otps #finally remembered to post this!

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