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noelleification · 3 years

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I wrote an essay about she-ra supremacy and i want to share it with you

For context, my English teacher and I have been in an elaborate pissing contest for the past year. He said fan fiction was bad, so I wrote a sonnet about Banana Fish. He said you couldn't write about death using bright language and colorful metaphors, so I wrote a flash fiction piece about it.

One thing that he's done this year that we disagreed on was making us read The Plague by Albert Camus during a global pandemic. So, my most recent attempt at fucking with my teacher was writing an essay about why She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) is better than The Plague.

So, here is my essay. :)

"Recently I was asked, “What is the job of a novelist, and did Albert Camus accomplish this when he wrote The Plague?” While most of my classmates answered yes, I was less taken with the novel than they seemed to be.

The question “What is the job of a novelist?” is difficult to answer. Quite simply, art means different things to different people, and giving a yes or no answer to such a complex question seems impossible. Still, while The Plague definitely has something interesting to say, its message isn’t profound when compared to other, “lower” forms of art. It’s easy to assume value in The Plague because of it’s status, but after reading the novel, I was somewhat unimpressed with the one-note characterizations that served to deliver an ultimately average message.

In contrast, I have repeatedly been overwhelmingly impressed with She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, a 2018 remake of a He-Man spinoff cartoon from the 80s. The new She-Ra broke boundaries in terms of representation, and the show’s resolution was made meaningful by the well-developed characters and important themes. Due to its complex characters, important messages, and groundbreaking representation, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) is a more important and influential piece of art than The Plague by Albert Camus.

The complex characters in She-Ra are much more rich and well-developed,than those in The Plague. Characters in The Plague are flat and one-dimensional—instead of real, relatable human beings, these characters come across as ideas. They represent something, but they’re not flawed, multi-faceted characters in their own right. On the other hand, She-Ra’s characters—from its heroes to its villains to its side characters—are infinitely complex and well-developed.

The most prominent example of this is Catra. Catra, the deuteragonist of the series, is the childhood best friend of the protagonist, Adora. In order to understand the complex role that Catra fulfills in She-Ra, it is important to understand the background of the show.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power takes place in the fantasy world of Etheria, in which women with magical powers, called ‘princesses’, rule and protect the land. The central conflict takes place between the Rebellion and the Evil Horde. The Horde, ruled by Hordak, is an army dedicated to wiping out the princesses and taking control of Etheria.

Catra and Adora are two child soldiers raised by the Horde. They grew up together and are best friends. However, when Adora finds a magical sword inside the forest and discovers that she is the legendary warrior She-Ra, she defects from the Horde and joins the Rebellion. Alongside two new friends, Bow and Princess Glimmer, Adora fights to defend Etheria from the Horde.

Catra, however, feels betrayed when Adora joins the Rebellion. While Adora’s arc is quickly established as a redemption arc, Catra spirals into a corruption arc for many seasons. Because of her pain and betrayal, she becomes the right-hand woman of Hordak. She lashes out at those closest to her, makes it her life’s mission to stop Adora, and hurts dozens of people on her way to the top.

Still, Catra is not a one-note villain. Her pain and betrayal is explored deeply throughout the series. Even at her worst moments, Catra is sympathetic. Flashbacks of her childhood show her deep emotional bond with Adora and the physical and emotional abuse she suffered at the hands of the Horde. She is shown breaking down multiple times throughout the series, and her relationships with characters like Scorpia show her humanity, even when she is hell-bent on destroying the Rebellion. Despite Catra’s actions, she is a deeply sympathetic character.

Catra is a complex villain, but she is an even more complex protagonist. In season five of the series, after a series of events lead her to reflect on her actions, Catra betrays the Horde to save Adora. This is not an easy decision for her to make. Catra is emotionally tormented—betrayed by those closest to her and held captive by the same force she once swore to serve, Catra saves Glimmer’s life in a last-ditch attempt to do “one good thing” in her life. Catra believes she will be killed for her actions, and in what she thinks are her last moments, she cries, “Adora, I’m sorry. For everything.”

Of course, Adora is not content to let Catra die. She saves her childhood friend, but when Catra is rescued by the Rebellion, she does not immediately change sides. Catra is shown to be bitter and cruel to Adora, Bow, and Glimmer as she struggles with her own internal conflict. Catra continues to lash out at those who are trying to help her, and it is only when Catra begins to face the consequences of her actions by apologizing to a friend she betrayed that she is able to start on the road to redemption. Her redemption is complex, and it is an arc that continues for most of season five. Catra does not flip a switch that takes her from “evil” to “good”—it is a grueling process that is only made possible by the forgiveness of those around her.

Catra is not the only character with a complex arc. Despite being the protagonist, Adora is a deeply flawed character who has to learn and grow over the course of the series. Season four sees Glimmer betraying her friends and falling deeper into a spiral of fear and hatred after the death of her mother. Even Shadow Weaver, Catra and Adora’s abusive parent figure, is not easily classified as “good” or “evil.” Shadow Weaver is a morally grey enigma who serves whatever side she believes will win and, in the end, makes the ultimate sacrifice by dying to save Catra.

It is worth noting that this is not a full redemption of Shadow Weaver’s character. Unlike Catra, Shadow Weaver has a ‘death redemption’—instead of truly facing the consequences of her actions, she sacrifices her life, which almost seems like taking the easy way out. This form of redemption arc is less satisfying to viewers, especially because many believe Shadow Weaver died for Adora’s sake, not Catra’s. Noelle Stevenson, the show’s creator, has confirmed that Shadow Weaver is not meant to be a fully redeemed character. However, this incomplete redemption once again displays the complexity of She-Ra’s characters. They are not good or evil—instead, they are every shade in between. Contrast this with the static, one-dimensional characters of The Plague, and it is clear that She-Ra’s characters are far more well-developed.

In evaluating the value in a piece of art, it is important to look at the message and theme. The Plague does, in fact, have multiple important themes that it discusses. It centers around love, mortality, religion, humanity, and ethics, all of which are important philosophical topics that force the reader to think. I will not make the claim that these issues are not important, because they absolutely are.

However, it would be irresponsible to dismiss the important messages that She-Ra contains just because it is a show made for children. She-Ra explores a number of complex and thought-provoking themes, such as love, loyalty, justice, grief, forgiveness, and redemption. It does this through its rich characterizations and complex relationships. Despite She-Ra’s PG rating, it nevertheless discusses colonialism, unhealthy and abusive relationships, environmentalism, psychological trauma, and self-worth.

Once again, a fascinating example of these themes comes from Catra and Adora. Catra and Adora were emotionally and physically abused by their parent figure, Shadow Weaver, from a young age. Catra in particular was told she is worthless, and this goes on to drive every one of Catra’s actions for the first four seasons of the show. She-Ra does not shy away from the aftermath of Catra’s abuse. It shows in detail the resentment she holds for those around her, including Adora, for their perceived wrongdoings. Her breakdowns are vivid and heartbreaking.

Despite all of her trauma, Catra craves Shadow Weaver’s love deeply. Some of her most horrific actions in the show are driven by her feelings of heartbreak and betrayal inspired by Shadow Weaver.

However, the abuse that Adora suffers is just as insidious, if less obvious. Adora was raised to believe that she had to be perfect and that the well-being of those she cares about is solely on her shoulders. This message deeply affects Adora’s character throughout the series and plays into some of her most profound flaws. Adora is prone to wanting to face everything alone. She doesn’t want to burden her friends, so she hurts and burdens herself. She blames herself when her friends get hurt, and she ultimately ends up seeing her life as worthless. Adora’s struggles with her self-image are directly tied to the abuse she suffered at Shadow Weaver’s hands. In the final episodes of the show, Adora is willing to sacrifice herself for the good of others.

Shadow Weaver’s influence is to directly to blame. She is present as part of the Rebellion during the fifth and final season, and she is the character who plants the idea in Adora’s head of sacrificing herself for the world. Even when Catra stands up to her on Adora’s behalf, Adora is unable to see her own worth. This results in a number of heartbreaking scenes where Catra pleads with Adora to think about what she wants, not what is expected of her. In the penultimate episode, a character finally tells Adora that “[she] is worth more than what [she] can give other people. [She deserves] love, too.”

Dismissing the messages of She-Ra as being “lesser” or “childish” is, in many ways, a straight, white, male perspective. Privileged groups are able to easily grasp their own worth, as they are never taught that they are worthless. It might seem more valuable to talk about more philosophical concepts if messages like those in She-Ra are seen as a given. But for many, self-worth is not an expectation. LGBT people are considered lucky to be accepted by their families, and they still face homophobia or transphobia on an almost daily basis. Their identity is seen as something to be ashamed of. It takes years of un-learning these patterns that a cisgender, heterosexual individual might never have learned in the first place. The same goes for other marginalized groups as well—women are often seen as less intelligent, and this idea is enforced through constant dismissal and belittlement of their thoughts and ideas. Individuals of color face daily prejudice and have been excluded from these conversations for centuries. Therefore, it is equally important for art like She-Ra to reinforce these messages that marginalized communities might never have been taught.

The messages in She-Ra might not be as philosophical as those in The Plague, but they are doubtlessly more emotional. Driven by the lovable characters and relatable issues, She-Ra made audiences feel in ways that I doubt The Plague ever has.

While The Plague is important from an ethical and philosophical standpoint, She-Ra is important from a much more human one. LGBT people are much more likely to be abused, mentally ill, and impoverished. These are some of the same issues faced by the characters in She-Ra. Given that the audience of She-Ra is largely LGBT, seeing these messages reaffirmed on-screen is deeply moving. A high-brow message is important, but if one doesn’t have the basics of self-respect and self-love, these conversations cannot be had.

It is possible that some might dismiss She-Ra and it’s messages compared to The Plague because it is a modern-day animated show instead of a classic novel. Here, we get into another interesting conversation: high art vs low art.

High art is renowned. It is old and has stood the test of time. People see it as beautiful, historical, and fundamentally important, despite the fact that they don’t rock the boat. Van Gogh paintings and Roman statues are examples of high art: priceless pieces with recognized worth. The Plague is another example of high art.

Low art, on the other hand, is art ‘of the people.’ Anybody can make low art. Current music, literature, art, and television is seen as less worthy or important than older pieces with more widely recognized importance. Some “instant classics” can almost immediately be placed into the realm of high art, but for the most part, newer things are always seen as less important than older ones. Low art is comic books, Taylor Swift, graffiti, and yes, She-Ra. They might be just as artistic and valuable as older pieces of art, but they will not be valued the same.

Here’s the thing, though: high art almost always starts out as low art. Modern day romance novels are seen as trashy even though Jane Austen’s novels are renowned. The Beatles are now seen as one of the best bands of all time, but during their peak, they were dismissed due to their primarily female fan base. Most famous painters didn’t become popular until after their deaths, because before then, their pieces were “low art.” Dismissing She-Ra because it’s low art is biased and, ultimately, ignorant.

Moreover, low art is more likely to be queer, female, poor, and PoC. Anybody can make low art, but art by privileged creators is more likely to be seen as ‘valuable’ in the long run. While underprivileged creators can and have gained notoriety and acclaim for their art, there are more road blocks in their path that keep them from ever being on equal footing with other artists. Dismissing all low art as less valuable is dismissing the perspective of those from marginalized communities.

I will not make the claim that She-Ra is a better piece of art than The Plague. The Plague is a piece of literature that has withstood the test of time and remains relevant to this day. Given that She-Ra is still fairly recent, it’s impossible to tell what it’s legacy will be, and in the end, it is a cartoon aimed at a less mature audience. Even more than that, though, art is subjective. What speaks to one person might not connect with another, and calling one piece of art “better” than another is impossible.

However, I do believe that She-Ra is more important than The Plague. The distinction here is that She-Ra did something that has never been done before. The message of The Plague speaks deeply to people, but it is not breaking any glass ceilings.

She-Ra, on the other hand, is revolutionary. The representation is She-Ra is truly remarkable. Not only is the cast mostly comprised of female characters—which, in a world of male-dominated entertainment, is a rarity—She-Ra also embraces diversity of all types. The majority of the main cast with the exception of Adora is nonwhite, and characters of all different body types are featured. While women are typically forced into a cookie-cutter mold of beauty, She-Ra characters are treated as beautiful no matter what their size or ethnicity. This is a message that young people, especially young girls, need to see.

She-Ra also pushes back against toxic masculinity. Many of the main male characters in the show reject gender roles—for example, Bow is almost always seen wearing a crop top with a heart on it, and Sea Hawk has an undeniably flamboyant presentation. King Micah cross-dresses in the final season. Despite this, the male characters are never made fun of for their feminine traits, and instead, their presentation is embraced. They are also not stereotyped as gay for refusing to fit into traditionally masculine roles. All three characters listed above have female love interests.

The most groundbreaking part of She-Ra, however, is the LGBT representation. She-Ra features multiple loving LGBT characters and couples, and the main characters of the series were confirmed to be in a loving sapphic relationship. They said “I love you” and shared an on-screen kiss. She-Ra even features an important non-binary character who uses they/them pronouns, and their identity is always treated with respect.

Furthermore, the entire story centers around the relationship between Catra and Adora. Their romance is not a throwaway side story; instead, their love is the driving force of the entire narrative. Finding LGBT representation is hard, and finding sapphic representation is harder—but what truly sets She-Ra apart is that this was in a children’s TV show. In a world where many believe that LGBT relationships are not “appropriate” for children, She-Ra made history by teaching kids that it’s okay to love who you love and be who you are. She-Ra made people feel something. Audiences were crying during the series finale, and the show has amassed a cult following of LGBT viewers well into adulthood who have never seen their identity represented in such a meaningful way before.

The Plague is undoubtedly a valued piece of high art, but its messages nevertheless do little to progress society. For this reason, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power is a more important and influential piece of art than the Plague."

#she ra #catradora #spop #she ra and the princesses of power

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 years

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Hi! Hope you're doing well <3 I been reading some of your posts about LO and Greek culture in general! And as a non-greek I think your culture is amazing and it should be respected as any other culture, so, I had this question a little while ago

I made a couple of characters based on greek myth creatures, and I kinda had a story for them in an ancient greek inspired world (highly inspired tbh, I think it might take place in an ancient greek ambience as well), but now I think that might be insensitive (?) I don't know how to express it, but I just want to know, would it be ok if I continue with that idea or should I scratch it?

TIIIME TO FINALLY ANSWER THIS

I am really sorry for the long wait! I was trying to think how to answer this properly and also mustering the energy for it xD I will pin it so you can find it more easily, if you come back to the blog.

For starters, you can write whatever you wish. I am hesitant to say to people “you can't write this and that” because it might make people feel estranged and uncomfortable and I believe that distance serves no real purpose. Yes, it’s likely that a xenos won’t be making the story VERY culturally accurate but if the story is 30% culturally accurate as opposed to barely 5% which we see in the popular media today, then it’s still a win. Not to mention that Greeks themselves are not 100% culturally accurate most of the time in their Greek mythology stories. This happens because 1) Americanization has hit us hard 2) They write them just for fun without bothering to research much. We are also lucky if we have a 30% accuracy in our texts most of the time.

(I love percentages if you can’t tell 😂)

You might have figured out I have the tag #writing (and perhaps also #writing advice ??) where I answer these type of questions, so visiting it might help! I'm not gonna tell you if you can write it or not - you can write whatever you like - but I would advise you to treat the Greek culture like any other real or fictional culture. Do a proper “worldbuilding”, let’s say.

THE CREATURES

As you know, some are more serious and some are more playful. They don’t easily “switch” from their behaviors so it’s best to keep a serious creature serious and a playful creature playful throughout most of the story. Some reading is needed, to figure out how the ancient Greeks saw those creatures. Because assumptions are usually not helpful. If we have no clues about their behavior, that’s free real estate I guess 😂

Now, if you are going for the “almost like Greek culture but not quite” thing, that still needs similar studying. You need to know where you are basing those creatures and how they see their world - or how the world sees them. And what elements make sense to change.

You can still not base the characters nowhere and just have a gal with snakes in her head. You can do that xD However, if you like to be more in touch with the culture you need to use some context and the “ambience” you talked about. It’s another thing to say “this gal has snakes on her head“ and another to say “this is THE Medusa“.

Some Greek culture needs to shine through. I mean, it would be great if it could shine though in general, so your references and basis to Greek mythology are better. It would be safe to assume the ancient folklore creatures have some Greek culture in them since they have Greek names, they have been written in Greek stories behaving according to the Greek societal rules and ethics, and generally being symbols in Greece until our days. And your story is about Greek mythology, so you want to emphasize the Greek aspects of your heroes and world.

THE ANCIENT GREEK INSPIRED WORLD

I don't know what research you’ve done so far but I will begin from the basics anyways. Ancient Greek ambience, as you can probably guess, is not “chitons, wine, vines and white pillars” 😂 The ambience specifically doesn’t come from the aesthetics but from the feel of it - the food, the customs, the symbols, the dances, the language interjections, the behaviors and values. Parts of the culture are also how is reverence and modesty are expressed, what makes someone present “manly“ or “feminine”. So, it’s gonna take some research.

People usually write some of the aesthetic and think they are covered, even though their worldbuilding is bad, precisely because they have only presented the very top of the iceberg. No food, no dances, no certain behaviors, nothing. You could say they are “soulless Disney remakes”. 😂 You can also do that, but you need to know how it will come out. It might be quite bland and, if I am not mistaken, you said you want to avoid that. (And I think most of Greeks would tell you that they don’t mind a Greek “soulless” remake but it would be super extra great if you put cultural elements in).

Ok, I don’t mean make it like an encyclopedia, but presenting some stuff from the culture is how you get the ambience. You might as well take a writing advice list for worlbuilding stuff you must have and see which ones you can find irl from the Greek culture.

Important! Remember that nearby cultures affect each other, so if you change one element from the Greek culture it’s likely it has to be changed in other cultures next to your area. If wearing green makes you manly in Imaginary Greece, it will also make you manly in Imaginary Turkey and Imaginary Bulgaria, let’s say. (there is no “ancient Turkey” or “ancient Bulgaria” as countries - and depending on the era, “ancient Greece” is also not a thing - but you get my point xD)

For the interpersonal relationships/interactions, you can read some ancient translated texts presenting daily life situations of the ancient Greeks (start from Googling stuff, I really don’t have sources for that xD). It’s very likely that the ancient sources won’t give you a very defined feel (try it anyways, if you like). Therefore, I suggest you see interactions of modern Greek people.

Worry not! YouTube - through me xD - has you covered! Searching the tags #greek tv #greek youtuber #greek podcast and #video. On youtube you can even find vlogs of people visiting Greece and see interactions with the locals. (If you have trouble finding them, you can send me another ask).

Similarly, it might take months to find all the Greek language interjections so you can go for modern ones. Besides, many interjections like “popoo“ are ancient. Besides, if you are not making a very “serious” story, the modern touches might help it feel more in touch with the present.

Surely, people are people everywhere and humans between countries share cultural traits, but there are some slightly more predominant stuff depending on the culture. Cultures close to each other share more traits, so, if you can’t find any Greeks around, you might be able to find our neighbors. Middle Eastern, north African, or south European people (and Hispanic/Latino Americans!) around might help to understand the dynamics between friends and family members. If you already belong to some of those cultures, congrats, you have most of the formula figured out!

I gave so much space to the interpersonal relationships because that’s gonna give you an idea where the line of “respect” is. Surely, the ancient interpersonal relationships won’t be like the modern American ones 😂 There is no way a student goes to Chiron being like “hey, man, how you doin?” Knowing how Greek teachers were, as late as the 20th century, that’s gonna earn him a slap 😂

Another thing: saying “Good morning” and “good afternoon / goodnight” when you first and last see people in the day is VERY important and the best social practice! You won’t be considered rude if you don’t say them but in a slightly formal and especially professional environment, better use them. (Other modern Europeans also consider this a good practice.)

The most ancient greeting of Greeks is “be happy” (χάιρε / χαίρετε) but health is also very important and is another old greeting. Xάιρετε is more formal in our days and Γεια/Γεια σας ("have good health”) is the most used formal and informal one. Seeing how people wish health in the middle east, it might be that the Health thing has been here for centuries. Also, if you break something or something bad happens to you, we say “health” because having your health is more important than anything else.

Fun fact, “Charon“ (Χάρων) probably means “the happy one” :P It has the same root with (χάιρε / χαίρετε).

Many other social cues can be found in the tags I mentioned, but you can send me an ask if you need to know something more specific!

As for the food, you can find ancient recipes and even use modern ones (which are usually with the same ingredients). Same goes for dances and symbols. You can google stuff about them, go on Google Scholar and search there, as well. (Also, google pages where you can download those papers for free ;) ) Please do some cross examination to make sure that this element indeed exists and it’s not just one person pulling it our of their a**. 😂

If you can’t find info, you can lean on modern symbols and dances. The dances are similar through the centuries anyways. No one is going to come for you if you say you based an element on a modern Greek thing bc the ancient one was impossible to find with the resources available to you.

I don’t have many more things to add on these cultural elements because I already have tags for the modern ones. #greek cuisine #melomakarona #greek dance #greek custom #greek tradition etc.

And, last but not least, research the weather!! I can't stress this enough 😩 We are not a desert and we are not the Tropics. If your weather is similar to the Greek one, then your creatures most likely will need some serious covering in Autumn and Winter 😂

All in all, it’s certainly not a piece of cake to write about other countries and cultures but, if they are open to let you in, you can learn stuff and do your best depicting them. It might not be perfect (and no work is actually perfect) but it would be a step to the right direction and might encourage more writers to do the same - instead of throwing some chitons in and calling it a day xD

If you have any other questions feel free to send me another message (dm or ask). You - or anyone else - REALLY WON’T BOTHER ME if you ask me many questions on my DMs or here.

#writing #answered #retelling #greek myhtology #excuse my tags i am just making this post easier to find #writing advice

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Stark Spangled Banner

Ch60: Proof Tony Stark Has A Heart.

Intro: Katie bids an emotional farewell to her brother, as the rest of the world pays their respects.

Warnings: “Language!” Major angst- get the tissues ready.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: So we’re almost there! One chapter after this plus the epilogue. I can’t thank @angrybirdcr enough for her edits!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 59

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Hey.” A deep voice roused Katie from her thoughts and she looked up to see Bucky walk into the kitchen wearing a pair of black sweats and a red Henley. “I would ask if you were okay but it’s a stupid question.” “I appreciate the sentiment.” She smiled at him. “Coffee is fresh, just don’t tell Steve I’ve been drinking it. He’ll only bitch and moan about caffeine being bad for the baby.” Bucky smiled. “My lips are sealed.” He moved further into the room, helping himself to a mug from the cupboard before he made himself a drink. He sat down opposite his best friend’s wife and just took her in for a moment. Her long hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she looked pale and tired. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her and just how much she was going through. Finding out you’re pregnant again, with a baby you lost whilst having to come to terms with the death of your brother, the brother you had long since thought of as a father, couldn’t be easy for anyone.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward slightly. “So how are you really feeling?”

She looked at him for a moment before she took a deep breath. “If I’m honest, lost.” She sniffed slightly as her eyes filled with tears. “All my life Tony has been there and the thought now that he’s not, and never will be again.” She wiped at her face, “You know Buck, for the last week I’ve felt like I’ve been in a bad dream but yesterday, getting that message and today, it just makes it so real, so final you know?” Bucky smiled softly and reached over the table to squeeze her hand. “You’ll get through this. I know all things considered we haven’t really known each other that long but I do know you’re made of strong stuff.” “I don’t feel like it at the moment.” “You have to be to put up with Stevie.” He joked, making her give a watery chuckle. “Just remember you’re not on your own.” "I know,” Katie smiled, her eyes brimming with tears, “and Steve’s been amazing, he really has. You all have.” “Yeah, he ain’t bad for a punk.” Bucky smiled making her chuckle slightly as he let go of her hand. “Talking about me again?” Steve’s warm voice hit their ears and Katie glanced up, smiling at him as he leaned on the door frame, arms crossed, the fact he was dressed almost identically to his friend only with a blue Henley made her smile. “Yes.” Bucky nodded. Steve rolled his eyes and pushed off the frame. He crossed the room and dropped a kiss to Katie’s head before his hand gently brushed her face. “It’s early, Doll.” He gently tipped her face to look up at him. “You were so tired last night.” “Yeah I woke about an hour ago and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

Steve looked at her for a second, he’d much rather she’d have lay in for an extra hour or so, all things considered but he knew she would be stressing about today so there wasn’t any point in dwelling on it.

“You want any breakfast?” He asked her, dropping his hand back to his hip. “Not really but yes, before you say it I know I have to eat.” “French toast?” He asked and she pondered for a moment. He knew that was her favourite breakfast. And she knew that he knew. “We got any strawberries?” She asked eventually, with a faint smile.

He nodded. ”What’s French toast without the fruit?” “Wait,” Bucky pointed at Steve, “you’re cooking?”

“And?” Steve looked at him.

“The last time I remember you trying to do that you nearly burnt your apartment down and my mom banned you from ever trying again.” He snorted as he looked at Katie. “She insisted on making him food parcels!"

"He’s actually pretty good.” Katie shrugged and Steve preened a little at her praise, flipping Bucky off with a smug grin. “He makes a wicked carbonara but breakfasts are his speciality. Jamie loves his pancakes, says they’re better than mine”

“I had a good teacher.” Steve gave her a wink before he crossed to the cupboard and pulled out the brioche.

“Think I’ll go grab a shower before the kids wake up.” Katie pushed back from the table, her hand falling to her stomach. ”And before this little peanut realises I’m awake and makes me puke my guts up again.”

Steve watched her go before he sighed and moved to the fridge to grab the eggs.

“She’ll be okay, pal.” Bucky assured him “Today’s gonna be hard but she’s got everyone around her.”

“She should be taking it easy.” Steve shook his head. “She had a rough time with sickness and tiredness when she was pregnant with Jamie up until the six month mark and this stress can’t be good for either of them.”

He trailed off as Emmy walked into the kitchen, yawning, pulling her long brown hair into a braid. “Morning, Sweetie, you want some French toast?” Steve asked as she moved to give her dad a hug, still half asleep. She nodded and made an appreciative noise before she turned to grab the orange juice from behind him in the fridge. Pouring a glass she sat at the table and said good morning to Bucky before she picked up the remote.

The three of them instantly looked at the screen when a familiar voice hit their ears. “Tony Stark was a good man.” Secretary Ross was speaking to the journalist “I had the privilege to know him well. He had th-” At that Emmy turned the channel over. “Dick.” She mumbled under her breath. Bucky caught Steve’s eye, the pair of them sharing a grin, Steve choosing not to chastise her for her language.

“Good morning to you too!” Sam grinned as he walked into the kitchen. Emmy looked at him before she chuckled.

“Not you, Ross.” “Ah. Well, no arguments from me there” Sam shrugged, heading to the coffee pot.

“Katie punched him you know.” Steve decided to interject a little bit of light heartedness into the morning. All three of them turned to face him as Sam let out a snort.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.

“Well, come on Pops, tell us!” Emmy urged.

“It was just after the snap. Katie went with Rhodey to give President Ellis a briefing. She had a disagreement with Ross, and then as she was leaving he made some snarky comment so she gave him a right hook, a pretty good one too according to Rhodey.” Sam and Bucky both exchanged a look, Sam nodding in approval, a grin split across his face. “Nice.”

“You know,” Bucky looked at him, “the more I hear and see of your Missus, the more I think I’m in love with her myself.”

Steve rolled his eyes and started to whisk the obscene number of eggs he had placed in the bowl. By the time he had finished making everyone breakfast, Katie was back at the table in a towel robe, hair damp, having brought Jamie down. No sooner had Steve placed her plate of food in front of her, she was up again, running to the downstairs bathroom to throw up.

“Is Momma sick?” Jamie asked, looking at Steve who smiled at him.

“She’s fine pal, the new baby is just making her feel a little funny, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

Jamie looked back at the door his mom had disappeared through before he picked up his fork and began to dig into the chopped up French toast and fruit that was on his plate.

Katie wandered back in a few minutes later and sat back at the table, pinching the bridge of her nose. Steve watched as she pushed her food around her plate for a bit, before she took a few bites. Satisfied that she was eating something he tucked into his own.

Once breakfast was done the house was a flurry of activity as people got ready. Katie, having already showered, simply had to fix her hair and make-up. She set Jamie’s outfit out for him and Emmy offered to help him dress to give her chance to get herself sorted, which she was grateful for. “Stevie?” Katie asked him as he stood in front of the mirror, doing his tie and he caught her eye in the reflection. “Can you zip me up please?”

She turned round and Steve moved, his fingers softly pulling up the zipper of her black dress before he dropped a kiss to her neck as his arms wrapped around her waist, hands flattening on her stomach.

“No bump yet.” He muttered softly and she smiled.

“I’ll be fat again soon enough.” Her hands fell over his, her fingers lightly tracing over the cool metal of his wedding band.

“I can’t wait.” He grinned as she snorted.

“I swear you have some kind of breeding kink.” “Not as such, I just love you and love the fact my baby is in there.” He pulled her back so she was pressed into him slightly. “I loved the changes I saw last time.” “You’re only hoping my boobs get bigger again.” She teased and he smiled, arching an eyebrow.

“Can you blame me?”

“Captain Bad Ass is a pervert, who knew?” She chuckled before she turned in his arms and straightened the knot on his tie slightly, smoothing her hands down his chest. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I’m scared, Steve.”

Instantly understanding he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her back “Don’t be. I’ll be right there okay? It’ll be over soon enough.”

“The funeral might be.” Katie sighed. “But I’m not sure losing him will ever be over.” “You’re right it won’t” Steve agreed, and she looked at him “It’s almost ninety years since my ma died. Okay, granted most of them I was on ice for but she died when I was eighteen. There’s still not a day goes past where I don’t think about her or miss her.”

He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun out of her face and smiled softly. “But it does get easier. I promise you will one day be able to look back on your memories of Tony and be happy that he was your brother and such a big part of your life.”

He placed a gentle kiss onto her lips before a loud shout from the hallway told them the car had arrived. They made their way downstairs and Katie smiled at Jamie who was dressed in a black suit almost identical to Steve’s.

“Look at my handsome, little man.” Katie beamed at him, dropping a kiss to his head.

“Here.” Steve tossed the keys to his Audi to Bucky, who caught them effortlessly in his right hand.

“See you there.” Bucky nodded to Steve who smiled at his friends as they left.

*****

It was busy outside the Cathedral. The surrounding street and road had been shut off and the sidewalks around the temporary barriers were packed with members of the public and press as they all clamoured round. Katie found the whole thing hideous, and her hand tightened on Steve’s as the car pulled to a stop just outside the building.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” She whispered and Steve turned to look at her. She was chewing her lip and shaking slightly. He glanced back at Emmy who was on the row behind.

“Em, take Jamie in okay. We’ll be there in a second.” She nodded. “Come on short stuff.” She smiled at her brother as someone opened the door for them. Jamie looked at his dad for a moment but Steve nodded and he followed Emmy, slipping his hand into hers as they headed into the building, Bucky and Sam both meeting them by the door.

“Give us a second.” Steve spoke to the man who had opened their door and he nodded, gently closing it.

“Look at me.” Steve turned to his wife and she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and frightened. “I know this is daunting, but you just gotta get through this bit. As soon as this is over, then it’s back to the lake house and there’ll be none of this or them around.” He waved his hand gesturing outside.

“I can’t.” “Yes, you can.” His voice was soft, but stern, he knew he had to be to keep her calm. “Baby, you’re the strongest person I know. And you’re not on your own, I got you. If it starts getting too much in there you just let me know and I’ll get you out, I promise, okay?”

Katie took a deep breath and looked at her husband as he gently cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She had to do this, she had to. And she knew Steve would look after her. With a deep breath she nodded and he dropped a soft kiss to her lips before he turned and opened the door.

The minute she was out of the cars the cameras started flashing and she gripped Steve’s hand even tighter. He moved so his arm was around her, pulling her close, almost shielding her from the attention as he walked purposefully into the Cathedral Grounds, his eyes not once looking round. In a few seconds they were through the gates and mostly out of the way of the public and he felt Katie relax a little as she let out the breath she had been holding when Jamie ran to her, wrapping his arms round her legs.

“Momma, I just met the Priest. He says his name is James too!” “Wow!” Katie smiled down at her son. “Only the best people are called James.” “So that’s me, Uncle Bucky and the Priest!” Jamie ticked them off on his small fingers, beaming at her. She gave a soft chuckle as he slipped his little hand into hers. It wasn’t long before the funeral party arrived, Pepper and Morgan climbing out of the first car with Happy, the Hearst behind carried her Brother’s coffin. Katie smiled as she saw it was adorned with a wreath of greenery and country wild flowers which, in the centre, boasted the first Arc Reactor he had developed, which Pepper had framed for him all those years ago. ‘Proof Tony Stark has a heart’ was engraved on the metal halo surrounding it. It had been Pepper’s idea of a joke at the time, but Tony had insisted on keeping it by his desk ever since she gave it to him.

As Steve, Rhodey, Clint and Happy all stepped forward to take a corner of the coffin each, Bruce moved behind them, one large hand resting on the back. Katie took hold of Emmy’s hand in her spare one, and the three of them followed on behind Pepper and Morgan, heading into the Cathedral as the familiar sounds of ‘Drops of Jupiter’ by Train hit their ears.

Steve’s eyes were already misting over by the time he was halfway down the aisle. Saying goodbye to people you loved never got any easier. And he had loved Tony, as a friend and a brother. He hadn’t been perfect, none of them were, and at times he had really tested Steve’s patience. But he had been a good man. Always doing right by the people he cared about. As they placed the coffin down, he heard Rhodey give a little chuckle and he glanced over at him, puzzled. Rhodey gestured to the picture of Tony that was on the table and as Steve looked at it he couldn’t help but laugh. It was a picture of Tony, giving the thumbs up to someone in what looked like a court room, Rhodey in the back ground, looking utterly exasperated.

“It was a senate hearing.” Rhodey whispered. “He had just goaded Stern into telling him to go eff himself.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Steve smiled, as he moved to stand in the space next to Katie, who had Jamie settled on her hip, Emmy at her other side. He gave her a gentle squeeze around the shoulder and then they were told to sit down.

Katie couldn’t tell you what hymns were sung, despite the fact she had a hand in picking them, or what readings Rhodey and Banner read out. She was in a daze, until the time came (far too soon for her liking) for her to give the Eulogy.

Steve took Jamie off her knee and leaned over “You got this.” He whispered gently, kissing her cheek as she stood up and made her way, chin raised with as much dignity as she could manage, up the four steps to the pulpit.

“You know,” she coughed and cleared her throat, “I agonised for days over what to say here, stood in front of you all, and not to mention the many, many people watching outside. I trashed about fifty different sheets of paper because not one speech I wrote could ever do Tony justice. So, in the end I decided to go with the Stark favoured tradition, the one he started, and wing it.” She took a deep breath as few chuckles rose from the large atrium, and looked out at the heaving Cathedral before she turned her attention to the front three rows which contained the people she loved and knew.

“From the day our Parents died, Tony took on the role of being my brother, my father and my mother, which for a twenty-one year old party animal is no mean feat. Not to mention the fact he had to get to grips with running a company as well. But he did it. And he did it well, I think. I mean I turned out okay, although my kids and husband might have something to say about that.” More chuckles rang out over the congregation and she paused, waiting for them to die down.

“I never wanted for anything as a child. I was incredibly lucky, I had so many opportunities others could only dream of. But if there was one thing Tony taught me, it was that I had to earn it. Ironic, yes given that we had more money than even he knew what to do with, but he made me understand that hard work pays off. And that’s something that has stuck with me always. Everything is earned, bar love. My brother loved me unconditionally, and I him. Even though he was a pain in the proverbial to live with at times.”

Pepper smiled at this and looked down at her hand which was wrapped around Morgan’s. To her right sat Happy who was also smiling. On the row behind them Steve sat with Jamie on his knee and Emmy to his right. He smiled up at his wife encouragingly, his chest bursting with pride at how well she was conducting herself.

“There was no Boarding School for me. After spending most of his Childhood in one, Tony vowed never to do the same to me or any of his kids, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.” Katie said sincerely, and she was. “I grew up in an unconventional, yet oh so loving environment. Yes, Tony was a party animal, I mean I lost track of the amount of times Pepper had to ‘take out the trash’…”

At that Pepper, Rhodey and Happy all laughed out loud at the little inside joke.

“But he was on the most discreet, until I got a little older that is and it became a running joke between us all. I can’t actually remember him ever introducing me to a serious girlfriend bar Pepper so congratulations Pep, you truly did tame Tony Stark.”

Katie bit her lip slightly as she felt herself wobble at the next set of words that formed in her mind.

“When I was a Kid, to me Tony was fun. He used to wrestle monsters under my bed with the Monster Killing machine, aka the Vacuum. He used to build ridiculous forts in the living room that would remain there for days during school holidays where we would hide out, eat pizza, junk and play games. He took me to Disney Land, to the Beach, to Aquariums, on holidays that were ridiculously elaborate. I was an extremely lucky little girl. But then, when I got older, he stopped simply being my fun bigger brother and became my friend as well. When I passed my driving test we would regularly just go for drives to a Starbucks that was like ten miles away, just so we could spend time on the open road and sing like idiots as loud as we could. He held my hair back whilst I puked up after my first Keg Party aged seventeen. At twenty-one he took me to Vegas for the first time when I had graduated,” another pause and a deep breath, “but then I got older still, and he morphed from being this friend and big brother person into a true father figure and I knew one day he would make a spectacular dad. Something which was proven more recently when he welcomed his own daughter, Morgan into the world”

Steve watched as Katie rubbed her temple with her right hand, her left shifting down to her stomach, and she gave a sharp intake of breath before she looked at him and gave him a soft smile. Jamie waved at her and she wiggled her fingers back before she looked back up and over at the congregation.

“It breaks my heart when I think that he will never see Morgan start school or graduate from college. He’ll never have the chance to embarrass her awfully in-front of her friends in the many, many ways he could. He’ll never be sat, waiting with an Iron Man suit when the first boyfriend makes an appearance. He’ll never walk her down the aisle. All the things he did for me in his role as my father and I feel so guilty to have experienced those moments with him, whilst Morgan will never get the chance. We’ll all do our best to keep his memories alive but, as I know from experience, there’s only so much memories can do.”

And now she was beginning to break, and Steve could see the tears shining in her eyes, even before the first one fell. Her voice was thick when she spoke again.

“What has happened over the past five years in particular just serves as a reminder to us all that life is fragile. The time we have on this Earth is already short and we can’t lose sight of what matters the most. Friends, family, those who know us inside out and still love us all the same.” She paused, swallowing a little as she sniffed. “You know, Steve said something to me before that really struck a chord. Everyone says that time is a great healer, but it isn’t. You just learn to live with the new normal. It doesn’t stop you hurting, doesn’t stop you yearning for the ones you miss, the ones you love. And as long as you still love them, you’ll always grieve for them.”

She wiped at her face with both hands and took a shaky breath, and Steve willed her with everything he had to keep it together, just for the last few words she had to say.

“And we lost two people in our bid to bring everyone back. My brother and Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow. One of the bravest, most loyal, kind and beautiful people, inside and out that I had the honour of knowing. And now I urge you all do something with your second chances so that their decision to give their lives so you could have yours wasn’t in vain. Make the most of the time you have been given, the people that have been returned to you. Grab the opportunities you can, with the people you love. Go on those trips, have that wine, eat that cheeseburger.”

She was now crying freely as she stole herself for her last line, looking at Steve who was handing Jamie over to Emmy and rising to his feet, ready to help her down as he knew she’d be shaky. “Iron Man wasn’t a hero.” Katie shook her head as she looked out over the large Cathedral, her vision blurred from her tears. “It was the man behind the mask. My brother. Anthony Edward Stark- Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. Husband, Father, Brother, Friend.”

She stepped back from the podium, taking Steve’s hand shakily as he offered it to her, helping her down the steps.

“I’m so proud of you.” He whispered softly in her ear, his own voice cracking with emotion as he kissed her temple, steering her back towards their seats. Jamie crawled onto her lap and kissed her cheek and she held her son tight, pressing her face into his soft, blonde hair as she desperately tried to quell the damn of sobs inside her that was threatening to burst out of her chest.

She made it through the rest of the ceremony, her hand tightly gripped round Steve’s but was beyond pleased when it was over. As the sounds of AC/DC ‘Back in Black’ rang around the Cathedral, those who knew Tony exchanged a grin, Jamie even doing a little jig in his dad’s arms as they headed outside.

“That was a beautiful speech.” Pepper smiled to Katie as they reached the courtyard, Steve taking Jamie over to speak to the priest as they boy was insisting. “He’d be so proud, you know that?”

“Thanks.” Katie nodded as she glanced at Morgan who was clinging to her mother’s leg. She had a sudden flashback to how she had done the same to Tony, hung on to him for dear life at their Parents’ funeral. Katie crouched down in front of her niece.

“Hey Moo, how are you feeling?”

“I miss Dad.” She whispered, her eyes watering up.

Katie tried desperately to keep her face from screwing up into a sob. “I miss him too, sweetie, I miss him a lot but you know something?” Morgan shook her head. “He’ll always be with you, with me, in here.” She tapped the spot over Morgan’s heart. “And we’ll have our special memories of how brave he was, how funny he was, how silly he was and how much he loved us all, okay?”

Morgan nodded softly before she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her Auntie’s neck.

"But he’s not here.” Morgan whispered and at that Katie did start to cry again as she held Morgan close, looking up and making eye contact with Pepper who was watching the two with a look of pure sadness on her face, her own tears coursing down her cheeks.

No,” Katie took a shaky breath, “he isn’t, and that, well, it just sucks. No one can replace your dad but your mom is here, so am I, Uncle Spangles, Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy. So many people are gonna look after you and love you and keep you safe, I promise you that from the bottom of my heart.”

******

They left the Cathedral and the Media Circus behind, heading upstate to Tony’s lake house home arriving little under an hour or so later. Now, the remaining Avengers plus Rhodey, Happy, Pepper and Morgan were sat in Tony’s living room, as instructed, whilst everyone waited outside for the final part of the day’s ceremony whereby Pepper was going to release the wreath containing the arc reactor onto the lake, only this one would be attended by friends, family and those who had worked with Tony only. No public, no press.

A few people in the room knew what was coming when the helmet’s eye slits glowed with a bright white light, some didn’t. But no one jumped, they were that used to Tony’s theatrics that it didn’t come as a surprise.

A holographic Tony was pictured, sitting the wrong way around on a chair, elbows resting over the back of it and Katie realised he was wearing the same suit he had been wearing in the message he had left for her and Steve.

“So, err, hey!” Tony spoke, a smile flashing on his face. “I’m gonna keep this short, as we all know I don’t really like attention.” At that quiet laughter rang round the room and Steve dropped a hand onto Katie’s shoulder where she was sat on the couch, Jamie sat next to her, his hand wrapped around Morgan’ s.

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn’t always roll that way. Maybe this time. I’m hoping if you play this back, it’s in celebration. I hope families are reunited, I hope we get it back, and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored.”

Katie reached up and took hold of Steve’s hand where it rest on her shoulder and he gave her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“If there ever was such a thing.” Tony continued, scratching his chin. “God, what a world. Universe, now. If you told me ten years ago that we weren’t alone, let alone, you know, to this extent,” he shook his head, “I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But come on, you know? The epic forces of darkness and light that have come into play.”

Even in the hologram Steve could see the glint in Tony’s eyes, almost portraying the innocent wonder of a child that had discovered something exciting for the first time. “And, for better or worse, that’s the reality Morgan and her cousins are gonna have to find a way to grow up in.”

Tony stilled slightly and his hand wiped over his mouth as he took a deep breath.

“So I thought I’d probably better record a little greeting… In the case of an untimely death,” Tony gestured outwardly with his hand, “ on my part. I mean, not that, death at any time isn’t untimely. This time travel thing that we’re gonna try and pull off tomorrow, it's– it’s got me scratching my head about the survivability of it all. That’s the thing.” Tony’s hand rest against his mouth for a moment, the way it always had when he had been contemplating something before he shrugged and continued. “Then again, that’s the hero gig. Part of the journey is the end.”

At that Katie took a shuddering breath and her fingers tightened around Steve’s as Tony got up off his chair and walked towards the camera.

“What am I even trippin’ for? Everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees and smiled, and then somehow his hologram looked directly at her. “To the stars and back.” Before it turned and looked straight at Morgan. “I love you three-thousand.”

The hologram faded, the eye sockets of the helmet died down, and for a horrible moment Katie was reminded of seeing the light of the Arc Reactor going out in Tony’s chest on the battle field, when she had seen the life drain from his eyes. She took a shaky breath and Steve dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

“He always said he’d be the VIP at his own funeral.” Katie broke the silence as she wiped her tears, laughter breaking through the sniffing as the people in the room wiped their eyes.

“I err,” Pepper cleared her throat, “let’s set the wreath on the lake. Then we can all have a few drinks and make Tony the centre of attention at a party, just how he liked it.”

They made their way outside, Pepper, carrying the wreath in one hand, heading up the line with Morgan followed by Rhodey and Happy, then Katie, Steve and their kids.

They reached the end of the jetty, and Pepper crouched besides Morgan and then she turned to look at Katie. Katie nodded to her, her eyes misting over, before she watched her sister-in-law and niece drop the wreath onto the lake. It landed with a soft splash and began to gently drift away in the wind. Steve stood with his arm round Katie, Jamie balancing on his other hip as he watched the wreath float across the water. Katie lay her head against Steve’s shoulders, allowing her silent tears to fall.

After a moment or two she raised her head slightly to glance at the people stood around, all saying their final good byes. Peter Parker, May Parker, Thor, Bruce Banner, Doctor Strange, Wong, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, Janet Van Dyne, Hank Pym, Peter Quill, Nebula, Rocket, Groot, Drax, Mantis, T'Challa, Okoye, Shuri, Clint Barton & his family, Wanda, Bucky, Sam, and Harley Keener who Katie had met in Tennessee. Her eyes narrowed a little as she saw Secretary Ross next but then she instantly felt herself smiling again as she saw Maria Hill, Carol Danvers, and finally Nick Fury.

All people who had in some way or other loved, lived, laughed or fought alongside her brother, and seeing them today made her feel warm, just like she had at Natasha’s service.

Katie smiled as she realised they were the real proof that Tony Stark had a heart. Them, and billions of other people who had been brought back to life thanks to his bravery.

Eventually, in their own time, everyone drifted from the jetty but the Rogers-Stark family remained put a little longer, until the wreath had practically hit the middle of the lake when Jamie announced he was hungry. With a chuckle they all turned back towards the house and where the food was laid out, people already tucking in.

Katie couldn’t tell you how long passed. But she found herself alone, simply watching Morgan and Jamie as they sat with Happy on the porch. She caught the words cheeseburgers and smiled to herself before a deep voice drew her attention.

“Little Stark.” Katie turned and Thor pulled her forward into a strong yet gentle hug “I am so very sorry I couldn’t…” “Stop.” Katie shook her head “There’s nothing to be sorry for. This was his choice.”

“I just wish I could have stopped him that day in Wakanda. Then we wouldn’t-” “Don’t torture yourself Thor.” Katie shook her head, “We’ve all done enough of that for the past five years.”

He sniffed and nodded, before looking out over the lake “I’m going travelling again.” He informed her “Back to space.” “Yeah?” She smiled.

He nodded, “with the Guardians. We can be the-” he paused before he laughed “-the Asgardians of the Galaxy. Yes, I think I will suggest that to them.”

“I’m sure they’ll love it!” Katie grinned.

“I’m going to leave Valkyrie in charge of New Asgard. She doesn’t know it yet but she’s the natural one for the job” He concluded, nodding.

“I’m all for women in positions of power.” Katie smiled. “I’m sure she’ll be great.” “You’ll have to keep in touch with her, take the Captain and the Little Rogers, including the one you have on the way.” Thor looked at her, knowingly.

“How did you-” she began but he cut her off with a chuckle.

“I’m the god of Thunder.” He shrugged simply “Some things are beyond your Earthly senses, but not mine.”

Katie smiled, her eyes flicking down to her stomach. “Bruce brought it back. But we just didn’t think it was right telling everyone, not until the funerals were out of the way.”

Thor nodded. “I understand. Your secret is safe with me.” He gave her another hug before she pulled back, tears in her eyes knowing this was a goodbye.

“You will stay in touch this time, right?” “Of course.” Thor smiled, gently touching the side of her neck in a sign of affection. “Always, Little Stark.”

And with that he turned and headed over the grass to the group of Guardians. Katie turned back to find her kids, but suddenly a wave of nausea overtook her and she sprinted back into the house and into the bathroom.

Meanwhile Steve was stood with Bruce. Neither of them had meant to get into the discussion they were having at the moment but, well, it was inevitable really.

“We have to take them back.” Bruce sighed. “It’s been weighing on my mind for a while now…” “I know.” Steve said, his eyes straying to where Emmy was stood talking to Peter Parker. He turned back to the man and looked up at him. “How long do you think it will be before you can get it running?” “Well, now Hank Pym is back, Scott doesn’t think it will be a problem. A week or so, maybe. They have a Quantum Tunnel we can extrapolate and plenty of particles so, we can even do it in a few different trips if needs be.”

Steve nodded. “Well do what you need to do, once it’s up and running we’ll formulate a proper plan.” Bruce nodded, and was about to speak again until a loud yell caught Steve’s attention.

“Daddy!” Jamie stood up, pointing to the house. “The baby made momma sick again.”

There was a pause as pretty much everyone on the lawn turned to look at Steve who hung his head giving a groan that their three year old had effectively outed them to the entire funeral party.

“Baby?” Bruce’s eyes widened. “You mean, the snap? It…” Steve nodded. “We didn’t want anyone to know, not yet, the funerals.” He sighed “Guess that ship just sailed.” Bruce’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m glad…I concentrated so hard on everything…” “I know.” Steve layed his hand on his arm. “And thank you…but I gotta…” he jerked his thumb towards the house and strode across the lawn, ignoring the questioning looks he was getting. As he did so his son’s face changed from one full of concern to worry.

“Daddy are you mad? Did I do something wrong?”

Steve cursed himself at being so easy to read. “No, buddy, you didn’t.” He crouched down.

“Momma’s sick.” Jamie urged him.

“I know, I’m gonna go find her and make sure she’s okay.” Steve assured him. “You stay here with Happy.”

He headed into the house and up to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door.

“Sweetheart?”

She opened the door and he looked at her, her face was streaked with tears and he sighed. “C’mere.” He opened his arms and she fell into them, his large hands rubbing at her back.

“I wanna go home.” She sniffled. “I’ve had enough, I’m so tired.” “Then we’ll go.” Steve nodded, pulling away slightly to look at her. “And you can sleep as long as you want.”

She sniffed. “Best say goodbye to everyone.” “Oh erm, yeah, you should know, erm, Jamie just told everyone about the baby. He didn’t mean it, but…” Katie let out a soft groan that almost turned into a chuckle as she pressed her forehead against Steve’s collar bone. “To be honest I’m surprised he kept it quiet for so long.” She mumbled and Steve chuckled. “It’s probably my fault” Steve said as she wrapped her arms round his waist. “I told him this morning when you were being sick that it was just the baby doing it so when he saw you run off before he just shouted to me that the baby had made you sick again.” “Well he’s not wrong.” She mumbled, pulling back. She looked up at her husband who smiled at her, his blue eyes soft. “Take me home, Soldier.”

“Yes Ma’am.” He smiled back, dropping a kiss to her forehead.

***** Later that night, the house was quiet. Bucky and Sam had headed off to some bar with Happy and Rhodey. Steve had turned the invite down, he wanted to be at home with his family. They lay in bed, Katie’s head resting on his chest, his hand gently carding through her hair.

“I’ve decided something.” Steve said, kissing Katie’s head.

“What?” She asked with a yawn.

“After the battle, I spoke to Fury. Told him I was quitting, that I didn’t want to be Captain America anymore, and he said that the world still needs Cap and I guess he’s right, it’s an important symbol to America and the world.” “So, you are gonna carry on?” Katie asked, moving so she could look up at him.

“No.” Steve shook his head firmly “I’m done. I’m gonna pass the shield down.”

“Not Bucky” Katie stated instantly and Steve frowned.

“Why do you say that?”

“He’s been fighting for so long.” Katie shrugged. “And you know he’d do anything for you. He’d take that shield if you asked, but that doesn’t mean that he wants it. I just, I dunno, I think he needs to find his own way for a while.” Steve contemplated what she was saying, she was right, of course. She always was. And, if he was honest, he’d gone through the same thought process himself. Other than Sam, Bucky didn’t really know the other Avengers (or what’s left of them) so how could he truly lead them? As Steve knew only too well, trust has to be earned, plus they all knew about his past, as did the public. Even if they were all willing to overlook and forgive it, he wasn’t sure Bucky himself was.

And, to be honest, Steve wasn’t sure his best friend ever would.

“Well that leaves one obvious candidate.” He stated, looking down at Katie. “Sam.”

Katie smiled “Sammy deserves it. He had non self-serving reason to let us in that time we showed up in DC, although he probably had a few second thoughts when a metal arm ripped through his car roof and tore out the steering wheel.” Steve gave a snort as she took a deep breath. “But he never left us. Even after Leipzig. He’s loyal to a fault, a good man and…” “He’s human. Not enhanced.” Steve finished, following her train of thought.

“Exactly. After everything that’s happened I think the American public could use a little ‘normality’, well as far as they can. People will relate to Sam. He’s a natural born leader.”

“And proof that anyone can be a hero.” Steve mused.

“So are you.” Katie looked up at him. “Remember, you’re just a kid from Brooklyn.” Steve smiled at her, and dropped a kiss to her lips before she settled down again. “There is one tiny problem…”

“What?” “Your shield bit the dust, big time.”

“Yeah.” Steve agreed, although he already had a perfectly good plan forming in his mind about where he could get another.

“Mind you, sure T'Challa will be happy to provide enough Vibranium to make him a new one” Katie gave another yawn. “Bruce can sort it in the lab.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s hand began once more running through her hair. He hated lying to her, but he had absolutely no intention of correcting her, or telling her what he was actually planning to do.

He couldn’t, it would kill her.

Steve lay there in his own thoughts, long after Katie had fallen into an exhausted sleep, her body warm against his. He had watched her today. So brave, so strong. She was stronger than he could ever be and it scared Steve just how lost he would be without her, which, as he realised at the Cathedral before, was a reality he was going to have to face at some point.

Seeing Pepper say her goodbyes to Tony had made him suddenly think about what Katie had been saying regarding him not growing old as fast as she did. And there, sat on that wooden bench besides her, surrounded by other mourners, he had realised in a fit of horror that one way or another that he would be in Pepper’s position someday. He would outlast Katie, the serum would see to that. The sudden understanding had hit him like a tonne of bricks, almost making him sick.

And now, after speaking to Bruce before about the next step, his mind was finally made up. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t lose her like that.

What he was going to do instead would kill him, but it was a small price to pay to stave off the heartache he would feel later in life. Captain America was going to take that final mission, to put the stones back where they came from.

And he wouldn’t be returning, for a very long time.

**** Chapter 61

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x ofc #katie stark #steve rogers x original female character #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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theonetheycallhannah · 4 years

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The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Prologue: History

Characters: OFC (Shane Benton), OMC (Elliott Thomas)

Summary: Shane Benton is a hard-working physical therapist and a loving girlfriend…but her boyfriend has a less than desirable way of showing it.

In case you’ve fallen behind or want to read more of my drabbles!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Language, mature themes, angst, infidelity, domestic violence (moderate). Yeah, this may be a tad rough for some readers, but I tried to be mild, and mostly implicit. It was hard still, to see my fictional offspring go through this, even if she gives as good as she gets!

Author’s Note: Oh, y’all. When I needed a break from the sweet tenderness of Chapter 8, I came here and put Shane through some hell. (You can blame one of my friends I was talking about for this angst as they’re the one who put me into angsty headspace by cheating on my other friend! It’s been weighing on me! But I guess at least I’ve been able to use it!) I really hope you enjoy a bit of backstory on our heroine! I really liked writing her ferocity.

Also, I meant to have this posted yesterday, but because of some tragedy in one of my other fandoms (and the world, in general! Rest In Power, Chadwick Boseman!) and a bit of craziness in my personal life (my HS bestie wanted to hang out this weekend, so I spent a lot of time with her…also…I’ve been talking to a real live fella! OMG! And it’s entirely too soon to say that I like him, but like…I very much do…but he’s far away and recently single and things are complicated in just, several ways, so it just can’t happen at this point. But…like, we have been talking a ton recently, and…sigh. I have found it difficult to focus on the matters at hand. But, rest assured, I’m working on Chapter Nine, and it will be up just as soon as I find my rhythm!

Disclaimer: Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. (Well, this isn’t a super fun chapter, I guess!)

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! (Also, if you’ve asked and aren’t on the list...well...that would be because I forgot to add you and reminding me will not offend or upset me. I think I might have ADD, or something, and being reminded about things is kind of how I survive!) Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X

5 years ago-

Shane got home from work, exhausted. The new electronic documentation system they'd just implemented was kicking her ass. And Anita's, whom she constantly had to help with it, all the while hearing Anita bellow "When can I retire?!" which lost its charm on about the third day.

"Elliott, I'm home." She didn't smell anything cooking, despite the fact that she knew he was off all day today. Whatever. She was used to him doing virtually nothing but whatever hipster bullshit he got up to on Instagram and YouTube, trying to get off the ground as an influencer with a brand…spare her. Since when did that become a job? She didn’t mind to get takeout though, if only she knew he wasn’t cooking. Maybe she should have asked. "Honey, I could have picked something up if--" she was startled by him in the doorway to the hall, in only his anime boxers, looking like he was trying to not be surprised she was home. "What?"

"Nothing, just…excited to see you! How was your day?" Elliott asked, scratching the back of his neck, displacing his mid-length, slightly moppy light brown hair, already disheveled. That was his tell. Something was up. She knew it.

"What's going on? Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would you ask me that? Don't you trust me, baby?!" he guilted. Knowing just the buttons to push for empathy. It wasn't gonna work today. The machine was all out of that selection and full of his bullshit currency.

"Now that you mention it, no. I sure as hell don't." she walked around to enter the hall and investigate the rest of the house. "Let me through." he wouldn't budge. He had the advantage of physical size, but she was still wearing her work uniform including sneakers…he was more than half naked. She stomped hard on his instep and smacked him in the ear as he doubled over. She felt marginally bad for that in the moment…at best he'd get mild tinnitus for a while. At worst, he could have permanent hearing damage. She'd check later for blood coming out of his ear and see if she should feel worse about it then.

She rounded the corner to their bedroom. The quilt her grandma had made her was carelessly crumpled with the top sheet and blanket at the foot board. She noticed a swatch of an orangey red lipstick on her pillow. The same shade smudged onto the full mouth of the panicking strawberry blonde frantically donning clothes in front of her antique mirror, and the same shade, she was guessing, that was smeared across certain places on Elliott’s body that were now covered by those boxers that she had always hated. You know what, Elliott, she thought to herself. Fuck Bleach, and fuck you!

"I'm sure you're a lovely person who's just been lied to by a very charming and manipulative man, but…you still only have ten seconds to get to my front door before I call the cops." Shane threatened the girl, who couldn't have been more than twenty-one…and he was thirty-three.

"She's my guest." Elliott defended.

"You're not even on the lease. Your credit was too bad." she said over her shoulder while still squared off with the girl. She turned back to her. "I'm trying to be calm here, sweetie. But do not make me tell you even one more time to get out of my…fucking…house." the girl picked up her shoes and a small messenger bag from the floor near where Shane stood, keeping as wide a berth as she could, and skittered out of the room in terror.

"How many times, Elliott?"

"Don't do this, Shane."

"No, I think this is something we should do. Count the times you’ve broken my trust. Kissed another girl, fooled around with one, fucked one…I mean…I've never caught you in our bed before, so this LOOKS like a first…I sure hope it is…because I don't recall you doing any laundry since you've lived here. And if I thought you let me sleep in the same sheets that you…I can't even look at you, you son of a bitch."

"It's not what you think, Shane." he said, calmly, as if he'd simply picked up the wrong consistency of peanut butter from the store. The wrong brand of milk. Not that he ever did the shopping.

"Bullshit. Bull. Shit. Elliott. I come home and find you like this, and there's a girl in OUR bedroom, and her lipstick is all over MY pillow, and your balls, no doubt. Not gonna make you prove it, because at this point, I don't give a shit anymore. I've lost count of how many times I've forgiven you, even times you didn't care enough to ask me to. Times you probably don't even know that I know about. But it's done. You're gonna pack up all your things. And you're gonna be gone by the time I get home from work tomorrow. And don't expect me to be late…because I will not be."

"You're acting crazy. You can't do this. Where will I go, Shane?"

"That's not my concern anymore. Find an apartment that accepts Likes and subscriptions and followers as rent and cherish it. But your free ride here is done. I'm not your mom, your maid, your cook, or…anything to you anymore, Elliott."

He was getting angry now. His nostrils flared and his breaths came more quickly.

"Is this because you're fucking another guy? Hmm?" he got in her space, but she was out of the bedroom and back into the hallway. She shouted back.

"Oh, NOW you're gonna try to deflect this onto me? When in holy hell would I have time to get with anyone but you, when we don't even have sex anymore?! It's been, what, two, three months?"

"You work with guys."

"You have no idea who I am. To think that I would do something like that. No idea at all. If I don't have time at home, I certainly don't have time for sex at work, and you can ask any of my coworkers, male OR female. That place is an unsexy, unholy shit show 90% of the time. And the other ten, it's just above bearable."

"Well, I'm still not going anywhere."

"You are. Like I said. You're not on the lease. And all I have to do is call the landlord and tell him you're here without my permission and he'll have the cops here." she had gotten a glass of water…although she needed something stronger, and was standing by the sink with it. Her mouth was getting dry. She couldn't take much more of this without breaking.

"You wouldn't really do that to me though. I'm the only man who can give you what you want." he grabbed her by the arm, hard.

"Let go of me, Elliott."

"Or what." he asked for it. She got the other instep, his groin, and threw water in his face. She grabbed her purse and bolted out the door.

She got quickly on the phone with Heather her closest friend who had recently been hired on as a secretary for her clinic.

"Yello." she said, cheerful.

"Two things: can I crash at your place tonight and what kind of phone do you have?" she asked.

"Yes and a Galaxy something, I dunno, but what the fresh hell are you talking about?"

"I'll explain when I get there. I’m on my way to CVS for some essentials. Do you need anything?"

"Sounds like we need wine and ice cream!"

"Already on the list." She thanked Heather and hung up, calling her landlord.

“This’s Sam.” She heard over the receiver.

“Sam, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a situation at the house.”

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked concerned. She’d never rented from anyone so kind. He’d become almost family. Like an uncle.

“Long story short, pest control. I’m kicking Elliott out and he has until the time I get home from work tomorrow. I told him you’d be there with the cops if he didn’t comply because he’s not on the lease. Is there any way you can help me and make that good?”

“He hurt ya, Shane?”

“Not, umm…not physically.” Although she had been rubbing the place on her arm where he’d grabbed her, certain there would be a bruise.

“That’s all I need to know. I’ve got a buddy or two on the squad here in town. I’m sure they won’t mind to help me out. You need anything?”

She held back the tears until she could hang up. “I’m staying over at a friend’s tonight and headed into CVS now for a few things I didn’t take time to grab after I kneed him in the groin and ran out.” She had just pulled into the parking lot.

“Well I’m nearby if you need anything when you’re back home.”

“Thanks. I guess just watch for smoke from the place for now. I don’t know what he might do, honestly.”

Up Next: Prologue: Onset of Injury (Sy)

#netflix sand castle #sand castle #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfic #captain syverson x ofc #sigh for sy #hes in this chapter in spirit ok

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nanowrimo · 4 years

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In Favor of Fanfiction

Fanfiction sometimes gets a bad rap, but it can be a great form to help you develop story ideas with characters you already know and love. Today, writer Monique Busacay is here to share some of the best things about fanfic:

It’s a warm afternoon in 2004. I’m in my 6th grade computer literacy class, finishing up an assignment that was teaching us how to use different search engines (before Googling became a word). Upon submission, a friend of mine shows me a website called fanfiction.net.

I didn’t understand fanfiction, at first. Fifteen years later, my understanding has transformed into an outlet for when I need a break from mid-20s crises and lore so complex it needs its own book.

Fanfiction, or fanfic for short, is any form of writing in which characters and their respective universes already exist. The definition by itself exhibits one advantage a writer can have over writing original fiction: a world is already established for them. No long nights slaving over character appearances or favorite foods or how they’d react if another character professed their love for them. Even then, a writer can defy the world that’s been created and bring the characters into a new light. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen can be thrown into 2019 where Instagram exists and dragons don’t. Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers can be alive and well in a D&D universe full of goblins and mana potions. Behind the fanfic door is a plethora of possibilities and fans creating new stories for already-beloved characters.

That’s another quirk of fanfic: the familiarity of the characters. We’re all so drawn to our favorites in all forms of media. Whether you stan Katsuki Bakugo or All Might in his true form, the writer is able to single out their favorites and utilize or manipulate their given personality to their own stories. Jesse McCree can be a doting father to a little girl instead of working for a covert division of Overwatch. Link can wield his hands for sign language at a school instead of a Master Sword in the middle of Hyrule. Writing fanfic has drawn me closer to my favorite characters. Every word is written with care. I can mix canon lore with a story of my own. Overwatch can be a coffee shop, Zelda can be an heiress to her father’s hotel. The creativity doesn’t stop and I’m sure more writers out there can come up with more prompts to support their peers.

The NaNoWriMo community itself is a motivating, driven group that always inspires me to keep writing yearlong when I’m unable to participate in the events. Fanfiction communities are the same. Writers across Archive of Our Own, WattPad, and more are their own worlds of kudos and comments, alongside being a hub of the most accessible creative works on the Internet (It’s all free!). I’ve met so many writers on Ao3 who love the same tropes as I do. We message each other to beta-read works, to toss around ideas, to scream about real-life problems. It’s a wonderful way to start writing, especially for those who may be intimidated by starting from scratch. I wish I could meet every writer I’ve met through fanfiction in person; we’re friends beyond words and bending canon to our liking.

To the writers out there who are doubting writing fanfiction, I say go for it. Fanfic is just as valid as its counterpart, and it has its perks. Perhaps one day, someone will stumble upon your work late at night, craving a new adventure with their favorite characters. And that joy is what makes fanfic all worth it.

When she’s not hand-drawing charts and writing practice questions for pharmacy school assessments, Monique is an active writer in and out of the internet. You can find her practicing poetry in a bullet journal or smashing out fanfic on a Saturday night in the comfort of her own home, because all of her social media is closed to the public.

Top photo by Artur Tumasjan on Unsplash.

#nanowrimo #writing #amwriting #fanfic #fanfiction #by nano guest #monique busacay

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 8: The Light]

Hi y’all! Thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing. Each and every message/reblog/comment/etc makes me smile, and it’s a dream come true to get to share my work with you! 💜

Chapter summary: John shares a secret; Y/N excels at Scrabble; Brian makes peace; Roger suffers a misstep.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy (not who you think!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

Medicine teaches you to be fiercely skeptical of things that seem too good to be true. Bodies fail—completely and inevitably, though the timing may differ—and patients lie. Medical records don’t, fingerprints don’t, track marks up the underside of an arm don’t, blood and paternity tests don’t, oftentimes the eyes don’t; but given half a chance, people will lie themselves right into the grave.

Those bruises, doc? Got ‘em from a nasty fall down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!

Nope, never done drugs, not even a joint, I swear on my mother’s life.

I’ll give it up, I’ll go to rehab. Never again. I promise. I don’t want to die.

Doc, I don’t care if the timing doesn’t seem quite right. My husband IS the father. There’s been no one else!

That doting fiancé is flirting with the nurses. Those grown-up children who fluff pillows and dab away tears are asking about the will. That wife is never going to testify against her abusive husband. That addict is going to relapse again...and again...and again. Are there exceptions? Of course. But if you get in the habit of trusting people—of believing all those tantalizingly attractive, hopeful lies—it’ll break your heart six ways to Sunday. There is no perfection in medicine, and there are very rarely miracles.

And so during those first few weeks with Roger—as you watch him from the reeling crowd, from the other side of the tour bus, from across the restaurant table, from the tiny viewfinder of the Canon F-1—you can’t stop searching for the cracks, the shadows, the lies, the dark malignancies breeding beneath the surface. Because everything about Roger Taylor is too good to be true. He’s bright and he’s loud and he’s brilliant and he’s always smiling, always warm. He careens backstage after every show—you keep bracing yourself not to be disappointed when the novelty wears away, when it ends, but it doesn’t—pushing aside roadies and reporters, shouting “Where’s the love of my life? Where’s my Boston babe?” with the most absurd grin you’ve ever seen until he finds you, collides with you, scoops you up and spins you in ungainly circles as your toes skim the floor. Then he cradles your face in his scarred hands and kisses you, breathes you in, tells you everything about the show (even though you were there to see it) in a rush of pure, manic adrenaline. And you stumble into some dressing room together—or a hotel room, or a taxi, or a limousine, or an elevator—and finally it’s your bare thighs his palms are gliding over, your tongue tasting the Heineken and craving on his lips, and it feels impossible for that to ever change. Roger is too good to be true, that’s undeniable; but when you watch him with those doubtful, cautious eyes, you can’t find anything but light.

He wakes up at 6 a.m. to join you on a bayou tour in New Orleans, taps his cigarette over the moss-covered sides of the boat, points out the alligators with leathered skin and ancient yellow irises lurking in the depths. He walks Fremont Street with you in Las Vegas and makes you choose his numbers for the Roulette wheel, for his fate. He snaps photos of you on a sun-drenched balcony in Miami, roaring cobalt waves crashing in the background. He takes you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Philadelphia Zoo, Myrtle Beach and the Saint Louis Arch and the Santa Monica Pier. Because he was telling the truth when he said he could show you the world all those months ago when Queen was at Top of the Pops; he was telling you the truth about the list that’s etched into the rushing scarlet chambers of his heart.

When the American leg of the tour ends and the band gets a brief reprieve in London, you move into Roger’s paltry, disorganized flat and scrub away all the remnants of his past life: dust and empty cigarette boxes and women’s socks, ashes and copies of Vogue, a tube of lipstick that isn’t yours. You don’t complain, don’t even frown; you’re under no delusions that something eternal can be founded on resentment, on lies. And so you clear out the clutter and open the windows so sunshine and crisp spring air can breathe through the apartment, so you can both start fresh along with the bellflowers and delphiniums and roses and the tawny newborn ducklings scampering behind their mothers. You hang photos from the tour and John’s sketches on the refrigerator, place your Canon F-1 and pink conch shell from Ostia on the nightstand, litter the drawers with your own socks and makeup. You teach Roger how to sew (although he’s not much good at it) and how to treat blisters (although you’ll always be there to do it for him); and in return Roger teaches you how to trust, how to believe, how to stop searching desperately for faults in the light.

On the second day of April, Queen boards their flight to Tokyo. Brian settles into a plushy, billowing blanket and loses himself in an astronomy magazine; he’s an engaged man now, an honest man in the eyes of society at large...and, far more importantly, his parents. Freddie pens lyrics in his notebook, humming disjointedly, napping like a cat when the mood strikes him. Roger snacks constantly and tries to get John chatting, but John is particularly subdued today, preoccupied, prone to gazing unfocusedly at the clouds that drift by outside and wringing his hands.

And you think, as you peer down into the glistening sapphire waters of the East China Sea: Brian’s a willow tree, Freddie’s a lightning storm, Roger is wildfire...but what is John?

Something deep, something beautiful and strong and constant and hidden.

The ocean, you decide as Queen’s private plane soars over the quicksilver waves that conceal the abyss. John is the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

John is lying on his back under a small grove of cherry blossom trees outside the hotel, sketching grey outlines of petals and arcing branches in a new notebook. He hasn’t given any sign that he heard you coming, doesn’t turn his head to see you. You freeze, startled.

“How’d you know it was me?!”

“You have very distinct footsteps. Dainty, yet purposeful.” He sets aside his notebook and sits up, crossing his long legs. “Why didn’t you go to lunch?”

“Because you didn’t. You turned down ramen, and you never turn down ramen. I was worried. Plus someone has to make sure a roving posse of screaming Japanese girls doesn’t carry you off.”

That makes him laugh. The Japanese fans are inexplicably obsessed with John; or maybe it’s not so inexplicable, maybe they just have a better eye for quiet, unassuming wonders. “Always so thoughtful.”

You sit down beside him, open a pack of chocolate-flavored Pocky and offer John a piece, frown when he lights a cigarette instead. “That’s really bad for you. Seriously. You should quit.”

“At last. One thing you and Brian agree on.” He exhales a gale of smoke and peers up at the cherry blossoms.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t break up with Veronica, did you?” Chrissie and Mary didn’t mention anything about her tearful devastation, and you suspect they would have had John gone through with it.

He sighs. “I did not.”

“And...are we feeling...okay about that...?”

He twirls the cigarette nervously between his fingers. After a silence, he surrenders. “Look, I haven’t told anybody yet, but I’d tell you first anyway. So here it goes.” He glances over at you guiltily, gloomily, wishing he could disappear. “I didn’t break up with Veronica because she’s pregnant.”

Your jaw falls open. A half-eaten stick of Pocky rolls out of your mouth and onto the grass. She’s what? She’s WHAT?

“Please don’t be disappointed,” John pleads. “I’m disappointed in myself enough for both of us, believe me.”

“I...I...I’m not disappointed, John, I’m just...” You blink at him. “Oh my god.”

He nods, acquiescent. “I’m in complete agreement.”

You shake your head, gaping at him, stunned; and suddenly you don’t like what you’re feeling at all. Because it isn’t just shock and horror, it isn’t just apprehension. You hate the thought of him touching her, of her delicate white hands on him, of innocence stripped away and memories impressed into muscle, into soul.

Because you know she’s not right for him. Because you know he doesn’t love her the way he should. Because you want the best for him and always have.

Oh, there’s a comforting rationale; but is it true?

And then: You fucking hypocrite. Since when do you get an opinion on who anyone sleeps with?

“It must have happened in January,” John says miserably. “Right before we left for the States. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone...I guess maybe she thought if she did I’d never come back. So she told me as soon as I landed in London. And here we all are.”

You stare down at your shoes, trying to compose yourself. “What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one option.”

“Actually, there are quite a few. But I know you’d never consider them.” John’s father died when he was ten, and he never talks about it; which is precisely how you know it’s a wound that can’t ever heal, a gash that goes straight down to the bone. He would never leave his child, never banish them to some dusty, repressed corner of his consciousness while he moves on with a blissfully unencumbered life. You whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry, John.”

That snaps something in him, something he was choking back. He buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck am I doing?” he moans. “I’m twenty-three years old, I’m broke, I turned down loads of jobs, good jobs, as an electrical engineer, I’ve somehow become the bassist in an increasingly famous rock band...I mean, how the hell did this happen? How did any of this happen?”

“It’ll be okay,” you insist with newfound resolve. I have to save him. I have to protect him.

John rolls those soft greyish eyes, hopeless, distraught. “Sure.”

“It will be, I promise you. The tour is going great. I had my doubts about the band when I first met you, I’ll admit it, I didn’t know if there was a future for Queen. But you’ve made me a believer. You’ve made millions of people all over the world believers. The money will keep rolling in, Queen will finally start seeing some of it, you won’t be broke forever. You’ll have two more months on the road and then we’ll be back in London, and it’ll be on to recording the next album, more shows, more money...the hard times are almost over, John. You can do this. And I’ll help you.”

His brow furrows. “You will?”

“Of course. If it’s easier for Veronica, it’ll be easier for you. So I’ll be extra friendly, take her to appointments when you’re busy, help organize the wedding, babysit the littlest Deacon whenever she needs me to. We’ll get through this. I’ll be there to help every step of the way.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly. “You and Roger. You aren’t going anywhere.” He’s reading you closely, sifting through your words and forced smile for something deeper.

“I’m happy,” you assure him. “You don’t need to be concerned about that. I’m staying with the band, I’m staying in London. Whenever Queen is home, that is.”

He nods, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. He finally accepts a piece of Pocky from you and takes a bite. “Then I guess we’ll plan for a summer wedding.”

“You could do a double one with Brian and Chrissie.”

He laughs so hard he almost inhales the Pocky, then doubles over coughing. “I think Bri would rather slit his own throat, but a charming thought. Thank you for that. Bravo.”

You smile at John, genuinely this time. “You’re going to be an amazing father. I hope you aren’t worried about that part of it, at least.”

“Will you be their godparent?”

“What? Me?!”

“Yeah. Because, you know...” John averts his gaze. “You’d be the person I would want to raise them if something happened to me and Veronica. You’re the most dedicated, stubborn, capable, nurturing, remarkable person I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend. And maybe Roger’s your best friend and you’re his, and that’s all fine, that’s alright, but you’re still mine.”

“Roger is a lot of incredible things, but he’s not my best friend.” You lie flat on the grass and lace your hands behind your head, tracking the weightless snowy clouds as they float by above. When did we become adults? When did all of these rules catch up to us? “I would be honored to be your child’s godparent.”

John plops down beside you. “Don’t tell the others yet, okay? I want to wait until the tour’s over. I don’t want them to panic and think I’m leaving and try to replace me or anything.”

“They wouldn’t try to replace you, John.”

“No?” he asks doubtfully.

“No. Roger knows it, Fred knows it, I think even Bri knows it.” You reach out and weave a lock of his hair through your fingers as cherry blossom petals tumble in the breeze. “You’re irreplaceable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sod,” Freddie mocks. “That’s the best you could do? Really? Sod?”

Roger flings up his hands in frustration. “Freddie, I’ve got like a million Cs!”

“You could have done cod,” Brian notes, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Cods, actually.”

Roger glowers down at his Scrabble tiles. “Fuck.”

“And I’m so delighted he didn’t!” You place your tiles, expanding on sod to make rhapsody. John high-fives you and records the points in his notebook. Freddie and Brian groan in defeat.

“What the hell is a rhapsody?!” Roger snatches the Official Scrabble Dictionary off the table and flips through it.

“It’s a, like a...” Freddie waves his cigarette, scattering smoke through the air. “It’s like an epic poem. Or an opera. With lots of bizarre, different parts all pieced together.”

“That sounds made up.”

Freddie cackles. “Darling, it’s a real thing, I swear!”

Roger locates the pertinent page in the Scrabble Dictionary and his shoulders slump. “Goddammit. Fucking...too smart...nerdy...college-educated...girlfriend.” He drags you into his lap and kisses your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t usually tolerate being conquered like this.”

Bri smirks from behind his teacup. “I rather think you conquered her, Rog.”

“Oh, a rare good one from Bri!” Freddie trills as everyone laughs, although John soon busies himself with clearing empty bottles and cigarette butts off the table.

“Yes,” Roger agrees. “Against her superior judgment, I finally won her over. Only took eight months. Which is approximately...wait, let me count...seven and a half months longer than it has ever taken me before.”

You trace your fingertips across his stubbled cheeks, his soft lips, his little dark blond tufts of sideburns. “No one knows how to say no to you, do they?”

“It’s impossible. I’m too charming. Blindingly heroic. Perseus in the flesh.” He kisses your forehead and steadies you, his hands on your waist, as the brakes squeal and the tour bus lurches to a halt.

Freddie leaps to his feet and claps. “Alright, darlings! Off to the new digs we go. Deaky, hand me my shoes, they’re under the table...yes, right there...and toss over Brian’s hideous clogs as well.”

You help the roadies and the band drag luggage into the hotel (no small feat, as the elevator is out of order), unpack your toothbrush and hairbrush and a floral-patterned dress for dinner, giggle as you listen to Roger’s feral, raspy singing in the shower. It’s something about loving a car, how perfectly on-brand for him. Then Roger goes to fetch Freddie and John for dinner while you find Brian. Bri is collapsed on his bed in a striped t-shirt and jeans, freshly-washed and dewy, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze.

You tap gently on the doorframe. “Bri? You want to join us for dinner? There’s a sushi place a few blocks away that’s a local legend, apparently. Lots of veggie options too.”

He looks over at you. You haven’t spoken about the argument since you had it two months ago. Brian sometimes grimaces or smirks or rolls his willowy viridescent eyes, but he never says anything; not to you, and not to Roger as far as you’re aware. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I may have been out of line before. Incorrect, even.”

“No need to apologize, Bri. I’ve forgotten all about it.” You haven’t, but there’s no reason for Brian to know that.

“I just want what’s best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I know, Brian.” You cross the room and take his long, moon-white, artful hands in your own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be in the wedding party, won’t you? I know Chris will ask.”

“Of course. And I’ll proudly wear whatever dreadfully tacky and uncomfortable bridesmaid dresses she picks out.”

“Even if they’re a frightful shimmery green?”

“Oh god.” You swallow noisily. “I’ll still do it. And then burn the photos.”

Brian chuckles as he climbs out of bed. “In a stroke of luck, I suspect she’ll ask you to take the pictures. So you can avoid being in them as much as you’d like. And conveniently lose the unflattering ones.”

You study him thoughtfully. “Are you happy, Brian?”

“I am. Chrissie’s excited, my parents are thrilled, they’ll be sitting in the front row with the proudest smiles you’ve ever seen. Next comes a proper house, and children, and all the rest of it.” But something in those mellow olivey eyes is resigned, melancholy. His words from two months ago echo in your skull: It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.

“Do you still think about New Orleans?” you ask softly. About the woman he’d fallen in love with there before you ever met Queen, about the utopian passion he never quite stops searching for. Everyone has demons, secrets, shadowy trenches like cracks in porcelain; you’ve learned all about Brian’s. What about Roger’s? What about mine?

He shrugs, staring out the window at the dusky skyline of Yokohama. “Maybe I’ll always think about New Orleans. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to grow up and start taking responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” you reply cynically, before you can stop yourself. “Is that all love is about anymore?”

“Not for you. Not for Roger. You both want your freedom, your adventure, your true and uncomplicated love. And you’ll get to keep it.”

For now. But you don’t say that. Instead, you smile appeasingly and gesture for Brian to follow you out into the hallway.

The others are waiting by the door to the stairwell: John in a smart grey suit, Freddie in his black-and-yellow jacket, Roger in sunglasses and a ridiculous leopard-print vest he’d dug out of a trashcan somewhere and precariously tall boots.

“At last, Nurse Nightingale and my darling Brian!” Freddie chirps. “Come on, I’m positively famished, and also I’ve bet five pounds that I can consume more sake shots than Roger and I could really use the dough.”

Roger pushes through the door, leading the way. “Prepare to lose!”

“Roger, please,” you implore. “New livers don’t grow on trees, and I can’t give you half of mine. I’m the wrong blood type.”

Roger laughs as he bounds down the steps, then whirls to grin up at you as he walks backwards. “Relax, Deaks will share! You’re type A, aren’t you John—?”

Roger’s heel slips and he plummets down the flight of stairs. He tumbles as the four of you shriek in horror and bolt after him, slams into the wall of the landing, ricochets off of it and plunges down the next flight as well. There’s blood, you think frenziedly as you descend, screaming Roger’s name. There’s blood all over the steps.

Roger, crumpled on the maroon-streaked landing, slowly unravels and groans. He glances down, appraises himself, then hammers his left fist against the concrete wall of the stairwell, roaring in raw agony and rage. “No no no no no no!”

“Roger—!”

And then you see it.

Roger’s right arm hangs uselessly, unnaturally, his snapped radius bloody and splitting through the skin.

#but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #but you can never leave #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #queen fic #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction

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kookscrescent · 4 years

Text

SECRETS │ 04 │ jjk

➤ pairing│Jungkook x female reader ➤ summary│Finding someone who doesn’t know who he is, is rare for Jungkook. Everywhere he goes people seem to know his name, his face and the group he’s a part of. But when he comes across someone that doesn’t know any of that, he isn’t in any hurry to reveal that part of his life and the secrets keep piling up. ➤ rating│PG-13 ➤ genre│fluff, dating au, idol au ➤ warnings│kissing, strong language, swearing, the f bomb gets dropped a few times, angst if you squint, fluff ➤ word count│2.6k│semi edited ➤ release date│April 17th 2020 ➤ disclaimer│This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

➤ chapter index│prologue│01│02│03│04│05│06

~~~

When he does not make any more moves after a few seconds, thinking he is done, you open your eyes just as he gently presses his lips against yours.

Your eyes immediately fall shut!

Oh boy!

~~~

His lips barely move against yours for the first few seconds, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to; but you don’t, and slowly you begin moving your lips, Jungkook quickly following suit and soon enough your lips are moving in tandem.

You take your time, soaking in the feeling and excitement of your first kiss. You feel his tongue rubbing along your lower lip, quietly asking for permission to deepen the kiss. You don’t fight him on it, softly parting your lips to allow his tongue to stroke against yours.

On instinct, you fall into him – the palms of your hands resting on his chest, your fingers curling into the material of his jacket. Softly you hum against his lips, when he brings both of his hands to your cheeks, cupping them and the pads of his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones.

You could stay like this forever! Stay connected with him like this, feeling nothing else but his lips and his hands on your face. This must be what heaven feels like!

A soft groan coming from Jungkook vibrates through your core, making every nerve ending in your body tingle and come to life. If that are the sounds he makes when kissing, imagine the sounds he would make when-

No stop it!

All too soon you have to pull apart, the need for air becoming too overpowering for the both of you.

Pulling apart, you suddenly feel shy, your cheeks betraying you for the hundred time tonight. You have kissed guys before, but none of the can ever live up to the kiss you just shared with Jungkook!

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his eyes shining, and his pupils slightly dilated. You are sure that your own resemble his.

He smiles then and your stomach curl with butterflies.

“Aren’t you glad you decided to trust me?” he smirks pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

You chuckle, eyes closing at the feel of his lips, “Very,” you breathe.

Back at the car, Jungkook opens the door for you again – like a true gentleman would – before he gets in himself.

You honestly don’t know what time it is, and you really could not care less, but judging by the countless of stars in the sky and the cold breeze that has settled amongst the trees, you would guess that it is quite late and you already know Jisung is going to question you when you get home.

Jungkook starts the car, and almost immediately you feel warmth on your hand. You look down; Jungkook has placed his hand on top of yours, his fingers curling around your own and his thumb stroking over the soft skin on your knuckles.

You don’t know what to say, just staring down at his hand as he strokes yours. It feels good! Way too good than it probably should feel on a first date, but nonetheless you don’t want him to let go!

It is then you notice something on his knuckles. You frown a little. Tattoos? When did those get there? And why had you not noticed them before?

Because you were too busy drooling over him, that’s why!

“I like your tattoos,” you break the silence in the car, deciding to compliment them instead of making a fool out of yourself for not noticing them and asking him when he got those.

His eyes flicker from you and down to his hand. He smiles warmly upon seeing familiar ink etched into his skin, “Thank you.”

You want to ask him more about it. Like what does it mean; ARMY, what does it stand for? Does he have a connection to the army? And what does the J above the M mean? And the crown? The small smiley face on his middle finger, what does that symbolize? You want to know more about it all, but before you even get the chance, Jungkook asks you if you have any tattoos.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “No,” you pout, “not yet anyway.”

Curious, he raises his brows, “You want one?”

“Yeah, I’ve always been really fascinated with tattoos and I’ve always wanted to get one, but I also don’t want to get one just to have one, you know,” you explain, “when I get a tattoo I want it to have a meaning.”

He nods along as you speak, keeping his eyes on the road but you know he is listening to every word you say.

“Do you have more tattoos than these?” You ask him, your other hand daring to reach over and brush across the letters on his knuckles.

Jungkook breaths sharply when he feels your touch, but he quickly composes himself. He stops at a red light, turning to you, his famous smirk appearing on his face before he speaks, “The entirety of my arm is covered.”

Your eyes practically turn to teacups, “Really?!”

“Mostly,” he laughs at your expression just as the light turns back to green and he begins driving again.

“Wow,” you whisper, your eyes traveling up his jacked covered arm as if trying to visualize what tattoos he might have under there.

Never in a million years would you have pegged him as a guy to have a full sleeve of tattoos. A few here and there, sure, but not a full sleeve.

But you can picture it clear as a day now that he has told you. You don’t think it would be just one design traveling the length of his arm. No, you bet he has multiple separate tattoos that all correspond with each other in some way or form. Maybe some writing of some kind, probably also something manly; like a skull or a snake. Maybe he even has a flower or two thrown in there? Perhaps a rose of some sort?

You are so lost in your own little world, picturing him without his jacket on – and shamelessly also without his shirt, but don’t tell anyone – trying to visualize what tattoos he might have, that you don’t even realize that he has already stopped the car outside of your apartment.

Disappointment washes over you in an instant! You don’t want the date to end yet! You want to keep talking to him and spending time with him.

Jungkook sees your pout. He does not blame you, if anything he feels the same way. It might be late in the night, but to him it is still way too early to end the date.

In the years he has been in the spotlight, never has he met anyone that does not know how he is or freak out in the slightest when meeting him. But meeting you was like a breath of fresh air for him! Like a completely new world he is ready to discover. Like a dream come true.

But he knows that the dream will inevitably turn to a nightmare at some point… there is no way around it, and truly he is the only one to blame for it. In a way he damns the day he first met you and the fact that he did not just tell you straight away who he was and what he did for a living.

No, instead he made up a handful of lies to be able to live a little while longer in this dream world of a bubble he has created for the two of you.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask Jungkook, seeing his somber expression as he stares down at your conjoined hands.

His down turned lips slowly rise to a smile and his thumb continues its stroking across the front of your hand, “I’m thinking that I don’t want to let you leave yet.”

“No?” you smile meeting his eyes.

He shakes his head, “No.”

“Then what do you want?”

A moment of purely electrifying tension passes before Jungkook slowly lowers his eyes to your lips, his tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip. You are captivated by the movement, your chest rising and falling.

“I want to kiss you again.”

Your breath hitches as you lean further towards him, “Please,” you breathe.

Releasing your hand, Jungkook cups the side of your face before smashing your lips together in a hot and messy kiss. This kiss is not like your first kiss. This kiss is much more intense, electrifying and… hot!

Leaning further over the middle console, you sneak your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with his hair, combing through it, tugging it, making him groan and you repeat the action just to draw another one from him.

You move with each other, teeth slashing together here and there but neither of you care, tongues dancing and breaths mixing like both of your lives depend on in. In this moment there is no one else in this world that exists.

Just Jungkook and you.

~ JISUNG POV ~

“Fucking Rose!” Jisung curses into the cold night air, kicking a random stone that is in his way, “Why does she have to be so fucking difficult?!”

He is talking to himself, loudly, anyone walking by would most likely think he is crazy, but after the night he has had, he thinks he might just be crazy.

Crazy to keep dealing with Rose’s fucking drama bullshit!

Speaking of the devil… he feels his phone vibrating in his back pocket. He does not even need to check the caller id to know who it is.

He already knows it is Rose!

He left her sitting at the bar he asked her to come to after you left to go out with June…

He knew it was a downright bad idea the moment he send her the message about meeting up, but he did not want to… essentially, dump her over the phone! He might be an asshole, but he knows right from wrong.

Rose had probably gotten her hopes up the minute the text rolled into her inbox, because Jisung never texts her except for when he wants sex, never, that is his rule! But when he asked her to meet up at a local bar, she probably thought it was because he was finally going to ask her to be his girlfriend.

But no.

He had it all planned in his head, he had even practiced it over and over again so he would not be sidetracked by her charms; aka her boobs!

He would go in, sit down at a table in the back where not many people would be able to see or hear them talking, he would wait for her to arrive – because knowing her, she would show up later than planned just to be sure she was making an entrance – then he would start out by saying that she is a great girl, that none of this is her fault – lie! Almost… – then he would lay it all out for he, give her the honest truth… that he is just not ready to settle down.

It might be only half the truth, but at least she would not be so hurt afterwards.

But no no… Rose had her own idea of how it would all go. Jisung practically had not gotten a single word in before she started ripping his head off, accusing him of being a complete asshole who only thought with his dick and that he should learn to appreciate what was right in front of him and how good she was for him.

He had been ready to agree with her, until she told him that she had slept with his collogues Seo Joon out of spite and to “get back at him”. He had kept his cool at the time, keeping his rising anger at a bay, only allowing it to come forwards after he left.

Admittedly, it did bug him a little bit that she had slept with someone else! All this time she had been going on about him sleeping with other girls and that it was an asshole move, and then she goes and does the same thing.

Maybe it is the face that he thought she was a sure thing to return to when his bed got cold? Or maybe he did not really think she would ever do it?

Out of spite and with a straight face, he had told her that Seo Joon could keep her and that she was not even that good in bed anyways.

That had been the tip of the iceberg for her, and she leaned across the table and slapped him across the face.

He deserved that one!

Eventually his phone stops vibrating in his pocket, but no sooner has it stopped does it start ringing again.

With a frustrated sigh, he answers, “What?!”

“You are a fucking asshole Jisung, you know that?!” Rose’s sharp voice cuts through the phone, ringing loudly in his ear.

“So I’ve been told a few times,” he replies cold.

Much more of this and he is going to lose his fucking head!

“Well prepare to hear it for the rest of your fucking life asshole, because you are! You’re a-“

“Is that all you called to tell me Rose?” he cuts her off, reaching the corner of his apartment building. All he wants right now is to be done with this so he can go to bed and sleep like any of this did not happen.

“No!” she practically screams, “I also called to tell you that you’re a goddamn fucking…”

He lets her trail off, biting his ear off, but he only pays half a mind to it when he notices a black car parked in front of the building with two people making out like horny teenagers inside.

Snickering, he has the urge to knock on the window and tell the couple to go get a room. That is until the girl in the passenger seat starts to look uncomfortably familiar.

That hair, the jacket… he knows the girl. Frowning, he steps a little closer, careful not to get caught by the two.

Oh, he definitely knows the her!

It’s ____!!!!!

Making out with some dude!!

“…you idiot fucking asshole! Now what do you have to say to that?” Jisung had almost forgotten that he was talking to Rose on the phone, too engrossed in the scene taking place in front of his eyes.

“I have to go,” he hangs up on her, stuffing away his phone.

____ is making out in a car with some random dude in the middle of the fucking night?! What the fuck?

Why would you lie to him about that? Why would you not just tell him that you had a date instead of him having to tease you about your obvious lying and then catching you practically dry humping in a car?

The guy turns in his seat, showing more of his face to him, and he too looks oddly familiar. Not familiar as in a oh I know you, we have hung out before, or in a we are friends way, but in a I have seen your face somewhere before way!

The dark blue tips of his hair catch the streetlight, an just like a switch being turned on, he realized just who the fuck you are sucking face with!!

“June my fucking ass…”

I’m really happy with how this chapter turned out!!! Arrggghhhh they finally kissed! Annnnd Jisung knows who Jungkook is, uhhh... I wonder how the next chapter is gonna turn out ;)

Remember if you enjoyed this chapter, please like and reblog! It helps me a lot, thank you!

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emptymanuscript · 3 years

Text

The Cat

I’m about 9 minutes into the movie Bright, and all the criticisms are kind of crystalizing. But one of the things that’s killing me is how they’re setting up the MC, Daryl Ward.

My bet is that the film makers thought they were setting up Ward as the cat. And they’re not.

The Cat is the term for a story abstraction from the book Save the Cat! by Blake Snyder and its sequels.

The Cat itself, is something (and it can be nearly anything that the audience will value) in need of aid that doesn’t HAVE to get it. A random cat up a tree can be the Cat. The cat that belongs to the person you want to get with, who has promised carnal relations if their cat is returned, can’t be the Cat because there is a significant reason and reward beyond simple morality for it to be helped.

If a character saves the Cat, gives it aid, helps it out, etc. when it’s just out of the goodness of the heart, that character is defined in audience perception as heroic. Most action stories will have the MC Save the Cat! in some way within the first few scenes. It’s a short hand way to show that they are “good.” And if you have a Save the Cat! moment then followed by them doing something “bad” you’ve SHOWN the audience the trajectory of the story: this person is a good person underneath but they’ve gone astray and need to find their heroism again to save the day. You’ve told the story in miniature. So it’s very useful.

But that’s not the only way to use the Cat.

In many stories the main character IS the Cat. The story in the first few scenes shows a moment where the character is clearly in need of aid and doesn’t really quite get what they need. They get enough maybe to survive but no one is saving them. This signals to the audience that this story is about growth and confidence. The MC will start out in a relatively helpless state and figure out how to come to their own rescue.

One of my all time favorite examples of that is the movie Ms. Congeniality. The opening scene, which is only about 90 seconds, is playing hard with the Cat.

youtube

The set up starts with the typical over the top Save the Cat set up. Our hero is going to ride into the rescue, save the cat, and be awesome. And then it turns. She’s not saving the cat, remember, the cat is something helped without reward, and she very much wants a reward. She IS the Cat. The real person in need of aid in this microsmic story is her. And she doesn’t get it. To keep going, she turns to her strengths and just barrels through. But, again, in miniature, this scene has told us everything we need to know about the trajectory of her story. She has all of the wrong kind of power, she uses it to mask her need, and what she is going to have to find is the “impossible” how to get what she really needs and how to draw helpers to her.

That’s the power of being the Cat. It draws sympathy. It paints expectations. And it communicates problems very clearly.

Unfortunately, many storytellers seem to believe that injury and/or pain is enough to make a character the Cat, and that just isn’t so. Cats are about choices and character trajectories. So, if you have someone shot in the first few minutes of a story, even though, yes, they NEED help and yes, they’re going to continue to need help to get back to where they were or better, it’s a non optional help. It carries with it its own reward. They’re better for no other reason than that they are recovering.

Go back to Ms. Congeniality and that’s not true. Her “saving” doesn’t intrinsically give her her reward. It gives her the key to then go out and get what she wants. They’re two separate goals. And that’s why it works. Her choice gives her another choice and that gives her her happy ending. If the story was merely a search for feminine power and getting it, it just wouldn’t feel as satisfying because it wouldn’t get the resonance of WHY feminine power is a necessity for her. As a really excellent rule of thumb, think of the Cat as representing the NEED of a character which must be fulfilled in order for them to get what they WANT. This allows for both happy and sad endings that are satisfying because they each deliver on the premise, even if it is a radically different outcome.

Ms. Congeniality has four fundamental outcomes arcing from that initial scene.

She can get the Feminine Power she needs and a boyfriend she wants - that’s a happy comedic story.

She can get the Feminine Power she needs but not get a boyfriend - that’s an “unhappy” comedic story, which can still be funny if she still pops the new not-boyfriend in the nose, happy and unhappy are textures as much as anything.

She can FAIL to get the Feminine Power she needs but get a boyfriend who appreciates her for who she really is - “happy” tragedy. Remember that comedy and tragedy in the literary sense don’t mean funny and tear jerker. Comedy means “what makes you sick but you get better” it’s about having trouble obtaining a goal but getting it in the end. Tragedy means “what kills you,” it’s about not being able to ever obtain the goal. So this kind of ending is really about saying that the goal was stupid all along.

She can Fail to get the Feminine Power she needs and because of that FAIL to get any boyfriend she might want. This is the pure tragedy. It’s both “sad” and tragic. She gets nothing. BUT this can still be funny. If you watch them closely, a LOT of slapstick comedies conform to this architecture. The characters enter the story as fools and leave the story as fools without having been enlightened one wit.

My extreme suspicion is that Bright wants to set up this kind of situation. Since the first thing we see of Officer Ward is that he feels under threat. All of his motions are indicative of someone who recognizes he is in extreme but non-immediate danger. He’s waiting for it. And then he’s shot. And then he’s clearly still having issues after he has recovered because his wife is urging him out of bed in the afternoon. He is the Cat, right?

Well, there is another relationship to the Cat that I think they’ve actually set up harder and is overriding that narrative.

Kick the Cat

You don’t usually see Kick the Cat in genre fiction. And there’s a very good reason. Genre fiction tends to lean toward “physical” action. By which I mean that the main conflicts of the plot happen outside of the Main Character’s body. The characters either go out and do something or something comes into their lives and forces them to do something. So, even though character growth is likely necessary and choices will be based on what they learn about themselves as people, that is expressed through the exterior plot. The Detective goes and solves and crime and that action results in the Detective’s change. Which means that internal character change is relatively harder to show because it doesn’t take center stage.

This means that a flawed person becoming a kind person works. But a deeply flawed, nearly broken person, who needs to grow into a kind person usually doesn’t. Because genre fiction doesn’t have enough cameras in that area where you can show it.

So when it happens in Genre Fiction, Kicking the Cat is generally an announcement that said character who does it is one of the villains and the reader should prep themselves for the sudden and inevitable betrayal.

Now that isn’t as true in Literary Fiction. Because Literary Fiction is the opposite of Genre Fiction in this way. Instead of the conflict generally being “physical”, the conflict in Literary Fiction is generally “mental.” The main conflict happens inside the body of the Main Character. So the majority of the action and most of the cameras are there. So Literary Fiction allows that kind of deep, essentially broken, flaw because it gives the story the space and insight to work with it. So it’s not as necessarily a trumpeting warning that you’re dealing with a villain. It can mean that this MC has a long way to go to fix themselves, if they can make it at all.

Unfortunately for Bright, it’s a Genre Film. AND I think that this is much more what they’re broadcasting. Remember I’ve only seen nine minutes so far. But the first nine minutes are saying a lot.

The opening credits play out over a visual depiction of a race war between the Orcs and the Police. This is, in visual language, the announcement that the Orcs are poor and oppressed and should be read as the equivalent of POC in our own world.

Ward, played by Will Smith, could open up a whole can of worms with that reading, and there’s clearly some intent to considering his neighbors are absolutely what you would see in a shot of the ghetto in another movie, but instead we go pretty much straight to:

He kills a fairy. It’s not depicted as innocent, it’s clearly a pest. But it’s also not exactly powerful. He kills it with a zealous slap of a broom. This is very plausibly the Cat. Especially with the reaction from his neighbors, who also have zero affection for the fairy but all react viscerally to Ward’s aggression. The essential problem with Cats as devices is that the audience takes them in subconsciously. There’s no opportunity for a sophisticated discussion when butts are in the seats. So the only way to control what the audience thinks is to be careful not to send conflicting messages. And this is a doozy. If it is read as a Kick the Cat moment, which I’ll be honest I am seeing it as, I can’t see Ward as the hero after this. I am waiting for his sudden and inevitable betrayal because he is absolutely one of the cops meant to be depicted up in the graffiti that slid past during the opening credits.

At this point, I’m not looking for his redemption. I’m looking for how he is going to pose a problem for the advancement for the story. Which makes him a villain and not a hero.

Worse, this is set between two discussions about his partner. I have to admit what I was really expecting was an action packed version of:

Not really the comedy aspect but that his partner was new and they had to work through their problems to get along and be their best.

There’s a reason that’s pretty much the gold standard. Because learning to get along is a standard useful storyline and commands both characters to grow. It’s the same basic dynamic as a Romance. The joy is in seeing people figure out how to click together in spite of their difficulties. The tension is ‘will they / won’t they?’ and you know they will but it’s very entertaining to see them work it out.

But that’s not what’s going on in Bright.

By the time the movie starts, Ward and Jakoby are already partners. Coming in in media res communicates that this isn’t really a story about a relationship forming. Which means they can’t really show the full arc of a relationship, and so that’s unlikely to be the focus of the story. Which communicates to the audience that they should have reason to doubt any kind of ‘will they.’

This is cemented by the three conversations immediately around the fairy killing. Ward explains to his wife that Orcs are different, not stupid, just that they think different. It is not him actually saying that the Orc isn’t stupid compared to a human just that they’re naturally different and can’t be held to the same standard.

He then tries to give that as a lesson to his daughter. Orcs are different so you have to keep Orcs in their proper mental categorization.

At which point Jakoby shows up again.

He is not welcome. Pretty much at all.

But here’s the thing, like his initial introduction:

Jakoby is depicted as kind and considerate. Up to where I’ve stopped, I haven’t seen him commit a single act of even aggression. He wants to know what kind of sauce Ward wants on his burrito.

He wants to pick up Ward to help him along. He responds with affection and magnanimous giving to Ward’s daughter. In other words, he’s coming across as the innocent in all this. Which really starts to qualify him for the Cat category. That may be ruined in the next ten minutes but right now, I’m looking at a guy who has been insulted and yelled at for doing nothing, who has only shown concern and kindness, and who exists around a framework of his established partner killing a fairy. If Jakoby is a Cat, then what I’m being taught to worry about by what the film is presenting is that Ward is going to try take him down. Because maybe tomorrow, Orc Lives Don’t Matter.

I’m being taught by the first 9 minutes that Ward is, at best, a potential villain. But that the story is going to be from his point of view. And it’s just not a great look. And I would suspect that’s a lot of what people were responding to when this movie first hit: that it is setting up a very unpleasant story line that usually doesn’t play out in the type of story that it is.

So, no matter how it works out in Bright, which I am probably now returning to, when it comes time for you to work with your own story, be aware of the messages you’re sending and what story arcs you’re selling. Cats as an abstract concept, no matter what they are, exist whether you love or hate Blake Snyder. They existed long before he coined the name. At an even deeper level it’s simply that your character’s actions and events in a story naturally carry a “moral” weight. We, as an audience, expect what your characters do to be representative of who they are, for good and ill. Where what they do conflicts with who they are, we’ll expect an explanation and a counterbalance. So be wary of doing something else. Sending the wrong message with the wrong set up can drive away audiences who would be perfectly content with your story without the conflicting information.

#writing #creative writing #writeblr #Bright #racism #movie

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