#so I think it's most jarring to see him dissociate- to see him go completely still and quiet just trying to breathe and settle

[feroluce]

I've only recently started having my own thoughts about Emanator!Sampo and I think my favorite version of this is that he is technically an Emanator, it's just that he doesn't talk about it because Aha is a dick who only blesses people that don't want it and Sampo hates it here dkjxkdkdck

Aha blessed the Mourning Actors! A whole faction of people who have specifically made it their life's mission to resist Elation! They made a literal worm their Emanator just to see if it would be accepted into the Genius Society! And when it wasn't, Aha just as easily killed it and tossed it aside! So I feel like there is a good possibility that Aha looked down at Sampo, this little oddball who doesn't seem to even like Epsilon or a lot of the Masked Fools and was like.

Hey.

You know what would be really really funny.

And I feel like being an Emanator wouldn't even be a plus for Sampo, because of how he operates. Sampo excels at blending in; he managed to smuggle himself onto a planet

that had been isolated for 700 years,

with only one (1) single city on it,

and going even further, he snuck himself into the Underground,

where the population is even more sparse,

and STILL. Not a single accusation of him being an alien! Not even after the Astral Express lands and proves that interstellar space travel is possible! Sampo is so thoroughly ingrained into Belobog that yeah, some people admit they don't know his origins, but none of it ever comes with the question of whether he actually is a Belobog native or not. Sampo knows exactly how to blend himself into his surroundings in the most subtle way possible. And being an Emanator, something far more powerful than any normal human or Pathstrider could ever hope to be, would only throw in a massive extra variable for him. Sampo would have to be so so careful to keep a lid on his Emanator traits, to keep up the appearance of being totally normal and average at all times. It doesn't help him at all.

And this part is pure indulgence, but I love taking Aha's closeness with mortals, and THEIR tendency to take human form, and twisting it into a case of THEM using Sampo as a vessel.

I want Aha to look at Sampo the same way all of us look at Sampo. A chew toy. A plaything. Something to shove through the meat grinder. Aha thinks Sampo is hilarious and a funny, silly little guy, and THEY want to put him in Situations just to see what he does. Sampo is not a fan.

This though, this is what makes Sampo so wildly entertaining as a vessel. Because Aha knows that Sampo does not want to be a vessel, does not even want to be an Emanator, and THEY find it SO much fun to watch the mental gymnastics he has to pull to convince himself he's ok with it, this is fine actually, because he's not exactly about to tell off a literal god. He doesn't feel like getting a smiting today, please and thank you.

Because squeezing yourself into a human vessel is so different than merely adopting a human disguise, there's already a human soul in there, it's kind of a tight fit. If Sampo doesn't make room, doesn't all but dissociate right out of his own body, it could cause. Consequences.

And so, Aha always gives a warning, just to watch him squirm.

It begins with the sound of bells.

Just little ones, at first. Small, clinking little sounds that could even be considered nice. Something almost gentle, like a wind chime in a pleasant breeze on a warm day. This is the signal for the countdown.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Makes himself as small as possible within his own body.

The bells rise and multiply, tinkling wind chimes give way to sleigh bells, to shopkeepers bells, the sound of something inevitable approaching, something entering.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Dilutes himself, weaker and weaker concentrations.

The bells rise and rise, multiply and multiply, celebration and tragedy resonating in the sound of church bells, ringing bright and loud, the sounds of weddings and funerals both the same.

Sampo breathes in, breathes out. Becomes like smoke, like vapor. Hollows himself out.

Empty, empty, empty until he echoes, like a bell, like something with the sole purpose of being shaken and rattled around, a thing to be struck, the sounds jarring and punched out and gasping and piercing the air, the lung, the eardrum.

Sampo breathes in.

Beaten he rings, bashed in he sings.

Aha breathes out.

#sampo koski #hsr sampo #hsr aha #emanator!sampo #emanator sampo #hsr #honkai star rail #my fics #pardon me I've been listening to a lot of kara kara kara by kikuo lately dkxjkskdmd #I really like Emanator Sampo theories and even think canon is pointing that way- assuming he isn't just Aha in disguise #but I also like Sampo being a pathetic little guy. a squeaky toy. just a little dude. #and thus. this skzjnskdkd #an Emanator but pathetic about it haha #stringing Sampo up like a piñata so I can beat him with the possession angst stick ☆ #he just has a lot of personality. Sampo is very bright and vibrant and distinctive- #-and always perfectly in control of himself to put on the best show. #so I think it's most jarring to see him dissociate- to see him go completely still and quiet just trying to breathe and settle #breate and settle breathe and settle breathe and settle #until he looks distant and hazy and goes unresponsive. until he feels like he is barely within his own body. #aha thinks this is funny #sampo tells himself he does too because it's easier that way #(shaking hands with Aha and Sparkle as I too like to mess with Sampo and put him in situations snkzjsjdkd)

[jebewonmorelike]

Caught With Your Hand In The Wookie Jar

wc: 850 warnings: gunwook being big, big baby??? but like, if that's a crime, please arrest me??? fluffiest fluff pronouns: n/a; none used summary: gunwook wants a cookie :) ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ ARE YOU REALLY GONNA LET THE BABY STARVE!? HE'S HUNGRY GDMMIT!!

"Baby, baby, baby Wookie," you sing, absentmindedly playing with the chubbiest cheeks of the boy whose head is currently in your lap.

Your boyfriend is playing a game on his fancy new phone while you catch up on the last few episodes of The Heavenly Idol. It's almost dinner time and as you both lie on the couch together in domestic bliss, you wait for the chicken to finish air-frying so you can eat.

Gunwook had been dropping hints the past couple of days that he was really craving something sweet, which was a pretty regular occurrence in your household. But while he was filming Boys Planet, he had been warned even more harshly about maintaining a healthy diet. He'd broken it several times in the last couple months and every time he'd complained about how guilty he felt.

You didn't care much for your boyfriend's oppressive diet, but you also hated watching him beat himself up for any reason. Still, he had been working so hard and he deserved a nice treat (and you'd honestly give him one every day if you could). So while he was out running errands earlier today, you whipped up a batch of your super special secret-recipe chocolate chip cookies that he almost always devours in one sitting.

Tonight, he'd only be allowed one though. Two at the most. And three if he asked especially nicely.

Honestly, you didn't know how you were going to say no to him. But it was for his own good! There would be no Gunwook-bashing in this household.

Just then, a ding-ding-ding sounds from the kitchen indicating the chicken is done. Gunwook sits up lazily from his place in your lap and slides his slippers on.

"I've got it," he says, whipping his hair from his eyes and making his way to the kitchen. Your attention returns to your drama as you wait for your boyfriend to plate the chicken and tell you its time to eat.

But a few minutes go by and there's not a peep from Gunwook. You think that maybe he's also very kindly preparing the table for you, so you give him another couple minutes.

As your concern grows, you turn off the TV and listen more carefully, soon realizing you can't hear any sound coming from the kitchen at all. Slightly panicked, you hop up and quickly rush to check on Gunwook, planning how you might disarm and take down a possible stealthy intruder.

But when you reach the kitchen, you're met with the scene of a far-more serious (and adorable) crime.

Standing at the counter, huge hand inside of the cat-shaped cookie jar is a completely dissociated Gunwook. You could stand there for hours watching the giant baby that inhabited your house part-time struggle over whether or not to commit such an act of thievery, but ultimately... he had to be stopped.

"Wookieeeee!" You whine, watching as his hand flies out of the jar, knocking it on its side.

His eyes are wide as he stares back at you like a deer in headlights, his lips formed in the cutest little pout. Your boyfriend might only have an appetite for sweets, but in this moment you swear you could just eat him right up.

"I-... I was... Just checking them," he stutters and then winces when he realizes how silly it sounds.

"Oh yeah? Checking them how?" You ask, amusement now seeping onto your face.

"To-... to see if they were... Um... There?"

"It's a clear jar, Wook," you point out, walking over to where he stands at the counter and setting the cookie jar back upright.

"Mm," he agrees with an embarrassed nod.

"Wookie..." Your voice now drips with faux shock as you pretend to scold him. "Were you going to eat a cookie!?"

His head shakes back and forth rapidly, eyes doe-like and perfect.

Your eyes narrow, as you stare back at him suspiciously. "So if I asked you right now if you want a cookie?"

"Please, please, please, please, please!" He exclaims so fast that it sounds like nonsense.

You can't help but laugh now as Gunwook bounces up and down in front of you excitedly.

"Not yet, Wookie. You need to eat a healthy, filling dinner before you eat dessert," you say, patting his stomach lightly. "You need all of the proper nutrients so you can grow!"

"I'm six-foot."

"And who says you can't reach seven? I'd hate to let you sabotage your potential."

Gunwook sighs. "You're trying to save me from being mad at myself, aren't you?" Fondness radiates from his eyes as he wraps his big arms around you and pulls you in close.

You nod against his chest. "Love you."

"Love you," he returns, pulling back slightly from the hug so he can see your face.

Puppy dog eyes smiling back at you, Gunwook asks especially nicely, "But can I please have a delicious cookie that my perfect angel that I appreciate and love so much made for me after dinner?"

You nod. "Of course you can, my love."

You can have three. :)

#boys planet #boys planet imagines #boys planet drabbles #bp #bp999 #bp999 drabbles #bp999 imagines #park gunwook #gunwook #park gun wook #park gunwook imagines #park gunwook drabbles #gunwook imagines #gunwook drabbles #pgw #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop drabbles

[ilynpilled]

do u ever wonder why jaime never told tyrion or cersei about the wildfire plot?

Alright, here’s the thing. A lot of the story will not function if this is known by other people, so I won’t not acknowledge that maybe it is a plot convenience. The caches of wildfire under KG is a Chekhov’s gun leading to something big, we cannot have it removed from there. Jaime’s story relies on the fact that a whole kingdom despises him for his “finest act”, which also falls apart if the context of that act is known, especially with Tyrion dropping it earlier to the reader in his POVs (would be kind of odd if he never mentions this lmao). Not to mention that if certain powerful people are aware of it, it could shift the game entirely. But still, that does not mean that we cannot make sense of it. I just think George neglected to give us an actual concrete explanation (perhaps intentionally). Maybe this is very deliberate and speaks to Jaime’s characterization.

A big factor is that he was a traumatized 17 yo when it happened. This event really messed him up. He represses, dissociates from, and compartmentalizes things. The way he reacts to the act of confessing during the bath scene is further proof of this. His thoughts communicate that he thinks he is so out of it that he can no longer check himself from admitting it to someone, including himself. Like he does not even think about the wildfire plot before the confession, even though we are in his head. Wouldn’t he want to justify it to himself in his own head when he gets judged by Brienne early on? Look at just how the confession even happens, he is completely out of it, his walls fall down, he acts like it is out of his control, it is like a part that was buried for years bubbling to the surface:

Wildfire and its qualities are also not very well understood. Barely anyone is familiar with how it truly works, and how volatile it is, as showcased by Tyrion’s ACoK chapters. I truly do not believe Jaime is aware how much of a threat they are still, and thinks it is the best if they remain ignored, hidden in jars under the city.

This is the most direct way that his silence about it is addressed:

Making “Lannister pride and stubbornness” the main, or only, explanation is something I always found a little vague. Same with his smart-ass response about oaths. It feels like deflection, and Jaime’s pathetic return to his bitter posturing. Especially how this justification of his does not really work for keeping it from Cersei and Tyrion. In fact, it mostly only works with Ned, and then he seems to become consumed by the bitterness of that specific interaction until he hurts himself and faints (loser). Also, I am curious as to how this holds up when Jaime gradually climbs out of his bitterness and cynicism and is making attempts to change his self concept later in the series. If people read Jaime as exclusively more concerned with the way he is perceived than being an actual good person, I feel like dropping this fact post bath confession to remedy his image would have certainly aided in the desire to have a better reputation (or would it be too late? I do not think so. It certainly worked with Brienne). Would anyone believe him? Is there a point? Is it his pride in confict with his desire to be humanized in the eyes of others? I think it is way more complicated. I think it is about hopelessness. I think it is just a general disillusionment with the concept of honor and morality and how it operates within this system. Jaime has no faith in these institutions at that point. We see it in the weirwood dream. He confesses. He tells the truth. Yet he is damned by his heroes all the same. That results in his fire going out, and there is no coming back from that.

Him not telling his loved ones in specific is interesting though. Including his father. Maybe it is the fact that they never judged him for it or they do not care. However, what I do find pretty interesting is that Tyrion and Cersei make use of wildfire as a weapon within the story.

I really read, or believe a big part of, Jaime’s decision to bury the existence of the caches is making them essentially unavailable. He knows that nobody is aware of them, because he went out of his way to kill everyone who was:

Jaime is so deeply traumatized about Aerys, and this whole situation is so monumental in his development, that I think there has to be a deep fear of anyone making use of it again. Including his own family. Therefore, I think he is willing to essentially bury the secret with him, despite its personal consequences. This of course paints him in a pretty moral light, which you can disagree with.

I feel like to justify this reading I also need to address the perspective of “that doesnt make sense bc jaime doesnt care about the innocents he just did it to save his father/self preservation etc”. This might be a reading exclusive to very Jaime critical circles, but there was a GoT (i know. i know. i shouldnt give a shit😭) video essay with views in the hundred thousands that claimed this so it might not be so obscure.

First of all, I dont think that makes sense with how the confession is structured and written at all. Second, idk how that reading would benefit his character writing. We start out with a comically villainous character that is unveiled to be a complex individual. Why must there be another twist on that that subverts this and goes like “no, actually he is that comically villainous individual that would be fine with 500k people being burned alive at age 17”. I am not a fan of the woobification done to him sometimes either, but there comes a point where people feel the need to misconstrue and add twists to scenes that obviously had a specific purpose for the character. What would this scene gain by having the added twist of “oh he EXCLUSIVELY did it to save his father/self preservation”? Genuinely what would such a strong moment of recontextualization gain from this? Jaime was supposed to be all about his immediate family to the ruin of everybody else. The reveal serves the purpose of recontextualizing his character and adding dimensions to it by showing that that is not entirely the case, while also delineating his trajectory thus far, especially regarding his cynicism concerning feudalistic moral constructs. What is the purpose of telling us “actually, he saved KG” only to go “this does not change how you should view his character though, circumstances just perfectly aligned for him so he committed a heroic act.”

On top of that, the logistics of removing wildfire is something insanely complicated. Him telling Ned? Sure, great. But then who else would they need to tell? The point of the wildfire under the city is that it sentences KL to death. There is really no solution. I think metaphorically it is about the culmination of corruption. That place was on a trajectory of doom, and it was never really saved, Robert, its supposed savior, was nothing but stagnation. The city is filled to the brim with corruption. Someone would abuse that power, if it is not set off during attempts at removal. Ntm even the exact locations are not known. You cannot make the caches disappear. The closest thing to it is burying the secret with you, which is what Jaime is doing. Mind you Brienne knows it too now, yet she is not eager to tell anyone either. Neither of them know what a ticking time-bomb it is. But even if they did, I think the point is that you cannot really do anything about it at this point. KL was sentenced to death and it is at a point of no return.

For the rationale of “Jaime never justifies it in such a way in his own thoughts, when he could.” Well he also never justifies him pushing Bran with “I wanted to save the lives of Cersei and our children.” Even though George believes that is the case. Jaime’s denial and posturing is not exclusive to his words, but also his thoughts. This man also deludes himself, not just those around him. He detaches himself from truth constantly to avoid vulnerability. You are hit in the face with this repeatedly in ASoS. He even lies about his motivations for things he does after they happen, which is just hilarious because we are inside his head when he decides to take certain actions and know what he is thinking and know that he is full of shit. So I do not think this contradicts my interpretation.

#ask #jaime lannister #meta #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #this is long sorry #also kind of diverged from ur actual question bc i had to justify my perspective #formatting for this is garbage bc im typing this on my phone amen #my opinions

[toosicktoocare]

okay, spoilers for the most recent 911 episode below (and tagged as such as well)

i haven’t written in months- i just have a lot of feelings, and i needed to work through them

It’s weird, Buck thinks, how quickly the sound around him can fade, how fast the pain in his back and his side can grow fuzzy, almost numb even, until he’s completely disassociating, losing his touch on reality in time with Eddie’s final blink.

He’s back at Eddie’s house, head burrowed in the fridge, and he’s digging around meal prep containers for hidden beers.

“Heard you flipped out yesterday.”

“Huh?” Buck’s only half listening because he’s on a quest of the alcoholic nature, and he’s pretty sure he spots a dark neck of a beer bottle nestled between a container of rice and a jar of low fat mayonnaise.

“At the well.”

This Buck hears quite clearly, and he snags the beer and turns away from the fridge, lips curving softly downward at the edges.

“Bobby said you were frantic.”

The grooves in the beer bottle cap dig into Buck’s palm. Or maybe, Buck thinks, he’s deliberately pushing it into his skin. “You were trapped.”

“And your plan was what, Buck? Dig me out with your hands?”

“If that’s what I had to,” Buck spits back, eyes narrow, shooting Eddie a gaze he is normally on the receiving end of, and it’s just enough to have Eddie’s face go soft before him.

“Not sure if I should thank you because I know that you are genuinely serious, or if I should officially declare you as the world’s biggest idiot because I know that you are genuinely serious.”

Buck laughs lowly under his breath, yet still, his eyes are warm, determined, and he cocks his head to the side. “I said I have your back, didn’t I?”

“This again?” Eddie asks, now laughing with Buck.

“I’m a man of my damn word, Eddie. If I say I have you back, then I have your back.”

“Firefighter Buckley!”

Buck’s gotten used to pulling himself slowly out of a dissociative state, cool and calm, working through grounding techniques, so the abrupt, loud voice in his ear is a gun shot that rips through his mind.

Gun shot.

Buck blinks quickly. Eddie’s face is now in full view, and he looks unnaturally pale and cold, a contrast to his blood still warm and splattered across his face.

“Eddie.”

“Sir, we’ll get to him as soon as it’s safe. We need to focus on you first.”

Buck shoves himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the thrum of pain gnawing at his side. He’s sure he’ll look purple and blue by morning.

“No, Eddie,” he repeats, unable to form much more in terms of sentences. His mind can only collect what’s currently the most meaningful in this situation, and that one thing is only Eddie.

“Eddie,” he tries again, louder, hoping to jostle Eddie awake by his voice, hoping that, maybe, Eddie’s only passed out from the pain and that the pool of blood isn’t actually draining from a potentially severe gun shot wound.

“Firefighter Buckley—”

Buck shoves away from the firefighter beside him. He ignores the hand grabbing at his shirt, ignores the voices shouting for him to come back, and then he’s hovering over Eddie, shielding him, assessing what he can of the wound with shaking hands.

Eddie’s unresponsive below him, and Buck’s stomach twists so tightly, he could double over in pain. He’s just turning around to yell for help when he’s being jerked to his feet by a cop. His eyes stay on Eddie as Eddie’s rushed onto a backboard, and he’s so focused on Eddie’s face, so desperate for a hint of life, a crease of the brow, that he doesn’t process the hand squeezing his arm or the voice close to his ear until the cop is speaking.

“Go with him, and stay low.”

Nodding, Buck hunches over and runs to the ambulance Eddie’s being lifted into, and the second he gets a nod, he pulls himself up, and the door’s closed in front of him.

With as loud as it had been outside, it’s eerily quiet in the ambulance, even with the siren blaring overhead. The paramedics are working quickly and quietly, discussing the best course of action under their breath. Buck stares at Eddie’s sodden shirt, at the too dark stain toward his shoulder, and he reaches over, ripping the shirt open to get a clear look.

“Sir, please let us handle the patient.”

One of the paramedics swats at Buck’s hands, and he leans back, eyes glued to the small silver bullet nestled inside of Eddie’s chest. It wasn’t a clean shot, and Buck knows that poses more recovery complications. He’s sure surgery is just on the horizon for Eddie.

He only pulls his eyes away from the angry wound when Eddie groans, his brow furrowing.

“Eddie?” Buck leans forward, one hand resting just above Eddie’s forehead, his hair soft against his palm. “Can you hear me?”

Eddie’s eyes squeeze before he pries them open. Even through the small slits, Buck can see how glossy and unfocused Eddie looks.

“Buck?”

His voice is shot, weak, and thick with pain, and Buck nods, one thumb smoothing across Eddie’s forehead.

“Hey, man. Yeah, it’s me. You’re going to be okay.”

Eddie frowns, and he lifts one shaking hand to Buck’s cheek, fingers pressing to the blood on Buck’s face.

“You’re hurt?”

“What?” Buck asks, shaking his head. He goes to explain more, to reassure that he’s fine, but Eddie goes slack below him, and the paramedics push him back, shouting for the driver to pick up the pace. Eddie’s crashing, and the frantic beeping is deafening to his ears.

He won’t because he wants all focus to be on saving Eddie, but still, Buck kind of wishes he could throw up to ease the pressure in his gut.

***

“Buck!”

Bobby’s voice rings out across the waiting room, and Buck lifts his head from his hands to see Bobby running toward him with Athena hot on his heels. He can see the question written all over Bobby’s face, and he holds up a single hand, shaking his head.

“It’s not my blood.” What he leaves off is how he’d give anything for it to be his blood. For him to be the one carted off to surgery, not Eddie.

Bobby nods, and Athena sighs softly.

“You okay, Buckaroo?”

Buck’s not sure if it’s just because it’s Athena, or if it’s her motherly nature, but his composure crumbles at her words. He wants to tell them he’s fine— that Eddie is the one everyone should worry about. But, he can’t stop shaking, and his eyes have been burning with unshed tears.

Athena pulls him to his feet, and he falls against her, a sob ripping up his throat. He can feel Bobby at his back, a warm, grounding hand to his shoulder, and Athena’s arms are wrapped tightly around his back, keeping the pieces together.

“You’re okay, Buck.”

He clings to Athena until he’s sure he can stand up on his own, and then he falls into the soft question and answer process, revealing all he knows: Eddie was shot; the police who took his statement have yet to find the shooter, but they don’t think Eddie was specifically a target; he’s in surgery, but the doctors are extremely optimistic.

“Are we going to be able to pry you away from this hospital?” Athena asks, and Buck gives a shaky nod.

“Chris is with a friend, and Eddie was supposed to pick him up. I’m going to... I’ve got to tell him.”

“We can have someone else—”

“—no,” Buck interrupts, stepping back. “It has to be me.” He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the smudged glass of a vending machine: pale face smeared red with dried blood. “I should,” he notions weakly to his face, laughs awkwardly, and Bobby nods, a frown etched across his lips.

“I’ll drive you back to your jeep after you wash up.”

Nodding, Buck slips to the bathroom, thankful to find it empty. He looks at himself, but all he can see is the muted, pale shock written across Eddie’s face looking back at him, painted in the blood splattered across his face. He turns the tap on as hot as it will allow, and then he scrubs, hands moving roughly up and down his face, the hand soap slightly stinging his skin. He scrubs until his entire face burns, and then he stumbles backward with a gasp he covers with his palm.

He holds in a deep breath that quakes against his lungs, and he doesn’t release it until he’s sure he can without falling apart.

“Eddie’s going to be fine,” he says aloud, practicing now to sound as confident and as believable as he can.

***

“Did you get hurt at work, Buck?”

Buck’s not surprised that the first question out of Christopher’s mouth is about his well-being and not of his dad’s absence— typical Diaz behavior.

“Uh, no, bud.” Buck kneels down, leveling himself with Christopher. “It’s not mine.”

“Where’s my dad?”

“He...” Buck stumbles with his words, swallows thickly. “He won’t be coming home tonight, bud. He got hurt at work, but I’m going to make sure he gets better real fast.”

“Is he at the hospital? Can I see him?”

Christopher’s voice is growing more and more unsteady, adopting a waver that’s a brick smashing to Buck’s heart.

“He is, but he’s still busy getting patched up, so he can’t have visitors just yet.”

Christopher nods, and Buck wonders just when it was exactly that Chris matured without his seeing. “He’s going to be okay, bud. But you know what will make him get better faster?”

Before Buck can answer, Carla slips into the room, supplies in hand.

“Make him a really big card!”

“Yes!” Christopher’s smile turns into a giggle as Carla drops markers and glitter and poster boards onto Eddie’s kitchen table.

“Chris, Carla’s going to watch you while I go back to the hospital. As soon as I get the okay for visitors, I’ll call.”

Christopher nods and shuffles to the table, already scoping out markers to use for the card. While occupied, Buck slips toward the door with Carla hot on his heels.

“Is he okay?”

“Still in surgery,” Buck answers on auto-pilot, having muttered those words too many times already to count.

“Are you okay?”

Buck laughs weakly, rakes a hand through his hair. “Ask me again when Eddie’s awake.”

“Oh, honey—”

“It’s okay,” Buck mutters, casting his eyes to the floor. “Sign my name on the card for me?”

“Buck, why don’t you stay for a little bit? Change your clothes? Eat something?”

“I can’t,” Buck shakes his head, unsure how to explain that the only way to easy the jutting pain in his chest is to be back at the hospital. “I need to—”

“Go,” Carla rolls her eyes. “But I’m bringing you food.”

Buck smiles, small but genuine. “Thanks, Carla.”

***

Buck scans his text from Hen, gnaws at his lower lip.

[From: Hen] where’d you run off to? We’re all in the waiting room.

He pulls his gaze up to Eddie’s sleeping form, to the wires sticking out of him.

[To: Hen] I may have waited until a dr walked through the double doors and snuck into Eddie’s room...

His phone blows up shortly after with texts and calls, and he ignores all, instead typing to a 118 group text.

[To: Fire Fam] look, I know I’m not supposed to be back here, but don’t tell on me okay? I know the dr said his surgery went well, but I had to see for myself

[From Chim in Fire Fam] Hen’s rolling her eyes

[From Hen in Fire Fam] damn right I am. So is Athena

[From Bobby in Fire Fam] how is he?

He looks terrible, Buck thinks. His skin is still too pale, and there are dark purple spots coloring below his eyes. His breathing is labored, and his face is pinched as if in pain.

Terrible, Buck thinks, yet so beautifully alive. The relief is edging his nerves, hesitant to completely encompass him.

[To Fire Fam] he looks like hell, but he’s alive

Buck locks his phone and leans forward, resting his head on the edge of Eddie’s bed. He lays one hand over Eddie’s, and he drifts somewhere between awake and asleep, coming to fully when Eddie groans above him.

He jerks forward, leans in close, and squeezes Eddie’s hand. “Eddie? You with me?”

It takes an impossibly long time for Eddie to open his eyes, but when he does, his smile is weak but warm enough to bring Buck’s relief fully over him.

“Buck.”

There’s no confusion in Eddie’s voice this time— only soft certainty, and Buck squeezes Eddie’s hand once more.

“In the flesh.”

“You’re here.”

“Yep,” Buck nods, smiling. “Though when I have to duck behind a chair when a nurse comes in, pretend like you didn’t see me, yeah? Kinda breaking hospital rules right now.”

Eddie laughs, and then he coughs weakly, wincing. Still, his eyes hold Buck’s gaze, and Buck wouldn’t look away even for a second.

“Chris?” Eddie finally croaks out, and Buck nods.

“He’s okay. He’s with Carla. They are coming as soon as the doctor gives the okay for visitors.”

“Legal visitors,” Eddie clarifies, and Buck smiles. If Eddie can joke, he must be on the mend.

“Hey, a part of having your back means I simply must sneak into your hospital room to make sure you don’t croak.”

Eddie’s laugh turns into a harsher cough, and Buck smooths a hand over Eddie’s forehead. “Maybe stop laughing?”

“Stop making me then,” Eddie pouts, and Buck leans back with a smile.

“I gotta talk to Carla.”

Buck cocks a brow. “She’ll be here as soon as she can.”

“She told me to make sure I’m following my own heart.”

Frowning, Buck tilts his head. “Uh, Eddie? You okay, man?”

“She was right— I thought I was but I wasn’t.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll give myself up and grab a nurse. You are talking too weird right now. Clearly something’s not clicking right in that old head of yours.” Buck makes to stand, to leave, his concern heightening behind his poor joke, but Eddie grabs at his wrist, a weak grip that Buck frowns deeply at.

“Eddie, I—”

“Stay. Please.”

Slowly, Buck takes his seat. “As long as you stop being weird as hell.”

“I will for now.”

#911 fox #911 spoilers #buddie #evan buckley #Eddie Diaz #9 1 1 fox #9 1 1 spoilers #christopher diaz #athena grant #bobby nash #look i haven't written in months #i just have a lOT of feelings and i needed to dump them out #i may go back and write something less shitty when i can regain my composure

[ceealaina]

Title: Hot for Teacher Collaborator Name: ceealaina Card Number: 3088 Link: AO3 Square Filled: Adopted - AU: Teacher Ship: Stony, IronBros Rating: Teen Major Tags: Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Humor Summary: Tony is the established physics teacher, Steve is the truly terrible new guidance counsellor. It's not quite love at first sight (but it's a pretty close thing). Word Count: 10,660

Tony drew in a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers told you what now?” 

Miles grinned at him, like he knew he was raising his blood pressure with every word. “He said that he didn’t go to university. He actually dropped out of school when he was sixteen, and took a solo road trip across all of the US before he got his GED. Said it was the best decision he ever made.”

“Of course he did.” Tony fully dissociated for a moment, staring off into the distance before he shook his head with a full body shudder. “Well, regardless of what your esteemed guidance counselor may have told you, you should very, very, very strongly consider not doing… Any of that, and definitely going to university. And uh… Maybe come to me if you need help with those university applications, cause… Jesus fucking Christ.” 

In the back of the room Cassie and Kamala giggled. “Mr. Stark!” Cassie gasped, feigning shock. “You said a bad word!” 

Tony just scrubbed a hand over his face. “I hate you all,” he informed them cheerfully.

*

By lunchtime, Tony was still seething over the fact that the new guidance counselor was advocating for dropping out of school. He had term projects to approve, but couldn’t focus on the proposals, fingers thrumming irritably against his desk. He lasted all of five minutes before he was getting up, marching down the hall to said guidance counselor’s office and knocking sharply on the open door. 

“Mr. Rogers? Could I—,” 

Tony cut himself off abruptly. 

The thing was, he hasn’t actually met Steve Rogers before. And while he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, it wasn’t someone built like a brick house — although, he’d heard that he was friends with Barnes, that was how he’d gotten the job, so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. But their new guidance counselor was tall, blond, and all kinds of muscley, biceps flexing in a way too tight t-shirt as he bit into a ridiculously large sandwich. He’d jumped at Tony’s sudden arrival, turning big blue eyes up at him, and good god, that was one handsome man. 

Shaking his head, Tony forced a tight smile to his face. “Could I have a word?”

He nodded quickly, frantically trying to swallow down his enormous bite, and Tony worked very hard at not imagining what else he could stuff his mouth with. Mr. Rogers scrubbed a hand over the back of his mouth, wiping off some sauce that had spilled, and did an awkward, half stand. 

“Yes, yes of course,” he said, reaching his arm out. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet?” 

Despite how frustrated he was, Tony couldn’t help grinning; the man was an absolute mess. He moved forward to take his hand, feeling a little swirl of satisfaction at how obviously surprised he was at the strength in Tony’s grip. “Mr. Stark -- Tony.” 

“Oh yeah! Physics, right? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Steve.” He moved to pull a stack of folders off a chair. “Please, sit down. What can I do for you?” 

Tony took the offered chair, leaning back against it comfortably as he eyed Steve for a long moment. “Steve, can I ask how long you’ve been a guidance counselor?” 

“Uhh.” Steve shifted a little. “Not long?” He gave a crooked smile that Tony did not find endearing. “About a week and a half?” 

“Yeah. That’s what I figured.” Tony sighed. “Steve, are you encouraging kids to drop out of high school?” 

“What?” Steve’s eyes went wide and horrified. “No! No, of course not! I…” His gaze shifted to something guilty. “Oh.” 

“Oh?”

Steve gave him a hopeful smile. “I may have mentioned something about my own… Choices... as a teenager.”

“Uh huh.” Tony gave him a ‘go on’ gesture.

“It was meant to be inspirational! They get so stressed! They’re trying to decide their entire lives when they’re only kids! So you know… I was trying to show them that not everyone has to follow the same path but also things can turn out completely differently from how you expected and it’s never too late to go back?” 

“Jesus Christ,” Tony muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “Well, at least you seem to genuinely care about the kids, I’ll give you that. But Steve, we’re just trying to get them as prepared for life as we can. You can’t give them ideas like that, and you especially can’t make them think things’ll work out all hunky dory if they do.” 

“Hunky dory?” Steve repeated before realizing that wasn’t really the point of what Tony was saying. “Right,” he said, looking properly chastised now. “Right, no, of course. That makes sense.” 

“Okay.” Tony was lingering now, but he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Great.” He got to his feet and headed for the door before he could make things weird. “It was nice meeting you, Steve.” 

*

Over the next couple weeks, Steve kept spotting Tony around the school. He tried not to ogle him like a creeper, but judging by the way Bucky laughed at him every time they ate lunch together, he wasn’t successful. He couldn’t help it. Tony had been like some kind of gorgeous whirlwind, and he couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering about him. 

And then, two weeks later, he was back with the same sharp knock and consternated expression. (Steve, thankfully, wasn’t stuffing his face this time.)

“Tony! What, uh… Something I can help you with? I’ve been doing everything by the book, I swear. No more epic road trip stories.” 

Tony drew in the deepest breath, like a complete drama queen. “Steve. I understand a book told you to do it, but the Chamber of Secrets this is not. Please stop telling my seniors that abstinence is the only truly effective birth control method. The ones in my AP Physics class are taking it as a personal challenge to design an IUD that works as a cum trebuchet."

Steve blinked at him for a very long minute, trying to work out if he was serious, trying not to-- 

He burst out laughing. Full on, hand-on-his-chest, eyes streaming, can’t breathe laughter. It was a solid three minutes before he began to calm down and when he finally stopped laughing, Tony was just watching him. He was doing his absolute best to look annoyed, but Steve could see the little hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

“That’s uh… Thank you,” Steve managed, tamping down on another burst of laughter. “I really needed that today.” 

“Yeah,” Tony told him dryly. “Glad I could help.”

Steve grinned back at him. “I’ll, uh. I’ll take that under consideration.” 

*

When Tony came in the next morning, his AP students were huddled in the back corner, all giggling in that terrifying way that only teenagers could manage. He was so not feeling it -- he was still waiting for that last coffee to kick in -- but he took a rejuvenating breath and asked the question anyway. 

“Okay, let’s hear it. Get it out of the way so we can get to sciencing. What’s so funny?” 

This set off another round of giggling, half the kids blushing, and none of them quite looking at him. It was, finally, Riri who spoke. 

“This morning Mr. Rogers told America Chavez that homosexual sex is also a 100% effective birth control method.” 

Tony stared blankly out the window for a long minute. “Of course he did,” he muttered. “Okay, as thrilling as Mr. Rogers’ questionable sex ed is, let’s get started on some actual physics, hmm?” 

While the kids got settled for the class, Tony took a moment to collect himself. It was quite possible that Steve was kinda a total troll. 

It was quite possible that Tony kinda liked him. 

*

Of course something got back to a parent, who complained about the school promoting a homosexual agenda. Steve didn’t get in trouble, exactly, but it was brought up in the staff meeting.

The enormous jar of rainbow-coloured condoms showed up on Steve’s desk the next day. 

Tony had heard it through the student gossip line that, in addition to them being available for anyone to take as needed, he was getting students to guess how many there were in the jar, as some kind of ice breaker. If they were close, they got a mini Kit Kat bar. 

He made it half a day before he was stopping in to see for himself. 

Tony had prepared some semblance of an excuse for why he was there, some actual reason that the physics teacher might have had for engaging with the guidance counselor (again). But when he tapped on the door, Steve was looking up with a smile like he’d been expecting him. And then his gaze settled on the enormous jar of condoms, and Tony forgot to pretend to be there for anything else. 

“What the fuck?” He couldn’t help laughing, a little incredulous. “Okay Steve, they’re teenagers. How much actual sex do you think most of them are really having?” 

Steve shrugged unapologetically, but he had an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face. “I just like to be prepared. Wouldn’t want to run out.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, eyebrows arching. “Wanna guess all the flavors? None of the students have gotten close yet.” 

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he blinked at the jar. “They’re not even flavored.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s the joke,” he told him, like that was supposed to have been obvious. “Fine, since you’re so smart. Guess how many there are in the jar.” 

Tony glanced back over at the jar, wrinkling his nose for about half a second. “Seven hundred and fifty… eight,” he announced.

Steve blinked. “What?” 

“What?” 

Still leaning back in his chair, Steve stared at Tony, then stared at the jar, then stared back at Tony. Then he shot forward and grabbed the jar, upending the entire thing over his desk. Making eye contact with him, he picked up a handful and started tossing them back in the jar one at a time, counting them out loud as he went. Tony started laughing, the sound close to a giggle. 

“You’re not seriously going to count them all.” 

Steve gave him an imperious look. “Gotta see if you’re right. Now be quiet. You’re going to throw off my count.” 

Tony knew this was ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to make himself leave. He kept telling himself he shouldn’t be encouraging Steve, but he stayed anyway, watching and laughing as he meticulously counted out each and every condom. 

He’d made it to 616 when Bucky appeared, looming in the doorway as he poked at his phone. “Hey Stevie, you ready to go for… Lunch?” He trailed off as he looked up and saw what the two of them were doing, his eyebrows going sky high. “Uh. I’ll come back. Looks like you two are gonna be awhile. I don’t know what this is annnnnnnnd I don’t think I want to.”

“It’s science, Bucky,” Steve told him snottily, not looking up from his condom count. 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not science.” 

“Of course it is!” 

“Right,” Bucky said. “I’m just gonna…” He pointed for the door, but neither of them even looked his way as he left again.

“It’s math, Steve, and it’s barely that,” Tony insisted. “This is... counting.”

Steve gave him a look like he was an absolute fool. “I may be a lowly guidance counsellor, but I still know what counting is, Tony. The science is figuring out whether you can actually calculate the number of condoms in the jar --,”

“I can.”

“-- Or if you were spouting shit to fuck with me.” 

“I wasn’t. And it’s still math, Steve. You’ve got the volume of the jar, and then size of the condom square. Math.” 

Steve stared at him for a long minute and then, without breaking eye contact, tossed another condom back into the jar. “Six hundred and eighteen.”

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “That was six hundred and seventeen.” 

Steve ended up having to start over twice, and Tony was so busy laughing at him that he didn’t realize until 2:05 that he’d missed both his lunch and his free period and was, in fact, five minutes late for his AP Physics class. 

“Shit,” he yelped, hopping out of his seat. “Those kids don’t let anything go, I’ve gotta run.” He paused in the doorway just long enough to give Steve a smirk. “Let me know when you’ve proved me right!” 

The kids were all scattered around the room when he got there, Riri, Harley, and Kamala giggling over something on their phones, Cassie and Kate comparing notes on homework that was definitely not for physics, and Peter and Miles experimenting with something in the corner that may or may not have been explosive. Tony shook his head, feeling a headache coming on. 

“Okay, I’m sorry I’m late, unavoidable circumstances. Let’s get started, yeah?” 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter called, beaming at him. Nobody made any move to go to their seats. “If you’d taken seven more minutes, we’d be legally allowed to go home.” 

“That’s… Not even remotely true.” He shook his head and clapped his hands together. “Come on, children. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

“Shouldn’t’ve been late then,” Harley snarked, but at least they were finally heading to their seats. 

It was halfway through class when there was a knock on the door, and Tony opened it to some blonde girl he vaguely recognized from Nat’s lit class. 

“Message for you from Mr. Rogers!” she chirped, heading off down the hall before he could ask further. His students were focused on their readings, and Tony took advantage of the moment to open the note, frowning as he tried to decipher the writing. 

758 exactly. There’s something wrong with you. Also, I owe you lunch. Thursday?

Tony sat at his desk, and managed to read it over five times before Kamala happened to look up and see him. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark? Why are you grinning like that?” 

*

As soon as his lunch period started on Thursday, Tony headed down to Steve’s office, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t been looking forward to this since he’d gotten Steve’s note. The door was open, waiting for him, and he headed inside and promptly yelped as a king-sized Kit Kat bar was launched at his head. 

“What the fuck?” He flailed as he tried to catch it, somehow managing not to drop it on the ground. He wasn’t particularly graceful about it, and Steve was openly laughing at him. “What was that for?” 

Steve shrugged, unconcerned. “The kids get a mini Kat Kat if they’re close in their guess. You were exactly right, so I figured you get extra chocolate.” 

Tony eyed him suspiciously and ignored the little delighted thrill in his stomach. “But you didn’t know how many condoms were in the jar.” 

“Okay, so I just gave everyone a mini Kit Kat. Sue me.” 

Tony just narrowed his eyes further. “So is this our lunch?” 

Steve actually snorted. “Do I look like I survive on giant chocolate bars?” he asked, immediately flexing his biceps and twitching a pec. Tony started laughing, couldn’t stop himself, and Steve looked immensely pleased with himself. “No, Tony. I got us sushi.” Tony felt his eyebrows creep up to his hairline, and Steve huffed. “Okay, what?” 

“Nothing!” Tony said quickly. “No, I just… You don’t strike me as a sushi guy.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “And what kind of guy, exactly, do you think I am?” 

Tony shrugged as Steve passed him a container of sushi. “A giant, uncultured gym bro neanderthal who knows more about planking and protein shakes than he does guidance counselloring, but somehow got a job here anyway?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve muttered, but he was obviously fighting a smile. 

Tony shrugged. “It’s like you know me or something.” He laughed, knocking back a tuna roll. “How did you get this job?”

“Bucky. We’re old friends, and now he’s my roommate too. So when the job opened, he hooked me up.” 

“I mean, everyone knows that much. I meant why here? Why a guidance counsellor? No offense Steve, but you’re kinda terrible at it.” 

Steve didn’t look offended in the slightest. “Hey, I wanted to teach art, but the job was already filled and somehow administration thinks art and guidance counselling are interchangeable.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Living in Brooklyn ain’t cheap. Somewhere since high school it became trendy, I guess? It was this or baristaing at a coffee shop near my apartment, but their coffee smells like soap.”

"Yikes."

"Yikes, indeed. Anyway, enough about why I’m so terrible at my job.” Steve nodded at the chopsticks in Tony’s hand. “Eat your damn sushi, Tony. You don’t eat enough.”

Tony paused with another tuna roll halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean, I don’t eat enough?”

“Every time you come in here it’s always over lunch. And then you usually stay through lunch and your prep period, and you don’t eat anything the entire time. You need to eat more.” 

“Okay, stalker.” Tony shifted a little uncomfortably. “What are you, my nonna? I eat fine.” He huffed and slunk down in his seat, pulling his sushi tray closer on the desk. Steve just blinked back at him placidly and then reached out, putting his hand over top of Tony’s. 

“It’s okay, Tony. I’m a guidance counsellor. You can talk to me.”

He said it in the same way that people on television crime procedurals tell the women they find in basements that they’re with the FBI, and Tony started laughing despite himself. And then he nearly choked on a California roll when Steve started passing him glossy pamphlets on healthy lifestyle choices. 

The next day Tony made a point of showing up for lunch with a huge gas station soda and an enormous bag of pretzel sticks. Steve didn’t stop grinning the entire time. 

*

Before either of them had realized it, it had turned into something of a routine. Not every day, but usually two or three times a week, Tony would forgo his lunch or prep period, or both, and come bother Steve instead. Steve had expressed concern once, that he wasn’t using his prep periods to, you know, prep, but Tony had assured him that being a genius came with some benefits. And really, his visits had quickly become the highlight of his day, and he had a feeling that Steve was enjoying them just as much, so he wasn’t going to worry about it too much.

Once Tony had gotten over his initial concerns about Steve’s guidance counselling methods, the two of them got along ridiculously well. Tony gave Steve shit constantly but it never failed to make him laugh, and he was just as good at giving it in kind. They bickered constantly, but it was friendly and easy and familiar. 

Tony had never made friends easily. He got along great with all his coworkers, but with the possible exception of Nat, they were more friendly acquaintances than full friends. When he was a kid, Jarvis had told him that he was just too smart, that the other kids would catch up to him eventually. But that hadn’t seemed to happen, even as an adult. He didn’t know if people were freaked out by his multiple degrees, or if it was the chaotic energy he gave off, or most likely, some conflagration of the above, but aside from a few close friends -- who, admittedly, he wouldn’t trade for anything in the world -- people didn’t really… Warm to him. 

Steve, though. Steve was different. Almost from the beginning Tony had felt a connection with him, and while he never failed to let Tony know how impressed he was by what he could do, he never seemed intimidated by him either. Tony would never say it to his face, but he kind of adored him. 

*

Tony popped his head into Steve’s office a few minutes before the end of the day, arching an eyebrow when he found him frowning over some a manual with stick figures doing what looked like some kind of sport -- soccer, probably. He cleared his throat, and couldn’t help smiling back when Steve looked up and positively beamed at him. 

“Getting a head start on your weekend reading there, Steve?” 

Steve blew out an exasperated breath, rolling his eyes and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Soccer,” he explained, confirming Tony’s suspicions. “Apparently, I’m the new coach of the girl’s soccer team.” He pouted a little. “Administration is really hard to say no to.” 

Tony considered this, taking a seat across from Steve and propping his feet up on the desk. “Why isn’t Clint doing it? It is kind of his job.” 

“He’s busy with archery finals, it seems.”

“Archery… Finals?” Tony repeated, blinking curiously. “We’re the only school with an archery team. They split into two and compete against each other.” 

Steve shrugged miserably, and Tony tossed a pen at his forehead to get him to smile. 

“Hey, come on, there are worse things you could be coaching. Those lacrosse kids are wild.” 

“Yeah…” Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “Except for two tiny little details. First, those girls are intimidating as fuck. They scare the shit outta me. And second? I… Don’t actually know anything about soccer.”

Tony snorted with laughter, before he realized Steve was serious and did his best to compose himself. “I’m sorry, how do you not know anything about soccer? You’re…” He gestured vaguely to indicate Steve’s general physique, and Steve sighed glumly. 

“Yeah, I think that was the administration’s thought too. But I grew up as a scrawny art student. I know baseball, and that’s it.” 

“Huh. The more you know.” 

Steve groaned. “So now I’ve got to learn all these soccer rules for tomorrow, none of which make any sense to me.” He frowned down at the manual. “And aren’t there linebackers and quarterbackers and shit?” 

Tony couldn’t help laughing then, not even trying to hide it. “Steve, that’s football.” 

“Yeah,” Steve replied, in his ‘duh, Tony,’ voice. “Which is soccer.” 

They were still arguing about the two different kinds of football when Steve realized that he had parking lot duty. Not one to admit defeat, Tony had tagged along with him. He was once again trying to explain why American football was called football (“but it doesn’t even make sense if they barely use their feet, Tony!”) when a bright, flashy convertible had pulled into the pick-up lane. Tony caught a glimpse of Steve’s confused frown before the car pulled forward enough that he could see the driver and he went stock still, grabbing at Steve’s arm.

“Honeybear?” he yelped, loud enough that a couple of the lingering students turned their way as well. Steve gave Tony a bewildered stare but Tony hardly noticed, his eyes focused on Rhodey, leaning up until he was practically out of his seat and waving his arm at him, looking delicious in a tight white t-shirt that pulled against his biceps. 

“Hey, Tones! Guess who’s back, baby!” 

Tony made a noise that a lesser man might have even called a squeal, but he felt exactly zero shame about it as he took off for the car. “Bye Steve, gotta go, see you Monday!” he hollered over his shoulder as he went. He didn’t bother with the door, hopping over the side and sliding into the passenger seat. Rhodey lingered just long enough for Tony to give him an enormous kiss on the cheek before the two of them sped off.

“Uh. Bye,” Steve told them empty space beside him.

*

“So,” Rhodey said, yelling a little to be heard as they sped down the freeway with the top down, wind whistling through the car. “Was that your big gay crush?” 

Tony choked on nothing, turning his head to face him so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash. “My what?” he repeated. 

Rhodey looked over at him long enough to give him a stare. “Literally every conversation we’ve had in the past few weeks has been about him, Tones.” 

“That’s not the proper use of the word literally,” Tony grumbled, and Rhodey shrugged, letting it slide. 

Tony couldn’t though, milling it over in his head, and when they turned into the Italian restaurant in Bridgeport, he turned to Rhodey again. 

“Okay, no, so wait. Why do you think I have a crush on Steve?” 

“Tones…” Rhodey gave him a fond smile. “Come on, man, we’ve been friends for how many years now? I know what you look like when you’re crushing on someone. Even if apparently you don’t.” He gave him a pointed look, snorting when Tony just rolled his eyes at him. “You talk about him all the time. And sure, some of it is ‘complaining’ about how big and beefy he is, but a lot of it is how smart he is, and how funny, and how he’ll always call you on your shit… You don’t have to actually say the words, Tony. I can just tell.” 

Tony pouted at the dashboard, mulling this over. “You’re dumb,” he decided finally, ignoring Rhodey’s snickers as he climbed out of the car. “Hurry up, asshole. I’m starving. And I don’t have a crush on Steve!” 

“Alright, alright, fine,” Rhodey soothed, obviously not believing him in the slightest. “Whatever you say.” 

Tony shot him a glare and didn’t hold the door for him as he headed into the restaurant. After that was the usual flurry of activity when Anna spotted them from behind the cash and hollered at Roberto to come out from the kitchen so they could make their usual fuss over the two of them. He and Rhodey had found the place by accident on a Boston to New York road trip in college, and at this point they'd been coming back for fifteen years. 

With all the distractions, Tony was well into the garlic bread before another thought occurred to him. “Waiiiit,” he mumbled around a full mouth. He narrowed his eyes at Rhodey, who blinked back at him over his glass of wine. “Is that why you rented the flashy convertible? And why you used the pick-up lane? You never do that, you know it’s just supposed to be for students that time of day. Did you do that so Steve would see? Because you think I’m into him?” 

Rhodey shrugged, looking smug and pleased with himself. “I already know you’re emotionally stunted, but I figured if Steve hadn’t gotten off his ass and asked you out yet, maybe there was a chance he was just as bad.”

“Or, he could just be straight,” Tony pointed out which, he realized belatedly, wasn’t exactly a denial of his crush on Steve.

Rhodey just snorted. “No man could be totally straight around you, Tones. You’re a catch,” he informed him, just to see Tony try to not look all pleased and delighted. “Anyway, I figured -- assuming he’s not straight -- that it couldn’t hurt to give him something to be a little jealous of. And he was definitely gonna be jealous of me.” Rhodey lifted his arms, flexing them so his t-shirt once more strained against his t-shirt. “If you’re a catch, then I’m Moby Dick baby.” He beamed when Tony giggled into his salad. “You need me to be your big gay wingman? I’m 100% here for you, Tones.” 

Tony just shook his head, still laughing. “You’re such a dumbass,” he informed him.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too.” 

* 

The weekend had been everything Tony hadn’t realized he needed, the two of them doing all their favourite things and generally leaving a wake of chaos wherever they went. Tony loved his life, felt very fulfilled by what he did and wouldn’t trade it for anything else. But he always missed Rhodey like a limb when he wasn’t around, and having him back again, even temporarily, set something at ease in Tony’s chest.

The only problem, if he could really call it that, was that he couldn’t stop thinking about what Rhodey said about Steve. He hadn’t brought it up again, but that didn’t stop Tony from playing it over and over again, considering the previous conversations he’d had where Steve had been mentioned, with Rhodey, but with Pepper and Happy too. And, as an extension of that, how careful he was not to bring him up when he and Nat would sneak out for gelato over the lunch break, or how he didn’t join in when Bucky would start ragging on Steve in the staff room, all, “Jesus Rogers, you already look like you could stop a helicopter with your bare hands. Maybe give the gym a rest, huh?” (although Tony did have to hide his own smile at the teasing, and a couple times had caught Steve watching him with a look that one might have even described as pleased.)

And of course, thinking about all of that led to thinking about Steve himself. He was gorgeous, obviously, Tony would have to be blind not to be aware of that. But there was also how much he found himself looking forward to spending time with him, more than almost anyone else. He still hadn’t gotten tired of him, not really, not even when they argued, and he took special pride in finding ways to make Steve laugh. Steve could have been 5’2 and 96 pounds, and he would have enjoyed spending time with him just as much. 

By Sunday night, when Tony found himself lost in thought again, only to realize that he’d spent the last five minutes thinking about the very specific wrinkles Steve would get in his forehead whenever he smiled, Tony had to admit defeat. 

“Fuck,” he announced to his empty living room. “I’ve got a big gay crush on Steve Rogers.” 

To Tony’s credit, once he’d come to a conclusion, he wasn’t the type to sit back and wallow in it. Despite leaving him only an hour later, he grabbed his phone, dialing Rhodey’s number. 

“Hey Tones.” Rhodey answered on the third ring, sounding lazy and also like he was in the middle of eating something. “Miss me already?” 

“Always, honeybear,” Tony responded automatically. “But also, uh… So… You may not have been so crazy after all.” 

“About your big gay crush on the guidance counsellor?” Rhodey asked, because he knew Tony like nobody else. “Obviously.” 

“Shut up,” Tony whined. “You know how much I hate not knowing things.” He grinned at the warm huff of laughter that came down the line at that. “So how would you feel about… Still playing the big gay wingman?” 

“I’m listening…” 

“Our JROTC volunteer is out for the next few weeks, some kind of family thing, and I thought, you know… You can volunteer? Take his place for a bit? And then, you know, you and I can hang out like all the time while you’re on leave, and as an extra bonus, it might make Steve jealous.” 

“I mean, there’s a big difference between that, and picking you up at school in a shiny car,” Rhodey pointed out. “Sounds kinda complicated. I’d probably end up meeting him, even. You sure you don’t just want to… Tell him how you feel?”

Tony scoffed down the line. “I know you like to offer that advice for every situation, but I want you to know that the only reason that worked for you and Carol is because she thought your dumb drunk ass needed protecting. You triggered her alpha instinct, that’s all.” 

“If you say so,” Rhodey told him, but Tony could already tell he was going to say yes. “Fine. But I want you to know, it’s a stupid idea, and I’m only agreeing so I have a chance to bug you while you’re trying to work.” 

Tony beamed. “And that’s why you’re my favourite.”

*

Somewhere along the way, Steve’s (not-so) subtle ogling of Tony had turned into a full-on crush, and that had grown until Steve was pretty sure he was half in love with the man. He was doing his best to be cool about it, but he’d never met anyone quite like Tony Stark before. He found him constantly drifting into his thoughts, despite his best efforts otherwise, couldn’t seem to stop daydreaming about them being more than friends, even when he tried to tell himself that Tony was probably straight.

Or at least, he had thought that Tony was straight, right up until Friday afternoon. 

Steve knew it was none of his business. He had his own life out of work, and so did Tony, and that was fine. It didn’t stop him from driving himself crazy wondering who the hell the gorgeous man who picked Tony up from school on Friday had been, and what their relationship was. The sheer joy that had been in Tony’s voice when he’d called out to him had left Steve’s heart somewhere around his knees, made worse by the so obviously affectionate and familiar nickname. He hadn’t missed the enormous cheek kiss that Tony had given him either. And sure, a kiss on the cheek didn’t necessarily scream romantic relationship, and they could just as easily be friends. But there was an ugly part of Steve that kept rearing up, insisting that he would consider himself and Tony to be friends, and he had never gotten a kiss cheek. 

By Monday morning, Steve was practically itching to see Tony. Bucky, he knew, was totally sick of him after Steve had spent the entire weekend oscillating between moping and distraction, and refusing to tell him why. But the Home Ec room was right beside Tony’s classroom, so instead of going to his own office, Steve followed Bucky upstairs and then stood outside the doorway as Bucky made sure the cooking stations were prepped for the day, talking at him from the hallway. And the second he saw Tony making his way toward his classroom, looking sleepy and still a little out of it, he turned away entirely, not noticing that he was abandoning Bucky mid-sentence. 

“Hey Tony!” 

It went downhill from there. Tony made a strangled yelping noise, which Steve would have found adorable if not for the way everything he was holding scattered. His bag fell from his shoulder, flap opening and sending a cascade of pens and pencils and erasers flying across the floor. The cell phone he’d been texting on hit the ground with a thud that made Steve wince, and a tumbler went rolling off down the hall, leaving behind a dribbled trail of coffee leaking from the lid. 

“Oh shit,” Steve said, staring horrified at the mess for a minute before he moved to help, grabbing the tumbler as it started to roll past him and getting coffee all over his hand in the process. He ignored it, moving to help gather Tony’s other things. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” 

“No, it’s okay,” Tony reassured him, already bent over and picking things up. “I was just distracted. You startled me, is all.” 

“Still,” Steve insisted, and was about to explain further but he and Tony both reached for a pen at the same time, heads cracking together. “Oh god,” Steve groaned as Tony clasped a hand to his forehead with a pained noise, cursing creatively under his breath. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” They both straightened up, and he offered Tony a rueful smile. “I was just gonna ask how your weekend was.” 

“Oh!” The pain on Tony’s face melted away entirely as he smiled soft and sweet and pleased in a way that Steve didn’t think he’d quite seen before. He tried to keep his own smile normal, but all of a sudden he couldn’t remember what a smile was supposed to feel like, or what he even normally did with his face or arms or hands. Tony didn’t seem to notice. “It was really, really great. I got to spend the entire weekend with my Rhodeybear. It was just what I needed. He’s like my other half, and I missed him like crazy. Hey!” His entire face lit up. “You should meet him sometime.” 

“Right.” Steve nodded as normally as he could. “Yeah, maybe. That would be… Great. I’m glad you had a nice time, Tony,” he added, at least managing to be genuine with that. “I gotta get to work, but I’ll catch you later?” He started to head for his office, and then realized he was still holding the travel mug. “Oh right, here.” 

He handed it over, taking a moment to suck away a stray drop of coffee that was sliding down the side of his index finger. Then Tony made a worrying wheezing noise and Steve stopped, staring at him. “Are you alright?” 

Tony nodded just a couple more times than Steve would have classified as normal. “Yup,” he said, suddenly mumbling and not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “Just gotta…” He trailed off and darted into his classroom without any further explanation. 

“Okayyyy?” Steve said. 

*

Tony was acting weird, there was no doubt about it. Steve had assumed that after crashing into each other, they might meet for lunch as usual, but otherwise go about their day. Instead, Tony had popped into his office no less than four times that morning, every time on official business, but with fiddly little things that could have been passed along by a student messenger, or an email. But he’d also spotted Tony outside his office several other times, sometimes lingering outside his door absorbed in something on his phone, sometimes just walking down the hall just a little too casually to be entirely normal. Steve couldn’t think of another reason for him to be in this particular hallway, but Tony would look up from his phone like he hadn’t realized this was even where he was, and a couple of times Steve had glanced up just in time to see Tony’s eyes dart away like he’d been staring at him right before. The few times they’d made full eye contact and Steve had smiled at him, Tony’s return smile had been what Steve might have called shy, if it had been coming from anyone besides Tony. 

His first thought was that Tony had figured out about the crush (not an obsession, whatever Bucky said) Steve had on him, and was freaked out, and that’s what was making him act so weird. But when they met up for lunch everything seemed normal between them, and Tony certainly didn’t act like someone who was freaked out. And Steve knew Tony well enough by now that he was pretty sure if his feelings weren’t returned, Tony wouldn’t hesitate to let him know -- gently, and he’d probably be real sweet about it, but he wouldn’t let Steve drive himself crazy wondering, wouldn’t give him a chance to make a fool of himself over it. 

And then he thought it might have had something to do with his company over the weekend, this Rhodey guy that Steve was absolutely not jealous of, that he was the one that had Tony all twisted up in knots. Tony had sounded smitten with him, but then again, Tony was dramatic like that. It didn’t have to mean there was anything there. And that wouldn’t have explained why he was acting so weird around Steve, who didn’t even know the guy.  

Which led Steve to his next thought, the one that felt a little too fantastical to be true, even if the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. Because the little smiles, the almost blushes that Tony would have… What if Steve’s feelings weren’t as one-sided as he had thought? Maybe Tony had a thing for him too, and that’s why he was acting all flustered and strange? Steve knew he was probably not the most unbiased opinion, that wanting it to be true was maybe skewing his perspective a little, making him see things a certain way. But if Tony didn’t suddenly hate him -- and he was positive that wasn’t the case -- was it so crazy to think that the little glances and smiles were a sign of something more?

He felt bolstered by the idea, unable to let it go once it was in his head. He’d never been one for letting things slide, and almost immediately he made up his mind to Talk To Tony, to maybe ask if he wanted to grab coffee after work, or a drink, and then he could tell him how he felt, see if he felt the same. 

His morning flew by, distracted by daydreams of what would come next. Steve had always been a visual thinker, and he could picture all too clearly the slow smile that would spread across Tony’s cheeks when he realized his feelings weren't unrequited, the way he’d duck his head and glance up through his eyelashes (a move that always drove Steve crazy). How drinks could lead to dinner, which could lead to walking him home and -- since it was Steve’s daydream, dammit -- having Tony inviting him inside. What it would be like to finally get to kiss him, to feel his skin under his fingers with purpose, instead of just a glancing brush as they shared food or walked along beside each other?

He was still daydreaming about it when he walked into the gym right before lunchtime, intending to ask Clint another question about soccer, and stopped dead. 

He had been very, very wrong.

Tony was there, for some reason, but even more confusing was the fact that this Rhodey guy was with him. Not that the why of it really mattered, Steve supposed. Tony was practically hanging off the other man’s back, crooning into his ear. As Steve watched, he pressed a big sloppy kiss to Rhodey’s cheek. “Come on, platypus,” he wheedled, delight evident in his voice. Rhodey was shaking his head and pretending to be annoyed but there was a fond, pleased smile on his face and his hand came up to hold on to Tony’s arm around his chest. 

Steve may have been accused of being hopelessly optimistic, but he wasn’t naive. Whatever had had Tony acting so weird before, it obviously wasn’t a crush on Steve.

Suddenly very much needing to be anywhere else, Steve turned to try and sneak back out of the gym and promptly tripped over a stray basketball. He couldn’t help cursing as he rolled his ankle, and then winced as the sound rang out through the mostly empty space. 

“Steve!” Tony looked startled at his sudden appearance, doing a weird little fidgety dance before he forced himself to still and gave him a bright smile. “Come here! You didn’t get to meet him last week, come meet my Rhodeybear!” 

Steve started to mumble out some excuse about paperwork or meetings, but almost instantly Tony was across the room, grabbing him by the arm and forcibly pulling him over to Rhodey, who was very obviously trying not to laugh. 

“Rhodey, this is Steve, our new guidance counselor. Steve, this is Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes. I talked him into volunteering with the ROTC kids while he’s on leave for the next month.”

Steve managed a smile as Rhodey reached out, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “Hey man. Good to finally meet you. Tones talks about you all the time.” 

He glanced at Tony over Steve’s shoulder, and something on Tony’s face made him laugh. His eyes were sharp and perceptive and Steve felt a flare of panic because oh shit, he knew. Somehow this man had figured out that Steve had a crush on his boyfriend. And the worst part was that he didn’t seem angry. There was no threat in his handshake, his smile open and friendly.

“Uh, good to meet you too,” he managed, doing his best to smile back at him and not look like he was having a complete panic attack. 

There was something so effortlessly cool about Rhodey. He was, frankly, gorgeous, with his teasing smile and ridiculously well-fitting leather jacket to boot, but he seemed genuinely nice too. He could have been a total ass, throwing it in Steve’s face that he was with Tony, but there was nothing of that in his body language. Steve couldn’t help liking him immediately, and he usually had good instincts for these things. But he also couldn’t help being intimidated and more than a little jealous -- although, for a moment he wasn’t entirely sure of which one. It was definitely Rhodey; his ridiculous crush was on Tony, so of course Rhodey was the one he was jealous of. It was maybe also a little bit Tony because fuck, Rhodey was cool. 

Steve was barely aware of the conversation that followed, feeling his heart sink lower every time he caught a glimpse of the besotted smile on Tony’s face. They made small talk for a few minutes, and at least he was pretty sure that he hadn’t said anything too strange, even if he sort of felt like his own face was melting. There were vague plans made for the three of them to get together for drinks or something in the next few weeks (Steve had exactly zero intention of following through on that particular idea) and then he was finally able to make his escape. Feeling like an absolute idiot, he slipped his way down the hall and back to his own office, where he shut the door firmly behind him and slunk down in his desk chair, letting his head fall against the desk with a slight bang, whining into the empty space. 

After that, Steve backed off a little, not wanting to seem like he was encroaching on their relationship. He was crazy about Tony, but he wanted him to be happy, and the two of them seemed right together. And clearly Rhodey had a good effect on Tony, because after a few more days whatever seemed to be going on with him stopped too. The manic behaviour evened out as he went back to how they’d been before, if maybe slightly more awkward than they’d once been. They still met for lunch regularly, still got along stupidly well, goofing around and joking and making each other laugh. If their lunches were slightly less often than they’d once been, well, Steve supposed that made sense when Tony’s boyfriend was right there at the school with him. He should be glad he still got lunch with Tony at all. 

A few more weeks, and even that slight awkwardness had faded. They were warm and  familiar around each other again, their new normal somehow less and more than it had been before. Steve still had a thing for Tony, but now it felt settled into him, like it was just a part of who he was. He didn’t want to admit it, but he thought he might have settled right into being completely in love with Tony. But he could be normal around him, because that was just part of their friendship, loving Tony just a part of who he was now. He felt right being around Tony, even if there was sometimes a bittersweet ache, and he wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. 

But every once in awhile, he’d catch Tony giving him a soft, sad smile that he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to see, a look on his face that Steve might have described as just a little disappointed, and he couldn’t help wondering. Maybe if Tony had been single, and maybe if Steve had been just a little less scared, they might have been able to have something more between them. 

*

Tony huffed out a sigh, having no idea what was going on in the movie he was watching with Rhodey. “Honeybear,” he said. “I think it’s time to admit defeat.” 

“Tony Stark? Giving up?” Rhodey rolled his head along the back of the couch, giving Tony a slightly tipsy grin. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?” 

“Hilarious,” Tony told him dryly, grinning despite himself. “I’m serious. I don’t think Steve is into me. I thought he was jealous at first but…” He shrugged helplessly. “And we’re friends. Like, really good friends. He’s probably the person I trust most after you. I shouldn’t try to mess with that, right?” 

“I don’t think it’s messing with it, exactly,” Rhodey told him. “Starting a romantic relationship with him isn’t necessarily better or worse than being friends. It’s just... Different.” He obviously understood Tony’s point though. “You really don’t think there’s anything there?” 

Tony just shrugged again, a crooked, self-deprecating smile on his lips, and Rhodey rubbed his hand over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry man,” he told him, hauling Tony against him for a hug.

“It’s okay,” Tony mumbled into Rhodey’s neck, though his arms squeezed around his waist, holding on tight for a long minute. “Really. I love having him as a friend too, and I’ll get over the whole crush thing eventually. I’ll be okay. I always am.” 

Rhodey hummed, sounding like he didn’t quite believe him. “Still. Ice cream and bourbon in the meantime?” 

Tony managed a real smile then, though he didn’t let go of Rhodey right away. “Definitely.”

*

Steve sat alone in the restaurant, fighting a smile at the sympathetic looks he kept getting from the wait staff. He was meeting his friend Sharon for dinner after she’d been overseas for the last six months on a work contract. But Sharon was notoriously bad at personal appointments, so it was hit or miss whether she’d actually turn up or if she would cancel at the last minute again. Steve wasn’t really phased, used to it by now. 

He was occupying himself with games on his phone when he heard a familiar voice. He frowned at the screen, trying to place it before he looked up and made awkward eye contact with someone he’d rather avoid, and then realized it was Rhodey. Immediately he wondered if Tony was with him, and his heart beat a little faster at the thought, even though he’d just seen him a few hours ago. Looking around for them, he smiled when he spotted Rhodey’s familiar form first. And then his heart stopped beating completely for a moment. 

Rhodey wasn’t with Tony. 

There was a woman with him, tall and muscular with short blonde hair. She was just as gorgeous as Rhodey, the two of them an admittedly stunning pair. She was laughing too, not quite as loud, and there was a softness in her eyes as she smiled at him. Then Rhodey’s hand came up, sliding across the table to tangle his fingers with hers, the movement familiar and intimate. He leaned forward, murmuring something soft that Steve couldn’t catch, and then she was pulling back with a wide smile. 

“Check please?” she hollered with absolutely no decorum, making Rhodey burst out laughing again. 

Steve ducked behind his menu, watching the two of them gather up their things. He didn’t particularly want to confront Rhodey here and now, just in case he was wrong, but fortunately (or not) they only seemed to have eyes for each other. Rhodey helped her with her jacket, making the woman snort and try to elbow him, and he kept his hand very low on her back, right on the edge of being inappropriate, as they walked to the door. Steve turned away as they walked right past the table, but he looked up in time to see them pause in the foyer, mostly out of sight, before the women fisted her hands in Rhodey’s shirt and pulled him for a slow, lingering, hungry kiss. Rhodey looked downright dazed when she’d pulled back, until she said something else to make him laugh and the two of them slipped out the front door. 

Steve stared at the space where they’d been for a long time after they’d gone. 

“Shit.” 

*

Sharon did end up cancelling on him, and with Bucky away on a bonding trip with some old army buddies, Steve was left alone to stew around the apartment all weekend. Normally he’d probably have gone to Tony for advice, but that obviously wasn’t an option here and Steve didn’t know what to do. 

He knew he should tell Tony; he’d want to know if it were him. But then there was the question of if he’d want Steve to be the one to tell him -- or, for that matter, if Steve wanted to be the one to tell him, which he definitely didn’t. If Tony had figured out about Steve’s crush on him, would he even believe him? He honestly didn’t know what he would do if Tony thought he was making it up to get between him and his boyfriend. He’d like to think Tony knew him better than that, but people could get weird about their significant others. 

By Monday morning, Steve still had no idea what he was going to do. He had barely slept all weekend and was tired and miserable, found himself taking the long way round to his office to avoid the chance of running into Tony in the staff room. 

“Wow, Rogers. You look terrible.” 

Lost in thought, Steve nearly jumped at the sound of Nat’s voice. He looked up to see her sitting in her classroom, grading papers and watching him with an amused look on her face. 

“Yeah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck absently. “I just didn’t sleep well.” 

Some of the amusement slid off her face and she arched an eyebrow at him. “You okay?” 

Steve shrugged. ”Just… Life,” he offered vaguely. Then he blinked at her, eyes going wide. “You can help me though! I… I need you to talk to Tony for me. It’s kind of a big thing. Please, Nat? I don’t know what else to do. I don’t… I’m worried he’ll hate me if I tell him, or won’t believe me, or both. But it won’t seem so…  personal coming from you. Blunt honesty is your whole thing, right? Plus he’s more likely to believe you when he’s already half terrified of you anyway.”

Nat was back to looking amused, trying to follow Steve’s rambling. “And why is Tony half terrified of me?”

Steve winced. “Uh… There’s a rumor going around that you’re secretly a Russian sleeper agent?” 

“The Cold War ended in 1991,” she told him without missing a beat, voice eerily atonal. “Russia and America are allies now.” 

There was a moment of absolute silence before she cracked up and Steve glared at her.

“That. That is exactly why people are scared of you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him airily, before relenting with a sigh. “Okay, so what is it that you need me to tell Tony?” 

“I… Rhodey’s cheating on him,” he blurted out all in a rush, before he could chicken out. “I saw him at dinner on Friday with this gorgeous woman, and they were very clearly together, kissing and everything, and I just… I don’t know how to tell him. 

Nat stared at him, blinked twice, and then burst out laughing. Steve frowned at her, taken aback, but as Natasha kept on laughing, to the point that there were actual tears coming from her eyes, Steve got more and more cranky. Folding his arms across his chest, his frown turned into a full on glare as he waited for her to get control of herself. 

“Are you done?” he asked when she finally stopped laughing what felt like five minutes later. “Cause I’d really like to know what’s so funny about all of this.” 

But Natasha just shook her head, still grinning. “Let me know when you figure it out, Steve.” 

*

By the end of the day, Steve had successfully managed to avoid Tony, and he was exhausted. He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, and he didn’t particularly want to. He’d missed Tony today. Even on the days when they didn’t get to spend time together, there was always a smile and wave when they passed each other in the hall. This just felt weird. 

Going the long way again, he made his way to Bucky’s classroom, hovering in the doorway as he watched Bucky put away the last of the materials they’d been using. 

“Hey Buck?” he said after a minute. 

Bucky looked up, frowning at the look on Steve’s face. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” 

Steve ignored that. “Remember, when we were kids, and I grabbed you before you fell off the fire escape showing off for Jenny Calloway? And you said you owed me your first born? I’m cashing in. I need you to do something for me, no questions. And if you laugh at me, I’m gonna punch you so hard your grandkids’ teeth’ll hurt.”

“Well that seems unnecessary,” Bucky drawled, leaning back against one of the work stations. “You know I’d do it if you just said please. Seriously, Stevie, you look like you’re about to pass out. What’s up?” 

“Rhodey is cheating on Tony. I saw him with someone, and… They were definitely together. Can you just like… Let it slip? I’m afraid if I tell him he’ll think I’m lying, because --,”

“You’re desperately in love with him?” he asked, lips quirking up. 

“Buck!” Steve looked around like Tony was suddenly going to pop out of the corner of the classroom and call him out on it. “Come on, this is serious. Don’t fucking laugh at me!” 

Bucky held his hands up in surrender, and was quiet for a minute, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was still fighting back a smile. “Right, okay,” he said, pushing off the desk and striding into the hallway. Steve’s eyes went wide.

“No, shit, wait,” he hissed. “I didn’t mean right now!” He started to follow Bucky down the hall, then stopped after a few feet because Bucky had already reached Tony’s classroom, and he didn't think he wanted to be here for this. But while Steve was debating if he could make it to the stairs before Bucky said something, Bucky knocked sharply on the side of the doorframe. 

“Hey! Stevie thinks you’re dating Rhodes,” he announced, before wandering off down the hall. Steve stared after him because what the fuck, that wasn’t what he’d told him to say, and where was he even going?

Before he had a chance to process, there was a crash from Tony’s classroom and then faintly, the sound of his voice. “Did he just…?” He sounded strangled, and then he was skidding into the hallway, hair standing up about five inches from his head and eyes wild. 

“Um, hi,” he said. Steve could practically see his chest heaving from here.

“Hi,” Steve said back a little stupidly. 

“I’m not dating Rhodey,” Tony burst out, staring at Steve with wide eyes like he couldn’t look away. “Never have been. Well, we had an almost thing in university, but -- that’s not the point. Rhodey and I aren’t together.” He gaze shifted, looking at Steve imploringly. His tongue flicked out over his lips, and Steve swallowed hard. 

“I just…” He took a couple tentative steps toward Tony. “He showed up, and you were all over him, and you had about five million nicknames for him and so… I figured…”

“Nope,” Tony said quickly. “We’re just… Like that. Rhodey is very firmly in love with somebody else. We, uh… I was helping him shop for engagement rings last week.” He took a deep breath and closed the remaining distance between them, eyes somewhere around Steve’s collarbone. “Listen, Rogers. I know Carol looks like a lesbian, but so does Clint with the wrong glasses and a slim-cut pant, so please reconsider your personal biases and trust me. It's her and Rhodey. And it's.... it's you and me. Right?"

Steve could feel the ridiculous smile splitting his cheeks. “Yeah?” he asked, a little breathless. 

“I mean…” Tony looked up at him through ridiculously long eyelashes. “I’d like it to be?” 

There were a million and one things that Steve could say in response to that, but he couldn’t think of a single one. Instead, he curled his hand around the back of Tony’s neck, dipping his head to kiss him softly. Tony made a soft, whimpery noise, hands coming up to clutch at the front of Steve’s shirt. He couldn’t resist deepening the kiss, letting his tongue tease against the seam of Tony’s lips for a minute before he pulled back again, just a little. 

“I thought… You were acting so weird. I thought you’d figured out I had a crush on you and, you know. Didn’t know how to turn me down.” 

Tony made a pained noise, and then started laughing, pressing his face into Steve’s chest. His entire body was shaking with it, and Steve couldn’t help grinning as he wrapped his hands around Tony’s back. 

“I was acting weird because I had a thing for you. I figured you couldn’t possibly be interested because otherwise, why wouldn’t you have made a move? I was laying it on way too strong. I’ve never been the best at processing stuff like that. I get a little… manic.”

Steve wanted to kick his own ass, but it was hard to be upset when he finally, finally had his arms full of Tony. “Really?” he teased instead. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Tony bit his pec in retaliation — it was right there, how was he supposed to resist? — sending a full-body shudder through Steve. There wasn’t much for him to do after that but pull Tony up into another kiss, and then another, until they were making out lazily right there in the hallway. 

They might have kept going forever, if they hadn’t been interrupted by a very pointed throat clearing. 

“Okay, seriously guys?” Bucky protested. “I’ve been killing time with Nat for the past half hour. Can’t you do that in one of your own classrooms? Or better yet, a goddamn bedroom? Preferably not in our shared apartment,” he added with a glare at Steve. 

Steve could feel his cheeks heating, but he didn’t really feel embarrassed, especially not with the smirk Tony was leveling at him. Steve shivered again, and his smirk grew wider. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, tossing a look at Bucky over his shoulder. “We’re going. Don’t get your ponytail in a knot.” Then he caught Steve’s hand. “Can I uh… can I buy you dinner? I know a great Italian place. Not too fancy, cozy… intimate.”

Steve’s face hurt from smiling so hard. “Sounds like a date,” he said, getting a goofy little delighted giggle out of Tony. 

“You know,” Tony said as they headed for the parking lot, fingers entwined. “You don’t have to be jealous of Rhodey’s nicknames. I can give you a nickname.”

Steve snorted. “I’ve heard some of Rhodey’s nicknames. I think I’m okay.” 

Tony stuck his tongue out at him, softening it by standing on tiptoe to give him another quick kiss. “Oh, what about Cap? You know, like Captain America? In the old comic books? You kind of look like him, all big and blond and buff and like you could single-handedly take down a Nazi base and rescue the damsel in distress. The damsel in distress being me, obviously.” 

Steve just laughed, shaking his head and happier than he’d ever been. “Tony, that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

@tonystarkbingo

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tsb2020 #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #teacher au #mutual pining #get together #james rhodes #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #background carol/rhodey #fic #my fic

[little-dragon-stories]

King Chap 7

Your life changed completely when from a slave, you became a spy for the king. Will you be able to help him in his fight against slavery before it’s too late and the threat hanging over him comes true?

In this society where love comes after fortune, will your mutual affection be able to flourish?

Royal au fic pairing female reader and Kwon JiYong

Feat: YoungBae, TaeHyung, MinHo and SeoJoon (just because I had their face in mind when I pictured their character)

W.C: 2423

Warnings: angst, panic attack, main character dissociating

Disclaimer: Everything in this story is fictional. There is no research to be politically accurate or to fit a certain period of time or place. In one word, it’s all invented.

Chapter 7

You spend a couple of days, translating law documents with the king. Seo and sometimes Tae were following you everywhere, now. They seemed to be waiting for you and walked along with you from one place to another. It was now evident that the king had ordered them to protect you each time you were not in his presence. Tae had no choice but to agree when you confronted him with all your questions.You knew too well that questioning Seo on the subject would give no result. When he had to keep a secret, his lips were sealed. Tae for his part, it was easy to make him spill the bean.

“Y/n… you changed!” Seo exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the path, his arms crossed on his chest to observe you.

“Oppa… why would you say something like that to me? I didn’t change at all!” you pout.

He looked at you tenderly.

“You didn’t smile as much, before. You didn’t talk as much either, now you can’t stop. I even caught you singing this morning…”

“Yaa, stop teasing me” you blushed, hiding your face behind your hands.

“Don’t ‘ya’ me little miss! I ain’t teasing you. I just observed that happiness suits you well” he remarked before he patted your hair and pulled you for a hug.

“Thank you oppa. I am, indeed, happy here. And also, I’m happy to be here with you and Tae. You are family to me.”

“Yeah! Yeah! I’m stuck with an annoying little sister”

“Annoying? Me? I’m gonna show you what annoying means if I catch you and beat your ass” you said before teasingly poke his side.

The shadow of Mina and HyunSa hovered over you. Your happiness will be complete only when they will come and join you but time flies and they are nowhere to be seen. You will ask the king about his promise, you wanna know if something happened about it.

“I love you, annoying sister!”

“You… what?” you asked him, dazzled.

“Yaa, don’t make a big deal out of this. I just realised that we should tell people that we love them, when we can. That’s all. You are my family, Y/n. Thank you for never giving up on me, even if I put you in a lot of strange situations throughout the years”.

Big tears were rolling down your eyes. You tiptoed and you pulled on his face to kiss his nose, encircling him with your arms as soon as it was done. A guard walking around began to whistle "marry the girl, for God’s sake". Both of you chose to ignore such a stupid comment.

“I love you too, SeoJoon” you whispered before you finally let go. You and him never hugged before, but things were different now. You were closer than ever, spending so much time together.

“I shall go, I have to work in the king’s garden. Have a good day oppa”

“Aren’t you too pretty to be gardening, today”?

Suddenly, it hit him. When he looked at your pretty white dress belted with a pink silk ribbon, your elegantly combed hair cascading down your back and the new shoes you just bought at the village, he realized that something was wrong. You were much too nicely dressed to spend the day kneeling and digging up dirt. Now that he thought about it, you never had soil under your nails or on your shoes when he walked you back home at night after a supposedly day working in the king’s garden. Suspicious, he looked at you and frowned.

“Y/n, what’s going on? Are you in danger? Is everything okay? Is the king treating you well? Are you…” He asked, shaking your shoulders.

“Ya! Stop it, SeoJoon. Please, lower your voice, don’t put attention on me like that in the middle of the street. Ask the king if you have any questions, please oppa”

“Is he treating you with the respect you deserve?” He lowered his voice.

“What does that even mean? Of course, he’s treating me well. I promise you SeoJoon oppa, I’m fine. I’ve never been happier in my entire life. You have to trust me on that”.

Scratching the back of his neck, he seemed relieved.

“I guess I have no choice, I just mentioned how bubbly you were recently. Ooooh… I get it now. Okay, okay!” A teasing smirk curved his lips.

“ I don’t think you see things as they really are but trust me, I am doing fine. On that, see you tonight”

Turning to face the steps that lead to the palace executive room, you were welcomed by the king himself standing in front of the opened door. He was waiting for you with his arms behind his back, an impassive look on his face, stoic as always when you were in public. Did he catch your conversation with Seo?

“Thanks for bringing her safely, SeoJoon” he told him but he kept gazing at you.

“It’s my pleasure majesty. Take care of her, she’s my annoying little sister” he beamed with joy.

At these words you showed your annoyance by letting out a feigned sigh. The king looked at SeoJoon when the latter called out for him. A message passed between them, silent but they seemed to understand each other as the king nodded to a non-verbal question from Seo.

“Good afternoon, sir!” you said as you walked in front of him and confidently led the way to the study room. You knew the way, now.

“After you, my lady” he laughed and bowed teasingly as soon as the door was closed. He followed you.

The servants had placed tea and cut fruit on a tray. Filled chocolate, a delicacy that you had never tasted before yesterday, generously stacked between the fruits. They had left everything at the entrance on the middle shelf bookcase, as the king asked them to do.

Little by little, you have found your pace, you’ve developed your own personal routine with him. You were using his study to work, side by side on his table but as soon as someone came in, he would hide the book you were working on under his journal. Sometimes, you stayed by his side, sometimes you went in the background, depending on who was announced. He hired someone from the village to have some gardening work done during the night, your official reason to be here, covered.

He gave you a key to lock yourself inside the study when he had to leave to conduct state affairs. The whole situation started to make a lot of noise among the staff but you didn’t really care how they would look at you. They multiplied their visits to catch a glimpse on the king and you. It was irritating but JiYong was always collected. You had to admit that he made you see authority in a better light.

He was determined to discover the flaw in the documents but did not lose patience or show anger towards you even though the process took more time than he expected, that also was new to you. He always offered you to take care of yourself and take a break if you felt the need to rest. But you didn’t want to stop.

“You see here? There is a difference in the transcription. I don’t think it’s significant, but I’d rather tell you” you told him as soon as he arrived from god knows where. He was so busy during the day.

“Still not the one I’m looking for” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose while sitting next to you. “What if I am wrong… what if I misinterpreted it all, what if...”

He was not confident anymore. He was scared that he didn’t read the whole situation correctly. After spending a few days by his side, you were now able to read him, to interpret his non verbal attitude. He was doubting himself, the reason why you were looking for evidence in the first place.

“Oh no, sir! Let’s stay positive. I’m sorry if I don’t work fast enough, I will try to…”

He stopped you from speaking a little abruptly but not aggressively. He seemed irritated by the situation but not particularly by you. Despite the fact that you felt safe with him, at the slightest manifestation of impatience on his part, your hands began to tremble. He noticed it and was internally swearing against the man who had traumatized you so much.

“Y/n… Y/n…” He put his hand on your arm to get your attention before you lost yourself in explanations.

“Yes, sir?”

“Yes, JiYong… you never address me like I want you to” He smiled at you, a dazzling grin on his face.

“I’m sorry…” You lower your head.

“No, don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong. Also, don’t be scared of me, I would never harm you. I hope you know that”.

“I feel it sir, I know” you timidly answered.

You were interrupted by 3 little knocks on the door.

“The Queen demands to see you, Cheon Ha” the maid said.

Hearing that, you froze. You never met the Queen, you only heard about her. She apparently was a beautiful woman with a generous and caring personality. What is she gonna say, if it came to her hearing that her husband is spending so much time alone with another woman, in his quarters?

“Sir, it’s your wife” your eyes were round in shock and you looked mortified.

“I know who the queen is Y/n, please, go to the back room right now, she cannot find out what we are doing” In a split second, he was cold and seemed irritated again.

It’s always in times when you have to hurry that you become the most clumsy. When you got up, you hung a jar on the table and the ink poured all over the king’s diary and dress. A real disaster, if any. You had no choice but to go and hide in the back room because the door opened on the queen and you were not to be seen. What happened between the queen and the king, what they said to each other, you heard nothing at all.

This accident, so innocuous it seemed to the king, put you in a second state of mind. You suddenly remembered all the times when you awkwardly and despite your best efforts, made a mistake with Master Minho. Your punishment was always the same, always violent. Your primal instinct from the long years on the plantation came back immediately. Sweat poured down your forehead, your hands trembled and your face turned white. Alone in the back room, you were no longer at the palace. You were a slave, waiting for Master MinHo to punish you. For what seems like an eternity, you waited.

When the king called out your name, you didn't hear him, even less recognize his voice.

“Y/n? Where are you? Come back, she left already. She just informed me about…. What the hell are you doing?” he exclaimed as he entered the room.

You were completely naked, kneeling with your forehead on the floor and hands joined on your back in this awful position you were taken the first time he met you. Trembling with fear and cold, you were not able to stop crying.

“I’m sorry Master MinHo. I’m sorry for the mess I made on your clothes. I accept my punishment because I’m just a stupid slave, Master. No… Please, I beg you… Please… Can you please spare me this one time? Please I’m begging you, I can’t take it anymore… Please spare me just for once”

In your head, even though you knew that begging for MinHo’s forgiveness would just make it worse, you had no choice but to try. Normally you never tried to make him spare you, it only made him more angry and more violent. But today, you felt weak.

“Y/n… Y/n… it’s me…What the hell is going on? You are not in the plantation anymore…” His words didn’t reach you. You kept begging, flooding the floor with your tears. The sound of your teeth snapping together was breaking the silence when no one was talking.

He took off the coat covering his robe and placed it on you while thinking about how to make you come back to reality.

“Y/n, look at me” he begged, making sure not to touch you.

You lifted up your gaze but were unable to lock eyes with him, too far away in your awakened nightmare. He was shocked by the paleness of your face. Your lips were blue and your eyes empty. It seemed like life had left you and a ghost from the past was haunting you.

“I’m cold, I’m so cold” you whispered, your lips trembling and your teeth chattering. He had an idea.

“Y/n, wait, I’m coming back, hold on please, hold on!”

He went to the corridor, ordered the 4 servants stationed there to have a hot bath prepared with towels for his room, immediately and without the presence of his courtesans. He told them to prepare hot tea and some food as well.

“Cheon Ha, it’s unusual…”

“I said, right now. It’s an order” for the first time ever, he yelled at them.

He went back to the library and hid the documents you were working on. Even though he left for only 30 seconds, he feared the state you would be in when he returned. You were in the exact same position you were. He knelt in front of you and cupped your face gently. He made sure to close the coat in front of you to preserve your nudity.

“Y/n, look at me, please… you are with me, JiYong. I will never let anything happen to you. I won’t punish you either, it was an accident. You poured ink by accident”

At the word ‘punish’, you start shaking more if it is possible. Your chest grew tight as bile rose in your throat. You were so scared and cold.

“Y/n…” the voice that managed to reach you was far away, almost like through the thick mist of dawn. “Look at me”

You lift your eyes to meet his this time. In front of you was not your Master MinHo, but your king, the kind and thoughtful man that became your friend. When you realised what you just had done, you fainted.

#bigbang jiyong #bigbang fan fiction #jiyong scenario #jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong imagine #kwon jiyong scenario #kwon jiyong serie #gd serie #gd scenario #gd imagine #bigbang serie #g dragon #g dragon serie #jiyong angst #g dragon angst #g dragon x reader #my king #my man #he owns my heart

[gemder]

a bubbline wip, featuring a dissociative episode by our fave punk rock vamp. set shortly after Stakes.

She doesn't know how long she's been hovering over the couch like this, with her gaze trained on the bumps and dips on the ceiling and her bass planted in her arms. How many times has she sung that old song, so old and resilient it survived the death and rebirth of the world (and the both of hers twice over, now) just by hiding in the corner of her mind she doesn't like to visit? She can't see the sun or moon rise through the entrance to her hideaway from this part of the house, and the cave-imposed darkness tells her nothing of the time or how much of it has passed.

She doesn't dare budge from her spot. She's been turned twice now; she knows from experience that any sudden action, anything to startle her base thought process, could spark that bloodlust from last time. That was some ugly biz, if she remembers correctly. It's been a while, but something like an uncontrollable urge to drain the lifeforce of every living creature within 30 miles sticks to you. She's just going to have to wait it out, until the itch in the back of her throat dies down and she doesn't worry it'll become an insatiable burning for hot blood, no matter how long it takes.

Marceline has had an excessive amount of time to learn how to be alone; 1003 years, in fact. So why does it never get any easier? Why does being left never hurt any less? Why does she seem to be so completely destined for eternal loneliness? What asshat decided she deserved to spend the entirety of her neverending life without a single constant presence?

Mom went out with promises of keeping safe and finding food and I love you so much, sweetie, that alone is strong enough to bring me back to you. It took two weeks before little Marcy came to the conclusion that her mom wasn't coming back with food or supplies, or even returning empty handed. Simon let a stupid magical crown take over every single cell of his brain and wrote a bunch of scattered letters about it while it happened instead of, you know, telling the frightened 7 year old she was going to be left soon. Dad just up and left to go back to running the Nightosphere after a few weeks, with nary a parting word nor any notice. Her post-apocalyptic comrades had no choice but to flee from an otherwise inevitable extinction. Bonnie had to go and grow up, and in the process decide that her 900-something year old girlfriend wasn't mature enough.

(She checked that old, busted up camper as often as she could over the following months. There was never another life in that thing after she hopped down the little steps and let the screen door slam back with the carelessness of a 6 year old.)

(She found a decomposed corpse months later that just happened to be wearing some torn up rags that looked like her mom’s old sweater and jeans. It must have just been a coincidence, though; there were a lot of recently dead back then, and even more moth-eaten sweaters in the world.)

(“I’m trying to save you, but who's going to save me?” ‘I don't know, old man, maybe you could have saved yourself? You could have not purposely used the magical relic that was making you go bananas?’ If a 7 year old could make it through the apocalypse without magic then so could a fully grown man.)

(He left her to survive on her own in the name of being executive manager of hell and he still wonders why she wants nothing to do with him, why she used to have such a hard time so much as calling him “dad” when he’s never been anything like what she was lead to believe dads were supposed to be like.)

(She’s 1000 years old, how in the name of the nightosphere could she not be mature enough?)

(Over the years she’s replaced the world “hell” with “Nightosphere” the same way the being once referred to as “God,” back when even she was young, is now called by their proper name of Glob. The Nightosphere really is hell, so it fits.)

(Sometimes she takes the time to think about how she's the heir apparent to the actual, literal, real life hell, and how she's one of the oldest beings around these days, maybe the oldest to still really be sane, but still a messed up teen.)

(She doesn't know how old she was when she was turned; years and months and all that are hard to keep track of when the species that invented it is all but extinct. Is she old enough to drive? Probably. She does and can regardless, because screw the old ways. Old enough to drink, smoke, vote? Debatable. The point is that she’s 1000 years old but actually, like, 18. What the fuck.)

She drifts, both mentally and physically. She's had plenty of time and isolation to ponder the Big Things about life and the world and why and how things happened the way they did, and what it means. She will have an abundance of opportunities in the future to think about these things, too. Some day she'll reflect on this part of her life in the far away, nostalgia-filtered sepia tones she currently thinks of her childhood and adolescence. She'll remember when Finn and Jake were the heroes of Ooo, when Simon used to chase after princesses who will have long since passed, when she couldn't get over her ex-girlfriend who happened to be sentient candy. It will be distant and she will miss it terribly, the same way she misses her mother, and Simon when he was Simon, and fries in a long-abandoned diner. But it will be a wound long since closed and numbed, like the deep scar she got on her calf sometime in her early teens that still exists today, preserved in her immortality and a sentimentality that prevented her from insta-healing it away, sting and blood long gone.

She has forever to reminisce, but only right now to live in the present. She makes mental patterns in the bumps on the ceiling, and slowly loses grip on her body. She is a million miles upwards, where the sky holds no oxygen and the stars are still pinpricks in a sea of indigo construction paper. Like a kid poking holes in the top of a jar of lightning bugs, equipped with a fork and enthusiasm at being able to destroy something for the sake of encapturing something else. She is, at the same time, hovering above her uncomfortably hard couch. One of her hands slips from its place atop her bass, and Shwabl licks it from his spot next to her on the dusty carpet.

She doesn't hear the knock at the door. She is right there, but she is centuries back and in a different part of the continent entirely. She doesn't hear Bonnie getting increasingly agitated, trying and failing not to raise her voice at her through the door. She doesn't notice when Bonnie lets herself in regardless of Marceline’s lack of response, or when Shwabl jumps up to attention at the guest.

It's the “Marceline, what -” that breaks her dissociative spell. That tone of exasperation in that particular voice is a very familiar one, especially within the last decade. She comes to to find that there are fresh tears in the corner of one eye and the words to a song as old as her youth on her lips.

“Oh, hey Bombòn. How goes it girl?” Marceline has had a millennium to convince the world that she's chill and totally not a big mess, and it shows in the lilt to her voice that screams ‘I'm just chillin’’ and not ‘I've been dissociating and crying and probably singing for who-knows-how-long and I'm really messed up’. She still doesn't dare move from her spot, because moving around could still trigger what she's trying to wait out.

“It's been three weeks, Marcy. Three weeks, and all that heavy biz, and no one's heard from you since. Doesn't that seem even a little bit irresponsible to you? Didn't you think people would worry? Or even wonder ‘hey, what happened to that girl who saved all our butts and got revampified?’”

“Dude, I've just been chilling. You know how it is; jams, games, pets, it keeps a girl busy. It’s cool. Ice cold, in fact.”

Bonnie sighs. Marceline has heard that sigh a million and three times over by now, and she's learned to like that particular sound from the pink girl; it's the one thing about herself that she can't manage to sweeten to the point of oversaturation, until it (like the rest of her) is practically dripping sugar. Marceline likes to deal with the authentic rather than the idealized versions of people, because the latter rarely ever means anything good is coming her way.

(She rationalizes that the Ice King component of Simon, while not idealized, is not authentic in the least; the products of full humans getting mixed up with magic seldom are. The authentic Simon Petrikov is the one who found a 6 year old girl in the ruins of a suburban New Mexico town and still had enough selflessness in the aftermath of the apocalypse to comfort her and take care of her.)

The sigh doesn't lead to the reprimanding the vampire expects. Instead, she watches as Bonnie leans down in her peripheral vision to pet Shwabl, expression focused intently on the dog. She's doing that same schooled neutrality shit she used to do during those globawful trade meetings - the ones Marcy used to steal her away from the go gallivanting through the rock candy mines.

“What kind of sweet tunes have you whipped up, then? Lay it on me girl.”

Marceline lets her face adopt a smirk - the expression has become a reflexive habit after centuries of being a bitter undead loner - even as something in her stomach drops. Bonnie rarely asks about her music because she knows so much of it is personal, and that which isn't is vulgar or morbid and prone to being shared regardless, not to mention the fact that Bonnie’s interests definitely don't lie in the arts, or punk rock music, or most of the uglier parts of Marceline.

“You know my latest album is the epitome of personal mush, Bons. It's so personal I'd have to kill you if you heard any of it. But, I do have a new demo about a fisherman.”

Bonnibel definitely wants something out of her; she has that smile she reserves for Cinnamon Bun and Finn when he's going on about dumb 13 year old boy things, the one that's polite and reservedly encouraging, the one that Marcy has always found to be condescending although it always looks as sweet as its wearer who is literally made out of candy, almost as sweet as the girl’s public persona.

The thing about being 1000 years old and also a teenage girl is that you spend forever being a socially-minded person on some level or another, because back in the day that's how girls were socialized to be - social-driven creatures who cared more about what Allyson wore on Tuesday or what Theresa said about Serena in math class than anything practical. So Marceline has had a long time to notice the tells and ticks of the select few she surrounds herself with often enough to care about. PB smiles like her kindergarten teacher used to on particularly trying days when she thinks the people she's with are idiots but can't call them out for it. Her eyebrows droop when she's so tired that sheer willpower will no longer keep them up. She plays with her hands when she's nervous. She used to chew on her hair when she was younger and in the process of creating her kingdom, when stress was a new feeling she hadn't yet made a feedback loop out of.

This is totally, completely because of the sexist socialization of the old world, and nothing else. Totally not because they dated for a good chunk of time, or because one or the other might, maybe be having rose-coloured thoughts about the other again.

“Everyone and their granny has heard that one, Marcy. If you've had all this time to do nothing but groove and game then I wanna hear some tunes! Don't be a butt about it.” She's trying to gode the older girl, but Marceline is itching to get out of this particular conversation. Somewhere in her cursed, mostly re-dried blood she knows this is a test.

“I don't bust into your lab and start interrogating you about your experiments - can you just lay off, man?” she says it more harshly than she had meant to, but being yanked back to reality and immediately questioned over every move will do that to a person. “Tell me what's been going on in Candyland. You finally get all the earwax off of your junk?”

“You know if you did ask about my science experiments I would be happy to tell you all about them - well, the ones that aren't classified. It's called caring, Marce, it's a thing that friends do.”

A tense silence follows as Marceline thinks of something biting (but not petty!) to throw back at her.

“And yeah, actually, I did. The dingus left a huge mess but there's nothing my purple cleaner can't get rid of.”

Bonnie can't leave a single box unticked, can she?

“Glob, that stuff is nasty. The fumes make me gag, and I don't even need to breathe!”

The princess raises a brow at her. The queen furrows both of hers in frustration and fixes her gaze back on the bumps on the ceiling. When she was younger she used to make images out of the dips and dots in the kindergarten room ceiling; the RV’s was smoothed and didn't allow that particular part of her imagination to play around.

“And I think the expression you're looking for is sharing is caring, Bubs. It's a thing they used to say waaaaaaaay back in the day whenever the old people got tired of little kids fighting over toys.”

*******

this was gonna be a longfic feat. mutual pining by our fave disaster gays and more references to marcy’s life pre- and during the apocalypse bc i have a lot of feelings about Stakes. might come back to it, who knows!!!

#ash talks #ash writes #bubbline #bubbline fanfic #writing wip

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of August 7th, 2019

Best of this Week: DCeased #4 - Tom Taylor, Trevor Hairsine, Stefano Gaudiano, Rain Beredo and Saida Temofonte

This book went out with a bang and it’s only been four issues of the six!

Captain Atom is one of the strongest heroes of the DC Universe. He’s right on par with Superman and under the reigns of the government, he’s an asset that they have complete authority over. The Atom, likely Ray Palmer, has dived into the body of an infected girl to see if there were a way to solve the crisis before it gets any worse, but then he goes dark. Captain Atom tells Amanda Waller to just way for The Atom to chime back in, but she orders him to go outside and clean the mess up. 

He does so, but soon realizes that something is horribly wrong. The next thing we see is The Atom tearing his way through Captain Atom's body, infecting him with the Anti-Life Virus.

We cut to the aftermath of the last issue with Clark bringing Martha Kent to the Daily Planet, crying about Jonathan as the entire Kent Family embraces each other over the loss. One of the big themes of this issue is the loss of family as there will he two big examples later on, each feeling more devastating than the last. 

Soon after Superman returns, he's ready to go back out there and rescue more people, but Dinah reminds him of the danger everyone could be in if he were to become infected. He counters that with the fact that he's been using x-ray vision to counter the effects of the virus as it's transmitted through screens. Lois makes a transmission to any hero or villain still alive and tells them to all come to the Daily Planet building. 

It's one of the few bits of hope that we get in this issue as we see that some people have boarded up their homes, some of the Titans are still alive and even Lex Luthor is listening in. Best of all, the transmission makes it to Themyscira and Wonder Woman makes her presence felt as she tells her mother and an arriving Mera that she's going to Metropolis. 

In Keystone City, Superman and Green Lantern Canary find Flash and Kid Flash who are doing their best to stay down as them becoming infected would be a nightmare for the world. In Gotham, Harley is being rescued by Ivy, who kills the infected versions of Catwoman, Huntress, Batwoman and Batgirl. I really liked this because, on top of finally getting one over on the Joker, Harley is saved by the true love of her life, albeit in a gory and bloody manner that I'd hoped I'd never have to see for some of my other favorite characters. But they do make for a really adorable couple. 

Back in Metropolis, however, things have taken a horrible turn for the worse. Hairsine struts his stuff in an amazing double page spread that shows an infected Giganta tearing her way through the city like a Kaiju. She looks absolutely monstrous with a giant scar running down her face, eyes and clothes caked with the blood of untold tens or hundreds of people that she's likely killed or eaten. With only Black Lightning, his daughters, Green Arrow, Robin and Superboy to defend the Planet, things look incredibly dire.

That is, until a surprise Batwing appears and distracts her… only to get knocked out of the sky, but saved by a returning Canary, Superman and the two Flashes. Wonder Woman also appears and prepares to cut the head off of the infected Giganta as she is knocked over by Superman. However, he stops her, pleading that there may still be something left there.

The little bit of hope that he may have had is crushed as Cyborg reappears and blows a hole straight through her head, explaining that none of them are alive anymore. While it's a mostly clean shot, the few bits and blood that do fall out feel gnarly as hell and her dead eyed expression is enough to send chills down the spine. 

While the other heroes are talking, the Batwing's hatch opens and Damian somehow expects it to be Batman only to be met by Alfred. He hugs his grandson and tells him Bruce's last words before his untimely passing and we're brought back to another tearful embrace.

*HEAVY SPOILERS AHEAD*

But this somber moment doesn't last as Hawkgirl appears, crashing down into Diana's arms, telling everyone that Captain Atom is infected and that he's about to explode. Superman and Wonder Woman do their best to contain it, but the sheer power of Captain Atom proves too much as his eruption destroyed Washington DC, then Baltimore and eventually...Metropolis where Black Lightning tells his daughters to close their eyes as he embraces them, the bright light engulfing them all.

*SPOILERS OVER: PRESS ON*

DCeased has gone way beyond the gimmick that a lot of us thought it might have been. Exploring themes like the loss of family, love and hope versus hopelessness, we see these characters placed in a new light where they have to adapt to a harrowing situation that no one was prepared for. Black Canary taking over as Green Lantern after Hal gets infected is a new and fresh take for her and she absolutely fits the role like a glove. Superman having to dissociate in order to keep himself focused on saving people gives him more depth as it clashes with who he is as a hero. Diana is far more willing to cut the head off of Giganta where normally she would try to talk her down or knock her out, she’s ready for the high stake over the situation. Also seeing Damian actually show his feelings, crying as Alfred hands him the briefcase of Batman’s gear, gives a lot more humanity as he’s been showing a lot of it because this is legit one of the first times he’s been truly afraid and didn’t have a plan. 

Trevor Hairsine’s art by itself is enough to sell the book on. It has a flavor of horror that hearkens back to some of DCs Vertigo stories, but also has the color and flair of normal superhero stories. The feelings of despair are very clearly shown and the gore, for how little there is in this issue is still unsettling to see. It’s all very high quality and appropriate for the story. Unlike most Marvel Zombies books, I’m actually scared for everyone here and I love it. High recommend. 

---------------------------------------------------

Jarro is the best new member of the Justice League and I will not be persuaded of the otherwise. 

Runner Up: Justice League #29 - Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, Bruno Redondo, Hi-Fi and Tom Napolitano

Since the events of No Justice (2018), the Universe has been without Starro, the sentient and powerful telepathic starfish that served as the Justice League's first ever villain. In an uncharacteristic act of heroism, the conqueror sacrificed his life in an effort to save the universe from being destroyed. All that was left a small part of him that was kept in a jar and maintained his sense of heroism, becoming Batman's newest son, Jarro.

Jarro is the epitome of "doing his best" as this book involves him single handedly taking on the Legion of Doom. 

Lurking in the shadows of the Hall of Doom, listening to their top secret plans, lies Jarro dressed as Robin! He waits for the perfect moment and strikes at Lex and the others! They're all stunned that someone had the knowledge of their location and the gall to attack them. They all think that they can overpower him, but forget that Jarro still has all of the memories of his former self and creates an energy weapon that knocks them all back, including Sinestro and his constructs.

Though things take a turn, even after Jarro manages to take control of Braniac for a moment, and Lex gains the upper hand, pinning Jarro to a wall. As he's about to lay the final blow, the Justice League arrives to save their companion!

Throughout the book, however, there are numerous questionable things that makes it seem like it's just too good to be true. Jarro is referred to as Batman's favorite Robin by Sinestro. How did Jarro even find the Hall of Doom and how did the League track him? Hell, when Batman sees Jarro, he SMILES. That's a huge red flag. 

When Jarro begins to spawn more stars and takes over the minds of the Legion, Batman chides him for his actions and eventually realizes that he's had a star on his face the whole time. Jarro had been showing the good guys a vision where the League wins after deciding that control is the only path to victory after the shared vision he had with Starman in the last issue. 

It's all very reminiscent of any time that the Black Mercy plant is used and while what Jarro did was horrible, Batman manages to convince him that everything will be okay. So he releases the hold on everyone, jumps on Batman's shoulder and tells the others to prepare for war. 

What this book does best is simply allude to the idea that not everything is as it seems. It has little hints planted with things that only a could would say about themselves or their parents thoughts. Told through Jarro's perspective, it's good to see that Batman has raised him to be a being of hope and a cute one at that. Even his little Robin costume made me absolutely giddy and excited for the little guy.

Once again, it's Batman that has to save the day because he's always the most sound of mind. Though what this story does is shine a light on just how powerful Jarro could be. He managed to take over the minds of the Justice League without anyone being the wiser and shows just what an asset he is. It's even implied that he has a potential that even he can't see yet and I'm excited for his future.

#comics #dc #dc comics #dceased #superman #damian wayne #black canary #lois lane #wonder woman #zombies #giganta #tom taylor #trevor hairsine #justice league #legion of doom #year of the villain #jarro #starro #lex luthor #braniac #scott snyder #james tynion iv #bruno redondo #hi fi

[sorrythatwasmean]

Endgame Spoilers//Is Professor Hulk Out of Character (OOC) or is it his Dissociative Identity Disorder(DID) that makes it seem that way?

Professor Hulk has Bruce’s heart and compassion and brains and Hulk’s strength,power, and invulnerability. Bruce has achieved balance if we take that at face value. It’s jarring to go from normal,skeptical, questioning Bruce in the first 20 minutes ready in his Hulkbuster suit to mess Thanos up on an alien farm to time-skipped calmer, happier Professor Hulk.   We only see the end result.We don’t get to see what happened.It’s surprising and it doesn’t feel right.

But I think it’s more complex than they wrote Bruce out of character. I believe Professor Hulk is either the merging of Bruce and Hulk identities or a completely new one. Both are potential ways Bruce’s mind reacted to trauma or healing. Or both. And both are potential ways to resolve Bruce’s character arc.

Hulk can’t deal with the complexities a dusted universe would involve. Bruce would be devastated.The movies focused on Thor, Tony, and Steve’s guilt. But Hulk and Bruce experienced the slaughter of the Asgardians and swung the first punches. And in Infinity War, Bruce was gunning for Thanos as soon as he showed up in Wakanda only to be melded into a mountain. The last we see of Bruce he’s free of the mountain, but Steve is letting people dust filter through his hands.

All of that is traumatic. With Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), new alters or, if we use the term Bruce uses, “other guys” can form or existing other guys can merge in reaction to trauma. Bruce constantly being Professor Hulk is how Bruce was trying to deal with ALL the problems in a Post-Decimation world. He couldn’t help people if they saw him as a threat. He couldn’t help the most in battles if Hulk didn’t let him transform. Professor Hulk can do both. He even says he feels like he was made to right the Decimation. Professor Hulk was born out of Bruce’s mind specifically to be an avenger.

Professor Hulk means we have a positive media representation of a hero with DID. And in this case, he is not dangerous to people or anti-social like Caitlyn Snow’s Killer Frost or Eddie Brock and Venom. I even think Professor Hulk can be a next step on Bruce’s path. Why? Professor Hulk existence marries multiple themes from Bruce’s journey.

In Age of Ultron, there are multiple uses of the word ‘monster’ which is how Bruce saw himself at the beginning of his journey. I could write another separate piece on that, but I’m thinking of two in particular.Natasha uses the word monster in reference to herself to show Bruce she accepted all of him. She trusts him.

And when trying to convince Bruce to create Vision, Tony said, “We’re mad scientists. We’re monsters, buddy. We’ve gotta own it. Make a stand.” Tony meant they needed to embrace who they were in order to fix their mistakes and save the world. In Thor: Ragnarok, Bruce rejected the notion of ever being the Hulk again. Thor was a friend to both Bruce and Hulk and helped him rise above his fears and be a hero again. Bruce needed to trust himself, embrace all of who he is, and work through his fear in order to create Professor Hulk.

I think the screenwriters intended to portray integrating/merging Bruce and Hulk identities to resolve Bruce’s arc.Hulk and Bruce co-existing means he accepts himself. They agree to share their complementary strengths to be a better balanced whole.Bruce is happier and takes selfies with children. He’s “cured.”

I embrace Bruce finding self-acceptance. What I reject is the notion that constantly being Professor Hulk is the solution.I don’t need him “cured” of having DID. I need him cured of self-loathing and depression and this idea that he is a monster. But execution is flawed and if it seems rushed it’s because we had six different character arcs and the overall MCU arc to resolve. We skipped seeing how Bruce reached this point.And Professor Hulk seems out of character because his character is happy and we didn’t see what lead up to that. Does this means the writers dropped the ball,then? Maybe not.

 Here’s the thing, I don’t think Bruce is happy in the five year gap. @from-andrea suggested that five of the original six Avengers represent the five stages of grief. Steve’s line, “Other people move on, but not us.” means he represents denial. Vigilante Clint murdering cartel and Yakuza represents anger. Natasha continuing the fight and coordinating Avengers and doing her best is bargaining with the universe to help them.Tony moving on from avenging and creating a family represents acceptance. And Thor as a physical and emotional mess is meant to represent depression. I suggested the sixth original Avenger, Bruce, was suppose to represent a combination of all of the stages.

He is accepting people are gone and trying to move forward with his own life by dealing with his own issues. And working on saving the universe they have currently. He’s bargaining because hey, what if I do my best and act happy and use my strength and my brains and am grateful,will the universe give us a way to undo this? He’s in denial about the finality of the snap.He is on board for trying to fix the mess even if Quantum Physics isn’t his area. He’s also in denial about his own condition. He’s putting on a happy face and trying to deny he is still depressed. Hulk was always a physical representation of his distress and anger. If Bruce is okay, why is he still a Hulk? If he is always Professor Hulk, is he still always angry?  Hulk saved Bruce when he “got low” all those years ago.

It’s a small moment in Endgame, but he does mention what happened with him: “First Hulk lost,then Banner lost, then we all lost.” Natasha replies, “No one blames you, Bruce.”

And Bruce says, “I did.”

And Natasha frowns and looks down.Steve and Natasha don’t seemed thrilled about the situation.If Bruce was right as rain, then Natasha and Steve would’ve been happy. He’s taking selfies and joking with kids. He’s happy, right? They’re not. Are they concerned about him? Is Bruce protecting himself from himself?Even if it isn’t that,Professor Hulk’s form visually distances himself from other people. Valkyrie even comments on her discomfort with it. Constantly hulking out means Bruce is never physically vulnerable.He’s always in battle-mode. He’s just hiding it better because he can be there for them emotionally. But he’s denying that he’s still affected by saying  Professor Hulk is a  “cure.”

So if the writer’s intention of integration isn’t the answer to resolving Bruce’s arc. What is? I prefer this option: Professor Hulk is a new alter or other guy. Why? Because it leaves it open for Bruce to accept himself and all his selves.

And if Professor Hulk is a completely new other guy, it explains why he seems so different. I’m not saying he isn’t Bruce.They’re all part of the same person. I’m saying he’s a separate other guy created to cope with trauma. If it seems like he isn’t as burdened as Bruce, it’s because he’s not that Bruce. If he’s smarter than Hulk, it’s because he isn’t old Hulk. He’s new. He’s not nervous. He’s confident. He’s joking. And Bruce’s humor was usually darker.

In Age of Ultron:

Tony: You just roll over,show your belly every time somebody snarls? Bruce: Only when I’ve created a murder bot.

But Bruce can have a lighter sense of humor.He tried to fake a hulk out at the Avengers party in Age of Ultron and he failed because…it wasn’t funny and that was a terrible attempt.His awkward fake-smashing was a very Bruce moment in Endgame.Professor Hulk as a separate other guy means we’re not neglecting all the layers we saw to Bruce in the previous movies.

The writers were trying to solve a problem the comics have waffled and spent decades on. So yes, execution was imperfect. I don’t know for sure which they were going for but this is how it would work in my head.

So, Bruce will eventually have himself, original Hulk, and Professor Hulk. If it’s about accepting himself then for me that includes his DID and having a functioning DID system.It’s not about control or never having the other guys come out. It’s about living the best life and accepting they all have to work together. Many people with DID won’t merge/integrate their alters/headmates. Saying merging and integrating is the only way to be happy would not be fair. And it would mean original Hulk and Bruce wouldn’t be around.I think it’s more hopeful for Bruce to achieve co-existence.

So, for my Endgame headcanon: Professor Hulk is merely part of his journey to self-acceptance.  Eventually, he doesn’t have to hide as Professor Hulk. He can be Bruce. He can be Hulk. Professor Hulk helps deals with situations that require both of their abilities or situations that are very public where they would be at risk if they were attacked during one. They all work together. That is what I would consider a satisfactory arc for Bruce Banner.

#bruce banner #avengers endgame spoilers #dissociative identity disorder #hulk #avengers endgame #dee's brain #sorrythatwasmean meta #sorrythatwasmean headcanons #sorrythatwasmean DID #sorrythatwasmean the other guys

[friendlyneighborhoodborg]

Marc Appreciation Week 2019| Day 2: Hero/Villain| ”Coping Mechanism”

Okay, so I know the prompt is basically supposed to mean “this character but with a miraculous.”  The backslash (/) in the prompt is meant to be taken as “or.”

But...

That’s one ambiguous backslash.

Let me know what I’m doing right/wrong.  Disclaimers were in the Day 1 submission.

~1700 words, for those who care.

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

           Monday was a lot smoother than Sunday.  On Monday, Marc had stuff to do, including, but not limited to, school, meetings, and feeling depressed.

           Few strangers would be surprised to hear that he was depressed today.  After all, it had been two days since his little episode, and akuma victims generally had some sort of depressed attitude for a few days after.  Anyone who knew him would be even less surprised; Marc was anything but the ray of sunshine some of his schoolmates were.

    ��      Getting akumatized was exactly the trauma he didn’t need.

           It was a little bit of the dissociation he had heard other people feel.  Having no memories of the event, watching the news and seeing himself as that stranger was jarring for a multitude of reasons.  He saw him as someone with his thoughts and personality, basically everything that made him himself, only twisted into someone with a killing rage and the means to destroy.  There was a lot of himself in Reverser, and that’s one of the things he tried to ignore from his viewing experience.

           The other thing he ignored was how familiar that experience was, seeing someone with his face and emotions do things only a complete stranger would.  He did often feel like he was projecting himself to the people around him,  with an overwhelming need to stifle his passions to stay normal.  He only felt allowed to act like himself when he was alone with his journal.  Being someone else wasn’t too far off from his normal, everyday life, which is why Reverser’s power-set in particular kinda sucked.

           Then the last thing he tried to brush off was the increasing number of stares he got from people who had never been corrupted. He just hated people looking at him in general.  Including himself, sometimes, and the extra attention was not welcome at all.

           But he was begrudgingly used to getting judged. Judging himself had even become a habit. Every morning, he’d look at himself in the mirror.  He’d feel some sort of emotion, something he hadn’t quite found the right words for yet. It would fall somewhere between “Ugh, not him again” and “Well, it could be worse.”  He had found that hiding his face was a good way of combating the more extreme end of the scale of loathing, so he had starting wearing makeup.  And he’d do his own face in the mirror until he felt more like “Well, it could be worse.”

           Point is, he didn’t like people noticing him, but he could usually brush it off.

           He didn’t usually take this approach to his writing.  He generally thought the writing was pretty good, especially if no one but him was going to see it.  No matter what, he rarely ever wrote down his own thoughts, or if he did, they were unintended, or buried and disguised as something else.

           His thoughts wandered to the journal in his backpack. The tale of a forbidden love between a hero and a former villain, the kind of workplace romance that scores a high budget and has audiences flocking to the cinema.  A de-evilization gone wonderfully wrong, making the butterfly’s effects on its victim permanent, a blossoming emotions between him the heroine who saved him.

           Starring the dubious alter-ego of one Nathaniel Kurtzberg, and written as the heroine from a first-person perspective.

           God, he wondered what Freud would say if he was living today.

           Thankfully, only one student seemed to have cottoned on that his artistic admiration went a little deeper than conventional, but even then he wasn’t sure if Marinette actually knew the full-blown extent of his crush.

           ‘Nope,’ he reminded himself.  ‘Not thinking about that today.  He’s your project partner, and that’s it, and he very obviously has a thing for strong, female superheroes.’

           ‘Well, that’s why you wrote from Ladybug’s POV, isn’t it?’ he argued.  ‘Why don’t you admit what the problem is?’

           ‘That’s not the problem.’  He straightened his back.  ‘I know that’s not what the problem is.  And I don’t have time for this right now.’

           Today, despite his constant state of internal darkness, he was early to school.  And so was a certain redhead artist whose attention he duly attempted to avoid.

           Poorly.

           As per his double-standards.

           Marc shrank as Nathan’s eyes met his and he was waved over against his will.

           He didn’t appreciate being called out like this, especially not in public. But since it was him... he inched up to him.

           “Morning,” Nath said, smiling.

           ‘Gosh dangit.’

           Nevertheless, Marc was determined to keep a level head. It may have been true at one point that the wordsmith had maybe possibly harbored some potentially… problematic emotions for this boy, it was abundantly clear nothing good would come of them.  It was a morose conclusion, as it usually was, but one that had to be reached for both of their goods.  So, he was determined to end his crush on this artist by any means necessary.

           Even if his eyes were clear blue gemstones, teeming with some unseen energy that made him want to keep looking—

           ‘No!’ he chastised.  ‘Bad Marc!’

           “You okay?” Nathaniel asked, and Marc realize he hadn’t answered him.

           “Yeah,” he admitted.  “I’m not a morning person,” Marc admitted.  Internally, he mused, ‘Or an evening person.  Or an afternoon person.  Really, I’m barely a person.’

           Unable to see into Marc’s soul, Nathaniel continued.  “Well, I hope it gets better.”

           ‘It rarely does.’  “You seem to be in a good mood, at least.”

           “Yeah.”  He scratched his head absently.  “Probably not what you expected, huh?  How am I supposed to be emo when I like sunshine?”

           “You seem to be managing yourself just fine.”

           “Thanks, I guess.”  He shrugged off his bag.  “So, we didn’t really do any work yesterday.  Got any ideas for a story?”

           “Oh.”  Marc relaxed, knowing this must be all Nathan wanted from him.  “I hadn’t really given it much thought.  Probably the usual heroes’ dynamic at play.  Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Mighty-Illustrator.”

           Nath looked confused for a second.  “But what about…”

           “What?”

           “Well,” he opened his satchel and pulled out his sketchbook, then he started flipping through it.  “Look, see here.”  He pointed at one page in particular.

           He saw what Nathaniel had drawn.

           He was suddenly aware of everyone looking at him.

           When he came to his senses, he found he was hiding in a bathroom stall.  Someone was banging on the stall door, trying to get his attention.

           “Marc!”  Nathan’s voice carried a deep concern.  “I’m sorry, I should have—I mean, of course, I’m an idiot!  I just…” He groaned loudly at himself, and his voice softened.  “I’m sorry. I should have realized, it’s too new for you.  It only happened a couple days ago…… Look, you can feel free to hate me, I didn’t think about what you’d…”  He just trailed off and left them both in silence.

           Marc heard him start to leave.

           “How do you do it?” he asked, suddenly.

           “Wh-what?”

           “You turned your akuma into the hero?  Why did you do that?” he demanded.  “How could you do that?”

           Nathaniel didn’t answer verbally.  Of course he didn’t, why would he?  He didn’t like expressing himself verbally.

           There was a rustling of papers and something was slid under the door.

           Marc picked it up.  “Are you crazy?  You put your sketchbook on the bathroom floor?”

           “Just look, Marc.”

           He did.  “This is… Mighty-Illustrator and Marinette.”

            There was a pause, and then, “That’s Super-Nathan.”

           “Huh?”

           Nathaniel explained.  “Super-Nathan.  I told you, I’m not good with words or names. He was… well, it was me as a superhero. That’s how he was created, and that’s what I drew him to be.  I wanted to be strong and empowered and witty and do all the things superheroes get to do. I don’t know if you noticed this about me, but I don’t… I’m not strong and I’m not witty.”

           “You’re pretty witty.  I mean, you made this.”  He realized something was off with the picture, however.  “Um, I thought he was supposed to like Ladybug, though.”

           “That was only after I was akumatized.”

           “Oh… Wait, so then… oh.”

           “Yep.  Super-Nathan came first.  Then Hawk Moth turned Super-Nathan into a villain.  Super-Nathan became Evillustrator.  Then I turned him back into Mighty-Illustrator.”  He took a deep breath, and continued forward, his words blazing with a strength Marc hadn’t heard him use before.  “Super-Nathan is mine.  Not his.  I figured this is the one way I can get back at him.  Taking him back, using him to fight Hawk Moth.  Fictionally, anyway.”

           Marc was somewhat grateful for the door in between them.  Nathaniel couldn’t see his completely floored reaction.

           Marc looked down at the sketchbook in his hands. He flipped to the most recently-used page, careful not to look at any of the others.

           The face of evil stared back up at him, striking a heroic pose.

           “We don’t have to use him,” assured the cartoonist. “If you don’t want to.”

           Marc stared back down at himself.  He was only startled out of it when Nathaniel’s steps started walking away.

           “No,” Marc said, stopping him.  “We can use Reverser.”  He hesitated.  “Only… can we change his name?  Like you did?”

           “Well,” his collaborator mused.  “You’re the writer.  And it is you, after all.  You think of something.”

           Making sure his face was back to its normal pale, Marc opened the door.  And there was Nathaniel.  Marc passed him back his sketchbook.  It was taken with gratitude.  “We don’t have to work today if you’re not up to it still.”

           Marc considered this before slowly nodding.

           “Okay.”  He turned to leave.  “Whenever you’re ready, then, you’ve got my number.”  He stopped at the door, still with his back turned.  “Hey, Marc?”

           A noise of acknowledgement was made.

           “I don’t usually do art for anyone but myself. But…” he searched for his words, which seemed to have left him.   “It-it’s nice to work with someone.”  He turned back and regarded Marc, smiling.  “Especially you.”  Then, looking unsure of himself, he awkwardly made his exit.

           Marc was now all by himself in the washroom, and he was suddenly very aware of the heat in his cheeks.

           He sighed.  Not out of any particular emotion, except maybe frustration.

          ‘Gosh dangit.’

I’m taking the mostly positive comments as a sign that I’m on the right track, so I’m just gonna keep going with this.  If the other chapters aren’t as good... well, there’s worse things than this on this site.  And I only finished this today, barely on the deadline, so I’ll try not to stress much over it.

#miraculous ladybug #Marc Appreciation Week #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #slight NathMarc

[silentauroriamthereal]

The Thing about Mary

It’s been awhile since I made a post about Mary... it’s overdue. *cracks knuckles, limbers up fingers*

It made no sense. None of what they wrote made sense. What was the narrative point of Mary? To “create” Sherlock Holmes and John Watson? I call bullshit; they were already that without any external help. Moreover, if that was her purpose all along, she sure did a lot to destroy that very thing: the dynamic of arguably the most famous and celebrated male friendship in English literature. Just in case we’ve forgotten: 

Mary started undermining both John and Sherlock, individually and together, from the moment she appeared on the screen. She had already interrupted John’s attempted proposal once to excuse herself to the bathroom or wherever she went (”Now then, what did you want to ask me?”)*, then interrupted him and corrected him and laughed at him throughout. Her pattern of gaslighting, demeaning, and manipulating him continues through every moment of their shared time together on screen. Nowhere is it more evident than in the opening of His Last Vow, wherein she basically follows textbook procedure on gaslighting, from correcting his perceptions (”about a month, actually”, “see? That does happen!”) to doing it in front of a third party (humiliation) to questioning his motives and abilities (”why you?”) to outright forbidding him to do something (”you can’t go”) to inserting her presence where he clearly didn’t want it, then trying to sugarcoat it all by giving him a compliment - one which he reacted to not with pleasure or a softening of his obvious anger, but with a terse statement that he was already aware of what she was complimenting him on. It’s an abusive relationship, full stop. 

*Shout-out to @blogstandbygo​ for pointing this out in our recent hang-out with @addictedstilltheaddict​ and another friend in Toronto last week

She inserted herself between them from that very first scene and made it clear that any form of friendship they were going to have was to happen through the medium of herself, and only on those terms. This was so clear to John that he patently disguised his intention to see Sherlock to her as of their first conversation about it (during which she was openly mocking his blog posts about Sherlock, another form of demeaning and humiliation). This forced brokering of their relationship led to John eventually being ousted from his own friendship with Sherlock (who was too distracted by Moriarty to notice Mary’s machinations, alas). John was so unhappy with this dynamic that became the least like his canonical self that we had ever been shown before that point, going so far as to actively seek out an affair. This is decidedly not like John Watson, the man who got himself arrested because someone insulted his best friend. Loyalty is as much a part of John as his thirst for adventure. He was made to feel so superfluous by the wife who compared him to a dog and the friend who didn’t notice what was going on that he was looking desperately for escape. 

Mary, on the other hand, never gave John her loyalty. She never even gave him the truth. She died without him even knowing whether her name was really her name (doubtful, given the sort of work she was doing while using it). Mary gave John nothing but lie after lie after lie. He could never trust a word that she said, and he hated it. She was willing to do anything to him, as long as it kept him by her side. She was willing to shoot the man he was still grieving years after his (supposed) death and never tell him after, no matter how much it would have devastated him to lose Sherlock all over again. As for Sherlock, she shot him without a second thought, smirking and condescending. 

Mary never once showed a shred of remorse for any of it. Not for any of her past crimes, which included killing people for money - not for anger, not for principle, not for political manoeuvring - but something as tawdry and meaningless as money. Gross. And she never regretted it. Not that the creators of the canon decided to show us. She never expressed any regret for having lied to John, nor for the way she constantly treated him. She never expressed any gratitude to Sherlock for having rid her of the blackmailer that would have sent her to prison for a very long time. She accepted it as her due, without blinking. She never thanked Sherlock, John, or Mycroft for having become accomplices in her attempted murder on Sherlock’s life in not having reported it. She assumed that was her right, too. Mary was a psychopath and narcissist, not caring about right or wrong, just what benefited her. 

Mary never changed her ways. There was no development of character, no softening, no realisation that everything she had ever stood for was completely terrible. Right to the last she was calling a man she had tried to kill a “pig”, offensively mimicking accents, still owning and carrying around guns and enough drugs to knock out a seasoned user. If anything, what we were shown was someone who had not only not changed, but someone who kept repeating the same behaviour. When the .A.G.R.A. team got into trouble on its final mission, Mary cut and run, leaving the other 75% of her team to be tortured or killed. She never went back and checked to see if a rescue mission was possible, never followed up, never confirmed the deaths of her teammates, just blithely moved on with her life and got married without once looking back. Sherlock offered to help her, twice. With the weight and power of the British government directly related to him, this isn’t exactly an offer to be taken lightly, yet Mary attacked him on both occasions, first shooting him in the heart and running away, then drugging him and running away - just as she left her former colleagues behind. 

If you want to take the argument that motherhood somehow redeemed Mary, think twice on that, too. I’m not a parent, but just about every mother I know would never leave an infant behind. Obviously it happens; infants get abandoned all the time. Most mothers don’t, though. Was Rosie not nursing anymore? Was she ever? Did Mary think about that before she cut and run, or was she too busy with her offensive faux-Jewish accent and possible flight attendant murder there? My mother used to tell me that her own life took on so much greater weight once I had been born because she had something to live for, someone who needed her. She stopped taking any sort of risk that would endanger her, because she had a child to care for. Mary doesn’t seem to have been similarly affected by parenthood. Her inexplicable and unsupported decision to jump in front of a bullet says that perfectly, if her previous abandonment didn’t. 

Never forget that John had the measure of Mary. It was John who knew that Mary would turn on Sherlock, should Sherlock warn her about Ajay and offer to help her again. It was John who grimly suggested putting a tracking device in the USB, knowing that Mary would attack Sherlock and steal it from him. While she was living, John had no illusions about who Mary really was. 

Mary’s decision to defy physics and leap in front of that bullet was not the culmination of an arc of redemption. What it was is a completely out of character action that jars with everything that came before it. It’s wholly unsupported by any of her previous behaviour. This was, if anything, a “redemption split second”, not an arc. Followed by her DVD wherein she pointedly tells Sherlock to kill himself or get himself killed, it is to be understood that this behaviour was an aberration from the norm. Mary never changed. If she had, she would have gotten rid of her guns and ninja outfits and come properly clean with John without waiting until circumstances forced it out, and even then only giving him partial truths. It could almost be said that Mary was pathologically incapable of telling the truth, but that would be making excuses for her. She knew what she was about. She made all of these decisions by herself, to benefit herself and her own interests. 

The Mary in John’s head never existed. It can’t even be discussed in a conversation about Mary’s characterisation, because it wasn’t Mary. It was John. And what John said about Mary at the end of The Lying Detective is a displacement of his own thoughts about Sherlock. John has a lot of dissociation issues in this episode in particular, and what he says about Mary is a statement which actually applies directly to Sherlock, not to Mary. This is John simply unwilling to believe that his marriage was as abusive and terrible as it really was, and trying to make himself feel better about it. The one person who genuinely believes that John Watson is a far better human being than he actually is is Sherlock, who calls him the “bravest, kindest, and wisest human being (he has) ever had the good fortune of knowing”. Mary literally called John a dog. That’s decidedly not what he was aspiring to. The one time she says something genuine about John’s moral superiority over her, it’s worded as a complaint (”you don’t make it easy, do you... being so perfect”). It’s as close to a real compliment as Mary ever gets. Sherlock is the one who believes in John, who sees past the temper and the grumpiness to all of John’s sterling qualities of loyalty, kindness, courage, humour, and accepts him as he is in his everyday self, too. 

The post-mortem DVDs just don’t even make sense. How did Mary know she was going to die? Even if she suspected that one of the many enemies her life of professional criminality had made would come for her eventually, it seems impossible to avoid the conclusion that Mary was still, even beyond her death, doing everything in her power to drive a wedge between John and Sherlock, even to have Sherlock die. For her to finally assume credit for their friendship is an insult to the intelligence of the viewers. 

#sherlock #john watson #johnlock #That Wife

[runfromreality-archive]

scented candles [onkey, short things 3/?]

pairing: onkey (brief mentions of jongkey) rating: r genre: smut (but not a lot of it, it’s a bit explicit, tho), sorta fluffy? idk warning: dissociation length: ~1230 words

Kibum chokes a little when the tip of Jinki’s dick hits the back of his throat. His eyes are watering, a single tear running down his cheek, but he doesn’t pull back - tries to take him down further, even. And there is not a doubt in Jinki’s mind that the younger man is getting off on the feeling of his dick, heavy and hot on his tongue. Letting out a hum that sends waves of sinful stimulation through Jinki’s body, Kibum peers up at him through heavy eyelids, his gaze pleading in a way Jinki is all too familiar with. And the last thing he is going to do is deny him, really. Not when the younger man wants it so bad that he isn’t shy of begging, even with his mouth stuffed to the brim and muffled whines the only sound he is capable of making. So he runs a gentle hand through Kibum’s hair before tightening his hold on the dark strands, holding the younger man in place as he thrusts into him, not caring that it’s messy and there is drool dribbling from Kibum’s chin and Kibum has to cling to his legs to keep himself grounded.

It’s halfway through that Jinki notices a shift in his boyfriend. He doesn’t seem quite as engaged anymore, having gone almost completely unresponsive, with his eyes slipping in and out of focus and his hands, having previously been clawing at the fabric of Jinki’s sweatpants, barely holding on now. So he slows his hips before carefully easing himself from Kibum’s mouth and the younger man doesn’t resist.

“I think I shouldn't…” Kibum forces out between small pants, sitting back on his heels as he tries to catch his breath, all while obviously doing his best to avoid his boyfriend’s gaze. “Do you want to stop?” Jinki lightly grabs his chin to make Kibum look at him, concern starting to rise in the pit of his stomach when he receives only silence in response, at first. “Yeah,” Kibum does manage to give a small nod eventually, standing back up on shaky feet. “Can we just finish the movie instead?” He requests, already staggering towards the door to exit Jinki’s bedroom and settle down on the couch instead, where they had sat next to each other before Kibum climbed into Jinki’s lap and they had to relocate to a spot where stains could be washed out easily and they wouldn’t risk ruining the expensive leather Jinki’s parents spend a fortune on the year prior. “Kibummie,” Jinki calls out when his boyfriend makes it no further than a few feet into the room, stopping just next to the coffee table as if he’s been rooted straight to the ground. “Kibum,” He tries again, a bit softer this time, quickly shoving himself back into his sweatpants before he is moving in front of the younger man so they are facing each other. He finds Kibum worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, the kind of far-away look in his eyes that Jinki swears he would be able to recognises even from a mile away, and he understands just like that. Guiding Kibum the last few steps to the couch, he carefully pulls him down with him, keeping his distance to ensure Kibum won’t feel overwhelmed or worse even, stifled. “Why don’t you tell me about your day?” Jinki reaches out to link his pinky with his boyfriend’s, adding “What did you get at Starbucks this morning?” because he knows the most specific questions are always the most helpful. “The usual,” Kibum shrugs, not elaborating any further, so Jinki decides to simply pose another question. “And did you meet the cute barista again? The one from your gender studies class?” “Jonghyun,” Kibum supplies. “Yeah, he-” Cutting himself off the younger man pauses for a moment, the expression on his face both frustrated and intense, as if he is seriously struggling with gathering his thoughts. “The place was really busy today so we didn’t get to talk, but he drew a heart on my cup again,” Kibum finally recalls words coming out a bit slow, but clear either way, and the older man smiles in response. “He dyed his hair, too,” Jinki has to lean a bit closer to catch the mumble of “It’s pink now,” but even with how quiet his boyfriend’s voice is, Jinki doesn’t miss the fondness in it. “Sounds pretty.” “It is,” Kibum confirms, and Jinki thinks it’s really cute how infatuated the younger man is with Jonghyun. “And what about the test you told me about? The one that was much easier than you thought?” Jinki prompts - even if he has already heard a great deal about it when they had dinner together earlier - making sure to keep the moments of silence between them as brief as possible. This time, Kibum doesn’t respond, though, his eyes back to the blank, unseeing stare from before - fixated on a spot on Jinki’s living room wall. Feeling lost for a moment, Jinki’s own gaze wanders in search for something to help bring the younger man back to reality. It isn’t the first time this is happening - certainly not - but there haven’t been many occasions where talking failed to keep the younger man from zoning out completely, so he isn’t sure at all how to stop the process. Latching onto the first item he sees, he exclaims “I bought some scented candles last week,” retrieving the one he has placed on top of his coffee table to present it to Kibum. “This one is lavender,” Knowing that lavender is one of the younger man’s favourite scents, he wraps Kibum’s hands around the glass jar before gesturing for him to smell, feeling accomplished when his boyfriend does exactly that. “Good?” Jinki asks as he watches Kibum close his eyes, taking in the incomparable scent like it’s the most pleasant thing he has smelled in a while. “Yeah,” Kibum nods eventually, hands grabbing the candle a bit tighter, “I like it. Smells really nice…” Jinki tries to engage him in some light conversation once more, asking a few questions here and there, but it’s obvious Kibum has escaped too far into his own world for his boyfriend’s words to reach him. He does let out a few hums from time to time, but they are misplaced and much too vague for someone who loves to be as vocal about his opinion as Kibum usual is. So in the end, Jinki gets up to prepare a pot of tea for the both of them and pulls over his backpack to take out his notes from university, the rest of their evening spent in relative silence. ***

“Welcome back,” Jinki smiles when Kibum returns to him at last, almost an entire hour having passed before he begins to stir, his head falling against Jinki’s shoulder. “Sorry about that,” The younger boy aplogises sheepishly, but Jinki resolutely shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” He assures, suggesting “Do you want to go to sleep?” when he notices that his boyfriend still appears to be a bit out of it. “Yeah, that sounds good,” Kibum agrees, stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn. “Hey hyung…” Kibum turns around just as he is about to retreat to Jinki’s bedroom, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he asks, “Can I keep the candle?” And Jinki only laughs in response, because there is the Kibum he knows.

#shinee #onkey #fanfic #onew #key #myfic #short things

[jawtitan]

Ok, I'm the same Eren-anon. What about Reiner? I discovered that I liked him much more when he was soldier not a warrior :(

Aww, thanks for sending in another ask, anon! It’s really cheering me up.

First impression: Same treatment as Eren, I guess, saw him in the really “memey” 2013 fandom fashion even though I knew from the get-go that he was the Armoured Titan because I’m just that good, heheheh. I was keeping up with the manga in 2013 though, so seeing the first signs of his dissociation and trauma gleaming through as Clash was releasing really started to slowly change my opinion of him. Got back into reading the manga late 2016. After the Battle of Shiganshina, my thoughts went immediately out to him, and all of a sudden I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Impression now: Reiner has moved from being a semi-inconsequential character to me, to my second favourite character. I could think and write about him all day. He has one of the most accurate depictions of PTSD in any piece of mainstream media, and he just has an incredibly strong and entrenched narrative that I can’t seem to let go of. All I can say is I completely understand why Yam so quickly latched onto him, because I did the exact same. I love him so much.

Favourite moment: Sorry to be morbid, but his fragmented series of flashbacks in... Chapter 97 (?)... that culminate in his suicide attempt. It’s so jarring, so distressing, but really cements how bad his life has been and the person it’s made him into. Another sort of ‘culmination’ moment for me, honestly.

Idea for a story: Here’s where I just talk about my medieval fantasy AU non-stop LOL. He’s a joint main alongside Eren but this doesn’t show through right away. He’s the son of a servant for the noble Hoover family, and a personal retainer for the nobles Bertholdt and Armin. He’s an earth mage and a big angst boy.

Unpopular opinion: Again, probably doesn’t count as an unpopular opinion, but I think he possibly has CPTSD rather than PTSD. I also don’t think he has any true interest in Historia. I wrote a meta about that, actually.

Favourite relationship: Bertholdt. It’s tragic if you take the view that Bert doesn’t reciprocate (like me), sure, but Reiner 99.95% had canon feelings for him and I’m never letting that go, even if it isn’t the happiest pair.

Favourite headcanon: Reiner had feelings for Marcel when he was younger

#ask #anon #thank youuuu anon I love you #Anonymous