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writingthingsisdifficult · 3 years

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Saving the world (Double booking pt 2)

I was asked to write a second part, and as inspiration struck, well… here it is.

They've shared a room. Now what?

If you like it, let me know :D

Word count: 5655

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

The light is seeping under the curtains, dragging you back to the conscious world, but you're not ready to get up just yet. So you squeeze your eyes shut and stretch your back. It's stiff as a board, and your cheek has seemingly set in a permanently squished position. The room feels stuffy and warm, and there's a soft noise you don't recognise at first. But when you finally open your eyes, you can't help but smile.

Everything's a bit blurry without your glasses, but there's no mistaking the man sleeping in the bed next to yours. His arm, which you suddenly notice isn't gloved, but a prosthetic, is hanging over the edge of the bed, and if you strain your imagination, it's almost stretched towards you.

It looks like he hasn't moved at all during the night. Neither have you when you come to think of it. When you stretch again, your neck cracks as if you were eighty, and it's a struggle to lift one leg over the other, though that might just be that you're still half asleep.

As you fumble for your glasses, Bucky opens his eyes and gives you a sleepy smile. "Good morning."

Your heart skips a beat, and it's as if you've forgotten all suitable responses to such an innocent greeting. "Yeah." That's what comes out of your mouth, and you groan.

"You sleep good?" He yawns and props up on his elbow.

"Mhm. Like a baby."

"Me too."

You grin and roll over on your back just as the loudest growl erupts from your stomach. Heat creeps up your neck and ears, and you mutter a soft "Sorry."

Bucky laughs. "Don't apologise for being hungry. What do you say we go get some breakfast?"

"I could eat."

After a quick shower and a couple of frustrating minutes picking an outfit, you really don't want to look like a slob in front of Bucky, you're both seated in the restaurant, devouring the bacon and eggs like your lives depend on it.

The conversation is light. You're slowly getting to know each other. "I'm freelancing for the government," Bucky says and gulps down his orange juice. "It's all really boring, though."

You nod and stuff your mouth with bacon. "I'm sure it isn't. But paperwork, am I right?" you add with a chuckle.

Nodding, he wipes his mouth and takes another bite. "Mhm. How about you?"

"Oh, it's not very interesting. I freelance too, I guess. Right now I've been hired to design a calendar with paintings from the city. It's not well paid, but it's fun."

"So you're an artist? May I see some of your work?"

Suddenly you feel a bit self-conscious. That's weird. You haven't had doubts about your art in forever. "I've got some photos in my phone." You hesitate for a second, then fish it out and unlock it. Scrolling down, you find the series of paintings you did last spring. Green and lush, you get a pang of longing for the fresh air and colourful flowers. The contrast is vast from the grey city.

"Wow, these are good!" Bucky exclaims and starts gushing over your lines and colour and the composition, and you feel your ego inflating with every word. All you can do is sit there with a stupid grin on your face, and a pulsing heat in your cheeks, while he builds you up like he's a professional.

You've totally forgotten the time when the staff tells you that the restaurant, unfortunately, is closed now, but that you're welcome back for dinner later. With many an apology, the two of you get up and head to the lobby, where you stay, talking for almost an hour before you remember why you are here in the first place.

"Sorry," you say, and mean it. "I need to get some work done before the light goes. I was thinking of heading down to the harbour today. See if the water can inspire me."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky looks down on his feet and gives you a small smile. Then he looks up again, his eyes shining, competing with the glorious smile that grows on his lips. "Do you mind if I come with you? I mean… you don't have to say yes, I just…"

"No, of course." You're relieved that he asked, letting you out of asking him yourself. "Some company would be lovely. Just gotta get my stuff. Meet you back here in ten minutes?"

He nods and sighs almost imperceptibly once you've turned away, watching as you almost skip towards the elevator. A tiny voice in the back of his head warns him that he has tripped and is going to fall hard if he doesn't get a grip soon, but he ignores it. The feeling is too pleasant to care just now.

The next few days you establish a routine of sorts. Bucky knocks on your door, asks to sleep next to you, you say yes, and you wake up, turned towards each other. After breakfast, you head out into the city, sometimes he's leading the way, sometimes you have a plan, and you spend the day drawing and talking and without realising it, falling hard for him. Every evening you have dinner in one of the restaurants near the hotel, and every evening you forget what is happening around you, and all you can focus on is Bucky.

_____________________________________________________________________

The sun is shining. A bird is singing in the tree behind you. You can barely hear the traffic from the road outside the park. Bucky is lounging on the grass, chewing on a straw, and you've been drawing him in secret for the past two hours, your original subject completely forgotten and rejected. When he looks up at you, his face is filled with happiness. "This is nice," he says, careful to mask his full joy.

"Yes, it is," you reply, quickly hiding the drawing under a sketch of the bridge and skyline.

He sits up and looks like he wants to say something, but he closes his mouth instead. After a small pause, he gets up and holds out his hand. "Let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay," you whisper, breathless from the feel of his hand in yours. "Lead the way."

He takes you to a small café at the edge of the park, explaining that it's famous for its fries, and they've got the bestdipping sauce, you just have to try it.

You're in the middle of the meal, laughing at a joke, when a shadow interrupts. Looking up, you hear Bucky mutter a curse under his breath, and you feel a pinprick of fear in your neck. He's glaring at the stranger, and the stranger surprisingly returns the look.

"Um…" You look between Bucky, sat at the table with a curly fry sticking out from the corner of his mouth, staring daggers, to the man who just interrupted your lunch. The truth smacks you in the head with force. Holy shit! That's Captain America. Captain freaking America! And it slowly dawns on you who Bucky really is.

The glass you just picked up slides back to the table, sprite sloshing over the sides as it hits, but you don't realise your hand is cold and wet. All you can focus on is that your roommate for the last week is… Bucky Barnes, AKA The Winter Soldier. Yeah. You try very hard to swallow the food in your mouth, but it's so dry, and forcing it makes your throat ache.

Said soldier quickly chews the curly fry and swallows thickly. "What do you want, Sam?"

Sam hands him a pad, and upon reading the contents, Bucky's frown deepens.

"It's very nice to meet you," Sam says, his shining smile lighting up the whole room. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Y/N," you reply, still unaware that the hand you're using to shake Captain America's hand with is wet and slightly sticky. Actually, you're kinda unaware of your surroundings altogether.

Sam laughs, making Bucky look up from the message, scowls at Sam, then returns to his reading. "So you're the one who's keeping Bucky busy, huh?" He winks, and you feel that heat creeping up the back of your neck. "From the look on your face, I'd say you didn't know who you're having lunch with, right?"

You nod, squeaking a confirmation.

Sam laughs. "I thought after the whole Flag Smashers case, everybody knew who Bucky was."

Your ears burn, and you breathe a little faster now. Of course, you've been to the exhibit at the Smithsonian, and of course you know about Steve Rogers' best friend, it just never connected in your brain that this super sweet man is a WWII hero and assassin.

Your eyes flick from his prosthetic arm and up to his face. "Uh… I'm just not super into the whole celebrity thing?" you offer, blurting out the first thing that pops into your head.

Snickering, Sam turns to Bucky. "And you didn't tell her?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Bucky picks on a stain on the table before setting up a defiant face. "It didn't come up." And he wants to add And by the way, how do you go about saying Oh, and FYI I'm a former assassin and murderer, to a woman you really want to get to know better?

He looks so uncomfortable, you get a strong urge to hug him, but now you're uncertain of all this. What if the two of you are against the rules? Wait, what are you, really? Friends? Accidental roommates? You like Bucky. You really like Bucky, and you had kinda hoped it would grow into something… more, but now… Swallowing the lump in the back of your throat – that was an unexpected reaction – you smile flatly. "Are, are you allowed to, to… I mean, can you be friends with…" You swallow again. "Civilians?"

Sam's eyes widen for a split second, and somehow you feel as though he can see right through you. Then he laughs, and all the tension around the table dissipates. "Of course. We're human, Bucky's human, as difficult as that is to believe. Of course we're allowed to have friends, relationships, family. Wouldn't be much of a life without it, would it? But expect them to do a background check on you, hell, they probably already know what you ate for dinner on your twelfth birthday."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I'm afraid I have to whisk your boyfriend away for a while. There's a situation."

"We're… we're not…" You have to admit that thought feels good, but really, any hope you had has been well and truly smashed.

Bucky gets up and smacks the pad at Sam. "I'll see you later?"

"I'll be here," you reply with fake confidence. "Please be safe. Both of you," you add with a small smile.

"You too," Bucky says softly. "Be careful if you go out after dark. It's not as safe as you think here."

That makes you snort. "It's me. I don't even like people, what am I supposed to do outside after dark, huh? Don't worry. I'll probably stay in my room and paint all day anyway."

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "good", but it's hard to hear over Sam. "I'll take care of him," he laughs, ducking under Bucky's hand as he swats at his head. "Come on, Buck. Let's roll."

"Be safe," you mutter again, looking after them as they head to the black, unmarked car waiting by the flower shop on the corner. It's as if all colour drains from your vision.

_______________________________________________________________________

The first sip of coffee feels divine; just what you need to wake up after spending another night without Bucky. It has been another restless night. You tossed and turned and couldn't settle properly. And the dreams… You'd rather not think about them. Never before has your brain produced such chaotic absurdities, such eldritch horrors, but to be honest you're not really surprised. Sleeping next to Bucky; something just clicked. You smile into your cup, feeling calmer just thinking about it. It's weird how quickly you got used to his presence, and how wrong it feels when he isn't there.

But you don't get to enjoy your drink for long. Before you've even finished the second sip, someone shoves you hard from behind. The coffee spills over the sidewalk, painting the concrete and splashing all over your shoes. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" you bark, turning to confront whoever pushed you. But before you can even see them, they pull a bag over your head.

Panic rises in you, and you scream until your throat feels raw. Someone smacks you across the mouth, and the shock and pain shuts you up. Your lip thumps: it's split, you can taste the blood now. Tears stream down your cheeks, the soft fabric of the bag clings to your skin. Feeling the darkness caress your mind, the world starts folding in over itself. Still you possess enough awareness to kick the person holding you. They yelp and swear, resulting in a sharp rap over your ear. Your head is ringing.

A pair of strong arms pick you up as if you weigh nothing, and haul you along, struggling with your flailing arms and legs. There's a metallic clang, like a van door opening, then you're half lifted, half pulled up, all while screaming and cursing, hoping someone – anyone – will hear.

Someone speaks a language you don't recognise; your sleeve is pushed up and there's a sharp prick in your arm. Seconds later your brain starts spinning. The faint light that seeps through the weaving of the bag blinks like a starry sky.

You sway back and forth, feeling off kilter and fuzzy, as the voices around you grow all garbled and muted. Someone pushes you backwards, but before you hit the floor, you're out. As the world fades from your consciousness, you just wish you could have seen Bucky one more time.

When you come to, your head is pounding, your mouth is dry, and everything is dark. You try to move, but your hands are shackled, and your feet are bound to whatever you're sitting on. At least you're right side up, you think, before the situation dawns on you, and the contents of your stomach threatens to make an appearance. You swallow thickly. God, your mouth is so dry. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and there's not enough liquid to even wet your lips. All you can do is grimace, feeling how they crack and pop. It stings. The taste of metallic, rusty blood coats your tongue.

Your throat itches, so much so that you can't even speak, but you can cough. Hard, like explosions in your head, and it's enough for you to lose your breath.

Something floppy is shoved into your hands.

"It's upside down, you idiot!" someone shouts, and the paper is turned.

Panic surges through your body, and your throat constricts, increasing your coughing. Your heart is racing, but everything happens so fast you just can't process it. Someone removes the bag from your head. The light burns in your eyes, and the shock stops your coughing instantly. Everything is white. There's voices, and movement, but you can't see anything clearly, and for a moment you wonder if you've lost your contact lenses. Slowly your vision returns, but they all keep to the shadows, and they've covered their faces, so you can't make out any details. The buzzing in your ears almost drown out every sound in the room.

"Look straight ahead," they command, and by some miracle you actually manage to move your head. "Keep your eyes open. Ready!"

There's a bright flash, someone else yells "Got it!" and then, in a flurry of motions you're untied, dragged through a dark hallway and unceremoniously dropped on the floor. The door clangs ominously behind you, and you freeze, waiting for someone to grab you or hurt you. There's no one in the room, but you remain in the floor, rubbing your wrists and trying to calm your breathing.

It's cold in your cell, room, whatever people call it, but at least you've got a blanket, and they've fed you, so there's that. But no matter how many times you've asked, nobody tells you anything.

You're over the initial shock now, and the fear has begun to settle into anger, but you're too numb to react.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? I'm no one, never been important in my whole life, hey, someone please say something." Silence. You bang on the door, not sure what you're hoping for. In the back of your mind you know it's risky, but you need to know. The silence is making the walls come closer. You lick your lip. It's bleeding again.

You figure your friendship with Bucky has something to do with your current predicament, but you're not sure exactly what they hope to achieve. It's not like you're best friends or anything, but maybe what you have is enough for him to come for you. That thought sends an electric jolt straight to the small of your back. For a moment you allow yourself to hope, to imagine him blasting through the door and marching in with murder in his eyes, angels singing, and the light surrounding him like a halo.

You laugh grimly. What are even the odds of him finding out where you are? Does he even care? He is the Winter Soldier, after all. He's probably got better things to do, he's busy saving the world, no doubt.

_______________________________________________________________________

Bucky smiles as he walks through the hallway, the ugly carpet muting the urgency in his steps. He can't wait to see you again. It's only been four days, but it feels like forever so the moment he got the all-clear after mission report, he made Sam drop him off at your hotel.

A short walk later he's standing outside your room, heart in his throat and arm outstretched, ready to knock. His stomach dances, pure happiness courses through him. It's been so long since he felt like this; he swears he can almost feel it in his metal arm.

A soft knock. No answer. He knocks again, harder this time. Still no answer. It's only a few minutes past eleven, you won't be asleep yet. You never fall asleep before midnight.

Suddenly it's like someone's poured a bucket of ice water over him. Putting an ear against the door, he listens like some kind of creep, but the room is silent. Maybe you're out. But that doesn't make sense either. It's too dark to get any proper work done, and you're not one for night clubs, or so you've said. Could you have checked out? Bucky's heart skips a beat. What if you're gone? But… wouldn't you at least have left him a message?

Turning on his heel, he marches back to the elevator as if he's got the devil on his tail. There's a really nasty feeling growing in his gut, something he just can't afford to think about now.

He presses the elevator button multiple times, but it takes its sweet time, so instead, he heads to the stairs, taking several steps at once, then skips the steps altogether and jumps over the railing, landing with a heavy thud on the ground floor.

There's a tenseness to his stride as he walks to the front desk, feeling more and more anxious with every breath. He never thought he'd feel this way again; that pit in his stomach and the growing stone in his chest. Last time, he was on a plane, heading for Italy in 1943, not knowing what was waiting for him.

"Excuse me," he says, rather gruffly, spooking the receptionist, though how she didn't hear him stomping through the lobby is a mystery. His own ears buzz loudly, and it's a miracle he can hear her at all.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" She smiles in that professional way people do when they're interrupted and don't really want to talk.

Bucky glances at the reflection in the glass wall behind her. Solitaire. He shakes his head to clear it a bit. "Um, yeah. Is there a message for me? For James Barnes or maybe Bucky."

She looks through the papers on the desk and shakes her head. "Sorry."

He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. "Okay. Don't suppose you could tell me if Y/N has checked out of room 508?" His brows furrow, but he tries to smile anyway.

Another head shake. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm not allowed to disclose that kind of information." She looks briefly at her screen, then back up at Bucky, fake smile plastered on her face.

Bucky bites his tongue and swallows the rage that's building in him. It's not the receptionist's fault. She doesn't understand. But then he gets an idea. "Right, of course," he says, making his voice sweeter. "But maybe you will allow me to leave her a message?"

"Certainly. Let me grab a pen and paper for you."

So you haven't checked out. From the look on her face, the receptionist doesn't realise she's confirmed his suspicions. Well, he'll leave a message just in case, but it's time for drastic measures.

Outside it's dark now. Low clouds are threatening with rain. No one sees the dark figure slipping around the corner and jumping to grab the lowest rung of the fire ladder. Bucky easily hoists himself up, and climbs to the fifth floor, keeping to the shadows and making as little noise as possible. He knows where the window to your room is, and in less than a minute he's standing on the tiny balcony, peering in.

The room looks untouched. The bed is made, your stuff is all there. There's an almost finished portrait on the sketch pad on the desk; a smiling, content picture of himself. Nothing is missing except you. Bucky is three seconds from losing it.

A cold raindrop hits the back of his neck, drawing him from his haze. Soon the sky has opened up, and he's blasted with icy water. It soaks through his jeans, and drips from his hair into his eyes. Without looking back, he slides down the fire ladder and lands in a puddle. He doesn't know what to do next. Maybe Sam knows, so he ducks back into the hotel to get out of the rain, but before he can make the call, he's interrupted by the receptionist.

"Mr Barnes, I apologise. I didn't see this before. Someone left this for you." The woman hands him a large, brown envelope. All of a sudden he's transported back in time; drowning in flashes of memories of past missions, but he shakes himself out of it. Leaning on the column by the door, he opens the envelope.

There's nothing in there but a photo. It makes his stomach turn, and for the first time since he's been free, he has to fight the rage of the Winter Soldier, expanding, threatening to explode and send him on a vengeance fuelled killing spree. "When? Do you know who delivered it?" His voice is darker than usual, and the woman steps back just from the sound.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "It's been here for a couple of days, I think. I wasn't here when it was delivered." She hurries back behind her counter, putting a safe distance between them.

Bucky adjusts his stance, and forces his voice to sound kinder. "Thank you. Is there somewhere I can make a phone call, undisturbed?"

She nods and points to a nook behind the oversized fern in the corner. There's a sliding glass door that will provide some privacy.

Turning the envelope over in his left hand, Bucky is careful to not leave any more fingerprints on it. It is unmarked, but he knows people who can read things that no one else can see.

Whipping out his phone, he dials the first number in the contact list. He doesn't realise it, but he's shaking. The four seconds it takes for Sam to pick up are an excruciating eternity, and Bucky grips the door handle to keep himself from running off without a plan.

Before he can even say hello, Bucky wheezes: "They've got her, Sam!"

"Who?"

"Y/N! They've taken her!" He closes his eyes. The photo has burned into his mind.

"I'm on my way."

Bucky relaxes his grip on the door. There's a dent in the metal, and that makes him even angrier. They've made him lose control. He curses as he exits the tiny room, pacing over the floor, waiting for the voice of reason to arrive.

Being Sam, being Captain America, opens a lot of doors, so when he shows up at the hotel, requesting to look through the surveillance tapes – though it really is a demand; he's got a way with words, Bucky muses, thinking back to when he realised that what he first took as being soft, really isn't soft at all. Anyway, they all fawn over each other, fighting to be the one to give Cap access. Bucky can hardly watch.

"Give us a few minutes," Sam says with a smile, settling in front of the computer.

"Of course." The manager bows and closes the door.

Then Sam turns to Bucky. "Okay. When did you see her last?"

"Four days ago, right before we left on that goddamn mission." He wants to beat himself that he exposed you to danger, and he resists the urge to take out his irritation by slapping Sam over the head. Instead he settles on a flat, emotionless that he hopes conveys all his frustration.

"Right, so somewhere after last Thursday, then." Sam pushes a button, selects the right floor and presses play. Nothing happens for a while, and he pushes a new button, making the footage speed up.

"There!" Bucky shouts, pointing at the screen. There you are. Leaving your room with a large bag over your shoulder. Bucky smiles in spite of his fear. A soft expression on your face and your trusty art supplies at your side. Everything looks normal.

Fast forwarding through the footage, nothing out of the ordinary happens. You return around seven, looking a little bit tired, but happy enough. Food is brought to your room an hour later, and you don't go out again that night.

"Sensible girl," Sam comments, drawing Bucky out of his thoughts.

"Yeah. But she didn't know how much danger she was in."

The night passes in a blur. A drunk couple stumbles through the hallway around two in the morning, but other than that it's quiet, until you leave again around 10am, again with your bag over your shoulder. You look tired, yawning and dragging your feet. The bounce in your step is gone, Bucky notices, and he wonders if it has anything to do with your abduction.

They keep fast forwarding, but when the time stamp shows 11.30pm, Bucky's chest plummets. He knows you're not coming back.

Sam looks at him. “Calm down, man. You look like you’re about to explode!” he hisses, putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shakes him off and glares. “Because I’m this close.”

“But that won’t do her any good, will it? We gotta keep our cool, don’t do anything rash.” Sam's voice is still calm. Bucky doesn't know how he does it.

"Fine." Bucky takes a deep breath, just how his therapist taught him. "Show me what direction she went."

Sam clicks and drags the front camera onto the screen. You stop outside for a few minutes, then head down the street towards the city centre. They follow you on the screen until you disappear from view.

There's a shoe shop on the corner where you turned, so after thanking the hotel manager for the help, they follow your moves through the city. The shoe shop doesn't have a quality video, but it's enough to recognise you. Tracking you through the streets feels like an endurance hunt, Bucky thinks, impatient to find out who took you and where you are. That's all he can focus on: to get you back. And god have mercy on your kidnappers if you're not okay. Eventually Sam and Bucky stop at a small restaurant, but they don't have surveillance at all.

"Okay. Let's head to that Starbucks," Bucky says, nodding across the road. "They're bound to have surveillance, right?"

Sam rolls his shoulders. "Let's go."

The video shows three large figures, lurking in the shadows in one of the side streets. They're watching as you enter the café, and when you exit with a large coffee in hand, the gang is ready. The footage jumps a bit, but it captures the terror in your face, and Bucky feels like throwing up. You're hauled into a waiting van, it's an unmarked, normal van, but as it speeds away, luck strikes. The camera got a clear shot of the number plate.

Bucky lets Sam handle the rest. He can't shake the guilt, the pit in his stomach that grows larger and larger. And his anger grows too. Why didn't anybody react, nobody can convince him that nobody heard or saw anything. He watches as Sam talks on the phone, already mentally punching your kidnappers to a pulp. The metal arm flexes involuntarily.

Sam puts down the phone and turns to Bucky. "Okay, so here's what they told me: The van isn't connected to anything, they didn't even have a name for me. It's probably a fake number plate. But they said it's been spotted driving to and from a warehouse not too far from here. Let's go suit up while we're waiting for the address."

Bucky exhales. They better hurry up with the address. You've been in captivity for far too long already.

_______________________________________________________________________

It's quiet in the building now. You don't know what time it is; they've taken all your stuff, but you know it's late. Your eyes sting, both from exhaustion and from wanting to cry, not to mention your contacts are getting dry, but you refuse to remove them – not being able to see would terrify you. But neither sleep nor tears come. Sitting on the cot, wrapped in the blanket they thankfully provided, you are too wound up to relax enough to sleep. What if someone comes in while you're out? There's not much chance to defend yourself, but at least if you're awake you can try to put up a fight.

How long have you been here? It's hard to tell. After the first shock they've pretty much left you alone. Except for the interrogation a few hours later. They kept asking you about where Bucky is, what he's doing, details on his mission, but you told them, truthfully, that you don't know anything. And they seem to believe you. But they still won't let you go. You sigh and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. Even if you knew everything you wouldn't have told them anything, but you didn't say that out loud.

Suddenly there's a loud bang reverberating through the walls. Instinctively you flinch, trying to make yourself smaller. Your blood roar in your ears, and it feels like your heart is trying to beat its way through your rib cage. There's a pause – the silence is deafening, then someone yells. You hear gunshots. Heavy boots rush past your door. It's torture just listening to the fight, not knowing what will happen. What if there's a fire? Or what if you're abandoned here? Is this how you're gonna die?

The fight is getting closer. You drag the blanket over your head, locking your arms around your neck. Unfortunately it doesn't mute the sounds, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. Slowly the fight dies down, and for a moment everything is calm. You feel woozy, grateful that you're already sitting down, and you steel yourself for what comes next.

The door opens. Heavy boots slaps against the hard floor. Someone blocks out the light, and you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you flinch and whimper.

A soft voice whispers in your ear. "Y/N?"

You forget to breathe again.

"Y/N," the voice repeats, coaxing you out of your makeshift cocoon.

You look up, and into the eyes of the man you never thought you'd see again. His face is blood-spattered, and his expression is a murderous rage, but the moment your eyes meet, he softens. "Bucky," you breathe, folding yourself out, and reaching for him like a toddler.

He scoops you up, holding you close as you begin to sob into his neck, and he rocks you back and forth until you calm a bit. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking your head, you climb down from his lap and looks over at Sam, hovering by the door. There's a look in his eyes that you can't quite decipher.

"You're bleeding," Bucky says, touching your lip gingerly.

"Oh." You don't know what else to say, as he helps you up on your feet. His arm stays around your shoulders all the way out into open air, and you lean into his embrace. The building is littered with bodies, some are definitely dead, others are being detained by soldiers dressed in black. Your knees buckle from the sight.

"Hey, I've got you," Bucky murmurs into your hair.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming to get me."

"Of course," Sam says, offering you a reassuring smile. "Why shouldn't we?"

You exhale shakily through your nose. "I thought you were busy saving the world and all."

Bucky pulls you closer.

"Don't you know?" Sam asks quietly, so no one else can hear. "You are his world."

_______________________________________________________________________

@schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel fan fiction #fanfic #female reader #fluff #angst #marvel

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butterfly--empress · 3 years

Text

So About BnHA…

Man! I don’t participate much on here but it sure has been an interesting popcorn eating time, lurking through the good, the bad, and the annoying posts in the spoiler chapter tags. For this week’s chapter, especially!

Not gonna rant (I save those for close friends on discord)

I do notice that lines within this crazy ass fandom have been drawn, tears have been shed and righteous fury has been felt. And no matter wtf Mister Horikoshi has in stored for chapter 320, it’s going to be a make or break chapter for a lot of folks. I did try my best to keep this post Bakugou neutral grounds. I don’t think I’ve bashed nor favored the character just fyi.

But the most inconspicuous opinions can be taken too serious these days…

The Silly:

For chapter 320 onwards, I am and have ALWAYS BEEN 100% Team: The Legend, The Myth, The Champ, Izuku ‘Feral!Rabbit-Cryptid!’ Midoriya! Win or Lose, I ride or die with Midoriya, hands down! ON GOD!

While everybody yelling into the tumblr void over whose gonna win or lose.

I’m sitting here thinking about two things: A) Has no one thought that maybe some of Class 1-A might side with Deku? *coughsUraraka/Iida/Todorokicoughs* *coughsmaybeevenMineta/Asui/Yaoyorozu???coughs* *coughs maybe even a surprise Shinsou/class1-b reveal even though class 1-b don’t know deku that well* B) Did everyone forget in all the excitement that uhh my boi has yet to unlock the 2nd OFA user’s quirk???

I mean, I’m not saying if it does come down to a bawl of drama and angst, that Izuku’s gonna win.

But I am saying, if it does come down to a bawl of drama and angst, that Izuku’s gonna win…I regret nothing with this bet! If my boi loses we just gonna take that L but…ya know…*shrugs*…Baby, beat their Bakugou’s collective asses.

The Serious:

Personally, I honest to god really love this shounen series with all my heart. It is the anime that reignited my love for shounen after my fatigued of constant disappointment with two old shounen favorites.

Now, having said all that: I truly have not had a serious issue with the writing choices made by Horikoshi. Yes, I have my…gripes…(it’s complicated) but considering what I got compared to the stuff I’ve watched/read in the past, it’s definitely better to me. Having read/watched a lot of anime/manga and shounen, (I haven’t watched them ALL, srsly after my great disappointment and real life I sort of had an anime dry spell if you must know. Watched some stuff here and there when I could/in the mood but not as frequent as I’ve done like yrs ago), I’ve come to learn to just…begrudgingly accept/expect certain; I suppose you can say, writing choices or ‘tropes’ that I can just easily ignore them, roll my eyes when I see them, and still enjoy whatever I’m invested in at the time.

The only real frustrations I have is with a certain character. Yes, I mean Bakugou. I have come to tolerate him, I have come to begrudgingly like him, especially after a second rewatch of the series, I could see and accept that in a very typical shounen way, Bakugou did change, though very little, and it’s subtle and undeniably frustrating how it’s happening but it’s there. However, I do question Horikoshi’s writing choices when it comes to him at times. I see the character development, I know it’s there but….*sighs*

Now I’m one of these people who do believe that the creator of this universe, actually knows wtf he’s doing with his own story (even if rabid/hormonal younger fans loudly disagree but YMMV). One thing I’ve noticed, for the most part, he doesn’t just write/draw things for the hell of it, even if a certain plot or a certain character’s development takes a snail’s pace to get to the point. The conclusion of building up to arcs do have a pay off. (And I 100% understand that for some people, moving at a snail’s pace just don’t cut it. Everything cannot please everybody all of the time and that is FINE!)

Katsuki Bakugou…I know the crumbs and very subtle ways he’s changed have to lead somewhere and to something huge. When Bakugou admits to All Might he bullied Midoriya when they were kids, I had an ‘ah ha!’ Moment. The fact that a very prideful guy like Bakugou was finally starting to admit just that much, (even though, we the audience knows it runs way deeper than he’s admitting here) even in his frustrating roundabout way I like to think this is progress, is very in-character and cannot just be for the hell of it. It has to be leading up to something else other than Bakugou jumping in to take that hit for Deku during the war arc. There is unresolved tension still between Bakugou and Midoriya that is not going to just go away because they will it to.

Which brings us to Chapters 318 and especially 319. It’s the perfect set up for all the dirty skeletons to come out of the closet that both Bakugou and Midoriya have been avoiding/trying to pretend doesn’t exists between them, because it’s been a long time coming. The honest to god truth? This is actually how I always thought this confrontation will go, with a showdown that forces Midoriya into a corner where all those repressed negative feelings he’s bottled up inside is bound to come out; Because I Honestly think Izuku would take what Bakugou’s done to him to his grave if he had it, his way. (Boy can be very frustratingly stubborn when he wants to be).

It’s just, after saying all this, I don’t hold my breath that Horikoshi will take it there…The opportunity is there, I want it to go there, it NEEDS to go there! In order for both characters to come out for the better. But will Mister Horikoshi ‘DO THE THING?’

Remains to be seen. A little bit of me is hopeful, another part of me is resigning myself to feeling dissatisfied with what little we got for Bakugou’s character development and by proxy, Izuku’s getting stuck in limbo. I’m not kidding, Bakugou being a very contentious character within this fandom doesn’t just come from nowhere. But this post isn’t about me ranting into the void about Bakugou. (I don’t even think I can muster up the rage I felt the first time watching MHA blindly to rant to high hell about the bullshit Bakugou’s done now.)

I suppose I will just have to internally scream for 1,000 yrs over half baked character development if Horikoshi doesn’t do the FUCKING THING in giving a satisfying pay off to Katsuki and Midoriya’s history. I’ll just frustratingly chalk it up to old freaking shounen logic and just continue to enjoy the series because I’ve been here for Izuku Midoriya since ep 1 and I am not about to let Bakugou or Horikoshi’s unwillingness to do something with him derail that. And there’s always hoping that someone is writing some really good Bakugou gets actual Consequences fanfic out there because ooh boy…I like Bakugou but mofo can catch these hands…and I’m not even a fighter, but Bakugou…this lil shit does make you want to choke the hell out of him at times.

I haven’t been this emotionally frustrated over an anime character since…maybe fucking Louise from Zero no Tsukaima and it takes a LOT to make me actually dislike characters, good or bad.

All in All: Regardless of how the story goes from here on out, we are all about to lose our collective shits. No matter how you feel about which characters…

It’s about to go down!

#anti Bakugou #anti bakugo #bnha recent chapters #tried to stay neutral #but the side that loathes Bakugou #started to peek through #opps that #just my humble 2 cents #either take it or leave it #I don’t have the energy to argue with ‘children’#over my own shared thoughts #compared to what I can do #this mild…rant is tame #gawd i miss internet 1.0 #where i could intentionally avoid the parts of fandom #that i did not want to interact with ever #and rabid fans were a thing you heard of but never if you were lucky actually had to deal with

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makeste · 4 years

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not a cavalcade of Katsuki panels

damn, anon. you stone cold came for me with that last part. and just fyi to all onlookers, this was before I had posted the headcanons ask proving this exact point lmao.

but a challenge has been issued now! so I will do my best to pick a variety of impartial panels featuring a veritable medley of characters. not sure I can really provide much in the way of insightful analysis of symbolism and metaphors and stuff, but I can certainly type a lot of words about the pretty pictures, and about how cool people look when they’re standing around all serious surrounded by clouds of billowing smoke.

why I like it: I figured we’d start off strong. no point in holding back. can the other panels possibly even hope to compete. maybe. we’ll see.

why I like it: because, you see, he punched a giant robot, and it exploded. you see that, there? and the text was all “SMAASH” in humongous comic book letters, and it was pretty cool. also Deku is very tiny and the robot is very big. and just to clarify, most of the time if a tiny fifteen-year-old child tries to punch an 80-foot robot, it’s not actually going to go all that well, and the robot probably will not explode. but in this case it did! and so this is a very novel and unexpected outcome, which makes it all the more visually striking, which is a very good thing to be when you are trying to show off the brand new superpower which your protagonist just inherited, and letting people see it in action for the very first time.

why I like it: so you may have noticed we just skipped a whoooole bunch of chapters lol. this is because there are almost 300 of them, and so I’m going to have to use a bit of discretion. anyway so this is a gorgeous panel. just, everything about it. the lighting; the expressions; Shouto’s hesitation; and his mom facing away, not looking back yet, and us not yet knowing how she’ll react. and the fact that they’re visually separated by as much distance as possible -- at opposite ends of a two-page spread -- and yet they’re so close, closer than they’ve been in years. mm. anyway it’s pretty.

why I like it: first of all because there’s nothing like seeing a deserving character get punched in the fucking face, and few characters IMO have been as deserving as Stain. and second because this is Deku, showing up to save the day out of nowhere at the last minute, because excuse you, but he’s a motherfuckin’ hero. sorry to interrupt your evening plans of stabbing a kid while lecturing him about why, philosophically, he deserves to die. but I’ve got a package here for a Mister Stain. it’s from Mister Smaassh, with two A’s and three S’s.

why I like it: fyi, anon said nothing about a cavalcade of BakuDeku panels. you didn’t think I’d let that loophole go to waste, did you? but nonetheless I will try to restrain myself until we get to the second ground beta fight. anyway, I like this panel because All Might’s canonically 7′2″ self looks about twelve feet tall here, and he is just TOWERING over these two boys, who’ve been tasked with somehow outwitting him during this curiously sadistic final exam. and it’s just an interesting perspective, because we know they both look up to him, and here they are physically looking way, way up, up, up at him.

why I like it: now this is how you do a villain entrance. I love absolutely everything about this. the sheer scale of destruction, and the way he’s just sort of casually hanging out there in the middle of the panel almost dwarfed by all this dust and smoke and carnage, and yet is unquestionably the focus of the page. the way that you can’t actually see his face, not yet. not until the end of the chapter. the way the clouds are drifting so calmly and peacefully in the night sky in stark contrast to the horrific events that are about to take place on the ground. this panel gives me literal chills, especially when I think about All for One’s creepy theme music playing in the background.

why I like it: this panel is so iconic to me that it’s one of the first ones I immediately knew I had to go and find when I got this ask. this entire fight is perfection from start to finish, and there are other panels that are more artistically striking if I’m being honest (in particular, the ones where he’s half-transformed with his face perfectly split down the middle between Muscle Might and Skinny Steve). but there’s just something about his determination in this panel, though. something about the fire in his eyes, and the way he clenches his fist. “my heart is still the heart of the Symbol of Peace.” I remember being sooooo fucking anxious when his true form was revealed, wondering if this was it, if the people watching were going to turn on him, if he was going to lose both the fight and their faith. turns out I was wrong on both accounts. basically what I am trying to tell you guys is that this panel was and is still the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.

why I like it: because he’s just a frail old man doing what he can to protect the last flickering embers of the thing that enables him to fight on. there’s something so fucking desperate and yet so determined about this image. he knows it’s futile, but still he persists.

why I like it: damn it was hard to find a “you’re next” panel with just the right angle I like best. this is probably as close as it gets, but I kind of wish Deku was somehow visible in this image as well. but at any rate this is an amazing moment, and All Might is dramatic af for basically no reason but IT’S BADASS. “no I’m not going to actually look where I’m pointing. it’s cooler this way.” or was it because he wasn’t sure if he could keep the emotion off of his face if he actually turned and looked? in this moment of knowing that it was finally over for him, that he would never be the Symbol again, and knowing that he had no choice but to move on and entrust that burden to the next generation? damn.

why I like it: I... fucking... okay, here’s a fun fact. did you know that I still get emotional over this panel almost a full two years after reading it?? obviously a good 84% of it is the context -- All Might losing his power; Deku being forced to take up the mantle before he feels ready; All Might feeling responsible for him; and both of them being so desperately grateful to have each other in that moment. but don’t underestimate that remaining 16% either though! this is just an extremely well-drawn hug, on top of everything else. All Might pressing Deku’s head to his shoulder with his fingers laced in his hair is some mighty fine fiercely protective hug tropes there, you guys. and the way Deku is clinging to his shirt so tightly his knuckles have probably gone white?? while he cries?? while both of them cry? ON THE BEACH? WITH THE WAVES LAPPING SOFTLY AT THE SHORE IN THE PEACEFUL NIGHT AIR?? jesus fucking christ. this hug contains more emotions than I am capable of carrying inside me at once. I just sort of have to let them flow in and out little by little until they finally subside.

why I like it: you bet I skipped right from Kamino straight to Deku VS Kacchan Part 2. no regrets. anyway, so these two panels are an absolutely gorgeous one-two punch. so much has changed from the days when they were innocent little kids marching off into the woods to have adventures. they’ve changed. their relationship has changed. and yet, at the end of the day, Izuku is still willing to follow Katsuki even without being given any kind of explanation. and Katsuki still seeks out Izuku when he’s on the verge of having a spectacular emotional breakdown. because he doesn’t know who else to turn to. and because despite everything, there is trust there still, on some deep, fundamental level neither of them fully understands or knows how to acknowledge. anyway, so these two panels just give me a ton of feels all about the passage of time and how everything changes and how you can’t get back what’s lost, but also sometimes if you look deep enough you find that parts of it were never fully gone.

why I like it: because in a striking display of dramatic main character energy, these boys decided to stage their life-changing destiny-affirming rival fight on the coolest possible stage in the middle of the goddamn night. and then Katsuki made it even better by producing WAY MORE SMOKE than his attack by all rights should have produced! and then they went and crouched down all symmetrically so as to more poetically make intense eye contact at each other. I really like panels with smoke and/or dust clearing dramatically. there are like four more of them coming up on this list. what can I say. it’s cinematic.

why I like it: I actually had this one as my icon for a while. it’s rare imo to see an action panel that’s so balanced and has so much going on and is so clean and easy to read. both of their poses are so dynamic. I like the way the arc of Izuku’s kick is drawn, and I love the way you can clearly see that Katsuki propelled himself backwards with his quirk in order to dodge it. it’s just a really cool little panel that for me perfectly sums up the general feel of this fight, and its awesome choreography.

why I like it: actually you know what, before I go any further, let me skip ahead a bit and add three more panels with this same energy.

I just really, really love these rare moments when all differences between them are momentarily forgotten and they’re just two teenage boys caught up in the intense pressure of an awkward social situation. the one enemy neither of them is the least bit equipped to handle. anyways Horikoshi clearly enjoys it too because he seems to delight in drawing it over and over and over.

why I like it: because it’s more billowing smoke and dust. because it’s Endeavor, the guy we all swore we would never ever root for, and then 160 chapters later Horikoshi pulls this shit without an ounce of shame. because it’s All Might’s pose, but tweaked juuuuuust enough so that Enji can avoid copyright claims. because he knew that pose well enough to know which arm not to use. because Endeavor is a profoundly flawed human being, wholly incapable of filling the void All Might left behind. and yet he still tries. because it’s better than nothing, and because it’s all he can do. it’s the one thing he can do, his sole redeeming virtue. he tries. he doesn’t give up. anyway so yeah, Horikoshi didn’t have to take the single most unlikable person in the entire manga and give him the world’s most controversial and openly scorned redemption arc. but he did! and I think it’s one of the best things about this entire manga.

why I like it: because nothing in BnHA is just black and white!! it’s messy and layered and complex, just like in the real world. Shouto despised his dad for almost his entire life. with good reason! Enji was abusive and selfish and treated his son more like a prized possession than a person. we as readers are fully aware of all of this, and we sympathize with Shouto 100%, and that’s completely by design. Horikoshi is well aware of this. so for him to still give us this little moment, where Shouto is so relieved that Enji survived that he drops to the floor and presses his face against his hands in this little prayer gesture -- whatever you think it might mean -- is just so fucking powerful, and again speaks to his commitment to refusing to let anything in this series be completely clear-cut and unambiguous. I love that the characterization of Shouto and Natsu hating their dad exists side by side with the equally authentic characterization of them being terrified that they’re about to watch him die. because those two things aren’t contradictory! sometimes that’s just how it is. anyway so this is a beautiful moment of nuance that instantly adds so much to this relationship with just a single panel.

why I like it: for once the symbolism is so obvious that even I can’t fail to miss it! Izuku’s face half in light and half in shadow as he thinks about the power bestowed on him. “All for One’s power.” anyway so in my mind Izuku having AFO could not be any more fucking foreshadowed if he was wearing a freaking t-shirt with the Musketeers saying on it and the background was peppered with little Sistine Chapel-esque images of AFO giving his quirk to his brother lmao. but regardless of how it does end up playing out, this is nicely done.

why I like it: I wasn’t sure whether I should include this image, given that I just made a whole separate post about it a few days ago. but I just really like it, okay. this is one of the all-time great entrances in the series. Bakugou being perched on that pole for absolutely no reason other than to add visual interest. Todoroki’s hair blowing dramatically in the wind. Katsuki’s frayed pant hems and characteristically asymmetrical facial expression. the fact that you just know both of them spent the ride home with their faces pressed to the windows of their taxi cab hoping desperately for an opportunity to break in their brand new licenses, and then lo and behold. that’s amazing you guys. it’s almost like you’re main characters or something.

why I like it: they did great.

why I like it: because I lost my fucking shit at this fucking reveal and can you even blame me?? we knew coming in how much trouble Endeavor and Hawks had dealing with just one of these Noumus, and then Horikoshi goes and divulges that the villains have at least A DOZEN MORE waiting on standby. including Hood right there in the foreground, which is a fantastic touch! this panel, for me, almost instantaneously established the League as a legitimate threat once again, and gave me the kind of spine-tingly evil vibes I hadn’t felt since the Kamino arc. and while the payoff might not quite have lived up to my expectations, the Mirko fight at least was more than worth it.

why I like it: BILLOWING SMOKE AND DUST CLOUDS. you just see this vast landscape of destruction that Tomura has oh-so-casually wrought, and this once-powerful enemy utterly defeated on his hands and knees bowing before him. and it’s just like, oh. Tomura just became a fucking king, didn’t he. he finally stepped up and became the main villain. really the main villain, not just an awkward fumbling NEET whose adopted dad is not-so-secretly pulling all the strings. he did this himself. he went out and conquered and Awakened and won himself a fucking army. and he’s just standing there so cool and casual in the aftermath of it all. and then he goes “oh wait, you guys have money right, that means you can buy us the good sushi.” yes, Tomura. yes.

why I like it: um because this panel is fucking amazing?? hello?? do I really need to explain this one. the detail is jaw-dropping. he’s got the little scars which are either from the head wound that caused his death, or from his Noumufication. his expression is fucking heartbreaking, and the transition from Kumo to Kuro is so subtle and seamless, and yet it distinctly is both of them. this panel is gorgeous and fucking haunting and almost made me gasp when I first saw it.

why I like it: the decision to have the night sky take up so much of the space in the panel was [chef kiss]. nothing says existential like the night sky on a cold winter’s night.

why I like it: this is the best panel in the entire fucking series.

why I like it: dude. showing his actual family holding onto him with their hands in the same spot as the severed fashion!hands was a stroke of genius in and of itself. but combining that with the emotional tension of them desperately trying to hold him back and protect him from AFO?? that’s just so fucking smooth it’s almost inhuman. just how much meaning can you cram into a single image?? sometimes I wonder just how far in advance Horikoshi plans these things.

why I like it: guess I’m just a big fat sucker for panels of Tomura calmly standing around in the ruins of his own senseless destruction. the sense of scale on this one is really great, too. and yet again, those dust clouds. gotta love it.

why I like it: because Tomura literally appears out of nowhere, like he’s ripping a hole through the fabric of time and space. it’s so fucking sudden and he looks evil as FUCK, and Deku and Kacchan are totally caught off-guard, and it is scary. this is one of those panels that made me say “holy shit” out loud. in fact I practically screamed it. and the angles are all funky and weird, and the sky is all BLACK FOR NO REASON, and it really just feels like Tomura could reach right over and just MURDER THEM like it was nothing. just like that. this panel is so incredibly effective at conveying how hopelessly outclassed the boys are. they’re not even in his league, and it’s honestly terrifying.

and on that happy note, we have come to the end of my list of favorite panels! and I gotta say, it’s really gratifying that a good deal of them are from this year alone. I said it in another post a few days ago, but imo the overall quality of the series has been insanely high as of late, and it honestly just blows my mind whenever I stop to think about it. the art is still this good six years into the game. the story is still this good. we are spoiled goddammit.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #all might #endeavor #todoroki shouto #shigaraki tomura #horikoshi kouhei #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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kuiinncedes · 4 years

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guess who keeps writing random quinntina drabbles in completely unrelated aus and refusing to expand on any of them :D so yeah i wrote a shadowhunters!quinn and tina thing (that i actually might expand on bc i was working on a klaine shadowhunter thing and it’s not super different or anything ANYWAY) idk if i need to explain shit to make it easier to understand or anything but here’s some explanations :P

shadowhunters = demon killers born with angel blood, they draw runes on themselves to do things like heal or give extra agility, strength, etc. also shadowhunters usually have compound last names it’s a whole thing but i kept their last names anyway it doesn’t matter lmao

iratze = healing rune, when a shadowhunter uses one it heals them :P

parabatai = platonically bonded shadowhunters basically, and runes given to someone by their parabatai are sometimes more powerful

Behemoth demons = gross slimy demons with like a giant mouth or something and they’re really hard to kill bc they reform and stuff lol

witchlight = a stone that shadowhunters can use that lights up when they hold it

and i think that’s it, if anyone reads this lol and is confused about any of the shadowhunter aspects feel free to ask me about it :P

also kinda took some things from this prompt list that came across my dash - “you’re bleeding” and “There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow your close.” idk it doesn’t really stick to that tho

oh but yeah that means there’s description of blood and stuff not a lot at all and it’s not graphic or anything but yeah just fyi :3

ANYWAY YEAH I KINDA REALLY LIKE THIS LDFJSLFJ maybe one day i’ll stop adding this random stuff at the beginning of the ficlets i post lol

---

“You’re bleeding.”

“News flash, Fabray, we’re Shadowhunters. It happens.” Tina rolls her eyes, then returns to scanning the surroundings for the Croucher demons that just disappeared. “I can’t believe I got stuck on a patrol with you,” she grumbles.

Quinn scoffs. “I’m not too happy about it either, hon.” She rubs her forearm, bare to the chill of the night air, and examines the wound on Tina’s leg, as best as she can given the distance between them. The blood has already soaked through her gear, the material itself slashed viciously halfway up her thigh. “Let me give you an iratze, at least. It looks bad,” she says, trying to keep the biting in her tone to a minimum. It’s hard, though, around Tina. She thinks she at least succeeds at not sounding like she’s actually going to kill Tina if she gets close.

Tina looks at her with an indecipherable expression, somehow different than the contempt and anger that she usually directs at Quinn. “It’s fine, we don’t have time for that. Mercedes can do it when we get back.” Tina seems to swallow, then looks away. “You know, being my parabatai, it’ll be a lot better than anything you could do.” The insult doesn’t carry half the heat of anything Tina usually says to her, which confuses Quinn. But she doesn’t have time to think on it when Tina’s eyes widen at some point behind her and Quinn whirls around with her seraph blade to meet the dark face of a demon, Tina coming up beside her, stabbing one demon and effectively causing another to vanish with a perfectly-thrown dagger.

Try as she might, Quinn can’t ignore just how insanely good of a Shadowhunter Tina Cohen-Chang is. And it annoys the fuck out of her.

Together they easily kill the demons in the group -- Croucher demons are not the brightest by far -- and Tina is retrieving a dagger from the ground when Quinn sees them.

Three Behemoth demons, moving sluggishly, and not towards them, but they are going to have to take care of them.

“What the fuck are Behemoth demons doing in a group…?” Quinn mumbles. They need help for this; no matter how exceptional of a Shadowhunter Tina is, and although Quinn is far from bad herself, two Shadowhunters can’t take on three Behemoth demons.

“Fuck,” Tina whispers, coming up beside Quinn again. She can’t help but notice how Tina’s dark hair has fallen out of her bun a little, messy strands surrounding her face but of course she still looks so good --

“How do you feel about Behemoths, Fabray?” Tina says quietly, her tone challenging. They’re still just watching the demons, who haven’t done anything yet and have given no indication that they’ve noticed the two Shadowhunters.

Quinn scowls, “Hate them.” Which is an understatement. She and Kurt had a terrible experience with one a few years ago and she prefers not to think about it.

Tina nods. “Same.”

Of course, one of the demons finally turns their way and spots them. “Fuck, we gotta run,” Quinn hisses. She can already see that the demons are dispersing their slimy, disgusting bodies -- she really doesn’t like Behemoths -- to reform somewhere else, no doubt somewhere significantly closer to where they’re standing --

Or behind them. Quinn is yanked sideways by Tina and they sprint down a small road, dark but for the dim street lights reflecting off the wet asphalt.

It doesn’t take long for Quinn to notice something is wrong. She hasn’t patrolled with Tina before, but she’s trained with her, she knows Tina is somewhat faster than her. So why isn’t Tina way ahead of her right now…

Quinn spares a glance over and right, her leg. Before Quinn can think about it, she’s pulling Tina into a small alley off the side of the road.

“Shit,” Tina breathes, clenching her jaw and leaning against the wall in this really very narrow alley, they barely have enough space for the two of them, each against one of the walls --

Quinn looks at the wound on Tina’s thigh and hisses, “You idiot. You should’ve let me put a damn iratze on you, or you should’ve done it yourself, Angel’s sake -- ”

A Behemoth slides past, dispersing and quickly reforming further up the alley. The other two follow close behind. Quinn presses herself into the shadows of the alley, lessens her breath and tries to force her heart to stop pounding so loudly. She doesn’t think Behemoths have a sense of smell, she’s never learned that, but if they do, she and Tina are screwed and she will need to have a little chat with her demons instructor Will Schuester because this would not be a good time to find that out.

The demons pass. Quinn lets out a slow breath.

“Lost my stele.” Tina’s breath is coming in shallow gasps; Quinn can tell she’s trying to minimize the sound. The gash on her thigh is way deeper and longer than Quinn realized. It’s hard to see anything with the lack of light in the alley and lack of contrast between Tina’s blood on her skin and the black gear she’s wearing.

“Fuck, do you have a witchlight?” Quinn asks.

“No.” Tina’s muscles are tight and her body is wound. “It doesn’t matter right now. Call the Institute, we need someone to get rid of those Behemoths.”

Quinn wants to argue, wants to ask Tina if she’s seen her leg, but Tina’s right, infuriatingly. She quickly presses the number for her parabatai on her phone while Tina closes her eyes, resting her head against the brick wall, seemingly trying to calm her breathing.

“Quinn!” Kurt exclaims when he picks up. “What happened? Mercedes said she felt something happen to Tina and you guys have been out longer than you’re supposed to -- ”

“We’re fine,” Quinn interrupts. “Tina’s mostly fine, just a nice cut from a Croucher. We ran into some Behemoths though, need someone to take care of them.”

Kurt groans. “Of course you guys ran into Behemoths.” There’s some faint talking in the background -- Quinn can make out Mercedes demanding to know where her parabatai is, some other voices chime in that she can’t recognize. “Okay, luckily Mike’s here and he can go try to magic them away or whatever he does. Beiste is going with him. Mercedes and I will meet up with you and Tina. Send me your guys’ patrol location.”

“Don’t you know it?”

“Yes, but send it to me anyway,” Kurt says, exasperated, but Quinn can tell he doesn’t really mean it. “Okay? Be careful.”

“Always am.” She ends the call and shoves her phone back into her pocket. Then she remembers Tina, who’s sitting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her and looking exhausted.

“Here,” she says, finding her stele and holding it out to her. Tina gives her a half-smile and accepts it. She rolls up her jacket sleeve to draw the rune on her forearm, flowing black lines of the iratze stark against her skin in the dim light.

“Kurt and Mercedes are coming,” Quinn says. “And Mike and Beiste for the demons.”

“Good, saves me from more time with you,” Tina mumbles halfheartedly.

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Let me help,” she says, kneeling down and reaching for her stele. “It will work better closer to the heart -- ”

“I’m fine,” Tina says hurriedly, leaning away from Quinn slightly. Quinn ignores the slight disappointment she feels at that and exclaims, “Are you serious? Your leg is still pouring blood, you can see that, right?”

Tina swallows. “I don’t want you that close to me.” Her voice is resigned, quiet and Quinn can barely hear her.

“Again, are you serious? What the fuck did I ever do to you?” Quinn knows she shouldn’t be getting angry, especially when they don’t know how far the demons are and they could hear her raised voice -- can Behemoth demons hear? Mr. Schue really didn’t do a great job in their demon education -- and come back to finish them off.

“Quinn, just… just don’t.” Tina rolls her stele back towards her. “Thanks for the stele.”

“No, I want to know! I want to know what the fuck I did to make you treat me like this, because I sure didn’t ask for it.” Quinn is seething now, unable to stop even if she tried. “When we were kids you were okay, but ever since the Shadowhunter Academy you’ve been such an asshole to me, and now you can’t even let me near you to help you, to put a fucking iratze on you -- ”

“I have feelings for you!” Tina yells, effectively shutting Quinn up. Quinn looks down at her in surprise.

“What -- ?”

Tina puts her head in her hands, running them through her hair and pulling out her bun, her shining black hair spilling across her shoulders. “I… can’t let you near me because… I’m scared,” she says softly to her boots. “I’m scared of what my feelings mean when you get close to me and I want to kiss you so fucking badly... I want to be with you. I -- I realized that at the Shadowhunter Academy when I saw other girls kiss each other and I just,” she shakes her head. “I realized I want to do that with you. And I know there’s no chance for that, I get it. But that’s why I’ve been... mean.”

Quinn stares at Tina, jaw dropped open. Tina meets her gaze for a moment, then averts her eyes and smirks slightly, sadly. “It’s fine, Fabray. I’ll stop being an asshole and you don’t have to talk to me again. Except, you know, when Kurt and Mercedes want us all to hang out, but I’ll stay away.”

Quinn wants to say something -- wants to say no, I don’t want that, when the alley floods with light and she turns to see Kurt and Mercedes, the light coming from a witchlight stone in Kurt’s hand.

“You know,” he says, smiling, “you could’ve come out after the demons left, would’ve made it easier for us to find you.”

Quinn makes her way through the unfamiliar halls of the Columbus Institute. She has a vague sense of where she’s going but she doesn’t live at the Institute so she’s still a little disoriented. But she mostly tries to follow the sound of voices and sure enough, it leads her to the library, where Mercedes and Tina are huddled together over a book, talking and laughing with each other. She watches them, quietly, awkwardly, for a second, then Tina turns and spots her, smile faltering a little.

“Hey, Quinn,” she says softly. Mercedes turns too and waves at her.

“Hey, guys,” Quinn says. She swallows. “Um, could I talk to Tina for a second?” Mercedes shoots Tina a look. She nods back and Mercedes pats her hand and leaves the library, and now Quinn and Tina are alone.

“How’s your leg?” Quinn asks, deciding to stall.

Tina smiles a little, walks up to her. Her hair is in braids today. “Good as new. Tends to be the case after a few iratzes.”

Quinn nods. “Good.”

A moment passes, then Tina exhales and says, “Look, Quinn… I’m really sorry about what I said in the alley. I… can’t say I didn’t mean it, but I promise I won’t act like anything’s different, okay? We don’t even have to talk about it -- ”

“I want to talk about it.”

Tina stops. “You do?”

Quinn runs a hand through her hair. “You meant what you said?”

A slow nod from Tina, and a deep breath from Quinn.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Quinn says, gaze fixed on the floor between their feet. “I think I feel the same.”

“… what?”

“I want to kiss you. If you’ll let me.”

At some point, they’ve gotten closer, and now Quinn stands right in front of Tina, their faces almost touching. She barely has to move to press her lips to Tina’s. Tina inhales sharply, but then relaxes and her hands flutter up to lightly cup Quinn’s face as Quinn pulls her closer.

They pull away and Tina laughs slightly, breathlessly.

“Does this mean you still hate me?” Tina asks, her dark eyes sparkling, pupils dilated. Their breaths mingle in the lack of space between them.

“Of course,” Quinn murmurs. “Do you?”

“Why would I like you?” Tina tries to say, grinning, but she’s cut off by Quinn’s next kiss.

And another, and another.

#quinntina #tina cohen chang #quinn fabray #glee #glee fic #enemies to lovers baybee #not me writing this instead of doing anything else lmao #I HAVE CLASS IN LIKE 2 MINUTES SO *SCREAMS AND HITS POST*#ive been sitting on this all day tho soooo #idk #ive reread it a lot #hopefully enough lmao #my ficsssss #also i accidentally did some stuff my last reread and im not sure if i changed something and didnt notice so if yall see something weird #before i can catch it and fix it lol no you dont :P

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notsoguiltykpop · 4 years

Text

Champion Part 10

Jungkook x Reader

Racecar driver / street racer au

Genre: Romance, slow-burn, suspense(?), fluff, slightly smutty later on in the story

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Synopsis: You might have gotten your start on the street, but you’ve always had bigger plans. With a new sponsor backing you, you’re all set to work your way up in the motorsport world and make it big.Your dream is to take down Jeon Jungkook, who is currently one of the best drivers in the sport. He doesn’t quite know how he feels about this rookie winning all the races and getting all the attention, but it reminds him why he’s racing in the first place–to be nothing but the best, and leave everyone else in the dust.Things get complicated when he falls head over heels for the competition.

...

The strategy was set, everything planned out as much as possible, and it was looking like you were doomed to lose. You were starting near the back, and the whole team’s morale was low because of it. The garage was unusually silent, lacking the chit-chat that had become the norm before a race. No one was smiling, or even making eye contact if they could avoid it.

“Is everything okay?” You asked Jimin after pulling him aside. You had accepted your probable defeat that morning, knowing that you’d have to pull off the impossible to stay with the team after today. Starting at the back wasn’t exactly an ideal situation. If you came in last after drawing so much attention to this race and your supposed rivalry with Jungkook, you’d make the whole team look like a joke and Hoseok wouldn’t have any choice other than to drop you.

But you weren’t expecting the rest of the team to be so down about it.

Jimin grimaced, shrugging. “Hoseok’s been in a shit mood all morning, I’m surprised he hasn’t been onto you like he has us. I’d avoid him if you can.”

It turned out that that wasn’t hard to do at all. Hoseok was everywhere that you weren’t. He talked to the press, he chatted with other teams, and never sought you out. It wasn’t hard to figure out why; he simply had no hope for the race, and if you weren’t winning for the team, there was no reason for him to be there.

That wasn’t going to stop you from giving it your all, though. You were convinced that there was still a chance you could come out of this okay. Then, as if the sky was taking pity on you, it started to rain.

You were in one of the trailers that were set up as your team’s offices stretching when it started, the pitter-patter on the roof increasingly loud and steady. You zipped your jumpsuit quickly and after a moment's hesitation grabbed your helmet. You left your visor up once outside so you could feel the rain on at least a small part of your face.

You smiled for the first time that day, closing your eyes and tilting your head up to the sky. You were good in the rain.

This changed everything, making the pavement unpredictable and forcing drivers to rely entirely on their instincts. And it might just be the miracle you needed.

The rain stopped abruptly on your face, and you opened your eyes to see the inside of a blue umbrella over you. It took you a split second to remember that your visor was up, just long enough for you to make eye contact with the holder of said umbrella--Jungkook. You slammed it down, and braced yourself for the worst.

“What are you doing out here?” He looked like he couldn’t stand still, hopping from one foot to the other. His suit was only done up to his waist, the top half hanging limp. He should have been cold with just his undershirt covering his torso, but he didn’t seem bothered.

You said nothing, still unsure if he had recognized you.

“Shouldn’t you be warming up? Talking to your engineer?” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe standing weirdly and looking at the sky like you’re in an 80’s music video is the way you get in the zone?”

You shook your head and reached for your notepad, but quickly realized that you’d left it in the trailer.

Jungkook must have noticed your fumbling and waved a hand for you to stop. “We both already know it’s the 80’s music video, there’s no need to answer.” A hint of a grin started to pull at his mouth despite his best efforts, and he quickly changed the subject. “Look, I came to find you because Seokjin said you might have something you needed to say to me?”

You started to shake your head, then paused. Was Seokjin trying to give you a hint that you should tell Jungkook now? Surely not. There was too much of a chance that it would throw off Jungkook’s race. Even though a large part of you was sure that now could be the last opportunity to tell him if you wanted to salvage your relationship, there was simply too much at stake.

“He must have just meant that you were going to wish me luck,” Jungkook concluded, though he didn’t seem too sure of it himself. “In that case, thanks, but I don’t need luck. You’re the one who needs it, and I’m not going to wish you any because that’s not what rivals do.” Jungkook smiled. “Which you would know if you weren’t such a rookie. You could learn a thing or two from me, you know.”

You had to bite your tongue not to shoot back a smart remark.

The race was a disaster for the majority of drivers. One thing after another kept going wrong for your opposing teams, and the smallest wrong move sent your rivals hurtling off the track.

Even you lost it for a moment, a rear tire locking up and sending you into a spin. Luckily, the only real damage was to your tires, and you were able to defend your position.

You fought your way up to fourth nearing the end of the race. Jungkook was in second, and looked like he was having trouble with his tires.

You couldn’t see exactly what happened going around the next corner--who had made the mistake or who ran into who first. All you knew was the two leading cars had collided, scattering debris across the track and into the oncoming traffic. You hit something--or perhaps it hit you, technically--that did considerable damage to the front of your car. But you could drive it enough to keep up with the safety car that was sent out on track, which was all that mattered at that point.

The car in front of you wasn’t as lucky, having punctured a tire in the chaos and having no choice but to pit.

Which left you in first.

“Well done,” Taehyung said over the radio, sounding as though he was trying very hard to stay professional but couldn’t quite contain his excitement. “Two more laps to go, the race is yours.”

“Is everyone alright?” You asked, though you knew it was unlikely Taehyung would know.

“They would’ve stopped the race if it was anything life-threatening,” Was all he responded with.

You didn’t have a chance directly after the race to check in with anyone. Camera’s flashed, and it felt like a million people were trying to talk to you all at the same time. Yet, it was Yoongi’s voice that stood out when paired with a devilish smile he asked, “How does it feel to win literally just because you didn’t crash?”

You were glad your helmet hid the glare you sent him.

Pushing past all of the random people who stood in your way, you made your way to your team's miniature headquarters for the weekend.

You were soaked, cold, and angry.

The race ended behind a safety car. It hardly felt like a victory. Yoongi was right; you didn’t win, you just managed to stay on the damn track.

You pulled your helmet off as soon as the door was shut behind you, only for it to be thrown open a moment later by Hoseok.

“What are you doing?” He asked incredulously. “You’re supposed to be out there accepting handshakes and talking–er, writing–to journalists about what just happened. You won a race that Jungkook was in, and you’re–you’re–” He waved his hands around vaguely. “You’re acting like you lost!”

“You call that a win?” You scoffed quietly, undoing the top of your jumpsuit to let it hang around your waist. Hoseok’s frown deepened, but he said nothing. “Was anyone seriously hurt in the crash? Taehyung didn’t sound too sure over the radio.”

Your manager sighed, leaning against the wall next to the door with his arms folded. “From what I’ve heard, it’s nothing serious. Mostly just some minor cuts and bruises. I overheard someone say Jeon got a concussion, but he must be feeling okay if he’s up to texting you every five minutes.“

You paused your frustrated pacing to turn to Hoseok.

"You looked at my texts?”

“Only the lock screen,” He replied mildly. “You must have dropped it in the garage earlier today, Taehyung found it.” He pulled it from his jacket pocket and held it out.

Silence hung in the air while you glanced through the texts Jungkook had sent.

[Jungkook 2:45pm] That doesn’t count as me losing just fyi! It was bad luck

[Jungkook 3:01pm] Y/n tell me ur not planning a party

[Jungkook 3:02pm] Y/n

[Jungkook 3:04pm] dude

[Jungkook 3:04pm] i didn’t lose. I DNF’d. Doesn’t count.

[Jungkook 3:05pm] am i at least invited to the celebration of someone who supposedly beat me? I expect an open bar.

It was nearly four, now. You felt a pang of guilt as though you had been ignoring him. There was no way you could have replied to his texts sooner, but he didn’t know that. You answered with a short “Are you ok?”

“I thought we talked about you two being all buddy-buddy?” Hoseok cleared his throat pointedly. “But you don’t listen to much of what I say, do you?"

“Hoseok–”

“Forget it,” He didn’t bother to stick around to listen to your excuses, slamming the trailer door behind himself.

[Jungkook 4:09pm] yeah I’m good.

[Jungkook 4:09pm] doc says i just need to take it easy. Seojin’s a little freaked out which is pretty funny. his eye has been twitching for the last hr.

[Jungkook 4:13pm] so are we partying or what?

You chuckled, shaking your head at your phone. Jungkook really was something else.

[You 4:14pm] Nah not really feeling up to it. Rain check?

You needed to make things right with Hoseok, which meant going back out there and making an appearance for the press.

After zipping your jumpsuit back up and securing your helmet, you stepped back outside. Yoongi was doing some kind of live show directly in front of your trailer, and he spotted you before you could change your mind and run away again.

“…And what a perfect coincidence that you’re here!” He said as he caught your arm and pulled you lightly into the shot. You didn’t bother trying to get away. This was what Hoseok wanted, for you to stand there and let people talk at you. “We were just discussing your incredible dumb luck.”

You had a long day ahead of you.

Before you left, you’d satisfied every journalist, signed hats, and taken pictures with what felt like half of the people in the paddock. Hoseok hadn’t been any help whatsoever, leaving without a word after an hour. When you finally dragged your feet into your house, you wanted nothing more than to shower and sleep.

But Hoseok’s sleek mercedes-benz was parked in front, and something told you he wasn’t there to talk to Jimin.

Cold food was left on the stove as though it’d been forgotten about, along with an untouched bowl on the table.

You found Jimin and Hoseok in the living room, with Jimin chewing his nails and avoiding looking directly at Hoseok.

“What’s up?” You asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice. “You disappeared on me today.”

Hoseok’s eyes slid from where he’d been glaring at his phone over to you slowly. “You’re suspended,” He said lowly.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss,” Jimin said abruptly, standing to leave. He patted your arm on his way out. You couldn’t blame him for wanting out of the situation, but part of you wanted to make him stay so you wouldn’t have to face Hoseok alone.

“I don’t understand,” You made your way over to sit across from Hoseok. “I won today. I interacted with reporters, I was social–”

“When, exactly, were you going to tell me about the Coldwater situation?” He interrupted, his voice ice cold.

You felt like the floor had dropped from under you. “I can explain,” You started. “Please, let me explain.”

“Jimin already tried arguing the whole blackmailed story,” Hoseok replied flatly. “What I don’t get is why you decided not to tell me, if it’s true. I might’ve been able to help. Or we could have come up with a plan to reveal your identity earlier than we had originally thought. We could have figured something out. But now…” He dragged a hand over his face. He looked tired, haggered, as though this one conversation had taken every bit of energy out of him.

“I thought I could handle it,” The words felt hollow as you said them.

“No,” Hoseok shook his head. “You thought you could get away with it. There’s a difference.” You weren’t sure how to respond to that. “I’m indefinitely suspending you from the team.”

You could feel panic rising, and you tried to take a breath to calm yourself. “No. I made a mistake, and I’m so, so sorry. But I’ll make it up to you. I won today, I’m good for the team.

Hoseok’s expression didn’t change. “The only reason I’m not terminating the contract right now is because you just won.” He shook his head. “When we met, I told you my conditions were honesty, and no more illegal activity. I needed to know I could trust you, above anything else. And clearly, I can’t.” He shrugged, standing from the couch. He suddenly didn’t even seem angry anymore, just disappointed and resigned. “I’ll let you know when I decide what further action I’ll be taking. Don’t bother to show up for practice on Monday.”

After Hoseok was gone, you stood slowly, hardly even aware of what you were doing.

“Y/n…” Jimin hovered in the doorway, looking as lost as you felt. “He’ll come around.”

“I’m going for a drive,” You muttered, stepping past him.

“Y/n,” He tried again. “Give it some time. Think about it from Hoseok’s perspective, it’s a lot to take in. But he’ll understand once he has a chance to think it all over.”

But you could tell from his tone he was just as scared of the future as you were.

You didn’t plan to drive to Jungkook’s house. You got on the highway on autopilot, and went wherever felt right until you found yourself only a block away. Even then, you weren’t planning to see him until you realized it would be creepy to have driven all the way there only to sit in your car across the street. His lights were on, so you knocked once, twice. Just when you were about to call it a night and leave, he opened the door.

“Hey…” Jungkook paused, as though waiting for you to explain. “I wasn’t expecting… Did you text?” He glanced at his phone as he spoke to check it. He looked sleepy, and you wondered if you’d woken him up. Above his right temple was a bruised cut with two stitches.

“No,” You shook your head, suddenly feeling like you should have just sat in your car and been weird. “I just…Sorry, it’s late. I should go.”

Jungkook blinked owlishly at you. “It is late. You should stay.” He stepped out of the way for you to come in, then waved for you to follow him. He stretched and yawned loudly as he went. "There’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Jungkook had apparently been half-trying to play a zombie apocalypse video game, too tired to get past the level but too awake to sleep. You could relate to that feeling; you yourself were exhausted, both mentally and physically, but you knew if you tried to sleep now you’d lay staring at the ceiling until morning. He switched the game to multiplayer and tossed you a controller before asking; “Is everything alright?”

You focused on the game for a moment, trying to figure out how to answer. “Not really. But I’d rather not think about it.”

Jungkook frowned slightly, but let it drop for the moment. You were sitting on his bed side by side in front of the slightly ridiculously large screen on his wall. "I watched the playback of the crash,” You noted as Jungkook’s avatar fell off the rooftop only to respawn a moment later. “It looked pretty bad. Are you really okay?”

“You didn’t see it live?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow teasingly, but you suspected it was a genuine question.

“I missed it in all the commotion,” This, at least, was true. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Jungkook smirked. “Did you come over because you were worried about me?”

“I was worried,“ You admitted. "But no, that’s not the only reason.” You were trying to be more honest with him, even if you didn’t much like it.

Jungkook sighed and leaned back on the pillows, ignoring the game completely now. “I’ll be fine. The doctor said I could go home, so…” He shrugged. “My reserve driver will have to drive in my place for a race or two, but I’ll be back to a hundred percent by the rematch.”

“Rematch?” You repeated, now setting down your own controller to look at him.

Jungkook nodded as though it was obvious. “I didn’t win today. But,” He held a finger up. “There’s no way 52 is satisfied with the result either. We need to race one on one to settle this.”

“Jungkook…” You started, not sure yet where you were going with this. As the situation currently stood, it didn’t look likely that you’d be able to race him a second time–or anyone else, for that matter. "That… Might be a difficult thing to talk Hoseok into. And anyway, how could you arrange a race with just two teams…?”

Jungkook shrugged, unconcerned. “We could do it for charity. I don’t see any reason why Hoseok wouldn’t agree to it.” He tilted his head to the side. “Unless there’s something I don’t know?”

You shook your head somewhat unconvincingly. There was a mutual understanding between you that, though you joked about the rivalry between Jungkook and ‘52’, actual team politics and strategies were off limits. Up to this point, Jungkook had never asked you who 52 was, what was going on within the team, or what Hoseok’s greater plans were because it would put you in an uncomfortable spot.

“I ran into Hoseok while leaving the paddock,” Jungkook mused. “He seemed pretty angry for a guy whose team just won a race I participated in.”

“You realize how egocentric that last bit made you sound?”

“Is it egocentric if it’s true?” He countered without missing a beat. You hoped he would take the bait and get distracted, but he didn’t fall for it this time. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed how weird he was acting. There’s a rumor he and 52 had some kind of falling out.”

It was easy to forget sometimes just how perceptive Jungkook could be. You couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t an outright lie or would give too much away, so you picked up the game controller again.

“Does that mean it’s true?” He asked. If anything, your silence seemed to have made him more interested.

“Can we just not talk about Hoseok’s driver?” It came out harsher than you intended, and Jungkook looked taken aback. “What difference does it make to you, anyway? It’s not like 52 being stupid and pissing Hoseok off is going to affect you.”

“I thought you liked 52,” Jungkook’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “What did he do?”

“Ruined everything,” You muttered. The game wasn’t fun anymore, and this wasn’t the distraction you had hoped it would be. You took a shaky breath and looked down at the controller in your hands rather than at Jungkook. “That fucking asshole 52 ruined everything.”

You were very aware of Jungkook’s gaze on you, and the fact that he could probably tell that you were holding things back.

It was over, you realized. There was no reason for you to continue lying to him about being 52.

“Jungkook, 52 and I--” You closed your eyes. It was like a bandaid, you just needed to rip it off. Except the pain wouldn’t go away after you ripped it. You could lose Jungkook completely, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that right now.

“Did 52 hurt you?” Jungkook interrupted as though he said the words as soon as it occurred to him.

You opened your eyes to look at him. You were so caught up in your own thoughts it took a second to comprehend, and Jungkook took your pause as confirmation.

“If he did, I swear to god, I’ll figure out where the fuckwad lives and--” He was halfway out of bed as he spoke, though you weren’t sure where he thought he was going in his t-shirt and boxers at 3am.

“It’s nothing like that!” You couldn’t help the slight laugh as you caught his arm and pulled him back onto the bed. You knew it shouldn’t be funny, and tried to fix your face into something serious. “You didn’t even let me finish my sentence!”

Jungkook didn’t look entirely convinced, but he settled back down next to you against the pillows.

“52 and I...Aren’t getting along too well right now. Maybe you should ask Hoseok what happened.” You hated that you couldn’t get the words out. But you couldn’t lose Jungkook tonight, too. “Can we talk about something else?”

Jungkook looked anything but satisfied with your response, but shrugged with one shoulder before rolling onto his side so he was facing you, his head propped on his hand. “Sure.”

You scooted closer to him, getting comfortable while you tried to think of how to phrase your next question. “You’ve talked about retiring from racing since we first met,” You started, and Jungkook nodded. “But you’ve never really told me why. I don’t understand why anyone would willingly leave the sport. Especially someone who loves it as much as you do.”

Jungkook chewed his lip for a moment. “I do love the sport,” He agreed, a small smile flickering across his face. “And I think I always will. But it’s not really a part-time thing, you know?”

You shook your head no.

“There are other things I want to do, and I don’t really have time as long as I’m a driver.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What are you planning to do, then?”

Jungkook cleared his throat, glancing away from you. “You’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“Jungkook.”

He reluctantly met your eyes once more. “I want to open a lamb skewer restaurant.”

“Well. That’s very specific,” You said, trying very hard not to laugh. It wasn’t that his dream was funny so much as the way he was telling you about it. His ears were red, and he was pouting ever so slightly.

“I knew you’d laugh,” He complained.

“I’m not laughing,” You lied, unable to hold in your giggles. “I think it’s a great idea. It’s just,” You interrupted yourself to catch his lips with your own, one hand traveling up to run through his hair. “You told me yourself that you can’t cook.”

Despite himself, Jungkook grinned back. “I said I want to own the restaurant, not be the chef.” He moved so his legs straddled one of yours, his body tantalizingly close to your own without actually touching you.

“And I suppose you’ll have a wall dedicated to displaying all of your trophies?” You asked. You wanted him closer to you, but he already knew that. You could see it in the glint in his eyes. He wanted you to make the first move.

And just like that, it became an unspoken competition.

“Please,” Jungkook lowered himself just a hair, leaning in as though he was about to kiss you but stopping when his lips barely brushed yours. “I’d need more than just one wall for all of my trophies. And then I wouldn’t have room for the stage.”

“The stage?” You repeated, eyebrows raised. “Why do you need a stage in a lamb skewer restaurant?” One of your hands ghosted up his arm and down his abdomen to pull at the hem of his t-shirt without quite touching him. It ended up bunched around his shoulders, but he didn’t take it off.

“For the live bands,” He smirked, one hand leaving where it had been propped near your head to slowly make its way down your side. You could just barely feel his fingers through your jeans as they traced their way down your thigh and back up painfully slow. “And the stand-up comedians... And open mic nights…” You could see his resolve beginning to melt.

“You’re not really going to have open mic nights, are you?” You teased, then lowered your voice to a whisper. “What if someone covers a nickelback song?”

Jungkook actually snorted at that. “That would be unfortunate. Which is why open mic nights would be a twice-a-year thing, and I’d pre-approve the song list.”

His lips were once more mere centimeters away, just barely out of reach.

“You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?” You asked, all joking leaving your voice.

“I have,” He nodded, his hair tickling your forehead as he did so. There was something akin to worry in his eyes, and you reached up to brush his hair away from his face.

“I think your restaurant sounds wonderful,” You assured him, and you noticed an immediate change in his facial expression. Any sign of worry was gone, replaced by a playful glint in his eyes.

“You won’t think I’m boring if I leave the sport?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for you to be boring.”

“So true,” Jungkook leaned forward and finally kissed you slowly. You pulled him closer, reveling in his warmth.

When you pulled away briefly to breath, you couldn’t help but mutter, “I totally just won that, by the way.”

Jungkook laughed, burying his nose in the crook of your neck. “Somehow, I’m okay with that.”

...

A/N Omg thank you for sticking around to read this! Hopefully I'll be updating a little more frequently now. What are your thoughts? Feelings? Let me know! I absolutely love hearing from you guys--your wonderful feedback is what makes this so much fun. Thank you so much for reading! And I hope you're all taking care of yourselves and staying safe. I'm here for you guys! If you ever need an ear to listen, someone to rant to, or anything else, my inbox is always open! I love you all <3

#champion #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts jungkook scenarios #Jungkook Series #jeon jungkook fluff #bts jungkook fanfic #racecar driver au #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts scenario #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts imagine

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 4 years

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So motivated by anyone who shares they are working on losing weight. FYI 10kg is nothing to sniff at, esp. if you're not being too restrictive (as a lot of restrictive diets basically make you lose water weight at first, prob not your case). Keep it up!! If you don't mind answering, what are your goals?

I don’t mind, but I’m putting it under a cut because it’s going to be a looooooonnnnng ass ramble and I’m going to include some pics and I’m aware that I’ve already clogged everyone’s timelines with enough pictures today. Before I go off on my tangent, though, I want to make it really clear that I firmly believe that any person can be beautiful and love the way they look at any size. This is something that I am fighting very hard to believe about myself, too, regardless of what weight I am. I am not at all a believer in slimming down for the sake of vanity (despite my negative opinion of my own looks, vanity has never been a big enough motivator for me to lose weight), but this has progressed to the point where vanity isn’t even a consideration anymore.

Okay, so, backstory. When I first moved to England, I weighed 140lbs (63.5kg) and I looked like THIS ↓

Aren’t I BEAUTIFUL? I think so, even if nobody else does, I think so. I think so now. That part matters.

I can distinctly remember that when all three of these photos were taken, you see. I also distinctly remember looking at each one afterwards and thinking, “Fat, repulsive, disgusting.” Fat, repulsive, disgusting. That was my opinion of myself. I repeated those words in my head on a daily basis. I truly believed them. Hence, I’m wearing the same ugly cardigan in two of those pictures, because whenever I wore pretty clothes I felt so undeserving that I was compelled to cover them up with something ugly (the red dress is an anomaly because there was a dress code involved). EVERY TIME. It practically become automatic. “I’ve spent £40 on this dress, so what can I cover it with?” was basically my mantra. It was fine, I thought, because I didn’t care about pretty clothes. Liking pretty clothes was beneath me. This was a lie. I love pretty clothes. I love bright colours. I was drawing pictures of pretty gowns and tiaras from the age of six. But hey, easier to pretend that you don’t give a shit about pretty dresses than admit that you don’t feel worthy of wearing them.

I am seven whole-ass years older now, and I topped out at 283lbs (128kg) on the scales fives weeks ago. That is the heaviest I have ever been. I have doubled my body weight. By medical standards, I am extremely obese, and I’ve had seven whole-ass years to think on how I behaved back then. I’ve thought a lot about how much I hated my body and how undeserving I felt and how I stuffed myself full of junk food and said it didn’t matter because I was repulsive anyway, so why not? I wasn’t being kind to myself. How can I be a kind person if I don’t treat myself kindly? My own self-loathing has cost me my health, because in 2013, I didn’t need to take stomach tablets every day. I wasn’t vomiting a few times a week because of chronic digestive issues. I had regular periods. I lived in Sunderland and would get out of bed on my days off and walk three miles to Seaburn beach, just to hang out with a book and build sandcastles and paddle in the water and thoroughly enjoy my life. I had the ability to do that without wanting to collapse. I had the energy to write for hours on end without getting sleepy after forty minutes. I had lots of energy, lots of it!

I don’t have the luxury of enjoying any of that stuff now. I have lethargy and sluggishness and I get breathless walking up the stairs, and a huge part of that is because I have gained so much weight over the years, and because I have been eating things that specifically exacerbate my digestive issues. And I’m sick of it. My brother’s lottery win has been the most insane blessing to my family in that it is allowing us all to live out our wildest travelling dreams, and I don’t want to be the person who takes an eight hour flight to Paradise, only to sit around and do nothing because she just doesn’t have the strength. There is an eleven-year-old diamond in my life who I would do anything for, and I want more than anything to be able to bring him places and have fun with him and partake, instead of sitting on the sidelines holding coats because I am too fat to ride the rollercoaster (which happened to me, FYI, shout out to Port Aventura for sticking to safety measures, though the woman manning the coaster didn’t have to poke my thigh and say, “fat,” to make her point clear).

The thing is, and maybe this is a tl;dr moment that could have saved me a lot of trouble, but I am unhealthy and I’m tired and this is like...my life. My one life. What am I doing? I owe it to myself to treat my body better.

So these are my aims.

I want to get back to 140lbs. That is a healthy and reasonable weight for my height and body type. I am aware that I will not look the way I did in 2013 because I am seven years older, but I don’t care. I am aware that I will have loose skin and a belly and wobbly thighs when I reach this weight, but I don’t care. I will have energy. I will be healthier. I will be able to bring my stepson to all kinds of places and have the most fun with him.

No fad diets ever. This is all I’ve ever tried before, and the end result has always been the same: lose a bit and put it back on. I am making legitimate and incremental changes to my lifestyle. I am building lasting habits. I will weigh myself once a week to keep track of how I’m doing, but never more than that. I will exercise every day for a small amount of time, but if I miss a day for any reason, I won’t beat myself up about it. I will not skip meals. I will not deprive myself of food.

I am an excellent cook and I love trying new things, so I will be using that skill to find and experiment with new, delicious recipes from all over the world for my family to eat. Once lockdown ends, I’m going to start throwing dinner parties. I think this will really help me to change my attitude towards food and make meals fun for me, rather than a self-inflicted punishment.

No denying myself things. If I want to get a McDonalds I will get a McDonalds because, y’know what? Tomorrow I am going to have lots of veggies and cook myself a good, nutritious dinner, and that McDonalds won’t be anything but a delicious interlude in my week that I am not going to feel bad about.

No hiding myself in drab clothes. I hate wearing brown, grey and black and yet it accounts for most of my wardrobe. Both of those cardigan pics were taken in the middle of summer. I have wasted years of my life sweating it out in long sleeves and leggings so other people wouldn’t see, and for who? For what purpose? I am going to buy all the pretty clothes I like, wear loads of bright colours. Fuck it, it’s just for me.

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redninjakitty14rp · 4 years

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Inktober, But With Writing And The MM Prompts But For Different Fandoms: Be My Princess- Day 1: Favorite Character

Soooooo, I kinda like love all the princes a whole fucking lot and I can’t really choose between them, so I’m just gonna do the first route I played, which was my darling Edward. FYI, my oc for him has two names: Kaida and Serenity. Soo I might flip flop between using them, sorry, very sorry, it’s a backstory thing, and I’m trying to use Kaida more. Also, I’ll post the prompt list on here, too! Even though it’s a different fandom.

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Kaida had never meant to fall in love. It was an accident. A lovely accident. A beautiful, wonderful accident. Edward had felt the same. Honestly, it was love at first sight. The tingles ran throughout their bodies as their eyes met, reaching for the same flower in a botanical garden. They had both meant to just gently touch, her as she was going to photograph and draw it, him out of curiosity. Her odd silverish brown hair shined in the moonlight, and his amethyst eyes sparkled as he looked at her. Why were they both at this place at such a late hour? Well, to be fair, it was winter and it got dark by 5 p.m. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the feeling that was blooming. Kaida was so distracted that she dropped the sketchbook she was holding, and again their fingers met when they both reached for it. When moving to Charles, she never expected any relationships, and she certainly wasn’t expecting a literal fairytale to happen before her. They exchanged names, and Edward happened to notice that on her drawings she had a tag to her social medias. He made a mental note of that. Not that it mattered, because she suddenly blurted, “Do you want my number?” It was rare for her to be so flustered, but how couldn’t you around such a charming and handsome man?! She still couldn’t believe she had his number.. He couldn’t believe he’d met someone so enchanting. This was the start of a blossoming flower.

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Considering how long it took me to write this, I’m stopping here, where and how they met. I might add more to it someday, let me know if you want me to! Once again, @sensetenou came up with the prompts, and I just decided to apply them to other fandoms because I liked them so much. Is this a bad time to plug that I rp BMP and MM on discord? I do little things on tumblr, but you can ask my ocs shit! Speaking of shit, this was shittier than the MM one. I am so sorry. I have no clue where my amazing skills went. They’ve never really been there, but I guess having severe ADHD and like no motivation does this. I swear I write really well with cool adjectives. That was more to convince myself. Goodbye.

#bmp #be my princess #edward levaincois #my love #they're so sweet #ocs #inktober?#ink=pens=writing so good enough for me #TO THE NEXT ONE

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1-1snailxd-art · 5 years

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Sanders Sides Oneshot - Babysitting

This is how you beat writers block - you draw and then find your will to write afterwards.

Characters/relationships: Logan / Virgil (analogical), Patton / Roman (Royality), Kid Thomas

Warnings: none

Words: 1511

Summary: This came about from a post by @fanartfunart and seeing as I’m trying to learn how to draw people better, I decided to challenge myself with a drawing....that drawing then turned into a little fic. FYI, I know there is a lot wrong with Logan’s proportions in the picture (I can see it), but Thomas is cute so whatever.

_____________________________________

"Don't be such a baby, Logan." Virgil huffed, following his partner into the kitchen. "It's a kid, not a freakin' nuclear bomb."

"I know that, but..." Logan kept his back to Virgil as he absentmindedly took ingredients for dinner out of the fridge and cupboards. "I don't know anything about babysitting a child."

Watching the cook’s shoulders slump at the admission, Virgil softened his tone and moved to lean on the counter next to Logan.

"What's to know, Lo? You give him some food, easy for you, and turn on the TV. Job done." Virgil sighed when Logan didn't look away from the bowl in front of him; hands floured as he prepared a pasta dough. "Look, I only need to be in the studio for an hour at most; then I'll come straight home. You can entertain 'til I get back, right?"

"Are you sure you can't stay?"

The tone of Virgil's phone gave him his answer as the other man quickly excused himself to take the call. It wasn't that Logan didn't like children; he just didn't think he was good for children. Honestly, he questioned daily what Virgil saw in him; a pensive, workaholic wasn't that romantic and didn't scream partner material. Patton on the other hand was destined to be a parent; they'd wanted to be one since they were kids.

The pasta dough came into shape as Logan recalled the day Patton video called them to announce they had been approved for adoption now Roman had consistent work. He'd shared in their excitement but never fully understood it. Admittedly, Logan was still hurt that Patton had moved so far away to support Roman's career and their relationship took a hit from the distance.

Setting the finished dough aside to rest, Logan washed his hands and turned to find the dejected Virgil walking back in.

"Virgil? What's wrong?"

"I've gotta go, Lo. Shit's hit the fan with the computers at the studio and Nate's pissed."

"How bad is it?" Logan moved closer, knowing there would be no way out of this now and accepting that he would have to face Patton alone.

"Backups failing bad. I should have gone in earlier when it was just a glitch. It was stupid of me to ignore it and-fuck I'm gonna pay for it n-"

Logan tilted Virgil's chin back and placed a soft kiss on his lips to silence the worrier.

"I apologise for my earlier attitude and clouded judgements. I will be fine this evening. You should go." Taking Virgil's hand, Logan walked him towards the door. "I will be fine until you or Patton return."

"Yeah, you will." he replied with a half-smile, before giving Logan a final kiss goodbye and heading out the door.

The silence of the apartment was crushing as Logan threw himself onto the couch; sliding his glasses up off his face as he massaged his brow. It was all too much at once. First, he was just worried about seeing Patton and Roman again after years of dwindling contact; then they asked the couple to babysit while they went to the award ceremony that brought them to town; and now Logan would have to face it all alone. A knock at the door pulled Logan from his thoughts and he was quick to sit up and correct himself before answering it.

"Hey Specs" Roman smiled from the entry; the pink backpack on his shoulder a harsh contrast to the black suit he wore. "It's great to see you again!"

"It's good to see you too, Roman. You are looking well considering the travel."

"Oh please," With a hand gesture Roman stepped into the apartment and put the apparently heavy bag down. "It would take more than a few hours on a plane to ruin this face."

"Indeed," Logan chuckled, turning just in time to see a pink blur heading towards him.

"Uncle Logan!" Came a cheery voice as a body slammed into Logan and constricted his middle.

"Um...Thomas, I presume."

Logan looked up to see Patton beaming as they walked up the path in a simple blue gown. They looked so happy and lively that Logan forgot all his past grievances; it seemed Patton was happy and that was all that mattered.

"That's my Thomas," Patton giggled.

"It's good to see you again, Patton." Logan pulled a face as he looked down at the figure still holding his arms by his sides. "Your son is very... Huggie."

Roman and Patton both laughed, and Roman snapped a quick picture of the awkward man pinned by his son.

"Oh, I know. I trained him well, don't you think?"

"Indeed, Patton, but...um," Thomas giggled as Logan tried to lift his arms out of the vice grip around him. "How do I un-train him? I do need to work at some point this evening."

"That will do, Thomas; give Uncle Lo some breathing room."

At Roman's word, Thomas let go and moved to his father's side. Logan's moment of reprieve was short lived as Patton replaced their son, pulling their old friend close and whispering in his ear.

"I really missed you, Logan."

"I..." For a moment, he was lost for words before mimicking the tight grip around his friend. "I missed you too."

The group remained in the entry as Patton began rattling off things Thomas could and couldn't do. Though he listened intently, Logan's eyes kept shifting to the young boy in the pink jacket that lent against Roman; holding onto his father’s arms around his neck and smiling up at Logan.

".... And if you need anything, just call me and I'll come right back and-"

"Calm down, Pat." Roman interjected, "We're just going for a few hours. I'm sure Lo and Thomas will be fine."

"Right. You're right."

"I always am." "That's not true, Dad." Thomas turned to look up at his father in confusion. "We were late to the airport because you got the times wrong, and you brought the wrong chocolate milk last week, and you-"

"Alright, that's enough." Roman was quick to scoop the boy up and headed inside. "Let's get you set up, hey."

A smile crept across Logan's face as he watched them go.

"Is that a genuine smile I see, Logan?" It comforted Patton to see him looking so content, despite his obvious fear of being responsible for Thomas.

"I'm proud of you, Patton." Their eyes widened as Logan turned; his own shining in the sun light. "You made the family you always wanted." "Almost," they laughed. "It's just missing one thing." "Hm?" Brows furrowing in confusion, Logan wracked his brain for what Patton was talking about. "What could you possibly be missing?"

"Just an uncle to teach Thomas about computers and another to show him how to cook. Any idea on where I could find them?"

"I think I do, but they live pretty far away." "That's okay, we're moving anyway." "What?" Logan was genuinely shocked by the news, mouth left ajar as Roman came up from behind and place a hand on his shoulder.

"You ready to be a full-time uncle, Logan?"

The question left Logan reeling. Three years ago, Patton left their teaching position to follow Roman's quest for recognition in music and theatre; leaving Logan and Virgil behind in the process. One year ago, they adopted Thomas and their contact became almost non-existent; so to be told they were returning to include him and Virgil in their family...was amazing.

"I suppose I'll have to be."

This time, Logan initiated a group hug; wrapping an arm around each of his friends and briefly forgetting that they had somewhere to be and he had a job to do.

"Jeez Specs, Thomas rubbed off on you quickly." Roman joked; causing Logan to quickly step back and adjust his tie.

"Ah, yes, sorry." Logan stumbled over his words, causing his friends to laugh at his sudden display of affection. "I got a little carried away." "It's okay, Lo." Patton assured, waving at the little figure that was poking his head over the couch inside. "But we should get going or we'll never leave."

"Right. Yes. Of Course."

Logan watched as Patton blew a kiss to Thomas before heading down the front path with Roman. Once the car had pulled away, he shut the door and turned to the smiling figure kneeling on the couch, waiting patiently. Brown eyes looked expectantly at him and he thought about Patton's wish for uncles for their son.

"So… Thomas. Have you ever made pasta before?" The boy shook his head and slipped off the couch as Logan held his hand out. "Perhaps it's time uncle Logan taught you then."

*************************

When Virgil came home, he was shocked to find the apartment lit only by Steven Universe playing on the TV. Tiptoeing around the couch he was greeted to the scene of Logan fast asleep with Thomas laying on his chest. It didn't look comfortable at all, but Virgil had to admit it was an adorable thing to come home to.

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Tags: @thequeensphinx

What else have I done:

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton, cursed Deceit and ridiculous Remus)

Libraries are for Meetings (ongoing WIP - Human/University au with Royality and developing Analogical. Slow burn and heavily focused on a grieving group of friends that Virgil slowly becomes a part of to better himself.)

And more....

Writing Master Post

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

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brookewritesyk · 3 years

Text

𝐢. 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃 is a name that you probably haven't heard in the MCU, right? Yet I'm here breaking the fourth wall. Well, it's probably as I am one of the forgotten 'heros'. Oh, it's not by choice but at the same time, it is.

So you're probably laying in bed right now on Wattpad and it's 3 am and your thinking 'Who the fuck is Fallon Creed and why is she relevant?'. In all honesty, sometimes I don't know the answer but Fallon Creed had a close relationship with your dear friend and avenger Wanda Maximoff. Yes, you read it right had a close relationship with Wanda Maximoff. Now I'm not going to tell you what happened yet as I'm very touchy about it, not because the author wants to create suspense and dramatic effect. FYI If you're looking for that Y/N bullshit you're reading the wrong book sweetheart. Anyway, enough of that fourth wall shit let's get serious, and no it's something I normally don't do either.

THIRD PERSON POV

Panic. Panic is what Fallon felt and it was unusual. Something was unbalanced. Fallon had felt similar to this but not this drastically therefore unusual. As quick as flash, Fallon jolted up in a laboured breath, dull moonlight danced in through the windows of her bedroom. Fallon lived in a tiny and overpriced apartment in New York, the walls were weathered grey colour and electric blue door and window frames and minimalistic furniture. Fallon had thin and short brunette hair which contrasted beautifully with her clear ivory skin and deep cyan eyes.

"Come on you pussy." Fallon ridiculed herself, massaging her forehead and sighing. Blinking, she looked over to her side and glanced at her digital alarm clock which read '5:12 AM'. Even more annoyed with herself, she lazily rolled out of her bed, knowing she would have to show up to work soon. Fallon a supernatural, powerful woman successfully tested with the soul stone has a very high paying job, a Personal Assistant. I know so glamourous who wouldn't want to organise someone else's life for a minimum wage salary and occasionally being yelled at?

Looking up at herself in the mirror she immediately noticed something, her eyes. They were a piercing orange, something was definitely was wrong. Like I said this was unusual it's only happened once and it wasn't that long ago in 2023. Ignoring it for now, she strolled over to the kitchen counter and starts brewing some coffee. Meanwhile, Fallon turned on her computer then logged in and opening a private tab on chrome and searched up 'Wanda Maximoff'. Remembering that she had started brewing her coffee, she quickly rose from her cold and uncomfortable desk chair and scurried to the kitchen counter. Coming back, she returned to her computer and saw numerous results of Wanda. However, the latest article link she saw made her stomach churn. 'Wanda Maximoff missing, last seen at Anthony Edward Stark's private funeral'. With no hesitation, she clicked on the link and scanned through the article looking for more information.

"Oh shitballs." Fallon cursed with now wide eyes, looking at the clock in the corner of her computer which read '7:30' and she was meant to be at work at 7, so right on schedule. In a hurry, she scrambled around her desk draws looking for her emergency coloured contact lenses. Oh fuck my life, Fallon thought as she realised that the only spare contact lenses she had were hazel which was a bit of a problem. Running her hand through her short hair, she carelessly popped open the box and put them in. Hastily, she ran to her wardrobe and looked through it the only thing she could find was a short grey pencil skirt and a very deep cut white blouse that would defiantly show more than what was considered professional. With reluctance, she swiftly unzipped the pencil skirt and stepped into it then threw on her blouse.

After getting dressed, Fallon ran down the emergency exit stairs into the city that never sleeps, New York. New York is a city that a typical Y/N would describe as 'amazing' and 'spectacular'. Maybe if you lived in Manhattan that would be the case but when you live in the dodgy part of Queens maybe not so much. Whilst shrugging on her pastel orange blazer, successfully she hollered a taxi and got in but just before she heard a man yell who had to be at least in his 40s "Nice ass sweetheart!".

Whilst clenching her jaw, she smiled apologetically at the taxi driver and asked for him to wait for 2 minutes. Fallon got out of the car and stalked towards the random man and now putting on her 'don't fuck with me face'. "The fuck did you just say?" Fallon rhetorically asked.

Obviously not getting it, he started to repeat what he cat-called but was interrupted by Fallon threatening scarily calmer "If you mutter another syllable I will cut you dick of and shove it so far down your throat that you wouldn't breathe for a week."

Now frightened he gulped and Fallon quipped, "Now fuck of you asshole." Which made him scramble away.

"Sorry about that." Fallon apologised unfazed stepping back into the taxi and giving the driver the address of the company.

──────────────────────────

Rushing out of the car, she quickly paid the drive the taxi fare and thanked him and ran into the building. Scanning around the room she looked for the reception desk and ran up to it when she found it. "H-Hey h-hi, P-Pam i-is Thomas in office still?" Fallon rushed out.

"Hey, Fallon yeah Mr Hill is in do you want me to?-" Pam started but was cut off by Thomas storming in and yelling "Where the fuck were you? I missed a meeting and-".

"Look I'm sorry Thomas but I-"

"I have had enough of your bullshit! And what are you wearing? You look like a hooker!" Mr Hill spat with anger.

"I'm sorry what?" Fallon asked not believing what she had heard.

"You heard me! You look like a prostitute!" Mr Hill repeated seeing now issue of what he was saying.

"How dare you, you misogynist piece of shit. This outfit personally is not something I would where however it is fucking foul how you could say that to your PA without any guilt. Now before you can fire me, I quit. Good luck finding a new PA you motherfucker." Fallon fired back and chucking her lanyard on the reception and storming out not giving a single fuck.

──────────────────────────

As you may tell Fallon's day is going great so far:

1. Found out that her ex-best friend is missing even though she hasn't seen her in years

2. Was cat called twice and then being fired from sed cat caller

Fallon threw her keys on the mantlepiece and slouched down in disbelief of what happened today. Just as she was about to take out her contacts lenses, her doorbell rang. Perplexed, she silently tiptoed towards the door and began to tense her hands, creating a deep orange sparky orb in her left hand. Cautiously, she opened the door and peaked her head around it saw two clearly agents about to ring the doorbell again.

"Can I help you?" Fallon asked tilting her head to the side.

"Oh thank God it's you!" A female agent sighed in relief.

"Huh?" Fallon asked puzzled.

"Oh right, I'm Monica, Monica Rambeau." Monica introduced smiling brightly.

"And I'm Jimmy Woo." An Asian man introduced flipping his FBI card "Also I would advise standing down your powers."

"What?" Fallon asked, faking further confusion.

"We know who you are Fallon Creed." Monica informed, "We need your help."

"Why would I-"

"It's regarding Wanda Maximoff." Jimmy Woo interjected.

"Wanda Maximoff who is-?" Fallon countered now becoming slightly more panicked.

"Fallon you don't need to lie." Monica cut off pulling up Fallon's file.

"How do you know who I am?" Fallon challenged.

"I think we have a lot to talk about."

#meetagain #x oc #fallon creed #mcu #marvel #wanda maximoff #wandavision #vision #jimmy woo #monica rambeau

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bigskydreaming · 4 years

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I mean, here’s the thing....

I’m more than capable of writing positive Batfam posts, meta deep dives that don’t dwell overlong on negativity, serious content, light hearted content, content about each and every one of the Batfam....anyone familiar with just a few different samples of my posts knows I do not lack for topics to happily ramble on about for absurd lengths. Hell, I’m pretty sure there’s a direct correlation where like, the less negative emotions I have about the content I’m writing, the LONGER it ends up being.

So its not like I particularly need or want to be the ‘loud angry scary adult cis white man yelling at kids’ to have something to say or talk about. Or that I particularly like that state of mind. I’m certainly not unaware of my privileges or that I can be off-putting or not someone everyone wants to be around on here. Its actually something I put a lot of thought into regularly, as personal accountability is such a big deal to me, and that certainly includes my own. There are times where I’ve looked back on something and thought yeah, I definitely could’ve dialed it down there.

But not gonna lie, given that personal accountability is kinda My Theme and I DO put a lot of time and effort into being self-aware and taking care not to cross certain lines, whether you believe me or not or agree with where I draw my lines or not....

Its more than a little obnoxious to regularly see my positive posts and my emotion-neutral meta posts and even my negative critical of canon posts take off and get hundreds of notes in just a couple of days....

But without fail, any time I so much as suggest that fandom’s perpetuating some of the very same toxic tendencies I criticize canon for, with the extension of that thought being hey fandom, unlike canon and how its written, we actually can do something about how we write these very same matters and slowly but surely normalize reader resistance to canon still perpetuating those ideas in the future, and maybe someday even they might buy a vowel and realize hey, our audience does not like what we’re selling here.

*Shrugs* Or maybe not. But even SOME changes to how specific problematic tropes and dynamics are being written in fandom currently could still only be an improvement, is all I’m saying.

Except, every time, without fail, no matter HOW I go about saying it, how polite, mild, civil, non-accusatory....its either crickets or immediate heels dug into the sand as often the very same people who commented on my neutral meta with variations of ‘this is pretty insightful’, like at the mere SUGGESTION its worth taking a more critical look at their own content to see what they might unknowingly be perpetuating and like....the very idea of asking fic writers to be more accountable for what toxic tendencies we perpetuate within our own creative works, even just among our own far more limited platforms....

Its like... HOLD UP! I AM BEING ATTACKED! WITHOUT CAUSE! WHY DO YOU HATE THE FANS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ALL THIS STUFF ABOUT THE ACTUAL COMICS???

And its just like....uh....I did. I do. You were there. You were saying I was making some really good points. But without calling any individuals out or making specific insinuations or personal attacks....I am suddenly just the most unreasonable of the unreasonables, because I dared say “hey, we can’t do anything about what canon writes, but we can do something about the things we write, and actually transform some of the more problematic tendencies and dynamics from canon into things that benefit all the characters and all the fans.”

But nah. Without exception, those posts either get nada or they get vitriol, no matter my own linguistic volume....and meanwhile, posts I made just before them and just after them are now hitting the thousand notes mark. So I kinda can’t help but wonder, is the problem really that I magically lose all ability to grasp supremely basic concepts and start spewing irrelevant gibberish anytime I’m critical of fandom specifically? Or.....just spitballing here....is it at ALL possible that maybe I’m not as much of the problem there as you want to make me about to be?

Like, say what you will about how toxic my more negative, angry posts can be, but personally, I think artificial positivity is just as toxic....plastering a ‘I see nothing wrong here’ sign with a smiley face over a bunch of mold doesn’t actually accomplish anything but allow that mold to fester and grow even further, without notice, until it becomes too widespread to ignore anymore at which point its usually rooted so deep its impossible to get out.

So yeah. I get angry, the all caps come out, and the volume level of my posts on those subjects rises. Its something I’m aware of and something I’m okay with and stand by with certain posts and that I decide I’m not okay with and keep an eye against repeating with certain other posts. Its a process, it doesn’t have an endpoint or finish line, and I’m okay with all of that.

What I’m NOT okay with though, and never will be, is the heat I draw for that and the condemnations and criticisms of my behavior and how toxic and unpleasant I make fandom with those posts....as though the tendencies I’m pointing out in them, by virtue of already being present throughout fandom, don’t already make it toxic and unpleasant in a lot of ways, for a lot of people.

But for all the times I have someone respond to me or call me out specifically for one of my angry posts that very deliberately are made with no specific individuals in mind, just generic references to fandom wide tendencies as a whole....there’s a whole lot of ‘helpful advice’ for all the things I should do different or better to avoid making fandom a more toxic place.....and not a hint of awareness that there’s anything at all they could be doing differently to make fandom less toxic than it already is in various ways.

So just saying, I’m kiiiiiinda not super keen on being lectured for my shit by people who are committed to the belief that their own shit doesn’t stink....WHILE AT THE SAME TIME, I have a good half a dozen positive or neutral meta posts still making the rounds through fandom and consistently picking up notes that according to the tags, generally seem to be viewed as adding positively to fandom in their own respective fashions.

Which basically from my perspective, makes things look like this:

Me: regularly contributes positive content that’s received positively by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, with zero negativity attached to these posts....regularly contributes meta content that’s deemed insightful and adding fresh viewpoints by lots of different parts of fandom, not just the Dick Grayson stan corner of it, again, with zero negativity attached because it doesn’t rely on putting down any other characters to make whatever points I’m after.....

....but then contributes posts that are critical of certain specific characterizations and viewpoints within fandom itself, without actually having a twelve step powerpoint presentation attached detailing ALL FANS MUST DO THIS INSTEAD....and instead I usually just include a spectrum of possible alternative takes.....

But wait! Nooooow comes the pushback. Which usually sounds like various forms of this:

Stop trying to police us! La la la la can’t hear you over the sound of your moral superiority complex! You just want us to do exactly what you want us to do which is gaslighting and the very same abusive behavior you talk about which makes you abusive!

And also, a bunch of changing the subject or avoiding addressing various points I raise completely.

Maybe you see my issue? I don’t need tips on how to be a positive fandom presence, I actually don’t have any trouble creating positive content or meta, a large amount of which is deemed insightful and humorous and otherwise well received....but the second I make a criticism of fandom and suggest there’s things fans could be doing differently to address the toxicity existing around various characters in various respects, instead of just keeping everything about DC’s flaws which none of us including me have any kind of platform to even reach DC with......

Suddenly I have ZERO idea what I’m talking about, I clearly don’t get the point of fandom, period, I’m obsessed with my own moral righteousness, and am like, so out of the ballpark misguided its not even funny, and I need all of this explained to me like a five year old, because everyone obviously should get that ‘we’re just fans, why are you blaming us for things we write specifically instead of DC who are getting paid as if that’s even the point?’

So yup. I get ticked off, I make more posts venting about being ticked off, rinse and repeat and my volume goes up.

And that’s it by the way.

You’ll notice, that’s kinda the worst that ever happens, because I literally have never done anything but....type posts with lots of capitalized letters. I don’t target specific individuals, I don’t harass people, I don’t @ specific fics or fic writers or urge people to flood their comments or ask boxes with callouts. I’ve never called anyone in this fandom names or made personal attacks other than the posts various people have felt targeted by because my description of specific tropes or tendencies I have a problem with apparently made them think I was talking about them I guess? Hmm. Weird.

So what’s the point of this post? Idk. Nothing really. Not trying to accomplish anything, just putting my thoughts out there as a way to work through them because like....that’s literally what I have this blog for, lmao. And FYI, I super don’t appreciate the tactic of condemning me for my quote unquote rage issues and framing all this as me yelling at kids on the internet....kids, specifically, and oh right, just screaming at people rather than addressing my own abusive behavior.

Since abuse is a hugely personal and important topic to me, let me just say accusing me of abusing generic fandom in general (since again, I haven’t actually made any of this personal about any individual with my fandom criticisms)....like, I’m quite willing to consider and address flaws in my own behavior when raised, but I’m not a fan of being called abusive in a context that demonstrates a complete lack of awareness as to what abuse actually is.

You don’t like me yelling on my blog? Fine, you don’t have to like it, or me. But abuse is the exploitation of a power differential, taking advantage of power one person has over the other, or that the other person just doesn’t have period. The fact that I am an adult cis white man does not make me aggressively capitalizing stuff in my own posts the same as “the same triggering position of the cisgender man who screams and makes kids feel scared and wince and hide from your posts.”

Like, lol, nice. Classy. I mean who cares right, that yeah, even acknowledging that we can legitimately sense tones and moods through even written text.....a person ranting on their internet blog is not remotely interchangeable with the physical presence of an adult cis white man loudly screaming in your face and with the potential for immediate consequences and harm. Does that mean the tone of my posts is above criticism? No. It means exactly what I said. The one is not the same as the other.

Secondly, the repeated insistence on me yelling at kids...and this person I’m quoting isn’t the only one who’s done this, FYI, and its crap. Am I unaware that there are a lot of minors in fandom? No, I absolutely am not. Its why I make a point to check the blog of someone I’m replying to heatedly before I respond, to make sure they’re not a minor, and if they are, I don’t engage. So that I can categorically state, with complete certainty, I have never yelled at a kid in this fandom. Do my generic yells about ‘fandom’ not include kids then? Yeah, you could say kids are included there, though again I’d have to question why my criticisms of specific handlings of specific subjects somehow equates to me yelling at specific individuals, whom apparently are all kids and only kids. Like, framing my posts as being all about me screaming at kids specifically is a deliberate choice with a clear aim of making me look as bad as possible. This isn’t subtle.

Third, as an abuse survivor I’m keenly aware that doesn’t exempt me from being abusive myself, but it does mean I find it really fucking gross to be labeled abusive because my posts make kids feel scared and wince and want to hide from my posts. As someone who as a kid absolutely had to hide from their abuser in fear, I really, dearly would love to know what exactly it is about the capitalized sentences written by a man who couldn’t even pick a stranger’s URL out of a lineup, that’s so scary that kids, specifically, want to run and hide from the big bad posts. No, seriously. Go on. Please tell me what exactly it is about my screaming rage issues as conveyed by my posts, which pose any kind of threat or even the potential of threat for someone who I’ve never interacted with and only feels personally attacked by my posts by virtue of associating themselves with the behaviors or tendencies I’ve centered in those posts as the things I’m specifically angry about.

I also apparently am abusive because that’s what you call it when I gaslight or attempt to gaslight a fandom....which is apparently what you call it when my fandom policing tries to get everyone to do exactly what I want them to do. Which again is pretty interesting to me given that I’ve literally never told even generic ‘fandom’ at large to do anything in specific other than....’hey this thing I think is shitty and thus am criticizing shouldn’t be a thing, stop doing it.” Oh wait, I’m sorry, I also ask people to consider their creative impact and not insist on pretending everything we write exists in a vacuum and has no potential to carry harm, and just keep this in mind when making our creative choices. Still not sure how that’s demanding everyone do things exactly the way I want them, since the only clear and actionable request or demand in all of that is...omg....HE ASKED THAT WE THINK ABOUT THE STUFF WE WRITE, HOW COULD HE???

Like, literally, that’s the furthest any of my angry, rage-borne DEMANDS have gone: I’ve asked people apply more personal accountability to their own creative works and not take their potential impact for granted just because they’re a fic writer rather than a published one....and oh yeah, not engage in perpetuating certain tropes or dynamics I consider toxic.

Now, anyone is certainly welcome to disagree with my take on any or all of those tropes, tendencies or dynamics being toxic....but to do so, like, you need to actually DISAGREE AND MAYBE EVEN TELL ME WHY. But the overall refusal to engage with any of my posts criticizing certain fandom tendencies regarding the characters, other than to make it about my overall toxicity and RAGE.....like, that means that I keep making posts that include specific examples for what I’m describing and why I think they’re toxic, and nobody’s actually made any kind of case for me being wrong in any of those posts? So.....its not actually gaslighting to try and convince people these things I bring up are toxic....when I’m actually including reasons and examples of the things I’m talking about in order to convince people, and I’m not actually ignoring, evading or misconstruing counter-arguments....because nobody’s actually making counter arguments in the first place!! That’s not fucking gaslighting, that’s called EXPRESSING MY VIEWPOINT ON A MATTER.

And for the record, like I said earlier, abuse is the perversion or exploitation of a power differential. Try all you want, but you can’t claim I have power over myriad specific individuals I don’t even know EXIST without them interacting with me directly....power that I’m then exploiting just by yelling at stuff on my blog. Yes I’m aware of my overall privileges as a cis and white man. But none of those change a damn thing about the fact that I’m not actually yelling at anyone in specific and people reading my posts have to decide for THEMSELVES whether the thing I’m pissed about is a thing they do before they can even CLAIM to feel at all ‘targeted’ by my RAGE (with me still not being able to tell from that who any particular individual this might apply to is, and also, THATS NOT EVEN THE POINT OF ANY OF MY POSTS)....NOR do any of my privileges negate the fact that every single one of you exists in varying physical distances from me, unknown to me, and I have ZERO power to compel you to even read my posts in the first place, or to keep you from exiting your browser or app or even just going ahead and blocking me to be sure you’re ‘safe’ from the big bad abusive boogeyman and his posts of Gaslighting and Rage.

Me venting on my own damn blog, even knowing that other people can see what I post and share it if they want, is NOT the same thing as screaming in your face and making you want to wince and hide, no matter WHO you are. It just literally isn’t. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a problem with my posts or my tone, it just means what it says. Its not the same thing, they’re not interchangeable or even comparable, because NONE OF YOU ARE A CAPTIVE AUDIENCE. There are NO possible consequences to ignoring, disagreeing with or just scrolling past my posts, firstly because THERE’S ZERO WAY FOR ME TO EVEN KNOW THAT, IF I EVEN CARED. Nobody, kid or adult, can ever HIDE from my posts, because that would first require MY POSTS EVER BE ABLE TO FIND THEM. Whatever the hell THAT even means.

You’re not my prisoners. You don’t have to be here. You’re not even ACTUALLY HERE. Nobody owes me an audience, and honestly, the lack of one wouldn’t change all that much because I babble on all the time about shit none of my followers actually care about, because I post for ME first and foremost, and people from there are welcome to do whatever they want to do with my content, or do nothing with it at all. I literally don’t care, other than thinking its shitty that so many people find my content worthwhile except and until I get critical of fandom behaviors at which point they only engage with it to make it all about ME and MY toxicity instead of anything I actually posted about. Which I then...gasp...vent about. How dare I be angry in the space I cultivated for myself online and other people chose to look in on by their own choice because rather than being threatened or bullied into doing so, they found at least something I’d said interesting enough to be worth listening to hear what else I might say.

I HAVE ZERO POWER OVER ANY OF YOU. At most my posts hold some weight for the people who think I generally have interesting or insightful things to say, but that’s literally it, and that’s the result of me having said things they find interesting and insightful overall. I can’t MAKE anyone do anything, if I’d ever even tried to make anyone do anything other than actually LISTEN to what I ACTUALLY am saying on certain subjects and CONSIDER IT. So if we’re going to throw words like gaslighting around so carelessly, we might want to hold that one up next to the phrase ‘fandom policing’ I so often get accused of....as though I’m any kind of actual authority with actual power to actually enforce any actual agenda I even actually have.

Which brings me to the last thing I want to touch on, which is my supposed moral righteousness, that oozes all over everything I post and drowns out any good points I have to make, which again, apparently is just in terms of fandom criticisms, since every other point I’ve ever made in fandom seems to come through just fine.

Like.....tbh, I don’t really know what to do with the many times I’ve heard people say I’m self-righteous and obsessed with my own moral righteousness. Considering like...I’m not shy about acknowledging my flaws, I know perfectly well I can be loud and angry and aggressive in my posts and have talked plenty before about not being super proud of that, I’ve never claimed to be a saint and I don’t think my actions and choices are the gold standard everyone should adhere to. In fact, the only time I make a point to state what *I* do or did or what *I* think or believe....is when its directly relevant to something critical I’m saying.

And you think that’s because I want everyone to be aware of how moral and righteous I am? Fucking please, if I were as self-absorbed as you people make me out to be when giving me shit, I just wanna know when you think I’d have time to squeeze out 10K of random Batfam meta every other day, instead of being busy finding new things to say about myself.

Literally the only reason I make a point to bring up my own behavior or choices when criticizing others is because PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY IS THE CORE THEME OF LITERALLY EVERYTHING I SAY IN THIS REGARD.

And you know what personal accountability requires? A willingness to acknowledge and address your own behavior. Which is why its kinda hilarious the consensus seems to be I’m too up my own ass to even be aware of my own behavior or actions, given that the literal actual reason I bring up examples of what I did or think when making posts about personal accountability....is to stress that REGARDLESS of what those things were, I think its important to not just be talking out of my ass. But rather to emphasize I hold myself to the same expectations I’m asking other people to consider, I’m putting it out there and on the record, here’s what I did relevant to this matter I’m talking about and why I made that choice....see, I’m not asking anything of anyone else that I don’t expect to be held to myself. ITS NOT ABOUT TRYING TO IMPRESS PEOPLE WITH MY MORAL RIGHTEOUSNESS, ITS LITERALLY JUST ME TRYING TO ESTABLISH I’M NOT LOOKING TO BE A HYPOCRITE IN THIS REGARD, SPECIFICALLY.

Like, is maybe that unnecessary and counter-productive? Could be, its something for me to think about some more, but gotta tell you, its a little hard figuring out what will and won’t work when I’m STILL waiting on the first time someone actually engages me on an actual criticism I’m actually voicing about fandom.

*Shrugs* Whatever. Like I said, I don’t even know if this post has a point beyond just getting this all out of my head, so whatever. Make of it what you will. People will likely still just keep viewing me however they already do, for better or worse. Oh well. C’est la vie. Its not the end of the world anymore than any other post I make is, no matter how much RAGE I imbue it with. As I’ve always said, that’s literally the only reason for any of the posts I make ever...I’m just getting them out of my head and down on paper, so to speak, in whatever mood I’m feeling while thinking about that topic. Yeah, I phrase things for a generic fandom audience most of the time, other than when I’m talking to someone directly, but never have I made a post with an entitled and expectant belief that people will take every word I say literally and regard it as a directive for what they should do and how they should live their lives. Since, y’know, I don’t actually think I should be the ruler of everyone’s choices.

Over and over I keep repeating, I just want people to put more THOUGHT into their choices, and keep in mind various contexts that yeah, I think are relevant to certain topics, sue me. Because the vast majority of creative choices I take issue with, I actually fundamentally believe are just the result of a lack of thinking critically or with a broader awareness of various implications or repercussions. Shocking though this may seem, I’m actually a big believer that humans are inherently good or at least have the capacity to be.

The thing that amps up my frustration and ticks me off so often is how much time and effort I end up wasting trying to get people to address the actual things I’m asking them to consider, instead of dancing around it and evading it in every way possible, not even like, as an attempt to counter it, just willfully refusing to let it be about the topic I ACTUALLY raised.

And yeah, just FYI, to whom it may concern, since this is so often relevant it seems.....gotta say, I find it particularly odious that WITHOUT FAIL, the very same people who carelessly throw out ‘don’t like don’t read’ as the catch-all solution to every issue anyone ever might have with something in fandom, as though its that simple.....

Time after time demonstrate a COMPLETE refusal or inability to take their own damn advice, since NONE of this would ever even come up if the loudest advocates of that system actually APPLIED it themselves.

And simply....didn’t read my posts.

I fail to see why I’m expected to do what they don’t consider worth doing themselves, to spare themselves the aggravation (or fear) from reading my posts. Let alone interacting with them.

But whatevs. When do I ever know what I’m talking about anyway, lol, on account of all this RAGE I’ve got mucking with my head and objectivity.

Oh well, gotta go. KALEN SMASH!

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