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charcubed · 2 years

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I keep seeing posts that are like "interpretations of bi!Dean and gay!Dean are equally valid!" and I used to be like, sure, straight!Dean is definitely wrong but beyond that, see him how you want, who cares.

But now (esp after the Last Call script) I just don't understand the gay!Dean truthers? I follow quite a few on sm, and when I initially followed them I was like "they accept Dean is queer, that's good enough for me." But now they're really starting to get to me and it's not really worth arguing about to them, but I wanted to rant to you about it, cuz you get it.

The script literally included "gorgeous women" in the bar. Dean has canonically been sexually AND romantically attracted to women. He's based off THEE bisexual Neal Cassady.

Like I'm not really trying to defend m/w relationships (lol) but why do even queer ppl insist on erasing his identity when it's so clear? Why do they have to take that away?

Gay!Dean in AUs is one thing, but in the actual, textual canon of the show, Dean is bi. And no, gay!Dean and bi!Dean are NOT equally valid interpretations. And I don't think I'm an asshole for saying that 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sorry it took a few days to get to this. Work and life have kept me busy and tired!

Unironically and non-sarcastically, Anon, I'm glad you've seen the light and seem to understand this topic more now. You are, of course, entirely correct. And you're not an asshole for saying it either.

I'm going to take this opportunity to answer your (potentially rhetorical) questions, and also bounce off of you and lay some stuff out about this topic in general at length for the first time–despite the fact that it may turn me into public enemy #1 again. I am already hated for non-combatively voicing these facts on Twitter (this thread tends to be considered one of the "ground zeroes" of the nonexistent "debate" lol), but I have avoided being dog-piled on Tumblr so far, so... fingers crossed I can miraculously keep it that way!

My hope is that anyone who is predisposed to taking this topic very personally just moves on instead of attacking me (or subposting me?) for any of what I'm about to say. I'm also not forcing anyone to read this, before anyone's like "that's way too many words" or "it's not that serious lol."

I do think this topic is important. I've made the decision to publicly spell out why. And if anyone doesn't want to read it, that's their prerogative.

To your questions, Anon:

I think a lot of this comes down to a fandom-wide problem (all fandoms recently, not just SPN) of not understanding the difference between headcanon and canon, the dimensions as to why that distinction does have its uses and its necessity, and the value in both. I'll get into this later.

But in this fandom specifically, based on observation and lengthy conversations I've had with a dozen long-time fans who are my friends... I personally think it's maybe a new dimension of viewpoint that's branched out from a holdover of "all interpretations are valid" being the party line people have clung to a very long time. (That’s also true in other fandoms, but I think it’s especially true here.) It's a form of solace people don't want to deviate from. No one wants to be seen as or feel like the ~jerk~ who's ~invalidating another person's view of canon~ in response to someone else's knee-jerk reaction of hurt. This is a fandom with early-2000s cultural baggage and context, where people dealt with feeling like the "crazy fangirls" who shipped Destiel and dared to call out queer subtext. Misha's "You're not crazy" tweet exists for a reason. I do feel like a lot of well-meaning people–aside from misunderstanding or being ignorant to the analytical roots of this topic and why they absolutely matter–just know what it feels like to have their thoughts on queer content in a show feel "invalidated," and they don't want to be perceived as doing that to other people. And/or: they’ve felt invalidated before (in this fandom or others!), and so they’re hypersensitive to anything they perceive as doing that to them again, especially if they tied personal identity into the projections they’re making onto the media they enjoy.

I understand that people don’t want to seem ~mean~ or make waves. I also don't want to seem mean or be mean, which is why I try to be as clear as possible whenever I talk about this and I never go after people directly (or interact/reference any of the many subtweets from people who openly talk shit about me. haha). But the facts shouldn't be seen as "mean"; they are simply facts. And yes, they absolutely matter.

Because the thing is... none of the above has any bearing on the nuances of the topic at hand, the indisputable fact that Dean is bisexual in canon and that claiming otherwise is erasure, and the truth that none of this should be seen as a threat to people's headcanons.

These are all things that people should understand, and I will not apologize for knowing that and saying it. Misunderstanding this–making the false claim that “all interpretations of Dean’s sexually are equally valid as long as you see him as queer”–is an act of bisexual erasure in this context, and it often (unintentionally!) plays into biphobic talking points. And yeah, in my opinion, that’s something people should care about because it’s worthy of both personal and fandom examination. It is, in fact, why “representation” matters at all.

Let’s not kid ourselves: the bulk of this fandom-wide discourse is about Bi Dean vs Gay Dean. So, y’know, that’s the bulk of how I’m going to address it to just get it all out there.

Right out the gate, let me clarify this: I am not saying–now or ever–that those who are self-proclaimed “Gay Dean truthers” or argue that “Dean being gay in canon is a valid interpretation” are deliberately coming from a place of malice and the intent to contribute to bisexual erasure. By all means, I’m sure most aren’t! Nonetheless, intent does not equal impact. I’ve even seen people say “I’m a Gay Dean truther and I’m bisexual, so how could I possibly be contributing to bi erasure by arguing for Gay Dean?” But in this situation–as in any other–no one is immune from unwittingly perpetuating harm, even including bi people. And it’s important to understand why that is.

“Interpretations” are not opinions, not all are equal, and they do require some level of skill. This is not a personal attack, or a moral judgement on anyone, or somehow a threat to people’s enjoyment of a favorite character. It is just fact.

Gay Dean is not a valid possibility in canon. There is no lens that justifies an argument of it with canonical basis. I have to break down why, in order to sufficiently express why claiming otherwise is a harmful position to take, so bear with me.

(No, this is not an invitation for a Gay Dean truther to treat this like a “debate” with me or waste time writing out a counterargument. Please just exit the tab if you’re somehow here battling that urge.)

For someone to say that Dean is gay in canon, here is an incomplete list of what has to be erased, ignored, or explained away:

• His sexual attraction to, romantic love for, and relationship with Cassie.

• His sexual attraction to, romantic love for, and relationship with Lisa (whether or not one thinks she was ever the ~ultimate love of his life~, attraction and love were present.)

• His stash of and enjoyment of porn that includes women, which is referenced many times.

• The moments where he was seduced by a female-presenting monster.

• Each and every time he made a reference to or joke about his attraction to women.

• Any fling he ever had with a woman on screen, and the enjoyment he had in the process.

The man is canonically sexually and romantically attracted to women, and he has acted upon that and even enjoys that about himself in wildly diverse contexts. It is a blatant part of the text of the show. (The fact that we are at the point where this is somehow a main point of contention rather than his attraction to men does make me feel a tiny bit insane, to be honest.)

Now, in my experience (which I don’t claim is comprehensive!), the people who argue for Gay Dean tend to explain ALL of this away under some form of universal umbrella of Dean being “performative,” a variation on compulsive heterosexuality they ascribe to him. The claim or explanation tends to be that Dean was performing a mostly-faked attraction to women based on his father’s expectations and outward pressures he received in the culture of his life. Moments are often cherry-picked out of context to support this “reading.”

Who is Dean supposedly performing FOR, even in the moments where he acts on his attraction to women when he is alone? How does this explain his significant relationships with women like Cassie and/or the legitimate visible enjoyments he received from those interactions, as well as his flings with women throughout the show? How does this explain things like the Last Call script, where Dean is very clearly written as attracted to “gorgeous women,” a factoid that is not only very clear on screen but also (of course) written in literal black and white?

(There are no sufficient answers to these rhetorical questions. Once again: please do not waste time trying to give me any.)

And what evidence are Gay Dean people using for comphet or performative Dean? The “evidence” is often a misread of canon, pointing towards the consistent theme and false goal presented in the text of the show of characters’ efforts to strive for an “apple pie life,” aka a heteronormative ideal family. Gay Dean people misrepresent what this theme and through-line in the show is actually about, which is the totality of learning to accept your life rather than striving for something ill-fitting, that what you need and want need not be mutually exclusive (family life including fulfilling romance + hunting life can coexist), family is what you make of it and how you define it, and there are no true limitations on what all of this “should” be. While these themes are inherently queer, they are not about narrow performances of masculinity, femininity, or sexual identity, but about making space for ALL forms of all of the above–AND about identifying what it is that one wants and thinks they can’t have.

Namely, for Dean, that’s a version of settling down in a life that fulfills him in every direction, with an open and honest mutual relationship with the person he is in love with. This latter point would be true whether Cas was a man or a woman (though the fact that he is a man of course adds further dimension of interest to the story). Dean doesn’t think he can have a romantic relationship / family that lasts, and by later seasons that yearning is a key part of his character. The times it didn’t work out for him weren’t because those other people were women, but rather because the “lesson” he internalized from traumatic instances of loss is that hunters don’t get to do ~the love thing~ or get the settled down life. This is stated in the text of the show multiple times, and that’s also why Dean seeing examples of hunters who made any kind of balanced life work (especially masculine queer hunters like Jesse and Cesar) is pointed and purposeful. To say it’s about comphet instead (with no sufficient canon evidence that supports that) disregards a key point that’s central to Supernatural’s story, and in my opinion it disregards it to its detriment.

For Dean’s journey in particular, it is about freedom from limitations of structure, and knowing that he contains multitudes. The things he got from John–loving classic rock and loving his car, for example–are no less core joyful parts of Dean simply because they originated from his father. Dean can love classic rock and still occasionally love a Taylor Swift song, for example. He can love cowboy movies and manly movies, and also enjoy chick-flicks. It’s the idea of learning that there are no limitations, not that masculine interests are not inherently something he loves for himself or that aren’t important parts of his identity. It’s an expansion to openly include more, not a switch or a narrowing. The same applies to his sexual attraction and his queer identity. He can be attracted to cowboys and bikers, and also be attracted to gorgeous women. Him being attracted to / loving women does not mean he cannot and does not feel attraction and love for men; likewise, him being in love with a man does not mean he wasn’t and isn’t attracted to women.

(“Last Call,” as an episode, exists in part to drive the totality of these points home, and emphasize that Dean’s attraction to men is something he’s known about himself for most of his life and acted on previously. So is most of the queercoding and queer subtext applied to Dean–which is specifically coding him as bisexual. His attraction to men is sometimes established or made clear because it echoes his attraction to women, etc. etc. Dean’s canonical attraction to men is a whole other post.)

So here we come to why saying otherwise and trying to shoehorn a comphet narrative onto Dean in canon is harmful:

Aside from the fact that to claim Dean’s joyful attraction to women is performative is to cut out chunks of the story and is thus not supported by canon, and it relies on making assumptions about and projecting onto the text… unintentionally or not, the implication is that bisexuality is not queer enough, or that being gay is somehow “queerer” and thus more compelling and a preferred concept, and that attraction to different genders is a heterosexual / straight trait requiring removal. No one is queering a text in a more revolutionary way or unlocking a ~secret good Supernatural~ by making a bisexual man into a gay man. That’s simply not how this works.

“Preferring” an argument for Gay Dean in canon requires explaining away or misreading all of those moments Dean has with women, essentially replacing them with trauma or suffering or discomfort that–in my observations–also sometimes rely on stereotypes of gay men. It also involves potentially preferring to twist them into behaviors Dean must have universally put himself through not out of genuine joyful desire but at minimum because he felt like he “should” or at maximum in an attempt to “fix” his “gayness,” even when no one was watching. And it points to the pressures Dean experienced about living a life that fit him fully–pressures that exist not just in his world, but also in our patriarchal world and society–and it implies that queer people can’t authentically experience attraction or love to someone of a different gender, because maybe they’re actually just “performing” the heteronormative ideal. As in: a “visually queer” relationship is the end goal, right? For Dean, that’s an m/m relationship... so surely m/f matters less, or maybe it can’t be a genuine and significant part of a queer person’s life.

Once again: I do not think any of this is intentional on the part of Gay Dean truthers, nor do I think it’s done with malice. Nonetheless, these harmful biphobic viewpoints permeate these conversations and misconceptions when people say these arguments are valid.

There is no canonical basis for explaining away all of Dean’s moments with women, and the story does not provide or point to any kind of cohesive narrative reason to do so. YES, people absolutely experience comphet in real life, and those experiences are valid and exist. YES, real gay men can and do sleep with or have nuanced romantic relationships with women before realizing they’re gay later in life. No, that does not mean that’s how analysis of a fictional character in a fictional story always works, especially in regards to a story built over time like Supernatural’s unique approach and the way it was molded to place queerness and specifically bisexuality at the core of Dean’s story.

Ascribing comphet to Dean in canon–or making any other insufficient justification for explaining away his attraction to women–is personal projection. And yes, it is bisexual erasure.

This is not a position fueled by personal hurt for me, as I would say the same here whether or not I was personally bisexual. It is an acknowledgement that these conversations don’t exist in a vacuum, and that’s something everyone should care to understand. I know what comphet storylines look like in fiction, and I know they are worth defining as such, and in other fandoms I even defend that very loudly. This is not the case here, and to say it is requires mental acrobatics that are objectively unsupported by canon... and invariably insisting otherwise perpetuates one of these harmful biphobic viewpoints whether or not one realizes it.

To say Gay Dean is a legitimate read of canon–which it is not–supports people who are erasing his varied sexual and romantic attraction to a different gender simply because they’ve decided they want to ignore that. “I like the idea of Dean being gay” does not mean that he is gay in canon, and writing meta to that end is a problem. It’s not an invalidation of someone on a personal level or some weird variation of homophobia to say that, and I do think people should maybe examine why they seemingly like the idea of him being gay more than him being bi, or why they staunchly defend it (or any other “different queer reading”) as a possibility.

I understand there may be the urge to be like “is it that serious” or “this is just a CW show,” but to that I would say… then why are we all here?

Clearly, most people do still care about queer representation on some level and understand that queer subtext is present and acknowledge that Dean isn’t straight... hence the origin of this new prevalent concept of “as long as you say Dean’s queer then it’s fine.”

But in any piece of media, the text is the text is the text. The text can also be compelling, and fascinating, and contain value whether or not it’s an exact reflection of you personally as a fan and as a person. Sometimes there is arguably even greater value in being able to find reasons to relate to the humanity of a character or in a story even though elements differ from who you are personally. It is an exercise in empathy, and it is a pillar of why humans tells stories to each other to expand our viewpoints, and it sometimes results in examining the sources of that empathy. It’s why “representation matters”: not just so we can see ourselves, but so we can see others, and find reason to empathize despite differences. There’s unquantifiable power in that, and it’s also why the diversity of queer experiences and identities should be championed and acknowledged both in fiction and in reality, not turned into a monolith. Our solidarity amongst our individual queer differences and identities is our truest version of strength and authenticity. We are not all exactly the same, and that’s a good thing. When care is taken to specifically convey that in fiction, it is worth not only acknowledgement but also defense.

So: do we or do we not care about why representation is important, and why these sorts of conversations should exist at all? About censorship of queer storylines, and diversity in the queer community, and solidarity in differences? About bisexual men, a vastly underrepresented group in fiction, and the specific censorship that affected Dean’s bi story accordingly? And about how these viewpoints people can place onto fiction through fandom-wide conversation–like implying Dean is ~queerer~ if you say he’s gay, or that you’re somehow sticking it to the CW and “straight culture” if you suggest he’s gay–can influence biphobia that translates into ways people see bi people in real life?

In other situations even in this fandom, people understand the value of diverse queer experiences. No one would dare to say that “you can argue Charlie is bisexual in canon because as long as you say she’s queer it’s fine.” Charlie is a lesbian. It’s very, very clear, and she shows and states that she is only attracted to women. Dean’s attraction to women in canon is equally clear, and is part of his bisexuality. Why is erasing that defendable?

Look: it is people’s God-given right to write whatever fic they want about “what if” variations of Dean’s sexuality through a different lens. It is not their God-given right to make things up about canon and call it analysis.

It is a universal truth that fandom is always going to take canon and mold it into other versions that they love, for their own personal reasons and in ways that have value to them. That’s why transformative works like fic exist, and it’s why fandom is awesome, and I’m glad people use aspects of their favorite stories to tell other inspired stories that are of personal significance to them. But the word transformative is used for a reason: it’s an alteration of canon. It’s not a bad thing or a personal attack on people to say that.

There is a difference between understanding canon and writing actual meta / analysis of the show, and writing AUs for ones own enjoyment and fulfillment. (This is true on AO3 or on Tumblr/Twitter. I often see posts that are positioned as “meta,” but again, are just cherry-picked weirdness.) These differences are important, as is understanding how headcanons and fic affect surrounding conversations and fandom perceptions. And this fandom seems to have a very big problem with understanding the difference between these things, while taking it extremely personally in a negative way when people try to explain why the difference matters.

Confusing analysis and transformative fandom does a disservice to both, and denying the value in the former is not only a form of anti-intellectualism but also removes some of the beauty in the latter. If we can’t distinguish and differentiate between canon and headcanon, we can’t discuss the value in understanding the canon, nor adequately discuss the artistic value and power in creating derivative variations from it in personal ways. Both are different, both are equal, both are vital, and insisting the distinction is needless hampers conversation across every space. And nowhere is that more true than when one is discussing queer representation and queer censorship, like in the case of Supernatural. Again, why are we here? Why do we care? You cannot argue for and discuss the problems of censorship sufficiently if you don’t understand what was censored–and in Dean’s case, that was his love for Cas and his bisexuality.

I leave you with this (probably unneeded) analogy:

Imagine Dean’s a zebra.

(Sorry, EDS community; not that kind of zebra.)

People are trying to say “Dean is a black and white hoofed mammal <3″ and well, that’s accurate, but that doesn’t mean him being a zebra isn’t its own unique thing. A whole bunch of people are looking at him though and saying “well I prefer to say that Dean’s a black and white horse,” because they like that viewpoint better. Close enough, right? A black and white horse is basically a zebra, right? And then there’s the people who are like “I think Dean’s a cow!” and it’s like, okay, no idea where you came from, but whatever.

The point is that those are all entirely different fucking things. They’re different animals. Someone wanting Dean to be a black and white horse doesn’t make him less of a zebra. Pretending otherwise is absolute nonsense.

This debate/discussion/discourse is equally nonsensical. That is the logic (or illogic) that applies here.

Just because Dean is “queer” doesn’t mean any queer categorization underneath that umbrella suddenly equally applies.

Dean is bisexual. And he is “queer” because he’s bisexual.

Those are the facts.

And for the love of God, please... I really don’t think I’m an asshole for saying it.

So, to whoever made it this far: please do me the courtesy of not hating me for it or trying to bait me into a fight.

I’m tired. Thanks.

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EDIT: Couple of good additions!

• @doctorprofessorsong added some good details about how some of these harmful biphobic concepts translate to real life, and real things that bi people struggle with.

• A lesbian anonymously sent in her perspective as someone who enjoys gay Dean headcanons/fic and agrees with this post, and agrees that the fact that Dean is bi in canon is important.

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean is bi #bisexual dean winchester #HAHA I TOLD MYSELF I WASN'T GOING TO PUT THIS IN THE OFFICIAL TAGS BUT THEN I SPENT HOURS WRITING IT SO FUCK IT #[slaps target on my back and cries] haha here we go #I'm not linking it on twitter though. I don't have that level of masochism in me. maybe this will fly under the radar on here a bit?#spn meta #I take a marijuana level of high road on twitter constantly but fun fact I'm not immune to knowing people hate me for daring to say this #doesn't change the facts though! and unfortunately I do actually give a fuck! even if few others do #maybe this is so long no one will read it #char writes things #also I did absolutely plagiarize myself in parts of this. what about it. ok I'm done goodbye.... screams #PS people CAN reblog this btw. I am being a little baby wincing at potential backlash preemptively but like #I wouldn't have posted it and left reblogs on if I didn't know and accept the risks <3 I will speak the truth idc idc someone's gotta do it #EDIT: I stopped being a coward and posted it on twitter :) because fuck it! I stand by my words etc etc it's all fine #me vs adding to the tags as if anyone's reading them lmfao

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inlocusmads · 4 months

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mads' director's commentary because i just NEED to share this HC lmao:

originally this whole ring idea mentioned in this fic was supposed to be expanded on, but it already crossed 4k words and so not ideal for tumblr at all. so here's how it should have gone:

trystan makes his own rings. rings. plural. Now is it possible to make them? yes. sheet metal is easy to find if you know where to look at - considering the palace might go through many renovations; it seems plausible enough to have him find a bunch of tools and bend them into rings. sheet metal is flexible with a bunch of hammering and filing shouldn't be a problem either. realistically, I also HC Drakovia does a lot of metal exports too; considering south-east europe, historically have known for their abundance in copper.

drakovia, in canon is primarly known for 'a fabric softer than silk and strong as kevlar'. i am operating under the generalization that the copper mines would supply to the palace and could be used for places that require metals with higher corrosion resistance? (am I implying the inherent formation of copper into patina is somehow associated with drakovia's affliation with green? it is -- possible, but far-fetched.). Copper architecture is not uncommon and copper-based weaponry are usual, since it is used in electroplating.

as for trystan, I HC he like makes these rings and slowly gets better at it. it is a hobby for himself just like how he used to write poetry and stash it in the woods. and there comes this time when he makes like this stand to hold them together, like for instance if you were to blur your eyes and look at it arranged, it would look like a slinky. they're all copper or iron-based rings, simple stuff- ones you'd likely find in cereal boxes with their simple layout, not too much intricate carvings and it's this band of solid metal; when arranged together on a U-shaped band. perfect fit for a prince's tiara.

now I HC trystan would have likely - at the very least - gotten royal jewelry and get his own prince's tiara specifically for social standing purposes and as headwear to pair up with a clothing option. but this- this crown made solely of copper and steel and iron rings he made right from his hand - spending angsty teenage years angrily shaping metal into bands, and then shaping a headwear enough to hold these rings is like a headcanon I want to put in my pocket and never let go. this was supposed to be a fic on its own, but I guess i'll reserve it for a time when I do want to write someting like that.

the BEST part is their removable feature. although flimsy in nature, it is the biggest project he worked on and gave himself a seperate identity and it's just absolutely personal to him. now he wears them regularly because he's afraid putting them in a place might increase their risk of wear and tear (and cobwebs, hate the cobwebs). and THE ONE RING - the first ring he'd ever made out of scraps of metal he found and pricked his finger on - is so special, that it is given the tiara-jewel (crown jewel??) treatment.

trystan ring-lore my beloved lmao. I don't know if I'll get a chance to write this fic but I just want to put it out there in case you'd like to know of my behind-the-scenes thought process while writing and conceptualizing the fic.

#mads' director's commentary #thorne rose headcanons #trystan thorne #crimes of passion

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emptysurface · 2 years

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Hey, I’m a big fan of Hear the Silence. I loved how fleshed out the world is and how developed the characters are. It’s very well written and one of the best Naruto fics I’ve read. I just wanted to ask, you know, if there is more coming? No rush, I’d be happy with just a prospect of maybe someday, you know? Because it’s a really awesome story. Anyway, I just wanted to ask about an update/will it be finished/if there are plans in the works without coming across as pushy or rude, because sometimes it’s hard to convey tone in an ask space on Tumblr…. Anyway, hope you’re doing well,

Regards,

Anon

This is honestly one of the polites questions along these lines I've ever gotten, so no worries there, Anon. You nailed it.

Okay, now to the answer: I actually have 18 additional chapters of HtS already written out, which I will eventually get around to post. HtS is a pretty complex story, so keeping a big buffer helps me keep everything straight and fix plot holes and inconsistencies and such, and also reduces stress and stuff for me.

That's not really the problem here, tho. The main issue is that, uh, basically, I was way too tired when I wrote parts of my buffer, which means that I am now unhappy about things in there, and I need to re-write and fix them, which is a bit of an achilles heel for me (I hate re-writing, it's like pulling teeth) in combination with a general writer's block on HtS. Probably in relation to the first issue.

But yeah, I wrote almost exclusively on HtS for five??? years? I think. And I also burned myself out doing it at least twice.

I definitely want to get back to it soon (which I have said for 2 years now) and I also know how I will end the fic, so. Hopefully, all fingers crossed, this year will be the year I finally get back into writing on HtS! I still love it, it's my brain baby 😌

I'll try to fix up ch 128 one of these days and post that, but I'm not sure exactly when, bc I don't want to force things and spoons are scarce as it is for me...

I hope that answers your question, Anon! Much love, and I appreciate the patience, both from you and from my readers in general ❤️

#HtS #HtS ask #anon ask #chronic fatigue sucks ass

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commanderquinn · 11 months

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Good Space Chapter 3: Hey Gringo

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

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master list / ao3 chapter link

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warnings: ayyy!! none this time!! unless you wanna count Highly Disrespectful Thoughts ❤️ tho!!! the flashbacks are shuri, heads up for anyone who is a big baby (like me) and still crying over WF. also (shocker) bucko angst/panic attacks

song: it KALEO time!! istg there are golden oldies and hippie classics on this intended playlist, we just havent gotten to them yet. this choice is mega self-indulgent on my end ngl, buuuuut thats the whole fic in general lbr (side note: every time i write Angy Ava, i want you to imagine the vocal intensity of jefferson airplane’s lead singer, grace slick)

the timing of this chapter could NOT have been better with the probably-russian hackers knocking out ao3 that long. i mean it dude, im pretty sure the universe had a good chuckle over this one bc i sure as shit had to sit here and go “youre pullin my leg bud”

also now feels like a good time to mention, for absolutely no reason in particular (definitely not bc of Bucky being a Huge Simp this chapter), that i hc bucky as a dom with service top leanings. i just didnt wanna give the impression that reader is dom for this and accidentally get anyones hopes up with no payoff. i try to avoid that as much as i can bc god knows i drop Big Honkers on y’all every damn chapter, id hate for you to get all the way to the end of this and not get your cookie, y’know? (i am, ofc, down to write mega sub bucky for smut-shot requests)

also remember when i mentioned giving ava a HANDFUL of physical details for writing fuel? 🌝 (ur gonna think im funny rlly soon, dw)

anyways if you dont have adhd, good luck and god speed with the idiots thinkin abt each other in this chapter ❤️ im so sorry in advance 🥺😔

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Febuary 17th, 2015

"Good morning, Sh—"

"Have you left your worthless husband yet?" Shuri impatiently taps a finger against her elbow, where her arms are crossed over her chest.

She watches Ava sigh on the other end of the vidcall. The woman looks too tired. She needs rest. Shuri wants to stab Alec all over again. She's going to make a new, self-lacing, possibly electrified dagger just for the occasion. "I know you're just trying to—"

"We can come to get you. I will send T'Challa. You must promise me that you will have him get me something from Washington." Shuri raises a stern finger, pointing it directly at the camera. "Do not let him pick it out himself—"

"Shuri, honey, I love you with all my heart, but please—"

"I want you to pick it. The furniture in your office is ridiculous; I want something like that."

A smile far too small pulls at the corners of Ava's lips. Her smile used to move freely, and it will do so again if Shuri has any say in the matter. Which she does. "Well, thank you, I work very hard to keep it ridiculous. Now—"

"It will make me think of you whenever you are not around to make fun of my brother with me. My mother will get the lawyers you need to start your divorce—"

"I—sweetheart, please, it's been a very long night—"

"It is the afternoon where you are. You have not even had breakfast, have you? Of course not. You are busy doing the work while Alec—"

"Shuri!" Ava puts a hand over her eyes and takes an unsteady breath in. "I'm sorry. This is—it's been a long night. I didn't mean to yell at you—"

"You need to start yelling much more, Ava. Aim it at your worthless husband while you tell him you are leaving," Shuri argues, entirely fed up with how the doctor allows the spineless dickhead to make her miserable. "T'challa will remove him for you while you stay here with us."

Alec—she refuses to call him Ryder; the man does not deserve to have taken the doctor's name—leans into the camera view, his expression bored. Dismissive. Shuri wants to smash his wrinkling, greasy face in with her fist. "While I appreciate the offer, your majesty, my wife and I can handle our private life alone."

Shuri glares back at him, one of her eyebrows hiked as far up as she can comfortably get it. "Do you really think being aware of your presence on this call will deter me from reminding my friend that you are a demon?" She looks pointedly at Ava, who's still covering her eyes. "He is a demon. A pasty, rude demon."

"Alec is going to shut the fuck up now, I promise." The fingers over Ava's eyes pull in until she's pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. She looks as if she's fighting off a migraine. She probably is. And it is Alec's fault. "That way, we can get this over with, and I can finally get some sleep—"

"Which you need and are not getting enough of." The words slip out before Shuri can stop them.

Ava's shoulders deflate slightly. Her hand drops, and she attempts another smile that doesn't reach her eyes, making Shuri feel a pang of guilt. "No, I'm not. But I will, just as soon as we finish the basic adaptation matrix. I promise."

Ava always encourages her to speak her mind, no matter what. Sometimes it gets her into trouble. She is not looking to berate her favorite Canadian; she loves leaving the vidcomm between their labs on. The open connection is a comforting window into the outside, one that lets Shrui indulge in any question or raving that passes through her mind.

Alec is a poison in her friend's life, and Shuri will not back down from reminding her of that. But mother and Nakia have sat with her over this, explaining that sometimes, an abused heart will cling to what hurts it. They have to be supportive while Ava works through this. She's getting there. Just not nearly fast enough for Shuri's patience.

Father has been reminding them all that Alec is a risk, given what he knows. Trusting Ava means trusting her for the duration, and they can't go back now. If she says she is handling the issue of separating the man from her work, they have to allow her room to do that. But T'Challa has been ordered to keep close, or at the very least, ready to go.

As much as she despises Alec, Shuri does not wish to see Ava hurt in this. Not any more than necessary. She is also not interested in trying to control her friend the way her mother sometimes tries to control her. It is infuriating.

So, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she lets some of the fight leave her. For the sake of Ava, not the pasty demon. "I have the latest build ready for transfer."

"You're sure you've secured the connection on your end?" Alec has the audacity to question, even outside of the frame. "I'm not interested in spending my week chasing traces of this—"

"Do I look as if I will hesitate to strike you, colonizer?!"

—

"I'm just saying, Humpty Dumpty."

"Fuck off," Bucky wheezes at the billionaire, compressing the towel he grabbed from his new medkit against his ribs. Why he expected to make it through his first mission back without having to crack it open, he's not entirely sure now that he's sitting in the hindsight. Getting shot today was, if he's honest with himself, entirely predictable. It's his luck, after all.

"We let you out of the house again for five minutes, and you've already broken yourself." Tony shakes his head as he tsk's, making Bucky roll his eyes lazily. "What's Ryder going to think? If you keep this up, you'll give the woman a complex about draining your mojo."

"She's going to think I throw myself in front of armor-piercing rounds for idiots that don't notice when they're being shot at." The mention of Ava brings the doctor's smiling face to the forefront of his mind. Bucky leans back against the Quinjet's co-pilot seat, letting his eyes fall closed.

He could take care of this latest injury himself. That's what he usually does. Thanks to the serum, all he has to do is keep the wound clean for a few hours while his body stitches itself back together. Nothing's broken, and he'd be in much more pain if anything were punctured. Hell, he'd probably be dead already. The fix for this is so easy it'll practically handle itself.

"You always get so cranky after you've played the hero." He hears Tony kick his feet up on the Quinjet's main controls. "Take a breather. Maybe a bow or two. Believe it or not, it's possible to accept a compliment now and then."

"Grandstand more often, got it."

Ava's probably going to hear about today's incident now that Bucky thinks about it. If anything, Steve's going to make sure of it. He doubts she'd guilt him for not being comfortable with an optional trip to medical. They've been having more conversations about boundaries and comfort, and she's been unwaveringly supportive of him moving at his own pace.

"You don't have to grandstand, you gigantic baby," Natasha chides from between the chairs. Her hand smacks against his shoulder, making Bucky grunt softly. "A whole new world is going to open up for you when you relearn to accept praise."

Tony snorts, long and loud. "Has he reached that stage of modern education yet?"

"I reached that stage of education before you were born, Stark." Bucky's not territorial over his reputation anymore; those days are long since passed. The grand majority of his mojo got left in the 40s. He's just tired of Tony's shit. That's all it is.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Ava might feel bad that he didn't come to her for something like this. He doesn't... want that. He doesn't want her thinking that he doesn't welcome her help or that he doesn't trust it. He... he does. He doesn't just appreciate having the option; he enjoys it. The new routine is a breeze, and his neck feels better than it ever has. At least that he can remember.

"I'm confused," Tony mumbles around a mouthful of snacks. The man never stops eating. "Are we talking about your no-no years, or did you and Rogers hit up underground bars before Germany?"

"I know all his secrets from the vanilla days; they never went to any of the fun ones," Natasha confirms. It's not like Bucky was going to take the verbal bait anyways. Steve still falls for it regularly.

"I like how you don't deny having the rest of the answer; I feel like it tells me all I can tolerate about the icicles when it comes to this. That's my favorite part about you, Romanoff. You know when I don't need to know, you know?"

His dumbass friends might as well be background noise with Bucky's mind this firmly in the memory of Ava's office. She's been so good to him, especially over this last week while she pushed through all the red tape for him. He'd been expecting it to take an eternity of hounding Steve all by his lonesome, but she got him back in the field in under two weeks. His best friend had actually been kind of pissy about it behind closed doors. For Bucky, it was like getting sprinkles on top of his cake.

He's been thinking about getting flowers delivered to her lab for the trouble. It feels like too much whenever his thumb hovers over the confirmation button. He's reached the part of staring at the order details four times.

"I'm pretty sure your country doesn't appreciate it as much as you do. They tend to fight cold wars over it."

"Well, yeah, but our country—you see what I did there? That was a pretty funny communism joke. And it works as a reminder for both of us that you're actually an American citizen these days; isn't that wild? Back to the point here, our country fights wars over stuff we do ourselves all the time, so that doesn't feel like a fair reason to dismiss our friendship."

The doctor's forcing him to expand his music library. Her taste there is as scattered as her taste in movies, but she's got some leading themes he's been able to pin down. The 60s and 70s are huge for her, expectedly, and she's got a lot of nostalgia over the 90s. Paige keeps her versed in all things pop, folk, and country, according to her.

"If I start referring to the US as my country, you people will expect me to do things like register to vote. Or put up wallpaper."

"I don't think anyone's expecting you to be legally allowed to do that. The voting thing, not the wallpaper. In most states. For multiple reasons. Although, the wallpaper might be a good call."

Ava invited him to their absurdly large archive of playlists during his second session. The ones Paige curates are nothing but insanity. Not one of them makes a lick of sense. Bucky decided that he should have expected that, given her Energizer Bunny reputation. Ava's are less scattered; more organized. Soothing for his mind to digest. He's been using them as workout music ever since. And driving music. And general background noise.

"I don't think I'd know where to start buying wallpaper. Do you even want me putting that shit on your expensive building?"

"Not really, but the idea of walking in on you rolling paste on the living room walls is worth anything it could take to fix them later."

God, she's funny, too. He could listen to the woman's awful, soul-crushing puns and subsequent cackling for hours. He'll never say that to her face, not for as long as he lives, but they've made him feel lighter every morning that he's gone to let her work him over. He's already stolen two of them to torture Sam with. Another thing he's not going to tell her.

"Maybe I should start smaller. Bruce keeps suggesting a car that has legal registration."

"Heeey, that could work. You'll be signing up for mailing lists and bitching about state tax in no time. You know what?" He hears Tony snap his fingers. "We should get you a houseplant. Work you up to having a fish or something."

Alright. Maybe he'll go to Ava. He doesn't want her to think he's trying to blow off her expertise again. Or that he's avoiding her. He's not; he really does like hanging out in her office. Even if it's technically a medical appointment. He's a lot more eager to visit her than his therapists, that's for sure.

"I am not paying taxes," Natasha scoffs. "If you think I'm tying a legal address to my name, you're out of your fucking mind. Moreso than usual."

"You don't think you'd enjoy having a cave to lurk in?"

"What makes you think I don't have one already?"

"I'm talking about a real house, not a safe house."

This injury isn't related to his cybernetics. It's his ribs, well below any of his implants. He's not entirely out of the loop when it comes to what doctors have to do to get their licenses. She no doubt had to pull a lot of hard hours during her residency. Maybe she doesn't want to patch up the tower's notorious grouch every time he takes a hit. But he doubts she'd ever be impolite enough to refuse him walking in.

"I have my space here: bathroom, laundry room, small kitchen. If I haven't bothered decorating that, what makes you think I'll want to do it for an entire house?"

"Aww, come on. Look at Ryder! She's having all kinds of fun making her place as obnoxious as possible. That could be you after a few online shopping sprees."

Bucky's eyes open slowly, his brows drawing in when the second verbal mention of Ava pulls parts of his attention back to the conversation.

Fuck, not going to medical still leaves the option of her taking offense. Okay. Alright. So, he'll split the difference and go to emergency intake. He's pretty sure she's listed as his surgical contact in the tower now—he can't stomach looking at his own medical file, not even the written records. Any injury this big will get flagged for trauma support, and she'll be notified. Then it's up to her what she wants to do. That feels like a good compromise.

"She's doing that to reclaim it from Alec; that's different. I don't have the same motivation. For me, it's just going to be extra work.

"Who's Alec?" Bucky asks without thinking. If the universe doesn't hate him today, Natasha's just going to assume he's being his usual kind of paranoid.

"She hasn't mentioned him?" Tony sounds surprised. "Alec's her ex-husband."

Ex-husband? She was married? And she's not anymore, meaning she might be—

He shuts down that train of thought immediately.

Reclaiming the space of her house implies they lived in it long enough to form some heavy memories. She hasn't mentioned having a kid, and she strikes him as the type to bring up something like that pretty fast. So it was just the two of them, most likely.

"People usually don't like talking about the egocentric sack of shit they used to coexist with," Natasha points out. Of course, she already knows about the doctor's history. It's her.

"Bad divorce?" he prods, trying not to sound overly invested in the answer. These assholes will take it as an invitation.

"Oh, the worst," Tony confirms. "Shithead tried fighting her on it tooth and nail. She had to borrow my legal team just to get the guy to fuck off and leave her alone. He even kept her surname after the divorce; can you believe that?"

An uneasy feeling starts to rise in his gut, making Bucky look over at him. Then up at Natasha. "What kind of won't leave her alone are we talking about?"

"Down, fido, my lawyers took care of it. There's no need to start tailing him. Aside from being a self-absorbed asshole that insists they'll," Tony's voice turns scornful as his fingers form air quotes, "work things out with time, he's toothless."

"She's got concealed carry permits she earned properly if that makes you feel better," Natasha offers up. The thought does help ease the tension building in him.

He won't read Ava's file, no matter how bad the buzzing gets. But he might check in with JARVIS about her home security. He's noticed her name on the system logs. She, or at least her house, is linked to SHIELD's network despite her general distrust of the organization. He understands the opposing priorities completely.

He caved and read Wyatt's file two nights ago. The buzzing had been building since Ava mentioned him wanting an autograph, and it finally got to be too much. Nothing's lurking there aside from an impressive list of historians from all the fuck over Georgia and Alabama. The kid's got more family than some towns have population.

Bucky leans forward with a muted groan to change the autopilot's intended LZ of the Avenger's balcony to the entrance hanger for medical. If he's going to grit his teeth through the antiseptic over a couple small holes, he's damn sure not going to haul his ass through half the tower while his ribs leak. His patience has limits, and that's pretty fucking far over the starting line.

Tony looks over at him with a deep, suspicious frown. Bucky frowns at him right back with the same level of scrutiny. He can feel Natasha staring a hole into the side of his head, even if he can't catch her in his peripherals. He hates both of them with a passion at the moment. He knows what's about to happen—

"Did you just… prioritize your own health," Tony questions like he's baffled by the very idea. His whole upper body turns in the seat as he looks up at Natasha excitedly. "Oh my god. He's doing it. All by himself." He raises a hand to his chest and looks back at Bucky. "They grow up so fast."

It's good that the autopilot is on. If it weren't, Bucky would be tempted to crash them out of spite, mostly because he's sure he'd survive it. "Very funny."

"All it took was a hippie that gives him candy," Natash adds, her voice dripping with smugness. "Who knew."

"Both of you can fuck off." Bucky doesn't like how close she just got to his primary motivation on the first try. Old habits die hard, et cetera. And he hates that he can't tell if she was trying to guess. If he's lucky, which he isn't, she was just making fun of him.

Natasha knows about his visits to the florist's website; he's fucking convinced of it now. He doesn't know how, and he can't outright call her on it. If he does, he could fuck up and make himself right. There is nothing worse than having the Black Widow as metaphorical family. Not even Steve's hovering.

She and Tony harass him for the remainder of the flight. It's not long, mercifully, and he's starting to regret not grabbing something for the doctor. They were in Montreal, of all places, so it would have been fitting. He figures she'll understand once he shows her his side. The train of thought makes him wonder what part of Canada she's originally from. She hasn't brought it up.

His foot is already bouncing by the time he reaches the elevator. He's still got the surgical towel shoved tightly against his ribs. He hopes she gets there fast if she ends up taking the call. The last thing he wants to do right now is sit around in the burn of antiseptic and bleach while he fights off the urge to bolt.

This is good, Bucky reminds himself as he takes his first few steps into medical. He's sat through plenty of trips to emergency intake. He can handle walking into his first optional one. It's a non-issue. Completely.

When JARVIS informs him that his file and general vital scan have been submitted for intake, the buzzing gets so intense that he almost leaves. The pace of his sergeant walk, as Sam likes to designate it, slows to a crawl. Then he thinks about a doctor with concealed carry permits. One that lets her house be monitored by a government organization she's actively pushing herself to trust. All in an effort to contribute something good to the world. The buzzing eases, and he picks up his pace, headed for the solo observation room JARVIS listed for him.

There's no moment of standing involuntarily from nerves this time. He doesn't have to force himself to sit back down and wait, even though the room smells wrong. His skin is crawling, and he wants nothing more than to put a throwing knife in his hand like a goddamn security blanket. But he doesn't panic. He doesn't try leaving.

Baby steps.

When the door opens, it's devastating. There's no diminutive hippie with UFO-sized glasses smiling at him on the other side of it. It's a guy in a plain white lab coat without artistic stitching, one that Bucky's never met before in his life. He's already squinting down at a tablet, meaning this will be his doctor for the duration.

This was the worst plan he could have possibly conceived. The universe is humbling him for thinking he could get away with something like this without some kind of suffering. He just wanted to make up for being dismissive of her help initially. Now he gets to sit through this. How fucking grand.

"Barnes?" The doctor that's not Bucky's doctor looks up, his heart rate elevating by a few notches. He's putting in a lot of effort to look confident. It's not exactly working. "I'm Dr. Erickson. I'm guessing you're here for the bullet wounds JARVIS detected?"

"Yup." Bucky's not about to volunteer for small talk at the moment. It's a miracle he hasn't jumped off the biobed yet. "Where's Ryder?"

"Your primary is in a staff meeting at the moment." Erickson puts his tablet down on the supply cabinet's main counter. He's already starting to gather what he needs, leaving Bucky to figure out real quick if he's actually willing to do this. "Don't worry; I'll get you sewn up and on your way in no time."

He doesn't want it getting back to Ava that he bailed the moment she couldn't show up. He doesn't want to leave her with the impression that he's only going to take on medical care if it's her; that's not anywhere near fair. The woman is a brain surgeon, not his private physician. He can grow the fuck up and accept help from people that haven't gone through his gauntlet of verification.

"Great," he pushes out, lifting the side of his undershirt to offer an unobstructed view.

It's not great; it's fucking horrendous. The first touch of the new doctor makes the overly physical memory of the buzzing build so high, he can feel it in his teeth. They're not actually rattling in his jaw the way they did back then, he knows that, but it doesn't matter because his body is screaming at him that it's happening.

The first stitch going through his skin makes him want to put his fingers through the doctor's eye sockets. His mind goes over all the ways he can violently put at least ten feet between them without having to get up. Looking back, it's probably good he didn't reach for the throwing knives. He's not unhinged enough to stab someone unprovoked; he's better than that. But they'd have been distracting to his impulse control, that's for sure.

Dr. Handsy is pulling the first suture in tight when the door to the observation room opens again. Bucky doesn't look up, his eyes locked on a random point on the far wall while he focuses on his breathing. He only looks over when a billowing, maroon pant leg enters his peripheral.

Thanks to a bunch of dead Nazi scientists that used to hide out in the mountains of Russia, Bucky Barnes has a trigger in his brain that is entirely out of his control. One that, when activated by his own interest, lets him process his surroundings in a sliver of the time that it should for a human mind. It is exceptionally helpful in the field.

Watching Ava Ryder walk in, wearing a suede jumpsuit that mercilessly frames her curves, proves to him that having it in the 30s would have gotten him shot by someone's father. Definitely before he left Brooklyn. Or before he got chased out by several fathers banding together with baseball bats. In the time it takes her hand to come off the door handle and make its way to her hip, his mind goes on one hell of a fucking journey.

He already had more than a vague idea of the shape of her before now; he can't help it. Comes with the territory of doing threat assessment for a living. God knows his eyes have slipped down to her chest on a shameful amount of occasions. Her tits are being held up and pushed together fucking beautifully at the moment. Typically, that would hold all of his attention.

But this is the first unobstructed view of her that he's gotten, thanks to the lab coat being nowhere in sight, and good fucking god. Holy fucking shit. Godfuckingdamn.

She's half turned from him at this angle, so he's only getting a side view. That's more than enough to show off an obscenely rounded ass and the cushy thighs it rests on that are going to haunt his fucking dreams. It's bigger than his hands by a margin that's outright glorious. The mental image of his fingers digging into it, of how it would make her skin dip under the pressure, makes his blood race.

He can't spot the outline of any underwear at first. Then her hand makes contact with the jumpsuit, and his eyes pick up on it. Right there, above the top of her finger, pulled up high over her hipbone. There's a thin band leaving an impression in the fabric. An extraordinarily thin band. There is nothing else in sight.

Pulled between Ava's legs, right at this very moment in time, is a strip of fabric that Bucky's tongue would fit against perfectly. Right under that is a taste he's been catching himself wondering about for two weeks now. One good, long drag of his nose. That's all it would take to push in whatever she's picked out for the day and soak it with that taste. He could get it back out from between her lips with his tongue, pull it to the side with his teeth to give himself room to feast—

Bucky tries to shift his weight as nonchalantly as possible while his brain slows back down. The comeback from tactical analysis is always jarring, with this one being especially so.

He's the worst kind of bastard. An awful, selfish, perverted sonofabitch. There's not shit he can do to change that. How unfortunate.

"David," Ava greets, the name coming out as tense as the closed smile plastered on her face. "You can put that down."

The other doctor doesn't look up from the work his hands are doing. "That you, Ava? I heard you were—"

"Now."

Bucky's back straightens up as David looks at her nervously, taken aback. Bucky doesn't blame him; he didn't know her voice could get that forceful.

David sort of laughs, which feels like the worst possible choice to Bucky. But, hey, not his call. "What, do you want me to just—"

"I want your hands off my patient right now. I'm not asking." She watches with unwavering intensity as the other doctor lets the needle and thread drop from his hands. She visibly bristles at the patronizing expression on David's face, her head tilting aggressively. Bucky kind of wants to watch her hit him. "I'll be back in less than a minute, sergeant. I need a word outside with Dr. Erikson."

"Take your time," Bucky assures, the tension bleeding out of him already. His ribs are leaking, and there's a piece of doctor floss looped through his skin that he's going to have to cut out of himself tomorrow morning. The immoral evaluation of her outfit that his head threw at him is going to eat him alive. Forever. Especially when he's trying to fall asleep for the foreseeable future.

All things considered, though, he feels fan-fucking-tastic.

David still looks somewhat shell-shocked, and there's real insult starting to creep into his posture, but the guy doesn't argue. He follows Ava back out of the room, not bothering with a goodbye in Bucky's direction. When the door closes behind them, his super hearing picks up on Ava reaming David about prioritizing patients before ego. She goes into detail about the deep shit he'll be in with her if he keeps ignoring her written orders, long before it ever gets him fired. She tacks on why her anger should scare him a hell of a lot more than the idea of that. Then she instructs him to keep his damn hands off her patients and get back to the intake desk.

The protective streak makes Bucky's chest feel warm, a half-smile pulling at his lips. She's a handful, alright. One he'd give anything to be brave enough to send flowers to.

Ava is calm, cool, and collected when she leans back in through the doorframe, hanging off it with a soft smile. "Hiya, stranger. I hear you picked a fight in my motherland today."

"I hear it has an arms dealer problem. I wanted to see if I could help." He gestures down at the needle swinging from his ribs without looking at it. "Not all Canadians are as welcoming as you, turns out."

"Eh?" she fires back, hamming up the accent. "Wellll, I'm not about to let a few cranky arms dealers tarnish our reputation. What do you say you push that bandage against your new bragging rights, and we head for my office?"

Licking his bottom lip nervously, he tries to give her a confident smile. "You were busy with something."

"Not too busy for my favorite popsicle." One eyebrow raises sternly. "You are not allowed to tell Steve I'm playing favorites." God, she's cute when she tries to deflect. It's never worked. At least not on him.

"That's—" Shit, where to even find the fucking words for her. "You don't have to do this. Go out of your way like this. I don't mind getting patched up by random medics. Comes with the job."

Her smile turns impish. "That's cool and all, but I mind when people ignore basic ethics just to have a story about stitching up an Avenger. If you need to tell yourself I'm using you as fuel for a workplace pissing contest, go for it. Whatever gets you off that biobed." She leans back, leaving the door open wide behind her. "Come on; I can't stand the way they organize these damn shelves. I wouldn't patch you up in here even if you did pay me. Next time, head for my office first."

Bucky does as she ordered, pushing the surgical towel she packed for him against his side, not minding the sting in the least. He swallows down the point that, by every definition there is, he's not an Avenger. "I'll follow you, doc."

—

"Alright," Wyatt plops his hands down on the glass of the holo, his expression determined. His tight curls bounce with the motion, making their resident gumdrop look adorable, even through the discomfort. "Let's get to dissectin' this cacophony. All in one go, preferably, so I don't feel like yackin' up my lunch two days runnin'."

Ava's head tilts sympathetically. "Oh, honey, tell me you didn't—"

His hand comes up, with his index finger pointed to the ceiling. "Nope. But I got close a couple'a times thinkin' about this." He mutters several things under his breath about creepy Nazi bastards while he pulls up the raw data from Bucky's implants. "All the more reason to get it the hell over with."

"A whole day of digging through coded war crimes," Hannah deadpans quietly, raising a steaming mug to her lips. "I'm glad we get the fun assignments."

"You'd ditch us if we didn't," Ava jokes. She scrolls through the sergeant's file absentmindedly on her tablet, reviewing the vitals added just a few hours ago. He actually came to medical. For something as minor as a field injury. Of his own volition.

"Mmm. I don't know. It's pretty fun watching a brain move like Jell-O. You might have been able to convince me to stick around just for that."

SHIELD's primary system makes a blaring noise of disagreement as Wyatt loads the main file structure. He frowns, looking over at Ava with concern. "Its askin' for administrative override."

"Heeey, that's that thing Tony says I'm not supposed to abuse. That's probably not a good sign." Ava pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and leans over to get a look at the error. "JAR, I'd like some reassurance we're not about to trigger an ancient LoJack if you wouldn't mind advising here."

"There are safeguards in place for importing code with an unknown source," JARVIS reports in. The warning on the screen is dismissed, presumably by him, and a new window comes up. A log of the programming in Bucky's cybernetics going through digital quarantine loads rapidly, with line after line being highlighted in red and labeled HYDRA Suspected. "I will process them for you. One moment."

"We have to clean the Nazi code before we can beat it to death," Hannah mumbles against the rim of her mug. "I think I kind of like that."

"Please, Hannie, I'm hangin' on by the skin'a my teeth here." Scrubbing his hands over his face, Wyatt groans exhaustedly. He drags them down slowly, giving Hannah a pleading look over the tops of his fingers. "You know I'm always here for supportin' you—"

"I'm aware." The ex-marine's clipped tone makes Ava snort and look back down at her tablet. They both know stopping him now isn't going to cut off the word vomit.

Wyatt's hands thunk back down onto the glass. "I'm so proud'a ya, y'know that—" And there's the thickening of the accent.

"I know."

Ava's eyes skim over the list of everything detected in Bucky's wound, locking on the word leather in particular. Today was her first look at his work gear—she's got a feeling he doesn't call it a uniform—in person. It was hard to keep professional in front of six and a half feet of Hi, how are ya? wrapped up in that much heavy black. The sounds that his vest made when he dropped it on the coffee table— Jesus. He's got to be packing enough in there to arm a small country.

"All's I'm sayin' is that if I have to hear about murder right now, I might actually upchu—"

"Please don't."

Ava's too scared to ask what's in the sergeant's pants for a multitude of reasons. Professionalism is lower on the list than it probably should be. It's a shame, too. He's downright hilarious when he lets himself talk. There's not a doubt in her mind that he'd come up with something unbearably good—and unwaveringly dry—in response to the loaded question.

"A'right then. We're in agreement. No bad thoughts today. We go in like—like excavators, right? With our helmets and our 'lil pickaxes, and we get what we need so we can—" The way he cuts himself off makes Ava look back up in concern. She finds the most horrified expression on Wyatt's face. "That—ah shit, that didn't come out all that right. That was mean, wannit? Insensitive. I'm not tryin' to belittle what the sergeant's been through."

"You weren't belittling anything," Ava assures, reaching out to rub his arm. "I think he'd be the first one to race you to a fossil joke about this."

"You'll tell 'im I'm takin' this serious, won't ya—"

A small chuckle escapes before she can stop it. "Wyatt, sweetheart, it's not like he heard you—"

"You take your pills today, Combs?" Hannah's calm question makes the gumdrop freeze in place. She blows on her coffee, taking a small sip. "If you say you don't remember, I'm going to—"

Wyatt snaps his fingers, his expression shifting to relief. "I didn't, and I remember why, too." He rolls his chair back with a sudden push, aiming for his desk. He reaches out before the chair finishes the trip to grab his patch-covered messenger bag. "One'a the cats got int'a my coat closet; dumbass got stuck on a shelf for reasons I'm still not real clear on." He pops open his medication bottle, tossing a pill into his mouth with a level of dexterity that makes her jealous. "The hollerin' was s'damn loud, I thought the landlord was gonna come knockin'."

"Which one was it?" Ava asks. "Not the new kitten?"

"No, no—Juno's been'a dream. It was Galileo again. I love that furry little bastard, but sometimes he can drive me nutty ." He pauses to take a swig from another glossy vacation mug. Today's is advertising a campground Ava's never heard of that's the best in the Rockies, according to the swirling font. "I got new pictures of Juno if you want 'em, though."

"Yes, please," Ava confirms happily. Holding the teacup-sized ball of fur made her whole month when he last brought Juno in. Hannah ended up hogging most of the cuddle time, but the sound of little meows filling the day had been enough to make up for it.

Wyatt pulls his phone from his back pocket and brings it around to hook up to the holo. The system dings with the sound of a successful transfer after a moment. He loads a collection of new photos, zeroing in on one of Juno clawing her way up a window curtain—

The power to the lab shuts off with a loud, electric click. Everything plunges into darkness with the privacy setting on the glass walls keeping the sun out. It comes back on before Ava can react, the building's primary system switching to the emergency power grid. She and Wyatt lock eyes in panic.

"Oooh man, boss, did I just—"

"I'm sure you didn't," Ava comforts, trying to push down her own panic. It helps that she's heard Tony rambling about the work he's put into making this place indestructible. "JAR?"

There's no response from the AI. She trades another nervous glace with Wyatt.

"I know it was probably the Nazi shit, but I'm hoping it was the cats," Hannah says, sounding sincere. "I feel like that'll make a much better story."

"Oh my god, did I break JAR?" Wyatt looks between them frantically. "How often does he back up his servers? Did I kill'a piece'a JAR?!"

"I have not been murdered," the AI confirms after nearly a minute of being gone. "The safeguards reported a false positive regarding the programming of Sergeant Barnes' cybernetics. It has been handled."

Ava gives the hologram wall of code a warry look. "Handled by you?" There's a suspicion building in her gut around his phrasing, one that she's not planning on letting out of her teeth.

"Mr. Stark has a protocol in place that cuts off my servers in the event of any irregular activity. Given the nature of the programming's origin, the system is designed to er on the side of caution."

"That's a really fancy way of dancing around the point, JAR." She's trying to stay civil about this. It's not an easy venture, and she's pretty sure it's not translating at all. Even she can hear the frustration in her voice. "How about we cut the shit, and you tell me what the false positive was."

"There are automated routines running for Sergeant Barnes' implants. They are not harmful; I've taken the liberty of checking them personally now that they've been cleared through quarantine. I am creating a stable update to forward to—"

"How long have they not been harmful, JARVIS?"

Hannah sits up from her relaxed position at the avoidance of their favorite nickname for the AI. Wyatt's brows pull in nervously, his eyes never leaving Ava. They both know exactly what she's digging at.

There's a long hesitation from JARVIS. Short by normal social standards but an eternity for a sentience with quantum processors. "There is not currently a risk posed within the Sergeant's—"

Ava's out of her chair and halfway to the door before he even finishes the omission. Fueled by some of the most intense rage she's ever felt in her life, she marches out on swift feet. She's going to kill him. She's going to string him up—maybe hang him off the side of the tower.

America's fucking Sweetheart, her ass. America's Doomed Liar is a lot more like it.

"Where is he," Ava nearly growls, still stalking down the halls, leaving the medical wing in a hurry. "JARVIS, I know you're still listening; you tell me where that puffed-up, hypocritical—oooh , you tell me where Rogers is right the fuck now. And then you tell me where Stark is—"

"Dr. Ryder, I know you're not inclined to believe this at the moment, but I assure you—"

"You're right; I'm not inclined to do that at all." She takes a deep breath as she passes through the front entrance, slowing herself to a stop. With genuine effort, she pushes down her anger. "I don't want to keep yelling at you. I don't like doing it in the first place. If you don't want to tell me where they are, I'll find them myself."

Ava heads for the elevator to do just that. She's not expecting a response as she pounds the side of her fist against the button for the Datacrux's floor. It's likely to be her best bet to find any of them. There's not a chance in hell that she's letting her team dedicate any more time to this until she gets some fucking explanations.

Halfway along the ride up, the light around the button goes dim. A flash of anger rises in her until she sees the one for the executive level illuminate.

"Mr. Stark is not currently in the tower, but you will find Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes debriefing in the Situation Room," JARVIS informs her over the elevator's intercom, making the SHEILD agents around her pretend not to look over. She's tempted to ask them if it's the outfit.

"Thank you, JAR," she offers as an olive branch. Regardless of what's truly going on here, she doubts the AI is all that comfortable with the subject.

"You're welcome, Ava."

She's only been to this part of the tower once before. Tony dragged her up to the Avenger's balcony for a party after her divorce was first finalized. That's about the extent of her experience with this section. It's not hard to find her way with everything denoted like it is in the rest of the building.

The palm of her hand smacks against the door marked Situation Room, and she shoves it open aggressively. Both super soldiers, the Falcon, Black Widow, and a scattered group of SHIELD agents stare back at her in surprise. It doesn't slow her down any.

Ava points an irate finger at Steve in the uneasy silence of the room. "Unless New York just caught fire, you and I are about to have a very blunt conversation, captain."

"Hiya, doc." Bucky, unsurprisingly, is the only one in the room smiling at her while she glares daggers at Captain America. He's still in his not-uniform. There's still blood on it. The charm he's throwing her way reminds her that they won't want an audience.

"I'm going to ask the rest of you to leave," she continues, but her eyes stay on the sergeant as her finger lowers. "I don't think you'll want to be here for this, Bucky."

"What makes you think I don't wanna watch you beat up my best friend?" He leans back in his chair, his hands coming up to rest on his stomach as his smile deepens.

"Can I stay?" Sam asks, his voice eager. It's a damn shame this is how she gets to meet him. She doubts the Falcon has any clue about unethical research.

"Come on," Natasha insists with a serene nod in Ava's direction, grabbing Sam's shirt to drag him up from his chair. "You heard her."

"I—hey!" Steve looks so insulted as he watches his friends and various coworkers abandon him with zero hesitation. "You're just gonna—I don't even know what I did!"

"Neither do I, but I am very ready to hear about it," Bucky assures Ava, not an increasingly distressed Steve.

Ava taps her foot impatiently as the room clears out, leaving her alone with the super soldiers. She ignores the nerves radiating off of one of them and focuses on the one that looks delighted. "I'm serious. This is about your case. Specifically, the work HYDRA was trying to finish."

The mirth leaves Bucky almost entirely. His posture doesn't adjust from its reclined position. "Alright. Tell me what's got you livid about it."

"Steve here made me a promise that was broken in my lab a few minutes ago."

Steve's eyebrows pull in with confusion. "Which promise? Wait—a few minutes ago—Is this about that blackout? Ava, catch me up here; what the hell is—"

"You swore to me that the intention of HYDRA—at least where Bucky's case is concerned—was to make an army of super soldiers, nothing more." She's letting him process this one step at a time. It'll make yelling at him for lying a lot easier. That, and she's honestly worried the technophobe doesn't understand the gravity of the situation.

"I—" Steve hesitates, and she watches the switch to tactical assessment come over him. It's startling to see it directed at her from a face that isn't Bucky's. "As far as I know, that was the intention."

"Yeah? You're sure about that? You're sure you're not omitting something pretty fucking important to my job, Steven?"

"JARVIS, what was the blackout?" Bucky questions at half the volume he started at when she first came in.

Ava points at the sergeant insistently. "See? I'm guessing he doesn't even know, but he's sure as hell already on the right track."

"There was an incident regarding the coding found in your implants, Sergeant Barnes. It has been handled. I have prepared an update to their systems whenever you're ready to undergo a transfer."

"As your doctor, I'm ordering it. We can go back to my office after I'm finished ripping your friend a new asshole for lying to my face." Her eyebrows lower at Bucky in indignation. She's doing this for him, but that doesn't mean she's going to let him off the hook if he knew. "We should probably figure out if I need to do the same to you before we get there."

"Hey, hang on now." Steve raises one hand, likely to try to calm her, but changes his mind and puts it back under the table. She's guessing someone's finally clued in the out-of-time man about that practice making women want to throw something. At his head. "We might not always be able to talk about classified information—something you agreed to, I might add—but I've never lied about HYDRA's intent as far as I comprehend it. I've been very careful to hold up that end of our deal."

"Let me tell you how I know, for a fact, that someone involved in this case is doing a piss-poor job of lying to me about it. Since you haven't quite figured out modern tech, I'm going to try to keep it simple." Ava points a far less aggressive, more instructing finger at Bucky's arm. "In order for that hunk of metal to work, it needs to be programmed. The hardware needs software that can tell it how to read brain signals. A few decades ago, some Nazis sat in a room and wrote a bunch of code for that software. That's what was supposed to be in Bucky's implants. That's all that was supposed to be in Bucky's implants."

"Wait—what the hell else is in them?" The flicker of fear that creeps into Bucky's expression breaks her heart. There's not a doubt in her mind that he could sell her on any lie he wants to with his mind set on it. That's the point of infiltrators like him.

But Ava's willing to bet everything she's got in this world that the fear in him at the moment is genuine. He doesn't know. And it makes her feel awful.

"Given the size of your implants, I'm guessing not much," she tries to reassure. "We can always purge whatever is there later. However, if the code were as simple as 'read this signal, do this thing,' it wouldn't have been flagged as untouchable by Tony's security measures. The ones put in specifically to prevent JARVIS from being corrupted." She crosses her arms over her chest in exasperation, her eyes moving to one of the small security cameras on the ceiling. "Would you like to explain to the captain what kind of code it would take to accomplish that, JARVIS?"

There's another human-length moment of hesitation from the AI in response. "It would take adapting code."

"The part he's holding back—definitely because he's under orders not to break SHIELD protocol—is that something has to be driving the adaptation. There is such a thing as self-adapting code; that would absolutely explain it. If we weren't talking about something made in the 40s when HYDRA needed entire warehouses just to house a few terabytes of data." She glances over at Bucky. "While I'm sure the agents you scare the piss out of would disagree, your head isn't actually big enough to hold that much."

"You flirtin' with me to stop the panic or to apologize for not being Canadian for a minute?"

Ava blinks in surprise, the slightest hint of heat coming up the sides of her neck. That—she hadn't been—well. Steve's head turns to him, his eyebrows raising in mild shock.

Bucky clears his throat, then tries for a quiet chuckle, his eyes floating between her and the table. "Sorry—it's this damn room. Puts me in sergeant mode, makes me—let's get back to yelling at Steve."

"Thanks, asshole, I appreciate—"

"What makes you think I won't yell at you just because I'm Canadian?" Ava counters, finally recovering. "You trying to stereotype me, Barnes?"

The relief that comes off of Bucky is palpable. "I'd go for the hippie thing first if I was trying to do that."

"Didn't you sleep through the McCarthy era?"

"HYDRA gave me the long and short of it between naps."

Her hand flies up to her face to block a loud snort. Damn him, this is serious. But she's not about to begrudge him the gallows humor. She lowers it again while he smirks at her. "Do you mind? I'm trying to make an angry but valid point here."

"About a bunch of code that my head isn't big enough for," he continues for her dryly, one hand coming off his stomach to gesture up at it.

Ava sighs, the amusement from getting sidetracked by the Brooklyn heartstopper fading fast. "Not big enough by the standards of the 40s. By today's standards?" Her head tilts to the side sadly, readying herself to watch that fear in him get more substantial. "You tell me, Buck. Did the Nazis work in the mindset of single projects, or did they work in the mindset of generations that would lead a global empire?"

The words are the last piece to complete the puzzle in Bucky's mind; Ava can see it happen in his eyes. The expression of horror it yanks out of him will haunt her for the rest of her days. "Zola."

It's said in a whisper, and Ava's not even sure what the word is.

It takes Steve longer to reach whatever conclusion Buckys come to, and he looks resistant to the idea at first. "No, that's... no—Buck, you've been to what's left. You know what it took—"

"That's the point she's making, stupid. Look at how small everything's gotten." He stops, and Ava doesn't miss the sight of a hard swallow. "It makes sense. Think about it. It makes sense. They took care of the car until they could find an engine that fit. I was the prototype. Or—was going to be, at least."

The comparison—the one he's using on himself—is revolting. Accurate, but astoundingly revolting. She pushes past it, leaning down to tap a condescending nail on the table. "Hi, there. Still here. Still looking for some answers. What the hell is Zola?"

With Steve watching him like a hawk, Bucky breathes a long, tired sigh. "Not what. Who."

"I can fill her in," Steve offers to him quickly. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, I'm not doing shit. She's going to do it all." Bucky locks eyes with Ava, his expression passive. Having the Winter Soldier himself that focused in on her makes her breath catch involuntarily. "How's your Russian, doc?"

"I don't speak a word of it. Do I need to for this?"

"No, I'm sure you've got plenty of ways to translate anything you feel like reading. You should look up doveryai, no proveryai while you're at it." He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. His eyes never once move away from hers. "JARVIS, transfer a copy of my archive access to Dr. Ryder. Full permissions. And the next time she asks you a hard question, you don't have to bullshit her. Tell her to call me."

—

April 6th, 2015

"I want you to bring me with you next time."

"No."

"Is that a no because you do not agree or because you are afraid of mother?"

"Both."

Shuri frowns at the security feed, ignoring the quiet laughter she can hear coming from Nakia on the other end. "Coward."

The camera mounted on T'Challa's dashboard shakes as he turns it back to his face, his expression annoyed. "Say that to my—"

"Coward."

T'Challa rolls his eyes and turns the camera back around as Nakia laughs harder. He will be mopey now, for sure. "I am not taking you to stare at a soldier's office with us."

"Why not?"

"To start with, I refuse to be trapped in a car with you for that amount of time."

"You should be so lucky! Now, what is the real reason."

"What part of royal family do you not—"

"You get to go to these things."

"And when you leave your lab long enough to learn to use the spears of your foremothers, that privilege can extend to you."

"Okoye is always ready to teach you, Shuri," Nakia offers up diplomatically.

"I do not need a spear to sit in a car annoying my brother," Shuri argues. They always do this to her. She is tired of it.

"You do not need to sit in a car annoying your bother at all." The moping has already started. She can hear it in T'Challa's voice.

"Fine. I will go to Ava's house and stay there while—"

"No."

Shuri slams her hands down on her desk, making the various instruments on it rattle precariously. "She is my family, too!"

There's silence on the other end in the wake of her anger. Then the camera turns again, this time by Nakia's hand. She doesn't stop the spin until it's pointed to show her and T'Challa. He does not look as annoyed anymore. He looks guilty.

Nakia gives her a sympathetic smile. "No one is trying to take that from you. We are only trying to keep you safe. We do not know how far Alec is willing to take things."

"And I am not willing to present the man with more temptations of power," T'Challa adds, the guilt on his face shifting to resignation. "It is not simply because I am afraid of our mother. I agree with her. And with our father. Alec Harlow is a man that is losing everything. That is a powerful motivator, Shuri."

"I am not afraid of that spineless demon," Shuri insists angrily. "I could handle him myself, thank you very much."

"Half the school children in Wakanda could," Nakia mocks under her breath.

She gets a stern look from T'Challa before he focuses it on Shuri. "It is not his strength we are concerned with. It is the allies he can call upon at any time. Men with strength and resources that we do not wish to deal with."

Some of the fight leaves her. Not much, but it does ebb. Her brother might be an idiot, but he is right about this. Ava would not be this afraid for no reason. She has been trying to disguise it when Nakia brings her for visits, which is how Shuri knows it is serious.

"I hate that man, brother." The word is far too inadequate. The contempt she holds for the worm who put fear in the heart of her favorite mad scientist feels immeasurable.

"As do I. As do we all." T'Challa smiles at her finally, his face softening. "I promise to bring you to hit him if he is ever arrested. That is when I will deem it safe enough."

"How many times?" she chases after quickly. "Can I bring a weapon?"

"You can bring exactly one weapon. Can you guess what it is?" The smile turns sarcastic as he reaches out and turns the camera back around to face Alec's office window.

"I do not need a spear to break that man."

"No, you need it so I can stop being lectured by Okoye for enabling your avoidance of tradition."

"That will not help. She wishes for me to sit through her lessons. I would just bring the spear to hit him over the head with."

Nakia laughs, the sound light and soothing. "I am surprised you did not go straight for the idea of skewering him."

Tilting her head down at her desk, Shuri hesitates. She picks up the ridiculous coffee mug Ava got her, spinning it around in her hands with somber movements.

Ava's last visit had been especially hard to stomach. The woman had looked so... empty as she talked about the start of the divorce. There had been no vengeful joy in her as she told Shuri's father she understood the gravity of the situation. No hard-won victory in her posture. There had only been grief and shame.

Shuri sighs, turning away from the screen to head for her lab's kitchen. She is going to fill the mug with one of the teas that Ava brings her. It will be a nice change from the energy drinks she has been binging. "No. I... I do not wish the man dead. I only wish to see him locked away somewhere he can never smile again."

—author end notes—

there’s one sentence in this chapter that is 14 words long (including contractions) that is the entire foundation of their incoming dom/sub and oh my g o d when i tell you that shit was cathartic to write 😫🤌 some day when this is finished, im gonna write a whole goddamn dissertation on that one sentence and all the narrative shit that tied into it in this fic so help me (YOURE ALLOWED TO GUESS BTW)

anyways, everyone is alive in wakanda bc i said so. and nakia and t’challa are really stupid uber mega important to ava’s backstory

i feel like we’ve all, as a species, Been Through Enough. you can talk my ear off abt anything, but dont talk to me abt the opening of wakanda forever i will Literally Die, i havent cried that hard over the first watch of a movie in so fucking long and i dont think im strong enough for a second. all i ever need for binging is winter soldier and black panther anyhow (FATWS is still growing on me and i only like it so far bc im a sambucky shipper. and a stucky shipper. and a 3 musketeer shipper. and a—i like making buckaroo be in love a lot. lets just. leave it at that). we can stop with the big owies thanks. let me escape to the fictional world where everyone is alive and Nothing Hurts, t h a n k s.

well. okay. some things are gonna hurt in this. probably really super bad too and youre gonna be really really mad at me when it hits. but like. theyre set up for comfort pay off so does it even really count??? i didnt think so, ty for agreeing 😌

ily 💖 tyty for reading 💞 and tyty in advance for yelling at me when i eventually hurt u ❤️🥰 i will understand, its okay, u are entitled to the emotional compensation on that one

#chapter update #good space

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evermore-fashion · 2 years

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everything you said in your post is true. if people don't like a particular dress they can just ignore it and move on- there are a million dresses out there and not everyone likes everything. commenting some bullshit about how you don't like a dress or think it's ugly is pointless. I get that everyone has the freedom to express their view on something but dropping rude, ignorant comments, especially when those comments are directed towards the account owner is not at all okay.

also what you said about people hating on models and their bodies- I didn't even know people still do that. either way it's so disgusting. I and several of my friends have dealt with bodyshaming so I believe me when I say that it does terrible things to your confidence and becomes the root of a lot of insecurities. just because these models might not see a random tumblr user's mean comment doesn't mean it's okay to say stuff like this?? the audacity of some people istg

anyway thanks for that post. I hope it knocked some sense into such people.

100% to everything you've said. A lot of Tumblr users seem to forget that there are people behind the blogs with real thoughts and feelings that can sometimes be delicate. All it takes is for one comment to trigger something that can send someone spiralling or just add to a problem they're trying to conquer every single day of their lives. For me right now I'm not feeling festive for a plethora of reasons I can't be bothered to go into but the last thing I need is people sending me criticism that isn't helpful to what I want to achieve. I want to be inclusive not just in my regular fashion posts but my mythology posts as well because there's more to mythology than just Greek mythology. Yet the source material for my blog in general can be few and far between or be in such low quality it's simply not worth posting.

The same goes for representing all body types, I've said it time and time again that the fashion industry is still too afraid to take that next step when it comes to body positivity. They're still too far behind to warrant any huge praise, when all the designers/fashion houses have to do say is yes to that one person who stands out from a crowd of those who are all forced to look the same. When that starts to happen more and more then we can start praising them more, and making them realise they've been making the same silly mistakes for far too long. Anyway thank you for your message though, fingers crossed my message has but I also won't be surprised if it falls on deaf ears for some people.

#Answers

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lilisouless · 3 years

Text

I´m gonna do a little reading experiment

Ok , so many of you are familiar with SJM , people here love her or hate her, i kind of want my opinion here and i can't give critics without taking a peck, so i´ll read the first chapters or both ACOTAR AND TOG , i´ve seen the plot and doesn't call to me.Also...SJM kind of writes like those "men writing women" memes except well, she is a woman.

My interest is maybe find if there are characters (the thing i mostly look for in a work) that can get my attention and make me keep reading, maybe one of this books turn into a guilty pleasure.

If i don't like then i´ll take this as an experience i´m sharing on here. My critism to SJM could only be limited since this is the first book on each series and maybe she got better there.

I won't be having all the books, i don't have the time or energy, the challenge here is seeing if i can get trought the first one and maybe like one of them.Who knows.

Let´s hit it: Throne of Glass

Celeana:

-She is weird, she is supposed to be a prisioner and keeps thinking if the people around her is pretty or not

-Prince here are tought to be...repugnant? what kind of weird ass worldbuilding is this? If this is setting up something interesting, i could be on board but right now is a really awkward way to setting Celaena (i won't always spell her name right) as having prejudice against royalty but this are the first pages,doesn't have a great impact

-Celaena´s narcisim and self image obsetion has to be her fatal flaw or i won't take it

-Like, i´ll take a protagonist with Celeana´s personality if it was well fleshed out, which i don't know if is the case here.But my great problem is: it doesn't quite fit an assasin. She is unsubtle, likes to be noticed,which could work from SOME assasin characters (Ex: that villain from The Nevers) but Celeana doesn't seem crazy ,why is she exactly an assasin?

-"No soy tonta, aunque cometí la estupidez de dejar que me capturasen" mija...te tengo malas noticias.

-Celinita celestina, creo que te has de haber graduado por palanca de la academia de acesinos.

-Enought with her, concensus?:

I don't "like" her but...strangely i may keep on with her as a guilty pleasure. Like those people who hate watch riverdale ( I don't i can't stomach it) Celeana doesn't strike me as a well writen character at first sight .BUT , i can take it as Dunyasha in another life, if i don't take her seriously i can have some fun reading her. My main problem is pretty much how much she doesn't make sense but,maybe i can live with that.

Celaena passes the test, unintentionaly and for the wrong reasons but she passes

-OHOHOHOH.I wrote too soon, she is a female mysoginist, of course she is. Yeah, i will never like her as a person,let´s cross fingers that i´ll take her as a character.

Dorian

-Alright, i did laught at him complaining about Celaena´s smell, is just funny how shameless he is.He is a stiff rich and privileged kid...i may like him

-Dorian...you sure you want to offer fredom to this girl? she is kind of nuts

-"esa" 🤣🤣🤣

-Unfortunetaly, his POV is not really the big deal, is just a paragraph on how beautiful Sar...ahem,Celeana is and that´s it, what a wasted change to expand him.

Chaol-

-I don't really have a lot to say about him, but i think he is fine

-He is a little generic til now and too serious but i actually like his banther with Cealeana and is a legit good contrast ,like those two and Dorian have a potential for a power trio

-No voy a mentir , el "¿estas casado? / yo tampoco😏" me mató

You know what? if nothing specially bad happens that makes me quit the book , i´ll may actually read it all for the fun,although i don't promise anything. Just the first one,the key is not taking it seriously.

Now: ACOTAR

Feyreh

-Ok, she likes painting, a hobbie is always something that makes a protagonsit a little more relatable

-Si,si mija ya entendí que eres tan pobre que no puedes ni prestar atencion

-But...her whole dylema with the arrow is conffusing, i am having trouble to get her personality , doesn't feel nuanced , it feels more,cultered

-YA DALE CON LA FLECHA O MÉTETE PA TU CASA PERO HAS ALGO C*ADOS!!!

-WithCindy and El geek are right, how is she soo poor but as soon as she can afford fcking food she buys a strange and expensive arrow,doesn't make sense

-If this is setting Feyreh as materialistic i´m on it, BUT make it with self awareness ,since right now it just seems convenient

-Alright, Feyre being a painter right now seem like an excuse for purple prose

-I really can't point her personality ,she is just ...blah,generic and i´m surprised since i´d asume SJM´s lead female would improve ,Celeana is not great at all but at least she is defined ,Feyre is just like any female lead in all fantasy lit

-Nope, sorry Feyre but ...nope, i don't hate you but i´m nowhere charmed by you and you don't make me want to continue this.Failed test.let´s see if you supporting cast saves your series

Elain & Nesta

-So one is mean and the other is dump

You know what? i´ll just skip to the most talked characters here

Tamlin:

-Not sure yet,he seems boring but maybe he is just quiet

-I kind of fell asleep thinking about this guy

Lucien:

-I like Lucien actually , the argument between Feyre and Tamlin is kind of generic banther but his interventions are kind of good

-Call her out Lucien

-Is official, i may not continue the reading but Lucien is my boy

-I´d root for him to be the main love interest (i know he is not, i know not even Tamlin is) but he deserves better than Feyre honestly

Rhysand:

-Since this guy went, acording to tumblr,some character growth later on, this is probably like the case of Zoya in S&B or Jamie in ASOIAF , anything i could say about him here may not apply to his character in later books.

-Alright, i am not charmed by him, he seems to have an interesting backstory, has more personality than Feyre and Tamlin

-But, his character type is a personal pet peeve, characters that are overall: hot. His whole personality and actions revolves on them being the author´s fantasy hot guy and...that never does it for me. This is a personal thing since most people would call it the female gaze but ,like i said: for me it´s a no.

-Me when Lucien interacts with Rhysand:

So...no, i won't continue ACOTAR , but Lucien it was nice to meet you.In my mind,you had a happy ending and that´s it.

#lili reads #this is too much negativity #little positivity #so the taggs shall be:#anti sarah j maas #or better #sarah j maas critical #anti acotar #acotar critical

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selfships-in-spanish · 3 years

Text

The Queen of Demons

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC, Levi Ackerman x OC

Rating: Gen (the rating will go up as the story advances! But it will totally be explicit ;D)

Warnings: None for now, but sexist and misogynist upbringing (Eva's father is a huge asshole).

Word Count: 2.085

ALSO POSTED ON AO3

A/N: This is it! The first chapter of the Arranged Marriage!AU I've been working and drawing about! I'll be posting it on AO3 too since I don't know if Tumblr will screw me over again and give me trouble for posting text >_> This wouldn't be possible without @spirit-in-the-library's help, so I got so much to thank my friend for <3 I really hope you enjoy the story, I've got so much written and planned already jajajaja Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1: THE PATH TOWARDS PERDITION

The scenery before her was breathtakingly beautiful, although it sent her a chill down her spine as she knew she went further into the unknown and her sealed fate. Snow was pretty, but silent and deadly too, and these woods weren’t familiar to her. The serene landscape didn’t calm her as it should have, only sending her nerves into a spiral of never-ending anxiety.

The cold bit at her hands and feet, the carriage did what it could in matters of isolating the cold, and she burrowed further into the thick winter coat, clinging desperately to it. Her handmaiden, Flora, looked pitiful too, her cloak not as thick as Eva’s. They tried to talk to ease both their minds, but it turned out it was better to let silence reign over them and try to enjoy the ride and the scenery as much as they could. Eva had never ventured this far when she accompanied her brothers on their diplomatic missions, Flora always excitedly travelling with her, eager to know the neighbouring kingdoms and people; she was a social hurricane and always ended up making friends with all the other maids (Eva made sure Flora could send letters and gifts, often pulling strings herself to make sure the packages were delivered safely), so both women knowing this was their final travel sent a freezing cold knot deep in their guts.

Eva saw Flora shiver, and with a tiny smile she scooted over, making room for her handmaiden under her cloak.

“Come here, I don’t want you to freeze.”

“Your skirt will wrinkle, your Highness.”

“As if it wasn’t wrinkled enough from sitting here for God knows how many hours. Come here, you stubborn mule.”

Flora snorted but obeyed, not wanting to be in the cold any longer. Eva covered them both, cuddling and letting out a sigh as she let her cheek rest on Flora’s head, looking out of the carriage’s window. She always hated the cold.

Eva probably dozed off while Flora was talking about some silly nothings, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and the shared warmth under her thick winter cloak. She realised Flora put her hood on so she didn’t let her neck stick out for too long.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! I won’t let Diana know you fell asleep listening to her epic romance with the guard captain’s son.”

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t tell her, she wouldn’t stop reminding me of it.” Eva rubbed her temples, still hazy.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Flora crossed her heart and looked at Eva trying to stifle a giggle. She failed, and both women laughed out loud, picturing Diana’s irked expression and waving hands.

They kept looking out of the window, enjoying the small moments as this one; they both knew they would be sparse now.

The landscape outside the window changed, having less never-ending fields of pure white snow and heavily covered trees and mountains, to more fenced fields with cattle and horses roaming around with some lonesome wooden houses in an architectural style so different from the ones back home.

Eva’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, knowing the carriage ride was about to end as they neared the fearsome warrior’s village walls. Flora squeezed her when the carriage came to a stop, trying to reassure the princess upon seeing the gate guards on the entrance talking with the royal soldiers at the start of the entourage, and the tremendous amount of people running around inside the village as both women peeked from the cold glass. They looked at each other in a silent and mutual exchange of comfort.

The townsfolk stopped on their tracks upon seeing the carriages entering the village, their gazes wary and distrustful, a contrast to the children shouting excitedly at the shiny armour the royal guards wore. Their mothers stood proudly, in defiance, reminding Eva of the fierce stray cats that roamed the Royal Palace gardens, hissing and standing tall whenever someone approached their kittens. Eva recalled the talk she overheard of Father and his advisors about this nation of warriors, how every single one of them had the blood of a terrifying fighter running inside their veins, how every single member of their society was trained to enter combat. Demons , that’s what her Father called them more than once, The Demons of Eldia. Whether that was true or not, Eva was downright terrified. Hostility was clear in their eyes and postures, not happy at seeing foreigners entering freely their territory. How did Father suppose she could survive this?

The carriages kept going, entering further into the maze of beautifully crafted houses. Flora parted from her embrace with Eva, knowing they would step out of the secluded space soon, and would need to make Eva look as if she hadn’t spent countless hours inside a wooden box; she had to make a perfect first impression. Eva wondered how different the village would look without all the snow covering every inch of it. Would it look as intimidating, but still beautiful, as it looked now?

Lost in her thoughts and Flora’s fussing, the entourage stopped in front of the biggest house Eva saw until now. It was massive, artfully crafted by the best artisans when it was built. Intricate markings decorated the wooden pillars holding everything together, and Eva could tell they had a meaning for these people. Right in front of the steps Eva saw more Eldian warriors, and in the middle stood those who Eva guessed probably were the welcoming party. She wondered how this Chief her father gave her hand into marriage was. Would he be a decrepit old man? A greedy one with lecherous fingers? A barbarian who would only use her for his own gratification? Was this Chief so entitled to himself and his pride that he would not even step down his throne, or the equivalent these people used, to greet them properly? What saddened her deeply was how her brothers, Hans and Friederich, agreed with Father.

Her questions would be answered in just a moment, hearing how the other two carriages, where her older brothers were, opened their doors, their heavy boots falling down the snow with a solid thud. Both women heard voices and movement outside. It was time.

“Remember, your Highness,” Flora began, giving her hands a final squeeze. “You have the strength to proudly hold your head high. The people of Gottesreich are by your side in here.” Flora touched with her finger where Eva’s heart was. “And I will be right behind you.

Eva let out a shaky exhale, a trembling smile on her lips.

“Thank you, Flora.”

The door of the carriage opened and a gush of freezing cold air hit both women. Flora tightened her cloak around her and waited patiently for Eva to exit first. It was Friederich who came to get her, gracing Eva with a tired smile while he offered his hand to help her out. Eva delicately posed her hand on the outstretched hand of his brother, the other pulling slightly up the skirt of the dress so she wouldn’t accidentally step on it and cause a scene. God forbid that happened, she couldn’t afford any humiliating mishaps of any kind. Eva stepped aside as Friederich also helped Flora out, and turned just once to see her sister following him behind, still with her hood pulled up; that was definitely Flora’s doing, knowing how the woman liked the tiny dramatics. Friederich huffed, amused.

Once they stopped just right next to Hans, his stance truly the epitome of a proud and regal prince, a member of the Eldian welcoming party walked over them, bowing their head lightly and making his light brown hair move.

“The people of Eldia welcomes you, your Highnesses, and hope you had a pleasant and safe trip.” The man had a soothing voice, calm, and such feelings carried into his eyes. “My name is Moblit and I’ll be your interpreter throughout your stay.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Moblit. I’m prince Hans Stein, heir to the throne of Gottesreich.” The crown prince bowed, right hand on his chest, and waited for Moblit to translate his words into the Eldian language. Looking at each one of the Eldians of the welcoming party, Hans turned to his other two siblings. “This is the second prince of Gottesreich, and General of our troops, Friederich Stein,” Friederich mimicked his brother, bowing respectfully too with his right hand on his chest as Moblit kept translating. “And last, princess Eva Stein, our younger sister.”

Eva felt her hands tremble and not because of the cold. She could feel everyone’s eyes fixed on her although she kept her own to the floor as her father taught her— never look at them in the eyes, only when you are being presented, but then quickly look away, never speak unless you are being spoken and addressed first, never—

She could do this.

Eva raised her hands, carefully lifting the hood of the cloak so it wouldn’t disturb her hair and tiara, and let it fall gracefully on her shoulders. She raised her head to proudly display her long neck, knowing it was being accentuated by the collar of the dress she was wearing, and looked at each member of the welcoming party before elegantly bowing towards the Eldians while delicately lifting the sides of the dress skirt as she was taught as a child. Once done, Eva returned to the position she was before: gloved hands in front of her, clasped together, head slightly tilted downwards and her eyes refusing to meet anyone’s unless she was required to do so. Father would be proud of how well she performed.

Some warriors whispered to each other, and Eva didn’t know if to feel grateful to not know what were they saying. It was just a quick glimpse as she wasn’t able to properly focus, but, where were the horns? The claws? The evil smiles with mouths full of sharp teeth? Her books depicted Eldia as demons, as creatures taking humanoid forms but with grotesque features. Eva couldn’t help but to feel thoroughly confused at the difference. Were the books wrong? Were they waiting for the right moment to show their true selves...?

A deep baritone voice quieted all the murmurs, speaking in a calm and collected tone that didn’t leave room for questioning. Eva would have called it a beautiful voice if she wasn’t being eaten alive by her fear and anxiety. The voice kept talking, and was now joined by Moblit’s translations. It was time to raise her eyes again.

“We welcome you, your Highnesses, and thank Goddess Maria for your safe journey to our land.” Eva briefly looked at Moblit, and was taken aback by the gentle appearance he displayed; she expected a brute, like her books said, but was met with soft amber eyes and sandy brown hair. Her attention was swiftly moved to the Eldians before them as Moblit gestured towards them. “My name is Erwin Smith, Chief of the proud Eldian tribe, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance too, your Highnesses.”

Eva’s eyes frantically fixed on the man Moblit was gesturing with his hand and claimed to be the Eldian Chief. Her husband to be. Eva was met with an icy blue gaze and intense like the sea she saw once when she traveled with Hans to a southern kingdom, but Eva noticed a hidden cleverness behind the stern glare. The eyes belonged to a handsome face, with sharp and chiselled features like his cheekbones, a beautiful aquiline nose and thick, blonde brows framing his face. His blonde hair was neatly parted to the side and Eva never saw a haircut such as the one he was displaying, both short and even shorter hair, but judging by the other Eldians, it was a common style. He was big, tall, and Eva saw the true poise and demeanor of a proud warrior. The blue war paint smeared on his face and exposed arms made Eva unconsciously gulp down; he looked terrifying. Even if the Chief was wearing thick clothing, there was no doubt there weren’t feeble sticks for limbs underneath them.

The princess was taken aback, unable to tear her gaze away from the Chief’s ones, and going against all her modal teachings. Those blue eyes were hypnotic and unreadable, like his face.

That was the man she was going to marry.

Erwin Smith.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #erwin smith #erwin smith x oc #erwin smith x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #arranged marriage au #queen of demons #mius writes

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writerseven · 4 years

Text

The next installment of props was giving me trouble, so I ended up doing some warm up writing in the form of flipping a scene from runaway to Dick's perspective.

I'm not posting this officially since it's super unpolished, probably redundant, and potentially even contradicting future fics in the series since I just wrote it as an exercise, but I figured I'd drop it here because this sort of thing is what I made this tumblr for in the first place. Enjoy this unedited minifc!

The kiss catches him completely off guard. Dick's brain gets caught in a loop of What? No, wait, why? What? Wrong-wrong-wrong, for a beat too long, before he realizes he has hand and should be using them. Frantic action takes over from shocked stillness, and he pushes Tim away a little rougher than intended.

Dick opens his mouth to—he doesn't know. Apologize? Ask what the fuck that was? Just gape aimlessly? It doesn't matter; Tim speaks before he can:

“Sorry! Oh god. I'm sorry.”

Tim looks genuinely horrified at his own actions, hand hovering over his mouth unconsciously, and it's the push Dick needs to get ahold of himself. He needs to—he needs to cut this right off at the root. Whatever wrong impression he's given, whatever wires has been crosses, he needs to fix that shit right now.

“Tim...” he says, trying to figure out where to start.

“Sorry,” Tim says, breathing hard.

Dick feels his brow pinching, heartbeat much faster than reasonable for a completely danger-free scenario. “I'm...Shit. I'm—way older than you, and you're a kid.” Oh, great, just really patronize Tim away while he's at it. “Which I know no teenager wants to hear, but I...”

Tim shakes his head, slinking further back against the couch. “No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...”

Dick shakes his head slightly, trying to get this all out before it blows up. “I know you have a family and parents of your own, but when I call you my little brother, I really—I really do mean it.”

“I know that,” Tim says, looking down. “I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't even really—I don't even...I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that.”

The thing is, he seems completely honest about it. Completely distraught. Dick has...well, he's done stupid self-destructive stuff in all the wrong moments and not known why, but that was always predicated by something. Something he was dealing with really poorly.

A hands grips his heart before he breathes deep and forces it to release. There are still a million explanations; he doesn't know for sure that it's bad. It really could just be a kid with an inappropriate crush. Hell, Dick himself had a little hero-worship thing going on for about half the Justice League back when he was a tiny pre-teen in pixie boots.

Tim is pulling away, off the couch. “I'm sorry,” he says, stronger. “I should—I can go. I'm gonna go.”

Dick leans out to catch him on instinct, grabbing his hand. “Hey, wait, don't—”

Tim stops, but won't meet his eye. Dick scans over him carefully, lingering on those stark neck bruises for a moment, and tries to remind himself not to get worried when there might be nothing to worry about.

“What happened?” Dick asks, keeping his voice level. Tim glances up and away again. “I mean—” He swallows, trying to sort out a phrasing that implies the least. “Can you at least tell me what brought this on?”

“I don't know,” Tim mutters, rocking on his heels. It's such a guilty child's motion that Dick can't help but squeeze his hand. “I guess I just...thought you'd be nice about it.”

No, no, nonono.

“Be nice about what?” Dick asks softly, terrified he knows.

Tim glances up, exactly as ashamed and scared and desperate as Dick hoped he wouldn't be. Dick abruptly realizes he's still clutching onto Tim's hand, giving the kid no choice in the matter, and drops it, clearing his throat.

Okay. He's—If this is what he thinks it is, he knows how to do this. (And, god, he heard a million awful comments back when he was running Gotham's seedy streets, even as a kid, but he never thought anything would happen to Tim.) If this is that, Dick knows how to deal with victims, how to be calm but soft, ask without judgment. And if it's not, none of that can hurt. His back straightens on instinct.

“Can I hug you, or do you want space?” Dick asks.

Tim is in his arms almost before he's finished the question. Dick wraps him up immediately, tugging him closer onto the couch, practically in his lap. Tim would probably say he's too old for it, but Dick can't help but perpetually think of his little brother as younger than Dick ever was, even knowing that's far from the truth.

“I really am sorry,” Tim mumbles into his shoulder. “I didn't...mean it like that.”

“I know,” Dick says. He's wished so strongly he didn't, but it's worth it if he can use it to help Tim. They can do this. He's not going to let his brother deal alone. “I'm...I understand.” The words get caught in his throat, refusing to dislodge. Dick can't manage to say any of it more explicitly than, “I think I really, really do.”

He closes his eyes over Tim's hair, gentling rubbing his back. For a few minutes it's just that, and Dick lets himself get away with the delay on the thought that Tim needs it and they both deserve to calm down.

He still doesn't actually know, though. Dick is pretty sure he has the vague shape of it. The general category of what happened—or almost happened, if he's lucky, maybe just a scare—the ensuing feelings he knows far too well, the urge to reclaim it. But nothing has been said. He has to be sure he's not just projecting.

“I,” Dick starts, so, so slow and cautious, “I do think I still need you to tell me what happened, though. When you're ready. We can just sit here for now.”

“No, it's okay,” Tim says. His voice is a little hoarse, but when he draws back there are no tears in sight. Dick's heart aches for this too-strong kid. “It's...nothing. I'm handling it. I'm sorry I freaked out on you.”

“Tim...” Dick frowns.

Tim pulls away, returning to his seat on the couch. It's closer this time, though, one of Dick's arms lingering over his shoulder without a reach. His throat works hard a few times, drawing attention to those bruises. They're definitely finger-shaped. Dick has seen too many like that not to know.

He lifts a hand to examine them better, not thinking, and Tim—flinches. Hard, like Dick punched instead of barely brushed him. Dick's heart leaps in response.

“Sorry,” he breathes.

“S'okay,” Tim says, though he's a little breathless himself.. “The—the bruise, y'know.”

Dick clenches his jaw at the blatant lie. “It wasn't the bruise, Tim.”

Tim shrinks in on himself, even his voice lowering. “It's just. You know...Batman stuff.” His eyes flick up, bright and desperate on Dick's. “I'm sure you dealt with the same kind of stuff when you were Robin.”

He doesn't react. He's so goddamn careful not to react because now is not the situation to be losing it, and not the person to be losing it in front of, and not the time to be losing it when, again, he doesn't actually know anything. Not for sure. Not really.

But Dick's heart slams against his rib cage and his brain lights up every siren.

That doesn't mean what he thinks it means. That does not mean what he thinks it means. It doesn't even—there's not even anything like this that Dick “dealt with” when he was Robin. He doesn't even know why his brain is going there. Sure, Bruce can be distant or cold or manipulative or, much as he hates to admit, on occasion selfish to the point of cruelty, but Dick doesn't have any actual reason to believe...

(Only...) Robin stuff. It's just Robin stuff, those million awful comments Dick heard and Tim must have too. But. Tim did say it was Batman stuff.

Dick takes one more very careful, very steady breath, before he allows himself to speak. He fights to make his voice perfectly even. “Tim, did Bruce...Has Bruce ever...?”

“No, it's not—He's—Bruce is fine,” Tim interrupts quickly.

Dick is hit by relief that he grabs onto with both hands, and then guilt that he refuses to examine.

“He's—” Tim continues. “He just wants to reconnect with Jason, so he's...”

Conflicting emotions come to a screeching halt at that. Okay. Turns out Dick really doesn't know apparently. “Jason?”

He heart does an entirely unrelated funny little twist over saying Jason's name. It's been so long, and thing changed completely while Dick wasn't even there. But somehow his first brother is back, even if Dick is yet to see it himself, and apparently...involved in this?

It's not a hard jump from there. The only time Dick knows of when Jason and Tim have ever interacted led to Tim's near-death at Titan's Tower.

“So Jason...” He puts a hand over his own throat in demonstration instead of indicating Tim's and risking another flinch.

“I mean, I—Both of them, technically...”

Dick's hand stills. There's a horrible weight in his gut, but only one other person has been mentioned this conversation and it's impossible to ignore. He can't muster up the energy for proper emotion when he asks, “Jason and Bruce both...hurt you?”

It takes a long moment, before Tim nods.

No. Dick scrubs over his face like he's chasing phantom tears. It's like he's simultaneously too emotional and too numb to actual conjure any. The block in his throat doesn't feel like crying; it just aches.

“But Bruce isn't usually...” Tim is saying, Dick unable to answer.

He twists away, towards the couch, elbows digging into the backrest and face shoving into his palms. What he really wants to do it hit something heavy and solid and painful, but this is best he can get without hurting himself in front of Tim. No.

That's it. Just no. No, not this. No, it's a mistake. No, he's wrong. No, no, no, Dick has misunderstood and made leaps where he shouldn't and put the pieces together in the wrong puzzle.

But Tim's neck is bruised by hands, and he kissed Dick because he thought Dick was safe and that's—

Dick is still a pretty good detective, even when he doesn't want to be.

It's the hardest word in the universe to force out, barely able to peak through his hands towards Tim. “Sexually?”

Tim nods.

Dick selfishly, horribly, stays quiet as Tim tries to course correct and near-pleads with him for validation. He can't. If he opens his mouth he might scream.

#props series #it also cuts off abruptly because that's where i decided i had gotten into the groove enough and could move on to the actual fic #wrote this edited nothing bon apetit #7fic

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nightowlfandom · 6 years

Text

Requested: Jungkook-Office Rivals.

HIYA! My request list is RIGHT HERE! (ALSO DO YOU LOVE SLASHER FAN FICS?! MY GOOD FRIEND MADE A TUMBLR FOR IT AND TELL HER THAT ASH FROM NIGHTOWLFANDOM SENT YOU! @slasher-fanatic LOVE YOU BOO!)

3-"Damnit, do you have any idea how amazing you are? Stop being so damn insecure!"

29-"Where the hell did you learn that?!"

34-"Don't pretend that wasn't on purpose, come here."

45-Go to sleep, I promise I'll wake you up"

54- .How stupid so you think I am?!"

(I HAD TO TYPE THIS STUPID POST FIVE TIMES OVER. I'm sorry if this is the complete opposite of what you wanted but I couldn't write this a sixth time without going into panic. Pleaseee forgive me for that.)

...

"Did you really think a trick like that would work?!" you stormed onto Jungkook's office, seething with rage. "You stole my client!"

"I wouldn't say stole, Y/N. More like convinced him that I was the better candidate. As I always am." he smirked. Jeon Jungkook was the type of man that thought just because the name CEO was attached to his title, that he could walk over who he pleased and it really made you mad. You were just as important as he was.

"Did you bribe him or something?" you crossed your arms. "You seem like the type!"

"That would be your department Ms. L/N (last name). Lucky for me I don't need high heels and a low cut blouse to be convincing." he shrugged. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a deal to settle." he sad down and began typing at his phone. "Good day Ms. L/N."

You whipped around, shutting his door behind you. The nerve of him! He stole your client and then commented on your attire?!

"Hey, how'd it go?" you were joined by Rose. (Okay if it wasn't obvious from my last post, I love Blackpink) "Did he admit it?"

"Yes! He stole my client because he thought he was 'the better candidate' " you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "Who does he think he is?!" you snapped. "I'm just as important as he is."

"Of course you are. You know how Mr. Jeon is." she shook her head. "What can you do other than- don't even think about murder." she cut you off just as you opened your mouth.

"I gotta go, I have a report to type." you walked ahead of your friend who shook her head.

"I know that face." Taehyung, another worker had appeared. "You have a plan don't you?"

Rose smirked, nodding her head. "Yes, but I'm gonna need your friends' help. Can you do that?"

"Anything to get those two together." Taehyung laughed. "What do I need to do?"

...

"What do you mean the reports need to be typed again!?!" you and Jungkook yelled at a eerily calm Yoongi. Six reports within the week, gone like that!

"They just disappeared out of nowhere." he shrugged. He looked like he was trying to hide something. What about this was so amusing!? "Taehyung said he couldn't find them, Rose said the same thing. Even Changmin."

" I spent days on those reports, where the hell could they have gone?!" you began pacing.

"Forget it, we'll have to type them again." he waved your rant off.

"That'll take all night." you sighed. "The amount of detail put into them, even if I start now I won't be done until, I don't even know. 4:00 AM."

"I never said you'd be on your own Ms. L/N." Jungkook made you stare at him in confusion. He wasn't really going to try and help you was he?

"What?" you asked stupidly.

"If I help you, then you won't be stuck typing until four." he looked at you like you had a sign that said ' I'm a Dumbass' around your neck. "How stupid do you think I am to the point where I can't type a simple staus report?"

"Don't ever recall insulting your intelligence but okay." you sighed.

....

Damn Jungkook and damn his nice house. Damn the fact that you agreed to come over instead of staying behind by yourself. You seethed as your furiously typed on your laptop you tried to wrap your mind around your current situation as you glanced over at your notes.

Jungkook was in his stupidly nice kitchen. Don't get it wrong, you had a very nice place too, you just hated the fact that today of all days was when your car was in the shop, meaning Jungkook had to drive you to his place so you could both work.

"Here you are." a glass was set down in front of you. You didn't look at it right away but you mumbled a quick "thanks".

"Listen, I know you're less than thrilled about working with me, but you could we try to be cordial. Ot at least a bit chill?"

"I am chill." you clenched your teeth as you typed. You noticed Jungkook staring at your notes, trying to type what he saw on his own laptop.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jungkook asked as he looked up from his computer.

"Sure."you were too focused to make a snide comment like along the lines of 'I don't know, can you?'

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked. You stopped everything you were doing and turned to face him. He did not jus-. Did he just ask why you hated him?

"You don't remember the day we met? You spilled coffee on me, then mistaked me for a delivery girl. Then when your ex-assistant told you that I was your second in command you laughed, looked me up and down then said AND I QUOTE ,'Her? No way in hell. She probably can't even use a stapler correctly.' " you snapped, shutting your laptop for dramatic effect (good thing your laptop autosaves after long pauses). "You basically embarassed me at the staff introductory meeting telling everyone not to be surpised if I stand at the copy machine for too long because all the colorful buttons would confuse me." you stood up. You were now ranting. "The very next day when I talked to a client from Hungary, you told him that I wasn't anyone important! Thus embarrassing me again!"

"Y/N!" Jungkook slowly stood up.

"Don't Y/N me, because I'm not done! You'd ridicule my work every chance you got, how dare you call me reports 'simple'! Insinuating that I use my body to convince clients. My shirts are NOT low cut for the record!"

"Y/N." Jungkook sighed. You began pointing a finger at his chest.

"What?!" you crossed your arms. "There's loads more I have to say about what you've said to me."

"Well, don't. Because they aren't true. I didn't mean any of it." he sighed.

"What?!" you raised a brow. "Hold on, did you just say that-"

"I didn't mean any of it." he shook his head. "Everyone instantly liked you and I saw your resume and I felt challenged."

"Challenged, with the way you treat me, you might as well win every battle. Did you really expect me to think that was really going through your mind was 'Damnit do you have any idea how amazing you are, stop being so insecure.' " you faked (and failed) a deep voice. "Since day one you've been treating me like I'm some kind of dumb broad! I tried being nice to you and you blatantly disregard my work ethic or my skill in general. So don't you sit there and ask me wh- woah!"

You suddenly tripped over your own shoe, crashing into Jungkook's broad chest. Just like that you two were sent crashing to the floor. Good thing there was a nice carpet. You landed on Jungkook who landed on his back, causing the both of you to groan in pain.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry." you tried to scramble up, only to lose balance and land in a straddling position on Jungkook.

"Geez, could you be any more clumsy." he sighed. Propping himself up on his elbows, you finally got a good look of his face. Without his hair slicked and styled like the guys in those dramas you and your mom loved to make fun of. His face was actually relaxed.

Jungkook studied your face, your hair was a little bit of a mess, without that seemingly angry look you wore around him, he could see why everyone you met said you seemed friendly. You rushed to your feet, fixing your clothes.

You sat back down, opened your laptop and began working again, obviously bent of just finishing and going home to enjoy what little sleep you'd get until the next day.

"Y/N." Jungkook asked. Just as you turned your head, Jungkook wasted no time in kissing you. You nearly lost balance so to stay afloat you clung to his arm.

"Don't pretend that wasn't on purpose." Jungkook said in a low voice. "Come here." his words confused you to no end. In all actuality you could blame this incident on faulty high heels you were getting ready take off to throw at him. Unless he was talking about you clinging to his arm, then that was all you. In an instant you were pulled into Jungkook's lap, your hands making an eyen bigger mess of his hair. His hands traveled up your skirt allowing gusts of cold air to brush up against your skin.

Whatever was building up inside you needed to get out, so to relieve the tension coiling up inside you, you slowly moved your clothed core against, Jungkook's thigh, just to relieve yourself, even a little. Your legs shook as he guided you against his leg.

Jungkook held the back of your head, his hands tangled in strands of your hair. You weren't sure how to make out the feelings that coursed through your brain. Yes you hated Jungkook, but did you? Or were you just working off of what he showed you of himself and not what your other coworkers said about him apparently bragging that you were the best. You couldn't really hear yourself think over the harsh breathing leaving your body as your tongues crashed and prodded one another.

Whether you magically landed on the bed out of nowhere or whether Jungkook put your there wasn't important what was important was that he needed you. Since that day you walked in he couldn't fathom the threat of someone who worked harder than him. And beautiful too?! Might as well make him your assistant and call you the CEO. Not to mention him just plain out being a jerk for no reason, he kept it up because you'd think he was a dirty liar if he actually tried to apologize and makeup for his actions.

Jungkook furiously unbuttoned his shirt. Thoughts of you with your legs wrapped around his torso that have been haunting him since you told him off your third month at the company were too strong. They blinded his work ethic. Yes, reports needed to be done, but feeling you against him was twice as important. No, way more important.

He'd have time to enjoy your body, kiss every part of you later, now he needed you.

You had no time to worry about reports. Damn your sexual frustration and your messy hair. Your clothes discarded who knew where, you were too ready for him to care. (I hate myself but I'm not changing the scentence.)

Even thought he couldn't wait, he still wanted to care for you, he gently pinned your arms above your head as he slowly lowered himself into you. The sound of water sounded strange in your ears as the noises got faster and louder, gradually of course. Almost gracefully, your name escaped his lips, followed by a grunt of appreciation.

"Fuck!" Jungkook grunted. "Fuck I'm gonna-" he groaned. His thrusts grew slower and less calculated. His jaw went slack as more unintelligible sounds spilled from his mouth.

You nearly screamed his name but was muffled by Jungkook's mouth colliding with yours. An effective, yet seemingly messy way of shutting you up. You shook furiously under him, tightening around his length. Screams echoed through the room, yours and his.

You yawned tiredly collapsing onto the plush surface, your eyes grew very heavy as Jungkook laid next to you.

"I'm sorry. If I wasn't such an asshole to you when we first met." he sighed. "We would have gotten to this place a lot quicker." he laughed dryly.

"That's not funny." you whined, burying your head into the pillow next to your head. "Watch the hair next time, you probably made a tangle I won't be able to get out." you sighed, trying to fix your hair.

"Go to sleep, I promise I'll wake you up. We can ride to work tomorrow." Jungkook chuckled traced soothing lines on your hip, making you smile. "After we have breakfast together."

"Okay." you yawned, drafting off. "I like (insert favorite breakfast food.)" you hinted. You suddenly realized something "Jungkook?"

"Yes beautiful?"

" I always send copies or reports to everyone else in the office, including your personal email. There would be no way those reports were lost unless someone moved them to a different folder...."

"Wait a minute." Jungkook mumbled. "You don't think anyone at the office had anything to do with this, do you?"

"Too sleepy to care, but most definitely." you yawned. "We'll deal with it later." you yawned. "Sleeeepp" you whined, poking Jungkook's nose. You didn't have time to hear him chuckle at your mannerisms as you drifted off.

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