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throneofsapphics · 2 days

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finding you again, part two

Azriel x f!Reader

summary: after he ended your relationship, you didn’t expect Azriel to pop into your life again - and you’re not happy about it

warnings: violence, injuries, war

a/n: if anyone wants to be added to the taglist, please let me know!

series masterlist

Azriel barely remembered making it to the healing tent.

It must’ve been a hallucination, surely you wouldn’t have healed him. You’d call for someone else to do it.

“Stay safe spymaster,” you’d said with that wicked smirk on your face, “and do it far away from me, won’t you?”

He’d let you get the last word in. Maybe because it pleased you, maybe because he was too caught up staring at you.

Still, the features he’d tried to memorize those months ago loomed over him, pretty eyes glimmering with worry.

“Come on, Azriel,” you half-snarled. “I’ll be pissed if you don’t make it.”

“You have horrible bedside manner,” the words rasped from his throat.

“Get some water,” he didn’t know who you called, but he both heard and felt the pure relief in your voice. Next thing, you were tipping his chin, fingers cold against his skin, cool water sliding down his throat.

“He’ll be fine,” you said, withdrawing as quickly as possible. Azriel’s vision was still swarming, but Cassian helped him sit. He caught sight of your back, ducking under the tent flap, back out towards the carnage.

Madja was busy, and you hadn’t hesitated when your High Lord’s voice slipped into your mind, ordering you to a specific tent. Your stomach had dropped when you saw him. Not because of the gore, because it was Azriel, knocking on death's door hovering right on the brink of an unconsciousness that would put him in a coma. Perhaps not your neatest work, but he would survive.

Rhysand was probably aware of your shared history, and it made you even more surprised he let you near him.

You shook the thought of him, of the Inner Circle, from your mind and faced the hoards of injured and dying again, scanning for the most critically injured. There was plenty of work to do.

Pace yourself, you remembered Madja’s teachings on battlefield healing, and your own experience. Ration your magic, use only what’s necessary. They’ll survive a scar.

Time had no meaning as you worked, hours passed with countless patients, the sun fell and rose, and you could barely stand on your own two feet.

“Take a rest,” a familiar voice, and a hand squeezing your shoulder.

You shook it off. “There’s more to do.”

“You can’t help anyone if you pass out,” he said mildly.

Pivoting to face him, your face tightened. “And people will die if I can’t help them.”

If you had more energy, you would’ve squirmed under his scrutiny. “At least eat something.”

“Fine,” you spit out, and headed to the tent the healers stayed in, on the outskirts of camp, hoping he wouldn’t follow.

He had, of course, as you emerged with an apple between your teeth, a few strips of dried meat in a recently cleaned hand, he was standing outside. Somehow, the area was regretfully empty.

“I don’t need a minder,” you told him. “Go rest.”

“Hypocritical.”

“You’ll ruin my hard work.”

His eyes flashed. Amusement or ire, you reminded yourself not to care, reminded yourself again as he left without a look back. He was getting in your head again. If you survived this war, if your world survived it, you’d flee far far away.

It was dark, he should be sleeping, but instead he slid through the shadows, searching through the camp for … for you. His shadows told him everything, but he felt the need to set his eyes on you, like if he looked away for too long you’d disappear.

“You can’t stay?” you asked. His eyes scanned you, white sheet barely covering the top of your breasts, the slight look of disappointment on his face. Azriel needed to be up early, and he knew if he spent another minute here, he’d be late and have too many questions to answer.

Instead, he kissed your forehead, “another time,” he promised, unsure if he could actually keep it, and slipped out the door.

The memory came to him out of nowhere, the desire to go back and change that moment strong and unexpected. He forced it from his mind, there was no going back, and you’d made that perfectly clear.

As soon as he’d caught a glimpse of you, he retreated to make an effort to get some sleep - it’s what you’d want him to do.

You moved with the armies, went where you were ordered, healed whoever needed healing, and most of all - kept your head down.

Maybe a few days, maybe a week had passed, but when Azriel appeared, one hand pulling the tent flap back, you didn’t have the energy to rebuke him.

An exhausted wave of your hand, you let him in, and turned to pile over the notes in front of you. Letters bent and blended, and the heavy blinks to try and return them to legible words failed.

Footsteps, loud enough to make sure you were aware of his position, slowing as they reached. Twisting barely over your shoulder, his thumb pressed against your chin, turning you forwards, to gaze at his shadow cast against the tent wall - now encompassing your own.

Featherlight brushes against the skin of your neck, goosebumps down your spine, rough thumbs run circles in all of your trigger points. Decades ago, he’d done this nearly every time you met, always without asking, and somehow still knew all of the right places.

A low moan escaped slightly parted lips as he dug into where your shoulder and neck met. The fingers paused, but gods the exhaustion must’ve been truly driving you out of your mind, because you covered his hand with your own, encouraging him to resume.

A low chuckle, and he did.

The next hours were something of a fever dream. Your bed was hardly large enough for two - especially for a pair of wings, but you managed to lay side by side, both fully clothed. Occasionally, his hand would bump into yours, and vice versa.

The only noise inside the tent was your steady breaths, the two of you finding solace in the silence of each other's company. In that silence, you convinced yourself it was a dream, or a ridiculous hallucination.

But, when you woke in the morning - alone, the usual tightness in your neck was missing, and familiar hints of cedar and night chilled mist filled the space. You were well aware he owed you nothing, but waking alone, not even a note, left you feeling used - you scoffed at the word - he’d given you a massage after all, if anything you were the one using him.

Whatever game he was playing with you, you wanted no part of it. Even if it wasn’t a game, even if he was just searching for some comfort during the chaos, it wasn’t you. He could find another source. The night only tightened your resolve to stay away from him.

You were not called to heal him, nor any other members of the Inner Circle, again - to your relief. Just once, you saw him in passing, and averted your gaze, melted into the crowd before you could be noticed.

The war ended, and you heard the stories of sacrifice, of the loss and gain of life, and thanked the mother with each one, but all you had eyes for was the rows and rows of males and females in varying shades of misery front of you.

“Madja,” you called just loud enough to catch the healer's attention. She held up her hand in acknowledgement. The moments dragged as you watched her movements, the careful and measured expenditure of her magic, the efficient bandaging and applying of herbs.

As soon as she’d finished, she met your eyes. As always, her gaze stripped you bare and you wondered what she saw, before deciding you didn’t want to know. Her chin jerked towards the water basin, and you dutifully followed. You’d received her summons just minutes ago.

“Back by the border,” she started - the location of the last battle, you noted, “there’s a medical camp in need of a seasoned healer. Although we can hardly spare you,” she sighed, “they asked and their need, believe it or not, is equal if not greater than ours.”

“The ratio?” You asked, steeling yourself.

“About fifty,” she gave you a look that said she didn’t envy you.

“Then I better get going,” your mouth curved at the corners. After all, there was nothing keeping you here.

You were fresh off a few hours of mandated rest and a good meal, and knew you had enough energy to winnow and get to work as soon as you arrived. It took mere minutes to pack the few things you brought, to tuck whatever supplies Madja could spare into a pocket space. You didn’t give yourself time to evaluate the weight that left your chest as you departed.

When the chaos and politics surrounding the final battle ebbed, he looked for you. His shadows searched every inch of the blood soaked ground, tent, hidden crevice, but you were gone. Swallowing pride, he asked Madja, who only said you were dispatched elsewhere, and fixed him with a quizzing look. His eyes cool and face an unreadable mask of stone, he let his shoulders rise and drop slightly.

“I only wish to thank her.”

Madja huffed, head shaking and turned away. It didn’t matter whether or not the healer believed his half-truth.

Azriel had spared what time he could for you, and banished you to a back corner of his mind, tucked away with the other memories that ached an old part of him. Shadow cooling his neck, a slow exhale, and he focused back to the present, back on his priorities. He needed to keep you where you belonged, in his past.

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#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x you #azriel acotar

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fandomwritingbit · 3 days

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Too good to be true

william afton x (fem) police reader

synopsis: A two part series about William destroying your life.

It's your first homicide case as a detective, a young child murdered with no tangible leads and you're eager to bring the evil bastard to justice. It's a lot of pressure though, and to much weight on your shoulders leads to questionable decision making.

warnings: child murder, smut, swearing, drinking, domestic arguing/marital problems. just generally mature themes.

A/n: As always this isn't steeped in fnaf lore, just purely from my silly little brain. I'm so glad to finally have this out and be back on here to obsess over men. Hope you like it Xx

“It’s okay, take your time.”

The social worker smiled kindly, hoping that the pleasant expression would hide how her heart was breaking at the words leaving this child’s mouth. It’s harrowing to hear, the topic of death should never be exposed to kids this young, at least not in the cruel fashion it had been mere hours ago. “We can take a break if you want, get a snack?”

The little lad shakes his head, at only seven years old he knows it’s better to get the story over with. Never before had so many adults been so interested in what he has to say, this is serious. Even if he doesn’t understand what happened, he does understand the finality of it. The scary, definitive nature of what’s happened. He’ll never see his friend again. “Can I have some juice?” The boy asks quietly, his voice the epitome of innocence. It makes the social worker’s eyes sting. The lead officer smiles wryly.

“Sure you can, Josh. Shall I go?” The lady switches her attention from the child to the pair of cops sitting across from them.

“No, I’ll go.” You interject, not wanting you and your superior left alone with the weight of this child’s emotions. He hasn’t cried, but you can see the tears brimming beneath his surface. You look Josh in the face and try to speak as kindly as his companion, “Do you like orange?”

He just nods.

…

The room was heavy in silence during your brief absence, you were only gone a couple of minutes, the vast majority of the time spent in thought over the canteen sink. You were promoted to detective only a year ago and so far the cases you’ve been assigned were of little intensity, drunken brawling, verbal domestics, thefts and robberies. And now a child was dead, murdered, and it has utterly devastated the community. But as upsetting as it is, this is an opportunity for career growth, even if you already feel out of your depth.

The crime scene was brutal, the child laid in the outside storage of a restaurant, face down, multiple stab wounds. Blood smeared on the ground that your splatter analyst said horrifyingly suggests that the child dragged themselves closer to the door, only stopping when they no longer had the strength to continue. No murder weapon. There are no obvious suspects, every man and his dog within a 2 mile radius was pulled in for questioning. But the lack of witnesses and the hole in the chain fence leading to the area was a hindrance. The only lead you have is Josh because, unfortunately, he found the body.

You bring the child his drink, handing it to him before sitting down next to the lead officer, mentally steeling yourself for questioning.

“So, Josh.” Your colleague begins, talking to children doesn’t come naturally to him, but you see him trying. “I asked you, what time did you last see the vict- Mary?” He corrects himself, but all three of you know what he was going to say.

“I’m not sure.” He answers in a tiny voice.

He goes to ask again, sitting forward, but you stop him, cutting in to ask the boy in a different way. “I know you all sang happy birthday to the birthday boy at around half twelve. Did Mary get a slice of cake?” The social worker puts her hand on the little lad’s shoulder, whilst he thinks.

After a moment, he says, “No. Auntie Carol asked if she wanted one but she wasn’t there.”

“Okay, thank you.” You smile, before turning to the other officer, talking quietly, “Coroner said T.O.D was between 12:00 and 13:00.”

He agrees, “So it’s looking closer to twelve.”

There was a group of people waiting outside to be questioned, parents, staff, everyone who may have a shred of information and your precinct was struggling to manage it. The deceased’s parents have already been spoken to and ruled out, and so, in the main interview room another detective set about tackling the restaurant’s staff.

“Mr Afton, we just have a few more questions to go over.” The middle-aged policeman lifts his gaze from his documents to look at the restaurant owner over the top of his glasses. He sees the businessman nod in response. There’s nothing to implicate this fella, no motive, no evidence, but he has a previous so caution was to be taken.

With the question ready on his tongue, the officer sits back in the chair. “How often do people go out to the outside storage?”

He meets the man’s eyes, it’s not the first time he’s been under police scrutiny, probably won’t be the last, but the gravity of this investigation is severe. Not wanting to play any games he just divulges what the cop wants to know. “Frequently, we keep ingredients out there, and other supplies, people are always in and out.”

“Even though it’s a fire escape?” There’s doubt in his face.

William Afton reveals a small smile then, he can’t quite figure out what the copper is getting at, “Yeah, there’s a cinder block out there to keep it open. I disconnected the alarm a long time ago.”

The policeman writes that down, it may go over the interviewee’s head but it’s an important question. The killer had to access the area somehow. And either they knew of the fire door and its cinder block or the gap in the fence. A crime of opportunity, from someone who knows the area well, that’s the takeaway.

Looking up from the sheet, the DI asks another question, “And I understand that you and your partner are more handsoff with the day to day, but were you there at the party?”

“I oversaw arrival and seating.” Afton halts but the detective says nothing, it’s clearly unsatisfactory. “... There were two more kids than discussed, it caused some tension. I left Henry to deal with things.” He elaborates dryly, the tone indicates boredom but that’s to be expected after having waited hours for this conversation.

“Tension?” The officer asks curiously, his eyebrows raised in a most provoking way.

William remembers to keep himself professional, maybe he could have worded that better. He tries again, “Well, it wasn’t ideal. Waiters had to set extra places and find more chairs. It was a fuss.”

That seems to resonate better with the detective because he nods, some understanding written in his expression, Afton has to stifle the satisfaction that gives him.

The copper consults his papers again before deciding he’s gotten enough, he stands, taking his glasses off and letting them hang on the chain around his neck. “Right, I’ll let you get back home. We have your contact information and we’ll be in touch.”

With a tight-lipped smile, William follows suit, pushing the chair back and standing. An old impulse to stick his hands out for the cuffs being greatly fought, it was a different time, different station, different crime, but the same old William.

He shakes the detective’s hand, the standing difference of the two is almost comical but neither of them show any signs of amusement. He’s led out the cold interrogation room into the life of the precinct corridor, there’s a lot going on, a mix of uniformed and non officers and some of his staff still awaiting questioning.

But before the policeman can get away, William let’s some curiosity free of its constraints. “Have you spoken to Henry yet?” The man meets his eyes, no longer as stoic as he was during the interview, the burden of inquisition must be a heavy one.

“No. I’ll be handling staff enquiries. Your partner should be in later on. 4 o’clock I think.” William nods, and the officer now no longer concerned with him, heads off down the hallway. He should do the same, he’ll have to sign out, he remembers that from last time too.

As he’s walking back towards reception, a door opens in front of him, a flash of cream walls and a green sofa, before a woman exists holding the hand of a small child that he recognises. He stands aside to let them pass, watching a male officer leave, followed by a female one: you.

You hear the social worker's voice grow quieter as they leave you to lock the door, your keys jangling as you turn the stiff lock. Your mind is so engrossed in theories, you’re wanting to talk to DI Donnelly about the staff profiling and see if anything has come up in the way of a suspect. You’re so engrossed that you don’t think to look behind you before moving.

The very moment you step out you collide with the hardness of a human body much bigger than yours. You stumble from the surprise of it, and large hands catch your waist to stop you tripping. It’s a very intimate way to touch someone and you gasp from the suddenness.

“Ay watch it, lady cop.” The bloke says, when you turn to see who you’ve just accosted, you see an older man with perhaps the most handsome crooked grin you’ve ever seen.

Choosing to ignore the casual sexism of that you go for a, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Cos you weren’t looking, he thinks to himself but doesn’t say anything aloud, you do look sorry and you’re cute. For a rozzer.

“You’re alright.” He excuses you, raising his eyebrows.

The only other thing exchanged was a mutual nod of regard before the man walked away towards the exit, leaving you to wonder what role he must play in all of this.

William drives home without the radio, lost in a deep track of convoluted thought. He’ll reach out to Henry later, see if anything’s changed. He doesn't think it will, despite the taskforce on this case he thinks it’ll go cold pretty fast. Children capture the news interest every now and then but once the media has no evidence or case progress to get its hooks into, the case is dead in the water. Unless the parents have the money to keep pushing it.

He pulls outside his house, turning the engine off but not leaving immediately. He’s about to step into the circus here, no doubt his wife has been waiting in bated breath, anxious for any news. He sighs, he probably should have drove around a bit longer knowing she was holding her breath, maybe he’d have got lucky.

He drags his feet on the mat before stepping inside, he hasn’t been outside today but it’s force of habit at this point, then he chucks his jacket towards the hook and closes the door. Sighing again, he sits on the second step to take his shoes off, already on edge at how quiet this fucking house is. She emerges as he reaches for the other shoe, arms folded over her chest like she’s already disapproving of something.

“So? What happened?” Clara’s tone is brisk and strained thin. It sounds like she’s been crying, though he can’t imagine why when it’s him that has to face the bobbies.

He scoffs, “They asked me some questions.” Everything about him is closed right now, and if she knew him at all she’d leave it for a while.

“And?” She’s pissing him off, she’s too prickly to talk to like this. She’s worried, wants to know what’s going to happen, what is happening, but it’s not his responsibility to console her like some fretful little kid.

“I answered them.” She scowls, how can he be like this, so indifferent? Like nothing’s happening, making her feel like she’s overreacting or going mad, maybe both.

“For fuck’s sake, Will.” Her voice cracks with frustration and she pauses a second to regain herself. Immediately losing it once she begins speaking, “Do they know who did it? Do they have someone in custody? Will, when are they going to take the fucking body out of your restaurant?!”

He laughs a little then and stands from the stairs, “Why would I know that? The police will be taking care of that, or the coroners, I don’t fucking know.”

“Don’t know, or don’t care?” There’s tears streaming down his wife’s face and he can’t cope.

“Does it matter?” He looks particularly harsh right now, a sharpness in his gaze and tone that’s like a razor and again her face twists in disgust.

William rubs the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to close for a moment of respite from the headache only Clara can claw out of him. With a deep breath he bends down and picks up his shoes, moving then to pick up his coat from the floor where it landed. He’s not staying, not with her wound tight as a wire-trap and not in a good way.

“What are you doing?” Her voice is quiet now, trying her hand at reasoning. He’s past that though.

“Going out, I can’t deal with you now.” He doesn’t even put the shoes back on, just carries them out with him, shutting the door heavily behind him. Leaving her to her.

It’s about to hit 8pm before you leave the station, it's been a long day but you hardly noticed what with how busy you’ve been. Your questioning didn't end with Josh, and even after talking to four other witnesses, you had your paperwork to do, then discussion with your colleagues. Everyone on the case has their own theories but at this point that’s all they are: theories. Nothing concrete and no real inclination into what to press next.

You change before leaving, knowing that you’re too restless to just go home, you need to be alone with your thoughts over a cold drink. So you get in your car picturing the hotel only a few minutes from your flat, the business-y one with the nice bar and the clientele that will leave you alone. That’s your ticket for that cold drink.

Music plays as you drive there, a CD you’ve made compiling your favourite tunes, it should help take your mind off the horrors you’ve seen today but it doesn’t. You can pull yourself away from the crime scene, that poor child in the centre of it, nor the distant look in young Josh’s eyes. No matter how much you enjoy the song playing, it's just not enough to distract you.

You park easy enough, a weekday night means that the car park isn’t completely full so you manage to get close to the entrance. Which you’re glad of when the moment your car door opens specks of rain tap your skin. Looks like the weather’s about as miserable as you feel.

The hotel bar is all dark furniture and yellow lights, a soft, warm and dark oasis and you feel relief to step inside. It’s a swish bar, not the kind of place to get a pint, even if that’s what you’re craving, it’s a nice glass with a hefty price bar. And so as you approach the bartender you’re thinking of what you want.

There’s only a few stools at the bar, seven or eight at a glance, and they’re mostly full. A gap between two gentlemen both very focused on their drinks, but you don’t want to get chatted up right now, especially from either side. At the otherside there’s two empty ones but one has a jacket laid over it and a drink on the counter. But needs must.

You sit, taking your coat off and laying it over your legs, smiling politely at the bartender.

…

“There you are.” The barman reappears in front of you, setting your drink down on the counter, “That’ll be £3.30, please.”

You scoff a little at that, mentally complaining about how the world’s gone mad with these prices, but you obediently reach into your bag for your wallet, a five pound note soon between your fingers.

“Thank you.” Your hand is raised for your change, you’ll tip later, at this point you don’t know how many drinks you’ll be having.

As the barman is digging around the till for your change the occupier of the seat beside you returns, neglecting to pick up his jacket in favour of sitting on it. You blank the man, receiving your change with a “Cheers,” for the bloke.

You sip the drink through the little straw, it’s nice to be fair and just what you need after today. You’re ready to forget about it, but you’re becoming increasingly aware of the figure next to you looking at you, and any kind of scrutiny is too much right now. So you turn to it, and you recognise the man immediately.

The man you’d bumped into earlier, who you’d since found out a lot about from his interviewer.

“Well, if it isn’t the lady copper. What are the chances of that?” There’s a casualness to his tone and posture that suggests he’s perhaps nearing the point of one drink too many. That’s what prevents your usual curt response of ‘just copper is fine’.

You don't smile, don't show any signs of the polite mannerisms he’d expect, just look at him objectively and he can tell you’re analysing the shit out of him. “Oh I remember you.” You start plainly, wanting to get back to the solitude you came here for. “By which I mean, I have since found out who you are.” It’s designed to be standoffish, encourage him to keep to himself, and play to what you learned about the man from his record: he shouldn’t like the police.

It doesn’t work though, the glasses of whiskey he's had tonight make the very blunt and sober way you’re talking to him more than amusing. And it shows on his face, “Ah someone’s been through some files.” The ways he’s grinning irks you, but if this was any other day in any other place you’d be swivelling yourself around to talk properly to the attractive man beside you. “Bumped into me and had to find out more, I get it.”

Your expression remains stern, he must be drunk as a lord or at least confident as one to say that. “I recognised your… photograph; the man who walked into me and called me ‘lady cop’.” He owns the restaurant the victim was murdered in, he’s a key figure in this case, you shouldn’t really be talking to him at all, let alone in a bar. But your drink was expensive and you’re not going to fucking leave it. “William Afton.” You say his name offhandedly, no feeling on it, but he still likes how pretty it sounds off your tongue.

“You can say mugshot, darling, I’m aware I have one.” He snickers at the look on your face, you were trying to preserve him some dignity in your wording, so much for that. The bloke sticks out his hand for you, “Just William will do it.”

You take his hand before your mind can overcome your manners, introducing yourself as, “DC L/n.” He has a firm handshake, much more respectable than the bitten down nails on his larger than most hands. Then again, he’s a larger than most fella, sat next to you now his feet are completely rested on the floor, whereas yours are tucked neatly on the bar of the stool.

He chuckles at the formality, fucking Detective Constable, you really aren’t budging off your high horse, are you? Normally he’d give up on someone being this clearly closed off with him, but not tonight. He’s starved of the chatter and drink has alway made him want to make new friends, especially when they're as cute and grumpy as you. You need cheering up, and he needs the challenge.

“We’re not at the station now, love. What’s your name?” He watches the frown on your face grow that little bit stronger and has to hide the smirk on his face behind the rim of his drink.

“It’s definitely not ‘love’.” Your voice is firm and you let the silence that follows it sit for a few seconds. But then you consider who you’re doing this for. It’s not yourself, you don’t want to be rude to anyone, let alone a tipsy person who probably doesn't know how annoying he’s being. You’re not doing it for work, there’s no boss here to remind you of your conduct, there’s been no suggestion of his involvement, even with the previous convictions. So why not take your mind off things with some meaningless conversation?

You sigh, then tell him your first name.

“So… is this your regular?” You ask the cliche question in some effort to force yourself into normality, thinking about any other way to ask him if he comes here often, hoping he won't catch on to how his answer might impact if you come back here again.

His eyes narrow at the change in your manner, but he goes along with it, “No. No, I’m just taking a break from domestic bliss.” The words are sarcastic enough that you gather their meaning easily, unhappy at home, coming out to get away from it, it’s fair enough. You nod, mentally clocking the silver band on his left hand and chiding yourself instantly. That’s not the kind of distraction you came here for.

“And what has you here?” He can take a guess, a long, bloody day at work, sufficient to make most people thirsty, but curiosity nips at him, he wants to know how senior you are, what your role in the whole shitshow is. More than that he wants to know what’s come of the police’s incessant questioning, and what ammo they have.

An incredulous laugh leaves you, “Just the joy of work, you know. A lot of difficult things to think about- I already know I’ll never sleep tonight.” You’re only half joking, even with a few more g&ts you don’t see yourself getting any rest.

You sip your drink, realising all of a sudden that you’re not far from needing another. And as you pull the glass away the man beside you says, “Oh, I could help you with that.”

Turning to him straight away, you’re practically scowling. What a thing to fucking say.

At your disdainful expression he adds, through a wicked smirk, “Night nurse- you know the little bottle? That usually sorts me out.” All his suggestiveness dropped, and now you look silly for overreacting.

“Aren’t you funny.” Despite the palpable sarcasm on the words you are smiling, just a little, you can’t help it, your facade draining faster than your gin. You swirl the liquid around, thinking over your words before you say them, you know better than the harmlessness of this, even if you wish you didn’t. “You’re being awfully chummy with me and I’m not sure why. I can’t and won’t tell you about the case.”

You try to hold back the sharp edge of those words but even said nicely they’re cutting.

It doesn't faze him though, and he leans a little closer like he’s jokingly telling you a secret. “I’m half-cut, lovely. I’d be chummy with anyone sat here, especially if they need cheering up as much as you do.”

You let your expression soften a bit, there’s a relief from what he said that there shouldn’t be. “Based on your file, I’d have thought you’d sooner switch seats than sit next to me.” You smirk as you speak, teasing but it’s based in truth.

“Oh calm down.” He’s shaking his head at you, “I’ve nowt against the police, it’s only a job. Until today I hadn’t seen the inside of a police station for going on 20 years. It sounds like you’re the one with prejudices.” He’s openly mocking you now, and you can see why, but he can say what he likes, it doesn’t change what you read.

The officer’s scrawl was plain to see: ‘Fucking filth’ he said to PC Markham, right before headbutting him, adding assault of an officer to his other charges.

“You don’t think people can change then?” He asks, more seriously than anything else he’s said tonight.

You think about it, going over both sides of the argument in your head whilst he waits expectantly. You arrive at, “I think… If they want it enough, then yeah.”

He shrugs then, back to wearing a striking grin, “Well, don’t worry then. I’m good at getting what I want.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you are, you think, trying to hide the thought from your face. Opting to only say, “You’re insufferable.” under your breath.

“No, just drunk. I think I need a water.” There’s a new self-deprecation to his tone and it amuses you. WIlliam glances at your empty glass and already knows you’ll be having another. He likes this back and forth, it’s good fun, much more entertaining than the chat he’d be having at home right now.

He leans forward a bit to catch the bartender's attention, “Will you get us another one of these and a water, thanks mate.” He slides your glass forward for the man to see and he nods, going about the order.

“Oh, you were serious.” You say, partially to yourself, it’s hard to tell with this man. That’s probably the trouble.

He sits back, “Yeah, I’ll have to keep myself sharp if you’re sitting with me, sweetheart.”

You grin, yeah there’s the fucking trouble.

You don’t know how another drink turned into three. And how three turned into you watching him get a hotel room, his elbows on the desk as he talks to the receptionist. And how that turned into keys in his pocket, the two of you getting in a lift. And then your hands pulling on his shirt to get him close enough you can kiss him, his tall frame pressing you against the wall of the lift.

You don’t think about how stupid this is as you’re doing it, you’re too distracted by the heat of him and the all encompassing way his tongue is in your mouth. You moan into the kiss, knuckles taunt with his shirt fabric balled up in them. You’re not drunk, you know what you’re doing. The alcohol isn’t affecting your judgement, it’s only making your blood warm and helping stoke the heat flickering in your core.

He doesn’t hesitate in touching you, neither of you worried about discovery, hands on your hips soon sliding low and squeezing your arse. You gasp a little as his touch brings you to your tippy-toes. The kiss is broken and has your lips tracing down his jaw, on his neck then shamelessly sucking his earlobe. You can feel how much he likes that digging into your stomach and your body rings with want.

His hands are under your shirt before the lift stops, doors opening to reveal a man waiting, a suitcase by his side. You push the man off you, struggling not to laugh, especially when a quick glance reveals that William is. Hot in the face, you right yourself as the man drags his case into the small space, your skirt pulled back down and shirt buttoned back up.

“Uh we’re still going up, mate.” William says, snickering.

“Only one floor.” The man responds bluntly, clearly not wanting any interaction with the two degenerates he’s just uncovered.

You share a look with William, that has you pressing your lips together to stifle laughter. He looks very dishevelled, you hand’t noticed quite how hard you’d been going at him, his shirt is creased and his hair is a fucking mess. God knows what you look like.

It seems to take a long time to go up one floor, but the very second the doors open you and William are quick to leave.

“What a nice chap.” He sniggers and you can finally laugh away some of that embarrassment, how stupid the both of you are, but nothing to be done now. The only compromise you can make now is to keep your hands to yourself until you’re in a more private setting, but that’s easier said than done when your core is tight with need.

Following his form, you try to take mental note of how to get out of here, so many beige corridors to wind around before you’re standing in front of the room this near stranger has purchased. You watch him put the key in the lock and for just a moment you listen to your mind. It’s not a good idea, it’s unprofessional, inappropriate and a host of other things but you’re warm between your legs and the want to continue what was interrupted outweighs reason.

He lets you inside before him and you turn to catch his eyes low on your body, making you grin unwillingly. It’s a nice room, as swanky as the bar downstairs, long flowy curtains shrouding huge windows and a load more pillows on the bed than necessary.

William looks around the room more pragmatically, he wants another drink and there’s got to be something in here, a fancy place like this always has opportunity to spend more money. There’s an odd cabinet a good distance from the foot of the bed, and when he opens it lo and behold an incognito fridge. “You want another drink?”

You look over to William on his knees looking at what you quickly realise is a minibar, curiosity brings you closer and the prices make you wince. You don’t know how this man has it in him to drink, you’re tipsy enough just standing there. “You trying to impress me or something?” You say laughing, “Surely the room was pricey enough.”

He shrugs and gets to his feet. A black labelled bottle placed on the counter, he can’t decide what he wants to indulge in first because you are looking very tempting. You see a look of mischief pass over his face before he says, “Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… which you absolutely are, love.” He delivers that with the smarmiest smirk you’ve ever seen, and a disbelieving laugh escapes you, it’s needlessly full-on but embarrassingly it does work in making heat between your legs flicker back bright.

Still somewhat taken aback you just say, “...You’re shameless.”

It just makes him chuckle, as the evenings gone on you’ve only gotten easier to fluster. “Oh and you’re so prim and proper?” That’s clearly amused him because his tone is dripping with sarcasm. You maintain your eye contact with the man, trying to curb excitement in your blood, you’re aware he’s gotten much closer to you and the prospect is delicious. “I don’t think so, no with how you accosted me in that lift, there for anyone to see.”

He doesn’t need to add ‘And someone did see,’ because that grimy feeling has again caught up with you, you look away then, trying not to think about how disgusted that man looked earlier. It sucks because your usual level-headedness has shagged off and you seem to be making a lot of questionable decisions.

You’re speaking before the embarrassed thoughts are coherent, “Well, I- That’s not something I’d… normally…” You trail off because of the clear enjoyment on his face.

“Come on, are you a police officer or a fucking nun?” He teases, “Looking so ashamed. You do know what we’ve come up here to do, right?”

The mockery gives you a hit of bravery, and you shrug, “Yeah. I’m just waiting for you to stop talking.” You give the last words heavy exasperation and watch that achingly handsome grin slowly spread on his face.

He listens to you.

It’s criminal how eagerly you’re pulling at his clothes, struggling with buttons as dexterity is lost in your fingers to the way your body is reacting to his. There’s little elegance, only your tongue back in his mouth as your shirt is taken off, then your body pulled away from the wall behind you to let him unhook your bra. It’s quick but you still resent how long it’s taking to get what you want.

He’s playing with your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before tugging your hardened nipple between his fingers, it pulls a gasp from you. You’re giggling a little as his action makes it harder to concentrate on what you’re doing. You finally manage to pull the shirt from him, leaving it to crumple on the floor. His body feels good against yours, firm and hot, hair on his chest that you rake your fingers through, leading all the way down to his belt.

His touch is everywhere on you except where you want it most, taking in your curves and again grabbing a handful of your behind. You’re restless, rubbing your legs together for a fraction of the friction your core is demanding, all this fleeting touch is mounting into impatience. William notices and you feel the movement of his hands up to your waistband, where they skirt teasingly around.

You moan some encouragement into his mouth, tilting your hips for better access. But he pulls away from you, smirking to himself. “Take your skirt off for me, love. I’ve tried but for the life of me I can’t find the zip.”

Despite your impatience, you can’t help but laugh, clearly pride had kept him silent for a fair while. “Here then.” You say through your amusement, placing a hand flat on his chest and pushing him lightly, guiding him a pace and a half back until he gets the hint to sit on the bed.

From there he watches you half dressed as far as your waist as you catch hold of the zip on the side of your pencil skirt and pull it down. You step out of it, leaving your shoes under the fabric, a smug expression on your face. He looks good sitting there and a guilty thought flickers through your head at how lucky his wife is.

That thought is cut short when he says, “Come here.” Not giving you much choice when he catches your wrist and manoeuvres you himself, your panties still on but the wet patch on them somehow more revealing than you imagine being fully nude will be.

“Damn.” He grins, leaving you standing before him, his hand tracing the waistband of your knickers before sliding between your legs. You let him, spreading your stance for his access. He follows the shape of your pussy over the material, watching how it clings to your heat. Soon after he slides under the fabric and toys with the abundance of slick waiting there.

You moan at the static sensation buzzing in your core, it’s exactly what you wanted but still a lot and you have to steady yourself on his shoulders. He finds your clit and begins to draw patterns over the nerves that soon have your legs weak. He brings your end into your sights before altering the movement, and the whiplash is near devastating. He snickers when a disapproving frown rests on your face, adjusting his position to press his fingers inside you, willing to give you what you want. Fucking his fingers in and out of you he keeps up with the stimulation on your clit, the pace only quickening when your grip tightens on his shoulders. Your peak rises fast and you fall over it, walls fluttering tight around his digits as your climax washes over you, pulling some desperate noise out of you.

Before your legs are even steady again, you’re desperate for more. So you push him back on the bed, bending down to tackle his belt buckle. The bulge in his trousers is practically taunting you and you’re eager to feel more and think less.

WIlliam’s voice pulls you from your inept action. “Demanding, aren’t we?” He mocks.

You look at him as levelly as you can, your pupils big from your fading pleasure. You know the answer before you speak, “Do you want me to stop?”

He doesn’t say anything, only reaches down to help you take off the belt, pulling the trousers down and holding you steady so he can lean and shove them off. You take hold of his hardness, now only hidden by his underwear, revelling in the soft grunt that leaves him. He’s deliciously thick in your hands and drunk on it you straddle him, now palming him between your legs. Only now do you think about the condoms in your handbag, knowing you should pull away from him and retrieve them. But that rationale is drowned out by your cunt drooling, begging for immediate stimulation.

Your touch isn’t enough for him, he just wants to feel your warmth wrapped snug around him, so he acts, flicking your hands aside to free his dick. He sits against your stomach, thick and long and almost instantly you’re sliding your slick along him, pussy twitching in anticipation.

His hand on your hip moves you back so he can line himself up with your hole, no more play, no more teasing. He guides you down, a small gasp leaving you as he presses inside. It’s more than you thought and your walls burn with the stretch of taking him; you still yourself for a moment, thighs hovering just above his whilst you try to get used to the fullness of accommodating him. Your respite is cut short when he starts to thrust up into you, sniggering at the surprised moan that escapes you and how your body is almost trying to run away from him. He holds you still, lost in the perfect way your cunt is swallowing him. Soon you’re taking him properly, riding him deep with stuttering breath, pathetic noises leaving you when his cock pressed against the spot inside you that makes you crumble. You’re so focused on your imminent pleasure sparking into life sharpish, you nearly miss the change in the man below you.

“Fuck- that’s it.” He groans, his hands roaming your body. You’re doing the majority of the work, bouncing on him so fucking perfectly and grinding your bundle of nerves against him. Your fluttering walls are telling but he’s hanging onto his edge by a thread, just enough sense about him to help speed up your climax.

You jolt when he suddenly begins rubbing your clit, his hand splayed on your abdomen. It’s a lot and you’re holding on to him tighter and tighter, fingernails digging harder and harder into his shoulders until you’re falling into the waves of bliss. Your back arches as you come, each pulse of your climax making you shiver. Your cunt squeezes around him tight and just like that he’s gone. He thrusts into you a few more times, pushing his release deep inside you, the pace inconsistent as he rides it out.

Both of you still, and you listen to his quickened breath as your pussy still flutters around him, you’re all over goosebumps but you hardly notice, too focused on the warmth trickling around him and settling between your legs.

You don’t stop there. You get next to no sleep, spending the rest of the night clutching the headboard, then with your face buried in the dishevelled sheets. Later with your leg hooked over the hips of this man, dirty words dripping from your lips pushing him to give you more. Hours spent having easily some of the best sex you’ve ever had. Until the two of you have no more to give.

It’s still dark, but a look at your watch tells you the day’s not far from arriving and so, you move. Taking yourself from the disordered bed and into the cool of the room. Your clothes are strewn all over and you begin to gather them one by one, aware you’re under the scrutiny of the man you’re leaving behind.

You’re halfway through putting them back on when William decides he should probably do the same. You watch from the corner of your eye as he stands up unashamedly naked and even after you’ve had your share you still appreciate the sight, which you then realise he was probably doing to you before getting up.

He moves to pick up his underwear, wincing through his teeth at the action, making you turn towards him with pinched brows. You see him raise his arm up and run his hand along his shoulders, his expression difficult to read.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with uncertainty, a part of you thinking that there’s no way he’s as sore as you are, you feel like you’ve spent hours on the bucking broncos.

“Wait-” He sounds confused but when he turns to walk over to a mirror on the wall your eyes go wide with understanding. You’ve left your mark on him alright: long scratches on his shoulders and back, each bringing back a memory of the night’s activity.

When he sees, his instant reaction is to laugh but fucking hell, it’s pretty bad. How the hell hadn’t he noticed?

You have a hand over your mouth, partially in shock, partially to hide the incredulous laughter begging to be shown. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your giggling to yourself, “I didn’t-”

“That is…” He cuts you off unintentionally, chuckling in disbelief as he looks from the mirror to you, then back again, “unambiguous… What the fuck am I supposed to tell my wife?”

You snort. “I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t think I… did that.” You hadn’t even thought about it, about how all traces of you on this man are liable to destroy a marriage, though to be fair, you’re not often a homewrecker.

“Well, it was definitely you, sweetheart. Shit.” You’re lucky that he’s found this amusing and not gone the other way, but his marriage is dead on the rocks anyway, if Clara showed any interest in taking his shirt off he’d be looking around for a hidden camera.

…

You and William part ways soon after, part of you wanting to see him again, the rest knowing that that’s probably not a good idea. But the morning seems to be running away with itself and you don’t have time to think about it, it’s already nearly 7am and you've got to be at the station by 9.

That doesn’t stop you from reliving the night over and over during your commute though.

As good a time as you’ve had you can’t shake the feeling that it was perhaps too good to be true.

If you made it to the end, thank you sm, you guys reading my stuff is my motivation to keep being excessively horny x

#fnaf #william afton #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf smut #william afton x you #fnaf william afton #fnaf movie #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you

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phynali · 5 years

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If given the chance, how would you rewrite the MCU?

Anon. Anon. Anon.

How wouldn’t I?

I mean - okay, there’s a lot you have to keep the same just for the sake of like, continuity, clarity, and keeping the bones there.

I’d probably keep all the original movies in Phase 1 as they are with only minor tweaks. I’d fix the mess that was Iron Man 2. I’d give Black Widow and Hawkeye a movie of their own to establish their characters. Hmm, I can see that coming after the first Avengers, possibly.

The first Avengers film though, that’s where I would make the first major changes.

Loki’s characterization is a mess and not properly explained in canon. I’d put him more obviously under Thanos’s thumb. I’d fix Cap’s messed up characterization. I wouldn’t have Thor show up when he does because, hey - bifrost issues. We’d see him and Heimdall from Asgard trying to work on that problem and let them find a cogent way to get Thor to earth. So, he’d show up for the final battle and to take Loki home. He’d be the ace in the hole that helps allow the Avengers to assemble and overtake Loki.

Okay, so fix Iron Man 2. I can barely remember it but I know it needs fixing.

Cap 2 I’d leave intact. I might give Hulk a follow-up movie tbh, or rather, probably tie him in to the Black Widow and Hawkeye movie that would follow the first Avengers.

Also put more female heroes front and centre earlier on. And especially WoC.

Big issues arise by the time we get to Age of Ultron. Fix that hot mess of a movie.

Hawkeye doesn’t have a family and a farm. That was weird. Erase that shit. Don’t set up a romance between Nat and Bruce. Don’t -

Look, I mean no disrespect to Tony stans -

Don’t make every problem in the MCU something that was inadvertently caused by Tony. Because like every Iron Man movie involves a villain who felt scorned by him, and then AoU was caused by him messing with the Mind Stone (Bruce too, okay, but Bruce isn’t the one with the narrative trend here) and all the villains in the Spider-Man movies, and then there’s how shit played out in Civil War and -

Okay so fix AoU. Have the Mind Stone literally take on a life of it’s own and don’t fucking make it the fault of Tony’s hubris, okay. Make it more accidental and incidental than it was. Don’t make it something that happened overnight from tinkering.

And for the love of god, make it so that Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver did not sign up to be experimented on, but rather keep their comic origins. They’re Jewish Romani PoC. Give them a narrative that’s authentic to those identities.

I also would not fucking kill off Quicksilver, what the honest fuck?

Actually also don’t just make up a random country and code it a given way and then destroy it. I know it’s an MCU movie and therefore actually needs a giant CGI battle at the end, but okay - Age of Ultron. Stretch that shit out. Make it more clever. Show some more subtle and almost… guerilla tactics from the Avengers, taking down Ultron’s armies? Instead of a single battle in a country we don’t know about and haven’t been told to care about from a narrative standpoint, have Ultron go after their friends and families, have them fight smart and mean but no less visually pleasing to watch. The Avengers don’t have the numbers on Ultron’s army, but they can (and do) recruit Wanda and Maximo and they fight their fight using all their resources - not just their fists.

Okay so let’s move on.

iron Man 3 was great, but the whole bit with Pepper being kidnapped? Not that into it, personally. Also not into her getting powers and then getting them taken away. There was a lot to love about that movie, but so many Iron Man movies tease at this idea of Tony wanting to retire, or getting out, and they need to just back off that and let him own his heroism. That movie navigates so much so well so let it be.

Okay -

Thor 2? Don’t fucking kill Thor’s mom. Friga deserves better. Stop motivating male characters by killing women. Let Loki and Thor come together by Friga being injured, by their dad dying, by a desire to bring their mother joy - whatever. Just - don’t kill her. I’m still pissed about how much they take from Thor over time.

I’d keep Cap 2 the same, and the only changes I’d make to GotG would be -

Okay wait actually. There are huge glaring issues with that movie. Gamora is poised to be the hero of these movies and finds herself as the damsel in distress or incapable whenever the narrative needs her to be. I fucking hate it. Let her shine more. Show instead of tell. Let each character develop in their own right rather than dropping some random backstory notes in expository dialogue. Build up to the notion that it’s super weird Quill can hold the Stone and actually like… acknowledge it in the movie. You can keep the story basically the same but fix things with Gamora’s narrative, please please please.

Okay Ant-Man is great. There’s a huge narrative issue within the entire MCU with how they exclude Janet Van-Dyne though, and how she isn’t introduced until now even though she should be a fundamental member of the Avengers. I would almost like, at some point in Phase 1-3, a movie with Janet at the helm, possibly (to keep their timeline intact), her working with Peggy, working with SHIELD, with a young Fury or something, and laying the groundwork for the Avengers. A lot of what Captain Marvel eventually did, but situated fully on earth, and coming much sooner in the MCU itself.

Civil War was a hot mess. They needed to actually explain and detail both sides and the problems with them. It functioned amazing as an introduction to Black Panther and I love it for that, but it wasn’t a Cap movie, not really, and I’m bitter about it. This movie should have focused around the Black Panther, Cap, Bucky narrative, and dropped the whole Civil War with the other Avengers stuff entirely.

Actually - Civil War needs to be either an entirely separate movie on its own or else… drop it. Deal with it differently. That airport fight was an embarrassment. Let the Avengers break down during Cap 3 if you need do, but make it more interpersonal and tense, and less throwing punches and locking each other up. Make it more human, more relatable, because those were the best parts of that whole divide. Make it real for the viewer, for fuck’s sake. Don’t have Tony (seriously what’s with them making him do villainous things and painting them as heroic) blackmail a literal child into a battlezone????

Okay - and Cap issues, they need to either set up Agent 13 aka Sharon Carter as a proper love interest sooner, or else drop that. They drop breadcrumbs of her in a few movies but that’s it. It feels hollow between them by the time they actually kiss. They should either keep their dynamic as “could have been but whoops, nope” or have done more to set them up together in Cap 2.

(Totally honest, total bias here - take out love interests altogether or let Cap be the bi icon that he should be and let him and Falcon hook up in Cap 2. Let the fact that he was in love with Bucky be canon but you don’t need to set them up as a couple. Let it be recognized that they love each other but god there’s too much there, too much mess, they don’t need to be together in the present to acknowledge that history. Either way keep the Bucky and Sam dynamic because it’s amazing).

Doctor Strange - fix the casting. The racism, appropriation - just - wow. Use this as an opportunity to introduce more Asian and East Asian characters and actors into the MCU rather than it being the appropriative mess that it is. Keep the cool visuals though, and the cape. The narrative itself isn’t bad, but spend less time establishing this asshole character and more time establishing the side characters and the dynamics between them because those are far more interesting.

GotG 2 - uhhhh… okay what was this? Peter Quill is Ego’s son, but how does that really advance anything in the MCU or about the character or … ? Just fix the whole goddamn plot, I don’t even know. Tie this shit into Thanos way better. Introduce that better. Make this movie more interesting, make Nebula the Big Bad of it, honestly. Dive into the other members of the Guardians and give them their backstories and plots that they deserve. Is this the Guardians or the Peter Quill show? I don’t know I just - just fix this, okay?

Thor Ragnarok and Black Panther need no fixing. Remember that in this version of the MCU, Thor’s mom is alive, so that’s there. She’s still on Asgard and with Heimdall and being awesome, and we get some awesome interactions between her and Hel because we fucking deserve that, okay? Also Valkyrie’s bi scenes aren’t deleted (fuck you, Marvel execs). I would love love love for Killmonger not to die at the end of Black Panther, personally, but I wouldn’t change much more than that.

Oh wait I forgot - with the whole Bucky in Wakanda thing? Fucking take that out or do something narratively with it. It’s the weirdest brushed-aside thing that serves no genuine narrative purpose. I’d err on the side of taking it out entirely, personally.

Infinity War is fine, leave it as-is more or less, except for -

Okay, so we need textual discussion and canonical pushback against Thanos’s ideals. Because so many people came out of that movie all “oh but he’s got a point - population is expanding blah blah blah” and it was such fucking bullshit. We needed Gamora to point out why Thanos was fucking wrong - why her people were not actually better off after he killed half of them, thank you very much. We needed Tony to point out “population doesn’t work that way, it’ll bounce back in 50 years - do you plan to keep doing this each time? why not double resources?”. We needed people to tell the audience not just that Thanos was bad, but why he was bad, and that there is no ‘random’ and he needed to be a monster and selfish and it needed to be way more clear that his was not a sublime ideal of a detached idol, but rather the ravings of an entitled man whose gone unhinged and hateful.

Okay. So that. And don’t make the final battle just decimate Wakandan soil and its army? Why do they have to fight Earth’s battles for it? Let that be a joint effort and not just a Wakandan one, jfc. I get that you had the set ready and all, but no, don’t treat Wakanda like that, it deserves better. If ever there was a time to blow the budget on a final fight, this would be it, so freaking do it and have that battle be in space and over earth and at many different locations but then zeroing in on where Vision is (which itself can be in Wakanda because it’s safest but yeah).

And honestly I wouldn’t make it so Gamora died, like wtf. I hated that. I hated the whole bit with the Soul Stone. I could swallow it if what they did was have Gamora turn into the Soul Stone - so that she could, as the stone, set up a sabotage to Thanos.

Okay - more on that. Let’s talk about Endgame. Endgame needs so much goddamn fixing. Holy fuck does it need fixing.

Okay - okay where do I even start. I make myself mad whenever I think about it.

Five years? Five fucking years? What the fuck is wrong with you, Russo brothers? Time travel? What - just -

I hated that movie with a passion.

Okay - so the Snap happened. Pick up right after. Give us the fucking shock and horror. Give us the attempt to regroup, just quick, the intense emotions - people punching walls. Show us snippets of the world quickly, news casts etc. This is a horror, let it be one. Own the shit that you did.

Give us a time skip-montage. A month out, the pressure is on to the Avengers to fix this. The Avengers are all traumatized. Clint doesn’t have a family in this version, and doesn’t go all terminator. Thor - he wouldn’t have as much time to spiral but let him get there, let him be unwell, unkempt, let him own his suffering because goddamn he’s lost so much. (oh I forgot, I actually wouldn’t kill Loki and Heimdall because wtf wtf I hate you Infinity War, but let’s move on - )

Five months - people are losing hope. There are therapy sessions. Cap is a mess. Everyone blames themselves. Tony “if I’d only made the call to Cap sooner, we could have worked together” (also he and Nebula make it to earth fast, none of that lost in space and starving stuff), Cap “if only I hadn’t been so arrogant as to not trade lives”, Thor “if only I’d gone for the head”, etc etc. let it be clear that it’s not just Thor’s fault and not just Peter Quill’s fault - that all of those in charge of decision making fucked up.

Ant-Man isn’t freaking saved by a rat, thank you. He comes out of the quantum realm on his own merits, some safeguard, only to realize shit’s messed up. He and Janet work together with the remaining Avengers. maybe Janet saved him from the quantum realm this time? what a nice parallel to him saving her. anyway, they use the quantum realm to find thanos. Or - fuck that, they use Nebula to find Thanos. She knows shit. What they use the quantum realm for is to realize that all the souls that were lost in the snap aren’t ‘dead’ dead, they’re in stasis. They’re in a liminal space - they’re in the Soul Stone. Because Gamora is the stone and she sucked up all those lives and is holding them, holding for dear life but she can’t hold on forever (make sure the stakes are high, they feel real, the clock is ticking). Captain Marvel teams up with them of course. they track down thanos.

“but Phyn” you say, “thanos still has all the stones? how can they defeat him?” great question! difficult to answer! i’m not sure! with the power of love!

okay but really - they have an awesome team. they need to work smarter than the enemy, not harder. they can take out thanos’s generals. they can use nebula to slip past defenses. if loki were alive, which he should be, they can use his magic. if friga were alive, which she should be, they can use hers. if heimdall were alive, which he should be, they can use his eyes. they can use the magic of all the magicians in the doctor strange films. they have captain marvel.

but they will never win on might alone, or magic alone - not against a full complement of infinity stones. not unless -

have you seen Avatar: The Last Airbender? if so - you know how Azula gets a little unhinged toward the end? she’s just a kid, i feel for her, but the point for here is that she does enough shit and gets what she (thinks she) wants and it takes a devastating toll on her. using the stones, clearing half the life in the universe - that took a toll on thanos. it was a terrible choice. he’s in denial, in self-deception about that. he’s coming apart at the seams. he’s not all chill about it, he’s spiralling hard. he lost half his army too, after all. and life doesn’t seem improved. he can hear the cries of the souls locked in the soul stone (not that he realizes what he’s hearing nor acknowledges it) and it’s like the beating heart under the floorboards. his crimes have left scars. he’s not well. physically, from the toll of the Snap, nor mentally, from everything else it took out of him.

let gamora save the fucking day. let her and Vision and their stones - hell, let Loki (maybe he’s fused with the tesseract and maybe thanos did kill him to acheive that, or maybe something else) - let the stones respond to people. to quill. to freaking Jane Goddamn Foster. let the stones’ connections to life undermine and corrupt thanos and his connection to death.

is it cheesy? maybe. is it better than time travel bullshit? definitely. because it uplifts. because it draws from heroes in all the movies, even unlikely ones. people who’ve touched the stones, held them, melded with them. it assumes that the stones aren’t static entities, that they are just as alive as us, in a way we can’t comprehend, and so much more. they resonate with the universe, and thanos has done something that scarred the universe. let this be rectified, not through the actions of a man’s sacrifice, but through the actions, big and small, of a ton of people, of unlikely heroes, of those who suffered personally at his hand, at the hands of the stones - let it be the will of half the goddamn universe to see thanos fall.

let the snap-back happen when thanos loses control over the stones (he’s been holding on tight this whole time, can’t let it slip, the stones have a ‘mind’ of their onw). let it happen again right before the final battle against his armies. let him not have the power to immediately re-snap, hand burnt by the force of the snap-back, and let thor take off his fucking arm this time. let nebula take off his fucking head. let there be a huge final battle with everyone alive and ready to go down swinging once again.

and okay, i’m okay with tony dying. i’d be game for him to die by destroying the stones, tbh - taking them out of existence henceforth so they can never be used like this again, even though it kills him. i think that would honestly be a really fulfilling conclusion to the narrative set up in the first Iron Man film - the reformed arms dealer destroying the ultimate weapons in the universe.

by this way - there’s been 5-8 months or something like that, not 5 years, but why not have Pepper be pregnant, why not have a little child who’ll get to live on after he’s gone, even if that kid won’t remember him? she’ll get to live in a universe that exists and is safe because of him.

i’d be okay with cap dying in this movie too (much better than him going back and stealing peggy’s life from her by changing her history, wtf wtf wtf). i refuse to accept nat dying in clint’s place, that was bullshit and totally not necessary in this version. gamora is also back, not from the past but from the present, and with her sister again. this time nebula got to save gamora, isn’t there some poetic justice in that?

okay okay that’s all that. whew.

I forgot about Captain Marvel. It was decent, I liked it. It wasn’t my favorite in the sense that it was laid out odd when it came to falling in love with this character. Like I wouldn’t change much of the plot but I’d change the… storytelling? The emotions used to connect us to Carol. Give us more of her past from the start, before you introduce her. Give us her childhood. And let Maria be her girlfriend, fucking please.

Okay - now we’re at Far From Home. I didn’t mention Homecoming before but the problem with both of these movies is one I mentioned earlier - that the villains are byproducts of choices made by Tony Stark. That’s a problem. There’s just so many goddamn movies in which that’s the ultimate villain and it fucks with Tony’s characterization so much. How am I supposed to love Tony (which I want to?) when he’s got satellites with drones that can attack anyone he names, tech not that unlike the tech Hydra was aiming to make. Sure, he won’t use it the same, but why the fuck does he have it? Giving it to Peter is all well and good, but - they have interacted maybe a grand total of 5 times?

The relationship between Peter and Tony is cute but if you stop for a second, it’s annoying as hell that it’s built up to what it is. Peter gets recruited by Tony, mostly works with Happy and not Tony in Civil War, and then gets ignored by Tony for months and months on end, then Tony shows up and scolds him and takes his suit, and then invites him to be an Avenger when he doesn’t fuck up, and then they go off to space and Peter dies, and then everyone comes back to life and Tony dies. Why the fuck would Tony entrust Peter with this Edith system that allows him to kill anyone on Earth? Actually, fuck that, entrust is the wrong word - why the fuck would Tony put that weight on the shoulders of a child?

Far From Home is great but Tony’s post-mortem role in it makes almost no sense. Let Peter’s movies be about Peter and not about the shadow and then the ghost of Tony Stark. Please. I love Tony, I do, but if you stop and think for one second, you have to jump mental hoops to absolve the shit Tony does in Peter’s movies, and for many of us, it leaves a really awful taste in our mouths.

anyway - i probably missed stuff. that’s just what’s currently top of mind. #whoops

#i spent too many hours of my life on this #marvel #mcu #walrus #you said you wanted to read this when i got around to answering...#here you go #marvel critical #mcu critical #ask to tag #comics etc #Anonymous #long post #long post for ts

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